butterymangowrites - Tumblr blog

butterymangowrites · 8 months ago

Text

ten years in the making

paring: bakugou katsuki x fem reader

warnings: smut, non-con/dub-con, no-quirks au, high school love confession, unrequited love turned very requited, almost non-con threesome, feels like cheating (but technically not), no cheating though, fuck boi bakugou, pining reader, obsessive/possessive bakugou, running away, biting, marking, creampie, breeding kink, angst, toxic relationship

word count: 6.2k

You still had the love letter you handed to him when you were both in high school. His spiky blonde hair was pretty under the spring sun, red eyes examining the envelope in your hands with a disgusted look on his face.

On the rooftop of the school building, the wind blew extra hard. The chill of winter that lingered in the breeze made your face cold, but it was the rejection from Katsuki that numbed your whole body.

“Take that shit away,” he sneered. “Be lame somewhere else. I don’t like you.”

It was pathetic how you fixated on him because he helped you once from a petty thief who tried to steal your wallet. You shouldn’t have liked him that much, not when he was so clear in his stance on how he felt about you. But you were also just a girl, and girls had crushes on Bakugou Katsuki—you were just one of many, but no doubt the most pathetic one.

Cause while others grew out of their crushes eventually, you did not. And Katsuki, being the spawn of the devil that he was, started to see you as some sort of entertainment.

You followed him through university, enrolling in the same one. You begged your mom to stay at a dorm near campus, the same dorm Katsuki told you he would stay in. He lied. You knew on the moving day because he texted you photos of his new place from the front of the building to the room with an obviously different layout.

The text said, ‘lol you really thought u got me huh?��

That sentence needed commas, and you… needed to get a grip. Yet, you did not.

Still trying to be close to him, you went to every party he went to, even if it meant you had to see him with a different woman each time. He never stuck with one, telling you he was easily bored and that was why you and him would never happen. Because you were a soppy, hopeless romantic who would wait for him like a dog waiting for its owner to come home—his words.

“When will it get through your thick skull, dog?” Katsuki rapped on your forehead with his knuckles. “You’re not my type.”

Well, his type exited the room just now, leaving only you and a very naked Katsuki in it. He loomed over you menacingly close, trying once again to talk some sense into you, albeit in a very mean fashion. Tonight, he was particularly cruel. After texting you to buy him a box of condoms—stating a specific brand, flavor, and size—he made you sit and watch until the very end.

You pretended to pay attention, but what you really looked at was the wall behind the scene playing in front of you.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at ten.” You changed the subject, ignoring his hot breath that fanned over your face.

“Yeah, mom misses you like hell,” he jeered. “How did you do it, inserting yourself into my family?”

It was simple, actually, just offering to drive him home for a monthly family visit with a gift for his mom and dad every time, without fail, even though he got his own car. His mom, Mitsuki, never trusted his driving skills anyway, saying he was too reckless. So she was grateful for you, to the point of inviting you over for dinner as thanks whenever you dropped her son home, and you accepted the kindness.

Katsuki would roll his eyes, but he let it all happen, cause why would he say no to a personal chauffeur? All he had to do was sit prettily and blast his one-hour playlist until the car was parked in front of his childhood abode. And after eating and helping with the dishes, you would be gone, back to your own family house a couple of streets away—convenient.

You knew you were just a tool to Katsuki, his lackey, but you were also as stubborn as a mule.

And as dumb as a clown…

After many years hounding for Katsuki’s attention, you finally got it when you were both twenty five. The first time he kissed you, he was drunk in your apartment. He was frustrated with a colleague who screwed up an important meeting with a potential client and decided to come rant your ears off with two packs of beer—one for him, one for you.

You never thought the night would end up with him pinning you to the floor, his mouth devouring yours and his hands popping the buttons of your work shirt until your bra-clad tits showed.

“Thought you would follow me anywhere,” said Katsuki, red eyes locked onto you from where he was, face nestled between the soft mounds of your breasts. “But you chose a different company, live far away from me, texting seven times in seven months. Traitor.”

“You’re heavy.” Your words struggled to come out. From when he used to be lanky and the same height as you, he was none of that now. The growth spurt hit him like a freight train. In the blink of an eye, he grew into a giant of a man, tall and filled with muscles, even more so now that he was in his salaryman era. You wondered how he still found time to work out as often as he did when you barely caught any sleep.

After graduation, you both landed jobs in different companies. And if you were being honest with yourself, you would say the reason you accepted the offer was partly because running after Katsuki and answering his every beck and call started to… tire you. Forced by duty and responsibility, it helped you distance yourself away from him. Cause Lord, you doubted you could have done it on your own.

Getting his text today saying he would come visit, you were dumbfounded, even thinking it was a joke til you got another text an hour later saying he arrived.

You shouldn’t have let him in, shouldn’t have reconnected. You were almost off the noose before he came and adjusted the knot, tightening it. After that night, he came visit once a week on Friday. Kisses slowly evolved into soft touches, then heavy petting, and finally—sex.

Fucking your brain out, that was what he did most of the times, leaving your ass red and face wet from crying. On rare occasions, it was slow, deep, like he wanted to mold you into the shape of his cock. But all was intense, asking for eye contact and name-saying, and it was Katsuki who did the asking, which surprised you to no end.

“You wanna come home? Mom and dad miss you,” mumbled Katsuki one autumn night. It had been three months since that first drunken kiss. “They got a new dog. But old people are always lonely, hell knows why.”

With that, not only him, but the monthly visit returned, too.

Their dog was a loudmouthed chihuahua named Katsumi. It barked at you non-stop from the moment you got out of the car, louder when Mitsuki raced out the front door to hug you. After dinner, it found you and Katsuki in the laundry room with its master’s teeth nibbling down your neck and barked snappily, making Katsuki jump.

When you let out a roar of laughter, his eyes widened with a look of what seemed like wonder. His pupils dilated when he leaned down to take your lips in a fierce kiss. For a moment, everything was perfect.

Had you mentioned being dumb?

A month later, there was a knock on your door. Katsuki hips slowed down mid-pounding before he stepped back from you and the bed, leaving you empty.

“Keep your ass up. Don’t fucking move.”

You only let out a soft hum as a response, not understanding why or who would be here at this hour. Were you too loud? Maybe someone was here to complain. You pondered, face still down against the soft mattress with your rear up as instructed. Katsuki would handle them, whoever they were.

“Well, I see why you never call anymore, Katsuki-kun.”

The voice was close, too close—its owner was in the bedroom with you. When the realization hit, you bolted, shooting out of your position and scooting back, all the while pulling the duvet up to shield your nakedness from the newcomer’s eyes.

She was a woman about your age and height, standing at the foot of the bed in a skimpy dress.

“Do me a favor. Shut the fuck up,” said Katsuki, confirming they really did know each other.

It was like your brain stopped functioning. You saw Katsuki walking towards you but was too slow to think what your next move should be. So you let him pull you to him by the duvet because you wouldn’t let go of it. When he sat you on his lap, you felt something wet gliding down your cheeks.

“Hush now, princess.” He wiped the dripping drops with both of his thumbs. “You seriously thought our relationship was exclusive? You thought you fixed me?”

Another set of fat tears cascaded down when he kissed you, seasoning the kiss salty.

“Seven months, seven texts, no calls,” he said. “Who do you think you fucking are, leaving me like that?”

You knew, you knew it was too good to be true. And when he turned to the other side to kiss the woman who was now naked and sitting on the bed—your bed–beside him, you also knew it was time to let go. The silly crush, the well-kept love letter, the admiration that you should have weaned off long ago—they all needed to go.

Getting up from his lap while he was distracted, you gathered your clothes off the floor and left the bedroom without turning back. You got dressed in the living room and closed the front door silently when you left the apartment. You didn’t want him to hear, not wanting to cause a scene, not wanting to see him anymore.

You were sitting in the car in the apartment parking lot, trying to find a hotel to crash at when you got a text from Katsuki.

‘you thought you got me huh?’

You blocked him.

There was only a month left on your apartment’s lease; you would give a notice to your landlord tomorrow that you would move. Everything would be alright, you told yourself. Katsuki might never bother you anymore since he had got what he wanted—your absolute humiliation.

It was different from that one time he told you to stay and watch him rail the life out of that girl when you were in college. At that time, you knew you were nothing to him, knew he did that to hurt you. This time, you thought you were something to him. And it hurt, a thousand times worse to realize that you weren’t, and that he still wanted to hurt you.

—

Shit, shit, shit, shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Those were the only words spinning around in his head since you were gone, really gone. You walked out of that door so fucking demurely. Even when he stopped kissing his ex-booty call to listen, he didn’t hear you wail or see you come crawling back.

So he texted, leaving the girl he called here to demean you to quickly type on his phone. When the message was marked ‘read’ but got no response, he cursed, “Fuck!”

“Come on, Katsuki-kun. Let’s have some fun,” the girl whined.

“Sh!” He shushed her, still tapping the screen.

She probably looked at him like he was possessed by an evil spirit, but he couldn’t care less.

‘Who did you think you were? My gf? Lol.’

He was so in a hurry he forgot to type in lowercase.

‘Lovesick foll’

‘*fool’

‘Where u going’

‘Dont wanna watch’

‘?’

You didn’t read at all except for the first text. That made him get off the bed and get dressed, running out of the apartment to punch the elevator down to the first floor. When he exited the building, your sedan was already on the street; he saw the taillights, remembered the plate. It got farther in each second that passed, and there was not a darn thing he could do about it.

Fuck, shit, fuck, shit, fuck shit, fucking fuck.

For some reason he knew, this time, you were gone for good. Not an absence the next day at school after he told you he lost his virginity to some girl in another class, not the seven months with a few texts to check in with him. This time, it was for good.

Like hell he was gonna let that happen.

—

You ended up staying at the hotel for a week, scared Katsuki might still be lurking around. While you knew he got his biggest fill of breaking you this time, you wanted to be sure. Then, as soon as you found a new place, you moved out.

At work, you asked your boss, Aizawa, for a transfer to another branch, telling him it was for personal reasons. You swore you saw him squint his weary eyes, but after asking you a couple more questions, he agreed nonetheless.

“If it were stress, it’d be no different in another branch. Hope you know that,” Aizawa drawled.

“I do, sir,” you replied, tired from the poor quality of sleep your situation and the hotel bed gave you.

“And as soon as possible, you say?”

“Yes, sir,” you affirmed. “Please.”

The transfer was done in one week, all thanks to your boss.

Restarting your mundane life, it took two months for you to regain some sort of peace found in everyday’s routine—waking up, going to work, coming home, sleeping, waking up again. There was no contact from Katsuki, only the ghost of his taunts that came hand in hand with the memories of his caresses you could not dispel remained, making guilt creep up your spine every time you touched yourself to climax imagining it was his hand.

You would find someone else. You and Katsuki, it was ten years in the making. You were fifteen years old on that rooftop, confessing to a boy you thought was the most beautiful person in the world, having no clue how your action would play out. It would not be possible to banish those ten years in two months, no matter how despicable he was to you. And that was a shame.

It took one phone call from Mitsuki to disrupt your normalcy.

“I just wanted to know how you were doing, honey.” said Katsuki’s mom, sounding worried. “It’s just—you’re gone again, like those months. And Katsuki won’t tell me what’s going on, which means something must have happened. I need to—I—”

She was trying to find words, and you didn’t want to interrupt.

“I need to know you’re okay.” She finally let it out. “Just come visit, honey. You don’t have to bring my son.”

“We miss you.”

It was those words that brought you to the Bakugou house the following weekend.

“Oh, honey.” Misuki stopped before you, eyeing you from head to toe. Katsumi barked incessantly, all the while trying to sniff the bag of fresh-baked cookies you bought for the family. When the woman beckoned you to come close and enfolded you in her arms, you teared up a bit.

“That airhead of a son,” the older woman grumbled.

Getting in the house thwarted all the cold delightfully. You put your coat on the couch next to where you sat, waiting for the tea Mitsuki said she was going to get. You always liked the Bakugou house, asking Katsuki to walk him home every day just to see it from the outside. He never let you in. Ironically enough, it was never him who invited you in, it was his mom.

Where was Mitsuki now? You looked around for the matriarch, but instead, you saw Katsuki.

“About time you showed up.”

There was so much fighting, so much push and pull, and trying to run away, and crying for help; yet, no one came. Katsuki had to carry you on his shoulder to go upstairs because you resisted profusely and refused to walk on your own.

Door closed, lock clicked. A second later, you were dropped on his bed unceremoniously. You had never been in his room before and didn’t want to now. But since there was no choice, you took the opportunity to look around, taking everything in.

His room was so… boy. A drum set in one corner, an expensive-looking gaming PC in another with a shelf filled with mangas and action figures next to it, posters of his favorite anime character plastering all over the walls.

You remembered he liked All Might, the blonde-haired hero from a shonen manga you didn’t read but knew every detail from Katsuki’s ceaseless babble. You even broke into your savings buying a dozen raffle tickets till you won the big prize—a large figure he said he was saving up for—and gave it to him as a birthday present.

He probably didn’t keep it.

“Don’t be mad at mom, okay? I was on my knees begging her for help. That was on me,” Katsuki spoke softly, as if he was trying not to spook you. “Old hag hit me so hard dad had to intervene. But I’m her son. You understand, right? She would never abandon me.”

It was him between you and the door; you just needed to get past him, unlock the door and run. Slowly, you got out of the bed to stand on your own feet. The moment they touched the floor, however, was brief. Because Katsuki leaped from where he stood, taking him only two strides before he got you again.

Back on the bed, you fought him tooth and nail, punching, kicking, biting, while he tried to sedate you with a soothing voice. But there was nothing soothing or gentle about this man—a monster. You saw through him.

His grip on your wrists was immovable, anchoring you to the bed with one hand. He caged your body with his, examining you like a predator sizing up its prey, his presence all domineering, demanding obedience.

“Shhh, settle down. I’m not gonna hurt you,” he coaxed.

“Let me go!”

All you could move now was your legs, which you did to your best ability, but to no avail. Katsuki waited it out, allowing you to try however you want to get away without saying anything. Eventually, you stilled, so exhausted you couldn't move anymore.

“There, there. That’s my good princess,” he murmured, his usual harsh features softening.

Frustration brought tears to your eyes. It took less than you thought, easier than expected, to suck it all up and spill everything that occupied your mind.

“What do you want? What do you want from me, Katsuki? I'm sorry I confessed to you that day. It was pathetic. I was pathetic. But please—please.” Your voice got hoarse and lost at the second please. You had to cough to get it back. “I have learned my lesson. You and me, it will never happen—will never work out. I know that now. I get it, believe me, I do,” you choked through your tears, pleading. “I won't like you anymore, Katsuki, so please—let me go.”

“Like me?” he reiterated. “I thought you loved me.”

“What?”

He sighed, his free hand searching for something in one of his sweatpants’ pockets. When he pulled his hand out, you saw a letter—the one you gave it to him and got rejected. All these years, it had been kept with you, safely in your trinket box. Now, it was in his hand, opened. He finally accepted it, but at what cost?

“I need you to read it to me,” he commanded, “out loud.”

“Please, don’t make me do this.”

“Listen,” he said. “I’m going to let go of your wrists and give you this letter that you wrote for me, and you’re going to read it—word—for—word.” He used the envelope to brush down the bridge of your nose. “If you tear it up—if you do, princess—I’m going to make you rewrite it. And it better be as good, if not better, than this one.”

He let go of your wrists and gave you the letter.

“Oh, and if you run,” he added. “I’ll catch you, and we start over. Clear?”

You nodded and took the envelope, hands shaking noticeably when you took the letter out. Everything was under Katsuki’s observation. He sat astride your thighs without putting all his weight on you, waiting patiently.

“To Katsuki, if you are reading this, that means you accepted my letter, thank you!” You wiped tears out of your eyes to see better. “I know you get a lot of letters like this. It must be a bit of a hassle reading love confessions everyday, right? But please bear with me, I will try to keep this—”

Interrupted, you looked past the letter and saw Katsuki lifting the hem of your sweater up and leaning down to place a kiss on your exposed stomach.

“Go on,” he prompted. “Don’t mind me. Don’t stop.”

“I will try to keep this short,” you continued, completing the last sentence, trying to ignore the fact that your jeans were being unbuttoned and pulled down. “You know, girls in our class often say they love your hair, your eyes, but a lot of them are scared of your personality.” You felt his breath through your panties, hot. “I disagree. I think you are nice, brave, and kind. And don’t get me wrong, I love your hair and eyes too.”

“You’re cute, baby,” said Katsuki as he pried your legs open. Without taking off the underwear, he licked your pussy through it.

“Katsuki!”

Dragging his tongue up, he mumbled, “Keep reading.”

“And I love you.” You read on and saw his eyes roll back at that specific sentence.

Suddenly, he switched from licking to sucking, making the crotch all wet with his saliva. You were preparing to read the next part when he made it all the more difficult by moving aside the damp fabric and rubbing his face into your naked cunt. His nose, lips, chin, all soaked in your embarrassing glossy juice. You cursed yourself for giving in, for getting wet.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

You let out a sob, raising the letter in your hands up again to read.

“I know we don’t know each other well, and this feeling is not reciprocated—”

Why did he have to slurp the juice like that? He made it hard, so hard for you.

“I’m—just a classmate after—all. But what I said, I said it with—a sincere—heart. So even if—you don’t love me back, please—let me keep—this feeling, I promise I—will treasure it.”

Panting sharply, you stopped before the next paragraph when you felt his tongue massaging your clit. Grasping his hair with both of your hands, you forgot you still held the letter. There was an audible scrunch when it was crumpled up in one of your fists.

Katsuki stopped dead in his tracks, glaring up from below; his red orbs seemed redder all of a sudden. “Did you just crumple the letter?”

You pulled your hands back quickly when you realized, strengthening out the paper as best as you could. The creases weren’t that bad. You showed it to him, ensuring that it was still intact.

He relaxed. You released a held breath.

Back to concentrating on the handwritten texts, this time, you vowed to not look at him anymore and would just just read through everything as fast as you could—getting it done. Nevertheless, when he was back on eating your pussy and pride out, it did not get easier, Katsuki still managed to make you writhe like your life depended on it.

“One more thing, I don’t know if you remember, but thank you for—saving me that day in front of the mini mart.” You tried to recall the event, the beginning of everything. “The thief would have—hurt me, and I would have lost—my wallet.”

And it was just that, just you trying to yank your wallet back from the thief's hands, the popsicle you just bought lying on the ground, melting. The store staff was on the phone with the police—you heard it—but they didn’t come out. Katsuki did.

When the thief was about to lay his hand on you, the blonde haired boy whom you recognized as your classmate kicked him in the shin. Moving fast, Katsuki then slammed his school backpack on the thief’s head, once, twice, thrice, on and on until he knocked him out.

“You were my hero.” You read the last sentence, finishing the letter as he finished you.

You set the paper down on your side, finally freed from the evidence of your teenage self’s stupidity. Feeling weightless from the orgasm, all you could do was stare at the ceiling. After what felt like forever, Katsuki appeared in your field of vision, hovering over you, now shirtless… and pantless. You weren’t aware when he took them off, too lost in your own world.

“You can't just stop loving me,” he said before bending down to kiss your cheek, then whispered, “Take responsibility. Be true to your words, dumbass.”

“Katsuki, you’re being selfish.” You turned your face away, fleeing him.

His red eyes sharpened. “After all this time you have showered me with love and attention, and you want to—take it away?”

“There will be others who love you and give you all the attention you need,” you argued. “I’m not that person.”

“No! Fucking no! Shut up!” he barked, turning your face back to him and silencing you with a kiss.

Even with the heater warming up the room, the cold air that seeped through the walls and windows still reached your naked form. After being rid of your sweater, bra, and drenched panties, the only warmth you could find was from Katsuki’s body. And he made sure to share it with you so generously.

Pain after pain, bite after bite. Katsuki would not stop no matter how desperately you begged him to. Your skin was his canvas, not only your neck, but your cheeks, breasts, belly, arms, thighs, calves; they were tender and hurt to touch. You would have to refrain yourself from looking into the mirror for too long, maybe. Luckily it was winter, this way, nobody would bat an eye if you covered yourself up like it was minus twenty celsius.

“I’m gonna fuck you raw, okay? Haven’t fucked anyone since you left. You gotta take care of me, princess.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” you returned. “You fucked that girl.”

And it still hurt just thinking about it.

“Did not.”

Even so, had he gone mad? He sounded like it. Wearing condoms was the strictest rule of his when it came to sex. As far as you knew, he never broke it once, not for anyone, not for you. But you could be wrong—you didn’t want to—because now, he actually looked eager to go through with it, fucking you bareback.

Too risky, too intimate.

“You’ll regret it. Please just—think before you act.”

Trying to reason with Katsuki, you also attempted to move away. Big mistake. Catching you by your thighs, he forced himself closer and wrapped your legs around his waist. Then, he placed his unshielded cock on your folds and pushed it down a bit for the head to slither in, just the tip, nothing more.

“Katsuki, no!”

“Katsuki, yes,” he said, mockingly, and shoved it all in.

—

The bed shook and squeaked annoyingly from how hard he rammed into your tight weeping hole, but the moans you were trying, but not so successfully, to suppress were so adorable he was able to overlook it and focus on you instead. He never knew his bed did this, never brought anyone home to fuck before.

He almost spilled in the first five minutes, having to slow down to prolong the feeling of being wrapped and rubbed by a pussy, skin to skin. And you—lying there with your brows frowned and tits bouncing—did not help shit. Trying feebly to push him away when he swooped down for a kiss only stirred up his excitement, making him go rougher until you gasped and gave in.

What a soft and tempting little lamb you were. He wanted to brand you with his cum and give you his fucking name, knocking you up with a couple of brats for you and him to take to school and hear a teacher address you as Mrs. Bakugou with his own ears.

Since the day you handed him that letter, you had never been anyone else’s but his. Must have been fate, he didn’t know, didn’t care about a what-if either. His only regret was that he could have had a taste of you sooner, but he would call it a story arc and leave it at that—he had you now anyway.

“Say my name, princess,” he demanded.

“Kat—suki.”

“Again.”

“Katsuki!”

This was worth it. The tirade of rebuke his mom delivered to his ears and the smacks on the head while saying she never taught him to be like this when he came clean about what he did to you—all was worth it.

“I’ll get her back, mom,” Katsuki convinced. “We’ll get her back.”

“You better.”

It was convenient that his mom already liked you as if you were the one who popped out of her vagina and not him. Well, they were the same in that aspect. Who would have thought it would come to this day, the day he wanted to trap you in his home, when just a decade earlier, he would never have had the slightest idea of granting you the permission to step past the front gate.

“She’s a good kid,” his mom commented. “The same girl who walked you home and bought you that All Might figure, no?”

“Yeah.” Katsuki rolled his eyes.

“Aha.”

“Will you help me or not?” he asked, irritated. He had been kneeling at her feet for like fifteen minutes.

“Watch your tone, boy.” Mitsuki’s voice hardened. His dad’s hand over her shoulder rubbed gently to calm her quick temper down.

“Tch!”

The tiny mutt chose that moment to strut into the living room, stealing his mom’s attention. She leaned down to pick it up and put it on her lap. It looked down at him, tongue lolling out of its mouth. Conceited little fucker.

“You know why I named her Katsumi, Katsuki?”

“Oh, don’t give me that shit.”

“Katsuki,” his dad said in a reprimanding tone.

“She reminds me of you, angry for no reason, always bark, bark, bark. It gets lonely around here, so why not.” Mitsuki smiled, scratching her new child’s head. “And you—remind me of her.”

Katsuki squinted his eyes, kinda knew where this was going.

“A dog, waiting for its owner to come home.”

She was not wrong.

“Yes, I will help you, son.”

A series of bangs on the door broke through the memory and his euphoria. He just came, hard, pouring his pent-up, ripe seeds far up your cunt, and someone wanted to butt in now? Katsuki huffed, but refused to get up and find out who wanted what, dead set on keeping you plugged up.

Another rapping on the door, then a voice followed. “That’s enough, Katsuki. Let the poor thing out.”

Of course, it had to be his mom.

“Go away, hag.”

“Bakugou Katsuki!”

“We’ll be out!”

Just not now. He omitted, and it worked. Mitsuki carried a string of grumbles and footsteps with her, leaving nothing behind. Katsuki turned to you, still under him, in time to see you avert your gaze away. Cute.

“Can I go now?” you asked.

“No.” He changed positions, turning over onto his back and getting you on top of him, cock still snug inside your walls. He hoped he didn’t spill a single drop.

“Katsuki, I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“Then don’t, baby.”

“I can’t live like this. Please”—you pleaded with your eyes—“don't hurt me anymore.”

He couldn’t help but feel a pang in his heart at your frail tone. Looking at you, he saw a woman with dark rings under her eyes, beautiful, but she looked like she had seen better days—a stark contrast to the girl who held out a letter towards him on that spring day, wind in her hair, kindness abundant enough to share.

Before he knew it, words were out of his mouth. “I wish I had hurt you less.”

It would not have been possible for him to not hurt you at all. He knew himself well enough to believe otherwise. He also knew, for certain, how he would like the story to go.

“Do you still love me? Like you wrote in that letter.” he whispered. “Am I still your hero, princess?”

“You don’t”—you gritted your teeth—“have the right to ask me those questions.”

“I’ll be yours. I want to.” And fuck, he really did, just thinking about it woke his flaccid cock up, rigid again inside of you. Putting his hands on both of your asscheeks, he grinded you up and down. “Do you still love me?”

You kept quiet, unyielding, only small, faint gasps could be heard.

“Guess that’s not important.” Katsuki decided. “I’ll keep you first—fuck the answer out of you later.”

Panic flashed upon your expression at his declaration, and gasps turned into lustful whimpers when he started slamming your hips up and down his erect shaft.

“How long are you gonna make me wait? A year? A decade? As revenge, maybe?” He took your sweet mouth, hand pressing down the nape of your neck to keep it still. “House will be full of brats by then, but take your time, princess.”

“This will never work out. It won’t. It won’t,” you cried, shutting your eyes tight. “I can’t share you.”

Katsuki didn’t know why, but you not wanting to share him was sexy as shit. The mere thought of sharing you, however, made him want to put something on fire. Was this jealousy people were talking about? It burnt like a bitch.

“Who said anything about sharing?” he grunted, slapping your jouncing ass, making you squeal. “And this goes both ways, princess. Don’t think I would let anyone touch you.”

He was pissed just imagining it, which was nowhere near healthy, but who wanted that. He just wanted you, in any way he possibly could.

“I’m—I’m gonna come,” you spluttered, convulsing around him.

“That’s it. Come on my cock, baby. Make your man proud.”

Your velvety walls tightened, constricting his cock and milking it when ropes of cum shot out.

Sucked dry and spent, Katsuki closed his eyes and tried to rein in his breath. When he reopened them, it was to check if you were still with him—you were, resting on his chest with one cheek against it. Out of cuteness aggression, he pinched the other side.

You let out a short screech. “That hurt!”

The thought of marking you reared its head, biting where it hadn’t been bitten yet, hurting you a little more. But he stifled it, saving it for later.

Steering himself to another matter, he said, “You never texted me back.”

“I blocked you.”

“Figured.” Katsuki nodded.

“Deserved.”

“Unblock me.”

You sighed.

—

The messages wouldn’t go through even if you unblocked him. That was how the application worked, which was fine with him. Scrolling through the one-sided chat, he could sense urgency and desperation through each letter, and some messages actually sounded mental. It would be for the best if you didn’t see them.

‘Answer’

‘i didn’t fuck her, she left. Now fucking answer’

‘come back, i wont be mad. where u at.’

‘I am still at your apartment, u. didn’t come back. where r u’

‘i fucking found your letter. i’ll find u too’

“You—kept my present?”

Katsuki looked up from his phone to your towel-swathed form, fresh out of the shower. Following your line of sight, he was directed to the bottom of the bookshelf where an All Might figure was set—his seventeenth birthday present from you. It was one of his top favorites, but he would never tell you that.

“I’m not stupid enough to throw things I like away, I’ll have you know.” He scowled and went back to scrolling on his phone.

‘so u moved away huh?’

‘need you. don’t wanna fuck my hand anymore :(’

‘never mind, bitch’

‘u love me huh?’

‘Pathetic’

‘didnt mean that’

‘need u’

‘i'm an attention seeking whore who abuses your love to get the validation i want.’

‘sorry’

‘there i said it.’

‘now come back’

Yeah, you didn’t have to know any of that.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x you #katsuki x reader #mha x reader #mha smut #bnha smut #bnha x reader #bnha bakugou #tw.breeding

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butterymangowrites · 8 months ago

Text

dad thief

paring: dabi / todoroki touya x fem reader

warnings: smut, non-con/dub-con, cum eating, creampie, childhood friends to enemies to whatever this is, obsessive dabi, possessive dabi, jealousy, non-con filming, blackmail, endeavor is a shitty dad but you both have daddy issues, child abuse, domestic violence, hate sex

word count: 2.5k

Even captured by one of the most dangerous villains in Japan, you still had the audacity to smirk. He wanted so much to wipe it off your face, make you sullen, make you regret. You had always been a pain in the ass, a bitch, and a dad thief.

—

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked.

What Touya saw was you, a girl his age whom he had been friends with for a while now, wearing an Endeavor’s T-shirt two times your size. “That’s my dad on your shirt.”

“I know.” You smirked, didn’t tell him you stole it from someone, just like all the merches you had at home because you couldn’t afford to buy one. “He’s my fav hero after all.”

Having a fire quirk, you related so much to the number 2 hero. Meeting Touya was the best coincidence you could ever hope for.

But Touya hated it, your quirk was powerful, not more than his, but so much more stable. At Least you didn’t get burnt every time you tried to use it. His dad looked at you like you were a gift from God, given to him to replace his own incompetent children. You had become Endeavor’s favorite in such a short time.

—

“So you’re still my dad’s simp,” the white haired villain said, looking at you from an old couch where he lay down, shirtless, his torso patched up with staples holding burnt skins to the body so they didn’t fall off. He looked like a doll that the owner didn’t want to throw away and chose to keep repairing.

“Rich coming from someone with daddy issues.” Standing at his feet, you peered down at him. He had changed a lot, appearance-wise. Half of his face was burnt and stapled just like his body. With black hair, piercings, and impassive demeanor, he became someone else entirely, fooling everyone even his own family—he became Dabi. But those eyes, those were Touya’s eyes. “That was a desperate act back there, airing the plot twist on tv and shit.”

It was amazing how quickly you got on his nerves. Dabi pounced from the couch and grabbed you by the neckline of your hero costume. You staggered forward from his pull but let him drag you to the couch and down onto him who now had his head back on the armrest. His hands adjusted your legs to straddle his waist, positioning you to his heart’s content. Your skin-tight suit was for sure fireproof; yet, you still felt heat emitted from the bare skin of Dabi’s naked torso.

Seeing him face to face this close, you couldn’t help but tease your childhood friend a tad. “Fuck, you’re ugly. No wonder your dad didn’t remember you.”

“This mouth of yours,” Dabi tsked, placing his index finger on your hot lips, “fucking needs to be shut.”

He lifted the finger from your lips to point to the opposite side of the couch where a TV should be if there was one. Instead, there was a camcorder set up on a tripod, an ominous red dot blinking rhythmically.

“It’s recording us,” Dabi said. “I’m gonna fuck you on it.”

“Tsk, tsk. What happened to dates and dinners?”

His expression shifted dangerously. And you yelped, loud, when he suddenly snaked his hand around to unzip your suit from the back.

“Touya, knock it off!” You swatted his hand. But too late, you already felt the suit loosen.

“As I was saying,” Dabi continued, “I’m gonna film us fuck.”

Heat crawled onto your back when he slipped his hand under the open suit and started to skim around.

“But since I’m a generous man, I’m giving you two choices.” He tapped on your back once before saying, “Be a good girl and I’m keeping the footage”—he tapped twice—“or not, and I’m sending it to Endeavor’s office so he can see his favorite intern getting dicked up, down, six ways to Sunday by his eldest son.”

His body heated up a little more; you knew it was from excitement.

“Do you think you’ll still be his favorite after that? I don’t think so if you asked me.”

You were… speechless.

“Come on, am I really ugly?” He nudged his face against yours, which was so Touya of him. “I’ve heard people say I’m still hot, baby.”

“Yeah, hot like the fire that burnt you this bad,” you countered.

He guffawed. “So, what will it be?”

You thought about burning him, burning this whole place down, but your flame was no match for his. Having experienced what he could do firsthand on the battlefield, you would not withstand his flame—you would die.

Contrary to his belief, you were not Endeavor’s favorite. That spot belonged to Shoto since the day he was born. Touya was just dumb and blinded by jealousy and prejudice to actually see it. You were nothing compared to Shoto—you and Touya were nothing compared to the half-hot half-cold prodigy. But Touya was not totally wrong, you still wanted to be his dad’s number 1, not wanting to disappoint the only man you considered a father figure.

But fuck if you didn’t hate Touya. “I’m not choosing shit.”

So he chose for you, tongue plunging down your throat while his cock drove in and out of your cunt. Standing in front of the camera, Touya stood behind you with his scarred arms around your midsection, forcing your whole body tight against him. Every short thrust made your breasts jiggle and eyes roll. The camcorder got it all—the visual, the sound. Even with Touya’s kiss shutting you up, you weren’t really silenced. And without it, you were loud.

“Fuck baby, you like it that much?”

You would have closed your mouth if your hands weren’t stuck in his suffocating embrace. “Not—that good.”

Touya chuckled. “Yeah?”

He quickened the pace, and your brain almost shut itself down.

“Stop,” you cried, legs starting to shake. That was when he really stopped. That dickhole.

“This is what bad girls get.” He said, withdrawing his cock but still not releasing you from his clasp. When he walked back to the couch, he hauled you with him like a child hauling a big bag of toys to his secret lair.

Guiding you to sit on him—again—you still faced the camcorder.

“Dad, are you watching? Look at me. Am I doing good?” One of his hands mapped a path up to fondle your tits, switching left and right to pay his utmost attention into making you squirm out of your human seat.

But he didn’t plan to let you go. His other free hand jerked his cock once, twice, before rubbing it on your still-wet pussy. No one was gonna believe you did not want this. Endeavor would not.

“Have you fucked her yet? Do you want to?” He grinned against your temple.

You swore out a soft ‘fuck’ when his cock eased its way in. It was burnt, too. Not as bad that it had to be patched up, but you could feel the bumpy texture against your moist walls.

“You know my dad is an abusive bastard, right? Fucking neglecting his own wife and children. He beat mom, too, have you heard? Did he have the guts to tell you that?” he said, tilting your head up so you could see him looking down at you. You were so hot he prayed his dad hadn’t touched you, he might never let him, too good of a pussy to share.

“He’s not a good replacement for your scumbag of a father, trust me.”

—

“I can do that, too,” you said from behind the bush you had been hiding, starling the boy you directed the sentence to. He jumped. You laughed. You had been watching him practice for almost half an hour. He looked sort of tired now.

“Look,” you said before doing the same trick you saw him do, making a flame dance on one hand and moving it to the other hand like you were juggling a ball.

He frowned, not looking very impressed, but didn’t take his eyes off you.

That was the first day you met Touya—making friends with him—and after that, coming out to meet him almost every day. Soon after, you got to meet his family. Your eyes almost bugged out of their sockets when you saw who his dad was.

The big man spared you only a glance when Touya first introduced you to him. The second glance, however, came after Touya said you had a fire quirk.

Shoto was only two at the time, too young for his dad’s intensive training.

Two years later, when Endeavor asked if you wanted to train with his youngest who had just turned four and you said yes, Touya didn’t talk to you for three days. On the fourth day, he didn’t let you in when you rang the doorbell.

“Go away, dad thief.”

But you didn’t want to. The Todoroki house was your paradise, the highlight of your day. Since Touya brought you to his home, you had been here everyday, spending your weekdays’ after-school time and whole days on weekends playing with the Todoroki siblings—Fuyumi, Natsuo and Touya himself if he wasn’t a bitch, complaining that his sister and brother hogged you all for themselves, and leaving dramatically to play alone, expecting you to follow.

He was possessive like that. One time, he locked you in a room to only play with him. Rei—his mom—had to use a spare key to unlock the room and scolded her eldest.

Now, the table had turned. Since your weekdays’ playtime had turned into training sessions, Touya was shunning you.

“Go back to your shitty father,” he said through the crack of the side door before slamming it to your face.

He played dirty mentioning your dad like that when he was the one who followed you to your ratty excuse of a home one day and saw your dad slap you on the face for no reason. It was a low blow since he was the one who interfered just before your dad used his fire quirk on you and your mother who was trying to shield you from the oncoming flame. Despite being the one who helped you that day, he used the fact that you had one of the worst dads a child could ever ask for to hurt you. You hated him so damn much for that.

“Just you wait, Touya. One day, I’ll really steal him from you,” you said to the closed door, knowing he was still behind it. Tears were flowing down your face, but it was alright because Touya would not see them—because he would not open the door for you, and you resented him for it.

How… wrong you were.

“No.”

Just when you walked back to the hand-me-down bicycle you got from the person you were most angry at at the moment—he was kind for that; you had to admit—you heard him before you heard the door open. Wiping the tears off your face, you turned to him and haughtily asked, “No what?”

Touya didn’t answer. His eyes were locked onto your shirt.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked.

“That’s my dad on your shirt.”

“I know.” You smirked. “He’s my fav hero after all.”

Touya scrunched his nose, his hair that used to be red at the ends was now full white. Then all of a sudden, he jumped you.

You shrieked. It must have been a jaw-dropping scene for a passerby if there had been one—two 12-year-old children grabbing each other’s hair on the floor, fighting with their little hands.

“Get off me!!” you screamed, but Touya who successfully got on top of you just laughed maniacally. Looking back, he sounded a bit too psychotic for a child.

He shouted into your ear, “Dad is mine! Dad is mine!”

From the corner of your eyes, you saw someone’s feet.

“Touya-nii! Stop!” It was Fuyumi. “Mom, help!”

The hands in your hair didn’t relent one bit despite the call for an adult who was soon surely going to rip his ears off if he didn’t get off you, but he did quiet down.

“You’re mine, too,” he said softly into the ear he was shouting into before. “Dad’s not home today. Let’s play. You and me, okay? No Fuyumi-chan and Natsuo-kun. Just you and me.”

The next thing you knew, he was pulled off you by his mother. Touya didn’t shed a tear when Rei spanked him in the ass, asking why he did that to you. She told him to apologize.

“I’m sorry.”

You knew he wasn’t. But he sounded genuine enough Rei let him off with only a one-week-no-tv punishment.

—

To you, he had been… off since that day. Today, he was full-blown unhinged.

Your legs were spread wide over his own open ones, basically preventing you from trying to close them and hide your fucked pussy from the camcorder. His hands were busy, one grasping at your waist for leverage while the other circling over your clit. You were all bare to the camera with Touya’s cock ramming in and out, concentration drifting like smoke in the wind, so close to coming.

“Such a good cunt. I’ll fuck it everyday”—he panted—“come in it. You can count on me.”

“Don’t—”

“I’ll be a good boyfriend. Will never fucking stray,” he prattled on. “Won’t hit you. Won’t be like dad. You’ll see.”

You tried to hold it, but the hand on your clit just didn’t stop, pushing you to the top and making your hips buck up uncontrollably Touya had to push you down so his dick didn’t slip out. You felt the throbbing when he spilled inside. The little shit really did it—he creamed your pussy.

“Want a taste?” Touya proposed, his hands spreading and closing your pussy to see the white thick cream dripping out.

“Don’t be disgusting.”

“Bet you drink his cum just to please him.”

“I never fucked your dad, you villain scum.”

“Mmmm.” You turned your head just in time to see Touya licking his fingers clean. When he saw you look, the menace put his tongue out to show his own cum on it. You knew what he would do next without a word being said and tried to turn away, but Touya grabbed your cheeks, stilling you, then he squeezed to force your mouth open.

His tongue invaded, feeding you his cum, and ending with a kiss. He took his time, like he had a lot on his hands, making sure you swallowed every drop.

“Not even sucking his dick?” He continued questioning you.

“No, you sicko.” You felt your body temperature rising, quirk activating, but didn’t let the fire come out.

“Bet you thought about it, dad thief.”

“Bet YOU thought about it, obsessive patchy bitch.”

He laughed with his whole chest, shaking your whole body with it. “Guess we both ain’t shit, baby.”

#dabi x reader #touya x reader #yandere touya x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #dabi smut #mha smut #bnha smut #bnha touya #yandere dabi #yandere bnha #yandere mha

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butterymangowrites · 9 months ago

Note

Heyo love 🌸💕 can I pls request a yendare Bokuto smutty preettty pls

hi babe!! thank you so much for your ask. i’m currently not accepting requests, but a bokuto smut has always been something i wanted to write. i’m not sure when, but i’ll probably come up with something. let’s see! thank you again! 💕💕💕

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butterymangowrites · 9 months ago

Text

strange progression

paring: eren yeager x fem reader

warnings: smut, dub-con, memory loss, genocide, war, eren is fucked in the head, possessive eren, toxic and manipulative eren, kidnapping, public sex, blood and gore, biting, domestic life, cabin eren >> but man-bun eren is also hawt so lets have both

word count: 2.9k

this work is purely fictional. i just finished aot, and it easily became one of the greatest shows i've ever watched. one of the reasons i love it so much is probably because it deals with the theme of morality. it's heavy, but very profound. this work is a canon-divergence; therefore, the cruelty shown in the show is also present here. but mostly, it's smut.

He always held you close, like he wanted to fuse his body with yours, as if the cock that was pounding in and out of you and his prominent presence weren’t enough to brand you as his irrevocably.

“Who are you with, darling?”

You had heard this question time and time again, a hint of desperation growing in his voice with each passing day.

“I’m with you,” you said, out of breath, to the person you were lying on top of; your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck. “I’m with you, Eren.”

“Who am I?”

“My husband.”

“That’s right. I am your husband.”

Eren Yeager was your husband. That was the only thing you knew when you opened your eyes four years ago to the ceiling of this very same cabin you now called home. Because he was there, holding your hand and waiting for you to wake up. Because he told you so.

His hair was dark brown, short, and his eyes were the greenest you had ever seen. That was before you realized you didn’t remember what green you had seen—you had no memories prior to that moment. Eren told you the war with Marley just ended, that you were caught in the crossfire when the Rumbling started. At the time, you didn’t know what the Rumbling or Marley were, so you just listened.

“Stay with me.”

You nodded to his neck, assuring him you weren’t going anywhere. He loved to make his presence known, making sure your attention never strayed far. You had no idea why. It was his thing. He loved to be close, touching you whenever he could, around the house, sometimes out of it, leading up to moments like this where he filled you up good and full.

It hadn’t always been like this, though.

—

It was a strange progression. You swore you saw something akin to hatred in his eyes sometimes in the first year of living together. You blamed it on the war, knowing Eren was a member of the Survey Corps who played a major role in winning the war against Marley. He was the Attack Titan who also possessed the power of the Founding Titan—the hero of Paradis who began the rumbling and saved his homeland.

But despite the victory, wars could take so much from a person, leaving only a shell filled with haunted flashes of horrible decisions.

It was hard for you too, having to see him space out when he thought no one was looking, having to be the one whom he took his frustration out on. It was rough when he fucked you for the first time—after your memory lost, at least—bending you in half till your ass didn’t touch the mattress and legs raised high. It was lewd, the way his hot cock drove in and out of your pussy. Eren’s grip was hard on your hair, forcing you to watch. He fucked you like he hated you; when you finally cried, he smiled so genuinely for once.

Things got better as days went by, so you thought you must have done something right. His face looked less hollow and his eyes less empty. After one year together, they even shone with delight whenever he came back from the Survey Corps headquarters after at least a week of absence due to how far it was from his cabin.

He tried to be home as much as he could; you knew he did. For a man who could barely keep his hands to himself whenever you were near and stared everyone off when he took you to the town market, you were surprised he didn't take you to work. You were clingy yourself, but Eren was on a whole other level.

“Greta brought us some potatoes last week,” you recounted the events that happened while he was at work. You both lay on a big white blanket next to each on the riverbank near home. “She couldn’t stop talking about you.”

People loved your husband, revered him. Some were like Greta, coming to your house with gifts just to see Eren.

“You need to stop letting people into our house when I’m not home.” He turned on his side to you. “Didn’t we talk about this?”

“It’s Greta,” you said, your face only a hair’s breadth away from his.

When the Greta in question was a 60 year-old woman, you didn’t have the heart to turn her away.

“Hmm,” he hummed, his hand tucking your hair behind your ear. “What did the old hag say?”

“Very rude, pretty boy,” you chided him, but laughed still.

You were lost in thought a bit before you answered, “Many things, mostly your heroic acts, how you saved Paradis, the usual.” You surveyed his face before continuing. He seemed alright, disinterested even. “She claimed your Titan’s form on the Rumbling day was—imposing—magnificent. I can’t help but want to see it too, you know?”

“You don’t,” he sharply retorted.

And won’t… Greta said the power of the Titans had been eradicated from the world since the war ended three years ago. You would never get to see it, not when you were awake. But when you slept, sometimes you would dream about them, the Titans, seeing them from afar. In some dreams, you would stand on the ground, looking up at one. The earth was flattened, and among the rubble and blood… was you.

When Eren called you by your name, bringing you back to the riverbank, you were on your back staring up at him instead of the sky, your wrists pinned to the ground by his strong hands.

“With me,” he said.

“Yes, Eren.”

—

As time passed, the dreams persisted, always the same ones. It was the start of your sixth year with Eren that you had a new one—a blonde girl in a white dress, leading you through a field of sand towards a pillar of light shaped like a tree.

—

There were four things Eren asked of Founder Ymir when he successfully persuaded her to side with him instead of his brother, Zeke. One, the Rumbling that would lead the Titans in Wall Maria to trample on Marley. Two, the elimination of all Titans and their powers, all except the ones he possessed. Three, the eradication of the Curse of Ymir, in order to live more than the lifespan of 13 years. And four, to erase the memories of one Eldian woman he brought all the way from Marley—you.

With this, Paradis had won the war against Marley. The fact that Eren Yeager would still be in possession of his Titans was not known by anyone, not even his close friends like Mikasa and Armin, to prevent any aggression born out of fear from other nations. All they knew was that the Titan’s powers had entirely been wiped from the world, not a clue about how Paradis would never be defenseless when the time of danger re-emerged.

And on the day he marched with all the Titans back to Paradis, marking the end of the war, as well, no one got a clue—not one—about you.

Looking up from the ground that was painted red with blood was you, so alone, so alive. Eren stopped; the whole army stopped, too. Otherwise, you would have been crushed to death. You didn’t run when his skeletal form swooped down, mouth opened, ready to take you in. You closed your eyes, not the faintest idea what you would become.

His war trophy, a souvenir from his enemy’s land.

When Eren and the Colossus Titans finally left Marley land, it was all quiet.

—

You were grounded. After being caught stealing some fruit and cheese and getting beaten and dragged home by a Marley soldier, your mom forbade you from going out for a week. The next day, you kept yourself in the basement, despite not being forbidden to roam around the house, you were sulking and did not want to see anyone.

You heard the front door slam shut when your mom went out for the day, again when three of your sisters did, bringing the loud chattering with them. Had you only known that would be the last day you would see them, you would have acted more sensible.

Stubborn as you were, you planned to stay in the basement all day, just to be bad. You were nothing but a fool, desperate for your mother’s attention, wanting to hear her knock on the door calling you for dinner.

But then, a few hours later, the ground shook, and it was all too late.

For some twisted reason, the basement of your house was not completely destroyed. When you regained consciousness and finally pulled yourself out of the piles of bricks, you limped up the remaining of the basement stairs and saw what you wished you didn’t—flattened earth and a vast land of blood and heat.

Days later, Eren found you.

And now, you found yourself standing before the horse you were tending to before your thoughts were invaded. That blonde girl you had been seeing in your dreams just showed you everything. You got your memories back, every single one of them.

—

“I’m married.”

After living with you for a year, Eren decided to tell his friends about you. Mikasa and Armin stopped walking, leaving him the only one treading ahead. They seemed to stop breathing altogether when he turned around to face them.

“To whom?” Armin was the first to ask.

“A girl—from Marley. She survived the Rumbling,” Eren said. “I took her, erased her memories.”

Mikasa flinched. “What? Why?”

“Just let me have it.”

“Eren, you are not making any sense.” Armin shook his head, his voice soft and sweet, like he was trying to coax him into seeing reason. Armin was like that, a manipulative fucker when necessary.

“Let me have it!” Eren repeated louder.

“But this is wrong,” Mikasa argued with tears in her eyes.

Again, he made her sad again.

“And the plan to destroy Marley was wrong. Yet, you both agreed. Everyone did.” Eren grunted. “Did I not deserve it, after everything?”

His head was a mess. Hadn’t he given enough? He hated Marley, and a second later he was sorry for what he felt. He did not want to be like this, a slave to freedom from the world tainted with the hunger for power, the world that was nothing like what he saw in Armin’s book, the same one where a dream of wanting to see his loved ones happy turned him into a murderer because of how much he wanted to make it come true.

And he would make it come true, no matter what it took.

—

Eren Yeager was not a good man, and with you, he was reminded of everything. The screams of fright before the loud thud of each footstep, the smell of blood that followed, the face you would make when you knew the truth one day.

He almost strangled you in your sleep, the day he brought you to his cabin. You were an Eldian, a Subject of Ymir just like him; but born and raised in Marley, you were surely brainwashed. All of them were. He had seen example after example. But he was waiting for something from you, and you would give it to him; he knew. So instead of choking you to death, he held your hand until you woke up and told you he was your husband.

When you cried the first time getting fucked so deep by him, he pretended you were sorry for what Marley did to Paradis—a crime you did not commit, he knew, but still. Behind those eyes clouded with lust, you looked at him so lovingly, while he smiled like a crazed maniac.

It was lovely, he had to admit, the way you looked at him. For as long as those eyes stayed on him, he didn’t feel like a monster. They lit up when he came home. You, looking away from whatever you were doing when you heard him call your name and rushing over to jump into his arms, he liked that.

And he couldn’t help but show you how much he liked it, kissing you till your lips gleamed with saliva. Sometimes he would bite you bloody, at first because he was a moody bastard. Now, he just loved the sharp ah you would let out and the way it would turn into a moan when he ran his tongue over the wound.

You tried so hard to be a good wife, taking care of him, looking out for him. It had been six years since he’d had you as his, but he still remembered the first time you said you loved him.

It was a sunny day. He came back from the Corps to an empty house. After calling your name for a solid minute and getting no answer, his whole body was showered with panic. He was already back on the horse when you came into view, waving, approaching home. Your other hand carried a fish basket; it didn’t look very heavy.

You wore a white, off-shoulder blouse with a blue skirt; the blouse was all wet. He cursed under his breath as you came close. He could see your tits through the wet fabric, your nipples stiff, begging to be sucked.

“I didn’t get many, but I caught some big ones,” you said, sounding proud of yourself. It was his job to provide for you, but now you were doing it for him. His cock was so damned hard in his pants.

He remembered backing you into the cabin wall, the fish basket dropped and forgotten as he pulled your blouse down and feasted on your soft breasts like a starved beast, out in the open where the scene could be stumbled upon by anyone. You were such a good girl for letting your husband ravage you as he pleased, sucking your tits, licking your cunt, then lifting you up to be bounced on his cock until he marked your womb with his cum.

“Eren.”

“Hm?”

Eren stood there and held you close to his chest, refusing to let you stand, needing to be in you for a tad longer.

“I love you,” you breathed out.

He savored every word without saying anything back. This was what he was waiting so patiently for. Your love, it was all his.

Flashes of events crossed his mind, interrupting his sweet recollections. It seemed that his well-kept secret had now been revealed to you by the Founder herself. Eren got up from the chair he was sitting on, exiting his office in quick strides.

—

Your husband was still in his Survey Corps uniform when he came home in the middle of the night to find you sitting at the dining table and not on your bed, asleep. Now that his hair was longer, Eren loved to tie it into a bun. He was such a pretty monster.

You didn’t run, knowing it was no use since he would find you anyway.

“Just kill me,” you asked. “Please, like you did my family.”

“I see you have met the Founder,” he began. “The girl with blonde hair, Ymir.”

“Did you hurry here?”

“Yes.”

That was why he arrived at odd hours.

“So you knew—that she showed me what I forgot,” you concluded. “Did she show you, too?”

“I already knew it would happen. I knew I would hurry here. I have seen this moment a thousand times already.” He said as he walked up to you before kneeling at your feet. “It’s the curse of possessing the Attack Titan.”

“Tell me, then. What happens now?”

When he didn’t answer, you begged again.

“Please just kill me. I can’t unlove you.”

It hurt so bad just to look at him.

“You don’t have to,” he said, laying his head on your lap. “Keep loving me.”

“You’re cruel.”

“The world is cruel.” He rubbed his cheek to your thigh then raised his head to look up at you. “Regardless, you will have to live with me in it.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then walk away. Leave me. I won’t stop you.” Eren said. “Choose.”

“You just said I had to live with you in this cruel world.” Words went through your teeth.

“But is that your choice?”

—

Eren looked at you. He didn’t say anything about how you would live with him until the day you departed this world, or the fact that you would give him three children, two boys and one girl. They would look so much like him, and that would frustrate you, especially when you were mad at him and had to see them run around the house. And one day, after you had said you loved him for another hundred times, he would finally say it back.

‘I love you, too.’ He heard himself faintly in his head.

But now was not the time. Therefore, all he did was sit there, silently, and waited for you to choose.

#eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger smut #aot x reader #aot smut #eren yeager x you #eren jaeger x you

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butterymangowrites · 9 months ago

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masterlist

updated 08/10/24

miya atsumu

permanent fix

miya osamu

right at home

sakusa kiyoomi

a few pushes

kageyama tobio

distribution system

kibutsuji muzan

little singing bird

eren yeager

strange progression

dabi / todoroki touya

dad thief

bakugou katsuki

ten years in the making

#masterlist #haikyuu smut #kny smut #tw.yandere #tw.dark content #haikyuu x reader #kny x reader #aot x reader #aot smut #please heed the warnings #mha smut #bnha smut #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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butterymangowrites · 9 months ago

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I REALLY REALLY LOVE YOUR WORK OMG!🤩

thank you so much 💗

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butterymangowrites · 10 months ago

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DEARRRR, IM IN LOVE WITH UR WRITING especially your beta!reader stories, i've seen a lot of yandere with an omega mc, its kinda rare to find alpha x beta dynamic. And, your recent stories with muzan is so *chef kiss*, you should have THOUSANDS REBLOGSS

thank you so much 🫶 i saw a post about beta reader somewhere and it stuck with me, so this is my take on the dynamic which i very much enjoyed writing🥺 alpha x omega is yummy yessss, one is super dominant and the other is just so not that, BUT think about the betas… they are like the lowest of the food chain, fic-wise imo. they are there, but barely stand out. so having alphas nipping at them a bit is fun lol

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butterymangowrites · 10 months ago

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hi hi hi i never watched jjk or haikyuu but i’m OBSESSED with ur writing. i’ve been binging all your work and every piece is better than the last!! i’m so so in love with the toxic dynamic u create and the dialogues and smut between them!! ahh i think ur such an amazing writer!! ty for putting such wonderful fics out there <3

- @zyasmedia / @zyafics

hi there!!!!! reading without having watched haikyuu before? you’re so real here, thank you so much 🥹❤️ i hope to keep posting more stuffs here as i get to watch more animes (i’m on mha now 😂) maybe some of them will be from the fandom you like. lots of love 🫶

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butterymangowrites · 11 months ago

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little singing bird

paring: kibutsuji muzan x fem reader

warnings: non-con, explicit smut, blood, cannibalism, murder, heian era muzan in the past / professor muzan in the present, servant reader / student reader, reincarnation, death in past life, possessive muzan, breeding kink, pregnancy, muzan hates kids and cats

word count: 4.9k

just finished demon slayer, giggling and kicking my feet for muzan.

You were annoying, always yapping like a chirping morning bird, too loud for a body the size of a pine nut. Those crystal clear eyes of yours lost their sparkle a little when you realized the purpose your parents brought you to his estate.

“Go on. Show Muzan sama your singing,” your mother prompted.

“I don’t care if she can sing. Take the coins and get out of here,” Muzan said nonchalantly.

He didn’t have time for this nonsense, not when his health was declining exponentially each day. His hair was undone, dark curls framing his pale face, he had no time to listen to anyone’s singing. What he needed was extra help, other servants had too much on their hands already. So either you were that help, or you were not. And if you weren’t, he would have to kick you out, no need for an extra mouth to feed if it was useless.

Having heard that, your parents hurriedly took the money and went, leaving you to stare after them with tears in your eyes.

“Papa. Mama,” you whined pathetically, but the adults didn’t spare you a second glance.

Your crying was music to his ears, better than your talking ten fold.

—

You ended up being the help Muzan needed. Getting your cheerfulness back bit by bit, you were back to your talkative self in no time, always singing, always humming. But the food tasted better prepared by you, and the medicine was less disgusting with your little humming brought to his ears by the wind while drinking it, so he wouldn’t complain.

The doctor visits were smoother with you assisting as well, and his night fevers were gone way faster with you always by his side, dabbing him with a damp washcloth, all the while singing a lullaby till he fell asleep.

“Don’t go.” Muzan’s frail hand caught your wrist when you were about to go get your rest after staying with him all night to monitor his fever. He sounded not fully awake.

“I’m tired, too, master.”

“Sleep here.”

“But—”

“Don’t leave,” he said, stern. His eyes opened up and looked straight at you.

“I will be back before you awake.” You gently patted the hand sticking to your wrist. “Please, I beg, get your rest.”

“Do you promise?”

“That I will be back? Yes.”

“That you would never leave me,” Muzan corrected, “that you would take care of me—until the day I leave this world.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It will not be long,” he said. “Do you promise?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Swear it.”

“I swear to never leave you.”

He loosened his grip a bit after hearing that, but not letting go, yet.

“I swear to take care of you until the day you leave this world.”

Hearing what he asked for, he could finally smile and let you go.

—

A ‘shut your mouth’ slowly turned into a ‘sing me something’, and lately it had branched out into a ‘play with my hair while you sing.’

He had nice hair, even when it was damp with sweat, it was still soft to touch. Getting to run your fingers through his hair was your pleasure, too. He would put his head on your lap when he was not moody, rare as it was, there were days like those. You saw his face the clearest when he did that, pale and ill—the medicine did not work.

Nobody dared say anything when Muzan broke the doctor’s skull open with a knife one day.

“Incompetent,” your lord said, nuzzling his cheek into your cold hand, criticizing the doctor even after his death.

But Muzan spoke too soon, several days after the blatant murder, he recovered fully from the prolonged illness like he never had a sick day in his life. Colors returned to his skin, cheeks and lips tinted rosy overnight. But he could never walk under the sun ever again, he knew it by instinct.

Tears of joy soaked your face when you saw him sitting by himself on the sleeping mat and vigorously beckoning you to come to him with a smile that could only be seen on a healthy, worry-free person’s face. You did not know how it happened, deducing it was a miracle and thanking the gods for it.

The first thing he did when you got close was pinning you to the mat and smelling you all over, your face, hair, neck, the cleavage of your breasts. Before he moved lower, you called out his name,

“Muzan sama!”

He looked up at you. “You smell delectable.”

—

It was raining a couple days after the miraculous recovery of the master of the house. Nobody wanted to talk to you anymore since the only topic you would veer to was the recovery of Lord Muzan. But you couldn’t help it, you were so happy you almost hopped instead of walking.

That rainy night, you slept peacefully listening to the rain, before screams woke you.

Good things never lasted, and tears of joy turned into apprehension when you saw bloody footprints everywhere when you came out of the private servant quarters Muzan provided for you so as not to disturb others when coming in and out at odd hours. Now, the very thing—and not to mention the peaceful sound of rain—shielded you from the chaos that must have been happening for quite some time.

What happened? A robbery? An assassination of your ruthless master? You prayed it was not Muzan; you prayed he was well.

Muffling the cry with your hands, you followed the bloody trail leading to Muzan’s room. Because you were scared for him, cared for him, you didn’t even think about your life when you pushed the curtains to his room apart just to see him there, crouching over a female servant lying prone on the floor, munching on an arm that was supposed to attach to her body.

You stood still. When the lighting struck and lit the room up with a quick flash, Muzan looked up at you, making you back off.

“Little bird,” he called, dropping the arm.

He was in his full formal attire, wearing one of his finest robes with the headgear like he was about to go somewhere. You, in your worn-out kosode and hakama, retreated again when he stood up to his full height.

“Not another step away,” he growled, stopping you in your tracks.

The fluttering curtains touched your back and shoulders; the wind was strong outside. And since Muzan rarely ordered for the outer wooden blind to be drawn down because he loved to lie down and watch the yard from his mat, you felt the cold on right your back where you stood.

“You swore to never leave me, did you not?”

The closer he got, the clearer you saw the man. He was covered in blood, his face, his garment, his eyes. No… that was not blood. His eyes were glowing red on their own.

What was he?

You never got an answer because he whisked you away, carrying you on his shoulder as he trod through the massacre of house Kibutsuji and left everything behind.

—

You woke from a strange dream to your boyfriend of five years kissing the nape of your neck, he was the one starring in your dream as the sick nobleman. He was surely not sick right now, seeing as his hands roamed around your front and his hard cock rubbed incessantly against your backside.

“Little bird,” he whispered in your ear, and you answered with a quiet hum in your throat.

It had always been his nickname for you since the day he heard you sing at the karaoke night out where he and Professor Uzui took everyone in the philosophy class they both taught to celebrate after the finals. Despite being a substitute professor for only the last three weeks at the end of the term while Professor Uzui was absent due to a motorbike accident, students adored Professor Kibutsuji just the same.

Ten students with five microphones to go around, you only got to sing when others were drunk and tired. Some sang along with you, swaying left and right to the slow rhythm of the song, but Professor Kibutsuji just sat there and watched you with a soft smile.

He had a nice smile, you knew it from the very first day he appeared in class instead of Professor Uzui, dressed so good everyone started to salivate over him like a piece of meat. You were not an exception or God’s strongest soldier, jaw close to touching the floor, thinking to yourself the man had the face people would go to war for just to come back and see it again.

You saw it up close that very same night when he fucked you dumb and full of his cum on your own bed—natural arched eyebrows, almond-shaped eyes with deep wine-color irises, a cute button nose, and lips that were so supple and sweet as a ripe peach.

When you came to think of it, you didn’t really know why it was you he asked to help with dropping the drunks off at their places, you were not even the only one sober at the time, but it was late and raining, you didn’t have time to contemplate any hidden meanings if there were any.

You saw Professor Uzui taking care of getting taxis and paying the fares for the sober ones, one of his arms was in a cast but he was still agile as ever and seemed to have everything under control. So after expressing your gratitude and saying goodbye, you got in the passenger seat of Professor Kibutsuji’s car, playing your role as the navigator using the map on your phone.

Aside from the engine and blinkers, there was no other distinctive sound. You, scared he would doze off mid-drive, started to fill the gap of silence with small talk.

“You smell like peaches,” you said, beaming, so he knew it wasn’t a bad thing.

“Do you like it?”

“I do.” You meant the peaches. “They’re my favorite fruit.”

“Mine, too.”

It reminded you of high school when you used to have peach gummy candies in your bag at all times, eating so many in a day your breath smelled like it.

The ride continued, and one by one, people reached their destinations. Professor Kibutsuji looked like he had just come up from a pool after swimming with his clothes on, all wet from the heavy rain after forbidding you to even move a muscle and carrying each person out of the car by himself.

The rain didn’t seem to let up when he parked in front of your apartment building, and when you learned that his place was forty minutes away even without traffic, you took two seconds to debate with yourself if you should invite him up to wait it out and decided that you should. The AC was turned off on the way here because he was cold; he even asked for your permission to do it.

The professor politely refused your invitation, but out of habit and social etiquette, you insisted, expecting a second refusal, and then, this tug-of-war game would come to an end. You didn’t think he would say yes the second time.

—

The water seeped out of his clothes, leaving a wet trail from the elevator to your room. He immediately asked if he could wash and dry them upon seeing your washing machine and dryer. You said yes, putting his shirt and pants in the machine while he was in the shower after confirming they could withstand cheap detergent, which he chuckled and nodded.

It was a bad idea. Since you had no spare clothes in his size, all he could do was sit on your small couch while waiting for the laundry to be done with only a towel around his waist.

Just one hour to go.

It was a bad idea that you thought one hour was not that long. It was apparently long enough for you to take a shower, get out, and sit beside him to browse something on the TV for him to watch when he showed no sign of having a phone to be obsessed over and still had a lot of time left. It was long enough for you to fall asleep and wake up in his lap, your panties-clad pussy grinding against his naked cock, your sleep shorts gone, and his towel already falling off his waist.

“Naughty girl, trying to get yourself off in your sleep.”

“Huh?” Groggily, your first instinct was to get off him, though your mind was still muddled from what it perceived. You didn’t know how you got there, on him; the idea that you might have sleep-climbed the man like a tree made you want to disappear from the face of the earth. But the fact that your pussy was throbbing, too, made you pray there was no earth at all.

“Are you alright?”

Flooded with embarrassment, you palmed your burning face with both hands, shaking your head.

“Oh, little bird.” He murmured. “It’s okay.”

His hands then seized your hips and pushed you down, setting your hot core directly on his hard shaft again, making you realize you weren’t off his lap, yet.

“Grind on it, suck it, fuck yourself on it, you can do whatever you want,” he said so with a straight face, tone borderline condescending, but his hands never stopped sliding your pussy back and forth along his length.

“Please don’t make fun of me.” Trying again to get off his lap, but he wouldn’t let you. “I’m sorry. Please, just let me—”

“What are you apologizing for, birdie? I was the one who put you here. You can blame me.” His deep voice rumbled. “But do you like your seat?”

You didn’t get to answer; the next thing you knew, he moved your underwear aside. Sharp sensation shot through you when there was no barrier between skin anymore. He carried on with the grinding; the tip of his cock slipped in at some angles, but he never went full in.

“From the way you dry-humped me till your cunt dripped, I’d say you do.”

You wanted to curse him, to scream, but you choked on your tears from humiliation.

Gone was the kind professor you knew. Right now, you never wanted anything more than to slap his handsome face, twice on the same side, just to make sure it left a handprint. You pushed hard at his chest, but it didn’t budge an inch. And he didn’t lie, you were wet, so wet that when his cock pierced in, it buried deep to its root without any trouble at all.

A kiss came later, way later. It was when protests died down, replaced with pants and moans, your eyes rolling up to the back of your skull and mouth gaping wide that he licked his way in. He tasted like nostalgia, uncannily familiar, and sweet—peachy.

Heaven only knew why he was so rough, or worse, why you liked it. And try as you might, you couldn’t find answers to the other whys either. Why did he keep whispering sweet nothings in your ear, promising a life where you would never want for anything with him there, telling you he would keep you? Why did he cling onto you so tenaciously, calling you his as if he owned you, as if you permitted? Why did he act like he was here to stay and this debauchery was not a one-time thing?

Why you in the first place? You and he hadn’t talked privately once in the three times he came to teach, and despite the love of chattering, you were not the most active participant when it came to studying. If he had noticed you, surely it would have been fleeting, forgettable—did not stick.

But here he was, fucking you till you saw stars.

There was something about Kibutsuji Muzan that rendered you weak so easily. He knew your body so well, too well, making you squeal with just a bite at the nape of your neck. You didn’t even know you liked it like that, but the harder he bit, the louder you became.

“Sing for me,” he said, his trademark gentle smile turning sinister. “Only for me.”

You came so shamelessly for him, many times that night actually, getting manhandled position after position all around your small room. Whenever you got to face him, those dark red eyes staring into yours, you had this weird feeling that you had met him somewhere before. Maybe you had, walking by him on some random street, bumping into him in a hurry and saying a quick sorry before departing, or maybe he was in your dreams.

But he never was, not until now—five years later. The nobleman Muzan’s hair was longer in your dream, and he was far worse than your Muzan, personality-wise. The nobleman was cruel, cantankerous, and inhuman—a monster. Your boyfriend was cunning, possessive to a fault, snobbish at times, but overall not an awful person altogether.

People liked Muzan, even you, who followed through on your desire and slapped him in the face twice the morning after that rainy night, came to like him anyway despite all the foul things he did to make you his. So much that you let him put a ring on your finger just last week after seeing each other for half a decade.

He moved from kissing the nape of your neck to kissing the big rock on your ring finger. This man truly didn’t know subtlety or minimalism.

—

“Master, I wish to leave.”

You shouldn’t have said that. Your master slaughtered everyone in the new village you both just moved in because of it, sparing only a calico cat because you hugged him from behind and pleaded for him to stop. It ran away, limbing.

“Do you still wish to leave, getting married, having your own family, kids, breaking your promise to me?”

But he could already walk under the sun, the blue spider lily was finally found, and the new medicine worked. You wanted to argue but didn’t, choosing to only shake your head to his flower-patterned silk robe, crying so loud that you didn’t realize he turned around to cup your face up to look at him.

His anger subsided. “Don’t you ever think of walking out on me again.”

Just because he achieved what he desired did not mean he was willing to loosen his grasp on what he already possessed. You learned it with so many lives wasted—the hard way.

The innocent idea of having your own journey, accomplishing goals, fulfilling dreams, vanished faster than the time you used to utter that short sentence, telling him you wanted to leave. It took just one breath to voice that decision, but a lot longer as you witnessed bodies fall one after another.

Five years after he left his birth home and took you with him, he made you his within the first week of living together when you woke up one night to his drools dripping down onto your face.

He was hungry for flesh.

Somehow, you knew it would happen, so even though it was sooner than you anticipated, you accepted your fate. You closed your eyes to embrace your end, but instead of biting your head off like he liked to do with other victims, Lord Muzan touched you like a man would a woman. He took your virginity with pride, never once muffling your cries of pain and pleasure, only eager to hear them.

“What a sweet voice you have, my little bird,” he said, satisfied with seeing you writhing under him with abandon. “Sing for me.”

To say he succeeded in taking his mind off eating you by eating you in another way would not have been wrong. Yet, he never drew near that edge again, never once letting himself starve. Later, he brought up the idea of turning you into something like him—a demon. One drop of his blood could have done it, but you begged him with utmost desperation, crying him a river not to do it.

He must have hated to see you cry, otherwise he would have ignored your plea and done it in a heartbeat. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have spared that cat from its untimely demise and carried you all the way home.

You liked this one, it was built near a peach orchard. Moving in during its season, the fruit was ripe for the picking, sending a faint sweet odor with the wind. But without life, the village was just an empty shell of what it used to be. Peach smell became permeated with the stench of blood.

It was time to move again.

—

“Poor girl.” An old lady, possibly someone’s grandmother, spoke up as you prayed to the buddha statue in front of you. Among other visitors standing there, you did not know at first that her words were directed at you.

It was New Year’s Eve, you and Muzan visited a famous temple to pray for good luck for the upcoming year. He waited at a corner, not getting involved in any rituals, never did. You were used to this, knowing he did not believe in this kind of thing.

“Is that man your husband?” the grandma asked, eyeing your baby bump and then Muzan who never took his eyes off you. The old lady was in smart-casual attire, she looked rich and… concerned.

“Yes,” you answered carefully, caressing your protruding stomach, already five months into your pregnancy.

“He is messing with the order of things.” Her eyes diverted back to you. “Trying very hard to keep you, isn’t he?”

You short-circuited, not knowing what to say. “Um, I’m not sure?”

“He’s not good for you.” She shook her head, whispering this time, as if afraid Muzan would hear.

You, even befuddled, couldn’t help but feel protective towards your husband. Turning to look at him again, you saw him push himself off the wall he leaned on and started to walk towards you. The look of confusion on your face alarmed him perhaps.

“But who would dare to stop him.” The lady went on with her gibberish. “Who would dare.”

“Grandma!” A young, red haired man intercepted the situation with an apologetic smile on his face. “I’m sorry. Did she say anything to you?”

“She did, but that’s alright.” You waved it off. A moment later, you felt Muzan hand snake around your waist. When you looked up at your husband’s face, you saw him glare hard at the old lady who only smiled calmly at him.

“Is everything alright?” Muzan asked, annoyed.

“Dandy,” you answered while squeezing the hand on your waist tenderly, placating him.

“She sort of has this gift with fortune-telling and superstitious stuff,” the young man elaborated. “Sorry if she freaked you out.”

“Not at all.” You flashed him a bright smile.

“I want to see the souvenirs now.” The old lady changed the topic, turning to her grandson. “Can you take me there, Tanjiro?”

“Sure!”

The young man—Tanjiro—bowed slightly at you and Muzan before departing with his grandmother walking slowly beside him. You heard your husband grumble to himself,

“Ugly hair.”

“That’s rude,” you said before turning your attention back to the sacred statue to continue your interrupted prayer, taking one of Muzan’s hands in both of yours.

Your husband looked notably older this year; a streak of his hair turned white, but the man still looked dashing and turned heads everywhere he went. It had been another five years since he put the ring on your finger that morning. Since then, he had had you to himself so greedily your friends expressed some concerns that maybe your husband would never want to share you, not even with his own children. It was true; Muzan only caved in to the idea of having a baby just last year.

At first, the man would make a disgusted face when listening to you painting a picture of a copy of you and him running around the house, but eventually, the idea grew on him. He stopped complaining so much about how the child would take you away from him, considering the amount of time you would have to devote to ‘it’—his words, not yours.

You remembered snapping at him to take it back before calming down and assuring him that what he feared would not happen.

“They will be ours,” you said, noticing his gradually shifting expression, from total boredom to interest. “Don’t you want that? A proof of you and me, a proof that I’m wholly yours.”

You supposed you flicked the right switch, but at the same time, awakened something in him. His determination to knock you up scared the daylights out of you sometimes. He would just go on and on rambling about how you would look so good being round with his child, how he wanted you to keep every drop of his seed in like a good cum-hungry wife, going as far as to think of names and buy baby clothes in advance.

“What did you pray for?”

Dragged out of your daydream by Muzan’s question, you cleared your throat as you exited the temple with him, answering, “Us.”

—

Muzan hated Yushiro, but he was the only one that could help him.

You died, not of old age, but by a demon’s hand who did not know you were or how important you were to the demon lord. Muzan beat it to a pulp, forcing it to regenerate torn limbs time and time again before blowing its body apart from the inside out.

Crazed from the sudden loss, he tried to get you back. But death couldn’t be reverted, death was permanent and prevailing. Muzan learned in the moment he saw your lifeless body that there was nothing surer than death. Even he, who cheated his own demise, had not really overcome death. Because he didn’t beat it, he got out before it caught up with him. But for you, he was not in time to get you out. If he had been, he would have given you his blood and even prayed to any entity he had never believed in that it worked, just in time.

So he created more demons instead, trying to find the one whose Blood Demon Art is about seeing the future, fortune-telling, or anything that could tell him if he would ever see you again, if you would come back. Almost a millennium later after your death, he finally succeeded, but not without the Demon Slayer Corps hunting his head because the demons he created had become their calamity.

A war was on the horizon, but diplomacy was closer. Ubuyashiki Kagaya, the master of the Demon Slayer Corps and his distant blood descendant he didn’t even know existed, offered a peaceful solution to the growing tension between humans and demons. An agreement was established.

His part of it was that he had to put an end to all the demons and never create one again. In return, they accepted that he would live on and would not, in any way, try to interfere with his life—going each other’s own separate way.

And Muzan agreed, to Ubuyashiki’s surprise, too easy he knew the young master thought it was a trap. But Muzan fulfilled his part of the agreement as soon as the next day. Not because he was a respectful man, but because even a thousand years had passed, he was still as mad as the day that demon ripped you away from him.

He wanted them all to die.

All did, except him and Yushiro, whom he was asked by the Corps to spare because he sided with humans. The demon was broken after Tamayo’s death, she was his creator, snatching him from the brink of his death. Too bad she stepped on the wrong demon’s toes and got herself hung from a tree. When day broke, she was burned to ashes on the spot.

Yushiro hated him, but Muzan knew just what would gain him what he needed.

“Not so fast.” Muzan jerked his hand back when Yushiro tried to snag what was in it. Tamayo’s hairpin would have to remain in his grasp until he got the surviving demon’s word on what he needed his help on. “I need your word.”

“It might take years. Decades even!” Yushiro hisses.

“You succeeded once with Tamayo.” Muzan pushed. “You can do it again.”

“On normal demons, yes,” Yushiro argued. “But we are talking about a drug that would turn the father of all demons into a human.”

“Try.”

“Why?”

Because when he met you again, he did not want you to die alone.

“Your certainty that she would reincarnate puzzles me.” Yushiro crossed his arms over his chest arrogantly.

“I am certain.”

A demon with a precognition Blood Demon Art told him so. She did not lie; he read her mind to make sure.

“Help me.” Muzan held out his hand and opened it, giving up the hairpin Tamayo wore the day she died. “Give me your word.”

The concept of living a life with an end was still foreign and unwelcome to him, but living it with you and growing old together—that did not sound so bad.

Yushiro took the hairpin, sighed. “You have my word.”

#kibutsuji muzan x reader #muzan kibutsuji x reader #muzan x reader smut #muzan x reader #muzan x you #muzan x y/n #muzan smut #demon slayer smut #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny smut #demon slayer x reader #tw.noncon #kibutsuji muzan #muzan

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butterymangowrites · 11 months ago

Note

Hello, love your work sm! And the concepts you come up with are sooo great along with your amazing writing style as well, are you ever going to make a multi-chapter fic in the future?

Sorry if this sounds rude, eng isn't my first lang, so I can't put what i want to say properly into words! ^^;

first of all, your eng is perfect 🥺 i’m glad you loved the works, your words mean so much, so thank you. about the multi-chapter fic, i really really want to try. i have, but in my own language not english, and it was fun. if i have some ideas that call to me and push me hard enough to do it, i absolutely will. thank you so much for the ask! 🫶

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butterymangowrites · 11 months ago

Text

distribution system

paring: cat hybrid kageyama tobio x fem reader

warnings: dub-con, smut, hybrid au, stray hybrid kageyama, social discrimination, power imbalance, domestic life, kageyama with his platinum face card, kageyama has a tail

word count: 4.2k

english is not my first language. please excuse any mistakes. thank you for reading!

Being a stray hybrid was exhausting. Tobio thought as he wandered around a new neighborhood trying to find food after every house in the last one shooed him away.

Being a stray hybrid was exhausting. Being a bone-thin, dirty black cat hybrid was worse.

He looked ghastly—hair long to his chest, cheeks all sunken, and without a smile on his face, Tobio looked unapproachable. Some people said he might have rabies, warning their own hybrids to stay away; he was scared of that, too, but only because he didn’t know what it actually was, just that it was fatal and humans hated it.

Did he have rabies? He felt fine though. Tobio thought as he put his hand through the narrow opening of a trash can that was likely to have some food waste in there. After some time rummaging through, he grabbed onto a bottle; it was milk. When he shook it softly and felt some milk left inside, Tobio got his dinner.

“You shouldn’t drink that. You will get sick.”

A voice interrupted when he was almost done with the meal. It was a human woman in very nice clothing, the kind he saw humans in the office area wear. His previous owner also wore something like this, the male one, the one who hit him when he was drunk and angry at his wife. The wife was his favorite of the two, always patted him gently on the head and gave him nice things—snacks, toys, letting him watch TV and play with a round leather ball in their small backyard. But when he knocked over some of the flower pots, the husband forbade him from touching the ball again.

The wife disappeared one day, so Tobio ran away.

“Here.” The human took something out of her shoulder bag and handed it to him. “Take this.”

It was an unopened, brand new milk bottle, looking exactly the same as the one he was holding. Too late, Tobio drank all of it, spoiled as it was, it filled his belly for the night. Together with the milk, Tobio saw a banana. He wanted that.

“Sorry, this is all I have.”

It was funny thinking back to the first time he saw you, that it was the guilt in your voice that made Tobio carefully look past his long hair at you again. Being closer in order to take the food from your hand and seeing things clearer than before, he had never seen anyone so concerned about how they didn’t have more food to give away, concerned about him. And because being a stray hybrid was exhausting, Tobio really wanted a home.

He finally succeeded that night. He found one, after roaming around for many years…

—

High up on a building, that was your place. It wasn’t big, but Tobio didn’t mind. He was just happy to be warm and have a roof over his head.

Your bathroom had a tub, small but deep, he could only fit in there if he sat with his knees up. He did that while he let you wash him, at a loss on how to adjust the water temperature and not knowing which was the shampoo and which was for the body cleaning. So he just sat there in silence, not even turning the water on so he didn’t cause any problems, till you knocked and asked if he needed help.

Your hands were smooth, slathering the body wash over his back and chest while he watched you, his now-clean hair tied up with a big claw clip. Having his field of vision expanded made Tobio feel exposed, but it was not totally a bad feeling, just a bit foreign after many years of having it down to hide his face.

“You wash,” you pointed down to his crotch, “down there by yourself, okay?”

Tobio nodded, didn’t mind. He understood you didn’t want to touch him there, you probably didn’t want to touch him anywhere, only doing it out of necessity because he was such an incompetent cat who didn’t know how to use a human's shower. He used to know, he just forgot. Tobio hoped you were not mad.

—

It was the next day when you took him to the hybrid clinic for a check-up. He was healthy, needed to put on some weight, yes, but fine nonetheless. The doctor said the hybrid was in his early 20s and prescribed some vitamins, and just like that, the visit ended. Before you left, one of the staff suggested you buy a collar.

“Is it necessary?” you asked before looking around the waiting area and saw that every hybrid wore one. “Okay.”

You bought one in a random color after trying to let the feline hybrid choose and he just stared at you. He was tall, hovering over most people in the clinic. You had to tell him to crouch down so you could put the newly purchased collar on his neck. It was blue, cartoon printed. This was why making rational decisions was important.

Next stop was the haircut. This time you handed him a magazine and tried again by letting him pick a style for himself; however, he just pointed at the first model he saw. Nothing was wrong with a mohawk, and you would have believed it was a thought-through decision if he had turned the pages of the magazine a little and at least pretended to contemplate. He did neither.

Same with the breakfast that morning, you asked if he wanted blueberry or strawberry jam on his toast, he answered with a nod. When asked again, he pointed at the jar closest to his hand and didn’t finish the toast.

The stray you brought home—Tobio—definitely understood human language and was not mute since he was the one whispering his name to you when you asked what he was called. For some reason, he just did not make decisions. And… he hated strawberry jam.

So you rectified that, selecting two most popular styles and let him choose again. But before he could point, you said, “This is your hair, Tobio. Yours. You can choose how you want your own hair to look.”

He listened and blinked. And for the first time in twenty hours, Tobio took his time deciding between things. He picked the style that would get his bangs cut very short, and if his swishing tail was anything to go by, he seemed to like the end result very much. Despite his head looking like a coconut with a wig on, he still looked good, all because of his face.

The man was strikingly handsome. Without all the matted hair masking his face, his features were bare to the beholder’s eye. Dark blue eyes, sharp jawline, small perky nose, and lips—though chapped and dry—were baby pink. He was a sight for sore eyes.

Clothes, toiletries, and extra groceries that included cat food and snacks he admitted to liking were all carried by him. It was a long walk from place to place and from the train station to yours, but Tobio didn’t allow you to take any bag out of his hands.

It was already dark when you entered your apartment. You unpacked the groceries and officially taught him how to use the shower, learning that he was illiterate when he asked if he remembered correctly which bottle was the shampoo and which was the conditioner. He got them mixed up but was right on the body wash because it was a different brand with a different label.

What you did was point out the difference in the words written on the bottles, but the easiest way you could think of was to place them in fixed positions, so you did just that, temporarily resolving the problem.

“Shampoo on your left, conditioner on your right,” you told him, pointing at each respectively. “But don’t wash your hair today, that would be a waste of the products the salon put on it. Unless it—stinks?”

Tobio, who was sitting on the rim of the tub, touched his hair, trying to pull it to his nose for a sniff, but it was too short. Suddenly, he turned to look at you, expectation clear in his eyes.

“You smell for me.” he bowed his head and waited.

“Oh, no need.” You waved your hands no. “Should be okay.”

You were not going to do it, but his head stayed down and showed no sign of coming back up. Not wanting to disappoint him, you stooped down for a quick sniff. The tip of your nose brushed against his freshly cut hair, it was soft and silky now, no trace of yesterday's dirt and grime. And it smelled so good you could have died.

Tobio breathed out a low purr before he looked up at you again, his pupils dilated. “How was it?”

“Nice,” you replied. “No need to wash it.”

“Okay.” His voice was small, faint.

Out of the bathroom, you prepared dinner for two and arranged a sleeping spot at the couch in the living room as you did the night before. Your apartment was a one-bedroom, so even if you wanted him to sleep somewhere nicer, you didn’t have a better option.

You didn’t expect to see him lying on the cold, hard floor the next morning, sleeping in the fetal position and hugging himself, pillow and blanket left on the couch.

“Why were you on the floor?” you asked that same morning while teaching him how to make basic breakfast—a bowl of cereal for you and two slices of toast for himself, this time topped with blueberry jam. He ended up asking for more with a growling belly and round blue eyes, piercing through your heart like a sharp stalactite falling down on tender meat. The damage was so severe that you had to tell him not to seek permission for food again; it was all his to have.

“My legs are too long.” answered Tobio. “They went over the couch arm—hurt.”

And the cushions were probably too small for him to sleep with legs folded. Decision instantly made, you let him sleep with you on the bed from then on.

—

It was nice not having to go about people’s houses searching for food and sleep at the train station when it rained. Tobio looked out the bedroom window, sitting on the floor with his head under the curtains, his tail flicking slowly as he watched the wet street below and couldn’t help but feel grateful for the human sleeping on the bed.

It had been one hundred and twenty two days since he had been here.

The bed was springy; it rocked a little when he climbed back on no matter how careful he tried to be, making you stir but overall still pretty much in your deep slumber. He settled on his side, laying his head on the same pillow as you. If he were to pull you to his chest, no one would see you again. Tobio was so big now with a tremendous amount of food consumed daily.

So much money was spent on him just to put skin, fat, and muscles on his bones, and you never once complained about the increasing expenses. He knew numbers now, and he saw them on the bills each time and noticed that you spent less on yourself. You had never gotten the blouse you said you wanted, and you ate half sometimes just to keep the leftover for the next day. He wished he could do more than just helping around with the household chores.

“Thank you,” whispered Tobio.

He wanted so much to cuddle up to you, sink his little fangs into your skin, and touch you in the way that would get him cute noises as a reward. He liked being close to you, finding himself awake nose to nose with you more often than not and using the time before you woke to count your eyelashes. You didn’t like any of that, always pushing yourself away and hurrying up to get off the bed.

Pouting, pouting, all he did when that happened was pout. But in his sleep, instinct took over nevertheless, he would find himself clinging to you anyway come morning, and he would pout, pout and pout…

—

This was why you never considered adopting a hybrid before you found Tobio that night. You didn’t want to feel like a scum excuse of a human being, getting so wet that you heard the squelching sound when Tobio pumped his fingers in and out of you, deep, nudging your front wall now and again, making you squirm.

You know what many hybrids were adopted and bought for, and you didn’t want to be one of those using them for sexual pleasure, letting him help around the house was bad enough. He didn’t ask to be here, you offered. What he was doing now might just mean he got the wrong idea about what he was here for.

“Tobio, no.”

“I’m so hard. It hurts.”

He propped himself up on one of his elbows, pouting while he watched his hand’s movement under your pajama shorts. “Please help.”

“Tobio, we need to talk.”

There was no talk, Tobio flipped you to lie flat on his body, his hands tugging your shorts and underwear down before doing the same with his. When your bare core touched his, the cat hybrid moaned loudly and rubbed you frantically against his cock.

It had never come this far, small touches here and there but never this.

“I—don’t want—,” you gasped, “to use you.”

“Please use me. Please use me. Use me.” He pouted more, tears welling in his eyes.

Damn those eyes to hell though you were certain Tobio himself belonged in heaven. It was these same orbs that had you ask if he wanted to come home with you, earning yourself the sweetest companion one could ever ask for.

Coming home to see the apartment cleaned, plants watered, laundry done, nothing was left to be done but dinner because he was scared he would burn the kitchen down because there was fire involved. He was getting better at it now, you feared cooking for you might be next in his plan. Power imbalance hung in the air, but Tobio had no clue.

“You’re not here for this.” You tried to say, turning away from his lips that grazed all over your face, trying to get to your mouth. “You are my friend.”

“I’m yours.”

“My—friend.”

“Umm, yours.” he purred, so cat-like. “You own me.”

Why did he only listen to what he wanted to hear? Not just yours, but your friend, that was what you were trying to convey.

“You are not a thing to be owned.”

For some reason, his eyes darkened. “Don’t be too good to me.”

Next thing you knew, you were on all fours, ass up, face down, hands in his grip behind your back. His hot shaft spread your wetness to your clit before fooling around with your entrance.

“Don’t—”

“Must be warm in there. Wetter, too.” the hybrid whined, claws sharpened, penetrating the skin of your hands. “Please let me get in, please please.”

“Tobio, don’t be bad.” That was the first time you reprimanded him, and you felt him freeze. “You’re not a thing to be used, you hear me?”

“But I’m a pet, your pet.”

“You’re not just an animal to me.”

“But that’s what I am.”

“You’re half human.”

“You don’t understand.” His mouth was next to your ear when he said it. “I am more animal than human, all hybrids are.”

Following his statement was the tip of his cock threatening to push in, you had to cry out his name again to stop the deed.

“Please. Just one dip,” he begged. “One dip and out.”

He was so stubborn, you had never seen this side of him before, literally nonplussed as to how to handle the persistence, the negotiation, and his pitiful cries. He had never been like this, even when you told him his favorite milk was out of stock, all he did was nod and say he was happy with whatever you had.

“Just once.” You choked out the words. “Only one dip and you’re out. You let me go, okay?”

You made a deal.

“Okay.”

The head was not the problem, the thick body and base were, stretching you to the point of pain. You heard a low growl rumble in his chest as he went deep to the hilt and lingered there.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” he said, tremblingly. “Please don’t be mad.”

You couldn’t imagine being mad at Tobio, not even when he didn’t keep his word, pulling himself out and slamming back into you. Again and again he went, pulling at your wrists with each thrust for leverage. Your upper body was lifted from the bed from how hard he pulled, head lolling from side to side.

“Please don’t put me back on the streets.” He bottomed out with a cry. “Keep me, keep me.”

The wanton scream you let out was embarrassing, your pussy throbbed and clenched around his cock as he pounded on the right spot. And Tobio was a quick learner, he hammered down on it repeatedly, fucking you into the mattress until you came with a shudder, eyes rolled to the back of your head; you were glad he didn’t have to see that from where he was.

He shot out a lot of cum when he came, filling you up to the brim. One dip and out? Sure. The thing was, you weren't even mad at him. His clear blueberry eyes trained on you after he rolled you onto your back, tilting his head to one side before he bent down to give a kitten lick at your mouth.

No, you weren’t mad at Tobio, you were mad at yourself for giving in.

—

The leather ball he used to play with was for a sport called volleyball. Tobio saw it on TV one day and immediately pointed at it with excitement. So being a good owner as you were—allowing him to fuck and hold you close after each night, albeit not without some begging and whining first—you took him out to an open gym to play with other hybrids.

Him having to wear a collar when going out bothered you, and when it strained his neck while he was out on the court looking up at the ball, you told him to take it off.

“Why?” Tobio asked. Every hybrid in the gym had it on, he didn’t want to be different.

“It’s too tight on your neck.”

“It’s fine.”

A round of laughter erupted from the nearby court when a rabbit hybrid fell on her face trying to get the ball. It was from the humans who sat and watched the play, one in particular seemed concerned—perhaps her owner—seeing as he stood up and told her to get back on her feet.

“You just don’t get it.” you shook your head feebly and walked out the court back to your seat which was just a chair situated not far off the sideline. But as an afterthought, you turned around and said, “Just loosen it a bit, yeah?”

“Okay.”

You seemed to dislike the idea of him being an animal, but at the end of the day, he was. He loved watching birds from the window and making noises at them. He loved sleeping, and when he woke, after exerting himself with the chores until the energy ran out, it was nice to curl up on the couch for a nap.

It was not him who didn’t get it, it was you. Tobio liked being an animal.

So when your boss, who was one of the owners of the hybrid who played volleyball with him, approached and broached the idea of getting him on a cat food commercial you and he were working on, Tobio wanted in, even more interested when the older man said this would earn you extra money to take home after the shoot ended.

“See? Tobio wants to.” The boss gestured his hands at him.

“But—”

“Yes,” Tobio said, earnestly.

“Let’s talk about the shooting date together with the team on Monday.”

The deal was sealed.

—

The shoot was stressful for you, seeing people coo at how cute Tobio looked in faux cat ears, some even dared coming close to scratch under his chin. Tobio liked the attention, but he didn’t like strangers touching him. He would look for you, asking for help with his impossible-to-deny eyes whenever that happened, and you would come to the rescue.

“Aren’t cat hybrids supposed to keep to themselves?” you asked, walking ahead of him, just about five minutes more until you reached home. “How come you like people so much?”

“Not all the time.” Tobio replied. “I just happened to like them today.”

“Doesn’t it bother you,” You stopped walking and turned to face him. “being treated like that?”

“Like what?”

“They played with you with a laser pointer, Tobio. Trying to grab your tail, calling you names.” You held on to your shoulder bag as you spoke. “They didn’t respect you at all.”

“I’m an animal.”

“This again?”

“You have to accept that I am one and there is nothing wrong with it.”

There was no anger in this voice, never with Tobio, only dull sadness that dimmed his usual bright eyes down a notch.

“But you don’t agree, do you? That’s why you’re trying to change me.”

“You missed the point.”

“And what was it?”

When you didn’t respond instantly, he continued, “I like wearing a collar because it shows people I’m taken, taken by you, not a stray no one wants. I like that you own me.”

“Oh Tobio—”

“Is it wrong that I love doing the housework, that I don’t care that people want to give me treats and play laser pointer with me? I know what I am and how they see me. I’m an ani—”

“I don’t care that you’re an animal, a hybrid or whatever!” you interrupted with a soft shout. “I’m saying that no matter what you are, you deserve respect,” you said. “I don’t know what you experienced that made you think you can’t pick between strawberry and blueberry jam. And they can play laser pointer with you for all I care, but they should be aware that you have a life and mind of your own and not just assume they can do it without even asking. Just because you’re fine with it doesn’t make it okay.”

You paused to breathe.

“And trust me those people—those people in the studio, they don’t—they don’t understand this, yet.” You closed your eyes. “After the shoot, one of them asked me if they could buy you.”

Opening your eyes again, he was so close you had to tilt your head back to look at him.

“I don’t want to hear anyone say that about you ever again.”

His kiss didn’t take you by surprise. His tongue was welcome, and his moan was your guest. Tobio held your hand all the way home and didn’t let go even when the apartment door closed behind you and him, instead, he kissed you against it. Then from your mouth, he headed downwards.

“I thought I disgusted you.” he said, nipping at the soft flesh of the thigh he put on his shoulder.

“That is crazy. Ouch! Tobio, your claws.”

It had been almost a year already since Tobio moved in, and with his typical cat behavior, your body was full of scratches, some faded, some didn’t. He had a second haircut just two months ago, the same style with his bangs cut short, resembling a coconut for a while until it grew out past the stage, and now it was just in the right length—perfect for a grab.

He liked when you played with his hair, loved it when you pulled hard during sex. For someone who was soft spoken and had a hobby of watching birds and playing volleyball, Tobio was surprisingly perverted when it came to fucking.

The man purred loudly when he got the taste of your soaking folds, lapping greedily at the core and dragging his wet tongue up your inner thighs, collecting every drop like it was essential for his being.

When your hands remained by your sides, taking action too slow for his liking, Tobio searched blindly without pulling his face away from your nectar and grabbed one of them to put on his head. Automatically, you gripped a handful, hearing him groan with relief and satisfaction.

“So good to me.” he mumbled, his thumb leisurely circling your clit. “I like you more than anything.”

More than the milk you gave him that first night, or the banana, even the blueberry jam could not compare to you. And despite him not being brave enough to make a choice of his own haircut, he did make a choice in that moment he followed you home—he chose you.

#kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama tobio x you #kageyama tobio #kageyama x reader #tobio x reader #haikyu fanfiction #haikyu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyu #haikyu!!#haikyuu x reader #kageyama tobio smut #tobio kageyama smut #tobio kageyama x reader #cat hybrid kageyama tobio #tw.dubcon #hybrid!au #haikyuu hybrid #hybrid!kageyama

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butterymangowrites · 1 year ago

Text

right at home

paring: miya osamu x fem reader

warnings: non-con, non-con bondage, non-con somnophilia, manhandling, smut, rough sex, choking, biting, blood, unsafe sex, creampie, fingering, profanity, violence, spit kink, misogyny, power imbalance, toxic relationship, timeskip miya osamu, osamu is not the nicer twin, grumpy osamu

word count: 3.0k

english is not my first language. please excuse any mistakes

You tried your best to keep your eyes open, but your head was still lolling from side to side on the verge of succumbing to the creeping slumber caused by extreme fatigue Osamu put you through.

That was his name, Osamu, the man who was now standing with you in the shower, washing you from head to toe. The smells of the hotel shampoo and shower gel permeated the air, his hands ran hotter than the water coming out of the showerhead in full pressure, ridding you of sweat, tears and his cum.

It was an accident. You screamed inside, the countless sorries replayed like a broken record in your head.

Osamu ignored all of them.

Strong arms carried you out of the shower before covering your body with a bathrobe, but it was the loud hair dryer noise that poked you out the fog of sleep. You reopened your eyes and saw Osamu standing behind you in front of the bathroom mirror, one hand handling the hair dryer deftly while the other ran through your wet hair, blowing it with hot air till it dried before blowing his own.

He had one of the most gorgeous faces you had ever seen, even with one muscular arm wrapped around your collarbone and dark gray eyes fueled with rage, Osamu was still a beautiful man.

When you felt a hard rod prodding at your slit, you didn’t hear the hair dryer anymore and the bathrobe was gone. Back on the bed it seemed, you came to your senses on Osamu’s body, nose and lips clung to his neck. Too tired to object, too sluggish to put up a fight.

—

Though the rim of the glass full of water was cold on your lips, your back was warm leaning against Osamu’s broad chest. You woke up to him prompting you to drink which you obeyed thirstily without complaints, knowing your body had lost a lot of fluid and would continue losing it.

It was 4AM, you saw the time when your phone screen flashed from a random app-update notification. You were supposed to be at home, not on Osamu’s hard torso, now with three of his fingers knuckle-deep in your pussy. And you weren’t clean anymore, seeing the thick white creamy liquid gushing out when he pushed his fingers in, Osamu must have fucked you while you were asleep.

“You came in me?” Hoarse and frail, the water you drank didn’t help much, you almost didn’t recognize your voice.

“Couldn’t resist,” he admitted “Sorry.”

You cried. Not because of what he did, but because he mocked you in that tiny, high-pitched tone of an apology.

—

It was midnight when you tabbed the keycard you got from your two best friends in, the room was so cold and dark that you had to stay rooted for a minute for the fear of walking into a piece of furniture if you persisted. Your friends said there would be a surprise waiting and didn’t want you to cop out since you were the one who agreed to let them help find the right guy for this hookup.

When your eyes fully adapted to the darkness, you almost recoiled. Sleeping soundly on the bed was one hell of a man, his massive build occupied most of the queen-sized bed space. Closing in, you then saw the surprise.

Both of his hands were tied to the bed, the long chains going all the way down to where the locks were secured with the bed legs.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered under your breath and turned to walk out the door.

But it was the thought of your friends going the extra mile for this that stopped you. They did this for you. And you consented, the guy on the bed consented. This was all preplanned and prepared, and here you were, about to be a coward and ruin your friends’ effort.

Mind changed. You walked back to bed, overcoming your nervousness and got on with it, repeating to yourself that everything was planned while you stripped the man bare. He slept shirtless, so it was only the sweatpants that you had to wiggle down.

He slept like the dead too, probably faked it. So you waited for him to wake and feign bewilderment, but he never did. Your heart raced when you realized that you might have to do it while he slept.

It was planned. It was all planned. Faking or not, it was all planned. You told yourself.

“What the fuck.”

You heard him curse when his cock slid halfway into your wet pussy, clear slick flowing from minutes spent grinding on his length, the latter slowly but surely became fully erected with friction—stroking him with your hands, taking him into your mouth. Now that he woke, he looked puzzled.

But that was expected, part of the plan. You thought while pumping yourself up and down on his girth, one you wrapped safely with a condom readily prepared in the nightstand drawer even though it was made clear beforehand between both parties that each was clean. But you were not on the pill, and you didn’t know Atsumu enough to trust he would not blow his load into you. Right, that was the name given to you by your friends—Atsumu.

But this guy right here was not Atsumu, and you didn’t know that until everything was done.

“Who the fuck are you?” He was rude, and you were dumb, thinking he was just in character and everything was one big play. “What the fuck? Uncuff me!”

Placing your hands on his pecs, you just kept fucking yourself in your pace and focused on making yourself come.

“Selfish bitch,” he growled, hands straining against the handcuffs, eyes staring daggers. He looked vengeful, like he wanted to grab you right then and there and strangle you.

That was your first suspicion. But then he bucked his hips up, disrupting your rhythm and robbing you of all rational thoughts.

“Wait till I get out of these,” he threatened, tugging at the cuffs, hips still snapping up rapidly.

That, and a little massage on the clit with your own hand, you reached your high and collapsed onto his chest, didn’t hear anything until a few moments later.

“Out of your horny haze yet?” the man barked, irritated.

Languidly, you sat up and got off him, his cock slipping out of you, still hard.

“You didn’t come.”

“Oh, I’ll fucking come.”

“You cuss a lot.”

“Can you shut up and tell me what the fuck is going on?”

That made you pause. “You don’t have to be in the role anymore.”

“Trust me I’m not.”

You blinked, a shiver ran down your spine. “Aren’t you Atsumu?”

Now he paused, looking even more pissed. “Get me out of the cuffs right now. I have no idea who you are, all I know is that I woke up tied down to the bed in my own hotel room,” spat the man. “I’ll fucking put you in jail for this and it will get worse if you don’t free me right—fucking—now.”

The key was in the same drawer as the condoms, you remembered seeing it. In no more than five seconds, it was in your hand. In another ten, the man was out of confinement. And true to the threat he made before, he was on you in an instant. You shrieked.

He didn’t need the handcuffs to keep you still, pure strength did it. With one hand on your neck, he pushed you down hard to the bed. You tried to apologize as if breathing wasn’t the priority, both hands wrapped around his wrist, trying to get him off you but failed.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and when you felt like death was at your front door about to knock, he let go. Your vision became clear once more, and you breathed greedily like air would be gone the next morning. Noticing your surroundings again, one of your legs was hiked up on his shoulder, the other was at his waist.

“Selfish filthy pig.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, tears rolling down from the corners of your eyes.

“I’m going to make sure you are.”

“I thought you were the guy my friends set me up with.”

He rolled his eyes. “Atsumu?”

You nodded.

“Should’ve asked before fucking yourself on someone when they were out cold, shouldn’t ya?” He smacked your thigh then lifted the leg higher, making your folds split and pussy fully exposed to the cold air. He spat on it. “My name’s Osamu.”

It was uncanny how similar it sounded to Atsumu.

Osamu took the old condom off before gliding the hefty length along your slit using his saliva as lube. When the head was about to nudge in, you freaked out.

“Condoms are in the drawer.”

“I should be afraid of you, not the other way around. Sneaky little bitch,” he said. “I don’t have any dirty shit.”

“I’m clean, too. But please,” you pleaded, “please wear it.”

He did, then proceeded to fuck you till your whole body shook with both fear and orgasm. It was an odd combination, one you never thought was possible. But as he constricted your breathing with one hand clasped tight around your neck, or when he spat in your mouth and commanded you to swallow, your cunt had never clenched so tight around anything.

And when he licked his thumb and rubbed it on your sensitive nub while admiring the view of you getting stretched wide by him? You had never come harder in your life.

Splashes of cum and strings of apologies were abundant in those first few hours. Osamu had never released himself in the condoms though, taking them off at the last minute just to climax on you. He liked the sight perhaps—bite marks and hickeys blooming like flowers in spring covered with semen, all from his doing—probably thought it was art considering how long he just stopped and stared at you sometimes without saying anything.

“I’m sorry. I really am.” And that was what you would say, because you didn’t want to be put behind bars, because you wanted him to forgive you.

Osamu ignored all of it.

—

Despite having different hair colors, people still often mistook Osamu for his twin brother. It was easier to tell them apart by their personalities—the mean one was Atsumu and the nice one was Osamu, to sum things up.

But that was where people were wrong, Osamu, trying as hard as he could not to be like his twin, was much more alike Atsumu than he would have liked to admit. And as he watched you breathe steadily, sleeping like a baby on the same bed you moaned, cried, and even screamed on while getting dicked down, he saw no difference between him and his blond-haired counterpart.

Osamu clapped the handcuffs around your wrists, didn’t want you to flee if you woke up and saw no one. You looked thoroughly fucked, love marks littered all over your skin, clear to the vision under the morning light that passed through the crack in the curtains. He liked it. He… Osamu, the nicer twin, liked it very much.

He went out of his room to knock on the opposite door at around 7AM, it took some pounding for the person in the room to finally open.

“Yer gonna wake up the whole floor, the fuck.” Atsumu said drowsily, looking like he left his soul on the bed and let the body walk to the door.

“Was someone supposed to be with you last night?” asked Osamu, straight to the point.

Taking a moment for the realization to hit, Atsumu was fully awake then. “Shit. Yes.”

Osamu took the liberty of walking past his twin into the room. “And?”

“I fell asleep,” Atsumu said, following Osamu inside. “It was a five-set game yesterday, Samu, you know how it gets. You were there, you saw how intense it was.” He reasoned. “I was waiting, really, but no one came and my body kinda—shut down.” The blond athlete grabbed his phone from the nightstand and his brows furrowed. “Hmm—no missed calls.”

“Hmm, I wonder why.”

“Osamu.”

“Your little mouse came into my room instead of yours, any explanation?”

“I’ll have you know she’s not a whore. She’s a friend of a friend, has a job and hobbies, okay?”

“Figured,” said Osamu, now sitting on the long couch at the end of Atsumu’s unmade bed. “I know your type—girl next door, pretty but not model-like, too busy to go on a date.”

Atsumu fell quiet. “You fucked her.”

“Of course I did.”

The twin closed his eyes and sighed. “I gave permission to the receptionist to give away the spare keycard to my room when given the right names, must have been a mistake on their part”

“I’ll go ask them.” Osamu stood. “Go back to sleep, you look like shit.”

“Look who’s talking.” Atsumu crossed his arms over his chest, giving a judging look to his brother. “You’re no better.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, today’s plan’s canceled then?”

Taking his onigiri business wherever Atsumu had a match at, Osamu got to travel all around Japan and make his brand known. The twins usually hung out after that, a short trip to a bar if they had no time, a full-day city exploration if they did.

“Yeah, whatever.” Atsumu plopped himself face down on the bed.

They could always meet up at the next match anyway, Osamu thought as he began to walk out of the room, but something stopped him before he could touch the door handle.

“Atsumu.”

“Hm?”

“Are you into bondage?”

“Get the fuck out of my room.”

Osamu snickered.

—

You had a job, and it was not rinsing rice at Onigiri Miya on the weekend while getting groped by its owner. Osamu hugged you from behind today, then his hands started to wander under your Onigiri Miya t-shirt to yank your bras down and knead your breasts.

“Osamu,” you panted as you felt a slight pinch on your nipples.

Your life changed after the wrong-room incident, drastically, to be completely honest, because Osamu refused to leave things in that hotel room and let the past be the past. As crazy as it sounded, he sort of—took you with him.

Even when Atsumu tried to talk some sense into him because your friends nearly begged him on their knees, Osamu still insisted you were here with him at least on the weekend.

His onigiri shop was a two-hour train ride from your home—the city the hotel was located in, the city you were supposed to meet up with Atsumu because he had a game there.

You met his twin, and you had to admit it wasn’t too far-fetched that the new receptionist confused one with the other and gave out the wrong keycard. They checked in at the same time, booked the same room type, and the staff had had a long day.

So Osamu got Atsumu’s room, and you also got Atsumu’s keycard. Shit happened, it was just unfortunate that you were at the receiving end. You apologized, your friends did, too. They were the ones tying him down to the bed.

“It was dark. We tried to wake you up but…” one of your friends confessed, stopped when it steered towards the path where Osamu was at fault for not waking up. “We fucked up. We are sorry.”

That was it.

Osamu listened to everything without a single reaction. After checking out, everyone gathered at the lobby to clear things up. You stood beside Osamu, wearing his long sleeve button up with your own jeans, and to your friends’ horror, failing miserably to hide the marks on your neck.

He took you with him that day anyway, now he visited you at work on Fridays to drive you here to spend the weekend and help him with the shop. And you, scared shitless he would take legal action against you and your friends, complied.

Dealing with rice made your hands softer, and Osamu loved it. They felt nice around his cock, he said. He also liked the smell.

All thoughts were shattered like shards of glass when he turned you to face him and pressed a hard kiss onto your lips, rice forgotten. You knew what he liked now, didn’t flinch as much anymore when he bit your tongue or lips, sometimes too hard they bled and the kiss turned metallic. You started to get used to it, to him.

Hand on his thick member, you dragged it up and down, did not leave any inch untouched. Osamu pulled away from the kiss to look at you, his breath quickened. Without hair products like his twin brother, Osamu’s dark hair fell freely. He looked like God’s best creation.

Nipples still sensitive from the stimulation, you whimpered when Osamu touched them again.

“Sneaky little mouse.”

That was his favorite pet name for you—sneaky little mouse, one that came to the wrong house and now had to stay. His sense of humor sucked.

He came in your hand, then he got down on his knees and made you ride his face till you came on his tongue. When the first staff clocked in, just five minutes after he wiped your glistening juice off his chin with a fresh towel, your hands and uniform were clean and neat again. But you didn’t go back to washing the rice, you left it to the staff, still feeling a bit dirty.

When the shop opened for dinner at 5PM, you stationed yourself behind the register, that was your spot. You occasionally helped with the serving if the night turned a little too busy, just to keep things smooth, but would always come back to handle the bills.

It became your new normal, alarming you every so often that you actually cared how well the business ran, that you enjoyed the smell of the food Osamu made, and that it didn’t disturb you as much as it should have to see your smiling face greeting a customer on Osamu’s lock screen.

You felt right at home…

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