#Delirium Mask

[ailoda]

updated: 09.03.25

ᯓ★ smut

Delirium (✘): stranded in the middle of the alaskan wilderness with no means of communication after being exposed to a foreign drug, you're reluctant to accept help from the one person who has a shot at saving you. - avenger!reader (@flowersforbucky) (warning: sex pollen, i.e., dub-con, explicit verbal consent prior)

Special Girl (❤❅✘✧): being friends with benefits definitely has its perks, especially when the friend in question is as hot as Bucky Barnes - but when you're feeling insecure about the arrangement, Bucky makes it clear to you that you're more than just a friend. @kinanabinks) (warning: mentions of neglectful childhood)

Scary? My God, You're Divine (❤✘): your marriage to Bucky Barnes was crucial in stopping the rivalry that had been getting rather violent recently between the two families. You agreed to it. But there was one little problem. Although people knew of Bucky as being a ruthless, fiercely loyal, and feared hitman, no one had ever seen his face. In the rare occasions when he’d been seen out during assignments, it was rumoured that he always wore some sort of mask which covered most of his face. So you ended up marrying a man, and had no idea what he looked like. But surely that wouldn’t be an issue. It’s not like his one touch would get you addicted. Who cared what he looked like? It’s not like you could grow to love someone like him anyway… right? - mob!au (@sinner-as-saint)

Sting (✘): TattooArtist!Bucky praising you during a session. (@adrinktostopyourthirst)

↪︎ Fling (✘): your tattoo artist left you hanging and you’re fed up enough to come and collect his excuse. (part two)

Blurred Lines (❤❅✘✧): when choosing a female agent to send back in time to gain young Sergeant Barnes's trust, everyone's in agreement that it should be Sharon. Until Bucky, the man that you barely get along with, speaks up and lets everyone know that it could only be you. (@ellemj)

Closer (✘): you’d never felt like this before, it was like some primal instinct deep down inside of you. You just needed to be close to him. The only problem was that you were already wrapped in his arms and it still didn’t feel close enough. (@tom-holland-parker)

Water Proof (✘): Bucky Barnes is pretty sure that his arm is water proof. He'd been in water with it before. Turns out his arm can handle water, but not p*ssy juice. (@vivwritesfics)

Book Boyfriend (✘): Bucky is better than any book boyfriend. You'll prove it to him. (@navybrat817)

In Your Arms I'm Born Again (❤✘): you want to find out exactly how many times is too many times for the super soldier. (@bonky-n-steeb)

What Are Friends For (✘): when you threaten to swear off men for good after your last bad date, your neighbour and friend offers to help change your mind. (@gogolucky13)

Down Bad (✘): Bucky using his metal hand as a vibrator. (@flowersforbucky)

I Hate You (✘): after ending up on SHIELD's radar, you're moved into the tower against your will. Of course, you can't stand the one man that you have the most in common with. (@ellemj)

Play Pretend (✘): when Bucky is injected with a substance that leaves him desperate for release, you offer your help. (@wkemeup) (warning: sex pollen trope, i.e., dub-con)

A Quiet Escape (✘): during a holiday stay at Clint Barton’s home, you’ve been desperately trying to steal a moment alone with Bucky—your super-soldier boyfriend—but the Avengers are constantly interrupting. Between Clint’s kids, Steve’s “bromantic” grocery runs, and Nat pulling Bucky into sparring sessions, it feels like you’re constantly fighting for his attention. Frustration finally boils over when you confront Bucky about your lack of privacy, only to discover he’s just as eager for some alone time as you are - and willing to do anything to get it. (@thebarneschronicles)

Revenge Sweeter Than Honey (✘): when Bucky’s professor unfairly grades his college assignment, ruining his perfect GPA, he finds a way to get revenge — And doesn’t his sweet little wife look delicious? (@thevillainswhore)

Caught Myself A Cute Little Doll (✘): the Winter Soldier caught himself a cute little doll. (@sergeantbarnessdoll)

Pretty Little Thing (✘): your long-time crush, Bucky Barnes, is a regular at the bar where you work, and tonight, it’s impossible to avoid serving him for the first time. (@marvelouslizzie)

Now or Never (✘): based off the prompts "You know my door is always open for you, right?" and "You're already wet sweetheart." (@fandoms-writings)

Touch Starved (✘): this was inspired by a tweet and his gif I saw on twitter. You accidentally walk in on Bucky touching himself when he thinks he is alone. Turns out he is thinking about you. (@mrsbuckybarnes1917)

I Don't Want You Like A Best Friend (❅✘): Bucky can't decide if the universe loves him or hates him. Maybe it loves to hate him. Maybe it's mischievous. Because he’s in love. He’s madly, deeply, painfully in love with a girl that he knows he’ll never have. Because the heavens created arguably the most perfect creature in their repertoire, dangled you in front of him for his entire life, and chose to rip you away before he had the chance to tell you how he felt. (@brunchable)

↪︎ Part Two (❤✘): it's only been a few hours since you've become official and Bucky want to show you just how much you mean to him.

All's Well That Ends Well To End Up With You (❤✘): Bucky isn't going to let an extended mission, a severe thunderstorm, and a delayed flight ruin your first valentine's day together. (@flowersforbucky)

Stay For A Fortnight (✘): “yes, ground rules,” you sighed, forcing your eyes to rest on anything but him, “it’s just you and me here for two whole weeks, so we’ll need to come up with a plan.” (@thyme-in-a-bubble)

Devil's In The Backseat (✘): a night at coney island with your friends turns out much differently than expected, or getting fucked in front of a mirror. (@flowersforbucky)

Sesame & The Sweetheart (❤✘): you've been on a few dates with Bucky now, and the sexual tension is at an all-time high. After another cute date, you realize you can't keep your hands off him for very much longer. (@kinanabinks)

Heartwood (❤✘): after Sam’s party, Bucky begins to navigate uncharted territory as he works to balance his growing feelings and lingering insecurities in his blooming relationship. - lumberjack!bucky (@vunblr)

new! New Tricks (❤✘): after your brother has to cancel movie night, you’re ready to resign yourself to an uneventful evening back at your dorm, alone and dejected. But what you didn’t count on, is your brother’s best friend and roommate, bursting through the door and asking you to stay; to spend the night with him. Instead, what unfolds, however, while you spend time with the star football player, both shocks and astounds you — one confession in particular. Bucky Barnes, the Prince Charming of campus, the man you have been crushing on for an eternity, is a virgin. (@thevillainswhore)

new! Computer Chair Smut (❅✘): after weeks of arguing, you thought your relationship with Bucky was near the end. That was until you held something positive in your hand. (@crowsofdarkness)

new! Restraint (✘): you rush to Bucky's side when he's hit with a a super serum booster out in the field so that you can...take care...of him. (@mrs-elsie-barnes) (warning: sex-pollen trope (ish), i.e., dub-con)

new! Desperate Measures (✘): when you encounter a mysterious substance during a mission, it forces you and your mission partner to get closer. (@simplyholl) (warning: sex-pollen trope, i.e., dub-con)

new! Beach Day (✘): beach day with some of the Avengers turns into a little private time with Bucky. (@crowsofdarkness)

[sirfrogsworth]

I woke up and everyone was saying Biden did horribly and I saw a bunch of folks saying he has dementia.

And, while he did sound weak and tired and stumbled on his words, he did not sound like he had dementia.

That's just... old brain.

When people are that old and tired and you rush them to answer complicated questions, that's what they sound like.

And I don't actually think Biden did as bad as people were claiming. Not that I am saying he did good at all—it's clear he shouldn't be president. But he answered almost every question. He remembered facts and statistics. He wasn't a drooling invalid.

But expecting an 81 year old to give detailed answers in 120 seconds seems unreasonable. Timed debates are so stupid and I don't know why people agree to them.

SOLVE WORLD PEACE IN TWO MINUTES!

It seems Biden is fine if he is allowed time to gather his thoughts and speak when his brain catches up.

It's like people have never been around the elderly before.

And the only reason Trump didn't stumble as much is because he just regurgitated his rally-speak. He used the exact same lines he always uses and none of it lined up with the actual questions he was asked. And if he were forced to answer what was asked I think he would have looked just as bad.

I mean, why aren't people talking more about that right now?

If someone asked me "What is the name of your cat?"

And I responded, "Cannibal drug dealers from Mexico are going to eat your grandma."

How is that not a worrying sign of my cognitive function?

My dad had bouts of delirium, which is similar to dementia. And that is not something you can hide. It can't be masked. It isn't subtle. Nothing I saw hinted at dementia.

Just olds being old.

*heavy sigh*

[prythiansprincess]

DELIRIUM | a stalker! theo au.

"you're so fucking special; I wish I was special."

word count: 5,662.

warnings: please read all trigger warnings before proceeding. dead dove do not eat, noncon, murder, coercion, stalking, assault, manipulation, gaslighting, knife play, blood play, abusive behavior.

author's note: I don't say it lightly when I say that this fic is very dark. I fully understand that the topics and themes discussed are not for everyone, so please be mindful of the warnings before engaging. special thanks to @writingsbychlo for proofreading and encouraging my over all psychophathy.

♫ creep - radiohead. nav. stalker! theo.

There was something wrong with Theo Nott. 

Perhaps it was a result of his traumatic upbringing or perhaps it was simply encrypted into his genetic code, but whether nature or nurture was to be blamed, this simple truth was certain: a sick, twisted, and insatiable monster lurked within him and its hunger could be satiated by one thing and one thing only — you. 

In the deepest and darkest depths of his inky black heart, Theo knew that he was completely and utterly fucked up. This thing inside of him — this madness — rendered him incapable of forming healthy relationships. Time and time again, his passions and proclivities hinted towards a more sinister nature. Some called him deranged, delirious, delusional, but Theo simply thought of himself as a hopeless romantic. 

Theo was not the type of man to harbor a crush or entertain a fling or succumb to a fleeting infatuation that eventually faded over time. When he loved, he loved with his entire being. He loved until it became a fixation, a compulsion, an obsession. This has and always will be his fatal flaw. 

From a young age, Theo learned that he was not normal. When he presented Pansy Parkinson with the front teeth of the boy who dared knock her off the swings, that was not normal. When he gifted Daphne Greengrass the rotting carcass of a bird that had kept her up with the incessant tapping of its beak against her bedroom window, that was not normal. When he offered to carve the initials of Mattheo Riddle into his skin to prove his loyalty, that was not normal. 

Theo was bereft when his friends cried and fled from him, feeling distraught and disappointed by their reactions. After all, he had only done those things to make them happy. Why couldn’t they see that?

When his mother found him crying in the Nott Manor gardens, she explained to him that he was a very special boy. That his capacity for love would be misunderstood by those around him because they simply could not feel the way that he did. The intensity of his emotions surpassed their understanding; they didn’t know what it was like to be irrevocably consumed by love. His devotion could be misconstrued, his affection scorned, which is why it became imperative for Theo to shield himself from the world until the right person came along. 

So, he conformed, he adapted, he survived, but Theo knew it was only a matter of time before his carefully constructed mask slipped. 

In the back of a crowded restaurant, Theo swirled the glass of wine in his hand before taking a long sip. The waiter had recommended the red vintage, droning on and on about the quality of the 1978 Barolo Montorfino and the meticulous aging process of the Nebbiolo grapes to produce this particular bottle. Theo fought the urge to roll his eyes. He already knew all of this, given that the wine was produced by his family’s vineyard in the Italian countryside. 

The complex flavor danced on his tongue. On any other occasion, he might have savored the hints of cherry, roses, and truffle peeking through its rich-bodied profile, but Theo tasted nothing but ash in his mouth. Because across the rooftop sat the woman of his dreams, drinking and laughing and dining with another man. Theo gripped the stem of his glass until his knuckles turned white. 

Needless to say, the night was not going as Theo intended it to. It was supposed to be him feeding you little bites of tagliatelle, topping your wine off with a wink, and listening to your melodious voice recount silly anecdotes about yourself. Instead, Adrian fucking Pucey was blattering on like a bloody twat, failing to appreciate the goddess seated across from him. The stupid prick was probably too busy gauging whether or not he was going to get lucky tonight. As if Theo would ever let that happen. 

No, that simply wouldn’t do. 

Sure, he had enjoyed the game of cat and mouse between you over the past few months. Since the day you moved into the house next to his, there had been this constant push and pull between you. The flirtatious banter as he helped you carry your dresser into the foyer after he found you struggling in the yard, the freshly baked goods you presented to him as thanks after the fact, the shy way you smiled at him every time you crossed paths when you departed and arrived back home. 

Something awakened within him the second he laid eyes on you. Something dark, something dangerous, something that he thought was long buried in the depths of his depraved soul. 

It wasn’t all in his head. Hell, you had invited him in on that very first day. You wanted him there. You wanted him near you. You wanted him.

All the darkness that he tried so hard to push down seemed to resurface all at once. Suddenly, Theo found himself falling back into old old habits. Watching you through your bedroom window while you undressed, sneaking into your house while you were away at work, planting cameras in every room without your knowledge, and even going so far as stealing your lingerie. 

But Theo wasn’t stalking you. 

No.

He was merely keeping an eye on you. 

Clearly, you needed someone to look after you if you were putting your trust in a man like Adrian Pucey. You were too soft and sweet and innocent for this world. Theo wanted to protect you. In his eyes, Pucey was a threat to your relationship and there was only one way to deal with a threat — eliminate it. 

The opportunity presented itself after that sordid dinner. After dessert was served, Theo quietly slipped out ahead of the happy couple. Well, the two of you wouldn’t be happy for long. Not if he had anything to do with it. 

Surrounded by silence and darkness, Theo laid in wait until he heard the tell-tale sounds of the front door unlocking. He observed in quiet rage as Adrian kissed his girl. The door snicked shut, but the two of you barely noticed as you stumbled through the foyer, his lips sucking at your neck, his hands roaming underneath your dress, his cock pressing against your core as you mewled for him. Theo couldn’t stomach a second more of this. The sound of Pucey’s name falling from your lips was enough to awaken the monster within him. 

A sickening thud echoed through the house as Pucey dropped to the floor. With wide eyes, you scrambled in the darkness, blinking in disbelief at the sight before you. The silk strap of your dress fell from your shoulders at the abruptness of the attack. Your pupils, which were previously blown from desire, now shifted into fear. 

“T — Theo?” Disbelief colored your expression as you looked up at your neighbor. Dressed in all black, his tall and lithe form blended in with his surroundings. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t really think I’d let this prick weasel his way into your bed, did you?” 

You blinked in confusion. On the floor of your living room, Adrian nursed his broken nose, trying and failing to staunch the blood flowing through his fingers. 

“Do you know this asshole, Y/N?” 

“He’s my neighbor,” you answered. Theo’s face twisted in anger at your response. You cowered under his gaze and scooted backwards against the wall. “Theo, what’s going on? Why are you doing this?” 

Theo sneered. “Isn’t it obvious, bella?” Your blood ran cold when a flash of silver appeared in his hand. “I know why you went on this date tonight. You wanted me to fight for you, so here I am. I love you and I won’t let anyone keep us apart.”

“What are you talking about, Theo?” You cried as he stalked towards you. “I barely know you. We’re neighbors, just neighbors, that’s all.” You pleaded, begging for him to listen to reason. “Please, just stop this. You don’t have to do any of this.” 

“Shh, my sweet Y/N,” Theo cooed as he wiped a stray tear away with his thumb. His blue eyes bore into you with such intensity that it made you shiver. There was something lurking behind that dead eyed stare and you feared for whatever it might unleash. 

Theo caressed your cheek with reverence while you trembled in fear. “You just don’t know any better, cara mia. But don’t worry, I’ll show you how much I love you. I’ll protect you; I’ll keep you safe.” He pressed his forehead against yours. “I’m going to take care of this. He will never come between us again.” 

Before you could protest, Theo had already rounded on Adrian. The brunette threw his hands up as Theo pulled him up by his collar. “I almost feel sorry for you, you know,” Theo taunted. “You probably thought you were so smart, preying on someone as sweet and innocent as Y/N. You never deserved her.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Adrian retorted, crimson staining his dress shirt as he struggled against his captor’s hold. “It was just a few harmless dates.” 

“A few harmless dates?” Theo repeated in a mocking tone. “Christ, you can’t truly be that stupid, can you? You don’t even understand how lucky you are to have gotten the chance to be in her company. She’s a fucking goddess and you — “ Adrian groaned when Theo yanked his hair back to give him a proper view of you. “Well, you’re nothing.” 

“Look man, I don’t want any trouble. I didn’t know she had a boyfriend. I was just lookin for an easy fuck — “

Fury simmered in Theo’s gaze. The careless words that Adrian spoke cut you deep, but not nearly as deep as the blade that sliced his throat open. The crimson river flowing from Adrian’s neck bathed Theo in blood, covering his face, his hair, and his clothes. 

You screamed as Adrian slumped to the floor, his lifeless body discarded onto your cream rug as his vacant gaze stared at nothing. The gravity of his death sent a surge of adrenaline in your veins. You needed to get the fuck away, The instinct to survive kicked in and you darted for the door, but unfortunately, Theo was quicker. 

A strong arm wrapped around your waist, hauling you away from your only form of escape. You struggled in his hold, clawing and kicking and screaming as Theo dragged you through the living room. 

“You killed him!” You screamed while you continued thrashing. “He’s dead, you killed him, oh my god — “

“Don’t be like that, cara mia,” Theo said in a soothing voice. “I thought you would be happy. With our little problem out of the way, we can finally be together.” 

“You’re a fucking psychopath!” 

With a swift kick to the balls, Theo stumbled backwards which gave you time to frantically reach for your purse. The slick blood that coated the wooden floors now sullied your dress, but you pushed the thought away as you recovered your phone. As you tapped on the screen, it came alive with a bright light. With shaking hands, you tried to swipe up to dial emergency services, but the screen buzzed with static before completely dying out. 

“No!” You screamed in frustration as you pressed the dead screen over and over again. “No, no, no, this can’t be happening!” 

Behind you, Theo sighed and shook his head in disappointment. Crouching down before you, the warmth of his palm felt like a slap to the face as he cradled your jaw.

“You’ve been a bad girl, bella,” Theo purred. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve left me no choice.” 

Your eyes widened as he produced a set of handcuffs from his pocket. “No, please, you don’t have to do this. Just let me go and I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” 

“Let you go?” Theo repeated in a cold, menacing voice as he clamped the handcuffs over your wrists. “After all that I’ve done for you, do you really think I would be capable of just letting you go?” He tutted in disapproval as he tugged you towards the stairs. “You’re all mine now, you’re not going anywhere.” 

The short walk to your bedroom felt like a march towards death. You began to shake violently as Theo guided you towards the bed, instructing you to lie down as he tinkered with the handcuffs. Tears blurred your vision as your heart hammered against your ribcage. 

“Are you going to kill me?” you whispered. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Theo said with a scoff as he rearranged the cuffs and chained you to the bed. “You wouldn’t be any fun if you’re dead.” 

Fear gripped every fiber of your being in a chokehold. Theo leaned back and admired his work. The intensity of his gaze felt like a brand against your skin as he drank in the sight of you spread out for him. The silk of your dress was stained with blood, the fabric nearly see through from how soaked it was. 

“You’re such a pretty little thing all tied up like a present for me, principessa.” 

His blue eyes were nearly black as he gazed at you with unadulterated desire. The pale moonlight streaming through the window casted sinister shadows on his face. 

“If you’re not going to kill me, then what do you plan on doing?” 

“I’m so glad you asked,” Theo declared with a deranged smile as he brandished his knife. “I plan on worshipping every inch of your body.” The cold edge of his blade traced the curve of your jaw. “I plan on making you see God with my tongue, my fingers, my cock.” The knife continued its path down the valley of your breasts. “I plan on possessing you, owning you, and ruining you for every other man.” 

“You barely even know me,” you pleaded, shying away from the blade that now rested on the hem of your dress. “I’m not yours, Theo.” 

The air left your lungs all at once as his hand wrapped around your throat. The lack of oxygen made you dizzy and you grew limp against the bed, barely even registering the blade caressing your skin. 

“I’ll carve my name into your thigh if that’s what it takes to get it through your pretty little head that you are mine.” 

You coughed as he released his hold, disoriented by the sudden rush of air into your lungs. “Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me, oh fuck —“ 

Your hips jerked at the sudden cold sensation between your legs. Theo watched in amusement as he pressed the hilt of his blade against your clothed core, drinking in the way you writhed underneath him. 

“What was that, bella?” Theo teased. “I can’t hear you over all that moaning.” 

Your cheeks burned with shame as you continued his ministrations against your clit. It was a purely physical response, but it felt like your own body was betraying you. This wasn’t supposed to feel good. You hated the way you reacted to his touch, his words, his gaze. You hated him. 

“You’re a sick fuck,” you yelled as you tugged at your restraints. Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, you couldn’t tell if it was from fear or pleasure. “This is vile, this is evil. I hate you. I fucking hate you —“ 

Theo chuckled darkly as he tugged your panties to the side and slipped the hilt of his blade through your folds without warning. “Then why are you so fucking wet for me?” 

“I’m not!” In all your life, you had never felt more degraded and humiliated. The conflicting emotions warred in your mind, but the truth of the matter was that you had absolutely no control over your own arousal. “I’m not.” 

“You are,” Theo growled as the handle of his blade squelched in your slick. “But by all means, keep lying to yourself. In fact, I quite prefer it if you put up a fight. I like it rough.” 

You groaned, delirious with need as he fucked you with his knife. “When I make you cum, I know that I’ve earned it.” 

You bit down on your bottom lip until blood filled your mouth. The horror of the scene unfolding before you filled you with dread yet you couldn’t stop the moans and whines that escaped past your lips. When you looked up, Theo was transfixed by the sight of your greedy cunt taking his knife.

“That’s it, Y/N,” hummed Theo. “This will be a lot easier if you just stop fighting it. You want this. You want me.” 

“I — I don’t! I don’t want —“ 

“I —I don’t want,” Theo mocked. “How fucking pathetic. You can’t even finish that sentence without moaning.” He pulled out his knife and slid two fingers in without warning. His cruel laugh echoed in the bedroom when the sound of your slick filled the silence. “If you don’t want me, then why are you riding my fingers like this, hm?” 

There was no answer as he plunged the hilt of his knife into you again, stretching and filling you in the most delicious way. His thumb rubbed your sensitive bundle of nerves in tantalizing circles, pushing you towards the edge of pleasure. 

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an orgasm, but it couldn’t be helped. There was no stopping the intense pleasure that barrelled through your body. As you crested over the finish line, your vision went dark. The depravity of the act filled you with mortification and indignity. Theo, on the other hand, looked euphoric. 

“You’re so beautiful when you cum,” he whispered softly. 

You wanted to claw and scratch and hit him for the way he made you feel. Theo presented the knife to you with reverence. The blade was soaked in blood, but the hilt dripped with your cum. His tongue darted out and licked and lapped at your arousal with long, languid strokes as his eyes rolled back in euphoria. The way he moaned when he tasted you was obscene. 

“You taste so sweet,” Theo rasped in a choked groan. “Such a good girl for me.” 

This was beyond fucked up. 

Theo was beyond fucked up. 

You watched in alarm, waiting for disgust to overwhelm your senses, but it never came. Instead, your pussy clenched around nothing at the sight. What the fuck was wrong with you? 

Theo leaned over you, his brown curls brushing against your nose as he smirked. “Don’t I get a kiss as a reward for making you feel so good?” 

The absence of pleasure finally made you come to your senses. “Fuck you.” 

The depth of his blue eyes was swallowed by a void that threatened to suffocate you. The man before you transformed into a monster as he growled and held his knife against your throat. “Let me rephrase that,” he hissed as the blade nicked your skin. “If you don’t kiss me, I’ll slit your fucking throat.” 

You whimpered as the blade dug deeper into your neck, causing small droplets of blood to stain your sheets. Theo stared at you with malice, his face hovering a few inches from yours as he waited for your next move. His cool breath fanned over your skin while his lips ghosted over yours. 

“Please, Y/N?” Theo pouted as he blinked down at you through his thick, dark lashes. “Just one kiss, please.” 

It was apparent that he wanted you to make the first move. As if it would absolve him from this abhorrent act. As if it would exculpate him despite the threat he made on your life if you refused to comply. In some sick, twisted way, you knew that the second your lips touched his, Theo felt absolutely vindicated. 

The growl that crawled out of his throat was purely animalistic. It spoke of need, of desire, of lust that had simmered underneath the surface for far too long. The taste of you, soft and supple and sweet, was better than anything Theo could have ever imagined. His cock strained against his pants as he deepened the kiss, tongue sweeping over the seam of your lips to demand entrance. 

A part of you wanted to fight back, to pull away from him, but it was nearly impossible when he harshly grabbed your jaw and forced his way in. You opened for him reluctantly, but that was all he needed. Theo was the type of person to take a mile when given an inch. His hands roamed your body while his tongue massaged yours, moaning, panting, licking the roof of your mouth with unabashed glee. Theo squeezed your tits and gripped your hips and wrapped your legs around his waist. He felt like a dog in heat as he rutted himself against your clothed cunt. 

Fuck, he was so hard it hurt. 

Dazed and drunk with desire, Theo pulled away, his gaze sweeping over your kiss bitten lips and flushed cheeks. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” 

It was fucking horrible, horrendous, atrocious. You wanted the deepest pits of hell to open up and swallow you whole. Because that kiss had lit a fire in your belly despite your disgust for the man forcing himself on you. 

Before you could think twice, you reared back and spit right into his face. Theo blinked in surprise. You expected anger, but amusement greeted you instead. The motherfucker was enjoying this. 

“You’re a feisty thing, aren’t you?” Theo drawled as he unclasped his belt. The sight caused panic to grip you from all sides. “Don’t worry, principessa. I’ll fuck the fight right out of you. I will break you until you become the good girl that I know you can be.” 

“Theo please, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you sobbed and begged. “Don’t do this, please.” 

Theo chuckled darkly. “You’re not sorry,” he said as he cut your dress open with his blade. “But you will be.” 

Exposed and vulnerable, you struggled against your restraints as Theo trailed kisses down your torso. His lips were a searing brand against your skin, sucking and biting and marking your skin as though he was staking his claim on your body. His deft fingers unhooked your bra and his pupils were completely black as he ogled your chest. 

With his lips latched around your nipple, Theo blinked innocently up at you. “I’m so fucking in love with you,” he murmured as he flicked his tongue over the stiffened peak. “You make me crazy, Y/N.” 

You moaned as he sucked fervently, losing himself in the heat of your skin and the scent of your perfume. Roses and vanilla. Sweet and simple, just like his pretty girl. Theo groaned as he lavished your other nipple the same treatment. 

There was such reverence and awe in the way that he touched you. For a brief moment, you forgot how truly vile he was because the second his fingers slipped inside of you and curved against that sweet spot, every ounce of common sense abandoned you. 

“I bet Adrian would’ve never gotten you this wet, huh?”

Your eyes snapped open at the reminder. Somewhere underneath you, Adrian’s lifeless body was still bleeding out on your wooden floors. “You’re fucking awful — o —oh —“ 

The involuntary whimper that crawled up your throat was pathetic, but you couldn’t help it. Theo had ripped your panties to shreds and positioned the head of his cock over your folds, teasing and taunting at your entrance as you continued to resist. 

“Theo, Theo, please,” you pleaded as he began to breach your cunt. You kicked your legs in the air and tilted your hips away from him, anything to keep him away from you, but it didn’t work. 

Theo held your hips down, his large hands forming bruises on your skin. “Stay fucking still,” he growled against your neck before biting down hard. 

Shocked, you stopped struggling and cried as the sting broke skin. Theo took the opportunity to push the head of his cock inside of you, making your eyes water from the sheer length of him. He was too big, it didn’t fit, it fucking hurt. But the desperate pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears as Theo fully sheathed himself in your warmth. 

“So fucking tight,” Theo grunted as he slowly dragged his cock out of your pussy, entranced at the way your bodies melded together, watching your cunt clench around nothing before slamming all the way in. Your teeth clattered together from the force. “Dio mio, you feel so fucking good. I want to ruin you.” 

Once more, he pulled out and pushed into your warmth, savoring the way you squeezed around him. The sensation made you dizzy with desire. Try as you might to fight it, every breach of his cock only stretched and filled you even more, the filthy sound of your pussy squelching with every thrust echoing in the room. 

“Wanted this for so long,” Theo grunted. “You have no idea what it’s been like for me, cara mia.” His hips snapped against your ass while he drove deeper and deeper, thick cock kissing the tip of your cervix. “But now I finally get to have you all to myself.” 

Your knees buckled, every brush of his cock within your snug walls weakening your resolve as he fucked you into the mattress. His pace was relentless, punishing, and it was all you could do to lose yourself in him completely. 

“Don’t fight it, bella.” Theo murmured as he hiked your legs up over his shoulders. “I could be so good to you.” He punctuated his statement with a slam of his hips. “I know everything about you. Probably better than you know yourself. I’ve watched, I’ve waited, I’ve wanted.” Another slam caused you to writhe and arch your back off the bed. “No one else could ever love you like I do.” 

A breathy moan pushed its way past your lips without your consent. Self-loathing made you flush with embarrassment; your body was betraying you in the worst way as your own slick dripped down your thighs while Theo angled your hips to sink in deeper. He had spoken true about knowing you better than you knew yourself, because he seemed to know how to caress you, how to kiss you, how to command you until you were teetering off the edge once again. 

His long fingers circled your clit, stroking the sensitive bud in the exact same way that he had watched you touch yourself over the past few months. Theo was diligent in every sense of the word; his studious nature pushed him to perfection. The focus in which he devoted into pleasuring you was singular. He was obsessive and possessive; he was determined to make this good for you. His pretty girl deserved nothing but the best. 

“You can’t deny that we’re a perfect fit,” he murmured, dead-eyed gaze drinking in the sight of him slipping in and out of you. You tried to avert your gaze, but Theo gripped your chun and forced you to watch. “Look how well you’re taking me. It’s like we were made for each other, my love.”

Words failed you at the heat of the moment and even if you regained the ability to speak, you wouldn’t know what to say. Theo took your silence for submission, his lips pressed against yours, tongue sweeping over your bottom lip while he pounded into you. 

The instinct to fight dimmed with each urgent thrust, buried deep within the recesses of your mind. All you could do was moan in pleasure and Theo eagerly drank in every gasp and pant and whimper, studying your face as though he was committing every detail to memory.

“Please, please,” you panted. You weren’t quite sure whether you were begging him to stop or urging him to continue, but either way, Theo seemed to know exactly what you needed. 

His kisses were open mouthed and filthy, swallowing your protests with the flick of his tongue. You jerked when Theo slapped your pussy, chuckling against your mouth before he kneaded his thumb against your tender nub harder and faster. 

“Theo —“ The realization that your climax was near filled you with both excitement and indignation. 

“Be a good girl and come for me, Y/N.” 

You clenched as Theo squeezed your throat in his fist, momentarily robbing you of oxygen. Somehow its absence intensified the sensations. The combination of Theo pushing his cock into you again and again while his thumb stroked your clit harder and harder sent you barreling over the edge. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, making your legs shake and your walls spasm around his cock. 

“Oh fuck,” Theo cursed, his resolve close to breaking. “Just like that, cara mia. Squeezing me so tight, milking my fucking cock dry.” 

Stars burst behind your lids as his balls slapped against your clit, coaxing yet another orgasm out of you. Your mind went fuzzy with static. A faint ringing echoed in your ears while you trembled and convulsed. 

“Such a good girl,” Theo grunted as he chased after his own pleasure. You were limp and boneless underneath him, unable to respond save for a pathetic whimper. “I’m going to fill this pretty pussy up with my cum, bella. You’re going to let me, aren’t you?” 

You started to shake your head, but Theo paid the action no mind. “Take it, cara mia,” he said forcefully. “Take my cock, take my heart, take all of me.” 

Your tits jiggled as he fucked you through his own orgasm, his thrusts growing erratic as he spilled his thick, hot cum inside of you. His eyes rolled back at the thought of filling you and stuffing you full of his seed. It overflowed past your sensitive, puffy folds and dripped down your thighs. Even when he pulled his softening cock out of you, Theo made sure to push it all back in with his fingers. You whimpered at the sensitivity between your legs as he leaned back to admire his work. 

Theo seemed to take pity on you, tutting at the red circles around your wrist. “M’gonna take the cuffs off now, okay, bella?” 

You nodded, trembling slightly when he finally unchained you from the bed. Theo cooed over your raw wrists, kissing and fawning over the sensitive skin. Taking full advantage of the distraction, you snatched the knife Theo had carelessly discarded by his thigh and drove the blade into his shoulder. 

Theo hissed in surprise, his blue eyes widening. “You fucking stabbed me,” he declared incredulously. “You really fucking stabbed me.” 

“Oh my God —“ you sobbed, regret flooding you all at once as your hands shook over the blade. “Theo, I didn’t mean — fuck, are you okay —“ 

The shock caused you to let your guard down, tears streaming down your face as the realization of what you had just done crashed over you. Despite the blade sticking out from his shoulder, Theo seamlessly switched positions so that you were straddling his lap. 

Your right hand was frozen in place, still holding the blade while shaking violently. You expected anger and fear, but Theo only flashed you a lovesick smile as he wrapped his slender fingers around your wrist. “Don’t be shy, Y/N,” Theo teased. “You can do better than that, can’t you?” 

You screamed as Theo drove the blade further into his shoulder, the wound splattering a rain of blood all over your face and hair. “Stop, stop it! Don’t. Theo, stop, please —”

Theo tilted his head and examined you with a curious expression. His gaze softened as you sobbed and trembled in his lap. In his silky voice, he whispered soothing words in your ear and stroked your back to calm your growing hysteria. 

“Aw, you’re worried about me? That’s cute, bella.” The timbre of his voice almost sounded proud. “I wouldn’t waste your tears, though. I'll be fine. It’s just a silly little nick. Besides, now that I’ve had you, it won’t be that easy to get rid of me.”

You gasped as his hardness poked against your ass. How could he be fucking hard at a time like this? There was goddamn knife sticking out of his shoulder, for fuck’s sake!

“Look at you, crying over me.” His voice was husky with need as he rolled his erection against you. It seemed that not even a murder attempt could faze the man underneath you. If anything, Theo seemed turned on by it. God, he was so fucked up. “It’s a good sign, bella. It means that you care. To think, just moments ago, you said you hated me, but here you are concerned for my well being.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut, refusing to listen to him speak. It only confused you more. Theo kissed your tears away and caressed your cheek. His violation of you earlier was a direct contradiction of the way he handled you with such gentleness and care, almost like you were something precious to him. You couldn’t reconcile the warring versions of him in your mind. 

“Please, stop,” you murmured as you tried to cover your ears. “You’re confusing me.”

“There’s nothing to be confused about,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Clearly, you care about me. Otherwise, you would have aimed for my heart.” 

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” you whispered in a broken sob. “I just wanted — I wanted —” 

In truth, you didn’t know what you wanted. It was all too traumatic and taxing to fully process. Theo pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Shh, hush now, principessa. I told you, I’ll take care of you. You never have to worry about anything ever again. You can trust me, I promise. I would never let anything or anyone hurt you. I’ll kill anyone who tries. I love you so fucking much.” 

Theo gently pried your wrists away and kissed your fingertips. “You don’t love me yet,” he admitted in a wistful tone. “But you will, bella.” 

[cartoonscientist]

I think people have this very unrealistic view of active psychosis based on reddit and tiktok posts that the typical presentation is being able to very effectively situationally mask and otherwise present as normal while living a fucked up fantasy life on the side, like idk, your husband has always acted normal and still is but then you find out he keeps a secret mannequin family under the porch and leaves rotten food offerings for them and stuff and now that he knows you know he’s plotting to murder you while still masking to all your friends and family. or you’ll feel totally normal and like nothing is wrong but you have a new roommate no one else acknowledges exists.

psychosis takes many forms, admittedly, but in general if someone is having a hardcore break with reality they will be showing outward signs of not being in good shape holistically speaking; they’ll neglect their hygeine and possibly stop eating, they may self harm or pick their skin/pull their hair, it could be very easy to mistake them for someone under the influence of drugs. personally, my psychotic episodes feel like waking dreams or fever-induced delirium and involve both insomnia and borderline narcolepsy.

“crazy people don’t even know they’re crazy! if you think you’re going crazy, you’re not, because if you were schizophrenic you wouldn’t even ask that question!” not to scare you bro but I think like 75% schizophrenic worry they’re going crazy when their symptoms first show up, like they may not realize they’re schizophrenic per se but they know SOMETHING is up

[tnsophiaayaonly]

LUTALICA

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ YOU'RE A YANDERE, WELL, AN EX-YANDERE TO BE SPECIFIC. AFTER COUNTLESS OF TIMES OF KILLING YOUR BELOVED, YOU FIND YOURSELF SUDDENLY GAINING AWARENESS DUE TO SOME VIRUS DISTORTING YOUR CHARACTER FILES. NOW YOU FIND YOURSELF WEIRDED OUT WHENEVER YOU'D FEEL SO INFATUATED OVER THIS GUY, AND YOU SWORE TO STOP BEING WEIRD. UNAWARE THAT YOUR DARLING'S GAINED AWARENESS TOO.

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ MODERN AU. HIGHSCHOOL AU. YANDERE. AETHER, SCARAMOUCHE/WANDERER, XIAO, VENTI, KINICH, ORORON

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ CONTENT WARNINGS: OBSESSIVE/CONTROLLING BEHAVIOR: EXPLICIT YANDERE THEMES AND EXTREME POSSESSIVENESS. OBSESSION AND STALKING, INCLUDING BEING FOLLOWED OR MONITORED. PHYSICAL RESTRAINT & KIDNAPPING: DEPICTIONS OF PHYSICAL RESTRAINT, CONFINEMENT, OR KIDNAPPING. UNLAWFUL DETAINMENT (E.G., LOCKING DOORS, FORCIBLY PREVENTING ESCAPE). CYBERCRIME & DIGITAL MANIPULATION: HACKING, INTERFERENCE WITH PERSONAL DEVICES, AND DIGITAL BLACKMAIL. EMOTIONAL & PSYCHOLOGICAL ABUSE: MANIPULATION, GASLIGHTING, AND COERCION DESIGNED TO CONTROL OR ISOLATE. THREATS—IMPLICIT OR EXPLICIT—THAT UNDERMINE PERSONAL AUTONOMY. NON-CONSENSUAL ACTS: ANY NON-CONSENSUAL OR FORCED BEHAVIOR, EVEN IF MASKED AS “PROTECTION”. ILLEGAL BEHAVIOR & UNLAWFUL ACTS: DESCRIPTIONS OR DEPICTIONS OF ACTIONS THAT ARE ILLEGAL (KIDNAPPING, DOCUMENT FORGERY, THEFT, ETC.) MATURE THEMES IN GENERAL. MENTIONS OF MURDER. MENTIONS OF BEING AWARE IN A GAME.

: ̗̀➛ note that I DO NOT condone such actions irl, and this is a work of fiction. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. part 2 (xiao, venti).

-`♡´- PART 1

╰⪼ AETHER - Class Rep.

A man of virtue—helpful, funny, kind, caring, and breathtakingly attractive. He has it all. Who wouldn’t love someone like him? Who wouldn’t yearn for him, worship him, drown in the delirium of his existence?

No wonder you’ve always felt that electrifying rush, the intoxicating ecstasy that floods your veins with every slow drag of the knife across his flesh. No wonder you’ve felt that dizzying euphoria each time you spilled the blood of another—man or woman—who dared to steal even a fraction of his attention away from you.

He was yours.

But then—

Distortion. A glitched-out, shredded mess of memories, like a dying screen flickering between past and present. When you finally come to, you're curled up in your bed, hair tangled, your skin fevered and slick with cold sweat. Your lungs fight for air as images flash behind your eyelids—a grotesque, jagged onslaught of death, of red-streaked corridors, of bodies slumped in pools of their own warmth, all because of you.

What the hell was that?

Your hands tremble as you grab your phone, fingers slipping against the smooth glass. The calendar stares back at you, unwavering in its cruel simplicity. Not the beginning. Not a fresh start.

The middle.

Your stomach twists violently.

That means you’ve already committed crimes. That means, despite this terrible, newfound awareness clawing at your mind, the stains on your hands have already set. The walls are already splattered. The game—the world—will not reset this time.

At school, every breath feels like an alarm sounding in your chest. The walls seem to close in, and the weight of invisible eyes presses against your back. You are a criminal walking in broad daylight, masquerading as something human.

You consider confessing. Throwing yourself at the mercy of the police, the authorities—anyone who could lock you away before you slip again.

But you don’t.

Fear has its hands around your throat, whispering of consequences, of punishments, of the irreversible.

And then—

“Oh, [Name]! I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can come to your house to help you with math today. Maybe another time?”

His voice is golden honey, smooth and easy, like the way the sun filters through autumn leaves.

Aether.

Your body reacts before your mind does, stiffening, and recoiling. He stands before you with that same effortless charm, his golden hair meticulously braided, strands catching the light like spun silk. He is still beautiful, still perfect—too perfect.

And yet.

Guilt lurches in your gut, a sickness festering beneath your ribs. You manage a stiff nod, then turn sharply on your heel and bolt before your expression betrays you.

Strange.

Very strange.

Aether watches you go, his head tilting slightly, brows furrowing. He expected you to whine, to insist, to grasp at his sleeve and beg for his time, like you always did. But instead, you—ran?

At first, he brushes it off. A bad day, perhaps. A sudden bout of shyness.

And yet—

He thinks about it. And thinks about it. And thinks about it.

You were always there. Always orbiting him, always finding ways to entangle yourself in his life. You chased him, your obsession like a suffocating force, relentless, inescapable. It had been overwhelming—yes—but predictable. A constant.

But now?

Now, he barely sees you. Now, your eyes flicker away the moment they meet his. Now, there is distance where there was once unbearable closeness.

It feels wrong.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d grown used to your presence until it was gone. How the absence of your obsession left him… cold.

Had he done something? Had he driven you away?

Had you found someone else?

Aether’s fingers twitch.

The message arrives when you least expect it.

Meet me up later at the dorms. Yours or mine?

You freeze, staring at the words on your screen.

No. No, no, no.

You’ve been so careful. So diligent. So determined not to fall back into old patterns.

Ignore it. Ignore him.

Your dorm is a sanctuary—a place to suffocate beneath your own guilt, to drown in your shame without prying eyes. You push the door open, stepping inside, closing it behind you—

Click.

The sound is quiet.

Too quiet.

Your breath stills, your fingers going rigid against the doorframe. Slowly, you turn.

And there he is.

Aether.

Your blood runs ice-cold.

“I always felt safe when you were around,” he murmurs, his voice softer than usual, dangerously intimate. His amber eyes are heavy-lidded, laced with something unfamiliar—something raw, something hungry. He takes a step forward. You take one back.

“But lately… I don’t know anymore.” Another step. Another retreat. “You used to be so close. Now, you’re so far away.”

Your back meets the wall.

Aether tilts his head, golden strands slipping over his shoulder. His hand rises, ghosting over your cheek with a gentleness that contradicts the steel beneath his words.

"Do you hate me now?"

The panic clogs your throat. "No—"

"Shh," he soothes, pressing a finger to your lips before dragging it down, pressing it flat over your chest. Your heart hammers beneath his palm. His lashes lower.

“Your heart’s racing…” His fingers trail lower, his grip settling firm against your waist. “…Just like it used to. Whenever I looked at you. Whenever I said your name.”

Your breath hitches, your body locking up as he pulls you closer—too close.

“Like always.”

His arms wrap around you, caging you in. You can’t move. Can’t breathe.

“Don’t worry.”

His lips brush against your hair.

“I missed you too.”

╰⪼ SCARAMOUCHE/WANDERER - Outsider of the Drama Club. Rebel.

Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe you were always drawn to the unattainable, the cruel, the ones who stood above the world as if it were theirs to scorn. And he—he was the epitome of it all. A nightmare draped in elegance, venom wrapped in silk. Scaramouche was all sharp edges and hollow laughter, a phantom that commanded space with his mere presence.

He was unbearable. Unreachable. And utterly perfect.

You wanted to break past his walls, to carve yourself into his life, to make him see you. And if the rest of the world had to bleed away for that to happen—then so be it.

The others didn't deserve him. The parasites who giggled at his words, who brushed against him so casually, so carelessly, as if they had any right. They did not deserve to exist. Their very presence was an insult, a smear on the pristine canvas that was him.

And so, piece by piece, you erased them.

The first one was easy. A soft thing with wide, innocent eyes that adored him too much, who lingered just a little too close. You watched as life drained from their gaze, as their breath rattled out in broken whimpers. It was almost beautiful—the way the blade slipped into flesh, the way blood bloomed like an offering, warm and thick and real against your trembling fingers.

Every cut, every scream, every shuddering gasp—it was for him.

Yet he never noticed.

No matter how many of them you silenced, no matter how much devotion you etched into the world in his name, Scaramouche never noticed. He walked through life untouched, uncaring, his gaze never once landing on you with the reverence you craved.

You returned home to your shrine—his shrine. A sanctuary of madness. Photographs lined the walls like sacred scripture, capturing every fragment of his existence. The way the sun kissed his pale skin. The rare, unguarded softness when he thought no one was watching. The harsh, unrelenting glare that you had come to love more than life itself.

Strands of his dark indigo hair, stolen in the quiet of passing moments, lay bound together with fraying ribbons. Fabric from his discarded clothes, the scent of him still clinging to the fibers, folded with trembling care. A single, crumpled note—his handwriting scrawled across the page, meaningless to anyone but you.

You had built a temple in his name. A cathedral of longing, devotion, and sickness.

And yet—when you stood before it, staring at the madness of your own making, something inside you snapped.

You saw it. Truly saw it.

Not love. Not devotion.

Obsession.

Your stomach twisted, nausea rising like bile. You thought you had been pure, that your love had been something sacred. But the truth was carved into the blood on your hands, into the grotesque altar before you.

You were filth. No better than the ones you had slaughtered.

You couldn’t face him. Not like this.

So you ran.

For the first time, you abandoned him.

At school, you became nothing—a wraith in the halls, slipping through shadows, avoiding his gaze like it burned. You erased yourself from his world, just as you had erased the others from his presence.

And Scaramouche noticed.

The absence of your eyes on him was suffocating in its own right. He had grown used to your presence, to the quiet weight of your obsession curling around him like an unwanted curse. You were supposed to be there—watching, waiting, hanging onto his every breath.

But now?

Nothing.

No glances from the corners of your eyes. No lingering in doorways just to catch a glimpse of him. No quiet, frantic movements in your notebook whenever he spoke.

It was almost... eerie.

A slow smirk curled at his lips, but beneath it was something dark, something unreadable. His fingers twitched, restless. A storm brewed behind his gaze, a creeping, unspoken rage.

Did you think you could leave? Just like that?

Oh, how naive.

You had crawled through madness for him, had burned your soul away in his name. You were his, a pitiful, broken little thing that had spiraled into insanity just to get closer.

And now, you wanted to turn away? To pretend it had never happened?

Scaramouche does not lose what belongs to him.

You would come back.

One way or another.

Scaramouche never cared to notice things beyond himself. People came and went, their voices drowned in the white noise of his existence. He never wasted energy on trivial matters—least of all you.

You, with your cloying devotion. You, always at his heels like an obedient pet. You, whispering sweet, obsessive promises as if they meant anything.

You had been everywhere. The moment he turned his head, you were there. In class, in the cafeteria, lingering outside the bathroom, loitering in the hallways, even perched at the rooftop, always waiting for a glimpse of him.

And then, suddenly—you weren’t.

It was silent.

At first, he didn’t question it. Why should he? It wasn’t his concern. It wasn’t his problem. He should’ve felt relieved.

But the longer it stretched on, the more something gnawed at him.

You were nowhere.

And that—that was wrong.

For two weeks, one day, three hours, fifty-six minutes, and thirty-two seconds—he counted. His mind involuntarily tracked every second that passed without the weight of your suffocating adoration pressing into his skin. He didn’t care, yet somehow, he noticed.

Then, finally—he saw you.

You.

But you weren’t alone.

You were talking to someone else, laughing, smiling. Living.

Something in him snapped.

His smirk faltered.

You—his shadow, his puppet, his wretched little thing—were no longer circling him like a moth desperate to burn. You were free.

You had a life.

And for the first time, Scaramouche felt something eerily close to betrayal.

What happened to your promises?

Where were the feverish whispers of "I'd die for you, Scaramouche!" Where were the eyes that followed him in manic devotion, the trembling hands that clung to every word he uttered like it was scripture?

Had it all been a lie?

Had you really abandoned him?

The rage was instant. Consuming.

Without hesitation, he strode forward, cutting through the people surrounding you like they were nothing but fog in his path. Conversations halted, eyes turned, but he didn’t care.

Because there you were.

And you weren’t his anymore.

"You used to be all in—every moment, every breath, I knew you were mine." His voice was sharp, biting, loud. He didn’t bother to hide the venom in his words, his arms crossed in a defensive, possessive stance. His voice carried through the stunned silence. "Now it’s like you’ve just… vanished. Were you ever really sincere?"

You froze, your body going rigid.

A lump formed in your throat, suffocating, as you stared at him. He was livid, but there was something else buried beneath the rage—something worse.

"What—?" You barely managed to get the word out before he cut you off, voice rising, boiling over.

"You played me. You abandoned me! After everything you’ve done for me?!" His voice cracked slightly at the end, but it wasn’t weakness—it was fury. Frustration. A terrible, uncontrollable storm of emotions that even he didn’t know how to process.

His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palm as if trying to ground himself—to stop himself from grabbing you, shaking you, making you look at him the way you used to.

And yet—you didn’t.

Your eyes didn’t hold that obsessive gleam anymore. They held pity.

And then, you said it.

"Can you just please leave me alone?"

Firm. Cold. Unshaken.

And that—that hurt.

The words slammed into his chest like a blade. His breath hitched, his whole body stiffening. His lips parted, eyes blown wide, an expression of utter disbelief.

You had never, never spoken to him like that before.

And worse—you turned away.

You walked away from him.

You walked away from him.

The world blurred for a moment. He could barely hear the whispers around him, barely feel the weight of the stares pressing into him.

The air felt wrong.

His hands twitched, his heart hammered against his ribs, but his face remained eerily blank.

A slow, suffocating rage curled inside him.

No.

No, this wasn’t right.

You thought you could leave?

You thought you could escape him?

A smirk twitched at his lips, but his eyes were dark—hungry.

You’ll pay for that.

He’ll make you regret ever thinking you could live without him.

It wasn’t difficult.

You had made it easy for him.

Every whispered confession, every vulnerable fragment of yourself—you had offered them up willingly, blind with devotion. When you worshipped him, when you ached for him, you had bled your soul dry, spilling every truth at his feet like a devout follower praying to an unholy god. You had believed your love was unbreakable, that nothing could twist it into something ugly.

But love was a lie.

And now?

Now, those same truths would be the noose around your neck.

Scaramouche barely had to lift a finger. The dirt he had on you wasn’t something he had to dig for—no, you had given it to him, laid it bare in your desperation to be seen, to be acknowledged, to matter to him. And so, with meticulous precision and an insufferable smirk, he wove it all together, weaving your past into a beautiful, intricate cage.

A perfect blackmail.

The tapes spun between his fingers, glinting under the dim light, the cruel little wheel of fate turning in slow, damning circles.

Your sins, preserved forever.

Blood. So much blood. The camera didn’t shy away from the violence—how your blade had sunk into flesh, how wet, gurgling gasps had choked out their last breaths. How their fingers had twitched, grasping at the nothingness as they collapsed, lifeless. And you—standing above them, gloved hands stained red, chest heaving, lips parted with something too close to reverence.

Then, the photographs.

Dozens of them.

Some of him—captured in secret, stolen moments where he was unaware of your obsession clinging to him like a shadow. Pictures taken from alleyways, behind windows, through crowds. And some of you—uninvited, invasive, taken when you thought you were alone but weren’t.

He liked these.

He liked the way you looked in them—unsuspecting, fragile. He liked knowing the tables had turned, that he was watching you now, that your obsession had left you vulnerable enough for him to tear apart.

But the best part?

The confrontation.

Scaramouche didn’t need to hunt you down. He didn’t need to lure you in. You walked straight into his web, oblivious, thinking you were safe.

The door creaked open.

A sharp inhale.

Then—stillness.

You stood frozen in the doorway, the color draining from your face as your breath caught in your throat.

Scaramouche.

Lounging on your sofa as if he had always belonged there. One leg draped over the other, fingers lazily tapping against the stack of evidence in his hands, violet eyes gleaming with something unreadable. Something triumphant.

You felt the air shift—suffocating, cloying, thick with the unspoken understanding that this was no longer your space.

This was his.

Your voice broke, barely above a whisper.

"What are you doing here?" The words wavered, shaking under the weight of panic. "How—how did you get in?"

Scaramouche didn’t answer. He only tilted his head, watching you, letting the silence drag on long enough to coil around your ribs, squeezing. Then, ever so slowly, he lifted the tape, letting it spin between his fingers, his smirk widening.

"More importantly," he murmured, voice smooth, slow, deliberate, "what do you think I’m going to do with this?"

The world tilted beneath you.

Your pulse roared in your ears, the blood draining from your limbs as your stomach twisted into knots.

It was all there.

The evidence. The obsession. The murders.

Your sins, reflected back at you in sickening clarity.

You barely managed to breathe, barely managed to whisper out a choked, "I—I should just go to the police." The words left your lips before you could think them through, raw with desperation. "Tell them—tell them there's a criminal on campus—"

His laugh cut you off.

Sharp. Cold. Mocking.

"Oh?" He leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm, eyes glittering with amusement. "And what do you think happens next? Do they rush in, sirens blaring, guns drawn? Do they drag me away in chains?" His smirk widened, teeth flashing like a predator playing with its food.

His voice dropped, honeyed with false sympathy.

"And what do you think they’ll do when they see all of this?"

Your stomach lurched.

He didn’t need to say it.

You knew.

His expression softened into something almost pitying—almost.

"Face it," he murmured, letting the words settle into your skin like poison. "You're finished, no matter what you do."

A pause. A moment stretched too thin.

And then—casually, effortlessly—he leaned back, arms stretching along the sofa, as if this was all just an idle conversation.

"Or," he drawled, "you could be a good girl and go back to being my pet."

Your breath caught.

The words slithered over you like a collar snapping into place.

His voice was soft—so soft, so sweet—but beneath it was steel. An unspoken command. A leash tightening around your throat.

"It’s your choice, really," he continued, tilting his head. "But let’s be honest—there’s no different outcome. Either way, you’re never leaving me."

The finality of it crushed the breath from your lungs.

The realization clawed its way through your mind like a slow, sinking weight.

You had never been free.

You had never been in control.

And as Scaramouche's smirk widened, as he watched the last ember of defiance flicker and die in your eyes, you realized—

You never would be.

ONG I COULDN'T CONTAIN MY EXCITEMENT OF WRITING :(( AAAH

[luv-lock]

⸻ ᴊ ᴀ ʏ ʙ ɪ ʀ ᴅ ⸻

“ The Broken Mask: A Name to Remember ”

Pairing: Dark Jason Todd x Fem Reader Part 3

Summary: After waking up, you found yourself in a dark and dirty room. Tied up without a way out. And there's him who kidnapped you...

Warnings: Physical violence, Child abuse, Psychological trauma.

Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

The stench of blood and decay filled the air, suffocating her. It clung to her skin, her hair, and every breath she took. She woke with a sharp gasp, her body screaming in pain, every muscle twisted and strained. She couldn’t move her hands or legs—tied down, the coarse ropes cutting into her skin. Her wrists burned as she tried to twist them free, but the bindings only dug deeper. The metallic taste of blood lingered in her mouth.

Her vision swam, the room around her blurry at first, but as her eyes adjusted, she took in the nightmare she was trapped in. The room was small, the walls stained with streaks of dried blood and rust. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of death, and the dim light above flickered weakly, casting eerie shadows across the walls. Her heart raced as the reality of her situation sank in.

Where am I? What happened?

Memories flashed back—rain, green eyes, a sharp pain. She’d been in her house. And then...

The door creaked open, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silence. She flinched, her breath catching in her throat. A figure stepped into the room, and her stomach turned. He was tall, his frame imposing, clad in a leather jacket that seemed worn from years of use. His face was hidden beneath a red helmet, the visor reflecting the dim light, making him look more monster than man.

In his hand, he casually twisted a knife, the blade catching the light as it spun.

It’s just a dream, she told herself. It has to be. It can’t be real. It’s just a nightmare.

Her eyes squeezed shut tightly, as if that could force the nightmare to end, as if closing them would make it all disappear. She needed to wake up.

Please… please just wake up.

But then, she heard it. A voice—too familiar, too close—cut through the fog of her delirium.

“Jaybird…”

Her heart stopped.

“Jaybird, Jaybird, Jaybird,”

It couldn’t be. No. No, there’s no way. There’s no way it’s him. He’s dead. He has to be. He can’t be here.

She shook her head violently, trying to shake the word out of her mind. It was a hallucination. It had to be. She hadn’t taken her pills. Her therapist had warned her about this. The voices, the dreams, the confusion—it’s just the pills.

Jason's dead. He’s dead.

"Well, look who’s awake," he said, his voice low and mocking. He leaned against the wall, tilting his head as if observing her. "Sleeping beauty finally graces us with her presence."

She squeezed her eyes shut harder, trying to shut out the world, trying to shut out him.

"Oh, don’t be shy," he continued, pushing off the wall and taking slow, deliberate steps toward her. His boots echoed with each step. "What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?" He crouched in front of her, tilting his head like a predator sizing up its prey.

She didn’t respond, keeping her head down. Her breath was shallow, her pulse hammering in her ears. She bit her lip hard, her breath hitching. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t think.

It’s just a dream. It’s just a nightmare.

“C’mon. Say something... Anything.” he said, dragging out the words.

“Why don’t you look at me, sweetheart?” He was taunting her now. A sickening, twisted laugh bubbled up from his throat, sharp like broken glass. “I know you want to princess.”

Her blood ran cold. Her chest tightened, suffocating her, every inch of her body screaming in terror.

No, no, no. She couldn’t be hearing this. It couldn’t be real. She wasn’t strong enough to face him—him.

Jason was dead. He was gone.

But… this voice? It was his. His voice… twisted, broken, yet unmistakable. It was Jason. But it couldn’t be. Not like this.

He straightened suddenly, his tone shifting to one of mock enthusiasm. "How about we get to know each other better, huh? What do you say?"

Her head remained bowed, her tears threatening to spill.

He crouched again, his voice darker now, more menacing. "Look at me princess."

When she didn’t move, his tone snapped like a whip. "I said, fucking look at me."

She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. She kept her face down, eyes squeezed shut.

It’s not real. It’s not real. He’s dead. He’s gone. This is just my mind playing tricks on me. This is my fault. I forgot to take my pills. That’s it. That’s all it is. I’m crazy. I’m going insane.

“Fine.” His tone shifted, sharp and biting. “Let’s play it your way.”

He straightened, the knife twirling in his hand again. “Who are you? Tell me your name,” he asked, the question laced with venom.

She didn’t respond.

“I said—” His voice boomed as he slammed the chair’s armrest with the butt of the knife, making her flinch. “Who the fuck are you?”

Still, she said nothing.

The slap came hard and fast, the force whipping her head to the side. Her cheek burned, and she tasted copper as her lip split against her teeth.

“Say it!” he barked, his voice a dangerous snarl.

“Y/N,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He stepped back, clapping his hands slowly, mockingly. “There it is. Good girl.”

“Now,” he said, crouching again, his tone shifting into something almost playful. “Do you know who I am?”

Her heart pounded in her chest, the blood rushing in her ears. She nodded slowly, her throat closing up as she whispered, “No.”

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. And then—

Stab.

The pain was blinding.

She gasped, her whole body convulsing as the knife dug into her hand. She screamed, her back arching against the chair as the metal sliced through her flesh. Her eyes watered, tears streaming down her face as she cried out in agony.

“Wrong answer.” His voice was dripping with venom as he twisted the knife, pushing it deeper into her skin. The world around her spun in dizzying circles. “You don’t get to lie to me.”

The tears poured down her face, each sob racking her body as the knife tore through her palm. The burning pain was too much. She was going to pass out. She was sure of it.

But the pain wouldn’t stop.

He yanked her hair back, his fingers tangled in her hair as he pulled her face up to meet his. “Now, tell me again, what's my name?”

“J–Jason...” The word was barely a whisper, escaping her lips without her consent.

“Who?” He mocked, his voice a sickening blend of sweetness and malice. “Say it louder, sweetheart.”

Her mind was unraveling. No, no, no, no. She could barely breathe through the tears, through the overwhelming agony, but somehow, her voice broke through the fog.

“Jason!” she cried, her voice hoarse, desperate.

“Good girl.” His smile was audible, twisted and cruel, as if he reveled in her pain.

She trembled, her hand still bleeding, the pain a constant, raw fire in her veins. She could feel the warmth of the blood pooling beneath her, slick and hot against her skin.

“Oh, but look at you,” he said, his tone light, almost playful. “Look at that hand. We can’t just leave that, can we?”

No, no, please, no more.

The room spun around her as he moved, as he crouched in front of her with a sickening gleam in his eyes. She looked down at her hand, still bleeding, the crimson liquid dripping onto the floor.

What is he going to do?

He stood suddenly, his movements jerky and manic as he raised his hand to his chin, pretending to think. “I don’t think I have any bandages. What should we do, princess? Hm?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block him out. The world was closing in on her.

Then, his voice dropped, as if struck by an idea.

“I’ve got it!” He laughed, a wild, unhinged sound that made her skin crawl. “We’ll just have to burn it shut! That should work, right? That’ll stop the bleeding. I learn that from him.”

“No… no, please!” Her body jerked violently as she tried to back away, to get away from him, but the ropes held her fast. “No! No, please, Jason, no!”

He smiled, his eyes lighting up with sick joy as he pulled something from his belt—a lighter. She didn’t have time to scream before he pressed the heat to her hand.

The pain was unbearable.

It was like her hand was being set on fire, the flesh searing as she screamed. Her body spasmed in agony, the heat radiating through her entire arm. Her vision swam, her body trembling as she pulled against the ropes, trying to escape, trying to pull away from the suffocating burn.

“No! NO! NO! NO!” She couldn’t stop screaming. “JASON, PLEASE!”

He held the flame there, the fire licking at her skin, and she felt herself slipping, her mind fracturing.

This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. It’s just a dream. It’s just a nightmare. He’s dead. He’s dead.

“Shhh,” he whispered, his voice soft and sickeningly sweet. “It’s okay. You’re doing great. Just a little more, and we’ll be done.”

But the fire burned through her mind, through her heart, and the last thing she could think of before the pain swallowed her whole was the sick, twisted laugh that echoed in her ears.

She hated the smell of him, the acrid stench of liquor mixed with sweat, burning through the walls of their small, suffocating apartment. His voice, thick with slurred words, called to her from the darkened hallway.

“Y/N… Y/N, get in here, you useless girl.”

She froze, her small body trembling as her heart hammered in her chest. She didn’t want to go to him. She didn’t want to face him—never again, never ever again. But she knew better. If she didn’t obey, it would only get worse. The bruises would last longer. The sharp, angry look in his eyes would linger until he got what he wanted.

She shuffled toward the kitchen, her bare feet cold against the cracked tiles. The apartment was always cold, like a morgue. The lights flickered, casting eerie shadows as she stepped into the small, dim room where her father sat slouched over the kitchen table. His face was flushed, eyes dull and red from too many drinks. The half-empty bottle of whiskey sat next to him, the amber liquid swirling like poison in the dim light.

He didn’t look at her at first. He just muttered something under his breath, too drunk to focus. Then, without a word, he reached over to the table, his hand shaking slightly as he grabbed the cigarette pack. He lit one, the ember glowing briefly before the thick smoke filled the air.

“Push your sleeve up,” he rasped, not looking at her. His voice had a hollow, empty ring to it, like he was talking to a ghost. A sickening feeling twisted in her stomach. She didn’t want to do it. She never wanted to do it. But she knew if she didn’t, he’d hurt her worse.

“But it hurts daddy...”

“That's the point you dumb girl.”

She shook, her tiny fingers fumbling with the sleeve of her worn shirt. She hated him. She hated the way he made her feel small, insignificant, as if she was nothing but an object to be used, abused. But she pushed her sleeve up, the cool air against her skin sending a shiver through her body.

He flicked the cigarette, and the red-hot ember hovered close to her skin. She felt the sharp, searing heat before she even saw it. The first press made her gasp, her arm jerking involuntarily as the pain seared through her like fire. He didn’t stop. He didn’t care. He pressed harder, digging the burning tip into her skin, his laugh low and raspy as she cried out in pain.

She hated him. She hated him more than anything in the world. And she cried—quietly, trying to hide it from him—but she cried because it was the only thing her body knew how to do. She wanted to scream, wanted to yell at him, to say all the horrible things she felt deep down, but she knew better. It would make him worse. It would make him hurt her more.

I hate you. I hate you. I wish you would die…

The room was quiet, save for the crackling neon sign outside the grimy window, its light flickering red against the concrete walls. The silence wasn’t comforting—it was suffocating, a prelude to something worse.

Her breath uneven as she stared at him. Jason loomed over her like a shadow, his presence thick with menace. His helmet sat discarded on a nearby table, revealing a face hardened by trauma and vengeance.

“You’re new to all of this,” he said, his voice low and measured. There was something mocking in his tone, something almost tender, if tenderness could be laced with poison. “So, we’ll start simple.”

Her eyes widened as he crouched down in front of her, close enough that she could see the faint scar along his cheek, something like a name.

Her name...

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a knife, the blade catching the dim light in a way that made her stomach churn.

Her lips trembled. “No… please, no… don't kill me please...”

Jason’s head tilted, his expression almost curious. “What? You think I’m going to kill you?” He laughed, a bitter sound that echoed in the small room. “If I wanted you dead, sweetheart, you’d already be in the ground.”

Relief flickered in her chest, but it was short-lived.

“No, I’m not that cruel,” he continued, his tone almost gentle. “I’m not like him. I’m not the Joker. I don’t take without asking. See, I’m giving you a choice.”

Her breath hitched.

“I’ll mark you,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “But I’ll let you decide. Should I use the knife? Or maybe…” He pulled a lighter from his pocket, flicking it open. The small flame danced in his hand, casting flickering shadows on his face. “…I could burn it in your pretty little face. My name. Right here.” He pointed to her cheek, just under her eye.

The way he said it—so casual, so matter-of-fact—made her stomach twist into knots.

Her head shook violently, tears streaming down her face. “Please, don’t… don’t do this… please…”

His lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Oh, come on. I’m being nice. Joker didn’t ask me what I wanted, now, did he?"

She shook her head again, her sobs growing louder as she begged, "Please, Jason, just let me go! I-I’ll do anything!"

His eyes darkened, irritation flashing across his features. “You’re not answering.”

“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “Please just let me go…”

His jaw tightened, and his patience snapped like a brittle thread. He lunged forward, gripping her chin with bruising force, his fingers digging into her flesh.

"You’re wasting my time," he growled, slapping her hard across the face when she tried to turn away. Pain blossomed on her cheek, sharp and searing, and she cried out.

"Fine. I’ll choose for you."

Her cry echoed in the room, but it didn’t stop him. His fingers gripped her chin, forcing her face upward. “Hold still,” he hissed, his voice cold. “If you don’t, I’ll mess it up. And trust me, you don’t want that.”

She thrashed weakly, but his grip was unyielding. The blade hovered near her skin, its cold edge biting into her cheek as he positioned it just below her eye. Her sobs turned into desperate, panicked pleas, her voice cracking under the weight of her fear.

“Shut up,” he growled, his tone sharp enough to cut. “You’re making this harder than it has to be.”

Her heart pounded, terror screaming through her veins like wildfire. She squeezed her eyes shut, trembling uncontrollably.

And then the blade bit into her skin.

At first, it was a sharp, stinging pain, but it quickly bloomed into something far worse—searing, unbearable agony that made her throat raw from screaming.

Her vision blurred with tears, and she clawed weakly at his wrist, her nails scraping against the leather of his glove.

"Stop! Please, Jason! Stop!" she sobbed, her voice breaking with desperation.

He didn’t.

The knife carved deeper, deliberate and precise, dragging slowly across her flesh. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, and she felt it trickling down her cheek, warm and sticky.

Her mind fractured under the weight of the pain. Memories flashed—happier times, the moments where he had promised he will always protect her. They felt like cruel jokes now, mocking her. But was it really his fault? Could she blame him?

The first cut was shallow, almost teasing, just a warning, a whisper of the agony to come. But the second came deeper, harsher, as his name was carved into her flesh. The pressure was excruciating. The sting of the blade tore through her skin like fire, but the worst part was the coldness of it. The way the letters were etched slowly, deliberately, carving through her soul as much as her skin.

It hurts... it hurts...

Her breath hitched, ragged and shallow, each jagged line of pain sending tremors through her body.

Stop... stop... please...

Her eyes squeezed shut, but the pain wouldn’t let her escape. Every stroke of the blade felt like an eternity. Her vision blurred, and her throat constricted as she fought to stay conscious.

I hate it... I hate it...

When he finally pulled the blade away, his name was etched into her skin, the wound raw and angry. Blood trickled down her face, staining her shirt, but all she could focus on was the pain, the overwhelming agony of what he’d done.

Jason leaned back, admiring his handiwork with a strange sense of satisfaction. His thumb brushed against the edge of the wound, making her flinch.

"Perfect," Jason whispered, his voice disturbingly soft. "I told you I’d be kind. You should thank me."

She sobbed, her tears mingling with the blood on her face.

Jason’s hand cupped her cheek—almost tenderly this time—and he forced her to meet his gaze. “Don’t cry,” he murmured, his tone deceptively gentle. “You should be grateful. After all, I’m not him. He never gave me a choice. But I gave you one.”

Next: Part 1. Part 2. Part 4. Part 5.

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[please-destroy]

No Matter What

Pregnant!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 3k

.

You hadn’t been given enough time. You lay flat to the ground as the explosions around you continued with an unrelenting pace.

You couldn’t move. The hot trickle of blood running down your calf told you enough. You’d been watching the thick white cloud of gas roll slowly towards you, and now it was here.

You could feel the cool moisture as it cloaked your bare ankles, beginning to envelope you.

You continued trying to inch your phone out of your pocket, twisting yourself awkwardly with the action. 

The part of you that was still clinging to hope needed her desperately. All you wanted was to hear Wanda’s voice telling you it would be okay. 

You couldn’t let yourself think about the baby. You didn’t think losing your future would hurt like this. You didn’t expect to feel such grief when you were the one dying.

It felt like fingernails raking along your throat when you choked on the realisation that you’d never see the baby. You’d never know if they really did have Wanda’s eyes. Your chest went tight with the hope that they did. 

You brought your phone level to your face, wincing at the brightness. 

One text, Wanda.

‘Stay safe, check in when you can, we miss you.’

You dropped the phone and closed your eyes. The clouded air smelled sweet, you could taste aniseed. You couldn’t call her, you were out of time.

You hoped the baby had Wanda’s smile too. Selfishly, now, you hoped that little pieces of you would be in there too. That people would still talk about you. You didn’t want to be another ghost, another unspeakable shadow that haunted the corner of Wanda’s eye.

You slipped into delirium a moment later and unconsciousness a minute after that.

.

You had plenty to live for, but when you heard your name being called you still didn’t want to wake up.

Your eyes shuttered open and you gasped out a breath like it was your first. You’d been moved, the gas was gone, the air seemed clean.

It took a moment to recognise the inside of the helicarrier. Even longer to understand it was Natasha who was underneath the industrial gas mask. 

You lost control of your panic, hyperventilating at the shock of her appearance. The rattling sound of her gas mask filtering the air was unsettling. It also meant there was still danger. Your hand went to your throat in confusion. Why weren’t you wearing one too?

‘You’ve been infected.’ Natasha called, staying carefully away from you in the med bay. ‘We think it's hallucinogenic, your pupils are blown wide.’

As if Natasha's words were a premonition, the world around her started to tilt. The edges of her figure started to blur and merge with the background. You tried not to fall back on the stretcher as the dizziness hit.

‘Wanda.’ You huffed out, fighting against the heaviness dragging you back under. You tried to find Natasha’s eyes behind the dark tinted glass of the helmet. Tears pricked your eyes, you could feel yourself slipping away. You were out of time again.

You felt a hand grip your arm at the last moment.

‘No matter what.’ Natasha’s voice assured you. It was the promise she’d made you a long time ago, Wanda would always be kept safe.

.

The next time you woke up, you were in a small room. The walls were concrete, the floor was concrete, the door was metal. 

You crawled to the corner, trying to remember if you’d been captured. Your mind felt heavy, thoughts blurring together.

Then, you heard her. 

A high pitched scream slid through the crack under the door, you flew against the wall at the shock of the sudden noise.

You lurched forward as you recognised it, stumbling to your feet. Your hands found the door handle. 

The scream came again, louder this time.

‘Wanda.’ You cried out, trying desperately at the door. It wouldn’t budge. Her screams sounded mangled now, choking off into sobs. 

Where was she? What were they doing to her?

You remembered nothing else as you slammed your shoulder against the door, shouting out your wife’s name.

The screams got louder and consequent images flashed through your mind. They were torturing her. The worst thoughts filled your mind. You were sure you could smell blood. Wanda must be close. You shouted again, slamming yourself desperately into the door.

Then, Wanda screamed your name and something inside you stopped responding. A feral panic made you more animal than human. 

You were going to have to get through concrete. Your fingernails scraped down the walls, the only thought driving you was that Wanda was on the other side. She wouldn’t stop screaming.

The disorientation was overwhelming, you lost yourself completely in the haze of her ceaseless screams.

Eventually you came to, seeing the bloody tracks already scraped into the wall. You knew it must have been you, but you couldn’t remember.

.

Natasha’s voice echoed suddenly into the room. Your head spun as you sought her out wildly. The room was still empty.

‘Wanda.’ You choked out, tears immediately flooding your cheeks in relief that someone could help. You couldn’t focus on what she was saying. 

‘You need to get Wanda, please Nat, please. They’re hurting her.’

Wanda’s screams began again, echoing off the walls and ricocheting around your mind. Your nails scratched your scalp as you fell to your knees.

You heard Natasha’s voice again, muffled and distorted like she was somewhere underwater.

‘Why are you still here?’ You screamed at the door. ‘Why aren’t you helping her?’ 

You buried your head in your hands, muffling another scream that bubbled out of you.

Confusion turned to rage and you seethed at Natasha’s continued unmoving presence behind the door. You hated your own uselessness. 

‘What about the baby?’ You shouted again, hearing the desperate edge plaguing your own voice. ‘Please Nat, please, she’s pregnant. They’re gonna kill her.’

You broke off into a cry at the words. You couldn’t hear anything but the neverending screams. 

You curled yourself against the wall, shakes wracking your body. You wondered how you could ever have feared death for yourself. 

Now Wanda was dying, she was being murdered. You’d never see your baby. The last piece of her was going to die along with her. You couldn’t fix it.

Your screams mixed with Wanda’s and you felt the emptiness slam into your own chest, like your baby was dying inside of you instead.

You wanted to die. You wanted it all to be over. There wasn’t anything else.

Wanda’s screams quietened and you sat, taut with the tension of waiting desperately to hear her and also dreading her voice.

Were they letting her rest, or was she finally dead?

Your heart beat stuttered erratically as you waited for some noise. Time dragged hellishly. Now, the silence was the worst of all. 

You drew your knees up to your chest, burying your face against them. You started to sob, some animalistic moan building in your chest at the inexpressible pain.

No future. No baby. No Wanda. 

Would there even be bodies to bury? You choked on the thought, and you heard your cries like they were someone else's.

.

Natasha’s voice echoed into the room once again. You froze at the sensation, looking around desperately for her figure. A grim hope flared in your chest once again. Natasha could still get you out, even if she wouldn’t help Wanda and the baby.

Once you were out of this room, you could get to them. You could still try.

‘(Y/N?)’ You recognised your name in Natasha’s voice, she sounded panicked. 

You lifted your head fully to lean against the wall, waiting for her to tell you the news you didn’t know how to hear. You were too late.

‘Wanda’s okay. She’s okay. Remember? No matter what.’

Your eyes closed at Natasha’s words, somehow, inherently, you trusted them.

‘No matter what.’ You rasped out, throat wrecked from your own screams. You heard Natasha’s message. There was still hope, this was still part of the mission.

As if called upon by Natasha’s words, Wanda’s voice returned again. 

Now, you heard the soft scared whimpers that you’d only heard before when you’d held her through the worst of nightmares.

‘Why is she still crying?’ You moaned out desperately, confusion clawing at you.

‘Your mind is playing tricks.’ Natasha told you again.

Wanda started begging. Begging for the baby, begging for you. You heard her desperate pleads and bile rose in your throat.

Natasha was lying. There was no way that your mind could invent this. 

You lay against the cold concrete floor, wishing you had been killed in one of the explosions.

They were still hurting her. You could picture the sharp knife from the way she whimpered quietly. She’d always been scared of knives. 

Tears rolled down your cheeks. You closed your eyes, desperate for unconsciousness.

You no longer had any concept of time. You only opened your eyes when you next registered a change in Wanda’s voice.

She was calling your name. It was soft like air. Your head flew up from its place on the floor and you turned disorientedly to find her. Before you could scramble to your feet, you registered her voice.

‘(Y/N) loves you.’ Wanda’s voice came softly into the room. You were sure the sound was sneaking in with the bright cracks of light surrounding the door. You inched closer, wanting to be near her more than anything in the world.

‘Even when I’m not here. (Y/N) is going to love you extra just for me.’

Your stomach rolled as you realised who Wanda was saying goodbye to. Misery pinned you to the floor. You stared upwards, unable to do anything but listen, as Wanda comforted the baby she knew she’d never see. 

Tears flooded down your cheeks and numbness started to creep in.

Time dragged on. You stayed close to the crack of light by the door. Your hand trailed the concrete wall miserably, wishing you could touch her skin instead.

Wanda was crying to herself somewhere nearby. You didn’t want her to be alone. Why didn’t she know you were here and that you loved her? Screams choked and died in your throat, knowing they’d be as useless as the ones you’d made before.

The worst part of their torture was the monotony of it all. You didn’t know how many times they brought Wanda to the edge of death, until her screams were uncontrolled and her desperate cries for you filled up the awful tiny room. But, every time they stopped, the only real certainty was that they’d start again.

You thought you might have slept, but time moved differently now. Your dreams seemed like reality and the two felt increasingly indistinguishable. You only stopped crying as the thirst began to kick in.

.

Eventually, small pieces of reality started to trickle back in. Thick white gas and metal faces swam abstractly in your mind. You clung to these thoughts hoping there’d be some clue in them to lead you to Wanda.

It took forever until you remembered Natasha’s words on the helicarrier.

Knowing that you were hallucinating didn’t help as much as you’d hoped. You knew it wasn’t really Wanda now. 

Still, the cries sounded real. Image after image of her lying dead just behind the metal door attacked your mind.

You couldn’t trust that she and the baby were safe. 

You tried to block out her voice, begging again for you to be spared.

You’d have thrown up. But, you hadn’t eaten either. Thirst parched you and your stomach felt hollow. You kept staring at the ceiling. 

You started hearing the desperate wails of an infant and you closed your eyes again. Waves of agony rolled through you at the sound and the urgent need to find your child. 

Wanda’s baby was screaming and that meant she was gone.

You started to cry again.

.

The bolt of the door scraped open slowly and, at first, you were sure it was another hallucination. You could see Natasha’s face this time.

Her hand extended out with a water bottle in it. Her eyes stared deep into yours.

‘Wanda is okay.’ She said clearly. ‘Do you understand?’ You tried to nod as new sobs of relief flooded through you. You believed her. You started to rock yourself again. 

Natasha crouched down next to you, one hand on your knee.

‘Quarantine is over.’ She told you succinctly, forcing the water bottle into your hand until you took it, obediently starting to drink. You emptied it in a few gulps, your thirst reminded you of the eternity you’d spent in here.

‘How long?’ You croaked out. 

‘Two days. We told her the mission got extended.’ Natasha’s tone told you how little she’s enjoyed keeping your pact.

‘She doesn’t know?’ You checked.

‘She’s not here.’ Natasha told you, as if this was answer enough.

You tried to speak again, but your throat closed up.

‘You can see her now.’ Natasha said simply, taking your hand and pulling you to your very shaky feet. You used her hand as a crutch as you moved gingerly towards the door. 

The corridor outside was unfamiliar, but you knew it was the Avengers Medical Wing from the logo on the wall. First you entered a small room, a fresh set of clothes lay folded. A bathroom stood off to the side. Natasha waited outside the door as you hurried through the tasks.

Soon, you shuffled through to a generic waiting room. Clint sat on one of the uncomfortable seats, head in his hands as he stared at the ground. He looked up as soon as he heard you coming.

‘Fuck. You look like shit.’ His eyes tracked your face worriedly. You didn’t have the energy for a comeback. You kept moving forward, turning your head only as you passed him.

‘Thank you.’ You told him. Clint glowered, knowing you meant keeping Wanda in the dark. He left quickly, kicking over a chair as he left the room. You understood why he couldn’t say ‘You’re welcome’.

Natasha’s arm moved tentatively around your shoulders but she didn’t make you slow your pace. You moved to the elevator, pressing the button for the floor you shared with Wanda.

You ached at how close she’s been the whole time.

‘And she’s fine?’ You checked again.

Wordlessly, Natasha handed you over your phone. The battery was nearly dead, but you saw the list of texts and calls. Wanda was safe, but she knew something was up. You swallowed nervously.

The doors opened onto your floor and you moved forward to the last door between you and Wanda. 

Natasha stayed in the elevator.

‘Thank you.’ You remembered before the elevator doors closed. Natasha just nodded once, and her eyes filled with a rush of worry you’d never seen before.

‘No matter what.’ She muttered. And you nodded. She didn’t know yet, but she was going to be a godmother soon.

.

You turned back to let yourself into the apartment. Your hand was shaking as you gripped the door handle. That recurring image of Wanda lying bleeding on the floor flitted through your mind.

You opened the door, fearing your worst nightmare. You held your breath.

Your first and only thought when you saw her, was that she was safe.

Wanda was sleeping in a chair, somehow sitting half upright. It looked uncomfortable. If her eyes had been open she’d have seen you enter, obviously having fallen asleep facing the door.

Not dead. Not dead. Not dead. 

Your mind chanted the only thing you’d prayed for in the last two days.

You moved wordlessly into the room, only knowing you wanted to touch her. To feel her warm and pressed against you.

Your hand grazed her arm softly. Wanda’s eyes opened instantly at the touch. She gave a small gasp at the sight of you.

‘I’m back.’ You said unnecessarily, trying to remember how to smile.

Wanda’s hand flew to her mouth, muffling a sob. Her cries were horrifyingly familiar to you. You knelt in front of her, trying to block out the sound automatically. Your hands gripped her thighs and your lips touched her belly, pressing a kiss there. 

You tried to remind yourself of reality.

Wanda’s hands gripped your shoulders, and you looked back up to her teary face.

‘Thank God.’ She mumbled, shifting forward in her seat. You rose to stand as she did the same, catching her in an embrace as she fell into your arms.

‘They wouldn’t tell me anything.’ She mumbled into your shirt.

 ‘Oh God, I thought they didn’t know how to tell me -.’ Wanda’s words trailed off into another round of sobs. 

You focused on the feeling of having her in your arms.

‘It was just a mission that ran long.’ You soothed, feeling her hot damp tears soak through your shirt. Wanda’s fingers clung to your shirt. 

‘You didn’t text me back.’ She whimpered. The aching familiarity of the sound reminded you all over again.

‘I wanted to.’ You promised, tears starting to run again down your own cheeks.

‘Are you okay?’ You had to ask, the fear of everything still eating you up inside. ‘And the baby?’

Wanda moved back in your hold, eyes searching yours. 

‘We’re fine.’ She whispered to you softly and you saw the tear tracks staining her face. ‘All we needed was you.’

You nodded dumbly, swallowing the hot lump in your throat.

Wanda’s fingers slid into your hair and she pulled your face to hers.

Her lips were soft, tasting a little of salt after all the tears. Her warmth was familiar, her touch held you safe.

You were home.

‘I’ll always come back.’ You mumbled a moment later against her lips, knowing now how difficult that promise was. 

‘No matter what.’

[gothmusiclatinamerica]

"Frecuencia y P​á​nico" by Santiago, Chile-based goth rock and dark punk act Delirium Mask off of their 2024 album Metrajes

[shalomniscient]

convenience, part 1 || tsukishiro yanagi x reader [NSFT][MDNI]

Your heat, rather inconveniently, comes a whole two days early in the middle of your shift at your job. Your boss drops you off at a heat clinic, and you manage to get paired with who you think might just be the most perfect alpha in all of New Eridu.

cw. omegaverse, alpha yanagi, omega reader, all the usual omv stuff like knotting & breeding

notes. wrote this in a haze of horny delirium for tsukishiro yanagi. yes there will be a part 2 at some point because i will most certainly slip and slide back into horny delirium for tsukishiro yanagi one of these days

Heat clinic.

Such a nice, polite word for what’s essentially a fuck-centre.

Yes, you know in reality it’s just another facet of reproductive healthcare services, and there’s nothing really intimate about it—if the dozens of screenings, tests, and legal documents were anything to go by—but the concept itself is still a little funny. The idea that something so inherently primal could just be dressed up in some clinical wording and a facade with the aesthetic of a dentist’s office and suddenly be completely socially acceptable.

A foggy part of your brain is trying to do the same right now and draft up some polite excuse as to why you had to leave work early today, but with the way Yanagi’s cock is literally rearranging your insides, it’s an effort in futility.

You almost melt against the sheets with another low, drawn out moan feeling her all the way in your damn stomach. You barely even remember how you got here; your heat, the damn unpredictable thing it is, had hit early while you were still on your shift. Staying in the store would’ve been a terrible idea, what with it almost being rush hour, and so your poor boss—a beta man, thankfully—had sped you on over to the nearest heat clinic in Lumina Square. And you had writhed and squirmed on the bed that had too many too sterile pillows for God knows how long until they finally managed to send an alpha in to help you. She’d smelled of fresh laundry and warm bread and by that point there really wasn’t much else you wanted to think about besides getting her scent all over you immediately.

“Yanagi,” you whine, wiggling your hips petulantly at her slow, controlled pace. It’s strange, how well her name fits on her tongue despite you only learning it a few—minutes? hours? you don’t even know, honestly—ago. The alpha behind you croons low in her throat, leaning down to brush the bare, sweat-damp skin of your shoulder with her nose. But instead of that skin-to-skin you expect, you get smooth leather instead, and you remember that this is a damn heat clinic, and all heat clinic alphas have to wear a Mask.

It’s a safety precaution, and a sensible one at that; having an omega be accidentally marked during what should just be a transactional encounter would be horrifying for both the alpha and omega, and a world of legal pain for the clinic. Hence the invention of the Mask—a generally non-invasive little leather contraption that covers the alpha’s mouth completely, with well placed openings to still allow for easy breathing and speech. You’re normally more grateful for its existence in keeping omegas such as yourself safe, but right now it may as well have been invented by the devil.

“Breathe,” Yanagi reminds you, her voice ever so soft in a way you’ve never heard an alpha be before. Your previous heat partners, while still somewhat gentle—you’d specified as such in your documentation—still tended to have that typical alpha-ness to them. Demanding and commanding, eager to take and wring as many orgasms from you as they can manage. Which is, of course, exactly what you need, deep in the throes of heat as you are, but it leaves you with a rather heavy mental weight after that takes a while to lift. But Yanagi is calm, measured, and careful, even as she sinks balls deep into you, knot bumping the stubborn ring of your entrance. It makes your basest omega instinct preen with satisfaction at being so tenderly cared for, that you find yourself thinking, quite stupidly, that you could get used to this—to Yanagi.

She coaxes you out of that little reverie with the brush of her thumb against your clit. You jolt, startled but pleased, rocking forward slightly onto the sheets ruined with your slick. Yanagi follows with a roll of her hips, bumping the head of her wonderful cock against that spongy collection of nerves and drawing another warbling cry of her name from your lips. She moves with such patient elegance and finesse that you’d think she wasn’t in rut and had to find refuge in the nearest heat clinic like you. Or, rut clinic, in her case. This particular branch in Lumina Square did both, and what a blessing that turned out to be.

“Yanagi, faster,” you urge, whiny and out of your mind with lust, looking over your shoulder at her. Soft pink eyes meet your own, and her pupils blow just a little wider. You hear her breathe in deep through her mouth, the sound amplified by the Mask, and a primal giddiness runs down your spine. You know what she’s doing; inhaling your scent and letting it coat the inside of her mouth, her throat, and letting it fan the flames of her own lust. She relents with the quietest growl you’ve heard from an alpha, drawing her hands back to rest them on your hips, palms flat against your skin.

And then she’s snapping her hips forward, fucking you, and you’re completely and utterly gone. Your head drops, cheek against the mattress as your arms give out under you, and you melt against the sheets into a delicate arch that has Yanagi twitching inside you. Your brain drips out of your pussy around her cock, not a damn thought in your mind beyond the steady, rhythmic drives of her railing you senseless. You can feel her knot swelling, bumping against the lips of your cunt and it only makes you squeeze tighter around her.

Yanagi pants behind you, nails digging more into the meat of your hips. The scent of her floods your senses, and she almost smells like home were it not for the underlying, extremely faint but still somewhat noticeable scent of ozone and iron. She’s testing the waters with her knot, seeing how much you’re ready to give by pushing it forward ever so slightly then drawing back. It makes your fingers curl in the sheets, more needy whines falling from your lips as you beg her to stuff you full. Yanagi shudders at that, leaning down to—or attempting to—nose the dip of your spine between your shoulder blades.

“I’m going to knot you,” she promises gently, and you mewl in anticipation. “Be sweet for me, okay? Breathe, and relax. You’re doing so well, good girl.”

Holy fuck.

“Likes to be praised” was not an option even given to you on the forms, but somehow, either by luck or intuition, Yanagi had struck absolute gold. You nearly cum then and there at the praise, moaning unashamedly as your cunt clenches like a vise around her cock. Yanagi makes a small, choked noise in the back of her throat, clawing at your hips to steady herself again. It takes her a moment and several calming breaths before she can resume her slow press into you and you bite the sheets to make up for the fact you can’t sink your teeth into her shoulder instead.

Yanagi is already big, deliciously so, but her knot is certainly something else. You’re suddenly grateful for the generous amount of lube that was provided in the room and that Yanagi had the sense to use before she stuffed you full of her cock. It makes the stretch of her controlled slide into you far more bearable—not that you would’ve given up even if it wasn’t. Heat crazed as you are, you’re sure you’d find a way. Thankfully, Yanagi’s foresight made such extremes unnecessary, and she nuzzles soothingly at your neck, by your scent gland as she inches deeper and deeper, stretching you more and more until her knot slips fully inside you with a wet pop.

Your eyes roll back into your head and you cum with a loud cry, inner walls spasming and fluttering around her thick length. You almost feel like you might pass out, utterly light headed, cumming not in spite of the stretch but because of it. Fuck, Yanagi might just have ruined you for any other alpha. You feel your slick spray out and coat your thighs despite the knot buried inside you, and you make a noise between a moan and a sob as your orgasm rips through you viciously. Yanagi rocks and grunts behind you, riding that knife’s edge of stimulation until she’s tipping off of it herself, releasing your hips in favor of bracing herself over you, palms bracketing your head as she spills into you with a stifled, drawn out groan. You feel her throb inside you, pulsing with each jet of cum she deposits into your eager cunt. You can’t help but preen at the sensation of being filled so thoroughly, which Yanagi returns with a low, soothing croon.

She makes sure to lie on her side to recover, deceptively strong yet slim arms holding you close. It’s a welcome reprieve from the many alphas who would simply flop on top of you and crush you into the mattress, and you make a pleased noise, your brain buzzing with happy, satiated chemicals. Her cosy scent just makes you relax further, sweet honey on fresh toast, like home, and you find your eyelids drooping. Yanagi notices, and a lilting, melodic laugh resonates through the Mask.

“Rest,” she says gently, a hand caressing your side, “you did well.”

You have some time to kill anyway, knotted together as you both are. So you take her suggestion, and drift off into a satisfied slumber. What happens next is for your heat-free brain to deal with, but you’re certain of at least one thing: you’re not spending your next heat with anyone other than her.

When you wake, you wake woefully bereft.

Your thighs are parted, and you hiss when something wet and cold touches your skin. You blink open your eyes blearily, and find Yanagi looking down at you from where she kneels by your side, running a washcloth along your inner thigh. Her Mask is off, set on the bedside table now that both of you are somewhat stable enough to head back home and weather the rest of your respective heat and ruts privately. Her lips are curved into a small, glossy smile, and a pair of red-rimmed glasses rest delicately on the bridge of her nose.

“Did you rest well?” she asks, smoothing the washcloth down your other thigh. “I hope you don’t mind that I took some initiative. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or sticky when waking up.”

It takes you a while to find your voice, but when you do find it, it’s utterly wrecked. Yanagi flushes slightly at the sound when you speak, looking ridiculously cute for someone who just gave you the most intense orgasm of your life.

“Yes to the first, no to the second,” you answer, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. “I appreciate it. Thank you.”

Yanagi’s smile broadens, and she shakes her head lightly. “I should be thanking you—my rut hit early out of nowhere, and if you weren’t willing…”

“I could say the same for you,” you rasp wryly, watching as she diligently cleans you. She takes care not to give too much stimulation to your sensitive sex, but makes sure to clean up the remaining drops of her cum that still leak from you. “I guess we both got lucky.”

“Quite,” Yanagi agrees, and you see her throat bob as she tries not to focus on the way her seed drips out of your cunt. “In any case, you were… very helpful. Thank you.”

You manage a dry chuckle at that. What a polite alpha. “You weren’t too bad yourself.”

The flush on her cheeks deepens ever so slightly, and she ducks her gaze away from yours, almost bashful. She sets the cloth down on a disposal bin on the bedside table, then turns to grab something further down the bed. A surprised noise leaves your lips when you see what it is: your clothing, all neatly folded. And if your nose is telling you the truth—

“I… took the liberty to scent your shirt,” she admits, still not meeting your eyes. “Just to tide you over until you make it home. It should deter any other alphas from trying anything.”

You swallow, throat suddenly dry. You wonder if you’re dreaming—do alphas this nice really exist? You’ve met your fair share of decent alphas, but they all have that typical alpha arrogance about them. If she hadn’t just knotted you, you might have thought she was an omega with how tender she’s being, and you find yourself thinking for the second time today how you could get so used to this.

“Thank you,” you say eventually. Yanagi nods, relieved, then rises from the bed. She’s already clothed; although, she didn’t take much of her clothes off while fucking you in the first place, just popping a few buttons of her shirt and hiking her skirt up enough to get it out of the way after ditching her corset. She fixes the tassels of her tie, ready to head out the door, and the words blurt out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“Do you want to do this again?”

Your jaw clicks shut as soon as Yanagi stills, turning to face you with a puzzled look on her face. She blinks, brows furrowing as she considers your words. “This… again?”

“There’s an option for, uh— scheduled sessions between an alpha and an omega, if they choose,” you explain, trying not to sound as nervous as you feel. “It saves on hoping for another presentation to be available when your heat or rut rolls around.”

“I’ve heard of that,” Yanagi hums, eyes drifting to the side as she takes a moment to consider.

“It’d be convenient,” you continue, unable to help yourself from pressing a little more. If you sound desperate, you can’t be bothered to be ashamed. You’d rather lose your dignity than this damn perfect alpha before you. “And you’re someone who likes convenience and routine, right?”

Yanagi raises a brow. “How did you figure that?”

“Well,” you shrug, attempting nonchalance, “I suppose it was a lucky guess. How did you know I liked being praised?”

Yanagi turns beet red at that, a palm shooting up to cover half her face. Even her ears are a delicate blush colour. “It just… felt right,” she mumbles, her home-like scent thick with embarrassment. You chuckle softly at that.

“See? I think this could be mutually beneficial, Yanagi. What do you say?”

The time it takes her to think feels like it stretches on forever. You can almost see the gears on her head turning, analysing, as if weighing the costs and benefits over every last detail of your proposal. Those pink eyes gleam with an intensity you can’t help but feel drawn to in a way you’ve never felt before with any alpha. Eventually, she turns back to you with a small, polite smile.

“We could give it a shot.”

You grin, feeling relief flood your system so strongly you nearly fall back onto the bed. “Sounds great. I’ll see you next month, then?”

“Next month,” Yanagi returns, and then she slips out the door with the click of heels on cold tile. You flop back onto the pillows when the door closes, unable to stifle a giddy, girlish laugh from spilling from your lips.

God, for once in your life, you can’t wait for your next heat.

[juneofdoom]

What up, whump fam?!

June of Doom 2024 Prompts!

We've brought back some old favorites/ popular prompts from last year with a healthy dash of new!

Please feel free to participate with original or fan works of any kind (writing, photos, gifs, mood boards, videos, songs, whatever creative medium your heart desires!). You can do one or all of the prompts on any given day, and if none are to your liking, check out the alternate prompts!

Two rules this year!

As with last year, tag your stuff with appropriate warnings, plzkthnx.

AI-created content is highly discouraged and frowned upon. I have no way of "checking", but I respect the time and effort people put into their crafts and encourage everyone to do the same. This isn't a contest for best written or prettiest art — it's a challenge, so challenge yourself.

[AO3 Collection] - "JUNEOFDOOM2024"

Text list below the cut for easier crossings-off. And don't forget to tag @juneofdoom so I can reblog your awesome here! Have fun!

“Help me.”                                        | Failed Escape | On the Run | Fetal Position |

“It didn’t have to be this way.”             | Scream | Double Cross | Made to Watch |

“Well, well, well…”                            | Hiding | Ambushed | Stalking |

“Does that hurt?”                               | Impalement | Fracture | Punishment |

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”                 | Bite | Swelling | Disfiguration |

“They don’t care about you.”               | Flinch | Broken Promise | Abandoned |

“What happened?”                            | Nightmare | Isolation | Stumbling |

“This is your last chance.”                    | Drowning | Chair | Prisoner Trade |

“I made a mistake.”                            | Accident | Acceptance | Blame |

“Can you hear me?”                           | Fear | Smoke | Phone Call |

“We’re out of time.”                           | Bleeding Out | Collapse | Flatline |

“I can’t stand seeing you like this.”        | Dehydration | Grief | Coma |

“Wait!”                                             | Sacrifice | Adrenaline | Cornered |

“What were you thinking?”                  | Surrender | Human Shield | Outmatched |

“Get me out of here!”                         | Rescue | Chainsaw | Presumed Dead |

“At least it can’t get any worse.”           | Secret | Stranded | Setback |

“You don’t want to do that.”                | Struggle | Blackmail | Desperate Measures |

“I’m fine.”                                         | Self-defense | Allergies | Headache |

“This can’t be happening!”                  | Sobbing | Straitjacket | Dissociation |

“I can handle it.”                                | Scrape | Panic Attack | Neglect |

“Let’s play a game. “                           | Stairs | Pressure Points | Trap Door |

“What’s the bad news?”                      | Poison | Bedridden | Cauterization |

“You’re doing great.”                         | Trembling | Gaslighting | Rules |

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”                  | Blankets | Stitches | Bandages |

“I should have listened to you.”           | Guilt | Backseat | Failure |

“Don’t lie to me.”                               | Rage | Choke | Paranoia |

“Or what?”                                       | Defiance | Display | Last Resort |

“Say something.”                               | Numb | Cold Shoulder | Gag |

“I’m so cold.”                                    | Delirium | Fever | Exposure |

“Breathe, damn you!”                         | Shock | Asphyxiation | Emergency Room |

ALTERNATE PROMPTS

“Who did this to you?”

“Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not okay.”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“You poor thing.”

Attending Your Own Funeral

Broken Glass

Mask

Whip

Obedience

[tacticalprincess]

ghostface duo!ghönig and bimbo!reader… of course, you seen the news about the two masked killers in your town, but the it could be you aspect of it all never registered for you. especially under the haze and delirium of alcohol, you think it’s just harmless roleplay; the way they corner you when you’re all alone in the garage of the halloween party after wandering off to get more beer. a little insensitive, but harmless.

something about their large, burly frames towering over you menacingly makes heat pool in your stomach, and you brush off the feeling of danger tinging your spine. let them talk to you through some kind of voice altering speaker, teasing you about your skimpy costume, how it’s unsafe to be alone at a time like this. you giggle as you make them chase you up a few flights of stairs, heart thumping rapidly against your sternum as you dizzily dash through the house. to everyone passing by, it looks like fun when they scoop you up and carry you by your arms and legs into an empty bedroom, but your heart drops when something too sharp and hard to be a prop presses against your back, tucked away in one of their pockets.

[metranart]

Acting like a bird in heat, Hawks ends up fulfilling his mating cycles with you… but now that his mind isn’t a pool of hormones… why does he keep looking for you?

Hawks x Student! Reader (Part 1)

-

Warning tag: obsessed! Hawks, possessive! Hawks, naive! student reader, violation of trust, dubious consent, mating cycles, rut response, obsessive behavior, uncontrollable thirst for reader, manipulation, forced, thigh riding, hormonal minds out of control, sexual content, first time, cock riding, teenage fuck, Dabi's toxically interested in you, Bakugo bestie yet secretly inlove wit you, love confessions, cock-drunk, Hawks trying to be good but failing miserably, gaslighting, HEAVY plot, lots of smut.

-

The last time you saw him, your fingers dripped in his milky and creamy essence, his cheeks were bright red, and foggy as the feather adorning his back, and his voice held an elusive pant as if trying to catch his breath, along with his actions. Self-consciousness, the new mask for him to wear as he disentangled your hand from his now flaccid cock, almost caringly, half-lidded golden orbs shinning in its post-delirium bliss yet hiding a regretful truth. How the fuck did this happened? And why the hell did he allowed it? What was that new confusing feeling inside his chest?Takami Keigo knew what it was, but had never had such a close encounter with it in his whole life. 

Shame. 

No man, no citizen, no hero... –shall call himself trustworthy, after what he did. After the kind of thoughts that now circled his brain...agh! and he called himself the Number two hero. What a farse.

A steady hand passed through his golden locks, disheveled strands restricting the smooth motion, as he heavily sighed. 

I need a bath, thought mildly annoyed. Maybe that would serve him to clear his mind and untangle the treacherous feeling threatening to drive him insane, a cold shower would serve the purpose of cooling the deep mortification, he was experiencing. Fresh summer wind ruffled the papers scattered on top of his desk and at the same time, refreshed his blushing skin. The memory of his recent untactful sin, raving his brain like a horde of savages attacking a peaceful village. Damn his luck. Damn his choice of actions and must of all, damned the day, he saved you. Hawks could still remember so many details, little yet so endearing details about you. When arrived at the scene never thought for a minute, would become involved in such colorful acts.

Everything went peachy during the rescue; Endeavor handled the Villain with upmost care while incinerating his head right away from his body. Tactful, the winged hero recalled to think quite amused, it would have been a scarring scene, if not were for the villain being a Nomus. Yet, he couldn’t avoid but to think, there still were so many more options to reach the same end. His job in this particular scene was easy, to say the least. Save the hostage. A sweet, scared and highly ordinary young girl who found herself trapped in the crossed fire. UA uniform hugging your figure, as the Nomus paraded itself around you like a bee setting his sting to hurt. There was little time to act, and the moment the flames exploded from the Number one hero, Hawks saw his window open to save the deceptive young girl. Flying through hell fire landed with a soft thud in front of you, displaying his wings to envelop you in a cocoon of feathers, the red flames licking his crimson wings while shielding you from harm.

His gloved hands went straight to your waist in a studied motion, at the same time his gaze fixed in yours asking for permission to touch you, you almost threw yourself at him like a trembling leaf who seek shelter from the chaotic winds. The winged hero was quick enough to pull you into his welcome arms and fly up, taking you both from the ground just in time. The scorching heat caressed his flying form before both were out of reach. The crowd around the sinister cheered the incineration of the villain, and a swift smirk kidnapped the blonde’s lips in a sassy gest.

He knew he have it in him, Endeavor just needed a few notches in the right direction. All those musings were curtly interrupted as his eyes focused on the civilian resting in his arms, your round eyes caught him off guard, nevertheless, was quick to smile and reassure your questioning stare. You seemed in shock, probable still were. These nasty things never left a sweet taste behind. Flying you to the safety of the ground, landed near the scene, but far away to gift you with some privacy to compose. Hawks gently unwrapped you from his chest and placed a comforting hand over your hunched shoulders, reassuring smile always present in his welcome expression. "It´s ok, you are safe now." His palm gently squeezed your shoulder, thumb doing comforting circle motions over the fabric of the uniform. "Breath, in and out, you'll see how you feel better in matter of seconds–" You managed to quirk the edge of your lip up, and your frame stopped shaking, the tremors slowly disappearing the more oxygen you gulped. "Atta girl" The hero cheered, lowly. "In and out, you’re almost a pro." His good-hearted joke reaped the fruits as a melodic giggle escaped out of you, and your tense frame seemed to relax. "T-thank you, Hawks" you timidly stammered, eyes glued to your fidgeting fingers interlacing each other, nervously.

Looking up from your hands met his gleeful stare, and your cheeks gained a dust of pink. Your lips opened and closed as if wanted to say something but didn’t dare to. Hawks pretended no to notice, to save you the embarrassment. 

He was used to have this effect over the female population, every woman in town was one smirk away from his warm bed, but the young hero had grown tired of those kinds of relationships. When you can have all, you can eat, eventually the buffet seemed less attractive, almost boring.

He liked sex, holly shit, he fucking did! as much as the next guy would. But he needed a challenge –   actually wasn’t sure what he needed, but something inside him was unsatisfied and restless, continuingly poking at the back of his mind.

“Don’t mention it, cutie.” The hero said simply and looking around, realized that your home shouldn't be far away.

“If you want, I can take you to your house" he suggested, in a carefree and friendly tone, "flying everything is closer." Cheerfully, added.

Taking a moment to think, nibble your lower lip a bit but you ended up accepting. His amber glasses shone under the rays of the sun and without preamble, he offered you his arms which you nervously climb for him to leave the safety of the ground and surf the sky, again.

"Are you comfortable?” Keigo asked, feeling your body a little tense among his arms, being carried bride style across the sky would definitely woo any girl, nevertheless, you seem more uncomfortable than anything else. 

“M´Ok.” you said, curtly, and hawks, merely nodded. “By the way, are we heading in the right direction?"

A blush swept across your cheeks at the realization of what he just stated, and timidly squeezing his arm to feel more secure, you glanced down and before you could tell him exactly where your house was, you noticed something coating your fingers.

“You are hurt!” You half-yelled worried, looking at your blood covered hand, and then, at his wounds. You had not noticed it because he had not said anything, nor had he complained, but his arm was burned and one of his wings was semi-scorched. To which the young hero, just shrugged his shoulders, not giving it much importance.

"Comes with the territory." He openly joked, but your eyebrows continued to frown. "It's not serious, a few of Endevour´s flames got me... nothing that won't heal in a few days." He encouraged you, but you weren't able to shake the feeling of guilt.

You had been training hard to become a hero, and just when it was time to prove yourself, you froze.

It was so, so embarrassing that Todoroki's father had to save you, that you refused to go back to the dormitory you shared with your class A classmates. Surely, they would be worried, not to mention, you had already ghosted, a few text messages from Professor Aizawa asking if you were okay. But you just kept feeling like you let everyone down. That was why you preferred to go home and cry your eyes out in the solitude of your bedroom, or among your mom’s arms. 

Now, you felt even worse, since Hawks, the number two hero, was injured because of you. Maybe he didn't show it since he was too professional, but that wound was serious and would take more than a few days to heal, not to mention it could get infected.

Ugh! you had to help him, was the least you could do… It was what a true hero would do.

Setting your mind, you decided to use your quirk on him, despite Recovery Girl several warnings. Without a doubt, you could heal him... now the only setback was, not losing control while doing it.

An idea suddenly lights your brain, and catching a glimpse of a well-known hidden alleyway, near your house, you signaled to him that you had arrived.

Hawks landed softly, and let you down, looking around the place. "I'll take you to the door, which one is yours?" The young hero, offered.

“...Is the one on the other side of the alley.” You indicated, signaling a house, close by.

“Oh, fine.” Keigo said, not really understanding why you choose to walk instead of fly straight to your house, but he let it pass. “Lead the way, then.”

Both entered the alley which was being embraced by thin shadows and before you reached the other side, you turned around and looking at Hawks with embarrassment, you fidgeted with your fingers for a moment. Surprise morphed Keigo´s features comically when out of all the requests in the world, you suddenly asked. 

“May-may I give you a kiss?” You asked, timidly and noticing his bemused expression, corrected. “...As a way of thanking you.... for saving me....”

Your timid request took him by surprise momentarily, but soon his features regain his cool, and was quick to nod to then leant down. A kiss on the cheek, Keigo thought it to be innocent enough, not a usual request, nevertheless, a simple one. If this put you to rest, he'll humor you. Keigo was cocking his head for you to place your sweet lips.... it's now or never, you breathed deeply.... if you were going to use your quirk, now was the moment.

Two slender hands perched in each side of the Hero´s face and in a firm, straight movement, you cocked his face in your direction, surprise registered in his face, and his golden orbs popped open at the feeling of your lips locking with his.    

COMING SOON PART 2....

⭕️ In my PATREON you will find NSFW art of this chapter and more spicy MHA NSFW art and exclusive smut fanfiction.... Plus 'Spicy Foreplay tier reward' like: voting poll privilege for the exclusively Patreon one-shot stories where you can choose the couple pairing and kinky mood for the story and NSFW art, along with some naughty animation like THIS ONE ....and my eternal and vast gratitude for your support!!!

[mulloey]

cherry on top • matz

they know you’re your own person, as independent and autonomous as them. but when their baby is this sweet and innocent, how could they possibly resist?

this is not a healthy relationship and will not be to everyone’s taste. if you choose to read, that’s your choice and responsibility. any hate will be deleted and blocked, so don’t waste your time.

warnings: matz throuple, manipulation, slight dollification, pet names (doll, baby etc), a couple of slaps, slight infantilisation, matz are Very weird in this, could be dubcon but no sex in that section, controlling behaviour, unequal power dynamics, don’t like don’t read

word count: 1k

—————

It started with a nickname; balls deep inside you with your legs held down firmly behind your head, Hongjoong had gasped out a ‘feels so good, doll’. In the heat of a moment it had meant nothing, especially when he’d unloaded in you mere seconds later rendering everything else unimportant. But later that night, when you’d been sufficiently used by both of your boyfriends and were clean and cosy in bed, your other boyfriend, Seonghwa, holding you in his arms, had remarked, “She really is like a doll, isn’t she?”

Seeing the look on Hongjoong’s face, Seonghwa smiled, recognising the reaction of the younger — he liked it. He liked that you were so doll-like — pliant, submissive, and sweet to the point of delirium — and he liked that Seonghwa knew it too. They both knew, from the silent look they shared in that moment, that an agreement had been formed. You were going to be their doll, whether you knew it or not.

They started with small things. The first was the nickname — doll, falling from their lips like honey, purred with a fond smile and a soothing touch. They said it so often you began to respond to it as if it were your own name… actually, what is your own name? It doesn’t matter, you thought. Because to them, you’ were doll.

Then it escalated, still slowly and subtly; they started treating you more and more like a doll — brushing your hair, choosing your clothes, doing your makeup. Each passing day they did more and more for you, taking more and more of your independence. They had their reasons, they told you — at first it was ‘just easier this way’, then gradually the mask slipped. “We’re older, baby,” Seonghwa had said, pulling your hair into plaits. “We know better.”

“We know how to take care of you,” Hongjoong had said. “You don’t think we do?” And the sadness in his eyes had made you cave instantly, never wanting to see him down like that; especially not because of you.

You knew what they were doing; at some point you’d realised they were dumbing you down, making you less and less able and more and more dependent on them for even basic tasks. But what you didn’t understand was why. Why did they want you to be stupid and useless, so much so that they’d whisper it in your ear each time you came on their cocks? Why did their eyes get so wide, pupils dilated and breaths hitched when you ashamedly asked them for help with something you used to be perfectly capable of doing yourself? Why?

Was it a humiliation thing? Some weird, perverted kind of negging? No, they weren’t like that. They’d always been so loving, and as you slowly went dumber and dumber for them, that only increased. They couldn’t walk past you, touch you or even look at you without telling you how pretty you looked, how much they adored you, how perfect you all were together. So it couldn’t be that — it couldn’t be malicious. It had to be something good. But what?

You found out a few weeks later. Sat on the couch, sandwiched between your boyfriends as they watched some boring movie you’d no interest in, you found yourself playing absentmindedly with the hem of the skirt they’d put you in that morning. It was white and lacy and hardly covered your ass even when you stood straight; when you’d complained, Seonghwa had swatted your thigh and in that gentle, sickly sweet voice of his, told you to shut your mouth.

After a while, when boredom and hunger crept in in tandem you decided to make yourself some food. You’d scarcely stood up before strong hands dragged you back down again. You made a noise halfway between confusion and indignation, and Seonghwa swatted your thigh again. “Bad girl,” he said, as sweet as ever. “Where are you going without us, hm?”

“To…make some food?” You say weakly. You didn’t know why you felt so guilty, so admonished and… caught. Like you’d done something wrong just by trying to stand up and go to the kitchen.

Your boyfriends chuckled, patting you fondly like you’d suggested the most ridiculous, childish thing in the world. “You don’t know how to do that, baby,” Hongjoong said.

“What?” You asked. “That’s ridiculous. Of course I know how.”

They chuckled again, and something in their voices felt sinister. “Silly baby,” Seonghwa whispered. “You still don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

Seonghwa smiled, running his hand gently up your torso until it came to rest loosely on your neck. You gasped softly and involuntarily at the sensation and he smiled. “Hongjoong,” he said lowly. “I think it’s time we gave the little one some proper care. Don’t you think?”

Hongjoong hummed, stroking your leg up and down. “I agree,” he purred. “Proper guidance.”

“I don’t need—”

“Hush now,” Seonghwa said. His tone didn’t change — just as sickly sweet and caring as before — but you saw a flash of anger in his eyes. “You don’t decide that anymore, honey. Only we know what you need now.”

Somehow his words were as reassuring as they were nauseating — something about them was sickening, unnerving and yet just hearing them from his mouth made you feel so… warm. So cared for. So protected. Fuck, this was so confusing.

“We’re really smart, you know,” Hongjoong added. “It’s okay that you can’t keep up. You just need to follow our lead and trust us. You’re not too dumb to do that, right?”

You stared at him for a moment. You didn’t know what to say, what they wanted you to say. You didn’t even want to have to say anything at all. You just wanted them.

They noticed. They’d been noticing this whole time; monitoring your reactions to each card they played, watching you as you slowly, steadily regressed without your knowledge. They knew everything. They saw everything. And they knew exactly what you needed now.

“Good girl,” Hongjoong purred. He pulled you into his arms, nuzzling against your neck almost like he was claiming you. “I knew you could do it, baby.”

And despite everything in your head, your heart warning you, telling you this was wrong, this was dangerous — you didn’t listen. You shut it all out. Because what did they know compared to your loving boyfriends, who spoke so sweetly to you and held you like you were such a precious, fragile gem?

So you relaxed. You relaxed into his hold, into their control. You gave yourself away to them, knowing they’d take better care of you than you ever could. And when you finally gave in, finally surrendered to them, they made sure to treat you so nicely that you’d never want to be your own person again.

—————

i’m back with… whatever this is. i’ve been very busy with school/life etc so haven’t had the chance to post anything til now. i thought i’d drop this random bullshit i had in my drafts while i get back to work on the wips/requests i have piled up. bear with me:)

comments/reblogs are appreciated as always. love🖤🖤🖤

[auren-zagarra]

Can I request Yandere Lilia having reunion sex with his immortal male darling—like, basically, they met when Lilia was still a general, and at the time he thought he was human. Darling was actually sort of like his lover, and was Lilia’s first time too, but after the war, though, he disappeared, and Lilia believed he was dead even after searching a century for him. But fast forward to NRC, Lilia and Darling meet once again, baffled and kind of angry that he’s been alive this whole.

(I tried to simplify it as best as I could sorry if this might be too specific😖)

possessivum sonet

Content Warning: Yandere!Lilia x GN!Reader, possessive sex, yandere, blood, blood play, biting, manipulation, MDNI

Characters Count: 6540

Some things arrive with the hush of twilight, others vanish like a sigh at dusk. Such is the rhythm of mortal life - fleeting, fragile, achingly brief. They fall in love, they bring children, and, sooner or later, they yield to the hush of death. Lilia had believed you no different. When you left him, he consoled himself with the thought that you had simply followed the path all humans must walk. But then, years later, your eyes met him across the veil of time: You were unchanged. Not a trace of time upon your face, not the slightest dimming of your light. In that instant, the truth struck him: You had never been what he thought. Not when you loved him, not when you slipped away - he had mistaken you for something mortal. And now, standing in your presence once more, he understood: you were not born to fade.

Vanrougue’s past was carved from cruelty, and Lilia had worn that brutality like a second skin. The world had never been kind to him - so why should he be kind in return? And yet, when he smiled at you now, it was with a sweetness so practiced it almost looked real. Almost. You were back. After all that time, after vanishing without a word, you stood before him - like some cruel miracle coming from gods who mocked his existence. And still, despite the fury tightening in his chest, he welcomed you with open arms, pulling you in like a man starved of warmth. The kiss he gave you was searing, possessive - not born from a loving feeling, but from ownership disguised in silk. He held you like he might break you - or like he hoped he would, just enough to make you stay. Every touch lingered just a heartbeat too long, every caress threaded with the unspoken threat: don’t ever leave again. This wasn’t the same Lilia you remembered: his eyes were softer, his voice gentler - but you knew better. The calm was a mask, and underneath, the storm still raged. He didn’t want to savor you.

He wanted to consume you.

Lilia held you with a grip that trembled at the edge of desperation, his face buried in the curve of your neck: the very place he had always claimed as his. There, against your skin, he breathed you in as though inhaling memory itself, as though the scent of you might anchor him to the present and erase the torment of your absence. His hands moved over you, each touch mapping your form with frantic precision. It was as if he feared you might vanish again, and by memorizing every curve, he could somehow defy fate itself. Your skin beneath his lips was a delirium… Each kiss, each slow press of his mouth, tasted like absolution laced with addiction. You were a vice he had sworn to relinquish and failed miserably, willingly.

On any other night, he might have taken his time, undressing you with that studied patience he’d perfected, each motion deliberate, each sigh earned. But this was no ordinary tryst. This was a reclamation. A reunion tainted by the echo of abandonment, driven by a man who had spent too long haunted by the shape of a ghost in his bed.

At last, the final barriers between you were cast aside, garments discarded like the pretense of distance until only bare skin remained, and your body met his with aching familiarity. Despite the years he had spent wielding blades in the name of the Draconia family, his form remained almost ethereal, slender and deceptively soft, as though battle had never truly touched him. His pale skin shimmered faintly in the dim light, untouched by time, a canvas of quiet, dangerous beauty. Lilia’s touch wandered lower, guided not by lust, but by knowledge - a cruel, precise intimacy that only a fae could possess. He knew your body like scripture, and with a grace both maddening and divine, his fingers found that sacred place you had longed for in silence. They moved like they remembered you: how to undo you, how to unravel every defense until only his name fell from your lips. And when it did, when you cried out for him as you once had, years ago, it shattered something inside him. That sound, that echo of the past, lit the fury and the joy in him like twin flames. Love and madness had long been inseparable in Lilia’s heart, and now they consumed him wholly. He wanted to worship you, yes… but more than that, he wanted to ruin you. To leave you so undone, so utterly his, that you’d never dare to abandon him again.

He drove into you with a rhythm only touched by a raw and all-consuming need. You had been gone too long, and now, he would make up for every stolen hour with his hands, his mouth, his body… until you remembered nothing but him. Your moans only fed the frenzy, the desperate melody of his name falling from your lips like a prayer he had waited lifetimes to hear again. And oh, how it shattered him and rebuilt him. That sound had once been his salvation, and now it was his madness, pushing him further, driving him harder, until he was no longer simply inside you - he was trying to remind your body of what it should have never dared forget. Lilia's mouth found your throat, teeth grazing the skin with the faintest threat of pain, of making sure he would leave his mark over your delicate body, if only to ensure you would never stray again.

His grip tightened, nails biting into your hips with the intent of leaving something behind… marks, bruises, ownership etched into your skin like scripture. His movements lost their rhythm, becoming erratic, as though some great pressure inside him was fracturing, too vast to contain. And then came the bite, so sudden and vicious. His fangs pierced your neck with cruelty, and, the moment your blood touched his tongue, Lilia groaned - a low, broken sound, half-ecstasy, half-vengeance. The warmth of it slid down your collarbone, crimson and sacred, and he licked it from your skin like it was wine reserved only for him. ‘Don’t blame me’, that’s what he’d say, voice soft and too calm. You had hurt him, you had left him. Left his cold, devoted wretch of a creature to rot in the shell of a life without you. Did you expect him to welcome you back with open arms and no reckoning? No, this wasn’t forgiveness. This was a correction.

So he took his retribution with a shuddering final thrust, burying himself so deep within you it felt like he might vanish there, swallowed by you completely. His climax came like a storm breaking, his head thrown back, your name torn from his throat in a moan for the sins you had committed. 

You were no saint. And he was no savior. But in this moment - bloody, breathless, and bound - you were his for all the rest of eternity.