BM

ao3

[butterymangowrites]

masterlist

updated 14/03/26

miya atsumu

permanent fix

miya osamu

right at home

sakusa kiyoomi

a few pushes

kageyama tobio

distribution system

kibutsuji muzan

little singing bird

eren yeager

strange progression

dabi / todoroki touya

dad thief

bakugou katsuki

ten years in the making

itoshi rin

better than horror

bunny iglesias

hop, hop, little bunny

michael kaiser

finders keepers or whatever they said

illumi zoldyck

this is okay

[butterymangowrites]

Could you write something for shidou? :3

hello! i don't have any ideas for him yet 😭 my brain's so blocked rn, but thank you for the ask.

[butterymangowrites]

My dear butter, it's that time of the month. No, no— not the period. It's that time of the month... WHERE I GO BACK TO MY PERMANENT FIX RABBIT HOLE AAAAAAAAAA please give us crumbs of them.. it doesn't have to be anything necessary to the plot, you don't have to make a part 2 either, i js want little snips of them.. about their school life, their fights, their daily dynamic... Anything really, just little headcanons or smth.. i just need crumbs... PUHLEAHSEEEEEEEEE i'm begging you 😞 i've been starved.

Hi~ how are you doing? 

I’d imagine reader had a pretty normal school life. Atsumu barked, but I think he rarely bit. He had a reputation to uphold since he wanted to go pro, so I don’t think he would’ve done anything to sabotage that. So when he said or did something mean, it was usually things that were easily forgiven/forgotten. Stupid pranks, you know, hiding one of reader’s shoes, or saying her lunch looked ridiculous but then swapping his for hers. Things didn’t get serious until much later, perhaps in college, I’d say. Cause reader got to meet a lot of new people. If there had been a point where he was suddenly aware of how easily reader could slip through his fingers and started to want to follow his soulmate+alpha instincts and just claim her, it would’ve been then.

It would’ve been then too when he realized he was the jealous type, and it would’ve scared him a bit lol. But the thing is, he was lucky. As much as I want reader to be this blank form of a character people could self-insert to, I have to give her some personality when I write. Otherwise, it’d be super hard to write her as a person. And as far as this story goes, Atsumu was lucky she didn't care that much about being in a relationship. She hadn’t gotten serious with anyone. She didn't have crushes that frequently. And that was why their bizarre relationship went on for so long before Atsumu decided to make a move.

They are polar opposites, so when they fight, I think it'd mostly be because Atsumu thinks too much, while reader is just chill. She's the non-chalant to his chalant, dramatic ass. There's a high chance he's said something like, "You just don't care about me," when it's just reader telling him she's ok with anything for dinner. But at the end of the day, we gotta remember he has a mean streak, so he won't sulk for long and would likely head straight for retaliation, giving her the silent treatment, or ordering something she doesn't like. But at some point in their relationship after they went steady, reader learned how to handle that.

Thank you for the ask 🫶

[butterymangowrites]

I love your fanfics, I’ve read them all! 😊 If you have any recommendations like them, please give them to me because I don’t know what to read anymore 🥹

(Sorry, English is not my first language 💗)

hello! thank you so much for reading 💗 you can find the recs here #butter recs

other recs i could think of are

Aftermath by Remember_to_be_Gentle << this is hawks x reader. gosh. it's so deliciously dark. just perfect.

Broken Boy by bucciaratissun << yandere izuku

You don't know me… by AmeLee23 << sub oikawa who turned dom when reader tries to leave him. ahh the moment he snaps 🔥

and if you read jjk, Drosera by Envy_Of_The_Apple (PolymerClay_Heart) is downright amazing!

[butterymangowrites]

Hiya I've posted my first fic but its not showing up in the tags dyk how to fix it..?

Hi! The only thing that works for me is posting it at a different time. If i post it and it doesn’t show up in the tags in minutes, i delete and wait until the next day and try again.

But if you don’t want to delete, you can contact support. Just give them the links to your post, and they’ll help fix it, though they’re quite slow in responding.

[creative-crybaby]

Behind the Lens

PAIRING: yan!Yukimiya Kenyu x fem!reader

GENRE: smut | dark content (18+)

Minors DNI

TAGS + WARNINGS: dub/noncon, spanking, cum eating, praise kink, dacryphilia, fingering, non-consensual photography, softdom!Yukimiya

Let me know if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 6k

SUMMARY: Things seem too good to be true when the handsome model you'd worked with offered to help you expand your portfolio. All characters are 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I started writing this many moons ago, but goddamn if I didn't get this out for Yukki's birthday...

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

He’s watching you through the lens—you’re sure of it.

The model is in his element, posing while keeping his gaze forward. You bite your lip, feeling like his gaze pierces through the camera and directly locks onto yours. A teammate had to nudge your shoulder to snap you out of it. You pretend to focus on adjusting the settings to avoid staring.

Every pose is effortless, keeping all eyes on him. You’re in awe—even during outfit changes, you’re mindlessly fiddling with the camera lens, face warm and thoughts floating aimlessly. Should your teammates notice (they do), they keep it to themselves.

Aside from your emotional fumbles, the shoot went smoothly. While everyone else puts equipment away, you’re checking the photos, zeroed in on each one.

“You’re very talented,” Yukimiya’s voice appears by your ear, making you jump. You whip your head to find him next to you, leaning to peek over your shoulder. He grins sheepishly. “Ah, sorry. Just wanted to see the results.”

You were hugging the camera, you realize. Relaxing your shoulders, you hold the device between you, showing him the photos.

“The photographer did most of the work,” you comment shyly, mentally praying he can’t feel the heat radiating off your face. 

The model hums, carrying his gaze to you with a soft smile. “Give yourself some credit. You and the others were on top of everything.”

When you turn to look up, Yukimiya’s already looking at you, his expression kind. 

“You’re the assistant photographer, yes?” he asks. 

You shake your head, face hot. “I just help with adjusting the lens. I’d like to move up soon, though I’m still working on my credentials and getting my portfolio ready—I don’t even know if I have the right to fully call myself an assistant, let alone photographer…”

It isn’t until your glance in his direction that you realize that you’ve been babbling, and you immediately cut yourself off. Your panic remains internal, as he stops you from apologizing with a simple chuckle. 

“Well, for what it’s worth,” he adjusts his glasses, “I don’t mind helping out if you need more photos, even outside of this shoot.”

He speaks with such ease that you almost don’t realize what he’s talking about, like he isn’t offering you a door that’ll lead to better opportunities.

“A-Are you sure?” You stammer, clinging to the camera tighter. How it remains intact, no one knows, but your head department is giving you that look that tells you to get ready to get back to packing.

A slight shift in position and an easy smile from the model are all it takes for you to relax your shoulders and take his outstretched hand.

“I’d be happy to.”

Does this count as getting a cute boy’s number if it’s technically work-related? You’d like to think so. Especially since Yukimiya asked for yours in return, “in case he needs you first.” Think any deeper into it, and steam will float from your ears from your brain melting. 

Still, while you were mentally battling with yourself over whether you should text first, your phone decided for you by notifying you of a text you received from a new number. 

You’re already lying on your stomach on your bed to read the message, giddy over a mere reintroduction to the handsome model you got paid to ogle the other day. And to think he already wanted to make plans for a shoot with you without you responding with something cringe-worthy!

Well, you’re still working in a team—which is fine! Being alone with someone you shouldn’t have developed such an easy crush on may not be the best of plans. You’re just grateful for the opportunities.

Still, your stomach can’t help itself from dancing whenever Yukimiya would make small talk with you during breaks or compliment you after a long day. He’s polite, professional—you remind yourself that as not to get your hopes up. He knows how to play the game, and you’re honestly surprised an agency hasn’t snagged him yet. 

“I know a place.”

You jolt at the sound, whipping your head to find the man who’s consumed your thoughts for the past few months. He offers you one of the coffee cups in his hold and you thank him, blinking in surprise upon the taste reaching your tongue. Either he got lucky, or he’s witnessed you putting too much sugar in your drink.

You hum at his words, peering up at him from the cup’s rim. 

“I know an area for another shoot for us to do,” he says, taking a sip from his drink. “It’s quiet and small, but a good start if you wanna take charge.” He returns your gaze with his gentle one, his wavy hair framing his face in a way that makes you want to run your fingers through the strands (though the hair and makeup department would hate you for that). “I meant it when I said I wanted to help you.”

You turn your body to better face him, the icy breeze for an otherwise muddy autumn biting at your cheeks.

“It’s really fine—”

“I insist,” he copies your movements, his body turned to yours. 

You look down at your cup, chest tightening as your thumb grazes the rim. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Your confession is quiet, and you don’t dare look at him. The pavement is a sad, mucky colour, freckled with dead leaves and a couple of cigarette butts. You count all of them, repeating the cycle until your eyes don’t burn with the promise of crying in front of someone you don’t want to let down.

“Let me show you that you do.”

You blink at him, your lips parting as if looking for a rebuttal. Yukimiya’s expression is serious, but not stern. He speaks like a wall refusing to be broken down, and the faith he has in you makes your eyes water. No, you won’t cry to him on your break, but you’ll try to believe him when he’s lending a hand to someone he’s only worked with. 

You wipe your eyes with a sniffle before looking back at him, holding your cup out for him. His expression softens with a hint of pride, and he knocks his cup with yours in a silent agreement.

It’s only an hour after that day’s shoot that Yukimiya sends you the who, what, when, where, why, and how. It takes even less time for you two to schedule a time for you two to go along with the plan, your heart steadying for the night as you lie in bed. 

It’s only for some headshots, but it’s a start. Yukimiya seems to have a friend of a friend who rents out studios for these kinds of things and managed to snatch a room for free. The time was less than ideal, but you were in no position to complain. 

The model lets you in, already in attire plain enough for the focus to be on his face while still doing plenty to make your eyes shine as they follow him. You even brought some makeup for him, biting your lip when he praises you for coming prepared.

The studio is relatively smaller than the ones you’ve worked in with teams, though it seems fitting with tonight’s plans. With a white cloth for the background already set up, your main focus is getting the camera ready while Yukimiya patiently sits a few metres away on a stool, watching you. As much as you enjoy his attention, it does little to help you complete your tasks without looking like a fool.

You almost forget about the makeup application by the time the camera’s ready, and you hastily make your way to him with the products in hand. 

This is the closest you’ve ever been to him, you realize. Applying the powder is simple enough, and you’re grateful that you aren’t doing anything editorial for tonight—with how he’s watching you trying not to mess up his perfect skin, perfect cheekbones, perfect smile, you doubt you’d have the focus to do anything properly. 

You manage not to fuck up applying gloss to his lips before hastily putting everything away to return to the camera. If he notices your frantic behaviour, he keeps it to himself.

Taking the photos has been the easiest part of this entire process, not only because you get to hide behind the device, but also because your model has the experience to know what to do next. The few times you’d offer directions, you’d force yourself to project your voice, cringing when your voice wavered or cracked.

“Ever thought of being a model?”

You stop with your touch-ups, holding back the brush as you process Yukimiya’s question. His face is only a few inches away from yours, and you’re certain he can feel the heat radiating off your cheeks. 

He continues, seemingly unbothered by the proximity. “I just think you’d be fun to take photos of, is all.”

You blink, your heart doing the same as you force yourself to take a step back in embarrassment. 

“You’ve been plenty kind to me already,” you mumble, cupping your cheek to cool it down. “You don’t have to keep going.”

“I’m serious,” he insists, his gaze still on you. He isn’t wearing his glasses, and you can’t help but wonder how much he can actually see. 

You bite the inside of your cheek. “...It’s crossed my mind, sure.”

“You’re very cute.”

Oh, now you’re about to erupt. You’re hastily put the products away before returning to the camera. 

The rest of the session is fairly quiet, and neither of you speak again until it’s time to pack up. 

“I mean what I said.” Yukimiya’s voice comes from behind you, making you jump. You shyly peer over your shoulder to face him. “I admire what you do, even if you don’t see it yourself.” After a few more moments of silence, the model’s expression turns sheepish. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable—”

“No!” You blurt out, fully turning to face him. The outburst catches him off-guard, and you clear your throat before stepping back for a moment. “Um, no. Sorry. I meant, you didn’t make me uncomfortable.” Your eyes are about to gaze elsewhere before you force them to meet his. Whether or not you get lost in them is not within your power. “It meant a lot. Thank you.”

Yukimiya’s shoulders relax, and that same kind smile that has your knees buckling returns to his handsome features. 

He’s still close, even with your previous step back. You hope the studio’s room tone is loud enough to mask your hammering heart, but with how the model is slowly leaning in, you highly doubt it. 

The kiss was soft enough to barely feel it and long enough for you to process it happening. Whether or not you kissed back, you aren’t sure, but your lips definitely followed his once he pulled back.

Your eyes flutter open–when they closed, you don’t recall–and you’re greeted by sunset eyes and curled lips. 

“I’m glad.”

It’s been like this for a few more months, where Yukimiya would help you with your portfolio while occasionally stealing a kiss or two per session. You’re giddy, more confident in your skills, and even offering to teach him how to work your camera. (Whether or not it’s an excuse to have him near again, you won’t say.)

You figured it–whatever “it” was–would remain stagnant until he invited you over to his place for dinner. 

You spent more time trying to figure out what to wear than the actual commute to his place. Not that it matters, since the sight before you after knocking on his door already made you feel underdressed. 

Yukimiya's still sporting his usual smile when greeting you, a simple button-up and slacks doing plenty to accentuate his beauty. He even takes your coat for you, ever the gentleman. This is normal, right?

Of course, it is. You have to remind yourself to relax as you sit at the dinner table, twiddling your thumbs on your lap as he makes tea for you both. But that's easier said than done.

Not even five minutes in his home and you're meekly asking for directions to the bathroom, trying not to stumble down the hallway he kindly directed you to.

A mental pep talk did little to calm you down, but the cool water seemed to stop your hands from shaking. That's something, you guess.

He really has the patience of a saint, doesn't he? Months of knowing him and you still can't seem to behave like a functioning adult. He smiles through it all—it's like the ones customer service workers offer when they want nothing more than to clock out. He's just a hundred times prettier.

Your thoughts are still spiraling when you exit the bathroom and make the wrong turn. Had you been more aware, you would have continued your internal anxiety monologue back at the dinner table while drinking tea and not knowing what to say to him.

Instead, you find yourself in a bedroom far too tidy to belong to a young man. Though you suppose Yukimiya’s the exception once more as the freshness of a recently-opened window purifies the room, the sheets neatly made and the closest thing to a mess being an open journal on his desk.

The proximity to him just by being at his door seems to lure you in, your feet moving on their own as you relish in a room even cleaner than yours. Your guilt seems to take its time approaching your conscious as your gaze brushes the journal, his handwriting clear and his. Perfect. Precise. Practiced.

She'll be over tonight. Poor thing couldn't even look me in the eye when she said yes—it makes my heart soar every time.

Your fingers graze the page as you bite your bottom lip, your stomach doing somersaults for different reasons now.

I wished she’d let me pick her up, but she seemed insistent that she came here herself. I'm thinking of making her favourite as an apology. It's the least I can do to make an even better impression. I'm sure lighting a candle or two will set the mood, but I just want a better look at her pretty face.

You should stop. It’s doing wonders to your confidence, but you’re still going through something that doesn’t belong to you. 

She’s too cute for her own good. I could feel her lips quiver every time I’d kiss her—it only made me want to kiss her more. Hold her closer, though I wouldn’t want to scare her away. She’d probably be just as cute like that, too, like a little deer taking her first steps.

I can’t stop staring at her lips. I’m lucky enough that she can barely look me in the eye. I can wait, but I can’t stop myself from just imagining. She makes the cutest sounds when I get near. 

I need to taste her. 

Your gaze remains on those five words, as if refraining themselves from going any further. 

In every sense. I need to know what sounds she makes so I can swallow it all up or make them even louder. I need to feel her skin on mine, see with my own two eyes what she’d look like beneath me, panting and crying. I need her to see me the way I see her until she refuses to look anywhere else. 

Despite the churn in your chest and stomach, your eyes don’t stop.

I can’t stop touching myself. I used to have better self-control, and maybe it’s still there and I’m just refusing to try anymore. A whiff of her perfume when she walks by is enough for my pants to grow tighter. I feel like some pathetic teenager. The worst part is, I don’t hate it. I chase it, chase her. And I don’t even know if I’d be able to do anything besides that tonight.

“Never took you for someone so nosy.”

You whip your head around to find Yukimiya standing at his dressing room door, two mugs in his hand. Despite his words, his tone carries no disappointment, nor does his expression. If anything, he appears pleased, and he walks in to place the cups down on his desk. You freeze, stumbling back when his shoulder brushes yours. Words fail you, your body shrinking in shame of being caught, while your brain almost forgets everything it saw. 

Even with your eyes on him, you don’t fully register him stepping towards you, his aura eerily calm. The back of your knees hit the edge of his bed, forcing you to a halt as you scramble to find something to say.

The model beats you to it. “I can’t say I wasn’t completely counting on it, though.”

You don’t process him having thrown you over his lap until he flips your skirt up to reveal your sage green panties. But you finally react when his hand swings down to smack the apex of your thigh.

“I can’t just let you get away with this, you know,” Yukimiya chides, rubbing at the stinging area. “You understand, don’t you, dear?”

Your eyes burn as tears peek from your waterline, and you sniffle. The athlete hums, then grabs the back of your underwear and tugs. You cry out, the cotton pressing between your folds and brushing your clit.

You whimper. “Yes… I’m sorry.”

He coos, letting go of the garment. It snaps back onto your behind, and he resumes massaging the area he previously hit.

“I know you are,” he comforts. You sniffle again, the tears finally falling as you struggle to press your thighs together. It doesn’t take long for Yukimiya to notice the wet patch on the crotch of your underwear, and his voice remains gentle as he smiles thoughtfully. His fingers reach to graze against the area, and you suck in a large breath. “Look at you…”

SMACK!

Another slap against your skin, this time on your rear. You shriek, your body jolting against his lap. More follow seconds after, alternating between each cheek while occasionally rubbing the raw flesh.

“As much as it pains me to do this,” the model sighs, though you don’t hear any remorse in his tone, “I can’t have you just doing whatever you want. Where did my good girl go?”

You can’t respond, the sobs and hiccups clawing out from your sore throat. Your grip on the sheets tightens as he gives you the final few strikes, and you can finally exhale properly. Yukimiya palms the stinging areas, shushing you like he was putting a child to sleep.

“You did so well for me, angel,” he coos before leaning closer to your ear. “Next time, I’ll make you count each hit.”

You flinch, whimpering as he helps you sit up, but it hurts too much to do so. Still, not wanting to upset him any further, you ignore the throbbing that bleeds throughout your rear.

Yukimiya’s hands are warm against your cheeks as he cups your face, his thumbs lightly wiping away any stray tears. Your vision is glassy enough not to recognize him.

“You’re so cute,” he sighs, kissing the tip of your nose. Then your temple, down your cheek and to your jaw. He starts unbuttoning your blouse when his lips meet your neck, and he continues his journey down your body as he shrugs the article of clothing off your shoulders. His teeth gently graze your collarbone, and you shiver when you feel his warm breath on your skin. You almost miss his hands when they reach your thighs, caressing them through your skirt before reaching for its hem. “Take these off for me, will you, angel?”

You almost don’t hear him, a light ringing in your left ear as you feel him rise from the bed, taking your hands and pulling you up to do the same. Your tears are long gone, their dried paths across your face the only evidence of their existence. When you look up at the model, he’s already got his gaze on you, soft and adoring.

You finally speak. “Yukki…”

“Kenyu,” he corrects, his smile growing wider. “No need to be so formal.”

He trails off, taking your hands and leading them to the waistband of your skirt. And with how he’s looking at you–like he’s witnessing sakura petals raining from their trees–your hands move on their own. The article of clothing drops at your feet, leaving you in a cotton matching set. You try to refrain from hugging your waist and curling into yourself, but your gaze can’t help but trail elsewhere, anywhere.

“There she is,” he croons, stepping closer to cup your face. His eyelids droop, pensive, and the sunset you’d admire in his irises has passed the horizon—it makes you want to cry again. “There’s so much I want to do with you.”

Despite the warmth from his hands, his gaze makes you shudder. Yukimiya lightly presses his lips against yours before leading you back onto the bed, with him leaning against the headboard and you, with your back to his chest. His body heat makes you shiver again, goosebumps decorating your arms.

“Just follow my lead,” he instructs softly, leaning his chin on your shoulder. You subconsciously suck in a large breath when his arms slither around your waist, but it doesn’t stop the athlete from pulling you even closer.

Plump lips shadow above your skin, and you can feel his warm breath tickling your neck. A quiet mewl squeaks from your throat, your eyes screwed shut as Yukimiya’s hands explore your torso.

“Such a pretty colour,” he mumbles against your shoulder before kissing back up your neck. You feel his fingertips ghost over the cup of your bra while his other hand swirls the waistband of your panties around his index finger. “Did you wear this knowing what would happen?”

You can only whine in response, and he takes it as a sign to slip his hand into your underwear, his digits brushing against short, coarse hair before he feels the stickiness he got a peek of earlier. He hums; a discovery.

“You’re like a little doll,” Yukimiya continues, brushing against your clit while sneaking the other hand under your bra. “I get a lot of clothes from modelling gigs—I can get you some of the prettiest outfits.” Your breathing stutters when his middle finger drags across your slit, and you feel his smile on your neck. “Anything you want; you’d always look amazing, anyway. It’s like playing dress-up—oh! And we can match, too! Wouldn’t you like that?”

He plunges his finger into your hole before you can even think of a response. You gasp, head thrown back onto his shoulder.

“Yu—Ken…” you finally try to speak, and the model rewards you by flicking your nipple from under your bra, his hand sinking into your breast.

“There she is,” he praises, taking his time pumping his digit inside you; memorizing you from the inside out. “You’re so,” he pauses, then chuckles to himself, “Sorry, I keep calling you cute. I can’t help it if it’s true. I just want to squeeze you tight and never let you go. Though I’m sure you know that by now.”

A second finger joins the middle one, stretching you out in a way foreign to you. It stings, and you hiss. Yukimiya whispers sweet nothings in your ear, easing you into the unfamiliar.

“I can’t move if you keep squeezing me like that, darling,” he chides jokingly while shimmying your bra above your breasts. He’s quick to knead them, easier for him to alternate between the two and grip them tighter. You yelp, and he snickers at your reaction before his voice drops to a more serious tone. “You’ve never done this to yourself before?” 

Too flustered to respond, you can only offer a pathetic whine while digging your nails into his forearms. Yukimiya chuckles upon seeing your hips buck involuntarily and rewards you by picking up the pace, curling his fingers just right. You throw your head back onto his shoulder with a cry, and he takes the opportunity to kiss you deeply. He’s everywhere: his warm chest against your back, his fingers squeezing your breasts and caressing your walls, his erection poking at your lower back through his slacks, his tongue swirling around yours—he’s even found his way into your lungs, bleeding into your insides and becoming your oxygen.

The athlete eventually pulls back, a string of saliva connecting you two by your lips. Your panting synchronizes, his warm breath tickling your skin as your eyes grow glassy. Yet, even through your hazy vision, you can’t miss the pure adoration as he looks at you. A look so soft, you almost forget his touch’s juxtaposition.

“K-Kenyu…” you say his name like you had something to say—what it is, you aren’t sure. He supposedly did, though, and he peppers light kisses along your jaw.

“Are you close, beautiful?” he hums, his voice buzzing against your skin. You nod rapidly, and that was more than enough for him to reach deeper, his palm hitting your clit. The heat pooling in your belly spreads, your legs instinctively snapping closed. Yukimiya tuts, his voice gentle yet scolding. “No, no. None of that, now.”

With how he carries himself–all gentle smiles and a graceful posture–you forget the absolute strength that comes with him. You forget until he hooks his legs over yours, separating them and keeping you open for him. 

“I’m sorry…” You hiccup, bottom lip wobbling. What you’re apologizing for, you can’t quite put your finger on it. 

“I know, angel,” Yukimiya sighs, slipping his fingers out of your pussy momentarily to spank your inner thigh a few times, making you jolt with a squeak. His digits return inside you as fast as they left, and his pace and force increase tenfold. Your shallow breaths quicken, chest heaving and hammering heart beats that you’re certain he can feel through his rough grip on your breast. 

And just when that coil is about to snap, he pulls out again.

The sob you let out even surprised you, his hand leaving your chest being replaced with heaviness in your diaphragm and ribs that are just barely holding on.

The model’s hold on you loosens ever so slightly, if not to let you catch your breath. He brings his fingers to his mouth, licking your taste with a satisfied hum. You witness this with a tearful gaze, and the act only fuels the emptiness he’s left behind.

“Y-You,” you croak, inhaling sharply while gripping onto his forearms, “w-why did—”

“I couldn’t let you think you were completely off the hook,” is Yukimiya’s answer, his clean hand rubbing soothing circles on your stomach. “Consider it a warning for the next time you decide to misbehave, yeah? You’ve been so good to me before.”

He speaks like he’s discussing the weather, and he finally lets you go, carefully laying you before dismounting the bed. Your legs immediately go to press together, desperate to soothe the ache he caused. The sound of faint ruffling reaches your ears through your pathetic sobs, but it isn’t until you feel the mattress dip next to you that you see the brunet left in nothing but his boxers. He smiles, slowly crawling between your legs.

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he says, spreading your legs before shifting closer, “if I didn’t stop now, I probably never would.” He tugs his waistband low enough to reveal his cock; hard, pale, and pretty. You catch sight of a beauty mark near the apex of his thigh before he starts stroking himself, his expression relaxing. “But that’s okay,” he aims his pink tip at your entrance, brushing against your clit, “we have all the time in the world to try everything we want to.”

The initial stretch makes you choke, his tip barely passing through before you clench tightly at the foreign feeling.

“I can’t,” you shake your head frantically, your nails digging into his biceps. “I-I can’t I can’t—”

Yukimiya’s lips silence your cries, his tongue practically licking the inside of your mouth and making your eyes roll back. He only pulls back once your cries retreat to whimpers, and you find yourself subconsciously chasing after his kiss.

“Sure, you can,” he responds, adoration glimmering in his gaze. “You just need to relax for me. You can do that, can’t you?”

His soothing words act as a lullaby, your mind following wherever he leads it. You take a few deep breaths, trying not to be so stiff. The athlete above you rubs your thighs, cooing as he eventually slips in more easily. Every inch makes your grip on his arms tighter, and you wonder if he feels any pain, what with his loving expression piercing your very being.

“That’s my good girl,” he hums, his hips soon meeting your own. You shift in discomfort, your insides feeling like they’re being torn apart. Your bottom lip wobbles, and you feel your eyes burn from upcoming tears. Yukimiya shushes you, kissing up your torso, past the valley of your breasts, and your neck, welcoming your lips with a gentle kiss. “I’m going to start moving now.”

Your heart hammers against your ribs like an alarm, your eyes begging for mercy. Your legs are unable to stay still, desperate to find a position that’ll make the pain more bearable.

“Kenyu,” you whisper against his lips. “Just gimme a minu—”

“I’ll go slow,” he insists, his nose gently nudging yours as a silent agreement. And when his hips reel back ever so slightly, you gasp. He’s mostly grinding against you, offering some mercy as you adapt to the new feeling. The model only decides to pick up the pace once your laboured breathing sounds less painful. “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect.”

With everything happening right now, your stomach can’t help but churn upon hearing him curse, clashing with the warmth seeping into your lower belly. 

But then his careful movements pick up momentum. No longer are his hips grazing yours, but are now pulling all the way back until it’s only his tip inside you, and he reenters while reaching even deeper than before.

“W-Wait,” you pant, your hand weakly pawing at his chest.

The sunset in his eyes has long set as Yukimiya wraps his arms around your thighs to keep you in place.

“You take me so well, angel,” he groans, his head momentarily thrown back in pleasure. “I knew you would, ever since I saw you.” The way his cock grazes against the area that has your toes curling distracts you from fully listening. The athlete laughs breathily, pressing his forehead against yours. The new angle makes your eyes roll back, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

“Slow down,” you whimper.

“I get a lot of free clothing thanks to my gigs,” he continues as if you never spoke, “think of all the matching outfits we can wear out together, dressing up for dates.”

He ruts into you faster, moaning as he sits up again. You gasp at the change of pace, reaching out for him like you were expecting comfort. Instead, you hiss as his hold on your legs tightens. 

The athlete continues, vermillion dusting his cheeks. “In fact, you could model with me, too.”

His grip on you disappears for a moment as his strokes fall softer, making your eyes flutter. When your vision clears, you find him aiming his phone at you.

“What are you doing?” you panic, quick to cover yourself to the best of your abilities.

“Don’t be like that,” he chides, momentarily lowering the device to gently yet firmly move your arms. “I just want you to see what I see.” His thrusts return in strength before he aims the lens at you once more. “Let’s switch our roles for once.”

You barely register the clicks as his hips continue their abuse, tears brimming on your waterline as he bullies your g-spot. Your moans sync with your whimpers and hiccups, and while you want to look away, you find your head turning back to the model above you.

Meanwhile, Yukimiya murmurs praise as he captures your vulnerability; from “beautiful” to “perfection,” his focus never leaves your trembling form. He only pauses to remove his glasses, his ministrations causing them to fog. You catch your breath in the few seconds he places his eyewear on the nightstand before he resumes.

“I may not have your eye,” he grunts, slamming his hips against yours, “but it shouldn’t be hard with you beneath me.”

The clicking continues as you feel that honeyed fire in the pit of your belly, the one he snatched away from you earlier. Your grip on the sheets tightens as you look up at him pleadingly.

“Kenyu,” you babble. “P-Please, I’m gonna—”

“I know, angel,” he exhales. “Go on, let go for me.”

Mere seconds later, and hot white pleasure soars through your body, a strained cry leaving your lips. Your cunt squeezes as your back arches off the mattress, your toes curling from the intensity. You might have said his name; you might have thanked him.

Yukimiya follows soon after, pulling out last second to finish on your chest and stomach. Even through his soft groans, you hear faint clicking, though you can’t find it in you to care anymore. You can only shudder at the stickiness clinging to your skin, your lungs greedily taking in air as you feel his weight disappear.

Soft lips press against your temple as your eyes flutter shut, and your first instinct is to curl into yourself. The mattress dips beside you, followed by a hand gently stroking your cheek.

“There you go,” the model whispers, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. You shudder despite welcoming his affection.

Your eyes reopen once his touch disappears, and you find him going through his phone next to you. His glasses sit atop the bridge of his nose, fog lingering on the edge of his lenses. 

Yukimiya catches your gaze and smiles. “Hey, you.”

You groan softly, sluggishly lifting yourself to sit up beside him awkwardly. Your muscles are sore, and you feel like you can only fix what little clothing you’re wearing and twiddle your thumbs. Anything but look at him any longer.

“I didn’t mean to read your journal,” you manage to say, your voice somewhat hoarse. Your brows furrow as you curse yourself for not being able to say anything else.

The athlete wraps an arm around your waist, not minding the mess he made on your skin as he pulls you closer to his side. Your posture stiffens, yet the warmth of his body raises goosebumps along your arms. You only fully come to when you catch what he’s looking at.

“They’re pretty, aren’t they?” he hums thoughtfully, going through his camera roll to show each photo he snapped, each one more lewd than the last. Your eyes widen, something he notices. “No need to worry. I plan on keeping these for myself.” He kisses your temple reassuringly. “Though I wasn’t kidding about you making a perfect model.”

You don’t look away from the photos until Yukimiya gently holds your chin to kiss you, a soft sigh leaving his body as he physically relaxes. 

You flinch, pulling back abruptly. “Ken—”

He kisses you again, hugging you closer as he licks your bottom lip. You’re lulled back into a false sense of comfort, closing your eyes as he completely takes over.

CLICK

You blink, pulling back to find him holding his phone a foot away from you two, a photo of your shared kiss captured on the screen. He smiles like he’s guilty, but not sorry.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says, tapping at his device. “I figured this would make a great lock screen.” He leans in to whisper, like he’s sharing a secret. “One of the other ones can be my home screen.” 

You look at him in awe, in terror, you don’t know. 

But that damn smile returns.

“Something to remember this moment by.”

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

[butterymangowrites]

yes crybaby yesssssss. thank you for the food 🙏

[butterymangowrites]

do u have any bllk fic recos? specifically for rin, kaiser, bunny, or sae 🙊🙊

i’m in need of a rec myself 😭😭😭 but i love this ness x reader don’t you feel it too? series

and i believe I’ve recommended this royalty au yandere kaiser, but i’ll rec it again because it’s so peak 😫

[butterymangowrites]

Rereading your fics at 3AM is literally the only thing helping me making out of finals week alive 💔 I also read all of the fics you reccomended and GAWD 😋 any more recs before economics demolish me? 😭

hi sweetie! good luck on your exams! do you read jjk? cause i found this amazing bully gojo fic.

You can’t make me by cautious_soup

the smut is definitely smutting, and gojo is freaking unhinged. i love his characterization so much 😫

falling by vanasha < haikyuu (i’m not sure if I’ve recommended this?)

Day 28, begging: Monoma < mha

and if you’re open to original stories, go read If I Can't Have You by Deathsdoll rnnnnnnnn. this story lives in my mind rent free. it’s long as hell, but i’ve read it twice now like i love it that much.

help, all of these recs are bully dark romance lol but i hope you enjoy.

get that economics, don’t let it get you alright? 😂 good luck!

[butterymangowrites]

i love how u emphasized how pretty rin is in your fic like hello thats my man and i miss him 💔

that’s a generational, once in a lifetime face card. and i miss him sameeee. he has like 1 panel every three chapters now im so sad. 🥀

[butterymangowrites]

I love your works and also your bookmarks on ao3, your taste is soo tea

And if you take recs I wanted to ask if you could make a non-con story of Toji being our gynecologist

hello! 🙏 i don't take requests, but thank you so so much for your message 💗 gynecologist toji would eat though, him locking in as a doctor but seeing reader and suddenly wanting to do bad things. i see the vision.

[butterymangowrites]

little singing bird

paring: kibutsuji muzan x fem reader

warnings: non-con, explicit smut, blood, cannibalism, murder, heian era muzan in the past / professor muzan in the present, servant reader / student reader, reincarnation, death in past life, possessive muzan, breeding kink, pregnancy, muzan hates kids and cats

word count: 4.9k

just finished demon slayer, giggling and kicking my feet for muzan.

You were annoying, always yapping like a chirping morning bird, too loud for a body the size of a pine nut. Those crystal clear eyes of yours lost their sparkle a little when you realized the purpose your parents brought you to his estate. 

“Go on. Show Muzan sama your singing,” your mother prompted. 

“I don’t care if she can sing. Take the coins and get out of here,” Muzan said nonchalantly. 

He didn’t have time for this nonsense, not when his health was declining exponentially each day. His hair was undone, dark curls framing his pale face, he had no time to listen to anyone’s singing. What he needed was extra help, other servants had too much on their hands already. So either you were that help, or you were not. And if you weren’t, he would have to kick you out, no need for an extra mouth to feed if it was useless. 

Having heard that, your parents hurriedly took the money and went, leaving you to stare after them with tears in your eyes. 

“Papa. Mama,” you whined pathetically, but the adults didn’t spare you a second glance. 

Your crying was music to his ears, better than your talking ten fold.

—

You ended up being the help Muzan needed. Getting your cheerfulness back bit by bit, you were back to your talkative self in no time, always singing, always humming. But the food tasted better prepared by you, and the medicine was less disgusting with your little humming brought to his ears by the wind while drinking it, so he wouldn’t complain. 

The doctor visits were smoother with you assisting as well, and his night fevers were gone way faster with you always by his side, dabbing him with a damp washcloth, all the while singing a lullaby till he fell asleep. 

“Don’t go.” Muzan’s frail hand caught your wrist when you were about to go get your rest after staying with him all night to monitor his fever. He sounded not fully awake. 

“I’m tired, too, master.” 

“Sleep here.” 

“But—”

“Don’t leave,” he said, stern. His eyes opened up and looked straight at you.

“I will be back before you awake.” You gently patted the hand sticking to your wrist. “Please, I beg, get your rest.” 

“Do you promise?” 

“That I will be back? Yes.”

“That you would never leave me,” Muzan corrected, “that you would take care of me—until the day I leave this world.”

“Don’t say that.” 

“It will not be long,” he said. “Do you promise?”

“Yes, I do.” 

“Swear it.”

“I swear to never leave you.” 

He loosened his grip a bit after hearing that, but not letting go, yet. 

“I swear to take care of you until the day you leave this world.” 

Hearing what he asked for, he could finally smile and let you go.

—

A ‘shut your mouth’ slowly turned into a ‘sing me something’, and lately it had branched out into a ‘play with my hair while you sing.’

He had nice hair, even when it was damp with sweat, it was still soft to touch. Getting to run your fingers through his hair was your pleasure, too. He would put his head on your lap when he was not moody, rare as it was, there were days like those. You saw his face the clearest when he did that, pale and ill—the medicine did not work. 

Nobody dared say anything when Muzan broke the doctor’s skull open with a knife one day. 

“Incompetent,” your lord said, nuzzling his cheek into your cold hand, criticizing the doctor even after his death. 

But Muzan spoke too soon, several days after the blatant murder, he recovered fully from the prolonged illness like he never had a sick day in his life. Colors returned to his skin, cheeks and lips tinted rosy overnight. But he could never walk under the sun ever again, he knew it by instinct. 

Tears of joy soaked your face when you saw him sitting by himself on the sleeping mat and vigorously beckoning you to come to him with a smile that could only be seen on a healthy, worry-free person’s face. You did not know how it happened, deducing it was a miracle and thanking the gods for it. 

The first thing he did when you got close was pinning you to the mat and smelling you all over, your face, hair, neck, the cleavage of your breasts. Before he moved lower, you called out his name, 

“Muzan sama!”

He looked up at you. “You smell delectable.” 

—

It was raining a couple days after the miraculous recovery of the master of the house. Nobody wanted to talk to you anymore since the only topic you would veer to was the recovery of Lord Muzan. But you couldn’t help it, you were so happy you almost hopped instead of walking. 

That rainy night, you slept peacefully listening to the rain, before screams woke you.

Good things never lasted, and tears of joy turned into apprehension when you saw bloody footprints everywhere when you came out of the private servant quarters Muzan provided for you so as not to disturb others when coming in and out at odd hours. Now, the very thing—and not to mention the peaceful sound of rain—shielded you from the chaos that must have been happening for quite some time. 

What happened? A robbery? An assassination of your ruthless master? You prayed it was not Muzan; you prayed he was well. 

Muffling the cry with your hands, you followed the bloody trail leading to Muzan’s room. Because you were scared for him, cared for him, you didn’t even think about your life when you pushed the curtains to his room apart just to see him there, crouching over a female servant lying prone on the floor, munching on an arm that was supposed to attach to her body.

You stood still. When the lighting struck and lit the room up with a quick flash, Muzan looked up at you, making you back off.

“Little bird,” he called, dropping the arm.

He was in his full formal attire, wearing one of his finest robes with the headgear like he was about to go somewhere. You, in your worn-out kosode and hakama, retreated again when he stood up to his full height. 

“Not another step away,” he growled, stopping you in your tracks. 

The fluttering curtains touched your back and shoulders; the wind was strong outside. And since Muzan rarely ordered for the outer wooden blind to be drawn down because he loved to lie down and watch the yard from his mat, you felt the cold on right your back where you stood. 

“You swore to never leave me, did you not?” 

The closer he got, the clearer you saw the man. He was covered in blood, his face, his garment, his eyes. No… that was not blood. His eyes were glowing red on their own. 

What was he? 

You never got an answer because he whisked you away, carrying you on his shoulder as he trod through the massacre of house Kibutsuji and left everything behind. 

—

You woke from a strange dream to your boyfriend of five years kissing the nape of your neck, he was the one starring in your dream as the sick nobleman. He was surely not sick right now, seeing as his hands roamed around your front and his hard cock rubbed incessantly against your backside. 

“Little bird,” he whispered in your ear, and you answered with a quiet hum in your throat.

It had always been his nickname for you since the day he heard you sing at the karaoke night out where he and Professor Uzui took everyone in the philosophy class they both taught to celebrate after the finals. Despite being a substitute professor for only the last three weeks at the end of the term while Professor Uzui was absent due to a motorbike accident, students adored Professor Kibutsuji just the same. 

Ten students with five microphones to go around, you only got to sing when others were drunk and tired. Some sang along with you, swaying left and right to the slow rhythm of the song, but Professor Kibutsuji just sat there and watched you with a soft smile. 

He had a nice smile, you knew it from the very first day he appeared in class instead of Professor Uzui, dressed so good everyone started to salivate over him like a piece of meat. You were not an exception or God’s strongest soldier, jaw close to touching the floor, thinking to yourself the man had the face people would go to war for just to come back and see it again. 

You saw it up close that very same night when he fucked you dumb and full of his cum on your own bed—natural arched eyebrows, almond-shaped eyes with deep wine-color irises, a cute button nose, and lips that were so supple and sweet as a ripe peach. 

When you came to think of it, you didn’t really know why it was you he asked to help with dropping the drunks off at their places, you were not even the only one sober at the time, but it was late and raining, you didn’t have time to contemplate any hidden meanings if there were any. 

You saw Professor Uzui taking care of getting taxis and paying the fares for the sober ones, one of his arms was in a cast but he was still agile as ever and seemed to have everything under control. So after expressing your gratitude and saying goodbye, you got in the passenger seat of Professor Kibutsuji’s car, playing your role as the navigator using the map on your phone. 

Aside from the engine and blinkers, there was no other distinctive sound. You, scared he would doze off mid-drive, started to fill the gap of silence with small talk. 

“You smell like peaches,” you said, beaming, so he knew it wasn’t a bad thing. 

“Do you like it?”

“I do.” You meant the peaches. “They’re my favorite fruit.” 

“Mine, too.” 

It reminded you of high school when you used to have peach gummy candies in your bag at all times, eating so many in a day your breath smelled like it.

The ride continued, and one by one, people reached their destinations. Professor Kibutsuji looked like he had just come up from a pool after swimming with his clothes on, all wet from the heavy rain after forbidding you to even move a muscle and carrying each person out of the car by himself. 

The rain didn’t seem to let up when he parked in front of your apartment building, and when you learned that his place was forty minutes away even without traffic, you took two seconds to debate with yourself if you should invite him up to wait it out and decided that you should. The AC was turned off on the way here because he was cold; he even asked for your permission to do it. 

The professor politely refused your invitation, but out of habit and social etiquette, you insisted, expecting a second refusal, and then, this tug-of-war game would come to an end. You didn’t think he would say yes the second time. 

—

The water seeped out of his clothes, leaving a wet trail from the elevator to your room. He immediately asked if he could wash and dry them upon seeing your washing machine and dryer. You said yes, putting his shirt and pants in the machine while he was in the shower after confirming they could withstand cheap detergent, which he chuckled and nodded. 

It was a bad idea. Since you had no spare clothes in his size, all he could do was sit on your small couch while waiting for the laundry to be done with only a towel around his waist. 

Just one hour to go.

It was a bad idea that you thought one hour was not that long. It was apparently long enough for you to take a shower, get out, and sit beside him to browse something on the TV for him to watch when he showed no sign of having a phone to be obsessed over and still had a lot of time left. It was long enough for you to fall asleep and wake up in his lap, your panties-clad pussy grinding against his naked cock, your sleep shorts gone, and his towel already falling off his waist.

“Naughty girl, trying to get yourself off in your sleep.” 

“Huh?” Groggily, your first instinct was to get off him, though your mind was still muddled from what it perceived. You didn’t know how you got there, on him; the idea that you might have sleep-climbed the man like a tree made you want to disappear from the face of the earth. But the fact that your pussy was throbbing, too, made you pray there was no earth at all. 

“Are you alright?” 

Flooded with embarrassment, you palmed your burning face with both hands, shaking your head. 

“Oh, little bird.” He murmured. “It’s okay.” 

His hands then seized your hips and pushed you down, setting your hot core directly on his hard shaft again, making you realize you weren’t off his lap, yet. 

“Grind on it, suck it, fuck yourself on it, you can do whatever you want,” he said so with a straight face, tone borderline condescending, but his hands never stopped sliding your pussy back and forth along his length. 

“Please don’t make fun of me.” Trying again to get off his lap, but he wouldn’t let you. “I’m sorry. Please, just let me—”

“What are you apologizing for, birdie? I was the one who put you here. You can blame me.” His deep voice rumbled. “But do you like your seat?” 

You didn’t get to answer; the next thing you knew, he moved your underwear aside. Sharp sensation shot through you when there was no barrier between skin anymore. He carried on with the grinding; the tip of his cock slipped in at some angles, but he never went full in.

“From the way you dry-humped me till your cunt dripped, I’d say you do.”  

You wanted to curse him, to scream, but you choked on your tears from humiliation. 

Gone was the kind professor you knew. Right now, you never wanted anything more than to slap his handsome face, twice on the same side, just to make sure it left a handprint. You pushed hard at his chest, but it didn’t budge an inch. And he didn’t lie, you were wet, so wet that when his cock pierced in, it buried deep to its root without any trouble at all. 

A kiss came later, way later. It was when protests died down, replaced with pants and moans, your eyes rolling up to the back of your skull and mouth gaping wide that he licked his way in. He tasted like nostalgia, uncannily familiar, and sweet—peachy.

Heaven only knew why he was so rough, or worse, why you liked it. And try as you might, you couldn’t find answers to the other whys either. Why did he keep whispering sweet nothings in your ear, promising a life where you would never want for anything with him there, telling you he would keep you? Why did he cling onto you so tenaciously, calling you his as if he owned you, as if you permitted? Why did he act like he was here to stay and this debauchery was not a one-time thing?

Why you in the first place? You and he hadn’t talked privately once in the three times he came to teach, and despite the love of chattering, you were not the most active participant when it came to studying. If he had noticed you, surely it would have been fleeting, forgettable—did not stick. 

But here he was, fucking you till you saw stars. 

There was something about Kibutsuji Muzan that rendered you weak so easily. He knew your body so well, too well, making you squeal with just a bite at the nape of your neck. You didn’t even know you liked it like that, but the harder he bit, the louder you became. 

“Sing for me,” he said, his trademark gentle smile turning sinister. “Only for me.”

You came so shamelessly for him, many times that night actually, getting manhandled position after position all around your small room. Whenever you got to face him, those dark red eyes staring into yours, you had this weird feeling that you had met him somewhere before. Maybe you had, walking by him on some random street, bumping into him in a hurry and saying a quick sorry before departing, or maybe he was in your dreams. 

But he never was, not until now—five years later. The nobleman Muzan’s hair was longer in your dream, and he was far worse than your Muzan, personality-wise. The nobleman was cruel, cantankerous, and inhuman—a monster. Your boyfriend was cunning, possessive to a fault, snobbish at times, but overall not an awful person altogether. 

People liked Muzan, even you, who followed through on your desire and slapped him in the face twice the morning after that rainy night, came to like him anyway despite all the foul things he did to make you his. So much that you let him put a ring on your finger just last week after seeing each other for half a decade. 

He moved from kissing the nape of your neck to kissing the big rock on your ring finger. This man truly didn’t know subtlety or minimalism. 

—

“Master, I wish to leave.” 

You shouldn’t have said that. Your master slaughtered everyone in the new village you both just moved in because of it, sparing only a calico cat because you hugged him from behind and pleaded for him to stop. It ran away, limbing.

“Do you still wish to leave, getting married, having your own family, kids, breaking your promise to me?”

But he could already walk under the sun, the blue spider lily was finally found, and the new medicine worked. You wanted to argue but didn’t, choosing to only shake your head to his flower-patterned silk robe, crying so loud that you didn’t realize he turned around to cup your face up to look at him. 

His anger subsided. “Don’t you ever think of walking out on me again.”

Just because he achieved what he desired did not mean he was willing to loosen his grasp on what he already possessed. You learned it with so many lives wasted—the hard way. 

The innocent idea of having your own journey, accomplishing goals, fulfilling dreams, vanished faster than the time you used to utter that short sentence, telling him you wanted to leave. It took just one breath to voice that decision, but a lot longer as you witnessed bodies fall one after another. 

Five years after he left his birth home and took you with him, he made you his within the first week of living together when you woke up one night to his drools dripping down onto your face. 

He was hungry for flesh. 

Somehow, you knew it would happen, so even though it was sooner than you anticipated, you accepted your fate. You closed your eyes to embrace your end, but instead of biting your head off like he liked to do with other victims, Lord Muzan touched you like a man would a woman. He took your virginity with pride, never once muffling your cries of pain and pleasure, only eager to hear them.  

“What a sweet voice you have, my little bird,” he said, satisfied with seeing you writhing under him with abandon. “Sing for me.” 

To say he succeeded in taking his mind off eating you by eating you in another way would not have been wrong. Yet, he never drew near that edge again, never once letting himself starve. Later, he brought up the idea of turning you into something like him—a demon. One drop of his blood could have done it, but you begged him with utmost desperation, crying him a river not to do it. 

He must have hated to see you cry, otherwise he would have ignored your plea and done it in a heartbeat. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have spared that cat from its untimely demise and carried you all the way home. 

You liked this one, it was built near a peach orchard. Moving in during its season, the fruit was ripe for the picking, sending a faint sweet odor with the wind. But without life, the village was just an empty shell of what it used to be. Peach smell became permeated with the stench of blood. 

It was time to move again.

—

“Poor girl.” An old lady, possibly someone’s grandmother, spoke up as you prayed to the buddha statue in front of you. Among other visitors standing there, you did not know at first that her words were directed at you.

It was New Year’s Eve, you and Muzan visited a famous temple to pray for good luck for the upcoming year. He waited at a corner, not getting involved in any rituals, never did. You were used to this, knowing he did not believe in this kind of thing. 

“Is that man your husband?” the grandma asked, eyeing your baby bump and then Muzan who never took his eyes off you. The old lady was in smart-casual attire, she looked rich and… concerned.

“Yes,” you answered carefully, caressing your protruding stomach, already five months into your pregnancy.

“He is messing with the order of things.” Her eyes diverted back to you. “Trying very hard to keep you, isn’t he?” 

You short-circuited, not knowing what to say. “Um, I’m not sure?” 

“He’s not good for you.” She shook her head, whispering this time, as if afraid Muzan would hear. 

You, even befuddled, couldn’t help but feel protective towards your husband. Turning to look at him again, you saw him push himself off the wall he leaned on and started to walk towards you. The look of confusion on your face alarmed him perhaps. 

“But who would dare to stop him.” The lady went on with her gibberish. “Who would dare.”

“Grandma!” A young, red haired man intercepted the situation with an apologetic smile on his face. “I’m sorry. Did she say anything to you?” 

“She did, but that’s alright.” You waved it off. A moment later, you felt Muzan hand snake around your waist. When you looked up at your husband’s face, you saw him glare hard at the old lady who only smiled calmly at him. 

“Is everything alright?” Muzan asked, annoyed.

“Dandy,” you answered while squeezing the hand on your waist tenderly, placating him. 

“She sort of has this gift with fortune-telling and superstitious stuff,” the young man elaborated. “Sorry if she freaked you out.” 

“Not at all.” You flashed him a bright smile.

“I want to see the souvenirs now.” The old lady changed the topic, turning to her grandson. “Can you take me there, Tanjiro?”

“Sure!” 

The young man—Tanjiro—bowed slightly at you and Muzan before departing with his grandmother walking slowly beside him. You heard your husband grumble to himself, 

“Ugly hair.”

“That’s rude,” you said before turning your attention back to the sacred statue to continue your interrupted prayer, taking one of Muzan’s hands in both of yours. 

Your husband looked notably older this year; a streak of his hair turned white, but the man still looked dashing and turned heads everywhere he went. It had been another five years since he put the ring on your finger that morning. Since then, he had had you to himself so greedily your friends expressed some concerns that maybe your husband would never want to share you, not even with his own children. It was true; Muzan only caved in to the idea of having a baby just last year. 

At first, the man would make a disgusted face when listening to you painting a picture of a copy of you and him running around the house, but eventually, the idea grew on him. He stopped complaining so much about how the child would take you away from him, considering the amount of time you would have to devote to ‘it’—his words, not yours. 

You remembered snapping at him to take it back before calming down and assuring him that what he feared would not happen. 

“They will be ours,” you said, noticing his gradually shifting expression, from total boredom to interest. “Don’t you want that? A proof of you and me, a proof that I’m wholly yours.” 

You supposed you flicked the right switch, but at the same time, awakened something in him. His determination to knock you up scared the daylights out of you sometimes. He would just go on and on rambling about how you would look so good being round with his child, how he wanted you to keep every drop of his seed in like a good cum-hungry wife, going as far as to think of names and buy baby clothes in advance. 

“What did you pray for?” 

Dragged out of your daydream by Muzan’s question, you cleared your throat as you exited the temple with him, answering, “Us.”

—

Muzan hated Yushiro, but he was the only one that could help him. 

You died, not of old age, but by a demon’s hand who did not know you were or how important you were to the demon lord. Muzan beat it to a pulp, forcing it to regenerate torn limbs time and time again before blowing its body apart from the inside out. 

Crazed from the sudden loss, he tried to get you back. But death couldn’t be reverted, death was permanent and prevailing. Muzan learned in the moment he saw your lifeless body that there was nothing surer than death. Even he, who cheated his own demise, had not really overcome death. Because he didn’t beat it, he got out before it caught up with him. But for you, he was not in time to get you out. If he had been, he would have given you his blood and even prayed to any entity he had never believed in that it worked, just in time.  

So he created more demons instead, trying to find the one whose Blood Demon Art is about seeing the future, fortune-telling, or anything that could tell him if he would ever see you again, if you would come back. Almost a millennium later after your death, he finally succeeded, but not without the Demon Slayer Corps hunting his head because the demons he created had become their calamity.

A war was on the horizon, but diplomacy was closer. Ubuyashiki Kagaya, the master of the Demon Slayer Corps and his distant blood descendant he didn’t even know existed, offered a peaceful solution to the growing tension between humans and demons. An agreement was established. 

His part of it was that he had to put an end to all the demons and never create one again. In return, they accepted that he would live on and would not, in any way, try to interfere with his life—going each other’s own separate way.

And Muzan agreed, to Ubuyashiki’s surprise, too easy he knew the young master thought it was a trap. But Muzan fulfilled his part of the agreement as soon as the next day. Not because he was a respectful man, but because even a thousand years had passed, he was still as mad as the day that demon ripped you away from him. 

He wanted them all to die. 

All did, except him and Yushiro, whom he was asked by the Corps to spare because he sided with humans. The demon was broken after Tamayo’s death, she was his creator, snatching him from the brink of his death. Too bad she stepped on the wrong demon’s toes and got herself hung from a tree. When day broke, she was burned to ashes on the spot. 

Yushiro hated him, but Muzan knew just what would gain him what he needed. 

“Not so fast.” Muzan jerked his hand back when Yushiro tried to snag what was in it. Tamayo’s hairpin would have to remain in his grasp until he got the surviving demon’s word on what he needed his help on. “I need your word.” 

“It might take years. Decades even!” Yushiro hisses. 

“You succeeded once with Tamayo.” Muzan pushed. “You can do it again.”

“On normal demons, yes,” Yushiro argued. “But we are talking about a drug that would turn the father of all demons into a human.”

“Try.” 

“Why?” 

Because when he met you again, he did not want you to die alone. 

“Your certainty that she would reincarnate puzzles me.” Yushiro crossed his arms over his chest arrogantly.

“I am certain.” 

A demon with a precognition Blood Demon Art told him so. She did not lie; he read her mind to make sure.

“Help me.” Muzan held out his hand and opened it, giving up the hairpin Tamayo wore the day she died. “Give me your word.” 

The concept of living a life with an end was still foreign and unwelcome to him, but living it with you and growing old together—that did not sound so bad. 

Yushiro took the hairpin, sighed. “You have my word.”

[butterymangowrites]

strange progression

paring: eren yeager x fem reader

warnings: smut, dub-con, memory loss, genocide, war, eren is fucked in the head, possessive eren, toxic and manipulative eren, kidnapping, public sex, blood and gore, biting, domestic life, cabin eren >> but man-bun eren is also hawt so lets have both

word count: 2.9k

this work is purely fictional. i just finished aot, and it easily became one of the greatest shows i've ever watched. one of the reasons i love it so much is probably because it deals with the theme of morality. it's heavy, but very profound. this work is a canon-divergence; therefore, the cruelty shown in the show is also present here. but mostly, it's smut.

He always held you close, like he wanted to fuse his body with yours, as if the cock that was pounding in and out of you and his prominent presence weren’t enough to brand you as his irrevocably. 

“Who are you with, darling?” 

You had heard this question time and time again, a hint of desperation growing in his voice with each passing day. 

“I’m with you,” you said, out of breath, to the person you were lying on top of; your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck. “I’m with you, Eren.”

“Who am I?” 

“My husband.” 

“That’s right. I am your husband.” 

Eren Yeager was your husband. That was the only thing you knew when you opened your eyes four years ago to the ceiling of this very same cabin you now called home. Because he was there, holding your hand and waiting for you to wake up. Because he told you so. 

His hair was dark brown, short, and his eyes were the greenest you had ever seen. That was before you realized you didn’t remember what green you had seen—you had no memories prior to that moment. Eren told you the war with Marley just ended, that you were caught in the crossfire when the Rumbling started. At the time, you didn’t know what the Rumbling or Marley were, so you just listened. 

“Stay with me.”

You nodded to his neck, assuring him you weren’t going anywhere. He loved to make his presence known, making sure your attention never strayed far. You had no idea why. It was his thing. He loved to be close, touching you whenever he could, around the house, sometimes out of it, leading up to moments like this where he filled you up good and full. 

It hadn’t always been like this, though. 

—

It was a strange progression. You swore you saw something akin to hatred in his eyes sometimes in the first year of living together. You blamed it on the war, knowing Eren was a member of the Survey Corps who played a major role in winning the war against Marley. He was the Attack Titan who also possessed the power of the Founding Titan—the hero of Paradis who began the rumbling and saved his homeland. 

But despite the victory, wars could take so much from a person, leaving only a shell filled with haunted flashes of horrible decisions. 

It was hard for you too, having to see him space out when he thought no one was looking, having to be the one whom he took his frustration out on. It was rough when he fucked you for the first time—after your memory lost, at least—bending you in half till your ass didn’t touch the mattress and legs raised high. It was lewd, the way his hot cock drove in and out of your pussy. Eren’s grip was hard on your hair, forcing you to watch. He fucked you like he hated you; when you finally cried, he smiled so genuinely for once. 

Things got better as days went by, so you thought you must have done something right. His face looked less hollow and his eyes less empty. After one year together, they even shone with delight whenever he came back from the Survey Corps headquarters after at least a week of absence due to how far it was from his cabin. 

He tried to be home as much as he could; you knew he did. For a man who could barely keep his hands to himself whenever you were near and stared everyone off when he took you to the town market, you were surprised he didn’t take you to work. You were clingy yourself, but Eren was on a whole other level.

“Greta brought us some potatoes last week,” you recounted the events that happened while he was at work. You both lay on a big white blanket next to each on the riverbank near home. “She couldn’t stop talking about you.” 

People loved your husband, revered him. Some were like Greta, coming to your house with gifts just to see Eren. 

“You need to stop letting people into our house when I’m not home.” He turned on his side to you. “Didn’t we talk about this?” 

“It’s Greta,” you said, your face only a ​​hair’s breadth away from his. 

When the Greta in question was a 60 year-old woman, you didn’t have the heart to turn her away. 

“Hmm,” he hummed, his hand tucking your hair behind your ear. “What did the old hag say?” 

“Very rude, pretty boy,” you chided him, but laughed still. 

You were lost in thought a bit before you answered, “Many things, mostly your heroic acts, how you saved Paradis, the usual.” You surveyed his face before continuing. He seemed alright, disinterested even. “She claimed your Titan’s form on the Rumbling day was—imposing—magnificent. I can’t help but want to see it too, you know?” 

“You don’t,” he sharply retorted.

And won’t… Greta said the power of the Titans had been eradicated from the world since the war ended three years ago. You would never get to see it, not when you were awake. But when you slept, sometimes you would dream about them, the Titans, seeing them from afar. In some dreams, you would stand on the ground, looking up at one. The earth was flattened, and among the rubble and blood… was you. 

When Eren called you by your name, bringing you back to the riverbank, you were on your back staring up at him instead of the sky, your wrists pinned to the ground by his strong hands. 

“With me,” he said.

“Yes, Eren.”  

— 

As time passed, the dreams persisted, always the same ones. It was the start of your sixth year with Eren that you had a new one—a blonde girl in a white dress, leading you through a field of sand towards a pillar of light shaped like a tree. 

—

There were four things Eren asked of Founder Ymir when he successfully persuaded her to side with him instead of his brother, Zeke. One, the Rumbling that would lead the Titans in Wall Maria to trample on Marley. Two, the elimination of all Titans and their powers, all except the ones he possessed. Three, the eradication of the Curse of Ymir, in order to live more than the lifespan of 13 years. And four, to erase the memories of one Eldian woman he brought all the way from Marley—you. 

With this, Paradis had won the war against Marley. The fact that Eren Yeager would still be in possession of his Titans was not known by anyone, not even his close friends like Mikasa and Armin, to prevent any aggression born out of fear from other nations. All they knew was that the Titan’s powers had entirely been wiped from the world, not a clue about how Paradis would never be defenseless when the time of danger re-emerged. 

And on the day he marched with all the Titans back to Paradis, marking the end of the war, as well, no one got a clue—not one—about you. 

Looking up from the ground that was painted red with blood was you, so alone, so alive. Eren stopped; the whole army stopped, too. Otherwise, you would have been crushed to death. You didn’t run when his skeletal form swooped down, mouth opened, ready to take you in. You closed your eyes, not the faintest idea what you would become. 

His war trophy, a souvenir from his enemy’s land. 

When Eren and the Colossus Titans finally left Marley land, it was all quiet. 

—

You were grounded. After being caught stealing some fruit and cheese and getting beaten and dragged home by a Marley soldier, your mom forbade you from going out for a week. The next day, you kept yourself in the basement, despite not being forbidden to roam around the house, you were sulking and did not want to see anyone. 

You heard the front door slam shut when your mom went out for the day, again when three of your sisters did, bringing the loud chattering with them. Had you only known that would be the last day you would see them, you would have acted more sensible. 

Stubborn as you were, you planned to stay in the basement all day, just to be bad. You were nothing but a fool, desperate for your mother’s attention, wanting to hear her knock on the door calling you for dinner. 

But then, a few hours later, the ground shook, and it was all too late. 

For some twisted reason, the basement of your house was not completely destroyed. When you regained consciousness and finally pulled yourself out of the piles of bricks, you limped up the remaining of the basement stairs and saw what you wished you didn’t—flattened earth and a vast land of blood and heat. 

Days later, Eren found you. 

And now, you found yourself standing before the horse you were tending to before your thoughts were invaded. That blonde girl you had been seeing in your dreams just showed you everything. You got your memories back, every single one of them. 

—

“I’m married.” 

After living with you for a year, Eren decided to tell his friends about you. Mikasa and Armin stopped walking, leaving him the only one treading ahead. They seemed to stop breathing altogether when he turned around to face them. 

“To whom?” Armin was the first to ask. 

“A girl—from Marley. She survived the Rumbling,” Eren said. “I took her, erased her memories.” 

Mikasa flinched. “What? Why?”

“Just let me have it.” 

“Eren, you are not making any sense.” Armin shook his head, his voice soft and sweet, like he was trying to coax him into seeing reason. Armin was like that, a manipulative fucker when necessary. 

“Let me have it!” Eren repeated louder. 

“But this is wrong,” Mikasa argued with tears in her eyes. 

Again, he made her sad again. 

“And the plan to destroy Marley was wrong. Yet, you both agreed. Everyone did.” Eren grunted. “Do I not deserve it, after everything?” 

His head was a mess. Hadn’t he given enough? He hated Marley, and a second later he was sorry for what he felt. He did not want to be like this, a slave to freedom from the world tainted with the hunger for power, the world that was nothing like what he saw in Armin’s book, the same one where a dream of wanting to see his loved ones happy turned him into a murderer because of how much he wanted to make it come true. 

And he would make it come true, no matter what it took.

—

Eren Yeager was not a good man, and with you, he was reminded of everything. The screams of fright before the loud thud of each footstep, the smell of blood that followed, the face you would make when you knew the truth one day. 

He almost strangled you in your sleep, the day he brought you to his cabin. You were an Eldian, a Subject of Ymir just like him; but born and raised in Marley, you were surely brainwashed. All of them were. He had seen example after example. But he was waiting for something from you, and you would give it to him; he knew. So instead of choking you to death, he held your hand until you woke up and told you he was your husband.

When you cried the first time getting fucked so deep by him, he pretended you were sorry for what Marley did to Paradis—a crime you did not commit, he knew, but still. Behind those eyes clouded with lust, you looked at him so lovingly, while he smiled like a crazed maniac. 

It was lovely, he had to admit, the way you looked at him. For as long as those eyes stayed on him, he didn’t feel like a monster. They lit up when he came home. You, looking away from whatever you were doing when you heard him call your name and rushing over to jump into his arms, he liked that.

And he couldn’t help but show you how much he liked it, kissing you till your lips gleamed with saliva. Sometimes he would bite you bloody, at first because he was a moody bastard. Now, he just loved the sharp ah you would let out and the way it would turn into a moan when he ran his tongue over the wound. 

You tried so hard to be a good wife, taking care of him, looking out for him. It had been six years since he’d had you as his, but he still remembered the first time you said you loved him. 

It was a sunny day. He came back from the Corps to an empty house. After calling your name for a solid minute and getting no answer, his whole body was showered with panic. He was already back on the horse when you came into view, waving, approaching home. Your other hand carried a fish basket; it didn’t look very heavy. 

You wore a white, off-shoulder blouse with a blue skirt; the blouse was all wet. He cursed under his breath as you came close. He could see your tits through the wet fabric, your nipples stiff, begging to be sucked. 

“I didn’t get many, but I caught some big ones,” you said, sounding proud of yourself. It was his job to provide for you, but now you were doing it for him. His cock was so damned hard in his pants. 

He remembered backing you into the cabin wall, the fish basket dropped and forgotten as he pulled your blouse down and feasted on your soft breasts like a starved beast, out in the open where the scene could be stumbled upon by anyone. You were such a good girl for letting your husband ravage you as he pleased, sucking your tits, licking your cunt, then lifting you up to be bounced on his cock until he marked your womb with his cum. 

“Eren.”

“Hm?”

Eren stood there and held you close to his chest, refusing to let you stand, needing to be in you for a tad longer. 

“I love you,” you breathed out. 

He savored every word without saying anything back. This was what he was waiting so patiently for. Your love, it was all his. 

Flashes of events crossed his mind, interrupting his sweet recollections. It seemed that his well-kept secret had now been revealed to you by the Founder herself. Eren got up from the chair he was sitting on, exiting his office in quick strides. 

— 

Your husband was still in his Survey Corps uniform when he came home in the middle of the night to find you sitting at the dining table and not on your bed, asleep. Now that his hair was longer, Eren loved to tie it into a bun. He was such a pretty monster. 

You didn’t run, knowing it was no use since he would find you anyway. 

“Just kill me,” you asked. “Please, like you did my family.” 

“I see you have met the Founder,” he began. “The girl with blonde hair, Ymir.” 

“Did you hurry here?” 

“Yes.”

That was why he arrived at odd hours. 

“So you knew—that she showed me what I forgot,” you concluded. “Did she show you, too?”

“I already knew it would happen. I knew I would hurry here. I have seen this moment a thousand times already.” He said as he walked up to you before kneeling at your feet. “It’s the curse of possessing the Attack Titan.” 

“Tell me, then. What happens now?”

When he didn’t answer, you begged again. 

“Please just kill me. I can’t unlove you.” 

It hurt so bad just to look at him. 

“You don’t have to,” he said, laying his head on your lap. “Keep loving me.” 

“You’re cruel.” 

“The world is cruel.” He rubbed his cheek to your thigh then raised his head to look up at you. “Regardless, you will have to live with me in it.” 

“And if I refuse?” 

“Then walk away. Leave me. I won’t stop you.” Eren said. “Choose.” 

“You just said I had to live with you in this cruel world.” Words went through your teeth. 

“But is that your choice?”

—

Eren looked at you. He didn’t say anything about how you would live with him until the day you departed this world, or the fact that you would give him three children, two boys and one girl. They would look so much like him, and that would frustrate you, especially when you were mad at him and had to see them run around the house. And one day, after you had said you loved him for another hundred times, he would finally say it back. 

‘I love you, too.’ He heard himself faintly in his head. 

But now was not the time. Therefore, all he did was sit there, silently, and waited for you to choose.

[butterymangowrites]

just found out this work has never shown up in any of the tags i used, and it’s been here since 2024

[butterymangowrites]

everything you write is so unhinged and i love that twin

hehehehe thank you so much <3

[butterymangowrites]

this is okay

paring: illumi zoldyck x fem reader

warnings: non-con, smut, bullying, childhood friends to lovers, boss-employee relationship, breeding kink, obsession, possessive behavior, unhealthy relationships, butler reader, illumi being a psycho, minor character death, reader tries to cope

word count: 3.1k

i started watching a couple episodes of hxh but couldn't push through, so i dropped it. but then, i got to read 'guessing game' by hypnoswrites, and it was so freaking good it convinced me to go back and finish hxh and i did lmaooo. and damn, illumi is really that cool. so i gotta write about him. as usual, english isn't my first language. if you see a mistake or something weird here and there, it's me fighting for my life. enjoy!

Like bugs when a rock was lifted, everyone around you suddenly scattered when they saw someone approaching, and in no time, they were all gone. Heading in your direction was a boy with short black hair and eyes that were even blacker. You didn't know him; you bet your friends didn't as well, but there was something about him and his lifeless eyes that screamed 'bad news,' and that was probably why everybody were so quick to leave.

Only you stood there as he walked closer, not because you were curious or brave or that you cared that the boy's feelings would be hurt if you left too. You were seven years old, and that was the first time you met Illumi Zoldyck, and you were scared shitless you physically couldn't move.

"Oh, you're not going with them?" he asked.

He looked to be around your age and was a tad shorter than you. Still, just hearing his voice sent shivers up your spine.

Your legs violently shook as you stammered, "Hu—huh?"

"Good," he said with a soft but chilling smile. "I choose you."

"Wh—whatever for?" you asked, feeling like crying all of a sudden.

"To play with me," he said. "Now, do you like hide and seek?"

Hide and seek was all fun and games until you had to play it for six hours straight with no rest and with a playmate like Illumi, who always found you within minutes whenever it was your turn to hide. Even so, he never seemed to get bored and would demand another round, preferably with you as the hider.

"Again," he said after he found you hiding behind a bush.

He always said that—again—making you feel like the game would go on forever, and after three hours of playing, being found over and over again and still having to keep going, you feared it might actually not end. There were numerous spots to hide in the vast public park you were playing at, but Illumi was too good at this. He was unbeatable.

"You are very bad at this."

He hadn't even seen you yet when he said that, and you thought you had chosen a very promising spot this time. It was only when you climbed down from the tree and turned to him that he locked eyes with you and unemotionally said, "Again."

"Again."

"Again."

"Again."

"Huh," he muttered.

This time, he found you at a bus stop near the park, and from the way the bus card was clutched tightly in your hands, you didn't think you had to say anything for Illumi to have a clear understanding that you were leaving.

"I'm tired," you said. "Let's call it a day."

"Sure. It's already late anyway." He looked towards the sun that was starting to set, and then he turned to look at you with that small, creepy smile he'd been giving you way too many times today. "I'll see you tomorrow."

To you, that sounded like a threat. But what could a boy do if you decided to hole up in your home all day? Drag you out? It wasn't until the following morning when you heard your mom call you to come downstairs that you knew he could actually do that.

"You didn't tell me you made a new friend. Illumi here said you promised to meet him at the park to play," your mom said in a chiding tone. "Why are you still in your pajamas?"

Funnily enough, that was the first time you knew his name. His last name, however, wasn't revealed to you and your family until months later, sending your parents into a state of shock when Illumi casually mentioned it while having dinner at your home one night.

Illumi Zoldyck.

You'd been playing with the eldest son of the most dangerous assassin family in the world, and you didn't even know it. And by that time, it was too late to change anything. There was nothing you could do but lower your head, accept your fate, and play any game he was in the mood for, whether it was hide and seek, board games, or whatever random, fun ideas he came up with.

The fun ideas were the worst. Sometimes, it was just you following him around like a shadow because he ordered you not to lose sight of him. If you did, you'd get punished. That was his definition of fun.

Locking you in the sleek, black car his family sent to pick him up was one of the punishments. He'd tell you to get in first, and then he'd follow and sit beside you in the back seat before telling the chauffeur to drive without telling them where he wanted to go. After he made sure you texted your parents that you'd be home late, watching you like a hawk as you typed each word and tapped send, your phone would then be confiscated for the rest of the endless ride.

This meant hours in silence, as you'd rather die than make small talk with Illumi to kill time. And sleeping was out of the question. If he caught you closing your eyes for a little too long, he'd poke you in the waist to startle you out of your attempt.

To keep you up and present. His word, not yours.

If not a car ride, he'd make you watch him hurt something—or someone—often with his weird-looking needles he carried with him everywhere. He'd stick them into his targets, animals and humans alike, and they would cry, drop to the ground, and thrash agonizingly. Only when he pulled the needles out did the pain seem to stop.

He did that to your ex-friends, the ones who fled the moment they saw him and left you to face him alone, saying something about having to complete several missions in order to be allowed to come out of his house and play, and them not wanting to cooperate totally wasted his time.

"Good thing I had her," he said, cocking his head to the side as he observed the writhing bodies on the ground before turning to you. "Good thing she stayed."

You did, and even after fifteen years had passed, you were still with him.

You didn't know it at the time what knowing Illumi would entail, didn't know you'd lose your parents in a car accident just a few years later. Tragic deaths caused by bad weather and slippery road, making them lose control of the vehicle and plunge off the cliff. That was what you were told.

Thereafter, you were hired as a butler by the Zoldyck family, and since then, your new home had been the Kukuroo Mountain. Since then, Illumi had become an even bigger part in your life.

As your master and teacher, he taught you to use nen, to utilize your weak aura and make it stronger. He trained you hard and well enough to work with him, to assist him, heal him, but never well enough to hide from him, never that. His lessons were deliberate, crafted just for you. For some reason, you'd never get to learn how to leave this man.

You had tried to use Zetsu to conceal your aura, so he wouldn't sense you, but the moment you put one foot in front of the other with the intention to leave, he always knew—exactly what you were thinking, exactly where you were.

When it came to hide and seek, Illumi never lost. And although you both didn't play it anymore, it didn't feel like the game had ended at all. For a long while, you had wondered why he'd want to keep you so close to him, or to be precise, why he never grew out of his childish obsession of having you as his one and only, carefully-selected playmate.

The answer came to you one winter night as you watched him sleep, his body nestled against yours under the blanket. Eighteen and constantly questioning your life choices, or lack thereof, you had an epiphany.

You were the only friend he had.

The one he left in the forest on more than one occasion when it was your turn to be the seeker and yet the same one he had asked his mother if he could have share his room. You might call him 'Master Illumi' and do whatever he commanded, but then again, it was you who tended to his wounds while listening to him vent about his day. It was you who played with his hair until he fell asleep.

He had beautiful hair, jet-black, silky, and not short anymore as he'd decided to grow it out. He loved it when you ran your fingers through it. At such times, when he closed his eyes and breathed in and out evenly, welcoming your touch, it was almost like he had ceased being a cold-blooded assassin and had turned into a normal man who sought not violence but warmth. And for a moment, you were safe from his antics, cruel and sadistic antics that had later become something more perverted than evil as you both grew older.

You were nineteen when he threw his needles at you mid-sparring. It wasn't the first time he used them on you, but it was the first time you didn't remember anything after they pierced your skin. Normally, you'd just be paralyzed; you'd still see things that happened around you even though you couldn't move a muscle. But that time, everything went black, and when you regained consciousness, you were lying against Illumi's naked chest in a bathtub and his long fingers were pumping in and out of your pussy.

You remembered trying to get up from the tub, but because you were still disoriented and he was much stronger, you kept getting yanked back against his chest. When you were still enough, he lifted one of your legs and rested it over the edge of the tub, and then he got back to work, fucking your pussy until you came right there on his deft fingers.

He'd been a perverted, touch-starved demon ever since, and it was ridiculous how stable he was with this kind of thing. Because now at twenty two, he still found a way to touch you at every opportunity. Time and time again, he'd grope you when no one was watching. Walking past each other in the hallway would result in him pressing his needle against your throat just to back you into the nearest empty room for a couple of kisses, and more times than you could count, those kisses would then turn into a full make-out session, and he'd end up sucking your neck a little too hard and leave bruises that would raise a few eyebrows.

On some nights when playing with his hair failed to lull him to sleep, it wasn't unusual for him to hold you close and rub his swollen manhood on you while whispering possessively in your ear, reminding you that you belonged to him and him only.

He had taken his time with you, like a predator playing with its pray. Because despite the lewd advances, he had never actually gone all the way, but at this point, you knew it was only a matter of time.

That wasn't to say you were ready when it actually happened.

You didn't know what had gotten into him, but things got a bit intense last night, and by the end of it, you were left battered and beyond used. One minute it was a harmless grinding. You were both lying on your sides, and Illumi was fucking your thighs from behind. His cock was rubbing against your pussy's lips with every thrust but never penetrating, and that was how things were supposed to be. Nothing could have prepared you for the way he pushed his cock all the way inside you in the next unguarded moment. The action was sudden and absolute, as if to tell you he demanded no argument, and all you had to do was take it.

"This is nice," he said in your ear. "You feel so good around me."

"Master Illumi," you gasped and heard him huff a laugh.

"Yes?" he murmured.

"Am I—"

"Am I what?"

He began to move, slowly at first, but it didn't take long before he was pounding hard into you. Both of your naked bodies intertwined, so close, as though they were about to merge into one. In the midst of the intimacy, a series of questions rang deafeningly in your mind.

What if this changed everything? What if this was more serious than you thought? What if this was your life from now on? What if fifteen years were not enough to satisfy his twisted fixation? He had taken your parents from you. An accident? You knew Illumi too well to believe that lie. He killed them, and now he was fucking you, taking your body even though he already had your freedom. What was next, you life? Well, he already had that, too.

You felt tears prick your eyes as you asked, "Am I not your friend?"

"Of course you are," he answered after a short pause. "But don't you get it?"

He grabbed your face and forced you to turn your head to look at him.

"You were meant to be more."

Your thoughts were interrupted when the car came to a stop in front of what appeared to be an abandoned house. Turning your head to the driver's side, you found Illumi behind the wheel, staring straight ahead down the road at a low-rise hotel with an illuminated sign of its name at the top. He wore green today, looking as regal as ever and a tad more content than usual.

All you could think about as you took in his side profile was how sore your pussy was and that it was all because of him. The rest of the night was quickly replayed in your mind, and in all shameful honesty, it was mostly just you being fucked all over the room after that little conversation between you and him.

You remembered trying to fight him when he wouldn't let you rest after dumping his cum inside you for the third time. Annoyed and exhausted, you snapped and tried to strangle him with your nen rope, and for that, you'd learned a very important lesson.

Illumi didn't fight back or even dodge; he let it happen. He merely watched as you tightened the hold around his neck, his face turning redder and redder from the gradual increase of pressure, but never once did he utter a sound. You felt it in your heart that he would let you do it, that this was it, the chance to be free of him, but at the same time, you knew Illumi wouldn't fight a battle he wasn't sure he could win.

And he was right, as always, because he won.

The moment you let go of the rope, he immediately flipped you onto your back, shoved his still-throbbing cock in, and fucked you limp. He made sure you came on it too, and considering you had just tried to kill him, coming so hard your cunt pulsed around his dick was total a disgrace to your pride.

"I'm supervising this time," Illumi said, snatching you out of your memory. His gaze was now shifted to you. "You're on your own."

"You're coming with me, right?"

"I'll wait here."

It wasn't as if you had never been assigned a mission before, but it was the first time you had to complete it alone. The fact that Illumi was going to let you step out of this car, walk to that hotel the target was staying in, kill them, all without him watching your every move, told you more about what he was thinking than words could ever do.

He knew now you would never leave.

But you wanted to, you swore.

He knew last night changed everything.

And you wished it hadn't!

He knew you cared.

Because despite everything, he was your friend, too.

"Do you want me to fuck you in this car," he said and suddenly leaned across the center console towards you, "right here, right now?"

You blinked, eyes wide and face suddenly very warm, and quietly shook your head.

"Then stop looking at me like that."

He said that, but instead of backing away, he placed one hand on your thigh and then slowly dragged it up your body, unhurriedly, like you both had all the time in the world and there wasn't a job waiting to be finished. You held your breath, waiting to see where Illumi was heading with his little touch. When he stopped at your breast and gingerly kneaded it, you finally let yourself breathe and arch against his hand.

"Master Illumi," you whined, wishing whatever switch inside him wouldn't be flipped, so he would keep being gentle to you.

It was almost tolerable like this. This was okay.

"Calling me Master like I haven't spent all night breeding you."

He said against your lips and then he gave them a peck, once, twice, so uncharacteristically sweetly, yet so… him.

"It was good. No wonder Father kept knocking Mother up." He breathed the words out. "I want to do it again, wanna put my babies in you."

Illumi had always been a straightforward person, and he could say the most outrageous things, and you wouldn't be fazed. But now, you felt your face burn just from listening to those last few words that sounded suspiciously like a promise.

"I—I gotta go," you said before withdrawing yourself from his touch.

He hummed his assent and let you go without a fuss; his pitch-black eyes told you he'd wait for you to come back to him, that he knew you'd come back to him, that you'd better not disappoint him by thinking this was a chance to do something stupid.

Like running away from him and the life he had planned for you.

You closed the car door and began to walk, alone, accompanied by no one but the quietness of the night. But despite the illusion of freedom, you knew you were still shackled, tied to the man who had robbed you of the life you were supposed to live, bound by his will to possess you in every way imaginable. Yet you marched on, inhaling deeply and appreciating the solitude that you knew would not last.

This was okay, you told yourself.

This was okay.

[butterymangowrites]

HI. omg you’re on tumblr as well! i came from ao3 and i don’t think i’ve expressed my love hard enough for your writing and the author so this is me!!! telling you that i binge read your works in one go and sjwpwhje i can’t stop reading them!

something about the articulation and vocabs that you poured out is just so mesmerising to me… and i lovelovelove when i get shivers from reading something—just indicating that i felt your words to my BONES!

bllk and hq community is so lucky to have you in it (me, i’m lucky!) 😭🩷 i love u!! sending u all the happiness in this world~

you’re too kind 😭 thank you for reading my works. i really don’t know what to say, i’m so just happy you liked them. i hope you’re having a nice day! and tbh, the community is lucky to have YOU cause there can be many writers, but it’s the readers that keep them going. thank you again!

[butterymangowrites]

Your fanfics are amazing!!! The way you write the characters is totally astonishing! Your words are so perfectly chosen and you don’t miss the details🥹 I also want to know if you’re willing to do requests, because I really want to see how you write my favorite Blue Lock characters. Keep up the good work, and take care of yourself!! :)

💗 thank you so much for dropping the message. i also have to say sorry because i don’t do requests, truly, truly sorry. i’m a very slow writer and i often find myself with writer’s block, so i’m not brave enough to accept requests yet, as i’m afraid i’ll not be able to finish them 😭 i hope you understand.

i do really appreciate your message. please take care of yourself too.

[butterymangowrites]

my dear butter, i have come to rot in your writing again. This time Ten years in the making Bakugo couldn't leave my mind. If i truly were the reader my ego would've been fairly hurt and I'd whoop his ass any day now. He's a jerk, but we love him in this house. I couldn't help myself from re-reading Samu's piece, gosh damn to this day i still wonder what could've happen if only she reported him to the police instead of following him, can't blame her tho he's hot as hell... And your Kageyama now chooses to permanently live in my brain. Also, do u have any fic recs or a writer? For Haikyuu works i recommend Seijorhi, she's great at what she does. I do recommend reading All In by her, btw i went ahead and checked out your Bunny fic, delicious as it is, y'know damn well I'd plow that man's back every day of the week. Truly love your writing! Keep up the good work and don't forget to take care of your health (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

Samu's ass would've been in jail lol. Reader made a mistake, but his actions were 100% deliberate.

Thank you for your kind message and the rec. I looooove Seijorhi's fics. Her masterlist is the hq x reader fandom's treasure.

As for my recs, i can't help but rec The Bug Collector by milky_mangoes again. I've recommended it once in an earlier ask. It is just soooo gooood.

As well as,

all yours; all mine by deluluass < so hawt. tsumu is so trashy in this. If you love ten years in the making bakugo, you'll probably love him.

you know you make my cold heart warm with a touch by wttcsms

He’s Just Not Right by azulalord

If you're in the mood for a long fic, give His by PBelfz a go. This one's dark, but it's worth every minute.

Happy reading and you too, take care. Have a good day wherever you are! 💗