#fear is clawing at my throat at all times

[heartfullofleeches]

[Request] Reader caring for a sick Remmy [Dollmaker Yan Oc]

Warnings: None.

Words: 1.1k

-

“Remmy isn't home right now…. Please come back later.”

Could this day get any worse?... Weeks, months even, building up the courage to ask you to hang out with him. It wasn't like he asked you out on a date or anything, not yet anyway. He still needed to test the water a little longer, make sure the signals he had picked up from you weren't figments of his imagination. All that time, all those embarrassing hours spent in front of the mirror practicing what to say given any outcome - flushed down the drain in one night. 

Remmy could hardly open his eyes the morning you were intended to meet. You didn't even recognize him over the phone at first. In his heightened state of delirium from the fever racking his weary mind, he hoped the same would happen as you continuously rang his doorbell - demanding in the softest voice you could manage for him to open up.

As if he could be that lucky….

“And where, pray tell, would someone hacking up a lung over the phonean hour ago be right besides the hospital? It's not that far away. I can head over right now and check.” 

….

“Open this door right now, Remiel. You're not going to flake on me twice today.”

Did you have to phrase it like that? Kicking a sick person while he could barely stand was cruel - even if you did come to check up on him. 

“O…okay…. Remmy is- I'm going to unlock the door, just…give me a minute to clean up my room. I have some stuff out I really don't want anyone to see…”

The muffled shuffling of plastic splices between the click of the lock as Remmy unlocks the front door. 

“60.”

“Crap.” 

Hobbling away from the front door, Remmy clings to the hallway walls as he makes a break for his bedroom. The straight path twists and bends as his stress levels skyrocket from the very real fear of you finding out what he had stored. There wasn't enough time for him to hide everything. His top priority were the worst offenders - items he couldn't excuse as being a result of his relatively harmless hobby. Doll clothing fashioned after clothes you'd yet to wear for the public eye. Others you never owned and probably would never wear, unless they were for a partner or to make yourself feel good. Pictures of you hung up on his walls. So much to bury in such little time. 

“They can't see that…That one either. God, they'd kill me if they saw-”

“Saw what?” 

A hoarse yelp claws its way out of Remmy's aching throat. Standing in his doorway, you balance two separate bags in your arms - awaiting his response. Remmy hurriedly pulls the corners of his blankets over the space beneath his bed. 

“I…threw up a bit ago. Guess I'm feeling worse than I thought when we spoke over the phone.” 

In the blink of an eye you're by his side. Remmy flinches as you press the back of your palm against his forehead.

“Oh, Rem….” Concern oozes from your words as you set your bags down, taking hold of his arm. You're burning up. Come on. Let's get you back in bed.”

“You don't have to go through all this for me, Y/n. Really, I'm-” His sentence falls short as you scoop him off the floor, sitting him up on his bed. Were you always this strong - or had he always been this easy to carry? In that moment, Remmy felt just like one of his dolls. His head spins at the very thought. You take the opportunity to gently ease him down against the mattress, rolling the discarded sheets up to his waist. You pick up the plastic bags, setting them on the small table in the center of his room as you rummage through them.

“Got some chicken soup from this dinner down the street. If you can't keep anything down, maybe the broth will be a good place to state. Oh!- picked up some ginger ale too. That might help with your stomach too. Cough drops, cough medicine…. Do you prefer liquid or pills?” 

Remmy turns his head away from you as he coughs into his fist. “...whichever…whichever you brought is fine.”

“Well,I actually bought both, but I can just return the other on my way home later. I'll go grab you a cup real quick.”

Heading for the door, Remmy’s meek voice calls out to you - barely about a whisper. “Y/n?”

Hand on the doorframe, you gaze over your shoulder at him. “What's up? Need something else while I'm in the kitchen?”

“No…” Remmy shakes his head, the pressure of a headache hammering at his skull. “Agh… Remmy… I just wanted to thank you…for this. You really didn't have to come over…” 

A smirk tugs at the corners of your lips. “Don't think I did this for nothing. Gotta make sure you're well enough for our date next weekend. The park is nice and all, but that's where we always go. I expect to be taken somewhere else for our first date.”

“Date?” He couldn't have heard you right. But, you said it - twice. You disappear down the hall before he can properly question you. Was this all a dream? The conjurings of his ill mind as the sickness took hold? This felt better than anything he could imagine- Your hushed voice as you reenter the room confirms it. You wiggle your arm behind his head, helping him sit back up just enough to place the cup to his lips without him choking while swallowing. A part of him wished this was a dream. One that he'd never wake up from if he had the choice. Another dream come true was waiting for him once he got better.

“Remmy?...Rem?”

Soda spills onto your hand as the weight of his head crashes upon your shoulder. Did he…. fall asleep? Just like that? You hadn't even given him his medicine yet. At least the sleep will be good for him. You should probably go put everything else you brought up to pass the time until he wakes up. 

“Mmm…”

Remmy’s face scrunches in discomfort as you part from his side, lowering his head onto the pillows as you stand. Your foot touches something soft beneath his bed. You reach a hand underneath - completely forgetting about his earlier warnings as your fingers wrap around the squishy item. A doll with instantly identifying features stares back up at you as you drag it from its prison. Funny - you don't remember wearing this shirt around Remmy. You only bought it a few days ago. You planned to wear it today before he told you the bad news.

Shrugging, you raise Remmy's arm - tucking the doll against his chest. His face melts into that of peaceful bliss, body curling around the doll as his other hand strokes its face as if on auto-pilot. You press a kiss to his forehead - shutting off the lights in his room as you depart for a second time.

[420puppyslut]

A/N: got high and wrote this, enjoy <3 Kind of a short one, IM BAD AT SPELLING I HAVENT DONE THIS IN A WHILE PLZ FORGIVE

TAGS: Dark! Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier, Submissive Reader, Puppy Play, Kidnapped, Fear, Mean! Bucky, and Chasing.

DARK!BUCKY X READER

RUN, RABBIT.

Running for my life has never felt so exhilerating.

Maybe it's the way my pulse quickens like a rabbit, with the beat of a drum in my ears. It pushes me forward, deeper into the heart of the forest.

The forest I so desperately tried to avoid. But he's cornered me. He'd planned it all along, and I realise this far too late. He's outsmarted me.

Once again. That bastard.

As if he can hear me, he pays me retribution. My eyes dart to the left, with the sound of a full tree snapping in twain. They widen in terror, as I dart another direction. The shadow of the falling tree looms above me, and my breath catches in my throat when I trip. My ankle snaps under a wnarled root from the very tree that's about to land on top of me.

I slam into the dirt, only just registering the black mud patches formed from the pouring rain. The bitter cold seeps into my clothes.

The log never arrives.

"You put up a good fight, pup."

A whimper rips from my throat, and without opening my eyes, I pitifully cry in the mud.

That man, his damn voice.

His palms encase my biceps, as he lifts me onto the hastily thrown trunk. He had caught it, before it managed to crush me. He accomplished it with inhumane speed and agility.

It struck fear into my chest, like a needle of lighting.

My ankle throbs once he drags me into a sitting position. He swipes at the droplets on my face with a lighthearted, calculative smile.

"Silly puppy, huh?" He mumbles to himself, and it makes my stomach churn. I practically mewl and desperately try to claw myself away from him. He doesn't seem to care.

His metal hand clenches my jaw and directs my eyes to his; "Stupid fucking puppy thought she could get away, huh?" He starts to make himself angrier and angrier, "Where the fuck did she think she was gonna go, pretty girl?"

The tears continue to trail down my red and muddied cheeks, along with the pattering of rainfall. I shake my head in his steely grasp. "Please," I whisper, "please let me go."

I shouldn't have ran. Why did I think I could run?

The despair settles in my chest and elicits another wail from me. All the while, Bucky continues to think to himself. Silently, above me. Just watching the emotions process through my facial expressions.

And then his lip twitches upwards. That knowing look on his face. He knew this would happen, and he wanted it.

You sick fuck.

Without a word, Bucky's hand creeps over my abdomen. I hiss and throw my hips up to try and kick out, but it feels impossible. My thighs tremble beneath him, as he slowly leans over and cages me against the solid oak.

One last try, I think. Just plead with him one more time, and he might be gentle.

"Bucky," I whisper desperately, my terrified eyes seeking any form of forgiveness, "please. I'm sorry. I didn't..." I heave now, overcome with terror and suffocating from the lack of space, the panic clawing at my vision. "Please Bucky, I'm sorry."

He hushes me gently, then swiftly crouches with his leather combat boots tiptoed in the mud, still above me. Always above me.

"Shut the fuck up." He barks. I immediately follow order, swallowing heavily.

The silence stretches uncomfortably long. He loves doing this with me. Playing mind games. It's his ultimate goal, to break me. Psychically and mentally. He's fucking insane, and I don't even know if he knows that.

"I should drag you all the way back, just by your hair, huh pup?" Buck snarls, harshly.

I only bite my lip in response. There's nothing I can do now. I just have to submit and accept my fate.

"Maybe I should just leave you, lyin' face down in the mud." And with that, it begins.

His flesh hand slaps my cheek and sends me careening to the ground. He stands and rips my head up by my scalp, to which I screech pathetically. I hiccup and sob, but his hold is unrelenting. He resumes watching me, while stiffly holding the nape of my neck to his crotch. The jean scrapes against my lips uncomfortably, but I can't pull away. The smell of damp denim, and his overwhelmingly strong scent, somehow overpowers the unrelenting fear. It acts as a sedative.

The brain does funny things in traumatic situations.

"I thought of couple'a things I could do to you, while you were runnin', ya know?" In one motion, he lifts your pliable body over his shoulder, and begins walking. "I'm gonna light a fire when I get in and sear my fucking name onto you, pup. Show you what it really means to be mine. And I'm not just telling you for nothing. I want you to've fully accepted it by the time we get back. You better be on your damn knees, by my feet, and beggin' for me to fucking abuse you."

[ganondoodle]

something thats been driving me crazy is the constant worry that i am somehow using harmful stereotypes for the characters i write

like i am unfortunately white tm and me also being autistic and queer does not erase that obviously, im always trying to educate myself as best as i can, yet i feel like im always doing something wrong

its less of a problem when im working with the normal forms of hylia and demise since they are not really human, and though their humanoid disguises technically are still not human they do represent what they might have looked like if they grew up as one; i didnt want to make demises form too dark since i felt like it would perpetuate that stereotype of dark skin = evil which is already not great about ganondorfs character design, but didnt want to make him too light since i felt it would erase that part of his connection to ganondorf altogether and make it all the worse, but then again my demise isnt actually that evil, hes good at heart, so making him too light then would be even worse bc it would imply that light = good thing again

for hylia im even more anxious about it bc i intentionally gave her very dark skin to kinda subvert that light = good thing with zelda (tho in my AU the gods are not good and hylia isnt actually as loyal to them as it may seem bc she knows that.. which i feel complicates things just further; and also light an dark is just a very good contrast aesthetically?) but then i also like to intentionally make characters rather ?gender? but then i worry her being somewhat masculine would also be sth harmful bc i know black women are often treated as inherently less feminine .. which isnt my intention at all (tho my hylia .. doesnt rly have a gender? idk many characters i like to write/design dont have anything specific, like what more do you need than knwoing the right pronouns to call them?? qnq) her being rather cold and ruthless also feels like im doing something bad somehow

then theres the whole sexualization worry, i dont know if im doing that in a bad way bc honestly i just like .. drawing ...bodies? aesthetically? like yes they are very sexy but also wheres the line, am i somehow overstepping it without knowing?? how can i recognize what is normal 'finding certain things pretty or sexy' and what isnt??

so far i dont remeber anyone pointing anythign out as bad which im taking as a sign that i cant be doing that badly .. hopefully, maybe all this is a very stupid thing to worry about and its obvious to everyone else but i am so god damn afraid of doing something even slightly questionable and being hunted down for it (probably bc similar happened to me when i was a teen and it was about an absolut non issue, literally, so even the thought of doing something actually bad is mind boggling to me bc that other thing nearly cost me my life and i literally dont know how i survived and i would 100% not if it happened again..)

this is probably a very chronically online thing too but hoenstly i needed to get it out of my head for once

[killakalx]

17+ content, blank blogs dnf

rough sex, prone bone, doggy style, choking, hair pulling, light belly bulge mention, pussy eating (as always), he’s a meanie i fear, ak!jason on the brain

mmm jason 'don't run from this dick' todd... he's got you drooling in the sheets and weakly clawing at them to tug away, just for him to shift his angle and get even deeper inside you when he pulls you back. each flinch away from him prompts a deeper thrust, constantly leaning his built upper body over you and forcing your hips to fall. the grip he has is bruising and he’s using his weight to hold you down, cooing into your ear with condensation as he informs you- I can only hold this ass up for so long, princess. all while jason’s fucking your whole body into the mattress after your pathetic attempts to pull away falter, a rough palm bigger than your fucking head squishing your face into the sheets as spit dribbles from the corner of your mouth in ecstasy. useless slurs of words prompt him to pull your head back, fingers tangled in your hair and wrenching your neck to make you look at him with teary eyes as he tells you to try again.

or maybe you're reaching your hand back to rest on his pelvis while you're whining for him to be gentle, just to get a reminder of his overwhelming strength when he folds your arms against your back and forces you into a deeper arch. you’ve gotten all brave, actively trying to push him off of you- stupidly, even. the fuck do you think you’re doing-? he laughs cruelly at you, and it takes nothing for jason to snake his hand around your neck, fingers straining your throat as he pulls you flush against his broad chest and abs. the sudden breath that’s taken away has you all lightheaded and limited to short pants, leaving you to weakly cling to the same hand on your throat. your gaze falls upon your lower tummy and not only do you feel him, you can fucking see him splitting you open- how deep inside your belly he gets with each thrust.

and just throwing this in there; he's got you trying to get away from his mouth too. legs shaking as he rudely sucks on your clit and you've got the nerve to pull on his hair and urge him away. it takes little to no time for him to pin your hands against your lower tummy while his free hand is forcing your thighs to wrap around his head. he’s softer with you when he’s not pounding you until your weeping cunt is all puffy and sore, though; fat tongue lapping at your hole and groaning as more slick settles on his lips, hooked nose nudging the sensitive bundle of nerves and making you see stars. still creamin’ all over my face, jason grumbles against your core, ‘m not fuckin’ you hard enough, huh? and at this point, you can’t recall if your desperate squirming turns him on more or pisses him off- even when considering the harsh slaps against your thigh and ravenous groans into your cunt. ❧

[yanderenightmare]

Ryomen Sukuna

TW: NSFW, noncon, virgin reader, corruption kink, Sukuna in general

fem reader

Thinking about Demon King Sukuna and how he receives a virgin for his harem every new moon. Most are unfortunate townspeople who’ve come of age—but you’re something he can savor even more, something truly special.

The silk kimono you’d been dressed in is easily ripped from your body, leaving you bare. You’d been warned not to fight or run, that he’d only sooner kill and eat you—but you keep your faith and try and escape anyway. 

All your life, the temple has taught you of Ryomen Sukuna—that he’s a harbinger of carnage and death. You’d feel better offering your life to the Gods than allowing it to remain captive by the likes of evil.

He only grabs and manhandles you with nothing more but a sadistic laugh, catching your hair in a fist as he pulls you up until only the tips of your toes are left grazing the floors—and even then, he has to bow nearly half his length before he’s leveling your eyes with his.

“My patience is a fickle thing, turtledove. Run again, and I’ll treat it like a real hunt. Which would be a real shame… I so hate spilling holy blood before I’ve made it filthy with sin.”

You're thrown onto a large round bed next. It catches you with a bounce while he crawls after you, taking hold of both your ankles and swiftly pulling you beneath him. 

His chest is marked with demonic seals, and so is his face, where he looms above you with a deranged smile. Raking his claws up your legs and thighs, he spreads and pushes them flat against the bed while his other two hold your crying face, cupping your cheeks with both thumbs hooking into the wet of your mouth, playing with your tongue as you sob. When he shows you his and its black markings, you scream, feeling as though he’s pouring poison down your throat as he feeds you its length and knots it with yours.

You choke and sob while you share each other’s spit, feeling tarnished and forsaken by all that you held sacred—wondering why the heavens would allow this to happen as the weight of his manhood finds rest between your thighs, upon your mound and tummy, where it grows fat and warm.

His hands leave your face and switch places with the other two, freeing them for what he plans on doing next. Wrapping one around himself, he gives it languid tugs while soaking in the sight of your poor little cunt trembling in fear of something it only barely knows what is. His other hand pets it soothingly in mockery, tickling the slit, making you shake.

His stomach then splits open like a cut, baring teeth and a tongue that only earns your horrified expression—crying as it drools over you, jutting out to lick the tender place you so wished had remained untouched. You whine in shudders as he squeezes your throat and bares down over you, staring at you with keen bromine eyes, amused with your fall from grace as you come undone.

“You taste sweet,” he moans against your lips while his other mouth slurps at your core, also groaning.

You’re naïve for thinking it’s over where you blink away tears, but he doesn’t blame you. They never teach you the truth in temples, only childish lies that leave you ever vulnerable to the outside world and ever sweeter for him to ruin.

“I apologize for clipping your wings, angel. But I must say… depravity suits you better.”

Nothing. Not a prayer or plea leaves your lips as he tears through and fills you up. Only a choked gasp that dies midway. You bite into your lip, squeezing your eyes shut—ready to accept a death that never comes. Instead, there’s a living hell, and you can only scream as it consumes you.

Your whimpering is delicious, caught beneath him, panting every time his hips snap forth and storm your clingy insides, gushing for him like he knew you would be—sweetly surrendering all your worship to him and honoring him as your new god.

Perhaps he won’t feast on your flesh once he’s done as cute as you are. He wouldn’t mind keeping you around for a bit. Teach you how to serve him properly. Paint you with his seals. Make you his favorite pet.

[kentopedia]

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ SAFEGUARD — dazai, chuuya, akutagawa

summary . . . they save you after you've been injured and captured by an enemy.

contents . . . sfw, f!reader (chuuya & dazai) and gn!reader (akutagawa), violence / blood, threats, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, and it's pmboss!dazai bc i can't help myself — 3.5k total

notes . . . i got this request so long ago lol. not my best work, but i have been in the worst writing slump ever and just wanted to finish something. i've also never written for akutagawa before so pls be nice <3

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 . . .

there are very few times that chuuya feels he’s been outsmarted. he knows he’s not the mastermind of the port mafia, but he certainly isn’t a fool. when it comes to you and your well-being, though, his mind short-circuits, half of his intelligence draining away while his emotions take hold. 

your relationship isn’t a secret to anyone in the port mafia, which means that it isn’t a secret to your enemies either. and while most people know it’s hard to land a finger on chuuya directly, his pretty little girlfriend doesn’t have the power of a god nestled inside of her.

the rage sparks through him, growing fiercely into the blaze of a forest fire, until all he can think of is getting you home safely. he thinks of your sweet smile as he rips the door of the enemies’ base off the hinges, crushing it into a million pieces with the force of gravity. 

the men are quick to react, but chuuya hurtles the crushed door towards them, knocking three of them to their feet. another group charges at him, but their guns do little against his skill. after years of fighting some of the strongest ability users, simple criminal organizations are as easy to step over like ants. 

chuuya kills them all — except for one.

the man’s knees are wobbling, hand shaking around the gun as he realizes that these will be his final moments. there is fear in his eyes, brown ones that rest wide open, and chuuya almost hesitates. his remorse doesn’t last long, though, before he’s wrapping a hand around the man’s throat, thrusting him backwards. 

“where is she?” chuuya asks, voice sharp and commanding. 

he can feel the man swallowing. 

chuuya knows that backup is probably on the way, but it won’t matter whether they show up or not. he’ll crush the rest of his enemies just as he’s crushed the last twenty men. the poor soul in his leather hold seems to know that as well. 

“i-i’ll take you to her,” he rasps, dropping his gun to claw at chuuya’s hand. 

he drops him, lets him take a few heaving breaths and coughs, before he’s kicking at him, forcing him back to his feet.

the young man takes him up the elevator, weaves him through a hallway as chuuya leaves a scattering of bodies in his wake, not hesitating to kill a single man that gets in his way. there is nothing that can keep him from you. 

how fiercely and loyally he loves you — it drives him to near insanity. 

finally, with blood coating his face and his clothes, the young man enters a room, locked with a code, revealing you. 

chuuya’s rage is almost as blinding as his corruption, as he gazes at the sight of you. bloodied and bruised, tied up in a chair, so visibly harmed. his hands clench into fists. “get the fuck away from her,” he says to the man who seems to be monitoring you.

“what are you doing in here?” the men left in the room panic, but they don’t have time to react before chuuya throws them back at the wall, so quickly, with so much force, that their spines snap. they hit it with a sharp crack, skulls shattering against the plaster, the wall crushing beneath the weight of them. 

limply, they fall to the floor. 

chuuya rushes over to you. 

the young man that led him here disappears, but chuuya isn’t worried about him. he’s a coward; he’ll likely flee from the country and never look back. the men that truly hurt you are already dead, and he’ll burn this building to the ground once he’s gotten you away from it. 

“hey,” chuuya says, cradling your cheeks gently, trying to coax you back awake. he’s not sure if it’s exhaustion, blood loss, or the obvious head trauma that caused you to pass out in the first place. but you’re still breathing, so he counts that as a blessing. 

“hey,” he whispers again, kissing your forehead, like it will heal all your ailments. “wake up, baby. we gotta get you out of here, okay?” 

it takes you a few seconds to come to, eyes glazed over and shell-shocked as you blink at him. “chuuya?” you say; your voice is so hoarse it makes chuuya want to keel over and vomit. “is it really you?” 

guilt gnaws at him, almost crushing, at the fact that thirty-six hours passed, and you’re delirious enough not to recognize him. you probably haven’t eaten, either. 

he should’ve been there. no one should’ve ever had the chance to hurt you, yet…

“it’s me, i’m here,” he says, kissing your lips, your temple, brushing your hair away from your face. the strands are sticky with blood. “shit,” chuuya nearly shouts, pulling a knife from his pocket, sawing through the thick ropes around you as quickly as he can. “i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry.” 

he can’t get you free fast enough, and you smile at him, drowsy, your eyes fluttering shut once more. “it’s okay, chuuya,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you’re here now.” 

“you have to stay awake,” he says desperately, realizing your head is still bleeding. he doesn’t know how hurt you are. chuuya’s no expert when it comes to medicine, but he’s smart enough to know that internal injuries could be even worse than the external ones. 

“stay awake for me, okay, honey? i’ll get you back to the boss and we’ll find you a doctor. you’ll be just fine.” 

“okay, chuuya,” you hum, weakly gripping his back. seconds of silence pass before you mutter, “i just want to go home.” 

"i know." his heart pulls, and he almost lets out a cracked sob. but he refrains, knowing that there is plenty of time to drown in his sorrows later. 

finally, he gets the ropes under, lifting you from the chair. you’re so much lighter, weaker, and it makes him sick as he carries you. “let’s get you home.” 

𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀. . .

the call comes just as akutagawa is getting ready to head home for the evening, his tasks completed, eyes heavy with exhaustion. 

normally, he doesn’t stick around to say any goodbyes, sneaking off into the darkness of the night like a shadow, blending right in. but, something about the evening, so gloomy and drizzly with spring rain, feels off. 

with a heavy knot in his chest, so much different than an incoming fit of coughs, akutagawa heads back up to mori’s office, if perhaps to only ensure that everyone else’s jobs had been completed. he’s a lot of things, but he’s never been a slacker; and he’ll do what it takes to ensure that his position in the mafia is eternally secure.

though, he doesn’t have the opportunity to get all the way upstairs before he run into the boss, who is calm, but with an air of irritation clouding him. 

he explains the current situation to akutagawa in a clipped tone, bored — an enemy group has kidnapped you, holding you hostage. 

“how rude is it to bother a man, just as he is getting ready to go to sleep?” mori says, sighing histrionically.

but what is a minor inconvenience to mori sends an entire wave of dread through akutagawa, his entire body feeling as if it’s been dipped in ice. he can’t explain the horror that washes over him, not really, because he shouldn’t feel so panicked. it is rare for him to get worked up about the danger his subordinates find themselves in, save for his sister, of course. 

but you… you’re different. 

“can i trust you to diffuse the situation?” mori asks, impatiently glancing at his watch as if that will change anything. “i can call someone else, but they will not be so quick.” 

akutagawa doesn’t even think before he accepts the job, hating the way he sounds pathetically desperate for more details. his hands flatten the edge of his cloak, as if his ability is going to take on a mind of its own. 

he calls for a driver, calm but breathing so heavily that an aching cough rises up in him. his throat feels as if it may begin to bleed, but he swallows, glances away from the driver and gets himself under control.

there’s a ransom — bring them the money and they’ll return you, mori had told him. you’re only a lower ranking member of the mafia, and someone that makes for a pretty poor bargaining chip, so the motive is questionable. 

mori probably would’ve let you die, akutagawa knows, his teeth gritting together, so much so that a splintering sound comes from it. but the boss, in his infinite, concerning wisdom, seems to also know that his loyal dog has an soft spot for you. 

as regrettable as that may be.

akutagawa has no doubt that whoever the enemy is, they are no match for him. still, a twinge of anxiety settles in his stomach, fingers jittery as the driver, despite the decreased traffic of the hour, seems to drive impossibly slow. 

“are we not in a rush?” akutagawa snaps, leaning forward.

“apologies,” the driver, says, not daring to even look at akutagawa from the mirror. but the car speeds up, enough for akutagawa to be able to notice, at least. it cools the simmer that has already begun deep in his chest.  

even so, the car seems to go at a snails pace, minute upon minute flying by, with you in the clutches of an enemy. 

akutagawa doesn’t care who they are. he doesn’t care why, or how they captured you. he wants them dead. he’ll rip them apart, easily, and he’ll make them suffer — they’ll be alive for all of it, for every second that he peels the skin from their bones, ripping the smaller ones out of their sockets. 

what he feels for you… well, it’s too hard for him to admit to himself. he has no experience with what it means to care for another person, doesn’t even know if that’s his goal. he just knows he wants to protect you.

and he can’t do that if you’re dead.

finally, the car pulls up to an old warehouse, one at the very outskirts of the port, beyond the docks and the shipping carts. it’s tucked far back, an obvious lair for some villainous organization that doesn’t want to be found. 

akutagawa gets there, but there is nothing. he hears nothing, feels no signs of life as he trudges through the puddles left behind from the earlier rain. 

a small string of panic begins again, as he wondered if maybe the call that mori had told him was only a ruse. maybe this entire time had been a distraction, a way to lure him away. there are other skill-users in the mafia, but none quite as dangerous as him. 

though, he hears it, then. a small little sound, muffled and hoarse, full of pain. 

he ducks into another corner of a warehouse, and you’re there — bound with chains and a gag across your mouth, one of your eyes blackened with bruises, your nose bleeding. 

his heart aches. never in his life has he so quickly made his way over, used the sharp edges of his ability to shear through the chains, falling to his knees as he unbinds the cloth from your lips. 

“where are they?” he rasps, mouth opening and closing, hating the sound of his own voice. he recognizes his desperation, his anger, but the affectionate sound that clips at the end is unfamiliar, as he shakily pulls himself closer to you. 

you glance up at him, eyes glossy and wide, and though you are scared, hurt, he’s so thankful you are alive. his heart flips once, as you grasp at his cloak, the material that has the blood of so many staining the threads. 

“gone,” you say, throat chalky, words nothing more than a note against the wind. “they fled when they heard it was you coming.” 

“and left you?” he asks, jaw clenching, as he hopes that the emotions aren’t as visible on his features as he thinks they are. “were you not a ransom?” 

“no,” you swallow, hard, as if in pain. he notices bruises around your neck, the shape of fingerprints indented there. “i was bait.”

anger rises up in him like a wave, engulfing him, wholly and relentlessly. he is no stranger to that, like he is the kindness you show him, the way you look at him as if he is your protector, rather than a bringer of destruction. “i’ll go after them. where are they headed? they’ll pay, i’ll slaughter—”

“ryunosuke,” you say, reaching for him as he stands, expression pleading as he backs away. “stay.” 

he has half a mind to ignore you — the enemy escaped, after all. but your voice. your eyes… you look so small sitting there, bloodied and bruised and broken. 

“please,” you try again, near tears, and though he has never been good with obvious displays of emotion, something within him snaps at the desperation in the word. 

he nods, slowing his pace as he returns to you, lets you wrap yourself in him, cling to him. his hands fall, naturally, to your waist, somehow knowing where they belong, even if akutagawa never has a clue what he’s doing with you. 

“i’ll call hirotsu,” he says simply, before pulling out his phone, not bothering to untangle himself from you. 

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 . . .

dazai is not a forgiving man, and will never learn to be. forgiveness is not a luxury he is often able to indulge in in his line of work, and his heart has hardened enough that until the end of time, those that are branded his enemies will remain his enemies. 

though, in his blackened heart, one soured over the course of time, you have carved out your own little space, lit it up with golden rays of light that are fiery enough to melt the stone casing of his chest. 

his only love — his only weakness. but it is a weakness that his enemies know about as well. 

dazai tries his best to keep you safe. he always has, and he knows that, sometimes, his grasp on you can be a little too tight. that the way he tries to keep you under his watchful eye can sometimes be stifling, frustrating. 

but he can’t always be there to protect you. and it is in times like these, that he regrets letting you go without a bodyguard. he regrets that he listened to your insistence that you could keep yourself safe. 

he should’ve at least told you to take a friend. 

“boss,” his subordinate says, bowing his head, his voice pleading, desperate. “i’m so sorry. your wife—”

“if anything… anything happens to her, you will be the one responsible, do you understand?” dazai says, his eyes cold as he glowers down at the man, only a few inches shorter than him, but feeling so much smaller. “i will personally see that this act does not go unpunished.” 

“of course, sir,” the man says, and he, at the very least, has the decency to sound resigned. to accept his fate and suffer the consequences, for allowing the boss’s wife to get herself into such a situation. 

and dazai means it, every last word; if he finds you in a state closer to death, anyone who put you in harm’s way will be torn apart from the inside out. he isn’t able to think of anything but bringing you home safely, his hands shaking with rage as he sends more than enough people out on a search to find you. 

with all the strings he’s able to pull as the mafia boss, it doesn’t take long to find you, for those that have bravely — or stupidly — used his wife as bait to come forward, and offer an attempt at some sort of negotiation. 

there’s little of the conversation that dazai remembers on the phone, even less that he remembers after that. the anger bubbles up in him and grabs hold of his conscience, the emotion directing his movements with a mind of its own. 

he’s already sent out every last one of his people into the field, ensuring that the organization that had the gall to threaten you is wiped off the face of the earth. deleted from every corner of the world, buildings flattened to the ground. by tomorrow, they won’t have ever existed. 

today, he doesn’t care what happens as long as he finds you alive. 

you’re held hostage by two men — so completely beaten that they’ve given up on any restraints. whatever they wanted from you, you seemed to refused to have given up, lip bleeding, eyes swelling so badly that you can’t even open them. 

dazai doesn’t hesitate before pulling the trigger on the first man, then turning to the other, shooting the hand that holds the pistol. the man recoils, shouts, and drops the weapon completely, as dazai lands another bullet to his knee, causing him to fall. 

slowly, dazai walks up, firing again to his other arm, a loud snap echoing throughout the room. the man winces, trying to crawl to the gun, one last desperate attempt to stay alive. 

he kicks the gun away, watching, as, pathetically, the expression in the enemy’s face changes — any of his remaining hope vanishes. 

“you told me she was unharmed,” dazai says, bending down, his coat flaring out behind him as he squats. 

the man coughs, gasping for air as the blood seeps out of him. “we lied.” he smiles cruelly, and though he shares the same sort of darkness as those in the port mafia, there is something even more twisted in his smile. 

dazai hums. “you the leader?” 

the man doesn’t give an answer, but the slight twitch of surprise on his face is all dazai needs. he’s no one — just a grunt whose life was put on the line to guard you. 

“didn’t think so.” dazai shoots him once, straight through the forehead, instantly killing him. but he is vindictive, angry, and the man he truly wants to destroy, the one who took you, is nowhere to be found. another bullet lands, tearing apart the flesh of his temple, then another, and one more, his skull beginning to cave in from the force of it all. 

dazai heaves, letting the gun clatter to the ground as it runs out of bullets, and then he realizes, all this time, you’ve just been watching him. the ugliest side of him — the worst side of him. 

you’re no stranger to it, of course. how can you be, when you’ve shared a life with him for years? but that doesn’t mean he wants you to see it, see how bloodthirsty he can become. 

he stumbles over to you, where you’re still sitting on the ground, your wrist in your lap, bent at an angle that he knows isn’t right. bruises are littered across your skin, and your hair is matted from the blood that pools at your temple. 

it takes every ounce of restraint he has to stay calm, a million feelings swirling under his skin. ones that he was never familiar with until he met you. 

“i’m sorry,” he says, taking your face in his hands so, so softly, worried that he’ll hurt you even more. “i’m sorry, darling. i should’ve — i should’ve been there.” dazai notices his hands are shaking and he balls them up into fists, leaning back. “fuck. fuck — i’ll kill them all, just tell me who it was. anyone who laid a finger on you. i’ll cut them down one by one.” 

“osamu,” you say, and your voice is raspy, cracking, as your unbroken arm reaches for him, squeezing his shaking hand. “i—”

you open your mouth to continue, but only tears come streaming down your cheeks, over your bloodied lips, saltiness soaking your jawline. no words don’t leave you, but a soft sob chokes itself up your throat.

“hey, hey, hey.” dazai’s voice softens, every muscle in his body relaxing as he draws you nearer to him, into his chest with a touch that’s barely there. “you’re safe. i’m here, okay? they’re not going to hurt you again, sweetheart.” 

you sniffle, barely making a sound, but he can feel the tears drop onto his clothes, soaking the material.

“can you walk? are you hurt anywhere else?” 

you hesitate for a moment before answering; he’s not sure if there’s a reason you only answer the first question. “i can walk.” 

dazai nods, and though the rage is still bubbling there, underneath the surface, there is a coolant streaming through him at the vision of you alive. the men who did this will pay the price, but he still has you — and that’s all that matters.

thank you for reading !!! ❤︎

[cherubfae]

jealous slashers~!✧

With Michael, Brahms, Jason, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Vincent Sinclair, Bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Thomas Sawyer, Sal Fisher, & Patrick Bateman

tags: gn!reader, jealousy, creepy men, unwanted attention/touching, uggestive and mature themes, gore/blood, violence, canon typical behavior, billy x reader x stu poly, rob zombie!mikey, I know Sal isn't exactly a slasher but he's my baby and needs to be included

Alexa, play Love to Die by the Slashstreet Boys

Michael

Rest in Peace to the poor, stupid man who thought it'd be a good idea to mess with the Shape's partner, and Michael had witnessed it all. How this man shoves you into an empty alleyway, the clatter of your groceries falling. The guy doesn't get much more than a few bruises and claw marks when Michael's knife slices through the back of the man's throat, protruding from the other end in a splash of blood. The Shape watches you wipe your bloody face off, not doing much but picking up three of your four fallen bags and tugging you into his side.

Brahms

Absolutely not. Brahms is fuckin' seething from his safe space sheltered behind the walls. Heavy breathing muffled by the porcelain mask, he watches with wild eyes as some idiot decides to break into the mansion whilst you were sleeping, and proceeds to hold you at knifepoint, effectively pinning you to the bed in what little nightclothes you wore. The unwanted guest and you are certainly going to know when Brahms is upset. There's banging on the walls coming from every direction that leaves the would-be burglar panicked and you slightly more comfortable.

"You're not allowed to be here," comes the eerily childlike voice Brahms has perfected. He crawls his way out from behind the large antique mirror. "I'll make sure you never come near them again." With a sudden slam, Brahms downs the intruder with a lead pipe repeatedly bashing the object until all that remains was brain matter and gooey blood. He drops the pipe with a huff and collects you into his arms, the cool porcelain biting onto the heat of your chest.

Jason

As the protector of the surrounding forest, Jason is always watching. He's omnipotent, he sees all. He seems to know where people are at all times and he can sense when you're in distress. Your shared cabin door left ajar sends his blood boiling and his heavy footfall increasing as he approaches your home. Barging in, Jason's pale eyes lock onto you and your assailant holding you by the throat. His thunderous steps are quick, slicing through the man with his machete and proceeds to lift him up while still pierced with the blade. The man gurgles, arms weakly reaching behind him in attempts to claw at Jason. All attempts were futile. He tossed the body to the side before he gently frets over you, his large hands soothing the fingerprints tarnishing your throat.

Billy & Stu

Rather snake-like the two will wrap themselves around you (they adore your personal space) and stare down whoever else demands your attention. Billy's arm hooks around your waist and Stu wraps himself around your shoulder, tilting your chin up with a single finger. "Is this guy bothering you, baby?" Looking like a shark that's tasted blood in the water, Billy's eyes grow more wild. He's already making a mental note of who and where this guy lives. The guy raised his hands in defense backing down the more the two stared at him, walking off completely.

"We're gonna take care of him, doll," Billy promises, kissing your cheek. Stu cackles lightly, tongue sticking out. They would strike tonight.

Vincent

There's no one Vincent trusts more to watch over you when he can't than his own two brothers. He had his hands full, turning Dalton and Wade into wax people. Nick and Carly were proving to be hard to get a hold of and there was still another tourist that needed to be taken care of.

But then Bo is telling him that the person escaped and he doesn't know where you were. His two worst fears confirmed. Vincent is soon on a wild hunt, trying to find you anywhere with Bo hot on his heels. He soon locates you, passed out with a bit of blood on your head. Your eyes slowly open as he touches your cheek, catching you as you wobble into his warm embrace. He shares a look with Bo who nods.

"I've got you, brother. Keep them here with ya. Wait til I'm back, ya hear?"

Bo

Out in public, he's all cordial and kind smiles. Especially if this is an intended victim. Some random person putting the moves on his partner is a huge no-no and one Bo doesn't take lightly. That person just warranted themselves a for sure death sentence and Bo isn't feeling too kind, so perhaps he'll drag things out, yeah? Touch what's his and you got what's comin' to ya.

"Can I see, baby? That bastard leave any marks on ya?" Bo strokes your shoulders, blue eyes drifting over your frame like water. He has every intention of marking every place that person touched, no matter if you tell Bo the guy only grabbed your arm. Once he has his mind set on something, he's gonna do it.

Lester

Unlike his older twin brothers, Lester is actually pretty chill. Especially in comparison to Bo. He doesn't think much of the people he's helping get into Ambrose knowing full well it's their final destination and Vincent and Bo will take care of things as they always have. What he doesn't like is some dude making a pass at you right in front of him. Can't he see the engagement ring on your finger? It leaves a sour taste in his mouth, watching with narrowed eyes as the small group heads towards the mechanic shop in search of a fan belt.

A familiar hand on his arm calms him down instantly. He turns to you and musters a weak smile as your hands slide around his torso from behind, leaning your cheek on his shoulder. "Y'alright?" Lester nods too quickly and unconvincingly, giving you a quick kiss. "Yeah, darl', always."

Thomas

Your partner is not unlike a bear, watching with wild eyes as one of Hoyt's new catches clasps onto you, their nails digging into your arms, and pinning you to the barbed fence. The cry of pain you let out has Tommy barreling towards you, chainsaw revving to life. A deep snarl echoes behind his mask and he wastes no time cutting down the poor soul with a single swipe of his motorized saw. Tommy turns it off and picks you up in his large arms as gently as he can. With his masked cheek leaning against yours, he carries you back towards the house. Mama Luda Mae will take a good look at you.

Sal Fisher

Honestly Sal isn't one to get jealous. He's pretty level-headed and understanding in most situations. He respects your choices and he's not gonna step on any toes or do anything drastic; Sal isn't a monster. However, if he sees some guy make a creepy pass at you and clearly overstep your boundaries, he won't hesitate to swoop in, looping his arm around your shoulders. His sharp blue eyes staring at the man from behind his prosthetic mask.

"Do we have a problem here?" His voice is cold, lacking any interest in what excuse the man finds. Sal's main focus will be on you, rubbing gentle, soothing circles into your skin. His main priority is to get you away from this sicko and would totally call in reinforcements from his brother Larry if need be.

Patrick

A jealous Patrick Bateman isn't a good scenario for anyone. Especially not with his deteriorating mental state. He trusts you explicitly, with his thoughts, ideas, and recreational hobbies that most would find distasteful. So when a colleague of his gets too big for his britches and unabashedly begins to flirt with you in his presence, Patrick finds it difficult to keep his boiling bloodlust at bay. The heat of his anger is getting to his head, the fierce emotions only swelling well it's clear how uncomfortable you look in that man's company. He must see to put an end to him quickly.

|| I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, RESHARED, OR EDITED. TUMBLR IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT AND THE ONLY PLACE WHERE I POST MY WRITING. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS, THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. || CHERUBFAE © 2024

"Are you alright, my darling? That man surely didn't know his place, did he?" Patrick places a hand at your back, guiding you out of the office party. "Let's get you home and into a nice hot bath, hmm? I'd rather not taste that swine on your lovely skin."

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: none

↳ song: let's misbehave—cole porter and others

↳ notes: the fact i don't even care for the show and this is my second fic. save me alastor. save me.

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• It had been something of a shock when you found out that the giant joke of a hotel up the street was housing one of your oldest friends

• Alastor and you had run into each other during one of his first years in hell. A time when people still felt brave enough to point and laugh at him on the street without fear of being slaughtered

• You weren’t anything important at the time. Not an overlord or anything of the sort; just a regular sinner that died unexpectedly ended up face first on the concrete. Nothing to bat an eye at, really

• But for some reason, Alastor had been curtious to you all the same. Maybe it was the apologetic tip of your head you offered after accidentally running into him, or perhaps something else. Whatever it may be, the two of you wasted no time becoming fast friends. As long as you didn't mind the gore or screams of terror that is.

• And decades later, there you were, knocking slowly on a grand front door to pay him a long overdue visit

• Charlie and the rest of the hotel guests had been positively floored when you showed up in modern clothes and an easy-going ‘hello’, looking nothing like any friend of the Radio Demon

• “There has to be something wrong with you!” Angel Dust exclaimed, peering down at you in a stripped pink suit as he stood slack jawed. “No way Al has a normal friend. I mean none of us do either, but Alastor??”

• You think they were just shocked that Alastor had a friend outside of other overlords. And one he wasn’t using to make a deal with, nonetheless

• Husk and Nifty were the only ones that seemed unaffected by you. Not surprising, considering that you had met them both on separate occasions

• It only took one look from Husk behind his bar before was hopping out of the booth, mumbling to you that he would go get his boss. You just chuckled as he left

• Alastor was quick to materialize from behind you mere seconds later, wearing one of his larger smiles

• “My old pal! Oh how wonderful it is to see you again! It has been too long, I must say. Too long indeed!” The powerful demon laughed good naturedly . He held a hand out to you, and shook your arm with vigor as you returned the notion

• “Good to hear your voice again.” You said honestly, and smiled slightly at the familiar static pouring from his speech. He always has a way with words. “But really Alastor. Redemption? What are you up to this time.”

• “Hah! You know me too well, my dear.” He smiled deviously, twirling his staff from hand to hand as Charlie’s expression formed an offended pout behind him. You ignored it in favor of laughing with Alastor

• The demon wasted no time ushering you around the hotel for a good old fashioned walk-and-talk. It had been so long since he had last truly seen you, and there was just so much to catch up on! Of course, his events were a bit more exciting, so to speak, than yours, but the point still stands

• “— and oh how absolutely wondrous her screams were!” He cooed to himself, curling a clawed hand around the top of his staff in mirth

• “Alastor, you know how much I love your storytelling," You hummed slowly. "But mind telling me a bit about this hotel instead? Like what exactly you're doing here?”

• “Oh right! Of course!" He cleared his throat. "It all started when I saw this horrendous advertisement in one of those blasted T.V windows —"

• "Hey!"

• Judging from the shocked gasp that could be heard from behind you, Charlie didn’t take that too well

• More visits were made to Hazbin Hotel over the coming months. The more you came, the longer you stayed. Sometimes, you would just listen in on Alastor’s broadcasts like old times, or take to sitting at the bar as everyone else ran around like their heads were on fire

• Which happened more than you'd like to admit

• In the meantime, you became acquainted with all types of new faces; from a trio of bizarre eggs to the lord of hell himself

• Alastor had been very cagey that day.

• "Great to meet you, sir. Charlie’s talked about you before, and it's very nice to put a face to the name." You said politely while taking one of Lucifer's hands in both of yours to shake it. He just grinned uncontrollably response and made star eyes at the thought of his daughter mentioning him

• "Alright I think that's enough for introductions!" An irritated voice rang from beside you, practically overflowing with an aggressive amount of static

• "Oh shut up Alastor. I'm shaking the king of hell's hand. Let me have this."

[jyoongim]

I literally kick my feet anytime I see you post your writing is so good. Fuckin biting my nails and screaming !!!!

Mayhaps something with alastor and like stoic reader. Like she’s badass, nothing gets to her and tries so hard to seem dominant (cause she knows compared to alastor she really isn’t). Has never fucked annoyed cause it’s the “I only need myself, I can get myself off” mindset

At one point she ends up getting snippy with alastor and he like grabs her by the throat or something to stop her and she immediately just looses all resolve. It’s viable in her eyes as she quickly goes from defiant and brash to meek and submissive just by something so simple because she’s so unused to the feeling.

Thank you for enjoying my writing🥹🥹🥹 I hope I can continue to give you everything you desire🩷

You took a seat beside Velvette as the Overlord meeting started. She was practically fangirling next to you, sneaking a few pics of you for her socials.

The meeting went as smooth as one could go with a bunch of powerful Overlords. 

You were chatting with Carmilla about business, catching sight of a familiar red demon leaving when Velvette quite literally stole you away, she sported a big grin on her face “Ooh babes, Voxxy wants to know if you’re accepting his dinner invite?”

You wanted to groan. Vox had been quite persistent in trying to gain your ‘affections’. 

You were a relatively powerful overlord. As one of the few female sovereigns, you always made sure to carry yourself with poise and elegance. You got your power on your own, never having to sleep your way to get what you want. And you kept it that way. Your dominant cold personality made sinners shake in fear.  You possessed a great mind for business, able to build or break someone’s business. 

Many sinners would be lucky to have you oversee their management.

And Vox could see you bringing him more money then he could count.

With you under him, he would dominate in sales.

You shook Velvette off, smoothing out your suit. “For the nth time Velvette…no. I am not some power clutch for Vox to try and woo” you growled at her, eyes flashing.  She rolled her eyes “babes you dont know what you’re missing” You rubbed your head as you made your way out the building, trying to ease a migraine coming through.

Your sneer must have still been on your face because you heard a voice teased you

”Frowning doesn’t suit you my dear”

Alastor.

The tall red demon was leaning against a wall, smile ever present.

You felt your eye twitch before quickly regaining your composure, spine straightening and lips pulling into a straight line.

You and Alastor were something like friends. You liked to keep your distance from the Radio Demon, but somehow he always found a way to bother you and keep you close enough for ‘entertainment’. He made you uneasy with how intimidating he was. His ever present smile could make people shit bricks alone and you knew what happened to those who crossed him…

But he didn’t scare you…much.

You growled slightly at his comment, your irritation was blinding the fact that you just barred your teeth at THE Radio Demon.

He tilted his head “trouble in paradise?” he asked sarcastically. If anyone didn’t know, Alastor knew how much you despised Vox.  

”Oh piss off Alastor” you said walking pass him.

You didn’t get far before you found yourself pressed into the building wall.

You blinked, brain catching up to the fact that Alastor had a claw around your throat holding you up against the wall.

You growled out of instinct, eyes glowing and squeezed his wrist “Are You fucking crazy!? Unhan-!” 

 The tightening of Alastor’s hand had your eyes widening.

“Watch your tone darlin’ ”

 your body went slack as a purr escaped your throat.

Alastor chuckled darkly “hahaha oh what’s this? So you aren’t so scary after all”

You blushed immediately.

You weren’t used to being manhandled by anyone. 

You didn’t take orders from anyone.

You were always a force to be reckoned with…

But the way Alastor towered over you, pressing into you, you melted as he established his dominance over you.

A pout formed on your lip as you looked away shyly, feeling small “s-sorry”

Alastor hummed, loosening his grip, favoring to catch your chin with his claw for you to meet his gaze

”that’s a good girl”

@absurd-ash @simphornies @altruisticalastor @markster666 @crazyforbarnes @catherine69420 @yourdoorisunlocked @strawberrypimp666 @sssandychemd @dasimp777 @dennsfz @alastorsaries @confessioncassette @horrorartsworld @alstorloml @scaramoochiie @alishii (I can’t tag you) @gojosaturos-wife @prosciuttosblog @wedream-wecreate @coleisyn @alastorsfawn @eviebuggg @spalimly @senseichaos @thewinchestah @queenariesofnarnia @polytheatrix @zombiesnips-blog @lunaramune @freekyfangirl @kassa-stardust

If I’m missing anyone just comment hehe

[tarjapearce]

Laus Be

WARNINGS: SMUT. Double cock Demon Miguel, Not proofreaded, Mild dub-con, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

A/N: I'm high af on Advil and had to take this out of my system before I forgot. And yeah jskjs. Probably comes out as crack fic jsksj.

[Laus Be - Praised Be]

Summary: A cult offers you as a tribute to the Demon King himself ~

Viscous crimson liquid rolled off your chin as you were forced the goblet on your lips. Some of its remnants seeping and sliding down your throat.

The chants of cloaked figure around you intensified as they prepared their sacrificial lamb for slaughter. You.

They had not only kidnapped and kept you in the shadows for a while, depriving you from external stimuli that could soil what they had in hand.

Silence had turned your biggest company in the dark, stony, fusty and humid cell, you were being fed with selected things. And no matter how much you begged, they never released you.

You didn't know them, neither their faces, as them remained perpetually obscured by the cloaks. The only indicator they were human was the fresh smell of charred flesh in the back of their palms. A skull like spider symbol  burned and forever marked into their skin.

You were kept in the dark until now. Everyone spoke in a foreign language you've never heard before.

One of them dragged you away from the  twisted comfort your cell provided you, another group, bathed you in such delicate oils and perfumes, a common practice among the royals, and finally donned in nothing but a white silky and lace robe.

Then you were taken to another room, more like dragged, a golden chalice brought to you. The sickly sweet smelling concoction stared directly at you, but naturally, you refused.

Do not ever accept a drink from a stranger.

Wise words from your old man came into mind, but the wistful thought was shaken away as the liquid was forced down on your throat. Some droplets staining your angelic appearance. Their cloaked leader seemed annoyed you had ruined the immaculate purity your dress limned.

But it mattered not. Not when you were guided to a different room. A room that immediately lit on its own, revealing several pentagrams carved on the floor and walls. Candles melted, but they seemed perpetually alight, neverending incandescence illuminating and warming the room.

An appalling contrast from your cell, from the place in general. There was no windows, not a glimpse of anything that could dictate you who reigned over the skies. Day or night. Your sense of time had been so warped you couldn't even tell how many days your stance in this place had been.

Your eyes felt heavy, droopy and your body shivered. The perkiness of your breast peeking through the silky and soiled gown. One of the cloaked figures pulled you inside the outer circles of the first pentagram.

The contact of their skin made you whimper. You didn't know what had came over you, but certainly that sweet drink you were forced down a little ago, had everything to do with it.

The gates closed behind you, as the mystery people surrounded you. All of them kneeled as their voices united in an ancient chant.

Your mouth panted as they repeated the chant.

Laus be, Rex tuus [Praised be, Our King]

Your heart thumped harder, as your temperature increased. Heat and fear spreading through your body as the circles of the pentagrams begun buzzing with dark energy, soaring into life.

The chants increased, and so the smoldering heat between your legs.

An Aphrodisiac?

You didn't know not cared. The only thing in your mind was to run, as fiery red eyes emerged from the dark mist that disippated into tangible black spiders. Spiders that approached to you in a freakish speed.

Egredere de requiem tuam!

[Rise from your slumber]

You fell on your knees. The presence of the emerging entity had your insides cry in sheer need. Your body was rioting against all rational thought. Need clawed and begged to be acknowledged, but fear clung so hard you tried in crawling away, only for a hand to reach for your ankle and drag you back.

"No!"

You whimpered as the spiders crawled on you, panic rose at seeing them jumping all over your body, you tried to shake them off in your haste, but a low growl made you still. Deliciously low and dangerous. Your heart and clit pulsed.

No, no, no! Run!

The little crawlers hopped on your body again, to your shock, they melded together, taking the shape of hands that were now caressing whatever exposed piece of skin you had as other tugged and tore at the ceremonial robe, forcing you deeper in the pentagram circles, right before the demon.

Palms brushed on your bare body, by instinct you tried to cover up, a pair of hands stopped you. Black mist hands held your arms above you, wrist together as the rest proded at your outer folds, squeezed your breast together, pinched your nipples, kneaded your hips and ass.

"S-Stop!" You mouth lied and the demon before you smirked. His sharp and well sculpted factions revealed to you. Despite the horns attached to his forehead, he was as beautiful as terrifying. Sharp teeth shone when he plunged his big thumb inside your lips, toying with your warmth and moist tongue.

"Don't fight it"

Raspy and underwordly voice echoed through the walls

The summoned hands ventured a couple of fingers inside your now soaked hole. Your eyes drooped even further. A debauched expression coming through your flushed face. You licked his thumb, and engulfed it with closed eyes as the fingers slid in and out of you.

"Surrender to me"

He growled as another finger stretched your squelching and pulsating cunt. His thumb twirled against your tongue as his body took it's final shape. Broad and well sculpted torso, narrow waist with a sight that made you clench around his fingers and your mouth water. Hard and proud cocks, adorned with thick veins, a happy trail decorating the above.

The chants never stopped, but it didn't matter. You were focused on his deep and alluring voice that called you into the depths of depravity where he came from. You were a sacrifice offered for him to devour.

Pushed on your knees and crawling to him, whimpering as his fingers slid faster out of you, edging you to your first demise.

His clawed hand took gently your chin, holding it open as his other hand took one of his hefty cocks and fed you the tip, you immediately took a hold of the other one, stroking your hand on it. All inhibitions gone as your mouth worked  him. He tasted rich, tangy and so addictive. He cackled at your shameless cock worship. Both mouth and hand wet and warm.

Your tongue was desperate to taste every inch of him, your eyes glowed in the same red hue. Your strokes on his second cock went faster, nearly fisting him between a tight grip. He hummed in approval

"So eager to please" He grunted and pushed deeper inside you, the stretch in your jaw was worth the pain as he slid in and out of your plump mouth. His hand bobbed your head on his length, coating him with a mix of your saliva and his pre cum.

You gagged but he pushed you as deeper as he could, holding your head still as his hips rammed on your lips, Your nose nuzzling and inhaling his musky and tantalizing scent that not only sent your senses in a stronger riot. He growled as your throat muscles clamped around him, tightly, just like your hand.

"Wonder if it's as tight between your thighs"

He rasped with a grunt and thrusted a few more times before releasing your head. A thick thread of his cum connecting your lips with his tip. You gasped, mouth gaping as the soft and wet noises kept coming from his soaked fingers. Your need to hold onto something only increased as your hips moved on their own, sinking deeper ontop of them.

"Pl... Please!" You mewled in between breathless pants. Your flesh soaked and quivered under his ministrations, imploring to be taken

"Are you begging to be destroyed, little one? Is that what you want?"

You nodded and his sharp fangs came into view as a wicked smile stretched in his meaty lips.

"So be it."

You mewled once more as he pulled his summoned fingers away from your slit, snake like tongue curling around them, taking a taste of you. He growled and pushed you to the floor.

Summoned hands immediately taking a hold of your body, spreading your legs for him to take in the sight of you. His lips were brought into sight as he approached your puffed and drenched cunt.

Slimy and amphibious like tongue slid between shivering folds, to then push in inside you. Clawed hands brought your hips against his mouth. Your hands clenched in tight fists at the pressure

His slithering and coiling tongue made you scream at the overwhelming sensation of him instigating your orgasm. His tongue was a bully, just as his hands that toyed with your clit and butthole.

Your nipples, engorged by the constant pinching and pulling. Toes curled in as you came into his mouth. As he left you, your insides felt empty, in dire need to be filled again.

One would think after such ministration the effects of the lust would tame down, but since the chant of the cloaked figures never stopped, your lust didn't subsided either. It only burned with such intensity you were growing to fear.

The handsome devil positioned himself between your legs, his sprung cocks twitched, ready to be plunged. The summoned hands folded you in half, exposing your holes to him.

The fist one rubbed in between your folds, coating it even further in your slick as the other one poked at your second tight hole.

"Oh God!" You cried as he stretched tortuously slow both of your holes at the same time, only to end up in a powerful plow as you mentioned 'god'.

He growled as his hand squeezed your neck, dangerously tight. Your arms restrained above you

"You'll see what a real god , feels like, wench"

Your spine arched as his hips began moving. To say you felt full was a measly thing compared to how your body was being used. Your lower belly bulged everytime he slid in, he pulled out only to plow deeper. Your skin shook by the rough display of power.

The hands that kept feeding your delusional debauchery, held you in place. The room was filled with your breathless and unceasing pleas and needy cries. A lot of 'Yes!' along with 'It hurts so good' and more 'use me!'

Your hips felt like breaking by the hefty weight of his own as they slapped against yours. Your senses were drowning in the sensorial overload he slowly put you through.

Skin burned, your nose kept smelling him, sweet and musky, adding to your already overwhelmed arousal, His taste reminiscing on your tongue, Your eyes locked in his cocks and how these disappeared into you, taking you to a new level of pleasure you'd never thought reaching. And hearing his growls everytime you clenched around him made you reach your second orgasm right away, despite him just starting using you.

"Pathetic" He sneered

His thrust increased in strength, making you spill out broken pleas and incoherent mumblings. The rough friction felt like nirvana itself. Overstimulation was devastatingly delicious.

Hands turned your convulsing form down. Chest flat against the floor, your arms were restrained behind your back by his demonic hand, and your plump ass, up, awaiting to be ruined.

You took a look at the hooded figures, none of them were looking, but they kept kneeling and chanting like their lives depended on it.

The new stretch on both your holes made your eyes roll back and your jaw to slack.

An array of lewd curses flew out your moaning mouth. His cocks fought for which hole came first. Your sobs choked and were replaced by mild grunts and screams as your body lurched forward at the force his god like body exerted on you.

Bot of your holes were shaped into his girths, stretching and welcoming him despite their continuous bullying.

The back of your thighs tainted red by the rough slaps and thrusts.

Another orgasm for you. Both holes clamped and creamed around him, his cue for giving you a little break that didn't last much as he laid on his back and sheathed you ontop, earning a weakened and shivering scream from you.

"I can't!" The hands held you again, helping your hips to move up and down as they spreaded yours ontop of his thighs.

A frown came into his face, with a swift movement of his hands, he made the summoned limbs to sheathe you faster and rougher. Your slick rolling down his thighs. His hand pulled your hair down as you wailed like a banshee in need.

As much as you wanted to close your legs, it was impossible. Pleasure turned borderline painful as his other hand squeezed your throat. The asphyxia only increased the brain splitting sensations.

The demon king only laughed with sultry mockery at your state. He wasn't even half satisfied, and you were already losing your mind.

What was it? Four? five? The clenching and sobbing from you just confirmed the fifth one.

"Giving up so soon?"

This time, he cradled you into his arms and summoned a throne. A throne where he'd sit down and sunk you once more ontop of him.

You shook your head vehemently, trying to get away. Your arms were numb behind your back. Both holes deliciously stretched, empty and a tired face Miguel still found amusing and endearing as to how you reacted.

He was holding back after the third orgasm. Humans felt always welcoming. But you, you felt heavenly.

So tight and delicious. A need he had to sate every year. The past tributes were outright awful. You had been  entertaining him for quite a while now.

His free hand cupped your cheek before his lips crashed onto yours. He moved his hips in a slow motion, trying to give your raving a pause as he took his time in exploring your mouth with his own and his tongue.

Your moist muscle opposed little at the slithering and coiling one that had you breathless in matter of seconds. Your body glistened in sweat. Hair strands etched to your neck, super back and cheeks. Flushed flesh and a dumb gone look that made you even more worthy to look at.

He had ruined you. And it was time to reward your outlasting.

His lips let you go and his hips began moving once more. You couldn't even utter a proper word. Voice hoarse and raspy. Mouth dry.

As he kept pounding and relishing your broken body, you couldn't help but collide against his chest and arch your back, creaming at the base of his first cock as your ass squeezed his second

He took a fistful of your front strands and seized your face as pleasure flooded your senses once more.

"Eyes on me, wench"

Miguel commanded despite your obvious struggle to remain conscious. His pace increased and so did your panting.

Breast bounced mercilessly at his rutting, his lips came closer to yours, you moaned into each other's mouths, before his moved to your neck.

He whispered and groaned things in that ancient language before kissing your tender flesh and biting with his fangs. Marking you as you came with a weakened yelp.

His hand let your arms go to then secure you in a tight embrace while growling and plowing deep enough to have thick spurts of his seed painting your tight and sore walls.

You had achieved what no other lamb had. You had appeased him.

For now.

[queenie-the-court-jester]

Just a silly question but how will cotton react when he saw or knew that y/n REALLY love to eat rabbits and have a weird obsession for eating them? Like. Is he gonna be terrified or he gonna be like "stay away from my child but I still love U tho"

-(I wanna be the 🦖 anon please and yes the ask earlier where I quack was me too )

Cotton x carnivore!darling

Tw: minor body horror, cannibalism, reader can be another hybrid or human, cotton being cotton, blood mentioned. Not proofread 🌺

🔪he knew there was something wrong with you. From the moment you took him in and nursed him to health. To the way your hands glided over his abdomen and raked down his thighs. Your eyes staring hungrily at his throat. He saw the red flags, but he ignored them, because you made him feel something he thought he hated. Fear. Adrenaline.

🔪when you reluctantly let him go, he begged to stay. He knew he wasn't much of a meal but won't you give him a chance? He'll gladly let you tear open his chest and claw out his intestines. How would you eat him? Raw and fresh? Or cooked and seasoned? The thought excited him beyond belief!

🔪when you had your first litter of children, he quite literally had to pry them from your hold. He loved you but he couldn't risk you eating your newborns. So for the first few months he raised them himself from a distance. The only way he'd let you near them would be if he was close by and had a sedative in hand.

🔪 while quickly becoming a prisoner in your own home, Your shorter than average husband was constantly breathing down your neck, his gaze never leaving your form. And with the help of your offspring, life got even more suffocating. You loved your children, you really did. But you could never really get rid of that little itch in your mouth begging to sink into some meat. When was the last time you had it? You were starving.. you didn't want to eat vegetables anymore..

🔪one night you went missing. How the hell did you break out of the chains he found. He felt his heart stop and scrambled out of your bed. Ears moving around to try and catch any noise. Quickly rushing to the children's rooms, he relaxed in seeing them all safe and sound. Until he heard something from outside. Grabbing the dart gun from his bedside, he stepped out slowly. Following the smell of blood and cracking of what sounded like bones. Going Deeper into the forest...

🔪and there you were. Crouched over the bodies of what seemed like a deer hybrid family. You didn't seem to notice him, happily chewing and tearing at the flesh underneath you. Blood spewing out onto the dirt floor, he swore he could see a little twitch from the mother's hand. Their bones bent in unnatural places and the gashes on their bodies lethal. He slowly approached, standing over you

"there you are.. where have you gone..? you had me so worried honey..."

🔪 you simply stared up at him, licking your bloody lips and dropping the arm you were chewing on. He could feel himself get hard at the sight. Weirdo. Ignoring the corpses next to him, he set down his gun and kissed you softly. Wiping the rest of the blood off you with his shirt. He learns quickly that once you've eaten meat, you don't need to eat it for a good while. Expect him to hunt down his fellow hybrids for you in the near future. After all, what kind of husband would he be if he kept neglecting your needs?

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Night Terrors

Since reader has alr gone through their nightmare fic Astarion has to have a go too!

Summary: Astarion has a nightmare and visits your tent to get rid of it.

Astarion has always hated trancing ever since Cazador dug his claws into him. Every time he closes his eyes, flashes of grimy walls and bloodied chains flood through his mind, dragging him back to the Szarr Palace where screams constantly tear from his throat and Cazador leers over him, reminding the vampire spawn of his place.

Whenever his body forces him to trance, he feels his undead heart jump to his throat, panic seizing his chest and he always tries to force his eyes open but he can never win the battle. Darkness always consumes him in the end, and so does fear.

Tonight, he wakes up with a scream in his throat, panic rising in his chest and his clawed fingertips digging into the bedroll beneath him. If he still could sweat, his bedroll would be drenched right now, and he can still feel his hands shaking. He hates how weak he feels, how vulnerable he’s being right now and he grasps the collar of his shirt tightly, willing his clammy hands to be still. He inhales deeply despite not needing the air then shakily exhales, telling himself that he is far far away from the Szarr Palace, that he is safe with this ragtag group of weirdos who are considerate enough not to pry beyond what he tells them.

He stumbles out of his tent into the crisp night, where embers are all that’s left of the campfire and everyone is still in their tents, peacefully asleep. His feet automatically take him in the direction of your tent and before he knows it, he’s standing at the flap of your tent, debating whether or not to enter.

His fingers linger on the tent flap, playing with the edges until he works up the courage to enter. Once inside, he takes in the sight before him — you, peacefully asleep in your bedroll, curled up underneath the blanket with your mouth slightly ajar. He wonders if you know you sleep like that, so carefree, so far removed from the pressure of being a leader with saliva trickling out from the corner of your mouth and his lips quirk up into a quick smile at the thought of your reaction to such news. He watches from the entrance of your tent, ruby red eyes piercing the night as you stir slightly, rolling into a more comfortable position before resuming your restful sleep, that is until you feel someone staring at you and you wake up.

“Astarion! You scared me!”

“You don’t seem scared to me, darling,” he smiles, moving over to stand next to your bedroll.

“Why are you here?” You ask, sitting up.

“Just wanted to check how my little snack was doing,” he says lightly, a forced smile playing on his lips.

“Nightmare?” You recognise the telltale signs and open your arms, inviting him in. He hesitates at first, unsure about how much he wanted to reveal to you tonight but in the end he wordlessly nods, accepting the invitation and curls against your chest, feeling your arms gently wrap around him. He stares at a spot on the floor as you run your fingers through his hair, whispering words of sweet nothing and simply cradle him.

His fingers twitch, making their way onto your arm that’s wrapped around his waist and tentatively rest on your forearm. You continue your ministrations, pressing the occasional kiss to the top of his head and hide how your heart breaks each time you look at him. You rarely see him this broken, making you wonder what nightmare plagued him this time but you know it’s not the right time to ask, so you wait, putting his comfort over your need to know and do all you can to be there for him.

He buries his face into your chest, wanting nothing more than to wash away the thoughts plaguing his mind and your warmth helps a little. The night feels less lonely and cold when he’s curled up against you, wrapped in a cocoon of your scent and he can almost forget the reason he came here in the first place.

You slip your hand into his, feeling his fingers curl around yours as he gives your hand a squeeze, a silent thank you for taking time out of your sleep to be with him. He remains quiet, still staring at the same spot on the floor as before, unwilling to divulge anything so you continue to give him space.

“I want to forget it all.” His voice wavers, tears threatening to spill over. “But I can’t, I can’t forget anything and it keeps coming back whenever I close my eyes.”

You hum softly, gently playing with his silver-white locks. “I understand. It’s always when we close our eyes then does the darkness come out to haunt us, but it’s why we have each other. You don’t have to face it alone, I’ll always be right here to face it with you.”

He lets out a hiccup, tears streaming down his face and clutches your arm tightly. Your words always chases the darkness away, bringing him out of his spiralling mind and grounding him in reality, he really appreciates them even if he never says it. He wants you to say more, to continue wielding the magic infused into your words to drive the darkness that is enroaching on his mind once more and anxiously tugs at your shirt, hoping the action somehow conveys his need to you.

“You can stay here for the night, for as many nights as you want. My tent is always open to you, and so are my ears. You can always tell me anything, I will listen because I care, I care deeply about you.”

Astarion bites his bottom lip, feeling another wave of tears come crashing down on him and lets out a sob. He hates how weak you make him, how you always manage to coax the vulnerability out of him but you never call him out on it.

Silence falls over the both of you as you continue to cradle your hurting vampire lover, whispering how much you love him, how much you care for him as he silently cries, letting everything out. A while later his tears have all but dried up, his shoulders no longer shaking and he finally looks up at you, eyes still wet from his crying session.

“Can I —” He swallows. “Can I trance with you?”

“Of course,” you smile softly, lying back down on your bedroll and he slots himself into the space created, curling into you. You finger brushes over his cheek, lips pressing against his in a chaste kiss and he buries himself in your touch, leaning into the warmth your body emits. He loves moments like this, where you freely give whatever love he needs through your gentle touches, for it reminds him of how loved he is despite everything Cazador has drilled into him.

He cautiously puts his arms around your waist, breathing in your familiar scent and closes his eyes. He’s still nervous, but you begin rubbing circles on his back and he finds himself calming down. He trusts you to be there should he wake from his nightmares, to be there when he wakes from his trance, that you’ll never abandon him to his demons, and with that, he lets himself slip into a much needed trance.

As his eyes close, he locks gazes with you and sees the love that fills your eyes. A small smile graces his features, warmth blooming in his chest and he lets himself drift off, safe in the knowledge that when he opens his eyes again, you will be the first thing he sees.

[little-diable]

Guilt - Feyd-Rautha (smut)

So, I watched Dune again, and this came to me mid movie. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

!Contains spoilers!

Summary: The reader is married to Feyd, she felt him being touched by Lady Margot – now he has to prove to her how much he loves her.

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f), implied cheating/somewhat not really since she knew it'd happen, some angst, strong-headed reader, still some fluff (?)

Pairing: Feyd-Rautha x fem!reader (1.3k words)

“You know, na-Baron, sleepless nights can be cruel.” Her voice echoed through their dark chamber, back turned to him as her eyes stared outside. Feyd froze in his step, he had just entered the room, careful not to wake her. (Y/n) held a blade between her fingers, letting her fingertips stroke along the sharp edge.

“Nightmares again?” A scoff wanted to claw through (y/n) at his question. Feyd was playing her, thinking she hadn’t noticed how he had slipped out of the room, hiding away from his own celebrations - only to run into Lady Margot. (Y/n) had felt it the second the woman had touched him, in ways only (y/n) had been asked to touch her very own husband. 

But the way was cruel, guided by power-hungry women who thought of them better than her. 

“You dare lie to your wife?” (Y/n)’s voice was sharper than ever before, she didn’t see the way he slightly stumbled back, not expecting that chilly tone of hers. Feyd ran his tongue along his black teeth, trying to fight against an emotion he hadn’t felt before, an emotion he had been a stranger to – until now. Guilt. A sensation that wandered up his body, making him almost choke on his bile.

“It needed to be done.” Within seconds she stood in front of him, with her blade pressed against his throat, with her eyes burning holes into his skin, with tears about to drip from her eyes. It was true, it had to be done, and she had known that the Bene Gesserit order would grasp any chance they could get to fulfil it. Feyd-Rautha was a puppet of their game, a puppet who had now offered all his weaknesses to them. 

“I ought to kill you with that blade, rip you to pieces the way you’ve ripped my heart to pieces. I thought you were stronger than that, husband, it’s a shame I’ve married a man who behaves like a child.” No word left Feyd at the harsh words she spoke, words he’d kill others for without blinking once. But all he did was wipe away her tear, one single drop that dared to escape her glassy eye. “Wash yourself clean, I can still smell her on you.”

“Join me, na-Baroness.” Her hand met his cheek before he could see it coming, shakily inhaling at the rage now simmering inside of him. Feyd’s black teeth ran along his lower lip while his hand found her wrist, harshly tugging her against his chest. “The next time you raise your hand at me, I won’t be as gentle with you, wife.”

“Gentle? You breed another woman, you embarrass your wife, and now you threaten her? I have never feared you, and I won’t start now, bound together by a promise that has lost its meaning.” It was pathetic of her, to treat him like her enemy because he had done what had needed to be done. But her pain weighed heavier than her rational thoughts, guiding her on as Feyd cupped her cheek before interlacing their fingers.

No word left him as he began to lead (y/n) into the washroom, tugging on her nightgown to expose her naked body. Pleasure had always been one of his few weaknesses, and even though he had found pleasure in fucking the Lady, it hadn’t felt like it did with (y/n), not as raw, as intimate as he was used to by now. 

Feyd sank into the water first, but his eyes didn’t leave her naked frame once. Wordlessly, he reached his hand out for her to take, to pull her into the bath. (Y/n) shuddered in his hold, she tried to shake off the emotions thumping through her like a sandstorm set to bury her alive, and yet she miserably failed at it. For the first time since knowing Feyd-Rautha, she lost her grip on her emotions. 

“I love you.” Three simple words Feyd hadn’t ever spoken before rolled off his tongue, words that hadn’t ever managed to leave his mouth, held back by his black teeth that wouldn’t dare part. But now they had rolled off his tongue all too easily, surprising him and her. 

“The wonders of guilt.” A humourless laugh left (y/n). “Don’t keep lying to me, husband. I’m not your pet nor your toy, don’t lure me into false comfort with pretty words and thin lies.” Feyd tightened his grasp on her cheeks, squeezing them to keep her from saying another word. A rough kiss was pressed to her lips, drawing a moan out of (y/n) at the familiarity of the sensation. 

“I love you.” He repeated the words, pronouncing every single one of them as if he were speaking a threat, hoping to open her eyes. She stared at him for a while, trying to figure out how sincere the words were - if they were sincere at all, but the pain tugging on his expression told her everything she needed to know. The sigh leaving her made Feyd loosen his grip on her cheeks, letting his hand wander down to her neck. 

“I love you too, even though I try to hate you, now more than ever.” Another rough kiss was shared between them, drawing moans from both lovers. Feyd’s cock twitched against her, in any other scenario he would have fucked her by now, murmuring into her ear that he’d pump her full, desperate to see her with a round belly, but today he didn’t. A wise decision she was grateful for.

But even though he stopped himself from forcing his cock into her cunt, his hand didn’t stop moving, cupping her heat with an almost soft grin tugging on his lips. Their eyes held contact as he circled her pulsing bundle, using just enough strength to leave her shuddering. Her mind screamed at her, but her body craved his touch like a drug as if she was high on spice. 

“You know it had to be done, but you need to know it wasn’t like this.” His words weighed heavy, telling her that their bond would survive every attack, even death they��d overcome together. “You are my end and my beginning, na-Baroness.”

Two of his fingers pushed into her tightness, engulfed by her fluttering walls. Her moans filled the washroom, echoing off the walls like screams of prisoners, slashed by Feyd’s blade for his mere enjoyment. An exciting sensation he had always craved, just like the orgasms he lured out of her, watching them clash through her shaking body. 

“My beautiful wife, you were made for me, destined even.” (Y/n) couldn’t reply, her eyes rolled back into her head as her fingernails left crescent-shapes on his shoulders. Her orgasm was close, pushed into her high by his cold fingers, feeling them on her clit and against her swollen spot, hers forever.

“Cum for me, show me how much your body craves me.” She came with a gasp, tightening her grip on Feyd as her high clashed through her. Heavy pants spluttered from her lips at the blinding sensation, too distracting to study Feyd’s smirk, the satisfied expression tugging on his handsome features. 

“You’re forever mine, (y/n), and nothing may change that, no prophecy, no destiny.”

[ervotica]

𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

pairing; azriel x fem!reader

summary; and so i cry the light is white and i see you

when your wings are taken from you in a brutal act of torture, you see no way to ease your grief. your mate is there to guide you back when you need him most.

warnings; hurt/comfort, ANGST, suicidal ideation, sorta suicide attempt, in depth descriptions of injury

The wind stings at your flushed cheeks where you stand at the edge of the rooftop. It's dark, iridescent balls of light expanding at every edge of your vision as you take a step towards the lip of the roof that overhangs from the house. Wetness clings to your eyes, threatening to spill over your itching waterline when you gaze down to the sea of lights below.

You long to feel the whip of the breeze against your face as you rise and dive into the night sky, to scream and yell at the top of your lungs as your wings flap behind you in tandem with your family.

You'll never feel that again.

You've been a shell of yourself since the day your wings were taken. Had them brutally cut from your body, hacksawed until all that remained were jagged stumps in place of gorgeous, thick corded planes of muscle. Naked. Half the person you once were. Your back is a myriad of scars, still healing and bruised, ripples of broken flesh marring your once untouched skin.

You are broken and ugly and miserable.

It took weeks to even walk again, weeks of rehabilitation, physical therapy with Madja. Weeks of sobbing in your mate's arms as he held you upright, of wanting to claw your way out of your own skin and scream and rage until something snaps you out of this living nightmare. Weeks of Azriel having to force you to eat and drink, to get outside in favour of withering away in your bed.

You're teetering on the edge of the building now, swaying in time with the gusts of air that threaten to send you toppling onto the street below.

"My love, what are you doing?" Azriel's voice breaks you out of your haze, but you don't move; you don't make any effort to step away from the edge. One wrong move from either of you and you're dead.

"I miss flying," you croak.

"I know you do." His voice oozes with pity and it sends rage hurting through your veins like the white-hot lick of a flame. You stumble, swatting Azriel's hands away when he surges forward to wrench you back. Your pulse roars in your ears and you lose focus of his speech, each pleading word blending into one another until you don't bother to decipher the words at all.

"Come back to me," he shouts over the ringing in your ears. "Come back to me, mate."

The name seizes your muscles, pours into your soul like molten lava and solidifies, heavy and unforgiving.

"Why?" you whirl around, heels hanging over thin air, nothing to break your impact were you to fall - or throw yourself - from this great height. Azriel's unnaturally still, not moving, not breathing- calculating how long it would take him to dive after you if you were to slip. "Why do you call me that? Why don't you run from me, leave me here now I'm not of use anymore."

He takes one step, and then another. Sweat beads on your brow despite the frigid chill of the night- his scarred fingers outstretched, waiting for you to take them. The golden thread inside your chest pulls taut like a bowstring. He's calling you home.

"You are my mate." he says. "I need you. Come back to me, my love."

"I'm ruined, Az." The words stick in your throat like syrup. "I'm no good to anyone, anymore. All I'll do is burden you." A sob rips through you. "You won't be happy with what I am now. I just want you to be happy."

The confession almost brings him to his knees.

Something snaps inside of him; eery calm replaces terror as he surveys you with narrowed eyes and a tilt of his head.

This is not your Azriel.

This is the feared shadowsinger- who wears a mask of cool wrath, who bows to no one. A calculated facade of composure.

"You are not ruined," he growls. The glacial fury in his voice has your breath catching in your throat, your insides freezing as if his words have wrapped icy fingers around your throat. "You are my mate, and you will step down and come to me. Now."

You find yourself complying without question, moving away on wobbling legs until your limbs give out and you're tripping over your own feet, hurtling towards the ground. As fast as the mask appears, it slips away, pure, unrelenting relief cascading down the bond.

Azriel's already there, hooking his arms beneath your own to shoulder your weight, a hand atop your head to anchor your body to his own even as you shudder and scream and soak his leathers with angry tears.

"I know, my love. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he murmurs, the words a whisper into your hair as you claw at him, legs buckled and utterly useless. You're settled against thick muscle, tucked under Azriel's chin where he's lowered you both to the ground.

"I'm nothing," you gasp against his chest. "I have no place here anymore. I'm useless."

His hand is an anchor against the back of your neck, grounding when he squeezes the malleable flesh to draw your gaze to his own.

"You are everything."

The welcome pressure on your neck lulls you into drawing a long breath. Azriel deflates, hazel eyes trained on the rise and fall of your heaving chest.

"I am nothing without you," he continues on. "You are my life and my heart. Were you to die, I'd go by your side with a smile. I can't bear the thought of living in a world where you do not exist."

His wings twitch where they're tucked behind him. Your trembling fingers splay against the sharp angle of his jaw.

"I'm sorry," you croak. "I never want to leave you." His knuckles drag across your cheekbones, brushing away the tears that stain your balmy face. "I don't know how to live like this."

His lips press to your temple, brow nestled against the wisps of windswept hair at the crown of your head. He smears a kiss there and ventures lower. One against your jaw, your chin, in the crease of your brows.

And then he slants his lips over your own. Your muscles go soft, ragged breaths evening as he parts your lips with a swipe of his tongue, a hand splayed against the base of your spine as you sag. He brushes your nose with the tip of a scarred finger.

"Come on," he murmurs, urging you to stand. When you do, he tucks you into his chest, arms slung over your shoulders in a crushing embrace. "I will do anything to make this easier for you, my heart. I know it will be difficult, and I know it's scary. But stay with me."

Your arms tighten around his middle.

"Always."

[rosedom]

ok ok so, kazuha who always denied it everytime reader calls him a pretty boy. so reader fuck him rough and won't let him cum before kazuha tell that he's a pretty boy

there's just something about pretty boys that has me weak . . . o(*￣︶￣*)o thirst format !

hoooolyyyy moly. god, okay ! you got me, you got me.

kazuha is so, so sweet. he waxes poetic with every breath he takes. each whisper of affection curls around you, warm and tender and so, so loving. but it wouldn't take long for you to notice how quiet he is regarding himself.

you wonder, then, how he can create such beauty from the setting sun, yet he can never compare his own eyes to them. his eyes, so wide and round and gorgeous, tinted like the ocean water when the sun kisses it in retreat. he, too, never dares to speak of the way his body, so small yet so strong, can wield the type of power that can put gods at his feet. no—instead, he writes about how beautiful the shogun looked; he sees through an artist's eyes the way her eyes widened in fear, the way her pupils shrunk and pretty purple showed just how human a god could be.

you simply cannot understand how a man can see the world through such a rose petal'd lens, yet when he looks at himself, he sees nothing of note. he sees a vessel, sure; he can understand the innate beauty of soul's vessel. but beyond that? nothing.

it makes your heart break, knowing that kazuha—the man capable of so much art, making the world brighter and changing the way you see everything—does not see himself in any positive light. to him, he simply exists.

really, he walks the earth the same as you do—yet while he marvels that you are here with him, he cannot grasp that you, too, marvel at him.

he could grasp, however, at your cheeks—at you yourself, when you've got him pressed into the bed with your foreheads touching. he holds onto you tightly with trembling hands, soft little sounds punched from his throat which each thrust.

"you're so—mm—!" he'd try: try to praise you, to say something pretty while you're balls deep. he can't really manage, though, when your cock presses into all his sweet spots.

each incessant thrust into him makes him cry out, cute, soft sounds that you just want to eat up ! you'll have to pardon me for thinking about how you'd have to kiss up his moans, licking into his mouth as it hangs open in his pleasure.

kazuha'd keep his shakey hold on your face, forcing you up and away from his lips to beg, "please, please. you're so perfect, like—mm—like the—the—mm!" silence his attempts at poetry, won't you?

"baby, baby," you'd have to soothe him with, punctuating each sweet name with a deep thrust, pressing into all the spots that make him writhe. "my pretty boy."

of course, he'd deny it; i wouldn't expect anything different. but quiet him more: shake your head at him and frown, gentle and not at all unkind, and kiss away his "no, no."

"but kaz," you'll say. "you're so, so pretty. so perfect f'r me." his hands, fallen from your cheeks, would claw at your back as he'd be left to squirm and cry in the arms of yours that trap him against the bed.

simply put: there is nowhere for him to go, to get away from your sweet, sweet words.

i guess you'll have to up the stakes. how awful, truly.

"c'mon, pretty," you'll coo, instead, slowing your thrusts to a torturous drag. "tell me something, will you?"

"w-what?"

with a mischievous grin, you'll have to murmur, "tell me you're pretty." then, "until you do, you're not gunna cum." 

i wish i could see the way his eyes would widen at that—betrayed, as if you had told him he wouldn't cum at all. but you'll hardly give him the time to reflect on your words—to deny them, to say anything different—, because you'd be thrusting in hard and deep and brushing against all the right places. he'll writhe and cry beneath you, and, god.

kazuha is so, so pretty: why can't he see that?

"i—mm, please, i'm so close . . ."

"you can't cum, though," you'd have to say, reaching a hand down against your words to hurry him along. his body'll jerk in your arms, torn between succumbing to the pleasure yet wanting to be good for you, to not cum just yet.

"i can't," he'll cry, shaking his head side to side and jerking on the pillow. "i can't."

when he gets too close, do something for me: reach down and pinch at his pelvis, so close yet so far to where he wants it. "yes, you can;" you'll have to soothe him with sweet words, hard n' deep thrusts. "you're my pretty boy, kaz, tell me you're pretty."

"i—i—"

"c'mon." he'd be so close, by then, twitching everywhere and left to dig into your shoulder blades. the marks he leaves across your upper back will be gorgeous, later. "you can do it, honey. c'mon."

relenting is not easy for kazuha: this you know.

but you'll also know that it's harder to stave off an orgasm for him. and so—when his hole begins to squeeze and throb around you—, he would finally cry out, "'m pretty—!" and tumble headfirst into orgasm.

just—pretty boy kazuha (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠) <33

11 FEB. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

[squirmhoney]

BUT HE NEEDS A WIFE | NAOYA ZEN'IN

Please read all warnings carefully, my fics cover dark topic matters, that may be upsetting to certain readers. Read at your own discretion. Warnings: Dark. Arranged/Forced marriage. Non con touching. Violence against reader. Mentions of sex. Misogynistic views. Degrading views. Submissive reader. Abusive relationship. Forced pregnancy. Non con. Dub con. 18+ A/N: I feel like the character is a warning in itself. But of course I had to pick this one, out of all the characters in JJK.

AS ALWAYS MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! MASTER LIST HERE

-

When your parents told you of your engagement to Haru, you had been hesitant. 

You knew it was an honour to marry someone so high up in the Zen’in clan but you had remembered Haru from your teenage years, or more so his closest companion, Naoya Zen’in. 

Naoya had always tormented you growing up, spitting about how a weak woman like you should know your place. He even once forced his friends to hold you three steps behind him as he paraded you through the school. 

Where a woman should be, he had chuckled darkly. 

It was no surprise he had turned out the way he did. 

Since you had known him, people around him had been feeding him the belief he’d be head of the Zen’in clan one day. No wonder he constantly felt entitled and put himself above everybody else. But his arrogance when it came to women was something else, something that had bile creeping up your throat every time someone even uttered his name. 

You had never understood why girls had thrown themselves his way, knowing they’d be discarded like a used toy the next day. 

Even your childhood best friend had fawned over him, fluttering her eyelashes and bowing her head like an obedient servant every time he walked her way. For years he had never even batted an eye her way, completely ignoring her existence. 

Until he had exhausted his options and finally his line of vision was turning in her direction. Or that’s at least what you believed.

It was only days after you were cradling her form in your lap, her tears soaking your legs as you brushed her hair out of her face. 

The sight had sent you into an out of mind craze because days later you found yourself completely alone as you confronted him about it. 

At first he had laughed when he saw you storming over his way, even whistling your way. Only for his eyes to narrow at you when you spat your vicious words at him, hand wrapping around your throat before you could finish. 

“Anyone would be grateful to be even touched by me,” he hissed, holding you against the wall. 

You had wheezed his name, fingernails clawing at his hand. But his grip only tightened, as he glared at you. 

“It’s a fucking honour.” He was seething as he spoke the words, a rage pouring off of him that you had never seen before. One that you’d hoped you’d never see again. 

With your tears you begged for your life, unable to speak with his hands constraining your neck. 

You didn’t know why he let go of you, letting you drop to the floor below him. But he had, giving you once last disgusted look before he walked away. 

Even in your fear you had been defiant, the words falling from your lips before you could stop them. 

“I fear for the woman who ends up marrying you.” 

Naoya had simply rolled his eyes at your words, nostrils flaring slightly but he never responded. 

Even though Haru hadn’t been there to witness that day, he had still been friends with Naoya for so long. By association you believed him to be an awful person and the thought of a marriage with someone like that, terrified you to the core. 

But Haru had changed since then. 

He was gentle and doting, reassuring you with every day you spent together that he would be a good husband. Nothing he did made you believe he could be lying and so each night when he gently brushed his lips with yours before you settled into bed together, you opened your mind to the idea of it. Until it was truly all you believed.

-

Words couldn’t reach your lips when you had been told, body only freezing in your seat as your parents had blabbered on to you and Haru. 

It’s an honour, you heard your father say. The head of the Zen’in clan blessing our daughter’s marriage is an honour. 

Luckily Haru spoke for you, hand grabbing yours as he squeezed it gently. 

Of course we’d be honoured to have him in our home. Haru had told your parents. Me and Naoya used to be such good friends back in the day

Your gaze lifted to look at him then, body trembling beside him as you caught his wide smile. 

There was a sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach when you returned home that day. One that you were unable to shake even as the day drew closer and your fiancé tried so hard to reassure you it’d be okay. 

“He won’t bless our marriage,” you had told Haru, eyes glazed over with tears. “I know it.” 

Haru only shook his head, not taking your fear seriously. “Relax-” 

“I know him.” Your hands gripped onto his shirt, pleading with him to listen. “He’ll do it out of spite. He hates me.” 

“It’s been years, Y/N.” 

You turned away, trying to steady your shaky breaths as you listened to your words. You really wanted to believe him, to think that everything would be okay. But you had both known a different person growing up, while he had been your biggest tormentor, he had been one of Haru’s closest friends. 

Haru had of course had no reason to believe that Naoya hated you so much, that he wouldn’t bless your marriage just because he felt like it. 

But that tightening feeling in your stomach told you differently. Even when you desperately craved to not want to believe it. 

“It will only be for a few hours,” Haru reassured you, his hand rubbing into your shoulders. 

“A few hours,” you repeated, taking a shaky breath. 

You felt Haru shift behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he held you close. “You know he’s trying to find a wife?” 

You giggled a bit at that, a small smile perking up on your lips that your fiancé seemed to share with you, “I pray for the woman who has to marry him.” 

“So do I,” he laughed with you. 

There was a knock on the door, the tension rising in your body again. 

“Must be him,” Haru stated, eyes turning towards the direction of the door. “It’ll be okay.” 

Haru tried to reassure you with a peck to your cheek but your body was already quivering with nerves, unable to shake the uneasy feeling. 

A feeling that only grew as you heard his horrifying familiar voice. 

-

Mandatory duties like this were a chore for Naoya. 

Who cared whether he approved of someone’s marriage or not? 

However, when he had seen your name on the papers alongside Haru’s, he had almost choked on the tea he had been sipping. 

How had Haru found himself in such an unfortunate situation to be engaged to you? 

Someone as disobedient as you, surely there must have been a mistake in what he was seeing. He remembered your last conversation years ago like a sour taste in his mouth that he just couldn’t quite get rid of. 

You had the nerve to touch him, to look into his eyes as if you were his equal- No, not even that, you had seen yourself better than him. 

Naoya had never shaken the rage at that, blood still boiling at the memory. 

He had been merciful that day.

Something he wouldn’t be today, he had told himself as Haru greeted him at your front door. 

“Where is she then?” Naoya asked, making sure his voice carried through your small home. 

He wanted you to know he was there. Whichever room you were hiding in, he wanted you to be quivering at his arrival. 

“Where’s your beautiful fiancé?” 

He hadn’t expected you to step through a door in the hallway, joining your husband’s side. What was most surprising was when you bowed to him, not even uttering a word as you greeted him in the proper way. 

His eyes scanned your form, running over you in your attire and admiring the way your yukata fit your body so well. 

“Would you finish preparing the tea for us?” Haru asked you, gently pushing you back in the direction you came. 

You bowed your head to him before returning back to the kitchen. 

He couldn’t help but watch your frame as it disappeared into another room. He used to tease you about your wider hips, only now he was biting back the words as his cock twitched at the sight of them. 

“What have you done to her?” There was humour laced in Naoya’s tone but all that met his eyes was a deep hunger. One that he was sure his old friend caught on to. 

“She’s going to be a great wife,” Haru commented, giving Naoya a small smile before he directed him to another room. “Please, let's get you comfortable.” 

Conversation flowed between him and Haru easily as if time had never passed. The only time his mind seemed to slip away from the conversation was when you entered the room, tray in hand as you quietly placed it on the table in front of them. 

It’s also when he noticed how your delicate hands were trembling as they poured his tea, his lips curling up into a dark grin. There was something satisfying about seeing you so scared to be around him, especially after all these years. 

“Thank you, Y/N,” Haru said to you as he took his tea from your hand, pulling you to sit beside him. 

He looked at Naoya then, eyes squinting for a second as he placed an arm over your shoulders. Naoya knew that look, he had seen it on so many men before when their wives would sneak him sneaky glances. 

Haru was acting possessive and Naoya actually thought it was cute. 

“Such an obedient wife you have there,” Naoya spoke, only to tut at himself as he caught his words. “Sorry, I meant fiancé. You still need my blessing before that.” 

You looked at him then, eyes glazed over, only for a second before your gaze returned to your hands. 

There you are, he thought. 

He saw the fear that seeped into your eyes at his words. 

“You know Haru there’s a position that really needs filling,” Naoya changed the conversation. “It would get you more money than whatever you’re making now. Help you better provide for your future wife.” 

“If you see me fit for the job,” Haru said, eyes widening with hope at his words. 

Naoya almost felt pity for him. 

-

Two hours in and you were excusing yourself to the kitchen, hand covering your mouth as you muffled your gasps of breath. 

You didn’t understand how Haru could be so blind, not even noticing the sadistic grin on Naoya’s face as he toyed with the pair of you. He knew he had all the control, practically holding it over your heads like the dogs he thought you were. 

Naoya was quiet as he crept behind you, so quiet you didn’t even notice him until his hands were playing with your hair. 

You gasped at the touch but didn’t dare to move as he trapped you between his body and cabinet in front of you. 

“There’s a good girl,” Naoya whispered, brushing your hair over your shoulder. You could feel his breath fan against your skin as he inched closer. “You are such a submissive thing, aren’t you?” 

You swallowed, pushing yourself further into the cabinet in hopes to escape his grasp. 

“All the lessons when we were teenagers really seemed to seep in, didn’t they?” He asked but you knew he didn’t really want a response. “I bet you’re even saving yourself for the big day.” 

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an answer but he could see it in your heated glare through the reflection of the window. 

“You are.” He sniffed your neck, inhaling your scent as he pressed himself right up against you. “So pure, Y/N. You’re going to be such a great wife.” 

You could feel every bit of him as he pressed his body against yours and you were horrified at the feel of his hardness rubbing against your back. 

You bit on your lip to keep any noise buried, knowing he was already getting off on how docile you were being. You didn’t need him to get off on your fear as well. 

At the sound of Haru’s footsteps coming down the stairs, he backed away but not far enough from your liking. 

“I should be going to see your parents now, Y/N,” Naoya spoke to you before he turned to Haru, patting him on his shoulder. “I’ll keep in touch with you about the job as well, Haru.” 

Haru saw him out, walking back to you with the biggest grin as he tried to cup your face. 

You flinched away, turning back to the cleaning you had started. 

“You heard him,” Haru said, wrapping his arms around you. “We are going to be fine.” 

You wanted to scream at him, unable to understand how he just couldn’t see what you saw. 

But you didn’t say anything, only biting at your bottom lip to keep your tears at bay as you hugged him back, knowing it would probably be the last time. 

-

There was no surprise on your face when your parents broke the news to you. 

Not until they had explained why Naoya hadn’t approved of your engagement. 

You wanted to plead with your parents for them to take it back, to not allow you to go through with this. 

But you knew the shame that it’d bring them and as much as it haunted you, it was something you couldn’t possibly do to them. There was nothing they could probably do anyway, who were they to refuse the head of the Zen’in clan. 

You weren’t allowed to see Haru after that, Naoya had made that clear to your parents. 

You had spent most of your days in your childhood room at home, not wanting your parents to catch on how truly sick this made you. You didn’t want to put that guilt on them, for them to learn how truly unhappy you would be with the match. 

Even when you reached your wedding day and you felt completely numb to the core, you dragged yourself out of bed with a smile. 

Everyone you knew attended the ceremony, the whole of the Zen’in clan being in attendance. Even your Haru standing in the second row. 

You couldn’t even meet any of their eyes, gaze being glued to the floor.

For the first time in your life you found some solace in Naoya’s eyes, even if it was only to help you draw your attention to something other than the hundreds of other people watching. 

But the way he was smiling at you, had you fighting with yourself to not turn away. 

It was as if he was revelling in victory for a game you hadn’t even realised you both had been playing. 

Once the ceremony was over, Naoya paraded you around like a doll, showing you to anyone and everyone that would stop to watch. People from your teenage years ogled their eyes at you in disbelief, clearly being shocked to see the pair of you being wed off. 

It made as little sense to them as it did you. 

Even as you sat next to him while you ate together, you still couldn’t piece together why he was doing this. It’s all you wanted to ask, still believing in your head that this was some sort of sick joke. That he’d eventually get bored and start laughing and this all would be over. 

“Your parents served you well,” Naoya finally spoke to you, arm leaning over the back of your chairs. 

You turned to him at this, not truly understanding what he was getting at.

“I’ll definitely make sure to thank them for bringing you up like this.” Naoya smirked, toying with his food on the table. “You’re going to be such a great wife.” 

You were going to be sick, you were sure of it. 

“You’ve barely touched your food,” he stated. “Something wrong?” 

“No, I-” you swallowed, eyes flickering up to tables surrounding you. “It’s just nerves.” 

In the sea of people you spotted him, looking back at you with a hollow stare. 

Naoya’s eyes followed your line of sight, a wicked smile touching his lips as he noticed. 

You felt him lean into your side, lips grazing your ear as he whispered, “As wife to the head of the Zen’in clan you must sever all notions of ever having a different life in your mind.”  

You could see Haru’s face drop and it was almost like he couldn’t bear to watch you anymore, turning away.

You shuddered as Naoya’s next words brushed against your neck. 

“You belong to the clan now and to me.” 

He pressed a kiss under your ear, before returning to his meal. 

“Remember that.” 

-