#enough to mutilate himself to get it the fuck out

[citrine-elephant]

idea: parasitic wasp.

leon trying to convince himself that it was totally just a weird fuckin fever dream. getting attacked, being paralyzed, that fuckin thing stabbing him multiple times.

and yeah, definitely.... definitely... he's definitely not about to start digging into those swollen lumps with a knife -

[beevean]

https://youtu.be/Ruw9fsh3PNY?si=NshIPOku6uJ0git7

A more fitting ending to Lenector

On one hand, I know that thematically, N!Hector going on a violent rampage would be negative character development: it would be him overtaken by the same anger that lead him to kill his abusive parents and isolate himself off the human world, and not only it would make his arc just as much as a waste of time as it is in canon, it would be too tragic, and he deserves the peace that was gifted to N!Isaac without effort.

................ but fuck if seeing his hammer smash into lenore's and carmilla's skull wouldn't be immensely cathartic <3 hey if taka and sumi, who had a more believable tragic backstory, got impaled and pissed on without the story sparing an ounce of pity for who are supposed to be survivors of slavery and abuse...

In all seriousness, you know what the Lenector finale should have been?

tl;dr leave. Just leave. He starts his arc cooped up in his own home afraid of the world, he finishes it ready to face the world. People always say "oh he should have been like CoD Hector" as a shortway to say "he should have kicked more ass", and I understand where they come from, but I mean it as "he should have realized he deserves unconditional love and freedom, not just the scraps that a vampire can dust off her table".

This is also partly why I compared N!Hector trapping Lenore in a cage out of (very misplaced and ultimately disastrous) love and protection with Hector leaving Isaac alive in a more ambiguous gesture that might mean that he's more concerned with his own freedom than spilling any more blood. Hector went from "We respectfully obeyed, to cling to" to fighting tooth and nail to get away from the only place where he was allowed to exist: it's both cathartic to see him rebel against his dehumanizing environment, and tragic because he's throwing Isaac under the bus in a selfish way. N!Hector's arc, similarly, should have been about him learning how to stop to cling onto others and find a direction in his life, instead of going "sure why not" at everything that gets proposed to him, up and including human culling (and no, "writing a book about his mistakes" can't be a direction in his life). Yet another reason I find the only development he has, learning how to love "properly" by letting his abuser kill herself because she wanted to stop feeling bad about herself, underwhelming and disrespectful.

Much like him cutting off his finger to break the Council's control of his Night Creatures and opening his escape channel only served to allow N!Isaac to fight by himself because he needed to have that epic moment, N!Hector's supposed character development is never about him, and that is because he has stopped being a character.

[puppmeo]

Have you ever been assumed to be romantically attracted to someone and even just the thought of that makes you want to throw up . Anybody

[starlight-storytime]

essay in tags :p

[hadesrise]

## murder for you, baby !!

summary──── a justifiable serial killer on the loose, and jason finds himself being enamoured by him.

pairings──── jason todd x dbd!ghostface!male reader

warnings──── nsfw content, serial killer themes, dead dove do not eat, sexual arousal in response to violence or torture, murder, blood, deaths, gore, foul language, bottom!jason, top!reader, reader’s physique is described as tall and broad ( the slasher build ), possessiveness, choking, praise kink, blood kink, knife play ( reader carving his initials on jason ), toxic!reader ( ? ), sorta toxic relationship but also not, unprotected sex, love-making, pet names, overstimulation, dumbification, degradation if you squint, lil’ bit of manipulation, creampie, doggy style, mating press, biting, marking, oral ( r. receiving ), voice kink ( ? )

author’s note──── not me coming back with halloween themed fic after halloween days have passed lol. i’m alive, y’all !! hope you enjoy this one that took a fucking month to write 😭

𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ; this post may contain disturbing contents that may not be suitable for every reader — a reader discretion is advised. MINORS DNI !!

Gotham’s been terrorized by the worst people you could ever imagine, the kind that’ll stick with you forever and take residence to your nightmares if you were unfortunate enough. Many were hurt or even murdered as a result of the villains’ terrorization, with vigilantes running through the night to capture and send them to Arkham Asylum.

With the existence of a Psychopathic Clown, his equally psychopathic girlfriend with PHD’s that’s been wasted down the line, the Mother Nature freak, the ridiculously huge man with a gas mask on, the green coloured living question mark, and many others, no one would’ve ever thought anything could get any worse.

Until some criminals’ bodies turn up across the streets in such disturbing manner that haunts the witnesses to death.

One, a criminal who murdered young and homeless boys, gutted deeply to the point of their intestines hanging out. Another, a criminal known for kidnapping and selling people’s organs, mutilated with their torso torn back to expose the organs settled inside of them. Another one, a priest-turned-criminal who’s been violating women and children, crucified naked in his own church with his eyes gouged out, a Bible verse carved in his chest; ‘And if your eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away.’ Matthew 18:9; his penis cut off and body seemingly violated as well. Another more turns up, a governor-turned-criminal who’s been feeding into the rich despite their oath of generosity towards the poor, severely tortured with the skin on his back cut open, ribs severed from the spine and broken to the sides in order to create the illusion of wings, fluttering lungs pulled out from their chest cavity to resemble an eagle’s wings, with the word ‘traitor’ carved on his forehead.

The brutality and gruesome nature of the murders has set an alarming panic and fear across Gotham City that forced civilians into locking their doors at night. Criminals who were unidentified and not found by Gotham Police Department were also turning up in a form of miserable, tortured soul, along with the evidence and proofs of their crimes being carelessly laid beside their lifeless corpse.

The killer taunts those who are in charge of justice within their city each time the damned were unfortunate enough to be hunted down; pigs of failure written in the criminal’s blood right beside the drawing of a police’s logo.

However, despite how gruesome and disturbing the murders were, most people couldn’t deny that it was doing the city a favor. Justice System has failed more times than one could count to the extent of victims yearning to exact revenge themselves against their perpetrator, which causes most to react rather positively to the wrongful, unlikely hero who had seem to suddenly appear out of nowhere. The haunted finally getting the chance to slay the traumatic demons with the help of another psychopath on the loose.

Another justified monstrosity shouldn’t be the counter against one inhumane monstrosity that caused so much pain, trauma, and misery. But kindness could not vanquish one’s tainted blood. Forgiveness could not suddenly wash away the sins engraved deeply into one’s soul.

Imperfect, the victims muttered. An imperfect yet perfect way to save our burning souls wrongfully condemned by the criminals.

Red Hood has heard their murmurs.

Silent whispers of gratitude that fell on deaf ears, their previously dim soul brightening in relief and sanctuary with smiles on their faces as the Universe had finally took mercy on them and sent a Fallen Angel to slay the Demons away. He’s watched their spirit uplift, no longer chained down by the trauma and fear of the monsters that once ruined their lives, able to walk the streets carefree of tormentors. He’s watched their stiff posture visibly loosen, lively peacefulness settling itself at last within their haunted eyes. He’s watched them glow with happiness not feeling the presence of their perpetrator every couple of seconds, finally capable of living without needing to constantly look over their shoulders in paranoia and fear.

Ghostface is what the serial killer’s called, nickname born out of the mask that resembled a ghost always being left behind in crime scenes, each slightly different.

Jason has seen you. He didn’t mean to, really.

The temptation to get at least one look at you was great every-time he patrolled, wishing to just catch glimpse of an immoral hero who could make sacrifices no actual heroes could — who’s doing exactly what he wished before for Batman to do.

The Universe seems to have granted his wishes when his eyes catches the void of ghostface’s eyes, your mask tainted in splatters of blood from the dead criminal below you. Jason feels his world come to a stop as you slowly rise from crouching position and reveal your unnaturally tall height, broad shoulders visible under the black hooded leather. You hold silence and calmness despite being caught, tilting your head slightly to the side.

His heartbeat quickens yet he doesn’t feel fear. Jason idiotically steps closer as if he was in a trance, burning your existence within his eyes to engrave in his memory. Your bloody knife barely grazes his neck to stop him before using it to tilt his chin up, your figure looming and towering over him while seemingly staring into his eyes through his helmet.

A sense of peacefulness overcomes Jason being in your presence despite the absolute brutality and mercilessness that surrounded your entire being. You were deadly, silent, certainly creative with your work that it deems almost artistic, as if the criminals’ bodies were your own canvas to paint on — and Jason finds solace in you. A man he always needed, someone who’d be willing to cross the line and get rid of the actual evil for the sake of victims that’d be forever haunted if it continues to exist.

“I’ve heard things about you, Red Hood.”

Low, raspy, monotone voice speaks, sending shivers down his spine. It sounds cool and handsome regardless of the obvious use of voice changer, somehow littered with tiniest hint of flirtatiousness.

It takes him quite a while to answer, barely managing to let out a “yeah?” as he feels you drag the knife slightly closer to his pulse. His heartbeat quickens, but slows down when the cold metal was finally pulled away.

“Pleasant things,” You hummed, before your voice lowered a few octaves, “Can’t say the same about Batman.�� Anger seems to seep through your tone that felt a little more than just sympathy for victims of villains Batman refused to put six feet under. Jason wondered if you’re also one of the victims his father failed.

“You… You know him that much?” Jason’s voice shakes from the nerve, your presence somehow greatly affecting him.

“I think everyone knows him enough,” You chuckled, but it sounded so empty that Jason can’t help but feel the goosebumps rise on his skin. It was quite chilling to meet someone who shows only a certain amount of emotion which could even be felt expressionless due to the monotonous pitch. The ghostface mask certainly did its job of making you seem more less human, the unmoving expression of ghost being horrified to death adding to the eeriness of your toneless mechanic voice.

Jason’s breath hitched when you took one step closer.

“But I know more about you. Your little past and the sufferings you’ve endured,” It’s spoken as if his life was one of your necessary investigation in your twisted justice. “It’s unfair, don’t you think? I would’ve gutted the Joker like a fish if it were to happen to my son.” There’s a condescending way in which you spoke, not directed at Jason but to Bruce.

“How—” Jason swallowed. “How did you—”

“I can make your dreams come true,” You interrupted him with a tempting offer, shutting him up effectively. Wide grin plastered your face despite not being seen behind your mask. “I can kill the Clown for you, Red Hood. If it means it’ll silence your troubled spirit. If it’ll bring you peace. I can hurt him on your behalf just like he deserves.”

It was like a whisper from the devil, slithering its way into Jason’s heart and mind to possess his soul, mirroring the one which whispered on Adam and Eve’s ears.

He’s been wanting — needing — to hear those words come out of Bruce. His suffering and death seemingly being brushed off as a cruel accident shattered him more than he’d ever admit, Bruce’s unhealthy coping mechanism and morality getting in the way of showing his love for Jason that left the younger man feel lesser than he was. Bruce was a complex person that’s sometimes difficult to understand, his impressive ways to stick to his morals being exactly his character, but Jason wanted for once, to actually feel how important he was to his father.

Was that too much to ask for, or was he just unworthy of the entirety of it?

“Why would you do that for me?” Confusion and subtle suspicion filled his tone as Jason narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out your intention despite the rush of hope that shot throughout his chest. He forced himself to feel nothing when you leaned in closer.

“Because you were wronged, of course.” You simply stated. “You are a victim. Not more, not less. You deserve a little more than just empty justice. And I’m a man who got tired of vigilantes that are afraid to make sacrifices for the greater good.” Then, you tilt your head slightly to the side in a way that’s somehow alluring. “But I can also say I’m intrigued by you.”

Jason’s heartbeat quickens again when your big hand seems to wrap perfectly around his throat, fingers resting just above his pulse points. It makes such filthy thoughts flood themselves into his mind, your long and quite thick fingers falling victims to his tainted imagination, and he had to give everything in himself not to bare his throat more for you. You seem pleased of his lack of disobedience and bite, having expected him to shove your hand away or flinch back before you could touch him. You’ve seen Red Hood once and how his uncontrollable rage resulted in violence, heavy burdens and extreme trauma turning him into a ticking time bomb that could explode any minute with the wrong move. He was absolutely lethal, the bullets serving as the evidence of his wrath and resentment towards the underground scumbags. It’s amusing that you have the man of violence himself now somehow completely under your control, surprisingly quiet and shy and obedient. You wondered if this is how he was before he was ruined by the cruelty of the world.

“You want it, don’t you? For me to kill the Joker.”

Jason feels as if you know everything he wants. Is this what it feels like to be important?

It takes a little while for him to answer, but he eventually came up with a “You’ll do that?” which sounded vulnerable and weak for the first time in his second life. Your heart clenched at the doubt and seemingly child-like vulnerability in which he uttered the words, as if he was afraid to trust something after being betrayed countless of times, reminding you of the sole person you’ve even began doing all of this for. They were quite similar yet so different — your older brother and Jason.

You hadn’t meant to cross his boundaries and unknowingly step into the empty hole that made home in his heart. Unconsciously slithering in like a snake by touching the subject his heart was longing for, not realizing his childhood’s still remaining within his spirit.

All he wanted was love and to feel safe again. You didn’t know the Red Hood was so adorably pitiful. A smirk plastered your face.

“I will,” You reassured and leaned your face inches away from his, the hand on his throat lifting his helmet slightly.

Jason doesn’t retaliate, blinded by a meat of hope dangled in front of him. He doesn’t move as the lower half of his face was exposed, and you lifted your own mask the same using your other hand. Jason willingly, obediently closes his eyes before your lips attached to his — a kiss of death, tasting like blood and cruelty. Warm and soft despite your rough, cold-blooded, corrupted soul. A kiss from the devil.

When Jason opened his eyes, you had already disappeared into the darkness with blood stains on the ground you stood before, a single note left behind; Hell will reopen for the Clown.

After neatly tucking the note inside his jacket and making sure no evidence has been accidentally left on the crime scene, Red Hood smiles for the first time in a long while and reaches for the comms without a heavy heart.

“Batman, I found another body.”

Whatever happens, he’ll have no knowledge of the following misfortune that’ll befall on the Joker. It’s the righteous serial killer’s doing, after all.

What was used to be a maniacal laughter turned into screams of agony and pain. Strong stench of death and blood makes euphoria rush within your mind, the feeling of slicing through flesh with your knife bringing pleasure and ecstasy that made your pants tight. There’s a certain amount of satisfaction in the way your own actions cause serious harm and scarring to criminals who once deemed themselves powerful, being reduced into nothing but a powerless prey that could easily be gotten rid of.

You feel increasingly powerful the more you strip them of their dignity and arrogance as they shed blood on the holy ground. Your existence alone striking them with crippling fear and anxiety feeds into your ego, yet you never stray away from the sole purpose or reason for your murders — making them taste their own medicine.

From what you found on countless deep dive and research, Joker preyed on Red Hood when he was still a young child full of life and joy, having been under the name Robin at the time. Second Robin to be exact, considering he was a lot different from the first one. It actually surprisingly pained you when you’d seen how much of an adorable, dorky, nice kid he was before misfortune cut his life short. You would’ve never thought you would find a kid adorable in your entire life, the little menaces often being nothing more than a headache to be around with that caused a certain dislike to grow towards them within you, but Jason was everything a cute kid was. Just excited to be there, to be fighting alongside Batman, to be relevant.

Such a precious boy ruined for the sake of shits and giggles for the Clown. For the sake of getting under Batman’s skin. And the Bat couldn’t even make fucking amends to his flaws as a father and mentor.

Well, he didn’t need to anymore.

You’ll give Red Hood— Jason Todd —what he wants. Yearned for. Perhaps, even what the other civilians who have fallen victims to this vile criminal want. You would stop at nothing until every criminal is gurgling and choking on their own blood.

Joker’s scream shoots a jolt of electricity within your body as your knife pierce through his skinny thigh and to the ground, pinning his leg down. You had been doing an effective job of reducing the maniac into nothing but a screaming, cowering average victim by torture. Bruises, burns, gashes, and stab wounds littered his body that was done carefully enough to not be life-threatening. Fucker was laughing maniacally at first, of course. It irritated you so much that you might’ve went a little overboard.

Watching Joker heave and struggle to breathe from the pain, you tilted your head and roughly grabbed his throat. It catches him off guard and he grips your wrist, barely even having the strength to fight you off. You’re amused by the entirety of Joker’s nature, how he’s still just an average man that can easily be overpowered — nothing that makes him special enough to not be killed, becoming proof of Batman’s selfish willingness to let the victims suffer than bring them actual peace.

You’ve never uttered a word since you captured him and it unnerved Joker from the beginning, but then, words finally come out of your mouth in a form of monotonous, mechanical, emotionless, eerie voice as you lean over him; “Laugh it out, Joker. Why so serious?”

It sounded like a death sentence.

He’s right in a way, because another of your knife pierced the corner of his mouth soon as you uttered the words. Your other hand tightened on his arteries to choke him while you drag the knife to slit the side of his mouth into a grin, following the lines of his red lipstick. It was certainly not a clean cut, but an artist has their own creative ways to make their art. Tears mixed in with blood that gushes out of his face, complete horrors written across Joker’s eyes which boosts your satisfaction. You go on and do the same thing to the other side of his mouth, before finishing your art piece by carving ‘J’ on his painted cheek.

You resist the urge to moan at the sight of blood coating your fine piece, always finding it to be an amazing finishing touch.

From then on, Joker was brought to literal Hell.

Jason flinches when a playful knock sounded from his safe house’s window, cautiously approaching to see ghostface waving at him through the glass. His eyes widened and immediately opens the window to let you in, not wanting anyone to see you — your sudden appearance distracting him from the fact he’s never given anyone the location of his safe house.

He stops in track at the blood splatters across your mask, and just then had he noticed you seemed to be hiding something behind your back with one hand. It definitely strikes his curiosity, but he somehow didn’t feel like you were holding something that could harm him.

“You got something for me, ghostface?” Jason feels you grin under your mask.

“Got you a present,” Your raspy, rough voice enthusiastically quipped.

Jason’s breath hitches when you show what you were holding — the Joker’s decapitated head in a square glass container tainted by its blood. You obviously had planned to bring it barehand, but you considered the possibility of its blood dripping down on his safe house and becoming a false evidence to point him to the murder, which prompted you to put it inside the container. An unbelievably sweet gesture for a fucking psychopath like you.

Jason could feel his heart beat rapidly as he takes in the animal’s state, carved up grin and the letter J and the horrors seen in its lifeless eyes proving the absolute misery and suffering it went through before being put down. The monster was finally, finally slain and gone forever from his life. Nightmares detangles from his spirit and the past unwraps away from his soul, utter peace and relief spreading throughout his chest. Tears gathered in his eyes at the feeling of being free at last from the life long torment, breath shaking as his knees wobbled.

The child in himself, the innocent Robin that was killed unfairly, finally rests in peace.

Then he sees you, his hero, waving your seemingly new knife playfully in the air with your outfit splattered in blood without a care that you actually saved him, and Jason feels a sudden surge of arousal and will to submit. To give you everything, anything.

“Do you love it, Red Hood?”

Without answering you, Jason grabs the glass container with shaky hands and sets it aside on the counter before stepping back closer to you again, blood rushing to his veins from arousal. He removes his helmet with a thud on the floor and falls to his knees in front of you, lustful and yearning emerald eyes looking up at you.

“Let me thank you, please.”

It makes you groan as your pants significantly tightens more.

You slide your knife back into the holster before cupping his beautiful face in your hands, and thank fucking Heavens there wasn’t any blood on it that would taint his face, because he’s a sight to behold. He’s truly a gem, something precious you had never seen before. “So beautiful,” You whispered, making Jason flush. “Baring yourself to me for such a simple present, doll?”

“Not a simple present,” Jason mumbled as he snuggles on the palm of your hands. “You saved me.”

You hum appreciatively, getting the itch to bare yourself to him as well. “You wanna thank me by what?”

Jason looks back at you, face flushed with a little hint of uncertainty and embarrassment, doubts. “I— uhm,” He stammers, but encouraged by your thumb’s gentle stroke on his cheek. “By… by becoming yours.”

Your cock throbs. Fuck, he’s so fucking adorable, you just wanna fuck his guts out. You’re usually tempted to gut people, not fuck their guts— which is funny to say the least— but you weren’t going to say no when the Red Hood’s so willing to offer himself up.

“You wanna take my mask off, doll?” He seems surprised by your question as if he hadn’t thought of it, making you chuckle. “If you wanna be mine, I gotta be yours too, don’t I?” It was dangerous to reveal your identity to him, but you couldn’t care less, especially when you could just fuck his brains out to shut him up. That’s the plan, first time that didn’t include butchering or cutting a body up.

Jason fucking Todd and his effects on you.

The emerald eyed male hesitantly grasped your mask when you led his hands to it, slowly lifting it over your head. He’s met with a fucking luscious feature to ever be adorned on a man and dark, lustfully murderous blood red eyes that makes a whimper slip past his lips. You merely widened your eyes at the sound he made before immediately grabbing his jaw and smashing your lips against his, swallowing Jason’s surprised gasp.

He reciprocates the insatiable hunger you displayed, tongue dancing along with yours and moaning into the kiss when your fingers lightly tugged on his hair. You pull him up in amidst of making out and squeeze his ass, encouraging him to wrap his legs around your hips. You detach your lips from his to trail kisses down his jaw and neck as you walked towards his bedroom, questionably knowing where it is, and Jason tilts his head back to give you more access with closed eyes. Letting him stimulate both of your restrained cocks by grinding down, you sat down on the bed and sucked on his throat as Jason moaned.

“Please, please…” He whimpers, uncontrollably moving his hips in a perfect rhythm yet he seemed to want something else.

You pulled away and traced his lips with your thumb, watching as he naturally took it in and sucked, giving you a desperate look. Swiftly turning off the voice changer attached to your neck in a form of choker, you chuckled when his hands fiddled with the belt on your hooded coat. “So needy, aren’t you?” Your real voice sends shivers down his spine.

An alluring, low, slightly rough pitch and somehow more emotionless than when you were using the voice changer. It makes his cock twitch and empty hole clench down on nothing, the need to be stuffed full of your cum swarming in his belly. You’re fucking bewitching, a man made up from every guy and girl’s fantasy, wet dream, and your attractiveness mirroring the Devil’s that would tempt and lure others to sin.

How the fuck were you real?

“Speak up, pretty bird.” You smirked, “What do you want?”

“Your cock,” Jason mutters, cheeks tinted in pink. “Wanna suck your cock and make you feel good.”

“Fuck…” You shifted in place, “You’ll do that f’me? Get my cock nice and wet to take you apart? To fuck your guts out?”

Jason shakily inhales and nods, climbing off your lap and kneeling on the floor. You lean back on your hands as he unstraps your belt and slide your zipper down, slightly raising your hips to help him get rid of the excess clothes. Your thick and lengthy cock smacks against your clothed stomach, making Jason’s mouth water. Thick veins throbbed on your big shaft, the tip angry and red from arousal leaking precum. It wasn’t just big, it was long, and Jason squeezes his thighs together to keep himself from just riding your cock all day.

His hand wraps around the base, starting to stroke it with a content rhythm. God, you were so fucking big. It’d definitely split him open if you shove it in so suddenly and fill him up nice. It’d make him scream his head off from the unbearable length and girth, almost too much, and Jason wants you to force him to take it. Pin him down and fuck him despite his pleas to stop.

Jason swipes his thumb over the slit, smearing precum, pumping it for a good amount before licking a stripe up the underside of your cock. You shudder, removing your gloves to slip your bare fingers through Jason’s hair, encouraging him to take you in. He obeys, relaxing his throat first before sliding your cock inside his warm mouth, and you groaned at the warmth that surrounded you. It almost didn’t fit from how big you were, but Jason braced himself and took it in further until he gagged as the tip touched the back of his throat. Wrapping his hand around your shaft that he couldn’t take in, stroking gently as if to apologize.

A moan slips past your lips when he starts bobbing his head, tongue brushing against the underside of your dick. “Fuck… Doin’ so good,” You roll your head back. “Such a pretty face to fuck, ain’t ya?”

Jason whines, tears gathered in his eyes as he sucks and fastens his rhythm. Curses, grunts leave your lips that left him feeling all hot and bothered, his other hand moving to skillfully pull his pants down and free his aching cock.

You see him touching himself and a smirk adorns your sinful face, gently scratching his scalp with your nails which earned you a whimper from him. “Go on, fuck yourself. We both know it wouldn’t fit that easily without proper prep,” Expression twisting into a cocky one, your grip on his hair tightened. “I’ll do as I please with your mouth until you’re done.”

Without waiting for his approval, you roughly shoved your cock deep down his throat and moaned loudly, throwing your head back. Jason gagged with a loud whimper as his eyes rolled back into his skull and cum shot out from his throbbing cock, hips jutting forward and twitching due to the sudden orgasm. You chuckle lowly, amusement and lust glinting in your bright red eyes, before you pull back and ram on his throat again.

Jason’s cries and moans were muffled as you ruthlessly use his throat to gain pleasure. His mind has already turned into mush from your assaults, white cum and precum staining the floor yet he doesn’t put up a fight. Taking it all like the good, obedient boy that he is. He’s reached behind him to insert two fingers in his awaiting hole, walls clamping down on the digits from the arousal of his throat being utterly wrecked.

Yesyesyes, please. He chanted in his mind. Use me, mark me, cum in my throat, make me yours.

The moment you fulfilled your promise and delivered him the head of his enemy, he was already yours. It’s all he ever wanted. Unquenchable thirst that always gnawed on his throat and hunger that left his stomach restless, his soul practically teared in half from being battered and beaten. He matters now — mattered enough to you, that you went ahead and killed the source of his misery. The love exploding in his chest was almost unbearable; he was already high on cloud nine from the moment he’s seen you present the head so cheerfully.

You see how he looks up at you, emerald eyes almost displaying hearts with how much he was melting. He’s taken your murderous act as an affection, and you couldn’t be more happy, because it’s what you intended.

“Shit, baby… Gonna cum soon,” You panted, thrusting vigorously. Jason hums and flexes his throat to provide you more pleasure, making you tighten the grip on his hair. “You want me to cum down your throat?”

You earned a desperate whine from him, closing his eyes to prove he was waiting for it. His fingers kept their own assault on his prostate, scissoring and stretching the squishy walls, muffled moans escaping him.

God, he looked so fucking gorgeous. He’d look even more gorgeous with your dick ramming inside him.

Jason feels your big cock throb in his mouth and his fingers move more aggressively to pleasure himself, wanting to reach his high at the same time as you. Stimulating your tip with the back of his throat a few times, you moaned loudly with a curse when Jason slightly flicks his tongue over your sensitive underside, forcing an orgasm out of your body. White, thick, warm seeds spurt out from your slit to his awaiting throat as Jason whimpered in delight and shot another layer of cum on the wet stained floor, hips thrusting in the air.

He greedily swallows every drop that spilled down his mouth despite the euphoria making him feel dizzy as his body slightly trembles.

You chuckled, breathing heavily, pleased expression spread across your face. “Good boy. That was such a good throat-fuck.”

The raspy, sultry tone of your voice makes electricity and chills run through Jason’s spine as his walls clench down on his fingers, yearning to be filled. Jason certainly doesn’t have a womb — it’s anatomically impossible — yet he couldn’t help but feel like it’s there, waiting and aching to be fucked and bred. He needs your cum to be pushed so far inside him. Need to be marked entirely as yours inside and out. Need you to rearrange his guts, fuck his brains out, breed him full, then fuck your cum further back into him.

Jason pulled his fingers out, whimpering at the loss of contact, before looking back up at you with begging eyes. “Can you-?” His voice cracks as he swallows, “Take me apart, please. Make me yours, fuck, I wanna be yours.”

You noticed tears gathering in his eyes, as if being rejected of his want to be your possession would be an ultimate heartbreak in his life; a life-threatening, gnawing thorn in his heart that’ll tear him apart piece by piece and shredding his soul. Jason thinks he can’t live without becoming yours, his savior’s. He can’t live without the source of his safety, the man that fulfilled his silly little dream and sacrificed his own sanity for it.

It absolutely amuses you that he’s become so attached just because you’ve driven him away from harm’s way. A little dumb, but he was your little dumb doll.

You gently caress his face and Jason leans into your touch, making your lips curl upwards into a smile. “Of course, doll.”

It leads to Jason being pressed face first on the mattress as you rail him from behind, sinful and alluring noises leaving his lips stained in drool. Your name escapes him like a chanted prayer, hands gripping the sheets, electricity sparking within his mind that left him dumb and unable to think coherently.

“Fuh-fuck! mgh, ah- yes, oh my god—!” He cries out when you pulled almost entirely back and rammed your cock roughly into him, almost seeing stars in his vision.

The roughness in which you handled him, the perfect angle of your hips allowing you to force pleasure out of his body every-time you thrust, the way you push his back down on the mattress to make him arch more into your merciless tactic, leaves Jason absolutely delirious. You didn’t just fuck him good; you fucked him with absolute vigor and violence, occasionally biting strongly on his shoulder to draw blood, showcasing your natural instincts as a serial killer. He feels your big fucking dick throb and gets impossibly bigger inside him each time his blood seeps out the broken skin, and Jason’s head spins at how much it drove arousal in his core.

“Good fuckin’ sex toy,” You grunted, roughly slamming your hips against his and causing a sharp moan to erupt from Jason.

“B-big—! s’too big- fuck!” Jason whines, tears spilling endlessly down his cheeks.

You smirk as you feel your ego skyrocket at being able to reduce a rather muscular man into nothing but a whining, blabbering bitch. “Yeah? I do split you open, don’t I? But you love it since you’re such a fuckin’ slut.”

“oh- aghn! y-yours— hnngh! Your s-slut! No one else’s-!” He chokes out, desperately reaching for you behind him.

“So fuckin’ adorable,” You chuckled and grabbed his hand, pinning it back to the mattress as you hover over him. You seem to fit against each other perfectly well, your large and tall body able to encage him that left Jason’s stomach fluttering. He’s taken a lot liking of the fact you’re bigger than him, considering he’s never been the smaller one when he was with others. It gives him a sense of shelter.

“p-please— pleaseplease- oh! cum— fuck… cum in me again!” Jason blabbered.

You can’t help but comply to his request, fastening your pace and drilling more into him. Incoherent sentences spill from his drooling mouth when he feels your cock pulse within his walls that signified your soon release. There’s a purpose in which you thrust your hips now — more sharp and angled yet a little sloppy, aimed to brush against his prostate and make him feel utterly good.

“Shit… Cummin’, doll.” You grunted right in his ear before shoving him on the mattress by the back of his nape and slamming all the way down on his already gaping hole.

Jason nearly screams, voice cracking, as his orgasm hits like a strong tide of wave at the same time you spilled thick layer of white semen into his fucked out guts. You ride out your orgasm by thrusting slowly a few times as Jason’s body violently shakes from the aftershock. He subconsciously whines in annoyance when some of your previous cum seems to overflow and replaced by your recent one, bucking his hips as if to use your big cock as a plug to keep them all in. His belly felt full from how much you’ve been filling him with your seed yet it still didn’t feel enough. Jason wanted more; he knew you weren’t going full on him yet.

You swiftly turned him around on his back without pulling out and kissed him roughly. Jason mewls into the kiss when the position makes you push more deeper into him, his hands immediately clasping at the back of his thick thighs to pull them up and make it easier for you to fuck.

“My cute little thing,” You murmured against his lips and bit the skin to draw blood, Jason’s hole squeezing down on you from both the pain and pet name. He greedily whimpers your name, holding onto you for life and yearning for more of you despite already receiving what he wants.

It was so fucking adorable and arousing to see him desperate for not just you, but your entire being as well, willing to welcome such darkness with open arms and tearful smile. You weren’t really a desirable person; so many people have thrown themselves at you for your conventionally attractive features and masculine body type that swoons hundreds yet cower away in fear and speak of you in disgrace when shown the demons living inside of you. No one could seem to look past your murderous, cold-blooded psychopathy — some have attempted to, which only resulted in your darkness growing bigger when they break their own promises. You weren’t meant to be loved. Your destiny was written in the stars and the Gods have cursed you with eternity of living in loneliness and madness without cure. You were meant to be feared, a lonely and violent soul that couldn’t be tamed, your sole purpose of existence being a destroyer; nothing more or less.

Jason, however, seems indifferent to your fate.

Instead of running away in disgust and fear at your acts of violence around the city, he was seeking for you. He’s seen what you’ve done, what you could do without feeling remorse, what monsters lie beneath your existence — and still, he graciously opens his heart (and legs) for you. There’s love and desire within his eyes where distaste should be, touch so soft and warm it baptizes your tainted skin. You’re soaked in blood yet Jason takes his time with you to clean them up. Born with thorns yet he willingly prickles his fingers on them.

You’re a danger everywhere you go, but to him, you were home.

It makes your heart clench; he’s broken the Gods curse and it costs him his freedom, because now he’s caught up in your webs. You wouldn’t let him go, like a snake that’s wrapped itself around its prey in a death grip.

Jason wanted to be yours. What better ways to fulfill his wish if not possessing his body, soul, and spirit?

“Sweet dumb thing,” You purred, hips thrusting slow and sensual, unable to forgive parts of his walls that weren’t touched by your cum. “Mine to fuck, ruin, or make love to. That’s right, yeah?”

Jason nods, moaning softly. Your hands now replaced where his were on the back of his thighs, bending him almost in half as you roll your hips to gently brush against every weak spot he has. The sudden shift in rhythm and atmosphere confuses Jason for a bit, his fogged mind unable to comprehend the situation at hand, but the intimacy strikes a further pleasure that was nearly mind-breaking. He’s been reduced to a moaning mess, blood, sweat, tears and cum coating his body.

“p-please,” Jason keened, like it felt agonizing to be loved ever so gently. “I— ah… I want- I want you,” He stuttered out between moans.

“You’re having me, aren’t you?” Replying, you nipped on his neck and sucked, leaving behind a purple bruise.

He nearly cries, shaking his head. A waterfall of tears streamed down his face, and you find yourself captivated by them. It was almost ethereal despite being one of human’s responses to most things imaginable; your victims always shed one or two accompanied by begs of mercy, but all you’ve ever thought of them was amusing. It’s been used as an escaping tactic from you before, which was never successful due to your lack of morality and sympathy towards your target. They were pathetic, but Jason was divine. Tears suited him— not tears of fear, but tears of pleasure and utopia.

Your focus snaps back on reality when Jason suddenly pulled you down by the nape and bit down hard on your shoulder. A pleasured groan leaves your lips at the pain, hips bucking, making him whimper.

“Jason—”

“Please,” He cuts you off and finally murmurs; “Wanna f-feel how… mhm-! how you actually love…”

It strikes something in your core. Despite your perfect skills of hiding your true nature and never being caught, Jason saw it right through you, how you were holding yourself back for his sake. Quite ironic to witness a cold-blooded killer care for someone enough to go soft, even though it looked like you were going rough on him, and it warmed Jason’s heart. But he was a greedy, fucked up human being who wanted all of you. It wouldn’t be enough until he knows he’s taken you fully.

An amused laughter erupts from your chest. Eyes darkening in lust, Jason feels one of your hands wrap around his throat warningly as the other pushed his torso flat down on the mattress. “You… You’ll be the fuckin’ death of me, Todd.”

You pull all the way back before ramming in, making Jason let out a loud, choked up moan as his eyes rolled back into his head. Your thrusts relentless and powerful, slamming against Jason’s body with an intensity that made his head spin, your hand holding his throat as a leverage. Your name spills from his lips like a prayer, something that seems to ignite a possessive feeling within you. Jason can’t help but mewl when your grip tightened on his arteries, throwing his head back to let you gain fully control.

The way he’s so obedient and putty in your hands despite knowing you can kill him if you truly meant to makes you love him even more, fucking him and taking away his ability to breathe wasn’t enough. Greediness turning overboard with the darkness and psychopathy that lies within your existence; you almost wanted to cut him open and crawl inside his guts so you could truly claim Jason, inside and out. You wanted to be more closer to him, see how far you can go without Jason pushing you away or getting disturbed.

Jason’s eyes widened when a cold metallic silver touched his cheek, seeing you holding your signature knife through blurred vision from his tears. However, he doesn’t flinch away like you expected him to, instead his walls squeezes down on your cock and his own twitched against his stomach. The unexpected reaction pulls a loud groan out of you, your hips bucking.

“Shit, Jay… You lettin’ me kill you or somethin’? Good fucking cunt just tightened on me,” You rasped, thrusting your cock against his prostate.

Jason gasps, his hands grabbing the mattress and holding it in a tight grip. It’s so shameful how turned on he was at the danger that lurked around you, his usually sharp instincts relinquished to be replaced by naiveté and stupidity for love. He must’ve gone insane; getting killed was one of his triggers because of his past yet his soul yielded nothing in retaliation to the possibility of your blade slicing through him. All of him seems to have come to love and trust you too much just because you’ve decapitated the beast his entire existence feared, which a part of him found utterly ridiculous and idiotic, but not enough to stop.

He wouldn’t stop himself from loving you — not when you’ve given him the love he always yearned for.

You lean in and ghost your lips over his as you dragged the knife on his torso, lightly scraping him. Jason’s breath quickens, his pupils blown wide in lust and need, anticipation seemingly running through his body as his moans turned into desperate whines.

“p-please…!” He chokes out a whisper, rolling his head to the side and whimpering when you snapped your hips warningly on his. “feels— fuck! feels g-good—! c-carve me… hngh! carve me u-up-! shit… make me fuckin’ bleed…! please,” Jason nearly cries for you.

Groaning out a curse, you reflexively bite down hard on the crook of his neck and push more of your cock inside him, causing a loud keen to erupt from Jason as he squirms and cums on his own stomach at the addictive sense of pleasure and pain shooting through his body.

You licked the blood that seeped out from his skin, satisfied at the clear bite mark you’ve left visible before sensually grinding your hips. Jason whimpered quietly, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“That’s it, doll. Let go, feel good. m’not gonna hurt ya, sweetheart. It’ll all feel good,” Whispering sweet words, you slowly press the tip of the knife just above the v line of his hip and drag it down. Jason hissed at the prickle of pain and tensed up, but the pleasure of your cock stimulating his sensitive walls was too great that forced him to relax. “It’s alright, doll. Jus’ carving you up with my name, so you’ll be mine forever. Isn’t that what you want? Be fuckin’ mine?”

Jason moaned softly, nodding his head. Series of pleasepleaseplease blabber out of him accompanied by heavenly noises he’s been making since you started taking him apart, his brain too fucked out that forcibly twisted pain into pleasure as all he could think about was becoming yours. You, his savior, his God, claiming him by marking him up with your name. Jason feels like he could fucking squirt from just that thought alone.

His blood seeping out from the letters of your name arouses you to no end, your cock throbbing inside him while you continue to move, the darkness within you being thoroughly fed of its bloodthirsty hunger. This is the first time it doesn’t gnaw at your skin to drive your knife deeper, pull the guts out, and splatter redness everywhere; instead, it wanted to be gentle, as if Jason was a significant existence too precious to hurt even for the Devil. A proof that Jason was always meant to be yours, the only one who the monster inside you would rather love than kill.

Carving the last letter, you laughed breathlessly in satisfaction and stabbed the knife on the headboard before slamming your lips against his, devouring his pleasurable noises. Jason whines, arms wrapping around your neck to pull you impossibly closer, arching his back when you switched into a much faster and rougher pace.

“Cummin’, fuck!” You grunted, to which Jason wrapped his legs around your hips to make sure it stays in.

“I-in— in me… fuck- oh my god— please… please, cum in me. Make me full again, p-please…” He begs, clenching his walls around you to push you over the edge, his own orgasm nearing.

Seeing him covered in his own tears, sweat, blood and drool fills you with nothing but pure ecstasy knowing it’s all because of you. The most appealing, ravishing man being a slutty mess right beneath you, begging to be bred and full of your cum, does feed too much into your ego. No one can do anything to take you away from him now, because you’re wrapped around his fingers as much as he is around yours.

“Anythin’ for ya, doll.” You chuckled, thrusting a couple more times before shoving your twitching cock deep into his guts with a moan and releasing your load. Jason mewls, his hole throbbing and squeezing down on you as he throws his head back, tainting his abdomen once more.

Riding out both of your highs, you let out a raspy groan and kissed his lips again, Jason weakly reciprocating due to the overstimulation. His body trembled hard, mind almost shutting down from the exhaustion and too much euphoria. “So good, doll. Took me like a good fuckin’ boy. Fuckin’ amazing.” You praised.

Jason could still see darkness in your eyes, the murderous devil, but there’s a hint of happiness he didn’t recognize before. Love and adoration filled your expression despite the violence engraved in your soul, and Jason finds himself smiling against your lips lightheadedly.

He whispers your name like a forbidden secret, then a curse that completely binds you to him; “I love you.”

You could get used to this, you suppose. There’s nothing more poetic than violence meeting love — two opposites can’t coexist with each other, but perhaps it’ll be forced to. After all, the Devil in you decided he was an untouchable divinity no one shall ever harm, not even yourself, despite its never-ending monstrosity towards humanity.

“I love you too, my Jason.”

When Joker’s decapitated head on a makeshift spear turned up that night, stacked upright in front of Arkham Asylum with blood splattered across the ground in words ‘True Justice for the Tortured Souls’ and a bloody ghostface mask laid aside for everyone else to see, Jason knew he was now in safe hands.

People say, never make a deal with the devil.

They never said he couldn’t love one, did they?

© all rights reserved to hadesrise ──── stealing, plagiarizing, or using my works for monetary gain is strictly prohibited. ask permission before reposting or translating.

[venusbyline]

Fates ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 22, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x wife!reader

— type: smut, dark, Kinktober (House of the Dragon Edition)

— kink: spit kink

— summary: Jacaerys Velaryon had become the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and you had become his Queen Consort. Grief, sacrifice and pain carried the weight of crowns. The daily tragedies would happen forever until one of you died. This was the true destiny of the Greens and Blacks. There were never victors after the war. The eternal unhappiness was the only conquest.

— word count: 2.3k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 22nd day, Targcest (aunt/nephew), female!reader, queen consort!reader, king!Jacaerys, dark!Jacaerys, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, spit kink, rape/non-con, degradation, rough sex, gore, referenced mutilated penis, nipple play, nipple torture, blood and violence, blood kink, vaginal sex, anal sex, hate sex, implied PTSD, biting, hair-pulling, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, VERY DARK CONTENT, hurt no comfort, mild angst, light unconscious sex, ambiguous/open ending (but it would probably be a sad or bittersweet ending), curse words, death threats, sexism, crying, dacryphilia, mild dumbification, referenced permanent injury, mild aftercare (BUT NO REALLY), past genital torture, Jacaerys also lost an eye, fake character death, emotional manipulation, sadism, breast worship, forced orgasm, marriage of convenience, forced marriage, sexual and psychological torture, survivors guilt, male infertility, Jacaerys Velaryon lives, Jaehaera Targaryen lives, Baela Targaryen dies, forced child marriage mentioned, minor Jaehaera Targaryen/Aegon III Targaryen, past Jacaerys Velaryon/Baela Targaryen, past Aemond Targaryen/reader, mild Stockholm syndrome, age gap (older woman/younger man), Jace's 17 during 131 AC and 21 during 135 AC, reader's 21 during 131 AC and 25 during 135 AC, dom!Jacaerys, sub!reader, canon divergence (The Blacks win the Dance of the Dragons), porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @baybaybear1 @blessedbymoon @p45510n4f4shi0n @lina-lovebug @moonnicole @badger-reads @turdettethefirst

— crossposting: AO3

"The King ordered your presence into his private chambers, Your Grace. Immediately."

The maid's voice brought you out of your almost peaceful sleep. Before the war, you loved having the calm to sleep and get plenty of rest whenever you could, away from the trivial duties of Royalty. Before, you loved going to sleep and waking up with your nephews laughing and playing on your bed, trying to wake you up by the most messy and childish possible ways. Jaehaerys, Jaehaera and Maelor were like your children too, you helped your older sister to take care of them, often more present in their lives than Aegon himself, who was always just focused on fucking whores or harassing the castle's servants.

During the Dance of the Dragons, you almost went crazy, also like Helaena. As if the cruel murder of your nephew Jaehaerys was not enough, you were also forced to marry your twin brother, Aemond, who ended up dying during The Battle Above the Gods Eye along with your uncle Daemon, turning you into widow at just twenty years old in that time. Your half-sister Rhaenyra's death was inevitable, as were the deaths of nearly every member of the Targaryen family. However, Rhaenyra's bloodline continued on the throne after the mysterious poisoning of your older brother Aegon II during 131 AC. When the Blacks took back the Iron Throne, your greatest concern would be not only the fact that your other nephew, Aegon III, son of your half-sister and your uncle Daemon, could ascend as the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms at such a young age, but also the fact of what would happen to you and your little niece Jaehaera, who had the tragic fate of marrying the boy even though they were both children, as a stupid attempt at a peace treaty between the Blacks and Greens.

To your surprise, it was not Aegon III who ascended the Iron Throne, much less little Jaehaera or even you. But Jacaerys Velaryon, Rhaenyra Targaryen's firstborn and her legitimized heir, the one that everyone believed for almost two years that he was dead. On that horrifying afternoon, you were sure that the new king would order your death and the death of your niece. Which never happened. You did not know how Jacaerys had survived after the Battle of the Gullet, but despite the possible cruel fate that awaited you, you were grateful that His Grace was a man of his word and swore to keep Jaehaera alive and safe in King's Landing, not breaking up the marriage between her and his little brother, Aegon III, but also giving his word that the two children only would be able to consummate their marriage years later and did not need to act as a couple while they were still so young. After all, Jacaerys might want revenge on your family at all costs, but that did not mean he was in favor of murder or allowing the rape of a little girl, in a certain way.

Even during 135 AC, four years after the coronation of the current ruler, Jaehaera remained alive and safe, protected by her brother-in-law and cousin. Your nephew and husband. The new King. And for that, your fate was forever sealed as the second wife of King Jacaerys Velaryon, the first of his name.

"Lady Wife!" Jacaerys shouted with exaggerated excitement as he lay on the bed, completely naked but covered by the silk sheets. "I see the maids did not disappoint me again this time."

You took a deep breath, remembering the week before when he yelled at the servants for taking so long to bring you to your shared chambers. It had been unnecessary and agonizing to watch how people cowered in the face of his threats. The once kind and sweet Prince Jacaerys had become such a rude and merciless King since the death of his family. You could not blame him, even if you preferred to be able to.

"They were quick to bathe me and get me ready to see you." Your tone was monotonous, without emotion or affection. It was always like this. A slow death sentence you signed for the sake of your niece Jaehaera. You were used to this exhausting routine. Lying with Jacaerys when he was drunk, angry with the duties of his reign and the weight of the crown, as well as the grief that tormented his mind every night, indulging in wine or pleasure houses to try to avoid insanity which was approaching him little by little.

Both of you never knew each other very well before the marriage of convenience. You had interacted with Jace just a few times before the Dance of the Dragons, the last time being at that disastrous Viserys's supper, when Jace tried to be polite and ask Helena and then you for a dance, but his kindness only ended up making Aegon and Aemond jealous about Hel and you, causing more chaos between your families.

You might not know much about Jacaerys. However, it was obvious that the war had changed his personality. Now, he was colder, far from the soft boy who once made you chuckle dancing with him in an almost clumsy way. Now, Jace just saw you as a prize won due to the war, even if you were his second wife. He had lost everyone, even Baela.

Not that he really loved her, but there was affection and protection there. Political marriages that turned into true affectionate feelings. If only Baela had not died during the labor of their stillborn son... Perhaps he would have truly loved her as time passed. Perhaps he would have heirs now and would not need to sleep with you. Or almost that.

"You are so fucking stand-off right now, My Queen." The King muttered mockingly, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he took another sip from the wine cup, motioning for you to approach the bed. With a sigh, you walk in silence, taking off your white nightgown you wore and sitting on his lap carefully, looking at him. Jace had intense marks spread across his body and face, scars that you wanted to caress if only he did not despise you as hell.

This adult version of him reminded you of your brother and ex-husband Aemond. The unexpected parallel between the uncle and the nephew was interesting. Both men missing one of their eyes. Aemond One-Eye, Jacaerys One-Eye. But there was no sapphire inside your current husband's eye socket. After reclaiming what was rightfully his, Jace ordered a black obsidian to be molded to fit there. A sadder version of your brother and ex-husband.

You missed Aemond, even if he was not a good husband and refused to breed you until the end of the war. Jacaerys missed Baela, even if he did not have any romantic feelings for her.

"I wish I could breed you with my heirs." Jace murmured, brushing away the silver hair that was in front of your face, taking in your delicate features for a moment. "I wonder if they would have silky light hairs like yours, or if they would be cursed with my dark hair."

His words made you curl into his lap, biting the lip to ward off a pained whining when he grabbed a handful of your silver strands, as if he wanted to rip them out completely and make you swallow every single one of them later. "I wish I still had my cock, then I would fuck you until your cunt swelled and was sore. I would hear you screaming and crying every night, begging me to stop hurting you while your tight little cunt would be constantly bleeding and milking me. And guess what? I would never stop. I WOULD NEVER STOP! I would be turned on seeing my seed leaking from all your holes and you screaming for my mercy just like the disgusting brothel whores."

The sickly macabre sentences caught you off guard and he pushed you under the bed, climbing on top of you, now without the sheets covering the absence of his cock, just the bad stitches and the almost huge nauseating scar where the Greens had ripped off his big and delightful penis. The length that Jacaerys always boasted about as a teenager. He would probably be the next Realm's Delight, just like his mother had been. But now all he had to content himself with was fucking you with his large fingers or his tongue, kissing you aggressively, always biting your lips or your breasts until they bleed, covered with light scars, just like he did with the whores from the brothels. "You should always be my own brood mare. I should force myself on you and make you carry my children every year until you learned to enjoy it. To enjoy me. TO LOVE ME!"

In that same second, as if he could read your mind, Jacaerys spat in the middle of your breasts and pinched your nipples with both hands between index fingers and thumbs, making you scream as he twisted them hard. "I should rip off your own nipples and make yourself eat them for dinner. I should fuck your nasty cunt with the blade of my sword until your womb tears, being disemboweled from the inside. I should kill you like your damn family killed mine." He shouted angrily, hitting your face once before squeezing your chin, forcing you to part your lips so he could spit the wine-tasting saliva onto your tongue. "SWALLOW IT! THIS IS AN ORDER FROM YOUR TRUE KING!"

He yelled, forcing you to obey after the next three slaps he gave you, without even letting you breathe. You swallowed his spit, your tears flowing in panic and your heart racing from it all. Jace's newly acquired cruelty was no longer a surprise to you, but sometimes your attempt at apathy faded and you let your sad emotions take control. You continued crying as the King spat in your face two more times, not even trying to clean up his disgusting mess on your cheeks and just allowing his hands to hurt your aching cunt, his slender fingers fucking you without any care, probably drawing blood while you bit your lip and closed your eyes, trying hard not to pay attention to anything. Trying hard not feeling anything or thinking about anything. Trying hard not to admire the scars on his handsome face or the dark jewel inside his empty eye.

You needed to keep Jaehaera safe. After the death of your sister Helaena, Jaehaera was no longer just your niece, she was also your daughter now. She was the only good thing in whole your life and you needed to protect her, even if it meant sacrificing your body and mind. You wondered if this was how your Lady Mother Alicent felt everytime your stupid father Viserys fucked her since she was just a teenager girl. In those years ago, did Alicent feel violated? Raped? Disgusted with her husband, with the world and mainly with herself? Did she also feel guilty and think she deserved those so cruel acts? But... did Alicent also feel empathy even about the man who hurt her?

Alicent Hightower was a broodmare for Viserys Targaryen. However, Jacaerys Velaryon could not procreate and get you pregnant with his seed. So you did not know what that made you. Just an object to be used and abused by him? Beaten until one day he finally had enough and murdered you? Until the little Aegon III getting older and inherits the Iron Throne due to his older brother's lack of heirs?

Would this be Jaehaera's fate too? Being just a Queen Consort and a whore inside the private chambers against her own will? Was this the fate of all women?

The hours passed in a blur, despite you being conscious the entire time, you decided to keep your thoughts empty and away from the cruel reality, preferring not to staring Jace. You did not realize how messy and filthy your face was with the King's saliva until you felt Jacaerys's hands caressing your cheeks with panic, trying to clean up the violence he made, his own fingers being full of your cum and the blood that had come out so much from your cunt and from your ass, both tight holes bleeding and hurting like the Seven Hells.

"Gods, I am so sorry." Jace sobbed, keeping to wipe your face. You saw how his eye became even more prettier filled with crystal clear tears, his cheeks red from crying. "I am so sorry, My Queen. I did not mean... I did not mean to be like this. I did not want to be a monster. I just want my family back. I just want to be able to be a good husband, I just want to be a father. I did not want to be that kind of King." Jacaerys hugged your tired and vulnerable form, his naked body shaking from the intense bout of crying as he searched your mouth to kiss you softly, as a way to compensate. The kiss tasted like tears, cum and blood. But you did not care. "Oh, Gods. Please, forgive me. Forgive me, aunt." You let him kiss you with some tenderness while he was apologizing in the midst of despair. You knew everything all too well. All of this would happen again in just a few days.

Jacaerys Velaryon had become the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and you had become his Queen Consort. Grief, sacrifice and pain carried the weight of crowns. The daily tragedies would happen forever until one of you died. This was the true destiny of the Greens and Blacks. There were never victors after the war. The eternal unhappiness was the only conquest.

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[enbyfvcker]

[Porn star puppy]

𝙒𝙖𝙙𝙚 𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙭 𝙇𝙤𝙜𝙖𝙣 (𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙩!𝙬𝙤𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙚)

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 1,8k

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮/𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩: Wade helps to distract his grumpy boyfriend from alcohol withdrawal by forcing orgasm after orgasm from him.

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙨: Smut, rim, anal sex, handjob, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, praise kink, slight degradation kink, hair pulling, sex tape, sub/dom subtones, bottom!logan, top!wade, fourth wall break.

It was a rough fucking day. When Logan normally tags along with Wade at his casual hit jobs, they don't usually stress him out so much. They just get the job done easy, peasy. Kill some bad guys, yada yada and all that. And it was nice to do something once in a while so that he wouldn't just rot in the apartment he now shared with his mouthy boyfriend and a blind old lady. (Logan was definitely not used to calling Wade that but it was a working progress. Besides, it has just been a few weeks since they put a name to what they have.)

But no, today drained him. He's been more testy lately if he actually thinks about it...

It was probably the fucking withdrawal. It was getting worse.

Turns out the cons of having a boyfriend now is that for once, when he acted like the self-destructive little shit that he is, he now felt like he was dragging Wade along. Fine, it wasn't really a con... It's just that Logan was used to being miserable, used to kicking himself down and drowning himself in bottles and bottles so he could escape from his own thoughts for a little while.

But Wade 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 cared. Wade cared, and Logan could see it whenever Wade took care of him when he'd come back to the apartment stumbling and barely able to hold himself up until he passed out on the couch after spending hours on a random bar. The seventh that he had been banned from in this universe already.

So maybe he hesitantly gave in and let the merc convince him to try and stay sober.

And fuck if it isn't hard as hell.

Logan was exhausted and pent up and grumpy and god he craved a drink more than anything. Several, actually.

But Wade... Well, he had his ways to distract and ease him. So it wasn't all bad.

Al was out for a date for plot convenience, and right now they were on the living room couch and Wade has his grumpy boyfriend with his back glued to his chest and grunting as Wade pumped his over-stimulated cock mercilessly. Logan's thighs were trembling, and he could barely form any coherent words, his eyes rolling back into his head as he rested it on Wade's shoulder and Wade was fucking mesmerized by the sight in front of him.

"You don't look so scary when you're all pliant and desperate in my arms, baby girl. You're just a little kitty cat, aren't you?" Wade coos in Logan's ear.

"Shut the f-fuck up-" Logan grunt in annoyance but Wade could feel his boyfriend's cock twitching in his fist and he couldn't help but smirk. Logan mind was dazed. He's lost count of how many orgasms Wade pulled out of him, his thighs and abs in a mess of his own cum. The pleasure was bordering on painful, and yet he couldn't get enough, his body overwhelmed and desperate for more. His healing factor aiding his torture, reliving his libido right after he thought he couldn't take anymore.

"Can't take you seriously when you look so sinful covered in your own juices, princess. God, you look pornographic. You think we should make amateur videos? I think they'd be a hit. The freaks reading this would surely eat it up."

"Wade-" Logan warns through gritted teeth. He lift his arm and his claws pricked out an inch and threatened to come out, but Logan's mind was too focused on the overwhelming stimulation to get them out properly.

"Ah, ah, ah. Down, boy." Wade scouts, tightening his fist on Logan's cock and using his other hand to rub the palm of it against the sensitive tip, earning a desperate whine from his lips, the claws coming back to his arms fully. "Behave."

Logan could hear the grin in Wade's voice and he wanted to fucking mutilate it out of his face, but he didn't had the energy to do much more than whimper like a bitch in heat.

"That's a good boy." Wade praises and Logan felt his cock throb at the words. "God, if you had a tail it'd be fucking wagging right now. That's it, peanut, take it like a good puppy."

"Fuck-" Logan growls, and his hips rut desperately into Wade's hand before he stills and shakes while another stream of thick ropes of cum paint his thighs. Wade 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 loved digging into Logan's praise kink.

Before he could even catch his breath he gasped out a strangled whine as Wade's hand returned to it's previous movements, unrelenting.

"W-Wade!" Logan cries out, his legs trembling.

"Tapping out already, baby girl? Come on, give me one more." The merc coos, licking and nipping at the back of his neck and suckling marks that desapeared in seconds. "Do you want me to stop?"

"N-No... Please," Logan whines and he hates how desperate he sounds, but he also don't fucking cares. Right now, his mind's all fuzzy and his inhibitions said goodbye long time ago. He felt safe with Wade, like he could just let go. "Don't."

Wade rewarded him by pumping faster, his free hand squeezing Logan's pec and pinching his nipple in a movement that made Logan arch his back and whimper, his ass rubbing against Wade's raging hard on. 𝘐𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘺.

"W-Wade, I..." Logan pants, his cheeks warming as he tries to find words that wouldn't make him want to blow up in shame.

"Hm?" He feels his boyfriend tightening the grip in his cock. "Use your words, peanut, go on."

"Shit- Wade... Want your cock." He moans, his cheeks flushing as he clench his fists tight. He could just feel Wade grinning behind him.

"Yeah? How do you want it, baby cheeks?"

"You know how." Logan grunts in response, whining when Wade slows down his hand almost to a stop, pumping in a torturing slow pace.

"Yeah, but I wanna hear you say it, baby."

"Just fuckin- Fuck me already before I impale you in my claws, jerk." He growls.

"Good enough." Wade shrugs with a grin and switches their position in a quick movement, putting Logan on all fours on the couch, making him gasp. "So pretty for me." Wade praised, spreading Logan's cheeks. "You're dripping all over my couch, baby girl."

"Stop fucking calling me th-" He's interrupted by his own groan as Wade dives in and licks his rim, opening him up with his togue, reaching as deep as he could. Logan cries out, not sure if it was too much or not enough. "Wade... stop fucking teasing me, just do it already before I regret it and rail 𝘺𝘰𝘶 instead."

"You're extra bossy today, huh?" Wade chuckles, giving one last lick before moving to grab a bottle of lube in his pants pocket and desposing of them right after, spilling the liquid over his lenght. "Don't worry, I'll turn your brain mushy soon enough, cutie. Be patient for daddy."

"I swear to fucking g- oh 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬." He growls as Wade slides in roughly, his initial grumpiness replaced by a rush of pleasure. Wade takes a punishing pace, forcing desperate moans and whimpers out of him. Logan's arms were trembling, and he slacked his torso onto the couch, his back arching in a filthy angle that has Wade drooling.

"God, I wish you could see yourself right now..." Wade grunts behind him, a clear grin on his voice. "All strong and tough and fucking slutty just for me. Such eye candy."

Wade looks into an invisible audience and grins. "Yeah, I'm talking Hugh Fucking Jackman on all fours in the goddamn void level type shit, but like 10 times better."

Logan snarled but he could barely think of a retort to reprimand Wade, his mind buzzing in pleasure, lewd moans escaping from his lips that would have him blushing if he weren't completely cock drunk right now. He could feel himself leaking pre-cum at the merc's words and 𝘨𝘰𝘥 he feels pathetic, but he fucking likes it.

He shivered as he heard a goddam camera sound behind him and when he turned his head to the side he saw Wade grabbed his fucking phone and was taking pictures of him in this position, and it really shouldn't have sent all his blood straight to his cock the way it did.

"The fuck are you doing, bub?"

"Oh this one's definitely going to my wank material album." Wade just smirked in response.

"I'm gonna rip your fucking fingers out-" He moans loudly when Wade grabs his hair in his fist and tugs it back, arching Logan's back even more. Fireworks pop inside Logan's head as Wade's cock hit his prostate and brushes against it over and over in a quick pace.

"Shh, now kitty, just take it." Wade moans as he presses the record button. "My little porn star, so fucking hot."

"Shit- fuck, fuck, fuck," Logan whimpers, his cock twitching repeatedly, his balls growing tighter as his body prepares for yet another orgasm, probably the fifth of the night or something, he wasn't sure.

"Go on, Wolvie. Show me the good little cockwhore you are for me, kitten.

"Gonna cum, gonna-" A series of whines leaves his throat. His claws come out in a flash and dig into the cushions as he paints the couch with his seed, his eyes rolling back at the intense wave of pleasure hitting him like a train.

"God-" Wade wasn't far behind. He gaps and thrusts roughly a couple more times before spilling inside Logan with a desperate moan, as if he's been holding back just to bring his boyfriend to the edge first.

Logan was now boneless in the couch, his mind fully empty as he swims in the afterglow. He wasn't thinking or worrying or craving any drink, and it just felt like heaven. When his heartbeat comes back to normal he unsheathed his claws from the poor couch, sliding them back into his skin.

After a few seconds catching his breath, Wade pulls out with a grunt and records with a smirk as his cum leaks out of Logan's puffy hole before tossing his phone aside. He leans down and wrap his arms around Logan, settling them until they're spooning in the cum soaked couch, barely fitting them both layed like this.

"We should get up and clean this mess before Althea gets home wonder why the house smells like bleach." Logan sighs gruffly, but he doesn't make any move to leave, his body too exhausted.

"Mhmm. Just five more minutes, mom."

Logan roll his eyes.

"God, you're insufferable."

"Yeah, well, you love me anyway, peanut."

And he doesn't reply anything, not a mean retort or an annoyed growl because it was true.

He does love this idiot.

[haine-kleine]

after sitting with my thoughts about the epilogue for some time, I think the thing that broke the story had started right after Dabi's dance. said thing is LOV' utterly out of character treatment of each other and Shigaraki specifically.

them just standing there and passively observing the scene makes absolutely zero sense, if you use anything from their previously established relationships within the organisation for reference. especially with All for One's creepy comments. Spinner even points out shortly before this chapter that AFO!Shigaraki seems nothing like his normal self and this person is not the one he had chosen to follow.

and yes, Spinner does approach screaming Shigaraki and tries to help him, and his concern later leads him to seeing Shigaraki's mutated form in the cave, and on its own this development for Spinner is in line with his character and all around fine. pretty reminiscent of Toga and Twice, too.

(except Spinner is not allowed to really help Shigaraki in any way, unlike Toga was allowed to help Twice, and this entire thing between Shigaraki and Spinner only ends with Spinner's regrets and survivor's guilt instead of anything good or meaningful that isn't meaningless angst porn)

it isn't Spinner approaching Shigaraki that is the issue, it's the other's complete lack of action or even reaction besides appearing mildly disturbed. this is simply out of character for all of them, just judging by Twice's example who had similar breakdowns and wasn't plainly ignored by the others until his fit stops. this reaction makes even less sense, when you take into account the current state of the League. Twice had just been murdered by Hawks, the double agent who had infiltrated the League via Dabi, and Mister Compress had just sacrificed himself to give the League a chance for escape, and was sent to Tartarus immediately after his condition was no longer life threatening. Kurogiri is also being held captive by the heroes. there are only four of them left, with two dead and two captured. and none of them even mention the dead or the captured outside of the context of Kurogiri and his quirk.

this straight out makes no sense if you look back to the Overhaul arc and remember how far Shigaraki and the rest of them were willing to go to avenge Magne's death and Mr Compress' destroyed arm. this was important.

the event had motivated Shigaraki to be a better leader, because he had realized these people depend on him, and he won't let them be hurt under his protection. it had started the seed of self-doubt in Jin which would eventually grow to the desperation that allowed him to overcome the mental block against his quirk in the MVA arc, because he wanted to do everything he possibly could to help the League. it allowed him to make his clones despite the crippling trauma, because he saw Toga's hurt, bleeding body, and he didn't want her to die.

even fucking Giran, a broker whose very profession requires him to care about himself and his own well-being first and foremost, had sacrificed all of his fingers to prevent Redestro from getting his hands on the League. because he wants to protect them, to save them. and then we never actually see his mutilated hands or hear anything from him ever again.

and when Twice actually dies? all we get in response to that are two upset faces from Dabi and Toga's fury. that's it.

i really want to stress how out of character this barely-present reaction is, because Magne's example is right there and when Overhaul had killed her, the League knew each other for no longer than a month. this League has been together for at least half a year, had been through thick and thin together, had spent months on the run, homeless, having no one but each other to rely on, has defeated the Meta Liberation Army, quite literally, with the power of their friendship. they all cared enough about each other and Shigaraki specifically to stay with him during those months they had to fight Gigantomachia with barely any breaks for rest, still homeless, barely scraping by. it was imperative that they all survive through this together, especially for Shigaraki, who had went on this quest of getting stronger at least partly so that he would become a more reliable protector for the League. and when Twice falls victim to the hero who had murdered him in cold blood, because no one except for Dabi was there to save him, Shigaraki doesn't even get to react to Twice's death, and possibly never even learns about the fact.

on topic of Dabi, his reaction being exactly two frames of sad expressions and including the footage of Twice's murder into his broadcast, and ending immediately after that, also makes no sense. Dabi is someone who holds himself accountable and despite his declarations, cares about the League, it's the very reason he was keeping Hawks from the League and sprinted to Twice as soon as he realized Hawks' intentions with him, to protect him. Dabi's unsuccessful attempt to save Twice is another iteration of Overhaul, a combination of Shigaraki and Twice's roles in the tragedy. but unlike Shigaraki, who had steeled himself into taking care of his subordinates and becoming a responsible and strong leader, or Twice who had never forgotten about his role in the incident, Dabi just somehow forgets about the entire thing as soon as the first war is over. Toga is the one whom the narrative allows to actively react to Twice's death and express her grief. it makes sense that her reaction would be the strongest, as she was the closest with Twice, but why are two LOV members no longer allowed to care about the same incident at the same time? why aren't they allowed to protect each other anymore, when Giran, who is not even in the League, had made that sacrifice for them?

These are pretty small things, but it's these instances of Toga and Dabi preventing Machia from being injected with the sedative, protecting the League that are sorely missing in the second war.

and the biggest act of devotion and protection to the League, which was the last time we saw anything like this for them, Mister Compress' last moments with the League.

Mutilating his own body just to buy them five seconds to possibly escape. Because he loved the League, because he wanted all of them to be happy and achieve their dreams, to be free, and to live.

and in return for the favour, not only do they not come back for him like they did for Kurogiri (because his quirk is important for the plot, while Compress' isn't), but none of them mention Compress ever again. same with Twice (with the exception of Toga), same with Magne. from this point onwards, none of them are allowed by the plot to even care about the League of Villains. the interpersonal relationships between two individuals still shine through, occasionally, like Spinner's devotion to Shigaraki (and him alone), Dabi and Toga's pyromaniac trauma lane visit to her house and him giving her Twice's blood, Kurogiri reaching out to Shigaraki in the very end. but what about the League? ahd what about the dead members of the League, or Mister Compress?

somehow, at the point of the final war it boils down to the generalized conflict of heroes vs villains and the morality gymnastics involved in the concept. on its own, this would have been an okay development, if the examples the story was using to prove its point weren't people who had become very close friends and who had lost four people to this war against the heroes.

if the individual conflicts, like Toga's desperation to be acknowledged as human being deserving of affection, Dabi's familial abuse trauma and Shigaraki's lifelong manipulation by All for One not giving him any chance to be saved at all, were the finishing line of the villains' story development, why join them within the League at all? LOV is a separate concept functioning as a collective uniting all these villains, giving them a place to belong and people who give a fuck whether they live or die. except not anymore, because for some reason after the first war this concept is scratched completely.

so why not make them mere acquaintances who sometimes collaborate to bother the heroes together, if the bond between them got in the way of the story and wasn't the point of the story? why prove the depth of their bond with the Overhaul and My Villain Academia arcs? why make Shigaraki develop relationships and a sense of responsibility for these people at all, if in the very end his desire to save these people is denied by the author himself?

the previous arcs have spent a great deal of effort establishing that the villains are human too. they have human feelings, human desires and human relationships. so why is it that in the final arc their ability to experience human emotions towards each other is turned on and off manually by the author? at the very end even the author stops pretending like anything happening to the villains is evaluated on the scale of human experiences (unlike the heroes, whose injuries and deaths are talked about and mourned in great detail) and Kurogiri and Shigaraki are wiped out like plot inconveniences rather than important and well written characters.

honestly? it's ironically meta that the story ended up proving the very point it has spent 400 chapters arguing against.

[osamucide]

Hi! I love your writing sm!!🥰 can I request a jealous Nikolai or Fyodor (nsfw pls) it doesn’t matter either one 🙏

jealous – nikolai gogol + fyodor dostoevsky . . . .ᐟ

NSFW CONTENT - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

wc: 1.5k

cw: explicit sexual content, gn!reader, language, dirty talk, brief mentions of ownership/belonging, toxic ass men. nikolai: mentions of injury/threats/murder, edging mention, oral (m!receiving), rough facefucking, wrist restraints, cum eating, nicknames (dovey, angel, sweetheart; kolya for him); fyodor: teasing, mild degradation, mild spanking, one religious reference, fingering, penetration, i love yous, nicknames (pretty, my love, whore, милашка/milashka=cutie; fedya, my only/everything for him)

reid: hey anon, thank you so much for the kind words uwu why not both?? inspo for this struck me as hcs/scenario format, hope that's okay <3 this is my first time ever writing for nikolai! he's so insane and he was actually a lot of fun to take a shot at. enjoy!

. . . .ᐟ

i can see NIKOLAI being easily made jealous.

even if you don't mean to provoke it, he's got a screw or two loose enough that his paranoia will get the better of him

and in true nikolai nature, he'll do some unhinged shit in the name of protecting his relationship with you.

he definitely maimed, shot, and mutilated a couple innocent flirters before you could really sit down with him and express how much you...disliked that methodology.

he does not play about you.

he gets better about it further into your relationship - no more murder on your behalf, you tell him, and he can manage that much! with this man, however, the unfortunate soul who fucketh around shall still findeth out.

oh, how he enjoys the look on the handsy stranger's face when he slinks up behind you to curl around your waist and portal-hold the tip of a blade to their chin

likes your reaction even more!

the way you squeeze his arm when you realize it's just your beloved jester behind you -

the blush on your face as you explain to the scum that this is your dear boyfriend (and apologize for the knife pointed at their face) -

the smooch you whip around to press to nikolai's cheek while he withdraws the weapon but never breaks eye contact with the stranger as they back away -

it all works like a charm!

what he loves most, though, comes later...

He's been edging himself with your mouth for god knows how long.

"If other bitches get to hear you talk, it's gonna be with that pretty voice wrecked," Nikolai groans, out of breath. "Feels- ngh, s'fuckin' good."

You can barely take it anymore. The blood's rushing to your head, first of all - it's been hanging off the edge of the bed practically since the minute you got home. Your jaw aches as Nikolai continues to use your throat. Most frustrating, though, is the pulsing heat between your legs that you can't even sate because your lover has bound your wrists up near your chest - all you can do is arch when, off and on, Nikolai reaches down to play with you while he fucks your mouth.

But he's getting needy, you can tell, because he loses himself a bit - he hasn't touched you in a good few minutes and his thrusts are getting greedier. He's long quit letting you come up for air. You think you've run out of tears - all you can do is breathe furiosly through your nose as he holds each side of your head and grunts from his chest as he ruins you.

You claw at him. "So good, dovey," he tells you, "almost done. Keep bein' good f'me- yeah."

You move your tongue how you can, hum around him when you can - eventually your dedication is rewarded when he pulls all the way out and strokes himself frantically over your tongue - and you cough a little, curling up into yourself.

You can hardly help your open-mouthed smile, however, when Nikolai releases the rough grip on your jaw to caress your cheek as he cums in thick spurts across your face. Your lashes flutter, he's moaning - "fuck, angel- angh!" - and you let out the garbled beginnings of a giggle as you lap up what makes it in your mouth.

You feel him scoop his load off your skin before his finger's in your mouth. Immediatley after you suck the rest of him down, he's bending down to kiss you sloppily and uncuff your wrists.

"That's my dovey," he affirms (more to himself than you). He peppers your face with kisses, his messy, snowy bangs brushing your face. "C'mere."

He works you upright just to lay you back down, more comfortably this time, finally and with fervor circling his fingers around your clenching hole.

"Kolya-" you rasp, sore.

"Took me so good, sweetheart," Nikolai shushes you, eyes alight with mania as he starts trailing kisses from your neck to your stomach. "Now that you remember who owns you, 'm gonna show you none of those motherfuckers could make you feel as good as I can."

. . . .ᐟ

oh, demon FYODOR.

i think he's less jealous than he is simply possessive.

he's not super concerned about people flirting with you, doing things for you, checking you out...in fact, he kind of likes watching those things happen! not that he doesn't expect it, you're perfect after all <3

because he knows, as you settle in his arms to whisper about the compliment you received or giggle at the person who offered to pay for your coffee, none of it will ever compare to the sweet words and pure love he showers you with, and he relishes in that fact. they can try anything they want, but you will never belong to anyone but him.

doesn't go needlessly far with expressing his jealousy when it does crop up - he's a tactful man, and he's not going to act out in a way that might put you off like nikolai will

he's patient, too. he's so composed around others. no one expects it - anyone who doesn't know better would assume the idiot who makes a pass at the demon king's beloved would get the whole room aired out in a matter of seconds

on the contrary, fyodor will sit with the closest he can get to a humorous grin on his face while he waits for you to make your way over and kiss him or sit on his lap or hook your arms around his waist

he'll tease you a little about it. "getting some attention?"

if you smile at him reassuringly, lean in, and tell him, "none that truly concerns me," all will be peaceful.

if you tease him back, however - maybe cross your legs away from him and shoot him a smirk and a quick "maybe so" - oh yeah, you're in for it.

He works you up, makes you a mess - then he throws it in your face.

"My gosh, милашка-" He doesn't take the Lord's name in vain even while he's drawing downright sinful noises from your body. "-listen to yourself. Shameless."

Fyodor's a patient man, as mentioned before; he uses it to his advantage in situations like this. He's stretching you out on his lithe fingers, slowly, almost painfully - his other hand traverses your thigh, landing a hard spank to the side of your ass each time you roll your hips unwillingly. You really can't help it either way - you have to watch and feel his pretty, pale fingers disappear into your hole, so it's either squirm and get smacked or whine and get mocked.

You're in a lose-lose situation, it seems. It felt amazing at first, the slow curl of his knuckles inside you, the gentle circling of his wrist, the concentrated sighs that left his rosy lips as he watched you relax into his touch, but now it's just torture. Now, you can only clench furiously and cry out please, please, just a little faster, Fedya, please!

Your eyes water when he finally gives in a little, moving fractionally faster.

"Do you deserve it, my love?" He cocks his head, looking at you as if he really values your opinion on the matter. "Or, my whore - since you're comfortable entertaining the advances of strangers."

You weren't, you must've sworn up and down ten times by now. You were being polite, you promise, but he shakes his head, his soft black locks waving as if mocking you too.

"Polite? You're lucky I haven't forced that filthy mouth shut. That's what got you here, after all," Fyodor explains excruciatingly. Sure, you got a little sassy with him after he accused you of being just that, a whore, after you'd flashed a humble smile toward the fellow restaurant patron who'd sent you a drink. And sure, that was tone deaf of them, considering Fyodor was very clearly holding your hand across the table and sporting your love bites on his neck, but you just couldn't be rude.

His eyes soften when a fat tear rolls down your cheek.

"Oh, pretty, don't cry." He shifts his legs beneath himself; his pace stays the same, but he reaches deeper inside you. "You remember who you're talking to, yes? You learn your lesson?"

You nod frantically. You whimper. "Of course, of course, Fedya, my only, ‘m sorry..."

You yelp like you've been burnt when he pulls his fingers out of you, but soon enough his hand is gripping your waist, his tip is teasing your entrance, and he's cooing into your ear, "Your only. You only love me, right? Say it."

You cup his face, grab at his shoulders, grind into him as you tearily reply, "Only love you, Fedya. I love you. You're my everything, please. My everything. I love you."

He knows you do. He just has to make you say it - make sure you know you do.

Fyodor's tongue finds yours as he thrusts into you - you're his everything, too, and he won't admit that, but he'll fuck you so good you know it's true.

"Relax, my love. Let me make you cum."

[sanemisstalker]

NSFW // KNY characters that are serial humpers. There's nothing they won't rub themselves on for just a small chance to get off.

CW: GN Reader/ Both Genitals reffered to/ specific CW will be before each character so you can peruse as you see fit.

Karaku

Object Of choice : Anything and Everything.

CW: Genital Mutilation (he gets curious, no scene), Dub-con/Non-con, Somnophilia.

-While I think all of the Clones have a bit of a problem keeping it to themselves, I think Karaku, being, you know, the pleasure clone, is most certainly a cum chaser.

-He can barely keep his hand out of his pants in public, all but physically refuses to hide his boners, and, worst of all, you can't keep underwear in one piece, on, or even around.

-This man is disgusting. The only difference between him and the others is that he's unabashed about it. You'd think the honesty would help, but it just doesn't. Not after he's torn through your last set of undergarments and now what?

-'So what? I don't wear anything- eh? What do you mean it's digusting?!'

-He's so proud about it too, it's almost disheartening.

-Is not gentle with his dick. It can just regrow, I'm sure he's done- awful things to it.

-I think that pleasure thing comes at a cost. It's a signifier of Hantengu's lack of impulse control. Karaku probably can't stop himself, even if he wants to, which he never would because lusting is his only purpose.

-Everything is made to read as innately sexual to him- doesn't matter if it's your fist or a cheese grater- He's experimental with his nerves to a self destructive degree.

-'I didn't intend to cut it off- no! I saw a photo of a man that flayed it o- Hey! It's not that bad! Just liste- It'll fix itself soon!'

-I don't know what else He'd do other than jack off, or try and convince the other clones to jack off. I don't think he has- hobbies?

-Definitely tries to hump you in your sleep. If you don't wake up to him jerking off, you're waking up to him trying to slip between your thighs.

-'I just got horny- no no- just go back t- hey, no, you're not allowed to leave? Come back! Y/N!'

Aizetsu

Object of Choice : Your thigh

CW: Severe Depression / BDSM Dynamics (Severe degradation, both self and inflicted) (Aizetsu receiving)

-What a miserable fuck, he doesn't know what to do with himself half the time, so when he gets horny he just cries and begs.

-He's a manifestation of every awful thought Hantengu ever had in that big ol' head of his. Aizetsu just drips with the most gut wrenching, vomit inducing level of self-hatred you've ever seen anytime you're intimate.

-you begin to wonder if being talked down to appeals to him more than he'd like to admit.

-He's like a dog when he asks, because, at the end of the day, he's still Hantengu, a selfish bastard who self serves. Aizetsu just doesn't have the joy receptors for it- his nerves jump at the bud for any impulse they can fufill.

-When you let him ride your thigh, because he's pathetic, and he looked so... him asking, it became his favourite thing. Ever.

-When you two are alone, he'll just beg for it out loud. He has no self respect. So much shame that he'll never conquer.

-'Please, please- Y/N- I- I'll do whatever you want me to. You're the only person I can do this with, they'll all- laugh at me- please please- I'm sorry, I know, I'm- God I'm worthless- I can't do anything in return, nothing will be good enough-'

-he's practically jerking himself off on your calve as he spews his self hate. You might as well give in.

-When you're infront of the other clones, he'll tug at the edge of whatever you're wearing. They all toss him hauty looks. They're disgusted by him, too. He likes humping your thigh more than his dignity infront of his fellow cluster, I guess.

-Maybe he's... a bit of a.... a lot of a masochist. You stare at him like he's dirt, there. He's a grown man humping your thigh- drool spilling out of his mouth.

-'I'm- I'm sorry I- oh god- please don't hate me- please don't hate me- please please-'

-'You're pathetic. You can't make me cum, but you have no problem mak- did you just cum again? Are you cumming right now? In your pants?... Are you serious?'

-You could easily have him wailing in minutes, maybe even seconds if you hit the right nerve. And the whole time he'll just be thrusting away, chasing his own pleasure against your skin because that's all he knows how to do.

-Push him off right as he's cumming and ruin his orgasm, he doesn't deserve to feel good (The abuse will just make him cum harder)

Kaigaku

Object Of Choice: You.

CW: Mention of Trad Wives

-Listen, I know we have a lot of Kaigaku haters in the crowd. I, however, see a man with a choker, and I see a potential slut. Give him his moment.

-I think Kaigaku would be a very selfish lover, obviously, but I don't think this is in natural capacity for him. I think he's like, brainwashed by societies standards of what attracts him, especially in a relationship.

-You know when you see a 'sigma' guy that's really upset his trad wife who he specifically picked out for being trad won't do anal? That's Kaigaku.

-So he's really, really upset when you won't put out.

-You see a chance, though. A chance for a life lesson.

-Kaigaku is allowed to fuck you... just not really fuck you. He's allowed to use your hand. He's allowed to use your thighs. He can rut in between your pussy lips/ up and down your shaft-

-He is not allowed in you. And it lights him up.

-'Thats a stupid rule! You think I'm not enough? Are you fucking someone else? Are you making fun of me?!' He'd probably try to insight a screaming match for a week, but you just won't give in-

-Fine. Whatever. He just won't touch you, won't talk to you- won't-

-The first time Kaigaku slides in between your thighs, he swears he sees stars. It'd been weeks... probably the longest he's ever held off on an impulse. Hadn't jerked off either, He'd been too pissed.

-Its there, in that little space between your sex and the top of your thighs, that Kaigaku finds God. At least he thinks it's god. It's got to be. He's never cum so hard in his life.

-Kaigaku becomes almost... willingly obedient. He continues to pretend he's so inconvenienced by the whole thing, but then he's sliding into your fist, and the world is just sliding away.

-I have a very specific image of standing infront of him, and him trying to angle his dick to slide in your underwear. He's really awkward, and he's struggling to stay upright because he's got to bend his knees to meet your cunt/cock- and it's just not working, but that's the only way you'd let him get off on you that day-

-It like, kind of gives me the ick thinking about him doing it, but also like- Aw? He'll literally do anything to get off now? You broke him?

-'I can't- it- it's too hard-' He'd mumble, voice sounding particularly defeated. 'I just- I want to cum-'

-'Too bad.' You'd go to walk away, and He'd jerk off on the floor, pissed as hell. He wouldn't be able to cum and that'd just make him angrier, because now he has to go beg his partner, who he's whipped for, to please let him use their pussy/dick again-

-He's like, never been this needy before, though. He's not supposed to want to chase you. He's supposed to have people throwing themselves at him- It's kind of... exciting, to be denied.

-You know, guys that whimper are really cool, but idk, I think Kaigaku's a whiner. I think he whines and groans and it's really unsightly but??? There's something so appealing about it? Like, he's so big and strong and his ego is so inflated, and he's just toppling for you?

Enmu

Object of Choice : Your pillow

CW: Enmu / Crossing of explicit sexual boundaries.

-Listen, he's not right in the head. Enmu never claimed to be right in the head, either, but he's particularly fond of cumming on your pillow. Not just humping it, cumming on it. He doesn't really know why either.

-'It just feels right, I think.' He'd reason.

-'Do you want to- cum in my hair? On my face-'

'No, I want to cum on your pillow. It's where you sleep.' Thats the only explanation you get from him. He cannot articulate anymore.

-He doesn't even think about it when he's doing it. He's just got one leg hiked up on the bed, a thumb pressing the head of his cock into the plush, and he's just thrusting- almost blind.

-He doesn't ever remember the build up to getting there, or what in his brain is satisfied by doing this, but if he doesn't do it, something... off will happen, he's sure.

-You catch him, one day. You thought he was just cumming on it- no, he's got his full weight in his pelvis, pitching his hips forward with all his might. You didn't even know Enmu could physically do such a thing.

-He's not weak, obviously. He's a demon, but you all rarely have sex where he's the one leading, so it's a bit of a shock to watch him be so... rough with the fabric.

-He's almost in a trance, it's kind of scary, until he cums, and he covers his mouth with both hands, and his hole body shakes. The fucker knows he has to keep this silent...

-Maybe you're...Maybe you're not right in the head either, because you really, really want to be that pillow.

This might have a part 2, because i think Mitsuri would be prone to this.

[auspicioustidings]

Kinktober Day 21

Moniker: Nikto, Mace Risk Level: High. Both are permanent residents of the Kennel. Brief: Tattoo, riding Safeword: Refer to first brief.

Don’t worry, the tattoo isn’t for you. We’ve got your back - Price

Give him hell princess - Ghost

The longer you looked at his face, the more fascinating you found it.

You had made a little noise of distress at first which you were horrified with yourself about. You worked with soldiers for fuck sake, you knew how it hurt people to react to mutilations the way you had.

So you shook off the shock and followed Mace’s gestured instruction to climb up and straddle Nikto where he was laid down on a black gurney.

It was almost too easy to slid down onto his cock, your pussy too eager for the comfort of that stretch and fullness. You liked how he fit enough that you were almost annoyed that this was the first time he was inside your pussy.

“You move and you’ll fuck it up ruskie, you stay still and let our girl ride” Mace said as he turned on his tattoo gun and pressed it up to Nikto’s forearm in concentration.

You weren’t sure what he was getting tattooed, didn’t ask, you were too busy staring at his face as his eyes tried to follow yours, tried to figure out what was going on in your mind as you gazed down at the monster.

He must have been handsome once. The right side of his face still was. Classically masculine bone structure, sharp jawline, nose that only gained character from the bumps that came from healed breaks. The left side it was difficult to look at initially.

But as you stared and started to roll your hips to take your pleasure from him, you found you couldn’t tear your eyes away. The skin was twisted, melted. It looked like burnt plastic that fingers had sunken into and squeezed while it was hot enough to be malleable. His mouth twisted up into a permanent pained smile, teeth visible through the places on his cheek that had entirely melted away to leave a gap.

There was still hair on the right side of his head, thick and black and glossy. The rest of his skull was just gnarled scar tissue. You carefully took one hand off his chest to touch a lock of his hair and felt his cock twitch inside of you as his eyes kept desperately searching yours.

“It’s soft” you said, playing with the lock before smoothing it behind his good ear.

Mace laughed and you ignored him, fucking child. The buzz of the needle was still going but you ignored that too. You were fixated on the man underneath you.

His eyes stayed fixed on yours when you moved your other hand to touch the left side of his face, feel that mutilated flesh beneath your fingers. His face sought your palm, his eyes unfocusing as he gave himself over to your care completely.

And fuck the power you felt from that. Having this predator underneath you, your cunt clenching around him and the weight of his face pressed into your hand with all the adoration of a bull in love with a butcher.

Nikto was struggling not to surge up and grab you by the looks of how he tensed, Mace giving and exasperated sigh as he waited for him to relax his arm again so he could continue. It must be difficult for him you thought to not be in control of you, to be in your control instead.

You held yourself sunk down on him, his cock nestled deep inside you, and leaned down to kiss him. It felt strange, half of his lips like any other but the rest feeling like wet wax beneath your touch. You could feel how his cock throbbed and pulsed in reaction to such a simple little kiss. How long had it been since somebody kissed him?

“Careful sweet thing, you treat that mongrel too nice and you’ll never be rid of him” Mace said.

You sat back up and sent him a short glare. He responded with a grin and quickly swept forward to lick across your lips, gathering up the saliva there from your kiss with Nikto and swallowing it which cause the man beneath you to growl.

“Don’t believe me? That’s the tattoo done.”

Now that Nikto was able he grabbed your hips and started rolling up into you. You were maybe a little surprised that he didn’t take full control, didn’t flip you over.But it was fucking beautiful being able to ride him and have him help you do it. He was beautiful.

He surprised you again when he carefully played with your clit, a little uncertain. He had never paid any attention to your pleasure before and you got the feeling that it was an uncommon event in general given how clumsy his fingers were, but you were so hyped up on what felt like a visceral experience that you didn’t need him to be an expert to get off.

He held off, you felt it in how he twitched inside you that he was fighting his orgasm, waiting for you to get there first. It stupidly seemed a sweet gesture to you and you softly cried as your crested and shattered gently on top of him.

Nikto sat up as your walls massaged him and held you tight to him, his face right up against yours as he muttered soft words in Russian and spilled inside of you.

When you caught you breath you looked at his forearm where the bite you had left on him last time was now there permanently, the blooming bruise of it healing immortalised in ink.

Velikan slipped in at some point and slowly coaxed Nikto away from you so Price could take you away. You caught his eye as you were leaving and feared that Mace was probably right with that warning. You weren’t sure Nikto would ever let you go.

[its-not-a-pen]

eunuch rating system: part 2 electric boogaloo! part 1 based on the original post by @welcometothejianghu wherein i continue to rate REAL historical chinese eunuchs! this is a non-exhaustive list and there's honestly no metric to it. i just pick the guys i like.

Han Dynasty (yes, again. the Han was like 400 years long lol) Cao Teng was a pretty normal guy whose biggest claim to fame is his extremely infamous grandson, Cao Cao. Because of this, Cao Teng is the only enunch in chinese history to get a royal title; Emperor Gao of Wei, which was granted posthumerously through Cao Cao’s grandson Cao Rui.

Cao Teng was a good judge of character who promoted a bunch of famous people, one of whom was a guy who had even tried to impeach him previously. After 30 years of service, he retired, got married, and adopted a son. 

i decided to put him on the list because the common perception of the eunuch is a "mutilated" man living a lonely, unfulfilled life. What is often left out is they are highly motivated people who excel at their jobs, exert a lot of influence, and are able to have families and leave a legacy.

the majority of eunuchs came from poor families, and serving at the palace gave them an opportunity to obtain wealth, status and an education they would otherwise never have access to. it does require an unimaginably painful sacrifice, but that shouldn't be the only thing that defines them.

Cao Teng's hard work benefited his entire clan and lifted them out of poverty. But there was a complex interplay between him being a venerable ancestor, and someone marked by the stigma of castration. I imagine there was something bittersweet here for Cao Teng, knowing that he had done so much for his family, but they would rather he didn't exist.

Cao Cao was able to become a prime minister because of the wealth, connections, and education earned by his grandfather. At the same time, he appeared to resent him. The source of his ancestory was a sore spot which was repeatedly brought up by his political enemies to discredit him, something he never commented directly on or attempted to defend.

ming dynasty

MAKE SOME FUCKING NOISE FOR THE COOLEST PERSON IN THE MING DYNASTY!!!! actually scratch that, MAKE SOME FUCKING NOISE FOR THE COOLEST PERSON IN CHINESE HISTORY, PERIOD.

Zheng He was born Ma He to muslims living in Yunan, which was ruled by Mongols at the time. He was captured by the Ming army between the age of 10-14, castrated, and given to the young Yongle Emperor as a servant. Incredibly enough, he was like "no hard feelings mate" and went on to work in EVERY SINGLE JOB. and kick absolute ass in ALL OF THEM. he started out as a soldier on the northern frontier (the toughest place to serve, that was where all the border conflicts were) and fought in several campaigns with the future emperor, distinguishing himself and earning the emperor's trust.

I originally had him drawn in a more stereotypically "heroic" pose, by all accounts he was a tough guy who "walked like a tiger", and while the main purpose of the Ming voyages were diplomatic, he didn't shy away from violence. (he fought PIRATES. like a fucking shonen protagonist). in the end i decided to go with a picture that showcases less celebrated but equally important leadership qualities like curiosity, patience and discipline. I also want to point out that he wasn't the only eunuch on the trip, around half of the commanding officers were also eunuchs. He wasn't an exception to the rule but rather the face of a largely ignored majority; complicated people who were making the most of a difficult job.

Notes: the giraffe he brought back didn't have a name (at least not on record), but the Ming thought it was a qilin (kinda like a chinese unicorn) and i thought that would be an adorable name for a giraffe.

Ming Dynasty

i feel like we've had too much nuance, so lets finish this list off with a properly corrupt and scheming enunch! Wei Zhongxian castrated himself at age 21 to escape his gambling debts, and it unleashed his potiential like Rock Lee removing his leg weights. once inside the palace, he started out as a minor kitchen hand but managed to hustle his way to being the right hand of the emperor, who was an indifferent ruler that prefered woodworking to running a country. for this reason, I decided to make him a ventriloquist dummy.

Wei Zhongxian then proceeded to go on an extravagant and over-compensating ego trip. actually, it was more like a 40-year-long, olympic worthy, ego-long jump. things came to a terrible end when he tried to stage a coup (it failed and he decided not to hang around the capital, and go hang on some rafters instead). by then, decades of corruption had weakened the Ming, the emperor's only son got exploded in horrible incident that also wiped out most of the Ming Dynasty munitions--and what's this? here comes the Qing Dynasty with a steel chair!!!! notes: I decided to make Wei Zhongxian's design a human version of my cat, because he is also an incredibly devious but rather low-wisdom individial.

[akshstudios]

You Never Walk Alone | BTS

[ pairing ] werewolf!bts × you (fem!reader)

Chapter Two ➵ Within Bangtan’s Embrace: Dashing Savior and the Goddess’s Blessing

[ collection ] [ ot7!bts × reader stories masterlist ] this story is one of my ot7!bts × reader stories collection.

》》 previous ■ masterlist ■ next 《《

[ genre ] werewolf au × mate au × supernatural au × strangers to lovers au ( angst × romance × fluff × supernatural )

[ rating ] mature-rated

[ warnings ] vampires exist. mentions of blood. consumption of blood and human remains. human body mutilation. badly written action scenes. death of loved ones. talks about insanity, cults, mass-psychosis and serial killings. the reader is found extremely hurt and almost dead. bites are a constant mention.

[ author’s forenote ] i am sorry for being away, life was fucked in all areas. for now, think of this as an apology, and enjoy! a bit of a filler chapter, speed-running through recovery, and slightly jin-focused. please let me know what you think.

Chapter Two ➵ Within Bangtan’s Embrace: Dashing Savior and the Goddess’s Blessing

[ chapter summary ] what happens after jin finds you till you are recovered enough to meet all the boys.

"She's my mate."

Jin's body shakes in anguish as he pulls you to him, trying to comfort you with his warmth, repeating himself over and over again.

"She's my mate!" He howled and screamed in pain. He sobs harder, trying to warm you and caressing your cheek to wake you up somehow.

"Lo-love, wake up," He cries harder, tears falling over your skin. "Please, wake up."

Hoseok stands behind Jin, stunned for a few good seconds before he's had the mind to reach out to his brothers through his mind-link.

The boys on the other side are in a state of utter panic at not being able to reach the two.

"We can't reach Jin-Hyung! Is he okay?"

"What happened?"

"Are you alright?

"Did you get attacked?"

"Why can't we reach Jin-Hyung?"

"Is Jin-Hyung okay? Are you okay?"

His brothers were yelling through the link. He's almost sure some have already entered the building, trying to reach them.

"What happened to him?! His scent and heart are going crazy!" Jimin sounded anxious, "I'm coming in."

"Jin-Hyung," Hoseok takes a breath, "—he-he found his mate." Hoseok relays through the mind-link, "We need you here, Yoongi-Hyung. She—" He pauses before continuing again, "She looks dead." He winced, the thought sending his mind on a wild negative drive.

"I'm already inside, stay exactly where you are!" Yoongi demands, led inside by Jimin, following Jin's distressed scent and throwing quick orders for the boys outside.

"What?!" Hoseok recognized Jungkook's voice, "Is she—" The youngest wolf stopped himself from continuing the question.

"She looks dead," Hoseok sighs, throat heavy and dry, eyes running over his brother and you, "—and I can't pinpoint anything more."

"Hyung!" Jimin burst into the room, running up to the two, "Are you okay?" He kneels beside Jin, throwing an arm around his shoulder, concerned at the way Jin's scent was seeping distress.

"She-she won't wake up, Jimin-ah." Jin sobs, face red, and tears down his face. "She-she won't respond," He continues, still cradling your body to his chest, he turns to Yoongi, the only trained medical professional among them. "Why won't she open her eyes? Why won't she respond?"

Jimin looks at you and his stomach drops. You didn't look like you'd make it out of this and he felt his eyes tear up, heart clenching in pain for you two.

What would happen to his Hyung if you passed away?

"Is-" Jin sobs harder, more tears falling, "Is she okay?" He looks at Yoongi, pulling him down to you.

"Let me see, yeah, Hyung?" Yoongi assures him softly; afraid any harsh action would set him off. He carefully crouches down next to your limp body, taking note of your shackled limbs and the vicious bite marks all over your body.

Yoongi already feels his heart clench in pain, eyes unusually tearing up as he sees your lifeless frame. You didn't look and smell alive. Yoongi's hands are clammy and shaky as he takes your hand to check your pulse and takes a whiff of your bitten wrist.

Your scent was clouded by the stench of the place you were held in and many other unpleasant scents. Your pulse was weak and you barely smelled human. Your breath was shallow, lips cracked, your skin dry, and your hair matted. Your body was struggling to keep you alive at this point.

From what he can see, you were severely starved and abused. You were bitten and fed to the brink of death. There were no large, gaping wounds which should mean all your organs were intact.

He prays all your organs are intact because that could be a whole new problem to solve. As he checks on you, he takes glances at Jin who was vibrating holding you, his canines now having grown longer, peeking out. His eyes are completely golden, the flickering is gone.

Yoongi needs to think and act fast. If he wasted any more time, Jin would go on a rage-hunt.

"She's barely holding on," He mind-links his brothers, careful not to let Jin in, "We need to hurry the fuck up."

"What happened?" Jin breathes, shaking and trembling. His voice is deep, rounding on growls and animalistic. "Will she be okay?"

The chances honestly were low, but he couldn't let Jin know. Jin and the distress of his mate bond could cost lives at this point.

"Let's get her out of here, yeah?" Yoongi strokes his arm, trying to calm him down. "We need to get her out of here," He tells Jin again, "Can you lift her?" Jin nods, lifting you with no words, completely forgetting the shackles in your limbs.

"Wait-wait," Yoongi and Jimin stopped him from running out and unintentionally hurting you more, "Let's get this away," Jimin said, using all his strength to break them, Hoseok and Yoongi joined in and took the last ones off.

"Let's get her to the pack infirmary," Yoongi told Jin and as Jin ran out, careful not to hurt you, he mind-linked the boys.

"Keep the van ready and the Head Salutary on call," Yoongi barks at the other boys. "Tell them to have anti-venoms and other supplies at the pack infirmary —we can't treat her with the rest if things go wrong..." Yoongi took a pause, "Hyung can massacre them all." He continued gravely, giving more instructions to everyone.

Everyone in the conversation understood the implications of the instructions Suga was giving them. Jin was in a very dangerous mindset, if anything happened to you —Jin could and would kill everyone regardless of who they were. Jin was probably already in his wolf's mind, the animal overtaking his body, and unable to think straight.

They could only imagine the kind of emotions coursing through him —finding the love of your life in a near-dead state, having been through severe abuse, and the fear of losing someone so dear to you without a word to them.

Why was Moon Goddess so cruel to their Hyung? Why was this happening to him, when he was probably the one who believed in her abilities and loved them the most?

When they saw Jin carry you out, they all got into the vehicle, Jungkook helping Jin place you on the stretcher in the van. Jin growls at his brothers as they close the door and it hits the stretcher, making it hit the seat ahead.

All of them noticed how his eyes were golden, his canines and nails were long and pointy, and his skin was taut and sweaty —like he was minutes away from shifting into a wolf. The growls and pulsing of his veins alone were proof that if they didn't do something, Jin was going to go crazy before they even reached the pack house.

As they drive out, Yoongi sends one last message to Namjoon.

"Tell them to keep a heavy dose of sedation ready just in case," Yoongi said, "—for Jin-Hyung."

At the pack infirmary, the healers were doing their best to follow their Alphas' instructions. All the drugs and medical supplies were set in the medical unit, the Head Salutary, Chaewon was sending away wolves that didn't need to be there and instructing only few of the strongest warriors and healers on your treatment and the course of action in case Jin needed to be sedated.

According to the Yoongi, it was better to ambush him and sedate him as soon as he arrives because if they waited for him to listen to them —they'd never get the job done. The Healers agreed with the Alpha. Jin was too strong for them on a normal day when he was determined and with his disturbing emotions, the alpha will be physically impossible for them to hold back.

Chaewon was not okay with that at all; she wanted to have Jin conscious and present while they worked on you, because she feared trauma on him and the bond. The days following the bonding was so fragile, special and very important for the newly bonded pair. The bond really depended on these initial days to blossom, to settle in, to prosper for the pair to have a happy life ahead.

Finding you the way he did itself was going to cause so much harm to Jin and his wolf’s mental health, Chaewon couldn’t fathom the wreck his wolf would be in case Jin was unconscious right after finding you, without any consolation that you were doing better at least. Chaewon wanted Jin to see that his mate was safe now, she was being treated and that she would heal. And in the case that things went south, sedation would be considered.

She prayed that you weren't in a very bad shape and that whatever happens next, happens smoothly without many problems. The wolves stood at the entrance of the pack compound, praying to the Moon Goddess for your health and safety. They needed you to be strong and safe for Jin to be the same. If you didn't make it out today, Jin wouldn't too and they didn't want to lose their pack member to the pain of losing their mate.

The loud honks of the vehicle pulled them out of their prayer and they ran straight to the stretcher being pulled out and wheeled in, ignoring Jin's loud growls and whimpers. Their hair stood straight, bodies shaking in fear as their usually chirpy, happy alpha growled viciously at the wolves who opened the door.

“Let him take her inside,” Yoongi mind-linked them to stay away, “Let’s wait –stay away till I give you any instruction.”

He ran straight to the bed inside the unit, placing you gently on the bed, kneeling right next to it –whimpering and begging the Head Salutary, “Ajhumma, Ajhumma, please- She-She’s not waking up,” He held your cold hand in his warm ones, tugging the older lady’s scrubs, “Please help her, please heal her,” He sobbed, whimpering more. “Please, she’s my mate—” He cried, tears choking him, “I can’t lose her, please-”

“Jin-ah,” Chaewon kneeled next to him, “Sweetie, you need to believe in her, yeah?” She caressed his hair, “She’ll get through this, but for that I need you to be strong, okay?” Jin only sobbed, his golden eyes on your frail body. “I need you to let us handle this, I swear by the Moon Goddess we won’t let her go, okay? Let us help, trust us— ”

“Please, save her— ” Jin was beyond consolable, but somehow found the strength to cry and nod his agreement, “I’ll do as you say, please— ” Chaewon gave him a small smile, getting up to see that the healers were at work already.

Yoongi who had followed Jin right behind, had already instructed the healers to check for your blood type and to begin transfusing blood, asking to have your injuries cleaned and medicated —and adding more treatments and tests that needed to be run.

The next 24 hours were very crucial for you and in a way, for Jin as well.

Jin had stuck to his word to not cause distress and by your side, eyes never leaving you as the tests were being done, as the wounds were cleaned and medicated, as the blood was transfused, as the anti-venoms were injected, and as you were oxygenated. He even stayed by your side as Chaewon cut out your filthy clothes, cleaned you and put you into hospital gown. Chaewon smiled gently as she saw Jin close his eyes and she changed your clothes, her heart tugging at the sweet gesture of the Alpha.

Jin had a few minor wounds too, which Chaewon tried to dress but was dismissed because you needed help more than him. It was evening the next day when Chaewon and Yoongi sighed a breath of relief at how things went. Jin had been an angel throughout, though an anxious and cautious one. You had stayed stronger than anyone could expect you to be, your vitals very stable for someone who was at the brink of death last night. Your multiple wounds were medicated, doses of anti-venom, blood and electrolytes already in your system plus the ongoing IV and the oxygen mask only adding strength to your bettering health.

“Jin-Hyung,” Yoongi called him, hand on his shoulder, “We’ll be back yeah? The boys are waiting outside since last night, they wanna see you and your mate, we’ll also need to give them an update,” Jin nodded at Yoongi, murmuring an okay.

Yoongi and Chaewon had stepped out, only to be ambushed by the Alphas.

“Is Jin-Hyung okay?”

“Is she okay?”

“She’ll live right? Jin-Hyung will live right?”

“There’s no lasting health concern for both of them, right?”

Many such questions were thrown their way, and Chaewon shushed them, taking them away from the room. She didn’t want Jin’s heightened hearing to pick up anything and to trigger him.

“Jin-Hyung is stable, and her condition is stable –miraculous for someone who was in the state she was.” Yoongi said, sighing in relief, “I wouldn’t say she is all okay, but she is definitely healing at a much faster pace than I ever anticipated.”

“What has happened with her exactly?” Hoseok asked, “She was a mess when I first saw her –It’s a miracle Jin-Hyung found her natural scent when she’s covered in all the vampire filth and dirt.”

“Yeah, she smells more vampire than human,” Jimin piqued, “She… is human, right?”

“She is human,” Yoongi said, “She’s been fed on and has been captive among them in such horrendous conditions for long enough that it masked her scent, that’s all.”

“She’s all in one piece, right?” Taehyung asked hearing ‘fed on’, remembering finding some bodies with missing organs.

“Yeah,” Chaewon gave a small smile, “Her organs are intact,”

“But that just raises more questions—” Hoseok started, “What was she doing there? If she was kidnapped as a feed, why was she held captive for so long? All the captives we found alive were kidnapped in the last few days, she looks like she was there for weeks minimum.”

“We can’t actually conclude much on the circumstances of her capture without her telling us, but—” Chaewon said, “But in my opinion, I think she was kept alive to make sure she produced enough blood to keep the supply going.” The boys collectively winced, feeling their stomach drop at the words, “She was definitely physically abused, seen by the multiple wounds all over her body, fed on multiple times, seen by the bite marks on her neck, wrists and calves and ankles, starved and made to live in horrible conditions by those monsters.”

“They didn’t keep her around because they liked her,” Yoongi continued, “They kept her around to harm her. Rest assured, Jin-Hyung isn’t bonded to a perpetrator, but a victim.” The boys nodded, even looking a little embarrassed and guilty.

“When can we expect her to wake up?” Namjoon asked.

“In a week or two maybe,” Chaewon said, “But then again, this is assuming she’ll heal at a very stable and quick pace. I wouldn’t be surprised if it took longer than that.”

“Will she be kept here till she wakes up?” Hoseok asked, “Jin Hyung needs rest, I don’t think he’ll get any if he’s here.”

“We’ll be keeping track of how well she’s faring with the treatment, I think we should be able to move her to your packhouse, preferably to Jin’s room, once she’s stable enough to not need breath support.” Chaewon smiled, “It’ll calm down Jin too, I think –to have his mate, in his den. It’ll do well for both of them.”

“I know there’s a lot of questions and uncertainties around this,” Chaewon sighed continuing, “But I think you need to trust in the Moon Goddess that she’ll not put any of us in harm’s way. For now, she’s Jin’s mate, a human and in desperate need of our help. Treat her with the same kindness you’ll treat Jin with.”

“We will,” Namjoon smiled at her, “We wouldn’t treat her bad—”

“I know, let her heal and wake up, I think all your questions will vanish when that happens.” Chaewon smiled, “Go and meet your Hyung now and then, get some food and rest.” She told the boys, “I have assigned some healers to her, they’ll be here overnight. I’m always a call away, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The boys bid the lady bye and stood in silence thinking about what they heard.

“Let’s get in and meet Jin-Hyung,” Yoongi told his brothers. He knew how restless their wolves were, from all the fear and uncertainty drowning their oldest brother.  Seeing him, talking to him and making sure he’s okay would definitely settle their nerves after all that’s happened.

Yoongi led his brothers in, mind-linking them to not hover over Jin, but give him space and let him choose to respond or ignore. Bangtan chorused an agreement, cautiously stepping inside the room. Their eyes first fell on you, attached to medical equipment and their eldest Hyung, holding your hand in his, elbows on the bed, sitting on a chair. He looked tired, eyes swollen, face still red and his scent drenched in gloom and permeating the room. He didn’t look at them, only making a sound when they called for him.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asked voice on the brink of tears. Jin made a sound, suspiciously sounding like yeah. “Is your mate okay?” He continued and was met with silence.

“Her condition is stable,” Yoongi told Jungkook –more like to Jin to reassure him, “I am going to freshen up, I think we all should,” He glanced at the rest, still in their bloodied and soiled clothes.

Namjoon sighed, “We should also inform the pack leaders about everything that has happened and ask them to intimate the necessary details to the WSO.”

“Can’t we stay with Hyung instead?” Taehyung asked, Jimin adding, “He looks so broken, I don’t wanna leave him alone.”

“We can come back in,” Hoseok consoled the younger ones, “Let’s give them some alone time.”

It was truly a tough day for Bangtan –Jin might be the one who found his mate in a near-dead condition and going through the traumatic situation, but as his brother, their wolves were linked and while they didn’t feel all the pain he was feeling, they still were burdened with the pain he was feeling. And, truth be told, that burdening feeling was suffocating.

But they also knew, they couldn’t let themselves be crushed. They had to be strong for their Hyung, and for you. You were a pack member now; your healing and health was their responsibility. They had a hundred questions for you, but that could wait till you were all okay to answer them.

You were moved to the Bangtan packhouse a few days into your treatment. You were off breath support and a little colour had returned your skin and your vitals were strong and stable.

Jin was elated to have you home, in his den. He had rushed to the packhouse after never leaving your side since finding you –to clean up his room to make it comfortable for you. He changed his usual sheets to the softest linens he could find; he cleaned his room he hadn’t returned to in days, he set everything up so that when you wake up, you’d be the most comfortable.

He had made all his brothers stay with you while he came to the packhouse, telling them to call him and the healers if they felt anything was off. The boys had assured him they would, and that they’d even have Chaewon in the room with them, if it made Jin feel safe enough to drive home and get things done. Jin had given them a grateful smile, the first one in days.

“Hyung~” The youngest suddenly bawled, and threw himself on Jin, startling the older boy. Before Jin could say anything, Jimin and V had thrown themselves on Jin as well, in a weird hug situation.

“Yah! Yah! Yah!” Jin exclaimed, “What is wrong with you three?” He shouted, but holding them in a hug nevertheless, somehow feeling that they probably needed it.

“We are so glad you are okay!” Jungkook sobbed, eyes full of tears and voice choking, “and-and your mate.”

Jin softened, suddenly realising what this was about. He did know he wasn’t acting himself the past few days, but it must’ve been on a different level if his younger brothers are so shaken.

“I’m okay,” He reassured them, hugging them tighter, “I’m sure my mate will be okay as well.” The three nodded, and Jin let them go, wiping their tears, as if they are still little kids and ruffling their hair like he always did when they were kids.

Just as he moved away, Hoseok shouted, “Group hug!” and Jin finds himself crushed in a hug again.

Finding Jin cooking breakfast had become a rare sight these days. Mornings, for him, were usually reserved for attending to your needs—giving you sponge baths, untangling your hair, and whispering gentle reassurances as you lay unconscious. His absence from the kitchen had certainly not gone unnoticed.

"Good morning," Yoongi greeted as he stepped into the kitchen, stopping abruptly in his tracks. His eyebrow quirked at the sight of Jin, who stood with his back to the room, entirely focused on the stove. "What are you cooking?"

"Good morning, everyone~" Hoseok’s voice rang out as he entered the kitchen and stopped short. His eyes widened in surprise. "What’s this? Back to being the chef of the house?"

Jin didn’t even look up, his attention solely on the pot in front of him. "Good morning," he replied nonchalantly. "Love can’t handle heavy meals first thing in the morning, right? So, I’m making juk." He added with a hint of excitement, "She’s going to wake up today!"

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And how do you know that?"

"Because I just do," Jin answered with unshakable certainty. His tone left no room for argument. "She’ll be hungry, but heavy food isn’t an option. Juk is gentle on her stomach, yet nourishing. Once I know what she likes, I’ll make meals to help her recover faster."

"Did the guys bring the groceries yet?" Jin asked, his eyes scanning the kitchen for the younger members. "I asked the farmers to drop off some dongchimi and white kimchi."

On seeing the puzzled expressions on the others’ faces, Jin explained, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, "Side dishes for Love. She can’t handle spice; you all know that!"

Living on the outskirts meant their groceries came fresh daily from local farms. The delivery—earthy vegetables, fragrant herbs, fresh cuts of meat, and a mix of side dishes—was part of their commitment to supporting the nearby farming community. The responsibility of handling and storing everything fell to the younger three, a task they shared.

Just then, Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin’s voices echoed through the back door, the sound of boxes being carried signalling their arrival.

“Your grocery delivery is here~” they chorused, laughter in their voices over an inside joke only they shared.

"Jimin-ah," Jin called, looking over at the younger member. "Serve the dongchimi and white kimchi in the side dish plates, please."

"Yes, sir!" Jimin saluted with a grin. "One serving of dongchimi and white kimchi coming right up!"

"And pass me the eggs," Jin requested from Taehyung, who was carrying the carton of eggs.

"Are you making gyeran-jjim?" Taehyung asked, watching intently as Jin set a stone bowl on the stove.

"Yes," Jin replied, adding casually, "Protein for muscle growth. She’s lost so much weight already." His focus on you was unwavering.

Jungkook, who was carefully organizing vegetables in the crisper, couldn’t help but overhear as Jin spoke so fondly of you. His curiosity had been bubbling ever since you were brought back, and hearing Jin speak with such certainty about you only deepened his intrigue.

Jimin, unloading other side dishes, raised an eyebrow at Jungkook's sudden stillness. "Eavesdropping again, Kookie?" he teased, placing lids onto containers before putting them away.

Taehyung, wiping fruit gently with a cloth, chuckled softly. "Can you blame him? It’s not every day we see Jin-hyung this smitten. It’s kind of adorable."

Jungkook shrugged, feigning indifference, though his eyes betrayed his interest. "I mean… He’s been walking on air since she woke up. You’d think she invented soup the way he’s been raving about her."

Taehyung let out a rich, warm laugh. "To be fair, it’s been a while since we’ve seen him this happy. If his mate’s the reason for that, I say let him have his moment."

Jimin nodded in agreement, his smile softening. "It’s nice, isn’t it? After everything that’s happened, seeing him like this feels... hopeful." The kitchen fell into a companionable silence, the rhythmic sounds of unpacking groceries filling the space.

“Hyung,” Jungkook began hesitantly, his voice tinged with curiosity, “this isn’t the first time you’ve just… known something about her.”

"Hyung’s gone full psychic mode since meeting his mate," Jimin teased with a grin, entering the kitchen with a fresh batch of washed cabbage.

Yoongi nodded thoughtfully. "Like when you insisted the healers move her to a quieter room because you said she couldn’t rest properly with all the noise."

"And when you said the IV was too uncomfortable for her," Jimin added as he placed rice in a washbowl.

"Or when you noticed she was getting joint stiffness," Taehyung continued, a mix of awe and exasperation in his voice. "How do you even know that through a bond?!"

Jin didn’t stop stirring, but he glanced up with a shrug. "I feel it," he said simply. "Her discomfort, her unease—it’s like it runs through me too."

"Hyung’s definitely more tuned in," Namjoon said, walking into the kitchen with a book tucked under his arm. He gestured toward the pile of freshly laundered blankets on the table. "You changed her sheets again yesterday, didn’t you?"

"She needed them changed," Jin replied matter-of-factly. "Her skin is sensitive, and the old ones were beginning to irritate her."

Namjoon exchanged a look with Yoongi, both curious. "It’s fascinating, honestly. There’s so little research about human-wolf bonds. What you’re describing feels like an extreme extension of the mate bond."

"Maybe it’s enhanced by her condition," Yoongi suggested, his gaze lingering on Jin.

"Or," Jimin said with a teasing grin, "Maybe it’s just Hyung being hopelessly smitten." He pulled out a chair and sat, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Hopelessly devoted," Taehyung corrected. His voice was warm, his tone teasing yet fond. "It’s kind of sweet, though. Seeing Hyung all flustered for once."

Jungkook smirked, "I mean, he did demand the healers bring in a softer IV, custom-made, just for her. That’s next-level dedication."

Jin shot them a pointed look, though there was no heat in it. "Laugh all you want, but she deserves the best care. I’d do it all again."

"Of course you would," Hoseok said with a small smile. "It’s what makes you, you, Hyung. But seriously, is this… heightened connection going to fade when she wakes up? Or will it stay like this?"

Jin set the spoon down and leaned against the counter, his expression softening.

"I don’t know," he admitted. "Maybe it’ll change, maybe it won’t. But what matters is that she’s comfortable, happy, and healthy. That’s all I care about."

Namjoon leaned against the counter, deep in thought. "The mate bond is supposed to connect emotions, maybe intentions, but this…" He gestured toward Jin. "This feels like more than that. You’re reading her like an open book."

Jin finally turned to face them; his features softer than they’d ever seen. "Maybe it’s because she’s human," he suggested quietly. "Or maybe it’s because she’s in this state. I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll do whatever she needs, whether it’s adjusting her room’s temperature, helping with her muscles, or cooking for her."

Jimin crossed his arms, his curiosity piqued. "Do you think this connection will change once she wakes up? Will it fade to the usual mate bond we’re used to seeing?"

"I don’t know," Jin admitted, but his tone was firm, resolute. "And I don’t care. As long as she’s comfortable, I’ll adapt."

Yoongi exchanged a glance with Jimin, unspoken questions lingering between them. While human-wolf bonds had been rare, they’d existed before. But what Jin was experiencing felt unprecedented.

A sudden, subtle shift in Jin’s demeanour caught everyone’s attention. He straightened, his eyes widening ever so slightly.

"She’s up." His voice was barely a whisper, but the certainty in it was undeniable.

"What?" Yoongi asked, startled. Jin didn’t answer, but the excitement and happiness wafted off him. Without another word, he brushed past them, heading toward the stairs with purpose. The boys watched him go, a quiet understanding passing between them.

“Well," Namjoon said after a beat, breaking the silence, "I guess that confirms it."

"Confirms what?" Taehyung asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That the bond really is something else," Namjoon said in awe. "He’s connected to her in ways we don’t fully understand."

"Either that," Jimin teased with a grin, "Or he’s officially lost it."

Taehyung smiled warmly, his voice full of affection as he murmured, "I think it’s kind of beautiful."

The clean smell of the place you were in is the first thing you notice when you regain consciousness. Your eyes sting a bit at the sudden bright light streaming inside, and you squint them shut, whimpering a little as the pain begins to engulf your body. The soft sheets rubbing against your skin are only a little overwhelming, adding to the sensation of discomfort. Your heart begins to race, and despite your best efforts to calm yourself, the feeling of helplessness tightens around your chest.

You take deep breaths, trying to ease the pain away, but the pressure in your chest grows stronger with each passing second. Slowly, you begin to move your fingers, toes, and limbs, testing them one by one. A dull ache lingers in your joints, but it's manageable. That is, until you try to sit up. That's when you notice the IV attached to your hand, and a sharp pain shoots up your arm. The sudden sensation causes panic to spike within you, making you sit upright and your breath hitches, becoming shallow and erratic. Your heartbeat quickens, and your vision begins to blur.

You can’t control the rising tide of panic. It spreads through your body like wildfire, and your chest tightens painfully, making it hard to breathe. Every muscle seems to seize with tension, and a quiet whimper escapes your throat. You desperately try to pull away from the IV, but your hands feel too weak, your body too uncooperative.

The room spins, and the soft sheets suddenly feel suffocating, too heavy against your skin. You try to blink away the tears welling in your eyes, but they come anyway, and soon, you're trembling uncontrollably. The panic is taking hold, and you don’t know how to stop it. You just want to get away, to run, to escape the tight grip of fear wrapping around you. You shut your eyes hard and try to hold in the whimpers coming out of you when a voice—calm, gentle—cuts through the noise in your head.

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m here.” Your mind struggles to process the words, your body still trembling with anxiety. But that voice, warm and steady, helps anchor you, even if only a little. "I'm not one of them; I'm not going to hurt you. You are okay now. You are away from those monsters now."

“Everything is alright,” The voice said again, “You are gonna be okay,” The gentle voice then coaxed you into breathing in a patter, “Take a breath, yeah and exhale –calm and steady,” The voice even peppering you with compliments as you felt yourself calm down.

“You can open your eyes, if you feel better.” The voice, which now you recognise as a man, said “I promise, nothing is gonna hurt you again.” And you open your eyes, letting the last of the tears fall down.

You see a man crouching at the edge of your bed, a hard grip on the sheets. His posture seems tense, but he has a comforting smile on his face, eyes warm enough to burn you down.

“Are you feeling better?” His voice is gentle and kind, nothing like the people who kept you all those days. You take in his appearance, eyes tracing his features —he was broad-shouldered, lean, and too handsome with pretty lips and eyes that radiate warmth and affection. He seemed kind and human, so you nod.

“Do you want water?” Now that he mentions it, your throat burns, and you realize just how thirsty you are. You nod again, watching warily as he pours water into a glass and approaches slowly, holding it out to you.

“Here,” he says. “Take your time.”

Your hand trembles as you reach for the glass. He doesn’t comment, just holds steady until you’ve taken it. The cool liquid soothes your throat, and you finish it quickly.

“Do you want more?” You hesitate. Asking for anything feels strange, wrong even. But the look in his eyes breaks something in you, a flicker of trust forming despite your fear.

“Can I?” you whisper. “Please?”

“Of course, love.” His voice softens further at the term, heart breaking a little and he moves to refill the glass. You sip this one more slowly, your heart rate beginning to calm. When you set the glass down, he crouches to meet your eyes.

“How are you feeling?” You think about it for a moment. Your head and body ache, but compared to before, there’s a strange lightness in you. You’re tired but awake, alive.

“Better,” you say finally, your voice raspy from disuse. He smiles—a warm, breathtaking smile that makes your chest tighten.

“That’s good. Does your head hurt?" Jin asks gently, his voice filled with concern. You nod slightly, wincing as the motion aggravates the pain.

"Yoongi said it’s a side effect of the anti-venom," You nod, but you don’t press the about Yoongi or the venom. Instead, you focus on the immediate pain.

"A little bit," You admit, feeling the throb in your skull with every beat of your heart. “A lot bit.”

Jin nods sympathetically. "Are you hungry? We can’t give you solid foods just yet, but I made a warm juk for you. I'll get it for you and ask Yoongi to check on you, too."

You try to nod, but before you can, Jin notices something and looks at you with a soft expression. "Wait—are you comfortable like this?"

"Hm?" You blink, confused.

"Let me help you," He says, leaning forward to adjust your pillows for you. The scent of his cologne –warm and musky, overwhelms you for a second, and it’s enough to send your heart rate spiking. You can’t stop the flutter of anxiety that bubbles up in your chest.

"I’m sorry," he says quickly, sensing your unease. "I didn’t mean to startle you. "You breathe a little easier, offering him a small smile.

"It’s okay," You reply, your voice hoarse but steady.

“I’ll be right back,” Jin grins and leaves you alone once again with your thoughts. A few minutes passes by and a soft knock on the door break the moment.

"Hi!” Another good-looking man was peeking into your room now, “I’m Dr. Min Yoongi. Can I come in?" The voice is calm and he offers a polite smile. You nod and he comes in, sitting on the side edge of your bed.

"Before I explain your condition, Ms..."

"Ahmi," You croak, your throat still dry, the sound of your name feeling foreign on your lips. "Yoo Ahmi."

"That’s a beautiful name," Jin says, nodding approvingly. He was standing at the door with a tray of food, smiles warmly at you. You catch his eyes, and for the first time since waking, you feel a strange sense of comfort.

“Yes it is,” Yoongi agrees. "How old are you?" Yoongi asks, his gaze soft but clinical.

"Twenty-one," You answer, your mind still foggy.

"What are you feeling right now?" He presses gently, though you can hear the care in his voice.

"Everything hurts," you answer honestly, your voice shaking with the weight of it.

Yoongi nods. "That’s actually a good sign," he says, his voice reassuring. "It means the anti-venom is working. Did you drink water?”

You nod, “Good. Are you hungry?” You nod again.

“For now, you’ll be on a soft food diet since you were severely starved." He places a small cup of pills on the bedside table. "I’ve prescribed some medication for you. Take these, get plenty of rest, and if you feel anything strange, let me know. I’ll leave you to eat and rest then."

“Breakfast is served~” Jin sings, his voice a cheerful melody as he sets a bed table over your lap. His smile is warm and inviting, and the aroma of the food makes your stomach rumble in anticipation.

On the tray is a comforting bowl of juk, steaming and fragrant, accompanied by a small dish of dongchimi and white kimchi. Your mouth waters, and you don’t realize how ravenous you are until you pick up the spoon. The first bite of the juk is like heaven—it’s creamy, savoury, and perfectly seasoned. The tangy crunch of the kimchi complements the soft porridge beautifully, and you can’t help but let out a small, satisfied sigh.

“This is delicious,” you murmur between bites, eating almost hungrily. “Did you make this?”

Jin grins, his chest puffing out slightly in pride. “Of course! A masterpiece by me.”

You chuckle softly, the sound unfamiliar to your own ears after so long. “It really is,” You say, your voice genuine. “Thank you. I can’t remember the last time I had something this good.”

He beams at your compliment, watching you finish the meal with a satisfied expression. “I’m glad you like it. You need to eat well to recover.”

You clear the tray quickly, your hunger overpowering your self-consciousness. When the bowl is empty, Jin takes the tray away, setting it on the side table. He hands you a small glass of water and some pills. “Here,” he says softly. “These will help with the pain and keep your recovery on track.”

You take the pills without hesitation, the water cools and refreshing as it soothes your throat. Jin lingers for a moment, then steps back, clearing his throat. “If you feel up to it, you can take a shower,” he says. “Everything you need is in the bathroom—towels, soap, shampoo, even a toothbrush. And I brought you some clean clothes, too.”

He motions toward a neatly folded set of clothing on a nearby chair. “They might be a little big, but they’ll be comfortable.”

You look at him, a little overwhelmed by his kindness. “Thank you,” you say softly, your gratitude evident in your voice.

Jin’s smile softens, and he waves a hand as if to brush off your thanks. “It’s no trouble, really. You deserve to feel a little better.” He glances toward the door. “I’ll give you some privacy, but I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

As he steps out, you feel a warmth in your chest—not just from the food but from the kindness of the man who has been nothing but patient and caring. The thought of a hot shower and fresh clothes fills you with a sense of normalcy, a small but comforting step forward.

"Thank you," you whisper, grateful for the calm, the space, the kindness.

"No problem," Jin replies softly, his eyes kind. "Rest now."

The door closes softly behind him, and you find yourself sinking back into the pillows, exhaustion pulling at you. You try to close your eyes, but then you pause.

"Wait," You scramble, your voice shaky, and a hint of embarrassment creeps up on you. "Your name... I don’t know your name."

Jin pauses, looking mildly embarrassed himself. He chuckles lightly, turning red. "Oops! I didn’t tell you?" He smiles sheepishly. "My name is Kim Seokjin."

"Jin," You say, the word like a breath of fresh air. Your heart flutters at finally having a name for the man who had been nothing but kind to you. "Thank you, Seokjin. Thank you... very much."

His smile is soft and full of warmth, and for the first time since you woke up, you feel a small sense of peace. "No need to thank me, Ahmi," he says, his voice filled with affection. "I’m just happy you’re okay."

The boys watched with warm smiles as Jin hummed softly around the kitchen, his movements fluid and almost dance-like as he prepared dinner with care. It wasn’t just any meal—it was a meticulously crafted recipe he had spent the whole day researching, ensuring it would nourish both your body and your heart. His joy was palpable, radiating from him in waves, and the others couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment just by being in his presence. After everything that had happened, after the panic of finding you, they were all grateful to see their oldest brother so happy.

Jin's delight only grew as he served the meal, taking great pride in presenting the braised chicken soup—rich and healthy, just as he had planned. First, though, he made sure to serve you, his hands gentle as he placed the steaming bowl before you. When you tasted it, your eyes lit up, and you practically licked the bowl clean, a blush creeping up Jin’s neck at your praise. It was a moment of sweet simplicity that filled him with warmth, the love he felt for you shining in his gaze.

Hoseok, unable to keep his curiosity in check, asked, "How is your mate, Hyung?"

Taehyung, ever the observant one, leaned in. "Is she doing better?"

Jin’s face lit up like a beacon. "Yeah, she woke up," he said, a soft grin tugging at his lips. "Yoongi said she's doing better than anyone expected. She’s so strong, so sweet, so beautiful—my mate." He nearly trembled with excitement as he rambled, his heart full. The boys couldn't help but smile, their gazes softening as they watched their older brother's joy unfold before them.

"What's her name?" Jimin asked, even though they all knew. Yoongi had already filled them in, knowing they needed to track down your family.

Jin sighed dramatically, his eyes sparkling with the same adoration they had seen him shower on you since the moment they learned of the bond. "Ahmi," he murmured, as if the name itself was a treasure. "A beautiful name for a beautiful person."

The boys nodded in agreement; their smiles affectionate as they watched Jin speak of you with such warmth. They had no reason to argue—how could they, when the love in his voice was so evident?

It had only been a week since the bond had formed, but already, Jin had been swept up in the whirlwind of emotions that came with it. The connection between him and you were still new, still being tested and explored, and Jin hadn’t fully adjusted to the effects of the bond. He had been so preoccupied with your chaotic recovery—ensuring you were safe, that you woke up—that he hadn’t yet allowed himself to truly settle into the changes that came with having a mate.

"But she’s so sweet," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, as though speaking too loudly might break the magic of the moment. "She said my name... I nearly fainted." He sighed dreamily, a soft chuckle escaping him. "And those eyes of hers—gorgeous. I’m so lucky... so incredibly lucky to be bonded to her."

The boys watched him fondly, understanding the whirlwind of emotions Jin was experiencing. It was a bond unlike anything they could have expected for their older brother—a love that had taken hold of him completely, sweeping him off his feet in the most beautiful, tender way. And, despite the chaos of the past week, they were happy for him—happy that he had found someone who made him feel this way.

“Jin, do you—” You hesitate, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “Do you mind staying back for a bit?”

His brow furrows in concern. “Is anything wrong, Ahmi-yah?”

“No-no,” You rush to say, shaking your head. “I just… I feel a little bored.” The admission feels small, almost selfish. You’re certain Jin has better things to do than entertain a heartbroken, injured girl who’s desperate for distraction.

Jin laughs softly, the sound warm and comforting. “Of course, I’ll stay. What do you want to do? Though,” he adds with mock seriousness, “I’m not sure screentime is advisable for you right now.”

“I mean, anything is fine.” You shrug. “You could just… talk. About yourself, about the people outside this room, about your world.”

His lips quirk into a small smile. “My world, huh? Well, I live here with my six younger brothers.” As if summoned, a loud crash echoes from somewhere down the hall, followed by a cacophony of shouts—half in agony, half in laughter. Jin rolls his eyes so exaggeratedly you can’t help but grin. “That’s them, by the way. The rascals causing the chaos.”

“Tell me about them?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.

“Let’s start with Yoongi,” he begins. “He’s the second oldest.”

“Dr. Min?” you ask, eyes widening in recognition. “I didn’t know you were brothers.”

“Yep,” Jin confirms with a wink. “Though it’s hard to connect my worldwide handsome face to his old-man energy.”

You laugh, shaking your head at his antics. “He doesn’t seem like an old man to me.”

“That’s because you haven’t seen him groaning about his back after sitting at the piano for two hours,” Jin retorts. “Speaking of which, he’s incredible at playing. You should hear him sometime.”

“I’ve always wanted to learn the piano,” you admit wistfully.

Jin brightens. “Once you’re better, I’ll ask Yoongi to teach you.”

“Really? You’d do that for me?” You look at him, startled by the consistent kindness he’s shown you since you arrived.

“Of course. Anything for you.” His gaze softens, and you feel warmth bloom in your chest.

He continues. “Then there’s Hoseok. You’ve probably heard him—he’s loud. Very loud.” As if on cue, another booming cheer erupts from the hallway, and you hear someone yell, “Dance-off time!”

Jin sighs dramatically. “That’s him being quiet, mind you.”

You giggle at his expression, and Jin gives you a playful grin before moving on. “Namjoon is the one recommending books to you.” He gestures toward the stack on your bedside table. “He says you have great taste and even invited you to his book club.”

Your eyes light up. “Oh, I’d love to join!”

“He’ll be thrilled,” Jin chuckles. “It’s just him for now, so he’s been looking for new members.”

“What about the others?” You ask, eager to hear more.

“Ah, let’s see. There’s Jimin. He’s sweet but also loves teasing everyone. If you ever need someone to cheer you up, he’s your guy. He’s great at dancing, too.”

“And Taehyung?” you ask.

“Taehyung,” Jin says fondly, “Taehyung is an artist at heart. He’s a bit eccentric but in the best way. Loves photography and collecting random things that somehow make sense to him.”

“Sounds like fun,” You muse.

“Definitely. And lastly, Jungkook—the youngest. He’s insanely talented but also a bit of a troublemaker. Always trying to outdo himself and everyone else.”

You smile, imagining the lively household Jin is describing.

“How about this?” Jin suggests. “Join us for breakfast tomorrow. I’ll make all your favourites.”

“You don’t have to—” You start, but Jin cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

“Nonsense. It’s settled. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

》》 next 《《 Chapter Three ➵ Embracing a New Dawn: Wolves of Bangtan and Yoo Ahmi

[ author's endnote ] feedback and thoughts are really appreciated! It keeps me motivated to write more and definitely makes me happy! I hope all of you are doing well, lots of love and take care, aksh 💕

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14 January, 2025.

[hatsukeii]

i caved in guys…i went and read the manga…and now i can’t get them out of my head…

call it fate, call it karma / gojo satoru x reader

genre(s): angst + hurt/comfort, sadness, gojo is a poor unfortunate soul :( conflicting intentions/feelings, tbh he js needs a hug and you can be the one to give it to him!! i do twist up the canon timeline a little bit so apologies for that but it's all for continuity's sake!! im debating over whether this should end well or not but i'll let time decide ;P

warning(s): um idk jjk spoilers for s2 and jjk 0? just sad tbh but no nsfw or anything so dw!!

wc: 1564

tldr; close the door, not all the way.

Fires of cursed energy burn at Gojo Satoru's body as he towers above the corpse of Geto Suguru. He reeks of blood, hands shaky despite barely exerting any power to finally end Suguru's maniac rampage, and his bloodshot eyes train onto the crater pushed into the cavity of his chest, mutilated by his hand.

"You were my one and only best friend, Suguru."

Palms move towards the hanging head as Satoru conjures up the inferno of cursed energy that plagues his body. His eyes sting beneath his blindfold, the energy can't seem to emanate from his fingers.

Enough.

He's already dead. Suguru is not going to get up, he isn't coming back, he can't do anything but slump against the fucking wall, blood pooling at the ground beneath him.

So Satoru shoves his hands back into his pockets, forcing the cursed energy back into his body like a rag soaking up fresh vomit, and runs.

The first time Gojo Satoru shows up at your doorstep unannounced, it is following the death of Geto Suguru, special grade curse user, Tokyo Jujutsu High alum, his best friend gone rogue. He knocks at the door in the rhythmic code that you have established long ago in the secrecy of your usual meeting spot- some alleyway of Shibuya. With two knocks, then a pause, then three, he invites himself in. You sit at the couch, eyes trained on the television as yet another report of mass destruction has graced regional news. You, his beautiful, yet fragile secret behind closed doors, the light at the end of a tunnel, something he swore to never come back to, not in times like these.

"Satoru?" No one has called him that name in years.

The house is silent, spare from the droning news report on the channel. The door shuts gently behind Satoru as he steps his shoes off, and slumps into your floor. You frown, a pang of something bitter plucking at your throat. Something has gone unequivocally wrong. Glances are taken at the faded streaks of dried blood on his hands, his blindfold sitting looser than usual on his nose, his fingers gripping at his hair until strands begin falling off. He rips off the fabric above his eyes, setting his vision free as he soaks in his surroundings; the shuffling of your feet on the hard ground, the city lights that seep into your living room in streaks of yellow and white, your gradually approaching figure.

"Turn it off, Satoru." He turned it off before even reaching for your door.

"It already is."

Your hands pry his own away from his hair, ignoring the stench of death that wafts from his body as you hold them together and bring them to your lips. His breathing finally finds its pace, slowing from frantic hiccups to normal exhalation. Gojo Satoru alone is the strongest, yet in your wake, he is the smallest man alive.

"He's gone. Suguru. He's not coming back."

Your heart drops at the revelation, and Satoru gets up from the ground, pulling you with him as he walks towards your room. Tears begin welling in your own eyes at the sight of his despair, before they ever begin to even form as a knot in his throat. The bags of his eyes suddenly seem this much darker, the twitching of his fingers by his side growing into erratic trembling. Gojo Satoru has killed many before, taken thousands of heads clean off bodies without a second thought, yet the mangled state of Suguru's corpse is everywhere; on your couch, at your desk, through the hallway too. It's all a little too much, a little too fast.

"Satoru..." His name spilling out of your mouth feels exactly as it should. Like home.

His lips quiver, and he collapses into your body, sending both of you into your bed. You toy with his hair, scratching his head the only way you know. Satoru is unmoving, eerily serene as he buries his face into your chest, warm heaves diminishing into small breaths as he passes out in your arms. You hold him in your crossed arms, carving out the perfect cradle for his head to fit into. Fingers continue to massage at his head, and for just a moment he is just Gojo Satoru, rid of the special grade title, stripped of the burden to be the honoured one, away from the despair of Jujutsu.

He leaves the next morning, careful not to wake you, and he swears he will never return. Not when you can live away from the grasp of curses that plague his every waking hour. Not when you can live the life he will never be able to give you.

The next time Gojo Satoru turns up at your doorstep unannounced, it is almost one year later. His arms are heavy, feet dragging along the ground to your apartment. He swore that he would never return, especially not in times like these. You have waited, God, you have waited so patiently. You replayed his head against your chest every night, heart heavy at every passing thought of Gojo Satoru, the man whom you understood from the inside out, but never managed to keep around for long. After one year, the knocks still resonate throughout your apartment; two, pause, then three. The door unlocks, and Satoru selfishly invites himself in at midnight, the same way he did a year ago.

"Satoru?" He has not heard this name in a year, nearly forgotten by most, even himself.

He stumbles towards you on the couch, legs giving out from beneath him as he falls into the plush fabric. He is frail, almost sickly pale, and you shoot up, rushing towards the kitchen to fix him something, anything to help.

"I can't stay." He wants to punch himself for confessing it.

You snap around, glaring at Satoru, who groggily props himself back up from your couch. Like hell he isn't staying, he can barely walk straight.

"Yes you are. You are staying right fucking here, Gojo Satoru."

He doesn't think you understand, rightfully so. You did not see him in that box, waiting day after day to break free. You could not find him beyond the world of the ordinary, uttering baseless prayers to a God that he doesn't believe exists, begging to see you once more before whatever awaits him. You don't know of the promises he has made to keep you safe, which meant keeping himself as far away from you as possible. He swore to never come back, no matter how badly he needed to relish in the mundane for just a fleeting moment.

"I have to go after him, now. I can't let him destroy this world."

You storm towards him on the couch, panadol and hot water in hand as you set them down on the coffee table. It's not much, but it's what you can do.

"Then why did you come back here?"

Satoru's words gather at the base of his throat, too many to release at once. No, he isn't sure why he came back here either, after swearing a million times to never return, for your sake. Yet his questions are answered as you lunge forwards into him, chest heaving and rising frantically as you weep into his shoulder, arms around his neck.

"You were gone for a year, Satoru!" He knows, and he would kill himself a hundred times over if it means you would forgive him.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"So, I'm telling you to stay this time! Don't leave again!"

He readjusts his position to prop himself upright, bringing an arm to the back of your neck as he holds you closer, closer than he ever has before. Pressing a soft kiss into your pulse, his lashes tickle your skin as he stays there. Just for a little longer, he pleads with the ticking clock that taunts him, begging to be the weakest man alive, to be nothing but Satoru, the name that rolls off your tongue in velvety syllables. He squeezes you against his body, and his mind tells him to let go, to release you from the torment that is his existence.

Yet he cannot bring himself to do it, even as the curses run amok across Japan, destroying everything in their wake. He is selfish, thoughtless for any other that is not you.

Until you pull away from him, nose running and dried tears staining your skin. His thumb presses into the streaks, rubbing them dry. He presses kisses into where the tears drew their lines, holding your face in his hands. You shake your head and get up from your position. You know that he means it when he says he has to go.

After all, he is Gojo Satoru, because he is the strongest.

"Go. They need you."

Satoru crawls off your couch, stepping towards you one last time. His hands find your face again, and he holds it tenderly, like it might shatter if he so much as moves. He takes in your eyes, and your hair, and your lips, and everything that is conceivable about you, who he swears he can never come back to, but knows he selfishly will anyways.

He betrays his promise one last time.

"Don't close the door all the way on me, please."

"It never is, Satoru."

author's notes:

YALL i really needed to write angsty gojo as a jjk debut to this account because i feel like all i see is smut and dad gojo or like super smitten gojo but like no i need his heart to fucking BREAK and i need your hearts to break with his too!! sorry not!! this is what true gojo is like and i will actually die on this hill alone if i have to!!

i genuinely hope you guys like it though i thought it up after a martini and two sake shots and literally just fleshed it out when i was fully sober again and i had this whole idea but then the pacing was hard to balance so i had to cut some stuff out because it would be too long and drone on and i was NOT ready to write another 7k fic today sooo

anyways tags!!!

@chuuya-brainrot @starlysama @fiannee @bailey-reeds @catsoupki @akaakeis @hiraethwa

ok i love u guys bye bye until the next one

[monimccoythings]

Alastor x Daughter!Reader: Runaway I (Platonic)

So, what would it happen if Y/N after a lot of time at the hotel, decides to run off and explore the human world? Just like it happened in Helluva Boss I think. This is lighter than the others, but I really wanted to write this one. This could be interpreted as some AU of the Au or even set in the same series after a lot of time has passed.

I know the Grimoire doesn't really look like that and is in the ownership of someone else, but I was thinking that since Lucifer is the King of Hell, he should have at least a copy.

Reminder: Alastor is in hell for a reason.

Tw: Controlling behavior, possessive behavior, Alastor being a very controlling dad.

tags: @anonymousewrites, @nonetheartist, @littledolly2345, @sunnyx07, @ouroborostheunholy, @mo-0-o, @sydneyyyya @lbcreations-blog, @kiraisastay

Things have gotten much better for you since you first arrived. It had finally gotten inside your thick skull that this experience was for real. As crazed as Charlie's dream seemed to be, you couldn't help but believe in her and her goals, given her optimism and enthusiasm. You could say this place was safer than anywhere else you had been crashing for the last ninety years.

But the safety of a place didn't always come hand in hand with feeling safe. And there was only one person to blame for that: Alastor.

If he had been overprotective as a human, as a demon he was much worse. He didn't give a fuck about subtlety anymore. He knew the kind of people that were out there; in fact, he was one of them! Time had proved over and over again you wouldn't make it out there without his protection! He just wanted what was best for you and he also casually happened to know what it was! He was that smart, hahahaha!

As a minor, there was little you could do in Hell, you couldn't drink, you couldn't smoke, you couldn't have sex. So that just nuked three of the most popular hobbies there. Not that you cared much, but it just really left you with a feeling that you didn't belong among the guests and staff friend group due to your youth. The emotional age gap was quite something. And there were times where you felt like the tag-along-kid more than a part of the team.

It was really embarrassing to pull yourself up to one of Husk's stools, ask for the strongest he had, and get served some pineapple juice. He may get a few laughs out of your antics, but you just wanted to fit in.

Sometimes you played with Nifty, since she seemed to be the closest to you in age. Unfortunately, Nifty didn't seem to know any game that didn't involve cleaning or roach mutilation. (how was she even able to find a murderous point of view to Parchis???)

Charlie and Vaggie were too busy managing the hotel and attracting new customers, but you got a feeling they still wouldn't manage to fill that void you seemed to have.

Angel was like the big brother you wished you had had back when you were alive. He loved to gossip with you and Cherri; even when you didn't understand half of what they were saying, it felt nice having some kind of normal teenage stuff around. He also liked to nudge you towards some potential boyfriends, saying that you were in 'in the age' *wink* *wink*. Your dad did not appreciate that.

Alastor wouldn't consider himself a boyfriend blocking dad, Heaven's, no! Just a humble boyfriend murdering dad. So whatever idea of dating or just hanging out with other people your age was out of the question. As soon as you started talking to someone that was in the same age range as you, his shadowy form started to appear behind you and his eyes changed into dials, that was enough for anyone to start running in the opposite direction (he had scared away so many pontential guests it was unreal)

You couldn't even own a phone. Your dad insisted that 'his hotel, his rules'. Any technology that surpassed the 50s was out of the question. (they still didn't have a working phone). If he caught you with one in your hands, specially a VOXTECH phone, even if it was not yours, the battery suddenly started to heat to unbearable levels and you just had to drop it before it exploded in green flames.

Where was the fun loving dad you grew up with? The one that at least had the decency to be a bit more discreet? 'Dead at the prospect of raising a teenage girl!' He liked to say with a laugh.

You talked to Rosie about it, hoping she would talk some sense into him, and he had the nerve to act all innocent and oblivious! Like you were the one being unreasonable!

Somehow, this safe haven had started to become like a prison. You found yourself feeling suffocated and alienated from the others. When you were out there on your own you had lived in fear and trauma, which you hated with all what remained of your heart; but now that you were in a relatively safe place, you felt isolated and trapped. There was no common ground. You needed to breath, to live (or unlive), to enjoy life! You were not a little girl anymore! (҉Y҉e҉s҉ ҉y҉o҉u҉ ҉w҉e҉r҉e҉!҉)҉

So, one day, while helping Nifty clean and hiding from the Radio Demon That Sees It All, you casually stumbled into something very interesting at Lucifer's workshop. It looked like an ancient book, unlike those at the library which you had read and reread over and over again (One could read one too many times Mr. Waddles Goes to Church before it started to get old).

Something in that book drew you towards it, you knew you shouldn't look. It was probably full of ancient demonic knowledge, but maybe a teensy weensy peek wouldn't hurt, right?

Your face lighted up when you opened the book, (and not only because the light was coming from it). There were no words to describe what you found inside. You could see everything inside of it, it was like it was filled with everyone's dreams and hopes, you wondered how something as beautiful as that had ended up in Hell.

Without thinking, you touched the pages which felt warm to the touch. In response to your delicate caress, the pages started shining even brighter. You were so mesmerized by it that you didn't notice how the room was starting to fill with small orbs of light that started moving around you at impossible speeds, like a tornado.

Crafting materials, toy ducks and gizmos were sent around the room due to the force of the movement. But you didn't pay them any attention. There was something truly magical about the orbs' dance. It was enrapturing.

The door shot wide open, revealing Lucifer, Charlie and Vaggie with an horrified look in their faces. They were shouting something at you, but you could barely hear them, too lost in the orbs and their hypnotic dance. So distracted that you didn't feel the chilling presence that joined them until he spoke.

"Y/N, my dear? ." You felt a shiver run down your spine and your heart filled with the fear of a child who knows they have been caught doing something they shouldn't. You could perfectly hear his radio filtered voice, clear as a day, quiet as the calm before the storm. "Step away from that book, cherie. You could get hurt, and we don't want that, do we? ." He spoke with the kind of condescending tone one would use with a little kid.

A new sudden emotion emerged within you, something you had never felt before and never had any need for it. Anger. Who was he to stop you? Why did he always treat you like you were one of his puppets? Like you were another toy he could dress up and command as he pleased? Why couldn't he let you live?.

Feeling braver, probably due to the book's influence, you looked at his red eyes defiantly, once again touching the pages. Despite his permanent smile, you could tell he was getting angrier by the second.

"Y҉/҉N҉" His body was morphing, growing, eyes already changing to those red radio dials that gave you the chills. "I҉ ҉F҉O҉R҉B҉I҉D҉ ҉Y҉O҉U҉-҉"

"No!" You found yourself surprised at your own voice."I lost my life for you, I got sent here because I tried to protect you, I wasted my life because of you!" That last part came a bit more demonic sounding than intended. "Now. I WANT TO LIVE."

And with that, you were enveloped in a bright light and dissapeared.

For a couple of seconds, nobody dared to make a move. After what felt like hours, reality seemed to kick in and everyone sprung into action; Lucifer desperately searching through the pages of a suddenly very uncooperative book, just in case you had been sucked in, Vaggie was already establishing a perimeter around the hotel and search parties, and Charlie, poor sweet Charlie was franctically looking through every single room on that floor.

The only one who hadn't moved yet was Alastor. Already shrunk back to normal size, he seemed completely relaxed and chill in what could be considered an extremely catastrophic situation to any parent.

"Ah, must be those teenage hormones kicking in." His voice sounded as cheery and joyful as always. Almost like he didn't care. Lucifer shot him a venomous look, silently urging him to show a little care for his MISSING DAUGHTER. But Alastor had already retreated back into the shadows and returned to his radio tower.

If only they knew.

The truth was that Alastor cared. Way too much. He sunk his claws into the table while he fought against the deeply buried instinct in him to let himself loose and destroy everything in his path. The chains in his neck, glowed menacingly, a bitter reminder that he wasn't at full power.

He had lost you. Again.

He had you there, close enough to reach and you had vanished before he was able to do something. You had run away.

The mere thought made his hands shake with anger, antlers already growing twice their normal size. How could you? After everything he did for your sake, for your safety, y҉o҉u҉ ҉d҉i҉s҉o҉b҉e҉y҉ ҉h҉i҉m҉??? His smile looked more like a grimace and his eyes were pools of red hot rage. Oh, you were so grounded when he got you back.

Now you were out there, who knows where. All on your own. Defenseless, at the mercy of his many enemies without anyone, HIM, to protect you.

He sent his shadows into the city, he would leave no stone unturned no crackden untouched until he found you. He didn't care who he had to kill, maul or destroy. You would be coming back with him. Only HE could keep you safe, whetever you wanted it or not.

His desperation only grew when his shadows came back empty handed, the crazed look in his eyes combined with the slasher smile only made him look like the deranged psychopath he actually was.

You weren't in the Pride ring. He was even starting to doubt you were in Hell at all. What was the last thing you had said?

His non beating heart gave a painful twist when your parting words echoed in his mind. The bitterness and resentment in your voice hurt his tainted soul in ways no other person could have. His claws dug even deeper in the wood.

No.

All he wanted was to keep you safe back at the hotel, to ensure no one in this hellish landscape ever laid a finger in your delicate skin. He was just being a good father. You may not understand it, and probably never would. That's irrelevant.

He had found you again after nearly ninety years since that fatidic night when he lost it all, he was not going to allow anybody to take you away from him.

A theory started forming in his twisted mind. You had said that you wanted to live. Alastor was no fool, he knew what the Grimoire could do, in fact he had been dying to take a peek himself. Whatever you had wished, would have probably come true. His grin turned sour.

You had gone where he couldn't follow.

The mortal plane.

Who knew the kind of horrors you were facing up there? The kind of fools that would dare to disrespect the child of one of Hell's most powerful overlords?

He couldn't go there, at least not physically. If he could synchronize his radio frequency with the ones on Earth, he may be able to locate you before some fuckwad up there decided to have their way with you.

"We're on air"

[fleet-off]

From a chat I had with lu @lu-sn months ago, an idea that’s been living in my head rent-free. ❤️

They’re packing up Vegas’s room at the minor family compound—Pete on the floor with the boxes, Vegas on the edge of the bed and a dozen ugly outbursts.

(It is pain and presence and all Pete’s patience in the face of Vegas’s uselessness; it is a fragile, defensive rawness and a loving, too, and all of it bound up in grief and grievance.)

The packing goes more tolerably than it has any right to. Porsche never pokes his head in. Pete follows Vegas’s terse directives unerringly, sees too much but asks few questions. Three boxes and four garbage bags are filled in short order.

And then Pete comes upon Vegas’s drawer of trophies.

Not spelling bee trophies, you understand; these are the tokens of theft and successful exploits.

So here is the ring Vegas wore to visit Tawan. A forgotten earring. A pair of briefs, abandoned by a nameless squirrel-faced little twink who dangled off Kinn’s arm and Vegas’s every honeyed word.

Gifts, too: a set of ornate golden cufflinks, an enormous and tacky wristwatch. A dozen expensive baubles Vegas never used but forever gripped tight.

Here is a collection of meticulously labeled disks—one bears the squirrel-faced twink’s name, not that he’s aware—and Vegas knows the moment Pete picks up the oldest and glimpses its significance, because the corners of his mouth tighten a fraction. He sets down the disk and lifts Tawan’s ring instead, inspecting the empty promises engraved on its inner edge.

“Drop it,” Vegas bites out.

And Pete nods, and drops the ring back in the drawer with precisely as much consideration as Tawan deserves, and they move forward.

Or so Vegas thinks, except the next item Pete produces is a second ring. Gold and jade, a gift from some big-mouthed triad boy with his tongue hung so loose he ultimately lost it. “A shame,” Vegas had told Kinn at the time, airily—“It was a talented tongue, wasn’t it?”

There are at least four rings in that drawer.

The physical evidence of everything Vegas won over Kinn once brought him a mangled satisfaction. Now it is as if Pete is raising his mutilations to the light. He clung to them—they are his, as very little has been—but they are not of him.

“What,” he says sharply, “you want it?”

Pete raises his eyebrows. “I don’t think it would fit me, if I did.”

“Don’t get fucking jealous.”

Pete tilts his head. Looks up at him, thoughtful. “You’ve been a lot of different things to different people,” he says. “Did they fit you?”

(And here is the truth: sometimes, they did. Sometimes it was the wind in his face and a motorcycle engine revving under him and a rush of pure simple abandon. Sometimes the success of the lie overtook him and he became it; sometimes he ached with fragile pride for his meager wins.)

(Some nights he lay in bed with the smothering heat of a body against his back and cold sweat on his bare skin, and only his fingers dirty from touching Kinn’s leftovers because there was nothing left inside him to hold the stain.)

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Vegas says. His voice comes out strange and hoarse. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Pete.”

Pete crawls over. He picks up Vegas’s hand where it lies limp on the bed.

Despite everything—Vegas’s chest catches, watching him slide the ring onto his finger. He loathes—loves—his lungs are shot, can’t drag in enough air.

The ring dangles off his finger. Triad kid assumed his size, thought him grander than he was.

It looks gaudier now than it did the one time he attempted to wear it. Maybe it’s the absence of the family ring.

The tat and trinkets were designed for tawdry shapes, molds into which Vegas contorted himself. He is no longer capable of the imitation.

(Pieces of him continue to wear those shapes, still and forever. This alien body is an inescapable thing.)

Vegas watches his own hand clench into a fist. The urge—to unmake, to smash himself open—this too is inescapable. Easier to extract what is genuine from the beaten pulp than from the shell.

Pete knows this too, but he bows his head against Vegas’s arm before Vegas can even try. His forehead is warm—his hair soft—underneath, his hands hold Vegas’s wrist like a precious thing. Clumsily, Vegas’s free hand finds Pete’s nape.

“Be the parts that fit,” Pete tells him. “Hold what you want to keep. The rest will fall away.”

Here on his finger, a part of Vegas forcibly made native; here in the stretched-taut tendons of his forearm, the rot that is all Vegas’s own. Pete is careful with the invasive patchwork of him, but the specific gentleness he offers Vegas’s putrid inborn mess is fury and comfort in equal measure.

He strokes Pete’s hair. Slowly lets his fist unclench.

The ring clatters to the floor, bounces somewhere under the bed. They do not retrieve it.