kuzuu

spanish // he/him // requests OPEN :p

[httpskuzuu]

KUZUU

★ call me kuzuu ;) ★ he/him ★

BLOG

★ bsd blog ★ yandere blog ★

tw: this blog contains dark content, specifically yandere themes. If you don't feel comfortable with that, please leave

➜ Masterlists: BSD ★ Oc

➜ Requests open (if a character is not included in my masterlist, it is because I don't write for it)

➜ Rules

Be nice, adiós adiós :>

this was fun to do :D

the artwork is not mine, credits to whom it may concern

[httpskuzuu]

A place to call home

I'm still alive, I know, quite a surprise

I haven't been in the mood to write, but I had this one-shot saved for a while, so I decided to edit it and upload it

Yandere!God x Reader

idk english

summary: You just want to go home. Your kidnapper doesn't seem to understand that

tw: kidnapping, this has nothing to do with any religion

Calling this place hell would be an exaggeration, but, damn, you wanted to tear your hair out from boredom. 

You lost track of time too long ago, you don't even know if time passes here!

Four walls, no door, no windows. Four walls decorated to your taste, but suffocating nonetheless.

At first, you entertained yourself by thinking about your situation. It all makes so little sense. A god kidnapping a human. Why? You've asked yourself this question so many times, and there are still no answers.

You don't even know why you're here. He talks about a so-called desire, love if you want to call it that, but you doubt it. You doubt that he feels the same way you or other people feel, but even so, he seems to feel something.

You sigh in defeat. Continuing to dwell on this issue will not help you in any way.

“You look frustrated.” His voice echoes throughout the room. From all directions and none at the same time. You open your eyes wearily, staring at the ceiling as if you could see him.

You would respond with something sarcastic, but you know that he won't even care a little, so you decide to remain silent.

“Is something bothering you?” If only his voice conveyed some emotion, it would make your life easier.

“Everything. I hate this place.”

“I see. What do you want me to change? Ask, and I will fulfill it.” His words caress parts of your brain that they shouldn’t. The very idea of being able to ask a god for anything and have him fulfill whatever you ask for just because you are you is so ridiculous and fantastical, but somehow it warms your heart.

You hate this feeling.

“No, it's not that... I just want to get out of here, go back to my house.”

“I can fix that.” Wait, was he serious? 

Before you can process his words, the room fills with fog, preventing you from seeing beyond it. You remain in uncertainty for a few seconds, your heart racing and unable to see even your legs, until it dissipates.

Your surroundings have changed. You recognize where you are: your room.

Tears threaten to spill as you take in the familiarity that surrounds you. You run your hands over the sheets on the bed—your bed—almost afraid they will disappear like an illusion. They don't.

The energy you lost during your period of confinement returns to your body in a wave. You rush out the door. You are at home; it is your home.

Was everything that happened to you, the kidnapping, real? Thinking about it calmly, it doesn't seem so. Maybe hallucinations? A vivid dream? But it felt so real, you swear you can still hear his voice in your ear.

But none of that matters anymore, not when you approach the front door. Whether it's part of your mind or not, it felt fucking real. You miss your friends and family. 

When you open the door to go out, nothing. A white void greets you. There is no floor, no walls, no ceiling. Your reality is shattered.

“W-What?”

“This is what you wanted, isn't it? I made an exact copy of your house. I hope you enjoy it.” Again, his voice piercing in and out of your mind. “I can also recreate the entire world if you want, or the universe so you can admire the beauty there. Anything you want, just say it.”

A weight is implanted in your stomach. You will not escape from him. 

I also have some drafts about Fyodor and other ocs saved. If I don't get too lazy, I'll upload them soon

[httpskuzuu]

A strong word

Yandere!Dazai x Reader

idk english

summary: you need a little break from your daily life. Dazai decides to keep you company

tw: drug addiction, relapse, harassment, mention of breaking and entering, reader is weird, nsfw conversations, a bit oc¿ maybe, I'm pretty sure there's more, but I don't remember

You weren't an extra in a poorly made horror movie. You know when something is wrong.

You could feel eyes fixed on your back, watching your every move even in your own house. You noticed that from time to time some insignificant object disappeared from your house, other times it was not so insignificant things. And, most telling of all: You began to meet in a supposedly casual way with an eccentric man full of bandages.

You don't understand your bad luck. You always end up involved with weirdos.

That man, Osamu Dazai, was trying to flirt with you in the strangest ways known to man.

As he grabbed your hand, he gently ran a finger over it. You didn't know if this was supposed to be seductive. “You're the reason I've lived so far, just so I could commit double suicide with you, Belladonna.”

Your responses were obviously not positive. But he didn't give up. You would meet somewhere very casually and not at all suspiciously, he would try to flirt with you and you would stare at him silently with a poker face until the atmosphere was so uncomfortable that you had to separate. Still, you never verbally rejected him, nor did you want to. There was a strange amusement in that the two of you had.

You must be the only freak in the world who found it entertaining to be stalked by another freak.

“And you haven't by any chance been stealing stuff from my house or watching me or anything, have you, 'Samu?” It was funny to see his face after your accusation. He still maintained his smile, but it was obvious his bewilderment.

From that moment when you made it clear that you knew, Dazai became much more obvious. One day he left you a note on the table at home: “I love your perfume, my dear! I'll borrow it :D”. Other times he would come straight into your house while you were still at home to spend time together. Apparently he had made copies of your keys. Lovely.

But today you couldn't go on with your cat and mouse game or whatever your relationship was.

Ups and downs are part of recovery, so say all the doctors you went to in your youth. If that's true, it wouldn't matter a little up and down in your life. The problem is that you didn't want Dazai to see you like this, the way you are right now. It would be giving him too much power over you. You couldn't bear the thought of him laughing at you, of him knowing the fact that you are weak.

So you packed a backpack with money, a change of clothes, your cell phone, charger and most importantly, pills. You took two whole tablets full of little white circles that looked at you and laughed in synchrony for your defeat. You ended up in the first motel you found and prayed that Dazai hadn't followed you.

And now here you are, lying face down on an uncomfortable bed, with a tablet and a half of pills in your system. Your movements are slow as you sit up in bed. You grab the half-empty bottle of water from the bedside table and drink a mouthful accompanied by two more pills. You awkwardly count the empty spaces on the tablets, giving you seventeen. You take seventeen pills.

You fell back on the bed, too tired to find a position where you weren't drowning against the pillow.

All would have been peace and happiness if you hadn't heard someone opening the door.

“Is someone having fun here?” bastard.

“What are you doing here?” you don't know if your mouth has gotten smaller or if your tongue has gotten fatter, but it's uncomfortable to talk.

“I was curious to see what the love of my life was doing in a cheap motel.”

Your mouth was like a desert, you couldn't produce saliva. Well, actually you could, but very little, not enough. “Give me some water.”

“What's the magic word?” You're going to kill him, you swear you're going to kill him.

“If you don't give me water I'll die and it'll be all your fault... Please.”

Dazai laughs, but it doesn't take him long to fulfill your whim. He pushes your limp body until you are lying on your side, facing Dazai. He squats down with the water bottle in his hand and a smile on his face. It doesn't look mocking, though you're not in a state where you can be sure of that.

Water runs down the side of your mouth, ruining the sheets, but you don't care. It feels good to have a cold mouth.

“I can't believe you tried to die on your own - and I thought we had something special!” He shrieks dramatically. You don't feel like reacting, you just lie back down with your face against the bed. Seeing him now, making eye contact with him in your state, it's too much, you can't. You hide in the mental fog.

“I'm not going to die.”

You don't quite know what happens after that. Dazai says more things, but they go through your head too fast to process. You think you've fallen asleep at some point, if you have the man doesn't say anything.

What wakes you from your trance is the sound of your name. Dazai has apparently moved without you noticing, sitting on the bed next to your useless body. One of his bony hands is resting on your lower back, too close to your ass. Fuck, the pills should diminish sexual desire, not make you horny for these things.

In the end you'll be weirder than Dazai.

“Why did you get high again?” The word again rings in your mind, did he know about your past? Well, seeing as you always know where you stand, you wouldn't be surprised if he knew about the things you did when you were younger.

“Ups and downs are part of recovery.” You repeat it as your personal mantra. Indeed it is. An excuse so cheap that even you see through it.

“Ups and downs is the same as relapsing? I didn't know that.” You hate that tone. It mocks you. It mocks your problems. Maybe that hatred is what gives you the strength to swing your arm and punch him.

You can't see if he's surprised or if he doesn't give a shit. Your hand hurts from the blow he delivered near his forearm, but that could just be because you feel things more than you usually do. You doubt you've done him any real harm.

“Aggressive!” Dazai pretends to cry and again the mockery bubbles in his throat. But suddenly his dramatic whimpering stops. “Are you crying?”

What? Ah, apparently so. You had begun to sob. Sobs that were drowned out by the pillow but still reached the culprit's ears. How pathetic and weak. If you keep this up you'll bore Dazai, he'll see through your facade of indifference and leave you.

“Fuck you.” God, you need a bottle of vodka or more pills.

You reach for the remaining tablet you left lying on the bed, but your fingers meet only the softness of the sheets. Where the fuck did you leave it?

“No more pills. I'm surprised you're still awake with the amount you took.” You hated it. You came to this shitty motel just so I wouldn't fuck around, but apparently even that couldn't work out for you.

You try to sleep, to forget everything. The uncertainty of whether you will wake up is not as strong as the pills.

You don't know how long you went between unconsciousness and consciousness, but when you fully wake up you still have the effect of the drugs in your system. The only thing that catches your attention amidst your blurred vision and the fogginess of your mind is that there is someone lying next to you.

Right, Dazai had come for some reason you can't remember. Where were you again?

You turn your head and the world spins, but you manage to glare at the man next to you, looking at you with a serious face you can't even take in. “Where are we?”

“A motel.”

“Aren't motels for fucking?” The words come scattered, stumbling out of your mouth. “Did we fuck?”

Dazai's stern expression disappears, giving way to a playful smile. “No, but I won't refuse if you're interested.”

“If you want you can use me, but don't be offended if I fall asleep.” When you sober up you'll probably hate yourself for practically blurting out one of your fetishes to your stalker's face. But it's worth seeing Dazai's face, one that is never surprised. Did you really say something that crazy? Apparently you did because you managed to catch Osamu Dazai off guard.

He pulls himself together faster than you'd like him to. “That's a lovely idea, Bella, but I'd rather you were in your five senses.” He turned out to be quite the gentleman, who knew.

...Why were you in a bed with Dazai? You forget again. You don't care enough to ask, it's not like you're uncomfortable either. He has one of his hands on your back, stroking it up and down and you almost fall into the clutches of sleep again.

“Don't get your hopes up, I'd only let you fuck me if you loved me.” You don't realize your words and it's funny this way. You missed the fuzzy, peaceful feeling that being high gives you. You don't even remember why you decided to get high.

Anyway, Dazai seems surprised again. It's an interesting view. You should say things out of place more often.

“So you're the romantic type... I see, I see.”

“Don't you love me?”

There is a silence that makes you regret speaking, but it is too late to take a step back. You would have preferred a sober confession. You would have preferred that there was no confession in the first place. With this you have put an end to your stalker-victim relationship, you are sure that Dazai will get up and leave and…

“I love you.” There didn't seem to be an ounce of mockery in his expression, just a quiet, loving smile? You weren't sure. Suddenly you feel very warm, it's uncomfortable. You can't stand his gaze on you so you hide your face against the bed again.

You fall asleep after that. No more conversation, no more looks, what were you supposed to say? Oh yes Samu, I love you too. Let's get married and be happy in a little house in the country.

When you wake up, everything feels horrible. Your head hurts and spins, your stomach roars, you feel nauseous... And Dazai is not by your side.

You don't remember much, only that he was an idiot and that he told you he loved you. Apparently your brain only keeps what it's interested in. You don't like to think about the twinge of pain you feel in your chest when you see the empty bed.

That's it, you fucked up. He dumped you and now you'll have to go on with your life with all the shame that entails.

“You woke up!” a male voice makes you turn toward the door. There stands Dazai, a smile plastered on his lips. And it feels like a knife stabbing at you has been taken away. He hasn't left. He hasn't abandoned you. He loves you. “I was about to pronounce you dead.”

He quickly lies down next to you on the bed. There is a genuine desire to hug him and not let him escape from your arms.

“You know, you said a lot of funny things while you were high.” You and your big mouth.

“What stuff?” your voice sounds hoarse and you remember the bottle of water on your bedside table. It's still there, so you gulp down all the leftover water. It's warm, but you don't complain.

“Things like you wanted me to use your body and-”

“'Shut up!” Your words come out faster than you can process the sentence. God, what is wrong with you? You're such an idiot. How can you even think of saying such things.

Dazai laughs. “Well, if you still want me to fuck you while you're high, you can always let me know.”

That earns him a punch in his shoulder with what little strength you have.

“I remember something you said too, 'Samu.”

“The what?” You wonder if it's worth breaking off your strange friendship just to get back at him for making you feel embarrassed. Yes, it is.

“You said you loved me.” Dazai's smile disappears with that, though you can tell by his expression that you weren't hallucinating. He did tell you that he loved you.

“Sure, why else would I ask you for double suicide?” Even though the man tries to act like he always does, there is something different. The forced smile, the look that avoids you....

You can only laugh when you see him that way. There is also a feeling of relief that embraces you. He loves you. God, he loves you. Do you love him? Well, the word love seems very strong to you, but on second thought, why would you get this excited to hear about his feelings if you didn't have feelings for him yourself?

“Well... You're lucky I like weirdos like you.”

[httpskuzuu]

In the sky

I know this is a BSD blog, but I've been wanting to start writing my own characters for a long time now

does this mean that I will stop writing for BSD? no, I will keep writing about them when I feel like it, but I will also add my own ocs to my masterlist

Yandere!God x Reader

idk english

summary: a wish to make you happy

tw: kidnapping, this has nothing to do with any religion

"I want to touch a cloud." A childish wish, typical of a child who spends hours staring at the sky instead of paying attention in class, but you don't let that stop you from mentioning it.

"A cloud? Is that your wish?" His voice sounds from every possible direction. It seems to speak inside and outside your head in equal parts, but that doesn't take away how angelic it sounds, with a soft echo echo echoing through the room.

"Yes, please." Silence follows your request, you're not quite sure whether to apologize for asking such a stupid thing or to insist.

Before you can make a decision, a thick fog covers the room you are locked in. You can no longer see the majestic furniture in the room, until you are completely blinded.

You still feel the bed fluffy under your body and cling to the sheets, afraid that at any moment you will lose support.

Your heart beats loudly, echoing in your ears. Maybe you annoyed him with your request, of course, how could you think of asking something with so little sense to a god? When he proposed you to ask for something, just to make you happy, surely he expected you to ask him to talk to your friends, to your family again, maybe more entertainment, but not to touch a cloud.

But suddenly the fog dissipates and a pure sky greets you. The sky, a sky you haven't seen for too long. You're still in your bed, but all around you is blue sky and clouds that look like cotton candy.

"I'm afraid you can't touch a cloud, it's just vapor, but I hope this will satisfy your wish just the same." His voice rings out again. You turn your head every which way, hoping for the first look at your captor's face, but as always, nothing appears.

Your head completely erases your disappointment when one of the clouds that adorned the sky approaches you until it is in front of your face. You reach out your hands and try to touch it, almost as if it were a puppy, but your hands pass right through it.

An icy cold and dampness is what greets your hands in there.

"Do you feel happy?" You nod, as you tuck your arms even further into the cloud. For some reason, the feeling of being in there fascinates you.

Maybe the next thing you can ask for is to see what he looks like?

I'm not sure if I'll keep writing about him, but hey, I'm not sure if I'll keep writing about him

at one point I thought about writing him with neutral pronouns, but since I write it in spanish first and in that language there are no pronouns like that (there is the elle, although it is not official, but it is very uncomfortable for me) I decided to discard the idea. maybe in the future

[httpskuzuu]

Chuuya gets jealous because you flirted with another man on a mission

Jealous

i have had this request for about 4 months now¿ god

Chuuya x Reader

idk english

summary: the ask 😀

tw: I think nothing really

It was just a mission, just a mission. Easy, simple. Nothing to get nervous about.

You were just doing your job: getting the information. It wasn't your fault that the man was so kind to you, that he would throw nice words at you without even acknowledging Chuuya's presence. It wasn't your fault that the target asked you to dance.

But it got on his nerves. Oh, it's really been a long time since he hated anyone this much. He thought his limit was stuck with Dazai, but suddenly this stranger comes along, flirts with you in front of him, and breaks his record for how much he can hate a person.

Hate how he puts his hands on your waist, how he sticks you to his body. Chuuya was never so invasive with you when you first met, he never intruded on your personal space unlike this man.

He should beat him up, kill him, destroy him with his skill... But he has a mission to do and that is more important than his jealousy.

He trusts you completely, that's why he lets you do your job. If you need to accept his sugar-coated words and dance invitation to get the necessary information out of him, Chuuya won't interfere. 

You are a professional, his work partner. He trusts you not only as a mob executive, but also as his significant other.

Still, it's hard to control his temper with the horrible scene in front of his eyes. Besides, he dances much better than that man...

Finish the song and excuse yourself to rejoin Chuuya. You have all the information you need, that idiot just needed a couple of nice smiles and couldn't stop talking. You both walked out of the fancy restaurant without being seen, but just when you thought you were going straight to his motorcycle, Chuuya pushes off to the other side.

A dark alley, poorly lit by street lamps.

Honestly, you're not surprised when you end up with your back pressed against one of the walls. You're not surprised to see Chuuya so... possessive.

You had noticed his gaze, how his eyebrows furrowed, how his lips tightened. And in those moments you just wanted to laugh, to tease your boyfriend for getting jealous over a mission. You had to keep up the facade inside the restaurant, but now that it was just the two of you you could laugh in peace.

“What are you laughing at?!” his hands tighten on your waist, keeping your body pressed against his.

“Someone's jealous.” You scoff as you tilt your head to the side. Your hand wanders along his scarred jaw. You could tell how he gritted his teeth.

“Bullshit. That asshole can't even reach my ankles.” He keeps his face close to your neck, smelling the expensive perfume you give off. He slowly trails kisses up to your jaw, then moves to your cheek and finally to your lips.

It's a kiss that seems to take all the air out of your lungs. He makes sure to keep you close, just as you were with that man. But with Chuuya it's very different. Your body is less tense, with a smile that he doesn't need to force.

“Chuuya is jealous.” You say teasingly when you part.

“Shut up.”

[httpskuzuu]

haaaaiii this i don’t have a req 4 you or anything i just wanted to say ur latest fyodor fic was super duper good i loved it so much omg o(≧v≦)o keep up the good work!!!

omg tysm, that fic cost me a lot to write lol ❤️

[httpskuzuu]

Closer

am i a whore for writing this? (yes)

Yandere!Fyodor x Ftm!Reader

idk english

summary: You try to escape just to experience pleasure. It ends better than expected

tw: NSFW, dubcon (maybe nocon¿ reader is high, but he starts the contact sooo), ftm reader, afab reader (only specified that he has a pussy), kidnapping, pill abuse, drug addiction, self-harm, masochism, degradation, Stockholm syndrome, emotional dependence, escape attempt, blood, mentions of punishment (hunger, abandonment, silent treatement), nicknames like whore, pet and slut, feelings of shame, vomit, somnophilia, fingering, spankings, vaginal sex, overstimulation

The cuts were not as deep as you wanted them to be. You want to see the flesh splitting apart and lines of blood coming out of them. You want more pain, more control, more pleasure. 

You're sure when you entered the public restroom there were more people, but it seemed like everyone left after you started moaning like a whore. Squealing moans pierced your lips every time the blade caressed your skin. It's so satisfying and painful at the same time you can't stop. You want to mark all your legs, your arms, your stomach, all full of cuts and re-open them when they start to heal.

Someone knocks on the door and it is as if all the pills you stole stop working in your system. All the accumulated thoughts that kept screaming are silenced and you only hear the soft noise caused by the air conditioning of the place. You recognize the boots you can see behind the door of the cubicle where you are hiding.

You're screwed, really screwed.

There are words in Russian that you can't understand, but you know whose voice it is. Fyodor. And here you are, stuck in a public restroom, with your pants lying on the floor and your thighs covered in blood. Pathetic escape attempt, although you didn't even think of it as an escape to get away from Fyodor. In your defense, you were completely desperate for a little pleasure, pain and a lot of pills, you couldn't contain yourself.

You rub your thighs, already fucking aroused by the cuts and the haze in your mind, but hearing Dostoyevsky's voice makes you collapse in surrender. 

Time passes too slowly, or so it seems to you, and you find it hard to understand what is happening. You recap the previous events. Fyodor is out, your kidnapper is out, and you're being a whore. Well, it's looking good for the night.

“I know you are in there. Open up.” His accent caresses your brain in all the best ways. You let out a muffled moan that you pray Fyodor didn't hear. Though he surely would have heard your earlier squeals. Your brain can only focus on his voice, the rest is no more. But you know you have to do something, you have to open up to him no matter what or things could get worse. 

It's harder than you'd like to admit to moving, the slightest movement makes your thighs burn. Your legs shake like jelly and your body spasms slightly, it feels like you're freezing to death, but it can't stop. Your whole body shivers and it's not even cold, you think it's because of the excessive tension your muscles are holding. 

Upon opening, it takes you a little while to recognize him, but those violet eyes and that dead stare says enough. 

“Ah, Посмотри на себя. What a mess.” Fyodor's gaze reminds you that you're still without pants, just your underwear already wet from your arousal. His eyes seem to glisten as he examines the blood on your legs, but maybe you're just delirious. What is real is the amused smile on his lips. “What happened here?”

Your lips are trying to say “I'm sorry,” but your tongue is numb and it's uncomfortable to speak. You don't know if Fyodor understood. Fyodor doesn't seem to mind your attempts at speech as his hand ended up on your thigh, soaking his fingers in fresh blood. You almost jump in shock, but just stare at his hand with surprised eyes. His fingers are frozen and your body is too warm.

“Is this what you wanted to escape for? To cut yourself?” he finally stops touching you. He grabs the sagging pants off the floor and pushes you into the cubicle again. He closes the latch and shakes his head as his eyes return to you. You should feel ashamed, but you can't help but imagine how good Fyodor would feel if he were benevolent and fucked you right now.

He sits you on the toilet, thankfully, because you didn't know how much your legs could take before collapsing. You grab pieces of what little toilet paper there was and start wiping the blood between fresh and dried. It almost feels like he's using his fingernails to pull off the layer of dried blood. Her touch isn't kind and you can feel the intent to harm behind it, but you almost want to thank her for it. You do the only thing you can do in this situation: moan. 

The man looks up for a second, analyzing you with those cold eyes. You wonder if he'll like your moans, but it's only for a short time as your mind wanders off somewhere unknown again. You'd swear that now that he's back on his mission to clean you he's more aggressive than before, which makes your breathing become unregulated and sighs of pleasure come out. 

“So you're a disgusting masochist. Curious. Does this turn you on?” You don't have time to comprehend his words before his hand ends up tightly against your cheek. You would have fallen out of your seat if it wasn't for the wall holding you up. You really don't know whether to be confused, angry, or beg for more, but the moan that slap generates says what your silence doesn't. You look at Fyodor, those eyes wild as you caress your already red cheek. Aggressive, but the only effect it gave in you is the desire for him to tear you apart. 

“Hit me, please. Do whatever you want to me, I want pain.” You don't even know if he understands you, in your head it sounds good, but when it comes out it's almost a tongue twister. It's frustrating not being able to coordinate your sleeping lips and your tongue that seems much fatter than it really is inside your mouth.

“Pathetic.” His words say one thing, but his amused smile counteracts it. He goes back to continuing his cleaning job. Between sobs, you moan in pleasure, pain and confusion. Where were you again? Ah yes, the public toilets. Cozy place. It's small, so you feel protected despite the man's menacing presence.

When he finishes, he throws the paper in the trash can already almost overflowing and looks at you expectantly. Maybe it's the way you rub your thighs or wiggle your hips in search of at least a hint of pleasure. Before you even realize it, Fyodor's scrawny hand reaches through your underwear to touch your wet pussy. You let out a sigh of pure satisfaction. If Fyodor were to fuck you right now you could surely forget again where you were and the man who was fucking you so well with the haze of pills. He runs up and down two of his fingers, stroking you, but not inserting them inside you. When he pulls them out, they are completely wet with your juices. 

“What a slut.” With his clean hand he grabs your jaw and makes you open your mouth to slip his wet fingers in there. They are so cold in the warm wetness of your mouth that it's even satisfying. Maybe you have some strange taste for cold, too. After you run your tongue over them, he pulls them out and wipes the saliva left on them with your t-shirt.

“Let's go home.” He says as he helps you put on your pants. 

“I don't want you to... Uh, to punish me.” You try to sound as coherent as possible, like a normal human, but it seems to fail. Still, Fyodor has the convenient gift of understanding you. 

“I'm sure you'd get turned on if I did.” You reflect. Sure, physical punishments would have you begging for more, but he wasn't that kind of man. He preferred to play with your fragile mind. He knows you've built up a dependency on him like you've done for white pills and he takes advantage of every bit of your love to make you suffer. He may ignore you when you get home, abandon you there until you run out of food, so that when he returns he finds you crying and begging for his forgiveness. At first you liked to think that it was the lack of food that made you cry. What an idiotic excuse. The empty stomach feels good, the pain it causes makes you want to stay that way, but Fyodor's indifference does not.

“Are you going to hit me?”

“... We will see.” That makes you laugh like a child, forgetting the situation you're in.

The way back to Fyodor Dostoyevsky's lonely snowy hut is full of mental fog. You are only able to recognize Fyodor, his figure dressed in dark clothes, but not the white landscapes around you. Everything was fuzzy, but you follow the man closely. It's a bit comfortable not knowing what's going on as long as Fyodor is guiding you.

There was only one problem, well, actually two: The amount of pills you had taken kept making you nauseous and the cuts burned like hell when they made contact with your pants. You even think about taking them off, there won't be anyone coming down this desolate road anyway, and the cold would feel so good against your skin. The urge to vomit is what ruins your idea.

You stop walking suddenly, drawing Fyodor's attention.

“I need to throw up or, mmmh, I don't know. I feel sick” Fyodor comes over to you and strokes your hair, almost as if he's comforting you. You look up at him from below, with droopy eyes and dilated pupils. The russian's face seems to be the only thing visible in your mind, everything else goes out of focus without significance. Ah, you really liked Fyodor.

You'd like to keep admiring him, but your throat fills with bile. You don't know how you managed to function so fast, but you managed to pull away from him and vomit by the side of the road. Your throat suffered too much and it seemed like hours that you were hunched over, pushing food, water and pills out of your stomach. Mostly pills. You had stolen all the pills Fyodor had, none of them were labeled and you were desperate, so when you escaped and got to that public toilet, you took them all with the help of tap water. It was agonizing and quite disgusting trying to get a whole bottle of pills in your mouth at once. 

The taste that remains afterward is one characteristic of regret. Regretful, that's how you felt. Why did you do all this? Just to cut? Pathetic, Fyodor was right. You thought about whether you now seemed disgusting to him, or whether he stopped loving you because you were such a troublemaker.

You start crying in despair, not knowing what you are supposed to do now. You can't explain yourself, the words don't come out as they should, and you don't want Fyodor to be angry with you just for wanting the pain. You swear to yourself that you didn't mean to walk away from him, that you would have come back in when you were done with your wreckage. He is at your side before you know it. He holds your trembling form in his arms, giving you some warmth. 

“I-I didn't mean to run away, I swear, I-mmm I don't know what I'm doing.” After that, out comes a wave of slurred, tear-splintered apologies. You were staining Fyodor's shirt, but you refuse to pull away. You hug him so tightly that you wonder if you're hurting him.

“You have to keep walking, Дорогой.” The russian nickname calms your nerves to the bone. You feel too much in too little time, as if all the emotions are crowding into one that keeps screaming in your ear, without a moment of peace beyond when Fyodor speaks. A big amorphous ball of fuzzy emotions that you don't know whether to hate or love. You just know you want to go home, or whatever home means at this point. The first thing that pops into your head is Fyodor's bed, under his sheets.

“You hate me? You hate me, don't you?” The man shakes his head and pulls your head away from his chest. He grabs your cheeks and squeezes them lightly. He seems to be having fun. You can't stop crying.

“I could never hate you.” What calms you and stops your tears is not his words, it's the kiss he provides on your forehead afterwards. You almost melt in his arms as if you were an ice cube in the sun. 

The rest of the trip is more relaxed. You cling to Fyodor's arm as if you would die if you let go, and he allows you to. The only thing that makes you unable to be totally at peace are the burning cuts. The throbbing between your legs becomes uncomfortable, there's not so much pleasure anymore, just discomfort and a strangely addictive pain. You could be walking endlessly just to keep feeling the friction, the burning, the pain. Pain, pain, pain, can you feel anything else? Well, if Fyodor touches you, you suppose you would feel pleasure again. You are desperate for the russian and he knows it, of course he knows it.

But now, the thought of fucking doesn't quite do it for you. You still feel nauseous, remembering the taste and texture of the pills as you take them, plus the sour taste of vomit is still on your tongue. 

“Did you take all the pills?” Fyodor is the one who breaks the silence of your walk. He doesn't even give you the favor of looking at you as he speaks, so you instantly assume he's angry. The man didn't have much medication, but what little he did have was stored unattended in the bathroom drawers. He should have known beforehand that you were a drug addict, he should have taken that into account. 

“Yes, I'm sorry. I'm very sorry.” Fyodor doesn't respond verbally, just nods. He leaves you trembling with fear, thinking that you've screwed up again. If you had stayed still, maybe you could have slept instead of stealing. 

When you step over the threshold of the door, a wave of warmth embraces you. Fyodor's house is always cold, it makes you shiver, but now you could compare it to the flames of hell. Would Fyodor have lighted the fireplace? The idea of warming your fingers in front of the fire wasn't bad. Would he have done it so that when you got home, the house would be warm? You wished he had. Fyodor only lit the fireplace when you begged him, when you shivered like a puppy in the rain at his feet.

Fyodor guides you through the house, keeping his hands firmly on your shoulders. He makes you sit on the three-seater sofa. The fire welcomes you. So he had lit the fireplace after all... 

When you return to the real world, Fyodor is gone. You had lost yourself again as you watched the fire dance before your arrival. You convince yourself that he lit it for you, though that may not be the truth. It's better to lie, it makes you feel embraced. You see his figure returning with a glass of water. You worry about throwing up again, so when he offers it to you, you hesitate before bringing it to your lips. 

“Come on, be a good boy and drink it all in.” He has to be doing this on purpose. It's not possible to say those things and expect him not to make you imagine all sorts of lustful scenarios. You almost choke on the water because of the speed at which you drink it. It cleanses you of the taste of vomit, but it reminds you of tap water next to pills. 

It's uncomfortable being so wet. Should you beg to be fucked? It's a little embarrassing. A few words and you're already squirming for contact. Your mind works wonders: if he were to lay you down with your face against the fluffy pillows, with a knife in his hand... You're so lost in your own fantasies that you don't notice his smug look. 

“Is there anything else my prince needs?” Suddenly the heat of the fire is too much. Your face burns. Sparks of laughter shoot from your mouth as you stare at him. His voice works better than the flames.

“I need you. Please, I, mmmm, I need... I need you.” He looks amused as he watches you try to be coherent. Your words come out controlledly slow so that they are understandable. You pray that Fyodor doesn't make you beg, because you'd be able to kiss the ground where he steps just to have him touch you. 

Fyodor sits on the couch, next to you, legs spread. “Strip.” You don't hesitate. You quickly take everything off. Your underwear is already soaked, but you don't care. You drop everything on the floor, you'll worry about your clothes tomorrow. Fyodor caresses his thigh. “Sit down.”

It's almost embarrassing how fast you crawl across the couch until you reach him. Every slightest movement of your legs sends sparks straight to your wet pussy. You need it so bad. As you sit on him, legs spread wide around his hips, you can feel something hard pressing right into your sex. You try to move on him, looking for more friction so you can cum at once, but Fyodor holds your body tightly to prevent it. 

“Do you think you deserve it?” You're going to cry, no, rather, you're about to cry. Tears gather at the corners of your eyes, waiting for a single blink to roll down your cheeks. 

“N-No, but please, I'll do anything.” You hide your red face against his shoulder. You need a break because you feel everything too much. The heat against your bare back, the dizziness from the drugs, the icy hands touching you, the mocking laughter. 

You wonder what your sober self would think of you now. Would you regret it tomorrow? Would you die from the shame of having gone easy on your kidnapper? But it doesn't matter now. Not when Fyodor nails you even harder on his clothed hard cock. Ah, really sex feels better being succumbed to pills, you feel more sensitive, though you think it shouldn't, maybe it's all Fyodor's fault. You want to rub yourself against him as if you were an animal in heat, and right now you more or less are, you can only think about him fucking you into unconsciousness. It wouldn't bother you if he kept doing it until after you fell asleep either.

You cling to his clothes as he begins to move your hips. Involuntary moans come out of your mouth that quickly turn to screams as one of Fyodor's hands begins to squeeze your cuts. He pinches and scratches them, opening some to bleed again, staining his nails. “I should have grabbed a knife.” Reflect on seeing your change in behavior. If you were desperate before, there is no way to describe your state now.

Despite the pleasure and how fucking hot and wet it feels between your legs, there is drowsiness behind your eyes. You wonder if Fyodor will fuck you in your sleep, since you've managed to get his dick hard. He's not the kind of man who can't control himself, but the thought of him using your unconscious body makes you tingle. Your face foolishly hidden against his shoulder doesn't stop Fyodor from being able to see your expression. Tired eyes that can't focus on anything other than the wall behind the couch, open mouth pumping out all sorts of obscene sounds, cheeks as red as the flames themselves. You look so lost like that, so fragile, desperate. It's cute.

Fyodor decides to be nice to you for once, tomorrow he will punish you properly. He stops controlling your hips to touch your pussy. Two fingers wander up and down, wetting them. “Do you want my fingers, маленький?”

“Please, please Fyodor. I beg you.” You try to push your body against his fingers, to which he responds with a laugh. You're ashamed to admit that his russian voice makes you even hornier. His accent is thick and makes you weak in the knees.

Fyodor doesn't hesitate to obey your pathetic pleas - how could he resist you? His fingers enter so easily inside you, pressing against your wet walls. A sigh of satisfaction escapes your lips. What makes you almost jump off his lap is when his thumb squeezes your clit. He moves in a circular motion, making a mess of you. The only thing you hear in the room are your gasps and pleas, instead Fyodor stands silently, smiling victoriously at the sight of your deplorable state. 

Your pussy drips all over his pants, ruining it with wet spots, but he doesn't seem to mind, not when he starts moving inside you. Your legs tremble at the sensations this man gives you. His long fingers are swallowed by your needy pussy, only for them to come out again, but coated with your slippery juices. You don't know what made you more nervous, his movements or the way he seemed so nonchalant, with a calm smile tattooed on his face as if he were playing his cello. 

But you can't care now, not when he has so much experience with his hands that he takes you to heaven back and forth. His fingers, despite not being that thick, are fucking long, getting to the right places easily.

His other hand is still on your bleeding cuts. Suddenly, a slap lands on them making you scream. His palm fills with blood, which has been splattered all around. 

After that rush of pain, it takes you no time at all to cum on his fingers. Dropping your head back, a particularly loud, high-pitched moan comes out of your throat. 

But after the explosion of pleasure, sleep falls on you like a stone. You find it hard to breathe and keep your eyes open. You wonder if Fyodor will not care and fuck you. It sounded good before, but now that you were so tired and droopy, the idea didn't seem so appealing. 

Fyodor seemed to examine your lost expression. A small whimper escapes your lips as the man's fingers leave you. “I feel weird...”

“Do you regret it?” Fyodor asks. He looks so good in comparison to you. You don't regret it, you think you don't, but there is a feeling of drowsiness and a strange sadness combined with shame that doesn't let you enjoy the moment.

“No, no... It's just... Weird.”

“Sadness?”

“A little bit, I think. It's more a lot of sleep, but I still want to go on.” You end up hugging Fyodor, pressing your face against his chest. You want to feel like you used to again, emotions back in full bloom. This new droopy state doesn't sit well with you. You start to rub your naked pussy against his erection again, but he stops you. “Use me Fedya, please.”

Fyodor laughed at that. “You have no shame.” Another slap, this time much harder than the other, on your wounded thigh.

He pushes you off his lap and you sob lightly. You plop down on the couch, too lost to argue. You don't realize until later that he's gone. You decide to just close your eyes, hoping he'll come back and not just abandon you after fucking you like some random prostitute.

You finally fall asleep, but a strange sensation running through your lower belly makes you get up. When you open your eyes, Fyodor is on top of you. Your legs are pinned over his shoulders and his cock is roughly attacking your used pussy.

You can't control all your moaning. God, it's the best thing you've ever felt in your entire life. Fyodor's cock slams so deep inside you that you swear you can feel it in your stomach. You squeeze the couch cover to cope with the excitement. You don't even know what you feel. Do you want this? Do you like that he fucked you in your sleep? There are feelings that get mixed up and become harder and harder to recognize with every thrust Fyodor gives. 

“A-Ah! Ugh! Fyodor! T-Too much!” You don't even know what you're talking about, but it feels so good. You're not able to think about anything but the long cock that's pounding you to exhaustion. 

“Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty.”

Another orgasm is coming, you know it because all your muscles tense and your back arches like a cat's back. A squeal comes out of your mouth as you cum on his dick, but he doesn't stop his thrusts. He has a smirk on his face as he looks down at you. You must look so pathetic, moaning like a regular slut. Fyodor mulls over the idea of leaving more analgesics at your fingertips, anything to have you like this again.

Just seeing the pretty expression you make as you feel his cock so deep inside you is enough to make him cum too. Just a couple more thrusts and you feel yourself being filled. It feels weird, but really all the physical sensations feel weird. But you're too full, it's a little uncomfortable. You couldn't decide if you liked it or if you wanted it out of you. 

“Full” You mutter with half-closed eyes. You are exhausted, you even find it hard to open your mouth to speak. Fyodor just laughs at you as he pulls out his dick. He looks tired too, you wonder if after this the two of you will go to sleep together or Fyodor will punish you by making you sleep on the couch.

“See, I brought a knife. I didn't want to use it before because you were passed out and it wouldn't be funny, but now I got too caught up in the moment and forgot.” He reaches out for said knife that was lying on the tea table. For some reason, your mind decides to focus more on the fact that the man is still fully clothed, he had only dropped his pants a little to fuck you.

The knife glows with the flames of the fire. You don't know if you can take any more, but you don't plan to refuse his wishes. Who knows when will be the next time you will have the chance to fulfill all your fantasies.

“Get on your stomach.”

You obey instantly, even though your limbs weigh like bags of cement and your mind can't see through the haze, you obey. It's too much for you and you love it, but it's still too much. The drugs make everything feel more and saturate you. You relax your body, just having it tense exhausts you.

You feel his cold hands on your hot back. You feel the knife dance across the thin skin, without pressing down on it. You feel... “Ah!” You cry out in pain as the knife makes the first cut at the top. Long and deep despite the speed, controlled as if by a surgeon. 

Suddenly, another cut, and another and another. Moans of pain come out of your mouth as you try to keep as still as possible. You're dizzy, but not in the way that sleeping pills do, but in a way that tells you you might bleed to death. You're probably just overreacting. Fyodor wouldn't let you die, you doubt he'd want a corpse in the house.

“Relax, красивый мальчик. You just enjoy yourself and turn that little head off.” His voice is like hypnosis, you can't help but take heed and close your eyes. Every time the knife runs across your skin you get a whiplash of pleasure that runs up and down your spine. You feel like he's writing or drawing something, but you can't recognize what.Your pussy clenches in need, missing being full. 

There are a few seconds of peace where you can feel your back throbbing with pain without a new cut making you scream. Fyodor's icy fingers startle you. They walk across your new wounds that will never be completely erased. 

“You've been very obedient, haven't you?” you don't have the strength to answer, you seem to have reached your limit. “My good pet, don't you want a reward?”

...You're not so tired at the end. You turn your head, flattening your cheek against the couch to look at the man and nod. “Please.”

Fyodor's laughter gives you a shiver. You sound delicious, he can't deny it. He takes one last look at your back, checking to make sure everything is perfect. 

His hand whips your ass hard, smearing it with blood from your previous wounds. “Get your ass up.”

While you follow his directions, he puts the knife back on the table. Your muscles burn just moving them, but you force yourself. You lift your hips and lean your torso fully against the couch, doubting that your arms can support your weight right now.

Fyodor caresses your body, from your neck, through your recent wounds that make you gasp, to your ass, to which he gives another good spanking that makes you squeal and tremble.

He pulled his cock out of his pants again, already erect at the sight of all the show you are and without preparation, he shoves it into you without letting you get used to it, stealing all the air from your lungs. Your legs threaten to collapse, but the man keeps a good grip on your hips, holding them up.

Everything happens so fast and you can hardly react. His thrusts are fast and cruel, making your head empty of any thoughts other than Fyodor, on how good it feels between your wet walls. It's embarrassing how quickly you cum this time, rolling your eyes as you tense up, but your body has reached a limit. It's too much, you need to stop or you'll die because it feels so good, almost like being in heaven. 

You can no longer keep your eyes open, you are too tired and overwhelmed by pleasure, so you let yourself go. You don't think about anything, you just feel how his dick hits you, how the cuts burn with every thrust, how the blood has stuck to your skin. Your body succumbs to it all, passing out. Fyodor can keep playing with you, he won't mind.

You wake up with an adrenaline rush coursing through your veins. Cold. It's freezing cold, like you're in the snow - did Fyodor abandon you outside? But when you focus around you, instead of seeing trees or the darkening sky, you see the bathroom tiles and purple eyes staring at you with a hint of sadistic amusement.

You were in the bathtub full of ice water.

“It's a pleasure to see you awake, dear. How's the water?” you'd like to curse him, but your body has been through too much abuse to even speak. The only thing you move for is to draw your knees together against your torso, trying to warm yourself.

You are no longer able to hold your head up so you drop it against your knees. You were not feeling well. You felt dirty. It wasn't that you hadn't enjoyed the sex, of course not, but something just felt wrong with you, in your body, in your mind. 

You cry. The sobs come violently out of your mouth. What has Fyodor done to you? You tremble badly and hide from his gaze. He calls your name and that only makes you cry harder. 

His hands force you to lift your face. You feel like an idiot, you don't want him to look at you this way. “Рассслабься, любовь моя. What's wrong with you?”

“I don't know.” The sobs keep interrupting you. Your chest hurts and your head hurts and you don't want to keep talking, you don't want to do anything, just go to sleep and forget everything. “I feel sick.”

Fyodor lets go of your face, causing it to fall again. You don't have the strength to do anything. All your energy is spent crying like a little child.

“Let me take care of you, Мой малыш.” His current behavior contrasts sharply to how he was before and that only manages to get on your nerves. It's as if you've upset him even though his voice appears otherwise. Fyodor always appears to feel things he doesn't.

But he keeps his word anyway. He turns on the faucet to fill the bathtub even more, this time with hot water that makes you stop shaking. His hands run over your body without the lust previously seen, so gentle that it makes you relax and your crying ceases. Most satisfying were his fingers on your scalp, massaging the coconut-scented shampoo. You think you've fallen asleep more than once.

When the bath is over, you feel much more sober. Your vision is still blurry, but not as blurry as when you were in the public baths. You are glad because the feeling of being high was no longer so pleasant.

Fyodor dries you and dresses you. You suspect the shirt is his because it has his smell on it, but you don't say anything. Why were you crying earlier? Mmh, if you don't remember it didn't have to be that important. Now the only thing that matters is how the russian dries your hair with a little towel and makes you feel so loved. You don't even want to sleep anymore, you want to keep enjoying this comfort because you don't know if this will still be the same tomorrow. No one can say that Fyodor will still be touching you with soft hands when you wake up. He might ignore you, pretend nothing has happened or disappear. You need to seize every second and hold it.

Ah, you almost forgot: your back. The shirt rubbing against your wounds reminds you of the knife in your skin. Should you ask Fyodor what he did? Or is it better to live in ignorance? Though either way, you doubt you'll be bothered by anything he's done.

“Fyodor, what did you cut in my back?”

The man hums in amusement. “Tomorrow you can see for yourself. Now let's go to bed, you're tired.”

You don't fight him, you just follow him closely as you walk down the hall. It's uncomfortable to walk because, even though you are no longer horny and don't want to do anything sex-related, your body is still sensitive. So it's like a reward to get to the bedroom and lie down on the neat sheets.

It doesn't take you a minute to fall into a deep sleep, hiding your face in Fyodor's chest. The man instead just watches you sleep, strokes your hair and listens to your quiet breathing. His hand runs down your body and slowly pulls up your shirt, revealing your back now marked.

“Fyodor”. 

He smiles to himself at the sight of his handiwork. That's punishment enough for today.

this was a headache in every way. 5k words of pure porn I wrote in two days while I was high. It was horrible to edit and translate, I guess it was my punishment for being a weirdo

anyway, I hope you enjoyed whatever this is. I have more stories that I made under the effects of various pills that I will post later, some smut, others not, who knows

[httpskuzuu]

Silent

Yandere!Akutagawa x Reader

idk english

summary: Akutagawa feels a love-hate for your voice

tw: mention of punishment, physical violence against reader, sleeping pills, Aku drugging reader

Akutagawa loves your voice. 

He will never admit it because that would give you power over him, but he really loves it. 

He can listen to you talk nonstop. It seems that he never pays attention to you, that he is concentrating on his own thing, but he is giving you his undivided attention. He can repeat your sentences word for word. 

Still, it is comforting to think about him not listening to you. The man is scary and you have to tiptoe around him, careful not to say or do anything to offend him. Since you've arrived at his house you've had to millimeter measure every single thing you do, trembling with every step you take, crying over every annoying noise you make. 

So yes, you like to think Akutagawa doesn't listen to your chatter. 

But there is one issue that bothers Akutagawa. Your sobs. He doesn't hate them, he thinks it's beautiful the way your tears fall and the little sounds you make, trying not to make noise to save yourself from punishment. What gets on his nerves is the power you have over him. 

He hates how he hesitates, hand in the air, ready to slap you for disobeying, all because of the fact that you started crying and seeking his forgiveness. The worst thing is that he considers forgiving you, and he simply can't allow that. 

Because what will you do when you discover how weak he is when it comes to you? You will take advantage of him. He knows it, it's a constant reminder in the back of his mind that never shuts up when he sees you cry. That's why he can't forgive you, why he can't not punish you when you do something wrong. You'll notice how soft he is, how easy to manipulate he can be. 

He will not allow it.

That's why he has made a decision. Extreme? Yes, but he can't be blamed. 

He will miss your voice. 

He comes to you one night. You are deeply asleep, knocked out by sleeping pills he put in your tea. You are so naive that you didn't even suspect the different taste. 

He holds a roll of thin rope in his hand. Rashōmon is already prepared, taking the form of something resembling a needle. 

It's a relief to have drugged you, if he did this with you consciously, he wouldn't have put up with your screams. 

And that's how little by little the black rope goes through the holes made by his skill through your lips. Until they are completely sealed. 

You'll hate him. It makes his chest hurt. But it's for his own good.

I had a nightmare the night before about waking up with my mouth sewn shut and it really scared me, so I thought I'd write something about it

[httpskuzuu]

Peace in the unknown

why have I never written for this man before? I love him

Fukuzawa x Reader

idk english

summary: Old scars decorate your skin. If only you had been more careful, they might still be hidden

tw: past self-harm, feelings of shame, overthinking

“They're horrible.” You try to laugh to throw the tension on your shoulders away from you, but that seems to be impossible. Your laugh is awkward, as if you've forgotten how to smile just like a human being. The way your face stretches, it feels more like a horrible grimace.

Fukuzawa just shakes his head.

Why did a date to drink tea as a couple turn into this? He still has his cup in one hand, but you've long since abandoned yours on the table, letting it freeze. The only thing your hands are focused on is covering your wrists.

Wrists painted by all kinds of sharp brushes. For stupid reasons that ate you up at the time. For the sheer pleasure of boredom, because doing nothing drove you to keep painting. And you have no excuse for Yukichi, not when he's seen everything underneath. He has seen the aggressiveness and sadness that have been tattooed on you. You shouldn't feel this shame, as if they have discovered your biggest secret. 

It shouldn't be a secret to him, but it still is.

You assume this makes you the worse partner. Hiding things you shouldn't from your lover. He has a right to know what's under your long sleeves, what has caused your skin to become so terribly blotchy.

“They don't look horrible to me.” His words completely cut off your train of thought. All you can think about is that he's lying. He lies to you out of pity. He pities you. He pities you that your lover is so weak-minded to have to resort to these things.

“You don't have to lie, Yukichi. I know they don't look good.” If only you had been more careful covering up, this wouldn't have happened. You could go on having tea without feeling the embarrassment falling on you.

“It's not about how they look, it's about the story behind it.”

You don't want to have this conversation. You're not ready for someone to talk about your scars because that would mean admitting that they exist, that they're there, etched in your skin forever, and that you can't get rid of them. The past still exists, whispering in your ear about things you wish you could forget forever, but they will never go away. Your decisions have already been made and there is no turning back.

“They were for nonsense, don't worry.”

“I doubt it was nonsense to you at the time.” Fukuzawa leaves the cup on the table, accompanying yours. Now, with his hands free, he squeezes yours. It's not a hard grip, you could pull away if you tried, but you don't. His hands are so warm and big compared to yours, it almost feels like he's hugging them.

Again the scars peek out. He caresses them, as gently as if he were touching the water without wanting it to alter.

“I don't know what you've been through, and I won't force you to tell me if you don't feel comfortable, but I want you to know that none of this seems horrible or ugly to me. On the contrary, I think it's admirable how you have moved on in spite of it all. Life is hard and your scars are just a reminder that that hasn't stopped you from continuing to live.” Your chest hurts listening to him. It compresses with every word that comes out of his mouth and your eyes fill with tears that you try not to shed.

“Yukichi...” Your voice comes out raw and clipped. The sobs come out of your throat so fast you can't stop them. Your chest really hurts. You just want to curl up and cry yourself to sleep.

He rises from his position on the other side of the table to approach you. He sits down next to you and puts his arms around you. He feels safe and comfortable, like being covered by many blankets. You probably ruin his yukata with your tears, but you can't help but collapse against him.

You just need a little time, just a little more, to tell Fukuzawa about your past. But for now, he's fine with just supporting you from unknowing.

[httpskuzuu]

Between cannibals

the title is from the song entre caníbales by soda stereo

Dazai x Male!Reader

idk english

summary: you have a strange taste for human flesh

tw: explicit cannibalism, violence, descriptions of blood and wounds, feelings of shame, surprisingly soft

The human bite has a force of 162 pounds per square inch. Enough to, if you put all that force together in one spot, bite off a finger. The strength combined with the structure of the teeth makes them incredible. Maybe that's why you've always loved them, running your tongue over them, memorizing the position of each tooth, their shape.

When Dazai found out about your strange fixation, he just laughed despite your fear of being perceived as strange or dangerous. 

“I would love for you to bite my neck. Then I would die happy, belladonna.” You recognized it as a simple joke, but his words generated something in your troubled mind.

Sometimes, you would catch yourself awake in the dark of night, guessing what Dazai would taste like. According to cannibals, human flesh tastes like pork. Would Dazai taste the same? Or would it have some different touch that would make you never be able to forget it? You squeeze the pillow, imagining it was his bandaged neck instead. It would be soft as you chewed it and the blood would seep through your lips until it fell down your chin, making a scene.

“I'd like to eat you.” You admitted one day. The two of you lying on the same futon. You had stolen the only blanket from him and he had been acting like a dramatic bitch.

“I didn't know you wanted to take the relationship to that level so fast.” You grabbed your pillow and hit him with all your force in the face, thus shutting him up before he could say anything else barbaric. The only thing you heard after that was his laughter throughout the room.

“Shut up, I mean it.” Was it normal to be embarrassed? You don't think any other human being had ever been in this situation, so you weren't sure what to feel either. You turned around on the bed, turning your back to him.

Dazai moved closer to you, sticking his chest against your back and hugging you. “It's too bad I don't like pain because the idea of you biting me sounds lovely.” 

That night he took a lot of hits from your pillow.

The day it all blew up you were lying on top of him. You had finished your work shift at the ADA and he ended up following you to your room. You draw irregular shapes with your finger on his forearm. Despite his appearance, he was not as thin as he looked. Under the sleeves and bandages, there was muscle and fat that you could squeeze, kiss and bite. You don't know if it was that thought or another stimulus that led your mouth to bite him. 

“Tender...” You said through Dazai's whimpers, but despite his pain, he doesn't remove his arm from in front of your face.

You tightened your jaw on his skin. He still didn't remove his arm or make any pretense of pulling away, so you pulled him further. Until you felt the metal on your tongue.

You pulled your mouth away from him quickly and looked at him full of fear. You had gone too far, you had made him bleed... “My boyfriend mistreats me.” He said with a pout drawn on his face, but, you suppose seeing your genuine concern, he smiled. “Do I taste good, darling?”

Oh, yes, he had, of course he had it. A metallic echo lingers on your tongue as a bitter glint glistens on your palate. You wanted more. You notice the wound you left behind. Your teeth have been tattooed into its skin as red liquid oozes out of parts of it. There seemed to be brightness in the blood, there seemed to be life.

You looked up to focus on Dazai, as if asking for his consent to continue. His smile did not disappear. You stuck out your tongue and wandered it over the wound, appreciating the taste that clung to it. And when the blood stopped gushing, you sucked on the wound to force more out. Dazai, with his arm that wasn't being attacked, grabbed your waist, pulling you closer to him.

Would it be too much to tear off a piece of meat?

I was thinking of starting to write stranger or darker things, idk

[httpskuzuu]

I started writing this on drugs and now I can't stop (that's not all the tw's)

how does it look?

[httpskuzuu]

I have a request with fyodor and a fem reader with a nighttime routine. Let’s say fyodor just spends the night over and gets to see her nightly routine like making tea before she sleeps, her skincare,hair care,stuff like that and he just observes with curiosity and fascination..

Nighttime routine

Fyodor x Reader

idk english

summary: Fyodor likes to watch you (not in the creepy way).

tw: nothing i think

Home life with your partner was one of the best things that could have happened to you. Your partner, in general, was one of the best things that could have happened to you. The peace that sharing your life with Fyodor would have brought you, you wouldn't trade it.

Although he was usually busy with his work, whatever it was, in his free time his main hobby was watching you. Stalking? Depends on how you look at it. Fyodor won't deny it either if you ask him. His gaze is always on you.

When you cook, you have him with you, pressing his chest to your back and leaving little kisses on your neck. When you read, he'll be sitting next to you too with a book in his hand, but that's just a facade, in truth he's watching the faces you make when something in the story surprises you. When you're just lying in bed, doing nothing, he's by your side.

There's something satisfying about memorizing your behavior and routine, knowing your cooking quirks by heart, or those micro-expressions that only he will pay attention to. And you're so oblivious to all that. When you catch him watching you do anything, you just give him one of your smiles that makes Fyodor go soft on you. He never thought he could melt just by seeing you happy, but he does.

It's in the evening and you went down with a tray to Fyodor's studio. He had locked himself in there after dinner and you just wanted to see him, so now, with cups of tea on the tray, you have an excuse to go with him. You knock on the door and wait for his approval from inside, as you enter, Fyodor is already waiting for you with a tired smile.

“You should go to sleep now. It's late.” You suggest as you set the tray on an empty space on the computer-filled desk. You grab your mug and lean your lower back against the edge of the table. 

“I have one thing left to do, I won't be long.”

“Then I'll wait for you.” Fyodor sighs at your reply, but doesn't try to answer you. He knows how stubborn you can be.

He drinks a mouthful of tea and turns his attention back to the screens in front of him. You don't understand anything there, but you don't care. You're too focused, staring at him almost without blinking. He notices your gaze, not that you know how to disguise it either, but he finds it almost cute. It seems that you begin to copy his habits unconsciously.

You don't know how much time has passed, but the empty teacups are in the sink waiting to be washed tomorrow, and you are already in your room. Fyodor looks at you, sitting on the bed. You have the bathroom door open, so he can appreciate your face full of creams through the mirror. He knows the names of all the products you put on, though not their usefulness, but you seem to be happy doing this little ritual before bed. Steaming tea and taking care of your appearance. The man can only admire you, test how your tea always comes out the flavor he loves, see your face of concentration while you massage your face.

Analyzing the little things you do in the day and night is satisfying to him. You seem comfortable with your little routine, so he feels comfortable just watching you be happy.

i dont like the end :(

[httpskuzuu]

If you even care

he can fix me

Yandere!Fyodor x Reader

idk english

summary: You don't see yourself properly. Fyodor helps... in his own way

tw: yandere behavior, kidnaping, unhealthy weight loss, reader is described as very thin, manipulation, low self-esteem, self-hatred, if I am missing something let me know

Your reflection was strange, unfamiliar with the passage of time. It's been a long time since you took a few minutes to look at your naked body and judge it. 

You've been too preoccupied with other things to worry about your appearance. It's normal, your “period of adaptation to your new life”, as Fyodor calls it, has not been easy. But now things have settled down and normality embraces you or suffocates you, depending on the day you will see it in a different way.

You went many days without eating properly, it wasn't because Fyodor wouldn't feed you, you remember perfectly the permanent knot that stagnated in your stomach those first days, causing you to feel nauseous and disgusted by the food you always loved. 

You lost a lot of weight and it's noticeable now that you stand in front of the mirror, noticing your marked bones in your skin and the little fat you have left. You don't have an opinion on what you think, it's just... strange. You wouldn't say it's pretty, but it's not hideous either. It doesn't feel like your body, it has changed in such a short time without you being able to observe the process that now feels foreign to you. You can't contain the question that runs through your mind, “Am I this person?”.

You run your hand across your stomach and stroke your ribs. You can only frown at your new, sicker, sadder self. 

You get dressed again, wishing you had never noticed your appearance again, and leave the bathroom. You join Fyodor in the living room, you know there is no point in trying to isolate yourself from him, it will only drive you mad quicker. Loneliness is like a dagger in disguise for humans, it seems harmless, that you won't be affected by the lack of contact with another person, but little by little it's tearing you completely apart.

“What happened?” He says after looking away from his old-fashioned looking book. He stares at you, examining your face as if for the first time.

“What?” The discouragement in your voice is noticeable no matter how hard you try to camouflage it. You examine him too, like a competition. Fine, elegant features despite the sickly pale skin tone. You are a little envious of his beauty sincerely. 

You avert your gaze when you see him frowning, not so much angry as confused. You want to ignore him, you don't feel like getting into his mind games or whatever he has in store for you this time. 

“You seem upset.”

Damn Fyodor and damn ability he has to read you. 

You try to distract yourself by gossiping in the bookshelf full of books, as if you really want to read something or even understand the language they are written in. 

“I’m normal.”

“You are a terrible liar.”

“Don't pretend you care.” You can't help but stare at him indignantly at his earlier words. 

Your intention when leaving the bathroom was to relax and forget your reflection, to forget how your empty eyes stared back at you, but with Fyodor nothing is as you wish. Although there is still the idea of putting your head between two pillows and not getting up from there…

There is another part of you that doesn't find the idea of fighting with Fyodor bad. He is the cause of all your ills, the devil himself. If he hadn't taken you as if you were a doll all your problems would be solved. 

Well, that last part isn't true, but it looks a lot better if you pretend it is.

“I care about you.” His look is like that of a father who is used to his child's tantrums. It would be endearing if it weren't for the current situation. “Do you think I don't? If that were the case, you would be dead.”

His words do something to you, a feeling of movement in your stomach that you haven't felt for a long time. You don't like him, you want to get away from him even if it means going back into the pit of loneliness. 

“I'm a lucky one…”

“Are you, or do you prefer death?” A shiver runs down your spine and you purse your lips. You don't want to play this game anymore, so you curl up as best you can on the couch and drop down there, as if that will save you from his voice. 

Fyodor recognizes your stubborn behavior. He closes his book without bothering to mark the page where he left it and looks at you. “Don't ignore my question, Дорогой. What's on your mind?”

You close your eyes. There's a hint of embarrassment bubbling in your throat at the thought of your response. You should either be honest, or tell him to go fuck himself. Either one will be an incentive for your talk, that's for sure.

“I’m tired.”

“Of what?”

“I don't know. Everything, I guess.” And you realize you sound like that stranger on the Internet who vents to other strangers. “I don't know what I feel.”

Staring back into their eyes is painful. That's what love must feel like, his love, and it almost makes you laugh. All your life believing that your soul mate would come for you and it turns out that instead a terrorist came to rob you. 

“But you know what brought that on. Tell me.”

“Why me, Fedya?” The old nickname makes your chest hurt, but you couldn't even stop it from coming out of your mouth. “You literally look perfect, and with your attitude you sure could have found anyone else.”

“Ah, I see what is going on.” And with that, he gets up from the armchair next to the sofa and stands in front of you. You don't even pretend to raise your head.

It's almost as if you're frozen. He knows what happens? And what happens? God save you from this man. 

“You don't feel like you're enough for me. Am I right?” How you would love to tell him no and punch him in that perfect face, you would really love that. 

And your silence answers him. You still don't know why he's still with you. Maybe before the kidnapping you could understand, your self-perception wasn't so screwed up and you could realize your past beauty, but now? You don't understand what it is about your empty eyes that makes Fyodor want to keep you. And it's not just about outer beauty, your whole psyche seems disgusting to you: Your insufferable behavior, your mood swings, your treatment of him. Sometimes you're just left pondering why you can't go back to what you were before. 

“I don't understand how you haven't killed me yet.” The words come out raw and for a moment you wonder if you're already crying. “Don't you miss what I was before you kidnapped me?”

Fyodor shakes his head. Still his smile shows. You suppose it's funny to see you being so pathetic and using your captor as a psychologist. 

“Милашка, you are idealizing your past self.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Do you want to go back to the times in your life when you looked for love in any fool? Or when the slightest comment against you made you collapse?” Finally he sits down next to you and you almost want to run away, far away. Not to escape, it wouldn't make sense to do that at this point, just to get away for a few moments, to be able to breathe and cry without this suffocating feeling over you. 

Fyodor grips your hand so gently, as if you were made of glass. You feel your cheeks wet and how the sobs come out of your mouth despite trying to keep it shut. It seems like this is one of those loud cries, though it doesn't matter. Fyodor doesn't mind you screaming. 

You end up seeking solace in the man who ruined you in the first place. You don't understand the pain and comfort it causes you in equal parts, but there's something addictive about it. You cry against his chest like a small child. Fyodor strokes your hair comfortingly. You would stay like this for the rest of your days if your mind would let you. 

“I love you for who you are, whether good or bad. If you think a new version of you is going to drive me away you are very wrong.”

[httpskuzuu]

i'd like to request fyodor taking care of a sick darling 👀💜

Sick

this is mediocre and I have no originality for the title, sorry

Fyodor x Reader

idk english

summary: Fyodor taking care of a sick darling

tw: fever, pill¿ idk man

The pain in your head and how hot you felt hit you like a stone. You closed your eyes again, your eyebrows furrowed and your whole body sweating. You would have pulled the blanket off you if it weren't for how weak you were. Even with your current state, when you noticed the emptiness on the other side of the bed, you turned your head dizzy with pain. Fyodor was gone.

Pitiful groans of pain came from your lips, not because Fyodor was not there, but because the simple fact of moving your eyes made you want to cry. It was not uncommon that when you woke up your partner was gone, there were few times you could proudly say that you woke up earlier than him. Today was not one of those days.

Maybe his presence would make you feel better, his body was always as cold as snow, if he lay down next to you it would refresh you. But just the thought of getting out of bed and walking who knows how many steps to see him was exhausting. You closed your eyes and made a mental note to yourself to go look for him later, if you get better.

When you woke up, you were no better. On the contrary, you felt that your head would explode at any moment and that you had been sleeping for years.

Suddenly, the cold clung to your forehead. You opened your eyes despite the dizziness and pain. Fyodor was there, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at you with those eyes that made you fall to your knees. 

“You're burning up.” He said the obvious as he moved his hand from your forehead. You let out a whimper at the lack of contact.

“I feel like I'm going to die, Fedya.”

“Don't exaggerate so much.” A sigh escaped his lips as he stood up. Almost as if he was letting you die, you grabbed his hand with what little strength you had left. Meaningless pleas came out of your mouth, you didn't know what you were talking about thanks to the fever, but Fyodor didn't get upset.

He held your warm face, squeezing your cheeks. His thumbs caressed you, causing you to stop talking and concentrate on the sensation of his caresses.

“You need to get medication.”

“No! I don't want you to go.” You grab Fyodor's wrists, but without separating them from your face. You were just making sure he didn't leave. “Come, sleep with me.”

“Don't be stubborn.” He finally lets go, your grip is no help in keeping his cold touch on you. “I promise I won't be long.”

Before you can complain again, he kisses your forehead. You let out a lonely whimper, but you say nothing and allow Fyodor to leave. You don't know how much time passes since he leaves through that wooden door, you just close your eyes and refuse to open them until you hear his footsteps again. It feels like ages, trying not to fall asleep just because you want to sleep with him next to you, but you hear him again.

In one hand is a glass full of water and in the other a white pill. You make a face at the thought of the taste. Fyodor practically forces you to take it and you, in your weakened state, can do nothing to refuse.

“Now sleep with me.” You say the second after finishing the glass of water.

“With pleasure, дорогая.”

His body hugs you and you stick as much as possible to him, enjoying how cold he is. You don't know if you will get better when you wake up or you will find yourself even worse, but in his arms the pain seems to calm down, almost like an analgesic.

[httpskuzuu]

Hello! I saw you wanted some things to write about i just wanted to ask you if you can make Fault pt 2 with dazai?? (Only şf you are comfortable ofc))

I tried to write part 2 a couple of times, but never finished it. I still find it hard to write smut, it's rare that I finish a fic like this without feeling uncomfortable

I don't rule out doing a second part if one day I feel comfortable, but for now I doubt it

[httpskuzuu]

requests

feel free to send requests, I have no ideas to write about 🥲

[httpskuzuu]

I'll stick around if you will

Fyodor x Reader

idk english

summary: a morning with Fyodor

tw: none, only softness and happiness

When Fyodor wakes up, he is alone. But as he turns his gaze to your empty side of the bed, an uneasiness claws at his chest. The warmth of your side still lingers, an ephemeral trace that his tired hand senses as it glides over the sheets. Sleep suddenly leaves him. With a clear purpose, he gets up to look for you.

The window is frozen, as is the rest of the house. He has always loved the cold. It felt like an old friend, ingrained in him since birth. It was his home: the crunch of the frozen ground beneath his feet, the breath condensing like little sighs stolen from the air. He likes the way the snow covers the meadow and the trees, the way everything looks covered and shiny when he leaves home. 

His feet step on the dark planks until he reaches the kitchen. He sees your figure, half hunched over the wooden counter, illuminated by the dim morning light. Next to you is a metal bowl still with a large spoon in it. He stares at you for a few seconds, admiring you. How you move so naturally while still focused on your recipe, so relaxed that he smiles. A smile that barely grazes his lips but lights up everything inside him. How can he not smile when he has you?

He approaches you without making a sound that disturbs you, a natural thing for him. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close to him and embracing the warmth you give off. Your body, so warm under his hands, was the promise of something more than cold: a home he never knew he could belong to.

When you say his name, it's like the song of an angel just arrived on earth. He appreciates your beautiful smile after kissing the back of your neck.

“What are you doing?” his accent clings to the words more than usual. You grab one of his hands delicately, almost as if it would break if you tighten your grip a little more. Fyodor finds it funny, watching you treat him like he's made of glass, a porcelain doll you're terrified he'll fall.

“I'm going to make you the best breakfast.” Your smile lights up your face, the room and the world. At least that's how Fyodor sees it. You make his cold body warm and he can't even complain; because some nights, when he holds you close but still can't sleep, he thinks about how he'd rather have your warmth than the cold he's always loved.

For someone who had always found comfort in the cold, your warmth was disconcerting, like a flame that doesn't burn but doesn't let off either.

Your hand separates from his to put it on a notebook. You bought it some time ago for its design, with a cover full of flowers with warm, yellow colors, not even the white was pure, like the snow he is used to. The flowers are harmoniously distributed among leaves and stems, making perfect patterns. In the center, there is a box with small ornaments in the corners, where you wrote <<Fedya's Recipes>>. A burning sensation sticks to his chest when he remembers the time you showed it to him. You told him in your charming voice, that you wanted to learn how to cook Russian foods, from his childhood, the ones that reminded him of his parents and lost childhood. All from a childhood he thought he had forgotten.

Now, the notebook is full, its pages covered with your careful annotations, sometimes messy, torn straight from the corners of his memory. A few words get stuck in his throat, more than words, it was like a torrent of emotions that before he met you, he had not felt. He would like to express all the appreciation and love he has for you, to tell you that you are perfect, that he needs you as much as air, but his lips, so used to silence, barely manage to articulate anything.

As he listens to the melody you hum softly, Fyodor allows himself to be vulnerable, for you. He leans into you, letting the words escape in a heartfelt whisper:

“Я люблю тебя.” He closes his eyes, noticing how the cold has disappeared from the room. “Я хочу остаться в этом моменте, с тобой, навсегда.”

Я люблю тебя: I love you.

Я хочу остаться в этом моменте, с тобой, навсегда: I want to stay in this moment, with you, forever.