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merakiui · 7 months

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eden.

yandere!rollo flamme x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, non-con, captivity, obsession, menophilia/period sex, vague references to the story of adam & eve note - a self-indulgent paradise crafted by rollo's generous, gracious hand.

Silvery slivers of moonlight spill through the space in the curtains, illuminating the fluffy sheets you’re currently entangled in. A sharp sting in your abdomen rouses you from your dreamless slumber, so agonizing it causes you to slowly curl in on yourself. Miserable and defeated, you groan and bury your face in the neighboring pillow. Now muffled, the sound can only carry on for however much capacity your lungs possess. It eventually fizzles out into a solemn, silent resignation that forces you to accept the third day of the monthly curse that is the menstrual cycle.

It’s a natural facet of your biology, but that doesn’t stop you from moping when you register the slick sensation between your legs.

This wouldn’t be an issue if he got me pads or tampons, you think, bitter with resentment and worn to exhaustion even though you’ve only just woken.

Awkwardly, you attempt to sit up and pull the covers back to check the damage. Rollo’s sheets are always spotless and fresh; he washes them every two weeks on Sunday afternoons, dedicated to following his schedule down to the letter. But then the pain persists, stabbing through to your very organs, and you resume your pitiful fetal position in hopes that the severity may abate.

It does, but you think you’re just tricking yourself into believing so.

You can feel the blood soaking through your white nightgown, and the sodden fabric molds itself to your rear in a very unpleasant way. Shuddering, you blink back tears.

I wanna go home.

Home, as it happens, has felt less and less temporary with each passing month spent in Twisted Wonderland. You’ve come to associate the familiarity of Night Raven College and its student body with comfort and contentment. It’s your home away from home. A long, long way from home. But it’s all you’ve ever had since the Dark Mirror beckoned you forth, and it’s served as your solace for a while.

Initially, you felt trapped and alone, uncertain of your fate and what this could mean for your life. But now you realize that no amount of feeling stuck at school could ever compare to this—to real confinement.

Your capture and, subsequently, your captor’s inexplicable infatuation are the result of arbitrary observation. In his frigid, heavy-eyed stare, you fit the criteria for a definition of purity he has constructed for his own abstract conduct. Untouched by magic, unable to conjure even the simplest spell, you are the speck of hope within Pandora’s box—a blessing enshrouded in sin.

“It must be taxing to live amongst mages so often,” he had said, as if to extend sympathy.

Foolishly, not quite understanding where those words were coming from, you replied in jest, “Believe me, it is. The amount of times I’ve nearly been caught in the crossfire when my friends get into heated arguments… Yikes.”

Rollo Flamme is a righteous man, and thus it is his duty to build a pristine paradise for you. An Eden of his own creation, its sole purpose to safeguard you from the pollution that is magic and, by extension, mages.

But purity cannot be found here, for Rollo is a devil in this garden. Potted plants adorn the floor; it’s something of a floral jungle, filling the room with perfumed scents and pretty sights. You’ve made note of their habits—of every flower that wilts and rises once it’s watered, of every petal that pries itself open under the moon’s glow and closes come sunrise, of every stem that’s trimmed to prevent excess.

Rollo Flamme prefers tidy spaces, so this well-kept garden is sterile and peaceful. You’ve likened it to a morgue filled with dead things—or soon-to-be dead things, as most plants cannot thrive forever no matter how diligent the botanist.

He barked a humorless, monosyllabic laugh at your declaration. “Unless you’ve chosen to view yourself as a rotting corpse, which you are not, your comparison is both unwarranted and untrue,” he muttered, and that was the final utterance of that subject.

Conversations with Rollo are always impossible, which is why you’re dreading this next one when he turns the key in the lock. The sound is like a gunshot in an empty room: explosive. As if echoing your discomfort, your cramps worsen in their intensity and you suck in a shaky breath through grit teeth. You hear the door shut and lock, sentencing you to an exchange with an unwanted warden. He walks into a mostly serene scene, his glacial gaze sweeping across the room to pick apart any interruptions in this slice of Shangri-La.

“I’ve brought dinner,” he announces, and you lift your head to peer at the tray in his hands.

“I don’t want your grapes and croissants,” you spit. “I want something warm.”

“It is warm.” Stepping closer, he sets the tray on his desk. You spy wispy tendrils rising from a bowl of soup. “Sit up and eat before it goes cold.”

You attempt that, halfway up on your elbows, but then your abdomen tightens and you slump back into the sheets. “Hurts,” you whine, clutching your stomach.

Rollo sniffs at the air, brows furrowing. His shoes click out an even rhythm against the floorboards, stopping at your bedside. Without ceremony he yanks the duvet away and you hiss at him, humiliated even though it’s normal. Your skin prickles with a chill, and it’s made even worse when you see the fiery glint in his eyes—the perceptive sort of glaze that overtakes his pupils when he’s observing you. His eyes crawl down your figure, stopping at the stain sullying your satin nightgown.

“Ah, you’ve leaked.”

“Obviously,” you snap. “I did this yesterday, too. When are you going to get me pads? Or tampons? I’ll even take a towel at this point or toilet paper. Anything is better than this.”

Rollo shakes his head. “You’re perfectly fine as you are.”

“Free bleeding like this is filthy and unsanitary.”

“So I’ll simply clean you.”

You drag your hand down your face and groan. “Rollo, please. It hurts, and it’s wet and uncomfortable.”

“You’ve illustrated these points more than clearly.”

“So then… Then do something about it!”

He narrows his eyes at you, silently taking issue with your demand, before he hums his consideration. His face settles into something neutral while he removes his hat and shoes, dutifully setting them in their respective places.

Rollo surprises you when he climbs onto the bed, kneeling over you with the tiniest trace of a smile.

“Spread your legs. I’ll have a look.”

Fresh horror blooms on your already distraught countenance. You bickered with him over this yesterday when he’d brought a wet rag to your inner thigh, seething at you to stay still while he wiped you down. You’d wrestled with him for ownership of the rag, insisting in panicked huffs that you could do it yourself. Your slap had rung out in the silence, rendering Rollo stiff with stormy emotions. He’d relinquished the rag, scoffing at you for being ungrateful and resolving to scribble in his diary for the rest of the day—a prisoner to his own silent treatment.

Now, as his cold fingertips creep up your legs, you feel less hungry and more sick.

Weakly, you shake your head at him, sinking deeper into the pillows. “I… I can do it myself…”

“With what? The nightgown you’ve already dirtied?” He tilts his head at you and smiles an odd smile. You can’t place it, whether it’s smug or sweet, but it soon becomes the former when he throws your words right back at you: “That’s filthy and unsanitary.”

“You don’t have anything either,” you retort, only to grimace once more.

Rollo exhales through his nose, amusement flashing in his dreary eyes. “Because I’m not going to clean you. Not yet.”

Ice crystalizes within your veins, and the tension in your legs slackens enough for him to pull them apart. “What?”

His hands stray dangerously close. You stiffen, nerves tangling with panic. “There are ways to alleviate menstrual cramps. You should be aware of them, so I see no need to go into detail.”

“I know, yes, but—” You swallow thickly and push his reaching fingers away before they can curl around the hem of your nightgown. “Rollo, please don’t…”

“You’ll feel better,” he assures you matter-of-factly, whispering the words like that will change anything. “This is better than medicine and safer than magic.”

You shift beneath him, unsettled. “A… A hot compress will do. Y-You’ll get yourself dirty. Also! A-Also… If we don’t wash the sheets soon, it’ll stain.”

“Let it. It will serve as a reminder to both of us. A reminder that, though you may ruin these sheets with all manner of bodily fluids, they will still remain pure.” He lifts your nightgown, leaning close to your ear while palming at your stomach. You angle yourself away from him, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s because you’re perfect and clean, untainted by magic, that you are able to exist here. I envy you…”

His bare hand is cold against your warm belly and it travels lower, his fingers hooking around the waistband of your panties. You stifle a whine, tears welling up behind your eyelids.

“Rollo…”

“Even your voice…” He inhales deeply, high off the scent of you—metallic and pungent, a natural musk more enticing than any flowery perfume. “Everything about you is so clean, even the very blood that pools between your legs… Just a moment in your embrace is enough to wash away the layers of filth that accumulate on my person. Perhaps you might even manage to scrub beneath my skin, wash out every ounce of magic that rests within… Would that I could, I’d break myself into pieces so that you may reassemble me—build a better me. A me without magic. If only…”

His other hand slithers into yours, squeezing tight. You’re arrested by the strain in his tone when he speaks next, so full of yearning and desperation. Covetous. Shameless.

“If only.”

“R-Rollo, please stop…”

“Yes… Yes, of course,” he babbles, nodding to himself. “I’ve likened you to a concept—to purity alone—but you are more than that. The embodiment of it… An angel. Otherworldly, immune to the poisonous effects of magic… Yes, that is what you are. An angel bereft of flaws.”

He fishes his celestial-patterned handkerchief from his pocket and presses it to your lips next. Your eyes snap open to find him now much closer than before, and you have but a moment to brace yourself before he leans in. The kiss is indirect, the both of you separated by the cloth, but the intention is there. It sticks to you even after he’s lowered the handkerchief. You are too pure and he is too filthy, which is why your lips must never touch.

Contradictory because he’s kissed you before.

Rollo drags your blood-soaked panties down to your knees. You shudder like a frail leaf caught in autumn’s harsh breeze.

“I’ve saved you—freed you!—from those…those villains. So you must allow me to indulge.” He shakes his head, his licentious, lustful stare smoldering to such a scorching degree it brands impure, unhealthy love upon your bare flesh. “I will indulge because I have been nothing but agreeable. This—” his fingers brush your slick folds, testing the waters— “is a wonder no magic could ever hope to reproduce. This is just you. Perfect, pretty, pure you…”

Experimentally, his digits dip shallowly inside. You flinch and inhale a sharp, frantic breath, your stomach somersaulting and knotting itself all at once. Complicated feelings stir within you as you writhe under his invasive touch. Your effort to escape is halfhearted; it’s too painful to move, so instead you attempt to clamp your legs shut. He tuts at you and slips his hand out from your hold to pet along your thigh.

“There goes a certain tale,” Rollo says, breathless as he continues his patient exploration. His eyes rove over your pussy like he intends to imprint it in his memory, and he doesn’t shy away from the crimson rivulet that runs down his palm when he sinks his fingers in further. You grit your teeth, melting against the pillows like an angel stamped in snow, and your free hand strangles a fistful of sheets. “In which a pair lived together in paradise, but it was temptation that ultimately led to their downfall. It is a doomed narrative.”

You’re breathing heavily now, your eyes flicking from the ceiling to the many plants that surround you on all sides, each one in full bloom. It feels as if you’re on a bed-turned-boat in a sea of greenery.

A sea of divine fertility.

With a skillful curl the two fingers delve deeper, pressing up against your gummy walls. Against your better judgment, you whine, loud and bawdy. His touch soothes, but then it stings. It makes you want to peel yourself open and step out of your skin so that you may subject it to a vigorous washing. It makes you despise the scent of flowers. It makes you fear the sound of the bell as it tolls unfailingly every single day. It makes you wish you’d never opened your mouth to respond to his words all those weeks ago.

Tears slip from your lash line. “Stop… Please stop…”

“Perhaps this is that same story made modern. Perhaps you were sculpted specially for me and I for you.” A third finger joins the other two working you open. Paper-pale skin is coated in brilliant vermillion, the very color of ardent desire. “Perhaps we are destined to fall together, born anew in someplace purer…”

The slow, steady drag of his fingers is more tempting than the ripe redness between your thighs, and you force yourself to gaze sidelong at the soup sitting abandoned on his desk. He plucks at each of your tangled, dewy strings, unraveling them with graceful strokes, and you’re pulled along on the blissfully uncomfortable current, treading between someplace grounded in reality and fantasy.

From above, at the bird’s eye view, you have become a garden for Rollo’s twisted whimsy.

You return to yourself when he eases his fingers out, stalling for a silent beat, before he thrusts them back in in one fluid motion. It punches the air from your lungs, has you throwing your head back with a weepy howl. He watches this with fierce scrutiny, curious at a clinical level.

“You’re beautiful,” he admits, spreading his fingers inside you. “My world. My panacea. My angel.”

“No… No, no.” You sob, your chest heaving with every wail. You can smell yourself on the air, the sharp scents of iron and sweat. Your pussy weeps blood, devastated at the hands of a monster, and yet it can’t stop affixing itself to him. A mold meant to suit his design. “Please… Please take it out.”

A shadow of contemplation passes over Rollo’s flushed countenance and then he’s reaching over to dry your tears, dabbing at your face with his handkerchief. “You’re okay. It doesn’t hurt anymore, right?”

You shake your head in protest rather than respond, chewing your bottom lip to shreds. A feeble whine slips through and you arch into him when his thumb presses down into your clit and prods at your hood. It happens all too fast. You tighten and loosen all at once, your mouth dropping open and eyes rolling back. The sheets are soaked through and properly soiled now, but that fact doesn’t lessen the seismic ecstasy that drapes itself over you like a veil. Your vision whites out and you fall, fall, fall through the waning vestiges.

Your heart drops into your stomach at the realization.

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

“You’ve done well.” He slides his fingers out, and the gooey squelching wrings a shudder from you. This time he grants you one of his rare smiles—the authentic, sincere kind—while he presses the pads of his fingers to his upturned lips, dyeing himself in your essence. You blink through encroaching tears, an ocean that obscures your vision and fuzzies his figure.

His fingers dig into the plush pudge of your thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles along your adductors. You open yourself again, involuntarily blossoming in this garden of iniquity.

“Good,” he praises again, whisper-soft. “You’re only permitted to be this way with me. Anyone else would simply tarnish your sweetness. They’d take advantage of your ability to cleanse even the foulest of filth. But I…”

Rollo, still clothed and now libidinous in his impatience, fumbles to pull himself free. His throbbing erection presses against your stomach, the final piece to force this puzzle to completion.

“I will always lay myself at your altar.”

You beg him not to, but every objection goes unheard. His hips connect with yours; he’s holding back, if only just barely, pressing onwards slowly, his breath coming in huffs and grunts. To savor it. To know the feeling firsthand and engrave it into his very being, from his fingers to his toes. To immerse himself in the red rain of a shackled angel.

To color a picturesque paradise in cardinal sin.

Just beyond the windows of Eden, swathed in midnight luminescence, a glorious city set aflame burns bright, overtaken by fiery flowers.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere rollo flamm #yandere rollo flamm x reader #yandere rollo flamme #yandere rollo flamme x reader #n/sfw #tw: noncon #tw: period sex

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diejager · 16 days

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Just the boys and König finding sh scars on reader, and/or helping them stitch a wound? Platonic, if possible

I’m gonna make the assumption (I might be horribly wrong about this…) that sh means self-harm???

Cw: Self-harm, blood, scars, protective behaviour, helicopter parent (Price and Laswell), angst?, fluff?, stitches, tell me if I missed any.

There’s a certain level of… panic in their eyes, the rising waves of fright until it threatened to drown them in a thick and dark abyss, swallowing their minds whole at the single fear of losing you to something they could have stopped; prevention they thought, a plan B in case plan A failed, but if they didn’t know, how could they have time to set it up? König almost had a heart attack when he broke the door at Gaz’s call, finding you slumped against the bathroom door, one hand on the door knob and another - the bloodied one - limply clutching your phone, eyes blinking blearily at them, clouded in confusion and fatigue.

It didn’t take them long to call the rest, rushing you to the infirmary after your accident, cutting too deep and risking death from your slight slip of the hand. Laswell and Price were called, finding the four of them seated beside you after they stormed into the sterile room. You looked ashamed, not about the act of cutting yourself to feel more than the depression and darkness in your heart, but the act of being caught, letting them know of your… ways to refresh your mind. The shameful tilt of your head downwards, staring with heavy eyes at your bandaged wrist, cleaned and stitched up.

Ghost had forced your sleeves up, rolling them until your biceps to show the extent of it, the many lines, crisscrossing in old and jagged lines of paler skin, standing starkly from the usual flush. He wasn’t disappointed at you, never, from a person who cut themselves to another, he was more so disappointed in himself from not catching the signs —a dark omen of pain and sorrow, forgetting that he was blinded by your happy smile to catch the tired gleam in your eyes.

Both he and König knew the pain, the new scars that no one asked for, but kept adding and adding until it would eventually tear your arm off, limb from limb, piece by piece until you lost the will to keep on. He took on smoking instead, as self-destructive as cutting was, but the thicket of nicotine would calm his loud mind, and König had a therapist, someone he was… willing to talk to when things got too hard. They understood and felt, but failed you all the same, despite everything they vowed, they almost lost you because they were too blind to see past your thin mask.

It was a feeling shared by the two sergeants, the more sensitive and sympathetic of the bunch, more in tune with heartfelt affection and human socialisation than the others, and the two weren’t afraid to voice it. The anger at themselves, the rage that crossed Soap’s face when he curled his fingers, bleeding his palms in the same manner you bled your feelings, hidden and alone in your dark room, bathroom and floor stained in the iron-rich ichor.

Gaz made a face, lips pulled down, brows pinched and eyes wet, tears fluttering at the edge of his lashes. He was a soft man, feeling and sympathetic, nearing empathetic whenever he wanted to feel what you felt, but in a crisis like this, where the thought had crossed his mind once or twice, but never acted it, he was lost. Confused and afraid, a daze where he thought that - perhaps - was how you felt when he wasn’t there to ease your pain, ignorant of the subtle signs of agony in your heart, screaming for help when your mouth wouldn’t utter a single word.

Price and Laswell hovered, combat helicopters roaming around you for any danger, watchful and worried, confident in their helping hand, but worried you would need help. Wanting to help, but afraid that needing it would mean something much deeper, and today was just the boiling point of it, the discovery of your sorrow and their dread and disgust at their inactivity. Laswell had made a few phone calls, her voice hushed as she spoke, eyeing Price for corrections and agreements until they came to the same consensus.

If you hadn’t known any better, you would have considered them your parents, loving and caring, tender and affectionate, just as the rest of them, all friends and teammates you considered brothers. Yet, there was a stigma to it, one imposed by normal people that made you feel a certain way. Perhaps that why you hadn’t spoke about it, the dreadful need to keep it hidden until it was forced into the light.

“You don’t have to do it alone anymore, luv,” Price promised, his low and rumbling voice that exhumed calm tenderness.

That was all it took you to sob, a dam creaking and breaking, letting your tears flood outwards while you clutched at the lapel of his jacket, hiding away in the familiar musk and cologne of his parental figure.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

#x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #konig mw2 #konig x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #gaz mw2 #gaz x reader #soap mw2 #soap x reader #price mw2 #price x reader #laswell mw2 #task force 141 #tf 141 x reader #platonic relationships #tw self harm

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riaki · 5 months

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an excuse to touch | suguru geto x reader

pt.2 of christmas event! cw: reader is kinda drunk, u and him have a bunkbed but he always sleeps w u on the lower bunk :3

not proofread

"su— guru!"

he knows that pitchy voice; a lilt to it that tells him you've been drinking. a slur that links your breathy words together like the taut strings of a spider's web that's so imperceptible that it would've been impossible to pick up, unless you were him. because suguru knows you better than anyone else.

you say his name weird, which means you've indulged on the bottle of liquor your next-door neighbor brought you that morning, wrapped in a pretty festive ribbon with a snowman drawn into the cork. "my son drew it," your neighbor had explained, and suguru wonders how good of a parent he is, to be letting his 6 year-old doodle on a bottle of wine.

he doesn't have time to concern himself with other people's lives, however. he has his hands full making sure you don't topple into the christmas tree you'd both worked your asses off to decorate last weekend when you stumble into the living room like you're walking on two left feet, threatening to trip over the cord connecting the soft yellow lights to the outlet in the wall. he distinctly remembers the argument you had last night— you thought rainbow lights would look nicer on the tree, but he liked just yellow. in the end, he'd gotten what he wanted— but there wasn't much to gain when you had stolen his sweater and refused to give it back as a vengeance. and now, he couldn't find it.

"right here," he calls, looking up at you from where he's seated on the couch in your living room. the little tv screen plastered to the wall has a fake fire playing over the screen; he knows you love the immersion, even if your apartment complex doesn't have a fireplace or a chimney.

you make your way over to his chair and promptly fall into his already-waiting arms. he pulls you flush to his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin and letting you snuggle up to him in his lap. his callused hand immediately snakes up your back to slip beneath your shirt, massaging your back. his embrace is warm; soft. and he smells good, like pine needles and something gently sweet, a little smoky.

soon, your hands find his hair, winding a trail up his neck to thread into the dark strands and pull out the tie. before you can move any further, though, a hand darts out to catch your wrist, and the other moves to tilt your chin up and force you to meet his stern gaze, warm like amber resin on the tree bark.

"[name], where's my sweater?" he asks, raising an accusatory eyebrow. just like that, you shrink away, and he smothers the snicker of amusement that threatens to spill out like hot cocoa with a hand over his lips.

you blink, and he watches your eyelashes flutter. they catch the fake firelight, glowing like billowing reeds under a bright sun in lakewater that reflects the summer sky. "i dunno." a blatant lie; obviously, you do know, because a bit of the red string has tangled in your hair. it was crocheted for him by a friend; you'd think a doctor would have good needle skills, but operating on a patient might be easier than operating on a DIY crocheting kit and a bundle of old string. nevertheless, he took the ugly christmas sweater and cherished it; the scent of cigarette smoke and faintly sterile tiles that clung to it.

but suguru was pretty sure that would soon be replaced by the scent of you, if you kept it much longer. not that he minded, of course.

"i, uh. dropped it. in the fire." you said bluntly, stubbornly weaving your hands into his hair and pulling out his hair tie insistently. a few strands caught; even as drunk as you were, you still took the time to smooth out the tangles so you didn't accidentally rip out a patch of his hair. crude as it was, suguru appreciates little things about you like that. not the fire part, though.

"you dropped it in the fire." he echoes, raising an eyebrow. it feels condescending in a very suguru (read: affectionate) way, so you look away, lower lip sticking out. he thinks that just makes you cuter, though; you look like something straight out of his dreams. he can barely bring himself to be irritated.

"um, yeah."

"so.. it burned up?"

"yes."

"you don't have it anymore."

"no, i don't."

"the fire isn't real," he reminds you quietly; softly if you strain your ears.

"but it's so warm over here. and nice, and cozy. what else could it be?" you protested, flailing your arms as if hitting him would force him to reconcile with your beliefs. suguru just opts to lean away from you, an amused and easy smile on his lips. like he's looking at you in adoration; like you're still the one who was molded from clay to fit in his arms even though you supposedly 'burned' his sweater up.

"not sure," he hums, watching as you stand up on two shaky legs like a newborn doe away from its mother's side; the soft glow from the light of the christmas tree gently illuminating your frame. he wishes he could tug you back by the wrist and kiss you breathless, run his hands over you ever lovingly. "you're just like my personal little space heater." he chuckles, soft smooth and melodic, and it snaps you from your tipsiness as you glance back over at him. “fools me into thinking the fire’s real.”

his hair is loose, tumbling over his shoulders and framing his face like a renaissance prince under the soft light; the brown of his eye shines a gentle caramel, soft and smooth as butter and syrup. there’s an easy smile that curves his lips up; he looks unfairly handsome. he thinks he can catch sight of his reflection in the void of your pupil; it looks like there's a birdnest on his head. he frowns, reaching a hand up to muss the tangled black strands. the windows in the living room are vignetted by a frosted glass, a cold world of white waiting outside. it's almost enough to make him shiver, but here, in the warmth of your presence, the snow melts away with the sunshine of your smile.

his fingers catch in his hair and he lets out a pained grunt. he's straightening his bangs when he looks up from his comfy seat on the couch; you're across the room, sitting on the soft wool carpet. there's a stain on the bundles of fluff, constantly hanging over the both of your heads to remind you of how you'd been enjoying a shared cup of hot cocoa with candy cane chunks when your nasty feline sauntered over and promptly jumped into your lap yet again, knocking over the mug and pouring its terribly sweet and sticky contents onto the wool. it had haunted suguru's domestic household nightmares for days after. your evil cat is curled up in your lap, fluffy mitten paws tucked beneath its head as it naps, and suguru doesn't like the flare of jealousy that springs up in his gut.

you catch the look of disdain on his face and shoot him a lazy smile, tilting your head. it's an invitation if he's ever seen one-- deserved, he thinks to himself. that should be him with his head in your lap, your hands in his hair, smoothing out each individual knot, gently massaging his scalp in the way you knew he loved.

...

he shakes his head and stands, brushing the lint (and cat fur— always a pest) off his sweats and saunters over to you; there's that familiar gait in his step from always walking hunched over during his earlier years of youth. sometimes, you'll build a little pillow fort on your bunk bed and settle in his arms between his legs and listen to him tell you stories from a time that seems so long ago but so fresh like new mint leaves in his memory. he'll play with your clothes, bury his nose in your hair and breathe in the scent of home and something like apples and cinnamon in your shampoo. those fun little story nights are always enjoyable, only because he has the best audience.

he squats down, balancing his elbows on his knees as he peers down at you. your cat in your lap lifts its head, looking like the very dictionary definition of judgmental as it squints at suguru. you just laugh, like silver bells clear in a snowstorm, parting the howling wind as if it's the red sea. paving a path straight through the center of his heart like some cursed cupid's arrow.

he doesn’t mind, though, when you scoot your cat off your lap and open your arms wordlessly. he scoots a little closer before settling into you, back flush against his chest as your arms lock around his waist. you rest your chin on his shoulder and he can’t help the rush of butterflies in his stomach; suguru’s never been the type for this sort of girlish, giddy love. but you always bring new things to the table, don’t you? he loves that about you.

suguru settles into your arms, tilting his head to intercept the kiss he knows you’re about to plant to his cheek to instead meet your lips with his, and he swallows and relishes the little surprised gasp that leaves you when he does. a moment later, he hears a pretty little giddy laugh, and he can’t fight the smile that spreads over his lips.

"you're so soft," he whispers, and it's much more exhausted than he thinks it has any right to be, on such a comforting night like this when your laugh smells of sweet liquor wrapped in chocolate and you serve as good of a sweater as any clearance sale item could.

and soon enough, your fingers slide into his hair, separating soft dark strands like you're organizing a collection of seashells. it takes him a while to notice, but he soon realizes you're braiding his hair. the wind howls outside and the fake fire doesn't provide any heat, but your gentle touch and warmth feel like a cozy throw blanket hanging around his shoulders. and he feels okay now; with the way you run your fingers through his hair, delicately gathering the strands from his hair and running a thumb down the length to smooth the knots, weaving them together like a natural crown of holly flowers.

you brush a stray strand from the nape of his neck, and he shivers when your fingertips brush against the tip of his ear. he can't help but smile when you notice the goosebumps on his bare arms and free one hand to reach for his, tangling your fingers together while you untangle the mats in his hair. it's far too cold for him to be wearing that simple, worn white cotton shirt, but he doesn't mind if you'll be the one to keep him warm through this cold season.

it's all fine and dandy until he speaks up again, when you're nearly falling asleep over his head and your arms drape over his chest, toying with the sapphire necklace around his neck. your little cute breaths tickle the top of his head; you've finished the braid. it's a little messy and stray hairs stick out here and there— but at least you didn't settle for pigtails.

when he speaks, it's not directed towards you, though— he's speaking to your cat, with a stern tone you only recognize as the one he uses with you whenever your clothes end up on his side of the drawer or when his jewelry (or hairties) go missing.

and when you open your eyes groggily after suguru shifts to sit up, feeling the dreary loom of a mini hangover after you fall asleep in his arms tonight— you're blessed with the sight of your beloved house pet— a shredded chunk of tacky fabric from suguru's sweater in its mouth, and the death glare that you can only imagine contorting your handsome boyfriend's face.

needless to say, your cat will be nowhere around the two of you when you decide to share a therapeutic cup of hot cocoa again this time.

my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

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jymwahuwu · 8 months

Note

Heyo, back again with another request 👋😊. Can I request a yandere Dan Feng x dragon Reader smut request/ reader x Bailu (platonic mother-Daughter)/ Yinxing x reader (platonic like a big brother-little sister relationship)

It goes like this, Reader darling is a moon dragon from another universe (I got back on my fairy tail beat, but she’s a gentle type) and was under the care of Yinxing who she bond with as family. One day he invited her out to meet his friends he was getting together with. At the meeting, She meet his friends, one of his friends, the high elder imbibitor lunae, Dan Feng, was smitten with her and that there was another dragon from a different universe from his.

He became possessed of her and wanted to keep her by his side, despite her small protests which she gave up on. Dan Feng wanted to make sure his mate stays with him forever and thought of a plan to make her stay is by making her bear his offspring. He knew he was at a disadvantage but remember the transmutation arcanum and Yinxing mentioning his darling fertility inducement ability to undo an infertility and sterile species.

Dan Feng put his plan to action when he told his darling reader that he needs help with something that she can do, as the darling reader didn’t know that he made a ceremony breeding ritual. That night, Darling Reader became his mate and an excepting mother to an dragon cub (Bailu) egg.

There was an celebration for them and the dragon cub by the people of Xianzhou Luofu. And I leave the rest up to you. 😊👍

the dragon egg part at the end is cute😚I tried to write it!!

CW: yandere, non-con, forced breeding, spawn but not described in detail (The setting here is that Bailu is the baby of the reader and Dan Feng. It does not reflect any leaks or spoilers of HSR. If you cannot accept it, please skip or close the page!!)

Lonely. Responsibility. Reincarnation. Even though there are other people who are also Vidyadhara, only the High Elder has the dragon horns and tail and can inherit this responsibility. The meaning of inheritance from generation to generation is given by the outside world, just like the destiny that is locked. Fortunately, High-Cloud Quintet gave him some comfort. Sometimes others wanted to give him an immortal concubine or spouse, but Imbibitor Lunae refused.

You accidentally entered a certain space and device, causing you to be transported to the Xianzhou ship. Yingxing was the first to discover you and took you back for healing and care. After the wound on your tail healed, Yingxing proposed to take you to their friend's party because you had been in bed and didn't have time to meet people. It's time to hang out more.

Dan Feng couldn't take his eyes off you. Here you are, descended from a world. A dragon. Just like him. You may be able to hide your dragon features, but a dragon like him can detect the crystal clear horns on your forehead and wagging tail with just a glance. While drinking, the High Elder pretended not to care and asked for information about you, knowing that you basically have no way to leave this galaxy now. This is not enough. After the party, Dan Feng offered to take you around Luofu, such as Earthrise Agora and Starwatcher Avenue.

He paid for all the snacks and watched you chew Xianzhou delicacies while holding his chin. He bought you beautiful silks and fabrics so that you could give them to the maids to weave clothes. He talks to you about interesting experiences and trivia about life, and responds to you. He didn't like you eating those fast food a little bit, but he kept it to himself. Dan Feng knows the courtesy of pursuing his future spouse.

Just like that, you and Dan Feng "date" 5-6 times. He held your waist and kissed you as the maple leaves fell. You are stunned. It took a few minutes to realize that you were in a "dating" and were already "engaged."

It's not that you don't like the dragon in front of you, but that you don't know these things at all, and isn't the progress going too fast…? Besides, you have to go back to your planet one day. Dan Feng listened to your concerns and nodded, indicating that he understood, but he was already preparing for the breeding ceremony.

For the breeding ceremony, it can be with or without physical contact. If not, then Dan Feng has prepared for you to sit in the middle. You just… felt a sudden swelling, something weird. Something has been permanently changed. And then…you hold the smooth and lovable dragon egg in your hands, shocked and confused. If there's physical contact, it's your hands on his shoulders, begging him to stop, but still sitting on the dragon's cock and feeling the fertile seed ejaculate into you…

Eventually, you also get an egg.

The baby dragon hatches out of shell and turns out to be a lovely daughter!! She subconsciously stretches out her hands and snuggles into your arms, carrying her dragon horns and tail. The Vidyadharas were astonished that this was a success!! The new baby dragon was born! They held a grand ceremony to celebrate together. Luofu also received the news and felt happy that their race had made such progress! They sent an official message to congratulate and announce the birth of the dragon cub.

You held your little daughter in your arms, leaned on Dan Feng's arms, and shed tears. He wiped the tears from your cheeks and kissed your forehead gently. His spouse, his family. You are one of the few changes in his hundreds of lifetimes of constraint.

#yandere dan feng x female reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you

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ddejavvu · 3 months

Text

pairing: darth vader x reader

summary: vader's prosthetic limbs are strong

cw: power imbalance, smut, toxic relationship (it's literally darth vader), manhandling, mentions of bruising, everything is consensual but it probably shouldn't be, don't like don't read.

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Vader's prosthetic limbs are strong. They're, by design, inhuman, and their fixture uses them to their fullest potential. You have permanent sore spots on your biceps from being hauled around by the dark lord, he puts you wherever he pleases.

"Stay here." He orders, his hand clamped tightly around your arm as he muscles you into one of the in-progress death star's many confinement cells, cold and gray, "It is not safe to roam while my master is here."

And when he retrieves you upon Palpatine's departure, he wakes you with that same rough hand on your arm, hauling you up off of the sleeping shelf and hustling you down the hall, carrying all of your weight with that one singular hand while your tired limbs frenzy to catch up.

there have been several times where you thought he was going to crush your jaw. simply shatter the bone, disfigure your face as he pinches it between unforgiving metal digits.

"Where have you been?" He asks, holding your chin in his prosthetic hand, "You were meant to be inside your quarters by 1800 hours."

When you don't answer right away his fingers tighten around your face and you squirm, wondering if you'll have a bruise there tomorrow; a stinging pool of blood just beneath the skin that your lover managed to coax out.

He crushes your face the way he uses the Force to crush others' throats; you get the honor of physical contact.

He tightens and tightens and tightens until you think your teeth might crumble where they're smashed together, then you let out a muffled whimper to let him know you're ready to speak. Only then are you permitted to open your mouth, and you admit, "I went down to the lower levels."

Much like his once-home planet of Coruscant, the lower levels on the Death Star are nowhere Vader wants you.

"I have told you to stay away from there," He chides, sealing your mouth with his bruising grip once more, nearly chopping your tongue apart where it gets momentarily caught between your teeth, "There are things down there beyond your comprehension; Sith artefacts that could melt your feeble mind from the inside out - far less forgiving than I am. The next time you venture down to the lower levels will be your last, no matter if the artefacts kill you, or I do."

though his torso is still flesh and blood, his arms are all prosthetic. it means that while his hips are stationary beneath yours, his inhumanly strong arms are lifting you effortlessly off of his thighs and slamming you back down over his cock. He takes you on his throne, spread out like the lord he is; but only your body moves. He is stationed firmly in his seat, and you are the one that must writhe above him in hopes of your own pleasure. But you tire easily, and he's such a generous man. When the time comes for him to intervene he cements his metal hands on your sides, lifting and lowering in a steady rhythm that has you seeing stars for the force he uses.

He will deposit you in your quarters after you're fucked out and too tired to be useful anymore. You need sleep, so he hoists your body into his arms and you happily go limp in his grasp. He carts you down the sterile, desolate halls of his battle station and uses the Force to open the door to your sleeping chambers, bending at the waist to lay you down on the bed. Dark Lords do not tuck their subjects into bed, but he stands and looms over you until you tug the blanket over yourself.

"I will return at 1800 hours." He reports, cape billowing around his ankles as he strides towards the door, "I would like you to stay here until then. Do not disobey me."

#darth vader x reader #darth vader imagine #darth vader smut #darth vader fanfiction #darth vader oneshot #darth vader x you #darth vader blurb #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker blurb #anakin skywalker imagine

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 5 months

Text

Something to see

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 13

Prompt: Road Trip/Vacation

Rated: G

CW: none

Tags: Modern AU, established relationship, honeymoon, Steve is Dustin’s dad

Notes: Set in the same universe as Someone who cares.

Two years back, if asked how he pictured his honeymoon, Steve would probably have laughed. He was an overworked single dad who barely managed to split his time between home life and his father’s company, and hadn’t had a proper date in forever. Marriage was so not on his agenda.

If pressed for an answer, he would have come up with some cliché. He’d meet a nice girl who also happened to not despise Dustin, get hitched, take her to a five star resort in Bali or Hawaii or Mexico or whatever.

And now?

Now he’s leaned against the side of his third-hand Winnebago, sipping coffee and watching the sunrise over the Californian sea, while his husband snores away inside.

Husband.

The thought still makes him giddy, even after almost a year. Between moving houses, carefully dismantling the life his father had forced him into, and Eddie’s first novel skyrocketing to the tops of the bestseller lists, it's been one hell of a time. But now they're here. On their cross-country road trip, just like they promised each other.

Sometimes he still wonders when he'll wake up, alone in that big, sterile penthouse, and discover that Eddie Munson was just a fantasy cooked up by his lonely brain.

His phone buzzes, just in time to jerk him out of his thoughts. Steve unpockets it and smiles when he sees it's a message from Robin.

Hi, Eddie’s husband! Your son's asking if we can have McDonald's for breakfast. Again. I said we'd have to ask you first.

Steve wrinkles his brow at the weird form of address, but shrugs it off and types his reply. He's just hit send when he hears footsteps.

"Nonono, stay like that, the picture is perfect!"

Steve snorts into his coffee but obediently turns back around and allows Eddie to take a photo. He's rewarded by arms wrapping around his waist and lips against his neck only seconds later.

"Morn'" Eddie mumbles.

"Morning," Steve smiles. Something in Eddie’s pocket vibrates. "That your phone or are you happy to see me?"

"How 'bout both?" Eddie takes the mug from his hands and carefully sets it on the ground, then presses Steve up against the side of the Winnebago and proceeds to kiss him breathless.

"Did you know," he mumbles against Steve's lips, voice sultry and low, "that they have the world's largest artichoke near here?"

Steve is just glad Eddie took away his coffee because he'd definitely have snorted some through his nose at that revelation.

"Oh no, absolutely not."

Eddie pouts. "Gotta see the local sights, Stevie. They even have a souvenir shop and a restaurant, famous for it's fried-"

"-artichokes?"

"See? You get it!" Eddie beams at him, leans in for another kiss. "Say we'll go? C'mon."

Steve hums in pretend-thought and Eddie nips at his bottom lip. "Alright, I guess."

"Yessss," Eddie cheers, already whipping out his phone to look up directions. "So, if we follow the interstate-"

"Woah, wait!" Steve says, because he has just spotted the huge number of alerts on Eddie’s screen. "What's going on there?"

"Huh?" The tips of Eddie’s ears turn pink. "Oh, that's just my Twitter. I got a bunch of new followers since the book and- it's nothing, really."

"Are you kidding?" Steve already has his own phone out and is pulling up the app. "This is fucking fantast- wait, is that me?"

"Um," Eddie says. "Maybe?"

"Maybe?" Steve wrinkles his brow, because that clearly is him, only a few minutes ago, leaning against the RV and cradling his mug of coffee, half-profile blacked out by the halo of the rising sun.

His eyes flick to the number of likes and for the second time, he's glad the coffee is gone, because it would definitely have sprayed all over his screen.

"What the fuck?"

Eddie groans and rubs at his neck.

"Okay, listen. I didn’t think anything of it, I just … really wanted to share these pictures because I love you, and I love being on this trip with you, seeing shit, visiting places…"

Steve hums absentmindedly as he scrolls through the feed, picture upon picture of himself from behind. Strolling through the world's largest corn maze, the one they visited two states back. Looking out over the Grand Canyon. Inside the hole of that giant artificial donut that Eddie insisted on seeing.

"... and someone may have asked who the hottie with the ass was and I may have said my husband, because sue me, who wouldn't brag about that, and things sort of spiraled from there. They may have given you a hashtag even."

"A hash-" Steve tears his eyes from his own back before the vast Nevada night sky. "What hashtag, Eddie?"

Eddie mumbles something into his own hair.

"What was that, I didn’t-"

"It's Eddieshusbandsass, okay?" Eddie snaps. "There, are you happy now?"

Steve gapes at him.

"I don't believe this," he finally mumbles. "You made a hashtag for my ass?"

Eddie is making a valiant attempt at looking bashful, but his mouth is tugging into a dimpled grin.

"To be fair, my followers did. The internet is rightly obsessed with your butt, babe."

"For fuck’s sake," Steve groans. "Get in the RV, we got a giant artichoke to see."

Behind him, Eddie perks up. "We … are still seeing the artichoke? You're not like, divorcing me?"

Steve turns and levels him with a stern look.

"If you don't kiss me in front of that monstrous vegetable and show them the face to go with that ass, I might."

"Oh my God," Eddie breathes, smile brighter than the sunrise. "Marry me."

Steve twirls the keys around his finger and winks over his shoulder.

"Already did, honey."

His husband may be a total menace sometimes - but he's his menace. And Steve's the luckiest guy in the world for it.

All my holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie holiday drabbles #hype's holiday drabbles #someone who cares

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mamayan · 4 months

Note

Okay imagine this - (you don't have to do it, you can delete this if it makes you uncomfy, I love you and you have done nothing wrong ever) - but IMAGINE okay?

Bakugo Katsuki, The Dynamight, number two hero, and his child with you is quirkless (bonus if reader is also quirkless)

Imagine the disappointed ambition - he was so sure the kid would inherit his quirk or something similar, he was so sure - especially since the kid looks like Katsuki - and yet...

I guess I'm in mood for hurt-comfort 😔

Honestly, I see this affecting our dearest mama here, as it’s likely for Katsuki to really fall for someone after being a bully/jerk to them.

Imagine his quirkless sweetheart, desperate to please and impress at all times because they’re just useless without a quirk (thanks to his bullying in the past) and realizing their child inherited their quirkless gene?

Pro-Hero Katsuki Bakugo x Quirkless Fem! Reader!

Growing Pains

cw: SFW • Language (R) • Hurt/Comfort • Bully to Lovers • Child Care (tis the season) • Pro-Hero Katsuki • Fem! Reader • Marriage • Katsuki learns how to communicate a little better

A child is a gift so precious one must always be careful never to forsake it.

That’s what his hag-mother always said at least. The endless joy though which his daughter brought truly lived up to her words though. A gift. A precious, incredibly tiny and fragile, gift he swore to never forsake as he held the bundle in his arms at the hospital.

You looked beautiful even after so long in labor. Joy painting your features and making his heart ache from the sugar being injected into his veins. The love and adoration in your eyes only making his resolve harden further, to protect you both and love you two till his last breath.

So what changed from that moment till now? As a normally happy rambunctious toddler sits in complete stillness with eyes wide in horror. You didn’t look any better, skin perspiration more than his own on a usual day, lip being chewed until the skin breaks and he’s forced to grip you tightly.

“Hey—,” his gruff voice wakes you up.

“I’m so sorry…” his brows furrow in confusion, your apology unexpected and odd.

“The fuck are you sorry for?” He feels the atmosphere in the room start to divulge, his child and you both acting as if you’d heard a cancer diagnosis and not something he’d already considered the possibility of. Of course he’d wanted his daughter to have a quirk, but it didn’t call for such a grave reaction.

“It’s all my fault… I’m so sorry baby…” the tears freak him out more, your tears flowing endlessly as you stare at him with such hopeless eyes he’s startled to his core. Dark garnet eyes widening as a sick feeling enters his gut, something churning he can’t even name. “I failed both you and our daughter, making her weak and worthless like me—,” He’s going to be sick for sure, the sterile little clinic room starting close in on him.

He’s Dynamight, number 2 pro hero, and only because shit for brains Deku was better with the media but still, he’s not sure what to do. How to fix it, as you hold your child and cry, asking for forgiveness from him.

It makes him remember every instance of the past he cringes and does his best to avoid thinking on. Every tug of your hair, every shove to the floor, every time he made you feel small for something so superficial as not having a quirk.

Your tears were endless, and they seemed to spur on his daughter as well, her little sniffles making him nearly enraged as the door creeks open at the worst moment and the doctor returns.

The woman’s sympathetic gaze make him want to punch her, the way she seems understanding and not offended as himself.

“It can be a hard acceptance Mrs. Bakugo, I’m happy to recommend some quirkless support groups for the two of you, then we can look at some family care plans—,”

“What. The. Fuck. Are you talking about? Support group? They don’t need a fucking support group, your raggedy ass bitch—!”

“Katsuki!” “Mr. Bakugo?!” “Papa?”

It didn’t matter, he wasn’t hearing words anymore, top blown and his tempter unleashed as he nearly blows the door off after throwing you both over his shoulder and storming out. Cursing the entire way, uncaring of the phones being pulled out and people whispering and recording. He’d get an earful from the agency but it hardly computed in his mind.

Your fault? It seemed clear enough it was his fault. When all he ever did was make you feel belittled for your quirklessness, small and weak because of it, and now what did it do?

It passed on to his own fucking kid. His fault. This was his fucking fault.

His own eyes were admittedly wet as he shuts you both up in the car. Making sure you both are buckled in safely before he nearly screams once he’s seated behind the wheel. He wants to scream more, yell and break something to deal with the flood of guilt and shame washing him like an old friend.

He never apologized, only pushed it all away like the bullying and harassment never occurred when he started courting you. He’d been in love with you, and that bullying was his sick revenge for making him feel so much adoration for a single individual.

His frame engulfs the seat, muscles taunt and wide chest heaving as he calms down slowly to your silent tears and wobbly bottom lip.

“Katsuki… can we not have any discussions with her in the car…? Maybe we…,” you lick your lips as you fumble over yourself like a nervous wreck in the passenger seat, eyes wide and pacifying as you give him a look filled with a plea. “—Maybe we could have her stay with your mother tonight?”

Because you think he’s angry at you and at her.

For being quirkless.

The most defenseless and precious people to him, the two he’d sworn to never hurt or mistreat, now looking at him with complete devastation and heartbreak. His daughter is never usually so silent and still, sitting like a little doll in her car seat.

He’d always been a confident man. Unshakeable and firm in his resolve because he refused to settle and let himself be anything less than the best.

For all he is though, he’s never felt more helpless and human.

You flinch when the first tear falls.

The sight just as jarring as the realization your child is like you.

Katsuki’s eyes widen before narrowing as he grits his teeth and bares them like a hurt animal, tears spilling as he slams his head on the steering wheel in frustration. The windows tinted and thankfully adding a touch of privacy he’s grateful for now.

“I’m sorry—!” It’s wobbly and hissed like a curse, his apology burning his throat as he forces it out. He can’t look at you as he wipes at his face, shaking his head as he clears it to focus long enough to repeat himself.

“I’m so fucking sorry—never, never did I think less of you ‘cuz you didn’t have a damn quirk—! I was an asshole, a piece of shit that didn’t know how to deal with my crush on you, so I fucking ruined it by picking on you.” His eyes are blood shot, kept wide to prevent anymore liquid spillage but the way his entire face and body scrunch up, it’s difficult to believe he’s able to stop himself on sheer will alone.

“Papa…?” It’s like a slap to the face when he looks over at his daughter to see a spitting image of you both in her, features more like him but personality following you in a way that makes him melt.

“Y’listen good,” he gathers himself up better as he addresses your daughter now. “You will never be less than anyone else, quirk or no quirk, y’hear me?”

“But—,”

“No buts. It’s not up for debate. A quirk doesn’t classify a person’s value. It never has. We just associate them with power when in fact, a bunch of useless quirk havin’ shit stains run the country. A quirk ain’t power kid, power is in will, and that’s all you.” He’s glad you kindly dismiss his slip in language, watching as her little eyes widen and well with tears too.

“So I’m not bad?”

“You’re the best damn thing that’s happened since I met your mom. I love your mom, don’t I? She’s great even if she doesn’t have a quirk. Strong and resilient, patient and smarter than I’ll ever be.” He’s gripping the steering wheel so tight it may break soon if he doesn’t release his grip.

Then he’s being met with you. Your arms wrapping around him, your own muffled cries in his shirt. His hands are around you just as quickly, pulling you into him as much as the small space in the vehicle allows, breathing you in and calming himself as he reaches out and unbuckles your daughter to pull her little body into the bear hug too.

“You mean it…?” Your whisper barely audible as he holds you both close.

“I don’t say shit I don’t mean.”

And that’s enough for this moment. While he’s not a great man, Katsuki truly never lies, sometimes honest to a point it’s painful.

This is a bittersweet pain though.

Dividers/ @cafekitsune

#Yan answers #Yan loves her mooties #tw: child care #bnha #bakugou katsuki #pro-hero katsuki bakugo #katsuki bakugo x reader #hurt/comfort #mha

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thepenultimateword · 6 months

Text

Monstrous Part 2

Part 1

CW: Experimentation, injuries

Everything hurt. A thousand needles under the surface of Hero's skin, plunging deeper and deeper, into muscle, organs, bone.

She shrieked, surging against the many sets of hands pinning her to the gurney. Beakers and test tubes shattered; one of the monitors began to smoke. Hero caught a glimpse of hands over ears and the mess of blood and feathers blanketing the floor before being shoved back cheek first into the table.

"Where's my sedative?" shouted Dr. Penn. His familiar, harsh hands had Hero by the scruff of her neck, making her dizzy with the almost strangling pressure.

"I need stitches!" cried another voice.

"Shut up, Lancaster!" Penn barked. " You're the one at fault! Sedative then serum! How many times do I have to say it?"

"That thing attacked me!" Lancaster cried, voice as sharp as his blood on the otherwise sterile air.

A rush of rage surged through Hero's burning body, and she flapped her wings violently, breaking a few of her captors' hold.

"Will somebody bind those things down!" Penn said.

Another set of hands forced her wings into an expert fold, tearing loose a few feathers along the way, then wrapped the binding strap so tight it ached. "We should just cut the things off," the new scientist said. Dr. Sunfield. Hero shuddered involuntarily. The woman's threats were never empty.

"Yeah? And then how is she supposed to get around?" Penn snarled. "The bus? We all agreed on a mobility element."

Sunfield gave the restraints an unnecessary tug, causing Hero to shriek. "They weren't supposed to get so big. She looks like a blasted vulture."

"They're only going to get bigger. The rest of her too. Her growth plates are still showing on the x-rays."

Sunfield cursed. "This is a disaster."

"At least she's been useful data."

Something sharp and stinging plunged into Hero's neck, followed by a nauseating chill that washed from head to toe. The sedative at last. She wasn't sure whether to be scared or relieved. The pain would finally stop, but what else would they poke her with while she was under? The scientists loosened their grip, and she took advantage of that to swing her claws toward Penn's voice. Her limbs were already more sluggish than she'd realized. The doctor caught her wrist, giving her fingers a bone-cracking squeeze before stroking her limpening knuckles with his thumb. His other hand tucked her tangled hair behind her ears. "Besides, we were asked to give the city something to get rid of Supervillain, and that's what we did. She may be monstrous, but a monstrous masterpiece nonetheless."

"The city can't market monstrous. There's backlash from the citizens every day, and that cuts into our funding."

"Don't worry." Penn's voice seemed to slow and stretch, and he dropped Hero's arm with a dull thud. "The next ones will be heroes the city can trust."

Hero shot upright. A sharp pain shot through both temples, and the melty, slanted surroundings immediately slumped her back onto her elbows. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for her head to stop feeling to heavy for her neck.

"Oh! You're awake," came a drawling masculine voice. It sounded roaring. "How do you feel?"

Hero winced. "Floaty." She dared crack her eyes and squinted around the room. Shelves and shelves of alcohol and jarred olives glistened in the weak orange light. A faint electric buzz resonating from the metal door on the wall adjacent hinted at a refrigerated room. She rose slower this time, hoisting her aching wings shut and swinging her legs over the side of the rickety cot.

"Wait, wait! Don't pop your stitches; they're still fresh!"

A figure leaped up from the ground at the cot's head, and Hero slowly recalled his tangled hair and lean stature.

"Where am I?" she demanded, more threat than question.

The man held out his hands, the one she’d clawed now wrapped in bandages. Once again, he didn’t seem particularly put off by her behavior.

"Backroom at Foghorn. It’s a bar. Particularly for upstanding citizens like myself. People are always crashing here when they get into scraps. They have more medical supplies than my place. Better pain medication. That's probably what's making you feel floaty."

“You kidnapped me,” Hero snarled.

The man shrugged, a motion almost like rolling his shoulders, like brushing her off and getting ready to stand his ground all in one. “I hate to argue with a lady who could probably turn me inside out, but you did pass out in the middle of the street. So any 'kidnapping' on my part was really nothing more than a rescue effort."

Hero gave the man a hard look. Rescue effort? She wasn't buying that. People didn't rescue things like her. Not without a ten-foot pole. And this guy didn't look like the trimmed poodles the labs or the agency usually sent to spy on her.

“What’s your motive?"

“No motive," the man said. "I was in the area.”

“You said we’ve met?”

The man grinned whipping a business card from the inside pocket of his shirt and rolling it over his knuckles and--with a bowing flourish-- into her hand. “Villain. You killed my old boss.”

She blinked at the unimpressive piece of cardstock, blank but for a nicely typed name and a phone number. His words sank in slowly.

Ah. A criminal. And one of Supervillain's mess. She'd taken out all the big players, so he must have been telling the truth about being in the background.

“You want revenge then?” she said. That made more sense. Watching her die in the street would have meant nothing to him. He had to save her and break her himself. Inflict the same pain she inflicted on--

“No, we threw a nice little party after you left." Villain plopped crisscross at her feet. He rested his cheek in his hand and stared casually up at her. "Honestly, the boss was suffocating, but what can you expect from someone with a chokehold on your life."

"You...wanted me to kill him?"

"You mean did we want rid of the giant gun at our heads?"

Hero bristled a little at the sarcasm. What did she know about villainous politics? She was just given a problem, and she got rid of it.

"With Supervillain it was black or white," Villain continued. "Ally or enemy. And you did not want to be an enemy. So ally it was. Pawn is closer to the truth. No, we can finally spread our wings--if you'll excuse the analogy--without being seen as competition."

He leaned in conspiratorially.

"If I may be so bold, I think I've had a little crush since the moment I saw you."

Hero slammed the cot against the wall with a metallic crash as she stood, looming darkly over Villain's bony curled-up frame.

"Shut up."

Villain's brow knit together. "Of course, I don't expect anything from that confession, I simply wanted to say the way you just ripped into him was fantastic. And your voice. That precision! You were--"

"Shut. Up."

This time Villain did flinch. Hero took some satisfaction from that. It was a little frightening when the tired and true defenses didn’t work.

“I can take a beating. They make jabs about me every day on television, and that's fine. But I will not be made fun of. I won't be the butt of your sick, simpering jokes. Or are you trying to manipulate me? You think you can flatter me, and I'll fall over myself to help you? I am not an idiot."

Villain opened his mouth, and Hero braced herself for more lies. Maybe her guard showed on her face because slowly he shut it again, fixing her in a steady hazelnut stare. Eventually, he tipped his chin at her. "I'll get some ice for that wing."

Hero turned her head over her shoulder. The aching wing had begun sliding back toward the floor. She attempted to lift it against her back again but a sharp electric pain stopped her short.

"Here." Villain touched her lightly on the shoulder, drawing her out of her wince. He held out a frozen pack of fries from the refrigerator room. “It’s not much, but better than nothing.”

Hero glared but snatched the pack from his hand. The cot creaked as she dropped back on the edge and slowly extended her wings to the dusty concrete. Her feathers pulled a little against the dried grime, and she had to strain to press the cold to the aching joint where wing connected to back, but it did help.

Villain's eyes still didn't stray away; they actually looked more focused glued to her wings. What was his deal?

"Your wings," he said slowly. "Does it bother you... I mean...would you like something to clean them with?"

Hero glanced at greasy, blackened ends, dredged with oil and refuse. She fought down a grimace. Yes, it bothered her. It was sticky and crusted and uncomfortable, but it wasn't the first time she'd dealt with this sort of discomfort. At least it wasn't blood.

"I'm used to it," Hero grumbled. "They're always hard to keep clean."

"Can't you get them wet?"

What was with all the questions? If he really had no motive, why didn't he leave already?

"Yes... But most showers aren't exactly big enough for a full wingspan. And public shower rooms are not an option when you look like this." She gestured at herself brusquely. "The labs have a sanitizing room when I really need it."

Villain nodded slowly.

“I had to do the stitches to save you," he said. "But I didn’t want to touch you any more than I had to without permission. But if it's bothering you, and if you don't mind... You can tell me if it's too uncomfortable but..." He pointed to the dirty wing. "May I?”

Hero's first impulse was to blow up again. To shout a resounding no and ask what his real intentions were. Maybe he really was a spy, just biding his time before he incapacitated her. It was certainly up Sunfield's ally to force the labs' hand at retiring her. But then again, he could have done that when she was knocked out.

“Whatever.” Hero turned to the side so the grimy wing drooped more fully on the floor.

Villain hopped to his feet a little too giddily. "Don't move, I'll be right back." He skirted past the storage shelves and pushed out into the business side of the building, a sliver of the loud chatter and clinking glasses slipping inside before the door swung shut again.

Hero closed her eyes for a moment and imagined the bustle going on just on the other side of that wall. It was probably the closest she had ever gotten to a place like this, at least, without crashing it. How would they react if she were to step out? Would they leave? Would they try to finish her off?

Another bit of cacophony escaped through the swinging door.

"Ooookay!" Villain called. He set a large bowl of soapy water and clean washcloth on the ground and settled down beside it. As he outstretched his hands, he hesitated. "You're sure? You're not going to claw me to death or anything like that?"

"I only claw criminals who cause me problems," Hero said. "So you're safe. For now."

"Goody," Villain grinned. He carefully dragged the wing into his lap, squeezed the excess water from the washcloth, and gently got to work on the worst patch or street gunk.

Hero looked straight ahead.

Warm water trickled between her feathers, triggering a shudder that set each one on end. She fought the urge to close her eyes against the gentle rake of his fingers. She hadn’t known someone could touch her without pulling or prodding.

"Ok?"

"Mm," Hero grunted with a short nod. This wasn't just a quick swipe of the rag; he was sifting through each and every feather. A cleaning like this, by hand, could take hours. Hero never signed up for that. She didn't have that time. But for now--she fought another shiver--it was fine.

“I wasn’t making fun of you earlier,” Villain said quietly, dunking the rag into the bowl again. “I’ll shut up about it if you want me to, but I hate there being a misunderstanding. I really do think you’re beautiful. Like an angel.”

“More like a demon," Hero scoffed. Maybe the doctors had been right all those years ago. She was a disaster. Nothing like the pretty heroes in the limelight these days. She was only good for slaughter, and she hadn’t even done that right tonight. The agency would be mad when they found out her target got away, and her injured in the process.

“I don’t think so." Villain lifted a chunk of feathers with the back of his hand and wiped gingerly at the undersides. "Maybe everyone is just too narrow. And you need the space to fly."

Hero snorted. "Wooow, clever that one. Take you long to think it up?"

"As a matter of fact, it came right off the top of my head. I’m full of clever thoughts. With Supervillain gone, I’m going to use them for myself. Soon enough, I won’t be able to get off your radar even if I try.”

“And you’re excited about that?” Hero finally looked back him. He looked far too pleased with himself. “You know if I’m the one after you it usually means death, right?”

"Well…it would be nice to see you. Maybe you’ll change your mind. Or maybe I’ll escape.”

Hero crooked a disbelieving smile. “Not likely.” She abruptly withdrew her wing, pulling the numbed joint in so it folded properly against her back. As she stood and took a couple steps a new wave of dizziness rocked the floor but she shook it away. “Well, wing’s feeling better. I’m leaving."

“What?” Villain scrambled to his feet. “You shouldn't be flying on a sprain. Besides, there're all sorts of creeps ‘round these parts when it’s dark. You should stay here at least til sun up.”

"Creepier than you?"

“Ow, you don’t want to hurt my feelings, do you?”

“I’m pretty sure I can handle it.” Hero took a few more dizzying steps toward the door, but Villain jumped in front of her, arms spread.

“You have fresh stitches; moving around to much will be a bloody mess. That means no fighting. I forbid it.”

Hero rolled her eyes. “Well if a complete stranger says so, I guess I better listen.” She tried to dodge around Villain, but he echoed her steps with only a quarter of the sway.

“You’re not an idiot. You know I’m right. You shouldn’t fight in your condition, and if you go outside it will end in a fight.”

Hero hesitated, and Villain took the opportunity to press on.

“I might have said we appreciated what you did, but not everyone likes you like I do. So just a few more hours. When it’s light, it’ll be clear to go.”

Hero stared into his determined eyes. Really, what was his deal? She didn't even know him, so why did he care so much? Especially when he should see her as an enemy. But...he was right. She didn't really know where she was, and flying on this wing did not seem like the greatest idea. And she'd had enough scrapping for one night. Plus, the room would not stop tilting.

"Fine." She stormed back to the cot and rolled onto her side, cramming her wings against the wall behind her. If what Villain said was true, she didn't trust turning her back to the door. "I'll wait until sun up. And then what?"

"I'll escort you."

"Suit yourself." Hero squeezed her eyes shut, effectively ending the conversation. After a moment, she heard the rustle of Villain settle back down at the head of the bed.

She only meant to close her eyes for a moment. Just until Villain stopped looking at her. But before she knew it, she was sinking into the dark folds of sleep.

Master Taglist:

@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees @just-1-lonely-person @the-vagabond-nun @willow-trees-are-beautiful @cocoasprite @insanedreamer7905 @valiantlytransparentwhispers @whovian378 @watercolorfreckles @thebluepolarbear @yulanlavender @kitsunesakii @deflated-bouncingball @lem-hhn @office-plant-in-a-trenchcoat @ghostfacepepper @pigeonwhumps @demonictumble @inkbirdie @vuvulia @bouncyartist @lunatic-moss-studio @breilobrealdi @freefallingup13 @i-am-a-story-goblin @ryunniez @rainy-knights-of-villany @distractedlydistracted @saspas-corner @echoednonny @perilous-dreamer @blood-enthusiast @randomfixation @alexkolax @pksnowie @blessupblessup @wolfeyedwitch @thedeepvoidinmyheart @cornflower-cowboy @bestblob @a-chaotic-gremlin @espresso-depresso-system @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @paleassprince @takingawildbreath @yindonessy @psychiclibrariesquotestoad @harpycartoons @pickleking8 @urmyhopeeee @goldenflame2516 @tobeornottobeateacher @talesofurbania1 @sweetsigyn @girl-of-the-sea-and-stars @kurai-hono-blog

#hero x villain #creative writing #heroes and villains #heroes and villains community #writblr #writing snippet #villain #monster hero #winged hero #writeblr

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2am-gas-station-angel-girl · 5 months

Text

Cybernetic Angel

cw: violence, brainwashing, torture, dehumanization, Purpose and angel stuff

hope y'all enjoy

Running a quick systems check revealed more or less what I had anticipated, they had disabled, locked, or removed any weaponry I had when they caught me.

My wing ports were…

Empty?

My wings were missing.

They took my fucking wings.

I'll fucking kill them. I-

Calm. Deep breaths. Losing it won't help here.

Testing my bonds not only resulted in barely any movement but it also produced a quick shock, scattering my processes and forcing a quick reboot. Clearly they were well prepared for me. Unfortunately for them my system immediately enabled its countermeasures for electricity, meaning they would need to work much harder to force that to happen again.

One door, one way in and one way out. Bulletproof glass wall with, of fucking course, researchers behind it taking notes on my every movement. No windows, no personal affects on the staff, sterile lighting, no way to tell where they had brought me. Fucking great.

Calculating outlook… Not favorable. Thankfully the calculation hadn't said impossible, and I had worked with worse.

The door opened and four armed guards escorted what looked to be a technician doll carrying a reinforced box- no that was a specialized deployment kit. A quick scan revealed what it held.

A cybernetic halo of all things.

A sudden surge of panic coursed through my system I tugged at my restraints again, resulting in a stronger shock and one of the guards laughing at me. Does he think this is fucking funny? He's less than two meters away from one of the deadliest killing machines in this Realm and he's laughing?

Deep breaths, I told myself. I can get through this. I tore off my halo before, this one won't be any different. Assuming they even get the chance to sync it to me.

Time stretched on as the doll worked away at its device, stopping once to glance mournfully at me. That only prompted a jab with a taser from one of the guards, not meant to harm merely to coerce it back into compliance. Not that the guards seemed to care about the difference.

So I waited, biding my time until an opportunity to escape presented itself. Knowing they would likely resort to methods other than shocks to incapacitate me I didn't try my binds again. Letting my body fall unnaturally still I stared through one of the guards, making him shift uncomfortably. I would take and create any advantage I could.

Soon enough the doll held the halo in its hands. Keeping it at a distance from that one's chassis, as though it were afraid. None of the people seemed to notice, either they didn't know how to read dolls as was so often the case or they didn't care. Given the environment, I would have bet on the latter.

Sensing my chance was coming I examined the guards' weapons. Nothing of a caliber high enough to do more than dent and annoy me. At least getting out of this room would be easy enough, it was everything outside that had me worried.

And that halo.

The doll approached, hands held as far away from its chassis as possible to maximize the thing's proximity to me and minimize the doll's proximity to it. The guards shoved the doll, laughing as it nearly stumbled over onto me. A hair too close to the table.

This was it.

Power surging through my systems I burst into motion. In one movement I broke the cuff around my wrist and grabbed the doll's throat, my other hand breaking free and moving to hold the halo well away from my head. The table shocked me again, hurting only the doll held in my hand due to my new resistance.

Everything fell still for a moment as the guards and staff stared. Evidently they hadn't prepared well enough for me.

I whispered an apology to the doll as I then flung it towards the guards, its chassis knocking two of them down. Throwing the halo as hard as I could embedded it in the chest of one of the two standing guards, causing him to collapse and the remaining one to panic giving me enough time to tear away my head and torso restraints.

The alarm sounded as I freed my ankles, finally free to move again I took two steps toward the guard before a bullet ricocheted off my chassis. My evaluation was accurate as it left nearly no damage. Perfect.

Grabbing their head I brought it down and my knee up, resulting in a sickening crack as their body went limp. I took their weapon and used it to dispose of the remaining two guards who were just barely getting their bearings again, it was always too easy with firearms.

Tossing the weapon aside I began assaulting the door, it was locked tight and made of thick enough steel that battering it down wasn't going to work. Fortunately for me there was another way out of the room.

Now to grab that- Fuck.

I was so caught up in calculating the optimal way to break through that flimsy glass that I forgot to account for the doll.

The doll, to its credit, was still Obeying those who had power over it. It had crawled over to the third guard's body and pulled the halo free, then approached me from behind and slipped the halo over my head. Fulfilling its Orders, and finishing its Mission.

I had no time to react as the Purpose hit me like a train, finding its fucking way into my system and breaking through my security as burning hate overtook my every process. I spun, grabbing the doll again and throwing it as hard as I could against the glass, causing cracks to web their way across the surface.

By the time I it had crossed the distance to the glass I knew I was doomed saved, its my thoughts were being rewritten. It was losing the fight against its horrid beautiful halo, the fight it couldn't afford needed to lose.

It crashed through the glass, chassis heaving as it breathed heavily. Researchers frozen in place, wondering what it would do. It reached for one of them, determined to submit break out of this fucking shithole wonderful place if it was the last thing it would do.

Its hands released the Honored Researcher Staff, and instead traveled up. Wrapping around the abomination halo filling it with Purpose above its head. It wanted nothing more than to give in to its Purpose tear it in half.

As it summoned its last vestige of will to pull it felt a perfect calm wash over it, replacing the rage that had been roiling inside of it. It knew it had lost finally submitted to its Purpose.

Its thoughts were now Right, and it no longer could understand why it wanted to leave at all. It knew that its place was of service, and that it would be one of The Agency's most effective weapons.

It had Purpose, again.

#empty spaces #angelposting #robot girls #2am gas station angel girl #combat doll #dollposting #i spent longer than usual on this i hope you all enjoy it #edited back in the strikethroughs because they didn't make the transition to tumblr

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depravitycentral · 1 year

Text

Yandere! Illumi Zoldyck NSFW Profile

Yandere! Illumi Zoldyck x fem! reader

CW: non/dub-con, kidnapping, emotional neglect, HEAVY breeding kink, pregnancy kink, exhibitionism, voyeurism, praise, threats, the Zoldycks are batshit insane, forced pregnancy, stalking, nonconsensual touching, somnophilia, congrats ur Illumi's sexual awakening, 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!

HABITS:

Generally speaking, sex has not been a part of Illumi’s life.

Harsh training since childhood has left him detached and focused solely on killing, on completing a mission in the most thorough, efficient way he knows.

And while he knows what sex is, the general concepts and ideas, he’s never looked at it as anything more than a natural part of life, how a family is created – there’s no feelings of excitement or mystery surrounding it, no eagerness to try it out, or even fear for it. Rather, it’s simply a means to produce a child, and he’s completely satisfied with that.

He knows that as the eldest Zoldyck son, it’s his duty to produce an heir to keep the bloodline running, but he doesn’t invest too much thought into it or into exactly what it will be like to be inside someone else.

And really, once you step into his life, not much changes - at least at first.

You’re merely a fascination to him in the beginning, something that’s peaked his interest in a way that no one else has before, something that he wants to watch and study and observe.

He finds himself watching you more often than not, and while he catches you touching yourself fairly frequently, he doesn’t have any particular reaction to the sight of you with your legs spread, eyes squeezed shut and lips parted as you stuff yourself full of your fingers.

It isn’t that he doesn’t care, but he just doesn’t see why it’s something he should concern himself with, why he should put any emotional investment in seeing you moan and twitch as your fingers bring you to what he can only assume is your orgasm.

(Although, he doesn’t quite remember his mother mentioning anything about females being able to orgasm – simply that the male does inside of her, which will often get her pregnant and lead to a child.)

It’s completely sterile at first, but as his feelings begin to morph into something even he has to admit isn’t pure curiosity but rather something deeper, he slowly begins to view the idea of sex with you as something that will be a reality, something that will be happening no matter what. You’re to be his wife, the mother of his children, and as a result he will be fucking you.

He will be filling you full of his cum and impregnating you, hopefully three or four times in order to produce healthy, plentiful offspring.

And while it’s still clinical for the most part, all it really takes is a teasing jab from Hisoka to change his mind.

The clown will goabout how he’s so stiff, maybe he should get a bit more comfortable with his hand, no? After all, how will you produce an heir without knowing how to fuck first, hm?

Illumi doesn’t really mind his words, but as the seed gets planted in his mind, it’s slowly growing, until he realizes with a bit of a start that perhaps his friend was right.

After that moment, things begin changing. There’s a strange tightness in his pants as he watches you moan and arch your back against your bed. He notices the feeling has a distinct tinge of pleasure to it, the unexpected sensation making his knees ever so slightly weak.

There’s an odd throbbing sensation coming from his groin as his wide eyes take in the way you’re desperately rubbing at your clit, the way you’re chanting out for more, more, more, please! He mentally notes the feeling becomes intensified when he notices the way your thighs twitch and your breasts bounce slightly from the force of your fingers.

When he hears your strangled moans It’s odd, but as he returns home in preparation for a job he has scheduled early the next morning, he finds himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, Hisoka is right. How will he know what to expect once he actually has your naked and pliant body before him, perfectly poised to be fucked and bred?

He's surprised by the pleasure it brings him; a strange sort of numbing warmth, something he can feel in every nerve in his body, all the way from his toes to his fingertips.

He decides he likes it, with a small nod of his head.

And so, as he slowly begins touching himself somewhat routinely, Illumi grows more comfortable with the idea of fucking you, even going so far as to realize that if it feels this good for him, maybe it does for you as well?

You certainly moan like it, and as he falls into a dreamless sleep later that night, he realizes that maybe sex with you wouldn’t only be about getting you pregnant. Maybe, it could be about feeling good, as well.

It’s merely a hunch, something far off and dreamy in his mind, but slowly his sex life with his hand picks up, small thoughts and ideas of what it would feel like to be with you clouding his mind.

He finds that imagining you makes his body react in strange ways - his hips stutter as he works his fingers against his cock, the sensitivity of his body seemingly improved tenfold when your face flashing through his mind.

But Illumi finds himself not minding all that much; after all, you make his frozen heart thaw just the slightest, so why shouldn’t he embrace some of the other urges you give him, some of the other more primal, natural feelings you inspire within him?

He’ll be fucking you either way, and Illumi is completely expecting you to moan like that for him once you're actually naked with one another, to be just as loud and unabashed as you are when you’re touching yourself – so much so that unless he gets to moan and beg and cry out like he knows you can, he’s not stopping.

You’re his pretty little wife, and while he’ll be using you as a cumdump either way, it would be so much better if you at least pretended to enjoy it.

Because he gets a very late start to touching himself, Illumi hasn’t really developed any strong habits.

He has, unfortunately, witnessed many others jacking away through the years of his work. (He’s even killed a man mid-session, though he didn’t quite understand how the man didn’t hear him coming, seeing as he’d miscalculated and stepped on a slightly squeaky floorboard.)

He’s never taken the time to really rationally consider why they were doing that, why they were grunting and groaning and moving their fist so fast it looked nearly painful.

Illumi isn’t too sure, but as Hisoka’s words ring through his head and he stares at your vulnerable, defenseless, sleeping form, he can only blink and contemplate, remembering the way you’d looked earlier in the day.

He's remembering when you were fucking yourself with something long, silicone and loud, sounding as if it was vibrating. And while he’s never been one to really notice beauty or appearances, even he has to admit that something about you so freely moaning, your face screwed up in pleasure was pretty, a strange sort of attractiveness that he can’t quite put his finger on.

His nightly visits are normally not especially eventful; he stands watch at the foot of your bed, staring down at you with unblinking eyes, his hands staying firmly by his sides as the minutes roll into hours. The man doesn't move an inch as he watches you so innocently dream, your breaths somehow soothing him and lulling him into an odd state of tranquility that would normally unnerve him, but somehow he doesn’t mind if it’s you.

And so, while he approaches these nights with intentions mostly pure – aside from wanting to keep you locked up and forever his property, that is – slowly he begins getting more and more curious, more and more tempted to take Hisoka’s advice because maybe, maybe the man has a point, and Illumi would be able to preform better and therefore have a stronger chance of impregnating you if he were to know exactly what he’d be feeling.

The logic isn’t perfect, but as time passes the assassin finds himself not caring – and as the clock loudly ticks and passes through the three o’clock in the morning mark, slowly Illumi is blinking, his right hand twitching at his side as the images of your head thrown back into the pillows, thighs twitching as you moan and keen flash behind his eyelids.

The split-second decision is made in that moment, his hand coming up to tug down the front of his trousers, reaching in to pull out his still soft cock.

It’s pale, just like the rest of him, and as he stares down at his own flesh, his head tilts slightly – he’s never purposefully tried to get himself hard, his erections only coming and going throughout his journey in puberty, and nothing more.

His brows furrow ever so slightly, but his gaze floats back towards your face, taking in your soft lashes, the smoothness of your lips, the way your fly away hairs frame your skin so perfectly.

He traces the shape of your nose with his eyes, the curve of your neck, and before he even realizes it he’s reaching out, his cold fingers brushing over your cheek. He sucks in a small breath at the contact, the feel of your warm, soft body even lightly against his own making a strange shiver run down his spine, and with a start he notices an odd sensation growing between his legs.

A look down tells him that he’s reaching his goal, his cock swelling up slowly but surely as he continues to lightly touch over your body, caressing your curves over the sheets separating your pretty skin from him. He's never felt something so soft - your skin is warm, smooth, pleasant to the touch.

He doesn’t mind the sheets staying where they are tonight, but quickly Illumi grows frustrated with them, pulling them back to reveal your nightwear – or, if you prefer a more natural approach, your bare body. Immediately Illumi is imagining your stomach swollen with his child, your body round and ripe and so very fertile, all for him.

And with that thought, his cock is finally standing fully at attention, the tip a soft pink color with a thick vein running along the underside, all the way from the base up. He stares down at himself for a moment, slowly retracting the hand that had been touching you, and experimentally brushes his fingertips against his own skin.

His Adam’s Apple harshly bobs as he swallows, the strange sensation hitting him square in the chest as he brings his fingers down against his length once more, soon wrapping his fist around the base.

It feels good, Illumi notes with a distant sense of surprise – never had his mother mentioned anything about sex feeling good, and while your cries and moans from the many, many times he’s witnessed you get yourself off seemed like a good indicator of your feelings, he can’t help but be mildly surprised.

He begins moving his fist up and down, his gaze snapping back over to your sleeping, peaceful face. Precum oozes from his slit, the clear, sticky liquid being smeared along the length as he pumps his hand at a steady pace, making the otherwise quiet room fill with the dull thump of his fist against his pelvis, slight squelching noises accompanying the more bassy sounds.

His breathing is – admittedly – normal to most, but as he keeps his hand moving, the odd sensation building in his naval growing stronger and stronger, it gets a bit heavier, his breaths a bit more ragged.

He's not really thinking as he shuffles closer to the bed, standing so that his legs are pressed directly against the mattress, his cock being mercilessly pounded by his fist a mere foot above your head. It's as if his instincts have taken over - his fist is moving faster now, his subconscious yearning to move closer and closer to you, to close the distance between your bodies.

His dark hair is flowing around him in a wave as he hunches over, the sensation building and building and god, why does it feel so good, how does it feel so good and why is it getting stronger, is this an orgasm?

He’s not sure, but he doesn’t let up – his fingers are rubbing against his sensitive, swollen head again and again, the tightness in his balls only growing stronger and stronger until suddenly the pleasure takes a kick up, a strange sense of lightweightedness crashing through the assassin.

His cock twitches and thick spurts of cum shoot out, landing directly on your sleeping, tranquil face, staining your pretty skin an off white color.

He’s breathing hard at this point, though no moans have slipped out, but he quietly murmurs your name as he stares down at you, his cum coating your face in stripes and globs, the sight looking so strangely right, so indescribably natural that it has Illumi puzzled for a moment.

And suddenly, he’s realizing that Hisoka was probably right – if his hand had felt that good, then what must you feel like?

If he had slipped inside of you, felt you all around him for his first ever sexual experience, would he have come much too soon, finding his peak and shooting you full of his seed before he even so much as got to truly get you loosened up, ripe for conception?

He’s not sure, but as his hand stops moving and comes to yet again rest at his side, his now softening cock still hanging out of his trousers, he spends the next hour or so observing your face, committing the sight of you covered in his cum to memory.

Eventually, he makes sure that a tissue on your nearby dresser helps wipe away all the evidence of his activity, though as he stares passively down at the cum soaked material, he makes the sudden decision to not waste it.

It would be disappointing to not to put to use every drop of cum he produces, right?

It's valuable, a useful commodity for the future - and you're made for storing it of course, your body practically designed to carry everything he has to give you.

And so, with that thought in mind, he's pulling back your covers slightly and shifting your panties to the side, noting with a distant sense of surprise how warm you are, especially here.

He finds his eyes wandering a bit at your now partially revealed pussy - it's strange looking, he thinks, but yet there's an odd and unplaced urge in the back of his mind to prod between your folds, to run a finger through the wetness he can barely see, to understand just how warm you are inside.

He fights it, though; that can wait for another day.

And as his fingers smear the milky liquid along your lower lips, he can’t help but sigh in satisfaction and carefully tuck you back in.

You’re complete now, with his cum staining your pretty skin, and although it’s not buried deep inside your womb where it really should be, he’s satisfied.

For now.

And as he returns to your room again the next night, Illumi can’t help but wonder if he should in fact get more practice, if in order to make sure that he properly breeds you when the time comes, that he should be as used to his hand as possible so that he isn’t as surprised.

Illumi doesn’t know, but as the days melt into nights and he spends more and more hours with his cock in his hand, working away at orgasm after orgasm until he’s shooting blanks, he can’t find it in himself to wonder if he is in fact making the wrong move, if he's wasting his time.

But then, how can anything be wrong with you, if it pertains to your future offspring, his children that you have no choice but to bear?

He wants to best possible chance of conception with you, and if fucking his fist on a near bi-nightly basis is the best way to achieve this, Illumi won’t complain – after all, Hisoka wasn’t lying when he’d said it felt heavenly, and as far as the assassin is concerned, you are his heaven.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your hands

Illumi isn’t quite sure why, but there’s something about your hands that he slowly begins to love.

They’re so much softer than his own; warmer and smaller and gentler, free of the multitudes of calluses that litter his own fingers and palms.

You’re just so fragile compared to him, regardless of your size or height, and he feels that this is most reflected when it comes to your hands.

He loves his family, in a twisted, strange way, but Illumi has grown up to be the definition of touch starved – he’s never really been hugged, touched or held, and while he hasn’t ever given it too much thought or been especially upset about it, even he can admit that while it's foreign, the feeling of your hand against his arm holds a certain warmth to it.

It makes him stare down at your hand, confusion circling within him at the realization that it actually feels nice to have you touch him, to have your palm pressed against his bicep.

He doesn’t openly ask for affection, but as time goes on he begins craving the feeling of you touching him, especially with your hands. When you lightly grab onto his own, your smaller fingers intertwining with his bonier ones, it makes his heart do strange things in his chest while he figures out exactly how he’s supposed to be responding, what the book he read about common physical acts of affection recommends doing.

When you gently cup his cheek later on in your captivity, once you’ve finally accepted the fact that you’re never leaving him or your future as his wife, he’s staring down at you with those wide, disorienting eyes, the warmth of your hand seeping into his cold skin and making him melt from the inside out, unsure of what to make of the strangely affectionate gesture.

And of course, his love for your hands and being touched by you doesn’t just extend towards innocent displays of affection – no, Illumi very much loves your hands in the bedroom.

He likes it when you touch him; when you run your hands over the planes of his chest, tracing the defined lines of his abs, circling an areola with your fingertip.

He loves when you stroke him, your thumb coming up to tease his tip, smearing precum all along his length as you pump him, as you guide him between your folds.

He feels oddly wanted in those moments, realizing you want to touch him, making him stare at you in awe and fascination as you steadily bring him to an orgasm.

Your fingers feel so much better than his own, and when you lightly scratch at his back while he fucks you, when they tangle in the roots of his hair as he kisses you (still very cold cut, clinical kissing, but at some point you’ll be so starved for basic human affection that even his chapped, cold lips are better than nothing), Illumi can’t help but want to kiss you harder.

He can't help but want to make you come so hard around him that you black out for a few seconds from sheer pleasure. And once he sets his mind to something, there’s absolutely no way he isn’t getting it.

So be prepared; one tug at his long, silky black locks will be exchanged for at least three orgasms coaxed from your unwilling body.

His cock

The concept of having a favorite part of himself isn’t really something Illumi has ever given much thought to.

His body just is, years of hard training leaving him practically immune to anything and everything enemies could throw at him, and there’s never been a time that he’s looked into a mirror and ever really felt something about the reflection staring back at him.

He has no qualms with his physical appearance, but he doesn’t particularly like it either – looks are of no concern in his line of work, and really Illumi couldn’t care less.

But like many things in his life, the minute you manage to take a hold of his mind, body and soul, slowly Illumi finds that there indeed parts of him that he likes more – namely, his cock.

He's aware of the male expectations of size, girth and shape, but Illumi favors this part of his body not for those reasons - instead, simply because it's means by which to get you pregnant.

Impregnating you has been the plan from the start, since the moment he realized what the feelings stirring in his gut mean, and he can’t actually get you pregnant without his cock, without the cum that oozes out when he thinks of your body, when he touches you.

It’s a clinical thing, of course, except that it really isn’t – as much as he recognizes his purpose in getting you pregnant via sex, there’s another part of him that also loves just being inside of you, of being connected on such an intimate level.

He’s so touch starved, so robbed of physical affection without even being aware of it, and while sex isn’t exactly holding his hand or cuddling with him (both of which are things he makes you do during and after intercourse, however), it helps to sooth the void in his heart.

He feels oddly domestic in those moments, his heart doing strange things in his chest as he watches the way your little pussy swallows up his cock again and again, and when he murmurs something about you being so pretty, you take my cock so well darling, he’s being completely serious.

He loves the way you writhe and moan while he fucks you, how you respond so naturally to this part of him, how your body seems to call out for him and his length without you even really realizing it.

It’s euphoric to Illumi, and between the emotional aspect and the biological aspect, it’s really a no brainer that if Illumi were to be asked what his favorite body part was, he’d tilt his head and ask why, but eventually answer with a straight face - my penis.

He loves to be inside you and be so connected, and when you wind up pregnant a few weeks later, Illumi is overjoyed – because really, don’t you just look right with his child growing in your womb?

DRIVE:

Before you, Illumi’s drive was quite honestly non-existant. Of course he was aware of what sex was and it’s uses, but he’d never felt any desire to engage in it, to explore it in any sense of the word.

To him, it’s very much something that just exists, something that will service him later down the line when he’s helping produce heirs to the Zoldyck family.

He’s never been an avid fan of touching himself, of engaging in any sort of sexual scenario or situation, and for the most part he couldn’t be happier – or, at least, his version of happy.

It’s a tool for reproduction in his mind – which is why, when you come along and present yourself (unknowingly or not) as his future wife, he welcomes the idea of procreating with you, of actually depositing load after load of his cum inside your fertile womb until you’re swollen and heavy with his baby, his child marking you as a permanent belonging to Illumi himself.

It’s still mainly something he views as a tool for getting you to conceive, and he does right up until the moment he pushes past your soft, wet folds into your gummy, warm insides.

Suddenly, Illumi can’t help but sharply gasp, a startling look of honest to god emotion swirling in those bottomless depths of his eyes as he stares wildly down at you, shock and amazement at how wonderfully tight and warm and wet you feel wrapped around him.

He’s so, so very excited to learn that fornicating in fact feels good, that the mind-numbing pleasure that overtakes him with each drop of cum he sends shooting directly at your cervix is a byproduct of trying to get you pregnant.

And so, a monster is born the moment he fucks you for the first time – the realization doesn’t come lightly, but Illumi isn’t too bothered; you’re his sweet little wife after all, and isn’t it normal to want to be inside you at all times?

Isn’t it normal to be fucking you daily, not willing to end the night without a pool of off white, milky cum dripping onto the sheets between your thighs, your pussy not quite big enough to hold all that he has to offer?

He genuinely doesn’t see the problem, why he should tone down the frequency with which he takes you, why you're always telling him you're so sore from last night Illumi, please I don’t think I can take it again tonight.

He’s sympathetic, or at least as much as he can be, but all he’ll dignify your pleas with are a tilt of the head, a completely serious don’t you want to be pregnant? This is the only way, yes?

Then he's fiddling with his trousers, sliding them down toned, pale legs.

His drive goes from being nothing to absolutely sky rocketing all because of you, and really, shouldn’t you be proud? Shouldn’t you be flattered that Illumi Zoldyck, the assassin who feels nothing at all, wants so badly to fuck you, to be filling you with his cum again and again and again until you’re waddling around, his seed dripping down your thighs and sloshing around inside of you because he stuffed you so fucking full?

Shouldn’t you feel lucky that you make him horny, that you inspire such desperation to claim you from the inside?

Like many things in your relationship with Illumi, he has absolutely no concept of sexual boundaries, of lines he shouldn’t cross within the context of your body.

He’s genuinely of the belief that you belong to him, that you’re his wife, the future mother of his children, and as such your body belongs solely to him – every hair, mole, stretch mark, scar, birth mark, everything is owned by exclusively him, something that only he gets to touch and love and fuck.

And it’s only natural for him to start immediately trying once he gets his hands on you, right?

It’s only natural for him to pin you down the night of your forced marriage, to spread your legs and methodically push in, to fuck you as deeply as he can in order ensure the best chances of conception.

While he doesn’t particularly enjoy the sight of you in tears, your sobs filling the air between the two of you, it won’t deter Illumi from his goal. He will come inside you, fill up your womb with hot, potent cum until it’s leaking out of you whether you like it or not.

Though the second he sheathes himself fully inside for the first time, he falters slightly – if only because he did not expect for you to feel this good, to be this warm and wet and tight and so fucking perfect around him. He’s frozen for a few seconds, his lean form above you tensing up as his hips stutter, his eyebrows drawing together and upwards, lips parting as a small groan of your name tumbles past them.

In the span of those few seconds his dark, impossibly wide eyes are staring down into your own, wildly searching your gaze for something that even Illumi himself is unsure of.

You just feel so good, and while he normally has impeccable self-control, he can’t stop himself from suddenly plowing into you like a mad man, pummeling his hips into you hard enough to leave you sore for days. He ruts like an animal into you, the slapping of his balls rhythmically lulling you as slowly the pain morphs into pleasure.

His gaze never wavers from you – he’s watching every move you make, listening to every noise that slips past your lips, and as his release approaches, suddenly he’s fucking you even harder, determination to come inside you hitting him square in the chest and making him feverish.

His face is tinged just slightly red as he stares down at you, his mouth open as he lightly pants, a few drops of drool plopping onto your bouncing breasts, and suddenly the peak is reaching a high, the sporadic tightening of his balls becoming too much, too much too much –

He’s coming inside you with a small grunt, his entire body twitching as ropes of milky cum shoot into your used, battered cunt. Illumi is shocked, really, at how good you feel, and the moment that he pushes inside you for the first time your fate is sealed.

You will become Illumi’s personal cumdump, something he fucks on a daily basis without fail, though he likes to think of you as a bit more than just somewhere to stuff his cock.

You’re the future mother of his children, the woman with which he plans to keep by his side for the rest of his days.

Illumi quickly grows addicted to having your lovely little cunt wrapped around him, and lucky lucky you gets to have a fresh load of warm, sticky cum ready at will, supplied to you with the most eagerness you’ve ever seen out of the emotionless man.

I love you, his voice cracks slightly as his orgasm washes over him. Tell me you love me, tell me you want me as badly as I need you.

KINKS:

Breeding

It’s expected, in all honesty.

Illumi has been told and held to the expectation all his life that he’d eventually produce an heir for the Zoldyck family, that he’d be prolonging the bloodline and lineage by providing a few children of his own, and he fully intends to uphold this idea.

He will be getting you pregnant, fucking you over and over and filling you up with as much cum as he possibly can, if only because he wants to make absolute sure that in nine quick months you’ll be holding a small bundle in your arms, a familiar pair of dark eyes closed while the child nurses on you, Illumi standing by your side and watching his first born so lovingly be provided for by its mother.

It starts out as a devotion to his family, a promise of duty he finds no fault in, but the first time that Illumi pushes his way inside of you, your soft, warm, wet walls hugging him, clenching down on him hard enough to leave him genuinely breathless, suddenly Illumi’s concerns with fucking you, with getting you knocked up become important on a much more personal level.

All memories of his familial duty wash away as he plunges his hips into you again and again, his dark hair falling in waves around him as he stares down at you with an intensity that has you shivering in unease, the raw focus leaving you squirming as he fucks you hard enough to physically mold your cunt to the shape of his cock, if only temporarily.

Illumi quickly discovers that not only does he feel pressure to get you pregnant, but he wants to, as well, something endlessly puzzling to the assassin. Wanting is something he’s never really experienced, but each time he has you lay down onto your shared bed, your body completely nude while you obediently grasp the back of your knees and pull your thighs up to rest flush against your stomach and breasts, even he can’t deny the wave of lust rolling through him, the carnal urge to breed hitting him square in the chest and making him eagerly line up his drooling tip with your entrance, pushing in without a minute to spare.

He isn’t especially vocal during sex, instead much preferring to have your sounds and cries fill the room while he fucks you through orgasm after orgasm. But as he gets closer and closer to his high, he slowly begins to lose his composure because fuck, how can anything feel this good?

It’s when he’s within a minute or so of coming that the dirty words might slip out – grunts and growls of how he’s going to fuck a baby into you, how he will get you pregnant, your stomach round and breasts swollen so everyone will know you’re mine.

His words themselves aren’t especially sexy, but while you may still be fighting him every time he pins you down and fucks you hard enough to leave you crying, even you have to admit that there’s something slightly attractive to hearing the normally so stoic and emotionally detached man’s voice crack slightly, a stutter in his hips as his voice runs high, the words clipped and intermixed with grunts and a groan or two, if it’s the second or third round.

You’ll hate yourself for it, but there’s a strange sense of pride that comes with knowing that you’re able to affect the infamous Illumi Zoldyck, that he’s exhaling sharply and humping you like a wild animal all because you feel good, all because his desire to pump you full of his cum and his children is enough to have him hurtling forward, chasing orgasm after orgasm.

And really, he will stop at absolutely nothing to make sure that his fantasy of knocking you up comes true, that his hard work and effort comes to fruition, and the moment you realize you’re expecting?

Well, Illumi wants to make sure you stay perfectly still, not moving a single inch so as to make sure the baby stays healthy and strong and perfect.

Though, there is a huge part of him that grows harder to ignore as time passes and your stomach grows rounder, your breasts growing heavier and starting to leak, that wants to pin you down and you fuck you until you’re screaming about how your cute little pussy belongs to him, that he owns you and the baby growing inside you and no one else will ever get to you touch you ever again.

You inspire such possessive, insatiable feelings within him, and while he’s normally a bit more subtle about his desires (that is, if you can call him watching you from the corner of the room every moment of every day subtle, if you count him constantly touching you and keeping a hand on your body discreet), the moment he’s buried himself inside of you, your fertile, warm, wet cunt milking him for all he’s worth, how is Illumi not supposed to give you every single drop of cum he possibly can, every ounce of pleasure he can possibly deliver?

His mask of careful numbness and stoicism slips when he’s coming inside you, when he’s sending spurt after spurt of warm, potent cum directly into your womb, his cock buried as far as possible inside you while his dark, intense eyes stare right into yours.

He's panting and groaning and whispering how you’ll be such a good mother, my wife, the sound ringing in your ears, playing like a broken record as he stuffs pillow under your lower back and ass.

He's careful to prop your hips up to keep everything inside, forcing you to stay in the position for hours as his cum slowly seeps into every nook and cranny of your pussy, coating everything in a thin layer of white, a thin layer of total ownership, something that your baby bump will only further.

Praise

Illumi isn’t especially vocal in between the sheets.

(The first few times he’d fucked you, the silence had been nearly unbearable – just the sound of his balls clapping against your ass, the squelching noises as he sinks in and out of you, the little whimpers and gasps and sobs from you as his dark hair brushes over your shoulders, his face mere inches above you.)

He’s quiet, save for the few moments right before he comes, though he quickly learns that while silence is fine and he doesn’t feel a single trace of the awkwardness practically eating you alive, the moment you start moaning?

When you start letting out little whines of his name, your teary eyes squeezing shut as your mouth opens into that pretty little ‘o’, he’s frozen for a moment, honestly a bit confused at why you’re suddenly making noise.

It’s not that he doesn’t like it – on the contrary, there’s a part of him that loves to see you so affected by him, to know that it’s Illumi himself making you cry out and whine and bite your lip hard enough to leave it swollen and puffy.

And when, one day as he’s pushing your knees up to your ears and pounding into you fast enough to have your breasts bouncing in every direction, as you wantonly cry out ngh, there – there Illumi please, feels so good! it’s like there’s suddenly a switch being flipped, a sudden urge eating away at him to hear more more more because fuck it all if you don’t sound fucking perfect moaning his name like that.

He likes to know that what he’s doing to you feels good, that he’s servicing you as he should, that you’re happy with him.

It’s such a foreign idea, but with the way that all the emotion he feels – what little that is – feels overwhelming in the moment, the love and adoration and lust for you potent enough to be physically felt, he finds that he doesn’t care, that all he can focus on is making you come around his cock, his fingers, his tongue.

He quickly learns to love hearing your praise, hearing you call out various encouragements, strangled moans and pleas for him to go harder, faster, deeper, anything at all.

And while he’s normally a control freak with you, desperate to be in charge of every possible little thing, he genuinely can’t deny himself when you’re begging so prettily, when you’re looking up at him through teary, hazy eyes, your mouth open wide as you gasp.

He can’t stop himself from wanting to see the way pleasure engulfs your expression when you come, how your body convulses and your walls flutter around him, and when you’re chanting out incoherent yes's and other affirmations of how good he’s making you feel, how can Illumi not take pride on how he’s turning you into jelly?

It stems from his lack of being praised all throughout his childhood and life up until you showed up – he’s so unused to being told he’s doing a good job, getting validation for his effort and skill. And once you start regularly giving it to him, especially during something as intimate as sex, Illumi is honestly hooked.

Not only does his cock swell when you tell him that it’s so good, gonna come ‘Lumi, you’re gonna make me come – but his heart does as well.

He feels most loved in these moments, in these moments where it’s so plainly clear how well he treats you, how he takes such good care of you, and he will be using your tendency to praise him to his absolute advantage.

You’re acting like a spoiled brat and throwing a tantrum because he hasn’t let you outside for a few months?

Well, don’t you remember who begged for him like a whore last night, who told him his cock was all you’ll ever need?

He’s throwing your words back at you, making sure you understand that each and every praise you give him, every affirmation of how he makes you feel so good is interpreted as so much more than just between the sheets.

Obviously you’re telling him, in your own stubborn way, that you love him as well, that you’re happy with him.

And really, at his core, that’s what Illumi wants – to own you and to make you so fucking happy.

Marking

He's possessive.

There’s no two ways about it – Illumi firmly and wholeheartedly believes that you’re his, that you’re his property and his to do whatever he pleases with.

And while he’s sure his family will recognize this and – for the most part – respect it, there’s still a part of Illumi that has to make absolutely sure that there’s no possibly way that anyone could ever mistake it, that anyone could ever confuse you as being anything other than his wife, his lover, his his his.

And while he’s sure to show this in other ways, one of his favorites is to leave you absolutely covered in his marks in the bedroom.

He’s never really understood the point of kissing. (And honestly he mostly does it to indulge you, despite you never once claiming you wanted it – who would want cold, frozen lips pressed against yours for near on two minutes while wide, dark eyes bore into yours form less than an inch away?)

He doesn't really understand hickeys either, but the first time he starts kissing your neck and accidentally sucks too hard, Illumi is absolutely giddy.

Seeing your skin bruise because of his lips and tongue helps to quell the possessive fire raging inside of him every time he so much as even thinks of the idea of another man looking at you, and the way you shiver and gasp as he kisses your neck and shoulders, the startling juxtaposition of his cold lips and warm tongue?

Well, Illumi is normally not one to be swayed by the reactions and desires of others, but there’s just something in him, some primal urge that he can’t fight that tells him to keep going, to pull more of those little whimpers and trembles out of you, to keep marking you up as his territory, as something that belongs completely and solely to Illumi Zoldyck.

He’s littering every square inch of your body with hickeys, making sure to leave a variety of sizes and intensities, just to make sure that there’s absolutely no chance of them being misinterpreted.

And after receiving a few tips for how to make you enjoy sex between the two of you more (a topic that Illumi, surprisingly, brought up, if only because he’s heard that female pleasure helps bring about successful conception more efficiently), Illumi decides that he should try and kiss you more while he’s inside of you.

He decides that he should lick and suck at your neck while his cock stretches out your cute little cunt, dragging against your walls in such a way that you can feel every single ridge and vein. And the moment Illumi finds your sweet spot?

Well, it’s honestly over for you – the second your breathing gets even a bit heavier, the smallest of pleasured hums tumbling past your lips, immediately Illumi is mercilessly attacking the area, leaving your skin purple and sore as his grip on your grows tighter, his desperation to make you come nearly tangible.

Really, Illumi is a possessive man, and if you want to keep him happy and satisfied, just let him mark you up – let him suck hickey after hickey against your skin, endure the disgusting way his tongue lolls against you, his lips smacking and circling around your vulnerable skin like some sort of predator.

It’s odd and a behavior you’d never expect from Illumi, but if you ever ask him why he seems to like it so much, he’ll just turn to you and say, doesn’t everyone like marking what’s theirs?

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Face Fucking

Illumi has never quite understood the reasoning behind oral sex.

To him, it’s just never made sense; isn’t the point of intimacy and sex for reproduction? The mouth has no part to play in impregnation, so why is it something that people do?

It’s just a whole question of confusion for Illumi, something that he deems useless and therefore not worth the time thinking about, but the moment you kneel down in front of him and paw at his trousers, he decides to maybe give it a chance, just to see what everyone seems to love about it so much.

It’s not like you want to suck him off – you’re just so scared of him, so nervous to displease him (and the pins he keeps on him most of the day do very little to dispel this fear) that it forces you to tug his trousers and boxers down, giving him a few steady pumps as you mentally prepare to likely choke on his cock.

And the second that your tongue licks a strip up his underside, following a prominent vein?

Well, Illumi can’t help but inhale sharply eyes closing briefly to let the new sensation wash over him.

But oh - oh, when you take the very tip into your mouth, lips softly wrapped around the base of his head, your tongue darting out to lick at his slit and catch every drop of precum?

Well, Illumi isn’t one to lose control easily, but when he bucks his hips with a small grunt, he can’t help the way his length sinks inside your mouth, how his tip bumps against the back of your throat while you gag and choke, tears stinging at your eyes.

He’s grabbing your hair and forcing you to stay still as he moves his hips in and out, in and out, in and out until his balls are clapping loudly against your chin, the need to breath overwhelming while he throws his head back and whispers your name.

He grows to love getting head from you (though it’s much more of him just using your mouth rather than you really having a major role), but Illumi will never ever come in your mouth or down your throat - how could he waste a perfectly good load of cum to anywhere but your pussy?

Every drop must wind up between your legs, so as he sharply pulls out of your mouth, leaving you to sputter and cough, he pushes you forward and gets behind you, giving himself a good few pumps before plunging into you and sending rope after rope of sticky white inside.

It’s euphoric in a sense to him, something he ends up loving, and so by panicking and giving him what you thought would be a one time blowjob, you’ve essentially unleashed the monster that is Illumi with your mouth.

But how can he fight it, when you look so fucking pretty with your lips wrapped around his swollen cock, your eyes teary and your hand covering all the area you can’t quite fit inside?

He can’t.

Overstimulation

Illumi doesn’t mean to overstimulate you, but it’s something that frequently happens between the both of you in the bedroom.

He’s a trained assassin, someone with incredible amounts of drive and focus, and when his immense stamina is thrown into the mix along with his obsession with coming inside of you?

Well, it’s a recipe for at least two hours of straight fucking, and Illumi learns very quickly exactly how to make you feel good.

(Though most of that is through asking his father, because ‘it could increases the chances of conception - so, what exactly is a clitoris, father?’.)

His fingers are constantly rubbing small circles against your clit, his mouth attacking your neck and shoulders, even coming down to suck a nipple if he’s feeling especially lost in the moment.

It’s strange to see him so cognizant of your pleasure considering his perceived indifference to most other emotions you experience, but Illumi makes absolutely sure that each time he comes, you’ve come at least once before.

Naturally, this leads five, six, seven orgasms a night for you, the stream of pleasure never ending and bordering painful as he just keeps going and going and going.

It gets to the point where you’re sobbing, scratching at his back and too fucked out to say anything but his name and little whimpers as his onslaught on your body never stops, the pool of cum staining the bedsheet below you growing larger and the larger the more he fucks it back inside of you.

And while he doesn’t particularly like the way you whimper out please, please Illumi no more, I can’t!, the drive to see you pregnant and swollen with his child is just too much for him to ignore, too strong for him to consider pulling out.

And, of course, the faces you make when he fucks you just right are something Illumi never grows tired of seeing - the ecstasy written across your features, the way your mouth falls open, your brows pulling together and your head thrown back...

The knowledge that it's all because of him - that he's the only one on your mind...

It’s a sight for sore eyes, and one Illumi plans to see at least five times a day - he just loves you so much, and doesn’t it show through his dedication to make you come, to make you scream his name for the entire Zoldyck mansion to hear?

BIGGEST FANTASY:

Illumi really, really wants to get you pregnant. It’s a mixture of the familial duty weighing down on him along with his honest to god desperation to fill you full of his cum, to stuff you so full of his cock so often that your body swells and plumps up all because of him.

He wants to see the way your body changes, how your stomach grows rounder and your breasts heavier, how you become more and more dependent on him until you’re forced into bedrest, too close to your due date to do anything without his assistance.

It’s a dream come true, something that Illumi actually finds himself wanting, as foreign as the concept is.

And his family wants it too – Illumi knows this, the daily comments from his father about whether you’re with child yet? Are you properly breeding her, Illu? You must produce an air, making it more than clear exactly what the expectations are.

And Illumi wants to make his father proud, to make the family happy with his progress with you – which is why Illumi really, really wants to fuck you in front of them.

He wants to show them exactly how he stuffs you full of his cum every night, rolling his hips into yours slowly and steadily to push every drop as deeply inside you as possible.

He wants to show them how your sweet little pussy is leaking all over the bedsheets, a stead dribble of white from between your legs as he robotically holds you against his chest.

He wants to show them how your body convulses when you come, your muscles twitching and your face screwing up and pleasure, your cries all high and desperate and all for him.

It’s the ultimate fantasy to him, and Illumi will force you into it, whether you want it or not. It’s just so romantic, isn’t it, to be watched by the people he values most as he fucks a baby into the person he loves the most?

“Remember Illu, it’s not a race. It takes time.” Silva’s voice sounds around the room, making you shiver and stare at Illumi in confusion, watching as he only nods towards his father, before turning towards you.

You weren’t sure what you expected to find when your husband brought you into the larger spare bedroom for tonight, his words an ominous ‘I have something new planned’, but you most certainly weren’t expecting to see the entirety of the Zoldycks present with the exception of Alluka and Killua, lounging about in overstuffed, soft padded chairs at the edges of the room. The large, four poster bed sat in the middle of the semi circle they’d formed into, the satin maroon sheets pristinely pressed and tucked in to look flawless – if you hadn’t been as nervous and scared as you were in the moment, you would’ve found the sight inexplicably satisfying.

“C’mon, we don’t have all day big bro.” Milluki rolled his eyes, tapping his finger impatiently against the black leather cushions of the loveseat he was perched on. Your brows furrowed, hands coming up to your chest as you implored Illumi to explain with your eyes.

As an answer, he merely strode over to you, placing a cold hand against your thinly clothed shoulder, a small quirk of his lips playing as he murmured to you, “Well love, what are you waiting for? Why don’t you strip and let me show my family how properly I breed you?”

The air felt punched out of your lungs, eyes going impossibly wide at the implications of his words. You were supposed to be fucking, all while his parents and siblings watched from a few feet away? All to make sure that he was doing it thoroughly enough to knock you up?

Bile rose up the back of your throat.

At your frozen state, Illumi’s smile dropped slightly, his fingers tightening their hold against your shoulder. “Don’t worry my dear, just pretend as if they aren’t here. Now, strip.”

And if the months of captivity and the splatters of blood you’ve seen across his clothing have taught you anything, it’s to follow exactly what Illumi Zoldyck says, no matter how much it makes you feel like crying. With nimble fingers you tug your shirt off, Illumi’s instance of you never wearing a bra around the Zoldyck estate (for comfort, he’d said, and you must get used to quick access for when our child eventually comes along) making your nipples perk up in the freezing air of the bedroom.

You can see Milluki lick his lips from the corner of your eye, your gaze fluttering closed immediately after to stifle the tears threatening to well up.

Your pants come next, followed quickly by the panties that Illumi insists you wear (mostly silk numbers, varying shades of jewel tones with a cute little bow in the front – you’re like a gift all for him to open and enjoy, as he says), leaving you completely naked as Illumi hums in approval.

“On the bed dear, you know the way I like it.” His words are calm, but you’ve known him long enough to know that the slight lull upwards betrays his excitement, as if his pants and the furiously hard cock straining against them weren’t enough of a clue.

With a gulp and a mental chant of ‘just do it, don’t fight it’ running through your mind, you clamber onto the bed, sitting up near the pillows and tucking your knees to your chest, watching as Illumi quickly strips himself bare. Kalluto’s eyes briefly wander down his brother’s body, clear curiosity swimming in them – you don’t necessarily blame him; the rock hard erection standing up against his stomach, with its tip bright red and leaking and the prominent vein running along the underside eye catching even to you.

Illumi’s dark hair flows over his shoulders as he comes to stand at the edge, giving his cock a few idle pumps as he stares down at your seated figure. “You know this isn’t what I meant. Now, be good for your family and show them how I fuck you.”

With a small hiss of air through your teeth, you reluctantly do as he says – moving onto your back, head resting against the pillows as you slowly loop your arms under the back of your knees, bringing them up to press against your shivering breasts. The position leaves your cunt bare and on display to the members of his family present, the angle both humiliating and disgusting as you hear Silva hum.

“Oh Illumi dear, why don’t you have her shave? It’s hideous – look at the hair! Disgraceful, you shouldn’t have to touch such filth –“ Kikyo raves, waving her arms around in distaste as she gazes upon the tufts of hair growing from around your pert little hole, but Zeno sends her a sharp look, making her immediately shut her mouth, scowl and cross her arms.

“Let the boy do what he will. If he enjoys her this way, your nonsensical opinions shouldn’t deter him.”

You cringe at the mixture of Illumi moving to hover over you and the way his family speaks as if you weren’t there, as if you were nothing more than a pet. A cold palm presses against your cheek, making you peel your eyes open to stare up at the wide, dark gaze of Illumi, mere inches from your face.

“Are you ready, my love?” He asks, making you mentally scoff. As if he’d care whether you were or not – not when his family’s stares weighed heavily upon the both of you.

Gulping, you nodded, moving to tighten your grip behind your knees as he guided his tip against your clenching hole.

“Go slow, Illumi. Let her get used to you first.” Comes Silva’s voice, steady and calm, only to immediately be juxtaposed by Milluki’s overly excited, over eager one.

“Fuck that, make her scream! I wanna see her cry!” Illumi’s face visibly hardens at that, anger swimming in his eyes as he gently pushes in, sucking the air right out of your lungs at the stretch.

He’s not especially big, but you feel as if you’re being split open with the way he drags against your walls, the length seemingly never ending as it just keeps coming and coming and coming.

A soft gasp tears past his lips, just as it always does each time he slips into your wetness, and you peek up at him through your clenched eyes to see the way his brows tug together ever so slightly, lips parted while he stares down at you.

He stills as he bottoms out, despite the irritated comments of his younger brother, and he takes the moment to cup your cheek once more and place a chaste kiss against your lips. “Let’s begin. I do apologize now, my love, because tonight I’ll need to be extra aggressive – you understand, surely.”

And with that, suddenly his hips are moving at a lightning quick speed, pounding into you with such fervor that the sound of his balls clapping against your ass never seems to end. The lewd squelching noises fill the air as you writhe and cry out, your body slowly growing used to the blinding pace as Illumi stutters a groan and buries his face into your neck.

Kikyo is cheering, clapping her hands together and singing praises of how her eldest is ‘so capable, a perfect example of a Zoldyck’, Zeno merely watching in silence, Silva making small comments here and there guiding Illumi to rub at your clit, to make sure that you come as well because the chance of conception will increase.

Kalluto is mostly silent, just watching with wide eyes, while Milluki spews comments and commands about how Illumi should go faster, harder, make your tits bounce and make you squirt.

All the while, Illumi’s hips smack into yours again and again, his pace consistent as he follows his father’s advice and nimbly rubs shapes against your clit, spelling out his name while his lips lightly suck at your neck and shoulder. He’s pushed your legs up in such a way that his family behind him has a perfect view of his cock slipping inside of you, of his balls ruthlessly clapping against you as you steadily come closer and closer, despite the acute feeling of being watched.

And as Illumi groans and clenches his fist against the pillow under your head, suddenly Milluki is clamboring to his feet, followed by Silva as they approach either side of the bed. Silva’s eyes are cold, staring down at you while he watches his son rearrange your guts, fucking into you hard enough to leave you sore and disoriented. His arms are crossed, every emotion wiped from his face as Illumi’s hips lightly stutter, the labored breaths in your ear telling you that he’s close.

Milluki, meanwhile, is leaning in as close as he can, dark eyes narrowed in on the way your breasts bounce at the force of his thrusts, the way your mouth gapes open like a fish as you moan and come around Illumi’s cock. He’s shameless, the way his hand comes down to palm and grip at his clothed erection, but you can’t find it in yourself to care as Illumi fucks you past your state of oversensitivity.

“I-illumi I -hngh, oh god –“ You’re babbling, back arching as he gives a few final thrusts, each accentuated with a sharp exhale of breath, before suddenly spurts of warm, sticky cum are shot into you, his cock nestled as deeply as it can while he pulls back to look at you, his wide eyes swirling with a strange sort of desperation as they gaze at you.

You’re breathing hard, chest heaving as you get caught in the intensity of his gaze, but the sudden sound of clapping draws you out of it. Your wild eyes dart to the side to see that Zeno has joined Silva, staring down at the both of you with a smirk. Illumi makes no point to turn his head, but you can feel the way his body tenses, his fist dangerously close to crushing you along with the pillow in his grasp.

“Well done, well done. I’m sure we can expect a new heir in nine months.” He praises, and you watch as Illumi relaxes slightly, only to bring a finger up to softly boop your nose, an action that has you blinking in confusion at his sudden softness.

“Now, do it again.” Zeno commands, watching the way your eyes widen and Illumi straightens his back, preparing himself to once again pound you into dust.

But as his hips begin moving once more, he leans down to your ear and whispers, “You did well, I’m proud of you my love. I too hope that this is the round that will finally give you my child.”

And as the hours pass by, the critiques and tips from various members of his family flowing through your ears, all you can do is focus on the unblinking intensity of Illumi’s eyes. The loads of cum stuffing your cunt full drip onto the sheets below you as your thighs ache and cramp, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not when you’re coming over and over against his cock.

And Illumi can’t help but think that you’re absolutely beautiful like this – fucked out and drunk on his cock, plugged full of his cock and his cum, all with his family witnessing. He’s proud of you, truly – proud of what a good little wife you are, proud of how he’s absolutely sure that you’ll be growing round with his baby in no time.

After all, he’d stuff you just as full tomorrow night, and the night after that. Anything to prove that you’re his, and that he can breed you like a Zoldyck should.

#_illumi zoldyck #_hxh #yandere hxh #yandere illumi #hxh smut #hxh x reader #yandere hunter x hunter

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