some snacks

keilemlucent's sideblog please read before following requests: closed MINORS DNI

[keilemdarkmode]

disclaimer:

🔞🚫this blog is strictly 18+🚫🔞

hello! this is @keilemlucent​‘s side blog for works with darker themes.

these include:

🌙 noncon/dubcon

🌙 yandere

🌙 abuse 

🌙 violence

that being said, if anything of these themes trigger/bother/upset you, do not interact. 

...

masterlist

[weltenwellen]

Anne Carson, Plainwater: Essays and Poetry

[yandere-daydreams]

May i request for Xenolith with Zhongli from Genshin please? Love your work 💞✨

Prompt: X for Xenolith.

Pairing: Yandere!Zhongli x Reader (Genshin Impact).

TW: Unhealthy Relationships, Implied Non-Con, Intimidation, Physical Abuse, Monster-Fucking (If You Squint).

It's such an awful thing, to be loved by a god.

A god such as yours, especially. A god of war, of greed, of legacy and prosperity and punishment for those who indulge in the vice he made known to them. A vengeful god, truly, even if Zhongli's rage is often kept behind a mask of serenity and indifferent justice, saved for you and you alone to comfort and calm, to hush and soothe when his anger threatens to overturn the delicate balance between his bloodlust and his benevolence. It's you're duty, as his sole confidant, his most trusted companion.

As his lover, whether or not you wear the title willingly.

He's a domineering god. Despite his gentle words, his sweet mutterings of protection and patience, he's controlling, too eager to stake his claim to ever let you out of his sight for very long. He says that he cares about you, that he doesn't want your relationship to be that of a warden and his prisoner, but he holds your hand so tightly, allows you to speak so little when there's a chance someone else might enjoy the sound of your voice, and he keeps you close, always so close, always at his side, always within his reach. Because he has so many enemies, he says, when you ask. Because you're far less likely to go against his commands while you can still feel his eyes burning into your skin.

He's a possessive god. He may allow you to attend his assemblies, to sit among the members of his highest counsel, but his hand will never leave your back, his fangs will never be fully hidden behind his passive scowl, and when you return to his temple, when you share his bed, if he's feeling kind, his throne, if he's not, he's rarely the gentle admirer he makes himself out to be, rarely willing to stop the first time he draws blood, the first time you ask him to. Because he adores you, he says, to comfort you as he brushes away your tears. Because there are many ways to mark you, but this happens to be the one he favors most.

He's a monstrous god. All teeth, all claws, all dark, dark eyes, pure amber diluted with lust and shadowed by obsession, no longer veiled under the pretense of humanity. You've never experienced cruelty as cold as his, as depraved as his, a rough tongue running down the length of your neck, sharpened talons scraping against the delicate flesh of your thighs, curved horns, to hold onto, to try and ground yourself with as he takes the most important parts of you for himself. He's heartless. He must be. Because no creature with a heart could be so ruthless, so sadistic. Because no creature with a heart could be so selfish.

It's such an awful thing, to be loved by a god.

Such an awful, terrible, impossible thing, to be asked to believe your god could ever love anyone beyond himself.

[afustynut]

A Punishment

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Satoru’s a brat, but when isn’t he? Either way, Suguru takes offense and decides its time to show him some manners, and what better way to do so than with you?

NSFW 18+ ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS

Content Warning: Feederism/Stuffing, cock warming, light bondage

Did my best to make  sure reader stayed gender neutral

✨✨Don’t like Don’t Read  ✨✨

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“A good start,” Suguru praised as he looked over the knot work adorning Satoru’s wrists and ankles. “Not tight enough to damage blood flow-”

“Can’t do that anyway~” he sang from the bed, a smirk playing across his lips. Suguru didn’t reply, simply chuckled.

Keep reading

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Caretaker.

Pairing: Yandere!Diluc x F. Reader (Genshin Impact).

Word Count: 3.7k.

TW: Timeskip (About 10 Years Post-Canon), Non-Con, Rough Sex, Slight Breeding Kink, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Intimidation, Mentions of Blood/Injury, Implied Past Trauma.

You should’ve made more tea.

Or, tea that kept for more than an hour, at least. You would’ve preferred something stronger, earl grey or assam, but Cecil’s favorite had always been peppermint, and Diluc kept it in overstock year around, and it was easy to make, easier than anything you would've liked more. It’d dropped below room temperature half an hour ago, lost all remaining flavor five minutes later, and you were left to trace a finger around the rim of your porcelain cup, to stare at the portraits of dead men with blank stares that decorated the walls of the Dawn Winery’s main hall and wish you hadn’t insisted that Adelinde get some rest while you wait for Master Diluc to return on your own.

It wasn’t like this was outside of your normal routine. Even if Diluc had returned at a reasonable hour, if Adelinde hadn’t made the mistake of voicing her concerns, you’d likely be woken up within the hour by another maid, told that Cecil had another nightmare and sent to his bedroom to comfort him. You’d be lucky to close your eyes again before sunrise, when you were tasked with organizing his schedule, contacting his tutors, and relaying his progress to Diluc, of course, his fatherly concern greater and less proactive than most’s. Losing a little sleep wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. You’d doubted you’d remember such a minor inconvenience, in a few hours.

Still, you would’ve preferred to lose that sleep with better tea.

Ah, speak of the archons. Cecil was a quiet kid, too shy for his own good, and yet, you would’ve been able to recognize his footsteps from the other side of Mondstadt, quick and clumsy, not unlike that of a newborn deer. He was running by the time he arrived at the main hall, and he didn’t bother to slow down when he found you, letting himself collide with your legs at full force, his face soon buried in your lap and his tiny hands grasping at your skirt. You only clicked your tongue, reaching down to comb a hand through his messy hair. Darker than his father’s, just as eye-catching. You’d have to brush it out properly, tomorrow morning.

“Another nightmare?” You asked, keeping your tone soft, light.

There was no response. Then, a small nod.

“About the soldiers?”

“About father.”

You sighed, more out of sympathy than frustration. You waited for him to breathe, to relax, to raise his head and let go off you and pull himself into the little nook you’d tucked yourself into, a make-shift booth that'd been built into the wall decades ago. His eyes were bloodshot, downcast. He must’ve been reading, after you put him to bed. Adelinde would urge you to chide him, but Diluc would only grin and tell you to keep his library stocked. “He’s late,” You admitted, albeit hesitantly. Patronizing him would’ve been pointless. He was better at seeing through lies than most adults, and you’d already learned your lesson, on that front. “But, I’m sure he’s alright. You remember what the maids always say about your father, don’t you?”

That earned a small, fragile smile. “There’s no sword in Mondstadt that can best his claymore.”

“That’s right.” You allowed yourself a small smile, too. “And, if he could pluck the stars front the sky and give them all to his son, he’d do it in a heartbeat. He wouldn’t leave the manor unless he knew he could come back to you, safe and sound.”

Cecil was beginning to bite the inside of his cheek. It was a bad habit, but one you could talk about later, on a better day. “What if he got hurt?”

“That’s why I’m here, right?” You winked, patting the spot just underneath your hip, the orb of glass and metal hidden underneath your apron. “I wouldn’t mind letting him in on our little secret.”

Cecil giggled, this time, and some of his anxiety seemed to fade. Not a lot, but just enough to give you hope that one of you would be able to sleep tonight, even if you doubted you’d be so lucky, yourself. “Do you think he’ll come home soon? I…” He shifted, nervously. It was a good kind of nervous, though. The excess energy of a spoiled child ready to flourish under his father’s attention. “I’d like to eat breakfast with him. With you, too. All three of us, together.”

It was easier said than done, but you grinned and stifled a laugh and ruffled his hair until he tried to bat your hand away, releasing an agitated huff when you refused to budge. “I’ll see what I can do,” You said, sweeping his bangs out of his face before letting him go. “But, you have to get yourself to bed, first. If you stay up any later, you’ll sleep straight through until lunch.”

He pouted, and he complained, but with another minute of teasing, another yawn, he was on his way to his room, and you were left alone. In a manor as busy as the Dawn Winery, even something as simple as a meal was hard to promise, but Cecil was a good kid, mild-mannered to a fault, and it’d be a shame to disappoint him now, after he clearly gathered up so much courage just to ask. You could only hope Diluc would be generous enough to lend you a few hours of his time, when he returned.

You moved to take another tiny, tasteless sip, but the sound of a hollow thud draw your attention to the entryway, to the mass of black fabric and tangled red hair dragging itself through it. You waited until he’d shut the door behind him, until his frantic breathing steadied into something just as labored, but more paced than his prior, feverish panting. You placed your mug on the short, wooden table in front of you, creating a hollow thud no louder than a footstep on thick carpeting, and his head snapped up, his eyes toward you.

It took him a moment to say anything, but no more than a moment. “Where’s Adelinde?”

His shirt was torn, red staining white fabric and dripping from a long gash along his torso. It was getting on the rug. “She’s already retired for the night.”

“And my son?”

“Cecil’s asleep, for now.” You stood up, brushing off your skirt. “I told him you’d be able to have breakfast with us. I didn’t think I’d have to question whether or not you would survive that long.”

You approached him slowly, and he let you, remaining silent as you pulled his arm over your shoulders and worked your own around his midriff. He hesitated, but relented quickly enough, slumping against your side. “My chambers,” He muttered, his voice low, raspy. “I don’t want anyone else to see me like this.”

You only nodded. “Of course, Master Diluc.”

His room was on the second floor, in the farthest wing of his manor, and you tried to keep his weight off of his injury as you pulled him forward, pretending you didn’t notice the way he swore under his breath, how the gash across his chest seemed to grow wider with every step. When you finally reached your destination, it was all he could do to collapse onto his bed, wrinkling expensive satin sheets as he struggled to keep himself upright.

“Lock the door,” He ordered, and obeyed, wordlessly. When you finished, he was already unbuttoning what was left on his shirt, shrugging it off, exposing all the minor wounds you’d failed to notice, earlier – scrapes, cuts, burns, what you could only guess was mild frostbite. You winced before you could stop yourself, and Diluc caught you, smiling absentmindedly. “Two abyss mages, maybe three. I’d usually be more presentable, but… this one caught me off-guard.” His hand drifted to his side, to the burnt skin that covered it. “Does blood bother you, (Y/n)?”

“No, it’s just…” You thought of Cecil, of the last time you’d taken him into the city, of how he’d tugged at your sleeve whenever he saw something that reminded him of his childhood idol, and allowed yourself to smile, too. “Cecil’s going to be devastated when he finds out you know the Darknight Hero and haven’t introduced him, yet.”

That drew out a laugh, but it was cut short by a soft, pained hiss. He doubled over, and you rushed over to him, moving to rest a hand on his back before thinking better of it and latching onto your own wrist, instead. “Master Dil—”

“Bandages. There’s a roll in my wardrobe. I can handle the rest on my—”

You didn’t let him finish. You weren’t used to it, the strain, the energy it took, but the breeze came naturally, cold and sharp, winding around your arms and your legs and around Diluc, too, in a soft, slow cyclone.

You kept your eyes closed, but you could feel the world around you, the wind outside, his injuries – open and torn, then healing, then gone completely, phantoms of pain that only existed in memories and the scars they left behind, the rough patches of skin you weren’t skilled enough to smooth over. You could feel your Vision, heavy at your waist, still hidden but undoubtedly glowing bright enough to be seen. It felt good to use it. It felt right. It wasn’t something you had the luxury of using very often, even if you always kept it on-hand. It wasn’t something you should let yourself use, now, but you'd told Cecil you would. The last thing you wanted to do was start breaking your promises, now.

Neither of your spoke after you finished. Diluc broke the silence, first. “I didn’t know you had a Vision.”

“No one ever asked.”

“You could’ve joined the Knights, or the Adventure’s Guild. Either would kill for a Vision bearing recruit” It was an observation, not a question. You didn’t respond, you couldn’t, not without admitting how weak you really were, how rarely you could afford to heal anything but scraped knees and low fevers, but Diluc didn’t seem to need you to. His eyes were clouded over, his speech still slurring. You’d fixed him up as thoroughly as you could, but he’d lost a lot of blood. Adelinde would have to keep an eye on him, tomorrow. “Why are you working for me?”

“Cecil’s a lovely boy, and I’ve always been good with kids. I thought my talents would be better used here than on the battlefield or behind a desk.” Diluc looked at you, doubtfully. You dropped your gaze to the floor, sitting down next to him. “My current salary is twice what it would’ve been, with the Knights. I need mora more than I need blood on my hands.”

“I’ll give you a raise, after this.” He’d almost certainly forget, but you appreciated the sentiment. “But you do have to answer by question, first.”

“I want to be comfortable.” Not a lie, but not the truth, either. Not the exhaustion, or the hunger, or the nights spent in filthy, crowded taverns, serving drinks and smiling until your cheeks hurt and letting drunken, pink-faced men grope at whatever they could reach just so the owner would treat you to a cold meal and a few hours of sleep in the storeroom, or the relief you'd felt when Barbatos gave you his blessing, when you were given something to prove you were worth more than a life spent struggling to get by.

Diluc had only ever showed you hospitality, and there was no doubt in your mind that he was a kind man, but he was a rich man, too, one raised too far from the city to understand the kind of suffering its walls could inflict. He couldn’t understand how you’d really lived before you came to the Dawn Winery, and you had no interest in trying to change that. “I’d like to travel, too, once I have enough saved up and Cecil gets too old for a nanny, and I want to learn how to use my Vision properly, but… I’m alright with just being comfortable, for now. I really just want to be comfortable.”

He shifted, repositioning himself, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. “I could keep you comfortable, if that’s all you want.”

Something twisted in your chest. You smile cracked, then fell away completely. “Master Diluc, I—”

“Cecil adores you. You’re all he talks about. I feel like I’m the one you’re looking after, sometimes.” You tried to stand up, but his hand shot your arm, holding you in place. His grip wasn’t tight, not yet, but the threat was there, and that was enough. It could hurt. He could hurt you, and it was hard not to imagine that he would, if you tied to pull away. “Adelinde speaks fondly of you, too. I’ve never seen her so impressed by another servant, let alone a nanny. Part of me still can’t believe you’ve earned her favor so quickly.”

“With all due respect, I’m not—”

“You’d make a good wife.” A pause, a sharp tug, dragging you back into the spot you’d been a moment ago. As if you’d never moved. As if you hadn’t already refused. “You’d have free rein over my manor, and my fortune – within limits, obviously. I could make you happy, keep you safe.” He was closer than he had been, than you wanted him to be. You didn’t dare try to push him away. “You’d be comfortable, with me. I’ll make sure you’re comfortable.”

You considered screaming, but thought better of it quickly. The door was locked, and Cecil’s room was the closest, just down the hall. No child should have to see his own father acting so… acting like this. “Please, sir, you need to rest. You’re not thinking straight. You lost a lot of blood, and—”

“And you’re being stubborn.” Blunt nails bit into your skin, nearly drawing blood. Now, it hurt. “Honestly, I expected more from you. This is no way to treat your husband.”

As soon as the words made it off his tongue, you bolted. Ripping yourself out of his hold, you moved to make a run for the door, but even injured, even delirious, even half-dead, Diluc was still stronger than you could ever hope to be. Before you could take a step, you were on the ground, on your stomach, Diluc on top of you, pinning your wrists to the small of your back with one hand and the other tearing at the collar of your dress, at the strings of your apron. This time, you screamed, too panicked to care who might hear, but Diluc covered your mouth before you could make a sound. “Don’t,” He spat. Not a question, not a warning. Just an order, the kind you’d let yourself get a little too used to obeying. “I can make this good for both of us, or I can make this good for me. Is that what you want, (Y/n)?”

You didn’t respond at all, at first.

Then, you felt the heel of his palm digging into your spine, his breath on the back of your neck, and reluctantly, you shook your head.

It was a slow, jerky motion, obviously forced, but he laughed and pulled away, regardless. “I’ve been dying to do this since the day you arrived.” His voice was lower, now, calmer, and he took the time to unbutton your dress rather than tear at it, to let it slip over your shoulders, to make you feel that much more exposed. You heard your Vision hit the floor, solid and chiming. Something inside of you cracked. “You’d be such a good mother to Cecil. It’s nearly been a decade since he’s had one, and he’s got a bias towards you. He’ll be ecstatic, once I tell him the news.” Another soft chuckle, a warm hand splayed over your shoulder blade. You felt sick. “Once we tell him the news. He’ll be disappointed if you’re not there.”

You felt his hand on your waist and curled into yourself, instinctively, but he was only lifting you up, placing you on the center of his bed, leaving your dress on the floor. It was a small dignity, so late and so insignificant, it almost made you feel more pathetic as he positioned himself between your legs.

He was older than you, more experienced, and it showed in the way he traced his thumb over your slit before pushing your panties to the side, the way his lips brushed against your collarbone as he buried two fingers in your cunt, how he pried and scissored and stretched you open until your thighs were shaking and your silence was interrupted by little, whiny nothings. You let your head lull to the side, your eyes clench shut, but you could still feel it, harsh and intrusive, and he was still on top of you, his chest hovering just above yours, his mouth on your neck, pressing soft, wet kisses into whatever he could reach. It was disgusting, it was repulsive, it was—

He pulled away, and you whimpered, the noise pathetic, pitchy.

The shame was instant, loathing for him and for yourself taking its place a second later. Not that it made a difference, to Diluc.

“That’s my good girl.” You felt his hand on your jaw, his fingers still damp with your slick. He wasn’t rough, but he didn’t have to be, not when he was so close to you, warmth radiating off of him like a secondary sun, not when he kissed you like that, hard enough to bruise, deep enough to leave you squirming and breathless and frantically trying to shove at his chest. By the time he pulled away, your lungs ached, and he was smiling, grinning from ear to ear. “Such a fragile little thing. You never would’ve made it on your own, but I’m here. I’ll take care of you. I’ll keep you safe.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt his thumb run across your cheek, until you opened your eyes and noticed how blurry your sight had gotten, how easily the world was reduced to a smear of black silk and red hair, scarlet and bright. Like fire.

Like blood.

“I’m not—” Your voice was shaking. It made you sound smaller than you actually were, weaker. “I have a Vision, I’m not fragile—”

“Even the archons can make mistakes.” You heard the click of a belt, the sound of fabric against fabric. A terrible, cracked sob slipped past your lips before you could choke it down, but Diluc only cooed, above you, purring at the sound of your misery. “You belong here, with your family. With me.”

You tried to respond, to deny it, but something nudged against your entrance, thick and hard and burning, and it was all you could do not to sob any louder.

He tried to be gentle, at first. He moved slowly, kept his hands on your hips, let you bite moans of pain and pleasure indiscriminately, but as soon as he bottomed out, as soon as you clenched around him, your body reacting despite your mind’s desperate attempts to make it stop, he growled, bared his teeth, pulled back and began to thrust into you with no reservation, no dignity, no regard. There was more pressure than anything, on the back of your throat, on your stomach, on your pussy, tying knots in your core, letting all the heat and friction and everything build up until it was unbearable just to think, just to try and distance yourself from your own helplessness. It didn’t hurt, not really, not the way you wished it would, but you couldn’t rationalize it, tuck it away in some deep, dark corner of your mind and wait for it to end. You couldn’t get away from it.

You couldn’t get away from him.

There was a grunt, then his hands drifting, falling, wrapping around your thighs and wrenching them upward, into your chest, folding you over entirely and letting himself abuse that soft, sensitive spot inside of you, too deep not to make you cry out. If Diluc was perturbed, if he’d heard you at all, you couldn’t tell. His face was already buried in the crook of your neck, his mouth already moving, rambling about nothing. It was gibberish, nonsensical to your hazy mind and spiraling thoughts. You couldn’t make out a word.

Not until his hips faltered, at least until his pace slowed for just a fraction of a second and, with the softest tone you’d ever heard from him, he finally said something you understood.

“You’re going to be such a good mother.”

Instantly, you wished you hadn’t heard anything at all.

But, it was too late. You couldn’t block anything out, anymore, not white dots blotting out your vision, not the tension in your body suddenly dissolving into a kind of ecstasy so overwhelming, it almost hurt, and not the feeling of Diluc’s teeth digging into your neck, of something hot spilling into you, burning, letting it spill out of your cunt and drip down your thighs as he rode out his own orgasm, nursing you through yours, at the same time.

Even after he stopped moving, he didn’t pull out. He stayed there, above you, inside of you, and when you looked away, curled into yourself, he kept himself busy by taking one of your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. It was almost sweet. It was almost comforting, in some twisted, broken way.

It was almost enough to distract you from wide his smile was, how happy he looked.

Happier than you’d ever seen him, before.

[keilemdarkmode]

this is gonna come outta left field but idk how to work a question like this into just. Casual conversation so-

opinion on lactation kink?

just some casual conversation 😎

i am like.... fairly lukewarm on it!!! i understand the appeal, but i also REALLY do not fuck with anything to do with pregnancy so :'^)

[keilemdarkmode]

re: asking about feederism:

its like you said, a kink cenetered around feeding someone or being fed yourself, theres different sub categories within it and is itself part of the larger "inflation" umbrella but it encompasulates the eating and drinking of substances with the intent of either weight gain or stuffing (sometimes both, depends on the person as no kink is the exact same as someone else)

like mine for instance focuses on the feeling of being full, the stuffing itself, some teasing about inevitable weight gain depending on the scenario at hand, and being too full to move and having to rely on the other person to care for you in the meanwhile

-fk anon

fk anon, living up to their title!!!

[keilemdarkmode]

I was scrolling through some of the asks you’ve answered in the past so I hope you and others can help me understand what feederism means…?

Does it include food somehow? Judging from the name alone?

yeah!!! i'll talk about it below the cut

(tw feederism, weight gain, some body image, force feeding)

feederism is essentially a kink around feeding someone/being fed to the point of weight gain/bodily changes (to put it as bluntly as possible lol). to really reduce it down, it's "being fed and/or feeding someone else and seeing that change makes me h word"

for me personally, the appeal is Much more about the feeding than the full bodily changes part :'^) force-feeding, "forced softness", and being taken care of in such a way is just... so h word to me lol. it's definitely not everyone's cup of tea though!!

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Strict Discipline.

Commissioned by the very lovely @strawberry-cake-and-earlgrey.

Pairing: Yandere!Zhongli & Reader & Yandere!Childe (Genshin Impact).

Word Count: 4.0k.

TW: Imprisonment, Emotional Abuse, Gaslighting, Mentions of Injury, and Infantilization.

[Part One]

The water was just a little too hot.

Not hot enough to burn, but hot enough to sting, to draw attention to the bruises coated over tender flesh, to the open wounds Childe had stitched shut, to the dried blood slowly tinting the water pink despite the fragrant oils and herbs Zhongli had taken long, agonizing minutes to mix in. There must’ve been something keeping it warm, a type of bottled elemental essence you weren’t familiar with, or one of the many mechanical, mortal devices you’d tried to avoid, despite how infatuated with them your master had grown. Steam was still rising off the surface of the water, but the stone walls of the tub were cool, unaffected by their contents, and the air still had a chill to it, one that bit into you so much more violently than the heat. It was torture, exposing yourself to it – walling yourself off in a corner of the bath, your knees pulled into your chest, half of your body freezing and the rest on fire. A gift from your captors. Their last present to you, before they leave you to writhe and scream and struggle the pain away alone.

Their final reminder that you’d done something wrong, and you were going to be the only one to suffer for it.

Not that they needed a reason to make you suffer, anymore.

You flinched as you heard a screen door slide open, curling into yourself, letting the treated water wash away your pride as while as the evidence of the carnage that'd been inflicted onto you. They were talking, whispering to each other, speaking in the low, conspiratorial tones they favored whenever you were deemed too ‘temperamental’ to be included, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, to listen, to do anything but shut your eyes and hope they’d see that you'd already had enough. But, a hand landed on your shoulder, as smooth as glass and as heavy as marble, and you knew you wouldn’t get so lucky. You knew they wouldn’t be so merciful.

You didn’t open your eyes. It was a childish show of resistance, an attempt to pretend you hadn't been dreading having to see them again, but it didn’t seem to make much of a difference. Childe laughed, the noise jarring, deep, and you could hear the smile in his voice. Somehow, knowing he’d already abandoned his earlier anger did little to dampen your lingering rage. “Look at that, Zhongli. They think they can get away with playing shy.”

Zhongli hummed, but he didn’t offer a response. Instead, a row of blunt nails brushed against your collarbone as he shifted, fishing a glass bottle out of his pocket. You watched through your eyelashes as he pressed something smooth against your lips, chalky and brightly colored, like candy. “For the pain,” He explained. You opened your mouth, ready to reject it, to say you didn’t want to anything made by mortal hands, but he went on before you could get a word in. “Unless you’d rather spend the rest of reliving your punishment. It’s up to you, my love.”

You frowned, but you opened your mouth, swallowing down the pill obediently. You’d already been in agony. You’d already plead for your life. You’d already bled. There wasn’t a point in putting yourself through so much pain again, not so soon.

Not when the only one you'd be hurting was yourself.

It only took a moment for your body to start to numb, every sensation sapping away, warmth and welcomed dullness quickly filling the empty space. Despite yourself, you relaxed, your hold on yourself loosening as you sunk into the water. It was shallow, more similar to a pool than a bath, placed in the center of the room and carved into the floor, a perfect mix of Zhongli’s preference for minimalistic, traditional designs and Childe’s desire to make you feel smaller, more vulnerable, more exposed.

It made your bedroom - cramped and empty and entirely devoid of any signs that a living creature might call it home - feel safe, in comparison, not homey, but less like you’re a prize being left in a glass case, something to be admired and contained, only occasionally taken out for more intimate observation. Even now, with your thoughts forced to a comfortable distance and your body exhausted, you could feel their eyes prying into you, their presence surrounding you – Zhongli on your right, his attention on the fresh scaring visible along the length of your spine, and Childe on your left, busy skimming his fingertips along the surface of bath, coaxing the water up to meet him. As far as you could tell, he wasn't using his Vision.

You let yourself stare, for a second, watching as the water rose and fell and rippled, but it was a second too long. It Zhongli time to notice, to laugh, to let his fingertips brush against the spot where he’d dug his knife in just a little too deeply for the injury to mend with only an hour and a few lengths of thread. You hissed, gritting your teeth, but it didn’t hurt, not as much as it could’ve. Not as much as it would, if he'd done it intentionally.

“It’s better, isn’t it?” He asked. You didn’t nod, didn’t respond, but you looked away, drew your arms closer and crossed them over your chest, and that was just as good. The fact that you could move on your own, that they didn’t have to hear you scream or watch you cry or let you cling to them just to get you off of the floor, meant it was better. It meant he’d made you feel better, even if he was the reason you’d ever been in agony at all. “See? It’s easier for us to make it better, when you let us take care of you.”

To them, taking care of you meant keeping you in chains. To them, taking care of you meant forcing meals down your throat when you refused to eat, it meant binding your hands behind your back when you tried to push them away, it meant taking your dignity, your strength, your trust, and tearing it all to shreds so Zhongli could show you how exciting it was to play human and Childe could direct his eager sadism towards a more enduring target. To them, taking care of you meant taking a knife to your skin when you struggled, when you tried to get away, and claiming again and again that they’re only trying to help, that they love you, that it’s only your own fault you suffer under their dutiful protection. It meant hurting you, and—

But, they weren’t hurting you right now. You reminded yourself of that, repeated it, burnt into your every conscious thought. They weren’t trying to hurt you. They weren't going to hurt you, not again, not tonight, at least.

And, just for tonight, you weren't going to give them a reason to.

“I don’t know, ‘li, I think it’s cute.” You couldn’t be sure when Childe had discarded his gloves, but he wasn’t wearing them as he touched you, as you felt a rough hand rest playfully on your bent knee, only playing with the idea of wandering. He was touching you. Not squeezing, not groping, not trying to provoke anything more violent than an argument. You weren’t sure whether to be wary of his sudden gentleness, or simply thankful he didn’t seem to know he was being gentle, just yet. “Let them have their fun, then we get have ours. Having to hold the poor thing down for so long and spent all night beating their lesson in… It feels like it’s worth it, after they finally drop the act and soften up.”

Usually, you hated having to hear them talk about you, having to listen to the way they spoke about you when you weren’t around – affectionately, softly, like a shared pet, an obligation they both happened to be fond of. If it were another day, if you weren’t so exhausted, you might have cut in, reminded your captors that you still had a voice, even if you really should know better than to use it, by now. But, Childe seemed relaxed, more tame than he usually was, and Zhongli had retrieved a deep granite bowl from the edge of the pool and started to wash over your hair, the water given just enough time to cool to make doing so bearable. You could feel his nails against your scalp, the sensation familiar, albeit unplaceable. It must’ve been something he used to do, before he was like this, before he was Zhongli. It must’ve been something he used to do when you still thought of him highly enough to let him touch you so carelessly.

When Zhongli spoke, you didn’t interrupt him. It wasn’t like they’d ever listened to anything you had to say, anyway. “It was easier, before I…” He trailed off, letting his head lull to the side. “It didn’t take as long to draw it out, I mean. They were more eager to impress, before they decided everything had to be difficult.”

“It’s disrespectful,” You cut in, your voice hoarse and ragged, barely above a mumble. “You’re a god. We’re not suppose walk among mortals for something as sindulgent as entertainment—"cherished his attention. There was a reason Xiao hadn’t been the one he’d taken, with his stand-offish nature and his sculpted neutrality, or Ganyu, as professional as she was content to be left in the background. You’d been selfish with the love of your archon, with his praise, with his company. You’d never stopped to think that he might notice your greed, your avarice, and only in your nightmares had you thought that your selfishness might've been what he liked about you. “Weren’t you, (Y/n)? I still remember the fits you used to throw whenever I had to leave you behind in Jueyun Karst, and how much you hated it when I first took to visiting Liyue Harbor in my—”

“It’s disrespectful,” You cut in, your voice hoarse and ragged, barely above a mumble. “You’re a god. We’re not suppose walk among mortals for something as self-indulgent as—"

“He was a god. That’s what you meant to say, right?” You could feel Childe staring you down, his focus too intense not to make you lean towards Zhongli. “Or did we push you a little too far, again?”

You sunk a little further into the water. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Most of Liyue still thinks of me as an archon. A fallen one, but an archon nonetheless.” He should’ve been the rational one, the unbiased one, and yet, his tone was far from impartial, and he’d abandoned the bowl, leaving his hands to drift over your bare skin, moving away from your wounds and towards your chest, instead, towards your collarbones. You shrunk into yourself, more out of reflex than any real delusion that you could ward him away, but Zhongli only chuckled. He was being patient, tonight. He was trying to be gentle.

Zhongli helped you stand, guiding you onto the tiled edge of the shallow bath and letting you sit beside him. A towel was produced, pulled out of some unseen closet or cabinet or drawer and draped over your form, kept flush against your skin by Childe’s arm around your waist, Zhongli’s side slotted against yours. Dully, you were aware that you should’ve resisted, or at least made an effort to stand on your own, but the water was lukewarm, by now, and it was nice to have something covering you, even if it was just a thin sheet of cloth.

It was nice to be close to them, when they weren’t hurting you.

It was nice to be close to anything that didn’t hurt you, if you were being honest.

“It must be comforting,” Zhongli went on, once you were situated. They both seemed to know you wouldn’t try to get away, but you couldn’t bring yourself hate them for it. There was no point being precautious. You were too tired to keep yourself completely upright, your body slumped against Zhongli’s for support, let alone fight back in any way that mattered. “Remember how you used to come to me, little one? All the nights you spent with your head in my lap, always worrying about things that were so much bigger than you…” This time, when he laughed, it was a softened noise, all rounded edges and distant birdsong. The way he used to laugh, before he was Zhongli. The way he used to laugh when you wanted to hear him laugh, before you before you began to dread the sound of his voice entirely. “I miss it, sometimes. It’s been a long time since you let me hold you like that.”

“Only a few months.” Less than a year. Nothing, in the eyes of an immortal. It should’ve felt like the blink of an eye. It should’ve. “Last time I did, you brought me here. You trapped me here.”

“We took you somewhere we’d be able to take care of you,” Childe corrected, mimicking Zhongli’s tone. It was a poor imitation. He didn’t get the inflections right, he didn’t know which fears to soothe and which anxieties to leave to fester, but he knew how to touch you, which pattens to trace into the flesh of your thigh. You felt warm. You felt sick. “I know we’ve told you that, before. You’re lucky we love you so much, nobody else would be willing to explain something so simple so many times.”

They weren’t patient. You knew that, distantly. Zhongli was, in a way. He’d lived for thousands of years, spent centuries at war and years on the battleground, but that just meant he had time, time that Childe didn’t, time that Childe couldn’t afford to waste. Zhongli was the one who punished you, who doled out your punishments so enthusiastically, but Childe took joy in it, in watching you struggle, in holding your head underwater until you were willing to behave just to breath. He was the one who enjoyed hurting you, even if Zhongli was never opposed to it.

And he was touching you. Gently. And speaking as if he’d never so much as considered laying a finger on you.

“I don’t like this.” You hated the way your voice sounded, small, pitchy, fragile. You wondered, momentarily, if it was the pill Zhongli had given you earlier, affecting something about the way you spoke, something about the way you heard yourself. Your vision was fuzzy around the edges, too, but that might’ve been the blood loss, or your own fatigue. You wondered if you’d always sounded like that, to them. “I don’t like being here, and I don’t like you… either of you, not when you act like this. I don’t like it when you treat me like I don’t even know what you're doing to me—”

Childe grinned, and Zhongli made a noise, something caught between a chuckle and a hush. “You’ll get yourself all worked up, (Y/n). Do you want that?”

“I’m not a child.” He should know that, better than anyone. A child would’ve been more skeptical. A child would’ve known better than to trust a deity who seemed so benevolent. You been naïve in spite of your youth, not because of it. There was no excuse for the amount of faith you’d put in a god who’d always been so content to accept your blind allegiance. “Don’t treat me as if I am.”

“But you get ahead of yourself so often, little one, and you say such hurtful things.” Zhongli wasn’t holding you. He didn’t have to, you all knew you wouldn’t be able to take more than a few steps on your own, but Childe moved, loosening his already lax grip on you, and Zhongli didn’t hesitate to claim the space he left vacant, his fingers brushing gingerly over your hip. “It makes it hard for us to trust you to be mature. Childe, especially. You know how many young, arrogant subordinates he has to deal with, and I’m sure you can imagine how frustrating it must be to come home to someone he loves trying so hard to spite him. It’s difficult, for both of us. You must know it’s difficult.”

“And try to see this from Zhongli’s perspective,” Childe added, pulling away just far enough to rest his hand over yours. “You’ve seen how hard he’s working to adjust to the mortal world. I’m sure it’d be easier for him to blend in if he didn’t have to keep so many secrets.” His grin softened, his smile growing fond, affectionate. As if the thought of Zhongli abandoning you as he’d abandoned the other adepti was endearing, to him. “He’s putting in an awful lot of work to keep you close, and all you care about is making yourself seem a little more tough. Is it worth it, (Y/n)? Do you like letting him down?”

“I’m not tou—I know I’m strong.” You’d already proven yourself. You shouldn’t have to do it again, like this, to two people who clearly didn’t want you to be strong. You shouldn’t feel like you have to. You shouldn’t want to. “I fought for Rex Lapis, and I earned my place by his side. It’s not your place to—”

“Did you, though?” Childe asked, squeezing your hand just tightly enough to make it agonizing, when he let go. “Or, did Rex Lapis just know he had to keep some of his subjects closer than others?”

You caught the side of your tongue in your teeth, biting down with just enough force to feel it through the numbing fog. You hadn’t cried, not tonight, not beyond a few tears when you couldn’t stave them off, any longer, when the pain was still paired with anger. It’d been a reaction, then, something forced out of you through calculated cruelty and careful violence, not a true display of emotion, or hopelessness, or whatever you’d been willing to call it to hold onto the idea that you hadn’t broken completely, just yet. There hadn’t been time to feel the pressure building up in the back of your throat, for something in your lungs to hitch when you tried to speak. “That’s not true,” You said, because it wasn’t. Because it couldn’t be. “It’s… Zhongli, please, he’s got to be—”

“Look at what you've done, Childe.” He wasn’t talking to you. You could still feel his hand on your hip, you were still aware of how his form eclipsed your own, but he wasn’t talking to you, anymore. He never really talked to you, when there was a risk you’d respond in a way that he didn’t care for. “You know how they get when you say such insensitive things. I thought you promised to tread more carefully, while they’re still so delicate.”

You hadn’t cried. You told yourself you wouldn’t, you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t show them such a weak side of yourself, and yet, you couldn’t swallow back the frustrated sob that tore through your chest, forcing its way through your lips in the form of a meek, hollow whimper. For a moment, you thought you’d get lucky, that it’d end there, but then Childe clicked his tongue and Zhongli whispered something about how soft they had to be with you and you cracked, clenching your eyes shut, bowing your head as something agitating and irrational and desperate washed over you, leaving you small and trembling in its wake. You wanted to cry. You didn’t think you’d be able to stand it, if you actually did. You wanted to be back in your cold, empty room where you could shove yourself into a corner and remember why you hated being here, why you hated them, why you couldn’t hate yourself for refusing to fall into their domestic fantasy.

You didn’t want to be alone.

You gasped, the noise uneven and airy, and in a moment, you were in Zhongli’s lap, or Rex Lapis’ lap, or whoever he was because clearly, he hadn’t changed as much as you’d convinced yourself he had, during his descent. He was humming, again, trying to comfort you the way he might comfort a crying child or a wounded animal, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, to try to stop him, to do anything but bury your face in the dip of his shoulder and try to focus on the feeling of his nails on the back of your neck, the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the vague memories of when you could be this close to him, this vulnerable with him, without the unspoken submission leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. Like this, you could still pretend he was Rex Lapis, that he was still the archon you’d devoted yourself to for so much of your long, long life.

Like this, you could still pretend you trusted him.

Like this, you could still pretend he wanted to be trusted.

Fabric shifted, someone whispered something you couldn’t hear, and a calloused palm pressed against your tattered back, and you remembered that there was another person responsible for your captivity besides your familiar, forgivable archon. You didn’t have a history with Childe. You didn’t know him, not as anything but the outsider who’d tried to drown your city, but Rex Lapis did, and Rex Lapis trusted him, and Rex Lapis trusted him with you. He’d hurt you, and Rex Lapis trusted him. He’d hurt you, and you were supposed to trust him, too.

You could feel his knuckles brush against your cheek, and mindlessly, you leaned into his touch, letting him cup your face as Rex Lapis laughed and kissed the top of your head. “See, Childe?” He asked, his tone just soft enough to let you know you weren’t supposed to be listening, anymore. “Loyalty is fickle, but it as a way of shining through. (Y/n) just needed time to… come to terms with this arrangement, and it was our job to help them along.”

But, this wasn’t loyalty, not really. You knew loyalty, you knew what it felt like to desire your deity’s happiness above all else, and whatever this was, it lacked that kind of reverence, that kind of devotion. This was exhaustion, and it was isolation, and it was months of nothing followed by something, a hand you could hold onto, a warmth you could let sink into your wounds and take the pain away. It wasn’t surrender, no, it’d been too long since you stood a chance of fighting back, and it wasn’t compliance, either, acquiescence, because this wasn’t what you wanted. It was what they wanted. It was what you could give them in exchange for a few kind words and the feeling of someone else’s skin against your own.

You knew, in the back of your mind, that this wouldn’t be good for you. It wouldn’t make you love them, it wouldn’t make you worship Rex Lapis the way you once did, and it wouldn’t last. They’d cross a line, eventually, do something you couldn’t force yourself to crave, and then, you’d have to go through all of this again, their anger only fueled by disappointment. It’d be better, if you ended this before it could start. It’d be easier, if you didn’t prove to them that you could cooperate. It’d hurt so much less if you just got it over with now.

But, Childe’s touch was warm, and Zhongli reminded you so much of Rex Lapis, of what he used to be, of what he still had to be, at his core. But, you were so, so tired.

The water had gone cold, and you didn’t know if you had the strength to push them away, anymore.

[lovekeigo-deactivated20220716]

Bad Touch

Scumbag!Hawks | Keigo Takami x Reader

Warnings: Dubcon, Dom/Sub, Yandere themes, Dacryphilia, and Mindbreak.

Word count: 5k+

Commission for: @keilemlucent (my pal <3)​

Against your own will, you're under the care of a dangerous hero. You refuse to go along with his insane wishes. He loses his patience.

bad touch: n. alludes to being sensual with someone against their will (i.e. sexual harassment)

You have a diamond heart. You’re made of pure diamond. A magnificent gem that triumphs in toughness compared to other stones. Pressure serves no match to you, you could remain in a controlled state of panic to complete any stress-inducing task. You were a problem solver who knew how to handle things. Hurtful comments didn’t get to you. No one and nothing could crack your durable exterior.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean that you are invincible to scratches. Under ‘perfect’ conditions, a diamond can scratch and chip like a plain mirror. Place it under a steel hammer, and it’d shatter like a wine glass.

Hawks was your hammer.

You’re not broken yet. That monster of a man has at best scathed the surface of your resilience, but you can tell you’re beginning to tread on thin ice. He’s running out of patience every day you refuse to speak, glance or even regard him. He’s gone as far as to raise his voice in his attempts to mold you into an obedient ladylove. Then after he quickly tries to use the old ‘good cop bad cop’ routine, hugging you with tender holds, acting apologetic.

He seems more emotionally affected by his own actions--or, perhaps he’s just a good actor. It confused you. With the psychological mind games, you can imagine he’s a terrifying interrogator when he uses brute, physical force. Which doesn’t appear to be too far away in your future, as he constantly reminds you. Those reminders have increased in daily quantity.

Hawks has been on edge lately, quick to get angry at your ‘silliness.’ It seems that his inability to make a dent in you has frustrated him. You pride yourself on lasting this long without losing your mind, but you’re starting to fear for your safety. So far this whole kidnapping bullshit has been painless. A bit like plucking hairs; not fun, and quite exhausting.

On his end, he claims it’s a lot like pulling teeth. He’s threatened to yank out a few of yours on more than one occasion.

One of the more difficult times often occurs during dinner. He tries to feed you, and offer you every drink he has in his fridge. Buys you an array of food, from five star meals to fast food. Fresh, organic vegetables to sweet desserts to coax you into appreciating his efforts. You eat when you’re starving, for your own survival. After a while of not eating, of course you eventually gave in. You figured that as long as you continue to allow him to provide your basic necessities, you could survive. In spite of that, you knew you couldn’t have your cake and eat it too. You saw it coming. He began expecting you to display some level of affection in return for ‘keeping your belly full.’

He had wanted you to say, ‘I love you.’ You scowled and shook your head at that request. He was trying to get through whatever cracks he saw. Not wanting to allow him to break that part of your resolve, you refused any and all requests to speak. This irked him.

It became clear that he was wanting more. He started asking you to give him a kiss. Every damned meal, for breakfast, lunchtime and dinner, the bastard would ask for one. You said nothing.

Well, his recent shitty mood and your sparse advancement in cooperation has become a poor match. He’s begun to push it, and he’s not liking the resistance.

Earlier for lunch you ate some large chicken tenders, with a big glass of water. You even caved and ate the orange he offered as extra incentive for another kiss. The both of you must have noticed you were starting to show signs you were running low on Vitamin C, such as your drying skin and the slowly healing bruise you got from falling off the bed when you tried to wrestle away from his needy clutches. You only ate the orange for the sole reason that you needed it. He must have taken that as a sign you were beginning to bend to his will.

“Come on, darling. It’s cheesecake! Have you tried cheesecake before?” He’s trying hard to remain upbeat.

You stay silent.

He slides a plate of pasta over, covered with cheesy goodness and rich with olive oil. “What about this? Ah? Yeah? Smells good, don’t it?”

You say nothing at all.

“Okay, okay. You’re probably lactose intolerant, like me. I’d still eat it, but to each their own.” He breathes deeply, brushes a shaky hand through his hair, then places a bowl of ice cream with a hot brownie sitting in the middle, topped off with whipped cream. “What about some good ol’ ice cream brownie?”

A slow blink is all you give.

“Really? None of these? I’d go nuts for these.” He stares at you with a strained grin, wiggling a spoon in front of you. “You can never be too hungry…! C’mon…! Some little extra, yummy goodness for your cute belly, and all you have to do is give me a big smooch on the lips!”

Your eyes close. You can hear the metaphorical kettle in your head start to whistle.

Hawks sighs audibly, his furry brows twitching, threatening to form a frown. His wings twitch violently. “I know you think I'm mean, but I’m not trying to be!” The hero tugs on your limp arm, intertwining his fingers with yours. He puts emphasis on certain words, speaking to you as if you were a toddler. “All things considered, I think you’re being meaner than me!”

Oh, good. He’s self aware. You’re not sure if that's a good thing.

No matter. You try to ignore him.

The spoon clatters to the table. The sound causes you to flinch, your eyes snapping open to meet his glaring ones.

“...What about another orange?” His voice sounds low, his words quiet. Like he’s gritting his teeth.

You shake your head, stiff. Your eyes show terror. Your face screams hatred.

“What a waste of time, arguing with me.” He blames you, as if you didn’t want to get out of the situation. “Fine. No dessert for you. Just kiss me, damn it, so we can get you ready for bedtime.”

Scrunching your eyes, you prepare for his kiss of death. It doesn’t come. Seconds pass, your eyes peeling open to see the bastard’s disgruntled face.

“My baby, you didn’t hear me did you? Poor thing, all my yelling must have made you go hard of hearing…” He says with such sincerity, it’s hard to distinguish if it’s sarcasm. “Let me repeat myself… Ahem. I said, kiss me so that we can get you into bed.”

Bullshit. You frown at him. He’s supposed to kiss you. You’ll tolerate nothing else.

“Just one kiss. That’s all I’m asking for…!” He’s seething silently.

As he expects, you do nothing.

As you should have expected, he grabs you by the neck and slams your head down into the table. The side of your face collides heavily with the surface of the table, your head bouncing, ricocheting off it like a plastic ball. The recoil from the impact felt a lot like whiplash. You’re paralyzed in shock, sudden pain and fear crippling you from any movement or thought.

You want to cry out in agony, curse at him for being an utter, deplorable demon.

Instead, you sit tharn while the hum of white noise fills your ears. You struggle to spur yourself from your petrification.

“I’ll take your silence as your surrender...” He half smiles-half glowers at you. “Are you going to do as you’re told, or do I need to do that again...?”

The room is spinning, double vision slowly fading. A single, quick head slam. Such power in it. Your cheek burns, throbbing with hurt. Your head feels like it’s going to burst. You don’t think you take another one without passing out. So very slowly, you manage to shake your head up and down.

“Look at that. Much faster results.” He pets the back of your head, bringing his face close to yours. It’s clear in his now softer voice and eyes he’s feeling somewhat remorseful. Though it’s also likely it’s just part of a deceptive act.

Your lip quivers.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to do that… You left me no choice! Come here, poor baby… Kiss me, and I’ll make it all go away.”

You have no choice. You don’t want to experience that awful pain again, neither do you want to fall unconscious. If he’s reached as far as to hurt you, there’s no telling what else he’d do. Suppressing the vomit in the back of your throat, you frailly offer your trembling lips to him.

Immediately, he beams with happiness. There’s a smug smile on his dastardly, ruggish face. He doesn’t spare you the torment of closing the gap himself, however. You're truly forced to go all the way. It takes all the spirit you can muster to put your own lips on his, you feel like you’re doing a horrible thing. Committing a crime. Once your lips graze his, you’re dirty. You want to wipe your entire face off, right in front of him so he knows how much you despise it.

Then the tip of his tongue touches yours. You lurch back, an instinctive move that couldn't have been prevented even if you tried.

He looks unhappy. “Now, now, little feather…”

His hand moves a fraction of an inch towards you. You can’t stop yourself. You speak.

“Don’t…” you cheep.

There’s a mixture of emotion in Hawks’ expression. Shock, confusion. Even pride. His feathers are sticking up, shifting around in excitement. The ends of his lips round upwards into another cutthroat smile. “...What was that?”

What a nonsensical thing for him to say. You hear him listening to recordings of you all day. No matter. He’s clawed his way in, and dragged you out. Your dignity was all you had left, a teaspoon of which remained. A teaspoon of which you were about to feed him.

He scooches closer, to your dismay. “There's that sweet, musical voice I missed so much! Go on, repeat it!”

You know damn well he heard what you said. He has the best hearing on this planet, he just wants more power of you, the greedy bastard. You hate him. You hate yourself for being afraid of him.

He leans back, tapping his chiseled, scruffed chin with a finger. “...Alright. I feel like it was a bit too harsh... I’m sorry, baby. Do you want to go to bed?”

You nod.

“Okay, sweetie,” he says softly, kissing you on the forehead.

You don’t understand him. You’ll never understand him. He’s bargaining with you, mentally. Playing mind games with you, controlling you with fear and making you feel safe with kindness. You’re caught between wanting to play this game with him for the sake of staying free from his wrath, and trying to gain back your resolve. You know, though, that once this devil of a man has a taste of what he wants--he will never stop.

Your options are limited. You think about them all night long. You can’t sleep. You’re too scared for the future. Today was a turning point, the tides are in his favor. He’s found a way to get to you. He’s not afraid to get ugly anymore.

You haven’t given up yet. If you’re smart enough, you can turn this around. You saw a flicker of regret in his eyes.

You can beat him at his own game. At the very least, you’ll try.

Things have changed a lot since he first hurt you. It’s been quite a while since then, too.

Your plan failed. Although he never said anything to show it, he saw you through your plan to psychologically manipulate him. You should’ve known better.

You’d feign innocence and panic, hoping to string out some sort of sympathy from him. Get him while his guard was down, guilt him into not being forceful with you. Instead of backing down like you’d hope he would, he’d lose his goddamn mind. Shake you around some, yank at your hair, grab you by the upper so hard there’s a mild indentation now. Verbal abuse was common, condescension spat left and right. His reactions were unprecedented. Completely unforeseen. He’d become a scourge in the cruelest sense of the word.

Eventually, your acts of apprehension and fear slowly became reality. They weren’t a planned, tactical form of manipulation anymore, you were fucking scared.

He only returned to his sweeter self when you behaved. After you yielded to him. After he wore you down enough to get inside you, defiling you. He commended you, cooed at you for being ‘such a good girl,’ You didn’t let it bother you so much because you’d go insane if you did. Things went way smoother that way. It revolted you how easily you were changing to fit his mood. Your reasoning was, well... In the simplest words, if the devil was happy, he wasn’t angry. If the devil wasn’t angry, he wouldn’t hurt you. You didn’t like to get hurt. So you keep him happy.

You stopped trying to make sense of anything. If anything, you stopped caring. The deeper you thought about it, the more you felt bad for yourself. The more it made your head hurt.

Headaches were kind of like your superpower, however. You began to develop an innate sense of when Hawks was getting frustrated with you. Whenever you got that sense that he was a tad titulated, you got worried. You could tell by the shift in the atmosphere. His face sometimes, too; lidded, sharp eyes that expected your attention. The stress would make your head pound. Once that tension would come rushing to your head, you knew to stay on the defense. You were to do as he says with as little retaliation as possible. Your headache would leave once your gut told you he was… satisfied?

It was unfortunate that the headache you had now was one of the worst you’ve felt.

Today, he was having a bad day playing hero. Bunch of punks scuffed his leather boots, gave him a hard time so he says. He’s angry as Hell, your sense tells you.

“I’m tellin’ you, sweet thing, today was just the worst…” he complains with a cruel smile. “Why don’t you get on your knees for me and help me relieve some of my stress…?”

Your knees are weak, unsteady. You don’t want to stand up.

You wanted to tell him he was rattling you. If he’s going to use you while he’s angry, he’s going to be vicious. You remember the last time he fucked you for some stress relief. He was rough with you, and you were in so much pain for days. That’s not fair to you. You’ve done everything he’s asked. You’ve eaten his meals, given him attention, showered him affection. He’s supposed to be kind.

“He leans over your shoulder, wings unfolding behind his back, casting a dark shadow over you. “Sweetie. When I tell you to do something, you shouldn't dawdle. You’re not a child.”

Ironic for him to say that, considering how much he treats you like one.

“Please…” The word comes out as an undertone.

“Hm?” His pupils widen.

“Please don’t be mean…” you plead, lowering your head.

“Awwoh, cutie... You don’t like it when Hawks is scary?” he purrs at you, brushing his hand over your cheek.

Your hand curls around his wrist, begging for mercy. “Don’t be rough… Please...”

His boisterous laugh makes you flinch. “Don’t be rough, you say... Scared of a little pain? Don’t you want your lover to feel good, to feel better?”

Your head is spinning. You cannot even begin to grasp what he’s saying.

He lifts you off the chair, kicking it away. “Tough. Patience is for chumps, kiddo. I need that mouth of yours.”

You’re forced on your knees, your face inches away from his pelvis. To your surprise, he doesn’t have a hard-on yet.

He begins taking off his belt, the clinking painful to your ears. His wings are spread out, almost to their full length. Maybe he’s trying to intimate you further, one of his predatory instincts. With wings like his, he’s more demon than human or animal.

You like to think he truly is a monster.

Belt removed, a pair of ruby feathers take it to the chair. He places his hands on his svelte hips, waiting. His teeth peek out from his smile, watching the realization build on your shy face.

“Meager as always, aren’t we?” he chuckles darkly. “You know I like it when you take it out…”

No, he just likes watching your hands shake as you raise them to unbutton his cargo trousers. To humiliate you further, he juts his hips out more, his growing bulge bumping the tip of your nose. You don’t dare grimace, knowing he’d only do it again to spite you.

“Alright, that’s enough.” His pants pulled down enough to his liking, it bunches at the midway of his hips. Not too low that it sags uncomfortably, not too high that it would make it difficult for you to take out his ever growing erection.

It’s nothing new, his choice of briefs. Pure black as his near-slit like pupils, with golden ‘H’s’ printed over the material from the front to the back. To wear one’s own branded underwear, it’s a obvious sign of how full of themselves they can be. Hawks’ never-ending display of egotism could set world records, a feat you know he’d be proud of.

“Go on, sweetheart… Don’t tell me you aren’t dying to get a taste of me?” He shoves your face into him, rubbing himself around your mouth.

The heavy scent of his musk can’t be contained by his briefs. It goes right up your nostrils, loosening a few screws in your head. Every time you got a whiff of his natural smell of arousal, your sense of autonomy seemed to fade. An indescribable feeling, being mentally held hostage. It was bad enough he psychologically gnawed at what was left of your once strong mind, it was in his damned biology to do it. Aware of your own thoughts and actions, your body still reacts according to what registered in your mind, hormones taking control. As involuntary arousal heightens, your body began sending off hormones to feed him.

Pheromones colliding, it seemed the same was happening to him. His aggressive nature instigated, coupled with his ‘bad day,’ he was already being rough with you. Stuffing your face full of his clothed cock, he made sure you could feel him throbbing, pressing the length of his dick so hard against your nose it was painful.

“Mmmm, hahaha… I like that look on your face. You look like you want to cry, it’s cute,” he says, tilting your head back to get a good look at your expression. “What’s the matter, baby? Am I smothering you with too much cock? It ain’t even out yet!”

You take a deep breath.

His hands come around the back of your head, keeping you close to his pelvis to prevent you from backing away. “Pull ‘em down. Use your teeth.”

It takes a lot of effort on your end to pull them down enough, the waistband so tight it snaps from your teeth a few times. He praises your effort in the most praise-less way possible, letting his fat, engorged cock smack your face. It sticks to your face like a wet sock, his balls hitting your chin with a slight sway.

His scent is so powerful. He’s awful, chuckling at your whimpers as he unsticks his cock.

Your lower lip trembles, your eyes watery.

Oh. That grabs his attention.

“Do my eyes deceive me? Is… Is my baby girl getting teary-eyed?”

Hawks stares at your eyes as if they were long, lost jewels. He’s never seen you cry before. He’s never made you cry before. His cock spurts precum at that. He liked making you cry. Those were long awaited tears he never knew he was waiting for.

“Now that… makes me horny.” He growls, keeping one hand on the back of your head and the other to guide his dick into your mouth.

His sadistic pleasure in your tears, knowing he’s going to destroy your mouth with no pity… it brings to tears. You sniff and sob as his cock fills your mouth, your quiet cries stifled.

His cock doesn’t make it too far in, the length of him not easy to swallow. You cough, your gag reflex kicking in. He pushes in, but you fight against him. One buck of his hips, and you retch violently around him. He lets up only an inch, groaning at the way you sputter around him. Additional tears run down your cheeks, forming from your gagging.

“Suck this dick like a good girl…” He thrusts his hips in and out of your mouth, desperately wanting to get deeper. He moans and flaps his wings gently, enjoying the sloppy sounds of you choking on him. “I love feeling the roof of your mouth, but I wanna feel your throat.”

Unpitying, the bastard urges you to take more. The constant forcefulness eventually causes your throat to ease up, allowing you to deepthroat him. Your sinuses open up, your nose runny and burning. His balls make messy claps against your chin, foamy saliva clinging to them.

“That’s it, pretty girl, mmmm…” he grunts, speeding his thrusts up. “You keep that throat open, keep those tears coming…! You don't wanna be baaad, do you?”

He demands you to keep choking on him. There’s no choice in the matter, unless you want to die choking on a big dick that insists on reaching the back of your throat--and it does. You close your eyes from the pressure, until Hawks taps on your temple with a finger.

“I said, keep those tears coming! I want to see those precious, wet eyes…” He coos cruelly.

Your watery eyes, streaming hot tears, connect with his. His eyes are squinted, perhaps from focus. The sharp, black markings around his inner and outer canthi give them a more keen mien. He reads your intimidated demeanor like an open book, taking pleasure once more in his power over you. He’s a scumbag and he knows it.

But he also smells the arousal coming from your inner thighs.

Your torture stops. His cock is removed from your throat rather quickly. You’re left dizzy and nauseous, the familiar mist of horny fully clouding your thoughts. Wobbly from what was practically asphyxiation, you collapse onto your forearms in a slight daze. You use the short time to wipe away the tears smearing your vision. Rustling sounds grab your attention right after, somewhere behind you. You don’t get a chance to see what’s happening. You feel it, instead.

Hawks is downright nude. He’s mounting you like an animal mounting his mate, his smooth chest pressing on your back. His heavy cock is jabbing your clothed mouth as if it has a mind of its own, seeking the warmth of your wet, gooey cunt.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes, darling, they’re such a nuisance.”

He grabs the bottom of your shirt, yanking it over your head gracelessly. It gets stuck over your head, under your neck. You wonder if he’s going to purposely leave it, which you wouldn’t mind. Better than having to see his rotten face.

Sadly, he gives it a good tug, removing your safe haven. Your pants, too, come off. He’s not gentle with those either, peeling them off like you would with a doll. Manhandling you with no regard. Though, you suppose that’s just how Hawks views you. His little plaything that he adores.

Once again, you’re stuck between a hammer and anvil. You foresee a very brutal fucking. The throat fucking you barely survived was just the tip of the iceburg. Your brain is more or less on autopilot, but you’re paralyzed. A similar state in animals is often referred to as ‘tonic immobility,’ a last resort little critters such as rabbits use when they find themselves in inescapable danger. Almost like playing dead. Even if you did try to fight him you’d end up in a world of hurt, so perhaps deep down you’re simply sensible enough. It’s best to let nature run its course.

“You’ve gotten so good at following directions, baby feather…” He observes your quiet stance on all fours. “You really wanna be a good little girl and take Hawks’ pounding!”

In a way.

He mounts you once more, assuming his vulgar position on top of you. Cock wagging, bobbing up and down, its slick head bumps your leaky folds. His hand wraps around the base, ushering it to line up where he wants it.

You keen as the head breaches your pussy with a squelch, a sound Hawks moans at. He’s big, trying to force himself in despite the clear resistance. His hands latch onto your hips, dragging you down and back to impale you on his dick. Your walls give and widen to let him in, his cock sheathing to the hilt. You gasp from the fullness, he groans from the tightness.

Your nails dig deep into the floorboards, a sad attempt to anchor yourself. You keep your sights on the floor, staring at your shadows. The bastard’s giant wings look humongous, giving your shadows an ugly, deformed shape. Like a biblical figure of sorts, with blood-dipped feathers raining down.

“You take ol’ Hawks’ cock soooo damn well, don’t you, baby girl?” his breath is ragged in your ears, his chin tickling your neck.

You’re shaking, tears pricking the corner of your eyes for the second time. “Mercy…”

He ignores you, focusing on your body’s grateful clenches. Adjusting his knees, widening your knees apart more, he begins moving his hips rapidly. A short brief period of slow thrusts quickly turned into a pounding. Every drive into you brings your head close to the ground, your hands almost unable to keep you upright. If it weren’t for his raptor grip on your sides, you’d surely bang your forehead. His cock hits your gummy cervix with each thrust, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. With how hard he was pummeling past your poor walls, you’d think he was trying to burst past it.

“God damn, I needed this… I needed this so bad.” He pants, his tongue unfurling like a dog’s. His wings, fluttery and uncurled, twitch wildly behind him.

Jostling your innards shouldn’t feel as good as it does. You can’t deny that Hawks isn’t good at fucking, but he’s definitly selfisn about it. He can also be vile when he wants to, gets a kick out of it sometimes. It’s nasty and agonizing--but it beats getting choked out until you submit.

Your body can’t take it anymore. Your arms become too weak, too sore to hold up your upper half. You end up slouching forward, in a downward dog position. With the side of your face on the floor, you’re getting a mild burn on your cheek from the friction. He feels bigger like this, and has better control in angling his thrusts.

You let him have his way. Hawks seems to like the change in position. He rambles about how wet you are, how good you feel with your ass up in the air. He wants more however, and moves one of his legs up beside you This way, he has an even deeper reach. By now, your cervix must be bruised. Taking hit after hit, serving as a tender cushion for his cock. He brushes past your sweet spot though, after so long. You wonder if he’s always known where it is, and he just chooses to be an asshole.

You let out a strained mewl, blinking away tears that your captor laps up.

“What’s that, baby feather? You’re close?” He avoids hitting your cervix, hitting your special spot with vigor. “This where you like it? Yeah, I can tell by the way you clench… I can fucking feel that...”

His balls, rounded with his seed, hit your clit more frequently. His pace speeds up, your creamy cunt constricting him most pleasurably. The gluttonous pig only lets you have your end when he’s close to his.

“Tell your hero when you’re close, sweetheart…” he groans deep into your ear, huffing. “Because I’m about to blow my fuckin’ load. An’ I’m not in the mood to help you reach it after I’m spent!”

You’re gasping for air, crushed under his weight. Draping over your shoulders are his massive wings, a blanket you didn’t need when you were already hot and sweaty. They don't stay there for long, they lift up and flap intermittently. You take this as a sign that he’s indeed very close.

His efforts increase, until he’s essentially fucking you into the floor. He brings a hand over to your clit, rubbing it with his fingers furiously. You yelp, jerking under him from the overstimulation. Nothing but cock on your mind, you announce how close you are to your orgasm. It doesn’t matter, you cum immediately. What surprises you the most is how you cum; you’re squirting, creating a pool of clear liquid underneath you.

“Ohhoho, that’s a funny sensation…!! Fuck, that’s so hot--hahh… Hahh, fuck, I’m coming! I’m coming, baby, you’re gonna take my cum you sweet angel--!” His ramblings are cut short. A gush of his semen shoots into you, taking hold in the deep pockets of your puny cunt. Leftovers spew out, joining your mess on the floor.

He pulls out, allowing a mixture of fluids to pour out. His fat cock acted like a plug, keeping everything inside you. He hums to himself, eyeing the nice little creampie he gave you.

“Now that… is how you make a man happy.” He slumps down on the ground, laying on his side.

You lay on your side as well, depleted of all energy. You stare at the puddle of cum on the floor, a mess you’d be the one to clean.

You’re suddenly pulled towards him, into his hold. You remain limp, not bothering to speak either. You have no words, you never do.

“See? You were making such a damned fuss, yet you took me like a champ! Maybe we should fuck like that all the time… Like animals.”

You shudder.

[keilemdarkmode]

idk how i can get childe to be a feeder but ill figure it out -fk anon

PLEASE oh my god... .. . feeder childe 👀

[yandere-daydreams]

What about yanderes who cannot physically be with their darlings? Like a deep sea mermaid and a human. The mermaid will die in the shallows, and a human will die in the depths. To what lengths would they go to skirt this issue, or would they ignore it entirely and accidentally kill their darling in the process?

tw - kidnapping, imprisonment, delusional mindsets, slight victim-blaming, eldritch-monster fucking.

Honestly, I think I just have a soft spot for yanderes who are selfish enough to trap their darling somewhere they know you won't be happy, a place where they can't be happy, either, but would rather make you absolutely miserable than let you get any further away than you already are. Maybe they're a deep-sea creature, a goliath of the depth ten times the size of the tiny, barren island they've trapped you on - something too big and too distorted to ever breach the surface with more than a single tendril, just enough to drag down prey or sink unsuspecting ships or relocate a single, thrashing human to a part of the ocean where the water glows at night and the flora isn't quite what it should be and their influence can stretch a little further than it would, in areas where reality is a little less tenuous. They can't be with you, not really, not anymore than they're with the sky or the mountains or the whales they catch and drag to the sea floor, but they're closer to you. It should be clear that they'd do anything to be a little closer to you, by now.

They try to do what they can, try to make you to make your relationship more intimate than it could ever really be, at such a distance. They provide for you, hunting, leaving supplies gathered from mortals they care for a little less, gifting you all the many treasure that find their way to your admirer's own sunken domain, but they can't hold you, they can't lie next to you, and last time they tried to touch you, last time they let a part of themself (their true self) break the surface, it took weeks just to get you to stop shaking long enough to sleep. They indulge themself, occasionally, letting waves wash away the shells you seem fond of so they can run their fingers over the softened ridges, stealing glances of you out of the eyes of dolphins and seagulls, but it's not like touching you, it's not like seeing you, it's not like having you, not the way a less creature would, not the way another human would, if another human could possibly love you as much as they love you.

They still long to feel your skin, soft and easily bruised, and they long to hear your voice, trembling and uninterrupted by wordless screams and gasps for air, and they want more, they want it to be less complicated, they want it now, by their own hand, in a way that doesn't require so much trepidation and cautious distance. Even if it scares you. Even if you wouldn't like what they'd have to turn you into, to bring you close.

But, you don't like it here. You don't like it with them, even when you aren't really with them. You're not happy, but they could be. You're the only one who has to be miserable.

And don't they deserve to be happy, after so long spent suffering for the sake of love?

[keilemdarkmode]

okay i have a handful of sexc feeder thirsts in my inbox that i wanna get to tmrw 👀 they are... delicious 

[keilemdarkmode]

mwah -a kissy from a nihilist

kith kith right back bb <3

[keilemdarkmode]

fk anon - i know last time i said was the last time then you went and did the "whispering sin in your ears about how well you take him. how proud he is of the way you so easily receive all he offers you." bit and now its hawks force feeding you because you were too slow for his liking (he needs to be inside you already, but you need to finish your dinner first here he'll help out its no worry at all, all you need to worry about is keeping up with him and working that pretty jaw that would look so much better around his cock-) and just whisper so much praise even as your belly strains and he soothes with one hand while the other keeps a steady stream of food to you. its nothing but praise while you sit pretty, belly stuffed taught and round and keigo takes absolute delight in making rounder

fk anon i’m just so completely 😳🥴💞💗💗💗💗 rn oh my god

(nsfw, force feeding, feederism, ‘good girl’, hawks being a lil mean)

just… the force feeding. keigo gets impatience, he has needs and wants and you will be stuffed promptly. he’s not too mean with it, making sure to not shove bites too far back into your mouth. you never fully have the chance to swallow your massive bites, but you’re good all the same. keeping a hand on his wrist to keep yourself steady, though you still shy away from his heaped spoonfuls

he counteracts all of the tentativeness and obvious discomfort with praise. each bite is accompanied by a “good girl” or “that’s it sweetheart, chewing so good for me” or “just a little more baby” (even though you know he’s not close to finish filling you)

he just loves 🥺 making your round. plump and soft and content. he’s always needy, quietly or loudly depending on his mood. but, ritualistically, keigo cannot fuck without making sure your tummy is full and taut. if you’re warm and full, he’s happy 💗

[keilemdarkmode]

one more before bedtime, you see how having a full belly affects keigo, as good as he is in hiding his emotions and reactions you know him well ejough to know his tells, how his eyes linger when you turn to the side and he can see how round you are, how his eyes widen and glint with joy as you open up and let him place another treat on your tongue, how his hands seem to itch to be touching you, palming your plump body (his doing you tease him and ignore the way his wings flutter at it), and sometimes you like to lean into it, especially during his ruts when he has his cock inside you, your stuffed belly between you, full to the brim of food he had cooked earlier and you had let him hand feed you, and you ask him to fill you up even more, to stuff you so full you wouldnt be able to walk

-fk anon (i like the name lol its cute)

fk anon you are feeding us so well (no pun intended lol) THANK YOU

these are such good thoughts OH my god like 👀 rutting feeder keigo would be a different being.

(WARNINGS: nsfw, tw feederism, feeder keigo, tw weight gain, tw body image, reader’s body described with weight gain, food, force feeding and associated pains)

everything about him is more insatiable. the need to fill, stuff and fuck you is consuming. he masks the outright lusts with lots of pampering, going overboard regularly, but you both get used to it.

you see how he looks at you, so hungry and smitten. he'll cook you mountains of food, the best and most nourishing things he can provide. maybe he'll let you feed yourself, but his bird brain NEEDS to take care of you. and like, keigo is gentle when he feeds you (mostly, when you get a little too round and full and whiny, he gets firmer. never enough to hurt, just enough to solidify that his portion and feedings weren't a suggestion.)

and god, after you're so full it hurts to move, then he'll fuck you. you're probably prepared in body to take his brood, so why not stuff you another way? he does all the work, doesn't make you lift a finger preparing you. he needs his fill, eating you out like a man starved and working you open and broken on his fingers. his feathers keep you pinned, rubbing at your tight belly as you keen and whimper. as good as it hurts, it still hurts, but not enough to stop. not even close.

because keigo knows how to take care of you so good. he’ll feed you his cock, hold open your jaw and fuck your mouth and throat so close that the tears hardly sting. his cock gets so damn thick during his rut, it’s almost too much, especially with your own bulging belly. yet, somehow, feeling so full in every way just makes you crave him more

and when he finally fucks you, fills you inch by inch, whispering sin in your ears about how well you take him. how proud he is of the way you so easily receive all he offers you. how well you’re going to take him and his seed. he knows you would be able to move when he’s through with you. particularly because he’s going to prop your hips high so his cum and brood take. not that you’ll mind, fucked out and in your own stuffed stupor <3

[keilemdarkmode]

👀 feederism is my kink i can and have talked about this and scenarios like this for literal Hours heres another because why not-

Hawks adores keeping you well fed, the man loves every inch of you including your delightfully round belly after a day of eating the treats he's made for you, nothing too sugary or fattening, it needs to be nutrituous as, in his head, you're eating for two. At one point you make a joke about how all this extra food is making sure theres more "cushion for the pushin'" and hawks laughs at the joke and eyes you and your deliciously plump form and hes on you in a heartbeat, suggesting you let him cook tonight, you had such a long day at work, and you know how much he loves taking care of you and dont worry about feeding yourself- he says, ghosting a hand over your already pleasantly full belly. He'll make sure you get plenty of food in you

feeder keigo anon, FK anon if u will, THANK you for this brainrot im fucking living for it 

(tw feederism, weight gain, nsfw, tw body image, tw readers body is describe as plump due to feederism for the love of god don’t read this if it isn’t your thing lol)

there's so many aspects for feeder keigo that i love. his pre, during and post rut brain not quite being able to tell if he's smitten with your round belly and thighs because you're well-fed or because it makes you lean a bit more toward looking plump with child (despite being on incredibly reliable birth control). there's something about seeing you sated, seated and content with a straining tummy that gets his own guts fluttering.

and god, you love. you joke about it too. about how your 'love handles really are handles now'. you have gained a few extra pounds and you've noticed that keigo is quick to appreciate. when you bring up the new pudge around your hips, keigo lights up in the sweetest way. he's in the kitchen, stirring a pot of something (?) (he's recently taken to cooking and you're happy to encourage it) and he melts, just by looking at you.

you look so happy. you're so content, settled on the couch under a blanket, hand over your plump tummy with a smile on your face. keigo had already hand-fed you a snack earlier (some of your favorite desserts from a bakery he'd come across while on patrol) and he knows you’re already full enough as it is. but he also knows you’ll never refuse a meal that he makes for you and feeds to you. you’ll open you lips so obediently and sweetly, taking bite after bite and only whining when it starts to feel like you’ll bursts. 

he assures you, all adoration and his own private gluttony, to rest and let him take care of things. dinner is almost done, there’s lube and a bullet vibe tucked into a drawer on the coffee table. and keigo can’t think of a better evening than spoiling you, stuffing you, and bringing you to orgasm while your tummy aches from all his spoiling and indulging <3