@storageinmyheart - Tumblr Blog

౨ৎ — subby!top!peter... mmmm . . . 18+! (yes I'm spreading my subby!top!peter agenda i hope that's okay)

physically, he's got aaallll the control. he's got your legs hiked up, knees bent over his shoulders, body nearly folded in half beneath him. your pussy is swollen, fucked open, and achy around his thick cock, walls gooey and slick and pliant, helpless to do much else than take the brutal, deep thrusts he abuses them with.

effectively, he fucks you completely senseless, with precise snaps of his hips that have your eyes rolling back into your skull.

but verbally? fuck, you'd think you were the one fucking him dumb.

he whines, groans, moans, and whimpers, desperate little pleas falling from his throat while he uses your cunt to milk himself.

"ohhh, fuck, yesyes—fuck baby, just like that. don't stop, please don't stop! s'fuckin' perfect, fuck me s'good—!" between wet, loud plaps! and creaking wood with a voice that's broken and fucked out.

and when he's about to cum? oh, he begs for it. despite having the upper hand, despite being in control of the pace, he begs you to let him cum—"f-fuck, please, m'gonna cum. please lemme cum—i-inside, can i—fu-huuuck—please make me cum, please—!"

and he actually waits; he waits until you give him permission, pace never faltering, still fucking you so fast and hard that it rattles your brain, toned abdomen slamming into your puffy clit every time he bottoms out.

and you're so close yourself that all you can do is nod and chant, "yes, yes, fuck, yes." while your cunt slurps and flutters around him, moans crescendoing as he fucks you even harder, in fast, short thrusts that quickly bring you—and himself—to orgasm.

"o-ohmygod, baby—'m coming—fuck, please, stay still, please baby—need you to take it, please—" his words cut off into moans that morph into near sobs as he starts to release, cock spurting thick, sticky ropes of cum against your walls.

thick cum that squelches lewdly from your convulsing pussy as he sloppily fucks himself through the waves, eyes watering from the way he throws himself into near overstimulation just to ensure that he squeezes out every last drop into your warm womb ♡.

smauifulike

Hey this is my first time requesting! I was wondering if you could do yandere Jjk men (maybe Nanami , sukuna and whoever else u choose) with reader who doesn’t know their dating and they’ve been telling everyone that there together and reader is like ???? U never asked me (sorry if this is too broad!!)

SINCE WHEN?

yandere jjk men x reader smau (sukuna, choso, nanami, hiromi)

in their fantasy world, you're dating. in reality...

Contains: stalking, obsessive behaviour, coercion, manipulation, threats of violence against curses, abuse of power, implied breaking and entering, choso is weirdly obsessed with your anatomy 😁

sorry if the kento conversation sounds weird, the app glitched and cut off part of the conversation, so I had to stitch it back together best I could

rotting--melody

!! :D okay so!! yandere!miguel o'hara x gn!reader smut where reader is pining after miguel and has been for a while, and miguel picks up on it and rails reader (I'm sorry T^T I'm very awkward when requesting D:) and there's size difference/kink, marking kink, overstimulation + multiple orgasms (for reader mostly but miguel has like, a lot of stamina bc of spider-man thing and keeps going for a couple rounds), and possessive behavior on miguels part? :D!!! also feel free to not do this request if you aren't comfy, pls just respond to this and tell me if you don't wanna write this!! /nf

Thank you so much for requesting lovely Annon!!!! I'm so sorry it took me so long to respond, I'm pretty rusty after not writing for so long! That being said, I hope this is what you were expecting when you requested!! Please feel free to tell me if this is like butt-fuck awful or something 😭 I'm also sorry if I slipped up while writing the smut portion, I haven't written gn smut before so I'm still getting used to it

NOT PROOF-READ!! Pls let me know if you spot anything wrong, I'll go back in and fix it

read part one here

wc-> 2.8k (yall are eating GOOD tonight)

cw-> everything mentioned in the ask!! plus choking & a creampie bc im freaky like dat. also i think this might count as dubcon? don't get me wrong, reader DEFINITELY wants it, but this is probably not how they planned on it going!

(fic directly below the cut)

atlasscrumpit

Yandere Miguel x Reader - Part 4

(EXTREMELY TRIGGERING)

Part 3 here

Part 5 here

ambi-writes

Woes of Reincarnation [Yandere! Miguel]

Synopsis: As a recent enjoyer of the movie Across the Spiderverse, you were recently converted to a Miguel stan. Consuming all the edits on tiktok and instagram did nothing except feed into your delusions. So after a drunken night out with your friends, when you’re walking home being absolutely hammered, you failed to see the truck with bright lights that was speeding your way when you crossed the road. You die and are reincarnated into Earth 928B - in the very place your current self-exclaimed fictional husband resided in. So, just like any dedicated fan, you turn to a life of petty crime to get his attention. Except, you had no idea of the dangerous new reality that awaited you and very different Miguel you would encounter.

Warnings: As this is yandere fiction, this deals with behaviours that can be uncomfortable to read. Read at your own risk. This work is purely fictional, I do not condone this behaviour irl. By clicking the ‘read more/keep reading’ you are consenting to read this at your discretion. Also the reader uses she/her pronouns.

PSA: I’ve rewritten this crap like 3 times… I have given up so you can just enjoy this as it it written right now :’) Also, not really proof read. We die like men - Happy reading!

Keep reading

melaridraws

GOJO TIDDIES :D

now that I have your attention...I'm opening 3 comms slots :3

info in my pinned post <3

hyacinth-in-a-haze

Victorian gothic Yandere Duke husband x fem reader

Part 1

Contains- toxic arranged marriage, gaslighting, surveillance, verbal abuse, dacryphillia, masterbation.

Things change since your husband's sudden declaration of his care for you. Quietly they change, you notice a maid always shadowing you where you once wandered the grand halls alone. You notice that every time you wish to leave for a walk your things seem to be misplaced and by the time you find them it is near dinner.

Most of all, your husband is there. Present always within your vision like a specter, a silent figure watching as you go through the motions of your life like a wind up doll. Meals become more abhorrent since that night, he sits close to you now, commenting upon each thing you consume in judgement.You regret ever wishing for his attentions when he starts telling the butler that from now on you're never to be granted more than half a glass of wine at mealtimes. He just watches and comments, cyclical barbs over and over that only drive the painful awareness of your existence so deep you can feel it through your ribs.

“Why do you favour sweets so much? You are not a child.”

“You wear your hair in that fashion often. Does your maid not know another?”

“You have been reading that book for a while. Have you still not finished it?”

Every single observation hits you like a barb, he never says more weather he approves or disapproves. Though you're very aware that everything he disapproves of disappears by the sunrise. Having learnt that the hard way when you spent the better part of a day searching for a necklace you dared to wear in front of him the previous night, a necklace gifted to you from your father. Instead of making them disappear he almost pushes them forward, more desserts are brought to you over the course of a day, your maid suddenly has jeweled combs and pins to place into your otherwise quite plain hair, the bookshelf is filled with further volumes and editions.

All this serves for you is to make you feel watched, a puppet performing to the audience consistently without a break. Even without your husband in the room there is always a servant, who must report to him every observation made of you. You fear you may be growing mad, and madwomen never end up happily, your books are quick to remind you of that.

At first you thought the problems of your marriage was simply that your husband had no care for you, and now you know it to be the opposite, now he's turned from a silent spectator haunting every step you take with his unending gaze, to a participant making himself known in every movement he makes. So you've turned to scurrying around the manor as much as you can, avoiding his presence whenever possible and hiding from the servants sent to search for you, you wonder if he may eventually give up and take dinner without you. You don't expect him to tear up each room in his search for you, for him to lose all cold composure and barge into the disused bedroom you've been hiding in.You don't get a chance to scream before he locks two hard heavy hands upon your shoulders like shackles on a condemned man.

“You asked for my attention, cried out for it like some petulant brat. And now you cry again that it is all too much. You know nothing of what is good for yourself.” He hisses into your ear “perhaps you are hysterical, what should I do then? Lock you up in the attic or in a madhouse and wait for you to die. Is that the kind of man you think I am?” “You detest me, you think I don't see the way you look at me? Foolish girl you've never been able to hide a single thought upon your face. But I saved you!” He punctuates each word with shaking your shoulders until you're so dizzy you can hardly stand. “I saved you from being under your father's thumb, a luxury your sisters cannot claim as theirs. And now that they have to become governesses or teachers because he's gambled away all their dowries you get to sit here like an overindulged lapdog!” He practically sneers at the tears that you are fighting so hard to keep from falling down your cheeks.

“Oh don't you start crying, I am a good man do not act as though I've done anything but my duty to you as a husband.” duty, he practically spits the word out as you feel flecks of his saliva on your skin“My duty to discipline a wife who knows only it seems to aggravate me,” Despite his words its clear your tears do have some effect on him, he stills and the red colour of anger subdues to just a flush speckled onto his icy skin. A moment of silence passes between you two, so long it you feel yourself growing faint from the lack of breath, until he suddenly drops his hands from your skin as if it burns him.His voice becomes choked and he turns from your face as if he is disgusted by your presence “Go to your room. You are to stay without supper and think if your actions are ones that reflect your status. I will visit you once I'm satisfied that you've reflected enough.”

You follow suit, unaware that when you close the door, he can not help himself but to face the consequences your tears ignited within him. How dare you manage to debase a man like him as though he's nothing but a dog wishing to rut the childishness out of you. Face flushed and body trembling, he can not help but fantasise about pinning you against a hard surface until you're nothing but a spent dumb mess unable to beg for mercy. He doesn't come to his senses until he feels his scalding hot release burst over his hand, cursing your name all the while for forcing him to lose control over his very own self.

hyacinth-in-a-haze

Victorian gothic inspired! Yandere Duke husband! x fem reader!

The moors are quiet as always. Walking along them every night, letting your heavy skirt get caught on the nettles and Heather that populate the floor. Staying out as the last breath of the sun begins to paint the sky the same colour as the flowers you've trampled over, until the servants come searching for you. Lamps in hand. Perhaps if you stay out too late your husband will forbid these evening walks of yours. The only point in your day when the silence is anything but oppressive.

There is a list of what he has seemingly forbidden without him ever needing to say anything, a servant will mumble it is not encouraged when you make your requests. Pets are not encouraged, visits are not encouraged, parties are not encouraged. Even fraternising with them is not encouraged. So far it seems that the only thing he approves of is isolation. You trample another flower before making your way back. The only other times you leave the manor is every Sunday, taking the coach ride up to the church, sitting together in his family pew as the reverend drones, bonnet obscuring the faces in your peripheral vision. He doesn't linger after the service, instead you two return home to a meal. Again in silence.

You're starting to wonder if you remember his voice.

Your return to the manor is met with a change from walking clothes to evening gown. You two have meals together. Something he insists upon, no tray taken up to your room, you must dress for dinner and take it properly across from him as portraits of his ancestors stare down at you.

You linger in the bedroom, staring at the unsent letter on your desk. It's been only a few months, and while the North is so far from your family home further south, surely they would have gotten your letters by now? But maybe they just expect you to be busy now, a new wife in her new home. Children of course should be your task but when the only thing he touches you with is his cold gaze it seems that task too is something you just fail in. With a sigh you make your way to his office, where you would haunt the empty doorway, quietly requesting a stamp from his desk once he acknowledges your presence.

Today marks a change in routine, he is absent. you hesitate, are you even allowed inside without him to tell you? But, he never denies your request for a stamp so surely you would not be in trouble for simply taking one for yourself? Right? Perhaps there is that part of you, the curious one not yet strangled by the silence of the manor, that wants to explore something you never had express permission to enter. His desk is neat, made of a dark stained wood, papers organised clearly. Something about investments into train companies, skipping through the words you notice one company that father invested in has gone bankrupt. Your heart falls into your throat, how selfish to wonder why no one has written to you when clearly everyone back home is dealing with this catastrophe, here you are safe in your stone manor. Married to a titled man who's wealth will never disappear, what happened to your gratefulness?

You shake your head to dispel the thought, turning to open the desk drawers instead, one jams under the weight of its contents, pulling and pulling until you're thrown back from the impact of opening it, toppling some things out of place. There are no stamps here- instead the drawer is full of letters. Perhaps twenty? Each one has been opened and discarded by his hands. Each letter addressed to you. Each letter is filled with pleas for you to write back. Growing more and more desperate as father all but demands that you stop ignoring him and tell your husband to use his wealth to get your family out from the mess they have found themselves in. There is only one deviation: an unsent letter by your husband to your father. demanding him to cease contacting you, saying that you have no wish to communicate ever again to your family, and that you are happy here. The coldness in his written words seem to prickle your fingers as you ask yourself why would he do all this?

The clock strikes and you panic, you're meant to be at the table right now waiting for him. You shut the drawer before practically running down to the dining room. He appears a few minutes after you, taking his seat as the meal begins.In front of you he is handsome, tall and with Byronic features, dark hair curling past his ears. He brings to mind a wolfhound, meanwhile you're a mouse.

Partly through he speaks, his low voice scraping the air.

“You went through my desk didn't you dear?”

The term feels misplaced, foreign from his lips, his eyes squint as you stay silent not knowing how to respond.

“Please do not give me the annoyance of a lie, your fingers are stained with ink and you are the only other one who would do such a thing.”

An eyebrow is raised by him with the expectation of an answer, he receives a shameful nod and mumbled response.

“Why did you hide their letters from me?”

He sighs as though the answer should be obvious, grip tightening on his wine glass.

“It would do you no good.”

“How do you know that?” You look up at him, finding a small scrap of bravely somewhere within you. “Why must you be the one deciding on everything for me when you do not even speak with me, let alone touch me. You have no right to decide what is best for my sake without even communicating with me like a proper husband.”

Your chest heaves from your quiet outburst, possibly the most words you've ever spoken to him. His face doesn't change only the glass in his hand shatters from how firm he grips it, shards falling into his soup and embedding themselves in his hand, unreacting to the pain.

“I am your husband. It is my right to care for you, to ensure that you're sensitivities do not cause you harm.” His gaze stakes you to the chair as he picks the glass from his hand. “You request a pet for company, I refuse in case you become attached and the creature flees or dies and you end up distraught. Your family cares nothing for your well being, your father expects you to still be his daughter when you are my wife, demanding you give him my wealth to pull him out from the pit he dug himself into. That is not your responsibility.” He stands up slowly making his way to you

“I have to admit that perhaps I have not been clear enough to you, that is my fault and it must be rectified.”

He takes ahold of your face, the cut hand smearing his blood onto you'd cheek as he holds your face so tightly there will no doubt be marks once he finally lets go. His mouth twists itself to something resemble a smile but those eyes stay exactly as empty as they've always been.

“let me reiterate,” his mouth grazes your ear.

“You are my responsibility and my property, it is my duty to take care of you. If you cannot understand that it is a problem I must solve, without any outside interference.”

He leans down to press a kiss with a tenderness so unfamiliar from him that you feel the bile rise in your throat. When he pulls away to look at your face, you finally realise what was so repulsive in that gaze of his, which never disappears when he looks at you. Love

hyacinth-in-a-haze

Temperamental- Yandere Geto X fem reader

Heian era Japan AU

Contains - master servant dynamics, possessive behaviour, abuse - he really is an ass in here,

You have never seen him so angry.

Your master was a temperamental man at the best of times; you had learnt to avoid him during his rages. Only now it doesn't do anything when you're the one he calls upon to soothe him, leaving your other work to fall on someone else as you scurry to his side. Most of the other servants have learnt what the relationship between you and the master has become; it is not as though he is inconspicuous within his own manor, calling on you to tend to him as he wishes. But who would say anything? The majority of them pity you, seeing the bruises across your body when you're in the baths, and the others just look at you as if you had been the one to seduce him in the first place. Anyone who had the power to speak up about your treatment simply doesn't care enough about you to do so. What noble would turn their head slightly towards the well-being of an indentured servant? It is not as though you could even run to your family, them being the ones that sold you into the lord's manor as a maid while you were a child, in exchange for one less mouth to feed and to be forgiven for their rent for the next year. You try not to dwell on that fact, that perhaps if you hadn't had this misfortune of becoming a servant, you would have only become the wife to some other farmer. At least your lord keeps you fed and dressed in silk- if only for his own pleasure. The kind of man who would feed his lapdog the same meat obtained for his plate.

You suppose you occupy that position of a coveted pet. Running to his call in order to keep his rage from tearing through the manor, leading to your fellow servants to be in the wake of his wrath. You haven't been the only person left with marks from him, just the only one to gain those marks in his bedchamber. The only one to receive an apology afterwards. He doesn't keep other maidservants in his bed, nor does he have a wife or concubine for you to compete with. You assume that when he does eventually marry and secure his position as head of the household, you'd be quietly put to serve his wife if she doesn't make too much of a fuss, that her husband still keeps his favourite toy within close reach.

When you come to the door to his chambers, you knock, announcing yourself at the entrance. The last time you made the mistake of coming in without warning, he nearly hit your head with the porcelain vase he threw at the disturbance.

“You called for me, master Geto?” Your voice echoes almost pathetically in silence as the clattering inside stops. You wait a few moments before allowing yourself to enter the bedchambers. It is not as great a mess as it could be. Your master is a man in the habit of taking his anger out on whatever is closest to him; it is the priceless decorations that tend to bear the brunt, mostly when you aren't in the room. His long, dark hair is down, fallen from his top knot during his rage, his robes are loose and open at his chest, and you try to keep your gaze lowered before he permits you to meet his eyes.

“That I did.” his voice is gruff, while you’re lucky to have not been present during the initial burst of his anger, it is still flowing from him in waves. “Come in properly, do not linger at the door like a stray dog,” he orders. You follow suit, walking properly into the room and kneeling in your regular spot before the tea table. Geto takes the seat opposite from you, pointing down at a scroll which has been set in place for your arrival. “I will give you the chance to explain this to me.” You still, unknowing what his rationale is behind the order that he has given.

“I cannot read, my lord,” you say as softly as you can. He already knows this, so why would he put the scroll before you as if he expects you to understand the scribbles it contains? If only to remind you how much more he is than you.

“Of course you cannot, I was only giving you the chance to explain to me why you are mentioned by another man in this letter to me. A man who was a previous guest of mine.”

Your face pales as you realise the understanding that your master has drawn from this, when some few months previously, he had a guest from the capital arrive. A man who in comparison to master Geto was far more easy going and even empered during his stay, he was an attractive man but in the sense that it was unnatural for a human being to look so perfected as he did, a beauty that seemed to repulse just as much as it could draw someone in to stare uneadnibg at his eyes as blue as a blacksmiths flame.

“Why, pray tell, would he mention how sweet he found my little attendant, scurrying into my room as quickly as I called her, like some scared dog? Asking if I could let him borrow you into his chambers the next time he darkens my doorway?” Geto grabs your chin, nails digging into the soft underside of your flesh, drawing a squeal of pain from you with something akin to satisfaction in his eyes as he continues.

“I always thought that for all your faults, at the very least I could count on your loyalty to me. But now I see I may have been mistaken and that you just bat your pretty eyes at whatever man is foolish enough to give you the time of day.”

“I didn't master I swear it,” you plead as you feel his nails dig in deeper, “I swear to you I would never look at another man when I am nothing but your humble servant, please, I beg you.”

His fingers shift, the touch becoming firm but no longer painful as he gives out a small hum.

“Perhaps that fool only just meant to taunt me, to threaten to take something very precious out from under me. Maybe I came to a false conclusion too quickly. Of course that bastard would want to wind me up like this, making me doubt my precious maid.” Getoloosens his fingers, moving his hand to tenderly stroke your face as though there aren't little indents underneath your chin which well with blood.

“He was most likely hoping that I would discard you, allow him to take my leftovers. He wouldn't be the only one who wishes that I give you up, too many annoying fools who think they know better for me and my house, give me their unasked for opinion that it would be best if I grew out of our little attachment. That I should find some well-bred wife and have well-bred heirs,” he tilts your head, “ what do you think, you're the only one who has ever seen me so candidly, surely you must have an opinion.”

You know full well, Geto doesn't really want your opinion in this matter, only an answer which will manage to entertain him. He wants to see how far you can go within the realms of your position. He comes over to your side of the table, laying his head in your soft lap, ordering you to speak with a wave of his hand.

“You are the lord of this house,” you mumble softly, running your fingers through his long hair, carefully scratching his scalp until he groans. “No one has the right the give you any orders, they can only hope to advise you based upon what they believe to be the best, but that does not meean that they know better than you.” you pause unsure of what to say next, he opens one eye expectantly as you still.

“Go on,” he orders, “then tell me what you would best advise me from your own position,” he smirks, “you may be candid.”

“If you were to take a wife then my position will be in danger,” you say the words he has been expecting from you, “but my position as a servant is no matvvh to the importance that a wife would hold for the sake of the house, for your power to be consolidated their is both a need for alliance as well as for children. And if those who advise you believe that my presence is distracting you from finding a bride, they are not unfounded in their anxieties for the sake of the house.” You try your best to say nothing that could upset him or potentially rock the boat.

“So do you believe I should discard you for some noble?”He hums, amused at the turn your conversation is taking.

“I don't want to lose your favour,” Geto stills in your hands as the mumbled confession makes its way past your lips, “But I have no position to be selfish when all the privileges I've received have come from your attention.” despite his rages, he has his gentleness to. You have become plump from the sweets he has slipped past your lips and warm from the silk he has made into your robes, with an opulence that clearly marks you as his. But it's an opulence you have never before felt until you caught his eyes. Without it, you don't know how you'd survive.

“No, you really have no position to be selfish.” Geto pulls himself up on his knees, pushing you down until your back hits the floor, and he straddles above you. The dark silken curtain of his hair drapes over the both of you as he hovers a breath away from your face. “But I can be as selfish as I want,” he leans down, kissing you until your lungs cry for air.

“Do you think if I put an heir in you, they'll be satisfied I've taken a concubine and will stop pestering me to find a bride?”

hyacinth-in-a-haze

Morning routine- Yandere kidnapper! x fem reader!

This is incredibly Yan nanami coded, and I refuse to apologise

@snail-day you understand the vision

---------------------------------------------------------

There is starting to be a routine to these days now.

He likes to let you sleep in most mornings, preferring to get up himself to do the chores and get breakfast ready for the both of you. Today he has chosen to make you a treat and go for pancakes, allowing them to come to room temperature on the kitchen table while he gets you up.

Your routine begins with the unlocking of your hand cuff while he peppers your face with kisses. Even though by now you've mostly settled into your role as his sweet little lady, he cannot be too secure. (Especially after the incident with you trying to break open the child safety locks in the bathroom cabinet) he always without fail will check for any bruises or sores to kiss better as you lay limply in his arms. You used to be much more of a wriggler he remembers but he supposes you probably still have some of the sedative in your system. No worries, he can simply carry you to the bathroom. Sitting you down onto the little shower stool he installed after your last accident caused you to hobble round the home for a few couple months. He decided the stool was a good precaution to avoid any further accidents between you two.

He unbuttons your sleep shirt easily before turning the water on, making sure it's just perfect before he cleans you off from the night before. Taking extra care when his fingers graze your inner thighs to only wash off the memories of last night with a tenderness he didn't show you then. Tilting your hair back to rinse shampoos and conditioner- a small fortune spent on what goes into your routine. Once you're clean it continues, he wraps you warmly and sits you down to your ten step skincare routine. Always setting a two minute timer exactly for him to brush your teeth. You're still so lethargic for this, opening your mouth without resistance. Before you'd end up spitting out blood by the end of it, but now he can be much more gentle.

Again he carries you to the bedroom, drying your hair before he picks out a new outfit for the day. Your wardrobe consists mainly of sundresses, not because he prefers how you look in them. But because they are just far more accessible for the both of you, easier to slip on and off. He helps you up again, you can walk now but he just wants to be safe when it comes to you, taking your arm to carefully lead you to the table.

By now your pancakes and hot chocolate are lukewarm as he cuts them into bite sized pieces. Gently feeding you as he calls out sweet little praises, dabbing at the syrup that falls down your chin with a delicate sigh. Your eyes don't react much to this anymore, each swallow is wary as if you wonder which bite will contain the sedative that keeps you frozen on the sofa while he is at work. But if you refuse to eat he is not above forcing nutrition into you by any means necessary. For all the gentleness that he performs now, it has cost you every sharp tooth and nail you fought with.

Once the plate is clear he gives you the little cup of your vitamins and pills. He tries to make sure your diet is well rounded but unfortunately it is hard to keep your vitamin d levels up from within the flat. Perhaps one day the two of you will have a garden with a tall fence around. Then maybe you could go outside for a bit each day, maybe without supervision. But for now you'll only feel the sun on your face through an open window. The pills have changed since you first were brought to your new home, originally it was only sedatives and birth control. One to keep you complacent and the other because a baby right then would have not helped you to settle down. Now the sedition is at a much lower dose, carefully weaning you from it to avoid any long term effects, and the birth control has swapped places with the prenatal vitamins, just in case any happy accidents occur. On some days they change, after your last accident he withheld any pain relief for a week to make sure you learned the lesson properly. He wouldn't want to have to teach you again.

He takes the cup up to your lips waiting for you to swallow them, you open your mouth when finished to prove no pill was stashed away. Your obedience is rewarded again with another flurry of kisses, trailing down your neck to the collarbone. He only stops once his alarm goes off, reminding him to leave for work in ten minutes, grumbling as he fixes his tie and loads the dishwasher.

He takes you to the living room finally, placing you down on your side of the sofa, a blanket draped over your shoulders and a second left over your legs. He reminds you that there is a snack plate and a lunch box ready for you in the fridge for when you get peckish. There are different hobbies to occupy you within arms reach, all of them domestic and soft just as he wants you to be. Embroidery, knitting, reading. The remote is available but he has most things on child lock so there isn't a point. He places a sippy cup of water down on the table as though that's nothing out of the ordinary before he crouches in front of you expectantly.

You lean forward and graze your chapped lips against his forehead. He brightens up and returns the kiss to you with all the passion you lacked.

“Goodbye my heart, I'll call you once I'm on break.”

He reluctantly makes his way to leave, making sure to not slam the door on his exit. Leaving you to collapse into the nest of pillows and wait.

He didn't even leave your cane to help you get around.

hyacinth-in-a-haze

Yandere patron! X opera singer reader

Tw- controlling and abusive behaviour, power imbalance, manipulation, grooming

“You know, I've given you so much my sweet songbird.”

He sighs, spinning the whisky in his glass as he looks over your head. Taking a sip as he sits before you like a disgruntled father.

“I know Sir,” you mumble, head held down as you stand in front of his desk. Fingers clutching onto the fabric of your evening gown, he's caught you like this on your back to your dressing room, still dressed in your stage gown. With greasepaint melting off your face. There was no one else who could really strip you down to nothing just as he could.

“Are you grateful?” He rests his glass, waiting expectantly for a response.

“Yes sir-”

“Look at me.” He cuts you off, voice still measured and structured but it doesn't stop the anger he feels from being known to you. You look up to meet his smouldering rage.

“I'm grateful Sir. For all that you've done for me.”

“Is that so?”He sighs “Perhaps I must remind you of the extent to which you've been provided for.” He slides the ledger he was writing in across the desk.

“Read it.”

You take the heavy leather bound book in your hands, face becoming pale as you look down rows of figures. The high numbers making your head spin.

“Everything in there is how much I've paid to put you where you are and keep you there. Tell me my dear songbird, did you think your pretty earnings could even pay for the clothes on your back?” he stands up coming close to your face,

“But I thought-” against your better judgement you try to speak

“The only thing your earnings are good for is pocket money. “ He takes a hold of your face roughly “do you ever stop to think how the handlers of your pretty friends really turn a profit from being their patron? They do it by pimping them out to the fattest wallet they can find.” He let's go, pushing you back from him, throwing you onto the floor

“But I've been kind to you, haven't I? Kind and good, looking after you for your own benefit because you're still a stupid little village girl despite how long you've lived in the city. Thanks to my protection. And how have you rewarded my kindness? How did you thank me for looking after you like a father? By betraying me for the first man to say a sweet word to you!” He slams his hand upon the desk, the sound echoing through the quiet room.

You don't know what to do as he paces through the room, brushing a hand through his salt and pepper hair. You've never seen him so distressed as you have in this moment.

“The letters,” you mumble, admitting to the transgression he has been so angered by. The love letters exchanged between you and a fellow singer at the opera House.

He was your age, with kind eyes and your partner in the upcoming opera. When his hands would wrap around your waist and he'd lift you above his head, you felt your heart in your throat. He looked at you with nothing but adoration. The two of you would only exchange stolen moments and sweet letters. But it seems your patron still found out.

He kneels down to your level,

“Are you ruined? I'd forgive you if you were but you must tell me the truth, my sweet.”

You shake your head and his relief is palpable,

“Yes, you're too smart to give yourself away to anyone but me. You just had a little lapse in judgement I understand, it's the production. You got confused thinking your character's love was what you felt I understand."He is desperate as he speaks, trying so much to rationalise away your affection for another man.

He holds your face tenderly as though he did not throw you to the floor just moments ago. “That boy is nothing, do you understand? He could never hope to become anything more than an ensemble member, perhaps a minor character if he's lucky but he will never be a star as you promise to be. He would never be able to provide you anything of the life you're accustomed to thanks to me. Thanks to my love for you.”

“I was the one who found you in that church choir with the voice of an angel, I was the one who convinced your ailing father that you deserved more, I was the one who provided the vocal lessons, dance teachers, the bed you sleep in. Do you understand my songbird? You only stand on that stage because I cleared the path for you, I only just expected your loyalty in exchange.” He is frantic, the calm presentation having long been unraveled.

“I'm sorry.” you look up at him, wide eyed and innocent. Praying that all those acting lessons work to convince him of your loyalty before he decides to take it out on your sweet lover.

His eyes crinkle and mouth falls onto yours, in a kiss that only seems to bruise. When he finally pulls back he is heaving for air.

“I only wish to look after you,” he tucks your hair behind your ear, perfecting the image of you that he has curated for himself. “I trust that this little cry for my attention won't happen once more, I cannot guarantee I will tolerate someone who continues trying to steal my property from under me.”

“I promise,” you mumble softly, the words feeling like a knife on your heart. You could never hope to be nothing more than an automaton in his hands, one for him to turn a key in so you can perform on his command.

He smiles so gently you could almost believe in his forgiveness. He helps you off the floor and takes a stack of envelopes tied together with one of your hair ribbons from his desk. You don't have to be a genius to know those were the letters you kept beneath your floorboard.

“It was a good hiding place I must admit, you made me really search for where you secreted them away like a little rat.”

He hands them to you, each envelope and letter well read and loved. Without needing to say it outloud you knew his expectation.

You kneel before the fireplace and feed the letters one by one to the flames. And with them so went pieces of your heart.Dolls don't need hearts, they only need to dress up and perform for their loving owners.

He looks at you with such love as he twirls your hair with his heavy hand.

hyacinth-in-a-haze

Yandere kidnappers who live completely normal lives.

Contains- prolonged kidnapping, non con, abuse, starvation, infidelity, fem reader

Who keeps you chained up once you wake in a basement or attic, head throbbing from the sudden abduction. Who's keeping you gagged because he doesn't want to risk anyone finding out about his little indulgence, least of all his family, but you don't learn about them until later.

For now, you're at his mercy. He's a good teacher, firm. You learn quickly that food and water only come if you've been a good girl for him. That misbehaviour only grants you a sharp smack to the face and dogbowls of cereal. He lays out the rules on your first night. The gag doesn't leave your mouth until he's sure you're not gonna try anything. If you do, then it's getting shoved back in until your hunger makes you behave. You're not to fight back or talk back, if you act like a bitch you get treated like a bitch. If you act like a good girl then you're treated like a good girl, you turn out to be a quick learner.

The first week is brutal, you have the bravery to try to fight him off. That bravery doesn't last when you've been fucked into the dusty stone floor and pass out from an empty stomach. After that you learn, learn to not bite his fingers as he feeds you and then you get to keep the gag off. Learn to not fight when he begins to peel off your clothes and then he will bring you new ones from high end boutiques you can't pronounce the names of. Learn to act like a girlfriend who loves him, not a victim trapped in the cellar. You don't know at what point it becomes normal to expect his appearance with a flutter of joy in your stomach. Or when you stopped shaking when he stares at your bare body like appraising a painting.

He doesn't tell you about himself, that's left for you to figure out, slowly you do. Picking together the voices you hear above you, belonging to two young children, oblivious to your existence underneath their feet. There's a third voice, his wife. One night you ask him, why does he keep you if he has her. By this time you've graduated from the gags and binds, he's given you a revolving collection of nightwear, like you're some blushing honeymooning bride and not imprisoned in a deranged office workers basement. He only just looked at you incredulously as though the answer was the most obvious thing on earth.

“I love you, that's why I keep you here where I can look after you.” he sighs “my wife is nothing to me but an obligation at this point.”

It was the first time you learnt anything from him, slowly he reveals more information as the weeks go by. You have an obsession almost, with his upstairs family, there's a grate in the corner- perhaps an air vent which lets you listen in sometimes to their kitchen. You've begun to predict what food he brings you based on the smell of what's cooking above you. Soon he comes to you, the food fresh and warm. You wonder about his wife, his obligation who cooks the meals you eat and washes the plates you dirty once he brings them back. Does she even know of her husband's secret? Eventually you grow curious or foolish enough to ask.

“She suspects, but she'll never know where you are.” You never know if he means she suspects an affair, or your imprisonment. You once overheard one of the children say they think the house might be haunted because they hear a wailing sometimes in the kitchen. You're thankful no one takes the children in this house seriously. He talks to you about them sometimes, speaking of the shenanigans they get up to at school, how distant he feels sometimes from them. As if he doesn't know how to be a parent to them. One night you hear him, you're half asleep worn out from being his stress toy as always. It's a whisper, a flutter of his fingers tucking the warm blanket over your spent frame

“You'd be a lovely wife if she only wasn't in the way.”

He never brings it up again and you try to pretend that he never said it. You know he'd never do anything, ultimately he was a coward to hide you in his own home than to find any other kind of secure space. He's too much of a coward to ever hurt her even if he doesn't shy from using force on you when he deems it necessary. You start to wonder if maybe he's rough with her like he is with you, a shared monster in both your beds, but every interaction you make out between the two is devoid of any emotion, other than resentment at the other for ruining their lives with children. This woman is not your ally no matter how much you hope for one, perhaps it's best to believe that she truly doesn't know of your existence, the alternative means that she knows but doesn't care. You're just the other woman.

The worst times are after they fight. There's no gentleness in him when he pins you face down on the mattress and hits you if you so much as make a sound. On the days she screams for him to do something, to show emotion he is volatile to you only. When she clatters in the kitchen throwing dishes on the floor you end up going hungry, maybe if he's kind he gives you an attempt at a sandwich, you don't ask for anything more. You curse her existence quietly from beneath her feet, blaming her for not leaving him. With every bad day you become more angry, not at him for the violence he forces onto you, but at her for angering him enough to make him take it out on you.It's easy to think of her as your enemy when you don't even know her face.

The best times are those odd weekends where she takes the kids far to her parents home. He takes you out from the basement and into the house properly, and you can play at being his younger mistress as you get fucked in their bed and sit in her chair. Once you dressed up in her jewellery and her makeup, looking at yourself in the mirror like you could barely recognise your face after months of not seeing your own reflection. When he came in the room unannounced and saw you his disgust was apparent saying you look like a cheap whore and to wipe her muck off your face. Standing over you like a warden as you quietly did as told, holding your thought-that if you looked like a cheap whore it's only because he made you one- firmly behind closed teeth. Afterwards when your face was bare and sickly looking again he softened, saying if you really wanted some girly stuff then he would buy you something nice. You held enough hope to think he'd take you out but that quietly died in your throat when he took his phone out that night and told you to pick anything you wanted. Not even flinching at the price in the shopping cart as you lay there with his cum still dripping down your thighs. Knowing that in the morning you're going back downstairs way before the others return to their home, before his wife will discover her pearls are missing and there's a stranger's hair lying on her pillow.

You wished he'd get divorced, if not for the children's sake, then at least yours. Maybe captivity would be marginally better if you did get to have more things for yourself than cement walls.

hyacinth-in-a-haze

Yandere Royal aide x Princess reader

Contains - so much gaslighting, toxic power dynamics, forced dependency, he is the actual worst, physical abuse,infantalisation, reader is going through it.

He's made your position very clear. One of the younger ones amongst your nine siblings, your royal mother and father care very little for you, not out of malice more so neglect. You can live in the same grand palace as then but only be granted an audience once a month at most if you ever wished to speak with them. Most of your time is spent away from court, in one of the smaller castles for the sake of your own fragility. you are not so young to still be in the nursery, nor are you on the sights yet for any ambitious nobles to marry. Besides, your reputation precedes you.

It's his fault, for recording those letters to your parents where you are written down as nothing but a skittish creature unable to handle strangers and prone to injuring yourself. Even the servants who tend to you believe his gentle words over your frantic pleading, calling you soft headed at best and mad at worst. Your aide, the man your parents bequeathed to you in order to manage your household and royal duties, silver-tongued devil that he is. Having woven a peculiar web around you to ensure you'd never be free from him. He tells you so much in the dimness of your room, seeing no reason to maintain the charade of propriety behind closed doors.

“It is for the best my dear, without my intervention you'd already be wed by now. And although your nature isn't as fragile as I portray it to be, you would not survive out there without my protection. So what harm does a few whispers behind closed doors even enact?” He hums gently while brushing your hair, taking your cheeks in one hand, squeezing until the soft flesh tips in and touches your teeth. “All those men who write for your attention are nothing but dogs barking for your attention.”

You nod silently, but he continues. “You're lucky I'm the one who was given this position, I look after you. I ensure everything here runs as it should, that you live properly. “ He leans down so that his nose grazes yours and you can see his eyes become embers in the candlelight. “No one loves you but me. No one ever will. Do you think your family gives a shit about you? If they did they wouldn't have allowed me to do this to you, it just keeps a troublesome princess out the way.” He squeezes once more to emphasise his point.

“What makes me troublesome?” You mumble shrinking into yourself once he lets go of you, “I've done nothing wrong.” Despite your mumbled response his sharp ears catch every word that falls from your lips.

“You are a troublesome creature. At least a princess who acts a whore can have that beaten out of her if needs must. But no one can beat the foolishness from an idiot, beat the stain that you represent on the imperial bloodline. That is why they think you troublesome, why they shut you away in a minor palace, to pretend you don't exist.” His snarl breaks into a gentle smile as he pulls your face back to look in your mirror.

“but all I see is someone who needs my guidance, if I was if a higher rank I'd marry you, but unfortunately I'm too low for your family to consider me as worthy of you, when I'm the only one who sees you as you are. “ He presses his kiss deep on your forehead. He bristles against your difference in rank. Him only the second son of a second son, unlikely to inherit any title the most he can hope for is this position. both in service to your family, but in a position of dominance over you.

Everything must go through him first, your dresses are childlike and simple, corsets containing cording for structure rather than any boning. Even on the rare occasion he has made room in your schedule for you to visit the main palace your gowns are far from the elaborate nature of most women. Only serving to make you look younger than your age, putting off any potential suitor from approaching you. It's not as if any man would come near your side, your aide keeps himself by your side throughout the entire ordeal of an event, pinching the soft underside of your arm to prevent you from making any choices he disagrees with, shaking your head no to the drinks or dances being offered to you. Under your long sleeves your arms are littered with pinch shaped bruises.

He is smart enough to have deniability for your injuries, limiting his own physical punishments to bruises and light scratches at most. Whenever blood is drawn he is frantic, rubbing salves to your skin in hopes it won't scar. You are not allowed to look anything less than perfected under his care, on the odd chance your mother remembers you exist, and comes to take tea with the two of you.

It is a strained experience for you. Watching them both chat happily about you while you're left in silence waiting to be invited with your input. Discussing all matters regarding you as though you are not the third party in the room but merely a pet allowed to enter the tearoom for its indulgence.

“We've had a proposal for our dear princess,” your mother utters the words as though saying she will be having lamb for tonight's dinner. Your aid merely tightens his grip on the teacup, there's a set in his jaw that you know well. Where he tries to hold his anger back until privacy allows him to take it out on your poor backside.He merely nods, something mother takes as encouragement for her to continue. “He is the heir to the Eastern dukedom, only ten years her senior and is aware of her…” she pauses contemplating the right word to use in this situation before seemingly settling on it, “her delicate sensibilities. And still has asked for her hand”

You stir another spoonful of sugar into your tea in silence, waiting to see his reaction to her words.

His smile stills momentarily before he speaks again,” I do worry, for our dear princess, would she be able to manage such a thing,” he leans against her ear as though worried you would understand the words he is saying not even a few meters apart, “after all the last time she attended a ball she practically shook at the sight of any man who would approach her, she only is comfortable in my presence but even then she found the event immensely difficult.” He looks up at your mother, tilting his head and speaking in that same snake charmer voice that serves to enchant every woman who catches wind of it, “I am only thinking of what is best for her sake as we all are. It would not do good for her already delicate sensibilities to be frayed further. ”

His use of her words feel like a slap to the face, but still you stay in self imposed silence, stirring another lump of sugar in your cup and she begins to speak again. “Yes you are correct in that, perhaps it would be for the best if you are to act as chaperone? To watch a meeting between the Duke and princess and see if they would be well matched, I am thankful you care so much for her well being, but we both should begin to think of her future.” Without anything else she stands preparing to leave, only turning to acknowledge your presence in the room before she exits. A rehearsed smile and delicate stroke of your cheek before she leaves the room.

Once the door is closed he turns to you, eyes set and glinting like steel. “Do not think I didn't see that sneaky thing you pulled earlier. Thinking I was too engrossed in your mother's mindless conversation to pay attention to you? Have I not taught you that in polite company you're to ask first before you take?” he grabs your hand tight, pulling you into the bathroom.

“Taking three lumps, three times sat in silence as though it is a funeral not a tea party. Did you have nothing to say to your lady mother when it seems you never shut up in private. Nothing to say about some Duke wanting to steal you out from my protection. Who does he think he even is? Never coming to any royal events but still managing to be granted an audience with you because he proposes. Are they that desperate to get rid of you they will have you meet him the moment he arrives.” His grumbling slowly morphing from annoyance at you to the man who dared to show interest, grabbing the bar of soap before pulling your hair back.

You know what's coming.you always do, and no amount of fighting back can help this situation. The first time he did it you screamed for help, choking on soap suds and running to the fearful maid who found you being wrestled on the floor by your aide. She didn't move to help you, instead she went to him to ask him for what had happened, where in his version he had found you having an episode and eating the soap in order to harm yourself. He only wrestled you ro the floor to protect you from yourself, an explanation that was believed without question as the maid poured emetic down your mouth to force you to purge. That was the day you learnt that no matter what you did, everyone already had their notions of who you are, notions created by him to make sure you have no one who knows you as you are but him.

So what are you to do but to open your mouth and let him punish you as he sees fit.

hyacinth-in-a-haze

Hello, I adore your Yan concubine So So much❤️. So I was wondering 🤔 how would he react if he found out about readers plan to leave as soon as her contracts fulfilled?(which ever way he finds out is up to u) Would he find a way to like prolong it or ...

Thank you Anon, so sorry it took ages for me to answer back. I recently quit my job and will soon have much more free time to write

"Come here," he pats his lap lazily, ordering you to climb upon it as he sits at his desk. He looks down at you, pulling your head against his chest, cradled like a babe in swaddling robes. His other hand flickers to the scroll open before him, walls of characters unreadable to your eyes dance across it. He knows you're illiterate. Most servants are unless they are in any of the higher jobs but you don't need to read and write to scrub floors and help your lord dress.

"Are you not curious as to what this says?" He croons gently, dipping his lips to the top of your head. He circles a few characters with his finger."That's your name here," his finger moves forth across the words, "see, it is a note from a person of mine, claiming you were seen speaking to a eunuch from the administration. I had never given you permission to do that," his eyes narrow but he continues to speak in that cloying honeyed tone "I only gave you permission to go to the bath house with some of the other serving girls as a treat. So I would very much like to know why you spoke with him," The hand around you becomes tighter, holding you so close to him you feel as though you can no longer breathe. "I never took you for the kind who would lie and sneak like a rat, if I'd rather unbecoming of someone I consider to be mine.” his gaze narrows sharply “do not make me reconsider that.”

"You are my lord and master," you begin with a trembling voice "you have my loyalty please." You look up at him, pleading into his eyes before those hands of his gently make their way to your neck."I would never betray you." He holds your gaze with his, looking deeply into you as though to guess how much of your words were true. Before he can decide on his own you swallow what little pride you have and speak, “I was speaking with him in order to learn the length of my palace contract.”

He pauses, a different sort of anger settling in him, one moreso of annoyance than anything else.

“Now, why would you wish to ask such a thing?”

You pause, unsure of what to say but the truth.

“I wanted to know how long I had left within the palace, I did not have any say in the terms of it nor did I even know what it entailed ” Despite everything you lean your head against his warmth, you are offered so little comfort in this stone walls. What good is dignity when he's stripped you of it? “I did not sell myself nor was it my parent's. Slavers took me and sold me to the palace, they were the ones who made my contract and kept all the coin.” your hands shake as you give him your words. You don't like remembering those days, being grabbed by brutal hands on your way down the mountain, tied up and sold on and on until you reached the palace. And you thought yourself lucky not to have caught any of their eyes or be sold to some pleasure house, a worse fate then where you are now. Scarred and disfigured yes, but in silk with a full belly not torn apart and violated.

His sigh is both exasperated and amused, flicking you lightly on the forehead.

“Only you, my dearest, would have me fret for no good reason. You wanted to know how long your contract has left? And were willing to lie in order to discover that?” He raises a brow, “pray tell, why would such knowledge be so important to you unless you hope to leave my side?” He smirks with narrow eyes, having you exactly in the position that he wanted. A cat pinning the mouse's tail underneath his claws.

You freeze trying to stammer out a sentence only for him to delightedly croon at you, “oh so you did indeed plan upon betraying me? Thought you could slip out from under me once your contract is over?” He tilts your chin up between his forefinger and thumb looking at you as though you're the most foolish creature in the world, and perhaps you are just that. Trying to keep hope for something else, when you know full well your future is his. “Sweet creature,” he hums lightly, “ those contracts can be doctored quite easily. What do you think I made sure to do when I made you mine? I couldn't stand to let you return to some backwater hamlet and marry anyone else.”

You don't cry, don't say a word, don't get up from his lap. All you do is fall forward into him, limp and numb. No strength left to hope for anything better than he will ever grant you.

“Don't fret my dear, perhaps you can see your mother when this is all sorted.”

hyacinth-in-a-haze

One of the lucky ones- Yandere Concubine x Fem reader

Contains- abuse, physical violence, obsessive and possessive behaviour,blood, disfigurement, power imbalance

“Hurry up, will you? Need I remind you how it looks if a member of my retinue falls behind everyone else?” He raises a manicured brow as he gestures for you to walk at his side.

“My apologies your imperial highness,” you scurry up next to your lord, carefully holding the parasol above him, it is heavy and your hands buckle slightly from carrying it above him the entire hour he's been outdoors wandering the imperial gardens. The most favoured and spoilt concubine to the emperor, he chose you, lifting you up from a nameless serving girl scrubbing floors in his pavilion, to his primary attendant and companion. The only servant privileged enough to stand beside him rather than behind him, you're lucky. You remind yourself of that as much as you can, you're lucky to have been only just sold to the palace as a servant instead of anywhere else they send plain faced village girls too. You're lucky that he spotted you and found your stammering provincial dialect entertaining, lucky that you get dressed in his offcuts and old fabrics, fobbing off his gifts from the emperor onto you to the point where minor servants speak to you with respect because everyone can see you hold the most treasured concubines ear. Even if you're too skittish to ever mumble in it.

“Leave that for one of the others to carry,” The parasol is immediately taken from you by one of the guards, with your arms suddenly free he wraps his arm around yours, resting it in the crook of your elbow. He is beautiful, unfairly so, and he guards it fiercely. You alone know of the countless tonics and potions he applies to himself, the time he spends every night focused on himself before the emperor arrives. He allows you to sit in with him as he conducts his rituals, smearing some mask over his face, noticing your stares he put some on your skin too. And you were too shy to even wonder if this was just him making fun of you. He lets you brush his hair, long and thick down to his thighs you spend extra time to care for it. Raking your hands through his locks as your mother once did for you. Your own hair is nothing special, stubborn to grow long when cut but he will let you keep the last dregs in the hair oil bottles for yourself. It's nice, these little tastes of luxury he shares without asking anything of you in return. His beauty is his currency and you've seen the bruises that can litter his body for night after the emperor has him, the slight limp as he walks. And you say nothing because you know what it's like to serve a master who's violence comes to him quickly. So you just help your lord into fresh clothes, rub balm into his marks. When he pulls you tight against his chest as though he would stop breathing if he let go of you, you just stay still and let it happen.

Some nights when he does not need to deal with the emperor's attention he will request that you sleep by his side. At first you prepared to sleep on the floor beside his bed until he rolled his eyes, flicked you on the forehead and simply pulled you beside him. But now it's become just another part of your routine, most of the night is spent helping him with his. You watch wide eyed as he uses ingredients that could cause years of your salary as though it is worthless. He dismisses everyone else until it's only you two in the warm lamplight and the sheer silk sleeping robes he's bestowed on you, with the excuse that as his personal attendant your presentation reflects him. You don't really know if that matters in private, when his head is resting on your lap and you scratch his scalp with a tenderness he's never been shown before.

The reverie is shattered with the entrance of the emperor. You have never seen your Lord's face move so quickly from panic to that stone mask of seduction he wears publicly. Nor had you ever been so close to the emperor before for him to even acknowledge your existence but it seems like tonight your luck must be about to run out. You scramble into a bow as the concubine lifts himself leisurely from the ground, heartbeat so loud you do not even realise you're being addressed until you're ordered to lift your head up. When you move too slow for his liking the emperor's hand reaches out and grabs you painfully by the chin to lift you. There are cracks in your lord's mask as he has no options but to watch, a flare in his nostrils, a set in his jaw. The emperor tilts your face any which way like buying a horse at a market as he makes comments about your appearance. Most of which you've heard before, plain faced and provincial, but he continues that you have that look of a fresh faced country innocence one that can so easily be shattered.

“Come, why would you bore yourself with her when I am the one you came for? Not my silly little maid.” the concubine practically throws himself at the emperor to distract his attentions from you. The moment you are released from his grip you scurry from the bedchambers, into the safety of the outside. There you wait until you can see the emperor leave, and you wait a bit longer just in case, before entering the chamber with warm damp cloths to silently clean his skin.

Afterwards your lord looks down on you, he is in a state of disarray, hair tousled, lips swollen, robe practically open. “I need to do something about you.” He mutters as though you aren't even in front of him. “I can't have that incident repeating, now that he has seen you, I don't have the luxury of waiting for him to forget you.” he sighs angrily, running a hand through his hair to get it out the way.

“My lord?” You ask softly trying to break him out from this state, but all it seems to do is remind him that you're here. He pounces on you like a tiger, pinning you underneath him. A hand fisting tight in your hair.

“I should ruin you,” he mutters darkly “it would be for your own good if I did so, to protect you from his advances you don't realise what he's about to do to you until his free hand is held aloft before you, a glint of silver in the low light in the room. He pulls your hair sharply when you begin to writhe and scream, the pain from your head being jerked about silences your sobs to whimpers as he leans over your ears. “I am doing what's best, don't you understand? I can handle his attentions,” he practically spits the word out as the dagger hovers precariously above you, “but you, you would collapse and crumble if he took you. This is the only way I can protect you, my sweet.” his eyes gone dark from mania as his hands shake “if I do this, not only will I mar your face but he will not know just how much love I have for you if I am willing to disfigure you. He will only think I'm jealous.”

“Please.” You whimper and tremble in his grip begging for mercy, but you don't realise that to him- this is a mercy. A shield from everyone who could think to harm you, he may not have the power yet to protect you but until then he will use what he has. You never realised that all the tenderness you offered to such a beautiful creature would make it turn its claws on you.

The pain is blinding for a moment as he drags the blade across your cheek. Holding your head tight and pinning you underneath his weight while you try to buck underneath him. It sears and burns brightly once the blade is removed and the dampness dripps across your face, staining the sheets and both yours and his robes. You try to open your mouth to scream or to howl but his mouth is on yours in a moment, to swallow up any sounds you make. Every slight moment only seems to open the wound more but he presses onto you as though he could devour you whole, pulling back with a flush on his bruised face and pure tenderness in his eyes he cups your bloody face, dabbing at your wound until the blood flow slows.“You're still so perfect,” he whispers softly “this was for the best please, you'll understand that in time.”

And perhaps he was right, in time you're left with an ugly scar torn across your left cheek, where you can't even smile without the skin puckering. With no one wanting to meet your face and the rumours spreading that he did this in jealousy that you could steal the emperor's affection from him. You're the only one who knows at night where he pours over secret plans to steal the throne out from underneath him, and he will kiss your puckered skin tenderly like you're the most perfect thing he's ever seen. Mumbling promises of how this was worth it now you're safe. You've long since stopped lying to yourself about how lucky you are to be here.

pluvial-lake

✶ PEG HIM TO SLEEP!

𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 . 𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗀𝗂𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗓𝖾, 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍, 𝗋𝖾𝗎𝗉𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽, 𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝗈𝗋 𝗐𝖾𝖻𝗌𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗆𝗒 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗍 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝖽𝗀𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍. ⠀ᰔ

He doesn't sleep.

He doesn't fucking sleep and it's driving you insane.

And it's not cute. No. It's 4 AM and he's still at his desk, screen glowing, and he hasn't eaten since— since when? Yesterday? The day before?

You want to throw his laptop out the fucking window.

You don't.

Because you know why he's doing this.

He's doing this for you.

The promotion. The overtime. The side projects he picks up like a stray dog dragging home scraps. The spreadsheet he updates every monthーsavings for vacation, savings for her birthday, savings for the ring, savings for the house, savings for her to never have to worry about anything ever— and you found it once, accidentally, when he forgot to close his laptop, and you cried in the bathroom for ten minutes because he's killing himself and it's your fault.

Not that he ever blame you. You know he's more likely to put a bullet in his own skull to say anything is ever your fault.

He'd just smile.

That exhausted, hollow smile and kiss your forehead and promise he'd come to bed soon and then stay up for three more hours.

Every night.

Every single fucking night.

But not tonight.

Tonight you've had enough.

He's been in there for sixteen hours.

He was in there when you left for work. He was in there when you came home. He was in there when you ate dinner alone, when you watched your show alone, when you went to bed alone, and now you're standing in the hallway in your sleep shirt with your arms crossed.

You push the door open.

He doesn't notice.

Of course he doesn't notice. He's got his noise canceling headphones on一the expensive ones you bought him for his birthday, the ones he said he didn't need but now wears like a second skull一and he's hunched over his laptop, shoulders up around his ears, left leg bouncing nervously.

There's a mug next to his elbow. Empty. There's another one on the floor. Also empty There's a protein bar wrapper unopened. He forgot to eat it. He forgot to eat.

He always forgets to eat.

You walk up behind him. He still doesn't notice. His screen is full of spreadsheets and emails and whatever the fuck he does at his job that he never complains about but is clearly eating him alive. His fingers are flying. His jaw is tight. There's a vein in his temple that's been pulsing for three weeks straight.

You put your hand on his shoulder.

He startles so hard he nearly knocks the laptop off the desk.

"Fuck一 baby—" He's ripping the headphones off, spinning in his chair, eyes wide and bloodshot and so, so guilty. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry, I was trying to be quiet, l just had to finish this one thing—"

"It's almost four in the morning."

"It's— what? No. No, it's like midnight, I just—" He checks his phone. His face falls. "...Oh."

He looks up at you with his red rimmed eyes.

"I'm sorry." he says again, quieter.

"Come to bed."

bfbkg

luna…

need cuddlefucking with bakugou por favor :(

-mars(aplanet)

SOFA SURFING (4.1k)

— bakugou katsuki x f!reader

synopsis: you and your boyfriend have to sleep on his family sofa because his mother turned his childhood bedroom into an arts and crafts room.

what's coming up: fluff, smut (p in v, fingering (f) unprotected), having to be quiet, loads of pet names, established relationship, bkg's parents here!, set in japan, italics for japanese luna says: this was written when i was taking requests. i am not now. thank u @marsaplanet !!! probs needs another proofread. thank u aali for title hehe

“i fucking hate this,” you boyfriend says squished beside you, forced to be a big spoon on his parent’s tiny very public living room sofa. it’s only tiny because you’re sharing it with him.

it takes you longer than necessary to twist around with the small space you’re allowed. in order to accommodate bakugou’s big body that can barely manage a single bed, you’re left to only be able to lay on your sides. though once you manage, you give katsuki a pout in the dark and his chin a peck.

“i’m sorry your mum changed your bedroom into an arts and crafts room,” then you look away from him, which is quite hard considering you’re face to face, nose to nose, “it is such a nice room though. i’d love one of those.”

since bakugou became pro, he moved out of his parent’s home at the humble age of eighteen years old and never returned permanently. for the first few years, his parents kept his bedroom how it is, ready for him to visit when he wanted a traditional home cooked dinner instead of the unhealthy western food or just a break from the intense world of heroics.

but this visit, without warning, his mother has changed his sweet all-might and manga filled bedroom into a well prepared arts and crafts room. fashion drawings up on the walls, sewing machines that cost more than your computer, rolls and rolls of fabrics and so much more.

if bakugou didn’t plan to help his father out early tomorrow morning with his fishing gear, he would have booked a nearby hotel instead of attempting to stay over on the living room sofa with you.

he does love being this close to you though. having you tangled in his arms, your leg slung over his waist and your breasts pressed to his chest. you’re in a permanent cuddle unless you want to fall off the sofa or be crushed by your boyfriend during the night.

“no, i don’t care about my bedroom. i’d rather sleep in a goddamn bed,” he complains until you shush him.

“too loud, kats. your parents are sleeping.”

bakugou rolls his eyes but he does get noticeably quieter. he tightens his grip on you and his words tickle your ear, “shoulda got a hotel nearby. we haven’t… damn.”

he trails off, blinking slowly at you.

you know exactly what he means. you curl a wheat blonde lock around your finger and pull slightly. bakugou releases a low whine that vibrates into your body.

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