#_floch forester

[depravitycentral]

Tw: misogany, non-con, incels, gender/power dynamics, writing this made me feel icky, if you are a person who genuinely believes in anything described in this post please consider changing your opinions, fem reader, MDNI, don't ask me where this post came from because I don't know

Thinking about men that think your rightful place is by his side as his woman.

You bring out this side of him that's brand new to him; this side urging him to utterly dominate you, to be in full control of your bank accounts, your friendships, your hobbies, even your own body. There's this new urge to make you ask for permission for everything, to just pin you down and stuff you full of him every hour of every day because it's your job. It's your duty to take his cock - you were made for it.

He's never been particularly misogynistic, but when he looks at you, all he sees is the beautiful, wonderful, perfect woman that he must domesticate. You're too wild on your own - too free-spirited, brainwashed into believing this 'modern woman' crap - there's a reason the man does the work and the woman stays at home. Don't you know that?

He's strong - you're not. (And he knows it, too - after a night of fucking, all the bruises littering your body and the way your legs struggle to hold you steady is proof enough. The way he can easily lift the heavy wooden bedframe of your shared bed is enough - you can only lift a corner of it off the ground, after all. The way he can get you to shut up with just a simple, stern look should be enough evidence.)

He's street-smart - you're not. (He understands what other men want and what you're good for - it's not sexist when he tells you that the shirt you're wearing is too revealing. He won't hesitate to tell you that your entire chest is basically out, angel, and you can't be showing the world one of your best assets. He understands that you're not strong or skilled enough to fight another man off should he decide he wants you - you'll try to fight, sure, but that'll only get the other man going, your resistance only getting them harder and more lustful, and when you inevitably give in - because you always will, all women will - he knows you might even enjoy it.)

He's smart - you're not. (You think you are - and you're right about some things, sure. You know the best ways to bathe yourself - he's never been as thorough as you, he's humble enough to admit that - and how to make delicious pie, and the best way to make the bed warm and soft. But there's a lot of things you don't know, like who to vote for at the next election, or how to change a tire, or how to use a debit card.)

He's a man. And you're not. And he likes that you aren't - he's attracted to you because of your feminine charms; your curves, your softness, your smell, the sound of your voice, and - of course - the fact that you are utterly, utterly his property. As his wife (your consent in the matter is hardly important; his last name is yours now, and that's all there really is to it), all your decisions are made by him. He tells you what to wear, what to get at the grocery store, how to address other men, how to smile, everything that he knows is too much for you to handle.

And, of course, he teaches you other things. Things that he knows you are - should be, at least - clueless about. So cute, huh?

He's patient when he tells you to sink to your knees, palms pressing on the top of your head as he pushes you down, softly shushing you when you start to protest. He's patient as he slips his briefs down, his cock already red and throbbing and big, making your cheeks look even softer and rounder, your glassy eyes and prettier. He's talking you through it as he traces his tip - wet and sticky and leaving a smear of bitter precum on your skin - around your lips, the look in his eye nearly boyish with excitement.

He's gentle when he grasps your chin between two fingers (much stronger than your own, of course) to keep you steady, shuffling his hips forward so that his tip (bulbous and red and positively glistening, already looking so swollen you're sure he won't last but a minute) slips past your lips. He keeps going until you're gagging, letting his eyes flutter closed for a moment before immediately opening them once more because the sight of you below him, on your knees for him, shutting you up with his cock down your throat is oh so right.

He's patient when he pushes you face-first into the bed, running a hand over your hair and sighing to himself because god, aren't you pretty? His hands are on your hips immediately, pushing down on your lower back to get the arch of your back deeper, tighter, more intense because it looks better this way - it's better for him this way, and isn't sex really only about the man?

He's even generous enough to be gentle when he's pushing himself inside you - keeping the pace slow but consistent, hissing and letting a few comments of 's so damn tight, fuck and cunt was made for me, shit slipping past his lips. He's kind enough to give you a few moments (perhaps three) to adjust to his size, before he's smacking your ass and pulling your hair, fucking into you like an animal because you're his to use.

And he's not afraid to say it - t's all harsh thrusts that make audible slapping noises as his balls - very, very sensitive and very, very full - smack against you over and over, strong fingers grabbing at your skin and keeping you in place, just so he can ram into that one spot over and over and over, because he thinks the deeper he goes the more he's claiming you. He's groaning at you with stuttered breaths that you were made to get fucked by me, o-oh shit, this tight hole's only thing you're good for and accentuating the idea with his fingers groping at your breast and using it as leverage to pull you back further and get deeper.

The air is hot and smells like musk and cum and sex, every inch of your body unable to think of anything but him - just as it should be, really. He's grabbing onto the pretty, silver collar he's forced around your throat as he thrusts, the tracker inlaid into the metal feeling familiar to his fingertips and making his thrusts harder because he must know where you are at all times - you're his property and he can't lose you.

After all, if you were gone, who would he dress up to look all pretty for him then? (He's still dressing you up even in the humiliating outfits he forces you to parade around in at home - the cooking aprons and nothing else, giving him easy access to hump your bare ass from behind while you work at the stove, cooking him dinner all the while you keep his cock warm between those pretty legs of yours.)

If you were gone, who would wake him up with lips around his cock, soft gagging noises filling the air alongside songbirds as he gets a proper good morning?

If you were gone, who would listen to his endless rants about his horrible coworkers and friends and anyone that pissed him off all while he pounds a beer and jokes about how good you look while you load the washing machine full of his dirty clothes - you look nice bent over, sweetheart, why don't you stay in there for a bit and let me blow off some steam?

Of course, all of this is fine and dandy - owning you is the dream, and having you as his pretty, helpless, clueless little wife is the ultimate fantasy. He lays awake at night sometimes imagining how you'd be as his housewife - the pretty ring on your finger, how you'd eagerly wait at the door for his arrival home from work everyday, how you'd meticulously put on your makeup and style your hair and wear the pretty lingerie he'd bought you just so that you look as attractive and desirable to him as possible.

But first, he needs to show you your place as his woman, and get rid of this misplaced sense of independence you seem to be clutching onto for dear life. Stupid girl.

(His belt is unbuckled as soon as the door closes behind the two of you, his smile something between sinister and elated as he tells you to not bother working at the knot keeping your hands tied behind your back - tying knots is men's work, and you'll hurt your pretty fingers and hands. You'll need those later, so quit picking.)

Enji Todoroki, AFO, Nobunaga Hazama, Illumi Zoldyck, Daichi Sawamura, Kenjiro Shirabu, I don't write for aot or jjk but also Floch Forester, Eren Jeager and Naoya Zenin

#yandere hxh #yandere bnha #yandere haikyuu #yandere aot #_lee rambles #_i don't really know what this is #it just sort of happened #i promise i don't support misogyny #_enji todoroki #_AFO #_Nobunaga hazama #_illumi zoldyck #_daichi sawamura #_kenjiro shirabu #_floch forester #_eren jeager