#a pleasant sort of terror

[csh-tournament]

ROUND 2, MATCH 11

a pleasant sort of terror vs Love Me Too Much

Reblogs appreciated for bigger sample size

Listen below

[28dayslater]

terrorcels i’d like to open up a debate bc i’ve been wondering... who do you think is crozier’s favourite or just his least hated lieutenant. bc he doesn’t seem to like any of his awful sons (except, ofc, jopson). and i want to hear your reasons why you picked them

[sea-lanterns]

SAW

synopsis: (slasher! AU) as a devoted follower, you would do anything to please your master.

featuring: arlecchino (columbina mentioned at the end)

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, mentions of death, death traps, brief mentions of child traffi.cking, sadism, master x follower dynamic, praise, pet names (she calls you doll, babydoll, etc.) mockery, lap se.x, thigh riding, strap on, biting, hickies, rough se.x, spa.nking, manhandling, mentions of th.ree.some, implied th.ree.some at the end.

art credits: junji ito's "house of marionettes"

Fastening on the metal bear trap onto an unconscious victim’s head, you hummed an eerie tune to yourself knowing your beloved master was watching you from above. It didn’t matter that you were currently sitting in a padlocked room with a man about to die right in front of you, you just wanted to please your master by any means necessary. Even if it meant killing all these people by sending them into death traps.

You tightened a certain screw on the trap before smiling to yourself and leaning back. The man in front of you was no innocent man, he was a criminal, a monster, and he deserved this fate whether he liked it or not, causing you to smile in sadistic pleasure for the upcoming end of his life.

“Tight as a button.” You hum to yourself, looking up at the security camera located in the far right corner of the room. You knew your beloved master was watching, and you couldn’t help but give it a little wave to show that you had completed the task she assigned you. “I did it…” You exclaim softly, smiling at the flashing red light on the camera. “I’m gonna head up now, okay?”

You stood up and paid no mind to the unconscious man you just doomed to suffer a fate worse than death. Humming all too nonchalantly before leaving the room and locking it shut, ensnaring the man to leave him dead before making your way down the hall with a skip in your step. Various screams of terror and pain rang out from the other death traps as you made your way over to a secret door. The sounds of torture like a song to your ears while you pushed the passcode buttons to unlock a passage to a room.

“What an awful melody…” you murmured to yourself, glancing back at the trap rooms to listen to one more scream of terror. “It’s beautiful.”

The door to the secret passageway popped open and you moved inside with ease, your body slipping through as you maneuvered through the narrow hallways of the abandoned building. “Abandoned” as it appeared to the public, people unaware of the multiple deaths coinciding within its walls for the police have failed to track down the mastermind behind these deaths. 

The mastermind to which you served and dedicated your entire life to.

Navigating your way towards another hidden door, you pushed it open to see a tall woman sitting idly in front of a bunch of security cameras, her lean figure illuminated by the many monitors and making her seem like a god of some sort. A pleasant shiver runs down your spine when you see her, and you immediately take a bow and keep your head down low.

“Master, the player in room 14 is ready to begin his game.” You say with grace, glancing up at the taller woman in hopes of pleasing her. The woman doesn’t move for a moment, but her chair creaks slightly as she slowly turns around to face you. There she was. Your savior, your master, your goddess. The one behind the torture games, the mastermind behind all the killings…

Arlecchino, the Jigsaw killer. 

“Come, sit.” She says calmly, staring at you with those X-shaped pupils of hers that had you pressing your thighs together. “On my lap, come on sweet girl…”

She points down at her legs and you immediately walk over to plant yourself on her lap. Arlecchino wrapped her clawed hands around your waist before leaning forward to take a deep inhale of the scent in your hair. “Did my doll tighten the trap like I asked…?” She whispers into your ear, exhaling with a small groan as she squeezed your hips tighter with her hands. 

“I did. I followed everything you taught me to, master,” you say obediently, looking up at her with the brightest of smiles. “Did I do good? Are you proud of me?” If you had a tail it would for sure be wagging…

Arlecchino chuckled huskily before leaning down to kiss your neck. “You did wonderful, pet…” she says in a dark tone, running one of her nails over the bare expanse of your neck. “The drug should be wearing off soon. Would you like to watch his game with me?” She asks in a polite tone, almost mocking with the way she smiled at you so tenderly.

“Am I allowed to?” You ask softly, staring up at her with wide, doe-like eyes. Arlecchino groaned at the sight and had to keep herself from just shoving you onto her desk and fucking you raw right there, but she had enough restraint and took a deep breath. 

“Do you have to be cute, my doll?” Arlecchino husks, staring up at you with those crimson eyes of hers. “You make it impossible not to devour you…”

Your cheeks flushed at the compliment and you couldn’t help but glance away shyly. “Sorry, master…” you say softly, causing Arlecchino to scoff before smiling. “Don’t apologize, I was merely teasing…”

She pinches your cheek with her fingers before tilting your chin over to look at the monitor in front of you. “Let’s watch his prolonged suffering together, my pet. It looks like he’s starting to awaken…”

Adjusting comfortably on Arlecchino’s lap, she kept a firm hold on your waist before watching the man in the room start to awaken. He looked dazed, clearly confused why he woke up in a green-tiled room with a metal contraption stuck to his neck. He had no idea that he was about to die if he didn’t meet the requirements for Arlecchino’s game, and the thought slightly amused you as you watched him groggily stumble around the room in delusion.

The metal contraption attached to the man’s neck was Arlecchino’s infamous “bear trap.” A simple, yet deadly death trap designed to enclose multiple spikes into a person’s head if they did not complete the challenge on time. It was one of Arlecchino’s favorite traps, as it was a trap designed to kill instantly, yet instill tremendous amounts of fear into the person, as the idea of being Iron Maiden-ed in the face was too scary not to think about…

“Ah…perhaps it’s time we give him a call,” Arlecchino hums, giving your cheek a sensual kiss. “Don’t forget your mask, my pet. The adorable marionette one that makes you look simply stunning…”

You nod obediently and grab the porcelain mask on the table, Arlecchino grabbing her own rubber mask that mimicked a slack-jaw puppet. It was so kind of your master to make you a mask of your own, one that was the perfect complementary pair to match hers so that it looked like you were a couple.

You were, but it was hidden under the facade of a master and follower cover.

“Let’s give him a wake up call, shall we?” Arlecchino grins, turning on the camera and setting up the voice distorter. When the man looks up at the TV in the room, he sees two masked people, you and Arlecchino staring back at him with the creepy and unsettling puppet masks that sent shivers down his spine. It was unsettling with the way you two presented yourselves, and he immediately began shouting at the screen for answers.

“Quiet down, will you?” Arlecchino’s voice ran through the mic, gripping your waist tighter before covering your ears. “You are disturbing my precious doll with your foul words…”

The man refuses to shut up, causing Arlecchino to glare at him through the holes of her mask. She pushes a certain button and the wires of the bear trap suddenly inch closer to the man’s face, causing him to scream. 

“That’s better.” She smiles sadistically, removing her hands from your ears so you could hear. “As I was saying before you rudely interrupted me with your incompetence…”

She begins explaining the rules of the “game” giving the man a chance to escape before the inevitable closure of his death. 

“You were put in this room for becoming involved in a child trafficking ring. To escape, you must find the key to the exit behind one of the tiles in this room. You have ten minutes to complete this task, failure to finish it before the intended time limit will result in the bear trap around your neck closing.”

The man’s eyes widened and you had to keep yourself from chuckling out loud. 

“Your time begins now.”

Arlecchino then clicked off the camera and pulled off her mask, watching as the man began scrambling to search for all the tiles. There had to be at least a thousand tiles in that room, as every square inch of the walls and floor were covered in small, marble tiles. Ten minutes was being generous, but even within that extended time limit, you knew it was almost impossible to find the key as each tile was carefully adjusted to look normal and not out of place.

“So, what should we do while we wait for his ten minutes to be up?” Arlecchino hums, pushing her nose against your neck. She seemed to be implying she wants something intimate with you, but being the obedient follower that you are, you looked up innocently and tilted your head.

“What does master want to do?” You ask in a gentle tone, Arlecchino smirking with the most intimidating gaze. 

“I want to do something sinful, my dear…” she says in a gravelly tone, practically growling into your ear before tugging at your pants. “Indulge in your master, will you?”

Another scream rips through the monitor and you couldn’t help but grow a little wet at the way Arlecchino was keen on fucking you in the middle of a game. She slowly moved her hand up your thigh and you could feel just how sharp and strong her fingers were as they squeezed the ball of flesh above your jeans. The way she could so easily kill you had you on a rush, and Arlecchino groaned at the way you started to warm up against her lap with how wet you were.

“Doll, you’re just begging for me to touch you, hmm?” She chuckles into your ear. “Need my cock in you that bad, huh? You’re lucky I decided to wear it today…”

Her hand moves down to unzip her trousers, revealing a thick strap on that you knew you could take easily with some prep. “You…You were wearing that the whole time?” You exclaim with surprise, a surge of heat pulsing through your core. “I was sitting on it the whole time…?”

She throws her head back to laugh at your stupidity. It was so endearing with how innocent you were when it came to these sorts of things. “I’m surprised you didn’t feel it,” she chuckles through her amusement. “It’s a girthy thing, almost too big if I do say so myself.”

“It’s not big…!” You quickly retort back, pouting at your master before holding onto her shoulders. “I can take it. I can take it all.”

“I don’t doubt it one bit, sweet girl,” Arlecchino grins amusedly. “However, you do need quite a bit of prep work to take such a stretch. Fortunately, you’re already semi-wet, but…” She gives you a wolfish grin before toying with the belt loop of your jeans. “I’ll need that cunt of yours dripping more if you’re gonna take me now…”

You let out a small groan before unzipping your jeans to begin kicking them off, the eagerness of getting her strap inside you too obvious not to notice, as Arlecchino found it difficult to keep a straight face. “Easy there, dollface…” Arlecchino purrs lightly, squeezing your cheeks together with her hand so your lips form a small pout. “I’m in no rush, and neither should you.”

You let out a small noise of complaint at this, before obeying her words and going at a much more leisurely pace. Once your pants and underwear were off, you sat back down on Arlecchino’s lap and whimpered at the feeling of her rough trousers against your aching hole.

“Mmm…quite a delicious sight already…” Arlecchino husks, wrapping her arms around your waist once more. “But not quite wet enough. I think it’s best if you grind against my thigh for a bit, hm?” 

She stares up at you with that incredibly intimidating —yet sexy— look, rows of sharpened teeth glimmering at you under the lamplight air of the room. You had no idea how such a hot woman would be the face behind the infamous Jigsaw killer, but you weren’t complaining. She was yours and you were hers. 

“Yes, master.” You respond in a soft tone, beginning to shift your hips so that you could start grinding against her pants, panting slightly from how stimulated you already were from her dirty talk. 

Arlecchino chuckles and leans back, relaxing in her chair as she watches you grind and ride her thighs with resolve. The sight of you trying so desperately to appease her was such a turn on, and for a moment she forgot that she was currently overseeing a man’s death just rooms away from where you two were sitting. “That’s my good girl…” Arlecchino murmurs, unable to contain her groans as she fixes the shaft of her strap so it sits upright. “Just a little more and you can ride me silly.”

At her encouragement, you only grind harder, whimpering at the pleasurable feeling of her trousers providing friction to your already sensitive clit. There was a pulsing sensation that you could not deny, and as you kept grinding your hips on her leg, you felt yourself growing more wet.

“Goodness…you soaked a spot right on me,” your master smirks almost predatorily, “I think you’re ready to take me, sweet girl…”

As an extra precaution, Arlecchino grabs a bottle of lube from the corner of the table and squeezes a helping of it onto the impressive girth of her cock. The clear liquid drips down her shaft slowly, and Arlecchino gives the length a few shallow pumps before angling it so you could move. 

“Come on, just like we practiced.”  Arlecchino hums, thumbing the tip of the shaft before watching you hover over the head with a bit of hesitance. “I’ll go slow, don’t worry…”

You grip the edge of her shoulders before slowly sinking down onto the head of her cock, the wide tip slowly spearing you open before you whimper and start to feel resistance. 

“Ugh…fuck…” Arlecchino grit her teeth and had to resist the primal urge to slam you down and start thrusting into you. She knew she promised you to be gentle and wanted to keep her promise no matter how tempting it may be to break. 

“Easy there, easy…” she grunts and slowly eases her hips to help you adjust, watching as you slowly inch down bit by bit. “Master…” you whimper out softly, biting your lip before taking a deep breath. “I think I need more lube…”

“No, you’re fine. This is enough.” Arlecchino groans, shifting your hips with her hands before kissing your neck reassuringly. “Just need to find the right…angle…”

You let out a yelp when you suddenly sink down all the way, your hips meeting hers as all of her shaft had somehow fit into you with one swift motion. 

God you severely underestimated the size. It didn’t look that long, and it wasn’t. But oh lord was it thick. The girth of it enough to stretch you wide open and have you squirming in her lap to adjust, letting out pathetic whimpers as you’ve never felt so stretched open before. 

“M-Master…” you gasp, the breath knocked out of your lungs as you feel Arlecchino’s teeth graze your neck. “Too big…”

“What?” Arlecchino practically laughs sadistically in your face, X-shaped pupils almost glowing with amusement. “Didn’t you say you could take it all? That it wasn’t too big?” 

You whimpered when you were reminded of your confident words. 

“It’s not too big, babydoll. You said it yourself.” A sudden shift in her tone had you fearful for a moment as you suddenly felt a sharp thrust pulsate against your inner walls.

“Ah—!” You start to let out breathless pants and gasps when Arlecchino begins to thrust madly. 

“You were so confident earlier, what happened to wanting to take it all immediately?” She mocks, grinning with pleasure as you writhe in her grip. If there was one thing you learned while working under Arlecchino, it was that the woman was a lot stronger than she looked under that lean muscle. Practically pinning you down until you couldn’t move, before making you bounce up and down her lap till the tip of her cock was all you could feel.

“Don’t tell me my doll is defying orders now.” Arlecchino growls, slamming you back down until your pussy practically wraps itself around her length, gripping it for all that it was worth, while you lolled your head back in absolute bliss. “N-Nngh…master…” you moaned out pathetically, the stretch burning you wonderfully while you cling to Arlecchino for sanity. “Slower…please…”

Arlecchino scoffs at that and gives your rear a tiny spank, laughing at the way you recoiled in surprise. 

“Slower? You want me to go slower?” She was mocking you again, the sadism evident in her voice. “Babydoll, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

She spanks your read once more and bites your neck rather aggressively, a dark hickey beginning to form at the base while she continues ramming her girth into your cunt. The way you were holding onto her so tightly —and pathetically— gave Arlecchino a power strike of ecstasy, the woman animalistic with her ruts as she digs her claws even further against your ass.

“You’re dripping so much, my sweet girl,” she groans into your throat, “Such a mess, I’ll need you to clean everything up for me later, right?”

She sneers at the way you whine at her words before shaking your head in obedience.

“Yes, master!”

“Good fucking girl.”

She suddenly lifts you up and places you on her desk, the bright blue monitors illuminating your body like a heavenly light while Arlecchino thrusts more brutally into your flesh. Rough hands prying your legs further apart as she pushes you down to deliver a passionate kiss. With one final push, you feel your body twitch before a squeal leaves your lips and cum drips down your thighs, your climax reaching a beautiful finale, as the monitor above you plays the sound of the man screaming to death in his room. The trap had closed around his head and ensnared his head in a casket of spikes, leaving him to bleed out in the tiled room of door 14.

“Hah…hah…looks like he didn’t make it.” Arlecchino pants, grinning all too wildly before kissing your neck affectionately. “Good girl. I knew I could count on you…”

As she nuzzles your neck with her face, you hear the door behind her suddenly creak open before gentle humming fills the room. Arlecchino turns back to see who had entered, before smiling at the sight of the other person.

“My, my, I see you’ve had your fun with her already.” Came a familiar, feminine voice. You looked up to see a shorter woman wearing a pig mask shutting the door, lithe hands reaching up to pull off the atrocious mask, and revealing a petite, yet beautiful woman you recognized as Columbina. One of Arlecchino’s most dutiful proxies. 

“Goodness, she’s certainly soaked your pants, Arlecchino.” Columbina tuts with faux astonishment. “I can’t believe you two started without me.” 

“You were taking too long,” Arlecchino chuckles back, caressing your cheek with a clawed nail. “You should’ve been faster.”

“Ah, I was too busy setting up the victims for the next few games,” the pigheaded woman sighs, strutting over to pinch your cheek playfully. “Looks like this little one will have to make it up to me now…”

You instinctively melted under Columbina’s touch, nuzzling your face into the soft, sweet palm of her hand. She cooes affectionately at the sight, before giving your head a little puppy-like pat. “Good girl…”

“She is, isn’t she?” Arlecchino grins, picking you up once more to sit on her lap while she rests on her chair. “I think this sweet thing can spare us one more round. For Columbina’s sake, right?” She lifts your chin with a finger, staring at you as if almost daring you to say no. 

“Of course, master…” you say obediently, arousal starting to drip down your thighs once more at the possibility of a threesome. 

“Atta girl…” Columbina giggles, pressing up behind you and kissing the back of your ear. “Just the perfect doll for us to share…”

You only bucked back your hips at that, ready to give whatever these two women wanted from you.

[lushaletta]

the lamb and her wolf / tom riddle

pairing: tom riddle x fem!reader

content: muggleborn!reader, tom is goin a lil mad

summary: have you fallen into the dark lord’s trap, or has he fallen into yours?

a/n: i wrote this at 4 in the morning so enjoy this stream of consciousness grumpy x sunshine esque tom riddle fanfiction or something.

⋆ ࣪.  ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖࣪ ˖࣪ ∗

Tom is in a frenzy of sorts, he’s concluded.

Perhaps it is the sleepless nights and stressful days that cloud his weeks that are causing the weird feeling in his chest. Insomnia-induced hysteria.

There’s a flurry of thoughts swirling around his head recently. All with a common theme; you. The space in his brain that he typically reserved for Ancient Runes or Arithmancy was now composed of you, you, and only you.

It makes him sick to his stomach.

He’s unfocused. And he can’t be, because he’s supposed to be working on the secret that Salazar Slytherin hid in the deep crevices of Hogwarts some years ago.

His fingers tap on the book that he can’t seem to pay attention to as he tries to make sense of this. The disgusting, awful, pleasant fondness he feels for you. For a Muggleborn girl no less.

The only solution to his problem is to kill you. It wouldn’t be hard, he thinks. You’re small and meek and all too trusting of him. Like a lamb to the slaughter.

You are a symbol of everything he despises. Joy. Innocence. You are of the same kind as his worthless father. So why is it that he can’t bring himself to end you? To end your time together? He’s done it before. He’s done it plenty of times and without a second thought.

“Tom!” your horrible, beautiful voice cheers, snapping him out of his thoughts. Oh, great, he thinks. You plague his mind and now you bedevil his reality.

“Hello,” he says after a beat.

You ignore his bothered expression and smile. “I’ve brought snacks! You do like mince pie, don’t you?” He nods weakly. “Good, because my mam’s had some sent. She’s trying out a new recipe. Secret ingredient or something like that. I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet, with your inane study habits, I mean, do you ever have breaks?” You ramble on and he listens with fascination. How could you be talking to him so casually? So endearingly?

You’re far from done. “It doesn’t matter, though. You’ll have a break now. Go on, put your book away, would you?” He does as told. He’s not sure why. You take a seat at his table, fumbling with the paper bag you’ve brought. “Aha! Mince pie! One for each of us. Tell me if you like it, I’ll have Mam send some more. She’d be delighted.”

It’s at this point, where he’s chewing on warm minced pie and watching you do the same, nodding contentedly, that he wonders which life decisions he’d made led up to this. He’s the Dark Lord. A name that the world will soon fear. If all goes to plan, you’ll be reading in terror of all the vile things he’s done in the paper. You’ll be afraid of him, and he can’t help dread it. He dreads the thought of your heartbroken eyes as you realise what a wicked person you’d extended your kindness to.

It’s the frenzy again. What is he even thinking? He dreaded nothing. He looked at his plans with excitement.

“Tom? Hellooo,” you say, singsongingly. He didn’t even realise you’d been speaking. He glances up at you and imagines what you’d think of him once the truth comes out.

“Yes?”

“What do you think? About the pie, I mean.”

He clears his throat, fingers gripping the armrest of his seat. “Good. It’s good.” That draws another pretty smile out of you and he really hates the way it made him feel. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome! Also, Tommy,” He quirks his brow. The nickname was a slip of the tongue. You’d never used it and it made you nervous, but he didn’t seem to mind so much. “Are you busy later? I need some help with Transfiguration.”

He’s always busy. Well, he should be. He’s been slacking recently, too preoccupied with your freshly baked desserts and strawberry-smelling hair.

“I could make time for that,” he says decidedly.

Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

You’re immediately on your feet, giddy like how he’d imagine a child to be upon receiving candy. “Thank you! Oh, you’re a lifesaver, truly!” you say, and suddenly a kiss is planted on his cheek.

A full stop. His world pauses and spins on its axis. Your lips felt good. Bad.

What an evil, evil wolf he was.

[ramblinscramblin]

Got a request/suggestion for you if you like. As headcannons or whatever strikes your fancy.

The team has a new recruit! They are one of the most genuine, patient, friendly, sweetest people one could ever meet. They make everyone breakfast in the mornings, they listen to people's problems, they volunteer at a puppy orphanage, talk down muggers in the street, essentially a bottle of sunshine as a person.

On the battlefield however, they are most certainly one of the scariest people alive. They are incredibly strong and durable, no need for weapons when they can tear people apart with their bears hands and teeth. They are brutal, carnage incarnate, and have absolutely no fear whatsoever.

Now, their sweetness is genuine, they are not faking anything. Outside of battle they are one of the most pleasant, stable people on the team. If ever asked, the best reply they can ever give is "This is a war with no true death. (Thanks to the respawn machine) When you can play a game with no consequences, why not have a little fun? ~"

What do the mercs think about their new teammate? How did they react to seeing their first time on the battlefield? How scary is the game with a player who doesn't care?

Sorry about the length, I got all excited. Romantic or platonic is good, and pick whichever mercs you like to focus on.

→Sweetheart Reader who has a Bloodlust!

Genre: Silliness, general

Characters: Scout, Medic, Pyro, Sniper

Content warning: canon typical violence

Thanks so much for this request! This is such a fun idea! I decided to just pick a few of my favs, also relationship is left fairly ambiguous hope that’s all good! Enjoyyyy ٩( ᐛ )و

Scout

Scout enjoys your sweet side, Scout tends to lean towards supportive types since he doesn’t see much of that from the other mercs.

The two of you get along quickly.

We know he secretly loves being babied so he likes that you make breakfast and do all the cleaning.

He’ll probably make fun of you, calling you the teams maid. You let it slide though, maybe playfully teasing him back.

But ultimately he enjoys having someone around who isn’t totally nihilistic and hasn’t already half given up on being happy, it’s a nice change of pace for him.

All that being said, he doesn’t think you’re going to last a second on the battlefield.

Sure, being all starry eyed and happy go lucky is all good and fine around the base, but that’s the type of stuff that breaks you on the battlefield, respawns or not.

Genuinely tries to talk you out of it the first time you’re set to go out.

“Are you sure you really thought this through? Nobody’d be mad if ya skipped out on us, maybe Pauling has another type-a job for you.”

“Scout, it’s sweet you care so much, but I assure you I have it under control.”

He’s unconvinced so he goes into it feeling the need to protect you.

After he is literally doused in BLU teams blood, it’s pretty glaringly obvious you don’t need him.

Is in genuine awe, hardly fights the whole match, just watches you in… terror? Amazement? Surprise? He’s not exactly sure what he’s feeling, but there is a lot of it.

He’s definitely more wary from that point forward of making any sort of jokes about you.

Medic

Medic is wholly distrusting of your whole “good guy” act.

It might seem nice, and maybe you are but nobody gets into your position by being all smiles all the time he knows that.

Once he does a bit of inspecting on your character and a whole lot of judging, finding out that you are seriously just that golden hearted is a serious surprise to him.

You may point out to him that’s it’s pretty unfair of him of all people to be suspicious, the guy who smiles while doing open heart surgery, which he concedes.

He’s much more receptive to your niceness from then on.

Doesn’t fear so much for your safety on the battlefield, your kindness was not a good enough scale for how you would perform in battle, at least in Medics eyes.

Feels much more drawn to you after seeing your insane side.

Once seeing you on the battlefield he feels he finally has the full picture of who you are, and enjoys your company much more.

Your attitudes of being fairly frivolous on the battlefield have earned the two of you a rather unnerving reputation, but neither of you care, content to be menaces on the ground.

Sniper

Likewise, Sniper is a little suspicious about your behavior.

A puppy shelter? The sweet conversations? Helping at soup kitchens? It’s all a little on the nose for his tastes.

The kicker for him was when you somehow turned a violent drunk man on the street into a weeping mess, talking him through his childhood trauma. You really were just that tooth rottingly sweet.

Gets used to it, keeps his distance, but gets used to it.

After seeing you in battle he is even more put off. Of course, he respects your play, just the same way that he has some base level of respect for his teammates but it never goes beyond that.

He has strict codes he sticks to on the battlefield, and seeing you so lax about respect just sort of rubs him the wrong way.

You two probably don’t end up seeing eye to eye all too often, and may butt heads fairly often because of this.

But at the end of the day, you’re both teammates, and everyone else on the team loves you so much that it makes Mick feel like an asshole for having any negative feelings towards you.

Pyro

Wow! You guys get along so great!

Pyro is the exact same way, relatively beloved due to kindness off the battlefield but feared during the fight.

Pyro adores how kind and compassionate you are, wants to do all your helping stuff with you. Even if they don’t really know how to properly help anyone without starting a fire.

They will “help” with cooking and cleaning, just enjoying trying to be helpful.

You show up in a lot of their pyro land drawings, and they do enjoy spending a lot of time with you, and you them!

Pyro also loves helping out with you on the battlefield! Spreading peace and love is that much easier when you’re by their side.

Or at least… that’s Pyros version of events.

Sorry for the wait, having the worst burnout, but I am pressing on for u guys (￣^￣)ゞ hope you enjoyed!

[takusan-no-ai]

Interspecies Relationships

PAIRING: Serie/Aura x Male Reader (Romantic) (Separate), Frieren x Male Reader (Platonic) (Fluff)

SUMMARY: They have a human for a lover, and Frieren has something to say about him.

Serie never was one to openly display her affection to others; even when it came to her precious apprentices. Though despite that hidden love, she always had a way of showing it without even realizing. The same can be said for you. How you met is still unexplainably random.

There Serie was, just reminiscing in a flower field; something she’ll deny doing to this very day. And then she looked up as a shadow gradually grew in size around her. What was supposed to be a painful fall after being flung into the air by a giant bird was instead a comforting patch of grass. Standing above you was a small elf. “Cute”. You called her.

She still smiles fondly at that day, quickly denying or laughing it off when you question her happy mood. Yet for as much as she smiles about it, a part of her is already dreading the bittersweet departure that is inevitable. You will die long before her, and for once Serie is forced to confront her near immortality with disdain.

But she isn’t some young elf with no life experience. Plenty of those she has loved are now lost. And so she intends to enjoy your mortality to the fullest. She won’t treat your life span like a passing thought; you’ll be her boyfriend, husband, and maybe even a father in a very short period of time. Elves don’t fall in love often, so it’s all a very strong, new, and exhilarating experience for Serie.

“Where are we going, Serie?” He asked for the ninth time. (Y/N) was being strung along as his elven girlfriend, Serie, marched ahead. Again, she ignored his question, opting for tugging his hand instead.

“Out.”

“Where?”

“Out.”

“WHERE?”

“Out.”

“…out.”

“Out.”

“Dammit.”

Finally giving up on the useless back-and-forth, (Y/N) resigned to just enjoying the pleasant scenery; bright sky, lush clouds, chirping birds, and a beautiful field of flowers. Suddenly, Serie plopped down on the grass and sat criss cross. (Y/N) fell down with her, now sprayed over her lap.

“Sit up, (Y/N).” She said, looking out in the distance. (Y/N) did as she instructed and followed her gaze. He was met with a beautiful sunrise.

Finally it all clicked in his head. “This is where we met! I thought I had died and gone to heaven when I saw a cute elf standing above me.” He said with no hesitation. Not even an ounce of embarrassment.

Serie blushed ever so slightly. “Ugh, you and your big mouth…you’re lucky I love you.”

Arrogant. Egotistical. Callous. These are the words that describe Aura, and all demon kind alike. She didn’t fall in love either, at least not in any normal sense of the word. Obsessed. Possessive. Entitled. These are the emotions she felt toward you, her supposed boyfriend. You were hers simply because she said so. And why? Simply because she can’t kill you.

Your strength came from none other than being mentored by the Serie, and to some extent, Frieren. The former took care of you throughout your youth, while the latter showed you a thing or two on occasion whenever you’d happen to cross paths. Your immense power, mana, and utter lack of fear wasn’t befitting a human. For once Aura felt terror. She couldn’t kill you.

She did the next best thing to survive, even if it was the most pride damaging thing: seduction. It didn’t work. You remained completely in control and kept her alive in case you ever needed a demon hostage. The power struggle against a mere human awoke something within Aura, and unceremoniously, she looked at you as a “king” of sorts. She wouldn’t kill you.

Aura quickly grew obsessed with your strength and saw to it that if she could convince you to “join” her side, then all humans would tremble before her with no hope. She’d mate with you, make you her husband, and rule over the world alongside you. Her fantasies are quickly shot down when you whack her on head. “Kill another human and I’ll kill you.” She could sense both the love and disdain in your gaze. She’d never kill you. Even if it was her wildest fantasy to do so.

Aura couldn’t move a muscle, her body stiff as a board. Why? Because of him. (Y/N) was fast asleep and held Aura in a tight grip with his arm, lying flat on his back. She wanted to get out. She could smell humans nearby.

If she could just escape and get a little bite. He never said she couldn’t eat from humans; he only said that she couldn’t kill them. Already she wasn’t taking (Y/N)’s threats seriously. Her arrogance truly knew no bounds.

Alas, his strength was still unimaginable even when he slept. Aura was this close to just biting into his neck. “Oh? Oh…oooooh.” Why didn’t she think of that before?!

She turned over as best as she could, now facing (Y/N). His breathing was steady, eyes closed, and face perfectly sculpted. This gorgeous view all for herself. No other woman, demon, elf, human, whatever, would be able to see this side of him. Aura could feel the massive ego boost just brimming.

No time to dilly dally though! She slowly leaned towards his neck, giving it a quick lick first, before biting down as hard as she could. Her jaws met rubber. A stress ball to be exact. “Huh?”

“If you’re going to attack, don’t be so arrogant and give your prey a warning strike.” (Y/N) said while pointing to the spot she had just licked. Aura’s face turned into an immense shade of red; from fury or embarrassment? She couldn’t tell.

“Bite on that every time you feel like relapsing. You’re going cold turkey for a reason.” He said with no apparent care and turned back around. In seconds he was fast asleep.

“Hmph! Nothings stopping me from leaving and feasting right now on those humans, darling!” Aura proudly declared as she got up and headed for the door. However, the moment she touched it her entire body shocked and she fell to her knees.

“Oh yeah. The door does automatic mana drain on all demons. That’s why I always open the door for you. Don’t bother trying the windows. The walls, floor, and roof too.”

She could just feel the smug attitude.

When you’re dating Serie, Frieren has to admit she was way more than just shocked. When being interviewed by Serie to become a first class mage, she WAS NOT expecting to see her siting in the lap of a young man. At first she thought maybe you were just a very overly affectionate apprentice. That was until she saw Serie smooch you on the lips with the most smug smile ever to exist in mankind.

Frieren actually almost passed out from shock. But throughout all that surprise, she’s genuinely happy to see Serie grow softer and value a human’s life more openly. She believes you’ll be a good change for Serie. And is grateful that her master’s master won’t end up like her and Himmel.

When you’re dating Aura, Frieren couldn’t be more disgusted. She was this close to just blasting you with zoltraak when she heard the news. Though thankfully Serie also taught you how to be calm enough to control the conversation even in a dangerous situation. You told her it was more so a king and servant relationship (with you as the king). Of course this was all according to Aura’s own words.

Words that Frieren took with the tiniest grain of salt imaginable. She begrudgingly let you go when you promised to execute Aura if she tried to harm another human being; that you keeping her alive was simply a fail safe in case of emergency. She doesn’t entirely believe you, and entertains the idea of you being mind controlled, but ultimately trusts you thanks to your abilities as a mage.

(Y/N) and Frieren met up in a nearby pub for their agreed hangout. It was less so a friendly meet up and more so a relaying of relationship progress.

“So, how is it going with her?” She asked.

(Y/N) took a bite out of his hamburg steak, smiling slightly. “Decently well.”

“Is she causing any problems? Headaches?”

“Less now. Though she talks a lot about you.” He teased.

Frieren sighed. “Of course she does.”

- Fin

[midnight-bay-if]

Hey, hey!!😊

Quick ask, what would ROs do if they saw someone hitting Mc? (I feel like I'm going to see the chaos that the ROs are going to create, pure fun 😎)

Bye, bye!!

(Oh, dear... Yep, you'll unleash the beast with an ask such as this. The beast being all of the ROs because all of them are capable of being monsters if pressed, haha.)

S: S watches you from a distance, as they so often do when they are around you. It isn't on purpose. Their eyes are naturally drawn to you when their mind begins to wander. But what they wander to this time is less pleasant. They don't know who it is with you, but it is obvious the conversation isn't going well. Then, they strike you across the face. It happens in moments, but it slows down for S.

In theory, S knows you can handle yourself well enough. The hit was sloppy with little technique; they have seen you take worse. Yet the indignity of it all only makes them feel... angry.

"You do attract some odd sorts, MC," S says, stepping between you and the assailant, arms crossed with muscles flexed. "Now even rodents are vying for your attention."

The stranger steps forward momentarily, blind rage cutting through common sense before reason again takes hold. They weigh their chances against the two of you before quickly scuttling away with their head dipped low.

"I could have handled that, S."

S turns back to you with a soft smile. "I know. That was for me." S reaches out and gently caresses the area that was struck. "Let's find something cold for the swelling. Then you can tell me all about how you managed to anger the pest."

Rain: Rain's been a little distracted by their surroundings. They still have much to learn about the human world, which can be a lot to take in. So, they don't realise they have been gradually wandering further and further away from you; not until they turn around to ask you a question, and you aren't there. They are momentarily confused until they spot you a little away being confronted by someone who looks especially angry.

The man leers into your space before reaching out to slap you across the face. It shocks them. The blatant violence against you is harrowing and difficult to believe despite it staring them right in the face.

Rain sprints to close the distance, setting themselves between you and the attacker with a face of fury reserved for only the worst of creatures.

"Back off. Now."

The man scoffs, clearly not very impressed. "This has nothing to do with you. This is between me and them."

"Wrong." Rain pulls out an official-looking badge that denotes them as a government employee. "I suggest you walk away before this becomes my problem further."

The man tuts, shakes his head, then turns on his heel with a quick step.

"I had that handled, Rain."

Rain sighs. Then turns to you and shrugs. "At least he's gone now. Let's get some ice for that cheek, shall we?"

Taj: Taj has zoned out. Sometimes, they have to do it in public to stop themselves from feeling suffocated by the people around them, which gets them in trouble a lot. S can be whittling away battle plans on the fly and will quiz them once finished, only to find Taj had stopped paying attention about halfway through.

So, it isn't immediately apparent to them that you have begun to draw back. But they do not step too far away before their ears twitch, alerting them to a change in surroundings. They turn back, expecting you to already be rushing to catch up, but instead see you waylaid by a furious man shouting spittle in your face.

Taj is already rushing back in your direction when they see the closed fist contact your cheek. A burning heat engulfs the pit of their stomach, and their vision hazes red as Taj pounces onto your assailant, forcing them to their floor as their fists and claws start going wild.

"How dare you?! You filthy little--"

You have to drag them away. It isn't pretty. The man's face is bleeding from multiple lacerations, terror in his eyes as he crawls to his feet and dashes down the street.

Taj is breathing heavily, their skin burning hotter than usual. They feel tiny lumps of skin collected under their fingernails from where they dug them into the human's face. It was wild, untamed. They want to keep going.

"Taj?"

Taj inhales sharply, closing their eyes as they count to ten in their head. 0ne, two, three...

They feel your hand on their arm and open their eyes again.

"Are you... all right?" Taj finally says. "Are you hurt?" A warm hand encompasses your cheek with much more gentleness than they showed the man.

"We need to go. Now," you command, tugging on their sleeve. "Hopefully S will know how to fix this."

N: It is common for N to fill the silence with the sound of their own voice. They have a lot to say, and their voice is lovely by the way. So, when you are wandering the street, and N is gesturing wildly as they recount the tale of their day, they don't immediately notice you lagging behind. "And that is when I said, 'Nice try. Next time try using your actual legs to--" They stop, eyebrows creased and turn towards you.

The instant they do, a resounding slap fills the space. Your head turns with it, but otherwise, nobody moves. N feels the Hael in them raging. The fire that keeps them tethered unleashes inside them, boiling their blood dangerously.

But they do their best to mask it, hiding behind an insidious grin.

"And who is this delightful individual, MC?" They ask, reaching out to grab the woman's hand before she can pull back, gripping it tightly. "You always make such interesting friends."

Sensing their darkness, you place a placating hand on their shoulder. "It's okay, N. I can handle this."

The woman senses it, too. N may be smiling, but there's no amusement there. She's scared; all previous bravado has wilted to nothing. So, N lets her go.

"Scuttle away now, my dear," they say, waving their hand away as if dismissing a servant. "Before my hand slips."

The woman does as she is bid in record time, and N's smile slowly twists to a snarl. "Wretched cur."

"It's fine. I'm fine. Let's just drop it."

N inhales deeply, the hatred still burning. Then, they firmly plant a smile back on their face. "Of course, my dear. Let us go about our day together, unspoiled. You should probably get that face seen to. We can't allow your perfect features to become marked, can we?"

Strangely enough, you don't bump into the woman again on your usual morning routes. It's almost as if she has vanished entirely from Albach Bay.

Umbra: Umbra spent some time away from you today. They are getting better at it. Their instinct is still to remain close, watchful, a silent sentinel destined to guard you. But they have since learned that it can be unhealthy to have such a strong attachment to a living person—unhealthy for the recipient and harmful for the provider. It's not something they particularly understand, but they want to learn—for you.

But now they are keen to return to your side. It's been two hours, after all. That's more than enough time for something dreadful to have happened. They need to see you. To see you safe.

They round a corner, their face lighting up when their eyes catch you. The other person with you barely gets a second glance. Until that person lifts a hand to you, anyway. Then, Umbra is instilling that face into memory. Within moments, a cloud of black smoke disappears and reappears beside the assailant, a black dagger curled beneath his throat, pressing against the skin.

Black smoke pillows out of Umbra's eyes, the typical whites of their eyes pitch black. Within a breath, a dagger is pressed close to the man's throat, nicking at the skin.

"How dare you?!" The voice is raspy, much lower than Umbra's usual tone, and joined by a myriad of dissonant whispers.

You reach out, grasping Umbra's arm to stop them. "No, Umbra! Don't!"

Your voice cuts through the fog, the black in their eyes returning white as they turn to you. "But this man--"

"Does not deserve to die!"

Umbra feels your anger and disappointment in them. It cuts deeper than any dagger could. But they do not know how to differentiate between those who hurt you and those who should die for it.

Umbra drops the knife from the man's neck, stepping away to let him run. And run, he does. Umbra watches a moment longer, allowing the man to shriek and holler far into the distance.

"We should go. Now. Hopefully S can fix this."

Umbra follows, their dagger arm still itching.

(I may have gotten slightly carried away again. Why do I do this? lol)

[chiaraswritings]

Unexpected.

Disclaimer: I do not own DC or their characters, or their settings. This is certainly not canon.

Warnings & Topics: Suggestive themes, emotional distress, physical exhaustion, pregnancy. 18+.

Word Count: 3.9K words

Summary: Batmom! reader finds out she is pregnant a short time after marrying Bruce Wayne, not in the most pleasant of ways. Telling him won't be easy, but Alfred gives her some encouragement.

Author's note: After four hours of work, I deem my first fanfiction suitable for posting. Thank you for all the support. I hope you enjoy.

Listen on Spotify while you read…

It'd been two months since that beautiful, blissful, romantic day. Actually, two months, two weeks, and one day. But who was counting, right?

The newspapers were. Headlines of gossip news, huge block letters in bold, depicted that I had been spotted at the gym alone again, also describing their support for my "weight loss journey" since I had been "losing my figure". I had been reading this article over and over for about an hour. Damn. I inspected the black and white photo of myself in leggings and a tank top. The worst part about, well, everything, is that they were right. I was losing my figure, noticeably. 

I didn't even notice Alfred behind me until he spoke. "No matter how many times you read them, the words are not going to change, ma'am."

I jumped slightly. I hadn't been sleeping or eating well at all, my back and chest ached too much to relax, and heartburn hit me like a batarang after meals. I think I had gotten thirty hours of sleep in the last week, and maybe one meal a day. "Thank you, Alfred. Do you know when dinner will be ready?" 

"In a half hour, ma'am." The butler moved to the other end of the kitchen table to face me. "Those words in the paper are words that all who love you disagree with."

Alfred's words touched me if only a little, and I set down the paper. "Thank you, I think I'm going to take a walk." 

He looked concerned, but just for a moment. "Alright, ma'am. Try not to be late, the chicken may be devoured." 

Chuckling, I stepped out into the early evening light. I would not be late for dinner, living with five hungry men teaches you a lot. The sunlight embraced me, bathing me in its gentle rays, glimmering over my face. I felt positively glorious. Closing my eyes, I soaked it in. My husband would soon be home to kiss me and keep an arm around my waist. The simple thought of his touch made my mouth stretch into a smile. Five more minutes, and I'll go in. 

Five minutes turned into twenty. Being amongst the blooming flowers and the busy insects kept me occupied. Not only that, but a sudden headache had overtaken me. I sat in the grass, unladylike, watching the bees collect their last supply of nectar from the flowers for the day. Grass stains never bothered me anyway. I knew time was getting away from me, but I couldn't seem to bring myself to focus on anything. I didn't want to go inside because I didn't want bedtime to arrive. It was too painful to even think about. My head and back reminded me of that even now. 

My vision blurred slightly, I could only focus on a single flower on the bushes before me, bees continuing to fly around it. This was nice. I couldn't focus on a single thing, or think about anything, or worry.

I felt myself fall, sort of, to the ground. Fall was the best word I know to describe it. I was already sitting on the ground, but my muscles suddenly felt like pudding. My head bumped to the grass and laid to rest. Terror gripped my heart and throat for a single second before everything just... relaxed. My vision went next, but I was okay with that. This was so relaxing. I wanted to stay.

...

"Madam. Madam (Y/N)!" The voice came from... maybe a mile away. Maybe. Maybe ten miles. Maybe a hundred.

"(Y/N), madam (Y/N)!" Something cold was on my face. Ugh. I don't like that. The wind bit and stung at where the cold wetness was on my cheek. Ouch.

"Wake up, madam!" No. I don't want to. Go away. But the voice sounds scared.  

I slowly, slowly, with great effort, opened my eyes. Instantly they closed again. My friend the butler was hovering over me. What was his name again?

"Mom!" New voice. Go the hell away. I open my eyes again. 

"I'm here, I'm fine." Sitting up took much more strength than opening my eyes, but I managed to do so. Dick and Alfred worriedly stare at me. "I was just taking a nap."

"That wasn't a nap, it looked like you passed out." Dick was the one with the cold wet cloth. He put it to my head again. I gave him a withering glare, and he pulled it away again, looking apologetic. 

"It was a nap, of course I didn't pass out. Now let me return to it," I waved my hand in no particular direction, trying to shoo them away like mice.

"I am afraid I cannot allow you to sleep on the cold ground in nothing but your loungewear, ma'am." Alfred took the cloth from Dick and put it to my forehead. 

Lord, they were being so annoying, I just wanted to go back to sleep. My eyelids drooped and my words slurred. "Bed hurts too much right now... just come back later..." my head finally dropped forward as vision began to diminish again. 

I couldn't really tell what they said next. What I could remember was, "Inside now... call the... when they can see her..." and "...got her... go and tell him... I've got it..." 

The sensation of being lifted did not startle my dozing. Neither did the shouting, nor the feeling of hands on my face. I had earned this sleep, and I was going to... enjoy... it...

...

I was awake, but I didn't want to open my eyes. It wasn't time. Please don't let it be time. I peeked a glance at my watch. Eight in the morning on a Sunday? Yeah, back to sleep we go. 

Before I could return to my dreamless sleep, I became aware of unidentified breathing beside me. Was that Titus? Or maybe Alfred. Maybe I had been kidnapped. Did I care? Hell to the no. All I cared about at this present moment was slumber. If I was kidnapped, I could sleep all I wanted while I waited for them to rescue me.

Then, like a train, uninvited and on its own, the back pain hit my lower body. I couldn't help the moan of discomfort that tore from my throat.

Instantly, a hand went to my forehead. It felt so cold against my warm head. I'd better see who this person with the cold hands is and tell them to go stick their fingers in a campfire before touching me again.

 When I opened my eyes, I realized I wasn't even in the garden anymore. Alfred, I told you I wanted to stay on the ground. But it wasn't Alfred who had put freezing digits on my forehead. It was my husband, my dearest Bruce, my wonderful partner in... crime didn't seem like a good choice of words. His worried blue eyes bored into my sleep-deprived (Y/C) eyes. Ouch, that gaze made my headache come back.

"Hello. Go warm your hands up," I told the love of my life before closing my eyes again. The light from the window seemed to be penetrating my very brain. 

"My hands are warm," replied the bearer of freezing fingers.

"Please, feels like your hands went to the Artic circle for winter vacation." My stubborn retort took a lot out of me, but I could practically hear his small smile. 

"There's my girl," he murmured. I opened my eyes again to smile at my wonderful... freezing... man. 

"Yeahhh, your girl's going back to dreamland. Night night." I grunted at the pain stabbing me in the back, the throbbing in my head, and the emptiness in my stomach.

"Not yet, sweetheart. Stay right here. The doctor's going to be here at ten, you should freshen up a bit." 

I opened one eye to glare unhappily at him. "Don't need a doctor. Need a nap."

His chuckle annoyed me to the very core, almost scaring away the shooting pains in my back. "I'm sorry, but this needs to happen. Do you know how worried we all were when we heard you had fainted in the garden? The boys hardly wanted to go on patrol, they wanted to look after you."

"The boys didn't want to go on patrol? You didn't want to look after me?" I glared playfully at my handsome knight. "And I didn't faint... just took a nap."

"On the cold hard ground?" His questioning gaze made me open both my eyes.

"Yes, it felt nice on my back." 

"Does your back still hurt, sweetheart?"

"Yes, it still hurts." 

"And you didn't feel like sleeping in the bed?"

"The hell is this, an interrogation?" 

"Maybe," he grinned.

"Go away," I retorted, closing my eyes. "I have to go to work, no time for doctors."

"I called and told them you can't come in this week."

"This... this is why I married you."

It didn't take long to fall back into blissful, painless paradise. Bruce left me alone, but I knew he was close by, watching over me. The mansion was so quiet and peaceful, I knew the boys were fast asleep.

Much too soon, I was being kissed awake. 

"Darling, Doctor Thompkin's here. It's time to wake up." Bruce's forehead kisses were, for the very first time in our relationship, annoying. 

"Ugh." I rolled over to escape, my back cracking. 

"Upsy daisy." He stroked my back, gently massaging my painfully aching muscles.

Sitting up took all the strength I had, and yet I had to find more to answer the questionnaire the doctor was springing upon me. Bruce stepped out mid-examination to answer a phone call, leaving the woman to observe my body and take into consideration my answers to her questions. Her questions seemed endless. "Have you been out of the country in the last month?" 

"No."

"Have you been feeling depressed or hopeless?"

"No."

"Are you on any medications?"

"No."

"Do you or any family members have history of scoliosis?" 

"No."

"History of heartburn?"

"No."

"When was your last menstrual cycle?"

"It's marked on the calendar, couple pages back." 

"Do you know what year it is?"

I gave her a funny look. "Of course I do, what's wrong with you?" Now I feel bad for saying that, but I certainly didn't in the moment.

The doctor chuckled, her friendly eyes had laughter lines around them. "Just wanted to make sure you're still with me. Are you on birth control?"

"Yes."

"How long have you been on birth control?" 

"Couple months. I went on it during our honeymoon."

"During?"

"Yes, we realized condoms and plan B weren't as convenient as the pill."

"I'm going to need a blood sample and then we're done here. I'll be in touch with the results. You don't seem to be suffering from scoliosis, but I'll contact you about x-rays to confirm. I haven't made a house call in a long time, or practiced family medicine, but I'll do everything I can to make sure we get to the root of this."

"Okay." 

The blood draw seemed to take longer than I remembered blood draws taking. The prick of the needle didn't disturb the haze of sleepiness that still surrounded me. The woman's departure signaled another wave of sleepiness to wash over me. Bruce and Alfred were showing the doctor out as my head hit the pillow. Pain shot up my back, but sleep had already captured me. 

Tomorrow turned into today, and then today became yesterday. It felt like I slept the whole Monday, skipping work and family dinner. Tuesday morning came with sunshine and kisses from my darling husband as I slowly opened my eyes. 

"Hi," I smiled at him. One of Bruce's arms was holding me almost loosely as he lay next to me in the white sheets. He looked worn and tired from a long night of patrol. I sniffed him. Good, he had showered. 

"Hello." His tired kiss on my lips was slowly waking me. "I love you."

"I love you too," I told him. My smile was getting bigger and my world was waking up. I traced the shape of his exhausted eyes. "Close your eyes. Sleep." 

"Mmph." His eyes closed and his body relaxed under my touch. Normally, Bruce was the one to hold me tight and kiss me to sleep, to caress my body and keep me safe. Looking over his body, I realized that he had been through a difficult night of patrol. A stitched gash across his back, an unhappy bruise on his jaw, scratches on his forearms. Worrying about my "condition" probably hadn't helped him stay alert out there in the dangerous night of Gotham. Guilt washed over me. My arms protectively wrapped around my dearest husband, my lips pressing to his forehead. Today, I was going to keep him safe, I was going to comfort him through his slumber.

...

Bruce's snoring wasn't exactly a lullaby, so I was up and about after a few hours. The boys were crashed in their rooms and Alfred was busy baking something that smelled like chocolatey deliciousness. I was looking over the morning paper, again, skimming for any mention of my family or I. Unhealthy habit, you could say. I was curled up in an armchair next to the bed, keeping the rustling of the newspaper pages to a minimum.

Vibrations of Bruce's cell phone made me look up. As silently as I could, I leaped up and grabbed the phone from the bedside table on Bruce's side. My husband's sleep was important to me, and if I had it my way, nothing at all would disturb it, not even nightmares. 

I carried the cell phone out of the bedroom and glanced at the caller ID. Doctor Thompkins. Results. Yes. This wasn't the first time I had answered my husband's phone, so I wasn't going to feel guilt over finding out my own test results. "Hello?"

"(Y/N), hello. I'm calling with your results."

"Tim's been telling everyone in the family it's yellow fever, please prove him wrong."

"Hah, no, it is not yellow fever... I'd say it's something a little more... serious."

I stiffened. My aching back didn't like that. "What's up?"

"We spoke about your history with birth control, but we need to talk about it again. It would seem that there was some window of time where you and Bruce were not using protection."

My backache must've hit my brain, because looking back, I can't believe I didn't catch on. "Bruce gave me a disease?"

"Not a disease. You're pregnant, (Y/N). I can't make an estimate on how many weeks you are, but I'm going to give you the contact information for an OBGYN. Make an appointment as soon as you can. Congratulations, Mrs. Wayne."

...

When Bruce woke up, I had to apologize to him for his cracked cell phone screen. I told him the truth, that I'd dropped it, but I didn't explain that it was from shock. He told me it was alright, that he'd pick up a new one, but he wasn't quite sure why I looked so very upset over dropping his phone. That would explain itself in time.

I didn't eat a thing at dinner that night, despite my full plate and coaxing from my family. Even the finest cut of steak is unappealing when something like that is on one's mind.

Who wouldn't overthink a thing like this? Pregnant, after a literal two months of marriage? Pregnant, while caring for four boys that you saw as your sons? Pregnant, after your husband had told you he didn't want anymore children? Pregnant, after you had both tried to be careful? Pregnant, to one of the greatest vigilantes and most successful businessmen in the world? Pregnant. I am pregnant. I might have my husband's baby.

"Mom!"

My head jerked up and I was greeted by five concerned faces. 

"Ma, you look like you're in another world," Jason forked a piece of potato. 

"Maybe I am in another world, Jay-Jay." I smiled slightly before standing. Ten eyes observed my every move. 

"Ummi, where are you going?" Damian, the one who I expected would be the least concerned, watched me with huge, worried eyes. 

"I think I need to sleep more. I will see you all tomorrow morning." I kissed every head at the table, my lips lingering on my husband's forehead. He rested his hand on the back of my neck, pulling me down for a gentle kiss. I think he noticed my hesitance, but I didn't stop to think about it or explain. My back only permitted me to walk up the stairs, but if I could've run, I would've.

Once Bruce and the boys had left for their night of patrol, I breathed again. Laying on the bed, clutching my pillow to my chest, trying to rehearse how I would address the situation to Bruce, it took a lot out of me. "Bruce, I need to tell you something," I mumbled. "No... Bruce, we need to talk." 

"Madam, I am not sure if you have noticed, but Master Bruce is not here." Alfred's voice startled me for the second time this week.

"I wish he was. I'm sorry, I'm... practicing." I tried to give my friend a reassuring smile but it came out as a grimace. 

"Good luck, madam," Alfred set down a cup of tea on my bedside table and gave me a genuine Alfred smile. Before he was out of the room, he turned back and looked me dead in the eye. "Master Bruce loves you very much, Madam (Y/N). He would not have married you if he was not ready to take on the unexpected. He will not turn you away when you tell him, so try not to overthink." 

I looked straight back into this wonderful gentleman's eyes. "Thank you."

...

I tried to sleep through the night, I really did. When dawn and my boys arrived, I was still wide awake, not having slept a wink. I trotted down the stairs to the batcave, taking extra care not to trip. Once on the floor, we went through our post-patrol routine of inspecting each one of my boys. First Damian, who shrugged me off several times before allowing me to look over him, then Tim, who accepted my worrying for what it was, then Jason, who pretended to be annoyed for show, then Dick, who looked over me as carefully as I looked over him, then finally Bruce, who would not stop kissing me, barely giving me a chance to check him for injuries. 

No one was truly hurt, but all but one were tired as they pulled off their suits. The boys trudged upstairs to their rooms, but my husband carried me valiantly up the stairs to our place in the master bedroom, like a knight carrying his princess.

Once the bedroom door was shut and he had set me down, I was instantly on my back laying on the bed, Bruce's lips showing affection to my neck and collarbone. A soft, throaty moan left my mouth as my husband kissed me, his hands working their way over my body. I was clothed in my favorite outfit of a tank top and leggings, and I knew they were at risk of being torn from my torso and limbs if I allowed this to continue. Besides... I had to tell Bruce. 

"Darling..." the word I said was half-moaned. "Darling, please, you need to shower."

"I thought you liked my scent?" Bruce chuckled, looking up at me, his hands working their way up my shirt. 

"Mmm, I do, but you are going to dirty our sheets that Alfred worked so hard to wash." 

"You have a valid point, but I don't like it." Bruce grinned and pulled off the little clothing he wore. I chuckled and rolled my eyes, watching him make his way to the shower. If I hadn't had such a burden on my mind, I would've joined him. I could hear him muttering insults at the slippery bar of soap that his large fingers always seemed to have trouble grasping, and it made me smile. My hand absentmindedly rested on my stomach and I wondered if his child would have the same troubles as their father.

Bruce's shower was shorter than usual. Much shorter than if I had been in there with him. Chuckling, I made room for my knight in the bed. He hadn't bothered to put on clothes, or dry his hair. Bruce climbed on top of me, drops of water falling from his hair to my chest. His lips reattached to mine, devouring the kiss like a wild man. I knew what he had on his mind from the way he caressed my body, and I had to put a stop to it. 

"Bruce... Bruce, wait." 

Concerned eyes met mine. "(Y/N)?"

Alfred's words replayed in my mind. He would not have married you if he was not ready to take on the unexpected. I stared into the beautiful blue eyes I had grown to take comfort in. "Bruce, Doctor Thompkins diagnosed me."

Instantly, his desire was forgotten. Bruce sat back on the bed and pulled me onto his lap. "Tell me, darling, what is it?"

His arms made me feel so safe. He will not turn you away when you tell him, so try not to overthink. "I... you need to expect the unexpected."

"So I'm guessing it's not yellow fever, since that's what Tim expects," Bruce smiled. The gentle attempt at humor didn't lift the worry in his eyes. 

"Heh, no... not exactly. It's... it's a baby." The last three words were much quieter than the others. 

Bruce looked at me quizzically. "I don't think I heard you correctly." 

"A baby," I honestly voiced my diagnosis, somewhat fearfully looking into his eyes. "I'm pregnant."

Bruce's glare pierced mine. He gently slid me off his lap and set me on the bed before standing and walking to the window to silently stare out of it. His breathing had changed, his body was stiff, everything about him seemed cold and hardened. 

My worst fears bit and tore at my heart, anxiety gripping my throat like a murderer. Oh Lord, he doesn't want me anymore. I didn't know whether to go to him, or leave the mansion, or stay in the bed, or cry, or speak. So I just waited, for a full two minutes, staring at my husband's scarred back. After waiting that long, tears began to prick at my eyes. I finally laid down and curled into the cold sheets. "I'm sorry."

I heard him turn. "What are you sorry for?"

"Not paying attention to my birth control. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," my tears left wet spots on the pillowcase. I closed my eyes tightly. 

Then I felt his weight on his side of the bed, he was laying beside me. Bruce collected me into his arms, tilting my chin up, asking me silently to look at him. I opened my wet eyes. 

"I'm not angry with you. I'm thinking about it. Just let me think." Bruce's rough, calloused fingers brushed against my peach soft cheek.

"Okay." I closed my eyes to fight back angry, hot tears. He pulled me to his chest, holding me to himself. I could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. 

He must've held me like that for an hour before he finally, finally spoke. "Well, this isn't what I thought two months into our marriage would look like." 

My tears had left stains on his chest. Only a surge of bravery made me look up at him. "Yeah."

He looked down at me, smiled, kissed my lips, and I felt my husband's love course through my body. He may have turned me away physically, but he had never turned me away emotionally. I sat up on his lap, straddling him, my forehead resting on his, my hands on his cheeks. "I love you."

"And I love you," Bruce's fingers brushed against my waist. He seemed hesitant, and his eyes met mine. "May I?"

I was confused for a moment, but then I realized and nodded, beaming. "Yes."

His large hand rested on my stomach. The wheels in his head were still turning, but they had calmed, and they were only turning in the name of love. 

"Expect the unexpected." 

✧ Masterlist

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[moonchild701]

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Dream Demon

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[NSFW] ‼ 18+ >MDNI<

Summary: Incubus Dabi comes for a meal

Pairing: Incubus!Dabi/Human Fem Reader

Content Warning: R*pe/Noncon, Dubcon, DARK FIC, Aphrodisiacs, Incubus Dabi, Nightmares, Sleep Paralysis, Paralysis, Mutilation, Genital Mutilation, Blood, Gore

Word Count: 2.4k

Disclaimer: Character belongs to Kohei Horikoshi

A/N: This is for a Halloween Challenge in one of the communities here on Tumblr. I used four prompts from the challenge, plus my own for funsies, so I'll be posting every Thursday up to and including Halloween.

Promt: Incubus & Nightmare

As always, cross posted on AO3

Happy Halloween and Enjoy!💕

My Masterlist

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You're used to the haunting nightmares. Of things from your past, of all sorts of horrible possibilities, of people and things that scare you, that could hurt you.

Sometimes they're so vivid and realistic, when you wake up, you mistake it for reality.

Sometimes they're so hazy and random, you can barely remember them.

Sometimes you wake up jolting upright, scream tearing from your throat, voice hoarse afterwards.

Sometimes you wake up frozen and stiff, unable to move but wide awake. Breathing is hard, and you swear you see shadows, hear whispers, feel puffs of breath on your skin, raising goosebumps in their path. You don't know what is real, what is dream, how to breathe, how to move.

It lasts mere minutes that feel like hours, and when it's done, you feel drained.

You don't know how to explain this to someone in a way they can understand, so you don't bother.

You are accustomed to it, have accepted that it's simply another aspect of your life.

And then something shifts.

At one point, you swear you see the silhouette of someone hovering over you in your paralyzed state. It was towards the end of it, for maybe two seconds, and then you could breathe and move, and the silhouette was gone.

You dismissed it as a trick of the light.

How naive.

It kept happening, for longer periods of time, randomly. Sometimes it's there, sometimes it isn't.

And now, today something changes.

It's a vivid dream, vivid nightmare, vivid memory. Something you've dreamt about and relived over and over, and nothing ever truly changes. Not the dark, the moon, nor the cold.

Except for this time.

Because this time, you feel the warm pressure on your chest.

It's almost pleasant at first. Something different, something warm in the cold loneliness and fear that usually saturate your dreams.

And then it gets warmer. And warmer. And hot. Hotter. Your very blood boils, your skin blistering, the fear of your nightmare fading to the pure terror of burning up inside out from the unknown source.

Your surroundings are so heated you can see the heatwaves in the air around you, yet your bones are cold, heavy to the point of weighing you down and pinning you to the spot. You can't move.

You try to find your voice, to scream and get this to stop, but it feels like there's a hand wrapped around your throat, blocking your air and your voice. You want to scream, to cry, but you can't.

A near blinding flash of a pale blue light forces your eyes shut instinctively, making you stumble and fall backwards, but it only lasts a second. You snap your eyes back open only to be confused and even more terrified, which you didn't think was possible.

Because though the scorching heat subsides back into a low warmth, there's someone looming over you, his hand on your throat.

A pair of glowing twin flames of blue stare at you. The slitted pupils are unnerving, the intensity of them overwhelming.

The skin below his eyes are an inky purple, almost black, and a gradient of the same colouring creeps along his jaw and cheeks, down his neck and collarbones. There's the same dark pigmentation creeping up his arms to his biceps, piercings seeming to hold the colour to pale skin. You can see more of the same colouring and piercings on his bare lower torso.

The low light illuminates the silver littering his face, body and pointed ears, and the gleam of sharp teeth in his wide grin.

Tall, sleek black horns that curl up and back from within his dark hair, and large leathery, batlike wings on his back are surely a hallucination.

The hold on your throat mercifully loosens as he leans in to whisper into your ear.

"Oh, you're going to be delicious." His voice is low, smoky and deep, the words a saccharine whisper, his warm breath hitting your cheek as he traces a short, sharp claw along your other cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.

You shudder, in both fear and something else that scares you even more, as you stare up at him when he pulls back.

He grins that wretched grin as he coos, "I can smell your interest, Sweetheart." Leaning in, his forked tongue licks up the stripe of blood on your cheek, the cut stinging. "I can taste it."

He can taste the tang of despicable arousal that mixes with your fear, and you hate yourself that bit more for it.

You try to move, try to scream, but nothing happens. Nothing moves but your eyes as they frantically look around for the nonexistent way to escape.

So lost in your terror, you don't notice him move again, until you feel the soft brush of lips along your throat; that forked tongue following the touch, hot and wet against your skin. 

His claws tear through your thin clothes with frightening ease, before heated hands start to move over your now bare body; up your sides and across your chest, toying with your nipples, while his mouth roams your skin, leaving bites and licks, and marks and bruises in its wake as he makes his way down the length of your body.

The stimulation sends betraying heat through you, down to your core. You feel yourself getting aroused, the wetness between your legs mortifying.

Yet, it is tempting. Hypnotizing.

The desire to just give yourself over to that heat, to let this creature do what he wants, make you feel good with whatever he's doing to your body, be it here in your dreams or in the waking world, is vicious and strong.

But the moment that thought barely even occurs, instead of the hands bringing soft touches and treacly pleasure, there is agony.

Searing and blinding as his claws drag slow and deep into the flesh of the sides of your thighs, yet you cannot scream. Warm blood pours out of you as the gashes weep, tears stream down your cheeks as you try and fail even to sob.

He chuckles darkly.

“How rude of me,” he murmurs, biting into your inner thigh, just enough to leave a deep bruise. “I forgot my manners. I haven’t even introduced myself. You may call me Dabi. I want to hear you scream my name, after all.”

There's no time to process what he said as your autonomy is returned, though barely. You immediately let out a ragged sob, in pain and terror, as you uselessly try to escape.

He wastes no time in going right back to playing with your body, with the places where you're sensitive. His hands alternating between pinching at your sensitive nipples and pressing along the tender edges of your wounds as he licks a stripe up your wet folds, to your clit, making you gasp, writhe, and moan.

His tongue feels like hot velvet, your cunt tingling from his aphrodisiac-laced saliva, and you can’t help but cry out his name when he slips the slick appendage into you; and you find that it feels like a curse and a plea on your tongue, your pussy dripping.

“Mmm that’s it,” he growls against your drenched heat, the sound distinctly not human. “Let me hear you scream my fucking name.”

You're delirious and disoriented as the contrasting sensations of terror, pain and pleasure writhe under your skin, soaking your brain and heart.

You let out a broken, whimpering sob as you feel something wrap around your thigh and force your legs open a little wider, tight around the gash he left there, making it bleed even more, the blood pooling beneath you.

Looking down, you notice that it's a long, spaded tail, the colour of his marks, that's holding you open for the demon. 

Because that's very obviously what this thing is. A demon.

Spread wide enough for clawed fingers to press against your—no.

No, no, no, no, NO!

You thrash and scream, but the hot hand and tail around your thighs tighten to keep you still, and clawed fingers tear their way inside, no matter how slowly they go.

The pain is blinding. Nauseating.

Pain radiates through your entire being, and the trembling and sobbing certainly don't help you, only furthering your mutilation as he spreads them wide, stretching you out.

Warmth trickles down your legs, the mixture of your previous arousal and blood soaking your skin and the surface below you.

And oh.

You forgot that that was only the entry.

You forgot to prepare yourself for the exit, and so you scream as he tears you open freshly when the fingers leave, your eyes clenched tightly, and then something much bigger presses inside your unwilling body.

That sensation paired with the pulsing pain of his tail around your injured thigh has you letting out a sobbing scream as your eyes fly open.

The sound is abruptly cut off as you wake up, with terror soaking your mind and soul, hazy with disorientation, and nothing moves but your eyes, and your throat that spasms for air. For a moment, your body is locked up and paralyzed again, feeling like a volcanic rock rests on your chest, and just as your ability to move and see clearly returns, the barely shaken terror of your nightmare slams back into you with full force.

Because it was not simply a nightmare.

If the pulsing pain coursing through you isn't evidence enough, the glow of the demon's eyes in the dark of your room as they look at you, illuminating his markings and piercings around them with the little light being cast, certainly is, and you give a broken sob.

But the sound breaks off into a traitorous moan when his hips rock into yours; your fear-saturated mind finally realizing that the pain is rapidly going away, making way for heady pleasure.

You can feel the way your skin knits back together until the only evidence left of the wounds are the blood soaked sheets, and the smear of crimson on your skin.

A low, breathless moan escapes you as Dabi rolls his hips, and you tremble and writhe beneath him for a whole different reason, as you feel how full you are of the demon's cock and the treacherously delicious stretch of your cunt around him.

Heart pounding in your ears, you feel a bead of sweat trickle down the side of your forehead as he pumps into you, slow and deep, hitting your sweet spot on every thrust; the fear and arousal swirling as one in your stomach. His pace gradually picks up, until he's fucking into you mercilessly, and your eyes roll back.

Your pleasure builds and builds, and you can do nothing to stop it, you don't even know if you truly even want it to stop, and then you feel something inside of you, alongside your approaching climax, shift.

It's a foreign sensation, like something is under your skin, tangled along your veins, moving. It doesn't hurt, but it feels strange. Your heart is racing, and you're sure that he can hear it.

You're on the edge, so, so close, and then, you feel that strange shifting thing start to crawl up; into the back of your throat, and spilling out into your mouth, though you can't taste anything on your tongue, as your orgasm crashes over you with a sob, wisps of blue spilling out from your lips. Your cunt clamps down around him as you shudder and pant.

His eyes glow a little brighter as he grins, a monstrous, depraved thing, sharp and cruel and mocking, as he coos, "Thank you for the meal." His voice is a low purr, the tone all dark pleasure he leans in close, bracing his weight on one arm, his other hand catching your chin and forcing your mouth open, as his hips slow to a deep roll. Your fear spikes sharper as you once again can't move, as the thought that this man, this thing, is going to kiss you, and your eyes sting with tears, as though he hasn't already taken your body.

But no, he simply leans in close, enough for your noses to brush.

You see a faintly glowing blue cloud of mist pour out from between your lips, almost the same shade as his eyes, as he opens his mouth, sharp fangs bared, shotgunning it, and you can do nothing but lay there in your terrified confusion and let him do what he wants to you, whatever it is he's doing to you.

He groans, deep and guttural, as he swallows the mist, his hips moving a little rougher. You're sensitive and overstimulated, a whine stuck in your immobile throat.

You feel his cock twitch within you, his eyes rolling shut as he spills his release deep inside you, filling you with his hot cum; a confusing heat settling into the skin of your lower abdomen.

And when the fog finally stops pouring from your lips, and he gets his fill, he smiles; indulging in your fear and whatever he just took from you, be that the fear itself, your nightmare or your very soul.

You take a shuddering breath as control of your limbs comes back to you, but they feel like lead and you still can't make yourself move.

Glancing down, your breath hitches as you see the cause for the heated sensation in your abdomen.

Just below your navel, above where the monster's cock is still buried inside of you, is an intricate mark, a tattoo, the colour of his eyes etched into your skin, and your tears finally fall, because deep down, you know what it means.

Branding you as his, there is no escape.

And you want to fight, to scream, to do something, but exhaustion is taking a hold on you.

"Go to sleep," he instructs, his voice is a whisper, yet seems to echo, and you struggle to keep your eyes open. A futile effort, as you don't manage anything else before the dark is swallowing you back up in a blissfully dreamless slumber.

The last thing you hear is his haunting voice chuckling,

"Time for seconds." 

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[csh-tournament]

Worst Car Seat Headrest Song Bracket: ROUND 4, MATCH 3

hanging out with my mom in women’s apparel vs a pleasant sort of terror

Reblogs are appreciated for more votes

Song links below

[itsabouttimex2]

Primal Moon

(This fic has an MK chatbot to go with it!)

Twice a year; once in spring and once in autumn, a verdant moon rises to bring the bestial instincts of non-humans to light. Celestials and demons alike struggle to keep hold of themselves, something ancient welling up within them and shifting their thoughts and feelings to a more animalistic state.

Today, the first Primal Moon of the year has risen.

This isn’t the MK you know. This isn’t the goofy and upbeat boy who used to spend his nights stargazing on the roof of his house with you as Pigsy yelled for ‘you idiots to come down before gravity brought you down’. The sweet and kind boy who cuddled up under a blanket with you during each winter, pointing out each far-fetched figure he could find in the nimbostratus clouds.

The person sitting next to you is not that boy.

The river below you has a pleasant vibe to it, the water a dark blue in the moonlight. The current flows gently, moving at a slow, steady pace. The water is clean and crystal clear, and a light layer of fog drapes the surface. It remains undisturbed, untouched. As far as streams go, this one is soothingly peaceful. You’d enjoy it more if your dearest friend didn’t have his hands knuckle-deep in your hair.

The demon- and he is a demon, you’re sure of that, even if he insisted on ‘mystic monkey’- slowly picks through the contents of your messy tresses, examining your scalp closely. He doesn’t hesitate to eat the bits of leaves and twigs he finds, a sort of kindness that you might appreciate if he was in the right state of mind. His tail winds around your ankle, a safe-measure to prevent you from falling from the tree you both sit in.

This is more a display of dominance than kindness, a show of power. Proof that he can do whatever he wants to you, and all that can be done is to play along politely.

His fingers hit a snag, causing the monkey demon to chuff triumphantly. From your hair he pulls a massive bug, a squirming caterpillar so large that it winds around his pointer finger three times over. The sight of it makes him salivate- and he’s clearly considering eating it right in front of you.

And then the demon takes a closer look at you. Scared eyes. Quivering lips. Shaking form.

“…you can have it, Rookie.”

With a mote of protectiveness surfacing inside him, he chooses not to down the grub on the spot. Instead, MK pushes it towards your lips, smearing them with the creature’s wet body. Under the influence of the viridescent light cast from above, this is kindness- feeding his pack before himself.

You gag at the slimy sensation and try to pull away, but MK’s tail tightens around your ankle to keep you close. “Eat,” he says, growing angry and firm. “Eat, Rookie. Don’t get sick.”

Short and blunt language, a sign that he’s losing himself further to the moon’s sway. Anger loosens MK’s grip on himself, sending him further into a bestial mindset.

MK looks down at you expectantly, canines exposed and threatening. He’s waiting for you to obey. He expects this. He knows how this goes- or how it would go, if he were a base animal. Every demon and celestial knows that once the moon reaches a verdant peak, one’s primal instincts come to the fore. It’s been like this forever, time and time again for millennia.

But you wait just a second too long.

With incredible speed, he grabs your leg and throws you out of the towering tree, tossing you down to the ground.

Before you fall more than a few terrifying feet, his tail snags your waist to keep you dangling in midair- he could easily let you plummet, if he pleased. With the moon to cloud his mind, MK’s aggression is a hundredfold. The world around him seems to become a shade more vivid, and he stares at you with unbridled rage in his animalistic eyes.

“I’ll eat it,” you shriek in terror, clinging to his lithe tail as you sob. “Please, I’m sorry! Don’t drop me, please! MK, please, please, I’m sorry, please!”

He chuckles at your desperate pleas, amused but severely displeased and unimpressed. Still, the boy hauls you up and brings you to his chest.

Once you’re safe in his arms, MK presses his sharp canines into the delicate flesh of your neck, showing how easily he could tear your throat out if he really wanted to. This is intended remind you just how powerless you are against him, and it proves his point quite well. His arms squeeze you tight against him, rather painfully. “Be good, Rookie. Or gravity will discipline you before I do.”

Oh, that hurts. It’s like something that Pigsy would say. No doubt that the fatherly pig is someone that MK cherishes even now, calling on his words subconsciously. And honestly? You want him right now. You want the chef to wrap you up in his warm arms, to hold you against his chest and thump your back just a little too hard. What you wouldn’t give to have a bowl of his home-made noodles.

But all you’ve got now is a sizable caterpillar and a set of canines threatening to tear.

Slowly, he looks up to meet your eyes. In return, you awkwardly chatter your teeth, the proper display of submission when being looked at by a higher ranking monkey- you’re just one little human, and it doesn’t come to you as might him or one of his ‘troop members’.

But it’s good enough for MK. He takes the opportunity to finally stuff the bug into your mouth, pulling his teeth from your vulnerable neck. You cry a little harder with every crunch and chew, nausea and newfound trauma bubbling inside you. But under the threat of being tossed or mutilated, you manage to swallow.

Finally, he’s appeased. A little bit of softness resurfaces in his eyes, a hand moving to brush your hair back.

“Want me to take you down, Rookie?”

A little too choked up to respond, you wordlessly nod instead. He swipes your tears away with a fluid hand, then you’re on his back as he clambers down the tree.

You’re deposited somewhat gently on the ground, MK dusting your back off before he sends you on your own way.

You don’t have to look far for something interesting- near the river a few dozen feet away is a beaten-up monkey demon, one you recognize as a former foe of your friends.

He’s been watching you, it seems.

Macaque beckons to you with a gentle hand, his golden eyes unusually soft, most likely born of unexpected sympathy. You’re both at the bottom rung of this ‘troop’, though he barely edges you out for a still pitiful ‘second-to-last’.

Though you’ve never had much interaction with the demon, the lunar cycle amplifies the innate desire most living creatures have to look out for their young and family, for their troops and packs. It’s an instinctual urge that’s difficult to keep suppressed for any person, no matter what the species. The only problem is that who is and isn’t family or friend tends to blur severely under the verdant moonlight.

It shifts your thoughts and feelings, your wants and desires. Macaque has never had children, never wanted them- but something unnatural and overwhelming is telling him to take you as his own.

Macaque is careful not to hurt you as his deft hands pull you close, oddly gentle about the process.

“You- you…” Come on, say something. Anything. Talking is better than crying. Maybe it’ll help you calm down. “You don’t… you don’t have six ears.”

Macaque grins, starting to untangle your hair knot by knot. It seems like he was hoping for a distraction too.

“But everyone stills calls me the Six-Eared Macaque, yeah?”

“Yeah. Tell me why? Please?”

He doesn’t miss the pleading note in your tone. It seems you’re both in need of company and distractions.

“It’s a reference to an old saying, kiddo. ‘A secret is not safe between six ears’, you know? Two ears for person telling the secret, first. Another pair for the person they’re telling, obviously. And you know who the sixth is?”

“…you?”

“Exactly. Well, anyone who’s listening without permission, I guess. The book- you’ve read Journey to the West, right? The book gets a lot of stuff wrong. It’s told by outsiders who were watching, not the actual people in it. They got a few things wrong here and there, kid.”

Hesitantly, you lean into his chest. Usually you’re more guarded around strangers, but today has been long and hard- you both need and want comfort, even if it comes from someone you hardly know.

Macaque suddenly locks an arm around your waist, pulling you against him. His touch is powerful, but he’s putting a lot of effort into keeping it gentle.

“Play dead,” he urgently hisses. “Breath, but don’t move. Do not flinch.”

Too scared to ask for context, you slump against his chest like you’ve fallen asleep, steadying your breathing against his fur.

“Is my cub doing well, bud?” The tone is sickeningly sweet, belonging to none other than the illustrious Sun Wukong, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. He leans in close until his fur rustles on your back, playing with your hair.

Macaque lifts a finger to his his lips, his elbow coming to rest heavily on the back of your neck so he can force your head down further.

“They just fell asleep.”

Wukong moves his hands from your hair to Macaque’s fur, beginning to groom through it as MK had done to you. As uncomfortable as it had been for a human like you, none of the monkeys minded- their fur was built for it, after all.

“Let me have them,” the Great Sage says. His word can’t be denied- he’s in charge here, and what he says goes, no matter what. “I want to hold my cub.” There’s no harshness or cruelty present in his voice, just a simple command. He says it with the urgency of telling someone to shut your door or turn off your light before they leave.

And Macaque knows he should. His rival won’t hurt you, wouldn’t dare lay even a single harmful finger on you- you would be entirely safe from harm, coddled by the king of Flower Fruit Mountain.

And he can’t stop Wukong from taking you. Macaque had challenged the ginger simian for command over this temporary troop just a few hours ago, and gotten beaten to the ground for it.

He had been forced to accept comfort afterwards, fed with sweet fruits and gently held as his bruises slowly faded- the Monkey King was not an unkind alpha. The worst he had done was snap a power-limiting seal onto Macaque to prevent any further challenges or a potential runaway scenario.

No good can come from holding onto you like this. Macaque knows that he needs to bite the bullet and give you up.

But… he just doesn’t want to.

Sun Wukong frowns, watching his rival’s hesitation with disapproval. Perhaps the unusual lunar cycle also makes demons impatient- his body thrums with the need to lash out, to take and break and command; all impulses one usually suppresses with their own iron will. He leans forward and hisses softly into Macaque’s ear, a warning.

“They might wake up if you move them,” he weakly argues, holding you just a bit tighter. “And cubs need their sleep to grow.”

The bubbling animalistic urges inside of Wukong die down, appeased by Macaque’s sound reasoning. “We can lie together,” he offers, nestling into the grass. “Without moving them too much.” The king pats the ground beside him, but it’s not really an offer- just another command.

Macaque does as told, laying on his right side with you in his arms. And right before Wukong can move in to cage you from the left, MK slides between you both, sandwiching himself between the king and you.

For the most part, Wukong is unbothered. He squishes himself closer, stretching his arms out to envelop MK, then snagging his tail around your arm. Macaque’s tail winds around MK’s legs, MK wraps his around your waist.

And you are so perfectly trapped by this furry tangle of love that you have no choice but to drift into darkness.

Suddenly you’re awake and morning approaches, a few birdsong chirps adding themselves to the list of nocturnal sounds. Their cheerful voices slowly grow louder with the approach of the sun. The sky gradually shifts from dark blue to a soft pink, slowly growing brighter as dawn approaches. With the rising light, the forest grows less and less peaceful, the chirps and calls of the various forest life growing ever more frequent. Yet, despite the added noise, the terrain remains safe and quiet. The wind blows through the branches of the trees gently, almost like it's speaking silently.

One day down.

Six to go.

[cinnamonest]

May I present to you... innocent playgirl reader x modern au incel scara??

Like reader is just a sweet gal that thinks this boy who she's in a project with is pretty and despite his weird and creepy behaviour, it's a good thing she's trying to make a move, because y'know! it's actually women's fault that men get so frustrated and depressed since they never give the short guys a chance! Only go for the top 1% and all that.

Unfortunately after scara naps her, noncons the absolute, living daylights out of her, and continues to terrorize her ass does she realize that being nice and sweet to the degenerate, sexist incel in hopes of fixing him wasn't the brightest idea 😔

(If you can't tell I love the idea of kind n sweet MC who doesn't know any better getting her shit wrecked for no good reason because incel scara is just that much of an asshole)

Ohhhh my God bless you for this

Precisely, it’s so unfair. It’s just extra inches of leg bone, it means nothing. And yet day in, day out, the oppressed class (sub-6-foot males) have to deal with unjust discrimination. All because you have the most superficial desires and can’t compromise on such a silly thing. No, you’d rather whore around with some guy that will just use you and cheat on you because your dumb girl brain seeks that out like every other. And in spite of being smarter and better than the neanderthals you choose to date, which should entitle him to pussy, he’s left with nothing but porn and his hand. The world is an unjust place.

He’s pessimistic as all hell, so he can’t take any kindness or attempts at getting closer from you at face value, there has to be an ulterior motive.

You’re only pleasant to him when you talk to him because you want something. You probably expect him to do work for you, or help you cheat on tests for you or fork over money. You think he’s the sort of loser that will salivate over any girl that gives him a shred of attention, don’t you. That he’ll run himself ragged doing whatever for you just to get your approval. Well. You’re not going to get that.

It goes along with this greater idea of you he’s crafted in his head, one that fits a similarly pessimistic image. It doesn’t matter how “innocent” you are, literally anything you say or do, he’s projecting this stereotype of a secretly not-so-innocent, ultra-promiscuous college girl onto you and using it as both justification for his disdain and as a means of rationalize not leaping at this rare chance for female interaction — it’s not that he’s too afraid of rejection, it’s just that he knows that talking to you is a waste of time anyway, you undoubtedly have guys lined up you're fucking on a regular basis.

Besides, even if he tried, you’re far too dull-brained, so any conversations you’re capable of aren’t going to be stimulating anyway. You’re in college, of course you’ve spent all this time racking up a body count because God knows girls only use college as a means to get dicked all the time, they don’t actually care for academics in any way.

And poor you, you're completely oblivious to his bitter seething. You just think he's just quiet. And surely he doesn’t come off as rude and cold on purpose, no, you tell yourself that he probably just is one of those guys that is naturally like that, it’s not malicious.

But then you have to start going out of your way to be actively nice. Trying to make conversation and say nice things — you must think he’s stupid, that he doesn’t know that it’s actually just fake niceness so you can lure him in and get him to say something you can then mock him for in that faux-sweet tone of yours. In the exact opposite of your assumptions on him, he assumes malice in everything you do and say. He won’t give you the satisfaction of giving you leverage, so, he stays quiet, gives you one-word answers and shrugs.

What plans do you have for the weekend?, you say, in your attempts to make conversation. Ugh.

Not only are you trying to jab at him by reminding him that he has no plans other than staying inside and wallowing, but clearly you do have plans, undoubtedly ones that end with you stumbling home in a walk-of-shame on a Sunday morning.

And the nicer you get, the more you irritate him. What makes you think you can just be like that? All smiley and sunshine-like, and for what? To mock him? Acting innocent and sweet as if you don't know what kind of power you inherently hold just by having a hole between your legs, as if you're not actively abusing that power when you're clearly trying to get him to be attracted to you.

Each and every class period, he ends up so infuriated by the few words you exchange that the only way he can even stay sane is by immediately going back to his apartment after class and releasing all the pent up frustrations via exceptionally violent porn. He's got a few specifics pages bookmarked now, girls that look just like you getting slapped around and choked and manhandled and skull-fucked and gaped… but it's just not satisfying enough, there's still this lingering irritation, a skin-crawling malice that won't go away.

It's not good enough to imagine. If anything, the post-orgasmic clarity just makes the whole thing feel pathetic — it's not really you, you get to be all happy and safe and sound when it should be you, you should be the one being brutalized and put in your place, you deserve it for being so damn nice. So pleasant and upbeat and kind and what gives you the right?

In the end, once the burning fury becomes too much and no one else is going to do it, the only option is to take matters into his own hands…

[infernal-lamb]

Hey, I've seen your drawings from Neves. They are brilliant. I like her a lot, and are you writing fanfic about her?

Ahh thank you!!! That's really flattering fkljgfjf....It's always a pleasant surprise that people like Neves :'-) (and I love when I get an excuse to post my doodles of her and the Lamb lol)

I am in the works of trying to write a cotl fanfic abt this specific au (I call it The Apostate & The Martyr in my head lol), but writing doesn't come as easily as drawing to me SIGH. I've actually written quite a bit, but the problem is putting all these random excerpts together to make something coherent LOL. But yes, the fic is intended to be the story of The Lamb and Neves' friendship amidst the brutality and terror of the Lands of the Old Faith, how to deal with the consequences of their choices, and the mutual alienation they experience in their positions....as silly as that sounds lol. It's very self-indulgent! I just liked the concept of the "Outsider" POV, so to speak, being subjected to the sort of normalized violence that exists in cotl. Though, I might end up just making comics if I can't pan out this fanfic well enough!

[deluxewhump]

Nightfall: what dreams may come

CW: bloodbag & vampire dynamics, older scarier vampire, a little uncanny valley, fear, blood, it as pronoun, nightmare, mild mind control, trust and affection and fluff too

Masterlist

-

Carlo woke in a panic. His heart raced, his mouth was dry. His blood ran urgent and sour. He didn’t know where he was— who he was. It seemed to take an eternity for his mind to return to him, and as he felt like himself again— like anyone again— his heart slowed and his surroundings occurred to him as familiar one by one.

He’d fallen asleep on the couch in his master’s library, wrapped in a soft blanket that now lay discarded on the floor. A glance at the clock told him it had only been an hour or so since he’d fallen asleep. The night sounds of crickets and katydids drifted in the open windows. It always seemed pleasant but now felt terrifyingly vulnerable, like something was going to breach the windowsill at any second to come and claim him.

“You haven’t had bad dreams in months,” mused the vampire from its desk.

He should be embarrassed to be this out of sorts again in front of Maxim, but his fear overrode it. “Do you not feel it?” he asked. He cleared his throat. “Do you feel him?”

Maxim glanced out one of the open windows, calmly scanning the edge of the forest. The vampire was well fed and looked nearly human but for the feline glint Carlo could discern so well in the pupils of the undead.

“I did,” it said carefully. “I didn’t know you would, though. It was a vampire. One with a particularly strong telepathic ability, passing through the area. Sometimes they put out a feeler for others. A psychic antennae, if you will.”

“Is it Erik?” he blurted.

“No.” Maxim said firmly. “No one you know.”

“But…Why did… why did I feel them like that if I don’t know them? If they’ve never fed from me?”

The vampire stood and closed the window, perhaps sensing his terror, or perhaps sharing in a small part of the unease. The night sounds were muffled. Maxim picked up the blanket from the floor and gave it back to him. Shivering despite the balmy weather, he wrapped it around himself gratefully.

“My best guess is because this particular vampire is very old. Ancient, even. I can hardly feel him now, he was likely only passing through. You may have been dragged into his net because of your proximity to me. Or I may have accidentally fed some of the signal to you since you were asleep and open to suggestion. If that’s the case I’m sorry, little one.”

Little one from the vampire’s mouth was a flicker of warmth that he wished would envelop him entirely. “It was cold,” he whispered. “I was afraid of it. It was nothing but cold.”

“I know. Remember that it wasn’t meant for you.”

“And so old. How old is ‘ancient?’”

“This side of the pond? The sixteenth century or so. This presence felt even older than that to me, though. It’s hard to say.”

Carlo arched his back and winced as if shrugging off a chill. Everything about it felt wrong. A taste of a fever dream villagers had in their beds for ten centuries. A brush with the stale dampness of the grave.

“Would you like for me to give you a better dream?” the vampire he’d grown so accustomed to asked, looking at him fondly with only a touch of the pity that immortals tended towards with their mortal playthings.

“How?” he asked. Maxim might be offering him medication, or asking if he wanted to be fed from. As trusting and confident as he’d grown with Maxim’s fangs in his wrist or his neck, he wasn’t sure he could do it at the moment. It seemed frightening again— monstrous even, that Maxim was of the same ilk as the thing that had brushed against his sleeping mind.

“A drop of my blood. A little suggestion. You only have to let me in.”

He frowned. “Suggestion?”

“Like when we can feel each others thoughts. I can give you very specific ones if you let me. Not unlike what just happened to you because you were already asleep. But it would be me, and the messages would be meant for you. Dreamless sleep might be harder to achieve, but I know can give you sweet dreams.”

He studied the gleaming pits of the vampire’s eyes as understanding dawned on him. “If you could do that the whole time, why didn’t you just use it to feed from me from the beginning?”

“Because it’s no fun,” it answered simply. “And because it’s only possible once we have the connection of our minds in the first place.”

“…which only comes from feeding from me.”

Maxim’s chin dipped in a nod.

“What do I need to do?”

The vampire crouched beside the sofa so it was at eye-level with him. “Nothing. Just lie back down. You don’t even need to close your eyes if you don’t like.”

He lay his head on a soft sage pillow he liked, and Maxim moved the blanket up so it covered his shoulders. It said nothing, and only stroked very gently and peripherally at a lock of Carlo’s hair, but soon he felt the familiar sensation of their subtle telepathy, like a light coming on in another part of a room that had been dark.

With precision it pricked its own fingertip on a protracted fang and took Carlo’s hand, pulling his finger to the blood. He touched it gingerly, though he knew the little cut hurt the vampire not at all, and brought the smear of vampire blood to his own mouth. It tasted, somehow surprisingly, exactly like blood. Except it warmed his mouth and throat, and the sensation spread through him like an injection fed into an IV. A slightly concerning burn gave way to a pleasant lightness throughout his entire body, like a glass of champagne on an empty stomach.

He heard himself give a soft sigh and felt a twinge of shame for how much like a sigh of carnal pleasure it sounded, but he was sinking past such worries too quickly to hold onto it.

As cold and frightening as his dream had been before, the state he was slipping into now was equally warm and disarming. It was easy not to fight it— it was Maxim. He was unable to keep his eyes open even a centimeter. In fact, they felt as if they were rolling back into his head as a sweet darkness enveloped him.

By the time the dreams began, he had no thread of conscious thought left to observe them.

[lineffability]

London, Soho, AZ Fell’s Bookshop, 1941

“That’s the trouble with you lot, you tend to see things in black and white. Sometimes, you just gotta blur the edges.”

“Well, maybe there is something to be said for… shades of gray?”

Their glasses clinked.

“Well, shades of dark gray,” Crowley corrected, and the ease crept back into their conversation along with the little correction, leaving the emotional vulnerability under the table, where the photograph rested on Aziraphale's thigh.

“Shades of a very light gray, I rather fancy.” Aziraphale smiled into his glass, preparing for their disagreement to turn into a full-blown silly discussion on color theory. Which it did. 

While their aesthetic discrepancies about various shades of gray were being discussed at length and in oral treatises, the angel and the demon were very much on the same page when it came to wine, and the drinking of it. They had not over-indulged, not tonight, but were emptying the bottle between them slowly and comfortably, having settled into a conversation of the same kind. The virtues of mixing colors, all that. It came to them easily, the debating, each fending for the role they had been assigned. 

“Of course, take too many colors and you just end up with a sort of brown-gray sludge,” Crowley said now, and made a face. “Bit like the walls of hell.”

This was the wrong term to drop so carelessly, on a night such as this, and the lapis-lazuli dreams of Aziraphale’s mind were washed right down the drain, where they traveled until they turned into a sort of brown-gray sludge and dripped onto the road to hell, which matched the walls in color. Hell, where Crowley had almost ended up tonight, and not to pay a friendly visit with a report card.

“Crowley, what would have… If they’d taken the photograph, what would have happened to you?”

Aziraphale had turned the page and stumbled upon a new chapter of their conversation, pricking himself on the safety pin that kept the messy draft of the novel of Them all in one tidy place. This was uncharted territory, both of their relationship and of his heart. Aziraphale really, really terribly loved a good story with a happy ending. Shame if it were to be cut short, finished before its time. But where was it headed? The proof was in the pudding. (A good kind of sludge, with a more pleasant color.) There were no instructions, not on the pudding box and not in the first and second and hundredth drafts of their millions of stories. Aziraphale was scared, he realized, of the open-endedness. 

He looked nervously at Crowley, for a moment, before his eyes flitted away. 

“Eehhhh,” Crowley said. “Eh. Dunno. Y'know. Bad stuff. Good at that , they are.”

Crowley wouldn’t answer him, Aziraphale realized. At least not properly. The demon began blubbering away now, about the creativity of hell, trying to work his way back to the topic of colors along the sludgy walls of hell and likely succeeding, but Aziraphale wasn’t really listening anymore.

Aziraphale didn’t say he was scared. He even tried not to show it. He’d shown too much, already, tonight. And look where it had gotten them, all this emotion. They were safe now, yes, but Crowley had risked too much for him today – and too many other days and nights, as well. It was all his fault. And he kept doing it, too, purposely even, sometimes (though not tonight) and it was so terribly selfish of him. 

Crowley’s safety was more important to him than anything else. 

And he was its biggest threat. 

They couldn’t keep doing this. Not after tonight. Not after Crowley had tread on hallowed ground for his sake; after Crowley had held a gun to his face, shaking, pleading no; after Crowley had almost gotten dragged down to hell for trusting an angel. Not after Aziraphale had realized that he– how much Crowley meant to him, and how much losing him would tear a hole into the very fabric of his being. Not the loss of his corporation – though that was its own kind of terror and a cause of many past nightmares – but the loss of him, Crowley, his very being. No more Crowley ever again, not in this body or any next. The thought had been so terrifying he'd rejected it immediately, and shut it away, but it was back now, a monster not constrained by drawers or cages of the mind. He'd realized there was no Aziraphale without Crowley, not really. And he couldn’t imagine it. But to keep him safe, to truly keep him safe–

“It’s getting awfully late. Maybe you should leave, now.”

–he needed to stay away. 

“Eh?” 

“I said it’s late, and I’m ti– tired… and– you should probably leave. We’ve spent– too much time together, today, have we not?” He tried to laugh, nervously, and Crowley furrowed his brows. 

He got up anyway, abruptly and a little stiffly. “If that’s what you want, angel.”

It’s not what I want at all. “Yes.”

Aziraphale got up, as well, pushing his chair into the table and following Crowley to the door. The demon was walking briskly, but stopped short before reaching the exit. Aziraphale came up to his side, looking torn, and lifted a hand as if to hold him. He, too, stopped short before making contact. Let it drop.  

“Angel,” Crowley started, but obviously didn’t know where to go with the words. What’s going on? The sudden change had thrown him off, and yet he was beginning to realize, slowly, what might have caused it. The worry in Aziraphale’s eyes was telling. 

“I can’t have you risking your life for me,” Aziraphale said now, very quietly. 

Crowley exhaled through his nostrils. We’ve both been risking our lives for each other for a very long time , he wanted to say. Wonder why that is? He said nothing. He didn’t want to think about the answer to that question, either. 

Aziraphale looked at him, and there was something in that look, in that god-unforsaken gaze , that tore at Crowley’s insides, and he leaned forward: just a bit. And Aziraphale didn’t draw back. They stayed like that for a moment entirely too long for it to mean anything but one thing, but neither closed what little distance remained between them. 

It was Crowley who turned away. 

“Good night, angel,” he murmured, and Aziraphale only registered the sound of the little door bell as the Bentley was already roaring to life.

He stood there, alone, for several more moments, grappling with what had not happened, before he returned to the back room, where the photograph lay on the table, mocking him and his silly little human feelings. He didn’t want to look at it. 

He should destroy it. Wasn’t that the right thing? The only thing? But Crowley’s absence hurt (already, already it hurt) and... what if he followed through and kept him at an arm’s length? What if nights like these were no longer possible? At least not until things had cooled down, one way or another. A few decades, maybe. 

But he couldn't do it. Couldn’t bear it. 

He pocketed the picture, carefully, in his waist coat. He suddenly felt like crying. Instead, he wandered into the shop, sat down at his desk, and opened a book. Paradise Lost. How wonderfully ironic. 

He kept reading until dusk, and longer still, and when the little bell chimed again, announcing a brave and forlorn customer, Aziraphale slid the photograph between the pages, and closed the book, and got up with a smile. 

[yandere-daydreams]

For context, imma give you a little Spider-Man 2099 fact from the Spider-Man comics if you didn’t know about it already.

Before becoming Spider-Man, Miguel was injected by this drug called Rapture, a super addictive drug with really bad withdrawal symptoms, like you will feel like dying without taking it constantly symptoms. He was the top geneticist for Alchemax and he wanted to quit but the cooperation wouldn’t allow that, so they injected him so that he would have no choice but to be reliant on them and continue to work for them since they were the only ones that were distributing rapture. (It was actually due to him getting his spider abilities that he was cure; he had his DNA rewritten with spider DNA so he’s technically genetically half spider).

So basically Miguel injects you with rapture. So predictably you become more and more difficult, as he puts it. One day he offhandedly shows you a little vial in his lab that was used to turn him into Spider-Man, he drops little hints here and there that it’s what cured him of rapture. So it’s no surprise to him that you start acting so docile and pleasant soon after, your attempt to lower his guard are welcomed when he gets to cuddle you. So he lets you sneak into his lab when you think he’s away on a mission. It’s when you take the vail and inject yourself do your hopes for freedom start to dwindle when you feel a broad chest on your back and a pair of fans in you neck the next second. While the contents in the vail cured you of rapture, he also made it so that it acts as an aphrodisiac when it’s mixed with DNA; (injections of any sort are the fastest way to get anything going through your system, so the Miguel-activated-aphrodisiac binds with your cells really fast when you first inject it into your system), so whenever he bites you, your cells react almost immediately to his DNA and it turns into any season is mating season, Aka Miguel never beating the vampire allegations.

Ah sorry for the messy writing, English isn’t really my strong suite but you get the picture.

tw - dub//con, unhealthy relationships, obsessive behavior, manipulation through drug addiction.

oof,,, miguel knows first-hand how devastating rapture can be, so i'd like to think that he injected you with it in a moment of desperation, just thinking about the high and the wanting and how badly he needs you to give into him, even if he knows you'll be twice as difficult once the withdrawal hits. his plan to splice your dna, to cure you the only way he knows someone can be cured of a rapture addiction is an act of mercy in his mind, too. he can't keep you high and strung out forever, so he lets you believe there's an antidote, lets you think that he doesn't suspect anything when you suddenly start behaving and treating him like the hero he wants to be, rather than the captor he is, lets you sneak out of his bedroom in the middle of the night and into his lab, where his 'rapture cure' was conveniently left in plain-sight beside a syringe gun already prepared for injection. he lets you think that your alright, now, that you've escaped the worst thing he's ever done.

and then, he drives his fangs into your neck, holding you close as you go through the motions, as you realize that your body's reaction to him isn't something you can drown out with terror and loathing and fear, anymore. you haven't been cured, he just replaced one addiction with another and now, you're as reliant on him as he is on you. it's not love, but it feels close enough as you claw at his chest and pant against his neck, as you promise to behave and to follow his rules and to do whatever he wants, as long as he takes care of you. as you promise to love him, as long as he takes care of you.