#and they are strong enough to break parts... and bones

[gravity-between-us]

Gravity Between Us

Chapter 3: Cosmic Ruin

Caleb and I have known each other for as long as I can remember. We were once childhood friends, our bond as natural as the stars in the sky. But now, everything has changed. What used to feel like a safe, familiar orbit between us now pulses with unspoken desire.

Our friendship is no longer enough to keep the tension at bay, and the distance between us feels unbearable. Secrets, lies, and unhealed wounds stand in our way. I don’t know if we can survive this new gravity pulling us together... but I can’t keep pretending I don’t want to try. Pairing: Female MC x Caleb Rating: Explicit: 18+ Spoiler Alert: Potential spoilers for Caleb's Myth as well as memories. Read at your own risk for these. Lore spoilers. Warnings: Unlikely to be completely canon. The other love interests will not be likely to appear in this fic (I cannot bring myself to break any of their hearts, so you could consider this an AU with only Caleb in this timeline.) MC is named. MC is socially awkward. MC can be depressed at times. Slow Burn. Explicit Smut (eventually). Awkward blend of darker moments, angst, fluff, and humour. Drinking. Questionable life decisions. MC spirals. Protective Caleb. Both MC and Caleb are a little obsessive and overly protective of each other, which could be considered an unhealthy relationship. Limited plot - most focus is just on their relationship and interactions. More warnings could be applied, but as a general rule of thumb, please read at your own risk and do not continue if you find the content triggering.

The house is too quiet. I blink blearily at the landing pad, my sluggish brain taking too long to register what my eyes already know—Caleb’s aircraft is gone. It’s not unusual. He leaves early for duty all the time. But today, it feels… off. The space he’s left behind is heavier than it should be, like his absence has seeped into the walls, the air—into my bones.

I shuffle to the couch and collapse onto it, sinking into the cushions with a slow exhale. My limbs feel leaden, my mind foggy, like I’m moving through molasses, but I tell myself it’s just the morning. Just the remnants of sleep clinging to me like a second skin.

I tell myself a lot of things these days.

The silence stretches as I stare at nothing, trying to get my head on straight. My thoughts are a tangled mess, threads knotted so tight I don’t know where to start unravelling them.

Emotions have never been my strong suit. Not since Gran. Not since Caleb. Since they were declared dead, something inside me shorted out, like a failsafe I didn’t know existed kicked in to keep me from shattering. I flicked a switch and shut it all off because the alternative was unbearable. Grief felt too big, too endless—like drowning with no shore in sight.

So I threw myself into my work.

Being a Hunter meant never having to stop, never having to think, never having to feel. Every mission was a reason to keep moving, every fight a distraction, every kill a release. Adrenaline was easier to chase than ghosts. Blood was easier to wash away than memories.

It worked. Until it didn’t.

Pain, I’ve learned, is a funny thing.

Physical pain is predictable. It follows rules. A cut will sting, a bruise will ache, a bone will break and knit itself back together in time. You learn its language, its patterns, how to endure and wield it. You can grit your teeth through it, drown it in med gel, push past it until it fades into something distant and dull.

But emotional pain?

It doesn’t obey. It doesn’t follow a script. It seeps into the cracks of your mind like ink spilled on paper, bleeding into places it doesn’t belong. It warps time, making days stretch too long and nights pass too fast. It steals the colour from the world, leaves everything muted, drained, and hollow.

And the worst part?

You can’t outrun it. Not forever.

I press my palms against my eyes and let out a slow breath. I don’t know how long I sit there, lost in my head, but eventually, I sigh and let my hands drop, staring up at the ceiling. I need to move, to work—to exhaust myself before my thoughts drown me.

The gym is quiet, save for the steady thud of my feet against the treadmill. The rhythmic pace, the hum of the machine beneath me, the burn building in my limbs—it helps ground me, gives me something to focus on besides the ghosts clawing their way up from the depths of my mind.

But no matter how fast I run, they follow.

Caleb’s voice, low and teasing, calling me "pip-squeak" like it’s second nature. The way his fingers skim my ankle, kneading lazy circles into my foot while we sit on the couch.

The treadmill beeps, signalling the end of my run. I don’t hesitate. I move straight to the weights, pressing through the burn, chasing exhaustion—but it doesn’t stop the flood.

Him spinning me around last night, laughter tangled with mine, the heat that sparked when the moment stretched just a little too long.

I drop the weights onto the rack, my breathing uneven, sweat dripping down my spine. My muscles ache, but it’s not enough. I cross the gym in a few quick strides and slam my fists into the punching bag. The leather gives beneath my knuckles with a satisfying resistance.

I hit it again. And again.

Caleb used to be an open book to me. I knew every thought before he spoke it, every shift in his expression, every flicker of emotion behind his eyes. Now, there are pages missing—whole chapters he won’t let me read. Shadows cling to him in ways they never did before. Pain he won’t name. Secrets he won’t share.

I don’t know how to bridge that gap.

After my shower, my muscles ache, and my knuckles throb with the telltale promise of bruises. I feel like an overcooked piece of pasta as I sink onto the couch, remote in hand, flipping through the endless black hole of television channels.

There’s nothing on. Or maybe there is, but my brain refuses to process any of it. Every channel blends together into an indistinguishable mess of colour and noise. I should be able to relax, to let the exhaustion in my limbs lull me into something resembling peace, but my thoughts are restless.

Of course, they drift right back to him.

Slipping into bed beside him. The way his hand found my back in his sleep, fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt like he couldn’t bear for me to leave. The steady, rhythmic sound of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest beneath my palm. The feel of his skin beneath my fingertips—warm, solid, real.

Nope. Absolutely not.

I cannot sit here and think. Clearly, that is bad for me. I need a distraction.

Like divine intervention, it hits me.

Drinking.

Yes. That is the answer. A responsible, definitely healthy coping mechanism—just a little to take the edge off.

I make a beeline for Caleb’s liquor cabinet, fully prepared to make some questionable life choices. Unfortunately, my plan encounters an immediate roadblock. Apparently, Caleb does not stock normal alcohol. No wine. No beer. No fruity little drinks that go down easy, and let me pretend I am not actively making a mistake.

No, what he has is a collection of bottles with labels that look like they were designed for space mercenaries with a death wish. Dark Matter Blackout. Nebula Burn. Void’s Mercy. That last one feels ominous, but I grab it anyway.

I pour myself a shot. It smells like regret. I take it anyway. It burns like fire and bad decisions.

Perfect.

One more shot. Then another. By the time I down the third, my head feels pleasantly light, my body loose, the tension in my muscles finally unspooling.

Yet I still cannot sit still.

So I do the next logical thing: I turn on some music. Loud enough to make the floor vibrate beneath my feet, loud enough for the bass to thrum in my bones, loud enough to drown out every single thought trying to claw its way back into my head.

Then, because I am apparently on a roll with making excellent choices, I decide now is the perfect time to clean.

Everything.

Every room, every surface. I scrub, I dust, I straighten, I organize. I throw myself into it with an enthusiasm that should honestly concern me. The floors gleam. The kitchen sparkles. I rearrange the throw pillows three separate times before deciding their original placement was, in fact, superior.

The house is immaculate—a sharp, perfect contrast to the absolute mess inside my head.

At some point, between scrubbing down the counters and aggressively reorganizing the bookshelf, I pick up the bottle and start using it as a microphone.

Unfortunately for literally everyone who has ever possessed the ability to hear, I am now in full concert mode.

I crank the music even louder and dance like an absolute menace through the house—spinning, swaying, shaking my hips like I am the only person in the universe. Which, technically, I am. At least in this house. I belt out the lyrics, horribly off-key, the bottle clutched in my hand like a mic, and I am killing it.

Caleb is missing out. I am a vision. A drunk, chaotic vision.

Mid-spin, a new brilliant idea strikes me.

The furniture.

It is all wrong.

Which means, obviously, I must fix it.

I grab the couch and drag it to a new spot. Step back. No. Not right. I shove it to the other side of the room. Step back. Still wrong. The coffee table gets moved next. Then the side table. Then the couch again.

I am locked in a battle of wills with this furniture.

And I am losing.

I reach for the bottle to soothe the sting of my failure—tilt it back—nothing.

I blink and shake it. As if the laws of physics might bend to my will and magically refill it.

They do not.

Betrayal. How could Caleb let this happen? How could he have the audacity, the unmitigated gall, to not predict that I would one day get tipsy and need more alcohol than he has stocked?

I grab my phone, thumbs flying across the screen.

Inara: Wow. Unbelievable. Truly. I have never known such disappointment. Caleb: … What? Inara: You. Have failed me. Caleb: Okay. I feel like I should be apologizin’, but I don’t know what for. Inara: I am in crisis, Caleb. Crisis. And where are you? Off gallivanting around, leaving me to fend for myself. Caleb: … I went to work. Inara: Question. How do you feel about change? Caleb: What did you do? Inara: Why do you always assume I did something? I just had a thought. A vision. A great and powerful idea. Caleb: Oh no. Inara: What if… hear me out… we completely reinvented the living room? Caleb: … Caleb: What does that mean? Did you move the furniture? Inara: I am taking creative initiative for our shared space. Caleb: Where is the couch? Inara: Currently… in an experimental location. Caleb: Where. Inara: TBD. Caleb: … Caleb: Is it upside down? Inara: Not right now.

At this point, I toss the phone aside because this conversation is going absolutely nowhere. With a sigh, I yank open the cabinet and reach for another bottle, tucked away behind a terrifyingly strong one labelled Celestial Burn: Nova Strength Whiskey—which, frankly, sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen. Instead, I grab Black Hole Rum—Guaranteed to Suck You In.

Hm. Promising.

I take a swig straight from the bottle, wincing at the burn, then turn back to the disaster I’ve created.

The living room is in ruins. Half the furniture is positioned at angles that defy logic, like some kind of avant-garde art piece that only makes sense to the deeply unhinged. The couch is half-shoved against the wall, one leg somehow balanced on a precarious stack of books. The coffee table isn’t anywhere near the couch—just abandoned mid-movement, off to the side. Pillows are scattered across the floor like casualties of war.

It’s fine. It just needs… adjustments.

My brain stutters over itself for a moment before latching onto an entirely useless thought.

Caleb’s elbows.

His elbows.

Why? Who knows.

But suddenly, I can’t stop thinking about them—how they’re weirdly sharp yet somehow elegant. Is this a thing? Do people have attractive elbows? What is he doing to them? Moisturizer? Elbow exercises??

I scowl at absolutely nothing.

What the hell is wrong with me?

It must be the living room. The energy in here is all wrong. I need to fix it. Now.

Naturally, I launch myself back into the chaos, frantically dragging things around again, as if physically rearranging furniture might somehow realign the absolute mess in my head.

The living room remains a battlefield of terrible decisions and increasingly questionable interior design choices. I’ve tried every possible configuration—from asymmetry to something that’s probably a fire hazard. Nothing feels right. The universe is mocking me.

I stumble through the wreckage, gripping the bottle of Black Hole Rum like a lifeline, belting out the lyrics to some ancient pop song with the confidence of a rock star and the vocal accuracy of a malfunctioning AI.

Somewhere between a dramatic twirl on the rug and an ill-advised attempt to launch myself off the couch (which, to be fair, is mostly where it’s supposed to be), I realize the problem.

The real problem.

The root cause of my complete mental breakdown disguised as an impromptu home renovation.

Caleb.

I march to my bedroom, nearly tripping over an upturned chair, and grab the apple plushie from my bed. It’s soft. Innocent. Blissfully unaware of the fate that awaits it.

Flopping onto the floor amid the wreckage, I cross my legs and cradle the plushie as if it were Caleb himself. I glare at its stupid, stitched-on smile.

“You.” I jab a finger into its round little body. “This is your fault.”

It does not respond. Probably because it’s a stuffed apple.

I poke it again, more aggressively this time. “How dare you have such… offensively attractive forearms? And those elbows!” I shake the plushie like it can be reasoned with. “They’re not supposed to look that good, Caleb! They’re just bones! But noooo, even your damn bones are irritatingly good-looking! Why?”

The apple remains unimpressed.

I flop backward onto the floor with a groan. “I know you’re not actually Caleb. I’m not that far gone.” A pause. “…But if you were Caleb, I’d be yelling at you for scrambling my brain like this.”

I hold the plushie up, squinting into its beady little eyes. “This is your fault,” I mutter again, smushing its round face. “Your. Fault.”

Since the universe has a cruel sense of humour, it’s then that I hear the distant hum of engines, and my head snaps up.

I’m on my feet in an instant, pressing myself against the living room window like some kind of elite super spy. I think I’m being subtle.

I am not.

Caleb’s aircraft touches down smoothly, its sleek frame reflecting the evening light. The second the hatch opens, he steps out in his crisp uniform.

Colonel Caleb.

I sneer. He looks stupidly good in that uniform. I hate that uniform. All stiff formality, Fleet-approved rigidity, silent reminders of things I really don’t want to think about right now.

But also—ugh.

He looks obnoxiously good in it.

Caleb pauses at the bottom of the ramp, frowning. He definitely hears the music. His eyes sweep toward the house.

I duck lower, convinced I am hidden.

I am very visibly pressed against the glass.

I snort to myself. Angry. Happy. Frustrated. Relieved.

Because despite my spiralling, despite my brain being an absolute mess of elbows and bad decisions, I’m just glad he’s home.

Caleb steps inside, and his entire body tenses. He gawks, slack-jawed, at the disaster that was once a living room. The music is still blaring at full volume, and I don’t even need to look at him to know he’s staring at me like I’ve completely lost my mind.

I ignore the look. Irrelevant.

Instead, I scurry up to him—though, in my haste, I definitely trip over myself, catching a foot on the rug that I swear wasn’t there a second ago.

Whatever. Doesn’t matter.

I right myself and throw my arms around him, squeezing tightly before shoving my face against his shoulder—

And sniffing him.

Oh. Oh, he smells good. Too good. Unfairly good. That stupidly crisp, clean scent with just a hint of dark amber, spice, and him beneath it.

It is, quite frankly, mouth-watering.

I hum against his jacket in approval. He goes completely still. "Okay," he says slowly, his voice half-drowned by the music. "What—"

I cut him off before he can move, change, comment, or fix things. I grab his hand and yank, dragging him straight into the war zone that is our living room.

"Alright, resonate with me." I stop in the middle of the mess, gripping his hands and staring at him intently.

Caleb blinks. "What?"

I shake our joined hands as if that will somehow help. "Resonate with me. Right now. I need you to feel this with me."

He tilts his head, bending slightly to peer into my probably glassy, unfocused eyes. “Pip-squeak, are you drunk?"

"That’s not the important part here," I conclude, exasperated. "Listen, I think I need to use your Evol to move the couch—or possibly suck it into a black hole due to its sheer defiance."

Caleb exhales sharply through his nose, the sound suspiciously close to a suppressed laugh. "You want to use gravity manipulation—on the couch."

"Yes. It’s a menace, Caleb. A menace that needs to be neutralized."

He stares at me as if I’ve just proposed launching the couch into orbit. “Right. Okay," he says slowly, then looks back at the room, his eyes tracing the path of absolute destruction.

He’s clearly holding back a laugh, which only makes me more frustrated—because this isn’t funny! Okay, it is a little funny. But not in the ‘laugh at me’ way!

"Inara." He says my name, his voice dipping just enough to make my pulse stutter. There’s a teasing lilt to it, though—light, playful, knowing.

And just like that, my entire focus snaps to his lips. The way he says my name—like he’s savouring it, rolling it around like a particularly fine piece of chocolate. My breath hitches slightly, and then, because I’m this me instead of regular me, my brain promptly swan-dives into the gutter.

I wonder how it would sound when he’s moaning my name.

Nope. Nope. Don’t go there. Nope!

I jerk back too quickly, and before I know it, I’m stumbling—a disaster in motion. I swear the floor didn’t exist a second ago.

Caleb catches me like we’re in some kind of action movie, and I’m the heroine who somehow always trips over her own feet. His arms close around me, steady and unshaken, like he expected this.

And instead of letting me go—like a decent human being—he dips me. Full-on, dramatic ballroom-dance style. He doesn’t even look winded. He just looks... amused.

I blink up at him, still tangled in his arms as he holds me there, one brow quirked in silent amusement. He’s enjoying this.

"Fell on purpose, huh?" he drawls, voice laced with dry humour. "Just so I could catch you? You’ve got quite the dramatic flair, Inara."

I open my mouth to deny it, but the words tumble out in a mess of stuttered nonsense. "What? No! I—I didn’t mean to—uh, I wasn’t trying—" I cut myself off with an embarrassed laugh because this is exactly what I didn’t want to happen.

Caleb chuckles, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “Sure you weren’t.”

I glare at him, but it’s half-hearted because he’s already lifting me back upright, effortlessly resetting me on my feet like I’m nothing more than an unruly puppet. He’s so natural, like there is nothing remotely absurd about this situation.

"You should probably sit down.” He nudges me toward the couch, and I let myself be guided, flopping onto the cushions with an exaggerated huff.

Caleb grins and shrugs off his uniform coat, tossing it over the back of the chair like it’s an afterthought. It’s so casual and effortless. It still makes my heart flutter.

With a swift motion, he turns the music down, the thumping bass fading to a softer pulse. I watch him, still acutely aware of the lingering weight of his hands on me, though I try to shake it off. I shift in my seat, forcing myself to look at anything other than him.

Like the dangerous creature he is, he saunters into the kitchen. His eyes glint with something playful, mischievous—like he’s plotting.

He glances back at me, smirking. "If I’m going to understand what’s happening here, I need to get on your level, don’t I?"

Before I can even ask what the hell that means, he plucks a bottle from the shelf and pours himself a shot. Then, with effortless grace, he knocks it back in one fluid motion.

“You are a mess,” he mutters under his breath, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Okay, let me change first. I’m sure you’ve got more ‘furniture rearrangin’ plans for me.”

I cannot stop myself from grinning as he turns to leave, but the moment is fleeting. He is already heading down the hall to change. I wait impatiently, my foot tapping against the floor in anticipation.

When he returns, rubbing his hands together like a mad scientist on the verge of unveiling a grand experiment, I sit up straighter. "So? What’s the plan? Are we resonating or what?" My excitement threatens to spill over.

His lips curl into a smirk, and there it is again—that glimmer in his eyes, the one that says he is enjoying every second of this.

"Resonate, huh? Sure. Let’s not." His voice dips, laced with amusement, as he crosses the room. "You think I am going to give you gravity manipulation in this state of mind?”

I pout. "You are no fun." With a dramatic wave of my hand, I declare, "The couch must pay."

He arches a brow, a chuckle rumbling from his chest. "Right. And I am definitely not letting you use me as some gravity-defying superpower to exact revenge on the furniture. I will handle the moving while you—" he gestures vaguely, "—supervise."

I open my mouth to argue, but the way he is smiling—genuine, unguarded—makes me hesitate. I soften.

By the time Caleb has worked his magic, shifting the furniture into something resembling order, we have eaten dinner, cleaned up my earlier disaster, and now, I am sprawled face-down on the couch. 

The world tilts around me, spinning a little too fast, and the only thing keeping me tethered is my apple plushie, clutched as if my survival depends on it.

As the alcohol wears off, the buzzing in my skull morphs into a slow, gnawing embarrassment, making my head throb all the more.

Caleb, however, seems entirely unbothered by the ordeal. He is mostly teasing me, which—if I am being honest—I deserve. He is a steady rock while I am a hurricane of awkwardness.

He walks over and rubs my back, his voice soft. "Still awake, pip-squeak?"

I grumble something unintelligible, half-turned away from him, unwilling to admit it. I just want to curl up and disappear for a while. He asks again, his tone warm with concern. "Do you want me to take you to bed?"

Bed. The last place I want to be. Just another lonely void where my thoughts lurk, waiting to ambush me. I shake my head—but immediately regret it as dizziness crashes over me like a wave.

He chuckles, clearly entertained by my self-inflicted suffering. "Sit up and take these," he says, pressing a glass of water into my hands, along with two pills, which I eye with suspicion. 

The last time he gave me pills…

Caleb notices the wariness, and his expression flickers, guilt passing over his features.

“It's just for the hangover," he reassures. "You will regret it tomorrow if you don’t take em."

As much as I want to argue, I know he is right. With a reluctant sigh, I push myself up with a groan and swallow the pills, the cool water soothing my uneasy stomach.

He sits beside me, fingers flicking the top of my head. “Dummy.”

I stick my tongue out at him petulantly, and slump against him. My head finds his shoulder, and my sight blurs as I stare at the TV screen. Drowsiness creeps in like a tide, pulling me under. I start sinking lower, sliding from his shoulder into his lap.

"What happened today?"

The words slip out of me, slurred and accompanied by a half-hearted snort. "Forearms…"

Caleb goes still. "Forearms…?"

I nod, too sleepy to elaborate. "Ridiculously attractive forearms."

Silence. I think he is trying to decipher what the hell I just said. His hand rubs slow circles on my back, but I can feel the confusion radiating off him.

After a long pause, he exhales a soft sigh. “Come on." He slips his arms under my legs, cradling my back with ease. "Time for bed."

A small, contented sigh escapes me as he lifts me. He carries me effortlessly to the bedroom, his movements sure and practiced, as if he has done this a hundred times before. Settling me onto the bed, he tugs the covers up around me, tucking me in.

As sleep pulls me under, I mumble, barely conscious, “You’re a good man."

Chapter Masterlist Thank you for taking the time to read! I started this for fun, and decided it might be something silly others may possibly enjoy with me.

If you do, leave a comment, or don't, or you know, do whatever you're comfortable with!

Take care everyone!

[anonymergremlin]

Gemini: "Pal... I don't think... They can see them anymore"

P: *holds a flower infront of his mutated lover y/n, even tho they are blind now*

Y/N: ... *Takes the flower and smells at it before gently rubbing their thumb over the petals* ... *Starts sobbing* "M-my... My favorite... Is it .. still so beautiful?"

P: *nods*

Gemini: "He seems to think so... I mean... It still blooming in your favorite color" *sees P gently grabbing their greyish face with the blue veins covering most of their face* "Pal?"

P: *gently kisses their blind eyes and holds them even tho they are so much lager now*

Gemini: "... I guess he is saying... They are still beautiful. But so are you. Y/N".

No matter what they do.

You are still his most precious flower.

[tonycries]

I'm Addicted, I Admit It!

Synopsis. They’re not drunk on alcohol - no, they’re drunk on you and your pretty lil’ pússy.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Choso x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Geto x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, pússydrunk boys, strength differences, bréeding, màting press, desperate boys, manhandling, marking, jealousy (Nanami’s side), praise, degradation, smacking, cúmplay, dirty talk, some HEINOUS things, lowkey fluffy Sukuna, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Was originally gonna be something else but I couldn’t get it out of my head so-

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Won’t stop, can’t stop

A pussydrunk Toji Fushiguro promises to break you - and is fully intent on fulfilling these promises. There’s no way he wasn’t with the way he had you folded into a mating press for the third time tonight. 

“Oh hngh- please.” you mewl, begging for- you don’t even know at this point. 

“Fuck.” he hisses into your mouth, and you flinch as his heavy balls smack your ass harder, throbbing cock massaging your gummy walls over and over-

You weren’t going to make it out alive. 

Vision blurry, drool dribbling down the corner of your mouth, his cum gushing out of your overfilled pussy and spreading in a lewd little pool beneath you. You’re beyond the point of cockdrunk at this point - all you can do is sit there and take it while he keeps squeezing himself into you with reckless abandon. 

That little scar on the corner of his mouth rubs against your lips so deliciously as he grimaces in both pain and pleasure. Overstimulating you both to insanity. And fuck, Toji wasn’t even sure if he could cum against but damn if he wasn’t going to try. Just wanting to fill you up one more time- “One more, doll. Not fucking enough.”

And before you know it, your pussy is clenching around nothing. 

“Ngh- T-Toji.” Face sinking into the plush pillow as Toji flips you like a ragdoll. Not even giving you the time to register what’s happening before he’s bullying his thick cock into your dripping cunt from behind. Relishing in that delirious little squeal of surprise that leaves you as he stuffs you full again.

“Shit, fucking squeezing around me so fucking deliciously, sweetheart. Look at ya.” he slurs hoarsely, voice shot. Drinking in your sobbed little, “Ah- jus’ like that. Fuck hngh- keep going-”

Both of you are barely lucid at this point, but it’s all that tiny rational part of himself can do to not fuck into your sloppy pussy like an animal while you clench and flutter around him. Kissing hotly down your spine as you desperately adjust to his massive cock.

But ah you should’ve known - should’ve gotten an inkling of realization at the way his achingly hard cock was throbbing inside your walls at a maddening little bump! bump! bump!

With an impatient little grunt, Toji wraps an arm around your waist to give your quivering cunt a soft little swat! He drinks in your cute lil’ gasp of surprise, reeling back all the way till his angry, red tip was just kissing your sloppy entrance, pushing in quick, short jabs of his hips - more to fit himself deeper inside your snug cunt than anything. 

With each harsh thrust, Toji’s pulling you back onto himself with bruising strength. Forcing you to feel every ridge and vein against all the right places as he stretches you on his cock. “Fuck, you’re incredible.” he murmurs. “Arch more f’me- yeah, that’s it. Tha’s my girl.” 

And oh how you love being thrown around by him this way. Because no more was Toji self-conscious about hurting you like he usually was. 

No, he’s pushing your back down to arch into his dick, still using and bending you however he pleases. And as he flattens his feet on the mattress, putting his body weight onto yours, it’s only a matter of time before you wonder when bones will start breaking.

But it still wasn’t enough. And he’s restless. 

Because Toji’s looping two strong arms around your legs, letting himself fall backwards onto the mattress, hips burning as he keeps fucking you like an animal. Not pausing even as you clench around him in shock. 

“Feels s’fucking heavenly.” he groans, voice raw. “Wan’ one more, sweetheart. Give me one more.” Lacing his fingers above your head to push. Down down down. So fucking filthily. 

And it burns the way he had you so shamefully spread open. At this point you can hardly believe you’re conscious let alone being able to sob out a strangled little, “Yes! Yes yes yes make me cum, Toji. Make me cum all over your cock again.” 

And he does - thumb pressing down on your poor, ravaged clit. Hard. unmoving even as you whine and buck into his touch. Torn between running away and pushing back for more more more- you cum with nothing more than pathetic little tingles that make you milk Toji’s cock desperately. Batting your lashes tearily up at him with a low, “Wan’ you to hah- c-cum insi-.”

You don’t even have to finish the sentence, before Toji’s pumping his seed into you with a strangled groan of what sounds like your name. Nothing more than hot, sticky wisps of cum that trickle down the side, too much for your poor overfilled pussy. Shooting delicate rope after rope until his cock is angry and twitching inside with nothing but blanks.

But in the haze of your high, you hear the way your boyfriend still finds it in himself to chuckle.  A dark little, “One more, sweetheart.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - His, his, his

When Nanami Kento is pussydrunk, everyone will know the day after. 

And by everyone, it’s everyone - from the apartment security guard that blushes and looks away, to your coworkers who titter when you walk in. 

Because Nanami can’t stop himself from claiming each and every inch of your pretty self. Lips searing on your skin, leaking tip dragging along your swollen folds. His precum smearing so filthily across your cunt.

“K-Kento-” you mewl, grinding your hips into his so that he would just fucking ruin you like you wanted him to. 

“Mhm?” he murmurs, nipping along the delicate skin of your neck. Tongue flattening, licking long, languid stripes down like a sort of reverence. “Tell me what you want, my love.”

And if he put an emphasis on the pet name, well, then let it be known that Nanami Kento was a composed man - but that wouldn’t mean he won’t let everyone know you’re his. Even those scrubs that can’t take a hint. 

Which is why his neat fingernails were digging deep into your hips, leaving pretty crescents in their wake. Dragging down ever-so-slightly to leave you all marked up and his. His grip on you only tightens at the pretty lil’ whines that spill from your kiss-bitten lips, “Wan’ you- hah- inside me s’bad.”

“Oh? And who does my girl want inside her pretty lil’ cunt?”

“You! You Kento- ngh-”

Well, whatever his girl wants - she will get. Because Nanami’s immediately pressing his angry, leaking tip into your sloppy pussy, groaning at the way you’re already clamping down on him so deliciously. Not stopping till you were flush against the neat tufts of blond at his base. Barely even giving you time to adjust because you’ve wanted this for so long and you’re sucking him up so well. 

“Ah! Hngh- Fuck. Yeah fuck me just like that- Kento.” you’re tightening your legs around him, letting Nanami all but use you as he thrusts in small, mindless little motions of his hips. Mouth still marking and biting your skin relentlessly. 

His lips leave your neck to whisper against yours, eyes half-lidded and boring into yours. “Love when y’say my name.”

Gasping breathlessly at the bruising grip all on your hips - your sensitive clit - your throat - just everywhere because Nanami can’t get enough of you. And you can do nothing but buck up deliriously as he speeds up his pace. Ramming his thick cock into your sloppy pussy deeper and deeper. “You’re mine, y’know that? All mine. And anyone with eyes can see that.”

Several things happen at once, you let out a strangled moan as Nanami changes his angle to hit that one spot he knew so well. Flushed tip hitting it over and over until you were sure it was bruising. As bruising at the hand kneading your ass, swiftly coming down. Hard. 

Smack!

Nanami’s large handprint sears into your skin. And through the haze, he soothes his hand over the sting. Starting to draw slow, languid circles on your swollen clit like a little apology - but that doesn’t mean he’s going to be any nicer. Not at all - in fact, before you can react, he’s touching any and every inch of skin once more, making sure to leave pretty lil’ marks for days.

And he has to fight that loud, carnal part of himself that just wants to ruin you under his hands here forever, but no - Nanami needs everyone else to see as well. See how you’re so beautifully his.

Smack! 

“So pretty f’me, my girl. All f’me.”

“Yes! Ah- yes yes yes. S’all for you, Kento oh-” you moan brokenly like a mantra. A raw little ah! ah! ah! Leaving your swollen lips each time his twitching balls smack your ass, so wet and sloppy with your slick. You’re sure they leave a mark every time his achingly hard cock bullies into your snug cunt, dipping in and out in and out in and-

“Yeah? Then you’re gonna cum f’me, too, pretty girl?”

“Yes- ah-” Hand on your clit frenzied now, hips out of control. Breath hot against your ear while he holds you down in a bruising grip. So very filthy and all his-

And then you’re cumming. Jolts of electricity sparking down your spine as you cum so hard that you grab at Nanami’s sculpted back for some - any - semblance of sanity. 

The only things on your mind being how hot and heavy he was fucking you through your high, and the sharp sting on the crook of your neck, his canines digging into your delicate skin.

“F-fuck.” he whispers, muffled in your neck. “Squeezin’ me so tight. Ngh-” hips stuttering and so sloppily still meeting yours. Still fucking rock-hard.

And through your glassy vision you manage to make out the pure pride shining in his eyes as he reads the silent question on your face. 

“Not yet, my girl. I still see some blank spots.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Quiet bully

“Mm, not hngh- stopping until you cum again f’me, pretty girl.”

When Geto is pussydrunk you barely even notice at first.

Because he’s the ever-graceful and suave Geto Suguru, even when he’s ramming into your pretty pussy with reckless abandon. Head thrown back, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead, hands bruising on your hips and pulling you to deeper into his hips as he fucks you from behind. 

The only way you do get an inkling of the fact is because he’s so mean. Geto always is in bed - but right now he’s just bullying you. Long index toying with your swollen clit, quick, maddening little motions to get you off for the nth time tonight. 

“But, Suguru!” you mewl, clawing at the sheets, “C-can’t cum again-”

“You will.” he leans down, breath hot against your ear as he whispers, low and gravelly. His abs are rubbing against your back as he keeps his unforgiving pace, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Because Geto doesn’t get drunk on just your pussy - no, he gets drunk off of all of you and how pretty you are when you’re cumming all for him. 

“C’mon, you do it f’me.” he hums, so mockingly innocent that would’ve almost believed him - if it wasn’t for the way he speeds up on your clit. Throbbing cock twitching inside you at the delicate tears streaking down your face. 

Fingers merciless on your clit, balls smacking against your skin, holding you still as he rams into you over and over-

“S-Suguru!” you let out a strangled gasp, white-hot pleasure flashing behind your eyes as you cum. And oh he loves that cute lil’ expression on your face, the tears clinging on to your lashes and the way your slutty cunt flutters so filthily around him.

You’re lucky you’re turned away from him, because you don’t see the cruel little smile that curls his lips or the excitement flashing in his darkened eyes. Though, maybe it would’ve better prepared you for when he huffs out a fucked-out, “Tha’s my girl. One more- Hngh- one more.”

Your eyes snap open, a broken little sob leaving you because fuck you weren’t going to make it out alive, Geto was going to absolutely ravage you till you’re ruined-

“O-one more.” Geto groans like a mantra. Flattening his feet on the bed to ram into you at a different angle - one he knew would hit you at that one spot that had you gasping and grinding deeper into his throbbing cock. “One more f-fuck, give me one more-”

If you were in a better state of mind maybe you’d have noticed how fucking sloppy and mean Geto was slamming his cock into your snug pussy. And how his sadistic little hums were becoming more and more strained, turning into broken grunts like he was begging you. Begging himself. Still fucking you like an animal, bodyweight pushing yours down, you crushed underneath him. Trying to milk that last, sweet little orgasm out of you.

“Cum f’me once more, my girl.”

And nothing more has to be said before you’re cumming. Again. Eyes scrunching shut in pain and pleasure as you grab at the headboard for some semblance of stability. 

Honestly, you don’t even have to, because Geto’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against his heated body. Grunting as your cunt desperately tries to milk him for all he’s worth. Brows furrowed and bottom lip bitten in concentration as he holds off cumming. But Geto can’t - won’t right now. Not yet. 

Instead he’s reeling his hips back again, until his angry, red tip was just kissing your sloppy hole. Running on just your cute lil’ whines and the way you were clamping down so deliciously around him. Thrusting in frantic, shallow grinds for now because he was feeling so generous as to ease you into it.

“Suguru! Ah- not again-” you squeal, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks. But whatever plea that comes next gets stuck in your throat as your loving boyfriend utters words that have your cunt clenching exhaustively in anticipation. 

“Now the real fun starts.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Please, baby. Please.”

For Choso, it’s hard to not get drunk off of your pretty lil’ cunt. And he gets so whiny and needy when he does. Barely even squeezing his throbbing cock through the first ring of muscle before he thinks he might just see the pearly gates of heaven - and you were an angel. 

You’re just so warm and sloppy on top of him, slick dripping down to his twitching balls, swallowing him up so deliciously. 

“Ah! Ngh- s-slow down-” you whine, head spinning at the pure stretch of him stuffing you full. His twitching balls were pressed against your ass, veins grazing against your plushy walls, pulsing in a maddening thump! thump! thump! that you can feel in your throat. “S’too big, Cho. I don’t think I can-” 

“No!” he gasps into your skin, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed so deceivingly innocently. “Need it s’bad. Need you so bad- Fuck, I can’t stop-” 

Hips moving mindlessly, fucking up in tiny, shallow little thrusts to bully himself inside you. Not even fully inside you, but he was already so out of control. 

The mattress is creaking deafeningly, a lewd little staccato with the squelches from down below. “Choso-” you whimper, torn between clamping down on his swollen cock to suck him up more desperately and running away. 

“Oh- oh baby, f-fuck. Squeezing m’so tight.” he’s groaning into the crook of your neck, strong arms wrapped so tight around your waist that it almost hurt. “Hngh- Don’t think you can run away from me.” And Choso couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to - barely even giving you time to adjust before he’s milking himself on your dripping cunt. 

Cute lil’ whines leaving your swollen lips each time he rams himself inside deeper and deeper, you were just gushing around him. Pretty pussy taking him so readily despite your protests. “Need this so hngh- fucking badly. Need this need this need this-”

“F-fuck, Cho- Yes, give it t’me.”

Ah, his head was spinning. The only thoughts running through his mind being how sloppy you were, so wet and squeezing him so perfectly - his pretty girl was taking him so well. 

Blindly, Choso shifts onto his forearms, head craning to graze his lips along the seam of your mouth . Mind too hazy to kiss you properly like he wanted to - but it’s fine, he’ll kiss you silly after this. Fuck, he muses, balls squeezing painfully, just as soon as he cums. 

And you can do nothing more than take it as he chokes out low little moans of your name. Head spinning because his cock was so big and he wasn’t stopping - just wanting to fuck your tight pussy until he-

“Ngh- c-can’t fucking take it anymore, baby. Need to fucking cum.” he grunts, tearing springing to his eyes, sounding like he’s losing a bit of his sanity every time his heavy balls smack your ass. And he needed you to, too - ringed fingers snaking down to draw harsh, frenzied little patterns on your swollen clit. Not even circles because shit Choso doesn’t have the time for that - just wanting to have you gasping and seeing stars as soon as possible. 

“Cho, m’c-close. Ah! Ngh, m’gonna cum, m’gonna cum-” you keen, hips bucking up wildly for more more more- And oh it’s like Choso’s favorite song, because his throbbing cock is twitching inside you so deliciously, thrusts sloppy and unfocused, thumb aching with how fast it was on your clit. 

“Me too, baby. Hngh- m-me too.” he gasps into your open mouth, movements only getting faster and faster and-

And then you’re cumming. Stars behind your eyes, and Choso’s hips stuttering - so desperate, so filthy as he shoots thick, hot spurts of cum into your snug cunt. Fucking his seed deeper and deeper into you mindlessly. 

And he can’t stop - he won’t. But you absolutely love it. Because you’ve barely blinked the haze from your eyes before he’s pulling away ever-so-slightly, a hand pushing away the dark strands of hair sticking to his forehead. Breaths ragged, voice hoarse. 

“Not enough, baby.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Sober thoughts

They say drunk minds speak sober thoughts, and oh how Sukuna wishes that wasn’t the case when he’s fucking you dumb. How he wishes he could stop the strained little grunts that escape him each time his heavy balls smack your ass. 

“Kuna- Ngh- s’too much, c-can’t anymore-”

How he wishes he wasn’t drunk off your cute lil’ whines, and that fucked-out expression on your face as he rams his cock into your pretty pussy. Plunging into your heavenly cunt again and again and- It was too fucking much for him. 

Because it makes him wish he didn’t lean down, whispering softly in your ear, “You can do it, angel. Hah- I I know you will. Hngh- That pretty cunt is made f’me, always taking me so good-”

Ah, you clench so obscenely around his thick cock, shivers running down your spine. Milking him so obscenely as his weeping tip hits your poor cervix over and over. 

“W-wha-?” you blink tearily at him, voice shot. Trying to grasp reality because usually, Sukuna would usually tell you to shut up and fucking take it like the good lil’ slut you are. And if you were in a better state of mind you’d almost be embarrassed at the way he holds such power over you, just a few words of praise and you’re already turning into his personal plaything. 

He huffs out in frustration, leaning down to lick a long, lazy stripe up your cheek, gathering the big fat tears rolling down it on his tongue. And you can’t even think of bringing yourself to be disgusted, because this is Sukuna and he’s always so filthy and mean. 

Except right now, being mean is the last thing on his mind. Murmuring out a strained little “Don’t act so surprised. You know you always milk my cock so well.” drinking in your cute little whimpers. “Shit- like yer trynna suck the s-soul out of me. Never met someone so fucking perfect f’me-”

He thinks he could almost cum right here right now when he sees you snaking down a hand to play with your swollen clit. “But Kuna~” Such an adorable pout appearing on your face when he gently smacks that hand away. Sukuna just wants to kiss it off your swollen lips.

And he does - licking hotly at the seam of your mouth, biting down on your bottom lip while you keen into his. It’s messy - all teeth and spit and adoration. 

Because you might not see it with your eyes half-lidded from the ecstasy, but Sukuna is looking at you with such nauseating heart-eyes. Ones he’d vehemently deny later, of course. But for now he settles for groping a hand down your pretty body, one, long finger rubbing unhurried little circles on your throbbing, achy clit. 

“Don’t worry your pretty lil’ head.”

So different from his unforgiving cock. All push and pull as he fucks you like his sextoy, but kisses you like his God. 

“Ah! Jus’ like that, feels so f-fucking good-” you’re a teary, whimpering mess underneath him. 

“Mhm? Feels s’good, huh?” he groans gutturally. Letting you buck wildly underneath him because shit you look so pretty being all desperate and needy for him. “Squeezin’ me s’tight. Fucking heavenly you are, you’re gonna pay for it if I cum early, angel.”

Your eyes snap open at his delirious confession and the way he seems well and fully intent on breaking you - and talking you nicely through it. It was making your head spin, especially at the way Sukuna get more and more out of control, all sloppy movements and even sloppier words. Slurring out little praises while he stuffed your ravaged cunt faster. Deeper. Pure, carnal need where he usually toyed with you so cruelly. Closer and-

“Cum for me, angel.”

You think you cum at the first word out of his mouth, because you’re seeing stars behind your eyes before Sukuna even finishes the sentence. And he’s not far behind - giving you one, final harsh thrust before filling you up in thick ropes of cum. It gushes out of your poor overfilled pussy as he keeps fucking into you like some animal. Letting out little mutters of how fucking beautiful you were and how heavenly your cunt is and-

And, well, by the time he’s collapsing into your ready arms, Sukuna might not be so pussydrunk anymore. But by God it doesn’t stop the way he nuzzles your hair softly. 

Pulling your sweaty body close to his, so fucked-out and exhausted. So fucking debauched with the way his cum gushes out of you. Hot and sticky, seeping into the sheets and pooling in the nonexistent space between you two. 

So very, very his. 

♡ GOJO SATORU - Shut up!

Gojo Satoru doesn’t shut up - not even when he’s stuffing his cock into your pretty pussy, and especially not when he’s drunk off of the heavenly feeling. Off the sight of you - all swollen lips fallen into a soft oh!, eyes glassy and miles away, so debauched and pretty underneath him - he just has to let you know.

“Look at you. Fucking perfect. Gonna fuck you till I can’t anymore.” he murmurs wetly. “Gonna make it feel so good f’you. Gonna have y’milk my cock until there’s nothing to milk.”

And Gojo swears he isn’t pussydrunk - but the way he’s babbling into your tits says otherwise. Looking up at you through his long lashes with dazed, hooded eyes, words muffled around your tit but still he keeps running his mouth. 

“Hngh- S’fucking tight and hot around me.” he murmurs, hips snapping to meet yours, milking himself mindlessly on your snug cunt. So hard that it almost hurt at the sting of skin-on-skin. “God, could stay like this f-forever.”

He was getting so loud now. Mixing with the sloppy squelches from below.

“You could, too, huh? Drunk on my cock enough to? Y’look like it-”

That makes your cheeks heat up. “Satoru-” You scramble to hastily cover Gojo’s mouth, stopping that sweet sweet voice from saying the most filthy things. You can feel his smug little grin underneath your fingertips, and you almost know what’s coming- before he licks a long, amused stripe up your palm.

Snatching your hand back, you sigh - as best you could when your boyfriend was ramming his thick cock inside you - “Satoru! What did I say about-”

“But you make it so easy, sweetheart.” he whines, hands roaming all over your body. Gripping and kneading every inch of skin he could reach before resting at your swollen clit. Pooling your sweet juices on his fingertips, drawing featherlight circles around the nub like he was trying to convince you. “Don’t lie. Y’like this big mouth. Love it even.”

Unlike Gojo - it’s hard to get your words out when he’s bullying his cock into your dripping cunt. Ramming into you over and over-

“Admit it. Don’t you love it? Love hearing me talk fucking filthy to you like this?” His words were coming out fast now, mixing with your cute whines and the heady air of the room. Each one punctuated by a brutal, harsh into your dripping cunt. 

Fingers working magic on your sensitive clit while his cock ravages you below. And the great Gojo Satoru does not give a fuck about your hushed whispers about how your neighbours are home or how “this is the fifth time they’ve complained.”

Because his girl’s pretty lil’ cunt is fucking perfect and he needs you to know.

Gojo presses hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck. Thrusts growing more and more careless. Losing his sanity with each stroke - with each word that comes out of his mouth. “I know you like it.” he groans, “I can see it in your eyes, n’ the way this slutty lil’ pussy squeezes me so fucking tight.”

Dragging - not pushing - you both closer to the edge. Frantic now, syllables slurring together and Gojo’s hips stuttering into yours. Drunk off of you and your cunt and the way he can’t stop talking and talking and-

“Yes,” your words were a barely audible whisper - but Gojo hears. Of course, he does. “I love it. Fucking love it, Toru.”

And then he’s cumming - and cumming so hard that Gojo thinks he’ll never be able to stop. Not, that he’d ever want to.

Because Gojo keeps pumping the thick, hot spurts of cum oozing out of him into your sloppy pussy. And shit you look so pretty underneath him, his seed dribbling down your thighs, eyes fluttering shut as you cream around his cock. And, of course, he has to let you know - babbling about how cute you were milking his cock and how warm and wet.

And Gojo’s still running his mouth as he pulls out, over your disappointed little mewl. All the way down till he’s swiftly centered between your open legs. Breath fanning your cunt, a devilish grin curling his lips.

“Time to help you remember exactly how much you love this big mouth.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[fangdokja]

♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 1,247

You should’ve known better than to trust the town’s so-called gentle giant.

People always cooed about him, saying how sweet he was, how harmless. A big ol’ teddy bear with a deep, slow drawl and an easy smile. The kind of man that made grandmothers pinch his cheek and young girls whisper about how lucky some woman would be to have a strong, dependable man like him.

But you? You knew better now.

Because that big, sweet teddy bear had you folded in half on his bed, his monstrous hands forcing your legs back until your joints ached, until something deep inside you screamed in protest. The air in your lungs felt squeezed out, crushed beneath his weight, and yet—he didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow down.

His drawl was still there, but it wasn’t sweet now—it was thick with dark amusement, a lazy cruelty as he watched you writhe beneath him. “Aww, sugar, you cryin’?” he cooed, thumbing away the wetness streaking down your cheek, only to smear it over your lips. “Didn’t know you were such a crybaby. Thought you were gonna put up a fight—where’d all that struggle go, huh?”

The bed groaned beneath his weight as he rolled his hips forward, sinking into you with a slow, deliberate force that made you shudder. Your breath hitched—no space, no room, the pressure unbearable. He felt it. He loved it.

“Fuck,” he hissed, half-laughing, eyes flickering down to where your body struggled to take him. His grip on your thighs tightened—too tight, the kind of tight that sent pain spiderwebbing through your flesh, deep enough to bruise. Deep enough to do worse. “You’re squeezin’ me so damn tight, sweetheart. Can feel you tremblin’ all over. Ain’t this just precious? Never thought my first time’d be like this, but damn if it ain’t a dream come true.”

Your mind reeled. First time?

It didn’t make sense—how could he be a virgin when he was fucking you like this? When he was brutal, merciless, dragging it out just to hear you whimper? Every inch of him felt like it had been made to ruin you, thick and hot and relentless. He saw the way your eyes widened, that tiny flicker of disbelief amidst the wreckage of your dignity, and he laughed.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” His grin was wicked, his breath hot against your cheek. “Yeah, sweetheart, you’re the first pussy I’ve ever had. Never had a girl before, never touched one neither.” He leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, his voice dipping into something darker, something breathless. “Guess I was just waitin’ for someone real special. Someone I could break in proper.”

He punctuated the words with another deep thrust, making you choke.

He groaned, shuddering, his fingers flexing against your skin—pressure, deep and unforgiving, grinding down against your bones. You sucked in a shallow breath, but it didn’t help. Nothing helped. His weight was suffocating, bearing down like an animal pinning its prey.

“You’re takin’ it so good, sweetheart,” he crooned. “Thought you’d be fightin’ more. Thought you’d be scratchin’ and kickin’, but look at ya—just layin’ there, lettin’ me breed you nice and deep.”

Your nails scrabbled at his arms, but it only made him grin wider.

“That all you got?” he mocked. “That’s just adorable. Poor thing, don’t even know what to do with yourself, huh?”

The worst part was the heat building inside you, the way your own traitorous body clenched around him, gripping him with every slow, punishing stroke. He felt it too, because his rhythm stuttered for just a second before he growled, slamming into you harder—ruthless now, purposefully cruel.

“Fucking hell,” he panted, “you just beggin’ to be bred, ain’tcha?”

Your vision blurred as he folded himself over you, his weight pressing down, forcing you to take him deeper than you thought possible. You were going to break. You could feel it—your insides twisting, your spine arching too far, bones creaking under his strength.

He was everywhere. His scent, his heat, the low, ragged noises spilling from his throat. And that fucking voice—syrupy sweet even as he mocked you, even as he ruined you.

“Bet everyone’d be real surprised if they saw you now,” he murmured, dragging his teeth over your throat, biting down—hard. Not playful. Not teasing. A claiming.

You yelped, body flinching under his, but there was nowhere to go. No escape.

“Ain’t that funny?” he mused, lips brushing the fresh wound. “Everyone thinks I’m some harmless puppy dog, wouldn’t hurt a fly. But you know better now, don’tcha, sweetheart?”

You whimpered, barely able to breathe through the relentless pounding.

“Aww, sugar, ain’t no use cryin’,” he teased, licking the mark, tasting the heat of your skin. “You were made for this. For me.”

He drew back just enough to look down at where you were stretched around him, where his cock was bullying its way deeper and deeper into a place he had no right claiming. A long, satisfied groan rumbled from his chest.

“Mmm, look at that.” He pressed a palm against your belly, pushing down just enough to make you feel the outline of him, buried to the hilt. “You’re so fuckin’ small compared to me. ‘Bout to split you in two, but your pussy’s still suckin’ me in like she don’t wanna let go.”

He moaned, shuddering.

“Filthy little thing. Gonna make sure you’re stuck with me forever.”

His grip turned brutal, nails digging deep, skin bending under his touch. “Think I’d ever let anyone else touch you after this? Fuck no.”

He lifted your hips, changing the angle, and you screamed as he hit something devastatingly deep. His eyes rolled back, and he laughed, nearly delirious with pleasure.

“Ohhh, you feel that?” he groaned. “That’s what I been chasin’. That’s mine.”

His hips slammed against yours with bruising force, his breath coming faster. “Gonna fill you up so full,” he panted, his grip tightening to the point of pain. “Gonna make sure you never forget who you belong to.”

You felt it before he even said it—the way his thrusts turned erratic, the way his breath hitched. His body shuddered, his muscles locking up tight, and then he was burying himself as deep as he could go, grinding against you, making sure he was locked inside as he spilled himself into you with a deep, guttural groan.

You felt it. Thick and hot, filling you in a way that made your stomach churn.

He stayed there, pressed flush against you, rolling his hips in slow, lazy circles, like he was savoring every second of it.

Then, finally, he leaned back just enough to look at you properly. Dark eyes. Heavy-lidded. Drunk on the sight of you wrecked beneath him. But his grin—his wicked, breathless grin—was the worst part.

“Guess you’re mine now, sugar.”

He chuckled, still grinding against your overstimulated body, his breath warm and sticky against your cheek.

“Ain’t no man gonna want you after I’m done. But that’s alright. Ain’t nobody ever gonna touch you again.”

Just me.

His voice was soft, sweet, but there was no mistaking the possessive growl beneath it.

“I’ll be real good to ya,” he murmured, his fingers tracing idle patterns over your trembling thighs. “Just as long as you remember who you belong to.”

He pressed another kiss against your throat, his lips curving into a cruel, satisfied smile.

“Don’t worry, sugar. I’ll remind you as many times as it takes.”

♡ List of Fandoms and Characters.

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

Ace Attorney: Phoenix Wright

Arcane: PTSD! Jayce

Blue Lock: Shidou Ryusei

Boku no Hero Academia: Hawks, Villain! Midoriya Izuku

Brutal: Satsujin Kansatsukan no Kokuhaku: Hiroki Dan

Death Note: N/A

Demon Slayer: Kyojuro Rengoku, Tanjiro Kamado, Tengen Uzui, Zenitsu Agatsuma

Dishonored Series: N/A

Genshin Impact: Childe, Cyno, Itto, Venti, Fallen! Phainon

Haikyuu!!: Daichi Sawamura, Goshiki Tsutomu, Tendō Satori, Yūji Terushima

Honkai Star Rail: Argenti, Boothill, Caelus, Sampo Koski

How to Live as an Illegal Healer: N/A

Hunter x Hunter: Gon Freecss, Uvogin

I'm Not That Kind of Talent: Deon Hardt

Jujutsu Kaisen: Satoru Gojo, Yuji Itadori

Kill The Hero: Lee Jin-Ah

Love and Deepspace: Caleb

Mobile Legends: Bang Bang: Claude, Julian, Suyou

MONSTER: N/A

Naruto Shippuden: Deidara, Haku, Hashirama Senju, Hidan, Kabuto Yakushi, Minato Namikaze, Shisui Uchiha

One Punch Man: Sneck, Stinger, Suiryu

Reverend Insanity: Fang Zheng

TOUCHSTARVED: N/A

Undertale Multiverse (Human AU): Fresh! Sans, Ink! Sans, Storyshift Chara, Undertale Frisk, Undertale Sans

Wuthering Waves: Aalto, Brant

Your Throne: N/A

♡ A/N. Re-upload lol.

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood. Thank you.

Official TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @save4h , @rofkshinee , @songbirdgardensworld

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution

♡ Book 6 [you are here]. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourself—repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.

Test-Phase TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @yanderedrabbles

[ashscarce]

I've been wanting to redesign Sandwings since I watched Dune part two, that movie got me obsessed with Sandwings and I decided to draw them for a school project.

anatomy- sandwings are quite short compared to other tribes. they have flat bodies covered in spikes similar to thorny devils. they have large barbed tails, the stinger is strong enough to break through bone. Sandwings wings have large feather like structures that can join and separate at will, once separated they will create a rattling sound, sandwings will often rattle their wings as a sign of anger or fear.

unlike other tribes sandwings have partial hairs on their bodies. these are most notable in hatchlings who are covered head to tail in dark micro hairs which are used to protect parasites from digging under their scales. they also have whiskers which can detect changes in weather.

speedpaint- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BiChdD_k1YA

clothing-

[gothcsz]

First Sight | Frankie Morales x F!Reader | ~3.5k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Two strangers discover they’ve been swapping movies through a communal space, each leaving a note in return until curiosity forces a meeting.

Tags: meet cute kinda i think, drug use (smoking weed), the movie swap box is definitely inspired by little free library, pwp, smut, lust at first sight vibes, thigh fucking!, spanking, unprotected p in v, face riding, lil bit of dirty talk, pull out method strikes again, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, no physical descriptions, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: helloooo this is my submission for @jolapeno's dear-uary challenge (i know i'm late pls...) so thank you jo for hosting! such a fun idea! 🖤 okay so i'm not usually a meet cute person but i wanted to challenge myself by writing it, which is why this took me forever to finish! i'm still a little iffy about the results and frankie's characterization—but fuck it, we ball! gotta start somewhere! shoutout to @mandaloriankait for reading over this as well when it was still in its early stages lmfao ummm i hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think! 🖤

Francisco stands at the edge of his uncle’s property, staring at the house he now owns. The old man had lived like a ghost in his final years—ex-military (like himself), a recluse, barely seen except for maybe an occasional grocery run.

Now that he’s passed, the place is Frankie’s problem.

He planned to sell it, take the cash, and move on. But after really assessing it, taking in the sturdy bones of its structure, covered in grime and dust but still holding strong, he changed his mind. Maybe fixing it up would be good for him. 

Lord fuckin’ knows he needs something to get his mind right after all the shit he’s been through.

So that’s what he devotes his time to. He takes many trips to the local hardware store, flips through home improvement magazines to find tricks to make the process easier. On occasion, one of the guys will drop by to lend a hand, but for the most part it’s just been him. 

It also helps that the neighborhood is quiet, houses spaced out just enough to offer privacy but close enough that it isn’t completely isolated. A large pond stretches out, shared by the community, and it’s the kind of place that could feel like home, if he lets it.

Needing a break from the endless cleaning and repairs, he decides to go for a walk. The nicotine-laced weed dulls the edge of old cravings, a quiet battle he fights every day, choosing this over the harsher habits he’s trying to kick.

He wanders without aim, hands tucked in his pockets, the low hum of insects filling the gaps in silence. Something catches his eye as he approaches the end of the street—a small structure, half-concealed beneath the spill of a streetlamp.

Curious, he ambles closer. The old newspaper stand has been given new life, converted into a makeshift movie and book swap. Inside, a careful arrangement of DVDs and dog-eared paperbacks wait to be discovered. His fingers trace over the spines, skimming titles until he stops on one—Blade Runner.

As he pulls it out, a green post-it note, scrawled in neat, looping handwriting, flutters to the ground.

Always a bittersweet watch (I cried this last time) but it’s a comfort movie of mine. Also helps that Harrison Ford is a hunk!

His brows raise in amusement, as if weighing the personality behind the words. He pockets the note and takes the movie home.

Later that night, he’s sprawled on his couch, half-buried in old blankets, takeout on the coffee table as the film plays. He watches as Deckard moves through the neon-drenched streets, the melancholic score settling into his bones.

He doesn’t cry, obviously, but he does walk away from this viewing with something different than when he had watched it back on base years ago with the rest of the other lost twenty something year olds in his cohort.

By morning, he’s still thinking about the movie and the note along with it. On impulse, he plucks one of the carpenter pencils from his toolbelt, tapping it against the counter before messily scrawling his reply on the corner of a random sheet of his notepad.

The movie/book trade idea had been something you created back in high school—before the cynicism of adulthood had shattered your rose colored glasses.

Now, after financial setbacks had dragged you back to your childhood home, bringing it back felt like the kind of mindless distraction you needed. Something to keep your hands busy (even if temporarily) when your brain wouldn’t shut up about how shitty things have been lately.

Most people just stream whatever they want now, so this is pretty useless, but you don’t get hung up on that.

There is something nice about the physicality of it. Of leaving something you enjoy behind for a stranger to find and potentially be into as well. So, you revamped the idea and set it up in a spot where it wouldn’t be totally ignored, hoping maybe someone out there would get as much out of it as you used to.

You check in on it one afternoon, expecting to see everything exactly where you left it. Instead, you find empty spaces where movies had been. A book was gone too.

Your heart skips, just a little. For the first time in a while, something doesn’t feel like a total waste of time.

You spot a note haphazardly taped to the cover of the Blade Runner DVD case.

Didn’t cry, but I respect the existential crisis. Also think I agree with the Harrison Ford statement.

A grin pulls at your lips, eyeing the messy handwriting. Someone was actually playing along.

Over the next few days, the exchanges continue. Each time the stranger returns a movie, they leave a note and a film of their own. It is exhilarating for no reason, getting to know someone in this way.

Disagree with your take, bad movie all around, but I see where you’re coming from.

At least you aren’t an asshole about it like everyone else…

…Didn’t expect to be into period dramas, but this hit different. You have decent taste.

I do have decent taste, thanks for noticing!

It became an obsession—checking the box first thing in the morning, wondering what he’d taken next, what he’d written.

Who was he? What did he look like? Most of the neighborhood was made up of older residents, so the idea of someone more your age participating in this felt strangely intimate, almost like a secret conversation no one else knew about.

You never ask for a name or anything, neither does he. It’s more fun this way. The animosity of it, but still, you can’t help but wonder what he is really like. Was it possible to crush on someone like this? Were you actually down this bad?

You finally meet him one night.

Movie in hand, he stands beneath the golden hue of the streetlight. Strong jaw, high cheekbones, full lips that look almost too pretty for someone as rugged as him, framed by a patchy beard. His worn t-shirt clings to his broad chest and toned arms, the fabric stretched just right, hinting at the solid muscle beneath.

His cap sits low, his dark curls peeking out along the edges.

Your gaze drags over him, drinking him in. His eyes meet yours and the lust you feel in that moment threatens to disorient you.

“Hello,” his raspy voice breaks the silence first, also shameless in the way he checks you out.

“Hey.”

For a moment, neither of you move as the tension simmers, absentmindedly taking a step towards each other.

He shifts, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “You the one leaving those notes?”

“Depends,” you tease, tilting your head. “You the one writing back?”

His grin widens just slightly, a lopsided thing that sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. “Guilty.”

You cross your arms, attempting to play it cool. “I was starting to think I was talking to old man Paul or something.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle at the fact that you’ve named his now dead uncle. “Close enough. I’m his nephew, Francisco—call me Frankie.” He extends his hand to shake yours and you feel yourself getting hot all over from the simple, normal fucking interaction, giving him your name in return.

His hands are so big.

“Nephew? I didn’t know he had family.”

“Not really a family man. He passed away a few weeks ago and I was the lucky one he left his house to.”

You’re about to express your condolences, but it’s like he can feel it coming before the words even form on your lips. “Don’t—it’s fine. I hate that pity shit.”

You laugh, a little nervously, though his brown eyes seem to settle your nerves. 

“Well, Frankie,” you say his name, as if testing it out, familiarizing your mouth with it. “Thanks for playing along with this,” you motion vaguely to the swap box.

“I like it. Keeps me entertained while I fix up the place...” He exhales, glancing at the smaller structure before looking back at you. “It’s weird, though. Feels like I already know you.”

You nod, feeling the same. It should be strange, standing here at night flirting with a man you really don’t know… but it isn’t. 

He lifts the DVD in his hand. Heat—classic crime thriller. “I was gonna watch this tonight.”

The invitation hovers, your tongue flicking over your lips in anticipation.

“You in?”

A smarter version of you might have hesitated. Might have thought about the risks, the potential awkwardness. But standing here with Frankie watching you like he already knows what your answer is, hesitation isn’t an option.

You grin. “Sure, why not.”

Things escalate fast.

You’re sitting on the couch, the low hum of the movie playing in the background, the two of you exchanging quiet comments between drags of the joint he so effortlessly rolled.

The space between you shrinks. His fingers graze your thigh, intentional but unhurried.

You don’t remember who moves first. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s him. But your bodies are pressed together, mouths hungry, hands wandering. His cap gets flicked off, curls spilling into your fingers as you tug him closer, inhaling the scent of smoke and tasting the candy he’d been snacking on.

The movie is forgotten. The joint smolders in the ashtray. You straddle his lap, rolling your hips down, and he groans against your mouth, gripping your waist.

Somewhere between deep drags of each other’s kisses and the slow, filthy grind of your pussy against bulge, he requests, “Let me taste you...” Biting at your lower lip, kneading your ass.

You’re not about to object to a man willingly wanting to go down on you. Nodding, you both quickly undress each other, your want for him only increasing with each layer that gets shed.

Now you’re here. Your thighs bracket his jaw, the arm of the couch supporting you as you sink down into the urgent heat of his mouth. The first slow, wet drag of his tongue at your slit makes you moan pathetically. 

His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you down like he wants this—like he needs this.

The scratch of his scruff against your sensitive skin makes it all the better. He’s not gentle—he’s messy, hungry, eating you out like it’s all he’s been thinking about since laying his eyes on you. His tongue flicks, circles, then flattens as he drags it up through your slick folds, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking just right.

Your head tips back, a broken cry slipping out.

“God, you’re so good at this,” you gasp, rolling your hips against his talented mouth.

Frankie groans in response, the vibration of it sending sparks up your spine. His nose presses right where you need it, and you swear you see stars when he starts moving his head with you, matching your rhythm, letting you ride his face.

Your fingers tighten in his curls, tugging hard. He grunts as one of his hands slides lower, wrapping around his leaking cock. He strokes himself in time with his tongue working you over, his other hand gripping your ass, spreading you wider to get a better taste of all of you.

You don’t even realize how desperate you sound, whimpering… pleading. Your grinding then shifts as his tongue goes taut and you start bouncing softly against his jaw, your hips swiveling in ways you didn’t even know you could move, your body instinctively chasing after his mouth.

He doesn’t let up. If anything, he gets more into it as you do, his tongue fucking into you before moving back to your clit, his swollen lips working magic, sucking, teasing, wrecking you.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—”

Your words melt into a strangled whine as your orgasm crashes into you, your whole body shaking while you come apart on his tongue. Frankie doesn’t stop—he eats you through it, his grip on your hips tightening as you ride out every last wave of your orgasm.

Then—smack.

Your eyes fly open as his palm connects with your ass, the sting mixing with the aftershocks in the best way possible. He does it again, harder this time, a smirk tugging at his lips when you jolt.

The sting of each spank feels so fucking good that you start sobbing, damn near pulling the hair out of his scalp when he harshly sucks on your clit.

He’s been holding himself back from finishing in his fist, but suffocating between your thighs while hearing your pretty noises nearly undoes him.

Continuing to stave off his own release, he grips the girthy base of cock tightly. He needs more. Needs to feel the walls of your pussy squelching around him, pulling him in deeper.

And from the way you’re looking down at him, mouth parted, eyes shining with satisfaction, he knows you need the same damn thing.

He maneuvers out from under you quickly and efficiently, his dexterous training being put to use, pushing your upper half flat into the old couch while your hips remain in the air, thighs pressed together.

Francisco slides the fat tip of his cock through the swollen lips of your pussy, getting himself wet, groaning deep in his chest before pressing his heated dick at your silky thighs, the lubrication of your juices making it easy for him to slip between them, the pressure against his cock having him curse beneath his breath.

“So fuckin’ soft.”

His left hand crosses at your lower back to grab at your right hip while the other lands a harsh smack to your ass. You whimper, but the sound is muffled from how your face is buried into the cushions.

He soothes over the sting with his palm before gripping tight again, using the leverage to thrust between your thighs, the thick weight of his cock teasing you with every stroke, your clit puffy and dripping, needing to feel him inside you.

“Put in, Frankie, please,” you whimper, the squeeze at your thighs causing your cunt to clench around nothing, pushing more of your slick out, pussy drooling for him.

He grunts, pressing a firm hand to your lower back, arching you deeper, adjusting the angle. He spreads you enough to give himself room to line himself up.

“So eager for this dick,” he taunts, swirling the head of his cock at your clit before tapping it repeatedly, the evidence of your horniness clinging to him in a sticky web with every smack.

Frankie teases you by running it up the seam of your pussy, notching it at your fluttering and needy hole before pulling out and repeating the action, driving you crazy. “You always put out this fast?”

You grind back against him, pushing onto your elbows, voice breathy but flirty. “Could ask you the same thing.”

He doesn’t reply, a smug smile on his lips as he finally gives it to you, sinking into the wet cavern of your cunt, groaning out a Fuuuuuck as your pussy stretches around the intrusion of his cock.

You try to moan, to say something, but no sound comes out—just a desperate gasp, eyes falling shut, fingers clawing at the rough couch fabric as he fills you completely.

He doesn’t rush. He takes his time, savoring every squeeze, every tremble. His thrusts start slow, deep, rolling his hips just right, pulling out almost entirely before pressing back in, making you feel every thick inch.

“Fuck, you feel so goddamn good.”

The heat of his body blankets yours as he lowers himself, his weight pressing you deeper into the couch. His mouth is everywhere—kissing up your spine, nipping at your shoulder, his mustache scraping against your oversensitive skin. When he bites down you whine, your cunt clenching tight around him.

His thrusts speed up a notch, somehow getting deeper and harder—grinding into you just right, making your breath stutter.

“Yes—yes—right there,” you sob, turning your head to look at him… or well, try to look at him. Your eyes are glazed over with thick tears of euphoria, barely able to make anything out but you can feel him everywhere. His breath fanning against your face, a small amount of spit stuttering out as he grunts, burying himself over and over inside your tight, wet pussy.

Your nails dig into the old, tacky couch, trying to keep yourself somewhat grounded as he screws the thoughts right out of your brain.

It’s everything you’ve needed. Life has been fucking you over relentlessly as of late, it’s about damn time you finally get a pounding that’s actually worth it. 

Frankie groans against your ear as he keeps up the brutal pace. “Pretty movie girl likes it deep, huh?” You could honestly get off by just the sound of his raspy voice. “Shit, never had it like this before, have you?”

You shake your head—not out of denial, but because fuck, he’s right. Nothing has ever felt this good.

His lips brush over your cheek and then he’s kissing you sloppily, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. You moan into his mouth as the pleasure at your pussy blooms again, your second orgasm creeping up fast under the weight of his praise, his cock hitting all the right spots, stretching you wide.

Frankie growls into the kiss, pulling back just enough to watch your face as he ruins you.

“Gonna make you come on my dick,” he mutters, gripping your chin, making sure you’re looking at him while he fucks into that one spot that devistates you. “And you’re gonna take every fuckin’ bit of it.”

And God—you will. You want to.

Because you already know this is the type of sex you’ll be feeling for days.

A few more relentless thrusts, and you’re done for. Your body shakes beneath him, muscles seizing, wails and sobs absorbed by the cushion your cheek is pressed into.

“Shhh just like that, doin’ so good—shit this pussy is amazing.”

Frankie holds you down, his weight keeping you exactly where he wants you. His grip shifts to the armrest, fingers curling tight, using the leverage to piston into you rougher. The couch jerks across the hardwood floor with each thrust, the force of it sending shockwaves up your spine.

The end credits song plays somewhere in the background, barely audible over the obscene sounds of your fucking.

His breathing gets ragged, his rhythm faltering as he chases his own high. He pulls out abruptly, chest heaving, and licks the tips of his fingers before spreading your pussy open, angling his cock right at your slick, swollen cunt.

Hot ropes of cum spill from his slit, milky and thick, painting your used flesh, dripping down onto the couch beneath you. The sight is filthy, so fucking erotic it makes his cock throb in his fist.

He groans at the mess, at the way his release pools against the cleft of your clit. He pushes inside again before either of you can think, his cum and yours mixing as he fucks into you, more fervently this time, dragging out the pleasure until his cock begins to soften.

You’re too spent to do anything but take it, too blissed out to care. All you know is that you want this again. Over and over and over...

“Damn,” Frankie chuckles, still breathless, his curls damp with sweat. His hands move lazily over your body, tracing the curve of your spine, your waist, your thighs, before he leans over to grab his discarded gray tee.

He doesn’t think twice before using it to clean you up, wiping between your legs with a casual ease.

You hum in response, floating somewhere between the high of the weed and the sex. You could crash right here, stretched out on his couch, and be perfectly content.

“You good?” The hot edge of lust has barely cooled when he’s touching you again, stroking his big, warm hand up and down your back.

You don’t nod, just manage a lazy, “Mhm… just need a second.”

He smirks and a wink is thrown in your direction before he stands, sliding his sweatpants on and fixing the couch to its original position before disappearing into the halfway renovated kitchen.

You stretch your limbs, pulling your clothes back on with no real rush. Your body is warm, loose. When Frankie returns, he hands you a glass of water, and you thank him softly, realizing how parched you are when you down the whole thing in one go.

“We didn’t finish the movie,” he muses, lounging back on the couch like he hadn’t just given you the best sex of your life.

“Bummer,” you tease, looking at him over your shoulder.

His gaze flickers from the screen to you, a glint in his dark eyes catching in the glow of the TV.

“You could stay the night,” he offers smoothly. “We could watch somethin’ else… maybe fuck some more too.”

His head tilts slightly, curls messy and inviting. The broad expanse of his naked chest gleams, rising and falling with steady, easy breaths. And then there’s the soft bulge in his sweats, evidence that he’s not nearly as spent as he looks.

Your mouth damn near waters.

You narrow your gaze at him, playful, challenging. Frankie mirrors the expression, watching, waiting…

You both move at the same time.

[writeriguess]

Can I request an established relationship with katsuki x reader where reader has a healing quirk, but whateber injury she heals, she feels a fraction of the pain and drains her own energy.

she had to heal a lot of civilians in the mission and katsuki finds her before she passes out

Borrowed Pain

The battlefield was finally quiet. Smoke and dust still clung to the air, the acrid scent of destruction mixing with the metallic tang of blood. It had been a brutal fight—villains tearing through the city like a wildfire, leaving behind wreckage, wounded civilians, and far too much loss.

But you had done your part.

Your hands trembled as you pressed them against another injured civilian’s body, your quirk flickering to life in a soft, golden glow. You gritted your teeth as their deep gash slowly sealed itself shut, your skin prickling with the familiar burn of borrowed pain. The moment the wound disappeared, a sharp sting lanced through your own abdomen—a phantom pain, a fraction of what they had endured, but enough to make your breath hitch.

You had lost count of how many people you had healed.

Your body was barely holding together. Each time you healed someone, it took something from you—your energy, your strength, your stability. The worst part wasn’t even the fatigue; it was the cumulative pain, layer upon layer of injuries you hadn’t actually sustained, but still felt as if you had. Your arms ached as if they’d been broken and reset a dozen times over. Your ribs throbbed with phantom bruises. Your head was spinning from the strain.

But you couldn’t stop.

Not when another civilian, a mother clutching her unconscious daughter, was crying out for help.

Not when people needed you.

You forced yourself forward, dragging your heavy limbs across the debris-littered ground. You sank to your knees beside them, nearly toppling over from the sheer effort of staying upright. The little girl was breathing, but her leg was bent at an unnatural angle. Fractured, at the very least.

You exhaled shakily. “I’m going to fix her,” you murmured, mostly to yourself, because the mother’s sobs made it clear she wasn’t hearing anything beyond her own panic.

You placed your hands on the girl’s leg and summoned what little energy you had left. The glow of your quirk was duller now, weaker. You weren’t even sure if you had enough in you to mend the break.

But you had to try.

The moment the healing process started, a searing pain shot through your own leg. You bit down hard on your lip, trying to suppress the strangled sound of pain that threatened to escape. It felt like your bone had snapped, like the marrow itself was burning—but then, after a few agonizing seconds, it was gone.

The girl stirred with a soft whimper, her leg whole again.

But you—

The world tilted violently. Your vision blurred, colors bleeding together in a hazy mess. You tried to push yourself up, to move onto the next person, but your limbs refused to cooperate.

Your heart pounded sluggishly in your chest. You could barely feel the ground beneath you.

Too much.

You had given too much.

Your body swayed, and just as you felt yourself pitching forward, a voice—loud, rough, unmistakable—cut through the fog in your mind.

“The hell do ya think you’re doing?!”

A pair of strong arms caught you before you could hit the ground. The scent of burnt caramel filled your senses, familiar and grounding. Katsuki.

You wanted to say something, to reassure him that you were fine, that you just needed a second, but the moment you met his gaze, the words died in your throat.

His expression—fierce, scowling—was betrayed by the sheer panic in his crimson eyes. His hands, calloused but warm, cradled you carefully, as if afraid you’d break apart if he held you any tighter.

"You overdid it again, dumbass,” he growled, voice thick with frustration. “I told ya not to push yourself like this!"

You tried to smile, tried to play it off, but even that was too much effort. “People needed help,” you mumbled instead, eyelids fluttering.

Katsuki clicked his tongue, his jaw clenching. “And what about you, huh? Who the hell’s gonna help you when you’re passin’ out on the goddamn street?!”

You had no answer.

Because, deep down, you hadn’t even considered yourself.

You had only been thinking about them.

Your head lolled against his shoulder, exhaustion wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. Your body felt weightless and unbearably heavy all at once, limbs refusing to respond, breath shallow and uneven.

Katsuki tightened his grip, as if he could physically hold you together with just his arms alone. His heart was pounding against your cheek. “Don’t you dare pass out,” he muttered, shaking you slightly. “Oi, stay with me.”

But you couldn’t.

You fought it—really, you did—but the darkness was already creeping in, dragging you under. The last thing you felt before everything went black was Katsuki pulling you closer, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the icy numbness in your veins.

And the last thing you heard was his voice, raw and desperate.

“I got you, alright? Just—fuck—just stay with me.”

*-*-*-*

Your eyelids felt like lead, heavy and unyielding, but the warmth pressed against your side was familiar. It anchored you, coaxing you from the depths of unconsciousness. The air was different here—cleaner, free of smoke and dust, carrying the faint antiseptic scent of a medical ward.

You stirred, your body protesting with a dull, lingering ache. Every muscle felt wrung out, every nerve frayed at the edges. A low, irritated grunt sounded beside you.

"'Bout damn time you woke up."

The voice—gruff and unmistakable—sent a wave of relief through your foggy mind. You managed to pry your eyes open, blinking against the dim light. Katsuki was slouched in a chair beside your bed, arms crossed, brows furrowed in a scowl that didn’t quite hide the tension in his shoulders. His usual hero gear had been replaced with a simple black shirt and sweatpants, but he still looked battle-worn—his hands wrapped in gauze, a faint bruise darkening his cheekbone.

"Katsuki…?" Your voice came out hoarse, your throat dry and sore.

His scowl deepened. "Yeah, dumbass. Who else would be here watchin’ your reckless ass?"

You tried to push yourself up, but the moment you moved, a sharp pain lanced through your limbs. Katsuki was there in an instant, his hands firm but careful as he eased you back against the pillows. "The hell do ya think you’re doin’? Lay the fuck down."

A weak chuckle escaped you. "I feel like I got hit by a truck."

"Yeah? Well, servin’ yourself up on a silver platter like that’ll do that to ya." His voice was gruff, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed something deeper—anger, frustration… concern.

You let your head rest against the pillow, exhaling softly. "How long was I out?"

Katsuki hesitated, then muttered, "Almost two days."

Your eyes widened. "Two—?" You tried to sit up again, only for his hand to press firmly against your shoulder, keeping you down with surprising gentleness.

"I swear to god, if you don’t stop fuckin’ movin’, I’ll tie you to the damn bed."

You huffed a tired laugh but obeyed, sinking back. "What happened?"

Katsuki exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair. "You pushed yourself way too far. You were burnin’ up, shakin’ like a damn leaf. Could barely fuckin’ breathe." His fingers curled into fists. "You scared the shit outta me."

That last part was muttered under his breath, almost like he didn’t want you to hear it. But you did. And it sent warmth blooming in your chest, even through the exhaustion.

"I just…" You swallowed, throat tight. "People needed me."

"Yeah? And what, you don’t?" Katsuki snapped, eyes flashing. "You think you can just keep throwin’ yourself away for everyone else and it won’t fuckin’ matter?"

His words struck something deep inside you, something raw and unspoken. You had always known the risks of your quirk. The cost of healing. But you had never really thought about what it did to you—only what it did for others.

Katsuki dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard. "Look, I get it. You wanna help people. That’s what heroes do. But not at the damn expense of your own life, dumbass."

You hesitated, searching for the right words. "I don’t know how to stop."

For a moment, he just stared at you, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. Then, with a sigh, he shifted closer, resting his forearms on the edge of the bed. "Then I’ll make sure you do."

His voice had lost its usual bite, softened into something steadier. A promise.

You met his gaze, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself lean into the warmth of someone else’s care.

"Okay."

[illubean]

Could I get headcanons for Feitan, Illumi, Leorio, and Chrollo falling for gn!reader who by all means seems like a strong, nuturing, emotionally stable individual but every once in awhile casually says or does smthin that makes people go "Oh you're a little fuckin nuts, actually"

(e.x.: Most of their D.I.Y. furniture is made of different kinds of bone, morbidly interested in the more gorey parts of their jobs, probably works in a field that allows them to be around the dead often like a taxidermist or a mortitian, highkey just unabashashedly a morbid little freak™️ whenever it comes up naturally in conversation but otherwise comes across as just an attentive lil guy you could bring home the average parents would love.)

HXH Men with a Morbid!S/o

Characters: Leorio Paladaknight, Illumi Zoldyck, Chrollo Lucilfer, Feitan Portor Type: Headcanons, Gn!reader

this is so me

Warnings: dead things and body parts and stuff

Leorio Paladaknight

being an aspiring doctor, Leorio thought that your knowledge on both human and animal anatomy was pretty useful

at first he didn't think much about your job and just assumed you were some type of doctor or biologist or something

he often asks you questions as he studies and you're a pretty good tutor

the first time Leorio realized you were kinda weird is when one day you were walking down the street and saw some roadkill

and you were like "aww too bad, the skin and bones are too damaged to harvest"

and you kept walking like it was normal while he was like ?!!??!?

or you guys were having a normal conversation and you say something like

"if you died i'd taxidermy you and re-articulate your skeleton so you'd be with me forever <3"

1 taxidermizing humans is illegal and 2 WHAT

he is cold sweating wtf did he get himself into

when he comes to your house for the first time and sees a bunch of bones, animal skins and wet specimens he damn near passes the fuck out

how do you just casually have dead things and remains around your house!?

AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU MADE YOUR COFFEE TABLE OUT OF CAMEL BONES?

he is freaking the fuck out and you're just like "dw everything is ethically sourced :D"

yeah he thinks you're a freak and he is too fearful to break up with you ever (not like he was planning to anyways)

Illumi Zoldyck

whatever drew Illumi to you had to have been some type of power

aside from that power, to Illumi you were relatively normal and had a good grip on your emotions which made you a perfect candidate

that being said he could care less what your job was, you'd just end up working for or with him eventually

when he started bringing you around the estate, you often sought out their guard dog Mike and Illumi couldn't think of why

that is until you came back one day with a human femur and bright smile on your face

"... where did you even get that?" "From one of Mike's victims. If I collect enough I could make a whole set of bar stools!"

he blinked at you and chose to ignore your statement

i mean, to each their own am i right?

so you have ah hobby, big deal

Illumi just thinks you're pretty normal personality wise until you randomly but casually drop information about what you do in your free time or have in your home

so now whenever he has a job Illumi calls you in for cleanup

you get to do.... whatever it is you do and there's no evidence of a dead body left behind, it's a win win

Chrollo Lucilfer

he couldn't care less what your job is because it's probably not worse than his 😭

he didn't really notice anything "morbid" about you until he asked about your jewlery

you wore things like resin caster bug pendants or bird skull earrings and stuff

he just assumed they were fake and you bought them because they looked badass

but then you told him you make it all YOURSELF

he is intrigued

he doesn't really question you past that because you were probably buying the bones and stuff somewhere (spoiler alert you're not)

what really caused him to think was when you casually just picked up a dead rat off the floor in some abandoned building you were exploring and suck it in your pocket

bro was so confused

"What do you need that for?" "To make a new necklace :3"

yeah now he knows that your odd taste in jewelry goes deeper than just that

he won't judge you though, if anything you're a better person than he is considering you don't kill things yourself

he is literally a murderer and a thief and has committed like 3467633788 crimes so he couldn't judge even if he wanted to

so now when he sees dead animals and what not he bags them up and brings them to you

he likes to sit in on your cleaning and making process

you seem like a perfectly normal and sweet person to everyone else but Chrollo knows about your freaky little hobby and it just makes him like you even more

Feitan Portor

I feel like for you and Feitan to even be acquainted you have to be part of the troupe

whatever you do outside of it is your business

buttttttt since you are his s/o and Feitan is probably homeless he crashes wherever you are

thus him finding out about your hobby and other job

out of everyone on this list he is the most interested

he too is a morbid little freak

he goes with you to find things and will help you with the cleaning/taxidermy or whatever process if you let him

what he doesn't understand though is why you don't just kill the things you want instead of hunting for already dead things

sometimes he will go catch like a squirrel or something and bring it back to you like a cat and tell you he found it like that

Fei baby. No the fuck you didn't

after doing what you're doing for so long you can tell what caused an animal to die but you wouldn't tell him that

he's just so cute and wants to be supportive of your hobby <3

[jeonginsleftcheek]

In the absence of light, darkness prevails

pairing: sylph!hyunjin x afab!reader x dark!fairy!felix

genre: smut, angst, fantasy au

word count: 13.1k

warnings: kidnapping, use of magic, mind control, fighting, blood and injuries, coercion, possessiveness, light gore, death, violence

nsfw warnings: multiple sex scenes, unprotected sex, spanking, fingering, creampies, breeding kink, bulge kink, oral (m and f receiving), multiple partners, dom/sub dynamics, dom!hyunjin, dom!felix and sub!reader, monster cocks lol

a/n: my first spooktober fic! accidentally made it long whoops. i researched about fae folk and added my own things to the lore so i hope you enjoy this one🩷

~ divider by @cafekitsune

~ Masterlist

You've always loved spending time in the forest, ever since you were little, you would explore new paths in the safety of your parents companionship and now that you're older you like to think you know the forest like you know the back of your hand.

You loved spending quiet time alone with nature, often you'd bring a book, a beverage and snacks, to enjoy a little picnic on your own.

Sometimes, you would sketch and draw the trees and creatures you saw, enjoying the meditative state you'd fall in.

But as calming as it was, you couldn't help but be a little bit paranoid every time you sat in the same spot for too long.

A weird sound in the distance, a snap of a twig behind your back, a rustle of wind in the leaves.

It would make your skin crawl, as you turn and survey the place. But there's nothing ever there.

It's all in your imagination.

At least that's what you usually tell yourself any time you feel like there are eyes on you.

Unfortunately for you, reality is much more closer to your worst nightmares.

It's night time, the almost complete darkness envelops your frame, a heavy feeling sinking you down as your legs lead you towards something you cannot fathom.

Moonlight seeps faintly through the trees, giving enough light for you not to trip and break your bones on the way to your ruin.

You can hear a deep soothing voice calling to you from the distance but you cannot understand it; all you know is that it sounds beautiful and you have to find the source of it.

You don't even blink as you practically glide through the forest, the leaves crunching beneath your feet and twigs snapping under the pressure of your hurried steps.

Before you can find the source of the alluring voice, a strong wind picks up seemingly out of nowhere.

The coldness of it snaps you out of your daze and you can no longer hear the dark voice calling to you.

The wind brings forth black clouds, preparing a thunderstorm and as you look around after finally blinking and somewhat coming to your senses, you realize that you have no idea where you are.

You've never been in this part of the forest, and you also quickly realize that you don't have your phone on you or even your jacket, you've walked out of your house in your nightwear, somehow having the thought of at least putting your sneakers on.

Panic quickly seeps in as you tremble from the cold wind howling through the branches, swirling the leaves all around you.

Fear settles in your bones as your eyes water, the sound of thunder rumbling in the sky and shaking the earth has you hugging yourself in comfort as you stand in one place, unable to move.

Harsh rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs on your right have you turning your head fast in that direction and you squint your eyes in the darkness, trying to make out a shape.

What once was nothing suddenly becomes a flurry of iridescent lights, your eyes can barely stand to look at it and the only shape you could make out is a pair of big transluscent wings.

"Don't be afraid."- you hear a sweet voice before you slip into the darkness, expecting to hit the earth beneath you as you sway but you don't feel anything.

-

You're slowly waking up, the scent of flowers fills up the space around you as you lay on the most comfortable bed you've ever been in.

There's a weird sound flooding your ears, equally soothing as it is unnerving, coupled with a sweet voice singing a beautiful melody, unlike something you've ever heard before.

As you finally manage to open your eyes, you have to shield them from so much bright light and sparkling that attack them.

"W-where am I?"- your voice is groggy as you sit up and almost slip off of the weird bed suspended in the air as it hangs from the tall ceiling, the material of the sheets feels like pure silk, but even more smooth than any silk you've touched before.

The smell of flowers becomes more intense.

"You're in my house."- a creature appears on your right and you shriek, jolting and almost slipping again.

Even though fear has you trembling, the ethereal beauty of the being somehow calms you down.

The creature lifts it's hand up and the swinging of the "bed" stops.

"Wh-what are you?!"- your eyes are fixed on the creature's transluscent wings, the colors changing as it slowly moves them and you realize that the creature is levitating next to you.

They start laughing as you keep looking at them with a confused expression on your face.

"I'm a syplh."- the creature says like you should absolutely know what that is.

"A what?"- you chuckle incredulously, you must've really hit your head hard when you fainted earlier.

The creature rolls their eyes before side-eyeing you.

"Of course you don't know! Humans don't know anything! You've heard of fae folk, right?"- the creature asks and you nod.

"Like faeries?"- you ask.

"They're just part of fae folk. Like sylphs."

"I'm hallucinating though, right? I'm somewhere in a hospital, probably in a freaking coma."- you shake your head and the sylph reaches their hand towards you and pinches your arm.

"Ouch! What was that for?"- you ask as you rub your skin.

"See, you're awake. I saved you, by the way. You should be thankful."- the sylph squints at you.

"Saved me from what? The storm?"- you ask and the sylph sighs in annoyance.

"I created the storm to save you."- the creature says like it's the most normal thing ever.

"From who?"- you ask, it's like someone has deleted your memory leading up to the storm, you don't remember walking out of your house, you don't remember going into the forest, you only remember the wind, the storm and you fainting.

It's the last memories you have, after the one of you going to bed safely in your house.

"Him."- the sylph shivers, the jewels on his hands and around his neck glinting in the light, making you realize that the weird buzzing sound comes directly from the shiny gems.

"Him?"- you raise you eyebrow.

"I will not say his name. He can hear it."- the creature whispers the last part.

"Alright."- you decide to play along. "What is your name then or do they just call you sylph?"

"Of course they don't. My name is Hyunjin."- he says, crossing his arms.

"Alright Hyunjin, I think I want to go home now."- you emphasize his name.

"Ha!"- he scoffs. "The human says it like it's that easy."

"Don't call me 'the human'. I have a name too. It's y/n."- you cross your arms on your chest too.

"Okay, y/n. You should be a little more grateful that I saved your life. You're acting like it's no big deal but I risked my own life to save you."- Hyunjin looks annoyed.

"Okay, thank you? What do you want me to do?"

"You still don't believe me, I see."- he purses his lips in thought. "Give me your hand."

Your eyebrows raise in question but you still reach your hand out to him.

"Close your eyes."- his hands are soft as they clasp around yours and shivers run down your spine.

"Come on."- Hyunjin nudges you as you keep staring at him.

With a huff, you close your eyes and Hyunjin starts speaking what you would only describe as nonsense words but you guess it must mean something to him.

As he keeps chanting, it's like you're being put into some kind of trance and you feel something building up inside you, making it's way to your lungs and stealing your breath.

You quickly retract your hand as you feel like you're being suffocated and the feeling disappears just as quickly as it came over you.

"What the hell did you do to me?!"- you panic as you hold your hand to your chest.

"Just wanted to show you the smallest sliver of how you would feel if he took you."- the sylph looks serious and something inside you flickers with recognition.

"Okay, let's say I believe you. And you saved my life and I am thankful for that, what do you want in return?"- you ask.

"Hmm. I haven't thought of it yet."- the sylph smirks a little.

"What? So your plan is to keep me here until you think of something that makes me useful to you?"- you look at him incredulously.

"Maybeeeee."

"Hey, you can't do that!"- you yell out as he levitates away from you.

"And you can't get down from my little swing so you better get used to it."- he says and levitates away as you stare down at him.

"Get back here sylph!"- you yell but he just chuckles and leaves you alone.

You can't believe this is happening to you. This must be some kind of fever dream or you're really in a coma and the doctors gave you some meds that have you dreaming up all sorts of things.

You scan your surroundings, you're too high up to jump down and not break your legs, unless you can somehow fall exactly onto the regular bed under you but you don't trust your aiming skills.

The room beneath you is full of art, plants and sparkly gems that emit different colored light, making everything look shiny and pretty.

You don't necessarily think that the sylph is evil, but he is keeping you here against your will with no way to get down.

Whatever the case is, you've no other choice but to lay back down.

Your heart feels heavy as you wonder what's gonna happen to you, your eyes fill with tears and you hug yourself in an attempt to comfort your worried mind.

It's been at least two weeks since the sylph practically started holding you hostage.

He has levitated you down where he usually hangs out, after you lied that you're afraid of heights. He gave you food and a place to shower and sleep, he tries to make you feel comfortable every day you spend with him, you really have it all but you still want to go home.

The problem is, the more time you spend in Hyunjin's house, surrounded by all the shiny magical gems that hum and buzz, the sweet flowers he grows and his carefully crafted art, you start forgetting more and more details of your actual life.

But, at the same time as you keep forgetting yourself, you also keep learning more about Hyunjin.

About his love of art and music, his hauntingly beautiful singing voice, about the properties of his magical gems, about his ability to randomly become invisible just to get on your nerves and tease you a little bit.

And still, his beauty keeps pulling you in, hypnotizing you and making a part of you long to stay with him.

"I have to go do something. Don't even think about running away, I put protection on all exits. He'll never find you here. You're safe, I promise."- the sylph speaks as he caresses your face.

"Please... I just want to go home."- your eyes water. "I-I can't remember where I live."- you add as tears spill down your cheeks.

"Shh, I'll help you remember. Don't worry, I won't harm you."- he promises as he wipes your tears but you don't know if you can trust him.

You've no other choice but to nod at him and watch him turn his back and disappear out the door, leaving you alone with the buzzing and humming.

The days drone on and on before he comes back, stumbling into the house, messy and full of cuts and bruises.

"Hyunjin! What happened to you?"- you ask.

"Doesn't matter."- he shakes his head quickly.

"You're hurt!"- you hurry towards him, about to touch him and he flinches away.

"Don't touch me. I need to heal myself."- he says as you stare at him in shock and wonder.

He turns his back to you, his hands working around the table quickly that you can't even see what exactly he's doing.

The color of his wings seems darkened and he seems upset, gusts of wind running through his hair and hitting your face as you slowly approach him.

"Don't come closer!"- Hyunjin says as if he can sense your presence.

"I'm sorry."- you back away with tears in your eyes and his shoulders hunch up before he turns to look at you.

"It's dangerous for you right now, okay? Don't cry, I'm just thinking about your safety."- he says and you nod quickly, believing him as you blink away your tears and try not to freak out.

He makes some kind of circle with his gems, chanting something that sounds like gibberish to you, and the humming of the crystals becomes louder.

They shine brighter and brighter until you have to shield your eyes, the sound of sparkling becomes louder until it explodes into complete silence.

You slowly blink your eyes open, and Hyunjin is almost back to his normal state, his wings showing all the iridescent colors again.

"I will need to sleep for a few days. Don't worry."- he says, exhaustion written all over his pretty face, his plump lips pouty.

"For a few days?!"- you shriek.

"Yes, you have enough food. Don't try to wake me up, it's cardinal that I get my rest."

"You're not gonna tell me what happened?"- you ask, chewing on your lip nervously as Hyunjin levitates towards his bed.

"It doesn't matter, it's over now. You better not worry your pretty little head about anything. Good night, then."- he says, falling asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Your lips are parted as you were about to protest but the only sound that comes out is an annoyed huff.

You're angry at him for not telling you anything and keeping you in the dark and you're scared about your memories slipping away from you, the more the days go by, the more things you forget.

You don't remember where you lived or worked, or even what your favorite songs was.

Panic overtakes you as you try to open every door inside Hyunjin's house only to be pushed away by a gust of wind every time you try.

There's really no way to escape.

-

Hyunjin actually sleeps for five whole days.

You take care of his plants while he recharges, you look at the pictures in books he owns since you can't read his language, you observe his sleeping form, laying your body next to his every night, careful not to wake him up.

Every day that passed by, the scent of flowers became stronger, almost suffocating you in it's sweetness and making you realize that it's Hyunjin who smells so intoxicating, not just the plants around him.

When he finally wakes up one evening, you're quick to run to his side.

"Y/n."- he looks almost surprised to see you and you realize that you had almost forgotten your name.

"Hyunjin, are you sick?"- you gasp when you notice that he's covered in sweat, his pupils are blown and his cheeks look red, the redness spreading to his neck, down to his collarbone, down where your eyes keep falling until you see the bulge under his flimsy robe.

"Oh."- your eyes are wide.

"I need your help."- he squirms a little.

"W-with what?"- you act dumb as your heart starts beating hard against your chest.

"I need you to let me fuck you."- he says it without blinking and you start laughing incredulously.

"What is wrong with you?"- you frown as you step back a little.

Hyunjin grips the sheets beneath him, his knuckles turning white.

"This could be your favor for me saving your life. I- ugh- have to mate with someone but I don't want to. The problem is that I get like this and well I can't mate with you since you're human but you could at least help me get through this and-"

"Shut up for a moment."- you say, feeling annoyed.

"How do I know that you'll let me go home after that?"

"I promised I will help you. A sylph never breaks their promise!"- Hyunjin practically whines, beads of sweat rolling down his face, the scent of flowers is so intense that you have to take a deep breath in.

"Says a sylph."- you narrow your eyes at him. "This isn't your first time that you feel like this. What do you usually do when it happens?"

"What do you think I do?"- he scoffs at you, motioning with his hands.

"Oh. Right."- you bite on your lip.

You think about it, maybe this is the only ticket to go back home, the only way out, and Hyunjin's scent is kind of messing with your head, making you feel floaty and turned on, arousal already gathering between your legs.

Do you really even have a choice?

"Okay, but only if you first tell me what the hell is going on here. Who attacked you? What did you go out for in the first place? Who are you keeping me hidden from?"- you demand as you cross your arms.

"It's hard to answer all these questions right now."- Hyunjin whines again, you can see his hard member twitching.

"Answer or suffer, sylph."- you smirk and he growls as he looks at you, clenching his fists as his fingers are still wrapped around the silky sheets.

"Goblins attacked me. I was out gathering some plants for healing and spells. And I told you I can't say his name, all I can tell you is that he's really evil. There, are you happy?"- the sylph breathes heavily.

"For now. I can see you're really struggling."- you feel like you have the upper hand suddenly as you slowly approach him.

"Yes I am. Now come here and help me."- he says and you chuckle as you hover over him.

"Say please."- you tease and his teeth clench as he looks at you.

"Please."

You grab his face and slowly lean down, your lips pressing on his and Hyunjin kisses you back passionately, the flowery scent enveloping your senses as he grips your arms and pulls you into his lap.

You gasp as your core lands directly on his hard bulge, and he starts pushing his hips up into you instantly, making you moan as his tongue prods at your lips.

You let him explore your mouth as your fingers tangle in his hair and his hands grab at your body desperately while you grind on him and meet his hips as you move together in a steady rhythm.

"Fuck this."- he mumbles against your lips and swiftly turns you around, your back hitting the bed as you whimper and look at him with wide eyes.

Whatever upper hand you thought you had was gone in that moment.

He's impatient as he strips quickly, his body on display for you, lean, toned, shiny from the sweat that smells of the sweetest flowers, his cock big and heavy, desperate to be buried inside your heat.

"Oh."- you gasp as you look at it. You've never seen a cock so big and so pretty as his, you even want to taste it.

"Like what you see?"- he smirks and you nod quickly, your pussy dripping with so much arousal.

"You get to use it for your pleasure."- he keeps smirking as he nods at you to get undressed.

You undress just as quickly as he did, letting him see everything.

"Fuck, you're beautiful."- he gasps almost as if he wasn't expecting it, his hands automatically grabbing at your breasts, squeezing them and playing with your nipples.

"H-Hyunjin."- you moan, your arousal is leaking down onto the sheets beneath you and Hyunjin can smell it, and it makes him feel even more entraced by you.

"I've never fucked a human actually."- he says as his hand slides down towards your core.

"Yeah? Should I feel honored?"- your eyes are hazy as you smirk lazily, his fingertips on your clit.

"You should."- he looks at you with a cocky smile, his fingers moving in a circle.

"Fine, I'm honored."- you say and he chuckles as he slides his fingertips down between your folds.

"Wow, so wet."- Hyunjin's eyes roll back as his cock twitches. "Can't wait to sink into you."- he adds.

"Hyunjin!"- you whimper as he starts flicking your clit fast, the wetness making you feel even more turned on.

"You think you can take all of me?"- he smirks.

"Yes, yes!"- you moan, leaning into his touch as he abuses your swollen nub.

"I'm still gonna prep you. I don't wanna hurt you."- he says it sweetly, his fingers prodding at your entrance.

You whimper as he pushes them in and starts fucking you gently.

"Ah, please, faster!"- you beg, everything is overwhelming and it's like your pleasure is hitting you harder than it usually would.

Hyunjin obliges, fucking into you harder and faster, attacking your sweet spot, his lips are parted and his eyes are dark and full of lust as he keeps you locked under his intense gaze.

His wings sparkle behind him, creating light around his beautiful body, making him look even more ethereal.

You moan loudly as your orgasm hits you hard, making you spill your juices on his fingers and soak the bed under you as he slowly pulls them out.

"Mm."- Hyunjin whines as he tastes you on his fingertips. "You taste so sweet. I like it."

"H-Hyunjin."- you whimper, feeling delirious as your eyes fall down to his throbbing cock.

"You want this?"- he smirks as he wraps his nimble fingers around his length and starts pumping it slowly, giving you a little show.

"P-please."- you whine, feeling so desperate to be filled up to the hilt.

"I'll give it to you, darling."- the nickname makes you twitch as he presses the tip of his cock against you, running it on your folds and gathering your wetness before he slowly pushes in.

"Ah!"- you whimper at the big stretch, bigger than you've ever had before and he keeps pushing in making you wonder just how long he is.

"Fuck, you're taking it so well. Didn't think a little human pussy like yours would be so greedy."- Hyunjin smirks, feeling powerful as you look at him almost cross-eyed and he hasn't even started thrusting yet.

"H-Hyunjin."- you grip at his arm, your fingers almost slipping agains this sweaty skin.

"You feel that?"- he presses on your stomach and you jolt as you whimper and look down. "I'm in your womb. Wish I could breed you."- he groans.

"Wish so too."- you mumble, feeling like you're in some kind of trance or under some kind of spell, and maybe you are but at this point you don't even care, not when he starts slowly thrusting, his cock sliding deliciously against your wet walls.

He smirks as your eyes flutter and roll back in your head, his length is touching spots inside you that no one else has touched before, making you see stars as the sounds of squelching fill the room up.

"Ah, so warm."- Hyunjin moans, taking out half his length and pushing it back in, faster with every thrust, the tip pressing against your cervix.

You open your eyes and look at him, teary as you wrap your arms around his wet body and pull him in closer, your legs wrapping around him, trapping him inside your warmth and inside your embrace.

A flicker of something soft sparkles in his eyes and it seems to even surprise him as he grips at your breasts and speeds up, making you take it deeper and faster, his cock splitting you open only for him.

"Ah- Hyunjin!"- you cry out, tears spilling down your cheeks.

"Y/n."- he moans into your ear as he bends your legs and they end up on his shoulders, making him hit even deeper inside you, his balls smacking against your ass.

A string of curses and unrecognizable words keep spilling out of your mouth as he abuses your hole, bringing his weight down on you, gripping your wrists and pinning them down next to your head.

"I will make you mine."- he growls, losing control over himself as he fucks you fervently, all coherent thoughts and sentences have left your brain.

"Yours!"- you moan and he smirks, one of his hands pressing on your tummy to feel how deep he is inside you.

"Only mine."- Hyunjin growls as you cream around his cock, driving him crazy as he twitches inside you, releasing his load deep into you, the warm liquid filling you up, drops of it sliding out even though he still has you plugged up with his cock.

The scent of sweet and fresh flowers is overwhelming and your pussy clenches around his cock that's still semi-hard.

"Sylphs can fuck for days without stopping, did you know that?"- he smirks at you, caressing your face and moving a hair that was stuck to your forehead.

Your lips open in wonder but still you can't form a sentence.

"Don't worry, I know you humans are fragile. But, I'm still gonna push your limits, darling. You have to let me know when it's too much, is that okay?"- Hyunjin asks with a gentle smile, his cock becoming harder inside you again.

"Yes."- you say breathlessly.

"Good girl. Let's see how much you can take."

-

As you open your eyes the next morning, last night becomes a blur of pleasure and passion.

Your body is sore and you can barely move, your eyes instantly search for Hyunjin.

"Good morning."- he appears next to you with a cup in his hand. "I know you're in pain so I mixed this up for you, it'll make you feel better."- he adds with a gentle smile on his face, reaching the cup towards you.

"What is it?"- your voice is hoarse, almost unrecognizable to you as you take the cup into your hand and look at the shiny liquid.

"Just a healing potion."- he nudges you to drink. "Finish all of it."

"Okay."- you nod and start drinking, it tastes sweet and refreshing like you were drinking the nectar directly out of a flower.

"There you go."- Hyunjin tilts the cup so you have no choice but to swallow all of the content in it.

"I-is your heat over?"- you ask timidly, wrapping yourself tighter with the sheets.

"No, but it's better now. Yesterday was the peak, so I was quite desperate. Sorry you had to see me like that."- the sylph's cheeks become rosy.

"It's okay."- you say and try to get up, only for your legs to give up immediately, making you fall back down onto the bed.

"Woah, be careful. You need to rest, y/n. Don't try to get up."- Hyunjin is quick to put his arms around you and pull you into a more comfortable position.

Suddenly, your eyes water as you look at him.

"Y-you said you'd take me h-home after y-yesterday."- you hiccup as hot tears start sliding down your cheeks.

"I will, as soon as you finish resting. We have a long way to walk to the portal, and it's very dangerous. That's why I have this for you."- Hyunjin levitates up towards his cabinets and pulls out a necklace with a shiny amethyst pendant, the gem hums and buzzes as he comes closer to you.

"What is that?"

"Amethyst. It's for protection. I won't let anyone harm you."- Hyunjin smiles.

"By anyone you mean him?"- you sniffle.

"Yes, him, and any other evil creature. I will get you home safely, that is, if you even want to go home."

"W-what is that supposed to mean?"- you swallow as Hyunjin clasps the necklace around your neck, the shiny pendant soothingly humming against your skin.

"Well, you probably don't remember much by now. Human minds can't really endure being in this realm for too long."- Hyunjin explains.

"But, I haven't been here for that long, have I? Maybe like a month or two?"- you ask and Hyunjin chuckles.

"Darling, it's been almost 6 years since you've been here. Well, in human time. You're correct about it being around two months in here."

"Six years?!"- you shriek. "I've been gone for six years to everyone that knows me in real life?"

"Yes, I'm sorry I didn't tell you before that time works differently here. I didn't want to upset you like you are now."- the sylph bites on his lip nervously.

"Oh my god."- you start crying again, your breathing becoming shallower as you start shivering.

"Hey, hey calm down."- Hyunjin quickly wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to his body, his fingers soothing on your skin. "It's okay."

"No, it is not!"- you try to push him away. "It's your fault, you kidnapped me!"

"I didn't kidnap you y/n, that's nonsense! I saved your life and I'm keeping you safe from him."

"Who? Who are you keeping me safe from?"- you demand, still trying to push Hyunjin away but his arms are strong around you and he doesn't budge.

"Fine, I'll tell you more information if it will get you to calm down but I cannot say his name or he may find us and then everything will be in vain."- Hyunjin starts and you just stare at him, waiting for him to start explaining.

He sighs, still holding you close.

"He's a powerful dark fairy. He used to be on the light side but he started using dark magic and became tainted. He practiced a lot of it so it made him very strong, so strong that he can snap your neck in a matter of miliseconds without even touching you. Everyone here fears him, there's a whole part in the woods that none of us go near to because we think he lives there."

"Okay, that is scary but what do I have to do with him? I'm just an insignificant human."- you wipe your tears as Hyunjin hands you a handkerchief so you can blow your nose.

"He lured you in here. He brought you to this realm by hypnotizing you with his voice, I've no idea what he wants to do with you but obviously you're not just an insignificant human if he has tried to take you."- the sylph reveals.

"I- I don't know what to say."- you try to process all the information Hyunjin just gave to you.

"Maybe you should go back to sleep. I'll make some food for you when you wake up and then we can leave if you want. But you're welcome to stay here with me, if that's okay with you. I actually kinda like having you here."- Hyunjin admits, his face becoming red and the scent of flowers floods your nostrils.

"I don't know what I want. I'm confused and scared."- you admit.

"Don't be scared, I'll take care of you."- the sylph leans in and kisses your forehead before he lays you down. "Shh, go to sleep."- he adds as you try to talk, only for his hands to move above your face and make you fall asleep instantly.

Deeper in the forest, where darkness resides at all times, not even the moonlight illuminates the path between the thick bushes and big branches that lean menacingly towards the ground, a dark creature's anger builds.

He can't find the object of his affection, the only thing he knows is that the sylph took you and probably protected you from the influence of his dark magic.

Even the most powerful spells didn't work in his favor, resulting in rage coursing through the creature's veins like poison. His power grows and feeds on his hatred, his hands lifting up to levitate any object in front of his eyes, smashing them into the wall as he growls loudly, his screams of anger echoing inside his lair.

He even lifts his bed and table, easily snapping them in half with just one movement of his hand as if they were mere twigs.

He has to find the sylph and show the sparkly creature exactly what happens when you mess with the darkness itself.

You're still half asleep when you feel Hyunjin's hard member pressed into your ass as he ruts against you.

"H-hey!"- you gasp, about to turn around but his arms wrap around you.

"I'm sorry, I'm just feeling so hot again. I need you."- he whimpers into your ear before his lips travel down to your neck, he leaves sweet kisses on your skin as he slides the sheet off of you.

"Hyunjin."- you whine as he adjusts your leg and the tip of his cock presses against your wet pussy.

"Please let me put it in."- he whimpers as he bites down on your neck, sliding his cock against your entrance.

"F-fine."- you whimper when he squeezes your breast.

Hyunjin inhales sharply as he slowly pushes in, the angle doesn't let him to completely bury himself inside you but he's satisified to be holding you flush against his body as he slowly rocks into you.

You moan quietly as he plays with your breasts and keeps kissing you everywhere his lips can reach, trying to push his cock into your heat as much as he could.

"Y/n?"- he noses your cheek and you turn to look at him.

"W-would you consider staying here with me?"- he asks, his eyes big and hopeful.

"W-what? You really want me to stay here?"- you're taken aback as his arms wrap around you more tightly.

"Yeah. I can teach you my language and traditions. I can show you how to make art like mine. I can teach you simple spells and how to work with gems."- Hyunjin looks excited suddenly, forgetting to push his hips into you as you involuntarily clench around him.

"That- Why do you want to do all that?"- you swallow.

"I never thought I'd say this to a human or anyone for that matter, but I'm falling in love with you."- he says and the sweet scent of flowers is almost unbearable.

"You don't mean that. You're in heat and you're not thinking straight, it's your physical need to mate and when that passes, you will feel how you felt about me before."- your lips tremble.

"That is not true! I knew I liked you even before, I just didn't want to get myself into anything with a human. But now, I can't hold back anymore and I don't want to, not after I've had you like this."- he holds you tight.

"Yes, that's it. I'm just a human. We can't mate or anything. We don't even belong to the same realm. I need to- I need to go back home..."

"I don't want to mate, or have actual offspring. If I wanted a mate, don't you think I'd have one by now? I only want to spend my time with you. I'd give you anything you need, you would never be unhappy. And he could never harm you if you just stayed here. This could be your home, darling. You don't even remember where home is, don't you? You don't remember anything but being here with me."

"D-did you do that on purpose?"- your eyes water. "Did you make me forget on purpose just so you can keep me here?"

"That is not in the range of my powers and I would never do that. You fulfilled your purpose, so to say. I can take you home any time you want. It's your choice. I'm just telling you that I would be very happy if you stayed here with me."- he leaves kisses on your shoulder, his cock twitching inside you as you keep becoming wetter around him.

"I- I don't know anymore. I don't know anything."

"Let me help you decide."- Hyunjin smirks as he grips your hips and pushes you down on your stomach, his length slipping back inside you but this time he pushes in further, determined to fill you up completely and make you drunk on his cock.

"Ah!"- you whimper as you take it, your pussy sucking him in perfectly.

"Fuck, you were made to take me!"- Hyunjin groans as he grips the soft flesh on your ass and starts thrusting into you.

"Ah, ah, ah!"- you keep moaning, your mind cloudy as he fills you up so perfectly, your nails digging into his bed, your aroused nipples constantly rubbing on the soft fabric beneath you.

One of Hyunjin's hands sneaks around you and between your legs to play with your clit, the other hand still on your ass lifts up and he spanks you harshly.

You jolt and whimper loudly, your pussy clenching so tight around his pulsating cock that it almost hurts him.

"You like that?"- he smirks and spanks you hard again, the sound echoing in the room.

You moan and try to look at Hyunjin, he's all sweaty, sparkly and perfect, smelling so nice, loving you so good, his pretty wings framing his hot body.

He's like a dream and you're afraid to wake up.

Maybe you don't wanna go home.

Maybe this is your home, right next to him.

With that thought as he keeps fucking his length into you, his hand stinging your flesh, his fingers quick on your clit, you explode, cumming and squirting around him, making him even more wet and slippery inside you.

"Ah, fuck darling! Gonna breed you so good."- he whines, gripping your hips and fucking into you with erratic thrusts.

You keep moaning loudly, holding onto the sheets like it's your lifeline as he pistons into you harshly.

"Fuck! Y/n!"- Hyunjin groans as he cums hard, filling you up with so much hot liquid that in that moment you think he might actually get you pregnant even though you know it's impossible.

Hyunjin rides out his high before leaning down to kiss your shoulder and cheek.

He slowly pulls out of you, and you feel his cum gushing out of your fucked out pussy. Hyunjin can't help himself as he leans down and licks at you, making you whimper.

"What are you-"

"Wanted to taste you."- he kisses your supple flesh before lifting up. "I'll be right back."

Your mind is swirling as you're still coming down from your high, thinking about everything Hyunjin had said earlier.

You don't even register him coming back and cleaning you up.

"Are you okay?"- he asks as he carefully turns you around.

"I don't know what I am. I don't remember anything anymore, just feelings and fleeting moments. I barely remember my name, if you didn't keep repeating it maybe I'd forget that too."

Hyunjin's heart squeezes.

"Alright. I understand. You want to go back home, remember your life."- his jaw tenses. "I will make you some food now. And then we can get ready to leave."

"O-okay."- you nod, not even sure what you want anymore, tears pricking at your eyes as Hyunjin swiftly turns around and disappears from your eyesight.

-

Preparing for your journey back to the portal that will take you home took a longer time than you thought it would.

Hyunjin packed a lot of different potions and protective gems, food and water, and even some blankets to sleep in.

It took a few days to actually even step out of his house, the desire and passion that built up between the two of you was making it hard to part.

A big part of you wanted to stay by Hyunjin's side, but something inside you was nagging you to go home.

"Oh, wow."- you gasp as Hyunjin and you start making your way through the forest, the part where he lives is unlike anything you've ever seen, it looks like it came straight out of fairytales you used to read when you were little.

There are other houses like his around, so many gardens and magical flowers that emit some kind of light, making everything seem even more alive and bright than it already is.

Other sylphs are levitating around, greeting the two of you as you pass them by.

"Do they know who I am?"- you ask quietly.

"Yes, they know I've been keeping you safe."- Hyunjin nods.

"It's not the first time that we help out humans. It's my first time though."- he adds as he smiles at you.

"Another first. I should feel honored again, right?"- you chuckle.

"Of course."- he smirks at you as he leads you down the beaten path.

The first part of the journey is calm, the sights around you are beautiful and inspirational, making you feel somewhat nostalgic that you're leaving it all behind.

But as the sun keeps falling lower and the night draws in closer, you leave the safest part of the forest where only the sylphs, pixies and faeries reside.

It's getting darker and colder with every step you take, and in his lair, the dark creature can smell you.

A loud cackle escapes his lips, before it turns into a mad sinister laugh. It worked. His spell finally worked and managed to lure you out.

Unfortunately, he could also smell the sylph's flowery scent that makes the creature gag, but he doesn't worry because he knows; as soon as you step into the darkest part of the forest, he will easily get rid of the helpless little sylph and finally have you all to himself.

"This is a good resting point."- Hyunjin points to a spot between two trees that seem to be shielding it with the way they lean towards each other, their branches entagled together.

"Yeah."- you nod, exhaustion is taking over you as your eyes try to adjust to the darkness.

Hyunjin's wings give enough light to see where you're stepping and he leads you to the spot, levitating around while he creates a makeshift bed out of the blankets he brought.

"Lay down, my darling."- he gently tucks you in, a fond smile on his face.

"W-what about you?"- you ask sleepily.

"Sylphs can be awake for days, so don't worry. I will be on guard while you rest."- he gently caresses your face.

"Okay."- you nod, falling asleep in an instant.

-

Commotion wakes you up with a jolt, your eyes wide as you sit up abruptly.

You hear sounds of a struggle before your eyes can even make sense of anything, a flurry of lights moving quickly in front of you, creating wind that picks leaves and branches up off the ground, messes up your hair and makes goosebumps rise on your skin.

"Hyunjin?!"- you panic, trying to understand what it is you're looking at.

You hear creepy grunts on your left and you quickly turn towards the source of the sounds and see a little creature so ugly, with big dark eyes, huge pointy nose, sharp and menacing teeth.

For it being so small, it's hands are big, ending with huge claws at the end of it's fingers.

At first, you can't even move or utter a sound as it comes closer to you, lifting it's hands up threateningly with a sinister smile. Fear traps you in place and all you can do is look at the danger that's about to rip your flesh to pieces.

Finally, you let out a shriek as it comes near you, the stench of it making it's way to your nostrils and making you gag.

You shield your face with your arms, leaning away from the monster as you await to feel it's sharp nails digging into your skin.

But, all you can hear is a quick zap and a squeak, and you feel the smell of something burning before gentle hands are placed on your shoulders.

You flinch in fear, tears streaming down your cheeks, but it's Hyunjin's soothing voice that brings you out of the state of utter terror.

"Hey, hey, it's okay y/n. It's just me."- he caresses you gently.

You slowly open your eyes and gasp when you see the cuts and bruises on his skin.

"W-what happened?"- you ask.

"We were attacked by goblins. Don't worry, I managed to fight them off. For now, at least. We're coming up to the most dangerous part of the forest. Where he lives. But I won't let anything hurt you, okay?"- Hyunjin promises.

"You're hurt."- you say, tears still making their way down your cheeks.

"It's okay, I brought a lot of healing potions."

"I'm scared."- you sniffle and Hyunjin wraps his arms around you, bringing you into his embrace.

"Me too. But I will do everything that's in my power to get you back home safely."- he says, his soft lips kissing your skin and catching your falling tears.

You look at him and he melts, leaning in to kiss you as he can't help himself.

"Please don't."- you move away after a moment. "It's going to be harder to leave."

"I know."- Hyunjin smiles sadly. "You know we can still turn around and go back to my home where it's safe."

"I-I can't, Hyunjin. I don't know why but I need to get to that portal."

He suspects that your need to leave is actually the dark fairy's spell, and he knew from the beginning that the dark creature would get what he wanted, because there was no way Hyunjin could fight him.

But he had hope that you would be strong enough to resist the spell and stay with him, that he could somehow keep you safe and make his home yours too.

The sylph knows that the dark fairy is much more powerful than he is and there's no way he won't try to take you as soon as you enter the deepest part of the forest, but Hyunjin feels okay with inevitably dying by the bloodied hands of the monster if he manages to somehow keep you safe.

As you fall asleep again, Hyunjin holds you in his arms the whole night, his hands gently caressing your face as he looks at you fondly, wishing you would just come back home with him, but he knows it wouldn't be right to make you do anything against your will.

-

Even with the arrival of morning, the sun never manages to shine the path you're walking on.

The forest is too thick, enveloped in perpetual darkness, danger lurking around every corner.

You can hear all sorts of creatures scurrying around in the shadows, red eyes hidden in the bushes following your movements as you clutch onto Hyunjin's arm.

You don't speak, there's a lump in your throat as your wide eyes survey the place, your fingers digging into the sylph's smooth skin any time something frightens you.

"Shh, it's okay."- he tries to convince you but he knows he's leading you straight to the danger and himself right into a death trap.

As you near the almost complete darkness, everything becomes eerily still and quiet, so much so that you hear your heart beating inside your ears.

"We need to be extra careful."- Hyunjin whispers into your ear as you shiver and keep holding onto him.

You've never seen a place so dead, so silent, and the fear inside you creeps up your spine, to the back of your neck, lifting the hairs on your skin.

A heavy feeling weighs on your chest as it becomes harder to breathe, and you look up at Hyunjin's face to see that he looks frightened too.

"He's here."- Hyunjin swallows, the color draining from his face as the two of you hear a chuckle echo between the trees.

"At last, we meet. Sylph. You've something that belongs to me."- a deep voice talks calmly, a smirk evident in it and you keep turning to try and see where the creature is but you can't see anything except darkness.

"She doesn't belong to you! You can't take her!"- Hyunjin raises his voice but you can hear how it trembles.

The dark creature can smell the fear and it makes him excited as he laughs loudly, the deep laughter making your heart beat even faster.

"I can take whoever I want."- the creature says and a dark mist starts swirling in front of you, almost blowing you back from the speed of the swirling before he finally appears in front of you.

You gasp as you look at him, you were expecting an ugly monster, somewhat similar to the goblins but even bigger and scarier.

But what stands before you is a beautiful man with raven dark hair, his facial features are perfect, his lips look plump and soft, his physique is elegant but strong, the black suit emphasizing the grace he moves with, gliding as his big black wings move slowly.

What scares you the most are his eyes, completely black, like an abyss of nothingness, devoid of any emotions as he stares at you and smirks.

"Come here, little one."- he says and you quickly shake your head in fear, but your legs feel the need to move.

It's like something has gotten a hold on you and is pulling you directly towards him.

"Fight it, y/n!"- Hyunjin begs as he rummages through his stuff and tries to find a protective potion he has made.

You try your hardest to fight it but your legs keep moving towards the dark creature.

"Take this, you monster!"- Hyunjin finally finds the potion and throws the little bottle at the dark fairy's feet.

It explodes, the smoke lifting up but ultimately it did nothing as the creature starts cackling.

"It's funny to see you trying to kill me, little sylph. Try harder."- the creature says as you still struggle, falling down to your knees and trying to hold onto the ground, tears gathering in your eyes.

Hyunjin knows there's no way he can kill the creature but he tries again, chanting the strongest protection spell that exists, holding a black obsidian stone in his hand.

The dark fairy laughs again, the stone breaking into thousand little pieces and Hyunjin gasps as he looks at his open palm.

"I've had enough of these games."- the creature growls and waves his hand in Hyunjin's direction, lifting his body into the air and smashing him into one of the trees.

You scream as Hyunjin's body hits the floor with a thud and he groans in pain, clutching at his stomach.

"Hyunjin!"- you want to run to him but you can't move. "P-please, don't hurt him! Please!"- you look back at the creature who levitates closer to you, the fear inside you growing, threatening to swallow you whole.

His face breaks into an evil smile, sharp teeth showing as he lifts his hand and suddenly you hear Hyunjin gasping for air as the creature chokes him without even laying a hand on him.

"Stop it! Stop! Don't kill him!"- you beg on your knees, trying to grab at the creature but he levitates up, bringing Hyunjin up with him, sliding his back up the tree, his wings shredding to pieces as his eyes widen in pain and he keeps trying to breathe in but he can't.

"Please!"- you cry out.

The creature laughs, releasing Hyunjin and letting his body hit the ground harshly, the sound of bones cracking makes your skin crawl as your head snaps in the direction he fell.

Hyunjin's limp body lays under the tree, thick blood pooling around him like a dark sea that's drowning him and taking him away from you.

"H-Hyunjin..."- you whisper, your chest constricted as you heave for air.

"Forget about the sylph. You don't need him. You only need me, little one."- the dark creature smirks wickedly.

You want to scream at him, cry, hit him, run to Hyunjin but it's like you have an invisible leash around you that pulls you towards the dark fairy as he starts leading you towards his lair.

You try to fight it but you can't, your legs tripping over branches as they take you further away from Hyunjin's lifeless body, as if they have a mind of their own.

When you finally enter the lair, huge wooden doors close with a loud bang, making the entire room shake as you fall down to your knees.

The creature looks at you with a wide smile on his face.

"Finally."- he exhales. "Finally, you're exactly where you belong, my little sweetheart."

"D-don't come near me!"- you shriek, falling backwards on your butt as your back hits the wall.

The creature floats towards you, his hand lifting up, and you flinch, waiting to feel some kind of pain he'd inflict on you.

"I won't hurt you."- he says and you can feel a soft caress on your cheek even though he's not directly touching you.

"You killed Hyunjin, you monster!"- you scream out and the creature growls angrily, his hand lifting up a chair that was on your right, smashing it into the wall.

You shield yourself with your arms, a whimper coming out of your mouth.

"Don't say that sylph's name anymore! He got what he deserved, though I think I should've made him suffer more. I should've ripped him up to pieces before killing him. I held back only because of you, my sweet."- he says.

"Wow, thank you."- you say sarcastically. "What the fuck do you want from me? If you want to kill me, just do it already. I'm just a human anyways, I can't possibly fight back. Just end it now."- fresh tears start falling out of your eyes.

"Don't say that! You're supposed to want to stay with me!"- the dark fairy clenches his fists in anger. "We will get there. As soon as I get you all under my spell."

"Why me?"- you ask desperately.

"Because I've been in love with you my whole life. Even when I was just a fairy. But you didn't notice me. I tried everything, I sang to you and called to you, I was the river, the tree, the sunlight. But you ignored every call of mine and I knew that white magic would never help me get to you so that is why I became like this. I have no soul now but still I crave you. So, you owe me in a way, I made myself evil just to get to you. You owe me."- the creature repeats lowly.

"I don't owe you anything! That was your choice to go to the dark side."- you protest.

"I did it because of you!"- he gets angry again, lifting his hand up in your direction.

You jolt but he doesn't touch you, he lifts up the necklace Hyunjin clasped around your neck for protection and smashes it into pieces.

"You don't need this anymore. I'll make you forget him. I'll make you forget everything."- he smirks as you cry quietly. "You should only remember one thing."

"W-what?"- you whimper.

"My name. Felix. It's the only thing you'll come to know."- the dark fairy cackles deeply as he turns around and closes you into the little room.

All the fear and pain clutching onto your being turn into exhaustion and you fall asleep on the floor, feeling abandoned and terrified.

-

You wake up on the bed, with Felix hovering near you and when you realize you're not with Hyunjin anymore and that he's probably dead, your eyes water instantly.

"Shh, don't cry."- the dark creature appears before you, holding something in his hands.

"P-please."- you scoot as far away as you can from him.

"It's okay. I have something for you."- he shows you a cup full of some weird black liquid.

"What is that?"- you hiccup.

"You have to drink it."- he says.

"No."- you shake your head quickly. "I'm not taking anything from you. I want to die."

"Don't talk like that!"- Felix almost gets angry again, trying to calm down so he can have better control over his powers. "You're going to drink it."

"No, I won't!"- you cross your arms over your chest.

Felix is swift as he corners you, his hand gripping your chin and you gasp as your eyes widen in fear.

"Don't make me break your jaw."- he threatens lowly and as you stare into his completely black eyes, you know he's not joking around and you have no choice but to do as he says.

You let him bring the cup to your lips and you drink, almost throwing up at the disgusting taste but Felix makes you drink it all.

You cough when he moves his hand away, grabbing at your throat as you feel a slight burn.

"W-what did you give me?"- you whimper.

"It's a concoction to protect you from good magic. No one will take you away from me, not even yourself."- he says, before his hand grabs yours.

Before you can pull away, he starts chanting, his voice getting deeper and deeper the more he speaks, shivers run through your body but you can't move away from him.

You feel something building up inside you, something dark and heavy, akin to when the sylph held your hand and chanted too.

The sylph. What was his name again?

You couldn't remember. You remember his shiny wings, his pretty face, his touches and kisses but suddenly you can't remember his name.

Hot tears slide down your cheeks as the darkness keeps growing inside you, swallowing your insides, poisoning you with thoughts only of Felix.

"There, there."- your eyelids feel droopy as Felix lays you down. "You'll be okay, little one. Sleep now and we will continue tomorrow."

Day by day, the creature keeps pouring darkness into you, and you cannot fight it, your soul keeps becoming more and more tainted, shrinking and leaving a gaping hole inside you.

Your mind is slowly becoming blank, like a clean slate that he can mould however he wants.

You can't remember anything anymore, not even your name, only snippets of the forest, some kind of fighting, some kind of humming and glinting.

But it's all meaningless, the only thing that's clear in your mind is Felix.

-

"Come here, little one."- Felix beckons you, his hands patting his thighs and you follow mindlessly, sitting down in his lap.

"Tell me, do you like the dress I made for you?"- he asks, his hands on your waist, caressing the black lace that adorns you.

"Yes, Felix. I love it."- you nod and he gives you a smirk.

"I knew you'd like it, but I feel like you would look even better without the dress, what do you say?"

"Whatever you want, Felix."- you look at him, your reflection seemingly small in his big black eyes.

"I want you to let me kiss you."- his lips are closer to yours now, his breath hitting your face.

"Okay."- your eyes close as you wait for him to claim you.

His plump lips press on yours and move gently, contrast to all the anger you witnessed from the creature and you surrender into the kiss as he wraps one arm around your waist and the other tangles in your hair.

Felix nibbles on your lip as his hand slides down to grip your ass and massage it, your lips part as you whimper and he takes that chance to slide his tongue inside, dominating yours as he tastes you.

A little part inside you wants to pull away because deep inside you know he's a monster, he's pure evil, he influenced your mind to obey him with magic but the darkness he fed to you overpowers anything else inside you and you comply when he pulls your head back and starts kissing your neck.

"I've waited so long to have you."- he mumbles against your skin, his wet lips dragging on your sensitive skin, biting into the soft flesh to mark you.

"You'll give yourself to me, won't you sweetheart?"- he whispers sweetly and you can't say no.

"Yes, Felix."- you moan as he grips your thighs.

His hands slide up as he smirks and grabs your breasts, massaging them and pinching your nipples, making you squirm in his lap as you get more aroused with every touch.

You feel his bulge under you growing and you gasp as he presses against you, the hotness between your bodies pulling you in closer to him as you grab onto his shoulders and grind your wet cunt against him.

"My little sweetheart is so eager, hm?"- Felix chuckles, pushing up into you.

"Mm, yes."- you moan as he licks at your collarbone.

"I need you to do something for me before I give you what you need the most."- his deep voice rings in your ear.

"Anything."- you say, like you're hypnotized.

"Get on your knees for me, my sweet."- he commands and you obey without questions, kneeling between his spread legs.

The way you look up at him patiently and innocently, waiting for him to give you his next command almost makes him crumble.

He chuckles lowly as he slides his pants down, his huge cock almost smacking you in the face.

You gasp as you look at it, you don't think you can even take all of it and a pout forms on your face.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"- his hand cups your cheek, thumb rubbing your skin gently.

"It's so b-big."- your lips tremble.

"I know."- he smirks. "It's gonna feel good when I put it inside you, don't worry. Just taste it a little bit, okay?"

"Okay."- you nod, leaning in to give his swollen head a few kitten licks.

"Good sweetheart. Come on, put your pretty lips around it."

You obey, lips wrapping around him as you suck lightly, his pre-cum sliding down on your tongue, spurring you on to take more.

Felix groans at the way your lips stretch around him and the way you keep trying to take more in, even though you physically can't.

"It's okay."- he says as he pats your head, hearing you whine in frustration around him.

"That's enough."- he says and you slide off of him with a pop, a string of saliva connecting you to his member.

"Lay on the bed for me."- he says and you walk towards the bed, stripping out of your dress and laying down naked.

Felix follows you, stripping teasingly as you stare up at him and salivate at the sight of his body.

"Spread your legs."- he smirks as he kneels on the bed and you do as he says.

He scoots closer to you, gripping your legs and moving them up so your knees press onto your shoulders.

"I'm gonna fill you up so good, my sweet."

"I-is it gonna hurt?"- you swallow the saliva that gathered in your mouth.

"Just a little bit. But, I already prepared you with my potions and spells. You'll feel satisified like you've never felt in your life."- he chuckles, grabbing his heavy cock and sliding the head on your wet folds.

You almost missed how wet you got, and you moan when you feel him pressing against your little entrance, making it stretch around the head.

"F-Felix!"- you whimper as the tip breaches in, and your hand looks for his.

He grabs your hand, holding it tightly, his other hand playing with your breast as he slowly pushes his thick, long, veiny cock inside you, making you almost black out from the pleasure the big stretch is giving you.

"Mm, so big! S-so full."- you whimper as he keeps filling you up so much that you have no clue how you're even fitting him inside you and you don't care because he feels so good, so perfect and hot inside your little hole that you feel hypnotized.

Felix can smell the sylph inside you, he knows that he fucked you and anger builds inside him at the thought of that weak whiny sparkly creature having you before he ever did.

His hands grip your thighs as he presses you harder into the bed, pushing the rest of his cock inside you harshly, his heavy balls resting on your ass.

"Ah!"- you whimper, pleasure coursing through your veins and overtaking you as you completely give into the creature, the feeling of being powerless under him makes you equally scared and aroused.

Felix doesn't waste any more time as he start dragging his heavy cock inside you, slamming down onto you and you moan loudly, holding onto the sheets as he fucks you like he's feral.

It's supposed to hurt, in your logical mind you know that, but it's the exact opposite.

The faster and harder he splits your cunt open, the wetter you get, feeling more and more pleasure building up inside you, feeling your body becoming pliant to him, ready to take all of him any time he wants that.

"Finally, my sweet. You're doing so good for me, such a warm and tight hole for my cock."- the dark fairy smirks at you, his black eyes boring into your soul as your breath gets taken away.

You gasp for air as he fucks you with such strength that the bed breaks beneath you, your eyes water and your nails dig into the skin of his biceps right as you cum, harder than ever in your life, squirting around his pulsating cock.

"Mm, so beautiful when you cum for me."- he smirks, fucking you even harder and you can't speak, you can only whimper and moan as he keeps fucking you tirelessly, changing positions a few times, taking out orgasm after orgasm out of you.

"P-please."- you can't take any more, your pussy throbs with sensitivity as he fucks you from behind, the angle making him bury his big cock even deeper inside you, the bulge in your tummy evident.

"Shh."- Felix shushes you as he grabs the supple flesh of your ass, his hips fucking into you three more times before he finally cums, ropes of it keep filling you up endlessly as he groans lowly behind you, leaning down to bite on your shoulder while he rides his high.

"You did so good for me. Took me so well. Feels good?"- he asks, gently caressing your hair.

"Y-yes."- you whimper meekly.

"See, I told you that you'd feel satisfied."- he slowly pulls out, his cum gushing out of you and as he turns you to lay on your back, his spent cock twitches at the sight of your fucked out pussy oozing out his cum.

Felix can't help himself as he leans in, his hands on your inner thighs and he buries his face inside you and starts eating you out hungrily, tasting his cum mixed with yours.

There is no trace of the flowery taste of the sylph and he smirks to himself as you tremble from overstimulation.

"P-please, a break."- you beg and he lifts up.

"I'll give you a break. But, you should get used to this from now on."- Felix smirks as he tucks you in, you're already half asleep as you look up at him.

Your lips part to speak but he shushes you.

"Sleep, my sweet."

After the blood had almost drowned Hyunjin, miraculously his eyes opened, he took a deep breath in and then coughed out more blood.

His whole body throbbed in pain like he never felt before and he knew in that moment that he couldn't fly or walk.

His wings were torn to shreds, skin and flesh ripped on his back, his legs were broken but somehow he survived.

Before he could even assess the extent of the damage, you appeared in his mind.

Your absolutely terrified expression, your tears flowing like a river, your whole body trembling as you fought not to follow the dark fairy but you had no choice as his spells were strong and his influence on you had you in his grip.

The usually peaceful sylph, only fighting when it'a out of self-defense, felt rage unlike ever before bubble up inside him.

Despite the horrible pain burning him on the inside and out, the amount of blood he lost, Hyunjin crawled into the nearest cave, the rage helping him kill a goblin with his bare hands, snapping the neck of the creature and tearing its limbs apart.

He spent days, weeks, months healing and getting stronger, as he found solace in the darkness, his once pure soul turning more and more tainted as he practiced the darkest forbidden magic he could find, conjuring up all sorts of apparitions to teach him their black magic, in turn telling them all the secret places his sylph, pixie and fairy friends lived.

The apparitions would smile from ear to ear, big sharp teeth happy to devour all the unsuspecting light beings, tear them to shreds, destroy their homes and spread their darkness in every corner they could find, their bellies full of hunger for chaos and death.

Hyunjin knew what he was doing was pure evil, and he knew there was no going back from that, as he woke up one morning with horrible pain in his back that had him screaming in the cave, his shrieks echoing off the walls and into the forest, scaring even the goblins and other evil critters away.

Big black wings covered in thick blood sprouted violently from his back, tearing through his skin as he wailed.

His eyes filled with darkness, becoming completely black like a void of nothingness.

His anger made him lift up his hands, as the whole cave started shaking, the stones started cracking, the loud rumble almost causing an earthquake as the cave finally turned into dust.

Hyunjin emerged from it, his big wings lifting him up as a wicked smile danced on his lips.

There is only one thing in his mind now.

Saving you from the clutch of Felix and killing the dark fairy with his bare hands, making him suffer like he did to him and you.

-

Your days became a blur, you didn't even feel like a person anymore, you had no idea who you were, what your name was, how you came to be.

All you knew is that your purpose was to serve Felix so that is what you did.

Whatever he ordered, you would obey, becoming a shell of a human being, just existing to please the dark creature who had underestimated one thing.

He underestimated the very thing that brought him to the state he's in now, the pure infatuation he had with you, the love that turned completely dark.

He had forgotten what love is, forgotten that that's what Hyunjin felt for you and what made him strong, stronger than Felix in his intention to seek revenge.

So, that day as Felix was working on some potions and you patiently sat beside him, waiting for him to tell you what to do, the front door was flung open from the hinges, smashing into the wall in front of it, the pieces of wood exploding all over the place.

Both of you jolted, looking towards the door and in the dust of the explosion, Hyunjin glided in with rage that was almost palpable as he breathed deeply.

You gasped, recognizing him instantly, even with the darkness around him, even with his eyes black as the abyss, black as your captor's eyes.

"Hyu- Hyunjin?"- something broke inside you, tears bursting out of your eyes immediately.

Felix growled as he stood up, shielding you with his wings.

"I thought I killed you, sylph."- he said angrily.

"You thought wrong. You're the one that's going to die."- Hyunjin's voice was unrecognizable, it wasn't the sweet voice that used to sing beatiful melodies to you or the cute giggle that would leave his lips whenever you said something silly.

No, this voice was deep and dark, almost scratchy, the complete opposite of the Hyunjin you knew.

"Hah!"- Felix scoffs. "I'd like to see you try, sylph. I've been doing this a lot longer than you."

"Goodbye, Felix."- Hyunjin smirks and before Felix can even react, Hyunjin lifts his hands up, lifting Felix together with them.

Felix growls, trying to fight back but as soon as he tries to send anything towards Hyunjin, the sylph catches it and throws it back into him, a gust of strong icy wind cutting at Felix's skin and smacking his body into the wall.

You sob on the side, scared and confused as everything slowly comes back to you and there is nothing you can do as you watch your once harmless and sweet Hyunjin waving Felix's body around and smashing him into any surface he comes across like he was a mere ragdoll.

You scoot into the corner of the wall, hugging your knees to your chest as Hyunjin glows red with rage, maiming Felix's already broken body and you close your eyes, your hands pressed on your ears.

Felix chokes on the blood that's bubbling up in his throat and he takes a few last breaths, his black eyes trained on you as he smiles, he at least had you for some time and he can die happy now.

And with that thought, Hyunjin flungs him into the wall one last time, cracking his skull and Felix's lifeless body slides down onto the floor with a loud thud.

In the deafening silence, your sobs are the only thing that fill it up with sound.

Hyunjin knows he's done a horrible thing but he also knows that there is a part of his soul that hasn't died yet, and before that happens, he needs to get you far away from everything that causes you harm.

"Y/n?"- he comes closer to you and you finally look up at him.

"What did you do to yourself, Hyunjin?"- you cry, your heart breaking at the sight of him.

His hair was now completely black like his eyes, his skin pale, black veins painted all around on his face, neck and arms, dark bloodied wings behind him.

"I'm sorry."- he cries, a thick black tear slides down his cheek. "I'm sorry."- he repeats as he comes closer to you, gently grabbing your face.

"I thought you died."- you say, your hands coming up to cover his.

"I thought I was dead too. But, somehow I survived. I had to save you. This was the only way. I can't go back though, I'm sorry y/n but I've done so many evil things. I killed with my bare hands and my teeth. I sent evil beings after all my friends, I got them all slaughtered violently, they're all dead because of me. I- I betrayed my own kind. I have so much blood on my hands now, I'm surprised I even have a little part of my soul left. That's probably only because of you. But, it's just a question of time before I lose that too and hurt you. And I can't bear to think about that so now I will take you to the portal and you will go home and forget about all this."- Hyunjin explains and you start crying again.

"B-but I don't want to forget you."- you grab at him and Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, the embrace that was once warm, now became cold.

"I know. But I'm not the same person anymore. Don't worry, when you go through the portal, you will remember your life and forget about me and that..."- Hyunjin looks at Felix's limp body on the floor. "Everything he did to you or made you do. You'll be okay."

"Hyunjin... I love you."- you cry and he clutches onto you.

"I love you too, darling."- he holds you tighter. "But we must leave now."- he lifts you up in his arms, flying you both out of your prison and towards the portal.

You hold onto him the whole way there, crying and soaking up his clothes with your tears.

What's left of his heart breaks when the portal comes into view.

"What's gonna happen to you?"- you look at the portal then back to Hyunjin.

"I will probably dissipate into the darkness at one point."- he says and you cry harder as you grab at him.

"It's okay. I'm okay with it as long as you're safe."- he smiles, sharp teeth revealed as he looks at you with those eyes full of blankness, making you shiver.

"I'm sorry, Hyunjin. I should've listened to you and stayed at your home. None of this would've happened. It's my fault that you're like this now."

"No."- Hyunjin quickly shakes his head. "I chose to do this to myself so I can save you. Don't worry about it anymore. It's not your fault, okay?"

He pulls you into his chest before you can answer as he gently caresses your head. His hands clasp something around your neck and you gasp leaning back and looking down.

"It's black obisidian. I hope you'll wear it on the other side so I'm always with you even though you won't remember."- Hyunjin smiles sadly and your eyes water again.

He leans in and kisses you one last time before he pulls away and pushes your body through the portal.

You gasp as he disappears out of your sight, together with the forest and everything that happened for the last ten years you've been gone in the real world.

Your back hits the concrete and you hear someone yell out, asking if you're okay but you're too exhausted, your head lolling to the side as your eyes close.

-

Nobody could understand how you could be gone for ten years and still be the same age you were when you disappeared.

You didn't understand it either. You had no idea where you were for the last ten years.

It drove you insane as you thought about it every single day, wondering if aliens abducted you or something of that sort since you couldn't remember even a small fraction of a memory.

All you knew is that you had a black obsidian necklace around your neck, never taking it off, it felt warm and familiar and reminded you of someone but you had no clue who that someone was.

Your wandering thoughts made you go back to the forest, where you always found comfort ever since you were a kid.

Each time you'd walk on the familiar path, in the darkest corners of the thick bushes, you'd feel a presence lurking, but it never scared you as the leaves seemed to whisper and say;

"Hello darling."

Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @laughatdanger

[whumping-in-the-dark]

List of Ways to (FICTIONALLY) Torture Someone

I genuinely have no idea how to make a content warning for this- just don't do this stuff irl ig

Click here to look for part 2

Caning

Electrocution

Stress Positions

Sensory Deprivation

Degradation

Water boarding

Strangling

Choking

Flaying

Skinning

Nailing

Drugging

Sleep Deprivation

Nudity

Shaving away the hair off their head

Plain ol' beating/manhandling

Public humiliation

Keeping them in a cage

Keeping them in a small dark place

Cutting off a body part

Carving them out with a knife

Whipping

Breaking their bones

Burning them with cigarettes

Poking holes into them with needles

Burning them in general

Forcing them to drink alcohol

Burning off their soles and forcing them to walk

Starvation

Dehydration

Sensory Overstimulation

Forcing them to scream their throat raw

Gagging them

Muzzling them

Crushing them w/ a hammer/mallet

Killing off their loved ones in front of them

Torturing their loved ones in front of them

Burying them alive

Hypothermia

Hyperthermia

Forcing them to hurt a stranger

Forcing them to hurt their loved ones

Forcing them to stay completely silent

Chemical burns

Chinese water torture

Forcing them into dangerous addictions

Forcing them to quit said dangerous addictions with zero support

Overfeeding them

Only feeding them food they are allergic to

Forcing them to vomit

And then punishing them for it

Forcing them to hang from the ceiling by their wrists while

Forcing them to walk on and on on the treadmill (and if they slip, they fall into the-)

Meat grinder. Enough said.

Carve degrading names into their skin

Pierce their body without their consent

Tattoo their body without their consent

Force them to wear humiliating clothes

Dislocate their joints

Dowse them in hot water and force them into a cold environment

Forcing them to get/remain sick so that they can only rely on YOU

Sewing their mouth shut

Only feeding them through tubes

Sewing degrading words into their skin

Branding them with a sign of your ownership

Branding them with degrading words

Forcing them to wear a collar with bells

Forcing them to wear a shock collar

Crucification

Keelhauling

Drag them behind the fast moving transportation of your choice <3

Stabbing them

Vivisection

Cannibalism

Almooost drowning them

Poking holes into their eyeballs with a needle

Ripping out their eyeballs

Ripping out their teeth with a pair of pliers... one by one

Attaching a strong cord to their teeth and ripping them all off at once

Pouring melted glass down their throat

Replacing their organs

Removing their organs

Slowlyyy pulling their limbs apart

Putting heavy objects on them over time

Force feeding

Forcing them to betray a loved one

Denying them medicine

Rubbing salt/other irritant into their wounds

Pouring alcohol/other irritant over their wounds

Rubbing their skin off with sandpaper

Forcing them to clean themself up when they're sick/injured

Denying them medicine

Forcing them to earn their 'privileges'

Denailing (slowly peeling off their nails)

Apply leeches onto their body

Force them into a tub of disgusting bugs (bonus points if they're naked)

Paralyzing them

Trapping rats on top of them and then forcing the rats to escape through their body

Dehumanization

Forcing them to shoot someone, except the barrel turns out to be empty

Feel free to suggest additions! I will try to update it whenever I find/think up of something new

Tysm @electrons2006 and @lettherebepain and @aliencatwafers for your ideas :)

[servicpop]

NOW STARRING : deliquent (almost) bf (Adrien) x good student reader

「ㅤNSFWㅤ」ㅤAdrien gets a bit lonely and pulls reader under the staircase during break!

✙ warnings — semi-public sex, masturbation, orgasm denial, reader isn't 100% submissive, dirty talk / like 2 sentences of degradation and praise / not actually dating / slight internalised homophobia / mentions of bisexual Adrien

notes ,, first smut, hope I did well -> part 1 | not proofread!

"Fuck— keep quiet alright?"

When Adrien left a cryptic text message saying to meet underneath the staircase, you at first thought you had done something wrong and he was going to beat you up for whatever you did. But, turns out — it was a really silly reason — that Adrien saw this couple making out underneath the tree they had and he wanted to experience something like that with you. Obviously because friends help friends right?

Underneath the staircase was quite dim and almost eerie. It wasn't as romantic as kissing underneath a cherry blossom tree but when have you two ever been the cheesy romantic type? When you arrived, he pulled you in close, wrapping his arms around you like he had been reunited with his long lost lover — which wasn't too far off since he truly believed that you two dated in a previous life. When he hugged you, you tried to act nonchalant, you tried to ignore the warmth that his chest gave off or how safe you felt in his stupdily built arms. Friends aren't supposed to feel like this to eachother, especially if both parties are men!

"Did you call me over just to hug?" You chuckled softly, fighting every bone in your body to not hug him back. You gotta be strong, you can't fall for a deliquent bad boy, it's too cliché.

"I called you over to fuck."

"Wait, what?"

You felt Adrien's hand grip the back of your head, pulling your hair hard enough to tilt your chin up but not hard enough to hurt (he can't be hurting his precious boy). His chapped lips met yours, it was obvious that he didn't take very good care of his lips but that didn't matter, you'd help him out later. The kiss was rough and almost experimental as if Adrien had never kissed another in his life — which was wrong seeing how he's had multiple girlfriends in the past — he seemed almost hesitant, unsure.

Fuck it. Just this once you'd give in to Adrien, but that doesn't mean you were dating him!

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you prod your tongue against his lips, you figured you would demonstrate how to kiss properly to him, he was a hands on learner after all. His eyes widened slightly and his hands dropped to your waist, supporting your balance as he hesitantly opened his mouth, letting your tongue explore. It was weird because usually he'd be the one always taking control but your occasional leading was a breath of fresh air.

After awhile he pulled away with a smirk, "I got it," he replied before picking you up and forcing you to rely on him for stability. A small squeak left your throat as you were hoisted up in the air and pressed against the wall, your legs instinctively wrapped around Adrien's waist. He kissed you again except this time he took dominance, roughly exploring your mouth, poking and prodding at anything he could find. He was so rough that you hadn't noticed his belt come off until the metal clinked on the ground, then you realised what was poking at your ass.

Shit, he was big. Not necessarily in length but girth and thickness, it was practically the perfect all-rounder.

"Wait— Adrien, condom?" You stuttered, the fear finally settling in now. Its not like you were a virgin, just that you've never had someone like... Adrien. His eyes met yours in slight disappointment but he didn't want to go too far on his first time with you, plus, he wasn't even dating you so why would he go so far? Shaking off his thoughts he nodded, rummaging in his pocket for one while keeping you pressed against the cold wall.

"Jerk me off first? The latex gets uncomfortable to put on," He put on a fake pout, letting you stand as he held his throbbing cock out for you to see. You huffed, he was definitely lying but you'd humour him. Just for today.

You reached down, your warm palm engulfing his tip and he let out a low grown in response. Your thumb rubbed against his slit and a smile cracked onto your face when you saw the pre-cum leaking out already. His forearms caged you in as his head hung low, you could see his eyebrows furrowing and the way his face contorted in pleasure. Adrien's hips grinded up into your fist, matching your rhythm as you stroked his cock, gripping tighter at the base before swirling your thumb on his tip. It was almost like you were massaging his climax out.

"S-shit how are you so good with your hands," He sucked in air between his teeth as he hissed, groans and low moans slipped out of his mouth like water. Eager hips bucked up into your fist, chasing his release. "Close, fuck—" He cursed under his breath, his hips almost slamming into your hand, his body trembed as he was so close. His eyes flew open as he looked down to see your thumb covering his urethral opening, denying him of an orgasm, "Wh–?"

"That's enough isn't it? It should slip on easily now," You grinned, taking the condom from his hand and ripping it open with your fingers, rolling the rubber over his now overly sensitive dick. He stared in disbelief, you just... denied him? Him? Oh you were getting it now.

"You little pervert," Adrien chuckled darkly as he whipped you around, pressing your chest against the wall and holding your arms behind your back. It wasn't the most comfortable position ever but your uncomfort was interrupted when he pulled your pants down with your boxers. It was embarassing to say the least, showing off your ass like this to another guy, you were glad you had to face the wall, otherwise you might’ve crumbled from embarrassment if you saw how hungry Adrien looked.

He was teasing you. Edging you. Slipping his cock along your entrance but never actually pushing in. You were dying of anticipation because from your position, it was hard to see anything other than the walls. A surprised and embarrassingly loud moan slipped out and you'd cover your mouth if it wasn't for Adrien's hand binding your wrists together. Adrien had slammed his hips into you, his cock buried deep inside you. No warning no nothing, he was truly cruel. One hand was gripping your hip while the other hand let go of your wrists, you were finally able to stabilise yourself against the wall but long fingers thrusted their way into your mouth. Well this was new.

You gagged slightly around his fingers as you tried to say something about it but your words were blocked by Adrien's middle and ring finger. His hips also began to pick up speed, pulling out almost fully before slamming back in. You were kind of thankful for his thick fingers blocking and muffling your moans or else people were sure to catch you two fucking like bunnies underneath the staircase.

He leaned down so that his chest was flush against your back and the hand that was gripping your hip turned into his arm linking around your waist as he held you close. Adrien's breath fanned your ear before he spoke, "You know those– puppy bandages you gave me yesterday?" His question was broken from panting and groans as he kept thrusting. "Where did you buy them? I– fuck– want them," Adrien chuckled.

You would answer if you didn't have two fingers stuffed in your throat. "You know... good boys don't gatekeep, you don't wanna be good for me?" Fuck. You were never the one for praise but that? That made you cum on the spot. Your knees gave out as your poor cock spurted out white but Adrien was already keeping you up right. He laughed, his gravelly laugh travelled straight through your ears and to your cock. He smiled against your shoulder, almost like he was hugging you from behind, he quickly came after you. Shame that it wasn't inside you but it would do for now.

You both panted, and he took this opportunity of vulnerability from you to sink his teeth into your skin, eliciting a small gasp from you, "What the fuck Adrien?" The bell rung, indicating that break was over and you whined, fixing your uniform before pulling your boxers and your pants up, wincing from the weird sticky feeling from not cleaning up. Adrien was already dressed and he waved you off, quickly running off to a spot where he could skip the next few classes with his friends. You'd have to fix yourself up in the bathroom later.

BONUS

"Did you seriously cum from my praise?

"No, it's just a normal reaction."

"Who's a good boy?"

"Fuck you..."

"Nope! Never letting you top."

"I didn't mean it like that!"

♡

notes ,, the smut wasn't as detailed as I wanted it to be but I get fics done in like a day so I didn't want it to be so long, anyways! That's adrien, I'll be working on a fic for my next oc "

[randomdragonfires]

Parallel Lines, Act II

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | He fears her proximity, and she fears his distance. As war looms, they’ll have to learn to make their marriage work to find comfort in each other. Or at least, try.

PAIRING | Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

WARNINGS | 18+; SMUT; Angst; Complicated Relationship Themes; Emotional Negligence; Infidelity; Major Character Death; Gore and Graphic Depictions of Violence.

AUTHOR’S NOTE | Henlo! This was meant to be a duology, but the second part became too long so I ended up making it a trilogy instead. Hope it doesn't disappoint! :)

WORD COUNT | 13.9k

On a rare stormy night in King's Landing, the trees danced violently during a torrential downpour. A world-weary mother cloaked in the shadows of the flickering candlelight, whispered her gratitude to the Gods while on her knees - her sickly son had clung to life for yet another day. She thanked the Seven for their mercy upon her child and prayed with a fervent desperation.

"Gentle Mother, I beseech you. Mercy for my boy. He has suffered enough. Rid him of his pain, and give it to me if you can."

Her voice, trembling with exhaustion, echoed through the cold stone walls of the Sept. She turned, the weight of countless nights spent wanting, praying, and begging for her son's life pressing heavily upon her. As her whispered plea lingered in the air, a dark shadow crept through the halls of the Red Keep.

Back in the dimly lit chamber, her son laid fragile and fevered. The babe's suffering ended not by divine mercy but by a blade’s cruel bite, leaving a pool of crimson beneath the crib.

War had come to their doorstep, a brutal retribution for her husband's actions.

As the Princess crossed the threshold of the Sept’s grand doors, the candle flame she had lit in her son's name sputtered and died, extinguished by an unseen hand - that of the Gods, it must be. 

The storm outside seemed to howl with discontent, and an eerie silence settled over the castle, broken only by the distant, mournful wail of the wind. The gods had not answered her prayers - only darkness had.

The funeral had taken place that morning, a bleak procession of mourning and regret. Aemond had stood like a statue, his heart a hollow void as Vhagar’s flames engulfed the little bundle at his command. He had not shed a tear, his grief and rage too immense to be expressed in such simple ways.

She hadn’t either.

Later, he had descended into the castle's black cells, taking Larys Strong with him. The rogue Gold Cloak who had murdered his son lay shackled to a stone slab, his eyes wide with terror.

Aemond approached the man, his eyes cold and dead. "You took my son," he whispered, his voice a venomous hiss. "Now, you will pay."

He began with the nails, gripping the rusty pliers with a hand that trembled not with fear but with a seething rage. One by one, he yanked the nails from the man's fingers, the sickening crack of breaking bone and the wet pop of tearing flesh echoing through the cell. The man's screams were shrill, a high-pitched wail that echoed through the stone walls, but Aemond felt no satisfaction.

"Please," the man gasped, his voice raw and broken. "Mercy..."

Aemond's lips curled into a snarl. "You showed my little son no mercy." He moved to the fingers next, taking a blade and slowly severing them, joint by joint. Blood spurted in thick, dark streams, pooling on the cold stone floor. The man's howls grew frantic, agony that only fueled Aemond's fury.

He grabbed a branding iron, heated until it glowed red-hot, and pressed it against the man's skin. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, acrid and suffocating. The man's screams turned to guttural roars, his body convulsing in torment. Aemond's own face twisted in a mask of hatred and pain, each act of brutality a futile attempt to fill the gaping void in his heart.

"Confess!" Aemond demanded, his voice a thunderous roar. "Confess your crime!"

"I did it!" the man wailed, his voice a ragged sob. "I killed the boy... He made me do it... please, stop… the Rogue Pri-"

But Aemond did not stop. He could not stop. He continued his relentless torture, burning, cutting, and breaking, each act more savage than the last. The man's pleas for mercy turned to incoherent babbling, his mind shattered by the unending pain.

Hours passed, the cell becoming a chamber of horrors. Blood stained the walls and floor, a macabre display of a grieving father’s wrath. Finally, when the man was nothing more than a broken, bleeding husk, Aemond stepped back, his chest heaving with exertion. The rage had not subsided. It never would. But he was too exhausted to continue.

He had been ready to slowly kill the other ratcatcher when found, but Aegon, much less patient, had ordered the hanging of every ratcatcher in the city as recompense for his nephew's life. The streets of King's Landing would run red with blood, a brutal reminder of the price of crossing the King that sits the Iron Throne.

As Aemond ascended from the depths of the castle, the echoes of the man's screams still ringing in his ears, he felt the weight of his failure pressing down on him, a crushing burden that threatened to consume him. He had failed his family, and no amount of blood or pain could ever atone for any of it. Each step he took felt like walking through quicksand, dragging him further into an abyss of guilt and despair.

Now, the greatest task awaited him: facing his wife. How could he? How could he look into her eyes, knowing very well that it may as well have been his own hand that had slain their child? How could he, when he had been out at a whorehouse while his only son was murdered in cold blood?

No matter how angry and fierce he had been moments ago, now he felt small and cowardly. The righteous fury that had fueled his brutal interrogation of the rogue Gold Cloak had dissipated, leaving behind a hollow shell of a man. His rage had been a mask, hiding the unbearable sorrow and guilt that now threatened to overwhelm him.

He paused outside the door to her chambers, his hand trembling as it rested on the fine wood. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and pushed the door open. His wife sat on the floor, clutching Aerys' blanket to her chest, her eyes hollow and fixed on the bloodied crib. The sight of her, so broken and lost, pierced his heart more than anything else ever could.

He’d failed as a husband, father and protector.

The servants moved around her like phantoms, silently removing the stained mattress and the crib that had once held their precious boy. She did not give them a second glance, her body rigid and unyielding, as if she had turned to stone. The servants bowed to Aemond as they passed, their eyes lowered in sorrowful respect and fear. He watched them, his heart shattering with each step they took, carrying away the last remnants of his son.

Aemond's throat tightened, his breath coming in shallow gasps. How could he face her? How could he bear the weight of her grief and anger? He took another deep breath, forcing himself to move. Each step toward her felt like an eternity, the distance between them an insurmountable chasm of pain and regret.

He knelt beside her, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She did not flinch, did not acknowledge his presence. Her gaze remained fixed on the empty space where their son had once lain. If not for the faint rise and fall of her chest, he would have thought her dead.

“You were not there,” she said, her voice a hollow echo in the dim room. “You were not there when he was born. It’s only fitting that you weren’t there when he died as well.”

The words struck Aemond like a physical blow, each one a dagger to his already bleeding heart. Her tone, completely devoid of any emotion, sent a chill through him. The emptiness in her voice was far more terrifying than any rage or grief. It was the voice of someone who had been utterly broken, and it slowly killed him a little more with every passing moment.

His mind flashed back to that night, so long ago now, when Aerys had been born. He had been with the Madame, scared of losing his wife so much that he could not bear to stay - leaving her to bear their son alone. He had returned to find her pale and exhausted, cradling their newborn with a mixture of joy and exhaustion. 

Her eyes, once filled with warmth and love for their boy, now held only a deep, hollow emptiness. “He needed you, Aemond. I needed you, I went out of my way and begged you to protect us. And you weren’t there. Not when he took his first breath, and not when he took his last.”

She turned away, clutching Aerys’ blanket tighter to her chest, her body shaking with silent sobs. “I watched him suffer every night,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I watched him cry out in pain from the fevers, and I couldn’t do anything to save him. I prayed, Aemond. I prayed so much, and the gods took him anyway. And how… how he must have suffered…”

“I don’t know how to live with this,” she continued, her voice cracking. “Everywhere I look, I see him. His toys, his clothes, his empty crib. And I see you, and I wonder how we’ll bear it. How can we live with ourselves, knowing very well that we’d failed him?”

Her choked sobs gave way to cries, piercing the silence of the room like a thousand daggers. Aemond turned to hold her close, desperate to offer any semblance of comfort. She pounded on his chest with her fists, weakly at first, then with growing strength as her grief overwhelmed her. She tried to push him away, but he held her closer with each blow, his arms a fortress around her fragile body. Her screams grew louder, echoing through the empty chambers, the corridors, the entire Keep.

“What do we do, Aemond? How do we go on?”

For what felt like hours, he held her as she struggled, his heart breaking anew with each of her sobs. She pushed him away again and again, but he pulled her back every time, refusing to let her go. He whispered words of solace, though he knew they were hollow, futile against her anguish. The warmth of her tears soaked through his tunic, mingling with his own as they wept together.

Gradually, her struggles weakened, her sobs quieting into shuddering breaths. Exhausted, she slumped against him, her head resting on his shoulder. He stroked her hair gently, his own tears falling into her tangled locks.

When she finally calmed, she lifted her head to look into his eyes. The depth of her pain was mirrored in his gaze, their shared torment powerful enough to get the Gods to bow down their heads n shame. "I see you," she said, her voice throaty, raw and trembling. "I see you, Aemond, and I see the reason our son is dead."

Her words cut through him like a blade, and he flinched, but she continued, her eyes never leaving his. "But I also see the only person who feels this loss as much as I do. I hate you, Aemond, for what you've done, for not being here, for all of it. But I cannot push you away. I don't have the strength to be alone. Not now. Not ever."

Her voice broke on the last word, and she buried her face in his chest again, clutching his tunic with trembling hands. "Do not leave me," she begged, her voice a whisper of desperation. "Please, Aemond, do not leave me today."

She cried against his chest once more, her tears soaking through the fabric. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart, a frantic rhythm that matched his own. The memory of their son lingered in the air, as they clung to each other - two broken souls, adrift.

Aemond and his wife grieved, their methods as different as night and day. He poured himself into the war, throwing himself into strategy and shadow plotting to escape the crushing weight of his anger, guilt and sorrow. Every victory that Criston wrote to him about was a fleeting distraction from the void left by their son's death. The fight, the anger, the bloodied lands had his heart become cold, and his mind was focused on the immediate need to conquer.

She, on the other hand, hid herself away in her apartments, crying until her tears ran dry, only to begin again as soon as the next wave of sorrow crashed over her. The chamber was an eerie tomb of memories, filled with the echoes of a child whose cries were now silenced. She clung to their son's bloodied blanket, refusing to let the maids take it away. It was the last tangible piece of him, the only thing she could still hold. Her grief was raw and unending, a torrent that left her exhausted and hollow.

He watched her more than once, standing silently in the doorway, his heart heavy at the sight of her frail form curled up on their son's blanket. She was a shadow of the woman she once was, a stranger that he shared his deepest failure with - not to mention the subsequent pain of it all. Her sobs were gut-wrenching, a mournful lullaby that haunted the silent halls. Each sob was a reminder of his failure to protect their child, to protect her.

On those nights, he would tentatively approach her, his steps hesitant and unsure. Sometimes she would receive him, allowing him to hold her as she wept, her tears soaking into his leathers. He would murmur soft, broken words, his hand gently stroking her hair in a futile attempt to offer comfort. Her pain was palpable, a living thing that wrapped around them both and squeezed until they could hardly breathe. He felt helpless, his warrior's strength, his proud lineage and dragonrider’s blood useless against the insidious enemy of grief, one that had thoroughly defeated her.

Other nights, she would blame him, her grief turning into fury as she screeched at him to never darken her door again. Her words were sharp, each one a poison-tipped arrow aimed at his heart. She accused him of failing them, of failing their son. He took her anger in silence, his eyes hollow and his heart heavy. Her words cut deep, but he could not refute them. He had failed, and he bore that failure like a scar across his soul. And when she was done screaming, she’d fall into his arms and cry once more - for who else did they have in their grief, apart from each other?

On those nights, the pain of her rejection would drive him to the Madame, seeking the comfort he could not find at home. The whorehouse was a stark contrast to his wife's chambers. It was filled with the scent of perfume and sweat, the air thick with the sounds of laughter and moans. He would lose himself in the warmth of another's body, the physical release a temporary balm for his wounded soul. She was experienced, her touches skilled and knowing. She took him without question, a vessel for his anger and sorrow. He sought solace in the intensity of their embraces, the roughness of their passion, and the desperate attempt to drown out his grief.

The relief was fleeting, and the guilt that followed only deepened his despair. He would leave the Madame's alcove, his body sated yet not, his heart heavy yet not. The walk back to the castle was a walk of shame, each step a reminder of his failure as a husband - what good was he if he could not protect or comfort? 

In stark contrast, his time with his wife was chaste, almost delicate. He would sit beside her, his hand hovering with uncertainty before resting gently on her shoulder. She would not speak, but she would not push him away either. Aemond treated her like fragile glass, afraid that one wrong move would shatter her more than she already had been.

Today was not one such day. Today, he would fly Vhagar to war.

Rook’s Rest beckoned him; his call to glory. This would be the day that he began his legacy.

Aemond stood in his chambers, his fingers trembling as he repeatedly failed to secure his hair with a threadbare tie. His heart pounded with a potent mix of nerves and eagerness. Each time the tie slipped through his fingers, frustration mounted, his movements becoming more erratic.

The door creaked open, and he turned sharply, ready to lash out at whoever dared interrupt his solitary struggle with no warning. But it was not a servant. It was his wife.

She looked to be in good spirits. He knew better.

She entered the room with a quiet grace, her presence a stark contrast to her appearance these past few weeks. She looked every bit the regal princess she was - her posture poised, her expression serene. She held his riding leathers in her hands, a gesture that spoke volumes without a single word. “I… I thought I’d wish you well,” she said softly, her voice a hesitant murmur. 

He didn’t know what to say, so he simply nodded, his throat tightening with a mix of emotions. The lump in his throat made it difficult to speak, and he watched her as she approached him, each step measured and deliberate.

His gaze lingered on her face, committing every detail to memory as he prepared to throw himself headfirst into the fighting. Her hair, cascading in soft waves, framed her delicate features. He noticed the way a few errant strands fell over her forehead, the way her ears peeked out from beneath the locks, adorned with earrings that his mother had gifted her upon the birth of their son.

There was a softness in her eyes, a vulnerability. He traveled the lines of her face with his eye, the gentle slope of her nose, the faint freckles that dusted her cheeks, barely visible but always there. His gaze settled on her lips, lips that he had not kissed since their wedding almost two years ago. They were slightly parted, as if she were about to say something, and he could see the subtle tremor in them. He remembered their first kiss, the way her lips had felt against his - cold and limp.

Her touch sent a jolt of warmth through him, and he found himself highly aware of every movement she made. She helped him into his clothes with a seemingly practiced ease, her fingers grazing his skin and leaving trails of heat in their wake. He stilled, his gaze locked onto her, and her alone.

She started with the undershirt, guiding his arms through the sleeves. Her hands were gentle yet firm, the fabric sliding over his skin. She moved to the leather jerkin then, her fingers deftly fastening the buckles and sending shivers down his spine. He could feel the heat of her hands through the cool leather.

Has she ever helped dress him before?

As she cinched the straps around his waist, her body pressed close to his, and he inhaled the scent of her - a mixture of lilacs and something uniquely her. Her fingers brushed against his neck, and he fought the urge to close his eyes and savor the sensation.

Once the leathers were secured, she stepped back, her eyes scanning his form to ensure everything was in place. "Do you need your hair braided?" she asked, her voice soft and hesitant.

He shook his head no, unable to find his voice. She walked behind him, her fingers threading through his silver strands. Her touch was soothing, and he felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. She gathered the top half of his hair, pulling it into a knot, while leaving the bottom half loose - just the way he preferred. Her movements were deliberate, almost reverent, as if she were committing every strand to memory.

Was she trying to remember him just as he did her?

When she finished, she stepped back to admire her work, her eyes meeting his functional one in the mirror. For a moment, they simply stood there, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. He turned to face her, his gaze never leaving hers.

She laid her hands on his back and began reciting a prayer to the Seven, her voice trembling. Her fingers traced the lines of his muscles, as if memorizing the feel of him, and when she finished, she nodded and smiled weakly - a weak upturn of her lips so full of fear, for him.

She walked away, each step heavy with reluctance, until she stopped midway and turned when he whispered her name. “Your favor.” His voice was steady, almost devoid of emotion, but she knew him too well. The slight upward curve of his lips, the brief twitch of his eyebrow before it settled back, revealed more than words ever could.

Her hand trembled as she reached into her neckline, pulling out a small satin square. He caught her wrist, his grip gentle but firm, and she felt the world narrow down to the space between them. As she handed him the token, she stepped closer until their foreheads met, their breaths mingling, becoming one.

They stood there, suspended in a moment that felt both fleeting and eternal, the possibilities and uncertainties pressing in on them. It was a fragile convergence, their desire to be together finally surfacing, only to be shadowed by the looming threat of separation. The cost of their union was too much - Aerys, was too much - a weight neither of them will ever be rid of.

Her head was nestled against his neck, hidden from the world by the veil of her loose hair. It fell around her like a curtain, hiding her from the chaos. She whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, “I need you to come back.” For me, she didn’t say.

Aemond felt her plea in every fiber of his being. He understood her without needing her to elaborate. As he held her close, he let her imprint his presence into her memory, knowing that she believed that this might be their last shared moment -he was sure of their victory, and he knew she was too. But she was a wife, and he supposed it was in her nature to worry. 

I don’t have anyone else here.

Their foreheads met, a tender touch that spoke volumes. Her eyes searched his own, and he saw the reflection of his own yearning and fear. The intimacy of the moment was almost unbearable, a poignant reminder of what they had already lost, what they stood to lose. Her breath mingled with his, her scent enveloping him, and he memorized every detail - the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body, the depth of her woes.

Any closer, and he could kiss her. But he didn’t.

Later in the yard, the waiting wife watched her warring prince go, her heart heavy as he carried a piece of her with him into battle. 

She didn't pray anymore.

The Gods had seen fit to snatch her son away, and their cruelty had hardened her heart to stone. Yet, as she stood on the battlements of the Keep, watching the wounded men stagger through the gates, she felt the faintest pull toward the Sept, an old, almost forgotten reflex. The soft murmurs of hymns, the flicker of candles, the scent of incense - all seemed like distant memories of a life now lost to endless war.

So many men. Sons, brothers, husbands, uncles…

The scene below was a scene of abject suffering, a picture of agony and despair. Soldiers limped and staggered, their bodies broken and burnt, some supported by their brothers in battle, others barely able to move. Blood stained their armor, their faces twisted in pain, their eyes hollow and vacant. The air was thick with the stench of blood, burnt flesh, and the acrid smoke from dragonfire, a vile miasma that clung to her senses. The cries of the wounded echoed in the courtyard, a chorus of despair that seemed to reverberate off the stone walls and pierce her heart.

Her gaze flitted over the faces, each one etched with pain and horror. She saw men clutching at wounds, their fingers slick with blood, their expressions a mixture of shock and resignation. There were those whose eyes stared unseeing, their bodies no longer vessels of life but remnants of what had once been vibrant souls. Young boys, barely old enough to be called men, uncharacteristically sobbed. Older men, who had seen countless battles, now faced the grim reality that this war may as well bring their end.

Then she saw him.

Barely alive, Aegon’s body was a ruin of burns and bandages, carried on a stretcher like a broken doll. His frame was now a pitiful sight, his breath shallow and labored. She’d never liked Aegon in all truth - but he was her King. If he died, would all this blood be for naught?

Her heart clenched as she tried to move closer, to see the extent of his injuries, but the soldiers turned him away, rushing him towards the Maester’s chambers with a sense of urgency that spoke volumes.

“Make way for the King!”

She felt the strength drain from her legs, her back sliding down the cold, unyielding stone of the castle wall. Shock and despair settled over her like a shroud, heavy and suffocating. How much more of this horror could she endure? How many more lives would be lost before this nightmare ended? The enormity of the suffering, the endless cycle of loss and pain, was almost too much to bear.

Criston Cole emerged from the chaos, looking as though he had walked through the depths of Hell. His armor was blackened, his face lined with exhaustion and grief, his eyes dull and haunted. When their eyes met, she saw a flicker of something she never expected - pity.

“Princess, you should not be here.”

“What happened? Please tell me, Ser Criston.”

“King Aegon valiantly slayed Rhaenys and the Red Queen,” he said, his voice raw and weary, barely more than a whisper - empty. “Led his men into battle with valor. And now he’s brought back in a damned box, fighting for his life.” In his voice was a heaviness she never thought she’d hear from him - but how else was he supposed to sound when he’d watched a boy he helped raise himself come back looking shriveled in burn wounds? Her throat tightened, and tears threatened to spill. The weight of his words crushed her, a stark reminder of the relentless cost of war.

And where was Aemond? Her thoughts turned to him, a fresh wave of dread washing over her, suffocating in its intensity.

“What of my husband?”

“With Vhagar at Blackwater Bay. I… May I suggest that you keep away from him for a time, Princess? Give the Prince time before you go to him. Anger and… one does not have control over their words or actions after having immediately come back from a battle. Especially one like this.” It seemed like he was concerned for her, but she detected a sneer in his tone, especially in his last words.

Since when was Ser Criston Cole’s anger meant for Aemond? What could have possibly happened?

Blackwater Bay stretched out beneath the setting sun, the waters shimmering with hues of gold and crimson. The sky had dark clouds mingling with the fading light. The scent of salt and smoke lingered in the air, mingling with the distant cries of seagulls and the echoes of the day's violence. The waves lapped gently against the shore, a stark contrast to the turmoil that had unfolded earlier.

Aemond stood beside Vhagar, the massive dragon that had been his companion through his latest victory at Rook’s Rest. Her scales, a mottled mix of bronze and green, glistened in the twilight. Vhagar's snout was as wide as a cart, and Aemond leaned against it, his forehead resting gently against her scales. He murmured softly in Valyrian, his voice a soothing melody that calmed the mighty beast. The dragon's breath, warm and steady, seemed to wash over him, ruffling his silver hair. Her massive chest rose and fell with each breath, a rhythm that mirrored the ocean's tides.

From a distance, she watched, her heart pounding in her chest. This was the closest she had ever been to Vhagar, the legendary dragon whose mere presence could instill fear in the bravest of men. She had seen Vhagar from afar many times, a distant silhouette in the sky or a menacing figure on the horizon, but never this close. She hesitated, unsure if she should approach. Would she be welcomed, or would Vhagar see her as an intruder?

Summoning her courage, she stepped forward, her feet sinking into the sand as she made her way toward them. The closer she got, the more details she noticed. Vhagar's scales were not just bronze and green but interspersed with streaks of darker hues. The dragon's claws, as long as swords and just as sharp, dug into the earth, leaving deep gouges in the sand.

Aemond lifted his head slightly, his keen senses alerting him to her presence. He turned, his gaze meeting hers, a mixture of surprise and something softer in his eyes. He didn't say anything, but his eye spoke volumes. With a slight nod, he acknowledged her approach, his silent permission for her to come closer.

She took another step, her breath catching in her throat as Vhagar's massive head turned toward her. The dragon's golden eyes locked onto her, and for a moment, she felt a wave of fear. But Vhagar didn't move, only watched with an inscrutable gaze.

Tentatively, she reached out a hand, stopping just short of touching the dragon's scales. The heat radiating from Vhagar's body was almost overwhelming, a reminder of the sheer power contained within. She glanced at Aemond, seeking reassurance, and he gave a small, encouraging nod.

Gathering her courage, she placed her hand on Vhagar's snout. The scales were surprisingly smooth, warm beneath her touch. She felt a tremor run through the dragon, a rumble that seemed to resonate deep within her own chest.

"She won't harm you," Aemond said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

She took a deep breath, her voice trembling as she spoke. "Are you alright?" she asked, her eyes searching his face for any sign of the turmoil she sensed within him. The tempestuous energy that seemed to emanate from Vhagar mirrored the tension she felt in Aemond, a war-heavy restlessness that seemed to seep from the dragon into her husband.

Aemond's jaw tightened, and he looked away for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. "Hm," he replied, his tone clipped. The anger in his voice was barely contained, simmering just beneath the surface.

She took another step closer, her hand still resting on Vhagar's snout, the warmth grounding her. "I can feel it," she said softly, "...the fury. It's in Vhagar... and in you."

He met her gaze again, his eye hardening. "War does that to a man," he said bitterly. "It changes you."

She nodded slowly, her fingers tracing the smooth scales of the dragon. "It's not just the war, is it?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "There's something else."

For a moment, she expected him to speak of the men they had lost, the lives extinguished under his command. As their war general and First Sword, she thought he would be burdened by the weight of their deaths. But as his eye flashed with anger, her heart sank, a knot of dread forming in her stomach.

"Aegon," he spat, the name laced with venom. "That fool rode in on Sunfyre and stole the glory that was rightfully mine. I fought, I orchestrated this victory, and he swoops in at the last moment, drunk as a street lecher, to claim it as his own."

Her breath caught in her throat, the raw bitterness in his voice slicing through her. "Aemond," she said gently, "I know you wanted to prove yourself, to show your worth. But isn't it enough that you fought bravely, that you survived? Aegon is battling for his life, but you have come out unscathed!"

His eye narrowed, the fury in his gaze burning even hotter. "It's not about survival," he snapped. "It's about being remembered, about being recognized for my strength, my skill. And he took that from me."

The realization hit her like a blow. He was not mourning the fallen soldiers or the horrors of war. His rage was fixated on Aegon, on the stolen glory. The bloodshed, the loss of life, barely seemed to register in his mind.

"Aemond," she whispered, her voice trembling. "What about the men we lost? The lives that were sacrificed?"

He looked at her, his expression hardening further. "They were necessary," he said coldly. "A means to an end."

Her heart broke at his words, the chasm between them widening. The man she had married, the man she tried to love, was consumed by ambition and a thirst for recognition to the point of it being beyond inhumane. She glanced at Vhagar, the dragon's golden eyes reflecting her own despair.

"I thought..." she began, her voice faltering. "I thought you would care about them, about the lives we lost."

Aemond's eye softened slightly, a flicker of something like regret passing over his face. "I do care," he said quietly, "but not in the way you think. My duty is to win, to secure our place. Everything else is secondary."

As Aemond's words hung heavy in the air, she felt disillusionment settle upon her heart. She couldn't bear to look at him any longer, her gaze drifting to Vhagar whose golden eyes mirrored her own despair. The dragon, magnificent and fearsome, was a reflection of Aemond's ambition, a creature driven by instinct and power, heedless of the lives trampled beneath its might.

At that moment, she understood Criston's anger.  She felt a wave of sympathy for him, for having to witness the transformation of the boy that he helped raise and taught, into a man driven by ruthless determination. Was this what Ser Criston feared? Was this the monster he saw lurking beneath Aemond's exterior, waiting to be unleashed by the brutality of war?

She didn't blame him for his anger. In fact, she shared it. She was angry at Aemond - for his callousness, for his disregard of the lives lost, for his single-minded pursuit of glory. But underneath all her anger, there lingered a deep, unsettling fear. 

She feared that man he was becoming. What did it say about him that he cared so little for men that fought in his family’s name?

What did it say about her that she still yearned for him all the same?

Sleep eluded her that night.

How could it possibly come, after the horrors she had witnessed? And that too, only from the training yard! Aemond had been on the war ground, surely suffering even worse torments. She longed to seek him out, to offer the solace he might need, as she had done before. But how could she?

What of the men we lost? The lives sacrificed?

They were necessary... A means to an end.

He frightened her. War was transforming her husband into a monster—she knew he was bloodthirsty like every warrior who ever graced the earth, fiery with the dragon blood that coursed through his veins. But was he truly as callous as he seemed today?

A means to an end... Did he think of Aerys that way too?

Her son, her precious boy…

No.

The darkness of the night weighed heavy on her heart, each passing minute a relentless reminder of her fears. The once comforting silence of their chambers now felt oppressive, suffocating. The flicker of candlelight cast dark figures, transforming familiar surroundings into a space that she hated to remain in.

A means to an end... Was that all they were? Was that all their son was? The questions gnawed at her soul, each one a dagger of doubt and despair. She feared for Aemond, for their future, and most of all, for Aerys - the innocent caught in the maelstrom of her husband’s making.

Sleep eluded her that night, and with it, any semblance of comfort.

Her mind spiraled, a whirlwind of anguish and dread, each thought more tortuous than the last. She could no longer bear the torment alone, her heart ached with the weight of her fears. Driven by a desperate need for answers, she found herself rushing to Aemond’s chambers in nothing but a shift and her robe, her hair unkempt, the lack of sleep and stress etched into her face.

Bursting through the door without knocking, she stopped abruptly, her breath catching in her throat. Aemond stood before her in his dark green leathers, a cloak draped over his shoulders, the flicker of the torchlight illuminating his features. He froze at the sight of her, his eye piercing straight into her soul.

“Wife, you are not dressed.”

"And you are. It is late in the night, and you are dressed. Where are you going?" she asked, her voice trembling, barely a whisper.

His silence was deafening. The tension between them was palpable, a suffocating presence in the room. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing her growing despair.

"Where are you going?" she repeated, her voice breaking.

Still, he said nothing. His eyes, usually so full of fire and passion, were now cold and distant. She took a step forward, her hands trembling, reaching out to him as if trying to bridge the chasm that had grown between them.

The whorehouse. Was he going to the whorehouse again? Where else had he ever gone at this time of the night?

Her mind spiraled, a whirlwind of anguish and doubt. The thought of him seeking solace in another’s arms twisted the knife deeper into her heart. Tears welled in her eyes, her voice breaking as she spoke.

“You said the soldiers were a means to an end,” she choked out, her words trembling with emotion. “Is that all Aerys was to you too? Is that all I’ll ever be?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his face hardening. “Do not bring Aerys into this,” he said, his voice low and menacing.

She wounded him, but she couldn’t stop herself. “How can I not?” she cried, her tears flowing freely now. “You talk about sacrifices and means to an end. Is that what we are to you? Just another sacrifice?”

His eye flashed with a mixture of anger and pain, his body tensing as if ready to strike. “You know nothing of what I endure,” he growled, his voice a dangerous whisper. “Do not presume to understand.”

“Then help me understand,” she pleaded, her voice breaking. “Tell me why you leave me here, alone with my fears.”

“Do not ever suggest,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous, “that you and our son are anything less than everything to me.”

Her body trembled, not from fear, but from the raw intensity of his emotions. Tears streamed down her face, her voice a broken sob. “I don’t know what to believe. You’re going back to the whorehouse, and I don’t know what to think. I thought we were doing well but—”

Aemond’s silence was like a chasm between them, widening with every passing moment. She could see the struggle in his eyes, the battle between his pride and his vulnerability. But still, he said nothing.

Her heart shattered at his refusal to speak, the weight of her doubts and fears pressing down on her. “Is it the whorehouse?” she whispered, the words barely audible. “Are you seeking comfort in another’s arms again?”

His face contorted with rage, and in a swift, violent motion, he grabbed her shoulders and slammed her against the wall. The force of the impact left her breathless, the pain a sharp reminder of the distance between them.

“How dare you,” he hissed, his face inches from hers.

She trembled beneath his grip, her tears falling like rain. “What am I supposed to think?” she sobbed. “You leave me night after night, and you won’t tell me where you go, or what you do. You insist that you are true to me in your heart, but that means nothing when the servants keep seeing you slip out of the Keep and into Silk Street. How am I supposed to believe in you, when you keep pushing me away?”

Aemond’s grip tightened, his eyes blazing with fury. “I fight for us,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “Everything I do, I do for us. To protect you, to avenge our son. Do not question my loyalty.”

Her voice was a broken whisper, the pain in her heart almost unbearable. “Then why does it feel like you’re slipping away from me?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Why does it feel like I’m losing you?”

He silenced her with a kiss, fierce and desperate, pouring all his anger into that single act. His lips crashed onto hers with an intensity that took her breath away. It was not gentle, but raw and consuming, as if he were trying to convey every unsaid word, every buried emotion, through the touch of his mouth on hers. Her protests melted away, her body responding instinctively to his touch.

She felt his hands tremble as they cupped her face, his fingers threading through her hair, pulling her closer. The kiss deepened, his tongue seeking hers with a hunger that spoke of months of separation, of sleepless nights and lonely days. Her own hands reached up, clutching at his cloak, her fingers digging into the fabric as if she feared he might slip away again.

Their breaths mingled, warm and erratic, each exhale a whisper of longing and regret. She tasted the salt of her own tears on his lips, mingling with the unique taste of him - how could you miss something so much if you had very little of it to begin with? 

His lips moved with a desperate urgency, as if he were trying to memorize every contour, every curve, and commit it to memory.

He was kissing her. He was kissing her. He was kissing h-

His lips on hers, her breath and his as one, their souls entwined. She felt the weight of his body pressing against hers, the solid, reassuring presence of him grounding her in the reality of the moment. The room around them faded away, leaving just the two of them, locked in a world where only their connection mattered.

Her heart pounded in her chest, the rhythm echoing the frantic beat of his. She could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of her shift, his warmth seeping into her skin, banishing the cold that had settled in her bones during his absence.

He broke the kiss only to rest his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the scant space between them. His eyes bore into hers, speaking volumes without a single word.

He had not kissed her since their wedding ceremony. This was the first in more than a year.

"Don't go," she whispered, her back pressed against the cold, unyielding stone of his chambers. His dark presence loomed over her, a shadow that both entrapped and intoxicated her. She was in no place to command, but this was a desperate plea, the truest command she had ever uttered. "I am.. I am a mother without a child, but tonight, let me be a wife to my husband. However you'll have me."

Her lips, soft as the brush of a feather, sought the hard line of his jaw, leaving a trail of tentative kisses. She held his head to hers, fingers tangling in his dark hair, lifting herself on tiptoes to reach him.

"Please, for once," she implored, her voice breaking. "I’m begging you, choose me."

His eyes flickered, emotions swirling within their depths. Intensity surged, a fierce storm, yet there was a hint of softness, a vulnerability that made her breath hitch. Then he laughed, a cruel, beautiful sound that sliced through her. She had always despised how his laughter made him even more captivating, even as it shattered her.

Humiliation washed over her, hot and sharp. She released him, feeling the sting of her own words. She had vowed never to beg for his love, yet here she was, laid bare and begging. And he laughed.

Her head bowed, eyes fixed on the floor, she tried to step away, her heart a heavy stone in her chest. But he was quicker, his hand shooting out to slam her back against the wall once more. The force of it rattled her, but she could not escape the vice-like grip of his fingers on her arms. His face was inches from hers, the ridges of his brow now visible to her in a way that it had never been before. His lips twitched, a predatory smile playing at the corners, and his fingers dug deeper into her flesh.

His nose brushed against hers, a tender gesture at odds with the roughness of his hold. She braced herself for more cruelty, but his words were unexpected.

"You once said you didn’t like begging for me. Shame," he murmured, his voice a deadly caress. "I quite like it when you do."

She was ensnared, caught in the dark web of his presence, and despite everything, she realized she didn't want to escape. His touch, his words, his very essence were chains she had willingly bound herself with. All she could do was surrender.

“I now find that I’m not above it if it brings me to you,” she whispered, her voice a fragile murmur lost to the wind.

He sensed her surrender, an unspoken truce formed between them. Was it exhaustion, or a sense of defeat from all they had endured? She couldn’t say. But at this moment, she knew where she stood. She needed him. She had no one else, and she needed him to be there for her, with her. Pathetic, really. The cost of them finally seeing eye to eye was too high, but she couldn't help but crave it all the same. She sought the same comfort he did. It felt heavy, but a bond forged by a loss as monumental as theirs had to be, surely?

His grip softened, the rigid tension in his body easing. Sensing his unspoken assent, she moved her hands to the clasp of his cloak, her fingers trembling as she unclipped it one by one. She nudged him forward as she pushed it off, watching the thick cloth fall to the floor with a soft thud.

In a swift, almost predatory movement, he pushed her onto the vanity near them, his lips crashing down onto hers with a fervent passion that stole her breath away. His kiss was searing, consuming, filled with a desperate urgency that came with not having each other as long as they hadn’t. He moved from her lips to her neck, his hands bunching up her shift with a roughness that sent shivers down her spine. He hauled her thighs forward, spreading her legs wide, and stood between them, his hardness pressing against her clothed cunt as she perched precariously on the edge of the table. His lips marked her skin, each bite and suckle sending jolts of pleasure and pain that mingled until she felt dizzy with desire.

She wrapped her arms around him, her fingers digging into the leather of his back, holding on as if he were her anchor in a storm. A moan escaped her lips when his thumb pressed against her damp smallclothes, a wicked smile curving his mouth in response. The smallclothes were swiftly discarded, his thumb tracing the slick line of her slit before he plunged a long finger into her warmth. She gasped at the sudden intrusion, her body arching into him. It had been so long since she’d felt him.

Her eyes fluttered closed, but his voice, rough and commanding, pulled her back. “Look at me,” he ordered, his tone a dark promise.

Her gaze locked onto his, the intensity of his stare holding her captive as his fingers pumped in and out of her. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through her, building until she thought she might shatter. Her world narrowed to the man before her, his touch, his presence, his power over her.

His fingers worked her expertly, his thumb circling her pearl as he added another finger, stretching her, filling her. She could feel the coil tightening in her core, the pressure mounting as he brought her closer and closer to the edge. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her nails digging into his shoulders as she held on for dear life.

“Issa ābrazȳrys,” he growled. His voice a low rumble that sent a thrill through her. My wife.

He thrust harder, faster, his lips capturing hers in a bruising kiss as he drove her over the edge. Aemond tasted the copper tang of blood blooming from her lips from his attention and was certain he was going to lose all control. She came undone around his fingers, her body shattering in a blinding wave of pleasure. Her eyes never left his, her gaze locked onto his as she fell apart, her climax ripping through her with an intensity that left her trembling in its wake.

He held her through it, his fingers slowing but never stopping, prolonging her pleasure until she was spent, her body limp and sated in his arms. As the last tremors subsided, he pulled his fingers from her, bringing them to his lips and tasting her essence with a satisfied smirk.

She was his, utterly and completely, and in that moment, she knew she would never be free of him. Nor did she want to be. It scared her, but she could not help herself.

Her lord husband. Hers, hers, hers, h-

“Gevie.” Beautiful.

“What?” she asked, her voice breathless and filled with anticipation.

He responded with a firm squeeze of her hips, urging her to remove his jerkin and undershirt. Her fingers trembled with excitement and desire as she worked at the fastenings, feeling the heat radiating from his body. She wobbled slightly as he lowered her to stand, catching the smirk on his face as he steadied her. The look in his eye, dark and predatory, sent a thrill through her. His touch was both gentle and commanding, a stark contrast that made her knees weak.

Her robe and shift followed quickly, sliding from her shoulders in a soft whisper of fabric. She stood before him, exposed and vulnerable, watching his single eye darken with raw desire as her breasts spilled free. The intensity of his gaze made her shiver, a delicious anticipation coiling low in her belly.

This time, she was the one who initiated the kiss, her lips seeking him with a desperate hunger. She pressed herself against him, reveling in the sensation of his bare skin against hers, his muscles taut and unyielding beneath her fingers. His hands roamed her body with a possessive urgency, gripping and kneading her flesh as if he couldn’t get enough of her.

He guided her gently backwards, his movements controlled and purposeful. The back of her knees hit the edge of the bed, and she let out a soft gasp as he laid her down, the plush, satin-chased mattress cushioning her fall. She bounced slightly, her hair fanning out around her head, and looked up at him with wide, expectant eyes. Her gaze flickered to his eyepatch, a question forming in her mind, but she made no move to remove it. 

His growl, low and primal, reverberated through her, sending a shiver down her spine. His hands moved to her thighs, spreading them wide, exposing her to his heated gaze. He lowered himself over her, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her neck and collarbone. She arched beneath him, her nails digging into his back, leaving red marks in their wake.

“Gevie,” he whispered against her ear, the word a rough caress that sent a jolt of desire straight to her core.

His fingers found her entrance, teasing and testing, before he thrust his hardened cock in her with a single, powerful stroke. She cried out, a mix of pleasure and pain, her body stretching to accommodate him. He set a relentless pace, each thrust driving her higher, pushing her closer to the edge of oblivion.

Her hands clung to him, nails scraping down his back, drawing blood. She bit down on his shoulder, sucking hard enough to bruise, marking him as hers. He responded with a harsh slap to her thigh, the sting adding to the heat between them. His hand then moved to her breast, squeezing and kneading, his mouth descending to capture a nipple. 

“A mother without a child,” she had once said. He remembered those words as he let go of her leaking breast and thrust into her with renewed vigor. Her second climax came swiftly, his fingers working her to pleasure, rubbing in tight circles as he pounded into her. She shattered around him, her body convulsing, her cries filling the room.

Even as she came undone, he didn’t stop. He continued to thrust, using her body to chase his own release. She clung to him, her body spent, her mind a whirl of incoherent thoughts. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound, as he neared his peak. His movements became erratic, desperate.

“I’ll make your belly round with my heir again,” he murmured, his voice strained. “I want to see you dripping with my seed.”

She could only moan in response, the thought of another child not something she had entertained - not so soon after Aerys. But in that moment, with him inside her, it was all she could think about. He thrust one final time, burying himself deep inside her as he came, his release filling her, marking her as his.

Another child. Another child. Another-

The words echoed in her mind as she lay there, sated and spent before she fell asleep in his chambers for the very first time.

He was back at the Keep that fateful night, the acrid smell of blood thick in the air, mixed with the metallic tang of fear and sorrow. He pushed open the door to Aerys' room, his heart pounding in his chest. The once pristine nursery was a scene of unimaginable carnage.

Blood smeared the carpet in grotesque patterns, splattered as if by some violent, monstrous force. It pooled on the floor, thick and dark, congealing around the lifeless body of his son. Aerys' headless form lay cradled in the arms of his wife, her wails piercing the oppressive silence. Her face was one anguish, her eyes red and swollen from relentless tears.

She was screaming, but he couldn’t hear her - only the ringing in his ears.

Aemond's legs felt like lead as he stumbled forward, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “No,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “No, no, no…” His eyes were drawn to the small, severed head lying a few feet away, Aerys' lifeless eyes staring up at him with a silent accusation that pierced at him.

The scene shifted violently, and he was atop Vhagar, the ancient dragon roaring beneath him. They were in the skies, the cold wind and rain biting at his skin. Below, he saw the small figure of Lucerys Velaryon, desperately trying to evade him. The storm raged around them, but nothing could drown out the roar of Vhagar as she lunged, her massive jaws closing around the boy and his dragon.

“No, Vhagar! No!” Aemond screamed, though his voice was swallowed by the wind. He watched in horror as Vhagar's teeth tore through dragon and rider alike, the blood raining down upon the stormy sea. The boy's scream echoed in his mind, a sound that would haunt him forever.

The scene shifted again, and he was back at the Keep. This time, he saw Aegon, battered and broken, lying on the stone floor. Aemond’s chest tightened with a mixture of anger and regret. He had warned Aegon, advised him to stay put, to avoid the fight. 

“Why didn’t you listen?” Aemond’s voice trembled with rage and sorrow. “I wouldn’t have had to burn you if you stayed home, brother. If you learnt to respect me, to fear me!”

In his nightmare, Aegon's eyes opened, filled with a pain that mirrored Aemond’s own. “This is your fault,” Aegon whispered, burnt beyond recognition, his voice a hollow echo. “All of it. You started it!”

The nightmare repeated in a relentless loop. Aerys' bloodied room, Vhagar's deadly bite, Aegon's broken body. The guilt and horror twisted inside him, a never-ending torment.

Suddenly, amidst the chaos, a warm sensation began to seep into his consciousness. It started faintly, then grew stronger, more insistent. A vision of his wife appeared before him, holding their son, Aerys, who was smiling and content. Her eyes, filled with love and concern - he has seen concern on her face, but she looks much more beautiful in love with him, he decided - reached out to him.

“I'm here, it's me. Just me, husband. Please, come back to me.”

Her words pierced through the fog of his nightmare, anchoring him. He kept hearing it, over and over, until he realized it wasn’t just a dream. The warmth he felt was real. Her touch, her voice, were pulling him back from the brink.

His wife had stayed to share his bed.

Aemond’s eyes snapped open, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He was disoriented, the remnants of his nightmare still clinging to him. He heard her voice again, soft and soothing, as she held him close.

“I'm here, it's me. Just me, husband. Please, come back to me.”

He felt her arms around him, her hand moving to his head, stroking his hair. He could still hear her voice, the same words repeated like a prayer, grounding him in reality. Aemond buried his face against her breast, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his nightmare. She rocked him gently, her touch a balm to his tormented mind.

After what seemed like hours, he began to calm down, his breathing evening out. She continued to hold him, kissing his head, her presence a constant reassurance. Aemond’s hand moved instinctively to her breast, seeking the comfort of her body. He wrapped his arm around her, clinging to her like a lifeline, squeezing her so tight like she’d slip through his fingers. When his weight became too much for her to bear, she gently lifted his head, making him look into her eyes. She kissed his forehead, her touch tender and reassuring.

This time, she reached up and unclasped his eyepatch with no hesitation. 

Does she see what everyone sees? Does he terrify her?

She adjusted herself, crossing her legs to allow him to rest his head upon her thigh. She began to massage his scalp, her fingers working through his hair with a soothing rhythm.

No signs of terror. Or was she indifferent?

As he lay there, her touch grounding him, Aemond’s mind replayed the words he had uttered in his nightmare.

“I wouldn’t have had to burn you if you stayed home, brother.”

The realization hit him like a blow. In his delirium, he had revealed a truth he had kept hidden. Would she have him still?

She was worried. The entire night and everyday forward, she worried about the man her husband had become.

He’d attacked his own brother at Rook’s Rest.

And yet when he took her once more the same night, she didn’t want to push him away.

What’s a cold-blooded killer to a simple woman who only wants to be held in her husband’s arms?

“I forgive you.”

He stood by the windows, the moonlight spilling over his form, highlighting the sharp angles of his face. His hair, pale as starlight, shimmered in the dim light, and he seemed lost in thought, gazing out at the night sky.

She paused, taking a moment to observe him. Two days had passed since their night together, and in that brief span, something had shifted between them. It wasn’t love, no - but a deeper understanding, a mutual respect that had begun to root itself in their marriage. They were not affectionate, no tender kisses or whispered endearments passed between them. But there was a newfound ease in their interactions, a subtle partnership that had grown stronger in its quiet way.

He turned, sensing her presence, and their eyes met. She had come to understand his character, the motivations that drove him, and the burdens he carried. She wouldn’t ever justify any of it, not when the price was too steep. But it was a time of war, and she had to see everything around her differently now.

In her heart, she pondered their relationship, this delicate bond. They were equals, a balance of strengths and weaknesses, each compensating for the other. In Aemond, she saw a man driven by a relentless need to prove himself, to carve out a legacy that would be remembered. He was formidable, fierce, yet there was a loneliness to him, a void that no amount of ambition could fill.

They never addressed what he’d divulged to her in his nightmare-addled hours, how he’d treated his own brother as collateral damage. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a silent agreement to support his ambitions without question. It was this unvoiced pact that had solidified their marriage, making it stronger in its own peculiar way. She admired his cunning, his strategic mind, and in return, she offered her own strengths, her own form of loyalty that was unwavering.

What else was she to do? She couldn’t leave him for fear of her life, but she could choose to be useful to him in their time together. She could try.

Besides, is this not what she wanted?

No, she did not want a man who tried to bathe his own brother in dragonfire, she thought. But he has been good to her since Aerys’ death, so good…

As she looked at him now, she saw not just her husband, but her partner. They were two sides of the same coin, bound by a common goal, driven by a shared determination. 

To survive, to thrive. They might never be lovers in the traditional sense, but they had forged something perhaps more enduring. 

She tilted her head up in acknowledgement, but then she noticed what he held in his hands. 

The iron and ruby crown of Aegon the Conqueror. His brother’s crown.

A quick and cutting reminder of what he’d done. A crown that his brother had been anointed with, now in her husband’s nimble fingers. He let the crown dangle from one hand as he reached out to her with the other, so she came to him, her steps uneasy but surer than ever.

He lifted the crown up to her bosom, gesturing for her to take it - so take it she did.

The weight of Aegon the Conqueror's crown was the first thing she noticed - it was heavier than she had imagined. As her fingers traced the intricate designs, she marveled at the craftsmanship that had gone into creating this legendary symbol of Targaryen rule.

The crown was a perfect mix of beauty and menace, reflecting the dual nature of its wearers. The metal was cool to the touch, smooth yet deceptively heavy. The rubies caught the firelight and seemed to burn with a fire of their own. The crown's inner band was lined with rich, black velvet, worn smooth by the many heads it had adorned. She ran her fingers along the lining, feeling the faint indentations left by those who had worn it before her, from Aegon himself to the rulers who had followed in his wake.

Now, her own husband was empowered by the power this crown symbolized.

With a steady breath, she stood on her toes, lifting the crown higher. Aemond lowered his head slightly, allowing her to place the crown upon his brow. The moment was charged with tension, the air thick. As she settled the crown onto his head, it fit as if it had been made for him, the rubies gleaming against his silver hair.

Her hands lingered for a moment, adjusting the crown until it sat perfectly. She stepped back, her eyes never leaving his as he turned to the mirror on his vanity. She stood right by his side, catching his gaze in their reflections.

Aemond straightened, the crown now firmly on his brow, and he looked every inch the king he aspired to be. The shadows in the room seemed to recede, and for a moment, the firelight cast a golden halo around him.

“Looks better on me than it ever did on him,” Aemond said, his voice low and edged with a bitter satisfaction, the statement hanging heavy in the air.

The shock of his words registered in a flicker of her eyes, a tightening of her lips, but it was there, palpable between them. Sensing her reaction, he squeezed her hip, his touch possessive, as if to anchor her to him.

“Do you not agree, wife?” he pressed, his tone challenging, almost playful but with an undercurrent of something darker. His words passed like heat through her ear as he bent down onto her shoulder to utter them, in heavy contrast to the coolness of the crown that now kissed her skin.

“You mustn’t say such things,” she replied, her voice a careful blend of caution and reprimand.

“‘Tis the truth, is it not?” he insisted, his gaze unwavering, boring into hers, seeking affirmation or defiance.

“I will not answer that question,” she said firmly, her tone brokering no argument.

Aemond’s eyes flashed, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. “I wear it better than the King,” he spat, the last word laden with contempt.

She met his eyes in the mirror, her reflection as resolute as her stance. “You are my lord husband, the Prince Regent. It is not my place to disagree,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, a clear indication of her refusal to partake in a conversation that bordered dangerously on treason.

“Perhaps I should commission a crown for you. A queen to stand by me,” he mused, a dangerous glint in his eye, his hand sliding from her hip to the small of her back, pulling her closer.

Her mind raced, a cold dread seeping into her thoughts. If they were to be the King and Queen, then half his family would have to be dead. Aemond was not above hurting Aegon - he’s already done it once. No, no, no—

In a sudden and decisive moment, she broke away from his grasp, her skirts swishing as she whirled around. The silk and velvet fabric rustled in the heavy silence. She reached up and took the crown from his head, her hands steady despite the tumult in her mind. She set it on the vanity with deliberate care, the metal clinking softly against the polished wood.

Aemond’s smirk deepened at her defiance, a spark of amusement in his eyes. He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, his touch lingering on her cheek. “You’ve never been a woman of growth then?” he challenged, his voice a low murmur, his breath warm against her skin.

“Only that which comes without bloodshed,” she retorted, her voice steady, though her heart pounded in her chest.

“Hm,” he hummed, his expression inscrutable as he took a step back, giving her space but never breaking eye contact.

The room was thick with tension, the crown now a silent witness to their exchange. As she looked at him, she saw not just the ambition that drove him but the danger that lurked beneath. 

His ambition was a fire, one that could either warm him or consume him entirely.

In that moment, she knew that their survival depended not just on their unity but on her ability to temper his desires. She would stand by him, support him, but she would also be the voice of caution, the anchor that kept them from drifting into chaos.

The tension in the room ebbed. "When do you march to Harrenhal?" she asked softly, her fingers deftly working the fastenings of his tunic so she can undress him for bed.

"In a fortnight," Aemond replied, his voice steady. "Cole and I will amass the troops needed by then." He lifted his arms slightly, allowing her to pull the tunic over his head. The fabric rustled as it fell to the floor, leaving him bare from the waist up.

Her movements were precise and practiced as she helped him undress. She removed his eyepatch too, revealing the sapphire set in his empty socket. This act, once so charged with tension, had become almost inconsequential - their marriage has grown, she thought.

As she moved to unlace her own dress, Aemond stepped behind her, his fingers skillfully undoing the laces of her bodice. "My mother does not speak much to me anymore," he said quietly, his breath warm against the nape of her neck. "I believe she is jealous of my authority - power that she would have liked to wield in Aegon's stead, if the council hadn't chosen me."

She listened in silence, feeling the weight of his words as he undid the last lace. She shrugged off the dress, letting it pool around her feet before stepping out of it. "Your mother loves you," she said, her voice gentle yet firm. "But the burden of power is heavy, and it changes people."

Aemond’s hands lingered on her shoulders for a moment before he stepped back, allowing her to put on her shift. She moved to the vanity, removing the pins from her hair and letting it fall in loose waves around her shoulders. She caught his reflection in the mirror, already under the sheets, watching her with an intensity that made her heart quicken.

When she turned to join him in bed, the faint firelight cast a soft glow over their room. Aemond's gaze followed her every movement and she slipped under the covers, the warmth of his body a welcome contrast to the cool air of the chamber.

They lay facing each other, the silence between them comfortable. She reached out, her fingers tracing the contours of his face, feeling the roughness of his scar and the smoothness of his skin.

Aemond's hand moved to her forehead, brushing away a stray lock of hair before trailing down the side of her face, his touch light and deliberate. "The war progresses," he began, his fingers following a slow, deliberate path down her neck to her collarbone. "Our troops are amassing strength, and Vhagar has had her rest."

She gasped softly as his hand moved lower, his thumb brushing over her breast, lingering there as he spoke. "The Small Council debates strategy for Harrenhal," he continued, his voice a low rumble, "and I've been training harder than ever."

“Of course you have.”

His hand moved to the other breast, cupping it gently, his thumb circling the nipple until it hardened under his touch. She moaned softly, her breath catching as she watched his hand in her line of sight, mesmerized by his touch and his words.

"We will strike with precision and force," Aemond said, his hand sliding further down her body, grazing her ribs and stomach. "Cole believes we can take them by surprise."

His hand slipped under her shift, his fingers finding her wet and wanting. She gasped, her hips arching toward his touch, her need palpable. "Aemond," she breathed, her voice a mix of plea and desire.

He wasted no time, his body moving to hover over hers. His lips followed the path his hand had taken, leaving a trail of fiery hot kisses from her neck to her breasts, each kiss punctuated by his words. "We will defeat them," he murmured against her skin, his lips closing around a clothed nipple, sucking gently before continuing downward. "We will take Harrenhal."

Her hands gripped the sheets, her knuckles white with effort, but he took one hand and guided it to him. He moved lower, his kisses searing a path down her stomach as he pushed her shift up, his tongue dipping into her navel. "Husband, please," she moaned, her body trembling with anticipation.

He descended further, his lips finally reaching her cunt. He licked a long, slow line from her entrance to her pearl, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub before sucking it gently. She cried out, her fingers tightening in his hair, her hips bucking against his mouth.

His tongue worked her with a practiced skill, flicking and swirling, his lips sucking and tugging. "So wet for me," he murmured between licks, his voice sending shivers down her spine. 

She moaned louder, her body writhing under his touch, her need building with every flick of his tongue. "Aemond," she gasped, "I'm going to—”

"Sīr gevie." So beautiful.

His words pushed her over the edge, her body tensing as she came undone beneath him. She cried out, her fingers clutching his hair, her body shaking with the force of her peak. He lapped at her pleasure through her climax, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until she lay spent and trembling.

When she finally stilled, he kissed his way back up her body, his lips lingering on her breasts, his tongue flicking over her nipples one last time. He settled beside her, his head nestled between her breasts, his hand resting possessively on her hip.

She offered to return the favor, her hand trailing down his chest, but he stopped her gently. "Not tonight," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm as he buried himself into her chest as tightly as he could. His breath warm against her skin, he calmed down at the steady fall and rise of her chest. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. 

The vision of the Conqueror’s crown on his desk - gleaming, taunting, terrifying - was the last thing she saw before she closed her eyes and let sleep take her.

Aemond found himself weighed down by emotions that he neither anticipated nor fully understood. This newfound closeness with his wife was a double-edged sword, cutting through his well-guarded defenses. The loss of their son had forged a bond between them, a shared grief that brought them closer in ways he couldn't have predicted. Yet, he felt an undercurrent of unease.

His mind, ever analytical and cautious, wrestled with the implications of their growing connection. The admission of his near-fratricidal thoughts should have been a cause for her to recoil, to distance herself from him. Instead, she had not only forgiven him but had also invited him into her bed, an act of trust that both warmed and unnerved him.

Why? Why? Why?

Aemond's wariness stemmed from the unfamiliarity of it all. Affections had always been something to grasp at. His life had been a series of calculated moves, a constant struggle for power and control. But now, he found himself speaking truths he had never intended to share, revealing parts of his soul he had long kept hidden. It annoyed him, this loss of control. It annoyed him how easily she could draw out his secrets, how her presence softened the edges of his guarded heart.

She’s never proven herself to be anything but faithful, his wife. Even when he was less than good to her, she did her duty like the Princess she married him to be.

Yet, beneath the irritation and paranoia, there was a deeper, more profound desire. He wanted this connection, this closeness that terrified him. He yearned for the comfort of her touch, the solace of her understanding. It was a maddening paradox: the need to protect himself clashing with the desire to surrender to her completely.

This was not like with Sylvi, whom he had not gone to see since his wife had willingly come to him that fateful night. Here, it was a partnership of equals. Neither of them knew where it was taking them, no experienced hand to guide them.

He’d begun fucking her each night too, and he wondered how long it’d be before her womb quickened with his child. They needed an heir, and he needed to give her a child again.

He’d wronged her the first time, he won’t do it again.

Aemond sat on a chair beside the hearth, with her sitting at his feet with her embroidery in a rare moment of undisturbed rest. His fingers dug into her scalp in a calming manner, though it was more an effort to calm himself than her. 

Regency. The word lingered in Aemond's mind, a whisper of power and responsibility. He would approach it with an iron fist. He would not be made a fool of, not like Aegon. His thoughts of being better than his brother consumed him, a fire that burned with fierce determination. He would rule justly, with strength and decisiveness. No one would dare challenge his authority or question his decisions. He would be a leader worthy of his name, a ruler who commanded respect and fear in equal measure.

And he would have to do it all in his brother’s name.

He looked down at his wife, her presence grounding him in the reality of the moment. His fingers moved gently, tracing the contours of her scalp, feeling the softness of her hair. This simple act of touch was a rare comfort for him, a connection that soothed the tumultuous thoughts swirling in his mind.

“He has bastard children, you know?” he said abruptly, breaking the silence.

“Yes?” she replied softly, her eyes focused on her embroidery.

“He used to watch them fight.”

“Fight?” she echoed, her voice tinged with curiosity.

“Silver-haired baseborn babes, thrown into fighting pits to satiate the peculiar needs of the likes of him,” Aemond continued, his tone hardening with disgust. “I’ve had to pull him back to the castle many times after his outings to these places. It is depraved. He… is depraved and a fool. He dishonors Helaena and their children, and then he goes on to make a mockery of his mistakes by watching them scratch and bite at each other, sometimes even until death.”

She then looked up at him, her fingers hovering over his knee in patterns he could not see, her embroidery forgotten. Her eyes searched his, a quiet intensity in her gaze.

“Do you have any baseborn children?” she asked, her voice calm but probing.

“I would not sully myself as such,” he responded sharply, a flicker of anger igniting in his chest.

“You used to frequent the whorehouse too. It would not be completely out of the question.”

Her words stung, and he thought of how he’d always made Sylvi take moon tea after their trysts, how careful he had been. “None of them are worthy of a child born of Valyrian seed… of dragonfire.”

“And I was?” She referred to her time as a mother in the past tense, and it made him bristle.

“You are my wife. Would you be so stupid as to keep yourself on level with a commonborn whore?”

“They used to warm your bed the same way I do.”

“It was never the same,” he snapped, his voice cold and final. A long silence followed, the weight of their conversation hanging heavy in the air. 

She then spoke again, her voice softer. “It’s good that you don’t have any illegitimate children. Say what you will about them, but they are simply babes. Born through no fault of their own. If anything, it is not the children that are illegitimate, but the fathers that seed them.”

If anything, it is not the children that are illegitimate, but the fathers that seed them. Her words echoed in his mind, striking a chord deep within him. He was taken aback by the weight of her statement, the truth that lay beneath her gentle rebuke.

“Are you calling the King illegitimate, wife?” he asked, his tone challenging.

“I will admit to no such thing,” she said, her voice steady and unwavering with a playful smile. 

Minx.

She then stood, the movement breaking the tension that had settled between them. He watched her, waiting for her to help undress him for bed, but she stopped in front of him, her toes shuffling anxiously. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes, the hesitation that held her back.

“Out with it, wife,” he commanded, his voice softer now, a hint of concern creeping into his tone.

“I think I may be with child again. I am not sure, but my blood is late and… I simply feel it. It is too early. Anything could happen, but I did not want to keep it from you. Not now, not in a time of war when things are uncertain.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Aemond felt the world pause. He stared at her, the implications of her revelation sinking in slowly, like a ship slipping beneath the waves. He was not visibly overjoyed, but he hoped she saw his calmness in the way he let his hand rest on her now-flat belly, in the way his eye crinkled and his jaw slackened.

Aerys, Aerys, Aerys.

The name echoed in his mind, a reminder of their shared loss, a shadow that still haunted them. He shared her caution, so he tried to not get his hopes up until she carried the child to term, birthed it, and then watched it grow. His heart thudded in his chest.

“Good,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Mirrī zaldrīzes syt issa naejot gaomagon paktot ondoso.” A little dragon for me to do right by.

He let his hand linger on her belly. His mind wandered to the possibilities, the future they could have. A child, their child, born from both their strengths and their shared grief. He wanted to prove that he could be a better father, a better husband. 

He wanted her to think better of him. It was a fragile thing, this warmth they had built – delicate and easily shattered, but it was there. 

A few days later, she kept her eyes glued to him as he began his trip to Harrenhal. She only turned briefly to assess all that was happening around her as the troops readied themselves, and he wondered about how much of this was new to her; how much of the world she’d actually seen.

He then remembered Aerys, and that she’d spent most of their marriage in pain, heartache and horror.

Perhaps she’d seen enough.

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[fangdokja]

🔞He says it’s love, but the scars on your skin tell a different story.

❤︎ Synopsis. Trapped in his obsession, your brother’s love is a cage—burning, possessive, and unyielding. Every kiss is a claim, every touch a warning. You’re his, and he’ll make sure the world knows it.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Older Brother x Fem. Reader

♡ Novelette. Sins of the Silent Heart - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 8,010

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, incest, non-con, rape, overstimulation, isolation, kidnapping, confinement, forced marking, dacryphilia, bondage, sexual punishments, BDSM, sadism, unhealthy power dynamics, loss of virginity, toxic relationship, spanking, emotional and psychological manipulation, social isolation, physical assault and abuse, sexual violence, knife play, blood play, permanent injury, choking / breath play

The room is dimly lit, the curtains drawn tightly to keep the prying eyes of the world at bay. You struggle against his ironclad grasp, but he's too strong.

He shoves you onto the bed with a force that steals your breath, pinning your arms above your head with one hand while the other clamps over your mouth, muffling your screams. "Shh," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

"You're only making this harder for yourself. You need to understand." His eyes bore into yours, searching for something—fear, submission, perhaps even love. But all you feel is a cold dread unfurling in your stomach, a horror that threatens to consume you whole.

Your brother's grip on your face tightens, his thumb digging into your cheek as he leans in, his nose brushing against yours.

"You're mine," he repeats, the words a chant that seems to fuel his rage. His other hand begins to roam, skimming over your body in a way that makes you feel violated and disgusting. You try to kick, to fight, but he's everywhere, his weight pressing down on you like a mountain.

"You think you can just go out there and give yourself to someone else?" he snarls, his eyes wild with jealousy. "You're too good for them. You're too good for anyone but me."

His hand slides down to your thigh, squeezing hard enough to leave a bruise. Panic sets in as you realize the full extent of his intentions, your eyes widening in horror.

You manage to break free from his hand over your mouth, gasping for air. "No, please, stop," you plead, your voice shaky with fear and desperation.

"I'm your sister! Please don't do this!" But your words only seem to fuel his rage further, his grip on your wrists tightening until you think your bones might snap.

"Your mouth will be the only thing that's used for speaking my language tonight," he sneers, his free hand ripping at the fabric of your shirt, exposing your bare skin to the cool air. The sound of buttons popping off and fabric tearing fills the room, echoing your own silent screams.

You feel a warm wetness between your legs, not from desire but from fear and the humiliation of knowing what's about to happen. "You're going to learn your place," he murmurs, his voice low and menacing as he straddles you, his weight pinning you to the bed.

You writhe beneath him, trying to find an inch of space, any way to escape, but his body is like a vice, trapping you in this twisted nightmare. He reaches for your pants, his hand fumbling with the button before he yanks them down with a rough jerk, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.

"You're going to love me," he says, his voice a twisted mix of anger and lust.

"You're going to forget all about those other boys. They're nothing compared to me." His words are a knife to your heart, each syllable twisting the blade deeper.

Tears stream down your face as he pulls his own pants down, his erection straining against his boxers. You can feel his breath on your neck, his chest pressing against yours, his arousal against your thigh.

The room feels like it's spinning, the walls closing in around you. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of the monster above you, but his touch is everywhere, invasive and repulsive.

He pulls your panties to the side with a cruel efficiency, and you can't help but sob out loud. "Please, brother, no," you whimper, but your words fall on deaf ears.

He leans in, his teeth grazing your earlobe as he whispers, "You're going to scream my name. You're going to beg for more."

His hand moves to the back of your neck, pushing your head down into the pillow, the fabric smothering your cries. You feel his hand move away from your face and grip the base of his cock, guiding it towards your entrance.

The feeling of his bare skin against yours is a violation so profound, it feels like your soul is being torn apart. The tip of his cock nudges against your folds, and you tense up, trying to resist, but your body is too overwhelmed with fear to do much more than shiver.

With a grunt of effort, he pushes inside you, the pain tearing through you like a bolt of lightning.

You scream into the pillow, your nails digging into the mattress as he starts to thrust, each movement a brutal reminder of his dominance.

You can feel the fabric of your ruined panties wedged between your thighs, a sadistic reminder of your innocence lost. His rhythm is punishing, his hips slamming into yours with a ferocity that sends shockwaves through your body. You try to hold back the tears, to hide your pain, but they come anyway, soaking the pillow beneath your face.

He drives through your hymen without mercy, the fabric of your innocence ripping away as he claims you as his own. The pain is unlike anything you've ever felt before—sharp, searing, and unrelenting.

Your eyes fly open, and you scream into the pillow, your body arching off the bed as he buries himself deep within you. The sensation is a mix of agony and unwanted fullness, a violation that sets every nerve ending on fire.

His grip on your neck tightens, and you can feel his cock pulsing inside you, thick and demanding. "Look at me," he commands, his voice a harsh whisper.

You force your eyes to meet his, and what you see there is a twisted mix of satisfaction and rage. He watches you, his pupils dilated with lust, as he continues to fuck you without care for your pain.

"Say it," he hisses, his hips grinding against yours in a punishing rhythm. "Say you're mine."

Your throat is raw from screaming, but you manage to croak out the words he wants to hear. "I'm yours," you whisper, your voice a broken echo of the defiance that once burned within you.

The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but you know it's what he needs to hear.

His eyes flash with triumph, and he releases your neck, allowing you to gulp in a desperate breath. "That's my girl," he says, his voice a sick parody of affection as he starts to move faster.

You feel his hand snake around your throat again, squeezing gently before sliding up to cradle your face. "I'll always take care of you," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as he pushes deeper into you, each stroke a declaration of his ownership.

You whimper, your eyes squeezed shut as you try to focus on anything but the pain. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, punctuated by your muffled cries and his grunts of pleasure.

He's so deep inside you that it feels like he's touching your very soul, and you can't help but wonder if there's any part of you that will ever be yours again. You want to fight, to scream, to push him away, but your body feels like it's made of lead, heavy and unresponsive to your will.

He leans down, his mouth crushing against yours in a kiss that's more claim than affection. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, and you taste the salt of your own tears.

You try to pull away, to bite him, to do anything that will make him stop, but he only grinds against you harder, his hand on the back of your head keeping you in place. "You're mine," he says against your lips, the words a dark benediction that sends a shiver of revulsion through your body.

Your eyes flutter open, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror on the dresser. Your face is a mascara-stained mess, your hair a tangled halo around your head, and your body is a canvas of bruises already beginning to blossom.

The sight only seems to excite him more, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he watches your reflection, his eyes glinting with a malicious pleasure. You feel yourself start to detach, floating above the scene like a ghost, watching as your body is used and discarded by the person who's supposed to love you the most.

"Please," you manage to gasp out, the word a pathetic plea that hangs in the air, unheeded. "It hurts."

But he either doesn't hear you or doesn't care, his hips pumping faster, his breathing growing ragged.

The pain becomes a living entity, a monster that consumes you from the inside out, reducing you to a trembling wreck beneath him.

He shifts his weight, his hand moving from your face to your hip, his fingers digging in as he pulls you closer to him. "You're so damn tight," he groans, his voice thick with lust. "You were made for me."

His thumb slides between your thighs, finding the bundle of nerves that had once brought you pleasure, and you feel a spark of hope—maybe if you can just make him finish, it will all be over.

But his touch is rough, almost punishing, and any hint of pleasure is drowned out by the agony of his invasion.

You bite your lip to keep from screaming as he continues to thrust, his movements becoming more frenzied with each passing moment. "You're going to come for me," he says, his voice a mix of demand and question.

"You're going to come and show me how much you want this." You feel his thumb circle your clit, pressing down hard as he continues to fuck you, his other hand squeezing your hip so tightly that it feels like he's trying to leave a permanent imprint of his fingers on your skin.

The pain and the pleasure meld together into something twisted and unrecognizable, and you can't help but whimper as your body starts to respond despite your mind's screaming protests.

His eyes never leave yours, watching your every reaction, feeding off your fear and pain like it's his lifeblood. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice low and seductive. "Show me how much you need me."

And you do—your body betrays you, arching up to meet his touch, your walls tightening around his cock as the beginnings of an orgasm build against your will.

You want to hate him for reducing you to this, for making you feel like a whore, but the pleasure is too intense to fight.

With a final, brutal thrust, he releases your hip, grabbing both of your wrists and pinning them above your head with one hand, his other hand still working you into a frenzy. "You're mine," he says again, his voice a hoarse growl.

"Say it. Scream it." And as if on cue, your body shatters, your orgasm ripping through you like a tempest, stealing your voice along with your dignity. The only sound that escapes you is a strangled cry, a sound that's half-pain, half-pleasure.

His eyes widen with triumph as he feels your body clench around him, his grip on your wrists tightening as he starts to come, filling you with his seed. The feeling of his release only adds to the horror, his hot cum a declaration of his claim on your body.

You lay there, trembling and sobbing, as he collapses on top of you, his chest heaving with exertion. For a moment, the room is silent except for your ragged breaths and his own, his weight a suffocating presence that makes it difficult to draw in air.

As the fog of pleasure fades, the reality of what's happened crashes down on you like a tidal wave of despair. You feel soiled, used, and utterly broken. Your eyes fill with fresh tears, and you struggle to find the strength to push him off.

But he's still inside you, his cock now limp but still a violation of the most intimate kind. "Don't," he says, his voice suddenly gentle as he rolls off you and pulls you into his arms.

"You don't have to be afraid anymore." His touch is tender, almost loving, but it's tainted by the knowledge of what he's just done.

You can't bring yourself to look at him, your face buried in his chest, your body shaking with sobs. He strokes your hair, whispering sweet nothings that only serve to make you feel more disgusted.

"It's okay," he says, his voice soothing despite the horror of his actions. "You're safe with me. No one will ever hurt you again."

His words are a mockery of comfort, a twisted parody of the brotherly love you once knew.

You want to scream, to push him away, but all you can do is cry.

He gently lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Look at me," he says, his voice a soft command.

"I'm not going to let anyone else have you. You're mine. You always have been." His eyes searched yours, looking for some sign of understanding, some spark of the love he believed you owed him.

But all you see is the monster he's become, the predator that's stolen your childhood trust in him.

"I know you didn't mean to," he continues, his tone earnest. "But you can't leave me. You can't love anyone else. Do you understand?"

You nod, the tears still streaming down your face, the taste of defeat coating your mouth like bile. "Y-yes," you manage to whisper, the words barely audible. "I understand."

It's not what he wants to hear, not the declaration of love he craves, but it's all you can give.

For now.

────────────

The weekend stretches before you, a prison of his twisted love and dominance. Each moment is a silent scream of agony and degradation, as your brother takes you again and again.

The bedroom, the kitchen table, the living room couch—every corner of your shared home becomes a battleground for his obsession.

He fucks you in every position imaginable, his hunger insatiable, his need to claim you complete.

You feel like a ragdoll in his hands, used and abused at his whim, your body a canvas for his depravity.

────────────

On the first night, he ties your wrists to the bedposts with the usual belt he uses to punish you, spreading your legs wide as he looms above you. "You're going to take it all," he says, his voice a dark promise.

"Every inch of me, until you're screaming my name." He pushes into you, his cock thick and unforgiving, and you bite back a whimper, your eyes squeezed shut.

He's gentle at first, almost loving, but as the night wears on, his strokes become more forceful, his grip on your hips tightening.

You're too tired to fight, too broken to resist. When he finally releases you from your bonds, you collapse onto the bed, your limbs trembling from the exertion.

────────────

The next day, he takes you into the shower, the water a scalding caress against your bruised skin. He soaps you up with a tenderness that feels like a slap in the face after what he's done. "Look at me," he commands, his voice a low growl.

You do, unable to meet his gaze, focusing instead on the water cascading down your breasts. He lifts your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. "Say you love me."

The words stick in your throat, a lie that feels like acid. But you whisper them anyway, because it's what he needs to hear, because you're too scared not to.

────────────

In the kitchen, he bends you over the counter, your hands gripping the edge to keep from collapsing. You can hear the sound of his belt being unbuckled, the jingle of his belt loops echoing through the room. "You're going to learn to crave this," he says, his voice a harsh promise.

You feel the head of his cock against you, and your body tenses, bracing for the pain. "You're going to want me more than anyone else."

His hands are everywhere, pushing into your hips, squeezing your breasts, his thumb circling your clit.

You hate the way your body responds, the way your pussy clenches around him, begging for more even as you silently pray for it to end.

He enters you from behind, his hands on your hips as he pulls you back onto him. You grit your teeth against the pain, your knuckles turning white as you hold onto the counter for dear life.

He's deep inside you, his cock hitting that spot that makes you see stars, and you can't help but moan despite the fear choking you.

"That's it," he says, his voice thick with pleasure. "You like it, don't you?" You bite your tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer, your eyes squeezed shut as you focus on the kitchen tiles beneath your feet.

But the orgasm builds, unwanted and unstoppable, stealing your voice as it rips through you, leaving you trembling and sobbing.

────────────

Later, in the living room, you're forced to straddle him on the couch, his cock buried inside you as he watches TV. His hands are on your hips, guiding your movements, his eyes flicking from the screen to your face, watching you with a perverse fascination.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice a stark contrast to the horror of his actions.

You want to scream, to tell him to stop, but the words won't come. Instead, you stare blankly at the TV, trying to lose yourself in the flickering images, trying to forget the reality of your situation.

────────────

On the second night, he takes you to the floor in the hallway, pushing you onto your knees. "You're going to suck me off," he says, his voice cold and demanding. "And you're going to swallow every drop."

You hesitate, your throat tight with fear, but his hand wraps around the back of your head, pushing you closer to his erection.

"Do it," he growls, and you have no choice but to comply, your mouth opening to take him in.

You can taste the salt and the bitterness of his lust, and you want to gag, but you force yourself to swallow, to keep going until he's satisfied.

When he finally comes, you feel his hot cum spurt down your throat, and you have to fight not to throw up.

He pulls out, his hand releasing your head as he watches you, his eyes filled with a perverse satisfaction. "Good girl," he says, his voice a taunting whisper.

You crawl away from him, your body trembling, your dignity shattered beyond repair. You can't believe this is your life now, that you're nothing more than a toy for his sick games.

────────────

On the final day of the weekend, you're lying on the floor of his room, your body bruised and sore from his relentless attention. He's sitting on the bed, watching you with a strange mix of love and possession.

"Look at you," he says, his voice almost gentle. "So beautiful, even when you're broken."

You force yourself to meet his gaze, searching for any hint of remorse, any shred of the brother you once knew. But all you find is a monster, a creature consumed by his own desires.

He stands up, walking over to you with a predatory grace that sends a shiver down your spine. "It's time to go back to your room," he says, his voice a command.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, as he helps you to your feet. The room spins around you, the pain making it difficult to stand.

"You're mine," he whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your neck. "Always remember that." He gives you a final, bruising kiss before releasing you, his eyes never leaving your face.

You stumble back to your room, feeling his gaze on your back like a physical weight.

The door closes behind you, the soft click echoing in your ears. You collapse onto the bed, your body a mass of pain and despair.

You can't believe what's happening, can't believe that the person you trusted the most has become your worst nightmare.

But even as you cry into your pillow, a part of you knows that this is only the beginning.

────────────

Days turn into weeks, and the abuse continues. You try to find ways to resist, to fight back, but his control over you is absolute.

He's always watching, always waiting for the slightest sign of disobedience. You start to feel like you're going mad, trapped in a cycle of fear and pain that never ends.

But you keep the secret, hiding your bruises beneath layers of clothing, smiling when you know he's watching.

────────────

One evening, as you're serving dinner, a knock at the door pierces the tension that's become a constant in your home.

It's a friend from school, someone who's been worried about you since you stopped hanging out. You can see the concern in his eyes as he asks about your well-being.

Your brother's grip on your wrist tightens, a silent warning not to say a word. "She's just been busy," he says, his voice too cheerful. "Aren't you, little sister?"

You nod, your voice barely above a whisper. "I've had a lot of... stuff to do."

The friend's gaze lingers on you, searching for the truth behind the forced smile. "Well, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me," he says, before finally turning to leave. The door closes, and the room feels smaller, suffocating.

He pulls you closer, his grip painfully tight. "You're mine," he says, his voice a low growl. "You don't need anyone else."

His eyes bore into yours, demanding assurance, and you nod, the lie rolling off your tongue like a well-rehearsed script.

"Yes," you murmur, "I know."

────────────

As the days go by, the lines between fear and obedience blur. You learn to anticipate his moods, his needs, his desires.

You become an expert at hiding your own emotions, burying your pain beneath a mask of submission. You go through the motions, cooking, cleaning, smiling when he enters the room.

But inside, you're screaming, a caged animal waiting for an escape that never comes.

One day, you're in the kitchen, your hands shaking as you prep dinner. The knife slips, slicing your finger, and blood wells up, a stark crimson against the pale flesh.

He's there in an instant, his eyes flickering with concern before they darken. "Careful," he says, his voice a low warning.

"You're too clumsy for your own good." He takes your hand, leading you to the sink to clean the wound.

But instead of the gentleness you expect, his grip turns cruel, his fingers pressing into your palm until you wince.

"You're going to be more careful," he says, his voice cold. "You're too precious to be ruined by something as stupid as an accident."

You nod, your heart racing as you watch the blood swirl down the drain. "I'll be more careful," you whisper, the words feeling like a noose around your neck.

He releases your hand, his eyes never leaving yours. "Good," he says, his voice softening slightly. "I'd hate for anything to happen to you."

But the way he says it, you know he's not just talking about accidents.

He's talking about you leaving, about you telling someone. The fear is a living thing inside you, a creature that feeds on your hope.

He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "Do you want me to kiss it better?" You can feel his arousal pressing against your side, his desire for you a constant, unyielding force.

You nod again, because what else can you do? He takes your injured finger into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the cut, the sensation surprisingly gentle.

The room spins around you, the line between love and hate blurring until you can't tell the difference.

His eyes never leave yours, his gaze holding you captive as his mouth works its magic. When he pulls away, you're left gasping for air, your body a battleground of emotions.

"Why?" you finally manage to ask, your voice shaking. "Why are you doing this?"

He looks at you, his expression a mix of anger and confusion. "Because I love you," he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Because you're mine, and no one else can have you."

You pull away, your heart racing. "But we're siblings," you protest, your voice barely above a whisper. "This isn't right."

He sighs, his grip on your hand tightening. "Don't say that," he says, his voice a low warning. "You're the only one who makes me feel alive, the only one who truly understands me. I'm going to marry you, make it official. No one can ever take that away from us."

His eyes are wild, desperate, and for a moment, you see the little boy who protected you from the monsters under the bed.

But the monster is him now, and there's no escape.

You nod, your voice trembling. "Okay," you say, the word sticking in your throat. "I'll be yours."

It's a hollow promise, but it's what he needs to hear.

His smile is like the sun coming out from behind a storm cloud, lighting up the room and your heart despite the fear.

That night, he takes you gently, as if you're made of glass. His touches are softer, his kisses more tender.

But the pain is still there, a constant reminder of the power he holds over you. You lay there, your body bruised and used, your mind racing with thoughts of escape, of telling someone.

But every time you open your mouth to speak, the fear clamps down, silencing you.

────────────

As the weeks turn into months, the abuse becomes a twisted routine.

You find yourself craving the moments of tenderness he offers, the fleeting moments when he's not a monster, but the brother you once knew.

His love feels like a drug, an addiction that you can't shake, no matter how hard you try.

And he's always there, watching, waiting, making sure you know you're his.

One evening, as you lay in his arms, the room lit by the flickering TV, you feel something shift inside you. You've been playing along, pretending to be the obedient little sister and wife he wants, but the weight of the lie is crushing you.

You look up at him, his eyes closed in contentment, and for the first time, you feel something other than fear.

It's anger, burning hot and pure, a fire that's been smoldering deep within you. "I can't do this anymore," you say, your voice shaking with the force of your emotions.

He opens his eyes, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. "What do you mean?" he asks, his hand stroking your hair.

You sit up, pulling away from him. The words come out in a rush, the dam of your fear and anger finally breaking. "This isn't love, it's not normal. You can't just take what you want from me."

You can see the hurt in his eyes, but it's mixed with something else—a hint of anger.

"What do you know about love?" he snaps, his grip on your arm tightening.

"You're just a kid, playing games you don't understand." His voice is low, dangerous.

"You're mine, and you always will be. You don't get to decide who loves you, or how."

You try to pull away, but his hand is a vice, his nails digging into your skin. "Let go of me," you say, your voice trembling.

But he doesn't.

He pulls you closer, his eyes searching yours, looking for the submission he craves.

"You don't get it," he says, his voice a harsh whisper. "You're all I've ever had. You're all I've ever needed. And now that I have you, I won't let anyone else touch you."

His grip tightens, and you know he's not just talking about love anymore. He's talking about possession, about control.

You try to fight back, to push him away, but he's too strong. "Please," you whimper, the word a pitiful sound in the quiet room.

But it's not enough.

He's already decided what you are to him, and he won't be swayed.

He yanks you closer, his breath hot and sour in your face. "You're going to learn," he says, his voice a snarl. "You're going to learn to love me, to want this."

His hand moves down your body, cupping your breast roughly, his thumb flicking over your nipple. You flinch, the pain mixing with the fear and anger. "Look at me," he demands, his eyes boring into yours.

"Tell me you want it."

You can't find the words. You can't bring yourself to lie to him, not when you're so close to breaking free of this psychological cage of hoping he'd change.

Instead, you look away, your eyes filling with tears. "I can't," you murmur, your voice barely audible.

The anger in his eyes flickers, and for a moment, you think he might hit you again. But instead, he sighs, his expression softening slightly.

"You will," he says, his voice a promise and a threat. "You just need time." He releases your arm, his hand moving to gently wipe the tears from your cheek.

"But for now, you're mine. You're going to stay here, with me."

────────────

But, that doesn't mean he's not vengeful.

Your older brother drags you down the stairs to the basement, his grip unyielding. The cold concrete floor hits your bare feet, sending shivers up your spine. You struggle, your body protesting, but his strength is too much.

He throws you into a dank, dimly lit corner, the scent of mold and dust thick in the air.

Ropes coil around your wrists and ankles, securing you to a rusty pipe that runs along the wall. You whimper as the metal digs into your skin, leaving a trail of cold, metallic pain.

"Why are you doing this?" you manage to ask through clenched teeth, the reality of your new prison setting in.

He paces the floor, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and disappointment. "Because you need to learn," he says, his voice echoing in the confined space.

"You need to understand that you can't just decide to stop loving me."

You stare at him in disbelief, the ropes biting into your skin as you try to pull away from the pipe. "This isn't love," you spit out, your voice raw with emotion. "What you're doing to me is sick."

He stops pacing, his gaze meeting yours with a cold intensity. "You think I don't know that?" he snaps.

"But it's all I know. It's all we have." He strides over to you, crouching down so he's level with your bound form.

"You're going to stay here, and think about what you've done." His hand comes up to caress your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

"And when you're ready to tell me the truth, when you're ready to love me the way you should, I'll be upstairs."

You feel bile rise in your throat at his touch, his words a twisted echo of the love you once knew. "I can't," you whisper, your voice trembling. "Please, just let me go."

He sighs, his expression a mix of frustration and something else—something that looks almost like regret.

"You don't get it," he murmurs, his hand dropping away. "This is for your own good." He stands, walking towards the stairs.

"You're going to thank me one day, when you realize what I've saved you from."

You watch as he ascends, the door at the top of the stairs slamming shut with a finality that makes your heart sink. The darkness of the basement envelops you, the silence deafening.

You try to scream, to call for help, but your voice is hoarse from the weekend's screams. You're alone, trapped in the cold embrace of the concrete walls.

────────────

Days crawl by, each one a blur of pain and despair. He comes down to check on you, bringing you water and the bare minimum of food to keep you alive.

He doesn't touch you, doesn't speak of love. His eyes are hard, his expression unreadable.

But the silence is worse than the abuse—it's a constant reminder of the distance he's put between you. You beg, you plead, you scream, but he just watches with a detached air, as if you're nothing more than a petulant child throwing a tantrum.

On the third day, he finally speaks. "You've had your time to think," he says, his voice cold and unyielding.

"Now it's time for your next lesson." He crosses the room, his boots echoing on the hard floor.

You shrink back against the wall, your heart racing.

You're not ready for this, not ready to face the monster again.

But there's no escape, not here in the dark.

He unbinds one of your wrists, pulling you to your feet. You stumble, your legs wobbly from days of disuse. He leads you over to a dusty old chair in the center of the room, the legs scraping against the floor with an eerie sound.

"Sit," he commands, his voice devoid of warmth.

You do as you're told, the chair creaking beneath your weight, as he restrains your arms and ankles to the chair. He then stands in front of you, his eyes raking over your body with a hunger that makes your skin crawl.

"You're going to tell me you love me," he says, his voice low and menacing. "You're going to mean it, or you're going to regret it."

You shake your head, the words caught in your throat. "I can't," you choke out. "I'll never love you like that."

His expression darkens, and for a moment, you think he's going to hit you again. But instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife, the silver glinting in the dim light.

"You will," he says, his voice a promise. "I'll make sure of it." He flicks open the blade with a metallic snap, the sound echoing in the basement.

You try to jerk away, but the ropes around your ankles keep you in place, the chair digging into your back. "What are you going to do?" you ask, the fear in your voice clear.

He steps closer, the knife glinting in his hand. "I'm going to show you what happens when you deny me," he says, his voice a low growl.

"You're mine, and you will say it." His hand moves to your chest, pressing the cold steel against your skin just above your heart.

The threat is unmistakable.

You swallow hard, the fear thick in your throat. "I can't," you whisper, your eyes filling with tears. "Please, don't make me."

He sighs, his expression shifting from anger to something almost pitying. "You're so damn stubborn," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the blade's path along your collarbone.

"But I'll break you. I'll make you love me." He leans in, his breath hot against your skin as he presses a kiss to your neck, just below your ear.

You shiver, trying to keep your revulsion from showing. "I'm sorry," you whisper, the words feeling like acid on your tongue.

"I love you." It's the first time you've said it, and you hate the way it feels—like a betrayal to every part of yourself that's been violated by his hands.

He pulls away, his eyes searching yours, looking for the truth he so desperately needs to see. You force a smile, hoping it's convincing enough. "I love you," you repeat, the words a little easier this time.

For a moment, you see a flicker of doubt in his eyes, but it's quickly replaced with satisfaction. "Good," he says, his voice soothing now.

"Very good." He reaches down, his hand brushing against the ropes that bind you to the chair.

"Now, let's see how much you mean it." He traces the knife along the fabric of your shirt, the cold metal sending shivers down your spine.

With one swift motion, he slices through the material, exposing your bra. The knife lingers for a moment before he cuts the clasp, the cups falling away to reveal your breasts. He cups one in his hand, his thumb circling your nipple.

You can't help the gasp that escapes your lips as he pinches it, the pain mixing with a twisted form of arousal that makes you feel dirty and disgusted with yourself.

"Look at how beautiful you are," he says, his voice a hypnotic purr. "So perfect for me." His other hand moves to the fly of his pants, the knife still in his grip. He opens them, freeing his erection, which stands tall and demanding.

You feel a fresh wave of dread as he steps closer, the knife still hovering near your skin.

"Now, tell me you want me," he commands, his eyes dark with lust. The blade presses harder against your flesh, the sting of it making you flinch.

You look away, unable to meet his gaze. "I want you," you murmur, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. You feel his hand tighten around your breast, his thumb flicking your nipple until it's hard and sensitive.

"Please," you add, hoping it's enough to satisfy his twisted desires.

He seems to consider your words, the knife pressing into your skin just enough to make you whimper. Then, with a smirk, he pulls away.

"Good girl," he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Now, let's make it official." He grabs the knife again, this time bringing it to the waistband of your pants. With a quick jerk, he slices through the fabric, exposing you completely.

You struggle, trying to pull away from his touch, but he's too strong. He forces you to remain still, his hand moving down to cup your sex, his thumb stroking your clit with a brutal gentleness that makes you squirm.

"You're going to tell me you're mine," he says, his eyes boring into yours. "You're going to scream it."

You bite your lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. "I'm yours," you murmur, the words a defeated whisper.

He smiles, his grip on the knife loosening slightly. "That's my girl," he says, his voice a sickening blend of affection and triumph. He steps closer, the knife now tracing patterns on your exposed thigh, sending shivers of fear and anticipation through your body. You can feel his erection pressing against your leg, hot and insistent.

Without warning, he slams the knife into the chair, the blade sinking deep into the wooden frame. You flinch, your heart racing as you realize how close you just came to being sliced open. He grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Now, tell me," he says, his voice a demand.

"Tell me you're mine, and mean it." He repeats.

You stare into his eyes, the fear and disgust warring within you. But the knife, still lodged in the chair so close to your body, is a stark reminder of his power. "I'm yours," you murmur, the words barely audible.

His smile widens, and he leans in to kiss you, his breath hot and sour. You force yourself to remain still, to accept it, to survive. His hand moves from your chin to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss, his other hand still playing with your body.

You can feel the wetness between your legs, and you hate yourself for it—hate that your body can betray you like this.

He pulls away from the kiss, his eyes gleaming with triumph. You're panting, your heart racing from fear and the unwanted arousal his touch brings.

He takes the knife from the chair, the wood protesting as it's yanked free, and you can't help but feel a pang of relief that it's no longer a threat to your skin. But his gaze is on your thighs now, and you know that relief is short-lived.

"Look at me," he says, his voice low and commanding. You meet his eyes, trying to keep the fear and disgust from showing. "You're going to carry my mark," he continues, his tone matter-of-fact. "So you never forget who you belong to."

He grabs your chin, tilting your head back so you're forced to watch as he brings the knife closer to your skin. You flinch as the cold metal touches you, the tip hovering just above the delicate flesh of your inner thigh.

His hand is steady, his eyes never leaving yours as he traces the first letter of his name—a deep, painful groove that makes you try biting your lip to keep from screaming. The blood wells up, a crimson line against your pale skin.

But, it doesn't work.

The second you feel the searing pain of the knife digging deeply, your scream rips through the basement, echoing off the cold concrete walls.

He tightens his grip on your chin, forcing you to keep watching as he carves the next letter into your skin, the blood running down your thigh in a warm trickle. Your eyes are wide with shock and horror, your body sweating and shaking with pain and fear. He's methodical, taking his time with each stroke, his gaze never leaving yours.

The sound of your own cries is the only thing that breaks the silence, mixing with the wet, sickening sounds of the knife cutting into your flesh.

When he's done with the last letter, he pulls back, admiring his work with a twisted smile. "There," he says, his voice smug. "Now you're truly mine."

He reaches out to wipe the tears from your cheeks, his thumb coming away smeared with your blood. "You're beautiful, even when you're crying," he murmurs, his tone almost tender.

You can't help but flinch at his touch, the pain from the fresh wound making your stomach churn.

You look down, the sight of your own blood and his initials etched into your flesh making you feel like a piece of meat, marked and claimed. The pain is unbearable, and you can't stop the tears that stream down your face. "Please," you beg, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please don't do this to me. No more, please, I beg you."

He frowns, his expression one of disappointment. "You're supposed to be happy," he says, his voice tight.

"This is a declaration of love, not something to be feared." He grabs a rag from the floor, pressing it against the wound to stem the flow of blood.

"You need to learn to appreciate this, to cherish the bond we have." His tone is firm, brooking no argument.

You can't find the words to respond, your teeth chattering from the pain and the cold. You watch as he dresses himself, his movements deliberate and controlled.

He picks up the knife, wiping the blood off on the rag before slipping it back into his pocket. "I'll be back with something to clean you up," he says, his voice gentle, as if he's just finished giving you a present instead of violating you in the most horrific way.

He leaves you alone again, the door slamming shut like a tomb. The pain in your thigh is a constant reminder of his ownership, a brand that feels like it's burning into your soul.

You slump forward in the chair, the ropes digging into your skin, and sob into your knees. The basement is cold, the only warmth coming from the throbbing in your leg and the hot tears that fall onto the concrete floor.

────────────

When he returns, you're too tired to even look up. You feel him approach, his footsteps heavy on the stairs. He's carrying something, a first-aid kit maybe, but you don't care.

You're beyond caring.

He kneels in front of you, his hands surprisingly gentle as he takes the rag and replaces it with something cool and clean.

"Shh," he whispers, his thumb brushing away the tears on your cheeks. "It's okay, it's okay."

The pain is overwhelming as he cleans the wound, the sting of antiseptic making you whimper.

You try to jerk away, but he holds you firm, his grip unyielding. "You have to let me take care of you," he says, his voice soft but firm.

"You're all mine, and I'll always take care of what's mine." He applies a bandage, his movements careful and precise, his eyes never leaving yours.

"It'll heal," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over the bandage.

"But you'll always remember."

He stands up, his gaze lingering on your naked form. "I'll leave these off," he says, nodding to the ropes around your ankles. "But don't try to run. You're not going anywhere."

The door opens, and he steps back, giving you a view of the stairs leading up to freedom.

The temptation is almost too much to bear, but you know better than to try.

You nod, the reality of your situation sinking in deeper with every second.

He walks over to the stairs, his back to you. "You're going to stay here," he says without looking back.

"Think about what you've done to deserve this. Think about how much I love you."

The door closes again, and you're left alone with the echoes of his footsteps.

The ropes around your wrists cut into your skin, a constant reminder of his control. You try to tug them loose, but they're tight—too tight.

Your eyes drift to the bandages. Hiding the deep, scarring marks just right above your pussy, his initials branded onto you like your mere cattle.

You can't believe it—you can't believe he's done this to you.

But the pain in your thigh is all too real, a pulsing, raw ache that throbs with every beat of your heart.

You can feel the sticky warmth of blood seeping through the bandage, a grim reminder that you're not just his sister anymore.

────────────

List of Fandoms and Characters

Ace Attorney: N/A

Blue Lock: Rin Itoshi, Sae Itoshi, Yoichi Isagi

Boku no Hero Academia: Dabi

Brutal: Satsujin Kansatsukan no Kokuhaku: N/A

Death Note: N/A

Demon Slayer: Rui, Sanemi Shinazugawa

Dishonored Series: Kirin Jindosh

Genshin Impact: Ayato Kamisato, Childe / Tartaglia, Scaramouche

Haikyuu!!: Atsumu Miya, Hajime Iwaizumi, Kenjiro Shirabu, Suna Rintarou, Tobio Kageyama, Yūji Terushima, Ushijima Wakatoshi

Honkai Star Rail: Blade, Boothill

How to Live as an Illegal Healer: N/A

Hunter x Hunter: Chrollo Lucilfer

I'm Not That Kind of Talent: Demon Aru

Jujutsu Kaisen: Naoya Zenin, Suguru Geto

Kill The Hero: Se Jun-Lee

Mobile Legends: Bang Bang: Xavier

Naruto Shippuden: Kabuto Yakushi, Tobirama Senju

One Punch Man: Amai Mask

Reverend Insanity: Fang Yuan

TOUCHSTARVED: N/A

Undertale Multiverse (Human AU): Dust! Sans / Murder! Sans

Wuthering Waves: Geshu Lin, Scar

────────────

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General TAG LIST: @uniquecutie-puffs , @ikevampharem , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk-blog1

[yandere-daydreams]

file #2: the amputation fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!gojo satoru x reader (jjk).

length: 2.9k.

warnings: non/con, amputation, unhealthy relationships, abusive relationships, obsessive behavior, amputation (no injury to reader in fic), handjobs, masturbation, and unbalanced power dynamics.

“Babydoll? You wanna let me in?”

A beat of silence, a light knock. You stayed where you were, crumpled on the bathroom floor, and Satoru sighed.

“C’mon, angel. I can’t help from all the way out here.”

You clenched your bloody arm closer, pulling your knees up to your chest. An orange-tinted, half-emptied pill container sat lidless and on its side next to you. Shoko’s pills took care of the worst of the pain, but a steady, persistent throbbing had lodged itself in the knob that used to be your wrist and refused to let-up. It probably wouldn’t for the next hour, if not the next day.

“I can’t take you to see Shoko if you keep me locked out.”

At that, you relented, uncurling with from your self-made bundle. It took a second to shift yourself onto your knees, another to find the doorknob with your remaining hand, but Satoru himself in as soon as the lock clicked out of place. Thankfully, mercifully, he gave you time to skitter back to your corner before crossing the threshold, but that didn’t stop you from withering as his eyes raked over you, as he evaluated the damage. Eventually, he collapsed against the adjacent wall and sunk to the floor, letting out a raspy groan before tossing you a familiar, crooked smile. You didn’t return it. “That mad at me, huh?” You didn’t respond, gaze dropping to your decimated hand – or, rather, the mangled stump that used to be your hand. His smile wavered, but didn’t fall away. “Yeah, no, I probably deserve that. Does it hurt?”

You didn’t indulge him with an answer. “Did you call Shoko?”

“On a mission,” he said with a slight shrug, a strong note of ‘what can you do?’ in his tone. Like this was some minor inconvenience, annoying but ultimately trivial. Like like you weren’t missing an essential part of yourself. “She said she’d swing by as soon as she’s done, but I’d give it another hour. I think she’ll kill me if I keep asking her to make house calls.”

Another beat of silence, another deafening failure to respond on your part. Finally, he turned to face you properly, leaning forward. “…can I?”

He always did this – paused like that, smiled like that, tried to make himself seem so gentle, so loving, so considerate. It might’ve been well-meaning, an attempt to let you know he was sorry without having to swallow enough of his pride to actually apologize, but all it ever seemed to make you feel was cold and alone, stuck in a shell of an apartment with a shell of a man. It was always the same. It was always going to be the fucking same.

And, like always, you relented, looking away as you nodded stiltedly. Satoru’s smile brightened as he closed the distance between you, his thigh pressing into yours as he settled against your side.

When you’d first gotten into a relationship with Gojo Satoru, you told yourself that if things ever so much as seemed like they might be going south, you were gone. You hadn’t known anything about cursed energy or sorcerer hierarchies or malevolent spirits, but you didn’t have to – even if you hadn’t watched him obliterate monsters the size of apartment buildings with a snap of his fingers, he still would’ve been the strongest person you’d ever met, a man capable of shattering bones with his bare hands and breaking open skulls with all the effort it would’ve taken you to swat a fly out of the air. He was dangerous to be around, even if you doubted Satoru could ever intentionally hurt another living, breathing person. He was rich, and pretty, and strong, and used to getting his way. You loved him, but you needed to be able to leave if it ever seemed like that love was going to put you in danger.

And you did leave. The first time you argued, the first time he lost control of his temper and you were left sobbing on the floor with nothing below your left knee, you’d gotten as far as you could as quickly as you could. It’d taken him a full week to track you down, another to convince you that one of his bizarre friends could heal you, and roughly half a minute of Satoru sobbing and clinging to your (newly restored) leg for you to forgive him, to write it off as an accident – just the kind of risk you took when you got into a relationship with someone who could deadlift armored tanks. The second, you’d stayed at a friend’s place for a few days before coming back on your own, as desperate for his miracle-cure as you were for the pet comforts that came with Satoru’s bottomless fortune. The fourth, you’d barricaded yourself in his bedroom for sixteen hours and only come out for Shoko, who’d muttered about your ‘wreck of a boyfriend’ as she rebuilt the three missing fingers on your right hand.

Now, on the ninth, you’d barely managed to keep him locked out of a bathroom for all of five minutes. It was embarrassing, more than anything. You wanted to be able to hate him, you wanted to be scared of him, but it was hard to be scared of someone you loved. Someone you loved as much as Satoru, especially.

You shook your head, dragging yourself out of your own spiraling thoughts. Your attention, instead, moved to Satoru – still slumped against the tiled wall, his head lulled back and his attention focused pointedly on the ceiling. You were dressed to go out, uncomfortable jeans and all, but Satoru looked like he just rolled out of bed – a plain white shirt pulled tight over his broad chest, a pair of pitch-black sweatpants falling low on his waist, the lights dim enough to mean his piercing blue eyes didn’t have to be locked behind tinted glass or thick fabric. That was what you’d been arguing about, even if it was hard to remember why it’d seemed like such a big deal. He had the day off, no class and no cursed spirits to slaughter, and wanted to waste his morning in bed, with you wrapped in his arms. You’d tried to tell him, as slowly and as tenderly as you could, that you couldn’t, that you had an important early-morning lecture, that you’d be back by the time he actually wanted to get up, but he’d whined and pouted and you’d lost your patience when he reminded you that you could ‘always drop out’. You tried to leave, and he tried to catch your hand, to make you stay for that much longer, and—

“Can I see it?” You were almost thankful to hear his voice, if only for the distraction. “Your hand, I mean. If you’re comfortable with showing me.”

You weren’t, but you were desperate not to sink back into your own head, either. Slowly, cautiously, you shuffled that much closer to him, folding your legs underneath you as you gingerly held out the arm you’d spent the better part of the last few minutes cradling. It made you sick to look at a part of your own body so violently distorted, so violently wrong, so you didn’t – keeping your focus trained on your knees as Satoru took up your shortened limb. His own healing abilities had taken care of the worst of the gore, but even with the open, gaping wound at the end of your arm closed, there was still a ring of bruising around your wrist, streaks of dried blood running down the length of your forearm, a raw quality to the skin where his hap-hazard repairs hadn’t quite taken. His touch was feather-light, skirting around the worst of the remaining damage and lingering near your elbow, then your bicep. Acknowledgement came in the form of a low whistle, an airy sigh. You tried not to let his casualness get to you. Sorcerers must’ve seen injuries like this all the time. This was the end of the world for you, but Satoru would be just fine. “I’m not going to let you lift a finger after this. You know that, right? I’ve gotta make sure my pretty baby’s still nice n’ spoiled, even when I go and fuck everything up.”

It wasn’t an apology, but it was as close as he’d ever get. You grit your teeth and nodded, taking a second to find your voice. Even with the delay, it came out as a croak; almost too low and too ragged to be coherent. “This can’t keep happening, ‘toru. I love you, but this can’t keep happening.”

“I know, baby, I know.” One of his hands remained wrapped around your arm while the other, unoccupied, fell between his open legs. “I don’t mean to. If I had it my way, nobody would be able to touch you, but…” A pause, a laugh. “I just get so stressed out when we start fighting, like that. All I can think about is someone hurting you when I’m not there to keep you safe, and I forget how delicate I’ve gotta be with you. It feels like I’m not in control of myself.”

Despite your better judgement, you felt a deep, churning well of guilt open up inside of you. It was your turn to sigh, now, to slump, to let your eyes fall shut. “I love you,” you repeated, like it was the only thing you knew how to say. “It’s just— It scares me, when you get like that. I know you’re just trying to be protective, but it hurts.”

You heard his breathing pick-up, his grip tighten ever so slightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to feel. “I know, sweetheart. I’m just trying to take care of you.”

“You do take care of me, but—” You were cut off by a breathy swear, a throat groan. Momentarily, your fear and self-loathing gave way to irritation, a frown tugging at the corner of your lips as you opened your eyes and snapped towards Satoru. He was still focused on your arm – what was left of it, at least – but his gaze was glazed over, far away, and his hand was moving between his—

You put it together too quickly, the force of the realization leaving no time for numbing shock or dampening confusion. He was touching himself, grinding the heel of his palm into the base of his cock. You could see the outline of his shaft against the dark material – already half-hard, if not worse.

If you’d been able to feel anything, you might’ve felt sick.

Reflexively, you tried to pull away from him, but his hold on your arm only tightened, fingertips digging into your bicep as Satoru laughed, the sound strained and airy. “Sorry, sorry, my bad. I know you like a head’s up, but…” Now, he looked at you, but it was too late, too much, too sudden. All you could seem to think to do was gape back at him, unmoving and unthinking. “Guess it’s just what you do to me. I’ll try to make it quick – all you’ve gotta do is sit there and look pretty.”

It was a familiar line, a familiar excuse. You’d heard it a thousand times – mumbled into your neck as draped himself over you in the early hours of the morning, spouted off as he dragged you back to his car halfway through dinner at a restaurant you’d been looking forward to visiting for months – but it didn’t seem to make sense, this time, didn’t fit with the image of your missing hand hovering a few inches above your loving boyfriend’s erection. The dissonance only seemed to get worse, more dizzying as he shrugged the waistband of his sweats past his hips and down to his thighs, freeing his stiff cock. You’d been too generous, before; he was already hard, his tip flushed a dark pink and leaking thick beads of arousal. Again, you tried to get away, and again, he only pulled you closer, until your side was flush against his. There was a deep grunt, a hazy grin as he wrapped a fist around the shaft of his cock, his grip almost painfully tight. His eyes never left the dull stump on the end of your left arm, his raspy breathing soon turning to a deep, heady panting as you watched him pump his fist over his cock, his pace slow and methodical – a far cry from the spontaneous, erratic Satoru you were used to. A soft voice in the back of your mind, awful and treacherous, suggested that he might be trying to savor it, and a dozen more screamed loudly enough to drown it out.

“Satoru,” you said, nearly surprising yourself with how distant you sounded, how detached. You didn’t feel detached. If anything, you almost felt too grounded in the feeling of cool tile against your back, the heat of his body where it pressed into yours. “Please, stop.”

“I don’t really have a choice, babe.” He shot you a playful grin, and for a second, you could almost imagine hating him. “It’d go a lot faster if you helped me out, though.”

You didn’t answer, but he didn’t need you to. His hand was already groping for yours, already forcing your reluctant participation. The position was awkward, your body half-bent over his, but when you shifted, Satoru’s thumb dug into the bone of your wrist and instantly, you went still. This was bad. Not having control of your only remaining hand was bad. But having your only remaining hand taken away from you would be worse.

Satoru didn’t seem to see it that way. Sounds of aching pleasure bubbled past his lips shamelessly, turning the abruptly claustrophobic bathroom into an echo chamber of pitchy whines and raspy groans and the slick, wet clicks of his cock fucking into your balled fist. It was terrible – being able to feel how his cock pulsed against your palm, being forced to acknowledge the little, stilted movements of his hips whenever he decided your (admittedly lackluster) pace left something to be desired. In less than a minute, his head had lulled onto your shoulder, his voice muffled by the proximity as he struggled to speak in spite of his own unabashed moaning. “Love you so much,” he half-mumbled, half-panted. You could feel his breath against your shoulder, his drool starting to pool just above your collarbone. “W-wanna take care of you when you can’t take care of yourself, make sure nobody else ever gets to put their hands on you. I’d be good – cook for you, n’ shower with you, ‘n dress you up all nice n’ pretty,” He paused, nuzzled into the crook of your neck. “You… You wouldn’t hate me that much if we left it that way, right?”

You felt something drop into the pit of your stomach. “Satoru, you’re—”

“Please, baby.” It was the same tone he used when he was begging you to make a late-night snack run with him, or when he wanted to finish inside of you without protection. “Just—Just tell me that you’d let me take care of you. Just say that you’d still love me.”

It felt like your throat was swollen shut, your chest stuffed to bursting with shattered glass and razor blades and spiny needles only just beginning to poke through your skin. You didn’t want to say anything, you didn’t think you could say anything, and yet, when your mouth fell open, you found a voice that was not your own seeping out by means beyond your control. “It’s alright,” you muttered, distantly, as his cock throbbed in your hand. “I’d still love you, ‘toru.”

Although, you were starting to wish you wouldn’t.

You heard him groan, felt something thick and searing spill over the back of your hand. Satoru’s hand, cupped snuggly over yours, kept you moving until every last drop had been milked out of him, until the final ember of his climax had burnt itself out. He went limp against you, his vice-grip finally falling away, but rather than run, you only straightened, wiping your hand on your jeans before tucking it into your lap. How you looked didn’t matter, anymore.  There couldn’t have been more than a few minutes left in your lecture, if you hadn’t already missed it entirely.

Silence interrupted only by panting breaths and the beating, drowning drum playing in your ears reigned over the confined space, keeping you in a state of bleary stasis until the sound of a sharp knock, shortly followed by a distant door opening broke through the fog. “That’s Shoko,” Satoru murmured, almost disappointed. He started to separate himself from you, only to relapse – burying his face in the crook of your neck and letting out a deep, contented sigh. “You know that I love you, right?”

“I know.”

“And you know that all I wanna do is keep you happy?”

“I know, ‘toru.”

“Good.” He pulled back, grinning. “’cause all I ever wanna do is take care of my angel. Don’t let anything ‘side from that get into your pretty little head.”

You only nodded as he pushed himself to his feet, as he slipped out of the bathroom to meet Shoko, to explain what vital part of yourself he’d torn away this time. You wanted to get up, to wash the cum off of your hand, to pump feeling back into your numb legs, but your remaining limbs were uncooperative, heavy and awkward and useless. It was all you could do to pull your knees up to your chest, wrap your arms around your legs, and hold yourself as you started to cry.

At least, next time Satoru decided to tear you apart, you might not find it so hard to hate him for it.

[xoluvx]

💋 1. First kiss (Billie)

the first kiss – a first kiss after a long build-up of tension, where emotions finally break through and they can no longer hold back.

it'd all come down to this. the quiet glances and soft sighs. the subtle touches and brushing bodies. the tension was undeniable. there was a connection you couldn't deny. a connection you felt in your bones every time you came face to face. just like you were right now, sitting in her car, fingers tapping on your thigh nervously.

"i had a really good time," you whispered turning to look at her. her hand was resting on the steering wheel, eyes focused on yours. there was a small smile on her face as she nodded. she radiated shyness which didn't help your own shyness rushing to your cheeks making you flushed.

"i'll walk you," she motioned to your door turning off her car as she scurried out. she was at your door before you could open it, you smiled softly stepping out of the car as she closed the door behind you. you wrapped your jacket tighter around your body as you felt your teeth chatter.

"you're cold?" she asked and you nodded replying with a shy 'yes'. she could hardly hear you, but it was loud enough for her to wrap her arm around your shoulder pulling you close. you could feel her soft breathing as her arm wrapped tighter all the way up to your door.

"thank you," you smiled feeling your cheeks burn.

when your eyes met, your heart started beating faster. your hands felt clammy. your heart was caught in your throat. she was leaning in. her eyes were closing as your eyelids fluttered. as you swallowed and moved closer. the gravitational pull was strong as her hands cupped your face and your lips parted only slightly.

when your lips finally touched, everything made sense. all the pieces came together. you felt all the heat rushing to your face as your lips connected and reconnected. her hands held your face lovingly. you sighed contently allowing yourself to get lost in the kiss. it was perfect.

dia’s galentine’s sleepover

[betweenstorms]

butcher!simon… he’s so husband… his big rugged calloused arms… you know how those men are… arms the thick and strong, veiny but not in a way a nurse/vampire would love, but in a way you can see subtle long bump of it through the length of his tattooed sleeve… my gosh. i despise going to a butcher shop bcs i'm sensitive to the smell and loud noises scare me but for butcher!simon ? i'd deliberately buy just enough meat for one day worth of my meal + extra portion to give to him the next day as i go for another cut of meat… i'd bat my lashes and sweetly ask "i want to make soup… which cut do you think will cook quickly ?" ARGH. and like use scrap bones and veggies to make cream mushroom soup at the end of the week and pack it nicely with fresh sourdough… and on thanksgiving of christmas i’d take it as my chance to ask “celebrating christmas with your family ?” as a way to invite him to my homeeee aaaaa 😫😫😫😫😫😫😫

I love this so much anon! This is how I imagine the situation...

Part Two of What's Between Fridays (previous part) (next part) (masterlist) Butcher!Simon x fem!Reader

The scent of the small butcher shop never quite sat well with you.

It clung to the air, thick and metallic, mingling with the cold chill of the room. No matter how many times you stepped through the door, the sharp tang of raw meat always hit you, a sour note that made your nose twitch. And yet, you found yourself there almost every Friday afternoon, drawn by something far stronger—something that had nothing to do with the cuts of meat behind the glass.

Simon Riley.

He always stood behind the counter when you came in, broad and imposing. His bulky arms marked with the same ink that wrapped around his soul like a storm cloud, curling up his forearms like violent vines, disappeared beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his worn shirt. You had traced them in your mind a hundred times, wondering where they began and where they ended.

His presence commanded the room without a word, the quiet strength of a man who had spent years carving through flesh and bone. He moved with the ease of someone who knew his power but never flaunted it, his hands deft and skilled as they handled the cleaver with a precision that was almost artful.

You were never sure how to explain the pull that kept you coming back, your heart a little too quick in your chest every time he glanced up, those dark hazel eyes catching yours with an intensity that almost made your breath hitch.

Perhaps it was the way his silence spoke louder than words, the way he listened without speaking, as if he could hear the questions you didn’t dare ask. Or maybe it was the way his presence lingered, even after you’d left, a shadow that clung to your thoughts like the scent of the butcher shop clung to your clothes.

You came back that Friday afternoon too, the bell above the door chiming softly as you stepped in.

The air was cool and hard, and there was Simon—his name stitched onto the apron that hugged his broad chest. You murmured a soft hi as you neared the counter, your eyes drifting over the display, but you felt his gaze settle on you, intense and unyielding. His eyes were sharp, like the blade he held, cutting through your flesh and bones, leaving you exposed and raw.

“I want to make soup... which cut do you think would cook quickly?” you had asked him once, your voice barely above a whisper, breaking the heavy silence between you, your wide eyes filled with quiet devotion as you waited for his answer.

Simon’s head tilted slightly, those sharp eyes narrowing just a fraction, like he was studying you, as though your question held layers he hadn’t yet peeled back.

His hand moved to the display, selecting a small cut of meat with the same deliberation he used in everything.

“These'll do,” he said, his voice low, a rumble that seemed to fill the quiet space between you.

When he handed you the package, your fingers brushed his, and the warmth of his skin against yours was enough to send a shiver down your spine, despite the cold of the shop.

You took the package, your heart fluttering in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. For a moment, you stood there, unsure of what to say, but then his gaze softened, just slightly, and you felt the tension ease from your shoulders. You smiled, murmuring your thanks, the sound of his voice still echoing in your ears as you left, feeling the weight of his gaze linger on your back long after the door closed behind you.

Weeks had passed since then, and yet, like clockwork, you returned every week. The butcher shop had become more than just a place to buy meat. Visiting him, Simon, was a quiet ritual, one that you couldn’t seem to break. 

You hadn’t known how it started, but after a while, you began bringing him food. At first, it was just a small gesture—a way to thank him for the beautiful cuts he’d handpicked for you, the subtle nods and quiet exchanges that had started to feel more personal than professional. He always seemed reluctant, a slight hesitation in his movements when you handed him a carefully wrapped package of the food you had made. But he accepted it nonetheless, those hard lines in his face softening just a touch when your eyes met his.

As time went on, it became a silent exchange between the two of you. You’d bring him food, and in return, he’d set aside the best cuts for you—the most tender meats, the freshest products, pieces that were meant to be savoured. It felt intimate, in a way that neither of you acknowledged, but both understood.

And with each passing week, the quiet between you grew less suffocating, replaced by something that hummed just beneath the surface of your interactions—an attraction, a connection, but still undefined, still lingering in the unsaid.

Then came that particular afternoon.

You had made cream mushroom soup this time, the rich scent of it filling your small kitchen as you prepared the dish with more care than usual. The holiday season was approaching, and the streets outside had already begun to sparkle with festive lights, the world around you glowing with a soft anticipation. There was something about the air, something about the warmth that wrapped itself around you as you stepped into the shop that made you bold.

He looked up when you walked in, his hazel eyes meeting yours, and for a brief moment, the world outside seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you standing in the dim light of the shop. 

After exchanging your usual greetings, you handed him the small container of soup, your gloved fingers brushing his for just a second longer than necessary. And then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped from your lips.

“Are you… visiting anyone during the holidays?” Your voice was soft, almost a whisper, the question hanging in the air between you. “I mean, celebrating with your family or…?” You winced at your own awkwardness, feeling the weight of the silence that followed. But you couldn’t stop now. “If not, I was thinking, maybe… you could join me for dinner this week? At my place.”

For a moment, Simon didn’t speak.

His eyes searched yours, unreadable, his expression as steady as ever, though you thought you caught the faintest flicker of surprise in those hazel depths. The rain outside tapped softly against the windows, filling the quiet space with its gentle rhythm, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, waiting for his answer.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze still fixed on you, and then, to your surprise, he nodded. Just a small tilt of his head, but enough to send warmth flooding through you, enough to light something in your chest that you hadn’t expected to feel.

“Okay,” he said, his voice low, a quiet promise whispered between raindrops.

You smiled, feeling lighter than you had in weeks, the weight of your nerves lifting as you took your package from the counter.

The cold winter air wrapped around you as you stepped out into the street, but it felt different now—like a secret you were carrying with you, a warmth that Simon had unknowingly placed in your hands.