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depravitycentral · 4 months

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Yandere! Gyutaro NSFW Profile

Yandere! Gyutaro x fem! reader

Tw: non-con, dub-con, stalking, kidnapping, Gyutaro threatens a couple to let him watch them have sex, exhibitionism, masturbation, period sex, spitting, minor implications of somnophilia, mentions of physical violence, threats, murder, Gyutaro is a freak and likes to hold your hand during sex, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 13K

HABITS:

Generally speaking, Gyutaro has never really touched himself. Perhaps when he was younger, still a human and going through puberty, but for the vast, vast majority of Gyutaro’s life, his demon biology has rendered every sexual urge he feels dulled to the point of disappearing.

That said, he’s still able to grow jealous at hearing when human partners are intimate with one another, their moans and cries grating on his ears and making him scowl, anger simmering in his veins because why can’t he have that?

Sure, he could find some random human woman and take what he wants from her, but there’s something about the way humans clutch onto one another, moaning out praises and begging for more that enticing Gyutaro, making him feel shy and bashful and pissed because he knows that will never be him. He’ll never have a woman gasping his name in anything other than fear, and although he’s accepted it, he’s wildly jealous.

However, because his actual sexual urges themselves are diminished, Gyutaro more often finds himself jealous than horny – a stark difference between the two. And consequently, he has minimal experience with masturbation, and he frankly doesn’t care. His logistical situation with Daki makes finding the time to touch himself in his own private space extremely difficult. Plus, there’s something awfully pitiful about wrapping his fingers around his cock with the knowledge that they’ll only ever be his fingers, no one else’s – something that makes him warble and scratch himself bloody, effectively killing any libido he’d managed to feel.

But with all of that said, things begin changing once his infatuation with you develops. He’s not immediately wishing to fuck you, but as Gyutaro becomes more comfortable with the idea of intimacy with you, lewd thoughts start tainting the edges of his mind, turning the relatively innocent fantasy of cuddling with you into grinding against your ass, grasping your thigh and lifting it up just barely so that he can slot himself inside, breathing hard into your ear and growling, the sound throaty and heady and so very needy.

And really, is that so unnatural?

Sure, his libido isn’t the strongest, but imagining the woman he thinks he’s in love with to be naked and laid out underneath him isn’t out of the ordinary, right?

He’s sure all men think about the depraved thoughts that start worming their way into his imagination – they’re mostly questions, really, tying into his obsessiveness and desperation to learn as much about you as he possibly can.

He’s idly wondering how you sound when you moan – is it airy, high-pitched, low, gasping?

How do you look when you come? Does your face scrunch up, does your mouth drop open, do you close your eyes, does your back arch, do you curl your toes, do you reach out and grasp at anything you can find?

What’s your favorite position? He’d be willing to try all of them if you’d like, if you’re unsure – Gyutaro secretly thinks his own favorite will be having you on top, your pretty tits mere inches from his lips and giving him a perfect view of both your own face and your cunt sucking him in again and again and again, the sight making him dizzy with pleasure and forcing him to grasp your hips and fuck up into you, just to hear you gasp and moan and scream his name.

Have you ever squirted? He hopes no man has ever touched you at all, much less made you squirt, but Gyutaro swears he’ll get you to do it – he wants to feel your release all over his face, coating his fingers, tongue, chin, and cock, smeared across every inch of his skin and worn proudly.

Do you like to be praised or degraded, and do you like your lovers vocal? Gyutaro sure hopes so, because he knows he won’t be able to shut up when he’s buried balls deep inside you, your wet, warm, tight walls clenching down on him and forcing curse after groans out of him, practically milking him for both his cum and his moans. He wouldn’t mind praising or degrading you – what naturally slips out of his mouth when he’s fucking his fist is a healthy mix of both, imagining you in front of him and calling you my perfect slut or something of the sort.

Do you groom yourself, keeping everything perfectly smooth and shaved, or do you let nature takes its course? He hopes it’s the latter – he wants to relish in your scent, to bury his face between your legs and inhale deeply, getting a nose full of you, something made much easier when your hair and pheromones are tickling his cheeks.

(While he prefers you to not shave, Gyutaro himself will try to clean himself up routinely – starting way before he steals you away, just so that he can learn how to do it, to make sure he knows how to so that he doesn’t embarrass himself the first time you see him naked. The thought already embarrasses him enough – to have his body open to your scrutiny, to feel you looking at him, and he really doesn’t need the extra stress. Luckily for him, his quick regeneration means no accidental knicks with the razor knife last long – unfortunately, it also means that any cut hair regrows almost instantaneously, much to his displeasure. He’s hopeful you won’t be too disgusted by his pubes the first time you see him – though the dark hairs do a good job of framing the very, very long cock hanging between his legs.)

Quite honestly, he stalks you with such intensity and consistency that he’ll know the answer to many of these questions before long – he's memorized how you look when you come, your face ingrained into his brain and flashing behind his eyelids when he’s orgasming himself. But it’s different to be thinking about something like that – something so naughty. Gyutaro spends his time idly wondering these questions, a pale pink blooming on his cheeks because it’s just so dirty and you’re so very sweet, and thinking of you in such a lewd light almost makes him feel guilty.

Almost, because then he sees you, hiding from the shadows and getting the smallest whiff of your scent every few seconds, and then suddenly all guilt is gone because fuck, he needs you.

However, Gyutaro is still oddly shy about certain things with you. As such, when he first begins fantasizing about fucking you, there’s that small, annoyingly human part of him that worries if you’ll find him revolting once he’s fully nude in front of you, vulnerable to your facial expressions and any words of negative reaction.

He’s terrified, really, that you’ll find him unattractive or too repulsive to sleep with. He wants you to want him, to need him as he needs you, and if you were to call him ugly, a monster, anything of the sort? Well, it would take the demon a long, long time to recover from such a blow to his heart, old wounds tearing open fresh to endure another bout of pain.

And so, in a panicked and a frantic attempt to avoid any negative criticism from you once your intimate relationship begins, Gyutaro decides that he needs to learn more about actual sex, not just the crude, vulgar words he hears from the human men around him. If he wants to have any hope at making you actually enjoy sex with him (something he desperately, desperately wants), Gyutaro feels that he needs to see the real thing, to observe carefully and take notes.

Luckily, it’s not particularly hard to find a coupling around the Entertainment District, sneaking across roofs and peeking into windows until he hears moans and slapping sounds and sees writhing bodies and smells the musty, acrid odor of sex. And once he does, Gyutaro is quick to step down into the room, his presence casting a shadow against the moonlight and candle light of the room, the couple immediately stopping and staring at him in fear.

Before either person has a chance to scream, Gyutaro’s rushing forward, a hand covering each mouth and a sneer on his face as he tells the man that he’s so lucky, having a pretty woman to fuck every night… show me.

The man’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head underneath Gyutaro’s hand, causing the demon’s sneer to fall into a scowl. He needs to see this couple make love – he needs tips and advice, to see how it really goes. Plus, the woman’s body is somewhat similar to yours – perhaps you have similar spots that feel particularly good, and Gyutaro will take any and every scrap of information and ideas he can in order to make eventual sex with you good.

Anything to get you moaning his name and pulling at his hair and begging him for more.

Let me watch you fuck her, or I’ll kill you both. What’s your choice, huh? Gyutaro holds eye contact with the man, watching him debate, feeling the woman trembling and crying under his other hand.

His eye twitches – damn this man for loving the woman, because his slight hesitation in answering means he doesn’t want Gyutaro to see her nude, vulnerable, exposed, and it’s making Gyutaro imagine someone propositioning him this about you. Violent images of how he’d slaughter and kill whoever was threatening to see you moaning and gasping and naked flash through his mind, making him grit his teeth and press against their mouths harder.

At that, the man frantically nods yes, and Gyutaro snickers. Eh, you bastard, letting me watch you touch your woman? Pathetic, man, pathetic.

He takes his hands off their mouths, bracing himself for any screams, but when none come he smiles – a mean, twisted smile. I want to see everything, you know? Start over, act like I’m not here. I’m just watching, so give me a good show but be natural! I’ll kill you if you’re not natural.

Gyutaro scratches at his chest as he settles back against a wall on the side of the room, watching as the couple shakily sits up. The woman is still crying, but the man cups her cheek in his palm, swallowing hard, before slotting his lips against hers. The woman immediately begins kissing him back, the motions slow and hesitant.

Gyutaro growls, his voice forceful as he tells them to kiss harder, I’ll cut off your lips if you don’t.

That gets the two of them moving faster, the audible wet noises as her tongue slips into his mouth making Gyutaro lick his lips. It’s all too easy to imagine you in the woman’s place and him in the man’s, his hand sitting at your breast just as the man’s is, idly squeezing and playing with her nipple. They spend a few more moments kissing, before the man carefully pushes the woman back, laying her down with her legs spread over, her hands held over her head.

They’re still kissing, and Gyutaro’s hand snakes down to cup at his bulge, the idea of wet noises and hovering over you making his breath short. He’s watching them seemingly without blinking, reaching down past the top hem of his pants and firmly clutching at this balls, squeezing harshly and making him hiss through his teeth as the man shimmeys down, kissing and licking at the woman’s breasts.

She keens, biting her lip and trying to not look at Gyutaro, the man using his thumb and index finger to roll her nipple, pinching and tugging while flicking his tongue over its twin. Gyutaro pulls his hands out of his pants briefly to spit into his palm, hand slithering back into his pants and gripping the base of his cock in a death grip.

He’s painfully hard at this point – the man’s head is suddenly between the woman’s thighs, and Gyutaro’s moving forward before he can even think about, still gripping himself under his pants as he nears the bed, wanting an up-close view of the man’s actions. They both tense at this, but Gyutaro scoffs.

Keep going, yeah? Just needed a better view.

The man swallows but obeys, tongue flicking out to lick a long stripe from her folds up and over her clit, making her sigh. Soon his tongue is flicking out and licking at the small bud, fingers pulling up to expose the area and make access easier. Gyutaro mentally notes that away – he knows women like when men play with their clit, and perhaps you’d be impressed by his knowledge of this, or the way he’ll pull your lips up, just so he can fully see that pretty, throbbing pearl on you.

The man’s free hand moves up to run a few fingers through her folds, his fingers suddenly soaking wet and glistening in the moonlight. Gyutaro licks his lips – god, he wants to taste you so bad, his tastebuds tingling and his mouth literally salivating at the thought of tasting your lips, what’s between your legs, even your tears. Gyutaro’s hand slowly moves up, hand slicked with spit lessening the friction and making him lowly groan. The man slips a finger inside her, the woman’s small moan making the man’s brows twitch together.

Gyutaro’s careful to watch the man’s pacing – his tongue is licking steady, consistent circles over her clit, while his fingers are thrusting slowly, carefully, adding a second finger after a few moments. Would you like the same pacing? Gyutaro’s not sure, but the hand not diligently pumping at his cock beneath his pants mimics the same finger motion as the man, his tongue slipping out to mimic licking small circles. He matches the man’s pace, wide yellow eyes slowly starting to go half-lidded from the pleasure of his fingers wrapped around his girth.

Tell me what feels best, woman.

He’ll snarl, keeping an eye on the way the man tenses up but doesn’t stop his actions. The woman’s flushed, her eyes darting to him before quickly looking away.

When – ah, when he curls his fingers up, fuck, and little circles on – oh! She cuts herself off with a moan, and Gyutaro (irritated that she didn’t finish but too focused on her instructions) repeats the words over and over in his head, modifying the hand motion he’s practicing to closely resemble her descriptions.

His fist moves a bit faster, creating a deft thump motion each time his fingers bump into his navel. The sound of the man fingering the woman is so, so very lewd, too – it’s wet, a squelching noise that makes Gyutaro drool, the idea that you’d be that wet making his throat dry, his hips bucking forward against his fist involuntarily.

Fuck her, now, ngh…

The man gulps, wiping the woman’s slick off of his lips and chin, and Gyutaro feels a particularly large glob of precum dribble from his tip, the extra lubrication making his pleasure just that much sharper.

Start over her.

He instructs as the man moves to hover over her, nodding at the demon’s words and slotting himself between her legs. Gyutaro watches intently as the man grips the base of his cock, aligning his tip with your hole, pushing forward and letting his eyes roll to the back of his head. Gyutaro sucks in a sharp breath – would you feel that good inside? He's sure you would; you’re so pretty and sexy, of course you have the best cunt. He bets it’s incredibly warm, wet enough to leave his cock, navel, and upper thighs coated in no time, and god you’d be so fucking tight, gripping him hard enough to make pulling out of you nearly impossible-

The woman lets out a wanton moan as the man starts moving, the pace immediately fast and bruising. The sound of his balls clapping against her ass fills the room, and Gyutaro pants, his fist moving faster and faster, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. He transitions from moving his arm to thrusting his stationary fist, matching the man’s pacing and imagining it’s you getting fucked, that your cries are the ones ringing in his ears and it’s your pretty tits that are bouncing and jiggling with the force of the thrusts.

From behind – shit, from behind! He instructs, his voice strained with his impending orgasm.

The man listens, pulling out and carefully slipping her over, slipping back inside and listening to the way the woman cries out. Gyutaro’s eyes focus on her breasts as they sway and jiggle – you have a very similar size, and just the thought of him fucking you hard enough to get your tits moving makes his eyes flutter closed for a moment, eyebrows drawing tightly together at the thought.

This sight is even more erotic than the last position – it’s all too easy to imagine it’s him pulling at your hips, smacking his own against your ass again and again, making you feel him so deep, deep enough to get you chanting his name like a fucking prayer. Gyutaro moves forward and uses his free hand to grab the man’s, forcing his fingers into her hair and pushing her face down against the mattress, the new position making the man groan and the woman shudder.

Gyutaro curses, letting go and putting all his effort into fucking his fist to the same tempo, trying to match the man’s perfectly. He wants to fuck you like this, he decides – leaning over you like some sort of animal, mounting you, fucking you in the most raw, animalistic way.

You’d look so damn pretty, and he’s sure your pussy would make wet noises like hers is, your slick dripping down your thighs and your pleas to give you more more more please Gyutaro, need your cum!

Gyutaro gasps hard as cum sprays all along the inside of his pants, his fist slowing to a stop as he rides out his high, eyes half lidded and all sorts of groans and sharp exhales filling the room.

The couple stares, bewildered, unsure of what to do – he’s still fucking her but more gently, and Gyutaro smirks at them, still dazed from the pleasure and the idea of doing this to you. Licking his lips, he climbs onto the windowsill, glancing over his shoulder at them.

I’m coming back tomorrow night. He stares at the woman, a wide smile splitting across his features. You’re gonna show me how to suck cock right, yeah? Gotta make sure I can guide her when she-

He stops, swallowing, his cheeks still blushed from his orgasm and from the vulgar idea of you taking him down his throat.

Don’t you tell anyone about this, eh? I’ll find you, and I’ll kill you.

And with that, he’s gone, disappeared from the windowsill and leaving the man and woman to embrace each other, shaking in fear. Meanwhile, Gyutaro’s running from roof to roof, adrenaline filling his veins because he has to see you now – he’s too pent up, and he needs to see you in person. As expected, you’re asleep by the time he reaches your home, sitting on your window edge, licking his lips and breathing hard.

You’re so fucking pretty – he crawls closer, acutely aware to be quiet and not wake you. You’d fallen asleep on your futon, the blanket still neatly folded in the corner, and Gyutaro swallows before grabbing the cloth, pulling it over you and up to your chin, his hands trembling.

He sighs, his fingers itching to reach out and touch you, to bend you into the positions he’d seen the couples trying, but he refrains. He doesn’t want to wake you, doesn’t want you to be aware of his presence quite yet. He has to be patient, good – he’ll allow himself one pleasure, however, as he dips a finger inside his pants, scooping up some of his still warm cum and gently, gingerly smearing it across your lips, practically moaning at the sight of white against your skin.

You’re just so, so perfect – it almost makes him sick, but as he returns to the couple the next night, demanding the woman get on her knees, Gyutaro can’t help but shiver.

It may take him a while to actually touch you, but god, he’ll be ready.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your stomach

In general, one of the things that Gyutaro finds he adores about you as his obsession festers is how opposite the two of you are. Regardless of your weight, you are physically different from him – and Gyutaro notices this early on.

That is, his body is essentially just bone – skin stretched to cover his skeleton, while you have lovely warm, squishy skin covering your curves and pretty body. You’re so fucking soft – nothing on you can possibly be as hard as he is, and from the moment he first holds your waist with a slightly shaking hand he can’t help but notice this difference every time he looks at you.

He grows to love feeling the areas on you that hold the most squishiness, and his favorite place of all is your stomach. There’s something so relaxing about how warm the area is, your skin practically his personal hand warmer as he slides his hands into your kimono, his palms pressed snugly against your tummy.

They don’t move much; stationary, just simply feeling, the intention not inherently sexual. However, as you bring back small traces of his long-buried humanity, you also bring back traces of his libido, something that’s been noticeably gone throughout the duration of his time as a demon.

And so, as urges to kiss and touch you slowly begin seeping into his mind, Gyutaro slowly becomes fixated on the fact that you’re so fucking soft, the perfect thing for him to squeeze and lick and fuck until you’re crying and begging for more more more –

His sex drive isn’t monumental, but Gyutaro would be blatantly lying if he said he hasn’t fantasized about how soft you’d feel underneath him before, your pretty body on display for his greedy eyes.

He’s seen many humans naked, but the first time he sees you without any clothing on, his hands are immediately reaching out – and, surprisingly, heading directly for your stomach. His breaths come out harsher as he stares down at your exposed belly, the skin even softer somehow than when it touches it under your clothes.

As he starts regularly fucking you, get ready for his hands to always be gravitating towards your stomach, his fingers pressing into the soft fat while you writhe and squirm in his lap as he forces you up and down his cock, his eyes rolling back into his head while he practically drools.

He loses his composure during sex, and it’ll be more than apparent in the way he grasps onto your tummy like it’s his life line, as if you’re the only thing tethering him to Earth while his orgasm crashes over him.

And god, when he’s got you laying in front of him, your pretty legs parted to expose the soft, warm pussy he claims as his, Gyutaro uses your stomach as almost a pillow – he’s watching his fingers appearing and disappearing out of your cunt, your juices smeared across his pale skin as he rests his forehead on the softness of your lower belly.

His eyes are wide and unblinking, his lips parted in awe as he watches the way you just take them, your velvety walls clenching down repeatedly, hard enough to make his mouth water. He’s always leaving small kisses against your stomach after sex, an oddly sweet gesture that makes every bruise he leaves on your body from the rough fucking feeling slightly better.

It’s strange, his fascination, and at first you have the terrible, horrible fear that his obsession stems from wanting to grow his family with a child. It’s a terrifying thought, one you try to put out of your head, but eventually (after he forces you to tell him, his eyes turning dark and threatening as he demands you to tell me, don’t keep any secrets from me, ever) the fear is lost, as Gyutaro regretfully informs you that demons are infertile.

You’re relieved, but the question only seems to further ignite his obsession with your stomach – you’ll catch him speaking to it when you’re asleep, odd little confessions of if only I could… when you wake up.

Essentially, Gyutaro is obsessed with your tummy because it’s soft and squishy and fuck you’re so very pretty.

His fingers

Generally speaking, Gyutaro isn’t particularly fond of any specific body part of his own.

He’s proud of his ability to fight and destroy, but especially in the context of physical attractiveness, Gyutaro firmly believes what he’s always been told. He knows he’s unappealing; how could anyone ever like a monster with such a grotesque body and face?

It’s a cycle of self-deprecation that he’s found comfort in for most of his life, but once you appear, suddenly he’s wildly disappointed that he isn’t more handsome. He wishes he had a fuller figure, muscle spanning his chest and back, just like all those slayers he sees.

He wishes he had softer hair, a more symmetrical smile, less facial blemishes, everything.

He hates that he’s limited to human beauty ideals, but he can’t help it – how can he, when you’re around him looking so cute and adorable? You’re not perfect either (though he loves your imperfections perhaps more than anything else), but he wants to be perfect for you.

And so, while Gyutaro silently wallows in his self-misery, he slowly discovers that despite his lack of sexual experience and general understanding of human female anatomy, you seem to really, really like his fingers.

His nails were, initially, something you’d quickly stammered out a w-wait! to when he’d tried to shove a finger inside, and while he hadn’t appreciated your interruption, when you mentioned he could stab you and make you bleed with how sharp they were, he reluctantly digressed.

It’s not hard to bite off the excess sharpness of the nail, grinding them down to a roundness against the flesh of his finger, perfectly safe.

The first time he’d fingered you, Gyutaro was shocked at how impossibly warm, wet and tight you were inside. It was like touching velvet – so soft, your walls sucking him in and seeming to almost invite him inside, as if you wanted him there, like you didn’t want him to leave.

He’s staring transfixed at the way you take them, your pussy squelching as he slowly thrusts them in and out, your little squeals making his cheeks flush a very light pink. He loves the way you gasp when he curls them just so, brushing against the spongey spot he’s memorized as your favorite.

He loves to abuse the area; watching as your eyes squeeze closed, your fingers grasping onto his shoulders, your thighs tensing and clenching, your little cries of his name and yes – yes please ‘Taro, fuck please!

He loves how quickly he can get you falling apart with his fingers, how you’re reduced to nothing but a moaning, whimpering mess once he gets you below him. It boosts his confidence, and occasionally between thrusts inside, he’ll pull his fingers out and suck on them, his own little groan slipping out as he savors your taste, all musky and heavy.

And of course, once he discovers your clit, it’s over for you – he’s never leaving the small button alone, the bundle of nerves positively sore by the time he’s done with you. He’s rubbing small circles against it, drawing figure eights, writing the kanji for his name with the tip of his finger, anything he can to get your back arching up, your toes curling and your lips parting into that pretty ‘o’ he loves so much.

He’s constantly bewildered by just how much pleasure he can deliver you with only his hands, and so as he squeezes and gropes at your ass, breasts, stomach, anything and everything, just know that he’s feeling nearly as good as you are.

After all, those bandages as pants may be loose, but you can still see a very clear outline of just how excited he is – and just how much he’s enjoyed the way you’ve made a mess of his fingers, if the wet stain around said outline is any indicator. He just really, really likes using his fingers on you, so just let him, yeah?

DRIVE:

Gyutaro’s never been that horny. Having been turned into a demon while young, he’s never really experienced the human emotion of lust, his sexual urges having faded out from his teenage years to nearly nothing. He’s too consumed by other emotions – anger, jealousy, pity – to really focus on something so arbitrary, something so human.

And so, as a result of this repressed sexual drive Gyutaro doesn’t immediately begin lusting after you once his obsession with you begins to form. He isn’t desperate to fuck you the moment he realizes he feels some twisted form of love, nor does he want to touch you in any way that’s inherently sexual.

Instead, his urges to be with you and feel your skin are much, much more innocent in nature – of course, he’s still a man-eating monster, but he wants to touch your cheek just because it looks soft.

He wants to run his hands along your sides because you’re so small compared to his looming figure, and he wants to make sure that you’re real.

He wants to know how it feels to have you in his arms, because he’s seen human couples doing that and it’s a show of intimacy and connection between two people, and that’s what he wants to have with you.

As time passes, his urges towards you slowly begin moving towards the area of lusting, however. Soon he’s wanting to kiss you; his lips are always chapped, of course, and he’s sure his breath smells atrocious, but your lips look so soft and warm, like they’d be perfect to press against his own.

He imagines pressing you against his body as you kiss him, your hands resting against his chest as you sigh into his mouth, the human form of affection seeming so intimate and lovely and necessary.

It’s some long lost repressed human part of him driving these desires, but Gyutaro can’t find it in himself to care – especially not after the first time he sees you nude. He’s seen dozens of humans naked before; he lives in the Entertainment District after all, and when he’s devouring someone, he’s not particularly respectful with keeping them covered up.

However, there’s something different about you – maybe it’s because he feels so attached to you, or maybe it’s because he suddenly can’t stop thinking about how it would feel to embrace your naked body with his own, free of any fabric separating the both of you while he indulges in your warmth, softness, the plush skin of your body.

He’s not sure, but regardless, after that moment suddenly all those sexual feelings leftover from his time as a human come rushing back to him – he’s hard without even realizing it, his eyes bulging out of their sockets as he simply stares, his expression going dumb.

You’re uncomfortable with it, he can tell by the way you avoid his gaze, but he can’t find it in himself to care – you’re so beautiful, perfect for him in every possible way. And so, after that night, Gyutaro finds himself inching closer and closer towards the final level of intimacy, pushing the boundaries just a bit more each night until he’s eventually got you perched in his lap, his hands placed on your hips.

You’re both naked, your breasts placed tantalizingly close, close enough to be able to reach out and wrap his lips around your nipple, to suck and watch you keen, to maybe even sigh out his name…

He’s rendered mute by your pussy the first time he fucks you, truly too pussydrunk to really even think, as embarrassing as it is. The big, strong Gyutaro falls so easily to your body – one clench and he’s shuddering, every nerve in his body on fire as he tries not to come quite yet – only lasting thirty seconds is wildly embarrassing, and while you’d never poke fun at him for fear of dying, Gyutaro grits his teeth and tries to hold on to his dignity.

And so, sex with you becomes a regular craving for the demon. His urges aren’t too unbearable, and he only ever acts on it a few nights a week, but be prepared because Gyutaro will fuck you, and you will like it – he'll make sure you come, and doesn’t that mean you’re enjoying yourself?

But until he gather up enough courage to actually fuck you, Gyutaro takes baby steps. He can’t do too much all at once – he gets too overwhelmed, too shy and embarrassed because you’re looking at him, your pretty eyes and face and voice giving him attention. It makes his lips go numb, anxiously scratching at his arms and struggling to meet your gaze because god he wants to touch you and hear you moan his name, but how does one go about that, exactly?

Sure, he knows the basics of sex and has watched couples initiate it, but it’s different with you. It’s different because Gyutaro isn’t stupid – he knows you’re afraid of him, that he’s too grotesque and ugly for you to ever really want to be intimate with, and these thoughts make it hard for him to just take what he wants from you.

And so, he starts small – he'll touch you a little more, fingertips pressing hard into your sides when he ghosts his hands there, trying to be gentle but struggling to regulate his strength because you’re so close to him.

He’ll let his fingers brush over your hair, never enough for you to feel but just enough for the texture to become familiar, always bringing his fingers up to his nose and smelling them afterwards, something between a growl and a moan slipping from his lips at the scent.

He’ll reach out and lightly, oh so lightly press his thumb against your cheek, marveling at how soft your skin is and how warm it is, mumbling something under his breath about how you’re too pretty, how it makes him sick that you’re too damn pretty.

His breathing will be a little unsteady when his does this, those yellow eyes of his glancing between your own and your lips, contemplating in a way that he thinks is much more subtle than it actually is.

He wants all sorts of human intimacy with you, and the next thing that he wants to tackle is kissing you. The idea is strange to him - why do humans press their mouths together? It must feel good, but why? He’s curious, but touching you has such an effect on him, so surely tasting you would suck the air right out of his lungs, leaving his knees feeling weak and making pink bloom across his cheeks.

He doesn’t ask you for permission, instead one day coming to sit beside you against the wall of the lair, that familiar concentrated look in his eye. He’ll ask you some question whose answer he doesn’t care about – just to see your lips moving, watching with sharp eyes how your tongue contorts and moves inside your mouth, sometimes flicking out to lick at your lips, the sight almost making him whimper.

Soon, he can’t just watch – he’s rushing forward without any warning, pressing against you with a level of force that makes you yelp. His lips are dry and cracked (despite him having licked them excessively in preparation for this moment, wishing to make them as soft and pleasant as possible), and they’re not moving – he’s staying perfectly still, eyes wide open and staring at you.

It scares you, because while you know what he’s doing, the experience is anything but pleasant. He stays like that for a few moments, before slowly, very slowly moving, his lips clumsy and unsure as they work at you. It feels like he’s trying to eat you – his tongue and teeth stay firmly inside his mouth, but his lips keep trying to fit more and more of you into his mouth at once, saliva smearing across bits of your cheek and chin.

You’re still completely frozen, unsure of what to do, and Gyutaro pulls back, scowling. It had felt good – in a strange way, a way that made something in his stomach feel tight and warm, but he’s sure it would feel much better if you were participating too, if you’d actually kiss him back. Don’t just sit there, he’ll warble to you, not willing to actually ask you to kiss him back, his pride barring him from practically begging for what he wants.

(Though as your sexual relationship progresses, this pride slowly withers away and dies – to the point where he’ll get on his knees and beg for you to open your pretty mouth and suck him off, because even though he could force you easily, it always feels better when you consent, when you at pretend to actually want him.)

This time, as he leans in, your lips move too, trying to match his awkward kisses. Gyutaro groans at that, leaning further against you, the weight causing you to fall backwards, lying flat on your back. You’d pulled away from the kiss during the fall, and as Gyutaro stares down at you hungrily, he swallows, sucking through his teeth harshly and trying to get every drop of your saliva down his throat. You must really, really want him, huh?

The sight simultaneously flusters and flatters him, and before you can say a word he’s scrambling over you, pressing his lips against yours harshly, with vigor, his tongue slipping out and practically forcing its way down your throat. You just taste so fucking good – it's addictive, and the knowledge that you’d laid down for him, wanting him to hover over you and mimic sex making his head swim. He’s breathing hard through his nose, almost wheezing, and you quickly shut your eyes, not wanting to look at his still wide-open ones.

He kisses you for a long, long time – easily thirty minutes, not tiring of the feeling, his tongue still actively rubbing against yours, tracing every tooth and managing to dip into every crevice in your mouth, each new area making him groan and get just a hair more desperate.

When he eventually pulls away, he licks your lips and smiles shakily, a hand coming down to pet at your hair. Next time, will you take you shirt off? It probably grosses you out, huh, that request?

And when you nod with wide eyes, too scared to say no, Gyutaro will exhale slowly, nodding and muttering a series of slurred good’s and your name under his breath, before stalking off out of the lair. Once out of your sight he’s stopping, a hand coming up to scratch at the area right over his heart, his face morphing into something between despair and prevenance.

You’re just so damn pretty – he can’t handle the sight of you, and the image of you laid out before him, looking up at him with those eyes makes every muscle in his body tense, that familiar warm feeling in his groin growing tighter and tighter, and as a hand snakes down to palm at the now very noticeable and wet bulge in his pants, Gyutaro decides that he needs to speed this process up.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can take holding himself back – not if touching you and tasting you and making you gasp feel this good.

(Later that night, as he hovers over your sleeping form and tugs near painfully on his cock, Gyutaro decides that the next step can happen right then and there – you’d look so good with his cum smeared all across your face, wouldn’t you?)

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Praise

While Gyutaro has a difficult time believing your compliments initially, with time he grows much more willing (and desperate) to indulge in your sweet words.

Your kind praises of his caring actions – no matter how forced the words are – have him melting inside, his heart pounding in his chest while he struggles to hold your gaze. He reverts to a bit of a teenage boy in moments where you compliment him – and during sex?

Well, Gyutaro nearly passes out the first time you compliment his body. It takes so much courage for him to show you himself nude, if only because he’s so scared of the way you’ll react. What if you think he’s ugly, or weird, or repulsive? What if you wince at the sight of him, or cower when he tries to touch you or make you touch him?

He’s so scared, so when you run your hands along his arms and tell him he’s handsome, he’s staring at you with wide eyes. He’s simultaneously hateful and in love with the vulnerability you make him feel, so please, please compliment him during sex.

He needs the validation that you like him, that he’s making you feel good, and while he’ll never actually say it aloud, your words turn him on more than you know. Just hearing his name roll off your tongue has his eyes rolling backwards, his fingers twitching with the urge to touch you, to feel your soft skin. He loves when you tell him sweet things about his body; tell him he’s attractive, that you love how strong he is, that you love how muscular his arms are.

Tell him his eyes are pretty, that you love tunneling your fingers through his hair while he fucks you with his tongue, that you love the way his fingers stretch you out and get you seeing stars.

Compliment the things that he does in bed; tell him that you love how he growls and bites at your neck with those sharp teeth of his, that you love when he manhandles you and grunts into your ear as he rolls his hips into yours.

And of course, tell him how he makes you feel – he’ll groan your name and his hips will stutter if you say his cock feels so – so good Gyutaro, mm please! Need more, need more of you –

Tell him that he feels so good inside of you, that he’s going to make you come because it’s all too much, and you’ll see him physically freeze up, his eyes wide and a bit of drool slipping from the corner of his mouth because god, are you talking about him?

Moan his name and make a show of writhing around underneath him, arching your back and gasping out that he’s so big! T’s too much Gyu, gonna make me come!

Tell him anything and everything that comes to your mind, the more depraved the better. He likes to hear you become reduced to incoherent whimpers because of him, and with each praise that slips past your lips, Gyutaro feels his confidence slowly rise until he’s fucking into you with reckless abandon.

He’ll be bearing his teeth and whispering the filthiest things into your ear, the confidence boosting his system like nothing else. He’s calling you his, possessive petnames right and left as he practically abuses your cunt with his cock, pounding into you with such fervor that it’s almost like he’s trying to mold your pussy into the shape of his cock.

He’s demanding you tell him how he feels; growls of tell me what you want me to do to you filling the space between you, the panting breaths and moans rushing into the empty air. He’s telling you to take it, f-fuck, so damn tight, do I make you this tight, huh?

He wants you to mindlessly agree, to clutch onto his body and squeeze around him, milking him for absolutely everything he can give to you until you’re spasming around his cock, coming all over him and whimpering underneath him, your pretty eyes staring up at him with tears beading in your lashes from the overwhelming pleasure he’s giving to you.

And if you were to worship any part of his body?

He’s not sure what you’re doing at first – why are you sinking to your knees and moving so slowly in front of him? You’re taking your time with his cock, letting your eyes gaze over every single inch of him, the attention making his neck flush and embarrassing him. And yet, he doesn’t stop you – because when you whisper out that he’s so pretty, I love your cock Gyutaro, he nearly malfunctions, his nails digging into his palms as his hips involuntarily jerk, his cock bobbing slightly with the motion.

He wants you to kiss every inch of him, to suckle on his tip and let your tongue dip into his hypersensitive slit, the sensation making him gasp sharply and his eyes close tightly.

He wants you to gently fondle his balls, to whisper against his skin in between licks against his shaft that you wanna taste you, can I please taste you Gyu? Wanna make you come, you look so pretty when you do…

He’ll let you do anything you damn well please when you’ve got him like this – his eyes are watching your every move, his breath hitched, his heart fluttering in his chest as his orgasm comes much too soon, the emotional weight of your words and adoring actions making him desperate to give you the cum you claim you need.

He just really, really likes when you give him positive attention in the bedroom, so please narrate everything you’re feeling. He wants to know every possible detail, and he’ll strive to keep touching and pleasing you until you’re screaming his name and a jumbled, slurred series of yes and please and I love you.

Breast Fixation

Gyutaro, to put it lightly, develops a sort of fascination with your chest. He has no sexual experience with women, and consequently has neither felt nor seen a living, naked woman’s breasts before.

Of course, he’s been curious; victims he’s in the middle of devouring who’s clothing has slipped down in the process of his meal, where their tits are hanging out of the fabric, looking soft and supple and perfect to touch. He’ll reach out and halfheartedly squeeze, but the dead flesh isn’t the same as a living, breathing woman’s – besides, his hunger is too strong for him to really process how soft, pliable, and squishy it is.

And so, once he has you, someone to fantasize about and imagine naked (frequently), Gyutaro is suddenly very interested in seeing what you look like shirtless. He’s always paid close attention to the way your chest looks in your kimonos; the fabric tightening through there, as if your breasts were practically begging to be freed, exposed to the world and awaiting eyes like his.

He’s always noticed the way your top exposes the line of your cleavage when you bend down to pick something up, your tits pressed together by your arms while he gets a front row seat that leaves his pants feeling tight and his throat dry.

Before he steals you away, frequent nights are spent with the image of you straddling his lap playing through his mind. He’ll imagine the way you’d shimmy out of your top, exposing your breasts to his greedy eyes, the soft flesh sitting only a few tantalizing inches away from his face.

He’d focus in on your nipples, imagining the way they’d slowly pebble from the cold air, growing tight and taut while he’s left to drool, his fingers begging to reach out and pinch, twist, and pull. He’ll imagine the way you’d look down at him with a soft smile, cupping his cheeks and asking in that soft, breathy whisper of yours if he’d touch them please Gyutaro, I want you to play with me…

He wouldn’t need to be told twice, his hands immediately reaching up to cautiously grope and squeeze.

He’s nervous at first, his touches hesitant, but as he wraps a hand around your left breast and squeezes lightly, the sigh you make in response has him gulping and squeezing harder, his other hand following suit until he’s massaging and groping at your tits like they’re his personal stress balls.

He’s painfully hard below you, his cock desperate for stimulation, but as you push his head closer to your breasts he nearly loses his mind; he’s quick to envelope a nipple into his mouth, closing his eyes while he sucks and licks at the bud as you hum and praise him, little whispers of mmm, just like that baby going straight to his cock.

He twitches with every little keen you make, and this fantasy carries over into his sex life with you. Very, very early on you’ll notice that he’s always staring at your tits whenever you’re intimate with him.

When he’s bathing you, he’s staring and gulping, not doing well to hide the way he’s very clearly ogling.

When you’re changing, he’s quickly glancing away after you catch him stealing looks at you, his cheeks pink as he holds his hands over the tent slowly forming in his pants.

And once you start fucking?

Well, you’ve noticed his fascination, and you’ll capitalize on it. Grab his cock and trace your nipples with the tip, and just watch the way he shivers, his eyes unable to look away while he whispers a gravelly fuck under his voice.

Play with your tits as you wait for him to undress, pouting up at him and begging him to hurry up, to come fuck you please, you’re too horny to wait.

Push your breasts together and ask him to fuck them, telling him it’ll feel so good, and how you want him to leave his cum all over the soft skin.

Purposefully bounce more than you actually need when he fucks you while you’re on your back, so that the fat jiggles even more and watch the way his eyes widen, his pupils dilating as he fucks into you with new fervor.

Grope and squeeze at them as he hovers over you in missionary, and you’ll feel the way his thrusts grow faster, harder, more desperate, his eyes trained on the way you work at the soft, supple flesh.

The root of his love for your breasts really comes from just how soft they are; he’s not used to anything as welcoming or comforting as your chest, and when you let him rest his head there, fall asleep behind you with a hand cupping one, letting him idly suckle at a nipple as you card your fingers through his hair, how can Gyutaro not grow to love them?

And love them he will – the copious amounts of love marks, bruises and hickeys littering the sensitive skin will make his obsession more than obvious, as will the way he essentially creams his pants the first time his fingers brush against them.

The large stain against the fabric and the slack-jawed, red-faced expression he gives you will have you more than aware that just a simple flash of your tits will leave Gyutaro puddy in your hands, willing to do anything for you.

Hand Holding

It’s not really a kink, but as your sexual relationship with Gyutaro progresses, you’ll find that more often than not he manages to snake his hand into yours. When he’s fucking you in missionary, hips smacking against you fast and hard, he’s holding your hands above your head, gritting his teeth and whining in your ear because you’re too – too fucking tight, shit, ‘m gonna come, you want that? You want my cum in you?

He’ll start off with his hand wrapped around your wrist, but as the sex continues and he gets closer to his orgasm, he’ll switch to interlacing his fingers with yours, pressing your hand hard against the mattress, the tendons in his hands and forearms flexing as his abs and balls clench up, warm cum flooding your cunt and leaving him gasping your name.

When he’s got you bent over, pretty ass on display as he stuffs you full with his cock, he’ll lean over you, a large hand covering one of yours, dwarfing yours and overwhelming you even more, his body literally covering every inch of yours.

Even when perched on top of him, grinding against him and biting your lip because it feel so very good, he’ll alternate between cupping the globes of your ass and catching your hand, clutching it in his hand as he tries to keep his grounding and not come too quickly.

Frankly, it’s almost unconscious – he doesn’t actively realize it’s happening until you point it out to him, in which case he’ll grow defensive, telling you that you’re wrong and mistaken, embarrassed to admit that he naturally does something so human, so weak and gentle.

But really, it’s just another way to extend the intimacy with you – you’re so pretty and sweet and so very lovely, and though he’s kidnapped you and forced you into some twisted form of a relationship with him, there’s something about the moments where he’s inside of you that leaves him feeling fuzzy, warm, wanted. And perhaps it’s the centuries of neglect and self-hatred that lead him to desperately chase that feeling of security and acceptance, or perhaps it’s just natural instinct left over from his human days.

Regardless, Gyutaro will almost exclusively only ever orgasm if your hand is somehow touching his – he needs that intimacy to let himself finish, emptying himself inside of you while clutching onto you, keeping you there and steady and still, stopping you from squirming away or escaping when he’s trying to give you his cum, gifting you with the most intimate, personal thing he could. And when he’s coming, he’s squeezing at your hand, hard.

The pleasure is just so overwhelming, and he needs something to grasp onto, something to keep him grounded and keep him from rutting into you and humping you into overstimulation, his cries and warbled moans sounding pitiful. He doesn’t mean to crush your hand, but sometimes he’ll hold so tightly that you wind up with big finger-shaped bruises across your palms and the back of your hands, the sight making Gyutaro ashamed because he hadn’t meant to hurt you, but also pleased because now he’s marked you.

There’ll be a constant reminder of him every time you look down at your hands, every time you do basic tasks or touch things. It's a thought that makes him weirdly smug, and so while Gyutaro will often try to deny your accusations of him always holding your hand during sex, but he knows it’s true.

(But really, you should be grateful it’s just your hand – at least it’s not your throat, where he’s much likelier to lose control.)

But even outside of when he orgasms, Gyutaro really, really likes to hold your hands. His favorite time to consciously do it is when he’s got you perched in his lap, his chin resting on your shoulder while you lean back against his chest.

He’ll want you fully nude so that he’s free to explore and roam your body with his hands, occasionally pinching at your stomach or groping at your breast. He wants you sat on his cock, the hard length nestled inside of you while you both simply bask in each other’s presence, him turning to bury his nose against your neck and deeply inhaling, his cock twitching inside of you.

Gyutaro grows a penchant for cockwarming with you as time goes by, because while he doesn’t always want to fuck you (though it’s not too terribly difficult to persuade him – just say please and he’s putty in your hands, so frantic to get his cock out that he’s ripping at the bandages of his pants) there’s something about the intimacy of being inside you but just cuddling you or holding you that satisfies his clinginess.

Plus, this way he can indulge in the feeling of your cunt in a non-sexual way – you’re just so warm and inviting, taking his breath away every time without fail, the sensation so lovely and foreign to him that he wants to spend every possible moment inside of you, even if he’s not fucking you stupid. And the whole time he's lodged inside you like this, his fingers are wrapped around yours, marveling at the size different and tracing the lines and patterns on your hand.

They’re just so much softer and better than his – so innocent and not capable of so much death and destruction as his. You’re just so cute, in a way that makes him crazy, and he’d be stupid to not take advantage of having someone like you to touch and taste and share his best.

And Gyutaro is many things, but stupid is not one of them.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Cock Worship

Although Gyutaro isn’t an inherently selfish lover, he can’t deny that having you fawn over him gets him hot under the collar, his pants growing uncomfortably tight and his mouth feeling dry. There’s just something about the idea of you worshipping him that gets him equal parts mortified and horribly aroused.

To have all of your attention on him in a non-sexual context steals his breath away, making him struggle to seem interesting and cool and attractive, even if he knows he isn’t. And so, in a sexual context this is only amplified – he wants you to like him, to find his body and him generally attractive, and to have you blatantly doing that during sex would make his head spin, embarrassment eating him alive even as he enjoys every second of it.

And to have you worship any part of his body is wonderful, but to have you worship between his legs?

Well, his cock’s not especially pretty, and he knows it – it’s long, long enough that it’s right on the border between hurting and pleasurable when he sinks inside all the way to the hilt. It’s sensitive, always leaking precum so it’s sticky and wet and glistening, with a set of heavy, swollen balls sprinkled with black hairs hung right below.

It’s intimidating and will leave you a bit nervous of how he’ll possibly fit inside of you, but Gyutaro’s eyes roll to the back of his head when he sees and feels your fingers wrap around him, pumping and flicking your wrist at the tip, the sensation of you jerking him off making his hips buck up into the air.

Having you give him long, slow, lazy pumps of your fist while you list off all the reasons you love his cock in between sloppy, wet kisses would have Gyutaro coming in mere minutes, the attention and praise going directly between his legs.

When you’re on your knees in front of him, make him shudder and flush by gripping him, making a show of licking from the base to the tip, suckling on the swollen, red tip and flicking your tongue against his slit, dipping in slightly and feeling the way he throbs in your mouth.

Move down to fondle and suck at his balls – if you’re able to fit a whole one in your mouth, you’ll hear a strangled s-stop, stop stop stop ‘m gonna come too fast, the pleasure literally too much for him to handle.

Give him the erotic sight of you tracing the outline of your lips with his tip, smearing precum all over them so that they’re glistening with a clear, off-white sheen. Rub the outside of your cheek against his length while you stare up at him, licking your lips and smiling, and you’ll literally see his face turning red, his sharp teeth biting at his lip and drawing blood because fuck, you’re so sexy and provocative and having you say that you love his cock is making his heart flutter.

And when he’s inside you, thrusting in and out and making you clench and tighten up, purposefully flex the muscles, making everything tighter and more intense, telling him that he deserves the tightest you can offer, and feel the way he immediately busts inside of you, the groan that forces its way past his lips sounding pained and desperate and pathetic.

Which brings us to another major facet of his enjoyment of cock worship – please worship his cum. It’s a bit runny and thin, shooting out of him in long spurts, always wickedly warm and getting absolutely everywhere. Let him come inside you – whine out a please give it to me Gyutaro, need you to come for me, please please want your cum!

He’s stuffing you full every time he fucks you, those yellow eyes of his eagerly watching it ooze out of you after he’s pulled out. When you’re sucking and licking at him, let him push your head as far down as you can go, sending rope after rope down your throat, his nails digging into your scalp as he gives a few sad last spurts, only a drop or so managing to hit your tongue.

Let him pull out of your mouth and give himself a few good tugs, cum splattering all over your face while he groans your name and a slurred take it. Lick it off your lips and look up at him with cum all over your cheeks and chin, and you’ll see the way he snarls and throws you onto the makeshift bed he shares with you, immediately ripping your thighs apart and diving into you like a man starved, the wet noises of his tongue diving between your folds absolutely depraved.

You’re just so, so very wonderful when you’re worshipping him, so please do – one the bright side, it’s the absolute fastest way to get him to come, just as long as you sound like you really mean it.

Spitting

This kink is one that takes both you and Gyutaro by surprise. It happens very suddenly, and it takes a moment for both of you to process exactly what’s happened, Gyutaro’s spit sitting against your tongue and tasting like him.

It’s a manifestation of his possessiveness over you – you’re his. His little human, his lovely woman, his pretty cunt to touch and fuck and bury himself inside of for hours on end. And so, when he’s got you folded into a mating press, strong arms keeping your thighs pinned to your chest with absolutely no wiggle room, your face all screwed up in pleasure and your occasional gasps of his name, how can Gyutaro not want to mark you as his?

You’ll find that he often uses those possessive nicknames for you in the bedroom too, always going on and on about how you’re his girl, his cunt, his love.

And really, spitting in your mouth and on you is just a natural progression of this sentiment. He starts off with spitting onto your breasts – a glob of saliva landing on a sensitive nipple, making everything slick as he pinches and toys with the area, hearing you keen above him.

Then it’ll transition to him spitting onto your collarbone, rubbing the wetness over the bone, leaning down to suck dark hickeys against your skin, getting the area even more sticky with his saliva.

He’ll move on to spitting directly onto your cunt after that, spreading your pretty folds and letting the spit land right over your quivering hole, loving the way you jerk slightly at the weird sensation. It makes it easier when he fingers you, just that extra layer of wetness making his fingers glide in and out of you, pulling moans and whines from your lips.

He’ll spit at your asshole when he’s got you bent over, thumb rubbing against the hole and only slightly dipping in, enjoying the way you yelp and get all tense.

It’s only after he’s grown comfortable with spitting all over your body that he finally ends up seeing your open mouth under him as he fucks you with fast, harsh thrusts, hovering above you and staring down at you without blinking. He’ll spit directly onto your tongue, staring with panting breaths, before telling you in that familiar strained voice to swallow, his eyes watching the way your throat bobs as you do what he says.

It’s hot, really – the kind of thing that makes his cock twitch and bob, the idea that you have his saliva inside of you making something in his gut sit pleasantly.

And if you were to spit in his mouth, Gyutaro would actually fucking whimper. He wants you to be possessive over him, to want him all to yourself, to think of him as yours – and if you were to be riding him, hips clapping against his as you milk him for everything he’s worth, Gyutaro would gladly open his mouth wide, waiting with baited breath and shut eyes to feel your warm spit against his tongue. He’ll swallow for you, even opening his mouth again in case you’re feeling generous and want to give him more.

He just thinks it’s hot, and he’d be more than willing to bring spitting into your non-sexual lives too – it’s just so intimate and meaningful, don’t you agree?

BIGGEST FANTASY:

As a general rule, Gyutaro is a massive fan of touching you.

There’s quite literally nothing about your body or yourself that could ever turn him off; he thinks every inch of you is exquisite, no matter what your personal qualms may be. And because he thinks of you as something so wonderful and sweet and his, he finds everything that your body does equally as arousing as your pretty face.

And so, while he’s never given it much thought, the moment he smells blood in the air around you, he’s immediately fighting off both his appetite and the intense fear coursing through him because why the fuck are you bleeding?

He’s not sure what’s going on initially, until he follows the blood source and finds it to be between your trembling legs. You’re scared, understandably, at why he’s so suddenly yanking your legs apart, eyes boring right into your crotch, but when he starts ripping at the cloth covering you, there’s not much you can do.

And so, once you explain what’s going on after his frantic why are you bleeding is asked in a panicked voice, suddenly Gyutaro is stiffening up, his thoughts running wild. He’d always been just slightly curious – you smell so sweet, and while there’s no part of him that desires to eat you, there’s something about the way your blood smells, the way you smell…

He quickly learns that having sex with you while you’re on your period is his absolute favorite. You’re so sensitive and pliable, your face screwing up at even the slightest presses of his fingers against your clit, your pussy always wet with blood, easy to slip his fingers in and out of.

He loves it, and the way your smell grows even more pronounced during this time has his head spinning, and fuck the taste –

He thinks he’s lost his mind the first time his lips touch your pussy with a smear of your blood across it, the sweet and metallic taste making his hips involuntarily jerk, his orgasm dangerously close already.

He’s always, always willing to pleasure you while you’re menstruating, to the point where he’s actively offering once he smells that familiar tinge of metal in the air, practically begging you with those half lidded eyes to let me make you feel good, yeah? I’ll be gentle, or at least I’ll try.

He’s careful with his motions at first, though it doesn’t last long – his fingers press into your thighs, nails dangerously close to piercing the skin, while his tongue laps at your cunt like a man starved.

Besides, aren’t orgasms healthy for women, especially during this time of the month? He’s heard so from the other Oirans (in hushed, embarrassed whispers), and what kind of a lover would he be if he didn’t attempt to take care of your every need?

You winced, the cramps in your lower stomach making shifting your sitting position difficult. Your period had arrived very suddenly – it was just starting, and a quick swipe of your fingers below your panties had you sighing in frustration. The dank light of the lair was bright enough to show the red stain of your fingers as you retracted your hand, and with a dejected sloop of your shoulders you leaned back against the dirt wall. Eyes closed, you let your arms wrap around your stomach, resigned to the knowledge that you’ll bleed out through your clothes and onto the dirt ground below before you’d ever ask Gyutaro for sanitary supplies.

Not that he’d say no – although, maybe that scared you more.

Daki scrunched up her nose as she registered the smell, sending you a look. “What’s that stench?”

You bit your lip, quickly apologizing. “I’m sorry, it should be over in…”

Unsure of how much Daki knew of menstruation, you left the question unanswered, instead wincing as another cramp rolled through. She grunted, her brow twitching as she crossed her arms. “Aren’t you going to answer me?”

You glanced at her, begging with your eyes for her to leave it alone, and despite her scowl, she merely sighed and pivoted on her heel, jumping up to race out of the lair and into the night air far above. You sighed as well, closing your eyes and relaxing as much as you could.

Your relaxation was cut short, however, as a loud bang and a voice wailed out, “Why is there blood? What’s going on?”

Gyutaro had arrived, and as you opened your eyes, you were met with the sight of him rushing forward, grabbing a knee in each hand and spreading your legs with a surprising amount of force.

“From here…” He muttered, head leaning down as his gaze focused on your clothed pussy, the kimono and underwear you’d been dressed in earlier that day already seeped through with blood. The red stained the fabric, sending Gyutaro into a further state of panic.

Nails dug into his neck and chest as he stared wildly at you, leaning deeply into your personal space as he growled, “What happened?”

You shrank back, stuttering out, “I – I’m menstruating.”

Gyutaro blinked, his breath heavy with the panic still running through him. “What?”

“I’m menstruating. I’m okay, I’m – I’m not injured.” Your voice was weak, but Gyutaro didn’t seem to notice.

“What is menstruation?” He asked, the scratching sound of his fingers against his neck still prominent in your ears. “Well?”

“It’s um, a sign that I’m fertile…” You whispered, fear squeezing at your heart.

Gyutaro stared at you for a moment, before glancing down between your legs. “Are you in pain? Does it hurt?”

You shook your head, hoping he’d believe the lie.

A moment passed, before he visibly gulped. He slowly lied down on his stomach, his hands frozen for a second before suddenly ripping at your clothing. The area surrounding your pussy was ripped off, exposing yourself to the cold air as you gasped and shivered. The sudden motions were over before you can blink, Gyutaro’s eyes trained on your bloodstained folds.

He looked like a child in a candy store; dilated pupils, his breathing heavy, lips parted enough to allow drool to pool at the edges. You closed your eyes, willing yourself to not flinch when he was this close to you, especially as you saw his razor sharp teeth.

You yelped when a finger reached out to very lightly brush over your pussy, his skin just barely grazing your own. You bit your lip.

He repeated his ministration, adding a bit more pressure. A moan slipped past your lips as his finger passed over your clit, and immediately you clamped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide as his gaze snaped back up to you. His face was bright red, you realized, the blush heavy over his cheeks as licked at his lips. With his gaze still locked on yours, he pressed back on that same spot, your clit oversensitive and making you lowly groan, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he began rubbing up and down the area.

“G-gyutaro…” You whined out, tucking your lower lip under your teeth as you lightly squirmed. He watched with rapt attention. You seemed to be enjoying yourself – do you like being touched while you’re ‘menstruating’? As long as you weren’t injured with all this blood – this blood, that was such an intoxicating, delicious scent, the best thing he’s ever smelled.

With a small, wobbly smile up at you, Gyutaro suddenly dove in, lips pressing against your folds as you gasped and jerked your hips, sending him in even deeper so that his nose brushed against your clit. You gasped his name, encouraging him to dart his tongue out, your blood immediately registered on his taste buds. His eyes blew wide, his hips jerking forward against the ground, the sudden wave of arousal because of your scent making his knees feel weak. He moaned around your skin, his tongue eagerly licking and getting to work against your sensitive skin.

Groans and whimpers vibrated against you, his sounds rivaling your own as you moaned and reached a hand down to run through his hair. Gyutaro’s grip on your thighs tightened at the feeling, and when you tugged a bit at the roots, the growl that left his lips had your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Gyu-“ You started, your eyes fluttering shut at the sensitivity of his tongue on you. It was too much – the pleasure too acute, but as a hand left the plush of your thighs and instead snaked down to press against your clit, you gasped.

A strangled moan slipped past your lips as Gyutaro worked his finger in circles against your bundle of nerves, his tongue still licking and slurping against your folds. The combination of the stimulation had your head spinning, the sensation nearly too much, and as you whined out his name and dug your fingers even more harshly against his scalp, Gyutaro couldn’t help but moan in response.

You tasted so fucking good – the best blood he’s ever feasted on. Sweet, yet savory, a taste entirely your own. His cock was achingly hard in his pants, pressing against the bandaged cloth as he ground his hips against the dirt floor of the lair, the pressure not nearly enough to relieve the terrible ache. He wanted more more more – more of you, more of your perfect little pussy, more of the sounds slipping past your lips, more of the taste of your blood.

Soon you were shaking, thighs trembling as your orgasm crashed through you, your head throwing back as you cried out, slick and blood mixed together on Gyutaro’s tongue, chin and fingers. His thumb never stopped its motions, continuing the bliss as you slowly came down from your high, your clit nearly rubbed raw as the overstimulation began hitting you.

Squirming, you tried to push his head away from your cunt, but Gyutaro’s growl had you stopping quickly.

Pulling back slightly (only enough to speak), Gyutaro warned in a low voice out of breath, “Don’t move, stay still or I’ll make you come so much you cry.”

You only gulped and nodded, the feeling of his nails pressing into your thigh making you shiver, your hips jerking at the overwhelming sensation of Gyutaro’s ministrations.

“Tastes so good, so so so good –“ Gyutaro moaned, the sound muffled against your skin as he gulped and sucked at your pussy, nearly making out with your delicate folds. You whined, squeezing your eyes shut tightly – it was too much.

But for Gyutaro, it’d never be enough; after all, how could he let such a delicacy between your legs be taken for granted? Especially when you looked so pretty all panting and bloody once he’d fucked you with his tongue, fingers and cock more times than you could count.

#yandere kny #yandere demon slayer #yandere gyutaro #gyutaro x reader #kny smut #gyutaro smut #_gyutaro #_kny #_lee's profiles

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ineffably-human · 8 months

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The day Guillermo slaughtered a theatre of vampires, Nandor looked up and actually saw him. 'My name is Guillermo de la Cruz' burned like a silver knife in his brain. And that's the day Nandor started rooting for him.

Making him a bodyguard, insistent that's what he was. Watching him so carefully. 'Push back. Break the rules. Talk about yourself. I can't do it for you. If I do it for you then you've already lost.' Guillermo slapped him and his eyes lit up. Guillermo fought him, and he only wanted more. Guillermo said 'I can kill you whenever I want, I choose not to,' and it's what he was waiting for.

Nandor stands at the train station, feeling awake for the first time in months as he considers all the variables. The normal bite won't be enough, not for a Van Helsing. He'll have to drink someone right away, just to be sure. Will it feel the same for him, to hunt a human the way Nandor's watched him hunt a vampire? Maybe if they do it together. Maybe there's a lot that Guillermo can do very easily, if they do it together. Maybe there's a lot Nandor can do, very easily, if-

(...he's not coming. Well, familiars have balked at less.)

It's such a genuine surprise when he reappears. Why everything happened doesn't matter, exactly; Guillermo doesn't fight to get any of it back. He's so angry, so ready to leave, and by all rights Nandor should let him. But all he can feel is the instinct to stop him. Perhaps if he has actual love in this house, something to fill the void... Maybe there's one more thing Guillermo can do for him before his exit.

It's a strange year. Guillermo is not in his service, so much as he's a friend charged with service. His mind is so pulled in different directions - raising the Colin-creature, helping at the club, buying his gaudy new clothes that aren't vampire-like at all. Talking on the phone, sometimes in the other language he speaks, sometimes in secret whispers Nandor doesn't try to figure out.

If Guillermo doesn't want him to know, then he doesn't. He can't begrudge him a life outside this house anymore. It's like Guillermo has remembered how to be human.

Maybe he has. Nandor takes him to fight, wants to see that fire in his eyes again, but Guillermo only wants peace. They never talk about him becoming a vampire. Guillermo doesn't ask once. At the wedding, Guillermo promises to always be there when Nandor is afraid. Nandor wonders what 'always' means to him.

When he meets Freddie, things click into place a bit. Nandor is happy for him, truly. Suspicious, of course - this is a stranger in their home, one who clearly doesn't know their secrets. But such a kind and engaging stranger. And intriguing, like a little secret corner of Guillermo Nandor has never been able to reach. Nandor has been so lonely lately, he keeps getting everything he wants and yet he's lonelier than ever -

Nandor fucks up. Nandor fixes. Or does his best, anyway.

Guillermo goes to London one day, comes home with a look in his eyes like something broken. They don't talk about it.

Guillermo is back to dusting. He sits beside Nandor and smiles, placid and friendly. 'So, what's next?' But he doesn't ask. And Nandor can't ask it for him. That's not how this works.

And suddenly, Guillermo is a million miles away. Suddenly, Guillermo would rather be anywhere than with Nandor.

He talks about being a vampire for the first time in a year, but there's a strangeness to it. A wariness. When they laugh at the idea, he doesn't push back. There's no fire.

Something is wrong, honestly wrong, but Nandor can't bring himself to think about it seriously. Guillermo still runs from even the thought of their orgies. (So it can't be what he's thinking of, can it?) Their first big crisis as a household in a while, their bodyguard is nowhere to be found. (Is he a bodyguard anymore? A familiar? A lot more like Laszlo's familiar, these days...)

'I'm not going to be around forever.' Well, fine. He can survive that. He's survived far worse, and so has Guillermo.

And Guillermo is not just here right now, but is alive right now - wonderfully, blessedly alive - and Nandor won't be forced to think about his death for a while yet.

The one thing he knows for sure is that Guillermo would never do anything to hurt him, to hurt any of them. And maybe that's why it never worked out. You have to do so much more than survive, to be a vampire.

-- When everything that happened becomes clear, when his rage fades to anger fades to acceptance, there's still responsibility. Responsibility to his familiar, responsibility to his friend.

And when Guillermo's heart is too full, and spills over whatever bloodlust he had, Nandor wishes he were surprised. Guillermo has iron in him but it's been forged into a shield, after all this time. There are no little leftover bits Nandor might have helped him shape into a pair of fangs.

Guillermo can feed a family, or defend one, or defend himself. But he won't kill unless he has to, and his own survival - or his own happiness - is not a 'has to'. Fine. Guillermo has fought for him. Nandor can fight, too.

His own anger still needs a more constructive place to go. So he looks at Guillermo's wretched sire - who never even wanted to be a vampire, and then made a vampire so thoughtlessly. Who hasn't come to see Guillermo, who couldn't figure out how to help him, who doesn't even know that he's in pain.

Nandor drives a stake into the heart of a vampire. And it feels good.

Maybe now, he can also be angry at himself a little less.

#i can't believe nandor's choices about guillermo were deliberate while *also* never intending to help him or give him what he wanted #but i love the idea of nandor actually seeing guillermo all this time #never *completely* and not always in the way guillermo needed #but still always watching him out of responsibility out of love #fandom: wwdits #otp: nandermo #what we do in the shadows #wwdits #nandermo #i am a meta gremlin

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yourstardarling · 5 months

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Scorpio Through The Houses: Part 2

Scorpio 7th house: You are married to death. This is the literal embodiment of corpse bride. You love relationship connections with people that transform you. There’s a deep need to want a partner that feels secure and powerful enough to defend you. While others may fear your partner, you find a deep sense of safety around them. There’s definitely an air of mystery surrounding your love life and relationships. People think you are closed off when it comes to speaking about your love life and you like to keep it that way. However, there may be a tendency to be very possessive and protective of your partner. Likewise you may want a partner that is obsessive over you. While this can be seen as negative, the truth is you just desire someone that you can share the chaos in your life with. You want your relationships secure because you want to feel like you can fully express the deepest parts of your emotions and share your secrets. A desire to be consumed by your connections with other people and be transformed to a whole new being. You want to be changed through the relationships you have. Other people may fear you because you can be seen as someone who is very picky about who you hang around. The truth is you value loyalty, so you’re very skeptical about who you want to lean on.

Scorpio 8th house: This one was a little hard for me to describe as the themes of the 8th house and Scorpio somewhat merge into one another. However, what separates Scorpio in the 8th versus other houses is that these individuals will strive for death. There is an innate understanding of the cycles of death and rebirth. They charge fearlessly into danger and deadly situations in order to become renewed. It’s probably because they have inherited a lot of trauma and dealing with difficult challenges growing up. Once they get down to uncovering the shadows that have plagued their past, they become very skilled at dealing with things that others are scared of. Unafraid at diving head first into the void and coming out transformed. Reckless behavior can be an issue though because of the idea that you’ve dealt with death before so you can do it again. Other people fear your ability to still remain unscathed and brave even through the darkest times. Scorpio here is really a reservoir of personal power and endurance. It’s a placement of building tough skin to deal with the pains of life.

Scorpio 9th house: Death is seen as something worthy to be revered. Scorpio on the 9th depicts how you deal with themes of faith and belief. These individuals believe that death is a part of life that we all must go through. Death is seen through a philosophical lens for them. Whatever belief system they have can help cope with the inevitability of death. They pursue and try to learn more about the darker themes of life. Higher education and travel are very important for you, as it transforms your understanding about the world around you. These are the people that come back after a trip and are a completely different human being. A deep desire to understand the pain and emotional complexities of humanity in a wider lens. This might lead you to pursuing psychology, diving into the occult and learning about things considered taboo. Some will fear your beliefs and the amount of knowledge you may have. Knowledge especially about things that aren’t usually spoken about. Others will think you are psychic for being able to point out the shadows in their own lives. Many will rally behind your beliefs and support as they believe you have valuable information to offer. The issue is when you manipulate the information you know and using knowledge for your own personal benefit.

Scorpio 10th house: Scorpio here shows that you meet death within the public eye. The way you have changed and grown over the years is put on full display for others to see. They are oftentimes viewed as someone who is deadly and can face a lot of demonizing scrutiny. I’ve noticed a lot of people can be obsessed with the transformations these people have made. You will probably have to deal with authority figures being threatened by you. Tendency to be called a liar and receive hate for not being the same person others believed you to be. When it comes to your career, you may face a workplace where your coworkers and bosses are afraid of you. So you will have to deal with these people alienating and trying to diminish you. The reason being is because they see the amount of potential you have. There is an innate ability to become someone that transforms the way things are done. Being able to change how the industry you are in functions and having radical ideas to push things further. The public view of you can be filled with people that are obsessed and protective over your business accomplishments. As well as, people that will try to not give you credit for all the hard work you have done. Whatever field of career you choose can involve you looking into the darker themes of that field.

Scorpio 11th house: Death is your best friend with Scorpio in the 11th. You have dealt with constant changes and challenges when it comes to your network of friends. A lot of your friend groups have significantly shifted over time. There is a tendency to keep company with people that have faced significant hardships in their lives. It’s because you like to make friends with people that will transform you. You learn a lot from them and become anew through them. Stagnant friendships and connections don’t sit right with you. There has to be an evolution involved in order to be your friend. This might make you secretive about the people you hang around. That’s cause others may view your friends as intimidating and scary. You personally have built deep emotional bonds with your friends that others can’t see. So you become protective and hide your friendships from facing scrutiny. Some of your friends though, can be shady people. You may have dealt with a lot of backstabbing in the past so you are very picky on who you like to keep company. A negative aspect of this would be not trusting the people in your community. Feeling like you don’t need friends or anyone to support your needs. This lack of trust can cause you to even become slightly manipulative and controlling over your friends. So be careful and remember that you will find friends that demonstrate loyalty.

Scorpio 12th house: In the 12th house, Scorpio symbolizes meeting death when you are alone. These people face death on their own. The constant internal battles and transformation they face are kept hidden behind the scenes. These are the type of people to have a fun and optimistic exterior, but once alone can become pessimistic. The reason being is when you are alone, that is when you can see your own shadow. All the deepest parts of yourself, traumatic events and wounds are brought up to the surface. It can be terrifying to some as it is parts of your psyche that has been kept hidden away. You can sometimes have random flashbacks of events that have been painful to you that you believed you outgrew. The issue lies when these people are afraid of being by themselves. Don’t be afraid as this is a great source of your power. You gain a lot of insight and knowledge when you are alone. Isolation is extremely transformative in order to help you become a better version of yourself. Treat your alone time with a lot of love and care. Learning to be a nurturing figure when no one is around is key for your self development. This is why others may fear your ability to withstand being by yourself and still retaining your personal power.

The End

#scorpio astrology #Scorpio through the houses #scorpio moodboard #scorpio sun #scorpio #astro community #astrology #astrology observations #astro notes #scorpio moon

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wavesoutbeingtossed · 19 days

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To continue riffing on the marriage/tradition stuff because that’s one of the themes I’m obsessed with in her discography, it’s fascinating because it would be easy to reduce it to, “she’s adhering to patriarchal societal norms in chasing the traditional nuclear family and that’s why she throws herself into these relationships,” but it’s just so reductive to well, how human beings exist in the world. Just because it’s a societal pressure doesn’t mean some people don’t genuinely want to get married or have families.

Yes, she’s been singing about it right back to her first album when she as 16. Yes, her view on it has evolved, from marrying the sweet neighbor boy to the princess fairytale early on (debut/fearless), to the disillusionment that increasingly pushed it out of the narrative (speak now/red/1989), to slowly letting herself believe in forever again (rep), to seemingly actually committed (lover), to questioning what that means (folklore/evermore) to trying to reconcile what it means for her current life (midnights). Every relationship she experienced throughout those periods informed those views and how *she* pursued it.

I think what makes it so interesting on TTPD is that it is EVERYWHERE, as I mentioned in my previous post about it. And it’s unsettling because it’s not just in the setting we expect it to be — e.g. a long term partner she’d previously indicated she was ready to marry — but also in songs about a man who swooped in to save her when she was low only to break her apart, in thinly-veiled fantasies about strange bedfellow neighbours, another thinly-veiled story about marrying the person you want consequences be damned, in taunting your on again/off again partner in a bar (e.g. i want to smash your bike or be your wife).

And it’d be easy to chalk it up to, well she’s in her 30s and the clock is ticking, she’s just obsessive! And there’s a nugget there about women and their bodies and both the lauding and weaponization thereof and everything that personally I’m dying to talk about at some point. But when it comes down to it, I’m willing to bet that the reason why it’s everywhere is because THAT WAS HER LIFE. That was the plan she’d taken for granted for so long — and I don’t just mean in a general sense as a girl in the world — but in the very real, very tangible way she was living her life and in the circumstances that led to what would be written about in TTPD. By working out all these scenarios through her songs (and tbh in whatever she was doing IRL that inspired them), she was grappling with and grieving the loss of the life she thought was ahead of her. We’ve talked about how pervasive grief has been on her recent albums, in all kinds of forms, and I think this is kind of the culmination of all of those worries.

She’s not the girl with the paper ring and all’s well did not end well to end up with him. She’s not the girl who has his midnights after cleaning up bottles on New Year’s Day. She couldn’t give him her wild or a child because it wasn’t enough. She may have even been the self-fulfilling prophecy of the girl who is fucked in the head, but feels more like the one left out on the landing.

So in TTPD, she is all of these things. She’s the neglected wife whose husband cheats on her so she runs off with an old flame. She’s the one who gets the jewel on her ring finger and talks about babies because he says it’s love. She’s the woman whose partner once made a promise but never followed through. She’s the hell-raiser who follows love in a different kind of getaway car while the town calls her mad, consequences be damned, but joke’s on them because she gets the wedding in the end anyway. She’s the wife who feeds her cheating husband to the swamps of Florida. She gets swept off her feet by an old flame to run down the aisle. SHE’S the one who gets to decide if she’s gonna marry him or decimate him (be his wife or smash his bike). She’s the girl who didn’t become the wife while she watches the one that got away marry his. She’s the woman scorned who has to call the whole thing off. She’s the saucy girl who bets her new lover is gonna marry her for real. She’s sold off as chattel to the highest bidder in an arranged marriage. She’s the young girl starry-eyed with the dreams she grew up with only to have them go up in flames, leaving only her pen behind to turn it into art.

She navigates all these scenarios because in the end, she isn’t any of them and she is all of them. She’s mourning what she gave up, mourning what she’s already lost, mourning the time she feels she wasted and could have started over. She’s mourning any number of women she could have been if she’d just tried something else, but also mourning that ultimately much of this was out of her hands. She’s grappling with a past that can’t change and a future that doesn’t exist. Every one of these scenarios is a way her life could have gone with any number of different decisions, but in the end, none of that matters, because she is who she is and what happened happened.

Obviously there’s a lot more going on in the album; she’s not just processing the end of relationships, she’s processing her fame and career and health and harassment and trauma and struggles and misogyny and any number of things in frankly shocking ways. But, I think there’s also no denying that this very important thing — the step many young adults expect to take in their lives — precipitated a whole lot of what went on, and may have even had a domino effect on all the other issues explored. It’s raw and vulnerable and ugly and funny and human.

Anyway apparently I’m back and thinking.

#maybe i should not sleep more often #the tortured poets department #writing letters addressed to the fire

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fiber-optic-alligator · 3 months

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Requesting IDW Megatron x Lost Light human liaison reader. Based on the song "Heaven's Light" from Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Thanks for the request! Sorry for such a long delay! I spent a lot of time writing and rewriting this because I wanted to get it right. I went with Autobot Megatron for this one. I hope that is okay with you! Feedback is always appreciated! :D

Heaven's Light

Pairing: IDW Megatron x Human Liaison Reader

Word Count: 3588

Summary: Though he is now a hardworking Autobot aboard the Lost Light who's just trying to make up for the sins he's committed in his past, Megatron still believes he is a monster who is unworthy of ever being loved. That all changes when you, a little human liaison from Earth, makes your way into his life and implores him to reluctantly open his spark.

Megatron knows he is a monster.

He has done horrible things. He has killed, he has tortured, he has maimed. His recharge cycles are plagued with the echoes of screams and the fallen frames of mangled bodies. He stands atop a pile of them. When he looks at his servos, they are drenched in wasted energon that isn’t his own. Nightmares, Rune calls them. Terrible warped memories of his past. He cannot escape them. The guilt will stain him forever.

Megatron is aware that most of the Lost Light’s crew is afraid of him. With the exceptions of others like the captain, most steer clear of his way. When they see him thumping down a hallway with steps that seem to shake the entire ship, they scurry like glitch mice when a cyber cat is near. They speak to him with tremors in their voices and rattling in their joints.

Not that he makes things easy for them, he admits. Megatron is aloof, calculating, and antisocial. His violent tendencies have devolved into simple growls and annoyed huffs. He’s not here to make friends. He’s here to do a job: atone for the sins he has committed.

And yet, the nightmares remain. They do not leave no matter what he does.

Megatron is not a gentle being. He knows he is rough around the edges, and that scares people. So when he hears the announcement about a human boarding the Lost Light, his first instinct is to avoid them at all costs. It does not matter if they are a liaison. Humans are fragile and too easy to break. And he hardly believes Earth wants their delegate to be interacting with the former Decepticon warlord who has slaughtered thousands.

Unfortunately, his dimwitted captain has different plans.

“No.” Megatron crosses his arms and lifts his chin defiantly. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on.” Rodimus throws his helm back with an exasperated groan. “You're the perfect bot for the job! Why can’t you just say yes?”

“I did not board this ship to inevitably become a human babysitter.” Megatron’s words come out harsh and unyielding. “The answer is no, Rodimus. Get someone else to do it.”

“I agree,” Drift says. “In no way can I see this resulting in a positive outcome. Um…no offense Megatron.”

Megatron snorts. “None taken.”

“You two don’t understand.” Rodimus rubs his forehelm in faux exhaustion. “The human is here to learn about Cybertronian history and culture. Who else knows more about that sort of stuff than you?”

Megatron bares his teeth. “Are you calling me old?”

“I’m calling you knowledgeable,” Rodimus shoots back. “You can tell the human so much about us, more than Drift or I could combined.”

“That is not my area of profession. Get Rewind to do it.”

“No,” Rodimus objects. “I want you to do it.”

“Rewind would be a much better option if we want this human to successfully integrate into the ship’s social life,” Drift advises.

Rodimus punches the other mech squarely in the shoulder plating. Drift yelps and jumps back. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Are you on my side with this or not?” Rodimus snaps.

“I’m on the side of wanting the human to like us, and I don’t believe pairing them with Megatron is the best way to achieve that! Again, no offense to Megatron, but we need to make a good impression.” Drift straightens and rubs his shoulder, wincing. “We have to think about this clearly, Rodimus.”

“I am thinking clearly. I am the most clear-thinking mech in this room. I have never been thinking clearer, and I don’t think I ever will.” He points at Megatron. “You are going to be this human’s companion for the next six cyber-weeks they are here. You will educate them on our ways, teach them our history, and convince them that we are awesome and amazing and incredible. Understand? Come on, remember their little human motto! ‘Salvation through understanding, understanding brings in the light!’ There’s no way you can say no to that!”

Megatron feels indignation churn within his tank. That indignation turns into something dangerous, something he has not been able to snuff out of himself completely since he’s turned over a new leaf. That something is hostility borne from the frustration of being told to do something he doesn’t want to do. He snarls, but Rodimus does not cower. The red-and-orange mech’s plating bristles and clacks together in an act of instinctual dominance. The two leaders stare each other down in a silent battle. It takes Drift being the middle-man to relieve some of the tension crackling between them. “Alright, enough! Both of you stop right now! The human is going to be here at any moment, and you want their first impression of you two to be this? Calm down and get a hold of yourselves!”

Megatron scoffs. Without looking at either of them, he shoulders past Drift towards the door. “I will do as you say, Rodimus,” he rumbles. “But don’t you think I will enjoy a second of it. You are making a mistake.”

He hears Drift whisper “This is a bad idea” to the captain. Megatron stomps off, ignoring how every mech around him presses themselves against the walls to avoid his path. They should have chosen Rewind.

You are…not what Megatron was expecting.

You arrive on the ship with a swagger in your step and not an ounce of nervousness within you. Your eyes are wide with awe and your little dermas are split in a wide open smile as you turn in a circle to take everything in. There’s something distinctly adorable about the way you shift the weight of your stuffed backpack from one shoulder to the other and drag a tiny little suitcase behind you that makes the softer side of Megatron want to say “Awwww.” Apparently he isn’t the only one either; Rodimus is smiling like an idiot, his servos fidgeting like he wants to scoop you up and coo at you dotingly.

Drift elbows him. He snaps to attention and announces himself grandly, which makes Megatron want to cringe. “Liaison Y/N! So good to finally meet you in person! Welcome to the Lost Light!” He kneels and extends his servo with surprising mindfulness. “I am Rodimus Prime, captain of this ship.”

Your smile widens when you hold the tip of his index digit between both of your little fleshy servos and shake it. “I am honored to be here, captain.”

“The honor is all ours. And please, just call me Rodimus. You're one of us now. There’s no need for formalities.” Rodimus rises and gestures to Drift. The red-and-white mech steps forward and dips his head while he is introduced. “This is Drift, my third-in-command. And this is Megatron, my…co-captain.”

Megatron keeps his expression neutral when he steps forward to loom over you like a mountain. You have to crane your neck back in order to take all of him in. Here we go, he thinks. Any moment now, you’ll recognize his name. You’ll retreat to a safe distance. Maybe even start screaming in fear. He shouldn’t be surprised. After all, he is Megatron, feared former leader of the Decepticons, one of the most ruthless and terrifying beings in the-

Your smile does not waver and your attitude remains just as bright. “Megatron. It’s wonderful to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

It takes a moment for him to register your words. Wait, what?

Rodimus coughs and eyeballs him critically. “Oh.” Megatron blinks. “Um. Yes. Hello. It’s wonderful to, uh, meet you too.”

Drift snickers. He wants to punch him.

“I apologize for his flustered state.” Rodimus laughs nervously. “We’re all just very excited to have you on board. This is the first time much of the crew will be meeting a human, so I hope you’ll understand that some of us might not know how to interact with you.”

“It’s no problem,” you say. “I get it. But that’s why I’m here! So if you are curious about me, then I encourage it.”

Rodimus relaxes, looking relieved. “Yes, of course! We’re connecting two worlds! It’s absolutely incredible.”

“If anyone makes you actively uncomfortable though, please let one of us know,” Drift adds. “We understand that there is a clear power imbalance between you and all of us. It’s important that you feel safe here.”

“Well, that’s why Megs is going to be your partner during your time here!” Rodimus grabs Megatron’s shoulder and shakes him. It takes all of his strength not to growl. “You're here because you want to know more about us, right? Well, my co-captain is extremely knowledgeable in all things Cybertronian. He’ll do his best to answer any and all questions you might have!”

You show no trepidation over this. In fact, your eagerness only seems to grow. Megatron is honestly stunned. “Oh, absolutely, I’d love that! As long as it’s okay with you?” You look back at him inquiringly.

He starts to object, but Rodimus slams his servo over his intake. “He’s totally okay with it! He volunteered, after all! And he’ll start with showing you to your habsuite with Drift, so you can take all the time you need to settle in!”

Your concerns are soothed. Taking up your suitcase, you follow Drift and leave the docking bay, with the other mech walking at a turtle’s pace in order to stay in tandem with you. Megatron rips Rodimus’s servo away from his intake. “You,” he hisses, “are the bane of my very existence.”

Rodimus shrugs. “I can live with that title. But seriously, I’m doing you a favor right now. Enough with the brooding miserableness and more with the reinventing yourself. I’m trying to help you feel more at ease here. If you start with the human, you may find yourself actually being gentle.”

He snarls, and for the first time in a long while wonders if he can get away with killing one last Autobot. But when he looks at you and sees the way you smile up at Drift with so much young excitement…something in him softens.

“So, I was told you know a lot about Cybertronian culture,” you say to him. Drift is long gone, and your habsuite is set up to house all of your accommodations. You sit back on the miniature berth covered with blankets and pillows, thin legs swinging idly while you regard him with a curious look. He glances at you fleetingly, then returns his gaze to the data pad he’s holding.

“That I do,” he answers.

“Mind telling me some stuff?”

Your question is blunt and to the point. There’s no hesitation. You don’t look the least bit afraid. For a moment, Megatron wonders if you even know who he is. You just seem so…clueless. Did your human superiors really give you no sort of debriefing on who you would be dealing with here before you left?

“What do you want to know?” he asks reluctantly.

“I want to know about turbo foxes,” you reply.

He stares at you. Then he bursts into raucous laughter that causes his entire frame to shake. You throw your hands up in feigned exasperation, grinning like an idiot. “What? What did I say?”

“You said nothing wrong, little one.” He manages to calm himself down, shaking his head while still chuckling. “I just…I was expecting you to ask about the war.”

“Why would I ask you about that?”

“Because that is what everyone wants to know about. The war is essentially a defining factor of our history and culture. Our image cannot exist without it.”

You shrug. “I can learn about the war from anyone. I already have. But turbo foxes? I’ve only read a single paragraph about those. They sound so cute! You have to tell me more.”

“Wait.” He pauses, confused. “You…you’ve learned about the war?”

“Of course I have,” you reply. “Like you said, it’s part of your history and culture. Who hasn’t at this point?”

“So…you know who I am. Megatron. Me. You’ve learned about me.”

“Yes?” You tilt your head. “I don’t know what this has to do about turbo foxes.”

“No, it-it has nothing to do with them. I just-” He sighs, rubbing his optics in a tired way. “I just don’t understand why you haven’t acknowledged the fact that you know me. You know what I’ve done. You know what I’m capable of continuing to do.”

“I haven’t acknowledged it because it’s not worth acknowledging.”

“That is absurd. Of course it is worth acknowledging. I am Megatron. I’m the former leader of one of the most feared armies known throughout the universe.”

“Former leader,” you say.

“That-” He sputters. He isn’t sure where you are going with this; you’ve thrown him for a loop. “That has nothing to do with the current situation.”

“Yes it does.” You stand up. “You used to be the leader of the Decepticons. You’ve killed, you’ve destroyed. But you don’t do that anymore. So now here we are.”

“You are okay with completely looking past everything I have done? You're just going to…ignore it?”

“No.” You take slow steps towards him. “I’m not. I’ve done my research on you. I understand that you’ve done terrible things. But I also know that you're trying to make up for all of that. You're good now. Being here, helping me…I know you're trying to be better. I appreciate that.” You hold up your hands. He understands, yet hesitates to fulfill your wish. You have to encourage him. “Come on, it’s okay. You won’t hurt me.”

He bends down and extends his servo. “How can you be so sure?”

You hold his index digit and bring the tip to your cheek, allowing him to caress the soft organic skin of your face. You are so small, so delicate, so carefully made. Megatron isn’t caught up on the stories about the gods of your world, yet he knows-he can feel it-that whatever being made you put so much care and love into their work, he is sure their power rivals Primus himself. His walls crumble. He wants to hold you forever.

“I’m sure because I trust you,” you say. “And when you earn the trust of someone you can so easily hurt…you know you are good.”

Six weeks later…

Swerve’s bar is filled with life. Megatron hears it all the way from the deserted hallway he sits in. The laughter, cheers, and songs echo like the hauntings of spirits. Yet, he feels no urge to join in. The bench he sits on is as cold as space. He’s sure he can feel the chilling void through the large observation window he’s in front of right now.

The soft pitter patter of human feet turns his attention away from the window. He sees you heading towards him with cheeks flushed red and a stupid smile. His olfactory sensors pick up on the faint scent of alcohol sticking to your skin when you make it over to him.

“Are you drunk?” he asks.

“A little,” you reply. A soft pat to his pede signals what you want. He gives it to you, scooping you up into a gentle hold and placing you on his right tibulen. You lean against him with a soft exhale. “Why didn’t you come join us?”

He lifts his gaze to the window. “I’m not a big drinker.”

“Oh. Well, that’s okay. Neither am I.”

The warmth of your little body is comforting. It makes him want to focus on you. Yet, he can’t manage to do so. It’s such a foolish situation; him, of all mechs, so infatuated with this little human, he can barely look at them.

But it goes beyond that. He knows it does. So do you. Six weeks are nearly over. Your time here will soon be done.

He doesn’t know how to handle that anymore.

“Why did you leave Swerve’s?” he chooses to ask you, because if he brings up the topic of you leaving, he thinks he’s going to lose control of his emotions.

“I wanted to be with you.”

He snorts. “I hardly think a party being thrown in your honor is worth leaving in exchange for spending time with some old bot.”

“Oh, please. You aren’t just some old bot to me. I like being around you. Is that so hard to believe?”

He smiles humorously. “You might be the only one on this ship who does.”

You don’t respond, and Megatron fears he might have offended you in some way. When he looks at you, he sees your shoulders slump and your head hang like you are mourning the dead.

“I’m leaving soon,” you murmur.

“...I know.”

“I asked my superior if I could stay.” You draw your knees to your chest and hug them. “I begged him. Another week. Hell, another day. But he wouldn’t give in. Fucking asshole…he knows I’ve gotten attached.”

“Getting attached was the point of you coming here.”

“I know. But…not like this.” An invisible chord tightens around your little body. He can tell your composure is crumbling. “This…wasn’t something I was trained for.”

His spark aches painfully. If he were younger, he’d do something rash; threatening your superior would have been his first course of action. If that didn’t work, he’d steal you away and whisk you off to the far reaches of space, away from Earth, away from anything or anyone who might prevent the two of you from being together.

But he’s not his younger self. He’s old. He’s tired. So he simply heaves a sigh and lifts his optics to the stars. “You know…so many times out there, I’ve watched a happy pair of lovers walking in the night.”

You lift your head and look at him. There are tears in your eyes. Megatron rumbles out a deep purr and reaches for you, gently maneuvering you into his servos and lifting you up to his faceplate. You lean forward and place a tiny hand on his nose.

“What were they like?” you ask quietly.

“They had a kind of glow to them,” he responds with a sense of wistfulness. “It almost looked like…Heaven’s light.”

That makes you giggle. “How the hell do you know what Heaven is?”

“Lets just say I’ve done my research,” he answers with a smile.

You lightly tap his nose with your fist. “Sap.” Your expression falls into a contemplative frown. “What were you thinking when you saw them? The lovers? Were you jealous?”

“Well…not exactly. Jealousy isn’t the right word to describe it. But…I envied them. I wanted to be like them. But I knew I’d never know that warm and loving glow, though I might wish with all my might.” He closes his optics, steadying his breaths. He doesn’t want to cry, not in front of you. “No face as hideous as my face…was ever meant for Heaven’s light.”

You open your mouth to retort, not at all willing to listen to him put himself down. That’s one of the things he loves about you. No matter who it is, you will always step in to make someone feel better. It’s a quality many Cybertronians are lacking, yet it abounds in humans plentifully.

He had been wrong about your kind, back when he was still the leader of the Decepticons. You are so much more beautiful than you realize.

Megatron cuts you off gently with a low puff of air into your face from his nose. You sputter and stumble back, and he laughs. His thumb comes up to stroke your hair, then travels down to trace the outline of your jaw. You still, eyes widening when you see the lovesick look he’s giving you. “But suddenly an angel has smiled at me…you, little one. Come on, smile.”

There’s no sharp-witted reply from you to make him chuckle. You just obey him and smile. His spark skips a beat and he feels like he is going to melt right then and there. “You are the only one to smile at me in this way,” he whispers. “And you…you’ve touched my face without a trace of fright.”

“I could never be afraid of you,” you say. You press yourself against his nose, hugging him in the best way you can. He feels you trembling. “I’ve dreamt of this. I’ve dreamt of you. I still dream. I dare to dream that you might even care for me…”

Megatron leans into your touch. “My cold dark tower seems so bright…I swear it must be Heaven’s light.”

There is silence between you for some time. The noise from Swerve’s bar has faded away. You sniffle and don’t pull away. “Stay with me,” you beg.

“You know I can’t,” he says. “Not forever.”

“Then just for tonight. For as long as we have left. Stay with me, please. I don’t want to let you go. I love you.”

“You don’t have to.” He hugs you with his free servo. “Not right now. I’m here. I love you too. You are the only one I will ever love. My Heaven’s light.”

“Salvation through understanding,” you sob, tears streaming down your cheeks. Yet, you are smiling. It’s a grateful smile. A smile that tells him you are so, so lucky to have ever met him at all.

His optics well up. He lets the walls break. “Understanding brings in the light.”

Megatron knows he is a monster.

But after meeting you…he knows he’s a monster who’s worthy of receiving love.

298 notes · View notes

utahimeow · 7 months

Text

swan song — satoru gojo

summary — why work so hard when you could just be free?

pairing — satoru gojo x f!reader

warnings — major jjk spoilers, graphic depictions of violence, hurt/comfort, angst, happy endings, reader has a cursed technique (mentioned once), established relationship

word count — 1.3k

author’s note — based on swan song by lana del rey. this is the most self indulgent selfship coded thing i’ve ever written but i needed to give gojo the happy ending he deserved idc if its cheesy or out of character

He’s dead.

Dead.

The strongest. Dead.

Satoru Gojo is dead.

A flash, then his body becomes two — legs here, torso there.

He’s not moving. Scarlet splatters the ground, blooms like a lily.

The air is disgustingly thick, and it hangs like a noose, and it cuts your throat. Nobody is breathing. Everybody knows.

This time, he’s not getting back up.

A scream claws its way out of your throat, vicious as it pierces through the air.

Someone else is stepping up to replace him already, a sorcerer with hair like seafoam. The King of Curses turns towards him, his stolen face twisting into a demonic grin, dripping with victory.

Right now there’s just one thing on your mind. Like instinct, like it’s your destiny. You don’t care about the politics, the consequences, the implications of his death. None of it matters.

You just want to be with Satoru.

Your feet are moving. They almost take off, but a steady grip pulls you back.

“You should leave.” Shoko’s voice quivers as she speaks. You’ve seen her composure crack so rarely that when you do it feels like your first time witnessing it.

Your face is hot, and it’s wet now. Your eyes sting. You don’t try to stop the tears, or even wipe them.

If you were to look up, you’d find eyes full of sorrow and shock and pity—you’re the grieving widow. His students have lost a teacher, his friends have lost a friend. At least I’m not her, they all think, I haven’t lost the love of my life.

Without another word, without even so much as one final glance at Satoru’s corpse, you leave. You can’t bear to be there any longer.

The taxi driver does not question why you’re crying. He pretends he does not hear the way you sniffle and gasp for air. He drives you to your home and drives away when you’ve paid him.

You breathe out. Your shoulders sag with relief. You will yourself to stop crying.

He’s in the living room, a thick arm thrown over his eyes as he half-naps. As soon as he hears you enter however, he springs up, beaming like the sun.

Satoru laughs a little at your puffy face and your glimmering eyes. He gathers you into a hug, his body hard and imposing and warm, and you cling to him. His heart pumps blood around his body and it’s loud in your ears.

“That was traumatic,” you say, but it gets muffled when you bury your face into his chest. He smells fresh, like the wind on a warm day. He must have showered since he teleported home.

Satoru’s laughing again. You wish he’d never stop. “You knew it was fake the whole time, how bad could it be?”

“I had to watch you die, Satoru! It was horrible even if it was fake,” you admit, tightening your arms around his waist, where his torso meets his legs.

He laughs, and it reverberates in his chest and rumbles through your body. You’re angry. You can’t climb inside of his skin and live there and you’re angry about it. His giant hands draw circles all over your back.

“I’m here, baby. I’m all yours now,” he tells you. For the first time, he means it without any exceptions.

…

“What if you faked your death?”

Satoru’s head whips over to look at you, scanning your face to find something that will tell him you’re not serious. But you are serious.

One word, he asks, “why?”

“So we can give up being sorcerers and leave Japan and never come back.”

Satoru grows quiet. There’s a pit in your stomach. He tells you constantly that he’d give you the world, and you believe him, and he loves you more than anything, yet he can’t bring himself to give up on humanity. Without him, the world doesn’t stand a chance. He’s the strongest, after all.

“Is that what you want?” he asks. It’s sincere.

“Yes,” you tell him, swallowing as you consider your next words. “I just got you back from the Prison Realm and now you have to fight Sukuna, who might actually kill you… You just give and give so much to the Jujutsu world and what do they give you back? Shit all. And I’m tired of watching you be wrung dry.”

He’s silent again. All the years that you’ve known him make it easy for you to know what he’s thinking. More than likely he’s thinking of Yuuji and Megumi and Yuuta. Maybe he wonders what Nanami would tell him to do, or what Geto would say.

It’ll be selfish. He’ll be abandoning everyone at the worst possible moment. He turns your words over and over in his head. Then he thinks of a life with you, a peaceful one, where you’ve left behind your days of sorcery, where he doesn’t have to be some pseudo-god.

Where he can grow old with you.

Perhaps, he thinks, it’s necessary for him to disappear. It’ll be a struggle without him, but he has faith. They’ll persevere.

“What are you thinking?” he asks eventually.

“I’ll use cursed energy to create a clone of you. Since my clones can’t use cursed techniques it’ll have to be right when Sukuna is about to kill you. You switch out and teleport out of there.”

For a moment he stares at you, then he chuckles, shifting sideways so he can lay on his back and stare at the ceiling with resolve.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” he says.

“I have,” you say. “For as long as I’ve loved you.”

…

He thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful.

He’s convinced of it, actually. Life has filled your cheeks out and erased your dark circles away. Your eyes shine brighter. Fear no longer lives in them, nor does hopelessness.

Your fingers are gentle as you pluck fresh, plump tomatoes off the vine. Satoru’s heart swells because you’ve been so excited to harvest them.

“It’s just a handful for now,” you tell him, letting him peer inside the basket you have on your arm. There are a few bunches of rocket and basil leaves, and a small squash too.

He reaches in, takes a tomato and pretends to take a bite out of it until you snatch it from his hand and scold him.

“They just look too good, baby,” he says between laughs. You roll your eyes, but you don’t manage to bite back the smile that grows on your lips.

“Go finish building my chicken coop,” you tease, calling him by his last name, the one he took from you, then brushing past him to head back inside your home.

“I told you it’s almost finished!” he exclaims, trailing behind you as you make your way to the vintage renovated kitchen of your house.

Satoru settles on a stool at the island at the centre, observing the way you rinse the vegetables in the sink. To him it’s fascinating—well, you’re fascinating. The way your brow scrunches slightly with concentration. He hopes you never run out of vegetables to harvest and wash. He’ll make sure you don’t.

“By the way, what do you think about getting some mini goats?”

“I don’t care as long as you take care of them,” you tell him. “Do you want salad or roasted vegetables for lunch?”

Satoru’s heart races. He’s transported back to 2006 for a moment, when for some reason he wanted to be around you all the time and thought it was weird that he liked it when you teased him. Before he realised.

“Roasted vegetables, please. I love you.”

Satoru doesn’t look much different now. He’s gotten a little more toned, put on some muscle from some of the heavy work he does on the farm.

And when he smiles, he’s not pretending anymore.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo fanfic #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo imagine #gojo satoru imagine #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk imagine #jjk x you #jjk spoilers #꒰ lovers. ꒱ — gojo

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after-witch · 7 months

Text

Horrorfest: Unfurled Splendor [Yandere Xiao x Reader]

Title: Unfurled Splendor [Yandere Xiao x Reader]

Synopsis: You know daylight existed, once. You just can't remember what it really looked like.

For 2022 Horrorfest request: always night trope with xiao

Word count: 1270

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, isolation

There are certain things that you must tell yourself on repeat or you’re certain that you’ll forget them. They keep you tethered to the ground, sometimes by a thread, so that you don’t simply give up and float away.

One, you were not always here, in this little house created inside Xiao’s abode. “House” being a lofty term for a space with two rooms, a simple bathroom and open living space.

You used to live outside, and not the artificial outside that he created at your behest (and begging) but the real outside. With unpredictable weather and animals that did not behave on loops, only capable of repeating what gestures and patterns Xiao had created for you.

There were other people, people who were mean or nice or somewhere in between. You worked at a job and went to shops and had friends and family.

And there was freedom, most importantly of all. An elusive creature, now. It’s not something Xiao can create and set onto a carefully tracked loop, though you’re certain that if he could come up with a way to do so, that he would try his best.

And two--this one is easiest to forget--it was not always night. There had been sunshine, once. Warm, lovely sunshine that dappled through the trees when you walked in the woods; that bore down on you, a hot blanket, in the summertime; that shone through your windows, waking you in the morning with the delighted chirping of the birds.

Yes, you had seen the sun… but that was a long time ago. Before Xiao took you here. Before you had gone nearly mad with being stuck inside all day, and he’d offered up the solution of letting you go “outside,” which turned out to be yet another artificial world of his own creation.

Before he’d decided to make it night time and never bothered bringing back the sun. That was… weeks ago, at least. You don’t know why or when he stopped bothering with daylight. Maybe it was too taxing on him to go back and forth between night and day. Maybe he just didn’t care.

You do not ask him for the daylight again, because you should not need to ask. Yet that is what your life has become, reminding Xiao of all the things humans need to stay healthy and sane. Like a variety of food and not the same thing day after day; like blankets and pillows; like a bathroom with a properly fitted tub and toilet. Like books or clothes or things to do.

Not that he always gives you what you need. He considers most of these things “wants,” to be meted out at his own discretion.

Sunlight, apparently, fit within that category of “want.” And no matter how often you stared up at the same night sky, wishing for it to fade or at least change, he didn’t seem to pick up on things.

It’s here that he finds you, again, staring at the night sky. Only this time your thoughts have grown so sour and introspective that there are tears in your eyes, sparkling in the cool moonlight that always shines into the window a little bit, dappled through a large, leafy tree.

If the tree were real, there might be any number of nocturnal animals that call it home. As it is, there is only a stationary night-bird that calls out exactly twice an hour. Mechanical. Like a clock. You thought it pretty once, but now you hate it.

There’s a touch on your shoulder and you flinch. Xiao draws back, and says your name. Evidently, he’d said it before.

You turn, just a little, and let him see your tears. Why not? It’s not like he ever responds to them, except perhaps to excuse himself or awkwardly shove a handkerchief into your hands.

This time, he actually speaks up, although you can see the tension in his stiff posture.

“Why are you crying? What’s wrong?”

There might have been a time where you would have turned away from him, now, and went back to crying silently. Let him worry. Let him figure it out himself, if he could. But something about tonight--tonight? it’s always night, damn it--has you increasingly wound up. Your fingers curl on the windowsill. Your chest aches.

And so you whirl on him, chest heaving.

“What’s wrong is that it’s been night for weeks and it’s driving me mad and you don’t seem to care.” Your voice cracks on the last word, spiteful tears sliding down your cheeks.

He stares at you for a few long moments before looking out the window at the sky he created. And then he looks back at you with such a confused expression that it makes you want to slap him and bring him into your arms, one and the same.

“You… said you liked the stars,” he says, eyebrows furrowing. You can tell he doesn’t understand. He treats your complaints like that of a child, demanding something nonsensical in the middle of the day, perhaps due to a lack of nap. “So I’ve kept them there.”

You turn and gaze out the window at the same night sky that you’ve seen for weeks on end. You could explain that humans need daylight and sunlight. You could explain that seeing the same night sky for an extended period of time is enough to drive anyone mad.

Instead--

“Those aren’t stars,” you reply, quiet.

Behind you, Xiao huffs.

“Yes, they are. They look just like the ones--”

You turn on him, and your face begins to crack, eyes crinkling, mouth turning down. “They aren’t real stars. I want real stars. I want real sunshine. I want everything to be real. Can’t you understand that?”

Xiao’s eyes widen, and the look on his face takes on an expression of slight hurt. Just enough to notice. He raises one of his hands toward your cheek, moving to touch you.

“I… understand,” he says, finally. Slowly. Weighing your words and his own. You’re afraid to do the same, afraid to see you through his own eyes.

So you shake your head, blinking away the tears, and crawl into bed. Maybe in your dreams something will be different for once, but more often than not, the night sky leaked into your dreams, too.

You hear the sound of Xiao sitting down in the chair by the window as your brain begins to drift into the fogginess of sleep.

When you wake up, sunshine filters through the sole window inside the house. Birds chirp in a pattern that you know will loop, eventually. It’s startling, jarring. Your brain doesn’t make sense of it at first.

You slowly get out of bed, afraid that it might be a dream. You set aside the blanket, you stand up, you take a few steps to the window--and still, the scene outside is blissful, sweet daytime.

Your fingers rest on the windowsill, soaking in the scene he’s created before you. The sound of birds--a few you can spot, but you hate to look at them, knowing that you’ll recognize their pattern soon enough. A mechanical breeze that comes every so often (you don’t count the seconds between them, not yet); clouds, lazily drifting by in the blue sky, and all of it lit by an artificially bright sun stuck up high.

It’s not real. It will never be real. Only you are real, here, the only normal, human, mortal thing that will ever exist on this plane.

Behind the clouds, you can see the remnants of those artificial stars, still twinkling.

#yandere xiao #yandere xiao x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere #afterwitch writes #aw horrorfest

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sunny-mercya · 5 months

Text

Sensitive Heart

Poly! Billy Loomis & Stu Macher x Male Reader

Fandom -> Scream 1996

Requested by -> Anon

Masterlist

Sidney had become quick to learn, that you're a rather sensible—if not even overstimulated sensitive—boy.

Most things; be it a large crowd, people accidentally bumping into you or someone saying something you had difficulty to understand—hell, even the most mundane compliment; you look really good today—brought you to tears.

And on some days, wether if they are bad or good ones, you would cry for an eternality of hours—exhausting yourself with a sore throat sobbing.

Throughout the school years, you had spend more time in the nursery office thanks to this—whatever and however it's called, Sidney doesn't bother to remember—than being actually injured.

Tatum, who had heard from Stacy—and she had it being told from Mackenzie, who had gotten told it from Helena—the nurses daughter—told Sidney once, that your over sensitivity of personality has been coming from your mother.

Your mother who had pampered you into a suffocating and constant anxious panic. She was a kind soul, with her off shrugging absently affectionate, but treating you well still.

Although, when you were at the age of ten—having been in the hospital again, because of your mother—your father had enough, filled a divorce and complete custody over you and told his ex-wife to leave.

So now, Sidney had to endure your tears filled stuttering jumble of words while accompanying you, yet again, to the nurse office.

Please god, she thought, end me. Holding back a groan, simply nodding along to what you're trying to say. If she's telling you to shut up, you would probably cry a flood then.

~~~

The cold wet washcloth always felt good over your burning irritated eyes. Cooling them off and bringing a sort of pain relief to them.

Mrs. Westbrock had left the office, after assessing you down onto the bed and giving you a glass of water and headache-pills. Nothing new, a normal occurrence for you to be alone—till school hours ended—in the nurse office, when you had another rather server breakdown episode. Then again, every episode brought you to the office.

»Aww, at this point you should ask the Director to let you live rent-free here« Stu did his best to lower his voice, when stepping in. Knowing well how headache prone you would get and he also knows how loud his voice can be.

It must be lunch break or a free period or study all, otherwise Billy and Stu wouldn't be able to visit you. Then again, you wouldn't put it pass them to just skip a lesson or two—and you knew they had done already more than once.

»What was it this time babe?« asked Billy, sitting down onto the chair. Someone would say his tone, when asking you this question, is coming off as annoyed, rude and tutting. It wasn't. It was Billys way of asking you how you are and what the cause was.

You shrugged at him, rubbing your eyes and sitting up a bit—letting Stu prep kisses onto your face.

»I.....don't really remember anymore.«

Billy hummed, knowing well it was lie of you, watching you and Stu, the both of you conserving now over some Cartoon.

»Did Jules brought you here?«

»Nu-uh, it was Sydney,«

Billy nodded, they all were somewhat friends with Sidney, though somehow she always seemed to be irritated annoyed by your mere presence—not that you took notice if it, always busy to greet everyone happily, even when it was hard to do for you.

»[Name]. Tell us, what made you cry.« a bit demanding harsh he sounded, but how would he know if Billy didn't use a dominant force to bring you to speak.

»It, it–it was, someone talked about–about how killing is, is–is something and I got upset over it, because they talked so causally about it, but killing is–is–is bad and taking–taking a humans life is cruel«

You broke into another, new, round of tears. Sobbing into Stu's arms, who cooed at you lovely and giving you sloppy kisses on the cheeks again.

Oh, how innocent sweet you are. Thinking so naively and thoughtful about the world. Aren't you adorable?

~~~

It was weeks after, when Sidney came to the conclusion that the ominous masked—dubbed as Ghostface—killer, who tried to killer her, is Billy Loomis.

Sidney, when she got the chance, pulled you into an empty classroom, cornering you. Doing her best to look as threatening as she could, to make you confess.

She always found it strange how Billy (and Stu) could love someone like you—someone who's a crybaby, skittish and meek in personality. Too Sensitive for a boy to be.

But then she thought, you're the perfect alibi for Billy or perhaps even someone who knows that Billy is the murder.

»You know Billy is the killer, don't you [Name]?«

»What? What are you talking about Syd?«

»It's Sidney. Billy is the killer and you're either good at pretending to play clueless dumb, which you are though, or you're his partner. There aren't any other options.«

Sidney hated it how you pronounced her name so dumbly wrong. It's a simple name, how hard could it be to say it right? Apparently hard enough for you.

»Accusing someone, a friend even, of something so horrific is a cruel thing to do.«

»Oh? I didn't knew you could speak english without stuttering in sobbing.«

Your lips begun to wobble, biting softly onto them to stop the starting trembling—which would soon racked through your whole body. Eyes getting wet, tears ready to spill.

Sidney had no rights to accuse Billy like this and neither had she the right to be this mean to you. You hadn't done anything to make her upset, so why does she say such things?

She clicked her tongue in annoyance, gripping your arm tight when you were about to bold off.

»We both know I'm right. Whether you like it or not.«

You freed yourself from her, jerking your arm out of her grasp and bolting out of the room. At some point colliding with Jules, who was looking for you, scrambling up again and running even faster away.

A lie. It's a complete conspiracy bullshitting lie, what Sidney had said to you. It wasn't true, Billy isn't a killer.

~~~

»I'm home!« greeted Billy once he had open the front door and stepped in, closing if afterwards. Getting out of his jacket and hanging it up on, he made his way towards the kitchen.

Leaning against the frame of the kitchen-door, Billy watched you, smiling at the sight of you cooking today's lunch—dancing slightly to the music which the radio plays.

»You need help, darling?« he admits, spooking you up like this was—the way how you jerked together into surprise—always a fun thing to do.

»Oh, Billy! How was work? Sure sure, you can set the table and please get Stu« you pecked his lips, when he leaned down, snatching a piece of bacon from the cutting board.

»Where is he?«

»Upstairs, doing the laundry.« you had long returned to the cooking, resuming with what you had stopped.

Billy passed through the living room, stopping at the commode in the hallway, next to the stairs.

Photo frames over photos frames filled the commode, telling their own stories—from their graduation, first house, to marriage, to their honeymoon and then to their Kids and their first kindergarten and school day to the here and now.

There was one photo in particular, which both Stu and him are very found of. It still confuses the kids, who couldn't figure out why a photo of you crying was a found memory to keep and share.

To the kids they had told a story of how they always found it adorable, just how bunny like you were and wanted to capture the moment.

In truth though, it was the moment when the broke you—your spirit of will—and had you forever to love.

It was after Sidney had inflicted your pure heart with self-doubt and questionable unbelief towards Billy. You confronted him, breaking out in hysterical when Billy bluntly admits it with a shrug and when you were about to call the police—Stu stepped in, holding you tight in his arms as you trashed in his hold and shouting words at them you never wished to say again.

They had to break a few of your bones, scaring and threatening you completely in submissive—because if they don't, you wouldn't be able to continue with going to school with them and enjoy life, if they didn't had done it this way—they had to kill you and that would be a shame. After all you're their precious little darling.

It took a few years—after framing someone else for their killings and making Sidney an implausible witness in the polices eyes—to shape you into what your are now; a good submissive husband, who showers them in unconditionally love.

»[Name]'s adorable, isn't he Bills?« Stu trotted down the stairs, flashing a grin at Billy.

»You're right, he really is. I was just about to get you, laundry-boy«

»Funny, man. Urgh, my back hurts. I never do laundry again«

After lunch, when the kids had retired into their rooms or going out to spend time with friends. You and your husbands sat on the couch, cuddling against another and watching another round of romance movies.

Even after all these years, you couldn't stop your sensitivity and the spilling tears from your eyes.

Billy and Stu wouldn't have it any other way. They adored you how you are, in their eyes you're perfect.

»Have I told you, just how–how much I love–love you two?« you asked them in between sobs, romantic movies always made you so moody.

»You do plenty of times, precious. We love you just as much in return.«

Both Billy and Stu pressed a kiss against your lips, tasting your salty tears.

You're their little bunny.

#male reader #x male reader #fanfiction #malereader #oneshot #scream 1996 #scream x male reader #scream #poly! billy loomis & stu macher x male reader #billy x stu x male reader #poly! billy and stu x male reader #billy loomis x male reader #stu macher x male reader #stu macher #billy loomis

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doomh3ad · 2 years

Text

slashers + kissing them in panic before they kill you pt2 (including thomas hewitt, ghostface [billy loomis], pinhead)

pt1

Thomas Hewitt

Fear is too weak of a word to describe what is gripping your heart and mind. There's a fucking chainsaw ripping through your friends and you can't do anything; your hands are encased in rope, done by the creepy sheriff you'd felt sorry for at first. You hear the buzz of the chainsaw going again, and again, and again, and even when it's shut off you swear it's still going, in your head, forever haunting you, screaming out to taste your blood next.

You can't tell if you're the lucky one, or if your dead friends are, but you seek salvation anyways. As the man wielding the weapon nears you, you don't scream out, you don't struggle. You look into his eyes and try to find any hint of humanity that may be left.

To your surprise, he looks upset. Like he doesn't want to harm you; his mask has slipped, both physically and emotionally. You reach out a hand, hesitant at first, that becomes steadily more confident as he doesn't withdraw from your touch. You fix his mask into place and, encouraged by what you interpret as happy noises, lean forward.

A strange sensation hits you as you kiss him. Like whole new world has just been opened up to you, like you've stepped into a parallel universe where you kiss the people that are trying to kill you. You don't have much time to think about it, though, as he gently takes your hand and leads you inside the house. You're initially recalcitrant, as is to be expected, you don't want to be dragged back and eaten, but something in your mind tells you that you're safe now.

The family appears to understand the situation instantly. The woman, you think she introduced herself as Luda Mae, smiles brightly at you and speaks in a thick southern accent.

"Looks like Tommy likes you. Why don't you stay for dinner, honey?"

Ghostface (Billy Loomis)

It actually wasn't supposed to be you, tonight.

Billy sometimes ponders the thought of calling you, his hands tracing the scrap of paper with your number and his heart racing.

But never to kill you.

Billy's had a crush on you ever since you gave him that sweet smile in a Bio class years ago, and it's only grown as he matured. Stu pokes fun at him relentlessly - for his reputation of being a player, he sure is hesitant to go after the person he actually likes. Billy knows it's because it would feel real with you, and he isn't sure how far he would go off the deep end if you rejected him, if it was definite. No, he can't have that, so he'll approach you in his more confident persona.

You don't reject his call. You should, there's a killer on the loose and you're answering when a stranger calls? In a friend's house, he supposes, the environment may give you a false sense of security. Safety in numbers, right?

No one is safe from the Woodsboro killer, though, except the one he admires.

Your friend has a quick death after a brief meeting with Billy's knife, and then the killer comes for you. All exits were blocked, no windows, no doors, no weapons. Of course, he never intended to kill you, only to scare you a little, but you don't know that.

So as the robed figure looms over you, you take a leap of faith and press a kiss to the tip of their bloodstained boots. You look up, and Billy swears he's never seen anything more attractive in his life. He pulls you up, making sure you'll stay quiet with a knife to your throat, and covers your eyes.

He takes off his mask, and gives you a lingering kiss, cupping your face with pure tenderness. Billy is almost sad that you can't see the love in his eyes, with yours still covered, but it gives him a warm feeling as he wonders if you'll figure out who he is from this kiss alone.

He leaves you with red lips and a burning curiosity as to why you were spared.

Pinhead

You didn't open the box. Not intentionally, you didn't realise what you were doing. You certainly did not sign up for freaky BDSM demons coming to tear your soul apart, especially their leader, adorned in pins that segment his white flesh.

And, yeah, he's hot, but you do not plan to end up like that. You quite like your skin minus chains and pins. But that won't stop them; they'll kill you anyways, and you can't figure out how to send them back, how to get out of this hell dimension.

You don't hit on a genius idea, some stroke of luck or divine intervention is never bestowed upon you. It's complete and utter desperation that ends up granting you salvation.

In despair, accepting your inevitable death, you wish to go out with honour. You drop to your knees, and after lightly grasping his wrist, kiss the lead Cenobite's hand. Not in greeting, but in farewell.

"Well, my dear, you are interesting. I believe I'll keep you. Go on, run along home, before I change my mind."

His parting words leave your heart beating faster with the knowledge that he'll be back, and you think you'll enjoy it.

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hazbn-oneshots · 3 months

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Dancing Headcanons

Enjoy!!

Charlie:

Charlie loves to dance, that’s a given. With as strong as a passion that she has for singing, well it’s not really surprising when the two go together like milk and cookies.

Both a fan of freestyle dancing as well as more classical styles, she’ll grab your hand and pull you into a full Ballroom-Style Waltz before moving onto a lively two-step.

Speaking of the waltz, it’s one of her favorite dance styles. It makes her yearn for a day where she could throw a big party and just parade around the room, showing off just what kind of power couple is taking on Hell.

She mainly just likes to show you off, she’s very proud to call you her partner and she’d scream it from the rooftops if she could.Or even twirl you ‘round and ‘round an ornately decorated ballroom.

Until then she’ll settle for twirling you around in the dim light of your bedroom, singing quietly to the old record playing.

Vaggie:

Vaggie doesn’t know how to dance and it takes a lot of convincing and just a little bit of bribing for her to even entertain the idea of letting you show her some moves.

She’s relatively quick on the uptake, however, her background as a fighter serving her well to stay quick on her feet. She definitely takes to the livelier dances, absolutely loves to salsa and as soon as she hears the music she’s immediately tying her hair up.

Vaggie will never admit it to you but she looks forward to these moments with you, showing her whichever new dance you had practicing just to show her.

Lead her through a sultry tango and you’ll have her swooning in no time, although in the classic Vaggie fashion you’ve come to love. With a face brighter than the sun, if you even dare to try going for a kiss she’ll…. Well she may just let you have one ;)

Alastor:

Few may know but in the living world, Alastor lived quite a thriving social life and with that comes a little bit of knowledge when it comes to the dancefloor, be it old fashioned as it may.

He’ll be genuinely delighted if you’ll ask him to dance with you, probably one of the few times you see his forced grin slip into a more relaxed smile.

Alastor forces everyone to vacate the main floor of the hotel, after all, he would have nothing in the way of a perfect evening with his darling.

An evening complete with a custom outfit he’d had ordered for you from his tailor-only the best- and a shiny old phonograph that broadcast music that he was more familiar with himself.

And with you on that floor, he almost feels like his old self. It’s like the hotel fades away only to be replaced with the backdrop of the old club he’d frequent when he was still human. He’ll fox trot ‘till the morning comes, loves to Charleston, his smile never wavering one bit.

He only begins to slow when he notices you begin to slow, tripping on your feet with a newfound exhaustion. He’ll glide you to a stop, one hand on your lower back and the other holding one of your own.

"We’ll break for now dearest, wouldn’t want to take you out of the race”

You better take a breath and drink of water though because before you know it you’re swept away again

Husk:

He’s more of a watcher, truth be told. With his big ol feet and wings, he knows he’ll end up getting in the way so he prefers to keep his post behind the bar. It doesn’t bother him, not dancing anyway. These stupid little hang outs that Charlie organizes at the hotel bar piss him off beyond belief however.

Things typically go one of two ways. Either every resident of this forsaken hotel will completely disregard the invitation; Which never fails to upset the poor princess and leave her and Vaggie sulking on a couch.

Or, on rare nights such as tonight, a few residents will show up and sometimes it’ll fizzle out not long after everyone gathers.

Not tonight though.

You see, during your stay at the hotel you and Angel had come to become quite close and as such had decided to take it upon yourselves to liven everyone up a little. You pick the music though, Angel’s taste wasn’t awful but you feared sending Sir Pentious into a fit with the content.

You only try to ask Husk to dance once and his wordless response was but a chuckle.

"I don’t dance kid but, maybe next time” and if you catch the hint of fondness in his eye as he turns to put a glass away, you sure don’t mention it.

Angel Dust:

Sign him the fuck up, he doesn’t care what they put on, when it is, he just wants to grab his love bug and give them a spin.

He’s the type to remember certain reactions you’ll have to specific songs, making sure to add them to a special playlist reserved for you.

He even named it after you, adding little hearts and kissy faces next to your name.

Angel likes to break it put whenever you’re feeling down, even if you’re not fully up to a dance he’ll wrap you up in a gentle sway anyway.

Due to the height difference he’ll let you stand on his feet while he sways back and forth. Complete with little peck kisses on the head and face as well.

It’s not long before you’ve got your face buried in his chest, wondering what you did to deserve someone like him.

He’s gonna twerk on you at some point those, it’s inevitable. If the two of you are out on the town for a night, you can bet he’ll be dragging you to the liveliest club possible, eager to dance up on his honey

Requests are open!!

#hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #husk x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel x reader #charlie morningstar x reader #vaggie x reader #vaggie headcanons #angel dust headcanons #angel dust x reader #alastor headcanons #husk headcanons

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atlasnessie · 23 days

Text

please, don’t get rid of me so soon. wings of the devil — mini series

SYNOPSIS — how about, instead of trying to send the demon back to the underworld so quickly, you invite him as your plus one to your friends wedding ?

series masterlist tag list (open) — @cheriiyaya @kuro-chi69 @sleepykolya @kissesmellow21 @lilylylalil @willywokaa @malaikachan @amvpk01 @cookiechu18 @little-miss-chaoss @phoenix-eclipses @cocodrilofeliz @almond-t0fu

OSAMU DAZAI FELT OUT of place. despite standing in his full human form, handsome and beautifully disguised, he felt tense, uncomfortable. he leaned on the wall, watching humans mindlessly dancing their heart away, laughter and cheers filling the air.

dazai was at a wedding that you had been invited to. getting two invitations by the bride (then bride-to-be), he wanted to go. so, so badly. perhaps he could make a deal with another naive human, consume their soul whole and feel ecstasy again, even if it was just for a moment. everything he would do was carefully calculated in his head a few days before the wedding, even having a plan to woo and have a dance with you. but this wasn’t how he thought of it.

you were chatting with a few co-workers that had recognized you, sharing a drink and dragging you away. osamu dazai, however, was nothing more than a plus one. he doesn’t know anyone or anything. as he watches from a distance, the party lights seem all too bright and the women that constantly come up to him with lovesick eyes slowly become nothing more than a nuisance. neon blue lights shine over his eyes and, like lightening, you’re out of his sights.

the demon hesitates for a moment before he sighs, pushing himself off the wall and rubbing the corner of his eyes. bringing himself up and brushing any debris off his most nicest suit, he slyly grabs a champagne glass and going off to find you.

“you don’t talk much in the office, so i thought you wouldn’t be coming !” people laugh in agreement, covering their lips with a hand to hide their teeth. your face feels hot as you awkwardly laugh along, biting on the edge of the champagne glass as your eyes divert away. you wanted to get away, go home and sleep and forget this day had ever happened. you shouldn’t have listened to dazai, nor should you have even brought him here.

wait …

where is dazai ?

your eyes widen slightly in realization as you stare at the ground, feeling your heart drop to your stomach. your mind wanders off to what he could be doing. perhaps charming some young lady you haven’t spoken to before or trying to clog the toilet with various items. you needed to make up an excuse, fast.

“sorry, i need to —”

“there you are, dear !”

your eyes twitch slightly at the voice. speak of the devil. quiet literally.

you slowly turn your head then followed by your body to see dazai practically skipping over to you with a smile and champagne threatening to spill on the fancy church carpets. you could hear the whispers of co-workers wondering who this ever so handsome young man was and- the most important question of them all- if he was single.

“i’ve been looking all over for you. there’s a photo booth i’ve been dying to do with you.” dazai links his arms with yours and smiles down at you, followed by a wink that complimented his charming aura.

“ah, [name],” an older women started, startled by dazai’s charming and glowing looks. “who’s your friend ?”

you blink, unable to speak for a moment. what do you say ? a roommate ? a stranger you’ve never seen in your life ? a devil straight from hell with the goal of killing himself and (or) taking your soul down to the underworld ? as soon as you open your mouth, dazai cuts you off.

“boyfriend.”

“excuse me ?”

“i’m their boyfriend.” dazai says naturally with a matter-of-fact tone, as if the question was asked multiple times before. your arms tense up and your feet are stuck to the ground, legs feeling like jelly as your eyes twitch again.

what ?

what ?!

feeling your face redden at his words, you wave your hands around to dismiss the thought, hands sweaty and your mouth dry.

“n- no ! we aren’t ! he’s just, ah, uhm— he’s just a roommate !”

“you’re breaking my heart here, babe ! i know you love me.” dazai teased, emphasizing the pet name and acting offended, poking your cheeks with a finger. you can feel eyes on you, your co-workers looking at you then at each other. how curious, they never saw you as the type to be dating someone, nonetheless, someone this handsome ..!!

“well, i bet you’re all lovely people, i’m sure of it. but [name] and i have a photo booth to be at and i really don’t wanna miss it.” charming himself out of the situation, dazai drag you along with his arms, not letting you say your goodbyes. walking down the busy church halls, you quietly scold dazai, gritting your teeth as you trip around the carpet now and then.

“are you fucking stupid ? you can’t just say that ! why did you say that ?!” if you could, you would’ve used both arms to stop the demon, give him a good slap and get your car keys out. though, the champagne glass in one hand stopped you from doing so, and … dazai was oddly quiet.

“are you listening to me ? dazai ?”

the demon stops walking, causing you to bump into his shoulder. the booth was unoccupied and empty as dazai unraveled the curtains and pushed you inside without another word.

“hey, what is up with you ?” grabbing you by the shoulders, dazai sat you down on the plush of the small bench after closing the curtains. something was off, you knew it better than anyone else.

“is it the suit ? or the food ? do you not like it ?” dazai sits beside you, not moving a muscle. his shoulders are slumped as he zones out into your words. your voice drops into a softer tone, placing a hand on his arm. “if you wanna go home, just lemme know—”

“it’s not— ” the demon cuts himself off, looking into your eyes with a expression you haven’t seen on him before. his gaze is softer than usual, and his mouth is slightly open, as if he was going to continue.

“it’s not any of that. you just, y’know.” dazai turns to the screen, reading the words and tapping things he shouldn’t. placing a hand on top of his, you set the camera ready as the demon leans back and watches you.

“i’m your demon, y’know that, right ?”

“yeah, one that’s trying to either kill himself or my soul.” you could hear dazai chuckle at your tease, nudging you with a knee before crossing them.

“sure, sure. but i can’t have a bitter soul when i do take it away. those humans were making it bitter and that wouldn’t be satisfying to take.”

you hum in response before lean back, shoulder to shoulder with dazai. you point at the camera with a smile.

“we’ll take three photos. there’s gonna be a copy for both you and me ..!” you smile at dazai as the screen counted down from five. for a moment, dazai felt his non-existent heart beat. as your head turns to the camera to put on a bright smile, the demons eyes don’t leave yours.

shit, he thinks. the flash of the first picture is bright and snaps him out of his trance. the world becomes a haze as your lips move, brows furrowed slightly as you point at dazai’s lips and the only word he follows is ‘smile.’

the screen countdowns again from five, and dazai’s stomach drops.

shit, his mind goes again. by the time the screen flashes one, dazai wraps his arms around your shoulders, laughing suddenly and the camera flashes. his cheek is pressed against yours as he smiles brightly, eyes slit into crescent smiles. the third photo counts down, and you don’t even realize. you complain to the demon not to scare you like that, and dazai lifts his hands up in surrender. the lights flash again. one more picture. dazai was sure he’d make this one count.

fixing your hair as you two wait for the next countdown, you can feel cold hands brushing smaller strands of hair behind your ear. you look up at dazai and his eyes are unusually tender, soft and radiant.

“can i kiss you ?”

“what ?”

“can i kiss you ?” dazai asks again, grinning gently as your face grows red, feeling your ears burn. your eyes are wide and you don’t respond, you can’t. speechless, your lips are cracked open as you try to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. the final countdown arises, and the demons face is closer to yours, more than ever. as the screen glows with the number one, dazai gently kisses the corner of your lips, long enough for the camera to capture and short enough to not make the situation any more awkward than it is.

his lips are tender and sweet, the opposite of what you expected it’d be. a little chapped, but less than you thought. the first thought in your mind was the question of if he was teasing you, but the way he gently pulled away with half lidded eyes and a soft smile, the back of your mind hoped he wasn’t teasing. and, oh gods, your lips tingle as you silently watch dazai pull out the pair of photos, lined up nicely and small enough to put in your phone case.

“how adorable ! you can see your red face here !” dazai looks at the photos and point at the last photo taken as his lips on the corner of yours, laughing and handing you a copy. you want to punch him, throw him on the ground and leave. but …

something bubbles inside of you as you chuckle along with the demon. the silence is filled with laughter with nothing specific as the topic. you both subconsciously think, ‘how long as it been since i’ve laughed this hard about something so stupid ?’

#bungo stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bsd dazai #bungo stray dogs dazai #osamu dazai #dazai x reader #dazai x you #osamu dazai x reader #atlas writes !

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tlouadditc · 9 months

Text

hate to hate you.

enemies to lovers abby x reader.

a/n: this was an ask but i forgot to put this under it 😭 anyway thank u anon for asking!! this was so fun to write tbh and also i am not a nursing student so idk how any of this works .... hope you enjoy anyway :,) also might write a pt. 2 depending on how this one does!

warnings: 18+/MDNI, men dni either, mean!abby [kinda], super fem!reader, abby's a bully :,((, switch!abby, switch!reader, clothed grinding [?], oral [a!receiving], dirty talk ;), pussy slaps [?], rushed ending because im crocheting, probably more. NOT PROOFREAD AGAIN.

abby has been your rival since middle school. she was always making fun of you- could be how you had lower grades [by a couple points, to be specific], how you always dressed in pink and in skirts and were a "tryhard", literally anything. hell, when she found out you were interested in nursing, she made it a competition to see who could be the better doctor. eventually, the amount of taunting had gotten to you and you started dressing like everyone else and becoming a quieter person.

ever since then, there's been some silent tension between you two. it was stupid, of course, but neither of you made an effort to end the rivalry. every class you had together in high school was a competition to see who could participate the most, get the most praise from the teacher, highest grades- everything. but no matter what you did, you'd always be second to her. once senior year was over, you were free from this hell and decided to finally be your true self in college.

or so you thought.

it was your first day of freshman year. you were doing your makeup in your bathroom, trying to calm your nerves. you've done this multiple times before, you thought to yourself. why am i still nervous??

you were adding little finishes- a bit more blush, curling your lashes one more time, adding a bit of glitter to your inner corner, etc. you check the time: 8:03am. class starts in 20 minutes, and you have to walk! you quickly check your outfit, straightening out your pink skirt and grabbing your bag before leaving out.

the walk to class isn't bad; a little confusing, but there's staff around to help direct new students, so you easily find your class. you walk in as soon as the class starts. to your horror, all the seats in the front are taken. the professor stops her introduction and walks over to you to speak. "hi, you must be y/n? you're a tad late, but it is your first time here, so i'll let you have a pass. your seat is in the back corner next to ms. anderson."

anderson...? your smile fades as you look towards the seat the teacher is pointing at. there she is- sitting there with her smug smirk and her always-braided hair. fuck my life actually. you turn back to the teacher, crack a small smile, and nervously walk over to your seat.

"didn't think you'd see me, huh?" is the first thing that comes out of abby's mouth, her big smile growing wider after seeing the dread on your face. all you can do is glare at her and get your things out. as you rummage through your bag, you hear the professor say:

"the person you are currently sitting with will be your partner for the semester."

you've LITERALLY have to be joking. the girl who's been borderline bullying you for years is your partner for the rest of the semester?? you debate asking the teacher to change seats, but decide against it.

"can't believe im stuck with you," she mutters, mocking the disbelief on your face. "shut up, abby," you hiss, trying to keep your voice down.

this was gonna be quite a year, huh?

abby was unbearable the entire class. always asking useless fucking questions, moving her braid from one side to another- it all annoyed the fuck out of you. however, to pass this class, you had to work with her and put your feelings aside.

the first assignment was to study and review the human anatomy with your partner. the test on the subject was in a couple of days, making it the first grade of the semester. everyone else in the class was easily discussing plans for studying while you and abby made a horrible attempt for friendly small talk.

"so.. we have a test-"

"i heard."

"goddamnit, abby, i'm trying to pass this class. can you be nice for once?"

"stop staring at me like that and maybe i will."

"i wasn't even- [sigh] just give me your number so we can figure out a time and place. please."

and with that, you two later that night made the plan to meet up at your apartment and study there the next day.

the next day

you spent most of your morning doing your usual routine; cleaning, listening to your podcast, organizing your things- basically a mini-spa day. since abby was coming over, you didn't want to give her any reason to ridicule your space. you also debated on wearing some bland outfit to avoid the bicker, but ultimately decided you shouldn't care anymore. you settled on something casual; a floral tube top, a pink cardigan, and some comfy shorts to match the top. you also threw on some pink bunny slippers to match the ribbons in your hair.

as you finished the kitchen, the doorbell rang. must be abby. you walk to the door, slowly losing your happiness as you turned the doornob. upon opening the door, you see abby, leaning against your doorframe. she's dressed in a black wifebeater and gray sweats. she has a small tote bag and headphones around her neck.

as you study her look, she does the same to you. you suddenly feel small in comparison to her; almost feeling weak in her presence. if you were honest with yourself, in all the annoyance that you felt toward her, you could admit she was hot. she was your lesbian awakening, if you were 100% honest. but since she didn't like you, you suppressed all feelings.

"someone got dressed up," she teases, looking you up and down. "this is just how i dress," you say, rolling your eyes. "come in."

an hour later, you and abby are sitting on your couch, going over flashcards for the test. abby has her information down, of course- you keep missing the same two vocab words.

"you dumbass," she laughs, watching you pout over missing the same word for the 4th time in a row.

"this is so annoying," you say, burying your head in your hands. the frustration you feel is so intense, you feel tears well up in your eyes. you attempt to hide it as abby continues to laugh, but a sniffle gives you away.

"are you- there's no way you're crying right now," abby says, genuine disbelief in her voice. "don't be a crybaby, bun. you can get it."

bun.. ?? what the hell? she's being... nice? no fucking way.

you lift your head, tears running down your face, messing up your makeup as you wipe your face with your hands. abby analyzes your face before sitting back on the couch. she pats her thigh, "c'mere, let me help."

okay, this has to be a dream.

you hesitantly get off your side of the couch and sit on her lap. almost immediately, you feel the warmth radiating off her body, making you shiver a bit. she chuckles lightly, "what, are you scared or somethin'? just trying to help you since you clearly need it." you're still wiping your face, too busy to rebuttal.

she begins to explain. "so, these two are similar, but they aren't the same thing. y'know why? because this one.."

all you can focus on is the amount of contact you two have right now: her right hand slightly touching your inner thigh. her abs resting against your back. her voice, soothing and calming, in your ears. the scent of pine and clean laundry filling your nose. you knew it was wrong, but fuck, you were wet. there was probably a puddle under you by now.

"uh, y/n? you there?"

you snap out of your slutty daze, realizing you're supposed to be listening. "mm, what? can you explain that, uh, again, please?"

she laughs, putting the cards on the coffee table in front of you two. "i'm sitting right here, trying to teach you and you still can't focus that pretty little head on this? god, what am i gonna do with you?"

you turn slightly, face to face with abby. her piercing blue eyes study yours, searching for something. you don't know what comes over you, but you completely turn to face her, move your hands to the sides of her face, and kiss her.

she immediately kisses back, hands finding comfort on the top of your hips. she falls back on the couch, lips still connected as you straddle her lap. you can feel the passion, intent with every kiss you give her. her strong hands push your hips onto hers, grinding through her sweats. a soft moan leaves your lips, giving her the opportunity to insert her tongue into your mouth and deepen the kiss.

you pull back, catching your breath as abby continues to make your hips roll onto hers. "you know how long- hah- i've wanted to do this to you?" she breathes, eyes moving from where you two meet to your flustered face.

you look at her, eyes wide. ".. what?"

"i've wanted to kiss you for forever. wanted to have you close like this. wanted to fuck you. everything." shes now completely focused of your face, trying to read your expression.

"i thought you hated me." you're so confused, you don't know whether to cry, smile, get angry, or whatever.

"fuck- i didn't mean to, i'm sorry," she's desperate, her hands moving to your cheeks to bring you back to her face. "let me make it up to you, yeah?"

after a while, she moves her hand to cup your throbbing cunt, earning a whimper from you. "you're so fucking wet, shit," she hisses, feeling the wet spot on your cotton pink shorts. "who's this for? hm?"

the embarrassment takes over you, making you pitifully whimper as you cover your face. she's quick to swat your hand away and ask in a more demanding voice, "who made you this wet, baby?"

"y-you," you manage to choke out, subconsciously grinding into her hand. she smirks, "good girl."

the praise catches you by surprise, not to mention the way her palm accidentally catches your clothed clit. a soft moan leaves your mouth, feeding into the power dynamic between you two. "oh, you like that name, huh?" she whispers, keeping eye contact with you as she rubs your clothed cunt. "you wanna be my good girl?"

"yes, oh my god-" you're chasing your high, overwhelmed by all the feelings you feel. she hums in response, clearly satisfied by your state. she moves a hand to your face, inserting a thumb into your mouth. you suck on her thumb, moaning around it as your hips stutter against her palm. "you gonna cum f'me, bun?" she coos, not slowing down at all. all you can do is nod, too caught up in the knots forming in your abdomen. "go ahead, pretty girl. cum for mommy."

the name pushes you over the edge, making you clench around nothing in your shorts. abby still has her hand over your cunt, feeling the wet spot grow as you pitifully moan. she talks you through your orgasm, mostly praising you for how good you are to her.

as you catch your breath, she removes her thumb from your mouth and peppers small kisses across your cheeks, releasing small praise in between. once you come to your senses, she's still under you, chuckling at your fucked out state. she mutters something along the lines of 'you're so cute' before you start to giggle with her.

you accidentally grind against her while laughing, making abby whine. you immediately realize you haven't helped her at all, making you guilty. you reach a hand down to her heat, feeling her warm cunt under her sweats. she hisses, hips bucking up onto your fingers. you get up and stand in front of her.

"sit up," you say, catching abby by surprise. she hesitantly sits up, looking suspiciously at you. "what for?" she questions, side eyeing you. you chuckle as you kneel in front of her, placing hands on her strong thighs. you reach a hand up to the band of her bottoms, signaling for them to come off. "m' gonna help you."

if her boxers weren't already soaked, they definitely were now. her face heats up as she shyly takes off her sweats, leaving her in just her wifebeater and undergarments. she puts her knees up to her chest, looking away as you assess the wet patch on her boxers.

"i make you this wet, abs?" you say quietly, pointer finger tracing her slit. she slightly gasps at the contact, slightly nodding to answer your question. "use your words. i know you can do it."

"you do, clearly. you've made me this horny for you for years, so yeah." she's being a brat, acting like she's in charge! you give her cunt a small slap, a small surprised moan leaving her lips.

"act like a brat, get treated like one." she stares at you, surprised that you went from such a submissive state to a dominant persona. you tease her, feeling her sensitive bud through her boxers. she whimpers, gripping onto the couch for any stability. "i think it's about time we get these off," you pull at the top of her boxers, "don't you think?"

she immediately gets up and takes them off, sitting back on the couch. she sits and moves her hips to the edge of the couch to reveal her cunt, glistening with slick. you study her sopping cunt, making her nervous under your gaze. "not so cocky now, hm?" you tease, making her face heat up as she huffs and puffs.

"please t-touch me," she almost whispers, barely able to be heard. you could've let up from here, but you don't.

"what was that? i'm gonna need you to be a bit louder, babe."

she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, swallowing her pride. "please touch me," she musters out.

she was such a pretty site to see, how could you possibly deny her? "okay, baby."

you spread her lips apart, revealing her swollen, sensitive clit. she shudders, cold air meeting her core. she's not sure what to expect until you dip your head down and place a flat tongue on her heat, making her gasp.

her reaction makes you smile; you quickly latch onto her clit and suck, still watching her reaction. she throws her head back, moaning loudly.

"oh, you like that," you say, quickly going back to placing kitten licks onto her cunt. she's overwhelmed with pleasure, loud moans and groans leaving her mouth. when you decide to insert your middle finger into her heat, she's going over the edge, babbling your name and please's. her hand comes down and grips the back of your head, pushing your face deeper into her pussy.

her sounds get you wet all over again, making you moan into her pussy. "s-shit, m' cumming- oh, fuck," she cries, gripping your hair and pulling you closer than ever to her as her heat clenches around your finger. tears are streaming down her face as you continue to lap up her juices. after she catches her breath, you pull her into a sloppy kiss, sharing her fluids in between you two.

"shit," she breathes, pulling away from the kiss, "i'm gonna have to fuck you harder next time."

"next time? oh, we're already making dates?"

"yeah, we're gonna have multiple assignments like this later."

you both laugh and get cleaned up before cuddling on your couch and sleeping in each others arms. :,)

taglist [if you're striked out, i can't tag you!!]: @ellabsweet @digit4lslut @macaroni676 @mostlyhornyandsad @yorlenybaires @Pigwideon

#tlouadditc #abby anderson smut #the last of us smut #abby anderson #abby fluff #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #tlou smut #brook speaks.. i think #this was so fun to write

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daechwitatamic · 2 months

Text

Of Ruin: Chapter 16 || KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕

Section Warnings: ig major character death but that’s kind of a technicality, vampire biting, blood drinking, vampire biting, fangwarming??? lmfao, fluff, what i hope is a plot twist lol wc: 5.1k

The passage behind the thrones leads to a corridor not far from Taehyung’s wing. It’s close to the section of rooms that are meant to be yours now. Yours, for your new life as an Infracti. For your new life as the King’s sperasa, until you become Queen.

You’d agreed that doing the ritual in your wing would be best, so that they won’t have to transport you - newly turned, probably unconscious - through the palace.

You are afraid.

You let yourself feel it, don’t deny yourself the right to float in the crawling sensation of terror clawing its way up from your stomach. Taehyung’s hand in yours can’t dispel it. Your pride in him and your love for him, mighty as they are, can’t dispel it.

You’ve become accustomed to fear in your time here. You press on.

In your main room, still unfamiliar to you, Taehyung holds you close, one hand on the back of your head and the other around your waist. You let him hold you, close your eyes.

“Brave,” he whispers.

“I don’t feel very brave,” you admit quietly.

A knock on the door comes and the Queen enters, followed by Jimin. Behind him is Seokjin of Score, and Namjoon. Taehyung arranged all of this once you and Dr. Kim had explained what would be needed.

Namjoon finds you and approaches, face solemn.

“You ready?” he asks quietly as you look over the written countercurse together.

“Have to be,” you say. “Are you?”

He nods. “We can do this,” he asserts.

“And then you get to go home,” you say.

He nods, looking up at you from the parchment. “I’m going as soon as we can confirm it worked,” he tells you, a bit of apology in his tone. Like he’s sorry he isn’t staying with you - even though there’s no way he could.

“Good,” you say, meaning it. “Tell your grandfather… Thank you for everything. And… Thank you, too. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

“It was an honor,” he says, quietly, then adds, “I’m grateful, too.”

You feel yourself choking up, and you will it away. You need to be clear-headed, professional. There isn’t room for this - not now. You’ll have to be sad later. Still, you tell him, “I hope I can come see you both soon. I’ll try - as soon as I’m able to be around humans.”

He smiles sadly. “Don’t come until you’re sure you won’t eat us.”

“I promise,” you say, smiling a little.

He regards you seriously again. Behind him, Taehyung seems to be organizing the items you’d asked for, going over the directions again. Namjoon says, “This might be goodbye for a while, huh?”

“If the countercurse works,” you agree.

You both seem to hover on the precipice of a hug goodbye. In the end, he gives you a final clap on the shoulder, and then the plan is lurching into motion around you.

The Queen has the things you need - the metronome, a jar of ashes.

You set the metronome to a slow rate, and then usher everyone into place in the open space of the room. Then, you sprinkle the ashes in a perfect circle around the group, locking you in with the magic. No one speaks. They just watch you work, ranging from curious to subdued.

When the circle is perfect, you pull out the parchment with the countercurse and explain one last time.

“This is the point, right here,” you say, pointing and showing the paper around the group of Infracti, “when Namjoon will take over the incantation. The ashes will keep the magic close-by, but you need to close the circle as quickly as possible or we’ll lose the connection.”

“We’ve got it,” Seokjin assures you, steady. “Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” you say, pulse thundering. You wish there was anything you could do to stall. You wish there was a blanket you could pull over your head. You wish there was someone from the future who could come tell you that everything would work out, that things would go as you intend.

“If anything goes wrong,” you add, “break contact as fast as you can, and break the circle of ashes to let the magic out. The quicker the better.”

It is the Queen - though, she is not that anymore, now that her son has been crowned - who lays a cool hand on your arm.

“Nothing will go wrong,” she tells you evenly. “We are all here beside you.”

You nod, wordless.

“I’m going to start, then,” you say, but you have to clear your throat once to make it audible.

You mutter a spell you’d looked up just for this, and your parchment obeys the command, hovering mid-air between you and Namjoon, supported by nothing. Namjoon stands to your right and the Queen to your left, and you press your palms to theirs. With everyone in place, you make a perfect circle, with Taehyung straight across.

“Breathe with the beat of the metronome,” you instruct. “Inhale… exhale…”

You breathe in time with everyone around you until you feel your magic rise up, flowing out to mingle with theirs. It takes some time before you feel ready to start the incantations; with Taehyung all the way across the circle it takes a few minutes before you feel his magical signature touch yours through the flow of everyone else’s. But it is unmistakable when he does, the warmth and belonging that accompany the sensation couldn’t be from anyone else.

When you feel like your magic and his are secure, thoroughly immersed with each other, you begin the incantation. You speak slowly and carefully, feeling the familiar sensation of the curse beginning to untangle. You keep your eyes on the page, try not to get distracted by the others.

There is no room for error - you can’t die twice.

There is no snag this time, no pull behind your navel that tells you the curse is fighting back. When you say your last line, you take your hands from those next to you and step into the circle.

Across from you, Taehyung steps forward too.

Around you, the remaining four step closer and fill the gaps you’d left behind, their hands meeting to close a small circle around you and Taehyung. Namjoon’s deep voice picks up the incantation where you left off. He’s borrowing, pulling magic from the Queen and from Jimin, who flank him.

You meet Taehyung’s eyes. Your heart is in your throat. There is so much you want to say to him. That you love him. That you trust him. That he’s worth this sacrifice.

You can’t speak, though, not during the incantation. Instead, you step close to him, breathe him in, and let him envelop you.

He wraps his arms around you, just as he had before everyone else had entered your rooms. He would have to hold tight, he’d warned you, to keep you from moving too much when your body began to instinctively fight him. And then, after, to hold you up when your legs inevitably give out.

He’d also warned you it would hurt.

You are afraid.

You are afraid, but Taehyung is cradling you between his arms like you are precious, so you take a breath and nod.

Taehyung leans down and nuzzles the spot on your neck that he tends to favor. You stifle your cry when his fangs puncture you, letting out a mangled groan of agony through gritted teeth. You’re glad for his inhuman hold around your back, because your knees do go weak for a moment before you will them back into compliance.

There is no pulling sensation, and no welcome rush of venom. Instead, Taehyung’s hands tighten around you like a warning and then the location of his bite goes white hot.

You hear yourself scream.

The heat spreads, up your neck, down your chest. Your eyes roll back, your throat rasps as your scream continues. Your legs give out, useless beneath you.

You feel yourself start to fight, hands clawing at Taehyung’s sides, body beginning to twist and tug. Taehyung’s hold is true, and you get nowhere. Your lungs burn and your scream dies to a whimper before starting anew after you drag in a breath.

Everything is on fire - from head to toe you are aflame. Your muscles strain to aching as your body tries and tries to wrench itself away from the pain.

Darkness creeps in the edge of your unfocused vision as you kick fruitlessly at Taehyung’s immoveable legs. You hear yourself gasping out sobs between shrieks of pain. You can see less and less, the black swirling at the edges of your vision taking over by the second.

Before the darkness closes in on you, you will yourself to focus, choke down the next scream that crawls up your throat.

You want to see him. You want to see him before you die.

Your eyes fight to find him against the blurriness, and you blink away tears. His mouth is wet with your blood and his cheeks are wet with tears, but when he sees you looking at him, he presses his forehead to yours, and his hands on your back unclench and soothe up and down instead.

There he is, you think. My King. My love. And then you let the darkness come.

—

Taehyung looks around the meeting room, then closes his eyes and rubs a hand down his face.

His cabinet, a mix of his father’s people and some of his own, wait him out.

“Three weeks,” he repeats hollowly.

The Infracti he directs that at nods. “Yes, Maiesti. The council needs time to deliberate. This is, as you know, a bit unprecedented.”

Taehyung purses his lips. It’s true; never before has a King - or former King, technically - been put to trial. Dethroned, murdered, cast away - yes. But not like this - a trial, a ruling of guilt, a council deliberating on what sentence he should serve. A sentencing that could take nearly a month, apparently.

“Very well,” Taehyung frowns. “And what of the other trials?”

An uneasy look passes through the room.

Taehyung sighs. “I asked for this myself,” he points out. “You don’t need to be afraid to talk to me about it.”

A woman at the table inclines her head in deference to her king. “Your trial has been scheduled the week after your father’s sentencing. We thought we ought to give you time to help your sperasa recover.”

That’s where Taehyung would rather be right now, in your dark rooms with you, and everyone in his cabinet knows it.

“Thoughtful,” he murmurs, because it is, because it’s not his cabinet’s fault that he murdered innocent humans while under the power of the curse, not their fault that he wants to answer for it.

“Hoseok and I will be fully prepared to represent your defense by then,” a dark-haired Infracti seated near Jin tells him. “I’m confident in our outcome.”

They move on to discuss the third trial - Seokjin’s father, the leader of the Scores. Seokjin listens politely, but the tips of his ears go red until the topic changes.

Taehyung ticks the trials off in his head, all three, ducks in a row.

“Let’s meet in four days’ time,” Taehyung suggests, glancing around to see if anyone objects. “The trials were my first order of business, but we have a lot of work to do restructuring things around here.”

Everyone at the table nods, and once Taehyung gives a few cabinet members specific directions for tasks to handle in the next week, they disperse.

“Off to see your feral beast?” Jimin teases, as he and Taehyung follow the trickle of people out into the corridor.

Taehyung can’t help but grin, big and boxy. “I like her like this. I’ll almost be sad when she settles down again.”

Jimin laughs at this. “It’s only been a week since you turned her. You have at least another week or two before she calms down.”

Taehyung’s expression slides into a grimace. “Hopefully I’ll still be around once she’s settled and not rotting in the palace prison.”

Jimin’s face goes unreadably blank. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” he says, suddenly somber and quiet. “You’re the King. You could call it off - no one could say anything.”

Taehyung shakes his head. “I need to.”

Jimin purses his full lips at him, but doesn’t retort. Taehyung thinks that Jimin understands, even if he doesn’t like it.

“Yoongi will defend you well,” he says finally. “I’m sure the sentencing will be light.”

“I want the sentencing to be fair,” Taehyung says petulantly. “That’s the whole point.”

“It will be,” Jimin argues. “You were cursed. No one is going to hold that against you.”

Taehyung twists his mouth but doesn’t address this. They’ve been walking as they talk, and they near the doors that lead to your rooms. They’re heavily guarded - Taehyung counts seven Infracti but he knows there are more - mostly to keep you inside.

Jimin tells him goodbye, and the guards move to let him enter. He’s careful to slip through the crack in the doors quickly; the guards are careful to be ready, just in case you get through.

Your rooms are dark, the lamps all unlit, the heavy curtains closed and drowning out any sunlight that might filter through. Normally, Taehyung might expect you to have a fire crackling in the hearth, but part of turning includes several days of unbearable heat, and he’s not sure you’re past that yet.

You come out of nowhere, slamming into him from the shadows to his left, and Taehyung lets himself get knocked to the ground, landing squarely on his ass.

“Ouch,” he says, pouting at you.

Straddling him, rearing back so he can see the column of your throat working in the darkness, you curl back your upper lip, bare your brand-new fangs at him and snarl, the sound snapping and cutting.

He grins. He loves you like this. It makes him feel proud.

“What is it you need, my Queen?” he teases.

Your scowl at him, fangs hanging over your lower lip; you haven’t mastered putting them away yet, and Taehyung thinks it’s the damn cutest thing in the world.

“Drink,” you say, a demand.

“Are you thirsty?” he coos. Your scowl deepens. He knows your consciousness is cloudy right now, a haze of thirst and want and heat obscuring your finer thinking. But you’re in there, behind the haze, and each day a bit more of you shines through.

“Drink,” you insist again, petulantly.

He wishes he could take you hunting - deer, maybe even a bear. He’d loved to see you in action - he has no doubt you’d be a formidable predator, and it sends a thrill through him. But it would be too dangerous; if they happened across a human, you’d have no control. Not yet.

Maybe someday.

Instead, Taehyung flips you without warning, laying his body heavy over yours. You begin thrashing immediately, snarls rolling through you like seismic activity, but he’s stronger and he manages to hold you in place.

He gives a sharp whistle and your doors open. Your thrashing intensifies as you see an escape route, but the guards who wheel in two carts are quick, and soon enough the doors are shut again. Taehyung lets you up, and you skitter to the door, hands working at the knobs. They don’t budge.

You whirl around, looking at him furiously.

“Look,” he says happily, unphased by your anger, “they brought you drinks!”

Eyes narrowed suspiciously, you peer at the carts. There are a few items of blood-food, but unsurprisingly you pass them over. There are carafes of dark liquid, and if you wanted you could just drink. But Taehyung knows what your body is craving - just blood won’t be enough to sate you. Your fangs are tingling, itching to pierce, itching for warmth. You won’t feel better until that need is met, too.

The bags, just big enough to be cradled between two hands, are simply called Prey - a little joke by their inventor, none other than Jimin. They were created for newly-turned Infracti, meant to satisfy both needs at once. The pouch is not real skin, though it feels close enough. The blood inside is real.

You hold one between your hands, claws digging in like it might escape, and bring it to your mouth, piercing the pouch and beginning to drink. You let out a happy little sigh, and Taehyung comes to wrap his arms around you from behind.

“There,” he soothes. “Drink all you need. You’ll feel better.”

You work through three pouches before you stop, dropping the deflated Prey onto the cart it came from and turning to Taehyung with wide eyes, and the cutest fang-adorned pout.

“What is it, my love?” he murmurs, brushing a hand over the top of your head soothingly. “Don’t you feel better now that you’ve had some to drink?”

You nod, then reconsider, frowning and shaking your head.

“What’s not better?” he asks, moving to pull you into a standing cuddle.

Your frown deepens and you raise a hand and rub at your mouth, fingers sliding along your protruding fangs with a squeak.

“They hurt?” he asks sympathetically.

“Bite,” you mumble around your pout.

“Alright,” he tells you. “Let’s get comfortable.”

You loop your arms around his neck, and he takes a second to smile into your hair, holding you close. He likes you like this, too driven by your needs to be proud. He likes that you need him, that you want him, that the part of your brain that might make you pretend otherwise, or at least act like it’s less, is currently silenced by your bloodlust.

He lifts you, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you deeper into your wing, seeking out your bedroom. The blankets are rumpled, half-thrown on the ground, like you’d tried to sleep but had eventually kicked the blankets off and gotten up to pace, instead.

That’s probably exactly what happened.

He settles back against the pillows and you straddle him, arms still around his neck. You bury your face against his chest and whine.

“I know,” he tells you, rubbing a hand up your back. You hiss at the contact, pulling away from where you’d been hiding your face.

“Hurts,” you complain.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, trying to touch more gently. He knows your muscles are sore, skin hot to the touch as your body adjusts. “You can bite if you need to bite.”

“You sure?” you ask, and Taehyung notes that it’s one of your first multi-word utterances. A sign that you’re making progress, coming out of the fog a little.

“I’m sure,” he tells you.

You nose at his neck, and he strokes lightly down your back until you find a spot you like.

It’s only a sting when you pierce the skin of his shoulder, over his deltoid, for which he’s thankful. You don’t drink - sangru can’t be ingested - but leave your sore, sensitive fangs buried in his flesh. You wrap yourself around him even tighter, settling in and closing your eyes as you feel relief for the first time all day.

Taehyung tries hard to hold still so he doesn’t knock you loose. He’s glad he can do this for you, help ease your way.

He still finds it incomprehensible that you’d give up your human life for him. He holds still, and he whispers to you that it’ll get better soon, that Potato misses you, that he loves you.

After a while, he feels your breathing even out. He shifts gently, wincing as your fangs slip from his shoulder, the wounds starting to ooze tar-black sangru. Unbothered, he moves you gently into a more comfortable sleeping position, smiling when you hum in your sleep. Then, even though he’s slept all night ever since the curse was undone, he closes his eyes and lets himself drift away with you in his arms.

—

You lay still when you awaken, slowly taking inventory of each thing that hurts. Your head isn’t pounding - that’s a first, since the night Taehyung had turned you. You flex your fingers, roll your shoulders, stretch your legs towards the end of the bed. Things are stiff, but not painful the way they’d be the last few times you’d woken.

You rise gingerly, making your way to the windows, drawing back the curtains and filling the room with light. You blink against it, letting your eyes adjust.

You’re in your own rooms, your new wing in the palace. You wander from room to room absently, trying to familiarize yourself. You feel a little lost, a little out of place. You hadn’t inhabited these rooms for long before turning, and now you’ve been out of it for so long that you don’t even know what day it is.

You’re standing in the middle of the main room - with couches and an unlit hearth, just like Taehyung’s wing - staring absently at nothing when one of your tall doors cracks open.

You almost sag with relief when you see Satuel peek her head inside.

“Hi,” you breathe, deflating.

“You’re up,” she says, sounding a bit surprised. “It’s harder to keep track of you now that I can’t hear your heartbeat from outside.”

This makes you smile. “What day is it?”

She tells you as she comes inside, and you start counting on your fingers. Almost three weeks to the day since you’d performed Taehyung’s countercurse.

“Can I get you anything, Maiesti?” she asks.

You feel your face heat. “You shouldn’t call me that,” you say, a bit aghast. Your voice is rough from disuse. “I’m only Prince Taehyung’s sperasa.”

“You will be Queen soon enough,” she says in that cool, even way of hers. “What can I bring for you?”

You hesitate. “I’m very thirsty,” you admit.

She gives you a quick bow and retreats, and you sink into a chair, a bit dazed. Now that you’re noticed it, the thirst is powerful, and you find it hard to think about anything else.

Satuel doesn’t leave you suffering for long. She returns with a cart full of options - pitchers, Prey, and various pastries that must be blood-food.

You choose the pouches, the Prey, since they relieve both the thirst and the tingling need to bite. Though, you notice absently, the tingling isn’t so bad today.

While you drink, Satuel catches you up on what you’ve missed - the former King’s guilty verdict, Seokjin’s father’s trial underway, Taehyung’s own trial impending. Word that Namjoon made it back, that he’s doing fine settling back into his old life. That Taehyung has been here every day, helping you adjust, in between meetings with his new cabinet.

“Maiesti will be pleased to see you feeling more like yourself,” she notes.

“Do you think he’ll be long?” you ask, a bit wistfully.

Satuel gives you a knowing smile. “I think if I tell him you’re awake - really awake - he’ll leave his cabinet mid-meeting to come dote on you.”

You flush.

“Should I inform him?” Satuel asks, almost teasingly.

You wonder if, somehow, she has ended up as your friend.

You hesitate. “Could I… go see him? I’d really like a walk.”

You clean up before you go, and you’re pleased to find that you remember your way through the palace from these new rooms. It’s startling to walk down the corridor - your gait is awkward, your legs wanting to go faster than your brain thinks they can. But, of course, your brain is wrong - it needs time to catch up to what your body can do now.

You pause at the door of Taehyung’s meeting room, listening.

“I just think,” Seokjin is saying, somewhat hotly, “that there needs to be some weighting to the representation. The great houses should have more say than the lesser houses. We’re the ones here doing the work, we’re the ones here solving problems. The lesser houses can have a representative, but court families should have more.”

“I disagree,” someone else says, their tone carefully polite. “Beginning this new venture with an imbalance of power will only invite trouble. The lesser houses will be resentful from the beginning. It could brew into conflict. We don’t want to replace one monarch with a group of monarchs. Your Majesty, you wanted equality across Infracticus - that means you must start with equal.”

“You both make valid points,” Taehyung muses. “How do we decide? Should we vote?”

You step into the room. A few cabinet members look up, eyes widening. Another does a double take, at first deeming you unimportant and then looking again when they register who you are.

Taehyung lets out a noise like a laugh, a smile breaking across his face. “My love!” he cries. “You’re well?”

“I know my name today,” you tell him. “So that’s something, right?”

He starts to push his chair back, but you raise a hand to stop him. He halts mid-motion, clearly confused.

“What if you appointed representation by breaking up the land instead of by house?” you suggest, jumping uninvited into the conversation you’d interrupted. “I’ve seen it done that way above - it works, more or less. Then it doesn’t boil down to do the Runes get one or two, it would simply be that the Runes living in a designated area have the same representative as anyone else who lives there, too.”

Taehyung’s smile, if possible, triples in size. He finishes standing, pushing his chair away. He points at Seokjin mirthfully. “Discuss this suggestion in my absence,” he commands. “My Queen requires my attention now.”

Out in the hall, he sweeps you into a hug, swinging you in a circle. You laugh, slapping half-heartedly at him until he sets you down.

“You,” he says, “are the bravest, smartest, most beautiful Queen Infracticus has ever seen.”

“I’m not Queen yet,” you point out.

“We’ll start planning today,” he says, and then falters. “That is… if you want. I didn’t mean to rush you. I just got excited.”

You can’t help but smile, slipping a hand into his. “No,” you say shyly. “I do… want. Should we wait, though - for after your trial?”

He sobers. “Yoongi thinks it’ll be over in a day,” he says quietly, not meeting your gaze now. You squeeze his hand, reminding him that he’s not alone in this. “The Elders will testify that I was cursed… Namjoon is willing to testify as well… some of my guards, who kept me in my rooms…”

“I could, too,” you offer.

He nods, but it doesn’t seem like he’s saying yes. “If it comes to that,” he hedges. “But, like I said, Yoongi doesn’t think it’ll be much of a case. I’ll be relieved when it’s over, either way.” He shoots you a conspiratorial look. “And then, yes, we can start planning our events.”

“Events?” you echo.

“Wedding,” he ticks off on his fingers. “And then we’ll have to have a coronation for you.”

“I’d rather do it all in one go,” you admit. “I don’t like being the center of attention.”

He smiles indulgently at you. “You’ll get used to it,” he says. “If it helps, from now on, it will never just be you in the center, at least not alone. Wherever you go, you’ll always have me.”

And it does. It does help.

—

“Come on!” Taehyung’s voice is boyish, downright gleeful, as you struggle to keep up with his long legs.

“Where are we going?” you call to him, but your voice is lost by a strong ocean breeze, the sound carried away and drowned beneath the cries of the gulls and the crashing of waves.

In truth, you’re going slow on purpose, trying to savor this: the ocean you get to live beside, Taehyung laughing and carefree in a way you’ve never seen before, a sense that you belong right here.

It’s hard to wrap your brain around the truth that you don’t need to savor it, don’t need to make it last - you’ll have more time here than you can imagine.

Then, you recognize the stone steps he’s bounding down. He’s taking you to his stables.

“Potato missed me too much?” you tease, finally catching up. He grins at you in response.

Inside the stable, he tugs you past Potato’s stall, giving her a quick pat on the nose as he goes.

“Ta-da!” he crows, leaning over the wooden door to the stall, peering down into the space below. You follow his gaze and gasp, hands flying to your face.

“Taehyung!” you shriek. “No way!”

“You’ll scare her!” he chides, but he’s laughing, reaching to unlatch the door so you can properly meet the baby amarisca that stands in the stall. Her coat is royal blue, her hooves navy, and her eyes as black as Taehyung’s.

You sit on the ground and let her come to you, trying hard not to squeal and scare her even though you’re absolutely vibrating with excitement.

“I can’t believe you did this for me,” you all but sob, so happy you’re almost incoherent.

“You need to name her,” he points out, sitting down next to you, hay and dirt be damned.

“Noodle,” you say immediately. “Her name is Regency’s Noodle. Taehyung, oh my god!”

You almost lose it again when she presses her nose into your hand, and Taehyung beams, his smile as bright as the sun.

You’ve come a long way in your transition. You can go almost the whole day without drinking, mostly needing one end-of-day “meal” (four or five Prey pouches) to get you through. You’re more steady on your feet, practicing zipping around lightning-quick the way you’ve seen others do. And your magic is stronger, too. You’ve been thinking of asking Taehyung if there’s a more formal way you can train in magic, once things are settled.

There’s a lot still to come. Your wedding, your coronation. And though the cabinet has been hard at work, King Taehyung has yet to announce that he plans to dissolve the monarchy and create a more democratic system in its place. Neither of you - none of the cabinet members - expect the news to go over smoothly.

Whatever happens, you’ll face it together. It helps that Seokjin is so involved, practically Taehyung’s second-in-command.

“When she’s big enough,” Taehyung promises you, “we’ll race to my island. We’ll travel to the ends of Infracticus together - I’ll make sure you see it all. We’ll ride together and see all the places you grew up reading about.”

“And then what?” you ask, half-teasing. You have an eternity to fill, after all.

“Whatever you want,” he promises. “We’ll do whatever you want, My Queen.”

And he slides his hand into yours, where it fits like it belongs.

—

Taehyung’s hand is in yours when he meets with you and the Infracti who will defend him at the trial, Yoongi and Hoseok of Cleave.

“I was… going to keep this to myself,” he admits, shoulders rounded with shame. “But I need to know that I truly answered for what I did. And I can’t do that if you only know part of the truth.”

Yoongi looks at you, like you might have some answers. You do not.

Taehyung wilts just slightly more. He glances sideways at you. “My love,” he murmurs, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Maiesti,” Yoongi says, voice low with warning. He trails off.

Taehyung fiddles with the rings on his fingers, unable to look anyone in the eye. “The whole truth,” he says, so quiet that you and Yoongi both lean closer to hear him, “is that the curse… it wasn’t what I intended - something went wrong -”

“What happened, Taehyung?” you ask, knowing it when you see him start to spiral into half-thoughts.

He braces himself, and then tells you both what happened five nights before you’d arrived.

Before you came to Infracticus, Taehyung had spent an entire night in the deepest archives the palace held. He had thrummed with energy and desperation, as if stopping his father’s actions faster could also undo them. As if finding a solution quickly could absolve him, earn forgiveness.

He’d slapped a palm over the page when he found what he was looking for, after hours of searching, reading for so long that his eyes watered and begged to close.

A curse. A curse that would end his immortality, give him a human lifespan.

“If I die young, without an heir,” he had argued with absolutely no one, his voice echoing in the empty, stone room, “then the crown cannot pass on. After my father, it goes to no one.”

It didn’t solve the problem now, he knew. It meant Sunjae would continue to rule unchecked. But someday. Someday, Taehyung would die, and then Sunjae would die, and then the crown would be free.

He’d rest easier knowing that even if every plan he thought up eventually failed, at least Sunjae would be the last. Taehyung would spend however many years he got trying to stop him, and if nothing worked then at least he could die knowing that after Sunjae, it would end. The monarchy would cease to exist. Something better could rise from its ashes. It had to.

He had stood and pulled the book closer to the edge of the table so he could see it clearly and began borrowing, pulling magic from the world around him. He’d end his immortality, he’d kill his immortal self. For his people. For Infracticus.

“I am Taehyung of Rune, Prince of Infracticus,” he had told the empty room. He would bring his father down. He would end his house’s rule. “But perhaps I can be of Ruin, too.”

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thank you so much for being here!! i hope you enjoyed this crazy world as much as i did. may scuttlebug tae live on forever in our hearts :')

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