#yandere crumbled king x reader
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— jealousy is not a pretty look on you
Yanderes being jealous
Crumbled King / His majesty Casimir Dragomir
Yandere!Crumbled king who notices you getting too comfortable with the local vegetable stall and he will secretly do anything to make the vegetable stall owner not reputable to you.
Yandere!Crumbled king who smiles when he finds a rotten vegetables in the bag and purposely puts them in the front of the bag.
Yandere!Crumbled king who purposely makes himself sick after eating the meals, only for you to rush over to him and desperately try to help him.
“He..I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I didn’t notice. I’m sorry, your majesty.”
You pulling his hair back while hearing the him seemingly throw up the remaining food into the bucket. Your hand rubbed his trembling back; perhaps he overdid it.
His hazel eyes flickered over to you and your hands gripped the handkerchief, wiping away the remaining saliva and food from his lips. The cold rings on his bony hands gripped your shoulder before tightening.
You left for a moment to get the pitcher of fresh water to help him get rehydrated and replacing the bucket with a empty flower pot. You helped him drink and covering your nose, dumping out the contents of the bucket in the dirt patch in the backyard.
“I’ll figure something out,” you mumbled.
You removed the pot from him and immediately replaced it with the bucket. You poured out the contents and stopped, bones ached. Standing in the hallway that pointed to the small dining room to where he was, you looked down then to the window that shown the greenery that you occasionally stepped onto before entering this place.
You couldn’t quit besides if anyone found him; former king and stain on the royal family. He would end up tossed away in an unmarked grave and it would be your fault for it.
“I will try to plant some vegetables for us.” You sighed, walking into the dining room and sitting down next to him.
Caretaker / Ellison Sawyer
Yandere! Caretaker who continues to treat your injuries and reassures you that nothing bad will happen to you but often has to hide you whenever anyone comes into the farmhouse.
Yandere! Caretaker who notices you clinging to the remaining shirt that was accidentally left behind by their friend and notices you stubbornly refuses to give up the shirt.
Yandere! Caretaker who manages to get the shirt to wash it to return it to their friend. They took off the fur/feathers that somehow stuck on the shirt and was surprised that it wasn’t torn.
“I’m returning this to them, okay.” They held up the shirt and away from you. “No, stay there.”
Your pupils dilated, staring up at the shirt and a light purr/chirp escaped your mouth. Your limbs stretched out, rolled on your back while you sprawled on the tiny couch, then you went to them; still desperately trying to get back the shirt.
They lost. Your face was buried in the shirt that somehow still held remnants of their friend’s scent, limbs curled up on the tiny couch.
“Come on.” They waved around food in front of you. “I know how much you like this.”
Your dilated eyes looked up at the food and dug in the food which they managed to swipe away the shirt to wash it again despite being covered with fur/feathers in such a short time. Soon, they would look down while putting the shirt back in the washing machine and return back to the living room and wipe away the remains from your mouth.
Race car driver / Richard Temples
Yandere! Race car driver who begrudgingly takes you to your therapy appointments and doesn’t enjoy how the therapist’s eyes are constantly on you when you do specific movements.
Yandere! Race car driver who watches you on the empty track, desperately trying to work on your skills on relearning how exquisite you were before the accident that pushed you into a long awaited recovery.
Yandere! Race car driver who watches old race videos where you win the competitions and sees the joy in your eyes. He sees how much the accident took from you and occasionally heard the phone calls that rang through the empty halls that once held extravagant after parties.
Your hand trembling, grabbing the mug and putting it on the counter before using your better hand to grab the mug, drinking the contents.
“You don’t need to be here every single day,” you said. “Don’t you have something better to do?”
“Practicing done for the day,” he said. “Just had to see you again. Do you still have to go to that?”
You looked at him before sitting down on the wooden chair, putting the mug down on the table.
“You mean my therapy?” You replied. “From the accident that you caused. Yes, I still have to go to that to help my recovery.”
You looked at him again, still wearing the racing suit covered in vibrant colors due to the amount of sponsors, helmet plastered with the same amount of vibrant sponsors on it. You gritted your teeth while getting up and grabbing the countertop for stability.
“Why are you even here?” You asked. “Don’t say that you want to learn from me.”
“But,”he said, “I didn’t want it to get that bad, you need to understand. It was a mistake.”
“Then, why didn’t you tell my crew chief?” You questioned. “Why—get out, just get out.”
Cult leader / Charis
Yandere! Cult leader who helps you with your appearance the day after finishing your cleansing ritual since you must’ve been too exhausted to dress yourself.
Yandere! Cult leader who makes you stay awake during the sermon and has you stay after to give you daily reassurance that you’re still magnificent and has assigned simple jobs for you.
Yandere! Cult leader who notices the wandering gaze of a fellow member on you, their eyes shouldn’t be looking at you with such deviance. He kept you close to him for the remainder of the time you were sent to work on the simple tasks.
His hands pulled you closer to him, he smiles and kissed your temple in the same spot.
“Such deviance cannot be tolerated.” He looked down at you. “I know that it is not your fault but they need to be dealt with.”
“Can you perform the cleansing on them?” You looked at him. “It helped me and it must help them, right?”
“My heart,” he said, ” I cannot perform it on them. I only manage to save you in the mere seconds before you almost were fully tainted but they’re far too gone, mind wrapped in deviant intent. The only option is to remind them.”
Dinner was pushed further back than usual but you still managed to sneak in small pastries to eat them to hush your aching stomach that was still recovering. You sat in the front row of the chapel, your hands still trembling seeing him as your eyes focused on him who bound them with rope; face was somewhat recognizable and blouse was drenched in dried and fresh blood.
“Don’t be afraid.” He smiled, holding the hot poker. “Wicked, blasphemous eyes such as yours must be exterminated.”
Noble friend / Evangeline Abel
Yandere! Noble friend who always has her hands on you such as on your waist, shoulder or just simple hand-holding or elbows interwoven with each other.
Yandere! Noble friend who still has to dress in her mourning dresses and she noticed a fellow noble asking you to dance despite you starting to wear color after finishing your mourning period. She still pretends to be saddened by the loss of her late spouse but feels a boiling rage in her because she should be the one asking you to dance, not them.
Yandere! Noble friend who holds you close to her while you wear somewhat soft colors despite your heart still aching from the loss. She still tries to understand the feeling but she can’t help but feel the still boiling rage as why were you still thinking about a person who was long gone?
She untied the robe and sat down across from you which the latest day you had taken sanctuary in burying your face in the vanity. Her hands held a handkerchief that always seemed to be soaked with your tears from the previous days, her hands softly squeezed your shoulders that hung low.
“My dear,” she said, “always crying these days that’s my job. I’ve put our son to bed and the night is still young.”
You looked up at her, eyes reddened from crying despite the vibrant colors of your undergarments; you should be happy now.
She carefully placed a soft tune on the recently bought item called the gramophone and helped you up and her hand wrapped around your waist.
“Let’s dance,” she said. “A simple waltz will suffice, I will lead it. You shouldn’t let other people dance with you, my dear.”
#yandere x reader#yandere oc x reader#yandere prompt#yandere x you#tw yandere#yandere idea#yandere fanfiction#yandere imagines#yandere oc x you#yandere racer x reader#yandere crumbled king x reader#yandere female x reader#yandere headcanons#yandere noble x reader#yandere caretaker x reader#yandere evangeline x reader#yandere ellison x reader#yandere richard x reader#yandere casimir x reader#yandere cult leader x reader#yandere charis x reader
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Omg bro yk whats been on my mind for do long?? A demon king trying to court a hero reader. Like the hero has already fought and defeated the king but somehow he comes back and he's desperately trying to get the hero to join him (in more ways than one). He wants the reader to be his spouse and leader of his army against the corrupt human race and the reader (now fallen from stardom due to the evil kings defeat) just wants him gone and to be left alone. Idk if this makes sense but I need to see SOMEONE write abt it before I lose my last marble.
-Doll
This is giving me Dragon Quest vibes, haha. Not a trope I'm too familiar with, but it sounds interesting nonetheless. I shall do my best! Sorry for the delay, I hope it's close to what you imagined. :)
Yandere! Demon King x Hero! Reader
As it goes with villains, they always find a way to return. This time, the Demon King has a different plan in mind. You were prepared for anything, from evil schemes to ancient conjured weapons...except for a wedding ring cordially placed before you. Do you say yes?
Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, 🔥proposal (literally)
[Part 2]
You still remember everything so fondly. How you crawled out of that enormous crater, body battered and weak, as everyone watched in horror and held their breaths. Finally, you raised your fist victoriously. The Demon King had been, at last, defeated. The people cheered and cried and pulled you up under thundering waves of applause. Peace was no longer just a dream.
A sweet, innocent memory, even more so given its fleeting nature. The genuine smiles of gratitude quickly turned into crooked grins asking for favors. Before you knew it, you became some sort of political accessory to convince the masses. Posing for photos, shaking hands, being interviewed with bizarrely planned questions reeking of propaganda. You suddenly felt burdened, heavy, disappointed. This was not the kind of fame you envisioned for yourself.
Thus, you gradually vanished from the limelight, keeping your distance from everyone else and spending most days in solitude. Better than having to look into those unscrupulous, opportunistic eyes measuring up your worth. You had fulfilled your job and purpose.
This morning you're woken up by the sound of your belongings rattling in their shelves. The wooden frame of your bed is creaking, and you struggle to get up. An earthquake? A wave of nausea flushes over you. You recognize this feeling all too well, though you never expected to deal with it again. This is a disaster alright, yet the forces of nature have nothing to do with it.
You rush outside, swinging the door open and nearly tripping in your hurry to confirm your suspicions: the demonic creature is approaching your humble adobe with heavy steps, as the ground crumbles and shatters underneath. The Demon King himself, in flesh and blood. Although the blood splattering his armor is most likely not his. Same for the visceral remains threading his weapon. Regardless, your jaw tightens nervously, and you stand back, in a defensive pose. "You're a stubborn one", you say smugly, trying to maintain your composure. "Can't say I'm a fan of dying, that is correct." A ragged, monstrous voice erupts from the tall, armored figure.
"What brings you back?" You demand. The surroundings are too peaceful for him to have tampered with the city. Did he stop by to formally announce his destruction? "I have an offer that might interest you." The Dark Overlord has closed the distance between you, now looming above your much smaller body. You shiver. "I don't barter with Demons!" You conclude, turning around, prepared to leave. "Even when your precious people are on the line?" The horned beast warns with a grin. "If there's nothing better to do as a Ruler of Realms than killing petty humans..." You swiftly retort, going back into your house and slamming the door shut.
He stands for a moment, speechless. "Y-your Majesty? Should I take care of the humans, or (Y/N)?" Only now he notices his scaly butler, bowing to his side with claws resting over the weapon. The Demon King raises a hand, shooing the servant away. The annihilation of the human race can wait. There are more important matters to deal with presently. He'd expected your rejection, naturally, but not in such fashion. The indifference, the flat voice, the empty eyes devoid of emotion. Have the city dwellers tampered with his hero? He expected to see your fierce rage and in return he was met with a hollow shell.
Bright blue flames erupt from the openings of his armor, resulting in a menacing show of lights. He's known it for the longest time, of course. Humans are rotten to their very core. Vile, deceitful creatures that have slithered their way up, exuding undeserved arrogance. He's been trying to show you this very fact, yet you were blinded by naive faith. Your unwavering, honest heart that won him over has turned out to be your early demise. Not anymore. His vengefulness knows no bounds when it comes to traitors.
The sudden spike in temperature alerts you. Was it your rudeness that angered the Demon? You don't care anymore. Whatever happens to the city is out of your hands. And yet...you're buckling the straps of your old suit made for battle. Sword in hand, you gaze at your reflection. What could the Beast want? The fortified city no longer holds the value of its olden days. Just like you've left your hero days behind. Without much contemplation, you run out and head for the main gates. The path is paved with ash and rubble and your grip on the weapon tightens. Regret immediately wells up in your chest, ready to burst out. Is it too late? The entrance is engulfed in fire, charred corpses toppling against the ruins of the walls.
You reach the town hall - or rather, what remains of it - and face the Demon King. Has he gotten stronger since your last encounter? You hold your breath as the horned monster turns towards you. "I've tried to tell you, again and again. Time after time." He sighs, defeated. "Between the two of us, I'd say you were the stubborn one all along." His voice is softer than what you would've expected from someone that had just massacred an entire settlement. There's not a single scratch or sign of struggle. Was he merely holding back during your last fight? One thing is certain: you're his final obstacle. You raise your sword, determined. Hot sweat trickles down your face as the flames surround you. "Well, at least you've convinced yourself now, I hope. There's nothing left for you here." The Demon King lowers himself, extending a fist towards you. A spell? Secret weapon? Your leg muscles contract in anticipation.
His fingers open and stretch out, slowly. In his palm, a barely noticeable ring. Given the ridiculous size difference, you assume this is better fitting for a human. You stare at it in confusion, discerning the wedding vows carved in the noble metal. "What's the meaning of this?" You mutter, glancing at the Beast now resting on one knee before you. "What? Is it not your human custom?" He looks away for a moment, clicking his tongue. "That useless butler. He told me- Forget it! You are to return with me to my Kingdom. As my spouse."
Of all the things you've prepared yourself for...Your brows furrow and your mouth hangs open in shock.
What is your answer? The Demon King will not leave empty-handed.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere x darling#yandere headcanons#yandere imagines#yandere scenarios#yandere monster#yandere monster x reader#monster x reader#monster x human#yandere demon king#yandere male x reader#gender neutral reader#monster romance#monster boyfriend#yandere oc
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This is a brothers Grimm inspired retelling of sleeping beauty and my first proper somno and noncon piece so please be gentle with me and give me some constructive feedback so I can improve!.
Warnings: somnophilia, noncon, afab reader with she/her pronouns, vaginal penetration described, oral(reader receiving), delusional/yandere!Todoroki, fantasy au, I feel like it's open-ended but could be left as a standalone one shot
Pairing: prince!Shouto Todoroki x sleeping beauty!reader
Our story begins with a prince who’s grown restless under his father’s strict control.
The prince known as Shouto went on many trips, all of which were under secrecy to avoid the wrath of the mad king Enji. For if he was discovered by his father, he’d surely be severely punished.
Maybe with a beating, or perhaps isolation, or worse his siblings would suffer for his actions.
He couldn’t risk the consequences, that’s what he told himself when had discovered an old castle in ruins.
‘You’ll be late’ he tells him as he examines the thick overgrowth of thorny vines that wrap around the aged and crumbling walls.
‘You need to return’ he reminds himself, cutting through overgrowth and forcing his way into the old palace, ignoring his better judgment in favor of his curiosity.
If he were truly honest, he was hoping to find whatever valuables were left behind so he could keep on the run and never return home. So he may dare to be selfish and not worry about anyone else’s ill fate, if he were honest that is.
Clearly whoever had owned this castle was long gone, old rotting furniture and aged paintings that were caked in thick grime and dirt.
He almost turned back, nothing here could possibly be of worth right? And yet, on some sort of fateful divine intervention, he felt compelled to look around a little longer.
For what, he did not know, he certainly could not have even imagined he would discover the perfectly preserved body of a beautiful young maiden.
She appeared roughly his age when she was put to rest, he thinks it such a shame that she must have passed young.
He steps closer to observe her better, shocked to witness her chest rising and falling. He presses a hand against her soft face, noting the warmth and softness of her skin.
He knows it’s insane, her clothes were dusty and the room around them was clearly aged decades, perhaps centuries, but she is most assuredly alive just asleep.
Certainly, this must be a curse and undoubtedly one he was destined to break. Why else would he be so compelled to go searching for her?
But how?
If the stories of witches and their evil deeds and tricks were to be believed, then a kiss should do. So with this in mind, he leaned down to capture her lips, certain that the spark he felt was a sign from the heavens.
Soon his princesses would awaken and she would be so greatly impressed and grateful that she would marry him without question.
He waits what feels like one, two, three, four whole minutes, and watches in confused frustration when she remains peacefully asleep.
‘Then a kiss is not enough’ he comes to realize ‘I need to do more, I have to show her she was meant to be my wife’. It made perfect sense to him, there was no need to question himself or his motives behind this because why else would a simple kiss not work?
Clearly, he needed to consummate this divine union.
He shuddered at the thought, the reality of the situation hitting him suddenly and making him unsure if this was all a delusion of grandeur.
Maybe he should reevaluate and deal with the creeping sense of disgust in himself, or maybe this deep and sudden desire for her was truly divine?
But this was unquestionably a sinful crime in any other circumstance, something a valiant and righteous prince like himself should never allow themself to indulge in.
But his urge to move forward must be a sign, it’s brought him this far, and he wouldn’t even be here if he had ignored it.
If he did follow his compulsion, the consequences would be well worth the actions right? Just a husband committing to his wife, that’s what this was.
It isn’t wrong for him to lay his hands on her sleeping body, positioning her to aid him in removing her old clothes, and laid his hot lips on the warm flush that was revealed.
Allowing himself to travel every exposed inch until he had her sex in close sight. He laved his tongue over it in curiosity. Humming in approval when he found her to secrete the sweetest nectar he had ever had the pleasure of tasting.
He lapped away at her as if he would never be allowed to again, no, as if he had never been fed. As if he had been starving for longer than he could remember and this would be the only meal he would have in who knew how long.
He found himself greedily pressing his fingers into her little hole, desperately trying to drag out more of her essence. Long slender fingers moving back and forth, dragging against her inner walls and unknowingly inching a dam of sorts closer and closer to snapping.
It almost startled him when she squeaked out a pleasant-sounding moan, practically pouring her heavenly nectar like a fountain for him. Her sex tightening and convulsing around his fingers, he finds himself enraptured by her involuntary response to him; assured he was right to think that this was the correct action.
He resettled himself between her legs so his sex was in line with her sopping wet warmth quickly. He would take his time to know her body properly later but for now, he would focus on introducing his body to her own.
He takes a breath, takes himself in hand, and rests against her entrance. Pausing to steel his nerves before pushing into her with a single thrust. Savoring how her wet warmth parted around him and held so tightly.
‘This couldn’t be wrong when it felt so heavenly’ he thinks, throwing his head back.
He hears a murmur of discomfort from her, he figures he must be her first lover. Good. This doubtlessly meant that the divines had been saving her for him.
She was meant for this, meant to be his love, to be the vessel for his seed.
So, there was no need to hold back on her until she’d taken it all in her womb, right?
He silences her involuntary whines with hot wanton kisses, allowing his tongue to slip into her mouth and explore every bit of it. Uncaring of the lack of response, he has plenty of time to know what her kiss truly felt like once she awakens.
He lets himself indulge in her. Dragging his finger along the little pearl of pleasure that made her leak more of her essence. His hips slapped against her at a rough and quick pace, chasing a pleasure that was well worth the effort.
He wondered, would she accept loving this rough when she did wake? Would she want the way he was being so forceful or would she rather him be gentle and tender? He supposed he could be gentle.
It did sound rather nice, but he would honestly prefer this. He thinks maybe she would too, her sex twitched and spasmed so desperately around him in response to his actions. Almost as if to wring out his love, it’s hard to imagine she wasn’t or wouldn’t enjoy this.
He wondered if she would call his name loudly, he could imagine it clearly based on the sounds she was already making.
‘S-Shou! Oh, Shouto! Please!’ she’d cry out, on the verge of spilling over again and pulling him with her, accepting every drop of his white-hot love inside her.
He barely catches himself from clasping on top of her, he can feel himself starting to stir again inside of her. How must this look to her?
“W-who are you?! W-what are you do—!”.
He cuts her off with a kiss, frowning when she jerks her face away. Didn’t she understand that he was her husband now?!
“Your husband,” he says it calmly, almost coldly as his hips pick up speed again. It would seem he’d have to teach her this new role as his wife.
And this is where we leave, with a king and his queen. One will live happily ever after, the other has no option but to be “happy” with her new life.
Tag list: @when-you-are-just-done @justabratsworld @kkatsukiswife
#shouto todoroki x reader#shouto todoroki x reader smut#todoroki shouto x reader#todoroki shouto x reader smut#shouto x reader#shouto x reader smut#todoroki x reader#todoroki x reader smut#tw somno#tw non con#fantasy au
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dance for me — bangchan
➳ published: 13.12.22
➳ mafia!au || genre: smut || rated: m
➳ pairing: mafia!bangchan x dancer!reader (fem)
➳ summary: chan asked you a question that you were hesitant to answer because of your past but you learn that chan simply couldn't care less because all he can think about is you dancing for him
➳ word count: 1.6k
➳ warnings: slight yandere behaviour, like the smallest amount, reader was a stripper
➳ author’s note: so i wrote this for a friend, she sent me an instagram reel which is inspired by a scene in 'sinners condemned' by somme sketcher. all the inspiration credit goes to the author! @the-boy-meets-evil and @sanjoongie this is to make up for making yall cry
➳ banner and divider credit: @hobeemin
[NOW PLAYING: Chase Atlantic - Swim]
Chan's fingers brush your hair out of your face, he didn't think his question would cause you to get so flustered. He could tell that there was something that you've been hiding from him - Chan does his research, he doesn't just fuck around with anyone, he makes sure that they are authentic. No lies, no surprises. He didn't become the king of the city by allowing himself to be fooled by those around him.
He knows everything. He prides himself on it and yet, there is something in your past that he cannot get his hands on - no matter how hard his men have tried.
You chew on your bottom lip, fingers playing with the ring you always wear on your right hand; you've been trying to figure out how to tell him about your past without seeing that look of disgust cross his face.
You're not ashamed, you had to do what you could to get yourself out of the debt that your parents put you in and when you managed to pay off everything and save enough to break ties and make a name for yourself, away from them and the life that you used to lead, you ran. Far. You moved out of the small, backwater, no-hope of a town you grew up in and pursued your dream of living in the big city. You built a life for yourself and loved it but how were you meant to know that Bang Chan, the most powerful man in the city, would grow interested in you?
He's handsome, luxurious and well-mannered. A man that you could only ever dream about, the type you read about in your little books that you'd hide under your bed. The dangerous type, but aren't they all? He could make all of your problems disappear, one way or another, but as rough as he could be - Chan would never lay a finger on you, not without your consent.
Poor girl should have run away but you found yourself tumbling down the rabbit hole, caught up in everything he is and has to offer.
"What's the matter, sweetheart?" Chan's voice pulls you back to the present, to the question he had asked as you both entered his home. It's the first time you've been there. He's always taken you back to your apartment but tonight is different. He's not letting you run away like you have every other night; a quick peck on the lips with a smile and blushing cheeks before disappearing into the safety of your home. Chan's got you right where he wants you and now that you're here - there's no running away.
"N-nothing," You say, looking up with a smile, "I was just thinking about how delicious dinner was tonight, I really liked that place."
A lie, so obvious, but Chan just nods, humming as he hooks a finger under your chin and makes you look up at him. "Well, I'll make sure to take you there again but I did ask you a question and I expect it to be answered."
"Oh," you murmur quietly, pulling away quickly before the scent of his cologne causes you to crumble once more. You look around the foyer and spot a small loveseat for you to sit down and take your heels off. "What was the question again?"
Chan catches you before you get to sit down, "what did you do before you came to town?"
You look at him, searching his eyes and knowing that he's not going to let this go. What's the worse that could happen? He calls you a gold digger, a whore, degrades you and laughs you outta his house? You've heard it all before but fuck, you like him. As stupid as you are, you like all that he is - even if part of him is dark and deadly - and you don't want him to view you as something you were rather than who you are.
But, if he does then you can always walk away, right?
"A stripper." You say, voice soft, meek and showing that submissive side of yourself that you try to desperately hide.
There's a look in Chan's eyes that suggests that this isn't something he is repulsed by. "You were pretty good at it," this isn't a question, he's finally putting that final piece of your puzzle into place at how you ended up where you are. You've worked for it. It may not have been a job that many view as 'honest' work but then again, neither is what Chan does. "Did you enjoy it?" You're a dance teacher with your own studio while you also work at the mayor's office as his receptionist, of course you enjoyed it but he needs that confirmation. You nod, slowly as if curious as to where he's going with this, "would you give me a lap dance? Show me how good you are."
There's a look in your eyes, a slight change that has a soft rumble sound from his chest. Oh, this is quite the surprise and Chan doesn't typically find himself in situations where he can be surprised.
You take his hand, pull him to the spacious living room and sit him down on the couch with a push to his chest. Chan chuckles at your faux dominance, allowing you the illusion that you hold all the cards, while you set up. A dancer can’t give a good show without accompanying music, right?
You walk towards him seductively and Chan settles into his seat, legs spread, suit jacket unbuttoned and one arm resting over the back of the couch. His eyes are on yours, both hungry as your hand reaches to the zip on the side of your dress, dragging the zipper down slowly as you make your way to stand in front of him and the tight, black dress soon pools to the floor - leaving you in black lace lingerie and heels.
There's a pause. Time feels like it's at a standstill other than the music playing in the background and once it hits the chorus, you move. Your moves are designed to capture his attention, to make him think about nothing but the way you look with your cleavage in his face, neck bare, lips parted and eyes on his. You move in a way that causes his mind to forget where they are, your hips grinding against his lap, stirring the beast inside and causing Chan to think about all the ways your body would feel underneath him, lips parted as you scream his name.
You're dangerous, in your own way. Sweet, innocent and delicate - a flower. A rose. Beautiful and sweet smelling with thorns for those who aren't careful, Chan could almost chuckle if Rose was your stage name because it's rather fitting seeing you like this. Almost.
"Take your bra off," Chan says after a short while, looking up into your eyes as you roll your body against his. Your hands are holding onto his broad shoulders, keeping yourself stable as you dance on him, and Chan's hands are hovering over your hips, knowing that if he was to truly touch you then he's pushing you down onto his hardening cock and making you feel what you're doing to him.
However, that would ruin the fun.
"It'll cost extra," your voice is sweet, melodic, enticing, playing the role perfectly like you never left the strip club. Fuck, the thought that you were this bold with anyone else drives him insane. Maybe he should make sure those who got to see you like this can never see again... shit, what're you doing to him?
Your fingers curl around the hair at the back of Chan's neck before moving through his soft, blonde locks and applying enough pressure to the back of his head so that the man's face is pressed into your cleavage. A low growl sounds from the back of his throat as he nips at the top of your plump breasts, "I'll take it off."
Moving back, you tilt his head up and lean down so your lips are nearly touching his, teasing, inviting him to close the distance. You know that you're playing with fire but you can't help it, high on the atmosphere. "Costs even more," you whisper against his lips.
Oh, you want to play that game?
Chan digs his hand into his pants, pulling out his wallet and without breaking eye contact, he pulls his card out from the leather wallet before tossing it away and shoving the black Amex card into your mouth. Your eyes widen, your game beaten as his fingers dance up your spine to the clasp at the back of your bra, "pin is 3436. Now, take it off." He whispers into your ear as he easily unclasps your bra and you pull your body away from his. You're sitting on his lap, your heat pressed against his cock and if either of you were to look down, you'd see the damp mess that you made, your arousal apparent but Chan's eyes only travel down to your breasts, watching your hands remove the bra and show off your perky breasts with your nipples hard and waiting for his hands, his lips, to tease them.
He's been pretty patient, hasn't he? How can he deny himself the pretty treat you've presented him.
Play time is over now. Chan takes one of your breasts into his mouth as he grabs your ass tightly and stands up, heading to the bedroom. He could fuck you on the couch, he thought of it but he's going to take his time with you, show you everything that he is and why he's better than anyone you've ever had. Chan plans on making you addicted to him as he is with you, obsessed with the way he makes you feel and want him constantly.
Crazy in love, that's what he wants and Chan always gets what he wants.
#kvanity#straykidsland#bangchan scenario#bangchan fanfic#bangchan smut#bangchan fic#mafia!bangchan#chris smut#chris scenario#stray kids fic#stray kids bangchan#stray kids smut#stray kids x reader#bangchan x reader#Spotify#iridescentxstars ©#scenario ; bangchan#group ; skz#g ; smut#mafia ; bangchan#au ; mafia
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Yandere Vergil x Female Reader (Royal AU)
Word Count: 1,500?
Warnings: This story contains themes of control, manipulation, forced pregnancy and emotional distress.
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In a world ruled by darkness, where kingdoms trembled at the mention of his name, Vergil stood tall as the demon king. With his piercing blue eyes and an air of commanding authority, he controlled a large group of dangerous individuals who had taken over several kingdoms. None dared to challenge his power.
One fateful day, as Vergil strode through the conquered kingdom, his eyes fell upon a shy villager named [Y/N]. Her [h/c] hair framed her delicate features, and her [e/c] eyes sparkled with innocence. Something about her captivated him, and a possessive desire ignited within him. He knew he had to make her his own.
Demanding that [Y/N] be wedded to him and bear his children, Vergil became increasingly controlling. When she refused, he deemed her a criminal, falsely accusing her of treason against his reign. [Y/N] was locked away in a tower, hidden from the rest of her village, until she agreed to his orders.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. With each passing day, [Y/N]'s spirit grew weaker, crushed under the weight of isolation and manipulation. The villagers were led to believe that she was an evil woman, a threat to their peaceful existence. Rumors spread like wildfire, painting her as a villainess, and the once caring villagers turned their backs on her.
It was a year of torment, and [Y/N] felt her resistance slowly crumbling. The constant presence of Vergil's guards and the whispered words of betrayal from her former friends took their toll. The isolation became unbearable, and her spirit was broken.
In the depths of her despair, [Y/N] made the heart-wrenching decision to accept Vergil's proposal. She would become his bride, bear his children, and forever be bound to the demon king. With trembling hands and tear-filled eyes, she agreed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Vergil, who had been observing [Y/N] from the shadows, watched as she capitulated. A triumphant smirk played on his lips, knowing that he had finally claimed his mate. The next day, he made a grand announcement to his people, standing on the balcony of the kingdom he had conquered.
His voice echoed throughout the city as he addressed his subjects. "My dear subjects, today I unveil the truth that has been hidden from you. Our beloved [Y/N] was not a criminal, but a pawn controlled by a treacherous enemy kingdom that sought to destroy us from within."
As the crowd gasped in shock, Vergil's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. He motioned for [Y/N] to stand beside him, her eyes cast downwards, ashamed and broken. "She was manipulated, forced to commit acts against her will. I, as your king, have saved her from their clutches."
The once-sympathetic villagers stared at [Y/N], their eyes filled with confusion and disbelief. Some felt betrayed, while others hesitated to judge too quickly. The truth had been twisted to serve Vergil's purpose, and he reveled in the power it gave him over [Y/N] and the people.
After that he took her into his personal chambers.
As the days transformed into weeks, a shift occurred in Vergil's demeanor towards [Y/N]. Once he learned of her pregnancy, his obsession took a different form. Instead of tormenting her, he began treating her like a queen, showering her with affection and care.
Vergil would take her on rides down into the village, guarded by his loyal subjects. His arm would be wrapped around her waist, a protective gesture that sent shivers down her spine. In those moments, she could feel his possessive nature and his desire to shield her from any harm.
As they walked through the bustling streets, Vergil would proudly admire [Y/N]'s petite stature compared to his own. He relished in the height difference, reveling in the fact that he could envelop her in his protective embrace. It was a stark contrast to the twisted reality she had grown accustomed to, as if he was acknowledging her vulnerability and cherishing it.
Although this new treatment appeared loving on the surface, [Y/N] couldn't help but wonder if it was just another layer of manipulation. Was this his way of ensuring her compliance, using their unborn child as a tool to solidify his control? Doubts nagged at her, whispering that true love and freedom were still distant dreams.
Despite the glimmers of kindness and tenderness she received, [Y/N] remained a prisoner in her own existence. She yearned to break free from the web of deceit that surrounded her, to rediscover her true self, and to reclaim her independence. She knew that only time would reveal the truth behind Vergil's actions, and she hoped that within the darkness, her strength would shine through.
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Leon Dompteur as a Yandere
Summary:Yan! Leon x gn!Reader how Leon's unhealthy tendencies start in your relationship.
CW: Yan! Content, unhealthy mindsets, mention of blood, major character death, takes place after his route, so minor spoilers
A/N: I woke up in the middle of the night with the series idea of writing the boys as their Yan arc, since I haven't seen a lot of Yan content from ikepri... Low key excited for this!
Other Versions: Yves
It's like when you boil a frog. You fill the pot with cold water, then slowly turn the heat up. The frog never notices and then it's over.
Leon is delusional and protective, and it starts so slowly.
He's always been protective, sure. Considering how quick you seem to be to get yourself into trouble, he's definitely worried that if he takes his eyes off of you, you'll crumble into a million pieces.
At the beginning of your relationship, though, it's as simple as a hand on your lower back when he's worried about someone, or his hand on his sword, or sending Yves or Licht with you when you go out without him.
You can write it off as a new king, who grew up with nothing, wanting to take extra precautions for his future spouse.
One day, you sneak out in the morning to find him the perfect birthday gift. You know he's always a little tense on his birthday, considering it's not even his and is a reminder of how little he knows about himself, so you wanted him to have something special.
And you were in your clothes from your peasant days, Rio by your side, so you thought there would be no harm. You and Leon go out as peasants undisturbed all the time.
The ambush is so well planned, you doubt even Leon would have been ready for it. It's alarming how quickly they are able to grab you, finish Rio off, and knock you out before you can scream.
You wake up in a cellar. Every "morning" (you can't be sure since it's so dark, and no one speaks to you) someone comes to you, and wordlessly attempts to feed you porridge. You resist at first, but by day three you're starving, and starting to lose it after processing what happened. Luckily, they never put anything in the food.
You're down there for a week, before you're woken up to the sounds of shouts and clashing metal. You're soon greeted with a bloody Leon and Chevalier, both of whom seem relieved that you are alive (Chev in his own way).
Leon releases a choked sob after he unties you and scoops you into his arms, whispering to you about how scared he was, how he didn't know what he would do with himself if he'd never seen you again, and suddenly you feel a firm hand on your shoulder.
You turn to look at Chev, who is looking at Leon, and you miss the nod Leon gives him.
He cups your cheeks, and whispers to you that Chev is going to escort you home, don't worry about him, he just has to wrap things up here.
You nod dazedly, as Chev places his hands on your shoulders, and walks you out.
You must have fallen asleep in the carriage, because you wake up in Leon's bed, as Sariel bandages your wrists where the ropes cut you, and Leon watches you with a blank look on his face. When he notices you looking at him, he smiles in pure joy, telling you how everything is okay, and you're safe now.
He tells you how the group was an anti monarchy group that was hoping if they took you they could convince him and his brothers to step down, or kill him if he failed to cooperate.You tell him about Rio, and both him and Sariel express their sadness. They agree to throw a private funeral for him.
It's after the funeral, when you are starting to feel secure in yourself enough to move around again, when Leon calls you into his office. He lovingly takes your hands in his, and tell you how he would like to take some extra precautions. Just to be safe.
You are to be escorted by Chev's men from now on. You're confused. The differences between Leon's men and Chev's men are essentially the differences between the two of them. Leon's men are trained to assess the situation, and proceed in a way that as little are killed and wounded as possible. Chev's men are trained to kill indiscriminately.
It doesn't seem like something Leon would do, so you express your confusion to him. He tells you he doesn't think it will even come up, but it's just in case the worst happens. After all, he can't be sure if that group plans to make a second strike, or if Obsidian will get back at him through you. And until you're married to him, you don't have enough of a title that killing you is treason.
It makes sense, and if it makes him feel better, you'll agree. He doesn't mean any harm by it. He's just as scared as you are. You get it. He's only human after all.
Despite what you knew about them, you didn't expect Chev's men to be so stifling. They stand much closer to you than you would expect, and everything you do is so closely observed. The only time they are lax, is when you are with Leon at the end of the day, and even then they are always right outside the door.
Oh, and that's another new thing. You used to go back and forth between his room and yours. If he was working late, you'd sleep alone in your room. But after the incident, he always wants you in his room. But when he tightly wraps his arms around you in his sleep, and whispers your name, you tell yourself you understand. He's scared. He thought he lost the only thing that has ever been his. Besides, you're engaged anyway. It's certainly alright for you to have one room.
But even if you were to wiggle yourself out of his arms, and get to the door without waking him up, Chev's men are at there waiting. Go back to sleep. It's too early to be up. If there's something you need, one of them can go get it for you.
The walk back to Leon's bed is the walk of shame from your childhood when your parents would yell at you about how it's only three in the morning. And he's always awake by the time you get back. He looks at you concerned, asking if you need anything, and if you're feeling okay, before telling you to just settle back into his arms. He'll protect you.
You decide to ask Chev about the excessive guards. At least maybe he can tell you how soon it will be before they can relax a little bit.
You secure a rare book from your old employer via letter (the guards saw no purpose in you going yourself) and meet up with him in his private library.
He gives you cryptic answers that don't make any sense to you, so you leave more confused than before. But one thing is clear. The guards aren't going anywhere anytime soon.
You don't know when it starts, but soon you are always with Leon. When he's working in his office, you'll either be sitting on his lap or in a chair next to him, depending on if he is meeting with someone. When you're walking from place to place, his hand is always on your lower back. When he's greeting subjects in his throne room, you are sitting in the throne next to him, as though you are already crowned.
Which you are not. For now. Before you know it, wedding plans have been fast tracked, and you're saying "I do." in front of the brothers and Sariel, and Chev's guards. Your family wasn't invited. They were under suspicion for anti-monarchy behavior.
The coronation is somehow even less attended. It's Leon, your guards, and Sariel, signing a document. The word is spread to the people via a proclamation.
Despite always being with him, it feels like you see little of your husband in the early days of your marriage. His mind is always elsewhere as he directs you from place to place. Sometimes his eyes will be with you, but often he's somewhere else, looking through document after document, and muttering a response if you ask him a question.
Despite how the protections on you have been amped up, he still seems to be a good king. Not that you ever go out anymore so that you can ask the people yourself. But you see the documents that cross his desk, and they all look like policies and letters that you expected from him when you chose him to be king.
And it's looking at those that you realize how suffocated you've become. You're the only thing he thinks needs so heavily guarded. You barely have a private moment to yourself, and when you do it's not long before Leon's there.
You decide to talk to him about it. After all, he is your husband. Surely, you can have a rational conversation. And when you start the conversation, he appears to be listening and nodding along to your concerns.
And once you've said your piece, he sets aside whatever he was working with and gently explains that this is only temporary. There's still so much unknown right now, it would be irresponsible of him to loosen things up yet. But he promises soon things can go back to the way they were.
The timing is either cruel or hilarious for Yves to run in and excitedly tell Leon they found the man who single handedly funded your kidnapping. You watch Leon's jaw clench and unclench, before he tells your guards, not you, your guards, to escort you to his room.
You and Yves share a confused glance as you are unceremoniously escorted from the office, and you see Leon collecting his things before going somewhere out of your line of sight.
It's the first time since before you were kidnapped that you are without Leon, and the time is spent alone in his room. Not for lack of trying though. You ask to have Sariel, or Yves, or Licht, or anyone come to keep you company, but the guards are even more stoic and silent than usual.
After three days, where you start to think you might be losing your mind, Leon comes in with a look that gives you dread. It's the look of someone who is about to deliver bad news.
He takes your hands in his, and keeps it simple.
"Things are going to have to stay like this for a little while…"
But…you understand. He's just scared. Him being a king means things have to be tighter. The man Yves said they caught was probably a decoy. You understand…..
Right?
#ikemen prince#ikemen prince x reader#leon dompteur#leon dompteur x reader#yandere ikemen prince#yandere leon dompteur#ikepri#yandere ikepri#yandere ikepri leon
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Love The Attention
Warnings: Gore, violence, cursing, yandere, reader with daddy issues,(aka loves yandere shiggy and havoc he spreads) reciprocated love
Pairing: Yandere Shigaraki X Reader
Have you ever had that moment of looking at someone and you immediately thought-
"This is it..this is the one.."
-while your heart finally feels light and weightless as all worry leaves your body and you can't help but melt?
Well, you just did while watching Shigaraki dust another man, drenched in blood not of his own, but the countless others who dared lay their fingers on you. His face was twisted in rage and disgust as he crumbles man after man in such a short amount of time that it just drove home how powerful he really was. And to be reminded it was all done single-handedly was a horse pill of a thought to swallow to the normal man.
But to say it didn't make your heart beat faster and those silly little flips that your stomach did when you were so happily in love would be a distasetful lie.
He was a fucked up sociopathic killer, known to destroy nations, kill for what he wanted, and for his lack of patience. And you were what he wanted most. He would kill for you, die for you, give you the sun, the moon, the earth, and heaven & hell if you just asked.
To say his dedication and undying loyalty wasn't the most addicting feeling would be another godamn lie. Probably the biggest one out there. After all, who else could say they stole the heart of Japans-no-the worlds most dangerous and powerful man? Who else could say they could have the heads of those they hated on a golden platter presented before them? Who else could say they were the queen/king/ruler of the world beside the devil himself? That's right. No one.
Now. You are hyper aware of how wrong it all is. You love a psychotic killer who has no concept of boundaries and refuses to take 'no' for an answer. Not to mention he is a possesive, obsessive, asshole, stalker who kidnapped you. But the worst part was when you noticed that you didn't care. You had in fact never felt so desired in your life. He made you feel like a deity whereas everyone in your life threw you aside and disregarded you like trash in a city.
You craved his affection. You craved his attention. And above all else, you craved him. Now, it all sounds incredibly bad, but you actually enjoyed it all. Not that you would tell Shigaraki that, afterall, how could you risk him getting bored of you if you let him get everything 'easy'.
Yeah. You were definitely messed up. But so was he to be fair.
"Y/N."
You were snapped out of your trance by the intense and rage filled voice of your captor and lover. You were fucked.
"Y-yes Shiggy?" You looked at him with your doe eyes and fiddle with your hem of your skirt as he stormed over to you. "What did I tell you about escaping?" He snarled cleaning the blood off of his hands. You looked away, "You said-" you began to mumble until he snatched your jaw, with his pinky up, and jerked your head up to look him in the eyes. "Look at me when you speak!" He rasped with a deathly glare. His pupils were shruken to specks and his red irises blended with the splatters of blood on his face. You swallowed heavily. "Y-you said that you would find me no matter where I was.." You nearly whisper as tears flood your eyes. "B-but I wasn't escaping!!" You try to say but his grip tightens on your jaw.
"Liar."
He narrowed his eyes as his upper lip curled into a snarl. "No! This time I swear!! I promise you Shiggy I wasn't trying to leave you! I promise!" You wept as you cupped your hands over his hand on your face and his arm. He only growled in response as he visibly loomed over you, but before he could say anything you gripped his cape and pulled him closely. "You saw I-I didn't go far! I was only trying to get you a surprise because you won that battle recently! B-but then these guys j-jumped me before I could g-get back in time and they started to touch me an call me names and and-" you sniffled as you wept into his chest. You were so shaken up by the men who harassed and attempted to molest you that you were behaving uncharacteristically scared. Even when Shigaraki was angry you were never so shaken up.
He was about to call bluff until he remembered he did see you with a bag before he went on his jealous rage induced killing spree. He looked to the side and saw a Gamestop bag. You really weren't trying to leave? He physically tensed at your next words, "I was so scared Tomura..." You whimpered and burrowed your face deeper into his chest, "I'm sorry I left...I don't want to leave you..I love you." You whisper gently between hiccups, almost mute with how quiet it was, but he heard it loud and clear.
He picked you up bridal style and cradled you, walking over the bag and back in the direction to the hideout. You were about to question him when you looked up to see his face flushed and a soft look took over his previous angry one. "I believe you..now go to sleep, we've got a ways to go." He said surprisingly calm. You rested your head against his chest starting to calm down and as your eyes started to flutter closed you heard him, "I love you more than you could ever understand." He whispered, more so to himself than anything, but you heard him loud and clear. You couldn't stop your smile.
Yup. This is it.
This is the one.
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Sonders YanTober Day 8
Hotel Horror Story
Yandere! Eclair x Reader, Earl Grey x Sonder
“Hey Earl Grey! I found this old book in one of the older hotel rooms..” Sonder says walking up to Earl Grey whose cleaning the front desk off.
“Whats it about?” He asked.
Sonder skims the back of the book, some words are crossed off. “Hm… Royalty, knights, a scholar, ooo and a hotel…. Seems like its about the old kingdom. Remember the one that was taken over by a mad man then it crumbled when he took control? Yeah, that one, the books called My Love for them, wanna read it together?”
“Im a little busy cleaning, do read it aloud for me Dear?”
“My pleasure” Sonder sits in one of the chairs behind the front desk and begins to read aloud.
Once upon a time.
Deep into the unknown forest. The sun does not shine, only the light of the moon. Where dragons roam.
Theres a hotel, hiding away the kingdoms queens first born. They was taken the day they turned eighteen, the day they were supposed to get married to prince of foreign kingdom. Never to be seen again.
Before all this, they were in love with their dear bodyguard, such a forbidden relationship. The knight was hurt beyond belief, a month into his grieving he told his parents he was off to go find you. They pleaded and begged for him to not go, not to risk his life. He continued to get his armor on and left on a journey that will risk him his life. Many knights have went and have never returned.
it was long and tedious journey. bugs would keep the knight from sleep. Monsters coming and going. His chest plate was holding on by a thread it seemed, it did him no good. It covered little to nothing but he still kept it on. His food supply began to dwindle but he never lost confidence or hope.
After days, maybe weeks of walking and fighting. He was just outside the hotel. He noticed no dragons in sight. The outside of the hotel was freezing to the touch. There were lights coming from all around the inside of the hotel.
He began to push the huge doors open, they creaked and fought against him. When he finally got it open enough to get in, he walked in to see an elegant interior. The walls had intricate designs, there were paintings hung all around. As the knight got closer looks, it was you. He walks further into the hotel, the stairs creaked and groaned as he walks up them. He goes to the second floor, the corridor has different wall designs but still theres paintings of you. His cheek started to heat up and heart began to skip beats as he proceeds further in the hotel, the you in the paintings seem to loose more articles of clothing.
the lights at the end seem to not be lit, but by the moon light shining through the windows he can see a door at the end of the hallway, Its made of some type of metal.
The dear knight reached the door, he got a closer a look and the door seems to be rusted in some areas. He tried the door nob, no use. He then tried to shove it open with his shoulder, no use. He fidgeted with the nails to see if he can completely take the door off.
He heard muffled sounds coming from behind the metal door, it came to a stop, he stopped, the door cracked open. From just the crack in door, it seemed to be a bed room. He walked in, you were tied up on the bed, gag covering your mouth. You were in a blue and vanilla outfit, sitting on top of an elegant king sized bed. More paintings filled the room, but it was you with another man.
He looked back over to you when he heard you muffle words. There were tears pooling in your eyes, you kept looking at something behind him and then back at him. He quickly figured out and turned around. There was a man in red stained clothes, sword in hand. But it was too late, the man in red stained clothes stabbed him in the heart, his broken chest plate not provided any protection. You began to scream, still, they were muffled.
The man walked over to you, he was also the man in the paintings, Eclair. His clothes has been stained red over the countless knights that came for you.
Eclair undid you bindings, he kept your gag on. You began to thrash and cry, trying to reach the dead man that layed across the floor. Eclair gripped your wrist tight, pulling you to his chest, blood began to smear on you and your clothes.
Your lover, your suppose-to-be knight in shining armor was you last hope at escaping this hell. So many knights came, all received a similar fate.
You reach for your gag and yank it off. You look Eclair in the eyes, ready to say something. You open your mouth and nothing comes out, tears continue to blur your vision. Eclair looked at you and smiled, not saying a word. He picks you up and places you in chair thats in the corner of the room, his painting chair. He places your dead lovers body next you, then gets a canvas and easel. He grabs his paint and brushes, stands in front of the canvas. Before he starts he says,
“This is a big celebration, your dear bodyguard has been killed, it deserves to be remembered through out history. Once your parents are dead, I’ll paint their heads on pitchforks and hang it for all to see. The entire world deserves to see how much work I put into loving you, but for now, things that happen in the hotel stays in the hotel.”
Sonder stops reading.
“Hm? Why’d you stop reading? I was actually interested..” Earl grey says.
Sonder and Earl Grey are now curled up together with a blanket on a sofa to the side of the hotel lobby. The lights are off besides a small lamp to their left.
“The pages are ripped out… I’ll go back to the room to see if I can find them.” Sonder got up and left for the room.
Some time passed, Earl Grey was getting inpatient. He decided to look around the hotel for Them. He first went to the second floor since those are the oldest rooms in the building. He started calling out their name, no answer. He saw a slightly cracked door at the end of the hallway and went to it.
Some more time passed. Sonder found the pages and went back to the lobby. “Sorry it took so long Earl grey, but I found some more pages and this weird painting of (name)… Earl Grey?” The blanket was on the ground and Earl Grey was not in sight.
Sonder decided to walk up the stair, they knew Earl Grey would probably go looking for them sooner or later. the stairs started squeaking. “Thats weird, that never happens…” They continue down the hallway. “Earl Grey! Earl Grey are you here?”
As Sonder continues, as she gets closer to the end of the hall, the last door slightly cracks open. “Earl Grey! Haha, if you’re trying to scare me you’ll have to do better.” The door fully opens, the silhouette of Earl Grey is seen in the dark. “Oh! Is that the room thats similar in the book? Awesome!” They cheerfully say.
Earl Grey suddenly drops once Sonders basically touching the door, a cookie with a big hat and blood stained clothes is shown. Earl grey was bloody and dead on the ground. They started walks closer to Sonder as they back up. “Wont you tell me where (name) is? You have my painting of them…Give them back..”
Event taglist:
@n0n-gh0stn4ry
#sonders yantober#yandere x reader#yandere cookie run#yandere cookie run ovenbreak#yandere cookie run kingdom#crk#crk x reader#cookie run ovenbreak#cookie run kingdom#cookie run#earl grey x sonder is totally canon#cookie run eclair cookie#eclair cookie#eclair x reader
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The Conqueror (X)
Synopsis: He had conquered everything, anything but your heart.
Pairings: Yandere!King Jungkook x Commoner!servant Reader (FT SANA from Twice and Cha Eunwoo From ASTRO.)
Disclaimer: proceed with caution, this can be triggering. This is purely fictional and this does not represent bts or jungkook irl. Do not romanticise this.
warning: YANDERE, EXTREME DARK CONTENT AHEAD, mentions of a dead body, kinda go*y, suciidal!thinking, mentions of self harm, wanting to die, plot twist, NEW CHARACTER!! triggering themes ahead.
series masterlist.
note. SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS AND FEEDBACK 💗💗💗
taglist: @mageprincess7 @starsggukk @sprinkleoftee @koremis @minshookie29 @cravingforhotchocolate @kookxin @99liners @sana-b @bangtannoonalvg @oonaaurora @jeonsweetpea @sugaslittlekookies @outro-kook @kthyg @lunaashes @debicaptain-saturn @laurynne5 @captainsjoongs @myblackconfessions @lanalanexpjm @namjooncrabs @shadowmoon21 @kookunot @natalie-rdr @angelicasdre @iwasfuckinginnocentonce @mermaidtea @foulnightharmony @ungodlyjoon @quechulitaaa @telepathytae @silversparkles11 @j3alous-ang3l @bunzom @1-in-abillion @breadgeniedope @jiminie-08 @artgukk @lovesthetword @bunijmin @pinkcherrybombs @afangirllikeme-blog @twilight-love-nochu-main @wedarkacademia @hollxe1 @bighitfics @darkuni63 @golden-thv @investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @koocreampie (I can’t tag anymore people, it’s full 😭😭)
Jungkook’s world crumbled right in front of his eyes that were frozen on your body, unshed tears filled his broken gaze as his heart cried for you, the fast beating of his heart made him feel sick. He wanted to throw up, cry and scream, his whole world went blank.
You were his world. And now his world was dark, Jungkook hadn’t realised that fat tears were starting to fall from his eyes. “Y-Y/N n-no…” he whimpered, unbeknownst to him, everyone witnessed the king’s broken self. “N-No no no..” he muttered the words in a small voice, as he gathered your body in his lap, the bloody mess stained his luxurious silk but he didn’t care. “No baby.. y-you can’t die? You c-can’t just die like this and leave me all alone in this disgusting world again?” Jungkook pulled your body further into his warmth, cuddling it closer as much as he could. His curly dark locks covered his bloodshot eyes.
“Y-You can’t leave me… y-you can’t leave me like the rest of them did… I-I won’t allow it… you are mine! M-My whole world, you can’t leave me.”
There was cricket silence in the courtroom. Only Jungkook’s heavy breathing could be heard. Despite many people present, there was pure silence, not even one noise reached his ears in the room. It was dark and gloomy. The room felt really heavy with the tension.
Everyone was cautious around Jungkook, he was like a ticking bomb. Just one wrong word and he’ll explode.
“M-My king! SHUT UP!” Jungkook turned his head around to look at the woman, “SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GET THE FUCK OUT OR I WILL KILL YOU ALL!” He screamed with all his might, his dark thick tone came ringing back to him, the echo boomed around the walls.
His love was dead right in front of his eyes, he saw red.
He glanced at the women who quickly bowed down to him, his eyes searched their faces, Jungkook was desperate, desperate to know if this was just his worst nightmare…
That you were not actually dead. No one could tell what was going on in his mind because his face was hidden under the shadows of his dark hair,
But Jungkook could see all of them, their worried and scared stares. Jungkook’s grip on your limp cold body tightened, “GET OUT!” He growled with anger, spit gathered around his mouth,
His sadness was turning into a rage that would destroy the world within the passing seconds. His words were enough for the consorts and the rest of the staff to excuse themselves.
Jungkook turned his head back around to look at you as soon as he heard the door shut.
And he felt the same sick feeling in the pit of stomach, his heart ached like someone had repeatedly pierced it out, his heart was burning in agony, “Y-Y/N!” Loneliness surrounded him, he couldn’t bring himself to think straight.
There was only one thing going on in his mind.
You were gone.
“Y-Y/N NO!!” A broken sob left his chest as he finally let it out, bringing his face to your bloody one, his voice was weak, his breathing was uneven, he wanted to die in your cold arms,
The cries left his heavy chest one by one, each sounding more and more broken, and pathetic, jungkook felt utterly helpless. “WHY! WHY WHY!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, his body was shaking uncontrollably, his head was pounding.
His soul felt dead.
Jungkook’s body fell onto your cold one as he let lose, the loud crying noises made his head hurt even more, his grip on your dead body tightened, jungkook couldn’t bring himself to believe that you were dead, that someone dared to murder you,
That you were dead and you won’t ever come back to him,
Never ever.
“I-I’ll kill them all for you! I will find the one who killed you and skin them alive!” He sighed. The body was now starting to rot.
Jungkook lifted his head up, angry tears filled his red eyes, some of them had dried, the feeling of your cold frozen body against his warm one only reminded him of one thing.
And that was revenge.
Jungkook got up, with shaking legs, “GUARDS!” He roared. He wiped away his tears. His sadness was turning into a sadistic rage. He glanced at the corpse once more.
“I’ll kill everyone if I have to, for you, my sweet Y/N.” A dark chuckle left him.
The man sat inside the stable, staring into the void, his eyes held no emotion, it was dark. Just like his thoughts. Not a single soul caught his eye, he was unable to think clearly, his mind was empty.
The sound of the night birds and some wild animals growling reached his ears, it didn’t scare him though, he was used to them.
He didn’t care if they’d come out right now and rip his body apart in countless pieces.
He didn’t care if they’ll attack him, he didn’t care if he’d die tonight.
He could only wish that he'd die tonight and this agony would be over for once and all, his stable boots were dirty, his clothes sweaty.
The man was falling into a deep depression, it had been so many days, it was almost the winter. He tapped his feet on the dirty ground, unable to think clearly. “Where are you..” he muttered to himself, talking to himself had become a serious problem. The man felt like he was on the edge of actually going insane.
He wanted to kill himself every second of the day, because there was no point for him to live anymore.
You were dead, taken away from him, That day, he watched as they killed your whole family, your fathers terrified stare, your little sister's desperate pleas and your mothers cries.
He could remember it all, your fiancé was unable to forget, because it was the last thing he’d seen after losing his consciousness.
Your father wanted Jaehyun to become your suitor, you did not even know it, because of the circumstances, but Jaehyun had always been in love with you for as long as he could remember, although you saw him as a friend.
You were the only woman in his heart, even though you were not aware of his deep affections for you. Jaehyun was a good man, young, handsome and financially stable.
He was perfect for you, he was skilled, a talented sketch maker, a responsible stable man and a good polite young lad.
Your father saw that, but you never did. He even hung the portrait that your suitor made of you in his flower shop.
Jaehyun remembers it all, that day when the tragedy happened,
when he finally woke up? You were nowhere to be found between the countless dead bodies.
Jaehyun couldn’t find you.
Jaehyun took a deep breath, his heart was still not ready to accept the fact that you weren’t with him anymore.
He slowly got up from the stable bush, the night was cold and dark, it was better to go home. His thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone, Jaehyun was unable to let you go from his mind. He walked and walked after locking up his stable. The roads were bumpy and dark.
But the cold air made him breathe better. He only walked and walked, his tired feet had taken him far, hours passed by, the night quickly transformed into early morning.
It was after the morning light, he realised.
He was near Busan. His gaze turned from emotionless to shocked as he found himself between the old jungle.
“Oh my god…” he whispered to himself, he turned around to look at the familiar place. The sound of the cold breeze was all he heard, Jaehyun needed to leave and go back, his father would be so worried.
Jaehyun turned on his back to leave, until.
“H-Help! Is someone there please help me!” A shiver went down Jaehyuns spine as he heard a female voice, his head whipped to the side, his heart skipped a beat.
“Please help!” The voice cried again, Jaehyuns head hurt upon hearing it, no… this couldn’t be true.
The voice was yours.
#bts smut#jungkook smut#jungkook x reader#bts x reader#yandere bts#bts#jungkook#jeon jungkook#yandere kpop#yandere jungkook#bts fanfic#jungkook fanfic#jungkook fanfiction#yandere smut#yandere x reader#jungkook x you#bts ff#jungkook ff#jeongguk smut#jungkook imagines#yandere lemon#bangtan smut#bangtan sonyeondan#jjk x reader#jjk x you#yandere au#jungkook au#jungkook scenarios#bangtan fic#jungkook fic
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𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞
— bonten!sano manjirou x reader x haruchiyo sanzu
contains smut ((🔞)) and dark themes || 7k+ wc.
tw violence/gore, drug use, yandere undertones, noncon, degradation, dacryphilia, toxic/unhealthy relationships, physical violence/choking, hair-pulling, exhibitionism, size kink, facefucking, mild corruption kink, lmk if i missed anything
// mikey keeps you around because he loves you. he thinks you’re the epitome of undeniable purity, with pretty angel wings like ivory — soft and dewy, most naive to the touch and begging to be held and cherished. but it’s too bad, really, because he only knows how to take.
// you think he’s got you on borrowed time; haruchiyo thinks he knows what’s best for his dearest leader.
note: please read the warnings carefully! this is a whole lot darker than what i usually write ๑´ ³`)ﾉ it’s the first part of a multi-part series i’m planning on writing, idk just seeing where this goes at the moment
if you read for mikey there’s a lot of smut, if you read for chiyo there’s just… a lot of him hating on you <3 but it won’t stay that way hehe
snapshot ;
Have you heard of this saying? Only a diamond can cut another diamond. Mikey glances at your doll-like face and figures there are two stuffed right inside your eye sockets — those ‘pretty eyes’ that Haruchiyo warned would one day be gouged out — to match the toughened gem of his heart. People think of him as the grim reaper with that malignant glint in his eyes, the last sight ghosting behind their eyelids before their lives were extinguished without a care or a hint of sanity; but truth be told, even the grim reaper has his soft underbelly.
∗
His body prickles all over and the only way Haruchiyo knows to fix it is to destroy destroy destroy — but when he settles for his unsuspecting victim for the night, a young maiden that looks suspiciously similar to you, he can’t help but imagine that it’s your face that he ruins beyond recognition, your cries that flutter like a sweet melody in his ears —
He has all the time in the world.
Your lover, the untouchable Sano Manjirou, is a little rough around the edges.
But if you were to paint a picture of his heart — a vivid, true-to-life picture of his ticking heart — you’d splay every inch of the canvas with brilliant watercolours; make it shine and glimmer pretty, like a chatoyant, tear-shaped crystal sitting numbly in your palm.
And criss-crossed and braided like a twined thread into its crystalline lattice, is a rich rich crimson.
The kind of crimson that’s thick and sticky and warm and won’t go away no matter how many times you put it through the washing machine. Unsalvageable — like the red that flows through every blood vessel in his body, jagged icicles branching out like vines under his skin — promising to one day burst, to splinter his bones and tear his innards to ribbons, should he forsake those dark dark desires of his. And all for what?
To hold him hostage. To shred. To make sure that he stays broken in a world where beauty will only be tarnished.
You can tell that much, because you’ve seen it happening in slow motion, unfurling right before your wide eyes; the gentle, excruciating, deconstruction of a paper crane — the way he fell apart gradually, slowly, the bird’s delicate feathers all crumbling to dust in the wind. That is how he has come to be the indisputable king, the very top of Japan’s worst criminal organisation to date, with his roots dug deep into a life of treachery. That is how you ache, deep and painfully, from the very core of your being, because no matter what you did, it had been inevitable.
He knows them like he knows you — the little voices leeching off the back of his mind whispering tiny, macabre yearning. He used to fight them, used to have outbursts in the middle of the night screaming back at them, used to be so disgusted with himself that he couldn’t even bring himself to confide in your panicked pleas to tell me what’s wrong.
Until the day he got too tired to pluck the little fuckers off, so he left them to thrive on his raw, puckered skin.
Now the soft, beating tissue exists no longer. You’re the only one who’s ever seen his heart in the flesh, despite the rumours that he was born without one. Because he, now rising twenty-seven and no longer the tender boy you once knew, wears apathy like a crown atop his pretty head — cold eyes flickering like a dying flame whenever he blows lightly at the smoke rising from a loaded gun, slinking away in silence only to leave a mangled corpse slumped in the corner of a nondescript alleyway. Left to bleed out. Left to rot.
It’s not rare that he comes home caked in that sticky red that you hate so much. A frown ghosting over his lips, his hair all mussed from the day’s work. Some of the blood’s his, some is not. He looks like a zombie, with a body that’s been hollowed out entirely of its internal organs.
The scene of him stumbling through the doorway has your heart leaping to your throat.
Thin fingers grasp at air, like tendrils stretching across the open space, feeling around until they make contact with your stiffened shoulders. He pulls you in, cages you in his arms without a word, clutching your head in a vice grip and breathing heavily through his mouth — and you’re too scared to ask what happened. No one ever told you how icky blood feels when it’s pressed right up against your cheek or how nauseating the smell of iron can be, he simply let you find out for yourself.
You force your muscles to lean into his touch, nuzzling your head into his chest and fighting the urge to wince. You tell him in a shaky voice that the bath’s ready and he must be tired, isn’t he? and let him stay like this a little longer, squeezing your eyes shut and swallowing hard, so you can tune out his heartbeat pounding so desperately against your head like a dizzying metronome.
So you can somehow pretend that everything’s fine and okay, even though his body count will never stop rising and rising and rising like the swelling summer tide. As if each life stolen by his hands is merely a drop in the ocean of a malice that knows no bounds, knows no satisfaction, no fulfilment.
You wonder, off-handedly, as his nails dig into your scalp, when the time will come when he decides to turn you into one of them.
But what can you do?
You let him caress your cheek, with a bloodied thumb and a hollowness shadowed in those familiar eyes. Somewhere in there is the man you’ve loved since your high school days. You love him. So when he bleeds, so do you — when he bleeds, you’re the only one who’s left to cauterise the wound, the one that never heals, the one that hides beneath the thick membrane of his skin.
But it’s truly a shame he doesn’t bother to pull wool over your eyes anymore. Doesn’t clean up before stepping into the penthouse. Doesn’t make excuses for the chip on his shoulder dripping scarlet. Doesn’t tell you which disobedient pawn he shot in the head today either — but you’ll find out on the news real soon.
∗
Sinking into the porcelain bathtub, you don’t bring up the fact that he’s spoken less than three words to you tonight — even as you rub his back and slather him with the intoxicating scent of lavender and pink roses, little fingers coasting over his pale skin in an effort to coddle him. Your thighs straddle his hips as you massage small circles over the tiny cuts that litter his forearm. He doesn’t get hurt often; only does so on purpose when he feels particularly sadistic and wants to watch his prey struggle before their last breath.
Iridescent bubbles pepper along the curve of your shoulders and reddish bathwater laps at your thighs, with your bare body glistening in the dancing candle light. It’s almost muscle memory at this point — you dip your hands into the water, letting the impurities dissolve into the murky foam soaking your bodies, then squeeze a portion of sweet-smelling soap on your palm, smearing it all over his scalp as your fingers comb through his damp hair. Rinse and repeat — until all visible proof of his bloodlust liquefies into a translucent pink.
The smell of iron hits the air but it’s easier to ignore when the soap bubbles quickly drown it out. Something strange is brewing under his tepid gaze, and you’re none the wiser. Something lurks underneath the shallowness of his breaths, as you lovingly knead your fingers through his silver tresses, and you’re nothing if not oblivious.
You can’t help but hum a little as you reach over to unclog the bathtub, your voice melding with the sound of rushing water and echoing off smooth marbled porcelain walls. Pink and red swirls down the drain like a cyclone; you smile a little as you start to douse him in lukewarm water flowing from the tap, delicate hands coasting over his slick skin. Your movements are natural — doting.
Something is wrong.
He feels an unnameable emotion creeping up on him. Feels his skin start to prickle like fire everywhere your soft fingers ghost over. Feels a compulsion — fed by your little form hovering over his body, bare skin shining with droplets of water, so perfect and so vulnerable, ripe for the taking — so horrible it makes his jaw clench.
He watches you bend over the tub to reach for a towel and feels the raw, aching need to break something.
∗
Your vision has been plundered, stolen — you know this to be the irrevocable truth.
He used to hoist you up in his arms and promise you the world; and you’ve got the world alright. But at what cost? You can only view it through a foggy lens of your own creation — through the mist-soaked glass precipitated from the memories that you will eternally hold of a time when he was sweeter. Gentler. Now he isn’t, not ever. Not unless his praise and his affection is dipped in sleet and rolled over in filth first.
When he drags you by your hair, still dripping and damp from the shower, past the pristine hallways and all the way to his lush bed, you’re sure this little game is about to come to an end.
“You’re so fucking pathetic, you know? I could kill you right now.” He’s livid, eyes clouded with fury when he shoves you onto the pillowy mattress. Why?
“Gonna let my fingers curl ‘round your pretty little neck, so fragile that it’ll snap in a second. You’ll let me, won’t you? Let me take that precious, pathetic life of yours?”
But he wouldn’t. Would he? No. You know he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t — h-he wouldn’t.
“It’s all you’re good for anyway, being my little toy.”
But even so, even so you can’t help the wetness pricking your eyes, the broken sobs that escape from your quivering lips — the cherry red lips that he bites and punctures until they bleed. Why? Why is he being like this? He pushes your knees to your chest, his lithe body bathed in the silver sheen of moonlight. He wastes no time with prep, wrenching a deep cry out of you as his cock breaches your folds painfully, his eyes reduced to cruel slits like rifts cut from a pitch-black void. When he sees the teardrops beading at your lashes his scowl only widens.
Why, why, why?
Stupid and naive — because you were stupid and naive to think that you could be strong for him. You wanted to be strong, stronger than anything, so that you could be his strongest pillar to rely on when the waves came crashing down; so that he didn’t have to rely on hurting others just for his own amusement, so that he could come to you instead — you, who promised him the world as long as he stayed in yours.
But now you see. Through that hideous, fogged-up lens, you see.
It was the vestiges of sentimentality clinging onto his heart, telling him to bide his time before disposing of you for good. Just to use up every single last drop of you. See if your puny life could ever amount to anything worthwhile in his eyes. After all, how could someone like you possibly hold his genuine affection? How could he stare at you with such contempt in his eyes and hiss at you with a tone laden with such coldness, and —
How could he rut his hips against yours so deep it hurts, and still call you his lover?
“The hell you crying for? Thought you loved me enough to take it, huh?” he snarls with his fangs bared, fingers grabbing fistfuls of your hair. When he pulls out and rams back his thick cock back in it feels like he’s snatching the breath away from your very lungs, pulling strangled sobs from you as you’re left helpless to stop him. And no, oh no, since when has his roughness left you feeling so hot? So reciprocative as he grunts a string of insults, so aroused as his rough hands come to pinch at your hardened buds?
Oh no, he’s got you all messed up too, hasn’t he?
But he always fills you up so good — always makes sure you cum so hard that you’re dizzy and drooling onto the silken bedsheets; makes sure that your speech is diminished only to screams and whimpers and cries of his name, pussy ruined with buckets of thick cum oozing out — all messed up for him, just as you should be.
“T-too much too much too much,” you whimper, tiny hands pawing and beating at his chest in a feeble attempt for mercy, only to be slapped away with a deep deep snarl. “‘S too much, Mikey—”
Why can’t you see? Why can’t you see that he needs you? He’s seething when his hand cinches around your throat, fingers wringing volumes of air out of your dented windpipe as you cry out. His nails burrow into the unmarred skin, leaving crescent-shaped indents in their wake. It hurts like hell and your vision’s gone blurry with tears and when you try to claw at his hand he only pins you down with a growl and everything’s gone blurry. Everything about him hurts like hell.
“Whiny little bitch.”
His grip wanes, if only to let the smallest amount of oxygen reach your lungs, as if dead set on squeezing the very life out of your body. His brutal thrusts are unrelenting, cockhead penetrating to a near painful degree the gummy walls of your womb, again and again igniting a rapid heat in your core that only serves to make you spiral further into scatterbrained madness. Everything’s spinning and tunnelling into hues of black and white — if not because of his hand seized around your neck then because he’s fucking you way too good than you deserve.
Your heart feels like it’s about to give out, about to burst into shreds right in front of him, but your body is honest. Gossamer strands of your juices coat his length when he pistons into you, sickening squelches that echo in the room reminding you of your own depravity. When your mouth drops open to moan only raspy cries claw their way out of the sandpaper stuck to the back of your throat. He’s got you trapped by his thighs, locking you in a position that has his cock ramming incessantly against the tiny opening of your cervix, a decadent gleam flashing across his maniacal eyes as he towers over your abused body.
You love him.
Even though he’s not gentle at all. Even though he thinks you’re prettiest when you’re battered and bruised by his hands. Even though he spits in your face when you gasp for air and let out strangled pleas, grinding against your clit harder when you cry in overstimulation and hot tears streak non-stop down the apples of your cheeks.
You’re getting close, and the harder your body thrashes, the harder your walls clamp down on his girth, the meaner he gets. The more he gnaws and tears at your supple skin with his teeth. The faster his twisted affection rears its ugly head, in the colour of withered roses carved like permanent brandings into your body. His body.
“Christ—so fucking tight, baby.” His chest heaves, beads of sweat glittering under the moonlight. “A-ah, fuck—you’re mine, all fucking mine. Say it. Say it, fucking whore.”
“Y-yours, yours, all y-yours,” you rasp, mouth gaping wide as you fight to draw in breath after breath. He bends your boneless, pliant body to his will, forcing your knees to press up further against your shoulders, rutting into you so hard you feel like snapping in half.
One hand relinquishes its grip holding down your wrists only for him to force his fingers through your drool-slicked lips, tracing the ridges of your canines and hooking against the roof of your mouth until they’re drenched in saliva. You wheeze around his digits, letting out gargled cries when his fingers flatten against your tongue.
“All sloppy and wet for me, aren’t you? Should’ve—known—you’re such a whore for my cock. C’mon, say ah, baby. You like this, don’t you? You little whore,” he grates, each word accentuated with a snap of his hips, fingers prodding forcefully at the back of your throat just enough to make you gag and cry harder. You whine and mewl into his fingers, babbling faint agreements as trails of saliva dribble out the edges of your mouth.
Your head’s been stuffed with bales of cotton, clouded with lust-filled haze and a syrupy, golden, animalistic desire to fuck yourself stupid on his leaking cock. He’s panting lightly and silvery strands of hair stick to his forehead and neck, and even in your half-lidded, teary euphoria you’re still captivated by his beauty.
Pretty, pretty, pretty — even when fractured into diluted shards of glass, tiny reflections staring back at you in each one, he’s still the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen on earth.
“Gonna fucking ruin you, and you better enjoy every second of it,” he snarls, flexing his fingers on your neck. You choke on a moan as his grip tightens and tightens, feeling more tears welling up and tumbling down your cheeks. Stop, please, please. You can’t — you can’t take any more! — you’ll snap! you’ll —
Frenzied thoughts rush to fill bottomless gaps in your mind — buzzing like static electricity in your eardrums when your head strains to break free from his iron grip. But the more you struggle the darker your vision gets, the faster you tumble headfirst into sweet excruciating asphyxia, and he revels in it, with a sick sick glitter to his eyes, the same one he gets just before slicing the throats of his wriggling victims.
The bedroom spirals into varied tones of black — you can’t make out his face anymore even as you desperately try to fight off the heaviness shackling your every limb, body thrashing to no avail, your choked cries filling the room as you scour for any sliver, any morsel of air that can scrape through your cinched throat. It’s no good.
He stutters and lets out a long, drawn-out groan, and with a heavy thrust, his warm seed bursts and spills into your insides, filling you up with ropes of white-hot cum. Your eyes roll to the back of your head in response, toes curling as lurid colour flashes behind your eyelids. You’re cumming, you think — there’s so much liquid gushing from your abused cunt that you can’t stop trembling from head to toe, muscles spasming as shadowy blotches start to cloud your vision.
Then it stops.
His cruelty fades obscurely into non-existence. He relents his serpent’s chokehold on your fragile neck. You cough and splutter loudly as at long last your lungs flood with sweet oxygen, grappling to retrieve each and every one of your senses even as the world continues to flicker in and out of view. Every fibre of your body seizes, your fingers twisting the sheets, the abused muscle on your neck contracting and throbbing, with a familiar purple bruise blooming in the shape of his fingers — it won’t be going away in the morning.
His taunts ring upon deaf ears as your hands fly up to clutch your neck in pain. Jagged coughs rack your chest, legs still quivering in the afterglow of your orgasm, whitish fluid marking an irreparable mess between your thighs. A thumb swipes at the tears still cascading down your cheeks in multitudes, and a tight grip on your hand tethers you back to reality. Slowly, in a mockery of gentleness, he peels your hands away from your neck, lacing your fingers with his instead.
You feel fuzzy. All you hear is shrill ringing and your blood pumping in your ears until he calls your name.
“Hey. Look at me,” he says, tapping your cheek, when the sharpness in his gaze has dulled to a low, biting flame. When the fire has quelled and all that’s left is the saccharine ivory that burns exposed, licking gently in spurts at your stinging wounds — in his hand smoothing out your still damp tresses, his fingers wiping away your tears and snot and saliva, and his lips pressing a fleeting kiss to your temple in what feels like a quiet descent into mourning.
Your laboured breathing brings a hazy smile to his face. He traces the line of your jaw and brings your panting mouth to melt against his. Forceful, like always, but tenderly so.
“You’re okay, sweetheart.”
That’s right. You’re okay, you’re breathing. You can breathe. You’re okay because you think you know what he really means — I love you, laced in the way his fingers still latch onto yours, his lips ghosting over every tender wound he has left tonight, until your breathing stills and your eyes flutter shut with exhaustion. You’re okay.
“Don’t die on me yet,” he mumbles, when he thinks you’re half asleep. You think you know what he means.
Wishful thinking.
∗
His fingers pause halfway when they’re threaded in your hair. All you hear is his warm breath brushing against your ear, not a single moving muscle in his thighs where you’re seated pretty on his lap. The uneasy feeling in your gut hardens into lead at the possibility of having said something wrong — like the crushed-up petals of a hydrangea flower, glued like thick sludge to the back of your throat, absorbing wholly whatever noise that tries to escape from within.
Why haven’t you killed me yet? — you asked.
Sometimes when you’re both alone in his oversized office he likes to reward you with soft kisses to your ear, nibbling on the tender cartilage and whispering if it’s okay to let your husband play with your pretty hair for a little while. You always say yes — you wouldn’t be caught dead refusing an offer of his affection. It’s rare, so rare, akin to trapping a single lightning strike in a glass bottle. When you’re alone he is painfully gentle, even with his insults that cut superficial on your heart — because you think you know what he really means.
But sometimes the hesitant truth can spill out where there is even the tiniest of openings, cutting a clear stream through the muddled fog of your inhibitions.
Not you. Never you — his answer doesn’t come out, because he is still as stone.
A hand steals out to rub against your cheek. You force down the snarling urge to incline your head into his touch as he presses his fingers to the soft skin. He coos your name hoarsely, as if he thinks it’s utterly ridiculous what you’ve just asked him — and the sound of his voice, how it drops a tired little octave, flits around in your ears like the flutter of a dove’s wings.
There’s a thud at the door; your body stiffens. Your eyes dart to the source of the disturbance — two short thumps, ones that belong to someone you recognise immediately from the curt sound. Mikey’s eyes narrow, though it’s not like you can see, and he growls something under his breath before issuing the order to come in. (You’re a little disappointed that the conversation was cut short.)
It’s his second-in-command. He strides through the towering, gold-embellished doors with an air of indifference, bowing with a polite greeting before beginning to recite a well-rehearsed report on Bonten’s shiny new project. One that involves a boatload of cash and a landfill of body bags, you surmise with a frown. You push down the fluttering unease in your belly, dropping your gaze and hyper-focusing on Mikey’s grip around your waist, his fingers toying with a strand of your hair as he listens with impeccable silence.
Today he has you clad in his favourite babydoll. It is ravishing as it is expensive, adorned with pretty white lace that flows just perfectly like fine silk along your soft curves, but it’s also thin and skimpy and barely leaves enough for the imagination — and you rarely get through the day without having it ripped from your body, so that his hands are free to wander between the silken skin of your thighs during every important meeting, playing with your little nub to hear your kitten-like whimpers as his placid executives collectively avert their gazes.
Whatever shred of modesty you possessed, he’d forced you to abandon. Now all that’s left is the pliant, submissive doll that he’s moulded to fit his every need, obey his every beck and call — his perfect girl.
His fingers toy with the hem of your nightgown, your breath hitching as he nudges your legs apart with a jerk of his knee. His hand starts to gravitate to where you dread the most — where your heat pulsates the most. Goosebumps feather up on your skin as he brushes his knuckles against your clothed cunt and you let out a tiny noise of surprise, eliciting a breathy chuckle from the man. Haruchiyo looks increasingly disgruntled as his boss merely replies with non-committal grunts to his words, attention being focused solely on you writhing on his lap.
And another thing, Haruchiyo clears his throat, it’s just the slightest bit unprofessional, what he’s doing. His executives may be desensitised but the other, newer business associates are not. Keeping a woman, a fucktoy, in such confidential quarters, where every twist and convulsion in the underground network surrounding Bonten is buried to the hilt, is not exactly a good idea. Not to say that he doesn’t respect Mikey’s wishes, he does, but given your… weak nature, there’s no telling when some other rival crime boss (like there are any, Mikey rolls his eyes) will swoop in and kidnap you — torture you, wring every single important, fatal secret out of your pretty eyes as they gouge them out one by one.
(That’s just a shame, isn’t it?)
Fucktoy. Weak. His words cut deep in your chest, especially when your supposed husband does nothing to refute them. Smirks, even. You can hear it in his voice.
“Don’t, fucking, care. If anyone tries, I’ll have their head on a platter.” He pushes your panties aside, scraping the pad of his finger against your clit idly, drawing breathy pants from you as you start to squirm on his lap. “Anything else before you leave? Or do you wanna keep talking my fucking ears off.” Haruchiyo’s eyes reflect red as he regards you, perched all whimpering and cowering on his King’s lap, with a cold stare that you only recognise as pure, unadulterated scorn.
“No, my king,” the subordinate grits through clenched teeth, straining a bow. “I shall leave as you wish.” He turns and heads for the door, the soles of his shoes thudding against carpet and clicking against glossy marble. You don’t miss the way his scarred lips are curled into a sneer just as he takes one final look at you, fingers stretched taut over the golden door handle. You swallow down a choked cry, feeling an unspeakable fear penetrating deep into your bones, but Mikey merely raises a brow.
“Well? Quit starin’,” he says, low and grating. Voided eyes belying unspoken wrath as his arm tightens around you unconsciously. “Unless you want me to put a hole in your damn head.”
∗
God, does he fucking hate you.
Haruchiyo doesn’t think he’s an evil person. Aggressive and the tiniest bit sadistic, yes, but after all; everything he does, everyone he kills, he does so in the name of his indisputable king — his raison d’être. If Mikey were to order him to slaughter every single living soul in the fifty-storey building he would gladly do so without a tremor of hesitation. He’s fucking unhinged where his dedication is concerned.
How evil could he be, then, to want to strip his king of all his weaknesses? So that he’d be guaranteed absolute control — stay at the very top forever, overseeing his inferior subjects with a bloodied, unyielding fist? (Ah, the thought might just send shivers down his spine.)
There was no reason for him to let you live, he deduces.
He knew this for a fact since the first time he laid his eyes upon your meek form. You were more timid back then, dainty little legs dangling off Mikey’s lap where he held you on display, your fingers twisted into his shirt with his jacket hanging off — no, engulfing — your shoulders, burying your head into his chest to shy away from sharpened gazes though it was obvious that you alone held the centre of attention in the room.
His king barely betrayed any emotion, merely ran his fingers up your jaw and ordered you to lift your head. Looks like you have an audience, he said, and even then, as Haruchiyo watched you quiver and avert your gaze anywhere but them, he felt a strange sensation welling up from beneath his outer layer of skin.
There was something about the way you often clung to his king as if he were your lifeline, something about the panicked, fearful gleam in your eyes whenever they met his by accident, in the scarce moments when you passed him in the halls without Mikey for once, that plucked and tore at his nerves in a disgusting, wretched way — like a bitter spat accumulating clump by clump on his stomach lining.
When he leaves the office (or rather, gets kicked out) his teeth grind on instinct. It’s been years and still, the answer is left far out of his reach. What is it about you that has his boss wrapped right around your finger? You’re weak as hell the way he sees it, no one could give a shit if you died — because he knows, no one has come searching for you in the four years you’ve been roaming the Bonten building like Mikey’s shadow.
He jabs his finger at one of the elevator buttons, biting back a hiss at the immense throbbing at the back of his skull. Doesn’t know where he’s headed but he doesn’t care as long as he gets out of these suffocating walls. Something is tingling like a bluish flame — something under his skin is itching like an old scab and it’s near unbearable like always. He reaches into his breast pocket, feels around for the little pills that he adores so much, and breathes a long, heavy sigh.
Slender fingers toy with a pretty two-toned capsule. He flicks it between his thumb and forefinger, eyeing the puny little thing before plopping it into his mouth, swallowing it dry.
Let it be known that his loyalty is written in blood; he would have your silky entrails littering the spotless hallways of the sprawling establishment if it were up to him.
He has plenty of time to get rid of you, he thinks, as the elevator dings and he’s stepping out the doors with a putrid scowl on his face. For now he plays the waiting game, merely seeking to chase the bubbling desire surging through his veins; the one that tempts him in a sultry voice to watch the decay of butchered skin on bleached bone.
His body prickles all over and the only way Haruchiyo knows to fix it is to destroy destroy destroy — but when he settles for his unsuspecting victim for the night, a young maiden that looks suspiciously similar to you, he can’t help but imagine that it’s your face that he ruins beyond recognition, your cries that flutter like a sweet melody in his ears —
He has all the time in the world.
∗
Have you heard of this saying? Only a diamond can cut another diamond. Mikey glances at your doll-like face and figures there are two stuffed right inside your eye sockets — those ‘pretty eyes’ that Haruchiyo warned would be gouged out — to match the toughened gem of his heart. People think of him as the grim reaper with that malignant glint in his eyes, the last sight ghosting behind their eyelids before their lives were extinguished without a care or a hint of sanity; but truth be told, even the grim reaper has his soft underbelly.
And if there ever is a modicum of doubt, he’ll gladly admit it. When he made you see stars for the first time, cumming so hard on his cock and begging so prettily that his world began spinning in colourised euphoria, he knew then how it felt like to have every semblance of control pried from his scarred, shaking fingertips, hurtling him headfirst into an addiction worse than any drug — love.
Love is written in the way he adores to fuck you within an inch of losing your sanity. Love is sprinkled into his callous quips of how fucking useless you are without him, how much you depend on him — so much so that he couldn’t leave you for a second lest you run off and die by yourself. Love is every ounce of taking and taking as it is giving, but even when he’s giving he expects to be repaid a hundred times more.
And it’s too bad that, no matter how much you beg, no matter how much you cry for him, there will never be a happy ending, filled with conventional love and softness, for either of you.
His fingers retract from your head.
“On your knees,” he commands softly, and all he has to do is count to three in his head before you’re snapping out of your daze, scrambling off his lap and onto the floor, dropping to your knees like the obedient little pet you are. Like the pet he made you to be. He feels an odd pride well up at your complete lack of hesitation, a sick satisfaction that you no longer flinch when he slides his hand comfortably around your bruised neck.
“Did I do something wrong?” Your voice is barely above a trembling whisper, sending soft vibrations drumming against his fingers. He looks into your wide eyes, brimming with fear, and almost wants to coo in condescending adoration.
Oh, how could he tarnish something so pure? How could he desire, from the very depths of his soul, to pluck from its very stem, the most delicate flower there exists, only to rip off every single glistening petal? To tear you apart again and again, yet convince you that you’re absolutely nothing without him?
He loves you, that’s how.
Neither Haruchiyo, nor any of those repulsive ‘business associates’, can ever begin to comprehend this simple fact. They will never comprehend, with those golf-ball sized brains they have encased within their thick skulls, because he’ll have them all in cardboard coffins by the time the thought crosses their minds to lay even a single finger on a strand of your hair.
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong, darling. Nothing at all.”
He smiles down at you, giving your neck a soft squeeze, and it’s genuine, you think. Like a sliver of sunlight, refracted by his crystalline heart. Your shoulders relax a little as you reciprocate a tiny smile; his eyes soften.
This is love.
He rubs his heel against your calf in a silent prompt. You take the hint almost immediately, trembling fingers reaching towards the growing bulge in his pants, cheeks flushing bright red as you palm his cock lightly. “C-can I…” You look to him shyly for permission, fluttering lashes framing your pretty eyes, and he almost feels his heart melt.
“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he purrs, a hand reaching down to engulf the back of your head. You swallow the lump in your throat and nibble on your lip, before unbuckling his belt and tugging down the waistband to reveal his hardened length.
“Think you can take me whole?” he coos, fingers digging into your scalp, coaxing you forward. It feels more like a statement than a question now; your tongue darts out to wet your lips at the sight of whitish precum beading at the tip, your head inching closer to give it an experimental lick.
He groans, a deep and breathy sound that has you feeling giddy with joy, but he can only be so patient. With a sudden force his fingers are shoving you face-first into his cock, paying no heed to your surprised squeals to slow down as he presses you deeper into your warm mouth. The back of your throat burns at the jarring intrusion, bringing a fresh onslaught of tears rolling down your cheeks as you gag violently.
Your jaw struggles to widen to accommodate his thick length — you’re breathing heavily through your nose as his movements increase in fervency, not once giving you a moment of respite. Drool trickles down the sides of your mouth; you let loose a string of muffled moans and choked mewls as his cockhead juts roughly against the back of your throat.
Hands twisting into your hair for leverage, he forces your lips to continue dragging in and out from the base of his cock, gruffly ordering you to use your tongue and your hands. You fight to whimper a small ‘yes’, palms cupping his balls and massaging softly, your tongue trying hard to swirl at the tip whenever he pulls out — just the way he likes it.
“God— you were made for this.” His fingers tense and shakily press you in further as his hips buck up ever so slightly, mouth dropping open and heady groans hitting the air. “Taking me—real good, my little cockslut—fuck—that’s it, babe.”
He’s dead set on chasing his own high, muffling you against his dick unabashedly, as your stomach churns heavy with anxiety. Anyone could walk in and catch you now — catch you red-handed, with your mouth stuffed full of their boss’ cock, whining so lewdly and drooling so messily it drips all over the designer carpet. You have no idea if the spotless walls are soundproof — almost everything about Bonten and its headquarters is kept from you (that, or you’ve just gotten extremely good at tuning out every single tedious meeting), but if there’s anything you’re sure of, you’re certain that everyone knows better than to disrupt Mikey’s alone time with you.
He throws his head back, allowing you the gorgeous view of his sharp jaw, tiny beads of sweat glimmering like shards of diamonds down his neck. “Fucking hell, princess,” he breathes shakily, and you know that he’s close. His thrusts get sloppy, fingers trembling ever more furiously, and before you know it the muscles of his thighs are flexing and tensing before he’s letting out a deep groan, fisting your hair as thick spurts of cum spill into your throat.
“Don’t you dare waste a drop,” he rasps, fingers sliding to the base of your neck to hold you down. Your mouth is flooded, the salty fluid overwhelming your tongue as you hold your breath, clenching your eyes shut as you try your hardest to swallow around his length. His cock slides out with a small ‘pop’, and you’re slapping a hand over your mouth to stifle a hiccup, dried tears streaking your cheeks.
“Show me.”
You force the remaining spurts of cum down your throat, before opening your mouth as wide as you can for him to inspect, doe eyes looking expectantly at him until he nods in approval. His big hand descends upon your head of hair, patting softly as another smile spreads across his face. Your heart twists. Twice in a day — you must’ve been good then. He wouldn’t smile so much otherwise.
∗
You scan briefly through the recesses of your mind, faint memories of him trashing the penthouse in a fit of blind rage rushing back to you, but no, you realise with a frown, even considering those times, never have you ever seen him this pissed.
At times the reigning king of Bonten can have a temperament akin to the calm before the storm. In his irises there’s a permanent hollowness etched into a bottomless black — but still, a deadly edge sewn into that piercing gaze.
Today there is nothing short of fury burning behind that emptiness.
The Haitani brothers share a look; Takeomi’s jaw locks though his gaze is fixed straight ahead. Haruchiyo is silent for once but his fingers toy with the cap of a tiny pill bottle, flipping it on and off with his thumb in a repetitive fashion — a nervous tick, you suppose. The others don’t look too good as well; the tension in the air is so thick that it’s enough to wedge a coarse lump in your windpipe. It’s oppressive. No one dares speak up, not after the news was dropped like a bombshell within the confines of the meeting room. They all know.
They know that in Bonten, there is only one supreme ruler — and whatever Mikey wants, he will make it happen.
If he wants to keep you by his side like his own personal lapdog, he will. If he wants to rule the whole of Japan with this lapdog tending to his every need, he will. If he wants to bring his lapdog along to that god-fucking-awful ‘errand’ they have to take care of for two whole days, he fucking will.
The only problem is, he can’t.
(If you really cared about her staying alive, you’d let her stay here.)
Takeomi didn’t say it, but he sure as hell implied it. It’s an unspoken duty that he’s been appointed with — spitting out the cold hard truth when it meant it was the best course of action. In this case it’s because Mikey is too fucking stubborn a boss to get through. Perhaps if he were thinking with his head instead of hormones he’d realise that you were more of a hindrance to keep around — but that’s a talk for another time, Takeomi thinks (but doesn’t dare bring up). Of course, his steady voice was almost enough to belie his uneasiness.
Under the hesitant scrutiny of his subjects the king lets out a deep, guttural groan.
A scowl materialises on his face, screwing up his pretty features into an expression that you hate so much. Your head is tilted up to look at him from your spot on the floor by his side, and you tug at the cloth of his pants ever so slightly. He tears his eyes away from his advisor to catch your worried gaze — and almost as if it were magic, you think you see a flicker of longing in his eyes, his frown thinning out just the slightest as he wordlessly observes your face.
But then he’s clenching his eyes shut, obscuring your view of those pretty irises, and putting a hand firmly on your head before sinking back into the plush of his chair, puffing out a long, defeated sigh.
He looks to his executives, gaze as steely as ever, and utters two things — a begrudging acceptance, along with an absolute order that has both your and Haruchiyo’s stomach dropping to the floor.
“This is final,” he emphasises, “don’t wanna hear you fucking complain. I’m pissed enough as it is.” His grip tightens on your scalp as he shoots daggers at his second-in-command. Oh, if looks could kill, Haruchiyo would be disintegrating on the spot right now.
But is it just you, or is he oddly unfazed? After the initial shock tapers off, you swear you notice the corners of his scar-ridden mouth twitch.
A chill runs down your spine when the rosy-haired man cocks his head curiously, his sapphirine gaze flickering towards your frozen form. As if eyeing up and down a fresh slab of meat — a milky sheep, made to be present for a bloody slaughter.
You don’t have time to ponder about what’s swirling inside those pretty blues, though, because when Mikey’s ordering them all to get out (and they do), he doesn’t wait for the doors to finish closing before lifting you by your waist, and slamming you onto the lean desk.
“Not—leaving—you—” He grunts sloppily into your neck, teeth sinking like needles into the pliant skin. His breaths are heavy, his eyebrows are scrunched together in frustration and he’s pinning you down like a snarling animal. “Never. Never.”
“Never,” you echo his words softly, breathlessly, lips parting just as he licks at the fading bite marks down the skin of your nape, already eager to leave new ones. Your hands caress the back of his neck, little fingers edging him closer ever so slightly.
No, he will never leave you. Physically he has to, but before you know it, he’ll be back to you like always.
Until then he has to bite back his fury and let Haruchiyo look after you. Because who better to trust than his right-hand man?
pt. 2 coming soon (ง ˃ ³ ˂)ว ⁼³₌₃⁼³
#header image : ojou to banken-kun#tw yandere#tw noncon#tw drug use#first foray into relatively dark fics hope its ok🥺#chiyo didnt get any action because this part is already way too long :<#mikey smut#mikey x reader#tokyo revengers smut#yandere mikey#yandere tokyo revengers#sano manjiro x reader#haruchiyo x reader#haruchiyo sanzu#🐝; sweet syrup#chiyu; dark
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— honey and chains
yandere!crumbled king x reader/you
The chains tightened around wrists of the once beloved king that you had served, he was unrecognizable now. His hazel eyes that always reminded you of honey were now bloodshot, clothes loosely hung off of his body.
Yandere! Crumbled king who can’t seem to trust anyone but you even though you were the one that betrayed him.
Yandere! Crumbled king who still demands that you would be exiled with him and still oblivious to the fact that you betrayed him because he can’t help but cling to every word that slips out of your lips.
“Promise,” he muttered. “You wouldn’t go back on the promise, I know..I know that you wouldn’t..”
His hair was damp from the rain, his nails tried to pry off the chains from his wrists. Bloodied and dirtied. His bloodied hands gripped your clothes and the fabric of his clothes surrounded him.
“I promise, your majesty.” You said, gently prying off his bloodied hands from your clothes. “I’ll join you in the carriage.”
You watched the guards tug on his chains to let him settle in the carriage first. You could leave him, leave him to rot in the new isolated palace that the carriage would take him to.
Yandere! Crumbled king who uses your tenderness towards him against you since only he deserves your attention and makes himself look miserable/pathetic.
Yandere! Crumbled king who curls up next to you’re weak from caring for him and secretly watches you sleep/nap.
He looked down at his wrapped hands that you had previously wrapped earlier in the day to prevent infection. It had been too many days since you had last talked to anyone else other than his words and he could pretend more to keep you here; safe from outsider’s influence. His wrists were light and free from the chains that were put on him but you had taken them off despite the warnings. He knew the chains yearned for a new host; you were the perfect fit.
Underneath loose floorboards, he pulled out the simple wooden box and opened it to see the silver chains staring back at him. They were simply a gift and he would be giving it back to its rightful owner.
#yandere prompt#yandere x you#yandere male x reader#yandere x reader#yandere x y/n#yandere oc x you#yandere oc x reader#he doesn’t have a name yet#tw yandere
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Re:incarnate
“Reincarnate”
Yandere! Sukuna x Curse! Reader
(fanart not mine, artist not found)
Word count: 1,377K
Warning: gore, mentions of death, yandere themes
AS HE IS THE KING OF CURSES, it would be expected of Ryomen Sukuna to hate. That, being crafted from the scourge of men’s heart; of envy, of wrath, of sadness, of vast egos- such a creature would ‘hate’ in his innate nature.
Yet, the king of curses never lowered himself to such pathetic, trashy emotions. It was a waste of time, curses or humans alike, Sukuna relished in their pain. He never hated, because hatred would not allow him space for enjoying the shrieks of his victims and the taste of the mixture of blood and tears. Sukuna felt joy under the suffering of others, by his hands of course.
The way his victims begged for their lives, how they squealed like lowly pigs, the way tears spurted from their eyes, the dawn of horror over their face as soon as realization fell over their tiny, squishy heads.
Yes, Sukuna felt joy over the death by his hands.
However, if Sukuna felt Joy, then he could very well experience Grief, and if he could grief, then the King of Curses could love- and then, he would hate.
This predicament fell over him when he met the one he’d title the Curse of Solitude, [Y/N]
[Y/N] was born from pain entirely, and the worst kind there is- heartache; abandoned children and spouses, betrayed friends and lovers, castaways and friendless people. Hence, [Y/N] was lonely from the start- though Sukuna found them.
The King of Curses found the curse as a newborn, lost within the woods. In spite of the rejection their tears brought him, Sukuna experienced something which he had never before.
Sukuna’s four eyes had softened its gaze at them, and the first thing that came to mind was to comfort them. On the days to come forward, Sukuna would nurture the Curse of Solitude. He would provide the tear-stained curse a home within his shrine, curses at their liege, villagers to pray on, and last but most importantly- company by his side.
Eventually, and as curses grew fast, the King of Curses and the Curse of Solitude became great friends and partners in crime. Together, they would bring forth suffering, misery and death upon countless villages.
They grew strong together, over years and years he got to see how they developed. Though [Y/N] was tied down to sadness, they’d wear a casual, warm smile on their lips and a soft look on their eyes. Their voice was pleasant and sweet in his ears, relaxing in his mind- ridding him of his existence as a curse and the blood on his hands. Soon, Sukuna found himself satisfied and content with the delicate [Y/N].
In spite of his feelings, [Y/N] did not reciprocate- at least, not as he would wish.
Because the Curse of Solitude yearned for their innate loneliness to banish. For hours, they found themselves observing fondly the way human children ran around with sticks, the way humans would eat and laugh together, or hold such intimacy between them.
Such was not possible with the King of Curses- not even after the afternoons they spent together, or the skies they gazed at, no. [Y/N] was not born human, and they despised themselves for it- for how children would crumble at their touch, how adults would turn away in despair only to be consumed by their shadow.
Then, [Y/N] would cry and thrash and hate their predicament. Truly, a pitiful existence which Sukuna would treasure and cling desperately to- if only they would focus on him, think solely of him, yearn for him as much as they did for those pesky, disgusting humans.
Ah, yes, Sukuna began to hate.
The King of Curses’ dark heart, but not empty, would putrefy in envy against the humans which stole his beloved’s sight and it would as well putrefy on the drunk lust he held.
His, his, his, ONLY HIS.
And thou still, his feelings are not returned but in fact, stolen along the clan he’d curse for all eternity to come, Zenin vermin.
Such ultimate, lowly, scum of the head of the top three clans which barely attempted to pose a threat to him - and to his partner.
[Y/N] could not see this, no, they were blind. Blind to his love and to the deceit of the dark-haired man’s lies.
The Curse of Solitude snuck each night, when their shadow could not stand out, to observe the peculiar man which had caught their eye. His eyes, the cursed user had felt, held the peace and warmth they craved.
After many nights, they had put up the courage to talk to him. In the midst of the shock upon the sorcerer’s friendliness, perhaps because they had at last mastered the art of disguise, the Curse of Solitude found themselves relieved.
On forth of the nights to come, the lonely curse would sneak from the King’s shrine and embrace to seek the doomed and forbidden love- Megumi Zenin.
The pair would only meet at night and celebrate under the pale white of the moon, and with hopes for the future, they would relish in their company.
That is until the King of Curses would find out at a night’s noticed absence, and in fury he would watch the way the Curse of Solitude had found warmth in the company of the stupid, imbecile scroundel Zenin.
Thus, he came to hate and destroy the village under the custody of the Zenin. In ecstacy, he relished on the screams of children, men and women as he massacred each one by one.
A few survived, Sukuna scolded himself as he picked up his widened-eyes and tear-drowned fiance.
Peace was short lived when stepping at the stairs of his shrine came the three angered clans, annoyed Sukuna had to move his fiancee from the custody of his lap and strong, four caging arms.
“Don’t move, I will return once the garbage is dealt with” with a fast peck [Y/N] wished to rid off, the Curse of Solitude watched helplessly as the four-eyed beast lunged forward into battle- or to cause yet another massacre.
As the dreading seconds went off by the sounds of pierced flesh and blood-curdling screams, [Y/N] awaited impatiently, that is until they sensed the presence of their beloved. At the speed of wind itself, the curse ran down the path to their beloved, across the battlefield and onto their arms.
Without wasting any more seconds, [Y/N] quickly brought their thumbs up his cheeks and wiped away their tears.
“I love you, Megumi” the curse confessed and thus, both kissed in desperate reunion- which lasted mere seconds as a cursed weapon was driven onto the curse’s back- and into his lover's chest.
Ah, yes, Sukuna despised.
A roar, a cry of pain so audible and chilling, echoed through the battlefield and blood was spilled mercilessly. Bones creaked, muscles were shredded and throats were torned.
Carefully, he encased the vanishing curse onto his arms and cradled them close as the King wept and screamed. The void in his heart growing rapid and aching strongly as ever.
He could, though, bring them back with his reversed technique but before he could lift a single one of his twenty-clawed fingers, he was sealed in despair.
For centuries, the harboring hate, despair and yearning grew within his cage soul.
A clumsy, salmon-haired boy found him and oh lucky Sukuna was to found a proper vessel, and even luckier he was.
Destiny had blessed him, for he had found them once again- this time void of cursed energy and with the soft features of a human yet familiar ones.
The boy had befriended the reincarnated scum of the -now- Fushigoro, but at last, Sukuna had found what was rightfully his-
“[Y/N]”, without warning Yuuji’s hands grew sharp nails and his voice turned volumes deeper- like a guttural growl. “I found you at last,” the tall unknown yet familiar figure said, as his strong arms wrapped so perfectly and nicely as would a cage they had been accustomed to would fit, “I will not let you go, never again”
He spat, his eyes opening sharp and glaring with spite at the dark-haired man standing behind her.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------A/N: It has been a long time since I've published something. Hope you like it.
#yandere x reader#yandere sukuna#sukuna x reader#megumi x reader#yandere jjk#yandere jujutsu kaisen#yandere fanfiction#yandere
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B A K U G O
【DRABBLES & HEADCANONS】
Yandere!Bakugo x Childhood Crush!Reader Drabble (nsfw)
Yandere!Bakugo - What type of s/o he’d be into
【ONE SHOTS】
➤ For the Both of Us
If Bakugo is an oak, refusing to bend under pressure, you are a reed, bowing your head and adapting to the most appalling storms. When the two of you are taken from the UA Summer Camp by the League of Villains and put into Dabi's loving care, you find different ways to cope. Until the balance crumbles.
TW : Noncon, Blackmail, Implied Torture, Forced Oral (m. receiving).
➝ Follow up ask.
【FULL-LENGTH FICS】
➤ The Taste of Power (Part I)
➤ The Taste of Power (Part II)
➤ The Taste of Power (Part III)
➤ The Taste of Power (Part IV - Final Part)
You'd always known exactly what was to be your fate. Enter the temple of the fire god as a high priestess, serve Dabi in his every need, and dedicate your whole life to worshipping him. That fate slips between your fingers when invaders plunder the temple and King Katsuki takes you as a war prize.
TW : Yandere, War, Blood, Sexual Slavery, Implied Noncon and its aftermath.
#bakugo katsuki#bakugo x reader#fantasy bakugo#barbarian bakugo#yandere bakugo#yandere bakugo x reader#yandere x reader#bakugo smut#mha x reader#bnha x reader#mha smut#bnha smut#yandere mha#yandere bnha#bakugo headcanons#bakugo drabble
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Imagine Alice in Wonderland. Alice S/O accidentally attracts the attention of La Squadra (Cheshire Cat Illuso, Dourmouse Formaggio, Mad Hatter Risotto, March Hare Prosciutto, White Rabbit Pesci,Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dum Sorbet and Gelato) and the King and Queen of hearts (Doppio and Diavolo)
I love this idea
Wonderous delights pt1
(yandere la squadra X female reader X Yandere Diavolo and doppio)
You sat under the shade of a mulberry tree reading the script to a play you were to perform in a months time.
“Dear Marshall, as much as it pains me to tell... I am in love with another” you muttered your line. After that your friend Louise who would play Marshall would exclaim ‘who is this person you’ve fallen for’.
“I have fallen for the bewitching beauty of the baker’s eldest daughter, Rose is the tender flower who makes me weak on my knees” you continued before feeling a weight on your lap. You looked down to see a fluffy, floppy eared, white rabbit on your lap, you gave it a soft pat as you continued to read before feeling it tug your necklace off your necklace, a very valuable one as well.
The small rabbit hopped as fast as it’s little feet could take it. You dropped your script and got to your feet as you began to chase it across the rolling greens while holding up your white gown. The rabbit jumped into a small hole under an old apple tree. You laid down and dove your hand into it, trying to get the rabbit back in your hands and take your necklace back. You flailed your hand inside to try and feel it’s fur but you felt nothing, not even the dirt and roots inside except a cold breeze wrapping around your hand.
You considered giving up but then you felt the ground crumble under your weight everything seemed to go slow as you looked at the black abyss underneath you. Unbeknownst of the manic world that you were falling deeper into.
#alice in wonderland#yandere x reader#yandere jjba#yandere jojo's bizarre adventure#yandere#fairy tale au#la squadra#jojo diavolo#doppio jojo#jojo risotto#sorbet and gelato#pesci jojo#proscuitto#jojo prosciutto#formaggio#melone#illuso
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Pairing: yan! Guido Mista x GN! Reader
Warnings: yandere behavior, general abuse, isolation
Sleeping with you
The feeling of somebody’s arms sliding under your back and beneath your knees, then wrapping tightly around them woke you up. You felt this person lifting you up, gently holding your body in their arms and carrying you somewhere. You barely opened one eye to see who it was (not that you didn’t know the answer yet). Of course, you saw no one else but Mista, his face features were indistinct because of soft darkness of the room, so you could barely recognize him
- What are you doing? - you muttered quietly, your voice was little bit hoarse from sleeping and long lack of use. Brunette slightly rose his eyebrows and looked down at you, a wide smile plastered across his face, revealing cute dimples on his cheeks
- Oh, sugar, I woke you up, sorry. You fell asleep on the couch, so I decided to carry you to our bedroom. Or you thought that I’d leave you all alone in the living room?
Oh yes. You spent almost all day on the soft cushions of huge sofa in the living room, reading some shitty book you found in a closet. You’d never pick out something like that, but there’s not much of a choice actually
For some reason, you liked living room the most out of all rooms in Guido’s apartment, which you were locked in. It was a spacious room with a huge window, peach-colored curtains on it added some cozy atmosphere, pleasing to the eye. This room always was full of light, and most of the day you preferred to spend here, doing whatever you wanted (not really, just those things that Mista allowed you to)
Mista usually comes home at about 7 pm, but this time he was really late. At one point you even thought that mafioso had a log-termed mission, what meant that for at least three days you were all by your own. But, alas, Guido was there, holding you in his arms, not intending on letting you go
When mafioso finally reached his point of destination he proceeded towards your shared king-sized bed and gently laid you on your side. He gave you a loving kiss on a forehead and then crumbled over you, laying himself on the other side of the bed. Guido settled down right next to you, threw his arm around your waist, drawing you closer to himself
You felt Guido nuzzling his face into your hair and taking a deep breath. This freak loved the smell of your body, and you knew that
- I hate sleeping without you next to me so much. I won’t let you go anywhere until morning, - his hot breath against your bare skin caused thousands of shivers running down your spine
His words were nothing but truth and, yes, you knew that too...
Masterlist | Smut Masterlist
#guido mista#guido mista yandere#mista yandere#guido mista x reader#mista x reader#guido mista scenario#jojo’s bizarre adventure#vento aureo#jojo#jojo part 5#jjba#golden wind#jojo yandere#jjba yandere#yandere writing#jojo scenario#jjba scenario#bucci gang#bucci team#jojo passione#passione#yandere x reader
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18+
GOLD
TENDŌ SATORI X FEM!READER
Pleasant & Strider Present: Fantasy AU Writing Collab.
This is a loving dedication to my favorite fairytale as a child: Rumpelstiltskin. 9k words of smut, I apologise for it’s length, but it has to mirror Tendo’s big dick energy, y’know.
wordcount: 9,300
Warnings: yandere-ish, virgin reader, oral (receiving), fingering (receiving, penetrative sex, one derogatory word (whore), cheating (this is just to be safe). Nothing too wild, but it’s hella dirty.
Tags: @joyousandverywarlike I love you wifey, thank you for beta-reading before we both crashed. Thanks for the eternal hype @whats-her-quirk you make my heart sing! @pleasantanathema , @present-mel and @linestrider . I am so, so happy to have met you three xx
> MASTERLIST HERE <
GOLD.
You pace the small space of your house, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath your weight. The King summoned your father three days ago, and by your calculations, he should be back any minute with news. Your eyes are downcast, watching your bare feet shuffle across the floor, the tattered hem of your skirt rustling with each movement. You sigh, smoothing down the white of your apron and catching a glimpse of your reflection in the polished tin on the wall.
Huffing, you turn away and close your eyes, not wanting to see the worry laced in them. You are a pauper, your father a poor miller. There must’ve been a terrible reason for his presence to have been so urgently demanded at the court. The land has been in crisis for a while now; businesses have started shutting down, and you fear that it is now your small family’s turn to be thrown out onto the streets.
The doorknob twists and the heavy door swings open as your father steps across the threshold, removing his grey cap, cheeks sallow. His best clothing no longer looks dapper but rather worn in, lackluster.
“Father! Welcome home,” you exclaim, throwing your arms around his neck, bringing him in close to smell the lingering scent of a mare and travel. You can tell something is off from the way he half-hugs you, grip weak around your waist. You pull back, that gnawing fear in your gut itching its way up your spine.
“Pray, tell me, what did the King want? Must we shut down the mill?” you ask, helping him to undress, taking his single-breasted coat from his frail shoulders. Was he this small when he left? He chokes back a sob, clutching his chest with one hand to cup your cheek with the other.
“Oh, daughter, my sweet, beautiful daughter,” he begins, his palm sinking to your shoulder, his voice watery as he continues, “that was his original intent, yes.” You feel the weight of his hand pull you beneath the earth, yet there is some hope in your chest as you suck in a sharp breath.
“And what of now?”
“I’m sorry, my darling, I’m sorry,” your father repeats his words, hanging his head before meeting your stare with a shaken one of his own. His lower lip trembles beneath his thick moustache, and you clutch his hand in a vice, it’s ice cold. “I don’t know what I was thinking, it’s madness.”
“Tell me, please.”
“The King asked me if I had anything worth more than the mill to barter with, to absolve us from not affording the tax, and I replied with you, my daughter. You’re worth more than any precious metal to me.” Tears begin to pool in your fathers eyes, and your hands tighten around his, unsure of where the conversation is heading.
“I had told him that you are the most beautiful maiden in the kingdom, however, he cares not for beauty but for material possessions, and without thought I exclaimed that you could spin straw into pure gold,” he says. You gasp, releasing his hand as if made of ice, the cold burning you.
“Father!”
“I am to send you to him by tomorrow evening. You’re to leave on the morrow. I will pray that your beauty is enough for our King to be merciful.”
Merciful? The King is anything but. You feel your world begin to crumble. How are you to spin straw into gold? That is a power only the Fae possess, and you tremble at the thought of what will happen once the King realizes your father has lied.
***
The looming gates of the castle are opulent, brass shining bright in the late afternoon, glinting against a peach and lilac sky. You have ridden on your father's mare through the day and can feel your thighs twitch from the exertion. You’re weary from the hot sun, the travel, and your frantic nerves twist knots in your stomach. Soldiers in fine armor stand to attention, and although they do not move, you can see how the men leer at your features, feel the difference in status crawl over your flesh like spiders.
Although you are wrapped in a dark green cloak, you feel bare beneath their stares, as though they can see the beige shift dress. Clutching its opening tight against your body, you keep your eyes straight ahead to avoid contact with any lingering gazes. You dismount, giving your horse a final stroke before you follow servants into the stone castle.
They walk fast, and you struggle to keep up, taken aback by the marble floor. The stained glass windows litter a rainbow of colours against the white stone, dancing across your skin as you walk through it and into a large hall where King Ushijima is waiting for your arrival. He’s handsome, but the scowl on his features twists your intestines, knotting them intricately. As you move closer, however, his eyebrows begin to relax and lift, his eyes widen, only slightly, taking in your appearance. You keep your head bowed in respect, eyes on the tips of your leather slippers peeking out from beneath the cloak.
The servants excuse themselves, and the doors close. All you hear is the beating of your heart and the drumming of the Kings fingers against the armrest of his throne.
“Lift your chin, girl.”
The King’s voice is gruff, commanding, and you find yourself obeying and straightening up tall so that he can see your face. He huffs, standing up and walking down grey stone steps that seem to glitter in the candle light and the last of the sun. The red of his coat is akin to blood, and it sweeps graciously around his tall frame as he stands over you.
“I thought your father was lying when he said his daughter was the fairest maiden in the Kingdom, yet he has proven me wrong. It gives me hope that the other claims he has made are not false and you may not hang in the morrow after all,” he announces, peering down over his nose at your frame. “Follow me.”
“Your Majesty,” you curtsy, and trail behind the King as he leads you through the high ceiling hallways of the castle, up and up and up the stairs, to a wooden door.
He pushes it open, the weight of the door pulling a groan from the iron hinges and steps aside for you to enter. The smell hits you first, earthy and overpowering, and you see towering piles of straw completely covering the floor and walls. In the center sits a spinning wheel in a pale birch. Your heart drops to your stomach and you feel the colour drain from your face. This must be a dream, a cruel, cruel dream.
“You have until the sun rises to transform all this straw into the finest of gold, or I will have to sentence you for trickery.”
With that, the King shuts the door. You hear the lock turn with a resounding clank. The room is shrouded in darkness and you fall to your knees, sobs uprooting in your chest at the predicament you find yourself in. You tug at the ribbon of your cloak, letting it fall open to the floor as you cry, the tears silver in the light of the full moon shining through the window.
You sob for a while, tremors shaking your body as you curl in on yourself. You barely notice the door open an inch, pale fingers curling around the side before a head with hair the shade of pomegranate peers at your sunken figure.
“Oh, ho ho! What have we here~?” a lilting voice shocks you. Your head snaps up to watch a figure bound into the room. He is tall, waif-like, with heavily lidded eyes. Your breath is snatched away as you gaze upon his hair that seems to stand on end, as though wind travels through the air, but the room is still and the window shut. The door was locked, how did he enter?
“Why are you crying, little girl?” The strange man asks, bending over at the hips with his long fingers reaching out to lift your chin up, wiping at the tears under your eyes. You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry, feeling embarrassed for your weakness, and being called young. You are of proper age at three and twenty.
“I have to spin all the straw into gold before the sun rises or I will be hanged. It’s an impossible task and I’m not sure what to do!” you begin to cry again, the tears streaming down your face and slipping down the nimble fingers that hold your jaw. The stranger tuts, tilting his head as he regards your solemn appearance.
“It’s not impossible. What will you give me if I complete this task for you?” There’s a smirk on his lips, and a glint in his garnet eyes that ensnare you to fall into them.
“I have nothing on me to give, I am a pauper,” you whisper, ashamed of your low class. The hand withdraws and you see him stretch up, a hand on his hips as he waves at your body in a grand gesture, fingers seemingly bending backwards.
“False, you have your beauty, and I am a lover of beautiful things~,” the song in his voice then drops an octave as he asks again, his eyes narrowing as if you’re prey, “so what will you give me in return?” You ponder his words, feeling blood flush your cheeks at being complimented by someone so boldly.
“I can only gift you a kiss,” you finally say, pushing up to stand. He eagerly grabs your arms, tugging you close, against his chest. You smell spice and the green of the forest after a heavy rain, transporting you to a far away land, an escape.
“I accept this trade~.” His lips crash against yours, soft pillows melting into your skin. He tastes like molasses, sweet yet dark. The kiss is bruising and his hands wander across your back and down to your waist, pulling you ever closer, letting you fall drunkenly into the taste that is him. He pulls away too soon and you have to bite the protest from escaping your lips.
Humming an odd tune, the stranger sits down at the spinning wheel, picks up a handful of straw and weaves it into a glittering gold thread. It takes only three turns of the wheel before the bobbin is full and he picks up more straw. Like this, he works throughout the night until all the straw has been transformed into precious metal. You’re still drunk from his touch, mouth agape at his elegant movements, and when you next blink, the work has been completed with plenty of time before the sun is to rise.
Wordlessly, he rises from his seat to tower over you, cupping your face delicately between both palms, he plants a lingering kiss to your forehead. He resumes humming, a devious smirk on his mouth as he saunters out of the room and the door closes behind him, the click of the lock echoing in the stillness.
The sun rises, and the King walks through the door with a purpose, expecting for you to have failed at the test. When he sees the glittering gold in the morning light, his eyes darken and a smile splits his face in half as greed consumes him.
“You can live for another day, but do not think you are liberated yet. I will need you to prove it to me once more as this could be the work of illusionment and fade throughout the day,” King Ushijima booms. Turning on his heel, he strides out the room, ordering you to follow.
He leads you into another stone room, this one larger than the previous, filled with even more straw to the top of the ceiling and you start to feel dread claw up your ribs, piercing your skin. There’s no telling what would happen the following morning.
“Turn all this straw into gold by the morrow and I will let you live,” the King states, and curtly exits to leave you alone with the scraps of your freedom.
You spend the entire day in the room, pacing and crying at the thought of failure. When night falls and casts its shadows, you hear the door click open and a familiar tune carry through the air. The handsome stranger from the night before curves around the door, peering at your frightened yet hopeful body. The moon is brighter tonight, almost full, casting a glow around the room and onto your skin.
“Miller’s daughter, you need not cry~,” he sings, making you freeze at the mention of your father’s profession, but the tears continue to pour down your face. He closes the distance between your bodies with two steps of his long legs. His flaming hair wafts around him as he wipes the salted water from your cheeks.
“What will you give me tonight if I spin this straw into gold?”
He notices your brow furrowing and sees how you swallow down your nerves. It makes him want to chuckle at the depravity of his question. You are so innocent, and so desperate for help.
“You are a maiden, are you not? Unwedded, unbedded?” The stranger asks you and he feels how your cheeks warm beneath his palm, letting his smirk twist into a wide smile. You nod, shifting awkwardly under his hold. He drops his cool hands to your shoulders and his skin is the colour of porcelain in the moon’s light. “Then give me your first sexual death in return.”
You step backwards, bewildered, unsure of his advances. You can’t let a man defile you in a way that is meant for your husband, yet here he is, requesting something so perverse. The memory of his lips against yours, the weight of his palm into your waist, flood your mind and you forget to breathe. The straw seems soft enough, your head swims. The King’s warning echoes in a chill up your spine, so you agree to his offer, which is met with a cunning grin.
Either you weigh less than a feather or he’s strong as an ox when he lifts you by the waist and over his shoulder, the round of your ass in the air, which he playfully taps and elicits a squeal from your tear-swollen lips. He hushes you while spreading a pile of hay with his foot.
“You cannot be too noisy, little girl~” he sings, placing you gently on your back, crouching between your ankles, “we wouldn’t want anyone to hear you.”
He seems utterly feral as his deft fingers ghost over your calves to thumb the hem of your simple shift dress. The fire in his eyes burns with impatience as he bunches the fabric up over your knees, to the gentle curve of your thighs where the hem of your breeches end, until it's on your waist. He takes a deep breath, you hold yours, and with your heart beating in your ears, the drawstring of your undergarments comes undone.
You realise he’s humming that strange tune when you shimmy out of your modesty, and the song hitches in his throat when your untouched cunt comes into view. It turns into a low moan and then a whistle, throwing the cotton pants behind him.
“Your sheath is as beautiful as your face, cunning as it calls out to me.” There’s no hint of rhythm in his voice, but rather a deep vibrato as lust takes over and he licks his lips. It makes your heart throb, pounding in your chest and in the delicate skin of your sex.
He lets his strong, long fingers knead the flesh of your thighs, smooth and supple under the glow of the moon, inching them upwards. You bite your bottom lip to keep from sounding out, sure in the fact that a guard may pass at any moment. The wine-haired man shuffles forward, pulling apart your legs until you’re spread for him, accessible. You can feel the blush start from your pubic bone and catch fire all along your body to heat the very top of your head. His intense stare summons your need to shut your knees but he lays down to his stomach, wedging his body so that you are at his whim.
“Has anyone ever touched you here before?” he asks, the palms of his hands so large they cover the meat of your inner thigh, his thumbs ghosting over your outer labia. Your head falls back in shame— no, anticipation. His movements are precise, teasing, and you shake your head to answer him.
“No one, you are the first.” You say silent thanks to the Lord that your voice is unwavering, breathy, and the strange man’s eyes darken to sangria.
“Lucky me to be the first to taste the sap of your fruit, your ripe nectar~!”
His thumbs glide over the soft casing and into the fold between your inner lips, unfurling them, your clit jutting out as the skin pulls taught. You suck in cool air as the nerves tingle against his warm breath. A second passes, and then three more and you’re almost tricked to relax when you feel a wet muscle press against the opening of your cunt. You shiver as he moans, the tight muscles tingle within you; your spine lifts into a delicate curve in response.
He wastes no time in making you writhe, lips encasing the displayed clit and sucking powerfully. You feel yourself drop into him, hands flying down to grab his hair, fingers burying themselves in his locks. There’s immense pleasure, instantly. Tiny shockwaves travel outwards from his mouth into your feet, and they curl in the straw, bending, snapping, folding them beneath your toes.
Soft whimpers escape, struggling to keep them contained as you bite down on your lip. No sooner than a minute must’ve passed for you to feel the heat building in your chest, the tips of your ears burning and your core clenching.
It feels as though a spring winds itself, tighter and tighter, your walls oscillate and spasm around nothing and his warm tongue laps at your slick and sucks at your clit. It draws alphabets and circles, spinning you into a dizzy haze and when he inserts the tip of one of his long, magical fingers, you lose it, snapping that cord within you.
The moan you’re holding back releases, freeing your soul as your eyes roll to see the stars in your mind, a bright light, la petite mort. Your body goes rigid and you can only see black, think of nothing but your own ecstasy as it rolls through your body, tremors in your skin.
The finger withdraws, the mouth gives a final suck, jolting you, and then a lick to lap up any remaining juices before the nymph-like man in front of you sits back onto his haunches. He leaves you trembling in your orgasm, analytical eyes absorbing the far away look on your face.
“And how did death feel~?” he asks, likening your orgasmic wave to an ascension to heaven. His voice returns to a playful tune, coaxing you back to earth.
“I’ve never known such pleasure,” you admit with tears in your eyes and longing in your voice. There’s a small bout of shame in your chest from greed at wanting another, from him.
“Now, you do, hmm,” he hums, trailing off into his signature beat as he stands and begins work on the straw.
You watch him from the ground, tugging up your undergarments with heavy limbs and smoothing your shift down. With three spins of the wheel, the handful of straw is transformed into a full bobbin of gold. The curve of his spine hunching over the machine ignites a curiosity in your mind. Who is he? What does he want? Why is he helping you? But the focus in his eyes, the cheery tune he hums and light tapping of his feet forbids you from asking him these questions.
He’s a savior of your life, there’s no need to know the reason.
The nymph works until two hours before dawn, at some point you drift off into a light, sex-induced slumber, but wake the moment he stands and stretches his popping spine. He gives you a final look, sucking on the finger that was in you, before skipping out the door, humming. It shuts with a click, the lock back in place. You are to live another day.
***
You hear a cock crow thrice before the door opens and the King stands, almost as broad as the frame. The gold in the room reflects in his amber eyes and in the glint of his adornments on his cloak and crown. You curtsy low until his voice booms.
“Arise, girl. You have kept your word and so I will keep mine, your father is free from his debt.” He rubs his chin, rings catching the rising sun as he muses out loud, “however, with a daughter like you, it’s a wonder there were dues to be paid.”
You curtsy again, saying your thanks, expecting to leave the castle and be back in your village by the following day, but King Ushijima has other plans. The sight of all the gold has swallowed his mind with greed, and the thought of being the richest King in the world is a goal that is so near, so attainable. He peers at your frame, slender from malnourishment, your simple garb, the way you instinctively shrink under the gaze of someone with so much of a higher rank than your own. It’s enticing.
He leads you to a third room in the granary, larger than all the others, the center of his stores. He sees the confusion and worry on your features, waving his hand around the room as he explains.
“Turn all this straw into gold by sunrise tomorrow and I shall take you as my wife.”
The glint in the Kings’ eyes is dangerous. He thinks that even though you are but a miller's daughter, low born, he will never find a richer wife. There’s no room for refusal as he turns to leave, ruby red cloak flurrying behind his tall frame and the door shuts for the third time that week.
You’re dazed, swaying uncontrollably as you fall to your knees, the stone floor bruising. The thought of becoming queen makes you giddy, nauseous, terrified. Although you’ve had help these last two evenings, what’s to say the stranger will appear again? And at what cost will it be? Tears prick your eyes, and you think of the last time you were happy; when you weren’t trapped in an exchange for your life.
The sky melts into orange, geranium, the sun falls below the skyline. Your heart follows, dropping to your stomach as it turns and you dry heave. The lock clicks, the door swings open, and that familiar, welcoming hum returns. The stranger practically hurtles into the granary, fingers like the crest of a wave as curls and swings from the ends of his arms.
“Innocent girl, why are you crying again~?” he sings, stooping low to cup your tear-stricken cheeks. His fingers are cold against flushed skin.
“I am to turn all this straw to gold by sunrise. He will make me queen if I succeed and if not, I cannot bear to consider the consequences!” you wail, peering into the quizzical vermillion eyes of the waif, nymph, or whomever this magical being is. His laughter echoes in the room, deafening your ears with it’s cadence.
“And what will you give me if I complete this task for you?” the question is not a surprise, but you have no answer, shaking your head as your lower lip pinches between your teeth in regret.
“There’s nothing left to give.”
The hands on your cheeks grip harder, fiercer, beneath your jaw to pull you up to standing.
“Nonsense, you are a virgin, are you not? Let me do this for you and in return, give me your maidenhood.”
His request is so shocking, so taboo, that it takes you several seconds to comprehend. Your mouth drops, heart hammering away at an unfamiliar beat in your ears. You tremble. There’s no way you can give him what is meant for your husband. He seems to register that thought as soon as it flies through your mind. His hair crackles like lightning, standing on end, his eyes are dark and stormy, and although he speaks with a song, his words are dangerous, dragging you beneath the waves.
“Surely, your virginity is not worth your life?”
With nothing to barter with but your body, you wonder if there is an alternative. Will the King realise you have been tainted if the marriage is consummated? You hope he does not. The stranger's tongue clicks, his hands fall from your face to leave the skin cold and you feel the desire for their return coursing through your veins.
“Time is wasting, Miller’s Daughter, do we have a deal?” his question flips over in your mind, your fingers wring together as you stare up at the looming figure. There’s impatience in his eyes.
“Yes.”
He claps his hands together gleefully, before interlacing them and stretching overhead. Tonight, he doesn’t collect preemptively, sitting down at the spinning wheel to begin. A hand full of straw is scooped up, the wheel spins thrice and the bobbin fills with glittering gold thread. It clatters to the floor as he begins on the next spool, his work methodical and timely. You watch him for a while, the way his heart shaped face is complacent, as though it was second nature to practise this magic. He hums that strange tune. His skin is milk under the pale glow of the moon, and suddenly, you’re thirsty.
Memories of the previous night play through your mind, clear as though a mirage. The way his eyes surveyed you over your mound, the obscene noises you made when his tongue dipped into your tight hole. It leaves you dizzy, breathless, and the enormous room is all of a sudden too small, too confined. You begin to pace. He never stops his humming. The sound bleeds into your pores, into your veins and pumps through you. It calls you to touch him. It’s wrong. You can’t. The night drags on and you don’t notice his song stops, or that he’s standing behind you.
His hands snake around your waist, pulling you back against his chest so that your head hits the firm muscle beneath his tunic. His nose finds refuge in your hair and with his inhale, your breathing stops.
“Mmm, you smell like fresh snow,” he mumbles into your skin, the meaning behind his words not lost on you: uncorrupted, untainted. It sends shivers down your spine and there’s a crackle in the air as every muscle in your body freezes.
His palms drift lower to rest on the meat of your thighs, digging to inch the fabric up slowly, methodically, until the hem is in his grasp and he pulls it over your head to leave you near-naked in the gold-filled room. Your bloomers are tied in a simple bow that loosens with a tug, the cotton dropping down your legs. You haven’t taken in oxygen yet, your lungs screaming at you to breathe, your knees trembling under his shadow. You gulp air hastily.
It is not that you do not want him, in fact, your body craves the very touch he bestows. You’re frightened, anxious at the implications of the act you’re about to perform. He spins you around, and you find those ruby eyes glinting down at you with ravishment, devouring the apex of your nipples in the full moonlight before tracing the length of your collarbones, the line of your neck and jaw, and feasting on your lips.
The way the lid of his eyes wilt, pupils widen, instinctively ushers you forward and into his waiting kiss. Your lips barely touch before his tongue darts out to swipe yours, tasting you impatiently. He’s waited far longer than he usually would to take what he wants, and he’s almost reached his limit. You’re pliable in his grip, body bending and arching with his palms, pressing your bosom flat to his chest. With rough fingers, he trails them up your spine, inciting a moan from your throat, filling the room with a richer sound than the clinking of golden yarn. He almost falls apart at your whimper when his teeth nip at your lips.
His hands advance up, scorching before touching the base of your skull, fingers wrapping around to grip the soft skin of your neck beneath your ears. His palms are so large, manipulating your body so that your jaw tilts up, away and you lean back onto his forearms. His lips slide from yours, trailing fervent kisses down the column of your throat. It’s all you can do to keep up with his strokes. Your lack of experience is evident when your hands dangle lifeless at your sides, almost touching the floor as he bends you backwards to lay down on the hard stone.
It’s sobering, clammy, welcome against your heated flesh. The stranger continues his descent. You feel gravel pressing into the blades of your shoulders, and you shift unpleasantly. All is forgotten when your right nipple, trembling and painfully erect, is captivated by a silky, moist touch. Your saviour suckles, bites, licks, and the static in your skin begins to crackle at his touch, threatening to spark. Luckily, there’s no more straw to ignite a fire. Your left breast is stimulated by massaging presses, five fingers gripping roughly, but not enough to bruise. No, there will be no trace of his defilement on you tonight, for now.
The other hand trails down between your legs, dipping experimentally into your slick folds, testing the waters. Your wetness had begun to grow when your imagination raged earlier, in truth, you don’t think it disappeared from the night before. You bite back a moan as a finger toys with your clit, the shivers current your spine in small convulsions. There’s a warning that you might come undone with just this, and he feels it too, the pulses of your walls contracting the muscles of your lower abdomen.
As though controlled by the impending orgasm, your body moves. Gripping his wild hair harshly, your jaw goes slack, eyes rolling to see nothing as the explosion rips through your body. He does not stop sucking at your nipple, flicking the bud harshly, a finger tracing lazy circles to your clit as you fall back into your body. His lips move to the side of your breast, planting increasingly desperate kisses into the plump flesh. Your grip does not loosen, it follows the winding of his head as it trails to overwhelm your collarbone, your throat with heavy licks.
You can feel a fresh burst of slick drip from your slit. He catches it knowingly and his face lifts from your skin to peer into your eyes. He brings his coated finger to your parted lips, pressing your nectar onto your tongue. It’s tart, musky, unlike anything you’ve tasted before. You swallow it down into your aching stomach, feeling the flames of your orgasm dwindle. You want more, and he sees it in the hungry way you suck. And oh! How he wishes it was his cock sheathed between your plump lips.
“Isn’t it splendid~?” he sings, pumping his finger in and out of your mouth, your tongue curling around to massage the individual knuckles automatically. There’s a heavy silence in the air, your breast is squeezed. You realise he’s waiting for you to answer, even with your mouth full.
“Yesh,” you fumble with the syllable, warmth spreading to your cheeks and he seems glad with the answer. Removing his finger for his palms to push up a knee, he leaves a gentle kiss on the bruise from your morning fall into despair.
You’re spread for him. He only then realises how clothed he is. He retracts his touch, tugging his tunic over his head to reveal smooth, unblemished skin that reflects the golden thread and garnet hair. He’s a stained glass window of colours, an inferno burning bright. It’s breathtaking. There’s a trail of red hair, enticing you to look lower, beckoning you to discover what is underneath. He doesn’t remove his breeches completely, choosing instead to loosen the leather lacing on the front, the fabric splaying open to unveil phallic gold. It makes you squeal, the implications of what is upcoming ramming into your chest, your body humming with ferocity. An eyebrow quirks up in response, along with a simpering chuckle.
“How amusing,” he quips, wrapping his large hands around an equally thick and long cock.
“Will it fit?” you can’t help but ask. Surely not. His laugh is raspy in response, erupting from deep within him rather than on the tip of his tongue like his usually lilting words.
“It will. Or I will make it.”
There’s something in his tone, in his ambitious stare, that sends your skin into overdrive, shivering and vibrating with anticipation. You’re openly waiting, nerves fissioning and calling out. He answers. Your mouth drops open, gasping in shock. It's so soft. And wet. The head of his cock slides up between your folds, tapping your sensitive bundle of nerves teasingly. He’s teasing you, making your hips shake and twitch. A hand comes to stabilize you, pinching the bone. Your eyes are wide, heartbeat in your ears and cunt and when you lock stares, time freezes as his hips move.
You’ve never seen a wider grin on someone’s face. It’s wild, face splitting, imitating your stretching slit as he slowly inches in. There’s a low whistle, a hum, turning into a chuckle as you feel a pressure unknown begin to build within. It’s choking, your throat swelling and with no inhibitions, you moan. Heaven above, hell below, all listens attentively as the desire to be sinfully fucked explodes in your womb. Your hands scramble to grip onto something, him, slinging them around his neck to pull him low. There’s a grunt, his breath tickling your ears, and a jerk of his hips as he sings,
“How needy, how desperate,
How infinitely tight and perfect~”
It melts into your skin, the same rhythm as the hums you’ve grown accustomed to. The wind of his words fan flames, your eyes rolling back to escape the heat. But oh, how it’s inside you, boiling in your veins and you clutch on tighter as his hips rock into yours. Each pulse of your walls around his cock makes him vibrate, giddy as he pulls out an inch, only to sheathe himself in completely once more. He hears your whimpers against his neck, so soft, so delicate, not enough.
He sets into motion, plucking your limbs from around his neck, pinning them above your head as each snap of his hips jostles your being. Your simpering cries turn into moans and before you realise it, you’re screaming out for God and his Angels to witness the rapture happening within these stone walls. The man keeps a hand on your wrists to secure you, the other to your sensitive breasts, pinching and massaging as he grins salaciously.
Those fingers trail down the soft skin of your stomach, watching as it leaves indents against your skin before the flesh plumps back up. He raises goose-pimples, your shivering spine clenching your cunt tighter. Each thrust sends a ricochet through your body, bouncing it up before it falls back in rhythm. His blunt nails trace from bone to bone of your hips, lowering until it runs over the tuft of hair on your mound.
There’s enchantment in his eyes, reeling you in deeper, lulling you into a sense of security. A thumb finds your hooded nerves, grinding down until you see stars on the roof of the granary, past the glowing face of your savior. Has the ceiling fallen away? How magnificent. They reflect in your eyes, in the shine of drool on the corner of your lips, your tongue darting out to lick it up before you suck down.
“More.” The words are a caress to his ears, and the smile on his face splits wider until it swallows you whole. All you know is his touch.
He can feel you slipping beneath the waves, your silken walls oscillating around his girth. He leaves your wrists to grab your right thigh, lifting it so that it rests on his shoulder. With your hands now free, they fly out, pressing into the stone floor like trying to stay afloat as the swell of the ocean begins to ripple within you. It’s torrential, the rain within, and unlike before, when it was just his fingers, the dam explodes.
You feel perfect wrapped around him, dragging him down into the depth of the sea along with your desire. He doesn’t want it to end, no, he can’t let it end. He pistons his hips, the rhythm knocking the air from your lungs as he nears his release. The stars above give way to black, then white, and he sees it in your face as you reach a higher plane of existence, one he knows only he can provide. That fire returns, lighting up your insides, evaporating the spray of the ocean, making room for the foam of his seed to take place and fill you.
His hips slow, the fluids within you stirring around until you’re dizzy. Your thoughts can’t be strung together, mind blank. Satisfaction ripples in every corner of the room: carnal and raw. It can be tasted on the air, like the salt on your skin. He withdraws from your swollen walls, adamantly watching as the efforts of three days trickle out of you. His pounding, soaring heart drops as he thinks of the morning. He’s grown addicted to you, he realises. You’re his. This cunt should be no one else's, he’s ruined you for all men, he’s sure of it. It’s dangerous, this feeling in his chest, the plan hatching in his mind. You will not be able to forget him soon.
The rise and fall of your chest is soft, your body exhausted and blissful as you’re already in a post-orgasmic slumber. He traces your skin with open palms, seeing the way you react, even asleep, to his touch, committing your curves to memory. You’re angelic, surrounded by gold. His gold. He stands, limbs heavy, before snapping up to stare at your splayed out frame from above an upturned nose.
“I’ll see you soon, Queen,” he hums beneath his breath, waving his hands so that you’re dressed again, clean and tidy, prim and proper for the King to inspect the room within an hour. He skips out the door, the bounce in his step a little more pointed, sharper, and the lock clicks back in place.
***
You’re sour, like wine stored in the sun. Once married to the King, he promised you that you never had to work another day in your life, the gold spun from straw enough for twelve lifetimes over. And he was right. Your days are spent doing nothing. You have time to spare, and more often than not, you find your thoughts drifting to a red haired stranger, his face contorted in lust, desperate for the taste of your skin. It has been a year since your encounter with him.
It’s midnight, a waning half-moon. There’s no sleep. It has been avoiding you every night, so you lay awake next to your husband. The rise and fall of his deep breathing does little to lull you, and your body is charged with a sexual fire. You’re unsatisfied; richer than you could’ve ever dreamed, but unsatisfied.
Like many nights now, your fingers creep beneath the silk bed sheets to swirl at your ignored sex. A soft sigh kisses your lips as your nerves tense up at the touch. Before you can stop yourself, you hum a familiar tune that melts into your skin as you stroke to the rhythm. With your eyes closed, you picture that strange man that brought you to a place of such intense pleasure, something you had not felt since that night. The next morning when you woke, you had only the residue of what he left behind between your legs. That was the only proof that it was not a dream.
Like the swell of a wave, it begins to crest. You spread your ankles slightly wider, tapping the King’s legs delicately. He stirs but doesn’t wake. He never does. Your hums come out in ragged breaths as you imagine every thrust, every pinch against your body. And when his hands grip around your neck, you almost break against the shore of your orgasm. The familiar smell of forest wafts around you. Are you so starved that you can conjure up scents and touch?
Your eyes fly open, staring up at twinkling rubies above. A dark grin is spread onto a face you had not seen for a while. A cool hand is against your throat, floating up to palm your lips and halt a squeal that would’ve flown from between them in shock. He raises a finger to his lips in a signal to keep quiet, eyes darting to your husband face up next to you. He hums lowly before he whispers to you.
“What do we have here~?” his voice carries a jovial, teasing tune, releasing your face to peel back the edge of the sheets and reveal your naked form. You cover your breasts with one arm, the other snaking down to press flat against your quivering sex. Your orgasm had been so close before it was snatched away, the thoughts blazing through your mind nothing except immoral.
“Does the King not satisfy you, millers daughter?” he pokes at your thigh, hard fingers trailing up, leaving burning lines that sink into your pores greedily. You swallow down the rising heat in your body, the shame of being seen touching yourself.
“I am queen now,” the husk in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by the strange man.
“Ah yes, but you are still your father’s daughter,” the pinch of your hip jolts your being, and you snap your legs shut, the bed bouncing slightly. King Ushijima grunts, rolling to face away from you and the intruder. You let out a shaky breath that you hadn’t realised you were holding.
“What are you doing here?” you ask the man, slowly sitting up right, shielding your lower body once more with the covers. His grin falters at your actions, feeling a tightening in his gut at how you hide what’s his. He swallows down his fury, standing upright. His form blocks out the little light trickling in from the moon outside the window.
“I had come to steal you away from the comfort of your new life,” his eyes flicker to the back of King Ushijima, his voice hushed and low, disdain dripping into his words, “it’s the only proper way to pay for my skills, afterall.”
You swallow down your nerves, feeling a pooling of heat between your legs at the thought of being carried far away, somewhere wild and unknown. It’s an escape you would not be against. Long fingers reach to caress your hair, picking up a strand to twirl it. He inspects the way you shiver under his touch, feeling pride at the reactions he can evoke from your body, but his eyes are hesitant. You may very well not want to leave behind all you have gained in the year.
“Please do.”
That same grin reappears on his lips, splitting his face wide open with giddy pleasure. Oh! How he was not expecting the night to unfurl like this at all. He can feel the desire roll off your skin in waves, and he drinks it in. He can’t give you what you crave so easily, he must play a game with you first.
“Oh ho ho, miller’s daughter, how desperate you are! I can taste it.” he sings, palms boxing either side of your thighs. The touch doesn’t dip the bed, as if he is made of air.
“I will give you three nights to find out my name, or I will leave you here with your eternal longing for more than what he can bequeath,” he propositions, the words dancing around you. How badly do you want to feel such pleasure again? You barely have to think.
“Three nights,” you agree.
With a squeal, he leaps away from your bed, skipping over to the door of the chambers. It’s a miracle the sleeping King besides you remains asleep. Or it’s magic. Head swinging around to looking at you with such intensity, you almost melt as he says one last thing.
“Don’t touch yourself until then.”
***
That night, you have no rest. All the names in the world run through your mind, but how are you to know which one is his? You spend the day compiling a long list, feigning it as names for a future child with the King. ‘You are getting old, I must have an heir within the year.’ It was a curt discussion, not one open for arguing. It is also why every night has been loveless tumbles, only leaving your core soaking with his seed, but nothing grew inside you.
The sun sets below the horizon, the moon rising and you sit next to a warm fire in your chambers. The King is passed out on the bed, fast asleep and unaware of your musings. You can feel how the slick inside you trickles out, unwanted but you resist the urge to wipe it away. It is your wifely duties, after all. Instead, you focus on calming your nerves, trying to untangle the knots in your belly before the strange man visits. He enters, skipping soundless as he hums under his breath.
“So, miller’s daughter, what is my name~?” he flops unceremoniously onto the floor next to you, head coming to rest on your lap. His lidded eyes stare up at you expectantly, a knowing smirk on his face at just how difficult of a challenge he has given you.
You begin to list the names compiled, with each name, he shakes his head, ‘that is not my name,’. As the night drags on, he tantalises you with what you so badly want. The laced hem of your night dress is hiked up around your knees, his unabashed fingers cloying with the soft skin of your thighs, inching closer to your dripping cunt.
“Abel, Balthazar, Oikawa, Hisoka,” you recite, each name getting huskier as he teases you. He barely touches you, instead feeling the remnants of the Kings spill, before pulling back and standing. The movement jostles you.
“The sun is rising, you have two more nights.”
His usual lilting tone is gone, voice hard. He wipes the semen on his finger against the black of your dress, leaving a patch of white, and strides out the door without looking back.
The next day, you send out messengers and knights to scour the town for new names, asking every servant in the castle for theirs. As evening creeps up and your nightly tossle with the King ends, you clean up all that is left over with a dampened washcloth. The stranger peers around the door, taking in the sleeping figure of the King before floating into the room. The static of his gaze as it rakes over your skin catches flame, and the fire beside you seems to dim against the red of his hair.
He leans over you, hands gripping the arms of the wooden chair as he asks you the question. You begin to list the stranger of the names you’ve heard, Martinko, Rumpelstiltskin, Melchior, but each time, he replies that it is not his name. His breath ghosts over your face as you speak, his eyes closing to listen to the whispered cadence of your voice. Instinctively, you widen your legs for his to slot between. He falls to his knees, cheek once more pressed against your thighs, lips mumbling quiet no’s into your hips. With a deep inhale, he smells that you are clean tonight, and it makes his heart soar. His fingers come back to stroke beneath your dress, a deep forest green. You don’t stop saying names.
“This task is impossible,” you whisper out of breath. He had two fingers up to his knuckle inside you, pumping lazily as you recite. Like many times throughout the night, he stops his movements at the brink of your collapse, pulling back to suck at your nectar. He licks his fingers off fluidly, trapping your gaze in a trance.
“You have one more night, or you remain unsatiated,” his grin splinters at your will, a groan tearing from your lips in the quiet room. The crackle of the fire had stopped hours ago. The King twists on the bed, mumbling under his breath at the noise.
“Hush, miller’s daughter, don’t be so desperate.” the man warns, standing and skipping over to the door, humming as he shuts it behind him.
On the third day, you ache for sexual release. The opulent castle walls seem too small for you, and so you wander around the forest just outside the walls. With the sun shining overhead as you stroll, it warms your skin to the degree of the never ending heat between your legs. The earth is soft, and with each step, you seem to fall in deeper to the ground, wanting it to swallow you until you’re no longer charged and lusting.
You are seconds away from turning back when you hear a familiar hum, except this time, there are words. You hide behind a tree, peering out at a small clearing in the woods. Red hair dances like the fire in front of him. The stranger moves around the fire in a trance, celebrating something unknown. You strain to listen in on the words he sings.
"Today I dance, tomorrow I sow,
In the evening, I will steal her away from home.
And oh! I am glad that she does not know,
That the name I am is Satori Tendō!”
That night, you can barely contain your gaiety. You even enjoy the love-making your under enthusiastic partner pounds you with. You take in his heavy touches, the way it doesn’t bleed into your skin, but rolls off like oil with water. It’s your last night with him after all. He’s deep asleep, you had slipped something into the drink he has after the ritual.
You’re waiting for Tendō to enter the room, humming his tune under your breath as you pour wine into your chalice. The nightdress you’ve worn is a red, like the seed of a pomegranate or the sky when the sun sets, the colour of his hair. Sturdy arms wrap against your waist to pull you back against a muscled chest. He laughs into your ear, nipping at the sensitive skin.
“Tell me, Queen,” he spits the name out as though it was too bitter for his taste, “what is my name?”
Feigning ignorance, you list names for the final time. ‘Jack, John, Harry’, hands stroke up the back of your legs, dragging the linen up until your bare ass is on display and pressing against a growing bulge behind you.
“That is not my naaame~” he sings, kissing the side of your neck. Cupping your breast with one hand, the other snakes between your thighs to swirl around at the mess he coaxes from you. You can’t hold in the whimpers, tearing up at the touch given to you after almost a year of loveless sex.
He had introduced life beyond living in those three days, and it was so close now, you can feel it between your fingers. His name is on the tip of your tongue, but you bite it back. It’s not the right time. He folds you forward, your chest resting on the table top, your head turned to see your sleeping husband, so blissfully unaware of the presence in the room. Tendō pulls at the strings of his pants, letting the leather slip down his toned thighs, lining up the head of his cock with your pulsing core.
“Daichi, Bokuto, Ryunosuke,” you mumble out, shifting back against him to feel the silken hardness poke at your folds.
“No, that’s not my name, miller’s daughter,” and he presses in. With all the strength you can muster to not scream out, your knuckles grip the table's edge at feeling so stretched out.
“Oh, fuck,” you swear, the crude word not suitable to pass from a lady’s lips. It sparks a chuckle from the man thrusting into you. He inches in, knees going weak at feeling your walls wrap so deliciously around him once again.
“What’s my name?” he asks, the snap of his hips with each word. Your body jostles against the table top. You moan, clenching around his thick dick.
“Tendō.”
He freezes, twitches inside you, and you hold your breath in anticipation. A large hand wraps around your hair, pulling it up so that your back curves, tightening the space that clamps down on him between your legs.
“Who told you?” the question seeps into your skin, chilling your bones with their weight. He begins to pound into you again, pace picking up considerably to attempt to rouse your husband from his sleep. The sleeping aid you gave him is strong, but you still worry he would see you, not that it would matter after tonight.
“No one,” you moan, pushing up against the wooden table to try and lessen the tug on your scalp.
“Lies!” he roars, fury fueling his thrusts. Although he is getting what he ultimately wants, he has lost the game of cat and mouse. You have won. Oh, how his blood boils. A hand snakes around your throat, squeezing as he fucks into you with ferocity. You cry out, whimpering his name over and over again. Each time it leaves your lips, he feels his anger dim, and instead begins to revel in how the syllables tease his ears, echoing in the room.
“Who told you, whore?” he asks yet again, not expecting you to react to the rude name. It’s all it takes to fall off the cliff within you after three days of bringing you near the edge. Your skin is on fire, being called a ‘whore’ bristles your nerves, scratches you, and you need more, another orgasm, another death to ascend higher.
“No one, I swear,” you retaliate by bouncing back against each thrust with as much vigour as what he pours into you. “I saw you- uh, in the woods, singing.”
He slows, stills, and leans to kiss at the moist skin of your exposed shoulder. With a smile, he manages to twist you around, unsheathing for a second, only to reenter when you’re seated on the table. Legs spread around his waist, you cross your ankles behind his back to draw him closer.
“A promise is a promise, Tendō,” you whisper, arms locking around his neck to pull him close to your lips. “Take me away from here.”
You close your eyes in the kiss, tasting sweet molasses, smelling rain and dirt, and when you open them, you’re not in the castle anymore. Trees reach up past where you can see, multicoloured stars shine in the night sky. You laugh, the sound bubbling from your chest, and Tendō grins, dipping to litter kisses along your neck. His hips begin to move, your fingers curling into his hair as you moan louder than ever before.
You are free.
-------------
fuck, this is long. sorry! I hope you enjoyed it.
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#the smut pile collab#tendou x reader#tendo x reader#satori x reader#tendou satori#satori tendou#tendo#haikyuu#hq#haikyuu x reader#fairytale au#haikyuu fairytale#fairytale#rumpelstiltskin#mine#claudia writes#smut#fem!reader#fanfiction#haikyuu fanfiction
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