Applemilkies

She/Her I ♡ yandere | 19 yrs

[applemilkie]

Master's Masterlist/Organizing all my reblogs

I reblog stuff! That is my entire acc I forgot to make stuff in order sorry 💀 Will be listed as nsfw or sfw ← some may be inaccurate, always read the warning label from the original post!!

🪦 = the original blogger took it down & my reblog only captured a certain amount from the original post

comment if I need to grave a post, be specific and tell me which one please! 🪦

Not done

List:

Attack on Titian here

Demon Slayer here

My Hero Academia here

One Piece here

Tokyo Revengers here

Harry Potter here

[echantedtoon]

Yantober Day 13 Cupid's Arrow

(Warnings for yandere themes, etc.)

Tagging: @lavenderdropp @samuraioftheopera

@dustybustyy @yimmy-homebase-world11

@anniesblogof2025 @honeybunny75

remember if you wanna be added to the taglist lemme know

Once there was a small Cupid whom was very good at their job. 

Whomever they shot with their arrows would develop a deep love like no other. All over the world they'd go, shooting their arrows and spreading the love to couples wherever they went. For hundreds of years they did their job perfectly without fail until one day they encountered upon an unusual sight. A large man whom was blind. He was unlike anything they'd ever seen before. 

"Oh my," they said, "This is just a conundrum. He can not see his love so love at first sight will not work, and his heart is twice the size of a normal man's. Just one arrow will not do. It'll take at least five just to penetrate his skin."

Rolling up their sleeves, they took aim at him and fired his entire arsenal into the human However humans were none the wiser to being hit by a Cupid's arrow. After all they feel only their effects after they start developing their feelings. However something else went entirely wrong within the process. For one or two arrows was anything else one needed. Too much love could only lead to dangerous desire. Obsession.

And that's exactly what the poor Cupid discovered much to their horror as the man before them only began to descend into obsessive madness. The man whom was already deeply in love with the girl fell down a deep rabbit hole. Praying feverishly to Buddha every night thanking them for giving him her. Building a small shrine before him, worshipping it like a goddess. His ramblings of madness making him cry when he couldn't wait to hold her small hands, feel her soft skin, and keep a tight grip on her smaller body.

"Namu. Soon dear. ..We could have a family. I've already been imagining what our children could sound like. They all would have your sweet voice. Your charming laugh. Your sweet tones."

The woman as one could expect was completely frightened of the sudden giant of a man, following her around and appearing in so many places that she was in. The obsession with her was driving them both mad, however there was nothing they could do but watch, because once love was given they couldn't take it back. No way to undo it unless it unraveled naturally which was not this case. So they did the only thing they could do.

They shot two more arrows.

One at the girl and one at another person. If they could not undo the damage made, then they would do damage control by having the girl love someone who'd take her far away from him. Away from the madness. He'd seen the way the way the man cried more, begging any higher being to return her to him. Crying more than usual now, ever searching after she ran away into the night with her lover. Searching. Ever searching for her. 

The Cupid could only hope and pray that he never would and never again would they repeat this disastrous mistake. 

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Gyomei Himejima NSFW Profile

Yandere! Gyomei Himejima x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, mentions of non-con, reader is implied to be smaller than Gyomei but let's be real EVERYONE is smaller than him regardless of your weight or height, anal play/fingering (m receiving), allusions to breeding, sub-ish Gyomei, masturbation, minor objectification, Gyomei is whipped, Stockholm Syndrome, accidental exhibitionism, Gyomei is a stone cold virgin (haha I am very funny), fem reader, MDNI

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

WC: 13.6K

HABITS:

 Sex is not a priority for Gyomei.

Not only does his lifestyle make having a partner difficult, but even the physical act of sex is something he’s never been particularly interested in. He’s just simply not that physical of a man – affection isn’t something he’s especially comfortable with, and while he wants nothing more than to hold you and keep you in his arms forever (and he really does mean forever, something he doesn’t hesitate in reminding you), touching you isn’t at the forefront of his mind.

And this is especially true in the context of sexual intimacy – it’s one thing to crave holding your hand, but it’s another to crave having your thighs wrapped around his head. It’s one thing to desire you falling asleep with your cheek pressed against his chest, but it’s another to imagine you perched on top of him, your pretty moans of his name making his cheeks feel hot and his pulse rising dramatically.

It feels disrespectful, more than anything, to imagine you in a sexual light; he’s already painfully aware that having any sort of romantic feelings towards you is wrong, but to doom himself even further with explicit, lewd fantasies of you? Just the thought makes him bristle, unease and shame crawling up his spine because only perverted men do that, men with no morals or self-control.

And he’s able to keep this mentality for an impressively long period of time - you’d be hard pressed to catch him having any sort of risqué thoughts regarding you for much of the time his obsession festers, the furthest possible thing being imagining kissing you and gently cupping your cheeks.

(And even then, the idea of slipping his tongue into your mouth makes his cheeks feel hot, his entire body feeling like it’s on fire and making him hurriedly forget the thought, instead busying himself with imagining hugging you or pressing a quick kiss to your temple. But as time passes, if his concentration lessens for even a single moment, then he’s suddenly thinking about you putting your tongue in his mouth, and suddenly he needs to sit down, his head feeling dizzy and light and overwhelmed.)

He manages to stay within the confines of innocent fantasies of you, physically conditioning himself to halt any thoughts further than holding you by pinching himself or biting his tongue, anything at all to deter such thoughts and reprimand himself. But really, while Gyomei may be a very morally guided man with one of the gentlest hearts, he’s still a man.

And like most men, he has needs – even if he himself isn’t truly aware of them.

And so, while he forces himself to stay respectful of you during the day, he’s not so in control of his thoughts at night. It’s not as easy to stop himself from playing out vivid, pleasure-filled scenarios when he’s in the grips of slumber, his subconscious running wild and imagining how you’d feel with your hands on his body, your soft breasts pressed against his own rigid chest, your lips kissing his neck, and the wonderful warmth between your legs that he’s absolutely sure would be such a tight fit, truly stretching you out in every possible way.

(And god, while the size difference intimidates him ever so slightly because he doesn’t want to hurt you, there’s something about the fact that you’re just so damn tiny compared to him that makes something primal and territorial stir in his gut, the sense of protectiveness and ownership he feels over you only amplifying, despite his wishes. And then he’s imagining the way you’d squeal and grasp onto him as he sends rope after rope after rope of thick, white cum as deeply inside of you as he can manage, and it’s only then that Gyomei truly gives up any hope of not viewing you in a sexual light because how can he not fantasize about stuffing you so full that you’re leaking it? Leaking him?)

He’s woken up to messy sheets, a sweaty body and heavy breathing more often than he’d like to admit, the cum smeared across his softening cock and the material of the bed making him feel dirty, ashamed and disgusting.

(And when he sees you later that day, you’ll notice he’s a bit quieter than usual, not standing as close to you as he normally would, but if you bring it up he’ll only tear up a bit, telling you to disregard his strange behavior, but not really giving you a reason for it. He can’t lie to you, it feels wrong, but he can’t tell you, either, so he settles with omission, praying you won’t push the issue further.)

And so, as time passes, slowly he’ll find himself becoming a victim of the lust that begins showing itself, rearing its ugly head when he finds himself wanting you most, the bouts of loneliness he feels late at night making fighting off his desire difficult.

But even then, Gyomei has the patient of a saint and could probably stave off his urges to actually touch himself for the rest of his life. Dirty thoughts, no, but the act of actually stroking himself or acting upon those thoughts? He could, if he really tried – or at least he could without the intervention of something outside of his control, something that pushes him to finally, finally give in.

And that intervention comes one summer evening, when the wind is warm and the night air is full of liveliness. The village he’d been sent to had a night market that was bustling, hence the presence of a demon slowly picking off the shoppers every night. Finding and destroying the demon was quick and easy, and as Gyomei wandered through the market after completing his mission, a wrong turn led to a rather shocking discovery.

The woman’s voice sounds almost exactly like yours, only a bit higher, a bit more slurred, a bit sultrier as she moans presumably the name of the man pinning her against the wall. The alleyway between the two buildings in the downtown segment of the town reverberates her cries strongly, the wet sucking and kissing noises as the man worked at her neck making Gyomei freeze, embarrassment slowly creeping up his spine.

Of course, Gyomei isn’t naïve – he knows about the intimate relations between men and women, and although he has no sexual experience of his own, the heavy breathing, racing hearts and wet plap plap noises echoing down the alleyway towards him tell him more than enough about what exactly is taking place just a few meters away. He knows that this is really quite a private moment, and he knows that he should really, really move.

And yet, the similarities between your voice and the woman’s make him pause, his legs suddenly feeling like lead, even as the man’s grunts and questions of you like that, baby ring in his ears, making Gyomei’s eyebrows shoot up because oh no, what a horribly inappropriate thing to be hearing.

A particularly harsh thrust and a nearly pained groan from the man has Gyomei suddenly moving, sensing that the man is close to his end and the Hashira would prefer to give them privacy during such a moment. He tries to continue on with his evening, focusing entirely on the feeling of the beads between his palms and the bustling sounds of the town’s evening life as he heads back towards the more populated area, but the damage is already done.

The woman sounded so much like you that it haunts Gyomei that night, the sound ringing through his ears on repeat and driving him nearly mad, forcing him to head back home to his estate early. Once he’s smelling the familiar air of his home (tinged ever so slightly by your scent, you having visited earlier that day and leaving a lingering reminder of you that he immediately deeply inhales once he enters), Gyomei relaxes ever so slightly, head dipping down in shame as he notices the way his trousers are still fitting tightly, the woman’s sounds and the small, barely-there thoughts he’s trying to repress about your sounds physically affecting him.

Furrowing his brow, he resigns himself to the knowledge that he’ll likely spend the rest of the evening hard enough to be uncomfortable, instead simply sitting and resting atop his bed. He tries to distract himself as the minutes slowly tick by, thinking of training, praying, and anything else he can conjure up, brain working as frantically as possible because the idea of you moaning his name in that same wanton, needy way just absolutely refuses to leave him.

It’s infuriating, really, and it leaves Gyomei with a heavy sense of shame in his gut because it’s just so, so disrespectful to be thinking of you in such compromising, lewd ways. It’s abhorrent, truly a sign of just how weak he’s become in your hands, all without you even realizing it.

The next few hours are painful, his erection remaining prominent and sweat beading his brow, his concentration waning the longer it drags on. Every time he lets his mind wander, it’s turning back to you – he’s thinking of the delicious smell of curried meat that was coming from a market stand, and suddenly he’s imagining the way you would suck on the meat stick, and it’s not long before he’s thinking of how you’d suck on his lips, his fingers, him –

He sits up abruptly, biting his lip and forcing himself to his feet. And eventually, as Gyomei tasks himself with whatever simple task he can think of as a distraction, the concentration and resolve eventually breaks. The neatly folded pile of his clothing in the corner of the room shouldn’t make him pause as it does, but as his fingers feel over the fabric to identify each piece, he can’t help but notice the presence of something new atop the other items – something lighter and softer, a material completely unlike the rough, thick fabric of his uniform.

Curiously, he brings the material up closer to his face, leaning down slightly and inhaling, only to immediately stop, eyes going wide because fuck, this is your shawl, isn’t it?

You’d accidentally left it in his home and he’d placed it in the corner with the hopes of keeping it out of the way to preserve it and not accidentally ruin it. And yet, as he stands there, muscles tense with each inhale bringing your scent to his nose again and again, Gyomei finds that he simply can’t take it anymore. He’s so hard that it hurts, and with the smell of you filling his lungs, how can he possibly hold himself back any longer?

And so, with a heavy heart and shame creeping up his neck, Gyomei finds himself once again laying on his bed, back flat against the ground and swallowing heavily. He’s never touched himself before – maybe once as a young teenager, but he’s simply not had the time nor desire to, and he’s ashamed to admit that he’s nervous.

But then he’s imagining the way you’d moan again, your pretty voice ringing in his ears, the syllables of his name rolling off your tongue like velvet, G-yo-mei whimpered in his ear as he kneads at your breasts, thumbing at your nipples and kissing along the sensitive skin of your jaw.

And that’s all it takes for him to gently loosen the belt of his uniform trousers, his hand slightly trembling as he shuffles them down a bit, the cold air brushing against his freed cock and making him shiver slightly.

He’s slow and methodical as he very, very slowly relaxes. Guilt still consumes him, but he’s already got his pants off, cock in hand – and soon, he’s throwing caution to the wind and instead focusing on the idea of you.

He starts by imagining a simple part of your body – your hands, the ones whose fingers always brush his own, resting against his clothing as you compliment him, always feeling warm and soft and so, so very foreign. He swallows, his fist moving to grip himself at the base, the dull pleasure making his toes curl a bit.

Then he’s mentally picturing your arms, remembering the way they feel against his palms. He’s sure the skin there is soft, too, and he squeezes tighter as he thinks of the way you’d wrap them around his neck as he thrusts into you, hovering over you and trying to get as deep as he possibly can – he wants to feel every possible inch of you, to leave you stuffed full enough to be a gasping, stuttering mess.

He’s imagining your collarbone, his free hand coming up to trace his own for reference. He decides that your must be more delicate, softer, pretty and mirroring the shape of your jaw. Slowly, his hand begins moving upwards, a low, uneven breath falling from his lips because oh, this is a strange feeling.

He’s not entirely sure what breasts feel or look like, but as he licks his lips, he thinks back to all the (unpleasantly and unwilling) conversations he’s overheard from perverted older men. Soft, he thinks, and surely firm enough to grasp onto – one hand continues the slow, steady strokes as the other reaches up in front of him, shame eating away at him as he spreads his fingers, cupping and squeezing them as if your chest were right in front of him, your pretty tits bouncing, the plap plap noise of skin hitting skin filling the room.

He quietly groans your name as he continues to squeeze, head lolling back slightly against the floor, a strained look crossing his features because no, he knows the feeling that’s coming is an orgasm but dammit, he wants this to continue, even as depraved as it is. Even as disrespectful and rude – even as badly as he hopes and prays that you do this thinking of him, too.

His thumb comes up to quickly swipe at his tip, his abs clenching tightly at the sensation. He’s thinking of your stomach – it’s soft, he just knows it, the perfect thing for him to grab at, imagining the way he’d rest his head against the soft pudge of your lower tummy as he licks and sucks between your legs, feeling your thighs cage around his head, squeezing and crushing and fuck fuck fuck –

He groans your name, hips bucking up and up as he imagines what lays between those pretty thighs of yours, the exact picture a mystery but the idea making every nerve feeling like it’s on fire, white hot pleasure burning its way from the pit of his stomach through to every limb.

He’s sure fucking you would be heavenly – he’s heard women’s genitalia described as warm, wet, and tight, and the mere idea of you being that way is enough to get him gasping, his orgasm hurriedly approaching and his concentration too haphazard to use a technique to slow his breathing and delay the inevitable.

It’s futile, really, because when he imagines the way you’d clutch onto him and tell him such sweet praises, your pretty lips pressing against his desperately, whining that you want him, that you need him, it’s only natural for him to start bucking up into his hand, thrusting against his fist faster and faster and faster, the sound of his ass clapping back down against his bedsheets reverberating through the room, along with the wet slapping noise of his balls clapping against his fist as he imagines fucking into you harder, faster, more more more –

And just the idea of you moaning a breathy, adoring I love you, Gyomei is enough to get his back arching up, every muscle in his body going taut as spurt after spurt of warm, thick cum spurts from his tip, landing in rivulets across his chest, feeling hot and wet even over the fabric.

He’s panting, breathing heavily and bathing in the aftershocks of his orgasm, cock still pulsing and throbbing even as the minutes tick by, still mostly erect even as he grasps at the sheets, a fresh wave of tears beading at his eyes because what has he done?

Clarity rushes back to him and for a moment he’s in shock, the pleasure still numbing his senses. He’d masturbated to the thought of you – imagining your naked body touching his own, fantasizing about the way he’d taste you, how he’d ever so carefully ease inside you, a thumb constantly pressing against your clit to make sure everything feels as good for you as he’s sure it will feel for him.

He’s breathless, disappointed in himself, and as he silently sits up and washes himself up in the bathroom, scrubbing at the drying cum stains on his uniform, Gyomei can only sigh. It’s truly amazing what you’ve done to him – what you’ve reduced him to.

And yet, as Gyomei walks towards your home the next day with the intention of walking you to the market, he can’t help but subtly take wider steps, hoping to adjust himself as he grows hard at the mere thought of being close to you.

What have you done to him?

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your Voice

Due to his blindness, Gyomei perceives your beauty in more meaningful ways than simply your appearance.

He fell in love first with your voice, the things you say never failing to leave him in awe of your kindness and your humility. He falls in love with your laughter, loving the sound and finding himself speaking more often simply for the chance to say something that would amuse you.

(Something that both you and others will notice, if only because it’s extremely unlike Gyomei to say anything even remotely hinting at humor, and while his comments often don’t land as he intended, you’ll often times end up laughing simply because it’s so out of character and odd of him. And oh, in the moment Gyomei is basking in the sound of your laughter, committing every inhale of breath and slight snort to memory, obsessively replaying the sound over and over and over.)

And so, when he’s falling into the depths of loneliness, arousal and desperation for you becoming too difficult to handle, he’ll think of the lulling sound of your voice, the way you roll your letters and how you enunciate your words. He’s memorized your speech patterns, always trying to engage you in conversation just so that he can listen to you talk, eagerly absorbing everything you say because it all feels important, like he’d be doing you a disservice to not memorize every little quirk, mannerism and opinion you have.

And so while his love for your voice begins platonically and innocently (or at least as innocent as it can be, considering his feelings for you are anything but), Gyomei finds that over time, this sentiment begins changing.

Sure, he’s still in love with your voice, but now he can’t stop thinking about what you’d sound like when you’re out of breath, when you’re moaning, when you’re whining and keening and begging and needing him to please touch me Gyomei, I need it so bad please please please –

He’s fantasizing about what you sound like during sex long before he feels comfortable with it, his mind conjuring up all these questions and hypothetical scenarios without his control. He’s idly wondering if you’re more of a moaner, all high-pitched and girly, plentiful sounds that are expressive enough for him to very easily and quickly be able to read exactly what you’re feeling, exactly what you’re wanting. Or perhaps you’d be a little deeper, more of a groaner, more likely to let out sighs rather than whines. Or perhaps you’re just very quiet - he’d be happy with that, too, finding that the minimal sounds he does manage to get out of you are all the more rewarding, all the more precious and worthy of cherishing.

(He’s even found himself, in a moment of dissociation as he tries to sleep, mimicking what he imagines your noises would be like – he catches himself after the third moan slips out, immediately stopping himself and becoming mortified because oh god, does he now not even have autonomy and control over his own body and actions?)

And once he’s stolen you away, his hand forced by some external event, Gyomei’s love and appreciation for your voice persists. He’s still captivated by it, except now he’s paying even more attention, listening to your heartbeat and the way you breath, finding himself pressing his ear up against walls when he wants to give you space but still needs to hear you.

Once your sexual relationship begins, he’s absolutely addicted to drawing all sorts of sounds out of you – he wants to hear your every moan, your every comment, every everything because he wants to know exactly how you’re feeling and what he can do to make it better for you.

He’s always encouraging you to be louder, to be more expressive, always asking you questions during sex in attempts to get you to be more vocal. It’s selfish, sure, but with the way his cock throbs at the sound of your voice, can be really be blamed?

You just have an effect on him – one he absolutely adores, shivers running up and down his spine merely at the sound of you breathing.

His Fingers

Even outside of the bedroom, Gyomei is reliant on his fingers. It’s a necessary part of his job – wielding his axe and flail, praying, even simple day-to-day activities. They’re thick, and they’re strong – calloused and weathered with the scars of battle and a tough life, and Gyomei has remarkable dexterity and control over them.

And while he may be blind, Gyomei notices almost immediately that you seem to take a liking to them, once your fear and apprehension towards him starts to wear off, once you start to see him as less of a threat and more as a provider, a lover, even.  

So while he’s never really given them much thought, there’s just something about how you react to his thick, scarred digits that makes him positively swoon with happiness – it starts off relatively platonic, with you simply touching his fingers. Letting one of his hands rest in your lap, your smaller fingers comparing sizes, tracing scars and callouses, idly toying with them as you talk about something seemingly trivial to you.

(Little to you know that Gyomei is listening with rapt attention, every one of his senses heightened because you’re touching him, and it feels so soft and sweet and adorable that he almost thinks he might combust, his cheeks feeling warm and something fluttering in his stomach.)

It’ll move to you asking him to rub your shoulders, letting out little moans at the feeling of him running thumbs against your back, digging in – carefully, of course – against the tight, sore muscles of your shoulders, all the while Gyomei has to focus on continuing his job and relaxing you, ignoring the rather insistent erection pressing heatedly against his pants as a result of your sounds, the feeling of your skin, and the proximity of your scent.

And of course, you absolutely adore his fingers in the context of sex - one of them is enough to have you pleading with him to wait, please, the stretch is too much, you need a second to adjust, immediately pausing or pulling back, listening to you and asking if you’d like him to try again, if he should go slower, if you’d like to be done and instead do something else, or nothing else at all.

(He hopes, prays, even, that you’ll let him try again, that you’ll let him sink his fingers into you, curling and rubbing and mapping out every inch of you like some sort of sacred knowledge, like knowing you inside and out is his only purpose.)

And while Gyomei has never been an especially prideful guy, he can’t help the surge of satisfaction that rolls through him at the knowledge that he’s enough for you in bed, that he’s able to satisfy you and give you what you want at any time, sometimes even with just his fingers alone.

He had no experience before his infatuation with you began - he’d never even kissed someone, let alone fingered them or been inside them, but once he realizes how badly he wants to make you come, how desperately he needs to hear up-close the way you sound as your orgasm crashes through you, he’s suddenly learning as diligently as he can, taking into consideration your every whimper, moan and gasp.

Soon, he’s able to pinpoint your spot within the first three thrusts, and once he feels the way you tighten around him, almost as if you were sucking his fingers in further, deeper, he gets to work - he’s thrusting, curling, rubbing and stretching you out just how you like it, hearing the symphony of your noises and cries, along with the lewd squelching noises of his fingers pushing and pulling out of you again and again.

And when his calloused fingertips find your already swollen and sensitive clit? Honestly it’s game over – they’re never leaving the spot, quickly learning precisely how you like to be touched, the accuracy and ease of the movements nearly unfair as you squirm and writhe and gasp out his name.

Gyomei is determined, and he will get you to come, if it’s the last thing that he does. After all, how can he call himself good enough of a lover for you if he can’t even manage to do that?

DRIVE:

Before his infatuation with you began, Gyomei’s drive was quite literally nonexistent. The thought of sex hardly ever crossed his mind, and if it did, it was immediately shoved away, pushed aside for more important matters in his everyday life. Survival, hunting demons and saving innocents took all of his free time and energy, and touching himself was both unnecessary and a stark reminder of not having a partner.

(Something that doesn’t bother him up until he meets you – because now he’s suddenly hyper aware of what couples do. He’s constantly thinking of holding your hand, brushing back your hair and cupping your cheek, softly pressing his lips to the corners of your mouth and against your jugular, holding you in his arms at night to keep you protected from both the cold and any wayward demons. And of course, the other things couples do – the things that make him feel like some hormone-driven teenage boy for being so easily flustered, for being so horribly eager to try them out with you.)

His libido was essentially non-existent, and while he’d sometimes overhear Tengen talking in shockingly explicit detail to Rengoku about his latest sexual escapades with his wives, he genuinely never felt the need to even so much as think about intimacy like that, let alone indulge in it.

But once you worm your way into his heart, suddenly the urge to be with you in an intimate manner is just too much to ignore. Of course, it’s still very gradual – it takes years of friendship in order for Gyomei to even form romantic feelings towards you in the first place, much less feelings to this degree. And even once they’re realized, it’ll take a long while before he moves past fantasizing about simply sitting by your side and slowly breathing in the air you’re exhaling and instead towards fantasizing about fucking you until you’re crying.

But as time passes and he slowly gives in more and more to his better judgement, Gyomei finds himself idly toying with the thoughts lingering at the edges of his subconscious – ideas of how you’d feel underneath him, how your lips would curve against his skin, how you’d keen and sigh his name. It becomes too hard not to imagine the way your pretty cunt would suck in his fingers, clenching down and fluttering around him as he curls and thrusts them, listening to the beating of your heart and slowly but surely finding every spot that drives you absolutely crazy.

His drive is still quite low even once he realizes his infatuation with you (simply finding that while he very, very much wants to have sex with you, it’s not something he needs on an hourly or daily basis), but the more lewd, dirty thoughts about you are most certainly still swirling in his mind.

And really, how can he be expected to not fantasize about you?

 You’re so beautiful, inside and out, and Gyomei is sure that if you were to allow him to touch you in such an intimate way, he'd be in heaven. The softness of your skin, the tightness of your throat, the warmth of your pussy…

(He’s heard, once again mainly from Tengen but also from others he’s unfortunately overheard, that vaginas tend to be warm, hot even. Initially, he’d just thrown aside this information, having no use for it, but the comments flow back into his head as he tries to picture what your cunt must feel like. Warm makes sense, but then he’s thinking of how it’s supposedly so very wet, assuming the woman is aroused, and Gyomei can only gulp at the thought, imagining the wet schlock noise that would ring in his ears when he’s got you bouncing in his lap. And of course, the tightness – he’s gripping himself harder at the mere thought, gasping sharply as he brings his fist up and down, varying the strength of his grip as he imagines where you’d be tightest, how your walls would squeeze and massage at him just how he’s been told it is.)

And you make it very, very hard to keep the thoughts from entering his head once he's accepted his sexual attraction to you.

When he notices the little sound you make when you throw your arms over your head and stretch, how can he not think of the way you’d squirm and cry out when he gently, sweetly presses a finger inside of you, curling and rubbing at the spot that Tengen promises will make you feel good? And although he knows it’s probably a bit inappropriate to be thinking of you in such ways despite you not being married quite yet, he honestly can’t help it - you’re too attractive to him, you mean to much for him to not want to be with you in every possible way.

After all, Gyomei wants to do everything in his power to make you as happy as possible, and if it means burying his face between your legs for hours on end and bringing you to your high a few times, he’s already plopping down onto his knees, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

(And even if you don’t really want it, Gyomei is still more than happy to taste you, practically begging you without saying the words, reminding you that he can make you relax, please allow me to pleasure you, it should help with your headache. And while it’s mostly for you, genuinely, there’s still a selfish part of him that’s hurriedly settling your pretty cunt over his face because he wants your thighs caging around his head, the taste and smell of you enveloping his senses, to have every ounce of your attention solely on him him him.)

He's not perpetually desperate for you in a sexual sense, but once Gyomei’s infatuation settles in for long enough, he will not turn you down should you offer.

That said, Gyomei will never force anything physical onto you in any capacity.

(And this is true In all senses – obviously he won’t force you into sex if you don’t consent, but he also won’t do things like holding your hand or calling you petnames, wanting everything in your relationship to be as reciprocated as possible. Except, of course, where your safety is concerned – if he looks the villain for kidnapping you, so be it, but at least he isn’t pinning you down and taking what he wants from you. Though with his stature, you’re aware that he could take practically anything he wants and you’d not be able to do a thing about it.)

While he isn’t especially experienced with romantic relationships, he’s more than aware that consent is everything, that each action and step should be accepted by both parties, whether it be a peck on the cheek or bending you over the nearest counter and leaving you sore.

Gyomei hates when you cry, and as the target of his obsession, this works in your favor - while you’re likely to develop sympathy and possibly even some warped sort of love for him, you won’t ever have to worry about being taken advantage of, or being put in a situation in which you’re forced to do something physical that you’re uncomfortable with. His top priority in any situation is you, and how can he justify shoving his tongue down your throat if you’re cringing, pushing at his far too muscular chest, showing obvious signs of fear?

How can he enjoy spreading your legs and running a thick finger up and down your folds when you’re shivering, whimpering with a few tears trailing down your cheeks?

He’d never forgive himself if he touched you without your consent, if he hugged or kissed or - heaven forbid, fucked - you without your explicit agreement, and this honestly ends up advantaging him in a strange way. It’s wrong and you know it, but eventually you’ll begin to grow fond of his gentle touches, his way of treating you as if you were made of glass, far too fragile and breakable for this world.

Perhaps it’s Stockholm Syndrome or the extreme isolation of only seeing one other person on a consistent basis, but eventually you’ll stop caring, justifying your growing yearning for his touch as simply a natural response to your situation. And at some point, you’ll want him to go further - no longer is a soft caress of your cheek enough; no, you want him to press his thumb against your lips, tracing the outline and pushing in just enough to pop it past your lips, settling on your tongue and telling you in that calming, deep voice of his to suck.

At some point you’ll decide that instead of him simply placing the palm of his hand on the top of your head as a sign of subtle, noninvasive affection, you’ll want him to instead have you on your knees before him, that same hand pressing your head down as you choke and gag on what you’re sure is a very, very sizeable cock. And once you voice these needs, gathering the courage and confidence that he won’t reject you (he would never, no matter how compromising or humiliating what you’re requesting of him is), Gyomei will be shocked, flustered, nervous, even.

When you shyly tug at his belt, kissing along the line of his jaw and whispering his name in a way that gets shivers erupting over his whole body, he won’t fight you. And all throughout the process he’s asking for your consent, refusing to move his hands until he gets explicit verbal confirmation that he can touch your back, your waist, your tits, your thighs, your ass, your cunt, your everything.

(Honestly, the question of are you sure, is this okay, does that feel good that constantly falls from his lips is almost too endearing, the ever-so-slight tremor in his voice giving away just how excited and nervous he is to be getting so intimate with you, as if the very, very insistent bulge pressing against your ass isn’t enough to tell by.)

It’s in moments where he’s completely vulnerable with you that the Stockholm Syndrome really accelerates: he’s slowly drawing circles against your clit and listening as if his life depends on it to the changes in your breathing, your moans, feeling the way your hips and thighs twitch at certain stimulation. It’s sweet, really, how attentive Gyomei is and just how anal he is about making sure that you’re comfortable with everything, and with each soft moan of his name and each orgasm he coaxes out of you, Gyomei can only thank whatever is listening, savoring the taste of you like a starving man and trying to memorize every inch of your body.

(It’s in the times of post-orgasmic bliss that he finds himself incredibly grateful for having prioritized your comfort and not pushed you into anything too early – sure, covering his mouth with the section of his happi you’d touched early in the day and absolutely yanking at his cock, his fist moving so quickly it’s nearly a blur wasn’t ideal, but it lead to this. All those evenings spent desperately trying to orgasm to release some of the built up sexual frustration and to minimize your chances of seeing the rather massive tent in his pants were worth it – anything is worth it to have you cuddled up in his arms, cheek smoothed against his bare chest, your soft breaths puffing against his nipple and making him lick his lips. Anything at all.)

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Oral Fixation

Specifically, Gyomei absolutely adores going down on you.

In general, he’s a giver in bed. He’s not a selfish lover by any means – in fact, he’s almost infuriatingly generous, prioritizing your pleasure over yours no matter the situation to the point that it’s almost irritating. And because he’s so cautious and aware that he’s significantly larger than you and thus has a cock proportionate to his height and stature, he knows that he needs to take things slow and spend a very, very long time preparing your body to take him.

And Gyomei’s personal preference is to use his tongue on you – to spread your legs and leave you squirming against him, the taste of you invading every one of his senses and only driving him to lick with more fervor, to suckle harder, to give you more more more because he needs you to be ready and able to take his cock or he thinks he might go insane.

He likes the intimacy of using his tongue on you – it means you trust him, he thinks, and there’s something so wonderful about the lewdness and vulgarity of it all. Having his mouth on the most sensitive, personal place on your body, all while your thighs cage his head in, your hips twitching and your fingers tunneling through his hair. He loves the way he feels so close to you – like he’s experiencing the most real, raw part of you that he can, the feeling almost as euphoric and intimate as having his cock nestled inside of you, warm and snug and full.

He loves the smell of you – it’s musky and earthy, something that makes his eyes roll to the back of his head and something resembling a groan slip from him at a mere whiff of between your legs, often leading to his hips bucking on their own, unconsciously moving to come closer to the source of your scent, his body physically unable to stop itself from trying to rut and fuck into you.

(Something that embarrasses Gyomei slightly, if only because he finds it rather pathetic just how poor his body-control becomes around you, ashamed at his inability to stop himself from responding so carnally, so perversely.)

He’ll often lean down and press his face against the pretty hair covering your cunt, nose-deep into it as he inhales, pants growing tight embarrassingly fast because oh fuck, he’s practically Pavolv’d himself into orgasming the moment he smells you, arousal blooming through him even though he hasn’t touched himself even the slightest.

And he’s not shy to tell you that you smell good, either – he’s always praising you in bed, but he’ll murmur to you that you smell divine, the compliment sounding throatly and groaned, and he’ll always finish it off by pressing soft, adoring kisses around the junctures of your thighs and pelvis, making sure every inch of space has been touched by his lips.

(And he gets very, very into it, too – he’s groaning lightly against your skin, letting his lips linger, letting his tongue come out to rub at the skin of your inner thigh, sucking slightly and letting go with a wet plop sound that makes your face feel hot and your stomach twist. It’s often at this point that he’ll wind up unconsciously very slowly grinding against whatever object is available, often the blankets you’re resting on and even sometimes your leg when he’s feeling especially needy, often when he’s returned from a prolonged mission. On those rare occasions, you may even feel something wet and very, very warm seep against your leg, hot cum already staining your skin and only serving as an omen for what Gyomei wants to do to you.)

He’ll trail kisses up to your clit, little kitten licks while he listens and gauges your reactions, trying to discover if you’re more in the mood for circles, figure eights, stripes, or – when a strange, unusual bout of possessiveness surges through him – the kanji for his own name.

(He’ll always grip onto you harder when he does this, still trying to be mindful of his strength, but with enough force to leave you completely immobile, utterly subject to whatever he wants to do to your body – a fact that both frightens him and excites some small, carnal part of him.)

He’ll station a thumb to work the pattern against you, rhythmic and steady, while his tongue darts out to dig between your folds, pressing shallowly into you while you twitch and whine, his thumb insistent against you. He’ll take his time to explore you, leaving no area untouched, and he’ll pull back with a few hearty sucks against your labia, licking his lips as he presses kisses against your stomach.

How would you like to come, my love? He’ll ask between kisses, the emphasis on the word ‘my’ subtle but still there. If you want to come solely from his tongue licking and sucking at you, he’ll be more than happy to – he’ll shift his positioning, laying on his back with you perched on his face, keeping his tongue stationary and instead moving you to the rhythm he knows you like, just so that all you have to do is sit there and take it, leaving your body completely in his control.

He’ll bring you to your high solely through sucking at your clit if you’d prefer, puckering his lips and keeping the pressure up, running his tongue over the sensitive skin and keeping them attached even when you buck up, your hips moving uncontrollably as you near your orgasm.

He’ll do both, if you want, able to multi-task and keep everything exactly as you like it, desperation motivating him because he needs to feel you come for him, to feel the way you muscles clench and spasm around him, to hear your pretty cries and feel your fingers dig against his scalp, pulling and yanking and making him groan lowly at the pain-twinged pleasure.

He just loves to please you really, and he can spend hours between your legs – genuinely, and without a single complaint. He’ll bring you a single orgasm or twenty, whatever you want of him, all you have to do is sweetly ask, to say his name and say please Gyomei, need another one, you feel so good and I want to come for you again all the while you grind against his tongue.

(If you really want to get him going, do all that and grab his free hand, slipping a finger or two into your mouth and sucking yourself, making sure it’s wet and sloppy and full of drool. He’ll pause for a mere second, before swallowing hard and immediately diving into your cunt, motivated because oh god, you never use your mouth on him – his own instigated rule, simply because he’s terrified he’ll choke you and kill you should he lose control and thrust down your throat. But this? Oh, perhaps he does have a penchant for your mouth, too, the oral fixation extending both ways and leaving him dizzy and light headed because even your fucking mouth is perfect, all warm and wet and smooth, making his cock leak so much precum that he idly wonders if he’s undergoing a single long, drawn-out orgasm because of the sheer volume.)

And Gyomei will be eager for the entire time he’s between your legs, keen to take you in any position – you laying down, from the back, you sitting on his face, anything that feels right – in any setting. He just loves the way you taste – how it’s so earthy, heavy against his tongue, natural in a way that makes him desperate for more, finding himself craving the taste at the most inopportune of times.

 (Thank god for the looseness of the uniform pants – you can notice the tent in them, of course, with just how often he’s sporting an erection in your presence, but this way his fellow slayers won’t notice – which is good, because as your sexual relationship progresses, it’s a near daily basis that a passing thought of your taste hits him, literally making him salivate and having to leave the room briefly.)

He just really, really likes using his mouth on you, and he won’t hesitate to offer himself up at even the slightest change of you wanting it. Even the slightest chance.

Praise

He’s not terribly vocal in bed, but when he speaks he makes it count.

His natural sounds during sex are much more controlled – he’s always letting out these long, shaky exhales, his lips parted slightly and his eyebrows drawing tight because fuck you feel good. He’ll groan your name and often hiss lightly through his teeth, soft little ah-ah sounds falling from his lips when you’re sucking on him just right and riding him with the rhythm and angle he likes best.

And yet, he was very, very quiet at the beginning of your sexual relationship – only breathing heavily and giving you a slurred, rushed I’m coming right before so much cum is stuffed up into your cunt that you’re literally leaking around his still-hard cock inside of you. He was quiet mostly because he didn’t want to turn you off by letting out some of the more intense noises, groans that start low but turn into this higher, whinier sound, or chants and mantras of your name like a prayer when he’s gently rolling his hips into you, every muscle in his body clenching in an effort to restrain himself and not absolutely pound into you like he so desperately wants to.

He didn’t want to scare you or make you uncomfortable, but as he grows more familiar with your body and your sexual preferences, Gyomei finds that complimenting you seems to fall naturally off his tongue.

He already thinks of you as perfection in human form, idolizing you to such a degree that he knows it’s unhealthy but he can’t find it in himself to stop. He’s never seen your face, of course, but he’s sure that  you’re beautiful, fingers having groped and traced out every feature of your face, every slope and curve of your body (even the inside of your body, too, of course) more times than he can count.

And before he knows it, all sorts of praises are filling the wet, thick air between you as he fucks into you – his voice is still low and timbered, the vibrations making shivers shoot up your spine and your nipples harden up, his strained praise of you take me so well, love only serving to get you going faster, grinding and scooping your hips more aggressively and feeling the way he sucks in a sharp breath and tenses up underneath you.

A lot of his praises focus largely on your performance during sex – always complimenting you for the way you feel, telling you that you feel like heaven and that you’re perfect and that you’re everything I’ve been dreaming of quietly under his breath the first time he carefully, almost fearfully cups your tits in his hands, squeezing gently and waiting pointedly for your response, forcing himself to not cave and squeeze as hard as he can.

He’s complimenting parts of your body, too – telling you that your skin is so soft, that your lips taste so good, that your ass is so warm and perfect to grip onto while you’re riding him. Of course, not in such vulgar terms – he only gets crude when he’s right on the brink of orgasming, some of his more lewd, risque thoughts coming to life because fuck fuck fuck it’s like you’re milking him for everything he’s worth, cunt sucking him in so tightly that he thinks he might die and oh god oh god oh god –

Even then, it’s still nothing terrible, but he’ll switch out some of the sweeter terms for cruder ones, calling it a cunt rather than your warmth or something equally virginal, really.

(Which makes sense, considering that it’s extremely obvious the first time that you touch him that he is in fact a virgin, his startled little gasps at every touch even against his torso leaving some sort of power trip rushing straight to your head because while he’s this hulking, huge, powerful man, you have him crumbling with a simple brush of your index finger, every muscle in his body flexing so hard it nearly hurts when you lick at his tip for the first time.)

Instead of asking you with a rather polite please go faster, angel when he needs you to bounce on him at a quicker pace, he’s throwing his head back a bit, Adam’s apple bobbing as he clutches onto you, losing his composure and telling you that you feel so – so good, oh keep going, don’t stop, you’re making me so close to coming – please tell me I can finish inside of you…

Which brings up another major aspect of his praise kink – Gyomei always seems to be asking for permission, even borderline begging at times. It doesn’t read as begging often, though, simply because he's still the one in control most of the time, even if you’re on top or dictating the pace. But he’ll always slip in a please, or bite his lip and wait for you to give him permission, managing to stave off his orgasm long enough to hear you moan out a yes, please come inside me, and suddenly he’s calling you beautiful and clutching onto you as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear, cum spraying into you and leaving you squirming because you can feel just how hot it is and just how much there is.

During his orgasms he’s particularly vocal, not to an exaggerated degree but always babbling in that deep, groaning voice that gets high at the very end about how you’re perfect, how you take him so well, how you’re made for him, how he loves you he loves you he loves you he loves you –

He genuinely finds you to be perfect, and every sexual encounter with him will leave you uncomfortably aware that he feels this way. He’s always complimenting you, and due to his lack of vision, the compliments are often extremely specific and leave you more puzzled than flattered.

He’s telling you that you’re the perfect size for him (this is often size closer to his orgasm, when he’s marveling and unable to fathom just how fucking tight you are around him), that you smell like how he’s always imagined (followed with a loud, audible sniff that’s trailed off with a moan, his voice higher than normal), that you’re so soft and squishy (this is always punctuated by particularly hard thrusts if he’s fucking you, and he’ll bury his face against the warm skin of your neck, hands groping at any fatty, squishy part of your body in a frenzy that’s rather uncharacteristic of him).

He just finds that while he’s normally able to stay composed and can be judicious about just how much he reveals he knows about you when he’s not touching you, the moment your skin comes into contact with his, a bit of his judgements flies out the door, instead focusing on the way you feel, how he’s been dreaming about this moment for months, guiltily wringing his cock dry at the mere prospect of getting to touch your used clothing, of getting to hear you breathing in his ear while he thumbs at his tip and lightly squeezes his balls.

You’re just so, so damn good – and in those moments where his admiration and obsession with become dangerously on display, you’ll feel equal parts disturbed and flattered, because really isn’t it just so damn pathetic that you’re able to turn such a large, important, strong man into a groaning mess that’s holding onto you for dear life with just a grind of your hips and a few well-timed, sultry phrases in his ear? Pathetic, sure, but also erotic, sexy in a way that scares even you for feeling it.

But Gyomei can’t seem to care, unable to stop himself form laying on the praise thick, not even conscious that he’s doing it – you just affect him that much.

Orgasm Control

But specifically, Gyomei wants you to control his orgasms.

Most of the time, Gyomei assumes a more dominant role in bed. He doesn’t really adhere to the dominant and submissive roles per say, but it’s rather because he holds so much power over you outside of the bedroom that it naturally follows between the sheets. You’re his captive, after all, and while you’ve slowly come around to him, perhaps even returning his feelings in some sort of deranged way, Gyomei is still undeniably the one in charge in your relationship.

So while he’s not shoving your face into the mattress and mounting you like some sort of animal staking his claim on you (though if you begged him hard enough, he might consider maybe doing something along the lines, but significantly toned down and with a constant question of is this alright, my love asked before each and every motion), between his size and his aura you’ll often find at the start of your sexual relationship that you’re following his lead, doing what he wants to do.

And this bothers Gyomei – he doesn’t like the fact that you still feel a shadow of fear for him, obvious in the way that you look to him for guidance and approval during sex, even though you have at least as much experience as him if not more. It makes him uncomfortable and reminds him of the reality of your situation, something he wants to escape from when he’s being intimate with you.

He wants to think of you as wanting to be naked in his arms and kissing him rather than you having talked yourself into it simply because he’s the only human being you regularly have contact with now. And to remedy this, Gyomei does his best to let you dictate the timing of his orgasms. He has impeccable self-restraint and control, and while it’s not necessarily easy, he’s pretty adept at holding off his orgasms.

(It’s a lot easier to come on command, of course, simply because all he needs to do is focus on the feel of you under his palms and around his tongue or cock, listening to your heartbeat and the sound of your voice and he’s already halfway there, only needing a single, final push to get him groaning and letting go.)

And while he doesn’t explicitly say it at the start, you’ll notice pretty quickly that he only lets himself go when you beg him to, only warning you with a clipped I’m close to coming as a prompt for you to tell him to either hold it in or release.

You’ll soon figure it out, and Gyomei absolutely loves the power structure that forms when you finally understand what he’s trying to do. There’s something thrilling about letting go of his control and handing it totally over to you. No longer does he have to be the strongest, wisest, or most senior – no, now he can just be Gyomei, just be your lover, the man unequivocally whipped and subject to your beck and call.

It’s freeing, almost, and he looks forward to seeing what mood you’ll be in each time your clothing gets peeled off. He’s not sure which mood he likes most – there’s something arousing about the way that you tease him, denying him his orgasm over and over and over, leaving him pent up but still attentive to your words, following your instructions and holding himself back, even when you’re doing things you know drive him crazy.

(Like bouncing on him just right, the feeling of your ass clapping against his thighs making his mouth feel dry. Or when he’s hovering over you, fucking into you slowly and deeply, and you go and wrap a leg around him, drawing him closer, begging him to finish inside but stopping him just moments before his release, telling him nuh-uh, not yet, you only get to come inside me when you’ve earned it. Or one of the rare times you’ve convinced him to let you take him in your mouth, teasing him with tracing his tip over your lips and collarbone, alternating between suckling at his tip and pushing your breasts together to rub up and down his length, narrating to him the whole time exactly what you’re doing. They all make his face go slightly red, his fists clenching up and the muscles in his arms bulging, veins standing out and leaving you to drool slightly, entranced that this behemoth of a man is listening to your words like gospel, forcing himself to be good and do exactly as you say. Even if you’re not an especially dominant person, there’s still something that’ll get you going about that, some sort of power trip that leaves you feeling light headed in the best possible way.)

The edging only serves to make his orgasm stronger, to make everything feel more intense, his eventual orgasm ending up being way more powerful, arcs of cum shooting from his swollen, red tip with such intensity that it feels almost painful against your skin.

(And he’ll finish wherever you tell him to, too – his preference is always inside of you simply because it feels the most intimate and it satisfies some small possessive side of him, but Gyomei will do whatever you want – you want him to finish on your chest? He’s painting your tits in white, droplets dripping from your nipples and drying in thick smears against your skin. Grab his hand and let his fingers feel over the mess he's made and he’ll lowly gasp, a smaller, less impressive spurt landing freshly on your chest, the feeling of his cum on you enough to get the last, sad little bit out. He’ll finish on your back, your ass, your stomach, your thighs, anything you want – just say the word and he’ll do it, eager to please you and make you enjoy your time with him, even if it means leaving his seed somewhere other than where it really belongs – inside you.)

But of course, Gyomei also loves the other side of you dictating his orgasms – that is, similarly to his ability to hold himself off, his refractory period is short. If you were to take advantage of that, you'll see him at the closest to pussydrunk you’ll ever get – make him come in quick succession, your hand steady and quick as you jerk him off, and you’ll see how the first orgasm is the familiar heavy load, the second is slightly reduced, the third even more so, and by the fifth orgasm he’s shooting blanks, abs clenching and unclenching so quickly that you almost feel bad for him, but the sounds he’s letting out are filthy. His normally low and masculine voice rises with each one, until he’s letting out something that isn’t quite a whimper but isn’t not one, either.

He loves the way you bleed him dry, your voice soothing and alluring even as you push him to the edge of his comfort zone, tears pooling in his eyes as you tell him to keep going Gyomei, I know you can give me another one, please give me another one paired with a wet, needy kiss to his lips.

You unlock all sorts of kinks and sides to him that he wasn’t aware even existed, and he’ll let you play with him as much as you please, eagerly setting down onto your shared bed, spreading his legs and helping guide you to your place in his lap, already rock hard below you.

He’s too big and powerful to be called pathetic, but he sure toes the line when you’re touching him, when you’re driving him absolutely insane.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Size Kink

Though, only in very specific circumstances. By and large, Gyomei is painfully aware of just how extreme the size difference between the two of you is – and regardless of your height or weight, you are smaller than him. Small enough to make him worry constantly about accidentally hurting you, terrified that he’ll somehow crush you or bruise you or simply be too much for you. It’s his number one concern when doing anything sexual with you, worrying that even a single finger slipping into your cunt will make you squirm with more than just pleasure.

But by the same token, there’s something so inexplicably right about just how much bigger he is than you. It’s shameful, he thinks, and it makes him feel like some sort of freak for being attracted to the size difference, but it makes him feel stronger, more masculine, feeling like a true protector and provider for you because he can encompass your whole body simply by hovering over you.

And he’s reminded of it at every turn – his hand against your waist covers half the area, the skin soft and plush and warm underneath him, but he can feel the curve of your hip, the expanse of his hand just that much on your body. He can feel the way your fingers struggle to fully grab around his cock, fingertips barely touching even as you squeeze him tightly, and while it seems to frustrate you, Gyomei can only headily swallow, cock twitching in your hands because god, there’s no way that will fit inside of you, will it?

And yet as he swallows, oh so slowly eases you down as you straddle him, going slow and giving you ample breaks to adjust to his size, there’s something about the way he can feel you tremble, your cunt stretching to accommodate him that makes him fist at the sheets, struggling to maintain his composure.

(The warmth and wetness of your walls certainly don’t help his predicament, absolutely soaked and sensitive from the some three orgasms he’d already pulled from you in preparation.)

He’s cautious and terrified that he’ll hurt you, of course, and his concern for you weighs out over any sort of sexual pleasure he gets from the size difference, but it’s still present at the back of his mind, toying with him and begging him to just shove himself inside of you, to take a quick, harsh pace like his body is dying to, to use you as some sort of living cocksleeve for him to fuck into and fill up. He won’t ever do that, of course, but it’s one of the main motivations behind his deep, far-reaching thrusts, enjoying the way you gasp and claw at him when he’s nudged up right against your cervix, pressing and filling you to the point of you almost feeling that you’re being split in half.

He preps you well enough that you’re always able to just barely take him, too worried that he’ll hurt you otherwise, but he still can’t deny the allure of just how different your bodies are.

(And this extends beyond the bedroom, too – he loves the way you fit against his side when you cuddle against him, or how he has to lean down for you to press kisses against his face - something he absolutely adores and very does not mind leaning over for.)

It’s just sweet in his opinion, and while it gets blood rushing south more easily than he’d care to imagine, it ultimately only serves as another reminder that he needs to keep you safe and protected, that you’re too weak to survive in the real world without his aid.

(And, of course, some selfish part of him is satisfied with the knowledge that now that you’ve had him, you’d never be satisfied with another man’s cock, never able to feel the level of stretch and fullness that he can give you. Not that he’d allow you the opportunity to try with another man – he’s not terribly possessive, but the thought of someone else touching you, fucking you, is enough to get his nostrils flaring, rage simmering through him because he absolutely does not want anyone else getting even remotely close to you in that capacity.)

Thigh Riding

Gyomei lives to please you in bed. Every sexual encounter with him sees your pleasure as the absolute priority – he’ll have pulled some three orgasms from you before he even thinks about reaching one himself, before he even really pays attention to the fact that he’s so hard he’s soaked the front of his pants through.

And he’s not picky about how to get you there – namely, Gyomei doesn’t mind being quite literally used for your pleasure, his every limb and feature available for your use. He’ll let you do whatever you want to him; bending him into all sorts of positions, giving him directions for how to finger your pretty cunt, laying down and letting you grind and hump at his face like he’s a mere pillow.

He loves to be of service to you, and he finds that the best sex is where he’s nothing more than a toy for you, at least at the beginning – hence, Gyomei grows to absolutely love having you ride his thigh. He’s huge, a hulking man with muscles so thick and defined that you’ll quite literally be drooling the first time you see them, sucking in a sharp breath when you touch him for the first time.

(And he’ll feel a mixture of pride and bashfulness grow inside him when he hears your little gasp – he’s overjoyed that you seem to like what you’re seeing and feeling, some small, anxious part of him having been terrified that you’d be repulsed by his size and the scars littering his body, that you’d find him to be too muscular, too intimidating. And you can tell, too, because the way that he visibly becomes harder afterward the gasp is a clear indication that you’re doing something to him, your mere presence and breathing getting him hard as a rock.)

He likes the physicality of the act – he keeps you steady on his thigh, the muscle large enough for you to straddle, and the feeling of your hands gripping onto his chest for support makes him oddly giddy.

 The first time it happens, Gyomei honestly isn’t sure what you’re trying to do - when you straddle his thigh rather than his waist, his lips part slightly, confusion evident across his features. But as your hips start moving, your exposed, wet cunt sliding against the toned, broad expanse of his thigh again and again, he’s suddenly grasping onto our hips, helping guide you up and down the length of his thigh, occasionally tensing his muscles in order to hear you gasp and cry out his name.

He wants to do everything he can to service you, to help you reach that wonderful high, and the only thing that’s rolling through his mind at that moment is how perfect you feel, the way his name slips from your lips as your body shakes in pleasure, how he can feel the pulses and clenches of your cunt even as you pick up the pace.

And when he snakes a hand down to thumb against your clit, he nearly comes from the sound that escapes you - it’s so wanton, so lewd and dirty but so fucking hot, and suddenly all he can think of is the repeated phrase of make her come, make her come, a mixture of desperation and determination leaving him frantically rubbing at your clit.

Gyomei will offer his thigh to you whenever you feel like riding it, and once you’ve finished, your body exhausted and laying down next to him, he’ll sneakily rub along the area where your slick has rubbed off onto his thigh, bringing his fingers up for a taste and groaning as your flavor coats his tongue, free hand reaching down to palm at himself, squeezing at his balls and shuddering. Gyomei can and will do anything to make you feel good in the bedroom, and he’ll never turn down the opportunity to see you fall apart on his thighs. 

(And if he’s feeling particularly needy or knows he’s leaving for a long mission away from you, he won’t bother to wash off his legs afterwards – he'll let your slick dry against his skin, wearing it like a sort of badge of honor, feeling connected to you as he slaughters demons even while you’re miles and miles away from him. It’s dirty, sinful, even, but it’s enough to keep him satisfied, to let him bear to be away from you while he does his duty. And yes, he’s running his fingers along the area occasionally and sniffing, his knees getting ever so slightly weak because the smell has the taste of you flooding his mouth, the sound of your moans ringing in his ears, even phantom touches of yours erupting all over his body.)

BIGGEST FANTASY:

As a general rule, Gyomei prioritizes your pleasure in the bedroom. He’s not a particularly sexual man, and so he views intimacy as being all about making sure that you enjoy it to the fullest extent possible – in many ways, he sees himself as merely a tool for you to use to reach your high.

(And if he happens to orgasm – which he always does when it’s you touching him – then great, but it’s not a necessity.)

And this is largely true – he really does want you to enjoy fucking him, and he’ll go to extremes just to make sure everything is as perfect as possible.

But Gyomei is only human, and as such he harbors a few fantasies that are entirely selfish, entirely about him – one of which develops by complete accident. He’s so terrified to hurt you that he’s constantly looking for ways to satisfy you without using his cock, because although he loves the feeling of your lips, fingers, or cunt wrapped around him (to the point that just thinking about it makes his composure falter ever so slightly, his jaw going a bit slack and his Adam’s apple bobbing harshly), he’s always concerned that it’ll be too big and you could hurt yourself if he fucks you with it.

And so, during the rare times he’d get off before he begins any semblance of a sexual relationship with you, Gyomei’s exploring alternative options.

And while it isn’t necessarily a way to help you get off, per se, he’d been idly gripping himself while thinking one evening, biting his lip and feeling awfully shameful of his actions but unable to bring himself to stop. He’d reached down further, sucking in a sharp breath as he carefully and delicately cupped his balls, idly squeezing and rolling them between his fingers.

But he must’ve been too deeply in thought, distracted by the idea of you, that his hand continued down, reaching and pressing against his skin, until a sudden, odd sensation made him pause, eyes going wide. He’s never even considered anything involving either your ass or his own, but at the single press of his fingers against his hole, the strange, fluttery feeling in his chest makes him feel a bit light-headed.

It’s dirty, taboo, and he hadn’t explored the thought any further that night simply because he was too embarrassed to have found it pleasurable, but it sticks around in the peripheral of his mind. There’s this ever-present question of what if, a sort of far-off fantasy that he toys with every once in a while, when he’s particularly needy and missing the feeling of your skin on his or your attention on him.

And the idea of you taking your time, worshipping his body and guiding him through a new, pleasurable experience makes more than just his cock swell, because there’s something so loving and calming about it, and letting himself be vulnerable in that way is something he hasn’t done for years – something he can’t afford to do, no matter how wonderful it sounds.

Of course he’d never, ever bring up the idea to you for two reasons – it bothers him a bit that you wouldn’t be getting any direct pleasure or stimulation out of it, and he’s too embarrassed to admit that he wants you to touch his ass, afraid that you’ll find him disgusting or flatly reject the idea. He'll keep quiet about it, and if you were to bring it up, you’ll see the way he subtly perks up, body tensing as he swallows, telling you that you don’t have to, I understand that you may not wish to.

But if you’re insistent, and you see the way it affects him, Gyomei will be putty in your hands – you can do anything to his ass, and he’ll take it so well, the only sign that you’re affecting him being the small, barely-there moans leaving his lips, a slight flush across his cheeks, and the copious, copious amounts of precum oozing from his swollen tip.

So really, play around – he’ll never request it, but it’ll only make his feelings for you grow stronger, his desperation and dependence on you growing because only you can make him feel this way.

“Gyomei, I want to try something new tonight.” You start, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips. He’s got you straddled in his lap, large hands resting on your hips and his back leaning against the near wall. At your words, he nods, encouraging you to continue.

“Anything you wish, angel.” His voice is low, deep, excited in a way that you can ever so slightly pick up on.

You take a deep breath, leaning up to whisper into his ear as you brace yourself on his chest. “Gyomei, I want to touch you. All of you.”

His hands lightly squeeze at your sides. “You have all of me, you know this. I am all yours, and you can do whatever you please with me.”

You laugh slightly and it makes Gyomei shiver, his grip tightening just enough to make you uncomfortable, but you don’t say anything. “No, I want to touch you where I haven’t before – somewhere new.”

You reach back and grab one of his hands, guiding it to press against your clothed ass, his index fingers landing on the indent between your cheeks.

Gyomei gulps. He’s silent for a moment, mind racing, but the semi-hardness underneath you throbs at your words, and you only smile as he shakily exhales, murmuring an “Are you sure?”

Carefully taking his earlobe between your teeth, you grind down onto him, your thumb finding his nipple over the fabric of his top. Humming, you let go of his skin with a kiss, telling him, “Yes, please… lay on your front for me, please Gyomei.”

Which leads to where you are now, with your big, strong captor laying on his front, arms kept tucked at his sides. This angle makes his muscles stand out, his sculpted back and the definition of his thighs nearly making you drool. And of course, the tan skin of his ass, muscular enough to make you grab handfuls of each cheek and spread them apart to get a good look at him. Coarse black hairs dabble over his skin, and Gyomei finds himself oddly self-conscious as he feels you staring. He’s laying with his head to the side, his breathing still a little quick, and he waits with baited breath for you to do something, to say something, anything.

What he isn’t prepared for, though, is to feel your soft lips press against the sensitive skin of his cheeks, making him jerk ever so slightly and stiffen up under your touch. Your thumb rubs soothing circles against his skin as you kiss a trail down from his tailbone to his thigh, the hardness of his muscles never ceasing as you continue.

“Gyomei,” you whisper against his skin, “relax for me, please. I want to take care of you.”

He hesitates, but forces himself to be less tense, only slightly shifting under the weight of your lips. You smile at that, planting another kiss. “So good f’me.”

That gets something small and uncharacteristically high sounding from low in his throat, but you don’t comment on it.

Your thumb comes down to press softly against his puckered hole, and Gyomei sharply inhales at the sensation, immediately clenching and shaking slightly at the feeling of you increasing the pressure, just idly rubbing circles over it.

The way you retract your hand without warning almost makes Gyomei grunt, confusion and disappointement contorting his face, but then your thumb is returning, something warm and sticky coating your thumn, and suddenly you’re pushing in, further and further until you break past the tight ring of muscle, Gyomei’s breath goes ragged because it feels strange –

It feels good, though, and as you settle in to your first knuckle, his toes curl slightly, the sensation odd but not unpleasant.

“How does it feel, Gyo?” You ask, pressing more kisses along his back and squeezing at his ass. He can’t quite answer, too overwhelmed by the feeling of your thumb inside him. Smiling, you lightly nibble at the skin of his lower back. “Know what I’m using for lube?”

He shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to get used to the feeling.

Pressing your thumb just a hair further, you smile at the way he jolts, thigh muscles tensing hard enough to see visible definition. “It’s me, seeing you like this is making me wet enough that I’m using my own slick to prep you…”

That gets Gyomei groaning, the sound muffled by the pillow underneath him, but audible nonetheless. His cock’s painfully hard, pressed up against his stomach, and he can feel the wet pool of precum already staining his skin and the fabric of the sheets below him.

Humming, you press another inch or so in, curling your finger slightly and listening the way his breathing changes, trying to identify what he likes most.

“So pretty, Gyomei,” you start, and his eyes snap open when he hears the familiar sound of your fingers sinking into yourself, the small sigh you make only making him clench around your thumb and his cock throb underneath him.

Your thumb’s all the way in now, and as you slowly, shallowly begin thrusting it, you time it with your own pumps inside. “I’m fucking myself at the same pace as you, that way it’s like we’re together.”

Your voice makes him melt, and as you angle your thumb just right, a gasp tunnels its way through him, ripping him apart and making his hips jerk forward, humping at the sheets below him.

You smile. “There, huh?”

And immediately you’re abusing the spot, pressing tightly against it and rubbing it in a hithering motion, Gyomei’s hips twitching wildly at the feeling. He’s chanting your name under his breath as the pleasure begins mounting, eyes shut again and eyebrows drawn tight.

He’s embarrassed, truly, because even something as small as your thumb has him falling apart like this, desperation lacing his movements because this is building up to be a different feeling from his normal orgasms, something entirely different that makes his whole body tense up and stutter, a muffled groan sound, “It-It’s coming – “

And suddenly cum is caked along his front, your eyes watching transfixed as the visible portion of his balls clench and spasm wildly, his ass flexing and the tightness nearly forcing your thumb out. Instead, you keep pressing against his prostate, watching the way he clutches onto the fabric below him, grip so strong that the fabric rips under him, his strength uncontrollable as his orgasm rocks him.

It’s easily a twenty second affair, cum pouring out of him and visibly seeping into the fabric surrounding him, making you lick your lips because oh, isn’t this precious? Your big, sweet, strong Gyomei falling apart with your thumb up his ass, something like whimpers falling from his lips because you’re still rubbing inside him, reaching deeper with every curl and leaving his back to tense up, shoulder blades visible as he fights off the acute feeling overstimulation.

You only press a kiss to the back of his head, pausing your movements for a single moment as you murmur his name in his ear, telling him with a near purr, “You’ll give me another one, right? I know you can do it, my pretty boy.”

And the way he shudders, hand snapping out to grab onto your thigh as he nods tells you enough, as does his muffled, choked “y-yes”.

[cherri--cherri]

Featuring; I. Midoriya

Warnings; ANGST, cursing

Notes; this could potentially have a part 2... if anyone's interested! feeling a bit angsty today heh.

The phone held tightly in your hand was continuously being refreshed. The news on the TV opposite of you was abruptly cut short during the live footage of the battle between Deku and a villain. Technical difficulty they said. Your mind was exploding with thoughts, you didn’t know what to do except refresh your phone and hoping you get anything, a call, a text, something. At this moment in time you didn't know what to do.

Last thing you saw on TV was a backhanded move, an extra villain from the back hitting your fiance in the head with a metal quirk. A villain that wasn’t there during the first 15 minutes shown, his quirk, metal shooting out of him, cut the news short but before it did end you saw it. You saw Izuku laying on the ground, blood dripping out and his face… his face full of shock and fear. Metal shortly after hit the crew recording and that was all you saw.

It has now been over an hour and nothing else was being shown or said.

-

You felt it before you heard it.

Running out towards the front door and seeing your fiance all bandaged up was all you needed to see before your eyes let out the tears you were desperately trying to hold back.

“Izuku…”

His name whispered low and his eyes deflecting yours. You looked down at his legs and then up again, he was leaning on crutches and he still wouldn’t look at you. 

“Izuku?”

You called out again, hoping he, at the least, looked at you. What you didn't expect was him to completely avoid you, moving past you as if you were just a pest in the home you two shared. The crutches thud with every step he took and in the silence of it all, the noise it made was deafening.

“Izuku!”

Izuku would usually crack a smile and reassure you. Your heart fell as you followed behind him, seeing him struggle between holding the crutches and trying to open the fridge door. Your body moved before you knew it, to try and lessen his struggle, to help but that was the last straw for the freckled man.

“Jesus! Y/N, for the love of god, please. Mind your business and go away. Izuku this Izuku that. You can never shut the fuck up” he uttered the last words almost silently.

With furrowed brows, you glanced up at him. 

“What?”

Confusion.

“I’m injured, i didn’t lose the ability to pour myself a glass of water. So please, just go back to lazing around”

You waited hours, concerned about the man that was soon to be your husband, head laced with worry, pacing up and down the hallway, with not a single call or text in sight just for this reaction? Where did this reaction even come from? What happened to the gentle man that was kissing you and talking excitedly about the wedding just this morning? The wedding that was happening in a month's time.

“I'm just trying to help lessen the burden izu” 

“Well i don’t need fucking help”

“What did the doctors say?”

The fridge slammed shut. The pure anger in his face scared you enough to take a step back. 

“This is all your fault Y/N”

“What?”

He huffed, shaking his head.

“What? What… that’s all you can say. If i wasn’t always distracted because of you and this dumb wedding you so desperately want. I wouldn't have lost this easily. He wouldn’t have escaped from my grasp, neither of them would have. They’d be in jail and i wouldn’t be under pressure from the media that i’m becoming weak” 

Your ears were ringing now, body numb and mind empty. Confusion was still there, where was this reaction coming from, you really couldn’t understand.

“If you weren’t always in my ear yapping about a useless wedding we don't need, i wouldn’t be in this circumstance”

“Izuku, are you trying to call the wedding off?”

Silence. 

“If that's what you want, i'll gladly pack up right now and be out of your life”

More silence.

You bit your lip, tears were being held back. The man you spent years with. The man that you’ve basically been married to since the end of high school. That man was not the man that's in front of you at this moment. This man is not the Deku you knew and loved, he was NOT izuku midoriya. This man is a stranger.

Izuku had no reaction to the threat, maybe he assumed you were bluffing or maybe he really didn’t care enough to stop you. You heard muttering and knew he was thinking but before he could speak or do anything else you were already out the door with no destination in mind.

Heartbroken, confused, in shock. So many emotions at once.

Your phone was ringing now.

But checking the name on display you quickly were disappointed. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t ‘husband’ and a shit ton of kissing and heart emojis.

“Hello?”

“Y/N, it’s iida. May I speak to Midoriya?” 

“I'm not home right now, is he not answering you?”

“No, he is not. I wanted to check up on him. I'm sure he’s taking all this negativity to heart”

You didn't know what to say. The media is always making things bigger than they were and this isn’t the first time that he got portrayed in a negative way but the positive out weighed it all.

“I’ll be home soon, i’ll tell him you called”

“Thank you,”

Before he could continue speaking, you pressed the red button.

[asce-of-hearts]

asceee thoughts about yan bully izuku? 👀

-🦊

TW: YANDERE, COLLEGE!AU, BULLYING, NON/DUB-CON, DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE.

Bully!Deku who is perfect in every sense of the word. An athlete, someone smart, someone kind, someone who just seems too perfect to be placed on earth. And who is your worst nightmare.

Bully!Deku who starts small. Shoulder-checking you on the hallways, dropping your books, leaving anonymous notes with taunting and threatening messages on your bags and between your books. Never doing things that are outright mean; disturbing, annoying, but never cruel.

Bully!Deku who manages to ostracize you from everything and everyone. Who manages to get everyone to dislike you for some reason. You're completely alone, always receiving weird looks, weird whispers about you, the ocasional laughter that dies down quickly once you realize its targeted at you.

Bully!Deku who relishes on seeing you become so small, so frail, so fucking pathetic. Who loves to have you suffering, to have you questioning just what you did wrong, what did you to for everyone to turn on you out of nowhere.

Bully!Deku who becomes the only one to be kind, to treat you like another person. Who works with you on group projects, who greets you with a smile. Even when they continue poking fun at you behind your back.

Bully!Deku who adores to be the only one you trust, the one you search for whenever you enter a classroom.

Bully!Deku who notices the way you blush when he speaks sweetly to you. Who can't help but grin at thinking that you finally trust him, that you love him. Because you do love him, right?

Bully!Deku who at a party, spikes your drink and manages to get you limp and inviting. Who so kindly offers to take you home, because no one else wants to do so.

Bully!Deku who undresses you in the back of his car. Who has his way with you when you're most vulnerable, unable to resist him. Who takes pictures, who takes videos, and who cums inside without any regrets.

Bully!Deku who baby traps you, who sweet talks you into keeping it. Who makes you drop out of college because: "Nobody but me wants you there anyways. So why stay? I'll get us a nice house, and I'll let you be happy with me, forever."

Deku M.List

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[thedarkeside]

𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑧𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒

𖤝 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠 𝑦𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑓 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑒𝑥𝑢𝑎𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡

There is something about a yandere stuck in the friendzone that is just so. utterly. pathetic.

My favorite part of the trope is just how diverse it can be.

There are some yandere's that really are just straight pathetic. They're too shy to really say anything. Maybe they've been friends with you since childhood. They know everything about you, and are fully devoted to you, but they really are just a sibling to you.

These yanderes are so incredibly soft. Just a bit too scared to confess their feelings. Too scared to take that leap. Because at least they have you close, right? If you really, truly, just think of them as a sibling, then what can confessing do other than ruin their relationship with you?

Maybe some of them would just remain, pining, (perhaps stealing your panties every now and then, whining into them as they think about your pretty little cunt instead), and holding on to hopeless faith that one day, one day, you'll feel something for them instead.

Deku, Amajiki Tamaki, Tanjiro Kamado

Other yanderes, however, are suffering for an entirely different reason.

The reason?

You're an idiot.

Completely oblivious. Blind. Unable to take a goddamn hint.

They've tried hinting at it. Given you bouquet after bouquet of flowers. Sometimes they're just your favorites, sometimes they're an intentional selection of flowers that, if you thought about it, and weren't so dense, maybe you'd notice how they tell an entire story about his love for you. Nothing is more romantic than flower language.

They've tried taking you out on dates, proposing every single cliche: picnics, candle lit dinner, walks on the beach. Hell, they've even tried a pottery class (they took a few classes previously in order to be able to confidently press their chest against your back, guiding your hands against the clay).

And guess what?

You always end the day saying something stupid about how they're such a good friend, or how you had a great time "hanging out".

I think that these poor yanderes are more likely to snap. More likely to just up and take you, because if you're going to be so blind to his feelings, then he'll have to make you.

Geto Suguru, Shinsou Hitoshi, Hawks, Togata Mirio, Fushiguro Megumi, Kyojuro Rengoku, Nanami Kento

There's another friend zoned yandere that I guess isn't that pathetic. They're more just delusional.

In their mind, they're not friend zoned. You two are already dating and you are the one that's too shy to outwardly express your feelings.

This delusional lil buddy is quite content. They've fully conditioned you into being accepting of any and all physical affection that they offer.

In your mind, every time they hold your hand is just platonic. Every kiss on the cheek is equivalent to pecking your mom or your sister. Maybe they're a bit more handsy that most people, but the way they snake their arm around you and secure their hand against your waist is all just friendly.

Maybe you rationalize it as them being touch starved, and so they find physical affection in any way they can. Or perhaps you're just so used to it that you don't even think twice.

(How they've gotten away with "accidentally" groping your chest or squeezing your ass, I have no clue, but perhaps you intentionally ignore it because they're just such a good friend and you don't want to cause problems. It's all harmless, right?)

This yandere will be scaring away other potential love interests. They tell all of their friends that you two are dating, but you're pretty shy about it, so don't bring it up, 'kay?

If you ever catch on to their delusion, I can see it going one of two ways.

The first way: You tell them to stop referring to you as their girlfriend, because you're just friends.

They don't even bat an eye, maybe going along with it, saying "Oh, sorry honey, I'll cut it out" but, in all honesty, they're just thinking about how cute you are when you get bashful like that.

On the other hand, a more stubborn yandere, a more condescending one, will pat your head and say "sure, sweetheart, whatever you say".

Gojo Satoru, Zenitsu Agatsuma

The second way: They crack. Just a bit. Just at the edges. They tell themselves that you're just playing hard to get. That you're kidding, maybe.

If you persist, those cracks split further and further, until they can't take it anymore and resort to less savory methods.

Maybe they have some blackmail on you. They've been around you enough that they may have some serious dirt on you. They could use that to keep you compliant.

They may take a more aggressive approach to your defiance. You tell them to stop acting ridiculous and they tell you to stop acting like a brat as they wrap their hand around your neck until your eyes water and your lungs burn.

You wake up somewhere else. Their bedroom, their basement, a shed. Whatever works.

Because if you're going to deny your natural place at their side, then they'll either make you eventually accept it, or they'll just keep you close until you break. Either way, you will be playing house with them at the end of the day.

Bakugou Katsuki, Todoroki Shouto, Inosuke Hashibira, Sanemi Shinazugawa Diluc

[lesinquietes]

Make The Devil Pray

Summary: You break up with Dabi because he’s a toxic boyfriend. You know you’re better off without his influence in your life. When you hit him with the news, he laughs and encourages you to go. For you, his reaction justifies your decision. But in his eyes, there’s no way in hell he’d ever let you leave him, and you’d be a fool to think he won’t chase you. I mean, really; are you that dumb?

Warning: 18+ // no minors pls // fem!reader; abusive relationship dynamics, branding (burning; cigarettes), collaring, degradation / humiliation, knife play (light), misogyny (enji, dabi), noncon (touching, fingering), slut-shaming, spanking, stalking, victim-blaming, violence, yandere; past physical abuse (enji & rei; drunk dabi), threats of mutilation (non-descriptive)

—

this is an old story I wrote and never posted years ago! it’s a stalking fic. maybe i’ll finally work on editing the other parts to this and post them too. if not, i think it's still a pretty cool oneshot. thanks for reading!

—

What can I do? I will always be in love with you.

What can I say? It can never be another way.

One day you’ll see, you will always be a part of me.

‘Til the end of time, our fire eternal.

—

It’s a chilly Autumn evening. Against bare branches and grumpy skies, the leaves are turning shades of auburn, ruby, and marigold. October is a notoriously frosty month in this part of the world. Heavy coats are buttoned up, with scarves on hand for gusty afternoons, and boots for rainy evenings — much like this one.

You finish work at nine. The cafe was busy as usual. Fortunately, there was a lull before closing, so you were able to catch your breath and cash out quickly tonight. You’re exhausted. Your feet are aching from standing and running to grab orders. One of the only things getting you through the day was your plan to come home and lounge on your couch.

The walk from work to your apartment building takes about twenty minutes at your usual pace. It isn’t far. Halloween decorations draw your attention as you pass a neighbourhood of upper-middle class houses. It’s enough to make your trek halfway enjoyable, despite the inclement weather.

You certainly don’t expect what’s to come.

You get in close to nine thirty. The lobby is silent. The overheard lights buzz, flickering subtly while illuminating the space. You shake the rain off your umbrella and remove your hood. Past the mailboxes, you climb the open staircase. At the second floor, you turn right down a door and through a short corridor. Your apartment number is 223.

Keys out, you unlock the door and welcome yourself back into your home. You secure it behind you. Your umbrella and purse go down; likewise, your boots and coat come off. Everything seems fine… until you take a better look.

Immediately, the hairs on the back of your neck rise. Your figure tenses, causing gooseflesh to bloom in taut rows on your arms and torso. It’s that felt sense you get when you’re not alone. It’s that inner knowing that there’s something more. It’s the message your gut sends when you’re not safe.

Quiet.

Quiet.

It’s too quiet.

Your apartment is dark, save for the standing lamp illuminating the sofa. The bulb is soft, fanning a gentle, dim light out into the rest of the room. On the couch cushion directly below the shade, there’s a light indent. It gives the impression that was sitting there, mere minutes earlier. You don’t recall leaving this light on. There would have been no need this morning, what with the natural daylight flowing in through the window. It was clear skies until late this evening. That means this development was recent.

That’s not all. There’s a single glass resting on the coffee table coaster. At its base, there’s a splash of fine alcohol that’s gathered. You can’t accept onus for that, either. You haven’t had whiskey in ages. Your gaze drifts down to the floor, initially deep in contemplation. But then you see it.

Holy shit.

Are those— are those boots underneath the coffee table? Yes; yes, they’re black combat boots! Dread topples over you like a tonne of bricks. You recognize them. They’re aren’t yours, though.

Before you can open your mouth to gasp, there’s a knife resting against your chest. You’re reeled into a lean torso from behind, confined by arms that bear scratchy, bruised flesh. You glance down and get a quick glimpse of your worst fear. Your assailant has staples jammed into his skin. There’s a singular person in this city that matches this description, and unfortunately for you, he’s also your ex-boyfriend.

Speak of the devil. You were mulling over memories of him at work this afternoon. He caused a lot of damage in a short period of time. You dated for a measly few months, and yet, he still managed to injure your self-esteem and trust in manners that have admittedly distorted your view of relationships.

“This can’t be happening.” You whisper, in disbelief. “Why?”

“Oh, it’s happening, sweetheart.” He purrs, tone laced with velvet and iron. “And you know damn well why.”

Panic onsets. So do regret and remorse. You chide yourself for not noticing the signs of this event sooner. It’s an impossible battle between innocence and shame that you won’t prevail in; alas, it’s better than immersing yourself in the present moment. The truth is, there was never any concrete indication that he was going to do this. Maybe you could have guessed, but you wouldn’t have known for certain. You were content to brush your anxieties off as unrealistic, trusting that they were so.

You inhale strongly. The blade is digging into your chest. The tip penetrated the fabric of your shirt, tearing a small hole in the garment. It would be simple for him to drag the metal down, ripping into the cloth and your flesh, shredding you both into oblivion.

You wouldn’t put it past him to kill you. He’s the type. Amongst other charges, he’s wanted for arson, theft, and various degrees of murder. He isn’t shy with his aggressive tendencies. If he’s managed to abandon all emotion for you, it would be simple for him to end your life. You’re praying his hesitation is less because he likes to play with his food, and more because he’s holding onto the hope that you can be repurposed.

Dabi cares for you. He hates that he does. You’ve been kind to him no matter how poorly he treats you. Sure, you may go away for a few days — generally at his behest — but you don’t disappear forever. You come back. You don’t give a damn how badly he fucks up. You accept him regardless of his behaviour.

It was a betrayal when you left him for good, as you so eloquently put it at the time. The days dragged on. He thought you’d return. The weeks erupted into months. You didn’t. Then, he caught wind of a murmur or two on the street, from a couple of Giran’s guys who operated near your work. You bagged a new man.

God, did that light his rancid soul on fire. He felt like he was boiling on high for hours after learning the poor fool’s name. He was a nobody, of course; someone you met while commuting. Luckily, Dabi has a notorious reputation, what with his contributions to Shigaraki’s League. No one in this city has the balls to date his woman. With this, your paramour swiftly dropped off the map, content to drop you in exchange for his life. Best of all, you were none the wiser to his interference.

Ignorant and vulnerable, you bawled from the abrupt heartbreak. Dabi thought it would bring you back to him. He was floored when it didn’t. You recovered. It’s then that he learned you aren’t the kind of person to rebound from one failed relationship to a previous one. You don’t fit the profile of his usual dates, and it’s this that attracted him further.

He’s not sure he can stop.

His father taught him that women are loose. Most of them are repressing a sultry, promiscuous nature that needs to be satiated by a more powerful presence. He immerses himself in this belief, bearing it as his scripture. He knew he had to interject on your actions directly — show you that no matter how much you want to run, you have a master who will hunt you through the threads of this universe.

“Where’s your phone?”

He speaks to you at last. His voice is low and strained. He’s barely containing himself.

“Right jacket pocket. Keys are in the left.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Be very fucking sure, (f/n).”

“I am!”

Does he expect you to be carrying an explosive device, prepared to detonate on a whim? Perhaps he anticipated you to have poison on hand, ready to be deployed, or maybe a series of lethal, uncapped needles in your pocket, riddled with various infections and viruses. He’s being ridiculous; you’re cooperating with him because you have no other options.

He reaches into your jacket, hanging daintily on a nearby hook, and abducts the items. Once they’re in his wretched position, he stores them on his person. There’s no goddamn way you’re getting ahold of them. Dutifully, he runs his hand along your body, examining all your pockets and crevices. He overdoes it. The sensation is sickeningly familiar.

When he’s satisfied that you were telling the truth, he drags the tip of his blade over your chest, never quite dipping its sharpness beneath the fragile layer of your skin. The sensation was enough to make you shiver; a product of the circumstance and coolness of the metal. It contrasts drastically from the sweltering atmosphere of your living room. Your eyes are wide with apprehension and your jaw is hung to catch flies. In a state of mind between disbelief and horror, you don’t know how to react.

“Expecting any company tonight?”

“Besides you?”

He snorts in retort, to which you offer a finite reply.

“No.”

Good. That means he won’t have to assassinate anyone. He can take his time without concern for alerting nosey cops or pesky patrol heroes.

“Wh-what are you doing here?”

You find a shred of courage. There’s an edge to your inquiry. It reads as a demand more than a question.

You changed the locks when you ended the relationship. It was easier than asking him for his copy of the key, and trusting that he hadn’t created duplicates. There’s no reason why he should have had entry to your domain. He broke in, robbing you of your privacy.

“That how you wanna greet me, doll?” He mocks you. “After so long?”

You shrink in his grasp. There it is; there’s the reason you left him. He’s a bully at heart. A narcissist. A man devoid of accountability. He’s incapable of removing toxicity from his relationships because it’s so familiar to him. Being his girlfriend required sacrificing yourself.

Dabi was a terrible partner. He was neglectful and rude. He didn’t appreciate what you did for him, leading to countless disagreements. It soured your heart with feelings of resentment for the lack of recognition he offered you. His temper was explosive, too. You think one of the catalysts to your departure was when he backhanded you after a night of drinking. He said you sounded like his mother, nagging him all the time.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say.” You mutter. “I thought— I thought we were done.”

You gulp when he draws the knife up to your throat. One wrong move from either of you, and you’re dead. Whether your demise would be for better or for worse, you don’t yet know; that depends on what he has in store.

The tip reaches the tip of your chin. He tilts your head up so that you’re gazing into his eyes. Menacingly, he leers down at you. You’re small and vulnerable as his prey. It stirs the beast within him.

“We’re not done.” He grins. “We’re far from done.”

Your scared, doe-like orbs meet his dark stare. He used to relish the occasions in which he compelled you to look at him like this. You’re so cute and innocent — nothing like the others. That’s why he can’t quite release you from his possession. It’s you or no one.

But you hurt him catastrophically.

“Oh, baby.” He muses, expression utterly demonic in the dim light. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

You wonder if this is a delayed reaction to your delivery of the breakup. He seemed to be in denial at the time. He goaded you into leaving, no doubt convinced you would crawl back to him. He couldn’t foresee that the outcome would be different, that you’d done some re-evaluating and decided to sever the cancerous part of your life.

You purse your lips. It’s your hope that you can use logic to work this out. Dabi tends to calm down when you distract him from the perceived problem. If you can just convince him to drop his guard, you can get the hell out of here and find help.

“Dabi—“

“Hah?”

He tilts his head to the side, devoid of emotion. His eyebrows lift, and the words catch in your throat. Oof. This is a bad start.

“Back to formalities already, or did you forget?”

“I— I didn’t forget, I just—“

“I can burn it into you.”

The threat is accompanied by a palm that’s warmer than usual roaming your figure. It dips beneath your shirt, trailing the hem of your bottoms. He means it. He thinks you would benefit from a cruel lesson or two. On that note, he chuckles.

“If you run off again, everyone will know who you belong to.”

You shudder. There are numerous areas he could be considering. None of them are preferable. You don’t care to have a permanent marking from him. You crave to have nothing to do with him anymore.

“Th-there’s no need, T-Touya.” You attempt to quell his growing temper. “I— I didn’t think—“

“This is your last warning, doll.” He interrupts you nastily. “Don’t wanna hear my villain moniker in that pretty mouth.”

Dabi translates to cremation. It’s a hideous word. It doesn’t belong on your tongue. He would rather you speak the name his father gave him than the one he carved for himself. He loves you that much.

“Got it.” You nod solemnly. “Sorry.”

Finally, he releases you from his grasp. His hands drop, and the second they do, you seize the opportunity. Not that it matters; he’s blocking the front door. The distance offers some comfort, even though you clock that he’s far faster than you could ever hope to be. There’s no escaping him like this.

It’s a showdown. He has his hands ready, as though he’s going to lunge at you. His legs are spread, body mobilized for a swift attack. You’re alert for combat that never comes.

“Touya.” The syllables ring in your head, as you declare his name stiffly. “What do you want?”

You might as well get to what you were trying to ask him earlier, before he lost his shit about his alias. You ponder how he’ll respond. You don’t anticipate he’ll be vulnerable — that ship might have sailed. Defensive, maybe. Bratty. Putrid.

“Knew you’d act dumb.” He scoffs. “Thought you could fuck around behind my back without repercussions?”

You recoil. Confusion flashes over your visage, highlighting how lost you feel. You’re wondering what the hell he’s talking about. You weren’t unfaithful when you were with him. Adamantly, you shake your head.

“That’s not true.”

“You’re a lying little slut.”

Dabi hisses, vitriol injected into each of his words. He snatches a garment from one of the couch cushions. It’s black. Immediately, you’re privy to what it is. He must have taken it from your closet.

“Still wear this?”

It’s a black dress — the same one you wore on your dates with him. It leaves nothing to the imagination, accenting your body well. If you bend over without pulling it down, anyone behind you can see your panties. He liked it on you because he enjoyed flaunting you around. He doesn’t fancy the idea of another man doing it in his stead.

“I do.”

You’re honest.

Dabi licks his lips. How many times have you teased others in that gorgeous garment? Suddenly, he’s shaking from white hot rage. It’s consuming his heart. He can’t seem to forgive you for the detrimental errors you’ve made. You think you left him, do you? That’s too bad. What you want is unattainable. You’re his for eternity, and beyond.

“You’ve been a whore in the dress I got you.”

“A dress you stole for me.” You fire back.

He lifts his black brow incredulously.

“The fuck does it matter?”

You don’t know why that detail is important in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps you merely wanted to stick it to him. He didn’t invest in your relationship at all. The gifts he offered were thieved goods. Whenever he had money, he spent it on himself. Alas, this isn’t the time for you to smart mouth him.

“N-never mind.” You stammer, recalibrating. “Just— I-I didn’t cheat on you, okay? That’s all.”

“You think I’m fucking stupid?” He challenges you. “I know about him. I’m the reason he stopped calling.”

“What?”

He’s referring to the person you were seeing shortly after your relationship with Dabi. You met him on your journey to work one afternoon. You were appreciating his company, until he ghosted you. The rejection was painful, of course, but you moved on. Now, you understand what truly occurred to disrupt your budding connection.

“Looks bad on me when my girl is fucking other guys, y’know?” He shrugs, arms and wrists flopping outward. “Poor bastard didn’t know you were mine ‘til I set his condo on fire.”

He advances, taking one daunting step forward. Energy is rippling through him. He has to expel it. Animals in heat must feel this way when they’re trying to procure their mate, after weeks and weeks of stalking them.

“You can’t be angry at me for dating other people when we’ve been broken up.” You proclaim, tone measured. “Da— Touya, that’s ridiculous.”

He takes another step towards you. He’s seeing red. How do you not get where he’s coming from? You were unfaithful. He needs you to accept accountability for your mistake. Perhaps then, he can begin to move on.

“I’m not gettin’ through to you, am I?” He snarls, predatory. “You’re mine. You’ll always be mine. Giving yourself to anyone else is a fucking betrayal.”

You didn’t plan to date anyone with the purpose of digging under Dabi’s skin; alas, you’ve done it. You started seeing this guy a month and a half after your breakup with the arsonist. He seemed healthier for you. You wanted to see how things went, and perhaps repair yourself from the wounds incurred by your volatile ex. Was that so wrong of you?

“Okay.” You lick your lips, accelerated. “I— I didn’t think— y-you told me to leave— h-how was I supposed to know we were still together?!”

The pyro tries to comprehend your logic. He supposes he did encourage to you go. Other guys might’ve begged you for a second chance. He doesn’t care for vulnerability; he thought you knew that. It was his mistake to assume you were in tune with his rhythm.

“Thought you’d be more apologetic for the sake of your neighbour.”

He pitches you a curveball, flexing his serpentine tongue. It piques your interest.

“What the hell do you mean?”

“The hag next door.”

You clue in. He means Mrs. Laijing. Panic almost sets in; then, you recall something. She told you she was going to visit her daughter in China for a few months. She would have left last week. There’s no goddamn way he did anything to compromise her, which means he’s totally bluffing. He doesn’t have a hostage to secure you. You decide to play along, keeping this card in your deck for later.

“Oh my god.” You cover your mouth, feigning horror. “You’d kill an elderly lady to hurt me?!”

“Nah. I’d kill her to keep you quiet and obedient, sweetheart.” He cooes condescendingly. “You’re not gonna go anywhere if it means the old bitch cooks.” A mischievous glint shines in his azures orbs. “And you’re gonna do what I tell you.”

You shake your head.

“You’re asking that I confess that I cheated on you, even though I didn’t.”

Dabi’s fingers dig into his palms, rotten nails carving into decaying flesh. The anger pulsating through his veins is bound to make him impulsive. You pray that energy doesn’t burst out towards you. Inevitably, it does.

“You’re lying.” He hisses. “You left me. I didn’t give you the go-ahead.”

“Actually, you did.” You remind him. “And even if you didn’t, I already decided to break up with you. It doesn’t matter if you agree or not.”

You embody calmness. It’s painstaking. You’re frightened that Dabi is going to snap at any moment. You’re dumbfounded by his delusional nature. Does he think both people have to consent for a relationship to end? Ultimately, it’s often one person’s choice; the other simply has to respect their wishes.

Simultaneously, Dabi can barely internalize what you said to him. It doesn’t make sense. He wasn’t finished with you. Didn’t you hear what he told you when you first committed to being his? He calls all the shots. You promised yourself to him; rescinding your love is impossible.

If he was his father, he’d beat you. It would teach you a lesson through physical means. An attitude adjustment, he used to call it. But he isn’t Enji Todoroki. He has his own modus operandi.

Wordlessly, he reaches into his back pocket and produces a collar. There’s a long metal chain attached to the centre, connecting to a lock with a key poking out of its disengaging mechanism. The black leather is tough. The metal is, too. He had this piece custom made, so it would be increasingly difficult to break.

He hands it to you. Uncertain, you clasp the accessory in both hands. It’s unfamiliar. At first, you aren’t sure what it is. Unraveling it spoils the surprise.

“Put it on.”

You cringe. His request is fucking humiliating. You don’t belong to anyone; you’re meant to be an autonomous human being. You scowl at him, disgusted by his avaricious directive.

He nips your defiance in the bud.

“Put it on, or the hag burns.”

He isn’t privy that you’ve caught onto his fib. You’re happy to maintain this facade. His guard isn’t quite lowered enough for you to make a big move. Unfortunately, you’ll have to work on him a little longer; and that means you’ll need to adorn that stupid fucking collar.

Languidly, you twist the key and release the lock. You cup the loose metal bits while you fasten the leather collar around your neck. Once it’s secure, you inhale deeply. The lock hooks into place. The vile sound of a finite click makes your stomach drop. You clip the leash where it belongs, and in seconds, the ensemble is complete.

Dabi admires your craftsmanship, examining how the material suits you. It’s perfect. The contrast of the colour and texture against your skin is intoxicating. The metal chain is an excellent detail, as well. It’s symbolic; to show that he possesses you in every capacity.

He nods at the leash, heavy in your grip.

“Do I have to take it from you, doll?”

You inhale sharply. The way he wrings his hands delivers a rapid series of traumatic flashbacks to your delicate brain. Instantly, your breath hitches, choking the gasp in your throat. You feel frozen. In the past, he would have lain you over his lap, ass bare, to endure the harshest corporal punishment of your life. He dictates how many you get. He decides when it stops.

The notion is powerful. It propels you to give him the leash, relinquishing what little control you have left. He graciously accepts your gift, smirking at your haunted expression. He doesn’t have to be a mind reader to know that he’s scared you into submission. He perceives his plot thus far as unfolding exceptionally well.

The arsonist tugs you towards the couch with him. It’s an odd sensation. Your throat feels fragile in the confines of the leather. It’s as though you’re going to choke if you resist his pull. Thankfully, you stumble along.

He sits in the middle. He ushers for you to stand in front of him. You do as you’re told, back straight to feign courage. If you shrink, he wins.

Dabi produces the knife from earlier. He cackles, appraising where he wants to slice first. Your blouse is flimsy. Maybe he’ll start there.

He carves through the material, ripping it in two. The tip slips beneath your bra, as well, tearing it off along with it. The simple action results in you bearing your chest for him. You don’t relish it as much as he does, as the clothing falls off your shoulders and pools onto the ground.

He repeats the process with your bottoms and panties. It’s an extensive surgery. He minced the articles until they were unrecognizable. It causes you to wonder if he would do the same to you, if you suddenly disobeyed him. You suppose you’ll find out in the near future — if you don’t completely nail your escape plan.

Dabi admires your beautiful frame. Your breasts are flawless. He’s attracted to their shape and the way they accent your figure. He’s never noticed how drawn he is to them. The desire to reach out and grope them is powerful. He barely refrains. There’s further prep to do before he can indulge.

“Turn around.” He orders.

You rotate. He gathers your wrists and ties them behind your back. The knot is double reinforced. His father taught him this formation. He said no one without a strength quirk was capable of breaking it. Dabi has only used this on one other human prior, but he’s confident his work is solid.

He smacks your ass, roughly clapping both cheeks with a swift palm. You yelp loudly and abruptly stiffen. His aggression signifies that discipline is on the horizon.

“On your knees.” He instructs. “You remember your place.”

You turn and bend down to sit by his feet. Your face heats up as embarrassment floods your system. You feel some kind of trophy pet. You desperately crave to shatter this paradigm he’s constructed — but not yet.

There’s a pack of cigarettes on the side table. They’re not yours; they’re the brand he likes to smoke. He shuffles the batch and snatches a thin stick from the pile. He must have jacked them from a convenience store.

Candidly, he ignites his finger. A steady blue flame makes shadows dance against the wall, so close you can feel its heat. He touches the tip of his cigarette with the fire, and then takes a drag. Head lulling back against the cushions of the couch, smoke billows from his lips.

He taps the end of his roll. Ash dusts over your bare thighs. You brush it away.

He lifts his head to regard you with animalistic orbs, possessed by insatiable hunger for your flesh. It’s been months. He missed you. Finally, you’re within arm’s reach. He feels a sense of playfulness flood his soul. Mournfully, his idea of fun is your idea of torture.

“Should I mark you?”

You gawk at him.

“N-no!”

You bite the inside of your cheek. What’s gotten into him? His energy flip flops faster than you can comprehend.

“Aw, scared of a little pain?”

He grins, eyebrows furrowed to express pity for you. He lives in excruciating agony every single day. When you were around, you suffocated a good portion of it. Presently — as a pretty runaway who’s resisting being caught — you’re the source of an insurmountable amount. Surely you can handle a bit of what he’s feeling.

He lifts his cigarette. You scramble to crawl away. Gritting his teeth, he jerks the leash violently, making you gag. He snarls at you.

“C’mere, you bitch.”

Your wrists are burning from the rope he used, and the savage manner in which your body is being tugged. His words are scathing, much like the feeling of the lit tip of his cigarette twisting into the meat of your chest. The pain registers a mere second later.

A torrential scream seizes you. You kick and cry, tears streaming down your cheeks. Holy shit, does this ever hurt.

“It’s not that bad!” He crows, pulling back. “Didn’t know you were so weak.”

Your skin is smouldering. The throbbing is sharp and dull at the same time. It’s giving you a headache. You breathe through your mouth in a feeble attempt to regulate. Sobs sneaks through your teeth, as you tremble from the trauma.

Touya is the devil. You can’t forgive him for this. A true lover would never harm you. Your primary mistake was granting him a chance when you met him. If you get out of this alive, you’re going to live a life of solitude for years before you begin to trust again — that’s a sordid promise.

“You’re lucky I didn’t burn your nipple.” He daydreams of how sweet your howls would sound. Distressingly, he adds more to his mad fantasy. “Or your clit.”

You don’t humour his words. You have to hope that he wouldn’t mutilate his favourite parts of you. If you let it get to you, he wins. Your panic will overwhelm your being, and you’ll succumb to the mental breakdown he’s trying to induce. You can’t let that happen.

“Let’s get to business, doll.”

Dabi smiles. It appears to be genuine. He thinks it’s the first time in years he’s allowed a shred of happiness to slip past his towering défenses. It demonstrates his nervous system’s comfort with you — and the prospect of inflicting horrendous abuse on your body.

“You’ll start with some apologies.”

“S-s-start?!” You sputter, chest still twitching from the fresh injury. “I— I-I thought we al— already started.”

“I didn’t plan to burn you this soon.” He taunts you. “Unless you begged for it.”

There’s blood pouring down several sections of his face. You conclude that it’s from the staples stretching his skin with each of his grandiose expressions. He’s rejoicing in your torment.

“What did I do?!”

“Aside from cheating on me, nothing special.”

You’re momentarily baffled.

“Th-then— wh-why did you—“

“Just wanted to hear you scream.” He winks. “It’s been a while.”

The impulse to vomit is compelling. He’s sadistic at heart; irredeemable, too. You can’t imagine loving him a second time — if you want to call what you had with him initially any semblance of love.

“Since you won’t own up to what you did, I’ll have to punish it out of you.”

Your heart sails to your gut like an anchor. What the hell does he mean by that? He can’t possibly think he can change your mind. Torture and abuse are not methods he ought to choose when attempting to repair a relationship.

“Touya, pl—“

“Think twenty is good, dollface?”

“T-twenty?”

Twenty what? It could be anything. His cruelty is creative.

“I was originally going to go with fifty strikes, but I’d get bored halfway through.” He hums. “I’d rather give you twenty.”

“S-strikes?!”

Oh no. This is what you feared was coming. He’s going to take his anger out on your poor backside.

“Think I should use my hand, or my belt?”

“Please, your hand.” You plead, activated. “Touya, I’m begging you; not your belt.”

He’s hit you with it before. It left bruises that didn’t leave for weeks. Your ass was tender no matter what you did. You vowed to never put yourself in a position wherein you had to experience that again, but you didn’t foresee this happening in the future. You wonder if mustering up a fake apology with a sprinkle of accountability will alter the course of your fate.

“I-I’ll admit… I moved on a little quick.” You mutter, feeling tiny beneath his glare. “I-I’m sorry, my love. I-I just—“

"Shut the fuck up and c’mere.”

He isn’t willing to be flexible. He doesn’t trust that he can cut you a break when you haven’t shown him you’re actually sorry. This punishment ought to help. If you endure it, he might be inclined to lean into your obedience. Until then, you’re the epitome of unreliable.

Your lips press together. There’s no talking him out of it. Mute, you climb up onto the couch. He eyes you with lust, coaxing you to crawl onto his lap. Somehow, you manage to lay across it, belly down. The burn on your chest pulsates. You try to ignore the fresh rounds of pain coursing through you.

He rubs your peachy left cheek with a calloused hand, as if commending you for the initiative you displayed. He’s grateful that he didn’t have to force you onto him — not that he would have minded a challenge. He appreciates your feistiness.

“Missed this ass.” He muses playfully, grabbing as much as he can in his grasp. “Mmmfuck.”

His palm raps your right globe. Pain erupts in the form of a sharp sting. You yelp, more shocked than hurt. His clap was firm. His devious intention is to harm you over time with these. One or two isn’t a threat, but seven or eight strategic strikes in a row could break you.

Four more swats in the same spot cause you to flinch, legs kicking in the air. You can’t endure if he continues this sadistic pattern. Unfortunately, he’s detected your discomfort. He doesn’t offer you a break. Three extra strikes are delivered to that area, ripping a cry from your strained lungs.

Sweat is pouring down your forehead. It’s as though you’re afflicted with the flu. Your whole figure is frail, and you’re arching.

“That’s eight.”

“P-please, not—“

He sends two additional thumps to the precise place you were in the process of begging him not to graze. Instead of finishing your sentence, you scream bloody murder. It’s some of the worst pain you’ve felt in a long time. He’s an excellent torturer.

You thrash as you bellow. Miraculously, the knot binding your arms nudges. You freeze. Initially, you’re not certain that you really felt it. Perhaps it was a trick of the brain, or a manifestation of your hopefulness. Then, with some wiggling, you realize it’s rooted in truth. The knot has loosened. He didn’t secure it properly.

“What was that, doll?” He goads you.

“P-please— n-not there.” You groan. “Please, anywhere else.”

You're incredibly nauseous. Drool is dribbling from your damp, ajar lips. Your vision is blurry. The agony he’s chosen for you is incredible. You almost regret leaving him — almost. If you didn’t, you have an inkling that this sort of punishment would have been more frequent.

“Fine.”

For good measure, he strikes you once more. The symphony you sing is his new favourite tune. He grins maniacally.

“Last one.”

“Fuck!” You hiss. “It hurts so bad!”

You’re hyperventilating. At least your attention isn’t on the burn atop your breast anymore. At what cost, though? You can hardly hold onto a thought.

“That’s eleven.”

Nine to go. You’re dreading them. Your lower back is spasming, anticipating the next few. He isn’t obligated to honour your plea; he could pick up on your immense discomfort and work to exacerbate it.

In fact, Dabi yearns to. He has the compulsion to abuse that place on your ass. Astoundingly, he refrains. He hits your left cheek a resounding four times, redirecting your attention from the soreness on your right.

Fifteen. Mentally, you count them. A single whimper spills from your lips. It’s tough to remain quiet, but you don’t want him to know he’s causing you such white hot pain.

“Thank me for correcting your shitty behaviour.”

Your heart beats faster.

"Th-thank you.”

Another hit.

“For what?”

He warns you with two additional wallops.

“F-f-for c-correcting my sh-sh-shitty beha— behaviour!”

“Good fucking girl.” He purrs. “Three more, baby.”

He doesn’t delay. He attacks your left cheek with two, and then your right for the final clap. It’s futile; you scream. He sighs, gratified by your reaction. What causes your stomach to turn makes his feel at ease. You’re like magic.

Meanwhile, in the thick of immense distress, you’re grateful the deed is done. You can gain repose within yourself, devoid of anxiety. That is, until he rests his fingers against your closed lips. You don’t dare part them. Of course, he expected this degree of defiance.

“Open.” He nudges your soft flesh. “Lube ‘em up or they’re going in dry.”

That does it. You begin to flail. What he’s proposing is negatively exhilarating, and you crave reprieve. Sadly, he isn’t a merciful master. He wrenches the leash, throttling you. Losing your breath, you surrender to his bellicose behaviour.

“Cut it out.”

The pyro heats up his palm and smacks the tender area on your ass, reigniting the pain from minutes ago. Your back arches as you shriek. He rolls his eyes. You’re a hypocrite; you asked for this.

“You’re the devil!” You screech, emotional and resolute. “You’re the fucking devil!”

He is. He’s Hades incarnate. He’s demonic and ruled by his passionate fury. If there is a Satan, he inhabits Touya’s rancid tissue. His goal appears to be torment-focused, driven by hedonism and trauma.

He snickers darkly. Innocent little lamb; have you no idea your involvement in his elevating, all-consuming desire? You did this to him. You didn’t understand the stipulations of your role as his woman. The cost is reprimand in the form of hell.

He’s going to fucking break you.

“Did you expect the devil to play nice when you brought him to his knees?”

His words are chilling. He believes he’s a victim. The atrocious acts he’s committing are valid due to the turmoil you agitated in his soul. It’s bizarre. Not a thing you can utter will change his feelings; he’s sold on the narrative he’s woven for himself.

There’s good news mixed with the bad. From your disorganized movement, the knot has loosened a smidgen. Your wrists can breathe better. You pray he doesn’t notice the extra slack. You’re not quite ready to move, yet.

“I was bein’ good guy by prepping you.” He murmurs. “Guess you don’t deserve that.”

Dabi is abhorrent. He wiggles the tips of his index and middle fingers into your pussy. He’s amazed to find you’re already wet for him, giving him more leeway. Old habits die hard, huh? Looks like you do remember who you belong to.

You gasp and groan as he invites himself into your cavern. He’s relentless. He doesn’t halt until his digits are knuckle-deep. You flinch. Admittedly, halfway was comfortable; this is excessive.

“You’re still tight.” He remarks. “He couldn’t stretch this pussy like me.”

You hate to admit that he was good at sex. When he wasn’t forcing it on you, and when you were deluded by his faux charm, Touya explored your body like no other. You won’t grant him the satisfaction of verbalizing that, though; he doesn’t need anything else to inflate his obtuse ego.

He lands a final, heavy clap against your ass — precisely where you don’t want him to. Inevitably, you wail. It drains the remainder of your energy. You thought the agony was complete. You thought you could relax. You willingly deceived yourself, and it’s coming back to bite you.

Dabi adores your reaction. Your pussy spasms around his fingers, milking and sucking on the bones, as if begging for something larger. He’s tempted to throw you off his lap, unsheathe himself, and bounce you on his fat cock. He can’t wait until he’s able to.

He ponders if it’s time for you to worship his balls. You should be grateful to them, after all; they’re going to be supplying your feast this evening. They might even give you more than sustenance later on — though, that depends entirely on you. He wouldn’t dictate himself a family man.

He pulls his fingers out of your cunt and shoves you off his lap. You yelp, toppling to the ground. It’s jarring; he barely gave you a second to transition from one event to the next.

“Back on your knees.” He claps. “Hurry up.”

He’s going to make you suck him off. There’s no part of you that wants to participate in this anymore. On cue, you notice that the knot has loosened enough for you to wriggle your hands through. Fireworks explode in your head. You have to act. If you forfeit your opportunity, the option could expire indefinitely.

“Hear me? I said—“

You separate the tough threads with a vicious battle cry, freeing your wrists. Before Dabi is lucid, you roll backwards and shuffle to create space. Getting to your feet is simple with adrenaline. As you do, you realize that your assailant is active, as well.

The chase is on.

You stumble towards your bedroom. It’s the sole door you have with a sturdy lock. Heavy footfalls are close on your tail. You can practically feel his fingertips graze your hair while you slam the door shut. He was far too close for comfort.

“Fucking bitch!”

“Fuck you, Dabi!”

It’s rage bait. He doesn’t deserve to hear his real name on your tongue. You aim to drive him past the brink of insanity with this last crumb.

You race over to the window and throw it open. You can shimmy along the fat pipe that runs down your building. It won’t be effortless, and you could die, but it’s better than whatever the hell Satan has in store for you.

You latch onto the pipe and follow it like blood through a main artery. Halfway, you nearly slip and lose your grip. Panic flusters you. Thankfully, you’re able to hone it. You don’t fall. It’s a blessing that you reach the ground safely.

You orient yourself to the area. You’re completely nude in the street, cold rain spitting lightly from stormy clouds. There’s not a soul around. Where can you go to find help? Help that isn’t at a cost, of course.

You decide to trot behind the apartment, out of view from your bedroom window. You’ll make your way to the police station, laying low. You’re familiar with some of the officers at this station, so you feel secure trusting them with this. Who knows if they can stop him, though? Maybe no one can. Maybe he’ll keep coming for you, until you either concede or die at his vicious hand.

But you’re probably just tripping out; surely this is a one-off, and moving cities away from this place will remedy your malicious stalker. Touya isn’t the type to overexert himself. If you’re not within fifty kilometres, you’re inaccessible.

Inside, Dabi doesn’t waste time. He uses his quirk to cremate the door. The eruption is immediate. Blue flames crawl over the hardwood, tarnishing the craftsmanship. He hopes you weren’t leaning against it when the blaze stuck; otherwise, you’re bound to look like him.

He steps through the fire and into your bedroom. Light crackling touches his ears, as does the violent tapping of rain against your windowsill. The room is empty. You’re not here. Somehow, you found a way in hell to escape. Through the window, no doubt.

Ah, you couldn’t have gone far; it isn’t too late to pursue you on foot.

The criminal races over to see if he can spot your figure in the distance. He gazes down the street for as long as he can. There’s nothing. You’re gone. You must have decided to head behind the building, cognizant that you’d be out of his sight. Crafty, crafty woman.

Dabi roars — a guttural noise from the blackness of his tarnished soul. He’s pissed. He should’ve been more mindful of you. You piqued his interest because of your intelligence. He let his guard down, indulging in what it felt like to be inside you again. To worsen the situation, the knot he tied around your wrists was defective. Your vanishing act wouldn’t have been possible without hands.

Without you, he has nothing. Without you, he is nothing — he’s merely a rotting corpse, driven by revenge. You’re his contingency plan. You’re what he wants in the aftermath of his revenge.

He’s going to keep hunting you. It’s a matter of principle, at this point. You’re the perfect prey for him — breathtaking in your presence, beautiful, and sharp. Do you really believe there’s a better match for you out there; someone else who pairs well with your artfulness?

“Heh.”

You’re wrong. There’s only him. And you can’t evade him forever.

[pudimsuki]

Behaviour adjustment | Yandere Hawks x reader

Yandere Hawks? Yandere Hawks.

Tw.: Yandere themes; dark content; abusive relationship; implied kidnapping; pussy spanking; non/dub-con; 18+ content, MDNI.

"Now, now, what should we do about this, hm?"

The sword-like feather traveled over your body. You shuddered when you felt the tip grazing your right nipple.

"Please, please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'll be good, I promise."

"Shhh", he coos, caressing your cheek while your chest rose with your uncontrollable cries. "We talked about this, my dove. Actions have consequences."

You sob audibly. "No, Keigo, please. I'm so sorry."

The winged pro hero only smiled at you. Sweetly, others would say, but his eyes tell no lies.

Hard, sharp, hawk eyes.

"I know you are, little bird. But we need to fix this behavior. It's becoming a pattern at this point." He clicked his tongue in disappointment, shaking his head slightly.

You couldn't deny it if you were to be honest. Ever since Takami Keigo, the charming hero you once gushed over, took you in — as in literally kidnapping you — five months ago, you repeated the never-ending cycle: Him trying to flood you with his over-sick love; you fighting against it; he punishing you for it; you seeking some kind of comfort; him trying to flood you with his over-sick love... And all over again.

Right now, you find yourself kneeling in front of him, naked as the day you were born, hands tied behind your back using one of his feathers. Your chest is thrust out towards him and your legs spread apart as part of his first punishment, designed to make you feel as vulnerable as possible. This is always how it begins, he would bare you to him, making you expose yourself as he lectured you on all the things you did wrong. Then, he proceeds to tell you exactly what your punishment would be, raising your anxiety even before he starts to act.

All this because you refused to sit still as his pretty little wife should do and eat dinner from the fork he was offering you, choosing to spit it on him as a rebel act. Not your best move, you now see. Looking back, you would give everything to just return to the beginning of the night and let him hand-feed you as he wishes, pretending to be a romantic, sugary-sweet couple.

His wings rose behind him, making him look even bigger. "So, little bird, what should we do, uh?"

"Please, Keigo, my love." You force the sickening words out, just how he likes. "Can we please go back to dinner? I promise I'll be good, you can feed me, just pl-"

"Oh? Am I your love now?" His expression didn't change. Sweet, charming face with eyes as sharp as the feather-blade he holds in his grip. "How did you call me just a moment ago again?"

"I... I'm so-"

"That's not what I asked you." 

Your lips quivered. “I c-called you sick.”

“Hm? Is that so?” The feather goes up until the tip is playing with your throat. “Are you sure, dove?”

“S-sick-fuck.”

“Now that’s what I remember.” He patted your cheek with the flat part of the feather, as if praising you. You close your eyes in reflex. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”  

Your eyelids open in a second, body recognizing his harsh tone and obeying like second nature. You know you can’t move if you don’t want to make him furious, because in five months you find out that, as bad as this is, he can be much, much worse. So you just brace yourself internally and endure.

“So,” he walks closer to your frame, shadowing you. “Would a sick-fuck take care of you like I do? Feed you? Love you?”

You shook your head, trying your best not to cry, move, close your legs, or do anything that would make this really, really bad for you.

“What else did you do?”

“I spat food on you.”

“Do you think you deserve to eat dinner at the table with me right now?”

“No.” You croaked, voice barely audible.

“We could have been cuddling on the couch right now, angel. You know I hate to punish you, don’t you?”

“Yes, my love.” The words are poisonous in your tongue. Just a glance at his bulging pants would tell you exactly how much of a lie that was. Keigo Takami enjoyed everything that had to do with you, especially your punishments.

The long feather went down slowly, passing through the valley between your breasts, touching your navel, and finally, to your dread, you felt the crimson material touch your more sensitive part. Keigo smiled sweetly at you as you tried your best to keep from closing your legs shut, softening the feather just enough not to cut you. Suddenly, he flexed his arm, bringing it down and up in a flash. 

You shriek loudly, breaking position and landing on your side with your legs pressed closed. Keigo just hit your folds with the feather like a whip, his pro hero strength making it worse than it should be. You felt the sting with only one strike.

“Get back.” He pointed at the place you were mere seconds ago, as an owner would to a pet.

You look up at him with blurry eyes. “No, Keigo, please.”

“Get back to your position or I’ll make you.” You sobbed, scrambling to do as he told with your arms still tied behind your back. “Spread wide.”

“I’ll be good, Keigo, please. I’m so..”

“Hold your pose. If you close your legs or try to get away, I’ll make it worse.”

If his words weren’t convincing enough, you knew his tone very well at this point to believe he would. You pressed your knees on the cold floor, pushing your chest out and legs open like you knew he enjoyed. You were shaking. 

“Deep breaths, angel.” He softened his tone, the bastard. “We need to correct your behaviour. Let’s work together, yeah?”

Your nails dig crescent moons in your palms as you tried to nod, in a weak attempt to please him.

“Good girl, that’s my good angel.” He praised, caressing your face before pushing his arm back, feather working like a whip in his hand. You braced yourself for the impact.

SWISH

You cry out when it made contact with your sensitive pussy, falling back again despite his warnings. 

“Angel, we talked about this.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You sobbed, trying to get back as soon as possible, while he looked at you as a misbehaving child. 

SWISH

Your voice rose again, but this time you took extra effort not to fall, only closing your legs slightly before correcting yourself. Keigo didn’t soothe you, waiting.

SWISH

SWISH

SWISH

The strikes in your sensitive folds didn’t falter in strength and precision, and as he kept going, you felt like your lower parts were on fire, knowing you would feel the effects of that punishment for days. The worst part was trying to maintain the position he wanted you to, knowing that it wouldn’t end soon until you could keep from flinching too hard.  

SWISH

SWISH

SWISH

SWISH

You were straight up crying right now, losing count of how many hits you received. Your tights shook with the effort, and your mind fought against all your instincts of hiding away from the pain. Keigo didn’t only want you to get hurt; he wanted you to willingly surrender your will to him, participating actively in your own punishment, as if you had any other choice.

“Last one, now.”

You watched through blurry eyes as he prepared himself for the next blow, having two seconds to steel yourself before it came back, full strength. You were getting better at keeping your pose, but you definitely weren’t ready for this one. Now, you were sure that he was holding himself back before, because nothing could stop you from falling and curling into a ball on the floor.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you cried, sobbing, terrified that he would start all over again for your breach of position. You barely noticed Keigo’s hands cradling you as his feathers released your wrists from their grip. 

“Shh, shh, that’s my good angel. We’re almost done, dove.”

“N-no, no Keigo, please, no more.” You were hyperventilating at this point, anxiety hitting you hard.

“Hey, hey, no more whipping, baby bird. Calm down. How did we practice? Deep breaths, come on, breathe with me, baby.”

You follow his lead, without the mental strength to hate yourself for needing him at this moment. “Please, Keigo.” You begged, gripping his shirt to ground yourself.

“It’s almost over, love. But we need to do one more thing for your behavior adjustment. Can you do that for me, angel? It’ll be good again when we get over this.”

He gave you a minute to steady your breath, praising you and stroking your hair. When you finally calmed down, he kissed you on your cheekbone and pushed himself up to his feet again. To your horror, you immediately missed his warmth.

“On your knees again, sweet thing. Almost over.”

You didn’t even try to resist as you obeyed this time. Looking up at his tall frame with red, puffy eyes. 

“You’re so damn pretty, my angel. But you did hurt my feelings, you know that, right?” He sighed. “All you need to do is accept your place in this house, and everything will be perfect again.”

Keigo pulled his hair back before a wicked glint appeared in his golden eyes, wings flapping with a sick excitement. “Well, I guess since you had such a smart mouth to call me that bad name and to spit on my face…” You wanted to shrink into yourself at his words, almost opening your mouth to apologize again, but his gaze told you not to interrupt him. “I think it needs a little lesson as well. Maybe tonight, what you really need is a different diet. You know, another thing to swallow.”

Dread pooled in your belly, along with utter disgust. You could see it tightening his pants. He was hard, rock hard. Hawks could be a Greek god for the media, but to you, he was nothing but your kidnapper. The man who took away your life, your job, your family, your friends. The man who keeps you locked in his big, stupid, empty house, cleaning and cooking like a good little housewife. The one who gets turned on as you cry in pain.  

He must have seen that rebellious thought written all over your face, because in a second his discarded long feather were flying to his hand again. He clicked his tongue. 

“Guess your pretty pussy isn’t sore enough, uh? Let’s try that again before we come back for this second part.”

Your eyes opened like saucers when he rolled his right shoulder, as if preparing his arm to start another whipping round.

“What, no! No, Keigo, please, it’s enough.” Your legs pressed against each other in reflex, and you whimpered when your pained flesh made contact with it. 

“No?” He sounded amused, tilting his head in false confusion. “I’m not sure you learned your lesson, baby bird. We need to make this really clear, don’t you think?”

“I learned,” you were quick to answer, soreness very vivid on your lower half. “I promise.”

“Did you? Let me see, uh?” He crouched in front of you and you almost flinched back before you stopped yourself. “C’mon, show me how sore it is.”

Be good. Be good and it’ll be over. Just be good. You repeated internally. He would get what he wanted one way or another.

Swallowing all your pride and drawn in humiliation at his little mischievous grin, you slowly spread your legs to him, face and chest hot in shame. 

“Oh, look at that.” He snickered and you almost cry again. “Isn’t that a pretty color, hm?” His hand reached out, two fingers finding your swollen abused clit. You whimpered, closing your legs on his arm. He breaths a laugh, rolling his fingers slowly. “You want this, angel? Want to feel good?”

“Please, Keigo.” You beg, closing your eyes, forcing yourself to be steady for him.

“Tell me, is it sore enough? Be honest.”

You nod your head quickly. 

“Use your words.”

“It’s sore, Keigo, please, I learned, please.”

“Aw, poor baby. Want me to make it better?” His skilled fingers travelled up and down, and you bucked your hips, whimpering again. “Say it.”

“Yes, please.”

“Please, what?”

Your mind was carrying you away, starting to get lost in the feeling of his digits on you. “Please, Keigo, make it better.”

“Aw, that’s too bad, uh?” You blinked, surprised. “Should have thought about that before misbehaving.” 

SMACK.

“Ah!” You screamed, falling back, hot pain flashing again when he slapped your clit. Hard. 

“On your knees.” His tone was changed, cold, dark. He got up again, the shadow of his giant wings covering you. “Show me how sorry you are, and we can forget about this. You’re not cumming tonight. I am. And you’re gonna swallow it all. Open it, tongue out.”

Your lips quivered as you watched him unbutton his pants, soon revealing his girth. Long and veiny.  

You hated him. You hated him. You hated him.

And yet again, here you were, opening your mouth like a trained pet. He positioned himself in front of you, tip touching your tongue. You almost recoil at the taste of his pre-cum dripping on it.

You knew better.

“C’mon, I’m waiting.”

Working your courage, you licked a path from his base to his tip, and for a moment, delighted yourself when Keigo moaned, throwing his head back. Yes, you could pretend that this was you in control, your doing. So you repeated, slower.

“Fuck, angel!” He groaned, hand flying to the top of your head. “Put it in.”

You almost snickered. Yes, you were doing that. Big, strong Hawks could beg if he so wishes. You did it again. 

His eyes snapped at you, wild. “Playing games? I’ll show you a game.”

Before you could react, he grabbed a handful of your hair and pushed your head back, hurting your neck. You gasped, and in a second, your mouth was filled.

“Keiugh.” You try to say his name, eyes bulging as you feel his hard member going all the way in without further preparation. A sudden cough rose in your chest, gag reflex working its way faster than it should. He held you there for a moment, and you pushed at his legs, tears forming in your eyes as you felt your breath faltering.

One. Two. Three.

You gasped, sucking in the air audibly when he finally pulled out. Your chest rose and fell. 

“I gave you a chance, dove. I’ll lead from now on. Open.”

“Wait, pleas-hmmm!”

He didn’t gave you any other warning before starting to face-fuck you. Hard and fast. 

You gripped his tights, trying your best to breathe through it. 

“Fuck, angel. Just like that. Gonna sleep with a cum-filled belly and a burning pussy, yeah?”

The grip on your hair didn’t loosen as he kept face-fucking you for his own pleasure. It wasn’t about you. It was never about you. Tears wetted your cheeks, your throat burned.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

It was like an eternity. Your eyes rolled back when he pushed your head all the way in, nose touching his pelvic bone. Keigo let out the sinful of moans when he finally, finally, exploded in your mouth, hot ropes of cum filling your throat.

You gagged again, but he held you steady. When you thought you wouldn’t handle anymore, he stepped back, hand still holding your head up. You felt like breathing again.

“Fuck, angel.” He cursed under his breath, taking a good look at you. 

Messy, crying, glistened face. Fucked up. All his.

“Open your mouth, show me.”

You did as you were told, like a robot. Throat sore, pussy sore, jaw slack. 

Keigo smiled, panting, seeing the way you swallowed it all. He bent over to your face, caressing it with both hands, as a caring lover would do.

“So, baby bird.” He laughed to himself, as if telling an inside joke. “Enjoyed your dinner?”

Ok, this was supposed to be a drabble... I get carried away. Oopsie.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

Love you. Angie <33

[mother-na]

Yandere Hawk! Hawks X Reader X Yandere Snake! Dabi

Summary: Keigo and Touya save you from starving and take you for themselves, putting lots of hybrid babies in you. Keigo is verbally affectionate but physically crass, Dabi is verbally crass but physically affectionate.

Warnings: Virginity Loss, Vaginal Sex, Oral [M+F Receiving], Animal Traits, Dubious Consent, Oviposition, Overstimulation, Occasional Painful Intercourse, Breeding, Edging

MDNI

Purebred humans are rare nowadays. Many years ago, when humans became close to extinction, humans used animal DNA to infuse fetuses resulting in hybrids. Quickly, the hybrids became the norm.

Most people went for practical traits, protect from extreme temperature or traits that made something stronger like sight or speed.

As with all things, it came with downsides. Procreation became difficult for a while but was eventually fixed with merging reproduction organs. Mammals could lay eggs if needed, fertile or infertile, and they almost always are soft to allow easier fertilization if there are two partners.

Another difficulty was the sexual dilemma. Humans had even more races now and many would only want to be around a certain kind. Many wanted to be with cats and dogs, but fewer wanted to be around insects or rodents.

With the clashing of species, humans separated and chose their company carefully. They lived secluded and only searched for others in hopes of sexual partnership. Some wanted to be partners forever and other wanted to be left alone immediately after mating. It was tough.

The toughest life to have, however, was pure human.

No human was disliked! No one disliked their traits or even had to worry about how breeding would go. Humans could take in all sperm or dispense sperm to anyone. There was never an issue and they were considered a luxury.

So how did you end up like this?

You were forced to leave your human-only shelter. It was incredibly well-hidden and the perfect safe spot from the animalistic hybrids looking to kidnap a mate. Unfortunately, humans with no impressive traits weren’t great at acquiring food. Six humans turned to five as they booted you from the safe haven.

Left to wander in a forest, starving and homeless, you were beginning to wonder how bad being a mate had to really be. As long as it was someone who mated for life, anyway. You honestly just didn’t want to be homeless and hungry. You were human so going to any market, laid miles apart and scarce, wasn’t an option. Your presence would cause a plethora of issues.

This forest, like everywhere in the world, was devoid of old human shelter. Hybrids preferred more natural homes like reinforced dens, small tree houses, and even just the grass sometimes. Like actual animals, just slightly more fancy. You had trouble imagining what to look for so you didn't go too close to anyones dens.

Your stomach was audibly crying out. There wasn’t a speck of food in sight! This is miserable!

The end of your patience was here and you prepared to give up, lie down, and die. You stayed curled on the dirt for a while, drifting in and out of sleep, the slightest thing waking you.

Driving you out from restless slumber was an unusual feather falling on your cheek. You weren’t sure where it’d come from. It was large and bright red. The strange occurrence made you believe you should go on your way, prevent meeting anyone dangerous.

Before you had a chance to scurry away from the area, you spotted a bundle of something. Satin or silk in vibrant red. It was so close to you and not there before so you knew it was intended for you.

You weighed the pros and cons. You were going to die if you didn’t find shelter. This was left by something that had feathers which, as far as you can remember, means that there's a good chance they mate forever…

Your stomach squeezed itself and you hunched over slightly. Screw it! You’d go with the bird if they need, or maybe it was just an honest gift and not some courting ritual.

You opened the bundle to reveal fruits, vegetable, a cooked chicken breast, and some bluish-black scales. The chicken breast was odd being left by a bird, but you were so starved you paid it no mind. On the other hand, you couldn’t figure out was the scales were for. They were linked together like a snake skin but you knew nothing about reptilian hybrids. Plus, birds of prey hunt snakes so it was probably just a brag.

You ate without shame, trying to free yourself from the pain of your empty stomach. There was berries and an apple and bell peppers and cauliflower. You ate and ate until your stomach hurt.

Once you were finished, you were overwhelmed with exhaustion. You hadn’t slept right in ages because of your pains but now they were subsiding. You couldn’t help but to curl up and submit to sleep.

So deep in sleep, you incidentally allowed a particular two to transport you elsewhere. Not even rising for the bickering of who’d carry you. Whether you should fly or be walked. Who’d plant the eggs in you and who’d fertilize them.

By the time you opened your eyes you were someplace entirely different. Naked.

At first, you’d thought you’d been buried. It didn’t look like a normal den. It was lined with sticks and feathers like a nest but was full of luxurious cloth to make the bed and furniture. It was a simple den, a spot for the bed, some stone furniture and storage. But, most noticeably, it was not a bird’s den, even despite the avian attributes.

You found the exit, a narrow stone pathway that you had to duck to enter. Obviously, you climbed the slope to leave. As you popped your head out back into the fresh forest air, you were surprised to promptly have pressure applied to one of your shoulders by presumably a boot from above.

“Nuh uh. Turn right back around.” A slightly raspy and stern voice spoke, scaring you right back into the den, “The bird’ll be back soon. Then we can start, have some patience will you?” You watched the boot rise out of view leisurely.

The man, who you didn’t really see, spoke down to you gently yet cruelly, like you were just some misbehaving pet. With this in mind, you prepared to make a break for it, not wanting to take the bullying.

Running up the slope and out, avoiding the stranger and his taunts entirely, you sprinted into the woods.

You ran maybe for an entire minute, proud of your easy escape from the feared hybrids, but said pride was quickly extinguished.

One moment your feet were on the ground, the next you were soaring through the air unwillingly. Your shouts were sucked up by the wind and in mere seconds you were right back where you started, in the talons of a great hawk.

The man from before, who sat on the roots atop the den, beneath a massive tree, looked at you wrapped up in the arms of the hawk hybrid and scoffed.

“Took you long enough. The feathers in your brain make you slow?” The blue eyed man spoke.

The sat man looked odd. He appeared to be a snake hybrid, and yet the reptilian spots on him looked to be crudely stapled on. It was definitely meant to be there but it doesn’t seem to want to stay. His hands, feet, and belly grew slightly blueish black compared to the rest of his pale skin.

“Nah, I was just getting back and saw her out. Why was she out?” the red winged man, quite handsome with yellow slotted eyes and golden hair, accused.

The snake shrugged, “Couldn’t be bothered. I’m not a runner.”

The hawks narrowed his eyes but brushed it off, “We goin’ up or down?” his grip increased on you, even as you squirmed.

“Do I look like I got wings?”

The snake hopped down and smoothly slithered down the den. The hawks dragged you down in addition.

“Everything will be alright. We’re very happy to have you here, we’ll take care of you.” The hawk attempted to sooth you.

You pushed against the hawk until he let you go and scurried into a corner, watching the two. The snake was removing his shirt and boots and the hawk was still trying to talk to you.

“My names Keigo, I was the one who offered that food to you. That over there’s Touya, but he’s prissy so call him Dabi.” Even with the lack of them, Dabi hearing his name certainly ruffled his feathers as he threw a boot at the bird's back.

“Don’t act all nice. She’s human. She probably had no idea what you were doing. Humans are greedy and stupid like that.”

Keigo ignored him entirely.

“Would you like something to eat or drink? I want to make sure you’re cared for before we begin.” Keigo cooed to you kindly.

You furiously shook your head, explaining as best you could how while you had a hunch, you had hoped that eating the food wasn’t a sealed deal. You just weren’t ready for children!

All Keigo heard was you knew you were accepting food, “You’ve no need to worry, we’ll take care of everything!”

You pleas were ignored as Keigo closed in and herded you atop of Dabi who’d already stripped and lied down. His heart didn’t seem in it, but at least he was willing and aroused.

Keigo crawled atop of you, sandwiching you between the two hybrid men. As you squirmed to escape, you body sliding down the two bodies, Keigo opted to basically sit on your back, locking you in place right beneath Dabi’s serpentine cock.

The serpentine cock in question was merely an oozing slit, the head of the hidden phallus peeking out and dripping. The sight made you blush. You could even smell it.

“Been a while? You look a little stuck.” Keigo poked at Dabi who scowled in response.

“I’ve never had to take it out, so yeah, it’s a tight fit.” Dabi irritatedly responded, trying to respond cooly.

“Why don’t you help out, huh?” Keigo proposed to you, trying to pull you up the extra inches you’d need to reach it. You dug your palms into the bed and refused to budge.

“She probably doesn’t even know how.” Dabi belittled you, or at least that was the intention. He seemed to hold a level of hate for humans.

Keigo sighed, “Fine. I guess I’ll have to show her. Maybe it’ll get her in the mood.”

Keigo tightened his grip on you and made sure you had a good view while Dabi found a way to, surprisingly gently, firmly hold your head in place.

Keigo licked some stripes across the whole slit, the slick connecting his tongue to the organ. He did this quite a few times, both of you watching the protruding tip, tapered, twitch and leak fluid in small weak spurts. The clear liquid dripped down Dabi’s thighs and onto the bed and you wondered what the ratio of precum to saliva was.

Finally, Keigo enclosed the slit into his mouth and sucked hard to free the cock from it’s prison. You didn’t get to see the cock slowly come up but what you did see was so much more lewd.

With a clear view of Keigo throat, you watched it oh so slowly expand as Dabi’s cock filled it snuggly. Only when Keigo’s adams apple bobbed downward to make room for the filthy dick did Keigo finally gag a bit and slide the phallus from his mouth.

Releasing the cock from his throat, Keigo didn’t bother swallowing any fluid that’d ended in his mouth, letting the concoction of fluids flow right back down Dabi’s dick.

The bed had already collected a puddle and your face was burning. Your body like fire and your core was lax without your permission. You’d never admit it but the horribly erotic display aroused you way more than you thought logical.

“What’s wrong?” Dabi teased, swiping a thumb over the side of his slit, collecting slick and saliva, and smearing it slowly across your defenseless lips, “This too much for you?”

Dabi was referring to his length. The tapered phallus had a semi-sharp tip and was fairly tall. You suspected that Keigo didn’t take out the full length but rather what he thought you could take.

“I can prepare you too, if you’d like.” Keigo offered, licking his lips with lustful eyes. You, of course, were far too shocked to respond.

Dabi rolled his eyes and yanked you by one of your shoulders with the help of Keigo who raised himself to allow you the room, “Just do it. Tell me if she’s a virgin or not.”

Trying to escape was useless as Keigo moved off you and held your hips up and firmly by the thighs. Dabi has your head pulled up beside his throbbing cock and sternly pressed against his hip and thigh, his one hand keeping your head possessively in place.

“Arch your back baby. It’ll feel real good.” Dabi growled out tauntingly. His words were mean spirited but he was rubbing whispers of strokes across your shoulders and back. He’s a rude personality, but a shockingly gentle hand.

Dabi pressed on your back, urging his previous command, and you obeyed his whims. In a most humiliating gesture, you arched your back to expose your vulnerable core to Keigo. The embarrassment of behaving whorishly was entirely devoured by Dabi’s eyes. The eye contact he imposed on you was sapping away at your resistance and filling you with the kind of desire that kept your body quaking. You were completely helpless.

Once Keigo started his tongue, you knew you were done for. Dabi massaged your back as you cried out into his hip. Everyone knew what state you were in. How this came to be was a blurred memory and suddenly all you knew was the agony you felt, being at the pinnacle of climax yet being kept from it.

Keigo’s tongue would harass your exposed swollen clit, laying the tongue flat and curling to encompass and consume the sensitive thing. If you got close, the pleasure would be forcefully subsided as Keigo’s tongue would pull away and lie kisses mere inches from it. Your orgasm so close and yet so far.

Your pussy was beginning to become sore from need. Your entrance was throbbing and pained. Your body was, quite literally, begging in agony. You got to a point that, when denied release, you’d furiously kick your legs and thrash your body. It was an instinctive response, as well as emotional. It did not get you far at all. Keigo would lock your legs beneath his and dig his finger into your side to keep you in place. Dabi would rake his fingers into your hair and hold you carefully into him.

“As cute as this display is, I’m feeling rather neglected. Let’s get this moving.” Dabi admitted before sliding you on top of him and out of Keigo’s needy grasp. His slit and squirming phallus formed a trail on your front, but Dabi seemed content with it.

“Aw what? I was having so much fun!” Keigo whined, licking what he could from his mouth before wiping the rest.

“I need fun too.” Dabi put shortly, teasingly and briefly kissing the tip of your nose before raising you lower half slightly. He aligned himself.

“Hold on.” Keigo firmly commanded, pulling you against his bent body, unlining Dabi, “I checked. She’s virgin. Do you really want her first time hurting?” You’d no clue how Dabi would hurt more than Keigo, in all his tender caresses, but you’d the sense you’d find out.

“And leave me to just spray it? Thought we agreed I’d plant the eggs.”

“We can both lay eggs,” Keigo surprised both you and Dabi, “We’ll do two round each. Planting and fertilizing.”

“We shouldn’t be cruel to the dumb thing,” Dabi reasoned, holding your face and looking into your eyes with fake hypnotizing pity, “She’d become so swollen. Unable to much of anything. What use would she be?”

“I know you’ve not the best examples in your life,” Keigo harshly mentioned, “but mates don’t need to have use. If theres something to be done, I will do it for her.”

Dabi’s flame within his eye spiked. He was mad, “If you want to talk examples, theres plenty of things to say about you as well.”

Unlike Dabi, whose body was gentle with you even in anger, Keigo was expressive, showing his infuriation through his cock.

It was like being speared by a horrible Cupid’s arrow. You were obedient before because you’d the ability to reason with the situation. Now? The arrow that was Keigo’s cock was causing every thought you’d ever had to gush out as though you were bleeding out. He’d hit the target in one stinging swoop and your whole body fell limp to unprecedented amounts of sheer pleasure. Pleasure so potent you were left utterly choked as you could only recall the word ‘No’ over and over. Completely brainless and hopelessly cock drunk. The fear of the situation was pulsing ten fold and ten times more addictive. It felt good to be scared.

Dabi was intently listening to your pitiful and quiet protests with a sadistic smile on his face. No longer needing to hold you down, Dabi focused on touching you, removing the hair from your face to look at his face once more, “Oh~, does that feel good? Why are you telling us no? You’re drooling for it.”

Indeed, as Dabi stuck a thumb into your mouth to touch your tongue, saliva was un-barricaded, slipping right past your incoherent pleas.

In and out, in and out, in and out. Keigo was relentless in his pounding. You’d felt so euphoric you’d began to wonder if the reason you’d yet to cum was because you’d never stopped. This continuous strain of breeding was keeping you at such a pinnacle that your body wouldn’t even move a finger as though afraid it’d lose the sensation of being utterly fucking pumped full.

Dabi was sucking and licking at your throat as your body lie helpless and sensually fearful, waiting to receive Keigo’s fat load into your far too willing womb. He saw your limp body and smothered you in affections possesively. When he spotted you so choked up, he took everything a step forward and lifted his callused hand to bully your completely swollen and desperate clit.

Now that was too much. You spasmed entirely and your walls, now almost molded to Keigo’s veiny phallus, slammed down to encompass Keigo. You animalistically shoved your hips into Keigo, ensuring Keigo’s thick fertile load was sprayed nice and firm into your womb.

You’d expected to not feel it, but you did. It felt at first like Keigo had some vile thing in place of sperm, but you quickly realized it was eggs. Your stomach was cramping like you were menstruating except nothing was leaving your womb, something was forcefully entering. Keigo’s eggs, small soft things for now, were being directly shot into your womb. He’d been so throughly planted within you and so sternly pressed against your cervix that you got the honor of feeling every last egg entering you. From the twitching of Keigo’s cock, signaling the eggs departure, to the oddly firm feeling of eggs slipping into your womb. You counted four. Four whole eggs were now inside you. It was uncomfortable, but not devoid of arousal.

“How many?” Dabi spoke up while you and Keigo were calming down.

“Four.” Keigo exhausted, collapsing to a seat.

“Four? How many am I supposed to put? She’ll have no room!”

“Oh she’ll have room. You snakes make your way in. You don’t gotta push. Lay as many as you want, strongest come out.” Keigo panted. You’d heard something similar. Some hybrids plant many eggs so that the weakest ones will pop in the womb. They’re all very soft shelled so if it gets too packed, the weakest ones choose to not continue growth and evacuate. All before you’d even get a baby bump.

Dabi growled and lifted you up, pulling you to place your head on his shoulder while he lifted your hips just a few inches. His squirming cock easily found its way in. Unlike Keigo, Dabi only needed a few inches to pull in and out. His long cock was versatile and could compress and express itself as long and short, fat or thin, as it wished within a certain margain. It was a wonder it still even looked like a cock, but it did, albeit a slimy black one.

Dabi paid more attention to your body than Keigo did, but then again when Keigo began he was a bit peeved. Dabi was more sensual and calm, yet was still patronizing. He purred taunts into your ear with a sickeningly sweet voice. No part of your body was unloved or untouched with Dabi. He was a snake and he’d every intention of squeezing you like one. No stone unturned. No flesh left uncaressed.

Now that Keigo wasn’t buried within you, he was more attentive. He hugged you from behind and nipped at your nape. Despite him not presently taking part, he moaned small breathes into your back.

The sensation of something worming around inside you and massaging you insides with precision was easy to ease into. You rolled your hips slightly to help Dabi with the friction as he laid kisses onto every exposed skin on yours. You felt the phallus go from thin and shallow to thick and deep. Dabi was taking his time, no rush. He was giving you time.

Dabi’s wriggling cock seemed to grow impatient on its own. As the two men slowly eased you back into the immobile sex sandwich, the thing inside you got restless. Sometime it’d flick around or twitch immensely within, like it was anticipating climax any moment.

Unlike Hawks, who completely overwhelmed you into a continuous strain of orgasms, Dabi was aiming for one nice big one from you. He reached down and massaged your sensitive clit while the two whispered naughty things into your ears.

Your legs spasmed but were unable to move and inch when compressed like you were. You’d expected and desired a clean strong orgasm which you got, but you also got something more.

You yelped in pain as your womb squeezed itself, a big cramp. Hawks only had to push a few tiny eggs in, Dabi’s cock has to enter the womb past the cervix a smidge.

You tried to squirm away fairly violently. The pain wasn’t overwhelming or anything, but it sure did hurt.

Hawks pinned your wrists down and Dabi full body hugged you. You weren’t going anywhere.

It stretched your entrance as each egg passed through Dabi’s length. It was literally pumping eggs in with all its might, so much so that the sensation was incredibly apparent. This is why Dabi made you cum, you’d feel less than you did. The initial entrance dulled by pleasure. Ain’t he nice?

Once both men had shoved their eggs securely in your womb, you were all left exhausted. You’d thought it’d be the end, yet Keigo stirred from your back.

“Hard parts over. Let’s get those eggs fertilized.” Keigo cooed, tucking your hair back.

[dovkss]

hawks confronting reader for trying to hide their stockholm syndrome

word count: 957

warning: 18+; stockholm syndrome, emotional abuse, mentions of kidnapping, manhandling, bratty! reader, threatening, yandere themes

a/n: a lil sum to make up for lost timeee! ;(

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months. As he had planned, your feelings for him had began to shift.

No longer were you fighting him, spitting at him, yelling at him. No longer were you being disobedient, pushing his face away when he tried to kiss you.

No longer were you being an ungrateful whore.

You couldn't help but feel attached to him. It was hard not to. You haven't had any contact with an actual human besides him for the past few months. And, boy, were they long.

You got used to seeing his face. His gorgeous face. You were now comfortable enough to caress the fluffy red feathers he would leave in your space on purpose.

After being locked up in the basement during the day, you began to actually look forward to when he came back to you from patrolling or whatever hero work he had to do for the day.

When that door opened and he stepped through it, you found yourself smiling or letting out a sigh of relief.

You were aware of what was happening to you. You had read about it online some years ago. Stockholm Syndrome was what it was called... you think. People who are victims of abuse will start to empathize with their abusers to cope with the trauma they faced.

Well, he never hit you. Nor did he force you to do anything you didn't want to.

That's not abuse, is it? Surely not, you were perfectly fine and able to take care of yourself.

He kidnapped you, yeah. But... he was nice to you. He fed you, washed you, kept you warm, and bought you your favorite things!

That's not abuse.

Takami also took note of your change of heart. You never knew when your gaze on him lingered a little longer than normal. Your smile now wasn't sarcastic or half-assed.

At first he thought you were up to something. Maybe you were creating a ploy to blindside him in an attempt to escape.

Like he’d let that happen. Of course not.

But knew he had you wrapped around his finger when you let his lips come in context with your neck without putting up a fight. You were doing so well for him.

Only problem was you not admitting it. That annoyed the hell out of him.

You couldn’t let him know that you were coming around, then he would be getting his way. But if he was keeping you safe, what would be the harm in that?

No harm at all. Just a hurt ego. If he knew he was getting his way, you’d never be able to live it down. That cocky bastard.

"You cozy?" He asked you, his tone light. You nodded as you sat on the opposite end of the warm couch. It was movie night tonight, it was his turn to pick the movie.

You both sat in silence for the first half hour of the movie. You could see in the corner of your eye him looking at you. You bit your lip nervously, only trying to focus on the movie.

"Ya wanna sit next to me?" His next question was simple enough. You looked over at him. You knew you'd never forgive yourself for this. You scooted over a bit, your shoulder almost touching his.

He reached over and pulled your head into his neck and grabbed your legs to dangle over his. You huffed but said nothing.

"You startin' to like me yet?" He rested his head on top of yours. You rolled your eyes, not saying anything in response.

"Not even a little?" He chuckled. "This 'playing hard to get' act is getting old, Babe."

"It's not an act. You're just 'hard to get rid of'."

In a flash, you felt his demeanor change. Suddenly, he's on you before you even know it. He slams you back into the cushion, bringing his face to your cheeks, squishing them together. “I hope you know that you're never, ever getting rid of me. Nobody is fucking coming for you either, so I suggest you come to terms with that now."

You wriggle under his firm grip, trying to pry him off of you. You found it to be useless as he brought your face closer to his, forcing you to make eye contact with his yellow ones.

You couldn't lie to yourself. Being this close to him made you feel some things. You panicked.

"M' sorry, please, let me go..." you begged, closing your eyes. You hoped he listened, as your face was growing hot and beginning to cramp. You braced yourself for the nail marks that you would feel embedded in your skin.

He grinned. "Give me a kiss."

You leaned forward slightly, pecking his lips. He scoffed and shook you a bit, making you whine. "A real one, c'mon now."

You obeyed and attached your lips to his. He wasted no time slipping his tongue into your mouth. He wasn't just kissing you, he was letting you know that he was in charge.

For as long as you're here.

He pulled away with a chuckle before pushing your head down away from him further into the couch, then letting go. He returned to his spot while you lay there, trying to catch your breath.

You hadn't even noticed your thighs being clenched together. Your eyes watered slightly at the idea.

You were losing it. You were losing yourself, slowing turning into his. Your life now in his hands. Your freedom being stripped away from you.

“When I get outta here, m’ gonna kill you.” Your words were timid and empty.

The only thing left he had to change about you was that bratty mouth.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Quirk(less) Marriage

Pairing: Dark/Yandere Keigo Takami/Hawks x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

SUMMARY: As Endeavour Todoroki’s quirkless daughter, you’ve been labeled as a burden your entire life. To your luck (or the lack of it) Hawks is more than willing to take care of you. 

WARNINGS: Arranged/Forced Marriage; Toxic/Abusive Relationship; Noncon; Implied Forced Breeding.

Reader takes Fuyumi's place, but ignoring the age logistics. You're around 20/21.

AN: Proud of myself cause this is the longest work I've written. Thank you for waiting, really hope you guys like this. Please, reblog and give me feedback 😊 enjoy!

--

The call gets disconnected, just like the previous one and the one before that.  

‘The number you have called is currently–’

Biting your lip, you tap on the call button, pushing the phone against your ear once again. Please, pick up. Please, pick up. 

Your prayers are successful as the call finally gets accepted, too many moments later. 

“Dad?”

There’s a low scoff on the other side of the line. With a swift glance behind your shoulder, you enter the large bathroom and fumble with the lock of the door.

“Dad? I– It's me.” 

The soft click provides you with the tiniest amount of security and you hope the walls are thick enough to muffle down the sound of your voice. 

“What is it?” the annoyance in Endeavour's voice is clear as day. Your dad has never had the time or patience to waste with you, much less now. “I’m busy. Make it quick.”

“I don’t like it here.” you start, holding onto the phone like it’s a lifeline. “Can you come pick me up?” 

“What nonsense is this? Have you lost your mind, like your mother did?” the words are cruel and sharp - a combination that your father does like no other. “It’s only been a few hours and you’ve started complaining already? Ridiculous!” 

“But I don’t know him. I don’t feel comfortable here. With him.” you try again, desperate. “Dad, please, don’t make me do this. Please, please, I don’t to–”

“Enough!” you flinch at the harsh tone. “End this nonsense right now. There’s no place left for you at my house. You are exactly where you belong. Ungrateful brat. Be grateful that Hawks accepted to have some quirkless trash as a wife.”

The venomous insult has you recoiling. Many are the times that the words ‘quirkless’ and ‘trash’ have been hurled your way and yet the dull ache in your heart never lessens. 

Your dad pays no mind to your pained silence, continuing with his angry frustration. 

“I’m warning you for the final time, so listen carefully. You are Hawk’s wife now, so behave like one. Do not even think about returning home, you hear me?” he hisses sharply. “Do not drag the family name through the mud just because of your pathetic whining.” 

The call abruptly disconnects. 

You stare at the wall, apathetic as cold emptiness slowly consumes you, inch by inch. You feel lost. Empty. Brain hardly able to acknowledge what’s happening to you. God, why is this happening to you?

You don’t want to stay here. In another man’s house - a man you hardly know. Hawks. Keigo, like he asked you to call him when your dad’s driver dropped you off like a delivery package. A mail-order bride.

You don’t know what to do. What can you do?

Running away is out of the question. It’s not even an option, not when you’re the daughter of Japan’s Pro-hero Number One and your husband sits on the second rank.

But the truth is that there’s never been much of a rebellious streak inside you. No, you are docile and simple. Being rebellious was a trait more present in your brother's disposition. Natsuo. Shoto. Touya. 

The thought of them has you hesitating for a moment, but you quickly dismiss the idea. No doubt they would try to help, but to what extent would they truly be successful?

Their relationship with dad was a strained one, so tense that it could break at any moment. You’d hate to be the one to tear the family apart. 

You wonder what dad will tell them - that he just sold you off like a broodmare? Or will he make a more elegant explanation?

Will your brothers even believe whatever strange justification your dad comes up with?

You haven’t seen them for a while. Natsuo spent most of his time on his college campus and Shoto lived in the U.A dorms. All while you took care of the house. 

Would they believe you married Hawks even though there’s no wedding? 

No grandiose wedding ceremony to marry off the only daughter of the great Endeavour, no. Only a legal contract binding you to him, papers that you barely got a chance to read properly before your dad demanded for your signature. And just like that you’re married on legal terms.

It’s hard to believe it happened this morning, less than two hours ago when it feels like a nightmare that is dragging out for too long. 

A knock on the door snaps you out of your brainstorm session. 

“Hey. You good in there?” 

Keigo. You really hope he didn’t catch the hushed phone call. That makes you tuck the phone into your back pocket. 

You make a little noise with your throat, clearing your voice. “Hum, yeah. I… Just a minute.” 

You wait a moment in the spacious bathroom, taking the opportunity to check out your reflection in the mirror on top of the impeccable white marble vanity. 

There’s nothing different about your face, despite the storm of emotions that devastates you on the inside. Nothing indicates the horror you’re experiencing, maybe except for the light downturn of your lips. 

Your hands smoothes down the wrinkles along your silk blouse. Your dad had barked at you to change into a proper dress, something more elegant than a blouse and pants, but there had been no time to alter outfits.

The last hour you spent at home was total chaos. Hurrying to pack your stuff and now that you think about it, you didn’t even get a chance to pack your favorite clothes. Most of your belongings stayed behind, unable to fit the two suitcases the maids helped you fill with whatever you could find. Clothes. Shoes. Skincare. Makeup. Some jewelry. 

Oh, you even forgot your laptop! Well, you suppose that’s the least of your concerns. 

Straightening your back with a deep breath that does little to calm your nerves, you finally reach for the door.

Keigo is casually leaning against the adjacent wall with his hands chuffed inside the pant’s pockets, fluffy blonde brows rising as you close the en-suite bathroom. 

“Took you long enough in there. Was getting worried you had fallen down the toilet or somethin’.” he jokes. He’s not wearing the yellow Pro-Hero costume, just a tight shirt and pants.

Casual. Comfortable. 

 He pushes himself off the wall, nodding towards the room door. 

“C’mon, let me show you the rest of the penthouse. It’s yours now as well.” he pauses, looking at you with a knowing expression. “Unless you wanna go back to hiding in the bathroom to beg Endeavour some more?”

Your face falls, eyes widening with shock. 

“Oh, I…” you stammer, like a deer caught in the headlights. “I’m sorry. I just–”

Keigo stops you with a wave of his hand, walking over to you. You gulp as a reflex when he stops, standing right in front of you, his red wings ruffling behind him. 

Hands are placed over your shoulders, warm and firm. The proximity has your body tensing up, nerves prickling you.

It’s the first time you’re seeing him up close, eyes shyly noticing the small details. The faint scars scarring his cheek. The short blonde stubble around his chin. The small piercing on his ear. There’s a gentle scent emanating from him, maybe a body lotion or soap, you’re not sure. 

“Hey. It’s fine. I’m not mad.” he gently says, one finger tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his golden ones. “I know you must be scared. I’d be too if I was in your shoes.”

“Getting married is a huge deal. I’m also pretty sure this was kinda... unexpected, right? You probably weren’t expecting any of this. Were you? Hm?” 

Your silence elicits his fingers to dig deeper into your shoulders, and you hesitantly nod. A bad feeling pools in your belly. 

“C’mon, there’s no need to be so shy. You can speak to me. It’s just me, Keigo. Your husband.” a shiver follows down your spine when one of his hands slowly slides down your naked arm, calloused palm touching over the length of your skin.

The heat of his palm, albeit gentle, feels scorching hot when it lands on your wrist. Burning your skin. Marking you.  

“... and that means no secrets between us. Cause a good wife always tells the truth to her husband. All that stuff about having bling trust on your husband, ‘kay?” 

Keigo’s tone changes in the slightest as he speaks, a more serious undertone coating his words. His peculiar behavior has often reached your ear, mostly by the angry complaints of your father, but this… this seems insane.

He’s insane. The way he talks to you makes you uneasy. It makes you want to evade his touch and run back home, back to the safety of your room - your little heaven of peace.

The situation that has you trapped is far too weird, too abnormal for you to even know what to say or what to think. 

“So, what do you say?” his lips curl into a small smirk. “Will you be my perfect little wife?” 

There’s no other option other than nodding, a shaky movement of your head. That doesn’t satisfy Keigo, his lips pouting dramatically.  One hand cups the side of your face, rugged fingers scratching your gentle skin. 

Your heart skips a beat when his thumb reaches for your lips, the tinted lip gloss smudging as the pad of his finger drags over your lower lip. Heat burns in your cheeks, your whole face blazing warm at his touch. 

Keigo’s eyes are fixed on your lips, captivated by the shiny moisture coating them. You don’t dare moving a single muscle, as frozen as a porcelain statue. Too scared that one move might trigger him into kissing you. 

It happens anyways despite the little hope you harbored. Keigo leans forward and there’s barely time to think - or to dodge him - before his mouth is pressing against yours, soft lips applying minimal pressure into the kiss. It’s tender, gentle. It’s your first kiss. 

A hum rumbles through his chest and his hand slides to the back of your head, fingers stretching to keep you in place. Not allowing you to run away from him. Oh gosh. 

The kiss deepens, more pressure being added as Keigo teasingly nibbles your lower lip. There’s no other option but to gap your lips, allowing access to your mouth.

Keigo takes full advantage, sneaky tongue tracing the shape of your lips before pushing past your lips, almost making you gag at the sensation. It’s slimy and wet, and it feels weird to have roaming around your mouth, touching and feeling around. 

Before you even realize what you’re doing, your hands are pushing against his chest and Keigo accomplies, pulling away with a breathy chuckle. 

You exhale, wiping the smear of saliva and gloss with the back of your hand. 

“Sweet like candy.” Keigo says, eyes fixed on you as he licks his lips. “And a virgin, right? At least, that’s what your dad told me. Pure, untouched virgin and all that.”

You gulp at the hunger in his eyes. 

“Don’t be scared. I’m not a monster, I promise.” the corner of his lip curves, giving away the unsettling smirk behind. “Promise to take good care of you tonight. Scout’s honor.”

---------------------------------- 💍 ----------------------------------------

Physical touch is a concept you’re hardly familiar with. Anyone that looks carefully into your family can quickly realize that they are not one for effusive displays of affection.

Hugs, kisses, cuddling - none of that. If you think hard enough, there might be some vague memories of your mom wrapping her arms around you, back when you were a little child. Cradling you into a sweet although chilly embrace, gently rocking your body into sleeping.

But those memories are so distant, so fuzzy that you can’t even be sure they are real. The ones that remain are your dad and brothers. 

And if your mind doesn’t fail you, the last time your dad gave you any sort of physical attention wasn’t a pleasant situation, one that resulted with you receiving a nasty slap for being so loud and rowdy that you woke him up on his day off. 

So, no. Showing love through touch is not something you know about. But Keigo sure does. His touch is the only constant throughout the apartment tour.

As he guides you through the different rooms, his hand never leaves yours. Warm and somewhat gritty. Solid enough to keep you attached to him, even when you take small steps away from him. Could be considered a sweet gesture, if only your mind wasn’t finding it so suffocating. 

When finally you reach the last division left, Keigo wraps his toned arms around your waist, pushing you flush against his body.

A gasp escapes from your lips, both surprised and shocked at the sudden gesture and your hands immediately fly over to his, pushing for a moment before you realize that you can’t do that so directly.

You can’t push him away. He’s your husband. 

“... and this is where you’ll be spending most time. The kitchen. Had it remodeled especially for you.” Keigo proudly says, chin slotting on top of your left shoulder. “Endeavour seemed pretty confident in your cooking skills, he even bragged a whole ton about that. Delicious, traditional food and all that. Works well enough cause I’m sort of a glutton, y’know?”

He pecks the side of your exposed neck as you take in your surroundings, drinking in every single detail.

The amount of sunlight coming from the large windows is impressive, the bright and warm light cascading down on the large middle island and the long counter made of white marble. Every piece of equipment and machine looking like it belongs to a restaurant’s kitchen, modern and brand new. 

Everything is so impeccably shiny and clean, without a single speck of dust, that you wonder if the kitchen has ever been used before. Likely not. 

“Used to eat fast food everyday. Easy and cheap.” Keigo confirms your assumption. 

His arms tighten around you, squeezing you tight enough to leave you a bit breathless. 

“But that’s in the past. Cause now I have a pretty wifey who’s gonna spoil me with yummy food, right, babe? My little housewife.” he coos, similar to how one would speak to a little baby. “You’re gonna be real busy. Cooking everyday for your hard-working husband.”

The more Keigo speaks, the more uneasy you get. Why is he being so weird about it? 

He’s always had sort of a peculiar personality, you know that much from the tabloid’s fixation on documenting and discussing the every public interaction of the popular Pro-Hero that occupies the second position in the rankings but it was your dad’s angry ramblings about the younger man that gave you the confirmation of Hawks’s eccentric and unique personality. But you didn’t think he’d be a… freak.

The uneasiness that is slowly taking over you only gets worse when something - something that grows hard with every passing moment - pokes against your lower back, firm and insistent. 

A yelp gets stuck in your throat and you jump without thinking when a calloused hand delves underneath your blouse, warm fingers pinching the soft skin of your stomach. 

“C’mon, don’t be shy. I wanna hear you say it.” his mouth hovers over your ear, teeth playfully biting the sensitive earlobe. His hand graduatelly slips lower until it reaches the hem of your pants, giving it a playful tug. 

“You’re gonna cook for me, right?” 

A shudder travels through your body, raising goosebumps over the expense of your skin. 

“I’ll…cook for you, yes.” you stammer the words out, but Keigo isn’t done with you yet. 

He tuts, tongue swiping as light as a feather across the shell of your ear. “You’re gonna cook for me and what else. Go on, say it.” 

The knot lodged on your stomach won’t stop twisting and warping, making you experience things like never before. Stress, anxiety, fear. Everything at once. 

“I’ll…” you hesitate, voice so low that it breaks.

Keigo encourages you further. “Hm hm, keep going. I’m all ears.”

“I’ll..” you start, tongue feeling too heavy to move. “I’ll be your housewife.”

Keigo rewards you with a nasty growl and much to your horror, he pushes himself harder against you, pulling you against the kitchen island. Trapped between the cold marble and Keigo’s firm body, there’s no way to slip away from him. 

There’s no way to escape Keigo as he sets up a slow rocking motion, shamelessly dry humping you in the middle of the kitchen. 

There’s nothing for you to do except to push back the disgust that grows with each breathless moan that resonates over your ear and accept your destiny. 

---------------------------------- 💍 -----------------------------------

A few years ago, when you were a somewhat silly dumb teenager, you’d have fantasies about your wedding night.

Rosy and dreamy fantasies about how perfect that night was supposed to be, how romance and love would fill the atmosphere until you were dizzy with emotions.

A strong and handsome husband that would have the softest lips, peppering kisses all over your body. Gentle hands whose touch would be enough to make you see stars. He’d be sweet and kind and he would take his time with you. 

Now, on your first night as a married woman, you realize just how unrealistic your teenage fantasies were. 

Your body writhes on its own as Keigo slowly pushes his hips forward, forcing his cock all the way inside your cramped pussy. The problem isn’t his size. He’s not too big or too small. Just average, you suppose.

But the problem lies in the painful fact that this is your first time and Keigo seems more focused on getting as deep as he can instead of going easy on you.  

“Oh, fuck. You’re really tight, huh.” Keigo pants, forehead pressing against yours. One of your hands instinctively reaches out to push on his chest, desperate for some distance, for some much needed relief.

But Keigo is fast in stopping you, grabbing your hands with his own, forcing each hand to lay flat near your head. 

“...it hurts.” 

Your whining gets smothered down by Keigo’s lips, insistent in keeping you quiet. His hips rock against you, pulling halfway out before drilling back inside with impressive determination that earns a muffled distressed gasp from you everytime. 

Your walls sting despite the unhurried pace Keigo sets. Not too fast, but not too slow either. Probably the best middle-ground tempo he could find. But it’s not enough for you. Your pussy aching with each thrust, struggling to accommodate the foreign intrusion.

Keigo pulls away from the kiss, with a breathless groan that feels overly graphic. His face hovers close enough for the ragged breaths and pants to hit you, leaving a warm cast of air.  

Keigo releases one of your hands and his now free hand travels down, expertly hooking under your knee before pulling the leg up to your chest. Opening you up. Discomfort flares up in your leg at the uncomfortable position, cramps start to form in your muscles and there's a malicious grin forming in Keigo’s face at the sight of your struggle. 

“C’mon, don’t be a brat, you can take it.” he purrs, face bending down to press a kiss on your knee. “You’re already taking my cock like a champ. Keep that tightness up and you’re gonna make me cum soon. Fuck.”

He grunts, strands of honey hair hanging in his forehead, his skin dewy with sweat. Behind him, the wings won’t stop twitching and shaking, adding more weight as Keigo falls on top of you, crushing you against the bed with his solid weight.

He fucks you faster, going deeper with the new angle that has you wincing everytime. The erratic pace rocks both you and the bed in a way that feels like an earthquake, headboard banging with such force on the wall that you won’t be surprised if tomorrow there’s a dent.

You also won’t be surprised if there are visible dents littering your body as well.  

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he moans, chasing his high like a madman. “You’re gonna take it, aren’t you? Take my cum like the good, little wifey you are. Fuck, yeah!” 

The symphony of groans rises in volume just like the growing urgency in the few thrusts Keigo punctures right before he buries his face in your neck, an animalistic sound rumbling deep from his chest as his body comes to a halt, every inch of cock buried deep inside you. 

After that, the room is strangely quiet. 

Keigo’s warm breathing hits your neck, irregular and shallow as he takes his time getting himself back together. He takes no initiative to move away from you and you lack the necessary strength to push him away, so there’s no other option but to remain on your back, smothered under his weight, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Feeling the soreness seeping through the soft muscles while realizing how sticky your skin has become. The dull cramps that start building up in the lower part of your body. Leg still hoisted up over Keigo’s arm, settled into the stiff position. 

You wince at the member lodged inside of you, turning flaccid with each passing moment. What is impossible to ignore is the fluid that oozes from your hole, slowly trickling downwards. 

“That was insane. Fuck, I even think you’re officially the best fuck of my life.” he declares with a satisfied sigh, voice hoarse. 

Finally, after what it feels like an eternity - even if probably only has been a few minutes - Keigo moves his arm away and you sigh in relief when your leg falls down to the bed, stiff and sore.

He pulls back on his knees, a soft grunt escaping from him when he removes himself from inside you and you can finally breathe properly without his weight pressing you down. 

He heads for the bathroom, feet padding on the floor as he walks away with a yawn. 

You doze off, exhaustion making your eyes finally close as you find some thin peace in the darkness. 

---------------------------------- 💍 --------------------------------------

The marital troubles begin less than two days after you become Keigo’s wife. 

You figure it to be a good moment to ask for permission. Your husband - it still feels awkward to say that, even in your mind - is happily munching on the dinner you rushed to cook after he wasted nearly the entire afternoon by keeping you in bed, performing other marital duties.

He’s insatiable when it comes to sex and you’ve come to realize that his appetite is only satisfied when you end up with a sore, achy pussy that leaks copious amounts of cum he fills you with. 

The reality of your situation is slowly falling upon you, forcing you to realize that this isn’t just some phase of your life. No, it’s not a phase. This is your life now. 

Your father never called back, not even a single message to check up on you. Part of you thinks that he must’ve blocked you. He did make it abundantly clear that you’re no longer a part of his family. 

So now, you’re trying to find a way to make things better for yourself. Online college had been the only compromise your dad accepted at the time, so at least you have a degree.

Keigo’s short leave is almost ending, you only know this because Keigo complains about it all the time, which means that soon he’ll be going back to his agency, the patrols, the rescue missions… 

Sure, Keigo did blabber some stuff about you staying a housewife, but you do hope that he can be convinced otherwise. 

“How’s the food?” you ask, catching some vegetables with the fork. The question is pointless, given that the answer lies on the plate before Keigo, mountains of teriyaki chicken and mashed potatoes stacked on the plate.  

Keigo grins, shoving more food into his mouth. “Think cookin’ might be your quirk after all, babe. Those Michellin-star chefs got nothing on you. Trust me.” 

A chuckle leaves your lips before you even realize it. That might be the first time Keigo actually made you laugh. 

“I was meaning to ask, you’re going back to work tomorrow, right?” you ask as casually as possible, pushing the fork to your mouth. 

Keigo hums, before he stops and shakes his head. “Nah, I changed the dates so I can get a few more days with you. Probably heading back on sunday. Maybe monday if I can pull it off.”

“Oh okay.” you nod. 

He looks at you, the edges of his lips curling into a small grin. “Why? Want me to take more days off? I’m sure I can make it work, if you really want me to.”

You pause, mushing down some broccoli with the fork for a moment before you answer. 

“Well, I… I was wondering…” you hesitate, trying to measure your words. “...that when you go back to work, maybe I could get a job? If it’s fine by you, of course! It’s just, well, you’re gonna be busy with work and I’ll be home alone all day. So, if I get a job then I’d be doing something useful, right?”

The teasing grin slowly dies down as Keigo stares at you, eyebrows arching. “A job?” 

Your nod isn’t as assertive as you wish it was and to make it worse, Keigo doesn’t answer right away, taking his sweet time chewing another mouthful of food before taking a few sips from his beer. 

And then he explodes in laughter. 

Eyebrows arching in amusement while Keigo wipes an imaginary tear from his eye. 

The expression on your face must be transparent enough to show your feelings, you realize so when Keigo coos at you, hand settling on top of yours. 

“Did I hurt your feelings, doll? Aww, c’mon, don’t be sad.” he says with a pouty lip, not a trace of seriousness in him. “You’re all delicate and nice. You wouldn’t last a single day working a nine-to-five job. Those things are brutal. Trust me when I say that you’re not cut out for that.”

You stare at him, stunned. He’s making you look weak and pathetic. Something your father would too. 

“But I–”

“Besides, if you really wanna be busy that bad, I’m sure we can work something out.” Keigo doesn’t give you the chance to speak before he’s cutting you off, his grin growing wider - and sinister. “I’m sure a baby would keep you fully booked.”

---------------------------------- 💍 ---------------------------------------

Being Endeavour’s only daughter hadn’t been the glamorous life assumed by the tabloids. Sure, you lived in the comfort of a huge house filled with staff that was more than willing to satisfy your needs.

Not a single day in your life went by struggling for money or food. You had enough designer clothes to overflow your room’s closet and more jewelry than needed. Safety, comfort, money - you had it all. 

But materialistic luxury and comfort hardly meant anything when so many restrictions were imposed upon you.

Your dad was strict - even more considering the quirkless failure he claimed you to be. Not to mention that you are a girl. That alone downgraded your value by a ton, at least to your father’s eyes. That meant being homeschooled for the better part of your life, with harsh tutors and teachers that demanded nothing less than perfection from you.

Leaving the house for whatever reasons may be meant begging your father for permission and his answer was always unsurprisingly negative. Your brothers, despite being nice, were too busy with their own lives. 

In the end, you were left alone - no social life and no friends. 

But as bad as it was, you grew accustomed to it. It was your life and granted that it could be much worse. 

Marrying Keigo - as frightening as it was - isn’t as bad as you expected. He’s not violent. He’s not abusive. As peculiar and bizarre that Keigo is, he’s not entirely a bad husband, you reluctantly admit. 

He takes care of you, through both big and small gestures. You don’t even have to ask for gifts before they are given to you. Books. Jewelry. Clothes. 

He makes an effort to get to know you. Your likes and dislikes. Always eager to know more about you. About the things that make you happy or sad. 

He shows you affection - something that used to be so foreign to you. He kisses and hugs you, his touch always so warm and soft as he drowns you in affection. 

But Keigo is not a saint either. Far from it. 

He doesn’t like it when you talk too much about your family. The way he firmly steers away the conversation when you mention how badly you miss your brothers is enough proof that your husband wants nothing but distance from your old life.

His own family remains a mystery to you, with Keigo setting up boundaries at that sensitive topic. The only family he’s interested in is the future family that the two of you will build together.  

He hates when you do anything that doesn’t suit him. Cooking anything other than his favorite meals always ends up with him giving you the cold shoulder. Choosing a movie or a show that he doesn’t like has him instantly taking over the remote control, changing the TV to whatever he wants to see.

Keigo doesn’t give in easily and there’s no attempt of an amicable compromise or whatsoever. You do what he wants, not the other way. 

In the end, it dawns on you that marrying Keigo wasn’t a salvation. It never was. It was merely exchanging from one prison to another and a part of you believes that your dad knew that. 

---------------------------------- 💍 ---------------------------------------

A few days after Keigo restarts his work schedule, you take the opportunity to leave the apartment. 

However, grocery shopping takes far longer than you anticipated and the sun is already starting to hide in the horizon when you finally make your way back to the apartment. 

You get inside with the bags full of groceries, struggling to close the door when a voice resonates from behind. 

“Where were you?”

You yelp at the frightening sight that the living room has become. Red feathers are sprayed all over the room - the floor, the couch, the furniture - creating a confusing mess of crimson that awfully resembles a murder scene. And in the center of it all, Keigo stiffly stands with arms crossed over his chest.

But what’s more frightening is the solemn expression on his face. Blank and devoid of any humor, serious as a stone. His golden eyes are sharp, raking over you like you’ve committed a serious, immoral crime. 

A cold shiver runs through your body. You’ve never seen Keigo this serious, without the usual friendly grin and the humorous jokes. That makes you a bit nervous. 

“Did your dad not teach you any manners? Cause I asked you something and I’m still waiting on the answer.” the harshness of his voice makes you feel cold, despite the soft heat that comes with summer. 

“Uh, I went to the store….for groceries.” you tentatively raise one hand, showing the heavy bag hanging from it.  

Keigo just stares at you, unfazed. 

“Which store?”

You look at him, confused. 

“The one down the street. Right in the corner of the-”

“To buy what?”

“We ran out of carrots yester–”

“With whose permission?”

“I-”

“With whose permission?” he repeats with a silver of irritation, taking a step towards you. “Cause I sure as hell don’t remember you asking me about this. So, I’d like for you to explain why you left the apartment without talking with me first.”

Your lips part with shock, shoulders slumping in the slightest. 

“Did you check your phone? I texted you, even called you a few times. But I guess you were too busy to answer your husband, right? Nah, you just went out there, not a single care in the world. Who cares if I was here, waiting and worried sick ‘bout you. ” he spits the words, bitterly chuckling before he turns around, stomping his way down the hall. 

Anxiety builds inside you, layer after layer until you’re overflowing with it, chewing your lower lip.

You don’t understand. He never mentioned anything about not going out and you just assumed Keigo wouldn’t object to it. It was just grocery shopping, nothing much. 

But maybe you should have asked. Maybe you should’ve been more careful, more attentive. That’s what a good wife does. You can practically hear the echo of your dad berating at your stupidity. Stupid. Useless. Quirkless. 

You stay frozen in the same spot, brain thinking too slow and too fast at the same time but without providing you a solution.

Slowly moving, you take the grocery bags to the kitchen, putting away all the food with a heavy guilt-prickling mind. Hopefully you can appease Keigo's irritation by cooking his favorite dish. 

Dinner takes place an hour later, the tense mood highlighted by the heavy silence that is only broken by the scraping of the cutlery. Keigo doesn’t bother looking at you, a light frown still engraved in his face. 

Apologies are stuck in the tip of your tongue, just ready to spill at any moment but somehow they don’t. You just can’t bring yourself to speak. Keigo matches your silence, eyes trained on his phone as he eats. 

He barely glances your way when his food is finished, leaving his plate on the table before he goes back to the room. 

The coldness remains for the rest of the evening. Keigo doesn’t speak for the rest of the night, nor does he touch you - the first time since you got married. 

The next morning you rise earlier than usual after spending the entire night mulling over the argument.

It weighs uncomfortably in your mind, repeating itself over and over again till you’re lost. Intrusive guilt settles in your mind, making you both sad and insecure about your actions. 

The kitchen is swallowed by gloominess and darkness when you enter it but you don’t mind. It matches your mood. Sleep-deprived and stressed out. 

You’re putting together the ingredients for a white chocolate cake - Keigo’s favorite - when suddenly arms wrap around your waist, frightening you.

Your shriek echoes through the kitchen before you get the chance to turn your face around and realize it’s only Keigo. 

He chortles for a moment before burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. You remain paralyzed, unsure of what to say despite the turmoil that takes place inside you. 

“I’m sorry. About yesterday.” Keigo mutters, face buried in the crook of your neck. “I might’ve had…overreacted a bit.”

The tension melts away from your body and mind, releasing all of its heavy weight. Everything is gonna be fine. You feel so light and free suddenly. 

Keigo must’ve noticed that because he gently swirls your body around, making you face him. His hand cups your cheek, thumb gently rubbing the skin underneath. 

His expression is apologetic until he starts speaking. 

“I shouldn't have said those things. I hurt your feelings and I’m really sorry for that.” he apologies, “I was upset and worried and those emotions took the best of me. But…”

You raise your head, eyes searching for his. 

“... you have to admit that some of the fault goes to you as well. You really shouldn’t have left the apartment without asking me first.” the words are coated with a softness that doesn’t seem all that genuine. Some of the tension returns. 

“I’m your husband, that means I get worried ‘bout you. Can’t make me be the bad guy just for tryin’ to look after you, can you?”

Keigo looks at you, sighing. 

“Listen, I just… if anything happened to you, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. You’re the most precious person in my life, you’re my wife and I love you. A lot.” his fingers tighten up almost imperceptibly around your face. “So can you really blame me for trying to keep you safe?”

Your fingers weakly try to pull his hand away from your cheek, without success. 

“But I was fine, Keigo. Nothing would’ve happened.”

He chuckles, a dry sound with no amusement underneath it. 

“If you saw the amount of fucked up shit I see everyday, you wouldn’t be saying that.” his words stun you, but Keigo doesn’t seem to mind. “Women getting robbed, raped and murdered left and right, all the time. And guess what you are? A woman. A defenseless, quirkless woman.” 

There’s a cold shudder running down your spine, giving you goosebumps.

His tone, demeaning and derogatory, sounds awfully similar to the one your father used with you every time he was forced to address you. 

“Not to mention that you’re my wife. Hawks’ wife. That makes you a target to all the bad guys out there. And trust me, they won’t hesitate to use you to get to me. You get what I’m saying, right? Sweetheart.” 

You gulp with a dry throat, practically sensing Keigo’s patience wearing thin with each moment. Head moving without your consent to nod at him. Yes, you hear him - loud and clear. 

“Yeah…yes, I understand that.” 

Keigo nods, apprehension plastered in his face, clearly not convinced by your words but he drops the matter. Doesn’t matter if you agree or not, if you’re happy or not, as long as he gets his way. And of course he does. 

He pulls you into his arms, pushing your face to his chest while pressing a tender kiss to the crown of your head. 

“No more outside trips, alright?” his question is merely rhetorical. “Not without running it by me, at least.”

You nod once again. Not because you want to, but because it dawns you that there’s nothing else you can do. This is your life now, whether you like it or not.

---------------------------------- 💍 --------------------------------------

The first anniversary of your ‘marriage’ is a bittersweet day.

You wake up to a strange tingling over the expanse of your neck, similar to the brush of a soft feather against your skin. Your eyes flutter open at the ticking feeling, the low chirping of birds revealing the early hour of the morning. 

A yawn slips from your lips as you rub your eyes, fighting back the drowsiness. You feel like you’re running on fumes, unable to have a decent night’s sleep in months.

The pain that stretches across your back and torso only adds up to the exhaustion, your muscles somewhat sore. 

“Rise and shine, sweetheart!” 

You look up just in time to catch Keigo crossing the threshold of the door, a small round cake precariously balanced in one hand and a wrapped gift in the other. His red wings spread out almost majestically, carrying him through the air until he softly lands by your side in bed. 

Keigo immediately ditches the gift and helps you sit in the bed, fluffing out the pillows against your back. 

“Happy anniversary.” his lips press against yours, roping you into a warm kiss, before depositing the cake in your lap.

White chocolate, as usual. You’ve eaten so much white chocolate these past months that your mind has developed a genuine disgust for it. Still, you force out a grateful smile, his morning stubble scratching your lips as you kiss his cheek. 

“For you too.” 

Keigo grins, digging into the cake with a spoon before offering you the first bite. It’s delicious but nauseatingly sweet at the same time. 

“Can you believe that it’s been a whole year since we got married? Feels like it was only yesterday that we got together.” he muses, taking a spoonful of cake for himself this time. “Looks like it’s true what people say, time does fly by when you’re living the time of your life.” 

You refuse his attempt to feed you another piece of cake, the hints of nausea starting to turn your stomach. You wish he had come with a normal breakfast tray instead of cake. 

Keigo takes your left hand into his own, thumb stroking the ring decorating your annular finger.

“And to be honest, this has been the best year of my life. Never been happier than this.” he confesses. “I love you, so so much. And you love me back, right?” 

Your lips part, a resigned ‘yes’ ready to spill from your mouth. And then a loud squeal cuts through the air. 

Repressing back a tired sigh, you start pushing yourself out of bed when Keigo shakes his head, stopping you with a hand. 

“Nu-uh, I got it. Just sit back and relax, babe. You deserve a break.” 

The promised break lasts about a minute as Keigo seems hell-bent on spending every moment with you. Soon, he’s walking back inside the room with the small baby nestled in his arms, choosing to stand near your side of the bed. 

“Little baby bird over here wants to celebrate the occasion with mommy and daddy.” Keigo uses that special soft tone with your daughter, peppering small kisses over her tiny face. She giggles and coos, crying fit already forgotten. 

You watch them with a faint smile tugging at your lips.

Despite every flaw of Keigo, you can’t help but be grateful for his doting nature when it comes to your daughter. Sure, Keigo never changes her diapers or deals with her during her occasional meltdowns and tantrums but you recognize that it could be worse.

She’s the apple of his eyes and he spoils her rotten, not afraid to shower her with love and affection. You could never imagine your dad kissing or hugging you the way Keigo does with your kid. 

Only takes two minutes for the little princess to tire herself out by laughing and soon her little eyes close as she settles down once again. Keigo makes sure to tuck her better inside the little pink blanket, rocking her in his arms with gentle rhythmic movements. 

Finally, he remembers the long forgotten gift from the bed, offering it to you with a grin. 

“A little something for my gorgeous wife.”

From the small rattling sound inside the box, it’s easy to predict that a new necklace or bracelet is gonna be added to your jewelry collection. 

Your brows press together, fingers feeling the smooth texture of the box. 

“I don’t have a gift for you, sorry.” you mutter, suddenly conscious of your mishap. 

Keigo coos at you this time. 

“Aw, don’t say that. I’m holding in my arms the best gift you could’ve given me. Our little baby bird.” he says, shifting the baby into only one of his arms while his free hand comes to rest atop of your belly, still not fully recovered from birth and yet ready for the next batch.

“Besides, the second gift is already on the way.”

[yanderenightmare]

Nasty alpha wolf-boy Shiggy buying virgin bunny reader at a shady auction, taking her home and breeding her silly in all her tight bunny holes<3

BNHA ! THIRST

Shigaraki Tomura x darling

WC: 2.5k

TW: NSFW, captive darling, light bondage, oral giving/receiving, multiple orgasms and overstimulation, hybrid au

Shigaraki doesn’t get along with most other organizations aside from his own, but he could hold a certain respect for this establishment. He felt appreciated here – a valued customer – one with a hungry appetite the vendor saved only the very best herbivores for.

Herbivores like you.

“She was easy to tame- submissive like she was made for it!” The Master said. “A bit too submissive for my taste- but you know what they say about bunnies- cute like a button and just as dumb!”

Your thighs rubbed themselves where you stood in the dark of your blindfold. Bleating and cowering in the chastity belt they’d fixed tight around your lower body – having you sheathed on two thick cocks stretching out both virgin holes – making you drippy – vibrating inside you with purrs tickling your core in thrums he could hear from ten meters away.

“Stuff her in the trunk and take her home if you want- she’s so soft around the edges and pumped with hormones she won’t mind the bumpy road. You could take her right here on the concrete, and all she’d do is just moan!”

He could smell it in the air – how heated you were. Sopping like a braindead whore – he bet you’d been stuck in that chastity belt for hours, as sweaty and trembling as you were. Unstable were you stood in pink pumps soaked full of the slick running down your thighs – only managing to stand thanks to the big bodyguard behind you. He was a beastly fucker, squeezing one of your tits tight in a big bear paw while fisting your leash like a noose in the other, pulling the thick black collar kept snug on your throat only to feel your plush ass rub against his crotch.

The way your arms were cruelly bent behind your back was of no help to your balance either, making your perky tits strut forward. Stiff nipples begging for a suck or a twist or a slap – sculpted a bit by an additional harness shaped like a bra with no filling – just thin black leather lines extenuating that on display.

“My hunters swear she’s a pure little thing, so normally I would demand you pay extra-”

Two black heart-shaped eyepatches had you blindfolded but were kept lenient enough to allow tears to soak through, layered damp on your cheeks and giving a pretty plump bloat to your lips – sucking on the pink ballgag stuffed in your mouth, fastened tight around your head – making all your noises come out wet and even more feeble.

“But she’s yours free of charge if the league handles some business for me~”

Your lop ears drooped sadly down your cheeks, framing your cute face like a picture where your little nose kept wrinkling in terribly adorable sniffles – squealing on what he could tell was another ride over the edge.

“Deal.” He barked shortly, a growl in his throat.

The Master grinned. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Shigaraki.” Tossing him the keys to the lock on your cunt before snapping his fingers, gesturing for the bodyguard to do the same with the leash – pushing you in a wobbling stumble over to your new owner.

And then he really felt you tremble – soft yet stiff, bracing yourself against him – the smell of utter terror and arousal so thick he found himself drooling just at a single close whiff – all the hair on his tail spiked on strict end as a hunger growled low in his gut.

He felt his pants grow taut and gave a hiss – shoving you on your stomach in a sprawl onto the backseat. Throwing your legs inside before slamming the door shut – putting his fingers to his lips – your slick wet on them, glossy and sweet in his nose like a perfume as he licked them clean while getting in the car.

“Drive.” He muttered in another curt growl, signaling the man to his side to turn the keys as he pawed the straining tent bumping his boxers with yet another hiss.

Huffing, he closed his eyes, listening to you nom on your gag with wet cries and moans – his chest tight and brows furrowed – cursing having said yes to clean up another organization’s mess, and even more frustrated with your scent hanging heavy in the air, making everything spin for him – until finally reaching the base.

“Get out, Binky- welcome to your new home.”

He tugged your collar again soon after the car stopped, and out you shuffled – sweaty and shivering on legs that could barely hold their own weight – supported by the hand he had raked in your hair, pulling and dragging your body out into the cold.

Letting go once you were out of the backseat, he started fisting the leash instead, yanking you forward with heels clicking in no steady rhythm – wonky on the ground where you struggled to keep up with him. Slick between your thighs, rubbing together as you walked.

You were still blindfolded – floppy ears shifty at the sounds of doors opening and slamming shut, along with the threatening cheers of the crowd of villains drinking in the rooms the two of you passed. It’s as though he can hear you praying, hoping that he’s not planning on sharing you with the rest of the fray the way you flinch at the whistles and filthy comments being thrown your way.

You sped up until your tits bumped into his back – walking close with your head bowed to shield yourself.

Splitting a grin, he chuckled out a low snort. He hadn’t thought you’d be so silly to seek his comfort. But dumb as it was, his cock seemed to find it unexpectedly pleasant.

Reaching his room, he fished for his key – hands unsteady, tongue gracing his fangs as he unlocked it before stepping inside. Hauling you behind him into the musty space where he at once pounced on you like a predator who’d finally lost all patience. 

Paws with claws gabbed your tit with a force that made you stumble – almost fall if he hadn’t tugged you back by your leash. His tongue ran wet over the sweet drool dripping down your neck and chin – his canines close to your neck, making you shiver and bleat for him while his hand dropped down to cup your sex. 

Stopping short at the thick feel of latex beneath his fingertips, he growled and shoved you in a toppling wobble until your back hit the soft embrace of the bed behind you. You met it with a bounce and a yelp smothered in your gag – and he followed quickly, crawling on top of you with the key in hand. Carefully caressing the lock on your belt – thinking it would be a shame to destroy it when he could make use of it later. He would need to keep you protected if the way everyone eyed you was any indication. After all, he couldn't expect a base crawling with only carnivores to resist the scent of a herbivore as sweet as you.

He turned the key in the hole and pulled the cruel construction down your thighs, and you gave a whine, hips bucking at the release, quaking at the empty feeling while he eyed the lewd mixture of slick clinging in pretty bridges between the two closing holes and the two glossy rubber cocks still wet and warm with your heat. 

“You make quite a slutty mess for a virgin.” He teased, with two of his coarse fingers dragging up your slick clit – gleeful eyes watching you squirm while releasing a strangled sound caught between a moan and a scream – riddled with overstimulation to the point you were cumming in spasms from only the single little touch.

He only chuckled at the sight. Leaving you to pant and quake beneath him – with shakey breaths anticipating the painful pleasure of his touch once again. 

“Sensitive, scared, horny- tortured by your own fickle hormones and instincts- I know what you want…” He continued, now with the words leaving hot puffs against the slick skin on your thighs. “You want this teensy little rabbit hole destroyed by the big bad wolf….”

Your whimpers were like a symphony – sweet and softly tuned to strum every string in his gut – purring and stirring something sticky and heavy and starving inside of him.

“Look at this pussy….” He groaned with a click of his tongue – his eyes set on the wet puffy little thing between your legs. “So pretty- I could bite it.”

Your back took an arch, jumping from the bed once his hot mouth hit your mound – letting out another uncontrolled moan – heart pounding so loud and savagely in your chest he could feel it pulse on his tongue inside you as he lapped at you like a parched mutt.

His claws dug with greed, plunged deep into the cake of your thighs, locking you around his jaw where he mouthed at your core with eyes rolling back. Every fiber went on a rampage within him, zipping along his limbs and gathering in his gut like one tight-clenched aching fist.

“Mh-fuck-” He took a breath, mouth gaping and dripping with spit and slick before moving upward, sucking kisses into the soft skin of your tummy and soon locking his lips around your nipple – with one hand working your free titty, the other fucked your hole with horny curiosity, delving in the slick with twists and curls and scissoring.

You whined under his touches, quaking on all counts – listening to your hole squelch while your oh-so-sensitive insides clenched down hard from the warm knot coiling in your lower belly, coming so close to that all-over-feeling yet again – shaking your head in fear of it.

“Piss yourself if it helps- I don’t mind-” He growled out low in a whisper, his fangs against your throat now, grazing playfully with rugged breaths hot against your flushed skin. “I won’t stop until I’ve broken in each hole-”

Eyes big and swiveled with tears rippling down your cheeks in rushed rivulets, all the while your pussy made out with his fingers – feeling the fat digits test the flex of your gummy walls – slippery with slick and happily fluttering from his touches. 

You soon caved for the umpteenth time – whole body strangling to suppress the sensation while unsure how much more you could take before going numb.

“Tch- there you go~ good bunny~” He praised in mockery, snickering at your panting – his breath hot on your skin where he moved to hover above your gagged lips – undoing the straps to free your mouth.

“Ah please, m-master- please- no more-” You immediately begged, mouth wet with drool.

“Mh- you’ve got manners…” He moaned, keeping his fingers in your cunt while holding you by the ear in the other hand, gripping it tight and rubbing the thin softness like a lucky charm. Tugging himself out of his pants, messy with pre, he immediately steered the fatness to your mouth. “Open up~”

You took it with a small whine, feeling it push onto your tongue and further in until it hit the back of your throat in a kiss. He gave a groan, feeling your bloated lips wrap around the shaft as you glucked on his length in soft mewls – eyes panning from the view to watch your little titties bounce at the movement, doing small jumps for him as he rammed your sweet face.

He removed your eyepatches – wanting to see your pretty eyes glossy and big for him as you sucked his cock.

The look on your face made his gut rumble – so sweet-looking with your cinched brows and button-nose – eyeing him with cute anxiety, no doubt taking in the scary sight of his red eyes and his pale skin littered with scars.

You coughed cutely when he withdrew, and he bent over to kiss you again, spit stringing between your tongues as his fingers went back to your clitty – rubbing crass circles into it that had you squealing into his mouth.

“Please, master-” You cried, wringing your thighs shut tight around his hand – tears springing from the pity puddles of your eyes as you looked at him with such plead it made his gut roar.

He could only offer a gleeful giggle, spreading your thighs by pulling you snugly around his waist – his cock jumping eagerly above your navel as he bore over you – his breath hot on your face. “Don’t worry, baby bunny, I’ll stuff you up good. Breed you full of a warm creampie in your tight little cunt.” He cooed, fangs sharp and glistening – his paw flat on your belly, rubbing the flesh with want. “Right here~ warm and thick in your little womb~”

You shuddered at the threat, then whined an open-mouthed moan as he sleaved himself inside you. Feeling his every fat vein rub along your walls until his plush head nudged tight against your cervix – making you mewl with an arch in your back, clenching hard around the size of him. Shaking from the toll of it.

He groaned, starting to pound you already – fast and deep, just like a hound rutting. “I’m gonna give you my knot, Bunbun-” He drooled, sucking your cheek with tongue and teeth – red eyes set on your plump and pouty lips – gaping open and begging for more while he continued raving. “Gonna knot you up so tight- make this virgin pussy tremble for me-”

You could only pant, getting run through at such a pace your next orgasm was fucked right out of you. Sweat pilled on your forehead and nose, thighs trembling as you came on his thickness in hot, heaving moans. Throttling his cock for cum – which he soon spilled deep inside you just like he promised – painting your insides with it with balls clenching up, resting snugly against the slick that spilled out.

He was messy when he pulled out again. Glossy and still raging fat as he rolled you over on your stomach – pulling your ass up by your hips while you remained breathless with exhaustion, smudged against the pillowy sheets beneath you.

He laid his meat between your asscheeks, eyes lazily looking over your dewy face and how pretty you looked fucked out on his bed.

“This bunny-hole’s never felt cock either, huh?” He said, voice breathy but eager still – planting his tip at the opening of the taut little entrance before beginning to push.

You moaned out again but could only ball your fists for purchase, still kept in a lock behind your back – tightening them until your knuckles whitened while he crammed himself inside you one stout inch at a time.

“Mmh- fuck, so tight~ it’s gonna feel so fuckin’ good hugging me nice and snug~” He almost whined, getting swallowed down until his pelvis met your ass and the ball of fluff found there – doing a little dance just for him. “Fuck- look at you, little cottontail~” He groaned, leaving himself sunk down to the hilt inside you for a moment of appreciation before beginning to drag out to pound your stomach into a nice mess. “So perfect, I outta take a picture~”

tip-jar: Kofi

[tojisno1g00ner]

HI i saw a post that says that u're waiting for a request about some yandere guy/girl so CAN I ASK PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE Yandere!Shota Aizawa + breed kink + marks all over each other's body??? i love your writings 💗🥺

Shōta was never the type to outwardly show off what was his. Never a big fan of having to broadcast you—your body, soul, and mind, are purely reserved for him and only him. 

He’d much rather claim you visually. With your belly round with his seed, skin darkened with his teeth, and your lips swollen from his kisses. He wouldn’t have to put a label of ‘Aizawa’s’ on your head, or make a public showmanship to everyone about who you belong to. Because he’d left his marks in every possible way for all eyes to see.

Your skin? Occasioned with his love bites anytime he feels you’re too bare. He loves sinking his teeth into your jugular, your flesh sweet like they’ve been glazed with honey as he sucks the dusky hickeys onto your body—branding you as if you’re his personal property. 

Your insides? Your womb recognises his hot, white semen as they flush over your walls, your sore pussy fluttering around his cock—the one you’d gotten accustomed to the shape and size of. After all, it was only natural for your body to remember the veins and meaty weight of his fat member sooner or later. Especially when his mushroom tip is kissing your cervix every night, pounding you until your poor, throbbing insides are all bruised up and sloppy from deep, lazy rounds.

You weren’t always fitted so perfectly for Shōta. Your tight little pussy squeezing out his drooling tip the first time you agreed to be intimate. “You can’t fit!” “S’too big!” You’d fuss with tears hanging from your lashes like morning dew. It’s so cute. But still, he can’t stand having you brimming with pain if he were to shove it all in. He wants you begging, dripping, and itching for him to mark you all deeeep inside. 

The furthest you could be stretched out initially was with 2 thick curling fingers. Squealing later with 3. Then, humping 4. He cums hard, with a groan he didn’t realise he’d been holding in, fingers digging into the fat around your hips which you were sure to have left marks when you first swallowed his whole length in. Your stubborn cunny finally accepting his size, savouring his hardness with clenches meant to milk. 

You watch a satisfied smirk cock the end of his lips when his gaze falls on the way your stuffed pussy drools his white cum. He gets hard again when he imagines your insides dripping with his semen, his sensitive cock throbs when he basks in the thought of your belly growing with his seed. He’d be claiming your womb with what’s his—a constant reminder to him and you and everyone that you’re round with his. 

His hips buck when you place a hand over your tummy, hypnotising his already-heavy head with that perilously sweet voice of yours, “See, Shō? You’re finally inside me now.” He warns you with a predatory growl beating through his chest, before he slams himself into your hot core again. Your arms wrap around his head, receiving every deep, needy pound; your velvety walls hugging tighter when he leaves yet another hickey on your neck, lapping over your new mark with his greedy tongue. 

He swears under his breath when your hot breath ghosts over his skin, your eyes sharing a lewd crackle before you sucks the dizzying muskiness off of his shoulder. His cock hardens, your cunt flutters and he’s groaning your name as you both climax. Your mouth latched off his skin with a thin string of saliva connecting. Now you’re both claimed, skins and souls—exclusively intertwined. 

[tang3r1n]

bully!mirio but he’s so fucking condescending and ‘sweet’ that everyone just calls you sensitive for crying and getting upset meanwhile he’s biting his hand so hard he’s bleeding while he strokes his dick to the thought of licking up your tears.

bully!mirio who phases through doors or smth or fuck with you and pull your shirt down or skirt up then speeds away as he hears your friends giggling at your composure.

bully!mirio who nudges tamaki and nejire to become close friends so he can literally almost always be near you. every time you ask to hang out without him he pulls out all the stops to make his (longtime) friends feel bad for cutting him out for what they think is nothing.

bully!mirio who finds your number through one of them and starts harassing you on there, spamming for hours until you answer, calling you vile things with a cute lil ‘:D’ at the end, sending you straight up nudes when he knows your around others, gets upset and spams you again when you don’t send some of your own photos

bully!mirio who humiliates you in front of teachers, tripping you in front of aizawa, punching you and making your yelp when vlad is chatting with you, ‘accidentally’ spilling his ice cold water on your white school shirt when mic is talking about your patrol routes

OH and bully!mirio who begs to be put on the same patrols as you, saying how the two of you work so well together (lie) and how he’s just worried for your safety (another lie). he’ll like immediately drag you to a nasty ass alley and grope you, fingering and rubbing at your wet cunt and laughing as you squirm and cry.

“you wouldn’t be this wet if you didn’t like me— you got a lil crush on me, huh?~” that stupid grin wide and bold on his fax as he speaks slowly, like you were a fucking child. his thick, calloused fingers pumping so fast you can’t keep up, hips rising off the dirty wall as your orgasm surprises you. you squeal as you cum, burying your face in his shoulder as you shake and cry, squirting a bit from his rough treatment and insanely fast hands.

oh god and of course he doesn’t stop, not even when your panting, pushing him with all your might, body sore and exhausted and twitching as he just fucking smiles.

“no no no, pretty thing,” he whips out his phone, the flash lighting up as he points it as your puffy pussy, thumb roughly massaging your clit and his fingers slowly push in and out, “i didn’t even get to record that first one~”

[jijournal]

"Jealous Much?" | D.M

Potter!reader x Draco Malfoy

Summary: You receive a letter with a gift every week, and your brother Harry and his friends won’t stop teasing you about a “mystery admirer.” Little does he know, the sender is the last person he’d ever expect.

A/N: I'm currently in love with potter!reader x draco scenarios. ♡

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

It started about a month ago—a quiet little mystery that became your favorite part of the week.

Every Friday morning, just as the Great Hall buzzed with chatter and clinking silverware, a sleek, pale-gray owl swooped down gracefully and landed in front of you. It was never late. And it always brought something thoughtful—something that made your heart race just a little.

The first gift had been a delicate silver charm bracelet, simple but elegant, with a tiny serpent dangling from the chain. The note attached was written in tidy script:

“Something subtle… to keep me close, even when I’m not there.”

The second week, it was a small box of enchanted chocolates—each one shaped like a star, and when you bit into them, they whispered things like, “You’re beautiful,” and “Thinking of you.” The letter that time said:

“A little sweetness to match yours. Don’t share them with Weasley.”

You had giggled at that one, earning a curious look from Harry across the table.

Week three, it was a pressed flower—some kind of rare, deep purple bloom you’d never seen before—enchanted so it would never wilt. The note was shorter that time, but no less meaningful:

“Even something rare and beautiful pales next to you.”

And today? As the owl landed gracefully in front of you, heads turned, and Harry, who had already caught on to the pattern, raised his eyebrows with exaggerated interest. You untied the small parcel and unfolded the parchment first.

It read:

“Meet me tonight. Same place. P.S. You look stunning when you smile at my letters.”

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you unwrapped the gift—a silver locket. When you clicked it open, inside was a tiny photo of you (one you didn’t even remember being taken) smiling down at something out of frame. Opposite it was a moving image of Draco, eyes soft and a rare, genuine smile tugging at his lips. Your heart squeezed.

“Alright,” Harry said, setting down his fork and leaning forward on his elbows. “This is getting serious now. A locket? You have to tell me who it is.”

Ron and Hermione both looked up, curious and amused, but Harry was the most relentless.

“I’m guessing—hmm—Ernie Macmillan.”

You rolled your eyes, tucking the locket carefully into your pocket. “Nope.”

“Michael Corner?”

“Wrong again.”

“Hmm…” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Zabini? He’s smooth.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Lockhart?!” Harry gasped suddenly, eyes wide with mock horror. “Is it Lockhart? You can tell me!”

“Harry!” you squeaked, swatting at him, your face burning as you laughed.

“Look at her blush!” Harry crowed. “It’s Lockhart. Case closed.”

Ron groaned. “Please, no one wants to think about that.”

That night, you slipped out like usual, heart thudding as you made your way through the secret passage to your hidden meeting spot. And sure enough, there was Draco, already waiting, arms crossed, expression… stormy.

You frowned. “Hey… what’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer at first, just glared down at the ground. His jaw was tight, and he seemed to be brooding even more than usual.

“Draco?” you pressed, stepping closer.

Finally, he huffed and muttered, “If your brother keeps talking about other boys, I swear I’m going to hex him into next week.”

You blinked, startled—then burst out laughing. “That’s why you’re sulking?”

Draco scowled but didn’t deny it. “It’s annoying. All day, it’s been Corner this and Zabini that—and Lockhart?! Are you kidding me? I should’ve hexed Potter right then and there.”

You giggled, sliding your arms around his waist. “Jealous, much?”

“Maybe.” Draco didn’t even try to hide it. His eyes were sharp but softened when you reached up to brush his hair back.

“You know it’s only ever you, right?”

That earned a rare, genuine smile. He leaned down and kissed you, slow and deep, pulling you flush against him like he never wanted to let go.

“Let them guess,” you whispered against his lips. “It’s more fun that way.”

“As long as you remember who you belong to,” Draco murmured, smirking now, possessive but playful.

You laughed, pecking his lips. “Always.”

⸻

The following Friday, you thought maybe things would settle down. But oh, how wrong you were.

The owl swooped in as usual—but this time, it carried a huge box. Bigger than any gift so far. You stared as it dropped the package in front of you with a graceful thud.

“Oh, this is serious now,” Harry announced, eyes lighting up as he grabbed the box before you could. “Come on, let’s see what lover boy sent this time.”

You groaned, but Hermione and Ron were already leaning in curiously, and of course, the Weasley twins—never ones to miss out on teasing—slid onto the bench with identical grins.

Harry opened the box dramatically—and all five of them gasped.

Inside was the most stunning gown you’d ever seen: emerald-green silk, shimmering faintly, clearly enchanted, with intricate embroidery that looked too expensive to even touch. You couldn’t stop staring at it.

“Holy—” Fred began.

“—bloody hell,” George finished.

“Is that designer?” Hermione whispered, eyes wide.

Harry held it up, gaping. “This must’ve cost a fortune! Okay, okay, this is big money. We need to think. Who’s rich enough to pull this off?”

You tried to grab it back, face burning. “Harry, stop—”

“Theodore Nott?” Harry guessed first.

“Nope.”

“Mclaggen?”

“Wrong.”

“Zabini?” Hermione chimed in, clearly entertained now.

“Montague?” Fred suggested, holding the dress up to himself with a wink. “If it is, tell him I want one too.”

“Ohhh,” George added dramatically, “I bet it’s one of those international students. Super rich.”

You groaned, hiding your face. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Fred and George shared a look and started chanting, “She’s getting married! She’s getting married!”

“I am NOT—!"

And then it happened.

A sudden clatter of footsteps, sharp and purposeful, echoed across the Great Hall. Everyone turned—and your stomach dropped.

Draco Malfoy was storming across the room, eyes locked on you, face like thunder.

The table fell dead silent.

“Uh… why’s Malfoy coming over here?” Ron muttered nervously.

Draco didn’t stop until he was standing right behind Harry, towering over him with his arms crossed and that deadly glare fixed in place.

“I’m the one who bought the dress, Potter,” Draco announced, his voice cool but sharp, loud enough for half the hall to hear. “Not the cheap students you’re rattling off like some pathetic guessing game."

Silence.

Harry’s jaw dropped. Fred dropped his fork. Hermione blinked like she couldn’t process what had just happened.

Draco turned to you then, gaze softening ever so slightly. “You’ll look stunning in it, by the way.”

Harry's eyes widen even more, practically bulging out of his eye sockets, as Draco leans in to kiss your forehead.

And with that, he spun on his heel and strode out, his cloak following behind him.

There was a beat of stunned silence… and then chaos.

“MALFOY?!” Harry exploded, whipping around to stare at you. “You’re dating MALFOY?!”

Fred and George howled with laughter, practically falling off the bench.

“Ohhh, this is gold,” George gasped between wheezes.

“Best reveal ever,” Fred agreed, wiping tears from his eyes.

Ron just looked horrified, and Hermione… Hermione slowly closed her book, gave you a look, and said, “I knew it.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “…Well. I guess the mystery’s solved.”

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

masterlist!

[jijournal]

LOVE ME AGAIN | D.M

Part 2 of Love Me Loud

Summary: After walking away from the boy who couldn't choose you, fate brings you face to face with Draco Malfoy once more. The feelings are still there, truths remain unspoken, and the question lingers—was it ever really over?

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Just get your tissues ready.

A/N: Part 2 of 'Love Me Loud' is here!! Hope everyone love this! 🫰

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

Draco Malfoy had always believed silence was safety.

Until you walked away—and the silence screamed louder than anything he'd ever known.

The morning after the Quidditch match, the castle moved on as if nothing had happened. Students buzzed in the corridors, gossiping about the game, praising Draco’s win like it was a badge of legacy. But he didn’t hear them.

All he heard was your voice, raw and trembling in the cold air of the Astronomy Tower.

“I needed you to fight for me.”

He hadn’t.

And now, you were gone.

The weeks that followed were hollow.

You avoided him effortlessly, without making it obvious. You didn’t speak his name, didn’t glance his way in class, didn’t even acknowledge the shared air between you anymore.

Draco thought the silence would kill him.

Every hallway he turned into felt like a trap laid with memories. Every classroom you both shared was colder without your warmth beside him. Even the dungeons, once your quiet sanctuary together, felt empty.

You’d sit in Potions now with Ernie Macmillan. He laughed too loud, made too many mistakes—but he looked at you the way Draco wished he still could.

With pride.

With ease.

Without shame.

Draco still passed you ingredients sometimes, his fingers brushing yours like they used to—but now you didn’t flinch or look up. You just thanked him softly. Politely.

Like a stranger would.

By sixth year, the war outside had begun bleeding into the castle’s stone walls. The tension was no longer whispers—it was screams, in shadows, in headlines, in conversations that stopped when professors walked by.

And then came the Mark. Branded into his skin like a brand on cattle. Like ownership.

He hadn’t been asked.

He’d been chosen.

Because Lucius Malfoy had failed. Because the Dark Lord was cruel. Because Draco still hadn’t learned how to say no.

He stopped smiling after that. Not that he had much to smile about anymore.

He was losing weight. Losing sleep. Losing control.

You still hadn’t looked at him.

Not once.

Until that night in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

The door creaked open and you stepped inside. Your wand was drawn, expecting trouble, ready for a duel.

You weren’t expecting to find Draco—collapsed against the porcelain basin, his breathing uneven, eyes vacant and glassy.

Your heart stopped.

“Draco?”

He didn’t look at you, his voice low and almost brittle as he muttered, “Go away.”

But you didn’t.

Instead, you knelt slowly, cautiously. Your movements were deliberate, as if you were approaching something fragile—something broken. Because that’s what he looked like. Broken. Wounded. Not dangerous.

You reached for his arm, your fingers brushing his sleeve. He flinched, jerking away, but the movement was weak, like he didn’t have the strength to push you away. His face was pale, and his eyes were distant.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, but his sleeve was soaked in blood—a clean, straight cut running across it, crimson staining the fabric.

“No, you’re not,” you whispered, your voice gentle, steady despite the shock twisting in your chest. “Let me help.”

For the first time in months, he looked at you. Really looked at you. His gaze met yours—raw, vulnerable—and suddenly, everything that had been buried came rushing back. The way you always saw through him, the way your eyes softened when everyone else turned away. Even now. Especially now.

You didn’t hesitate. You healed him in silence, your magic warm and soothing. It was steady and sure, but your hands shook slightly from the nerves you hadn’t known you still had. His gaze never wavered from you, as if he couldn’t tear himself away from the girl who had once cared for him. Who still might.

When you finished, you set your wand down, the soft glow fading as you sat beside him. Your knees were pressed to the cold stone floor, but you didn’t move. You both sat there for a long while, the silence thick between you.

Finally, he broke the stillness, his voice quiet, rough. “You shouldn’t be here.”

A faint, tired smile pulled at the corners of your lips, bittersweet and full of something both old and new. “Neither should you.”

His eyes dropped to the floor, guilt weighing him down. “I never meant for it to end like that.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t need to. The hurt was still too fresh, still too close, and words would only cheapen it.

“You saved me today,” he said, almost as if he were speaking to himself, his voice thick with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. “Why?”

You glanced at him, your heart pounding in your chest. And then, in a voice barely louder than a whisper, you answered.

“Because I loved you once,” you murmured, your words fragile and broken, “and part of me still does.”

There were no more words between you after that night.

But something shifted. Something that neither time nor silence could undo.

The next time you passed him in the hallways, he didn’t look away.

And for the first time, neither did you.

⸻

The Battle of Hogwarts came without warning. The night burned with fire and fury.

Spells crashed through stone and air alike, the world split between blinding light and crushing darkness. Screams echoed down the corridors, and the floor was littered with dust, broken wands, and shattered pieces of the castle that once felt like home. You ran, lungs aching, heart a thunderous drum in your chest. Every turn of the hallway was another battlefield, every corner another gamble.

You hadn’t seen him since he left for Easter Holidays.

You told yourself you were over it. That the war had made you stronger, sharper. That you’d let go of the boy who let go of you.

But it wasn’t true.

When you rounded the corner into the Transfiguration corridor, wand raised, ready to fight, and you saw the Death Eater turn on you, his wand already mid-curse—you knew this might be the end.

“Avada—”

“Protego!”

A body slammed into yours, sending you both crashing to the stone floor as green light flew over your heads. The world tilted. You scrambled to your elbows, heart hammering, wand still clutched tight.

And then you saw him.

Draco.

Panting. Pale. His robes torn and smeared with ash and blood.

He stood between you and the masked man like a barrier—trembling slightly, but steady, wand raised.

The duel didn’t last long. Draco’s spells were fast, relentless. And when the Death Eater finally fell back, fleeing into the smoke, you were left staring at him, breath caught in your throat.

“Why did you save me?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

He turned to face you slowly, his face raw with emotion. “Because I still love you.”

The words struck you like a curse—sharp and unrelenting, rattling everything inside you. You froze, your breath catching in your throat as the weight of his confession pressed down on you. For a moment, disbelief swallowed you whole, and all you could do was stare at him.

“Then why did you let me go?” your voice cracked, just barely.

Draco's gaze dropped to the broken floor beneath him, his shoulders sinking as if the weight of his words was too much for him to carry. He seemed smaller, fragile.

“I…” His voice wavered, breaking on the single syllable, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was admitting this out loud. His fingers clenched into fists at his sides, and for a long moment, the only sound in the room was the your steady breath and the distant chaos of the battle raging outside.

“I wasn’t brave enough,” he said, his voice rough and raw, a confession soaked in regret. His eyes closed briefly. When he opened them again, his gaze met yours, and there was something different in it now—something that wasn’t the cold, distant shield he had worn for so long. It was filled with a sorrow so deep that it felt like it could swallow him whole.

“I wasn’t brave enough to fight for you,” he whispered, his voice a strained breath. “I thought I could hide behind my family, behind my name, behind all of it... I thought it was easier to keep my distance—to push you away.” His eyes flickered with a flash of pain, and he exhaled shakily, as if the words had physically hurt to speak.

You watched him closely, your own heart aching at the sight of the boy you’d once known—strong, proud, full of arrogance. This Draco, though? This Draco was fragile. He was broken in ways he hadn’t let anyone see before.

“I let fear control me,” he continued, his voice barely audible now. “Fear of my father’s anger. Fear of losing everything I thought I needed. And I let that fear keep me from fighting for the one person who I actually needed.”

His chest rose and fell rapidly, like he was fighting to breathe through the weight of his admission. He took a hesitant step closer, as if testing whether the distance between you would close the space in his chest, too.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice thick with something unspoken—something deeper than the apology he couldn’t seem to finish. “I’ve spent years regretting it. The silence. The things I didn’t say. The things I never had the courage to do.”

The silence between you stretched, thick with everything unsaid. You looked at him—really looked at him—and you saw it. Not the boy who sneered across Potions class. Not the son of Lucius Malfoy. Just Draco. Scared. Honest. And completely undone.

But before either of you could speak again, voices shouted down the hallway—calls for help, orders, spells. Another part of the castle was collapsing.

Draco’s eyes flickered to the danger, then back to you. There was a moment—one second where it felt like maybe, just maybe, you would run together this time.

But he took a step back.

And you did too.

No words. Just that one last look.

And then the war tore you apart again.

⸻

It had been three years since the war ended—since that night of fire and silence, since the last time you saw him disappear into smoke and rubble. Life had moved on, though not without effort.

Draco never reached out. Not once in those three years did he spare a moment to write you a letter. You, on the other hand, wrote to him every month for a year after the war—letters filled with things left unsaid, with questions you were too afraid to ask. But you never sent them. Fear held you back—fear that he didn’t want anything to do with you, that the silence between you was deliberate. That was two years ago. You haven’t written since. You stopped letting yourself hope.

Now, you stood in the quiet warmth of your flower shop—your sanctuary, your dream since the first time Herbology had made you feel like something in the world could grow just for you. The air was rich with the scent of lilacs and lavender, sunlight spilling through the windows like a blessing, and for once, everything felt steady. Peaceful. Almost enough.

The bell above the shop door chimed softly.

You looked up from your counter, hands still wrapped around a freshly tied bouquet of pale hydrangeas. The scent of eucalyptus drifted through the air, mingling with the gentle charm you’d enchanted to keep the daisies from wilting. Sunlight filtered through the window, casting golden stripes across the polished floor.

He stood there. Like a ghost you’d tried so hard to bury.

Draco Malfoy.

No longer the boy with the haunted eyes, but a man. Taller, a little older. His hair shorter, his face sharper, more composed. But the storm in his eyes? Still the same.

“I didn’t know this was your shop,” he said quietly, stepping inside. “I was just passing through.”

You looked up from the bouquet in your hands, the ribbon still dangling between your fingers. For a second, you thought the air left the room. “It is,” you said, voice careful. “Been open for a while now.”

He nodded, slowly taking it in—how the light fell on the mahogany shelves, the soft hum of magic keeping the roses from drooping, the handwritten labels tucked into tiny pots. His gaze lingered on the charm above the door, the one that softly sang when someone entered.

“This place…” he said after a beat, “It’s beautiful. Feels like you.”

Your fingers tightened around the ribbon. “That was the idea.”

He moved further in, his footsteps soft against the wood, like he didn’t want to disturb anything. His eyes traced the petals of hanging lavender, then drifted to the tiny jars of Baby's-breath that floated just above the shelves. His fingers hovered near a jar, brushing the side, barely touching.

“I always thought you’d end up somewhere like this,” he said. “Somewhere gentle.”

You raised a brow. “After everything? I wasn’t sure I could be gentle anymore.”

He looked at you then, eyes heavy. “You always were. Even when the rest of the world wasn’t.”

The quiet between you stretched, weighted and warm. The scent of jasmine curled between the silences, familiar and almost cruel.

He took a deep breath. “I passed by here last week,” he admitted. “Saw the window. Saw the name on the sign. I wasn’t sure it was really you.”

You managed a small smile. “It’s me. Just… older. Wiser, hopefully.”

His lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but didn’t quite know how anymore. “You always had a thing for violets. Still do?”

You gestured to the arrangement in your hands. “Some things don’t change.”

He moved a little closer, standing just across the counter now, where the distance felt both unbearable and too much all at once.

He was quiet again. His fingers tapped the wood of the counter once, then stilled.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he admitted, his voice barely a breath.

You nodded. “I didn’t think you’d want to.”

“I didn’t think I deserved to.”

Your throat tightened. You looked away, pretending to fix a petal that didn’t need fixing.

And then—so softly it was almost a thought more than a sentence—he said it.

“I missed you.”

You felt the words catch in your throat. The familiar ache of longing twisted inside you, but it was quickly smothered by the armor you'd built over the years.

You tried to keep the walls up, but the weight of his confession shattered something inside you. Your hands shook slightly as you set the bouquet down, the soft scent of the flowers mixing with the tension in the air.

You forced your gaze back to him, meeting his eyes—eyes that seemed to have never fully left you, despite everything.

For a moment, you almost said nothing. You almost pretended you hadn’t heard him, hadn’t felt the weight of the years between you. But the truth was, his words had cracked something open inside, something you’d buried deep for so long.

You exhaled a shaky breath. “I missed you too, Draco,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. It wasn’t just the words, but the way they felt—the vulnerability in them. A rawness you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge until now.

For a moment it felt like nothing had changed. Like the years between the war and this tiny shop had never happened. Just the two of you. The ache still there, the words still fragile.

“Do you want to, maybe go with me to the Leaky Cauldron?” His voice cracked just a little, like he didn’t quite believe he had the right to ask. “We could—”

You cut him off, gently but firmly. “If you want us to get back together, I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

His face drained of color. “What? Why not?”

You didn’t flinch. This time, you met his eyes without wavering—calm, resolute, and heartbreakingly sure.

“Draco… I’m getting married.”

He froze.

His mouth opened. Closed. And for a second, he looked like that boy again—lost, undone, silenced by the weight of a moment he wasn’t ready for.

You turned, reaching for a small arrangement of daisies and forget-me-nots you made earlier that morning—soft blues and whites, bound in a silk ribbon.

Forget-me-nots, for the memories that clung to your soul—enduring love that had once burned quietly between you. Daisies, pure and bright, symbolized release. Letting go. Letting go of him, and of the life you once imagined.

They were your way of saying goodbye without words—of embracing a future without him in it.

You turned back to him, eyes soft but resolute, and held the bouquet out.

“I made this today,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “It reminded me of us. I didn’t know why, until now.”

He took it slowly, his hand brushing against yours. The contact was fleeting, but electric with unspoken memories. His fingers trembled as they closed around the stems—his walls cracking under the weight of a thousand things he never said.

“I hope you’re happy,” he said at last, his voice low, hoarse. Strained. He couldn’t meet your eyes.

“I am,” you whispered. “I had to learn how to be.”

Your words weren’t meant to wound. But they did. You saw it in the way he blinked too slowly, as if keeping tears at bay. You saw it in the way his shoulders tensed—like he was preparing himself to carry the pain away with him.

Draco nodded once, slowly. His lips parted as though he wanted to say more, but no words came. He turned to leave. The silence between you felt heavy, sacred.

He reached the door, then paused. You could almost hear the battle in his chest, the weight of everything he couldn’t undo.

And then—he looked back.

And this time, you didn’t look away. You met his eyes, steady and brave.

You weren’t angry anymore. You weren’t lost. You were just… finally free.

Because this time… you weren’t the one who walked away.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

A/N: I hope the ending wasn't too disappointing. I went for a more realistic approach. I hate to say this, but I feel like this is what Draco would realistically do. Hope you liked it!

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LOVE ME LOUD | D.M

Part 2

Summary: To the world, Draco Malfoy was untouchable—arrogant, cruel, and proud of it. But when you took the only empty seat beside him, you became the exception. Well maybe not that much of an exception... He cared more about what his family wants, and not what he wanted. Which was you.

Word Count: 1.5K+

Warnings: PURE ANGST! muggle born!hufflepuff!reader x draco

A/N: I recommend you guys listen to 'I love you, I'm sorry' by Gracie Abrams while reading. Listen to it twice and I swear the end matches up perfectly. (although it might depend how fast or slow you read 😓) Anyways, I hope everyone loves this! 🫰

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

The Greatest Heir of the Malfoys.

That’s what Draco Malfoy was born to be.

His life had always been shaped by that title—carved into his soul by the cold hands of legacy and expectation. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy raised him to carry the family name with pride, elegance, and above all, power.

Power that too often came at the expense of kindness.

He wielded it freely—making people like Crabbe and Goyle his followers, bullying first-years simply because he could, and hurling cruel words at classmates whose bloodlines didn’t meet his family’s standards.

He was arrogant. Untouchable.

Until he met you.

It was third year. September 2nd. The first day of Potions class.

You arrived late. The dungeon already buzzed with that familiar mix of damp stone, potion fumes, and tension. Every seat was taken.

Every seat except two: one beside Zacharias Smith… and the other beside Draco Malfoy.

Both were terrible options.

Zacharias was a pompous git, sure. But Draco? Draco was dangerous—for someone like you.

A Muggleborn.

You hesitated. Weighed your choices. Then turned toward Smith.

But just as you were about to slide into the chair, Justin Finch-Fletchley slipped into it with a smug grin.

“Hey!” you exclaimed, frustrated. “I was going to sit there!”

“Looks like you’ll have to find somewhere else,” he shrugged, already turning to laugh with Zacharias.

You sighed and turned slowly… to the only seat left.

Beside Draco Malfoy.

You slid into the chair, tense and quiet, refusing to meet his gaze. You could feel his eyes on you. But he said nothing.

Snape’s voice sliced through the air. Class began.

At first, nothing changed. Draco acted as he always did—cold, aloof, tossing in the occasional jab when he thought no one else was listening.

But then… something shifted.

He started handing you ingredients. Offering quiet suggestions during assignments. He didn’t mock you when you got something right. And he didn’t insult you when you got something wrong.

When you sliced your finger on a shrivelfig root, he passed you a handkerchief—silent, but deliberate. His fingers brushed yours. Too long to be casual.

By October, you lingered after class together.

By November, you were exchanging secret smiles in the corridors.

By December, you were meeting by the Black Lake in the early mornings—hidden beneath scarves and snowflakes, sharing quiet words and cautious glances.

Then came the conversation. The one that defined everything.

You were alone in a forgotten corridor, surrounded by unused chairs and dusty shelves.

“We have to keep this a secret, alright?”

Your brows furrowed, confusion twisting into something sharper.

“What?” you scoffed. “Why?”

Your voice echoed too loudly.

He stepped closer, voice low and tight. “Because my parents…” He hesitated. “They don’t want me dating a Muggleborn.”

The silence that followed cut deep.

Your heart sank. “So what, you’re ashamed of me?”

“No!” He reached for your hand, gripping it tightly. “It’s not like that—my father would disown me. You don’t understand what it’s like to have your whole life already decided for you.”

And maybe you didn’t.

But it still hurt like hell.

Still… you stayed.

You let him keep you in the shadows. In corners, in secrets, in soft goodnights whispered between walls.

Because even if you were hidden, it was still him. Still something.

But slowly, you began to resent it.

You envied the girls who were held in public. Who were kissed in plain sight. Girls who were loved loudly.

You were loved in silence.

Draco never looked at you in front of others. Said it was for “safety.” But you knew it was fear. Fear that someone—his father—would find out.

You told yourself it was fine.

But it wasn’t.

The months blurred. And now it was fifth year. By now, your younger self had imagined the secrecy would be long gone.

But it wasn’t.

You were still a secret. Still his hidden truth. The light he kept tucked away in the dark.

Then came the most awaited day at Hogwarts.

Slytherin vs Gryffindor.

You sat with the Hufflepuffs, clapping politely—but your eyes never left him. Not once.

Then it happened.

He dove—fast and fierce—his Seeker cloak trailing like a storm. The crowd held its breath. Then—gold flashed in the light.

The Snitch.

Draco caught it.

“Yes!!” you screamed, adrenaline crashing through your veins. For a moment, you forgot everything—the rules, the fear, the hiding.

You ran.

Down the stands. Across the pitch.

Straight to him.

He turned just as you flung your arms around his neck.

“Oh, Draco, you’re amazing!” you gasped, breathless, proud.

He caught you. Spun you around, then smiled. Beamed, even.

For one perfect second, everything felt right.

Then his eyes flicked up—past you.

To the stands.

Lucius Malfoy stood at the top row. Motionless. His expression carved from ice. One hand on his cane. His lips curled in a sneer.

“Draco?” you whispered, the roar of the crowd fading into static.

He turned back to you.

His eyes were different now.

Guarded. Cold.

He stepped back.

Then gently pushed you away.

It wasn’t harsh.

But it still broke you.

“What—Draco?”

“Don’t,” he said. The word landed like a blade.

“Am I really that embarrassing to be with?” you let out a shaky chuckle, voice trembling.

He looked away, jaw tight.

“I told you… this can’t happen.”

And then he turned and walked off the pitch—Snitch still in hand.

The celebration swallowed him whole.

And you were left standing there, heart shattered beneath the sound of victory.

Because he loved you.

Just not enough to defy his father.

Not enough to choose you.

⸻

Later that night, long after the Quidditch celebrations had died down and the castle had fallen into a heavy silence, you found him.

The Astronomy Tower.

Of course it was.

Where else would a boy like Draco Malfoy go to fall apart without anyone seeing.

He was standing near the edge of the stone balcony, his back to you, silver-blond hair glowing faintly beneath the moonlight. His hands gripped the railing, knuckles white. His shoulders tense.

You didn’t speak at first. The wind did—soft and sharp, threading between you.

“I thought you’d come,” he said without turning.

You stepped closer. Voice low. “I wasn’t going to. I really wasn’t.”

Still, he didn’t face you.

You hated how beautiful he looked in the moonlight.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured. “It’s not safe.”

You scoffed. “Right. Because loving me has always been dangerous, hasn’t it?”

He flinched.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Please.”

You ignored it and kept walking.

“I came here to ask you something,” you said, voice raw. “I want you to look me in the eye and tell me what I am to you.”

He didn’t move.

“I deserve that much. After all the sneaking around. After letting you pull me into empty classrooms because you were too much of a coward to look at me in public.” Your breath caught. “Tell me.”

Finally, he turned.

And his face wasn’t cold anymore.

It was broken.

You saw it in his eyes—the war raging inside. Between the boy who loved you and the one his father demanded he be.

“You’re everything,” he said hoarsely. “But I can’t choose you.”

You stared at him. Not shocked. Just tired.

“You caught the Snitch today,” you said softly. “Everyone was cheering. You had everything. And the moment you saw him, none of it mattered. Not me. Not us.”

He looked down. Ashamed.

“You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“I don’t care what he would do,” you snapped. “I care about what you did. You humiliated me like I was nothing.”

His hand trembled as he reached for you.

But you stepped back.

“No,” you said. “Not this time.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks. “Do you even know what it’s like? To love someone in silence for years? To hear people call you a mudblood and pretend it doesn’t hurt?”

Your voice cracked.

“To hear rumors about you and girls that aren’t me… and not be able to say a word? Because I can’t tell them you chose me.”

Your lip trembled. “Because you asked me to keep this a secret. And I respected that.”

You swallowed hard. “So can you at least respect me?”

“I never wanted to hurt you—”

“But you did,” you said, cutting him off. “And you will. Again and again. Because the truth is, Draco… you’re not strong enough to love me out loud.”

He opened his mouth—maybe to beg you to stay, maybe to take it all back.

But no words came.

Just a broken breath.

You stepped closer. Voice shaking.

“I needed you to fight for me. Just once. To look your father in the eye and say, ‘I don’t care what you think. She’s mine.’”

He said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You smiled, tears blurring your vision.

“So am I.”

And this time… when you walked away, he didn’t follow.

He just stayed there, beneath the stars.

Too proud to run after you.

Too broken to let you go.

And you didn’t look back.

But he did.

He always would.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

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