nichespiderweb

[nichespiderweb]

im gonna say it.

you cannot separate monsterfucking from queerness.

& for the love of fuck i don't need babygays coming at me with "you're equating being gay with being a monster!" go back to tiktok, this is for the adults.

monsterfucking is so queer bc so many of us feel unlovable, so many of us can't relate to real world affections & attractions. (aces & aros in particular)

so yeah, i wanna fuck that monster, bc deep down, i hope someone will love the monster i think i am.

[nichespiderweb]

you guys realize ‘reblog bait’ is a trigger tag for psychosis that can be set off by posts that say things like ‘reblog this or your dog dies’ ‘reblog this or you’ll never be happy again’ ‘reblog this to win a million dollars’ and not for posts like ‘hey rb this and put in the tags x thing’ right

[nichespiderweb]

You can't go to simpler times

A couple of pieces inspired by @merakiui 's fic about a captive Azul and a princess reader. I really recommend it, pls check it out.

+18 content below the cut // Minors DNI // cw: yandere, non-consensual touching, tentacles, implied non-con,

I asked Merakiui if it was ok to draw something related to her fic some months ago and it's only now that I finally got to draw it jsjsjs sorry about that 👉👈 but I've been stuck with the mental image of the stained glass painting the last scene with a very ominous light ever since. I'm actually happy with how it turned out in the end >:')

[nichespiderweb]

friendly reminder to support gifmakers who are still active and creating lots of content despite the horrible treatment we get from users. i don’t know if you noticed but many of us are quiting (and rightfully so), therefore if you want your favorite gifmakers to keep creating content SUPPORT THEM BY REBLOGGING. i can’t stress this enough, tumblr is not instagram, its whole purpose is to create and share. so yeah please try to support content creators if you don’t want them to leave.

[nichespiderweb]

obsessed w actors who are obsessed with their own characters like not in a weird “method acting” way or whatever but in a yeah this is my character and this is the novel length backstory i wrote for them in my head and here’s the thought process behind the line i improvised and here’s what i think they did after the ending and whether or not they like olives on their pizza

[nichespiderweb]

solomon manspreading is so real and true and means the entire world to me.......

[nichespiderweb]

i actually… love people who double or triple or infinity text … what are you excited about because i’m excited too! message me seven times please i’m glad you have a lot to say and i am willing to listen!!

[nichespiderweb]

˖  ݁ . ࿓ take my sunburnt heart into your hands cw, mdni. smoking, food. smut — fem receiving oral, fingering

your heart is in the eye of a hurricane — it’s wounded, cut in a miserable and pathetic half.

“morning, hot stuff.”

gojo satoru wraps his arms around your waist, buries his nose into the crook of your neck — oblivious to the fact that your heart is in a dangerous predicament, to the fact that you’re falling in love — with what you cannot have, with him.

and your heart burns as salt water seeps through it.

he kisses your skin — slender fingers caressing your bare shoulders, voice breathy. “let me make something,” he starts, hands sliding down and down — until they squeezes your hips with a hesitant, almost invisible tenderness. “and i promise i won’t burn the kitchen down.”

“you promise?” you laugh, turning to face him — a grave mistake, since you see the sun in his eyes, because you fall a little more in love with him. “hm, i don’t know, satoru.”

“c’mon,” he helps you up onto the counter, wiggles his way in between your legs, grips your bare thigh. and he sleepily smiles and your heart melts. “i’ll make some pancakes,” his hand slides up, finds its new spot on the side of your waist. “or some eggs.” he leans down, kisses your lips — tastes the coffee you had been drinking and the bread you had been eating.

“okay.” you say, breathless, as he walks away and toward the fridge. because how could you deny him? the man who’d create heaven for a summer to see you happy. “but don’t burn the kitchen down, ‘kay?”

he turns to look at you — slight smile turning his lips upward, nose scrunching up, head tilted to the side. “ya really don’t have any faith in me?”

you grip the countertop, look at him with a moon in each eye as you giggle. “not since last summer, when you burned the food we were supposed to eat to a crisp.”

“please, hot stuff — i made it up by buying ya your favorite takeout.”

you sigh, smile. “yeah, yeah. that’s true.”

“and lots of sex afterwards, too.”

“god, satoru — you don’t have to mention that.”

he sends you a sly smirk, one that’s gentle around the edges — one that makes your heart warm up, melt through your rib cage. and the salt from the sea doesn’t seem to burn your wounds anymore, because you forget.

you forget that gojo satoru is like the sun and the summer — warm, unattainable and temporary. it is easier to reach the sun than his heart, you realize.

“what’re ya thinking about?”

he’s standing in front of you again — hands on either sides of your hips, unlit cigarette dangling in between his lips. you stare at him in all of his late morning glory; the way his eyes put the sky to shame, the way his slacks hang loosely from his hips. how he’s barefoot and the tiled floor is cold, how his hair is even more disheveled than the night before.

you’re breathless again. he’ll make you go insane. “not much,” you squeak and his brows furrow. “about the night you told me you traded your eyes for diamonds.”

because how could you tell him you want his heart in your hands? for a spring and an autumn and a winter.

he leans back and laughs and you think it carries along a few sun rays. “i told you that on the first night we slept together, no? four summers ago.” satoru leans to look behind you, grabs his zippo lighter and places his cigarette in his mouth again.

“you remember?!”

his eyes go wide. “of course! our summer flings started because of that night.” he lights his cigarette and wanders to the stove, turns the switch. “you’re really hurting my feelings today, hot stuff.”

you bite your bottom lip, ask yourself — is it wrong to want more? to be filled with such greed? you wonder — is it a sin to want to wake up by his side for an eon? and you could cry. because, in your handmade heaven, it is.

gojo satoru can’t help but stare — admire the inner conflict you’re having (even if he’s not one hundred percent sure what it’s about) because you look breathtaking, you put the sun and the sea to shame.

“did you know,” his voice breaks your thoughts and he’s standing in front of you again — an action you can’t get tired of, one you would freeze time for. his eyes, just like the blue sky, hold the sun. “that i’d give it all away for you?” he stashes his cigarette in the nearby ashtray. “even my diamond eyes?”

you can’t help but laugh and he smiles, more than content with your reaction — even if you’re disregarding his words. because you don’t love him, do you? you couldn’t possibly. not when he burns the food to a crisp, not when he leaves on the last day of june before you do.

it’s quiet, until you finally speak up — find the courage in the depths of your soul. “would you really, satoru?”

his heart gets stuck in his throat and he blinks almost dumbly, surprised you’re even asking. here’s his chance, his one and only — to say that he wouldn’t mind if you ripped his heart out of his chest.

“yeah,” he says and he scans your face, adrenaline surging through his veins. “i’d give my eyes and — god, i’d sell my soul for you.” his big, slightly calloused hands cup your face and the sun grazes your skin. “i want to give you my sunburnt heart.”

in that moment, you think, the hurricane stills — the ocean isn’t so relentless, your wounds don’t hurt.

you kiss him — lean upward and kiss him as if you had never done so before, as if you’ve been deprived. and he returns your gesture with fervor; wraps an arm around your waist to pull you close, like when the sun meets the sea.

his lips leave yours and you’re mumbling his name while he trails kisses down your neck — down your chest, where your thin shirt is unbuttoned at the top. and his unoccupied hand gropes your sex, presses two fingers into your cunt that make you squirm.

“s-satoru,” you stutter, arch your back and throw your head back as he licks two of his fingers, shoves them down your shorts. “i think — a-ah — i think i l-love you.”

“you think? after i’ve given you my heart?” his tone is teasing, but a butterfly perches itself on his rib cage, shamelessly flutters its wings.

“i know i love you.”

“and i love you,” he traces circles on your hole, starts to spread your arousal. “my moon,” draws messy hearts on your clit. “my stars.” and he’s inserting a finger into your gaping hole — mouth on yours again, swallowing your sweet moans as he goes at a slow pace, delighting in the way your hips follow.

his sunburnt heart isn’t so unattainable anymore. it’s in your hands.

he pulls your shorts down then, grips your thighs with his strong hands and lifts you slightly — places your legs on his shoulders, rests his elbows on the countertop, buries his face into your cunt.

his tongue slides from your hole to your clit in one slow stride, swirls on your bud as his thumb teases your sopping hole. “s-satoru — feels so good, satoru.” your fingers tangle in his hair, push him in.

“i’m gonna give you heaven for the thousandth time.”

and he does — eats at you as if you were his last meal. his left hand always grips your thigh, his thumb rubs at your clit as his tongue darts in between your walls.

“satoru, ‘m so close.”

you say his name as if it were a sacred prayer and he swears he could devour the sun, the sea and the moon — the earth, if he were tempted, if you asked him to.

he hums and it vibrates through your pussy, through your being — makes you see stars.

“cum for me, my love.”

you think that pet name alone could make you orgasm and you cover your face in embarrassment — back arching as you come undone for him.

his nimble fingers wrap around your wrists, move your face to the side. “look at me, baby — look at me when i’m giving you a piece of heaven.”

satoru laps at you like a thirsty dog, cleaning up the mess he made of you as you pant — moans soft and sweet. and once he stands you sit up, face glistening with a sheer coat of sweat and he smiles.

“look,” he grabs your wrist again, pulls your hand down to his slacks, to his very apparent bulge. “look at what ya do to me, pretty girl.”

the rest of the morning consists of gojo satoru giving you every inch of his soul, of his being, of his sunburnt heart that glimmers like the sea.

hope you liked it ⋆ ˚｡⋆˚⸜(♡ ॑ᗜ ॑♡)⸝ ˚⋆｡˚ ⋆ reblogs are appreciated!

note. my first time writing a little something for him! < 3 i’m not sure how i feel about it, but i hope it wasn’t too terrible sob ⸝⸝ʚ̴̶̷̆ ̯ʚ̴̶̷̆⸝⸝

[nichespiderweb]

𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐚 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞?

Chiwhorei’s Kinktober: 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏

Welcome, one and all, circus freaks and horror geeks, to a one-stop-shop of horror, smut, and things other-worldly. One thing to ask yourself before you proceed:

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞?

Grab a flashlight, because it’s dark up ahead. Five fandoms await you here, seven stories to devour (careful, before they take a bite out of you), and one month of salacious fantasy.

One: The house creeks, floorboards making way for nervous steps. Forward, backwards, you’re unsure of everything but the inevitable destination. Wherever you go, the same place awaits you. If home is a person, Levi is a haunted house.

Stepdad!Levi x Stepdaughter, Attack on Titan: Stepcest, Noncon, Cheating

Two: It drips down your skin, breath fanning like thick paint. His stare follows you, it holds you captive, it waits and watches. There’s no need to fear him. Tamaki loves you too much to hurt you— at least not too badly.

Yandere!Tamaki x Exotic Dancer, BNHA: Yandere, Noncon, Chikan

Three: Bound tightly, wrist to wrist, skin itching under silken ropes. He’s caught you in a spider web of red, you’re the reason he can see how good the color looks on you. You dangle, an offering, a sacrifice, a piece of art to display. His muse, his capture, his sister.

Big Brother!Sakusa x Little Sister, Haikyuu: Soulmates!AU, Incest, Shibari

Four: Your smell dances across the riverbed like skipping rocks, chasing him, calling him. Your body quivers in the cool water, innocence glimmering from damp skin. You shouldn’t be out here alone, little doe, there’s wild animals this deep in the woods.

Alpha!Jiraiya x Omega, Naruto: Fairytale!AU, A/B/O, Corruption, Age gap

Five: There’s no God to serve above you, past the ceilings, the clouds, the stars. There’s nothing beyond smoldering flickers of light and the soft burn of wax against your naked skin. His laugh is like a striking match. There’s no one to serve but the man in front of you, there’s no one to bow to but Beni. He’ll give you atonement, you just have to beg for it.

Dom!Benimaru x Submissive, Fire Force: S & M, Waxplay, Dom/Sub, Humiliation

Six: He’s so gentle, touches featherlight as they wrap around your neck. It hurts like a sugar-burn. What was in that drink he gave you? It tasted like sour apples and it went down like razors. Shadows of purplish black curve around your vision, the feeling of tendrils lashing against bare skin. “What do you think kitty,” Izuku’s tongue rattles against your neck, “of my dirty little secret?”

Pro Hero!Deku x Reader, BNHA: Drugging, Kidnapping, Tentacles, Sounding, Noncon, Sadism

Seven: The first thing you notice is a sound, a far away, muffled ticking. Tick, tick, tick— each moment holding its own eternity. Your limbs are frozen in place, but muscles ache like you’ve been running for your life. Have you? Itachi is starving, canines aching just to get a bite. He’s careful, calculating, patient even as his mouth waters. He can’t have you too scared, wouldn’t want to spoil the flavor.

Itachi x Reader, Naruto: Predator vs. Prey, Cannibalism, Bloodplay, Mindbreak, Noncon, Gore

✞ 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞: All writing is chiwhorei’s original content, please do not repost or modify. Do no read my content as asmr. Do not recommend me on TikTok.©️

[nichespiderweb]

[nichespiderweb]

i bet zhongli get gloomy bcz he saw how big his bulge are n he have no bitches he can fuck val im so horny for this man i dont get it

Ur right amos :(( Zhongli gets depressed as fuck bc his bulge is the size of his fist and he he has no one to fuck in Liyue. And his cock hurts, he hasn’t been able to pump his cum into anyone for centuries :,(, so please help him <3 let him push his ginormous cock, that splits you open and makes you cry. Let him push your legs up to your chest, ankles dangling by your ears as you whine he’s gonna break you.

Just let him shush you, coo you down because he’s prioritizing the swelling in his balls to your small cunt. So be pliant and sweet for him, yeah? Hook your legs open for him as he swipes the bulbous head, that’s already splitting your slick lips open. He’s practically drooling over top of you, drenched cunt hugging the tip of his leaking length. “Love- n’ won’t last,” He’s mumbling, dragging his heavy cock into you. And your thighs are already trembling, the fucking weight of it spearing into you. And Zhongli presses his palms onto the backs of your thighs to keep your spread open for him. He can feel the way your muscles jump, fingers twitching as you drool and go cross-eyed under him.

“Just a little more,” He mutters, practically stupid himself. Silken walls clenched around half of his cock, and he pauses. Looking down and groans at the way your pussy can hardly fit around him. Lips stretched so wide it’s comical, and Zhongli feels like he’s not himself when he drifts a hand down to pet at your glistening clit that’s practically gleaming in the cold air. You clamp down on him then, arching your back and mewling out. Somehow getting impossibly tighter, and creaming on his cock. “S’ good for me.” He chuckles, thrusting in to the hilt. He’s too deep, can feel the kiss of your cervix on his cock and the way you kick your legs out. Letting go in favor of grabbing his neck, gripping at his hair and crying out.

Zhongli hasn’t had anyone to fuck in centuries, so be good for him. Just lay there and take it, even if you’re stuffed full and and leaking, tummy bulging and dripping with his cum. He still needs you <3

[nichespiderweb]

Ungrateful. (nsft)

summary: god form venti/reader. Venti overhears you praying about something trivial and decides to teach you a lesson in gratitude.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: explicit content, NONCON, mild yandere, abuse of power, god/mortal dynamic, ooc venti

note: please read with caution, heavy tws.

The Favonious Cathedral was unlocked at night, though it was almost always empty, just in case anyone needed emergency sanctuary or comfort. You were here for the latter, coming to pray to Barbatos for guidance. Your footsteps clack against the linoleum floor and echo through the large empty hall. You get down on your knees between two pews and clasp your hands in prayer.

At least once a week you found yourself here, praying. You knew Lord Barbatos wasn't personally solving your troubles, he probably had much more important matters to attend to, but just getting it off your chest and into the open air of the cathedral brought you a unique sense of solace that you just kept coming back for.

You thought about the events that brought you here tonight. Your heart ached in your chest as you began praying. You truly thought they were different, that you could trust them. But they broke your heart anyways. You were glad you chose to come at night when the church was devoid of other churchgoers, as tears started falling down your cheeks and into the corners of your mouth. You inhaled shakily and shivered.

New footsteps resounded the room and you froze up, silencing your cries. The footsteps marched towards you and stopped in the aisle behind you. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hands to cover up your shame and turn slowly to face the newcomer.

Your already-throbbing heart skips a beat at what you see. A man, though he appears to be short, towers over your kneeling form. He is draped in long, flowing white robes that complement his figure. His face has gentle, round features with two braids tied around the sides of his head. He bears a striking resemblance to all known depictions of Lord Barbatos. You would have assumed it was an imposter in distasteful cosplay, gotten up and accused him of blasphemy, if it weren't for the beautiful, sprawling white wings behind him. He had to be real.

Everything about him is beautiful. Your mouth gapes slightly as you process the overwhelmingly holy presence before you, frozen in shock. You mindlessly stare at his stunning green eyes, currently void of readable emotion. His entire soft face is blank. You snap out of your trance and realize that he could strike you down at any second for your insolence.

You turn your body fully around to face him and bow your head. "Lord Barbatos." you say.

Your mind aches with questions- why here? Why now? Why you? The church and the people of Mondstadt had total radio silence from the god for centuries. Had you done something wrong, and he was here to punish you? You want to ask, but you didn't dare question him out of turn.

His lips finally move. "Why are you here tonight?" he asks. His voice is solemn yet angelic, nasally but not annoyingly so.

He knows why you are here. You come here once a week with something new to cry about. He wants to hear you say it, though.

Your breath catches in your throat at the direct acknowledgement and you struggle to find words. "For… guidance, my Lord," you manage, folding your hands in your lap.

He says nothing, waiting for you to continue.

"My partner… left me. I just feel so heartbroken. I just wanted to pray for comfort. I'm sorry," you say tentatively; you aren't exactly sure what you're apologizing for, but you still can't tell if he's upset or not, and you aren't about to risk it.

He blinks. Here you were, at his feet, in shambles over a breakup. He had fought tooth and nail for the liberation of his people. He lost everyone he had ever loved so you could be free today. But you get dumped and you’re suffering?

Sure, you were allowed to be sad, breakups happen. But every week you found some new trivial problem to be crumbling over, whining his ear off in the wee hours of the night. Bad hair day before an interview. Lost your wallet. Fight with a friend. He always listened to your prayers, as you were a pious follower (and he didn’t have much else to do), but they were always so insufferably inconsequential. You were privileged through and through, and you deserved to be knocked down a peg.

You didn't know what it was like to suffer. But he would show you.

He doesn't say that, though. Instead, he softens his eyes and gives you a kind smile that complements his gentle features. "It must have been hard," he soothes.

You stare at him in utter disbelief, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. He knelt down on one knee in front of you, your heights now level, and extended a hand out to you.

You hesitate for a moment. You want oh-so-badly to accept his hand, but you aren't worthy. You don't deserve such a loving touch from someone as magnificent as him.

But rejecting him would be sacrilegious, and you would not be able to live with yourself after. Managing all your courage you crawl out from between the pews and into the aisle where he kneels. You crawl into the reach of his arms and he places his soft hand on your face. You would have thought his hands to be calloused, given the amount of times they fought for Mondstadt, but the delicateness matches the rest of him just as well. His disarming smile and loving gaze warms your weary soul and you melt into his hand, closing your eyes.

For a moment you just revel in the warmth. Then, he leans forward and you instinctively lean back, sitting on your legs. He removes his hand from your cheek and gently takes your wrists in his hands instead. His gentle eyes are still fixed on you, so you don't resist, fully trusting him.

He doesn't stop leaning towards you, slowly pushing you. "Let me comfort you," he says. You're about to question him, but he finally pushes you down onto your back. Your head hits the cold tile and you grimace in pain. Barbatos moves quickly before you can sit up, straddling your hips and still holding your wrists. You try to tug them away but his grip tightens at the movement.

"Lord Barbatos- this isn't- we can't-" You struggle to find the politest way to tell him to stop, but he just shushes you dismissively.

He lets go of your wrists once he's comfortably situated atop your hips and puts one of his hands on the center of your chest to keep you down. You immediately use your freed hands to try and push him away but he pays no mind to your feeble attempts. He undoes a clasp on his robes and they slide off of him gracefully, now clad in much lighter, more revealing underclothes.

The impending doom of the situation causes panic to settle in your chest. Adrenaline pumps through you and the force with which you shove at his shoulders and arm increases dramatically, though he is much stronger than he looks. You didn't expect any less from your archon, but it only serves to enhance your dread. Your ribcage feels like it's closing in around your lungs.

Barbatos grows visibly irritated with your weak shoves and catches both of your wrists in one hand. "Stop fighting," he huffs, "I'm doing this for you."

He isn't. You don't know what he's doing this for, but you're gaining absolutely nothing from what he is doing to you but lifelong trauma that will weigh heavy on your mind like shackles. You will never be free from the suffering he is inflicting upon you now.

With his other hand he starts undoing the buttons of your top. He stops when it's unbuttoned to your stomach and your chest is fully exposed. His beautiful wings flutter slightly behind him.

Your once-dried tears come back with renewed life and you cannot bear to look at him any longer. You tilt your head back and fix your eyes on the ceiling of the cathedral and you cry as silently as you can manage.

You hear the rustling of clothes and feel him hike your skirt up to your waist. You close your eyes and shudder. He releases your wrists and adjusts his position so that he's between your legs. He must notice you tuning him out because he taps the side of your face, "Hey. Pay attention." You open your eyes and he's laying on top of you, his face directly over yours. You know what comes next and you give him a pleading stare with your teary eyes. He smiles down at you.

He casts his gaze downward. Tears blur your vision and his warm, soft fingers tug your underwear aside. You blink and hot tears stream down the sides of your face. You brace yourself.

He spares no time piercing through your virginity, bottoming out like he had been waiting ages for this moment. Pain sears through your abdomen and your will to fight reignites. You thrash your legs, trying to kick him off. You didn't care about being pious anymore. You didn't care if you were called a heretic. You just wanted him off.

But he somehow keeps going despite your movement. With one hand he props himself up over you, and he wraps the other delicately around your throat. He doesn't squeeze, but the threat is there. "Just- ugh- just relax," he pants.

The initial pain dulls out but you still feel him splitting your insides and hitting your cervix with each thrust, like he was made perfectly to fill you up in the most mind numbing way possible. You whimper in pain and stare up at him. His face is flushed red, breath uneven, his hand trembles slightly against your neck. His wings obstruct your view of anything past him. Even like this, even though you hate him right now, he's beautiful.

Your body rocks back and forth against the cold floor in time with his thrusts. The way he stretches you out around him is uniquely painful, and yet a warm, pleasant feeling blooms in your abdomen. It feels natural.

You scan his graceful features. He looks so soft. You realize that, while he's had a field day touching you, you had yet to touch him, aside from the desperate shoving. Formalities are long gone by this point, so you reach up slowly and cup the plush flesh of his cheek. He doesn't seem to mind, and in fact he enjoys it. He leans into your hand and closes his eyes. It's a wonder how someone so warm and soft can be capable of such cruelty, you muse. You pull your hand away and he sighs at the loss of contact.

The hand around your throat slides lower to your exposed breast and he squeezes one in his hand. All the resentment he felt towards you mere minutes ago had dissipated. This was no longer about making you suffer, he just wanted you. You felt so good under him, he was certain this was what Celestia had intended for you all along. He was your god, and you were his angel.

His uneven hip movements become more erratic and he leans down and presses his forehead to yours. You push at his shoulders one last time, silently urging him to pull out.

He bucks harshly into your cervix with bruising force and you cry out in pain. You feel him tense up and relax, twitching slightly inside you. He thrusts haphazardly a couple more times, fucking his cum into you, and panic swirls in your clouded mind.

He pulls out and slides off of you. You button your shirt back up as soon as he's off in a frivolous attempt to preserve your dignity. Agony weighs heavy on your mind. You're disgusted with him. You're disgusted with yourself for hating the god you were meant to revere. You're disgusted with your body for enjoying even a second of it.

Barbatos sits on the floor behind you. He lifts your head and slides his legs under so that you're resting your head in his lap. His robes are back on. You roll over so you're face down in his lap and openly sob into it. Your shoulders shake and you gasp for air between wails.

"You did so good," His nimble fingers stroke your tangled hair comfortingly, "It's like you were made for me."

You sob harder into his robes at the words, desperately clinging to the fabric for comfort. You cry into him for several minutes and he just pets your hair gently the whole time.

You're exhausted, emotionally and physically, and when your crying eventually ceases, you can't resist the urge to just shut your eyes. You fall asleep in his lap.

When you wake, it's dawn, and Barbatos is nowhere to be seen. A sister found you when she stepped into the main hall to prepare for morning mass, out cold on the floor of the cathedral in disorderly, rumpled clothing. She assumes you must've taken sanctuary in the night from something outside.

If only she knew.

~

You stopped going to church after that, on your own at least. You still went when invited by friends or family, just so they wouldn’t suspect something was wrong. Time passes and one such day occurs- you walk out the doors of the Favonious Cathedral after watching the choir sing with two friends. You gossip lightheartedly with them and one suggests visiting a tavern on the east side of town to wind down, and that there should be a performer there today.

You push open the door of Angel’s share and have a seat with your friends at the bar. Lo and behold, the performer is a bit farther in, singing in the more crowded area with all the tables. He’s facing away from you, but slowly turning to address the full crowd. His green clothes were a striking clash against the brown background of the rest of the bar. Something about his presence is familiar, and as he turns towards your group it clicks like the hammer of a gun.

His visage bears perfect likeness to the man that day in the church, to Barbatos himself. His attire is different, his demeanor is fully changed, to where you almost think you must be seeing things- but as he spins around to the melody of his tavern tune, he makes brief eye contact with you and you see the slightest glimmer of recognition in his eyes. You know.

Your friends giggle at the sight of your staredown with him, and playfully accuse you of having a crush. You laugh it off nervously and turn to the bartender. You order two shots.

[nichespiderweb]

hi its somno anon from before and ur addition is *chefs kiss* delicious as always thank u

im back with more brain rot because ur blog is seriously very comforting to someone who repressed their dark content ideas

partly inspired by ur dark web liveshow, poor little reader who has student loans to pay and hasn't had enough money to pay for anything and with their schedule, doesn't have any time to apply for part time work. they hear from a friend about a hidden part of the web that would allow them to get paid without having to do anything serious. desperate, they try it out.

nothing happens after they clicked the website so they go to bed. they wake up nearly at noon the next day, a bit sore but maybe it's from their weird sleeping position. they check their bank account and would u look at that! money! they don't know or understand where it came from but it helped pay their tuition and bills for that month! knowing that it works, they go to the website again and, as usual, nothing happens so they sleep.

the next day, they wake up and there is money in their account again! this happens a few more times and it was okay at first. but then they slowly see marks on their body, suspicious fluid coming out of their hole, and even a weird bite mark that appeared randomly.

so one night, they decided to stay up to see whats the deal. they still pretend to head to bed but they're awake and aware. they hear their door open and someone rummaging some equipment, and they peeked only to find someone setting up some filming equipment.

they see the friend that recommended them the website smiling at them.

"so, u want to spice up this session by staying awake, huh?"

turns out they were filming them being completely fucked in all holes and positions requested on stream while drugged out with sleeping pills (and the occasional aphrodisiac) the money was from the patrons donating to see them get increasingly used.

(idk who else would work here but childe and kaeya are my biggest candidates)

- somno anon

‘m heart eyes for you somno anon!! rubbing my cheek against yours <3 the scientific/rational part of me wants to say that these repressed urges aren’t wrong at all as long as we don’t act on them n i’d love to hear all of them that you have hehe~ i’d imagine albedo or childe hehe.

minors do not interact. dark nsfw content.

warnings: noncon filming, manipulation, masturbation, drugging

it’s frustrating, how all your time is occupied by studies that only seem to pile up in assignments and costs. it’s gotten to the point where your childhood best friend, childe, comments daily about your dark circles and how you really should rest more. he just doesn’t understand, coming from a wealthy background so you can only smile weakly at him during study sessions and catch small windows of rest as you doze off in class. it’s gotten to the point that even the star student, albedo, has woken you gently after a lecture, his handsome face in your view as you blearily awaken.

“you okay? you’ve been pretty tired in all our classes.” if you had the energy, you probably would’ve flushed red at his soft concerned voice and how he’s noticed you taking your well needed naps. instead you just sigh, looking wearily at albedo and shaking your head. “truthfully, i’ve been struggling with financing my study. uhm- do you have any tips? if not, it’s okay-“

albedo nods sympathetically, interrupting your nervous ramble with his calm manner of speech.

“i completely understand. it must be exhausting right? there’s this site you can try out, it’s quite fruitful for people like you.”

desperate and blindly believing albedo’s words, you eagerly respond. “really?! oh, please, let me know how!”

albedo smiles serenely at you, eyes glinting as if he’s found something truly amusing. “it’s quite simple really…”

childe can’t help it. the link that albedo sent him was too tempting, the image of your pixelated bedroom that he knows, because there’s a picture of you two right by your bedside. he feels guilty and he knows he should let you know… but he can’t help but fuck his fist as he watches the stream of you peacefully asleep.

it just stirs all the sick desires he has for you that he’s repressed for all these years, ruined by a live feed of you scantily clad and completely unaware your childhood best friend who swore to always protect you, shooting loads into stolen panties that he ordered straight from your house. every time albedo texts him with another tantalising offer, he can’t help but spend his money on you. it’s- it’s benefiting both sides isn’t it? you- you can rest and he can live out his fantasies for you, even paying for your tuition without you refusing!

it’s a win-win until a text flashes onto his screen. want to fuck them? i can make it happen. childe gulps, hands already sticky with his last orgasm yet he can feel his interest rising along with his erection. childe wants to bury his hands in his head, apologise to you for not doing this the right way but when his hands are cleaned, he’s responding to the text with a swift yes.

you’re the subject of all his wet dreams and he’s about to make them come true, with his schemingly smart friend, albedo.

i believe bedo def had ulterior motives, he used both childe and you! he knew he could get his dick wet, make money and fulfil everyone’s goals. he loves pushing his dick into your limp mouth as childe fucks you forward, the harsh thrusts as childe slides in and out of you making your mouth move along albedo’s length, a delicious heat that he can abuse without a single care. when he slips into your used hole, fucked raw from childe’s intense pounding, the sloppy feel is amazing. when he gets bored of it, he tightens your hole back up by making childe jealous that he’s inside you, so they both force themselves into your wet heat.

i bet zhongli, diluc and ayato are top donors to this stream. the mora pours in like cum into your holes every time it goes live with the duo ruining you.

hehe, i hope you like my lil brain rot somno anon! i love love scenarios like these and your description? simply divine, sigh i want to be manipulated n drugged out so bad. or do it to a cute darling (๑>◡<๑)

[nichespiderweb]

classic scifi novels by men r always like. page 1 here’s a cool scifi idea i had. page 2 i hate women so much it’s unreal

[nichespiderweb]

Iris van Herpen Fall 2022 Couture

[nichespiderweb]

GREEDY — DRAKEN, HANMA, MANJIRO, SANZU

warnings — overstimulation (all), multiple orgasms (all), pussy eating (draken), squirting (hanma), daddy used one time (hanma), unprotected sex (hanma, mikey, sanzu)

word count — 1056

from jupiter — not proofread & i am 100% sure there are spelling & grammatical errors

feedback & reblogs are encouraged and appreciated! 18+, minors do not interact.

In love doesn’t even begin to describe how he feels. He’s enthralled. Enamored. Head over heels, completely drunk on you. His world stops every time you speak, every time your lips curl around his name. He’d do anything you asked; you’ve got this big, intimidating man wrapped around your finger and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He honestly can’t get enough of you.

DRAKEN

“One more for me, baby,” he groans, tongue dipping down to lick a slow stripe up your pussy without giving you time to recover from your previous orgasm.

Your hips thrash, attempting to buck up before being slammed back down by his strong hands.

“Sit still for me, pretty girl.”

You try your best, you really do, but he’s just so good, licking and slurping at your messy cunt, hands wandering over your body, leaving chills in their wake. He’s messy with it, obscene slurping noises mixing with his low groans, your face scrunching up in embarrassment at just how wet you are. His tongue finds its place at your clit, wet muscle flicking across your sensitive bud.

You squirm again, hips bucking up against his face, little cries of, “Ken, ‘m cummin—” floating through the air before a sob rips through you, a cord snapping in your stomach. You hear him moan into you, still hungrily licking at your pussy as you come undone for him.

He’s breathless when he pulls away, eyes glowing, face messy and drenched in you. He lays a chaste kiss to your clit, and repeats the same words he’s been saying since he first started.

“Just gimme one more.”

HANMA

“That’s my good girl, I know you can take it,” he coos, a wild grin painting his features as he slams his cock back into you, knocking the breath from your lungs with the sheer force he uses to fuck you. His hands dig into your hips, pulling you back to meet every harsh thrust he gives you, eyes stuck on the way your ass bounces against him.

His hands slide up your back, providing the tiniest bit of pressure, pushing your chest into the mattress.

“There you go, arch your back f’me, pretty,” he murmurs, groaning at just how deep his cock is inside you, losing himself entirely at the squeeze and tug of your pretty cunt.

You’re no better, drool and tears soaking the sheets, hoarse cries muffled in the fabric. You can feel him everywhere, choking his name out between gasps and moans. Your legs tremble, a small warning falling from your lips as you feel a familiar pressure building in your stomach.

“Gonna cum, ‘m gonna make a mess for you, daddy,” you whimper, fingers digging into the sheets as his balls slap against your aching clit.

“Yeah?” he quips, only fucking you harder, faster, watching your legs shake and tremble as your voice cuts off.

Your vision goes white, entire body quivering as you gush on his cock. He pulls out, sitting back on his knees as he watches you dirty up his sheets, beaming at the way his pretty pussy cums for him. You don’t have time to recover, still breathless and shaking, stuck on cloud nine as he flips you over and sinks his cock back into you. He hikes your legs over his shoulders, cooing when a sob rips through your chest. He lands a few gentle taps to your thigh, kissing at your ankles to get your attention.

“Get it together, sweetheart, wanna see you cum like that again.”

MIKEY

Mikey’s filled your cunt more times than he can count, a wild look in his eyes as he keeps using you, keeps fucking into you despite the burn in his stomach and the way his cock aches from overstimulation.

Your hands curl in tiny fists, trembling as you tiptoe over the edge, creaming around his cock for the third time that night. His name falls from your lips, blurred behind nearly pornographic moans.

“Fuck,” he groans, “Can’t— I can’t stop, baby. ‘S just too good— shit,” his eyes roll back when your cunt squeezes around him. His moans rip through his entire body, an ache beginning to spread in his thighs as his balls clench, cock shooting out another load right against your cervix.

You gasp, eyes clenching shut at how messy it is, how loud it is when he pulls out of you, cock still hard and shining with your mess. He runs a hand along your thigh, cooing sweet nothings to try and calm you down. You’re still dizzy, head still reeling when you blink open your eyes to find him looking at you, hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly.

“Aw, there she is, there’s my girl,” he murmurs as he leans over you, kissing you gently. Your hips jump when you feel the fat tip of his cock graze over your folds.

“Think you can take one more? Please? Just for me?”

SANZU

Your thighs burn, muscles trembling with the exertion of slamming your hips back down on his over and over again. You dig your nails into his chest, noticing the way he tenses up, cock jumping inside you as he groans at the pain.

You nearly cringe at the squelch, a mix of cum and slick dripping from your pussy and down to his balls, your ass growing sticky with every jump of your hips. Haruchiyo seems to be in a daze, eyes glazed over, taking in the sight above him.

“You look so pretty like this,” he states, voice quivering, trembling hands reaching up to pinch at your nipples. He takes in the way you keen, back arching, his name falling from your lips beautifully. He could cum just at the sight of you feeling so good, all because of him.

“Fuck,” he squeezes his eyes shut, “Fuck—”

His orgasm hits him out of the blue, hips jumping, hands squeezing and pulling you closer, cock throbbing and spilling into you. He groans pitifully, feet planted firmly on the bed as he fucks his cum back into you.

His hands find your hips without giving himself time to calm down, the overstimulation bring tears to his eyes as he rocks you back and forth.

“Can’t get enough of you— keep going, baby, please.”

© LUVJIRO 2022. do not copy, repost, or translate my work on this platform or any other platform.

[nichespiderweb]

─  The two of you have argued before, there was nothing new or strange about it. Sometimes, though not very often, you'd get upset at something he had said or done. He’d act without thinking, or speak without consideration; words sharpened by negligence, actions spurred on without thought. 

Like a wheel that is fated to see no end, spinning and turning on its axis — over and over, again and again — you watch the cycle of anger unfold. He’d drag a hand across his face and tell you to stop overreacting. You’d get irritated and he’d change his tone with you. Lower. Stricter. Harsher. 

“This was nothing” or “That didn’t mean anything,” — “You’re overthinking,” he’d say. 

And though it was a vicious cycle, patient and damning, you’d learned to adapt to its maliciousness; to the parts of it that drew out the worst in you. You’ve molded yourself to its shape and tried to understand where it stemmed from. Twisting and turning, pulling and pushing — the worst parts of him met the miserable parts of you.

You tried. You really did try. 

But the carelessness in which he'd started to approach said arguments was new, and his dismissive manner was starting to thin your patience. 

He ignores you as you walk behind him, trying to keep up with his long strides in the heels you’d worn for the night. 

“Why won’t you listen to me?” You plead with him as he stops abruptly at the penthouse door, shoving the key into the slot aggressively. You were getting tired of arguing about the same thing — worn out from having to bring it up so often. Why wouldn’t he listen? Why did he refuse to understand?

The door had just barely closed behind you, when he turns around, slamming the wall beside your head with a heavy hand. 

“Enough.” 

Ran’s eyes are filled with fury and impatience as he stares down at you. A terrible rage fills his lavender hues and you hesitate. There was no room for your anger in this house. No room for you when he was so domineering and present. He’s never been this loud with you — has never been so upset or mean. His tone startles you. 

And though you’ve argued before, though you’ve disagreed at times, you find that you don’t know how to deal with his anger — anger that has never been directed towards you to this extent. You just don’t know. 

It’s unsettling. There's a hole in your chest that is torn open, a passiveness settling inside.

You’re upset that he has consistently brushed you and your concerns off to the side. You’re upset that your worry had been interpreted as childish jealousy. You’re upset that the only time he had decided to take you seriously was to yell at you — to shut you up. 

He runs a hand through his hair as he pulls back and heads to the kitchen, shrugging off his suit jacket and throwing it onto the couch. He leans against the counter and lights a cigarette in an attempt to calm his nerves. 

He'd expected you to start crying — half expected you to apologize even. You never liked fighting with him. He was never one to blow any argument out of proportion either. But this — this had to stop. No matter how many times he’d dismissed it, no matter how many times he’d told you not to worry about it, you still brought her up. Enough was enough. He looks up at you briefly, eyes flickering towards you as he exhales. 

There's a blank look in your eyes, a fragmentation he couldn’t understand. It felt as though you were looking through him. The parts of you that sought to intertwine with him and understand — that hollowed themselves out to make room for him — they fall back in defeat. 

Your eyes aren't glassy; they don’t even sparkle. 

He clenches his jaw and looks away. Guilt and haunt reach for his throat, as he shakily exhales the smoke.

You turn around, hand reaching for the wall as you bend to unclasp your heels. The right shoe comes off first. The left one follows after. He watches as you walk away with the shoes in your hand, fingers threading through the straps.

You don't say a word. He doesn't hear you make a sound.

The cold air of the restroom makes you aware of the slight wetness on your cheek. You stare at your reflection and you can’t help but wonder if the woman in the mirror was in the wrong. Were her feelings misguided by insecurity? Was her envy so green and her thoughts so vile? You tell her not to worry; that it’ll all be alright. You stare at your bruised toes as you fidget and sigh. You don’t even have it in you to cry.

You spend time with the other woman, washing away her fury; cleaning her anguish. Her breathing has steadied and she watches you from beyond the mirror as you wipe at your face, baring yourself to her. She’s satisfied and you turn your back on her temporary satisfaction, slipping into a loose dress and finding your place on the bed. 

He hasn’t bothered to come check up on you. To apologize to you.

 You push her nagging voice out of your head, stretching your legs out and picking up your phone instead. You scroll mindlessly for a minute or so before you decide to call a friend. It’ll help distract you, you think. You’ll call your dearest friend and she’ll make you laugh. You’ll laugh and you’ll smile and the filth encompassing your heart will wither away at your joy. 

Yes, that’s it. That’s exactly what you’ll do. 

“Hello?” She says. 

“Hi.”

“Are you okay?”

Silence from your end. 

A minute. Then two. 

“Ah, I get it. Do you want me to pick you up? We can go eat somewhere.”

“Yes, please.” You aren’t hungry at all. She knows that too. 

“Give me 20 minutes, I’m finishing up a shift right now.”

“Okay.”

More silence, this time from her end. Another minute. Another two. 

“Did he…he didn’t hurt you, right?”

You shake your head, the rustling making its way over to her end. 

“No, never. Not physically at least.” You try to smile, but the other woman insists on tugging at the corners of your mouth, pulling them down.

‘Break,' she says. ‘Break and ruin,' she wants to scream. 

You hear a dramatized sigh of relief through the phone.

“Ah, thank God. That bastard scares the shit out of me, honestly. But I’ll kill him if he ever lays a hand on you, you know that, don’t you?” 

You laugh and she smiles. 

“He wouldn’t, I promise. He isn’t so bad.”

“You’re not seriously defending him right now, are you?” 

You find it in you to laugh a little harder. She bids you a temporary farewell and you feel a little lighter. This is okay. It'd be okay if you both took a break…if you were separated from one another for a little — just until you were both able to calm down and think things through. 

You stand and rummage through your nightstand, putting a few things in the nearest tote bag and pulling it up over your shoulder. A light cardigan is folded over your arms as you quietly leave the bedroom. Ran is still in the kitchen, leaning over the island as he wipes a hand over his face. There's a glass of water beside him. You think he's trying to sober up, even though he didn't drink much at all. 

He looks up at the sound of your feet against the tile and his eyes soften at the sight of you. He’d been waiting for you to come out of the room, not wanting to push you too far. Still, you won't meet his gaze. 

It’s then that his line of sight falls to the bag on your shoulder. Panic fills the emptiness he’d been left with since you’d walked away. 

"What're you…No, wait a second. Hold on —"

He rounds the corner and slowly approaches you.

"Wait, we can talk about this."

Your brows furrow as you slip on your shoes, voice soft as you respond. 

"You said you didn't want to anymore."

Defeat, he thinks. Defeat is what laces your tone…like you’ve given up on him. On you and him.

"No,” He shakes his head as he steps a little closer to you. “We can talk about it. Let's talk about it, baby."

His eyes are trying to read you in a panicked frenzy, but still, you won't look at him. You take a step back, grip tightening on the strap of your bag.

“I think,” you bite your lip, brows furrowing as you try to find the right words. “I think it's best if I spend the night somewhere else."

“Fuck no.” 

You hold a hand out, a weak attempt at stopping him from getting any closer. He steps forward. You step back. He reaches out for you and you deny him. 

“Come on, love. Please.” 

What you say next comes out of you so quietly — so dismissively — had he not been so close to you, he might’ve missed it. You find it in you to finally meet his gaze as you utter the word. 

"Enough."

His karma comes in the form of six letters — the ones he’d spat at you so harshly less than an hour ago. But you’re still kind, even now. How quietly the word tumbled from your lips, how beautiful you were in all your anguish. His karma grins at his misery, and rejoices at his self-induced tragedy. 

"Please," he begs.

How pitiful. How cruel.

He grips your wrist when you turn to open the door, caging you in between his arms.

"Don't," he pleads.

You try to turn in his arms, tugging at his rolled-up sleeves, nails scratching at tattooed skin. His biceps flex as he holds you to him tighter. Closer. Don’t go. Don’t leave. You feel the rise and fall of his chest behind you — the racing of his heart as he holds you against him. You sigh, deciding to ease his mind. 

"I’ll come back, Ran. Just one night.” 

"No, no. Don't walk out on me."

He shakes his head at the thought, in misery and denial at its implication.

“I'm sorry."

He apologizes and you freeze in his hold, fingers stilling against his forearms. 

“I'm sorry," He says again. "I won’t raise my voice at you again. I'll never talk to her again. Won't even look at her, baby. I’ll cut all ties right now. Please just don’t go."

He keeps one arm wrapped around you as he reaches for his back pocket, pulling his phone out in the process. You blink, watching as he brings the device over to you, his fingers unlocking the screen as he looks over your shoulder, chin propped against you. You watch as he removes her from his Facebook. You watch as he blocks her on Instagram. You watch as he goes to delete her number. It’s then that you start to cry. You cry so hard, your shoulders tremble and your hands shake. You cry and you cry until you're overcome with the urge to vomit.

“Don’t cry, love. Don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

How did he let it get this bad? To ignore the pleas and worries of the one that gave him reason and meaning for the sake of maintaining a business relationship he didn’t give a shit about ─ To brush your pain off for the sake of an organization that only brought him misery...The twisted cynicism was almost laughable. Over and over, you'd asked him to listen to you. And over and over, he’d dismissed you.

It's his fault. It's all his fault.

No one else but him. 

His arms fall to his sides and he stands there, watching you.

You wipe at your cheeks haphazardly. His hands tremble as you step back. 

"All I asked was for you to establish clear boundaries with her."

Your hands shake as you point an accusatory finger at him. Your breathing falters, salty tears meeting your tongue as you try to find your words.

The other woman licks at your wounds. 'Destroy him,' she says. ‘Leave him,’ she whispers. You dig your nails into the skin of your palm at the violence of her words.

"But you made me seem like I was crazy for wanting that."

His eyes widen as he stares at you.

No longer covered in the green of her envy and guilt, she lines you with her red. You become one with your sorrow and fury. 

"Why couldn't you establish one simple boundary until I was about to walk out? What kind of girlfriend is supposed to be okay with seeing another woman press herself up against her boyfriend?"

You quiet for a moment, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand and his heart breaks at the sight of your stuttered breathing and tear-stained face.

"Cutting her off means nothing. Not when you brushed me off every time I brought it up.”

“Love ─,” 

You cut him off, mumbling to yourself as you pick at the skin of your nails. 

"God forbid someone even looks my way. But with you —" you snort and it's void of any emotion. 

His face darkens at that. 

"Watch your mouth," He steps closer.

You look away.

Lithe fingers grip your jaw tightly, forcing you to look up at him — into his eyes. Eyes that only desire you, that only love and lust after you. You, you, you. Always you. Only you.

She was nothing more than an old Bonten business partner, but you? You were everything.

He presses his lips to yours. Neither of you wavers in closing your eyes, the haziness of his own meeting with the anger in your irises, but he kisses you anyway. He kisses you and he kisses you. You don't kiss back.

The bag slips off your shoulder and you move to lift it back up. He refuses to let go of your jaw, lips moving against yours as he speaks.

"I love you."

"Liar," you whisper against him.

He groans and kisses you harder.

"God, I love you."

You shake your head in his grip but his hands are firm, squeezing your cheeks lightly, forcing your lips into a subtle pout. 

"Get this shit off already." He pulls your bag down to the floor and throws you over his shoulder.

“I don’t want to stay here tonight.” 

“Yeah? Where exactly were you gonna go?” He squeezes your hip as he walks towards the bedroom. He knows the answer, knows you would’ve been safe had you actually left. You might have smiled more tonight had he let you go with your friend; might’ve been spared of the tears you’d shed instead. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let you go. 

You rub at your eyes in exhaustion. 

“I’m not sleeping beside you. I don’t want you.”

He smacks your ass harshly before sliding a palm beneath your slip, stroking the skin gently.

"You're a liar, baby."

Please be lying, baby. 

You grip his shirt to keep from falling.

"I hate you,” You whisper out. 

He tightens his hold on your waist.

"No, you don't, princess."

His voice is low, strained. He prays you don’t hear the tremble in his tone. 

He sits you down onto the bed, kneeling before you on the floor. You go to pull your legs up but he stops you, palms gripping your ankles as he places his forehead onto your knees. 

“Don’t leave me.” 

The room is quiet, save for the low hum of the humidifier he’d forgotten to turn off before the two of you left. It’s a steady sound — soothing in its own right. You don’t say anything as his fingers rub at your calves, as he nuzzles his face into your skin.  

"I’ll do anything.” 

You’re stunned into a deeper silence, staring down at him in shock. It’s laughable really, how terrifying he is to others. Tall and threatening, dark eyes and a prideful smile — the Bonten executive’s standing was respected by most. Feared by all. 

And here he is, kneeling before his girlfriend, begging her to stay. 

You bring a hand down to brush through lavender strands, releasing a shaky breath, as you play with his hair. You speak and your voice is soft, not disturbing the still air around you. He freezes, listening intently. 

“She’s in love with you.” 

He can’t help the slight sound of indignation that he lets out. 

“No, she’s not. She’s just-”

“Just a business partner. I know.”

There’s a tremble to his hands as he leans forward on his knees, hiding his face in your lap as he grips your waist tight. 

“I’ll talk to the rest of the executives tomorrow, we’ll find someone else to ─”

You shake your head.

“That’s not what I’m asking from you.”

He looks up at you in confusion, fingers tight against your hips. 

“Then what?”

“I can’t —” You whimper and his heart breaks. “I can’t be with you if she’s going to disrespect me like that, if you’re going to let her disrespect me like that, every time we see her.” 

He watches you with a certain softness in his eyes as he climbs up onto the bed beside you. 

“What’re you talking about, baby?”

“Is it okay for her to touch you like that? You’re okay with that?” 

You pull away from him, folding your legs up to the side as you pick at a piece of lint on the comforter. 

He hadn’t thought much of it. The woman in question had been a long-time Bonten business partner, she’d known most of the executives for a decade. Her behaviors and antics, they were all used to it by now, aware that they had to put up with it to build a false sense of trust, to lul her company into an aura of security. Of all the execs to take a liking to, she’d chosen your boyfriend. Expensive nails that didn't belong to you were often wrapped around his bicep during events, and you’d watched off to the side ─ hoping, wishing that he’d say something. Anything. 

But nothing ever came out. Nothing was ever said. 

And you’d taken the brunt of it. Time and time again. 

“I can’t ruin Bonten’s relationship with her,” He had said once, the first time you ever brought it up. “Her company is a pivotal part of our projects.”

Watching her wipe the wine stain from his lips tonight, with you seated right beside him ─ it made you wonder how far she’d gone when you weren’t around. How far she was willing to go? How far would he let her go?

You look away at the thought. The light catches onto your tear stained cheeks and he hates himself.

He furrows his brows as he stares at the pattern you were making on the comforter, the trail your fingers created and left behind. He eyes the bruised skin of your cuticles and the chipped paint of your nails — a telltale sign of your anxiety. How had he missed that? He eyes the missing ring on your right hand and his breath hitches. When had you taken that off?

He feels sick. He’d noticed that you’d declined to go with him to Bonten events as of late. You stopped attending, telling him you were too tired. Too busy. “Another time,” you’d say. “Another time,” he’d smile and agree, kissing your forehead before he made his way out and left you alone. 

You’d lied to him to keep from arguing about this anymore, to keep yourself from doubting him. You’d lied and he’d fallen for it — thinking nothing strange of your behavior. And when you’d finally given in, deciding that you missed your boyfriend and that it was well within your right to go out to dinner with him — you had to sit and watch idly as she sat on the other side of him. On this cruel and unforgiving evening, you’d watched as she touched him and stared at him. You’d listened as suggestive jokes were exchanged and loud laughter was thrown across the table. You'd watched with a quiet that only the broken could understand. He’s a fool for not pulling your hand back into his once you’d pulled it out — an idiot for not following after you when you’d excused yourself to go to the restroom. He’s a moron for not seeing the hurt that you were in and the knives that dragged through your skin as he turned a blind eye. 

Cold metal is pressed to your skin and you shiver at the feeling of his rings against your cheek. His eyes carry a sadness you don’t recognize. 

“You’re my woman. You.” 

“Then act like it.” 

You move to your side of the bed, turning off your light as you send your friend a text. You’ll explain everything when you see her, you say. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.’ 

—

You sleep with your back facing him that night. Ran can’t find it in him to sleep at all. He’s scared, terrified that you’ll try to leave in the middle of the night — that you’ll leave just as wordlessly as you let your pain settle into your bones, and that he wouldn’t notice again. 

He’d been too careless with you recently. Too comfortable and neglectful. 

You turn in your sleep, unconsciously facing him, and he leans up on his arm to watch you. Carefully, gently, he lifts your hand up to meet his lips. Soft kisses are pressed to your knuckles and cuticles, to your palm and wrist. 

You don’t stir. 

He leans over to press a kiss to your forehead before it becomes too much for him. He’s overwhelmed and it hurts. It hurts to know that you hurt, and it hurts to know that you hurt because of him. 

Ran sits up and heads over to the living room, closing the door behind him quietly. 

He leans his head back against the couch, arm coming up to cover his eyes. A part of him thinks it’s ridiculous for a man of his power and standing to get worked up over his girlfriend like this. The other part of him doesn’t understand. He’d never been one for long-term relationships. Commitment had never been the issue either. They were just too much. Too much to deal with, too much work to be done — to care and to have to care, to trust, and to be trusted. It was all too much. He never bothered with the matter in its entirety.

But then he met you. And he’d asked you to stay. So you did. 

Caring came naturally to him then. Loving was even easier.

He sits alone in this dark room and thinks about you and him. He thinks and he hurts, and he's reminded of the words Sanzu had thrown at him last night. Ran is more than ashamed.

— 

“You’re losing her.”

“What’re you on about?” He had said, lighting his coworkers cigarette before leaning back to light his own. 

Sanzu had gestured to where you were standing, away from the crowd. You had an arm loosely wrapped around the street pole as you watched the Tokyo night traffic, waiting for your boyfriend to take you home. 

“She doesn’t look too happy.”

He frowns at Sanzu’s words, irritated by his comment. For an outsider to speak on his relationship with you, for another man to act like he could read you (and for him to be right about it too), Ran’s blood boils as he crushes the cigarette between his foot. He'd turned to look at you then, at the blank look on your face, wondering briefly just how much you kept to yourself. You had smiled weakly when he took your hand and led you to the garage. You said nothing else for the rest of the car ride. Until he prodded at you. Until it was too much for you to ignore. Until you came to the conclusion that should he want any other woman, you’d rather he let go of you first. Let me go, let me go, let me go. If I’m not enough, please let me go. 

He’d gotten pissed at you for that and had sped up his walking once the two of you got out of the car. The front desk personnel lowered their gazes as the two of you walked into the building, and you had quieted down out of respect for your relationship. 

─

His stomach churns and he soaks in his self-hatred. You could've reassured her. Could've held her hand a little tighter, could've kissed her a little longer. You fool. He hopes it isn’t too late. He groans and leans forward, running his hands through his hair aggressively as he covers his face with his palms. 

He’s too in his own head to notice that you’d woken up — that you’d been standing nervously at the end of the hallway, watching him. He lets out a choked sound and your heart falls victim to his silent pleas. You make your way to him, silently asking to be let into his arms and onto his lap. He startles but quickly makes room for you, staring at you with wide eyes as you place yourself onto his thighs, settling against his chest. 

Loving arms wrap around his neck as you turn your face to his chest. Undeserving palms stroke your back, pulling you in by the waist, ever closer. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He stares down at you in shock at the words you’d chosen to utter. 

“What? What’re you –?” 

You look at him and the darkness accompanying his eyes ─ at the lilac hues rimmed with red and purple, and subtle traces of blue as his veins surface beneath his skin. He was tired. So tired. Fragile fingers stroke his cheek, finding their way to the fine lines around his mouth. His stubble pricks your palm as he nuzzles his face into your skin. It's fascinating to watch a man of his stature — a man of his strength and power — fall weak to your touch. He wonders if you knew that he’d give up all that he was for a chance at forever with you. The money didn’t mean shit and his position was for naught if it meant you were hurt — if it meant you would leave. ‘If you leave, take me with you,’ his core wants to cry out. His arms wrap around you tighter as he hides his face in your neck and you blink in surprise. 

“Why the fuck are you apologizing?” 

Your hands find the hairs at the back of his neck, twisting the black and lavender strands, tugging them gently beneath your fingers. 

“I don’t want you to hate me.”

He freezes. Your voice muffles against his hold. 

“I know you have obligations. I don’t want to get you in trouble.” 

Or worse, you want to say. I don’t want to get you killed over something so…

You shake your head at the thought.  

Even now, you’re still thinking of him? Even now, you’re putting him before you? He thinks it’d be fitting if he were to dig through the earth and call out to the devil himself. With bloody fingers and a dirty face, he’d call out and he’d say, ‘Come get me, come take me. This woman is too good for me.’

“I love you, I trust you. I won’t bring it up anymore.” 

You press a kiss to his throat, directly onto his tattoo, before you wrap your arms tighter around his neck, broad shoulders comforting you. He falls in love with you all over again. He keeps one arm firmly wrapped around your waist while the other trails up and down your thigh.

“Baby.”

You hum in acknowledgment, waiting for him to continue. 

He pries you off of him, gently setting you down in his place on the couch while you look at him in confusion. You settle into the warmth of where his body once was, watching him curiously. 

Ran kneels before you for the second time that night. His head is bowed slightly and his palms are flat against the cotton of his pants 

“This is all on me. Not you. I’m sorry, love.”

“Ran, get up.” 

You sit up, anxiously reaching for his arms but he shakes his head. 

“Please just listen." He swallows, gaze fixed on the ground. "I’m a real shit boyfriend. Put you through so much shit you shouldn’t have to deal with. I know you deserve better.” 

So much better. 

“But I love you. I need you. I’m selfish and fucked, but I need you. ”

You tilt your head at him as your lip quivers. His shoulders tremble slightly and you reach for his cheeks, hands on either side of his face as you lean forward. 

You kiss him then, for the first time all night. A languid kiss. ‘Feel all of me,’ it says. ‘Feel what you do to me.’ His brows furrow as he squeezes the skin of your thighs. You whimper against him and he smiles against your mouth, teeth touching, bones aching. 

He pulls you off of the couch by the waist and onto his lap as he embraces you. The two of you find refuge in the floor of the apartment. 

You stay on top, seated right on his hips as your tongue meets his. He bites the column of your throat and you tilt your head back in need, giving him access to the skin he wanted to mark.

“I belong to you,” he whispers against your skin. You sigh, fingers in his hair as he kisses and bites, as he licks and whines. He reaches for the palm you had spread against his jaw, moving it to his hips. 

“Ah, fuck.” 

He groans in your ear at the feeling of your skin against his, at the raw affection exchanged between the two of you. He missed you, he missed you — he doesn’t deserve you. You snap his train of thought in two as you slip your hand into his pants, watching the rise and fall of his sternum. You trail your eyes back to his face and find that he’s already staring at you. One arm reaches back for the collar of his shirt, and you fixate on the flex of his bicep as he tugs it off to reveal his chest.

“My woman,” he grunts. 

You nod distractedly, cheeks heating up at the intimacy. Something in him snaps when you slip the straps of your night dress off, lifting the hem to expose your underwear to him. 

“Shit, you’re —” He cuts himself off to slip the flimsy cloth to the side. You stroke him as he prods into you, moaning into each other's mouths, staring at each other with desperate eyes. Love and lust and need and want. He wants to fill you with all the words he couldn’t properly say. Again and again, he'd find you. Should he be damned to a fate where you aren't beside him, he'd spend forever looking for you ─ for the home he'd found within you. Never again would he let it get this bad. Never again will he make you feel unwanted or unloved. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful.” 

He kisses your chest, words vibrating against the skin as he speaks. 

“I’m sorry, pretty. I’m sorry.” 

“I forgive you.” you cry out as he touches you deeper, rubs at you faster. 

“Real shitty guy, aren’t I?” He lets out a strained laugh as your hand falters against him. “Not good for you, am I?”

You shake your head, eyes shut tight as a familiar feeling washes over you. 

“I – oh,” You cry out, unable to finish your sentence as you collapse in his arms.  “I love you. Please, please.”

“Please what, baby? What is it?” 

He lays you down, hovering over you as he bites at your lower lip, appreciating the curve and swell. 

You spread your legs and he swears. 

“Please.”

“Yeah. Shit, yeah. Anything for you.” 

He can’t find it in him to strip you completely. You don’t care enough that his pants are still somewhat on. But with each snap of his hips, he finds you and you find him. 

He’s a sorry excuse of a person, a vindictive, hurtful soul. A damaged man with the world at his feet and his heart in your hands. He’d handed it to you himself with a hammer in tow. Should he ever go too far — crush his very spirit and rid of him of whatever is left of his soul. 

But he knew. He knew that he’d be forced to sit and watch as you tenderly held the flesh. He’d sit with his legs crossed and his cheek in his palm, watching as you soothed the erratic pulsing.

‘What about the dark spots?’ He had wondered. ‘The filth and the corrupted gloom. How will she handle that? Will she throw them out? Look at them in disgust and try to change them?’

(He receives his answer time and time again — answered over and over by the one person who didn’t realize they were even being questioned.) 

He'd watched as you held his heart, with all of its twisted calamities, and placed it right against yours — as if it wasn't stained, as if it wouldn't taint you for as long as you stood. And for the first time in a long, long time, Ran Haitani had resisted the urge to cry. 

—

He doesn’t let you go as you try to get up from off the floor. 

“I didn’t pull out,” He mumbles. “That’s my bad.” 

“I know,” You whisper back, into the darkness of the room.

“Are you baby trapping me?” He lifts an eyebrow, cracking one eye open as he grins at you.

“You’re the one that wouldn’t let me go, perv.” 

You flick his forehead and he laughs beside you lazily. The two of you are eye to eye and a complete mess at that. 

“I need to go clean up,” you say when he shoots his hand out to your wrist to stop you from standing. 

“No, I want to go again.”

“You’ll fall asleep midway.” 

He grins and you laugh. 

“Hey.”

“Hm?” There’s still a hint of a smile on your face as you pull your gown back into place.

“Tonight…” he turns to face you, eyes heavy with sleep. “I won’t let that happen again.”

You don’t look at him as you fiddle with the straps, tugging at them till they seem somewhat right.

“Look at me.” 

He sits and tilts your chin towards him. Hesitance. Worry. (And though you’ve forgiven him, there’s still pain in your eyes.) 

“I was in the wrong, and I hurt you for a long time. It won’t happen again.” 

You stare back into his eyes — into the aftermath of your apocalypse. You want to tuck him into your ribs, to cage him in and hold him tight. And though he was older and had lived a life that had picked him apart more times than he could count, you don’t think you have it in you to surrender him to the darkness. Your naivety has you following after him eagerly — no matter where he takes you, no matter where you go. You’d pick up the parts he threw out on the way, and you’d ease yourself into the emptiness of his soul. You’d placate his hunger for love and give him a place to belong. 

He stares at you, anxiously waiting for a response. All you can do is nod. 

He sighs in relief. You kiss his nose softly before you stand, giggling as he groans at your insistence on leaving the confines of his arms. He lays back down as you steady yourself, eyeing your hips before he reaches up to lift the hem of your nightgown, whistling when he eyes the damage he’d done.

“Nasty old man.”

He laughs and it’s full of life – filled with love and joy and you. 

“You're into nasty old guys?”

You laugh as you walk away, turning to look at him as he grins at you. 

“Just this one.” 

He groans as he gets up, long legs chasing after you as you run away. It’s late, much later than he ever liked to stay up. But he’s home. He’s in your arms as he lets you fall back onto the bed, rejoicing in your laughter as he attacks your stomach with sporadic kisses. You’re here, and he’s home. 

You lay on your side, holding him to you, as he nods off against your chest. A tattooed arm is thrown over your waist while the other falls slack near your thigh. The pain of the night lingers idly, wondering what will become of itself. You’ve killed the envy inside you, held hands with the fragility of the red woman that had insisted on coming out of you.

Ran Haitani is a large man, not small by any means. But underneath the prying moonlight, you think he looks vulnerable. Men of hurt will only know hurt, while the good of the world remains a foreign entity. He’s lucky, in that sense. There is a woman to hold him as he sleeps, a woman he trusts enough to fall victim to. And if he came home to you covered in blood from head to toe, covered in the sin of the world, baring the weight of their tragedy, he’d stare at you and say “Disgusting, isn’t it?” And he’d watch you shake your head, ‘No’.

“It isn’t so bad.”