#and claimed every few months that he was about to die

[psychoticwillgraham]

well it looks like my grandfather (grandma’s ex husband) might be dying, for real this time. if yall don’t remember, he’s the one who inflicted all of my religious trauma on me since I was a little kid and claims to have healed a kid of autism and cured someone of multiple sclerosis, just by praying and because he’s a ‘healer’. he also blatantly lied about grandma and never mentioned that he cheated on her dozens of times, but grandma didn’t.

so he can burn in fucking hell for all I care

[monstersholygrail]

New City, New Life

5k celebration ‘Choose your own adventure’ story

Wolf Hybrid x fem!reader— free use city, olfactophilia, semi-public sex, oral (f!receiving), marking, biting, knotting

You stop the moving truck just outside of your brand new house. Ducking your head you check it out through the window and nod appreciatively. It looked a lot better than it did online! Though for the surprisingly low price you got for an entire house you wouldn’t have complained about whatever it looked like. But you scored great for not viewing the house in person before buying it and moving to a whole other city you had never heard of let alone been to.

Was that pretty stupid of you? Sure! But you can’t exactly regret it when this is the outcome. And besides, you needed a change of pace from the monotony of your old life. You needed a new adventure. An unknown city, your own house, and a change in work was just the start, you were positive.

When that mysterious headhunter came to you a few months ago with the opportunity of a lifetime, it couldn’t have come at a better time. It was like something in the universe knew you were having a rough time and needed to leave. So you took the risk and packed up your entire life. It all happened so fast you didn’t even get the chance to do any of your own research on the neighborhood, the city, or your new job. All you had to go on was the brochures the headhunter sent.

Again, was it stupid? Nah, you’re sure it’ll all work out for the best.

But as you flip the latch and push up the tailgate to reveal the moving truck full of boxes that you alone have to move, you start to second guess your statement. You really should’ve hired that Minotaur Moving Company the headhunter suggested. You can handle this. You can totally… totally… hand this.

“Hey, neighbor!” A voice calls, startling you out your daunting thoughts.

You lean to look over the side of the truck and are instantly blown away by the sight in front of you. A sexy ass Wolf Hybrid walks down the sidewalk toward you. His muscles bulging and straining against his tight button up shirt. His slacks not hiding anything he’s got going on downstairs. The smirk on his face is absolutely panty-dropping and you feel yourself go weak in the knees from it. More than ready to drop down and him do whatever he wants to you.

“Moving in?” He asks instead of immediately taking you right then and then. For a second you’re disappointed before you realize this is the real world and people don’t have sex with people they’ve just met… right?

“Yeah, yeah. Gotta bring in all these boxes, gonna take so long,” you say, your voice sounding breathier than you meant it to.

The Wolf Hybrid’s eyes flash but before you can read the expression it’s gone and that friendly neighbor persona is back on. He looks into the truck and scoffs as if it’s nothing.

“Let me help you with that then!”

Before you can pretend to resist, claiming he doesn’t need to help before he insists in a way that would have your panties gushing, he swings himself up into the truck. The words immediately die on your tongue as you see him pick up a heavy box like it’s nothing. Oh, well I guess your panties are getting soaked either way.

You swear that the Wolf Hybrid can tell you’re already turned on as he inhales deeply just as he passes you. But thankfully he doesn’t say a thing and heads up your porch, waiting with a wagging tail for you to open up your house to him. You exchange polite greetings as you walk inside with him and get started.

The two of your work together pretty well. Walking back and forth between the truck and the house. You can’t help but let your gaze linger on him and the way he moves. And every time you look at him you catch him looking back, his heated gaze raking over your form.

The tension grows thicker with each box you both carry. While the Wolf Hybrid forces you to stay away from the heavy boxes, only allowing you to lift the light ones. It only serves to increase the tension and turn you on even more. Still, you both manage to work up quiet the sweat by the time the moving truck is almost empty.

You sigh heavily as you push yourself back up into the truck. Heading all the way down to the front to look for another box to carry in. Just as you reach down to pick up a box of throw pillows, two clawed hands dig into your plush waist and a sharp gasp falls past your lips. You freeze in place, questioning why your pussy clenches down around nothing.

“Think I’m finally gonna fuck you now, sweetheart, ‘k?” The Wolf Hybrid growls, his chest molding to your back. His snout nuzzles into your throat and down into your shirt. He inhales deeply, a rumble moving through his chest as your musk washes over him. “You’re finally ripe ‘nough f’me.”

With a quick jerk of his hands, he’s shucking off your pants. You jump a second later as his snout presses deeply against your slit, rubbing his nose back and forth, smelling all of you. You moan softly, your mind fading away before you can question what the hell is happening. This is what you wanted this whole time after all. Can’t complain now. And you surely won’t as his long prickly tongue joins in, lapping up the mess your slick left on your pussy.

“So fucking drenched for me already. I think you’ll fit in around here just fine,” he rasps as he latches onto your clit and gives it a teasing suck that has sparks shooting through your core.

You go to finally ask what he’s been on about, and why the fact that you’re a soaked mess for him would mean you’d fit in, but in a flash he’s standing up and kicking your legs out to spread for him. His fat tip pushes against your entrance and your jaw drops, tongue lolling out at his sheer girth. His cock splitting you open in two as he pushes his big cock all the way inside your desperate pussy.

“N-nngh! Fuuuck. So fucking tight for me. Glad I got to you first. With a pussy this good you’re gonna be busy in a city like this,” the Wolf Hybrid growls out, his claws digging into your waist.

You can barely hear him over the ringing in your ears. But none of it matters anyway as he uses his grip and immediately starts spearing his shaft deep inside your sloppy cunt, over and over again. The only sound that registers now is your own moans as he fucks you brainless.

The truck shakes with the force of his thrusts and you hold onto the boxes in front of you for dear life as he takes you on a wild ride. His cock glides along your gummy walls, igniting your every nerve as he hits those spots inside you that have you seeing stars. Loud cries leave you but you can’t seem to give a fuck if anyone hears. They should hear how good you’re feeling right now.

“God, yes! Take it! Take my cock, darling. Gonna have to get used to this after all. And I’ll be more than happy to help you adjust.”

You cry out louder, your throat aching with the strength of the noises leaving you. You desperately try and rock back and meet his thrusts but the Wolf Hybrid snarls, his claws digging even deeper into your hips. He leans over you and his fangs are sinking into your flesh a moment later. Keeping you perfectly still for him as he slams his length into your depths, his tip kissing your womb with every thrust.

The onslaught of one sensation after the other has every single one of your atoms quivering with anticipation. Your toes curl as he reaches down, flicking your clit just right, and a second later you’re freezing up as your orgasm crashes through you.

Wolf Hybrid roars as your precious pussy clamps down on him. He continues to thrust into you, swinging his hips back and forcing his knot inside you with a slick pop. The sudden stretch prolongs your orgasm and makes you scream in delight. He cums not long after you, his knot expanding inside you as he pumps load after load of hot cum straight into your wrecked womb.

“If I hadn’t already said it, welcome to the neighborhood,” he says breathlessly in your ear.

After his knot had gone down, he slipped out of you and the two of you finished carrying the boxes in. Well, more like you laid on your couch while he carried the rest in because you couldn’t seem to walk for the life of you. He offered to stay, help you clean up and look after you till you could walk again, but you politely declined. You started your new job in the morning after all.

As you leave your house the next morning, body still a bit sore from the best fuck of your life, you realized you had a tiny issue. Your car was being driven down by a friend from your old city but it wasn’t here yet. You had to get to work somehow.

Looking off to the side you spot your neighbor in their driveway and your cheeks tinge pink. He was with a couple of his friends and it seemed like they were on their way somewhere. His friends appearing to be an Orc, a Naga, and another wolf. You could always ask them for a ride. Or maybe you shouldn’t bother your neighbor after what happened yesterday. You could always take the bus. Except… you have no idea where the station is. Well, you could always walk. Maybe stop for some coffee along the way.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Is This a Tragedy?

You're an actor and you finally got your big role in a hit TV show. Unfortunately your character only made it to Season 2 before they killed you off. This is how I imagine the lads men react to watching that scene [Requested by: Anon]

𝚉𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎

calm cool and collected on the outside; whole time he's really having an internal breakdown

grips your hand a little tighter in his as the scene progresses

“are you dying? is this a tragedy?”

is very aware that it’s just a show, but can’t stop his heart from pounding at the thought of losing you

rubs his eyes to keep himself from tearing up

stares at you after the episode ends “What?” “The thought of losing you has always terrified me; watching you perform that scene does not help” “it’s my job Zayne besides im right here”

finds himself staring at you more often just trying to commit every feature of yours to memory

never willingly watches that episode again

skips over that part every time or just turns the show off “You still can’t watch it?” “No”

praises you for the phenomenal performance although he claims it was a little too realistic

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚕

is great at slipping in and out of character so he was the one helping you with your acting skills

sits up straight when he realizes what's happening “is this the scene you've been keeping secret?”

falls out immediately in your lap

bawling his eyes out goes as far to curl up in your lap

would be so proud of not only you, but himself as well for helping you perfect your craft

“Do I get credit as the acting coach?” “Yes would you like a reward?” “You know I do”

Although he’s proud of you he can’t bring himself to watch the episode again also doesn't continue watching the show in general "they killed off my favorite character how can I continue watching it now?"

keeps pushing you to work on crying on command so if you need to cry for your next roll it’s even better

acted out the scene with you at home for fun once and had a mental breakdown

𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛

Fell asleep in the middle of the show and missed it

“just watch it when you get a chance” “no replay it”

immediately turns the show off in the middle of the scene

“im not watching this” “Xav…” “No”

drills you with questions about why you didn’t tell him you were dying in that episode

“I can’t watch that don’t make me watch it” "You're being a little dramatic don't you think?"

pouts, pouts, and pouts some more

won’t watch it no matter how much you beg

although he never finished watching the whole scene he holds your hand tighter now these days

asks for a warning next time so he can prepare himself …… to fast forward

𝚂𝚢𝚕𝚞𝚜

watches quietly giving away nothing

“You even shed a few tears for your own scene?” teases you for crying at your own death scene “it looks different after the editing okay!”

won't admit it, but one time was enough

“it made you sad didn’t it?” “Well I don’t take pleasure in watching you die onscreen sweetie” “im alive though” “Let's keep it that way”

weasels his way out of watching the scene again

his voice slightly wavers whenever you bring it up

avoids eye contact when you tease him about it

held you tighter at night for at least a month

Bonus: the twins bawled their eyes out and tackled you to the ground with a bone crushing hug

[cassafrasscr]

Just thinking about Orym watching this and seeing the Prime Deities being forced to choose between protecting their family or saving the people of Aeor.

Having been told several times in the last few months that if any of Bell’s Hells turns against the cause, he'll have to eliminate them. That for the sake of protecting the world, he'll have to kill one of these people he's claimed as his family.

Orym, who has been the target of friendly fire more than probably anyone else in the party. He's been mauled by Chetney multiple times, been directly attacked by murder-mode FCG at least once, and was ambushed in his sleep by Laudna JUST LAST NIGHT. And even when he's angry, he always meets them with compassion and forgiveness.

Orym, who allegedly has contingency plans for each of his friends if they turn, but who always pulls his punches when he does have to fight them.

Orym, whose home was invaded by a hostile force, who lost his father and husband and probably more of his comrades. Not unlike when the original home of the gods was attacked and destroyed.

Every day he has to make the impossible choice: save the world, or protect his family? Even as flawed as they are, and with how much he's been hurt by them, he loves them. He has insisted repeatedly that he won't HAVE to kill his friends, because he trusts them not to betray him. He believes in them wholeheartedly.

And now he's watching the Prime Deities have to grapple with that same choice. Even knowing that the Betrayer Gods didn't die, and the Calamity lasted another 100 years.

I'm so interested to see how Orym reacts, with everyone pressuring him to choose the world over his family. Knowing that, at least on some level, the Prime Deities chose their family over the world. And look what it cost the world.

[brainrotfm]

the sideshow spectacular: week one

☞ pairing: nurse!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

☞ word count: ~4.6k

☞ short description: yandere fertility nurse sukuna who thinks he's pulling a fast one on you except you're yan4yan and have masterminded this exact situation from the start

☞ content warnings: dark content, modern au, no curse au, yan4yan, yandere behavior, medical play kink, breeding kink, light bondage, inappropriate power dynamic, baby trapping, afab!reader, feminine descriptors + pronouns, blink and you miss it daddy kink, probably a lot more honestly i'm sorry for being a pervert

☞ notes: credit shhhhh don't look at what time this was posted i *definitely* made the cut off for week 1 also this came to me in a vision and then i feverishly wrote between today and yesterday also this is my first posted smut ever pls be nice also also also not beta'd not edited we die like men have fun xoxoxo

You have turned him into a monster.

You, with your kind smile, the way you offer it so carelessly to every person you meet. You, with your adorable gestures, fidgeting and fiddling with pens, magazines, the edges of your skirts as you sit in the waiting room. You, with those trusting eyes, lashes fluttering at every passing sensitivity. He could read your emotions clear as day, and spent too much of his time doing so, pretending to work behind an antiquated desktop as he side eyed you.

The other nurses had caught on, of course - ever watchful hens, they were quick to pinpoint his interest in you, tutting at him in the break room only for a moment about it being inappropriate to desire patients. Their admonishments turned teasing without him interfering, settling into their usual lust for office gossip without another acknowledgement. In truth, his coworkers were delighted, in fact, by the pink haired man "softening" over you.

This would have drawn his ire, even his retaliation in most instances. Until Sukuna realized he was purposely being slid your chart whenever your monthly appointment rolled around, an unexpected convenience in Sukuna's intricate plan to claim you as his own.

He had only heard of your husband in passing, the man only present at your introductory interview with the fertility team and the first few appointments before his obligation to you waned. Sukuna despised him for it on principle, but in practice, no other presence in the exam room meant having his bubble of heaven. A single half hour appointment, once a month, where he reviewed your chart, asked invasive questions about your health, took blood, gave the occasional ultrasound, offered advice on the repetitious nature of fertility treatments, and flirted his ass off as he watched you giggle and squirm under his attention. The prospect of cucking this faceless man only added to Sukuna's dark desires.

Today was finally the day. It was even circled on his desk calendar, red ink.

"You look handsome," you offered him the compliment easily, your voice obscuring the click of the door locking behind you both, back to him as you set your jacket on the extra chair. Sukuna preened for a second, smiling to himself.

Sukuna was wearing a tight, long sleeve black shirt beneath his favorite maroon red scrubs, the smallest hint of a chain beneath his collar, and comfortable black sneakers - none of his piercings, sadly, and since his interview, he had worn make up to cover his face and neck tattoos at work as well.

He knew you meant it too, as he diligently wore the exact same outfit to every one of your appointments since the first time you had complimented him all those months ago.

"Already buttering me up, you better not be trying to get out of your blood work," Sukuna teased as he opened one of the nearby cabinet drawers, retrieving his special black gloves that only he was allowed to use, quietly noting that none were missing with a smirk.

"You always remind me of a tattoo artist with those," you deflected, tossing him one of your oh-so pretty smiles.

"Y'know, I buy these with my own money, and I'm gonna let you in on a lil' secret... That's why, that's what I want you to think," Sukuna bantered back, so at ease around you that he rolled his sleeves up thoughtlessly before making a show out of snapping the nitrile against his wrists. He had never done that before.

You had caught wisps in the past, only question marks until today. Thick black bands of tattooed ink sat around his wrists, hidden now beneath his gloves that blended so well against them, it made sense why he liked them so much.

Your mouth went dry at the sight, licking your lips as you choked out to him, "I didn't know you had tattoos."

The tone of your voice had him raising a brow, lopsided smirk already in place, "Is that a deal breaker, baby?" If only you knew.

"Those can't be the only ones," you replied, and if Sukuna wasn't mistaken, there was a lilt of hope sitting between your words, causing his smirk to soften to a smile, his heart wrenching for a moment at you. You. He was going to ruin you.

That when he noticed that you were still standing awkwardly, your things deposited in the nearby chairs as you rocked on the balls of your feet, something about you seemingly overwhelming tense despite being in such good company. You were being different today too; Sukuna hoped you didn't sense something was amiss.

"Everything okay with you today, doll?"

"I, um... I was wondering if we could wait, actually, to do the ultra sound today," you started shyly, and he could tell you were fighting the urge to wring your hands as your fingertips jittered against your wrists. Despite your words, he continued to dig materials out of the cabinets, glancing at you over his shoulder as he spoke.

"You want to do blood first? Feeling bold today, sweet girl?" Sukuna hoped so, he had big plans for you. He turned from the cabinet to approach you to do the prep work. He didn't want to waste anymore time, but maybe having you light-headed from lack of blood wasn't such a bad idea - he stopped when he saw the look on your face.

"Is there any way I can have a physical exam today, actually? Y'know, like my annual one, but instead... now," your question was rushed as you looked toward him but not at him, and Sukuna knew this because he was staring you down, a predator honing in on his prey. He felt like he could hear your pulse from where he stood, and it made his mouth water.

"You mean your pelvic exam?" he repeated, almost dumbfounded at his luck - were you stupid or naive? Nurses didn't give pelvic exams, that was the doctor's job. Your chart only had an appointment for your usual round of bullshit, blood and ultrasound, Sukuna trying to upsell you hormones your insurance wouldn't cover, blah blah blah.

God, you were so pretty and dumb, was this on purpose? Were you trying to manipulate him? You'd been here enough times to know better, right ? When was the universe ever so giving? Sukuna figured there was really no way you'd fall for what he was about to try, sure this was your attempt at catching him red handed in his obsession over you, but he didn't care. He'd take the bait, even if it was a shot in the dark for you.

His head had cocked with his thoughts, a lopsided grin unfurling across his cheeks as he regarded you with darkening eyes, coughing to clear the husk of his arousal from his voice. "You know, the doctor has been in and out all morning. Something with her kids. I'd hate for you to get stuck waiting around for her. I could always administer the exam, if you'd like."

He very much could not, but he kept his wicked smirk in place, silently praying you wouldn't call his bluff. To Sukuna's delight, your gaze twitched between him and the exam table, knees rubbing together briefly before your hesitation subsided and you made a half step in its direction, wavering as you looked down at yourself. He understood in an instant, clicking his tongue in recognition as he went back to the drawers to dig out an exam gown for you, both your hands lingering on the package when he passed it forward.

"I'll step ou-"

"No, you can just... stay," you sounded much more confident now, cutting him off with a defiant look in your eye, the smallest curl of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, "You're going to see everything anyway, right? J-just turn around, maybe?"

You were so cute, he wished he could kiss you right then. Using every ounce of his control to suppress his smirk, Sukuna turned on his heel and faced the opposing wall dutifully, the urge to peek over his shoulder at you easy to resist when he knew exactly where all this was leading. As if the wheels hadn't been in motion since before you had even arrived today.

It was sort of erotic, though, to hear the jostle of your clothes hitting the floor, knowing you were naked and so close to him, and being unable to touch or see. Not yet. A little more patience and he knew he would reap the best of rewards. You cleared your throat when you were ready and Sukuna turned, unable to hid his smirk now that he saw you in the silly canary yellow exam gown they gave people here. You were still adorable, though.

Stepping to the side, Sukuna pulled out the lowest shelf of the table to act as a foot stool and help you up, before moving to each side to unfurl the arms of the stirrups he'd be putting your feet into. He couldn't think about it too much or his cock might hear, already on thin ice until you were properly restrained. The room had grown painfully quiet, Sukuna unable to continue joking with you when he was barely keeping his hands off you.

It was taking every ounce of his self control to not start panting and drooling like a dog at the way you quietly obeyed him, without question. So trusting... So easy, it took nothing to lead you down his path of corruption. His skin was starting to get hot, but Sukuna ignored the prickling beneath his shirt, knowing he needed to retain focus now more than ever. Oh, you were speaking. Fuck.

"I read online that during ovulation, there can be blockages that, like, can contribute to the problems I'm... having, you know," you were rambling, words rushed, and Sukuna realized you were embarrassed by the information you were offering. Cute, so fucking cute. You probably should be, it sounded like snake oil garbage, but Sukuna thanked whatever AI algorithm spat that nonsense into your brain as he nodded along.

"Hmmmm, well, that's only sort of true," he hummed through the lie easily, trying not to let his fingertips linger too long against the soft skin of your calf, your ankle as Sukuna strapped your left foot into place. He was even quicker with the right one, worried you may change your mind if he idled too long.

He used his foot to kick the rolling stool closer and sat down in a smooth motion. He couldn't give you a moment to think, because if he did, you may realize your mistake. Sukuna's hands were already beneath your gown as he rubbed both palms eagerly at your inner thighs, cooing from beneath you when you jolted at the sensation, "Hey, it's okay, it's just me. You trust me, yeah? I'm not going to hurt you."

Only some of it was a lie, but you eased regardless, somehow relaxing when you shouldn't be. Sukuna would've clicked his tongue, admonished you, if he wasn't the villain in this story.

"I'm going to look at you now," it was a command more than a question, not waiting for your consent before his hands are moving to your outer thighs, pushing the gown up easily, the fabric already wanting to give from the angle of your legs in the stirrups. It just needed some encouragement.

Glancing up at you, Sukuna noted your fluttering eyelashes and shallow breaths, and realized you probably needed some encouragement too.

"So beautiful," he couldn't stop his silky whisper, barely even trying to keep up the ruse that had put you here, careless as he finally gazed at your perfect pussy, splayed out wide for him. He wanted to touch. He needed to taste.

"Y-yeah?" the quiver in your tone perfect, and Sukuna fought the urge to moan at the entire situation, wondering how someone as bad as him could have such a perfect moment unfolding like this.

"My prognosis is that you have pretty pussy syndrome," Sukuna couldn't even stop himself now, having gone mad as soon as he could smell your arousal, spit pooling on his tongue as his fingers twitched on your thighs. He wanted to touch you everywhere. He wanted to have everything. He leaned closer, his breath beginning to fan over your folds, using two fingers to spread you even further, really expose every inch of you to him. He had dreamed of it for so long, Sukuna couldn't help but linger here, just a moment.

"I d-don't think you're supposed to talk to me like t-that," you wriggled beneath him despite your words, probably beginning to realize this may have been a bad idea, but it was too late for you. You'd have to scream, and to be frank, Sukuna would shut you up before anyone could intervene. He was too close to what he wanted to be stopped now - not that you would. The wetness leaking out of your pulsing little entrance reassured him.

"Yeah? That was unprofessional of me, wasn't it?" Sukuna feigned agreement before he was licked a flat stripe from your perineum to your clit, making sure to linger and kiss at the hooded bud once, twice before giving an experimental suck, earning him a pitched keen that had him grinning.

"But then why are you so wet for me, doll?" the pet name dripped venomously off his tongue as two deft fingers pinched and rolled at your clit, crimson gaze peering up your body at your reaction. The look on your face was almost enough to make him cum right there; your tongue was poking out between your lips as you panted, eyes hazy and hooded, unable to tear your gaze from where Sukuna sat between your legs and continued his ministrations. You already looked fucked out, and he was just getting started.

He laved his tongue gently against your rapidly engorging clit, another whimper falling from your lips when a fingertip started to tease at your fluttering entrance. Already so sopping wet with the prettiest slick he'd ever tasted, he was so entranced by you that he was hardly listening.

"T-this isn't... This is different than what-" You sounded so cute like this, all high pitched and whining. Needy for something you couldn't ask for, not yet, not that you'd have to - Sukuna knew he'd give it to you, give it all to you, give you everything he had.

"We're doing a different kind of exam, doll. I'm not your gynecologist," Sukuna chided back with a sharp laugh, his words full of a condescending mirth as he sunk two fingers deep into your cunt, fighting his own moan at how easily your pulsing hole gave way to him. A moment longer of watching your cunt gobble up his fingers to the knuckle and Sukuna was going to finger bang you to death, truly.

The nitrile gloves were definitely the culprit, the addition of all your slick eradicating any friction. To be fair, your pussy was tight enough that when your walls fluttered around the sudden intrusion, Sukuna had a momentary worry that making you cum might break his hand. It'd be worth it though, so the thought passed him by.

He curled his fingers deeper, prodding and scissoring against the gummy slick of your walls, searching for the spot that would make you sing. He knew as soon as he did, a sharp inhale followed by a whimper leaving your mouth, and the man fought against his urge to grin at all the pretty sounds you were making just for him. Because of him.

He shushed you, easing the pressure against your G-spot, just swirling the pads of his fingers in a circular motion as he purred your name before admonishing you softly, "I really do need you to quiet down, we can't disturb the other patients in the waiting room. Can you be good?"

Your bottom lip was firmly beneath your teeth but wobbling precariously, the sight of you adorable but albeit, not very reassuring. Sighing, Sukuna slipped his fingers out of you, which left you whimpering and squirming, much to his pleasure. Standing between your legs, he regarded you with a cold scowl for a moment before reaching down both hands to shove your exam gown higher from your hips , up up up, not stopping until he'd bunched it beneath your arm pits and freed the jiggling fat of your breasts to the chill in the air. You didn't even wear a bra, whore. His characteristic smirk was back in place at the newfound sight of you.

He couldn't help but stare for a moment. He didn't think he could get away with taking a picture, and he needed to commit this to memory.

After a moment, he reached for the hem of your gown again, this time bunching a fistful together before pressing it against your lips, his smirk going crooked with arousal when you took it with a tentative bite, the pretty doe eyes gazing up at him starting to water.

"Shhh, don't worry, I'm prescribing the perfect fertility treatment for you today, it's even covered by your insurance," Sukuna shushed, the comfort and sympathy offered obviously fake as his fingers tips caught on your entrance again, unceremoniously shoving three forward. Maybe Sukuna was the one who needed the gag - he all but groaned when half his hand sunk into your pussy without resistance, your messy hole squelching loudly for him.

Your eyes immediately rolled as he began an unforgiving pace, hammering his knuckles against your thinly stretched entrance, his other hand having shoved into his pants to fist his cock for even the smallest ounce of relief. Despite your muffled whines to the contrary, your hands began to smack helplessly against his shoulders, the only defense you had to the onslaught of pleasure as you were otherwise pinned and tied to the exam table, by your own wishes. You had, quite literally in Sukuna's opinion, asked for this.

Sukuna squeezed the base of his cock when your flimsy pushing against his chest finally registered, because you weren't even really trying to get him away, because you were still moaning like a little bitch. He almost came at the thought.

His thumb found your clit with ease, the poor thing swollen and begging for attention as he swiped against it, and he had been right in his earlier observation; the added sensation had your pussy clenching down around him so hard, one of his fingers folded over another, practically crushing his knuckles from pressing into you any deeper. You were about to cum for him. That wicked smile of his began to curl across Sukuna's features as his other hand left his cock to take over at your clit, flicking back and forth in a quick motion while the hand buried in your cunt gave several practiced tilts forward.

"Pretty little doll," he groaned hoarsely, pressing in hard against the spongy tissue of your G-spot until your back arched from the table, tits wobbling in the air. Sukuna knew what you needed, grunting a commanding, "Now, cum for me now," before surging forward to bite one of your perfect nipples, the sudden change in angle and added sensation your ultimate undoing.

Like a bow pulled taut, you snapped at your peak, a surprised shout barely escaping your throat before your cunt flexed hard, before splitting itself open with a gush of clear liquid around Sukuna's eagerly awaiting palms, the hand inside you stilled to let you ride on while he continued to lazily flick your clit, prolonging your orgasm as long as he could.

You were going to feel heavenly around his cock.

Sukuna felt his eyes roll back as he mercilessly pummeled his hips forward, unable to slow himself down, your cunt filled to the brim with his girth. His hand was grasped so firmly over your mouth, you could only helplessly cry out against his palm, laving your tongue and teeth over the skin for some amount of grounding sensation as the man ruthlessly fucked into you.

The stirrups had kept you spread wide for him, unable to wriggle away from pleasure and pain alike, and a puddle was forming on the floor as your needy cunt drooled around his abusive thickness. So perfectly fucked out, just for him. Your walls fluttering indistinctly from the spasms of your orgasms, your euphoria evident from your slick sodden pussy, your heavily lidded gaze, your labored gasps for air beneath his hand. Grinning, he pinched two fingers together and closed your nose, and your entire cunt clenched, and Sukuna barely stifled his own groan as he ricocheted into you with renewed vigor. He let go when your eyes began to roll, and it seemed that the flood of oxygen back into your brain combined with the frenzied thrust of his hips had you shattering around him once again.

"Oh my god, look at you," Sukuna choked out lowly, "you're just sucking me in, it's like-"

He was gazing down to where your bodies connected, wonder twinkling behind heavily lidded maroon eyes as he watched your cunt take him still, after already cumming twice and probably so sensitive, still. His heart hammered in his chest, the pressure at the base of his cock getting dizzying, making his mouth run as his brow furrowed, unable to take his eyes away from your drooling slit as he chased his high.

The exam room stank with sex, filled with the wet slaps of his hips and low grunts, your cum drunk mewls broken and pitchy and barely muffled by your spit-soaked gown. It was a wonder you both hadn't been caught yet, but at this point, it just seemed to be Sukuna's lucky day.

"You want me to cum in you, don't you?" Sukuna asked breathlessly, not actually caring for the answer, because this had been the point all along. The entire plan hinged on filling you to the brim with his seed.

"You want my fucking cum, you want to be bred by me and not your stupid fucking husband. You want me to fuck a baby into you, you dirty fucking whore, so shameless," as he spoke, his thrusts began to speed up, his control finally dwindling as he hammered recklessly into your perfect sopping cunt. He was unable to stop himself from reaching down to grind his palm against your clit, adoring the way your walls gripped his shaft, milking his thickness for all he was worth.

"It doesn't matter what you want, m'gonna do it anyway," he hissed, crimson eyes wide and wild and boring down at the pussy he planned to fill with his seed, absolutely deranged with his singularly focused obsession, and the sight had you shuddering around him again, your third orgasm unexpected for the both of you.

Sukuna had no chance against your spasming walls this time, his hand finding your throat and dragging you up for a ruthless, harsh first kiss. More of a mashing tongues before Sukuna cried out with a growl, dropping his head to muffle himself with a bite to your shoulder. Instinct shoved his hips forward, burying his cock as close to your womb as physically possible as he came, flooding you with warmth. His cock jumped inside of you, twitching and sensitive against your fluttering walls, both of you hissing and moaning softly as your hips continued to rock slowly, riding out the overstimulation.

Your chests were pressed skin to skin, Sukuna's head was still tucked in the space between your neck and your shoulder as you both came down from your highs, silent except for the shared panting. Sukuna was the first to speak, chuckling as he lulled his tongue against the mark he had left, kissing the already blossoming redness in a surprising act of tenderness.

"I marked you up pretty bad, doll, between that and my baby, I don't think you're getting away with any of this. What're you gonna tell your man?" Sukuna didn't know if it was pride or jealously twinging his words, but whatever it was, it tasted bitter on his tongue, despite all the blessings he'd received today.

A beat passed before you tried to sit up on your elbows, the angle of the exam table not exactly helping, once hazy eyes now trained on his, absolutely twinkling as you murmured, "Probably nothing, I guess... considering I'm not married." You wriggled beneath him, still pinned beneath his chest as you danced your hips back and forth around his softening length, making cum leak out and down your puffy slit in a proud display.

"What?" His cock hadn't even come out of you yet. You were gonna make him hard again if you kept that up.

You giggled, the sound sparkling with delight as you repeated, "I'm not married. That man isn't my husband."

"He's been here... It's part of our screening process."

"He's just some actor guy I hired. I don't even know him." You didn't even have the nerve to sound embarrassed.

"What does that mean? He gives samples-"

"I give samples on my 'husband's' behalf. Why do you think our treatments haven't worked?" your smile had grown wicked, a twin lopsided grin to the one he usually wore, pupils dilated as you admitted your sins, your pussy even giving a little spasm on his now rapidly hardening cock. You were getting off on this, you little she-devil.

"Then what's even the point in coming to a fucking fertility clinic if you're not-"

"All for this. All for you," your confession both the sweetest and most deranged thing he had ever heard of in his life, and that was saying something, considering... him.

His heart skipped a beat.

Sukuna was pretty sure he was in love with you.

You thought you had finally stunned him. You had, for a moment, like a flash bang. But Sukuna recovered quickly enough, reaching an expert hand down to drag the middle shelf out from the front of the exam table. He stepped his right foot forward before hoisting a knee to plant his left foot firmly on the stool, using the advantage of his palms already under your knees to unceremoniously shove you into deep mating press, no longer constrained by stirrups.

His fat cock could bully against your cervix easily now, and considering he never skipped leg day, his stamina in this position was nothing to be trifled with. He gave an experimental roll of his hips, sinking tip to hilt without any resistance, the movement causing you to shout hoarsely at how quickly his balls pressed against your asshole.

"Oh you fucking slut," Sukuna purred in delight, his condescension sticky sweet, "Since you want my baby so bad, we'll make extra sure it sticks this time, but you gotta be quiet and we gotta be quick." You opened wide as he grabbed a handful of his special black gloves from their box and balling them into your gleefully awaiting mouth. Leaning forward so you were caged against his chest, Sukuna rolled his cock deeply into you again, content with your muffled whine of ecstasy, before setting a brutal pace into your already cum sodden cunt.

"And call me Daddy this time."

[velarisdusk]

Subjugation

Day 31: Fuck or Die | Lucien x Reader, Rhysand word count: 6.6k author's note: I LIED IT DID IT ON TIME LITERALLY FINISHED MAKING THIS POST 2 MINUTES BEFORE MIDNIGHT HAHAAA!!!!! this is loosely based on an audio i heard months back that i was OBSESSED with but has since been deleted ugh im so sad :( account deleted as well :( im very sad about it so this is my way to cope. i really hope yall enjoy this one, bc ive been looking forward to it all month. thank you all for sticking around, i loved seeing your reactions and thoughts on all of these fics!! this was my first ever kinktober so she might be a bit rough around the edges, but im really glad i did it, and im really glad it was received the way it was. much love to all of you and i hope you enjoy!!! <333 warning! given that this is literally a “fuck or die” there are strong themes of dubious consent, walking the very thin line between dubcon and noncon. ✦ . Kinktober Masterlist . ✦

Darkness enveloped you, a thick blanket that pressed down, squeezing the air from your lungs. As consciousness crept in, the first sensation was pain—raw and relentless, coursing through your limbs like a wildfire. Your body ached as if it had been trampled, every muscle protesting against even the slightest movement.

You blinked against the dim light creeping in, squinting at the cold, damp stone that pressed against your back. Confusion clawed at your mind, a fog of disorientation shrouding your thoughts. Terror coursed through your veins  as you tried to lift your arms, only to find them restrained above your head, the chains biting into your wrists, cold metal pulling you down like a heavy weight.

A muffled sound escaped your throat, the thick fabric in your mouth pressing harshly against your tongue, making any scream futile. The taste of iron and fear filled your mouth, and your heart raced as reality settled in—the sheer vulnerability of your situation sank like lead in your stomach. You were exposed, chained, and completely at the mercy of whoever had brought you here. Was this it? Has she finally come to claim you for her twisted games?

Frantic breaths filled the air, and you strained to look around, the dimness revealing little more than shadows. It was then that you noticed him—a familiar figure sitting a few feet away, naked and equally bewildered. Lucien.

His eyes fluttered as he began to stir. The sight of him sent a jolt of relief through you, but it was quickly overshadowed by the dread coiling in your gut. What had happened to you both? 

His skin appeared paler than usual; the months you’d already spent under the mountain seemed to have drained the life from him. That godsforsaken fox mask still lay on his face, but the eyes underneath it seemed more sunken, and the lines of worry etched into his face spoke of sleepless nights and the weight of hopelessness that hung heavy in the air these days. 

As Lucien's gaze met yours, confusion morphed into alarm. He seemed to struggle against the haze of unconsciousness, and panic surged through his face as he took in your surroundings. “Where…?” he murmured, his voice raw and hoarse.

The gravity of your situation settled between you, heavy and suffocating. You were trapped—naked, chained, and entirely exposed in a dark, cold room. You could see the realization dawning on him, and the fear mirrored your own.

“What the hell is going on?” he croaked, panic lacing his voice as he strained against his own restraints, testing the chains that bound him.

The sound of your shackles echoed in the silence. You wanted to scream, to cry out for help, but the gag stifled your voice. Instead, you shook your head slowly, tears pooling in your eyes.

Then, without warning, a chilling voice slithered into your mind, a darkness that curled around your thoughts like smoke. “Ah, waking up already? How delightful.”

It was Rhysand. Dread pooled in your stomach, a cold sweat breaking out across your skin. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be happening. You and Lucien looked around frantically, your gazes darting through the shadows for any sign of him. But even in the darkness, it was clear: he wasn’t there. The world around you twisted, and the horrifying reality of your situation settled in like a heavy weight. You would die in this room. 

“Consider this a bit of recompense,” he purred, voice laced with amusement, “for Lucien’s heroic outburst on Feyre’s behalf. But I’m feeling generous, Lucien… I could have chosen anyone for this, yet I thought of your dear, sweet friend—consider this a gift from me, really. All he has to do is indulge his more… primal urges. Simple enough, wouldn’t you say?”

He paused, letting his words hang in the air like a blade. You and Lucien exchanged a glance, the gravity of the situation dawning on both of you. Your heart raced, panic and dread swirling in your chest like a storm. Lucien’s eyes were wide and pleading, but his body remained tense, muscles coiled as if ready to spring into action despites the restraints binding him.

“But let’s not pretend you don’t understand the stakes here. You see, my dear, in this world, power is everything. Those who wield it have the privilege of making the rules. And I, well, I have quite the extensive collection of rules. Your friend Lucien is merely a pawn in this little game, and you? You are the prize. Such a sweet, tempting prize, chained and vulnerable before him.

“Do you feel it?” he continued, a dark thrill evident in his tone. “The dread curling in your stomach, the fear flooding your veins? That’s the gift of knowledge, darling. Knowing that your fate lies in the hands of someone who enjoys watching you squirm. You were so certain you could resist, that you could outsmart those of us holding all the power beneath this mountain. But look where that has brought you—naked, exposed, and utterly at my mercy.

“Lucien, dear Lucien,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “You think your defiance gives you strength? How quaint. You may feel brave now, but courage can crumble in an instant when faced with true power. You’re in a game far beyond your understanding, and right now I hold all the cards. The choice you face isn’t just about survival—it’s about how low you’re willing to stoop to escape this fate.”

You could feel the panic radiating from Lucien as he continued to struggle against his restraints, the chains rattling with each futile attempt. The atmosphere shifted, a tension coiling tighter as if the air itself were charged with impending doom.

“And now, let’s have a private chat, shall we, Lucien?” Rhysand’s tone shifted, smooth and menacing. You watched as Lucien’s eyes widened, the fear creeping across his features, and your heart sank.

“Get out of my head!” Lucien shouted, his voice raw with defiance. It echoed off the cold stone walls. 

“Oh, but we both know that’s not how this works,” Rhysand purred, his voice curling around Lucien’s mind like a serpent. You could still hear him—Rhysand wanted you to hear him. “I want you to understand the gravity of your situation, Lucien. You have a choice to make—one that will determine not only your fate but that of your precious friend as well.”

Lucien’s fists clenched at his sides, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he glared defiantly. “You think I’ll let you do this? You’re a monster, I won’t—”

“Spare me your bravado,” Rhysand interrupted, his voice dripping with mockery. “You’re in no position to make threats. You see, either you take her, or I will end both of your lives right here. Think of it as a favor. If you truly care for her, this is your chance to save her. I can see the way you look at her—how long have you wanted her?”

Lucien’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said tersely, attempting to mask the turmoil roiling within him. 

Rhysand’s laughter echoed through both of your heads, smooth yet laced with venom. “Oh, we both know that isn’t true, Lucien. Maybe Amarantha hasn’t seen it, but I certainly have—the longing, the desire you think you’ve hidden so well. It’s pathetic, really. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s noticed and has said nothing because you’re simply not worth her attention.”

You tried to shake your head, tried to let Lucien know that you heard the exchange and what he’d said about you wasn’t true in the slightest. But your head wouldn’t move. It was then that you felt the claws scraping against your mind, holding you in place. 

Lucien’s face shifted from anger to horror, and you could see the internal struggle etched across his features. You wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but Rhysand and the chains held you captive, the gag stifling any sound of support.

“You’re sick, Rhysand!” Lucien’s voice trembled, a mix of anger and desperation. “This isn’t power. You don’t hold any power here! Amarantha loosens her hold on your leash for two minutes and you decide to play these twisted fucking games. You’re the one warming her bed, doing her bidding, yet you call me the pawn?” He shook his head, disbelief etched across his features. “You have no real control, Rhysand, you’re a puppet.”

“Oh, Lucien,” Rhysand began, his voice smooth as silk but laced with venom. “You talk a big game, but what good is your bravery when it leads you to this? You call me a puppet, yet here you are, bound and powerless. Look around you—this isn’t a game of chess where you can play the noble knight. You are the pawn, desperately clinging to the hope that your defiance means something. It doesn’t. It never has.

“I’ve delayed long enough,” he said, his tone shifting to something colder, more calculated. “Let me make this perfectly clear to both of you: Lucien, you will fuck her. If you refuse, I will delight in watching you both die slow, agonizing deaths—your minds crushed bit by bit until there’s nothing left but despair. Your little friendship will unravel in a cacophony of screams, and I will ensure you understand the price of defiance.”

With those words, a chilling silence enveloped the room, filled only by the sound of yours and Lucien’s ragged breathing. You could see the conflict raging in his eyes, the weight of the decision pressing down on him like a vice.

With a sudden clatter, Lucien’s shackles released their grip, the cold metal falling away from his wrists and legs. Without a moment’s hesitation, he bolted to your side, kneeling beside you on the unforgiving stone floor. His presence felt like a warm beacon in the oppressive darkness, and you instinctively leaned into him, desperate for any comfort.

He gently brushed your hair away from your face, his touch feather-light yet grounding. “Are you okay?” His voice was low and urgent, eyes scanning your face as if searching for signs of damage that could never be fixed. He wiped the tears streaming down your cheeks with his thumbs, the tenderness of the gesture contrasting with the hopelessness in your chest. You wanted to scream, to protest, but the terror of what Rhysand would do if you didn’t comply loomed large in your mind.

Lucien’s gaze softened as he took a deep breath, determination flickering in his eyes. He reached around to your mouth, fingers brushing against the gag that stifled your voice. Just as he grasped the fabric, his body went rigid, and he doubled over in pain, a choked gasp escaping his lips.

“I wouldn’t,” Rhysand’s voice echoed in his mind, cold and merciless. “If you remove that gag, I’ll kill you on the spot, and she’ll be much worse off than she is now.” The threat hung in the air like a noose, tightening around Lucien’s resolve.

You watched helplessly as Lucien’s expression twisted from concern to agony, the weight of Rhysand's grip on his mind pressing down like a heavy hand. The moment felt suspended in time, your hearts racing in unison as fear clawed at both of you.

Once the pain subsided, he searched your gaze, the anguish etched on his face evident as he spoke. “I won’t do it if you don’t want me to. I’ll—I’ll figure something out.” His resolve was palpable, a fierce determination to protect you despite the impossible situation. 

Tears continued to spill down your cheeks, but you nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in your throat. Lucien was your friend, and as much as the fear clawed at your insides, you knew he would be gentle. If this was the only way for you both to escape this cruel nightmare, then so be it. You would endure, not just for yourself but for him, too.

His breath shuddered, both with relief and hesitation, and he leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “I’ll make it as easy as I can,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. You wouldn’t be alone in this.

Lucien moved to position himself in front of you, averting his gaze as he spat on his hand, giving himself a few quick pumps. Despite the dire situation, his body responded quickly, hardening at the sight of you. He looked at you with a mixture of apology and determination. “I need you to spread your legs,” he asked gently, his voice soft and careful.

You complied, legs parting with a trembling reluctance. Lucien took a deep breath, aligning himself with your entrance. He pushed in slowly, the movement as gentle as his grip on your waist. Every inch felt like a battle against the situation you were in, but he made sure to look into your eyes, his expression full of concern and care.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, pausing to let you adjust. You nodded, focusing on his face—the only anchor you had in this horror. As you gazed into his eyes, you could see the conflict warring within him. His brows were furrowed in concentration, and his lips pressed into a thin line, trying to hold back any sign of pleasure. But there it was, faint and undeniable.

He rocked his hips against yours cautiously, checking on you every few moments, his hands trembling slightly as they caressed your sides. “We just have to get through this,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm. “We’ll be okay. Everything will be fine.”

Lucien moved with an agonizing slowness, ensuring that every moment was as painless as possible for you. His eyes never left yours, and you could see the torment in them, the guilt and helplessness he felt at having to do this. 

Without warning, he began thrusting into you harshly, his movements losing their previous tenderness. Confusion and a jolt of pain surged through your body as he pounded with a force that left you gasping. 

A dark, chilling voice echoed through you, but this time, it was Lucien’s. “Too gentle for my liking,” he purred, dripping with what could only be described as malicious delight. “I prefer things a bit rougher. Don’t you, darling?”

You realized with horror that Rhysand had seized his mind, turning him into a puppet for his sick amusement. Lucien's face twisted with anguish, his eyes pleading for forgiveness even as his body moved against his will.

“Gods, your pussy feels so fucking good,” Lucien's voice taunted, his words—not his words, you had to remind yourself—a cruel mockery. “Look at you, taking him so well. Maybe you’re enjoying this more than you care to admit?”

Tears streamed down your face as Lucien’s thrusts grew more violent, each one sending unwelcome jolts of heat through your body. You wanted to scream, to beg for mercy, but the gag stifled your cries, leaving you trapped in silent agony.

“Tell her, Lucien,” Rhysand commanded through Lucien's lips, his voice dark and commanding. “Tell her how much you’re enjoying this.”

Lucien's mouth moved against his will, the words spilling out in a broken, pained voice. “You... you feel so good,” he choked out, the horror in his eyes betraying the vile words he was being forced to speak. “So tight, so perfect.”

“Such a good little slut,” Rhysand sneered through Lucien, forcing him to continue the brutal assault. “You were made for this, weren’t you? Made to be used, to be fucked hard and rough.”

The torment in Lucien’s eyes grew, a silent apology for the nightmare he was being made to inflict upon you. But there was nothing he could do, nothing either of you could do.

Suddenly, Lucien's movements slowed and then stopped altogether. His eyes, wide with horror and filled with tears, met yours. “I'm so sorry,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It wasn't me. I promise it wasn't me.”

You nodded, your eyes brimming with understanding and hurt. You knew he was being controlled, that he was as much a victim as you were.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, tears streaming down his face as he began to move again, Rhysand’s control forcing his hips to continue. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me.”

Every thrust was accompanied by another desperate apology, Lucien’s voice cracking with the weight of his guilt. “I don’t want to hurt you. I would never want to hurt you. Please believe me.”

You could see the agony in his eyes, the helplessness as his body moved against his will. “We’ll get through this,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “We’ll find a way out. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

But it continued, Rhysand’s cruel laughter echoing in your mind, a constant reminder of the power he held over both of you. Lucien’s apologies blended with the sounds of your muffled reactions through the gag, moans and whines you couldn’t contain. 

“I’m so sorry,” Lucien whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “I swear, it’s not me. I’m being forced to do this.”

You nodded, tears streaming down your face. Each thrust was gentle now, driven by Lucien’s desperate attempts to make this as bearable as possible for you. His hands, though trembling, caressed your sides soothingly. “We’ll get through this,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “This is our way out of here. Just hold on.”

The gentle rhythm continued, Lucien’s eyes locked onto yours, filled with sorrow and determination. He leaned down, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, “You’re not alone in this. I’m here with you. I’m so sorry.”

But his words of comfort were short-lived. With a sudden jolt, Lucien’s body stiffened, and the cruel, mocking tone of Rhysand filled the room once more.

“Enough of this pitiful display,” Rhysand sneered through Lucien’s lips. “I’m growing quite bored.” Lucien’s eyes still held a flicker of horror as his body moved with a violence that was not his own. 

“Such a beautiful thing,” Rhysand mused through Lucien. “Taking him so well, aren’t you?”

The words were a cruel mockery, each one a knife twisting in your heart. Lucien’s body responded to Rhysand’s commands, thrusting harder and faster, the pain and humiliation a relentless torrent that threatened to drown you.

“You feel so fucking good,” Lucien said, the words a twisted parody of desire. “So tight around me.”

The brutal rhythm continued, your body aching from the force of it. Rhysand’s control was absolute, Lucien’s face impassive, eyes vacant as he was made to use you. “You’re just a toy,” Rhysand purred, his voice a dark, possessive growl. “Both of you. Playthings for my amusement.”

This couldn’t be happening. You tried desperately to focus on anything but the pain and humiliation. You prayed Lucien was fighting back.

Lucien’s head tilted slightly, and Rhysand’s words, dripping with amusement, spoke through his lips. “Oh, he’s trying. But there’s no fighting me, darling. He’s mine, just as you are.”

 Your eyes widened, full of tears. Why was he doing this? What did he gain?

A laugh burst from Lucien’s lips, a cold, mirthless sound. “Power, control, and the delicious pleasure of watching you break,” he replied, thrusting Lucien’s body harder, the force causing a cry to escape your gagged mouth. “I told you, my dear. In this world, power is everything.”

He reveled in this, drawing pleasure from your suffering and Lucien’s unwilling participation. It was sickening. You couldn’t keep the tears from spilling over, had lost that battle long ago, and you wished desperately that this was just a nightmare you could wake up from. He was a monster. How could he live with himself?

Lucien’s face contorted in a cruel smile, Rhysand’s influence evident. “Quite comfortably, actually,” he said, relishing each word. “And don’t pretend you don’t enjoy this on some level. The thrill of submission, the helplessness—it’s all written across your lovely face.” 

He reached out to caress your tear-streaked face, but you turned away, trying to pull back from his touch. Your defiance only seemed to amuse him, his fingers trailing down your cheek in a mockingly gentle gesture. “Such spirit,” he murmured. “It’s almost a shame to break it.”

It felt so surreal, hearing Lucien speak to you with such harshness. These were combinations of words that would never leave his lips under normal circumstances. The assault continued, each thrust a reminder of your helplessness, of the power Rhysand wielded over both of you. “You see, my dear,” Rhysand continued, his voice dripping with satisfaction, “true power is making others bend to your will, breaking them in ways they never thought possible.”

Lucien’s eyes flickered with awareness, the harshness in his expression softening momentarily. But his movements didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. He was still fucking you roughly, his body obeying Rhysand’s commands despite his own desperate efforts to regain control. Tears blurred your vision as he tried to speak, his voice strained and choked with remorse. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, his hands gripping your waist tightly. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I would never... never think to treat you this way.”

Suddenly, he halted, a look of panic washing over his face. ���I can’t move,” he panted, desperation clawing at his voice. “He—I can’t move, he won’t let me pull out.” A swell of confusion now mixed with your dread. 

Then, Lucien’s eyes glazed over, and you tried to reach for him before the shackles bit into your skin. You sensed a shift in the air. “Oh, do you want to see?” Rhysand’s voice slithered into your thoughts, smooth and taunting. “I suppose I could let you in on it, I don’t see why not.”

Images flooded your mind, and your heart raced with horror as you witnessed Lucien’s desires twisted into something perverse. You saw yourself bent over a table, Lucien behind you, thrusting deep and hard, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in your ears. In another, you were sprawled across the floor, your moans mingling with Lucien’s gasps as he took you from above. Each vision was more frantic and vivid: you on your knees, lips parted and glistening as he slid into your mouth, his hands tangling in your hair, urging you on. There were scenes of you tied up, your body trembling as Lucien’s mouth explored every inch of you, his fingers curling inside you while you writhed in pleasure. Another vision showed you pressed against a wall, legs wrapped around his waist, your nails digging into his back as he pounded into you relentlessly. The most depraved was of you blindfolded, your hands bound much like they were now, as Lucien alternated between fucking your mouth and your cunt, the sounds of your shared ecstasy filling the air. 

But the one that drove Lucien over the edge was an image of you straddling him, moving with abandon, your breasts bouncing with each motion, the pleasure on your face unmistakable. It was a sight that made his entire body tense with desire, reacting to the carnal imagery Rhysand forced into his mind. Just as the haze of those visions lifted, your eyes met Lucien’s—clarity breaking through the chaos. In that fleeting moment of connection, he climaxed inside you, his cock pulsing, filling you with warmth as he gasped your name. 

You shuddered violently, your breath hitching in ragged gasps as the reality of what just happened sank in. More tears spilled down your cheeks, unstoppable, as agony tore through your chest. The sound of your sobs filled the air, harsh and broken. Lucien’s face twisted with anguish behind the mask, his eyes wide and wet, reflecting your pain back at you. “I’m so sorry,” he choked out, his voice barely a whisper. “I couldn’t stop it, I… I didn’t want—It wasn’t—”

His hand reached out, trembling, to wipe away your tears, but you flinched, recoiling from his touch. The sight seemed to pierce him, his face filled with a deep sense of sorrow. He continued to stammer apologies, his words tumbling over each other in a frantic plea for forgiveness. “Please. I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t control it.”

You forced yourself to nod, to show him that you understood, that you didn’t hold him responsible for the nightmare you were both trapped in. But the tears kept coming, your body shaking with each sob. Then you felt it—his cock, still buried deep inside you, starting to harden once more. The sensation was like a cruel twist of the knife, a fresh wave of humiliation crashing over you. Lucien’s breath stilled, his face contorting with the effort to suppress the groans that threatened to escape. Each twitch, each pulse, echoed the relentless torment you were both enduring. His eyes squeezed shut, a desperate attempt to block out the reality, but every time he tried, Rhysand flooded his mind with more depraved images, leaving no escape from the cruel grip he held over both of you. 

Lucien took a deep, shuddering breath, his demeanor calmer, more composed. You felt a flicker of hope as he looked at you, his eyes softer. “No… That’s it,” he said, his voice steady. “We’ve done what he wanted. We can leave now.” He glanced to the side, his brow furrowing. You followed his gaze, but there was nothing there, only the cold emptiness of the room. When he looked back at you, his expression had shifted, a shadow of confusion in his eyes. “He just... Rhysand just told me... we need to do it again.”

Your stomach dropped, a pulse of dread that sent your heart racing. No… No! This wasn’t what you agreed to! You shook your head fervently, desperation clawing at your throat. The gag stifled your cries, leaving you to struggle against the rising tide of fear as you locked eyes with Lucien, your gaze flickering between the golden and russet one. The hope that flickered moments ago now felt like a cruel joke. This wasn’t… You were both supposed to be free…

Lucien’s face twisted with helpless resignation. “He never specified how many times… or for how long. I’m sorry… We have to,” he said, a tremor in his voice. Before you could react, he grabbed your legs and threw them both over his shoulder, holding them tightly to his chest as he began to thrust into you again.

The new position was jarring, the sudden change leaving you disoriented. His movements were slower than before, but deeper and harder, every thrust sending an involuntary warmth curling low in your stomach. You couldn’t understand why he was doing this, why each relentless push ignited sparks that shouldn’t have been there, mingling with the knot of dread that twisted tighter inside you. 

“Just relax,” he murmured, his tone almost soothing if it weren’t for his bruising grip on your legs. “Just let yourself relax, let yourself feel it. You’re doing so well.” His hand trailed down your side. “I knew you’d be this perfect.”

With each helpless moan that slipped from your lips, he groaned, a dark gleam sparkling in his eye. “Oh, fuck, you feel so good,” he growled, his voice dripping with lust as he thrust into you. “You know, I… I always knew you’d be tight, but gods, I never imagined like this.”

Each thrust drove him deeper, his cock filling you completely, hitting places inside you that sent shocks of pleasure and pain through your body. It wasn’t how you had ever imagined Lucien to be in bed, but the way he spoke, the raw need in his voice, it was turning you on despite yourself. His thrusts were relentless, each one sending waves of sensation that blurred pleasure and pain. The scent of your arousal only seemed to spur him on, driving him to quicken his pace.

He leaned down, practically folding you in half, his hands braced on either side of your head as his hot breath ghosted over your ear. With each thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed off the cold stone walls. “You’re squeezing me so perfectly,” he groaned, his voice thick with arousal. “Fuck, I can feel every little tremor inside you. You love this, don’t you? You love how I’m filling you up.”

Your body betrayed you, a heated flush spreading across your skin, the mix of pain and pleasure muddling your thoughts. One rough hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips before he trailed down your neck, lingering at your collarbone. His fingers moved lower, tracing over your skin until he reached your breast, kneading it firmly as he thrust into you with an unyielding pace. “Look at you,” he continued, his tone a blend of mockery and genuine desire. “Look at how you’re taking me, every inch, like you were made for me.”

The words sent a conflicting wave of heat through you, your mind reeling from the unexpected arousal that mingled with your horror. He must be putting on a show for Rhysand’s twisted pleasure; surely, that was what the sick bastard wanted. Fine, if that’s what it took, you could play along. He shifted slightly, changing the angle just enough to hit a spot inside you that made your back arch involuntarily, a strangled wail of pleasure escaping your lips despite the gag.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’ll never forget it,” he promised, each word punctuated by a powerful thrust. He straightened back up and moved his hands to your thighs, spreading them wide, pushing himself in even deeper. The shift sent a shock through your body, each movement igniting a raw, dizzying ache that left you breathless.

“Do you feel that?” he growled, his eyes darkening with desire. “You’re so fucking wet for me. It’s like your body was made for this.” You nodded, and his thrusts quickened, a relentless rhythm that sent waves of ecstasy coursing through you. Each stroke was more brutal, yet so deeply satisfying that it tugged at the edges of your resolve.

“How good is it,” he demanded, his breath ragged and heavy as he continued to take you apart. “I want to hear you. I want to hear how much you love it, how deep I am inside you.” The mixture of pleasure and pain danced in your core, and your body instinctively responded, betraying your sanity.

You could only moan in response, the gag smothering each sound into something raw and desperate, your mind too overwhelmed to form coherent thoughts. Your wrists strained against the shackles with the urge to reach up, to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. 

“I can feel you tightening around me,” he murmured, his voice a low, seductive growl that sent shivers down your spine. “You’re so close, aren’t you? So close to coming all over my cock. Do it, come for me, darling.”

That twisted something deep inside you, an abysmal flicker of recognition even amidst the haze of pleasure. Your heart raced as you took a closer look at him, your mind struggling to align the image before you with the heat in his words. As your gaze locked onto his features, a wicked smirk spread across his lips.

“Surprised to see me?” he drawled, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

A wave of horror crashed over you, realization hitting like a cold slap. It was Rhysand. How long had it been him? Your pulse quickened, panic rising as all you could think about was him forcing Lucien to watch, helpless, as his own body betrayed him. And worse, it was Rhysand who has brought you to this fevered pitch, whispering words that left you trembling, stirring something you couldn’t deny. 

He ripped the gag from your mouth, and the sudden rush of air felt like freedom, but it was quickly swallowed by the screams that erupted from your throat. “Get off! Get out of his head! Let us go!” you shouted, thrashing against the bonds holding your wrists captive, but they held firm. “You’re a sick fuck, where do you get off making us do this! Huh?”

He only chuckled, an unsettling mix of amusement and something darker, his movements insistent and unwavering. “Interesting choice of words. I didn’t expect you to be so articulate, given the circumstances,” he said, a playful lilt in his voice that only fueled your anger. “If you want, I can hand him back. But I can’t guarantee he’ll be in any state to help you.”

With a casual ease, Rhysand slipped out of Lucien’s mind. Lucien, brow furrowed and eyes screwed shut, remained lost in the throes of desire, his movements relentless and unyielding.

“Lucien!” you cried, desperation thickening your voice. “Lucien! Please! You can hear me, right? You have to hear me!” But there was no flicker of recognition in his expression, no sign he paid any mind to your pleas. Panic surged within you, and your heart raced as you continued. “Lucien! Fight it, please! Please, just listen to me! Just stop for a second!”

But he was too far gone, the waves of pleasure crashing over him, drowning out everything else. “I’m not stopping,” he murmured. 

Your heart sank at the words. Shock coursed through you, a bitter ache settling in your chest. You wanted to reach out, to pull him back, but all you felt was a suffocating despair and the cold metal around your wrists. 

“I’m not gonna stop,” he groaned, his voice thick with lust and determination, each thrust punctuated by a growl. “It’s too good. I’m not gonna stop… You feel too fucking good.” The heat of his words wrapped around you, blurring the line between pleasure and pain. “So perfect… So perfect for me…”

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your skin. “I need to—Gods, just let me have this… Gonna fucking pound you,” he grunted, the primal need in his tone sending shivers of both fear and arousal coursing through you. “Feels so good, you feel so good…” 

Your heart raced, torn between the conflicting sensations that surged through your body. You were trapped, and as Lucien continued to move inside you, it became clear he was too.

“So good, you’re so good,” he hissed through a clenched jaw. “Gonna—Fuck, gonna pump this fucking pussy. That’s right, gonna pump your pussy full of my cum.” Each repetition of his promise warped his voice; what had begun as a deep, raw rumble now took on a more taunting, delirious lilt. “I’m not gonna stop. I’m not gonna stop. I’m not gonna stop.”

“Please, Lucien, listen to me!” Your voice trembled with desperation, but it was drowned out by the feverish rhythm he maintained, each thrust echoing with an intensity that rattled your very core.

His only response was a deep, throaty growl, a mix of pleasure and something darker that made your skin crawl. “You’re so good, you know that?” he gasped, words slurring together as if he were intoxicated by the moment. “So fucking perfect… for me…” The way he said it twisted something deep inside you, a sickening blend of yearning and dread. 

A guttural laugh rumbled in his chest, and you felt the bile rise in your throat. “You feel so good… so fucking good, can’t… can’t stop… Gods, you’re so warm, so wet… so perfect, gonna fill you up…” 

“Please, Lucien!” Tears streamed down your cheeks, frustration bubbling within you as you struggled against your bonds. But each desperate plea seemed to dissolve into the air, swallowed by the insatiable hunger that consumed him. The look in his eyes was a haunting mix of pleasure and torment, and it shattered your heart all over again.

“Gods, you’re so warm, so wet… so perfect,” he repeated, his voice thick with lust, each word a reminder of how far gone he truly was. “Gonna fill you up… Can’t help it.”

His hands dug into your thighs, fingers digging into your flesh as if anchoring himself in reality. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, each exhale fanning the flames of your undeniable desire. “Come for me,” he urged. “I know you like it. Just come for me. Come for me.”

“No, I—” you started to protest, but the words fell from your lips like dead leaves in a storm. The heat coiling in your core was overwhelming, threatening to drown out your thoughts.

Then, with a sudden, calculated movement, he pressed his fingers against your clit, the sensation sending shockwaves through your body. Pleasure burst forth, raw and electric, igniting every nerve ending. Your mind screamed a protest, but your body betrayed you.

“Oh, gods…” you gasped, your resolve crumbling as the world around you faded into a blur. You came almost instantly, a tidal wave of ecstasy crashing over you, blurring the lines of desire and despair.

The moment your body clenched around him, Lucien’s breath hitched, and a primal growl erupted from his throat. “Yes, just like that…” His movements turned erratic, each thrust deeper and more frenzied, and he followed you over the edge, surrendering to the same wave of pleasure that had claimed you.

“Gonna fill you up…” he grunted, the delirium of his release washing over both of you. The heat between your bodies seemed to ignite the air, the world around you fading into a distant echo as you felt him throb inside you, pulsing with the remnants of pleasure.

As your bodies trembled together, the shock of what had just happened crashed over you like a frigid wave, pulling you from the heights of ecstasy into the depths of despair. You had surrendered in that moment, allowing the overwhelming pleasure to consume you, but the reality of your situation loomed larger than ever.

His breath came in ragged gasps, and for a fleeting instant, you saw a flicker of clarity in his eyes—a glimpse of the male you knew buried beneath the haze of lust. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same twisted hunger that had taken hold of him. You were left with the haunting knowledge that, despite the shared climax, he was still trapped in this nightmare, as were you.

“Lucien…” you whispered, your heart pounding with a mix of yearning and anguish. The connection you had felt in that moment now felt like a cruel joke. The struggle within you simmered, and you realized this was far from over when he began nibbling and suckling at your neck. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3

@starlightazriel @nvdax @halo-hanging @paleidiot @kismet27

@mellowmusings @gracielacie @d3ad-ins1de @loviseamms @inkedinshadows

@natasha153 @deathdoordoctor @spacebananabud @secretsicanthideanymore @edance2000

@lorosette @alykatv @honethatty12 @hellabizzy @serena-capella

@acoazlove @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @scorpioriesling @hannzoaks @confusedsezure

@elenapri0502 @anneas11 @mrsjna @lilah-asteria @anarchiii

@randomgurl2326 @scarsandallaz @julesvanslutta @90angiex @fourthwing4ever

[raindotdrop]

🔞 vergil x reader | whole new breed

‧₊˚♡ summary: you were turned into a devil to save your life after a fatal attack. adapting to this new form has been okay⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯until you experience your first heat.

‧₊˚♡ word count: 2.2k

‧₊˚♡ content & warnings: smut | fem reader | piv | heat cycles | fluffy, they're in love | first time writing smut after reading so many hahahah hii

The transformation you underwent from human to devil, it was never meant to happen. You didn't know it could happen.

You were meant to die months ago, but your lover didn't allow that.

It was a brutal mission. While your fellow hunters were panicking, already grieving you⎯it took Vergil minutes to recite an ancient ritual. The man sacrificed his own flesh like it was nothing, then watched you rise from your bloody spot on the ground, ready to rejoin the fight.

He reduced fate to a joke that day, spitting into death's embrace for trying to claim you. Claiming you is his job.

Your devilish transition has been relatively easy. You look the same, sound the same, act the same. Really, the only difference is your strength. Nothing feels heavy or tiring to you anymore, nothing hurts.


Except for one thing.

Does it hurt? You aren't sure. It's... distracting, if you had to describe it. Day by day, you've been feeling more feverish. Needy, lonely, grumpy, dripping. You've forgotten the names of everyone else in your life because Vergil is dominating your foggy thoughts.

He's been working for days straight now, leaving you to worsen in your shared bed. Normally, he answers your every demon-related question and tends to you, but he's gone.

Without him present, the mere thought of him leaves you humping whatever smells like him the most. His pillow is drenched in your fluids, his clothes held up to your nose as you orgasm.

An obscene amount of slick pours from between your legs at all times, to the point where you've ditched bottoms. Your nipples are too sensitive to be covered, too. If it's fabric and not your fingers then it hurts.

Something is definitely wrong, but you don't care about all that human side versus demon side junk. You want Vergil. You don't want this frenzy to end on its own, you want him to come home and fuck it out of you.

On his side of the bed, everything is soaked. You're pathetically attempting to finger yourself at different angles and speeds because you're praying you can replicate the way he does it. Laying flat on the sheets is how you've chased your past few highs, any other position is too much of a chore.

His scent is growing stronger, your fingers pump in and out as you're buried face down in a pair of his boxers. The musk is so powerful all of a sudden, it's as if he's there. You're cumming from the intensified smell alone, shaking harder than you have in hours. Nobody warned you about the sensitivity your senses would develop.

Before you even lift your head from the bed, you're blindly reaching out for another piece of clothing to destroy. Someone grabs your wrist before you can.

With a jolt, you look up, and none other than Vergil is looking down at you. He seems to be studying you moreso than anything else.

"So I was off. I predicted your cycle would strike next week, not now..." he muses aloud, but you barely understand him. Despite Vergil being the one to grab your wrist, you've turned the tides so you're clinging onto him instead, both hands gripping him. Almost in disbelief, as if letting go means he'll vanish.

You roll onto your back using his arm as an anchor, revealing your glistening breasts to him. You're trying to tug him down onto you to no avail, whining rather than greeting him. You blink up at him, as he observes the way you leak like a waterfall from his proximity.

"Beautiful," that word kills you inside. You keep yanking at his arm, animalistically, your demonic side obscures every single word you've learned. "I would have relieved you days ago, had I known. Well, I⎯⎯"

"Vergil!" you cry out in frustration, the only word on your tongue.

Pity flashes on his features when he sees how much discomfort you must be in. Vergil had taken up extra work so he could free up his schedule during your first heat. It pains him to see his incorrect calculations lead to this.

Of course, it makes his pants feel tight and fills him with almost as much desire as you (if that's possible), but he wishes he could have guided you through every single step with care, not be invisible while your heat worsened. You must have been so confused...

"Vergil, please!" you snap him from his thoughts. Propped up on your elbows now, your eyes are watering. Sobbing, almost, and you're sucking on his fingers.

Every cell in your body craves him so much, it feels like you're going to explode. The confusion you felt from your heat's onslaught is long gone, replaced with a 'this is so right' feeling the moment Vergil entered the room.

His wet fingers pop from your mouth and stroke your cheek, coating you in your saliva. The affection in that gesture is your saving grace, you know he's going to please you from that touch alone.

"Alright. I won't keep you waiting." he says, his tone is more gravelly now that he's fully realized what he's going to do. This was unexpected, but he isn't objecting whatsoever.

Your body is so sensitive from the amount of climaxes you've inflicted on yourself, that when Vergil begins to shrug his coat off, you can't tell if you actually just orgasmed from the sight or not. The pulses around your body intensify as he reveals his bare arms to you. Do you want to watch him strip, or are you so impatient you want him to just fucking take you already with his clothes barely hanging on? It's unclear. You begin to paw at his thighs, trying to shred the fabric off.

"Eager little thing..." he coos, swatting your hands away so he can undress with no obstacles. He's stripping faster than ever before, but to you, it feels like he's moving in slow motion. Every second that he's not inside of you feels like a thousand years of emptiness. "I'm here now, don't worry." Despite his reassurances, he's the one who's worried, hoping you aren't in any pain.

Once his cock springs out, leaking precum from the feral sight enticing him, you lunge at it. Instantly, the whole length is wrapped around your lips. You're too distracted to properly suck him off, shaky hands touching him with no rhyme or reason.

Vergil chuckles. "Now, this isn't about me," he says, knotting his fingers in your hair so he can pull your mouth off. You put up quite a fight, common sense clouded by desire. Your mouth isn't the hole that's begging for him, it's just the nearest one, so it reaches in without thinking.

"We have time for that another day." The force he had to apply, it has you tumble backwards on the bed. Gasping on your back, you're already kicking at the air, aching to be close again. Drool stains your chin because you just tasted him after imagining it for so long and your body is screaming for seconds.

You see him sitting at the foot of the bed, fully bare. The sheets beneath him are coated in your release. His precum joins the mix as he rakes over your figure, mind racing with thoughts of how he can tame you when you're like this. It's a challenge that leaves his cock straining in the air.

He sternly says your name right before you try crawling back, and you freeze.

"Lay back."

The authority in his tone gets through to you, so you rest your back on the damp pillows. It takes every ounce of self control not to clamber over to him, but you know he's a man who should be listened to.

"Good girl." You twitch. He notices. "I'll fix this. Allow me,"

Relaxing in this state is impossible, but as you lean backward, the shaking in your body eases up. He kneels in front of your quivering form, still searching for any signs of pain, knowing how long your heat was left unchecked.

Your devil side is shrieking at you to touch him, but your human side finally triumphs over it, laying back so he can ravage you. Stilling yourself, breaths steadying...

An experimental hand of Vergil's rubs at your folds and all that progress is undone. You arch into the mass of pillows behind you, whimpering out, "Vergil.. please, more..!"

"I have to see if you're ready." his stern tone remains, guiding you through this the way he always intended to.

He gathers up slick, feeling you up. Obviously, you're wet enough for him to fold you over and pound you right there, but he still has to confirm for himself. Your comfort matters so much to him, even like this. Once he realizes the extent of your wetness, the fact your pussy has been getting stuffed all day, something primal ignites within him.

"I am... please, I'm so.." your begging doesn't even make sense, but the sweet sound of it nearly has Vergil trip over his words, betraying the composed way he presents himself.

"Yes, you're ready. The things you must have done before I arrived..." he trails off, having to stop himself because that imagery is dangerous territory. "You'll have to show me, next cycle."

His toned arms position themselves near your neck, a snug embrace that you nuzzle into. He wants to hold you if he's going to ruthlessly breed you, never letting you forget how much he loves you.

If only he knew that every moment you're alive is a personal reminder of his devotion, whether he's there or not. His ritual, his sacrifice, his refusal to let you die is why you're here. His love for you transcends biology and reality itself. Human or devil, you're his.

His tip smacks at your entrance and it sends you spiralling. His eyes are fixed on your face, so it takes some positioning to find your hole. He's a demon too⎯the way your face is coated in tears, slick, plus a mixture of his spit and yours, drives him absolutely wild and he has to inhale your scent just like you did with his boxers.

"So beautiful," he echoes his previous words as he buries himself to the hilt, your walls all but absorbing him. The tears of joy that stream down your cheeks are kissed away by his busy lips. You begin to utter out a 'please', which he swallows right up. "No need to beg, I'll give you everything."

He kisses you like a man starved, fucking you hard into the mattress. His upper and lower halves work in tandem to make up for lost time, whispering praises and consuming you.

He doesn't have to hold back anymore with your newfound demonic endurance. To say he's drilling you is an understatement. Everything feels shaky but so right. The sensitivity of your heat-riddled body already has you clenching and cumming around him. Less than a minute in, and you're not ashamed. You're already trying to embrace the next one.

"Let it out," he grunts into your jaw, peppering kisses to it to mask his own sounds. He wants to focus on you, not him. Vergil tells himself you'll receive five climaxes minimum before he comes close to his, but you're making it difficult for him. "Let it all out, that's it... let me care for you, my vixen."

One arm holds you close, but the other has a more important role down at your clit. It rubs circles into the nub, and you're fluttering around his cock again. You feel his length twitch uncontrollably in response, on the verge of emptying himself inside you.

Vergil knows he can't actually impregnate you unless in his devil trigger form. He spent time researching how this moment will unfold for you.

"You'll be safe," is how he expresses this to you, unable to hold back any longer.

You're breathless when your walls are splattered with his seed. He spurts and spurts with no sign of stopping⎯your heat absolutely impacts the one you mate with, you discover.

As you're filled, he pulls himself out so the stream of cum can reach your torso as well. Your stomach leading up to your breasts is coated, then your expressive face. If a body part exists, it's marked by him. Vergil's grunts grow louder than your lustful cries for one singular second before he bites your neck to muffle them.

The fire inside of you feels quenched for a few seconds, like you can finally resume your daily life, before it snaps right back to being unbearable.

You rub yourself against Vergil's weeping cock, silently begging for another round. It's not enough. Will anything be enough? You don't see an ending to this rut, just an urgent dream of Vergil stuffing you again. His cum trickling out isn't a finality, it's lubrication for the rest of the night.

Picking up on your unrest, he repositions his hips with ease. "You and I will be here a while," there's another nip to your neck to accompany the rocking of his hips, "best to get comfortable."

[lab1rynth]

Yan!Zombie

Yan!Zombie who you met, alive, a few years after the Apololypse started. You both had became friends and protected each other, you had stayed in his base and ate food he found for the both of you. It felt safe, that all changed when you left for a few weeks to find more survivors. You came home to him chained up and turned, a chunk of his wrist was bitten off.

Yan!Zombie who had left you a note before he turned, telling you that he had chained himself up, how it felt as he was turning, how if you wanted to kill him you had full permission to. He just did not want to leave you without answers, so to keep you safe he chained himself up to a wall.

Yan!Zombie who immediately tried going after you when you made noise, being yanked back by the chain. His eyes were locked on yours as drool ran down his chin. It was quite weird to see a zombie that wasn't rotting like most of the others, since zombies are mostly docile unless set off my loud sounds or hungry. He may have run into a hord while scavenging.

Yan!Zombie who, after a while, calmed down and stopped trying to get out of his chains, as even in this animalistic state he could understand that no matter how much he struggled he wasn't going to get out. His eyes stayed pinned on you though, it honestly freaked you out.

Yan!Zombie who you start talking to, of course he doesn't respond, but it feels nice to pretend like he is, to pretend that your only pillar is still alive. You tell him about how he use to act when he was alive, stuff you both did together, sometimes you just told him about your day.

Yan!Zombie who you started feeding raw meat you found, you weren't just going to go out and kill survivors just to keep your zombie friend satiated, that's just wrong. You train him to not try to bite you, waving your hand in front of his face (with protective gear) and not feeding him every time he bit into the gear. It only took a few months until every time you waved your hand in front of his face he just sniffed it a few times and stared up into your eyes.

Yan!Zombie who after a while, you unchained, you had trusted him. The only thing he really did was stumble around behind you, just following you and staring at you confused when you stopped and looked back at him. Sometimes he would go missing for a few minutes then come back with a dead animal, trash, or something shiny. He'd place them in front of you and hope you'd take his gift.

Yan!Zombie who gets touchy after a while, who pokes you or rests his head on your shoulder. He pouts every time you don't pat him on the head when he gets you gifts. If you dont pay attention to him he growls at you or goes limp in the corner of the room, laying and sniffling on the floor until he gets affection.

Yan!Zombie who eats any survivors you bring to the base while your back is turned, causing you to chain him up for a few days for timeout. He whimpers and whines every time you put him in timeout, sometimes convincing you to unchain him earlier than you originally planned.

Yan!Zombie who chases off other Zombies that try to get at you, afterwards bringing you back to the base and cuddling against you, chirping and coo'ing as he lays in your arms and bathes in your scent.

Yan!Zombie who finds a box of his old clothes, sniffing it and wondering why it smelt like him. He dug through the box before finding a comfy shirt and bringing it to you so you could wear it. He would slowly give you more and more of his clothes, loving smelling his scent mixed with yours.

Yan!Zombie who is sensitive to sound, but would absolutely love to hear you talk and talk for days, you're voice reminds him of music, or of what he remembers of music. He would argue that your voice is better if he could talk!!

Yan!Zombie who will honestly die again, and again, and again for you to just be happy. He loves your smile, it makes his unbeating heart feel all tingly. With all the gifts you've accepted from him he assumes you already know he's laid claim on you! You're his and you wearing his clothes and walking with his little trinkets only proves that even more!

[obxsummer]

Oooo what about a blurb/fic od the 18 months where the reader is finally getting her chance to recover from the events at the Cameron’s house/with singh/everything lol and it’s just night after night nightmares. Screaming everyone awake and such?? Can you elaborate

love love love this thank u for the request!!

also requested: I have a routledge reader idea, you mentioned nightmares she had during the 18 months, maybe John B being the one to save her from them. Basically rocking her as she screamed bloody murder. Sometimes not even nightmares just night terrors she couldn’t escape. Maybe him forcing her into going to see a therapist but it just makes her worse until the therapist suggest a family meeting and more and more of the ab*se and torture comes out she experienced

series masterlist

- -

The nightmares had been going on since you escaped the Cameron household with JJ almost three (?) years ago now. (bro can this show give a better timeline a girl is struggling)

There was no surprise you were haunted by the near-death experiences and trauma you had been through with your friends and by yourself. Whether it was Rafe, losing John B, or watching your friends disappear from your eyes, sleeping wasn’t easy and it wasn’t kind to your mind.

Obviously, the events at El Dorado, watching your father die in front of you, and watching people get shot, were hard to wrap your head around. It was like the sight was burned in your eyes and every time you tried to rest, your body couldn’t forget. 

The hospital had recommended therapy after stitching up the bullet wound from South America, and although you considered it heavily at the time, you didn’t fully commit. You’d gone to a few welcome sessions, and one individual before the cost aspect came in, and that’s where you were no longer interestd.

JJ caught you first, which made sense. The bags under your eyes were dark and you were a shell of a human at that point. JJ hadn’t realized you were slipping out of bed at night to stare at the stars, falling victim to the voices and images in your head. It was one off night where he’d been rattled by the thunder and lightning of a storm and he realized you were curled up in the hammock out on the covered balcony. Figuring you were enjoying the storm, he moved to join you, but the tears and soft sobs told him so much more.

John B witnessed the worst one.  The group was pulling an all-nighter on the shop prep before opening day and you’d dipped to take a quick nap before rejoining. John B had never had his heart drop so violently when he heard your scream. It was so deep and terrifying that he was sprinting up the stairs by two each to get to you as fast as possible, fearing the worst. 

He had never seen you in such a state, like sleep paralysis had taken over and left you silent. John B didn’t hesitate to wrap you into his hold, pulling you into a sitting position and lovingly crushing you between his arms. Seconds felt like hours before you relaxed in his embrace and the first sob left your lips. 

John B didn’t know what to do, but he was there, and that’s what mattered. 

He let it go for a few weeks, checking in with JJ when you weren’t looking to see if anything got better. When it didn’t, he practically carried your ass to therapy, claiming the gold had a loose enough budget to accommodate a few sessions. You felt guilty about the whole thing between cost and timing of someone taking you, but John B and JJ reassured you multiple times not to.

“You deserve to take up space in this family,” John B had told you when you refused to get out of the van at the third session, claiming there were more important things that needed to happen. “I know you don’t agree with me, and you probably never will, but you deserve to heal from this, too.”

And then came the arguments that you could push through, that everyone in the group likely needed therapy anyway. John B didn’t let that one last long, arguing that nobody else was waking up with screams besides you and occasionally, JJ. 

You were stubborn, and after everything, you didn’t want to let your walls down to strangers. Then, you’d found a friend (term used very lightly).

Sofia was volunteering at the sessions, but given the fact that both of you were Pogues, you’d at least clicked somewhat after talking. Neither of you talked outside of the 30–60-minute sessions, but you were grateful for the familiar face when you walked in the room. Little did you realize how much that would come to bite you in the ass.

You learned how to talk yourself out of an anxiety attack, and to acknowledge you needed to cope with this stuff on an individual basis. As much as you loved your friends, you couldn’t rely on them to fix this for you. 

The last individual session had been a shit show. The recommendation that John B come sit in with you was not a welcomed one, and although you loved your brother so much, it was hard to be emotionally vulnerable while working on building independence. 

John B had his guesses of what happened when you were with the Camerons, and then again when Singh had taken you off the beach. And while he didn’t want to pry, there were millions of questions he’d had about everything that happened. The way you shut down in the hall at Tannyhill, the screaming, the shying away from someone’s touch. 

You’d taken a lot of shit from your dad over the years, but John B’s never seen you so small and scared in your life. 

While the session was pretty much useless, and almost broke into an argument when they tried to manipulate you into answering things you didn’t want to discuss, you were done. You told John B to never bring you back again, so he didn’t.

He wanted to fix all of it, to fill the promises he’d given you over the years and be the older brother you’d deserved for so long. You were both teenagers at the end of the day, but God, you could barely act like one with everything you’d gone through.

One day, you’d spill everything to your brother...come clean about the scars, visible and hidden, that would forever stain your skin and soul. And he would listen, cry, and be there for it all… because that’s what big brothers do.

That’s what John B had promised. And he was done breaking promises.

[lexirosewrites]

I had a horrifying omegaverse idea. Dont mind if you wait for Sunday. I know you normally have Steve as an omega, but just this once:

Omegas in heat are in genuine danger around alphas. A few, mostly ignored, people claim that alphas can control themselves if they really want to, but there are many cases of Alphas injuring themselves, to the tune of breaking their own bones, to get to an omega in heat. There are suppressants that can help, but they’re not a sure thing and alpha centric society means that it’s seen as demeaning for alphas to have to limit themselves.

What society has managed is really really good suppressants for omegas. Every society has had some kind of suppressant all the way back to prehistory, but modern medicine is a wonder. It almost completely wipes out the pheromones that make alphas lose it. And sure, omegas have to pay for the suppressants, and take them for the entire month leading up to their heat, and the list of side effects is hella long, but no omega risks doing otherwise. An omega in heat who gets caught can comply, and hope they don’t get forcibly mated, or they can resist, and hope the alpha doesn’t go into a frenzy and kill them.

During puberty, when kids are heading into presentations, there are weekly blood prick tests, and any indication of a spike in hormones sees the kid off to a special secure medical units, staffed by betas, to keep them safe. Alphas get mild sedatives and a space without anything to hurt themselves or others with. Omegas get personal guards, similar rooms, and pain meds. After, alphas go about their lives, a little smug. Omegas go on suppressants, but, they just need to stay home for the three or so days of their heat.

By seventeen, anyone that hasn’t presented is determined to be a beta. 99.9% of presentations happen by age sixteen. The next year is for security. By seventeen, that last .1% has gone down by another 90%.

But late presentations still happen. It’s alphas presenting late usually. 4 out of 5 times. The other is an omega. Those are the stuff of nightmares.

Eddie is a beta. He’s not shocked, almost his entire family is. There’s a cousin or two on one of the branches that were recessive omegas. There’s a guess that a great great great grandpa was an alpha. But Eddie? Definitely a beta.

There’s not a magic formula that causes late presentations, and it happens too rarely and too suddenly for studies to be anything but anecdotal. Almost every late presentation goes… badly… for the omega.

Eddie drops into a presentation heat in the summer of 86, in the middle of the soup aisle. There’s half a dozen alphas in the building, including Steve, who was trying to get the rest of the cream of mushroom from the back of the shelf. Steve, who takes the alpha suppressants daily because he never wants to be like his dad. Steve, who lost some of his secondary sense of smell thanks to the last few years. Steve, who has a hell of a crush, but was never going to say anything about it. Steve, who never wins a fight.

So you have Eddie, terrified, in pain, vicious in his vulnerability, convinced this is how he’s gonna die, because no way in hell is he going to submit to whoever gets to him first. And you have Steve, clinging to control so he can hold off the other alphas long enough for emergency personnel to get there.

ohhh🥺🥺 poor eddie not expecting that and poor steve who just wants to help and is literally the worst fighter known to man!

(side note: i read omega eddie/alpha steve with no issue, even if it’s not what i tend to write. i love seeing different combinations of designations so please throw them all my way!)

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 37

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 34, part 35, part 36

The house is quiet when Dustin wakes up. Which isn’t unusual here. With how big the house is, and how little people lived in it, it was always somewhat quiet. But there were more people here than normal, so he was expecting it to be louder.

They must all still be asleep.

He wanders out of the guest bedroom that he claimed for when he stayed over. Down the hall to the guest bathroom. Hearing the gentle snores from Steve’s bedroom. Letting Dustin know that he’s still there.

Wayne bumps into him when Dustin leaves the bathroom. Softly apologizing before shutting the door. The shower starting to run.

Dustin goes to the kitchen. Thinking he could eat some of the cereal that he likes but his mom doesn’t buy that much. A box of it always in Steve’s pantry.

The kitchen’s not empty when Dustin walks in. Nancy sitting at the island, drinking coffee while reading a book.

“I didn’t know you were still here,” he says. Digging through the pantry to find the cereal.

“Me and Robin stayed over last night.”

Dustin’s used to Nancy being a part of his life. He was his best friend’s sister, after all. But that was like a completely different section. Tied to certain places in his life. This was the different sect of his life. Steve and Robin, until spring break, were one half. The party was the other. Now they seem to be coming together a lot more.

Not that he’s complaining. He likes it when the people he loves get along. Act as one big group instead of tiny separate ones. It takes some getting used to.

Robin comes down the stairs when the cereal in Dustin’s bowl gets soggy. Immediately beelining for the coffee pot and pours herself a cup. Making it to her liking. Not saying anything until half of it’s drained.

“The fact that you look that good this early in the morning should be a crime,” she says toward Nancy’s direction.

Nancy who was completely dressed, hair pulled back with some clips. Carefully composed like she always is. While Robin stands in what Dustin’s sure is one of Steve’s old t-shirts and a pair of shorts with the drawstring taken out. Hair tangled and puffy.

“Not my fault you are the worst morning person.”

The minute those words are said, Wayne comes down the stairs, gets himself a cup of coffee, and immediately walks back out again. Nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgement.

“I can’t be worse than that,” Robin jokes.  

Robin sets her coffee down, going to root around in the pantry before emerging with a pack of strawberry pop-tarts.

“You are not.” Nancy finishes her coffee. Going over to the sink to wash out the mug. “Is Steve still asleep, he’s normally up by now.”

“He was when I left,” Robin mutters over a mouthful of a pop-tart. Too impatient to wait for them both to be toasted. One in the toaster while she eats the other one dry.

Dustin’s stopped questioning why Robin and Steve share a bed sometimes a long time ago. They have some weird friendship that he will never understand.

“I saw him take some migraine pills last night,” she continues. “I think another big one is coming.”

Nancy sighs. “It has been like a month since the last one.”

“Yeah, I just thought it would start getting better again. Like last time.”

“Well last time he wasn’t strangled twice and had to get a blood transfusion.”

Dustin doesn’t always know what’s going on with Steve’s health. Always kept in the dark for longer than he should. Definitely longer than he wants to be. It was something, if he had the direct control over, he would learn about immediately. So he could track it. Know when to chill down and ask someone else for a ride.

But instead, he’s none the wiser about Steve’s migraines. Always missing “the big one” that apparently happens every month. Because no one ever tells him about it until Steve is MIA for a few days. Called off work to sit in his bedroom, alone. No one but Robin coming over to make sure that he doesn’t die.

Which sure, that one makes sense, he guesses. Who else, other than Robin, would do that? Or who would Steve feel comfortable with doing that?

It would just make Dustin feel better if he knew about them. So he wasn’t so out of loop. He wasn’t some dumb kid anymore who saw Steve as this badass figure higher than everyone else. He knew that there were debilitating cracks under the surface. Knows that sometimes, Steve can’t be the one to fight.

And that was ok. Someone else could take the load for a while. Watch over everyone. It didn’t need to just be Steve’s job. It could be someone else’s job for a while.

A door creaks open down the hall. Thuds of crutches echoing through. Before a second door opens and shuts.

Eddie was awake. Out of the hospital. Here. It still didn’t feel real.

Dustin finally gets up to pour the tinted milk down the drain and wash out his bowl. Adding it to the dish rack, but not leaving the kitchen. Waiting to see Eddie. Proof that he’s really here.

A few minutes later, Eddie comes down the hall. Wincing slightly with every step. “Morning,” he says with a grunt. Sliding onto one of the barstools.

“Morning,” Nancy replies. “Can I get you anything?”

“Coffee,” Eddie says almost immediately. “And probably some water, so I can take my meds. Has Wayne been down yet, I’m pretty sure he still has all of them.”

Nancy sets a cup of coffee in front of Eddie. With a small container of sugar and the creamer.

“I can go ask him,” Dustin suggests. Happy to help. Already moving out of the kitchen before anyone can stop him.

Lucky for him, Wayne isn’t hard to find. Halfway down the stairs in different clothes. “You need something?”

“Yeah, Eddie was looking for his meds.”

Wayne nods, turning around and heading back up the stairs. He comes back down with a few brown paper bags, each one with a different slip of paper stapled to the outside. They walk back to the kitchen.

“You need to eat something before you take these,” Wayne cuts to the chase. “Coffee won’t cut it.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. Hands shaking slightly as lifts the mug to his lips. “What do you have?” he asks in the direction of Nancy and Robin.

“Pop-tarts, cereal, I think some bagels, if not that then toast, fancy jams,” Robin rattles off, the list getting longer.

“Some toast is fine.”

Robin nods. Grabbing some bread from the bag on the counter and popping it in the toaster.

Steve finally makes his way downstairs. Dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie. He looks miserable. He bypasses the group of people in his kitchen, heading straight to the cabinet for a glass. Filling it with water and pulling a pill bottle from his pocket.

Robin gets close to him. Bumping her shoulder against his. Steve shakes his head, slowly. She nods and goes to close the kitchen blinds.

Eddie stares at Steve like he isn’t allowed to look. A mix of concern and confusion in his expression. Only interrupted when Nancy slides the plate of toast to him, asking if he wanted anything on it.

“Robin said there were fancy jams?”

Something reminiscent of a scoff comes from Steve. “They’re not that fancy,” he slurs.

Robin snorts. “It’s not generic. Therefore fancy.”

Nancy pulls out a raspberry jam from the fridge. “My family uses the same kind. It’s not fancy.”

Everyone keeps looking over at Steve. Waiting for him to move. He just stands there, white knuckling the countertop. Robin tries to touch his arm, but he shrugs it off.

“Give it a second,” he mutters under his breath.

She nods again. Pulling more bread out of the bag and sticking it in the toaster. The setting lighter than he normally likes it.

The only sound that happens in the next few minutes is the slight crunch of Eddie eating, and the pop of the toaster. Robin gets some butter out of the fridge and puts some on each slice. Careful not to rip through the pieces.

With a deep exhale, Steve turns around. Leaning against the counter behind him and grabbing the plate she hands him. Ripping apart the toast into small bites.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks Eddie.

Eddie looks surprised that he asked him anything. “Good. Much better than a hospital bed. Bigger too, that was nice.”

“Sorry I didn’t have anything better for breakfast. I was planning on making something, but-.” He trails off. The obvious staying unsaid.

“That’s fine. I don’t eat much in the morning’s anyway.”

Steve nods. Placing his plate on the counter. About a half a slice of the toast left. “I won’t be around that much to help you get settled in. I was supposed to close tonight, but I’ll probably end up calling out.”

“If you’re about to apologize for that, don’t.” Eddie stares at Steve with an expression that Dustin can’t quite read. “You don’t have to apologize for things that aren’t your fault.”

Steve pauses. Taking a second to stop himself, reset what he was going to say. “If you need anything, Rob should know where it is. And if not, I’ll just be in my room.”

All Eddie does is reply with a small nod. Then Steve is walking out of the kitchen with Robin in tow.

(i forgot to post yesterday because i got fixated on a new knitting project, no joke i worked on it for like six hours straight)

tag list (closed): @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,

@devondespresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug,

@greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake,

@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

@papergrenade, @waelkyring, @sweetheartprincess28, @katouasobj, @astercomoasflores

[cabinetofquriosities]

Nothing Matters

Agatha x Rio || Warnings: Violence and Smut

Just a note: These are based on actual historical events that happened, which is why I aged Nicky down to 5 when he died in order to fit the dates. They are pretty fascinating events. I encourage anyone reading to fall down the same rabbit holes I did while researching them!

(Listen along while reading)

——————————————————

1755 - Lisbon

Classical music filled the stuffy air of a palace in Lisbon as nobles danced with one another. The rich were flirting, feeding, and forgetting the world beyond their gilded walls. Outside, families were celebrating All Saint’s Day on the first of November. Children ran from door to door, collecting treats from their neighbors. Little did they know, the shadow of death was amongst them.

Agatha Harkness was still marked by grief only six months after losing Nicholas. She had killed and drained enough witches to fill a town, but Death still hid from her. After the hell she had been plunged into, Agatha yearned to pull her former love down with her. So, she had something planned that Rio would not be able to ignore.

1872 - Boston

Summer Street was packed with people who were going through the motions of a frigid November day. Men walked arm in arm with their wives. Teenagers blushed as they wooed one another. Merchants had their doors open to the cold in hopes of welcoming passerby’s.

In the thick of the crowd was Agatha Harkness. She wore a scarlet two piece silk dress with a lace lined jacket and bustle at the back of the skirt. Her hair was pinned up with banana curls spilling down the back of her neck. Her hands were snug in a fur hand muff.

Her power felt completely renewed. She went on a bit of a bender with killing witches. She had been betrayed by her own emotions as Rio showed up in every dream for the last few years. She was used to one here and there, but not every night. She needed to get that beast out of her system. So, she killed and stole power in hopes of summoning her. The two were still diametrically opposed to one another, still “separated” or estranged spouses for lack of a better term, but could never stay away for too long. Every so often, Agatha would find a way to see her and the two would reunite for a night at most in a tangle of bodies and limbs. It had been over a decade this time around.

1912 - The Atlantic Ocean

The gentle sway of the ocean rocked the passengers to sleep as their destroyer treaded the boards overhead. Her heels clicked as she walked over the deck.

“Ma’am?” the captain called.

Agatha turned, her curls falling loose around her shoulders and still wearing a long, sheer bejeweled dress from dinner. After all, she had to dress for her Lady.

“Yes?”

“It’s too cold to be taking a walk out here.”

“It is,” she said with a smirk.

1755 - Lisbon

Death always had a sense of when a seismic event was coming. Whenever a wave of death was about to strike, she would feel the pull of it. Rio had tried to avoid revealing herself by waiting longer after a witch would die to claim her soul. This, though, this was so far away from Massachusetts. She incorrectly assumed that Agatha wouldn’t be traveling overseas.

She couldn’t show up late to an event of this size. With how massive the event promised to be, she figured it was a natural phenomenon rather than anything that could be caused by Agatha. So, she donned an elegant dress, her hair pinned in curls, and appeared at the epicenter.

Agatha heard the music shift to a Minuet. Couples made their way to the ballroom floor to dance. She stood and saw the woman who had been just out of reach for the past several months. She strode over and swiftly took her by the hand before Rio even had a chance to register it was her. Agatha whirled her into a spin before stepping back, giving a deep bow with the rest of the ladies in the dance.

Rio looked like a trapped animal, her eyes betraying the panic she felt at being so thoroughly tricked. She went along with the dance, one that was playful in nature and felt so inappropriate for their situation. Agatha straightened up and raised her hand, pressing her forearm against Rio’s as they walked around one another, their gazes locked.

“Did you really think you could run from me?” Agatha hissed.

1872 - Boston

Rio knew there was a likelihood of Agatha being close to this given its location, but knew she had to arrive for this. While it wasn’t the same bodycount as a natural disaster, the violence and discord she could sense coming required her presence.

She walked down the cobblestone road. A little boy accidentally ran into her. She grabbed him by the shoulders to keep him from falling. He looked up at her with wide eyes, feeling the aura of decay around her. Those eyes looked too familiar to ones she had seen before. This one wasn’t meant to be lost today. There was no need for him to witness it at all. She led him into an alleyway before the child knew what was happening and swirled her fingers. A small door appeared on the side of the building. She opened it, motioning for the five year old to walk through. He did, not noticing he was on a street in a nearby town until the door shut behind him.

“Special treatment, I see,” a voice said behind Rio.

“He wasn’t meant to die today,” Rio said.

She turned around.

“Agatha.”

1912 - The Atlantic Ocean

“Do you need an escort back to your cabin?” the captain asked the wandering passenger.

“Oh, no need,” Agatha said, redirecting her gaze to the stars above, “My love will be here soon.”

“Okay, well, please be careful,” he said, “And stay away from the edge of the ship. The ocean is deadly at night.”

“That it is,” she said, nodding at him.

A dapper young man wearing a suit crossed his path before making his way to the Agatha. The captain noticed how feminine the man’s features were. He felt unnerved by the interaction, feeling something of a chill down his spine as if Death had brushed past him.

“Your love?” Rio asked, Adjusting her top hat.

She turned around to face Rio with a cruel smile.

“It would have sounded suspicious if I said my enemy.”

1755 - Lisbon

“I wasn’t running,” Rio said as they danced.

“You were hiding,” Agatha said.

“I don’t always show myself to others every time I collect.”

“You used to with me,” Agatha said.

“I didn’t think you wanted to see me after-“

“DON’T… say his name. You do not get to ever say it again,” Agatha snapped before resuming their dance.

“I just thought you needed time.”

“Time…” Agatha said with a bitter laugh, “Well, you never give much of that, now do you?”

Rio stopped in her tracks, ignoring the music filling the room. Her eyes darkened. Could she really be that willfully ignorant of the situation? Human emotions always twisted the reality of things into absurd shapes.

“I gave everything I could,” she said, her voice dropped low.

“Then you fall far short of expectations. You are the original Green Witch. Lady Death. And all you could manage was five years.”

“You have no idea how much those years shifted the balance of the universe. I would have given him all the time that existed if I could.”

“But you didn’t,” Agatha seethed.

“I couldn’t,” Rio said with a defeated sigh.

She looked around, feeling an electricity in the air around them. Whatever was about to happen was coming closer.

“I cannot have this conversation right now. Something terrible is about to happen. You should leave while you can,” Rio said with an edge of urgency.

“Oh, I am very aware.”

Rio tried to resolve the enormity of the event with being caused by a single person. This event would affect a third of the Earth. She looked at her with genuine shock and amazement.

“Agatha… what did you do?”

1872 - Boston

“Rio,” Agatha said with a sly smile, “Long time, no see.”

“Well, our meeting in New York didn’t exactly make me want to come running back.”

“Oh, please,” Agatha said, stalking towards her with a pout, “You love it when I’m cruel.”

Rio arched a brow before shaking her head with a bemused smile. She hated how right she was. It was a rare treat for Death to have someone who did not fear or revere her. Agatha gave her the gift of the unexpected in the endless cycle of nature.

“You are the one behind what is about to happen, then?”

Agatha looked downright giddy as she said, “It’s already begun.”

Agatha took Rio’s hand, running her up the stairs of the nearest building they could find to the roof. Agatha beamed at the view like a kid showing an adult the drawing they had made. Rio looked at the skyline of Boston, not noticing anything out of place at first. A few moments passed and then, she saw the smoke.

1912 - The Atlantic Ocean

“Your enemy,” Rio echoed, “Is that where we still are?”

Agatha looked at her with a flash of vulnerability before throwing her mask back on.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” she said, lifting her chin.

“For someone who hates me, it seems like you’re pretty determined to see me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I was bored.”

“Really?” she said, nodding, “Sure. Let’s just say that if it makes you feel better.”

Agatha scowled before walking to the edge of the deck, hanging onto the railing. Rio followed behind, never allowing Agatha to be too far away in a deadly situation. She knew it wasn’t her time, but it was usually because Rio was there to protect her. If Agatha had gotten sick or killed by another witch, then she couldn’t do anything but take her to the other side. She couldn’t cure illness. She couldn’t interfere in an attack that she was not present for. However, if she was a source of protection while present, it would not upset the sacred balance. People were taken before their time far too often and she could do things to prevent that. If it actually was their time due to something fated and intrinsic like an illness, it was not preventable. It was how she saved Agatha time and time again, but also why she couldn’t save Nicky.

“What are we looking at?” Rio asked.

“That,” Agatha said as an iceberg appeared in the distance.

1755 - Lisbon

“It is not what I did. It is what I am about to do,” Agatha said.

She took Rio’s hand, pulling her outside to the courtyard where couples strolled with one another beneath the moonlight. She knelt down, putting her hand on the ground. She closed her eyes and began to whisper an incantation.

Purple light pulsed under her palm. The ground started to shake. The earth broke apart at her hand, cracks emerging and spreading with purple glowing from them. People screamed and fled. Buildings collapsed and the cracks opened up. Men and women sprinted blindly in a panic, falling in and being swallowed up whole. Agatha’s smile widened as she felt the energy of every witch in Lisbon reverberating back to her. Rio simply took it all in with a sense of awe at Agatha’s power of destruction.

She stood and turned to face her. The destruction was unfolding around them as Agatha’s eyes burned into Rio’s. Her gaze reflected rage, sadness, and misdirected hatred. Intertwined throughout those elements was a strong desire that had always bonded them together. Both of them suddenly took three long strides and met in a wild kiss.

1872 - Boston

“One fire?” Rio said with an arched brow, “A bit sophomoric for you.”

“Oh, hush,” Agatha sniped, “Keep watching.”

A minute passed before the building was engulfed, the flames climbing and building with every inch of wood and dried goods. There were no people in the storage house, but that didn’t matter as Agatha worked her magic. She swirled her hand flicked it out in the fire’s direction. A gust of wind whipped from her fingers over the city. The flames jumped to neighboring roofs, burning them quickly with how close and flammable they were. The city was architecturally tight and created with wood as the primary material.

Rio’s eyes went wide and she smiled at the sight of the growing inferno. She reached over, threading her fingers through Agatha’s. Agatha reached up and cupped her cheek with her free hand. She knew their dynamic was too fraught to work in the long term, but these pauses in their rivalry were something she needed. Or, rather, the transformation of their rivalry into something more primal and intimate.

Rio leaned into her touch with a soft look. Agatha moved in, catching her lips with hers. The kiss was tender for all of forty seconds before Rio’s teeth sank into Agatha’s lip, drawing blood. Agatha sucked in a shocked gasp. She pulled back, her look indignant.

Agatha gripped Rio by the throat, shoving her down onto the floor of the flat roof. She looked down and found that Rio had rid them both of their clothing with a wave of her hand. She crawled over her, grabbing her neck again. Rio laughed between coughs as she was choked.

1912 - The Atlantic Ocean

“Oh. Interesting,” Rio said with a curious tilt of her head.

Agatha looked at her, peeking out of the corner of her eye. Rio looked beautiful and handsome all at once in the fancy tuxedo and top hat.

“You look good,” Agatha said quietly.

The corner of Rio’s lip turned upwards at the compliment. Any crumb of kindness from Agatha felt like the gifting of a rose.

“Thank you. You look breathtaking,” Rio said, turning her head to look at her directly.

Agatha unwillingly blushed in a way that reminded Rio of when they were a new couple. Agatha had never been in love before, nor did she know any affection from loved ones. The young witch would melt at any kind words given to her. Moments like this reminded Rio that every stage in Agatha’s development as a person was nested within her like Russian dolls. It was such a strange thing about humans that Rio never noticed until she was devoted to one over a matter of centuries.

Agatha raised her hands up, beams of purple shooting from both palms. They wrapped around the massive iceberg. The ropes of energy held onto the ship. Agatha used the ship’s momentum to drag it into a collision. Rio threw her arms around her from behind, holding her to keep her steady as the impact spread across the Titanic.

1755 - Lisbon

The estranged, grieving couple found themselves in a tangle of dangerous emotions. Agatha backed her against an oversized cedar tree. She pinned Rio by the wrists, making a point to dig the back of her hands into the jagged surface. She sucked and bit at her lips, letting her wrists go to start yanking at her bustier, doing everything she could to strip her from the ridiculous layers of clothing that were used to lock the female form in.

Rio reached down to tangle her fingers in Agatha’s hair, but was met with the sting of a slap. Then another. Although Death could shut down sensations to the body, she chose not to. She wanted to feel whatever contact Agatha would give, no matter the type.

Agatha slapped her two more times, leaning in to bite painfully into her shoulder, pulling back with a few drops of blood decorating her snarl. She raked her nails down her arms, leaving angry red marks. Rio let out grunts and gasps with every hit. Tears welled in Agatha’s eyes, her jaw clenched in anger. Rio wanted her to take it all out on her.

Agatha pulled back enough to look at the marks she left behind. Maroon handprints on her cheeks, a bleeding imprint of teeth on her shoulder, and scarlet trails blazing down to her wrists.

Agatha looked shocked at her own violence toward a woman who she never cared to hurt this way before. Just as she was about to pull away and leave, Rio spoke with a shaking voice.

“Keep going. Do everything you have wanted,” she breathed.

Agatha wanted to punish.

Rio wanted to hurt.

“Everything I have wanted?” She hissed.

Agatha shoved her back against the tree, pressing her hips against her. She used her magic to tear Rio’s layers down, leaving her nude. She pinched and twisted her nipples. Rio hissed through her teeth, arching her back. The roots of the tree, sliding up Agatha’s body. They ripped her dress apart, leaving her in scraps of fabric, her body revealed.

Agatha’s violent affection grew as she slapped her cunt and pulled her head back by the hair with her other hand. Rio’s gaze held Agatha’s, refusing to look away.

1872 - Boston

Agatha’s grip around her throat loosened just enough to turn it from aggressive to playful. She smiled down at her, able to look at her with more affection than hatred. She hadn’t forgiven her, but she at least intellectually knew that Rio had no choice but to take Nicky, even if she couldn’t emotionally accept it. Rio felt the lightness in Agatha. As long as she didn’t call attention to it, it would continue.

Rio knew that the moment she acknowledged the connection between them, Agatha would throw her walls back up the way they did in New York years ago. Back then, Rio slipped up and said she loved her. Agatha’s expression hardened. Her eyes went dead and she abruptly left her, waiting far too long to summon her again. Rio wouldn’t make that mistake again. She would keep it light and safe.

Rio smirked and rolled them over, grabbing and pinning her wrists. Agatha leaned up, trying to struggle against her hold. Rio bit her lip and narrowed her eyes. She worked her leg between Agatha’s and pressed her thigh against her sex. Agatha gasped and rolled her hips at the contact. Rio smiled devilishly down at her.

“Such a greedy girl. Fuck yourself on me.”

1912 - The Atlantic Ocean

The ship had cracked in two. The lights turned off throughout, plunging the vessel into darkness. Shrieks emanated from the cabins.

Agatha turned in Rio’s arms, holding onto the railing behind her while the two halves of the ship tilted toward the middle. Rio pressed her fingers under her chin and guided her up into a kiss under the stars.

Agatha let go of the railing, wrapping her arms around Rio’s neck as they tipped and slid towards the wall of the pilothouse. Agatha cushioned the impact of their bodies crashing against it with a shield of purple mist.

People emptied out of the cabins, running in a panic to find an exit. Men tried to push past mothers and children to save their own hides while the rich locked the poor passengers under the deck when they realized there were barely any lifeboats.

This level of cruelty towards one another was the very reason that Agatha used to justify her murderous acts. If this is who they were at their cores, what would they possibly have to give to the world? The rich especially angered her. Regardless of having every advantage, they were the most selfish beings on earth. If she hadn’t been completely wrapped up in Rio, she would have saved the lower class passengers while dispatching the richest. However, she was locked into an embrace with her love and the water had already rushed into those cabins.

Agatha kissed along Rio’s neck, running her hands over her suit. She took care to leave as many clothes on as possible. It was not only cold, but Rio also looked amazing in a tuxedo. She slid her hand into the suit pants. Rio gasped and smiled. She rocked her hips over her hand, feeling Agatha’s hand wandering. Agatha’s fingers parted her folds and pushed up the hood of her clit, using a fingertip to lightly play with it. The pleasure shot through her in short spurts that felt like being electrocuted. She gripped Agatha’s upper arms to steady herself, already trembling. The rush of death surrounding them was as intoxicating to her as Agatha was. It didn’t feel like euphoria the way draining magic felt to Agatha. It was more of a flood of adrenaline that activated her instincts as the reaper. It made every sensation that much more extreme.

Agatha, meanwhile, felt the energy of a handful of witches aboard. It spiked her arousal and made her hungrier for her love. She sped her finger, purposely overwhelming Rio with shocks of pleasure. Rio cried out, her hands tightening on her biceps. Agatha watched her closely, taking in every detail, every twitch of her lip, the fluttering of her lashes.

Before Agatha could continue, Rio abruptly turned the tables. She spun Agatha onto her back, shoving her dress up to her waist. She looked down at her bare cunt, tilting her head.

“No undergarments? Looks like you had a plan,” Rio said.

“You know me,” Agatha purred, “Always prepared.”

Rio dove down between her thighs, plunging her tongue into her. Agatha arched her back off of the wall that had tilted with the boat, effectively becoming more of a floor.

People panicked and scrambled around them, not even noticing what was unfolding between the two women. It was always the most delicious thing about the disasters Agatha created. The chaos around them allowed them to have the most depraved experiences in public.

Rio’s dark eyes were fixed on Agatha’s face. She fucked her slowly at first, grinding her tongue against the most sensitive spot inside of her. Agatha’s eyes shot open, her hips flying up. Rio pinned them back down as she moved faster, nudging at her clit with her nose.

Agatha’s hand shot down and tangled her hand in her hair, knocking her hat off. She rolled her hips, trying to fuck her back before Rio laid an arm across them to keep her still. Agatha whined in a rare show of weakness, one that only her wife could draw from her.

“Fuck… Rio!” She moaned as Rio pulled her in closer by her waist.

Rio groaned in reply, the vibration shivering against Agatha. Agatha’s jaw fell as her pleasure crested, crashing over her like a heavy wave. Rio coaxed aftershocks from her while cleaning her arousal. Whimpers left her lips, making Rio look up at her again, taking in the breathtaking sight of her wife gasping against the back of her hand. She turned her head and sucked on the skin, leaving a dark welt on her inner thigh.

Rio emerged from between her legs. She crawled over Agatha, looking down into her blue eyes. She gently moved her hand from her lips and captured them herself.

“Mi amor,” Rio whispered.

“Mi corazón,” Agatha replied, “I love you.”

1755 - Lisbon

“I hate you…” Agatha hissed.

Her fingers were inside of Rio. Two, then three, then four. Rio let out a sharp scream as Agatha stretched her to her limit, tucking her thumb inside. Rio’s face was a portrait of pain, but her arousal only grew. Agatha smiled sadistically as she made a fist inside of her. Rio’s breath caught, her walls strangling her hand. Her arousal squirted from her, the agony burning into pleasure.

Agatha roughly yanked her hand from her, leaving Rio empty. She screamed out from the violent move, clinging to the trunk of the tree behind her in an attempt to keep herself upright.

Agatha gripped her shoulder and pushed down until the weak-kneed woman was on the ground. She swung her leg over, straddling Rio’s face. She lowered herself, using her like a toy. Rio worked with a desperation, needing to give Agatha everything she could while still knowing it would never be enough.

Agatha panted as she fucked her face. Rio thrusted her tongue inside of her, tasting the flavor she craved more than anything. She watched Agatha move like a woman possessed. Her hair was wild and her expression feral. In the distance, the shore was attacked by a massive tidal wave powered by Agatha’s fury.

The churches filled with people celebrating All Saints’ Day collapsed, taking thousands with it. The city of Lisbon was crumbling around them. The impact of the earthquake reverberated as far as the Caribbean from Portugal. Even North Africa was hit. Tsunamis were birthed from the epicenter. From Agatha.

The sheer volume of death left Rio’s head spinning. Nearly one hundred thousand dead. Of that body count, thousands of witches perished, their magic moving in flashes, traveling over several countries, endowing Agatha with power.

The violet glow surrounding her was blinding, the magic of the dying witches proving to be almost too much for Agatha. She shook violently as she kept moving over Rio. She leaned forward on her knees and pressed her palms against the tree. She screamed as her overpowered body unraveled for the very woman she was trying to dominate. She crawled back so that she was eye to eye with Rio, glaring down at her with irises swimming in a deep purple as magic pulsed through every cell of her body.

The dark eyes looking back at her welled with tears that were all too human for an entity like Death. Rio had witnessed the pure rage of grief when she had taken others. She knew it was only born from pain. However, that didn’t take the pain of being loathed by the love of her life.

“He was my son too,” she whispered out, unable to stop the words.

Agatha’s eyes ignited before she shoved her to the ground. Her hands gripped her throat, squeezing as hard as she could. Rio struggled. Her vision blurred, but they both knew that Death could never die. Her windpipe would never collapse. She still wanted her to struggle for breath.

“Some mother you were,” Agatha growled through clenched teeth, “You killed your own son…”

Rio wheezed as she whispered, “He was already gone.”

Agatha strangled her another minute before letting go. Rio gasped and coughed violently. Agatha looked at her with nothing short of pure disgust.

“You could have saved him.”

“I did. Every day for five years. You don’t know how difficult it was to squeeze time from nothing.”

“And you don’t know how it was to wake up to him that morning.”

“You’re right,” Rio admitted, “I don’t.”

Agatha looked down at her, momentarily allowing her to look at her the way she used to. As the ancient witch who only showed true humanity for her.

“I wish I could have done more,” Rio sobbed out, looking stunned by her own display of emotion, “I am so sorry…”

Agatha had no words that were enough, nothing that would solve the grief between two parents. She only had a question.

“Do you see him when you bring others over?”

“Not fully,” she said, “Only shadows. Only whispers… For me to be too close would disturb the balance. His mothers are not fated to be with him yet. I cannot force when that reunion will be. But… He leaves me flowers. He leaves us flowers.”

Agatha simply cried then, unable to contain it any longer. The fact that Rio had glimpses of him while she had nothing should have angered her more, but it only led to another question that was more important than her rage.

“Is h… Is he happy?” The

“Yes,” Rio said without a second thought, “Someone with earth magic… Nicky can only make roses when he is happy. He leaves roses everywhere he goes.”

Agatha’s tears fell directly from her eyelashes to Rio’s cheeks. When Rio tried to cup Agatha’s cheek, the other woman wrenched her face away. She closed her eyes, trying to force her mask to hide her from someone who knew her completely. She opened them, but still revealed her own adoration and passion for the woman in front of her, despite her anger. That look would fuel Rio in the centuries to come. They would remind her that their bond had withstood the worst tragedy possible. Emotion would crash against it like the water crashing against the sand miles away, but that bond would always hold.

Agatha came to the same conclusion internally, beneath the storm of trauma and misery. She was cursed and blessed to be forever bonded to Death. Her lips collided with hers with a painful impact. Purple flowed from her to Rio, tying them together in that moment. She was there one second and pulling away the next. Rio sat up as Agatha left, walking into the clouds of destruction left in her wake.

For years and centuries later, Rio would leave Nicky’s roses by Agatha’s bed as she slept to give her comfort. She would keep half for her and give half of the blooms to his other mother.

Agatha, for her part, would pretend to be asleep when she would hear the familiar footsteps. Death could come like a thief in the night, but Agatha occasionally felt it just before. She would savor the kiss laid upon her forehead, the light touch of her fingers as they brushed stray hairs from her face. She savored Rio in a way she could handle during those first few decades following Lisbon before calling upon her time and time again with unprecedented disasters throughout time.

1872 - Boston

Agatha’s back bent like a bow as pleasure wound itself tightly in the pit of her. She rutted herself against Rio’s thigh as the other woman wolfishly grinned down at her. She sucked in a gasp as her hips stuttered. Rio suddenly moved down her form in a flash, grabbing her thighs and bending her in half. She leaned down and ran her tongue along her soaking cunt. She drank her in as the air around them heated up as the crowds below them ran from the flames.

Agatha wanted to watch the destruction, but Rio was far more captivating. She tangled her hands in her own hair, her body quaking with pleasure. Rio sucked on the little bundle of nerves that made her scream while thrusting two fingers into her.

Agatha’s brows bunched together as her walls strangled them, already overstimulated. As she came again, she pulled Rio out from between her legs and into a kiss. She hummed against her lips with her arms wrapped around her. Agatha slid her hand down between them, teasing Rio. Rio shook her head and took her hand.

“But…” Agatha started.

“This is about you,” Rio replied, bringing her hand to her lips, kissing it with a, “Milady.”

Half the city was reduced to ashes as the flames licked up the building below them. Fire surrounded them as they shared one last kiss. Rio pulled back and smiled as frenzied cries came from the adjoining buildings.

“That’s my cue,” Rio said.

As Agatha pushed the fire away from her with tendrils of purple magic. Vines grew from Rio’s feet, crawling up her body and forming into a tight, form fitting outfit. She stood on the ledge, turning to face Agatha. She waved at her with a smile before jumping off of the roof.

Agatha waited until she was out of earshot to say, “Always a pleasure, My love.”

1912 - The Atlantic Ocean

People plummeted from the ship, trampled one another, froze in the water. As the sounds of pain and anguish surrounded them, the band continued to play. In the middle of the mayhem were a small collection of those who chose to meet death with grace. Being around them was a comfort to Rio. Unlike the fear and terror she was typically shown, these people were more focused on finding peace in remaining moments.

The ship began to sink further in. Jewelry, furs, and other meaningless things that lost all worth in the larger picture of life plunged into the depths of the Atlantic, disappearing into the places where sunlight refused to follow. The lifeboats were full and floating away. Some were filled with vulnerable people who were rightfully saved while others were filled by the ruthless people who pushed their way to the front of the crowds. Their morality didn’t matter to their fates on Earth. That would catch up to them years later when Rio came for them. The people left behind held each other and sobbed in the realization that there was no way to escape their demise.

The musicians played to calm the passengers, the transcendent sound of strings flowing through the screams. Agatha held a hand out to Rio, who took it in hers. She pulled her in, pressing her cheek to Agatha’s as they danced. Rio hummed their song into her ear. The stars shone down on them with a beauty that stood in opposition to the tragedy unfolding beneath.

Next to them sat an elderly married couple who chose to stay. The wife had refused to leave him behind when offered a seat on the lifeboat. She wouldn’t take someone else’s place when hers was with her love. He tried to convince her to leave, but she shook her head. They held hands, listening to the music while gazing at the moon.

Agatha looked at them over Rio’s shoulder and saw the devotion that she and her own wife shared. The words the woman spoke to him earlier were some of the most romantic she had heard. “Isidor we have been together for all these years. Where you go, I go.”

She realized that the same applied to her and the woman in her embrace. Regardless of what happened, of what they did, of how they tried to resist, they were each other’s home. Although she wasn’t yet ready to fully welcome Rio back into her life, she knew that she would be sooner rather than later. Like the couple beside them, they would walk through life together.

The old man kissed the back of his wife’s hand, earning a youthful blush from her. Rio could feel their acceptance. The two would greet Death as they would an old friend.

This story was based on the Lisbon Earthquake of 1755, the Great Boston Fire of 1872, and the sinking of the Titanic in 1912.

If you enjoyed this story, please leave a comment and reblog it! Also, check out my other playlist fics!

Thank you for reading ♥️

[xxtha-blog]

Why Horrortale Sans is Definitely Evil

Horrortale Sans is evil. This is the opposite of a defence post, I am calling out this character and his many misdeeds! I do not know how people legitimately defend his actions or claim he’s just a normal guy who tries really hard not to eat people. I do not think we read the same comic. This is a comprehensive deep dive into why Horror is evil.

First a chronological look at Horror’s dubious actions. Not all of theses are evil and some have good justification as standalone events, but provide wider context for things:

1. He has to be convinced into helping repair the Core which he knows is broken, and has inside info he knows could help get it fixed, only when Grillby begs him to because as revealed on another page, the loss of the Core means “the fire eats at [Grillby’s] very soul like acid, perpetually burning him alive”

2. He spends a total of 12 months trying to figure out how to repair the Core but based on Undyne’s statements about how he rarely works, either means he’s a. Not actually putting enough effort into it (if we believe her and not Sans) or b. Not telling Undyne and Alphys how his work is going which is probably pertinent information for them to have (If we believe Sans, but want a reason as to why Undyne has that impression)

3. He finally brings her a solution to the Core after knowing he’s going to die (but if you want to be generous, maybe it was just really bad timing and he really did only needed a few more days to bring her a solution) and claims it’s a “long shot” meaning he doesn’t even know if it will work.

4. Undyne, thinking that is an insane plan, tells him she has a different plan. Sacrificing him to save everyone. Sans makes it clear he would never let himself die to save everyone.

5. When a guard begs him to sacrifice himself to save his wife and children, Sans launches him into the stratosphere saying: “fuck off.”

6. Even though Undyne attacks him first, it’s actually Sans that takes out her head and eye first.

7. Sans brutally murders the guards who helped Undyne.

8. When Alphys, showing Sans that her plan has objectively work and he is not dead (bonus!!), Sans destroys the Core.

He destroys the thing that will keep him, his brother, and literally every person in the underground alive. Grillby now suffers eternally, and everyone will die a slow and painful death. This does not help him in any way, does not change the fact his head is broken, he does it purely out of malice. The equivalent of getting shot, surviving, and then nuking the town you were shot in. He does not take his eye back if you thought it was to take his eye back. It’s still in the broken Core.

9. He lobotomizes Alphys

10. He gets Aliza to become a cannibal

11. He tortures and maims Aliza (let’s her get cut in half by a bear trap, pulls her hair so hard it bleeds, let’s her freeze to death in a puzzle, sends her to Grillbys where she gets partially cooked alive, cuts her arm off)

Really great guy here.

Secondly let’s get some of the common defences out of the way:

1. Sans had a plan that would save everyone! Undyne was therefore making a bad decision by trying to killing him

a. Sans says his plan IS A LONG SHOT

b. Alphys explains Sans’s plan would have taken a lot of time and magic ie. time that would get a lot of other people killed

c. Undyne’s plan actually goes better that expected! What was assumed would kill Sans doesn’t end up killing him at all. Literally a win-win for everyone involved.

d. Undyne/Alphys’s plan works, and therefore objectively saved more people. 0 net casualties if Sans had a single ounce of humanity.

2. Sans worked really hard and Undyne betrayed him. Undyne should have told him first

Undyne doesn’t tell him because she doesn’t want to consider hurting Sans despite monsters dying. Moments before Sans shows up, a child dies in a mother’s arm. Then Sans explains his plan is to dismantle the Core, which ‘might’ work, and will take a lot of effort and magic to do so, which is time they do not have (it’s been 12 months. He has had 12 months.). He also blames Undyne for getting them into this mess and mocks her for letting people die. She then attacks him. They end up both losing half their head and eye in the fight, making them perfectly even. The core’s power is restored.

But, whether or not Sans feels betrayed or not is irrelevant to the fact that Undyne makes the most reasonable and moral decision in this moment and also Sans has kind of done everything in his power to not sell his idea and piss off the person he knows is considering killing him so big L on his part for that one.

It also does not in any way shape or form justify destroying the Core, which is probably the most evil thing you could possibly do in that scenario.

3. They both are at fault for the Core/Both Evil then

There is literally a world of difference between:

“Sacrifices 1 person who ends up not dying, to save everyone. Which succeeds.”

And

“Destroys the thing that will successfully keep everyone alive, thus dooming everyone including yourself to die a slow and agonizing death, because you are angry your friend tried to kill you in an effort to save everyone”

That’s not even including the 10 other things on my list that are definitely also evil, but I cannot take people seriously if they put these two things on some sort of a moral equivalence. Undyne is in the right. 1 person for everyone is a worthy sacrifice. If anything Undyne’s only flaw is waiting so long to do it.

4. (Unrelated to the Core incident) Sans is actually morally grey, he doesn’t eat humans like everyone else which is a complex character motivation

You’re right, Sans doesn’t eat humans. Instead he finds enjoyment in torturing them brutally, a much worse thing than eating to stay alive.

His fight with hunger is also entirely self-made. Both because it’s not morally wrong to eat another living being to survive (and it’s not cannibalism to eat a human as a monster) and because he is the reason this is still happening 7 years later. It is literally his fault he is hungry. There is no interesting moral conundrum here, he does not care about hurting people. He is just out of his mind.

In conclusion, Horrortale Sans is a deeply selfish and uncaring person. Whatever minor good deeds he does throughout the comic are so immensely overshadowed by his absolute depravity that they might as well not exist. He is the reason every single monster in that underground continues to suffer, including himself, and while in his mind maybe there’s some weird justification, no outsider observer should look at these actions and think, yeah, that was reasonable. Much less think Undyne or Alphys are somehow WORSE. He destroys the Core because he didn’t die after everyone is saved, solely to be vindictive. He does not gain anything by doing this. He doesn't even take back the eye he lost which is still in the broken core! He lobotomizes Alphys because he’s mad he looks like a freak. He murders people who wants him to help everyone stay alive. He maims and tortures children and no amount of not eating them afterwards makes that any less morally apprehensible.

None of this is meant to say you can’t like him as a character. It is just to explain why characterizing him as a poor lil guy who did nothing wrong, is a little… wrong.

i believe this is an extensive look into why Horrortale Sans is evil.

Thank you for reading :)

[vampwritesstuff]

TMNT Brothers when Reader is on her Period

I’m totally not writing this because I’m on mine rn 💀 Also, I’ve got a few requests and I swear I will work on them! I jst have a motivation issue and it sucks, but if you would like to see more of my work you can checkout my Multi-Fandom Masterlist ! (I swear I’ll attempt to make a masterlist for each fandom separately, but we’ll see if I can actually do it lol)

Type: Headcannons

Request?: not a request

TMNT Version: Unspecified, fits for most versions

CW: obviously, mentions of blood and talk of female bodily functions, reader is AFAB

LEO

Man, this guy is oblivious as hell, he doesn’t realize you’re on your period until he sees you in the lair with a heating pad on your abdomen.

Then he feels stupid because it was so obvious you had started.

He thinks he should’ve known as soon as you started becoming more emotional.

Will 100% get you any craving you want, within reason. He’s not gonna let you eat something that’s gonna upset your stomach later.

Is down to just cuddle and watch TV together.

Doesn’t care how much his brothers tease him, he’ll be constantly worried about you.

“Do you guys think she’s alright without me there?” *insert a collective “SHUT UP LEO”*

He knows that your cramps can get crazy bad, but you guys figured out that if he laid his head on your abdomen, the pain was somewhat relieved.

Low key gets sad when you get annoyed with him, he knows you don’t mean to and it’s just the hormones, but he still manages to feel like a kicked puppy when it happens.

RAPH

Doesn’t act like he notices, but he does.

He notices hardcore.

He notices the way you’re walking to the kitchen so sluggishly, with a hand on your abdomen and your face scrunched into a look of discomfort at every movement.

He notices the weird period cravings and actually makes an effort to memorize the ones you like so that he can get more for you.

You get a lot more moody on your period so you’re constantly sassing Raph and he has to remind himself that it’s just your hormones talking.

Secretly restocks your dwindling stash of chocolate.

You don’t notice it though until you catch him in the act.

Acts like doesn’t know what you are talking about and claims he’s only replacing some because he ate a few bars.

You definitely know that’s not the case, but you don’t say anything about it.

He’ll hand you a bottle of ibuprofen/advil/midol etc. when he notices the cramps get debilitating. (Literally me)

Acts annoyed when you ask him to carry you around cause you can’t move from your cramps.

He secretly loves it though cause he can hold you and show off his strength.

MIKEY

Innocent boy doesn’t even know what a period is, was hella embarrassed when you explained it to him.

“YOUR BODY DOES WHAT?” someone help this poor boy.

He’s stunned at learning that your period can last up to a week or even longer.

“How do you bleed for that long and not die and it happens every month?!” Has gained hella respect for you.

He probably tried one of those period cramp simulators and it was horrible, Raph made fun of him for a while before you forced Raph and the other brothers to try it too.

They shut their mouths after that, and now Mikey gets to mock Raph’s squeals.

Willingly tries your period cravings, no matter how weird, and he’s ended up liking most of them.

You don’t even have to ask him to cuddle with you, he just does it because he feels so bad that you have to deal with this every month.

Mikey is very empathetic and in tune with your emotional state during your period, cause he’s an emotional boy too.

DONNIE

Only figured out that you were on your period when he made a joke about it.

“Ignore her, it’s probably just her time of the month.” “Actually, it is.” “HUH?”

Bro was so embarrassed and his brothers wouldn’t let him live it down.

He willingly, without you asking, will go buy you feminine products as a sort of apology. (Does that even count as one? He doesn’t know but at least he’s trying?)

Does research on what happens to the female body during menstruation in hopes of providing you some support.

Doesn’t touch his computer for weeks afterwards.

He’s easily flustered, he can’t help it!

Understands that you know your body better than he does, so he doesn’t really try to intervene with what you normally do during this time of month.

Gives you as much space as you want, but is ready to cuddle and watch pirated movies on his laptop as soon as you ask to.

Gets really happy when he sees you using the microwaveable lavender scented rice stuffed animal he got for you (if ykyk)

[vikkirosko]

Headcanons Park Ranger

🪓 Ticci Toby x Reader 🥞

Toby had a lot of work with campers who were in the park. That's why he decided to set up camp there, at least for a while. He was sure that he would not meet anyone in a remote part of the forest, but he realized that he was mistaken when he saw the light from a flashlight in the middle of the night. Soon after that, he saw you. You were a park ranger and found him thanks to the smoke, but you didn't even seem to realize that he was actually a killer

You smiled at him in a friendly way and told him that the place where he set up camp was not intended for camping. You asked him if he was all right, and then asked him to put out the fire so that a fire wouldn't accidentally start, and in the morning move the camp to another place. When you saw that he had practically no food, you gave him some cereal bars that you carried with you and said that if something happened, he could come to you and you would help him. Toby expected anything but that you would be kind and nice to him

You've clashed several times, and each time because he set up his camp in the wrong place, but you weren't mad at him. You were friendly, you weren't angry with him, and you didn't mind chatting. You explained to him that wild animals can be found in the forest and you should not be too frivolous. You didn't even realize that there was a more dangerous person right in front of you. Toby wasn't going to tell you. He liked talking to you, he liked the fact that you were so sincere and didn't pay attention to the fact that he stood out from other campers

Toby knew perfectly well that he had to leave soon, but he wanted to see you one last time. You might never have seen each other again, but he wanted to ask you to quit this job. He knew perfectly well that someone else, another killer, could be there and then you could die. The last thing he wanted was for a man he had developed a liking for to die, joining the ranks of the missing in this park

🎮 BEN Drowned x Reader 💧

BEN was involved with technology and used it to get to his victims and just have fun. It was for this purpose that he decided to use the talkie. His object of entertainment was you, who works as a park ranger. You lived alone and there were no people for many kilometers around you, but you had a talkie to communicate with other colleagues, and BEN pretended to be one of them, and you didn't even know about his deception

At first, he rarely appeared, but to his surprise, you were always glad to hear him. As it turned out, you haven't had anyone to talk to in the last few months, because your previous colleague, whom you usually contacted, quit and since then you've been almost crazy with loneliness. Every day BEN found out more about you and talked to you more and more often, until he decided it was time for you to meet in person. He remembered that you said that there was an old work computer in your apartment, and he intended to use it

You didn't understand why your work computer suddenly started to mess up so much, but you put it down to the fact that it had to be replaced a long time ago, but your superiors postponed it, claiming that next time they would definitely allocate money for it, and you pretended that they would do it someday. But at night you woke up to the light of a computer suddenly turning on. You sleepily turned off the computer, deciding to postpone it until the next day, being too tired to deal with it in the middle of the night, not even realizing that you are no longer alone

In the morning, you saw that some of the food from your refrigerator had been eaten and an unfamiliar blond man was sitting at your desk. BEN saw a few, you were shocked and realized that it would take you time to get used to his company and his existence in general, but he had a lot of time that he intended to spend getting closer to you

[brucewaynehater101]

Recently my mind has been plagued with ideas about things Tim could be other than human and what would both fit him and make an interesting story. I believe I might have found something that suits him rather well.

Tim has always been a strange child, always silent and always watching. Learning everything he can about everyone he has to interact with so that he can best make sure every interaction goes in his favor. He learned his manipulation from his Mother after all. She was the very best at it so he will be the very best too. She nor his "father" have watched over him since he was very small, after all they are creatures that do not raise their own young. Her returning to see him every few months, teaching him how to hide what he is and how to defend himself, *and* making sure he has food and shelter is far, far more than most of his species could ever even dream of. Janet is their version of Best Mom In The Universe, even if she's horrifyingly neglectful by Human Standards.

As for how Jack treats Tim, he doesn't. After all, once they were married and she had everything, she didn't need him anymore. Jack died before Tim was even conceived and the current Jack is nothing more than a husk, a living puppet that his mother walks around with as a shield to keep herself safe from prying eyes and questions. Perfect for keeping her cover as Just A Human. She has taught Tim how to do this same thing using small animals from the garden (and making sure he eats them after. He's still a growing boy who needs to eat after all) si that one day he can have a few living puppets of his own.

Tim does not tell anyone he isn't human, as per his mother's instructions. After all, he shares quite a few traits with a type of creature that humans *hate* and actively go out of their way to kill. Well, most do.

As he grows and ages as Robin, he never let's anything slip, he can't afford to let them know. He knows that Bruce doesn't trust magic in Gothem (or at least, Tim thinks that's the truth) and even if he did, the others have shown a distaste for the creature that he shares so much with. Especially Alfred and Dick, the later of which he has verbally claimed to *hate*. Given, one of them was in his hair when he yelled this but it still stung quite deeply and Alfred works hard to make sure that not a single trace of them can be found anywhere in the manor, even scolding Tim once for letting so much proof of their existence pile up in the corners of his room. But Tim doesn't blame him either, Alfred's job is to keep the house clean after all.

Eventually he must come clean though and what a way it is. Bruce has been working a case with Constantine about people going missing in Gothem. Turns out, everyone who has was some kind of magical creature and the people doing it are likely poachers. The others have been informed of the case so that they can report anything they know or anyone they know who could be a target. Tim doesn't say anything, instead keeping a closer eye on those he does know. He would never, ever sell out another creature. He would rather die.

A week later, an attempted raid on the poachers goes wrong and ends up with Jason, Tim, Bruce, and Damian all captured by the poachers. Tim is the last to wake up and when he does, the poachers are discussing what kind of undead Jason is, scanning the tied up vigilante with a device that simply says again, "subject, magical. Type, undead. Futher information, unknown."

At this point Tim realizes he's the only one not tied up. He's also the only one in a cage. He tries to pretend to be asleep but the one watching him says, "look who's awake. You know, we had bets on how many of you Bats were part of the magical community. Seems like I won the bet since only you and Red Hood over there are. Don't bother trying to lie your way out, our scanner can see through your Glamor spell, no matter how powerful it is. And this?" They hold up a small remote control with about a dozen buttons on it, "this does a wonderful little thing where it makes a specific pitch at a specific volume that causes Magical Creatures to drop their Glamor Spells or Shifts. Luckily it's nothing more than mildly annoying to humans."

A button is pressed before anyone can ask questions and the remove makes a loud, buzzing sound. It's not painful for the trio who are tied up, but Tim? Tim is shaking and writhing and *screaming* with both hands pressed over his ears. He is rolling back and forth across the ground as he screams for the person to stop, just *stop*. Bruce is almost free when he freezes upon realizing something. There aren't two tear tracks on his sons face. There's a lot. A pair of eyes have opened on his cheek bones and above his eyebrows and a smaller pair between them. Tim has gotten much paler and his canines have turned long and sharp like his nails. Tim rolls onto his stomach and curls up as best he can, screaming as there is a cracking sound. A long spindly, spider like leg shoots out of his side and slams into the floor, curling up in pain like the rest of Tim's limbs.

When the device is finally turned off, Tim is laying on his side, wheezing in pain and his legs are gone. In their place is the body of a giant spider which has sharp points at the tips of its legs instead of the regular spider feet. Tim has 8 eyes and is totally limp as he tries to recover. The Poacher simply laughs, "A Jorōgumo, a real master of puppets you are. But weak without them. God, your kind is so rare, you'll fetch us the price of at least 4 normal monsters. Add in you're a famous vigilante and we could break a few million dollars off *just* you."

Tim glares weakly at them and hisses softly. He knows the numbers are true. It's the secondary reason he never told anyone. He knew he would either get squished or sold off. How he just needs to figure out how to escape from Gothem before Bruce can confront him on this. He doesn't want to explain.

Aww... was he collecting little spiders and getting upset when his family kept expressing their hatred/distaste for them? Did he have to hear them talk about how creepy their eyes are, their weird abundance of legs, and how disgusting their overall being is before he excused himself to stare in a mirror and compare the similarities?

Does he dare to meet their eyes after the reveal, or does he fear finding the look of revulsion?

Also, would he find comfort in knitting, crochet, and weaving? Is his house full of hand-made blankets?

Anyways, enjoyed what you have and would definitely read more