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depravitycentral · 10 months

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Yandere! Feitan Portor NSFW Profile

Yandere! Feitan Portor x fem! reader

Tw: mentions of non/dub-con, stalking, masturbation, kidnapping, spit, drool, lots and lots of cum, Feitan is gross and icky and comes in your conditioner I'm so sorry, seriously this one is pretty gross I apologize now, bondage, ropes, blood, period sex, consumption of period blood, Stockholm Syndrome, a few mentions of reader having pubic hair, mentions of premature ejaculation, Feitan has intimacy issues, a touch of sadomasochism, dry humping, blindfolds, begging, edging, overstimulation, there's a lot going on, fem reader, MDNI

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

WC: 12K (oh my god)

HABITS:

Even amongst the Troupe, Feitan is particularly emotionally stunted.

Of course, he knows about relationships, about the intimacy that ensues - he’s never personally fucked anyone, but he knows how it goes, what it’s like (at least, in theory), how it’s supposed to feel. He’s just never wanted to - his libido is actually quite low, and although he’s spent nights tossing and turning in bed, cock throbbing and aching for attention, he’s never felt the urge to find some random woman for a fun, stress relieving night.

Sure, he’s jerked off more times than he can count, and he’s been to more strip clubs with Phinks and Uvogin than he’d care to admit. He’s been around it his whole life, even from a young age as a child in Meteor City - so yes, he knows about sex.

He’s just never been able to tolerate someone long enough to consider sleeping with them, much less actively wanting to sleep with them. And yet, once you step into his life, Feitan finds himself uncomfortably aroused by the idea of letting his hands wander your body, of seeing the way your pretty face would scrunch up in pleasure, of hearing your little moans and yelps when he kisses you and sinks his teeth in just a bit too hard.

Once his obsession with you forms and he begins moving past some of those initial mental barriers, Feitan finds himself beginning to crave you intimately, physically, sexually. And, just as the rest of his feelings for you, he hates it at first.

He hates how just a simple thought of you has his body growing hot, the collar of his jacket uncomfortably tight as he shifts his weight, trying to ignore the way blood is steadily rushing south.

He hates how just a simple look from you, with your eyes all innocent yet sultry, makes him gulp a bit, his fingers twitching at his side. He doesn’t like how he can’t control his body’s reaction to you, but it’s not like he can help it - it’s instinctual, primal, carnal, as if his body is recognizing that you’re the chosen one for him to fornicate with, as if you’re the only one worthy of his sexual attention.

Feitan doesn’t like this change in developments much, but quickly he finds himself at a crossroads; he can spend nearly every night staring at the black of his ceiling, laying in bed and glancing down at the massive tent in the sheets centered around his crotch, or he can give in and get working, letting his hand run along the length of his cock all with you on his mind.

He doesn’t feel guilty about masturbating to you, per se, but there is this weird sense of embarrassment that sits heavy in his chest as he exhales shakily and spreads the bead of precum along his shaft. There is this weird feeling like he’s doing something bad, something naughty, as if you’d be disgusted if you were to ever find out.

It makes him feel strange, but he almost likes it - it’s a thrill he gets, particularly to the knowledge that you’d probably be disgusted to know he wrings himself dry (often more than once at a time) nearly every night, all with the mental image of you naked, writhing and stuffing your fingers into that warm, wet, oh so fucking tight cunt of yours.

He’d never admit, but he’d give anything to be your fingers, to feel the sensation of being inside you, even if it was only for a few moments. (That’d probably be enough to make come the first time he fucks you, anyways.)

Once he gives in to getting off with you in mind, Feitan finds himself fucking his fist frequently, frantically, his hips thrusting into his hand faster and rougher the longer he goes on, the longer the image of you crying his name and clenching down around his cock plays behind his eyelids.

He wraps his hand around his girth and immediately starts violently pumping his fist up and down, until he’s eventually stuttering your name and coming, sending spurts of cum flying up onto his chest, the white staining his pale chest. It feels good, or at least good enough to satisfy him for the moment, up until he ends up palming himself through his pants the next night.

It’s a never ending cycle, and frankly it leaves Feitan frustrated – it’s just not enough. The thought of you is more than enough, really, to functionally get him shooting ropes of cum out of his swollen, needy tip, but there’s this part of him buried deep inside that needs more, something to make him feel like it’s really you he’s touching and fucking.

It’s not enough to be the one touching himself, when he knows it would feel different if it was your soft hand, your warm lips, your tight walls. He needs something more, something more intimate and personal and you in order to really get himself off, to really feel connected to you in the way he craves.

And so, Feitan makes a discovery one evening that changes everything; he has a penchant for sneaking into your room after you’ve fallen asleep, the dismal security of your apartment something he’s simultaneously grateful and irritated with you for. He likes to just watch you sleeping, those dark eyes taking in every detail about your unconscious form, all exposed for his viewing pleasure without you even knowing it.

He always shuffles closer the longer he watches, his feet taking just a tiny step every once in a while, just because he can smell you better when he’s closer, see more detail in your skin and features, and it’s only after he’s crept his way right up to your side that he notices it. He should be disgusted, he thinks, when he sees the bit of drool slipping past your lips, your slumber deep enough that you haven’t noticed the wet pool of it against your pillow.

He should be grimacing and scooting away, revolted by something so gross, but instead Feitan finds his eyes getting caught on the way your lips are just slightly parted, the wetness against your chin shining ever so slightly in the pale moonlight.

He doesn’t really know why he does it, but soon his fingers are reaching out, lightly brushing against your lip, a sharp inhale audible as he feels the warm wetness of your saliva against his fingertips. He’ll retract his hand, staring with narrowed eyes, before slowly, carefully bringing his fingers to his own mouth, slipping them past his lips, letting his eyes flutter closed because he’s tasting you.

It’s euphoric, your spit sweet and leaving the perfect tang on his tongue, and suddenly Feitan’s reaching into his jacket pockets, frantically searching for the vial he keeps on hand, just in case he needs a bit of blood from a victim or enemy. He gulps when he finally pulls it out, wiping at it to rid it of any remaining blood, before carefully bringing the glass up to your face, positioning it right below your chin so that the next bit of drool to drip out of your mouth lands in the vial rather than on your pillow.

It’s a slow process, filling it up, but Feitan’s committed, spending every night sitting beside your bed, watching you sleep and seeing the glass slowly fill with your drool, collected all for him. And when he finally has enough? Well, it’s easy to transition from slowly dipping his fingers in the vial and letting his tongue glide over them to letting the spit cover other areas of his body, even if the mere idea makes him scoff while a blush settles over the bridge of his nose.

It’s not until one night, though, that he finally takes the plunge, crossing a line he can never recover from. He’d been particularly pent up, his cock absolutely swollen, aching and desperate for release, and his fist was just not enough. Even as he pounded away, biting his lip and furrowing his thin brows, the pleasure just wouldn’t come.

His eyes wander from his ceiling down to his dresser, zeroing in on the glass vial sitting so innocently, so provocatively, practically taunting him to come closer. He’s snatching up the glass before he can really think, sitting back down and tearing the top off, his fingers moving faster than he can process.

Soon, he’s dipping them in, swirling them a bit to make sure they’re really covered, but instead of bringing them to his lips, his hands travel south - gripping onto his cock, the wet coolness making him hiss through his teeth. He brings his wrist up, your saliva slowly smearing along his shaft, leaving it wet and twitching in the cold air of his bedroom, visibly throbbing as he runs his thumb over his slit, making sure to absolutely drench himself with your spit.

His eyes slide shut, head rolled back slightly as he moves his hand at a steady, painfully slow pace, trying to calm his heart rate because this is so very different from before. It’s different, if only because it’s you - your saliva is letting his hand move smoother, your saliva coating his skin, you helping him to get off. It makes him feel dizzy, the familiar coil in his stomach appearing embarrassingly quickly as he speeds up his fist, images of you playing behind his eyes.

He can’t help but imagine you on your knees before him, staring up at him with those pretty eyes, all wide and glassy and yearning, with your hands tied behind your back and your lips parted, pink tongue lolled out and waiting for him to fill that tight throat of yours. He grunts, squeezing at his tip, digging his fingers back through the vial to refresh the supply of your drool, and in his mind he’s slowly tracing your lips with the head, smearing his precum along your skin as you clench your thighs together and hum, practically begging him to facefuck you.

Feitan hunches forward slightly as his wrist moves even faster, hand flying up and down his shaft, wet noises accompanying every jerk all caused by the excessive wetness he’s coated himself with, the feeling of your spit exactly what he’d be feeling if he was actually stuffing your little mouth, dark hairs tickling your cheeks and nose as he pushes your head all the way down, so that his tip is nestled down your throat.

He lets out a guttural groan at that, a strained noise that makes him grimace, but he can’t help it - his orgasm is approaching, and he can’t help but listen to the wet squelching noises and imagine your gags and sharp breaths accompanying them, his toes curling. It feels so good, a building warmth in his naval that only grows bigger, stronger, more insistent, and all too soon he’s imagining the way you’d present your face to him when he pulls out and strokes himself over your face, cum spurting from his tip and landing in rivulets all along your cheeks, lips, nose, even getting into your hair.

You’d look so good, all messy and out of breath and covered in him him him, just as he is you.

He bares his teeth as he feels himself right on the edge, his fingers clutching onto the vial so tightly he nearly shatters it, his cock bobbing and throbbing, balls clenching as he curls in on himself, small chants of your name mumbled under breath and then he’s coming, cum spraying everywhere as he gasps, hips bucking involuntarily into the air, chasing after his fist with every pump, aching to be releasing inside you, where it belongs.

He takes a moment to come down from his high, chest heaving and eyes wide, staring down at the vial in his shaking hand, the weight of his orgasm shocking him. He’d never come so hard, like every muscle in his body was spasming, the pleasure nearly overwhelming. His eyes flick over to the clock, and he splutters, seeing the time.

3:08, meaning only three minutes had passed since he’d snatched up the vial, feeling your spit against his skin, feeling you against the sensitive skin of his cock.

His eyes close, his breath finally evening out, before he’s carefully setting the vial aside, recapping it and laying onto his back, trying to process why the hell he’d come so fast with something as grotesque as your spit to help him. He’s not sure, but then the images return of you on your knees for him, face still covered in his release and telling him that you want more, please Feitan, will you give me more?

He groans as he feels his softening cock suddenly begin growing once more, his hips twitching as he reaches down to lightly grope at his balls, swallowing and deciding whether to dip his fingers into the vial yet again - he only has a limited supply, after all, and he’d be needing it again tomorrow night when he inevitably lets his mind wander to thoughts of you tied up and begging for him.

He grumbles, a strained sort of sound, before getting to work once more, spitting into his hand and letting a small, barely there smile grace his lips, the slight flush still high on his cheeks. He’d have to get some more, he decided, because this?

Well, fucking you was surely better, but Feitan would be a food to not capitalize on this new discovery - and when he’s painting his chest with ribbons of cum again a few minutes later, he decides that he’ll never go back to not having something of yours to aid him while he gets off.

It’s just more intimate this way, better, like you’re really there - like you’re really naked and ready to fulfill every need, desire and fantasy of his.

Like you want him.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your face

In general, Feitan thinks you’re attractive. He’s hesitant to say beautiful or pretty or really anything of the sort, if only because the way he feels for you is a bit more complicated than that.

You’re not just pretty; you’re alluring, someone that always seems to catch his eye no matter how hard he tries to stop it.

You’re not beautiful; objectively, there’s nothing about you that he hasn’t seen in hundreds of other women, whether it be your hair, your lips, your figure, or anything else. (Except maybe your eyes, or maybe your smile - things that are just so unapologetically you, things that Feitan thinks he could recognize with his eyes closed.)

You’re nothing particularly special, physically speaking, and yet there’s something about you that he just can’t shake, some involuntarily thing that motivates him to always have his eyes on you, his body unconsciously facing you, his senses just so very aware of you. And because Feitan spends so much time simply watching you, he’s become extremely well antiquated with your features, with your pretty face that always seems to pull him in, like a moth to a flame.

He’s memorized the way your lips curve, the soft skin puckering and moving with every word you say, and he often finds his gaze flicking down to watch while you talk, eyes sitting there idly as he lets his mind wander to what else you can do with those lips, what other shapes they can make.

He’s studied every slope of your nose, the shape seeming to fit your face perfectly, and he even finds himself turning his lip when he sees models or celebrities with the same nasal structure - it doesn’t look nearly as good on them as it does you.

And of course, your eyes - he’s spent more hours than he can count looking into them, unwilling to break the eye contact as he stares, fascinated with the color, how they shine in the light, how sunlight seems to make them glow, making you glow.

So while there’s not any particular thing Feitan can say makes you attractive, you just are - enough so that he’s found himself seeing flashing images of your face late at night, when he’s unable to sleep and polishing his weapons, letting his mind wander and inevitably stumble into thoughts of you. He’ll relive the way you look when you smile - your grin is wide, teeth exposed, the pretty skin of your lips all stretched to accommodate your joy.

You look good like that, and all too soon his innocent thought process of you is slipping into something sinister, something dirty and risqué, because now he’s imagining the way you’d smile up at him when he’s got you underneath him, your pretty little pleas and desperate begs for him to touch you making his skin tingle and his throat feel stuffy.

He’s imagining the way you’d lick your lips when he tells you to get on your knees, his cock mere inches from your face as he strokes himself, the eagerness and hunger in your eyes making him rush forward and bury himself down your throat in one go.

He’s imagining the way you’d look when he’s got you creaming on his cock, face pressed against the mattress and a mixture of tears and drool slipping down your chin, the pleasure just too much, even while your hips grind back on him, wanting more more more.

He just likes your face, finding it oddly pleasing, and when the two of you are intimate, he finds himself eagerly searching out your facial expressions as often as possible - it’s the way he knows what you like, if you’re enjoying what he’s doing to you, if he’s doing a good job.

So really, exaggerate the expressions, make it clear exactly what you’re feeling, and Feitan will be over the fucking moon - pounding into you with a new vigor, a sudden resolve to get you coming at least twice before he’s done with you. You’re just too attractive for him to resist, and he’s only a man, after all.

His hands

In general, Feitan is a fan of showing his feelings rather than articulating them, and even then only to an extent.

There’s only so far he’s willing to expose his vulnerability, and it just becomes easier and less scary to just show you, to let his actions speak louder. And despite it taking a very, very long time for him to grow comfortable enough to actually act on this philosophy, one of the first ways that he’ll settle into touching you is with his hands.

They’re rough, the skin calloused and scarred, pale fingers just the slightest bit off in certain spots, evidence of the multitudes of times he’s broken them. His fingers are lithe, nimble, quick and dexterous, evidence of his abilities with swords and the various tools he uses for work. And so, once he turns his hands onto you, you’ll notice all these things.

It starts small - a fleeting feeling of his fingers pressing against the small of your back, merely a ghost of a touch that leaves you wondering if you really felt anything at all.

He’ll reach out to flick at your forehead if you do something dumb (something endearing, but dumb), glaring at you and telling you to stop it, though his fingers are tingling where they made contact with your skin.

He’ll lightly lay his hand on your hip, or on your thigh, keeping it there for a few moments before snatching it back to his own side, his hand flexing and the muscles tightening up because god, did you like that? Did you like it when he touched you?

He gets in his head way too much about how you react to his touch, but the truth is that Feitan is incredibly touch starved, particularly when it comes to any sort of positive or romantic touch.

He’s a criminal and has grown up in horrible conditions, and he’s simply never cared. But now that you’re here, someone for him to live out all those cliche, stupid romantic tropes? Well, he can’t directly ask for your affection, but you’ll notice the way his hands lay on your body for just a beat too long, just enough to make you wonder whether that touch was really as innocent as he seems to think it was (it’s not, at least not as much as he wishes - every time his skin brushes yours, this spark of electricity dances up his spine, making him gulp and tense up, because while the feeling blooming in his chest is warm and good, it’s still foreign, still something he hasn’t quite gotten used to yet).

And even once he reaches the stage where he’s grown comfortable enough with the concept of being intimate with you to actually touch you, he still relies heavily on his hands. Particularly, Feitan grows an affinity for fingering you - he loves the way your cunt just seems to suck his fingers in, as if your body is begging for more and more of him, craving his touch and the pleasure only he can give you.

He’ll experiment a lot with you at first, curling his fingers or scissoring them, dark eyes appraising your face and checking for any changes in expression that could hint at what rhythm or area you like.

(You’ll wonder where he learned some of the motions he tries out on you - he’ll never admit to watching porn to learn some ideas, nor that he practiced them before trying them out on you, his hand sandwiched between two pillows as he diligently curled them, perfecting the ‘come hither’ motion or letting his thumb practice rubbing tight, firm circles against the cotton. No, he’d rather die than have you learn that - you can’t know how badly he wants to please you, after all.)

He likes to watch his fingers dipping inside you, the way they emerge all wet and glistening, a ring of white sitting right above his knuckles and filling him with pride.

(Often, he finds himself idly staring at his fingers after you’ve fallen asleep, your body sore and exhausted after the fucking he’d put you through. He’ll spread them, staring from all angles, remembering the feeling of your wet heat around them, how your walls clamped down on him, even how your lips and tongue flicked across them when he’d shoved them into your mouth earlier. He’ll bring them to his lips, idly sucking on them, trying in vain to get every last drop of you off of them, so that he can taste you for just a moment longer, just to satisfy himself for as long as he can.)

He’s a late bloomer and it will take him a long while to reach the point of being willing to touch you sexually (though he wants to from pretty much the get-go, much to his embarrassment), but once he does, you’d better get used to the feeling of his hands against your skin - after all, he’s insistent, and you do not want to reject his touch. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll just moan and sigh and tell him it feels good, because Feitan is just so much more agreeable when he’s happy - you’ll get to come that way, too.

DRIVE:

Generally speaking, Feitan’s libido has never been especially high. Sex has never been a priority for him, and even once his days as a Troupe member begin, this doesn’t change. He doesn’t see the attraction to sleeping around, to fucking random women just for a few minutes of fleeting pleasure.

It’s just so much work to be around others, to have to communicate and hear their complaining when he doesn’t put effort into making them feel good – it’s just not fun, not something he wants to spend his time with. And so, while Feitan is certainly no saint, he doesn’t actively seek out sexual partners. And he especially doesn’t seek out touching another person, letting himself be touched, becoming vulnerable in any possible way.

So, once you step into his life, this self-inflicted celibacy doesn’t really change all that much. Of course, the idea of touching you is significantly more attractive than it would be to touch a random stranger, but Feitan is still not especially eager to fuck you once his obsession develops.

He’s a bit of a late bloomer, taking a while to let his emotions warm up to you. In doing so, it takes a long, long time for his sexual urges towards you to appear, because Feitan prides himself on having good self control. But once he fully gives in to the fact that he wants you, in a way that’s entirely new and scary and foreign to him, the urges begin appearing.

The idly thoughts wondering what you’re wearing, what you’re thinking about, if you’re in the mood… He’s still not as horny as some of his fellow Troupe members, but Feitan begins regularly imagining fucking you, the thoughts seemingly popping out of nowhere and completely unannounced.

Frankly, it’s irritating; why is he imagining you without a shirt on when Phinks is telling him about the latest job Chrollo had paired them up for? (It’s a pain in the ass to hide the slowly growing tent in his trousers from the blond - he always just seems to know, and Feitan would rather die than be subjected to the never ended teasing.)

Why is he imagining the way your lips would feel wrapped around his cock when he’s slicing off that man’s head, the cut clean and clear yet the only thing he can think of being how your cheeks would hollow as you suck?

It’s annoying, and although he tries to fight it at first, he eventually gives up. There’s only so much he can stop himself from imagining, and as his obsession grows deeper, the perverse fantasies he holds towards you only grow more numerous, more pronounced, more longed for. He finds himself actively wanting to be intimate with you, and while he won’t act on that desire for a very long time, it’s left to quality sit, festering and brewing inside him until one day it’s all just too much, a dam bursting that forces him to finally take that last step, to let himself rest a hand on you or brush his lips against your cheek or graze his finger along your nipple.

He doesn’t move very fast, but Feitan’s in no rush - after all, you’re stuck with him for the rest of your life, and he’ll be the only other human you’ll ever interact with. By the time he’s ready to progress your relationship forward, you’ll likely have come around, desperate enough for human contact that you’ll want him to touch you, that you’ll want to touch him back.

Just the thought makes him gulp and flex his fingers, excitement and anxiety settling into his stomach, his cock growing half hard even as his mind winces.

However, because he has so many issues surrounding intimacy and vulnerability, Feitan will likely never actually force you into anything.

Because you’re likely to come around and develop Stockholm Syndrome by the time he’s ready to touch you, you’ll be more than eager to let his hand rest on your waist, or to let him stand behind you so that your ass is pressed against his crotch, the tent in his pants more than apparent. You’ll be ready, but until he’s ready, he has to find alternatives.

Because he’s still frequently experiencing sexual urges towards you way before he’s willing to act on them, Feitan finds himself quite sexually frustrated. He has all these dirty thoughts, all these possessive, insistent feelings urging him to just take you, to stake his claim on you by stuffing you full of his cock and cum, and he has to release them somehow.

And so, he falls back on a method that he isn’t necessarily proud of, but does find some sick, twisted sense of pride and amusement from. That is, because he’s the one supplying literally everything to you once you’re trapped under his roof, it’s not so hard to tamper with some of the ingredients of your essentials.

Your conditioner, for instance; he buys you the brand you love (something he tells you is coincidence but most certainly isn’t), and as he opens the cap and smells it one day while you’re asleep in the next room over, he can’t help but notice how creamy it is, how thick and how white it is.

It make shim gulp, and after quickly making sure to lock the bedroom door you’re trapped behind, Feitan shakily returns to the bathroom, exhaling deeply. It’s just a coincidence that the conditioner resembles something that he produces, right?

It’s an amusing twist of fate that your favorite conditioner (with the scent he can only describe as you) looks almost exactly like his cum, right?

Feitan thinks so, and as his mind wanders back to the little stunt you’d pulled earlier in the day, he finds himself settling onto the closed toilet lid, reaching into his pants and pulling out his cock, already drooling precum and sensitive to the touch.

You’d been laying on your bed, blanket barely covering your body as you slept, the skimpy pajamas you’d fallen asleep in in disarray on your figure. Your shirt had bunched up, letting one pert, supple breast slip out, your nipple on display, not even the blanket managing to cover it up.

(He’d froze when he noticed, slowly creeping closer, licking his lips and unable to stop staring.)

And those damn sleeping shorts, always getting moved around and never quite sitting right on your hips when you wake up, were twisted a bit, the holes for your legs angled just right so that if he looked the right way, he could see the very edge of your cunt, one lip covered with pretty pubic hairs, looking soft and warm and so fuckable.

You were asleep, and somewhere in Feitan’s mind he knows you weren’t doing it on purpose, but it’s hard not to blame you for being so indecent, for hoping to tempt Feitan into giving in. You’re such a fucking minx, all teasing and daring to show off your assets, and how was Feitan supposed to react to this? How was he not supposed to immediately grow aroused and flustered, unable to tare his gaze from your vulnerable body?

Eventually he’d managed to, shutting the door behind him and taking a few uneven breaths, trying desperately to not replay the image of your breast over and over in his mind. It’s no use, however, and as he splashes his face with cold water in the bathroom, that’s when his eyes land on the conditioner bottle.

His hand moves fast as he fucks his fist, hissing under his breath over and over as he steadily gets closer, driven forward by the idea of lewd it will be to have his cum in something as personal as you conditioner.

He can’t stop thinking about how you’d have no idea, waltzing around with his cum soaked into your pretty hair, maybe even making you smell like him - He’s groaning, the thoughts pushing him closer and closer to the edge, his orgasm hurtling forward as he imagines the way you’d lather it in your hands, humming and making sure every square inch of your hair is covered in it, covered in him.

He imagines the way you’d bring it up to your nose and deeply inhale, sighing because it’s your favorite scent, wondering why it smells a bit more musky than you remember, but not minding. Maybe you’d even like the new scent, and just the thought of that is enough to push him over the edge, a sharp growl slipping past his lips as he aims his cock right into the bottle, cum spraying all over the conditioner, the white colors matching perfectly.

He’s breathing hard, a seemingly never ending series of spurts coming from his swollen tip, and once he thinks he’s done, he grasping his length and lightly shaking it, lodging any loose bits of cum out, coaxing them to join the pile. Once done, he’ll gulp, letting a small smirk slip onto his lips as he closes the bottle, shutting the lid tight and shake the bottle, making sure to thoroughly mix it.

He won’t tell you about his little ‘gift’, of course not - but you’ll know something is up when he’s standing stiff as you exit the bathroom, towel wrapped around your body and wet hair having been marinating in the special mixture he made for you, and when he’s eagerly sniffing your head every chance he gets after that, you’ll have to realize something is amiss.

When he’s asking you if your hair feels particularly soft, you’ll have to know he’s trying to get at something, some layer underneath the surface that he’s really speaking about.

It’s enough to satisfy him for the time being, his possessiveness over you quelling ever so slightly because even though it’s not in your cunt, where it belongs, at least he’s got his cum somewhere on you - and until he’s ready to fuck you properly, that’ll have to do. It’ll become habit, and one day you may even stumble upon him midway through the process, your conditioner bottle an inch or so from his tip as he frantically tugs and pulls.

(He’ll freeze, unable to process that he got caught, and frankly, he’ll just try to ignore that you ever saw it, not willing to broach the topic - and you won’t be either, because what the fuck?)He just really, really desires you, and Feitan is a resourceful man - so I hope you like the smell of musk and a bit of iron, because you’ll be smelling like it for weeks.

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Orgasm Control

In general, Feitan has to be in control in the bedroom. It’s not that he’s particularly onto any dominant or submissive roles between the sheets, but more because he doesn’t like the feeling of vulnerability that accompanies letting other people pleasure him. Something about being at the mercy of someone else’s touch or whims makes him nervous, an unpleasant feeling blooming in his stomach that leaves him fidgety and jumpy.

And so, every sexual interaction with you will see him starring as the dominant role, always calling the shots, and nothing exemplifies this sentiment quite like the way he treats your orgasms. Despite not having a huge amount of sexual experience prior to his infatuation with you, he’s very obviously aware that both partners are capable of orgasming in any given sexual interaction, that it should be expected and achieved regardless of methodology.

With other women, Feitan wouldn’t care in the least – he’s selfish by nature, and if he were to ever have sex with anyone other than you, in no way, shape or form would he pay any mind to their pleasure, only chasing after his own release.

But with you, this sentiment is a bit different; he wants to get you off, if only because seeing the way your body responds to him, shaking and shivering and moaning and clenching, gets him harder, his breath more ragged, his palms sweatier. There’s something incredibly pleasing about seeing the way your body is sensitive to his every touch that makes him giddy, an odd mixture of power, arousal and eagerness filling him.

He wants to make you a mess, to get you gushing and creaming and whimpering as he fingers you, as he shoves his cock inside you, even as he tongues at your clit (eating you out isn’t something that happens often, but when it does, Feitan expects you to come from it). He likes the sight of you falling apart for him, and consequently, that desperation for power and control comes hurtling back – so that he is the one in control of your orgasms.

He wants to be the one choosing when, how, and why you’re coming, every one of your movements a result of him.

He tends to rely heavily on edging you, enjoying the way you squirm and beg for him to keep going. He’ll have two slender, nimble fingers buried inside of you, curling and scissoring, the stretch a bit painful but in a pleasure-tinged way, making your toes curl and your bottom lip catch between your teeth.

His thumb will rub consistent, steady circles at your clit, the little nub sore and swollen, and he’ll keep his ministrations up until you’re breathing heavier, your stomach and thighs clenching, the telltale signs that you’re nearing your high.

(He’s very, very good at reading your body when it comes to your sexual pleasure – he’s spent so long stalking you that he’s seen you touching yourself more times than he can count, and while watching the way your cunt takes the toy is very, very difficult to tear his eyes away from, he’d made sure to study every other part of your body, too. He’s watched the way your face morphs as you get closer, your brows shooting up and your lips parting a bit, your eyes fluttering and threatening to close as the pleasurable knot in your gut grows tighter and tighter and tighter. He’s watched the way your legs shake, the muscles in your thighs visibly twitching and clenching, trying desperately to close and clench together, prompting him to imagine how they’d feel around his head, around his waist, around his cock. He’s even noticed your breathing, how you sound, the way your voice gets higher and more breathy, your moans increasing in intensity until you let out this sudden, strained gasp that gets him swallowing harshly, a thick pearl of precum dripping from his tip from the mere sound.)

He’s constantly observing you even while he's intimate with you, those dark eyes never wavering from your form, and he’ll bring you right to the edge, noticing with a tightness in his throat that your legs are starting to tremble, that your voice is climbing up, that you’re starting to get all gaspy and your abdominal muscles are clenching, and god, you’re squeezing around his fingers so damn tight –

The confused, desperate whine you let out when he suddenly pulls his fingers out of you makes him smirk a bit, the way your watery eyes blearily blink up at him, half clouded in lust and disappointment making him reach out to pinch at your pebbled nipple. Not yet, one more time. He’ll tell you, laughing a bit as you whine and gulp, chest heaving and your fingers twitching. He’ll make you wait, maybe even reaching down and jerking himself off a bit, making a show of hissing under his breath and making sure that you can see him, hearing the wet noises as he flicks his wrist and imagines it’s your sweet little pussy wrapped around him rather than his own fingers.

He’s embarrassingly sensitive when he does this, his own touch making him buck his hips as he stares down at you, spread before him, underneath him, where you belong. He’ll make sure to give enough time that you come down from your sensitivity, before resuming his ministrations, making you gasp and bite your lip.

He’ll keep doing this over and over and over, denying you of your orgasm some five or so times before he finally, finally decides that you’ve behaved well enough, that you deserve to feel good. (Often, what finally gets him to cave in is the fact that he too is very close, and while it’s cliché and stupid and a bit pathetic, he really likes it when you both come at the same time, your orgasms matching up so he can feel like you’re doing it together.)

He’ll work you through it, not stopping his motions, which brings up another aspect of how Feitan likes to tease you and assert his control over you – he doesn’t like overstimulation quite as much as denial, but he’s not shy about going faster, harder, his motions seeming almost frantic as you start whining and shaking, going on about how it’s too much, Feitan it’s too much I can’t!

He’ll just growl and shut you down, slapping (not too hard) your clit and seeing you way you jerk, telling you to shut up and take it, you’ve done it before. He likes seeing your eyes get all teary, your body spasming and shaking even harder, the overstimulation making you cry out his name with a renewed fervor.

(He’d never admit it, but that’s one of his favorite parts – he never pegged himself to be a fan of loud moans, but there’s something about the way that you do it, when it’s his name you’re moaning, that makes him throb, his cock twitching without any stimulation. You sound so destroyed, so wrecked and utterly desperate for him that it makes his head spin, his chest filling with pride and lust and satisfaction because you do need him, and your body is just proving that.)

He’s cruel, often pulling three or four orgasms from you every time he touches you, those dark eyes staring unblinking down at you, almost studying you as you fall apart on his cock, on his fingers, on anything he chooses. It makes him feel good to know that he’s in full control, that he can choose when you come – it shows his place above you, helping him to justify the fact that he’s pleasuring you, that he’s taking the time and effort to make you feel good when he really doesn’t need to.

He’s just being generous – you should be grateful he even cares about your pleasure at all.

(Say thank you to him as you orgasm and he’s gone – cum is dripping down your skin or out of your pretty hole before you can process what’s even happening, the man above you gasping and heaving, trying desperately to make sure you don’t see the slight red staining his cheeks.)

He wants you to follow his commands, so just let him do as he pleases – you’ll come eventually, most of the time.

Bondage

Tying into his preferences for holding control in the bedroom, Feitan has a certain affinity for seeing you restrained.

There’s something about the way your body is presented to him when you’re all tied up that gets him feeling hot, his hands twitching and yearning to reach out and touch you. He’s not picky about what he uses to bind you – the tried and true rope is never displeasing, and the variety of pretty knots and positions he can force you into this way leave him nearly drooling at all the different sexual fantasies he can carry out with you.

He’s particularly fond of tying you up in ways that are just the slightest bit humiliating, positions that make your neck and cheeks feel hot, embarrassment eating away at you because god, everything is exposed.

He likes when your legs are spread, a bit of rope keeping your calves firmly pressed to your thighs while your pussy is exposed to open air, the perfect amount of space between your legs for him to slip into. He likes when your breasts are free, jiggling and bouncing with every thrust, the rope digging into your sternum or ribcage as you moan and writhe.

(He also likes when the rope crisscrosses over your chest, digging into your nipple and making you whine in pain and pleasure, and when he undoes the ropes, he loves the way your nipples are so sore and swollen, a much darker color than they normally are and practically begging to be pinched at, to be twisted and pulled on until you’re a sniffly, moaning mess.)

He’ll often tie your wrists together behind your back, rope connecting from your waist to the back of your knees, keeping your legs bent while he forces your ass into the air, mounting you from behind and absolutely destroying you.

Rope is his favorite, if only because there’s something so familiar, so comforting in using it – of course, he never desires to fuck any of his victims, but he knows how to manipulate the material in order to get you bent the way he wants you to be.

And while he has no desire to do anything to you that he would to those he tortures, there’s something oddly sexy and taboo about the fact that he’s using the same kind of rope on you as he did to the man the other day. It’s dirty, sinful, if only because this is as close as he can come to mixing two of the things he loves most – you, and his job.

You’re safe this way, not liable to be cut or maimed or anything of the sort, but you’re still utterly at his hands, vulnerable to every whim or desire he wishes to enact on you. He likes how helpless you are when you’re tied up, unable to reach out or take control of your own pleasure, entirely reliant on him to do everything for you – something as big as stretching you out on his cock, or as small as pushing away a stray piece of hair in your face as he fucks your throat.

The power trip is insane, and while he won’t hurt you, just the knowledge that he could makes him harder than he’s ever been. He’s a fan of other alternatives to rope, too – handcuffs are fine, a bit too mainstream for him to use regularly, but in a bind it’ll do.

(Especially if he’s grown more comfortable with you, willing to show a more vulnerable side, because handcuffs give him less control and allow you to actively participate in your pleasure, letting you grind back against him or wrap your legs around his waist or any number of other things that can signal that you want him too.)

Silk ties are fine, and on days where he’s feeling a bit more sentimental or emotional, he’ll prefer to use these because there’s less chance of you bruising or getting any burns or rashes. (Plus, there’s something so fitting about you being shrouded in silk – you, who’s so weak and soft and dainty, matching perfectly with the fabric. It makes him snort a bit, because you always look like such an angel when you’re all tied up for him in this way – like a beautiful, naïve little angel just begging to be destroyed and tainted by his hands, a feat he’s more eager and impatient to accomplish than he’d care to admit.)

He’s even willing to use clothing to get you restricted – maybe the shirt you’d been wearing (his shirt, one he let you borrow, the one he finds adorable on you even if he’d never tell you) will get tied around your wrists, keeping them firmly above your chest as he sinks into you and squeezes his eyes shut, biting back the moan that threatens to tumble at his lips because you’re just so damn tight.

He’ll use your panties as a gag, though he doesn’t do this often because he really does like hearing your sounds – especially when they’re any sort of praise or his name.

(Often, after he’s stuffed the panties you’d been wearing past your lips, he’ll steal them back afterwards, sneakily storing them somewhere for later, for late at night when he’s standing over your sleeping form and breathing shakily, staring at you and rubbing the material – wet with both your spit and your slick – all over his cock.)

His preference is always to have you restrained in some manner, and it’ll only be once he feels as comfortable as possible with you that he won’t tie you up. To have you free means letting himself be vulnerable to your touches, and even your rejection of his touch, and just the thought is enough to get him nervous, having to wipe his slightly sweaty hands onto his jacket.

He’s had fantasies about fucking you without any restraints separating you before, but the moment it happens, you’ll notice that he’s oddly sensitive, his breath coming out harsher and more labored at touches that would normally leave him largely unaffected. It’s just so emotional for him, so scary and frightening, and he’ll stay inside you much longer than normal after he’s come, relishing in the warmth and wetness of you while your fingers maybe brush over his shoulders, maybe even running through his hair. It’s the sort of fantasy he’ll never, ever tell you about, though – and for now, he’ll stick with tying you up so that you’re easily accessible, provoking and arousing to stare at, and in no position to argue when he manhandles you into doing exactly what he wants.

Dry humping

While he has sexual, lewd thoughts about you from pretty much the moment he truly accepts his feelings for you, Feitan takes a very long time to begin acting on those feelings.

Even more, it takes him a long time to get comfortable enough to be naked in front of you, much less actually fuck you. And so, while this hesitancy persists, he finds himself using other routes to sate his growing desire to be intimate with you – routes that are less invasive, less opportune for embarrassing accidents (like coming too fast, or facing your rejection).

And while it still feels awfully pathetic, Feitan finds that the simple act of grinding on you is enough to satisfy his desires, at least for the time being – there’s just something oddly enticing about it, something arousing and the pleasure just dull enough to thwart him from coming within three or four minutes of touching you.

He doesn’t like initiating it, though, finding it a bit too pathetic, even for him, even for the way he feels for you. Instead, he holds his breath, hoping that every time you brush against him (normally by accident, your whole body freezing up the moment you realize what you’ve done) that you’ll do it again, because even just a single bit of friction between your (fully clothed) bodies is enough to get his neck feeling warm, the ghost of an erection springing to life in his pants.

He’s just so, so touch starved, and so as time goes on, he’ll start subtly trying to get into positions where you might accidentally grind on him, sometimes without you even realizing. He’ll make you pick something up off the ground, then choose the exact moment that you’re bent over and your ass is in the air to walk behind you, letting his hips just barely graze against you.

He’ll manage to hold back the little strained noise he makes, but at some point you’ll notice that it’s happening much too often to be a coincidence, and you’ll eventually realize that the strange hardness you feel when he does this is actually him.

He won’t ever just grab you and rut into you, but god does he want to, especially when he sees your hips swaying, or when you’re sitting down, the fat of your thighs splayed out and your hips looking wide and full and perfect to grab onto.

He’s embarrassed by his own thoughts, but eventually you’ll probably realize what it is that he wants – you’ve felt the way he tries to subtly make it happen, and while you were at first confused and shocked (you’d had no idea Feitan wanted anything sexual with you, as he’d never made a mention of it or acted in a way that would suggest it), you eventually start getting a bit brave, too.

You don’t love Feitan, far from it, but you’ve been trapped with him for enough months to start craving any form of human contact, and so you’ll pounce – Feitan can’t help but sharply inhale when you grind back against him one day while you’re bent over, the feeling of your ass moving against his cock making him struggle to breath.

He’s not sure what you’re trying to do, too pessimistic to let himself believe that you’re the one grinding on him, but one day you’ll find yourself sitting next to him on the raggedy old couch, the TV playing some mindless horror movie that Feitan had thrown on, and your hand will just sort of move on its own, slowly, carefully placing itself very lightly over his thigh. He’ll tense up at the sensation, dark eyes flicking between your hand and your face, your own gaze nervously set on the TV in front of you.

It’s silent for a moment, but when he doesn’t move your hand, you’ll get braver, turning to look at him and asking in a soft, unsure voice if you can sit in his lap. Feitan doesn’t know how to respond, simply staring at you with narrowed eyes, wondering if this is some sort of trick – but eventually he’ll nod, telling you to be careful, don’t try anything.

You’ll position yourself so that your ass is pressed against his crotch, his thighs on either side of your hips, but you don’t lean back, even when you hear Feitan inhale slightly, having leaned forward to smell your hair. It’s a good twenty or so minutes later when you begin moving your hips slowly, nervously, listening to hear for any displeased noises or harsh commands for you to stop your movements.

Feitan is frozen behind you, staring at your hips and trying to understand what you’re doing – he likes it, but he doesn’t like the way his body is reacting, blood slowly starting to head south at the slight friction, at the way you’re so damn close to him, at the way he can smell you and can feel the heat radiating off your body.

It’s all too much, and suddenly he’s telling you to get off me, before quickly storming out of the room and locking himself in his bedroom.

His cock is in his hand within minutes, memories of how you’d felt against him, even with layers of clothes separating you still fresh in his mind. You’ll be left to believe he didn’t like it, that you’d totally misinterpreted his actions, ashamed and a bit afraid for how he’d respond moving forward.

Except, there’s no grand punishment, no mocking you for your actions – instead, the next night he turns on a new movie (still horror, gory and full of screaming and killing) and looks over at you expectantly.

His legs are spread this time, leaving a space between them, and for a moment you’re confused, unsure of what he wants. He just raises a brow at you, unwilling to articulate what he’s wanting, hoping you’ll understand it without him needing to say it.

You’ll shuffle closer, still staring at him, but soon he’ll just grumble, a hand reaching out and pulling you down to sit between his legs before you can even realize what’s happening. You’re stiff and unsure, unwilling to relax, and Feitan doesn’t like this. He wants you to move like you did last night, and after a few minutes of you sitting stone still, he’ll hiss into your ear do it again.

You’ll start slow, testing the waters, and you nearly jump when you feel Feitan’s hand ghost over your waist, setting his fingers against your shirt as if wanting to fully touch you, but not quite letting himself. He’ll occasionally tell you to go faster, the movie still playing in the background, the feeling of his cock digging into your tailbone making you a confusing mix of scared and aroused.

Eventually, he’ll let out this strange, unusual little sound, something like a grunt but much higher and strained, and you’ll feel something warm and wet pressing against you. Don’t mention anything, because Feitan doesn’t want you to say a damn word, not wanting to admit that the feeling of you grinding on him for roughly seven minutes has him coming in his pants, cum covering his cock and getting him all sticky.

He’s embarrassed, but it will become something of a ritual between the two of you – every time he turns on a movie, it’s your place to sit in his lap (eventually you actually will sit in his lap, fully on his lap, not just pressed against him, though this takes some time) and to gyrate your hips at that certain rhythm he likes, all up until you feel him tense up beneath you, seeing his fingers clutching at the couch cushions at your sides.

It’s a slow buildup into any sort of sexual activity between the two of you, but Feitan likes this, something about the intimacy making him extra sensitive, the feeling of you actually touching him (even peripherally, with clothes separating the two of you) making him feel lightheaded and airy. He likes it, and this will be the jumping off point for him to begin getting bolder, to begin letting himself actually fuck you, to finally do what he’s been craving for months.

And once you become aware that he likes it, please start imitating it – give him look and ask if you can um, sit in your lap?

He’ll almost always say yes, even if he’s in the middle of doing something, even if there’s not even a chair or couch nearby – he'll rush (not running, but very, very nearly) to the nearest surface, swallowing hard and staring at you, growing impatient when you don’t move fast enough for him.

Often, he’ll already be half hard, and while he prefers when your back is facing him, if you were to climb into his lap so that you were straddling him? Well, Feitan finds it much harder to look you in the eye, because now it’s your cunt grinding down on him rather than just your ass, and that’s much different, isn’t it?

Even once he’s progressed to stage of actually being willing to touch you, of being willing to let you touch him, Feitan still enjoys when you hump at him. And he particularly enjoys humping you, though he’s only willing to do this in the dead of night, when you’re fast asleep, your body ripe and vulnerable for him to touch, to explore, to use.

He doesn’t want you to be awake and see the way he crumbles when he drags his cock along the curve of your ass, if only because he doesn’t want you to see how pink his cheeks get, how he starts mumbling under his breath, how his every muscle is flexing and straining because he wants to go faster, needs to go faster, but he can’t risk waking you up.

It’s his dirty little secret, so you’d better start working on your stamina for grinding onto him – sure, he doesn’t last long, but he expects it often, and you can’t exactly refuse him.

Or else.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Begging

Feitan likes knowing that you want him. He feels so inferior and weak for having developed such strong, scarily dependent feelings for you, and it makes him feel good, satisfied, justified when you beg for him, all whiny and desperate for his touch, for his body, for his cock.

While he’s not particularly vocal between the sheets, he likes when you are - your voice is sultry when it gets all airy and gaspy, your little praises and pleas for him to go faster or please don’t stop making him double down and go harder, his desperation to please you driving him forward.

He won’t ever explicitly ask you to beg for anything, but you’ll be able to tell that he likes it.

You’ll see the way his eyes widen just a hair, the way his dark bangs settle over his forehead as he dips his head down, the exertion of moving his hips or wrist faster making him squeeze his eyes shut.

You’ll feel the way his thrusts get more insistent, hips slapping against yours while his balls clap against your ass, the sound lewd and only getting faster the more you beg.

You’ll be able to hear it in the way his breathing starts getting ragged, no amount of stamina adequate for hearing you beg for him, for him to touch you and pleasure you.

He wants to feel needed in the context of your sexual pleasure, as if you can’t get off without his help, as if you’re incapable of bringing yourself to orgasm when he so easily manages it. It’s unrealistic and he knows it, but he’s able to immerse himself in the fantasy of you wanting him when you’re begging him, able to delude himself into believing, if only for a bit, that you’re just as frantic for his love and affection as he is yours.

If you really want to get him going, a surefire way to have his cock springing to life and his heart lurching into his throat is to praise him a bit, then following it up with a plea for him to keep going. Tell him that it’s s’good, you feel so good Feitan, please don’t stop, just like that, fuck!

Tell him that you belong to him, that you’re his, that your cunt is his cunt, that you want him to come inside, that you need more more more. He might tell you that you’re greedy, grunting out something about you being a greedy slut, but the twitching of his cock inside you and the way his fingers tighten their hold on you will show you that he isn’t as unaffected by your words as he’d like to pretend.

He really just likes knowing that sex affects you just as much as it affects him, so please, please beg him - he’ll almost always do exactly what you want, almost like it’s a reward.

(After all, just getting to touch you is reward enough for him.)

Sensory deprivation

Because it takes Feitan so long to grow comfortable with letting himself be truly vulnerable with you (especially in the context of sex), he finds ways to get around this mental roadblock, so that he can experience everything he wants to without giving up any of his control.

And one of his favorite ways to do that is to limit your senses - specifically, Feitan loves to blindfold you. He doesn’t really want you to be looking at him during sex, too nervous and awkward and embarrassed, because once he gets inside you, his control over his facial expressions, his bodily responses, his everything is severely limited.

It takes all his will power to stop himself from coming prematurely, especially towards the beginning of his sexual relationship with you, and he’ll be damned if he lets you see the way his face crumples when he slips inside your wet heat, his dark brows drawing together and lips parting, eyes squeezing shut while he wills himself to calm down, to take deep breaths and not let himself get carried away.

He doesn’t want you to be able to look at him, but he wants to be able to see you - he wants full viewing pleasure of your body, and while this method does block seeing your eyes get all glassy and pleasured, it’s better this way.

This way, he gets to stare at the way your tits bounce as he fucks you, the soft fat jiggling and practically begging to be groped and squeezed at.

This way, he can stare at your ass he pounds into it, grabbing a handful of cheek in each hand and kneading the fat, spreading them apart and taking a peek at your pert, cute little asshole, seeing the curve and arch of your back.

He can let himself relax more this way, allowing his face to present every emotions and sensation he’s feeling, and he can let himself indulge in some of his more embarrassing urges - like reaching out to cup your hips when your bodies are facing each other, his fingers never quite brushing your skin but awfully close.

He’ll lean in close as if to kiss you, letting his breath fan over your lips but never actually closing the distance, just indulging in the smell of you and the idea of kissing you. He’s still very reserved, but this way he can do all the things he fantasizes about when he’s alone at night, his mind wandering to you and his body growing cold and lonely.

Plus, Feitan gains a certain amount of control this way - he gets to choose what happens to you, and because you can’t see anything, you’ll have no idea what’s coming next.

Will it be his hands, a vibrator, his cock?

You won’t know, and Feitan likes it that way - he wants to keep you guessing, to leave you unsure and awaiting his next move with baited breath.

He just likes how dependent you are when he’s got the black blindfold tied around your eyes, so you’d better get used to it - he’s not good at compromising, after all.

BIGGEST FANTASY:

While Feitan doesn’t harbor any desire to hurt you, there’s a certain allure that blood holds for him.

Of course, he doesn’t want to actually draw blood from you (the thought of you being in pain because of him makes any boner of his die immediately), but he discovers - by accident - that there’s a solution to mixing the two.

There’s a way to combine the two things that turn him on most - you, of course, and the slightest bit of blood - in a way that is safe for you yet still arousing, still enough to get him panting and his trousers feeling uncomfortably tight.

That is, Feitan discovers that he absolutely loves getting intimate with you while you’re on your period. It doesn’t matter if you get horrible cramps, mood swings, or are even totally unaffected - you’re sensitive, body needy and practically begging to be mounted and fucked, and who is Feitan to deny you?

Once he grows comfortable with intimacy, you’ll never be able to pull him away from you once the blood shows up in your panties. He’s obsessive, tracking your period for you, making sure that he knows the exact days that you’ll be starting and stopping.

He likes the way you respond to his touch so easily, your pretty pussy all messy and red and puffy, even the slightest touch making you buck your hips and gasp his name.

It’s euphoric, and when he slips inside you it becomes incredibly difficult to not immediately orgasm - you’re just so wet, so warm and wonderfully lubricated, and the sight of blood staining his cock when he pulls back to thrust back in makes his head spin.

You’re perfect when you’re menstruating, and you’ll notice he’ll be in a much better mood once you shyly report that it started, could you pick up some more pads for me? (He toys with the idea of actually collecting your blood, investing in one of those menstrual cups that you can remove once it’s full, just because the concept of drinking it is enough to make him fidget, the thought taboo and dirty and so very enticing.)

You can’t really say no to him normally, but you especially can’t deny him when it’s your time of the month - you will be getting fingered, fucked, even facefucked, if only because Feitan needs you, your pretty blood and pretty body making him go crazy in a way he didn’t think possible.

You make him go crazy in ways he didn’t think possible.

“Feitan, I - we can’t, not tonight.” You tell him, averting your gaze away from his as his hands grab at the old t-shirt and short you’re wearing. Unconsciously, your hand travels to your stomach, laying idly and making Feitan’s eyes narrow.

“Why not?” He asks, his voice clipped and suspicious. You didn’t often tell him no, and although there’s a bit of doubt swimming in his chest, he wants to know why you’re suddenly not welcoming his touch. You’ve reached the point of leaning into his cold, harsh hands, so why’re you suddenly being so standoffish? He doesn’t like it, and his hands stay idly resting on your shirt hem.

You’re embarrassed, he can tell, but he doesn’t drop the issue. Instead, he lets the silence sit heavily over the two of you, waiting for you to fill in the space.

“Well, um, you see…” You start, before squeezing your eyes shut and squeaking out, “My period started yesterday and it’s too messy.”

Feitan blinks at you, unsure what to say. Your period? You were bleeding?

“Okay, and?”

Your eyes peel open, daring to sneak a glance at your captor, who only stares at you, unimpressed. “Well, I mean, it’s going to be messy and gross and it probably smells bad and -”

“Shut up, we’re doing it.” He cuts you off, hand yanking at your shirt to bring it over your head. You grimace, already nervous for him to take off your shorts, because although you’re sure he knows what a period is, you’re sure he’s never actually been around a woman menstruating. Or at least, not sexually.

Actually, you’re pretty sure he’s never been with a woman sexually in any capacity.

He’s yanking at your shorts next, pulling down the material even as you voice your protests, but one scowl from him has you shutting up, embarrassment pricking up your spine as he grabs your thighs and manually spreads them, the scratchy blanket covering the bed biting into your ass.

He’s staring, dark eyes a bit wider than normal, and you feel yourself shrinking in on yourself, the embarrassment eating you alive. Why was he staring? Why wasn’t he doing anything? Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“Feitan..?” You mumble, biting your lip and letting your arms cover your bloated stomach. He doesn’t respond, but you feel his grip on your thighs tighten, to the point where you think you might see bruises tomorrow.

His eyes slowly, painstakingly, drag up from your exposed cunt to meet your face, and to your surprise you see the slightest dusting of a blush on his cheeks, as if he too was embarrassed. But before you can say anything, he’s rushing forward, lips pressing against yours in a messy, clumsy kiss, full of teeth knocking against teeth and too much spit. You’re not sure what’s gotten into him, but just as soon as he rushed in he’s pulling back, instead moving to bring his face level with your leaking hole.

Feitan can’t stop staring - there’s blood everywhere, and while he’d normally be thrown into a state of panic at seeing so much of your own blood staining your skin, somehow this is different. Somehow the sight of it staining your pussy, the red color all along your inner thighs and part of your asscheek making his mouth water, his cock already painfully hard. It’s so pretty - red against your skin, your lips visibly swollen, your little clit engorged and peaking out. You look good, like something he wants to taste, and before he knows what’s happening he’s diving forward, tongue licking a long stripe up your slit.

You taste like iron and musk and something oddly sweet, and immediately he’s diving in to taste more, tongue lapping at you like some dog in heat as he keeps his fingers firmly digging into your thighs. He can barely hear your sound of shock at his actions, too overwhelmed by your taste and your scent.

“F-feitan, stop!” You manage to force out, eyes squeezed shut as your hips shake and stutter. “It’s too much, I’m too sensitive, I can’t!”

Feitan stops at that, pulling away from your body with blood smeared all over his lips, chin and nose, staring at you with a look in those wide, dark eyes that makes you shiver. He looks like an animal like this, something primal and carnal - and when your eyes peek down to see his cock - throbbing, bright red and stiff against his stomach - you can’t help but feel as if you’re some sort of prey caught in his jaws.

“Not too much, you will survive.” Is all he says, before he’s resuming his actions, bringing a finger up to prod inside your walls while his tongue gets to work on your clit. His fingers curl and rub, but you’re so damn tight, your walls impossibly clenched, and it makes Feitan grunt against you. You’re even wetter inside than normal, the blood practically running down his hands in copious amounts, making it remarkably easy to slide his fingers in and out. Almost too easy, it would seem.

You’re blabbering his name, the stimulation hurtling you towards your orgasm much quicker than normal, your heightened sensitivity and emotions turning you into a moaning, whimpering mess. And Feitan loves it - those dark eyes are peering up at you from over the crest of your pelvic bone, blood tinging his cheeks and visible to you.

When he angles his fingers to press against the spongey, sensitive spot he knows you love, you suddenly gasp, a hand flying to tangle into his hair, the other gently pinching and rolling at your nipple.

“Feitan, oh fuck Feitan ‘m gonna, I’m gonna come-!” You’re squealing, something that makes Feitan cock a brow, the pure desperation in your body as you squirm under his touch making him feral, his hips beginning to rut against the bed before he can even think about it. You just look so sexy like this, with your nipples swollen and sensitive, your cunt all warm and wet and sweet, and he’ll watch with wide eyes as you orgasm around him, your walls clenching down so hard that they force his fingers out, his tongue and the circles he’s drawing on your clit the only thing grounding you. Your back arches fully up off the bed, tits thrust out into the air, and Feitan bites back a groan as his own pleasure hits a peak, the blanket ruined as cum oozes from his tip and seeps into the fabric.

You’re shaking, literally fucking shaking, and Feitan finds himself trembling too, his hands not as steady against your skin. If he’d known you would taste like this, how sensitive you’d be, how easy it is to get you orgasming while on your period, he would’ve done this long ago.

You’re out of it, blinking up at the ceiling and heaving uneven breaths, but even as sensitive as he is from his last orgasm, Feitan is quickly shuffling to his knees, grabbing the base of his cock and sinking into you, face contorting into something between a grimace and a gasp. You’re so damn warm, and he groans lowly as he sees the way his cock has pink slick all over it when he pulls back, a mix of your blood, your slick and his cum decorating his length.

Fucking you is heaven, the way you clutch at him and writhe, nearly screaming his name as you come on his cock, and Feitan can only grit his teeth and go harder, spurred on by the way your walls are caressing his length, massaging and gripping like a fucking vice.

It feels good, and by the time he’s emptied himself inside you, he’s already made a mental note to mark down when your next period will be - just so he can get ready, so that he can get prepared. So that he can prepare you, too, because you won’t simply be allowed rest after the first night.

God no, not if you’re like this the whole time.

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere feitan #yandere feitan portor #hxh smut #_lee's profiles #_hxh #_feitan portor

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angel-of-the-moons · 4 months

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Ballet dancer reader x khonshu who tries to be his mysterious scary self and the reader just WHIPS her leg up to uppercut his head and crack his skull. Khonshu grabs her leg at the last second and he’s VERY surprised as she looks him DEAD in the eye, “I will FUCK you up. My ballet teacher has been a Russian matriarch since I was 5. You can’t scare me, bitch”. And khonshu’s just “Well mark me down as nervous AND horny!!”

I fucking cackled at this it's so fucking gorgeous

I changed it up a bit for comedic effect but asfghhkkll

Old Birds and New Tricks

Khonshu x Fem!Dancer!Reader

TW/CW: Attempted mugging, reader is a badass, Khonshu pops a boner for the first time in like ever, but nothing explicit happens :)

A/N: I figured you'd get a kick outta this one @drinkingwithkhonshu @juneknight because I'm on the floor with it lmao

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

You were walking home after a long practice session, your toes and legs ached from straining to stay on your tippy toes for so long, your arms cried for relief from the strain of holding the bar, performing so many sweeps and graceful flares alongside your troupe and mentor.

Your mentor, Katja Ivanov was a good teacher and a harsh mentor. She was a hulk of a woman, roped with muscles built over her long period of performing dance (you yourself thought she must have been in prison at some point, too but when you shot the question as a joke she merely laughed; but didn't deny it).

Katja was a woman who took no shit from rude people, and she instilled that in all of you, her dancers, her "baby birds" she called you. She made sure that all of you knew that just because you were dancers, people couldn't take you for granted.

So, after "official" dance practice had ended... Katja taught all of you how to use your strength and flexibility to defend yourselves as well as perform graceful maneuvers.

And it came in handy. Really, really handy.

London was dangerous after dark, the empty streets crawling with bad things in the shadows, like an infection beneath the skin.

That was how you found yourself in an alley, a large drunk man between you and freedom.

You were no quitter, no coward, and instantly, like a computer scanning a file, your brain recollected each one of Katja's lessons and put them into action.

Your body flushed with fresh adrenaline, your heart hammering within the confines of your chest as you whipped around on one foot, your other flying out to kick your assailant in his gut, knocking him back and making him dry heave with the strain.

"I told you, asshole." You hissed, bringing your fists up to guard your face.

"All I got in my bag is my gear. Now piss off before I break your jaw."

"Fuckin'... bitch." The man wheezed as he stumbled out of the alleyway, leaving you behind and feeling the high of victory.

You pick up your bag where you dropped it and slipped the strap back over your chest, the band squishing a bit between your breasts as you tightened it.

"Amusing." A deep, raspy voice mused.

You whipped around, trying in vain to locate the source of the voice. It came from nowhere, but at the same time... it came from everywhere.

"I was merely passing through when I thought to aid you, human." It spoke again, your very bones trembling as the voice bored into your very brain.

"But you seem to have been able to handle that threat on your own."

You pressed your ears hard beneath your hands, gritting your teeth at the invasive feeling the voice left as it crawled in and out of you.

"God! Just--get out of my head!" You say through your gnashed teeth.

You hear an exasperated sigh, and you feel the air shift around you as you lift your gaze, your eyes trailing the body of someone who just appeared in front of you.

He looked like a cliché monster from one of The Mummy movies, draped in linen and flowy robes and everything. The freakin' bird skull completed the freaky visage.

"The hell--" You sputter, dropping your hands from around your ears, taking a step back from the... the thing in front of you.

"Seeing you handle an opponent so large was amusing." He--and you were most certain that he was a he--chuckled grimly. "A tiny little waif like you."

Okay, you didn't care how big and imposing this otherworldly bastard was, the fact he was jabbing at your stature and visual "weaknesses" irked you. You could swear you heard Katja's voice from over your shoulder.

"Kick his ass, да, маленький?" She would jeer.

"You... think I'm... small?" You say slowly, your eyes narrowing to a dangerous glint as he leans in, the smell of the spices clinging to his body wafting into your nose, heat radiating from his lithe body as he bent to your level.

You were giving him a chance to walk it back, maybe apologize for being a judgmental prick, so you wouldn't have to prove once again that you were just the opposite.

He did not.

"You are not as weak as you appear... Little one." He huffed, his head moving in a slight jerking motion, indicating his amusement.

Yeah, no. You had enough of big assholes thinking you were easy pickin's tonight.

You smiled sweetly up at him, your expression completely devoid of any innocence behind the mask of charm. You could see his shoulders drop and head tilt in confusion, but he was given not another moment longer to ponder why you would be smiling.

He expected you to retort, to snap, to--his thoughts were immediately cut off, as you moved in a blur.

Because you effortlessly raised your leg with lightning speed brought on by years of practice, and curled your foot in the classic ballerina's stance and kicked him in his stupid ass beak.

When your shoe made contact, you swore you heard the dry bones crunch as he stumbled back, almost falling flat on his ass before he caught himself with his staff, a grunt coming away from him.

Your hands gripped your bag strap as you looked down at him indignantly, a sense of smug superiority washing over you.

"Not as weak as you thought, now, huh?" You huffed victoriously, before turning on your heels and storming out of the alley.

Khonshu, the god of the Moon, dispenser of Justice and protector of those in the night...

...was just kicked in the face by a tiny woman.

And she actually did manage to crack his bones. They healed almost instantly, of course, thanks to his divinity.

But what didn't heal was his pride as he kneeled in the dirty alley, leaning on his staff for support as he watched you leave.

The look in your eyes, the power behind your legs... It was like the sun came up early and rose with your kick, to wash out the cool light of his moon with the harsh burning rays of daylight.

And it left him stunned. Stunned in a way no mortal has ever been able to.

And, frankly, he found his body responding in... other ways, too. Ways he hadn't indulged in what felt like... eons.

He was a god, yes, but divinity doesn't automatically grant piousness; and he found himself imagining you using your legs in a different way.

Had Khonshu a human mouth, he would be smiling.

He needed to see you again.

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

да (pronounced da) = Yes

маленький (pronounced malen'kiy) = Little One

(Forgive me if it's butchered, I used Google translate for it asdfghjkl)

#🌙 answered #khonshu moon knight #moon knight #khonshu #khonshu x reader #khonshu x you #khonsu

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lizzaneia-elizalde · 10 months

Text

Yandere! Theatre actor x gn! Technical team! reader

GOD I MISS WRITING Also, I'm going to put names now. It's going to be confusing if I only used pronouns (just for me though, dunno 'bout yall!) Yandere! artist name: Arlen Yandere! dragon name: Vincent TW: Your usual yandere stuff, suggestive tones.

The actor lived for most of his life being praised for his talents. He's a talented man who can act, sing, and dance. He can memorize scripts as easy as breathing. He yearns for the spotlight, for the attention. He wants everyone's eyes on him.

Ignatius always heard of how stereotypical he was as a theatre kid, but he didn't care. All he wanted was to relish in the praises that was given to him as he entertained them with his genius. At first, he didn't care on who gives him attention. As long as he gets it, he's good. It was like his food and water, his sustenance, his reason to live. After all, being ignored by his parents all his life was enough of a reason to find attention from other people, right?

But his life shifted once he met you.

You're from the IT department in your University, then heard that the Theatre troupe needed a technical team asap. So you, with your friends, decided to apply for the job since it's extra credits and there's actually money from it. You're not one for theatrics, so plays didn't really interest you. You prefer movies really.

So because of this, you didn't give Ignatius the attention he wanted.

At first, Ignatius was okay with this. I mean, there's tons of people who can give him what he wants. He has a lot of loving and adoring fans after all.

But he's so bothered by the fact that you clapped a decibel or two lower than others, cheered softer than the others, and your eyes didn't shine with absolute adoration.

It was eating him alive.

Why was he so bothered by it? He wants to lash out at you, to shake your shoulders and to take you to the optometrist to get your eyes checked. Why weren't you cheering for him?!

You did, you absolutely did. But it's not enough for him. It's never enough.

Lights blinding, music so profound as it pounded away at his ears. Then with an inhale of oxygen, he started to sing. Ignatius' voice reverberated around the stage and into the audiences' heart as he sang a ballad disguised as a lament. His character was singing of a life could have been outside of his boring life before he died, about a life where he was Monique Gibeau, a hooker with heart of black charcoal. Ignatius embodied the character so well that people felt sentimental about their own lives of what could have been. He was that good of an actor. Yet, Ignatius' eyes only zeroed on you as you made sure that the instrumental didn't go wrong, or the spotlight remained on him, or that the lights didn't suddenly go off.

He wanted your gaze on his body as he danced on stage seductively, acting like a lustful hooker who always have something eventful happening in their life. No, in that moment, he is one, and he's craving one person and one person only, like how he craves opium.

Yet that person won't give him the time of the day, and the thought made him shiver. In excitement? Anger? Who knows what's going on his mind as he swayed his hips and his singing voice hit a note he usually finds difficult, with ease. And then, your eyes met him.

He shivered once more, biting back a moan as he finished his piece. Everyone erupted in great applause, including you. Yet, still, a decibel or two lower.

When did Ignatius get this needy? He doesn't want your attention, he needs it. Desperately.

And as he let the pleasure of having your attention on him sink in, he swore he'll do anything to get you to cheer for him, and only him.

I'm gonna do this right Show you I'm not moving

Your legs desperately pushed itself beyond its capabilities as you ran away. Your sweat marring your face as your heart pumped frantically. Your heartbeat overwhelmed you, but despite that, you can hear Ignatius' sweet voice sing a song from a recent role he got.

Wherever you go, I won't be far to follow Oh, I'm gonna love you so

Your loud breaths that your lungs produced from gulping air that it desperately needs echoed through the theatre hall. Your back was wet from sweat, and your front was wet with tears as you held back hiccups. You couldn't tell where Ignatius is at all. But your senses drank the affectionate words Ignatius is singing. It's supposed to be sweet, until you remembered how he killed half of the theatre troupe and landed half on the hospital from food poisoning.

It was a humble pie, deep dish even. To celebrate the new play they adapted. But they don't know he put an ungodly amount of Thallium in it. You didn't get to eat at all since you reasoned you were allergic to the pie. Of course Ignatius knew this. How could he not?

He needed to know who he was dealing with, of course. Whose attention he was desperate for.

You'll learn what I already know I love you means you're never, ever, ever getting rid of me

He didn't like it when you didn't praise him, or didn't fawn over him like others. He absolutely hated it when you're so amicable towards others. So he had to do whatever it takes to solo your attention. He was so desperate for it.

When did his desperation turned to love? Even if you ask Ignatius, he won't know the answer at all. When was the line blurred? He also doesn't know. Not like you can answer him when he's desperately chasing you with chloroform and rope in his hands.

You slumped down in the Technical booth up top the theatre. The key to the door was clutched tightly in your hand. Grazing the palm and cutting it. The blood trickled down to your arm, making a faded red stream as your other hand covered your trembling mouth.

You can try, oh, but I I love you means you're never, ever, ever getting rid of me

You suddenly got aware of how much of a bad idea it was to be locked up here in the booth. You have no exit, just the stairs that you swore creaked in all its metal glory. As if heavy footsteps stomped on it. He was close.

The door rattled for a bit, before it was kicked open. You screamed in terror as Ignatius obsessed eyes landed on yours. He grinned widely as he stalked towards you.

You cannot escape.

I can try, but I I love you means you're never, ever, ever getting rid of me

Just give him the attention he desperately needs.

You don't have a choice.

#male yandere x reader #yandere boyfriend #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere writing #tw yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic #male yandere #yandere oc #yandere drabble

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rosazoldyckk · 11 months

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𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨 𝐗 𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⚠️TW⚠️ Mentions of the reader thinking they are useless and unworthy, reader pretty much hating on themselves.

PS: YOU ARE WORTHY!! You are awesome asf so please don't let this fanfic trigger any negative thoughts! you are worthy, capable and fucking spectacular and pls don't forget that!! Love you sm ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

1095 words

You had no one before him. Everyone else had left you. Eventually you gave up in trying to convince them to stay. Nobody tried approaching you due to your closed off nature. No one but him. Chrollo Lucilfer, the head of the infamous phantom troupe, or Chrollo as he likes you to call him.

You knew something was off about him, but you didn't care, because he was the only one who was willing to get to know you and stayed after finding out more about you. Even if what he did was somehow considered borderline stalking. You didn't give a damn. It was nice having someone try for you, after so long of no one trying.

You don't deserve him.

Soon afterwards he convinced you to move in with him, which you agreed to. Ever since then your daily life has been confined to his estate. You didn't mind of course; you were glad someone cared enough for you. But also, guilty. He shouldn't love someone like you. Someone so horrible and disgusting. Someone who could barely do anything right.

You don't deserve him.

You wish you could do something to repay all he's done for you. But surely you would just mess it up like you do with everything else. You don't want to be more of an inconvenience than you already are. Why didn't he pick someone else? Someone much more talented or prettier than you? Surely, he could do better. It still confuses you to this day.

You don't deserve him.

You feel weak. You wanted to believe him, but you couldn't. You truly were a terrible person. But you couldn't help but continue to be suspicious of his intentions. What if he runs away from you after realising how horrible you are? What happens then? You'll have no one. You need him. You pray to all the God's imaginable that he'll never realise how ugly and useless you truly are inside. Maybe he already knows and is toying with you? Your mind keeps swirling with all these terrifying thoughts, making you want to bite your fingers off with fear in case any of it turned out to be true.

You don't deserve him.

You feel tears stream down your face. You try your best not to let out any noise. Even if no one is home. It hurts so much. Why did you have to burden everyone with your existence? The hate red you had for yourself was immense. Tears continued streaming down as you wiped your nose. You hated this. This lonely, suffocating feeling but you were always too scared to reach out. You wanted him to be here, holding you tightly in his warm embrace as he allowed you to cry into the fur of his coat, whispering sweet words of kindness into your ear. It was a selfish wish you know but you can't help it. You wanted him to bruise you with his kisses, to be lacerated open and stitched together, sharing both blood and skin. You wanted to lock your lips to his with no intention of breaking from one another. You continued crying. You longed to sink into the endless depths of hell with him if it meant you could belong to him in peace, but what God thought thought you were deserving of something so blissful?

Out of nowhere you feel a pair of familiar arms wrap around you.

"I'm sorry I took so long, my love. Now tell me, why are you crying?"

You back away, trying to escape. But his grip was firm. It felt like you would never leave his embrace.

"I don't deserve you... Why are you doing this!?"

"Hmm, because I love you. And of course, you deserve me. My standards are high, but regardless you are the one that I love."

"But I'm worthless! Someone as useless as me doesn't deserve to be worthy of your time! Please Chrollo...don't burden yourself with me..."

"I'll tell you as many times as it takes for you to believe me. You're none of these things your mind tells you. You are mine and I love you." He hugged you tighter, placing a firm kiss on your temple. "Even if others may think that. I will never. I promise."

You just sat there in his arms processing everything. You never knew how to respond to him. He's always so kind around you.

"But surely you could find someone better than me. I'm sure of it. One day you'll find someone who can give you everything I could only dream of giving to you." You sniffled, trying to hold back the tears.

"Even if I did, I would still choose you. No matter what. Because you are the one that I love."

"Are you sure? You aren't lying, are you Chrollo? Please promise me?"

"I promise you from the bottom of my heart. I would never lie to you." He paused for a second. "Come on my love, it's getting late. Let's get you to bed."

"Okay..."

He stopped hugging you and took your hand. He led you to your shared room. His hand were always so warm and comforting. He led you into bed, and you two just held each other, resting your head on the crook of his neck as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

"You are the beginning and end of who I am. You are everything I could ever care for and more. I'll rip my own veins out before I can love another. I'll praise every hair on your head, every breath you take, every glance you give my way. I'll never allow you to feel worthless again, love. You are my salvation. Your voice is my mantra, Your body is my church. I abandoned the faith of God a long time ago, but if it meant I could forever keep you close within arms reach, then I'll cry my prayers to the heavens for all to hear. Because I want you. I need you."

You really don't deserve him, but maybe for tonight you will allow yourself to believe. Allow yourself to hope that maybe you are worthy of him. Even if it's for a short time. You are at peace.

#hunter x hunter x reader #hxh x reader #hxh x y/n #hunter x hunter x y/n #yandere #yandere x darling #hunter x hunter #hxh fanfic #tw obsessive behavior #chrollo lucilfer #yandere x reader #chrollo x you #yandere chrollo #yandere hxh #chrollo x reader #chrollo x y/n #chrollo lucilfer x reader #kinda depressing #tw depressive

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gottawritesomething · 2 months

Text

She was chosen

Gale's internal monologue confronting the brain under Moonrise.

TW: Suicidal ideation

------------------------------------------------

The ground trembled beneath their feet as the massive elder brain rose from the briny depths below Moonrise. However, long after the tremors had ceased, Gale still shook. He stabilized himself, as best he could, on the rocky outcropping their troupe had hidden behind. He gazed up at the monstrosity they beheld; cruelty seemed to emanate from every cursed surface of the beast. Elminster's words began ringing in Gale's ear, only just drowning out the sound of his own racing heartbeat.

"-threatens the gods, the Weave, the very fabric of the universe itself-"

As a wizard, reasonably, there was no greater purpose one could have than ensuring the preservation of the Weave. So many years of devotion and dedication to learning its every facet, devouring every esoteric tome of its secrets. It'd been his life, and now his life was being given in service of that. That was nothing to say of the undoubtedly countless lives that'd be saved in the process. This was the kind of universe-balancing math the gods did every moment of existence. To end a single mortal life for the certainty of the eradication of the threat. Every life that would be ended if he did not destroy the brain here and now would be on his hands. It had seemed so clear and apparent when he'd explained it to Tav. She'd fought him bitterly, of course, distraught at his apparent apathy when it had been, in fact, determination. Determination that seemed to be sorely lacking at the present moment…

"This is it. I must do as Mystra commands."

He announced it, more for himself, hoping that it'd prompt action. He felt Tav's hand slip softly into his own. For the briefest of moments, he resisted the urge to look to her. She'd been such a source of strength and guidance throughout this journey; it took all his strength to turn away from her for even that moment. He desperately wanted to look into her face as his last act as a man and not a martyr. But as terrified as he was of what he was about to do, he feared what he'd see in her eyes. Finally, he could avoid her no longer; as their eyes met, the fear reflected in her eyes killed him faster than the orb ever could.

Fear for herself, fear for him, for their friends. It occurred to him that he'd never imagined this moment for others. In his darkest moments, he'd taken solace in that she'd miss him, that she'd mourn him, but to actively shatter her heart while watching it happen was never what he'd wanted. He'd never wanted her to be afraid; he'd wanted her safe. That's why he was doing this, for her, for the Weave, for the world, but she didn't look relieved; she looked afraid.

"I love you." She reached for him, speaking so softly. The terror still swirling in her eyes with tears gathering in the corners, he realized with horror that she was attempting to be brave in the face of her fear. Brave for him. She believed it to be the end, and she'd reached for him, consoled him… She'd given him a night of hope and love, and how had he repaid that? Frightening her, killing her? The hope she'd given him had, in turn, made him frightened to lose it or her.

He couldn't. He couldn't do as he was asked.

He stayed fixed on her and felt his tenuous resolve dissolving; he wished he could ask her for all the things he wanted. He wanted her to hold him, to prove to him it would be alright, tell her every distraught thought he'd had throughout this ordeal, and let her sooth those worries away. But instead he said,

"I love you too. Much more than myself. More even than Mystra. Very well. Whether I condemn this world or not, I choose you."

Perhaps next time, she'd be safe.

#baldur's gate fanfiction #gale dekarios #gale x tav #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #baldurs gate gale #gale x oc #fanfic #baulders gate 3

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tht0nesimp · 10 months

Text

Yandere Shalnark- Darling

TW: Yandere themes, reader was obtained disgustingly, kidnapping, violence, kinda short, probably only like 1k words, drugging, manipulation, debt, kinda loan-sharks

(fic under cut)

"Bye" you got off of the phone with your landlord, "Shit" you sit on the curb outside of the apartment complex and hide your face in your hands. You sat and listened to the rain for what felt like the rest of your life

The rain was so loud, almost loud enough to block out a pair of quiet footsteps. It was far too late, the second you truly noticed the door hadnt opened was the same second the rag was placed over your face, The night sky blared in your eyes as it blurred and contorted the more you breathed in the sickeningly sweet chemical

You didnt expect to wake up, and certainly not in a dark room which seemed to inhabit just you and likely whatever creepy crawlies were sitting in the corners of these god forsaken walls. You cursed everything, you prayed that your friends and family knew you loved them and every other thing that came to mind

When instead of death, you were met with two men standing infront of you "ill be taking her now, feitan, thank you" you assume the other man just nodded because you were picked up, the man carried you for quite some time before you were dropped, the blindfold stopped you from seeing but you could hear a key jingling before you were picked up once more by the man, who dropped you on a concrete floor "im going to untie you now,ok" you dont have time to answer before the rope around your limbs was sliced quicker than you ask who he was

By the time you stood up and took off the blindfold he was on the other side of the room, sitting on a storage box in the large warehouse "sorry, i cant take you back to my place right now" You quickly back away from him, the door not unlocking as you rattle the door knob "sorry, your gonna need a key for that" The blonde man held up a key before placing it back in his pocket in one liquid motion

"Who are you?" The man seems to have a look of fake betrayal as he gasps "you really dont remember!..You were at a bank we robbed" Your eyes widen as the man "Me and the troupe that is, im Shalnark" your lungs seem to completely give up on you, it would seem so since they were unable to take a breath

"Are you going to hyperventilate?" Shalnark pulls out a small device with wings on the side "Id love to get a video" he gives a sweet smile and points the camera at you while you struggle to breathe on the cold concrete floor

"Whats going on?" A small boy comes out of the dark "Nothing, Kalluto" The boy takes one small glance at your struggling form and flicks his fan at you, A slew of air coming into your lungs as he does, You watch him leave just as quickly as he had entered the strangely tense room

"Thank you?..." you said as he quietly returned to his position elsewhere "Youll get used to it, afterall, youve got a lifetime!" he smiles and seems to be surprised when you perk up "What do you mean?!" His face returns to a near constant smile as he just looks at you like a child throwing a tantrum over something silly "I kidnapped you, i own you now..Youll never leave me" he says it as if its the most childish thing possible

"How did you find me" Shalnark laughs and gives you a glare "I didnt, your debt found me" he gets off of the box and approaches your shaking form, giggling when you tremble as his arm snakes around your shoulder "Your trembling darling! Im gonna bring you out to my..friends" his hand rests on your neck, threatening to squeeze but not quite doing so "If you act up, there will be consequences" his face gets much darker and disturbing than before, but he goes back to just being friendly as his arm returns around your shoulder as he practically carries you into another room "Hello!" he shouts out to the multiple men and women siting around the building "This is Y/N" he says as he drops you on an old couch next to the most muscular man you had ever seen "Nice to meet you" He holds his hand out and gives you a grin that showed his sharp teeth "Dont scare her uvo!" Uvogin just smiles "Just being polite, you dont mind? Right doll?" He turns to look at you once more, shalnark also sends you a look but his is a piercing glare "Well..uhm.." you shrug and the two both seemed to be annoyed at the fakely nonchalant action

Shalnark approaches you and grabs your wrist in almost an unbelievably tight grip, Another man in a black cowl seemed to take notice and smile as shalnark inches ever closer to breaking your wrist, you manage to pull your wrist away and inch away from shalnark. "darling, we'll talk about that later" he whispers in your ear while bending down to your height as you hug your knees and look around the room once more, eventually just keeping your head down

The people in the room spoke, they were so caught up they didnt seem to notice when you slinked away to explore, finding an exit quite quickly as you walk out into the surronding pavement to go down the street. You pause when you read the sign...The nearest town was 20 miles away and you were pretty sure there was just about no one around

You came back to the building and entered once more, noticing commotion in another room. You enter and shalnark practically tackles you "You left, pick your next words very wisely" his smile still remained as he stood above your form "im sorry" the smile fades and he gets off of you "You will be" he practically drags you until your behind closed doors

He pins you down on the ground, kneeling so he was in a position with your arm at his mercy "If i break your arm..you wont be able to leave for a couple weeks.." he debates his choice "if i break a leg..i could keep you here forever" he bites his lip, seeming to think about his desicion

You scream when your arm is pulled, the bone popping and dislocating "I havent even broken it yet!" he laughs as tears stream down your face and onto the floor. He pulls harder and laughs once more when your scream gets louder "Its not that bad! Maybe ill do your leg too~" he coos in your ear as he pulls until he hears a clean snap

He gets up and stretches "That really got me worked up...maybe i can help feitan out!" he smiles and waves goodbye as he goes off to find feitan. Your left with a disgustingly intense pain in your arm, You get on the nearby bed which you assumed was his and clutched your arm

Hours pass, He returns and is suprised to see you still laying down crying "I guess i overestimated you...You are just a civilian after all" he sits down next to you and hands you a bottle of pain relief pills and a gatorade "I stole them from some store nearby" he says it as if its normal as he watches you take the pills "They might make you tired" he looks at you, watching you yawn "Feel free to go to bed, i have to be out tonight" theres a carelessness in his voice as he walks out

You give into sleep, curling up under the thin blankets as the pain dies down

You wake up to shalnark leaning over you, "Your finally awake!" he smiles as the pain from your arm registers. He sits down on the bed next to you and pokes your arm "I went out and stole stuff to make this more...comfortable for you" you nod and look at the bag on the floor and a fuzzy blanket that sat next to it "I really shouldnt give them to you..but im choosing to be nice even after your little escape attempt yesterday" you give him a irritated look "it was not an escape attempt" he gives you a sarcastic glance "Sure it wasnt" he searches through the shopping bag on the floor for a moment

"i dont eat breakfast, but Fei said most people do" he puts a yogurt on the bed and smiles as you pick it up. Your about to eat it but look at him and he seems confused before you speak "did you remember to buy a spoon?" it registers "Nope!, another member might have one though" he walks out before you can ask which

Your forced to get out of bed, trying to not put any pressure on your already aching arm as you try to remember the name of the one who you met yesterday. You found him talking to who you assumed was Feitan with your yogurt in one hand as the other laid strangely against your side "Do either of you know where i can find a spoon" You yawn and stare at them as they point to the bar behind you

You approach the bar and see a couple plastic spoons, you picked one up and began eating as the two men watched you retreat back to the room you had came from and sit back down on the bed. You looked at the bag from this morning, but dont dare look inside as you lay your head down

Sleep envelopes you as you quietly shift, you placed the fluffy blanket over you along with the few thin ones that were on the bed. You would sleep until shalnark appeared again...

#xreader #yandere male #yandere phantom troupe #yandere shalnark #yandere HxH #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hunter x reader #Yandere #MxF #kidnapping #no smut #yandere scenarios #yan!#yandere blog #yandere fic #CandiesActualFics

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procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 2 years

Text

Vikings reacting to you getting your period...

...and promptly falling over due to low iron

based off of this request | TW blood ig???? | my requests are OPEN!

Masterlist

in this imagine, Ragnar, Lagertha, Aslaug, the Ragnarssons, Helga and Floki will be there for the reader when they get their period and fall over

Ragnar

he's very careful

even though he's had two wives, he's still a bit of an idiot

sits you down and tells you to wait

gets you tea?

a bit panicky in secret

then finds a woman, points to you and asks her to take care of you

will not catch u if you fall. he dropped his own kids, sorry

tries to be there for you, so a+ for effort

Lagertha

i have a hc that Lagertha, when she has her period, has bad cramps and heavy flow

she gets kinda snappy

so when you fall over she kind of o_o

before she helps you get up and sits you down on a chair/in bed

mothers you and gets you tea

very kind, takes a walk with you afterwards so you can get back outside

Aslaug

she has easy periods

like, every woman's dream, two-three days, light flow, long cycle, no cramps periods

so she doesn't understand from her own experience, but she is a völva

and she hangs out a lot with other women

keeps a close eye on you and has servants spoil you

finds a cat for you to pet

does not let you out of her sight

Bjorn

oml get away from him

does not understand and does not care a lot

so? it's only blood, why are you falling over

you'd have a better chance calling up one of his exes

awkwardly apologizes

too caught up in his own world tbh

Ubbe

knowledgeable king

medieval pads? boom, right there. tea? has it in the cupboard. cuddles and getting spoiled? he does that every day

will catch you if you fall over

so worried when you tell him you get dizzy

becomes a viking nutritionist

after two periods under ubbe's care, your diet will be literally perfect, 10/10 best man

Hvitserk

clueless king

you fall over? he will fall over with you. cramps? terrifying. how do you do it every month.

will cheer for you if you are mean to someone he doesn't like due to hormones

internally panicking, goes around asking women for advice

"she's falling over mom! what the fuck do i do?!"

carries you around so you have no chance to fall over

Sigurd

i hc that sigurd knows herbs

tea, tea is the cure to everything

so much tea

"you are staying in bed."

more tea

he does his best, and the tea kinda works

Ivar

horny

i'm sorry lmao, i just know this guy has a bloodkink

terrified when you fall over

will stay in bed with you

"are you sure we can't fuck?"

when he realises how bad it is, he softens a little and has a troupe of servants follow you around

Helga

oh this woman WILL take care of you and that is a threat

better than anyone else

ugh and she makes amazing comfort food

shoos floki out of the house to take care of you

also gets you a cat if you want one

braids your hair and tells you stories

the best

Floki

goes to helga for help

tea? do you want tea? why are you falling over?

is this a sign?

no clue what to do but he tries

makes food for you and tells you not to move

prays to the gods for answers

confused, but he's got the spirit

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bowandcurtsey · 2 years

Note

Hi, hi, hi! This is my first time requesting and I kinda feel shy so I decided to ask anonymously :D. Can you do like a fluffy scenario where the Captains are like some kind of supernatural beings and they somehow had taken a liking to Y/N? You can do whichever captains you like as long as Nozel is one of them!

This is a fun one (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ Do I get to choose which supernatural beings they are? hehehe I guess yes since you didn't specify which you wanted hehe! YAY! *rubs palms together*

Also my filthy mind wishes someone non-anonymous requests this please

Characters: Nozel | Yami | Jack x F! reader

Supernatural beings: Nozel - Demon // Yami - Werewolf // Jack - Vampire

TW: supernatural beings, modern AU, mentions of blood in some hcs, vulgarities, unchecked work!!

Nozel Silva (Demon)

So you summoned him by accident. How do you even summon a DEMON by accident? A hot but grumpy one at that.

"How the fuck did you accidentally summon me, pesky human?"

Yeap, and he was sarcastic and rude too. Well it was kinda your fault, but you were shameless till the end.

"who told you to make your hotline so easily accessible?" you raised a brow at him. Were you arguing with a demon? seriously? at 2am in the morning?

Nozel couldn't believe it either. He could easily kill you but you intrigued him. People usually screamed or cry when they saw him. But not you. You were stunned momentarily yes but for the first time in awhile, someone was not afraid of him.

You even started asking him questions of the afterlife and his world and how he existed. You were astounded by his powers (which made him swell with pride a little inside) and how he could just snap his fingers and destroy something.

You actually fell asleep in his presence. He couldn't understand that at first. He thought you could be just playing in cool or acting like humans do to get themselves out of trouble. But here you were, falling asleep right in front of him.

You then summoned him purposely on another occasion. Just because you wanted to ask "do demons sleep, eat and poop?"

God, he wanted to crush you but you were kinda... cute? Is that what the humans call it?

Once, a burglar broke into your house and practically held you at knife point. Thank god you managed to summon Nozel and the burglars almost got their limbs dissected.

You were shivering a little after the ordeal which made Nozel angry. He then realised he cared about you. Of course he didn't show it or tell you that quickly; he's a powerful demon with an even bigger ego, cut him some slack.

"Now are you complaining about that easily accessible hotline?"

Yami Sukehiro (werewolf)

He hid himself well amongst the human race, careful to hide away during full moon nights.

You were his colleague that went on a business trip with him but due to unforeseen circumstances, you both got stranded overseas. Well it was really unforeseen since you met a robber that pretended to be your company hired chauffeur.

He brought you both to some weird deserted place and tried to rob you, but alas Yami was a great fighter, so no one was hurt, but they did get away with your belongings, and now you both were left stranded with very little money while the night was coming and help could only come the next day.

Well, turns out you only had money for one room and it was a full moon night so... you know where this troupe goes.

When you both went into your room, Yami decided it was best to come clean to you in case you freaked out.

"so..... I'm not human."

"Well, I hope you are god because I would damn well ask you how did you get us into this predicament??" you didn't really buy what he said, come on now, it's a pretty big stretch to believe someone is not human.

He stared at you with a raised brow. He never told anyone this secret before so he didn't really know what to expect. But when people accidentally saw his true form, most of them fainted.

When midnight came, Yami felt it coming. You were not asleep yet, so he had no choice.

"Y/n, just don't panic or scream, you'll land us into more trouble. I promise I won't hurt you." and he transformed right before your eyes.

You jumped out of bed and stood at the door. Well, because he was MASSIVE and took out most of the pathetic tiny room.

You both blinked at each other. And then you inched closer and closer.... And Yami lay down, showing you that he was not aggressive.

You reached out and touched his ears. They are warm and soft and it twitched under your touch.

"eh I'm not a dog, dammit." Yami growled. But damn it felt good.

You spent the night touching his black glossy fur, looking at his fangs, stroking his snout while he was complaining about how he's not a dog but a beast that kills but there he was lying on the floor while you pat him.

Damn he's been domesticated now.

Jack the Ripper (Vampire)

Jack was injured by an attack by werewolves, he thought that was the end, he was going to die. Wooden stake that nearly missed his heart, tied to the tree, ready to be burnt alive by the sunlight

But thankfully you saw him, in the wee hours of the morning, the sunlight already starting to burn bits of his skin.

You already knew what he was from the start but you still decided to approach him.

"H-hi..? Are you alive?" your trembling soft voice tried to call out to him.

Jack barely opened his eyes. A face that looked like an angel. A face that became his favourite view in the world today.

"could you manage to pull the wooden thingy out, sweet cakes?"

By the time you managed to, Jack already suffered from pretty major burns and had passed out from the immense pain. But you dragged his long and heavy body back to the nearest shelter you could find and nursed him back to health.

Jack repaid your kindness by always helping you with your "dumb human chores". Ie: gathering wood or any small items found in the wood to sell.

You both were in love with each other, but Jack knew better than to be with a human. One day you'll age and die while Jack will never change.

But one day while you were out in the woods gathering trinklets again, you were attacked by vampires from another clan. And you were dying. Fast.

Jack had to make a decision then and there. And he turned you into a vampire too.

I had fun with this!! o(≧▽≦)o Thank you for requesting it Anony! It could give me some ideas for my event hehe!!

#nozel imagine #nozel x reader #nozel silva x you #nozel silva hcs #nozel silva x reader #yami x reader #yami sukehiro headcanons #yami sukehiro x reader #jack the ripper x reader #jack the ripper (bc)#jack black clover #black clover jack #captain yami #black clover headcanons #black clover imagine #black clover x reader #black clover scenarios #black clover fanfiction #black clover imagines

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houxe · 10 months

Text

The Problem with writing Sentient Characters that Like being considered as Pets, Objects, Tools, etc.

TW for discussion of slavery, oppression, suicide, mentions of SA, and abuse.

It took me some time to really admit out loud to someone why this troupe is so bad and harmful, and now that it’s finally off my chest, I want to make a post about it.

I don’t have much influence in the writing world, but this is the least I can do to get people to hopefully understand.

As the title states, there’s a big issue with writing sentient characters (sentient as in on par with humans or whatever creature is ‘owning’ them) that like being pets, objects, tools, etc because it touches far too close to slavery or oppression acceptance.

As in people that like being enslaved or oppressed.

Now, I’m not saying that this is every circumstance of a character liking this, nor am I talking about trauma writing/kink writing. Characters who know it’s wrong but are too broken down to fight back and the narrative treats it as something bad, dystopian writing, the character is choosing to be loyal but pet/object/tool is used as an insult rather than them actually being a pet/object/tool, or even a character of a different species not knowing the other character is sentient and later fix how they treat them, don’t fit into this category.

(Though, tbf, it's very easy to tell if a species has the same sentience as you lol. It's consciousness, animals don't have that, they simply do things without worrying about their actions or consequences. Humans, on the other hand, do, and it's extremely easy to tell. You can teach an animal not to do things, but they won't understand why like people do.)

What I am talking about is writers who merely write this sort of thing because it's 'not real and it's fun' or it's 'interesting to play with' and have not faced this sort of trauma and don't see or care for the very real harm it can cause and the historical context of treating someone like this. Or those who also then proceed to go on in their notes, interviews, or whatever else, and say this treatment of someone is okay and fine or call it cute and infantilize the victims and abusers.

Characters who know they’re being kept like an animal or property or used by someone or by a corporation like they're a tool and are fine with it because they ‘get to do whatever they want’ or ‘they’re happy with it eventually’ or ‘they’re treated well as long as they obey their ‘owners’!' or even 'but they're loved by their 'owners'!', and the narrative treats it as something good, are a problem. This adds up even more when everyone in the story and, again, authors outside of the story, dismisses it as something that isn't bad.

You cannot treat someone or something that's as sentient as you, like this. It's abuse, it's extremely damaging, and even if you say you 'love' them, you don't. Because if you did, you wouldn't be treating them like this and thinking it's okay or it's fine because they like it or eventually start liking it. Sentient creatures on par with humans (or whatever sentient creature you're using as the 'owner': like a fae, god or alien 'owning' a human, dragon keeping another dragon as an object in their hoard, witch forcing sentient familiars into abusive contracts against their will, etc) cannot handle this kind of treatment. Historically they have often killed themselves, or others, because of it.

We've even seen this with dolphins and orcas kept in captivity where they start killing their handlers, each other, or themselves. It's why there's been massive pushes to release all of them. So using the excuse of 'but they're a different species so it's not the same!' like with a fae, alien, god, etc 'owning' or 'using' a human or similarly sentient creature while knowing they're just as sentient as them, is just a poor excuse for their actions.

It's literally excusing fantasy racism/slavery/dehumanization to a T.

There's a difference between species having different morals amongst themselves, or rival species disliking each other, compared to being racist and oppressing/enslaving or owning an entire species (or even their own species) that's just as smart as them.

Trying to portray this as something that's 'okay' or as 'love' in any way, shape, or form, and not treating it as bad in the narrative or in your notes, is extremely problematic and perpetuates a dangerous and damaging mindset that is spreading all across the world right now.

Whilst I understand that this writing is fiction and people like writing dark subjects (I do too, believe me, you can see my work), there are limits to what you can write that can be dismissed under fiction/dark fiction and this 'character is fine with being a pet or property' subject is not one of them.

This is very different from stuff that's messy, or toxic; or something like enemy to lovers, dysfunctional, Stockholm-like relationships, etc.

Why? Because being treated like a pet or property has massive and historical ties to slavery and oppression, (look up the disgusting 'breeding' they'd do create more enslaved people or the 'human zoos' that only ended in the 1960s) and as I said before there is a lot of historical and current context to treating people, especially minorities, like animals. Writing a character who’s okay with being treated like that, because they’re treated well and 'loved', or get what they want, or come to like their position eventually, is damaging to a large group of communities and it is something that continues to affect them to this day.

Enslaved people were not the only ones to be treated like this, either. Many communities (people with disabilities, people of color, and people with genetic conditions) were treated like this constantly and still are.

It's harmful to write like this. Especially when writing characters in such position (pet, object, tool, etc.), to be in a sexual relationship with their 'owner'. (And not in a kink way, that's not what I'm talking about here.)

Do not do that. It is literally SA. There are many real life stories of enslaved people and people without power being forced to please their abusers in such a way and, almost always, whatever children they unfortunately had were still enslaved and owned like property or sent away or killed. It's not cute, it's not some dark interesting thing to write and play with just because it's fun, it's extremely harmful and should not be something written and toned down with different words or portrayed as 'fine' or 'they're a different species so it's not the same' or 'they like it eventually' in any sort of way.

This goes double when you're writing from the abuser's perspective and are actively humanizing them (the abusers) and having them dismiss what they're doing or talking about it like their victims are just cute little things they keep for fun and that 'it's fine' or 'it's different because they're not the same (species, skin color, clan, etc.)'.

There are limits to what can be romanticized, and this behavior is not one of them.

Just recently there was a large creator online, on TikTok, spouting off bullshit about how they’re sure that ‘some slaves liked being kept as slaves’ and writing content where a character likes being kept as a pet or object or tool is only adding to that rhetoric.

Especially when literal governments and hate groups are actively trying to rewrite history to make slavery and this type of 'ownership' and oppression not seem as bad as it actual was.

It is dangerous.

And what a lot of people don’t understand, or don’t know about, is that victims of slavery, oppression, people with disabilities, etc, were kept as pets and animals (human zoos, slavery 'breeding' done on plantations, etc.) because they weren't viewed as equals and being a slave already dehumanized them into an animal or property.

People have too specific of a view on what slavery and oppression actually is and as such, don't point it out when it's being shown.

There are multiple accounts in history of slavers or kings keeping people who were 'different' as pets or items of entertainment (like Eugenia Martínez Vallejo, Sarah Baartman, etc.), and perpetuating the idea that someone is ‘happy’ or ‘fine’ with that just because it’s fiction or under a different name than slavery or oppression and ‘they get whatever they want’ or 'they're loved though' or 'they're different species, they think differently', is wrong and harmful.

It’s literally like writing the house elves in Harry Potter. It’s saying the same thing. ‘They’re happy to do everything in a house, they don’t need money! They like it!’ or 'They're not human though, they think differently so they like it!' Those are slaves, they are talked about like property, like animals, and have you noticed so many people defending it because J.K. Rowling doesn’t outright call it slavery? Yeah, that’s why writing someone as a pet, object, tool, etc and having them genuinely like it, or 'it’s normal for them', or 'they’ll be okay with it eventually', is a problem.

And you are a part of the problem if you can’t accept that some of what you’re writing does have an influence on people and that it’s damaging and hurtful to many communities. Especially when it comes from, and is reflective of, a very real and disgusting practice that killed millions of people and still does.

Again, I'm not talking about writers who portray this to help with their trauma or write it in a kink type of fashion.

However, you need to remember that your work does not live in a vacuum, and you must be aware that intent does not change the implication.

But if you are someone who's doing this just because it's 'fun to play with' and 'it's not real' or 'it doesn't affect anyone'? Well, it says far too much about you if you’re comfortable with this 'master' and their happy 'pet/object/tool' and cannot see how dangerous that sort of writing is. Or at the very least, how it is far too close to slavery and oppression than anyone should be comfortable with.

Obviously, I’m not saying it’s you’re fault if you just don’t know. Unfortunately our world is full of biases, people who have not lived through this trauma, and is more intent on erasing history instead of teaching it. But these kinds of subjects (pet, object, tool, etc.) are things that you have to tie into the real world, they do not exist in a vacuum, and you have understand the consequences and impact it can have on readers.

This kind of dehumanization is happening in the real world to many communities who are at risk because of rhetoric like this. You can’t negate the affects and damage of doing this to someone just because it’s ‘fiction’ when this fiction is dangerous. There are certain subjects in writing fiction where you can’t just ignore the huge historical and current context they have.

It's like trying to write a character enjoying SAed (Not talking about CNC) and that should never be written as something 'okay' because it's 'fiction' or 'fun to play with' when it's such a prevalent and disgusting issue in the real world.

Fiction has been well documented to affect people's perception of reality for a very long time. It is a well known phenomenon. It's quite literally why there is so much backlash whenever people stereotype ethnicities in books, shows, media, etc.

So why is it different to write other dark/messy themes as fine but not stuff like this?

Because toxic, dysfunctional, Stockholm-like relationships do not have the historical and current context that are specific to oppressing many communities like pet/object/tool does. Nor do these themes reflect and spread the rhetoric that a large groups of people, even fucking governments, in real life genuinely want slavery, oppression, and dehumanization to return for people of color, people with disabilities, people with genetic conditions, houseless people, etc.

They do not continue to normalize something that is already very normalized and perpetuated against many marginalized communities to this day.

Other dark troupes are not normalized like this is real life.

Murder, kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, hostage situations, etc, are all things the majority know are bad and are taught to be bad. Some of them can even have good reasons for why they're being done. However things like slavery, oppression, keeping someone as a pet/tool, and treating someone as an animal or object, are things many people don't believe are bad nor are they taught that it's bad and are typically targeted towards marginalized communities. There is also never a good reason to treat someone like this unless it's their personal accommodation (kinks, mental health, etc.) and something they agreed to rather than something they like 'eventually'.

These kinds of abuse are things that our own governments condone and even help support. To the point where the people who want to see these communities as 'less than' are, as I stated earlier, actively trying to change history to say the communities forced into this position had 'benefited' from their abuse.

It's extremely dangerous and extremely tone deaf to write like this when it's a growing thought process of many people in real life.

It's why no one thinks Debbie Grayson and Omni-Man's relationship from 'Invincible' is 'fine' and is actively treated with disgust when he admits to loving her like a pet, even when he treated her well. Especially when you tie in the historical context of how Asian women are often fetishized and dehumanize into objects for pleasure because they're 'obedient'.

It's just not a something to write as 'good' or 'eventually liked'.

Again, troupes like enemies to lovers, forced proximity, fake relationships, kidnapping, hostage situations, villains/heroes, Stockholm syndrome, etc, are not as problematic to write because all of them do not help spread rhetoric and carelessly diminish the very real harm and historical context of treating people like animals. Especially when it's something that is still affecting communities today.

In fact, for those who don't know, Stockholm syndrome actually originated in a 1973s bank robbery, because the victims of it got their attackers to humanize them. To be equals. Their attackers even protected them from getting hurt, once they got to know them, or accidentally shot by police, even when their hostages were freed.

Though note, this does not mean I agree with their actions, this is merely to point out the difference between Stockholm syndrome and treating someone like a pet/object/tool, because some people assume they're same thing, when they're very much not.

This is just to show how one of them (obviously Stockholm syndrome) didn't and doesn't continue harm entire communities. Because while yes, Stockholm syndrome is often used in dehumanizing pet/tool/object stories, the two actually should not coincide. Which is why it's not such a problematic issue to write Stockholm syndrome or dysfunctional relationships/dark topics similar to it (Forced proximity, etc), like it is to write a character that enjoys being treated like an animal or property. It's not spreading rhetoric, especially when it's based on learning to view someone as an equal.

This is even a direct quote from one of the attackers who had a hand in creating the term:

'--They [the hostages] made it hard to kill. They made us go on living together day after day, like goats, in that filth. There was nothing to do but get to know each other.’

This is humanizing someone. It is not the same as keeping someone as a pet or property because the abusers/'owners' in those situations do not humanize their victims. That is literally why they're treated like that, they're not viewed as equals no matter how many 'luxuries' or 'privileges' they get. No matter the fact that they're 'able to do whatever they want' for obeying, or how much 'love' they're given.

They are not equals to the ones 'owning' them. They are viewed as objects of pleasure and amusement. To them, it is literally like spoiling a dog by giving them gifts or letting them run around.

Pet literally means: 'a domestic or tamed animal kept for companionship or pleasure.'

You do not tame people. That's an absolutely crazy thing to say.

As I've stated before, just to drive the point home, this isn’t like writing other dark/messy themes (true enemies to lovers, Stockholm syndrome, fake relationships, etc.) and you should be checking the historical context when writing about certain subjects (like you would when writing goblins or ogres or gnomes because of the historical context of antisemitism, racism, and the fetishization of little people in fantasy).

Other dark, messy, toxic themes do not have historical ties to such a specific abuse and dehumanizing multiple marginalized communities that still damage those groups to this day.

Writing someone that likes being a pet or property is like writing 'The Boy in the Stripped Pajamas'. No character would have fun or enjoy being in a concentration camp nor should you humanize Nazis. Just like you shouldn't humanize slavers and oppressors. And by humanize, I don't mean talking about them like they're human (they are and that's a scary truth), I mean using instances like 'it's normal in their world so it's not bad' or 'it's how they love they can't help it' or 'it's from their trauma so it's not bad' as a reason to excuse and diminish the awful thing that they're doing.

Hundreds of thousands of people have killed themselves because they’ve been treated like animals and property. Don’t ignore that and say ‘the character likes it!’ or ‘they’re okay with it because they're loved and can do whatever they want as long as they listen!’ or ‘they’re being treated well though so it’s fine!’ or even ‘but they like be treated like this later! They just didn’t like it in the beginning!’ just because you’re reading or writing fiction. All you’re doing by saying this or writing it into the story is perpetuating a harmful thought process that we’ve seen convince people that it’s fine (the house elves from Harry Potter).

Especially because it's a dehumanizing rhetoric that, again, is spreading rabidly in the real world right now.

Obviously I don’t think this will get very far nor will everyone agree with my opinion, but I do hope people who write this stuff in my community and other communities, realize the damage they’re doing by writing this and dismissing it because the character ‘likes being a pet/object/tool’ or ‘they’re being treated well by their 'owner' so it’s fine’ or 'they're a different species though, it's not the same.'

Treating someone like a pet, object, or tool stems from extreme, generational abuse, oppression, and slavery of many marginalized communities, something they're still feeling the affects of, and it shouldn’t be dumbed down into softer words and dismissed or brushed off because ‘it’s fiction/dark fiction’ or ‘the characters like it’ or 'but they're different species so it's not the same' or even ‘everyone in the story treats it as fine and the ‘owned’ character is treated nicely/loved so they’re okay with it.’

Humans, minorities, are not animals. They are not property. There is a difference between something like treating someone like this for their own personal accommodation, and treating someone like this just because you can or because you think it's 'interesting' or 'fun' to play with. Again, you need to remember the historical context of things like this.

Your writing and your thought processes are hurting a large group of people. You are not in a vacuum.

It is my hope that by talking about this and pointing it out, we can start to notice the damage we may be causing without realizing it and hopefully write in a way that isn't so reflective and promoting of a harmful rhetoric that has been growing.

So please, do research before writing topics like these.

Even if you think writing this does no harm, that just unfortunately isn't the case.

Also, again, to clarify just in case: this is not talking about trauma or kink/fantasy writing in any sort of way. If you write this subject because of a kink or trauma you are valid and not who I'm talking about.

As usual, do not attack anyone who does write this, this post isn't for that intention. It is merely to speak about how certain things can be written, and things that just shouldn't be.

Though reblogs would be appreciated to help spread awareness.

#fanfic #ao3 #books and libraries #feel free to discuss #writing #heavy topics

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depravitycentral · 9 months

Note

Wait do share your thoughts on troupe darlings' therapy sessions ( if you are up to it ofc.)

Tw: heads up this is long, kidnapping, mentions of non-con, mentions of physical abuse, Stockholm syndrome/mind breaks, brief mentions of Nobunaga's jar but nothing explicit, recording, set in an au where all members of the Troupe have their own darling

Of course! I've gotten a few asks about this topic, so I'll just answer it in one big go!

The idea to even have the 'therapy sessions', or awkward, forced meetings between the various darlings of the Troupe, mainly comes from, surprisingly, Uvogin. He's one of the ones who cares the most about preserving who his darling is, even now that they've been kidnapped by him - he wants them to stay them, and he's watching them slowly slip away with every passing day. Maybe, by allowing them interaction with other people besides himself (in a controlled, safe environment where he can easily pull them away, where he can watch and make sure they're not getting too close to anyone else), they'll slowly regain all that liveliness he fell in love with. Maybe they'll become themselves, again.

The rest of the Troupe is split down the middle about whether this is a good idea - some of the more lucid yanderes, like Franklin and Pakunoda, are supportive. Of course, they don't like the idea that their darling will be looking at others, speaking with them and - god forbid - letting others touch them (in platonic ways, of course - should feelings develop between the darlings, measures will be taken to forbid their interactions), but they know it's best in the long run. The yanderes can take it, with clenched fists and gritted teeth, because it's for them, for their lovely, sweet little darling, and if it gets them to love the yandere more, they'll do anything they can.

Others, like Nobunaga and Feitan, are more reluctant. They don't like stomaching the thought of their darling spending time with anyone other than themselves, and for some of them, they don't even realize their darling is unhappy. They're resistant to the idea at first, but at Chrollo's orders, they're reluctantly dragging their darling along, telling them that they'd better behave or else, or that everything will be find and he'll be right there, so don't worry baby I'll get you if someone makes you uncomfortable. (Feitan and Nobuanga, respectively, though their darlings won't have the heart to tell either of them that their words aren't especially reassuring.)

Regardless, the sessions happen roughly once a month - at a designated meeting spot, all members of the Troupe will bring their darlings. The darlings are placed into a room with a circle of chairs, a camera trained on them from the corner of the room just to make sure nothing too extreme occurs. The yanderes are all in the next room over - except, the wall may look like it's solid to the darlings, but it's really one way glass, and the yanderes can watch it all in live time. This makes some of them nervous, because they don't like the fact that the other members could be so freely ogling their darling (none of them are, they're all too busy staring at their own partner, but that's besides the point). But it's how it must be done, according to Chrollo, in order to make sure the darling is really getting the most out of the experience.

It's what's best for them, he'll tell his followers. He conveniently doesn't mention how he'd threatened his own darling with violence against the other darlings should they step out of line - an empty threat, really, because harming another member's darling is suicide, even given their devotion to Chrollo, but you don't know that.

The yanderes spend their time chatting amongst themselves or just staring, everyone too focused on their own darling to really pay attention when their neighbor begins prattling on about how wonderful and great and perfect their own beloved is.

The ones who just sit silently and stare are Feitan, Machi, and Pakunoda. They'll nod at another member if the conversation is started, but it quickly becomes apparent that they aren't really listening. It's not that they don't want to listen to their fellow member gush about their partner (well, Feitan doesn't, but still) - rather, they just can't take their eyes off their darlings. They're mesmorized, watching the way they smile and laugh, things they never do with their captor. They're trying to memorize everything about their darling, fascinated and captivated (and, in Feitan's case, aroused) by seeing their darling genuinely enjoy themselves.

The ones doing all the talking (bragging, really) about their darlings are Uvogin, Nobunaga, and Shizuku. They just simply won't shut up - they're beaming at their darling through the glass, prattling on and on about how beautiful they are and how they squeal just right when they fuck them a certain way. A lot of details are being thrown out there that really, really don't need to be, but once they start talking they just can't stop. When these yanderes end up next to each other, the atmosphere turns almost competitive, each yandere talking about how their darling has a prettier smile or is more loving, only for the other yandere's aura to flare up and a strained smile cross their face as they say okay, but my darling has a better laugh and has willingly sucked me off. It's a never ending battle, and frankly, the more lucid yanderes are left grimacing because god, none of this needs to be shared.

The ones who are pretending to listen, and sort of are (they're multitasking, but it's difficult to spend equal energy on watching you and listening to their companion talk about someone they don't care about) are Chrollo, Phinks, Franklin and Shalnark. They'll hum along and agree that their companion's darling is very lovely, indeed, but internally they're too busy comparing how much better their own darling is, mentally listing all of the things they're superior at and reaffirming their own feelings. It's unhealthy, but it's a pastime that makes them happy, because it just cements how perfect their darling is. (And it makes Nobunaga's ramblings - which are particularly disturbing - a little easier to stomach.)

As for the darlings, things are, at best, awkward.

They just don't know each other - the chances of any of the darlings having known each other before becoming their captor's targets is very unlikely, because most of the yanderes find their darlings while out on heists or in between jobs. That fact mixed with all the trauma they've each undergone as a captee for a member of a notorious criminal organization leaves everyone hesitant to talk, particularly for those who know for a fact that their yandere has killed people they've said as little as a goodmorning to.

But all it takes for this terse atmosphere to slowly evaporate is for them all to realize that all of them share this trauma, that they have something in common because what they're all experiencing is horrible. What will end up happening is that two darlings will hit it off, talking about all of the terrible things their captor has done, and then another darling will chime in. Then another. And another.

Eventually, they'll all begin bonding over just how different yet similar their situations are. A comradery is formed, and while it's born out of a sad, horrible situation, the ties these darlings form will be some of the closest, most meaningful friendships they've ever had. Soon, they'll all be looking forward to these monthly meetings, because they feel so seen and heard and understood - things that are difficult to come by with the only other person they spend their time with.

Of course, as confessions are made and each darling takes turns complaining about their yandere, things slowly get put into perspective for each darling. That is, some of them realize just how good they have it - at least their yandere isn't as crazy as some of the others. Conversely, the darlings who are victims to the more unstable or extreme members of the Troupe realize just how crazy and unhinged their own captor is - it's a slap in the face, in the most cruel, horrible way.

I know you didn't ask for a ranking of which darling's got it best to worst, but I'm going to do it anyways! So, from most envied to least envied, we have:

As Pakunoda's darling, of course, you're the one every other darling is at least a little bit jealous of. When the time comes for each darling to vent their frustrations for a bit, you can really only say that you've been kidnapped and aren't allowed to leave, and... that's kind of it. Pakunoda is respectful (or, at least, as much as she can be), and she treats you well - you're well fed, not forced into affection, and not treated like you're helpless. (She's still quite protective over you, and she'll hover when you're doing something potentially dangerous, but she won't immediately step in unless the danger is about to strike.) She spoils you with all your favorite items and supplies for your hobbies, making sure everything is fully stocked and that you never get bored. She even sometimes takes you out for small dates - dinners at nice restaurants where you dine in their private rooms, going ice skating and having the rink all to yourselves, or even just walking around the park (she'd managed to get a replica made by Kortopi, so there's no people present, so there's no one for you to be distracted with). You're strictly kept at her side, of course, and you're not allowed to speak with anyone while you're out, but it's nice. Better than everyone else, at least.

2. Franklin's darling is also one that everyone is jealous of. Franklin's not particularly soft, but he's the least invasive of everyone in the Troupe. He knows everything about you, of course, but he's good at not showcasing that. He doesn't pamper you like Pakunoda does, but he gives you space and doesn't demand that you spend time with him or treat him like your lover. Mostly, he just checks in on you and asks if you need anything, then leaves you to your own devices. He's overprotective, yes, but this doesn't manifest itself in any extreme ways unless you give him a reason to be worried, like if you hurt yourself. The thing you'll be complaining about, really, is that he's scary. He'll compliment you (and the words will actually be sweet - his voice is soft and he's sporting a very light flush when he tells you that you're very pretty and you'll hate that it almost makes you feel good), but his stature and his status as a criminal will leave you feeling on edge nearly all the time that you're with him. He hasn't hurt you, but you've seen his nen activated before, and the knowledge that he could kill you with just one shot will make your stress levels high, constantly. This doesn't seem like too serious of a complaint to all the other darlings, however, because all of their captor are dangerous and scary.

3. The only reason that Bonolenov's darling is not at the top of the list is because he's a little bit strange. Of course, they all are - they're murderers and thieves, after all. But Bonolenov has some very strict and traditional values, and this gets projected into how he treats you. He's respectful in terms of your boundaries when it comes to anything physical or with your own liberties (like sleeping on your own or dressing yourself), but he's a fan of the idea of the male protector and female provider. That is, while he doesn't expect you to be his housewife, you kind of become one. He wants you to do all the cooking and cleaning, and he'll repay you by spoiling you with your favorite items and gifting you all kinds of jewelry, clothing, and assorted goods. (And, surprinsgly, they're actually not all stolen - in fact, he tries not to steal things for you, because he thinks the gesture should be done with his own money, because then he's really spoiling you like a good husband should.) He treats you well outside of this, but he's pretty strict about your role around the small house he keeps you locked up in. If you get all your assigned work done, however, he's a pretty easy captor to tolerate. So, outside of having to do the dishes or mop the floors, you'll be looked at as having a relatively desirable situation.

4. Uvogin is a bit of a strange yandere - he's forceful and loud, but he's not bad. You'll be treated like a queen, spoiled with everything and anything you could ever want, and there's no shortage of compliments and playful teasing coming your way. He's got no issues expressing the way he feels for you, but that's exactly the reason why he ranks fourth overall. He's touchy. He won't force you into anything sexual that involves forcing himself onto you, but he'll make you cuddle with him, kiss him, let him hold you, and all kinds of other 'romantic' things. He'll slap your ass when you pass by him, loving the way you yelp and how you glare at him a bit, because he finds your feistiness adorable. He's very physical with you, but he still doesn't hurt you or make you touch him in a way that isn't with decently innocent intent. And so, as his darling, your main complaint is that he just won't leave you alone - you don't get much space with him, but at least he isn't forcing you to fuck him or be his punching bag. All the other darlings (particularly those with yandere who like to keep their hands to themselves) pity you a bit, but they recognize that all things considered, you've got it good.

5. Honestly, as Phinks's darling, you'll be left to realize that wow, maybe I really don't have it so bad. Sure, Phinks is awkward, a horny, blushing mess who's compliments and barely disguised desire for you makes you a bit uncomfortable, but he's not the worst. Your main complaint with him is his temper - he tries his absolute hardest to never, ever harm you, but sometimes he can get carried away. More often than not he'll channel his rage by punching the wall or ripping apart a pillow, but you'll be left to watch, staring with wide eyes and harsh breaths as he absolutely destroys something inanimate. He's only ever slapped you or hit you once, and he still feels guilty for it to this day, but there's always this little piece of you that's walking on eggshells, terrified that you'll set him off and this time an object won't take the heat of his anger. The other darlings are sympathetic, of course, but they can't help but feel a little jealous because at least he doesn't force himself on you, and there's something kind of endearing about awkward men, right?

6. Machi is the classic, textbook ideal captor. She feeds you well, makes sure you have a comfortable place to sleep, treats any injuries or sicknesses you may develop, and is almost always not around you. And while that may sound nice in theory (and in practice the first week or so), eventually it doesn't stay so idyllic. Because she's always gone, the loneliness and Stockholm Syndrome will kick in very, very fast. You'll realize that she's all you've got - she's the only one you see with any sort of regularity, her bringing you meals twice a day the only interaction you have that day. It'll make you slowly begin craving her. (This is actually a bit ironic, because it's not intentional at all - Machi only avoids you because she's scared to get too close to you and doesn't want you to manipulate her. It's a pleasant side effect, but it actually only makes her more nervous, because now that you want her all the time, she gets overwhelmed easily and has to walk away or else she'll just spill everything she's thinking and feeling, and that would not be a good thing.) Aside from your dependence on her growing too quickly and too strongly, you won't have much to complain about - in fact, you may even complain about her lack of interaction with you, something that makes her eyes go wide and her back get rigid as she watches and listens from the next room over.

7. Shizuku is, for all intents and purposes, not the absolute worst. The thing that makes her undesirable to have as a yandere is that she just genuinely doesn't understand why you'd be uncomfortable with any of the things she's forced onto you. She doesn't see why you wouldn't want to be stuck with her, or why you always ask her to stop when she's kissing you and touching you and shoving her fingers inside of you. She just doesn't get it, and no amount of you trying to explain to her or convince her that you don't want to be intimate with her will ever actually get through to her. It's because of this that the other darlings pity you - your time to complain is spent ranting and raving about how she's so incredibly dismissive of everything I'm feeling and saying - it's like she genuinely doesn't care! She says she loves me, but how can you love someone and so compeletly disregard them? The other darlings feel your pain channeled in their own relationships - it is unfair that they've been kidnapped and that they're being held against their will, all while being told that their captor loves them and wants to keep them safe and sound. It's hypocritical, but at least they aren't completely ignoring their darlings, or - for the most part - forcing themselves onto their darlings. Most everyone can sympathize with you, and while it isn't to the extreme Shizuku takes it, there's a little bit of your story in everyone else's. Although, everyone else doesn't have to worry about the times Shizuku forgets she's kidnapped you, then panics when she can't find you to stalk you. That's a problem unique only to you.

8. The reason why Chrollo's so far down this list is because as his darling, you know just hard he's trying to manipulate you. That's not to say it isn't working, but it's extremely obvious to every other darling present that Chrollo is doing a number on your mental state. In the span of your ten minute allotment of time to rant, you come up with at least three different opinions of him, all clashing and contradicting each other. At first, you're telling them how awful he is, how he's a monster and a creep and how he just won't leave me alone and I feel suffocated and scared and god, I hate him! (This makes Chrollo tense up as he watches, and a few of the other Troupe members watch with curious, concenred gazes because shit, they haven't seen Chrollo this visibly upset in years. But then you're circling back around, talking your way through rationalizing what he's done - but he doesn't hurt me, and he gets all kinds of wonderful things for me, and sometimes it even feels good when he kisses me and touches me. Eventually you'll come to the conclusion that he's a manipulative man, but I can't even be angry at him because it's working, and I don't know that I want to fight it. It makes everyone else uncomfortable, because you've just become complacent, but they won't try to correct you, instead trying to change the conversational topic and pitying you because although the entire world as at your fingertips (he'd give and do anything to make you smile, after all), he's destroying you, one word at a time.

9. Similarly to Chrollo, Shalnark is very, very good at getting what he wants out of people. He has no shame when it comes to manipulating you or lying to you in order to get the results he's looking for, and he actually takes pride in it, even. He's creepy and weird and scary, and as his darling you'll be another one that's just an anxious mess when it's your turn to complain. You'll tell the other darlings all about the cameras he's got everywhere, how he makes you watch footage of yourself, how he always seems to know even the smallest, most intimate details about yourself and your thoughts, and just the way you're shaking and nearly crying just from thinking about it makes their hearts ache for you. (Meanwhile, he's listening with wide eyes and a big smile, diligently noting which cameras you've noticed already, and mentally debating whether he should add more just to get you feeling even further backed into a corner so he can make his final move to completely break you, or if he should ease up a bit, because he really doesn't like seeing you cry like this.) You'll be pitited, of course, but at least your yandere actually pays attention to you - something that can't be said of all of them.

10. As Feitan's darling, this entire experience will be overwhelming for you. It's extremely likely that you had no idea why you've been kidnapped before you attend this session. Feitan isn't particularly expressive with how he feels for you, and you've been trying to figure out whether he was planning on kidnapping you, or if you're just some poor, unfortunate soul who seems to have been mistaken for somebody important - somebody worth kidnapping. Now, though, as it comes around to be your turn, you can only gape and stare at all the other darlings, asking in a small, shaky voice if all of your captors claim to be - claim to be in love with you? Then why am I here...? Cue the pitying looks, the hands covering their mouths, the darlings who feel for you because god, you've been living in a totally different kind of fear for these past few months, haven't you? However, your cluelessness about Feitan's true feelings for you is really the only reason he's so far down on this list. As you come to terms with your situation and complain about Feitan, you'll realize you don't have as many solid bullet points to rant about as you thought you did. He doesn't abuse you or hurt you, he doesn't touch you, he feeds you and gives you water, and he makes sure you have a warm, somewhat clean place to sleep. Sure, you may hear him torturing others or see him covered in blood or have to endure the constant staring, but at least he doesn't assault you or force you to pretend to be in a relationship with him. Although, if he truly kidnapped you out of some kind of 'love', was that your future? (Feitan's pissed that this is coming to light - it takes a very, very firm look from Chrollo to stop him from breaking through the glass and snatching you away, not wanting you to realize the actual reasons why he's kidnapped you. He won't acknowledge your questions afterwards, but it's too late, because now you know.)

11. And of course, coming in dead last (by quite a bit) is Nobunaga. He's similar to Shizuku in that what makes him so horrible is his total detachment form reality. He's just so belittling, dehumanizing, patronizing and fucking weird that every single darling's heart goes out to you, all of them pitying you but silently thanking anything that's listening that they didn't end up with him. Your time to complain is spent ranting about the way he treats you like a child, like you're incapable of anything and everything, and how frustrating and strange it all is. And then, of course, come the complaints about all of the sexual things he forces you into. Whether that's actual sex, touching in general, or even forcing you into becoming familiar with his infamous jar, everyone will realize just how much of a monster the samurai really is. (And so will the other Troupe members - most of them are disgusted by the details of his behavoir, staring at him with shocked expressions that are very poorly hid. Especially Machi, Franklin, and Pakunoda - the rest are, unfortunately, slightly intrigued by some of his habits - particularly his jar.)

Of course, all the yanderes are listening very intently when its their own darling's turn to vent, and while they won't punish you for what you've said (that would show you they were listening, and you might not feel so inclined to be as open and honest next meeting, something they absolutely cannot lose), they might try to adjust their behavior. Maybe. Some of them. Those towards the top of the list, at least. The others might buckle down and get worse, convinced that they're just not trying hard enough to get you to understand that you love them, too.

#_phantom troupe therapy sessions #yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #_hxh #_chrollo lucilfer #_pakunoda #_machi komacine #_phinks magcub #_shizuku murasaki #_uvogin #_shalnark #_feitan portor #_bonolenov #_franklin bordeau #nobunaga hazama

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sassy-ahsoka-tano · 1 year

Text

Snowed In

Character/Fandom: Scotty Moore - Elvis (2022)

Requested: yes! by @austin-butlers-gf my love 💕

Prompt: As one of the Colonel's circus performers, you're used to sharing a motel room whilst traveling. But when you find yourself snowed in with the BMB's charming guitarist, Scotty Moore, you have to find some way to pass the time.

TW: Fem!Reader, mentions of sexual themes + alcohol

Rating: Pg-13 || Word Count: 3.0k

A/N: can we hear it in the back for mr. winnie pls?? this man would have broken my heart fr 🥴

[ request | masterlist | wanna be tagged? ]

🦋 mila

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“Scotty! Scotty, we gotta get going! If we don’t leave in the next,” you glance down at your wristwatch and sigh, “five minutes, we’re gonna be late for your gig. Hurry up!”

You turn away, prepared to rush back into the living room and gather your belongings, but the door suddenly clicks open behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you gulp hard when your eyes land on Scotty, naked from the waist up. He’s leaning against the door, his muscles pulled taut. You squeeze your lips together and quickly avert your eyes before he can detect your embarrassment.

“I don’t think we’re goin,” he says with a deep chuckle.

You glance back at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“What are you talking about?”

“Uh…cause of this?”

He pushes the door open with his back and gestures toward the window behind him. Unable to see from your position in the hallway, you step forward, trying desperately to peer through the window. Your eyebrows shoot up as you come closer and closer to the vast whiteness outside. The ground is fully covered in snow; in fact, it looks like there’s at least three feet of it, stacking up all the way over the top of the sill on the outside of the building.

“Snow? Are you joking? It never snows like this in the south…what is this?”

“I ain’t never seen snow that much, but I’m pretty sure I know what we’re lookin at, sweetheart.”

You can feel your heart starting to beat faster in your chest and your palms are growing clammier by the second. You can’t deny the way your heart skipped a few beats when he called you by such a sweet name.

“Oh my god, no. No, no, no. I can’t be stuck in here all day with you. I can NOT.”

“Damn, girl, you done hurt my feelins talkin like that.”

“I should call the Colonel,” you say, ignoring him. “He probably knows more than us. He’ll know what to do.”

You ramble on as you reach for the phone in his room to dial the number for the Colonel’s motel room.

You’ve worked for the circus for as long as you can remember, just starting out as a young girl who needed cash. Moving away from the farm was the most difficult thing you ever had to do, but you had dreams of being a performer. Your lasso work was unmatched in your little town and the Colonel saw enough potential in you to bring you into the troupe.

Although your act gives you all the joy in the world, unfortunately you’re not popular or important enough to warrant your own room on the road. While you’re usually paired up with another one of the ladies in the group, this time around you found yourself awkwardly grouped with Mr. Winfield Scott Moore III, the lead guitarist of Elvis Presley and the Blue Moon Boys, a new act the Colonel picked up in Louisiana.

It wouldn’t do for two young people such as yourselves to share one bed. So, the Colonel was nice enough to get you a suite with two separate bedrooms, but last night was still uncomfortable. Not to mention the awkwardness that ensued as you both tried to navigate showering without showing each other any shred of flesh, something Scotty apparently no longer cares about.

“Colonel Parker? It’s Y/N and I was jus-...oh, okay…no, yes that makes sense. Thanks for letting me know,” you say before hanging up and turning to Scotty. “Canceled. The whole show, canceled.”

“Nice of Colonel fatsy pants to let us know so far in advance,” Scotty replies and you just shrug.

You don’t like the Colonel any more than the next person, but he is your boss at the end of the day. You kind of have to watch what you say about him behind his back.

“Well, I guess I’ll leave you alone to…do whatever it is you do in your free time. We don’t have anywhere to be, so…I’ll be in my half of the room,” you say awkwardly, turning on your heel.

You’d never admit it to anyone, especially not him, but you almost sort of have a tiny crush on Scotty. You’ve watched over the past few months as girls of all ages and appearances have flocked to Elvis Presley like chickens to feed. But you never did understand all that. Your eyes always find their way to Scotty. His elegantly handsome features draw you in and you never tire of the way he plays. He’s an extremely talented guitarist. You don’t know anyone who’s capable of playing the strings like that. The way his fingers move…

“You don’t gotta go runnin off like that, honey,” the sound of Scotty’s voice snaps you back to reality. “I mean we’re stuck in ‘ere together all day, anyways, so we can at least be friendly.”

You pause with your hand resting on the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, you turn around and cross your arms over your chest. You press them back, trying to get ahold of your tingling nerves.

“I suppose…but what would we even do? It’s not like we’re trapped in a house with activities to do. We’re literally in the cheapest, blandest motel room there ever was. What do you suggest we do to pass the time?”

“I got cards?” he suggests with a shrug.

“Cards?” you raise an unimpressed eyebrow. “Ugh, I guess. But before we play could you…put a shirt on, please? You’re making me-”

“Hot?”

“No!” you shout, maybe a little too suspiciously fast. “No, you’re making me uncomfortable.”

He holds his hands up defensively before turning toward his closet to reach for a shirt. You take a seat on one of the chairs in the corner of the room, shifting your eyes away from his figure. You can only stare at the faded lampshade for a few minutes, however, before your curiosity gets the better of you. You sneak a glance back over at him and bite your lip. You trace down his back, the muscles flexing as he pulls a plain white t-shirt over his bare skin. You gulp and quickly look away just as he turns back around.

“So what game?” he asks. “Rummy, Canasta, Poker?

“Poker,” you reply without missing a beat. “You deal.”

As you and Scotty settle into playing, you find yourself relaxing with each witty exchange. His voice is strangely comforting, the southern drawl unimaginably charming. It colors each word with a smoothness that you don’t always find in a man’s voice. You also discover that he’s actually rather kind and pretty damn funny. His sense of humor is witty and quick. But despite all the nice conversation, you’re actually quite bored.

“I’m bored,” you voice your thoughts. “Can we find some way to make this more interesting?”

A few moments of silence follow as you both glance around the room, trying to find something that you could use to spice up the game.

“Ah!” Scotty suddenly yells, snapping his fingers.

You watch in confusion as he pops up and rummages through his luggage, pulling out a half empty bottle of gin. You laugh in spite of yourself and shake your head.

“Forgot I had this. How bout it?”

“Bring it on.”

Whenever one of you loses a hand, instead of cashing in for chips like you’d do at a casino, you have to take a shot. Several hours later, you find yourselves nicely tipsy and all out of gin. Considering the bottle was only half full to begin with, you’ve done pretty well. But that was still enough alcohol to make you both relaxed enough to open up and get comfortable with each other.

“Well damn, we’re out,” you say after Scotty takes his last swig. “What now? I think we passed a whole three hours.”

“Hmmm,” Scotty says, his eyebrows furrowed as he nods lazily.

You notice how glazed over his eyes are and smirk to yourself. You quickly do the mental math of how many drinks you each had and come up with Scotty having drunk a lot more than you. You had beaten him almost every round. His head snaps up with a cheesy grin pasted on his lips.

“We could play strip poker.”

“What? Are you insane?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “How dare you even suggest that. That is so typical of a man! You’re just jealous that I beat you.”

“Jealous?” He laughs loudly, clutching his stomach. “Nah, honey, I’m just sayin. Now we’re out of alcohol and since that’s the only way I’ve seen you relax round me, I don’t know what else to do.”

You feel the sting of his words, wincing momentarily as his eyes flash with concern. You haven’t meant to be rude to him, you haven’t meant to be cold or aloof or any of that. You just don’t know him well enough. You’ve had your fair share of terrible relationships and, with the way girls act around the band, you’ve always assumed you knew exactly the type of man he was: no good. You’re guilty as charged when it comes to having your defenses up around boys, but as you gaze into Scotty’s soft blue eyes, you realize how rude and judgemental you’ve been.

You also gulp down the truth of why you’re so adamantly against strip poker: you want to play. It’s wildly inappropriate and sleazy to play such a naughty game with a man you barely know. But the truth is that you want to. Desperately. You shouldn’t. You can’t…right?

“Fine. Let's play.”

You clamp your lips together, hoping to hide the heat creeping up through your skin. A goofy grin spreads across Scotty’s face and he nods in victory as he shuffles the cards.

Somehow, quite suspiciously if you might add, Scotty manages to win the first three rounds, leaving you with no socks and your fingers hesitatingly stuck underneath the hem of your top.

“You know, I’m starting to think you were holding out on me,” you say with a quirked eyebrow. “How come you keep winning all of a sudden?”

“What’re you talkin bout, sweetheart?”

“You only won like twice while we were playing before but now, suddenly, when the price is me undressing myself, you’re kicking my ass. Seems sort of suspicious, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all. I don’t know what ya mean,” he says, leaning forward and tilting his head.

You gulp as a smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. You squint and take him in, his adam’s apple bobbing teasingly. You’re suddenly overcome with the need to touch his skin, to kiss him desperately, to bite his neck, to—

You shake yourself back to reality.

“Well, anyway I feel like it’s only fair that you remove something,” you say. “We’re totally uneven here.”

“That’s not how the game works, sweet thing.”

“I know that, obviously. But it should still be fair. My feet are cold and I can’t focus as well as you can with your warm toes.”

Scotty laughs, his beautiful white teeth glinting in the light. His eyes flick down to your body quickly and he bites his lip. You take a deep breath through the loud sound of your heart slamming in your ears. Scotty nods.

“If ya wanted me to take it off, you coulda just asked, darlin.”

Without hesitating, he starts to pull his shirt back off. Your breath hitches in your throat and your eyes hungrily devour the sight of his bare skin. Once done, he gestures toward you.

“Your turn,” he says and your eyes widen. You make a noise halfway between a scoff and a laugh.

“Are you kidding? No, we just discussed this. Now we’re even.”

He glances down at your feet and then quickly slides his own socks off.

“And now we’re not. And you're still losin so you should be wearin less than me anyways. I’m technically lettin ya win right now. So, it’s your turn.”

“But-”

He just shakes his head firmly. You shut your mouth, knowing he’s technically right. With a frustrated sigh, you pull your shirt over your head, your heart thumping. As soon as it lifts from your frame, you blink up to his eyes. His expression is teasing, a soft smile playing at his lips, his drunken eyes dragging up and down your figure. You clear your throat and turn back to the game.

“Shall we?”

“Sure thing, angel.”

You continue to play a couple more rounds, Scotty losing one and you losing the other. He removes his belt and you remove the clip in your hair, after a lot of protesting from Scotty. In order to keep the game fair, you’ve swapped clothes as prisoners. In other words, Scotty now has total possession of your clip, your socks, and your shirt. Sitting across from each other half naked, you both probably look quite the picture out of context.

Where it comes from you have no idea, but a freezing breeze blows through, making your body shiver violently. You feel goosebumps immediately rising on your skin and shudder, your teeth chattering.

“You shiverin?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yes, I’m shivering, dummy. We are snowed in, after all. God, it’s freezing. This is your fault. Just give me back my shirt.”

“Oh, this lil thing?” he holds up your t-shirt with a shrug. With furrowed eyebrows, he turns it toward the light and stares down at it. “Uh….”

He winces and shakes his head.

“What? What did you do to it?”

“Looks like we do got a lil bit of that gin left. Well, we did.”

He points toward a section of the shirt that’s soaking wet with alcohol. You snatch the top from his grasp and sniff it, immediately recoiling at the strong alcoholic tinge.

“Ugh! I’ll wear yours, then,” you say as another shudder racks through your body. You rummage beside you but can't find his shirt among your pile.

“Uh…” his voice interrupts you again.

Your head pops up to see him grinning sheepishly at you. He holds up his shirt to show you that the stain has leaked all the way through his, as well. You glare at him with squinted eyes.

“Forgot to hand it over, I guess. But hey, no problem, no problem. Just come ‘ere,” he says, gesturing toward his body.

“What? Into your lap?” Your heart flutters but you silently scold it to be quiet. “Absolutely not. I don’t think so.”

“Hey, if you’d rather freeze to death, it’s nunna my business. I’m just offerin warmth, that’s all,” he replies, gesturing again to the open space between his legs.

You pout and scoff, shaking your head. No, of course you don’t want to freeze to death but…wait, what are you complaining about? He’s willingly inviting you into his lap. A handsome and talented man like Scotty wants you, very single you, to cozy up to his bare body?

“Okay,” your voice escapes before you even have time to think about it.

You crawl toward him and awkwardly settle into his lap. His legs stretch out on either side of your body. You tense as he wraps his arms around you to pull you further back. When his warm chest makes contact with your back, you resist the urge to sigh in relief. He’s warm and his touch is soft, gentle on your skin. You can feel your heart pounding in your ears and butterflies flitting around in your stomach. You release a shaky sigh as you notice the feeling of his hot breath on your shoulder.

“Now this is better, ain’t it?” he asks in a low voice and you nod without thinking.

“Much better.”

You turn to look at his face but find yourself only inches away from his lips.

His eyes drop down to your mouth, hovering on it for just a moment before flicking back up to your eyes. His lips are parted and they look absolutely delicious. You gulp as you waver in the space between. Your head bobs forward just slightly and you widen your eyes to keep them from blinking closed. Scotty’s head tilts to the side and he starts to lean forward. You know you should stop him, or something in your brain tells you to. But your heart is leading the dance and nothing can bring your hands to push him away. Your eyes flutter closed when his breath ghosts over your lips. You anticipate the feeling of his touch. His lips are warm and soft as they capture yours.

Your hand moves onto his chest, touching his soft skin as you spread your fingertips out across him. His lips move perfectly against yours and when he pulls back, you lean forward, desperate for him to continue. After a moment of tense silence, he does, pressing against you harder this time. His hands drop down to your waist, one strung across your stomach. He pushes down onto your lips, his thumb gently stroking your skin as he starts to maneuver you down onto the carpeted floor beneath you. You allow him to guide you, spinning in his grasp to rest on your back. He collapses onto an elbow next to you. His hand rests flat on your stomach, warm and heavy.

His lips separate from yours with a loud pop and he lifts his head up just enough to meet your eyes when they flutter open. He smirks down at you and then glances at your body, biting his lip after doing so.

“So I guess strip poker wadn’t such a bad idea after all, huh?”

“Listen, Winfield— yes, I know that’s your real name. I saw it on the employment documents — don’t get too cocky.”

He raises an eyebrow and then glances back down at your body.

“Try my best not to. But with you lookin like that? Can’t guarantee nothin.”

He presses himself closer your thigh. Your eyes widen and you gasp when you feel him against your leg.

“Scotty!” you shout, playfully slapping his shoulder.

He laughs and leans down to kiss your lips again.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

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#scotty moore #elvis #elvis 2022 #xavier samuel #milasthings #milaselviscontent #milasfics #milaselvisfics #milasscottyfics #milasscottycontent

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rosazoldyckk · 1 year

Text

𐬾𐬽Chrollo Lucilfer X Sick!Reader𐬾𐬽

Fandom: Hunter X Hunter. Genre: fluff. TW’s: just mentions of sickness and stealing. Other than that there’s no TW’s

1048 words

"Are you feeling alright, darling?"

You shook your head out of your daze and looked up at the raven haired man gazing over you. You were trying so hard to keep your budding sickness in check, but you guess it wasn't good enough. Chrollo could clearly see that something was off.

The two of you were at an important meeting with the phantom troupe. He had told you about it a week prior, saying that you had to bring all the information you managed to steal at your ‘new job’. While it was posed as a friendly catchup meeting on the outside, they were discussing how to pull off possibly one of the biggest thefts of their lifetime, and Chrollo was hoping to get down to business as soon as possible. Subtlety, of course. Chrollo was nothing if not a master manipulator, you knew that first hand.

When you had started to feel unwell the day before, you did everything you could to prevent it. You probably downed a whole bottles' worth of vitamin C and medicines, but to no avail. The morning of the lunch date, you woke up in a pool of cold sweat and could barely rip yourself out of bed. You took four tylenol to try and counteract the heat you knew to be a fever. You had to be there for Chrollo. You had to be perfect for him.

When he asked if you were alright, you simply turned away and nodded, not wanting to draw attention away from the conversation he was beginning to have with the phantom troupe.

"Are you sure?" Without warning, he moved a hand up to your forehead, drawing his eyebrows together in concern. God, you knew that the boss hated showing affection in-front of others, but couldn't help but lean into his touch. "You're burning up."

You opened your mouth in an attempt to protest, but Shizuku beat you before you could utter a word, "If we need to meet up another day, we can do that. You're looking pretty bad, dear."

"I'm sorry," Chrollo apologized, and you said a similar sentiment. "Thank you all for taking the time to be here, we'll restart this meeting shortly. I'm going to get this one home."

He got up and excused himself from the room, before offering you his arm to grab a hold of. "C'mon, let's get you to bed." He said to you brightly, while still within earshot of the troupe.

After that, he went silent. You could tell he was pissed. It was silent the whole walk to the car, the whole way home. A part of you wanted to say something, but the apprehension from disappointing him and the roughness of your throat let the quiet thicken.

As soon as he closed the door of your shared apartment, he sighed loudly. "That was going so well," he said wistfully, still staring at the door. "Why didn't you tell me you weren’t feeling well? I wouldn't have brought you."

"You needed me there," you countered, though you knew what you were going to say was barely a good excuse. "I'm the one that got information on how to infiltrate the buildings. I had to be there to give you the documents I stole."

You saw him work his jaw before turning to you. "Go to bed. The sooner you recover, the sooner we can focus of our mission."

You didn't have the desire, nor strength, to argue back at him. You padded off to your bedroom to collapse your aching limbs, hearing the sound of cabinets opening from outside the room.

A few moment later, Chrollo walked in with a tray of medicine. He set in on your bedside table before looking at you.

"Up," he ordered gently, and grabbed a glass of water.

When you propped yourself on your elbows, he cradled the back of your neck with one hand, while pressing the cup to your lips with the other. He stayed there until all the water was gone. You looked up at him as he set it back on the tray. He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, meeting your gaze. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and you leaned into his welcoming warmth.

He reacted quickly, apparently not enjoying the openness in which you were receiving the affection, he removed his hand got up.

"I'm going to go back to the meeting. Text me if you need something," he said coldly, shutting the door behind him.

His no.1 goal is for you to get better as quickly as possible. He needs you to be well so you can both continue to work towards greater things. He's attentive in the same way a nurse is, doing the tasks he needs to do for you quickly before leaving off to do other things.

He keeps his distance from you as best he can manage. He has a troupe to guide after all, he's got better things to do than to get sick! But, as mentioned, he's going to take the time to care for you until you're better. If you ask really nicely, he might stay in the bedroom with you and read. The sound of papers flipping and candles flickering.

If he's reading or researching things for the mission, and knows that you're bored out of your mind, he might come in and read to you. His voice is really pleasing to listen to.

A touch more gentle than he usually is, it's barely noticeable, but it's definitely there. He's less abrasive at times, tending to you so you can get better. He says it's because he wants you back to full health so that you can accompany him, but the way he fixed the sheets and tucked you into bed begs otherwise.

He's Chrollo Lucilfer. Everything has a ulterior motive, and for the most part it's going to be getting you healthy so he can have an extra set of hands. But, he's still at least a little empathetic, he understands that you're in tiresome pain and you need his help in order to recover. In some ways, you depending so heavily on him could feed into his ego, which might make him more doting.

#hunter x hunter x reader #chrollo x y/n #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo headcanons #chrollo fic #chrollo lucifer x reader #chrollo hunter x hunter #chrollo fluff #hunter x hunter x y/n #hxh x reader #kuroro lucilfer #sick reader #hxh headcanons #hxh x y/n #hxh fanfic #chrollo x reader

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sayakxmi · 4 months

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[Magi reread] Night 36: The Fog Troupe

This deserves to be here. Look at him go.

I might be overthinking it, but it resembles Amon's silhouette.

Heh. Fire Demon.

Y'know. Bc the djinns are based on demons from The Lesser Key of Solomon? Ha? Ok, I'll just shut up.

Alibaba should be given more chances to actually look hot. Like, bro.

You know? Fair.

Oh, so that's what happened. Yea, having Amon gave them a better chance at escaping, so they could absolutely get more bold. And associating the Fog Troupe with a guy that can summon a FIre Tornado... Yea, very understandable freakout.

"reduced to a thief" shut the fuck up.

Oh, yeah, definitely Cassim's idea.

Also, what's your problem with thieves? Your goddamn adviser is an ex-assassin, but a THIEF is too much? Didn't you also condone stealing like a chapter or two ago? With these starving people? But NOW it's a problem?

So, I don't want to write a tw again, but in very short, the SML Brothers saved a woman from being SA'ed, so I guess they're relatively decent. Well, slavery is ok, but they draw the line here, I guess.

Oh, finally, the Fan problem addressed.

Overall, lot's of talking abt how things are going. Short answer: bad. "This country has no gold currency left."

Sus person, and then the meeting. Also, holy shit, look at Alibaba at the top. He's literally drawn in a way like he's shining there. I wonder how that building looks, is there a hole/window at the top? Was it just for aesthetic reasons that Ohtaka made it look like this, or was it also part of whatever the fuck Cassim was trying to achieve? In this case, same as before - look at Alibaba, all of you. Look at him, and not the person controlling him from the shadows.

Ughhh. That bitch.

It's a threat. As in, the three are absolutely threatening them, I just feel it, y'know? It's, like, a challenge. You sure want to try us? And anyway, Cassim looks almost friendly, and Alibaba looks menacing, which we know they neither actually is. Though, to be fair, as long as they aren't nobles, Cassim might look at them a little more favorably, so, honestly, they might not be threatening them. But it still feels like a threat. But, like, maybe I'm biased, maybe it isn't...

Anyway, this is how my brain works, heh

Alibaba can be scary when he tries to.

I don't know, it's kinda funny that they'll later end up helping Alibaba out just because. Like, I genuinely don't remember when did their attitude change. I'm genuinely curious.

THERE IT IS. We find out SO EARLY that Alibaba's just following Cassim, but I'll have you one better soon.

No, he's not.

Like, I had to put them all for photo limit reasons, but also bc of how damn important all of it is. We find out SO EARLY that Cassim is emotionally manipulating Alibaba. Where do I even begin in all of this!

Cassim is an insane character. As in, it's the type you hate for 98% of the arc, and then you fucking cry for him, and these early moments always remind me WHY you start off by hating the guy. He's using their shared past to keep Alibaba around, to have him lie and do what Cassim tells him to do. He speaks about the children, he appeals to Alibaba and his own childhood, and Alibaba's a deeply empathetic person, of course it works. Then he makes a point that it has to be Alibaba who helps them, nobody else. And even guilt trips him numerous times in the conversation. You're the one who left (you abandoned us, chose royalty over family), make sure these children won't die like my (our) sister (you weren't there when that happened, you did NOTHING, even though you were in the palace). I BEG you, stay with me and let's fight together like we used to (you are the one who wants to stay, so I'll let you, but only if you help me).

Like, god. it was intense. And the worst part is - Alibaba knows. He knows that Cassim is manipulating him, and he knows that their current relationship is dangerously conditional. If he doesn't do what Cassim tells him to do, he'll be kicked out at best, and then what? Then he'll be alone, and what about Balbadd? What about these children? What can he do, then? Cassim's the idea person, he's always been the one in charge between the two of them. How can he help Balbadd without Cassim?

All of this is so painful, man. Have some Alibaba failing to smoke.

Bro, don't worry, it's healthier that way.

Bro, I'm so sad ;_;

: (

Lmao.

Scary.

This is still hilarious.

Ouch

I still wonder what the hell is his scent.

He looks so sad, actually.

Man, he's such an emotional wreck this entire arc, god.

You know, I absolutely support your judgement Morgiana, but also, sometimes people don't want to talk about things.

It's a semi-joke, Morgiana wouldn't be prying if there was no good reason for it.

Aaaand, the image limit, of course, so we're skipping Alibaba being sexist. Tho, to be fair, it sounded like his last resort argument, shitty as it was, and Morgiana justifiably just looked at him. Dunno, I always wonder how serious Alibaba's sexism is, because, frankly, it appears... maybe three times? Also, twice towards Morgiana, and one towards Toto in some extra. Actually, maybe four, but it's 3 with Morgiana, then. It's actually my bone to pick with their relationship (well, one of many), because as much as I love Alibaba, and I am mostly indifferent to Morgiana, I don't like the way Ohtaka makes him treat her at times, and I think she deserves better. And it's just so weird, he doesn't treat Kougyoku like that, for example. It's not like it's something about strong women, because Kougyoku could beat his ass for sure... and also he actually finds Morgiana & her strength awesome. I dunno. It'll probably take me some time to figure out my thoughts about it. Idk, it might be something internalized (given the period they live in, it's a possibility), or maybe he's just repeating after people... actually, now that I'm thinking, his wording sounded like something Sinbad would've said, ngl, and Sinbad is kinda sexist, so maybe it's all connected... How much does he mean it, though? Idk, I'm thinking abt that scene in the Final Arc after they argued (eh, we'll get there), and how he's like I won't apologize to a woman (which is weird, bc he apologized to Kougyoku earlier that arc, my mind tells me it happened twice, but I'm not sure - at least once for not telling her about Zepar), but when Morgiana gets there they both apologize, so he isn't actually "above apologizing to a woman", it's more like he was searching for an excuse, and chose the simplest option... and then didn't even follow on what he'd himself said. So, like, he's saying sexist stuff at times, but doesn't actually believe it???? Maybe???? I don't fucking know, man.

I deleted some earlier photo to fit in this one, bc it's hilarious. Morgiana takes none of this bullshit. And I find Alibaba's face when she grabs him adorable. I mean, in the last panel it's funny & cute, too.

#magi #saya's magi reread #alibaba saluja #cassim #kassim #morgiana

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razzberrydazz · 5 months

Text

Time to ramble on about my Durge OC Ranarox's backstory of before and after they became the head of the Bhaalist cult! Content warning for death and violence obviously, this is the child of a murder god after all. I enjoyed writing this out finally. Also, mild DurgeTash mention, I love that sleazy man.

TW for mentioned animal cruelty and death, blood and gore, suicidal ideation, dissociation, BG3 spoilers, listen this is a Bhaalspawn they are not gonna have a nice happy backstory. DLDR.

The Bhaalspawn was found swaddled in a basket in the middle of a dying forest fire, the flames miraculously having not scorched the poor child (in fact it appears as if the flames originated From the child in how those flames spread). Though smoke choked the several unfortunate souls who stumbled upon the child, the babe slept peacefully through the smoke and ash. They looked just old enough to have been weaned, with no sign of possible parents. There is no note, no mention of family, no sign of where this child could have come from.

Not wanting to leave the child for dead, those that discovered the basket carried the child away from the fire and the forest and back towards their caravan. They were a traveling circus troupe - The Raucous Rooks - made up of adventurous misfits and runaways who lived on the road and lived to delight the crowds they attracted.

After unwrapping the babe and cleaning the ash off their face, they determined the child must be a drow. Strange. Usually they'd assume drow would just kill a child outright instead of leave it to die in the wilds like this, but it's not completely out of the question. Luckily there is one drow in the troupe, a seldarine drow, a kindly woman called Rox La'Rouge who took it upon herself to raise the child as her own. She named the babe Rana, an easy name to say, for ease of calling for them when they're needed.

As Rana grew old enough to walk and speak, Rox and the rest of the troupe taught them various skills to perform in the circus - juggling, balancing plates on sticks, cartwheels, tightrope walking, the like. Rana basked in the praise they got from every stunt they successfully pulled off. All Rana wanted was to make Rox and the ringleader Rook happy, and every time they displeased their found family they felt like scum of the earth. The ringleader was hard to please.

They were a courageous kid - perhaps overly so - as they always wandered into places they shouldn't be and got scrapes and bruises from climbing to where they shouldn't go. Rox had to save Rana from being the troupe's pet displacer beast's dinner on more than one occasion. Rana was convinced they could make the kitty like them enough to let them pet them, despite it all.

When they were old enough to confidently walk the tightrope, the ringleader Rook Haven added them to the official circus act, and with each subsequent performance their stunts got more dangerous. From tightrope walking, to sword swallowing, to juggling flaming clubs, to running across red-hot coals without burning their feet.

Rox La'Rouge the acrobat and Rook Haven the ringleader were the closest thing to parents that Rana had.

Rana was a daredevil and delighted in the challenge, though their adopted mother Rox worries endlessly something would go wrong.

Something went wrong all right.

The circus had stopped just outside of Rivington - where most circuses stop to perform near Baldur's Gate - and Rana was preparing to do their most daring stunt yet. Only 12 years old, and they were planning to do a trapese act through flaming hoops and land on the back of Chewy the Displacer Beast and ride her onto a rolling ball to balance them across some red-hot coals then land safely on the other side. Turns out Rana did succeed in befriending the beast.

There was a fairly new recruit to the troupe, a brash high elf man called Pirello who worshipped Shevarash and looked down upon Rana due to them being a drow. For months he taunted and bullied and antagonized Rana for their perceived heritage, wishing death upon them but just out of earshot of the ringleader so as to not get in trouble. His ire made Rana's blood boil. It awakened a deep bloodlust in them that they hadn't fully felt before. They don't remember that as a toddler, they were caught and scolded numerous times for hurting small animals they found near their camp, or for their brief fixation on ripping wings off of bugs, or that their affinity for sharp objects is why they were always delegated to balancing stunts instead of more dangerous acts like knife-throwing.

During Rana's first attempt at their latest act in front of a live audience, Pirello sabotaged it, and the ball Chewy was meant to land on rolled away before she could get onto it. The beast howled in pain as the coals burned her paws, and Rana fell off her back as she dashed off the platform towards the exit flaps of the tent. The crowd broke out in panic and screams as the distressed displacer beast growled and roared at anyone who got close, and Rana screamed out in agony as they fell onto the glowing coals. Their skin sizzled, smoke searing their eyes, Rana forced themself to their feet and with all their strength jumped off the platform and dashed to get to Chewy.

"Chewy, please, it was an accident, I'll get your paws healed I promise! Chewy-"

Rana's pleas to calm the beast are interrupted by its claws lashing out and clawing them in the face, piercing their right eye enough that it oozed dark blood and strange blackness down their face. They were not a normal child. The scleras of their eyes turned black as the red of blood rage and death consumed them. The overlapping stampede and yells of the absconding crowd deafened any reason left in them as they made eye contact with Pirello, grinning cruelly at them from across the tent. Then all black.

Rana didn't realize what happened until they were blinking the blood out of their remaining good eye and realizing they taste blood on their tongue. They were definitely in shock. As their vision cleared, what came into focus was their hands and arms covered in blood and half-submerged in that damned half-elf's chest cavity. His face brutalized, eyes gouged out with little fingers, small nails clawed through his skin, childish teeth had tore through his teeth and neck. The blood was still gushing from his exposed artery, though it was clear he was no longer alive. Rana felt the sickening squelch of flesh and sinews in their hands, and looked down to see they had torn his ribs and heart apart. The gleam of the blood and guts hid the still hissing burns on their hands. Their heart was pounding in their head.

Dimly they heard screaming, clearly directed at them, but they for some reason did not care. The scene felt so far away. This can't be real. This has to be a dream, right? They look over to see Chewy, lying dead, having been impaled by a guard's spear for attacking the audience. The blood pounding in Rana's head drowns out the surrounding sounds again, the red is creeping in. This has to be a nightmare. This can't be happening!!!

Numbly, as if they were watching themself act in third person, Rana got up from kneeling beside Pirello and pulled their hands out of his chest. Metal gleams in their bloodied hands. A knife? When did they find a knife? Ah, Pirello's sheathe on his belt is empty, it was his knife.

Rana blankly walks towards the slumped body of their beloved Chewy, paying no mind to the screaming and adults waving to get away or brandishing weapons to threaten them. Rana sees themself point the knife at chewy, then at the guard now pointing a spear at them and yelling for them to freeze, then in a blur they're running at the guard with the knife - someone runs to intervene! The knife finds purchase with taut muscle and supple flesh, blood sails through the air in a glittering symphony of pain. The knife found itself in the belly of not the guard, but of Rana's mother, Rox. The scene comes in and out of focus as Rana stares dumbly up at Rox, who clutches at the dagger and falls to her knees and reaches to grab Rana's shoulder, her mouth open in a silent scream. Pain, confusion, betrayal, and agony cloud her teary eyes. The blood soaking her blouse is such a pretty shade of red.

In the back of their mind, Rana is screaming at themself to move, act, do something to stop the bleeding, to save their mom from this fate of bleeding out. Please. Please don't die!!!

But that is not what their body does. No, instead, their hand finds the grip of the knife again and pushes further, deeper, tearing more flesh and pouring more blood onto their sinful fingers.

Their mother's face contorts in agony, she doesn't know why this is happening, why is her happy daredevil child doing this to her?!?! She never gets an answer. Rana's teeth meet wailing flesh and bury deep in the contorting muscles of the neck, the hot bright water of life gushing onto their face and pooling in their torn right eye socket. It's horrifying. It's thrilling. It's disgusting. It's....familiar. The red. It seeps deeper into their vision until it is all they see, all they feel. Red. Blood red.

Laughter breaks them out of the bloodlust stupor, then slow clapping. Rana uses their sleeve to wipe the blood out of their eye to see the scene has shifted, time has passed, the guard and ringleader and the rest of the troupe lie dead in the tent, their hands missing and in a pile all at Rana's feet. Several shrouded figures make their way around the perimeter wearing decor of blood and bones, bone-wrought daggers glinting in their hands. Emblazoned on their chests and backs is a bloody symbol of a skull surrounded by blood droplets.

The clapping comes from a peculiar imp-like man, with a hooked beak of a nose and strange hat with a snake skeleton clinging to the rim. A gross, disgusting, vile creature, spittle clinging to his thin lips as he smiled at the both horrified and rage- numbed child. "I was wondering when you would finally wake up, master! Oh, it is so good to finally meet you! Of course I will make all the arrangements for your room and board, your father is so happy you have finally realized your potential!"

"My.....father.......?" Rana's voice feels foreign in their blood-slick throat. Scratchy, low, gravel, the innocence of their youth lost in an instant. Still they yell in the back of their mind fruitlessly as they watch their body shuffle towards the imp man, bloodied knife still in their hands. No matter how hard they try, the red has taken over, and they can't swim out of it back to their own body again. What manner of being is this? Are they a puppet to some murderous guile? To some Dark Urge that bewitches them?

The imp hums excitedly as he leads them away, the other shrouded figures falling in step behind them reverently.

"Yes, your father! He is very happy to see you, to see you've finally made contact with your most unholy lineage! Your father Bhaal, of course! You will do well to please him, my lord! You mean the world to him!"

Nothing is making sense. Bhaal? The Lord of Murder?!?! Rana thought they had no true parents, they were abandoned in a forest! Their 'father' was Rook, and Rook was dead with the rest of the troupe! Their parents were dead....by their own hand. Even though they don't remember all the events, they inexplicably know They did it. Oh gods.

Revulsion and nausea coil up in their chest, and finally the red cleared enough for them to move without the strange puppeteering violence-fueled numbness. Rana throws the dagger away and falls to the ground clutching their head, their body wracked with sobs.

"Nononononono! That's not my father! Get away from me! Get away get away get away!" Rana screamed in vain and the childish pitch of their voice returned. The imp merely tutted in disapproval, and with a cry of dismay and fear Rana found themself being carried off by the two shrouded men behind them.

"Tut tut tut, I should have expected it would not be so easy. No matter, in due time you will see life through your father's eyes. Murder runs in your veins, dear one, and you will do well to embrace it!" The imp leads the shrouded men off, as Rana writhes and squirms in vain in their vice grip.

Forced down into the bowels of the earth, into the temple of Bhaal, where Rana was kept as its captive and its caretaker. They refuse to forget their family, or what they had done. Named themself Ranarox La'Rouge, to forever hold vigil and memorial to their mother whose life they stole.

Daily did the imp appear, and command Rana do unspeakable atrocities, and daily did Rana reject his suggestions or enact violence on the imp to shut him up. Even after ripping his bony arms off and cutting his tongue out and pounding the imp into fleshy mulch, he would reappear fully intact the next day to tutor the unfortunate Bhaalspawn. Each day the red would skirt around their vision, threatening to take over, and each time Rana would fight the red with all their might and send the pain below.

Each day the fight got harder and harder, and their resolve grew smaller and smaller. Until one day the red never left. They learned to relish the blood and gore they left in their wake, the pain and agony they caused, even the agony they felt when punished for disobeying their father's wishes. Pain became home. Blood was their only respite.

Rana met Gortash in their thirties, after they had made an accomplished assassin and brutalizer of themself in Bhaal's name. The voice of little daredevil circus troupe Rana had slept dormant for years after the red took over their vision. But something about this sleazy, dark haired man makes that small voice stir. The red fades ever so slightly when they talk to him, when they plot with him. They might not see clearly entirely, but they see clearer than they did before. The fog lifts much like it did when they escaped from a misadventure in Barovia several years prior.

He told them he'll fashion them a new eye to fill the empty socket in their head, as a token of his affection. He told Rana that they would rule the world together. Rana told him they would save him for the last, they would cherish his presence until the very last moment. They had forgotten what love felt like, but perhaps they almost felt that for the dastardly Baneite that stole the Crown of Karsus with them. They certainly held no love towards the other Bhaalists, who either prostrated with blind reverence or plotted their death in jealous envy.

Rana knew Orin was jealous, was plotting. Rana did not care. The red had seeped away from their vision enough for them to see, after Gortash gave them a new eye, and they saw the horrors they had unleashed. They were better off dead than causing more death.

If only Orin had actually finished the job instead of letting them live in their idiotic state.

Eating the Noblestalk bought from the Bonecloaks shop, didn't bring everything back, but it brought enough. The red was chased away from the edges of Rana's vision to be replaced with astonishing clarity. And horror. They've done so, so many horrible things, and enjoyed it. Even now they still find pleasure in pain. Though with the red gone, it is more their own pain they delight in, less so the pain of others. They deserve to bleed for what they have done.

Astarion is more than happy to use them as his blood bank, but that's not enough. Rana wants every last drop of murderous blood in their veins drained. They want nothing to do with that lord of murder that burned away their childhood and willpower.

Lucky for them, renouncing him at every turn rewarded them with such. Oh how they craved sweet oblivion, only for that damned scribe to bring them back. Dammit! They feel like a little kid again, having accidentally trapped themself in Chewy's cage during cleaning time. Chewy isn't here anymore, but the blood and detritus must be cleaned from the cold metal bars. They must clean up the blood soaked bars of their own life or die trying. For their sake, for their dead troupe's sake, for Shadowheart and Astarion and Lae'Zel and Karlach and Wyll's and Gale's sakes, for all their new friend's sakes, for Baldur's Gate, for the world.

Rana may not think themself a hero, but by the hells, they're trying to be.

(AO3 version below)

#bg3 #razz's writing #ranarox durge #ranarox #read more #razz lore #oc lore #dark urge #durge #minor durgetash #backstory #oc backstory

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