#Non-Hinged Containers

[rainrot4me]

Run Rabbit Run - Chapter 1

“And So It Begins”

Summary: When a cop with a knack for interrogation, a suspect who won’t break, and a game of cat and mouse where the truth is buried beneath layers of lies all unfold in a dingy police station, all hell breaks loose. Can he keep the mask on, or will the cost of truth destroy them both? Either way, Masky decides you’re not getting out of this unscathed.

Characters: Masky x Genderneutral Reader

MAY CONTAIN SENSITIVE TOPICS

TW: Fear, minor character death, blood, kidnapping, trauma

Words: 5.1k

A/N: Hello lovelies!!! At this moment, I have no clue how long this series will be, but just know this is only the beginning! Reader will be gender neutral for the non-NSFW chapters, but I plan on make fem/male alternate POV’s when the time comes! I have high hopes for this series, so I hope you all enjoy this first chapter!!

His eyes.

That’s the one thing that stood out to you the moment the tattered porcelain mask was removed.

It wasn’t the hard-worn crease of his brows. Or the smattering of scars across his jaw. Or even the unmistakable patches of dried blood and dirt smeared through his unkempt facial hair, clearly not his own.

It was his eyes.

Two dark, depthless voids that gathered all of the rage and agony boiling beneath his tan skin—pointed right at you. It would be easy to get lost in them, you think. Easy to fall victim to the pull of those black holes, absent of any light despite the harsh luminescence overhead, but daunting enough to drag you in.

You could understand the rage, the torment that seemed to seethe from the very pores of his skin. But what you couldn’t understand, was the haunting ability to stare daggers at you through the one-way glass. He shouldn’t be able to see you, only able to stare back at his own reflection. But that theory seemed to be falling to pieces when you shifted your weight from one leg to the other, angling your body out of his eyeline—only for his gaze to track your movement.

The black holes were sucking you in.

Wholly. Totally. Dangerously—

“Sheriff. He’s ready now.”

The heavy thud of the interrogation room door shutting jarred you from your trance, and you had to blink several times to finally regain whatever sense you had momentarily lost. A stiff hand on your shoulder untensed your stance, leaning assuredly into the touch beside you.

“Thank you, Marcus.” Nodding to the burly man who had entered the side room moments ago, you shook whatever uneasy feeling rippled down your back off, reassessing your job here.

“He won’t talk. Barely even looks at us, either.” Marcus cast his gaze through the one-way glass beside you, huffing a breath of air when the man seated in the interrogation room still had his gaze locked dead onto you. If he noticed your silent staring contest, he didn’t care to comment on it, just turned away with a silent, “Creepy.”

The energy in the station was less than comfortable today.

You stilled yourself again. The quick commotion of people between the two joined rooms died down as new officers switched shifts and others left for more entertaining tasks. It wasn’t that having a wanted homicidal maniac seated in this small town’s very own police station wasn’t interesting, but when said maniac had little interest in delving out any details, people became restless fast. 

The clipboard you held, tucked under your arm, was a comfortable reminder of why you were here. 

Information. Your job.

You were trained in negotiation, a practiced song-and-dance routine that was second to breathing now. There wasn’t anything special to it, just finding whatever made someone tick and driving it home until you could collect your paycheck at the end of the month. You were literally paid to read people like a book.

You pushed the door open, the heavy metal hinges rubbing against each other until the heavy thud of metal on metal stirred the silence. You slid the lock into place, the metallic scrape reverberating off of the cinder block walls.

When you turned your back to the door, finally facing him, you could feel your stomach twist with dread.

There weren't really any words to explain the energy that thrummed from him. Like a pulsating wrath, tense and dark, soaking up all the light and air from the room. His heavy-lidded eyes held onto yours, reading carefully into every expression you made.

No matter how much your instincts beckoned you to turn right around and lock that door, your job was to show suspects like this that you weren’t afraid of them. You weren’t afraid.

You schooled your face into calm indifference, a tried and true practice that set any suspect into a frenzy of reactions. Some would try and plead with you; others lashed out in anger or frustration, but he just matched your gaze.

Calm and indifferent. All except for his eyes. They held his true feelings now, no matter how hard he tried to smooth the crease of his brow into a thin line. Your only relief was the fact he was handcuffed to the metal bar on the table, elbows resting wide as he leaned his shoulders forward.

It was chilling how he stared up at you through the weight of his brow, the whites of his eyes surrounding that depthless black of his pupils. Bloodshot as they were, it was off-putting.

You stepped slowly to the seat directly across from him and seated yourself, your back facing the window (which you cast a quick glance to confirm, in fact, that it was one-way), and slid your clipboard onto the metal table separating you.

Now the wait begins.

You had already memorized every ounce of information on the clipboard in front of you. But you glanced down anyway, playing as if you were inspecting the information for the first time. It was a good way of ticking guys like this off.

They thought they were important, necessary figures in the public to rid what they thought was wrong by their own hands—so to play as if you didn’t know anything about them, like they were nobody—that pissed them off more than anything.

“So… Tim, right?” 

No answer of agreement came as your eyes met his again. Even with his mask forcefully removed before he was shoved into this painfully white room, he still seemed to wear one, although this one was far harder to control than the ceramic one he preferred.

Crazed or not, humans always gave their intentions out one way or another.

You let the silence stretch between you.

Tim’s breath was even, measured, but his fingers twitched against the metal cuffs—just a fraction, barely noticeable. You noticed.

“No last name?” You continued, tapping the clipboard with the tip of your pen. “Just ‘Tim’? That’s all you’re giving me?”

His full name was in bold letters on the paper between you, but you wanted him to say it.

Still nothing.

He blinked once, slowly. His eyes never left yours. It wasn’t just defiance—it was calculation. Measuring your reactions, looking for a crack the same way you were.

You hummed under your breath, leaning back in your chair like you had all the time in the world. “You know, most people like to talk. Even the ones who swear they won’t. It’s human nature.” You tilted your head, pretending to study him. “But you’re different, huh? Special?” You were mocking him.

His lip twitched. A smirk? No—it was gone before you could tell.

You let out a short sigh, flipping through the blank spaces on your paper. “Fine. If you won’t talk, I’ll talk.” You let your gaze flick over him, slow and deliberate, like you were reading him the way he had tried to read you. “Let’s see… No ID on you, no prints in the system. But you have a name. Which means you’ve slipped up before, haven’t you?”

A muscle feathered in his jaw.

You pressed forward. “Tim Wright.” You dragged the name out, feeling the weight of it settle in the air between you. It wasn’t just a name—it was a riddle, a mask, a hiding place for something darker. You could taste the bitterness of it on your tongue, every syllable dragging like a blade between ribs. “That’s not the name of a ghost. Not some shadow lurking in the woods. That’s someone real. Someone with a past.”

Tim didn’t respond immediately, but his fingers flexed against the cuffs. The movement was subtle but telling—like a trap about to snap shut. You watched his hands carefully, the way his skin tightened, his knuckles going pale. He was holding back, but you could see it, feel it. The tension, like a wound-up spring.

“You fucked up somewhere, didn’t you?”

Silence.

His jaw twitched, just the smallest of movements, but it was enough. His eyes didn’t meet yours, not at first, but you caught the flicker in his gaze—sharp, calculating. He was looking at the table now, staring down at the brassy metal thing like it could tell him what to say. The quiet was thick, pressing in on you both. But you wouldn’t let it stay that way for long.

You leaned in, letting the table take the weight of your elbows. Your eyes never left his face, studying every twitch, every shift. You could practically hear his mind spinning, the way he kept himself together despite the storm raging beneath the surface.

His eyes, again. They weren’t the same as before. There wasn’t that hard crease underneath his eyelids or that nasty scowl evading all light from reaching his pupils. His expression was a mess now—unsure. He was conflicting with himself. An internal battle was beginning somewhere beneath that hard exterior.

“I think you want to talk, Tim,” you said, your voice slipping into the quiet like a predator stalking its prey. “I think you’re just not sure where to start. Not sure what’s safe to say yet.”

You let the words hang in the air, a challenge, a quiet accusation. He hadn’t made a sound, hadn’t moved an inch, but you knew he was listening. You could see it in the way his chest rose and fell, the way his shoulders tightened, just slightly.

“You’ve been in these situations before, haven’t you?” you pressed. “You’re not some rookie. You know how this game is played. You know how to keep your mouth shut. But there’s something else, isn’t there?” You pressed in, just a fraction, letting the question linger, heavy and unspoken. “I know you’re not scared of me, Tim. I think you’re scared of something else.”

For a moment, Tim’s gaze flickered, and it was enough to catch the change. There was something there—a crack in the surface, a vulnerability you hadn’t expected. His eyes darted briefly to the corner of the room, his expression shifting just slightly. It wasn’t a look of defiance, like you’d seen earlier. No, this was something else. Something deeper.

You followed his gaze. The room was empty—nothing but shadows stretching along the linoleum walls, dark corners filled with dust. But you had the sense that whatever he saw there wasn’t just the room. It was something more, something buried beneath the surface, something he was afraid to acknowledge.

And there it was.

You let the silence stretch out between you, letting the weight of it press down on him. You didn’t need to rush; the tension in the air was thick enough to choke on. You knew the game. You knew how to play it.

You let your voice drop lower, softer. “You’re protecting someone, Tim. Who?”

His nostrils flared slightly, just the faintest tremor in his body, but he didn’t say anything. Not yet. His fingers curled against the cold metal of the cuffs, digging into them until they turned white. His muscles were rigid, locked tight, restrained in the way his whole body was wound up. You could feel it, like a bowstring pulled too tight, ready to snap.

The temperature in the room shifted, a subtle drop in the air. The kind of cold that had nothing to do with the thermostat. It was a shift in the atmosphere, something darker creeping in around the man.

You leaned back in your chair then, just enough to break the tension, but you didn’t let your eyes leave his. You could almost hear the clock ticking in the background, the seconds stretching out, longer and longer.

“I could help,” you said, letting the words float like poison in the air between you. “All you have to do is talk to me.”

His jaw clenched. There it was. The thing you’d been waiting for.

A muscle in his jaw jumped. The stillness in him, the ice-cold barrier, seemed to crack for just a second. The tension was almost unbearable, but still, Tim didn’t speak.

“You’ve got something to lose,” you whispered, your voice almost imperceptible. “Who is it, Tim? Who are you protecting?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. He just sat there, his hands clasped together by the shackles, his shoulders tight as stone. His lips were pressed together, and the tension in his body was palpable, like if you listened close enough you could hear the metal scraping in his brain. He wasn’t looking at you anymore—his eyes were locked on the corner of the room, distant, as if he were somewhere far away, in a place you couldn’t follow.

You let the silence sit there, let it build between you, until it felt like the room itself was closing in. The quiet was suffocating, the weight of it pressing against your chest. Tim wasn’t giving you anything, and that’s when you knew—you were getting close.

“Just talk to me—”

And then, just as you were about to push again, Tim’s voice broke through the stillness. Low. Rough. Gravelly.

“Go to hell.”

The words were sharp, like a slap across the face. But they didn’t faze you. They weren’t the answer you were hoping for, but they were something. You could feel the anger in his voice, the edge of frustration, the crack in his resolve. He was holding on by a thread, but the thread was fraying.

You smiled, letting the smirk curl at the corners of your mouth. It was a slow thing, like a cat toying with its prey.

“Oh, Tim.” You leaned forward, just a fraction. “We’re already there.”

The air in the room seemed to freeze, the tension so thick now it could have been sliced with a knife. There was something deeper between the two of you, something unspoken, raw, and undeniable. But even as the words left your mouth, you could see it—the moment of realization in his eyes.

He was losing this battle.

And it was only a matter of time before the truth came out.

Tim doesn’t speak again.

But his body does.

The tightening of his fists. The tension stiffened his shoulders. The way his gaze flickers—not out of defiance anymore, but something else.

Something close to fear.

Not for himself. You know that now.

For who?

You tap your pen twice against the clipboard, slow and deliberate, watching the way his eyes track the movement like an animal backed into a corner.

You exhaled slowly, letting the silence settle before speaking again. Your voice softened, just enough to slip under his defenses.

“You know what I see, Tim?” You tilted your head, studying him. “I see a scared little boy, hiding behind a mask that doesn’t fit as well as he thinks it does.”

His fingers twitched against the cuffs, but he didn’t look at you. His breathing was slow, controlled—but not relaxed. Never relaxed.

“I know you don’t want to be here. I know you don’t want to talk.” You leaned forward, your voice threading through the stale air between you. “But I think—deep down—you want someone to hear you. Someone who won’t just see the mask, but the person underneath it.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped. Still, he said nothing.

“I can help you, Tim,” you continued, voice low, coaxing. “But I need you to talk to me first.”

He swallowed, his throat bobbing, but his gaze remained locked on the table. Silent.

You sighed, sitting back. “Or you can keep pretending. Keep gripping that mask like it’s the only thing keeping you breathing. But we both know—” You let the words linger, heavy and knowing. “That thing isn’t saving you. It’s suffocating you.”

The temperature in the room dropped again, but this time, it wasn’t fear. 

His jaw clenches. His shoulders lock even tighter.

He’s freezing up again; time to pivot the nonexistent conversation.

“Is it someone from…before?” You glance down at your clipboard. “You’ve got no record of family. No known associates. No job history. It’s like you just appeared one day. No past. No future.” You look back up, meeting his eyes. “But you do have a past, don’t you? Buried down deep where you thought nobody would find it.”

He settles down lower against the table, elbows spreading wider.

“You had a life before this.” You tilt your head. “And you think I’m going to take that away from you, don’t you?”

He shifts. A barely-there movement. But enough.

Enough to tell you that you’re not talking to some senseless killer.

You’re talking to someone trapped.

“Or, maybe, you want me to take that away?”

You exhale softly, easing back in your chair, arms folded in front of you like you’ve just cracked open the first page of a long-forgotten book.

“I don’t think you’re afraid of being here, Tim,” you say, slowly, carefully. “I think you’re afraid of what happens if you talk. Of what happens to you. Of what happens to that little boy deep inside.”

His breath stutters. But it’s not out of fear. There’s a brewing anger under those eyes, bubbling way too close to the surface. The fear in him from earlier is long extinguished.

You sit up a little straighter, heart knocking once—hard—against your ribs.

Because there it is.

A crack.

Not in his defenses.

In him.

Like there are two men in the same body, fighting for space.

And only one of them is in control.

Your voice drops just above a whisper. “Tim Wright.” You say his name again, slower this time, watching the way his pupils contract, watching the minute twitch in his jaw, the flicker of something—panic?—flash behind his expressionless mask.

You inhale.

And then—like testing the edge of a knife—you try again. Summoning all of the merciful instinct you have left, it pushes its way barely above a whisper.

“Who are you protecting, Tim?”

Something shifts in the room.

The air goes taut.

And then—so quiet you almost miss it—

A single word.

“…Me.”

The whisper scrapes from his throat, raw and broken, like it was never meant to escape. And just like that the anger is gone again, replaced by the chilling fear he held moments ago. This scene unfolding in front of you is like a tornado desecrating a town—quick, and hard, and fast. It’s like his mind can’t make up which emotion he should be showing—like he can’t decide who he should be.

This time, those same eyes from before are something completely different. There's fear and hopelessness and ages of torment etched into every crevice of his dark irises. Unlike the abysses from before, these are murky, untamed waters that swirl into a lifeless whirlpool. But, just like the depth of the black holes, you can feel yourself being sucked in. Mind being drawn into that alluring drain of desperation that’s screaming for you.

Your breath catches.

Because you don’t understand what he means—not yet—but you do understand one thing:

You’re not talking to just one man.

And Tim Wright is not the only one sitting in front of you.

The weight of that single word—me—settles between you like a stone sinking to the bottom of a lake.

You don’t speak.

Neither does he.

You just stare at each other, the silence stretching too long, too thick, until it feels like the air itself is pressing in.

Your pulse thrums in your ears, an instinctive reaction to something you don’t understand—something that shouldn’t be happening.

Tim Wright is protecting someone.

But that someone… is himself.

It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fit—not in the way criminals lie to cover their tracks, not in the way murderers twist reality to justify their actions.

This is different.

It’s not a deception. It’s not guilt.

It’s fear.

Not of you.

Not of this place.

But of something inside him.

Your throat tightens. You force yourself to speak, voice careful, controlled. “What do you mean, you?”

His lips part, just slightly—like he wants to answer. Like he’s going to.

Then—

A flicker.

A brief, sharp stutter in the overhead lights.

Barely noticeable. Just a fraction of a second.

But you feel it in your bones.

Your eyes flick upward.

Tim’s don’t.

He doesn’t react at all. Doesn’t even blink.

A slow chill creeps down your spine.

And as if they were never there to begin with, those murky whirlpools disappear. Returning to those lifeless, dull eyes from before.

Something is wrong.

The lights buzz again—louder this time. A whine through the wiring, high-pitched, like something pressing against the walls of reality itself.

Your fingers tighten around your pen.

“Tim—”

BZZZT.

Every single light in the room bursts at once.

A violent crack of electricity. Sparks rain from the ceiling. The security camera in the corner dies with a sharp, stuttering whine. The intercom speakers fizz into dead static.

The whole building shifts.

Not physically—but you feel it. A deep, unnatural tremor in the air, like the entire world has been thrown off balance.

The walls feel too thin. The shadows stretch too far.

And then—

The screaming starts.

Not from Tim. Not from you.

From outside.

The distant echo of officers shouting, papers flying, chairs scraping against the floor as chaos erupts beyond the locked door. Someone yells something about the power grid. Someone else swears as another burst of static explodes through the station’s radio systems.

Your heart slams against your ribs. Instinct kicks in.

You push back from the table, standing too fast, fingers curling around the pistol strapped to your belt out of sheer muscle memory. “What the hell—”

Tim hasn’t moved.

He just sits there.

Still. Silent.

Watching.

Like he’s seen this before.

Like he knows what’s happening.

Your stomach turns.

A heavy BANG rattles the door.

“Sheriff!”

Marcus.

You barely recognize his voice beneath the distortion crackling through the intercom, but you don’t hesitate. You reach for the lock, wrenching the door open just as Marcus shoves his way inside, eyes wild.

“You need to get out—now.”

Behind him, the station is in shambles. Desks overturned, officers scrambling, the emergency lights pulsing weakly—dying in and out like something else is controlling them.

You turn back—

But Tim is already being hauled to his feet.

Two officers grab him, dragging him from the room. He doesn’t fight. Doesn’t resist.

But as they pull him past you, he tilts his head just slightly—just enough for his gaze to flick up to meet yours one last time.

And there, beneath the hollow blackness of his pupils, you see it.

Something fractured. Something trapped. That feeling from moments ago.

And for the first time, you don’t just see a killer.

You see a man.

A boy.

A boy who needs help.

You take a sharp step forward—

“Move!”

A violent pop from the radio cuts through your hesitation, and Marcus grips your arm, yanking you out of the way as another overhead light explodes in a shower of sparks.

“Come on!” he snarls, shoving you toward the exit. “I don’t know what the hell’s happening, but we need to shut everything down before we lose the goddamn station!”

You don’t resist.

Because he’s right.

Because right now, there’s no time to process what you’ve just seen—no time to ask Tim the thousand questions clawing their way up your throat.

All you can do is move.

As you’re dragged from the interrogation room, Tim disappears down the hall, officers forcing him into a holding cell.

And just before the door slams shut behind him—

The lights flicker one last time.

And for a fraction of a second—

You swear you see something else standing in the shadows behind him. And it’s as tall as the shadows themselves.

Then—

Darkness.

The chaos is unrelenting.

The station is falling apart.

Officers scream orders over the blaring alarms, but it’s pointless. The electricity surges violently, lights flickering in rapid succession—too fast, too erratic, like something is alive in the wires.

You press yourself against the wall, breath coming fast as Marcus shouts something at the others, his hand firm on your shoulder.

“Get the backup generator on, NOW!”

No response.

Just static.

And then—

A single gunshot.

Your body jolts with the sound, and Marcus swears, whipping around as the shrill sound of alarms slices through the air. Without warning, the entire station erupts into gunfire, the walls shaking with each blast.

The front entrance explodes inward.

Two figures.

One moves fast, erratic—hood pulled low, arms twitching like he’s barely containing something violent.

The other is cold, deliberate—gun raised, movements precise.

You don’t recognize them.

But they recognize Tim.

Because the second they spot him through the fray, they move in—cutting through the gunfire like they’ve done this a thousand times before.

Officers drop.

Bodies hit the floor.

And then—

Marcus.

The gunshot is deafening.

Your head jerks toward him just in time to see the impact. The way his body lurches—

The way his blood sprays.

His blood sprays on you.

It happens too fast.

Too fast to stop.

Too fast to breathe.

One second, he’s standing. The next—

He’s in your arms.

Dead weight.

Dead everything.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until a hand wraps around your arm, yanking you upward with brutal force.

Your head whips around—

And you freeze.

Tim.

He’s the one holding you.

His grip is like iron. His eyes locked onto yours with something unreadable. Those same piercing eyes from before.

Something calm.

Like this chaos doesn’t matter.

Like you are the only thing that does.

The porcelain mask from before has returned, snugged tightly around his hard features with straps behind his head. The painted-on expression doesn’t match the utter rage filling his eyes.

“Let me go!” You thrash, trying to break free, but he just tightens his hold, dragging you forward.

You fight harder.

You don’t know where he’s taking you.

You don’t know why.

All you know is that the station is in ruins. That your coworkers—the people you’ve worked alongside for years—are dead or dying.

And Tim is walking you through it like it means nothing.

Like you mean something else entirely.

Why are you the only one getting to survive this?

The two masked men ahead are shouting—words you can’t process through the ringing in your skull.

You don’t know them.

You don’t want to know them.

But Tim does.

And that terrifies you more than anything.

The cold night air slams into your lungs as Tim pulls you outside. The world beyond the station is dark—too dark—like even the city itself is recoiling from what just happened.

The masked men disappear into the night.

Tim stops and turns.

And for the first time since he grabbed you, he really looks at you.

Like he’s seeing something new.

Something unexpected.

“Why was it so easy for you?” he murmurs.

Your breath stutters.

“What?”

“To get him to talk.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears. You don’t understand.

But Tim does. Or whoever this is, does.

And that’s all that matters.

Because a decision has already been made.

He’s taking you.

And you are powerless to stop him.

The sirens wail louder.

The darkness swallows you whole.

The last thing you remember is the fatal crack of a gun barrel to the back of your skull.

And everything is finally quiet.

-

The truck jostles violently over the uneven forest path, tires kicking up loose gravel and mud. The inside of the cab is thick with tension, only broken by the occasional creak of the suspension and the distant wail of sirens fading into nothing behind them.

They got out clean.

Mostly.

Hoodie is silent at the wheel, eyes locked on the road. Toby is shifting in the passenger seat, bouncing his knee, adjusting his goggles every few seconds like his body can’t handle being still.

And Masky—

Masky is seething.

Not because of the cops. Not because of the chaos.

Because of you.

You’re slumped beside him, wrists and ankles bound, head lolling slightly from the impact of the truck’s rough ride. A deep bruise is already blooming at the base of your skull, spreading like ink beneath your skin.

You’re completely still. Completely unaware.

Hell, you’re still in your uniform.

And yet, even unconscious, you’re still there—in his head, in his chest, clawing at the locked-up places he thought no one could reach. Tim is screaming in his head, clawing and begging to come out, but Masky’s resolve is better than that—at least he thought it was.

He clenches his jaw, forcing his eyes away from you.

He doesn’t know what the hell you did.

But you shouldn’t have been able to do it.

“Jesus Christ, man.”

Hoody’s voice shatters the silence.

Masky doesn’t react.

Hoody exhales sharply through his nose. “Are you even gonna explain why we’re hauling some random cop through the woods like a fucking deer carcass?”

Toby snorts. “Yeah, dude, not exactly wha-what I’d call laying low.”

Masky tilts his head slightly, but his voice is flat. “They’re not a cop.”

Hoody lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “They were interrogating you.”

“They’re different.”

Toby twists in his seat, goggles flashing in the dim light. “Dude. No.” He jabs a finger toward the unconscious figure. “They’re a fucking pro-problem.”

Masky grits his teeth. His hands flex against his knees.

“They got in my head.”

Hoody scoffs. “Yeah, no shit. That’s literally their job. They play mind games, get under people’s skin.”

Masky shakes his head. “They got Tim to come out. I couldn’t even stop him. It was like they forced him to the front.”

That hasn’t happened in a long time. Not willingly.

He can still hear your voice. That calm, calculated tone—not condescending, not cruel, but like you were peeling back layers of him, stripping away things he wasn’t ready to face. Summoning the bastard hidden away inside him.

You saw something you shouldn’t have.

And he has no idea how.

Toby makes a disgusted sound. “So wha-what? You’re bringing them ba-back so you can, what—return the favor?”

Masky exhales slowly, anger simmering beneath his skin.

“They broke something open,” he mutters. “I need to know how.”

Hoody tightens his grip on the wheel. He doesn’t like this. Toby doesn’t like this.

Masky doesn’t care.

“I’m keeping them,” he says, voice final.

Hoody presses his lips into a hard line but doesn’t argue anymore. Toby just mutters something under his breath, shaking his head.

What’s done is done.

The truck lurches over a final dip in the tire-worn path, and then—

The trees break.

The mansion looms ahead, massive and dark, swallowing the night whole. The air shifts, thick and heavy, crackling like something unseen is watching.

Toby shifts in his seat. Hoody exhales slowly.

Masky doesn’t move.

You stir beside him. A faint twitch of fingers. A sharp inhale.

You’re waking up.

Good.

Because things are just getting started.

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

[seiwas]

two-part something (shouto x reader)

wc: 1.3k

contains: christmas, holiday parties, santa, mid-20's pro-hero!shouto x assistant!reader

full fic sequel: three-part honesty

a/n: just a lil writing exercise on shouto! first time writing him hehe

shouto’s late to his agency’s holiday party tonight. 

he breathes out, warmth floating as white puffs from his lips. the heating system on his office floor has been turned off, subtext directed solely to him: whoever’s here today, at this time, shouldn’t be.

his fingers move deftly around his waist, routinary—utility belt unbuckling as he reaches his desk. 

the venue for tonight is on one of the lower floors—a function room where briefings and press conferences are normally held. the number of attendees has grown compared to last year’s, sidekicks doubling and staff tripling; expected, given the agency’s projected growth next quarter. 

this is the agency’s third move since humble days in a rented studio unit (one shouto stubbornly and adamantly paid for fully, on his own), but one thing’s invariably stayed the same—

shouto’s office has always existed in its own space, whether tucked in a corner or spread out over an entire floor.

and wherever that space is, so are you. 

he settles in his seat, leather creaking as he twists to stretch his back. it’s been a long night, being dispatched earlier for an emergency downtown. his hand reaches for the folder on his desk, fingers swiping to release the yellow paper clip on the far left corner—evidence of your presence. 

since being hired as his assistant five years ago, you’ve devised a system for shouto that he now deems essential to keeping his entire agency afloat. his own urgency for paperwork hinges on the color of your paper clips (blue for next month, green for next week, yellow for tomorrow, and red for now).  

he should listen to you; the details of this evening’s take-down can be set aside for tomorrow—tomorrow, when everyone’s allowed to clock-in midday for the sake of tonight’s festivities. knowing you though, you’ll still show up early, if only to go over his desk, ensuring to swap that yellow paper clip for red. 

if he finishes this now, you won’t need to ensure anything; in all the years you’ve been his first and only assistant–a perfect match for how much of a workaholic he is–you might actually opt to sleep in for once. 

besides, it’s more productive if he gets it over with; crimes and mishaps never take breaks to party, after all—even during the holidays. 

that’s what he’ll tell you, at least. 

the party’s more for everyone else than him, anyway. 

he clicks his pen, letting out another puff of warm air as he spreads the document in front of him: 

page 1: basic information. identification details, time markers, a summary of the take-down. 

page 2: breakdown of events. scene-by-scene, additional comments, a two-beat knock on his door. 

then comes your voice, soft, unsure—

“sir?” 

—before you step inside, heels clicking against the natural stone finish of his office floor. 

he looks up, wide-eyed, piercing gray and blue. 

your gaze flits to the papers in front of him, eyebrows scrunching before you sigh. there’s an all-too-familiar smile on your face, a quiet chuckle brought about by how characteristic it is of him to be in this situation right now. 

“sir, that report is tagged yellow.” 

he shifts, looking at your paper clip; without a word, the leather of his seat crinkles again. it’s like this with shouto sometimes, you’ve come to learn: a non-response is a response on its own.

when his eyes meet yours, you shiver. 

goosebumps litter the sides of your arms, the decision to forego your blazer leaving yourself exposed to the chill of tonight’s office air. you try to hide it, but some things are impossible to keep from shouto. 

of course he notices your jaw quivering. 

“are you cold?” he stands up immediately, already moving halfway out from behind his desk.

“i’m okay, sir,” you stop him just as quickly, hands motioning for him to stay where he is.

two beats of silence find him tilting his head, gaze as intense as it’s always been pointed towards you. 

“shouto.”

“pardon, sir?” you step closer, leaning forward. 

“call me shouto.” 

the red fabric in your hand almost slips from your hold. 

this isn’t the first time shouto’s insisted on you using his name—he offered it up the moment he hired you, and the day you searched store after store for his thrifted leather chair during the agency’s second move; he’s suggested it plenty over the years, a casual reminder that it’s no big deal—if the world can call him shouto, so should you. 

pro-hero shouto, top three in the charts. 

pro-hero shouto, late to his agency’s holiday party because of paperwork—his tendency to be a workaholic. 

pro-hero shouto, asking you to call him shouto, but not in the way the world does. 

his eyes don’t leave yours as you blink, swallowing down your feelings (inappropriate, you tell yourself). 

“shouto.” you repeat. 

he nods slightly, a small, imperceptible lift to the corners of his lips. there’s an awkward pause as he looks down to the papers on his desk then up at you again.

“the party,” you clear your throat, smoothing out the fabric between your fingers, “you’re running late to your own party, si–shouto.” 

he tilts his head again, confused, “is this party not for everyone else?” 

you blink—he’s got you there. 

“i guess that’s true,” you sigh, chuckling. a pause, “that report is still yellow, though.” 

blue and gray land on white, bond papers spread out on his desk. he could argue with you, but where has that ever gotten him? you’ve kept him in check for years—it’s how he’s managed to stay on top of things. 

he looks down at his jumpsuit, the same shade of blue since he was 15. not much has changed with the design of his hero suit, just an overall sleeker design fit to match his age. the utility belt still exists, albeit more compact and less clunky; a similar modification was done to the straps that run down the sides of his chest. 

if anything, the biggest change is how the suit has molded around him—shoulders more defined, arms large enough for the fabric to cling onto it. shouto’s build has always been lean, but the areas of defined muscle stick out more evidently now that he’s older, much taller and wider.  

“i don’t have a costume.” he pouts.

you grin, stepping closer to his desk, hips digging into the edge. the red santa hat unfurls from your hands as you wave it in front of him—a perfect match to the shades of his hair. 

he blinks before you catch it, the slight curve of his lips as he leans forward, dipping his head low enough for you to reach the top of it. you tiptoe just a bit when you open up the hat to place it over his head.

you’re gentle with your touch, fingers running through the strands of his hair lightly; you tuck them neatly underneath the fluffy white rim of the santa hat. 

(it’s warmer near him, you notice—his quirk regulating a circumference of heat around himself that extends to you right now, you know. but you’re confident you’d still feel your own version of it–on your cheeks, down your neck–even if he weren’t). 

the hat sits perfectly atop his head, much like anything else that’s on him. when you lean back, moving away to take a better look, you notice it—

midnight blue, the backdrop on shouto’s floor-to-ceiling windows, littered with speckles of white—the first snowfall, and one you stand in awe of.

—gasping at the sight. 

you’re still so near when your eyes light up, zeroing in on the view behind him. you can’t help it, that smile on your face, bright and pretty, he thinks; it’s a short moment, but he feels it, a two-part ���ba-dump’ that resounds in his heartbeat. 

a/n: they thrift the chair bc it's real leather so buying a new one is just no-no + he texts natsuo otw home after the party that he feels a bit funny! (it's just his feelings 😭)

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[xxsabitoxx]

Unfortunate

Hantengu Clones x AFAB! Reader

Warnings: this fic contains dub-con/non-con, anal sex, brainwashing, dumbification, gang banging, rough sex, bukkake,, cunnilingus, rough oral, hitting and marking, degrading, using the reader as nothing more than a toy, taunting.

A/N: this took me too damn long. Curse this month bro, I haven’t had an time at all to sit down and write. Regardless, it’s better late than never right? So here it is, the full length fic. Also ignore the way the paragraphs get progressively longer. It just happens as I write and it’s no use trying to cut them in half lmao

Word count: 7.1K

“A village by the north mountains.” you mumbled to yourself, walking through the empty streets that made up the barely there village. “Some shit this is…” you grumbled again, your findings had been less than pleasant upon your arrival. The village itself consisted of only a few homes, less than ten from what you could tell. The larger of the buildings was likely a combination of essentials for the few residents that reside here. Though you couldn’t be certain any of them were left.

You had arrived to a massacre without any bodies, something that would look like a gruesome bear attack to any passerby. Though, you expected such a scene given the fact that it had taken you three days to arrive here. “How was there no one closer…” you still couldn’t figure out why you had been sent. It was obvious from the start that you’d never make it in time, yet your crow screeched for hours on end about how you must hurry to the decrepit little village at the base of the north mountains. It sucked, to say the least.

“Anyone out there?” Your voice bounced off of the empty homes, splatters of dried blood clinging to their walls. The doors had been ripped off their hinges, windows shattered and the remains laid sparkling on the dirt. It was a lost cause, you knew that, yet for some reason you kept trudging forward. It was eerie, nothing but the moon above illuminating the world around you. The silence wasn’t helping the chill running up your spine, it was obvious that the sooner you got out of here the better.

“Last call! If anyone is out there, make yourself known!” You peaked into the second to last home, confirming no remains and no survivors. “This is a waste of time.” You groaned, picking up your pace as you began making your way down to the last home. From what you could tell, the windows had been broken but the door seemed to still be intact. Maybe they’d run away to a nearby town with a tall tale of a demon attack, treated for minor injuries and hysteria. Though it was likely wishful thinking.

It didn’t hit you until you were a few feet away from the door, blood running cold as you sensed a presence. Immediately your hand flew to the hilt of your sword, heart rate spiking as you moved to take a step forward. Something was preventing you from calling out again, the presence in that house felt wrong to you. You pulled at your blade, unsheathing it a fraction as you pushed your body forward. Just before reaching the home, the door opened itself. At least that’s what your initial thought was until you looked down.

Your mouth seemed to dry up, the scent of that demon was undoubtedly an upper rank. It seemed to be an old man, crawling on all fours out of the home with tears streaking his unsettling face. You couldn’t even make out what he was whining about as he pushed himself into the moonlight. It took you less than a second to collect yourself, diving forward with your blade drawn as you swung for his neck. When your flames subsided you realized you had missed, he was no longer in front of you either.

He was wailing loudly now, your head whipped around to the source. He was behind you, clinging to the corner of one of the houses with tears still sliding down his cheeks. There was no denying it now, his appearance was misleading, his speech was that of an upper rank and so was his scent. You moved forward again, swinging your blade to unleash another fire breathing attack. This time, your blade connected, pain shooting up your arm as it sliced clean through the demon’s neck and slammed into the side of the house.

“Dammit!” You flinched as you brought your sword back, it had only chipped a bit but it was still more than capable of protecting you. The rush of adrenaline that shot through you wasn’t because of the fact that you had beheaded an upper rank. No, it was quite the opposite really. Your entire body seemed to come to life as you watched the severed head grow itself a new body. All the while, the headless body had seemed to replace its missing head.

He… no, they were younger now, your eyes widening as they both straightened. One held an odd looking staff, eyes glowing red as he looked you over with a scowl. The one beside him was holding a fan, green eyes boring into yours as his tongue stuck out. You swore it had the word relaxed on it, yet you were equally as sure that your fear was making you hallucinate. Without hesitation, you dove at the one with green eyes, not processing that he was lifting his odd fan in your direction.

Before you could even lift your blade, you were sent flying backwards, body slamming into the house behind you. A scream of pain left you as you landed, body throbbing as you pushed yourself upwards despite your muscles screaming in protest. It took you a moment to realize your ears were ringing, the noise only beginning to subside as his laughter finally reached you. The one with green eyes had a smirk plastered to his face as his laughing died down. “Oh she’s a feisty one, huh Sekido?”

“She’s a nuisance.” The red eyed demon finally spoke, moving to lift his staff as you surged forward again. Part of you knew this was a useless battle, there was no way you could take an upper rank on your own and expect to walk out of it unscathed. If anything, it pissed you off that you’d likely die on a shitty mission like this. One that should have been avoided altogether really. For some reason, his staff never hit the ground, not bothering to avoid your assault as you sliced his head clean off again.

The green eyed demon began cackling again, the noise high pitched and maniacal as he watched his other half separate once more. You jumped back, the screeching laughter pushing you over the edge as you brought down another attack on the green eyed demon. His laughter didn’t stop, even as his head was removed from his body. Rather, he laughed just a bit harder. You flew back again, eyes watching in disbelief as the bodies split off again. Both bodies gained new heads, both heads gained new bodies.

You had fucked up, big time. “Such a stupid thing! You couldn’t figure out that we wanted you to do this?” The green eyed demon laughed again, watching as you looked between the three of them. Laughing just a bit harder as you realized only three of them stood before you. “I-but…” there was a fourth. You were certain of it… so where the hell did he go? “Karaku…you’re so loud…” the blue eyed demon whined, eyes locked on you as he referred to the green eyed demon. “Shut it, Aizetsu.”

The red eyed one spoke again, staff hovering just a bit off the ground as he scowled at you. “You’re probably wondering where the fourth one went, huh sugar?” The green eyed demon taunted you, completely torn, you couldn’t figure out where to look. If your eyes left the three of them they’d likely attack. If you didn’t try to figure out the location of the fourth, it was likely he’d kill you instead. “C’mon, little slayer… Show us what you got…” the blue eyed demon spoke, voice somber and eyes filled with sadness.

“Urogi, quit playing around.” The red eyed demon bellowed, another name, but your brain was going too fast to remember it. The flapping of wings pulled you from your daze, head whipping in the direction of the noise but it was too late. Two claws grabbed around your waist, the sudden thrust upward knocking your blade straight from your grasp. A scream of shock left you as you were torn straight off the ground, head flying upwards to see what had grabbed you. Somehow, it was the fourth demon.

He looked just as the other three did, the only differences being his eyes and his limbs. Golden eyes stared down at you, a familiar smirk on his lips. Instead of arms and legs, he had claws. His limbs resembled that of a bird or reptile, large wings expanding behind him. You jerked as he stopped, hovering in the air as he looked you over. It wasn’t until he raised his legs that you realized he was using them to grasp you opposed to his arms. “What a pathetic thing you are…” he laughed as he let you go.

You began to plummet to the ground, body and mind so disconnected from your reality that you couldn’t even muster a scream before he swooped down to grab you again. Now, you were facing him, eyes wide and chest heaving. “You humans are so easy to break… though I must say I’ve never seen the fighting spirit leave someone as quickly as it left you.” He admired your petrified face, slowly descending until he was in earshot of his other halves. “Yah know, Sekido? We shouldn’t kill her just yet…”

His eyes trailed over your body, a cruel grin covering his face as he spoke. “Why don’t we have some fun with her? It’s been years since I’ve gotten my fill of human…desire.” The implications had you feeling hot, panic ebbing up the back of your neck as you squirmed in his grasp. “Oh? There it is…” he dropped you a moment later. The fall wasn’t a big one but it still hurt when you hit the ground. The panic was mixing with dread as you realized what the situation was turning to. “Fun? Urogi why can’t we just eat her…” the blue eyed demon whined softly as he stared at you.

“Oi, Aizetsu don’t be such a prude…” the green eyed demon spoke, walking over to where you sat on the ground. He crouched before you, smiling in a way that made you want to run. “She’d certainly have a good time, don’t you think Sekido? You know we need your approval to do anything…” he turned to look at the red eyed demon, a soft thump behind you told you that the winged demon had landed. You met the red eyed demon’s gaze, swallowing thickly as you waited for him to decide your fate.

“There are rules…you know. We each get a turn, no hogging her.” You got the chills, listening intently to the demons conversing about having their way with you. “Listen here, sugar.” The green eyed demon grabbed your face, keeping your attention on him as he spoke. “We’re gonna have a hell of a time with you… satisfy us and maybe we’ll let you leave here with your life.” Behind you, the winged demon snickered, feet dragging on the ground as he too crouched behind you. “You’ll be able to satisfy the four of us with your body, right?”

You didn’t speak, tears burning your eyes as you stared at the green eyed demon gripping your cheeks. “C’mon, answer him, little slayer. It’s not polite to ignore.” The blue eyed demon had somehow closed the distance, crouching down beside you as well. Three out of the four demons surrounded you, the red eyed demon that seemed to be their leader of sorts was still standing by the house he crawled out of. You opened your mouth but nothing came out, you weren’t even sure how to respond.

“You’ll be able to satisfy us, right?” One set of claws gripped your shoulder, tugging you back a bit so you’d be forced to look up at him. You flinched as you did, the green eyed demon’s hand was still gripping your cheeks. “Y-yes…” broken and weak, though the look in his eyes told you that’s just what he wanted to hear. “Good…Oi, Sekido? When can we start?” The yellow eyed demon grinned up at his counterpart, watching him set his staff to the side and finally join you all in the middle of the dirt road. “Now. Karaku, undress her, I’ll let the three of you have free reign for now.”

You swallowed, a noise of surprise leaving you as a single claw ripped your top open from being. “He asked me, Urogi.” The green eyed demon, Karaku, scowled as he moved to rip your uniform pants off of you. “You’ll take years, Karaku… let me help.” Cold air reached your skin simultaneously, pants and top being torn from your body, no longer able to hide any of your skin. “Ah, how modest humans are wearing under garments. How lame.” You felt your face growing warm as the blue eyed demon took you in. “It’s quite useless, I mean really the garment is so thin…”

Your legs were forcefully spread, as if to prove the point of the blue eyed demon. “She smells good, doesn’t she?” Your pants had been discarded, so had your top, nothing but a thin chest binding and your underwear were left to shield you from their wandering hands. “Fear and…arousal?” The winged demon began to laugh, clawed hands coming down to grope your breasts. “She looks ready to cry and yet her body is clearly reacting to this situation.” The green eyed demon kept your legs spread wide, allowing the blue eyed demon to bend down and get a closer look.

“You wanna eat her, don’t you Aizetsu… that smell is so intoxicating…” you could barely pay attention, the rough treatment on your breasts was making your head spin. You hated that arousal was pooling in your gut, cunt throbbing with need as three pairs of eyes stared at you. “I do… you’ll let me go first, right?” His hands were on you now, six hands total touching your body. It was dizzying, “yeah sure, I know you’ll bitch if I don’t… Urogi, take off the chest covering, it’s not necessary.” The green eyed demon shifted out of the way, hands still keeping your thighs spread.

The blue eyed demon, Aizetsu, was tearing your underwear straight off. Perfectly timing it with the winged demon’s motions of slicing your chest covering off. Now, you were completely bare, breasts and cunt on full display for the demons before you. How utterly humiliating. Tears burned your eyes again, this time they broke through the barrier and dripped down your cheeks. “Aww, that needy? How fucking filthy…” your eyes squeezed shut, arms and legs thrashing in their grasp as they held you in place. The green-eyed demon laughed, accompanied by his winged counterpart. Their laughter creates an unbearable symphony.

“C’mon now, no need to fight back. We’re not completely heartless… you’ll enjoy yourself…” his grip tightened painfully, a cry leaving your lips as you thrashed harder. “Aizetsu, quit sitting there like an idiot… get to work.” He mumbled some sort of complaint as he got down on his stomach, the position was too much for you to handle. Your head turned away, limbs giving up their useless fight of escaping the demons’ grasp. Aizetsu moved closer, hands accompanying Karaku’s on your thighs. His breath was fanning over your cunt, uttering a quiet “Itadakimasu” before delving in. You squealed, body thrashing at the sensation of his tongue.

A loud noise slipped past your lips, vibrating your throat as the demon below you kitten licked your cunt. “C’mon now, enjoy it… you won’t find anyone else to give you head like Aizetsu will.” The green demon cooed, face close to yours as his blue eyed counterpart found his rhythm. You could no longer thrash, their grips tightened almost suffocatingly as the blue eyed demon’s lips suctioned to your clit. You could taste blood with how hard you were biting your lip, desperate to not let any noises out. The green eyed demon seemed to catch on, two fingers coming up to pinch your nose. “Ah ah, you’re going to tell us how good we do.”

You gasped for air a moment later, head tilting back into the winged demon’s shoulder as two fingers stretched you open. Aizetsu was lapping hungrily, collecting your arousal on his tongue. He was whining, the feeling sensing vibrations through your clit as his fingers squelched with each thrust in and out of your cunt. Your body betrayed you, seemingly becoming wetter with each passing second. “Damn, hear that Sekido? Aizetsu’s getting her all worked up.” The winged demon behind you cackled, the green eyed one was far too engulfed by the sight. You couldn’t stop the noises you were making, mine fully focused on the pleasure washing over you as he curled his fingers.

“F-fuck…” you choked, eyes shutting as he grazed a particular spot inside of you. “Oh? Do that again, Aizetsu.” Kakaru smirked, gaze shifting from your cunt and your face. Aizetsu whined loudly, sucking your clit harshly and curling his fingers the way he had a moment prior. You convulsed, hips jerking despite their grip on you. You felt it then, the familiar build up in your gut, he was going to make you come. You became more vocal, body giving in to the pleasure he was providing. You held no shame, mind clouded with the desire to reach your climax. Your thighs tensed, a jumble of words slipping past your lips. “Hmm? What was that?” The winged demon cooed in your ear, eyes just barely peeking over to where he was still gripping your breasts.

“…onna…gonna…” you mumbled it over and over as if it were a prayer. Your entire body seemed to be set in fire, the tingling sensations shooting up your spine and down to your toes causing them to curl. “Oh! You’re going to cum aren’t you? All over Aizetsu’s mouth right? I’m sure he’d love to feel your tight cunt squirm around his fingers… right Aizetsu?” The winged demon hugged you tighter, motioning for the green eyed demon to do something you couldn’t see. The demon between your legs only seemed to work harder, fingers moving quicker as he focused all of his attention on your throbbing clit. The green eyed demon keeping your legs apart began massaging your thighs, the sensation enough to push you over the edge as you cried out.

You wailed, body convulsing in pleasure as your orgasm crashed down around you. You couldn’t hear anything outside of the ringing, vision growing spotty as you tried to force air back in your lungs. You hadn’t even realzied the mess you created until the blue eyes demon pushed himself into a kneeling position, a wet patch seeping into the dirt below. You half expected the death grip the winged demon had on you to loosen, he wouldn’t of course. His grip was still tight, eyes shifting around to look at his counterparts… not that you could see it. “Oi, Aizetsu good job…” Karaku laughed, eyes landing on Sekido with a relaxed smile. “Aizetsu had his fun, who’s turn is next? You better say me.” The green eyed demon was doing nothing to hide his erection.

Your limbs felt like jelly, body going slack in the clawed grip of the demon behind you. “It’s your turn, Karaku. Throat fuck her.” Those three words snapped you back to reality, watching as the blue eyed demon was pushed roughly out of the way. “I thought you’d never grant me the fucking permission. You don’t have to tell me twice.” The blue eyed demon groaned as he was essentially tossed aside, whining loudly at the green eyed demon for being so mean. You couldn’t muster any sort of reaction, instead your lips parted obediently. “Oh? Already becoming a well behaved little bitch Hmm? You want my cock don’t you?” Karaku was undoing his pants as he spoke, the winged demon still toying with your breasts while the blue eyed demon decided to sit back and watch.

You swallowed at the sight of him, he was a sizable length with veins running up his shaft. His skin was tanned, the tip was angry red and leaking precum already.. “keep your mouth open.” He’s pumping himself slowly, studying your eyes as your pupils dilate. He can’t help but chuckle at the fact that you’re already that far gone. “Leave it to Aizetsu’s wimpy ass to break her. One orgasm was all it took Hmm? Now you’re a needy little bitch in heat.” He’s pressing the tip to your tongue, holding back a shaky whine as your tongue wiggles around it. “Hold her tight, Urogi.” The winged demon holds you tighter, a loud whine emitting from your mouth as he rolls your nipples between his claws. His front is warm against your back, his breath still fanning against your neck.

You can’t help but close your eyes as the green eyed demon plunged his entire length down your throat. A loud whine changes to a strangled gag at the sudden intrusion. “Fuck…” it’s low, just barely audible to you over your struggled swallows. He draws back, watching as you blink your eyes open, lashes already clumped together from tears. “Oh that’s a pretty sight…” Karaku sighs, completely oblivious to his counterparts' gazes. All that matters to him right now is you and the pretty tears leaking down your cheeks. He doesn’t give you much time to prepare before he’s shoving himself back in. Karaku repeats this motion over and over, not slowing even as saliva drips down your chin and onto Urogi’s clawed hands. “Sekido…”

The winged demon is peering over your shoulder, watching his counterpart’s cock disappear between your lips over and over. “Let me fuck her… please this is too easy for an eager bitch like her.” You’re too focused on the dick in your mouth to even acknowledge the one prodding your back. “Not allowed… I’m the only one that will get to fuck her properly.” his tone is final, not even Aitzetsu bothers to fight that command. Yet, Urogi won’t settle for just your throat like Karaku. “Cmon Sekido! Please… she has more than a mouth and cunt you know.” The red eyed demon scowled at the implication. “You’re nothing more than an animal, Urogi.” The ladder didn’t take offence, rather, he laughed.

“Is that permission?” He cooed, clawed hands squeezing your breasts just a bit harder as you choked and wailed around Karaku’s cock. Sekido huffed, eyes pulling away from Urogi and back to your face. “Go ahead.” You’re being pushed around, the green eyed demon quickly grabbing hold of your head to keep you in place as the winged demon behind you lets you go. You’re shivering at the lack of warmth, not realizing how cold the night air was until his body heat was gone. “You’re doing good for a bitch that was trying to run away earlier.” He’s gripping your hair so tight you think he may rip it out of your head all together. His moans are echoing along the empty village houses, reminding you of just how atrocious these four demons truly are. 

“You can take it right? You’re handling my cock so eagerly, surely a whore like you can take it up the ass.” Panic ebbed through your body, no longer overwhelmed by the way he fucked your throat. Rather, your focus was on the pair of claws pushing you forward, hands scrambling to brace yourself using the green eyed demon’s thighs. You felt embarrassment  flood your cheeks, tears flowing freely down your cheeks as his claws spread you open. You’d never even dreamt of doing anything… down there. Now, you had no choice. “This will do, since Sekido’s too selfish to share her pussy.” The red eyed demon rolled his eyes “don’t make me revoke my blessing.” The position itself was humiliating, your nails digging into the demon’s flesh as something warm prodded your ass. 

You whined, something that sounded like a strangled “no.” But that didn’t stop him, his claws were back on you a moment later, dragging you back towards him. You squealed loudly as the motion forced him inside of you. It wasn’t gentle but it wasn’t harsh either, regardless the intrusion felt foreign, making you squirm as parts of you were stretched in ways you’d never felt before. Karaku showed you no mercy, fucking your throat without missing a beat. Your panic was making your throat restrict, which only made it better for him. You felt as if all air was sucked from your lungs, body completely paralyzed under their relentless attacks. “C’mon Karaku, now is no time to show off your stamina…” It seemed as if he could go on forever. 

“Shut… the fuck up… Urogi.” He couldn’t slow his hips even if he wanted to, your mouth was too addictive. The other demon only laughed, using it as a way to hide his strangled gasping. You were suffocatingly tight, clenching around him so hard it was nearly painful. “H-ha… Sekido wants to be selfish… therefore I’ll go for the next best thing. I bet your ass is even tighter than your cunt.” His lips were against your ear, making sure you heard him over your ceaseless gagging. It didn’t take long for him to start his fast and brutal pace, exiting and reentering your ass over and over. You had no time to process, nor did you have time to adjust, rather your body was forced to try and accommodate the sudden intrusion. “Shit…shit…” he was finally losing his composure. 

“There we go! About time Karaku, I was getting impatient.” For the first time, the red eyed demon seemed a bit pleased by the events taking place. The green eyed demon’s hands gripped your hair so tightly it brought a whole new cascade of tears streaming down your face. Paired with the relentless abuse of your bottom, you couldn’t understand why you were about to cum. The tension was building with each of Urogi’s thrusts, despite nothing you were used to being stimulated. You doubted you’d actually be able to reach your peak, rather it would be dangled right in front of your face, dragging you along the edge but never actually pushing you over. Your clit was throbbing, neglecting and wishing for the blue eyed demon’s mouth. 

You glanced over at him, just barely able to see him over the hip of his green counterpart, your eyes locked briefly. His face morphed into one of shock, tanned cheeks turning a shade of bright red before forcing his gaze away. “Stop prolonging it, I want her to myself for a fucking minute.” Urogi stopped his thrusting, burying himself deeply until you were squirming from the full sensation. He wanted to hear your pretty cries, not muffled by Karaku’s dick shoved down your throat. The other only moaned out a “fuck off” before yanking himself from your mouth all together. You gasped for air, your throat hurting from the constant abuse he had bestowed on you. Karaku’s load hitting your face caught you by surprise, sticky cum pairing your mouth, cheeks and chest.

Accompanied by your tears and drool, Karaku completely ruined you. “How’s that? What you hoped I would do, Sekido?” He was panting, tucking himself away before collapsing on the cold ground, the four of you watched him wipe sweat from his brow, eyes closing as he settled his breathing. “He acts like he even did anything… I’ll show you real stamina.” Karaku on the other hand wasn’t even bothered by the backhanded comment. He was more than satisfied for the time being. You sat there now, knees spread as his arms came up to hook under your armpits and clasp together behind your head. You were completely immobile, fully at his mercy. Tears still leaked down your cheeks but at a much slower pace. “You can handle this…” again, right shading your ear. 

Urogi’s hips began moving again, without anything occupying your mouth you truly had nothing to focus on but his cock shoved up your ass. How utterly humiliating that is, your eyes welled with tears as you thought about what this must look like from an outsider's viewpoint. Though your mind couldn’t wander for long, not when the red eyed demon was boring holes into you. You held his gaze with lidded eyes, lips parted and pussy dripping onto the dirt below you. You could see his jaw tense, patience wearing thin despite his emotion being anger. You were mildly impressed by that, maybe a little shocked at yourself for trying to seduce him over to you. You’d experienced all but one, in your lust clogged mind, you found yourself aching for him. 

“Oh how easy it is to break the human spirit.” He talks softly, too softly for you to hear over the wild moans escaping the winged demon behind you. “She might be exactly what we are looking for.” Karaku was still relaxed on the ground, hands folded behind his head as he relished in the cool night air. “I don’t think she’ll let us keep her…I’d rather not kill her yet…”  Aizetsu sighed, watching intently as Urogi used you. There was no right answer to a situation like this one, but you truly did seem so obedient. As awkward as it initially was, you found yourself starting to enjoy it. The sensation was odd but somehow he was hitting places you didn’t think would be possible, your orgasm still dangling in front of you but completely out of your reach without the extra stimulation you needed. “P-please…” you croaked out in a broken voice. 

“Please? Please what…”  He moaned, cock throbbing as you continued to suffocate him. He would cum by accident if you kept this up. “She probably wants you to rub her clit.” Karaku sighed in a cheerful tone, one eye peeking open to look at the lewd sight before him. “Oh? That's what you want? One wasn’t enough? Aitezu graced you with such a good one earlier.” you whimpered, hips falling back to meet his thrusts. The action was enough to catch him by surprise, a cruel laugh bubbling out of him. “What a needy little bitch… Aizetsu get over here.” Sekido didn’t argue as Urogi commanded the blue eyed demon, he was rather curious to see how it played out. Aitzetsu was up a moment later, crawling over to kneel in front of you with lidded eyes. “You want this?” he questioned softly as two fingers found your clit. 

“Y-yes…please…” the friction alone was sending heat straight to your cunt. “Like this?” he questioned again, head coming close to yours as Urogi nearly thrusted you into him. In a weird way, you wanted to kiss him. “Yes… just like that…fuck.” you were too sensitive, your walls fluttering as your second orgasm crashed over you. You wailed, ears ringing from the intensity of your release. Your face was still sticky, covered in drying cum and tears. A moment later, the winged demon was pulling out of you, painting your back and ass in his pearly cum. “Fucking…shit…” his head fell back, wings expanding as he came down from his high. “T-there you go Sekido… her pussy is all yours to ruin.” Aizetsu was still rubbing your clit, fascinated by the way you fell into him while also trying to pull away from his touch. 

“Aizetsu, leave her alone until I say.” The blue eyed demon huffed out a sigh, moving away from you entirely. Now, you were left on your hands and knees before the four demons. The winged one had joined the green eyed one on the ground, lounging as he watched his angry counterpart stalk towards you. “You’ve done surprisingly well for a little bitch that put up such a fight in the beginning. You liked being used as a toy, didn't you? I mean look at the way your pussy has been drooling, covering the ground in your slick arousal. Covered in my counterparts’ cum.” he’s undressing as he speaks, watching your lips quiver as you struggle to meet his eyes. “Don’t act shy all of a sudden, don’t think I overlooked the way you were undressing me with your eyes earlier. You were so desperate for someone to touch your needy little cunt.” 

Sekido had begun to undress as he spoke to you, watching as your eyes devoured every inch of tan skin exposed to you. There was something different about seeing him undress, as if you hadn’t seen the bare bodies of his green and yellow eyed counterparts. Part of you had to wonder what the blue eyed demon looked like under all his clothing…how you hoped you would be granted the privilege. “It was so easy to break you, look at you. Kneeling on the ground, completely naked, not even trying to run. Though I wish you would… I rather enjoy the chase.” he’s dropping his robes on the ground, exposing a cock that is bigger than the other two you dealt with thus far. You had nothing to say, watching him with wide eyes as he observed you. “Well, if you’re going to be an obedient slut, turn around and stay on your hands and knees. 

You did as you were told, switching your position so your ass and cunt faced him. Your head hung low, hips wiggling as you clenched around nothing at all. You couldn’t run away if you tried, you weren’t even sure why you would want to. Not when a dick like his was so eagerly waiting to fuck you. “Look at that, Urogi did a number on you and your back.” You weren’t even aware of the claw marks he had bestowed to your initially unmarred skin. A low thump told you that the red eyed demon had dropped to his knees behind you. What you didn’t expect was his tongue licking up your back. Blood and cum mixed together, a foul combination that the red eyed demon seemed to enjoy. “I nearly regret letting Aizetsu taste your sweet pussy first, I should have been the one to do it. If anything, I should have been first all together.” 

You whined, hips shoving back as if that would get him inside of you quicker. A harsh slap to your already sensitive ass had a sob curdling in your throat. “Don’t rush me or I’ll leave you with nothing.” you stilled, waiting for him to grant you proper relief. “You’d make a perfect pet, you know. Get you a nice collar and keep you on a tight lease. You’d be at our beck and call like an obedient little bitch in heat. You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” He wanted you as a sex slave, the rational part of your mind that was still somewhat intact wanted to run away, the rest of your mind was screaming out “yes.” how true his words were, how easily broken you were. “C’mon, answer me or you’ll never get the cock you so eagerly want.” you swallowed, lust winning the argument as you cried out a broken “yes…please I want that so badly.” 

“Atta girl…” you shrieked as he entered you in one go, splitting your walls apart as he bottomed out. “Shit…” you clenched, suctioning to his length so tightly he couldn’t pull himself out if he wanted to. You were warm, unbearably wet, soft and inviting. There weren’t enough words to describe the way you felt. “A demon like me doesn’t deserve this.” He choked out, panting as he waited for you to relax. He was the only one to give you a moment to adjust, little did you know it was fully designed for his benefit. Sekido couldn’t recall the last time he had experienced the warmth of a human embrace, probably decades ago if he truly had to guess. His stamina was well off, but your cunt was enough to unravel him in one plunge. “Can’t take it, can you Sekido.” You recognized the voice as the green eyed demon.

“Shut the fuck up.” he growled as his nails dug into your already tender thighs. As if to prove his point, he drew himself back, nearly pulling out all together before slamming back into you. You cried out again, nails digging at the frozen ground, searching for a way to keep yourself grounded as he picked up a deadly pace. Your entire body jiggled with each clap, his arms thrusting you forward and pulling you back to meet the thrust of his hips. The motions created an echoing symphony of skin hitting skin, wet squelches adding to it. You couldn’t breathe under the pressure, every drag of his cock grazed the points the winged demon had ghosted. You could feel warmth gushing out of you with each drag out of your cunt, dripping to the ground below. 

The sight must have been nothing short of pathetic, your body betraying you, stomping your pride into the dirt beneath you. You were too sensitive, another orgasm sneaking up on you as your cunt quivered around his length. Your ears were ringing again, loud wails escaping as you quickly became overstimulated. Sekido never slowled, pounding into you with the same ferocity as before, calling you degrading names as his nails dug into your hips. The overstimulation grew unbearable but that wasn’t enough to stop him. A fresh wave of tears spilled down your cheeks, blurring your vision as a warm gush of liquid splattered across his thighs and the ground below. “Oh? How cute she knows how to squirt.” you were still sobbing as he pulled out of you. 

“You aren’t quite deserving of my cum just yet, maybe you’ll earn it one day.” He grounded out, grabbing your hair and tugging you backwards. “Turn around and open your mouth like a good bitch.” he let you go, watching you fall over yourself as you tried to get low enough to take his length in your mouth. “Fucking…” he cut himself off, pumping his cock erratically before shoving the tip in your mouth. Salty, bitter cum coated your tongue. You swallowed, slurping as much of him as you could manage before he pushed you off of him all together. “Look at you, greedy little whore. You want more don’t you?” you nodded, eyes so heavy you could barely keep them open. “Aizetsu, fuck her throat since she seems to be thirsty.” You couldn’t be bothered to feel shame at this point, all you wanted now was the blue eyed demon’s cock. 

He didn’t need to be asked twice, immediately undoing his bottoms to finally let out his aching cock. Unlike his counterparts, he was smaller. However, where he lacked in length, he made up for in girth. Eager and exhausted you nearly fell flat as you tried to make your way over to him. He met you halfway, hand gently grabbing your cheek and guiding you to him. Your jaw aches from the previous abuse but you open anyways, happily taking him into your mouth and lavishing him with your tongue. “Wh–ahh… what an unfortunate creature you are.” he’s looking away from you, unable to handle the sight of you licking his cock so fervently. “Look at her, Aitzetsu. Unless you think it would make you cum faster.” Karaku cackled as he whimpered. 

His noise fueled you, relaxing your throat the best you could to take all of him. You swallowed, tears leaking down your cheeks still as you tried to pleasure him. The sad demon was far different than his counterparts, you were drawn to him because of it. He was seemingly gentler with you, softer and more whiny. He met your gaze again, cheeks blossoming a neon red as he tangled his fingers in your messy hair. You couldn’t feel the cold anymore, not even as you knelt bare before him, sticky from the mess his counterparts had made of you. Your tongue glided along the velvety skin, hand reaching up to toy with his balls. That earned a genuine cry from him, the noise making your clit throb despite how sensitive and used you felt. 

He wasn’t trying to hold back, not caring if he came embarrassingly quick. He could tell you were slowly but surely losing the battle of staying conscious. Seconds away from giving up all together the moment the adrenaline wore off. It was likely due to his more timid nature, you foolishly felt safe in his presence. You moved quicker despite your body’s protest, wanting desperately for him to cum and make more of those cute noises. Tears pricked his eyes as his body tensed, gripping your hair tightly and pulling you off of him. Your hands moved before you could think, wrapping around him and pumping steadily until he came all over your face and chest. You felt filthy, body struggling to stay upright as stars blinked across your vision. You were finally giving in, nerves no longer keeping you upright as you collapsed forward into the dirt. 

Aizetsu dropped to his knees, catching you just in time as your body went fully slack. “She lasted until all four of us were satisfied… she’s a tough one.” Karaku was pushing himself off the ground finally, watching Aizetsu use pieces of your torn up uniform to try and clean you off. “I take it we’re keeping her, right Sekido?” Urogi was standing now, stretching his wings dramatically as he yawned. “Might as well, she could be the perfect fit. Maybe if she proves herself over time, we can convince, master to turn her into a demon as well.” Karaku clicked his tongue. “He would never agree. Though we could ask Lord Douma…” Urogi flinched, watching Aizetsu haul you up bridal style. “That bastard would want a couple rounds with her before agreeing to that. I’m not willing to share outside of the four of us.” 

“That’s not a decision for you to make, Urogi.” Sekido scolded, albeit he agreed. Aizetsu was silent, holding you patiently while waiting for the other’s commands. “We’ll leave here for now, keep her blade and tattered clothing where it is. It’s likely they’ll send more puny slayers to try and locate her. If they find nothing but that, they’ll assume she's dead.” Sekido was picking up his staff, moving to walk out of the village. The other three demons shared a glance before following after him with you in tow. It seems you would never be getting back to headquarters, a futile mission had completely altered your life. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all. 

©️all rights reserved to xxSabitoxx. Please do not copy or repost my work on other websites. If you see this fic anywhere but my blog or my Ao3, the content has been stolen

[princessbrunette]

easter at the chateau was pretty non existent. atleast until bunny!reader came along.

they’d heard you before they saw you, the sweetest thing clad in white — bunny ears flopping atop your head and basket rumbling in your hand as you run across the dry grass, attracting attention of the two males on the porch.

“happy easter!” you squeal, diving into jj’s arms and wrapping your legs around his waist.

“jesus girlie, you got a rocket up your ass or what?” he pats your butt, his own smile unable to be hidden, always happy to see you. you jump down, straightening out your skirt.

“hi sweetheart.” john b seems less alarmed, arms crossed as he leans against the front door hinge. “uh, what’chu got there?”

“your first clue!” you pant, still out of breath from your eccentric entrance. you reach into the otherwise nearly empty basket, merely there for appearances and pull out a neatly folded pastel pink card, handing it to john b.

“clue?” he frowns, opening it up as jj wanders curiously over to his side.

“you guys are always chasing treasure so i decided to make you guys a little easter hunt!” you grin, eyes glimmering hopefully at the two. jj points his finger at you.

“now that? that is adorable. can this little hunt maybe like, wait until i’ve had some breakfast? or—”

“you have to do it now!” your voice cracks, looking devastated at his lack of enthusiasm.

“—you know what now is the perfect time for a hunt, actually so— that’s perfect, yeah—”

john b is smiling down at the card, reading the rhyming clue you’d scrawled in pretty little curlicue. it was terribly easy, but incredibly sweet. the brunette touches his chest with a genuine smile, looking back up at you.

“healing my inner child right now, y’know that?”

his blonde best friend snatches the card, adjusting his pants with the other hand as he reads over it. “when’d you have time to hide all these clues around anyway?”

“last night! when you guys were sleeping.” comes your simple smile, fiddling with the lace trim of your mini skirt. they look at you, and then eachother before shrugging.

“yeah, checks out.”

you follow them around, giggling on their tails as they pretend to struggle with your clues. when they arrive at the last card, you scramble away— waiting for them in the bedroom where the hunt ends, shedding your clothes to reveal a frilly white lingerie set, and presenting a carrot cake you’d baked just for them.

when they bust in casually, you’re stood with a grin — stopping them in their tracks. john b’s eyebrows jump up as his gaze rakes over you and jj is quick to fix his cap, licking his lips. “woah—”

“tada! s’me! i’m the prize!” you can barely contain your excitement. small kitten heels with the fluffy ball at the toe tip tapping against the wooden floors. john b is the first to break into a grin, closing in on you.

“you know, i had my suspicions that might be the case, but i didn’t wanna presume…” his voice is warm and deep and you’re already biting your glossy lip, gazing up at him like he hung the moon and stars as he strokes the skin around your waist.

“wow, really guys? on such a holy day?” jj sarks with faux disapproval as if he isn’t actively working his belt off his shorts. you thump your foot lightly.

“guys! you have to try the carrot cake first. worked hard on it.” you’re pouting, fluttering spiky black lashes up at your boyfriends as the darker haired of the two twiddles with the white fluffy bunny ears you’d secured to the top of your head.

“yeah screw that.” jj scoffs. you furrow your eyebrows, john b shooting him a look. “oh you know i love your baking babydoll but right now i got my mind on eatin’ one thing and one thing only.” he approaches with a charming smile, dropping a kiss to your lips as john b works your panties down your legs.

“pussy?” the brunette tilts his head.

“yep, pussy. definitely pussy.”

[cupidsworstcrime]

Jason Todd x reader

angst angst angst

contains character death & non descriptive smut

Jason didn’t plan on it.

He stood at the edge of the Lazarus Pit, hands clenched, shaking, mouth drawn into something tight and desperate. You looked so small wrapped in that sheet, like sleep had stolen you away. Like all you needed was someone to shake you awake.

And God, he wanted to be that someone.

He shouldn’t have brought you here. He knew the price. He lived the price. The Pit doesn’t give without taking—but Jason? Jason had never been good at letting go.

But there you were—too still, too quiet. Your blood was already drying on his shirt.

He was shaking when he knelt beside your body, brushing your hair back with hands that hadn’t stopped trembling since he'd found you.

But he couldn't bury you. Not when he had a way to bring you back. Not when he needed you breathing, fighting, yelling at him for leaving the milk out again. He couldn’t live in a world that didn’t have you in it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, kneeling beside your still form. “You’d hate me for this. You should.”

But he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t walk away. Couldn’t live in a world where you didn’t exist.

So he did what he swore never to do to anyone else.

When your body hit the Lazarus waters, he held his breath.

And when you screamed—raw, unnatural, rage and confusion and pain—he was there. Hands grabbing, arms wrapping, holding you like he could anchor you back to yourself.

“I’ve got you,” he said, over and over, voice cracking. “I’m here, baby, I’m here, I’m sorry—”

You thrashed, nails raking down his arm, but he didn’t let go. Didn’t flinch. Just kept whispering your name like a prayer. Like penance.

Because he brought you back.

And now he’d have to earn you back, piece by piece.

You didn’t speak much in those first few weeks. Not in words, at least.

But your fury—that spoke loud enough.

Jason never blamed you. Couldn’t. Not when he recognized every scream, every punch, every shattered glass as something he’d once done, too. Rage so big it didn’t fit in your chest. Pain so loud you wanted to rip your skin off just to make it stop.

You punched holes in the walls of his apartment. Tore doors off hinges. Broke a mirror with your bare hands and left a trail of blood in your wake. You’d taken swings at Jason—hard ones—more times than he could count, fists cracking into his jaw, chest, shoulder. Sometimes you hit until you cried. Other times, you hit until you laughed.

Once, you collapsed into his arms mid-swing, shaking. He caught you without hesitation.

He never hit back.

He never even raised his voice.

He just let you rage—because he knew what it was like to drown in it. Knew that if someone had let him fall apart instead of holding him together too soon, maybe it wouldn’t have taken years to find himself again.

So he gave you space.

And when you let him, he gave you comfort.

Bandaged your hands.

Cleaned the blood.

Laid on the floor beside you in silence when you refused to sleep in a bed.

And every night, when you were finally still, he’d whisper quietly into the dark:

“I’m here. You don’t have to come back all at once… just come back to me.”

He wanted you—God, he wanted you.

But when it finally happened again, after all the pain, the months of silence broken only by the sound of your fury... Jason was terrified.

Not because he doubted you. Not because he didn’t want to be touched, to feel your skin on his, your breath in his mouth. No. He feared what it meant. What you might become. What he might’ve done to you when he dragged you back from the dead.

You didn’t kiss him gently. Didn’t ask permission. You growled, low in your throat, and shoved him backward onto the mattress like your body had decided for you.

Your eyes flashed neon green in the dark, glowing Lazarus-pit rage bubbling just under the surface as you climbed on top of him and took what you needed.

He could barely breathe as you rode him—hips frantic, body hot, fingers gripping his shoulders like he’d disappear if you let go. There was nothing slow or romantic about it. You were feral. Animalistic. Like you wanted to crawl inside him and live there.

Jason gasped your name like a prayer, eyes wide, heart hammering in his chest.

But he didn’t stop you.

Because deep down—beneath the green, beneath the grief—was you. His. Alive. Shaking. Needing him like breath.

And if this was how you came back to yourself, he'd let you take everything.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Jason heard the crack before he saw it��the wet, final snap of a neck under your boot. Some nobody from Crime Alley. Petty dealer. Pulled a knife on you. You didn’t hesitate.

By the time he caught up, you were standing over the body, panting, your fists bloodied and your face unreadable. There was no Lazarus Pit in your veins now, no bubbling madness to blame, your eyes didn't glow with that rage he'd come to know. This was you. Cold. Calculated.

You wiped your face with the back of your hand, smearing blood across your cheek like war paint. You didn’t even look at him.

And that was when it hit Jason.

This wasn’t the person he brought back. Not entirely. He hadn’t revived you—he’d dragged a ghost from the pit and tried to make it fit in your skin.

You were broken. Different. And it was his fault.

He wanted to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t work. He could only stare—at the body, at your trembling hands, at the hollow in your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

He loved you so much it hurt. And now… he wasn’t sure he’d saved you. Only that he’d damned you both.

You didn’t speak for months—maybe a year and then some.

Not after the pit. Not after the screaming stopped. Not after the rage burned through every cell in your body and left you hollow. You were breathing, moving, existing—but the part of you that laughed, touched, loved—it hadn’t clawed its way back with you.

Jason stayed close. He always did. Quiet, patient, too afraid to ask if you still hated him for what he’d done.

And then one night, while the city moaned outside and the lights flickered low in your shared apartment, you looked at him. Really looked.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, knees tucked to your chest, fingers twitching like they ached to wrap around something sharp. He sat across the room, still in his gear, helmet on the nightstand, staring at your reflection in the window.

“Why?” you asked.

Soft. Raw. Like it hurt to speak.

Jason’s breath caught. He blinked once, twice, like maybe he imagined it.

You didn’t look at him. You didn’t need to.

“Why… why would you do it?”

And god, the guilt that crashed through him could’ve drowned an army. He wanted to lie. To tell you he did it because it was right, because you deserved life. But instead, all he could whisper, hoarse and small, was—

“Because I couldn’t do it without you.”

And that silence that followed? It wasn’t forgiving. It was empty and cold. Unnerving.

Jason watched you sleep like he was waiting for you to vanish again.

The curve of your spine, the way your hand twitched even in rest—tension always thrumming beneath the surface, even now. Especially now.

You weren’t the same person he had fallen in love with. That person had laughed too loudly at reality shows and made him sit through every damn episode with them. That person had read novels faster than he could keep up and left little annotations in the margins just for him. That person painted when the nightmares got too loud, smeared color on canvas instead of blood on skin.

But the Pit had taken that from you. He had taken that from you.

Now, you couldn’t sit still long enough to read, your eyes skipping over words like they meant nothing. You abandoned your paints after one attempt ended in a smashed easel and red—real red, not acrylic—on the walls. You hadn’t smiled at a dumb TV show since you rose.

Now, you lived for vengeance. Slept with it curled beside you like a loyal dog. Ate in silence. Breathed like your lungs were filled with acid and you were still trying to cough it all out. You were hunting al Ghul. Hunting anyone who had a hand in your resurrection. And he didn’t blame you.

Not for a second.

Because he had done it. He had pulled you back. He had clawed you from peace and dropped you into fire because he couldn’t bear to live in a world where you didn’t exist.

And now you did—but only halfway. And it was killing him slowly, watching you burn from the inside out while he could do nothing but stay close enough to catch the embers.

The blood on your hands had long since dried, but the weight of it never left. Your boots echoed in the silence of the apartment as you walked toward him—Jason Todd, the man who ruined you in the name of love.

He didn’t fight.

Didn’t plead, didn’t run. Just looked at you with those tired blue eyes, like he’d known this moment was coming from the second you clawed your way out of the Lazarus Pit, screaming and spitting fire.

He sank to his knees in front of you like it was a prayer.

Like it was penance.

Even then, he looked at you with a kind of reverence that only made your rage burn hotter. Because he loved you. Because you loved him. In your way. In the only way you knew how anymore—with rage on your lips.

The barrel was cold against his forehead. Jason didn’t flinch.

He didn’t beg.

There were no dramatic last words. No 'I love you's, no 'I'm sorry's. Just the two of you—standing in the wreckage of everything you'd once shared. Blood on your hands. Ash in your lungs. A silence between you so thick it made the air feel unbreathable.

Your hand didn’t shake.

He watched you like he always had—eyes soft even as his lip split from the last kiss you gave him, like love could taste like copper and regret. He had taken you from death once. Dragged you back into a world that didn’t deserve you, and made you into something it feared. And now—

Now you were ready to return the favor.

You leaned in, whispering against his ear like a benediction: “I hope God forgives you. Because I can’t.”

And he believed you.

And he didn’t stop you.

When the trigger clicked, and the world went white behind his eyes—he didn’t feel pain.

He felt peace.

Finality.

And for once, Jason Todd didn’t come back.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Play-mate[***]

Dark!Rhysand x reader

a/n: something so comforting about writing dark!character fics (is that worrying?)

Warnings: dark!Rhys, non-con, light choking, smut, fingering, degradation, brief impact ‘play’, overstimulation, squirting, nipple play, dumbification, breeding kink, this is a sequel to Desk Pet but can be read on its own

Word Count: 7, 245

-Desk Pet- -Two-Faced-

Perhaps the one pleasure you can still keep safe is those rare but precious nights he works late. The ones where you’re allowed to resign yourself to lethargy, fatigue soothing your muscles as you melt across the small pallet that lays beside his own, much larger bed. Relaxing into the soft sponginess of the plump bedding, silky smooth fur swelling around your body as the plushness dips, swallowed by the single thick blanket you’re allowed in the winters.

With the darkness covering the lands so swiftly, you often find yourself lighting a few candles, disliking the obtrusive glow of the fae lights, plucking a thick book from his shelves, and curling up to read upon your meagre but wonderful pallet. Something more likely to be offered to a pet than a fae, but somehow large enough to comfortably contain you.

In your world of passiveness, it’s the single joy you’re allowed—reading on a cold winter night, tucked up cozily with a book, left entirely to yourself. No rough palms bruising your jaw, no deft fingers pushing into the slippery wetness of your mouth, nor touches that hurt more than frostbite.

Hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end, raising across your bare body, still kept entirely naked for his ease, and you discard the book, noting the page number. The wet roughness of your tongue swipes across the soft pads of your fingers, suffocating the tiny flames swiftly, keeping your digits flush until the skin stings, careful to keep too much smoke from filtering to the air. You want him to think you’re asleep—he’s less likely to take interest if he knows you won’t be reluctant. Less likely.

Freshly oiled hinges swing open silently, but you know he’s entered the chambers and you remain mostly concealed beneath the thick blanket, the soft cotton brushing your shoulders, hiding the intimate skin of your breasts.

The night before he’d taken a particular liking to them, teething across the aching peaks, suckling them into his mouth one at a time, grinding for a seemingly endless period between your legs, only the cloth of his finely tailored trousers protecting you from him. He’d bitten, sucked, pinched and flicked at your breasts until he’d finally been satiated from whatever sexual interest had initially grasped him. Tongue soothing the raw peaks, swollen and freshly-licked from attention, gleaming in the low lights like candy.

Now they ache more intensely, small threads of soreness plucking through your chest, small throbs of pain soothed into your flesh like a balm being rubbed into skin until it’s absorbed by the surrounding tissue. Brought in and softened, slowly seeping across your breasts, nipples still aching most acutely.

You hear him now, walking on cat-soft feet across the wooden panelling, skin prickling with familiar awareness as his attention skates over you like how your eyes would have, at some moment deep in the past, scanned your own bedroom upon entering it. Counting your belongs, making sure nothing had been displaced or removed without your knowledge: potted plants still sitting pretty along the windowsill; candles still decorating the side table; clothes folded unobtrusively atop a chest of draws to be put away. And so as your eyes would have once mindlessly catalogued your belongings, now his brush over you, curled neatly to the side of his bed, waiting patiently for use.

The thought has a kind of disgust rising in your stomach, one you thought had long since been numbed. Becoming so warped and twisted it would never flare again. Yet here it is, sitting gelatinously at the back of your mouth, resting fully in your throat, as if waiting to be regurgitated—spat out and disposed of so it’s no longer a bother.

He pauses adjacent to your bed, and you wonder if he’s reassessing your positioning. If he should have instead set your pallet at the foot of his bed so he wouldn’t be tasked with travelling to the other side for access. Instead the sound of muffled fabric floats to your pointed ears, conditioned to recognise all of his noises: onyx black buttons being slotted through midnight blue holes; fabric whispering as it’s shucked off broad shoulders that can carry the width of your waist, having been unkindly tossed over it more than once; ties that rasp like rope, and he pulls them free, loosening the band of his trousers before leaving to prop himself upon the bed, likely removing the rest of the clothes before disappearing into another room.

Even in the moments of his absence, his sense clings to you, as if he’s somehow been granted ubiquitous sight, observing you while he should not be able to. His magic settles in the air, thick and dense, like the fog that pools in valleys, masking the dangerous potholes and rocks that manage to stumble themselves into one’s pathway, creating a lethal road to navigate.

Sheets rustle, and you realise he must have re-entered at some point, having gone undetected as your mind helplessly wandered, seeking escape from the dreadful pleasure he so regularly subjects you to, forcing you to take long, languid drives of his hips, hands pulling and tangling with your hair, intrusive power seeping into your mind, controlling you from the inside out.

It’s only once he’s seemingly settled that you allow yourself to consider a hell-free night. Liberated, if only temporarily, from his deep aches and contagious pain. How he enjoys putting his sickness into your body, releasing his cruelty upon your bones, like you’ve done something wrong enough to be deserving of his inflictions.

Sheets rustle again, and your heart stumbles despite even breaths, ones that are deep and regular, suggesting peaceful sleep in the hopes of remaining undetected by his attention.

“I know you’re awake,” he says lowly.

Your skin prickles tightly, littered with goosebumps as his words send small thorns pushing into your tender flesh. He shifts on the bed, and you can feel as his eyes settle, taking in your form and the things he’s free to do to it.

“You think pretending to sleep will save you from me?” He asks, mirth clear in his honeyed voice, softer than satin, softer even than a lover’s, like warm clouds and fresh feathers. “Do you have any preference for what happens tonight?” He asks idly, as if speculating upon an item from a menu, considering his options with careless interest. He will get a meal no matter what he decides on.

Roughened fingers grip your shoulder firmly, and you fight the jolt that urges to burst through, remaining tight but relaxed, melting into the softness of your floor bed, willing him away. Willing yourself to appear quiet and uninteresting. For a short moment it appears to work, his touch leaving your dirtied skin, pulling back into the great warmth his own bed, as if he’s a beast who’s curling his tail in preparation for sleep, coiled tight to whip out at a moment’s notice.

But then the sheets rustle again, and a firm heat snakes down, slinking down as his power pulls back the corner of your blanket, allowing the naked sturdiness of him to collect at your back. One arm slides beneath your rib cage, folding at the joint to wrap across your middle, his large palm gripping the curve of your waist, pulling you flush to his chest while his free hand trails between your breasts, fingers feathering up to your throat, wrapping around the comparatively small extension. A heightened pulse drums against his digits, bumping against his tight hold, alerting him to your own awareness. Lips stretch beside your ear, hot mouth grazing its shell as he strokes your hip like you’re a pet to be soothed.

“Nothing to say for yourself, or do you simply not care?” He asks mildly. The sinister question registers fully in your mind, already beginning to shut down in attempts to preserve what little pieces you have left that he hasn’t already touched. “You were so vocal for me last night. What happened?” He laughs softly, the arm beneath you shifting so his fingers can graze your ribs, stroking just below your breast, still aching from his rough attention. He squeezes your throat a little tighter, eyes prickling with the pressure, the burning in the bridge of your nose. You won’t ask him to stop—you’d only be wasting your breath.

The High Lord hums at your back as if he’s disappointed by your lack of a response, put off now you aren’t doing as he likes, a small reminder while he may have control of almost everything in your life, he cannot control your thoughts. Or rather, if he did, there would be nothing left of you to enjoy: if he continues to replace small pieces of yourself, is it still you he’s playing with?

He releases your throat in favour of dipping to your breasts, the arm beneath you skating over the softness of your stomach, brushing with a feather-light touch over your abdomen, feeling the slight flutter of tension beneath his fingertips. Rhysand brings his mouth lower, suctioning over a small spot below your jaw, trailing along the tendon keeping your head to your shoulders, following to your collar bone. “Should I give these some more attention?” He inquires, and you bite back a pained noise as he pinches your nipple, tugging lightly on the bruised peak.

His other hand drops lower, exploring the familiar area leading between your legs that you’ve preemptively tried to lock together. The digits pause, feeling your obstinance, your clear reluctance to let him touch you any further, and he hums approvingly, pleased with your resistance. “Better,” he murmurs onto your skin, even as his magic wraps tightly around your thigh and ankle, pulling you back to lean against his chest, guiding your leg over his hips. You squirm at the invasive press of him between your thighs, gently forced open as his mouth latches over the intimate skin of your throat, lapping up your flavour as if he isn’t in possession of such sheer power that he’s able to have you whenever he pleases—and fully takes advantage of it.

Lips part as he cups your heat, pressure building behind your eyes as his fingers splay across the intimate part, lazily taking his time, both going slow for his own enjoyment and for your torture, making sure it’s dragged out as long as possible. He doesn’t want this to be something you can switch off for a few minutes a day, he needs it to be hours long, twisting you until you fit the shape of him, so wary and worn from taking him you end up bending and slotting to hold his impression within your bones. His finger presses to your clit and he relishes in the flinch he feels within your stomach and thighs, desperately suppressed on your side in attempts to keep his hunger at bay, as if the possibility of remaining indifferent to him might stave off the ferocious starvation than comes alive in him every night without fail.

“One day, lovely lamb, you’re going to break,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, digits lazily circling as he plays with you mindlessly, so well familiarised with your body he no longer needs to pay attention to where he’s touching—it will always be the right spot. “You’re going to shatter for me, and fall apart at my feet. All soft and pliable. Begging for me to either give you the pleasure you’ve spent so long resisting and hating, or for me to give you your end right then and there.” His fingers slide lower, his touch dripping across your skin as he flicks across your nipple, drawing a pained inhale from your mouth, caught off guard.

“Would you like to know what happens after that point?” He asks mildly, as if he can’t feel the way you’re trembling in his arms from the effort of keeping yourself together when he can pull you apart with such ease. There’s always that edge of terror when you’re forced to lie with him, that he might one day tire of your resistance and pluck at your mind for good, banish your rationality and lock it up somewhere, or simply annihilate it completely. That one day, he might decide to go into your mind, and steal it from you entirely, take control of you and make you truly beg for him like he enjoys seeing, having you perform for him dumbly, crawling toward him across the floor, touching yourself upon his bed, pleasuring him of your own accord. The fear never leaves you, that he might one day decide to make use of his daemati powers, and leverage them against you.

His palm smacks across your cheek, digits digging into the soft muscle of your jaw as he grips you punishingly, drawing you away from the torment of your inner thoughts. “Are you sure you want to do this dance tonight?” He asks lowly, able to feel the tautness of your limbs, how you’re trying not to squirm or recoil, trying not to fight against him. “I’m in a rather pleasant mood for once. I would suggest you try to appeal to my better side,” he advises coldly, hot lips brushing bare skin. “Is that clear?”

“Go to hell,” you manage weakly, tremors making their way into your voice.

The High Lord’s lips stretch into something wicked and pleased, hand sliding down to your throat, tilting your head so you’re leaning to give him more access, his grip swallowing your back whole. A low sound of pleasure drags from his chest, hips rolling languidly into your hind, fingers slipping lower to bask in the stiffness of your body as he presses to your entrance, leg still hooked over his hip so you can’t prevent it. Disgust crawls across your body, having your skin tighten with awareness and attention, focusing on where his touch is branding you, burning in his handprints so they’ll never leave your soul.

“You don’t like it when I touch you?” He provokes, hungry for resistance. “From the amount of times you’ve come on my fingers alone, I would have thought you like the way I can make you crumble.” His digits circle your entrance, keeping you pulled flush against his chest, forced to lean your weight onto his shoulder as he pushes in, and you want to scream at the invasion. How many times has it been, and yet it never gets any better, skin constantly soaked in oil, doused from head to toe in it so thoroughly you wish for a match to end you. One spark, and you’d be gone, blessedly free of him. Perhaps at last released to a place away from his touch, a world where you’re clean and safe, and you’d never met him.

Or at least, he’d never have forced you to be his.

Maybe there could have been a happy ending.

“I hate you,” you manage to hiss out, trying to ignore the sensation of his fingers pumping slowly, curling against spots he has no right to know or touch with such familiarity, digits dragging in and out until slick has begun to coalesce to prevent pain. Again he hums, and it sounds encouraging, like he wants you to repeat it, like the words give life to him, allow him to continue to thrive and feed off you. “I hate you,” you say again, voice breaking from how many times you’ve said so, and yet it never encapsulates the depth of betrayal that squirms in your gut, the anger and frustration that once burned in your chest at the severe maltreatment. Things could have turned out differently, if only…

“I hate you so much, Rhys.”

Pressure spills over, quietly dripping down your cheeks, hot water splashing down into the pillows. You don’t want to cry in front of him, don’t want to allow him that emotional proximity. He’s taken so much from you, it’s unfair that he will ruin this, too. His fingers graze a spot deeper, and your breath catches, familiar heat beginning to take root in the pit of your belly, that disgusting, shameful arousal he puts into your body, something you shouldn’t feel, ever, for him.

“I’m glad to know you feel so strongly for me,” he replies lowly, nipping at the tip of your ear, reminding you of all the other unpleasant things he’s served to you, the ways he’s used those teeth upon your body to summon pain to your skin. You wish he wouldn’t. If just for one night he would soften his touch, lessen the brutality he likes to play your body with.

If you gave into him…would he be nicer? You don’t understand where the thought comes from, but your mind has taken a severe turn since he first put his hands on you, rarely anymore surprised by the things that come and go, drifting by like leaves on the wind. Instead you allow yourself to ponder it, plucking it from the mellow streams of thought, cupping it in your hands to examine a little longer. Would it be worth it? The degradation of following along with him to grant yourself some reprieve? If it’s the only way to maintain your sanity, to keep yourself intact, isn’t that all that matters?

You dare experiment, trying to soften the tension in your muscles, to force yourself to melt over him, to reduce the tautness that’s been tightly stitched into your seams, until you’d become rigid and stiff. He’s surprisingly comfy, body slotting against yours, fingers continuing to slide in and out, and you manage to lean into him, skin pressing to skin, bare and prickling with awareness. You could swear one of his exhales sounds eerily like a laugh, like he’s enjoying watching you attempt to save yourself, but it’s something different, something more sinister you have yet to guess at. That perhaps he’s got some larger plot, and you’re falling nicely into place, manoeuvred by an unseen force.

“Enjoying yourself, lamb?” He asks beside your ear, a shiver passing down your spine at the lover’s caress. Teeth bite together against the sickening pleasure he’s bringing out of you through pumps and curls of his fingers, the base of his palm rolling into your clit. A small sound jumps from your tongue, a wash of heat soothing the pressure across your abdomen. Words of agreement rise to your lips in answer to his question, but you swallow them down thickly, feeling the syllables lodge in your throat beneath his palm. “I hate you,” you repeat, the only things left you can use as a defence, but even those three words seem to be losing their bite as your head lolls against his shoulder.

“You hate me?” Rhys breathes as he drags his fingers out fully, wetness trailing up your abdomen as he raises his hand to your mouth, just another obscene act he likes to watch you perform. The fixation he has with your mouth has never previously taken your attention, seemingly appearing as a familiar gesture when having intimacies with another person, yet you dwell on it for a little longer than usual when he runs the slick pads of his fingers over your lips. The digits part, and you can make out silvery strings connecting them together, like the threads of a cobweb.

“Open,” he goads, and your mouth parts without having to be asked twice. The taste blooms across your tongue, stark arousal that sparks heat in your lower body as he presses his fingers down, causing you to choke, gagging lightly as your throat contracts. His hips roll into yours at the sound, and you’re reminded of what other horrors he has yet to inflict upon you tonight.

“Aren’t you being good,” he whispers beside your ear, soft as silk, warm as freshly baked bread. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this docile. Feeling tired?” The remark should have been a warning to stay aware, you know firsthand that he’ll pounce at the first sign of lethargy. “Answer me,” he orders, but it’s with an ineffable lilt you’re unable to put your finger on. Like he’s finding something amusing, taking pleasure in being able to understand the bigger picture while you’re left to dumbly stumble to and fro, seeking the right path that he can see from high above and chooses to keep secret from you.

The words form in your mind, yes. I am tired. yet they come out softened and muffled, contorted as you babble them onto his long, elegant fingers that are lightly massaging your flavour into the hot, wet muscle. Fatigue weighs atop your lids, and you try again, I am tired, and I wish I could sleep myself away from you, but again, your words are scrambled, garbled into a slushy mess of syllables that feel like froth. Like trying to bite down on sea foam.

He laughs lowly, hips grinding into your backside, pulling his digits away, revealing the wetness that’s now soaking them, slathered in saliva, dripping with silvery weight and you watch distantly as they make the pathway back down your body, sliding effortlessly back into your heat. They push in softly, easing in their return, curling against spots that have you pulling against the urge to widen the stance of your legs.

The fight is often on both sides: why he’s so draining to be at the mercy of. On one hand there is your despair, the visceral hatred and frustration, the betrayal that could splinter your bones with its ferocity; on the other there is the overwhelming pleasure, coming with an intensity that regularly and repeatedly threatens to upend you entirely, to buck you off your wobbly standing and throw you to the floor with the sheer pleasure he knows how to deal you.

Shallow pants reach your ears, and you realise they are coming from your own mouth, pouring like a babbling stream as the unwilling sounds of pleasure crest on your tongue, skin heating as he presses tighter to your naked body, skin flush to skin, sharing heat in what should be an intimate display of affection, not such a gross abuse of power. Humiliation burns across your cheeks as you move your leg further over his hip, leaning more heavily into the supportive expanse of his chest, hands clutching the silky fur of your pallet.

His laugh whispers against your neck, breath fanning erotically across your throat and you shiver, inhaling softly as his long fingers continue to curl inside of you, beckoning you forward to the high he’s pulling up to blossom and bloom across your skin. “Does that feel good?” He asks softly, mischief prominent in his tone. “Knowing you’re going to be coming on my fingers? That I’m taking this from you, too?” A garbled sound floats from your mouth as the heel of his palm rolls across your clit, digits playing with you lazily, drawing pleasure up from the depths of your body as if his fingers possess the powers of dowsing rods, actively seeking out the spots that will swell with heat, flood your body with mind numbing goodness to have you melting into him.

The ridges of your nails scrape against the bedding, breaths stuttering out as he licks up your neck, gleaming white teeth grazing across the well-bitten skin, having been nipped at and had his mark stamped into you endlessly the night before. He hums absently, hand releasing your throat to drop lower, trailing between your breasts, and a drop of dread is dispersed across your conscious, like ink into water. “No…” you breathe weakly, heat building behind your eyes as he thumbs across your breast. “Rhys, please,” you mumble desperately, anxious to spare yourself from the sensitivity, the pain you’ll be exposed to should he choose to continue with his recent fixation on your breasts.

He groans at your back, palming at your chest, arousal concentrating in his veins as your body arches against him, bowing from his torso as pleasure and pain twine together. “Stop it,” you breathe, flinching as he pinches lightly at your nipple, rolling the abused peak between his fingers, tugging to call up more of your sweet pleas, the words that fuel his sadism, stoking the embers of his hunger, whetting his appetite for your reactions. “No? You don’t like this?” He croons beside your ear, talking down to you as if his words need to be dumbed down to be digestible. “Want me to touch you somewhere else?”

The High Lord grazes the ridge of his nail over the peak of your breast, and you gasp, body recoiling into his chest, scent wrapping more firmly around you, infiltrating your lungs, short circuiting your mind as your lids flutter. Your breaths shallow, mindlessly trying to seek out the source of your pain as pleasure pools between your legs, his fingers summoning heat. Weakly, your hand fumbles across the bedding, blindly searching for an end to the soreness. Nails scratch at his knuckles unintentionally, but his hips buck nonetheless, biting gently at your neck. Clumsily you grip at his wrist, muscles weak from his ministrations as you try to pull him away, breathing heavily as you paw at his hand, desperate to find reprieve. Fingers slide between his, curling over into the top of his palm, weakly trying to pry him from your breasts.

“Please…” you pant, hips rolling down onto his fingers, tingling pleasure becoming more and more difficult to ignore, grabbing for your attention as slick drips across your thighs, Rhys creating a sloppy mess with his hand, palm wet as the heel glides across your clit. “Rhys…” you pant, fingers trembling, unable to release him, hands entwined but at least you’re being spared from his pain-soaked touch.

He inhales softly, nosing at your throat, groaning as he feels you tighten once around his fingers, and he knows you’re close, that once again he’s going to pull yet another piece from you, like separating raw cotton, the pieces weakly grasping onto one another, as strong as water-soaked paper beneath his hold. “Ready?” He asks, and you gasp, trying to shake your head, nails digging into his skin as you press his hand to your sternum, as if in doing so you have some sort of control over what he does to you. “No,” you cry softly, “not again. Please, I can’t. Please no.”

A rough groan grazes your skin, and goosebumps rise in its wake. “You don’t want to come?” He murmurs, his breathing pattern shifting, hand pulling away from yours with despairing ease, sliding back up to your throat, hand gripping your jaw and the tingling pleasure begins its countdown, the slow ticking until you shatter, unable to do anything save for squeeze your eyes shut, hands scrambling to try and pull away from him, writhing weakly in his dominating hold. “Rhys…Rhys, please…no…!”

He roughly tips your jaw, flinching beneath his touch, gasping from shock before he puts his mouth over yours, tongue dipping in as he angles you correctly. A shocked whimper spills into his mouth that he drinks down hungrily, caught off guard as his body shifts, sliding slightly out from beneath you while his fingers continue working you. Fear pounds through your body, heightening the acuteness of pleasure and you writhe in his hold, struggling violently but somehow it only results in your legs spreading wider, hips bucking fervently onto his hand, grinding against his palm as you moan into his mouth, jaw opening wider as he takes you for his own.

The piercing edge of of terror sharpens your pleasure, and you cry out into his mouth, sounds the High Lord steals away, satiating himself as teeth nip at your lips, hand squeezing your throat, reminding you of his dominion over your body, his touch demanding utter submission as you flutter wildly around his fingers, hips stuttering against his palm. The pleasure explodes across your skin, body arcing off him, grinding against him in a way you know you’ll hate yourself for once the buzzing sensations subside.

He laughs lowly once your high fades, fingers pressing back in fully as he detaches himself from your mouth, partially atop your body as he gazes down at you intently, attention pinning you to the pallet as he curls his digits gently but firmly, taking in the rise and fall of your chest; the way your breath hitches; your brows curve, eyes gleaming with wetness he’s anxious to have spill over. “Such a whore,” he whispers onto your mouth, more tenderly than he’s ever spoken to you. His hand finally retracts, dragging up over your clit, puffy and sore from attention, and you feel yourself fracture a little more from the humiliation.

“You’re disgusting,” you breathe out, forcing venom into your tone, his hellish mouth parting into a feline curve. “You’re the one who just came on my fingers,” he says with silky smoothness, “should I remind you?” Before you can protest he’s rolled on top of you, keeping you pinned to the pallet as his fingers again slide between your lips. You struggle weakly, but he presses his hips against your own, keeping you incapacitated with frustrating ease, feeling the evidence of his own arousal poking obtrusively into your lower body.

“Can you taste that?” He laughs, watching as you struggle pointlessly, his hunger becoming harder and harder to resist, grinding against the alluring wetness of your heat. “Taste how much you liked it? See how wet you got?” He groans as he glides through the slick between your thighs, coating himself, bucking his hips as his fingers press down on your tongue. “Gods I’m going to fuck you so well,” he says lowly, mirth clear as he taunts you. “You’re practically dripping onto your bed, getting it all wet and dirty,” he muses breathlessly. “Such a whore.”

Your hands grip his wrist, both of them desperately trying to pull him out of your mouth, making his lips curve with amusement, enjoying your struggle. “Don’t be so ungrateful,” he drawls, pushing his fingers in further until you gag, throat constricting around his digits as tears gather at the edge of your lashes. He curses lowly, colour tinting his tan skin as saliva gleams on your lips, spilling over like how your cunt does when he stuffs you full, dripping down your thighs and creating a slippery mess. “So pretty,” he murmurs breathlessly, rubbing his fingers over your tongue, feeling it’s velvety heat. Your breath catches at the murmured praise, so rarely compensated for the harsh treatment he forces on you.

His own breathing patterns have turned irregular, arousal piercing his mind as his gaze remains locked with your own, and that starving hunger returns in full force, eyes rolling briefly as he settles on what he’s going to use you for tonight.

The High Lord pulls away from you, allowing you not even a second’s reprieve before his hands are pushing your legs apart, raising them up as he rolls his hips forward, gliding through your wetness. “So wet,” he groans, fingers biting into the soft flesh of your thighs, slick somehow having made its way even there, and he can’t bring himself to wait any longer.

You try to brace yourself for the intrusion, a mix of disgust and hatred building in your stomach with equal parts arousal, knowing from experience how sickeningly right it feels, how he fills you up so completely you’re rendered temporarily mute. “Don’t,” you beg, heart pounding as he lines himself up, tip pressing to the soft indentation between your legs. You close your eyes briefly, hands still weakly trying to push him off you despite his overwhelming strength. “You can’t do this,” you cry out, knowing how sensitive you are, how he’ll no doubt take full advantage of that and not in a pleasant way.

“Shut up,” he grits out, violet flicking sharply as it pierces into you. “Don’t you ever get tired of protesting so much? Whining and complaining at every moment no matter how well I treat you. Such a selfish brat.” He practically spits the words, and humiliation burns through your lower body, opening your mouth to spew back vitriol but he pushes in, hips flushing tight to your own, feeling the bump he’s put into your stomach. He groans lowly, panting as he grinds against your cunt, abdomen rubbing over your clit and your toes curl, back arching at the fullness, having his teeth flash in a vindictive grin.

“You fucking like this, don’t you?” He accuses, pushing your thighs wider, raising your hips, allowing him to settle deeper, feeling as he presses further, stealing the breath from your lungs. Lips part as you try to form words but you’re unable to do anything, grasping for thoughts but it’s as though he’s shoved everything out of you. “Such a liar,” he groans out, hands leaving your thighs to settle further up your body, caging you in as he draws his hips back. “Is the reluctance part of your act? Pretending to resist so you can feel how helpless you are? How easy it is to shove you down? Fuck I could take you whenever, wherever I liked.”

You tighten around him as he sinks back in, pressing flush to your heat, adding a roll to his hips so he rubs against those spots he’d abused with his fingers, having you gasp sharply, nipples peaking as your back arches. “You’re a monster,” you pant, unable to focus on his hazy figure as pleasure sizzles in the pit of your stomach. “You’re…you…I hate you.”

“Say that again,” he breathes, picking up the pace, hitting those overstimulated spots and your press your lips together, trying to keep your cries to yourself. “I fucking hate you,” you hiss out, feeling him twitch inside you, and you realise the protests are turning him on more. Disgust crawls across your skin, realising you’ve been complicit in his pleasure. But the words have already started, and you’re suddenly unable to control it as your thoughts begin spilling from your lips. “I hate you so fucking much,” you cry, “so fucking much. I hate you. I hate you so much. You’re a fucking psycho, sadistic bastard. I hope you fucking burn.”

His hips stutter, panting as he pulls away from your body, fingers biting into your hips as he begins slamming in, making you bump up the pallet as he fucks you into the bed. “Gods you’re so perfect,” he growls, brows furrowed; pupils fully dilated with hunger. “And you’re all mine. All mine, every hour of every day. Do you like that? I can do this whenever I want. Make you scream. Scream until your throat is raw and your legs are shaking.” His hips buck roughly and you bite back a cry at the sharp pleasure, the overwhelming fullness. “I’m going to fuck you so full,” he groans, and for some sick reason, arousal blossoms across your abdomen, a fresh wave of wetness slicking your thighs, squelching noises spilling from your cunt as he drives into you with a conviction that’s both terrifying and obsessive.

“Yes…!” The word is out before you can censor it, and he laughs darkly, pouncing on the lapse greedily. “I knew it,” he growls, “fucking liar. You like this. Can you feel that?” Before you can get a handle on your thoughts again, a moan flutters from your tongue, hands grappling wildly for purchase, seeking stability as his hips drive roughly into you, bucking with a fervour that has you arching from the bedding, scratching at his forearms. His hand splays across your abdomen and you cry out as he presses down, the orgasm building much faster, pleasure ringing in your ears as a heat like sunlight blossoms across your body.

“Rhys,” you moan, brows pulled tight and it’s as though that one cry urges him on, pounding harder, pace increasing as magic flares, the ghostly outline of wings emerging at his back. His hand grips your jaw, tilting your head so you’re forced to look at him as he pounds into you. “Gods you’re such a slut. You should see how you’re taking me, practically swallowing me whole, such a greedy cunt, isn’t that right?” He pulls back, landing a hard smack to your cheek before gripping your throat again, dragging you up from the pallet as your thighs are forced apart from how he’s pressing against you. “I’m going to fuck you so full you won’t be able to move without my cum spilling out. So full you won’t be able to think straight, that you’re going to be able to feel how much is inside you, tucked away where it belongs.”

Your mouth parts in a moan, hands being forced to lock over his shoulders to relieve the pressure on your spine. “Would you like that? Do you like that idea? Knowing you’ll have part of me so deep inside of you at all times? Gods you’re going to swell up from how full I’m going to fuck you.” His words splash across your skin and pleasure spills between your legs, heat coiling in on itself before breaking across your skin, fluttering around him.

Rhys watches as you come, body writhing as he keeps you trapped on your pallet, cock driving in repeatedly as the overwhelming pleasure has your eyes rolling back, muscles seizing, butterflies fluttering as you jerk from the force of the orgasm. “Please, Rhys stop! I— I can’t—” you gasp, body going taut from the sheer intensity. “What was that?” He pants, lips curving as he fucks you through it. “You want more? Want me to fuck you until you can’t think? What a good girl.”

In one movement he’s flipped you over, roughly handling your body so you’re forced onto your hands and knees, arms shaking, mouth parting to scream for him to stop but then he’s slamming in again, picking up the pace from before but now you’re so much more sensitive and tears spill down your cheeks, utterly undone. A soundless scream parts your lips, his hands putting bruises into your hips as he slams you back onto his cock, slick spilling down your thighs as overstimulation fries your brain.

“Fuck that’s it. Finally learning to take what I give you. You like that?” Your eyes blink wildly as the pleasure becomes too much, tears dripping down your cheeks. “Say it,” he snarls, “come on, admit how fucking high I can take you. How you love the way I fuck you.” You babble messily, words fluttering nonsensically, crying, screaming, panting as saliva spills from your open mouth, unable to shut it and your lungs can’t take the intensity. “I-I love it,” you cry, “please, R-Rhys…!”

His hips buck sharply against a spot, breath hitching from your obedience and it triggers something in you, pleasure unlatching as you gush around him. Rhys curses, low and viciously as you squirt, arms shaking as his magic presses up against your abdomen, the pressure making you dumb. “So fucking perfect,” he moans, “say it. Say you’re my perfect little toy, tell me how much you fucking love what I do to you.” His hand drops to your thigh and you scream when he cocks your leg, the angle turning you into a sloppy mess, arms giving out as your face buries into the bedding, back arching deliciously as you soak him.

Rhys snarls, power wrapping around your hips to keep slamming you back on him as his fist tangles in your hair, pulling you up. “Say it,” he snarls, “fucking say it.”

“I love it!” You scream, voice breaking as your thighs are spread wider, his hips bucking to target the spots and terror burns across your skin as overstimulation turns into fresh pleasure. “I’m— I’m your perfect…your perfect little toy!” You scream again, another orgasm bursting across your skin and your world is spotted through with white dots, body trembling as his hips smack against the backs of your thighs, feeling at last as he twitches once before releasing deep inside of you.

Even in your daze you can feel how it’s more than usual, much more. Feel how he fills you up, spilling out, stomach inflating with how much he’s pumping into you. He releases your hair, returning to grip your hips, pounding into your puffy, swollen cunt, allowing you to flop forward into the bedding, head down ass up as the shockwaves of his thrusts pass through you, dumb moans babbling softly from your mouth, muffled by the soft but damp fur of your bed.

His thrusts turn sloppy, hips grinding against you as his breathing stutters, cum spurting from his tip, continuing to fill you up over and over, panting heavily, sweat glistening on tan skin. “Fuck,” he pants breathlessly, “you still there?” He asks, pulling back a little.

A muffled whimper floats up to him, and he sighs contentedly, gaze dropping to the smooth curve of your spine. He gathers his energy, body curving over yours as he roughly pushes his hips back to your own, tight to flushed skin and you cry out weakly. His hand presses across your abdomen, the other curving round your throat, pulling you from the bedding. Tears have dampened your gleaming cheeks, lips swollen from having teeth pulled over them and he grinds against you to spark a reaction. You sob weakly, body trembling beneath his as the pleasure continues to overwhelm you.

Rhysand pulls back, broad palm splaying across the slope of your spine, keeping you pinned down as he rolls his hips firmly to yours, making sure his release is being kept nice and deep. “Want another one?” He asks lowly, and you shudder, sobbing softly with exhaustion, shaking your head numbly, tears long since dampened the fur beneath you. “No?” He smiles faintly, reaching between your legs, “can’t take it?”

He swipes across your clit, and you can’t even muster the energy to jolt away, forced to take the sharp beats of pleasure as he gently oscillates his finger. You babble mindlessly, and his lips curve, pleasure gleaming in his gaze. “I thought you liked it,” he taunts quietly, “thought you loved being a toy for my cock. Isn’t that what you told me?”

Shame crawls across your skin and you try to weakly squirm away, but it just has him touching more spots inside of you, a fresh wave of tears saturating the bedding. He laughs lowly, his arm banding beneath your front to pull you up against his chest. “Want me to stop?” He taunts softly, hot lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I won’t know if you don’t tell me.”

You scramble for words, struggling to function. “I don’t… Can’t,” you manage weakly, body trembling from pleasure.

He drops a kiss to your hair, and relief has your muscles utterly giving out, turning soft and pliable beneath his touch.

“Good girl,” he soothes, hips dragging back from your dripping cunt, pulling out until it’s just his tip inside.

“But when have I ever listened to you?” He muses, pushing you back into the pallet, muffling your cries.

Silencing your pleas.

Aftercare fic

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy

rhys taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

[disappearinginq]

I really wish I could be convinced that more people would be interested in non-ship stuff for fandoms I'm in.

Look, we all know we write for ourselves. I get it. I do. But my desire (ability) to finish things is hinged on feedback. My two longest fics that I wrote the fastest were because of audience engagement. And because I knew I had people I respected and liked reading, and I wanted them to enjoy the read, I wrote better.

Now I feel like I'm just stuck in No Man's Land of fandom, and while I have like a dozen things half finished, they never seem to actually BE finished because if the audience is me, then I know how it ends. There's not much point writing it down.

So this is basically my To Do List.

The Rookie - I just don't care about what 90% of the fandom cares about

1. Series of one shots that establish Angela and Tim's BFF status that may or may not lean Tim aspec because I'm me.

2. Pre series flashbacks to Tim in his time in service when he survives an airstrike that kills two of his friends and almost kills him.

3. Trauma Tim post season 6, because in rapid succession, he loses his job on metro, he witnesses his old team die in a way eerily similar to the way he was almost killed in the airstrike, had a friend commit suicide in front of him after confessing to being dirty, gets accused of being dirty himself, and is again almost killed in close quarter combat (among other things that will remain unmentioned here)

Slow Horses

1. Do not ask me why but I love the idea that Lamb potentially met River was he was a kid because he had to work closely with David Cartwright and River is always where he's not supposed to be

2. River goes missing, and for once, not his fault. Lamb has to come to terms that just because he pretends not to care, doesn't mean anyone buys it

3. Post season 4, somebody finds out that River is the last remaining son of Frank's assassin cult, and it goes about as well as can be expected. I fully intend to have Lamb use this line: "trying to detain you is like trying to nail jello to a tree".

Magnum PI (yes, I still work on these)

1. Finish Wrong Side. I actually have like another 10-15k words on it, but it's not in order or complete scenes, but it does include Thomas’s recovery and discovery that Hannah is the one who sold them out

2. I have like 6 other chapters to Bad Things Happen that I half wrote but then retired the card

3. Crossover with MacGyver because I thought Mac could use some down time in Hawaii after season 4 and the last half of season 3

Tracker 1. Colter goes missing during one of his cases, and I borrow heavily from an episode of Lethal Weapon wherein Colter will be held hostage in an illegal drug trial that he stumbled into and now finds himself an unwilling participant, and I drag Russell into it because that is how big brothers work

Hudson & Rex - honestly, I have the most written for this fandom, even though the fandom itself is pretty quiet, but it's most of a bingo card 1. Finish Oh The Weather Outside is Frightful because damn son it's been years

2. In no particular order, I have Bad Things Happen Bingo It's Not My Blood, Stitches, Caught in a Snare, Falls Through the Ice and three others that fit other prompts - a boating accident, Charlie finally finds himself at the bottom of a well (sort of) and completes his "Timmy and Lassie Scenario" bingo card, and where Charlie realizes he's developed claustrophobia after having a mine collapse on him, being locked in a freezer storage, almost crushed by a shipping container, buried alive, etc and gets stuck in an elevator with Jesse

[porcelainseashore]

Into the Ether (4)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, alcohol, drug references, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Author's Note: Lots of blood drinking (+ its underlying issues), suggestive themes, mention of bodily fluids, and at least dubious consent for vampire turning ahead.

Taglist: @admirxation @angelstargel @miss-oranje-disco-dancer ❤️‍🔥

AO3 Link

Chapter 4: Bury Me

Leon had reached a row of converted Victorian-style residential buildings in the Lower West Side of Uptown Raccoon City. Tall, stained glass windows lined their exterior, accented with a mixture of gabled and Mansard roofs. Pointed arches embellished with corbels and fretwork adorned the structures, detailing their rich architectural history. Despite them appearing frozen in time, harking back to the 19th century, everything else had been modernized for their inhabitants.

Scanning his keycard on the reader, he slipped in through the back entrance and hurried towards the rarely used service elevator that was stationed out of sight in a narrow corridor at the rear end of the building. He swiped his card again to gain access to his specific apartment floor, punching the button several times erratically, even though it had already lit up on the first try. Upon noticing that he had accidentally smudged blood from his hands onto it, he muttered a string of curses while using the cuff of his shirt to wipe it off.

Holding you close, he planted a desperate kiss against the crown of your head, as if by some miracle you would wake up from this nightmare, safe and sound in his arms. Your body temperature had dropped considerably, and with each passing second, he could feel your vitals waning as your life force ebbed into oblivion.

“Come on, stay with me,” he begged, his visage crumbling under the weight of grief, and out of habit, he thumbed at the gold cross pendant hanging from his necklace. If there was a god, he would let you live.

As soon as the elevator doors parted with a resonant ding, he sped out towards the only apartment door on the top floor. Feeling the side of the frame for a familiar indent, he pressed against it, and a matchbox sized cache slid out, containing a crescent shaped device. Attaching it to another metallic apparatus that he carried around in his pocket, he slotted it through the keyhole while simultaneously adjusting what looked like gears of an old-fashioned clock into place. 

Despite all these years, he still had a penchant for puzzle solving, seeing as his former workplace, the Raccoon Police Station, had been a labyrinth in itself. And what better way to put his hobby to use than to invest into the security of his haven, by creating his own intricate lock mechanisms, complete with false walls and hidden passageways. It may seem a little over the top, but sometimes it was comforting to lose his nights designing and crafting the things that had made him human in the beginning.

With a satisfying click, the heavyset door creaked open on its hinges, revealing an immaculately kept and minimalist loft. He dashed in, shutting the door behind him before pushing the coffee table away and setting you down gently on the rug. You were the only blemish in the room, bleeding out from underneath him, staining the fabric in the pattern of angel’s wings.

He felt your pulse, weak and unsteady, and you were nearly gone. It crushed him to see you like this, your skin ashen and pale — the only shade of blue he never liked. As you lay there unresponsive like a corpse before him, he knew he needed to go through with what he had planned for you all long along. Even so, he had a hard time coming to terms with it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be! He was meant to woo you, give you a taste of what the unlife had to offer, bring you over to his side and both of you would, what—? Live happily ever after? 

Fucking hell, Leon. What the fuck were you thinking? he swore at himself internally. Ada’s words came back to haunt him. She was right, he had let his emotions get ahead of him again. Regardless, he had to fix this mess, and letting you die was out of the question, as was turning you into a mindless ghoul addicted to a blood bond. No, he would never do that to you.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, brushing the strands of your hair, which had clumped together in dried blood and sweat, out of your face. You were so deathly cold in your slumber…

Then, he broke the first of his promises and drained you dry. Images of you flooded his mind again as he latched his mouth onto your neck. He could feel your fears, your joys, and your sorrows. The first steps you had taken as a child, captured through the lens of an old home video; the family and friends you would leave behind; long, solitary walks in the woods; dancing your heart out in smoky nightclubs; ceiling-high shelves filled to the brim with musty books and DIY costumes you’d pieced together from scraps; every trinket and memento — all the signs of life that had made you happy.

There was no time for regrets. He could make you happier, he vowed. He will, he had to.

At the very last drop, he licked the bite marks close and let go, slashing his wrist against his teeth before placing it to your lips. His own sanguine fluid coated your lips in a cherry red stain, restoring a semblance of life to your otherwise waxen complexion, as it dripped down your throat. Slowly, your jaw began to move, lips puckering up as it suctioned against the open wound, the tip of your tongue licking across it over and over again like the sweetest nectar you’d ever savored.

“There you go, angel,” he panted, feeling the pressure grow taut around his wrist as he stroked your hair tenderly with his other hand. “Just a bit more.”

He concentrated on the act, investing the power of his vitae into you, passing on the curse of Caine which he had carried with him all this while. On top of that came the Bane and Compulsion of his clan, as well as its Disciplines and strengths.

You couldn’t explain why your body reacted so naturally to it, but your appetite for his vitae was insatiable, like an insurmountable tidal wave heading towards shore. Your eyes flew open and you caught his ocean blue gaze. Gasping for breath, you clamped down on his wrist even harder, earning you a gratifying moan that fell from his lips, as they twisted into an expression of excruciating euphoria.

Likewise, you felt the build up of sheer bliss with an underlying tinge of agony within you, as you continued drinking from him, unable to stop yourself, no matter how much you tried. Every fiber of your being burned like a warm, inviting flame. You were the epitome of a phoenix in a pyre, combusting and being reborn again, walking barefoot across searing hot coal unharmed, as the fire raged on. From ashes to ashes, dust to dust, into eternal life.

And then he appeared before you like an ethereal, ghostly apparition, kneeling in the pews of a cathedral you didn’t recognize, praying fervently to a crucified man on a wooden cross. Subsequently, the scene switched to a hectic office space, permeated with the shrill sound of phones ringing and papers flying in every direction. There he stood in the center of the room, like the eye of a storm, a handgun secured in his holster as he moved the pins around on a crime board. One vision blurred into the other and it felt as if you were seeing his past, present and future all at once.

An immense rush of ecstasy filled your senses at the final image of you riding him like a horse, as if you were experiencing it for yourself firsthand. Sweat poured down your naked bodies as you rolled your hips back and forth against his lasciviously. His calloused hands squeezed the sides of your thighs, encouraging you to move faster as he thrust up into you. In the throes of passion, you threw your head back and cried out in excess, but found it muffled against his wrist as you abruptly returned to reality. Your eyes went straight to his, and the knowing look on his face gave it away, confirming that you had partaken in the last vision together.

The Beast was gnawing at the cage in his chest again as you suckled more of his vitae. A hunger arose within him and he was aware that the deed had been done. The primary hurdle was getting you to stop.

“Angel, my love,” he called to you softly, “That’s all I can give you.”

You had heard every word he said; they were crystal clear, but your head remained fuzzy, as if it were wrapped in layers of cotton wool, dampening your thoughts. He could see it in your glazed eyes that you were unable to register what he had requested of you, but he couldn’t bear to tear himself away.

“Please, angel,” he whimpered. “Let go.”

At that point, something in you clicked. Perhaps it was the sight of a broken man, crouched in the middle of his living room, weary from all the bloodshed and the cruel hand fate had dealt him tonight. You wanted to do everything you could to soothe his pain. The same pain that had crept up in his voice the night he put you to bed, and when he had wondered out loud in the park if you could accept him for who he was.

Loosening your grip, you tilted back, allowing him to retract his hand as you ingested the rest of his vitae in your mouth. Nothing could ever come close to the intensity of what you had just felt. Gradually, you came down from the high and your ragged breathing evened out. A numbing weight pressed against your body as your eyes fluttered before closing. Was this it? Was this the end? All you could think of was what a peaceful way it was to die.

A shiver ran down his spine as Leon caressed your cheek, watching you fall back to sleep again. Even his own Embrace hadn’t gone this far. Of course it had been the best thing he had felt in the world, but this, with you? It was on a completely different plane. The memories, the shared sexual intimacy, how—? Did he hallucinate that? He still hadn’t figured it out. It was something for maybe the Tremere, unfortunately, to advise on.

But he had bigger things to worry about now. This was only a temporary respite before you would awake in torment, and he needed to find a way to ease that as quickly as possible, despite being so ill-prepared. It would be the first lesson he’d have to teach you and one of the worst.

━━━━━━━━━━━

A set of steely arms wrapped around you the moment your body jolted upright as you came to. Disoriented and unable to think straight, you struggled to break out of their hold as you heard Leon’s voice in your ear, “Shhh… it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s me.”

You tried to speak but only unintelligible growls escaped your mouth and you continued thrashing about wildly, as a gut-wrenching pain ripped through your flesh and bones. It felt like hundreds of rats were clawing their way out of your stomach as your eyes searched the room rabidly for the offending source that was driving you insane.

And then you saw him. A man in a fancy business suit, unconscious but propped up against the wall. His hands were bound with rope and a nasty bruise swelled at the side of his head. You let out a torturous wail when it finally dawned on you that the very substance you had been lusting after was his blood. It smelled incredible from where you were seated and you were frothing at the mouth like a deranged animal.

What the fuck was going on?! your mind screamed, while you made guttural noises in retaliation. Is this—? Oh god, no! What did he do to me?

There was a persistent throb in your corner teeth, as if they had been plucked out by force and something foreign had been put in its place. You ran your tongue over them, they were elongated and sharp. Just like-

Leon? He pulled you flush against his chest, trapping you in his iron grip, and with a sense of urgency, he spelled out, “Listen to me, you’re not gonna like this, but you need to feed on him.”

Shaking your head violently, your eyes rolled back as if you were possessed by a demonic entity, while you fought with all your might against him and your overzealous hunger. No, no, no, fuck that! I won’t—!

“If you don’t, you will lose control and murder everyone in your path,” he explained.

Noticing how you continued to resist him vehemently, he added, “You won’t have to kill him, I can show you how.”

You whined, scratching at his hands and crying like a hapless pup. There was no need for you to articulate it in words. He understood everything you were going through — the inner turmoil and mental dilemma at your first feed. Except, you had it worse off than him. At least back then, he knew what he was getting himself into and accepted it. You just didn’t have the privilege of time.

Shambling across the floorboards, he brought you closer to the man. “It’s not easy in this state, but you’re strong, and smart. I know you can.” He paused, shifting his grip on you so that he could point out an obscured trail along the man’s neck. “You need to hit one of the arteries or veins for a clean feed. Usually, you’d take it slow and be more careful, but we don’t really have an option tonight.”

Suppressing another painful whine, you tried your utmost to follow his instructions as a beast-like creature went berserk in your chest, bashing it way through your ribcage. Focusing on the area he had identified, you could more or less make out the veins protruding from his skin, like an ultrasound.

“Here, the jugular,” he indicated. “You can start with that, but don’t drain him fully. I’ll help you to stop, just remember to lick it close at the end, okay?”

Nodding, you sobbed out a vague agreement, though your feet were kicking out furiously, itching to be set free. It felt like your mind and body had been separated in two, and neither worked in tandem with each other. The scent of this man’s blood was overpowering, it was making you giddy.

As soon as he let you go, you lurched forward, grabbing the man’s neck roughly as you plunged your teeth into the vein you’d singled out. A viscous, intoxicating liquid enveloped your mouth as you had your fill. Raw energy flowed from one end to another, restoring function to your organs and limbs, as they began to come under your control again. The more you drank, the clearer your mind became, and the Beast within you quietened, satiated from the elixir that seemed to nourish your entire being and soul. Soul? Did you still have one, especially after this?

From a distance you heard your name, accompanied by an appeal to cut it short. Once again, you were thrown into the depths of a battlefield, where each side struggled for dominance as its victor. It felt too good to end it here. Why should you obey? a voice inside you sneered.

A pair of hands gripped your shoulders from behind. Leon’s tone was stern and resolute: “Stop, lick the wound now.”

His command reverberated through your hollow chest, rattling your bones as you submitted to him. Swabbing your tongue over the puncture site, you released your prey as Leon pulled you away. Splotches of bright crimson covered the man’s attire as well as your own. It had been a messy affair.

“I’ll clean it up, don’t worry.” His voice was tender again, as he turned your face to his. Dragging his fingertip along the spilled blood trickling down your throat, he scooped up the remains and sucked it into his mouth.

By now, he was an expert in cleaning up after his elders, having done his fair share of dirty errands. That’s what neonates like him were good for. At least it would come in handy tonight. The man was still alive, drowsy as hell, but his heart was beating. He had taught you well.

“You did this to me.” The accusation rang like the toll of a bell in his ears, as he watched your expression change into one of pure hatred and disgust. 

But before you could continue on with the verbal onslaught you had been saving up for him, a debilitating pain struck, blinding you in the process as you clutched your abdomen and trembled turbulently. What—? When will this ever end?

You were physically dealing with the bitter aftermath of being snatched from the hands of death and flung into rebirth through abnormal means. Anything within you that didn’t need to be there anymore would be cleansed in the next few hours, as your body was dying and disposing of the needless waste. It was not like this in the movies. You wanted to laugh at the outright ridiculousness of it, but all you managed were terrified shrieks. 

It was humiliating to be brought down this low in front of him — the man who went from someone you had started to fall for to the last person in the world you wanted to be in the same room with. You hated him for what he had done to you. The fire came back, but this time it was like being burnt at the stake; it was harrowing. 

To Leon, you could never degrade yourself in his eyes. He stayed with you the whole time, rubbing reassuring circles on your back as you writhed in agony, dirtying his rug with vomit and piss. 

Though she had cared in her own way, Ada never did this for him. He remembered his transformation like it was just yesterday. The serene peach walls of her bathroom, equipped with fluffy towels, aromatic diffusers, and soft music playing in the background, like a spa he couldn’t enjoy. He had been tucked away safely in the bathtub, the door locked on him, as he shivered uncontrollably like a junkie. She couldn’t bear to see him like this — his face covered in snot, stinking up the place with a vacant look in his eyes. It was a mess, but a controlled one.

With you, he wanted it all — the good and the bad. He couldn’t offer you the luxuries that Ada had with him, but he would be there beside you, taking care of you like the sire he desired to be.

━━━━━━━━━━━

There was a sense of déjà vu when you awakened for the second time that night. Or was it morning? You couldn’t be sure anymore. Somehow, you had ended up on a double bed that wasn’t your own and in clothes that you’d never wear — not unless you were a lingerie model on the cover of a magazine spread, or one of those rich housewives looking to spice things up in the bedroom. In your last conscious moments, you thought you had soiled yourself, but now you were squeaky clean. Did Leon—?

“Hey.”

Speak of the devil. 

You whipped your head in his direction, and saw him leaning against the banister of the stairs that connected the partially open, mezzanine-like level to the main floor below, which it overlooked. Out of a sense of self-preservation and modesty, you crossed your arms over your chest, hugging yourself tightly.

Stifling a laugh, he smiled at you bashfully like a teenage boy in front of his first crush. “It’s, um, my sire’s.” He gestured towards your outfit. “I hope you don’t mind, I didn’t have anything else.”

Sire? Letting yourself go, you peered down at the fitting lace chemise that clung to your body, still feeling vulnerable and naked under his gaze, as you speculated over what he meant.

“It suits you,” he complimented, either oblivious to your bemusement or attempting not broach the subject at this point.

The remark he had made, even if with good intentions, made your blood boil. “Does turning me into a monster suit me?” you spat, getting up from the bed as you strode towards him in fury.

A flicker of remorse flashed across his eyes and his breath hitched. He thought he could stall for time and reconcile with you before having the talk, but he had been blindsided by your astuteness. Despite that, he tried to pacify you. “Angel…”

But you weren’t having any of it. “Shut up!” you hollered, slapping him hard across the face. The blow was harsh enough to send his head snapping to the side, leaving a vivid red handprint marked on his cheek. “I’m not your angel, and never will be!”

He could’ve punished you for your insolence, but chose to suck it up and tolerate it. You were clearly struggling to accept your new circumstances.

“Okay, I deserve that,” he conceded, gingerly rubbing the side of his face where it stung.

You didn’t seem to care though, in fact, you were absolutely livid to the point where you couldn’t speak. Casting him a venomous look of disdain, you drew in labored breaths, your chest rising and falling in rapid, heaving motions.

His watery eyes met yours, and you saw the pain and hurt brimming in them. “You would’ve died back there,” he whispered. “I couldn’t let that happen to you.”

Shaking your head in disbelief, you withdrew from him, gripping the edge of the bedpost so intensely that a huge chunk of it broke off. Wait, just how strong were you now?

He glanced over at the damage and winced. Dammit, I liked that bed, he sighed to himself. 

“I wish I did,” you muttered, eyeing the piece of metal in your hand skeptically before chucking it to the side. “You could’ve done your job and buried me.”

That was when he lost his cool. “Don’t say that,” he hissed sharply, his gaze smoldering like dying embers, as he marched forward, seizing your wrist to prevent you from backing away. “I just wanted to help—”

“Help?” you questioned testily, challenging him head on with a fierce glare. “You forced me to drink some guy’s blood!”

“You would’ve died,” he reiterated, using the same excuse in a loop as if he never heard you.

“He could’ve died!” you retorted, with the same stupid line of argument that Leon had been falling back on each time.

“Well, he didn’t, and he’s fine!” He threw his hands up in the air in frustration and huffed as he pivoted to one side, before turning back to shoot daggers at you. “A little anemic, but fine!” he expounded for good measure.

There was a slight pause until you fired back, “Go fuck yourself, Leon S. Kennedy,” letting every syllable of his full name roll off your tongue mockingly.

A low growl erupted from his sternum. He wanted to yank you roughly by the hair, throw you onto the bed and teach you a lesson. Jesus Christ, Leon, don’t go there. Get a hold of yourself! 

Instead, he bottled up his anger and composed himself. Releasing a deep, slow breath, he evened out his tone, reasoning with you. “Look, like it or not, you need to come to terms with… what you are.”

You hadn’t backtalked him yet; that was a good sign.

“If you want to survive these nights, then I’m the best shot you got.”

Even though you held nothing but contempt towards him in your heart at that very moment, you realized that ultimately, he had a point. And so, you grudgingly raised the white flag. “Fine,” you relented. “But I will never forgive you.”

Another compromise. He could work with that, for now.

[ajwrks]

—believer

overlord x gn! human reader | pt 2

once again, this isn’t 100% cannon LOL. i’ve also decided that there is going to be more than two parts to this. i was also reallyyyy thinking about having a little bit of fortress maximus x reader too because why not

word count: 1.8k | prev,, next

“what are you here for?”

chromedome's metallic voice reverberated along the narrowed hall. his words practically coaxing you to tell him, confide in him. you resisted with a stubborn close of your eyes.

why are you here? you knew that question quite well in fact. the chance to see overlord welcomed you with false hope you wished to abandon, but maybe, just maybe—

“y/n!” chromedome called out. your eyes shot up to see the lightly colored autobot looking down at you with narrowed optics through his tinted visor, darting around on your human face for a plausible answer.

“you tell me first. why are you here?” you inquired, your question dragged out with a quirk of your brow.

“i want to enter his mind.” that’s all he led with.

like a wild bird, your heart thumped erratically against the cage of your ribs, seeking air, seeking freedom from this arising feeling. cold sweat slicked your clenched palms. he’d find out. he’ll know. your thoughts reawaken with being fully cognizant of what’s about to happen—chromedome is adept in mnemosurgry and there was no doubt in your mind that he’d uncover something that would tear down your reputation here on the lost light, but it was fruitless to stop him.

“i thought you gave that up for good,” you probed him in an attempt to relent and turn around. chromedome laughed weakly.

“i thought so too,” with that, the heavy door, shy away from the entrance groaned at its rusted hinges. the phase sixer was constrained and suspended in the center of the cell. his helm lulled as he muttered the same two words.

“kill me.”

his presence alone sent sparks trickling down your spine. why were you here? well, whether you wanted to deny it or not, you were attached to this effigy of menace and grandeur.

—

garrus nine. it was a notable, high- security prison containing dangerous criminals and decepticons. so far into the crux of space; isolated, just for it to be captured by decepticons and break out into war.

during that time, you were stationed there amongst many to help cater to the needs of these… criminals. exactly like you were doing now—but except, it was a calmer bunch. it made no sense. why help the needs of the top dangerous decpticons thrown behind bars for a reason? you just needed the money and the experience, and then move on to bigger things, but other plans were made for you.

the war made your trek back to normalcy rigerious. having to hide away in the little protection provided— you and your fellow interns. it was a non-spoken rule: if you stayed out of it, you’d live. that was exactly what you all abided by. this frenzy for claiming garrus nine lasted for days, until that crazed, sadistic decepticon overlord attacked and took over the entirety of garrus nine.

overlord displayed his nature by initiating horrible experiments. he forced the prisoners to fight one another— it was perturbing. you were forced to watch. it didn’t take much time for overlord to figure out that there were organics on garrus nine. he exploited them, and you to ensure that everything he had done would be engraved deep in your mind.

so where does the attachment come from? overlord had taken an odd liking to you. on the time he did have alone, he’d call on the company of the humans to ridicule.

“you don’t look at me with much fear. i plan to change that,” oh a plan that he so desperately wanted and something he didn’t get. his grave mistake was treating you like you meant something.

—

“it’s a simple enough proposition,”

the spark extraction room resembled a murder house. neon purple energon slowly dripping off the large slab. the air was thick with the fresh scent of it, parts of the autobot that lied in a pool of his very essence were fragmented and strewn about like scattered teeth. your mind begged you to look away, but your heart protested. overlord wanted you here, he wanted your eyes to look at no one but him and his twisted actions.

“you tell me how to get into the aequitas chamber, and i make the pain stop,” he demanded with a grin dawning on his face plates. fortress maximus gave no answer— you weren’t even sure he physically could. frozen with the shock and pain coursing through him. giant nails penetrated deep into his plating, his leg missing— unease bubbled in the pit of your stomach, threatening to boil over the top and spill out.

“you’re being timed fortress maximus— every second of hesitation, i continue.” not even a second passes and overlord already has his chainsaw raised in a ready position, hovering over his other leg he was going to take. upon that sight, your head snaps away. looking at nothing but the wall. the vibration of the chainsaw stalled and silence took over.

“don’t stop looking, my sweet,” he jeered. unbearably slow, your head cranes back to look at the table and his sick operation.

he was looking at you.

fortress maximus pleaded with his dull optics. you could only do so much. the whites of your eyes swelled with your tears of sorrow.

it was over, but seemingly took centuries. his rasping screams dying in his throat— something you wished never to see or hear again.

“you did well, sweet.” that pet name made you stir from your trance. “i will make sure to reward you,” his servo palms the blade of your shoulder whilst the other one grazes over your hip. he backs away— shudders rack through your body.

“now! clean me up, would you?” he hummed with a repulsive smile. you spent an hour scrubbing away the grime and energon as he studied your efforts. he told you stories about his past experiences as a phase sixer, and even threw compliments at your face. in the weirdest way, he complimented how you are... appealing physically as an organic. it just made your brows furrow deeper the more he talked you to death.

overlord was kind enough to let you rest on his shoulder. soothing you from your nightmarish thoughts in the midst of your slumber. it meant nothing to him, but everything to you.

—

you knew very well that these moments wouldn’t last forever. the wreckers had came to garrus nine to claim what they had lost. you had no idea what had happened outside of the prison, but upon your rescue and being escorted onto a spacecraft you saw overlords skeletal remains— perfectly intact. his outer shell reduced to nothing but loose embers. you stopped in your tracks to fully grasp what you were seeing.

overlord was gone.

“it’s okay. he’s gone,” a human, feminine voice spoke to you, trying to comfort your worries, but you had none. at least not the type of worries she thought you had. the woman in the red space armor put pressure on your back to keep you going. you obliged.

that day, you never thought you’d see him again. until the news of overlords reconstruction came to you— through a connection, you easily found out that prowl was adamant about developing autobot phase sixers and tried hard to convince chromedome to get into overlords mind and scrape up the things they needed to commence the process. the only bit of relevant information you needed was where overlord was being moved to, and it was the lost light. it was laughable at how quickly rodimus succumbed to the demands of prowl. they needed human liaisons, and you needed to be one of them.

acting like you never knew of overlords existence was the key so you could wait for the perfect moment to exploit it, and it was given to you on a silver platter.

—

chromedomes spikes that extended from his fingers were embedded deep into overlords helm. there’s no telling how long this has been going on for. you stood there patiently, watching every subtle move, expression, twitch of the eyes, every mutter or breath— your back was stiffly planted up against the burning cell wall. you always wondered why chromedome pursued a profession as inherently bad as this one. he knew the drawbacks but still persisted.

“megatron is alive?!” overlords voice was quiet but thunderous. there was a shift in the air, growing dense. you jolted from his outburst watching the events unfold. his optics flicker with ruby red with a stretching smile that promised something sufferable but intangible.

seconds pass

minutes pass

with the pull of his outstretched arms, overlord effortlessly breaks through his shackles. like playing cards toppling over from its highest peak, and to gracefully fall to the ground. a grin— feral and triumphant tugged at overlords face. you watched as he knelt down to gaze down at chromedome who lied pathetically on the floor.

“breaking free of these paper chains was never the problem— i just lacked the motivation. but if megatron is alive, then there’s everything to play for,” he leaned in closer. “don’t worry. you’ll find your voice and your legs soon enough. you know the side effects of prolonged deep reading better than i do,”

his optics now landed on you, sneering as he made his way to you. his looming presence intimidated you after so long. you felt the wall pressing into your back once more.

“now, i remember seeing you in his memory,” he bent down to meet your gaze. a rough servo clamping down on your chin to direct your attention properly. you winced quietly but obeyed his silent command. “i must say, i didn’t expect my dear organic to follow me to the end of the universe—“

“i wanted to be with you.”

distance was non existent as he was closer than before. you could feel his exhales fan your face— your lips. you could tell overlord didn’t expect those words to fall out of your mouth.

“you left me.”

the crack of your voice told you to back away, but the iron grip he had on you was going to make that impossible. after a while, overlords expression relaxed slightly, and so did his hold. he looked back at chromedome steadily, recovering his strength again. he released you.

“your devotion is admirable,” dryness clung to his words. leaving you to crumble down further onto the floor. you couldn’t help but ponder to yourself if this was all for nothing. overlord explained to chromedome on how he won’t attempt to block his way to get to him, but for the time down here in the chamber, five seconds is all it’ll take.

“run as fast as you can chromedome. you’re already too late,”

the vault door closed. letting darkness engulf the chamber. the faint orange lights buzzed against its fleeting life span. chromedome struggled to get up on his pedes. he briefly paused to watch your sobbing figure. hurriedly he reached you in staggered steps to assist you from up off the floor.

“i’m sorry chromedome i—“

“it wasn’t your fault,” he hushed you with the remaining calmness he had. to his best ability, he got you and him to the chamber door and plugged in the code. chromedome darted out, running up the hallway stairs to the shining light. you followed right behind him.

you were met with a chaotic scene. a storm of bodies attacking overlord.

as cowardly as it was, all you could do was watch.

[witchhaven]

The Lovers

Heart found itself in a forest during a bright but overcast day, casting a preternatural white light flatly across the otherwise soothing color of fallen orange leaves from the dark, dormant trees. The environment was suffocated by an eerie silence, painting the scene as if it was completely devoid of life. The chorus of distance birds was nowhere to be heard, and the anthem of insects' cries was distinctly absent. As Heart examined its surroundings, it found itself peering down a dry dirt path, decorated by a number of additional fallen leaves, and dried out flowers, displaced by the presumable constant pacing of exploratory strides. Behind the intention to move forward was Heart's apprehension towards proceeding.

Its first few steps down the path were slow and shaky as it paced its way through the wooded area, but the hesitation eventually resigned to the acceptance of the only option of moving forward. What was initially a slow trudge forward, ultimately became a decisive hike towards a potential destination. After some time, it found itself at a round clearing covered in dormant grass and dotted with more dried flowers. Standing in the middle underneath a solitary tree was a non-distinct white door, standing in an isolated doorframe. It approached the door, and raised its hands, fingers poised to grasp the knob.

A voice rang out clear, resonating through Heart's whole body, "You've the choice of turning back, little doll. Instead of proceeding through the door ahead of you, you could simply return to familiarity. Are you not afraid of what lies ahead?"

"It is, of course it is, but if this one just stays where it was, how could it ever expect to continue?" Heart turned the door's knob, pushing it inwards on the hinges gently.

Revealed from behind the wooden structure was a featureless void containing a woman with healthy fair skin, though mildly stained by soil and blood. She stood at a height taller than most of the dolls, save for Soul. Soil and blood painted the loose fitting white dress covering her body, with a tear towards her stomach highlighted by the highest concentration of blood, revealing what appeared to be a long sealed scar underneath. Under her icy blue eyes were dark spots, and from her head hung dark brown hair, unkempt as it messily cascaded onto her shoulders.

Suddenly, spilling out into the void and emanating from the woman was a bright golden light, touching Heart with an unbearable heat, causing it to recoil.

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

Heart's breaths are panicked as it sits up from bed, slowly steadying as it orients itself with its surroundings, eyeing the familiar room around it, and the bed cradling both it and Apple, who begins to stir from its slumber at the commotion. Apple softly reaches its arms around Heart as it begins to become aware of its surroundings.

"Did you have a bad dream?" Apple's drowsy voice reaches Heart, relaxing it considerably.

Heart shakes its head, "It had a scary one, but not a bad one..."

"Hmm... I love you, Heart." It pushes in closer.

Heart sighs comfortably as it leans into its partner, "This doll loves you too."

"So, what happened in your dream?" Apple sleepily presses its forehead against Heart's.

Heart gently shakes its head, "This one doesn't remember anymore, but that's okay."

"I don't remember my dream either, though it also seems it was considerably less interesting than yours." Apple looks into Heart's eyes.

Heart helps gently sit Apple up with itself, "Would you like to get some tea with this one, lovely doll?"

"I would love to!" Apple gives Heart a gentle kiss on the cheek.

The two lift themselves out of bed, and make their way down my halls and into the kitchen, where as usual, I've kept fresh tea prepared for them and all the other dolls. The two comfortably share tea and quietly lean into each other. Before long, Self enters my kitchen's doorway with a wide eyed expression.

Self glances to Heart, "The door, Heart! It's changed!"

"It changed?" Heart sets its teacup and saucer down and begins following Self down into my basement, entirely missing Apple grasping for its hand on its way out through the threshold of my kitchen's doorway.

As they lower themselves into my basement by the wooden stairs leading in, the door Self has been investigating has indeed changed. Heart places its hand on the surface, and traces the relief that's appeared on it. There are two forms, one detailing a human heart, and the other detailing a book with a silhouette of a moth styled on the cover. Heart puts its hand on the knob, turning it without resistance, but as it goes to push it inwards, the door doesn't budge. Self proceeds to attempt to aid Heart, but still, the door is exceptionally resistant, to the point that they both resign to not opening it for the time being.

Self sighs in exasperation, "What could possibly be going wrong? It feels like something's blocking it from the other side, but there's nothing that it could push out of the way from underneath!"

"We must be missing something. A heart, and a book. It looks like your notebook. The door changed once already, maybe it'll change again and give us a clue?" Heart crosses its arms as it examines the door in consideration.

Self opens its journal, flicking through pages and writing something down, "Perhaps you're right. But this one doesn't understand, even still. All things considered, it's simply a door, is it not? Though, it did change physically... It's sure you're right, we'll figure out how to get through it soon enough."

Heart nods considerately at Self before it proceeds back to the stairs and ascends from my basement. It paces my halls, passing by my now uninhabited kitchen, and into the room it shares with Apple, who's seen wiping its eyes as it sits on the bed. Apple's tear stained eyes rise from its lap as they meet Heart's, who stands with a concerned expression on its upset partner. The moment is consumed with an extended suffocating silence before Heart breaks it.

"Apple! What happened?" It rushes to Apple and places a hand on its back.

Between sniffs, Apple slowly speaks its reply, "You've been spending so much time with the other dolls, Heart... I'm happy for you of course, but I'm so scared. You're going to figure out I'm not worth it, and then you'll leave me behind..."

"It will not! Apple, this one will never leave you behind! You are worth it, Apple! You are!" Tears well up in Heart's eyes as it leans in and wraps its arms around Apple.

Apple's tears intensify as they pour out of its eyes. It wraps its arms around Heart in kind as it presses its head into its shoulder. Starting with a whimper, it lets out a wail at the embrace, and its grip tightens on its partner.

Heart continues holding Apple tightly, "This one loves you, Apple. And you are worth it! You might not believe it, but it'll keep saying it, it doesn't matter how many times it has to say it. You are worth it, and this one could never leave you behind."

"But I'm not as interesting as the others. S-260 knows sign language and delivers mail, Self can do actual magic, and Soul-" Apple is cut off as Heart's embrace tightens.

Heart speaks up as it pulls Apple closer, "It doesn't care about that! You're just as interesting to it as all the others! You're caring and loving and nurturing, and you make this one feel cared about and loved! The other dolls are this one's friends, but Apple, this one loves you for a reason. They can't replace you!"

"You just, I'm always left alone when you spend time with the others, and I just-" Apple's words are cut off again.

Heart kisses Apple's cheek, "Then come with it, you can spend time with them with this one. You're welcome to!"

Apple cries into its partner's shoulder for some time longer. However, the crying eventually reaches a lull, which prompts Heart to guide its partner back to the kitchen, where the two share cups of tea in a comfortable quiet...

[seiwas]

sellie bee! for your game > touya + flicker?? (if you feel comfortable writing for him again, your touya from the shoto fic was so beloved to me) 💕

amber!! thanks for sending in a lil prompty 🥺 ofc i would write him again!! for you!! anything!!! 🥺 my touya from that fic is also so dear to me 🥺 i'm glad you like that little guy 🥺

help me get back into the writing groove! send me a character + any word and i'll write a short blurb about it!

contains: non-canon au, childhood friends

touya + flicker

there's a light by your bedside, one that flickers when its loose wire finds itself tangled around the leg of your bed frame. it doesn't happen all the time, but it's always bothered touya, ever since you were kids.

"fuyumi says that when lights go on and off like that they can go boom," he mimics an explosion with his hands, not quite knowing the term for it yet at 5.

(when you recall the memory, you realize that he must have meant a spark, not the flickering of lights.)

it bothers him so much that he figures out a way to fix it by age 10. he uses a small claw clip, a translucent gray plastic you've seen on his mother many times before. he clips the wire to your bed frame that way, keeping it in place.

it's a bandaid solution, because time creates cracks on the plastic, the metal spring falling apart despite being fused at the hinges.

(and again, looking back, you should have noticed that time had left its mark on touya the same way.)

the light flickers again.

"you'll have shitty eyes if you don't change it," he moves the wire aside until it stops. at 15, touya's become jaded. what once was a twinkling set of aquamarine is now a dull pair of teal, staring straight at you as he speaks.

you know it has something to do with his family, but you don't ask unless he talks about it.

(in hindsight, maybe you should've. because when touya runs away from home the following year, you only catch glimpses of him in the next ten years.)

he visits you at 17, taller and dressed darker than what you're used to. his hair is dyed a jet black, a few cuts and bruises scattering the expanse of his arms. he sees that your light is still flickering and fixes it like muscle memory, not once acknowledging the fact that it's been two years since he's seen you last.

"you can stay with me," you offer him, desperately.

he gives you a wry smile, "can i?"

and you know it's not really a question. you'll be heading off to college soon; there's no real place where you can keep him.

when you move into your dorm in the first year of uni, you leave your lamp behind but find that the lights in your shared bathroom flicker just as bad. it makes you think of him, in the lonely hours especially.

you're surprised when you bump into him at age 20, near campus, barely recognizing him at all. for a brief moment, you see the same shock mirrored on his face, but it disappears when you blink, and when you say his name, "touya—"

"dabi," he corrects you.

it's at 22, when you move into your own apartment and bring the same light from your childhood bedroom, that you find your thoughts floating back to him once more.

you offered right before graduating, the last time you saw him―told him you'd be moving into a new place and he could stay with you there. no one would know about it, no one would bother him.

but touya is a flight risk, appearing in and out of your life like the flickering of your bedside light. you outstretch your hand and he bats it away instinctively, withdrawing from you until he feels like you won't bring it up again.

you do though, every time. the next year, the year after that, when you're both 25. you look for him more consciously now, finding that he's always somehow nearby―by the potted flowers on your windowsill that remain alive despite week-long work trips; by paid for cups of coffee in cafes, the doors whooshing shut as you look for who it could possibly be from.

you've known touya for almost all of your life, and giving up on him isn't an option at all. your heart can't take it, the same way you can't bring yourself to fix your bedside light, its flickering an odd source of hope that he might one day be so fed up, he'll have to come and fix it himself.

and then he'd have to stay―to keep the flickering at bay. to keep the light working. one day.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Forget-Me-Not 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki

Summary: You return to your childhood home to put the past to rest.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You toss another can in the bin. The kitchen is littered with your mother’s addiction. Vodka bottles line the counter and beer cans sit in piles on the tile. In some, you find the putrid remnants of forgotten mouthfuls. You rinse them over the sink and fling them over your shoulder, listening to them land in the tall container.

The house rankles with neglect. The walls are layered in filth, the floor is unswept, and the couch is dingy. You shake your head and mutter. 

You’re reminded of the teen girl who trod through her mother’s mess every day on her way to the front door, her room her fortress; the only space she could claim as her own. That sacred stronghold she kept spotless in a measly grasp for an ounce of control. 

You drop another can in the sink and back away. You shake the stale dregs from your fingers and flee without a second thought. You stumble out onto the shady porch and gulp in air. Fresh, fertile, and free.

You sit on the highest step and hang your head. Your eyes flick over to the basket of flowers. Your foot twitches, wanting to kick it into the dirt. You sigh and tilt your chin up.

You’re sad but not for your mother. You know you should be. No one else will mourn her. They’ll all whisper about how she wallowed in her filth, how she died lonely and abandoned. But they won’t care. They won’t grieve her.

Neither will you. What they don’t say behind their hands is that she was rotten with the liquor. Bitter to the core. The bottle was her shield and her weapon. Her excuse to be what she was. Vile and venomous.

You don’t miss her, you pity her. You stand and face the house, your eyes tinge as you glare at the screen door. Splinters fill the dents in the frame and rust recedes from the hinges. The birds chirp louder and louder and all at once, the world is quiet.

Paralysed, you watch yourself run up the stairs and stop before the door. Twenty years younger but just as broken. Your shadow listens with her ear tilted. A man’s voice rumbles from inside and your mother croaks in return.

“She’ll be home soon,” she says before she sucks on the neck of the bottle, a loud glug bubbling from its depths. “Plain but quiet.”

Your lip trembles and you falter as if you’ve been struck. The teen girl turns to face you, she’s about to run but the door opens and she’s caught. 

“There you are,” your mother’s voice chafes in her throat, “we got company–”

You lunge forward to grab the girl before she’s dragged inside. It’s too late. Your knee hits the step and you shudder. How cruel were those village gossips, to warble about the girl but they never said a cross word about their own husbands.

Your stomach fills with bile as you push yourself to your feet. You won’t go inside. Not this time. You turn away and heave, swiping the tears from your eyes. You swear you can hear the girl screaming and sobbing as you walk away. Just like all the others who ignored her.

Your feet carry you without a destination. Water trickles noisily and lures you in. You sit on the overturned tree and watch the ripples lap over pointed rocks. 

You should burn the place down. A pile of ash is worth more than those stained walls. You look down at your hands and shake them out, as if you can shed the memories like snake skin.

Only one person heard that girl. Just the one but he turned out just the same. It was never empathy, only a trick.

Forget him. Forget all of it. You sat in that room, across from that doctor, and you did just that. You’re not going to let it back in.

A twig snaps and you sit straight, breath hitching as you search the shadows between the trees. The sunlight flickers through the leaves and the water reflects the world in warped lines. You stand and go to the river’s edge, looking down at yourself. Not a girl anymore, just a tarnished woman.

“Somehow,” the slither jars you but doesn’t surprise you, “I knew I’d find you here.”

You don’t answer him. You know that’s what he wants. For you to shake, to shriek, to do what you did then. To grovel for him to stop, to go away. Just there, on the riverbed, pebbles jabbing into your stomach, your face soaked with the cold water.

“Offer still stands.”

“I don’t want your money,” you say to his rippled reflection.

“Mm, but we both know you need it.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” you sneer, “you never did.”

He snorts, “I know a lot about you. I know how you feel, I know how you whine and beg and–”

“Are you so pathetic? You cling to the past like some desperate old man. This isn’t high school–”

“No, it isn’t,” he agrees, “yet here we are and hardly a thing has changed,” Loki struts along the river to its narrowest breadth and steps across, “you are still nothing, and I am still me.”

“A big fish in a tiny, dried up pond,” you spit as you sidle away from him.

“I am the same shark–”

You bend and grab a sharp rock. It’s big and thick and just holding it cuts into your hand. You spin and whip it in his direction. It just misses his shoulder as he sidesteps, plunging a foot into the riverbed. He snarls and kicks his shoe up, shaking it like a wet cat.

“Why would you do that?” He hisses.

“I’ll do it again,” you bend to take another stone, “I will bash your fucking face in.”

“Whooo,” he whistles and snickers as he crosses his arms nonchalantly, “she’s found her voice.”

“Fuck you,” you grip the stone and rear back your arm, “I won’t miss again.”

He tilts his head and his nostrils flare. His snakish eyes narrow and he clucks, “neither will I.”

You stand, locked in stalemate, waiting for the other to crack. He drops his arms, hands on his hips as he raises his chin defiantly.

“I waited twenty years,” he snarls, “what’s a little longer?”

He twists on his heel and hops over the river. You squeeze the rock as you watch him stride away. Arrogant and assured. You fling the rock and it bounces on the ground after his heels. He doesn’t look back as he disappears into the forest.

The beast might hide to lick his wounds, but he always comes back.

[adickaboutspoons]

@bogeymangrandy I’m sorry - I know it’s prolly bad Tumblr etiquette to address a reply in a whole new post, but this is kind of too big an answer to address in the space a reply offers.

So the weird, shitty unchecked racist stuff isn’t JUST contained to episode 5. In episode 3, Izzy says Ed “was a wild dog, and we dealt with him like one.” It’s to set up the “doggy heaven” line, which is doing some heavy lifting in terms of conveying to Izzy exactly how much Ed trusted and confided in Stede, but referring to a MOC as a dog, especially a wild one, is still fucking gross, and, worse, it’s only part of a pattern of racist sentiments. In episode 6, Izzy tells Ed “I thought you were Roach” - that old “they all look alike to me” chestnut. Thanks, I fucking loathe it.

But episode 5 is particularly packed with troublingly racist bullshit, and carries with it connotations for the wider season.

The most straight-forward is when Stede tells Izzy that Blackbeard “credited you with a lot of his skills,” and then “you taught him everything he knows.” If it’s meant to be read as true, it’s attributing all the talent, skill, and brilliance of a MOC to some white dude. But even if it’s meant to be read as Stede flattering Izzy to get what he wants out of him (which I think it is - the whole thing with the fog in season 1 episode 4 kind of hinges on Ed having knowledge and skills that Izzy does not), it’s still not great because it means Stede thinks stroking some mediocre white guy’s ego is worth more than Ed’s reputation, which means he learned nothing from the tavern scene in season 1 episode 10 where he similarly disparages Ed’s reputation for the gratification of his white compatriots.

Similarly, consider him shouting “those fucking barbarians!” after the mostly POC (and Pete) crew rip his red coat, and compare to “You savages!” in season 1 episode 2 when Stede thinks the indigenous people who have captured him have roasted Wellington and Hornberry on a spit. But at least in season 1 Stede gets rightfully called out for being a racist. Season 2 has yet to push back.

Then, there’s the portrayal of retributive justice (the idea that, for justice to be served, a transgressor has to be punished). We start the episode with Ed in his penitence onesie and cat bell. And there is that whole Biblical connotation of sackcloth as an expression of humility, but it also calls to mind the ill-fitted and low-quality material of prison uniforms, with the cat bell as a low-tech ankle monitor, uncomfortably tight and alerting everyone to his position at all times. I’ve seen his non-pology framed as a corporate “apology” and I do think that’s mostly what they’re going for here, but there’s also an element of the preformative penitence that prisoners are forced to undergo during parole hearings. This is Ed being punished for his Kraken-era transgressions.

Now compare to how Izzy, a white dude, has been offered rehabilitative justice this season - never had to grovel, never had to debase himself, never even had to offer a single word of apology for any of the dire shit he inflicted on the crew in season 1, but was nonetheless given the unconditional support and resources he needed to transform into essentially a completely different person. 

It’s not just the races of the people upon whom these different modes of justice are being implemented that is significant - it’s also the races of the aggrieved parties in how they respond to the “justice” imparted by the retributive model, because we also see two direct, individual applications of retributive justice in the episode; Ed offering Lucius to push him overboard, and Fang describing how he brutalized Ed’s body after Jim knocked him unconscious. With Lucius, we see that he experiences a momentary thrill of vengeance, but almost immediately it flares out, and he’s still just as traumatized as before, and perhaps even more obsessed with Ed. Clearly, for him, a white dude, this primitive, Hamurabian form of justice does not give him closure. With Fang, a MOC, it’s the exact opposite - Ed terrorized him, he beat Ed up, and now they’re sweet.

In isolation, this wouldn’t read as implying that white people are more “civilized” and “evolved” than POC - except all the other POC that Kraken!Ed tormented are also seemingly fine now. Jim and Archie are immediately laughing and joking about torture after the non-pology, and Frenchie is debuting a new fancy cat flag and pointing out that “at least he’s wearing the sack” when Lucius starts freaking out about Blackbeard being back. There’s also a running through-line across several episodes about the supremacy of white, colonial values and civility, but I’ll get back to that in just a moment.

Because now we have to talk about the matter of the curse. Because, again, we’re seeing a break-down across racial lines. Team Curse is Jim, Archie, Olu, Frenchie, Roach, and token white guy Pete (the Swede having abandoned the crew for his new paramore, Buttons having transmogrified, Lucius busy being traumatized elsewhere, and Wee John just MIA). Team “Curses aren’t real” is Izzy and Stede. So this isn’t like season 1 where everyone is just kinda hilariously science illiterate and superstitious (like with the “not a mermaid” conversation) - instead, we’ve got a group of superstitious POC vs. the rational, enlightened White Dudes. And the White Dudes are unequivocally correct. Peanuts ARE a serious allergen (and a legume, not a bean). Yeast is what causes bread to rise, not fairies. Ergo curses AREN’T real, and the crew are being irrational. So when Stede relents at the end and agrees to give up his suit, it’s not him conceding that there is validity to his POC crew’s worldview - it’s a white dude condescending to the poor, simple-minded, uncivilized folk even though he’s for sure in the right. Isn’t that just SO magnanimous of him? Isn’t it awfully white of him?

And given that the White view is the Right view in episode 5, we have to start interrogating the other places where that idea shows up. In episode 1, we hear a white priest bloviating about how "The natural condition of humanity is base and vile. It is the obligation of people of standing, such as yourselves, to elevate the common human rabble through the sacred transaction of matrimony.” Normally (and at the time when I first watched it) I would clock this as CRITICAL of the tendency of predominantly white cultures to be self-congratulatory of how THEIR ceremonies are so much more CIVILIZED than those of the savage  - as though they invented the concepts of commitment and monogamy, and as though those concepts are inherently better than the alternatives. But then we have Ed, a MOC, issuing an objection - not to the specific union, but to the concept of a nice, white wedding in general, followed by a raid that Jim later comments on: “Is it just me or was the wedding thing a bit over the line?”

And, consider, in season 1 episode 3, Jim drops this line on Olu when he points out that Jim killed one of Jackie’s husbands: “We live in a state of nature.” So the “natural condition” is intrinsically tied up with that hyper-violent pirate lifestyle, and if even one of the practitioners thereof is clocking it as “a bit over the line” - does it not follow that the bloviating priest was RIGHT? That the white man sure DOES have that burden to take up, doesn’t he?

Which is exactly what Ricky is proposing in his little speech in episode 6: "It's up to us fine gentlemen to stand up against this modern piracy and stay vigilant". And we KNOW that Ricky is full of shit. We KNOW that he’s backing up his racist agenda with a self-serving, revisionist narrative. But maybe it would be better if he also didn’t, maybe, have a point? I guess what I’m saying is that I really miss the days when a racist got a knife through the hand or their ship burned down and it was something to be celebrated, and that I’m not loving the idea this season that maybe the racists are kind of in the right.

[critical-skeptic]

What Came First: The Chicken or The Egg?

Dear Dr. Tyson,

First, I must commend your valiant and seemingly conclusive answer to the age-old question: Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Your application of evolutionary biology to a question that traditionally lies within the philosophical realm is a prime example of science's ability to engage with metaphysical dilemmas. However, I would argue—after an excessive amount of time spent obsessing over this very topic—that, by your own logic and through a more pedantic refinement of the terminology involved, the answer is not as settled as you suggest. In fact, the chicken, not the egg, must have come first.

Let me explain.

Your conclusion, that the egg came first, hinges on the broad evolutionary assumption that the question refers to any kind of egg—especially an evolutionary precursor to the chicken, such as the egg of a proto-chicken. You argue that a mutation in the genetic material of the proto-chicken resulted in the first true chicken hatching from a non-chicken egg. This is biologically sound, and I do not dispute your evolutionary framework.

However, this argument, elegant though it may be, sidesteps the nuance embedded in the original question. When one asks "Which came first, the chicken or the egg?" we must assume, by context, that we are referring specifically to a chicken’s egg. That is, an egg laid by a chicken that contains a chicken. The question does not simply ask about the evolution of all egg-laying creatures; rather, it implicitly narrows the focus to chickens and their reproductive mechanisms.

To answer this question with the precision it demands, we must re-examine the terms. If we take "egg" to refer to a chicken’s egg—as opposed to the egg of a proto-chicken or any evolutionary predecessor—then we must acknowledge that a chicken’s egg cannot exist until there is a fully formed chicken capable of laying it. The egg laid by the proto-chicken was indeed the vessel that contained the first genetic chicken, but it was, by definition, a proto-chicken’s egg, not a true chicken’s egg. A chicken’s egg can only come from a chicken.

So, following this semantic precision, the first chicken must have existed before the first true chicken’s egg could be laid. In other words, the chicken—the fully formed, genetically distinct Gallus gallus domesticus—must have come first to produce the first true chicken’s egg.

Your conclusion, therefore, though derived from impeccable science, relies on a subtle but crucial imprecision in language. The question as posed is not just about evolutionary timelines but also about biological classification. And while it’s tempting to sidestep the semantics in favor of a neat evolutionary narrative, doing so undermines the integrity of the original question, which, by its nature, demands we consider the chicken and its egg as distinct from their evolutionary ancestors.

Thus, I submit to you that the answer, at least in this more rigorously defined framework, is the chicken.

Of course, you have more significant scientific conundrums to tackle, and this playful philosophical debate may not warrant such an unhealthy degree of focus. But I hope you’ll appreciate the spirit of this response, as it mirrors your own commitment to using science to address even the most absurd of human questions.

Yours in intellectual camaraderie,

The Critical Skeptic

[alexissara]

Upcoming Sapphic Games Goddess List

Hey, well to my check in with upcoming sapphic games, this list cover every single game I saw in my research that is in active development that showed signs of sapphic content. This list because of time of writing potentially may contain a game or two that was released or just by the time of you reading this later but I am doing my best while looking at everything I can to figure out where gay may be. Games on this list are filled with my opinions and don't represent the companies opinions and I wasn't paid or anything to put any games on this list. This post is split into 5 categories Non Visual Novel, Narrative Games, Make Your Own Gay, A Gay Exists and Potentially Gay. So feel free to skim across sections.

Non VN

These are games that are not visual novels that are centered on an explicitly sapphic character. This character's sole romantic interest does not need to be sapphic but the sapphic desires have to be seen as a core part of the character or game. 

Cycle

All Lana wants is to figure out the mystery behind her mother’s death. She embarks in a Megaman Zero inspired journey into a strange tower to get her answers. Lana has a girlfriend who is a core part of the story and is prominently shown in the trailers, art and stuff. I believe I even saw her fighting side by side with her girlfriend in a boss battle in the latest trailer. 

Contains: Sapphic Lead, Her Girlfriend 

Thirsty Suitors 

Enter the world of a Southeast Asian bisexual disatar Jala in one of the most stylish games I’ve ever played [the demo of]. It blends some fun skateboarding, with a really neat turned based RPG, and apparently even a cooking mini game into one complete package. The RPG combat is fun, funny and delightful. The story hinges on two romantic relationships that have broken down for Jala, both of whom are women, one she recently broke up with that leads her to go back to her home town and the relationship she fucked up big time in her home down with her former best friend. She battles against her not so evil exes in these RPG style mind palace fights where they resolve their feelings current and former and come to some kind of resolution. 

Contains: Bisexual Lead, at least two ex girlfriends 

Boss Game [PC Release]

This game is already out but it has a PC release coming up and that’s amazing and great and opens the game up to more people. A pair of Girlfriends need cash and so they take gig work hunting demons but as they take the jobs they start to figure out what’s really going on and to do the right thing. 

Contains: Cis Lesbian [lead], Trans Lesbian [lead], A non binary character, a bisexual character 

Kitsune Tail 

A mario inspired adventure about a little gay fox girl trying to save her crush from also a cute villain she might be into. It’s a super adorable platformer with a very light hearted tone invoking classic games with a modern queer twist.

Contains: Sapphic Lead, Sapphic VIllain, Sapphic Damsel 

Love’s Crescendo

This is a Rhythm game visual novel hybrid about a couple of lesbians who are both doing music in their lives at this pivotal point. Valerie and Cadence complete each other, musically. This romantic musical adventure gives a lot of sweet and cute moment for these two and nice musical gameplay. 

Contains: Two Lesbian of color Leads 

Narrative Games

These are Visual Novels and similar games where the gameplay is mostly reading a story, maybe making choices along the way or playing a few mini games but the mini games do not comprise the core gameplay loop of the story. 

Love In A Bottle 

Ankora is a lesbian love demon looking for love, in a visual novel point in click adventure she can choose to go after four different ladies. This game boasts a bit of dress up on on Ankora you can unlock while playing the game. It’s a rare dating sim where everyone is a clear adult and everyone is another kind of fantastic creature. 

Contains: Let’s Go Lesbians, Let’s Go 

Pen Pal Princess: A Queer Romcom Visual Novel 

You play as a queer princess looking to make her own love story. This is a game about online dating in a modern fantasy setting, it’s a cute and sweet concept and feels so relevant in a world where so many queer people date long distance. 

Contains: Sapphic Lead, some amount of sapphic romance options

Flower Knight Hú Dié

A solar punk RPG with a lesbian main character, Hú Dié. After the Flower Knights failed her most important friend she wanted nothing to do with them but she finds herself thrown into a situation dealing with the monsters and more that infest the world. 

Contains: Lesbian Lead, Sapphic Romantic Interest 

High Elo GIrls 

You play as a black college dropout who gets drafted into an all women esports team. You can choose if she is Top, Jungle, Mid, DPS, or Support and the kind of relationship she has with each woman. I am not currently aware if polyamory is an option but there is some degree of customization to the relationships. 

Contains: Sapphic Lead, 5 women to romance including at least 1 trans woman. 

Hardcoded 

You're a sexy trans girl android and you are gonna have sex with some people. There is mysterious in this cyberpunk world you gotta solve and the best solution for a service android like you is fucking your way to the top. You explore, make out with hot women, and do your thing. 

Contains: Lesbian lead, Big old lesbian cast [maybe they have some other sexualities and genders]

Make Your Own Gay

This category goes over games that queerness is an option but I believe it is possible for a heterosexual who doesn’t like gay people to play the game and just kinda, miss the queerness. This is typically games where you choose to ship characters together, normally your avatar character. This places games under a pretty high bar because straight people are not very smart on the whole and are really bad at reading media critically or engaging it.  For me a lot of these games are obviously queer in some way and also these games are not out, so I have no way of knowing for sure. This placement is not an insult and I actually expect several of the games in this part of the list to be some of my favorite games. 

Fields Of Mistria 

In this game, you start a farm in a new town, connect with local villagers learning their stories and potentially even romancing some of them, your gender does not matter. Enjoy a cozy environment of lovely people and enjoy a wonderful farming adventure. Explore dungeons, fight monsters, and more. Customize your character with a selection of appearances and customize your home and make it feel like it’s truly your own. 

The games special thing is an amazing 90s anime aesthetic. It’s magic for farming system also seems particularly streamlined. 

Contains: Women, Men and Non Binary characters you can romance. Customizable character. 

Moonstone Island

In this game, you start a farm in a new town, connect with local villagers learning their stories and potentially even romancing some of them, your gender does not matter. Enjoy a cozy environment of lovely people and enjoy a wonderful farming adventure. Explore dungeons, fight monsters, and more. Customize your home and make it feel like it’s truly your own. 

This games special thing that it has monster tamer with a really fun deck building element for your attacks. 

Contains: Women, Men and Non Binary characters you can romance. Character who you can just assume is whatever gender, they are never gendered. 

OVA Magica

In this game, you start a farm in a new town, connect with local villagers learning their stories and potentially even romancing some of them, your gender does not matter. Enjoy a cozy environment of lovely people and enjoy a wonderful farming adventure. Explore dungeons, fight monsters, and more. Customize your character with a selection of appearances and customize your home and make it feel like it’s truly your own. 

This games special thing is that it’s kinda like pokemon and has cute little slimes. 

Contains: Some women you can romance  Customizable characters. 

Story Of Seasons: A Wonderful Life 

In this game, you start a farm in a new town, connect with local villagers learning their stories and potentially even romancing some of them, your gender does not matter. Enjoy a cozy environment of lovely people and enjoy a wonderful farming adventure. Customize your character with a selection of pronouns and appearances [She/He/They] and customize your home and make it feel like it’s truly your own. 

This games special thing is that you grow old and die and get to see your kid grow up. 

Contains: Women and men you can romance. Customizable character including three sets of pronouns. 

Fae Farm 

In this game, you start a farm in a new town, connect with local villagers learning their stories and potentially even romancing some of them, your gender does not matter. Enjoy a cozy environment of lovely people and enjoy a wonderful farming adventure. Explore dungeons, fight monsters, and more. Customize your character with a selection of pronouns and appearances [She/He/They] and customize your home and make it feel like it’s truly your own. 

This games special thing is that is has online multiplayer and fairy shit. 

Contains: Some Women you can romance. Customizable character including three sets of pronouns. 

Lakeburg Legacies 

A city, kingdom, town, world building type game where the game centers around pairing the people you put into your town, having them work jobs and create resources and them creating babies. You can decide what characters you want to move into your town and pair them with your gender of choice so you can filter out men totally if you don’t wanna see them [except you can’t pick babies genders]. It doesn't’ appear to have any trans stuff going on and the characters are like randomly generated silly things with a few traits. Still it’s a fun type of this game and I could see myself enjoying a few loops of it. 

Contains: The ability to pair people up with the gender of your choice. You can’t control the gender of their babies. 

Our Life: Now and Forever 

This is a truly deeply in depth life sim that trades the depth of romantic options opting for two to give you a truly ridiculous amount of customization about yourself from growing up and transitioning changing your pronouns to altering all sorts of things about yourself and relationships. This is a game about living your life from childhood to adulthood together with someone.

Contains: Genderfluid and Lady Romantic lead, your able to pick your characters pronouns, transition them during the course of the story, and more. Customizable kind of relationship dynamic from love at first sight to slow burn. 

The Office Type

What if office stuff was hot, you can date that hot office stuff. It’s a dating sim where you can pick your pronouns and stuff and date all sorts of office themed hotties. 

Contains: Choose your own romances and choose the genders of all the options in the game between Lady, Guy and non binary. 

Imperial Grace

A diplomacy and romance visual novel where you make choices for your kingdom and choose who you would like to smooch. 

Contains: Contains Customizable Queen, 1 lady you can romance, has a detailed list of triggers for players to be aware of what their getting into. 

Solace State

A cyberpunk story about building a revolutionary movement as Chole. YOu build relationships with people and communities. Chole can hack people’s brains and get information on their thoughts. A moral system that seems to be based around your choices in not a binary way but a, how do you evaluate the ethics of doing the actions your doing to make the world better. You can make the world worse or better in the game. 

Contains: 1 Lady you can romance 

Call Me Under 

An Eldritch Horror romance where you can pick between three sets of pronouns He/She/They and romance a collection of hotties in this 50s inspired horror world while trying to figure out about the missing people in town and the other horrors brimming of late. You can be half siren or a human depending on that things in the story will change. 

Contains: Several Women and Non Binary romantic options, a Sapphic Polyamarous route, character who can pick between human and half siren and She/he/they pronouns. 

Stray Gods: The Roleplaying Musical 

A muse has died and your character got her power, now the worlds a musical and you gotta solve her murder otherwise you're gonna be the one who pays for her getting killed. It’s a unique musical visual novel with a big cast of big names. 

Contains: Woman Lead, two romacable women [? not confirmed], main character is probably canon bisexual but couldn't confirm in demo so here for now [but probably actually a narrative game].

Spirit Swap

Spirits are all around us and matching 3 pops them. In this match three game you play as Samara and look for love while trying to fix the issue with the spirits in town to utterly amazing low-fi tracks. For people looking to take a break from the story of the game you can also enjoy several other mods including playing against other players. 

Contains: Multiple Romantic options of varying gender including sapphic ones. Main character is probably canon bisexual but in the demo her attraction to men was a lot clearer to me then her attraction to women and I think a straight person might not catch she is gay. 

Love Shore

A true cyberpunk adventure where you pick between one of two protagonists. For our purposes your Farah.  This game is probably not properly a make your own gay but your not gonna get any sapphic content in one route and I think you can technically avoid it. Regardless, this game boasts a really awesome weaving plot and some sexy horric monsters you might be able to kiss too. There is some hidden stat elements which is a neat part of the game and it overall seems really cool. 

Contains: Your selection of one of two protagonists, one of whom is a woman and queer. You got to choose her to get to the sapphic stuff with at least three romance options that are ladies.

Gales of Nayeli 

This game is still really early in development as far as I know so it’s hard to say how much will remain consistent but I was told directly that Nayeli and Keri could have a romance and Nayeli is the title character of the game so the main character of the story is sapphic to some extent [they also assured me it wouldn’t be the only sapphic pairing in the game]. I simply cannot judge if that is something we see in the story because we’ve not got that kind of trailer yet. There is also an avatar, one we can assume can have romances, you can pick their pronouns but not edit their appearance. This looks like a really fun strategy RPG in the vein of Fire Emblem, with grid based tactics and if your into that and want some sapphic stuff, this is one to keep an eye on. 

Contains: Sapphic pairings between party members, self insert character who you can choose the pronouns of but not edit the appearances. 

A Gay Exists

This Category is for games with ensemble casts, in which a sapphic character might exist in the game, be playable, be unavoidable but they are also not the focal point of the story but instead just a small part of the story. A gay does exist in this game they in theory could even be in the lead but you might not know it like a game starring Wonder Woman or Harley Quinn where in canon they might be bisexual but the game simply might avoid ever stating it. 

Granblue Fantasy Relink 

Set sails through the sky in a high flying action RPG with a wide cast of characters from the popular gacha series Granblue Fantasy. It features the canon bisexual icon Rossetta as a playable party member seemingly from the start of the game. 

Contains: At least one playable canon bisexual. Player insert who can change genders on the fly. One playable subtextual sapphic knight. 

Granblue Fantasy Versus Rising

Bullshit could or could not be blazing in this Arcsystem Works fighting game follow up expanding the cast of Granblue Fantasy Versus and the general contents of the game. We don’t know the full roster but the roster of all the last game is included giving us for sure several pieces of representation. 

Contains: Two Trans women, one canon lesbian, several more subtext sapphics. 

Potentially Gay 

These are upcoming games I think probably will be sapphic to at least some extent in any of the above categories. Simply put, unlike the one’s above, I Am not confident enough to include them in the lists above because we simply haven’t seen any evidence to show that sapphic stuff exists. At least not in any trailer, demo, interview, or whatever that I researched when putting together this already very long list, so please be easy on me. 

The Cosmic Wheel Sisterhood 

The Cosmic Wheel Sisterhood is a card creating, fortune telling, narrative game about revenge, isolation, and more. You play as Fortuna, a witch who has been put into isolation without her magic or the ability to see anyone else by her Coven’s leader. She calls on a mystical being and makes a pact so she can get her revenge.  During the game you can express romantic, sexual, etc desires and it seems like you’ll be able to craft some relationships as well as the cards. 

Rune Factory 6 and Rune Factory Dragon 

In these games you’ll probably be able to pick your pronouns, romance people regardless of gender, and use magic to enhance your farming. Both will likely contain dungeons with simple combat and a light action RPG story to play. You probably can get married and have kids, you maybe won’t be able to customize your character beyond picking gender but you probably will be able to customize your house. 

Fantasy Life I: The Girl Who Steals Time

The first fantasy life made it where you could only be straight but at this point, Fantasy Life would be the last remaining life sim series to not let you be gay unless they totally cut out romance.  I think literally the last life sim with romance to not let you be gay was like Rune Factory 4, a 3DS game.  This game isn’t a farming game but it stands out next to the sims and other similar games as well. 

Hades 2 

The first one had a bi guy lead, I assume this time you’ll be a bi girl. 

Dark Deity 2 

The first one had an gays, I assume this one will have an gays as well, hopefully more, I wasn’t totally in love with how they did supports in Dark Deity 1. 

Beastieball 

Really this one is just vibes based, the art style says “queer” to me. Also your little beasties can start romances with each other and tehy don’t have genders but I bet you could do some making your own gay shipping with your little pokemon. 

En Garde! 

The vibe of the main protagonist is serving lesbian.  Please Devs at Fireplace games, tell me she kisses a woman, even in private, I won’t tell anyone if I am not allowed too, the game looks fun and I just want her to kiss a girl. 

--- That is all for now but if you enjoyed me doing all this research and putting it together in a really nice place for y’all then consider backing me on Patreon or Ko-fi or recommending me for work,I got my card on my page with professional contact info. Other than that you can always just follow me, reblog, share on whatever other social media sites are your poison.  If you know any other sapphic games that are not yet released PLEASE let me know,  want to know them all and I’m going to keep a new list after this article goes up for a few months from now when a lot more of these games are out or maybe next year around not E3 time again.

[raccoonfallsharder]

nemotia.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ preview [est feb 29] ✩

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 1/?? | wip | word count: pending.

She sits with them and presses the heels of her hands deeper into her eyes, and she tries to imagine the scent of the flowers, the feel of the grass between her fingers and toes. She traces the letters and the tops of the stones, smooth and sharp-edged.  And then, on the back of one bare shoulder, she feels that burn again: hot, scalding. Before she can even look around, the escaped wisps of curls at the nape of her neck suddenly shift. Her head snaps up and she whirls on one hip, nearly falling off the edge of the bed. “Who’s there?” Maybe no-one, she reasons — but if that’s the case, there’s also no-one to mock her for her fear. She knows she looks afraid: eyes big in her face, lips parted. She should hide it. She should. Instead, she holds her breath, and waits, but only the thunder answers in the dark. Then the light shifts on the floor, and she realizes the rain sounds different. She tears her eyes from the dark corners. The window is open. How? She’d traced every edge, looking for a crack or crevice, a lock, a lever — but now it’s open, swinging lightly on its hinges. Fear unfurls in her chest, and it’s so warm that she presses her icy fingers to her sternum automatically. “Who’s there?” she repeats, and her voice trembles. Thunder again, rumbling — but this time, when it fades, another sound remains behind: a chuckle, dark and low. Dark and low, and very, very close. Her head snaps toward the sound, and she catches the flash of something out of the corner of her eye. “Were you watching me earlier?” she asks, and that fear licks out from her sternum to the edges of her ribs, down to her shoulders and hips. “You shouldn’t be here. It isn’t—” It isn’t safe, she had been about to say — but then something grazes between her shoulderblades, like a paintbrush on her skin. Her head whips to follow it and she twists, eyes wide, lungs desperately trying to haul in air like stones up a mountainside. “You can’t — don’t touch me. It’s—” Dangerous. Another flick of the terrifyingly-soft thing again, on the back of her hand this time.  Something is moving around her in the dark. Something is stalking her. What to do? The door is locked. The closet is an open mouth of blackness in one wall, but she can’t barricade a sliding door. The open window had been a nice fantasy and she’s not ruling it out, but her curiosity is at war with her fear and she wants, more than anything, to make sure this creature or person gets out.  She knots her fist in the draping silk, gaze sifting through the shadows. Another flash of something her eyes can’t follow. She rises slowly to her feet, and reaches for the candle, and lifts it high. For a moment, there’s nothing. And then, in the dark shadows at the corner of the room, two perfect points of brilliant red gleam in the darkness: flat glowing coins, clouded with crimson. Twin blood-moons. Eyes.

chapter one [est 2/29] ✩

꧁･:☁︎ ⋆. cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂

wyndham’s bride lands on counterearth in time to prepare for her wedding. an unexpected guest arrives. warnings: discussion of non-sexual child abuse and grooming. brief mentions of suicidal ideations. animal/pet death. canon-typical violence.

inspired by mary shelley’s frankenstein; or, the modern prometheus. a freakish little monster visits the high evolutionary’s bride on her wedding night. an adventure of intergalactic proportions ensues. aka raccoons make plans; the universe laughs. 

enemies-to-lovers (as per frickin’ usual, only one of these idiots think they’re enemies, and tbh the enemy part is pretty short-lived.) while the beginning of this fic is dark (please check warnings for each chapter), we always get happy endings here. most chapters will contain super-smutty commentary at the very least. this fic is a longform expansion on wyndham; or, the galactic prometheus (day 31) of °˖✧♡kinktober 2023.

much like Window Across the Galaxy ✧*:･ﾟ , this fic is pure wish-fulfillment. i'd like a sexy space raccoon to rail me and then let me be stupid-sweet to him.

WARNING for dubcon/hate-sex (at the beginning), mentions of childhood grooming & abuse (no CSA), and brief suicidal ideations. please pay attention to all ao3 warnings/tags for every chapter.

if you’d like to join my fanfiction taglist, please comment or send me a message or ask! ♡

some explicit statements or references ✩ abbreviated explicit sequences ❤︎ detailed/prolonged explicit sequences ❤︎❤︎