#ao3 dead dove fic

[mitsuki91]

As I update this story, I tought about sharing some pics with you... To show you the face of my characters. Please note that I find these pictures last year on pinterest and I don't know who they are... If you know, you can tell me.

Let's start with Rose Weasley, our protagonist.

If you want to see how I imagine her, I found the perfect picture back then:

She has this inexpressive gaze that in some case can bend a man on his knees. I fucking love this pic, because it is just her. In a way that is perfect.

What can I say about Rose? She has her collection, the fact that she has to fuck every male in the family... But there is a reason. I promise. She is sick, I know, but her trauma are deep and shape her more then you can imagine. You can ask me question but I don't want to spoiler too much... If you will continue to read you will see, eventualy.

I know it is a contraddiction but I love her. She was in hell and this is not a good ending story, but she is the perfect protagonist for it. Please don't judge her too harsh.

Also, she has a theme song! In fact, I have a playlist for this fic and she has some song to her, but this is the "basic" song that, in a way, describe her. Even the lyrics are perfect:

I will share other songs in the future. Some songs are linked to specific chapters.

So! This is my Rose.

I will post the link for the fic now; I have updated but you will not see Rose in this chapter 😂 I am sorry. She will have plenty of space later.

The hunter

Summary:

Molly stood for a few moments staring at the empty door, wondering about her cousin.

Why was Rose always so dull and indifferent? Could it be that she didn't really care what others thought of her?

Did she, too, harbor unmentionable secrets?

Link to first chapter:

AND REMEMBER ALWAYS READ THE TAGS! THIS IS A DEAD DOVE!

[joker-and-the-queen]

Writing what you think other people want to read over what you want to write will slowly kill your creativity.

Write those self indulgent fics! Write those self-inserts. Write what you find joy in creating—not what you think is an objectively “good” story. If you have fun writing it, it is good. I promise there’s someone out there who will enjoy reading your stories as much as you enjoy writing them.

[lilacxquartz]

A SIGHT FOR SORE EYES

part 1 of 3 • mahito x reader

summary: following an accident that destroyed your vision, you begin to suspect that your boyfriend, your caretaker, was actually replaced by an imposter.

tags/themes: body horror, psychological horror, reader insert, disturbing themes, dead dove, dark

ao3 • masterlist • more series • part 2 >

1. Fade Away

The accident itself came out of nowhere.

All you could remember was the squeal of the tires and the slamming force that threw you forward against the dashboard. The glass around you held for maybe a second before it collapsed and fell like sharp, near lethal snow.

Soon after, darkness followed, but not the slow pull of sleep or even death, but quite literally something pitch black and devoid of colour that crept into your vision, or lack of.

Before you knew it, the world was taken away from you and as was your remaining hope.

Essentially, you were left unable to see.

At least maybe temporarily, or so the doctors had otherwise claimed, feeding you a false sense of promise that the light could one day return. Days, maybe weeks all blurred together in perpetual darkness otherwise, so it didn’t take too long for your hope to fade.

The recommendation was to wear eyepatches over your eyes, or rather, a dual patch to both protect your eyes as they heal as well to hopefully make the gradual return of vision not feel so overwhelming.

You hated the things if you were honest; the very feel of them resting atop your eyes only served as a mocking reminder of just how easy it was to ruin the course of your life within mere seconds.

Your boyfriend however, as sweet as he was, tried to see you through it all. His calm and kind voice was the only consistent thing throughout your entire experience. He was always there to guide you when you couldn’t find your way—telling you it was all going to be okay—even if that word no longer made sense to you.

What was it… to be okay anymore?

Everyday, you looked forward to his calming voice and his gentle touch, except for when you didn’t; at least not anymore.

It was a subtle shift in the air, but something had changed.

When he walked into the room, something about his presence felt off. He greeted you the same way that he did before and the sound of his voice was familiar enough, but there was a different quality to it. It wasn’t wrong, at least not exactly, but something about the way he spoke had suddenly felt unnatural.

The way he touched you felt slightly… off, too. His touches were usually light against your skin; yet whoever this was, seemed to apply an uncomfortable amount of weight against you.

The scent in the room, the scent of his cologne that he wore was the exact same, although it was certainly faint, as though stale.

Maybe you were just going insane…?

It wasn’t that unlikely, you supposed. The trauma was life altering enough and after being in a loop of total darkness for the last couple of weeks, it was highly probable that the very last strings of your sanity were finally on their last threads. This whole thing was disorienting enough, since you essentially lost what you knew as the entire world in just a matter of minutes, so maybe it was the case of your senses being elevated a little too much.

It was a possibility, right?

Your mind was probably to blame, playing sneaky and cruel little tricks on you and feeding into the exhausting paranoia of losing one of your most vital senses.

The feeling however still persisted deep down. It was a creeping unease that would sink to the depths of your stomach and bubble away into poorly digested yet festering doubt every time he would reunite with you.

His laughter, while soft and familiar, now carried a hollow tone. His breath felt somehow hotter, his words felt almost… rehearsed. Your heightened remaining senses be damned; you knew it in the core of your very being that you weren’t crazy for picking up on such things.

It was the way his footsteps walked down a methodical path on his way to be with you. or how he hesitated to say your name, instead calling you sickly sweet nicknames that he had otherwise never before in his life used on you.

It was strange, but the company of someone you supposedly had loved for the last five years, had become almost foreign to you.

At one point, you reached for his hand while lying down next to him in bed and your fingers grazed against his, only for you to pull back away in an instant. His soft palms were now calloused and you could feel strange sorts of sutures line up his wrist in brushing retaliation.

You continued to try and drill in the idea that this had to have been all in your head out of desperate delusion, hoping, praying even, that it was the fault of the darkness for twisting everything into something so vile.

But still, that nagging feeling persisted. It wasn’t fear clouding your judgement; it was an innate warning to trust your gut to understand that something was actually terribly wrong.

You didn’t dare question him however, because after all, this person—whoever he actually was—was the only one who had fed you, bathed you and cared for you. How could it not be him? You kept telling yourself that it had to be because you were otherwise stumped on all other plausible explanations.

Whoever it was that tucked themselves away next to you in bed and idly traced haunting patterns in your skin was not the person you once knew.

It was absolutely, without a doubt, someone else.

Someone pretending to be him.

~~~

The doctors had been cautiously optimistic concerning your recovery; a phone call with the person who had initially treated you had revealed that while the accident had been devastating, your future might not be in ruins just yet. With time and provided that you were correctly taking the medicine that your boyfriend had been giving you, you should actually begin to heal.

There were signs to look out for in your returning vision; flickers of light, passing shadows and the like. They warned you that it might at times seem alarming, but it was all positive; a sign of healing, if you were lucky enough.

And much to your delight, you started to indeed notice hints of your vision returning after a while. Exercised moments without the eye patches would reveal partial sight in the form of colourful blurring patches manifesting within your view. It was something so little yet so hopeful, but you couldn’t help but cling to the fleeting glimpses of colour that painted your vision with almost elated anticipation.

Anything but constant darkness.

If you could at least see colour, even if it wasn’t so clear, then suddenly the future wasn’t as bleak as before.

Yet, every time you thought you were getting better, the progress would soon slip away every time he visited.

Just like the initial shift, it all started subtly. The brief casted moments of light would be stolen from you the second that he left the apartment, leaving you behind in a suddenly plunged black void and whenever you would mention this in a call to the doctors, they were simply perplexed. According to them, if you were seeing positive changes in your vision, then it should be improving—not deteriorating.

They told you that they would arrange for your partner to pick up a changed strain for the medication, hoping that an adjustment to your treatment should guide you in the correct direction.

But try as you might, the pattern continued to repeat itself, again and again.

You would heal and then the lights would go out.

You could have sworn that it was his doing somehow, even if the assigned blame was insane in its own right. With every touch from his tainted fingertips, he would somehow weaken you despite being otherwise gentle. It was so odd, because it was like he eluded poison from every stroke against the contours of your flesh.

You soon grew to fear contact with him as a result; dreading any sort of contact with the impostor who claimed to be your lover, lest he would damage you again. It was as though every time his fingertips brushed against your skin, he changed something about you and with every recurring visit, it only got worse.

You kept trying to talk to him about it, hoping that his once warm personality would return and tell you that you were wrong about your assumptions but you never got such comfort.

Again and again, you would ask him something of the same sort of variation, “I’m getting worse, aren’t I?”

But there would be no comfort that followed.

“Don’t be silly,” he would often taunt, almost, his words always so playful as they flicked off of his tongue with hidden venom. “Why would you feel worse, huh? That’s so funny to me, because you shouldn’t. I’m taking such good care of you, silly. You should be feeling better.”

His voice was soft when he spoke too, like smooth dripping honey against your weary ears. “Maybe you’ve got it all wrong, even. You’re feeling worse from me not being around. Don’t worry though, I’ll keep you running, safe and sound.”

His words were now more erratic, almost playful. He no longer carried the same patterns that your partner once did with his speech. You wanted nothing more than to pull away from this monster—because that’s what he must have been—to escape from him, to scream at him to leave you alone because how dare he pretend to be someone you loved?

And yet you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Instead, you did nothing, resigning yourself to just sitting there, laying there as he would continue to purr falsely planted reassurances into your ears with promises that you prayed that he would not keep.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” he would say, “I’ll be right here, always. Watching every last bit of you unravel—I mean heal. We’re in this together, right? I’ll stay with you until there’s nothing left—I mean, until you’re fixed right up.”

You could only sigh and endure, the ache behind your eyes getting gradually worse, as if something was pushing and pulling inside of your skull somehow; messing around internally, poking and prodding in places that should have remained untouched.

It didn’t take long for your body to feel wrong, like it wasn’t put together correctly anymore.

Like it didn’t belong to you anymore.

You could have sworn that your skull was contorting under your skin, slowly twisting and waning through whatever pressure his passing touch would apply.

Sometimes, late at night (or what you assumed to be night), you would lie awake and feel things moving inside of you; slowly, and deliberately—as though something was crawling beneath your flesh.

And all you could do was just sit there.

Broken, blind and waiting for the next visit.

For the next time that this thing wearing your boyfriend’s persona would return and wrap its hands around your body once again, uttering sweet little lies while tearing you apart from the inside.

“It’s all gonna be okay,” he would murmur or rather, mock, “I’m here for you, after all.”

But it wasn’t going to be okay.

That much you did know.

In fact, you had a very good idea that nothing was ever going to be okay ever again.

[totorolaughs]

DABI x READER

dead dove, toxic relationship, gn reader, blood & gore, cannibalism, spanking, after care (?), no pronouns for reader REQUEST: OPEN | CLOSED

You have been dating Dabi for a while now. Your friends had warned you about staying away from him; ‘he smells strange’, ‘I heard he's an absolute psycho with daddy issues (Name)!” and ‘he’s toxic’.

You ignored all their protests, you liked Dabi. and he /seemed/ to like you /a lot/ whenever you were around other people and he was around you could feel his blue eyes piercing into your soul.

But that was because maybe he had never been in a serious relationship before, he was prone to get jealous and possessive over you. He would always ask to stay over by your house and every time he would leave your house would smell like sex, blood, and cigarettes with a hint of beer floating in the air.

Today was no different, you were lying with Dabi on the couch and he had his arm wrapped around you. He had a tight grip on you as you both watched TV. It was a horror movie about a cannibal who kills prostitutes and then sends their private parts to the police as a clue.

Dabi seemed to be enjoying it as his eyes stayed glued to the TV, you on the other hand felt sluggish. Your mind wondered with one question; would humans taste good? — as strange as it was, you couldn't help but let the questions sink into your brain.

Dabis's hand rubbed your waist in an up-and-down motion which snapped you out of your thoughts. “You okay, Babe?” Dabis asked as he placed a kiss on your head. “You seem to be thinking hard about something and that's not normal for you, toots” You frowned at his words since he was basically calling you brainless but he was telling the truth.

It wasn't normal for you to think, you never think before speaking or committing an action. And ever since you met Dabi he had been making choices for you which felt nice to have someone do all the thinking for you, if Dabi told you to do something you would do it in a heartbeat you would never protest or fight against him.

“I’m fine..don’t worry” you snuggled up against Dabi as he ran his fingers through your hair “Plus don't be silly, my mind is always empty” you lie through your teeth. all of sudden as if he sees right through you (which he can) his fingers tangled in your hair and yanked your head back.

You let out a pitiful cry “You aren't lying to me, right?” he smiled. under different circumstances, you wouldn't have been fluttering after all you did love it whenever you got to see his creepy yet handsome smile. “My boy wouldn't do such a thing?” but you knew he didn't like liars, you had to learn that the hard way.

He slapped you the first time you lied to him, it was a little white lie it wouldn't even hurt a fly but even then he couldn't stand it.

He had cupped your face “You know I don't fucking like lying rats,” you had nodded as hot tears filled your eyes but as soon they began to run down your cheeks he (forcefully) grabbed you by your waist and pulled you to his close to him, you buried your face in his chest. “ I only do it to teach you a lesson, y’know I love you doll”

From that moment you had never told him a lie.

“I would never lie to you!” you pouted, he chuckled. “I know, just teasing y’know,” he said as he continued to watch the movie, your eyes stayed on the movie you felt too scared to look at Dabi at this very moment, as you watched the movie;

The killer stood on top of a woman he had just beaten with a baseball bat, her clothes were torn off her body and covered in her blood. bruises formed on her beaten body before cutting off and showing the killer dismembered her body and putting her parts into jars.

It seemed so real to you, your eyes stayed fixated on the scene; he covered her skin in salts and peppers as he began to chop them up. He poured boiling water into a pot as he collected her body parts and dumped them into his pot.

He grabbed a torn-off chunk of her body and put it on an oiled-up pan, the sound of sizzling could be heard as your stomach growled.

Fuck. you hoped Dabi didn't hear that.

But the human flesh looked so good, could it be chewy or rough like a well-cooked steak? Gosh, you couldn't help but begin to drool at the thought of it.

You hadn't realized you were actually drooling until Dabi spoke up.

“Looks super tasty, right?” he laughed, and you felt your face begin to heat up. You didn't answer him which was a bad idea but you couldn't help it. It's embarrassing admitting that you like the way human flesh looks!

He grabbed the remote and turned off the TV as he pulled you onto his lap, his hands gently placed on your hips. “Are you gonna answer?” before squeezing your hips roughly and digging his nails into your soft flesh.

“I…It looks g..good” Your face flushed as you grabbed his wrists since his long nails began to dig deeper into your plush skin. His narrowed as he smiled, placing a sloppy kiss on your forehead.

“You wanna try it?” your heart skipped a beat it felt as if your heart had stopped beating in that moment, and your eyes widened. You just stare at Dabi as if he had grown two heads, he slaps your ass which causes you to jump.

“Answer.” Dabi’s voice turns rough “M..mhm I wanna try..” He smiles before picking you up and you wrap your legs around his waist as he takes you to your rather dirty and unkept kitchen. He places you down on the kitchen counter; there are cans of beer, boxes of cigarettes, empty vapes, and weird stains covering the floor.

Dabi keeps an eye on you as if to say ‘stay’ before he goes over to the sink and turns on the sink, beginning to clean a dirty used switchblade (which usually he uses when there aren't any clean knives). You truly don't know what to think at this moment.

Was he actually going to cut his flesh to feed it to you? No of course not! That would be fucking crazy but Dabi is known for being crazy.

Before you know it Dabi is looming over you with a sharp black handle switchblade. “If I'm going to let you /eat/ me, you’re going to have to do something for me, yeah?” his free hands tangled in your head and forced you to nod.

“Mhm…” your whole body is shivering. Dabi is only wearing; a nine-inch nails t-shirt that is pulled up slightly as it shows his v-line and his happy trail along with some black sweats-pants, you can tell Dabis cock is hard since he isn't wearing any boxers you can see the line-out of his thick cock showing as it twitches in his sweats.

He makes a deep cut into his arm and blood begins to drip down his arm. The sound of blood dripping onto the floor is the only thing you can hear besides your heavy breathing, He cut himself deep.

Your mouth waters at the sight of his crimson blood. He places the switchblade down on the counter as he brings his arm up to your mouth and you latch your lips and begin to suckle on his deep gash.

A groan slips from Dabis scarred lips, and Dabi palms his clothed cock. The sound of wet sucking sounds and heavy breathing can be heard throughout the dingy apartment you and Dabi owned.

“F..fuuuck go easy on me, baby” Dabi throws his head back before tugging on your hair causing your lips to let go of his arm, blood is all over your face.

“You made such a mess..” He pinches your cheek “Ouchh, Dabi m’sorry!” A whine comes from your bloody lips causing Dabi to smirk “Shhh I’mma give you more ‘kay?” Dabi once again grabs the switchblade and begins to carve into his skin he digs his thick fingers into the deep wound his nails tearing chunks of his flesh.

He holds the pieces of his flesh in front of you, drool drips from your crimson-covered lips. As you open your mouth to begin eating his flesh, he slaps you with his free hand.

Your eyes went wide, and you gasped, you never liked it when he would hit you yet it would feel sosos good. “Before I give you what you want,” he places a kiss on your lips, the taste of blood begins to fill his mouth, just making his cock leak pre-cum more. “I want you to strip.” In a blink of an eye, you're stripped from your clothes, all of your clothing is on the bloody floor, your pierced nipples hard and your cock twitching and leaking like a leaky pipe.

Dabi had torn your clothes right off of you before you could even reply which humors you since he said you're the needy one. “You look so pretty, baby..” Dabi licks his lips as he scatters marks all over your neck he loved it whenever you would show off his markings that were proof you belonged to the lunatic.

His bloody-covered fingers teasing and pinching your nipples, you moaned as your back arched. “P..please Dabi!” your voice filled with desperation and need.

“Please what, huh?” He bites down on your neck, you're definitely bleeding. “I w..wanna taste you!,” you cry out “I w..want you inside me..mee”

Dabi lifts your legs up and spits on your winking hole, you feel Dabi's spit roll down your hole and his bloody fingers enter. You let out a choked-out moan.

Your nails digging into the countertop “You’re tight, I should fuck you until your hole bleeding and begging for more. You would like that, no?” he kisses your cheek as his thick fingers go in and out of your whole. It hurts.

Your whole body feels hot and is burning up, you knew you would need him fingering you for a good while before you were able to take his cock inside of your tight heat but tonight he didn't feel like waiting for him to get his fat cock wet.

He pulled his member from his sweatpants. It had a trimmed bush of white and red hair unlike the hair on his head which was dyed black. His cock has a Jacob's ladder piercing which probably was your /favorite/ piercing he had besides his helix piercings which he had put silver spikes along with his nose and nipple piercings.

Once his cock was free from his black sweatpants, his pants dropped to around his knees as he began to slowly shove his cock inside. You breath in and out as he grabbed something and once you realized what it was he slammed his cock inside his balls slapping against your ass.

It was the torn-off chunks of meat, he gripped your jaw and shoved the chunks of flesh into your mouth. You whimpered at the taste of it on your tongue, and without warning he began to thrust in and out of your bloody hole.

His hands held your legs up as he shoved his cock deeper inside of you, your cock leaking all over your tummy as drool escaped from your lips. You almost choked on his flesh from how rough his thrusts were getting.

Your bodies stuck to each other by sweat, the kitchen smelled like blood, sweat, and sex. “Holyshiiit… you feel so good!” he groaned as he tightened his grip on you “Dabi g.. gah! ” Your tears began to burn with tears.

“C’mon, babes cry harder you can do that for me, right?” Dabi hisses as he feels your nails dig into his back, you nod as you continue to cry out in ecstasy.

You had long ago finished his flesh but you wanted, no, needed more of him. You needed to have him fill all your senses, you buried your face into his shoulder as you sank your teeth into him. Blood began to gush into your mouth as you sucked hard on the bite mark lapping up the blood with your tongue.

It felt like forever as he continued to slam into your tight warmth, your tummy covered in pre-cum as tears rolled down your cheeks, Dabi on the other hand growled and folded you like a lawn chair as the tip of his cock kept hitting your prostate causing you to roll your eyes into the back of your skull.

“Fuuck..imma cum” he groaned as he gave your thigh a spank “m..me ah..ahh c..cummingcumming!” your cock squirts out cum as it lands all over your tummy and chest. Dabi kisses you; it is sloppy, filled with teeth, and tastes like blood.

Your eyes crossed as you began to sob from being fucked stupid, what was your name again? Fuck you couldn't even remember. “n..no more! P..please st..stop!” Dabi didn't listen to your pleas as he reigned your guts.

“J..Just a little m..more, fuuuck..!” He buried himself balls deep inside of your velvety walls “I.. I'm gonna c..cum inside..you okay with that right? Of course you are, you whore..” he painted your walls in his cum. You could feel his cum slip out from your hole as he fucked his load deeper inside of you.

You both breathed in and out.

“You did so well…” he placed a kiss on your forehead as he rubbed your bruised hips “You take me so well..” he placed kisses on your neck and shoulders so gently as if you were going to break.

“l..love you..” you whisper into his ear before closing your eyes “I love you soso much, fuuck you drained me dry..”

You or Dabi didn't feel like moving at this moment, too sore. He held you close as he gently ran his finger through your messed up hair as if he didn't just fuck you brainless.

“I’ll take care of everything, okay? Rest easy, doll” All you remember is Dabi slowly pulling out his cock with the feeling of his cum oozing out of your abused hole.

[shsl-fujoshi]

"is it weird to--"

I'm going to stop you right there. Of course it's weird.

It's good to be weird! Get weirder or I'll die of boredom.

[aethon-recs]

Tomarrymort Dead Dove Recs, Part 1 🕊️

Welcome to Part 1 of Dead Dove-themed Tomarrymort recs. I like fluff and soft and light-hearted fic as much as the next reader, but at the end of the day, Tomarrymort is a dark ship, and there are some brilliantly talented writers here creating incredibly dark & twisted absolute mindfucks of works that I want to pay tribute to. 

Please note there can be found potentially triggering and disturbing content in the rec list below, so this time I will be placing all 30 of these recs below the cut. Keep in mind don’t like; don’t read, so feel free to scroll on by if non-con/dub-con is not a theme you would like to explore. 

This list was made in collaboration with @danpuff-ao3’s Dead Dove Diaries Series. Check it out for other HP dead dove recs!

*

Tomarrymort Non-Con/Dub-Con Recs

A Single Love by Vera_DragonMuse (E, 23k, complete)

If Tom had been raised by Harry instead, would he have grown up to be Lord Voldemort?

A Special Day by @vdoshu (E, 3k, complete)

“I think a fresh start is important. I’d like one, and I think this can be it.” “It’s a bit late for a fresh start for me, don’t you think?” he retorts snidely.

Aconite; Thistle by @kushimanii (E, 32k, complete)

Voldemort decides to keep Harry alive and impregnate him to bear children that he can raise into loyal Death Eaters.

Aftertaste by @hiredhorse (E, 4k, complete)

Harry noticed the handsome stranger before the game began.

At the expense of the world by @itsevanffs (E, 24k, WIP)

"He had a lover, you know," Jenkins says to Remus once Harry's behind a wall and out of sight again. "A boy, and a gorgeous one at that. Nobody really knew where he came from, and Tom didn't seem to favour him either, at first, but by the end, he was besotted." Jenkins pauses. "Might have been a girl," he says. "We don't have any drawings, and all the texts are warnings that the God-Emperor is a jealous man - do not seek his puer, or you will be slain where you stand."

Cloudy by @dividawrites (E, 5k, complete)

Trapped alone in a prison on an island, there are many things Tom forgets. But he never forgets Harry.

Dark Light by CrazyJanaCat (E, 3k, complete)

Nineteen years after the defeat of Lord Voldemort, the Wizarding World is at peace, and for once, everything seems right. But what no one knows is that their hero has a dark secret...

Eulogy by @meles-merrivale (E, 6k, complete)

You run through the things you have to do for the day. It is, admittedly, a very short list. Wake up. Be clean. Be ready. An empty life, some might call it. You don’t. It is the life He has given you, and so it is what you deserve.

For He is the Sun and I am His Shadow by @aglassroseneverfades (E, 13k, complete)

The date is September 1st, 1996. Lord Voldemort is about to get everything he's ever wanted.

Frigid by @mrviran (E, 3k, complete)

In which one of Voldemort's horcruxes is broken, and needs to be fixed.

golden boy by @exarite (E, 3k, complete)

They thought Harry Potter was dead. Months after the battle at Hogwarts, the last of the Resistance finally gets captured. Voldemort shows them just how very much alive Harry Potter is.

Guaranteed Safety by Assapanick (E, 13k, complete)

The only problem would be convincing the Dark Lord to impregnate him, but Harry doesn’t plan on asking.

Harry Potter and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Rut by @neurowriter14 (E, 6k, complete)

Harry goes into the forest to confront Voldemort and his death, and all the while his rut waits in the wings, drawing Voldemort's curiosity.

Heartbeat by @phantomato (E, 24k, complete)

Harry, dumped into the past, communes with dangerous men.

Honeyguide by @cannibalinc (E, 7k, complete)

“I need an Alpha," Tom states. "Someone older. Someone already established within the Ministry with strong connections. Someone kind, a bit stupid, and rich. A Pureblood, ideally. Someone who will soften my image.” “A sweet-hearted, good-looking, oblivious moderate, you mean?” Scorpius asks. “Well, that’s Harry Potter to a T. Too bad he’s married.” This is not the problem Scorpius thinks it is.

in bad faith by @cindle-writes (E, 3k, complete)

Voldemort, despite looking thin and skeletal, is heavy enough of a weight on Harry’s chest that he’s having trouble breathing, each breath feeling like a thick, syrupy effort to draw in. “Don’t worry, Harry, I’ll take care of you,” Voldemort murmurs, hot breath ghosting over Harry’s ear.

Insatiate by @vdoshu (E, 2k, complete)

Voldemort stole both Harry and the Philosopher’s Stone, and doomed Harry to live a half-life. That was ten years ago.

Legacy by Pengress (E, 6k, complete)

His Horcrux stared at him with wide green eyes. Voldemort could see the panic, the fear. He had accepted his place in the ritual reluctantly, but he had given the important permission for Voldemort to use his body, and while the preparation seemed to have scared his Horcrux, Voldemort would make sure he would not go back on his word.

Lingering Warmth by anon (E, 2k, complete)

In the aftermath of Harry's death, Voldemort admires Harry's corpse, and when Harry comes back to life he finds himself in a perplexing situation.

My Lord, Master, My Soul by FletchleyRose (E, 69k, complete)

During the Battle of Hogwarts, Lord Voldemort learns that Harry Potter is his unintentional Horcrux. He decides to make him his – mind, body, and soul. Harry is not on board with this plan. But when the Dark Lord starts using pleasure instead of pain to convince him, will he be able to resist?

on the other side by @philolust (E, 3k, complete)

Someone abducts Harry Potter and the Dark Lord in an effort to get them to cooperate and end the war. It goes horribly wrong.

Precious Horcrux by @loneamaryllis (E, 127k, WIP)

"Precious Horcrux..." The two possessive, cloying words, hissed low, made Harrie feel nauseous. "I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to keep you."

Research and Development by @cannibalinc (E, 6k, complete)

Primary Objective: Establish with certainty that Subject IS or IS NOT a living Horcrux. Captured audio sample from Subject: You can’t keep me in here forever, Voldemort! Why don’t you come in here and face me, you COWARD! I’m not scared of you! Dumbledore will find me and—

rise anew by @duplicitywrites (E, 5k, complete)

“I must thank you for this new body of mine,” Voldemort continues in an amused tone as he flexes the fingers of his new hand, examining the unnatural length of them. “It is unexpected but not… unpleasant.”

silk of midnight and dawn by @ilya-zzz (E, 3k, complete)

Harry approaches, quietly, arms raised in front of him. It doesn’t take long before pale skin transforms into soft fur as dark as the night sky. Red eyes, now green, look at Harry with such an intensity that he has to take a step back. Four-legged and as imposing as he is when standing in two, Tom Riddle has transformed into a panther.

Such a Noble Villain (part 1) / Monster Under the Bed (part 2) by Run_of_the_mill (E, 4k, complete)

Harry and Voldemort are in a classroom, and Harry is stuck to a chair. Some very weird, creepy stuff happens next because Voldemort is who he is.

The Tattoo by @crowcrowcrowthing (E, 5k, complete)

Tom gives Harry a tattoo that creates a bond between them, giving Tom some control over his mind.

The Ties That Bind by @mosiva (E, 8k, complete)

Harry finds the locket at Grimmauld Place, but it has a curse laid on it. When Harry triggers it, he finds himself trapped with the locket version of Tom Riddle, both of them stuck within the enchantment until they can find the way out. Or so Harry thinks.

Tom Riddle and the Quest for Vulnerability by lejf (E, 16k, complete)

Auror Harry Potter has eighteen-year-old Tom Riddle bent over the table barely a day after he becomes his ward.

Violent Delights by @katsitting (E, 5k, complete)

“The Golden Boy is no more…” Voldemort whispered, voice high and reedy, amused. Harry was shoved against something hard and unyielding. It scratched along his back, chafing the skin. Harry didn’t so much as flinch, refusing to make a sound when more jeers sounded in the clearing, the words cutting through the rush of blood flooding Harry’s ears—

*

[the-bar-sinister]

I love flawed, morally dubious characters who don't realize when they're in the wrong, and have complex, multi-layered, messy romantic and sexual relationships where they make mistakes, have miscommunications, prioritize their feelings over their partner's sometimes, and accidentally or even intentionally hurt people they love.

[angelspitxx]

another modern helaegon post.

aegon wants his little sister's virginity ❤️ so he takes it for himself.

tw: dub/non-con, light choking, aegon's got a daddy kink

aegon's cock is stuffed inside his little sister's mouth, making her gag and squirm. he's got his fingers wrapped up in helaena's hair, so she can't escape. drool dribbles down her chin and onto her shirt. she's good at this, after a few weeks of practicing she's a pro. taking all of him inside of her mouth, big eyes full of tears and snot dripping out of her nose. he likes her like this, so damn pretty when she's ruined.

"such a good girl," he moans as he shoves himself even deeper, "fuck. so good for me baby. i bet you're ready for more, huh?"

she knows what he wants, what he's been after for years now. her virginity. she shakes her head slightly and he scowls. he hates when she says no. as if she has a choice anymore. he's tired of waiting.

he pulls his cock out of her mouth and yanks her up by her hair, "too bad. get on the bed."

she whines in protest but crawls onto the bed nonetheless. he's watching as she positions herself on her stomach, her little ass arched up in the air. her thigh highs are hugging her so tightly, the fat from her thighs spilling over. the outline of her cunt peeking out from her skirt. only the thin pink cotton of her panties is hiding it from view.

"damn, helaena," he coos as he gets behind her, his hands groping at her soft flesh, "you are just too cute, baby girl."

he slides down her panties and admires her pussy, flushed pink and bare, glistening with her arousal. he knows she secretly wants this, just as bad as he does. if she didn't, she wouldn't be so wet. she's practically begging him for it.

helaena gasps as she feels his fingers slide inside of her, "no- aeg, please. i-im not ready yet."

"shh, shh, it's okay. ill be gentle, as long as you behave. you want it to feel good don't you?"

when she doesn't respond, aegon curls his fingers inside of her. making her moan softly and rock slowly against his fingers. it's like her body is reacting against her own will. he always knows how to touch her, always knows just what to say. maybe if she does behave, it won't hurt as badly as some of the other girls at school say. maybe her big brother can make it better for her. instead of giving her virtue away to some boy that doesn't know how to touch her, how to love her.

"uh-huhh," she mumbles dazedly.

he smirks, "that's my girl. so obedient.. do you want daddy to reward you for your good behavior?"

she peeks behind her curiously, her cheeks bright red, "daddy?"

"mmhmmm, daddy. ill take care of you," he begins pumping his fingers in and out, his thumb circling her clit, "my pretty little girl."

she nods sheepishly, burying her head against the pillow. her legs are shaking and she can feel something building in her tummy. like butterflies fluttering, trying to escape.

"ahh, aegon- it feels-" he removes his fingers and she whines pathetically at the loss.

"look at you, begging for it. i knew you wanted this. no more playing innocent, helaena."

she can feel something much larger than his fingers prodding at her entrance, slowly pushing inside of her. aegon watches as her tiny cunt wraps around his cock, swallowing him up. so fucking tight and warm. he's kicking himself for not taking this from her years ago. he deserves this. he's taken such good care of his baby sister, always catering to her. doting on her, even. he deserves to be the one claiming her innocence.

"it hurts," she sniffles, her tears rolling down her cheeks.

he groans at the feel of her, it's unlike anything he's ever had. he pushes all of his weight onto her, making her cry out. he slowly brings his thumb up to her mouth, praying it open, giving her something to suck on. something to keep her mind off of the pain blossoming in her core.

"it's going to hurt.. just a little. it'll feel better once you're used to it. just relax, princess," he soothes, his voice hypnotic in her ear.

she nods, still eagerly sucking on his thumb. he begins thrusting slowly, each motion hallowing out her insides. it was beyond painful for her, she was tempted to bite him, but she let him continue. until eventually, the pleasure began to outweigh the pain. her mouth opened around his thumb, and she became a drooling mess. her breaths panting, ass arched up so he could fuck her deeper. he was lost in the ecstacy of his little sister's cunt.

"fuck- fuck helaena. you're so fucking good- good girl. my sweet little princess," he babbled pussy drunk praise into her ear.

"daddy," she mewled, latching back onto his thumb.

that sent him over the edge. he forgot all about being gentle with her. aegon slammed himself into her repeatedly, his other hand wrapping around her dainty neck. he was making her see stars. as she slumped onto the bed from a lack of oxygen, he let go, continuing on with his brutal assault. she was his plaything, his baby girl, so perfect and pliant. his sweet little sister. he hoped she would feel this for days. that deep ache between her thighs, reminding her just who she belonged to.

[r-f-m-writes]

A Lark In a Hollow Chapter One

Really, she doesn't have a choice.

Lark barely remembers the huge shadow of a man sitting beside her in the dead heat of Mrs. Poppy's office at the children's home. He is silent, stoic, and completely terrifying.

Christopher Hollow.

Muscled.

Six foot five.

Storm blue eyes.

Dog tags outlined under the straining stretch of his black tee-shirt.

"Lark," Mrs. Poppy says, gently, "you're happy with this arrangement? You want to go with your Godfather?"

There's no money left for her to live off until she finds a job - if she finds a job.

Her Dad is dead.

Lark doesn't have a choice.

Lark Douglas didn’t know who Christopher Hollow was when Mrs. Poppy brought his name up to her on a hot Saturday afternoon in her office. The additional details that he had served with her Dad in Afghanistan and was her appointed legal guardian and Godfather did nothing to help jog Lark’s memory.

      In fact, it was a full week after Mrs. Poppy informed Lark of Christopher Hollow’s existence that the girl finally managed to scrounge up a single, short, fuzzy memory of the man.

         She was home.

         The door to their flat was open, the old ceiling fan had been turning in slow circles over her head. It did nothing to fight against the mid July heat that was so stifling and muggy it made her skin stick to the linoleum floors. She had sat on the couch playing with Labrador, her stuffed toy dog, when Mom walked in with someone.

        Lark was five, she thinks, and she hadn’t paid attention to anything that was being said, or looked at who had stepped the room after her mother. She only glanced up from where she was making her stuffed dog do backflips off the worn-down couch cushions when big, black boots stepped into her vision off the edge of the sofa.

       The man who stood in front of her was tall, wearing camo pants and a fitted grey tee-shirt. His face was hard to remember, but Lark thought he had sandy brown hair and the start of a thick brown beard. He had crouched down, setting aside a battered black duffle bag, looking at her like he expected something.

     Lark had only stared at him.

      Mom’s voice had a strain in it when she spoke.

     “Say hi to Chris, baby. He’s come all the way from the airport just to see you.”

     The man spoke before Lark had the chance. He had a deep, rough rumbly voice.

     “Don’t worry her about it, Lori. Been two years. I’d be surprised if Pet remembered me at all.”

      Pet.

      That was the only memory Lark had of Christopher.

      She wasn’t even sure it was real and not just something she had made up in the recesses of her mind as an unconscious effort to help herself fill in the gaps and feel less uncertain.

     She had lots of memories like that.

      Memories no one else could verify. Memories she wasn’t sure happened, but couldn’t shake as being real.

      This was what led Lark to where she stood at the top of the worn flight of wooden stairs.  Seventeen years old, dressed in clothes that didn’t belong to her, feeling entirely unsure of what the future would hold.

      Seventeen, and only three weeks and four days shy of her eighteenth birthday.

     It was ridiculous.

     Stupid, even.

     Why couldn’t she just wait it out at the girl’s home?

     Why was Mrs. Poppy was obligated, by law, to reach out to relatives Lark had never even heard of and negotiate with them down the phone, asking and then, after the eighth rejection, pleading with each of them to come and pick her up?

      “Just a month - no, no, you wouldn’t have to commit to adoption, Mrs. Tanner - not at all. I am only reaching out because Lark is your niece, and I am sure you want the best for her -”

     The list thinned, name by name. Lark saw them each time Mrs. Poppy opened the manilla envelope with her initials on it, glancing over the struck off phone numbers and feeling nothing.

    The rejections didn’t surprise her.

    She knew from lived experience how reluctant people were to help a stranger.

     It took less than half a week for them to reach the last one.

     His name.

     Christopher Hollow.

     He was who Lark was waiting for as she hung onto the banister, her dark eyes fixed on the panes of frosted glass in the door, anticipating seeing a shadow blot across the panels when he stepped onto the porch and rang the buzzer.

     Floorboards creaked.

     Lark moved too late when Mrs. Poppy stepped out of her office that stood at the side of the stairs. The stacked blonde beehive of her hair bobbing into the girl’s view as Lark tried to scurry back out of her sight.

    Too little, too late.

    The kind wrinkles around Mrs. Poppy’s eyes doubled and deepened as the sound made her look upward and spot Lark.

     “Lark, there you are! I was just about to come and find you, dear. Nip down into my office for a moment, I’ve got some things I want to discuss with you before Mr. Hollow arrives.”

    The old stairs squeaked loudly as the girl walked sheepishly down the grossly worn-out blue carpet runner, rounding the curved banister at the bottom to follow Mrs. Poppy into her office.

    It was sun warm inside, light spilling over the faded hardwood floor and shiny varnish of the big, brown desk, highlighting the dozens of ring-marks stained into its top by mugs of coffee past. Mrs. Poppy rounded the desk, having to skirt sideways between the edge of it and the rows of heavy metal file drawers that flanked the room on all sides.

   Taking her perch in a black wheely chair, the woman gestured for Lark to sit in one of the two big, green, retro velvet sofas that faced her desk.

      Sinking down into her seat, Lark folded her hands in her lap and looked at the woman, waiting to be spoken to. She had been thoroughly taught from a young age that she was to be seen and not heard. There had also been plenty of occasions when Lark wasn’t to be seen or heard. Those were moments when her half empty pink, princess wardrobe came in handy.

        Mrs. Poppy placed a pair of up-swept cat eye spectacles on the tip of her tall, gently crooked nose, and took out a notepad. It was one of dozens she had, this particular piece of stationary sported Lark’s name on its front, written in black pen and then broadly underlined in purple marker.

       “Miss Douglas today is a big one for you. How are you feeling, hon? Excited? Nervous?”

        The soft slip of her southern accent calmed Lark some as she fought against the urge to fidget, keeping her fingers still in her lap.

        “Excited, Ma’am. Dad didn’t like to travel much, so seeing the Appalachians sounds like a real adventure.”

        Lark stuck a quick smile onto the end of her lie. She had rehearsed it in her head a hundred times since she was told the good news a week before.

        Christopher Hollow wanted her.

        He was driving the whole way down the coast from his home in the Appalachian Mountains to come and collect her. Lark couldn’t even comprehend where the Appalachian Mountains stood, just that they were stupendously far away.

        Mrs. Poppy grinned at Lark, genuine and radiant, as she wrote something in fast scratching cursive over and empty line of the notepad.

       “Always such an optimist, Lark. I’m sure Mr. Hollow will be delighted by you.”

        Lark’s left thumb twitched. When she smiled, it felt tight in the corners, “I certainly hope so, Ma’am.”

        And she truly did. Lark knew the way men behaved when they weren’t delighted by her.

~R.F.M~

         A fist gripped long, brown hair tightly enough to tear dozens of strands out of Lark’s scalp as she was dragged down the hallway by her head, the girl’s frame stooped almost to the floor as she clawed at the hands restraining her.

       “Fucking little bitch coming to steal from me? Think you’re slick, huh?”

         In honesty, Lark did.

        She had stolen from the man before on countless occasions, rummaging through the contents of his worn leather wallet, fishing out loose coins and dollar notes that wouldn’t be missed. Before, he was always too out of his mind to realize, so Lark had gotten greedy.

        Twenty dollars was a lot of money to people like them. She was foolish for thinking she could snatch it away without his notice.

       Lark didn’t know his name, or his age, or anything about him other than the fact he bought pot on Thursday afternoons and left the door to his apartment wide open with 90’s music playing full volume while he sat out on his balcony in a beat-up pink recliner, back to the living room, smoking.

         By all accounts, the man wasn’t very smart. But he was still a man, a man much stronger than Lark.

[mitsuki91]

Aaaaaand anoTHER DAY WHEN MY IRL FRIEND TALKS WITH HER IRL FRIENDS ABOUT MY DEAD DOVE IN FRONT OF MY FACE 😂🫣🫣🫣🫣😰😰😰

[mullermilkshake]

Pseudo Suguru Geto

SPOILERS

Appearances aren't always what they seem.

“Prison realm. Gate open.”

The giant square of skinless muscle opened, its singular eye wide open, showing you your fate. It glared at you, staring straight into your soul. It convulsed, vibrating like a quivering leaf.

“What- what is this?” You took a step backwards, unable to avoid its gaze, still and unnerving.

“It took so long to find you. You've been quite a nuisance.”

You recognised the voice, but it was laced with uncertainty. Would you dare to turn? Could you entertain the idea of any other eyes than the giant, ominous pupil sat in front of you?

You turned. “W-wait. No way. This can’t be-”

Suguru Geto. 

You saw him die, watching on from the sidelines, his wrist going limp and drawing last breath. There was no way he could have been standing in front of you now.

But he was.

“Long time no see.” Suguru smiled, his hand moved in a gentle wave.

Geto’s eyes were there, but then, they weren’t. They didn’t have the same love they usually had. He looked the same as he did when you last met, but the line of stitches on his forehead said otherwise. 

“It can’t be you.” You said, stepping back a fraction. “I saw you die I- Satoru killed-”

“Satoru isn’t the best at commitment is he?”

Suguru took a step getting much closer now, he was in arms reach. You could touch his cheek if you wanted. But this time wasn’t like those other times. 

“Who are you?”

“You know who I am.”

“No. Even up to Suguru’s death, he never gave me the unease you’re giving me now.”

He chuckled, fiddling with his forehead. “ You were always so clever, weren’t you?”

You gasped, putting your hand to your mouth to stop the sickness. The top of his head came away, clean and precise. His maniacal smile never faltered. 

“That’s exactly what Satoru Gojo said too. It seems I can’t fool everyone.”

A brain. His brain smiled with him, transparent goo dripped down his cheeks like it was being preserved artificially. It looked painful. You heaved and your hand clenched at your stomach in hopes to stop the chain-reaction. 

Everything was fucked. This thing was parading a dead man around you, a carcass of someone you loved. Your retching turned to sobs, you pushed him away but he stayed where he was.

“Where is he, where is Satoru? What have you done with him?!” 

“He’s in a safe place.” He paused, his smile still remained. “Now it’s just a matter of where to put you.”

Read more on my Ao3! <3

Minors DNI —-

[lilacxquartz]

BLESSED WITH BLUE

angel satoru gojo x mortal fem!reader

part 1 of 2 • masterlist • ao3 link • part 2 >>

summary: after making an offering, you catch the attention of a six eyed angel who despite promising you the heavens, leads you into hell instead.

themes: two parts, angels au, yandere, smut (next part), dark, dead dove, described violence, alternate universe

Part 1: Prayer

Initially, you were on your way home.

You were so tired from such exhaustive work for very little gain. The back-breaking labour for mere copper; to just barely afford another day in your uneventful existence.

Then again, this was just how it was for mortals.

To simply just… exist until the end.

You drifted through the radiating vibrancy of the capital adorned by the glowing cherry blossoms that lit up the streets; petals that both bloomed and glowed like rosy lanterns. Every step that you took through the wobbly cobblestone would bruise a soft glow per footprint, making you feel not quite as alone as you would have liked.

Tokyo was more so of a unique settlement in these parts; angels, demons and mortals alike, more or less co-existed although some strayed from their assigned alignments. The cold, silky mist that encased the country was especially strong in this particular region and allowed certain sorts of creatures to exist within the region.

Seeping waves of steam would continuously roll out and bless those who were known as the ‘chosen’, allowing them to harness the power of the gods. The locals called them cursed blessings; gifts from a higher power that nobody could quite describe nor understand. Should a ‘chosen’ abuse their power though, they’d become corrupt and morph into a caricature of their own selfish desires—twisted, disgusting beings, mirroring each and every single negative quality found in their very being.

Ordinary people like you though?

Why, those in particular had nothing truly special going on. That was just the way it was though and for good reason. Just the regular mortals were essential for balance to keep the world in order.

Or however it was that the sacred texts described it. Personally, you didn’t fully get it.

See, the chosen could properly defend themselves against the demons as well as the corrupt beings, however regular mortals could not. Maybe you were just bitter, though. It was against those vile things that you were left orphaned; forced to watch your family be reduced to guts spilled on the blood-soaked floorboards, their life essence stolen to build their power.

(Something about an uncorrupt soul, the texts claimed.)

The demons had a saying, after all:

In order to brew chaos; you had to take away from the balance—and that was exactly what they fed on.

Slowly, as you walked home, you found yourself drifting towards one of the many temples scattered over the city, wanting to test your chances against the order of fate. You heard it all before; angels taking pity on humans who had led tough lives and blessing them with a dosage of their power, not quite ascending them into the likes of the chosen, but close enough.

In some ways, you needed this. Demons ate your family when you were very young, leaving you to fend for yourself ever since then. The locals, while they did try to do their best to assist in your growing up, retired from their responsibility as soon as you were capable enough.

It hurt to grow up so lonely.

There was also the part that by being targeted by demons in the past, attached a negative social stigma towards you. Demons carried a more potent form of cursed energy, making them closer known to cursed spirits and being a survivor of such an attack was often seen as a bad omen.

So before you knew it, you were an outcast by association.

The elders made sure of it, at least.

Pressing on, you weren’t honestly looking for a certain temple in particular. It wasn’t as though you were starved for choice. A lot of temples existed within the city, after all. Different structures supported different things and sometimes not even the angels, even though their proof was highly abundant. Sometimes, people worshipped the simpler deities or just natural disasters as a concept.

You didn’t mind too much wherever you’d ended up. Maybe subconsciously you wanted to be noticed by an angel so that’s why you ended up at one of the flashier temples instead of the simpler ones.

Slowly, you climbed up the stairs; each bricked slab feeling somehow wider and wider with each and every single attempt to pull yourself up. You stared upwards with a certain degree of unease, the distant glow of candles not doing much to warm your worries.

You cautiously padded your way inside, finding that the flames collectively dimmed and were replaced with blue light in a flash. Each step lit up the wicks with a bursting blue flame as you approached the shrine up ahead.

Such a feeling was unsettling.

Almost as if you were being watched.

Gulping the unsettling feeling down and focusing on the shrine, you realised that you didn’t actually have that much to give. This particular temple gave the deity a whole collection of curated blue items from jewels to painted pottery, from woven cloth to scriptures written in colourful ink.

Feeling desperate however, you weren’t about to give up and so, you fell to your knees instead.

With a cautious whisper, you begged the shrine for change, “P-please, I’ll give a-anything, j-just…”

The flames reduced as you spoke; from vibrant blue to a soothing yellow once again.

“I’ll give anything… everything…!”

But nothing happened. You weren’t the lucky type of mortal. You weren’t born into riches and you didn’t have anything physical to offer and by the time the temple returned to its deceptive welcoming regular orange glow, all of your remaining hope had burned away.

Sighing as a result, you finally decided it was time to go home.

Not at all noticing the face of who exactly was watching you from the shadows.

His glowing blue eyes should have been a giveaway, but he kept himself very hidden and instead decided to take a chance on the girl who simply wanted an escape from this cruel routine.

However, just because he was an angel, it didn’t mean that he was going to give you a blessing.

No, he had something much, much worse in store for you.

But you did pray for it.

So perhaps you should have been more careful what you wished for.

~~~

The night was oddly calm at home, at least for a while. You had a dreamless sleep until you didn’t, waking up to what you thought initially to be a nightmare until you realised that there was actual movement going on within your home.

With a cautious ear, you listened in as the front door to your house creaked open and as heavy footsteps walked inside.

Demons were otherwise light on their feet so it couldn’t have been one of those, but they weren’t the only wrong in the world.

(Humans could harm too.)

A familiar feeling of being watched from before surfaced as you sank further into your blanket, hoping that the woollen sheet would somehow protect you as a barrier from impending danger.

You just barely managed to peek out from above your blanket, just barely managing to make out the person in your room. You had an oil lantern lit up on a nearby table but it had been steadily dimming all night, so the range of visibility was quite low.

With an almost exploratory approach, a man with a snowy complexion and frosted hair walked inside; his back carried spearing beams of blue crystalline light that resembled wings, similar to his icy blue gaze. If you focused your sights on other parts of his body, more eyes would appear before disappearing as soon as you redirected your focus.

Was this an angel?

As he approached closer, he reached out a hand to pinch your chin and point it towards his stare, “Do you really promise to give me everything?”

His question caught you off guard and you were left unable to form a coherent response just yet.

He reached out his other hand to press over your heart, his voice adopting an almost playful tone, “Worry not, I’ll… ‘bless’ you.”

“R-really?” you finally managed to blurt out, the next question coming out as a mere whisper. “But why?”

The angel smiled, “Because everything is a lot. Besides, you’re so fragile, so human. That's why you need someone like me.”

Within a flash, you woke up the next day in complete daylight wearing a cold sweat that enveloped your body.

Thinking that it was a dream, you tried to move on and continue your life as normal despite something seeming… different.

Somehow, the world seemed somehow more vibrant?

And as weeks continued to pass you by, demons seemed to almost avoid the area entirely. Better harvests were collected by the locals and less crops suffered from drought. Life also improved for you socially, finding that you got on quite well with someone new who moved into your village just under a week ago.

He was quite similar to you as well. A survivor of a cursed attack not too different than the one you had to endure. His personality was kind too and simply put; you both got along.

However just as things progressed, one night, you heard a thud right outside of your door and upon opening it up in the dead of night, you found him freshly massacred, almost as if professionally butchered in fact—precise, almost delicate cuttings against his flesh—bled him clean out on your doorstep.

Stumbling backwards, you cupped a palm over your mouth and almost wretched in a sickening nausea that overfilled your stomach.

However, just like before, a flash sparked before your very eyes and you were back in bed and it was just a regular morning.

Cautiously walking over to your front door, you opened it up hoping that it was just a vivid nightmare and that he was actually alive, safe and sound. Instead however, was a haunting reminder of what you promised was carved into the stone instead.

“Everything,” it reminded you. “Nobody else can compare like I can.”

So if that was real, then what exactly did you offer?

And to who?

(Or what?)

~~~

part 1 of lilac’s bite sized yandere nightmares

[totorolaughs]

GOJO x READER | MY BLUE MOURNING BIRD

cure!reader death , angst, smut, sexual content, trauma. gn pronouns, teenager! gojo satoru, anal sx, note: hi, I'm still on hiatus but I wanted to post this since its just rotting in drafts. I'll be out of hiatus I'll post moore ( smut..just pure smut /j) orignal on ao3; translator is @ihrtbrainz REQUEST - OPEN | CLOSED

The sun was bright as the wind howled the sound of leaves rustling filled the air, bright sky blue eyes gleamed as his eyes locked in with yours. you felt a smile tug on your lips warm as a summer day, your fingers entwined with one another as you stroll in sync – side by side, the air was fresh as it could be the warm feeling of your fingers interlaced creating a comforting feeling within each other.

“Your eyes are as pretty as a morning blue bird, Satoru.” He laughed “Oh shut up! That's so cheesy, man!’ Satoru loved cheesy and cringy.

The sky turned gray and the now dark clouds cried. Satoru now stood in front of a grave. The grave was poorly taken care of and destroyed by age. He fell onto his knees as his fingers dug and crawled into the mud the tears of the clouds created.

Satoru sat up from his bedding in a cold sweat, rubbing his eyes as his breath heavy. He wasn't able to sleep after you disappeared, it kept him up at night even when he was able to fall into a slumber that didn't help since he suffered from dreams, which were more like nightmares than actual dreams. They would always begin in the same way as if it was a twisted game his own mind was playing on him; peaceful and comforting dreams would fill his mind before transforming into a depressing once peaceful dream filled with despair so heavy it would cause his chest to ache.

He opened his bedside drawer, blindly digging through it his fingers in the darkness of his bedroom brushing against numerous things until he felt it.

The polaroid picture your parents took of you and him when your days were still filled with bliss. You and Satoru were sitting in an inu cafe. A basset hound puppy got on top of Satoru's head as you both were about to get your picture taken by your parents.

The polaroid taken as you laughed which showed off your smile as Satoru smiled at the camera before the feeling of the puppy could register in his head just moments to late before the polaroid was taken.

He misses those days. He misses you. He misses the way you smiled along with the sound of your loud hyena-sounding laugh, as Satoru looks back on the fond moments he had spent beside you; his cheeks were no longer dry and were now a wet with his tears, A hiccup arouse from his throat as he tenderly ran his thumb on the polaroid.

Why did you have to disappear?

Was it him?

Satoru Gojo.

Was he the cause of your disappearance?

His stomach twisted into a tight knot as the thought of him being the cause of your disappearance. Why wouldn't these stupid thoughts leave his head? Of course he wasn't, why would his mind even come up with that possibility?

Is what he would tell himself in a pitiful attempt to block away that thought whenever he would look at polaroids he took of you it wouldn't make him feel better like his mother said but instead made him feel even more sorrowful.

Satoru thought about burning them and pretending he never had never ever known you, he attempted to burn a picture of you by holding it up to a lighter as soon as the corner of the polaroid caught on fire panic rose just as quickly it was lit just as quickly it was put out your face in the picture was burned into a charcoal black.

Never again.

oh how, he hopped you would come back.

he wants this to be just an awful dream he would awake from.

[pedroshotwifey]

To the Flame chapter 6

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dark!Javier Peña x afab!reader

Word count: 2.6k

Chapter tags/warnings: smut, piv sex, breeding kink (kinda, more like territory kink), possessiveness, oral (f receiving), talk of m oral, pwp, manipulation, rough sex, rough oral sex, nipple stimulation, squirting, stuff I'm definitely forgetting, dirty talk, manhandling, stupid amounts of making out/kissing

Chapter summary: You arrive at your new home and spend some quality time with the man of your dreams

A/N: Hey y'all! Hope we're still liking this story! Gotta be honest, 90% of this chapter is pure smut lmao. Can't go wrong there! (or can we?) Thank you for putting up with my bs and for staying tuned while I get some more served up!

***

Javi’s house is almost exactly what you had expected it to be. It’s not too big, and not too small. The Spanish style home is tucked back behind some woods in the middle of a small plot of land, which is apparently owned by his father. 

There’s a pasture on half of his property filled with cows, which he tends to in return for living in the house. It’s peaceful and cozy, reminding you of the man who lives in it. 

It doesn’t take long for you and Javi to haul your things inside, placing your clothes in his room, and any extra belongings in a hall closet. Your stomach makes nervous flutters the entire time, keeping you giddy with happiness despite your current situation. 

Within just a few hours, you’ve gotten engaged, and have moved out—well, been kicked out, but it sounds better the other way—of your house and into Javier’s. It seems like a dream come true when you really think about it. 

You fiddle with the ring on your finger as you bite your lip to hide the smile that’s creeping across your face. It’s absolutely the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen, and it fits you perfectly. How did he even figure that out? 

It’s a simple ring, but intricate enough to hold anyone’s attention. The plain, gold band comes up to mold into a thorny vine design near the top, where it holds the perfect sized diamond. Not big or obnoxious enough to be gaudy, but keeping on the delicate side. 

You also appreciate the way the vine design doesn’t continue all the way to the bottom, instead flattening out so that it doesn’t make you uncomfortable if it scratches or digs into your skin. It seems like Javi really thought this out, on top of knowing that he was going to marry you one day. Never have you experienced something so romantic in your life. 

As you’re staring down at it, completely enamored with your thoughts, Javi comes up behind you. He admires the piece of jewelry over your shoulder, putting one hand carefully on the side of your head to pull you to him so he can place a kiss to the opposite side. 

“It’s so pretty, Javi,” you tell him without taking your eyes off of it. You hadn’t gotten a good look at it until it was on your finger and Javi pulled back onto the road, and you’ve been in a trance since then. You lean into him, finally looking up to see him gazing adoringly back down at you.

“You deserve pretty things, pretty girl,” he says, wrapping you in a hug as you lean your head into his chest. He sighs and rests his chin on your head.

“I hope you know we’re not going to be able to have a big wedding at first, but I promise you that we will when the time is right. I want everything to be perfect for you, bebecita.” 

You smile at that. You don’t mind that you can’t have a ceremony. You know that he will keep his promise, and you’ll get the fairytale wedding you’ve always dreamed of one day. He would do anything for you, he told you so. 

HIs hand comes up to your chin, and you allow him to tilt your head up to capture your lips in a slow kiss. He slips his tongue between your lips, gently licking into your mouth in a way that makes your entire body light up with the sensuality of it. 

Sparks jump in your belly, and you can feel wetness seeping into your panties. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly your body responds to his touch. You moan into his mouth and bring your arms up to circle his neck, leaning on your toes to deepen the kiss until it feels like you’re trying to consume each other. 

Javi lets you push him backwards to the couch, keeping his mouth on yours and pulling you back with him as he takes a seat. Your thighs bracket his, and the position immediately reminds you of just last night, when the two of you had been in the back of his truck, you giving your body to him for the first time. 

Is it weird that you already want him again?

You decide it’s not as you start to grind down on him, and Javi definitely agrees with that assessment by the way he groans into your mouth. 

“Shit, baby, lay down for me. Gonna do this properly this time,” Javi pulls away from you to say, his lips still close enough to be brushing against yours. 

You eagerly comply to his request, letting him place you down on your back across the seat of the couch. He takes his position above you, giving you a few more teasing kisses before he starts to trail down your body. 

Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s doing, a gasp tumbling from your swollen lips as he sharply nips at your neck. His hands are slithering up your shirt, and you subconsciously arch your back to help him get it off you. 

He grabs hold of the hem and raises it up until your stomach and your breasts are exposed, his mouth worshiping each inch of skin as it’s revealed to his greedy gaze. 

“So pretty and soft for me, sweetheart.” 

Javi’s lips are so close to your skin when he says it, that you can feel the moisture from his breath. You whine and wiggle, trying to get some friction somewhere. Your nipples are almost painfully hard against your bra, and you wish he would take it off. 

“Please, Javi,” you beg, bucking your hips up while simultaneously trying to keep your hands planted on the couch. He didn’t give you explicit instruction to keep them there, but you see the game he’s playing, and you know he would if you moved them right now. 

The look in his eyes can only be described as feral, fed by the carnal desire to have you above all. Seeing your struggle, he reaches his hands up again, and you lift up so he can undo your bra and then pull it off. 

As soon as the article hits the ground, his hands are on you, fondling your breasts and thumbing over your erect nipples in a manner that makes you keen. You close your eyes as he moves up enough to seal his mouth over one of the buds, sucking and flicking his tongue harshly. 

You moan his name wildly as he grasps you so that you’re unable to move, stuck with nothing to do other than take the assault on your sensitive flesh. You feel a heat stirring between your legs—which you didn’t know was even possible without direct stimulation—and when Javi lets one hand sneak down to rub tiny circles on your clit at the same time as he bites down on you, you’re coming undone in a matter of seconds. 

You’re distracted enough by the blinding pleasure to be almost unaware of Javi pulling his mouth from your breast and snaking down even lower. His thumb stays on your clit as he spews bouts of encouragement your way. 

It’s only when he removes his hand and pulls your pants and panties down that you open your eyes again to watch him scoop up your thighs, and dive into your cunt like a starved man. Your hands immediately fly to his messy hair, already damp from his efforts. 

Javi moans into you as he tongues in and out, not wasting a second before going full force, alternating between your overstimulated clit and your weeping pussy. You’re getting light headed, your entire body heating up as he begins to pull another orgasm to the edge, just waiting for that one push. Just as you think he’s about to give it to you, he pulls away, breathing heavily as he looks up at you with hooded eyes. 

“You have no idea how fucking good you taste, sweetheart,” he says, and you don’t know if you’ve ever heard him say anything with so much conviction. 

Despite the crudeness of what the two of you are doing right now, you feel your face flush at his words. He licks a quick stripe up your seam before coming up again, and you almost come untouched at how much this look puts the last to shame. You’ve heard the term “pussy drunk”, but this might be your first time truly seeing it. 

“Maybe I’ll fuck you with my cock and make you taste yourself on me after I make you come, would you like that, baby? See how god damn sweet you taste?” 

Your jaw completely drops. You didn’t even know he could talk this dirty. You just keep getting luckier with this man. Your head nods frantically before you can even think about it. Javi chuckles lightly from between your thighs. 

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” is all he says before dipping down to continue feasting on you. 

It only takes a couple of strokes for you to be coming on Javi’s tongue, though he moans and squirms enough for it to sound like he’s the one getting his second orgasm today. He only pulls away once you’re whining and tugging on his hair from the overstimulation. 

For a moment, he looks like he’s going to get up and strip, but you see something flash across his eyes, and he just reaches down instead. Your head falls back as you hear the sound of his zipper going down, just the thought of him fucking you naked while he’s fully clothed makes your cunt pulse with need. 

You look down, and your mouth goes dry when you see that he doesn’t have any underwear on. He keeps his eyes on yours even though they’re trained on where he’s pulling his thick, throbbing cock from the opening in his dark jeans. 

Your eyes flicker back up to his as he lines himself up, wasting no time in pushing into you. Your jaw goes slack at the stretch as he leans over you completely, putting his palms on the couch on either side of your head as he sinks in all the way. Your own arms wrap beneath his to cling and claw at his back. Just by his body language and the hungry look he’s giving you, you have a feeling you’ll need something to hang on to. 

Somehow, it feels even better than the first time. You feel stuffed to the brim, but also complete. Like Javi’s been your missing piece this whole time, and now that you’ve found him you feel whole. When you’re staring into his big, deep, brown eyes, you see nothing but adoration for you. Lust. Love. 

And it’s in this exact moment that you know you’re in love with him. 

Javi hisses as he rears back enough for just the tip to remain inside you, and he captures your lips in a feverish kiss as he thrusts back in, already nailing your g-spot. You gasp and he steals the air from your lungs. You can taste a hint of yourself mixed in with his saliva, and you had no idea until this moment that something like that could turn you on so much. 

He quickly picks up the pace, and you find yourself too weak to do much more than whine and moan for him, much less continue kissing him. Javi brings one hand up to hold your chin and make out with you even though you can’t reciprocate. You don’t mind, the feeling of his tongue exploring your mouth is an orgasmic feeling in itself. 

You just focus on breathing through your nose, keeping a hold of the man who’s sending you up the couch with his cock, and the feeling of his thick tip pummeling into your most sensitive spot. Your entire body is shaking with the intensity of the sheer force he’s slamming into you with. 

There’s a strange but good feeling starting to tug at you someplace between your pussy and your abdomen, making your desperate sounds come out wobbly in addition to being smothered by your fiance’s mouth. 

He makes a strangled noise and suddenly moves on to sucking the skin on your throat. You wonder if he can feel the way you’re tightening around him in anticipation as this new feeling grows and spreads. 

“J-Javi,” you warn, unsure about what’s happening. You almost feel like you need to pee, but this sensation is far more intense. 

He must not hear you, because his pace doesn’t falter and he doesn’t look up at you. He just keeps jackhammering his hips to yours and sucking hickeys on your already-sensitive skin.

It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, because you’re already feeling that coil snap, crying out as you tighten like a vice and gush all over Javi’s dick. 

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, your body tensing as you ride out what has to be the longest orgasm you’ve ever had. You barely even hear Javi talking to you through your foggy mind. It’s like you’ve been transported to another place completely, a place where you can only feel pleasure. 

“Such a good f-fucking girl, squirting all over my cock like that,” Javi praises as he nudges your chin up to make room for more sloppy kisses. 

As you begin to come down, you can hear the steady slapslapslap that comes from where your bodies connect, each collision now aided by your juices and Javi’s heavy balls smacking against your swollen cunt. 

It’s a disgusting sound in retrospect, but it turns you on even more when you hear your whines and Javi’s grunts blended into it. You can tell he’s starting to get close by the way he isn’t pulling out as much, and his noises are becoming more frantic. 

“R-remember to p-pull out,” you breathe into his ear just in case he forgot. He, again, shows no sign of having heard you. You must be speaking even quieter than you thought. 

“Javi, please pull out,” you say, louder this time even though it’s a task to do so through your exhaustion. This time, he hears you. 

“Please, baby, it’ll be f-fine, gonna marry you, let me come in this pretty cunt,” he says, though you’re unsure of the correlation between those two things. 

“No, Javi, it’s not safe.” 

He’s pumping himself harder and faster, getting up to the edge. 

“Buy you–fuck—buy you a plan B,” he grunts, his voice strained. 

“No, n-not this time. C-can’t risk it,” you squeak, clawing at his back as he pushes you even further up the cushions. 

You hear him mutter a curse as he pulls out just enough to grasp his dick and splatter rope after rope of cum on your damp stomach. You let out a breath when he finishes and lays back down on you, his cum spreading between your sweaty bodies. 

You’re both breathing heavily, trying to come back down to earth. The ceiling fan above you is spinning slowly, pushing just enough air your way as you close your eyes and toy with Javi’s curls where his head is resting on your chest.

“I love you, Javi.” 

You don’t know why you say it, well,you do, but you hadn’t known the words were even on your tongue or even on your mind. They just slipped out without a thought. Javi tenses against you, and you feel a ball of dread drop into your stomach. 

Was it too soon? Does he not love you back? Are you being too clingy? Too immature? 

When he looks up at you, your breath caught in your throat, there are tears in his eyes along with another emotion you can’t quite place. One corner of his lip twitches, like he’s resisting the urge to smile too hard.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he says, obviously a little choked up. 

You grin at him as he climbs up again to kiss you, this time soft and slow, with care. 

“Going to take such good care of you,” he promises when he pulls away.

*** Thank you for reading!! I would love to know what y'all are thinking so far!

Taglist is still open if you would like to join <3

Series taglist: @corazondebeskar @yorksgirl @nerdieforpedro @axshadows @melaninmommy @survivingandenduring @kewwrites @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff @movievillainess721 @callachloe @missladym1981 @casa-boiardi

[necrotic-nephilim]

bftc jaytim fuck nasty in their batman suits🩷

CORRECT THEY DO. it's like you live in my brain, anon. and for that, you get a full fic bc i've wanted to write this anyway and you gave me an excuse to. have 6k words worth of dirtybadwrong JayTim. rough sex, blood play, pain play, degradation, consensual but not safe or sane, dead dove vibes so be warned. but also enjoy bc ily for this thought anon 🩷

“You look ridiculous in that get-up. Like a kid out for trick-or-treats.” The words were just as brutal as the fight was. Jason had the bodyweight and training to easily pin Tim, now that he was done toying around. 

Of course, toying around for Jason Todd looked like bloody slashes across Tim’s back, base of his skull, and his forehead. Picking one of Bruce’s older suits may have been a bad idea on Tim’s part. The armor was thinner and easier for Jason to slash through with a batarang in a clenched fist. 

Tim had managed to knock the batarang out of Jason’s hand, but that also seemed like a bad idea now, with Jason on top of Tim. His fists were even more brutal, blunt weapons and he’d reinforced the gloves to make his punches hit harder across Tim’s face. 

There was blood pouring from Tim’s nose and mouth. With all the pain flaring across his body, it was hard for him to get a good read on if anything was broken or not. 

All he knew was it hurt. His head spun from slamming against the concrete. It was hard for Tim to blink his eyes into focus. And when he did, he wished he hadn’t. Jason was leaning in so close, his mask was all Tim could see. Tim dizzily wondered how the glowing eyes didn’t impede Jason’s vision. 

“Look at me,” Jason demanded. His voice was robotic behind the thick metal mouthpiece. One of his fists pulled back for another punch. “Do you see terror? Do you see fear? Or is it just your own reflection?”

By some miracle, Tim managed to catch the punch before it connected with his face. The muscles in his wrist and forearm screamed at the animalistic strength Jason pushed back with, inching his fist closer and closer to connecting. If it did manage to connect, Tim knew his own hand in the way wouldn’t do much to soften the blow. If anything, Jason would shatter Tim’s knuckles against his own nose.

Not a pretty thought.

“That mad I said no to being your Robin?” Tim wheezed. It was hard to get air in his lungs, with Jason perched on his chest, putting all his weight on Tim’s midsection. 

Jason scoffed with cruel amusement. “You’re a second choice, Drake. It doesn’t matter to me if you say no, I can always ask the original. He’d at least put up a better fight than you’re managing.”

Tim couldn’t argue that. He thought he’d have some kind of chance in a fight against Jason, but it was a losing game to confront Jason on his turf, in a suit Tim wasn’t comfortable in. He was too stupid to even bring his bo staff.

A great Batman he was turning out to be.

With bloody teeth, Tim smiled. “You’re right. Is that why I’m your reflection, Jason? Two second rate Robins who will never be the original?” He managed a laugh against protesting ribs. “For what it’s worth, I still think I’m better than you. Least I didn’t die.”

He couldn’t see the look on Jason’s face, but he didn’t need to. The feral yell that came out of Jason spoke for itself at how well Tim got under his skin. Jason’s other fist came barreling toward Tim’s face, but he managed to move his head out of the way, making it only connect with the ground. Jason’s punch was hard enough to make the concrete crack.

Even with the reinforced gloves, that had to hurt. Maybe a couple cracked bones, if Tim was lucky. Jason couldn’t hit as hard if he injured himself. 

That was a solid plan. If he’d actually planned it in the first place. 

“Can’t believe I ever liked you, Drake,” Jason snarled, pulling his hand free from the concrete. He flexed his fingers just a bit too slow. He definitely hurt himself, even if he was trying to hide it. Jason went for his utility belt, grabbing another batarang. 

“Flattering,” Tim deadpanned. He tried to elbow Jason in the neck, but Jason easily twisted away from the blow. 

“I really did you know,” Jason said. Maybe it was the mask, but Tim could’ve sworn Jason’s tone changed slightly. “If Bruce hadn’t corrupted you, you really could’ve been something.”

Tim ignored the comment about Bruce. Bruce’s death was too raw for Tim to be able to look at his grief about it head-on. “Can’t say the feeling was mutual,” Tim grunted. He tried to slash his glove fins across Jason’s face. But Jason was smarter. He had a more durable suit that made the blow easily glance off. 

Damn Tim for picking this suit. He idealized Bruce’s image too much and forwent practicality. He was paying for it now. A new suit would’ve had proper weapons worked into the wrists for Tim to easily flick out. 

“I don’t know about that,” Jason mocked with a cold laugh. “Remind me again Drake, who broke me out of prison?”

He had a point. 

“Real great job you’ve done repaying that kindness,” Tim muttered. He avoided addressing it directly. He didn’t owe Jason his reasons. Especially not with how they’d all blown up in his face. 

“I never needed your kindness,” Jason growled. He wrapped a hand around Tim’s throat and pressed down just enough to make it uncomfortable for Tim to breathe. “That’s what all you Bats could never get through your skulls. I didn’t need to be Bruce’s pity project, and I definitely didn’t need to be yours.”

“Trust me,” Tim fought to get the words out, trying to worm his fingers under Jason’s grip. “You don’t have my pity.”

“What do I have, then?”

“My contempt.” The more Tim struggled, the tighter Jason’s grip got. The sharp points of his claws were starting to dig into Tim’s skin and draw blood. Blood flow was cut off from Tim’s brain and he fought to keep hold of his consciousness. 

“Liar,” Jason hissed. “No one else is here, Tim. You don’t have to pretend and hide things from me I already know.”

Maybe passing out would be a good thing. Then, Tim would have a convenient reason for not answering Jason. A reason to not face the truth Jason wanted him to bare.

Tim knew that Jason probably knew. The way they’d looked at each other through the prison safety glass when Jason was locked up had a thousand unspoken words in just a shared smile. A promise, that maybe, if Jason cleaned himself up with this second chance, there could be something between them.

But Jason didn’t clean up. He flung himself in the opposite direction, if anything. A growing body count and an ugly reign of terror that was Tim’s job to stop.

He started this. He put misplaced faith in Jason. Tim’s bad judgment jeopardized Gotham. 

And now Jason wanted the unspoken part said out loud. Something a part of Tim would rather die than admit after all this. They both already knew. Making Tim say it was just an obvious attempt to humiliate him and Tim refused to sink to Jason’s level.

All this over a stupid crush. 

“Fine,” Jason continued when Tim didn’t say anything. “I’ll say it for you. You loved me.”

Tim made a face and twisted, finally forcing Jason’s hand free from his neck with a hard strike to his inner elbow. “It wasn’t love,” he insisted through grit teeth.

“What was it then?”

Tim didn’t say a word. He wasn’t going to give in to Jason’s cruelty.

“Tell you what,” Jason’s voice dropped low and almost sultry. “If you say it out loud, I’ll give you a free pass. No one will know.”

“A free pass?”

There was no way Jason was implying what Tim thought he was.

“Right here, right now.” Jason nodded. “Can’t say I’ll make it sweet, but something tells me you’re not the vanilla type anyway.”

Shit. He was implying that. Tim’s breath caught in his throat.

The answer should’ve been obvious. 

The answer was obvious. Tim was laying in a growing pool of his own blood because of Jason. Countless people were dead because of Jason. Bruce’s legacy was being destroyed because of Jason. Whatever little crush Tim had once had was long gone and replaced with disgust and hatred.

Most of it was. 

But some small piece of Tim clung to the way Jason grinned at him. And that small piece of him seemed to be steering the rest of him, making him hesitate on what should’ve been an easy answer. An easy chance to catch Jason off guard and get the upper hand in the fight.

Tim hoped the cowl hid enough of his face that his expression wasn’t readable. 

“Over my dead body,” Tim forced the words out, pulling himself back into reality. Praying Jason wouldn’t read into the pause. 

Jason’s body shifted. He was quiet for a moment, then he shrugged and brought the batarang clenched in his fist to Tim’s neck, easily finding the jugular. “So be it. I agree anyway. Killing you is the best way to cut this goddamn feeling out of me.”

“What feeling?” Tim frowned, fingers twitching as he stalled, trying to think of a real plan. 

“No, no.” Jason shook his head and laughed. It was a hollow sound, this time. “You don’t get to have your cake and eat it too. If you won’t say it, then I won’t either.”

Oh.

“You…” Tim sucked in a breath. He was on death’s edge, a blade to his neck, but somehow it was the furthest thing from his spinning mind. “You like me? Like that?” He said it like a stupid high schooler, too shy to even look their crush in the eye. 

“What difference does it make now?” Jason shifted his weight on Tim, bearing down more. “This was always how it was going to end, between us.”

“It makes all the difference,” Tim said. He didn’t know why it did. But he knew it did. Tim reached a hand up, but instead of going for Jason’s batarang, he went further. His fingers reached under his own cowl and tugged it off, baring his face to Jason. 

Vulnerability. A metaphorical white flag, surrendering to Jason. 

Tim was dangerously close to getting himself killed. He could feel it, in his beating heart and overflowing adrenaline. 

“I would’ve come at this from a different angle if I knew…” Tim started, before trailing off. They were still dancing around saying it directly.

Jason barked out another laugh. “Oh, would you? What, you would’ve come to talk instead of fight? You really think that would’ve worked?”

“Maybe-“

“I told you,” Jason’s grip on the batarang tightened, “I don’t need your fucking pity.”

“And you don’t have it,” Tim snapped back. Too angry. This angle was quickly slipping away from him. Shit. “You’re a psychopathic killer and I don’t know if you can ever been redeemed after what you’ve done. But I would’ve tried out of love, not pity, you sanctimonious asshole.”

Jason stuttered. He leaned back and breathed hard. Tim really wished he wasn’t wearing that stupid mask. “You said it wasn’t love.”

Tim took in a deep breath, and let himself fall over the ledge he’d been trying so hard to cling to since Jason pinned him. “I lied.”

For a moment, Tim was convinced he’d just sealed his own coffin. Whatever Jason’s feelings were, it didn’t seem like they were any particular deterrent to hurting Tim. He was inches away from killing Tim and leaving his body for someone else to find.

If they found Tim’s body at all.

But instead. Instead, Jason reached up and ripped the metal part of his mask off, tossing it aside to skitter off into the darkness.

And he kissed Tim.

Tim let out the breath he was holding against Jason’s mouth. And in turn, Jason breathed him in, greedy with his kiss. The batarang was kept firm against Tim’s throat, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Jason was kissing him. 

There was still the logical side of him screaming just how bad of an idea this was. All the reasons he could think of to not tangle with Jason were running circles across his mind. 

Tim ignored them and kissed Jason back. 

Jason tasted like metal and he smelled like gunpowder. Both of those things made sense and made Tim want more. He wanted every single part of Jason he could drink up, even from a single kiss. Jason’s tongue was in his mouth, licking and opening Tim up. They shared each other’s blood through the kiss, until Tim couldn’t tell whose was whose. 

The kiss was broken by Jason just as suddenly as it was started. Jason pulled back and raised the batarang. Panic flashed through Tim and he instinctively threw his hands up to cover his face and neck. 

The batarang slashed through Tim’s suit though, thankfully not giving him what might’ve been the stupidest death in the history of vigilantism. Jason didn’t seem to care about making sure the cut didn’t get Tim’s skin, though. Shallow wounds sprang across Tim’s skin and he hissed, watching Jason turn the suit to ribbons. The batarang was then tossed aside so Jason could rip off the suit as he leaned back. 

The bat symbol on Tim’s chest stayed in tact, but everything below it was ripped away, exposing him from his abs down to his thighs. Jason knew exactly how to unclip the utility belt and throw that aside, with the shreds of fabric. 

Cold air hit Tim’s most private areas. He wanted to cover himself, but he couldn’t get his hands to obey. His entire body was paralyzed under Jason’s gaze.

“Take off your mask,” Tim found his voice, rough and not sounding like himself.

Jason wore a cruel smirk. “No.” He did take off his gloves, though. Tim didn’t hide his sigh of relief. He didn’t want those claws on his skin. He was bleeding enough as it was.

The moment Jason’s hands were bare, he ran them over Tim’s skin. Tim hissed and flinched, but didn’t pull away. He let Jason’s warm hands claim his skin. Jason wasn’t kind or gentle. He smeared Tim’s blood around, exploring every bare inch. Tim’s stomach, his hips, his back, his legs. 

Jason curled a hand around Tim’s dick and Tim’s back arched. 

To be fair, this wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured sleeping with Jason. Still, he couldn’t find it in him to complain. 

Jason jerked Tim off rough and fast. The blood on his hand was slick enough to make a smooth glide over the callouses of his palm. Tim groaned, eyes fluttering shut. He bucked into Jason’s hand. As much pain as his body was in, the pleasure was too distracting for him to care. Tim choked on every breath he managed to take in, unable to stop himself from crying out and whining.

His body was screaming at him because of what Jason had done to him. And now, he was letting himself fall apart to Jason’s hands in a different way. 

“If Grayson found us, he’d think I was fucking torturing you from all the pathetic noises you’re making,” Jason growled. He barely sounded human. He slid his other hand up Tim’s chest and grabbed Tim’s face, stroking his cheek. 

Tim groaned at the thought. He forced his eyes to open just so he could look at Jason. He really wished Jason would take the cowl off. Tim wanted to see Jason’s face more than anything. 

“Don’t bring him up,” Tim gasped, practically humping Jason’s hand for more delirious pleasure. “I don’t want to think about him now.”

At least he could see Jason’s smirk. “Why? Because you know he’d disapprove?”

“Because I want to think about you.” Tim tried to grab at Jason’s suit to pull it off. His hands were clumsy and shaky though, probably from blood loss. All he could do was uselessly press them against Jason’s chest and feel the warmth through layers of armor.

“Fuck,” Jason groaned. His whole body shuddered, affected by Tim’s words alone. Jason stopped jerking Tim off so he could unclip his belt. He kept his other hand against Tim’s face though. Stroking it. “Least I know why you broke me out of prison, now.”

Tim made an aghast noise. “This is not why I broke you out of prison.”

Jason leaned in close, resting his face against Tim’s. “You still broke me out. So all my blood is on your hands too, Tim.” He pressed a kiss against Tim’s temple. “Bruce wouldn’t have been stupid enough to do that. Hell of a Batman you make.” It was like he had crawled into Tim’s brain just to voice all the awful little thoughts that Tim tried to bury. 

“You-“ Tim tried to snap back, but he was distracted by the sound of Jason undoing a clasp, then a zipper. Tim looked down and watched, breath caught in his throat, as Jason pulled his cock out of his pants.

He was already hard. 

Jason’s hand smeared blood across his member. Tim swallowed at the sight. Jason had pushed his pants down just enough to expose a sliver of pale skin. He had a sharp v-line and toned muscles just from the bit Tim could see. An embarrassing noise came out of Tim’s throat.

“Pathetic,” Jason said, but he groaned on the word, working his hand over himself. It was filthy. Both of them, covered in blood, and Jason jerking off on top of Tim. 

Tim wrapped an arm around Jason. He wanted to sink his fingers into Jason’s hair, but he settled for wrapping them around the back of Jason’s cowl. Tim seriously considered trying to pull the cowl off himself, but he doubted Jason would take kindly to it. 

The noises Jason made as he pleasured himself were beautiful. Tim’s sounds were animalistic and, in Jason’s own words, pathetic. Barely human sounding. But Jason. Jason sounded practically divine, low and smooth as he moaned in Tim’s ear. 

“Please,” Tim gasped. He wasn’t sure what he was asking for.

“That desperate?” Jason downright purred. 

Tim didn’t hold himself back from nodding. He swallowed down his dignity. 

If he had any dignity left.

“I’m not going to be gentle,” Jason warned. Like he was giving Tim one last chance to back out.

Tim just laughed. “If you think I want you to be gentle, you really don’t know a thing about me.”

A guttural groan came out of Jason. He pulled back and lifted one of Tim’s legs, bending it as far back as he could. Tim wasn’t quite as flexible as Dick was, but Jason got pretty far before Tim’s muscles protested and he winced. 

“Of course you shave down there,” Jason commented. He slid a hand over Tim’s smooth skin around his cock and balls.

“I don’t like pubes getting caught in my suit,” Tim huffed, trying not to let his cheeks go red.

“Don’t worry,” Jason hummed, “I think it’s cute. Makes you look like a fucking virgin.”

“I’m not.” Like it mattered.

Jason paused, just staring at Tim. Was he disappointed? It was hard to tell. “I’m going to ruin you for anyone else, so it doesn’t matter either way.” Whether or not he was disappointed was masked with a rough, possessive anger that made Tim gasp.

Rough fingers ran over the shallow cuts on Tim’s stomach and he hissed at the sudden sharp pain. It wasn’t easy to ignore the dull throbbing when Jason was practically fingering the open wounds. Tim almost asked what the hell he was doing, before he realized Jason was smearing blood across his fingers, getting them slick and coated.

“Seriously? You’re going to use my own blood to fuck me?” Tim asked, like just the thought of it wasn’t making him spread his legs wider. Still, the idea of cleaning tacky blood out of himself did make Tim internally cringe.

“You got a better idea?” Jason shot back. 

“I think there’s lube in-“

“No.” Jason cut him off, pressing harder into the cuts just to make Tim wince. “We’re doing it my way, or I just leave you in a pool of your own blood with a hard-on.”

“Okay.” Tim caved instantly with a hushed whisper at the rough dominance. 

It was so easy, for Jason to take complete control of Tim. He was putty in Jason’s hands, content to be manipulated however Jason wanted, so long as Tim got his own pleasure out of it. If Jason wanted Tim to bleed, he would bleed. If he wanted Tim to be spread open and ready to be fucked, then Tim would give him that too.

Christ. He needed to be checked out mentally after this. 

Jason gave Tim a pleased hum, probably the closest thing to praise Tim was going to get out of him. He’d take it. Blood slick fingers pressed against Tim’s hole. Two fingers were forced in at once, hard and fast.

Tim screamed.

He didn’t expect Jason to be gentle, but it seemed like Jason was going out of his way to be rough. Scrapping his nails against Tim’s insides and brutally twisting his fingers around. He didn’t try to hit Tim’s prostate to bring any kind of pleasure. The brushes of his fingers over that spot were more painful than pleasurably, if anything. Fast and rough, giving Tim no chance to soak up the sparks of sensation from the bundle of nerves.

“Oh god,” Tim groaned, throwing his head back. His hips twitched violently, like they weren’t sure to press into Jason’s fingers for more, or to try to pull away from the horrible assault.

It’d been a while since Tim had been in this much pain. So battered from a fight that every movement of his body was weak and shaky. He grabbed onto Jason’s arm, desperate for an anchor. He couldn’t have pulled Jason off of him, even if he wanted to.

He didn’t, though. Tim wanted this to last as long as it possibly could. 

He never got to drown himself in the pain. Pain was something that had to be compartmentalized and ignored, for the sake of the mission. Getting back on his feet and ignoring the way his body screamed at him was one of the first things Bruce taught him. 

Now, Tim didn’t have to fight it. He could just give in. The half-hearted instincts from his body trying to fight back were ignored by Jason. Like Jason knew that Tim wanted this. 

Needed this. 

At some point, Jason must’ve worked a third finger inside of Tim. He didn’t notice. The burning stretch swirled with every other point of pain on his body. 

He did noticed when Jason finally decided to purposefully press against Tim’s prostate.

This pleasure was new. Foreign and overstimulating with how aggressively Jason pressed down on the spot, rubbing into it to pull all kinds of noises out of Tim he didn’t know he was capable of making. 

“Jason!” Tim cried out. “Fuck, too much, I can’t-“ Tim’s stomach was cramping from how hard his muscles clenched. He was falling, losing his grip on sensible reality. His head was full of cotton, foggy and unable to get a solid grip on coherent thought.

There were only three things that existed to Tim: pain, pleasure, and Jason. 

“You can’t what? Use your fucking words,” Jason mocked, vicious and uncaring. He rested Tim’s leg over his shoulder to free up his other hand. His fingers wrapped around Tim’s balls and tugged. Tim screamed and arched like a jack knife. He hadn’t noticed how close his orgasm was creeping up on him until Jason pulled it away with a brutal, carnal pain. When Tim lost control of his body, Jason found it and snatched it up, holding Tim’s pleasure in his palm. Tim wanted to curl in on himself, but he couldn’t force his limbs to obey. 

“Hurts,” was all Tim could groan out. He might’ve been crying. It was hard to tell, with his face so wet with blood. 

“Good.”

“Jason,” Tim tried to beg. He was lost to subspace, something he barely realized until now. “I can’t take anymore.” He wanted more. More than want, god, he needed more, but his body was wired so tight Tim was convinced he was going to snap if Jason kept going. 

He wanted that too.

“That’s not for you to decide.” Jason’s rough voice was a light at the end of a tunnel Tim was struggling toward to ground himself. To focus on something besides the agony crashing over his body in brutal waves. “Do you really think you’re in the fucking state to know what you can take?”

Jason was right. Tim just whined, a noise that turned into a choked sob when Jason pulled his fingers out just enough to slam them into Tim’s sweet spot again, overwhelming him with more awful pleasure. 

“Give yourself over to me,” Jason demanded. He leaned in close again. Tim’s vision was blurred, but he could smell the gunpowder and leather. “Say it. Say I own you.”

Tim wanted to. He tried, opening his mouth and struggling to get the words out. He could only make more pathetic noises.

“Say it, or I’ll stab you and leave you to fucking bleed out.”

He probably wasn’t lying.

“You-“ Tim choked on the word, shaking so hard his muscles were spasming. “You own me.” Three little words, and they were the hardest words Tim had ever tried to say. Each one fought against him, getting stuck in his throat. 

But he said them. Because right now, they were the only religion Tim believed in. 

“Look at that,” Jason cooed. So patronizing. “You’re not completely brainless and worthless. Yet, anyway.” He pulled his fingers out of Tim. One second those fingers had been driving Tim mad because they were inside of him, and now they were driving him mad because they left him empty and wanting. 

His body needed more. More pain, more pleasure. Until he broke and Jason fucked the shattered pieces left of Tim. 

Jason got a hand underneath Tim, using the blood from the gash on Tim’s back to slick his fingers this time. That gash was far deeper. Something that probably needed stitches. It had started trying to clot but Jason agitated it enough for fresh blood to pour out. He was able to actually work his fingers under Tim’s bloody skin, making Tim shriek and try to pull away. 

There was nowhere for him to escape from the mind-numbing pain. When he pulled away, he just crashed into Jason’s chest, forehead bumping against the bat symbol of Jason’s suit. 

“So fucking easy to push your buttons,” Jason laughed. He moved his fingers around a bit more just to make his point and pull more wounded noises out of Tim. Then he finally pulled them free and let Tim fall back to the hard ground. It knocked the wind out of Tim.

He didn’t have a chance to try to get air into his lungs. Because Jason slicked himself up with a disturbing speed and lined up. The warning of blunt pressure against Tim’s hole lasted a fraction of a second and then Jason snapped his hips. Buried to the hilt.

Tim almost passed out.

He didn’t know if it was from the pain, the blood loss, or his body’s inability to get oxygen into his lungs. Everything exploded inside of Tim. He was full, so full so fast. Jason’s fingers hadn’t been nearly kind enough to properly stretch Tim for Jason’s size. It almost felt like being stabbed.

Over and over, as Jason fucked into Tim with no kindness. 

A hard slap across Tim’s face forced him off of the edge of unconsciousness. He gasped, eyes snapping open to find Jason’s face right above his, the glowing eyes of the mask taking over Tim’s field of vision. 

Jason was smiling. Blood on his teeth, dripping out of his mouth. Was it his blood or Tim’s?

Tim hoped it was both. 

“I don’t know which Bruce would find more pathetic,” Jason groaned as he fucked into Tim, pulling small screams out of Tim with each punch of his cock, “you putting on that suit, or you letting me fuck you in it.” He brought his lips to Tim’s ear. “Who’s ruining his legacy now?”

If the physical pain wasn’t bad enough, Jason knew exactly how to rip open the wounds of Tim’s emotional pain alongside it. Tim cried out at the thought. 

What would Bruce think of him, like this? Pathetic and barely human underneath Jason Todd?

“And they call me the failed Robin,” Jason just kept talking, like he wasn’t destroying Tim from the inside out. “At least I know how to be something other than Robin. Are you really delusional enough to think you’re going to be the next Batman?” A long moan came out of him and he thrust even harder until Tim screamed loud enough to make himself dizzy. “Answer me.”

Tim just shook his head. “No.” His voice was broken. His throat was sore from screaming, but the word still came out. He’d never thought he really could be Batman. So what the hell was he thinking, putting this suit on?

“Good.” Jason slid his fingers under the bat symbol on Tim’s chest, one of the only parts of the suit in tact. He ripped it off, the fabric tearing loudly in Tim’s ears. “It’s good you know your fucking place.” Jason changed his angle, finding Tim’s battered prostate again. Tim didn’t have the air in his lungs to scream anymore. All he could do was weakly mewl and whimper.

He could die like this. He honestly might. Tim had no idea how his body was holding on, in this state. Maybe it was the pain and pleasure alone keeping him alive. Just so he could soak up every touch from Jason.

Tim was never going to allow himself to do this again. So he had to enjoy it while it lasted.

This time, Tim felt his orgasm creeping up on him. His fingers dug into Jason’s arm and he pressed up into Jason’s warmth. The material of Jason’s suit was rough and unforgiving. It didn’t feel particularly good for Tim to grind his cock against, but he didn’t care. He needed any kind of friction, whether it brought him pleasure or road rash. 

“I won’t stop if you come,” Jason warned, still hammering into Tim at a pace that should’ve been impossible for a normal human to manage. “This isn’t to make you feel good. It’s to put you in your fucking place.”

Tim could only whine, managing a nod of understanding. This was his place. He knew that. He never wanted to leave it. 

The threat of being fucked into overstimulation hung over Tim’s head, but he couldn’t stop himself from chasing the high of his orgasm. He almost wanted to feel the overstimulation. Like his orgasm was just something to get over with so Tim could completely give himself over to Jason. To be used just for Jason’s pleasure, even if it brought him nothing but more pain. 

That thought made Tim’s balls tighten. The only warning he could give Jason was a high pitched keen that barely sounded like Tim’s own voice. His eyes rolled back.

The pleasure of his orgasm didn’t overtake the screaming pain in the rest of his body. It just mixed with the pain, swirling into one intense feeling Tim didn’t have a name for. He screamed until his throat gave out. His back arched and he clenched around Jason, who kept driving into him. Jason growled in Tim’s ear. He was holding Tim’s hip so tight there would be bruises that would end up indistinguishable from the rest of Tim’s injuries.

All injuries that Jason gave Tim. Tim’s body was a canvass, and Jason’s favorite color to paint with was the red that poured out of Tim. 

It was the best orgasm Tim had ever felt. No feeling was ever going to match this intensity. 

Tim came down from his high with an awful wheeze, shuddering. He clung to Jason, like a guard dog laying at the feet of his master. 

“Fuck,” Jason moaned. A shudder ran down his spine and his pace faltered, just for a moment. “You’re really something else, Drake.” From Jason, that was practically a compliment for Tim to soak up and preen under. 

Tim’s body tipped over the edge of overstimulation. His survival instincts kicked in, trying to fight Jason. There was no strength behind his kicks and hits. They just made Jason laugh as Tim made a fool of himself.

“I own you,” Jason reminded Tim. He caught Tim’s wrist and pinned it against the cold concrete, squeezing tight enough to cut off circulation to Tim’s fingers. “I can do whatever I want to your useless body. Don’t try to fight it now.” He leaned down and found an exposed part of Tim’s neck to sink his teeth into. It wasn’t a hickey, but a proper bite, breaking Tim’s skin. 

Tim cried out, but still tilted his head to the side to give Jason better access to his neck. Even when his body wanted to fight, Tim managed to submit. Like the submission was natural to him. 

The pain took over. Tim just floated in it, forcing himself to go limp. Submit. No more fighting. He gave in to Jason and stopping thinking. All Tim needed to do was feel. Feel every point of agony scattered across his body. Feel Jason fucking him. Using him, like Tim was nothing more than a toy. The sparks from Jason slamming into his sweet spot couldn’t be called pleasure anymore, with Tim’s cock spent and limp. It was more pain. 

Better that way. Tim liked the pain more. Delicious and mind-numbing. 

Jason was swearing against Tim’s skin. He mumbled something Tim didn’t catch. Three syllables. Short and rushed out. Tim was almost convinced the second word was love. Maybe he was making it up in his head though, finally lost in utter delirium.

Tim didn’t care.

More insults fell from Jason’s lips. Calling Tim nothing, worthless, pathetic. A cheap pretender who deserved this. Tim agreed with all of it, feverishly nodding. The words were practically sweet nothings in Tim’s ears. 

Jason yelled Tim’s name when he came. His hips stuttered to a stop, buried deep inside of Tim. He knew Jason was coming inside of him, but his body was too battered to feel Jason’s cum filling his insides. Shame that was. Tim wanted to know how it felt, to be claimed by Jason in this carnal way.

They were both so perfectly still, for two people who had been shaking and clawing at each other just moments ago. The only noise was heavy breathing that echoed through the night.

Tim swallowed. He tried to find himself through the pain. He worked through the body checklist that Bruce gave him. Vision. Smell. Taste. Feel. Sound. All the sensations clashed against each other, out of focus and pounding against Tim’s skull.

It was so hard to think.

Tim groaned. Focus. 

Like cold water thrown on his face, he clawed his way out of subspace. Tim got a good look at Jason’s face.

“Are you crying?” Tim voiced the thought as soon as it crossed his mind. 

With the mask, it was hard to tell. Jason’s breathing was shuddered, hitching on every inhale. Tim wouldn’t call it sobbing, but it was close enough for Tim to study Jason’s face. The wetness coming out from under Jason’s mask wasn’t red. It streaked through the blood. 

Tear tracks. 

Jason’s completely rational response was to punch Tim in the face.

Tim swore and curled in on himself, cupping his nose. If it wasn’t broken before, it was now. Jason pulled out of Tim without any care and stood up, leaving him curled up on the ground, trying to set the broken bone and manage the bleeding.

Tim tried to sit up. His arms and legs gave out under him and he slammed back to the ground with a pained noise. He looked up at Jason, squinting. Watching as Jason tucked himself back into his pants, then snatched his gloves off the ground to put them back on.

Despite clearly losing the fight, Tim had done a number on Jason. Jason’s face was bloody and his suit was ripped and torn in some places. He looked like he had been mauled by a wild animal.

If that was how Jason looked, Tim couldn’t imagine what the sight of his own body was.

His second attempt to sit up worked. Now, he compartmentalized. Forced the pain deep into the corners of his mind and locked it up. 

Tim had to be functional now. He couldn’t let the regret and shame get to him.

“I-“ Jason started to say something. It was only one word, but it sounded uncharacteristically soft, making Tim straighten his back and hold his breath. But Jason cleared his throat and folded his arms, stamping down whatever kindness had almost come out. “I’ll throw you a bone. If any of the Bats find you like this you can just tell them I raped you,” he said it like some kind of mean joke.

Tim didn’t say anything. That wasn’t true. They both knew it.

“Preserve your precious dignity you care so much about, huh?” Jason continued. He sounded unsure of himself and he turned away from Tim. 

“Jason-“ Tim reached out for him. “We can still-“ he struggled for the words. “It doesn’t have to end like this. You can still change. I’ll-“

“Don’t,” Jason snapped. He kicked away Tim’s hand. “We both know it’s too late for that.” He started to walk away. “Never wear that suit again, Drake. I’d hate to see you die to someone that isn’t me.” He almost sounded… protective? Tim wouldn’t call it fondness, but maybe something close to that. Tim refused to allow himself to read into it. Whoever Jason Todd had become, he was someone that Tim couldn’t save. He was someone who didn’t want to be saved, no matter how Tim felt about him. Tim had to accept that, even with Jason’s cum deep inside him. Some truths were immutable. 

Then, Jason was gone. Vanishing into the shadows and leaving Tim there.

Tim tilted his head back. He allowed himself thirty seconds. He counted them. Thirty seconds to sit in his own filth and feel the pain for just a little longer, before he had to move and figure out how he was going to get home in one piece without anyone finding out what happened here.

Just ten more seconds.

Five. 

Three.

One.

With grit teeth and a deep breath, Tim stood up.