⏾ NAZA ── twenty (she/her) ᯓ writing blog catered to adult readers ᯓ works may contain spoilers, nsfw + dark content -> read at your own discretion !
i just started this page, so please forgive anything under construction. on it, you will see random series', and small form content—like head-cannons, short prompts about characters or self-insert characters, etc. these of which will mostly be written and sent out of my own personal liking, put aside from asks. as for those, i will be trying to accept requests for specific characters and prompts, unless they might be too specific. may depend on how i feel that day, especially when i comes to word count. i get stressed out easy lol.
in the future, i feel that i would be more than willing to do paid commissions for longer forms of content with those specific details that a lot of you guys would prefer. feel free to ask me about it in my dms, and i'll do my best to accommodate.
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requests / inbox (that also includes conversations & suggestions) are closed. if you’re ever interested in sending one in when it's open, read the rules before doing so. thank you.
⏾ fxxez — please don't copy, steal, or translate any of my work.
Suguru's long hair draped over his shoulders, the dark tips tickling your collarbones. Every now and then, it would somehow end up between your lips, and you'd reach your hand up to pull the wet strand away. Not that it bothered you; that was the last thing you could find yourself thinking about.
How could this ever be wrong? You'd conjured up this thought, fantasized about it for nights on end when you couldn't manage anything healthier than obsession. Fingers peeling apart your pleasure in the darkness of your sheets until it was too much to bare, and you had to dial his number. Despite blocking him a week prior; oh god, you couldn't go a week. You couldn't even go two days.
All you ever wanted was to feel him. He drove to your apartment so quicky, you didn't have any time to prepare yourself for the sight of him coming through your front door. Loose clothes and the combat boots of an armed assassin. He barely made a sound when he locked it behind himself, and you launched from where you had been waiting anxiously on the living room sofa.
Eyes squint ever so soft as he put his keys on the kitchen island, looking at you directly.
"Miss me a bit too much, baby?"
Before you knew it, the walls that closed up every time you went a week without seeing him were torn down. Metaphorically, but you meant physically. He might've not been the greatest of all time in length, but he was thick, and you could feel your pelvis slowly open up every time he pushed into you. A long, quiet sigh from him, and a stuttering, pitiful whine from you.
The gentlemen he could be, when he benefited from it, gave you a couple seconds to readjust to him. Pressing his big hands on your lower belly, up and down in practiced fashion. It always felt so good, too. He probably convinced himself he could feel his dick through the layer of flesh and skin. And once you were all soft and relaxed, he didn't bother waiting. Not like you wanted him to, anyway.
You were crying in record speed, moaning like your neighbors weren't going to knock on your door again. Hell, they were gonna call the cops this time. Plap, plap, plap. With every thrust you tried to say his name, or say anything that might dignify you, but you don't why you even made the attempt. This was your drug. And he was your dealer, panting against your strained neck as he pounded in and out of you.
"Please- Please, ohmygod-" He slowly came to a faint laugh, his hot breath fanning down your chest as he lifted himself up onto his knees.
Wasn't like he was the sane one, either. He put his speedometer in the 90s on his way here, but at least he didn't try to deny what he knew he wanted. This was an exchange, he just didn't make it so fucking pathetically obvious. You were a wreck—a sad little car racking up his miles, and he was having an incredibly hard time throwing you to the scrapyard. Every glow on your skin, the vibration of your voice. He'd come and spend thousands to fix you, you just had to say please.
An end was building, and he was going to prolong it as long as he possibly could. Bruising your hips with his grasp, pulling out slowly just to slam right back in. "That's it... There you go. Stay just the way you are. Fuck..."
You tried to resist, but you couldn't ever change.
You couldn't crawl away if you tried to. You wanted to stay right here, on the edge of an orgasm he dragged you through for hours, putting you through ten different positions until he was satisfied with the look on your dumb face. And in the morning, when you were sore and gross with bodily fluids, he'd fuck you again. Put your head in the pillows and create a personal battle with your spines ability to stay at an angle. Right up until he left, before the morning doves sang.
Rolling your eyes around in the back of your head, you gathered all the strength you had to look at him. Hands wrapped around his wrists, mouth wide open for anything he wanted to give. "I-I love you... Love it so m-much."
He never said it back, but you knew he wouldn't.
this keeps getting flagged but ive seen way worse on this app.
𖦹 pwawr. — please don't copy, steal, or translate any of my work.
Water rushed down your face as you closed your eyes, holding your breath. When they opened, the sight of a once clear pail tinted pink in the absence of blood that sprinkled your nose and cheeks; you frowned blankly, and pushed off.
The sound of metal clanked against a wooden side table when you trot down the dimly darkened hallway to the living room, enlightened by Micah’s figure as he sat comfortably in an old, antique lounge chair. His red button up draped the backrest, echoing his inability to feel any morsel of shame, cleaning one out of two of his dual pistols. You didn’t realize you were staring when his blindingly bright eyes lassoed yours, and mutual eye contact was made. The grin his yellowing teeth dressed made you shudder, and lean further into the corner of the wall.
He inspected the pistol in his hand as he spoke. “I thought red looked good on a lady.”
Your gaze found the tips of your bare toes, gliding across the floorboards to pick up your own pistol from the table of guns and put yourself sitting on the sofa next to him—he continued talking despite your avoidance.
“Better on my ladies, of course. Not so much swine…“ The pistol hovered in his face as he ogled at it.
As you watched him switch guns, cleaning the next one with rough strokes, anxious—suffering a withdrawal from the enjoyment of his finger constantly set, ready to pull the trigger. You half expected him to point it at you and blow your brains on the wall behind you once he’d finally finished. Paint the room red in your loss.
Would he honestly carry you back home to camp if you ever died near him? Where would Hosea bury you if you passed away? Who’d you want him to give your things to? John would like your pistol; Dutch would cry and vomit in anguish over your grave if knew he sent you away on a mission with the man who’d inevitably take your life.
Red. The grip of both Micah’s gun handles were black and engraved with skulls, tacky and showing personality. Not red—maybe pink. You thought they were pink, since the day Dutch brought him back to camp. Your eyebrows furrowed.
“They’re pink.”
His eyes leisurely found you again, and you stilled when you sensed the heat of them, swallowing thickly as he thought intently in a dragged out silence.
“And here I thought Dutch was joking around when he said you were colorblind.” Your teeth clenched, and he resumed his task. “... They’re red, sweetheart.”
You didn’t believe that, but you didn’t bother fighting the obvious entrance into an argument that could only end in your defeat.
⏾ fxxez — please don't copy, steal, or translate any of my work.
"I- I love you... I loved you!” She pitifully sobs, face flushed and her words cracked with all the sorrow she’s built up over the years. So full, she can’t even breathe. “You were everything to me… You were all that I wanted.”
For a while, that’s the only thing she does. Mutter soft, sad whispers of her love as he stares at her. Eyes that were once stonecold hours prior, holding a tender regard for the girl he can still see—curled up in tears after shooting her first buck or coming home covered head to toe in human blood, wondering who he was becoming, and if he was going to hurt her.
In the end, it seems he did just that.
“My… dad. M- My daddy- I loved you-” Her lungs sucked up all the air she could manage in one single intake, sharp and vulnerable. “I would have done anythin’... I was gunna’ kill him. Was gunna’ kill ’em, because he hurt me. Because he-”
A sudden burst of hot fury made her lids pull back, teeth barred as she forced her body upward in his direction with a weak growl. Nonetheless, she stood no chance; he’d always been her achilles heel, and kept her firm in the grass.
“He took you from me! You were mine- You were everything, and then all you wanted was money- a- and freedom, and- everything that wasn’t me!”
Snot caked on her upper lip in a disgusting show, but Dutch didn’t see her any differently. This was exactly how he remembered her, and forever would. An angry, sad little girl he couldn’t control, and would always strive to keep. Even when he lost who he was along the way. He wanted to wipe her tears with his thumb and make her sweet again, but he’d long since waited; he would never get that chance.
Sighing long through his nose, he spoke softly. "I should've never sent you on that run ."
The coil in her chest grew tighter, a new kind of misery. “You knew…?”
“Not for certain…” He told the truth, for may have been the first time in his life. The way he truly felt, despite never telling anyone. Especially the people that mattered. “But I knew… my little girl was hurting in more ways than I could understand, that night in Clemmons Point. That I knew.”
She didn't know where all the tears dried up.
“... You didn’t show me. Why’d you stop showing me…?”
He doesn’t respond.
“... I would have followed you everywhere.”
A life unfulfilled, without an action ever taken. “I know.”
⏾ fxxez — please don't copy, steal, or translate any of my work.
⏾ hello party people of tumblr. i'm a new writing page, and i was wondering if anyone might have any advice for me! i used to write and post in 2023 but it's been a while since i got back into the swing of things, it's hard to make connections and get my work out there lol.
my name is naza and i focus on the darker subjects a lot of the time. as well as darker forms of media, like red dead redemption, monsters like nosferatu, dracula, frankenstein, different horror genres and such.
