#_nobunaga hazama | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

holydayaria · 3 months

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Consolation Prize

Yandere Nobunaga x Reader

Synopsis: Nobunaga takes it upon himself to take in Uvogin's darling after his death.

Warnings: fem reader, kidnapped reader, nobu being weird about his dead best friends gf, only slightly proofread

3.2k words… tagging everyone in the comments

Nobunaga closes the door to Uvo’s place behind him. The place is familiar, and it’s as if Uvogin could come back at any moment. There are a few day-old beer cans on the living room coffee table and one of his large jackets thrown over the sofa, waiting to be worn again. If he was any less jaded, he might have thought Uvogin was still alive.

The house, alas, is empty. It’s an older building on the outskirts of its nearest town. It’s one of many slightly run-down homes that are left (mostly) unoccupied in the area. It’s not derelict by any means, but it's probably seen better days. He isn’t here to judge the foundations of the house though, how there are some cracks in the wall from where the door was slammed with too much force or how there are weak spots in the floor. No, he’s here for you.

You, who's down in the basement, are probably still waiting for Uvogin. You, whom he’s only met a handful of times, spoken to even less. He’s jerked off to you more times than he’d like to admit, something Nobunaga would have never admitted to Uvogin, not when the man was so finicky over you. Nobunaga continues to walk through the home, a chapstick tube catching his eye on the counter. It was placed with some spare change, sunglasses that certainly belonged to Uvo and various keys. He pockets the keys, assuming he might need them later. Holding the chapstick in his hand, he examines it more closely. This was probably yours, based on the ‘Vanilla Apple” flavoring. With almost no shame and a mild sense of entitlement, he applies the chapstick to his lips. It’s like an indirect kiss. He puts that as well in his pocket.

His mind continues to linger on you as he takes his time looking around. He wonders how he’ll break the news to you, he isn’t sure what approach to take. He wonders if you’ll cry, or if you’d even believe him. You two have seldom spoken with each other, Uvo did most of the talking for you on the rare occasions you were present when Nobunaga visited. The longest conversation Nobunaga ever had with you probably didn’t even last ten minutes, and it consisted of him asking questions while you gave very short responses. Uvogin had always been in earshot. As if daring one of you (mostly Nobunaga) to say something out of line. It previously hadn’t been an issue if the two of them went after the same woman, but now all of a sudden Uvo was so uppity about if Nobu even looked at you for too long.

Nobunaga can remember feeling a sense of annoyance at your very existence in the beginning. It ebbed and flowed, but it was always consistent. The more time Uvogin spent with you, the less time Nobunaga got to spend with him. In addition to the fact that Nobu couldn’t make a suggestive joke about you without Uvogin snapping at him, it didn’t make Nobunaga particularly fond of you. He hadn’t even met you yet and already had a soured image of you. It didn’t help that it seemed like everyone else had someone to return home to, meanwhile, all Nobu had been his right hand.

The day Nobunaga did get to meet you, he still didn’t see what it was about you that had Uvogin so worked up. You were cute, sure, but he couldn’t point out anything remarkable, other than that you had particularly nice legs. Maybe whatever it was about you was something only Uvogin saw. You didn’t say anything to him, which he was fine with. You were probably just shy. Uvo joked later that you didn’t like him very much, which couldn’t have been true. Nobu hadn’t made that bad of a first impression, surely. It was only in the coming weeks that his distaste for you would warp into something else. You were cute, and something much more tangible than the women in erotic magazines. A thought crossed his mind that he’d probably be as uptight as Uvo was about you if you were his. Maybe if Uvo wasn’t so strict about who you got to interact with, you’d give Nobunaga a chance.

He idles about for a few minutes, a strange suspense hanging in the air that only he can sense. He wonders if you’re still down there or if you somehow escaped. Maybe you’ve withered away. He wonders if you think about him or even remember him. As he stands in front of the heavy basement door, he supposes it’s time to see what all the fuss over you was about.

If you had to guess, you’d say it’s been about a week since you last saw Uvo.

The basement isn’t so bad. It’s got an old television to keep you entertained. It only works half of the time, but it’s the thought that counts. There are a few blankets and the mattress you sleep on is comfortable. Uvogin left you with some water bottles and food (mostly snacks) to keep you from starving to death, though he usually wasn’t gone for more than two weeks. Even then, you were only resigned to the basement if he was going somewhere far. You never knew where he went, and it all seemed to be pretty last minute when he did go, but he always told you when he’d come back. He should have come back days ago.

Part of you hopes to see him again. All things considered, he wasn’t the worst. If you can look past the obvious (the threats of violence if you ever stepped out of line, which you stopped doing months ago, and the kidnapping and the inability to ever leave), Uvo wasn’t so bad. He went out of his way to make sure you didn’t go hungry. He brought you gifts and anything you asked for. He made you happy.

Maybe being forced to be a violent man's live-in girlfriend for 11 months has taken a toll on your mental health. But you were alive. The few bruises he gave you were long faded. Uvogin was good to you, surely he wouldn’t abandon you in his basement now. Wouldn’t he have given you a heads-up? Had he gotten bored? Have you been too good? Maybe you should have acted out more. You haven’t been able to sleep much. Every noise would wake you up in the dead of night because of how much you wanted to see Uvogin again.

Your head perks up at the sound of the basement door slowly opening. It’s not Uvogin, it can’t be. You would have heard his heavy footsteps, and he would have announced himself somehow. Instead, you’re met with a man who is only faintly familiar to you. He’s tall with a face that’s on the gaunt side, though not outright unhealthy. His clothing doesn’t stand out, with beige pants and a green long sleeve. His most distinct feature is his hair, which is long and slightly greasy from what you can see.

“You’re still here, that’s good.” He says nonchalantly, as if you had anywhere else to go. Nobunaga’s eyes drift to the chains around your ankle. “You must have given him a lot of trouble if he had to chain you up.” He remarks, trying to ease up any tension with what was meant to be a joke. It isn’t working. You stare at him blankly, scanning his face. You’ve seen this guy before, but at the moment, his face isn’t recognizable to you. Nobunaga sighs, looking you over. You look sick, and he isn’t sure if you actually are or if it’s the unflattering lighting of the basement. Once locating the light switch, he flicks it on, and you don’t look much better. There are dark circles beneath your eyes, your lips are cracked, and your complexion is dull and lifeless.

Nobunaga comes closer, crouching down next to the mattress. He takes the chain into his hands, eyeing it over. It isn’t particularly thick or very heavy. It attaches to the wall, and there’s a cuff around your ankle to keep you from going far. He hadn’t found an obvious key in the basement, so he settles for using his strength (and nen) to simply break the metal chain without warning. The way you flinch doesn’t go unnoticed, but at least you’ll be able to walk out of here now. You scoot away from him, sitting up and against the wall rather than laying lethargically on your side.

“Hey, come on, we’ve met before,” Nobunaga says, the discontentment in his voice thinly veiled. He fishes your chapstick out of his pants pocket. “Look, here. This is yours, isn’t it?” After a few seconds of warily staring at him, it finally clicks. It’s your kidnapper's equally strange friend, whose name you barely remembered. You tentatively take the chapstick from him, untwisting the cap, and apply some of the chapstick liberally, and there’s an awful fluttering feeling in Nobunaga’s chest. He wonders if you’d somehow notice that he just used it minutes earlier. He averts his gaze, suddenly remembering the key ring he pocketed away. Again, without warning, he grasps your ankle, holding you in place as he tries out the different keys on the cuff. After some trying, it eventually comes off. There's a slight imprint of the cuff on your skin, but it hasn’t torn or broken your skin.

“You’re Nobunaga.” You croak out, finally remembering his name. He grins, relief audible in his voice. “There you go, I knew you couldn’t have forgotten me.” You don’t smile back. Something must be wrong if Uvo was letting someone else get so close. Nobunaga’s gaze meets yours again, and he waits for you to speak. He’s expecting some sort of thanks for his good deeds. “Where’s Uvogin?” His expression falls slightly. Right, he forgot that you still think Uvogin is going to come home at some point.

“He’s dead.”

There’s a heavy pause after he speaks. Nobunaga stares at you, waiting for you to emote, but you only stare back. He had hoped, expected, that if anyone else were to outwardly share in his grief it would be you. He stifles a frustrated sigh. The other members of the Spider grieved for Uvogin, nobody was thrilled about his death, Nobunaga knows that yet he can’t ignore the feeling that none of them truly understood. He chalks it up to shock, surely you’ll properly react to Uvogin’s death in the coming days. He wastes little time, not wanting to sit around in the dusty basement any longer. Without warning, Nobunaga takes you by the wrist and pulls you up, forcing you to stand on wobbly legs. He’s all too eager to have you lean on him for support as you get used to walking again. The days of being chained to the ground hadn’t done your muscles any good. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

Nobunaga’s words replay in your mind, yet they never truly stick. For half of a second, you’re relieved that your kidnapper is dead. Not arrested, dead. On the other hand, you’re now left with an equally dangerous man. What exactly was going to happen to you now? You weren’t clueless about Uvogin’s crimes, far from it. Uvogin boasted about the stealing and killing he did. At first, you thought it was a scare tactic, something to keep you from acting out, but he was truly proud of his proclivity for violence. Would you be killed? Surely the Troupe wouldn’t just let you go, it’d never be that easy. As if Nobunaga could see the cogs turning in your mind, he speaks up again. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you from now on.” His voice takes a softer tone, trying to be reassuring. Each step up and out of the basement only makes the pit in your stomach deeper, to the point where you’re starting to feel sick.

Nobunaga barely picks up on your inner turmoil past what’s written all over your face. In his mind, him coming for you should be a great relief (and in a way, it is. You might have withered away in the basement if nobody bothered to come for you). Aside from the obvious fact that he can't let you go free, he doubts you’d be okay on your own at this point. You’ve been dependent on Uvogin for anything like food or attention for nearly a year. As far as Nobunaga is concerned, you wouldn’t do well if you were thrown back into the real world and forced to take care of yourself. You might as well be a bird that’s had its wings clipped. Besides, it’s not like anyone else in the Troupe was going to take you in. Some of the other members had their own partners to occupy themselves with, Feitan even suggested outright killing you since you probably knew too much about the Troupe. It was only right that Nobunaga got to have you, he was the only one who was willing to anyway.

Besides, Chrollo did say that he could make the final decision about what happens to you.

He gets lost in his own thoughts; so caught up in his fantasies about his soon-to-be domestic life with you, that he almost doesn’t notice the way you dig your heels into the ground once he’s got you out of the basement and back on floor level. Nobunaga looks back at you, the corners of his lips twitching downward. “Come on, it’s fine. I told you that you’re safe with me.” He says, an impatient edge to his voice as he continues his firm hold of your wrist. “Do you want to bring some of your things with you?” Nobunaga says it as if he’s extending an olive branch. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and you blink at him. “What?” “We aren’t going to be staying here.” Nobunaga says like it’s obvious. “You’re coming home with me.”

The apartment is quiet, save for the new pitter-patter of rain outside. You stand there idly, watching Nobunaga go through your and Uvogin’s belongings in the bedroom you used to share with Uvo. What right did he have to put his hands on your things? He shouldn’t be here, you think. You hold your tongue, the words not coming easy to you. You don’t attempt to help him or give any input on what clothes you want to take and what you want to leave behind.

“I don’t believe you.” You say abruptly, still standing in the doorway. Nobunaga goes through the closet with his back to you, looking for a backpack or spare luggage. For half of a second, he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. “Are you sure he’s dead?” You ask, which answers the question that was on the tip of his tongue. His expression falters slightly, but he doesn’t turn to meet your gaze. “I’m positive.” Nobunaga says with a strange finality to his tone. He’s found a decent backpack now, more focused on deciding what belongings of yours to bring and which to leave behind. As far as he’s concerned, you two will have all the time in the world to talk about Uvogin once Nobunaga just gets you back to his place. It doesn’t even cross his mind that you wouldn’t be 100% thrilled at the prospect of being transferred over to his care.

You aren’t willing to drop the conversation topic though. You don’t want to believe Uvogin is gone, but there’s no way he’d willingly hand you over to this guy, right? “How? How did he die?” You press for answers, wondering if this is some prank. Nobunaga sighs, still not bothering to turn back to face you. “We can talk about that later.” He says, taking your clothes out of the room’s dresser and putting them in the backpack. “You’re probably hungry. Why don’t you go get yourself something to eat? I’ll finish up here.” He says dismissively, effectively shooing you off. You tentatively leave the bedroom doorway after about a minute of silence, surprised that Nobunaga is so easily letting you out of his sight.

Wandering over to the kitchen, you numbly go about making yourself something to eat. It feels like muscle memory at this point, you’re so used to fixing up a sandwich for Uvogin. Today, though, most of the ingredients you’d usually use aren’t at your disposal. The lunch meat that was in the refrigerator expired last week, and there’s no cheese left. All you’re able to come up with is a sandwich with mayonnaise and some tomato slices. You eat slowly, your appetite diminished from the turn of events and from how bland your sandwich is.

Your eyes shift to the front door, and you can just barely hear Nobunaga back in Uvo’s bedroom. Maybe if you timed it right, you could get out of here. God knew if the front door was locked, but if you didn’t at least try, then you’d never know. You can hear the rain outside more clearly now. You’d be risking getting sick by running out in the rain, but that’s a small price to pay for freedom. What would you even do, though? Where could you go that the Troupe wouldn’t follow? By the time you gather the nerve to take a few steps out of the kitchen, Nobu’s finished packing. “Do you feel better after eating something?” He asks, his voice catching you by surprise. He doesn’t comment on the quality of your sandwich. You choose not to answer him.

The rain picks up, now it’s impossible to treat it as a soothing white noise. It’s loud and you can hear the roaring winds with it. “I guess we can just stay here until the rain dies down.” Nobunaga proposes, and he motions for you to follow him. He sits on one of the two couches in Uvo’s living room, expecting you to sit next to him. You take your seat on the second couch, and Nobunaga’s able to hide his disappointment well enough.He takes the remote and turns the television on, keeping the volume low. The news channel only talks about the current storm, it seems like you’ll both be stuck here for at least a few more hours. You focus on the news reporter, not wanting to look at Nobunaga. You can feel his staring, you know he’s waiting for you to talk to him.

“What’s going to happen to me?” You finally break the silence, and Nobunaga seems just about amused at your inquiry. “I told you, I’m going to be taking care of you from now on.” He says it slowly, as if you didn’t understand him the first time. His answer is too vague for you to do anything with, or maybe it’s the brain fog from not eating much in these past days. Nobunaga continues to look at you as if you were a beloved houseplant while you think over what he’s said. After a long pause, you finally respond. “I want to go home.” Once again, his smile falters and his voice returns to a more neutral one. “That isn’t going to happen. Your best option is to come just with me.”

Nobunaga waits for you to say something, to give any indication that you at least understand your circumstances. You don’t though, rather you choose to pretend that you’re invested in anything the news anchor is saying. He’s confident that you’ll come around, though; it’s not like you have anyone else to rely on.

#yandere x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter x reader #yandere nobunaga #yandere nobunaga hazama #yandere Nobunaga x reader #yandere Nobunaga Hazama x reader #_hxh #_nobunaga

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depravitycentral · 9 months

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im sorry if this is a lame ask, but i just had the idea and thought i would share it to see if it would strike any inspo! of course on this blog you’ve talked about all the things our beloved troupe members are into, but have you ever considered what their absolute turn offs are? like things that pull them out of the mood almost immediately? or kinks that would seem to fit certain members, but end up not being their thing for one reason or another

Ooh yes anon this strikes inspo !!

This is a good point - it's all fine and dandy to imagine sex with your yandere as being so bad but so good, as if they know every secret, dirty kink and fantasy you have. (That's because they do know, whether through extensive stalking, pouring through your search histories, or raw, natural sexual chemistry with you. They all think they've got that last one, but normally any positive sexual encounters between the two of you will be a consequence of the former two rather than the latter.)

But of course, everyone has turn offs, and while your yandere would be willing to do pretty much anything to please you, even the most obsessed, unhinged yanderes have a few hard, fast exceptions.

I'm assuming you meant just hxh yanderes for this, so let's proceed moving forward with that in mind! If you meant for another fandom, please let me know and I'd be happy to discuss those yanderes too <3

Let's discuss !!

(Tw for petnames, watersports, recording, anal, pegging, crying, hitting, and other smutty things)

Chrollo Lucilfer is pretty hard to frazzle in bed, and is one of those who have done extensive, eager research into both your own personal sexual preferences, and made educated guesses on kinks that seem to correlate with ones he already knows you possess. That said, Chrollo himself isn't especially risky in bed - he'll indulge you, sure, but he doesn't have a strong desire to try anything especially crazy unless you're a big fan. And while he'll let you have your fun (particularly in the beginning of your sexual relationship, just because promising you that he'll choke you or dominate you or whatever else you may like just to get you into bed with him and somewhat willing, just because he needs to pleasure you and get you warming up to him) , most of the time sex with him is quite vanilla. He's open to listening to whatever you want, with one very, very large exception: there is no amount of pleading or bargaining that will let you peg him. He doesn't inherently believe that men should always be dominant over women, but he does believe that he should always be dominant over you. And if you were to peg him, this power structure would collapse, allowing you too much control over both his pleasure and him. He doesn't mind being in a more physically submissive position (he'll never deny you when you straddle him and tell him that you're in charge for the evening, the only response you get being a twinkle in his eye, a soft smirk and a hummed we will see, my love), but the idea of you fucking him just rubs him the wrong way. He's more vulnerable with you than he is anyone else, but Chrollo has his limits. (Besides, the idea of absolutely falling apart for you is both alluring and terrifying, because the moment you discover his prostate, he'll be a gasping mess, his cheeks tinged a light pink and his grip on the sheets below him very, very tight. It would be embarrassing, and he can't allow you to see him in such a weak position - it would derail all the hard work he's done to convince you that you need him.)

Feitan Portor really detests being called Daddy. He thinks it's weird, and even if you - sweet, perfect, irritatingly attractive you - were to say it, he still wouldn't like it. There's just something about it that rubs him the wrong way - it feels too paternal, and while he doesn't remember having a family in any biological capacity, it still just makes his skin crawl. He won't get soft immediately upon hearing you say it (he's always just slightly hard when you're in his vicinity, so rarely ever is he truly flaccid around you), but he'll need to pull out and take a breather, mentally trying to erase the sound of the petname rolling off your tongue. He can deal with other petnames - he'd be okay with sir, if only because he's always kind of had a thing for roleplaying, or at least having some sort of overarching power dynamic present during sex, and being called sir would place him in a position of absolute authority, meaning he could do whatever he wants to you and you'd just obediently obey. (You already kind of do, too scared to say no to him, but it doesn't feel as authentic - he feels less comfortable, more vulnerable and exposed and raw, and he doesn't like that.) You could even call him master if you really wanted to - similarly, it feeds his desire for playing a powerful, dominant role, but he doesn't have any sort of particularly liking towards maid costumes or anything of the sort, so it wouldn't do too much for him. He's good with nearly anything else you could throw at him, but never Daddy. Frankly, he really just prefers his own, actual name - it just sounds so damn good when you gasp it, the sound going straight to both his cock and heart.

Phinks Magcub's brows always get pinched and his lips quirk down when he thinks about the idea of you bleeding during sex. It makes his hands itch, this protectiveness welling up inside him that makes him antsy and nervous and jittery, the energy all pent up and needing to be released because god, he doesn't like seeing you hurt. Even if it makes you feel good, your moans increasing because of the pain twinged pleasure, he's unwilling to indulge you - he couldn't bring himself to purposefully make you bleed, and while he does occasionally (often) leave you bruised and incredibly sore after having his way with you, that's a whole different thing from seeing that crimson color against your pretty skin. It just makes him uncomfortable - if you asked nicely enough he'd consider maybe lightly slapping you or getting rough with you (though he's already pretty rough when he gets lost in the moment - finger shaped bruises litter your body and hickeys dance along your collarbone and neck), but he'll draw the line at drawing blood. (Similarly, he doesn't really want to bleed himself either, but he'd be more willing to be in the position of pain than putting you into that position of pain. Besides, it might help him last longer, the pleasure warded off by negative stimulation - and god knows Phinks needs all the help he can get in delaying his orgasms.)

Uvogin is pretty adventurous in bed, all things considered, but even he has a few hard turn offs, one of which being degrading you. He doesn't mind calling you needy or possessive terms of endearment, but anything with even a slight negative connotation is always preceded by a 'my', so that when he's calling you a slut it always becomes my slut. Even then, he doesn't like doing this - his natural default when he's naked with you is to be praising you, because those are honestly the thoughts running through his mind when he's got his hands on you and he's feeling your soft skin against his. He genuinely only has good, lustful, reverent things to say about your body and the fact that he's getting to touch, kiss, squeeze, and fuck you, and he's not shy about telling the truth. And so, if you were to request for him to degrade you a bit in bed or be a little meaner, he'll oblige, but it'll feel just slightly forced, his words not holding their usual deep, growling timber that always sends shivers down your spine. He ends up compromising by mixing praise and degradation, but absolutely destroying you with his thrusts and well placed circles on your clit, channeling all the harsh, humiliating energy of verbal degradation instead into how he assaults your body with an overwhelming amount of pleasure. He just doesn't like the idea of lying to you, even if it turns you on in this context, because it just feels wrong to tell you that you're only a hole for me to fuck, and holes don't talk. You're not - you're so much more than that, and he doesn't want you to think otherwise. Hell no, not with all the work he's put into making you get comfortable with him and want him. One roll around on the liviing room floor (he'd gotten impatient and didn't feel like making the thirty step journey to the bedroom) isn't worth reversing months worth of warming you up to him. Not even if you leave his back scratched up or end up so stuffed full of his cum that you're literally leaking.

Nobunaga Hazama is, frankly, just thankful and elated that you're touching him. He's delusional, compeltely out of touch with reality, and fucking weird, but he's also a major sap and literally gets heart eyes everytime he sees you. And so, in the bedroom he wants everything to be as close and sensual as possible, and for every bit of pleasure and love shared between the two of you to be expressed in full. This, of course, includes any and all noises he draws out of you - that is, Nobunaga has to have you gasping and keening and moaning. He's loud himself, and he expects sex to be full of wanton cries and a cacophany of sound; one that you are expected to eagerly contribute to. And if you don't deliver? Well, Nobunaga will just try harder, licking at your faster or thrusting harder or pinching tighter - anything and everything to get you to make a damn sound, to give stop him from having to confront the reality that you aren't enjoying this nearly as much as he is. He gets turned off when you're quiet, which is a real bummer if you aren't naturally loud - you have to be, because he won't quite until you are, even if that takes hours and hours and hours.

Alternatively, Franklin Bordeau can tell when you're faking it, and he doesn't like that. At all. He doesn't want your forced moans or fabricated shaking or anything that isn't real - he wants you, your genuine reactions to his touch, and your genuine personality in bed. He doesn't want you to sound like some pornstar - with your moans constant and high and shrill and more pained than pleasured - for two main reasons, the first of which being that it's just annoying. He's never understood the allure of a woman screaming during sex, and even in the context of actual, real pleasure, it still makes him uncomfortable. It's too close to the sounds he hears when he's working a heist - he doesn't want you to sound like them, because he has no intentions of hurting you and just the mere thought of you bloodied is enough to get him soft immediately and clutching onto you like you'll disappear any moment. The second reason why he doesn't want you to be forcing anything is because although he's decently confident in his sexual abilities, he knows he isn't making you feel that good. He's sure him fingering you isn't capable of getting you gasping and whining his name constantly - sure, it feels good, and you'll probably moan and sigh, but still. When he's fucking you, he's hopeful that you'll cry out his name, but he knows you shouldn't be screaming and rythmically, shrilly moaning. He values honesty, and hearing your real, raw reactions to his touch and his presence feels a thousand times more pleasurable than anything you could ever forcibly manufacture - especially your orgasms. He can always tell when you're faking, so don't try it. Don't.

Honestly, it's pretty difficult to get Shalnark turned off. He's kinky, adventurous, and misinterprets a lot of your responses during sex - he likes to think you're just as wild as he is, and even when you clearly don't like something, he still thinks seeing you struggle is just as arousing. (Besides, most of the time he will get you to orgasm - and seeing the internal dilemma of hating what he's doing alongside the pleasure you can't hold back is absolutely delicious.) That said, there are very specific situations that Shalnark doesn't find any attraction in - specifically, he absolutely is not willing to be cucked. Having another person in the room while he fucks you hard enough to make you cry isn't a problem at all - on the contrary, he's very, very interested in that idea, because having another man watch him claim you makes both his possessiveness and nostrils flare, his palms getting sweaty and his pants feeling tight. Cucking, on the other hand, implies that there's someone else touching you - another person sullying you, getting their disgusting hands on your perfect skin that's all his his his, and that's just simply unacceptable. He didn't go through all that trouble of kidnapping you and keeping you in a secure location just to have you touched, fucked, loved by another man. It doesn't matter if it's a stranger or someone Shalnark trusts with his life - you will not be getting intimate with another soul for the rest of your life, simply because he firmly sees you as his property, and him yours. So don't even bother bringing the idea up - he'll fuck you in front of the stranger, no problem, but they're prohibited to strictly watching. (Or, maybe, they'd be good at helping get those camera angles that are really tough to capture - right up in your face, or right zoomed into where his length - flushed red and swollen - is sinking into you over and over, the home video the perfect thing to watch tonight as he cuddles you to sleep.)

Alternatively, Machi Komacine can't stomach the thought of doing anything public. It's not that she fears getting caught, but rather that it makes her uncomfortable that anyone could see the two of you. Someone could just pass by and happen to get an eyeful of you - your pretty skin and curves, your lovely body that her eyes always seem to get stuck on, watching, wanting, yearning. She's not spontaneous in any way when it comes to sex, and she just doesn't see the allure of the risk or danger involved. She's too possessive; it takes her so long to even allow herself to see you naked, and to have a stranger do that and even see your face while she's pleasuring you, while you're coming? The thought makes her nen flare up, the urge to wrap you in her arms and keep the world from even catching a glimpse of you only growing stronger. Even aside from her possessiveness, the idea of doing something where others could see you makes her nervous, too, because Machi isn't entirely confident in her abilities to actually please you in the bedroom. Sure, she understands female anatomy and has a good sense of what you like from all that stalking, but actually doing it? That's a different thing entirely - and the pressure of pleasing you coupled with the pressure of other people potentially watching her struggle makes her feel uncomfortable, a foreign, heavy sense of self doubt settling heavily in her gut. It's just not for her - sex belongs in the bedroom, or perhaps the couch or kitchen table. Not outside of your 'shared' apartment, and certainly not where someone else could get an eyeful of what's hers.

Pakunoda will still jump on the opportunity to pleasure you and be pleasured, but in general she'll be hesitant if the both of you are still fully clothed. She doesn't see the appeal of clothed sex - she wants you completely bared to her, utterly raw, your body on display for her to worship and touch and mark. She thinks keeping the clothing on is not only impractical, but diminishes the intimacy between the two of you. You'll get all sorts of sticky, hard to clean things staining the clothes, and because she can be a little snobby about materialistic delights like luxury clothing, she's not exactly keen on getting your slick all over her nice clothes. (Although, she wouldn't be entirely opposed to having your slick all over her skin, like you're leaving a mark of possession on her. Just not the clothes.) Clothes stop her from being able to fully explore your body, and, as much as she'd never admit it, when you have your clothing on it makes it much harder to use her nen on you. That is, while it makes her feel a little dirty and slimy, she will be using her ability to dig into your memories for any information on your kinks and fantasies, just because she wants to make sex as perfect and pleasurable for you as she possibly can. So shed the layers with her - it makes things so much better. Plus, the sight of you bare and squirming underneath her, looking all pretty and submissive and cute is certainly a drool worthy sight.

All things considered, Shizuku Murasaki is actually kind of picky about sex. She likes things to be her way or the highway, and as her darling you'll be forced to go along with all of her preferences and wants. And while she loves all things oral, there are a few things she's absolutely unwilling to do. Namely, while she worships you and cherishes you as much as a mass-murderer can, she will not indulge you in anything involving your asshole. It's a cleanliness thing for her; she knows you're clean (she'd just bathed with you this morning and personally hand washed you, paying very, very careful attention to your cunt), but she has a mental block against having her mouth anywhere near that part of you. She's always felt this way with every partner she's had - she just doesn't understand the allure of anal, whether that be fingering, oral, or penetration. She'd much, much rather pay attention to other areas of your body - your pussy, your thighs, your breasts, your mouth. She'll always shy away when she's got her face between your legs, but unfortunately for you, this courtesy does not extend to you too. She doesn't expect you to do anything with her ass, but she certainly won't stop you if you're getting too close, or if you get the desire. She'll just blink at you and tell you to be careful, then pull your head in by your hair and get you closer and closer and closer, enjoying the experience despite herself. Shizuku is a little hypocritical in a lot of aspects in sex, but this is one particular area where she's absolutely unfair.

Hisoka Marrow is a freak in every sense of the word. Genuinely, there is very, very little you could do that would cause him to fall out of the mood, or to rid him of the insistant, raging boner nearly everything you do gives him. He'll try anything once, and he firmly believes in keeping your sex life interesting and varied. That said, he certainly has preferences, and one thing that sits quite low on his list of preferred bedroom activities is to be worshipped. It's not that he doesn't want your attention and praise (he does, urgently), but rather that there's something about the position of being the one drowned in compliments and confessions of love that makes him a little uncomfortable. Perhaps it's because he's not used to being in such a submissive, vulnerable position, or maybe it's because he doesn't feel like he's got enough control of the situation. It doesn't really matter, because Hisoka will always send teasing remarks your way when you get the courage to be the dominant one, and that will almost always derail you enough to get you steering away from any territory that gets dangerously close to becoming too vulnerable and real for him. He loves you in his own twisted, strange way, but he's not ready to open himself up fully to you, to let you take full charge and just take care of him. He may never be ready, really, so any dreams you have of fully dominating him and reducing him to a trembling, fucked out mess will have to remain just that - dreams.

In general, Illumi Zoldyck will try most things you suggest. It's not that he's especially adventurous in the bedroom, but rather that you're the first person he's ever had any sexual contact with, and everything with you feels good, so he wants to try it all. He has very few boundries when it comes to you, and so consequently, there aren't too many things that turn him off. However, he does have two surefire things that he'll immediately and vehemently outright refuse. Firstly, he will absolutely not wear any protection. He turns his nose at the thought of condoms, and will only laugh in your face if you suggest using them for obvious reasons. He will be entering you in the most natural way possible, and he will be finishing as deeply inside of you as he can manage. Secondly, he absolutely will not allow another person to be involved in your sex life. There will be no third person in your bed, no other person for you to be pleasuring and be pleasured by. There is only you and Illumi - it's your sex life, and it makes his possessiveness flare up to dangerous proportions to imagine another person seeing you in such a vulnerable, intimate position. So really, don't even bother bringing up the idea - he won't even consider it, already shooting it down before you're finished getting the sentence out. (And after he finishes lecturing you about how another man or woman has no place in your bed, he'll promptly fuck you right then and there - no matter where you are - just to prove his point. He's all you need, after all.)

Sex with Kurapika Kurta is soft and sensual. It can be a little rougher if he's had a particularly bad day, or if he's recently had a run in with the Troupe, but for the most part he makes love rather than fucks. And because of this, he really, really doesn't like seeing you cry during sex. It makes him uncomfortable, his instincts begging him to comfort you and eliminate whatever caused your tears. He associates crying with the early days of when he'd kidnapped you, back when you were still terrified of him and much too scared to even stand to look at him, much less allow him to touch you. And particularly in the context of sex, he does not want to be reminded of all the horrible things he's done to you - things are good now, happy, and you've finally come around to the idea that he loves you, that you'll spend the rest of your life with him. And so, the moment there are tears beading at your eyes, he's immediately going soft, his palms cupping your cheeks as he stares wildly at you, asking in a rushed, still breathless voice if you're alright, if you're hurt, if you're upset and who he needs to kill to right this wrong. He overreacts, and it always, always turns into either self hatred aimed at himself for ruining your happiness, or a bloodthirsty desire to kill whoever is upsetting you. The only exception to his hatred of you crying is when it's done because you're too overstimulated, the pleasure too much for you to even process. When you're so fucked out from the pleasure he gave you, then the tears are acceptable. He still doesn't like them all that much, but it's at least a sign that he's treating you well, that he's able to make you feel good and pleasured, and it makes pride swell in his chest. So in general, try not to cry in front of him - he goes flaccid in mere seconds, his protective nature ramping up and any semblance of sexiness gone immediately.

When Leorio Paradinight has you in bed, he's almost in a state of utter awe, almost unable to really process what's going on. He's just so incredibly aroused by you, even if you're just laying beside him with your clothes fully on, and because of this he's game to try pretty much anything you want in bed. He's genuinely just so fucking excited to be with you that he'll do basically anything you want, no matter how degrading or gross or off the wall. That said, however, he doesn't really understand the appeal of pet play. He doesn't harbor any fantasies of you donning a set of bunny ears or a tail or anything of the sort, simply because he doesn't really like fantasies that change you, even if it's something as trivial as your ears. He thinks of you as perfection, and that includes every proportion of your body, every freckle, mole, hair and blemish you could have, and he doesn't want to pretend that you aren't exactly who - and what - you are. Besides, he just doesn't see the appeal; he wants you to talk and moan for him when he's touching you, not have you purr or whine or any other animal noise. He thinks it's a little weird, if he's being honest, and while he'll begrudgingly agree if you beg him to try it out (he'll do anything to see you smile, after all), his orgasm won't come as pathetically easily as normal. This extends to pet play where he's the one dressing up as a pet, too - he's more likely to enjoy it this way, but there's something humiliating about the butt plug tail and the fox ears, and it's humiliating in all the wrong ways. He's just not too big of a fan - now if you wanted to get some sort of ownership roleplay going that didn't involve pets or animals, he'd be all over that - the moment you refer to yourself as mommy or his mistress, he's practically creaming his pants, getting on his knees for you and begging for you to touch him. (And maybe even step on him, depending on how needy he's feeling that day.)

Razor, despite sometimes losing control in bed and getting a little rougher than he means to, will never willingly hit you in bed. He doesn't like the idea of slapping you. He might gently pat your ass when you're bouncing on top of him, but it's only just enough to make you yelp, only enough to make a slight smack noise of skin against skin. Hitting you - even in the context of sexual pleasure - reminds him too much of his younger days, back when he was a criminal and was much less controlled, much more dangerous. And really, that's the last thing he wants you to see him as - he wants you to take comfort in him, to want him to hold you and touch you, and he's sure that even if you want him to get rough with you and manhandle you, to smack your cheek and tell you to behave for him, you will start associating him with pain and violence. And he just can't have that - not after all the work he's gone through to prove that despite kidnapping you, he's not the monster you think he is. (Besides, there's just something more meaningful about softer, sweeter sex - he's fucked more women than he'd care to admit, but you're the first one he's gone slow with, the first one he's really taken his time with. And while it might be stupid, that makes you different in his eyes - like he's saved something special for you, like the passionate, romantic side of him that comes out when he's got you naked and stretched out on his fingers is something only you'll ever get to see.)

Another man who tries to keep things a bit vanilla in the bedroom (not for the same reasons as Razor, but rather because he just genuinely prefers more intimate and tame sex) is Knuckle, who can't stand the thought of recording your intimate times. He does objectively think the idea is a bit hot, but he's too worried that somehow the recordings will get leaked, that somehow other people will get their hands on precious recordings of him making love to you, of him making you moan and sigh and fall apart on his tongue and fingers and cock. He views the time you both spend together in the sheets as being almost sacred, like something special that's reserved only for the two of you, and having a camera rolling would just make everything feel too impersonal. It would make him nervous, too, because he'd want to rewatch the tapes with you just so he can see your face the whole time (he tends to lose himself the closer he gets to his orgasm, and always buries his face in your neck to try and make himself last longer, so he misses seeing your facial expressions when he's finishing inside you), but he'd be worried about the way he looks, about whether he looks attractive to you, dominant to you, sexy to you. However, despite his reservations about recording himself fucking you, he will photograph you in the pretty, feminine lingerie he buys for you. He'll get a new color or cut, and have you try on the set, posing for the camera while he takes a few shots, his pants visibly straining around his swollen cock because god, you look good. He'll keep the photographs in his pants pocket and never, ever share them, always looking back at them when he's away on missions and missing you. He's a bit hypocritical, but the moment a camera gets trained on him, he's turning red and clamming up.

Morel is another one who's very flexible in the bedroom, and would be difficult to completely turn off. However, one thing that Morel just simply can't get behind is watersports. He'll try it, if you really beg him to, but he just doesn't like it. It feels unsanitary to him (and god, the mess), but even beyond that it just feels a little degrading, and not in a good way. If you really, really pushed him on it, he'd give in and do as you please, reluctantly forcing himself to release onto you, but the entire time he'd be feeling guilty, discomfort eating at him because isn't it horribly disrespectful to be literally pissing on you? He loves you, and it just sits wrong with him. He'll refuse after that first time, and while he's not particularly into it, if you really, really wanted to, he'd let you reverse the roles. He's not particularly eager to have you wet yourself or piss on him, but that's better because now at least you're the one in the position of power. Plus, you're begrudgingly a little cute when you get all embarrassed about it. But still, it's most definitely not something he desires, and while he'd entertain your fantasies once in a blue moon, it certainly won't be a regular occurrence in your sex life together.

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depravitycentral · 7 months

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Hi!!! I have this question that's been stuck in my mind. Do you think the phantom troupe would wish to get married (I'm really curious because legally they don't have an identity)? If yes, what do you think would be the theme of the wedding or how they will propose? (I think Uvogin would; I'm not so sure about the others, especially Feitan).

Thank youu!!!

Oooh anon!! A good question!

I think generally, most of the Troupe's yanderes harbor a secret desire to actually marry you. It's sweet, it's domestic, and it ties you to them both emotionally, physically, and legally - the holy trinity, in some eyes.

Let's discuss!!

But of course, the issue of their criminal statuses and lack of an official identity can present challenges in this endeavor, warding some off from actually going through with it. A few yanderes, like Feitan, Franklin, and Machi, decide that it's more trouble than it's worth - even if they secretly wish to see you wearing the pretty ring on your finger that matches with theirs.

Alternatively, these three will each find ways to make it up - Feitan gets you a spider tattoo that matches his own, though instead of the the number in the center, it's simply an F. It's a little cheesy, but it makes him feel better - besides, a tattoo is permanent, a ring is not. This is better.

Machi will always sort of just dream about it, but you'll notice that she starts getting you clothing that's just a bit more formal, maybe something with frills or is white. It's not super obvious, and you'd have to know to look for it, but if she can't marry you, at least she can pretend.

Franklin actually bought you a ring very early into his obsession, right after he came to terms with the fact that his feelings weren't going to go away. He keeps it on his person at all times, and often he'll just idly fiddle with it, rolling it between his fingers and smiling softly at it, letting his mind run wild and pretend that you're wearing it, that you're his.

Some are still a bit more secretive about wanting to officially marry you, but will go through the hoops to get a fake identity and register the marriage. Phinks, for example, does want to marry you, even if it's a little embarrassing to admit. He won't directly bring it up, but after he gets all the legal stuff figured out, he'll present the papers to you with a pen, scratching the back of his neck and struggling to look at you while he asks in an unsure voice if you'd like to - you know, uh, tie the knot?

Pakunoda is also not super pushy about it, but she does want it to happen. She'll drop hints once she thinks you've come around enough, even going so far as to use her nen ability to get information out of you about whether you actually want to marry her, and if so what your dream wedding looks like. She doesn't mind the work if it means getting to see your face light up and give you that magical day you've both dreamed of - particularly because it'll be her bed you come home to that night.

Some didn't have particularly strong feelings about the matter until later on into their infatuation with you. It's a fleeting thought mostly, something that tickles at the back of their mind for a brief moment, but it sticks with them. Would you like to get married? Would you like to wear a pretty dress and kiss them and take their last name like they really, really want you to? The longer they think about it, the more they like it, and so they'll get all the necessarily legal fraud done - it's worth it.

Shalnark both likes the idea, and likes the way it would permanently bind you to him. Even if you tried to run away, once you're married it would be very, very easy for him to track you down. Besides, he likes domesticity and pretending that your relationship is perfectly normal and healthy and consensual - it's fun to tease you this way, but it also makes him giddy and fluttery. Marrying you is this boyish dream that he wants to live out, so when he starts cutting out all these photos of dresses and rings and eagerly shows you, don't be too surprised.

Shizuku just likes the idea. Pakunoda makes some comment about a couple she'd seen the other day shopping for wedding venues, and instantly a light bulb ignited above her head. You'd look cute in a wedding dress, especially if it had lots of frills and pretty lace. She doesn't even ask you - you get excited when she takes you out of the house for once, only for your heart to drop when you see the dress and the flowers and the ring, all of her coworkers looking at you with varying degrees of happiness and interest. At least the wedding is a little cute - lots of delicate laces and finishing touches.

Others are very, very excited to marry you. It's something that's been in the cards for a long while, and it's something that will happen. You don't really get a say; it makes them feel better, as if your relationship is genuine, authentic, and official. Plus, seeing you all dolled up in white for them makes their heart race out of their chests and their suits feeling too tight.

Uvogin, for one, wants everything in your relationship to be as normal as possible. He truly loves you, and while he recognizes that he's a bit of an alternative groom, he wants you to feel special and lovely and pretty. Plus, getting to tease you about being his little wife is an awfully appealing idea - as is the fact that now you actually belong to him, just as he's been telling you all along. (Plus, now you can't even pretend to put up a fight about him not wearing a condom - you're married, so who cares if he knocks you up now?)

Nobunaga, frankly, already was under the impression that you were married in every way except name. You're living together (forcibly, but that's besides the point), you sleep in the same bed (again, forcibly), share finances (he controls everything you get, so 'share' perhaps isn't the best word), and he touches you like a husband would (even if you wish he wouldn't). Marriage is simply the final nail in the coffin of what you should already know is your love story - so slip on the white dress and let him slip you out of it later that night - it'll be fun, he promises.

(I was inspired by the idea of Chrollo and a wedding, so have a little blurb about it!)

Chrollo thinks the idea is cute. He's got enough aliases to register a marriage in whatever country he happens to be in, quickly filing the paperwork with minimal scuff.

It's endearing, honestly - the idea of you being his loving wife, his woman, wearing a pretty ring sparkling on your finger that symbolizes both his love for you and your belonging to him.

He views the idea as both something to quell his romantic and possessive instincts towards you, all the while pleasing you by finally having something normal happen in your relationship. He may have kidnapped you, may be a mass criminal, and he may infuriate you to the point of insanity, but all women dream about getting married, right?

And while you may be volatile towards him, even you can't deny the idea of marrying him - he's seen the way you look at him, how your disgust gets less pronounced with every passing day when he touches you, how resignation is slowly settling into your frowns and the slump of your shoulders.

And so, he'll propose, it'll be a grand affair, but Chrollo has this way of making everything seen so casual and subtle, even if the candlelit dinner he pops the question over is anything but. He takes you out on dates once in a blue moon, with those dark eyes watching your every move and making sure you do nothing even remotely suspicious.

The first thing you'll notice on this night, however, is how there's no one around int he restaurant - with a wonderful view of the city skyline and the full moon making it all glow. It's empty, save for you and Chrollo. There's a white wicker candle burning between the two of you and a collection of blood red flowers sitting in an ornate glass vase, one of your favorite desserts sitting in front of you on the immaculate, perfectly pressed white tablecloth.

(He'd ordered both your meal and your dessert for you, of course, though irritatingly enough, you'd enjoyed the food and were begrudgingly going to enjoy the sweet.)

He's been unusually quiet the entire dinner, those dark eyes seeming to bore into you even harder than usual, making goosebumps rise all along your body.

(Your body that's covered in a stunning, sating emerald dress that he picked, of course. The sizing was perfect, as always, even looking hand tailored despite never going to the sizing appointments yourself.)

It's scared you a bit, truth be told, but as soon as he leans back, pressing the glass of wine to his lips with a twinkle in those soulless eyes that keep looking at your fingers, things will suddenly start to click. There's a pause as he swallows, and all too soon his voice is filling up the previously empty air, his voice almost giddy as he asks if you enjoyed the food.

You'll nervously respond with a yes, and he'll let the smallest of smiles slip onto his lips. But this smile - this smile - it feel real, genuine, unlike any other smile you've seen him give you before. There's something sharp about it, vulnerable and raw and horrible, and it makes it hard to breath as he utters the next sentence.

Will you be eternally mine, love? Would you let me be eternally yours?

It's cheesy and far too dramatic and just too much, but what choice do you have? It's not like you can really say no. And when you nod, that smile will get bigger and wider, a cold hand reaching across the table to clasp over yours while you shrink back.

And that smile stays until the wedding date- very soon after he initially asks, in an older, gothic-style church. It's clearly been abandoned, but there's no dust or grime to be seen anywhere and the large, ornate glass windows make you think the place has actually been recently scrubbed from floor to ceiling.

The pews are a dark mahogany, almost black, with curling designs and animals carved into the wood. The floor is stone and the walls are too, making everything feel gray and glowing from all the candles still present. The Troupe is all present, remarkably all dressed in formal attire - suites and dresses, and if you'd actually wanted to be there, you almost might've laughed at the sight of Phinks wearing a rose pendant at his lapel.

The dress - once again, chosen by Chrollo and perfectly fitted - a creamy ivory color. It's surprisingly simple, something you hadn't been expecting from your self-proclaimed lover - it's satin and smooth, the fabric rippling beautifully as you walk, with a high neckline and long sleeves that only bell out at the wrists.

The back, however, is much more what you associate with Chrollo's style - it's entirely open, showing off the expanse of your back all the way from your shoulders to right above your tailbone. The cold air of the church makes you shiver, as do all the stares of the Troupe members when you walk down the aisle alone.

The flowers are all red roses and Persian lilies. There's nothing green.

The ring is simple; a silver band with his name engraved along the interior, and a jade set into the band that's a deep, rich green standing out against your skin. He slips it onto your finger with hands that you think are slightly shaking, his Adam's Apple bobbing ever so slightly. He seems distracted throughout the whole ceremony, and he keeps a firm grip on your hands throughout it all, his grip tight enough to leave bruises against your knuckles.

The ceremony is officiated by a man that looks far too unphased by the presence of criminals to be a real priest, and quickly it becomes apparent that he'll entertain no sort of rebellion from you. He hardly even lets you finish your vows, sounding impatient to the to the 'I do'.

The clapping is loud as Chrollo's hand settles onto your waist, his pink lips perking into a smile as he leans closer to you, his breath smelling of mint as it fans across your cheeks, his whisper of your name making your breath hitch as he kisses you, your first intimacy as an officially married couple.

The kiss is innocent and tame, but the weight of its meaning makes your shoulders sink and your stomach drop, something inside of you slowly curling up and dying. He pulls back for a moment, before diving in again, this time shoving his tongue into your mouth and wrapping his arm fully around your waist, a sharp inhale sounding as he kisses you harder, deeper, fervently, his fingertips pressing into you and crumpling the fabric of the dress he'd forced you into.

Eventually he pulls away, slightly out of breath and his hair a little out of place across his forehead and god that damn smile is back as he looks at you, this sort of wide-eyed expression settling across his face that looks too boyish and genuine to be real.

My wife... He muses under his breath, licking his lips and not letting his gaze falter from yours.

Many kisses will come later that night, as he strips you out of the lacy white lingerie you're wearing under the dress, as he pushes inside of you with a sort of muffled strangled noise, as he sweats and his hips stutter and he buries his face into your neck and claims you as his.

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere chrollo #_hxh #_chrollo lucilfer #_machi komacine #_phinks magcub #_shizuku murasaki #_pakunoda #_shalnark #_uvogin #_feitan portor #_nobunaga hazama #_franklin bordeau

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depravitycentral · 9 months

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Yandere! Nobunaga Hazama x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, implied dub-con, Daddy kink, objectification, rough sex, brief mentions of anal, fem reader, MDNI

You've become Nobunaga's personal little stress reliever once he kidnaps you away.

His go-to solution for any kind of heightened emotion he's feeling is to come home and give you a nice, thorough, intense fucking. It soothes his nerves, and it's good for you to get a little excercise.

Franklin's getting on his nerves or frustrating him during a job they have to work together?

As soon as it's over Nobunaga's slamming open the front door and then slamming you down onto the floor, too impatient to even make it to the bed as he fishes his already leaking and needy cock out of his kimono and up against you. You'll end up stomach down against the dingy carpet, legs spread and Nobunaga's entire body weight on you as he fucks into you, literally fucking you into the floor and laying down on top of you. That way. every inch of him is touching every inch of you - it helps him calm down, but you'd argue the way it gets his breath ragged is really quite the opposite.

Someone in the bar he went to with Phinks and Uvogin was getting him trouble?

He'll kill the guy, then immediately return home to you and bend you over the kitchen table, fucking into you so hard you're crying and moaning and begging for more more more. He'll smack your ass and go on about how you're so good for Daddy, fuck baby you feel so damn good, been needin' this little pussy all day-

Uvogin beat him in some petty, stupid bet?

Nobunaga's rushing home and pushing you down onto the bed, pressing your knees up to your chin as he fucks you into a mating press, his hips moving fast and smacking so loudly into your that it's wanton, filthy. All the while, he's muttering and growling about at least he can fuck his woman right, at least he knows how to make you feel good and get you creaming and moaning for him him him.

You're like his own personal fleshlight - and sometimes it sure feels that way, too. He moves you up and down like you're a toy, like you're just something to be used, a hole to be fucked, even though he's saying your name and all these nice things about how sexy you are and how he's been looking forward to this all day and won't you be a good girl and suck on Daddy's fingers for a little bit, yeah?

You're his immediate solution for any influx of emotion, and more often than not this'll leave you with a sore body and fresh hickeys littering your neck, collarbone, and upper back, Nobuanga's teeth marks even slightly visible in the meaty part of your neck.

He's rough and he thrusts into you fast enough to leave your tits bouncing in every direction and your eyes to nearly cross. It's just so much, but as soon as he comes inside you, he's back to cooing at you, kissing you and caressing your cheek and tummy and thighs while he tells you that you're so good f'me angel, I'm so proud of you for taking me so well, maybe next time you'll even take me well up here...

The long, slender fingers that suddenly push lightly against your asshole make you tense up, but Nobuanga only smirks.

You're his stress reliever, of course, and Nobunaga is a very, very stressed man after all - even if it's really just an excuse to fuck you like an animal every time he sees you.

Like he's claiming you, a thought that makes a big, dopey, pleased smile sit on his lips. That sounds nice.

#_lee thirsts #_nobunaga hazama #_hxh #yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere nobunaga #hxh smut

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depravitycentral · 10 months

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Yandere! Nobunaga Hazama NSFW Profile

Yandere! Nobunaga Hazama x fem! reader

Tw: non-con, stalking, kidnapping, non-consensual touching, infantilization, delusional behavior, Nobunaga is a fucking creep, this one is not for everyone so please tread lightly, excessive Daddy kink, like seriously it's so much, corruption kink (can be applied to both virgins and non-virgins), pussy inspection, humiliation, mentions of reader having pubic hair, Nobunaga has a fleshlight that he customizes, again lots of talk about cum (if you were present on my old blog, the cum jar does not make an appearance don't worry), fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

Also small shout out to @holydayaria because I read one of her posts talking about how Nobunaga refuses to believe you're not a virgin and all I can say is that I agree. If you'd like me to take this down because of that, please let me know!

WC: 12K

HABITS:

Nobunaga is certainly no stranger to sex; he’s always been a very physical man, craving human affection and touch, and for most of his life he’s sated his sexual desires via hookups, women he can fuck and leave immediately after. Sex holds some emotional value to him, but not enough to stop him from using women just for his own pleasure, no strings attached.

It’s more that sex with the right person means something to him - sex with you, for example, would mean everything. He’s a horny man by nature, aiming to get off at least biweekly if not more, and once you step into his life this increases monumentally, your presence only enhancing his natural desire to fuck and grope and mark.

He begins thinking of you in lewd ways pretty early into his obsession; it’s a byproduct of stalking you constantly, if only because he’s seen you naked often, your pretty skin and delicious figure revealed to his eager, smoldering dark eyes.

He’s studied every inch of your body before you’re even aware of his feelings for you - he knows where every single mole, scar and hair is, which areas you hold insecurities over, which spots you like to touch and feel when you’re awake late at night, your thighs rubbing together and little moans coming from your throat.

He knows you like the back of his fucking hand, which is why he’s very, very interested in doing literally anything sexual with you. You’re alluring, so pretty and sexy and perfect, and just the mere idea of getting you naked below him, moaning and writhing because of him and his touch gets him flushed, swallowing the lump in his throat, and having to find the nearest semi private area to wrap his fist around his cock and pound away.

He just can’t help but become addicted to fantasizing about you, because in a lot of ways, you’re the only thing he’s living for - aside from the Spider, of course. You’re the reason he gets up every morning, shaving and making sure he looks presentable, attractive, so that if you happen to see him or notice him, you’ll see him as a potential love interest. He wants you to deem him as desirable, to want him, because he yearns so pitifully for you that he can’t not have the feeling reciprocated. It would be too painful, too embarrassing, too much.

Thus, Nobunaga holds no qualms about touching himself to the thought of you - you must want him, too, so why should he feel bad about getting off to you, you starring as the main and only role in his fantasies?

However, as time passes, Nobunaga finds himself slowly craving more and more of you, his desperation to actually have your body to touch and love slowly becoming too much to bear.

He used to be satisfied with fucking his fist, letting his eyes flutter closed and imagine the way you’d moan his name and clutch at the pillow behind your head when he folds you into a mating press. Then, when that wasn’t enough, he was quick to get to work on his pillow, hoping that maybe the physical action of fucking something would make it better.

It did, for a while - moving his hips so quickly and harshly that the pillow nearly tore, his imagination running wild when he pretends it’s you below him, your perfect open spread open and waiting for him.

Then that’s not enough, and Nobunaga’s at a bit of a loss - where does he go from here? He’s not quite ready to steal you away yet, still needing to make a few final arrangements with both his living situation and making sure he has everything you could possibly need.

He needs more time - but his cock needs you, so what does he do? He finds the solution when he’s rummaging through an old box he’d found in one of his temporary hideouts, covered in dust and very obviously not used in a long time.

He opens it, curiosity getting the better of him, only to stare - he’d totally forgotten that a few years ago Phinks and Uvogin, ever the wonderful friends, had decided it would be a good joke to get the swordsman a fleshlight. They’d thought it was upset him, and while he was mildly confused, he found the joke funny too, the mental imagery of either of them vandalizing a sex toy shop making him laugh out loud.

He’d kept the toy, but it was still sealed in its packaging, still totally pristine and untouched - he’d been too embarrassed to use it, preferring instead to go find a real cunt to release into.

And yet, with the thought of you fresh in his mind, he’s quick to grab the toy, throwing the box aside and eagerly tearing into the toy’s packaging. He gulps when he finally gets it out; it’s big, easy ten inches long, weighing heavily in his hand.

The silicone on the outside is smooth, and Nobunaga notices with a cocked eyebrow that the manufacturer had fabricated silicone lips resembling that of a pussy on the outside, even going so far as to place a little nub at the top, surely meant to represent a clit. He gulps, examining the toy further.

It would do, he thinks - it’s good enough for now, at least, just as an experiment, if anything else. Maybe it would be easier to pretend it’s you - he’s sure you’d feel much, much better than whatever artificial pleasure the measly plastic can bring him, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

As he’s staring at the toy, he notices the time, and quickly he’s scampering for his shoes, slipping out the front door and immediately heading over to your apartment, knowing that you’re always asleep by this time, meaning he can safely watch.

He likes to sit at the foot of your bed, his chin resting on his fist as he dreamily smiles at you, appraising your relaxed form as you breathe in, out, in, out.

(He hopes you’re dreaming of him, and a few times he’s actually heard you moan lightly in your sleep - he’s so, so very hopeful that he was starring in the dream with you, because who else possibly could be?)

It’s not until he’s been there for an hour or so that his mind wanders back to the toy. It would make do, for now, but it still wasn’t all that realistic - it was silicone, first of all, while you were flesh and blood.

It wasn’t the right shape, either, because he knows your lips aren’t like that - yours are prettier, more unique, more you.

The toy doesn’t have your scent, either, that musky, delicious smell that gets his knees feeling weak and his mouth watering.

The toy doesn’t even have any of your cute little pubic hairs, either - it’s bare, something he knows you’re not.

He sighs, realizing it’ll be a bit hard to make the toy actually feel like you, but it’s only when you roll over in your sleep that he realizes there may be a solution to a few of his objections. It’s not hard to find a pair of scissors and slide the sheets and your shorts down carefully, snipping a few strands of your hair and storing them in his kimono pocket.

It’s not hard to memorize every nook and cranny of your cunt, committing the way your lips fold and meet to memory, something he’ll never, ever forget. It’s not much, but as he rushes home, his heart beating out of his chest, Nobunaga feels excited, hoping that these additions will make the toy that much better, that much more like you.

He’s quick to grab his sword and get shaping the silicon, trying to carve the lips into something more similar to yours, carving in folds and minimizing ones you don’t have. When he’s done, he’s gluing on the hairs he’d collected, and once it’s all dried and put together, he can only bite his lip, excitement coursing through his veins.

It’s crude, and you’re much, much prettier, but it’s a lot better now - at least it actually kind of looks like you, and it’ll make it much easier to immerse himself in the fantasy of finally, finally sinking inside you.

He’ll climb onto his bed, swallowing hard and letting his hair down from its topknot, idly running his fingers through it imagining you doing the same thing. Would you tug at his hair, pull on his roots and make him groan in pleasure-tinged pain?

Long, slender fingers peel off his kimono and run down his chest, tracing lines of muscle and scars. Would you study every inch of him like this, leaving no part of his skin untouched?

Soon he’s reaching his cock, spreading his thighs a bit to make sure he gets good leverage, and as he slowly, very slowly wraps his fingers around his length, he shakily sighs. Would you pump him a few times before you truly had your way with him? Would you warm him up like this, get him at least partially ready for when you sink down on him, your tight walls or hot mouth enveloping him whole?

Nobunaga grunts, before reaching out and grabbing the toy, bringing it up to his mouth. Spreading the silicon lips, he spits into it, hoping that’s enough lubricant to have his cock sliding in and smoothly. With you, he’s sure that wouldn’t be a problem - you’d be so wet for him, so aroused and turned on and needy for him, already dripping down your thighs all because of his touch.

(He might still spit on you if you asked him to, though - he’d spit in your mouth if you’d let him.)

With shaky fingers, he brings the toy down, his free hand grasping the base of his cock and helping aim the tip into the toy’s lips, groaning lightly he slips inside with a wet pop noise, his toes curling a bit. He brings the toy down further, letting it slide down and down, until the base meets his pelvis.

Letting his head roll back, he takes a few deep, steadying breaths. The toy doesn’t feel like a real pussy - like your pussy, but it’s still strangely pleasurable, the inside all tight and textured, massaging his tip and making him curse.

Fuck, baby, he grunts, letting a hand run through his hair again, gonna let me fuck this little cunt? Yeah?

He likes to talk to himself while he touches himself, pretending you’re there to listen and respond, pretending he can hear your airy, strained voice as he you moan out a yes, please, need you to fuck me!

He growls, before suddenly getting onto his knees, one hand supporting his weight as he leans forward while the other holds the toy steady.

Yeah? Fuck baby, get ready, I’m gonna make you come so fucking hard, wanna make you make a mess for me. And then he’s thrusting, hips plunging forward into the toy and letting his head drape forward, dark hair falling in a curtain around him as he groans lowly, the friction of the toy making his elbows feel weak.

Fuck baby, fuck fuck fuck - he’s gasping, the sensation of actually fucking something so much better than everything else he’s been doing up until now.

A constant streams of curses are falling under his breath, his hips fucking into the toy with such vigor that his balls are swinging, smacking into the plastic lip of the toy over and over again, making an audible slap noise.

He can’t help but imagine you below him, legs spread and ass taut, your face pressed into the mattress as you take his cock, taking every bit of pleasure he can give you, every thrust making you cry out and moan his name and yes yes yes -

He’s approaching his orgasm much faster than normal, the hairs he’d glued onto the toy tickling his naval with every thrust, just like your own cunt would. Shit baby, you want me to come? Wanna feel me come inside? I can’t hear you, fuck - fuck, say it louder, tell me you want me to come in you!

His voice is a growl at this point, slurred and strained and shaking as the pleasure grows and grows, but he needs to imagine hearing you say it, to imagine the way your pretty voice would call out a yes, please come inside, need your cum please please please!

He finishes with a long, drawn out groan that starts low but gets higher as his cum spills inside the toy, hips stuttering and spasming, every muscle in his body flexed as he gasps your name, arms threatening to give out at any moment.

It feels so good - you feel so good, and Nobunaga has to squeeze his eyes shut to ground himself, fingers gripping the bedspread so tightly his knuckles turn white. He doesn’t bother cleaning the toy after he slowly pulls out, cum spilling as soon as the suction is released, staining his bedspread as he flops back, still panting, staring up at the ceiling.

The toy felt good, but you’d feel better - you’d clench him more, you’d be warmer, you’d cry out his name and tell him how good he feels, your cunt squeezing him and never letting him pull out. You’d be eager, pushing your ass back against him and begging him to go faster, to go deeper, to give you every last drop of cum he can squeeze out. You’d just be better, but this is enough for now, until he’s got you by his side, sleeping soundly with your pretty pussy ripe for the taking. This’ll do, at least until then.

(The toy, however, barely lasts - it gets so much use by then that all those modifications he made have all but fallen apart; all the hairs have fallen off, and those lips he was careful to create are starting to wear down from the speed, intensity, and frequency of his thrusts. Cum is starting to overflow the toy, crusting to the outer ring, but he can’t bring himself to clean it out - he wouldn’t clean it out of you after all; you’d just take it all for him, storing it nicely inside, keeping it warm and safe and cherished inside you.)

Nobunaga wants you, terribly, and while he’ll hold himself for as long as he can, the moment he has you? Well, he’s a patient man when it comes to you, but even he has his limits. And when you’re laid in front of him, in the flesh and staring at him like that, he knows he’s met his.

So really, just spread your legs and let him go to town - he promises he’ll treat you right, make you come, get you overstimulated and fucked out.

Just let him try. Please.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your thighs

While he finds every single inch of your body alluring, captivating, drool worthy, there’s a certain allure to your thighs that he just can’t shake.

Maybe it’s because they’re so soft; pudgy fat that’s perfect for him to grip onto, to knead, to idly rest his hand to get you squirming and anxious.

Maybe it’s because they look so damn good when you’re just wearing those panties and one of his t-shirts, the expanse of creamy skin open and begging to be admired.

Maybe it’s just because he loves the way they feel caging his head when he’s got you sitting on his face, the muscles squeezing and trembling as he tongues at your clit.

Maybe it’s because they’re perfect to throw over his shoulders when he’s hovering over you, fucking into you like an animal in heat and gasping your name, turning his head to pepper kisses along them as he goes harder, faster, deeper.

He’s not totally sure, but all he really knows is that he likes them - and he’s not exactly shy about showcasing this fact. He’s not trying to hide the way his gaze lingers when you’re walking around, seeing the way the fat jiggles as you walk, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallows. He’s not shy about kissing them and sucking hickies into them, groaning against your skin and coming up for air to tell you that you’re so fucking hot baby, these damn thighs, god…

He’s not shy about slipping his cock between them, fucking them while you’re forced to watch, seeing his pink tip appearing between them then disappearing over and over and over, up until he’s stuttering your name and cum is landing in ropes on your tummy.

He always seems to have a hand on your thigh, especially whenever the two of you are sitting - over dinner he’ll have you sit in his lap, one hand holding his fork and the other squeezing at you, groping slightly and pinching you just to see you yelp and feel you jerk in his hold.

He’ll have you throw your leg over his waist when you’re cuddling, his grip around you like a vice, your thigh digging into his crotch and feeling the way he slowly grows hard.

He’s always smacking at them, sending you a coy look and telling you that you’re so jumpy babe, you like it when I slap you? You’re so dirty, Daddy’s dirty little girl.

His love for your thighs hits him out of left field, and one day he’s returning home with a few pairs of thigh highs, forcing you into them and making you parade around, spinning and twirling and giving him a show, only for him to end up breathing heavily and patting his leg, shifting his kimono to the side and making you sit yourself down on his cock, breathing out a heavy, strained c’mere baby, Daddy wants to show you how much he likes your new socks.

He’s investing in garter belts and every piece of lingerie he can find that frames them, that makes them look even more soft and supple and fuckable, only serving to get him drooling and frantic to get his hands on you.

Even outside of sex, he genuinely just loves touching your thighs - it’s a comfort thing, one of the most meaty parts of you, and keeping it nearby is like assuring him that you’ll never be able to get far from him, that he’ll always be able to reach out and grab, to drag you back and make sure you never stray too far from his watchful gaze.

You’re just so pretty, and can he really be blamed for wanting to reach out and touch something so heavenly? Is he really a freak for wanting to squeeze and grope at your thighs, loving the way you get all embarrassed and flustered?

He doesn't think so, so he won’t stop - he’s always reaching and grabbing and wanting, and eventually you’ll grow used to it, even finding some comfort in it. Just know that as long as his hand is on your thigh, there’s a very, very strong chance that you’ll be having to deal with his cock soon - something he’s more than pleased about.

His dick

In general, Nobunaga prides himself on being your provider.

He’s the one giving you shelter, making sure you’re properly fed and taken care of.

He likes to bathe with you, washing your body and hair (and often pinning you down in the bathtub and stuffing you with a fresh batch of cum, but that’s besides the point), making sure you’re squeaky clean and perfectly healthy.

He’s the one making sure no people with ill intentions cross your path, whether that’s those seeking revenge against the Troupe, or just your average, everyday criminals looking for another pretty girl to make their target.

He likes to think he does everything he can for you, that he’s the sole reason why you’re still safe and healthy and alive, to some extent. But his views that he fully provides for you don’t just extend into your everyday life - no, that philosophy invades the bedroom too, the swordsman full-heartedly believing that he takes care of you sexually.

He fully believes that he’s the only one capable of making you come (including yourself), that he’s the only one capable of making you feel good, making you get all whiny and moany and making a mess between those pretty legs of yours. It makes him feel special, important, like you need him, and he’ll fully rise to his self-inflicted duty - he will make you come, no matter how long it takes.

(Besides, getting to have his mouth on your pretty folds for an hour or two at a time is absolute heaven; you taste wonderful, your smell surrounding him and making him throb, the sight of your pretty folds and puffy clit making him groan and lick his lips. It’s absolutely not a chore to eat you out, and the way he moans and praises you will make you more than aware that he doesn’t view this as a punishment in any form, along with the wet patch staining his kimono right over his cock.)

He will get you crying out his name, no matter how embarrassing or depraved his actions, his desperation to get you feeling good nearly palpable.

But his absolute favorite way to satisfy you in bed is with his cock. Sure, he likes using his fingers and tongue and anything else you want (he’ll let you use any part of him - just ask with that sweet voice of yours and attach a little hesitant, nervous please at the end and he’s caving like putty), but there’s just something so right about the feeling of your walls wrapped around him, the way your cunt sucks him in making him light headed and dizzy.

It feels natural to slip his head past your slippery folds, to run his tip up and down your slit, collecting your slick and telling you that you’re so wet for me baby, Daddy’s so proud of you, makin’ it so easy for him to fuck his princess.

It feels right when you’re clenching down on him, moaning his name as he rams into that spot again and again, walls squeezing at him and forcing him to stay inside, wanting to keep him where he belongs.

He’s convinced that he knows what your little pussy wants better than you do, and he’s sure the answer, at any given time, is his dick - how can it not be, when you’re always wet for him, your legs shaking before he even sinks inside?

And god, when he finishes inside you, spraying cum as deeply as he can, he swears he’s in heaven, pure euphoria shooting through his veins because now there’s a bit of him inside you, and now you’re really his.

He can claim you like this, and if it makes you feel good and gets you creaming and fluttering, it’s really all just fate. It’s got to be fate, because how else can you explain the way every muscle in his body goes lax when he bullies his way into your cunt, his body almost instinctually knowing what to do, how to fuck you, how to please you?

(The answer, of course, is that you’ve gotten quite good at faking your orgasms - but Nobunaga must never, ever find out, unless you want to be yelled at and tied down for hours while he presses the vibtrator to your poor, oversensitive clit and his cock and fingers take turns stuffing your hole.)

DRIVE:

In general, Nobunaga is touchy.

He’s always hovering around you, not letting you have much personal space, always just being near you. You’re like a drug to him, and he just can’t get his fix without touching you in some capacity, whether that be a hand on your arm, a kiss pressed to your forehead, his chest flush against your back, or anything else.

It’s uncomfortable, really, how insistent he is - you can slap his wrist away, hiss at him to quit, but he’ll just chuckle and shush you, tightening his grip and pulling you against him, murmuring in your ear to give the act up, sweetheart, you’re not fooling anyone.

It’s infuriating, and eventually those more innocent touches will begin morphing into more lewd ones, more sexual and overt. He’s naturally quite horny, and the presence of you certainly doesn’t help quell this - if anything, being around you only amplifies his desire to get his cock wet, his desperation for sinking himself deeply into something wet, warm and tight only increasing monumentally.

And you, sweet, lucky little you, get to be the sole target of all the pent up sexual urges and tensions he possesses - and he doesn’t try to hide them, either. He doesn’t see the point - why should he bother hiding the way his cock strains against his kimono, throbbing and stupidly hard, all because you bent over to pick something up in front of him?

Why does he need to ‘go away’, as you told him, when he’s got his kimono spread open, his heavy cock exposed while a hand gropes and squeezes at his balls, totally exposed on the couch?

(He’ll even carry a conversation with you like that - he won’t stop touching himself, the veins on his hand standing out as he squeezes, eyes fluttering closed as he tells you that you look so pretty today baby, what do you want for dinner? I was thinking maybe we could try something new tonight - I’m making it just for you, and I’m sure you’ll love it. He never explicitly said what he meant, but you knew - the way his cock throbbed at his words and precum oozed out in visible globs makes his idea more than apparent.)

He’s not subtle in the least, genuinely seeing no reason why he shouldn’t be totally transparent about what he wants from you and your body, and no amount of reasoning with him will get him to lay off.

He genuinely believes you want him to touch you as badly as he does - why wouldn’t he believe it? After all, you’re always leaving those little hints for him, quiet pleas for him to push your relationship further, all because you’re too shy and embarrassed to plainly say it to him.

You wouldn’t be wearing that t-shirt of his if you didn’t want him to rip it off you and suck on your pretty tits until your nipples are sore and puffy, right?

(No, it doesn’t matter that it’s the only shirt you possess, that’s not the point.)

You wouldn’t let the sheets slip down to expose the sliver of your tummy your nightshirt doesn’t cover if you didn’t want him to stare and salivate, right?

(No, who cares that you can’t control what your bedding does while you’re asleep - it’s a sign, dammit, and you can’t tell him otherwise.)

He’s just stubborn, reading into everything you do and totally misinterpreting it, but there’s not much you can do about it.

After all, who’s the Class A bounty, and who can kill with a flick of his wrist? Certainly not you.

Because Nobunaga is more or less completely out of touch with reality, his hopes and desires for your sexual relationship are, accordingly, a bit unrealistic.

He’s fully under the impression that you’re just playing hard to get, that you’re going through this mock rebellious phase because you think it’s the right thing to do, because you’re scared of your feelings for him, because you’re scared to give in to the way your heart and body need him, knowing that he’s the only one for you.

He’s fully convinced that it’s only a matter of time before you begin craving him sexually, just as badly and frequently as he craves you, and because of this he holds very little qualms about kickstarting that sexual side to your relationship. He doesn’t see why he should bother holding back - obviously you want him, buried deep down in that little heart of yours, and if he can get the both of you feeling good, getting closer, engaging in the most sacred, intimate thing a couple can, why wouldn’t he?

And so, while he doesn’t fully force you to fuck him, he’ll find other methods of getting what he wants.

(He won’t actually shove his cock into you yet, if only because he doesn’t want any of that stupid denial you’re giving him in regards to your true desires - just quit fucking crying, because it’s ruining the mood, and he knows you don’t mean it. So, he’ll punish you by not giving you the pleasure he knows you want - maybe then you’ll learn to be grateful, to not play this dumb game anymore and simply let him love you like you know he can. It’s a small mercy, really, in the sea of horrible things he forces onto you, but you’ll take it - he’s terrifying, and every time he slips off that kimono of his, cock springing into view and a bony hand coming down to tug and jerk, to smear and stroke, you’ll be grateful that he won’t go through with it if you beg him hard enough. Hopefully.)

But frankly, those methods aren’t too much better - you will be getting intimate; no amount of crying or begging will get you out of letting him touch you, or excuse you from being forced to touch him.

Rather, Nobunaga will simply force you into sexual acts that don’t comprise of penetrative sex - specifically, he grows to love oral, both receiving and giving it. There’s something just so intimate about it, so sweet and personal and loving, and every time that you deny him sex, he’ll often just grumble at you, narrowing his eyes before softly sighing, letting a little smile grace his lips.

Okay then baby, but you know all you have to say is that you want me to taste that little pussy of yours, no reason to go cryin’ or making a big show when you just want my mouth.

He’ll sit you down on the couch or chair, licking his lips and spreading your legs. He’ll always insist on being naked - it’s not truly a passionate moment between two lovers if clothes are separating your bodies, right?

How can he fully take in the lovely sight that is you and your pleasure if a shirt is covering up your tits and tummy, or shorts blocking your sweet, tight little cunt, stopping him from tasting and touching and fucking?

And so, with both your clothes and his stripped away from you, he’s leaning in, licking a stripe up your slit and letting his eyes roll to the back of his head, your taste making him feral no matter how often he gets it. His dark hair is down around his shoulders, slipping forward as he leans in closer and closer, practically suffocating with how tightly his nose is pressed to your clit, his lips flush with your folds as he licks and sucks, letting his tongue dip inside to rub at your walls.

His hands will always find purchase on your hips, fingertips squeezing and groping at the soft fat. He fucking loves when you clench them around his head, his hips bucking involuntarily and a moan slipping out against your folds, the pressure making him dizzy and be forced to press even closer to you, eliminating any bit of space between his face and your body, sandwiching him in as if you never, ever want to let him go.

He’ll eat you out with vigor, spit getting everywhere and slick coating his lips, chin, nose and cheeks, just making an absolute mess of both you and himself. His stubble tickles against your sensitive clit, the feeling pleasurable despite yourself, and often he actually will be able to make you come this way, your body betraying you and giving into his ministrations. But oh, you coming is not the worst part - absolutely not, not when he’s so damn vocal, never shutting up even when he’s got his tongue buried inside you.

He’s insistent on narrating the whole experience, constantly throwing you praises and talking about how you’re so good, how you taste so sweet and delicious and fuck, you little minx, you like seeing me get all dirty from this little cunt? Makes you wet? I can feel you clenching around me - you’re so dirty baby, my bad girl.

He’ll be telling you about all the things he wants to do to you, peppering sucks at your clit between his words. Baby you don’t know how badly I need this pussy, how bad I need to fuck you - mmm, gotta show you you’re mine, make sure you know this cunny is mine. You’ll be so damn pretty all stuffed full of me, I know you can take it, you always take my fingers so well.

He’ll pause to give a series of thrusts of his tongue inside you, his finger rubbing circles at your clit that leave your toes curling.

Y’so good, this cunt was made for me, huh princess? It’s obnoxious, his words making your skin crawl, and the only genuine way to get him to shut up is to tangle your fingers into his hair and pull, pressing his face as tightly against you as possible and keeping him there, so that he can’t move back to talk.

And Nobunaga, ever the optimist, doesn’t see your irritation. If anything, he sees this as a sign that you want more, that he feels good and he’s doing a good enough job that you’re desperate for him to finish you off, that you need him to make you come, that only he can get you coming, spasming and spilling slick all into his eagerly awaiting mouth.

He’ll just groan, moans constantly slipping from his lips and muffling against your folds, and frankly, if he wasn’t a sick freak, you’d almost find the sight hot. Because really, a tall, strong man on his knees, face buried in your pussy while he blindly sucks and licks, rubbing his face in you like a dog, panting and cheeks bright red?

He’s the picture of depravity, pathetic and sad, but once he finally pulls away (with strands of your slick connecting him to your cunt, his lips licking feverishly at his lips), he’ll just smile wobbly at you, pressing one last kiss to your clit and whispering that he can’t wait until we’re finally one, I promise I’ll make you feel so good, I want you to squirt for me baby, would you be willing? I want to make you feel the best you ever have - Daddy knows exactly what you need, after all.

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Daddy kink

It’s a pretty recent development, really - before you, he’d never felt any particular draw to being called Daddy in the bedroom.

Really, he didn’t even find sir or master or any other name attractive - it was weird, something he never really understood the appeal of. And even in the beginning of his infatuation with you, this is mostly true - it’s not until he hears you making a joke that things begin to change.

He’s following you one night, listening to you chat on the phone with a friend (a female friend, he checked, though he still doesn’t like that you hug her every time you see her, or that you end each call with a love you, but he lets it slide since he knows you don’t really mean it, at least not in the way that you love him).

You’re laughing at something she said, before saying something along the lines of at least he didn’t make you call him Daddy - imagine that! Your voice went up a few octaves, squealing out a mocking fuck me, Daddy!

Nobunaga’s frozen, his eyes stuck on your face, your words ringing through his head. It’s not that he’s immediately taken with the name, but rather that he notices, in that moment, that it seems to slip off your lips really easily - you sound good saying that, not whiny and annoying like the women in porn sound.

His brows furrow, but he quickly knocks it aside as you keep moving, staying in the shadows so that he can move with you, too. He doesn’t really think of it again until later that night, when he’s standing in your doorway, watching your sleeping figure.

Daddy, huh?

Now that he was giving it some thought, he could see why some men liked it - it was weirdly authoritative, something that felt taboo on his tongue, the way you’d said it even more. He lets the thought marinate, mind wandering to imagining the way you’d sound moaning it, your face all scrunched up in pleasure and the petname falling from your lips as you scratch at his back and clench down on him. It’s a pleasing image, and Nobunaga gulps and shifts his weight, deciding that okay, maybe I could get behind this whole ‘Daddy’ thing.

It’s not until he falls deeper into his obsession that it really starts taking root, though - not until his delusions have fully set in, his mind warped and untethered from reality that he really starts liking the nickname, imagining the way you’d smile up at him and call him that, your lips curving and caressign the syllables, the sultry tone of your voice, the way you’d set your hand on his chest, as if wanting more, the nickname like some dirty innuendo.

Except, as some of his protective tendencies intensify, the nickname takes on a more encompassing role, something he wants to hear both in and out of the bedroom - he’s flooded with fantasies of the way you’d wake up in the morning, planting a kiss on his lips and little murmur of good morning, Daddy.

He’s daydreaming about the way you’d gasp and moan it when he’s got you on your hands and knees, hand smacking your ass and cock bullying its way into you, your breathy gasps and moans making his head spin.

He decides he really, really likes it, and from the moment you end up in captivity, he expects you to refer to him as Daddy, liking it just as much as Nobunaga.

In the bedroom, though, it must be Daddy - you can get away with Nobu sometimes, but a few whimpers of the petname and he’s feral, pumping into you and desperate to get you creaming around him, to feel your walls flutter and clench down on him, squeezing him like a fucking vice.

He likes the power dynamic the petname incites; he’s your protector, the one who’s always taking care of you, making sure you’re happy and safe and that your little cunt is properly satisfied, so why shouldn’t you refer to him as that?

It only makes sense, and he will be actively referring to himself as such too, often switching between first and third person all in reference to himself. It’s exhausting and you’ll think it’s weird, gross at first, but as time passes you’ll slowly find yourself succumbing to it, it all becoming second nature as you kiss his cheek and tell him thank you for the orgasm, Daddy, I can’t wait for tomorrow’s.

(He expects you to thank him after every sexual interaction - after all, he tries so hard to please you; shouldn’t you be a little grateful for all his effort? Even if he didn’t manage to get you there - he still spent a good forty minutes with his head between your legs, and shouldn’t that count for something?)

Don’t try to fight him on the nickname - it’s too ingrained, and you’ll never win, the petname sticking around. He just likes it, the power rush, knowing that if he’s Daddy, then you’re Daddy’s little princess, his sweet little thing that’s all his to love and spoil and fuck.

It just makes sense, and the thought of you calling him that makes him flush, his cock growing hard, his heartbeat growing erratic because god, what he wouldn’t give to hear it.

Mirror sex

Nobunaga’s got this big, framed mirror set up in the bedroom he’s set up just for you, and its presence is no mere coincidence.

It’s huge, easily covering a good third of the wall, its reflection angled perfectly towards the large bed he shares with you. It’s ornate, and while you wonder at first whether it has a purpose or if he just really likes gaudy interior design, as soon as he gets intimate with you, the question is quickly solved.

He’s obsessed with the idea of watching you while he’s touching you, or while you’re touching him. He wants to see you from every angle, not satisfied with one measly view. He needs to see everything, your front, back, side, every curve of your body on display while he fingers you, fucks your throat, makes love to you, as he likes to say.

(Though, you’d argue that the way he clutches onto you, his hips jackhammering, the way he loses control is all much more reminiscent of a wild animal rather than two lovers - as are the sounds he makes when he’s inside you.)

Not every sexual encounter you two share will involve the mirror, but anytime the two of you are in the actual bedroom, he will be positioning you so that he gets the best view, making sure that either your face or your side is facing the glass.

He’s always telling you to look at it, narrating what he’s seeing, telling you that you look so fucking sexy baby, look at the way you’re taking it so well, look at the way Daddy’s cock is just sinking into you so easy, god -

He’s always praising you, forcing you to sit in his lap facing the mirror and spreading your body out, making you spread your thighs and keep your arms at your side, so that your cute cunt and chest are displayed, perfect for him to fondle and grope all while you watch.

He’ll toy with your folds, spreading them and rubbing teasing circles at your clit, growling in your ear that you’re so damn pretty, look at this princess cunt, always sucking my fingers in, always so wet and ready for Daddy, you’re so dirty baby - always wanting Daddy’s attention.

He’ll cup your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples, laying kisses along your neck and sucking hickeys into your skin, growling about how these tits are so damn perfect, makes Daddy wanna come all over them - you want that, baby? Want Daddy’s cum on your pretty tits?

He’ll make you give him head while he faces the mirror, so that he can look down and see you on your knees, cock disappearing between your lips again and again, all while staring at the curve of your back in the mirror, the way your ass cheeks separate, sighing shakily because you just look so damn pretty from every angle.

His favorite, though, is fucking you with the mirror nearby - particularly, he likes taking you from the back, either facing the mirror or with the mirror at the side. With the former, he can see your face as he fucks you - the way your lips part, eyes rolling to the back of your head, sweat beading at your temple and your brows sinching together. He likes watching you fall apart, and this way he can see your face when you come and watch his cock sink into you, seeing your cute little asshole and grope at your cheeks.

(Especially when your arms give out, collapsing onto your chest with your ass still high in the air, giving him an even better view, one that makes him growl and lean all the way over you, truly looking like an animal as he mounts you.)

When the mirror is set to the side, he pays close attention to the way your entire body is pushed forward by the force of his thrusts, the smack of his hips against yours propelling you forward and making you cry out.

He likes seeing the ripple in the fat of your ass and thighs, seeing how your back arches, and god - the way your tits jiggle, and if they’re big enough, the way they fucking swing? It’s the stuff of wet dreams, and he just can’t stop staring at the profile of your body in the mirror, a hand coming down between your legs to eagerly rub at your clit, grunting out about how you’re so damn sexy baby, Daddy’s sexy girl, fuck fuck fuck!

He’ll even be actively aiming to include the mirror - fucking you directly against it, so that you’re face to face with your reflection, seeing for yourself the way he makes you feel, snapping at you to keep your eyes open and watching.

He’ll even sit you down in front of the mirror, so that your pussy is mere inches away from the glass, and finger you for hours - he won’t give your poor cunt a break, his fingers never stopping their pace as he rubs figure eights on your clit, going so fast and insistent, not willing to stop until he gets you squirting all over the mirror, your pretty reflection tarnished by the clear liquid dripping down the glass, evidence of the way he pleasures you.

He wants you to see how good you look falling apart for him, and how good you look together - how your bodies just seem to meld into one, how every dip and curve of your body perfectly fits against his, how you’re made for one another.

It’s romantic, in his eyes, and while it only really effectively embarrasses you, eventually you’ll grow to enjoy it. Because really, there is something taboo about seeing yourself, and while it made you a bit insecure at first, this way you can see Nobunaga’s face, too. You can see how choked up he gets, how the orgasms you tear from him absolutely wreck him, his cheeks flushed and thin brows furrowed together, even a bit of drool slipping from the edges of his mouth because you just feel so fucking good.

And while you may hate Nobunaga, despise him and wish him dead, there’s something oddly satisfying about knowing that you’re having such an effect on him, that your pussy and body are capable of reducing him to such a fucking mess. It’ll make you feel good, and poor, pathetic Nobunaga will take this as a sign that you want to fuck more, that you’re not satisfied with the every other day schedule you’d been following.

And he’s more than happy to fulfill your wishes - as long as your cunt can handle it, he’d gladly spend the rest of his life snug in its warm embrace - snug inside you.

Corruption kink

Nobunaga is firmly under the impression that you’re a complete and utter virgin.

He fully believes, with every bit of his heart, that you’ve never known the touch of another, that you’ve never been pleasured or have pleasured anyone else.

It doesn’t matter whether it’s true, whether you have more experience than him, even - you are a virgin, and that’s final. Perhaps, you’ve never even kissed anyone before - as soon as the thought flits into his head, he decides he likes it, deciding that it’s the truth, that you’re truly, utterly inexperienced, and therefore it’s his job to make sure you learn.

It’s his responsibility to make sure you’re properly taught, that you feel comfortable and eager to enter this new world of sexuality, even if you’re already proficient. It’s infuriating, the way he totally disregards anything you say that negates this belief, even throwing to the wind any skill you showcase to him - it doesn’t matter if you give him the absolute best head he’s ever had.

You’re still a virgin, and the male body is still an enigma to you. As a result, Nobunaga will feel that he needs to introduce you to sex, starting from the absolute basics - he has to teach you to kiss.

He’ll sit you down, his cheeks a bit pink, this oddly intense look in his eyes as he shuffles closer to you, so that your thighs are flush.

Listen, baby, there’s something I need to show you, he starts, gulping. Kissing goes like this - I’m going to lean in, and I want you to do what you feel me doing. He leans in much too quickly, practically headbutting you in his desire to get his lips on yours, and distantly you wonder who the hell taught him to kiss because there’s too much spit, too much tongue, too much of everything.

But when you don’t respond, he’ll pull back slightly, dark eyes flicking between your own eyes as he tells you don’t be scared, I promise it’ll feel good, how can you get better if you don’t try?

He’ll keep going until you eventually start kissing him back, the moan he lets into your mouth making you shiver in disgust, but he won’t just stop there - the kisses get more frantic, and suddenly he’s pushing you onto your back, hovering above you and letting his dark hair fall over his shoulders.

He’ll kiss you for a long while, enough to leave your lips swollen, before eventually pulling back, panting and wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

Now, baby, I’m gonna show you how it feels to be touched, if something feels especially good let Daddy know. He’s quick to tug your shirt over your head, letting a smile flit across his lips as he sees your bare chest and stomach (he’d not brought any of your bras with him when he stole you away, and thus you have none to wear - giving him quick, easy access), meeting your gaze and telling you that you’re so beautiful, a body like this deserves to be worshiped, so glad Daddy’s the only one who’s ever seen these pretty tits…

He’ll reach down and cup them, thumbing over your nipples, sucking in a sharp breath because you’re so damn soft. Your face will crinkle up in disgust as he brings his mouth down to suck at them, but he misreads this as pleasure, letting his teeth nibble on your sensitive skin and very lightly biting, making you yelp.

Shh, it’s okay, I know it feels good, just let it take over, don’t fight it baby.

He’ll move to your shorts next, tugging down the hem along with the pretty lace panties he’d forced you into that morning, your body now bare and exposed underneath him. He whines, his eyes wide and irises blown out, a long, slender finger running from your sternum down to your naval, both hands coming down to rub circles right over your hipbones.

Now baby, I know you’re probably scared - but Daddy’s got you, he’ll make sure you’re feeling good.

His voice is uneven, rising and falling along with his heavy breaths, but before you can comment he’s reaching down, spreading your legs and pulling you closer to him. He licks his lips again as he stares, coming down to lay on his stomach and get his face as close to your cunt as he can manage, so that you can feel his breath against your skin.

He’s brushing his fingers along your slit, rubbing at your clit, sinking them inside and curling, his own whimpers slipping past his lips at the feeling of your folds significantly louder than your own.

All the while, he’s telling you that this is called fingering, do you like it? Hope so, because soon Daddy’s gonna put something much bigger inside - no don’t worry! It’ll be good, it’ll feel good, he’ll give you an orgasm, I promise.

Soon he’s reaching down and licking at you, his eyes rolling to the back of his head because you taste fucking divine, and he’s quick to tell you as much, moaning out fuck baby, you taste so good, making me so damn hard - do you wanna see? Do you want to see Daddy’s cock, see what you do to me?

And you don’t really answer, or at least Nobunaga doesn’t listen to your answer - he’s suddenly standing up, ripping off his kimono and letting it fall to the ground, immediately palming his cock and shuddering a bit, his gaze not leaving you. You’re still laying on the bed, and he comes up to stand beside you, his cock mere inches from your face.

See how hard it is for you? You make me like this, Daddy gets so fucking hard when he’s near you, I just want you so bad.

He’s slowly stroking himself, his length already fully engorged, and you can see the way his tip is shining in the light, precum smeared all across it.

He’s biting his lip, slowly bringing it closer and closer and closer, before telling you you can touch it, use firm touches and don’t be scared - it’s warm, and sometimes it moves on its own, but Daddy would fucking love it if you’d touch it.

And when you reach out, slowly wrapping your fingers around it, Nobunaga can’t help but throw his head back and thrust forward slightly, the friction making him hiss. Fuck baby, how’re you so good at this? ‘Ts like you’re made for stroking Daddy’s cock…

After a while of thrusting into your hand he’ll move on, breathing heavily and desperate for more. He’ll lean forward a bit and press his tip to your lips, telling you to open up baby, gotta teach you how to suck cock, we’ll go nice and slow, I think you’ll love it.

He pushes in slowly, with a long, low groan, his fingers clutching at the sheets of the bed, eyes squeezed shut because god, how is your mouth so wonderful and wet and warm? Bob your head baby, back and forth, use your tongue and run it over the tip, mmhm, fuck baby just like that, Daddy likes that, fuck!

He’ll start thrusting too, shallowly, though occasionally it’ll slip too far, the tip reaching back and choking you, and when this happens he’ll just chuckle through a gasp, running a hand through his hair and murmuring soon we’ll get you trained to take it all the way - shit, Daddy wants you to take all of him soon.

Eventually, though, he’ll be crawling back over you, grasping his cock and lining it up with your folds, pressing a deep, wet kiss against your lips and slowly sinking in, hissing out to relax baby, you’re too fucking tight, deep breaths, don’t be scared, Daddy will fuck you right, he’ll make you first time special, just please - please relax or else I can’t get in!

And as he slowly starts thrusting, balls gently smacking against your ass, he’ll lean up to whisper in your ear, one hand finding a home at your breast.

Shh, shh, don’t worry, it’ll feel good in a minute, just gotta stretch you out a bit - yeah? You like that? Daddy likes that too, but it’s gonna get faster, ‘m gonna fuck you a bit harder, get you used to the way Daddy’ll fuck you from here on - nice and hard, just like you deserve, angel.

And with that he’s picking up the pace, ramming into you and groaning your name, burying his face into your neck while you cry out, the sudden change in speed making your back arch. He’s still speaking into your neck, praising you for taking it so well, claiming you’re made for this, that your cute little virgin cunt must want him badly enough that you’re adjusting so quickly, even clenching down on him and grinding back.

He’s in ecstasy, and as he nears his orgasm he’ll pull back slightly, grunting in your ear that he’s gonna come, Daddy’s gonna come inside you, you just - fuck, just look pretty and take it for him, yeah? Shit baby, it’s close, little cunt’s squeezing so tight, oh - oh fuck, it’s coming, take it all for Daddy, take it -!

And soon there’s little spurts of warmth, making you feel sticky and wet, and Nobunaga’s moaning in your ear, slurred syllables of your name as his hips rut and unevenly clap into yours, the last bits of his orgasm slowly leaving him.

He just likes talking you through everything, pretending as if you’re fully innocent, as if he’s the very first one to get his greedy hands on you - after all, you’re his, and wouldn’t it just be perfect if you’d been saving yourself for him?

Wouldn’t it just be right if you’d been carefully thwarting other men, keeping your virginity intact so that it can be taken by the only one who really loves you?

Nobunaga thinks so, and even after he’s fucked you a few times, the patronizing way he guides you and teaches you never really fading.

(Often, he’ll even teach you the wrong things - he’s showing you how to properly touch yourself so that you can take care of yourself when Troupe business takes him away for periods of time, and you want to scream because he keeps neglecting your clit, the little nub swollen and begging for attention, telling you that it’ll come eventually if you just keep rubbing that spot inside you that feels so good, exactly like his cock does. It won’t, but he seems convinced.)

Just let him believe that you’re utterly inexperienced, that you’re totally ignorant of anything involving sex, because no matter what you say or how you fight him on it, his beliefs are law. Always.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Scent kink

Nobunaga is a dirty, disgusting man.

He has absolutely no sense of boundaries when it comes to you, believing that since you’re lovers and clearly soulmates, there shouldn’t be any boundaries between you. He doesn’t keep anything from you, so why should you keep anything from him?

It would be wrong to not be completely open with one another, and Nobunaga takes this in the most literal sense. As a result, he has no shame when he discovers his affinity for smelling you. You’ve always had a scent he likes; something calming, a hint of sweet, something smooth and warm and sexy, and that’s just your natural aroma, something Nobunaga swears is his own personal drug.

But your cunt?

Well, that smells like something else entirely - something earthy, musky, heavy, and because you insist on wearing panties at all hours of the day, he’s bit limited on when he can get a good, deep sniff like he wants.

(Although, you’ll notice that when he’s got you naked, spread before him and ripe to tease and fuck and taste, he’s always leaning down, getting his nose right up to your folds and inhaling, deeply enough that its audible, making you embarrassed and try to close your legs. This only inadvertently brings his head closer, giving him an even better smell, making him moan and start rutting against the nearest surface.)

Instead, he has to find alternative outlets when the mood strikes him and you’re not currently getting intimate.

And so, Nobunaga falls back on those damn panties, deciding that if you’re going to be so insistent and constantly wear them, then he’ll make the most of it.

There is no dirty laundry hamper with him - when you’re done with a pair, you must hand them to him, directly, reporting to him how long you’ve had them on, whether you were aroused while wearing them, and if so, what you were thinking about.

He’ll keep them stashed away, one always tucked into the waistbelt of his kimono, so that whenever the mood strikes him, he can reach down and take a good, long sniff, sighing and palming himself through his clothing.

You just smell so damn good, and he’ll hold onto them until you’re complaining that you don’t have any more clean ones, that you need to do the laundry. He’ll just cock a brow and tell you that he’s not convinced you want them all that badly, why don’t you show Daddy just how much you want them.

And it’s only after he’s down fucking your throat that he’ll hand them back over, ready for you to clean them, only for the cycle to restart all over again.

(Although, for the mean time, since you don’t have any to wear while you’re cleaning, why don’t you wear a pair of his underwear - don’t mind the fresh, suspicious stains. That’s not cum, just - just something that looks like it, that’s all. Just put them on, because he’ll keep those after you’re done too, smelling both your scents combined, something perfect and wonderful and unexplainably ours, as he likes to say.)

Thigh riding

While he prefers to be taking an active role in your pleasure, even Nobunaga can’t deny that there’s something enticing about the idea of you just using him, of simply watching you try and get yourself off using his body.

It just reinstates his belief that you need him, that you aren’t capable of orgasming without his touch - or, at least, without his body. It makes him feel good, and very quickly he’ll be perching you on his knee, smiling at you with that same half-lidded, dopey grin, telling you to go wild baby, Daddy wants to watch you make a mess.

He’ll help guide your hips at first, pushing you down a bit and forward, making sure your cunt is rubbing against the muscles of his thigh, humming out a that’s it baby, good girl, keep going.

Then he’ll lean back, staring at you the whole time, enjoying the feeling of your cunt slowly growing wet, the slick smearing across his bare skin, the warmth overwhelming. It’s a real test of his patience, though, because while you look incredibly hot rutting against his thigh, dragging yourself along the muscle, it’s excruciating having to hold himself back from just impaling you on his cock, grabbing you by the hips and yanking you down so that he’s buried in that wet heat you’re teasing him with.

But he’ll grit his teeth, trying to distract himself by staring at your body. He likes the way your tits sway when you do this, nipples pebbled and peaked, and he’ll often reach out and pinch at one, liking the way you yelp and jerk a bit. He’ll watch the pudge of your tummy, your abdominal muscles rolling and clenching as you slowly work yourself, his fingers longing to reach out and grope at the soft fat.

And your face? Oh, he thinks you don’t realize how seductive you look like this - biting your lip, desperate to get more friction and more solid pleasure, the feeling of grinding against his thigh not nearly enough to get you off.

And eventually, he’ll take pity on you, asking if you’re close. You’ll whine and tell him no, ‘m not, I need more, and Nobunaga can’t help the way his cock visibly bobs at that, at what you’re insinuating. You want Daddy’s cock, baby?

You’ll hate yourself for it, but you’ll nod, needing something more than what you’re currently getting, but Nobunaga won’t mind providing for your needs - not at all, liking the idea of you being all desperate and needy for him, for his touch and body and cock.

So while it’s not something that happens super frequently, when Nobunaga wants to teach you a lesson or just simply watch you, he’ll put you on his thigh, telling you to get to work, give Daddy a show, and expecting you to hump and grind at him until you’re near tears, desperate enough to come that you’ll beg.

BIGGEST FANTASY:

In general, most activities in the bedroom with him will be more humiliating, always making you feel like you’re incompetent and in need of being taught a lesson (how to properly take his cock, how to behave, how to just lay there and look pretty while he does all the hard work).

There’s just something about him that makes you feel small and weak, and with the way he’s always spouting nonsense about how you really feel, total delusions about what you are and what he’s done to you, you’ll slowly feel like you’re going crazy.

But Nobunaga, on the other hand, loves the atmosphere between the sheets with you - he’s been dreaming of getting intimate with for so fucking long, wanting to touch you and kiss you and make you scream his name, and now that he’s finally, finally getting to do all those things, he’s a bit of a lost cause.

He’s so consumed by all the various fantasies he wants to enact with you that he gets swallowed up, too overwhelmed to really wade his way through. And yet, there’s this one scenario that’s been in his head for as long as his feelings for you have been in his heart; that is, Nobunaga wants desperately to give your cute little pussy an inspection, to study every part of you and make sure that everything is in working order, that you’ve been good.

It’s a way to exercise his control over you, feeling dominant and powerful and like he’s taking care of you, but even more than that, it allows him to unabashedly stare at you, to examine the most intimate part of you. It gets him giddy, just the thought making his cock stand at attention, his fingers shaking a bit and his heart thrumming in his chest.

It would just be so damn hot, and you’d look so cute at his mercy, with your fingers spreading your pussy lips so that he has the best view, legs spread wide open to accommodate his body, because he really has to be as close as possible in order to really observe, to really see everything.

It’s something he’s always idly wanted, and as soon as he’s got you under his thumb, he’ll be enacting it - he’s just looking out for you after all, because while he cares about every part of you, he’s especially partial to your little cunt, so much so that he’s willing to take the extra time and give it the care and attention it deserves. More than willing.

He’s still in that honeymoon stage, having only relocated you a few days ago, and as soon as you walk out of the bedroom, rubbing at your sleepy eyes and yawning, he’s beaming. Immediately he’s racing to you, arms circling around your torso as he squeezes you into a hug, leaning down and letting his nose burrow into your neck, breathing deeply. “Goodmorning baby, how did you sleep?”

You’re still all shy, not able to look at him in the eye, and as you pull back, you mumble a small ‘good’. Nobunaga sighs, fingers playing with a piece of your hair, before resting his hands on your shoulders.

Part of the reason he’d been in such a good mood this morning was that today was a very special day - he’d had this planned for months now, excitement brewing in his chest as the days drew closer and closer, eagerness settling in his chest. It was finally the day he’d decided that he’d give you a proper inspection, just to make sure that your pussy is all ready and prepared for him, so that he can get you feeling good and making you cream daily from here on out.

He shivers, swallowing. “Okay baby, follow me.”

He takes you over to the dining table, the wood an oaky color, and tells you to hop up onto the table. “Go on, get that cute little ass up there.”

You follow his commands without any hesitation, settling yourself on the table and looking at him expectantly. He was playing with his hands, tongue flicking out over his lips, and distantly you wonder what he has in mind.

“Spread your legs, angel, Daddy wants what’s in the middle.”

You blanch at his words, embarrassment creeping up your spine. When you don’t move, Nobunaga’s smile twitches a bit, and he’s grabbing your ankles himself, spreading your legs and shimmying your panties down your thighs, stuffing them firmly in his pocket as he gulps. “Fuck, baby, you’re so pretty…”

You can’t look at him as he settles onto his knees, coming closer until he’s right eye level with your cunt, his lips slightly parted to accommodate the way his breathing is growing more labored by the minute.

After a few moments his gaze flicks up to you. “I’ve gotta take a good look at this pussy baby, gotta make sure you’ve been good. Daddy can’t fuck you until he’s sure you’ve been a good girl, that you’ve been taking care of yourself and you aren’t too stretched out from him showing you how to finger yourself the other day.”

He licks his lips again. “Spread yourself for me.”

You do as he says, pulling your lips back to expose the soft inside to his prying gaze, the cold air of the kitchen making you clench up. Nobunaga watches the movement carefully, unable to look away as you lightly spasm, nervous and embarrassed at the way you’re so exposed for him. He’s tilting his head this way and that, looking at every angle, eyes appraising every nook and cranny.

“Fuck baby, looks good so far… let’s check that little clit.” He’s nearly whispering now, too lost in his own world as he reaches out and brushes his thumb over your nub, chuckling when you jerk a bit at the contact. “Good, you’re sensitive… Daddy likes it when you’re sensitive.”

His thumb comes down to swipe over your hole, feeling the way you clench yet again at the slight contact. He throws you a playful glare. “You’re so dirty, getting all excited from the inspection. Daddy’s gonna have to punish you for that, you know.”

You shiver at his words, biting your lip and shoving your hips forward, a bit of your confidence having returned despite his heavy stare.

“Mmm, you’re not as wet as I hoped, but that’s okay, I can still get what I need…” He trails off, before leaning forward and licking a long, languid stripe up your exposed hole, closing his eyes and letting the taste of you sit in his mouth, smacking his lips a bit to make sure he fully tastes your flavor. “Good, good, you taste like you should baby. So proud, you’re doing so good so far.”

He gives you a little kiss on the inside of your thigh to punctuate his point.

“Only one thing left now, baby, almost done and then -” He shudders. “Then, we can do something more fun - Daddy can show you what he’s been wanting to do to you since last night.”

You’re still spreading apart your lips, and Nobunaga gets ever close, a finger prodding and lightly pushing into you, feeling around your walls. It almost feels like he’s searching for something, curling and rubbing against certain areas.

Soon it stops though, and he lets that dopey, too-wide smile slip onto his lips. “Perfect baby, Daddy’s little cunt is nice and tight. You’ve been good, haven’t been putting anything too big up there - that’s good, it’ll show you how nice and big Daddy is, how he can fill you up just right.”

He shivers at the thought, leaning forward one more time to give a nice, hearty suck right over your puckering hole, before pulling back and licking the slick off his lips. Soon he’s standing up, his kimono untied and falling to the floor, and he’s grabbing your hips, flipping you over so that you’re on your stomach, ass pulled to the edge of the table. He leans over you, cock pressed against your asscheeks, and you feel him throb as he sighs out.

“Ready, baby? I know your pussy’s ready - I can read her like a book, it’s Daddy’s pussy, after all. And she’d never lie to Daddy…” He traces a finger up your spine, before grabbing your neck, slender fingers wrapping around the thin skin.

“Now get ready to scream Daddy’s name, and don’t worry about making a mess. I’ll clean you right up.” He lines his tip up with your hole, spreading your cheeks ever so slightly to make room for himself. “Remember to tell Daddy when you’re coming, he wants to come with you. Deep breaths, angel, it’s going in now.”

And as he pushes in, he can’t help but groan - you were still so damn tight, his inspection not lying when he’d discovered you hadn’t stretched yourself out on anything lately. He gasps your name and pushes in flush, his balls snug against your clit, before coming down to kiss at your shoulders. “Remember, if you want to show Daddy you love him, you’ll come for him. And you do love him, right?”

You answer with a mix of a sob and a moan as he starts clapping into you, hips smacking so loudly it’s the only thing audible in the tiny kitchen, aside from your cries and his grunts.

And, when you’re wailing out that you’re close a few minutes later, Nobunaga can only groan, feeling his own orgasm hurtling towards him. This is the last part of the inspection, the last thing you need to pass before Nobunaga’s free to fuck you as he pleases - can you hold everything he gives you? Can your little pussy store every last drop he pushes into you?

And, the more important question that comes a few minutes after that - can it hold two loads?

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere nobunaga #yandere nobunaga hazama #hxh smut #_lee's profiles #_hxh #_nobunaga hazama

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depravitycentral · 11 months

Text

Phantom Troupe Dick Headcannons

I have nothing to say for myself

tw: allusions to non-con/dub-con, yandere, power imbalances, excess talk regarding balls and cum I am sorry, slapping, degradation, size kink, male genitalia is gross, fem! reader, MDNI

Characters included: Chrollo Lucilfer, Feiten Portor, Nobunaga Hazama, Phinks Magcub, Shalnark, Uvogin

It’s an average size, roughly five or so inches, with an equally average girth. He’s nothing particularly special, but his cock’s so damn pretty – a pale pink, rosy color, perfectly flushed ombre down to his tip. When he’s close to coming the tip turns a rich red color, throbbing and twitching even without stimulation. He’s got very few veins running the expanse, leaving him perfectly smooth and feeling like velvet inside of you. His balls are perfectly symmetrical, too, only a few black hairs out of place. He’s quite confident in himself, and while he’s not particularly sensitive, the one thing he is sensitive to is temperature. If your hands are cold he’ll jump a bit, trying to mask the way his every nerve is alight with the feeling of your cold fingers teasing his slit. Your pussy, too, is so damn warm, the sensation making his head fall forward, black hair covering his eyes every time he first pushes into you. He has to let the feeling pass, otherwise he runs the risk of coming too soon, and that would look horrible to you.

He doesn’t come much; it’s a small amount, though it doesn’t taste too bad. He dribbles, the globs slipping past his tip and sliding down his length, the white standing out against the pretty red of his cock. He’s super sensitive after he comes, however – the moment the last few drops come out, any touch has Chrollo jerking slightly, his eyes fluttering shut as the oversensitivity overwhelms him. He’s not sure whether he loves it or hates it when you keep going, ignoring his recent orgasm in search of your own as you ride him carelessly – you can only tell by the way he starts twitching over and over inside you, his nails digging into your sides while his breaths grow ever so slightly heavier. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you’ll manage to get a very light groan out of him when you overstimulate him – aim for the balls, and for the area on his underside right below the tip.

His favorite way for you to touch him is with hesitant, unsure touches. He likes the way you look all shy and reserved when you initiate touching him (something he very much enjoys, more than you can imagine), your eyes flicking to his to make sure it’s feeling good for him. It makes him feel loved, and the airy light brushes of your fingertip against his sensitive skin makes him suck in short, sharp little breaths, the fleeting pleasure teasing him. He likes to guide you through it, grabbing your hand and telling you to hold firmer, squeeze tighter, to not be afraid to get a bit dirty. Spit on his length, drool on it, grind yourself against it and get him all slick with your arousal. He doesn’t care – there’s just something about your constant unsureness of your movements that gets his heartbeat racing, his fingers twitching at his side and his cock twitching, a drop of precum pearling at his tip, waiting to get inside you.

He’s a little over four inches long; not too terribly much to show, but he compensates with going harder and faster. He’s moderately thick, very proportionate, and the combination of width and the animalistic pace with which he fucks you will have you seeing stars, despite his shortcomings in size. He’s a bit insecure about his cock, and as a result avoids having you look at it whenever possible. He’ll fuck you from the back, spreading open those pretty cheeks and sinking himself inside until his pelvis is flush with your ass. He likes this position because you can’t see him, but he can see you – and god, what a sight it is to see his cock appear and disappear inside you, over and over again. Plus, this way he can stare unabashedly at you and mouth sappy shit he’d never willingly say under his breath.

He comes kind of quickly, all things considered, but does his best to prolong the experience. He’ll fuck you for a few minutes, then pause or pull out to slap your ass or make you suck on his fingers a bit, anything to kill time and reduce his sensitivity. Ends up edging himself nearly all the time you’re together, but he’d rather delay his pleasure than run the risk of you laughing at him for coming too early. He shoots, and it goes a surprisingly long ways – easily six or seven inches away from his tip, landing in a wet pile on your back. He doesn’t come a huge amount, and it’s a bit sticky – it’s hard to clean up, and most of the time Feitan doesn’t offer you any assistance, kind of entertained and aroused by the idea of you just always having his cum on you.

His favorite way for you to touch him is quickly and frenzied. It’s not uncommon for him to just grab your hand and put it on his cock, telling you to get me off and letting you do your thing. He still doesn’t want you to look at it too much, but he’ll let your hands roam and grope, to squeeze at his balls and flick a thumb over his tip. He likes it when you explore him, even if it makes him feel a bit uneasy – it feels nice, like you actually want to touch him, like you’re almost enjoying it as much as he is. Prefers for you to use a combination of your mouth and hands at these times, but knows he’ll eventually end up in your cunt so it doesn’t matter all that much. Always secretly hopes you’ll touch him too roughly/squeeze him too harshly so that he can throw you onto the bed and climb over you, pushing your face into the pillow and mounting you from the back, fucking into you until you’re shaking and crying his name.

He’s about six inches and pretty skinny, definitely fills you up in the sense that it’s deep enough to reach parts of you you’ve never felt before. He’s not too terribly sensitive, though he doesn’t tend to last too long in bed – but his stamina is such that he can normally be up for round two after a few minutes of eating you out. He bobs a lot, his whole cock bouncing out of the blue, feeling strange when he’s got it pressed up against you – as if it has a mind of its own, dictating how badly it wants to be inside you. His balls are pretty sensitive though – he likes pressure on them, so squeezing them, or especially sucking on them is a favorite of his. (He’s harbored this fantasy or cockwarming for as long as he can remember – except, instead of his cock inside you, it’s his balls in your mouth for hours on end, keeping them warm and cushioned and sensitive.)

His cum is, unfortunately, pretty salty; definitely not the best you’ve ever tasted. But he’s willing to share the bad taste – he really likes spitballing, and so as soon as he’s come into your mouth, he’s pulling your lips to his and kissing you, cum slipping past your lips and into his mouth, moans in the back of his throat because it feels so raunchy and erotic to be sharing this with you. However, no matter how many times you pass it back and forth, you will be the final recipient, the one expected to swallow. He spurts, but it’s a pretty weak stream – only coming out an inch or so before splattering down onto his navel. It’s a white color and pretty runny, but easy to clean up. He also produces an ungodly amount of precum – before his kimono is even off, there’s almost drips running down his length and pooling at the head.

His favorite way for you to touch him is gentle, slow touches to his most sensitive areas – his balls, and his tip. Likes firm squeezes to his balls, kneading and lightly pulling on them, especially if your hands are wet or sticky from your own arousal. He likes it when you run your thumb along his tip, shuddering and fluttering his eyes closed when you run it along his sensitive slit. His hips buck if you play with his foreskin; pull up then back quickly and rub at the newly exposed skin, and he’ll actually whimper.

He’s five and a half inches, with plenty of girth. Overall, a very masculine cock – a bit veiny, slightly leaning left, heavy enough to sag a bit. He’s decently sensitive, but god, his balls – one touch and he’s shivering, cheeks blooming pink in pleasure and embarrassment. He’s extremely sensitive there, and even though he’s a bit ashamed, if he’s right on the edge of orgasming, a few massages of them and he’s thrown over the edge almost violently. He won’t tell you about his heightened sensitivity, but it’s easy to tell when he’s groaning into your neck and bucking into you every time you brush against them.

His favorite way for you to touch it is just having you grinding against him. He likes the pressure of your body in his lap, weight on him as you grind and swivel your hips, scooping against him rhythmically. He likes the way the stimulation is a bit dull, coming from all different directions, and he likes to watch the way your hips work against his, even seeing wet spots appear in his boxers and your panties. He likes the feeling of your pussy against him, all warm and soft and wet, and would literally kill to get a pussy job from you, to get his tip sliding along your folds, teasing and feeling good but not quite good enough. He likes having both your hands free, along with your mouth – he’s surprisingly a big fan of kissing, and most of the time will have his face buried in your neck or a nipple in his mouth.

His cum is thick, opaque and an off-white color. It tends to glob up, rolling down your body slowly, shining a bit in the light. He comes in spurts; shooting out of his tip quickly over and over, never seeming to end, as if too much has been stored up and it’s all just bursting out. It splatters all over his stomach or you or in you – His favorite place to come is across your ass, seeing the soft globes stained with him makes his knees weak and his breathing ragged.

He’s just shy of six inches, with immaculately trimmed dirty blond hairs framing it. His cock is honestly a bit pleasing to look at – soft lines and a set of pretty, perk balls sitting behind the shaft. It’s always a baby pink color, and as he gets closer to coming it turns a brighter red, standing out against his pale skin like a homing beacon. He takes pride in his cock; a slightly upwards angle lets him hit all the right spots when he’s got you under him, and god does he love when you’re crying out and orgasming around him; your pussy all tight and wet and spasming all for him…

His cum honestly doesn’t taste too bad – it’s still a bit bitter, but it’s manageable. Which is great news for you, because Shalnark really likes finishing on your face, and inevitably some will get into your mouth, no matter how hard you try. He likes it when you scoop it all up with your finger, licking your finger clean and making a show of opening your mouth and letting him see that you swallowed all of it. Makes him giggle and plant a sloppy kiss on your lips, complimenting your abilities to suck him off and making a cheeky joke about how you’re just such a natural, maybe you really are a slut! He’s a dribbler, but there’s a decent amount of it, so it just keeps flowing out – you’ve got to be very close to get it on your face, though. Shalnark doesn’t mind, however – you look good all cozied up with his cock on your knees, after all.

His favorite way for you to touch him is to give him head. There’s something about the sight of you below him, worshipping his cock with your pretty mouth and cute little hands that makes him not only throb in your hands, but also get a power trip like never before. He likes to prolong it, too – he’ll play with his cock on you, holding it at the base and tracing his tip along your lips, occasionally pushing past them with no warning just to watch your eyes widen. (Plus, the surge of warmth and wetness from your mouth certainly doesn’t feel bad.) He’ll slap your cheeks with it, the dull thud noise making his spine tingle, seeing the way you look so small and weak with his cock all over your face. He likes to fuck your face, and he’ll thrust particularly deeply every once in a while, just to feel you choke and gag, your nails digging into his thigh where you’re holding onto him for dear life.

He’s a big man with a big dick – it’s a solid seven inches and thick, the girth alone requiring extensive foreplay for you. He’s aware of it though, and while it prides him to know he’s big enough to surely be satisfying you, he doesn’t mind making you come on his tongue a few times before he sinks inside you. His cock’s a tan color, the tip so heavy it sags between his legs, his balls heavy enough to droop a bit too. He feels lighter after he’s come, particular if that cum goes inside you – which is part of why he fucks you so often. He’s not the best at trimming, and more often than not you’ll have to deal with a forest of dark, unruly hair – but on the bright side, he doesn’t expect you to groom at all, either.

He comes a lot, nearly buckets full, to the point where you’ll be left to wonder how it’s possible it all came from just one man. It’s not the best taste (too bitter), but he prefers to come on your body more anyways, so you rarely ever have to taste it. He likes painting your tits in white, seeing the way the thick cum dribbles down onto your nipples, pooling up and sometimes dripping down to your thighs. He shoots, almost violently so – the force is strong, spurts coming so fast that it feels like one continuous stream. Groans the whole time he’s coming, a deep sound that’ll have you rubbing your thighs together subconsciously. He doesn’t really like it when you clean up afterwards, but he won’t say much – anything that goes inside you, however, will be staying there, with a plug to keep it all nice and neat inside your little cunt.

His favorite way for you to touch him is when you give him head and have to use both your mouth and hands. He likes the way you look all small and petite in the face of his monstrous cock, struggling to fit as much of him into your mouth as possible, using both hands to cover all the rest. It makes him swell with pride to see you with watery eyes as you occasionally choke on him, the sensation and sound of you gagging making him throw his head back and hiss. It makes his size kink flare up, thinking of how small you are and how easily he could manhandle you and fuck you until you break – something he very nearly does, often. He’ll card his fingers over your hair and coo down at you, all the while watching you struggle but offering no reprieve. He’ll finish on your tits and collarbone, painting your pretty skin with the thick, off white, giving you a wet, messy kiss afterwards and telling you to buckle up, ‘m not letting this pussy get away without getting stuffed, angel.

#yandere hxh #hxh smut #lee thirsts #_hxh #_chrollo lucilfer #_nobunaga hazama #_feitan portor #_phinks magcub #_shalnark #_uvogin

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depravitycentral · 10 months

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i just read the profiles for phinks n nobunaga and i have to say theres no way darling isnt preggo or anything

(HEAVY on nobu,this man wont 100% even get birth control ,phinks may get it if asked but 🤰)

Tw: mentions of abortion, forced contraceptives, non-con, kids/parenting, mentions of children being raised in unhealthy environments, the usual really

Ooh, I hadn't thought about this!!

You're absolutely right - with the sheer frequency they fuck you and the volume of cum they give you, you're gambling with fate. You'll eventually fall pregnant, this is true - except I actually think more Phantom Troupe yanderes would force birth control on you than you'd expect.

Of course, not condoms. But pills maybe, or even an IUD.

Most of them genuinely don't want kids - of course, they love you and crave domesticity with you, but they're not exactly keen on having a few brats running around, all sticky and gross and hogging all your attention. They like the situation you've got going now - you're theirs, all your attention, time and love going directly to them, and why ruin a good thing?

Plus, the lifestyle they've forced onto you isn't exactly conducive to a healthy, safe atmosphere for a child. The constant stress, stagnation of being in one room or home constantly. (And in Chrollo's case, the constant moving from one hotel room to the other, never staying in one place too long.) And while they all have mixed feelings about their own childhoods in Meteor City, most of them aren't eager to give a child another traumatic youth, like their own.

It just doesn't make sense to get you pregnant - but of course, certain members are more cognizant of this fact than others.

Let's discuss!

Chrollo, of course, doesn't want children. He's never been particularly fond of kids in general, and his possessive tendencies run so deeply that he can't stomach the thought of you having another outlet to channel that attention and love. It's his, he's worked hard to cultivate your feelings for him, and he'll bask in the glory, feeling your eyes on him and hearing your voice speaking to him only. It's part of the way he slowly breaks you down, too - making sure you're utterly alone, no human contact outside of him, all to make sure that you grow dependent on him, needing him, if only just to stay sane. A kid would fuck all that up - besides, he can't stand crying children.

His solution is and IUD, deciding that it's worth it to have long-term precautions against you falling pregnant. The procedure is quick, and although it hurts, he likes that he can fuck you freely now - he can come inside you as often as he wants, as deeply as he wants, and it probably won't take. (Besides, there's something oddly intimate about standing over you while the doctor inserts it inside you - Chrollo's staring with wide eyes, amazed at the way you stretch to accommodate the size of the appliance, all while making absolutely sure the doctor isn't letting his gaze linger on your pussy for too long - it would be a real shame if he were to get too familiar with something that is rightfully Chrollo's.)

Feitan is kind of paranoid that you'll get pregnant. He absolutely does not want any snotty nosed, sticky, loud, irritating little things running around, getting into things they shouldn't or stumbling upon his torture tools. He's always hated kids, and even though there is something appealing about the idea of claiming you and filling you with his seed, it's all in theory and not in practice.

He so vehemently doesn't want kids that he's even doubling up on the birth control methods - he'll force you into an IUD, and even make you get those estrogen injections every three months. (Is it safe to be using both methods simultaneously? Probably not, but it's been working so far, and you don't seem too affected by the influx of hormones.) He's not taking any chances, and on the off chance that you somehow end up pregnant, Feitan will quickly and swiftly do whatever he has to to terminate the pregnancy. However, as diligent as he is, there is one category that he's a bit lax - he won't wear condoms, even if you beg him to. He doesn't like that he can't feel you when he's got them on, a layer separating the most intimate part of him with the most intimate part of you. He'll always tell you to shut up, not really giving you an explanation as to why he refuses, but it really just has to do with making sure that he gets to feel all the warmth, wetness and texture of your walls - and, so that you can feel every drop of hot, runny cum he fills you up with.

Nobunaga actually doesn't even consider the fact that you could get pregnant. It's not a facet of his delusions regarding you, but simply something he just forgets about - he sees your future together so clearly, imagining you staying his cute little thing for the rest of your lives, and a child doesn't fit into that picture, so why should he bother thinking about it? He doesn't want any kids, if only because the dynamic he's established makes you feel coddled and like a child yourself sometimes, and Nobunaga doesn't want your attention to be on anything but himself.

But of course, with how often he fucks you (and the fact that he'll never wear a condom and he'll always come inside), it's only a matter of time before a scare occurs. It's only a matter of time before you wake up one morning sick, terrified that it might be a sign that the cum he'd fucked you full of a few nights ago had been particularly fertile. You'll have to beg him for the pregnancy test, but he'll get it for you, standing by your side the whole time you're taking it. (He might even hold the stick for you as you pee - just to make sure you do it right, you know.) By some stroke of luck, it'll come out negative, but the scare is enough to have Nobunaga briefly snapping back into a bit of reality and deciding he needs to make sure this doesn't happen again. He, like Chrollo, decides that an IUD is the best solution, if only because once it's inserted, neither of you will have to worry about it, and it won't intrude on his habits of fucking you raw every night. It's a perfect solution - he can't have a kid ruining the wonderful relationship the two of you have, and he's sure you agree.

Shalnark, in his heart of hearts, does not want a child. He has enough lucidity about his job (and about the way he feels for you) to know that he would not be a good dad. Maybe a good uncle, but surely not a fatherly figure - besides, having a kid around would mean having you constantly paying attention to something besides him, because god knows children need attention. And the idea of that leaves a sour taste in his mouth, a small pang of panic rushing through him because he cannot lose the way you look at him, the way you always perk up when you see him, the way he's finally gotten you to a point where you willingly kiss him and hug him. A child would ruin all his carefully crafted work, and irritate the hell out of him. Besides, he doesn't think he could ever truly love the kid - all the fondness and attachment he's capable of are already being fully utilized on you and the members of the Troupe, so the kid wouldn't exactly be cherished as they should be.

Shalnark prefers pills as his method of choice, but he's willing to be flexible and go with whatever method you want. (Again, aside from condoms.) He's just considerate like that, and maybe if you get to choose the method you'll be more inclined to be consistent with it and let it actually work. But if you do somehow end up pregnant, Shalnark would weigh the possibility of forcing you to end the pregnancy, or deciding that maybe this could be a good thing. The kid would be a good bargaining chip, useful in making sure you stay in line. Any threat against the child would probably work, convincing you to do basically anything he wants. It's an enticing idea, and one that almost, almost convinces him, but in the end he'll probably have the shot ready, giving you that familiar smile and telling that this won't hurt too bad, I hope! Really, it's a good thing the pregnancy isn't brought to full term - for both your sake and the child's.

However, there are a few members that would actually be somewhat okay with having a child with you - they're not dying to have one, but if you get pregnant, they'll just shrug and let it come to term, not taking any action to stop it.

Uvogin, for example, doesn't think he'd be too great of a father, but as long as you stay with him and you don't give all your attention to the little brat, he could get behind raising a kid with you. There's something kind of endearing about the thought - he'd be the kind of dad that would absolutely aid his kid in pulling little pranks on you, like spilling flour when you're baking or giving him access to finger paints right next to the clean, white tabletop. He's not a bad dad, per se, but your child will know how to incapacitate a grown man by the time they're three, so their childhood will be anything but normal. He's a fairly easy going as a yandere as long as you stay put in the house he's set you up in and you act loving and sweet, and he'll actually grow to love the child as well - it's still a bit deranged, but he does genuinely see the kid as someone to love and protect, and his feelings for them will be much, much healthier than those he harbors for you.

(Besides, fucking you while you're pregnant is a very, very enticing idea - he'll like the way your breasts grow heavy and sensitive, how your belly bump begins to show. It's not a fetish for him, but it makes him excited to see the way you're literally harboring an expression of his love for you, the baby growing inside you proof that you're his. The way you grow astronomically more horny during those nine months certainly doesn't hurt, either.)

Franklin, in general, lets you do pretty much whatever you want. He's mostly content just keeping an eye on you to make sure you're being safe and not doing something detrimental to your health, but outside of that he's pretty easy going. He'll fully let you choose whether you want to use birth control - he's genuinely ambivalent either way, because while having a kid with you would be kind of sweet, he'd be fine without it. If you don't want to take any contraceptives, he'll support your choice, though he'll keep a back-up set of pills in the cabinet (away from you, so you don't get any ideas) just in case you change your mind. He won't stop fucking you, though, and requesting he wears a condom is pushing his boundaries a little too far, even for him.

If you do request birth control, he'll set you up with some pills, being a stickler and reminding you to take them every day just because he knows you're forgetful, and you don't have access to technology to keep a running alarm. It makes him just the slightest bit nervous to have you take them, though, if only because there's always this lingering worry in the back of his mind that they'll somehow harm you, or that you might choke on them. It's silly and he tries to repress it, but he'll always be hovering in the doorway when you're taking them, one of the rare times when he'll invade your privacy in the bathroom.

Phinks actually secretly hopes that you do get pregnant. Because he's fantasized about having the sweet, perfect domestic life with you, it's hard not to image a baby in your arms, a little squirt running around with action figures in hand, seeing tiny little shoes sitting next to yours and his. It's not something that he's desperate to happen anytime soon, but it's a far off, whimsical goal of his - part of what fuels him to always finish inside you.

That said, Phinks will bend to your will if you insist on using birth control. He'll grumble and run the back of his neck, telling you that that shit can fuck with your hormones, are you sure? I don't want you getting all depressed or angry all the time. It's a weak ploy to get you to rethink, but if you're firm he'll relent. He'll only provide you with the pills, however, because he likes that you could stop taking them, and immediately it would be effective. (Plus, it's incredibly easy to switch out the little white pills for sugar placebos, slowly waning you off the hormones so that you're ripe and fertile and vulnerable to conception. He'll act just as shocked as you are when you hold up the positive pregnancy test with trembling fingers, though internally he's already debating on when to bring up the list of potential names he's already created.)

So in general, you'll probably end up getting at least some form of birth control; despite all their individual differences, there's actually quite a few overarching similarities they all possess as yanderes. Birth control and their aversion to kids just happens to be one of them.

Honorary thoughts about the women of the Troupe - obviously they can't get you pregnant, but even they take a few steps to ensure safe sex.

Machi has so many issues with intimacy already that she doesn't really want to broach the topic with you, but she's got enough medical knowledge to be able to preform something of her own pap smear on you, just to make sure you don't show any symptoms of any STDs or anything like that. (Though frankly, even if you gave her one, she might not mind too terribly - it's from you, after all, and even if you have one she'll probably still end up fucking you anyways.) She'll try to be covert with it, too embarrassed to admit to what she's doing, but you'll probably end up noticing because why else would she be checking over the larger area of your crotch if she wasn't looking for some sort of rash? Save her some time - tell her you're clear, and although her cheeks will heat up to match the color of her hair, she'll be grateful for your intervention.

Pakunoda isn't shy about making sure that both of you are in the clear. She'll get you checked out by a medical professional (in part to check for any STDs, and also just to make sure that everything is healthy down there, no growths or unusual happenings), and will be extremely transparent about what's going on. She'll tell you exactly what she hopes to gain from taking you in, and while it'll make you a bit nervous that she's expecting sexual contact between the two of you, the honesty is kind of nice if only because you won't be left to guess. She'll also get herself checked out, too, because although she hasn't slept with anyone since her last exam, having the results in hand might help calm you and get you more open to the idea of having sex with her. Besides, getting to hold your hand while you're both in gynecologists' chairs sounds oddly sweet to her.

Shizuku, on the other hand, simply doesn't consider that either of you may have any STDs. She's not noticed anything strange on herself, and the thought just simply doesn't occur to her that you may have something. She's idolizes you, thinking of you as sweet and something of an angel, and while she knows you've probably slept with others before, there's no way you could have caught something. So, she won't worry about it - she'll have her way with you without even offering a dental dam or anything of the sort, because she doesn't think you need it. Besides, even if you did have something, it wouldn't stop her from fucking you, and eventually she'll end up with it, so why should she bother?

#yandere hxh #_lee answers #_hxh #_chrollo lucilfer #_uvogin #_nobunaga hazama #_feitan portor #_phinks magcub #_franklin bordeau #_shalnark #_shizuku murasaki #_pakunoda #_machi komacine #yandere hunter x hunter

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depravitycentral · 11 months

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Yandere! Nobunaga Hazama General Profile

Yandere! Nobunaga Hazama x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, violence, murder, stalking, infantilization, mentions of non-con, mentions of masturbation, mentions of nonconsensual affection, Nobunaga breaks your ankles, Nobunaga is creepy and gross and perpetually horny, fem reader, MDNI

DARLING PROFILE:

Stubborn

In general, Nobunaga likes a fiery darling. There’s something incredibly endearing about the way they get this glint in their eye, the way they refuse to back down from a challenge or a belief.

He likes how spirited they are, and frankly this is what initially catches his attention – his darling has to have spunk of some kind, and while he doesn’t see it this way, there’s a part of him that wants to bend that stubbornness, to make his darling stubborn and hardheaded for everyone except him.

He wants to be the sole person they agree with, lovingly gazing at him and nodding at every little thing he says. He likes the idea of he and his darling being a team, being totally, completely in sync, and so while eh initially does enjoy this facet to their personality, if they show too much when they’re trapped with him in their new ‘home’, Nobunaga isn’t especially pleased.

He does, in general, want to be the exception to everything for his darling – he wants to be treated differently, specially, as his darling’s one and only confidant. And so, Nobunaga loves this about his darling – the more passionate they are about their beliefs and opinions, the better.

Just don’t be getting too many ideas about refusing him or what he believes – you can be stubborn, but not to him.

Confident

Similarly to being stubborn, a confident darling is an attraction to Nobunaga, but only to a certain degree.

He likes someone who is sure of themselves, but some sick part of him wants his darling to have this need for validation from others, to yearn for someone to compliment them and tell them they’re enough. Maybe it’s a projection of his own feelings – he himself needs someone to validate him, to supply him with love and sweet words to quell any insecurities he has, and he likes the idea of his darling filling that void for him.

He wants to fulfill his darling’s needs, and for them to fulfill his own, and so to have a darling who is outwardly confident but secretly needs him would be perfect.

Just the idea alone is enough to get his heart (and cock) swelling, a sense of pride settling in his chest because his darling obviously needs him.

They need him to function and feel good about themselves, because he can offer them something no one else can – honest, genuine love, and he’ll give them everything he’s got and more.

So much more.

Honest

Nobunaga doesn’t tolerate liars. Despite being a criminal, a mass murderer, a monster, he likes to think he has some semblance of a moral code, and lying goes directly against the shambled morality he has left. And so, a darling who only tells the truth aside from a white lie here or there would be perfect for him.

He likes the idea that his darling will never deceive him, that he’ll only ever get the honest truth from them. It’s a comfort, something that settles the raging possessiveness he feels for them; he likes that if he were to ever ask, he knows his darling would honestly tell him if another man was bothering them, if the man spoke to them, hurt them, touched them.

He makes him feel secure that his darling would never lie to him, but Nobunaga is nothing if not hypocritical; when it comes to him, his darling really can’t tell the truth unless they want to be ignored, condescendingly dismissed, even treated as if they’re lying.

He can’t believe his darling when they say they don’t love him, if only because it can’t possibly be true. He can’t believe them when they say they don’t want to spend the rest of their life with him, if only because he knows for a fact that you do, he’s sure of it.

He doesn’t like it when his darling ‘lies’ to him like this, so it’s best to just say what he wants to hear – tell him he’s handsome, that you love him, that of course, you want to sleep with him, and he’ll be all sunshine and smiles, giving you that warbly grin while he exhales shakily and traces your lips with his finger.

You’re just so perfect, after all.

Homebody

It’s not that Nobunaga would dislike someone who is more active and often out of the house – he doesn’t mind too terribly much.

Rather, it’s the consequences of his darling being more inclined to stay home; it means they come into contact with others less, being in their presence less, having less interaction with men.

Nobunaga enjoys this specific trait because it feeds his possessiveness. He knows his darling doesn’t meet men very often, meaning they aren’t talking to anyone in a romantic sense and therefore aren’t getting their heart stolen away by some irrelevant civilian, someone who could never offer them as much protection and devotion as the swordsman can.

He likes knowing that they aren’t out there showing off to strangers, that they really only leave the house when absolutely necessary. It limits the chances of them getting hurt, of them catching someone’s eye, of them doing anything, really. It’s a comfort to him, and it’ll make the transition to living with him so much easier.

After all, his darling won’t be allowed outside of the house (why would they ever want to leave?) nor will they be allowed to interact with anyone besides himself and possibly a few Troupe members (why would they want any other people in their life?).

He’s fully convinced that his darling being a homebody is a sign that they’re soulmates, perfect for one another in every way. It must be fate; what else could explain the draw he feels towards them, the unbridled yearning and desperation that makes his chest ache every time they aren’t in his line of sight?

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Delusional

Nobunaga is, for a like of a better term, completely out of touch with reality where your relationship is concerned.

His views on the world and morality are already skewed, what with being in the Troupe and regularly murdering others, but at some point over the years of violence and adrenaline, a few screws too many have gotten loose in his head. His conscience is all but gone - the connections and the little voice in the back of his head narrating his days and feelings going silent.

His days are full of death and comradery with his fellow Spiders (though that list is almost entirely exclusive to Uvogin), and so once you walk into his life, someone lovely and warm and beautiful and perfect for him in every way, suddenly his world is shifting focus. His already warped sense of reality comes to light as he begins realizing how wonderful you are, how happy you make him, how badly you need him.

Nobunaga is of the genuine belief that as his feelings for you grow, so do yours as well – the concept that you aren’t as madly, deeply in love as him is something that doesn’t even cross the swordsman’s mind.

There’s simply no way that you could ever not be as utterly obsessed as he is, that you couldn’t be as happy and giddy when you’re around him, that you don’t want to spend every waking moment of the rest of your life wrapped in his arms, the slightly scratchy fabric of his kimono rubbing against your skin as he kisses you and whispers into your ear that he loves you, you’re so damn perfect and every inch of you is mine.

He truly, honestly believes that the feelings brewing in his chest for you as just as readily and intensely returned by you, and as time goes on this belief will only further. Nobunaga has a rather nasty habit of blowing absolutely everything you say, do, think, and feel way out of proportion, reading into everything he possibly can to search for what it could mean, to morph it into some declaration of your love for him, some sign that you want him to take you way, that you want him him him.

He’s never been the absolute brightest, but when he’s around you (with or without your knowledge), it’s almost unconscious the way he notices every little thing about you. He’s wondering if you’re reading through your old text conversations with him when you’re dinking around on your phone (just the thought makes him giddy, because he regularly spends hours pouring through every single text you’ve sent, analyzing and imagining your voice speaking the words instead, sighing like some lovestruck teenage girl as he imagines the way you must be glued to your phone, eagerly awaiting his responses because you just can’t stand a second without him).

He’s wondering whether you’re wishing he could be the one to shave your perfect body for you when you’re humming to yourself in the hot shower (it terrifies the living shit out of him to see you with a razor, if only because he’s so scared that you’ll hurt yourself, that you’ll slice something open and bleed and die and he won’t be there to save you, but if he were the one wielding the sharp object, then the samurai wouldn’t mind so much. After all, getting to run his hands over the expanse of your calves, kissing the freshly smoothed skin, sending a teasing lick to the arch of your ankle as the odd after flavor of the shaving cream dances on his tongue is enough to get him shivering, pink staining his cheeks as he gulps harshly, the fabric of his kimono doing very little to hide the steadily growing bulge below the belt).

He reads into everything, believing each little action you make is a cry for his attention, like you want him to be thinking of you, looking at you and dreaming of you, and in a lot of ways Nobunaga finds that incredibly endearing, how someone so sweet and precious like you could have such naughty intentions.

(Especially where your more intimate moments are concerned – you’re changing out of your work clothes and into your casual, relaxing clothes? Obviously you must want him to be staring from outside the window, your supple curves looking drool worthy as you move in ways he’s sure are designed to seduce him, your hips swaying and ass presented oh so perfectly as you dig through your drawers, the oversized sweatshirt just barely covering your upper thighs that would fit oh so perfectly around his head…)

And even once he’s stolen you away, permanently relocated you so that you stay by his side for the rest of your life, the delusions won’t stop. If anything, they become stronger, because he knows you must be happy with him, that your tears and screaming are just you trying to express how happy you are, how overjoyed and overwhelmed you are that someone cares so deeply for you that they’re willing to go this far for you, and can he really blame you? Can he blame you for being ecstatic to be with him?

(Your desperate pleas and begs for him to please let me go, I promise I won’t tell anyone, please I can’t stay here forever are certainly convincing, but you’ve always been such a little minx, a good actor, talented at seducing him to get exactly what you want, and oh baby, shhh, stop crying, Daddy knows what you need – shh, shh, it’s okay, he’s got you, just slip those cute little panties to the side and I’ll make it all better…)

He’s in too deep, and no matter how hard you fight, cry, scream, kick, or even try to ignore him, Nobunaga will just never learn – how can he, when he truly, honestly believes that he’s right?

How can he even entertain the notion that you’re unhappy when you’re made for him?

Patronizing

In a lot of ways, Nobunaga views you as having the abilities of a baby. Of course, he’s more than aware that you’re a grown woman, an adult with a dignified, captivating personality, a body worthy of worship and certainly worthy of nights with just his hand and imagination to work with, but he’s also more than aware of all the areas you don’t quite seem capable enough to deal with yourself.

You’re weak to him, incredibly so, fragile and dainty and in such desperate need of protection that it’s almost laughable. If he wasn’t so head over heels for you, he might even find you pathetic, your survival skills dismal at best.

But he is just that in love with you, and so Nobunaga has absolutely no problem with rising to the occasion, of answering your non-existent cries for help, for a big, strong man to come care for you the way you need, the way you deserve.

Because of his more extreme views of you genuinely needing him in order to survive and function, quickly his tendencies towards treating you like a helpless little thing will become apparent – this specific trait really only applies once he’s kidnapped you, but even before you’ve been relocated to the small house he buys for the both of you to share (under an alias and in a very, very small town of course), he’s making preparations for how to give you the care you need.

He’s investing in the softest sheets money can buy (or that he can find to steal), pillows make for children who move a lot in their sleep, a humidifier in the shape of a cute little panda to keep your breathing healthy and your skin soft and glowy.

He’s buying a booster seat and removing the straps and belts, attaching them to the kitchen chairs to make sure you don’t fall off, especially when you’re throwing one of your tantrums and claiming you won’t eat what he’s serving you. (This always hurts him, because he’s spent hours learning to cook just for you, trying his hand at sautéing and marinating, only to discover he’s very, very incompetent in the kitchen – aside from chopping, that is.)

It’s exciting, in all honesty, to prepare for your eventual living with him, and he spends an awful lot of time furnishing and setting up your shared future bedroom. (It’s all pastel colors – pinks and blues and yellows, walls covered in pictures he finds especially cute of you, ranging from you drooling in your sleep to you pulling a pan of cookies out of the oven to you curled up in a thick blanket with popcorn and a movie on before you. He thinks it lightens the mood of the space, and the photoshopping that he convinced Shalnark to undergo in which Nobunaga himself is beside you in each is extremely, extremely pleasing to look at)

It’s difficult to contain the anticipation, the readiness he feels in throes for your eventual arrival. And once you have arrived, the patronizing nature of his actions and words towards you will quickly begin to feel suffocating – you’re given most of your rights towards the beginning, though it’s still dehumanizing, humiliating, terrible to have him cheering you on as you finish the dinner he cooked for you, to have him holding your hand and telling you a story so that you won’t have nightmares, to have him looking at you with smoldering eyes when you tell him your head hurts as he growls out something about orgasms help with the pain, don’t you know?

(It’s humiliating, if only because the food is so very burnt, the story is of him and embellished greatly to impress you, and he’s very, very quick to pounce on you with greedy hands ripping open your nightshirt and feverishly pinching at your nipples and groaning -)

You’re given most of your rights as compared to what he could possibly take away from you, but as your time with him goes on, soon those rights will become more and more limited, the number of things you’ll be allowed to do by yourself or even at all dwindling to a mere single digit percentage of what you were allotted at the beginning of your captivity.

The reason behind this is mostly out of your perceived disobedience towards him, something that Nobunaga is extremely sensitive about – the second you act out, whether it be yelling and screaming at him or simply refusing to eat the last spoonful of soup, Nobunaga’s face is darkening, a heavy sigh and a mumble of why do you always have to be so difficult tumbling past his lips.

He’ll haul you to the shower, holding you still while he scrubs and washes your body, because he needs to properly clean you, and maybe then you’ll realize just how well he takes care of you, how you’d be lost and dirty and filthy without him.

Life with him is just honestly infuriating – when you want to watch a movie with him, Nobunaga will jump at the chance, snuggling in next to you and inhaling the scent of your hair over and over as the movie plays across the television screen (only PG-13 movies, though – he’s too scared the violence, cursing or sex will taint your mind or scare).

When you want to read a book, Nobunaga is tsking and grabbing it out of your hands, insisting on reading it to you because the words will hurt your eyes and your head, and he would never want that.

It’s irritating and humiliating, but the worst part of the whole ordeal is how Nobunaga doesn’t even seem to realize that – he’s smiling that big, dopey smile the whole time, a blush on his cheeks as he takes in your beauty, pure excitement and adoration washing through him when he sees you looking so cute in your frilly, ruffled clothing, looking up at him while he coos down at you.

It’ll be terrible, he’ll be terrible, but at least he’s not doing it to fuck with you, right?

He’s not doing it to purposefully belittle you, and that should count for something at least, right?

Right?

Possessive

Nobunaga has never been the luckiest with women. Maybe it’s to do with his less than stellar hygiene, or maybe his criminal status, or maybe it’s just him - but regardless he’s never really had a long term, serious relationship. Not that he’s minded much, as being an internationally known member of a notorious criminal group doesn’t really lend much time and flexibility towards a personal life.

But as time passes on Nobunaga gets increasingly more curious about what it would be like to have someone, a woman to call his own, a girl all for him… It’s a far off idea and thought, as the Spider obviously comes first now and always, but once he finds someone perfect, wonderful, everything he’s been dreaming of and more, how could he possibly let you slip through his fingers? How could he let you go, when you seem to call to him on such a deep, carnal level, like some long lost connection of himself?

He gets attached pretty quickly, only really taking a few genuine compliments from you, a smile and an endearing laugh at a joke or two, partnered with your features and figure that he finds very, very attractive.

Once Nobunaga decides that the feelings brewing in his chest are real, meaningful, desperate, that long-time curiosity comes to fruition, because you’ve effectively become completely and utterly his. He’s normally not the most materialistic man in the world (though to a certain extent, if only because his job is professionally stealing, which brings a certain level of awareness for worldly goods), but suddenly there’s one possession in his care that he absolutely refuses to share, something that must be and remain his for the rest of his days, for the rest of his life – you.

And so, now that you’ve been claimed by the samurai (without your knowledge for the most part, though he’s not the best of hiding his intentions), you’ll have to deal with the consequences.

He gets jealous insanely quickly, seeing every man in a fifty foot radius of you as a threat, assuming that everyone else wants you just as badly as he does, that they’ll stop at nothing to get you, to take you away from him, to separate the two of you so that he’ll be alone and without you and god, Nobunaga doesn’t know if he could take that, if he could live without you, his light and stars and moon and love and –

His jealousy is nothing to sneeze at, if only because he’s a bit trigger happy, and once he feels that someone has threatened his darling in any way (or even if they haven’t, really), they must immediately be eliminated, not given the chance to even attempt to manipulate you into leaving Nobunaga, your true soulmate.

And while he won’t kill in front of you, as he’s too worried the violence will scare you or traumatize you (something that might actually be true, standing out alone against the thousands of other assumptions he makes about you that are anything but), Nobunaga isn’t exactly smooth with concealing his more possessive behavior, of playing off the way he doesn’t want anyone or anything looking at you, thinking of you, even being aware of your existence.

It’s in part to do with the fact that he genuinely believes that you want him and think of yourself as his property as well, but the reality is that any time the both of you are in the same vicinity, he’ll be making comments that’ll have you furrowing your brows, confusion dancing through your chest as clarifying questions sit on the tip of your tongue about what he means, why he’s saying that, what he could possibly be insinuating when he says tch, bastard, thinking he’s worthy of even looking at my woman, fucking pervert’s probably eye-fucking her, like she’s not standing right here right next to her man.

His actions, too, will leave you wondering, your stumbled steps uneven as he charges in front of you, pushing you behind him with a hand resting on the hilt of his sword, a menacing glare at the man who came up to you, a growled leave her alone being the only warning he’ll get before he’s forced to the ground with Nobunaga’s heel digging into his windpipe, a look of disdain and pure rage meeting the terrified man’s gaze.

So really, between the odd, concerning comments about how you belong to him and are made for him, and his rather abrupt, violent way of physically covering you and creating a border between you and the world, things will slowly become apparent at what’s really going on. You’ll slowly start to realize that he seems to believe that there’s something between you that there really, really isn’t.

Too bad you don’t know the severity and depth of his feelings, or maybe you’d be able to save yourself from a lifetime of unwanted affection, humiliation, suffocation, and sweet, sweet acceptance.

Although, even if you knew, would you really have been able to stop someone so dedicated, deluded, desperate?

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Nobunaga’s jealousy trigger is really quite loose – it’s infuriatingly easy to get him feeling threatened, to have him gritting his teeth and pulling you close, irritation and rage at the world for even trying to separate the both of you, to come between your so obviously perfect love.

He genuinely sees every male you interact with as a threat, as a potential rival for your love and attention and devotion, and call it a result of being in the Troupe for so long or just simply his nature, but where he sees someone as a problem, there’s little to no hesitation in cutting them down, in eliminating them.

He genuinely has no patience regarding you being in the presence and minds of other men, simply because he full heartedly sees you as his property, his woman, his property and love and belonging, and while he has certain moments of leniency, Nobunaga isn’t known for his generosity.

As such, the second that he feels another man is holding even a sliver of interest for you, his every nerve is on fire, dark eyes narrowing as rage and anxiety swim through his veins, his grip on the hilt of his sword tightening so much that his knuckles turn white.

His eyes are always on you, his every moment outside of Troupe work spent watching you (or, as he likes to put it, watching over you, as if he’s some guardian angel or your protector or in it for literally anything but the chance to see you in your panties when you think you’re alone in the quasi-safety of your home), and because of this Nobunaga feels as if he has a good idea of who is trying to get catch your attention, men he needs to keep an eye on and make sure don’t approach you or steal away your love from him.

It makes him feel good, in a sense, to have such control over your life, to be the one dictating which men can and can’t speak to you, to be the one metaphorically standing between you and the world, protecting you just like the sweet, innocent, weak little thing you are.

Of course, it makes him feel like he’s being a real partner when he does this, but the anger that he feels brewing in his chest with each one-over a man gives you feels suffocating, the rage boiling in his heart making him lightheaded and seeing red, anything to get the man’s blood staining the freshly washed indigo of his kimono.

He feels responsible, as if he’s the only one who really knows what you and want and what you need, and when he sees so many men trying to come in between you and the only one who actually knows the real you, Nobunaga is simultaneously enraged and flabbergasted. Because honestly, can’t these men see that you’re already claimed, that you’re already hopelessly in love with Nobunaga himself?

He’s confused, but he’s too pissed to really consider why those men don’t seem to recognize that you’re already taken, why they don’t seem to understand that Nobunaga Hazama owns every part of you, that you’re wholly and completely his fucking property.

They don’t seem to get it, but it’s not such a big deal – after all, when their head is sliced off and rolling away from the still fresh body, does anything they thought really matter?

When those dark eyes spot the man sitting across from you in the outside plaza giving you a not-so-subtle glance from head to toe, immediately he’s scowling, shoulders drawing taught as his brows draw tight. Who does he think he is?

He’s watching like a hawk, barely blinking as the man takes a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly before standing up and smoothing down the front of his dress shirt, evidently nervous as he begins walking towards your seated figure.

Nobunaga’s eye twitches as he glowers, his position at a nearby table giving him the perfect view to see the way the man makes a beeline towards you, closing the distance with every step and forcing Nobunaga’s heart up into his throat, sudden anger and worry washing through him. His chair scratches rather loudly against the cobblestone ground, the samurai on his feet in an instant and scrambling across the plaza to get to you, stopping in a flurry of motion that has you blinking confusedly up at him while a gust of dust flies out from behind his still figure.

You’re confused, not sure where this man suddenly appeared from, but before you can ask any questions or give the man a piece of your mind for kicking dust up into the pastry you’d been thoroughly enjoying, suddenly the man is hunching over, his hand clasping over what you know recognize to be the hilt of a sword?

Your confusion grows even more as he growls out a what the hell do you think you’re doing towards a stranger some ten feet away from you, a blond man who looks mortified and terrified at the raw animosity radiating off of the dark-haired man in front of you.

It’s silent for a moment, before you open your mouth and begin to ask what in the hell is going on, but the dark haired man turns his head, the exposed stubble and the odd warmth of those chocolate eyes fixating on you as he smiles softly, a rather familiar shh, don’t worry baby, keep eating, I’ll take care of it making your expression morph into one of disbelief, the audacity of this stranger being so familiar and strange shocking you for a second too long.

Soon the blond man is waving his hands in apology, a stuttered I-I didn’t know she was already taken, I’m sorry man making you splutter, standing up from your chair.

Nobunaga’s brow twitches as he grips the hilt of his sword, whipping it out in one quick motion and making the blond shrink back, wincing and visibly sweating in nervousness. You grab at the man’s kimono, intending to talk some sense into him, but before you get the chance he’s stiffening up, the feeling of your hand against his kimono making his whole body shudder, brown eyes rolling to the back of his head.

He turns around, Adam’s Apple bobbing harshly as his dilated eyes hazily focus in on you, jaw clenched tightly. Not now babe, I’m busy, but later… later we can do whatever you want, princess.

You recoil, face twisting up in disgust as he turns back around, lunging at the man who screams and scrambles backward, onlookers staring with wide eyes and dropped jaws. Get the fuck out of here, don’t ever come near her again or I swear to god I’ll slice you up into a thousand pieces and feed you to the neighborhood dogs. Clear?

The blond man nods frantically, gulping and stumbling backward over his own feet, and Nobunaga can only spit on the ground and sheath his sword, turning his back on the blond man who whirls around and sprints away.

You stare at Nobunaga, eyes wide in confusion and fear, but the second that brown gaze meets you, all traces of rage and fury have disappeared, instead replaced with worry and concern and a disturbing amount of fondness.

He rushes forward, grasping your hands in his bony fingers, grip tight enough to have you freezing up, not sure of what to say as he examines your hands, studying every detail in earnest. You should be more careful, the outside world is dangerous baby, you shouldn’t be out here with all this filth.

You’re not sure what’s happening as he guides you to sit back down, moving the pastry up to your mouth and forcing you to bite – effectively feeding you – before grinning dreamily and leaning down to press a much too heated kiss against your forehead.

(You force yourself to pretend to ignore the light groan that accompanies his kiss.)

You aren’t sure what’s happening, but as he tells you a rather ominous see you later, babygirl and leaves in a flash, you’ll be too shocked to do anything but stare at the now empty space previously occupied by his body.

And as he slices the neck of the blond man who dared try to approach you later that night, Nobunaga can only dreamily sigh, staring down at his hands that had touched your own, held your beautiful hands and felt your soft skin with loving eyes, bringing them up to his trembling lips to lick and kiss, eyes rolling to the back of his head because god, how can just the trace remains of you taste like heaven?

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Nobunaga is honestly quite quick to steal you away; because of his more delusional mindset of how you feel towards him and what your relationship really is, his self control and patience are quite low when it comes to you.

He sees you as just as utterly and madly in love as he is, just as desperately and pathetically in need of him as he is you that it just makes sense for him to hold that chloroform soaked rag over your sleeping lips, to feel your body go limp in his grasp as he lowly moans and clutches you tighter against his chest.

(The straining cock trapped in his kimono makes it difficult to focus on anything other than the fact that it would be just so easy to slide those panties to the side, to finally feel that warm and velvety cunt clenching down on him like a goddamn vice…) But he steels himself, instead carrying you towards the little, modest house he’d bought for the both of you in a tiny, rural town a few cities over.

He feels justified in stealing you away, not an ounce of doubt or guilt settling into his stomach throughout the planning process and throughout the actual procedure – you love him just as much as he does you, so won’t you be glad to learn that you’re finally getting to become really his, that your relationship is finally getting to really start?

You were playing hard to get before, acting so oblivious to his presence, pretending like you didn’t know he was there watching and wanting you, standing guard outside your bedroom door only to join you in bed once you’d fully fallen asleep, but now you don’t have to pretend anymore.

You don’t have to try and pretend like you don’t worship him as he does you.

You don’t have to try and keep his attention on you by acting like a silly little girl and not picking up on any of the obvious signs left around your apartment and life of his presence (the long hairs of his on the shower walls had to have been noticed by you, as the way they’d appear at times when you hadn’t showered recently must’ve been suspect, just as the strange additions of mysterious jars in your refrigerator must have tipped you off to someone taking the time and care to add to your culinary palette and diet).

He’s just so excited – he’s known from basically the beginning that he’d be kidnapping you, relocating you to a shared home with him where he can keep an eye on you and take care of you, love you and give you the life he knows you want and need and deserve.

And Nobunaga, for all his faults, is a man of his word – so when you wake up in a strange bedroom and a pile of stuffed teddy bears and bunny rabbits a few feet high sitting at the end of the bed, the dark haired man giddily staring at you from the doorway, things will slowly become more and more normal to you, familiar despite your numerous, loud and desperate complaints.

Essentially, once Nobunaga decides that you’re his, his obsession forming so strongly and irrevocably, your destiny as his captee is set in stone – and good fucking luck leaving, because Nobunaga will never leave you a moment of peace, and unless you want to be dehumanized even more (perhaps you need someone to use the bathroom with you from now on, or to spoon feed you meals and dress you and brush your pretty hair and bathe you), you’d better accept your life with him.

After all, you don’t really have a choice.

As a captor, Nobunaga is, more than anything, absolutely suffocating. He’s always there, those dark eyes watching your every move, glistening with excitement and adoration and desire, to the point where you’ll eventually stop noticing, the hairs standing up on the back of your neck feeling normal and common place.

He’s similar to a hawk in many ways; he’s analyzing everything you do, staring and waiting and predicting your movements, already there and prepared with what you need before you can even think to ask. He wants to be your provider, to be the man you depend on, the man you need, and because of this he’s doing everything in his power to make you think of him that way, to force the idea of him caring for you to become something you honestly believe.

He’s supplying the small home with all of your favorite foods (though, as time passes he becomes less and less likely to let you eat them, if only because they’re just so unhealthy, and he can’t have his precious baby destroying her body like that), keeping dozens of pillows and blankets on hand for you (all with colors and patterns that are just so cute; little flowers and tie-dies and lots of purples the same shade as his kimonos), and wonderful smelling shampoos and body washes (all fruity scents, because he likes when you smell so sweet, so damn delicious that he just wants to take a bite of you and taste you).

He’s fixated on this concept of being your big, strong provider, a true man in the relationship that cares for his sweet, weak woman, in return for your undying love and affection towards him. And really, that is exactly what Nobunaga expects from you – he expects you to act like a happy girlfriend, as if you’re just as hopelessly obsessed with him as he is you, and he will be demanding this treatment from you.

Very early on he’s expecting you to get physical with him; his cold fingers are always sneaking between yours, clutching onto your hand so tightly you can’t feel your fingertips. He’s wrapping his arms around you constantly, hugging you and pressing every inch of his body against you, leaving absolutely no space for air between you.

(He especially likes to hug you from behind, elbows pressed against your waist, and resting his chin on your head or shoulder – and, if you’re unlucky enough, something rather insistent and throbbing pressed into your ass, begging for your attention.)

He’s kissing you within a month of you being trapped with him, thin lips pressing against your own with much too much passion, his eyes fluttering closed and hands eagerly clutching at you to pull you ever closer.

He’s forcing you to cuddle with him, situating you so that your face is against his chest, one leg thrown over his pelvis, your hair tickling his nose and he deeply, deeply inhales, whispering a soft goodnight to you and cheekily telling you to dream of me baby, and tell me all about it in the morning.

And, of course, he’s not especially receptive to you denying him of any sort of attention – particularly physical attention. (Heaven forbid if you refuse to hug him or let him cuddle you – you will be forced, because although he’s tall and lanky, he’s much stronger than he appears, and you will be no match for his force. And god, if you refuse him when he’s got you on your knees in front of him, a hand reaching into his kimono to pull out his cock, already bright red and dripping precum? Well, he doesn’t like throatfucking you, but you obviously need to be taught a lesson.)

He’s just needy, desperate for you in every possible way, and your tolerance of him will come on disturbingly quickly. You’ll hate him at first, passionately and vehemently, but the longer you’re with him the more your fight will die out, if only because your hope dies alongside it, the knowledge that you’re stuck with him forever lowly settling in your chest.

You’ll grow complacent, maybe even learning to enjoy the way he coddles you, the way he smiles so fondly at you, the way he spoils you rotten, maybe even the feel of his cock. You may hate yourself for it, but you will eventually accept your new life – and Nobunaga won’t even really notice, only seeing your rebellious nature slowly dying off and your love for him finally, finally shying through.

It took you long enough, he thinks, but it doesn’t matter now; how can it, when you’ve finally gotten over that shy phase you seemed stuck in and are now able to fully express the devotion you feel for him?

How could he ever complain, when you’ll be spending the rest of your life by his side, the rest of eternity?

PUNISHMENTS:

Because of Nobunaga’s delusional views, punishments don’t happen too terribly often. He’s generally able to write off pretty much anything you do that displeases him as simply you trying to tease him, trying to make him work for your love.

He thinks it’s almost endearing, at first, because of course he’s willing to put in the little bit of extra work to show off the depth of his feelings for you. He’s willing to indulge in your little game, chuckling and smiling to himself when you refuse to cuddle with him, only running a thumb along your cheek and whispering to you that he’s patient, but baby, soon or later I’ll get impatient and take what I want, and I know that’s what you’re hoping for. I know you want me to just grab you and never let go, because you like being so close to me, I know it gets you all shy and flustered, and soon we’ll do more than just cuddling. I promise, sweetie.

Of course, you’re most definitely not playing any sort of game, just genuinely wanting to be away from him and free, but there’s very little you can do to get that message through to him. He’s remarkably good at twisting every word and action you make into some sort of cry for his attention, into some declaration saying you want him, even if you’re screaming the opposite. He’s good at writing off nearly everything you do – with one exception.

The moment you try to physically injure him, Nobunaga’s face is darkening, those black eyes hardening and his fists clenching tightly. There’s absolutely no excuse for two people in love to hurt one another outside of the bedroom, and he runs into trouble trying to justify your actions.

It becomes very difficult to see you as perfectly in love when you’ve reached out with harmful intentions, and you’ll very quickly see a side of Nobunaga that you wish you hadn’t.

He doesn’t like hurting you, but he’s a firm believer in equity in relationships (ironic, of course, but he doesn’t see it), and comes to the resigned conclusion that if you hurt him, he must hurt you. It will never be enough of an injury so as to threaten your life, only enough to incapacitate you, but still.

You hurt him, more in his heart than his body, but still – he can’t have this precedent set, because in order to be a in a healthy, loving relationship, he needs to show you that he won’t tolerate such blatant misbehavior.

So really, you can lash out all you want with words, but the moment your fist touches him? Well, is the punishment really worth the brief moment of victory?

His arms feel like weights around your body, pulling you down and trapping you against his chest, the lean muscles pressing against your front.

You don’t like it – you can smell him, that cedar odor that he thinks drives you crazy, and you can feel the pads of his fingers pressed against the flesh of your hips, pushing hard enough to surely leave bruises tomorrow. You can’t stand the way he’s whispering into your ear, hot breath fanning over the shell and making your skin crawl as he tells you all about how he’s going to make you feel so good tonight baby, ‘m not gonna stop until you’re shaking, you know I love it when you’re fucked dumb and just dripping –

You can’t take it anymore, anger and pure rage climbing up your throat, and before you can stop yourself, your knee is moving, coming up and landing hard against his crotch, hard enough that even you wince. He lets out a strained gasp, a wheezing noise that has his arms falling away from you, and immediately you’re stumbling back, eyes wide as you see how he crumples to the ground, hand clutching between his legs as his dark hair fans around his face.

He’s groaning in pain, but as you turn on your heel to run towards the front door, you hear him. Baby, what the fuck? What was that? Why the hell would you – fuck, that hurts. His eyes open, having been previously squeezed shut in pain, and his face freezes as he sees you rushing towards the door.

You bitch, he snaps, and just as your fingers graze the doorknob, the cold metal brushing against your fingertips, you’re pulled back, violently so. You land against a hard chest, rising and falling very quickly, the anger settling in his veins visible.

He’s scary, you realize in this moment, with a few veins popping out of his neck and he struggles to control himself, his next words clearly strained and clipped. He grabs your wrist, tight enough to make you wince, and begins dragging you along behind him as he heads towards the bedroom.

Good girlfriends don’t hurt their boyfriends. A few more steps, and you’re passing the doorframe. Good girlfriends are sweet, and they don’t try to run away. They love their boyfriends, and they’d never, ever go and hurt them, especially in their favorite spot.

He’s seething, and he throws you onto the bed, eyes wide and fingers shaking. You’re frozen, honest fear making your whole body numb.

He comes closer, too close, until he’s hovering above you, looking impossibly tall and foreboding. Why would you do this? Why would you make me hurt you? Do you like making me sad, making me the bad guy?

Cold fingers press against your lower shin and foot, his shoulders huffing a bit. This hurts me, baby, I promise. But I have to, you have to learn your actions have consequences.

And with that, his left hand is pushing left and his right hand right, and a sickening, loud crunch fills the room, followed very shortly by your wails. Searing pain shoots up your spine and there are tears in your eyes, your body flailing as he moves to break the second ankle, your pain only doubling.

It’s excruciating, and through your bleary gaze you see the way Nobunaga looks pointedly down on you, the firm line his mouth is set in wobbling slightly, his own eyes filled with tears.

Quickly he’s settled beside you, one hand palming your cheeks and the other running a hand over your hair, quietly shushing you. Shh, I know baby, I know it hurts, but this is how I feel, too. This is how you made me feel, you don’t like it, do you? Shh, I know, I know, but you’ve got to learn that I’m your boyfriend and you love me, so you can’t go hurting me. Shhh, it’s okay, I’m here, hold onto me and the pain will go away.

You can’t think, your hands blindly clutching at him, but Nobunaga only sighs, thumbs coming up to wipe away your tears and a kiss pressed to your forehead. I know, but you’ve learned your lesson now, huh?

Somehow you shakily nod, shoulders shaking, and Nobunaga can only softly smile. If you look closely enough, you can even see his face changing, morphing from angry and teary and worried to that self satisfied smirk, the mask of delusion slowly falling over him once more. Good girl, now I’ll go get some water and ice, and I’ll spend all night making you feel better. Isn’t this great? Now, we can spend some time together, do you want some snacks too?

He leaves to the kitchen, with a big smile on his face, body shaking in excitement. Sure, hurting you wasn’t ideal, but now you’re stuck, unable to walk or move or do anything without him, perfect for him to dote on and care for, and now surely you’ll see just how much he loves you.

He wouldn’t be willing to care for you 24/7 if he didn’t, right? You’ll see, he’s sure – just you wait, he’ll smother you with his love, just to prove that he’s the only one you’ll ever need.

OVERALL DANGER:

8/10

While Nobunaga isn’t particularly sadistic or evil, he is completely out of touch with reality.

The thing that makes him so dangerous is that there really is no arguing with him; his moral compass is virtually non-existent, and he really truly sees absolutely no issue with what he’s doing to you.

There’s nothing wrong with how he feels for you, or the way he stalks you or cares for you or steals you away – he’s just in love, and he’s absolutely convinced that you are too. He genuinely wants to spoil you, to give you everything he can and then some, because seeing you smiling and happy makes his heart race, his palms getting clammy and his throat get all fuzzy.

He grows dependent on you, desperate to have your eyes on him and your hands on his body, and he’ll do whatever it takes to get you in his arms, locked under his roof, always eagerly awaiting his arrival home with your arms open and legs spread.

He needs you, in a way that makes his head spin and his heart ache, to the point where it hurts to not be near you, to not have you by his side. He’s driven by devotion, by the genuine belief that you belong together, and once he’s set his sights on you, you really have no hope.

It doesn’t matter how hard you try to escape him, to outrun him, to make him fall out of love with you – he will find you, track you down and wrap you up in his arms where you belong, all the while nuzzling his face into yours, peppering kisses across your eyelids and cheeks, murmuring to you about how lonely he was without you, hoe he needs you and wants you and has to have you.

He’s deranged, but with time you’ll find yourself slowly losing your mind as well, caving into the belief that maybe he’s right, that you really do love him just as much as he loves you, even if you don’t know it. Maybe it’s true that your life is pointless without him – what had you really accomplished before he stepped into your life?

Maybe he’s been right all along – so really, just give in, let him smother you with gifts and kisses and cum, and you’ll someday be happy, too.

Someday, you’ll decide that this is where you belong, with him.

#yandere hxh #yandere nobunaga hazama #_lee's profiles #hxh x reader #_hxh #_nobunaga hazama

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holydayaria · 7 months

Note

I think Feitan (or maybe Phinks) shudders when he cums!! Like full body spasm. Do you have any ideas/thoughts about how the phantom troupe yans act when they’re cumming?

Me and my friend were literally talking about this last night akdsfjk . thank u @fraelyn for some of the thoughts on this 🤗

Feitan, as much as he hates it, does shudder when he cums, just a little. He even curls his toes a bit (involuntarily). He’s not used to the sensation and sometimes his breath hitches in his throat. Feitan thinks it’s incredibly embarrassing and it’s the cause of much inner turmoil. As long as you don’t mention anything about it or he noises he makes, you should be fine.

Phinks holds onto something, whether it’s you, the bed frame, your hair, etc. His grip becomes tighter when he’s about to cum, and if he’s accidentally bruised you when forgetting his strength. He also broke the bed’s headboard once. There’s a low, final groan before he empties his load, usually into you- or at least on you. There’s a lot of cum too.

according to my dear fraelyns headcanon, his hand would spasm a bit when he cums. i did not know hand-spasms were a thing until they informed me of such

Chrollo doesn’t react so much, he doesn’t spasm or shudder, but he does gasp a little right before. Preferably, he’d be the one making you moan and whine and move your body against his, desperate for more of him, though there is the odd time that his occasional moan sounds more like a whimper. If you bring it up to him he deflects it and twists your words into a compliment that makes you no longer want to talk to him.

Nobunaga is loud. Loud and talkative during sex. You won’t need any non-verbal cues, he outright tells you he’s going to cum, holding onto you even tighter and going even faster. This does sometimes ruin the orgasm building up in you, and he brushes you off whenever you bring it up. If you ever want to cum during sex, you need to be the one in control so he doesn’t start changing the pace/position before you can even get close.

#arias.inbox #Yandere feitan #Yandere feitan x reader #Yandere Phinks #Yandere Phinks x reader #Yandere nobunaga #Yandere Phinks magcub #Yandere nobunaga Hazama #Yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #Yandere nobunaga x reader #Yandere chrollo x reader #Yandere hxh #_nobunaga #_hxh #_feitan #_chrollo #_phinks

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holydayaria · 10 months

Text

Monomania

Yandere Nobunaga x Reader

Synopsis: Nobunaga feels personally responsible for your well-being.

Warnings: yandere content, stalking, kidnapping, fem reader, murder, vry lightly proofread lol

7k words… @maggotzdilemma tagging u because i know ur nobu’s number one fan 🤭😍🤞🏼🤞🏼 this is officially the longest fic i have written to date lmao

Sometimes you think your manager has a brain the size of a peanut.

He wants to serve alcohol and install a drinks bar at the restaurant you work at. Something about bringing in more customers, though the decision would only convolute whatever the theme of this place was. Televisions mounted on the wall feature the sports channel and the radio plays a constant stream of elevator music. There’s still an aquarium featuring clownfish and a few damselfish from the days when your manager tried out an ocean theme for the restaurant and there are still last year’s Halloween Posters proclaiming a 15% discount if you showed up in your Halloween costume on one of the walls.

The restaurant is situated across a motel that’s mostly vacant, and frankly, it’s wholly unwelcoming to the locals. Your manager, who is also the owner of the restaurant, had the dream of running a high-brow establishment for only those with the finest of tastes. The best-selling menu item was the “Pancake-Bacon-Burger Combo” and the restaurant was lucky to ever have more than 10 customers at a time. There are only three waiters, you and two others, Frederick and Zaria. There are only three cooks as well, which on the miraculous days that there are more customers, becomes an issue in getting our food on time. Your manager handles it by standing in the kitchen and yelling “Hurry up”. The more you think about it, the more you come to terms with how much you hate working here.

You can’t stand your manager, who insists you’re “part of the family” by working at this dying restaurant. You dislike your coworkers, who either don’t show up or do a piss-poor job of cleaning up, adding to your responsibilities. You think you hate one coworker, in particular, the most. Frederick, a smarmy piece of shit who felt the need to comment on anything and everything you did. You loathe your waitressing uniform, the skirt often rose up and constantly needed to be pulled back down. The shirt your manager insisted you wear was also itchy, and you loathed having to wear a name tag, it always caught you off guard when a customer referred to you by your name. Like this customer was doing right now.

“Do you have any favorites on the menu, (Y/N)?”

“I don’t really eat here,” You confess, and you don’t think this man would eat here either if he knew the state of the kitchen. You’re near constantly worried the authorities are going to come and find out the certification on the wall declaring the restaurant passed the food and safety inspection isn’t real. You’re not about to tell him that though, lest you lose a valuable customer. You don’t particularly like him, he’s too friendly for a stranger, but he always tips you well. With the price of groceries steadily rising, you’re more inclined to smile warmly and leave a lingering hand on his shoulder if it means you’ll get more money. “But I’ve heard good things about chicken pesto crepes.”

“It’s good you don’t eat here, none of this stuff is really healthy.” He says, and you reflexively smile and nod along. Why are you eating here, then? You keep your thoughts to yourself and wait patiently with your notepad. “I’ll have that then.” He decides, and you jot that down. “And anything for a drink?” “Just water.” You write that down as well. “Alright, I’ll get that out for you soon.” “Thanks (Y/N).” You force another smile before going out the order in. It quickly fades once you're out of his view.

He makes a point to call you by your name, and you make a point of not calling him by his. He had introduced himself as Nobunaga early on, which you thought was a bit odd but you brushed it off. He wouldn’t be the first strange customer you had, and surely not the last. You feel as though you’re traipsing along a thin line with him; because you’re aware of the repercussions of getting too friendly with customers. Customers who think your smiles and kind words are from your heart and not a job requirement. Nobunaga wasn’t bad per se, but you’d rather not interact with him more than you had to. He quickly became a regular here, coming in at minimum two times a week. You’re not sure he even likes the food, he almost never finishes it but he tips heavily.

You initially thought he just had extra jenny on hand and liked to support a small restaurant. After talking to your coworkers, you found out that he never tipped when they served him. Pretty often, he came in here with some other dangerous-looking men you were less than eager to serve. Unfortunately, you’re always made to be their server, and despite their rough appearances, they were polite enough. They tipped nicely, though you always got the feeling they were talking about you. They never did anything, never crossed any lines that would break the customer-server relationship you tried to hold, though Nobunaga certainly teetered on the edge of it.

Today, the restaurant is almost empty save for Nobunaga and a few other patrons, all scattered around the seating area. You almost wish it were more full, so you had something to distract yourself instead of repeatedly cleaning the bathrooms or waiting idly for someone to come in. Whenever Nobunaga was here, you got the feeling he would watch you the whole time. You’re not sure if he actually is or if you’re just being paranoid and judging an overly familiar customer too harshly. Still, the suspicion is enough to make you retreat into yourself. The order is given to the chefs in the kitchen, and you’re left to stand behind the front desk while they make it, ruminating on your career choice.

The prospect of finishing your degree soon and being able to find a job in your field motivates you to not outright quit. It had been hard to find work to begin with, and this place pays decently. Enough to fund your cramped apartment and your other necessities. Besides, it’s only temporary, you won’t be working at a failing restaurant for the rest of your life. The promise that this isn’t forever, that you won’t have to put up with bothersome customers or annoying coworkers, it’s the reason you even bother showing up. You’ll be able to make more money and move out of your apartment complex, maybe buy a car.

You’re drawn out of your thoughts by the sudden remembrance that you could kill time by checking your texts. You fish your phone out of your back pocket, looking for any new messages. There are only two, both from one of your friends- rather, your only friend: Sandra.

“Call me once you’re home.”

“Craziest thing happened at work rofl.”

Intrigue fills you and you shoot a text back, confirming that you’ll pick up her call once you're home and finished with your college work. You’re only taking two classes this semester, being a part-time student and all. You were taking three to try and finish your degree faster, but quickly found out that two was enough and you had to drop one. Luckily, the two you’re taking aren’t particularly heavy courses and your professors were willing to be flexible with their schedules and understanding of your situation. All you really had at home was a discussion post online and some light reading, not too bad. You’re once more drawn out of your thoughts when the food is ready and you’re called to bring it over to your least favorite customer.

Just four more hours till you could go home.

Sandra’s voice fills your small kitchen as she chats away on speaker, detailing how her workday went. The phone is left on the counter a few inches away from you You listen to her as you cut yourself some tomatoes to add to your dinner. “And I didn’t even know he was Steph’s husband because he was telling me he was single, so I laughed and I didn’t mean to-” You focus on her words, and briefly forget that you’re holding a sharp knife. The result of your carelessness was a shooting pain in your finger. “Fuck!” You hiss in pain, letting go of the knife, Sandra stops mid-story, sounding alarmed. “What? What happened?”

“I cut my finger, ugh, hold on.” You say into the phone, walking off to get a bandaid from your first aid kit. You grimace in pain, the cut isn’t deep at all but it hurts like hell. You fish the kit out of a closet and fumble your way into getting it open and getting a bandaid out, going back to the kitchen to run the cut under some water before drying your finger and firmly taping the bandaid on. You’re thankful it wasn’t your dominant hand and that you hadn’t cut yourself any deeper, or worse, cut your fingertip off.

“Is your finger okay?” She calls through the phone, and you apply pressure onto your bandaged finger for your own comfort. “Yeah, yeah it’s fine, what happened with Stephanie’s husband?” You try to shift focus away from your mishap and back to Sandra’s accidental entanglement between a married couple. “You really need to be more careful,” She reprimands before getting right back into the story, and you clean up the chopping board before returning to making dinner.

The next morning begins with you waking up to the sound of your alarm, sunlight beginning to peek through your curtains. You sit up in bed, shutting the alarm clock off, and rolling your shoulders to stretch. 8:00 AM, your shift started in three hours, which meant you had two hours to get ready and one hour to get there. A bus stop was near your apartment complex, but the closest one to your job was still a fifteen-minute walk away from the restaurant.

Stumbling into the bathroom, you go about your routine. There’s minimal difficulty when it comes to washing your face with the bandaid around your finger and you eventually just take it off, deciding to change out the bandage. The cut had healed though it still looked quite ugly. You slap some antibiotic ointment on it to prevent any infection and to help with the healing before taping it back up. Next on the agenda is breakfast.

You stick some frozen pancakes into the oven, turn the heat up, and set a fifteen-minute timer. The thought of getting fancy with it and adding some sliced strawberries or whipped cream comes to you, and lucky you, you have strawberries on hand. You get a few out from the refrigerator, giving them a quick rinse before bringing them to the chopping board. You’ll definitely be more careful with the knife this time, the bandage wrapped around your index finger is a reminder of your previous carelessness. When you go to get a knife, you don’t find one. You only had two kitchen knives, and one should have been in the washing machine, but that too is knife-less. Had you misplaced your belongings again?

You look through your cabinets and for the life of you, you cannot find the kitchen knives. You don’t have time to search your whole kitchen over some utensils, though losing your possessions does frustrate you. It seems you’ll have to settle with your butter knives for now, though you’ll do a thorough search of your home for the missing kitchen knives. They have to still be here, you hadn’t thrown them out, and it’s not like someone would break in just to steal some dull knives. Today's breakfast is just regular pancakes with strawberries on the side, you would have added whipped cream if there was any leftover.

The next few days are entirely uneventful, thankfully Nobunaga doesn’t come in but neither does anyone else save for a family of tourists. Turns out they were just stopping in the area for some gas and decided to eat lunch here. You’re able to get tomorrow off too, wanting to spend the day getting ahead in your classes. You were pleasantly surprised that your manager said yes, much to Frederick’s annoyance.

After the mandated eight hours, your shift comes to a close and you’re already throwing off your apron and gathering your belongings to head out the door. You shrug on the jacket you brought with you, this morning had been particularly cold and you anticipated the evening to be equally chilly. Night had already fallen by the time you walked to the bus stop, and within a few minutes, your ride was here. You get on and pay the fare, offering a polite look to the bus driver before you take a seat near the front. The bus was somewhat full this time, there was only one seat that was empty and wouldn’t require you to sit next to someone else.

The bus rolls to another steady stop at a different stop after ten minutes or so, letting the people on once the fare was paid. You don’t pay attention to who's coming on, nor do you look away from your phone. You’re forced to look up when a man sits next to you, with short brown hair and a blouson jacket. Neither of you says anything or even so much as looks at the other. Eventually, the doors close as the bus fills up, and the bus continues to drive down the road on its route.

Nobunaga grits his teeth, tensing up in the bus seat. He should’ve sat next to you, he wonders if you wish he had. He hadn’t wanted to be too obvious, but if he had known another man would’ve sat with you, he wouldn’t have chosen to sit a few rows back. Nobunaga wonders if you feel the same; if you’re hurt that he sat somewhere else. He’s sorry. You must be so uncomfortable, he can just imagine that creep next to you undressing you with his eyes. His eyes never leave that man, even if he doesn’t have a very good view. Nobunaga swears he’ll kill him.

The bus ride, for you at least, is entirely uneventful. You make mild small talk with the man next to you, who isn’t particularly chatty himself. He’s cordial though, and your conversation dies comfortably. When the bus rolls up to your apartment complex, you somewhat awkwardly shuffle past the man to get to the aisle and get off the bus. You get off and make the small walk to your apartment complex, unaware of the inner turmoil you’ve caused your stalker.

You don’t wake up until sometime past 9:30 the next morning, and before you can even get on with your plan of opening up your laptop and textbook, your phone lights up with a text. You reach for it on your bedside table and decide to see who it is, your heart sinking upon seeing the contents of the message.

“I know you said you could have the day off, but we really need you to clock in. Lots of customers. Please be here within an hour.”

You groan, considering the idea of sending your manager a nasty voice memo back. You really don’t want to come to work, even if you technically don’t have to get ahead in your classes today, you were really betting on having a relaxing study day. You let out an exasperated sigh and send the most corporate-friendly response you can muster; confirming that you’ll come to clock in today. You trudge to your bathroom, going about your routine once you’ve put your clothes on. All that’s left is to put on your makeup.

It’s all gone.

Not even your mascara or lip gloss was there; it’s like you never owned any to begin with. You can feel yourself panicking as you go back and forth between your room and your bathroom, even checking inside your purse for any of it. Your pocket mirror was gone, and your lipstick, even the eyeshadow palette you splurged on is missing. All you have is your cherry lip balm that’s in one of the pockets of your purse. You barely have any time left before you have to leave and hopefully catch a bus, you don’t even know if there will be a bus coming at this time. Your palms sweat with an anxiety that tears a hole in your gut. Has someone broken in and stolen your makeup? Why just your makeup? Your most expensive item was something you got at a department store for 50% off.

You’re tempted to call your manager and tell him you can’t clock in after all, and that he should go fuck himself because he said you could have this day off. You’ve already gotten dressed, and you don’t think your manager would like it if you went back on your word. You go and back forth on the idea, choosing to just grab your purse and a breakfast bar and try to get to work already. It’s just makeup, it’ll be fine. You can buy more. Everything’s going to be fine, your items will turn up eventually, they have to.

You’re lucky to catch the bus to work, though you still end up being around half an hour late. The restaurant is a bit more crowded, though not packed or anything. Instead of being met by your manager at the front door, you’re met with the bane of your existence: Frederick.

“You look like a dead person,” Frederick says plainly, looking you over. “Good morning to you too, Fred.” You say wryly, tired eyes glaring at him. “It’s afternoon, actually.” He says all smarmy-like, and you think about dropping your things and jumping on top of him to choke him out. “Whatever.” You snap, going into the employee room to get your apron and put it on. Frederick follows you, seeming to have more to say. “Your favorite customer’s been here waiting for you, he didn’t want me to serve him.” He says, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway. “He’s been sitting there for ten minutes, I told him you were just running late.”

“What the hell?” You tie the half apron back, letting it conform to the shape of your body. “Yeah, I don’t think he even wants to eat.” Your coworker says, taking in a sharp breath. “Anyway, the bathrooms need cleaning too, pretty sure someone messed them up real bad.” With that, Frederick leaves you to your own devices and you grimace at his words. Always a pain in the ass.

You’re not sure if Nobunaga wants you to say something about being late or him waiting for you specifically, but you don’t. His hair is down today, and you can get a better look at it. Long, dark, and wirey. It frames his near-gaunt face nicely. “You look prettier without makeup,” He says when you walk over with your notepad, a mousy smile on his face. Nobunaga looks oddly pleased with himself, and it sends a shiver up your spine. You let out a strained “thanks” and ask him what he’d like to order. Nobunaga does the same thing he always does, asking you for your opinion and what you recommend, and you pick out a random menu item for him. He has a content expression on his face when you write it down on your notepad and go to give the order to the chefs.

Before you go, he stops you by physically grabbing your wrist. His grip isn’t tight, but it startles you anyway. “Ah, yes?” There’s a slight tremble to your voice, which you detest. Nobunaga doesn’t seem to pick up on it, you wonder if he even realizes how uncomfortable he’s making you. “Was that guy bothering you? The other waiter?” He asks, once again overly concerned with your personal affairs. “Huh? Frederick? No, he bothers everyone.” You say light-heartedly, though Nobunaga’s expression hardly changes. He still seems put off by the possibility that you’re being harassed by your coworker. “If you’re sure.” He only hums in acknowledgment, letting go of your wrist so you can go put in his order.

For once, Nobunaga doesn’t stick around after you give him his food, and you wouldn’t see him for a few days, not until the next week. Once your shift is over, you decide tonight you could walk home. It’d be a long walk, nearly an hour, but you oddly don’t mind tonight. Walking is never a bad thing, you guess, and your area wasn’t totally unsafe. The streetlights were near constantly on, and you’d like to think the taser in your purse would be able to keep you safe. The drugstore is on the way home, you could stop there and buy some new makeup. Not a lot, just the bare basics. Maybe a new sleep shirt too if they had any in stock.

When you finally arrive, you make a beeline to your favorite aisle. You stare at the makeup lining the entire wall, in awe at all of your options. You’ve been to the drugstore many times, and you never tire of it. A few of the essentials are already in your shopping basket, plus a few extras for the fun of it. A hand lotion, some nail polish, and a chocolate bar are all added to your shopping basket along with the makeup. There had been some shirts and pajamas on a small rack, but none of them were particularly appealing to you.

A lip liner that would compliment you perfectly catches your eye, and you take a better look.

You stare at it for a while, discerning your options. You could buy this overpriced lip liner and get amazing use from it, or you could save your money. You go back and forth with this, eyes flitting around for a similar liner at a cheaper price, but the cheaper ones just aren’t the right color. Ultimately, you decide that it’ll probably still be here the next time you come with more money, and you take what you have to the cashier to pay for them.

You leave, carrying your bags and walking the familiar route to your apartment complex. You’ve memorized the area you lived in by now, not having a car and not always being able to rely on public transportation has led you to have pretty good navigational skills. The bags hardly weigh anything, you can hold them both in one hand with your purse on your other shoulder.

Nobunaga grimaces, walking behind you on your way home. That creep on the bus scared you away from using public transportation, so you were walking home in the middle of the night. Nobunaga wonders if you have any idea how much danger you’re in, clearly you don’t if you’re walking so carelessly. The streets weren’t exactly empty nor were they poorly lit; the streetlights were on and there were a few people here and there, but still. You shouldn’t have even been working, it’s clearly taking a toll on your body. He wishes he could go up to you and take your bags so you wouldn’t have to carry them while walking. You would feel more at ease then if you knew you had him to walk you home. Something holds him back, preventing him from doing so. Reluctance, maybe.

He wonders if you have any idea how much you stress him out, how your naivety physically pains him. It’s cute in a way, it fuels his need to preserve you, to keep your perceived innocence before it’s snuffed out by this world. Nobunaga worries he’s already starting to lose you, he had thrown out your makeup for a reason, but all you thought to do was go replace it. Even when you get to where you live and go inside, Nobunaga still isn’t entirely at ease. He really hopes you at least take the elevator instead of the stairs, he doesn’t trust you to not trip and somehow hurt yourself.

For now, he forces himself to retreat. At least you’re home, and you got there safely. There’s still work for him to do on his end after all.

The next day at work is slow.

Customers come in and out, and you dawdle around the establishment while waiting for your shift to end. You convinced your manager to change the channel on the televisions to something else, though he wouldn’t let you raise the volume. He didn’t want to disturb the nonexistent customers. Nobody came in past 6:00, so you spent the evening at work watching a sitcom with the volume so low you had to strain your ears to pick up what the characters said. Thank God for subtitles.

Frederick went on his lunch break around three hours ago and had yet to return. He usually went to eat somewhere else at a fast food chain close by, but today he hadn’t returned five minutes early as he always did. He was usually very punctual about these sorts of things, he would have at least said something if he had to go home early. It wasn’t anything you cared enough about to worry too much over, but it left you a bit anxious as to his whereabouts. Both you and Zaria were left to take on his workload as well (which was hardly anything, but still). Your manager seemed more concerned that he wasn’t getting good use out of his employees over the possibility that something bad happened to Frederick.

It isn’t until the day comes to a close and you all begin to clean up to shut the restaurant down for the night. One of the chefs already left, and you were cleaning down some tables when you heard Zaria screaming at the top of her lungs. She had gone out to the back to throw the day's trash into the dumpster when she began screeching frantically, hardly able to get any words out. You all rushed over to try to see what happened, but she kept demanding someone call the police, shouting at the top of her lungs that Frederick was dead.

It wasn’t until Zaria called down from her hysterics that she blurted out what she saw. Frederick had been beheaded, his head in clear view by the dumpsters. The rest of his body was close by, his head having traveled quite a distance. Supposedly, his head had been sliced clean off, most likely in one cut. It’s an unusual death, and it was quickly ruled as a homicide.

It puts you in a state of shock and horror, and you’re left with so many questions. Part of you expected it to be some sort of bad prank, but neither Frederick nor Zaria had ever pulled a prank of any kind. It doesn’t feel real that your coworker is now dead, even if you weren’t really close with him. You feel almost apathetic, and you curse yourself for it. You didn’t like Frederick, and though you don’t feel particularly saddened or hurt by this, it's still shocking and scary to know someone died- was murdered, in such close proximity. You feel sorry for his family and for Zaria for having stumbled upon the scene.

You hadn’t been allowed to leave until the police got there and even after being ushered out of the restaurant, were kept around to answer any of the questions the responding officers had. Your manager mostly took over that part, but every employee was spoken to if only for a few minutes. Eventually, you were allowed to leave when they zoned off the restaurant and deemed everything as potential evidence. An officer offered to drive you home, seeing as it was now nearing midnight, and you allowed it. The drive was mostly silent, he made brief small talk while you sat in the back of the squad car. You gave him your address and he tapped it into his GPS, taking you to your apartment. You thanked him and numbly walked inside, and he drove off once you did.

You shut your apartment door once inside after you got up to your floor, thankful to be home. All you want to do is take a long shower, it’s on the forefront of your mind as you kick your shoes off and drop your purse onto the couch before heading to your bedroom. It’s possible to push the day's events away, if only so you don’t have to think about what happened. You dig through your dresser for some clothes to preemptively lay out so you won’t have to do it after your shower. New underwear, socks, comfortable shorts, and your favorite sleep shirt.

…If you could find said shirt, that is.

You double-check everything, wondering if you put it in the wrong place. It should be here, you know it’s here. You go through your laundry hamper, just in case you’ve already worn it and just forgot, or maybe if you mistakenly tossed it in there. It’s not there, and it’s not under your bed or anywhere else in the room. You feel like you’re going crazy, between your kitchen knives and your makeup, and now Frederick’s death, it’s like you’re constantly being pushed to the edge. In an attempt to calm yourself down, you pose a different theory as to why your shirt isn’t where it should be.

Perhaps you left it in the complex’s laundry room down in the lower floor. It pains you to think about having forgotten it there, that someone might have taken it. It is just a shirt, but it had some sentimental value, plus it was really comfortable. You decide that you’ll just have to cut your losses and buy a new one, but it can’t hurt to double-check the laundry room. Just in case it is in there. You go put on some slippers and head out the front door, taking the stairs to the laundry room.

The communal laundry room is empty and quiet except for the electric hum of the lights and a few washing machines running their cycle. There’s a plastic bin in the corner that has been the “lost and found” bin, and it doesn’t look like your shirt is in there. It’s mostly empty aside from some socks, a child's jacket, and a pair of boxers. You look around anyway, and eventually, you go back up to your room, feeling defeated. You suppose you’ll just have to go buy a new one, though part of you hopes you’ll find it soon. That it will magically appear once more. It still puts a further damper on your mood, and you wonder if this is anything to call the police over. You try to downplay it, refusing to believe it’s anything serious. You just misplaced some items, surely. These types of things don’t happen to people like you, they just can’t.

The next day, you get a call from the local police department. They want to talk to you about Frederick, and you manage to get there that afternoon. The lead investigator, the one who spoke with you on the phone, is there to lead you to a room to ask questions. It’s nicely decorated, unlike the bare interrogation rooms, it has comfortable chairs and paintings of flowers on the walls. There’s a lamp resting on a coffee table as well as a bowl of hard candies. A soft interview room, they call it. You’re joined by a second investigator, and they begin asking the routine questions.

You tell them about the restaurant, how the owner can’t decide on a theme, and how it’s not the ideal place to work, staff were never outright mistreated. You say what you can about Frederick’s relationship with the customers and with everyone else, how he wasn’t exactly pleasant, but he wasn’t so annoying that someone would want to kill him. One of the investigators asks if he had any enemies, and you tell them that you don’t think so, but you wouldn’t be surprised if Frederick managed to piss off the wrong person. No matter how intelligent he tried to present himself, the man really lacked any sort of street smarts.

They ask you if anything abnormal has happened to you; if you’ve noticed anything odd in your personal life. If you could think of any reason as to why Frederick was killed; if it was a random attack or a targeted murder. You tell them that you really don’t know, and you leave out the disappearances of your personal items or the customer who seemed slightly too interested in what Frederick tells you. You can’t imagine in any world that those would hold any relevance, and you didn’t want to clog up their investigation with things that didn’t matter. It was hard enough to figure out what exactly happened, especially because it turns out the security cameras at the restaurant didn’t save any of the recordings it took, only having a live feed. Turns out your manager cheaped out on that as well.

The interview takes longer than you would have expected, around four hours in total. It turns out they had a lot of questions, and they made mostly relevant small talk with you in between. There was a lot of leaving the room and coming back in from both investigators. They were taking their time, seeming to take this very seriously. By the time it was over, you returned to your apartment with barely enough energy to make yourself something quick and easy to eat. You didn’t even notice how your new makeup had been thrown into the trash or the additional missing clothes from your wardrobe.

Upon waking up the next morning, the first thing you do notice is the hair on your pillow. Just one, long and wiry, it’s certainly not one of yours. You know what your hair looks like, and it isn’t this. You sit up immediately, intrigued but not completely alarmed by the discovery. Not yet. It can’t be one of yours, surely not? You feel it between your fingers, it’s thick and if you look closely you can see where it broke off of the original strand. There isn’t a reasonable explanation for it that you can think of right away. Did someone else come to sleep in your bed? You don’t think it was here last night.

When you go into the bathroom, you notice another hair, seemingly of the same texture, lying limp in your sink basin. Have these always been here, and you just haven’t noticed? You forcefully push the shower curtain back, scanning the inside of the shower for any stray hairs that you can’t identify as yours. Before you can make a fair assessment, your phone begins to ring from another room. You go to pick it up, hitting the accept button and holding it close to your ear. You hadn’t even checked to see what the caller ID was.

“Hey! I know this is super sudden, but do you want to see a movie later? The theater is having a sale on tickets today,” Sandra’s voice comes through the other end, energetic and upbeat. “You don’t have work today right?” You glance at the clock, seeing that it’s 11:24 in the morning. It’s a damn good thing you don’t have work, you totally forgot to set an alarm. “Yeah no, I’m totally free today.” You confirm, relaxing a bit. “I’d love to, got a specific movie in mind?” “I think they’re showing that new one, you know? With the guy?” Sandra says, and you roll your eyes. “Yes, I know exactly which one you’re talking about, thank you for being so specific.”

“The one with the vampire! And they’re on the beach!” You still don’t know what she’s talking about, but you continue to humor her. “It’s showing at… 9! 9 o’clock tonight, we should go see it!” “How much are the tickets?” You ask, biting your lower lip. “Only around 400 Jenny!” That was cheap, you probably had that much in pocket change. “Alright, you’ll have to drive me there though.” You tell her, and Sandra seems more than delighted to do so. “Totally, I’ll come pick you up at 8:30?” “Sure, that’ll be perfect.” Shortly after, the call ends and you’re left with the rest of the day to get ready for some, from the sounds of it, vampire chick-flick.

When the movie ends, you and Sandra stop to get some food before driving back home. She drives you back home, the car ride filled with talk about the movie, mostly her gushing over the hot actor that played the male lead. It’s late at night, nearing two in the morning by the time you’re dropped off at your apartment. The movie had been particularly lengthy, and you and Sandra had plenty of catching up to do over your late-night dinner after. She instructed you to call her once you got home, and you keep repeating yourself to do it once you get inside your apartment so you don’t forget.

You fiddle with the key for a moment, eventually getting it in and turning the lock. You close and lock the door behind you, removing your shoes at the door and putting your items down. It’s nice to be back home, you’re more than exhausted and ready to just go to bed. You set your purse on the couch, flicking on the living room light so you can see around your own apartment. You head to your own room first, desperate to change out of the outfit you wore to the theater, and once you do you head back to the living room to retrieve your phone.

You’re immediately on edge once more when you hear what sounds like a footstep coming from somewhere behind you. You pause in dialing her number, almost frozen in the moment of consternation. The hair on the back of your neck stands up and even though you don’t feel a presence in the home, you’re sure someone else is here. Before you can turn around or react, there’s a pair of strong arms curling themselves around you and pulling you back against a broad chest. “There you are.” The man says, audibly relieved for a reason you aren’t sure why. You swear you recognize his voice, though you can’t put your finger on it until you clear through the sudden panic that’s been forced upon you.

One hand covers your mouth to prevent you from screaming, another around your torso, holding your arms down as well. In your shock you drop your phone, cursing yourself mentally for it. Your blood rushes through you as your fight or flight response kicks in. You kick back at his shins, and he lets out a low hiss in pain before trying to compose himself again. His grip tightens to the point of being painful and you let out a choked gasp into the palm of his hand. “Hey, relax, it’s just me.” At that moment, you’re able to pinpoint who it is, and another rush of fear comes over you. Before you can even say anything, Nobunaga is already fishing out a chloroform rag out of his back pocket.

The rag of chloroform is gingerly forced against your mouth and nose, his hand firmly cupping your face to keep it in place despite your frantic attempt to get away. Nobunaga’s impossibly strong, you might as well not be trying to fight back at all. “It’s okay, just breathe baby, you’re okay.” He shushes you, trying to maintain a soft voice as if that’ll help you feel better about the circumstances. The chloroform doesn’t kick in right away, it doesn’t seem to even have an effect at first, not until he continues holding it against you. The longer it’s there, the more lightheaded you feel.

“I knew you were the one ever since I saw you,” He murmurs into your hair, pressing you further against him. You continue to struggle, letting out a muffled wail. Nobunaga’s hold is already so tight that you can barely move. He gives no indication that your attempts to fight back bother him, it’s as if he doesn’t even register it. “Just relax, it’s not going to kill you,” He says with humor in his voice. “You know I’d never do anything to hurt you.” As if this was some set-in-stone fact, something you should have already known.

The longer this goes on, the longer he keeps confessing his obsession with you and trying to convince you that it’s true love, the less you can feel your legs and your consciousness begins to fade out. Nobunaga can feel it, how you’re forced to relax and his grip only slightly slackens. It’s still strong enough to support you, though he’s less concerned with you trying to weasel out of his arms. “There you go, see? It isn’t so bad.” He croons, and there’s a satisfied smile on his face at the sight of you. All weak and slipping out of consciousness, ripe for the taking.

Your last bit of consciousness (at least for the time being), is spent in Nobunaga’s arms, with him making a variety of promises on how he’d “take care of you”, whatever that meant. An awful sense of hopelessness washes over you as you realize the finality of your situation. The rag is removed from your lower face when your eyelids fall shut for the final time, and Nobunaga is far too pleased with the outcome of things. A rush of energy going through him, because finally, you’re right where he wants you- where you belong, where you deserve to be. All he has to do is get you home, he wonders if you’re as excited as he is.

You only hope he holds true to his promises of not hurting you.

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