Digging Deeper

the solace of banality - lucas (yandere oc) x reader (6.6k)

your time in the hospital has made you miss the simplicity of a life not held captive by a madman in the woods - and has made you just foolish enough to ask him about it.

cw: dark content, yandere, kidnapped reader. hospital setting. chubby fem reader, references to past dub-con and non-con, references to cannibalism, forced intimacy and domesticity, physical abuse.

a/n: for a primer on lucas, see here or his tag on my blog.

this was a commissioned work.

Lucas had not taken his hands off of you the entire ride from the hospital, back into the woods. He'd mumbled something about needing to make sure he moved the truck later on, as he'd stepped out and helped you down in return, strong arms wrapping around you so that you have to do the bare minimum of exertion yourself. His grip is as assured as ever, but there's a tightness there that you haven't felt for some time - as if he needs to press himself into you, just to be sure that you're still there.

And, too, to make sure that you don't run. 

You suppose he doesn't like the idea of you knowing where the truck is parked, but it's not like you could drive it even if you did remember. Lucas treats it like a spooked animal, a strange little creature whose quirks and foibles he has learned over time - you're almost certain that if you were to get behind the wheel, it would not obey you the way that it obeyed him. So you keep your mouth pressed shut and concentrate on the slow journey from the truck to the front door of the cabin. Your gaze returns to it, just once, parked closer than you've ever seen it - but Lucas coughs, and his brows draw in, and you guiltily return your gaze to your feet. 

It's getting colder. It's the end of November, and the ward at the hospital had been decorated early (to give some festive cheer to the people who were stuck there, you suppose). Frost crackles beneath your feet. The moment you'd been signed off as able to go home, Lucas had rushed you out of there, tension tight in his shoulders - so the sun has barely risen, and there's been no time for the cruelty of winter to be tempered any by what warmth it has to offer. 

"Want you home, sweetheart," he'd grumbled, as he'd signed papers at the hospital desk with a surname you do not recognise. He'd let you keep your first name, but he'd given 'Smith' at the hospital as your surname (are you missing, you wonder? Would your real name have been too much of a giveaway?), calling you his wife, smiling tightly as he'd said you'd wanted to keep your maiden name in a very good imitation of a husband a little frustrated by this. "Sooner the better. This place makes me nervous." 

His hands do not move from you as he unlocks the front door, either. As he ushers you in, as he breathes a sigh of relief at the comfort of the cabin around you. 

He'd gone home, just to tend to the chickens. It was the only moments you'd had free from his stifling company - well, that and the surgery. You breathe out, tight and controlled, counting in your head as you feel the twinges of pain. Cold air. The doctor had said you might feel it in the scar for the rest of your life. You'd had maybe an hour and a half at most a day, to be alone with your thoughts and the room--

You'd thought, only once, about telling the doctors the truth. About begging them to help. Do something. 

But you'd remembered the hissed warning in your ear, when he'd driven you to the hospital with a fear you'd never seen spread over his features. If you did that - if they knew - he'd said he wouldn't hesitate to bring as many people down with you both as he could, and the thought of what he might do in an enclosed space to strangers and doctors with no worries as to who got hurt--

No. Better to keep your mouth shut, and pretend everything was fine. 

"Let's get you on the couch, darlin'," Lucas murmurs, still tightly holding onto your waist as if you don't know every inch of this cabin as intimately as you know the back of your hands. "They said for you to stay restin', didn't they? I ain't lettin' you get worse. Not takin' you back there if I can damn well help it." 

You nod, as he lifts you up with ease and deposits you onto the crease of the sofa, the deep comforting dip that is usually Lucas's space. For a moment, you look up at him, and he looks down at you. 

You take in everything about him. The worry etched into his features, the bags beneath his eyes, the coiled tension ready to snap at any moment if you don't do exactly as he says. You take in, too, that he's been wearing the same shirt for three days, that his stubble has grown out some, that he looks at you like he can't believe you're back here on the couch. 

(He'd been afraid he'd lose you, you think. It's the only explanation you can possibly conjure for why he'd taken you out of the cabin, to a place teeming with life, risked everything he had here in order to make sure you didn't die. You'd been here, in this exact spot, the night he'd taken you to the hospital, curled up and sweating and nauseous and too weak to make it to the bathroom to do anything. You'd thought you were going to die right there too). 

You wonder what he sees in you, in turn. 

He'd brought you new pyjamas from the hospital gift shop. They were cheaply made, pink and white stripes, that kind of satin that pulled if you so much as rolled over in bed. But they were new, and they'd been bought for you, so you hadn't mentioned the pulls under the armpit to Lucas. You're wearing them now (they'd laundered them at the hospital for you), with an old dressing gown wrapped around you that you've only ever seen Lucas wear. It smells like him. 

You wonder if you look wan yourself; if your eyes are shadowed, if your mouth is drawn, if your hair is lank. You'd been able to shower, you'd been able to use the bathroom on your own - but you'd almost . . . missed his cloying presence. The nurse had helped you, when you were still too weak, but . . . her hands lathering shampoo through the strands of your hair had not been as gentle, as slow, as thorough as Lucas's always were--

He lets out a slow, controlled breath. 

"You really gave me a fright there," he rumbles, and summons a smile from the pit inside of him for you. "I really thought . . . Well. Don't wanna dwell on nothin' too dark there, do we?" 

It's a question he expects an answer to, you realise, that stern green gaze stuck on you. You shake your head - and then, trembling, put forth;

"I . . . I was scared too. I . . ." Swallow the confused feelings that come swimming up in you before you say it; you've learnt to play this game. It's better to be alive than it is to be chopped to pieces, and if you weren't so good at this part you're certain Lucas wouldn't have bothered to take you to the hospital. "I didn't want to leave you."

His face softens. 

"Sweetheart," he murmurs, leaning forward, to press a lingering kiss on the crown of your head. "I wasn't about to let you go nowhere, y'hear? Now. Let's get a blanket 'round you. Let's get you tucked in, and I'll bring you somethin' to eat. I don't trust the food they gave you in there."

When they'd done the blood tests, the nurse had said that your iron levels were the most perfect she'd ever seen, and you'd thought about Lucas's meals. The meat bleeding dark juices onto the plate. You'd swallowed your disgust and smiled at her, shrugging modestly, telling her that your husband handled the menu and you just ate what he gave you. 

He'd been sat beside you, and he'd shifted when you'd called him your husband, his mouth twitching at the corners. She'd congratulated him on it, a smile on her face - taken in by the size of him, the dog tags shining around his neck, his obvious care for his poor invalid wife--

If only she'd known. 

It's strange to be back in the cabin again. 

Altogether, you'd been in the hospital for nine days; there'd been some complications, they'd wanted to keep an eye on you, they'd had to do a more complicated surgery type than they'd originally thought-- and those nine days had been . . .

You don't want to call them blissful. Nearly dying is not blissful, oxygen tubes and cannulas and blood tests and the smell of antiseptic are not blissful things, really. But it had been so different from the life you'd been accustomed to living! It had been so different to be somewhere else, to see other people--

You don't know quite how long you've been with Lucas, but if it's November again you think it's been over a year. You'd been taken in September, you remember - and he'd mentioned Christmas, that first year, but you'd still been too scared to really think much of it beyond giving him a trembling kiss on Christmas Eve and letting him dress you up in one of the more scandalous pieces from the wardrobe, as a gift, that night-- 

A year of solitude can do a lot to a person. The only other human being you've interacted with is Lucas - and one lost hiker, once, who'd come limping out of the trees whilst you were feeding the chickens with Lucas in the doorway and had called out to you. You'd been too startled to call back, but you'd waved your hand in greeting - and then Lucas's own hand had been on your shoulder, and you understood in no uncertain terms you were to go back inside, and you'd put the record player on when you'd heard the first scream. 

You don't know if that really counts, all things considered. 

But suddenly, you had found yourself surrounded by people! Nurses came and spoke to you, and doctors, and other patients (though Lucas had insisted that you needed a private room, you'd still come across them in the hallways and the corridors when you'd moved around, when they'd taken you out for walks to ensure that you were recovering well). You'd heard more voices than you had in forever, different accents and different inflections and you'd been bombarded with names you didn't always remember. 

Some of the strangers stuck in your mind more than others. There'd been a nursing student who got all red and awkward and stuttery when Lucas spoke to her. There'd been a doctor who had also been a veteran, who had made Lucas's spine stiffen and his words go clipped and rough. There'd been a mother of a young woman who had her granddaughter with her for visiting, who'd mistakenly barged into your room thinking it was her daughter's - and though you'd expected Lucas to lose his temper at them both, he hadn't. He'd crouched down on the floor and asked the little girl about the stuffed bunny she was carrying with a perfectly serious expression, and for a minute you had forgotten about the axe and the blood and the snarl and the lies, and you'd thought what a good father your husband would make. 

You'd had to give yourself a stern talking to inside your head, when the visitors had been sent to the right place and Lucas had turned back to you to fuss over your blankets and his eyes had still been soft with a longing that you did not want to think about. In a different world, maybe. In a different time. In different circumstances-- 

And there was everything else, too. All of the other little freedoms you'd forgotten about.

Food and television and human contact, being alone, a bed to yourself. 

You'd thought, then, how much you'd taken it all for granted.

"Is your husband not here?" The nurse says, cheerfully bustling into the room with your breakfast on a tray. She looks around for him, before she winks at you and pulls from her pocket a tiny packet of chocolate spread, which she lays on the plate next to the toast and the packet of butter and the tiny jar of jam. 

The first time you'd asked for toast, they'd brought you chocolate spread, and Lucas had shaken his head and taken it off your plate before you could even think about it. 

"It ain't good for you," he'd said, sagely, with all of the assurance of a man who was used to being listened to. "Have the jam instead, if you've gotta. The butter on it's own's plenty rich enough though, I think."

He'd watched you like a hawk, and you'd been too scared to put more than a sliver of the strawberry jam on the toast, so you'd eaten exactly what he wanted. 

"He's gone home," you say to her. Your voice still feels a little rough and croaky - you'd been told that they'd put a tube down your throat for breathing, during the surgery. You haven't had much experience of hospitals before, so all of this is a novelty in more than just the freedom from Lucas. "He has to feed the girls - h-his . . . o-our chickens, I mean."

She shakes her head, smiling. 

"I'm sure he means well," she says, perching for a moment on the chair by the bed that Lucas usually occupies. "I mean! He clearly cares about you - I almost never come in here and see the room without him, he's part of the furniture! - but sometimes a girl just needs a treat, you know?" She winks again, and you laugh. 

A part of you feels guilty about it - that same part of you that occasionally looks at Lucas and does think about him as a spouse, that same part of you that sometimes drives you to press a kiss onto his cheek when you're not thinking because he says something sweet. It's the part of you, you think, that wants you to give in and accept and be what Lucas wants and forget everything else, just to make it easier. 

But it's a part that's easier to quell amongst the hustle and bustle of the hospital. 

"Now," she says. "You're going to be in here for a few more days, so I've brought you the menu - just circle what you want and I'll take it to the kitchens. If he doesn't see it, he doesn't know if you chose the unhealthy options!" You laugh aloud again, and reach for the menu, flicking through to see all of the other options. So many foods you haven't had in over a year - so many things you'd never dare ask Lucas to make--

You feel another twinge of guilt when you circle the roast chicken and vegetables, but you tamp it down as you circle apple pie. You'll give Lucas a bite or two, and he'll forget that he'd said you were a vegetarian--

"Good choice," the nurse says approvingly, as she takes the menu from you and tucks it into the pocket of her uniform. She gives you a conspiratorial nudge. "Honestly, I shouldn't say it, but you'd be amazed how many vegetarians take the meat option in here! Good for them, I say. You need to keep your strength up! Now - where's that remote? Shall we put it on that horror channel you wanted and I'll take it with me, so you can say it's lost and he just has to put up with it?" 

You do war within yourself before you dare ask him. You know Lucas's temper - it's hard not to know it, living out here with him for so long. Ordinarily, you do anything possible to make sure that it doesn't flare too openly; you act soft and sweet and agree with him and avoid any topic of conversation that you think might set him off. It's terrifying to see how the way he stands change, the curl of his lip and the grit of his teeth and the slightest tilt of his brows - it reminds you of all of those other people, out there, who have not been so lucky as you. All of those people who have seen him get angry and then learnt his anger in the swing of his axe instead of in the blade of his words. You could so easily have been one of them, you are usually able to sternly remind yourself when the whisperings at the back of your mind get almost too loud to handle. If you hadn't been soft and sweet and scared and what Lucas had found pretty, if you'd screamed instead of begged or fought instead of cried, you would have met your end in the woods too and your flesh would have been parcelled up into the old chest freezer and none of this would have happened--

But that was before the hospital, wasn't it? 

That was before he'd shown you that he cared about you enough to take you into town if things were dire enough - before you'd shown him in turn that you could be trusted to keep his secret. You'd had so many chances to blurt out the truth, but every time you'd held your tongue and you'd smiled and laughed and called him your husband as if it were real. 

The fourth day, Lucas had come in and had slipped a plain gold band onto your finger as a doctor had watched, taking your blood pressure. 

"Found it," he'd said, gruffly, and you'd seen that there was a matching one on his own. "I know y'don't like to be without it." 

You'd kept it, even when you could take it off and you were back in the truck and were free of the ruse. Now, as you slowly bring yourself to the kitchen doorway with a blanket wrapped around you, you play with the ring on your finger and hope he notices that, and that the little movement wins you points. 

"Lucas?" You ask, to get his attention - but you don't need to. He has already heard, his head up and cocked, and he shakes his head and sucks his teeth when he sees you standing there, bare feet on the cabin floorboards. Of course he'd heard the couch creak, of course he'd heard the pad of your footsteps - this is a man who'd heard you so much as sit up in bed from the couch, back when you'd first gotten here and he'd slept on the sofa instead of intertwined with you. He'd always come, always asked you if you were alright, if you needed him to help . . .

"Darlin'," he says, shaking his head. "You shoulda just called. You ain't s'posed to be on your feet too much. I'll bring you anything you want."

You swallow, still absent-mindedly twirling the ring on your finger. It's perhaps a size or two too big; if it were really your wedding ring, you're sure you'd have lost it doing the washing up or getting it caught in your clothes or something by now. 

(It's not yours though, is it? You wonder if Lucas bought them in a pawn shop - but no, that would have caused whispers around a small town that might have gotten back to the hospital eventually. You know the far more likely scenario is that he's had them this whole time, pried from the fingers of some poor unsuspecting camping couple who pitched their tent a bit too close. You don't like to think of the little metal band that warms your own wedding finger on the cold hand of a corpse. You haven't taken it off since he gave you it. 

You're too afraid there'll be an engraving inside, a name that isn't yours, a promise that only means something to two people who are no longer on the earth. 

At least, you suppose, they died together.)

"I . . . I've just been thinking," you say, gathering all of your courage up to try and screw it to the sticking place. Lucas is still being a little too indulgent with you; letting you get away with things that he wouldn't normally. A later bedtime, a bit of pouting, a VHS he'd gotten for you of a fantasy film that he didn't much like played at night instead of one of his own. He's still too raw and open at the thought that he could have lost you, and you don't think you'll ever get a better chance than this one. 

And he's noticed the ring, still on your finger, and there's the faintest dusky flush up his cheekbones. You let your gaze flick down to his own hands, to see that the matching band is still in place on his finger. 

(Lucky, then, that they both almost fitted. You're certain that Lucas would have taken that as a sign; another piece of proof that the two of you were always meant to be. That thought makes your stomach roil uncomfortably, but you try to ignore it. The more he thinks the two of you were destined, the more attached he is to you, the more he loves you - the more likely he's going to be to agree to the thing you're about to ask him). 

"C'mon then," he says, shaking his head in fond exasperation, moving from the kitchen counter to come and take you by the waist and propel you back towards your comfortable nest on the sofa. "You can tell me just as well in there as out here, an' I won't worry half so much. I bought some ice cream one of the days we were in town, y'know. Been waiting for you to feel a bit better. How's about I go grab it from the freezer and make us a bowl and you can tell me what it is that's on your mind, huh?"

"That would be nice," you say, fluttering your lashes, looking up at him from under them in a way you've learnt makes him swallow, his throat bobbing. "Thank you." 

"Aww," he says. "Anythin' for you, darlin'." 

You wrap yourself back up in the other blankets left on the couch and let Lucas leave the room to go out to the freezer and fetch the ice cream. You force yourself not to think of it nestled in the chest freezer, surrounded by cuts of meat - an incongruous tub amongst flesh and bone, a ropy thigh pressed against the lid, a fleshy cheek pressed against the bottom. 

There's no sign of that when he returns with a chipped willow-pattern bowl full of vanilla ice cream and he passes you a spoon, cuddling up close to you on the sofa. You let yourself be manipulated half into his lap, his chin on the top of your head, the warmth he kicks off enough to make the ice cream melt to a pleasing consistency. He insists on feeding you the first bite, and you do not protest it - all the better, to make him soft and adoring. You even force yourself to giggle like an idiot, in a way that makes him growl in approval. 

"Well then," he says, between spoonfuls, and you're grateful that at least you won't have to look him in the eyes when you ask the question. "C'mon, let's get it outta you. What did you wanna ask?" 

Last chance saloon, if you want to backtrack. If you want to think of some other silly question that might not set him off - for another pair of new pyjamas, a colouring book and some fancy pencils, anything that he'll see as an indulgence but not as a declaration of war. 

But, oh . . .

The freedom of those days. The sound of people around you had made you miss the sound of the city, the smell of antiseptic had made you miss any smell that wasn't Lucas's aftershave and the chickens and the frosty air. Controlling a television, choosing your own menu, seeing other people going about their days and knowing that despite the isolated existence you're now living, people are still out there living their lives in a way you know Lucas will never let you. 

It doesn't matter, you force yourself to think, if you will never get that freedom back. Lucas would never let you go, and you're not foolish enough to so much as think about it, let alone ask. You're never going to fulfil so many of your dreams (you'll never see Tokyo, or Paris, you'll never see the Northern Lights or try that fancy hotel in your hometown and you'll probably never know how your favourite manga ends) - but just a taste of it, every so often, with Lucas's hand in yours and him beside you to watch over you--

That's not too much to ask, is it? 

You swallow again, feeling heat rising to your own cheeks. 

"I've just been thinking," you say to him, careful and calm. "About . . . the town? The one that the hospital was in?"

He stiffens all over, and you feel it where you're pressed against him. Like a coiled up spring, tension in every curve and line of his body. 

"Yeah?" He says, his tone warning - if you were smarter, you'd stop there, but you've opened the floodgates now. Your mouth seems to be operating without the express consent of your brain, and the words come flowing out awkwardly smashing into one another in a rush of noise. 

"It's just - couldn't we do something there? Together? See a movie? Run errands or go shopping or surely they have a bowling alley or something we could go to on a date?"

"Sweetheart."

It's rough and dark and angry, but now you've started you cannot stop. 

"I mean, they've seen me! They know I live with you, they're going to ask questions about me, and I don't mind I'll tell them exactly what you want me to tell them but it would be so so nice to do something with you, even if it's just once every few months, I'd just like to be outside--"

The bowl of ice cream clatters to the floor, the remainder of the sticky yellow-white treat oozing across the floorboards like spilt blood, and your brain finally catches up with you and you go stock-still like a deer in headlights as Lucas eases his arms from around your waist and shifts so that he can be next to you, so that he can look you in the eye before he tells you he's going to kill you. 

His gaze catches yours, stern and forbidding and cold as the frost had been when you'd stepped out of the truck. Your hands start to shake as you desperately try and reassure yourself that, if you're lucky, the first blow will kill you and you won't feel any of the rest--

But to his credit, Lucas doesn't jump straight to blazing anger. 

You can feel it simmering in him, like it's rising off of him like steam - but instead, he says, his voice cold and deep and barely restrained;

"No."

"Lucas--"

"I said no." 

He doesn't soften the phrase with a pet name, and this is a bad sign. His gaze remains affixed onto yours, pinning you in place, as much a captor as the man himself. You feel like you will bow and break under it, but you have gotten this far - your foolish heart cannot resist just one more attempt, as if you will somehow find the chink in his armour that will allow you this one tiny freedom. 

"Not often. Just--"

He stands up suddenly, like a tree being shaken to its foundations, and your heart jumps into your throat. He's going to pull down one of the weapons mounted on the wall in the hallway, you know it - he's going to drag you outside and you're going to bleed out on the frosted grass and he'll prise the ring off your finger and wait for someone else it will fit, he'll bury you in an unmarked grave, he'll spin some story next time he's in town about why you're not there--

"I need some air," he says instead, shortly. "I'll be back home in a bit." He reaches to pick up the bowl, not looking at you now. You can see that his grip is white-knuckled, that the veins in his wrists are more prominent than usual. His mouth is set in a grim line. 

"L-Lucas--"

"When I get back," he says, as if he hasn't heard you at all. "I don't wanna hear another word about this nonsense, understand? I keep you safe. I keep you fed and warm and safe an' loved, and I'm not gonna take you out back into a world that doesn't deserve you just so it can fuckin' chew you up and spit you out." 

He turns away and walks, the thud of his boots heavy on the floorboards. 

"We're gonna have an early night," he says, pausing at the door. "I think all that time in the hospital's scrambled your brain good and proper. But don't worry, sweetheart," he looks over his shoulder, gaze like frosted green glass, words a bladed threat. "I'll make sure t'remind you." 

You know you have gotten off lightly. 

It is hard not to think that if you had been someone else, if you hadn't played your game so well, Lucas would not have suffered the question as coolly as he managed to. Or even if you had asked such a thing a few months ago - he would have taken it as a personal attack, as you saying he was not enough for you. 

The fact that he comes back, that he manages to give you a tight smile when he sees that you haven't moved from the sofa where he'd left you except to pick up a battered old fantasy book from the shelf full of mismatched paperbacks - that seems to calm him. You suppose that he's thinking at least you listened to him, hopefully you've taken everything he's said to heart . . .

But that's not the truth. Not really. 

Despite what you know is sensible, you have been thinking about freedom for every moment whilst you've been alone. 

Or, 'freedom' in a sense. You have been thinking about the laugh of the nurse and the buzz of the television and the food in front of you on a clean white plate that has never before played host to a hunk of meat that was once a person. You've been thinking about the sounds of the city and the feel of warm worn leather beneath you in Lucas's truck. You've been thinking and plotting and rewriting in your head exactly what to say to try and convince Lucas that maybe, just maybe, it might be alright. 

Once or twice a year, even! Christmas shopping, perhaps. A Valentine's Day movie - a sappy romance, or a musical, or something he couldn't object to. Something all romantic and soft and chosen specifically to be done with him, so he doesn't feel as though you're trying to escape. 

Lucas lifts you from the couch and guides you into the bathroom - kisses the top of your head and presses against you wanting and needy in the shower, as the hot water cascades over you both, as his fingers brush oh-so-gently the scar left on the soft roundness of your flesh in wonder. His eyes soften as he looks at it, as you suppose he remembers how close he came to losing you - and it's that look, the soft devotion in his gaze, knowing that despite it all Lucas cares about you enough that he broke his own rules to take you somewhere safe, that makes you think that perhaps it might be safe to bring it up again. 

He brushes your hair before bed; helps you put on one of the pretty cotton nightgowns patterned with sprigs of flowers that he always chooses, when he gets the choice (your pink and white striped pyjamas are in the laundry basket, waiting to be washed, Lucas wrinkling his nose and mumbling about the smell of that place). 

You sit up in bed as he pulls out his own sleepwear, and you clear your throat before you speak. 

"A-about earlier . . ."

"If it ain't an apology," Lucas says, voice tight, his back to you - your eyes are drawn to the scars that decorate his body like badges of honour as he pulls the old shirt he sleeps in down, "I don't wanna hear it."

"C-can't we just . . . talk about it? Like a . . . like a married couple would?"

Lucas turns around now. He does not lower himself onto the bed, as he stares at you with something inscrutable in his gaze that makes you trip over your words. 

"I don't want to run, Lucas! I love you!" That's a lie, but you hope he won't notice, won't care, because you said it yourself and not because he demanded you did so. "I just . . . I want to show you off, I want to do normal things with you! Even if it's just the groceries, even if it's just picking up flour or sugar--"

"I've already said no," he bites out. "I've already said no, and I've already told you to stop askin'."

"Lucas, please--"

"Stop."

You'd been wrong. You feel it slipping out of your grasp - the thought of that tiny freedom, grabbed with both hands, slipping through your fingers like fine sand. His words are horribly final, obviously designed to get you to stop asking, to keep your pretty mouth shut and be the quiet and well-behaved little spouse he wants you to be, but . . . 

The thought of something that is so close just being stolen from you like this is too much for you, and you can't let yourself be cowed.

"Can't we just talk about it--!"

"I think you've done enough fuckin' talkin'." 

He looks at you with murder in his gaze and you cringe back into the pillows. Here it is. He's going to beat you to death. He's going to kill you. You've really fucking done it now, haven't you?

But he doesn't.

He looks at you for one more beat, before suddenly a slow smile spreads across his face. 

"Okay," he says, and the change in his demeanour is scarier than anything else you've seen in months. "Okay, yeah. Get outta bed, sweetheart. C'mon. Let's talk this through in the kitchen like grown-ups."

He doesn't help you to the kitchen, this time. He leaves it to you, and you're slow about it - your body protests being taken from the warm embrace of the bed and back out. The nightgown tangles uncomfortably around your ankles, and you stumble more than once.

Lucas, though, had left immediately. Consequently, you're not surprised to see him up and at the stove when you get into the kitchen. The kettle is on the hob.

"We'll talk it through with a hot drink," he says, pleasantly enough. "The way real married couples do, yeah? Sit down, darlin'. Just let me get this to boilin'."

You can't believe how reasonable he's being. You wonder what it is that you said that brought him to this point - the married couple thing, perhaps? The profession of love, that maybe hadn't pierced him properly until a few minutes later? Whatever it is, you're grateful for it, as you sit down on one of the wooden kitchen chairs and let out a soft sigh. 

"Y'know," Lucas says, from over by the stove. "I thought about just fuckin' cuttin' your tongue out so you couldn't ask me anymore."

A cold shiver down your spine, but Lucas's tone is conversational, and you do not see one of his big knives out in the kitchen anywhere. Maybe he is going to apologise, you think. 

"I . . . I'm glad you didn't," you say, voice soft and thready. "Thank you."

Lucas snorts. 

"Yeah. Thought 'bout what you said . . . People in that town sure do know you exist now. And though I ain't planning on takin' you back, just in case . . . Thought that a missin' tongue might be kinda hard to explain, y'know?" 

The kettle whistles, high pitched enough to make you flinch. You notice, suddenly, that he has not put any mugs or cups on the table, and your entire body seems to feel as though it's made of ice. 

He has one of those old-fashioned kettles; enamel, white and blue, a long spout and a metal handle that needs to be warmed through on a hob. He picks it up by the handle now, and walks towards you. 

"So I thought," he says to you, his tone still pleasant, but his voice rough and low. "How am I gonna stop her runnin' her mouth? How am I gonna teach her that when I tell her to stop bringin' somethin' up, she oughta heed my words?"

"Please don't--" You babble out, as he lifts the kettle up. You can hear it bubbling inside, boiling away against the enamel and tin. You've burnt your tongue on a hot chocolate before, sure, tried to drink a coffee before it was cool . . . But the thought of what Lucas is about to do seems far, far worse than that. 

With the hand that is not wrapped around the kettle's handle, he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls it back fiercely until his hand meets the back of the chair, forcing your face up and pinning you in place. 

"It's just a lesson," Lucas says, infuriatingly calm. He lifts the kettle up, and you feel the heat radiating off of it as it comes too close to your skin. "I didn't wanna do this, darlin'. But you ain't left me much of a choice."

"I won't bring it up again!" Lucas lets out a snort, and the barest drop of water snakes from the spout. It splashes onto your bare neck above the nightgown's collar, and you swear you hear the flesh sizzle as you squeak out in pain. 

"It's a bit too late for that now," he tells you. "C'mon. We don't want this to get cold now, do we?"

"Lucas, please--!"

"Open your fuckin' mouth," he says, his eyes glittering. "And swallow like a good girl, and I'll only make you drink this one kettleful. I can boil another as easy as pie. I can keep fuckin' going until you can never talk again, y'hear me?"

You're shaking, but he has slowly, slowly started to tip the kettle now. The spout is coming far too close to your lips for comfort. 

"You'll wanna wrap your mouth around it," he says, and you do not miss that it's not the first time he's said that kind of thing to you. Hot tears of fear and frustration well in the corner of your eyes. "If you make me pour it into you like you're a teacup, you're gonna panic and just get burns all over your pretty face too."

The spout nudges your lips. 

"Open your mouth," Lucas coos to you, and you squeeze your eyes shut. "Open your mouth, and we'll just do one kettleful, and I'll get you s'more ice cream once you've learnt your lesson. One kettleful and it'll prob'ly only be a week or so 'fore you can talk again." 

You try and will yourself to think of something to get out of it, but Lucas is getting impatient. He tugs roughly on the hair in his fist and lowers his own mouth close enough to hiss into your ear;

"Don't open it and . . . well. You don't really wanna find out, do ya'?"

Outplayed. 

You open your mouth.

Futility

Warnings: fem!reader, smut, abusive relationships, non con, jealousy, power imbalance, slapping, implied death, creepy Razor out in full swing

Word count: 6.7k

Keep reading

Title: Ferine.

Pairing: Yandere!Toji x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 4.1k.

TW: Hybrid AU, Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Slight Manipulation, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Knotting, Mentions of Blood + Violence, Slight Breeding, and Biting.

Toji was, by far, the largest hybrid you’d ever taken care of.

Which, technically speaking, wasn’t that big of an accomplishment. This was barely your third month at the research facility, and you could count the number of hybrids you’d encountered before being hired here on a single hand. Still, even compared to the other wolves you currently looked after, Toji was beyond impressive. His long, pointed ears and stocky build set him well above six-foot, and even if he’d lacked height, he would’ve been able to make up for it with the planes of sculpted muscle circled around his biceps and thighs, laid over his chest and back. Top it all off with a set of claws each longer than your pointer finger and sharp enough to pierce reinforced steel, and he was practically fit for exhibit. Not that Toji could ever actually be a show dog, no – he’d tear the judges apart before they’d so much as heard his name. He was sweet, but he had a temper. You had to be careful not to set him off.

His fangs were impressive, too – perfectly in-tact despite years of less-than-adequate care, only a touch duller than a real wolf’s. You were careful not to let your hand stray from where it cupped his cheek as you looked for signs of damage or rot only to, of course, come up empty. The longer you spent with him, the more convinced you were that nothing could actually hurt Toji, even if the faded scar stitched into the corner of his mouth suggested otherwise.

“All done,” you started, letting go of his cheek. Immediately, Toji’s jaw snapped shut with enough strength to take off a finger, had you given him the chance. “Perfect as always, Toji. I think you might be my best patient.”

A cocky smile found its way to his lips, and you could hear his tail beating lazily against the dirt floor of his enclosure. The facility was committed to replicating the natural environments of their more exotic hybrids as closely as possible, even if Toji claimed he’d trade it all for a punching bag, or better yet, something ‘real’ to dig his teeth into, whatever that meant. “Do I get a treat, doc?”

It was asked playfully, but still, you hummed by way of confirmation, pulling your duffle bag into your lap and fishing Toji’s well-earned rewards – a generic chocolate bar and a can of some painfully acidic, sickeningly sweet brand of soda your hybrid patients couldn’t seem to get enough of. It was a meager prize, but it was as much as you were able to spare considering how strict his caretakers were when it came to his diet. You’d probably save yourself a few dirty looks if you didn’t give him anything at all, but it didn’t feel right to leave him empty-handed.

He accepted your humble offering greedily. While the chocolate bar was stowed away for later consumption, the can was pierced with a clawed thumb and emptied in one long, unpleasantly audible swig. You’d only started to push yourself to your feet when Tojj finished, letting the now empty can fall to the ground before turning his attention back to you. “It hurts my feelings, knowing you’re just gonna run off and put your hands on another animal.” His ear pressed flat against his scalp, as if he was trying (and failing) to feign disappointment. “If I didn’t know better, I’d start to think you didn’t really care about all the time we’ve spent together.”

“You’re not exactly in desperate need of medical attention,” you chided, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “And I’m on a schedule. Not all of us can sit around, grooming ourselves all day.”

That earned a breathy laugh, a coy lilt to his smile. “Well, if you wanted to take a shot at it, I wouldn’t—”

“Save it. I get enough of that with the cats.” Just thinking about it made you grimace. It was one thing to think that Toji might bite you. Knowing Satoru and Suguru – the bonded leopard and panther pair who shared a check-up date with Toji – would insist on licking any exposed skin raw before letting you do your job was a much more tangible reality. “I’ll see you in a couple of days. You’ll be good until then, right?”

“I’m gonna gut those fucking strays.” His answer was blunt, immediate, but he cracked as soon you shot him a purse-lipped frown. “Kidding, kidding. I’ll just rough ‘em up a little – make ‘em regret putting their paws on you, y’know?”

You couldn’t help but soften. Toji was rough around the edges, but he wasn’t a bad dog. He just had a protective streak and that, paired with his brash personality and tendency to bite before he barked, was enough for most people to write him off.

You really did have a long, long list of other appointments you had to get to before the end of the day, but against your better judgement, you paused as you passed him, reaching down to rake your fingers through sleek black hair. He was stoic, especially for a hybrid, but even his cool, dark eyes and wry smile couldn’t hide the way his tail moved just a little faster at the feeling of your nails raking over his scalp, his ears immediately perking up. It only took a second for him to bat your hand away, but you only laughed as you started towards the staff exit, waving to Toji over your shoulder.

Maybe, for his next check-up, you’d see if you could sneak in something special.

~

“Your mutt’s been unruly, lately.”

You glanced up from your clipboard, turning your full attention to Nanami and quickly finding that he hadn’t paid you the same courtesy. He was one of the senior researchers and, so far, the only one you could stand to be around for any longer than a few minutes. Since the higher-ups expected you to fill out your reports with one hand while you took a four-hundred-pound tiger’s temperature with the other, you tended to camp out in Nanami’s office when you had paperwork to file. “Toji?” Nanami nodded, and you rolled your eyes. “I’m just the vet, Kento. If his handlers aren’t doing their—”

“The problem isn’t his handlers, it’s him.”

His voice was flat, his tone icy. You laid your clipboard over your lap, crossing your arms over your chest. “He’s an animal. It’d be more out of character if he didn’t lash out occasionally.”

Nanami opened his mouth, but closed it just as quickly. After a lengthy pause, he leaned back in his seat, bringing a hand to his temples and massaging absentmindedly. “Do you know why he hasn’t been released back into the wild, yet?”

Obviously. Working with hybrids – let alone exotic hybrids – was dangerous, and your debriefing had drilled the face, name, and background of every animal in the facility into your memory. “He was born in captivity. He’s too acclimated to human society to adjust to the wilderness.”

Nanami pressed his lips into a thin line – an expression you’d learned to read as ‘you’re right, but I’m not going to say that’. Still, a degree of satisfaction accompanied his silent confirmation. “He was found in a dog fighting ring – or, what was left of one, at least. It took three rounds of sedation and two broken muzzles before our recovery team was able to get him under control.”

A knot formed at the base of your throat. Fuck chocolate, Toji deserved a blanket and as many hugs as he would let you give him. “That’s terrible, Kento. Were the organizers arrested?”

“The organizers—” Nanami straightened. “—were found mauled and stuffed into a kennel. Their bodies were so thoroughly mutilated, we had to rely on blood samples to identify them.”

“Wolves aren’t known for attacking unprovoked. It could’ve been another—”

“One of his handlers is currently hospitalized,” Nanami went on, as if you hadn’t cut in. “And two have already turned in their resignations – a resounding fear for their welfare in the workplace, supposedly.”

Your eyes fell to the floor, and that knot in your throat tightened until only the barest whisper could find its way out. “He’s not a bad dog,” you muttered, nearly under your breath. “He just— He loses his temper, sometimes. He doesn’t mean to hurt anymore.”

“He’s never tried to hurt you?”

You didn’t have to think before shaking your head. “Never.”

That, of all things, seemed to catch Nanami’s attention. For the first time, his eyes flickered briefly to you before falling back to his desk, his paperwork. “Good,” he said, marking down something on a piece of scrap paper in front of him. If he felt the need to elaborate, he clearly didn’t deem it worth the effort.

Later that day, you were informed that you were being transferred to the reptile wing indefinitely. If you’d been there for a few more months, if you’d had a little more experience to throw around, if you’d had a little more authority, you might’ve protested, but it was all you could do to nod and set to memorizing your new schedule.

~

It took exactly three weeks for you to see Toji again.

One of his handlers – a woman in her early twenties sporting a pressed scowl and a gauze-padded bandage on her cheek – met you at the facility’s gates and flatly told you that Toji was injured. You’d never been in the facilities (much less with a hybrid) after sundown, and in the simulated wilderness of his enclosure, it was easy to forget that you were never more than twenty feet away from a security camera, that there was only one apex predator you had to be afraid of. After checking your usual meeting spot (clear spot near the center of his enclosure – neutral territory, safe territory) and finding it vacant, you reluctantly stumbled your way to his den, dragging your feet despite the urgency of the situation. Toji wouldn’t deliberately attack you, but any animal could react if provoked. You didn’t want to set him off. More importantly, you didn’t want to prove Nanami right.

You’d never ventured far enough to see his den, but you knew what to expect. A square shell of cement occupied the deepest corner of Toji’s enclosure, bracketed off by a metal door tucked inside of a deep entryway meant to give the illusion of privacy. You approached it slowly, stepping underneath the shadowed overhang with no small amount of caution, but you didn’t get the chance to knock before a hand manifested on your shoulder and shoved you against the cold steel.

Claws bit into to the dip of your shoulder, then your wrist, too, as he caught your hand and shoved it into the small of your back. You felt hot air on the nape of your neck, heard heavy panting laced with the barest trace of a throaty growl, and it took everything you had not to panic, not to struggle, not to give him a reason to dig his teeth into your neck and tear. Toji wasn’t a bad dog, but he was still a dog. He’d still bite, if given an excuse.

“Toji,” you started, slowly, taking care to soften each harsh syllable of his name. “I’m here to help you.”

He didn’t respond, his hold only tightening. His check pressed into your back, and there was a short, airy noise – sniffing, as little as you wanted to put a name to it. “Toji,” you repeated, with more urgency. “I heard you were hurt. Will you let me help you?”

A second passed in silence, then another. Finally, he pulled away from you, releasing your wrist first, then your shoulder. He remained where he was – a little too close, a little too looming – as you shuffled to face him, forcing yourself not to consciously acknowledge that you were in a very big cage with a very poorly behaved animal. His handlers hadn’t mentioned why they’d needed you, but you didn’t have to wonder for very long. Even in the pitch dark, you could see the dark blood covering his jaw, washed over his throat and chest. It was on his hands, too, coating the white bone of his claws, and matted into his dark hair. Your waning self-control faltered then shattered altogether, your hands shooting to his head, his face, searching for bruising or swelling or broken bones, but surprisingly, all your worry earned was an airy laugh. “It’s not mine, doc.” He laid a hand over yours. “I’m doin’ just fine. Even better, now that you’re here.”

But he wasn’t. Twin sets of puncture marks were littered across his throat, his face, his arms. Something had taken a chunk out of his left bicep, and five matching scratch marks had been etched deep into the skin of his chest. The wounds looked feline, but you couldn’t bring yourself to linger on the implications. “You’re hurt,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. Your hands fell to his shoulders, pushing him downward gently. “I— I’ve got bandages, and sutures—” You let your bag fall from your shoulder to your elbow, already reaching for the zipper. “Find somewhere to sit. We should get you cleaned up before something worse sets in.”

Panic was quickly overshadowing your better judgement, but Toji didn’t move, didn’t look away from you. He was still wearing that coy, sardonic grin – almost teasing, given your anxiety. “I already told you, I’m just fine.” His smile widened, until his pointed fangs caught in the dim light. “I didn’t think you’d actually come. They said I could ask for whatever I wanted, but—” He paused, sucked in a sharp breath. “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“Toji, you’re not making any sense. You need help.” Again, you pushed gently on his shoulders, and again, he didn’t seem to notice. This time, though, he shifted, leaned toward you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You scowled, shoving a little less gently on his chest, but Toji didn’t move. “Toji, please, just let me help—”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, princess.” You felt his hands on your waist, then your ass. His chest was slotted against yours, and his tongue ran unabashedly over the curve of your neck once, then twice before he went on. “Keep sayin’ my name like that, and I won’t be able to control myself.”

Something pressed into your thigh – hot and hard and, like the rest of Toji, fucking huge. Your heart fell into your stomach, the air flooding out of your lungs and leaving you dazed, breathless.

Fuck. Fuck.

You should’ve stuck with the fucking reptiles.

Toji was panting audibly, again; his tongue lapping over your neck, your cheek. You were still cursing yourself for ever applying for this shitty job in the first place when Toji fell to his knees, forcing your thighs onto his shoulders as his claws caught on the fabric of your pants, decimating the thin material in an instant. His teeth tore away your panties just as quickly, leaving you exposed, splayed out on a silver platter in front of him. You reacted reflectively – knotting your fingers in his hair and doing your best to pry him away from you, but your strength was nothing compared to his and in the end, all you earned was a throaty groan, a tight squeeze to your ass before he buried his face in your cunt. His teeth grazed against the tender insides of your thighs, his claws biting into your now-unprotected skin, but the feeling of his tongue laving over the length of your slit replaced every other sensation with pure heat.

Predictably, he was near animalistic – his thick tongue fucking into you as the bridge of his nose ground shamelessly into your clit. From a distance, it would’ve been hard to tell if he was trying to eat you out or eat you alive; every noise he made feral and wet, punctuated with rough growls and little, uncharacteristic whines. It would’ve been impossible not to feel anything, but still, you couldn’t help but hate yourself when it started to feel good. His tongue was thick and textured, long enough to fill your pussy and flexible enough to curl inside of you, abusing the walls of your cunt without mercy. It was difficult to tell how much of the gloss staining his chin and the inside of your thighs was his drool and how much of it was your arousal, but even if your mind was disgusted by every slick noise and sharp flick of his tongue, there was nothing your body could do to block out the sudden pang of heat in your core, to fight the way your legs ached to clench around his head and pull the source of your revulsion that much closer.

“To—Toji, no, st—” you tried to say, like you were scolding a normal dog, like any part of you still thought he was listening. A cracked moan cut you off prematurely, and even if it hadn’t, Toji’s only response was a bruising squeeze to your ass, a low moan just loud enough to reverberate against your sensitive clit. Blinding white flashed across your vision, and before you could stop, before you could bring yourself back from that edge, you were coming undone on his tongue, your hips bucking against his face as he nursed you through your mind-numbing climax. Rather than pull away, he forced his tongue that much deeper into your pussy – taking advantage of your hypersensitivity to drag another unwilling orgasm out of you, then another, until the dried blood smeared across his lips was tacky and dripping onto your skin. He only pulled away when your little, pained sounds began to die into half-choked pleas and your limited strength failed, leaning you limp and boneless on top of him, and even then, he took the time to drag his tongue over your slit, to lap up what would’ve been wasted slick. You would’ve given anything for him to just leave you like that – messy and covered in your own arousal, but unfortunately, Toji had never been a bad dog.

His gaze flitted up to meet yours. “Sorry, princess,” he muttered, when he saw the misery knitted into your expression. The broad grin he wore was anything but apologetic, though. “Might’ve gotten carried away after all. Can’t help it – you always come to me, smellin’ like other men, and nobody ever lets me do anything about it.” He nuzzled into the inside of your thigh, nipping at the tender flesh with just enough force to break the skin. There was a tight pinch, of bright spark of pain, but Toji tended to the minimal wound lovingly, running his tongue over the thin stream of blood. “Gonna have you nice n’ scented by the end of the night.” A sharp whimper slipped past your grit teeth as the points of his fangs grazed over your skin, and Toji sighed. “Gonna have you nice n’ bred, too, if you keep making those sounds.”

Bred. Bred. Bred. You turned the offensive word over in your mind, unable to grasp what it possibly could’ve meant, as Toji carefully lowered you onto the ground – never so much as toying with the idea of fucking you into anything other than the cold, raw earth. It wasn’t until his clawed hand fell to the hard, pulsing cock standing stiffly between his legs that you were able to fully process what he’d said, what he was threatening to do to you. Your thoughts went blank, your years of veterinary school and countless hours of animal-handling training and common sense all dissolving into total nonexistence in an instant. It didn’t matter that he was taller than you, stronger than you – you were already throwing your full weight against him, scratching at his chest with your blunt nails, doing everything in your so incredibly limited power just to get away from him. Your latest wave of resistance wasn’t enough to overwhelm him, but it earned a frustrated rumble at the base of his throat, a downward quirk to his cocky smile. Your nails caught one of the puncture marks on his cheek and, reflexively, he straightened his back, brought his hand to his face, left just enough space between your body and his for you to roll onto your chest and scramble desperately towards freedom. You’d barely gotten your knees underneath you when his hand lashed out, catching you by the collar and forcing your cheek into the soil. His chest pressed into your back, his legs caging yours in on either side, and worst of all, his cock throbbed against your ass – somehow, impossibly, harder than it’d been a few seconds ago. You might’ve jotted it down as an impressive display of canine resilience, if you hadn’t felt so desolated.

“Shoulda figured you wouldn’t make this easy on yourself.” His voice was rougher than it had been, but no less self-satisfied. That made sense. Wolves were endurance predators. He would’ve come into this expecting there to be a struggle. “I thought you’d be more of a mate than a bitch, but—” He paused, his mouth settling against the nape of your neck. “—either’s fine by me.”

You clenched your eyes shut. “Please, Toji, don’t do—”

But, it was already too late. He rutted your ass once, then twice, before his tip caught on the entrance to your abused pussy and he was inside of you, fully sheathed without a trace of resistance.

Toji was big, even for a hybrid. He was a hunter, tried and true, all muscle and agility and pure, unfaltering strength. Even with his generous (albeit, unwelcomed) prep, it was all you could do to convince yourself that his cock wouldn’t tear you apart. He was thick enough to press against every soft and sensitive spot inside of you, long enough to leave a tight knot of pressure sitting in the pit of your stomach, and when he started to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, the force alone was enough to scatter little black spots in the corner of your vision and leave you hazy, light-headed. The way he was fucking into you didn’t help anything, either. Keening whines slipped out of some deep, feral pocket of his chest as he took advantage of your vulnerable cunt, alternating between grinding into you with a desperate sort of clinginess and trying to bully his way that much deeper with bruising, brutal thrusts. One arm wrapped around your midriff, dragging you even close to him, while a groping hand found the delicate buttons of your top and tore, ridding you of what was left of your protection against him. He kneaded half-consciously at your chest as he fucked into you; his own pleasure suddenly his only priority.

His selfishness should’ve been a welcome change, but you were too far gone, your body too eager to find a silver lining to his rough affection. Your hands clawed mindlessly at the ground as he pumped into you, the heat of his body against yours clouding your senses and making the feeling of cock stretching you open, his dull head pounding against your cervix all the more unbearable. You doubted he’d be able to talk, even if he’d had anything left to say, but he was still vocal enough. Raspy groans and harsh grunts rung distantly in your ears, his calloused hands groping mercilessly at your chest, your stomach, your waist. Finally, his thumb found its way to your neglected clit, and with less than a full second of stimulation, you were buckling into yourself, clamping down around his cock with a fractured whimper. As humiliated as you were, Toji wasn’t far behind. With something between a moan and a howl, he was cumming inside of you – predictably making no attempt to pull out. Something hot and vile flooded into you, but it was hard to focus on that when you could feel something hard and bloated and wrong press into your entrance. Toji’s breath hitched as he forced his knot into your tight cunt, and whatever hope you had for coming out of this unscathed curled up and died inside of you.

You could feel him slacken on top of you. You almost thought he would collapse like that, leave you locked to him and trapped under his weight, but instead, he nuzzled against the crook of your neck, his fangs ghosting over your throat before sinking into the soft flesh just underneath your jugular. He stayed like that, his knot splitting open your pussy and his teeth buried in your neck, until you lost any hope of him ever pulling away.

Exhausted, you shut your eyes, sinking into yourself. You’d been right, in a way. Toji wasn’t a bad dog.

He was just a terrible terrible man.

Hello!!! I'm here to request a reaction! owo~ Can you do a treasure 13 reaction to having a tall gf? (5'9-5'10) 💖

Hello! And thank you for requesting! I broke it into two parts because tumblr doesn’t like me, but the second part is up!

Please send requests!

Treasure 13 Reaction To Having A Tall Girlfriend (1/2)

Hyunsuk:

Hyunsuk, may be a little insecure since he is on the shorter side (5’6ish), he might prefer it if you wouldn’t wear heels, but I feel like he would be the type to brag about his girlfriends height (if she’s that tall). Probably tease the other guys and say “my girlfriends taller than you, she can easily step on you” or something along those lines. If someone teased him he would be like “okay I may be short, but are you taller than MY girlfriend, huh, yeah I thought so” but nevertheless he would love you regardless of your height.

Jihoon:

Jihoon is 5’9 so basically the same height as his girlfriend, only a couple of differing centimetres, but I feel like he would look at you in complete awe. He’s the type to tease you by asking you to get things from off the shelves (when he could still reach) just to play around with you, and at the same time he would compliment you, “my girlfriends gorgeous enough to model 🤧” or “when are you gonna start modeling, huh?” And like Hyunsuk, if any of the other members annoyed him he would jokingly say “I’ll ask y/n to come and step on you so be careful” he loves you for you and nothing else.

Yoshinori:

Yoshinori aka my precious baby would be such a sweetheart, if you ever felt insecure about your height, he would do absolutely ANYTHING to make you feel confident in your height. He would understand why you would feel bad about your height (cause like Japan and Korea are on the shorter side and they like to stare), if he saw people staring at you, he would try and put your mind on something else, he would probably start doing aegyo in public just so he could see you smile. Someone please tell me how tall he is bc idek smh.

Junkyu:

Oof, this man would be head over heels for you. Junkyu is 5’10 so your height difference won’t be much. You and him would be THAT couple, the couple who models together, the couple who take the sickest pictures together, the couple that people inspire to be. Okay y’all are THAT couple. Junkyu wouldn’t care at all and if someone came up to him and said something like “are you okay with a y’all girlfriend?” no one would actually be dumb enough to ask that but please play along he would reply with “are you okay with being so close to hell?” Junkyu would be so protective about you, he would immediately go into mama bear mode if anyone disrespects you.

Yoonbin:

Fun fact yoonbin is my first love

Ok so! Yoonbin honestly would not care at all, like at all, he just wouldn’t care. There’s only a couple of differing centimetres so it wouldn’t make much of a difference. Even if you wore heels he wouldn’t care, this boy just doesn’t care. He loves you to the moon and back, so why would something insignificant bother him at all? Your what keeps him happy, your what puts a smile on his face, like this boy loves you so much that when someone mentions your name, he turns into blushy - giggly mess. But if you were to be insecure about your height he would probably write down a thousand reasons why and how you’re perfect in his eyes uwu

Mashiho:

Hmmm, now if I’m being honest with you, I can’t really see him with someone that taller than him. But let’s just say he ends up with a girlfriend taller than him, he also probably wouldn’t care aswell, even if your like 20cm taller than him you’ll still be his baby. He wouldn’t care how much taller you are than him, you’re still his baby, he doesn’t care what anyone says. You. Are. His. Baby. Regardless of you being so much taller than him, he just don’t care. But I do see him being a bit flustered here and there NOT because you’re wearing heels, because you’re such a goddess mashiho took all my uwus .

Obsidian Masterlist

-The Original Piece: Part One and Two

-Jasper's First Appearance

-Courting

i miss salauddin sm pls give me more

hmmm I miss him too. ok how about some tooth rotting fluff?

Salauddin wakes up in the middle of the night, an hour before Fajr prayer. He always wakes up at the same time at night. He doesnt look to the other side of the bed, but he sees your form lying there, sleeping.

You never wake up for Tahajudd like him.

Salauddin makes his ablution, performs the Tahajudd prayer, making dua for you before anything else. He prays that you're always happy, prays for forgiveness from Allah on your behalf, prays to meet you in heaven. And then he makes a short prayer for himself, forgiveness for his past and future sins. He then prays Fajr, the morning prayer.

Salauddin then sits on the prayer mat, and he feels you sit beside him. He takes your hand in his, and starts tasbeeh on your fingers, counting them on your hands so that you get the reward too. He closes his eyes and he feels you lay your head on his lap. Usually, he would smile, but not today. He's mad at you today, and you know that. But you wont ever apologise, and he wont ever make you. He just needs to let it pass.

With his eyes closed, he recites the Quran. He's a hafidh, and he knows you're one too. But he still recites better. However, he loses his concentration today due to his frustration with you, and he hears the amusement in your voice as you correct his pronounciation, correct his mistakes.

Still he does not react. He keeps his eyes closed, his voice monotonous, not showing any signs of fluster. You cant get away with it everytime, not so easily at least.

He's mad at you. And you will know it.

After finishing recitation, he gets up and begins getting ready for the day. He hears you calling his name gently-

"Yusuf. Yusuf."

Yusuf. Only you are allowed to call him by his real name. And you use it to your favour, you know how his heart flutters at hearing his name roll from your tongue.

"Yusuf."

No. Not today.

He stands in front of the vanity, fixing his clothes. He wears his chaddar- the white chaddar you adore. Usually, he would wrap it around your shoulders, but not today.

Salauddin picks up the bottle of kohl, its the same one he bought you. He hears you whine his name as he places the kohl in his eyes. Usually, he would line your eyes with kohl before his, but not today.

Not after what you did last night.

He sits down in the balcony, the servant leaving a some dates and hot tea. He feels you sit opposite to him, trying to make him look at you, but he instead kept his eyes focused on the pyramids.

"Yusuf?"

Salauddin would usually feed you dates from his hands, after he took the seed out. He knows how it annoys you when your hands get sticky from the juices. But not today. Today, he only took the seeds out and put it in your plate and poured tea in your cup. You never had to use your own plate and cup, not when Salauddin fed you from his plate and shared his cup with you, blowing on the hot drink.

Not today.

He walks out of the room without eating, to attend to his duties. He didnt feel like having breakfast today, but he hopes you're not starving yourself at his expense... wherever you are. You dont follow after him when he left, you're a little short tempered like that. If he ignores you a few times, you give up trying to get his attention until he comes to you himself. You're not like him, you dont have patience for your beloved like he does.

But not today. Maybe some time apart will make you think about what you did.

Salauddin is fine as noon comes and he offers Dhudhr prayer, still no sight of you. You're probably taking a nap. He does get a little concerned after praying Asr, no sign of you all afternoon. Did you sleep through lunch?

Finally disturbed, he gives in and goes to look for you. He goes to the bedroom first, no sign of you. Then he makes his way to the dining hall, the library, before finally going to the stables.

He spots your figure there, standing in front of your favourite horse Rumi.

As always, he comes to you.

"Y/n."

He watches you turn away from him, crossing your arms over your chest with a huff. You're mad at him.

Salauddin's lip twitches.

"Y/n." He walks closer, coming up behind you.

"No." You say sharply as he tries to turn you around, shrugging his hand off your shoulder.

"Y/n-"

"No. I'm mad at you." You state.

"I know. I'm sorry." He apologises, as always. You never apologise.

You turn around, frowning at him. "You ignored me all day."

"I'm sorry."

"You misbehaved with me."

"I'm sorry."

"You didnt feed me."

"I'm sorry."

"You were mad at me." Were? So you know he's let go of his anger?

"I'm sorry."

"You should be."

He nodded. "I'm sorry."

"You didnt visit me all day."

"I'm sorry. I was going to now." He offered his hand. "Lets go?"

You smiled, finally letting go off the anger as you let him encase your hand.

Salauddin walked out of the stables, telling the servant to take care of the horses, especially Rumi.

A few minutes later, he reached the place he visited the most with you only.

The sun had set, the sky turning dark to indicate the time.

He looked at you. "Why dont you go in and wait for me? I just need to pray Maghrib."

You walked inside while he offered the evening prayer. And like every prayer, he prayed for you first, then his subjects and then himself.

He finished his prayer, and stood outside the entrance. He noticed a small flower growing outside. A pink flower. He plucked it gently.

With a deep inhale, he walked inside. His steps were gradual, despite it being darker than earlier. He knows you're not scared of the dark. Where you are, he hopes its not as dark.

He spots you sitting on the ground, waiting for him, looking sad. You perk up when you notice him.

"You came." You smiled. "You took so long."

"I'm sorry." He joined you on the ground, sitting next to you. "Here." He showed you the pink flower, watching your eyes lit up.

"Wow." You were in awe. "Its so pretty. Come on, place it."

With a smile, he nodded at your request. Salauddin took the flower and placed it on the grave.

The two of you sat in silence, and he felt you put your head on his shoulder.

"Only one flower? You should bring more." You complained.

He nodded. "Next time." He could never say no to you.

How could he explain to you that no matter how many flowers he dresses your grave with, you wont come back.

Salauddin stayed there for a bit longer, wiping his tears before returning home with you.

He offered the night prayer Isha, before lying in bed, where you were already waiting for him.

"Yusuf?" He opened his eyes. You were both lying on your sides, facing each other.

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry for not coming in your dreams last night." You pouted, surprising him as you apologised for the first time.

"I promise I'll visit tonight!"

Salauddin smiled. "Okay."

He could never be mad at you for long. He forgave you when you left this world, he can forgive everything else too.

Ngl, I cried writing this.

TW: nsfw, yandere, toxic relationship, friends with benefits, guns, threats of harm and death, name-calling

gn reader

When you open your heart to your fuck-friend, he sighs with rust.

You still have his cum inside your hole as he tears you a new one—telling you he doesn’t have the fucking time or the fucking energy to deal with lovey-dovey confessions right now—he has enough bullshit on his goddamn plate already without having to consider you and your fucking feelings as well.

If you’re not going to shut up and fuck him, you might as well shut up and fuck off.

So you do. The latter, that is.

Part of you knew it was going to end up this way. You with your heart broken and him with the blood on his hands. But part of you had hoped as well—hoped he felt the same way—hoped your words would soften his edges and wash away all the muck in his head enough to let you in.

You’d read a little too much into those gentle touches he sometimes bestowed upon you in his weaker moments—that soft way he cried when holding onto you during the night, wordless and clingy and begging you not to go.

But the more you think about it, the less you understand why your heart aches. It doesn’t really make much sense after all…

In truth, he’s an asshole. Always been. And you deserve better.

He’s always so angry. Always on something mudding up his blood. Never with anything nice to say. It doesn’t really matter how you’d held him in his nightmares or patched him up when he’d stumbled through your door drunk and bloody. 

Scarred boys in need of fixing aren’t good for your health—especially when all they have to offer you in return are callous words of rejection.

He’d always been secretive. He wasn’t a very good lover—but you're not entirely sure if he was ever even a good man. The wounds he’d dreg to your apartment in the middle of the night always left blood on your sheets. He never agreed to go to the hospital—always insisted your first-aid kit was enough, even when he'd come to you with bullets you’d have to dig out with a pair of tweezers.

You realize he’d been using you. You were convenient and stopped being convenient the minute you wanted more—and upon the realization, you move on.

And then he comes crawling back…

Shivering in the rain like a beaten street mutt—looking starved and sick like one, too. There’s blood on his shirt and a grim darkness in his eyes. He tells you to let him in, and you only barely have the guts to tell him to go away. 

He has this tortured look on his face—as though something’s your fault, as though you’ve wronged him in some way, as though you’re the reason he’s out in the cold with nowhere to go.

Barging in and slamming the door behind him—he locks it and pockets the key—ignoring your questions as you ask him what the fuck’s gotten into him. He looks deranged—water dripping from his matted bangs, eyes reddened, and cheeks streaked. You only now notice it isn't because of the rain.

“You said you wanted me, didn’t you?” he huffs. “Here I am.”

You’re tense. You hadn’t felt like that with him before, it takes you a minute to realize it’s because you’re scared. After all, you’d wanted him all those other times—rough or otherwise. And now you didn’t want him at all. 

“You should leave. You’ve been drinking.”

“What? You changed your mind already?” he accused, then scoffed with an unamused laugh. “I’m not surprised. People like you, who like danger and bad men, are always so fickle-hearted.” He approaches you too fast for you to back away, his scarred hands curling into your sweater—split skin from recent beatings bleed onto the fabric. “Flighty little slut, you’ve probably already found the next guy who gives you a rush. Isn’t that right?” He’s seething as he pulls you forward, looking like a hostile hound.

You lay your hands on his chest to keep him at a distance—feeling his entire body shake like static. You wonder if he’s taken drugs tonight, but looking into his eyes, you don’t think so. They aren’t fidgety but deadset. Actually, upon closer look, you don’t even think he’s drunk.

But anyway, it doesn’t really matter. You still don’t want him here. “I’m serious. Get out, or I’m calling the police.”

“Oh? Are we slinging threats now?” he jeers, showing no signs of letting go or leaving—he only pulls you in closer, so close you could kiss. “What? Don’t tell me you’re scared now.” He breathes out a short excuse for a laugh as you veer away, putting his lips to your ear instead. “You should have been from the start—but no—grinding up on me at the club as though you’d die without my attention. Crying pretty tears when you saw me all beaten and bruised—acting as though you want to save me. Tch—”

He throws you down on the carpeted floor. You wince from the impact, and when you look up again, you see he has a gun pointed at you.

You stop breathing. A dark hole in your gut seems to want to swallow you from the inside, and you think you might just want it to if it means escaping the threat before you.

“I shouldn't have come here…” he mutters—finger resting on the trigger all too calmy. “But I just couldn’t get your face out of my head. Looking up at me with those doe-eyes, wearing my shirt even though it’s got blood on it after I fuck you silly, saying such sweet little nothings as if I’d paid you to.”

He sighs—heavily—as though he’s expelling spirits. His hand remains holding the gun poised and pointed straight down at you even as the other drags down his face, pulling his maw before sliding through his wet locks, raking them away from his face.

“I gotta kill you, you know?” he says, shoulders slumping with the statement. He sniffs—it's almost soft enough to be a sniffle. “That’s the only way to solve this. That’s the only way to get you out of my fucking head.”

He cocks the safety with a click that makes your life flash before your eyes. Faces of your family and friends, people you haven't seen in years, childhood pets long dead, a job interview, the holiday you felt true happiness, the night you went out dancing and met him.

The tears stream silently down your face, and you still don’t breathe. Every part of you, every nerve and muscle, has gone completely still. Unmoving, unblinking as you stare up through the barrel of the gun and wait for the bullet to come through.

His finger curls tighter around the trigger, and you close your eyes with a furl between your brows. And then…

Nothing. There’s a large exhale.

“I can’t do it…” 

You open your eyes to see the gun lowered. The sight brings a rush of air back to your lungs, making you all but wheeze as it fills you, breathing in far too much and much too quickly. You regain some semblance worth of motoric, too—able to scramble backward until there’s no more room to be gained, sitting with your back against the wall. Eyes peeled at him where he’s taken to crouch, holding his head with his free hand and the one still with the gun in it.

He fists his hair and tugs on it frustratedly, muttering to himself. “Dozens of lives on my hands, and I can't kill this one single-” he stopped short.

This time, when he looks at you, there’s something else in his eyes. No malice or scorn, but something sad—pity almost.

“Well… seems like you got what you wanted...”

The pity’s meant for you.

“This is what having my heart feels like.”

BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Dabi JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Toji AOT – Eren DS – Akaza, Sanemi

♡ (FEMxM) INSERT masterlist ♡ (GNxM) INSERT masterlist

𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Vash the Stampede x reader x Millions Knives [ SYNOPSIS ] You get high with your sweet roommate and his weird brother. [ WORD COUNT ] 3k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU, no plot/just smut, dubcon (everyone's high), marijuana, lowkey plantcest, threesome (mmf), marking, of course Vash has a biting kink, handjob, oral sex, nipple play, sensory deprivation, finger sucking.

“I wish you would have said he was coming over,” you growled, mourning the loss of a lazy, hazy Sunday morning.

You were laying down on the couch, your feet resting in Vash’s lap. You wore one of his old shirts over a pair of comfy underwear while he was dressed in a pair of cotton running shorts and a loose fitting tank top.

Vash intently watched the baseball game you put on for background noise. It was cute, considering he didn’t know anything about sports. When your team hit a home run Vash looked at you, his puppy dog eyes sparkling with wonder, and said with full confidence, “The orange team scored a goal.”

He pouted. “I live here too, y’know? I’m allowed to have company.”

“All I ask for is fair warning. Your brother…” You groaned. “I don’t know. He weirds me out.”

Vash sighed. “I know, I know. But I told him to play nice.”

You sat up and glared. “Oh, whatever. Why did he even leave Alaska in the first place?”

“I think he’s lonely.”

“Did he not move up there to be alone? He hates everyone. Why the fuck would he be lonely?”

“Well he likes me,” Vash laughed.

You rolled your eyes and laid back down, your head hitting the arm rest. The vibe was sure to change with Nai’s arrival. He had a habit of sucking the air out of the room with his presence. It was like being locked up with a starved coyote.

And yet Vash brought out a devoted tenderness, one that radiated adoration. His brother was the only one who could coax a smile out of him. His grin was precious and fleeting like a nightblooming cereus flowering under a desert moon.

“That doesn't make him any easier to deal with though,” you whined.

“It’s gonna be fine,” he said, patting your leg. “You have nothing to worry about.”

Vash’s touch left your skin feeling voltaic. You hated that such a brief and simple gesture could render you reeling in milliseconds. Fortunately there was a knock on the door, breaking you free from your Vash-induced trance. Unfortunately the person beyond the door was a beacon of hostility. You grumbled and repositioned yourself on the other end of the couch. Vash got up and let his brother in.

“Hi!” he replied cheerfully, opening his arms for a hug.

Nai breezed past him, dropping his stuff down near the front door. He looked worn out, hostility tempered by a long flight. His platinum blonde hair was fluffy and askew, each strand riddled with sleep. His big blue eyes were half-lidded, obscuring the usual intensity of his gaze. His sweatpants were rumpled, hanging low on his hips and revealing a tuft of his pale happy trail. His shirt was slightly too short and it hugged his body, accentuating his hard earned muscles. An unbuttoned oversized flannel topped it off, the sleeves rolled up revealing his veiny forearms.

“How was your flight?” you asked even though you didn’t care.

Nai took Vash’s seat on the couch and sunk into it. He was clearly annoyed by your presence.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” His tone was dripping with impatience.

You couldn’t believe he was being so dismissive considering he was in your apartment.

“So I’m guessing it was bad,” you replied.

“I was stuck next to a screaming infant.”

“Oh fuck, that’s awful.”

“I know what you need to do,” Vash interjected with a playful grin.

“And what would that be exactly?” his brother asked.

You and Vash spoke at the same time.

“Get high!”

“Find somewhere else to stay!” 

Vash let out a little gasp and Nai weakly glared at you. “I’m kidding! It’s a joke. Like ha ha. It’s funny… Whatever. Yeah, smoke weed.”

Vash ran to his room and gathered his rolling papers and a mason jar full of fruity smelling marijuana. He sat on the floor in front of the coffee table and began to roll a joint. His dexterity and speed were awe inspiring. Watching him roll made you think of all the other incredible feats his fingers were capable of.

“I can’t even remember the last time I got high,” Nai mumbled.

“Is weed like extinct up there or something?” you asked knowing your wording would annoy him.

“Extinct? How could it be extinct if yo—I’m not going to even bother.”

“Smart man,” you laughed.

You were shocked to see a hint of a half-smile on his face. Maybe Nai had heeded Vash’s request to play nice.

“Wasn’t your last time with me?” Vash asked before licking the edge of the paper and sealing the joint.

“Probably. You’re the only stoner I know…  thankfully.”

You cocked your head to the side. “What do you mean by thankfully?”

“People that smoke weed are… hm. How do I put this? Obnoxious.”

Vash looked disappointed as he lit the joint. He took a hit and blew the smoke up at the ceiling. 

Nai continued, “And I hate the smell.”

“Why even smoke then?!”

Nai turned to you. “How can I say no to that face?”

The two of you directed your attention towards Vash. He looked up, big, blue eyes already red rimmed, and broke out into a goofy grin. His dimples were on full display, looking cute as hell. Nai had a point. How the fuck could you say no to such a precious creature?

“You can’t,” you confessed as Vash handed you the joint. You took a hit. “It’s a crime, like, a felony,” you continued, holding the smoke in your lungs.

You exhaled and passed the joint to Nai. He looked at the glowing, red cherry with mild disgust. He held it to his lips and took a long drag. He looked so confident, so cool.

However the illusion was fleeting. The second he tried to exhale he burst out into a cacophony of coughs with a melodramatic “WHY!?” in the middle. Vash got off the floor and took a seat in between you and Nai. He tended to his brother, rubbing his back as he tried to catch his breath.

“He gonna be okay?” you asked, plucking the joint from Nai’s fingers.

You took a hit and exhaled with little fanfare.

“I’d—” Nai continued to hack. “—shit—appreciate it if you didn’t talk about me like I’m not in the room.”

“I didn’t think you were capable of speaking.”

Vash put his arm around Nai, letting him bury his blushed face in his neck. You stifled a laugh and passed the joint to Vash. He took a lengthy drag and exhaled the smoke away from his sensitive brother.

“How are you feeling?” Vash asked softly.

Nai coughed pathetically. “Terrible.”

“That means you should smoke more,” you said. “You’re in like limbo right now. You’re existing in between worlds. Sobriety and fuckin’ uh… being high.”

“I–”

You completely disregarded Nai’s attempt to speak.

“You should shotgun him.”

Vash appeared to be deep in thought. “That’s a great idea,” he finally said.

“Yeah and it’s totally, um, altruistic. I gain nothing.”

You knew you were overselling it, but you couldn’t muster any discretion regarding your deranged desire.

“Is it going to hurt?” Nai asked trepidatiously.

You laughed. “Nope. It’ll actually make the smoke less like… harsh, y’know?”

“What do I have to do?”

Vash went to speak, but you were feeling gutsy and interrupted him.

“Your brother,” you said, pointing at Vash as if Nai wouldn’t know who his brother was, “is gonna take a hit. And then he’s gonna kiss you and exhale the smoke in your mouth… And it’s not gonna be weird at all.”

Again, you found yourself overselling the act, but it couldn’t be helped. It was bubbling up inside you. There was no escape. You were trapped, practically drowning in your perverted need to see them kiss.

“It’ll be a little weird,” Vash admitted. “But only a little.”

You wanted to strangle Vash. He was right of course, but you didn’t want the bleak truth to deter Nai.

“It’s gonna be great,” you reassured. “And your brother is like the perfect person to do it with.”

Vash batted his eyelashes and relit the joint. He was so cute you wanted to hit him.

“Alright. I’ll do it.”

You planted your head in Vash’s lap for a better view. He took a hit off the joint, holding the smoke in his lungs before passing it off to you. He gently held onto Nai’s jaw, running his thumb across his lip. He placed his other hand on the back of Nai’s head and stroked his undercut.

Nai’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide and nervous. You felt like you were going to fall to pieces once Vash leaned in and pressed his lips against Nai’s. You were utterly bewitched as he exhaled the smoke into his mouth. Nai looked like he was in a daze as Vash pulled away.

“Ca—can I try?” you asked.

“Sure,” Vash said enthusiastically.

“Not you,” you said, taking a hit off the joint.

You dropped it in the ashtray and clumsily lifted yourself up to kiss Nai. His lips were soft and his mouth tasted faintly of spearmint gum. After exhaling you slipped your tongue into his mouth, the smoke trailing out his nose. The odd positioning of your body betrayed you. Your arms gave out from under you, breaking the kiss. Your face was nestled in his crotch. You could feel his girthy cock against your nose.

Vash cleared his throat. “You okay?”

“I don’t know,” Nai muttered, stroking the back of your head like it was a kitten. “Can we put something else on? I can’t handle sports right now. The competitive nature of it all is taking years off of my life.”

“What’s the score?” you asked.

Vash said solemnly, “The orange guys are losing.”

“Ugh. Yeah… you can put something else on.”

“Any requests?” Vash asked, scanning the floor for the remote.

“A Fistful of Dollars. Or Once Upon a Time in the West… wait, no. Not that one. I hate that part where the guy has his neck in a noose, and sitting on his little brother’s shoulders is the only thing stopping him from getting hung.”

“Boriiiiiiing,” you heckled. You lifted yourself out of Nai’s lap. “I’ll fall a—fuckin’—sleep.”

You found yourself lost in Vash’s eyes. You felt bad for being so dismissive of him when he offered himself up to you.

“Well what do you have in mi—”

“It doesn’t matter. Can I kiss you?”

“Oh, so now you wanna kiss me?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know… You kinda hurt my feelings.”

“Vash, please.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, just kiss them already,” Nai groaned, reaching for the extinguished joint. “Where’s the lighter?”

Vash practically threw the lighter at his brother and pulled you into a sloppy kiss. He wasted no time shoving his tongue into your mouth and rolling it up against yours. His hands wandered down your back, holding you close to his body. Drool began to drip from the corners of your lips as he whimpered in your mouth. You braced yourself, hands pressing into his chest, feeling the softness of his relaxed muscles.

“Ouch, ow, ow,” Nai droned as he burned his thumb with the lighter’s flame.

Vash turned his head and wiped his mouth. “What? What happened?”

“Burnt my finger,” Nai replied, taking a hit off the joint. As Vash went to speak, Nai pushed the joint through his parted lips. “I’m fine.”

“Baby,” you teased.

“I’m hardly a baby for being averse to pain.”

“Hate to break it to you, but you’ll always be my baby” Vash said while exhaling.

“Can I be your baby?” you asked, grabbing the joint from him. You took a hit and let the smoke trail out of your mouth. “Please?”

“No,” Vash said before kissing you once more.

Nai groaned and plucked the joint from your fingers. He finished it off. He uncomfortably crossed and uncrossed his legs. You briefly opened your eyes and shifted your gaze to his lap. His cock was stiff against his sweatpants.

You reached over, placing your hand on his cock and stroked his tip. He coughed, choking on nothing but air. He grabbed a hold of your wrist and you waited for him to shove you away. But he didn’t. He guided it under his clothes. Your fingers danced along his shaft, feeling the veins snaking around his cock.

Vash bit down on your lower lip before kissing your jaw. He moved onto your neck, grazing it with his teeth. He sucked on your neck, interspersing his kisses with bites. You could feel the bruise blooming on your skin. You stroked the back of his head, his soft, flaxen hair slipping between your fingers.

Nai rutted against your hand. His cock leaked precum, leaving your palm sticky. His breathing was sharp and shallow.

“You like that, huh?” you cooed.

Nai nodded. The power you felt was insurmountable. You never thought you’d end up in such a situation with him. You always knew you’d hook up with Vash eventually because you resided under the same roof, but fucking around with his brother never crossed your mind.

Vash tugged at the neckline of your shirt and peppered your collarbones with kisses.

“Take it off,” he said, breath hot against your skin.

You let go of Nai’s cock and pulled your shirt off. Your nipples hardened as the cool air hit your chest. Nai whimpered, longing for the return of your touch. He took your hand and placed it back on his cock. You wrapped your hand around it, letting him fuck your fist.

Vash flicked his tongue against your nipple, drawing your attention back towards him. Nai followed his lead, latching onto the other one. Your cunt throbbed as they lapped at your breasts.

“Sh—shit,” Nai choked out as he came in your hand.

You continued to jerk him off, coating the shaft of his cock with his cum. You savored each of his breathy moans. His brows were knitted together, a sign of the bliss overwhelming his body. You were a little jealous, praying one of them would tend to your weeping cunt.

“I have a fun idea,” Vash said abruptly.

You let go of Nai’s cock and held your hand up to his face. “Lick it up… Uh, so what’s the fun idea?”

Nai reluctantly dragged his tongue along your hand, slipping it in between your fingers..

“Okay,” Vash said sitting up. “One of us will go down on you and you have to guess who it is.”

“What happens if I guess wrong?”

Vash shrugged. “You’ll… I’ll… Nothing I guess. I didn’t think that far ahead.”

“If you’re wrong, we get to fuck your face,” Nai said, shoving your hand away.

That didn’t seem like much of a consequence so you readily agreed. Nai scrambled to his duffle bag and pulled out the complimentary sleep mask he got on the plane. You put it on and tried to ignore its recycled air smell.

“Alright, ready?” they asked in unison.

“Mhm.”

You felt a pair of hands grip your hips and pull down your underwear. Your toes curled in anticipation as they traveled down your thighs. They hung around one of your ankles; the man between your legs was too impatient to remove them completely. He kissed the inside of your thighs and slipped his fingers inside your slick cunt. He spread apart your folds. His tongue slid in between them, teasing your hole.

He dragged his tongue along your clit before sucking on it. You couldn’t figure out who was going down on you and you didn’t really care. He lapped up the arousal that glazed your cunt. You rolled your hips against his face, the tip of his nose grazing your clit.

You tried to speak, but you couldn’t. The words got caught in your throat. All you could do is whimper. You heard a familiar laugh and could feel the sound of his amusement against your body.

“Don’t laugh,” you whined.

He continued to laugh before biting into your thigh.

“It’s Vash.”

“How did you know?!” he asked, ripping off the sleep mask.

“You fucking bit me!”

“And? Maybe he would have bit you too.”

“Nope,” Nai said. “You’re just that predictable.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, you’re like especially bitey,” you replied.

“No I’m not.”

“You bit me all the time as a kid.”

“And you’ve been biting me all day.”

Vash groaned and buried his face in your cunt. He paid special attention to your aching clit. His soft tongue was relentless. Your skin was tingling, every inch of your body singing. He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder. You felt like you were going to burst with pleasure.

Nai sat next to you on the couch and forced his fingers in your mouth. His face was adorned with a sick grin, his eyes dark with lust. You glanced down at Vash, his eyes mirroring his brother’s. All the attention sent you spiraling, falling deeper and deeper into lusty avidity. Nai’s fingers in your mouth did little to quiet you. Your moans were simply too powerful.

“Aww. You’re getting close, aren’t you?” Nai said, pulling his fingers out of your mouth.

A strand of spit clung from your mouth to his fingers.

“Uh-huh,” you mewled as Vash sucked on your clit.

Nai couldn’t have been more right. Your orgasm rushed through your body in no time, leaving rapture in its wake. It was transcendent. You felt like you were hovering above the couch. Vash biting the inside of your thigh was what brought you back to earth.

“I know…” You struggled to speak. “I know I guessed right, but I still want you guys to fuck my face.”

Vash immediately pulled down his shorts, revealing his throbbing cock.

“Hold on,” you sighed. Vash frowned and tucked it back into his shorts. “I wanna be on a bed.”

In one swift motion, Vash hoisted you over his shoulder. You hung over him like a limp noodle with no will of your own. Nai trailed behind and pinched the tender flesh of your ass. All you could think about was how lovely it would be to gag on their cocks.

Arlong x Reader 18+

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 4,609

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, monster fucking (?), size difference, over sized genitalia and the buckets of cum to go with it, oral sex, fellatio, eventual consent

A/N: After consulting with my editor in chief, we agreed that the fishmen probably feel a bit like dolphins - firm to the touch but stupidly smooth, a bit clammy - so that's where my descriptive inspiration for this one came from. Y'know. Just in case anyone ends up wondering what the fuck I was smoking while I wrote this. lol And as always, please enjoy! : )

♥♥♥♥

Arlong was not what you would consider a nice man.

There was something mean about him, and undeniably so, but the way he crowds you against the wall late one evening still manages to catch you off guard. You’d thought you had already seen everything his cruelty had to offer. Foolishly, you’d believed that there was a certain line even someone like him would not cross.

Regrettably, you’d been wrong about that.

“W - what are you doing?”

“Don’t be coy.” He mutters while he idly, possessively toys with a strand of your hair between his webbed fingers. “I know you’ve been looking forward to this.”

The cloying stink of booze on his breath hits you all at once and you wrinkle your nose in distaste. You don’t mean to do it. You regret it almost instantly but Arlong doesn’t care for the why or the how, or the rushed apology already forming on the tip of your tongue. All he sees is the discomfort etched across your expression and his demeanor responds in kind, becoming surly and aggressive in the same moment.

With a rumbling grunt, he steps into you and bodily shoves you against the wall. The amount of force in just that simple gesture has you quailing under the imposing weight of him even as you start to shirk away. You think to bolt for safety a little too late and his clammy hand takes advantage of that split second indecision to grab your chin, forcing your head up to look at him.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Hm?” He curls himself over you, bracing his other arm high above your head on the wall so he can lean close and get in your face. You’ve never felt quite so minuscule as you do standing there, frozen to the spot and horribly dwarfed by the towering fishman who’s hacksaw nose was mere inches from yours now.

With each passing second, it was becoming exceedingly hard not to panic.

“Am I not to your liking? Is that it? You’ve really never thought about this before?”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. You aren’t sure what to say. You don’t know what it is he wants to hear.

Arlong doesn’t wait around for a proper response, though, and instead trails smooth, rubbery fingers down your neck to your shoulder, and then further still to grasp your wrist. You put up no resistance when he pulls, unceremoniously directing your slack hand to the front of his shorts and you jolt at the firm weight pressing up into your palm.

Sucking in a stilted gasp, your eyes go wide at him. “I - I haven’t - -“

“No?” He cuts across you with a faintly disappointed sigh. “Not even a little? You’re not at all curious?”

You whimper, shaking your head when he squeezes and manually forces your hand to close around the stiff outline in his pants. It was big and still growing, as evidenced by the eager twitch it gives at your touch. Shame immediately washes over you when your pussy clenches, the blood in your neck pounding as you try to turn away from him.

“Of course not, w - what would I have to be curious about?”

“You ever seen a fishman’s cock before?”

Your ears were starting to burn. “Nuh … no. Please, Arlong. I don’t - -“

“Come on. I’m sure you’ll like it. There isn’t anything else like it in the whole world, y’know. One of a kind.”

Same as before, he doesn’t give you a chance to sort through your thoughts before taking the incentive. His unoccupied hand drops from the wall and tugs at the waistband of his shorts even while he wrests your twisting hand where he wants it to be. You struggle wildly now, adrenaline fueled fear making you desperate and jerky, but he’s much too strong to break free from. You were trapped.

Horrified, you screw your eyes shut before you can catch a glimpse of what’s hanging between his legs. You’d never seen one before - not a fishman’s, and you would have preferred to keep it that way. The hushed rumors you’d overheard about encounters between people like Arlong and humans such as yourself were nothing kind, after all.

But with very little effort on his part, he clamps your hand into place and you go stock-still at the sensation of porcelain smooth, velvety skin under your fingertips. It doesn’t feel half as repulsive as you’d imagined it would. And, you’re surprised to find, it doesn’t look anywhere near as unnatural as you’d assumed it to be when you apprehensively crack your eyes open and glance at it.

What you had in your hand was just a cock. Nothing more and nothing less.

Albeit a rather large, hefty cock that was a slightly darker shade of blue than the rest of him but still by all accounts a normal looking appendage. If it hadn’t been for it’s unusual color and the staggering size, you could have easily mistaken it for a human’s.

Embarrassed, you flounder for something to say. “It’s … it’s rather nice, isn’t it?”

Arlong snorts and displaces a few of your wispy flyaways with the resulting puff of air, making you shudder between him and the wall. “Don’t try to bullshit me. S’not polite.”

“I’m not.” You insist, shyly forcing your gaze up to meet his. “I expected something different, that’s all.”

“Like what?” He murmurs as he leans his weight into you, not so subtly pinning you under him. You swallow hard, hesitant to say it. But either by virtue of being mildly intoxicated or genuine sincerity on his part, you felt a strange sort of inclination to be honest with him.

“Frankly, I thought it would be more monstrous.”

Arlong manages to catch you off guard again when he outright laughs at that. “Give it time. I’m not fully hard yet.”

Your eyes go big as saucers. “W - wha - -“

He laughs again, somehow even louder this time, and you start to quake with renewed vigor as his cock does indeed continue to twitch and grow in your hand. You couldn’t believe that it would get any bigger than it already was but the proof was right in front of your face. It was still filling out, becoming increasingly more weighty in your palm, and that knowledge terrified you far more than you were willing to admit.

“Don’t look so scared.” He coos, anything but sympathetic when he notices the obvious disquiet casting a shadow over your face. His suddenly good mood did not bode well for you at all. “You said it was nice, didn’t you?”

“Well … well, yes, but - -“

“Here. Let me show you something.”

Releasing his hold on you, Arlong clamps his moist palm down on the back of your neck and unceremoniously steers you forward, away from the wall. You don’t even think to fight it. And how could you when your fate was already sealed? You’d given him an inch by conceding that his cock was not entirely disagreeable and now he was taking a mile.

It was your own fault, really.

“Wait - hold on.” You stammer, panic suddenly creeping into your voice when you realize he was making a beeline with you for the nearest chair. “I didn’t mean it like that, Arlong! I just - -“

“You just what?” He sneers. “Felt like teasing me some more? Thought it’d be funny to tempt me with that pretty little mouth of yours again?”

You sputter in red faced affront. “I never - -“

Cutting you off yet again, he forcefully shoves you down onto your knees. Hard.

You seethe at the splintering pain racing up your legs as he pivots around you to plop down on the waiting seat, his ever present grip on the back of your neck quickly dragging you closer. Arlong’s anticipation for what was coming next was almost palpable, the eager excitement in his motions clear as day. In a last ditch effort, you try to twist away from him but he holds firm even as he works to tug his shorts the rest of the way down with the opposite hand.

“I know you’ve thought about this.” He says it again, breathy now, as if repetition would somehow make it true. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, sweetheart. There’s no need to hide it.”

Whatever biting insult you were going to spit at him catches in your throat and momentarily chokes you when he gets his pants down over his knees, cock springing up in all its full glory. You outright stare, your mouth going dry. Mind blank and pussy aching with phantom pain.

You weren’t sure what he expected you to do with it. He was far too big to fit in any human orifice, surely; but if he was at all concerned about the logistics involved he certainly didn’t show it.

Casually kicking his shorts off, Arlong plants his feet firmly on the floor and shuffles his long legs wide open to welcome you in. The heavy sway of his hanging nutsack seems to taunt you, silently promising a steaming hot load that you weren’t prepared to take. You audibly gulp down your nerves as he pulls you closer, right up against him until the sinfully smooth shaft of his cock is pressed tight against your cheek. It was hard to breathe through the potently masculine musk assaulting your nose and even harder to come to terms with the way your cunt gushes in response to it.

Why was this turning you on so much?

“Arlong … please!” You mewl, helpless to stop it when he relentlessly rubs his cock against your face as if to scent you. “Please listen to me. I never intentionally tried to tease you. I’m sorry …”

“Liar.” A sharp thwack against your cheek accompanies this accusation, the fleshy head of his dick leaving a sharp sting in its wake. “You want me. Just admit that. If you do, your punishment for being such a flirty slut won’t be so severe.”

You bristle at that, trying once again to recoil from him, but he merely pinches your neck even tighter to keep you in place. All you can do is watch in mounting horror as he takes his cock in the opposite hand and starts to pump it, slowly, as if to coax it that last little bit harder. The prominent vein running along the underside visibly throbs for you while he does it, pushing against the thin layer of skin in a rhythmic beat which probably would have flattered you under better circumstances. You hadn’t thought he’d get this worked up over you.

But, to be fair, you also hadn’t expected Arlong to be interested in a human woman in the first place.

“Like the view? You’re going to be a good girl and suck it for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Dazedly, you watch the steady up and down motion of his webbed hand until you eventually find yourself nodding along with it. You felt vaguely like an idiot for consenting to this but there was no denying how tantalizing he looked. For better or worse, you were willing to take the risk.

And that seems to amuse him a great deal, his raspy laugh misting over you even as he adds a twist to his pumping motion, tugging at the foreskin in the process. Scandalized surprise rushes to the forefront of your mind when you catch your first peek of the glans and realize it’s a blue so dark and rich it was almost purple. It’s such a stark contrast from the rest of his uniquely pigmented skin that you immediately want to see more of it, and you lean forward to get a better look with nothing short of rapt fascination. You’d never seen anything quite like it before.

“You’re that interested now?” He murmurs knowingly, snickering faintly under his breath.

“Only a little …”

“Liar.”

But Arlong’s tone holds no real bite this time, and he graciously gives you what you want by rolling the meaty tip back to tuck it behind the ridged glans. The blunt head is just as impossibly smooth as the rest of him, his skin entirely free of pores or blemishes, and so firm that you aren’t sure if there will be any give to it. You’re immediately reminded that you and him were not the same, the differences between you two as glaring as ever.

Without missing a beat, you decide you no longer care.

Reaching up, you carefully take him in hand and a thrill runs through you at the sensation. He’s every bit as silky as he looks but when you experimentally squeeze, it becomes apparent that he’s also relentlessly stiff. You’d thought, maybe, it was just the muscle bound parts of him that were as unyielding as they appeared to be but even this area was so densely padded with fatty insulation that it offered very little cushion. It seemed, then, that the only truly soft spot on his body was probably his ballsack.

Tentatively, you rove your gaze up to look at him. “Can I really?”

“I’ll be pissed if you don’t.”

You scoff, trying not to smile, but when that fails you lean up to drag your tongue along the throbbing vein and hide the curl of your mouth. A triumphant sigh puffs out of him, the hand on the back of your neck relaxing slightly, but he makes no move to completely let go of you yet. The weight of his palm spurs you on and you go up a little higher to flick at the glans, pleasantly surprised at the taste of him. Salty and strong, yet not repugnant. It was a heady flavor, one you’ve never sampled before, and you can’t help but wonder if this is how all fishmen taste. It was strangely intoxicating.

“There’s my good girl. That’s it.” He goads you, leaning back into the chair so he can fully appreciate the sight of you on your knees for him. “Is it as good as you thought it’d be? All you had to do was ask and I would have let you do this a lot sooner, you know.”

Resisting the urge to snap at him to shut up, you use your grip on his cock to angle the tip towards your face. The narrow slit in the center of that purple-blue bud winks at you, oozing a fresh bead of slick precum that glistens faintly in the overhead light. Sticking your tongue out, you lap it up with a hunger you hadn’t expected from yourself and a fresh wave of bitter salt swarms your tastebuds. You moan, very quietly, against the glans before sealing your lips around it.

Arlong’s lean thighs give the faintest jolt in response, his pelvis lifting just enough to nudge his dick a little deeper into your mouth. You allow it, for the time being, far too caught up in the exquisite taste of him to worry about his propensity for being a bit pushy. It was in his nature, after all.

But when you try to take more of him on your own, it quickly becomes apparent that your earlier estimation of him had been right on the money. He was much too large to comfortably fit and you only make it a few inches down before your jaw starts to scream in protest. You pull back to suckle on the spongy head for a moment, laving it with your tongue before deciding to try again. The progress you make is negligible at best, your lips straining around his girth as you furrow your brows and noise a muffled sound of frustration around him.

“Don’t try to force it, sweetheart. You’ll just hurt yourself.” He chuckles, the hand on the back of your neck sliding higher to curl around the curve of your skull. His palm is massive in comparison and you feel your cheeks start to warm when he condescendingly pats your head, tutting at you. “You’ll have to practice hard if you want to take it all someday.”

The heat inside your gut sparks anew as your eyes snap up at his face. He smirks right back, razor sharp rows of teeth glinting dangerously and reminding you, once again, that he was a real threat. An apex predator of the most deadly kind, and you were knelt at his feet sucking his cock like a good little pet. You should have been ashamed of yourself. You probably were going to be ashamed of yourself, later, when the carnal high faded and your senses returned.

For now, though, you’d already made peace with your fate and you pointedly give his cock a rough tug. That only makes Arlong’s lascivious grin widen, though, and you’re left with no other choice but come up off him with a wet, smacking pop to give your jaw a break.

Tilting your head back while you suck in a much needed lung full of air, you pull his cock to your open mouth and set it along your tongue. He hums appreciatively at the visual while you pump the length of him with your hand, letting more precum ooze out of him and onto your waiting palette. A faltering groan rises in the back of your throat at the taste, so heady and potent that it makes your mind spin dizzyingly fast. You couldn’t get enough.

“Heh. I take it you like it then?”

In lieu of an answer, you seal your lips around him and lean forward again, glancing up at Arlong through the fall of your lashes. His stilted sigh of approval rushes straight to your cunt, and you give a needy little squirm as he drags webbed fingers along the side of your face to touch at the pulled taught corner of your mouth. Rubbery palm skirting along your cheek, he reaches further back and then clamps down on the nape of your neck so he can pull you somehow even closer to him.

You’re pressed flush against the chair by the time he’s satisfied, neck straining to accommodate the length of his cock. Your unoccupied hand comes up to brace against his thigh when he starts to guide you through a bobbing motion, the stuffed full schlucking noise of your mouth almost unbearably loud in the otherwise quiet room. It sounds borderline obscene to you but he appears to enjoy it, resting his head against the back of the chair and sighing up at the ceiling with unmistakable pleasure coloring the exhalation.

Your pussy clenches at the sight of Arlong enjoying himself so much, enjoying what you were doing to him, and you offer the glans another enthusiastic suck in return. His fingers twitch against your neck and squeeze, just this side of painful. But he does a good job keeping himself in check, and you put a little more effort into pumping the part of him that your lips can’t reach by way of thanks. He could all too easily rip you in half - in more ways than one - so you appreciated the restraint he was showing.

He doesn’t even seem to notice the change in your hands pace though, his mouth running on drunken autopilot now that he’s let his guard down. Now that he’s fully given himself over to the wet warmth of your maw, he was uncharacteristically eager to heap his praises on you and you were more than happy to soak it all up.

“My good, good girl. Yeah, you like that cock, don’t you, baby? You love it. I can tell. You’ll never want another human to fuck you after I’m done. I’m gonna’ ruin you, you know that? So damn good for me …”

The tingling warmth that spreads through you makes it hard to think straight, your vision starting to swim as if you were looking through a foggy fish eye lense. You never thought he’d talk to you that way. Didn't think he could stand your kind enough to regard you as anything other than a nuisance to tolerate for the sake of his own goals. It may have just been the booze talking, you knew that, but you were still rather pleased by this turn of events anyway.

Your jaw was beginning to ache in earnest, though, and you whimper around his cock as you drag your hand down off his thigh to squeeze in between Arlong’s legs. Gently, you caress the heavy weight of his ballsack, delighted to find that it was just as soft and vulnerable as you’d suspected it would be. He hisses at the contact, hips lifting off the seat of the chair again, but he does it a little too roughly this time and you gag.

Seething through clenched teeth, he readjusts his hold on the back of your head, gets a better grip and slowly thrusts up into your mouth. The careful way he does it surprises you slightly, but you don’t get a chance to linger on that thought for very long because he immediately repeats the motion without giving you a moment to adjust and your eyes start to mist up. He doesn’t quite reach your throat like this, your lips already stretched to their limit and unable to accommodate any more of him, and yet that doesn’t stop you from choking with each drawn out flex of his hips. You were going to be sick at this rate.

Sucking in a faltering wet breath through your nose, you try to brace yourself for his next upward stroke. You weren’t sure how much more of this your gag reflex could take, or your poor jaw for that matter. Being on the receiving end of Arlong’s praises wasn’t worth it if you just ended up spewing your guts all over him, ruining everything in the end. Plus, you were pretty sure he’d just redact everything he’d said if it came down to that. You were damned either way.

Deciding it was best to take a moment and regroup, lest the unthinkable happen, you try to pull off him but the hand on your head keeps you firmly in place. You let out a muffled squawk, as confused as you were terrified of what would happen if he kept going like this. But he doesn’t seem to share any such concerns, and your gaze frantically shoots up at his face when he just keeps shallowly pumping into your mouth. He wasn’t even looking at you, though, his eyes closed and turned up at the ceiling.

“That’s it. Just a little more. I know it probably hurts, sweetheart, but just endure it a little bit longer for me, okay? I’m getting close … I’m getting so close, baby. Can you feel it? I’m gonna’ give you such a big load … ngh, you’ll never be able to swallow it all, but that’s okay. Just … haah, just keep it in your sweet little mouth a bit longer, okay?”

You don’t exactly have a choice in the matter, your cheeks burning hot as reflexive tears streak down your face. Abandoning his balls, you dig trembling fingers into the meat of Arlong’s inner thigh as a painful reminder that you were working on borrowed time here. But he seems to enjoy that, the groaning burst of air that puffs out of him in a sudden rush sending sympathetic shockwaves racing down your spine. Your panties were soaked at this point, uncomfortably clinging to your sticky cunt as you rock forward in a fruitless bid for relief. It was all you could do just to keep your lunch down, though, and you were far too lightheaded to even consider slipping your hand between your legs to rub circles into your clit. It wouldn’t take much to send you over the edge, either.

Even through your clothes, you were sure to cum quick - but how could you possibly think about that right now when he was still thrusting into your mouth at such a staggered pace that you felt as violated as if he’d properly fucked you? It didn’t make sense, how he had such a powerful effect on you when he’d barely even touched you so far. Almost like he had some sort of potent aphrodisiac at his deploy.

Could this possibly be a fishman, thing or was it just an Arlong thing?

“Oooh yeah, baby, right there. Right there. Your mouth feels so damn good. Are you ready? I’m gonna’ give it to you now … fuck, I’m cumming, baby, I’m cumming!”

With a feral, animalistic grunt, Arlong thrusts up off the chair and shoves his cock as far into your mouth as it will go. You sputter around him, frantically noising as your throat constricts and heaves against the pressure. In the same moment, he gives a full bodied shudder and hot, thick ropes shoot out of him to pool at the base of your tongue. Your eyes promptly roll back as you choke around his bubbling semen, face wet with tears and snot, and perspiration, but he doesn’t stop. It just keeps coming out of him, flooding your mouth until you’re sure you’ll drown in it.

So blissfully numb by the time he finally pulls out, you almost don’t notice the absence. It’s only when a fresh string of ejaculate plops heavy against your cheek that you realize he's cumming on your face now, and you obediently stick your tongue out to catch the salty discharge. He doesn’t seem to be aiming for your mouth, though, and you’re left with no other choice than to sit there and let him paint your face white until the pulses gradually slow to a stop some moments later.

The last bit oozes out of him, achingly drained from the bottom of his balls it would seem, as he squeezes it from the base up with an accompanying guttural moan. You let him push your head back down without protest and lap up the sticky bead, much to Arlong’s heaving pleasure.

He was still panting from the exertion, trying to catch his breath, and you were still struggling to swallow the excessive cum in your mouth so you could breathe at all. An odd sense of peace settles in the aftermath and you think maybe, in a far off, dreamy sort of way, maybe he wasn’t quite as mean as you’d pegged him. Someone inherently cruel wouldn’t have been so mindful of your physical limitations, right?

You’re pretty sure that’s not how it usually goes, anyway.

Gathering yourself to the best of your ability, you glance down at the front of your shirt only to outright grimace. You were absolutely coated in sheets of fast drying cum, and you weren’t so sure it wouldn’t stain. Dammit.

“So, uh. Do you always cum buckets, or was that all just for little ol’ me?” You venture to ask, not the least bit surprised when your voice comes out a raspy mess. You’d definitely need some warm tea after this.

“It’s a fishman thing.” He says rather flippantly, clearly unconcerned. “You’ll get used to it.”

Your head comes up in stark surprise. Well. That certainly answered your earlier question.

“Y’know,” you say, speaking cautiously slow. “That sounds an awful lot like you’re planning on doing this again, boss.”

Arlong actually has the audacity to smirk at you, his pale eyes dancing with what could only be mischief, and a not entirely unpleasant shudder promptly races through you in response.

“Again? We haven’t even finished the first time, sweetheart.”

Subjugation [4]

💌Yandere!Commander!Enji x F!Soldier!Reader💌

Part 1❤️ | Part 2❤️ | Part 3❤️ 5.6k words

Summary:

You’re no fool. You’ve always known exactly what Enji wants from you. The only thing is, you never expected him to get it.

TWs for: Noncon | Rape, sexist undertones, pregnancy talk/forced impreg

Tags: Breeding kink, pregnancy kink i guess, enji finally knocks up his cute wittle soldier-secretary, a stand up fuck, like enji picks you up and fucks you :)

(A/N) i was thinking the other night, is subjugation a bimbofication fic? the answer: yes kinda

———

You suppose there’s a quite a few routes you could take with the harassment situation.

The first one is not to report it at all. You’d never be able to live with yourself if you didn’t try, though. You don’t want to be the bystander within your own life again.

A suggestion from the military website is to contact the harasser and tell them firmly to stop. You know that there’s no way in hell that would work. If anything, it sounds like a surefire method to end up in a worse situation than before.

You could, apparently, find out who’s in charge of Enji and report it to them. This also sounds like an awful idea. Too personal and too loud.

Finally, you could report it to somewhere outside of your base. Something more official than any of the other options. In the end, it’s what you decide on doing.

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