#tw: dark themes

[kneelingshadowsalome]

prefacing this by saying I have absolutely no information on this period of history, but Rome was sacked and ultimately destroyed by Germanic tribes.

And naturally, the first thing I thought of upon learning that was Invader!König X Roman Maiden!Reader. Similar to your story, I’m thinking he decides to take the Reader as a trophy of war similar to his comrades. You and plenty of other maidens are tied up, thrown across horseback or across shoulders, and dragged off back to Germania. Depending on how dark you want it, König could wait for his little prize to want his cock, or he could have no patience at all and fuck her as soon as he gets a chance. Of course, he’s still somewhat of a gentleman, he’ll make sure she enjoys it, but like it or not his cock’s going in her.

I think this is an opportunity to lean even further into the barbarian König idea, with varying levels of darkness.

Save me dark barbarian!König... 🖤💋

CW: dark content, noncon groping, noncon cuddling, fear of SA, König's idea of hot sex is problematic to say the least, reader's level of enthusiasm/consent is ambiguous

He doesn’t care about your delicate sensibilities or noble background, he’s here to bring your Empire down and your weak men to their knees. It’s about time someone burned Rome to the ground; no amount of foreign perfume can cover the smell of shit in these streets…

But he won’t say no to gold or jewels, they might some day decorate his future wife's neck and wrists perhaps. Neither will he ride homeward without a slave to keep him warm. He hasn’t had a woman in months, the only thing closest to a cunt has been his calloused fist and he’s grown tired of that, nothing can compare with the real deal so a soft little female is exactly what he needs to keep him company when he and his warriors return North.

Your options are either freezing to death or crawling inside this giant’s cloak when he holds it open for you come nightfall, the voyage to Germania bringing with it the first snow and cold winds straight from Hades. You have no option but to go to this man for some body heat, the low rumble in his chest resembling the pleased purr of some untamed beast as he envelops you in wool and a hungry embrace.

He never speaks to you, only talks with his hands that roam all over your body as you cling to him with clattering teeth. Examining the wideness of your hips, the plumpness of your ass and tits, he serves himself a handful and some pinches as if he’s sampling fruit at the marketplace. Rubs your nipples between the pad of his thumb and pointer until you flinch from pain, mutters something pleased when he sees your skittish reaction. He won’t allow you to pull away however, not when you’re finally here, so back to his arms you go as he crushes you against his chest.

He’s amused at your attempts to both huddle closer and squirm away: why are you being so difficult when clearly, you want this too?

He saw how you looked at him back there when he was drenched in blood, that’s the reason he chose you. You’re sweeter than an apple, didn’t even scream when he swept your hair from your face to have a better look at you, you only eyed him with challenge when he inspected your lips, waistline and hips. A scared female would have avoided his eyes and begged not to be killed or worse, but you only lifted your chin and spat on his face, practically begging to get fucked…

And now you’re acting like you don’t want his cock while at the same time, you continue to stare at him like a deer in heat. If you don’t want him to fuck you then you should stop making him hard, but in truth König is only glad that he chose you out of all women. The ride back home won’t be dull with a fiery fox woman like you, he has to be careful that he doesn’t get bitten and bruised… How his men would laugh in the morning if they found out that the vixen he stole has made him hers, little teeth marks decorating his skin and betraying everyone your claim.

He would only be proud of you if you did that; women are quite adorable when they have some fire in them. But make no mistake, he won’t let you go no matter how hard you act like you hate him… Everyone here knows you want to jump on his cock; had he decided to inspect your pussy too while covered in your husband’s blood, he could’ve bet all his fortune along with his horse that you were already wet for him.

He could take you right now on this cold, hard ground, try to see how long it takes to make you wet and pliant. The only thing really keeping him from doing so are his men, no doubt wanting to see how a Roman lady takes their giant leader's cock. But he’s not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing you naked, let alone watching him fuck you, he'd have to kill them all afterwards...

So he settles for making his naughty little slave warm, and both of you a little breathless. He can find a more discreet place for you tomorrow, order a break or two to ease the heaviness of his sacks, the aching hard ons he’s had ever since he saw you. He has to be careful not to break you, and remember to kiss you on your neck, he heard that that’s the key to make women wet and willing.

You seem so fragile and frail when you fall asleep, finally surrendering to him, your body yielding and molding against his. In the morning, you whimper sweetly when he squeezes your now warm, plush body, and plants kisses on your face, your neck. You have no idea that the warriors are already mocking him for “making you wait so long”, that he has listened to stupid jokes all morning with you securely tucked inside his cloak. You bite him when he tries to come too close, all the brutes around you burst to laughter as he howls from pain.

Not feeling at all sorry for him when he rubs his neck and looks at you with drowsy curiosity, you rise and spit again on the ground as if you had just tasted something vile. He can’t stifle his smile then, your idea of foreplay is much more fun than what he had in mind…

And you aren’t flung over his horse, but actually get to ride it with him, the arm around your middle like iron as he keeps you as close to him as possible. You don’t know that he’s reluctant to take an unwilling woman, and that this preference makes him the laughing stock of the group. Neither do you know that König has already pictured you inside his hut, baking bread and scolding children like the firebrand that you are, giving him a naughty little wrestle and a fistfight every night before bed... Shuddering from want like you do now on his horse as he exposes your breasts to the approaching winter.

You are about to faint as tiny snowflakes land on your nipples, melting instantly as this man starts to fondle your tits. Slumping against his blazing form, you can do nothing but accept your fate as the horse keeps walking and the men around you shout and whistle at the sight of your breasts. The rough barks of your captor quickly end their excitement upon seeing your exposed tits, the whistles stop and the men turn their eyes quickly away from you.

The man behind you is now perfectly content, riding in the crisp morning air while pawing your breast with one hand and holding the reins with the other, his groin grinding against you with the movements of the horse, making it clear that he might soon stop this torture altogether and take you to the nearby woods for a quick fuck…

#barbarian!könig #dark content #spoils of war #historical au #tw: slavery #tw: dark themes #cw: dark content

[ameliecausse]

Dramatic stuff with Shaka 

#saint seiya #Virgo Shaka #Fanart #gold saint #photoshop #elden ring vibes in the second one #tw: dark themes #first time i'm using a tw #hope im doing it right #tw: body horror

[adelheidvonschicksal]

JJK crew with Fem sweet S/O who’s been heavily abused verbally and sometimes physically by her relatives, the only family she has left. They make her do chores and they make her sleep outside in a tent. She feels like she owes them for taking her in so despite being hurt and malnourished, she does whatever they say. JJK crew including Gojo, Itadori, Megumi, Nobara, and anyone else in mind?

A/N: Honestly, the majority of the students are throwing either hands or words. I combined two requests because I felt like I would’ve been repeating myself otherwise, and the requests share more similarities than not so smoosh! The main difference was the second request asked for a reader immuned to cursed techniques because their family would curse them out of jealousy and for being mixed/hafu. I also tried to focus more on the reaction than the actual abuse.

Tags: non-graphic abuse mentions, hurt/comfort, fem!reader

•---------•

Maki

Maki has seen this story before – the hateful stares and the mocking laughter, stepping down on even the smallest hope to dream. Being told again and again how useless you were, how worthless, that clinging to dreams, wanting more was all pointless.

When you reveal that the reason you’re so strong is because others made you feel weak, she encourages you. “Then, prove them wrong. You don’t have to live your life the way others believe you should.”

She tries to get you to speak up more, not necessarily to your family but about everything. You’re a kind person and quiet but she feels like you never truly speak your mind, wanting to please everyone.

Whenever she sees someone trying to berate or annoy you, she’s quick to ask why they’re fine talking down to you in private and not in front of her. She may never say it out loud but she’s a bit overprotective of the people she likes.

She eventually offers you a choice: when she takes over her clan, you should join her in building a place where you both can be accepted.

Geto

He’s intuitive to tell you don’t like your clan. The few times he’s met them, they weren’t the politest to him either since he comes from a non-sorcerer family but it’s still strange that they treat a total stranger way better than their own clan member. It clicks more when you explain he’s “pureblood” and you’re not, so they like you even less.

He becomes a bit more protective of you after that, inviting you to hang out with him since you two non-sorcerer blooded people should stick together. It seems to take some of your apprehension away.

It still makes him angry to think about though, even more frustrated whenever your other clan members ignore his speeches on how you’re all sorcerers and that they should treat each other with more care.

They obviously don’t appreciate it, but you do. So, his main goal is to at least make you feel better about the situation through little jokes here and there and trying to convince you that you shouldn’t worry about them because the school can be your family now.

He knows it doesn’t completely fix everything, but he hopes you can see that at least the rest of them care about you.  

Megumi

Like Geto, he can tell beforehand that you’re uncomfortable talking about your family. You get the same look he does when someone new accidentally asks him about his family, both his father and his connection with the Zen’in clan.

Megumi always figures it’s not in his place to ask, when you’re ready to talk about it, you will. It’s as simple as that. It doesn’t really become an issue until he sees you actually interact with your family, and how nasty they could be with you, overtly and the disgustingly passive, micro-aggressive way that only old family lines could pull off.

As much as you hate how your family treats you and as much as you hate explaining it to him, you’re more worried that telling others will make them realize that you’re no good and that the other students wouldn’t want to be your friends anymore if they found out about your status and the fact half your family weren’t from here, let alone sorcerers, which is a big reason why you never shared the information.

Megumi doesn’t really care about what most people think especially people who he considers trash. You’re sweet and kind, and that’s really all that matters to him, so you shouldn’t think that he nor the others wouldn’t be your friend because of your birth.

He has no problem telling your nosier cousins that he’s friends with you because he thinks you’re the most outstanding member of your clan—only when asked though.

He will never give you the time to question him or to doubt your relationship together. Any “buts” or “Megumi—” about you not wanting to bring him into your family life or to try to distance yourself is met with “Don’t care” or “No,” to shut down that line of thoughts.

It becomes a little more common for you to spend the night over in his dorm instead of going home at night but he’s still working on convincing you to give up your family entirely like he did.

Gojo

Gojo keeps trying to wiggle himself in your life any chance he gets. He really likes meeting new people especially during high school, you’re included in that when you join his second year.

Unfortunately, you don’t like him for some reason, you don’t like him. You keep avoiding him and barely talk to him, and it’s killing him to know why. Because who could hate him?

It takes a long time of poking at you (your sides specifically) and teasing you to finally get you to admit that your family told you not to talk to him, not to draw his attention, don’t so much as breathe near him. Because you should be lucky to go to the same school as a member of the Gojo Clan, let alone THE heir, and that you shouldn’t be a burden to him.

“Oh, is that right?” Once you tell him your clan’s name (the name you couldn’t use because they didn’t want you representing them) then he fully understands. He knows them well enough.

He immediately wants to go to your house. He wants to visit, in fact Suguru should go! And why not Shoko, too? He’s going to live up the royal treatment from your folks, even as you protest for him not to go. Maybe he’ll ask for all the good drinks and put his feet up on their fancy table?

But why not? He just wants to talk to them and tell them about his new best friend in the world: you. He wants to tell them how he’s so happy how well they treat his adorable little underclassman. And, oh, your room is so tiny, smaller than his walk-in closet, and there’s nothing in there, almost like they only now remember the room exists since he asked about your room. Haven’t they ever thought about getting you a bigger space? Oh, they were planning to let you move into the guest room? Great idea! Wow, then you’re definitely going to need some new clothes to fill that nice new closet, he’ll have to send some. And it’d be rude if he sees someone else in the clothes his clan gifted specifically for you, huh?

When asked why he decided to do that, he says he already told you why: you’re his cute little underclassman.

And he always treats you as such too. Always buying you things to take home and pampering you. Always inviting you out to eat with him and telling you to eat up because he can’t finish it all by himself, and that pretty girls should eat a lot and that you should try every dessert at a new bakery with him.

He constantly asks about your family life now too, to make sure you’re still doing okay, and that when you graduate you should leave them because you don’t owe them anything for being a child who needed help.

Nobara

She’s seeing red when she sees you hurt or when she sees you cry. Society already treats women so awful, and it hurts seeing you be treated evilly by people who are supposed to care about you.

There’s no stopping her when she puts her mind to something. Normally, you could convince her not to retaliate against your family but when she sees any mark on you it’s the last straw.

She’s going to gather your things and kick over that stupid excuse for a “room” they’ve given you and bring you with her. She doesn’t care if she has to share her small space with you as long as you’re safe. She’s sure Gojo can get a new dorm ready for you in no time flat, so it isn’t even a big deal to be sharing a bed for a little while with you.

It feels warm and safe in her hold, and she doesn’t forget to ever tell you how much she loves you and how wonderful a person you are, that she admires you for always being so kind despite your upbringing.

She isn’t afraid to tell you that you don’t owe those people shit while also promising to take you out for new clothes and something to eat. The guilt eats at her for not protecting you sooner, and it makes her want to punch the wall every time she’d think of how dizzy you would get somedays. She had her suspicions but didn’t trust her gut. She promises herself not to make that mistake again.

Anytime you need to do anything with your family, she makes you promise to tell her and let her come with you or one of the others.

Itadori

You manage to pull the wool over his eyes for longer than you expected. You tell him that your family means well and that it’s tough love. Itadori understands that to a small degree. His grandpa was a little ornery, but Itadori always could tell that his grandpa loved him. Megumi can be a bit abrasive, but Itadori can tell Megumi cares about them. With your family, he doesn’t get that vibe.

It’s even worse than he thinks when he finally hears from your own mouth what’s going on, so much that he wants to cry for you because you won’t do it for yourself because you’ve gotten so used to the treatment that even your own body adapted, all because you feel like you can’t be ungrateful and leave your family.

He’ll do the best that he can to help, assisting you in running your errands so that you can have a break, but he still feels so lost because even if he wanted to fight them, he can’t attack an entire clan, and he doesn’t have the weight to do something about it himself especially when you beg him to keep between the two of you.

He’s trying so desperately to convince you that none of your home life is normal while you bury down that fact that you know he’s right.

Itadori quickly makes it one of his ultimate goals to save you like he wants to do with everyone else he meets. Sure, he can’t save everyone, and sure, he can’t exactly get rid of Sukuna just yet, but you’re right here in front of him, and he should be able to save you because he loves you.

•---------•

P.S.A. Please remember to reach out to someone if you’re undergoing any type of abusive situations from family members or other domestic partners, or if you suspect someone is going through those things.

#jjk x reader #megumi x reader x yuuji #gojo x reader #geto x reader #yuuji x reader #maki x reader #nobara x reader #jjk angst #tw: abuse #tw: dark content #tw:abuse #tw:darkcontent #tw: dark themes

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

Forever, mine.

Pairing: Astarion x reader

Warning: Dark themes, Smut, Concubine reader, Augst, Yandere Astarion, Possessive Astarion, Arguments, Creampie, Fingering, Bloodsucking, One-side love? (Fanart, not mine)

Summary: don't you know you're his?

You recall the first time you met your master, the white clouds blocked the warm light of the sun. You sat down at the edge of the path of the town where you were confined. Ladies and gentlemen alike walked pasted you, who would pay attention to a beggar? A woman at that who was covered in dirt and grime, hair rattan and tangled, with cloths holed and torn. You sniffled as your vision blurred, barely seeing people walking until tears fell.

That's when you saw him.

It was like the world slowed for his outworldly beauty. A ray of sunlight appeared from the cloudy day and shined upon him, a man of pale skin, white hair that was styled to perfection, eyes an beautiful burgundy, and he was adorned with the finest of fabrics, a smirk full of genuine confidence.

Your breath shorted as the man stopped in front of you once he noticed your glaze, the Heat of embarrassment flushed in your cheeks, and your lap became quite outstanding. Unexpectedly two fingers lifted your chin and your glaze had once again fell on the man. He kneeled on one knee and smiled softly at you to your surprise. Leaning back you surely smelled caused a frown on his lips. "You do not have to fear me pet. I wish you no harm, quite the contrary." his voice was as regal and enchanting as his blessed beauty, "Take my hand." he offered his other hand, you musted of hesitated more than he liked he spoke again "I know how hard this life is. Having to beg for the tiny bit of kindness of cruel people." he looked almost pasted you like he was reminiscing. "I'll take you away. You won't have to worry about your next meal nor surviving another cold, winter anymore.  For I will clothe you, feed you, keep you safe and warm. All your wants and needs will be met." he rubbed some grime from your cheek.

"What do you say?" you took his hand that day and his words rang true. If only you knew what it would come to.

The dancing of the candlelight shined light upon the sinful dance of passion you shared with your master, in the otherwise dark room.

Your mouth dropped open as you let out a strangled moan, Astarion's hold on your hips tightened in response. "My beautiful concubine." Your master growled as he lost himself in pleasure called you, his usual maintained curls, messy from the grip your had them in earlier, and laid over his ruby orbs, He was even more beautiful this way. "You ruin me!" He gasps as you clenched around your poor master, his thrusting stuttered before he began to pound into your squelching, wet cunt. The sent of your arousals and sweat thickens in the air "Harder." You bucked your hips "please, harder." You begged of your master and he surly answered. "As you wish my pet." He chuckled darkly as he throw your legs that rested around his waist onto his shoulders and bend down, driving his already deep cock deeper in your wet cavern. The world seemed to disappeared as your heated glazes locked together, it was just you and him in this moment of passionate, as you both reached your climax, he whispered her name. The name of his beloved runway, Tav, the one you were brought here to just replac. You faked a moan and a shudder, faking your orgasm as your master release his pearly cum deep within you. Filling you with everything he had but his love.

Disappointment and bitterness were a feeling you knew all too well and while he lay beside you it felt like he was miles away, so scared to get close, he saved you and he favored you yet that meant nothing, and it meant nothing as Astarion held you close, your head resting on his chest, snuggling into his side as the moon raised high in the sky. It was nothing and you would always being nothing to him.

As the sun took its place among the clouds of the day, you awoke to his disappearance, likely busy with his duties as the vampire Lord, and a note with your beloved master's beautiful handwriting.

My dearest concubine,

I regret to inform you that I will be occupied for the remainder of the day and night as there is no rest for rulers. I hope you will miss me as much as I miss you.

With love,

Astarion.

You sighed, pushing away the ache in your heart as you sat down on your vanity chair, and began to brush your hair. Despite being only a concubine, you were an extension of your master and you had to look of importance in your master's castle. Once your maid helped you into your gown your duties commenced. You were to make sure things were done to perfection, and that no mistakes were made to give people a slight idea your master reputation was not up to hold.

The kitchen bustled with life as the chefs and the maid prepared for one of the master's many ball events, which would feature various races. Your maid, Lyra, took notes as you checked with the chefs about the dishes. "My lady," she whispered gently, poking your arm to gather your attention away from the head chef's demonstration of the selected dishes. A familiar pale man smiled at you, his teal eyes lighting up as you glanced in his direction. Soren Nightingale, a young man who was clearly infatuated with you, and you felt the same way about him.

Soren took your hand, and you both ran to the garden. Your back hit the tree as his lips met yours. Little did you know, angry ruby eyes were watching from the castle window.

"This how you repay me!" Astarion hissed, slamming the door of his chamber, the moon had raised again shrouding the room in moonlight, "Giving another man love and affection!" He yelled, glaring at you with such rage that you stepped back each time he walked towards you till your back met the wall. "I gave you everything! My love was yours but how would you care!! You still love her? " you yelled back. "You forget yourself. You belong to me! All of you." He grabbed your arm and pulled you into a kiss, his hand tearing away at your gown and underwater, his rough kisses trailing from your lips to your neck, his sinfully hot tongue licking a stripe before his fangs pierced your skin. An unexpected moan forced its way out of you as your master drank from you.

You yepped as his fangs ripped out your neck and you were thrown onto his bed. Your face burned with embarrassment, and frustration as your pussy became wet with your arousal. "oh my pet~" Astarion cooed as he climbed above you, his body bare of clothes, "Your body knows it's mine, why can't you? " he mocked as his cold nimble fingers playfully dips the tip of his finger into your entrance. You glared at him, your lips curled into a snarl "I will never-" your words were cut off as your mouth dropped into a perfect o as his long finger finally pushed it away in. In no time his finger was joined by another as they curled into your sweet spot and they thrusted with practiced ease. Slick coated the silken sheets as well as your master's palm, the coming bliss of your orgasm was taken away as he pulled his fingers from your depths.

"Now we can't have that, you've been a bad pup." Astarion grinned wickedly as he saw the look of anger on your face, he wanted to prove a point and he would, lining up his cock to your core and without waiting slammed in, groaning as he felt your wet walls. You cried out, your body shook from his intense thrusts, his hips snapping, driving his cock deeper and deeper nor did he slow. The bed creaked under you as your bucked your hips to his ponding, and as his cock head hit your cervix, your sweet releasing finally washed upon you. "You belong to me and don't you ever forget it." Astarion growled as he slammed into you, his cock throbbing and twitch as his cum filled you in hot spurts.

You will always be his and he'll never let you forget it. He will make sure to let that little boy know as well.

#tw: dark themes #astarion bg3 #yandere astarion #astarion x reader #astarion baldurs gate #astarion #astarion smut #astarion x you

[inkblot22]

(PS I don’t actually know the source material for idia I just stumbled upon one of your fics while looking at FFXIV Yandere fics so sorry if this sounds OOC)

I’m not super creative but what do you think might actually be Idia’ routine with his darling? Does he fall into any routine, does it change a lot?

Have a wonderful day (and happy late bunny day!) 🫶

I actually am of the opinion that this is a very creative thought! You should give yourself more credit. I like to idealize the day to day life, but it never occurred to me that writing it down might be a good idea. On that sentiment, I think maybe Vil or even Leona would have a better day to day routine. Dividers by @/cafekitsune

Also, wow, what a pipeline, FFXIV to twst?? You've got good taste lmao welcome to my blog.

I'll put this under the cut, and I'm also not promising that this will be very good. I use the 24 hour clock. I am constantly getting told irl that American people don't do that, but I'm evil, so I'm putting the times in 24 hour clock format.

TW for mentions of noncon, coercion, captivity, someone keeping someone else awake, a hint of Idia being an asshole

+ Idia doesn't really seem like he has much of a set schedule, but Ortho absolutely does and Ortho is lowkey kind of bossy, so...

+ Yeah uh, Idia's partner is absolutely out of luck. Idia likes night gaming a lot, and he gets loud, so good luck sleeping. Idia himself goes to bed late and wakes up whenever the heck he wakes up. He could go to bed at 0300 in the morning and wake up again at 0700.

+ As his kept partner, the schedule is a little more normal, like I said. Ortho doesn't really need to sleep from what I understand, (I haven't read all of book 6, no spoilers or else I WILL temporarily block you) but it's silly to imagine that he doesn't wake up or attempt to wake up everyone else around him as early as 0600.

+ After waking up, Idia will eat breakfast. I think it'd be delivered usually since Idia and his partner are basement dwellers, one by nature and the other by force. After breakfast begins work...

+ Or procrastination. Idia flip flops between extreme focus on what he should be doing and what he should not be doing. He manages to get his schoolwork done, but more often than not, he's asking his partner to cuddle up and watch a movie, drama, or his fingers flying across the keyboard. Idia will not ask them to cuddle if he is doing schoolwork or virtually attending classes.

+ I like to think that he smells smoky, on account of the flaming hair, and he runs hot, so prepare to SWEAT. In the case his partner doesn't really want to hang out with him, he will usually sulk and only occasionally get upset to the point of doing something about it.

+ I don't think he showers every day. I think he's an every other day type of showerer, based solely on him not being particularly active. This means that his partner doesn't have to run on his showering schedule and gets extra hot water on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

+ By the way, in the case that Idia's darling ever gets peckish, Idia has a snack stash that he proudly pulled out and showed them as soon as they were allowed to wander a bit. I figure they get hungry some time around 1400, especially if Idia is also eating at that time.

+ I think his metabolism is fast, but also a bit odd. He is a young person, and therefore he strikes me as the type to get randomly hungry. If asked very nicely (and with the promise of physical affection in some form) he'd be incredibly willing to make his partner something to munch on when he makes his own.

+ Despite Idia's partner being literally held captive in his room, with all his suspicious items and, worst of all, himself, Idia is about as respectful as a kidnapper can be about demanding sex. He doesn't like to be physically forceful about it, and he often will just jerk off in the bathroom.

+ The reason for this is very simple: If Ortho ever saw Idia having sex with ANYONE, Idia would spontaneously combust. Well, obviously he doesn't know that for certain, but it's a theory that he is not willing to test. He won't even talk about his preferences around his little brother.

+ As far as I'm aware, most people in captive situations do not tend to ask their kidnapper to fuck them unless they're being threatened in some way, but Idia's partner isn't typically being threatened (ignore the shock collar,) so they never ask Idia to have sex.

+ This does not stop Idia from being a whiny bitch about not having sex enough as soon as Ortho is gone for a few hours. The close quarters and sudden advent of a human being who he doesn't mind touching him is a big thing for Idia.

+ Ortho goes on "walks" in a sort of unusual schedule. That is to say that he doesn't have a schedule. If something needs to be picked up, he's tired of Idia not listening to him, he has his own stuff to do, or he just feels like it, Ortho will go out, sharing his location with Idia. From there, Idia will typically calculate how long it'd take Ortho to get back paired with whatever Ortho said he was going to do before he left, and see if he can squeeze in some coerced touching.

+ So. Good luck, Idia's partner. Idia will make a big stink until he gets bored or his partner gives in. His partner usually gives in, based on fear of what he might do alone.

+ Bedtime is somewhat randomized. If Ortho was out, when he comes back and it's any time after 2000, he will very subtly try to get Idia and his partner to start winding down. If both or one ignores him, he'll start getting upset.

+ Like I said, Ortho is kinda bossy. He will nag someone, and the worst part is that he's usually got their best interest in mind.

+On the off chance that Idia decides to go to bed at a decent time, he curls up behind his partner. He runs hot and smells smoky, and at some times it's not the worst thing. Some times.

+ By the way, a lot of this flies out the window in the event that Idia decides to attend classes in person. This is rare, so don't expect it to happen often, but it's not as good as it could be. Ortho goes with him and he locks up any way to reach the outside world, so all his partner has to entertain themselves is his manga collection, or the fun pastime of destruction of property. (This is a very bad idea, and I can expand on punishments later.)

+ In Idia's partner's case, every day is much of the same but just a little different, which makes it hard to keep track of time. The fact that Idia prefers low lighting and no natural light doesn't help this whatsoever.

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #tw: dark content #tw: dark themes #tw: yandere #yandere #twst #tw captivity #tw coercion #tw noncon mention #yandere idia shroud #yandere idia x reader #tw inability to sleep #idia shroud #twst idia #twisted wonderland idia #idia x reader #ortho shroud #anon asks #anon answered #thank you for sending an ask!!

[dxmoness]

“Saintess?” The demon of a man before you coos as he comes closer. He seemed so innocent, his feigned innocence made your skin crawl.

His silken robes are splattered with blood, the same blood of your fellow saints. You couldn't even bear to look into his eyes. Estes stood there, watching you tremble like a leaf in the wind. A dark, wicked grin is on his face while his eyes are full on black with purple pupils.

What was once the sleeping king of the elves was now one possessed and controlled by the demons who have overwhelmed the temple's regions.

A step then another was made as he inched closer towards your shaking figure. Your hands are clasped together for you had been in prayer. And yet when he realized this, he only did so much as laugh.

“How adorable of you to think that the gods can hear you pray and give you help at a time like this...” He continues to step closer while he practically purrs those words. “Need not worry, my darling saintess. I’m not going to hurt you.” He finally reached you, leaning down so he can caress your soft supple skin.

You flinch when his fingers make contact with your skin, cringing with disgust. It took every bit of your willpower not to wrench his hand away from your face.

“W-What do you want from me?” You demand, trying to act tough and failing miserably in doing so. You're still trembling and your voice shakes as you speak. Not to mention, it was very faint and weak due to your fright.

He graces you with a laugh as he continues stroking your cheek, his index finger lifting your chin so that you could meet his fearsome gaze. “I want you.” His answer was so simple and so straightforward. It made you shudder.

Why so? Why you of all people? Sure, you were supposed to ascend to the position of high priestess when the time is right but now that this has occured that time will never happen. This made your heart sink but you remind yourself that the Moon Gods made this happen.

“Why?” You croak out, tears filling your eyes as you feel so scared and pressured to stay right here with him. But he gently wipes those tears away and stares at you with his eyes that filled with you with horror. Those eyes... They looked horrifying, yet strangely had some sort of comforting message in them.

He shakes his head and doesn't answer anymore. Instead he stands, stays there for a moment and then surprises you by dragging you by the hair.

You shriek in pain as your arms flail, trying to free yourself from his unhindered grip. A futile attempt. You find yourself being dragged to the body of the once high priest. His eyes are milky white as his corpse lay there, blood oozing clearly from the mark that travelled from his stomach to his neck.

Your eyes fill with tears once more, you can't bear to look anymore. You shut them tightly, trying not to cry but also trying not to vomit from the stench of blood and body fluids that fills the air.

“Look. The high priest is dead, your time has come to ascend.” Estes’ voice is void of any emotion as he pulls you back by the hair harshly. “I said look.” His voice made you shake your head as you begin sobbing uncontrollably.

“Look or I will make you.” This is his last warning. His voice implies it. You sniffle as your eyes fly open in fear of him doing worse than he already is. The combination of the gruesome sight of the high priest's dead body and the stench that emitted from it made bile start coming up from your stomach.

“Please...no more.” You beg him to not let you look any longer. He nods, satisfied by your obedience and drops you. Your body falls in between the dead, your feet and hands scrambling to get yourself up.

He stands by you, watching. As if he waits for you to do something that annoys or infuriates him. You don't say anything though which gains a rather satisfied smirk from him. His hand moves to grab your hair again, reeling you back so you can face him instead of the bodies around you.

“It will be like this from now on. You will obey my orders, and if you fail well...” He gestures to the bodies piled up around them. “I will drag you back here so you can reflect on your misdeeds.”

You sniffle as you nod, remaining silence for your own safety. He smiles eeriely as he motions you to follow him.

The sky is blood red outside and there are the audible cries of the moon elves fighting for victory against their opponents, the demons. The fight is failing. The king only smiles at that. You can only pray that it doesn't get worse than this.

➷ ( notes ) — no tags at the moment so I'll just give a little insight on this. I thought of making a fic about Estes falling into the hands of the demons and him being controlled by them, now being in the dark side instead of light. Thank you all for reading fully, if you did! If you'd like to be tagged via ask, comment or message. See you in the next fic, thank you for reading! ❀

➷ ( characters ) — estes, mobile legends. ❀

#{ ♡ heartstrings — fics } #mobile legends #mobile legends x reader #mlbb #mlbb x reader #estes x reader #mlbb estes x reader #tw: possession #tw: blood #tw: dark themes

[yorshie]

Ritual in Midnight Blue

Bayverse Foot Leo x Reader

Warning: SFW as in there's not smut, but this one shot is exploring darker themes. Dub con, fear of violence, basically a relationship under coercion. Wolf x rabbit vibes

Song used as reference: I know I’m a wolf by discovery of an afterlife

There was a certain ritual to it, even if the shadows of the little unknowns clung to the shapes and curves of him, tinted every gesture and phrase he offered. The weight of each interaction was a small pebble placed on the center of your chest, a combination of weight that made each breath a struggle, an echo of his heavy hand around your throat.

You never heard his arrival. In all things he was silent, a mere breeze floating through your room until he drew back whatever curtain he hid himself with, whatever magic he wielded that allowed him to pass unseen. Between one blink and the next the mundane feel of your home would peel away, leaving a dream like countenance in his wake.

It was late when you stepped out of your shower and into the little hallway that connected to your living room, tiredness pulling at your limbs and navigating more so by memory than any visual cue, when your foot stopped just shy of where the soft yellow light of your bathroom gave way deep blue.

The old clock you thrifted a few months ago was loud in the dark, the tic tic tic of the iron hand moving around the only sound beyond the gurgle of water passing through pipes. Normal sounds, but the hair along the nape of your neck lifted, the ghost of a breath glancing over the thin skin. You swallowed heavily, every muscle tightening to attention at the thought of what you’d find waiting for you by the window in your living room. That he was waiting for you.

It was a struggle to pick out the shape of him against the blue-black shadows that blanketed the corners of the room. They swallowed up every detail, until you’d half convinced yourself you were staring at your empty armchair. 

The ruse was broken when he turned his head just right and the lamplight outside your window glanced off his irises. The points of blue shine gave nothing away as he watched you step fully into the room, and your mind turned to the usual comparison of a wolf deciding a rabbit’s fate.

It was always like this, every time he followed you home. A long moment of silence when you fancied he was internally struggling, arguing against whatever want curled in his chest. You often wondered, eyes drifting to the dark armor, the swords strapped across his back, if this would be your last night. If his sense of duty would outweigh whatever conflict was brewing deep within him.

He took up too much space, too much oxygen in your little room, and as the silence lengthened you turned inwards, mind following a steady path to the tune of the metal clock hands, back to the night he first assessed you.

The night you almost died.

Your gaze trailed down to his hands, the three fingers almost hidden completely by the gauntlets covering them, remembering the steady way he pressed the flat of his blade to your throat, the strength corded in his grip when he had your wind pipe in his palm, and entertained the thought that you were already dead. That he had killed you the night you’d been too stupid to walk away. These midnight meetings were a sad farce of an afterlife, but every brush with him felt a little bit like death, a little bit like borrowed time. Your life belonged to him, after all. He held the hands of the clock your heart beat to firmly in his grasp.

After a long moment, he spoke the magic words that freed you from your stand off, voice low and rich, the notes slipping past your defenses and reeling you back in from the gentle drift of your thoughts:

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

Your spine softened as unrealized tension slipped away, and you almost told him ‘you should. I don’t know why you haven’t. It’s only a matter of time’, but instead you swallowed the words, let them cut the inside of your throat, and watched as he stood slowly and crossed the room to your little table.

He started undoing the buckles of his armor, up underneath his arms, shedding steel and leather and placing it neatly on top of the wooden surface, eyes on his task and not on the way you lingered to watch him.

‘What’s your name?’ You wanted to ask, watching  as the little pile grew, ‘why are you doing this?’ A thick belt of knives, the sharp edges glinting, clattered as he set them down, and you inhaled sharply as the desire to yell the next question at him bubbled up behind your tongue, ‘what do you WANT?’

At the sound he paused, hands smoothing down the leather of the harness that kept his swords in place, his beak tilted towards the table in a downward angle that hid his expression. You were struck with a visual spark, comparing the slow strip to the first few times he visited, back when this part of the ritual didn’t exist and he would spend the night tucked into a corner of whatever room you were in.

Watching you, silently, haunting your footsteps as you moved about your nightly routine. Those nights were sleepless, when you still weren’t sure if he would rethink his decision and end your life before you even realized it was gone.

His hands resumed their task, and the slight noise of his sword sheaths being placed beside his armor on the table brought you back once more. You must have made some small movement at the sight of the polished, meticulously maintained weapons, because his head tilted, eyes cut to the side to pin you in place. The pop of blue against midnight black was your only clue as to where he was looking despite feeling his gaze like a physical caress.

Your shoulders touched the wall at your back, and you belatedly remembered that you were only wearing a towel, and despite having never broken his word there was very little in the way of protection between you and him.

Not that it would have made any difference. When he only looked at you patiently however, before returning his attention to the wraps along his arms, you wondered once more why he was doing this.

Why hadn’t he killed you the night you met, when your throat was in his hands and the cold contemplation on his face revealed he meant to? What stayed his hand, what continued to save your life every time you brushed up against him?

What did he gain, from these little encounters?

Your brow furrowed, contemplating, watching as he slowly unwrapped his arms, tendons and muscle catching on the light trailing out from the bathroom. The soft pattern of light rippling over his beak signaled his head turning right before you were pierced by his gaze again.

“Have you eaten?” He asked in that deceptively soft voice, starting to unravel the wide belt at his waist, fingers dipping to pull his tucked shirt out from underneath the material before tightening it back in place.

“Yes.” You whispered, not bothering to move, knowing he could be on you in an instant if he wanted, knowing he’d eventually tell you what to do. You watched as nimble fingers, covered in fine scars that you could make out even in the low light, undid a series of hidden buttons. With a small sigh through his nose, he reached backwards, arms curling up over his head and giving you a show of taunt muscles as he undid the cloth knotted behind his neck that kept his sleeves up and out of the way.

“Go lay down.” He ordered softly, tucking the cloth into a neat little circle before bending at the waist to reach his shoes, giving you a glimpse of the scars mapping out constellations amid the whorls of his shell where his shirt hung loose and open.

You half turned from the sight, swallowing down the warm, confused roll of your stomach, before the cool air tickled the back of your knees and you forced yourself to ask, “clothes?”

He looked up, face unreadable, taking in the oversized towel you clutched to yourself in a slow perusal, lingering on where the hem stopped just above your knees.

After another long moment, he nodded in acceptance, and you tiptoed into your room, shucked the towel and dressed in your pajamas in record time despite knowing he would stay out until you were safely under the covers.

You almost picked the sweatpants and long sleeved shirt, wanting the barrier, wanting something solid and safe between your skin and his scales, but the remembered way his eyes flashed in the dark eyeing the skin of your shoulders and calves stayed your hand. You settled for shorts and a tank top, something fit more so for the height of summer than the beginning of winter, but it was soft against your skin. You had the remembered feel of his fingers smoothing over the material in the back of your mind as you hurried to your bed.

This part of the ritual, you thought, pulling back your comforter and climbing in to settle in the dead center, didn’t start until after the Lull, when you thought he had forgotten about you.

The relief, thinking back to that period, was a tainted thing, a heady connection that a sick, twisted sense of longing had somehow crept its way into.

A rabbit should not long for this feeling, you knew, heartbeat racing and eyes closing when he purposefully let the floorboard just outside your bedroom creak in warning. A rabbit should not go along with the wolf.

After the two week Lull, where he did not visit you once, there was a breaking point for him where you think he almost granted your twisted wish. When he finally darkened your windowsill once more, a different edge of violent clung to him, upfront and bristling for conflict instead of the lethal patience he usually oozed.

Then, he hadn’t uttered a word, hadn’t patiently dismantled his gear. He’d appeared mid way through your dinner, bloody and breathing heavy like a bull. In the space between blinks he had you pinned half under your table, plates and cups flying when the edge of his shell hit a leg while pulling you down.

For the first time ever, you had tried to fight him, something you hadn’t even managed the night you met. The reflexive slap certainly wouldn’t have done anything if he had truly meant to end whatever was happening between you that night, but you tallied it in triumph later when you were alone, a silent indication to yourself that you weren’t just a rabbit, after all. At the time however, you weren’t sure he even felt it, certainly he didn’t flinch, only bore down on you, teeth flashing in the low light.

You didn’t even have the time to scream, terror freezing the cry in your throat when his beak slammed into the dip near your collar. But instead of the tight pain of teeth breaking into your artery, he gave a low, tortured keen. He shivered over you, deep breaths pressing you into the carpet, trapping you underneath him until dawn crept into the room and illuminated the streaks of red clinging to his scales.

There was never a repeat performance of that raw emotion ever again.

The following night he arrived later, so late you had let your guard down. You were already in bed when he appeared in your doorway. When you had only laid there, daze and skittish, panicking over the illusion of intimacy your bedroom granted, he had offered those beginning words once more, had taken his time to remove his gear where you could see before he joined you on the bed. 

A dip in the mattress, a heavy knee by your own, brought you back again, and with a flutter of lashes you found him hovering, watching for the sign you were aware of him entering your space.

He was alien looking in the dark. The undershirt clung to his shoulders, doing little to hide the hard edges of keratin underneath. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he wasn’t human, but it wasn’t until you first shared a bed with him, saw the shell curving where his spine should be, that you realized he must be a turtle.

You wondered passingly the first night, if it was a quirk of fate or the will of man that led him to occupy the shape he did now, if whatever way he came to be like this could also explain the apparent fascination he had with you.

What was he after, you thought again, as he placed his other knee beside your calf and stretched out over you. What was so special about this?

His hands, callused and cool, so much larger than your own, captured your wrists, led them to opposite sides of the mattress and pressed them tightly into the comforter. His fingers settled into their remembered places, and you fought not to stiffen, remembering the bruises he’d left on your wrists the first couple nights of restraining you, how you’d silently cried while he tried to learn how to hold you. 

His thumbs whispered over the rushing dash of your heart locked underneath the thin skin of your wrists, and you just knew he was remembering as well. 

Your legs shifted under the covers, restless for what came next, feeling the ghostly imprint of his beak slotting against the heartbeat thundering just under your jaw, the weight of him keeping you pinned for as long as he wanted.

He deviated though, broke the next steps of the ritual, blue eyes holding your gaze captive in the dark before his head dipped and the lines of certainty were blurred with a shuffle of his knees and the weight of his cheek pressing against the swell of your stomach.

He sighed, the movement only discernible where his plastron cut into your hip bones, the tip of his beak nudging just under the protective cage of your ribs.

You couldn’t control the instinctual shiver that erupted at the sensation, the quiver in your stomach, the latent fear at the unknown that had you gasping at the ceiling.

Once more, in a whispered voice that finally brought a muffled noise from your mouth, he broke the ritual the two of you built over the months. “It’s alright, you’re alright.”

He held himself so carefully, so tightly over you, and for the first time your interactions were turned on their sides in your mind. You wondered if the way he held you down is more for his sake of control than any fear you’d slip away. Another shiver almost knocked you against his hold and a low rumble answered from deep in his chest.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” He reiterated, and the heated line has the air bursting from you, the darkened ceiling disappearing in a haze as foggy stars took over your vision.

“Then why are you here?” You heard a voice ask, but it sounds foreign in your ears, a quiet, near silent break in character that you instantly wished you could take back.

He stilled over you, for a moment, before giving a slow pet of your hands with the side of his fingers. All your muscles tightened underneath him, shock mixing with alarm in your muddled mind at the soft touch, thoughts slow as quicksand sucked at the trail of thoughts you’d pieced together over the course of interacting with him.

He’d built the ritual, piece by piece, deviated and pushed the boundaries of what you were willing and comfortable with over and over, in order to get something he wanted. But what was it? 

The answer hovered just out of reach, despite the way he’d patiently led you further and further each time, but the end goal stretched out in the darkness in front of you, hazy and indiscrete and unknown, unknown could get you killed-

His next words only confirmed your suspicions.

“You’re so soft.” He whispered, the words traveling through your skin and settling in your chest. His head dipped, gave the barest nuzzle to your mid section, and in concert to the little movement your brows crumpled over the revelation that burst like a star in your mind.

Oh… oh. Soft. Did he even know what he wanted, what he was chasing, pushing the both of you towards? Was this stilted, slow dance his way of feeling out, pushing up against your boundaries until he found the soft points he coveted?

If… if he stopped chasing the softness, would he kill you then? 

Another slow pet of this thumb over the softest part of your wrist, lingering over the fine bones hidden underneath your skin, and another thought came unbidden to wash away the panicked edge of the others.

Why would he wait months, waste months, for this from you if there was any chance he’d end your life?

The thought had you sinking into your bed, thinking, careful to temper the blind hope of the errant thought with the immediate weight of the giant turtle over you.  He was dangerous, a killer, but maybe, just maybe, you could trust him with this. 

He held the position through the long hours of the night, not pushing for more, his breath slow and even against your stomach and his body slowly warming from the close proximity to yours.

You always promised yourself that you wouldn’t sleep, couldn’t possibly sleep, with him holding you so, but some times in between the slow, soft touches and the steady beat of his hear against your legs, you found yourself drifting off.

Your dreams were vague things that blended with reality, where you weren’t sure if you were pinned down like an insect to be studied or cradled like something precious, the only thing for certain is you couldn’t move even if you wanted to.

When you woke in the morning, something curled up in your right hand drew your attention, amid the absence of your strange nighttime suitor. 

A little blossom, a delicate thing, safely tucked into the dip of your palm where it wouldn’t be crushed. You turned over the white petals carefully before bringing your cupped hand to your nose and inhaling.

Curiosity struck you at the subtle and sweet scent. Out of all the flowers, why would he pick jasmine?

#tmnt bayverse #tmnt bayverse x reader #tmnt leonardo #bayverse leonardo #TMNT foot leonardo #bayverse leo x reader #bayverse leonardo x reader #tw: dub con #tw: dark themes #dub con #dark themes

[mirdance]

Hysteria

Dottore x f!Patient

Kinktober: Medical play, overstim, toys

TW: medical malpractice, chronic pain, vibes of self harm

The metal creaked as I carefully lifted myself onto the chill medical table. I rubbed my arms and held my elbows.  My hairs stood at alert.

The pictures on the wall were always the same grassy hills I’d never had the pleasure of visiting. I stared at one as if meditating on a single blade of grass would push away the ache in my joints.

Salad and Biryani for lunch. Fish with cream sauce and a potato boat for dinner.  I’d been too tired to remember the menu each day even though our nutrition regimen remained stable, so I kept a food calendar on my desk.  I ran the list over and over in my head like a memory game. Sometimes I remembered to update it at the end of the week. Years ago I could remember things like my best childhood friend or what I went into a room to grab. Now I do good to crawl out of bed, bones popping with each step. The doctor always states that the most important thing is rest, but my knees stayed restless through sleep.

As if I could stay asleep with the amount of appointments and noise, anyway.

I could walk. That was good. Many lost the ability to use their legs. For me, it was just my arms. Just my arms. I could still go and see and take myself to the bathroom. Yet what was I supposed to do once anywhere? Books fell from my grasp, spoons unsteady. I held them, anyway, in exchange for the swelling throbs that squeezed the life out of every nerve within my upper limbs.

I could live. The catch was living in pain. So what was the point of living at all?

One of the scabs on my arms oozed between my fingertips. I stopped the anxious rubbing and cursed.

Two knocks on the door. I sat straighter.

“Good day. Sorry to keep you waiting. How are you today?” The depth of his voice rang through the metal table.

“Fine.” The small talk ropes pulled my voice box. Get through the appointment. Get through the appointment.

Except Doctor Dottore wasn’t a fan of weather talk.

“Well, you wouldn’t be here if you were fine,” he deadpanned. For some medical staff, it could count for a joke. With Dottore, I was never sure. “Now, you know how I dislike pattering and conversation with no sustenance,” he went on as he took a seat. “I can’t help you when you do that. How are you? How is your pain?”

I shrugged, which upon doing the action I realized how childish that sort of response would look. The man made me feel as if I were a scarab. “It has been better but it has been worse.”

“I see. Your temperature has been stable the past week.” He flipped a page in his journal. “But it seems your food intake has gone down. Any reason for that?”

“I haven’t really thought about it.” Every day felt like slogging through the mud. How was I supposed to count every crumb? “I guess I just feel full faster.”

His pen clunked. “Any stomach pains? Bloating? Constipation?”

“No.” I shook my head.

“Have you had anxious thoughts? Getting along with everyone at home?” 

My eyes jumped to his for the first time.  They held not a hint of mirth. “I mean, I get along just fine. I’m sure you see me around.”

“I do.” He pointed his pen my way. “But I’m asking you.”

“I do get along with everyone.” My feet swung and tapped the table. Showing any sort of mental breakdown could result in an even busier day or worse, therapy. No, they didn’t put one in solitary confinement unless there was harm to another person. But they’d certainly be keeping a greater eye out. And I liked taking a shit in private. “I’m just more tired than usual.”

“Are the pains keeping you up at night?”

I took a deep breath. “A bit. Sometimes.” There was no use lying about it, he’d probably see the scabs, anyway.

“Hm. And you were practically scab free one week ago.” His eyes scanned the notes in his lap during an uncomfortable lingering silence.

Doctor Dottore did not care for decorum. He would ramble or stay silent for as exactly long as he needed. While the rambling was much to keep up with, at least I could pick out a few words rather than having to pick his brain.

He stood and straightened the cuffs on his lab coat. “Hold out your arms, please.”

I did so, and the scabs shined and cooled in the air.

“You must stop picking them,” he muttered as he held one arm in his grasp and had me do a few hand exercises. His hands were fucking freezing. He struck my elbow with his irritating hammer.

I jumped.

 “Your face contorted in pain just now,” he commented, feeling and pressing and squeezing my muscles and joints. “Noticeable inflammation. Do you feel this?”

He lightly tapped each of my fingers. I nodded each time. He repeated doing so up and down both arms.

“How about your legs?” He struck my knees one at a time, causing each to kick forward. “Any cysts?”

“Just a scab behind my knee.” I pointed. “It kinda numbs the leg at night.”

He lifted my calf and studied the scab. “Have you had them on your leg before?”

“Rarely. They usually heal up quickly.”

“Fascinating.”

Fascinating?

“When do you usually break out on your legs?”

“My, uh, my period.” He was a doctor so discussing such anatomical diversities was normal, but with him holding my leg in the air, I didn’t really know whether to laugh or feel gross.

“Perhaps hormones play a role in your stability.” He continued analyzing the scab a moment before setting my leg down. “Do you mind if I take a closer look?”

I consented. He pulled on a pair of gloves and knelt. His head leaned mere inches from the table. Had his hair always been so blue? Maybe the man was greying after spending time in the desert.

He pulled out a stirrup. I put my foot in and let him pull and tug around the scab. His fingers were merciless yet gentle enough not to break the skin. Why would he check the leg scab first? When there were enough arm ones to frighten a military?

“I won’t remove it since it should heal as your cycle moves forward, but if you have any trouble with it, come back to the office.”

He helped me settle my leg back down and immediately dabbed my arm with wipes. It stung a slight bit, but it wasn’t unwelcome. Kind of like scratching a place I couldn’t reach.

“Your shoulders are extremely tense.” He squeezed one to prove the point. “You know this doesn’t help your condition.”

“Probably just the stress,” I mumbled. “Just a little more than usual. It happens.”

For the first time, a look of concern robbed his brows. Or maybe it was irritation at hindering his research on the disease. Mental health was not as easy to control as inflammation or diet. And when inflammation was caused by mental health, it created more layers. I was frustrated with it at least.

“Stress often doesn’t just happen.” He sighed and let go of my shoulder. “Have you tried your meditation techniques? Stretches? Walks?”

He went on with the interrogation. I answered each truthfully. Despite the pain, I went through most days doing my duties. What else could I do?

“Maybe it’s time you spent on something…more leisurely, like a hobby.” He crossed his arms. “You do have those, don’t you?”

When was I going to have time to figure out my fucking hobbies? “I enjoy reading.”

“Well, we’ve plenty of books. Do you need more?”

“Maybe.” I didn’t know. I just wanted the pain to stop.

“I will order you some more.” He reached into one of the cabinets. “For now, I suggest you massage your shoulders nightly to loosen those muscles. You might try it on your leg as well if it is disrupting your sleep.”

How would I massage myself if I couldn’t even use my hands most days? Laughable.

Buzzing. Whatever mechanism Dottore held whirred to life. He held what seemed to be a handle and pointed the flat end towards me.

“Use this so that you do not tire your hands. Though I suggest having a friend help."

As he set the device in my hand, the skin on my palms tingled. I stared blankly at him. Was I supposed to just put it on my shoulder? I awkwardly set it against my shoulder. My skull reverberated. I quickly dropped the thing, causing it to clatter to the floor and shake violently.

The doctor tsked and knelt to pick it up. Though his brows furrowed, he held the glint of a smile, almost a fondness for whatever the thing was. “This must be the first time you’ve ever encountered such a contraption. The medical community has been using such devices for generations now, though their origins are…a tad deviant.”

I had no desire to place anything deviant upon my body. While many patients had it worse being subject to the Good Doctor, I remained satisfied with flying just under his radar.

“Nothing that will harm, I assure you.” He clicked one of the buttons. The massager slowed. “Allow me to show you.”

He placed it against my shoulder and applied a small amount of weight. The muscle ached but in such a way that it loosened. I leaned my neck to the side and closed my eyes with a sigh.

“That good?” Dottore questioned.

“Yes,” I breathed.

He moved to the other shoulder. Before long we tested it directly on the scabs, but the vibrations only caused pain. The surrounding muscles carried the most pain relief. Not that it took away the pain, but anything was better than nothing.

I stretched my arms out as he moved on to do my calf. Everything felt light. He lifted my leg and let the vibrations take over. A groan slipped from my lips. I quickly apologized. 

“No need.” Dottore stood and mechanically worked on my thigh. “Such things are also part of my job as a doctor. I’ve seen and heard it all.”

My eardrums rang. The core of my stomach turned inside out and settled hot in my abdomen. The movements shook the entirety of my thigh…I clenched my jaw to bear with the straight fire that coursed through my groin and averted my gaze.

“Is this painful,” he asked. He pulled it off the leg a tad.

“Nope,” I quickly barked. “Just fine.”

Gods, my cheeks boiled.

He cocked a brow. “Hm. I see.”

He continued his assault. I did my best to remain calm.

“Did you know.” He moved the massager higher up my inner thigh. “That vibrators were invented by doctors to treat female hysteria?”

I lightly shook my head, but the doctor seemed so lost in his own mind anyway. His free hand gestured wildly as he spewed names and dates I could not recognize.

“Physicians would often administer pelvic massages involving clitoral stimulation. Studies show that staff never considered it something erotic. At the time, only penetrative copulation was seen as the way to provide sexual arousal. Spas all across the world began adapting the vibrator into their treatments. Water therapy was also used but was hardly as efficient. Patients would flush and grow hot, so why wouldn’t they think that perhaps one were sweating off a fever? Of course, now we know about clitoral orgasms.”

The vibrator hovered over the exact area he spoke of. I held my breath.

“Which,” he continued. “If you were to use the device for such actions, it would most likely greatly impact your mental health, and no one here would reprimand you for it.”   

I exhaled shakily. How long had it been since I’d touched myself? Occasionally I’d attempt, but sharp pains would stab throughout my fingers and joints as if a fork were dragged across every nerve.

I would definitely use this in the privacy of my own room, I decided.

“I don’t suggest holding it for too long.” He applied the barest amount of pressure. “Though theses were created to rest the exhausted hands of doctors, I am afraid if you grip something too long in your condition, the repetitive motion might trigger more pain.”

While I wasn’t born yesterday, the stoic calmness that Dottore’s demeanor held starkly contrasted with the teasing push of his hands. Was he waiting for me to make the next move? The doctor never cared before for ethics, so why did he pause just before administrating the rest?

His knuckles brushed my inner thigh as he repositioned.  Every muscle I’d tensed fell to pieces; my thighs quivered. “I’d never known that history. But it makes sense. I suppose there’s multiple…uses for these.”

“Indeed.” Another press. “Would you like for me to continue helping you figure them out?”

While not touching the skin directly, the vibrations settled over my clothes and guided the seam against my slit. It stung. It burned. It throbbed. I needed more.

I guided my hand around the doctor’s and pressed the vibrator flush with my cunt.

That was all he needed to flash a pearly white fang and a low chuckle. “This is also my duty as a doctor, so I do not mind. Tell me if you experience any pain or release of pain or anything out of the ordinary.”

I shrieked. Whatever setting the man had turned it to whizzed and rang around the room and doubled my entire body over. My forehead crashed into the doctor, and the flood of fire that shot through my vulva multiplied as he kept the head firmly pressed. It engulfed and seized the entire lower half of my body with pulses that squeezed the life out of my clit.

I came? I came. That was an orgasm. My hands trembled and held onto his collar. My head felt as if I had drank three glasses of wine one after the other.

Another round of fire bubbled within my nerves.

I gripped his shoulders. “Do..doctor please, fuck, gods, I can’t, it’s a lot, shit.”

His lips calmly shushed me. “Good girl. Thank you for telling me how you feel. But I believe you can do more, yes?”

Could I?

“Okay,” I whined. My head thudded against his chest. Hot tears threatened the corners of my eyes.

“How is this?”

The buzzing grew louder.

I screamed.

The screaming did not stop until my second high settled into a wet throb. I sobbed into his coat as snot dribbled down my chin. He lowered the vibrations. The change of speed made my legs kick forward, and they clutched around his waist instinctively. The action pressed him and the device harder into me. I groaned and bit the lapel of his coat as I grinded. I needed more I didn’t need more I needed it I needed it

“How is your pain,” Dottore asked in a whisper that lingered in my ear.

Pain?

Oh.

For a few seconds, I’d completely forgotten.

The pull of Dottore’s lips that morphed to a grin heated against my earlobe. “It seems the experiment was a success. Please, do use the treatment wisely. If it is ever too strenuous on you, come see me, and I will treat you very well.”

#dottore smut #genshin impact #mir writes #genshin smut #kinktober 2022 #mir kinktober 2022 #yandere genshin impact #il dottore #genshin harbingers #dottore x reader #yandere dottore x reader #tw: abuse of authority #tw: dark themes #tw: medical malpractice #tw: overstimulation

[thecollectibles]

Art by 宋大能

#art #digital art #Illustration #painting #宋大能 #tw: body horror #tw: horror #tw: dark themes

[space-bowl]

TW: Suicide/Dark Themes

"Can you set me free..."

[Light's off]

#chocoart #murder drones #serial designation n #tw: suicide #tw: dark themes #came to me and I had to draw it #I combined his thumbs up and two finger salute haha #in advance i'm sorry #don't worry #prob just a dream

[revelisms]

Antichrist Copia theory has overtaken me yall. I was not expecting to crank out a full thing on this, but, uh...if you're looking for one big indulgent braindump on Terzo trying to unpack his feelings on this while Copia gets possessed by a demon, look no further?

Quick context setting—I'm still working out these headcanons a bit, but what I'm generally tinkering with here:

Everyone tied to the Emeritus bloodline has some degree of magical abilities, which were formally "awakened" in an oath-taking ceremony at a point in the boys' childhood. This is the Sight mentioned here (i.e., whatever is up with the white eye), and each of the brothers have a slightly different angle for it: Primo can see into the minds of living things, Secondo can see into the past, Terzo can see into the future, and Copia can see into the realm that bridges life and death—and is somewhat a literal bridge, himself, between those planes of reality.

The Exaltation ceremony is a formal handoff from each Papa to the next heir, in which their Sight is tapped to its greatest potential in preparation for becoming head of the church. This typically involves a delivery of rites, a magical blessing, and an opening of the Gate between worlds (which, in this context, is technically Hell itself).

Basically: mayhem ensues.

here we lie

4k words | Rating: M | Terzo-Centric | Antichrist Copia | CWs: Ritual magic, dark imagery, near-death experience, blood, language, existentialism, doomed fate, whump, anger issues, dysfunctional family dynamics, hurt/comfort. Also on AO3

The exaltation ceremony goes wrong.

By all accounts, it shouldn't have.

As with any long-standing traditions of the church, the ritual had been perfected to the scrape of dust one was allowed to wear on their boots—and, as such, had been prepared with the expected flurry of pomp and circumstance.

The esteemed Monsignor Emeritus, firstborn, blessed with the Sight, had cleansed the air thrice with dishes of althea and frankincense and bistort: enhancements for protection and divination. 

Sister Mariella, well-familiar with the customs, had laid down the sigils for the Gate flawlessly: shadowed by the slow-prowled growlings and page-turned rites of Secondo Emeritus, Archbishop of the Eternal Light.

The ceremony, as was custom, was set to be led by the head of the church: their Exalted, sheened in black from neck to toe, the points of his clawed gloves glinting in the lowlight—for whom the Sight of premonition had seemed both a blessing and a curse, and never more so than now.

He was distracted, perhaps. Dehydrated, maybe. Dreading the moment he would stand at the door to the realm beyond—a threshold of time and space untethered—that would soon devour the faceless flesh-form of a ghoul cast back to the shadow (his One, his All, his own); a door he himself, in time, would one day find himself crossing, with body and soul split, head and neck cleaved, heart and mind shattered.

From the moment he'd slopped a spoon through the breakfast his secretary had slid on his desk that morning, he'd known, instinctually, that this damned thing could turn so haywire, if only because he'd been the one shackled with it.

His jittery magic, his restless brain, and Copia—

Well. 

Copia has been anything but normal, from the day Sister carted him up the chapel steps.

Terzo knew he had magic—the likes of which few could fathom, even from his sticky-fingered child days. The night the little rat had taken his oaths, the air had sung with it: a strange buzz of sensation that felt like the sun had tipped off-center. 

And now— 

Now, the Gate is laid open beneath Terzo's hands, the unseen ink of his spell-marks glowing a blood-lilac fuchsia, bright enough to glare violently through his clothes, and the void of Hell itself screaming in its glory—and Copia is not imbued with the Dark One's majesty, as he should be—is no man, is not living, has flames for eyes and claws for teeth and wings like the undead and is screaming—

"Close it," Secondo snarls at him, a blurred tower of shadow and piercing white—

—and Terzo knew this.

Knew this boy-man-beast-hellspawn of Christ-Shadow Beholden always was. 

He'd looked him in the eye—kneeled there in the cat's cradle of a pentagram scraped in chalk, hands fidgeting at his cassock—and gave a crook of his head: murled, Ready? like a tease, though some part of him had meant it as, You'll be alright, eh?

But unblessed saints and demons below, Copia isn't.

What writhes before him now is a creature that terrifies him to the bone—one that may not abandon his brother completely, should he fail at this any farther than he already has.

"Terzo." Primo, now: an urgent hiss at his shoulder. "Close the gate—"

"I know." His magic burns at his fingertips, sears through his blood. "That—thing hasn't released him—"

A thing with claws cradling Copia's head like ceramic a hairline from shattering, spitting a pained growl through his teeth.

The sacrament in Mariella's hand shakes. "Papa, what's...?"

"I don't know." The flamelight flickers unnaturally against the domed walls: a great breath that lapses to darkness, sparks back again. "Shit, I—I don't know."

"Terzo—"

"Close the gate—"

"Hell Satan—will you all shut up?!"

There are horns in Copia's hair, slick-red-gold between his grappling fingers.

His stomach is in his head. His brain in his feet.

Mariella swallows. She's always been a strong soul—far more than him, now: level-headed in a storm, vibrant in a fog; a presence that guides as much as it grounds.

"How long can you hold it for?" she whispers, firm and calm. 

He pulls dry air into his lungs. "As long as I need to." 

He steps forward, spellwork singing in his veins, and lets his hands unfurl. The air whips at his vestments, wailing with the bone-deep unease of voices old as Creation straining to be heard.

Somewhere in there is Copia's own. He'll drag it out by hand, if he has to.

"You imbecile!" Secondo is shouting, muffled behind the blurred opalescence of the Veil: a wall that glows off the circle Terzo crosses, consumes him with the prickling unease of a limb losing its circulation. "You can't reason with it!"

The flames warp again. A shadow like death bends over the walls. 

Terzo's no stranger to the taste. His dreams have been riddled with the stench of it, from the day the Sight was force-gifted upon him. And like he had, then—a child with battered elbows and bruised knees; a not-man with awkward limbs and disdain for the old orders of this world; a Cardinal with paint on his teeth and a straightjacket of woolen expectations—he repents.

"I call on the spirits of the Then and the Below." A twitch strings through his fingers: with it, a flare of violet light. "To the Beings of those Beyond, the Eternal, I speak now, and speak only—" The pitch of his voice mangles, ragged with the corded growl of a beast: the underbelly all their half-human souls peel clean, when drowned deep enough in this waste. "In my Blood, see my will. In my Sight, my path—"

"What is he saying?" Mariella asks, her voice muffled as though through glass.

Primo calls a sharp warning: "Don't cross it—"

The air whistles with a faint singing of metal—and splits. It grapples at his clothes, twisting his hair with a gravitational pull unseen. 

He breathes in chalk dust, sighs out knives.

Beneath Copia's shivering limbs ripples the black expanse of the Gate: an aether so endless one couldn't capture its history in a millennia: a presence so indefinable that even Primo, with years of such history under his belt, can only stare through the blur, voiceless and rigid at the sight of it.

With twitching claws and lightless eyes and Hell beneath his feet, Terzo beckons.

"Bare yourself to me."

The room shivers. The walls shriek. The flames stagger, flutter, wheeze again—and snuff out, completely. 

In the pitch, it is only the Eternal, and the glow within his veins, and the white of his eye, and Copia's beast-man-beast-man-fanged grin with a split lip— 

A Being that takes the air of the room by the throat, and speaks in a voice that thunders.

"It is time."

Terzo feels its presence slithering up his legs. The weight of its All on his lungs. 

He keeps his hands steady, his intent clear, even for the exertion that leaves his arms quivering.

"Not here," he grits back, a strange echo in the ringed light that encases them. "Not now."

A hand that is not Copia's, is scaled and rotted and red, slaps to the stones. "When?" The shriek hits his ears like a thunderstrike. A chill is crawling under his veins: a heaviness that isn't right, is this thing more than his own blood. "When?"

Primo's magic is wafting through the air—some swift-casted attempt at a ward around them, far too late now. The scent of it itches on Terzo's tongue: dragon's blood, rose-ash, frigid at his back. His own aura swats it off like a gnat, too distracted to let it in, to think.

Fuck, he needs to think.

A stage—

The Being wails.

His downfall—this one's own Ascension—

Ice knifes into his ankle.

A stage and heat and lights and purple-bleeding-black and blood on his throat—a syringe in his brother's own hands, a demon masqueraded—his Unnamed's voice gristling in his ear, Be still be still be still now—

Mariella squeezes a talisman in her palm, smoking sweetly with the taste of Secondo's own protection charm. 

"Papa," she calls out: her voice a muddy, drowned thing.

His lashes flutter open, heavy as lead. 

"Coward!" the Being retches. Hellfire blisters against its silhouette, a nebulic haze. "Tell them of your death. Of Our purpose. Where We were sewn. You know it—"

Mariella holds the stone out to him, guided through the surging current of Primo's ward. The air wrestles like a gale through her sleeve.

"You know it!"

His claws catch at her palm—not his gloves, but his own, thick and black as talons. The talisman burns a sunspot-bloom through his marrow, bright as a thousand stars.

"Thirteen months." His speech is one he doesn't recognize: child and entity and Bloodline infinite. "On a black dais, surrounded by your flock." The talisman melts like a balm into his skin: an unseen shield that ripples with half-lit iridescence. The chill biting into his skin flinches. "You will know it," Terzo grits on, "and now is not it."

He thinks he hears Copia's voice through the fray. He can't be sure.

"And then?" snarls the Being.

Not a being. Not a thing. 

No—this is Lucifer-incarnate.

An orchestration.

"It won't be finished, then." The shell of magic around them snaps like embers in a flame, a jolt wrestling up his arm. So much time. So much weighed down—and he weighs it down, still, his breath shuddering. "You'll have years to go—"

"And then?"

Scraped nails, dead eyes, bloodied horns, Copia—

Secondo's gloved palm tears through the gleam, squeezes like a noose around his bicep. "I won't say it again, you fuck," he spits, the words warped and crackling. "You're going to get him killed—"

He can't shake him off quickly enough. 

"Close it!"

Copia's eyes. Copia's soul, trapped in the All. Right there—

His magic flares like a supernova, spears through that gate and holds: a cosmic blast that shouts his throat raw, knocks Secondo nearly off his feet, leaves him lightheaded and with blood on his teeth—but he has him—

"Thirteen months' time," the Being roars, "and you'll be taken with it."

Terzo hisses, his claws scraping at his brother's skin. 

"So is the Rule."

The Gate grapples at his silks. 

Copia's gloved fingers shake, snatching desperately at his arms. His own voice breaks through the loom. "Terz—"

"I've got you," Terzo spats. Sweat sticks at his neck. 

The fibers of his magic are fraying at the edges. 

Red eyes glare up at him. "Do you accept it?"

The portal whines.

"To the day it is marked, you'll have it. As it is written." His claws slip on Copia's sleeve. "As it always was."

The Being grins. "And so it will be."

It spits his brother out.

His hold on the Gate snaps like a wire—and shatters the well of magic, with it. The howl torrents through the room with a cello's blare, and whips to a bee-winged nothingness.

With the loss of it, gravity lurches in his gut. He cracks to his knees, catches himself on the stones just enough—gloves still intact, not torn through, only clawed with gold—and heaves blood. 

"Papa!"

And his brother. His damned demon brother: rubber-legged, staggering, Copia gasps like a man near-drowned.

Unscathed, somehow—Satan willing.

Primo is across the room, in an instant. "Copia. Unblessed beneath, are you alright?"

"Ye-Yes, yes, I—shit." Primo catches him, his gloves slipping at his sleeves. Unsteadily, he veers back on his feet. "What...what happened?" 

It's too dark. Too quiet. Too loud.

Terzo swallows down bile; chokes on blood and phlegm. Mariella's habit swims in his vision.

"Papa," she hushes, clear as crystal now. "Papa, look at me." 

Secondo, halfway between them: "Is it gone?"

Her fingers skim through the sweat-dripped mess of his paints: press cooly at his temple.

"Is it gone?"

"Yes," she breathes.

Hazily, lashes flicking, Terzo tips out of her touch. He chokes on his words, the first try; rasps them, the second. "Where's the rat?"

"He's here," Primo answers him. "He's fine."

There's a clumping of boots, a rustling of silks, Mariella scurrying from the floor.

"What in Hell's name were you thinking." Secondo's hand jerks at his sleeve, wrestles him half-blind back into his bones. "You could have doomed us all. We never—never—speak to the Unnamed without wards in place. You know that—"

"Brother," Copia croaks.

Secondo rips his head over his shoulder. "You shut your mouth. I haven't even gotten to you." With a firm grip, his hand slips under Terzo's arm, helps him slowly to his feet. "Get up," he huffs. "Come on. Are you alright?"

"I'm—fuck. Fine. I'm fine."

His elder brother scowls down at him. "Good. And you better stay that way, because I have half a goddamned mind to put a fist through your teeth—"

"Dino," Primo snarls, "This is helping nothing." Years of practice in such misguided events has left him rationed, calm: a quiet glance turned to the pale-faced attendant behind him, who stands shell-shocked, having seen unwantedly the darker veins of their Order—and ones their customs would soon have him forget. "Jean," Primo says, waiting for his eyes to drop. "We will need a medic. Say nothing to the All-Father."

Secondo scoffs. "Oh, yes—Nihil will have this one's ass, when he hears of this—"

"Saints—ignore him, young one. A medic, and Priestess Diana. Quick as you can."

The boy nods and takes off through the hall's doors, stumbling up the stairs in his haste.

In his absence, the room holds a collective breath, the eyes of the siblings still in attendance fixed like rabbits on the four men clustered in the center of the room.

"We're alright," Primo says to them all, in a tone that is more order than reassurance.

It couldn't be more of a reach.

Terzo wheezes a snarl, a laugh. "Alright." The stones sting beneath his feet: five paces that drive him out of Secondo's iron grip, steer him straight into the path of Copia's saucer-wide blinking: eyes blue and white and younger than they should ever seem, in a face that has grown so weathered, as all of them have.

And he knew.

He lifts a clawed finger, his breath too slow. "I knew."

Primo, sharp as steel: "Do not take this out on him—"

He couldn't give a shit. 

He almost killed him.

The bastard wasn't living.

"What are you, mh?" Terzo licks his lips, tastes the bitter metal of blood. He lifts a shaky hand. "No, no—what did she make you?" He smears the leather against his mouth, the heat of his stare unwavering, a knife-edge sliced from shoes to frazzled fringe. "That—that Aether just within you, eh? Always that, under there?"

Copia shakes. "I didn't," he blunders.

"This is why she brought you, isn't it? Satan, of course—"

Secondo wrestles for his elbow, a steadying squeeze. "Terzo—"

"You saw it—!"

His brother's eyes simmer: one black in the lowlight, the other white as a moonbeam. "I saw you."

His bites his nails through his glove. Rattles in a breath.

"Calm down, the both of you," Primo says coldly, a hand still on Copia's shoulder. "It was reckless—but you managed. We are all still in one piece." He steps between them, pointedly, studying Terzo's face like a leech. "Your Sight will be strained for weeks, after that. You did not have the power to even attempt that on your own."

Terzo snuffs. "A good thing one of us sorry shits did."

Behind the sharp slope of Primo's shoulder, Copia shivers, eyes downturned. "I—"

"Don't." He drags a gloved hand through his hair. Shaking—still shaking? Outraged—always. Horrified, still. "You're good," he tells his brother, tells himself. "It is all good. You're alright. Okay."

Primo's eyes stare through him, see a bitten-lipped boy with a bandage on his cheek.

Terzo turns away. "Okay," he hushes again, and walks, past Secondo's stone-still glare, Mariella's worried frown, and walks, and walks, and walks—

"You are not running away, now—"

"Dino. Leave it. Copia, do not linger on that, alright? Don't listen to it. You know how he is. It is not your fault—"

"But what—what was that? What happened—?"

—up the gnarled stairwells, out the maze of lower halls, stumbling over the grasses, and sits like a stone on the side-entry's steps. Like a ghost.

Sits for an age.

He must—because, by then, the medics have come, and the stench of that room has been dragged open, and Mariella's whispers are drifting across the corridor's arches—after he's ripped off his gloves, dug his fingers through his hair, tried to breathe and not think—and he expects her. 

He expects her fear, her pity.

Not Copia.

The fool's boots scuff on the stairs.

"Is it, eh..." His brother muddles over a breath. "Alright if I—?"

Terzo doesn't have the mind to fight it—not with sweat still cold at his back. He swats his palm, some attempt at allowance, kneading his other fingers over his brow.

Copia slumps down to the steps. Just stays there, in awkward, insufferable silence.

Finally: "Shit—it's chilly today, isn't it?"

Terzo leers through his fringe. "Going to talk about the birds, next?"

"I'm just saying."

"Just saying. Yes—and you'll be singing, after." He combs back the half-tamed waves of his hair, hangs his hand across his knee. "Old chamber smells like a cesspool."

Copia manages a smile, the thistles of his mustache wrinkling. "Bleh. Nasty place. I've always hated it, down there."

"All the more reason to, now, huh?" Terzo forces a sneer of his own, glaring away. He sniffs. Pits his tongue against his teeth.

For a beat, his brother says nothing. Then, his gloved fingers squeaking over each other: "I'm alright."

Terzo chuffs, furrowing his brows. "Barely."

He can feel the rat's eyes on him. It makes his skin crawl. "Primo...told me. What it—well." Copia frowns at his boots, at the graveled path beyond. "Did you mean it?" he hushes, lifting his eyes. "That you've...seen it, before?"

Terzo bites the inside of his lip. "Seen lots of things."

"But—that. It's—I've always thought...er...felt that, maybe, she'd..."

"Sister?"

"Mother, yes—"

"Your mother."

Copia's shoulders twitch.

"I—sorry," Terzo mumbles, shifting his fingers over his thumb. "I know it's not..." 

His fault, his intention—his anything, right?

But it is. Isn't.

Should be.

He flexes his hand, pitters his fingertips together. Looks away. "Anyway."

A breeze rustles cooly through the shrubbery that flanks the stairs: a feathered hush along the pines that tower over the grounds.

"Anyway," Copia repeats, shifting his tongue around his mouth. "It's just...you, eh...you have seen it, before," he says again, watching the air ripple through the leaves, "haven't you?"

Terzo glances at him. Sister's sloped nose. A paintbrush-smattering of freckles. The white of his eye, fixed on the swaying branches. Lanky little thing, as he's always been. The mirror to his own placelessness, own purposelessness, own forced mantle he never asked to have thrown upon him—but craved, clawed for, claimed, nonetheless.

"Told you, little thing," he says, tipping his heel off the stones. "Seen lots of things."

"But I know. I've always...felt it, I just haven't—" Copia fumbles, lacing his fingers. "Had the words, I guess." 

"Rare thing, for you."

"Shut up."

"Heh—even rarer for me, eh?"

"Ugh."

They breathe in unison, the air thick with it: hope, despair, magic, emptiness.

"When it...when that...thing took over me, did it...say anything to you?"

Terzo's mouth ticks.

Thirteen months. Poison in his neck. His body tossed through the gaping maws of the realm beyond.

He stares at the points of his boots, still speckled with his own spit and blood, and scuffs his thumb at it.

"Eh...not clearly. Hard to make out, in the muck of it."

"None of it came through?"

Terzo tilts his chin on his shoulder, fixing him with a narrowed look. "It wasn't you, Coppie," he says. "Just...forget what I said, before. Old temper of mine, rearing its shitting head again."

"But what if—"

"It wasn't." Terzo plants his palm on his brother's knee, chipped black on his nails, and squeezes. "It wasn't," he murmurs again.

Copia stutters. "Well, even if it wasn't—it—it felt like I was..."

"Delirious?" He perks one brow, fox-grinned in his usual reach for deflection, distraction. "Dead, even?"

"Whole."

The smile wanes. 

For a breath, he tries to hunt for that beast beneath his brother's skin—the way he so often does in the steamed glass of his own mirrors, and so easily sees it in them: the spire-teeth, the winged limbs, the eyes half-living. 

He finds only a quivery little boy, tucked in the cage of a man's body. The same one who spent years, against all odds—against his own stupid, spiteful jealousy—clinging like a barnacle to his side.

He slides his hand away. "The Sight does it to all of us, little rat. Strips away the Veil." He picks at his thumb, the gravel hazing to a fine blur, and swallows: white stone crisping to clarity, again. "Catch an Emeritus in the right light—even a clueless one can see the Fallen in them."

Copia frowns.

Maybe it's not a comfort. All the more proof that he isn't one of them, as he has so often feared.

The Other, above all else.

"But what if I am?" he says quietly. "Whatever that...thing was? Will, eh...will something happen, if that's true?"

Terzo lifts his eyes to the sky—grayish with cloud-cover, damp with the chilled humidity of a storm along the way, something to wash this whole mess clean—and lies through his teeth. 

"Happen?" he snides. "What is this—Armageddon, itself? You worry worse than Nonna, Coppie." He wrinkles his brows at him, his smile thin, his paints half-smeared off his face. "And even if you were—would it be so bad? All of us are hardly human, eh? Perhaps you are just farther along the evolutionariness—the truest Creature of the Night, of us all." His eyes widen, teasingly. "I mean—psh! I will have my fangs, no? And the pincher, his wolf-pelt, and Primo will, eh...Hell, what would the old goat be?"

Copia rolls his eyes, leaning into the cradle of his elbows. "A zombie?"

"Feh—the Nihilist is the rotting corpse, surely."

His brother rolls into a snicker. "Sea creature?"

"Agh—not the lagoon man! We will insult the dear river's integrity, with such things—no, no." Terzo sniffs, feigns smearing away his paints instead of the heat itching at his eye, and smiles wryly again. "Let's be realistic, here—the old gardenia will be the enchanted plant that traps one's bones for the witches, yes?"

Copia wheezes on another laugh.

Saints, he hates that laugh. Godawful sound, a mimicry of his own: a snort and a tea kettle and a giggle all in one. 

The brightest sunbeam of any.

"He has to be the, er—the witch, right?" Copia wonders, giving him a teasing glance.

Terzo flashes his teeth. "Now, if that is the category—I will rule above them all, no?"

And his brother laughs again.

Their little brother, little demon, little star. The highest heir of them all, doomed to a path he should have never been put on—as all of them are, in their own ways. Always have been; always will be.

Terzo ignores Primo's shadow in the corridor, flanked by Mariella's quiet eyes. Ignores the hawkish leer of Secondo's folded-armed scowling, waiting to deflect the plague that will no doubt burst into the halls, once news of it all has reached the ears of their Highest.

At least for this moment, he can pretend.

Flit away what is yet to come, like a bottle tossed to the sea—Nihil, Sister, this brother tressed in silks and jewels for a price he hadn't the slightest knowledge would be paid—and goad another laugh out of him, and another. 

Relish in the denial that this is all that ever was. Ever could be. 

Copia: blushing, teary-eyed but toothy, knocking his shoulder into his—unable to do anything but choke at the idiotic scenarios he conjures for the four of them, in all their monsterly glory. As distracted as he deserves to be, after that wretched thing. The memory of it all forgotten, if for a moment.

And that's enough, Terzo thinks, the cool tang of rain on the gales.

For now, maybe, that's enough.

#writing #the band ghost #ghost band fanfic #papa emeritus iii #papa iii #papa terzo #terzo #papa emeritus iv #papa iv #copia #papa copia #cardinal copia #this is just 4k of whump i truly have no words #🫡 #sorry? #buckle up for magic shenanigans #and family dysfunction: per usual #we're on angst train again that when terzo isn't a chronic flirt he's maybe actually a Mess (tm) #they all are in their own ways let's be fr #tw: blood #tw: dark themes

[eternally-frozen]

Private lessons

Synopsis: Dottore got kicked out of his studies due to various concerns about his psychological wellbeing. You, on the other hand, are currently majoring in biology - human anatomy and psychology. When he met you, you we’re still bright. Eager to learn and eager to follow the school system that ‘withholds’ true knowledge from it’s students. Dottore takes his opportunity to show you how things really work.

Warning: Dottore is crazy. you’re kidnapped but there’s no actual kidnapping scene, he tries to teach you about the brain by showing you a brain, he cuts the skull of a living dude, he also drugged the dude, you vomit, mentions of snot, dark themes in general, awake brain surgery, implied intimacy, hude dead dove do not eat, 

Note: This is a modern setting, but everything is still in Teyvat. The akedemiya doesn’t get mentioned - you go to a different school. No visions mentioned, no clones mentioned. Idk why I wrote this - an angry spirit probably possessed me /j

Song recommendation: In pieces - Madison York

You used to study biology. Human anatomy and psychology, to be specific.

You used to, and somewhere along the way you got acquainted with Zandik.

Perhaps if you weren’t as busy, you wouldn’t have been fooled by his charming façade. Maybe you’d have noticed the obvious insanity in his eyes, Il Dottore, the second of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers, before it was too late.

But despite all your attempts at resisting, he remains stubborn.

You are so in love with your major, and who’d want that passion to die down because studies are held back due to ‘morals’ and rules.

You can’t imagine his reaction should the moment come where you find the courage to tell him you never wanted to study your major in his way.

Months prior, he crashed into your life like a bullet flying out of its barrel and straight into someone’s chest.

He’d cause a sequence of terrible events, ranging from one of your friends dying in a gang fight – to being disowned by your family after you’d gotten expelled with student loans suddenly driving you into debt.

All you had, was no more. And he was to blame.

Your life was done for, even if he opted to keep you alive for whatever reason he had in his deranged mind.

But, it wasn’t all bad at first. Dottore might’ve seemed like a normal man at some point. A bit intense, but previously never dangerous in your eyes.

He’d been your saviour only a few months ago. If not for him, you’d still be stuck with your thesis. It was mostly your fault for choosing a subject you didn’t particularly like, and yet, he’d spend his free evenings tutoring you, explaining the things you failed to understand with patience and reward.

You used to like talking with him.

At one point he brought you comfort and joy. You couldn’t help but search for his crimson eyes within the crowds of Sumeru city, hoping to catch him before you’d head to your next class.

But everything comes to an end eventually, and when you finished your thesis you stopped visiting him.

You wonder, had your choices been different – had you kept visiting him – would you still be in bliss, unaware of those crimson eyes stalking you?

And despite everyone close to you either dying or getting hurt, he only lost his temper with you once.

It must’ve been a petty argument, you can’t remember what you two had been screaming about, but knowing him, it must’ve been related to your studies.

In the heat of the argument he grabbed you by your arms with enough force to make you fear him. His grip was strong, leaving you no place to escape until you’d finally admitted you were the one in the wrong.

Zandik does not feel any emotions – you know this. His eyes are always distant, thinking about something that’s probably incomprehensible to you. The only time he ever had emotion in his eye was during that argument. Almost like a light returning, if only for a split moment.

It had taken a full week for the bruises to fade away. Not that it mattered much, no one was able to see the bruises on you. Only a few hours after the argument, he made up his mind; he’d take you.

Whatever that light in his eyes was, it had been a clear sign. Somewhere along the way you had provoked him to kidnap you and take you away from everything you knew.  

You have a huge gap in your memories of that time. For you it felt like you woke up in a different nation after the argument with Dottore. When you first woke up and asked him about it, he calmly told you it was your punishment – or whatever that was supposed to mean.

He’d taken you from Sumeru all the way across different nations until he reached his destination in the frozen lands of Snezhnaya. On your first day there he told you his real identity and his affiliations with the Tsarista.

Even with that information, his motivations remained unclear. Confusion floods your mind at night when you lay next to his sleeping body. Why would he keep you by his side? Why does he insists on doing this? Is he toying with you?

You can only imagine him wanting you to lower your guard.

Not that he’d ever let you though.

As hard as it is to admit, He likes you. Your reactions make his heart beat faster and he wildly encourages you to do the craziest things.

A sick smile paints his face whenever you hurl objects at his face, probably entertained by your futile attempts to harm him. Furthermore, the way he condescendingly lures you into discussions only for him to explain why you’re in the wrong.

You hate him.

You really fucking hate him.

The door behind you is locked, you checked it moments before.

Is this another one of his lessons?

“You wanted to learn more about human anatomy, correct?”

Dottore’s voice is steady, never revealing any emotions to you. His eyes move up, watching your glare waver when you meet his crimson gaze. You continue to linger by the exit, despite it being locked.

“No.”

Your voice is weak. It breaks and the tone wavers. Dottore watches your eyes dart around the room. He had made it clear; there’s no exit, not without him granting you one.

And how he loves your wide eyes looking everywhere aside from the person he drugged and laid on an operation table. Your hands are in fists, occasionally clenching together before slightly relaxing again, undoubtedly clampy from the sweat. It’s precious. You’re anxious.

“For someone who is so passionate to study behaviour, you’re awfully weak at acknowledging your own.”

He’s mocks you.

You try to even your breaths, in- and out again. You’re uncertain what he’s trying to teach you. Yesterday he’d gotten a random set of organs for you to study. Today? The drugged man on the table, the tools laid out on a sterile table..

Fuck. You’re so fucked.

Dottore lifts up a pair of latex gloves. White, the same type he made you use yesterday.

His voice continues,

“Did you ever get the joy of participating in the lectures of the human brain? Or did I get you expelled before experiencing them?”

He keeps his relaxed smile but slightly tilts his face down, eyes taunting you to lash out at him.

Still, you reply with as much control as you can muster,

“Yes.” - the basics you know. “I experienced…the first few lectures.”

Your voice trails off as you watch him move around the operation table. He helps the person on the table upright before attaching him to a device, something to keep his head from moving around.

You try to stand your ground. Part of you wants to believe him. He always tells you, ‘You know I can’t hurt you, bunny’.  But what truths do his words hold when he failed that promise long ago?

“Did you know, in the third year or so,-“

You watch him circle around the table. His fingers move down towards the tools, he lifts up something connected to a wire. You can’t see what it is exactly, so you move your eyes back to him.

“They showed us a brain.” He laughs, “Of course not a ‘real’ one.”

He walks around the person, stopping at the end where his head lays. The male in on the operation table tries to move his head up, but the frame keeps his head restricted.

Dottore continues,

“The academia used ones that were preserved and taken from people who lived an average life. They all died at old age, but not before signing a contract to donate their bodies to science once their family had mourned them.”

He waves his hand towards the chair that is placed in the middle of the empty room. It’s facing the side of the operation table. Probably set up to get a clearer view of both the ‘patient’ and Dottore.

“Sit down.”

You gulp down hard. The room itself is big, but smaller than any others you’ve seen.

The manor he resides remains largely unused. By now you’re used to the piles of dust and the spiders that hide in the corners of each room.

When you first explored his home it looked abandoned. Untouched and deprived from anything ‘homey’. But after a week or so, familiar items started to pop up.

Books previously in your possession, ranging from children stories to the sappy romance ones you used as your little escape, they all found its way here. It created a weird sense of safety – and he probably planned it like that.

He had also obtained multiple portraits. There’s one in the grand hall that paints a way too accurate version of yourself next to Dottore, his arm encircled around your waist as you both smile forward.

You hate the paintings.

But the creepiest things he obtained is the collection of stuffed animals that you used to sleep with.

When you first work up in his manor you’d been tucked into a king sized bed with fluffy blankets, multiple pillows and the nostalgic plushies. Your new bedroom was designed like your old one. Similar and comfortable, but after a week he decided to put an end to that safety.

You can only assume he burned the stuffed animals along with the pictures of friends and family that’d long been replaced with his face.

Though, you wonder how he’d gotten them in the first place. Part of you was worried for your family. Had he been at your parents’ home? It couldn’t be, why would he go through all that effort…

The floor creaks as you move your legs forward to the chair. He keeps his gaze on your form, and you return his gaze fiercely. Any form of fear he’ll take as submission, leading to worse ‘lessons’.

Still, your thoughts are less controlled. Will he lunge forward when you sit down? What’s up with the operation setting? What will he gain from this? What’s todays lesson?

He gives you a small smile when you sit down onto the chair. It’s not close enough to the table for you to feel intimidated. You’re still three meters away from Dottore. You pull your legs together and try to pull your dress down more. You feel exposed in the empty room.

You can do this.

“Book.”

You panic for a second and he smirks before tauntingly pointing his index finger towards an item on the floor; the book.

It’s nearby, so you lean down and grab it.

You recognise it. It’s the same one you were studying before he kidnapped you.

You remember the first few chapters. It contains an introduction about the anatomy of the brain, dividing it in parts, telling the reader what each side does, and how the brain works when stimulated in certain circumstances.

You remember only diving deep into the functions of the frontal lobe. You fail to recall them now, you’re too stressed out.

Despite the stress, you’re able to figure out today’s lecture.

Dottore speaks up, “Lesson one,”

His red eyes watch you lift your chin up. Your eyes are wide and shaken. Your chest is heaving up and down as you start to hyperventilate. Dottore’s breaths in deeply and his pupils dilate.

‘Smart girl.’

He inhales sharply though his nose, “A human can undergo a conscious brain surgery. You know how it works, I assume?”

You part your lips slightly, horror in your eyes as you weakly shake your head.

The guy on the table is a male. Average in height and weight. He has no noticeable features and seems to be only a few years older than you. You can see his skull from your position. There’s a dotted line drawn across his forehead.

He’s going to exercise a conscious brain surgery.

“Dottore.” You breath out, eyebrows furrowed together. “Please.”

You only see the side of his face, but you get a clear view of the grin that breaks free.

“Don’t worry. He signed a waiver of agreement to make you feel more at ease.”

He flips on a button and the tool in his hand starts buzzing. You recognise it now, it’s a medical drill, something to cut bones with. When he moves it up to the patient’s skull and you quickly avert your gaze.

You feel bile starting to rise from your stomach and you gag in response. Your fists clench onto the book, trying to keep you grounded. You can hear Dottore’s voice, though the words don’t register in your brain.

Water pools onto your lower eyelid and you lift a hand up to your mouth keep yourself from puking. Your eyes are casted onto the ground. Each inhale though your nose physically hurts. The disgusting aftertaste of vomit remains in the back of your throat.

Is it too late to pray?

The buzzing sounds continue for longer than you like, and when it stops you remain in your position, frozen in place.

You focus on breathing. In, and out again. Your body is trembling and you jolt when you feel two hands place themselves onto your arms.

“Please,” Dottore’s face is only a few inches away from yours. Within his strong grip you’re at his mercy. He watches you struggle a few more seconds before he sternly tells you to quit it.

You let out a pathetic sob, leaning forward into his direction, letting your head fall down in defeat. Tears and snot run down your face. His hold on you is the only thing keeping you from tumbling down onto the ground.

“We will continue this until you’ve properly learnt your stupid biology. It’s up to you to decide how many people get to die. Understood?”

You shake your head weakly. “I can’t.”

He groans, “You must, and you will.”

He releases his grip on your arms. When your body falls forward he puts a hand on your sternum, pushing you back with ease.

His fingerprints burn onto your skin. The latex gloves are no longer sterile, you can feel the blood staining your dress and skin, but you doubt he cares.

Dottore watches as you slowly compose yourself. It takes a bit, but he remains silent.  

“There we go.” He removes the hand that’s been pushing you into the chair. “Wasn’t that hard was it?”

Your eyes remain fixed on the floor for a few more seconds. You listen to Dottore’s footsteps. He’s gone and you feel your body start to tremble again.

You don’t want this. You never wanted this.

Something tells you to look up.

You wish you didn’t.

The upper part of the man’s skull is removed. You have a clear view of the brain that’s been exposed to the air. The removal was done with precision, not a part of his brain is harmed.

A drop of blood floods down from the open part of his skull to his eyes. You watch the male groan weakly in response.

He’s still alive.

Dottore watches your body hit the ground before you vomit. You sob, whine and gag. Your small hands fly all over the place. One placed on the ground, trying to keep yourself from falling into the pool of vomit, while the other is busy wiping away the snot, vomit and tears that fall from your face.

A warm smile creeps up on Dottore’s face as he watches your intense reaction.

“Y/N.” He snaps his fingers once.

You stop your movements.

Are you going to die? Is he mad because you vomited? You lift a shaky hand up to your mouth.

His shoes come in view once again. His head is close to yours, he’s crouching down in front of you.

Time seems to stop as you gaze back into his crimson eyes.

“Hello?” He snaps his fingers in front of you.

You blink and you move your eyes back to the ground. The pool of vomit makes you sick again.

”S…sorry-“ You sob once more.

He rubs his fingers between his brow, a revelation hitting him.

With a somewhat sudden movement he stands up, frightening you and making you sob even harder.

You’re no sight to behold at the moment. Covered in vomit, tears and snot running down your face, and reeking of sweat.

He undoubtedly put himself in a less than favourable situation.

After today he’s going to have to deal with delays in your study and those nightmares that you get.

Whatever.

A small miscalculation on his part.

He takes off his white lab coat and throws it onto the male on the operation table, covering the exposed brain and likely injuring it in the process.

He has no intention to keep the patient.

The experiment had long lost his privilege to live.

Dottore’s experiment started to lose organ functions a few days ago. It’d eventually lead him to die without ever completing the tests Dottore put him under.

Truly unfortunate, but Dottore still gifted the dying man one last gift.

As Dottore turns his attention back to you he realises he might’ve fucked you up a bit though.

No worries.

He’ll patch you up again.

Tomorrow’s lesson can wait for now.

#❄️ winter: writes #tw: yandere #tw: dark themes #tw: graphic content #yandere #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere dottore #dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #harbinger x reader #genshin harbingers #fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #fatui #dead dove do not eat

[bleach-your-panties]

Intro:

Hello babies!!🖤🐦‍⬛

So, if you know a little bit about me, I am a big fan of horror stories and dark content. (Though I am a scaredy-cat in real life)

This collab idea came to me as I thought about the type of stories I like to read on Tumblr. I also enjoy reading creepy reddit threads like r/Backwoods Creepy and r/creepyencounters. Shoutout to Tallulah ( @antizenin ) for making me get back on Reddit, lol.

So! The theme of this collab is urban legends, myths, fairytales, weird irl encounters; and, fantastical stories (that may or may not be true). Think of Ripley's Believe It or Not and Beyond Belief: Fact or Fiction.

How to Join:

🖤Send me a message and tell me a bit about the story that inspires your submission, your chosen fandom(s), and character(s). Joining multiple times is allowed.

🖤Keep in mind that the entire theme of this collab is dark, unsettling, weird, creepy, and horrifying. So 18+ will be required to join.

🖤If you have a real-life experience that inspires you, feel free to use it!

🖤Inspiration may be drawn from existing urban legends and myths (Candyman, Bloody Mary, Creepypasta, etc.) but do not copy them directly! I want to see you make up your own!

🖤Any fandoms are welcome, not just anime.

🖤No submission deadline. Take your time, dearies~

🖤Please tag your posts with appropriate content labels/trigger warnings, and use the 'read more'. Tag me in completed posts and tag #🐦‍⬛fantastic once you're done!

🖤I look forward to reading what you've written!

📜✒️Posts:

🐦‍⬛Haikyuu!!

the abhorrent tale of the scandalous semen six

character(s): seijoh 4 + kuuro tetsurou and kozume kenma

cw: murder, semen in food, kidnapping

told by: bleach-your-panties

🐦‍⬛Jujutsu Kaisen

false prophets

character(s): geto suguru

cw: incubus, religious themes, manipulation, coercion, dub-con

told by: bleach-your-panties

🐦‍⬛Tokyo Revengers

title tbd

character(s): haruchiyo sanzu

cw: tbd

told by: @ranspuppy

never be a wedding plan for the heartless

character(s): kisaki tetta

cw: mental illness, torture, murder, more tbd

told by: @ksakiswh0re-xo

My Hero Academia 🐦‍⬛

hardest to love

character(s): todoroki touya "dabi"

cw: stalking, voyeurism, self-harm, pyromania, f! masturbation, dubcon, coercion, unprotected sex (wrap it up kids!), degradation

told by: @sincerelyzee

🐦‍⬛fantastical myths collab ©bleach-your-panties 2024.

#🐦‍⬛fantastic #writing collab #anime collab #anime x reader #fandom x reader #writing community #writing event #any fandom #dividers by firefly-graphics #banner made with piccollage #tw: dark content #tw: dark themes #byp🌹

[inkblot22]

What's Worse?

I finally finished this. This unpostable thing. It's done and even if it's bad, I do not care. In the end, it ended up being 4k words and I'm okay with this. Header by @/cafekitsune

Who is this fic for? I tried to keep this one very neutral despite the many references to body parts, so anyone who can handle it is free to read! Keep in mind that pronouns such as you and they are used to refer to the reader. The reader is human and does have hair.

TW for coercion, noncon, dubcon, allusions to a physically and emotionally abusive dynamic, captivity, everyone is at least a little bit untrustworthy in this, mentions of the smell of blood, beastman-specific oddities and anatomy, violent and morbid similes. Just in case, I'd like to say that this is DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. A lot of the stuff is more so implied than explicitly stated, but it's still there.

The day he moved up a grade and began his “internship” is the same day he took you with him. Sure, Grim came along, but you’re often so busy, or he’s often so busy, either way. So you haven’t seen your familiar in months, and your life is filled with Leona.

You don’t know why he did this, but the first night you were there, he tapped your uvula with his fingers as he orally serviced you so feverishly that you left teeth indent bruises on his knuckles from biting down so hard as you tried not to be loud. He wore them like jewelry, and you know his brother saw them. Everyone at the table knew what happened, because, according to Leona, no matter how often you shower, the way you smell will always give you away.

That was a little over six months ago. As far as captivity goes, it’s rather cushy. You stay within the confines of the Afterglow Savannah’s palace. Sometimes Leona gets a bit aggressive and you take it, but you’re fed, clothed, and possibly pampered. It could be worse. It could be far worse. You could be in the dungeons. 

You actually don’t know if this place has a dungeon, come to think of it. The last time you asked Leona, he asked you if there was an issue with the room you shared with him. When you tried to explain why you asked, he called you a “dumb herbivore” in a very fond tone of voice, then fell asleep. You didn’t try asking again.

It didn’t stop you from wandering. As it turns out, the Afterglow is mostly populated by beastmen… beastpeople? Aren’t all people beasts? Whatever, the point is, you’re basically the only person in the palace with muted senses. You often think back to Rook, wondering how he trained himself to use his senses so well. You tried to practice once, but Leona caught you hiding a  ball and chucked the thing out the window, telling you to find something better to do with your “skills.” You sure used one of your senses, at least.

Unfortunately, these “muted” senses, despite them being completely sensible for your human state of being, have led to some issues. For instance, when someone approaches you, you don’t notice until they’re within your field of awareness. Beyond that, according to Leona, Farena, Cheka, and Farena’s wife, you also tend to just reek of blood.

You have no idea why, and you’ve never noticed this before. You get out of the shower, having scrubbed hard enough to rid yourself of any dirt but not enough to create micro-abrasions on your skin, and Leona still complains about it. You play fight with Cheka, gentle enough that neither of you gets harmed and he’s giggly, and he pauses his mirth and wrinkles his little nose before asking if you got hurt. Zuri, Farena’s wife, regularly would stop you whenever she saw you, her eyes wide as she asked you if everything was okay. The palace staff didn’t say anything, but they’d constantly be re-filling your first-aid kit, one that was “gifted” to you and one that the staff and Kifaji (despite him being human like you, or maybe just not obviously a beastman) insisted that you carry at all times.

But out of all of them, Farena was the worst. If you were in Cheka’s nursery, even just seconds after the kid fell asleep, Farena would pop out of nowhere. If you lingered a bit too long in the kitchen or hallways, anywhere too far from Leona’s wing, he’d approach with a smile, his arms spread wide. If you came to the dining hall without Leona’ his glowing brown eyes would find you, the intensity akin to a sudden knife wound. His persistence in being around you was all blanketed by his uncomfortable implications when he spoke to you.

Even so, you happened to somehow get lost. The hallways are sort of color-coded, but you’ve passed this same hallway several times, enough for you to be okay with admitting that you’ve been walking in a circle for the past twenty minutes. And, much like the devil, as soon as you thought that if you were there any longer, a certain lion-man would appear, Farena popped up and scooped you into a hearty hug as greeting, your feet coming off the floor.

“Leona’s partner!” He never calls you by name. It’s always just that. You are Leona’s partner, not your own person, you guess, “I knew I’d find you eventually.”

“Yes. Hello, your highness.” You wheezed as he placed you back on the floor.

“Oh, you’re so prickly, just like my baby brother. You two are a perfect match- he does like a bit of bite.”

You rarely knew how to respond to him, so you often didn’t. You just stared at him, like a total moron, but he continued talking like you aren’t giving him the most anserine of looks- a word he has used to describe you before, basically to your face.

“I’ve heard that you forgot your first aid kit. We don’t need you tripping and scratching yourself on Leona’s dresser again, and not with an inability to heal yourself.” He never gave you time to answer, “Of course, I know you aren’t magic, but those of you without it have made some wonderful inventions to make up for that.”

“Oh. Yeah, I just left for, like, two seconds so I could return something to the kitchen.”

He nodded, thoughtful, still smiling, “Well, did you hit your head? You’ve been walking in a circle, and you didn’t even stop to say hi to me.”

“No. I, uh.” You cast your gaze down the hallway closest to you, then looked back at Farena, “I am a bit lost. I guess someone else is usually with me when I’m wandering around.”

Leona is not the only person in his family with a cunning streak. You are marginally aware of this, and when Farena’s eyes narrowed, you sucked in a breath.

“Hmm. You’re right, Leona’s partner. It is rather strange not to see you by my baby brother’s side.”

It struck you multiple times in the past that the amount of times you bumped into Farena couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. He’s a king, so why was he never ruling or whatever kings did all day? It was incredibly strange, and you made the same subtle discomforted motions like clockwork. He usually pretended not to notice whatsoever.

His grin was always too bright. You did prefer Leona’s smirk, “Very well. It looks like I’ll need to escort you back to Leona’s quarters, won’t I?”

“Uh. I mean, if you’re not busy.”

“You’re such a mousy thing. Come,” He offered you his arm.

You took it, and true to his word, he led you back to Leona’s wing, then straight up to the door. He knocked, and you ducked out of his arm to cautiously open the door. Leona strolled out of the bathroom, hair and skin wet, his eyes not even skimming over you before they flashed to his brother, who strolled in as though he owned the place. Maybe he did. Who owns a palace if not the king?

“Ah, Leona! I found your partner, wandering the halls like a lost lamb.”

As soon as the words process in Leona’s mind, his green eyes are sliding to pin you down. Your limbs feel like lead, and you don’t move or emote, lest he strike. He’s like a snake when he’s like this, which is ironic. Perhaps it’s not ironic, and just comedic. Who knows?

Regardless, Farena keeps talking, “And I missed you at lunch! What a shame. They had your favorite, you know. Meat! And lots of it. Don’t you ever get hungry, being in here all the time?”

If not for everyone talking about the way your skin smells, that comment could have been written off entirely. It didn’t feel great, being indirectly told that you smell like fresh meat, and Leona wasn’t helping much.

“Mmm. No. I don’t like my meat that rare.” Leona grumbles, taking a seat on his bed and waving you over. “Hey, c’mere and braid my hair.”

What was worse? Being told you smell delicious or being told you didn’t smell delicious enough? It was one of those things. You cautiously tied off his braids, capping both of them in beads that Cheka had gifted you. His hair was wet, clinging to his skin as desperately as the water did. You caught yourself watching a drop sliding over Leona’s tattoo and hummed softly. 

Farena was still talking. You didn’t hear the beginning, and you didn’t care about the end, so you completely tuned him out so you could finger detangle the rest of Leona’s wet hair. While you were ignoring Farena, you were pointedly all too aware of Leona’s sounds of pleasure. It took you a while to get used to it. You were a primate, and he was a lion. More lion than ape. He snorted and rumbled, huffed and chuffed, his face twisted in a scowl. 

“Ah, what a shame. I’ll have to speak to you later, Leona. Perhaps you could talk about those plans with Zuri. I’m sure she’d love to listen.” You tuned back in as Farena turned to the door, opening it before remembering himself and waving at you, “Bye bye, Leona’s partner!”

When he was gone, almost as soon as the door was closed, Leona twisted his torso to grab you around the waist and pull you into one of his kisses. You read somewhere that the reason men kiss so… wetly is so they can mark their partner. It makes more sense if they just didn’t want to kiss with dry lips, but you’re no kissing expert. Leona is not an exception to this, you supposed. He always licked his lips before pressing them against yours, slicked with his saliva and often accompanied by a quiet, barely perceptible growl. 

His kisses were dizzying. Possibly because it was difficult to breathe while kissing someone, and possibly because you were usually held in a crushing vice whenever he kissed you. Your poor ribcage had been squeezed many times. 

And just as soon as it started, he dropped you unceremoniously and stood up, walking past your sprawled body on his floor, “We’ve got some big dinner to get to. Get dressed.”

You scrambled to your feet, “Big dinner?”

“Mhm. It’s some official’s birthday. I can’t be bothered to remember who.”

That made enough sense. In the time you’d been here, you’d learned pretty quickly that it wasn’t exactly worth it to go out of your way to be remembered positively by everyone, especially not since you were… with Leona. In all the time you’d been here, you’d never been sure about what the nature of your relationship with him was, either. Asking would get you some kind of snarky or irritated answer, and not asking but thinking about it made it hard to focus on anything else, so you didn’t think about it.

“Oh. You see Grim today?” You asked while getting dressed in your own green and black dashiki, like a couple’s outfit in the matching pattern of Leona’s.

Like he always did, he stared for a moment before making a few small adjustments. It was funny, he couldn’t be bothered to care about his own appearance, and yet, when it came to you…

“Yeah, He’s good. Still working on the mage stuff.”

“Mmm. Okay. Thanks.” You mumbled, lifting your arms so Leona could look you over again, “What?”

“You stink like my brother. If we had time, I’d fix that, but…”

“What does he smell like?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking what I smell like?” He snapped, and you flinched. Sometimes his irritation came with physical indications, but heavier than the physical indications was the energy around him, “Forget it. Stay close to me tonight.”

You usually did. You hated parties here, but more than the parties themselves, you hated the strangers who came up to you and just said whatever. Last time, someone approached you and asked how big Leona’s wallet was for you to stick around. You’re learning to like nobility less, not that you particularly liked them before..

You’re tucked against Leona’s back for the entirety of the evening. He’s like a ward. People see him and walk the opposite direction unless they’re drunk or stupid, and those types are in short supply at the beginning of the night. Unfortunately, by the middle of the night, amongst sips of his drinks and nibbles of various finger foods, you felt exhausted and Leona was straight up pissed.

You wondered why for a bit too long. You barely even realized when you ended up back in his room, outside on his balcony. He was stewing, pouting like a toddler. You unstuck yourself from his side and sat in one of the chairs.

“Mmm.” He grumbled. He often did this, putting a noise to his emotion, but no words to explain himself. You’d wised up and figured out early on that it was best not to approach him for this type of thing, “Hey, runt.”

Uh oh. He tended to use that nickname before he did something foul to you. You squirmed in your chair and flinched as he turned around and yanked his shirt over his head. His pants went next. Leona didn’t bother with underwear.

“C’mere. What are you hidin’ in the corner for?” He mumbles, “We’ve got time now.”

Your uh oh gets multiplied. It’s not that you aren’t attracted to Leona, or that you’re not in the mood. It’s not that you’re terrified of him, not that you’re confused by his awkward libido. It’s that you honestly don’t know what he sees in you, sprinkled with a bit of relationship insecurity. You’re here because of him, you and Grim have a home because of him, but what’s going to happen when he gets bored with you? 

He looks over his shoulder at you sharply, “What the hell are you doin’? I said c’mere.”

You swallowed and took a few steps forward, stripping as you walked. The night air makes your skin tingle with goosebumps, your nipples hardening and a shiver rattling through you. It’s a very strong possibility that these feelings have beset you based only on the fact that someone could look up from Zuri’s garden and see you and Leona, both naked on his balcony.

 When you’re standing in front of him, he just stares, one of his hands ever so gently stroking himself. You think it’s funny, the phrase “playing with yourself,” because that is what it is. His fingers softly paw at his heavy balls, gliding up the base of his shaft to tweak the head of his cock under his foreskin. He doesn’t break his gaze on you to look at himself. The hand that is not busy with himself reaches out to grab your waist, just above the start of your hip, and yank you closer.

He’s not gentle. Not really. You know he has the capacity to be gentle, but he doesn’t really seem to care. In the past, when you’ve pleaded with him to be gentle, he’s told you that he would treat you like glass if he thought you were made of it, but since he’s seen you suffer worse (what is worse?) he doesn’t see the point in bothering. That doesn’t change the fact that his touch often hurts. Now is not an exception, and you make your displeasure clear with a soft noise of discomfort.

“Shhh. You wanna tell me what happened earlier?” Leona mumbles, pressing his face against the skin on your stomach, taking a deep breath and letting out a sigh.

You absolutely hate it when he smells you like this, but that’s not important right now, “Wh-what?”

“With Farena. You looked freaked out.” Leona ever so lightly kisses the pit of your bellybutton, “He do anything to you?”

You’re not a fan of Leona acting like this. While it seems like he cares, you know from past experience that he’s typically, if not always, on the brink of a jealous meltdown. His jealous meltdowns almost always end with you sitting alone in the bathroom, tending to your own wounds as he sleeps like a kid who just threw a tantrum. So you decide to give a simple answer before distracting him, at least for a moment.

You scratch the nape of his neck, since he doesn’t like you touching his ears, “He was just his usual off-putting self. Nothing else.”

Leona grunts and looks up at you, so you take your chance. You lean down, sitting on your knees, and press a mock-reverent kiss to Leona’s thigh. He’s surprisingly hairless, for someone who is more lion than ape. You suppose the same could be said for yourself, as someone who is more ape than lion. 

Leona’s unimpressed face slants into a smirk, and his hand that was previously fondling his genitals slides to cup your cheek, fingertips rubbing behind your ear.

Now that it’s right in front of your face, you wish that you hadn’t decided that this was the best option for distraction. You think maybe anything would be better than catching those barbs in the back of your throat. The little softly-curved nubs circling the base of the head of Leona’s cock flare out a bit, resembling one of those Elizabethan ruffs, tattered by the passage of time and reduced to the skeleton. They aren’t sharp, not truly, but they’re uncomfortable, especially when you forget that the more worked up Leona gets, the further they poke out and the harsher they feel. It’s similar to someone’s very carefully blunted fingernail and fingertip rubbing against your cheeks.

You try to suck up your carefully hidden disgust and press a soft kiss to the very tip of Leona’s dick, wetting your lips with his salty pre. Surprisingly, he doesn’t taste bad. You would think that his skin, his cum, would taste bitter and harsh, but it’s not the worst thing you’ve ever tasted. Perhaps that’s a silver lining in this wicked situation.

Regardless, a quiet grumble from him makes you snap back into the reality of where you are, and you figure you may as well get to work. You slide your lips down to his base, wincing as the spongy head of his member punches the back of your throat and his hand slides back to grip your nape.

“You trying to bore me to death, runt? You know I hate this teasing shit.”

That’s right. He absolutely loathes it. You bob your head a little more expeditiously, trying to ignore the slick mixture of drool and pre that is escaping from the corners of your lips and the ever-increasing strength of Leona’s thrusts against your face.

Despite your senses being the most dull in the palace, you can sort of hear the festivities downstairs, and Leona chuckles, standing with your head still cradled in his hand so he can actually start thrusting. It always begins with you trying to set a gentle pace and it always quickly dissolves into chaos. He’s lazy, but if he’s anything more than lazy, it’s a shameless pleasure chaser. You would think that you would have learned by now.

“You can’t hear them. They’re not at all concerned with me, they’re wondering where you went off to. But everyone knows that you belong to me, so they should know that you’re with me.” Leona mumbles. 

You gag, his dickhead wetly popping against the back of your throat as the fluids in your mouth froth with the speed of his motions, gooey trails roping down to cling to your cheeks and collarbones, connecting to Leona’s shifting hips. At least he doesn’t stink today.

A bug lands on your shoulder and flits away as you choke on Leona as he shoves his cock down your throat. Maybe you should feel a bit more grateful that this is happening partially outside, and that way you can have constant reminders that you’re still alive and not in some form of purgatory, serving time for your very minor moments of humanity when you were alive. 

Leona snarls, “You’re just so cute, with those lips wrapped around me. I wonder if my brother would keep flirting with you if he knew that you were like this in private.”

The implications of that statement are absolutely lost on you. You’re aware that Leona knows how you feel about your current life to a degree, but he doesn’t give a damn about your emotions. Whatever he’s talking about is absolutely just him babbling out some sex-addled nonsense. As the barbs scrape against your uvula, you gag and try to push his hips away so you can catch your breath for a second.

He doesn’t let up. Sweat is sliding over his skin, beading into crystal pearls and sliding down to flavor the skin in your mouth with their salt. If you don’t puke from his roughness, you’re going to puke from ingesting so much sodium. His smirk grows and his fingers massage the base of your head as if he isn’t pounding into your throat.

“Aw… too much? Maybe if you were a bit more active, I’d be done a bit sooner.” He coos.

You don’t fully hate Leona. He has given you somewhere to stay, food to eat, clothes to wear, for both you and Grim, but whenever he gets like this, taunting you even though he’s using you like a cheap sleeve, you feel an indescribable, hopeless anger. Regardless, you bring one of your hands up to the copious amounts of drool and pre and sweat that are covering your skin, collecting the goop on your fingers. You cup his ass with your non-gooey hand and spread that cheek, plunging a finger into his asshole and aimlessly crooking your finger.

His hips spasm, his hand fists into your hair and he lets out a low grumble, “Rrr.”

You slowly ease your other gooey finger into his ass and hope that he will cum soon so you can catch your breath. You need a shower, and he’s probably going to just go to bed after this. You’re more tired than he is, and you’re actually beginning to think that you both might be a bit tipsy. You need this to end, and you need it to end soon.

Your prayers are answered. You feel his cock bob in the back of your throat, the glans tapping that soft spot that makes you feel it in the back of your nose, and he yanks your head back, your lips releasing him with a somewhat loud pop.

His cum is hotter than it has any right being. You suppose since he runs hot, it’s not that shocking, but you’re also aware that the whole reason that the balls are not an internal thing is because the human body is way too hot for sperm to live for long periods of time inside of the body. This information is irrelevant, however, because Leona has just made the mess on your skin that much worse. You sigh as he lets go of you, flopping back into his chair and gesturing to his cock again.

“Can you clean me up before you go running off?”

You’d love to tell him no, to ask him to shove it, but you grunt your acquiescence and tongue-clean his messy skin, as if you aren’t covered in more slime than he is. Once done, you stand up and gather your clothes, placing them in the laundry bin in the bathroom and getting in the shower.

You scrub a little harder than usual, but not hard enough to break skin, not even enough to create micro-abrasions. Once out, you throw on one of Leona’s gaudy yellow tees and take a seat on the bed. He’s already curled up under the covers, but the soft tapping of his tail lets you know that he isn’t sleeping. You slide under the covers yourself and Leona rolls over, pulling your back into his chest.

“Hey.” He mumbles into your hair, “You stink like a fresh kill.”

What’s worse? Smelling like blood in a den of predators or being in the den of predators to begin with?

#twisted wonderland #tw: dark content #disney twst #tw: dark themes #tw: yandere #yandere #twst #yandere leona x reader #yandere leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar #tw: emotional abuse #tw blood #tw: abuse #tw coercion #tw noncon #tw dubious consent #tw dubcon #tw unsafe situations #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #tw captivity

[darkmulti]

DO UR OG YAN EX BF JUNGKOOK AGAINNNNN PLEASEEE THEY R SOOO HOTTT😭😭😭😭😭

Like u can do part2 of one of the existing ones too🤗

⚠️: NON CON, slapping/physical aggression, baby trapping, biting/marking, choking, somnophilia

-> It’s been so long, I don’t even remember the og one😅

-> Well I just spent a good 20 minutes searching for it and I’m not sure if it’s this one but I’m still gonna do it based off it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

After that night, you were practically bound to him

By the time Jungkook was finished with you, it was 2 in the morning and the party had died down greatly

So it was much easier for him to take your unconscious body back to his car without anyone noticing

Once he arrived back to his place and took you up to his bed, he couldn’t resist anymore

You looked gorgeous in your black satin dress that exposed your plush thighs

With your mind out cold, your body laid helpless against Jungkook

He pulled your dress up, exposing your bare cunt (your lace underwear was scrunched up in his pocket)

He slapped it a couple of times to see if you were really out

After getting no response from you, he took off his clothes and positioned you with your ass up and face down

Because you were unconscious, he didn’t bother prepping

He pushed his slender cock in, groaning as soon as he bottoms out

Your pussy was so warm and tight, occasionally spasming around his cock

He pinned both of your wrist beside your head and let his hips pick up the pace

The room filled with wet, loud claps of his balls hitting your clit

Jungkook initially wanted this to be just a quickie, but he was lost in his own world of pleasure and time flew by fast

By the time you regained consciousness, he was still thrusting in and out of your pussy

You let out a desperate cry and begin to squirm

Your clit and cervix were so overstimulated, it hurt to breathe

Your wrist were pinned, but even if your hands were free, it’d be no help

Jungkook’s knees were on top of your thighs, restricting your movement

And his hips were still moving back and forth at a fast pace, weakening you even more

“Please! Please stop! It hu-hurts!” You hiccup

“Shut it! I don’t wanna hear your voice.” He squeezed your wrist even tighter and you began to fear that he might break it

After that night, you understandably began to fear Jungkook

He forced you to move in with him

He took all your stuff from your dorm while you were in class and brought it back to his place

You were terrified to say no so you complied

He’d drop and pick you up from uni because god forbid you go to the library to work on homework

In Jungkook’s eyes, it’s just an excuse to get away from him and flirt with other guys

It was partly true, the wanting to get away from him, but you hardly ever spoke to anyone outside of your *very few* friends unless it was necessary

You were afraid to stand up for yourself because his punishments were next level

Now that you live with him, it so much more easier to take a hold of you, bend you over any surface and fuck you numb

You’d be doing day to day things and he’d without warning, grab you by the hair or neck and force you back to the bedroom

Jungkook sorta knew that he was out of control (but he always found an excuse for himself which made him feel less bad) and he also knew you were petrified of him

He knew you wanted out of this, can you even call it a relationship?

Nonetheless, he knew you wanted out

And he could never let that happen

He wouldn’t be able to stand you being happy with someone who’s not him

So the only logical thing he could come up with is baby trapping you

It was a win-win in his eyes. You’re gonna be all swollen and round with his baby and you’re gonna be permanently bound to him, whether you like it or not.

Plus, he’s always wanted a big family so why not start early

And with children comes with marriage right?

He knows you take birth control religiously (you got a stupid alarm on your phone) so he decided to delete the alarm on your phone to see if you would remember

And you don’t

He gives you a couple of days so the birth control wears off in your body so he can for sure impregnate you

You came home after a long and exhausting day at school

You just wanted to shower and sleep

And fortunately for you, Jungkook had become a little less needy in the past couple of days which you were thankful for because you don’t think you could’ve handled it

He was in bed, watching T.V while you went into the shower

After you come out, you changed into a night gown, kissed him good night and nearly knocked out until you felt his hands roam around your body

He suddenly stopped and you heard the night table drawer open. Then you heard clacks of metal. You were curious but too exhausted to open your eyes to see what he was doing

That is, until somethings around your right wrist and suddenly Jungkook’s on top of you

Handcuffs

“Please babe, I’m tired today. Can we do it tomorrow, please?” You plead

Ignored, like always

He cuffed your hands to the bed frame and ripped your night gown down the middle

You wanted to close your eyes and get it over with until you remember, you didn’t take your birth control

“Wait! Jungkook, I didn’t take my birth control. Can you please give me one and some water. Please?”

Ignored. again

“Jungkook please. I can get pregnant. I’m not ready, please.”

Your lash line filled with water

The grin on his face told you everything you needed to know

That bastard wasn’t going to give it to you

He was planning this wasn’t he?

You were already bound to the headboard, unable to move

So your next option, scream, cry and kick until he caves

But he never did

He put you in mating press position, not allowing you to adjust to his cock and began roughly fucking you

Your knees were pressed into your tits and his whole body weight kept you down

Jungkook kept eye contact with you, picturing how you would glow with his baby inside of you

It was his dream, really

After rounds and rounds of endless fucking, flipping you to all sorts of uncomfortable positions and cumming deep inside of you, he finally stopped after you were on the verge of passing out

Shaking, crying and panting underneath him. You felt like you were dying. His hands wouldn’t stop roaming around your body and although his pace did slow down, he never stopped or pulled out

Cum dripped out of your pussy, onto the bedsheet

His cock had a ring of cum around it too

Jungkook threw away your birth control and didn’t let you leave the house for the next three days

He was waiting

When you woke up and ran to the bathroom to throw up, Jungkook knew that he won

A pregnancy test then an ultrasound confirmed that he was becoming a dad

With that, he popped a ring on your finger

His plan worked out just perfectly

#jk smut #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #yandere jungkook #jungkook yandere smut #yandere bts #yandere bts smut #yandere bts reaction #tw: dark content #tw: noncon #tw: rape #tw: dark themes #mail: 📭

[angelgoeslewd]

Hi, love your omegaverse hc about bsd guys 🩷🩷 I wonder how do you view others like Nikolai and Fyodor as Alphas? how would they be like with their omega?

thank u so much!!! i love u now 💕 also— my quest to omegaverse-ify the world is nearly complete

⚠️ warnings: 18+ content, minors DNI, graphic mentions of violence, brief mentions of manipulative behavior, what can be considered non-con behavior, stalking, kidnapping, drugging, murder, and sexual content. 18+ concepts of Omegaverse, like slick, mating, knotting, heats, and ruts, some BDSM concepts for Fyodor’s part — spanking and talk of role dynamics.

📝a/n: i really hope no one expected this to be light and fluffy. i love my dark twisted messed up little men. also this is way too long for how dark it is :/ sorry.

🌟 this work is being REWRITTEN! check back for the completion check ✅ and a new story with extra content!

[Chuuya, Dazai, and Ranpo here!]

Nikolai

unpopular opinion by the general public and ADA, but Nikolai is actually a decent Alpha!! the only downside is that u basically r in terrorist protection program for the rest of ur life 🤷‍♀️ and your boyfriend murders people in his spare time for fun but that’s a different moral dilemma.

but in all seriousness, Nikolai’s Omega is going to have to be all in from the moment they meet. Nikolai is the same. I get the sense that he lives in a very black-or-white world with little to no greys. If you are down for this man, the first couple of words out of your mouth need to be, “Wow,” followed by, “I need to be your Omega.” Otherwise he’s not going to listen to you and just keep rambling about birds and free will, then murder you. This will give him a moment’s pause, where you will get to plead your case on why you should be his Omega or appeal to his Alpha. Make it good. Nikolai will treat it like a game show and weigh the pros and cons.

If you manage to somehow make him blush, through complimenting his… techniques or get slick at his scent, Nikolai will cut the game short and whisk you away to the nearest bed to claim and knot you immediately. You aren’t getting away after that.

He’d also do very well with an Omega who is more straightforward. Being Fyodor’s second hand can be a bit… complex sometimes, and it definitely wears on him more than he lets on. I see Nikolai having his own twisted logic and Fyodor’s style of being dismissive, forcing his own games to played, and being so underhanded sometimes tires Gogol, regardless of how much he admires Fyodor. He wants to have his riddles untangled. He wants to just be told the truth to his face. An Omega who is blunt will get very far with him. He’d constantly bug you and try to make you smile or laugh. He would commit disgusting crimes in front of you just to see a shocked look on your face. He tie you up and force you to solve his puzzles before a timer runs out just to smell your scent mix with fear. He wants to make you show your emotions. He would love that challenge. Even if you despise him, he’ll still try to claim you. If that doesn’t work, there’s always stalking, kidnapping, and Stockholm syndrome. He can also be very manipulative.

In short, Nikolai will decide to claim you in a split second decision, if he feels like something about you appeals him. There’s no dating. At first.

Nikolai is a very clingy Alpha. Very clingy. I am on the verge of considering him a Yandere. Until he fully trusts you (which will be a while, consider he JUST MET YOU AND ALSO TRIED TO MURDER YOU) you’re gonna be on house arrest. By which I mean that you can go anywhere, it doesn’t really matter because he can find you no matter what, but you can’t talk to anyone. He will kill anyone who tries: Alpha, Omega, or Beta and apologize, lying to your face about them aiding your escape or whatever. He would think it hot if you encouraged him or ignored his actions (not him. his ACTIONS), wouldn’t really care of you scolded him or got angry. Just would shrug and remind you that you’re his Omega, his instincts want to protect you (lielielie- Nikolai is POSSESSIVE). And you better believe he’ll know. He will constantly have a portal open, watching you, ready to grab you at anytime. Not even cashiers are safe so it’s honestly better just to stay wherever he’s put you up and order whatever you need.

Yeah, your job? You’re gonna have to quit. Nikolai’s House Arrest extends to quite literally everyone. Get a new phone with no personal contacts. Make your family think you’ve died. Nikolai will even help you. But once you’ve fallen into his hands, you ARE his. He can amuse you, take care of you, he can be your everything, you don’t need anyone else.

After you’ve gain his trust (or the Stockholm syndrome is in full effect, whichever comes first), he’ll be a bit more lenient and let you out of his sight, but would still feel an awful amount of jealousy in his gut if he spies you talking to other people; God forbid it’s another Alpha. He’d lovebomb the hell out of you, then go and kill them when you’re sleeping off the 3 rounds he put you through. He’d really rather be the only one you talk to.

This Alpha loves to have you by him and would keep you there all the time if he could. He feels off when you aren’t by his side. Unfortunately, due to the nature of his ‘job,’ that’s not always the case. And if he knows there’s even a risk of danger, he’ll leave you in a safe place. Usually an extravagant hotel or a mansion he’s bought just for you in an undisclosed location. It’s usually filled with whatever your heart desires, desires you didn’t even know Nikolai knew about. If he’s just filming more propaganda or torturing, he’ll bring you along if you want. It won’t be pretty, but if you’re into that. Or if you just love him enough to want to do whatever makes him happy.

He would fuck you in the blood if you helped him or came on to him during that time. 100% turns him on seeing covered in the sticky, viscous liquid. Would compliment you on how “red is your color.” Nikolai loves an Omega who gets their hands dirty. Might even drive him into a rut.

Despite his occupation and image, when it comes to his Omega, Nikolai can act like a puppy for your love and affection, but it goes back and forward. He’ll beg you for kisses, other times he’ll just take them. He’ll portal in front of your face when you’re in line to check out and smooch you, leaving everyone confused. He’s a waist grabber too. He loves to pull you against him and feel your warmth as he shoves his tongue down your throat, then pull away like nothing happened and continue whatever rant he was on. He’s also a biter. Loves to mark you with bruises and bites, so… invest in a scarf.

He might seem innocent and innocuous and he partly is, but the choices he gives you are never really your own to decide. Like asking you where you want to go on a date. Which is sweet of him to even allow, considering you’re basically his hostage. You can’t say that you’re too tired, because he’ll whisk you away to Paris despite your objections. He does make it worth it though.

He wants to have his hands on you 24/7. They’re so big and warm too, that it’s really hard not to want them on you. He loves hugging you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulders, one hand sneaking up, one hand sneaking down, fingering you until your slick drips down his wrist and then he’ll bite the tip of his glove… slowly pull them off, tasting you and the leather… and yeah. Rest of your plans be damned. You’re on his knot.

You’re the only one (besides Fyodor, who sees every side of everyone) that usually sees Nikolai’s softer side. He’s the type of Alpha who cuddles you to his chest at night, then wakes you up to breakfast in bed. His sadistic side is somehow quelled by you. He loves when you trace your fingers against his chest and can depend on him to be with you through your heats no matter what. He’ll massage your stomach if the cramps get too bad but it does leave you wondering why he didn’t just knot you like any other Alpha would do, your thoughts trailing back to his “free will” phenomenon. Are these his choices or yours? Do you have any impact on what he does or not?

It’s partly part of his own game. He likes to see what makes you tick, but he refuses to break his favorite toy. He walks the fine line between breaking you in and breaking you completely.

His ruts are another story. Without you, he was rather tame and usually just ignored his wants completely. Of course, he finds a release in other ways… usually by murder. Let’s just make that clear. He’s still quite blood thirsty. But with you…

He’s completely unhinged. Gives into his desires in the worst possible way, free will be damned when he has an Omega, his Omega, on his cock. He’s brutal, so be prepared. Takes you doggy style, jackhammering into you, pressing up against your womb until the pressure is almost unbearable, pulling your hair back, you along with it, contorting you into unnatural positions until he finds his release deep inside of you. Refuses to cum anywhere that’s not inside of you. Leaves you scratched and bruised, hips and hole sore with how rough he is. His knot is huge too. Don’t be surprised if your sheets get bloodied.

He’s super tender with you afterwards though. Pampers you like Sigma or Chuuya would, but it feels so much more intense with him, because he pushes you to your absolute limit, physically. Blankets of some endangered creature that are beyond soft as to not irritate your skin, medication that heals you within a couple of days, which you still don’t understand where he got them or what they were. Baths, rich foods, affection beyond what is normal for him (which is saying a lot.)

Your heats are a toss up. He can either be as mean as he is in his rut, or he’s a complete tease. It’s some of the only times he gets to drive you wild instead, so he takes a lot of enjoy in playing a little cat and mouse with you and your pleasure. He’s either overstimulating you or making you beg. But other parts of it are tender and soft. Like when he helps you make the perfect nest. Or when he’s comforting you through the pain. Or when you’re whispering sweet nothings in his ear as he drives into you, pressing your legs back into a mating press, wondering if these are your true feelings or if this is the heat talking.

Despite the murder, which is a BIG despite, Nikolai is probably in second place for best Alpha you could have. Mainly because of the murder. And his conflicting personality. And the other unsavory practices within your relationship. But he takes care of you so well. And he will always protect you.

Fyodor

Let’s be honest here. How the hell did you even get in this scenario. Fyodor really isn’t one to take an Omega or even look for romantic interest in general, so being here is kinda a realm of extreme speculation. Why are you here? What is so extraordinary about you that led this man to you, first of all, and how do you get him to indulge in his most suppressed self? How do you keep him there long enough to get him to actually mate you? You have to really call him to get this far. You can’t be anyone normal. No lacky of his beliefs or regular person. He doesn’t care about that. You’re borderline his soulmate if you are.

If you do manage to actually get him to take an interest in you and not what you can do for him, not a political move or a piece to be played and discarded, you’re seriously in for it. Fyodor is not an easy Alpha to have.

He just barely ranks above Dazai because he can have his moments, but they’re usually pretty inauthentic and more of something he knows he’s expected to do as your Alpha; most of these moments are in public, but you might find him doing them when he’s running on autopilot too.

I’m not going to comment on how you got him to mate you because I honestly am at a loss for how that would even happen. He’s not one to do that, and feeling that urge, let alone acting on it, is something that he would never thought he’d do, even sadistically, to torture his worst enemies by taking their spoken for Omega, because it means he’s bound to someone. He’s now got someone he has to think about, not because he wants to, but because those fucking primal urges force him to. it’s a distraction to him and his goals.

if you match his intelligence, even with minute differences, he would rather see you as something to toy with. if you don’t, you’re something to be used. It’s an extremely difficult situation where you almost have to be playing him and catch him in a mood where the fact of that doesn’t piss him off too much that he immediately tries to kill you. Maybe more of an innocent game? Where you basically are only toying with him because you like him and want to be with him? Very Harley Quinn like.

Fyodor likes super submissive Omegas. And by “like,” I mean that it would almost be impossible for you to be a more pushy or dominant Omega because Fyodor has the whole power dynamic he likes (which is super unhealthy, dude, go 2 therapy) and refuses any other type of partner. A bratty Omega is ok, but you might want to be heavily masochistic if you go that route.

Fyodor loves spanking. I’m sorry but he does. He likes the feeling of punishing you so intimately. And you taking it like a good little Omega, tears in your eyes as you try to apologize or count his spanks. He’s partial to a belt or his hand. Loves making your ass bruised and nearly bloody. If you do bleed, he loves to sweep it up with his fingers and lick it. He also loves the next day, watching you try to hide your winces as you sit down or as the fabric of your bottoms brush against your ass. It gets him wanting to bend you over his desk and make it hurt all over again.

Speaking of his desk. COCKWARMING OMG. He absolutely adores when you’re below him in anyway, love to make you feel weak and powerless, but especially when he’s got work to do and commands that you keep him and his knot in your mouth until he’s done. You obey like Fyodor’s good little Omega would and he purposely drags it out because he’s an asshole. Likes to grab your hair and thrust down your throat frequently because he likes to hear you cough and gag. Then makes you stand on shaky, half-asleep legs while he fucks you. If you fall, he’ll make you start all over again. Yes. That means being away for ANOTHER 8-14 hours.

Besides his violent streak in sex, life with Fyodor almost feels… cold? He’s very withdrawn from your relationship. Thanks you for breakfast, then excuses himself. You have the rest of the day to yourself until he calls for you. I would seriously love to say that Fyodor would be super snuggly and loving because you’re his special Omega or whatever, but I just don’t think that’s really… in character for him. He will have moments where he enjoys your company though. Even without sex. Sometimes, when he’s in a good mood, he’ll sit you next to him, explain some hacking and coding, maybe twirl a strand of your hair between his fingers. But that’s about it.

Kisses are saved for public image and that’s it. He seriously probably never hugs you :/. The only reason he ranks above Dazai is because despite his intensity in sex and his ice queen personality, it’s really less to deal with then Dazai’s constant inner turmoil. Like Fyodor doesn’t have conflict in his mind. He’s super set in his path and whatever decisions he makes on that journey. You at least don’t expect warmth from this man. Unlike Dazai who acts pretty well. Plus you’re loaded and can do whatever you want 🤷‍♀️ idk kinda works for me

Fyodor will come to care about you more though. Kinda like those typical arranged marriages in movies? He becomes fond of you, I suppose the proper word would be. Like he doesn’t want to lose you, but if he does, oh well. He’ll miss your warm heat wrapped around him and delicious cooking. I’m sorry. Fyodor doesn’t know the meaning of love. He does end up referring to you as His Omega and gives you more important duties around his cult. Will smile at you (AND IT WILL BE A REAL SMILE) and tell you you did a good job. He’ll start to wrap an arm around you and hand you his jacket if he notices you shivering. Maybe even kiss the side of your head a little bit.

Ok. Maybe he’s a bit soft and a bit in love with you, but he will never admit that to even himself.

I really can’t see Fyodor having ruts due to his medical issues. He probably even has problems getting it up sometimes, which is fine, he still enjoys watching you suffer. Or pleasure yourself for him. Whichever. But if he did, they would probably only last a couple of days and actually make him really sick. He probably wouldn’t even be able to knot you. IM SORRY BUT IM BEING REALISTIC.

for p0rn reasons; if he wasn’t anemic, they would be extremely violent. He would be more apt to keeping you close without letting on that he likes you. You don’t realize that most people you talk to end up executed by Fyodor’s own hand. You don’t notice that he’s being walking around with you all day. You don’t realize how he’s glaring at everyone you pass. You do, however, notice that he’s jumping you the minute you get home and actually kissing you. It’s rough, with tongues and teeth, but he’s kissing you. His teeth graze your claim mark again, and he’s biting down, deepening it again. His hands around your waist, pushing you into the bed where he knots you, over and over again. Pushing his cum into you and making you hold it. Fucking you through every one of his knots, even though it burns. Fyodor is a bitey Alpha so you’ll have to clean up a lot of blood after his mating session. You almost wonder if he’s trying to absorb your blood or something.

Your heats will almost never line up with his. If they do, it’s by absolute pure chance. Fyodor is too withdrawn and he stays that way. He can let you in but it’s never for too long. He takes care of you with a knot and makes sure you have food and water, but it’s almost clinical the way he deals with it. Leaves almost immediately after, instructing you to call him when you need him.

(…Later, he’ll sit with you on the bed as your body feverishly aches, stroking the sweaty strands of hair from your forehead, never getting dirty himself but enough tenderness to make you realize that he’s there with you.)

#tw: dark content #tw: dark themes #bsd nikolai gogol #bsd nikolai #bsd fyodor dostoevsky #bsd fyodor #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd nsft #🍩 of bsd #omegaverse!bsd #angelic songs #.SMS SENT #my fing god this was so long sorry anon