#go forth murder woman

[just-a-girl-with-a-pistol]

She did something thats for sure

[the-acid-pear]

Why did my cooking dream get hijacked by my brain making a William Afton oc and au what was that about.

[bipherpol]

“Nico. Lucci.”

He’d known it was coming, but that knowledge doesn’t make hearing Robin say his name in that tone any less terrifying.

Slowly turning on his heel, Lucci looks at his sister, who stands with her arms crossed, eyebrows raised and lips pursed. He knows that look. Despite only being with her until they were eight, he’s caused that expression more times than he cares to count.

That is Robin’s ‘explain now or I start yelling for mom and you get to explain it to her and die’ expression. He hasn’t earned it since their reunion.

The fact that their mother has been dead for twenty years really doesn’t negate the effectiveness of it. That just means that Robin will skip straight to murdering him.

have a post-marineford snippet

[apatheticsunday]

Gotham TikTok

AKA "Danny moves to Gotham and records TikToks with absolutely deranged captions. He films Get Ready with Me in Gotham videos, fit checks, and even A Day in the Life of a Ghost in Gotham! Except everybody is freaking the fuck out in the comments" prompt idea!

No, you don't understand, I'm obsessed. Like, what if Danny's idea of "safe" is just... anything that doesn't actively try to kill him? So Metropolitians, Star City, and Central City citizens are literally biting their nails and sweating bullets every time he posts, because what if he gets merc'd by the "Eight Heads in a Duffel Bag" Red Hood?? And that's one of the nicer villains in Gotham. And Danny's just like wow, this place is niiiiiice, I haven't even been murdered yet!

Maybe Jazz took a 12-year-old Danny to Gotham to escape their parents. Gotham's cheap, dirty, and doesn't ask questions: it's the best place to go to disappear because damn near half the city's population are either super villains, hostages, dead, or vigilantes. She gets a job at an understaffed hospital as a clinical psych intern. She enrolls Danny for online schooling because she's scared a public high school would be too easy for their parents to track.

Which leaves Danny alone for hours. He makes a TikTok account called "Danny Phantom" because, c'mon, he's a kid. And, like most kids, he doesn't really comprehend the idea of a digital footprint or that his account is public, accessible by literally anybody.

He's also a little shit. So, the first TikTok he uploads is of a man getting carjacked, but the caption reads: love to see people helping each other. remember it's always okay to ask for help! it's okay, I don't know how to parallel park, either :)

And you just see this guy in a mask shove a businessman away from his car, gesturing with his gun, before getting into the driver's seat. Except the car is parallel parked so the carjacker just slowly inches back and forth between a Prius and a Honda until he can wedge himself out of the parking space. And then gets stuck in stand-still traffic. The TikTok goes viral. It's talked about on the Gotham news and Gothamites are losing their shit, pointing out the exact moment you can see the carjacker start to soundlessly cuss through the car's windshield or the way the businessman is just... standing on the side of the road, watching with a deadpan look.

Danny doesn't know about it being on the news, but he sees all the comments, likes, reposts, and feels something. He wonders if this is what Ember feels every time people listened to her music. So, he keeps posting. Usually, it's short three-second videos of a hilariously unexpected situation with an even more deranged caption. But then he's accidentally caught in the reflection of a store front while recording and doesn't know, posts it like he always does; only for this TikTok to go viral, too. Because "Danny Phantom" is a child??

He doesn't notice the shift in his comments, but the public opinion quickly changes from wow, Gothamites are just like that huh lol to what the FUCK, kid, get inside!!! anytime he posts.

Except Danny never gets hurt. Even in the most dangerous situations, when you'd think this kid is a goner for sure, he's just happily yapping in the background. He's so different from Gothamites because he lacks that dead-eyed, despair-inducing aura of someone who's lived in a hellmouth their whole lives. (A couple people post that Danny kind of reminds them of Golden Boy Brucie Wayne, all air-headed and unrealistically optimistic, and suddenly there's memes of "what happens when you've never gotten shot in Gotham" or "how i act when Commish Gordie accuses me of shoplifting again" with them side-by-side.)

And then Danny's posts go viral again and again. Danny doing a fit check with a blond-haired woman with a checkered outfit, she ruffles his hair and kisses him on the cheek. A picture of him wearing an old jean jacket with a bright red lipstick smear on his cheek is trending for weeks. Spoiler, fully suited up in an all-purple vigilante attire, and him shoving gas station hotdogs in their mouths. He even has videos of him clearly in Killer Croc's lair, with comments of are you in the sewers??? DANNY??? and he responds, no, i'm in mom & dad's basement :) (Waylon Jones is actually sitting behind him in one of the videos, intently watching a TV show on an iPad.)

Everybody adores Danny - Rogues, Gothamites, even the Bats. (There's at least six videos of Nightwing teaching Danny how to do backflips, handstands, and other acrobatic moves. Even the youngest Robin has been caught on camera quietly talking with Danny, a shocking lack of violence that left half the city's population suffering from cuteness aggression for the kids.)

So, yeah, Danny belongs to Gotham.

But the internet is widely accessible and Danny made it so, so easy to find him. Jazz obviously didn't know he was posting videos of himself publicly; she was too tired after back-to-back 12 hour shifts at the hospital that she hadn't even checked social media in months. Otherwise, she would've told him to be careful, to never show his face or post his real name on the internet. Then again, Jazz would never have expected all of Gotham (and Superman himself, totally endeared by the kid after Kon and Jon showed him a couple TikToks) would beat the absolute shit out of anybody going after Danny.

Imagine GIW's surprise when they track down Amity's former residential Ghost only to find an entire city frothing at the mouth to protect their Phantom.

[abysswalkerastraea1]

Concurrent Resurgence

A staggering impossibility had occurred on the night of your death. And now, reborn and unhinged; bound to that creature they call the Miles County Clown, you'd witness first-hand just how far your depravity could go.

17k words

Size kink

Art is so dominant I needed an outlet to express this

A staggering impossibility had occurred on the night of your death. Just like any regular woman, you screamed and cried and ran from the miles county killer, in a state of frenzy and terror up until the very end.

Your life hung on the precipice as you lay upon the ground, torn open from the midsection and gasping on wet breaths, watching that demonic clown hunker down low, leaning over your friend Vicky as he devoured her face.

You remembered the world becoming dimmer and dimmer, wondering when you'd be devoured next, hoping to God you'd die first so that you didn't have to feel the excruciating pain Vicky had.

Your wish had been granted mercifully, the sound of police sirens and shouting fading out as you heard the final cacophony of a gunshot, and then your world turned black.

Lying as a bloodied corpse in the morgue, you didn't expect to open yours eyes ever again, life beating steadily throughout you even as something dark and heavy like lead anchored you boundlessly to miles county.

You came to the conclusion that you and Art miraculously died at the same time, yours from your injuries while his was from a gunshot to the head. You both breathed your last breath, and now you were both alive.

It was as though his dying soul had latched onto your corpse, a shard of it replenishing what should have been dead and burdening you with rot, decay and evil.

Art had tried to kill you on many occasions since then. He was pleasantly surprised at seeing you whole again, grinning and waving jovially, eager to murder you all over again, only..

You couldn't die, it was as though you were both the oxygen and the blood that keeps one another alive; if one dies, so does the other.

It took some back and forth, cat and mouse antics to learn this. He'd try and catch you, gripping you by the hair with a mallet in the other hand, bringing it down in a devastating blow. You think he realised something had changed when you caught his wrist with an incredible strength you never used to possess and forced his head through a break wall.

Art had given you something, and he cursed you because he knew he could never get it back.

You were two halves of the same coin, polar opposites and yet vastly similar now. Humanity remained within you, somewhere, but your emotions became dim, your morals deathly low, and evil began festering.

You became violent. Explosive, uncharacteristically wrathful. It didn't feel wrong, either. It felt good, and the effort it took not to absolutely maim someone was immeasurable.

Still, humanity lingered in certain things you did, and especially the way you processed emotions, even if they were as muddled as dirty water.

You and Arts lives were intertwined now, and although he had eventually gotten over the fact that he couldn't kill you, you saw him more often than you liked, your meetings often tedious and full of hate.

For the most part, him seeing you often resulted in the biggest, most dramatic eye roll you had ever witnessed, his middle finger sticking right up at you. He didn't find you fun anymore; you were as immortal as him, and that meant you were untouchable, as was he.

You don't know if it was coincidence or some sort of fucked up connection that made you cross paths so often. It made sense, considering a part of him lived within you.

And just like always, Art was there to make everything worse.

For the longest time you tried avidly to enter civilisation again, whether that be from trying to get a decent job, to going to parties and attempting to make friends, or even just simple things like getting your hair done and a manicure.

Half of you wanted your humanity to be in complete control again, enjoying the freedom of joy and life. The other half began condemning regular humans, wanting to be forcefully ostracised from society and it's confinement.

Parties didn't help. On your list of things that did help, partying was the absolute rock bottom. Your alcohol tolerance was still horrifically low, and your ire and hate for the people around you jumped tenfold.

So, all that would really happen is you'd try as politely as possible to make friends at a party, get rejected, and savagely smash their heads into nearby picture frames. Or whatever happened to decorate the wall.

You'd then drink, alone, and become devastatingly drunk. And of course each and every time, Art would find a spare minute or two to observe you once you made your horrible walk of shame home, appearing from the darkness just to point and laugh at you and buckle over.

With your newfound strength and wrath, this often led to fights with you being the instigator.

Bottle in hand, you smashed it into the clowns face viciously, watching his expression turn to one of dramatic shock as he fell backwards from the force, your drunk self falling with him.

You were so intoxicated that once you hit his body you could hardly stand back up. Head laid against his shoulder awkwardly, you groaned and tried to ground yourself with a hand against his chest, collapsing with your feeble attempts.

You winced as your face made contact with the floor all of a sudden, Art having pushed you off roughly with a grimace.

Art knew he couldn't kill you, but he could break your ribs for good measure, grinning at the sickening crack of his boot ramming into your side. It caused you to vomit and go unconscious.

You woke up the next day in broad daylight, laying in the piss stained alleyway littered with rats. Chunks of your vomit and dirt spelling out 'Whore' across your forehead.

Since then, you and Art had toned down your rivalry somewhat, no longer fighting like cat and dog every other night, viciously finding ways to carve each other up.

You avoided each other for the most part. On occasion Art would seek you out just to be an asshole, slicing your cheek with a scalpel just after you'd finished doing your makeup, which infuriated you. Or after having your hair freshly done, he'd smear questionable substances all over it.

You had gotten so angry at that, that you'd went to his rotten workplace and tore half of it down before he managed to stop you.

Art - having realised the repercussions of having an enemy that he could not kill, that would be around with him forever and that would ruin his artisan-level work - certainly toned down his pestering.

You didn't see sight of him for a month after that. Let the asshole cry and lick his wounds, you had thought joyfully.

And now, he breaks into your home like it was his own, eating from your fridge and using your shower. You detested it at the beginning, throwing fully fledged tantrums at the fact that no matter what, you could not kill him. And hurting him too badly would in turn hurt you.

It was something you came to accept. After almost a year of fighting and stubbornness, you both began to yield, realising a stalemate when you saw one.

Art no longer smeared literal shit in your hair and you no longer broke his weapons. Seemed fair.

On the two year mark, Art frequented your home even more. Probably because it had everything he needed, and it had gotten to the point that you didn't even bat an eye at him. You'd still fight, where he'd end up laughing and mocking you and you'd end up furiously screaming at him, but it never really escalated from there.

Physical confrontation did happen rarely, but nothing..drastic. That shard of him within you had made you struggle to control your anger even after two years.

And then other times you sat silently on your settee, blanket drawn up to your chin as you watched a horror film alone. Just like every night, Art would come in and ignore you, but sometimes he'd be curious as to what you were doing, and flop down beside you far too casually.

You'd spare him a neutral glance, carelessly throwing the end of your large blanket at him. He'd excitedly accept it. He viewed it as one of your ritualistic customs when watching something you deemed as scary. Him accepting the blanket meant he was curious to know just what this 'terrifying' movie was about.

"Okay so, they can't find the key to unchain themselves to escape, so that guy has to saw his leg off.", you elaborated quickly, watching the scene unfold.

It wasn't your favourite film but it was on TV at the moment. Art folded his arms, watching patiently as the story proceeded. Your attention eventually faltered as a text message came through.

You responded promptly before putting your phone down. Then, another came through, and another, and you'd giggle to yourself quietly, typing. Art lolled his head back and to the side, watchful. You never really used that device anymore, he wondered what it was that gripped you so much.

He didn't have to wonder much longer as he ripped your phone from your hands and darted up, standing to his full height as he swiftly perused the text messages.

You jumped up after him, reaching a hand up to grab at him only for him to lift the phone above his head, gaze staring up to read them.

"Give me my phone now! I swear to God Art I'll fucking--", the rest of your complaining fell on deaf ears. Art rolled his eyes, all you ever did was pull tantrums and shout. And you never shut up, prattling on about one thing or another, screaming profanities and empty threats that Art didn't even deign to laugh at anymore, that's how common they were.

Eyes scanning the messages, a grin began to grow on his face, until full fledged laughter erupted silently. You seethed at him, clawing at his hands to try and grab it. Art eventually gave in, rolling his eyes at your continued threats, putting a hand against your shoulder and roughly shoving you away, phone thrown into your lap as you fell against the settee.

Before he left, Art turned back with his horn held between his legs obscenely, stroking it with a surprised face, eyebrows high and lips forming an 'o' shape.

You glared at him, but couldn't deny the way your cheeks reddened as his stroking got faster and his eyes rolled back in mock euphoria. You folded your arms and shrugged; you had nothing to say to that. Yes you were sexting some random guy and yes you wanted some dick.

Art tipped his hat with a dead expression, his mimicry representing a gentlemanly 'farewell and adieu', and his expression reading 'desperate whore'.

Before he finally departed, Art held up a scissors in one hand and a pliers in the other. He snipped them sassily, threateningly, grinning all the while.

"Yeah, well, if he's shit you're more than welcome to use them on him." You assured, and you meant it too. This guy seemed a little odd anyway, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Art seemed pleasantly happy with that, giving you a thumbs up with his back turned as he left the house in his Santa getup.

It was probably because you were overly horny, but...

No, you shook your head. Now is not the time to think of him like that. Honestly, you were getting more depraved every week.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You don't know what you were expecting, but it was.. anticlimactic.

You had become so sinful since your rebirth, average sex no longer doing it for you. The first guy was okay, an asshole, but okay. You tried so hard to be pleasant and normal but frustration and an unhinged desire coursed through you desperately.

It wasn't as though his dick wasn't to your liking, he was just so average and fucking human that you didn't even manage to get to the part that you desperately craved, your disgust evident.

Anyway, he seemed to think you had a bad attitude - you did - which led to arguing. You were not backing down and neither was he.

Raised voices turned into insults, both of you storming out of your bedroom and down the stairs as you reigned your anger in and told him to get out.

You could see Art from the front door, he must've came home at some point, focus taken from the TV as he watched you both scream at each other, boots propped up on your fucking coffee table which you told him not to do so many times-

And then your cheek was turning as this assholes hand met the side of your face.

You could feel your teeth clenching. Your face remained stoic, eyes burning with fury. You could see Art chuckling cruelly in the background, shoulders moving silently, incredibly invested in how this is going to play out.

It was only then did the asshole seem to notice a flash of black and white in the background, turning with an ugly scowl to the clown who now suddenly stood with a large smile, hands clenching and unclenching in anticipation.

He faltered, mild confusion and anger still evident in his scowl. An angry finger pointed in the clowns direction. "Who the fuck is that? You got a queue lining up after me, honey?" He spat the vile words at you, acidic and full of disgust.

You didn't have a chance to respond, lips quirking in mild amusement and eyes smouldered like a fiery, dark pit. The man scoffed, rolling his eyes at the demonic clown, before gazing back down at you with his lips snarling enough to bare his teeth.

"I knew there was something off about you, you fucking slut. Too proud to put out and, let's be honest," the man gave you a slow, disgusting once over, "not much to look at."

Something in you snapped, but all that came out was a gentle, breathy laugh, your eyes shining and dancing with a peculiar emotion. You wonder what it reflected. Judging by the way Art tilted his head from afar, assessing, before beginning to chuckle to himself even more, it must've been something ominous.

"What the fuck are you laughing at, asshole? Want me to come over there and give you something to really laugh at?!" The man roared at Art from across the room, utterly furious, fists clenched until the knuckles turned white.

Art began pointing and laughing now, wide eyed and crazed as he nodded vigorously as though to say 'please do!'

Before he could, you gripped his arm gently; your expression depicted a mocking sense of disappointment. "I've ruined your night, and wasted all of your precious time." You huffed, throwing your hands up in the air in defeat for him, indignant at yourself. "And like you said, I'm really not looking my best, am I? I apologize.", you smiled sweetly up at him, eyes squinted almost cutely.

The man paused at your admittance, evidently not used to any woman ever agreeing with him. He relaxed somewhat, nodding to himself as though to say yes, you are the problem, not him.

Arts dark eyes bored into your form, entranced, unsmiling, deadly.

"I'll make it up to you."

Your smile spread eerily wide, slow and deliberate and full of glee, frozen on your face. There was something ominous about you, mouth spread so far it looked as though you were doing a poor imitation of how a human should smile. It was too wide, too happy, unnatural. Slowly, you made your way to the kitchen.

The man appeared shocked and faltered, squinting at you as though to decipher what's going on. It felt like his eyes deceived him, searching desperately. Did he hear wrong? Did he miss something? Turning back towards the clown for some semblance of an answer, he seemed to have vanished. There was no trace of him ever being there, and there was no sound.

All was too silent, too calm, and it made his nerves stand on end, unsure, horrifically uncertain about everything he had just witnessed. He needed to leave.

The man tensed, back stepping at the sudden eeriness. It was so quiet, in fact, that part of his mind doubted that he had ever spoken to someone in the first place. Shaking his head, he turned to leave. There had to be a logical explanation for all of this. Without another thought, he turned and made his way to the front door.

If not that, then the knife embedded in his back surely did.

His keys suddenly dropped to the floor from his hand. The sound was loud, and would probably shock anyone out of a daydream.

Though, a second later, the horrific cry that surely tore his vocal chords was loud enough to make it evidently clear that this was all very real.

The life that had been temporarily drained from the house now sprung to life viciously, all at once.

Gripping a fistful of his hair, you dragged him roughly through your living room, kicking him so hard in the chest he convulsed, air struggling to enter his wheezing lungs. Blood covered his chin, eyes wide and unable to comprehend these sudden events; Questions swirled in his horrified orbs.

Lips curling in disgust, you jumped on top of him and began violently beating him. The man struggled hard, trying to buck you off of him and attack you back but to no avail. You were as immovable as a wall, face stoic and nonchalant as the man flailed back and forth, desperate to escape.

His eyes were wide, terrified, blood pouring down his face. In a flash, you held his fist tightly, catching it before it could make contact with you. You began to chuckle, mirth dancing in your irises, squeezing so hard you could feel the bone snapping.

It wasn't normal, this level of power, but it felt so beautifully natural to you, something dark and radiantly evil crying out in glory at your actions, delightfully satisfied.

He roared in pain, tears involuntarily streaming down his face, hand mangled and deranged looking as he cradled it to his chest. He shuddered violently, eyes wild in horror. "What the fuck are you?!"

"Me?", you thought aloud softly, bloody hand to your chin contemplatively as you stared up at Art, who was so suddenly by your side that it made the man flinch and choke on his breath in fright.

"I'm a..slut, right? That's the word you used?" You looked at the man for confirmation, who shook his head swiftly in regret, face contorting miserably as he realized his grave error. He began to sob.

You gazed up at Art, who was clenching his hands rhythmically again, laughter shaking his shoulders. There was more than satisfaction at watching this asshole get beaten; almost a hidden connection of evil sparking between you both. He was corrupting you, but you yourself made these choices. You, avidly, enjoyed this outcome.

"Is that right, Art? He said slut, didn't he?", you hummed in thought, scratching your head for an answer. Your crimson hands dyed your hair a terrifying red as you curled a lock thoughtfully between your fingers.

Art nodded slowly, unable to take his eyes off the way your blue orbs became corrupted, like sediment contaminating a clear pool. They shined as black as his now.

"It's funny," you began with a dreamy sigh, eyelashes fluttering back down at the miserable sight below you. The whites of your eyes appeared disturbingly bloodshot. "For being such a slut, I haven't managed to get a good look at you yet. We didn't get too far earlier, did we?"

The man below you was hyper ventilating now, shaking his head furiously, knowing and fearing where this was going. His mangled hand joined the other in what looked like to be a feeble prayer, chest rising and falling rapidly. "I-Im sorry! Youre not a slut, you're--youre stunning and I'm so, so fucking sorry--"

Your act dropped then, eyes dead and void. A sense of dread hung heavy in the air for this man; There was no way out, and no amount of pleading would change that. You lifted your knife carelessly in the air, twirling the weapon hauntingly. The look the man gave you would stay in your memory for a while, it was full of pure, unadulterated terror.

You brought the knife down, slicing in his groin. The man screamed so loud you thought his vocal chords had torn. Blood pooled around you, soaked you, bathed you in a pretty crimson to match your nails.

Art was a hysterical mess, hunched over and pointing and laughing, miming a condescending, fake sobbing at the pathetic man. He held a sinister mirth in his eyes, absolutely buckled.

Grotesquely, you dug your hands into the gaping wound you had made in the man's genitals, rummaging around with the sounds of squelching blood permeating the air. Finding what you were looking for, you held it up high between your finger and thumb, expression holding that all too familiar disappointment.

Your lips quirked, "Not such a big man now, are you?"

Art was rife with laughter and joyfulness, and before you knew it, your giggling turned into cackling, blood smeared all over yourself as you held your stomach, tears falling down your cheeks in sick, dark satisfaction.

You hadn't laughed this hard in years, hadn't felt this liberated and happy in a while. Everytime you calmed down, giggles becoming quiet, Art would hold up the castrated organ absurdly, wiggling it like an ugly worm with a look of surprise on his face, eyebrows high and mouth open, and you'd be on the floor cackling madly once again.

It must've been a grotesque sight, you on your knees upon the floor, blood sinking so deeply into your clothes you wondered if it would come out, wiping tears of laughter away only to smudge deep streaks of red across your cheeks. You looked like an animal, rabid and violent.

Art gazed down at your crazed form with a smirk of satisfaction, chaos swirling in his eyes. It was as though he had been waiting for that part of him to corrupt you, for your anger to explode, for your unhinged desires to manifest.

After some time, everything fell peacefully quiet. It was comfortable, and dare you say amicable. Your breathing was the only sound in the room, slowing down as you gazed down at the way your feet were absolutely soaked red.

Leaning back on your hands, you caught sight of the demonic clown with his arms folded, leaning against the wall. He seemed serene, no longer smiling but definitely not frowning either. His black eyes perused the coating of blood on the floor, making their way up to study you deliberately.

His stare was intense, and you couldn't stop your cheeks from lifting upwards into a smile. Pushing yourself to a stand, you grimaced at the mutilated body on the floor and shivered in disgust.

You nudged at the corpse with your foot, cringing. "Maybe mortal men just aren't for me, anymore. "Though," you began as an afterthought, "even if I had a boyfriend, you'd probably kill him anyway." You sighed, fully acknowledging this.

You weren't even aggravated by that fact anymore. It would've really angered you once, but what's the point? You and Art seemed bound together forever, by the looks of it. You couldn't imagine him sitting idly with another person in the house. But then again, neither would you.

Art deliberated, gazing upwards in brief thought, before shrugging too. Yeah, probably. Just to get under your skin, mostly. And maybe an inkling of something else. He finally nodded, eyes staring down at you from his nose, like an old librarian with their glasses on the end of their nose. Snobbish. He had a reputation to up hold, you know. His nonchalant expression read 'well, you're not wrong.'

You scoffed, though offered a small smile nonetheless. He was amusing. For a silent clown, he was awfully verbal with his theatrical ways.

But now you began to think solemnly; What you just did - the killing, the maiming, the castrating - was vile. It was unforgivable, sickening. Your human half knows this, and something is conflicted within you. It felt like two halves of yourself were at war.

Even still, you felt joy. And you know that's wrong, and it's absolutely maniacal. But what's even more astounding is right here, on a late Saturday evening, you and that stupid clown stood with an air of tranquillity and comfort, together. If this was two years ago, you'd be within inches of maiming each other.

Like a domesticated couple, Art got to work on disposing of the body, dragging it with ease to your back door, before disappearing. It left a streak of smudged red on your tiles. You got to work cleaning, rolling your sleeves up as you hunted for something to make your floor shine again. It took a while, but he was gone for some time anyway.

By the time everything was relatively tidy, it was past midnight. The stain on the floor had disappeared thankfully, and you felt refreshed after a hot bath, changing into comfortable pyjamas and fluffy socks.

You sat in your bed, blankets pulled comfortingly up to your stomach. Your bedroom was filled with dim lights, and they had their necessary effect of making you feel content.

You had chosen a random film to watch on tv. It didn't really matter which one because your thoughts were otherwise occupied. It played serenely in the background, but something was bothering you.

A part of you felt slightly deflated. You were still undeniably frustrated and borderline desperate to have this desire quelled within you, and now that you had a moment to yourself, it barrelled to the forefront of your mind.

It was a ridiculous feeling, but you couldn't help that you were so pent up. Maybe you were ovulating. That did tend to make your hormones go haywire.

Even still, you hadn't long killed a man. It would be wrong to..indulge after that, wouldn't it? You pursed your lips in thought, two sides of yourself fighting menacingly. You couldn't tell if your good was being corrupted, or if Arts evil that had tainted you had brought out repressed, dark feelings that most humans surely kept hidden.

You didn't feel guilty, which was peculiar. Your nature before meeting Art often held a lot of empathy. You could feel yourself shifting, but you could never pinpoint the change until it had already been demonstrated. From the way Art pierced his black eyes into you, you bet he could see the transformation easily.

Your thoughts were interrupted as the background noise of the TV suddenly became incredibly interesting to your brain. You paused, peering at the TV as the sounds of quiet gasps and sloppy kissing filled your room.

It wasn't even particularly erotic, but..

Even just the sounds had your pulse increasing ever so slightly. In your desperate state of mind, it was easy to imagine how that messy kissing felt, tangled up in somebody else, remembering the feel of bolts of arousal shooting down your body in tingles as it became more passionate, more eager.

You were in a trance, frozen as you watched and drank up every detail. Male hands gliding down a womanly figure, cupping her heavy breasts and listening to the shaky inhales and exhales she made, back arching into his hands needily.

You felt a hot warmth bloom in your abdomen, a pulse beating steadily between your thighs. How were you so affected by this? You weren't even just mildly turned on, you were in a state of full blown arousal, a stickiness oozing between your legs. You felt like some of that was from earlier, mostly from the anticipation of sex rather than the futile attempts that asshole made on you.

The image now depicted the man positioning the woman on her hands and knees, readying her. You gripped your blanket, wanting so badly to be touched like that again and actually enjoy it.

Your eyes were fixated on the screen, hyper analysing every detail you could take in. The world around you faded.

The actor on screen gripped the woman's hips roughly, situating himself behind her. He gave her no time to prepare before sinking in slowly, and you watched the way her lips spread open in a quiet moan, brows furrowed and chest rising and falling rapidly.

A wave of heat flashed through you, making you warm enough that you had to kick the blanket off your person. What film was this? It was incredibly pornographic, not that you were complaining..

Your bottoms were next to go, tossed haphazardly to the floor; you were sweltering. Granted, the room was far too warm anyway, but what you were witnessing on screen had you in a completely different state of over heating.

All you had on now was a pair of black, silky underwear and an oversized top. You felt dishevelled, and sighed as the scene ended far too quickly for your liking and the TV adverts started to play.

You watched on in boredom as Christmas adverts began popping up colourfully with the sound of bells ringing. You felt mildly irritated, your arousal fizzling considerably, but still prominent. You were left with the sticky reminder between your thighs, head lolling back against your bedframe.

Your head rolled to the left, eyes staring down your nose at the sight of your bedside drawer. Specifically, the one that held a lot of intimate objects. You felt a little cautious using the vibrator because knowing Art, he'd curiously come up to see what the noise was; he seemed to have acute hearing.

But if you went under the blankets, vibrator hidden between your thighs, there's no way he'd hear that. Your door was firmly shut and the buzzing was incredibly muffled under your duvet. You'd be quiet and keep it on the first setting.

You were astounded once again at just how wound up and sensitive you are, vibrator delicately touching your clit as your phone displayed a pornographic video.

The cock on the screen was a good size, and as you watched it's girth spread the woman's puffy labia, a sudden desperation gnawed through you. You pressed the vibrator onto your clit more directly, the bottom of your t shirt caught between your lips as your tits jutted out prettily on display, nipples pert.

You bit down on the fabric to quell your whines of delight, breathing sharp and fast through your nose as the vibrating against your clit became over whelming, body alight with a white hot fire that spanned from your abdomen down to your toes.

Your sodden hole clenched needily, you wanted to be filled but you needed a man to do that. You wanted to receive a worthy dick that would split you in half just like the woman on your small screen.

The scene changed abruptly, and what was shown next had your hips bucking desperately into the vibrator, teeth now clenching the fabric hard as your breathing became heavy through your nose, pleasure intensifying.

The man had the woman on her knees, his member shoved ruthlessly into her mouth as he gripped a fistful of her hair and used her like a toy. Saliva decorated her mouth, and you watched with rapt attention as the mans heavy balls slapped her chin; it all seemed degrading, but..

A moan escaped you, muffled, and your back arched as you moved a hand between your thighs and touched the outside of your entrance; you were absurdly wet, sinking straight through your underwear and smearing your inner thighs.

You so desperately wanted to grab the dildo from your draw and push it deep within yourself, hard, but you refrained. Your climax was approaching anyway, and you could hardly stop yourself from whining at the thought of being the woman on the screen, sucking a hard dick as you made a messy pool of wetness below you, begging to be split apart.

From there, it was a hasty descent into blinding pleasure, your wariness dimming as low moans escaped your lips. Your eyes were shut now, permanent soft frown creasing your eyebrows as you were so close to your peak, cresting at the very precipice--

A loud bang resounded in your room, loud enough to drag you out of your delirious stupor. Your eyes shot open in annoyance, wondering if you had kicked your remote control off of the bed, but then your blood turned to ice in your veins.

In fact, you sat so absurdly shocked that all movements ceased, eyes wide and unblinking at the now ajar door of your bedroom which you definitely, without doubt, unequivocally, had shut earlier.

You blinked rapidly, vibrator dropping from your hand. It buzzed obscenely on the bed with a sheen of lubrication covering the tip, but you hardly registered it.

The door was less than halfway ajar, your dark hallway the only thing you could see, and..

A hand flew to your mouth in utter mortification, cheeks flaming crimson. You felt dizzy with a multitude of emotions.

A messy, hand written note was celotaped to your door. In jagged, capital letters spelled 'Art was here'. With a crude, childish winky face drawn beside it.

Your breathing increased suddenly, limbs shaking with not only the almost-orgasm you were about to receive, but also the unusual fluttering of your stomach in nervous humiliation and something else.

You felt severely perplexed, biting your nails as you tried to reminisce, tried to pinpoint when and how he had opened the door without you knowing and celotaped that preposterous note to your door. How was that even possible?

Clearly, Art wanted to grab your attention just as you were about to orgasm, most likely banging your wall from the hallway, hard. It sounded like a picture frame had fallen.

That made sense. At the very least, one thing did. But what about the rest, how was he able to furtively open your door, noiselessly, undoubtedly watching you?

You bolted up straighter, eyes darting around anxiously. Oh my God, he hadn't just intuitively known you were touching yourself, he must've heard something. Were you loud? You couldn't remember, you were so dazed.

Your mind created pictures of your thoughts, envisioning him opening your door just a crack and--

Your hands covered your face. You were so embarrassed. Had he been watching you? He surely had. And alongside this humiliation, why did you feel a flutter of nervous excitement roll through you? Were you so depraved?

Your hands kneaded your blanket, gripping handfuls and releasing rhythmically. Holy God, Art had made you feel many things over the years.

Hatred, annoyance, recent joy and laughter, fear, anxiety, you could go on and on, but this?

This was something new. And yeah, maybe he only did it to get under your skin. What better way to mortify a woman than catching her red handed, touching herself, and calling her out on it?

But..

Your thoughts took it a step further.

Was there..any other reason?

You bit your lip in contemplation, arms wrapped around yourself comfortingly. At some point over the past two years, brief thoughts of the demonic clown had entered your mind, fleeting sexual thoughts that left as quickly as they came.

Because, well, you were evidently desperate at this point. And he had a certain charm about him, once you got passed the ire you once held for him. And he was a man, or in a man's body, anyway.

Your mind swirled with questions, dirty thoughts, and unending embarrassment each time you realised he probably saw everything that you did.

And he probably saw the way your teeth gnawed into your shirt to silence yourself, heavy breasts poking out beneath, fully exposed, expression one of unbridled, desperate pleasure.

Your heart beat felt like it was in your ears, anxiety high. The door remained open for a reason. He wanted you to come out, and then wanted to absolutely humiliate you.

You got along a lot better now, as evidenced earlier, but that didn't mean that he'd stop messing with you.

Begrudgingly, you knew that even with your enhanced abilities and strength, you were no match for him. If he wanted to truly be hidden, he would. If he wanted to truly be swift and unseen in his movements, he would be.

You often found your bizarre abilities only worked when you were angry, or felt some sort of negative emotion.

Otherwise, you were just a regular human, having no control over that shard of terror that lingered within you from your rebirth.

Steeling your nerves, you took slow steps towards the door. You were still clad in your long t shirt and fluffy socks, and schooled your expression into one of stern stoicism.

You couldn't avoid that asshole forever.

Gripping the door handle, you stepped fully into the darkness of the hallway, enveloped. Standing still for a few moments, you realised he obviously wasn't outside your door, waiting to terrify you.

Swallowing nervously, you made your way downstairs. The stairs groaned and creaked like they always did, but it sounded absolutely deafening to you as it signalled your descent.

Out of everything that he had ever done to you - from killing you, to breaking your bones, stabbing you and everything else - this made you feel the most vulnerable.

Your living room was pitch black, not a single light illuminating the area. You held your breath, listening as intently as you could.

Silence.

Your throat felt too dry to call out to him. You knew your voice would shake, your words would stammer. It would make the situation even more shameful, so you remained quiet.

Your eyes surveyed the living room in darkness, honing in on any unnatural shadow that seemed a little too eerie; he wasn't here. That frightened you more than if he had taken this moment to jump out at you.

Uneasy frustration welled up within you. Not only had your pleasure been ripped away from you, your legs uncomfortably sticky, but now you felt incredibly exposed.

Inhaling deeply, you glared holes into your kitchen door. Two things could happen here: Either he was in there waiting to scare the hell out of you, or he wasn't in there at all, making you more on edge.

You pushed the door open, trailing inside with faux confidence, switching the lights on.

Nobody was here.

If anything, the kitchen was still surprisingly how you left it earlier - clean. Eyebrows drawing together into a scowl, you grabbed a glass of water, chair screeching as you took a seat.

Art must've pulled that trick on you and then promptly left, entering the night to no doubt destroy another victims life.

Brushing your dishevelled hair out of your face, you sat back against the chair defeatedly. Well, your emotions aren't going to change what's already happened, and you'd have to face that asshole at some point.

Evidently, tonight was not the night.

Glancing at the clock, you couldn't believe that it was already 3am. Your eyes felt heavy, your limbs felt weary and you were burnt out.

Peering around the kitchen, you realised that you must've left your phone upstairs.

That's fine, you needed to sleep anyway. Pushing yourself to a stand, you trudged sleepily up the shadowed stairs, rubbing at your burning eyes with the back of your hand.

You felt content at the moment to sleep off the crazy events of the day and worry about them tomorrow. Your door was open, just as you had left it, and the comforting glow of your warm lights that emitted from inside welcomed you with open arms.

Stepping into the safety of your room felt relieving, and as you turned back to close the bedroom door firmly, you came face to terrifying face with a chest.

You froze, mind pausing in fright at the sudden, tall body that blocked your doorway. You blinked rapidly, face displaying astonishment, and snapped your head up at the perpetrator, wide eyed.

What stared back down at you made caution well up inside you. Art stood tall, appearing out of thin air clad in his absurd Santa costume. It suited him, and the bulky material only served to make his structure appear even bigger, more menacing.

Your eyes fluttered up at him with uncertainty, darting rapidly between his face and his chest as you struggled to maintain his intense eye contact.

The clowns face was all sharp contours, edged smile of amusement plastered to his face as he leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed languidly across his chest, widening his overall structure considerably. Has he always been this big?

He watched you with a wide, salacious grin, eyes alight and unwavering, and from the glint in his eye you knew what was about to come.

You swallowed, feeling your mask of neutrality betraying you as your body heated up, displaying a pink hue to your complexion. You didn't know what to say, how to act. Art could see this, the way you'd open your mouth only to close it, eyes darting around nervously.

You were usually so full of complaints, insults and incredibly argumentative when he had 'crossed the line', as you so often called it. As he so often did. Since your rebirth, you were all fire and wrath, near enough ripping his head off for something as simple as leaving a bloody mess on your floors or your door handles, if he didn't clean it anyway.

Of course, Art had begrudgingly agreed with you long ago to cease the truly harsh fighting, but that didn't mean that you didn't bicker, in a sense. He liked your ire, the way your teeth would grind together in anger, the way you'd go into an absolute fit if he threatened to childishly mess with your makeup and clothes, or anything you held valuable, really.

It was funny, and he knew you secretly got a kick out of it. Once the cat and dog game was over, you'd snap back to being a sweet, little human. It was interesting, and so amusing.

But this? Art peered down at you deliberately, perusing your flushed exterior with a smug, self satisfied grin.

He had been looking for new ways to get you to crack. So far, everything annoying he did was met with your aggressive screeches, and that was fine. But he needed something juicy, needed something that would really bother you, rile you up.

For a while, he struggled to find anything. He couldn't go too far with his schemes - you were both bound together, after all, so that would be met with futility.

He truly enjoyed bothering you, that was true, but his methods got boring. What could he possibly do that would make you think twice, or go silent? What would really shock you, make you revert back into your humanity, so full of emotion?

As a point of reiteration, he could have done many crude, evil and horrific things, but he couldn't because of your peculiar connection. So, he had to settle for something that was..bearable to you, but also astounding.

He came across this opportunity by pure chance. He knew what you got up to behind closed doors, you were a needy thing, but he didn't really think twice about it. He kept the knowledge of it quiet, however, just in case he ever needed to utilise it for fun.

It didn't interest him, initially. He enjoyed inflicting pain, mentally and physically, so the fact that you would so often touch yourself to induce pleasure wasn't particularly within his territory of fixations. He had other things that kept him occupied.

However, hearing your laboured breathing and quiet little moans had piqued his interest on this particular day. He had no reason for that, other than the simple fact that he wanted to spy on you. It was an urge that came by on a whim; it meant nothing, it is nothing, but Art often acted spontaneously on how he felt in the moment.

Mortal flesh did so often have its urges.

And a light bulb certainly lit up within his mind - this was the perfect way to humiliate you.

He had watched the way you gnawed at your t-shirt to keep quiet, pretty pert tits on display as you brought yourself closer and closer to completion. Art had grinned wickedly at the scene, hands fisting and shaking in excitement at the thought of never letting you live this down.

But, upon watching further, witnessing the way your head lolled back pleasurably, back arching and legs splayed wide in pure need, he couldn't deny the barely restrained desire to storm in and tease you until you were wracked with sobs.

Art had frowned in puzzlement at that feeling - it was incredibly rare for him - but his smile soon returned, shrugging as he accepted his feelings. If anything, this would only serve to embarrass you even more, he thought.

And now, dark eyes trained on your rapidly warming face, Art was enraptured by the amount of emotion that seemed to demonstrate itself. Your expressions changed quickly, and the details were minuscule, but he could see you entering a vicious cycle of bewilderment, embarrassment, anger and self consciousness.

It was as though your brain didn't know whether to lash out or guard itself. It was entertaining.

The silence hung heavily. Arts position remained the same, leaned casually against the doorframe, and yours remained as rigid and tense as ever. Your mind felt muddled. With a slow breath, your expression fell flat. Even still, you couldn't look him in the eye, and instead glared heavily at his chest.

"Stop it.", you began with a quiet, indignant scowl, chastising him. Your eyebrows drew together, so incredibly uncertain. His eyes bored holes into you and it was making you squirm. You were too stubborn to turn away.

Even still, you'd admit defeat temporarily. You didn't have the energy to battle him right now. With a huff, you turned on your heel and made your way to the bed, exasperatedly throwing your arms up into the air.

"Fine, stay there and stare all night for all I care; I'm tired." But you did care, didn't you? It gnawed at you.

Barely making it to the bed, you stopped abruptly at the sound of fingers snapping at you once, twice, seeking your attention. With a roll of your eyes, you slowly turned to look at him, expression thunderous. "Art, I'm not in the mood for this, and-- is that my phone?"

You barely breathed the question in masked panic, eyes wide once more as your phone dangled teasingly from his fingertips, wide grin stretching impossibly further.

The clown shrugged softly as though to say 'maybe', shoulders beginning to move rapidly, rising and falling in laughter as he held a hand to his mouth in faux astonishment at whatever was showing on your phone.

He feigned a look of bashfulness, fanning his face for a moment, eyes fluttering, before pointing and laughing at you some more. Your face twitched in it's attempt to remain calm and neutral, but Art could see right through you.

Covering his eyes obscenely at whatever was on the screen, but still very clearly peeking through the gaps in his fingers, Art swiftly turned the phone around so you could have a look.

That's when your mouth went dry and heat began to pinken your face even more. On the screen displayed the porn you were looking at earlier. You must've forgotten to close the tab, leaving the video running.

The volume had been turned up far too loud, the sounds of slurping and moaning vibrating through your skull deafeningly. A woman on screen had her hair gripped hard in a fistful, the man above her sliding his thick length between her lips. The sounds were filthy, and so so loud. You gripped the sides of your face loosely in devastation.

This time, you stormed up to him furiously, lunging and making a grab for your phone. "Stop it!", you repeated, shrieking this time.

You missed the phone entirely as he lifted it higher. You seethed, teeth clenched in frustration as the sounds continued, except now they had increased exponentially. From the way the screen turned down at you, you could see the man lifting the woman's thighs over his shoulders before he--

You shook your head furiously, shame blooming deep within your chest as you roughly slapped a hand against his chest for leverage, trodding onto his boots on your tiptoes to try and make another grab for your phone.

The attempt was futile, art was so tall and his arms were so long that you could never reach it. Your body was pressed up against his own, stretching high to make even minor progress in retrieving your phone. You could feel your anger boiling, scowling as you reared an arm back and aimed a punch for his sternum.

Everything happened incredibly fast after that. Before you could make contact, your forearm was gripped hard, your body was spun and your arm was wrenched behind your back.

You yelped, back pressed firmly to his front. You jerked side to side rapidly, releasing a cry of frustration in your attempt to get out of his iron grip, but to no avail.

"Let me go right now!" You attempted to sound demanding and aggressive, but it came out whiny, your voice shaking. You could feel the clowns body vibrating with laughter behind you, hand so tight around your arm you couldn't move at all.

On any other day, when you and Art would undoubtedly get into situations like this due to his pestering, you had a far better chance of escaping because you were often angry.

But today, you felt..more vulnerable than anything. You felt so puny, so small and human and fragile. It was a dirty trick on his part, and it prevented your usual unnatural strength from bursting forth.

Well, even with that strength, you don't think you could truly win against Art anyway.

Tossing back and forth regardless, you huffed and cursed at him repeatedly, knees slightly bent from the way he held you tightly and put pressure on you.

"You're a fucking asshole!", you seethed, practically feeling the mirth roll off of him in waves at your predicament.

A strong hand wrapped it's way around your delicate jaw, holding firmly but not painfully. Your head was pushed upwards almost playfully, fingertips tickling the underside of your face.

You met your own scowling expression in the body length mirror that decorated your wardrobe doors. It was as long as the doors and just as wide, giving you a clear view of Arts smirking face hovering above you.

You took in your dishevelled complexion, hair a wild mess, face lightly perspiring and your long pyjama t shirt barely reaching just above your knee.

You were hunched slightly due to being immobilised, and the hand that cradled your jaw looked absolutely massive. It was big enough to crush your skull if he wanted to, big enough to easily smother your mouth and nose without actively trying to.

Your scowl had lessened considerably at this point, that vulnerable expression returning once more. From this view, you hadn't realised just how tall he was compared to you. He was lithe, but wearing that Santa costume made him fill out a little, appear wider.

On a normal day his size would swallow your stature whole, casting a shadow over you, but in that costume?

He looked huge.

The stark realisation of this, paired with the absurdly intimate way he had your back flush to his chest and his calloused hand wrapped around your jaw with a salacious smirk, forcing you to stare at him in the mirror - you couldn't help but flush.

You found that you couldn't look away, your head attempting to move only to have his grip tighten, his grin sharpening. He loomed above you like an evil blight, eyes dark and calculating.

The sounds of the video continued in the background, a particularly loud cry having drawn you out of your thoughts, and it caused you to flutter your eyes to the floor and away from his charcoal irises.

You couldn't deny the heat that began to flourish within you.

It only increased tenfold at the feeling of a firm hand slowly gliding it's way from your jaw, descending directly to your waist, then further to your hip, squeezing.

Your eyes widened, head snapping back up at the mirror in bewilderment. You were met with the sight of his rough hand caressing you, smiling all the while.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" You spat rapidly in disbelief, words shaken and sounding far weaker than you would've liked.

He had never done this to you before. Art liked to cause pain, not..

Not this. Not any semblance of pleasure, of intimacy. Your lips opened in a quiet gasp, body tingling as the heat of his hand drew circles along your hipbone before delving lower.

You jerked in his grasp, flushing heavily at the sight of his hand gliding lower and lower until his fingers played with the hem of your t shirt.

"D-dont you dare!", you squeezed your thighs together, body squirming against him with struggle. He had long since released your numb arm, and instead opted for wrapping a long arm around your waist, your head resting against his chest as his daring hand gripped the fabric of your t shirt and teasingly went to lift it, only to stop, awaiting your reaction.

His shoulders began to move with glee, chest vibrating. Your reactions were priceless as you squirmed and attempted to back away from his hand, only to back further into his body.

This infuriated you, your flushed complexion displaying panic and bashfulness.

Those mischievous fingers danced along your thigh, lifting the fabric once again, higher this time, before dropping it. His expression held one of mock surprise, lips downturned neutrally and eyes wide, eyebrows lifted.

"Don't-- don't do that! I mean it!", you whined miserably, heat encompassing your body. It caused him to pause, eyes snapping from your almost exposed thighs to your pleading gaze.

That sharp, predatory grin returned. The heat of his hand squeezed your thigh and slipped under the fabric, tickling the edge of your underwear, fingers playing with the intricate, laced detail.

Your breath shuddered, eyes wide, and you unconsciously moved a hand to grip at his wrist. Whether to push him away or pull him in, you didn't know anymore; you felt overwhelmed, and the way your chest rose and fell rapidly portrayed that.

Art snickered, unwrapping himself from your body and taking a step back, his boots thumping. With a playful roll of his eyes, he held his hands up in mock surrender, as though to reassure you that it was all a harmless joke, and attempted to smile softly, innocently. It made him appear all the more sinister.

You spun around on your heel, taking a step back yourself as you scrutinised his display of surrender. It was uncharacteristic. Despite that, Art shook his hands exasperatedly in the air, sighing as though to say 'it was a joke, don't you believe me?'

You shook your head slowly, lost for words. You couldn't speak, throat dry and mind racing. You wanted to run away.

Art rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, before rolling them back to you dramatically, grin plastered on his face. At your retreat, he experimentally took a step forward, rather comical if not for the situation, and chuckled at your jittery self.

You furrowed your brows, not falling victim to this act anymore. You were going to kick his ass tomorrow, but for now you needed to retreat into the safety of your blanket, tail between your legs. "Get out.", you pointed towards the door sternly.

Arts eyes followed your finger to the door, before blinking over to you once more. His gaze swept over your form, head tilting in thought. He began to smirk.

Before you could react, Art leapt forward three steps, making you yelp and scramble backwards, narrowly missing falling over the edge of your bed as you backed your way towards the wall.

The clown snickered again, standing up tall and no longer doing that comical hunched appearance when he lunged at you. Now, he stood to his full height, back straight and stature big, before his boots thudded along your floor as he slowly advanced in a predatory fashion.

"I swear to God if you come near me--", you pressed yourself against the wall, watching his looming figure get taller and taller.

Your neck craned upwards, stare defiant as he hovered above. Heavy hands suddenly planted themselves violently either side of your head, crowding you in.

You flinched, blinking rapidly at the way he leaned down to become eye level with you. Your cheeks were pink again, eyes darting across his face for an answer to his weird behavior. What the hell was going on?

He was alluring, you thought, and it made thoughts race in your mind. Was he going to suddenly hurt you? Was he truly just playing? Was he actively flirting with you in his sick type of way? You had never fell this silent in front of him before. You needed to gain equal ground against this asshole.

"That's enough. What, are you interested in me now?", you scoffed, daring to lean forward into his space, face so close to his you could feel his silent breath; it was a front, you felt jittery even now, but you wouldn't allow him to mess with you any longer.

Art grinned, not at all reacting to your faux bout of confidence. He shrugged half-heartedly, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. It left you dumbstruck. What he did next made heat spread so unbelievably throughout your body.

You were so flustered your head felt heavy, and it only increased tenfold as your wrist was gripped in his big hand, fingers limp and relaxed, before he brought the digits you had touched yourself with to his lips and slid them in slow.

You shuddered, inhaling sharply at this display of intimacy. His grip was slack on your wrist, seeming to omit to the fact that you could escape if you really wanted to.

But you didn't want to. The thought didn't even cross your mind, and his eyes narrowed in a knowing sense of smugness at that.

Arousal swelled in your lower belly, pooling between your thighs as Arts tongue danced between the seam of your fingers, the ticklish feeling sending tingles through your nerves.

Art peered down at you, mouth full of your fingers, his grin turning nasty as he bit them lightly. Despite the clear threat that he could rip them out of the socket, your eyes remained lidded, pupils blown wide and hand lax as you let him caress you with his tongue and teeth. Crowded so close together against the wall, he could hear your heart beat thumping.

Dropping your wrist from his grip, Art reached down, bending at the knees to hook two hands below your thighs. You cried out as you were lifted high, legs resting in his grip.

He did this with ease, as though you were weightless. Sitting down on the bed, he adjusted you so you could sit on his lap, facing away from him. You could see yourselves in the mirror.

Art hooked his legs between your knees and spread them open. You wiggled against his hold, embarrassed at your exposure. Your black, lacy underwear was displayed, t shirt bunching up at your hips. You couldn't bring yourself to snap at him to stop fucking with you because..

Well, you were eager, far more eager than you thought. Had you always harboured this feeling towards the clown?

You were crimson faced, lips quivering as you tried to make your expression as neutral as possible; He had you on his lap like he was actually Santa, and you were the one telling him what you wanted for Christmas.

The thought had you lowering your head in bashfulness. No innocent Santa would have you spread and bared like this one.

The expression Art made in the mirror was one of mock surprise, eyebrows high and mouth forming like a circle. Before you could even ponder about it, a large hand was brought down to your inner thigh, fingers inching their way further in, caressing the sensitive area before cupping your clothed sex.

You held your breath, staring stubbornly back at him in the mirror. His hand was warm, and you couldn't help but shudder at the feel of his hand trailing upwards slowly, dancing over your clitoris briefly, then your mound, and up to the waistband of your underwear.

His fingers dipped below the waistband, gauging your reaction, but you refused to give one. Cocking an eyebrow in curiosity, you felt his hand descend, lower and lower, fingers gliding over your silken lips before delicately resting over your hole.

You flushed darkly, gritting your teeth as Art made an even more astounded expression, shaking his head slowly as though to admonish you for the mess between your legs. His fingertips rubbed circles in the lubrication oozing out of you, dipping in slightly but never far enough.

A small sound escaped your throat, barely audible, but loud enough for him. A slow, smug smirk stretched his face wide, and you could only huff defiantly. "I-- That's not because of you! I was like this before you rudely interrupted, remember?" You pouted.

Art rolled his eyes, nodding his head in quick succession with a look of mock belief at your words. He knew you were lying and so did you. Then, with a sly grin, two fingers glided upwards towards your slippery clit.

You gasped that time, quiet but still embarrassingly deafening to yourself, gripping the fabric of his forearm tightly.

A tingling sensation flooded your system, your body shifting and legs widening. He continued to massage the area, direct and blissful. You bit your lip, unwilling to let him see how much you enjoyed this.

Art chuckled, shaking his head at you with a nasty grin, eyebrows low and cynical. His dark eyes swirled chaotically, full of challenge and amusement and something else.

Hand descending further into your soaked underwear, two fingers dipped into your slit, thoroughly lubricating his calloused fingers.

Art paused, winking at you in the mirror. You attempted to glare back at him in the reflection, but you lacked the effort, and instead your eyebrows were drawn together softly, lips parting as two fingers slid into you to the knuckles, delving deep and curling sinfully against your greedy walls.

"Oh!", you moaned, hips lifting instinctively. Art began to thrust his fingers into you deep and hard, listening to the lewd squelching and how it seemed to fluster you terribly.

The feeling was intense; you hadn't been properly touched in so long, so to feel his thick, rough fingers curling rhythmically within your hot core, it made your nerve endings sing and your hips buck.

You gripped his arm hard, gasping, body fully resting against his own, head lolled back against his shoulder. Arts shoulders shook with laughter, terribly amused by the sight of you falling apart, but he wanted more from you. He wanted to break you, he wanted to make an unintelligible mess of you.

You were so prideful, you'd never live this down.

A fist gripped your hair roughly, tangling the locks before his fingers began to pummel into you expeditiously. It was too much, too fast, and you couldn't help but kick your legs uselessly, crying out.

"Ah, ahh-- Stop it, too much--", you whined, panting as the sounds of your wetness became loud, thighs drenched. You could see in the mirror the way his hand moved ferociously, molding the fabric of your underwear.

Your pleas made him speed up, thrusting so hard and so fast you wailed, thrashing upon his lap and dampening the fabric of his costume.

This was what you wanted, you thought heatedly. You wanted someone to render you immobile, shatter your mind. The view of his sinister smirk boring holes into you was alluring, head forced backwards with the grip in your hair. It made heat prickle along your spine.

Your hips began to move with his fingers, desperately seeking more, any semblance of pride vanishing as you chased your high. Your constant grinding made you feel the thick, long length pressing up against your ass, and you couldn't help but moan wantonly, pushing yourself into it with need.

His hand was drenched in your fluids, and it made him snicker. If this was you now, imagine you later when he forced you to take his cock.

Suddenly, your underwear was torn off of you, exposing the image of his large hand going in and out, curling, and thrusting deeply. The visual was arousing, your eyes half mast and dilated.

His palm lifted suddenly and jerked back down with a quick, firm slap. You jolted, wincing at the sting it caused, but before you had a chance to return back to contentedness, it struck again.

Those sinful digits eased their way out of you, smoothing up the length of your puffy labia, cupping it soothingly. You sighed, panting lightly, body relaxed and pliant.

His hand was hot and it made you feel content.

This time, it was sharper, and you gasped, scrambling to sit up but being forced to remain where you were as an iron grip wrapped it's way around your midsection.

Again, that firm hand slapped your sensitive folds, and you whined miserably at the pain and pleasure it caused.

Your lips were beginning to darken red from his assault, and yet you were still undeniably wet from his ministrations.

Your legs began quivering from the overstimulation, and you drew them together, trapping his hand. He seemed to let you, tilting his head with a quirk of his lips.

"S-stop tormenting me. Can't take it, not today. Please, just..", you paused, gnawing at your lip; you didn't want to admit to him what you really needed.

Art blinked rapidly, almost innocently down at you. He held a cupped hand to his ear, his other hand waving for you to continue, as though to usher you to speak the words he knows you're going to struggle to admit.

You pouted petulantly, eyes sparkling with unshed tears from frustration and the light stinging of your folds. Your peak had been building, only to be abruptly halted.

"No," you groaned weakly, "don't make me say it, you asshole." Your words lacked any real ire, and instead sounded exhausted. You were so pent up, so desperate at this point. As soon as the offence left your lips, two fingers began circling around your clit, refusing to touch directly. Art all but smiled at you patiently, face splitting with glee.

You sighed softly at the soothing pleasure, head lolling back against his shoulder. It felt so good, and you tried to buck your hips to make his fingers slip over your clit, but to no avail.

This caused you to release a frustrated whimper, feebly bucking your hips again, but this time Art stopped his stroking altogether, fingers hovering above the area you needed them most.

"No, I-I'm sorry!", you rushed out insincerely, desperate for his touch. You could feel tears dancing along your lash line, threatening to spill pathetically.

"Don't stop. I.. I need this so badly. Please.", you relented, biting your lip nervously, eyes fluttering to the floor in shame. You felt that familiar vibration; he was laughing at you.

Even still, the clown did deliberate. On one hand, he could continue tormenting you. That would be fun, and it was the initial plan, but even he couldn't deny his mortal desires. He had a strong threshold for such matters; he wasn't often interested enough.

If anything, he never paid enough attention to whether it was a man or a woman that he was maiming. That only goes to prove how disinterested he was in the whole affair of carnality.

This situation was unique, however. He was bound to a human he had once killed, who had just as miraculously as him managed to rise from the dead, and was stuck with you for ever. And, you are a woman. He couldn't damage you terribly, and he couldn't kill you. What better way to make you submit to him than by fucking your prideful, spiteful, hot-headed little self into the bed?

You were so easy to aggravate, spitting venomous insults and screeching in anger at him. That was all well and good, but he wanted to see the look on your face when he pummelled you dumb.

If death was out of the question, then immobilising you with his own body would have to do.

Gripping your waist tightly, Art maneuvered your body with ease, spinning you in his lap until both your thighs sat either side of him. A hand held your lower back firmly against his body, standing up halfway to tug down the bottoms of his Santa costume. They fell to his knees, and he promptly sat back down, grinning.

You hovered over his thick length, flushing red in anticipation. Hands finding leverage upon his shoulders, you let your wet lips rest against the tip, shivering as you did.

He felt big. You hadn't really managed to look at it, but from the feeling you knew he was going to split you open.

He seemed to be barely touching you, grinning cheekily as he awaited your next move. His cooperation made you uneasy, you wondered what he had planned.

The thought disappeared swiftly as you bared your hips down onto him, letting the tip nudge past your swollen lips, sinking in an inch or two.

You inhaled sharply, feeling the beginning of his girth and pausing in your descent. "I-I haven't done this in a while and you feel--mmm-," you bit your lip, sinking down a further inch, your insides pulsating and stinging.

You squeezed him tightly, walls rippling and attempting to mold to his shape. You gasped again, lips parting in surprise as you lowered slowly, delicately, his size stretching you.

You gripped his shoulders, fabric bunching up in your hands. Your thighs were shaking from the effort it took to descend patiently. Even with how wet you were, his hot length dragged against your insides, another inch being enveloped in your tight heat.

"Nng, its--so big", you breathed shakily, eyes glistening again. Art observed your pained expression in awe, smirking and winking at your compliment.

Two hands held your hips tightly, fingers digging in to the delicate flesh. You sighed delightedly at the contact, not at all preparing yourself for the sinister spark in the clowns eyes, before he slammed your hips down into his forcefully, tearing through you and settling within you to the hilt.

You cried out woefully, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as a pained sob was wrought from you. He could feel you shaking against him, panting against his ear, and couldn't help but chuckle nastily at your pain.

"W-wait, I need to adjust--", you began softly, voice quivering, but was given no time as Art lifted you up to the tip then dropped you back down. Your soft ass slapped against his lap, a horrible pain mixing with pleasure inside of you.

"It hurts! You're too big--!", you whined pitifully, tears dripping from your eyelashes. You gripped around his neck hard, body contorting in pain, shallow breaths hitting his ear.

Art knew this. You were so tight he had to grit his teeth, but he revelled in the concoction of pleasure and pain that wracked your body. You were too weak to fight him, trying to lift yourself off of him only to collapse back down, crying out as he filled you again. He could feel your tears soaking into his costume, and it made his cock fill with blood.

You were so full, the stinging sensation unbearable, and as he lifted you again, dragging your sodden hole off of him, he thrust up into you, letting your hips drop as he met you halfway and slid in.

A surprised moan was torn from your lips, a boiling heat enveloping your body as pleasure tingled and spread throughout your nerves. Art enjoyed your pitiful, pained cries, but he knew that the pain began to melt away as your breathing went from shallow, pained pants to breathy exhales.

The stinging became a dull sensation in the background, your insides igniting blissfully as those strong hands lifted you up once more, sliding all the way out before filling you up rhythmically.

"Mmm, Oh-", you moaned breathily, lips permanently parted. You no longer contorted your body awkwardly and instead began to melt against him, curling about his form needily.

Your hips began to take control, moving up and down his rock hard length, eyes closed against his shoulder as he emptied you and filled you over and over, thrusting up to meet your downward motions hard, filling you deep.

"Yes--Oh--", you couldn't stop the noises tumbling out. He wasn't even doing much, merely meeting your thrusts, but he was so big and long and thick and mouthwatering-

"Need more", you whined weakly, nuzzling your face against his neck, the fur of his Santa costume tickling your nose. "Please.", you added softly, thighs shaking so badly you didn't have the energy to lift yourself up fully.

Instead, you lifted your hips half heartedly, attempting to at least try, feeling that over whelming pleasure every time he thrusted upwards into you.

Each downward pull made you needy, and each thrust had you seeing stars. You could feel the grin on his face beside your cheek, body moving with silent chuckles. You were so responsive, feeling those big hands trail from your hips and down to your soft globes, pulling the cheeks apart.

You could feel your hole opening, feel his rigid length sinking in even deeper. You realised that he could probably see himself driving into you from the mirror reflection, your sopping core on full display as it sucked him in greedily.

You peered over your shoulder curiously, lidded eyes honing in on the mirror. The erotic visual had you writhing in his grasp, gnawing at your lip as he stared right back at you, lifting a hand to wiggle his fingers at you.

It was weirdly humiliating, but before you could turn away to nuzzle back into his neck and hide, his hand was brought down sharply in a loud slap upon one of your round cheeks.

You gasped, lips parting as your gaze remained frozen on his slowly retreating hand, waiting with bated breath, before it bared down upon your jiggling flesh again, and again, and again.

Your body jerked each time, a gasp escaping upon each impact, but your eyes couldn't leave the sight behind you, infinitely aroused at how displayed you were, at how massive he looked below you.

Art soothed the red handprints on your cheek with a gentle rub, looking at you in the mirror with mock concern, lips pouting out at you as though you were the cutest little thing.

You couldn't handle the embarrassment any longer, and turned back around to wrap your arms around his neck, thighs giving out below you. Two hands returned to your ass again, before gliding up into you faster this time, one thrust after another, drawing longer moans out of you.

The increase in pace made you writhe upon his lap, mewling in delight. You let yourself be manhandled, swiftly reaching down to grip two hands at the bottom of your t shirt and rip it over your head.

Your breasts bounced free, nipples teased against his body with each thrust, igniting a white hot sensation directly to your clitoris. You moaned a lot deeper this time, mouth below his ear, gasping and mumbling pleas.

Art reached a fist into your locks and wrenched your head back, hearing you wince and watching the sultry way you bit your lip at his rough actions.

You finally made eye contact with him, face to face, your complexion a dark pink. You put up no fight against his hold, even as he wrapped his fist tighter and pulled your head back hard. Your neck was bared, and you watched those charcoal eyes drop smoulderingly to your jiggling breasts.

His teeth attached themselves to your neck, biting and caressing the column of your throat, before finding an appropriate area and sinking his teeth in hard.

You cried out noisily, the sound pleasurable but stunted by pain, sounding more like a yelp. The harder he bit, the faster he fucked you, and you were soon delirious on the pain and pleasure, feeling his teeth latch on harder and harder until warm liquid oozed from the puncture of your skin.

Tears dripped from your eyes, cascading down your cheeks as you hiccupped and sobbed, your neck pulsating painfully. You didn't fight him, so caught up in the way he split you open.

The demonic clown paused, drawing back from your bruised and swollen neck, eyes flickering from the blood trickling down to your collar bone, and all the way up to your sparkling eyes, tears streaking your cheeks.

You winced, hair still wrenched back, moaning weakly at the pain, your breathing turning shallow again.

A hand cradled your jaw, thumb wiping a stray tear, and you couldn't help but nuzzle into the warm palm, comforting and big. It wasn't often he got to see your tears. The sight made him want to make you cry more, spill those fat droplets from your eyes.

Art tilted his head a fraction, inquisitive at your display of affection. You seemed to latch onto him, needing to be touched, gripping at him and melting against him. It was a far cry from your usual self.

His fingers moved down to the puncture wounds on your neck, pressing onto the tender flesh and making more tears spring from your eyes. It felt bruised and the skin was beginning to rise.

Blood dripped down your neck, and he used two fingers to swipe a clean line up your neck, coating his fingertips in the red substance.

Your eyes honed in on his crimson fingers, alight with need. Art tilted his head the other way, deciphering, and burned his gaze through your intimate display as you gripped at his hand and brought his fingers to your lips.

You suckled the tips, cleaning the crimson off of him, before taking his fingers into the back of your mouth, lathering them slowly.

Your own fingers dipped into the wound, wetting the digits red, before you hesitantly brought them towards his lips. His thrusting slowed, eyebrows lifting minimally, a shard of surprise running through him at your carnality. Your blood was alluring enough to halt his ministrations.

Finally, that dangerous mouth opened, slowly enveloping your smaller digits, tongue curling around them sinfully.

Your stare was unwavering, blinking from his mouth to his eyes before settling on those wretched depths. They swallowed you whole, scrutinizing your own visage. His smiling had long since ceased, a stern neutrality overcoming him even as you drew your fingers back and wrapped your arms around his neck to press your bloodied lips onto his.

The urge overcame you, tongues battling against one another messily. The remnants of your blood mixed between your lips, a soft moan of delight escaping you.

You never thought you'd be kissing this maniac. It sent heat coursing through you, borderline delirious from the feel of being so wrapped up in a being that was so dangerous.

Your passion resumed, hips lifting enough to feel the drag of his dick in your tight heat, before gliding back down with a light slap of your ass against his lap.

You were so wet it began to lather your inner thighs, dripping down your legs and coating his balls.

Your desire began to reignite, no longer a simmering heat and instead increasing to a boiling wave that overcame you. You grinded your hips, breaking your lips apart to gasp at his depth.

Art became watchful of your eager display, letting you pleasure yourself with his body. You leaned back, arms around his neck and extended straight so that you still had some leverage, and moaned wantonly as your position changed and his cock began to stimulate that lovable spot deep within you.

"Oh fuck--mmm--", your head lolled back, tits bouncing rhythmically as you increased your pace. You could barely hold your moans in now, overwhelmed by the pleasure of his length hitting you just right.

Art recognized the increase in your pitch and the way your body moved desperately upon his, and grinned. He wiggled his eyebrows playfully, gripping handfuls of your jiggling ass and beginning to meet your movements with his own, fucking up into you hard.

"Yes, right there, oh my god-", your legs were no longer folded below you, resting back on your knees. You had swiftly moved them, sitting fully into his lap now with your legs extended either side of his waist. This added even more depth to his movements. You could no longer grind your body against his, simply taking whatever he gave you.

"It's so deep, oh-" you began to quiver, needing so much more,  but all he could do was smirk down at you amicably, as calm as ever, watching you fall apart as each thrust directly pummelled into that spot.

You felt like ripping your hair out in frustration, body squirming upon his own in distress. Each thrust was like a shot of an addictive drug, filing you up and making you feel so high, but you needed that unrepressed carnality that you craved.

Shaking your head with a pinched expression of dismay, you leaned forward to wrap your arms fully around his neck once again, head resting on his shoulder as you whimpered.

His rigid length bruised against your cervix, hands on your hips and holding you down just to get that inch deeper. You were shaking, exhaling little 'ohh's into his neck, eyes squeezed shut.

"Don't care anymore; Need it harder", you whined pathetically, warming his neck with your hot breath; you were starting to crack. "Please fuck me. Need you so bad. Making me feel so fucking good-Oh--"

Your waist was gripped in a bruising force, lifting your body up and down like a pliant doll, fucking you vigorously. Your sweet admittance sent a thrill through his body, so he supposed out of the kindness of his heart, he could cease his teasing. For now.

Art gave you a lascivious smirk, eyes twinkling mysteriously. With a slight shrug and a nod, he seemed to silently agree with himself that it was time to get serious.

The world around you blurred as you were thrown onto the bed, hips forced into position. Your body bared itself on hands and knees and you tentatively peered upwards towards the mirror, fists clenching into the quilt in anticipation.

You watched the large, looming clown settle behind you, swallowing your body whole. With a playful wave at your watchful gaze, Art thrust forward and buried himself within you.

Your breath escaped your lungs in a silent gasp, body lurching forward from the force as he held you in place and began fucking you deep and fast.

He didn't tease you this time. Everything that had happened previously had been leading up to this moment, and it was mind shattering.

Repetitive 'uh's and 'ohh's sprung from you at each thrust, his cock splitting you open well and good just like you've craved for so long. He felt massive in this position, your velvety insides hot and tighter.

Gliding out until the tip, he'd push back in smoothly, coated in your arousal. It drove you wild, the lewd smacking of skin and wet squelching that increased more and more as he drove in faster, harder.

Your knuckles were white from how hard you gripped the bedding, unintelligible praises falling from your lips at the way he made you feel.

" 'm so full, oh my god-", you cried almost lovingly at the sublime feeling of him tearing through your snug heat, near enough bruising your cervix.

With a cynical pout down at you, mockingly awed by your kind praises of his ample size, Art reached forward to grab a fistful of your hair, wrenching your body backwards so your back bowed enticingly. It made your ass look rounder, made it jiggle and ripple more against his unrelenting thrusts. It hypnotized him, his cock rock hard.

Your upper body was suspended by the hand in your hair, and you could now clearly see how ravaged you looked in the mirror. The looming Santa behind you dwarfed your figure, all jagged smile and wiggling eyebrows at your pleasured expression.

Your tits bounced prettily in the reflection, witnessing the way his normally piercing gaze faltered and darted down to the erotic scene, before darting back up to your face. His smirk appeared lascivious at being caught, and he gave a comical, light shrug.

For some reason, an infernal fire roared within you at that; This creature was evidently attracted to your feminine form. It made you moan louder, reaching forward to play with your round globes teasingly, jiggling them with your incessant fondling, biting your lip at him in the mirror.

You were becoming feral for him.

Art cocked an eyebrow, head tilted in rampant interest at your display. That same jagged smile returned, and almost as a reward, he leaned forward and circled two calloused fingers over your sensitive clit.

Your reaction was instantaneous, legs shaking and body jerking at the intense pleasure. It made you nearly collapse forward if not for the grip in your hair, his cock still relentlessly spearing you.

"Fuck, just like that, ohh--", you cried blissfully, shuddering. Arts expression appeared sternly concentrated on your exclamations and the way your body sucked him in greedily. His thunderous expression was terrifying, but it only served to increase the heat within you tenfold, your body pliant and melting into his ministrations.

He shattered your equanimity, your mind turning to mush and only thinking of his thick hands and his fat cock-

Your thighs were violently quivering, struggling to not collapse. Your moans increased in pitch, high and breathless and weak.

" 'M so close, your cock feels so fucking good and I'm going to cum, im--ohh!"

Your body was roughly dropped, a violent hand forcing you into the bed. Your ass remained high while your cheek laid itself upon the blankets, face contorting in mindless, pleasurable relief as those murderous hands gripped at your hips and began fucking into you so expeditiously you wailed.

His heavy balls slapped your clit with each filling thrust, teasing the bundle of nerves to the point your knees began to quake, on the brink of collapse.

"Fuck, fuck!", you shrieked in repetitive succession, breathing erratically as his thick, long, veiny cock fucked you so good that you just burst-

Your knees did collapse this time, but firm hands kept your hips situated perfectly to receive his godly pistoning. With a high, keening noise you didn't know you could ever make, so desperate and whorish, your pussy contracted and gushed.

Your thighs were soaked and dripping, your bedding ruined. You could feel the way his grip tightened bruisingly on your hips at the feeling of your insides pulsating steadily, milking him, demanding he fill you up like you craved.

Your self consciousness and any semblance of pride were shattered into a million pieces at the mind numbing euphoria you felt. It enveloped your entire body in a blanket and made you feel like you were floating. Your insides fluttered intensely making your breathing erratic and short.

Your face was forced even further into the bed as you reached two arms back, planting a hand on either side of your round cheeks.

With a flushed, fucked out visage staring back at Art from the way your face was turned on its side, you spread your enticing cheeks apart, moaning. "Need you to fucking fill me, need you to fuck me so full please please-"

Art couldn't deny the intense arousal that shot through his body and engorged his cock unnaturally further. Your dainty fingers spread your cheeks so far apart he could see the way your hole split around his length, the muscles parting forcefully at his intrusion. Your virgin, tight puckered hole caught his attention the most, and he moved a thumb to rub the area tenderly, a promise that he'd make you scream yourself hoarse the day he managed to fit his cock into that narrow passage.

You'd cry, he'd make sure of it, and the thought and the visual in front of him was enough to have him seizing your hips so strongly that they would bruise, fucking you brutally and hearing your sobs of pain and pleasure, before his hips stuttered once, twice against your cervix and a flood of hot, ropey squirts painted your insides.

He filled you so deeply it made your body think it needed to pee, if only to expel the amount of cum within you. It was unnatural, but he wasn't a mortal. If anything, the absurd amount made you melt dreamily into the bed, thoroughly fucked and bred and satiated for the time being.

You felt the clown retrieve himself, sliding out with a lewd squelch. Your hole gaped and quivered, his cum oozing out of you messily and coating your thighs. You moaned pleasantly at the feeling of two fingers scooping out the sloppy mess, coating his fingers with it before pushing them into your mouth. You accepted the gift, a noise of delight escaping you.

It made you want to suck his cock and have him fill your mouth until you choked. The thought was arousing, clitoris pulsating lightly as you reached down and rubbed it in lazy circles.

His body moved behind you, two hands gripping your ass cheeks before a hot, long tongue nudged your fingers aside and lapped at your clit. You moaned wantonly, pushing your hips back into his ministrations, feeling that heat invade your abdomen again, signalling another orgasm.

"Oh God, fuck, your tongue feels so-feels so--", you cried out as two fingers sunk into you to the knuckles, pushing the sloppy cum back into your hole dirtily, all the while his tongue lapped at and lathered your clitoris, licking broad, rough stripes up the bundle of nerves until you were a whining mess.

"Fuck, fuuuck, don't know if I want your tongue or your cock more, mmm-"

Art chuckled into your sodden pussy, eyebrows low and sinister. You were shameless, your pleasure ridden brain void of anything else other than the need to be fucked dumb.

A high pitched cry of pleasure tore him out of his condescending thoughts about you, his mouth drenched in your splattering orgasm. His fingers curled within you, brutally fondling that area that had you outright weeping into the pillows.

Little 'too much!'s and 'stop!'s were cried out to him desperately, your body convulsing as though you were possessed. Wiping his mouth, Art sat back and admired his work.

You were panting, pleading in a high pitched, pathetic tone. Your body was overwhelmed, tired and bruised, and Art sat back on his knees and thought for a moment, hand to his chin.

His eyes rolled up to the ceiling in brief contemplation, and then he shrugged, situating himself behind you again.

You whimpered at the feeling of him forcing his sturdy cock into your puffy walls once more. The sound you made was strangled and weak, drool dripping down your chin shamelessly, body losing function of itself. You were crying openly, brought deeper and deeper into a submissive sort of headspace.

He grinned sharply, his cock hardening at the sight of your pathetic state. He bet he could make your body lose all inhibition and piss itself. You'd be so ashamed, and he'd make you lick the liquid off of his cock; a good girl for Santa.

He began to fuck you, patting your messy hair adoringly. You whimpered and wailed, pleading for more, pleading for less. But he found that he wasn't finished with you just yet. You wanted this, didn't you? You told him so yourself.

With a comforting stroke of your hair, Art smiled mockingly down at you, pouting his lips out at your cuteness. He couldn't go back on his word; he was going to fuck you until you couldn't walk.

Thrusting into you, your mouth opened in unbridled pleasure.

The comforting stroke of your hair turned sinister, gripping a fistful up to the root.

Your pretty, wet eyes stared back at him over your shoulder, lips quivering.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Epilogue

You had fallen unconscious. He had drawn orgasm after orgasm out of you to the point that you begged him to stop, crying so much that you couldn't breathe. Art adored your tears, awed and fascinated by them. The only reprieve you were given was your exhausted, slumped body falling soundly asleep. It was exquisitely blissful, but too much to bear.

You awoke with a weak groan, pushing yourself up to a seated position. You were naked in the blankets, but Art seemed to have the decency to clean you up slightly, your inner thighs dry and not at all the mess that they were a few hours prior. That was oddly sweet of him. And unexpected.

You wrapped a dressing gown around your body, wincing as you stood on shaky legs. Your insides felt battered and bruised, your hips dark with fingerprints. Making your way downstairs, your eyes were sleepy and lidded as you switched the kettle on to make yourself a coffee.

You had a moment of peace to yourself, or so you thought.

In came strolling that demonic clown, looking as fresh as a daisy and wide awake as he bounced preppily over to you, plonking his cup down beside yours in a silent request that he, too, wanted something hot to drink. Preferably hot chocolate.

He no longer adorned his Santa costume, instead dressed as he usually was in that monochromatic suit, face paint as immaculate as ever. He smiled down at you dazzlingly, or as brightly as a demonic entity could, patting your head like you were a golden retriever before grabbing the hot chocolate that you had barely stirred with your spoon and taking a seat at the table, newspaper in hand.

You eyed him warily, exhausted, and felt a small amount of embarrassment flourish within you at how normal he was acting and how drained you felt and looked and..

Not to mention the memories of last night either. You promptly locked them away in a box and threw away the key for now.

You reached up to grab a box of cereal from the shelf and sighed. You couldn't be bothered to eat right now, even though your stomach was grumbling noisily.

What you didn't expect was for a white hand to flash in your peripheral, grabbing it for you, before gripping your hips and spinning you to face him.

The pressure on your hips made you visibly wince, and Arts expression turned to one of shock, mouth an 'o' and eyebrows high. You frowned weakly at him before pushing his hands off of you with barely any effort behind it.

"Hurts." You pouted up at him, shaking your head lightly. You felt so weak, you really needed to replenish yourself and eat something.

Art cooed down at you, pinching your cheek lightly. You scowled now and moved away from him, thoroughly drained. He could sense that your usual fire had been doused at the moment, and held a finger up to represent a lightbulb moment.

Before you could contemplate it, you were picked up bridally and sped into the living room, making you squeal and giggle breathily. Art dumped you onto the settee, turning the TV on and putting on a horror film.

He jumped beside you, blanket covering both yours and his legs, and you couldn't help but smile dreamily at him.

He fucked you good and hard last night, and now wants to watch one of your favourite horror movies? What a gentleman. Art deadpanned at your bizarre expression, clicking his fingers in front of your eyes to snap you out of it. You only smiled wider, eyes crinkling.

"You know, you're sooo sweet when you want to be."

Art comically guffawed at your admittance, shaking his head swiftly to deny such a thing, lifting a finger to the side of his head and twirling it in a clockwise motion to signify you were crazy for ever thinking something like that.

The overly dramatic, rare expression had you giggling again, soft and sweet. Art rolled his eyes at you, waving you off as though to say 'yeah, okay, don't get used to it'.

Seeing this as a prime opportunity to tease, you were swiftly silenced as a slice of cake was shoved into your mouth. You don't know..where he got that, but he was a clown, after all, and it tasted edible.

Sighing contentedly, you chewed the sweet treat slowly, watching as the scene on TV displayed a possessed woman in the shower, scorching water melting her skin as she carved her mouth apart with glass.

You loved this movie, and Art seemed intrigued, cackling silently beside you. Wrapped up in the blanket, you leaned against him comfortably, and he seemed unperturbed by it, eyes honed in on the screen.

You don't know why he was being so gentle with you. Art never did things unless he wanted to, and that was enough of an answer for you; he simply wanted to act this way right now. Even still, it made you feel warm, and you supposed living eternally together wouldn't be so bad.

Well, that was until you fell asleep, awoken by the chill of having your thighs spread apart and cake smeared all over your puffy, abused folds.

"Art! What the hell are you doing?! I told you I'm in pain--"

Art chuckled evilly, leaning down to lick a gentle stripe up your icing covered lips, savouring the sweet taste.

Your breath hitched, but you still held your hands against his shoulders, faced etched with nervousness. "P-please don't. Can't..can't handle it right now."

Art tilted his head a fraction, staring up at you in awe. You had retracted to that submissive headspace again, and he found that he relished it. Repressing a cheeky grin, Art held his hands up placatingly, schooling his expression to one of neutrality, or rather barely masked amusement, and used his finger to draw an imaginary X over his heart.

"You mean you won't..be too much? Really? I'm having a hard time trusting you, you're literally grinning at me right now..." You huffed, expression incredibly wary.

Art covered his mouth with the back of his hand, teeth clenched as he grinned and laughed. Even still, he coughed once, face falling flat to prove he was.. moderately serious about being gentle with you.

In truth, he just wanted to eat your juicy pussy and hear you moan his name again. He bet he could get you to ask him nicely to fuck you.

For added effect, Art splayed his wide hands on your thighs and tickled the skin with either thumb, rubbing soothing circles into the flesh. Again, you had that dopey, dreamy expression on your face, and he began to think he really did damage your mind last night.

"Fine, just..be gentle, okay? I'm in no mood to quarrel today."

Art shrugged lightly. He kind of felt the same. It was refreshing hearing your soft voice instead of your screeching one of anger, or seeing your fluttering eyes at him rather than your stone cold ones.

Who knew that fucking you silly would make you so tame, so pliant. It was rather funny. Guess it proves that all you needed was a bit of dick to calm you down.

And Art was feeling surprisingly generous today. With a quirk of his lips, he settled between your thighs and placed them onto his shoulders.

Tongue darting out to lick up from your hole to your clitoris, he lathered the nub gently, lowering his lips to suckle it.

You gasped softly, widening your legs for him and biting your lip. The pleasure was instant, a heat boiling in your abdomen and fluttering down to your toes.

He was good at playing the part of devoted and gentle, and gripped at your hand delicately, lacing his fingers with your own in an intimate display. He watched you blush a pretty pink, mouth parting in awe at his uncharacteristic tenderness.

As you stared into his smouldering eyes, he smothered your clit beautifully, making you moan and buck your hips up into him.

He knew the moment your moans turned deep and sultry as he prodded a finger at your entrance, that you'd soon be backtracing your words and pleading with pouty lips that he fuck you gently.

There was an undeniable connection between you both; you were bound, after all, and even he wasn't immune to the effects of it. He'd still aggravate you, and absolutely wreak havoc on your wanting body, but he also rather enjoyed the peaceful tenderness of these moments, save for your breathy moans and the sounds of someone dying on the TV.

It made him feel peculiarly content. With a smirk into your sodden folds, Art thrust a finger into you deeply, standing between borderline pleasurable and 'too much', as you had said.

You had yet to berate him, he noted.

Within a few minutes, you were a mess down there, soaked and sticky with cake. He remained true to his word, not at all being rough, and instead holding you delicately in warm hands as he sucked and licked at your glistening folds.

"Art, it's the best part of the movie- Ah--"

He rolled his eyes at you, though did spare a single glance at the screen when he heard the sound of a chainsaw.

In no time, you were panting and reaching your peak, soft cry breathed into the air as his fingers curled and pumped into you, tongue massaging your clit. You gushed down his wrist, quivering.

Art smiled innocently up at your flustered self, imitating dabbing his mouth clean with a napkin. He jumped up and sprung beside you once more, pulling you into his sturdy lap and leaning back comfortably.

His eyes didn't leave the screen, fully focused.

You shifted, wiggling to get comfortable and felt his hard dick pressing against you. You bit your lip and glanced at him guiltily - you had just proclaimed that you were in pain today, and now you were having thoughts of him fucking you?

You settled back against him, flushed and buzzing with arousal. The film was almost over. Art grinned behind you, eyes ablaze with mischief. He knew what you wanted, but like you said, he was missing the best part of the movie.

Maybe if you're lucky, he'll fuck you later. But for now, you'd sit tiredly spent against his chest, chuckling at the brutal massacres on screen. More cake miraculously appeared, which always helped. It was pressed against your lips forcefully and you were more than happy to take it, humming in delight.

"Who'd have thought that you killing me all those years ago would evolve into this.", you smirked at him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "You're actually really cute. No idea how I never noticed it before." Your girlish expression lit up your face, eyes sparkling.

Art looked exasperated at your comment and shrugged. He smiled cheekily, pointing at himself as if to bashfully say "who, me?"

Your giggles rung throughout your home, his silent laughter making your body move. You felt a sense of contentment - a partner in crime to maim people with and to fuck you dumb.

Your eyes swirled black, corrupt and tainted, and promptly shut sleepily.

What could be better than this?

i need him so bad. this is pure smut. i made an epilogue to add fluffy things but it turned into smut 💀

also this isn't related to sporadic contingency at all, its just a standalone fic x

[shaisuki]

Hiii, I read your chubby concubine work and I saw your requests were open so I wanted to ask for Sukuna x Concubine reader where she's very compliant and stays collected most of the time but she doesn't want him touching her clit and when he does she gets very vocal and sensitive please ? 🙏🏻

❝ ONE'S PLEASURE. ❞

☠︎ FEATURING. SUKUNA RYOUMEN

CONTENT WARNINGS. true form! sukuna + blow jobs + clit slapping + talks about murder + blood + penetrative sex + double penetration.

SYNOPSIS. sukuna gets his meek and obedient concubine to get vocal.

the dark hallways are illuminated with the torches placed in the pillars. guiding you to your master's private chambers. you were called for the night to accompany him and tend to his pleasures. the moon bright and full. the breeze cold as you paved your way.

you smoothed your kimono with your palms when you arrived in his chambers before raising your fist to knock, warning him of your arrival and you entered the door.

“sukuna-sama.” you briefly greeted him. head hung low as you waited for him to permit you to look at him. one thing you know of your master is you never look at his eyes until he allows you to. a painful death is imminent when he catches you looking at him.

“woman.” he calls you and that was your cue to look at him but you didn't dare to meet his gaze. anywhere your eyes can look but never at his eyes.

he sat upon his bed. legs spread and he's resting his chin in one of his arms. the black haori is the only thing that is covering his nakedness.

you slowly approached him and you're in front of him. even he's seated while you stand in front of him, he easily dwarfs you of his muscular body despite you being bigger than his other concubines.

“may i remove your haori, sukuna-sama?” in which he responds with a hum. his gaze never leaving you as he follows your every moment. you reach out for his haori. gently grabbing it as you slowly removed it from him. biting your lips and your gaze briefly meets the two eyes in the right side of his face. the brief look on his eyes got your heart rate spiking up and you hear him chuckle.

he smell the fear dancing around you along with the arousal between your thighs. it was a delight for him when he have that effect. striking fear in everyone enticing his palate with their flesh in his tongue. sukuna have already had you devoured if it wasn't for the reason you're his favorite concubine even that he can suppress the greed for the woman in front of him. the plumpness of your body and the taste of it in his tongue mingling and he's willing to let you live until you have no use for him. it will take a long time for that to happen and before that he's going to make a use out of you to be his cocksleeve.

he watches as you placed his haori beside him and your hands reach out for the obi of your kimono. delicately untying the knot before it falls to the floor along with your kimono. baring your body in front of him and he watch as your gaze drops to the two large cocks of his. hard and twitching. kneeling, your hands wrapped around them. giving it a firm squeeze before enveloping one of his cock around your mouth. the other being stroked with your hand.

“mmm—ah” the tip of his cock and your lips are connected with your spit. squeezing his lengths with your hand you went back to suck one his cocks. glistening as you gave it a suck before disconnect your mouth from it to kiss the tip and giving it kitten licks before sucking it with your mouth. your cheeks hollowing a bit to take his length deeper. you know how much sukuna likes you to take more of his cocks.

you bobbed your head. going back and forth until you're almost choking on your lord sukuna-sama's cock. it feels good. so good that you don't want to let go and just fully engulf his cocks to your mouth. you really loved the taste of it.

sukuna have you summoned for tonight and the previous nights. he won't say it but he have taken a fondness to you. a quality that once in a blue moon joins his harem. a meekly obedient mortal who have graced with a body an embodiment of wealth and fertility.

“stop.” he orders you and you halted your movements. “come and show me what you're made of, mortal.” his voice deep and that strikes a fear to your heart. you oblige without a second thought. walking towards him until your body is in front of him. the plate in the right side of his face where two of his eyes moves in a synchronized manner. one of his hands reach out to move the hair covering your chest to side. exposing you bare to him and grazing the skin with his sharp nails. droplets of blood surfaces in the teared skin. the smell of blood enticing him to take a taste of you and when you meet his gaze, you were done for.

it is said that no other concubines that laid in his bed had the privileged to ride him. it was the talk among your fellow concubines while they rouge their cheeks and combed their hair in the room where all of you gathered as concubines. you paid no mind to it and maybe you should have.

your legs burn while your holes squeezed around his cocks. you have been bouncing for hours more like minutes to say. biting your lower lip to contain the moans wanting to spill out from your mouth. it burns and it hurts. you didn't even dare to complain or voice out the difficulty of riding his two huge cocks that is swelling and definitely getting bigger inside of you. you were grateful for the support of your arms holding the cap of his knees while you ride him. it definitely helped you to ease the added burn and the stretch of his cock destroying your pussy and rearranging your guts.

it was always a question to him. how you stay collected and calm when you're being impaled by his cocks. he looks at your fat pussy between your legs. his cocks glistening as it went deeper inside you and your cunt gushes with your slick. he knows you are feeling good from the wetness between your thighs and coating his lengths. he hopes for a reaction besides the expression of your face contorting in pleasure and he wants to hear more aside from the breathless moans and the silent gasps you're emitting. it doesn't occur when a concubine of his stays this silent. they're loud and the shrill voice they make when he fucks them sends him to a irritation that they doesn't leave the room alive no matter how they suppressed it and there comes you. following every order and keeping his cocks nice and warm while being silent throughout the whole time. he ought to find on how to break you out of that collected persona of yours.

“ahh!” you squeaked out. a look of horror painted to your face as the pads of his fingers reached to rub your clit. a deep chuckle is followed. “there it is, can you still keep your voice low, human?” he challenges you and the tears swell to your eyes. face burning in embarrassment. you continued to bounce in his cocks but sukuna have other plans to you.

“please, sukuna-sama. don't touch m-me there.” you stutter out. “who are you to order me, mortal?” you shaked your head before gasping for air. choking on your moans.

he hears you squeal and your cunt gushes more slick that it was almost flowing. a pinch of your clit and your cunt convulses around his cocks. milking them and he growls in response. flicking your poor little clit and you were crying. begging for him to stop, your thighs trembling from your orgasm and another incoming one.

bored of the position, he places you on your back. your wrists are pinned above your head. “sukuna-sama?” he hears you call for him. your eyes glistening with tears. whining as he folds you. your stomach rolls are folded like dough being stacked. your knees are on the level of your chest and he stares at your puffy cunt before plunging his two cocks inside knocking the air in your lungs before pummeling your abused cunt with his length and it gotten worst when he comes to give your swollen clit with attention. slapping it while he thrusts his cocks to your fat pussy.

you laid there helplessly, you didn't know if you can still speak or it was the blunt force of his cocks are keeping your from speaking. you were too tired to speak out while he used you as his fleshlight.

sukuna watched in amusement as you came undone for his cocks the nth time. you can't even speak now seconds after you were screaming. moaning his name in desperation while he plows deeply inside you. you are truly a fascinating creature in his eyes and too bad you passed out before he can dump his load to you. he's willing to make an exception to you for now but there will be no next time. you better be sure to stay awake the next time he's giving your needy clit the attention it desperately needs.

[eclipseslayer]

TASTING FEAR

➭ SUKUNA RYOMEN X F! READER SMUT ONESHOT

➭ Day 3 of Kinktober: Double Penetration

➭ SUMMARY: The King of Curses sends out Uraume to fetch his new concubine to birth his heir, and, unfortunately, it happened to be you.

➭ CW: Heian era!Sukuna, historically innacurrate, Double penetration, spankings, degredation, Sukuna uses the word "whore", cunninglingus, slight hints of dub-con.

➭ WC: 4k

➭ MDNI! 18+ ONLY!

It's a full moon tonight, and the night sky shines brightly, illuminated by the brightness of the moon, and the night air is cool, making your kimono sway in the wind.

Though, compared to the coolness of the night, you're feeling quite warm as sweat trickles down your forehead. Your hands are nervous as you dig the tips of your fingers into your palms, and your stomach is swarming with butterflies, making you feel rather ill.

It's a full moon.

That thought alone is enough to make your body quiver with fear.

In fact, you're trembling. Your hands start to shake as you fear the worst.

You look to your left and to your right and see the other girls on their knees with their heads down and their shaking hands in their lap, just as you are. For a split second, you don't feel so alone until you hear the banging of a drum.

It's a steady beat, and it resonates in your ears, causing your head to vibrate.

Thum, thum, thum, thum.

You swallow thickly as the beat gets closer, and the beat pounds in your head with each second it gets closer.

Thum, thum, thum, thum.

With one final slam, THUM!, the beat shakes your bones and you jump, whimpering as your worst fear has come true.

The King is here to collect his prize.

There's a defeaning silence. You hear someone's wooden sandals walk against the dirt of the ground, kicking around the dirt as they pace back and forth down the line of girls, furthering the intimidating atmosphere.

Then, they stop. Wooden sandals stop in front of you and your heart thumps loudly in your chest, and your eyes widen. You shake your head as tears begin to fall down your face.

"No, no, no, no..." You whimper under your breath.

"No?"

The woman in front of you speaks, her tone, mocking as she erupts into laughter. She reaches down and immediately grips your hair, yanking your head up so you meet her face.

You're met with a sheet of pale skin, and a wicked smile is etched upon her face, only to be graced by mischievous, purple eyes. Her short, white hair is swept by the breeze of the night, but safely kept together by the red clips in her hair.

"You don't have a choice. Otherwise, the King will burn down your village, remember?" Her voice is low and sharp.

You can only whimper and nod in response—too scared to even reply.

The King of Curses.

You've only heard tales of horror about him. He burns down villages, murders women and children in cold blood, and captures the remaining survivors of the village as slaves to be used as servants at his temple.

"He's a demon! A living curse!"

Your grandmother would say each time the full moon arose, when the King's servants came to your village to pick his woman.

Then, of course, the women who were chosen to be concubines for the King were never seen or heard of again.

It was as if the walls inside the palace were impenetrable. No one had ever made it outside the King's temple to live and tell the horrible tale of Sukuna Ryomen, and no one from the outside had ever made it in, unless, they were invited, and those who were invited were never seen again.

The temple of the King of Curses—a black hole in the middle of Japan.

The woman lets your hair go and thrusts your head back down.

"Arise. We're off to his Majesty's temple at once."

The dirt crunches under her feet as she walks away towards the carriage.

Slowly, you rise off of your feet, and with a hanging head, you join the woman.

The ride is long and torturous.

The woman introduces herself as Uraume—the King's head servant. She serves the King closely, and retrieves anything he asks for, even the women he chose as concubines.

She also tells you the rules and how to approach the King.

"Do not make eye-contact with him unless instructed to by him."

"Do not speak to him unless spoken to."

"Do not refer to him so casually, even as you lie in bed together. He is His Majesty—nothing more, nothing less."

She continued to ramble on about the rules, but all you could do was focus on the fear that was quaking within your body, the tremors growing slowly within you as you neared the King's temple, until suddenly, the carriage comes to a halt.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your heart pounds loudly in your chest and your nails dig into your palms as you try to calm yourself, but, despite the numbing pain, your heart still keeps that quick, pounding beat.

"We're here."

Uraume is abrupt with her movements as she stands up. She grabs your hand and forces you to come with her, yanking you out of the carriage. You almost trip and fall, but luckily you catch yourself, stumbling over your feet as you catch your balance.

Uraume scoffs at you, rolling her eyes as she fixes her kimono before turning to you to fix yours.

"Be presentable in front of the King," she murmurs, almost scoffing at the fact that she can't believe she's bringing in someone like you in front of her lord.

Once she's done fixing your kimono, she turns away and starts walking up the steps of the temple, and you follow behind.

The palace is huge—your jaw nearly drops at the sight of it. Guards are posted at nearly every corner of the temple, and the steps lead all the way up to the temple that looks like it could sit in the sky.

Though, as big and as pretty as it was, as soon as you took a step on the stairs that led up to the temple, you felt a rush of cold shoot through your body. It was as if an evil shroud surrounded you, making chills run up and down your spine.

You look up at the temple again, knowing a certain evil must be resting inside.

That demon. The King of Curses.

Fear enshrouds you the entire time you walk up the steps to the temple, but, despite it, you persist, simply because you know you have to see who or what lies in that temple.

Finally, after climbing many steps, you arrive to the front of the temple. Uraume waves a stiff hand to the guards, and the guards move quickly to open the heavy front doors.

You swallow thickly.

A resounding bolt unlocks the doors, and they slowly open before coming to a slam shut once you and Uraume step inside.

The interior is huge, and red. Long archway made of red wood overarch the ceiling. Fountains of water run along the walls, and intricate murals adorn the walls full of—what you assume to be—epic battles and stories from what the King must've pursued, and, at the very end of the interior was his throne.

You bite your tongue once you see it. It lay empty, but the throne itself was full of blood, as it was shaped out of bones and human skulls, all of different sizes. It made your stomach churn.

"This way."

Uraume's voice suddenly tears you out of your sickly state, making you whip your head to find her opening up a shoji screen.

You follow her through it, making several twists and turns throughout the palace, until finally, you reach a large shoji screen.

You shiver. You feel that cold feeling again, knowing that a being of malice has to lie beyond this door.

This is it.

"Remember the rules. His Majesty Sukuna awaits you," Uraume shoots you a sharp look that sends ice down your spine. "Enter."

Slowly, she slides the shoji screen open.

You step in, and she suddenly slams the screen shut behind you, making you flinch.

You keep your head bowed, remembering the rules.

You hear a groan, a deep, rumbling groan escape from someone. Then you hear shifting, as if a large animal were moving. The movements are heavy, and slow.

Then, feet padding over to you, until they stop suddenly.

You see large feet out of your left peripheral and your heart drops to your stomach.

How big is he? You think to yourself as your breath starts to shake as you keep your gaze to the floor.

A finger. A large, thumb slides under your chin and your breath skips, and the thumb tilts your head up until finally, you see him.

The King of Curses. Ryomen Sukuna.

His face is made of something out of a nightmare. Half of his face is human, while the other half of it is made from—what looks like—wood. Two big, red eyes sit on the wooden piece, glaring down at you like you were something inferior, while his more human face also held two red eyes. His hair, stood like flames, and the color of it resembled something along those lines, too.

Your eyes follow his neck down, and they widen when you see his skin adorned with inky black tattoos, and they widen even further when you realize those tattoos follow not only two big arms, but four.

Your heart beats faster in your chest, and a lump forms in your throat as you let out even more shaky breaths when your eyes reach his stomach.

The demon was already large and intimidating, but there, something monstrous lies at his stomach as an opening suddenly reveals itself to you, and a large tongue licks its lips.

A mouth. On his stomach. So this is what the villagers meant when they said the King devoured.

"You must be the woman Uraume fetched for me," he suddenly says; his voice is deep, and it rumbles.

Your legs shake at the sound of it and you swallow thickly, completely too stricken with what feels like fear to speak.

He turns your head from the left and to the right, as if he's inspecting you.

"Hmm," he sighs and his tall stature leans down until his face is pressed into your neck and he sniffs. He pulls away, standing back up to his full height. "You'll do."

"Although..." He lets go of your face and he circles around you, slowly, putting one foot in front of the other like a tiger circling his prey. "...you're full of fear. I can see it. Smell it. Hear it. Touch it," he runs a hand down your back, making goosebumps arise on your arms. He grins a mouth full of big teeth and then leans down once more, pressing his face into your neck again. His tongue darts out and leaves a slow, long lick along your skin on your neck. He murmurs into your ear, "and taste it."

He hums when he hears your breath shake again, and with a low, amused chuckle, he pulls away.

"I must say, it tastes delicious. I think I want to taste it some more." He leans down once more, and he runs a long fingernail under your chin, making you whimper.

"That's it..." A laugh emanates from him—deep and loud—and he scoops you up with all four of his arms, and within seconds you're pushed down flat against the plush mattress of the King's bed, your face pressed into the pillows.

You want to struggle, you want to whine and try to kick Sukuna off because you know it's not right to have sex with a demon such as himself, but like a spider to the fly, he traps his prey within his arms and crawls on top of you, immediately spreading your legs out for him.

"You humans are so weak... so pathetic," he murmurs and he flips up the bottom of your kimono, revealing your bare ass to him. He grins, wickedly, and rubs a large hand over the smooth, supple flesh and then slaps it harshly with another one of his hands, causing you to jolt. You whimper again, and you clutch onto the bedsheets, feeling like you want to cry.

"Yet, you're perfect for carrying an heir... useful and disposable—just like you mortals should be."

Slap.

Another meaty hand meets your ass and you let out another cry.

"Tsk. Human girls. Such finicky things..." He responds to your cry, and he uses two of his large hands to grip the globes of your ass while his other two hands spread your legs further apart. His eyes widen at the sight in front of him, and he grins, and laughs.

"I was going to make a complaint about having to take my time to make you wet, and yet, here you are..."

Your eyes widen at Sukuna's remark and you shake your head, finding it impossible that you're wet.

You're scared out of your mind. How could your body be betraying you in times like this?

"N-No..." You try to argue but Sukuna laughs—maniacally.

"Oh, yes, yes, I'm afraid... you're wet, girl."

He slides a thick knuckle down your slit, gathering up your slick and thrusts his finger in front of your face. The shine reflects in the light. You swallow harshly.

"I-I—" Your attempt to rebuttal falls weak to yet another laugh from Sukuna. He's cruel. He's mean, and yet, somehow, you're finding a very small piece of you liking it, apparently.

You catch yourself swiveling your hips in response to Sukuna touching you, hoping that he'd touch you again. The large demon and his large hands—his fingers—all of him, you hope that he touches you, admittedly.

Yes, he's a terrifying being, bit, maybe that's what's drawing you in. Maybe that's the grip that has a hold on you as your hands dig into the plush of the comforter while you beg for more.

"Oh?" Sukuna is amused once he sees your hips swivel in front of him.

"This is amusing..."

Slap.

His large hand meets your plush bottom again and you jolt.

You whimper.

He grins.

"You don't bore me..." He grips your ass and pulls you forward towards him and he leans down and presses his large nose against the slick flesh between your thighs.

He smells. Deeply.

"I can smell it... your fear. Yet, you still behave like you want me. It is... pleasing," his voice lowers almost impossibly, and you grip your bedsheets again, gasping when he suddenly presses the flat of his tongue against the flesh of your cunt.

It's so wet, and it drools against your cunt as if it were a waterfall, leaving your head to be nothing but a dizzy mess.

The flat of his tongue rolls over your cunt as if he were testing your limits for something. His touch is light and teasing while he licks from top to bottom, grazing ever so lightly over your clit that has you squirming.

Sukuna notices this, and, amused, he grins and decides to earn your favor by closing his lips around your sensitive nub and suck.

His tongue prods at it, darting in and out of his mouth while suckling intently on your clit, and his nose presses into your folds, spreading the mess of your insatiable sin around as he sucks intently.

All of it leaves a burning feeling begin to kindle in your stomach. You're hot. You begin to sweat from how good Sukuna's tongue is. It's unbelievable that you're trapped beneath the demon's arms with his tongue pressing the button of your clit, over and over again, swirling and licking as if you were a delectable fruit, ripened for the slaughter.

His tongue is messy, too, leaving a trail of saliva everywhere his tongue leads, trailing down and onto the bedsheets, onto the sides of your thighs, and even somehow to your asshole where saliva leaks in.

All of it, all of the wetness makes your head spin, and the suckling of the clit only gets harsher and meaner when Sukuna detects that you're getting close. You whine, fingers grasping at the bedsheets for who knows what—as if the bedsheets were going to save you from the attack of Sukuna's tongue—meanwhile your breath quickens and the kindling fire in your belly grows and grows until it's a roaring fire, leaving you a panting mess.

"M-My Majesty... I-I'm—"

Your words are rewarded with another harsh slap onto your bottom once more, making you let out a cry from the soreness. It stings, and yet, it makes your cunt throb, and it twists the oven open in your stomach, leaving the roaring flame to become ablaze when you suddenly feel every inch of you shaking and crying as you cum.

Sukuna retreats his tongue, giving you room to shake and cry beneath him. He's amused while he watches the feeble human shake under him as he watches silky, white cream flow from your cunt.

He doesn't stop, though, as he grins and takes a finger and traces a sharp talon around your folds, making you twitch and whimper.

"Mmm... I could taste your fear, too," Sukuna licks his lips that are coated in your shine and grins.

He retracts his talons into his fingers, making his nails short and stubby while he plays with your wet pussy. He grins while he watches you twitch and shake beneath him.

It's cruel, you think, as you watch him with a dizzy head and a shaking body, how he plays with you like he's a spider and you're the fly, being spun into his web. Yet, unlike the fly, you're enjoying every second of the demon taking advantage of your fear.

Knowing that you're enjoying this, Sukuna decides to take things a bit further, and circle his finger around your asshole making your eyes widen.

"Your Majesty..." You begin to protest, but Sukuna tuts.

"Ah, ah, ah... no. It has to be done. This is how you will take me."

He commands it, and your body tenses up as his finger glides over the wet entrance of your asshole, covered by your slick and his saliva.

"No. Don't be so tense."

Another command voiced by his low tone, and it's almost aggravated. It makes you weak as your muscles loosen.

He hums, pleased by your obedience. His finger slowly dips into your asshole, groaning at how tight it is, he feels his cocks twitch at the feeling.

"Tight..." His voice rumbles.

Slowly, he prods his finger in and out of it, getting you to open up as his finger pushes in deeper, and deeper each time he pushes it in, until his knuckle reaches the base of your ass, and by the time his knuckle reaches it, your body is a heated mess from having to take his thick finger in your ass.

"Aaah... Majestyyy..." You whine, your fingers digging into the mattress.

Your whines only heightened when Sukuna pushes in yet another finger into your ass. You almost scream from the pleasure, but you're too distracted from how full his fingers make your ass feel.

Your eyes almost cross when he begins the same motion again, pumping them in and out, slowly, and then, when he's satisfied, he adds yet another finger.

You're melting from his fingers. Your body becomes a limp mess, your knees weaken as you slowly melt into the mattress, but, despite it, Sukuna keeps you held up with one hand placed underneath your thigh.

"Now..." Sukuna hums and he withdraws his fingers, leaving your hole gaping and needing. "Be good."

It's a simple command, and it leaves you wondering what he means by that. You turn your head to get a better look at him, and you see him removing his black bottoms slowly.

He unwraps the thick fabric from around his waist, and as it moves down his body, your eyes widen once you're revealed as to why he needed to prep both of your holes.

Two cocks.

Both of them, heavy and thick. One rests on top of the other while the other one hangs down on top of a heavy set of balls.

You swallow thickly and the demon grins.

"Stay as you are, human," he grunts as he moves forward on top of you, trapping you within his four arms.

Not like I have a choice, you think to yourself as you let out shaky breaths.

You feel his cocks brush against your holes and you whimper to yourself, unsure if you're able to take both of them, especially at the same time.

Sukuna, though, doesn't leave room for argument as he quickly cuts to the chase, pressing the tips of his cocks against each hole, and then, slowly, he pushes each cock in leaving you moaning and feeling so full.

"F-Fuuuu..." You can't even finish your sentence as your body feels so stuffed to the brim. You lean the front of your body down, pressing against the mattress, feeling yourself wanting to go limp.

Once more does Sukuna not give you the time to react, once he pushes in, he goes in all the way, and then he pulls out, and goes back in, starting with agonizing slow thrusts.

Immediately, your brain is turned off. You're nothing but a measly bunch of holes to him as he starts to fuck you.

Large, meaty hands grab your bottom, keeping it up, while the other hands push your head down into the mattress.

You're floored with how good this feels, feeling stuffed to the brim as each cock moves in and out of you, and as his pace quickens.

He's thick and girthy, and you feel your walls clinging to him as he fills you out, each thrust filling you out more and more as each second passes, leaving you a babbling mess as you continue to take Sukuna deep within you.

"Haaa... aaah..."

Sukuna chuckles at this, finding it almost hilarious that a human such as yourself is enjoying this. Usually his prey are weak and so full of fear that they can't even take him, and yet, you... you're different. Your fear fuels you, turning you on to such an extent that you accept him fully, to the point where you're taking both of his cocks so well.

"Hmmph, what a good hole you are... so easy to use... you don't fight back." He grins. "I'm loving this."

With that, his pace grows more intense and brutal. You whine as his hips meet yours in harsh snaps—skin meeting skin in a loud cacophony, among other sounds—your bottom snaps back against him, jiggling with each motion. He groans at the sight, and removes one of his hands from your head and smacks your bottom with a resounding clap, making you whine again.

It's nasty, and it's so delectable that you're being stuffed and impaled as if you were one of his poor victims meeting the end of his sword, that it sends your head spinning with pleasure, and soon, your gut twists as you feel yourself coming close to your end.

You tighten around him as a result and the demon grunts.

"Tight little—" he breathes, gritting his teeth as he feels close, too. "—whore."

His pace quickens, becoming meaner by the second as you feel the tips of his cocks meet your cervix, fucking you dumb as you lay against the mattress, until, finally, you tighten around him again, and again, and again, and—

"Oooh!"

You finally cry out as your legs shake, and tremble, finishing around his cock, earning a loud grunt from him.

With one final, mean, snap of his hips, you feel him bruise against your cervix and your ass. You feel his cocks throb as he finally leaks into you, spilling his white seed inside you, leaving you more full than you already were.

Sukuna grins while he watches you babble dumbly beneath him, trying to gain a sense of reality back. He huffs and he pulls away, his cocks leaking out of your holes as he begins to dress his lower half again.

"Mm, good little whore. I suppose I'll keep you around to see an heir, yes?"

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Writing advice #?: When it comes to characterization, obligation > love.

What I mean by this: love is basically universal. It offers little variability. Almost everyone has a friend, sibling, etc for whom they'd do anything. Allegedly even Hitler loved his apocryphal dog, John Wilkes Booth was a good brother, yadda yadda so forth.

So if you want to have a story that makes us like your character Liv, and establishes interesting tension that will draw out who Liv is as a person... don't write about her rescuing her beloved mother. Write about what happens when someone she dislikes is in danger.

Two great examples I've read recently:

In The Drift by C.J. Tudor, Meg is trapped in a broken-down cable car with five other people and no way to call for help. She risks her life, performing a heroic physical feat that causes herself serious injury - to save a woman who accused her of murder, suggested leaving her to die, and generally treated her like dirt all week. Meg is heroic as hell.

In Dungeon Crawler Carl, the eponymous Carl ends up in the adventure because he ran outside in boxers in -10°F weather to save his ex-girlfriend's obnoxious, misanthropic cat. Carl might be a shlub, but he's a rock solid dude.

I could go on - would Shiloh saving Jeb be nearly as powerful if Jeb wasn't such an asshole? - but the point remains. Meg sacrificing so much to save her partner would be just what's expected. Carl rescuing a cat he chose to adopt is a non-event. Obligation is where the rubber hits the road. Where the ordinary people get sorted from the awesome ones. Where the character-defining moments occur. Over 99.9% of humans ever researched would sacrifice a stranger to save a loved one; a rare form of brain damage that causes people to value strangers and family the same is considered extremely aberrant.

I mention all of this because fan fiction is chock full of examples of characters dying (or killing, or walking through fire, or...) to save their best friends and their sisters and their fiancés. And if you want to write a story about Dean Winchester killing orphans or going to hell or destroying his car to save Sam Winchester, awesome. But there's not a ton of room for characterization in there.

If you want us to learn something about who this person Liv really is, show her forced to choose between rescuing a dog who just bit her and making it to a job interview on time. Let her see her loud neighbor with the bass-boosted music about to get a ticket for an expired meter. Give her a choice between saving 10 strangers or saving her wife. Have her walk by her sexist coworker and realize the guy is quietly sobbing. Literally anything she does next will be interesting, and say a lot about her as a person. If she's just choosing between her wife's life and her own, or her wife's life and the sexist coworker, then the scene might be poignant or sad - but it won't be surprising or tense or revelatory about Liv as a person. The big moments of heroism aren't driven by love, but by obligation.

[lqveharrington]

Rodrick heffley………better than revenge

Better Than Revenge | R.H.

summary: after years of friendship with rodrick, the one thing that came in between you was a girl.

pairing: rodrick heffley x best friend!reader

includes: use of Y/N, reader's last name is Johnson, pretty much angst, fighting, yelling, cursing, unspoken feelings, mentions of murder, not proof read

a/n: first time writing for rodrick, tell me how it is!

The one thing you didn’t think would get in between you and Rodrick was a girl. Sure, he had talked with girls who would give him the time of day, but they never really phased you. Not like Heather Hills. Her prissy attitude and selfishness somehow found its way under your skin, riling you up and causing a hitch in your friendship with Rodrick. You knew she wasn’t good for him but — of course — he never listened. It seemed as if you were merely a second thought.

And it didn't help that she looked at you like you were a waste of space. But who was the one getting all the college scholarships and going to college in the first place?

“Rodrick, she’s just using you as a rebound!” You huff and grab your keys from his bed side table, slipping your shoes back on.

You meant to spend an hour over at Rodrick’s before heading over to your cello lesson in preparation for the final concert before heading off to college, but he just had to bring up his date with Heather. You tried to fake a pretty smile for him and nodded politely — you really did. But as soon as he stopped everything to answer a dry text message from the woman herself, you decided you had enough of his nonsense.

Rodrick hastily tucked his phone in his back pocket and watched you with confused eyes, brow furrowing at your sudden desire to leave. “Heather likes me, okay? You know this has been the dream since—“

"Since elementary, I know!" You glare at him and stare at him a second longer before running your fingers through your hair in annoyance. "Whatever, I don't have time for this."

Swiftly, you raced down the stairs and nearly collided with Greg. You quickly apologized and did your best to make it to your car without being stopped by Rodrick. Did you really want to leave the house on a bad note? No, but god he was annoying you beyond all measures.

Rodrick pursed his lips and tapped his foot to the ground before chasing after you, colliding with Greg this time. He pushed his brother out of the way and blocked the front door, narrowing his eyes when you rolled yours.

You moved to the left and he followed. You moved to the right and he followed. Huffing, you crossed your arms and looked up at him in exasperation. “I need to head to cello, Rodrick—“

“Are you jealous?” He breathed out and looked over your facial expression, shaking his head when you sent him another glare.

Rodrick was used to your glares and your occasional arguments, but this one felt more personal. After years and years of friendship, this felt like a final blow to a precarious accord. Like one wrong move would completely change your views on each other.

“Why would I be jealous?” You crease your brows and frown, eyes flickering back and forth between him and the door behind him.

He shook his head and raised his arms in frustration. He didn't know what to say, so he said the first thing his mind thought of whenever he thought of you. “I-I don’t know! Maybe because I'll like her better than you?”

Your mouth parted ever so slightly before you felt your eyes glazed over in anger, shoving him to the side. "Fuck off, Rodrick."

Of course the time you decide to use foul language was when Mrs. Heffley entered the room. She took one look at the two of you and stood in between, hands pushing you two away from each other.

“Language!” She scolded and glanced at your teary-eyed expression, anger dissipating at the sight. “What are you two arguing about now?”

“Nothing.” You both speak at the same time, still staring at each other in glowering hatred.

Several seconds later, you pull away from Mrs. Heffley and move to the door yanking the handle hard like it was the one who insulted you. Mrs. Heffley looked at her soon in disappointment and opened her mouth to speak but got interrupted by you, pursing her lips at how distant your voice was.

“I have cello, so if you’ll excuse me.”

For the rest of the month leading up to your final orchestra concert in Plainview, you were in a sour mood. You would have thought a final goodbye to your childhood town would have been more mournful, but all you felt was annoyance. Even your cello teacher knew something was upsetting you. However she was only in her early twenties, so every so often you felt like she was your friend more than a mentor.

“Then he has the audacity to ask if I’m jealous and never reaches out afterward!” You pace around your cello teacher's office with a heavy heart. You had been complaining for the last thirty minutes of the lesson, and all you wanted to do was burst into tears at the thought of Rodrick claiming you were jealous of Heather. “I swear, he’s such an ass. Even more now that Heather has him wrapped around her finger. She thinks she's so innocent when really she's an actress and known as a w—"

You teacher put a hand up and stopped you, "Enough complaints about Rodrick. I'm almost positive tomorrows lesson will be about him anyway."

You sent her a sheepish smile and sat in your chair again, fiddling with the old friendship bracelet you and Rodrick made way back in middle school. You didn't think twelve years of friendship would wash away because of Heather, but you also didn't think you would end up in the situation you were in now.

"Besides Rodrick, have you hung out with anyone else this summer?" She moved around to wipe the dry erase marker off the board, tilting her head when your face flushed crimson. "So there is one?"

"Only Alex." You murmured and picked at your nails, more interested in the color than the topic.

Your teacher chuckled and gave you a lopsided smile, "Instead of dwelling on the Heffley boy, why not give Alex your time? It's better than whatever revenge you were planning in your head."

Somehow, you flushed an ever deeper shade of red and nodded, hating how she was able to read you so well. Your thoughts went back to the boy who caused all your grievances. If he didn't care how you felt any longer, why should you care about how he felt?

Rodrick didn't know if you even wanted him to come watch you orchestra concert. Since you first picked up a cello, he came to every single concert and in return, you came to watch whenever his band performed. But after the horrid argument he started, he wasn't sure if you would still welcome his family — more or less him — to the concert.

“Rodrick, let’s go! We’re going to be late!” His mother shouted from the bottom of the staircase, causing him to snap out of his stupor.

Grudgingly, he clipped on his tie and made his way to the foyer, groaning when his mother fussed over the dirt smudges over his face. He swatted her hands away and took care of the issue himself, grumbling in annoyance. Susan looked at her eldest and narrowed her eyes, knowing he had something to say.

Rodrick rolled his eyes and shook his head, unruly hair sticking out in various places. “I don’t think she’ll want me there.”

“Of course, she does!" Susan adjusted Rodrick's collar and patted his chest, giving him a reassuring smile. "Despite whatever — uh — conflicts you two have, she’ll still want to see her best friend in the audience for her big day.”

"And we already told her family to save seats for us at the front row." Frank muttered under his breath and earned a smack to the arm from his wife.

Rodrick huffed and messed with his cuffs, not meeting either of his parents' eyes. He didn't need his mother's sympathy or his father's military style attitude to ruin the rest of his already awful summer break.

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” He shuffled to the door and swung it open, nearly knocking Greg off his feet. “Let’s get this over with.”

As always, your performance was flawless. From full orchestra to your solos, you were absolutely marvelous. Every time you went to play, you were completely immersed in your own world. You focused on your own instrument and listened for the cues. You were at peace and it was such a display each and every time.

Often you would open your eyes to scan the crowd in between the switching of instruments, almost like you were looking for someone. When you met Rodrick's eyes, he sent you an encouraging smile and only until you sent him a quick smile did his own felt real.

"See, she did want you here!" Susan whisper-shouted at Rodrick and nudged him with her elbow, earning a weak grin from him.

When the concert finally finished and the final applause died out, the institution was finally able to award their seniors as they were leaving in a little over a week. Rodrick had completely zoned out all the other awards, nearly falling asleep before his mother stood and cheered quite loudly when you were called up to the front.

“The Beatrice Huntington Award goes to… Y/N Johnson! Along with the George Barati Cello Scholarship! Congratulations Miss Johnson!” Your cello teacher spoke into the microphone and handed you a plaque, giving you a hug when you appeared by her side with a bright smile.

You beamed at the crowd as many of them knew you since you were only six. Your eyes watered as you took a final bow, earning a louder applause. You knew this would be your last performance for the institution, and when you came back, it would be completely different.

Your eyes met with Rodrick's one last time before the audience was dismissed. You could practically feel how proud he was despite his low effort in looking decent. He sent you a thumbs up and you laughed softly, wiping your tears before your makeup could run.

When you made it out to the auditorium foyer, you were immediately swept into the arms of Mrs. Heffley and felt her attack of kisses to your cheek. Laughing, you returned her hug with the same amount of emotion. She was the one who truly supported your decision in playing the cello at such a young age.

“Congratulations, sweetie!” She squeezed your shoulders and pulled you into another hug, smiling so bright it could out shine the sun. She sniffled and dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes. “Couldn’t be more proud of you!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Heffley.” You pull away and send her a grateful smile, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

Your eyes drifted to her family behind her, smile widening when Manny waved at you. You could see that the entire Heffley family was proud but nothing could prepare you for Rodrick trying to hide his own tears. You were unsure if they were for you or about you, but you were immediately pulled out of your thoughts when Mrs. Heffley offered to take you out for dinner with her family.

“Oh, it's quite alright, Mrs. Heffley!" You tighten your grip on your award and avoid Rodrick's eyes. "My... A friend is taking me out to dinner tonight and I wouldn't want them to feel like I'm ditching them last minute."

Her eyebrows shot up and opened her mouth to ask who, in hopes of inviting them as well when said friend walked up and wrapped an arm around your waist and kissed you temple, smiling down at you. She was even more surprised when you smiled up at the boy and whispered unknown words to him.

"I'll be there in a second." You murmur and meet his bright eyes, heart swelling when he pressed a kiss to your lips. "Alex..."

"Well you have to introduce me to them, yeah?" He whispered back and pressed one last kiss to your lips before winking at you.

You clear your throat and give the now shocked family a bashful grin, eyes only meeting Mrs. Heffley's wide ones. She continued to look between the both of you, doing her best not to verbally react to the new information.

"Uhm, Heffleys, this is Alex. Alex, this is the Heffley family." You gesture and nearly drop the plaque, Alex's hand coming around to help you balance the heavy glass.

When no one reacted, you awkwardly stood in front of them, smile faltering when they glanced at each other with confused looks. You were about to excuse yourself when Mrs. Heffley finally realized what had happened.

She began to introduce everyone in the family and nodded until you thought her head would fall off. You hid your laugh in Alex's shoulder and sighed softly before you heard Alex mutter something utterly shocking in your ear.

"Rodrick looks like he might stabbed me to death with his drumsticks."

You furrow your brows and look over him, frowning when he did in fact look murderous. He was happy just a few second ago, what happened?

"Sorry to interrupt," You cut of the rest of Mrs. Heffley's confusing rambling. "But we have to get going soon."

"Oh, yes, of course!" She quickly spoke and gave you one last grin. "Congratulations again."

"Thank you." You send her a happy smile before looking back at Rodrick one last time.

He shook his head at you and turned away, leaving you to ponder whether or not he truly was happy for you. But was it your fault? He didn't try and reach out to you the entire month and he expected you to just stay around him. It was unfair and you both knew it.

So without any sort of remorse, you let Alex sweep you away to the diner. It didn't matter what Rodrick thought anymore. Besides, he had Heather Hills to fall back onto.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[7seas-of-ryy]

I Need You | Part 6

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 7 | Part 8

Author’s Note: I'm having so much fun writing this!! Thank you all for reading, it truly means so much to me :))

Summary: You finally get some answers, but will they help you with your pain?

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: angst, let me know if I need to add any others :)

"What're you waiting for? Speak" Az growled at Eris.

Eris slowly looked at you, hesitating, trying to figure out the right thing to start with.

"Perhaps I should talk to y/n in private." he stated

Rhys turned and looked at you. You felt him at your mind, asking to come in and opened the gate for him.

What do you want to do? I'll leave this one up to you

For a moment, you went back and forth, deciding what would be best. What the old, normal version of you would do.

"They can hear whatever it is you have to say" You decided

Rhys guided all of you up to his office. Az sat on a couch to your right while Lucien sat on a couch to your left. You were going to just stand instead of having to pick which male to sit by. It felt like a much bigger choice than it seemed to be. But the pain in your legs was already becoming too much.

You moved to your left, sitting next to Lucien. Azriel's face dropped but you couldn't bare to look at him. Cass took the seat next to him, patting him on the shoulder, a quiet comfort, and Eris moved by Rhys' desk.

"The man that kidnapped you was Tassarion. He is the son of one of my father's old Generals," Eris paused, looking at you for confirmation to continue. You nodded at him

"Long ago, that General... got ahold of a woman. He planned on taking her back to the castle and keeping her for pleasure. After a while of holding her prisoner, she managed to get a weapon and fight back. She ended up murdering him. Tassarion wanted revenge but didn't know who the woman was, until recently. Somehow he found out. That woman was your mother." He stated

Your mother? It hit you, your mother had gone missing in the Autumn Court. They must have killed your father and taken her. You thought about the irony in Azriel saving you from them only for him to forget about you years later while those same people kidnapped you.

You could hear all of the males speaking but it sounded as if you were underwater. You stared straight ahead, all of the emotions starting to become too much.

Push them down. Don't panic. Be strong. You do not need anyone.

You stood quickly, too quickly and all their heads snapped to you.

"So we know why they wanted to hurt me. Why question me about Nyx?" you asked cooly as if none of this was effecting you

Azriel eyed you, knowing you needed to let it out. He could see it building inside of you and wanted to help.

"Apparently, Tassarion was tasked with finding out information on Nyx for the Autumn Court to use. Once he found out who you were, it was a done deal to kidnap you. He never would have let you go. Once he broke you and got the information on Nyx, he would have continued torturing you until he killed you." Eris told you

"If." you spoke

"What?" all the males looked confused

"If he broke me, not once he broke me." You said and left the room.

☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ . • ☆ . ° .• °:. ° . ☆ . • . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ . ° .• °:. *☆

Azriel knew everything was wrong. He should be holding you, comforting you after the news you had all received. But you barely looked shocked. You looked as if it was just another day as normal.

He knew you weren't ok. His heart broke at the thought of you in so much pain, all alone. He knew you wanted nothing to do with him and he understood that so he didn't push. But he couldn't leave you entirely alone. You needed to know he was there for you.

On top of everything else, the fact that he couldn't gather any information for her was also eating him alive. Eris found all the answers for her, it should have been him. His mind hasn't been right since that night. How could one decision lead to so much agony?

The second they realized she was missing along with Cassian, he had been in a panic. Immediately blaming himself, disgusted with himself. He had told Elain he wouldn't be spending time with her anymore. She didn't take it very well but he didn't care.

His mind was consumed by you, every thought was about you. This is how it had been for him before the Archeron sisters showed up. It was another reason he focused on Elain so much. He knew you deserved someone better than him so he used Elain to take the thoughts of you away. He was a fool.

If there was anything he could do for you, it would be hunting down Tassarion and ending his life. You wouldn't have to worry about him anymore. So he took off in search of the vile male that caused so much destruction.

☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ . • ☆ . ° .• °:. ° . ☆ . • . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ . ° .• °:. *☆

You decided to head to the library in the house and read. Maybe that would take your mind off of everything and stop you from bursting. You read for a good couple of hours before you were interrupted.

"Tassarion is dead" Az softly spoke

You hummed in acknowledgment, "I suppose you took care of it?"

"Yes, you don't have to worry about him anymore. I won't let anything happen to you...anything else." the spymaster told you

"Thank you." you said and went back to your book.

Azriel knew everything was wrong. You hadn't shown any emotion since the first time you woke up. And now you find out everything about your mom, and that Az murdered your captor and all you say is thank you?

"You know, it's ok to not be ok" your friend told you

"I'm fine" You were still not ready to talk to him. He's the reason it was so easy for them to take you. You waited so long for him. Plus, you wouldn't become a burden to anyone else. So, again, you shoved all those feelings down and continued on.

Looking up at Az, you patted the spot next to you in invitation. If you wanted him to think you were ok, you had to stop avoiding him. He sat next to you and you continued reading.

Eventually your eyes grew heavy and you decided to go up to your room to sleep. Az offered to take you but you just smiled and told him it was alright.

You entered your room and saw a vase full of flowers next to your bed. You furrowed your eyebrows and walked over to them. There was a little note with your name on it so you picked it up.

It read, "y/n - enjoy these flowers from my garden, so sorry you were kept waiting. From Elain"

Something inside of you snapped. How dare she? She convinced him to wait. Azriel was not the only guilty party here. She knew you were waiting for him and she talked him into staying with her instead. Then she leaves these flowers for you and can't even face you herself?

You picked up the vase, slowly examining the flowers. They were dainty and beautiful, just like her. Not ruined like you.

With as much power as you had, you threw them at your mirror.

Both the mirror and vase shattered, glass flying everywhere. You stared at the mess you made as you felt the dam inside you break.

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[sssammich]

fic: angels work the night shift (complete version)

what's up yall happy supercorp sunday

this is the full fic of this snippet i posted a couple days ago

read the fic on ao3, 9k words

ok thx love u bye

--

"Fucking shit."

Lena rifles through the small stack of papers sitting beside her purse in the front passenger seat and realizes with great annoyance that the paperwork that Sam, her Chief Financial Officer, sent over isn't in there. She would have let it go and finally driven home were it not for the meeting about said paperwork early the next day.

Shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath, she attempts to cool the frustrations that's fraying the last of her sanity, and reaches out for her purse before heading back out of the underground parking lot and towards her private elevator.

Standing in front of the shiny reflective doors, her mouth curves down when she inspects her appearance, the bags under her eyes more prominent despite the makeup she has to cover it, her once tightly pulled high ponytail looser now, hanging limp behind her. Her cream satin blouse hangs on her thin frame, the bottom of it having come loose from where she'd tucked it in her navy blue pencil skirt. A pitying sight, if she's being truthful, but the accompanying pity party will need to be postponed until after tomorrow's meeting—no doubt a means for members of the board to undermine her at every turn while the ship sinks.

There doesn't seem to be any clear path to any real reprieve for her after inheriting the family business, not after her own brother, the touted Man of Tomorrow, had been arrested for murdering their father and placing their mother in a coma.

Eventually, her elevator reaches the top floor of her office suite and she straightens, internally waving away the thoughts of what her life has become, what her family has become. She has no control over those things, but she does have control of finding that stupid file she left on her desk that she will undoubtedly spend the next couple of hours detangling until she succumbs to exhaustion.

The elevator doors opens to her floor and she beelines for her office, alarm tingling when she looks at her door sitting ajar.

Her pace slows despite the persistent ache in the ball of her left foot and the sting on the heel of her right. She narrows her eyes, clutching her purse tightly in hand, and running through a mental list of what she can use inside of her purse for defense. When she reaches the door, she tilts her head and peeks through the sliver of space between, finds her desk lamp has been turned on. There are sounds of movement, footsteps, and something she can't quite make.

Then she hears…humming.

Narrowing her eyes, she grasps the edge of her door and pushes it slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves.

Her hand grasps the door's edge, carefully opening it only to discover a person with their back turned to her. Her eyes trail from the black sneakers to the powder blue overalls with the top half hanging around the person's waist. A black tank top serves as a backdrop to the blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, swishing back and forth as they move from side to side.

The woman turns a little, a mop in hand, as she uses the top of the mop handle as a microphone, singing some familiar tune that Lena can't quite place.

"All by myself, don't wanna be…"

The corner of Lena's mouth twitches into an amused smile when she realizes what she's looking at, or perhaps, who she's looking at, and how completely swayed and distracted they are with the music that they're listening to.

Lena's eyes are focused on this woman as she remains rooted in her place, watching this impromptu concert while the woman belts out the chorus of the song.

It's not until the woman opens her eyes and resumes the back and forth mopping that Lena realizes where she is and what she's doing there in the first place. Yet despite needing to collect the files at her desk, she's not sure if she should keep walking to her desk, make some kind of overt gesture or simply call out to the woman to signal her presence. She might have ended up taking too long because before she can make a decision, the clattering of a dropped mop handle reverberates in the room and a surprised shriek is coming from the woman who stands between Lena and her desk.

"Excuse me," she says.

The woman raises her hands up just as she pulls her headphones down. "I didn't—uh, who are you?"

"This is my office." As she goes to make a move towards her desk, the woman steps forward and blocks her, hands no longer up in the air and now towards her, as if to stop her.

The woman scrunches up her face. "I'm gonna need some i-identification. Ma'am."

Lena quirks a brow, but the woman remains with her hands up despite her demand. "You don't trust me?"

"Only until after you show me proof."

"And who's to say you're who you are?"

The woman frowns before straightening her shoulders, enough for Lena to discover that she stands broadly, arms exposed, before she taps on the ID badge clipped to her waist. "Kara Danvers. Overnight Custodial Specialist. Now you."

A beat passes, then another, before she tilts her head, attempting to bypass this Kara Danvers, but to no avail because Kara stops steps to block her again. "Do you know whose office you're cleaning?"

"Yes. Lena Luthor's."

"But you don't know what she looks like."

"Um."

"So how would you know the difference?"

Kara frowns, but she stands her ground. "I can call the security guards to confirm. Actually, that's what I'll do."

Lena then proceeds to watch as Kara stands between her and her forsaken paperwork as she quickly radios for security. She would have been annoyed about this whole thing if she wasn't also touched that this veritable stranger is doing everything in her power to protect her company. So despite being tired, Lena waits for security to respond and clear her.

"Hi Scooter, listen, I have someone here in Lena Luthor's office claiming she's Lena Luthor but isn't showing identification. I just want to confirm. Um, over."

"Copy that, Danvers. Please have the woman approach the radio."

She bites back a smile, already anticipating Scott's request (or in this case, Scooter's request, already making a mental note to ask about this nickname) for her. Instead, she stands up straight and watches as Kara approaches with the radio between them.

"Go ahead, Scooter," she starts, pressing on the radio's talk button, just shy of Kara's fingers as she holds the radio up. "Please ask what you need from me."

There's what she thinks is a throat clear, but can't be sure with the static of the radio. "Right. Please provide today's ten digit confirmation code."

She doesn't tear her attention away from staring at Kara and the blue of her eyes. "1-0-2-4-1-9-9-4-3-8."

"Confirmed. Danvers, she's clear."

"Thanks, Scooter. Sorry for the bother."

"Good work, Danvers. Over and out."

"Uh, over and out." Kara clips the radio by her name badge and offers an apologetic smile that crinkles the corner of her eyes. Lena attempts not to focus on that. "You're cleared. Sorry."

"Don't be," she says, finally able to walk towards her desk unimpeded once Kara steps back. She picks up the folder and quickly flips through it to confirm it's exactly what she needs before turning around and meeting Kara's gaze. "I appreciate and commend the thorough precaution. Certainly more thoughtful than what I've experienced as of late."

"Oh."

"Forget I said that," she says, with a shake of her head. "It's clearly been a long night."

She motions to walk away when Kara's words stops her.

"It's not fair, how they're hounding you in the news. "

She arches a brow. "You know my name and you know about the news surrounding me but you don't know what I look like?"

"Uh. I'm no good with faces," she says with a shrug, Lena noting the definition of her shoulder muscles before turning her attention back towards Kara's blue eyes. "Face blindness."

She nods, though she remains somewhat dubious. "I understand. Well, Kara Danvers, as lovely as this has been, I must be going."

Kara's body jerks up and nods. "Oh, shoot. You're right! Sorry, it's so late and I've just kept you here even longer. Sorry, Miss Luthor, ma'am. I don't—"

She puts a hand up. "Just Lena is fine."

"Right."

"Well, goodnight Miss Lu-Lena. Lena."

"Goodnight…" she intones, waiting until realization dawns on the blonde woman in front of her.

"Kara. Just Kara is also fine."

"Goodnight then, Kara."

She walks back to the door only chancing a glance over her shoulder and finding Kara giving her a small wave, the mop back in her capable hands. She smiles back, but her pace doesn't slow until she reaches the elevators.

---

Lena's ensuing weeks become a chaotic storm of meetings and court proceedings and hospital visits and escaping the nightmare of paparazzi and press hounding her for a glimpse of the LuthorCorp CEO.

Lena almost forgets about Kara Danvers until she finds herself back in her office after midnight.

She hadn't meant to stay this late in the office today, but she hadn't been able to break away after two back-to-back international conference calls with their satellite offices that needed to have her there.

Instead of using the coffee machine in her office, she decides to take a short trip a few floors down to one of the break rooms just to stretch her legs. She's only a few steps away from the break room when she hears singing. She recognizes the voice, surprised at how well she remembers it, an amused smile transforming her face.

"…but it's just a sweet, sweet fantasy baby…"

She carefully walks towards the threshold and, sure enough, finds Kara holding her phone with one hand and what Lena assumes is a mug of coffee in the other, her headphones on her head. Just like the last time Lena saw Kara, her overalls uniform has the top half wrapped around her waist, though this time, her tank top is white.

Lena doesn't move from her spot, afraid to make any sudden movements in case she startles the other woman. She waits and watches as Kara gets comfortable at a table, busy singing along to whatever she's listening to on her phone. The mug hovers by her lips when Kara looks up from her seat and finds Lena standing by the entrance.

Her shriek of surprise is worse than last time especially when she spills almost half of her coffee all over herself as she attempts to keep herself upright in her seat. Lena grimaces before she offers an apologetic and guilty smile and a wave.

"What the heck, lady!" Kara says, wrenching her tank top away from her body and squeezing it. Lena scolds herself for inappropriately checking her employee out, especially when she discovers tan skin under the now stained fabric.

"I'm sorry, Kara. I didn't mean to startle you again," she offers.

"Again?" Her face contorts in confusion and has Lena frowning because of it. Then a flash of recognition appears on Kara's face and her cheeks redden, her head bowed slightly. "Oh! Miss Luth—Miss Lena. Hi. Sorry, I didn't realize you'd be down here."

"I was hoping to make a cup for myself," she nods towards the half-empty cup sitting in front of Kara. "I didn't know how to make my presence known without startling you, but it seems I'd done it anyway."

"The fault is mine," Kara insists. "I should definitely stop listening to headphones while at work. But it's literally only me on these floors, so anybody showing up would for sure scare me."

With the misunderstanding resolved, Lena goes to the coffee maker. "Can I make you another cup?"

"Oh, that's okay. Probably for the best I don't have too much caffeine, then I won't be able to sleep later when I'm done with work."

Lena waits for the coffee maker's classic groan before placing the mug on the cup dock, her arms crossed over her chest while she leans against the counter and waits for her cup to fill.

"How long have you been working the overnight shift?" she asks.

"Almost a year next month. Started doing it because it's the best paying job I could get while going to school."

"Oh? May I ask what you're studying?"

"Um. Marketing. I take the evening classes and then head straight here."

She nods, processes the information that Kara shares with her. "Not passionate about marketing, I take it?"

Kara laughs, the sound melodic and bright, a start contrast to dark sky that blankets over them just outside the windows. "Not at all. But it's the program I was in before I deferred college a few years back, and I wasn't really sure what to go back into without starting over. So, marketing it is."

Puzzle pieces of Kara forms in Lena's mind, each one marked with all that she's shared so far in their short time together.

"If you could just do anything without worrying about starting over, what would you do?"

"Not sure. I like helping people whenever I can. But that could be anything."

"Is there anybody you admire and want to emulate, maybe?"

There's a half-smile on Kara's face and she turns her head slightly, her blonde ponytail swishing behind her. "Let me think on it and get back to you."

"You've got yourself a deal," she says before she gathers her coffee cup and walks over to the condiments, placing just one packet of sugar in her coffee. When she glances up, she catches the disgusted face on Kara's face. "Is there a problem?"

"That's not nearly enough sugar to offset the bitter taste of coffee."

It's her turn to laugh holding the cup just by her lips, the aroma of the coffee permeating her senses. "The coffee doesn't need anything else, Kara. It's good on its own."

"With all due respect, boss, but I'll have to disagree. Four packets of sugar and half a mug of creamer or bust."

Her jaw drops, aghast, and she twists her body as if to shield her coffee cup away from Kara who's flashing her a bright and pearly white smile. "That's atrocious."

Kara pouts, her elbows leaning on the table. "It's the only way to mask the nasty taste!"

"Then why drink coffee?"

"Because when you add all the good stuff, it's not so bad."

She shakes her head, wonders how she's possibly having this conversation. Though she'll admit it's the most pleasant interaction she's had all day. With a quick look at the clock on the opposite wall, she realizes that she's lingered far too long for someone who needed to have left the office hours ago.

"I'd hate to cut our conversation short," she starts to say, realizing how much she believes her words this time. "But I should be getting back to my office so I can finally head home." Kara jumps to her feet, the coffee stain on her tank top on full display that makes Lena's mouth twitch in a small frown. "Let me buy you a new one."

Kara looks down at herself before offering Lena a shrug and a grin. "No, no. My clumsiness is the true culprit here."

She wants to say more, poised to do just that, but her phone in her pocket chimes with emails pouring in from the other side of the globe.

"Duty calls," she says. "Goodnight Kara."

"Miss Lena."

There's an amused shake of her head when she meets Kara's eyes. "Just Lena really is fine."

"But you're, like, the super boss."

"Does being the super boss mean you can't call me by my name?" she wonders aloud.

"No. But you're the boss and I'm just a janitor." The smile on Kara's face is smaller this time, dimmer too, and her fingers have started fiddling with her stained shirt.

"Don't disparage the very vital work that you do around here, Kara. Without you maintaining order in my office, it'd look like a tornado made residence in there. Then what would the members of the board say when they strong arm their way in there and attempt to undermine my decisions?"

"Aye, aye." Kara flashes her a lopsided grin and throws her a mock salute. "For what it's worth, none of those old geezers stand a chance against you."

"I'll take it." She sighs and offers Kara a small smile. "Goodnight, Kara. Have a good rest of your shift tonight."

"Thanks. Sleep well—for, you know, for when you do."

She raises her mug to Kara before trekking back to the elevator and making her way back to her office.

---

Lena gets her assistant to order and discreetly wrap a stack of tank tops, in both black and white, delivered up to her office. She's not sure what to do now, how she should proceed. She has a business dinner tonight that she can't miss, so staying late in the office is not something she can do. She could always wait until the next day, but the idea of letting this half-baked idea fester any longer would only serve to intensify the anxiety she now feels for overstepping and being presumptuous.

She settles instead for scribbling a small note on the memo pad at her desk and signs it before folding it and placing it inside the bag. Buzzing her secretary in, she draws up an impassive face, her hand fiddling with her fountain pen.

"Jess," she begins when her assistant arrives just by her desk. "Have this bag delivered to Kara Danvers."

"Kara Danvers?"

"Custodial Staff."

"Right." Jess stares at her for a second before resuming her note-taking. "Anything I need to relay to her?"

"No. Simply that it's to be given to her at the start of her shift later tonight."

"Understood." Jess retrieves the bag from the couch and exits her office while Lena remains with the ball of nervous anxiety she's been nursing for the last couple of hours. It's almost a relief when she gets called down to the engineering lab to troubleshoot an engineering snafu, eager to set aside thoughts of Kara so she can actually get stuff done.

---

The next morning, Lena arrives in her office and finds a tented note resting at the center of her desk. She takes a second to put her workbag and coffee cup down before plucking the note up and turning it in her grasp.

She laughs when she reads Super Boss written in a neat combination of print and cursive. She flips the card open and reads,

Dear Lena,

Thank you for the replacement shirts that I received tonight. Even though I do recall mentioning that my clumsiness was the culprit and therefore the gift was not necessary. Appreciated, though you didn't have to.

But thank you, anyway. It was very sweet, and gave me the perfect excuse to throw away some of the older ones I was holding onto. Not the one that I spilled on, though. I'm keeping it for sentimental reasons. I've got it framed in my studio apartment as I write this, hanging right above my television and everything. I'm sure you understand.

Bonus points that my supervisor couldn't stop being nosy and wondering what was in the bag or why someone from your offices would hand deliver it for me. Maybe I'll tell him I was awarded new microfiber cloths. What do you think?

I hope you have a wonderful day, boss.

Kara

For the rest of the day, Lena fails spectacularly in keeping the smile on her face in check garnering slightly odd looks from her assistant and other employees.

---

It won't be for another three months that she finds herself staying late at the office, her life having become a whirlwind of chaos with her work and personal life blowing up for all the world to see: her mother, Lillian, had finally woken up from her coma, and Lena had been called to the stand to testify against her own brother.

Her choice of hiding in her office hadn't been planned, but the quiet of her office and the darkness bathing the room around her is enough for now.

She's sitting on her couch with her head in one hand and balled up tissues in the other, her decanter and an empty tumbler on the coffee table in front of her. It barely registers in her mind that there's rustling coming from her office door. She rushes to her desk, hand hovering underneath the silent alarm, her other hand clutching at her baton from her purse.

Yet when the door opens and she finds the same powder blue overalls with hanging by the waist and a tank top-wearing blonde woman, she sighs in relief at the familiar face.

Kara doesn't jump or startle this time, but she does end up standing by the door, a shocked expression on her face when she realizes that Lena's there. Quickly, she tugs at her headphones and offers Lena a smile.

"Who let you in here?" Lena's not quite sure how to respond to that, but it seems she doesn't have to when Kara walks in, pushing her cleaning cart forward, and realization dawns on her. "Oh, hi Lena."

She releases a wet laugh, her body loosening from the rigid posture she'd been holding. She releases the baton from her purse and moves her hand away from the silent alarm trigger, but doesn't otherwise leave her current station.

"How'd you realize it was me?"

"I didn't at first because your hair is down so I wasn't sure if that was you. But then I smelled your perfume."

Kara has pushed her cleaning cart all the way to her desk and they both look at one another. She wants to ask how Kara recognizes her perfume, but her fuzzy brain can't hold onto the thread long enough. Then, Kara asks, "Have you been crying?"

Lena sags against her desk this time, her head hanging low as her chin dips against her chest. "It's just been a very long day."

Kara slowly approaches her and extends a hand. "Wanna sit for a minute?"

She glances down at the outstretched hand, open and inviting, before looking back up at patient blue eyes. She nods, accepting what's offered to her as they make their way to the couch.

"My hand's clean, I promise."

She chuckles, throws a look at the woman beside her before she takes her seat on the couch. Kara takes a few short steps towards her cart and grabs a water bottle before walking around and sitting beside her.

"Here, drink some."

Accepting the water, she takes a few swigs, careful not to spill on herself. The cool water feels good as it makes its way down her parched mouth and sinks into her belly. It certainly has a better effect than the alcohol she's been nursing for the last hour. Kara is fiddling with something in her pocket for a few moments until she reveals three granola bars and two fruit leather strips.

"You take one, I take one."

"I couldn't take your snack, Kara. I shouldn't even be here right now."

"Sure you can. You gift me clothes, I gift you store-brand granola and Fruit-by-the-Foot knockoffs. It's a fair trade."

She eyes the snacks held in Kara's hand, the very same one that held her firmly just moments ago. She'd contest this, but she is tired beyond exhaustion, so she acquiesces, grabbing one of each and slowly peeling the wrapper of the granola bar. Kara mirrors her, peeling her own granola bar and taking a bite just as Lena takes a bite.

It's an odd thing to find herself in, Lena thinks, with one of her custodial staff sitting with her as she contends with the shambles that has become of her life. Still, there is comfort in Kara's presence, a lack of expectation from a woman who takes a moment to recognize her and doesn't immediately recoil when it dawns on her that she's a Luthor.

"Good, right?" Kara asks after she chews and swallows half the granola bar. "Got it on sale this weekend and bought two packs. So if you want another one, just let me know."

She's about to protest, but her stomach gurgles, her body betraying her in front of her visitor.

"Sometimes it's the little things, you know?"

She nods, though she can't imagine if there's any little thing left to enjoy in her life. Kara smiles at her, her cheek puffing slightly as she finishes the granola in her hand. Okay, perhaps there's one little thing to enjoy in her life.

Lena eventually moves onto the fruit leather, the inside slightly sticky as she unfurls the roll. She takes a tentative bite, the sweetness just on the edge of cloying, but all the same comforting.

"I don't know if I've ever had this," she confesses, inspecting the package in her hand.

"What? You're kidding!"

"I highly doubt I had processed foods until I was in boarding school, and even then, they had a highly specific diet the girls were supposed to follow."

Kara looks on at her in slight disbelief, but no apparent judgment directed at her. "This was one of the treats my parents used to have for me growing up. Usually as incentive to get my homework done."

"That sounds nice. What do your parents do?"

"My dad was a Chemistry professor and my mother was an adjudicator."

"Was?"

Kara offers her a small smile. "They passed some years back, car accident."

Her first instinct is to offer her condolences and apology for having asked, but the way Kara's looking at her makes her bite her tongue. Instead, she takes another bite of her granola, the two of them sitting in companionable silence. Then, "Were they good people?"

"Yeah, I think so. They tried to do right by me, at least. They weren't perfect, but they tried to do good where and when they could."

She wants to sob, a pressure of envy sits against her ribcage of a life she would never know: a family who tried to do good when they could, to do right by her to their best of their ability. Instead, she's left to pick up the pieces of her father's death, her mother's incapacitation, and her brother's imprisonment.

"You do that, you know." Lena's head snaps up to look at her, blinking away the shine of tears from her eyes to get a better view of Kara's face. "Try to do good, I mean."

Lena swallows the lump in her throat, her eyes focused on Kara as her brain attempts to process her words.

"Sorry, was that—was that out of line?"

She shakes her head. "No, not at all. It just took me by surprise. You might be the only person in the world who thinks that."

"There are more people who believe in you than you think."

An errant tear does manage to escape, and she rushes to wipe it with her free hand. "God, sorry."

Kara rummages through the pocket of her overalls and takes out an honest-to-god handkerchief. It's white with three simple blue parallel lines on one edge of the square. Lena wordlessly accepts it and uses it to dab at her face, hopeful that whatever makeup she must have smeared all over her face doesn't transfer on the fabric.

"Thanks."

"'Course."

"I didn't think people still carried handkerchiefs," she comments, clutching at the cloth in her hand—it's soft to the touch, softer than she'd imagined. Kara simply chuckles when she responds.

"People usually don't anymore. But my parents used to carry them, so..."

"That's sweet, carrying on their legacy."

"Something like that. They weren't perfect people and getting older without them let me see that. But I loved them. You know?"

Eventually, Lena recognizes how late it's gotten and that she ought to get some sleep. She requests for a car from security downstairs, gathering her belongings while Kara busies herself to clean her office. She's just about to put the bottle of liquor back in the bar cart when Kara calls out to her.

"Leave it. I'll take care of it, don't worry."

The phone dings in her other hand letting her know that her driver is waiting for her, so she makes her way towards Kara who now held the vacuum in front of her.

"Thank you, Kara. For tonight. It means…" she doesn't know how to end her sentence without simply blurting out an insufficient 'everything', how to thank this person for sharing parts of herself and keeping her company despite the isolation that Lena has felt so acutely tonight. She sighs, hopes that the sag of relief in her bones is enough to convey her appreciation. "Goodnight, Kara."

The brightness of Kara's smile directed at her is one she'll remember for the rest of her life, she thinks. "Sleep well, Lena."

Later, when she's sitting in the backseat, she'll realize with a slight panic that she's still clutching onto the handkerchief that Kara offered her. Knowing that she can't do anything about returning it tonight, she ends up pushing it up against her cheek, the softness of the fabric a comfort pressed up against her skin.

She closes her eyes and smiles.

---

The following week, Lena finds one box of granola bars and one box of fruit leather sitting on her desk with the same tented note at the top. Her face splits into a smile when she reads Super Boss in the now familiar handwriting.

Dear Lena,

For your personal stash.

Kara

She takes a fruit leather out and unrolls it, taking a bite of it first thing that morning before placing the two boxes in her side drawer. Lena barely hides the smirk when Jess walks in with her tablet in hand and gapes at her for a second when she catches sight of the snack in Lena's hand.

---

An international acquisition deal keeps Lena busy in the following couple of months. Her itinerary has her traveling to several countries in a short span. When she has a minute or two to spare, her mind wanders to thoughts of a particular employee, one who carries handkerchiefs and keeps her pockets stocked with granola and fruit leather. Lena had half a mind to return the handkerchief the very next day, but she couldn't get herself to relinquish her hold even after she'd washed it and folded it and placed it at her desk with her own note for Kara to see. Something about it gave her comfort and she wasn't sure she could give that up so easily right now.

While spending some time in Japan, Lena thought about the time difference, how her midday was right in the middle of Kara's shift. She wondered about what Kara was singing to at that moment, if she'd been trying a different flavor of granola bars, what color handkerchief did she carry while Lean held onto her white and blue striped one.

By the time she returns to National City, her sleeping schedule is completely out of sync despite her best efforts to control her caffeine intake. Which is why tonight she's in her office working late, various files and her barely touched Chinese food all over the coffee table.

When she hears rustling by her door, she checks her watch and pauses her work, her body twisted enough to see her visitor.

Kara appears in her usual uniform with her cleaning cart in tow. Kara stills at the door before her face slowly splits into a smile as she enters the office and walks right up to the couch.

"Working through the midnight oil?"

"More like jet lag has dictated how I spend my days and nights as of late."

"Well, at least you have Sister Liu's keeping you company tonight," Kara nods to her table.

She laughs, tries to clear up some of the papers that have littered her space. "I've not been a very good host to them, if that's the case. I think all I've had is a bite of my lo mein and two potstickers."

Kara gasps, her hands resting on her waist, well-defined arms on full display. "How can you possibly only eat three bites of the best Chinese food in the entire city?"

Lena sits up. "Why don't you have some."

"I couldn't possibly. Plus, I'm on the clock right now."

"Then take a break."

"Have you?" she challenges, but Lena can only shrug since she can't say that she has. "Besides, I can't eat your food, Lena! You haven't eaten any of it!"

"I have plenty to share, but it probably does need reheating."

Kara looks at her, narrowing her eyes, when she says, "Well then let's both take it to the breakroom downstairs and eat there."

She's about to protest when she reconsiders knowing that her work can wait. So she smiles up at Kara from her spot on the couch and nods.

Kara takes the lead in heating up her food before opening the cupboards and finding plates and utensils. She offers to help but Kara shoos her away, so she makes herself useful and pours them both glasses of water. When the microwave dings, Kara's quick to take out the plastic container before Lena can even get to it, a playful glare thrown her way.

"Go sit."

She quirks a brow. "Last I checked, I was your boss."

Lena then smiles when Kara throws her a cheeky eyeroll and says, "Okay. Go sit, boss."

Doing as she's told, she takes her place at the table and watches as Kara plates her once-forgotten dinner, portioning it perfectly for the two of them. It's a silly thing for her to imagine a life where this could happen, but they're not at work or her breakroom, but instead at home together. Kara's studio apartment or her penthouse perhaps. A dangerous thing to entertain in her mind, tempting as it is. Chalks this lapse of judgment to her frayed and fraught emotions.

Still, when Kara's face breaks into a smile as she sits across from Lena, she reminds herself that there's no harm for a little fantasy that will go nowhere. Least of all when it's after midnight.

From her seat, she watches as Kara takes an appreciative bite of her potsticker. "Man, they really have the best potsticker in the world. Even China, probably."

She laughs, shaking her head as she forks a bite of her own lo mein into her mouth. Lena surprises herself when she gets through her plate quickly, the hunger she'd staved off for the last few hours coming back in full force.

"See, Sister Liu's is the best," Kara announces when she tips her head towards Lena's now clear plate.

"It did come highly recommended from my assistant."

"Yeah, she and I have talked about it in passing. I was actually the one to put her on it, so I'm glad that my rec made it all the way to the top."

"I hadn't realized you were familiar with my assistant," she comments, attempting to temper the surprise in her voice.

"Oh, sure. I've seen her a few times when I come into work early on nights I don't have class. I'm usually hauling a takeout bag in while she's on her way out."

"Perhaps you can relay some food suggestions to her. I normally have her order from the same place most of the time."

Kara smiles at that. "You're talking to the right person, then."

"Oh?"

"Definitely. You'll eat good, I promise."

She doesn't doubt Kara at all, not when she's flashing Lena a bright smile. When they finish eating, Lena insists she washes the plates they used since Kara 'cooked'. The hearty laugh that fills the quiet break room replenishes a drought she can't identify inside of her. She laughs along as she passes the plates for Kara to dry.

It's so easy, here.

It's so easy, here, for Lena to forget where she is, who she is.

It's so easy, here, to imagine a life that isn't hers, with a woman who has delivered more joy and light in her life than she could have ever expected.

They eventually walk back to Lena's office, Lena's soul and stomach satiated, and she considers leaving the files as they are and heading home.

"Time to go?"

"I think so," she says, even as she covers her mouth from a yawn. "Leave the room as it is, I'll sort through these things in the morning."

"Might still do some light dusting," Kara says with a shrug. Then she puts her hand out to reveal a fortune cookie. "For the trip home."

"Keep it."

"No, this is your fortune. You have to keep it." Kara reaches out and takes Lena's hand before placing the fortune cookie in the center of her palm before curling her fingers carefully into a loose fist. "You have to eat the cookie first entirely before you read the fortune or it won't work."

She huffs, but nods. "I didn't realize there were so many rules. But okay. I will do as told."

Kara gives her a triumphant smile. "Good. Sleep well, when you do."

"Goodnight, Kara."

With a parting wave to Kara when the elevator doors close, she stare at the fortune cookie still in hand. She rips the plastic open and splits the cookie, careful to take heed of Kara's advice. By the time she reaches her car, she's already eaten the cookie, yet it's not until she's sitting in the passenger seat that she looks at the small slip of paper.

She laughs when she reads her fortune.

Your heart will skip a beat.

---

Lena arrives in the office a bit tired but in good spirits, greeting Jess with a smile. Walking into her office, she shakes her head when she sees the clutter she'd made the night before cleared up, the files stacked neatly. She finds a colorful spread of papers at her desk and smiles when she sees the familiar scrawl on a tented memo.

Dear Lena,

Here are my top recommendations. I've circled my favorite dishes in all of them that I think you'd like. Happy eating, boss!

Kara

Lena plucks the menu for Big Belly Burger at the very top of the pile and grins at the sticky note she finds on the inside.

If you don't think this cheeseburger is delicious then I will eat my shoe. Also, get the cheese fries. Trust me.

She turns to another menu, one for a cafe called Noonan's, and finds a sticky note on it.

This cinnamon bun is the best thing you'll ever eat here. I am a professional, so trust me on this, I am so serious.

She leaves the notes on the menus though she devours reading each and every single one, each one a glimpse of Kara's life, each one a piece in a growing puzzle she forms of who Kara is. Touched by the consideration and thankful for the food recommendations despite how indulgent and less than healthy they appear, Lena sets aside the menus in the same drawer that houses the granola bars and fruit leather. She reminds herself to get some more and perhaps purchase extra to pass off to her favorite custodian.

She presses a button on her phone and waits until the call gets picked up.

"To what do I owe this call first thing in the morning?" Sam asks.

"What do you think about grabbing Big Belly Burger for lunch?" There's a beat of silence that passes between them and she wonders if Sam's not familiar. "Have you never had it?"

Then, Sam laughs. "No, I've had it, alright. I just didn't think you did."

"Well, I saw a glowing recommendation to try out the cheeseburger," she responds, looking down at Kara's note.

---

Three weeks later, Kara comes in super early and catches Lena just as she's getting ready to leave for the evening. It's a surprise all her own when Kara knocks on her already open door. Her blonde hair is down, reaching just a below her shoulders. She's in a navy blue button down paired with black skinny jeans and sneakers. She looks just at ease in this outfit as she does in her normal work uniform and such a thought brings a smile on her face.

"Kara Danvers, you're at work awfully early." She puts the last of her files in her work bag and waits at her desk.

"It's my night off, actually."

"Far be it for me to judge someone at work when they shouldn't be, but what are you doing here?"

"Uh, well. I actually I'm here to put in my two weeks' notice."

Lena's heart sinks. "Ah."

"Yeah, I uh, finished school last week and my cousin in Metropolis invited me to move in with him and his wife now that I'm done with school."

"So soon?" she asks, unable to help herself.

"Yeah, he'd waited to ask me 'til I was done with school since that was really the only thing keeping me here."

"I see."

"Yeah. It's not true, of course, there are other things that I really like about this place," Kara reasons, looking at her intently. Lena doesn't want to make anything out of nothing, so she only nods, encourages Kara to continue. "It was kind of fast, but I think he just didn't want me to be alone. I haven't been in a long time, but it's hard to fault a guy for being concerned when he lives on the opposite side of the country."

A slew of things rush through Lena's head, but now is not the time to think about any of them. Instead, what she says is, "Well, first, congratulations are in order. I didn't realize you'd finished school."

"I did, yeah. Thanks. Taking evening classes paid off and being gainfully employed here definitely helped."

"If you don't mind my company, then let me take you out for dinner to celebrate…unless you have plans?"

Kara smiles. "No. This was just it, I was mostly going to go home and start packing."

She grabs her work bag and leads the two of them to the private elevator. "Do you mind riding with me or do you feel more comfortable taking a separate car or walking to dinner?"

"Nuh uh," Kara says with a shake of her head, her eyes staring at the sleek sports car that Lena unlocks with her fob. "You can take me anywhere you want if I get to ride shotgun in this thing."

Laughter springs from her lips and she shakes her head before hoisting her bag into the back seat. "Hop in, then."

They make quick work of the drive, Kara's eyes scanning the entire interior of the car while she calibrates the directions to one of the restaurants that Kara suggested. If it were up to Lena, she would have taken this woman to the fanciest place she knew and wined and dined her.

She parks on the street in front of an unassuming Indian restaurant. She recalls the logo from the menu and how it matched with the logo right out front. They get seated right away, Kara being greeted with great familiarity by the server, something that Lena has never really seen save for the movies.

"Kara, always good to see you, my friend." The elderly man says with a pat on Kara's shoulder.

"Hi, Anish. This is Lena."

"Nice to meet you," she offers as she takes the man's hand.

"Date?"

Kara's eyes widen and she shakes her head, an embarrassed smile on her face. "Be cool for once, Anish. She's my boss. Gosh. Besides, she's definitely out of my league." The last of her words trail as she muffles them with the menu in front of her face, but Lena pretends not to hear, pretends not to react at the possibility that Kara may have already thought of them dating.

"We're celebrating Kara's graduation," she offers instead, delighted by the man's eyes lighting up at the news.

"Then let me get dinner started right away for you two!"

He leaves and gets them waters and time to look over the menu.

"You're a popular girl, Kara Danvers."

A bashful smile appears on her face and Kara smooshes half her face into her palm as she leans on the table. "I am a loyal customer, I'll say that."

"They'll be sad when you go."

"Yeah, I was thinking of making the rounds next week to let them know. Feels weird to just up and leave."

She nods, her eyes landing back on Kara in front of her. "Certainly thoughtful of you. One of the many things I have come to admire about you, actually."

It's then that Kara covers her face with both hands and Lena can't help but giggle. "Jeeze."

Daring to act, Lena pushes forward and tugs at one of Kara's hands so she can see Lena.

"Hey, I mean it. You've been a very thoughtful person, Kara. And I've appreciated everything you've done for my company and for me, specifically."

"I'd do them again, no problem. Everyone needs somebody in their corner."

There's no response that comes out of her mouth, and she's thankful for the interruption from Anish as he begins to prepare their table in front of them, talking all the while and sharing stories of Kara, all of which she accepts readily.

With food served and Anish attending to other guests, she and Kara fall into easy conversation, much like all the times they've shared together, however few and far between they were. Lena does her best to table that particular thought later in the comfort of her own home, the reality of Kara's impending departure hitting her more than she ever imagined.

So she remains present at this dinner where she learns that Kara's cousin and his wife are reporters at The Daily Planet and they have one son named Jonathan. How Kara can really only cook the basics and turns to takeout for the majority of her nourishment. How Kara likes to paint and draw in her spare time but didn't ever want to make that into her job.

How Kara considers Lena someone she wants to emulate, someone she looks up to. A flash of one of their late night conversations springs to mind, about school and marketing programs.

"No, you can't possibly."

"Sure I can, and I do! I mean, how you've been able to manage everything that's happened to you over the last couple of years has been nothing less than saintly, if you ask me."

It's her turn to become bashful, dipping her head. "Well, thank you."

Dinner ends with a feast of desserts that Anish fills their table with when he overhears that Kara's moving to Metropolis. She laughs, heart full, when Kara gazes at her just as Anish explains that he has his own cousin in Metropolis and even though his restaurant is not as good as his, he would still recommend it so she can have a taste of home. When it's time to pay and Anish refuses them, Lena simply tucks a few hundred dollar bills into his shirt pocket and pats him on the shoulder. It's only then that the older man finally loses his cool.

Each of them walk out with a to-go bag each, the two of them giggling openly when they breathe in the night air. Kara accepts the ride to her apartment and so they spend the fifteen-minute drive chatting about nothing in particular, content with simply enjoying each other's company.

The traitorous part of Lena can't help but shake the idea of how good this all feels, how light and alive she feels in Kara's presence. So she indulges herself and appreciates it for the time that it is, another moment in finding joy, however fleeting, with Kara around.

When they reach the front of Kara's building, she gets out of her own seat and walks around to meet Kara.

"Thanks for dinner tonight," Kara says, scratching the back of her head. "Not what I thought would happen when I put my resignation notice in, but I can't complain."

"I think you'll have Anish to thank for the food. But I appreciated you letting me take you out to celebrate. I really am proud of you for finishing what you set out to do. I wish you nothing but luck in Metropolis."

"Can I—sorry, this is probably really inappropriate, but can I give you a hug?"

Lena wants nothing more, so she opens her arms until they wind their way around Kara's neck. For a long moment, one that Lena will feel for days to come, they simply hold each other in place, steady breaths passing between them until the embrace meets its end.

"Thanks for taking care of my office," she says intently when they finally separate, hoping to convey that what she really means is Thanks for taking care of me.

By the smile that Kara sends her way and the softness in her eyes, she can tell that Kara has heard her loud and clear when she responds, simply, "It was my pleasure."

---

On what Lena knows is Kara's last night, she orders for the handkerchief she'd been carrying with her to be delivered back to Kara. It sits in a simple box with a note of thanks for letting her keep it for so long.

Yet when she reaches her desk the next morning, the box is already sitting at her desk. When she flips it open, the handkerchief is still there.

---

Months go by and Lena's life continues, day in and day out. The changes that she makes in the company keeps her busy.

Lillian's recovery keeps her busy.

Her life is better than it has been in a long time. Every so often, though, her thoughts drift to Kara. How she's doing in Metropolis. She considered keeping tabs on Kara, but decided against it knowing that it would only hurt her in the long run. Nevertheless, when she catches her self working late in the office, or needing a pick-me-up snack, memories of Kara populate her mind. How a handful of interactions with this one woman helped keep her from floating adrift in the hardest year of her life.

How someone she otherwise would never have met helped keep her sane, kept her fed, and offered a light in a life that had been tumultuous and miserable for her.

A year passes and Lena is all the better for it. Her life has settled, stabilized. It's more than she could have hoped for, certainly more than she could have imagined a year prior when she'd only gotten her bearings in order.

After Kara left, she'd resolved to leave work earlier, never to catch herself in the office so late in the night. Something about the sacredness of those nights needed to be preserved with the woman who left for the opposite side of the country. It's a silly notion, but Jess seems all the happier for it when she leaves work at a more consistent hour in the evening.

"Miss Luthor, your 11 AM had to cancel last minute."

Faced with a free hour, she grabs her purse and heads for the elevator. "I'm gonna take a long lunch. Hold my calls until I get back."

She makes her way to Noonan's and orders herself a kale salad, a cinnamon bun, and a cup of coffee before occupying a seat outside. Engrossed in eating her lunch just as she flips a page of her book, she falls into the shadows of someone standing by the free chair of her table. She squints to get a better look, the person in a blazer with short hair that end right below the ears. Still, the shadows obscure the person's face.

"I think you dropped this," the voice says. "I have one just like it."

Sure enough, this stranger pulls out a handkerchief of her own from her pocket and it's a simple square with three parallel lines on one edge, this time all red. Shock appears on her face when she finally recognizes exactly who's standing in front of her.

"Kara?" she asks, her voice sounding unsure as she jumps to get a better look.

"Hi, Lena."

In front of her is Kara, the woman who has drifted in and out of Lena's thoughts over time. Unable to help herself, she reaches forward and clutches at Kara's arm, strong and solid in her grasp, proof of the woman's presence in front of her.

Later, Lena will text Jess to postpone the rest of her afternoon meetings because she'll be out for the rest of the day. She won't think too deeply when she hears the amusement in Jess' voice when she says it's not a problem and for her to enjoy her lunch.

Then, Lena will discover that Kara has moved back to National City just two weeks ago as a junior reporter for CatCo Magazine, that she's back to living in the same building that Lena once drove her to, and that even though Kara thinks it's a long shot, she'd really like to take Lena out to this new restaurant she found. As friends, perhaps, but maybe more, if Lena's open and willing.

And after that, Lena accepts on the condition that it is as more than friends and even suggests that she drive them there in her sports car that Kara enjoys so much.

For now, though, her heart skips at her good fortune joining her for lunch.

"I didn't think you'd remember me," she admits, somehow the first thing that comes to mind once they seat themselves.

"It's true, I'm no good with faces," Kara says, before her own face splits into a mischievous smile, leaning in closer that Lena has no choice but to do the same. "But there's no way I could ever forget you."

[saintsenara]

Hi! I've noticed a couple of times that you mention that you think Voldemort wants to emasculate Lucius and I wondered if you could explain why you think this?

because i've parsed the extremely subtle meaning behind him:

forcing lucius to hand over his phallus wand whipping out his own cock wand to measure it against lucius' appearing to find that his dick wand is longer, which he considers pleasing mocking lucius for losing the ability to sexually satisfy his wife assuming that he will receive voldemort's wand in return, when actually he is going to go wandless calling forth his enormous snake snake and stroking it while looking the wandless lucius directly in the eye telling lucius that he doesn't deserve a penis wand because he's so incompetent that all he's good for is being a eunuch staying in the house performing the domestic labour of looking after the dark lord's prisoners making clear to lucius [and the assembled group more widely] that he's fucked bellatrix and she loved it he's so important they worship him as a god while he treats their devotion with casual disdain informing lucius, his wife, and his sister-in-law that one of his wayward female relatives tonks has been banged by the enormous monster shaft of married a werewolf [which is also what happened when the sister of the woman he's failing to sexually satisfy andromeda was bouncing and moaning on it for married a mudblood] [which shows that the other two black sisters can't be satisfied by posh, pureblood men, proving that narcissa isn't satisfied by lucius either reflects badly on them] calling lucius' son and heir a homosexual babysitter and using lucius' dong wand to murder charity burbage, thus demonstrating his superior sexual prowess that he is so magnificent he can make any woman his whore produce powerful magic from any wand, while lucius can't

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twenty-One

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Character death and canon typical violence/graphic descriptions.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

It was the sound and smell that really got to you. The crackle of bones snapping and the stretching of skin and the slick squelch of new flesh as it grew into place. The scent of burning curtains and couch stuffing and meat so thick in the air Emerie could only lean over and vomit into the fireplace. 

Through the smoke and the haze you saw barbs sprout from Vassa’s skin like needles before splitting down the middle to reveal sickly red feathers. Putrid flowers crawling their way through the dirt. 

She fell to the ground, convulsing with pain and anguish as she transformed.  

“VASSA!” Lucien roared. He threw his arm over his face, magic bursting forth in a protective shield around you and Azriel. His russet eyes reflected the flames that licked at his skin and hair, fighting and absorbing the power that flashed throughout the room. 

From the corner of your eye you saw Feyre use her own spark of Autumn’s magic. The flames took on the shape of wolves and threw themselves over Mor, Gwyn, Emerie, and Elain in a protective huddle. 

Vassa’s screams thinned out into one long screech and the beating of her wings sent another wave of heat through the room.

Azriel pressed you further against the ground as she took off, flying so close overhead that the sweat frying your skin evaporated and the tips of Azriel’s hair singed off. 

Cassian swore, drawing out the short sword he always kept on him as he shielded Ione’s body from the worst of the initial blast, wings out and glaring siphon red in the shape of shield.

Vassa sank her claws into his back, latching onto leather armour and ripping him off the old woman. Her wings took up the length of the room, trailing ribbons of blue and scarlet fire as she finally descended on her prize. 

Ione was no stranger to death. She did not fear it as some might have expected her to. She’d seen friends and family ruthlessly murdered. Experienced loss of a kind that the fae could not comprehend with their long lives. Maybe that was the reason she fought so little when Vassa’s talons closed over her arms and lifted her into the air. 

Rhysand roared, night triumphant rumbling over the floors like an earthquake as darkness spilled from his hands.

But he was too late. 

Vassa crashed through the window with Ione in tow. Glass and fragments of the supporting wall crumbled down in a chorus of cries that tore through your spine as shadows swarmed overhead. Reaching, reaching, reaching after the firebird and the woman she carried higher and higher up into the sky. 

Cassian rolled to his feet, leaping after them with a furious beat of his wings that sent shards of glass skittering over the floor and dust flying into your eyes. 

Azriel scrambled to his feet, hauling you up with him. You dragged your nails over his arms, blinking through smoke-filled eyes as you coughed. 

All around you the House was burning. 

“Are you ok?!” He shook you, hands coming up to your face. He was split between two choices — stay with you, or go get Ione. 

“Go. Go! I’m fine,” you rasped, lifting your sleeve up to your nose and mouth as your eyes streamed with tears. Azriel hesitated, hearing your hacking coughs even as you pushed him towards the gaping wound of the House. Cassian continued to shrink into the distance, red light searing past Vassa’s feathers as she desperately dodged his attacks. 

He wouldn’t go for a killing blow. Not when she was carrying such precious cargo. 

“Just go! If Koschei gets his hands on Ione, we’re all dead!” You erupted in another fit of coughs.

Fuck.

“Stay with Lucien,” Azriel said.

“Yes, yes. Now go!” You gave him one final shove.

Azriel swore beneath his breath, turned, and raced towards the window with his wings ready to unfurl before disappearing in a flurry of smoke. 

Misunderstanding — that was what made Shadowsingers so dangerous. Not their silence. Not the tendrils of darkness they commanded, but how little anyone knew of them and where they came from.

Illyrians, by nature, couldn’t winnow. It was one of the simple, unexplainable facts of their world. As immutable as gravity. As intrinsic as the magic that flowed through their land like a bottomless sea. And despite all the rules Azriel had broken, and would break, in his life — all the contradictions he flirted with like it was a game — he was, first and foremost, an Illyrian.

He did not winnow. 

Winnowing was simple.

Winnowing happened when you folded the fabric of the world in half like a piece of paper and stretched that fabric thin enough to pass through. It was instantaneous. One moment you had both feet planted in one place, the next moment in another. 

What Azriel did was wholly different. 

Because when he “winnowed,” he actually went somewhere else first. 

When he was running away from you, he was moving towards an opening only he could see. A black, flickering spot that grew and grew and grew until it swallowed him whole and he felt himself fall into a different realm. 

The sounds of shouting and feet trampling over glass disappeared with a whisper and he dove into the silence, feeling shadows slip over him like water. 

When he’d first shadow-traveled, it had been an accident. He’d been young and desperate to escape the cramped confines of his bed in the Windhaven barracks. He would never miss his time spent in the cellar, but at least there it had been quiet. At least there he could commune with his shadows in private. Accommodations in the Windhaven barracks were a poor imitation of horse stables — tiny bedrooms lined up with just enough space for growing wings and walls that didn’t reach the ceiling. Boys would peer over the walls at him like an animal on display, throwing food and boasting their strong wings while his lay on the floor like crumpled paper. 

To this day he didn’t quite know where he went when he shadow-traveled. All he knew was that in this world of black sand, cracked rock, and perpetual music, beings roamed free that answered to him and only him. Creatures both same and different to the shadows he commanded in Prythian. They crowded around him, welcoming him home and blocking out the background hums of someone’s sweet singing as the light of three moons cast their silvery net over the Shadowsinger.

The plan is working.

Why have you left her behind? 

The firebird is nearing the edges of your borders. 

Your mate is safe. She remains by her brother’s side.

He listened to their reports, gliding through the still air and watching as a familiar light opened up ahead of him. A fourth moon that wasn’t a moon at all, but a light back home. Through the opening he saw a blue sky raked with fire as Vassa turned onto her back, careening through the air like a firework and opening her mouth wide. 

She’s endowed with new powers. Be cautious, Shadowsinger.

Your brother is on your left. 

What had felt like minutes flying through this darkness vanished into nothing. The time he’d spent in this realm never passed on Prythian. To anyone watching him, they’d think he disappeared from the House and reappeared here, hundreds of feet above the earth.

But things were better this way. When he traveled with his shadows, he had time to gather his thoughts and anticipate the fight ahead.

Quick! Get the warlord.

And he had help.

NOW!

Azriel shattered the boundaries of the world in an explosion of shadow, careening into Cassian’s side and knocking him off course just as Vassa spit out a ball of flame. Azriel heard Cassian’s shout in his ear as they tumbled through the air together in a tangle of wings. He felt the heat that had come close to scorching his back.

I am not that little boy. Not anymore. Azriel promised himself

The warlord grasped the harness hidden in the back of Azriel’s armor just between the shoulder blades, using the momentum of their fall to throw him back towards Vassa. 

The Sidra glowed beneath him, the mouth of the river stretching wide as it prepared to feed the sea. Another mile, and the protections surrounding Velaris would fall away. Who knew what would happen to Ione and Vassa then? 

Azriel saw the distance between them narrow. Vassa’s body could only be propped up by so much magic. Feathers continued to strip themselves from her body, curling inwards as they fell like paper left too close to a flame. 

Ione flailed in Vassa’s clutches, iron cane still held tightly in her hand as she twisted and turned at the mercy of Vassa’s frantic flight maneuvers. 

The firebird squawked in panic when she felt the first cold licks of Azriel’s shadows creep up her wings. They hissed and smarted upon first contact with her fiery feathers, before eating away at her magic like ravenous beasts. 

But she also understood hunger. It was hunger that had driven her to take Ione. It was hunger that had forced her to turn. Hunger for the kind of magic that only Koschei could grant her when she was back in his malignant embrace.

To Azriel’s horror, Vassa twisted in the air and flung Ione down with a shriek. 

The old woman’s face twisted in shock, her scream choked by wind as her stomach flew into her throat and the burning pressure in her arms gave way to freefall. 

Azriel didn’t hesitate. He dove down, reaching out with two scarred hands.

For one brief moment they were falling together. 

Ione saw the firebird change direction and aim right at Azriel, slipping into the blindspots of his vision. Ione looked him dead in the eye and gave the faintest nod. 

Azriel tucked his wings in close and veered off course at the last second, rolling with the impact of Vassa’s wing slamming into his side and feeling the burn when his leathers caught fire.

Somewhere in the wind, Cassian roared. 

Vassa caught Ione and fled beyond the borders of Velaris.

And Azriel fell.

And fell. 

And fell.

A comet.

And disappeared into the ocean. 

Feyre stood in the center of the House, hands raised and eyes alight as fires leapt up the walls and swallowed the curtains. With one fell swoosh they vanished, wind rushing in through the battered side of the House and sweeping away the ash and smoke until the air tasted clean again.

She raised a trembling hand and with one decisive snap of her fingers the worst of the damage vanished, leaving behind the skeletal remains of their once lovely living room. 

“Mor.” The High Lady rasped. 

The blonde female stood to attention, cheeks stained grey, and brown eyes flaring with rage. People liked to think she was just a pretty face — a diplomat or a soothing presence. But right now, she was out for blood and she could smell it coming in the air. 

“Go tell Helion and the others. We meet at Thesan’s as planned.” 

Mor nodded and grabbed Emerie’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze as the Illyrian shook off the worst of her sickness. Her stomach, now empty, twisted. Mor kissed Emerie’s dark hair, whispering promises that they’d see each other again soon. Then it was only a matter of folding the universe in half and stepping into Helion’s palace to the sight of two dozen golden warriors. 

Emerie blinked and her wife was gone.

Rhys stood by the staircase with Gwyn, touching the crown of her head and showing her his most treasured prize. Beneath the fabric of her priestess robes, a new bargain tattoo was being written onto the skin of her ribs. Until their parents’ safe return, Gwyn would protect Nyx and Velaria with her life. No force, natural or otherwise, would keep her from her goal, and those that sought to harm her charges would meet their end on her blade. 

In the privacy of her room she donned the armour of the Valkyries and knelt down at the small altar carved into the wall. She touched the smooth white stone at the center and prayed to the Mother for strength and protection and health. She lit a red candle and dripped the wax onto the blade of her sword and polished it clean, reciting her prayers beneath her breath. 

What seeks to break me will fail. I am a protector. I have always been a protector. And that is what I will always be. It is written in my blood and in my bones, but where I was strong in my spirit, I am now strong in my body.

She stood with her sword in her hands.

I am the rock against which the surf crashes.

Tucked away in a cabin in the Illyrian Steppes, Nyx stood in front of his wooden soldier, practice sword clutched in his hand as he danced around the immobile warrior with a crease in his brow identical to Feyre’s. Every so often he would look over his shoulder at the female sitting on the floor, searching her silver eyes for that hint of pride she hid so well. 

Velaria lay in the crook of her arm, soft fingers tangled in the layers of gold and jewels that hung heavy from her slim, straight neck. Her eyes narrowed as she saw beyond the confines of the cabin into Rhysand’s mind. 

It’s happened hasn’t it? She asked knowingly. 

Yes.

And which one will you be sending to the children and I, boy?

Gwyn.

A good choice. I like that one.

Rhysand smiled tightly, feeling that knot in his chest loosen. No matter what happened, his children would be protected. They’d survive. 

As if sensing what the High Lord needed, Amren looked down at the child swaddled in her arms, allowing Rhysand the relief of seeing his children even if he couldn’t be there to hold them himself. 

Nyx, ever the precocious child, stopped his play-fighting and looked towards his aunt. 

He was still young but greatness hovered over his shoulder like a vulture ready to descend upon his innocence the moment he came of age. It frightened Rhysand to no end. 

Please, keep them safe.

Amren’s mind flickered with something like indignation and she clutched Velaria closer to her chest. It wasn’t maternal instinct that drove her, but something else. Something more feral and possessive. 

I have protected you and your family for centuries. I have killed for you and I died for you when I had far more to lose than just this mortal body. Do you truly believe I will fail you now?

No, Amren. No I do not. 

You raced up the steps after Lucien, smoke settling into your lungs as you wheezed and tried keeping up with his long, frantic strides. Vassa’s bloody footprints and a trail of burnt blue-orange feathers marked her descent. 

“JURIAN!” 

Lucien called his friend’s name the whole way up, praying to the gods that he’d hear a response. The air cleared the higher you went through the House until finally you stood at the base of the attic steps. 

The door stared down from above. Neatly closed. Unassuming. Vassa had shut it calmly before walking down. Or maybe she just couldn’t bear to look at the scene she’d left behind. 

Lucien burst through the silent, unblinking door and stopped dead in his tracks.

The first thing you saw from around his shoulder was the mangled remnants of the birdcage. Its side had been ripped open like ribs, cushion stuffing and blanket fragments spewing out. Claw marks decorated the walls and you detected the cling of iron in the air through your burning nostrils.

“Lucien?” Your voice shook.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move past the edges of the room. 

When you went to move around his frame, he gripped your arm and covered the way. 

Jurian’s body lay sprawled on the floor, blood pooling in a neat circle around him like he’d been blotted out with a red pen. His right arm was in tatters and three long gashes split him from the temple to his hip. His pearly white winked cruelly. The hazy afternoon sun settled on the dust in the air. 

He must have gotten too close to Vassa not realizing that she was too far gone for even him to help. Maybe she’d done it intentionally as a means of escape, thinking that Jurian was her jailor. But maybe it had all been an accident. The wrong turn of her talons as the pain of her transformation took over. 

The method did not matter. Nor did the reason. 

Because Jurian was dead. 

Lucien crumbled to his knees, sinking into the carpet and feeling nothing and you…

It took everything within you not to scream. You pressed down on the feeling. Down. Down. Down. Burying it deep beneath layers of willpower and practice. 

You walked over to the windows, feeling hatred at the sun for shining down with its yellow light, and ripped the curtains off their rings with a metallic clang. 

Jurian looked up at the ceiling with glistening eyes. Somehow, even in death, there was the faintest hint of a smile on his face — proud, mischievous, and a little wild. A sign of the charismatic general he’d been by Vassa’s side and long before then. You covered that smile carefully, ignoring the squelch of your shoes when you stepped into the circle of blood. 

Something in Lucien cracked open when the curtain fell into place.

He finally screamed. Hands and knees braced on the floor. Face twisted in pain. 

You clapped your hands over your ears, tears streaming down your cheeks as you willed the sound to stop. 

“Lucien—” Elain skidded to halt at the doorway, the mass of pink fabric around her waist swishing once then falling still. She looked at the outline of Jurian. She looked at you. Then she fell to her knees, pulling Lucien’s body into her lap and whispering his name. The initial silence stretching across the bond had terrified her. Hearing him scream and the heartbreak that followed after had sent her running. 

Lucien collapsed against her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in the flesh of her stomach. She cradled his head in one arm, the other splayed over his back as he wept.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped through her own tears. “I’m so so sorry, Lucien.”

He cried. 

And cried. 

And cried. 

You and Elain heard the shouting from downstairs as a collection of Cassian’s most trusted Valkyries and Illyrian warriors assembled on the lawn. Emerie stood among them, her seconds helping to tie the leather straps of her armour into place as she barked orders left and right. 

Elain looked towards you. The fight to come left no time for grief. Not even Lucien was exempt from that. 

You moved in front of your brother, blocking the sight of the curtains on the floor.

“Lucien,” you begged. Your brother’s bloodshot eye looked at you from the crook of Elain’s arm. “We need to get ready. We need to go.” 

“I can’t… I can’t just leave him. I can’t leave him to rot in this room. I can’t—” 

“I’ll take care of him,” Elain promised. She looked down at her mate. “You can trust me with him, Lucien.” 

He said nothing, but together you and Elain helped him up to his feet, and Elain — beautiful, lovely Elain — stood on the tips of her feet to kiss her mate’s tear-stained cheek. She tasted the salt on her tongue and felt the burning of unshed tears in her own eyes. 

“I’ll bury him somewhere calm in a bed of marigold and poppy.” Fiery, resilient flowers to remind Jurian of the woman he had loved. “And when you and Vassa return we will have a proper goodbye. I promise.”

He took a deep, trembling breath and whispered, “Thank you, Elain.” 

You let him lean against you, let him bury his face in your hair to escape the smell of blood and death, and walked with him downstairs. 

After you and Lucien were gone and Elain stood alone in the presence of the dead, she rolled up her pale pink sleeves, tied off the length of her dress and prepared for a new garden. 

Azriel was soaking wet and aching as he flew up to the House of Wind. Salt stripped his hair of moisture and the strands dried hard and tacky against his scalp. 

“Did you need to make such a dramatic exit?” Cassian snapped when they landed on the balcony. “I thought she’d killed you.”

Azriel moved through the House without even looking, charred leather flaking off his shoulders and floating to the ground as he walked. His wings were sore and tender from the heat, along with his ribs and shoulder from when Vassa had first barreled into him and then when he’d landed in the Sidra. 

“We needed to make it look real, remember?” Azriel answered smoothly.

It had always been part of the plan to let Vassa take Ione if she attempted it, but they couldn’t let her go without a fight or Koschei would find it suspicious. Even so, Azriel hated to admit that he’d been distracted thinking about you. If he’d been any slower today he might have lost his wings. 

“Well you did your job too well.” Cassian growled. 

Azriel dipped into his room, quickly stripping out of his clothes and donning new leathers before he and Cassian set off once again deep into the mountain.

They stopped in front of a grey wood door, and Azriel knocked twice. Paused. Knocked thrice. Paused. Then knocked twelve times. 

Ione — the real Ione — opened the door.

Feyre had inherited many gifts from the seven High Lords of Prythian — her healing touch, her water wolves, her mastery over flame and light and dark. But one of her least used gifts had been glamouring people from her Court… until now.

It had taken her half a dozen portraits to familiarize herself with every subtle valley and curve of Ione’s face, and double the number of attempts before she’d successfully woven Nesta’s features into a perfect copy. You’d swooped in for the final steps, using your knowledge and magic to dampen Nesta’s magical signature until even Cassian couldn’t tell when it was Nesta or Ione standing in front of him without relying on the mating bond.

“Has it happened?” The old woman asked gravely, pulling her shawl tight around her shoulders.

Azriel nodded. “Vassa took the bait.” 

As they spoke, the mortal queen was carrying a disguised Nesta to the Continent where she’d be a hidden weapon in enemy territory. Koschei wouldn’t even know he’d been delivered the wrong prize. 

At least that was the hope.

They brought Ione down to the House, and Azriel forced the woman into a brisk walk, weaving through the small collection of fae in search of you. You stood by Feyre and Rhysand close to the river, one arm kept tight around Lucien’s and a new satchel slung over your back. You kept glancing over at your brother, watching as he did what he could to compose himself. 

“Y/n.” 

One small word spoken from his lips and your eyes were latching onto him. There was a question in his eyes as he looked first at your pale face, and then at Lucien. The trembling of your hands and the shake of your head was all he needed. 

Jurian was gone. 

Azriel swallowed, stopping in front of the male he’d once hated so unfairly and feeling shame. “Lucien, I’m so—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll rip your tongue out,” Lucien seethed, his eyes flat and hard as stone. The despair had given away to fury before Jurian’s body was even cold and suddenly Lucien was itching to be on the Continent. To feel Koschei’s blood on his hands. 

It wasn’t too late to save Vassa. It wasn’t too late to get his friend back. 

“You can feel pity for me when this is over.” 

There were only a dozen fae crowded around Feyre and Rhysand, but you could feel every wave of power that rippled off their skin, the electricity they shot into the air as they bounced on the pads of their feet and loosened their muscles. 

You found yourself pressed between Azriel and Lucien, the Shadowsinger’s hand balanced on the small of your back. Ione stood in front of you, your hand laid protectively on her shoulder, and a Valkyrie stood behind. She had her corn yellow hair braided around her head in a crown of gold, and stretching out from the slits in her armor fluttered the black and orange wings of a butterfly.

“Techaria,” she introduced herself with a smile and a handshake. “I’ve been assigned to you and Ione.” 

Techaria never left your side, standing firmly at your back after Rhysand winnowed you all to the Dawn Court and the crowd swelled to nearly a hundred. 

You were miles away from the Dawn Palace — the ocean at your front and a sea of frost-tinged grasses at your back. The air buzzed with excitement and dread and no small amount of bloodlust. 

You caught glimpses of the shimmering High Lord of Dawn and the hawk-winged peregryn soldier who held his hand as he dispensed final healing touches. He would not be among the seven High Lords and High Ladies leaving for the Continent. 

The High Lord and High Lady of Winter stood glistening like a pair of crystalline figures beside one of the coast’s watchtowers. White-haired warriors of frost and starshine bobbed around like snowfall and you struggled not to tremble in the presence of the three armored polar bears among their ranks. Eris’s males were similarly easy to spot with their burnished copper armour and their battle hounds hovering at their shoulders. Azriel stepped in between you and one of the beasts, froth pouring from between razor sharp teeth as it growled in your direction for staring too long.

A Summer soldier shoved past, earning himself a glower from Techaria and Azriel as he grabbed another female and drew her into one last passionate kiss. The seashell necklaces they wore clattered as they met, evidence of the dozens of battles they’d survived together. 

It wasn’t an uncommon sight as the crowd quickly split apart at the orders of their High Lords and High Ladies, coalescing into pre-determined divisions that sometimes asked mated pairs to separate. In foreign territory against a mysterious god, communications through their bonds would be indispensable. 

You saw an Autumn Court male — one of the High Lord’s brothers by the name of Castor — break away from his group. He ran towards a willowy Spring nymph two divisions over and slipped a ring into their pocket. 

Their blue eyes blew open in surprise, cries of protest smothered by a firm kiss before he whispered, “I have my High Lord’s blessing. When this is over, I’ll propose to you properly, but you’ll keep this safe in the meantime, won’t you?” 

The nymph sputtered, then nodded when words failed them. Just as quickly as he had come, Castor sprinted back to his men and his division disappeared before your eyes. They were the first to winnow to the Continent.

Lucien folded you into a back-breaking hug. “Stay safe.” Your brother commanded. You heard the tightness in his voice. He’d be staying with Feyre and Rhysand to lead one of the main charges alongside Eris and Tarquin. “I can’t lose you as well.”  

“I’ll come back so long as you do.” 

You squeezed him hard enough to crack ribs, but Lucien wished it had lasted longer. He dove into the parting wave of bodies and vanished. 

You felt your throat tighten as you turned to face the goodbye you’d been dreading the most. 

“Az, I—” 

He silenced you with a kiss, sliding his tongue over your lips for one last taste. He didn’t want to say goodbye. He refused to accept the possibility that you wouldn’t return to each other.

He pulled away so quickly your head spun. 

“I’ll be with the second division,” he breathed out, “Near the southwest corner, not even a mile away from you.” The map flashed in your mind with all its little figurines spread out like a chess game. “Remember what we talked about?” 

If things go wrong, find me so I can protect you. And so if anything happens, we won’t be alone. I want you to promise me.

You nodded fervently. 

Someone in the crowd was calling his name. Maybe Cassian? You couldn’t pay attention to anything other than the hazel eyes burning into you. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but suddenly his brother was there grabbing his arm and hauling him away towards the second division. Red and blue siphons flashed in the grey light and then the pair were gone. 

The crowd thinned as more groups began winnowing away to the Continent. One second there. The next second, gone.

“We need to go, my Lady,” Techaria said gently, but firmly. She’d given you both your privacy and a few precious seconds, but that time was over now. 

You nodded, not able to look away from the empty space Azriel had occupied. 

“He’ll be fine, girl,” Ione said, taking Techaria’s hand. She wore thin, chainmail armour enchanted to feel weightless and a glamoured veil over her features. You caught glimpses of her true face out of the corner of your eyes, but direct eye contact and her face blurred and warped into something unnatural. 

“I know,” you whispered. 

Your stomach dropped when you realized you never did say goodbye to Azriel.

You felt Techaria’s calloused palm slide into yours and then you were gone.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

Yeah guys, RIP Jurian. As I said in a previous post, one of my qualms with SJM is that she doesn't let characters stay dead. I want y'all to know, Jurian is gone. Sorry............ he wasn't even in the story for very long and didn't do much but I'm going to miss him.

[hobisfavoritespritecan]

Hello!!! Can you please write a Seo Moonjo fic, where he becomes possessive/obsessed with Jongwoo's gf or with a female who works with him?

Overcompensate

Absolutely lovely! Here's a bit of a drabble for you!

Pairing: Seo Moon-Jo X Reader

Warnings: mentions of gore & possessiveness, Moon-Jo shows very yandere tendencies, cannibalism allegories

Moon-jo was a simple man.

Not necessarily in theory, but in practice. He knew what it was he aspired to obtain in his lifetime and with the amount of work and dedication he put into those aspirations, it makes sense that he would achieve them. Simple.

But as to what he wanted and the lengths he would go to, stopping at nothing...that was a little more complicated.

To his surprise, he had found himself in a situation where the goal wasn't in relation to dentistry or murder. He was having a bit of an issue sorting out just exactly why the new tenant of Eden Residence was so captivating, so enthralling to him. What was it about the boy who lived next door that led Moon-Jo to believing that his existence was some sort of spiritual awakening he would have to come to discover? Why was he suddenly so fascinated in the idea of pulling back his brain and picking out all of his thoughts, consuming them in their entirety until there was nothing left of poor Jongwoo but a vessel of the human being he once was? It was Kafka-esque, a metamorphosis of his character; to watch him succumb to the ravaging animalistic qualities that Moon-Jo believed all humans to possess. It was strange and it was beautiful.

And oh, was it something Moon-Jo wanted.

So he put in the work. Day after day he spent trying to get under Jongwoo's flesh, tearing open another layer piece by piece to truly understand his newfound obsession. But with every step closer to his goal he got, the more confused he became. There was nothing he was learning that he had hoped for. Jongwoo was buckling under the weight of his neighbor's madness, yes. But he wasn't the right image of Moon-Jo's work. This frustrated him to no end.

He still remembers when everything finally clicked into place. The night had just fallen and the stars crept up in the sky, illuminating the long path to the Residence. Although the lights were dim, one could still make out the small cats darting back and forth as they played with one another in the underbrush. The air was crisp and still with no wind, a perfect temperature to end an outrageously hot summer day. Moon-Jo awaited on the rooftop with two beers, as he usually did, watching the path below for his Jongwoo to arrive back home with his furrowed expression of displeasure and overly large backpack slung over his shoulders from an excruciatingly long day at the office. He would be lucky to convince Jongwoo up to the roof where he sat and even luckier if he could manage to get him to drink his beer. He knew Jongwoo was onto him and his...stranger tendencies, but he would receive the fruits of his labor. He always did.

The beer can was cold under his grasp, the condensation slipping from his fingertips and falling beneath him as the drops pattered onto the cracked concrete. He was starting to grow slightly warm, however, he wasn't sure if it was because of the weather or the growing anticipation he felt as he awaited the boy's arrival. His eyes didn't leave the road once.

As he looked beneath him towards the winding street, he finally saw his neighbor trudging up the path, same expression on his face Moon-Jo had expected him to be wearing. But, to his surprise, walking beside the man he'd so desperately tried his best to court 24/7 was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life.

It shocked him-almost-his hand immediately dropping the beer he was holding as he lost his composure for the first time in many years. It was sudden, as though he'd been impaled by sword, piercing through his lungs and stopping his breath as his heart skipped a beat. He had never been so hungry, so devout for human meat. He didn't want to cannibalize you, no. But he so desperately wanted to consume you and your being which is almost the same thing...right? He knew what Jongwoo had meant to him now, it was almost so clear in the way it presented itself; Jongwoo was never meant to be the product of his manipulation. It had always had to have been you.

Your eyes looked up towards Eden, missing the strange man on the roof entirely. Moon-Jo found himself entranced by them, watching the way they shone under the stars and the soft light from the windows of the Residence. They were like Bosch's paintings of the divine, absolutely encapsulating the beauty of the gods. Your hair fell slightly past your shoulders and framed a face he could only assume belonged to heavens itself. Your body swayed with the movement of your feet as you followed your boyfriend's suit, duffel bag in hand.

Moon-Jo thought he had died and been met with the face of a deity.

On your end, the only thing you were thinking about was Jongwoo's warnings from earlier. Once he had moved to Seoul and started living in this dingy place, he had instantly been met with strange roommates whom he'd talk about often. You were worried about his dwindling sleep schedule and his overall safety, residing in a place like this on the outskirts of town. If something terrible were to happen here, you weren't even sure police would show up in this precinct. For Jongwoo's sake, however, you swallowed down your nervousness preparing to have that conversation with him later.

Collecting himself, Moon-Jo practically sprinted towards the stairs and made his way down to Mrs. Eom's desk, leaning against the dilapidated building's walls, forcing himself to contain the sparks flying through his veins. He had to keep himself together, make the most impeccable first impression and swoon you over, whoever you might be. He needed you to like him, to trust him. If he ruined his image right off the bat by voicing his true inner monologue, it would be so much harder to mold you to his image and sway you into his grasp.

"Jongwoo, are you sure this is something you want to do? We could always sleep at my place if you're as uncomfortable by this place as you say." You said, closing the heavy door behind you and setting down your duffel bag for a moment to regain your breath.

Jongwoo shrugged and picked up your things containing all your overnight clothes and whatever else you'd brought to work that day. He had just simple given you a "yeah, this is fine" before turning around to be met face-to-face with the one person he didn't want to see or have the imposition of introducing to his girlfriend at all. He had hoped he might be able to sneak you past and into his room before anyone even noticed he was there; as he usually did. He'd presumed Moon-Jo to be on the roof for his nightly drink, whenever he stayed at the residence and not in his own apartment.

Beside the wall-almost eerily so-Moon-Jo stood, ignoring Jongwoo completely. His eyes were trained on you as you gathered yourself enough to take him in, watching the man before you breathe in the very fiber of your being. He was tall and dark haired with extraordinary cheekbones. With a face card like that, you were sure he'd have had to be a model or do side-gigs of the sort. His smile was a pleasant one as it seemed inviting, but upon staring at it for a few moments, something about it felt off to you. His black button-up was loose around his collarbones and neatly tucked into his slacks. He was fairly handsome, you thought, forgetting that Jongwoo had warned you of this 'crazy neighbor' before inviting you to stay at his place to catch the train back home tomorrow.

A piercing feeling of nervousness took over your body and shocked you instantly. There was something extremely peculiar about this man and you wanted nothing to do with finding out what it was. There was something haunting about the depth of his cold, dark gaze, contrasting Jongwoo's warm and inviting one. You swore to yourself in that moment not to walk anywhere on these premises without Jongwoo for fear of running into this man alone.

However uncomfortable you may have felt, Moon-Jo was in love, if that's what you would call it. He wanted this-you, so intensely and so immediately that his entire body felt as though it were shaking with tremors. He would stop at absolutely nothing to have you, to own you. You were what he had been unknowingly waiting for his entire existence and Jongwoo had only been the key. Smiling, he shook his hand out towards yours, ignoring the complaints from your boyfriend from beside you.

"My name is Seo Moon-Jo. The pleasure is all mine."

"(Y/N)." You replied.

[whoops-all-jennas]

Past Lives pt. 1

Wednesday x witch!reader

"I've got this strangest feeling."

"This isn't our first time around."

Summary: Wednesday transfers to Nevermore Academy and is your new roommate

a/n: I have decided that for a majority of the spells I'm just gonna take them from Harry Potter because I have a majority of those spells memorized lol (less work for me)

I'm sat at my desk, studying a book about healing charms, while Enid is pacing back and forth through the center of the room.

My dorm room was interesting. It is shaped like a short T, the entrance being where the lines cross. Each section has a big circular window that opens to a patio.

My section, the section in the middle, is decorated with fake vines and string lights. My night stand has a lantern on it next to my phone charger.

Enid's section matches her personality, bright and cheerful. She has tinted film over her window that illuminates her already colorful room.

The center of the room has a circular sunroof which Enid also managed to get the tint on.

"Enid, you're gonna burn a hole in the floor if you keep pacing like that." I say without lifting my eyes away from the book.

"You heard what they say about her!" She stops pacing, looking at me with worry written on her face. "I really don't want to die in this school."

I look up from my book, making eye contact with Enid. "I don't think Principal Weems would allow a murderer into the school."

I stand to go comfort Enid, interrupted by the sound of people talking behind our dorm room door.

As if they were waiting for the perfect moment to enter the room, the door opens, revealing a gothic family and Principal Weems. A girl with black hair braided on both sides of her head down past her shoulders stands between what you assume are her parents.

That must be our new roommate.

Enid turns around with a smile plastered on her face while you stand there idly.

Enid approaches Wednesday with new found excitement over the fact of getting a new roommate.

"Howdy roomie!" Enid exclaims, Wednesday stunned by her energy.

"Wednesday, this is Enid Sinclair." Principal Weems gestures her hand towards Enid before moving it to you. "And this is Y/n Y/l/n."

I stand where I am awkwardly, raising my hand in a wave.

Wednesday's eyesight lingers on me a little too long before she's interrupted.

"Are you okay? you look a little, pale." Enid says, her face shifting from excitement to worry.

"Wednesday always looks half dead." The man I assume to be Wednesday's dad answers for her.

Enid let's out a noise of acknowledgement.

"Welcome to Ophelia Hall!" Enid announces before opening her arms to embrace Wednesday.

Wednesday takes a step back to avoid her touch.

"Not a hugger, got it."

"Wednesday is allergic to color." The tall woman with dark hair says, her voice naturally seductive.

I watch on, fidgeting with my feet. I assume it's exaggeration.

"Oh gosh, what happens to you?"

"I break out into hives and then the flesh peels off my bones." She has a very monotone voice, it's suits her dark aesthetic.

"Luckily, we've special ordered you a uniform." My eyes slightly widen, focusing on Weems. She was serious?

I feel Wednesday's eyes on me for a moment. Did I do something?

"Enid, Y/n, take Wednesday to the registers office to pick it up along with a copy of her schedule." Principal Weems says while looking at both of us. "And give her a tour along the way."

Wednesday turns around, scowling at her parents before leaving the room. Enid skips, following Wednesday while I take a quick couple of steps to catch up.

"Nevermore was founded in 1791 to educate people like us. Outcasts, freaks, monsters. Fill in your favorite marginalized group here."

I'm following along while Enid carries the tour, descending down a staircase.

"You can save the sanitized sales pitch, I don't plan on staying here long."

Enid stops walking, causing Wednesday to stop and turn to her. "Why not?"

"This was my parents idea." Wednesday looks towards a trophy case as she stares at an old picture of the fencing team.

"Oh look, there's my mother smirking at me. They've been looking for any excuse to send me here. Its all apart of their nefarious yet completely obvious plan."

"What plan?" Enid says with a smirk, trying to pry out any information she can out of her new roommate.

Wednesday's eyes break from the trophy case to meet Enid's. "To turn me into a version of themselves."

"How would that turn you into a version of them? everyone's high school experience is different." I say, instantly regret sets in as I meet Wednesday's intimidating stare.

Enid elbows me, coughing to interrupt the awkward lul in the conversation. My face flushed with embarrassment.

"Perhaps you could clear something up." Enid says while she continues the tour. I'm just happy the attention is off me again.

"Rumor's been swirling around that you killed a student at your old school, and your parents pulled strings to get you off." Enid looks at me for a moment before meeting Wednesdays gaze again.

Wednesday starts to walk past both of us. "Actually it was two kids but who's counting?" Enid and I stop simultaneously, looking at each with wide eyes before we catch up to Wednesday.

We walk through some double doors to an open area. "Welcome to the Quad." Enid states putting her arms out to the side.

"It's a pentagon." Wednesday states flatly. Enid and I share a glance for a moment.

Xavier and I meet eye contact as he beckons me with his hand. We've been friends for awhile, first bonding over silly conversation and his art after being assigned together for a group project.

"I'll be right back guys." I say before walking around on the cobblestone path, eventually meeting up to Xavier who is painting something on the wall.

"You looked like you were suffering, so I thought I'd drag you away for a second." Xavier smirks before continuing his painting.

"Wow you're such a life safer, my knight in shining armor." I say teasingly, putting the back of my hand on my forehead to act faint.

He has a slight smile at my performance before looking back to Wednesday.

"She's gorgeous." He says before meeting my eyes again.

"I know right!" I was about to push him, but I didn't want to mess up his painting.

Something Xavier and I bonded over was both of us finding woman attractive. Like we would both agree, or argue, about celebrities and how pretty some of them are.

I see Ajax talking to Enid. "I should probably get back before Wednesday hates me and, I don't know, kills me in my sleep or something."

"Good luck." Xavier says, still distracted by his painting.

"Thanks, I hope I don't need it." I say before making my way back to Enid and Wednesday.

"I find social media to be a soul-sucking void of meaningless affirmation." Is the last thing I hear Wednesday say, making eye contact with me as I finally catch back up. She turns around and walks away.

"Was I gone for too long?" Enid turns to look at me before shaking her head and walking away.

The sun has set past the horizon, It's just Wednesday and I in the dorm. Wednesday just finished unpacking.

Enid is in Yoko's dorm, doing whatever they do.

Wednesday looks up from the center of the room, staring at the tinted sunroof.

I see Wednesday with her head angled upwards, contemplating her options.

"Do you want help?" I ask, standing from my desk.

Wednesday lowers her eyes to me. "No, I can do just fine on my own."

I watch Wednesday scheme a few seconds longer until I pull out my wand.

I point it towards the sun roof, The sound of film being taking off glass filling the dorm as one of the tints slips off and falls gently towards my wand.

"You're a witch." Wednesday says bluntly.

I keep taking the tint off the different sections of the sun roof.

"Yeah, luckily. I've always really enjoyed magic so if you need something that can be solved with a spell just let me know." I give Wednesday a patient smile, she has a look on her face like she's considering what I said.

Enid opens the door, seeing the scene and proceeding to stomp into to the center of the dorm.

"What did you do to my room!"

We turn our attention to Enid, annoyance in her eyes.

"Enid, she has an aller-"

"Making myself comfortable." I was cut off by Wednesday.

I instantly see where this is going. deciding to not be in the crossfire, I decide to be in the safety of my section of the room.

I open my book back to where I left off studying with the sound of Wednesday and Enid bickering as my white noise.

Soon Enid starts blasting music.

"Turn it off." I hear Wednesday approaching the center of the room, her boots stomping on the floor. I can no longer focus on reading so I watch instead.

Enid shakes her head while dancing.

"This is your final warning." I grab my wand out of fear for my roommate, I keep it concealed unless needed.

"Rah!" Enid holds her hands up to Wednesday's face, claws extended from her fingernails.

"Don't mess with me! This kitty has claws and I'm not afraid to use them."

The door to the dorm suddenly opens, our carnivorous plants teacher and dorm mom, Marilyn Thornhill, on the other side carrying a black flower.

"Sorry for the interruption." Marilyn notices the tint all over the floor and the energy between Enid and Wednesday.

"Is this a bad time?" I go back to reading, every student has gone through this. I didn't need to live it again.

I'm walking back from the bathroom to head back to class when I notice Wednesday walking by, there is a cut on her forehead.

"Hey Wednesday, heading to the nurses office?"

"Are you a mind reader as well?" Wednesday asks with what I assume is her version of sarcasm.

"Want me to heal it for you? your forehead I mean."

Wednesday stands there quietly, deciding her options.

"I'm not gonna make you owe me or anything I just, I don't know, I like helping." I look into Wednesday's eyes, she glances to the side before making her final decision.

"Okay, only if you don't demand anything in return." I smile towards Wednesday while pulling out my wand.

"Of course not."

I point my wand towards the nic on Wednesday's forehead.

"Episkey."

The wound on Wednesday's forehead closes itself, the blood leaving with it.

Wednesday is quiet for a moment.

"Thank you." Wednesday says in a slightly different tone than usual.

I hide the slight shock on my face. I never expected to hear her say words of gratitude, especially to me, her roommate.

"It's not a problem, honest. Do you want me to show you to where the nurses office is just in case I'm not there next time?" I smirk as Wednesday nods.

Wednesday tries to feel where the cut was on her forehead before we hear a scrapping sound from above.

A gargoyle is falling off the roof. It's spinning forwards, flipping over.

I take a step back, pointing my wand up.

"Reducto!"

There's a flash of light from my wand, the projectile hitting the falling gargoyle. The statue turning to dust before falling onto Wednesday.

When I look back down to see Wednesday, Xavier is behind her.

"Wednesday get down!" He shouts, tackling her to the ground. I take a big step back to avoid the tackle.

I look to make sure they're both okay.

Wednesday is unconscious.

Xavier looks up to me. "Cast a spell or something to heal her!"

"What? I just started learning healing charms there is no way I'm experienced enough to mess with head injuries."

I go to pick up Wednesday. "I'll take her to the nurses office."

I'm about to start walking until Xavier takes her out of my hands.

"I'm the one that tackled her, I'll take her."

I'm left standing there, grasping my wand in both of my hands as Xavier leaves before I can argue back.

Part 2.

Past Lives Masterlist

a/n: I'm so happy part 1 is over. this was kinda annoying at times to write I'm just excited to get to the cooler parts B)

[nanamineedstherapy]

Help! I'm a Woman & I got my two Male Boyfriends Pregnant

Summary: You got your boyfriends Gojo Satoru & Ryomen Sukuna Preganat; now they are spirling, thinking you are going to leave them. Send jesus!

Based on this.

The day started normal enough. Coffee brewed. Cursed spirits got obliterated. You avoided Gojo's pranks and Nanami’s disapproving stares. But nothing could’ve prepared you for this.

Absolutely nothing.

"EXPLAIN," Sukuna growled, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger, his crimson eyes flaring with murderous intensity. "HOW THIS HAPPENED."

Beside him, Gojo sat slumped on the couch, his head in his hands. For once, his usual smirk was nowhere to be seen. “She broke me,” he muttered, his voice muffled and full of existential despair.

You blinked, your hands raised defensively as you tried to process the sheer absurdity of what was happening. “Okay, let’s—let’s all calm down and start from the beginning. What exactly—”

“WE’RE PREGNANT!” Sukuna bellowed, his voice rattling the windows.

Your brain short-circuited. “What?”

“Both of us,” Gojo mumbled, finally lifting his head to glare at you with his piercing blue eyes. “We’re both pregnant. With your cursed energy, apparently.”

You stared at them, your jaw hanging open as your brain desperately tried to make sense of the words coming out of their mouths.

“Wait,” you said slowly, pointing at each of them. “You’re pregnant. And you’re pregnant. And… I’m the father?”

“Yes!” they both shouted in unison.

Gojo flopped back against the couch, throwing an arm over his face dramatically. “I can’t believe this. I’ve never been abandoned before. This is new for me.”

“Abandoned?” you snapped, your bewilderment turning to irritation. “I’m literally right here! No one’s abandoning anyone!”

Sukuna’s glare could’ve melted steel. “You better not be abandoning us. Do you have any idea what this is like? I’m a goddamn king, and now I’m carrying twins! Twins!”

You blinked again. “Twins?”

“Yeah, apparently cursed pregnancies are extra efficient,” Gojo muttered, rubbing his temples. “I’ve got triplets. Freaking triplets.”

Your knees nearly gave out. “Oh my god.”

“Oh your god, indeed,” Sukuna snarled, his pacing becoming more frantic. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve puked today? I’m the King of Curses, not the King of Ginger Ale!”

Gojo groaned dramatically, throwing himself across the couch. “And my ankles are swollen! I didn’t even know I had ankles that could swell!”

You stood there, frozen, as the two most powerful men you knew devolved into chaos before your eyes. Sukuna ranted about hormonal imbalances and cravings for spicy tuna rolls at three in the morning, while Gojo moaned about needing custom maternity uniforms for missions.

“Okay, okay!” you finally shouted, throwing up your hands. “Let’s take a step back and breathe for a second!”

Sukuna whirled on you, his crimson eyes blazing. “You breathe! I can’t breathe because your cursed energy apparently rewired my insides to incubate life!”

“That’s not even scientifically possible!” you argued, gesturing wildly.

Gojo raised a hand from the couch, his voice weak. “Apparently, science has no place in cursed pregnancies.”

“Obviously!” Sukuna snapped.

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “Okay, look. I don’t know how this happened, but I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure this out together, okay?”

Gojo perked up slightly, peeking at you from under his arm. “So, you’re saying you’re going to stick around? You’re not gonna leave us to fend for ourselves?”

“Of course not!” you said, exasperated. “Why would I abandon you?”

Sukuna snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because that’s what all the terrible stories say. The cursed sorcerer fathers always leave. And yet, here I am, trying to keep it together while I grow two heads and three hearts inside me!”

“What?!” you shrieked.

“Apparently, cursed pregnancies come with… add-ons,” Gojo said, waving his hand vaguely. “It’s fine. We’ll manage. Just… don’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t tell anyone?!” you repeated, your voice climbing several octaves. “How am I supposed to explain why Sukuna is eating pickles and peanut butter out of the jar at 2 a.m.?”

“I’m literally creating life, you peasant!” Sukuna growled.

“And what about you?” you snapped at Gojo. “You’ve been crying for two hours! What even is that?”

Gojo sniffled, his bottom lip trembling. “I just feel so much right now, okay?”

You stared at them, completely overwhelmed, as the reality of the situation sank in. Two of the most powerful sorcerers in existence were pregnant. With your cursed energy. And somehow, it was your job to keep them alive and sane.

“Fine,” you said, throwing your hands up. “I’ll get the pickles and the peanut butter. And maybe a sedative for myself while I’m at it.”

“Don’t forget the chocolate!” Gojo called after you as you stormed out of the room.

“And ginger tea!” Sukuna shouted. “Or so help me, I’ll kill you!”

You groaned, your footsteps echoing down the hall. This was your life now.

A/N: Want more? I can give you more if you ask nicely (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖)👌 I will mark this series completed for now until I get any more inspo or ideas (feel free to send yours too). Please comment; it fuels my cheos ᕙ(`▿´)ᕗ Who would you like to get pregnant next?