#quickly written

[elizabeths-dumbassery]

Holy shit Mimic is 32 years old?! SMITHY WAS IN HIS 20S???

Whisper, Slinger and Claire were 14-16 holy shit.

Mimic was literally like Whispers uncle and Smithy took care of the three teenagers too probably. Whisper legit had her own found family and watched them all die, only to find out her surrogate family member betrayed them and caused their murder.

Not only were the Diamond Cutters who died too young to have developed brains fully, with Smithy literally the stable adult figure at age 20; BUT MIMIC WAS 12 YEARS OLDER THAN SMITHY AND WAS FULLY DEVELOPED. YOU CANT EXCUSE HIS ACTIONS ON BEING YOUNG AND SCARED CUS HE KNEW WHAT HE WAS DOING AND HAD NO REGRETS KILLING PEOPLE WHO HE BOTH PROBABLY HELPED RAISE AND WHO TRUSTED HIM.

What

The

Shit

God this guy pisses me off whenever I see him in the comics and seeing how Whisper is just healing from trauma he caused is just

Uggggh

[pocketgalaxies]

The silver color of the thread begins to fill with more golden light. (requested by @overnighttosunflowers)

[erinwantstowrite]

will peter be like an older brother to miles in lof ?

absolutely he is

there's about an 11 year difference between them (Miles is 14, Peter is 25), so it's a lot more like the older brother type of relationship that Peter has with Tim (despite Tim being his uncle). Peter has mentored(ish) other young heroes by this point (mostly in the Bats' universe) but since Miles is another Spider-Man, Peter takes up most of the responsibility in making sure Miles is safe and teaching him the ropes. That's HIS sassy child genius, thank you, and he's not a sidekick, he's Spider-Man.

He was also adamant that Miles tell his parents immediately, and gets along great with Rio and Jeff.

Which is HILARIOUS to me because at this point in time, Peter has built up a persona for the public eye just like the Bats did. In Rio and Jeff's eyes, they're gobsmacked that the clumsy, scatterbrained, and "scaredy-cat" kid that Tony Stark adopted a while ago is Spider-Man. (Technically, none of this is a lie. Because Peter is a terrible liar unless it's For the Jokes, and often comes across this way even if he hadn't meant to.) They're wondering how he pulled that off since he's the same age as Spider-Man, who is known to be an Avenger, and associates in the same circles as Peter. It helps that Peter and Spider-Man have been in a social media war, and that Peter works at the Daily Bugle that is known for disliking Spider-Man. Peter's been taking lessons for years atp to keep his identity safe. Which is also bonus points to Peter, because the two can tell that secret identities mean everything to him, but he told them who he was in a heartbeat (literally the very first thing he did when he found Miles).

In other words: Peter was ecstatic to become a teacher for his own matching superhero kid and it's one of the most important bonds in his life. That's his baby brother now!!

[qiu-yan]

ngl there's something incredibly funny about how shen yuan transmigrates into an entirely different guy and his narration immediately starts calling himself by that guy's name. meanwhile the actual original article gets relegated to being called "shen jiu."

imagine you die, someone jacks your body, and then everyone starts calling the bodyjacker by your name and you by your fucking deadname.

[tenisperfection]

Paper trails (Bucktommy, post S7)

Read on ao3

Buck learns to let himself stay.

The first few times, Buck's careful never to leave behind a paper trail.

He's not sure when it developed into a habit. He thinks it began somewhere after Ali, where he lets people settle in and make themselves at home, but he doesn't allow himself the same. With Taylor, it was easy. Before she'd moved in, she came to him more than he ever slept over at her place; so the few times he did, he packed a bag with his toothbrush and his socks and a change of clothes, even when Taylor left him that first morning with a kiss and a bright red toothbrush still in its thin plastic wrapping.

Buck left the toothbrush in the drawer Taylor pulled it out off, and because Taylor is Taylor, she'd not said anything. She also stopped offering him a shelf in her closet or more toothbrushes after that first time even as his apartment slowly filled with berets and cologne he didn't wear and a hairbrush with bright red strands caught in it.

Buck didn't mind. He prefers it this way, where he can leave as cleanly as possible after the mess that was Abby, where he'd been building an empty home in an apartment that wasn't his, all to pack up what he thought was a life into a small duffel bag that was heartbreakingly light.

People have been leaving Buck all his life. Buck doesn't intend to get too comfortable because even with the best of intentions, he knows it's only a matter of time.

*

So the first few times at Tommy's, Buck packs a duffel. He doesn't know Tommy well enough yet, not really, but this already feels different, and Buck doesn't think it's just because he's dating a man for the first time. Buck feels different.

Buck feels hungry, and also like he's never known hunger before Tommy.

It’s strange. He’s kissed and fucked and slept with and besides more people that he cares to count, pressed himself into them and desperately begged for pieces he could keep, but he’s never been hungry. He’s never felt like he is allowed to ask for more, because he is Buck, and he is meant to only give, so he’s never let himself feel it and never lets himself ask for space. He’s taken the earliest pangs of hunger and viciously cut it until there’s nothing, and nothingness fills up.

Buck's never known hunger before Tommy, but he's not sure he's never known comfort either. Not in anyone else's space besides his sister's and Eddie's, not really in the loft which was always too cold and always too big, all the sunlight spilling through the big windows never quite enough. It had its moments, Eddie and Christopher sprawled all over the kitchen island watching Buck cook, Maddie drinking wine by the bottle, Buck coming home ever so often to find Eddie on his balcony, sipping the beer he helps himself to.

Tommy though. Tommy's cluttered, small, beautiful house makes Buck feel weird. It looks somewhat like Eddie's but without the traces of a teenager, feels like Maddie's in its warmth and like Bobby's and Athena's old home in the way it smells, turpentine and yeast and that one candle Tommy always lights up once a week that smells like jasmine even though he profuses to not be a big fan of candles.

“How does grilled cheese sound, and some tomato soup that I made too much of?”

“Perfect.”

It's here in this house that Tommy kisses Buck like he is starving, like he wants to crawl into Buck and study everything that makes him breathe. Sometimes they kiss and Buck thinks that Tommy is perhaps as hungry as he is, that he is being fed on as much as he is allowed to take. Like the first time Buck drove over to his house, duffel bag clutched tightly, Tommy didn’t just let him in but came out to greet Buck before he got out of his car, eye crinkles and all, and pressed himself into Buck warmly. Buck let Tommy lead him in, and he didn't let Tommy give him a toothbrush the day after, joking about his expensive electronic toothbrush that he can't live without, and then kissed Tommy with fresh minty breath and a heart that feels heavier for reasons Buck couldn't fathom.

"You need a t-shirt?" Tommy asks after the fifth time Buck spends the night. Buck gestures to his bag, makes a feeble joke about swimming in Tommy's clothes, and runs to the bathroom before Tommy can say anything else.

"I fixed this side table that was in the garage, you want to keep some of your stuff here?" Tommy asks two months into their relationship, and Buck points out that it would look so much better in Tommy's living room as a spillover for the plants Tommy can't stop growing.

"Do you want to leave that jacket here? It's really warmed up today but fake fall will be here soon enough."

"I was cleaning and cleared out this drawer. It's yours if you want it."

Buck waits for the offers to stop, for the other shoe to drop.

The mercury dips, Tommy flips the bed, and just like that, Buck realizes, it's been three months. He's technically been with Taylor longer, but Buck feels like he would claw his own skin off if he had to leave now. He packs his duffel and bites his toothbrush every morning, Tommy's increasingly creative offers still coming, Buck yearning, wishing, hoping for something he can't put into words.

It comes to a head on a Friday morning that they both have off. Buck wakes up freezing, his leg twitching.

"Tom," Buck mumbles, shifting to steal more of the comforter. Tommy, who always sleeps like he's in a coma, predictably doesn't budge. Buck shakes him until Tommy groans.

"What," he asks, yawning, eyes still closed, even as he sneaks out an arm to pull Buck in to his chest, warm and big and somehow Buck's favorite place on earth. "Shit, why is it so cold?"

"I think it dropped like twenty degrees," Buck murmurs against Tommy's mouth, because he can't be this close and not kiss him, and Tommy lets himself get distracted for another hour.

When Buck steps out of the shower, shivering slightly as he waits for the nascent heat in Tommy's apartment to kick in, he finds Tommy on the bed, holding a pair of slippers.

"What's that?" Buck asks, reaching for the hoodie he remembered to pack.

"I got these house shoes for you," Tommy offers. Buck swallows. It's the brand he usually wears, in the style he usually wears in the loft. The excuse though, always ready, is on the tip of his tongue when Tommy holds out the other hand.

"I got the insole too, for your left foot," Tommy clears his throat. "Eddie told me where to look."

"Eddie told you," Buck repeats. "Why?"

Tommy shrugs. "Because I asked him."

"You asked him what insole I wear," Buck echoes.

Tommy blinks. "Evan." It's the look on his face when Buck's being a brat, but it's not tinged with the ghost of a smile that usually paints Tommy's mouth. "You don't have to walk around this house like you're a visitor. I'm not running a hotel. You don't have to check under the bed for a stray sock every time you leave."

Buck doesn't know how Tommy manages to sound that gentle when those words out of someone else's mouth would've made Buck shrivel up.

He clears his throat. "I just like my things with me, I'm particular."

Tommy smiles slightly. "I am not actually sure that you are, Evan. I've seen how you are at your sister's. You have a change of clothes over at Eddie's. You slept on Ravi's couch when I was sick and Bobby and Athena were in your apartment and you stole his belt."

"It was a nice belt," Buck tries, but his chest expands as Tommy thrusts the shoes at him again.

"You can let your partner buy you shoes so your feet don't get cold and hurt in his drafty old house."

Buck's chest swoops like it does every time that Tommy calls them partners. He steps forward.

"Besides, it's not like I won't find traces of you here forever if you leave," Tommy says quietly, eyes downcast. Buck freezes.

"You have a side of the bed," Tommy continues, glancing up. His voice is still quiet, his lovely eyes tinged with traces of an emotion Buck's afraid to ask about. Too soon, he thinks, though he thinks he knows what it is. Too soon. "I've never been with anyone long enough that we had sides of the bed. You have a pillow for your head and a pillow for your knee and you ignore both of them to sleep on me when you're falling asleep. You bought those fancy laundry pods that one time and now it's the only kind I use. Your stupid duffel has a spot next to the side table." Tommy presses the shoes into Buck's hands. "The world's not going to end because you took up a drawer, Evan."

It's only when Buck lets Tommy pull him in that he realizes he's shaking, arms automatically going around Tommy's broad shoulders like they belong, trying to hide the tremors.

Tommy, because he's Tommy, notices, like he's been noticing and asking and begging Buck to make himself at home, to take up space.

Buck thinks he might. Buck thinks he has been, and the world hasn't ended, and it's four months going on five and tomorrow he's taking Tommy to Spirit Halloween to buy a costume for Jee for the first Halloween they'll be together for. It's been a whole season since that evening in the loft, and Buck thinks that he might be in love, and the world is most definitely carrying on.

"Stay," Tommy whispers into his mouth, shoes still clutched between them like a life raft as they stand barefoot in Tommy's cold house that Buck has grown to love.

Buck thinks he will.

[zorosdimples]

mdni. cw: hybrids, oral fixations, spit. my (not so) long-awaited return to the tiger hybrid yuuji-verse.

Sunday afternoons are usually spent like this: lazing on the couch with your tiger hybrid, his broad frame curled around yours as he shields you from the stress of your impending work week. Your face is buried in his strong chest and his chin rests atop your head.

Yuuji chuffs in contentment when you reach up to scratch his rosy ears; the vocalization puffs against your hair as his soft tail gently bats your hip. When you try to withdraw your hand, he whines, chasing you with his nose. As you let him nuzzle into your touch, he begins lapping at your skin.

You chuckle; you’ve grown fond of his clinginess. “Hm?”

His affection dances from the center of your palm to the tip of your pointer finger, and he wraps his tongue around the digit before nipping the pad. He pulls away from your comforting scent and warmth—barely, as his breath ghosts your flesh—and his striped ears twitch.

“You know how you told me to come to you when I need anything?” Yuuji asks.

You hum. “Of course.”

“Well,” he gulps, cheeks blooming a ruddy color that matches his hair, “could you, um, play with my mouth?”

Unsure of where he’s headed with his request, you quirk an eyebrow.

“The vet said I had to stop chewing so much ice—remember?”

“Yeah. It’s bad for your teeth if you do it too often.”

He nods. “And I've chewed through all of my toys.”

“No new toys until next month, Yuu. They’re too expensive to replace on a weekly basis. Unfortunately, I’m not made of money.”

The hybrid’s ears flatten against his head. “I know. But my mouth feels so empty.” He shifts a little, now fidgeting with the fuzzy tip of his tail. “I—um, just need something to occupy it. My gums ache, and my jaw hurts because I keep clenching. I try to work everything out on my own, but I… I thought maybe you could help.”

Wide, sweet, earnest, Yuuji’s gaze is rich caramel. You feel a little flustered by his request—you aren’t exactly sure why—but you couldn’t possibly say no to him. You offer Yuuji a reassuring smile. “There’s no need for you to be embarrassed; I’m always happy to help. Now: open wide for me.”

Your willingness draws a pleased chuff from him, and he complies, baring his maw. Accentuated by glinting incisors, rows of honed teeth would be a frightening sight for an onlooker. But the hybrid would rather wither away than hurt a fly (unless the fly was trying to harm you). You begin by running a finger along his slick gums, gingerly massaging the pink tissue.

Garbled whines flutter past Yuuji’s drooling tongue; his eyes water, irises hazy with relief. By the time you reach his molars, you have to hold his tongue down with your middle and ring fingers, using your index to rub around his teeth. Spit pools at the bottom of his mouth and dribbles down his chin. A pleased sigh leaves his stretched lips, and his hips jerk forward, something firm brushing against your belly.

Blood rushes to your face. You swallow dryly, acutely aware of your intimate position. “Are you hard, Yuuji?”

The hybrid doesn’t try to deny it. “Thowy,” he pants with your fingers heavy on his tongue. Dew collects at his temples and his neck is blush. But instead of putting space between your bodies, he squirms closer—until his bulge presses against you, his syrupy gaze slowing your mind and seeping into your limbs.

Arousal knots itself deep in your core as you stare at your companion—hot, needy, eager. Against your better judgment, you grind against him. Losing focus, he roughly grabs your hips, mouth closing around your digits to lave and suck. He rolls onto his back and hoists you on top of him, angling you so that his throbbing length rubs you right where you need.

“Fuck,” you hiss, unable to do anything but roll your hips and chase pleasure. You extract your fingers from Yuuji’s mouth, cradling his burning face before melting into him, a heap of spit and teeth and tongue.

“I’m s-sorry,” he groans against your lips as he kneads your ass, tail grazing your ankle. “Gonna make it up to you—promise.”

[temilyrights]

"all this to prove a point?" for the writing prompt

emily prentiss x reader

no warnings. no use of y/n or pronouns for reader.

sentence fic prompt

You rub your hands together, trying your best to generate some heat in your body. Emily’s car, while lovely, did not provide the warmth of an suv on a usual stakeout and you were seriously regretting your inability to tell this woman no. 

“All this to prove a point?” You mumble, the humour fading from your tone the longer you sit in the cold car, the September air biting away at your fingers and toes. 

Emily sits with her camera pointed at Morgan’s apartment, a determined glint in her eye. “Better personal life than me, my ass. He came straight home and hasn’t left the building since!”

You roll your eyes, wishing desperately you were home, “Yeah but he’s also not wasting his evening stalking his friend.”

Emily lowers the camera and turns to face you, brows drawn together. “He can’t make accusations like that and not expect me to find proof.” 

“Well maybe if you focused a little bit more on yourself and a little less on him then you wouldn’t need to prove it and you’d have a private life he couldn’t argue with.”  

She scoffs, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Always so clueless.

You shake your head, annoyed, embarrassed, and frustrated by the woman in front of you. “I’m right here.”

Emily’s frown only deepens and you blow out a breath, “I invited you out for dinner tonight and instead we’re stalking Morgan and have completely missed our reservations. Every time I try to move us forward you find a way to shut it down.”

“Reservations? I thought you wanted to get take-out and head back to one of ours, like usual.” She says with genuine confusion. 

“No, I booked that nice Indian place you like.” 

“Oh,” She responds, dropping the camera firmly in her lap. 

“Look,” you sigh, “I just need to know, okay? Because maybe I’m just failing to get the hint and you’re really not interested but I thought we were going somewhere. I like you Emily.” 

“You like me? Tonight was supposed to be a date and instead I blew you off and made us sit and stake out Morgan.” She says slowly, words strangled.

“Yes.”

“Fucking hell.” She blows out a breath. The car is silent for a moment as she comes to terms with the news and then her gaze focuses back on you. “I’m so sorry. I will make this up to you. I’m taking you for the best date night starting right now.”

Your eyes widen, “Wait so that’s a-?”

She smiles, wide and happy, “Yes, idiot, I like you too. God, why else would I ask you to sit here with me?”

You can’t help but smile too. Head in the clouds as Emily puts the camera away and the keys back in the ignition. 

“Ready to go?” She asks, a playful smirk on her lips that your eyes linger on. 

“There’s just one thing first.” Because you can’t wait a moment longer. You’ve waited years. 

You lean over the centre console, hand cupping her cheek and pulling her towards you to meet you in the middle. Emily’s eyes darken instantly, her gaze dropping to your lips before they fall close and her lips softly meet yours. 

Your body hums, alive as your lips move tenderly against hers. A gentle whine escapes your lips and your body heats up as you regretfully pull away. 

“Mmmhmm,” Emily hums, lips well kissed and eyes dark. “We can definitely do that again.”

“Food?” You ask, voice strangled. Avoiding the knowing look in her eyes, suddenly shy. 

“Oh, babes, I’ve got the perfect place.”

taglist: @ry-kills-jemily @sapphic-stress @xrainydazeteax @mckennamayfairgoode @enduringalexblake @augustvandyne @themoontaxi @prentissology @alexbllake @ssa-sapphic @storiesofsvu

[lost-in-fandoms]

Don't ask me why, I don't know it just happened. Maxiel early morning sex with vampire!Daniel I guess

cw: slight somnophilia, blood drinking, tiny bit of praise kink, unprotected (but implied safe) sex

It's still early when Daniel nudges his nose against Max's throat, the sun barely starting to peak out of the horizon, the room still dark and quiet.

He doesn't need too much light to know how Max is looking, pale skin soft and warm with sleep under the sheets, mouth slightly open, messy hair tickling Daniel's forehead. Perfect round ass pressed snugly against Daniel's quickly hardening cock, just the thin layer of Max's boxers between them.

Daniel nudges Max's neck again, one of his hands tracing down Max's body, curling around his hip and squeezing slightly, just enough to alert Max, not enough to fully wake him up, perfectly balanced to elicit a change in his breathing.

He bares his teeth and drags them gently over Max's pulse point, feeling it pick up as Max shifts, pressing back against him with a soft sigh.

"Daniel?" he asks, letters slurring together, as if it could be anyone else. It makes Daniel smile and press his teeth a touch harder into his skin, feeling him shudder. "What time is it?"

"Still early," he murmurs, keeping his voice as soft as possible, not wanting Max to fully wake up.

Max hums, turning his face slightly towards Daniel, eyes still firmly closed, asking for a kiss Daniel is happy to give, trying to keep it sweet even as his hips kick against Max's ass when Max pushes it back again.

Max's lips curve into a smile against his, something small and pleased that Daniel wants to eat, the hunger in his body burning brighter.

"I want you," he says as if it wasn't already clear, their lips brushing together, the hand still on Max's hip traveling lover to his thigh, relishing in the way Max lets himself be moved, bending his knee to give Daniel's space, in the shudder that moves down Max's spine when his teeth find his throat again.

Max hums once more, lax and pliant in his hold, hips moving in lazy circles against Daniel, neck bared.

"Do you want me to be awake?" he murmurs, making Daniel laugh. They've done this often enough he knows he doesn't have to be, but he always asks anyway, always wants to make it good for Daniel, as if just having him here, warm and open in his arms isn't the best Daniel could ask for.

"I'll do the work," Daniel reassures him, already moving him to get rid of his underwear, trying his best to not disturb him too much as he leans over to grab the lube on the nightstand. "You just be good for me."

Max doesn't say anything more, already almost all the way back to sleep, even as Daniel lubes his fingers up and prods at his hole, still a little lose from the night before. He keeps it short but thorough, enjoying every one of Max's quiet sighs and moans, nose pressed on the soft spot just behind his ear, tongue lapping at his pulse point, barely keeping his teeth in check.

He gives in to the impulse of teasing, just a little bit, tugging on Max's rim, keeping his hips still to not allow him to fuck himself back on Daniel's fingers, but Max smells so sweet it's impossible to resist, especially when he starts begging so quickly.

"Please," he whines, sounding barely aware, tongue heavy in his mouth, limbs loose in Daniel's hands, his to take.

"I got you, I'm sorry," Daniel soothes, lining himself up, but stopping just before pushing in. "Can I?" he asks, lips brushing against Max's neck, feeling it move as Max nods.

"Good boy," he praises, steading his dick with one hand and Max's neck with the other.

And then, just as he presses in, he bites.

The tight heat of Max around him and the sweetness of his blood on his tongue make Daniel's head spin, as Max's moan reverberates through his whole body. He almost loses control, wanting nothing more than to snap his hips forward, fuck Max hard and fast until they both come panting, but it's not what this is about. He fights with himself, sucking slowly at Max's neck letting his blood pool on his tongue before swallowing, barely pulling back, grinding his hips against Max's ass in tight smooth circles.

He can feel Max clench around him even as his shoulders relax even more, his head lolling to the side, Daniel's hand the only thing keeping him pressed against his lips.

He listens to the way Max's breath itches, soft whines escaping from his parted lips, guiding his leg a little higher to be able to hit that sweet spot inside him that makes his back arch, his dick kick against his stomach.

"Come, baby," he slurs, a thin rivulet of blood escaping from the corner of his mouth, quickly chased by his greedy tongue.

He feels when Max comes untouched, not only in the change in the tension of his body, but in the way his blood seems to become sweeter and bolder in his mouth, almost too rich to swallow. It's that, and the way he's clenching and shivering through the aftershocks, that makes Daniel come too with a groan, muffled by the liquid in his mouth.

He doesn't move when he's done coming, staying pressed close inside as he dutifully tongues Max's skin until it stops bleeding, before pressing a kiss to the bruise that is already forming there, an apology for the effort he will have to put in to keep it hidden for the next few days.

Max stays still and pliant through it all, breathing deep and steady as if he had indeed gone back to sleep, not complaining even when Daniel finally pulls out, come trickling slowly out of his hole. On a different day, Daniel would want to move, get a closer look, get his mouth on it, but as it is, he just presses as close as he can, kissing Max's neck again. Soon he will get up to clean them both, get something for Max's breakfast, probably start packing for both of them, but for right now he can just enjoy his warmth and smell for a little longer, his blood singing inside him.

[typicalopposite]

Ok but 🤭 what if… (now stay with me, I know this is gonna be a reach ok? And maybe this is debunked somewhere in canon and I just missed the scene) what if Christopher doesn’t know Bucks name is Evan. He’s just a kid right? It’s not like he’s around for formal things where it would EVER come up. And I know he’s a teen now but let’s just say for shits and giggles it has just NEVER come up.

Buck tells him about Tommy, and Chris is stoked because these are the two coolest people he knows next to his dad and they are dating?! This is awesome!!

Until the next time he sees Tommy which just so happens to be because Tommy tagged along while Buck is watching Christopher for Eddie and he overhears Tommy on the phone with… idk Chimney while Bucks in the bathroom or wherever… stay with me.

“Yeah, I can’t wait to take Evan there on our date next week…”

And like.. what the heck, Tommy?! Chris can’t even believe what he’s hearing… how dare this man cheat on his Buck?! Is he insane?! Buck is amazing and he just looks so happy with Tommy. He is gonna be crushed!

And then he has the audacity to quickly end the call with a whisper of you heard nothing to Christopher when Buck comes back.

Christopher is fuming but he has to bite his tongue until his dad gets back and they leave— and then it quickly turns into a very heated Christopher pacing back and forth in the living room in front of Eddie (who is seated on the couch and doesn’t know whether he’s about to laugh at the misunderstanding or cry at how much Chris loves Buck)

Eddie does his best to explain things earning him an exasperated “What do you mean his real name isn’t Buck?!”

And at least now they aren’t having to plan a hit on Tommy… plus this is going to make for a hilarious dinner story their next shift…

(This got away from me and maybe it will become an actual one shot later, but I just think it would be a hilariously adorable misunderstanding)

[feyreswaterybowels]

⭒The Silent One⭒

#4 Azriel x Fem!OC

⭒Part 1⭒Part 2⭒Part 3⭒Part 4⭒

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: Cassandra visits Vale. They get the information they need and Cassandra…gets revenge and we see a glimpse of her powers lurking under the surface.

Warnings/Tags: graphic depiction of violence. mentioned/implied rape. mentioned/implied castration. female rage. protective!azriel. protective!bat boys.

Authors Note: All likes, comments and reblogs are welcome, appreciated and encouraged! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list! Bold italics are mental communication, regular italics are inner thoughts.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

“What’s going on?” Cassandra asked, looking at Rhysand then Azriel. 

“Is everything okay?” Morrigan asks, setting her bags down, Cassandra following suit. 

“We tried to question Vale today,” Rhysand responded, straightening out his suit jacket. Glancing at Azriel, who still wore that look of pure death. 

“Tried?” Morrigan asks, her own arms folding across her chest. 

Rhysand took in a deep breath, looking at Cassandra, a slight frown on his face. 

“He said he’ll only answer our questions if you’re in the room—” 

“No.” Morrigan cuts him off immediately, straightening her spine.

“Mor,” Rhysand warns. 

“You’re actually considering it? You would let her be in a room with that—that monster,” She snarled, stepping closer to her friend’s side.

Cassanda’s eyes met Azriel’s again, less intense as if to comfort her but his shadows still a fury around him.

“He wouldn’t get anywhere near her. It’s not your decision, Morrigan,” Rhysand said, mouth in a tight line. 

“It’s not yours either, it’s Cassandra’s,” Azriel said, “He doesn’t have to touch her to cause more trauma. You do not have to see him if you don’t want to.” 

“But it would be a great help to easily get the information from him,” Rhysand said, giving his brother a warning look. 

Cassandra chewed on her bottom lip. Morrigan was still standing partially in front of her, legs spread apart, arms crossed as if she would fight Rhysand if he tried to step towards her. Rhysand had an expecting look on his face and Cassian looked…awkward? Maybe he didn’t like his friends arguing this way. Cassandra knew she didn’t. 

“What would I do, just stand there? Would I—would I have to talk to him?” She asked, and Rhys shook his head. 

“No, of course not and yes you would just be there in the room,” Rhysand answers and Azriel hisses. 

“That is not the full truth,” He says, siphons surging on the back of his hands, shadows darting in every direction. 

“Azriel—”

“Tell me, Rhysand, please. I can handle it. I want to help but I have to know what I’m getting into,” She said, straightening herself out, stepping from behind Morrigan. How could she expect them to believe she could handle things if she stayed cowering behind Morrigan or Azriel? She could do this.

Azriel fixed her with a look, as if he was proud of her actions. 

“He initially asked for Neema. She shut that down quickly. He then specifically asked for you because he…wants to look at you,” Rhysand explains and Cassandra felt her stomach flip, nausea overcoming her. 

“I can get the answers we need in other ways without traumatizing her further,” Azriel growls at his brother, noticing her distress, “Cassandra, you don’t have to—”

“Look at me,” She repeated breathlessly. Blinking her eyes furiously to fight the images trying to flash before her. “That’s what he used to do. He couldn’t touch me because I would be damaged goods—he’d get less money for me. So he would make me stand there unclothed and look at me while he touched himself or Neema. Just let me look at you is what he would say.” 

She heard the harsh breath Rhysand let out, she didn’t look his way. 

“Cassandra,” It’s Azriel’s voice in her head but she shakes her head, breathing deeply.

In. Out.

In. Out.

In. Out. 

She opens her eyes and looks into those hazel ones, patients and concern swirling there. 

“You’ll be there?” She asked, and he nodded instantly. 

“Of course, I’ll be there,” He answers.  She nods to herself. Thinking. 

“What happens to him after he’s questioned?” She ask, would he be let go? Locked away?

“He’ll be killed,” Rhysand answers bluntly. 

“Good.” Is her answer. “I’ll do it.” 

“You’re sure?” Azriel asks, worry creasing those brows while a relieved look comes over Rhysand’s face. 

“Yes,” She answered. “When?” 

“The sooner the better,” Rhysand said, and though he still looked relieved that Cassandra agreed she could see the apology in those violet eyes. 

“I would like to put my things away first,” She said, Azriel crossing the short distance between them. 

“I’ll help you bring your bags up,” He offered, giving her no room to protest before he scooped her bags up easily. 

As they entered the house she could hear Mor as she began yelling at Rhysand. 

Azriel let her lead the way to her bedroom, she was getting fairly good at navigating the halls. She liked to roam around in the middle of the night when everyone else was sleeping. This house was huge but she was sure she could get to the main areas of the house with little to no help. 

When they got to her room she pushed the door open and walked in. She looked over her shoulder to see Azriel standing at the door. She raised an eyebrow in question and the corner of his mouth quirked up slightly. 

“I can’t come in, remember,” He says, and she was glad to see some of that light amusement return to his eyes. 

“Oh, well, come in,” she said, he looked skeptical for a moment before slowly extending his leg through the doorway before stepping fully in. 

“Rhys doesn’t mess around with his wards,” He says when he notices the look on her face. “If you hadn’t invited me in and I tried to just walk in I would have ricochet off it straight into the wall back there.” 

Cassandra let out a breathy laugh, gesturing to the bed for Azriel to put the bags down. 

“Did you have a good day with Mor?” He asked gently and she turned to him with a small smile and nodded. She was grateful he asked. Talking about the day would distract her from what they were going to do after this. 

“It was amazing, Azriel! I've never experienced anything like that. It was a bit overwhelming if I’m honest but Morrigan made it easy to enjoy myself,” She smiled again as he perched himself on the end of the bed, his attention focused fully on her. She grabbed one of the bags pulling it over—the one with all of the pastries in it. 

“We went to this lovely little bakery,” she started, pulling out various treats. “Morrigan told me to pick out anything I wanted—everything looked and smelled so good, it was hard to choose.”

“It does smell delicious,” Azriel agreed, eyes scanning over the arrangement of food laid out on the bed, wrapped in papers and boxes. 

“These two bags are just some clothes Morrigan helped me pick out, that one is a gown, I’m still not sure what I would need it for but it is very pretty,” She told him, grabbing that bag, unzipping it to show him the gown, the one that perfectly matched his siphons. If he noticed he didn’t comment. 

“That is very pretty, you could wear it for Starfall coming up,” He said, a small smile on his face when she looked up at him. 

“Do you think it would be possible for me to visit my mothers grave that day?” She asked, as Starfall was one of the few good memories she had with her mother. 

“Of course, you never have to ask, we can go visit her any time you’d like,” Azriel promises, “What else did you get?”

Cassandra smiled at him, showing him the rest of her haul from the day. He snickered at the books but just as Morrigan had, said he would be more than happy to help her learn to read. It made her happier than he probably realized. 

After she finished showing him everything he stepped out of the room so she could freshen up—change her clothes and mentally prepare herself. 

She changed into an outfit that was a bit too big for her. Long sleeves and long pants. She didn’t want him to see her skin, she didn’t want him to see her at all. But what he did to Neema? To so many other girls? To her? She couldn’t sit by and not help get answers, justice. 

She knew Azriel noted the outfit she was wearing but chose not to say anything. 

“We’re going to winnow there, are you okay with that? We haven’t done it since that first night,” Azriel asked and Cassandra simply nodded, stepping closer to him, tucking her wings close to her back as he wrapped an arm around her. 

The place they arrive at was beautiful yet terrifying. 

“Where are we?” She asked, looking around. He doesn’t answer out loud as he leads her down a dark avenue. 

“This is the Hewn City. The rest of Prythian does not know of the existence of Velaris. They believe Rhysand only rules over this part of the Night Court—the Court of Nightmares.” 

“Oh.” Is her answer, she tries not to look at anything or anyone as thet move through the streets of this underground city—no, not underground, inside of a mountain. She wondered if it was the same mountain the House of a wind was on—she would ask later.

The walk was mostly silent. They walked across many bridges and flights of stairs. Going through most of the city. Down and around and down some more. Her legs and feet hurt and just when she was ready to tell Azriel she couldn’t go anymore they halted. 

Cassandra looked at him in question. He simply nodded towards the wall, she didn’t see anything. 

“He’s behind here,” Azriel explains, his eyes scanning her face. 

“Okay,” she nodded slowly, not totally understanding since there was no door. 

“Rhys will be there the entire time. Cassian will be there the entire time. I will be with you the entire time. Don't be fearful. Don’t let him scare you. If you find yourself feeling uncomfortable tell me immediately and I’ll get you out of there. He’s chained up, he will not lay a finger on you. If he even tried he would die,” Azriel promised. She looked up at him, unease filling her and took in a deep breath as he added , “Would you feel safer if I gave you this?” 

She looked down, in his outstretched hand laid a black hilted dagger with a sharp and shiny blade. 

She reached out, taking it gently from his hand. 

“I’ve never used one before,” she whispered, looking down at the knife in her hand. 

“You won’t need to use it, but if you did Truth Teller wouldn’t let you miss,” Azriel spoke confidently. “You ready?”

 She looked up at him and nodded her head. 

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

Azriel hated this. Hated it. His shadows hissed in ear not to bring her in. To protect her. To grab her and take her back to the House of Wind. 

And though he wanted to, he wouldn’t do that to her. She deserved to make her own decisions but this just felt so wrong. 

But after he sheathed Truth Teller and tied it around her waist he felt slightly better. 

She didn’t know the weight of the dagger, its power or what it meant to him. All that mattered in this moment is it made her feel safe and it gave him some peace of mind that if somehow this piece of shit got through three warriors she had a weapon that could kill. 

“Lets go,” he says, offering his hand to her, she places it there gently and much to her surprise they turn to the wall and he led her straight through. 

On the other side was a dark hall, no doors, lit only by a few lights and she grasped Azriel’s hand tighter. 

“This is where we keep a majority of prisoners that haven’t been sentenced for crimes or are being questioned,” Azriel explained, voice low and quiet.  

“Is Kamari here?” 

“No, she’s in a cell under the House of Wind. She’s not dangerous—a terrible person yes, but not dangerous to anyone she could potentially interact with. We don’t want this guy anywhere near the females and too many of them live and work at the house. That’s why he’s here. No one can get in here except Rhys, Cassian, myself and anyone we choose to allow in,” Azriel explained, stopping at another seemingly empty stretch of wall. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m okay,” she said, fingers twisting at her side. “I’m scared to see him.”  

“You don’t need to be scared but do you want to leave?” Azriel asks, taking a step closer to her, ready to scoop her up and take her home. 

“No, I want to do this,” she shook her head. 

“Okay, he’s right on the other side of this wall,” Azriel explained, trying to prepare her. “When we first walk in, his back will be to us so you don’t have to see his face straight away. You’re welcome to stand but there are chairs if you’d like to sit. Rhysand will be in charge of the interrogation if you believe he’s lying about something or leaving details out don’t hesitate to tell one of us. Rhys says he’ll have communications open so you can talk to him or Cassian easily if you need to. You do not have to speak to this guy but he will try to speak to you. He’s going to want to scare, to tell you all of the things he’s done—he knows what his fate is after we get what we want from him. You have the power here. You say stop then we stop and I take you out of there.” 

Azriel watches as she takes a shaky break, closing her eyes to calm herself. When she opens them Azriel is still standing there patiently. 

“Okay. Okay, I’m good,” She nods her head in a way that’s reassuring to herself, grazing her hand over Truth Teller before dropping her hands to her side. 

She watches as Azriel approaches the wall, stepping through easily as they had done before. Another deep breath, wiping her sweaty palms across her pants before she too walks forward, straight through the wall. 

The room is a bit brighter than the hallway and it takes her eyes a moment to adjust before they fix on the figure in the middle of the room. His blue skin and the clothes he’s wearing looks dirty, he’s chained to a chair and his head turns slightly as if sensing she entered the room, but not enough to see her yet. She wanted to cling to the wall and beg Azriel to come back to her side.

But she didn’t. 

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of cowering.

She knew the three men in this room wouldn’t allow any harm to come to her. She scanned the room, there were two chairs further away from where the male was sitting while Rhysand sat in one directly in front of the male just a few steps away. Cassian stood with his back to a large stone, giving her a small nod when they made eye contact and Azriel stood there behind the man—in a spot she could see him from wherever she chose to stand, a look on his face she hadn’t quite seen before. She could tell only one thing about that look though, he would enjoy killing Vale. 

Cassandra made her way to the opposite wall of where she had entered, choosing not to sit but to stand, using the wall as support, keeping her wings tucked as she leaned back against the wall. 

“Come on High Lord, give me my sight back now. You said I would be able to see her,” Vale hissed, the sound of his voice like a shot of ice down her spine, she suppressed the reaction easily enough. 

Rhysand looked over his shoulder at Cassandra, silently asking her if she was okay, if she was ready. She simply nodded. He waved his hand and those eyes, the ones she still had dreams about suddenly zeroed in on her. It took everything in her to suppress any reaction that time. 

A grin spread across his face as his eyes tracked her body. Up and down, taking in every detail. 

“Wow. Look at you,” he said, licking his lips, “you look even better than I remember. I…wish I could see more.” 

“Yeah, well you can’t,” Cassian is the one to answer. 

“What no hello?” Vale grinned again. 

“She’s not required to speak to you, that wasn’t part of the deal,” Rhysand’s voice thundered through the room. 

“Not that she could anyway” Vale sniggered, nodding his head, eyes still trained on Cassandra. “Alright come on, ask me the questions.” 

He sounded bored but Cassandra wasn’t stupid and neither were any of the males in that room. There was fear in those black eyes. He did indeed know his fate. 

“How long have you been in the business of purchasing females and selling them to sex houses?” Rhysand asked. 

“I don’t know, a year maybe,” Vale groans at the look Rhysand gives home. “Look, man, I drink and smoke myself out every day I lose a good bit of time.” 

“I was at the pleasure house with Kamari for 2 years and with him for almost a year.” Cassandra says, and Rhys nods in acknowledgment. 

“Wanna think a little harder about that? It’s definitely been more than a year,” Rhysand said, Vale narrowing his eyes into slits. 

“How could you possibly know that? Why ask if you’re just gonna say I’m lying?” Vale bares his teeth at Rhysand. 

“Why lie in the first place? You know your fate, lying won’t change that. You know I could enter your mind and destroy it in a second while getting the answers I seek. I’m doing you a courtesy by asking this way.”

Vale is silent for a moment before glancing at Cassandra. “Four years.” 

“How many women did you buy and sell during that time? How did you find them?” Rhysand asked, Vale took a deep breath, looking up at the roof as if thinking. 

“Probably eighty,” He says, Rhys’ face hardens further at that—Cassian’s mouth falling open slightly. 

“Eighty women in four years? Or 80 every year for four years?” Rhys asks through clenched teeth.

“Eighty in all four years,” Vale confirms and while it’s a relief, that’s still a lot of women. “Most of them were sold to me by family members who owed me money, but couldn't pay it back so they sold me a daughter, wife, sister instead.” 

“How did you learn of these pleasure houses buying females from people like you?” Rhysand asked. 

“Word gets around the streets. There’s only three that will buy the females. The Velvet Pearl, Hidden Desires and Lavender house. Kamari recruits men to find the women and sells them for money—usually addicts looking for a fix. She buys her drugs from me, that's how I got started.” Vale explained. 

“How many of them did you keep for yourself?” Rhysand asked, and Vale just laughed. 

“Not as many as you might think. It never even crossed my mind to have a little fun with the merchandise before selling to the pleasure houses. Neema—she’s the only one I ever kept seeing as she’s my mate and all,” Vale confessed and Cassandra couldn’t stop the gasp she took in. 

“That’s right,” Vale grinned. “The bond snapped into place the night her brother sold her to me.” 

“And you thought that was the proper way to treat your mate,” Cassian snarls. Vale simply shrugs his shoulders, looking back at Cassandra. 

“If she hadn’t been my mate though, I would have kept you,” Vale said, smiling at Cassandra. “Everything I did to her I would have done to you—including removing those horrid wings. Tell me, which one of these bastards got the pleasure of bending you over and fucking you—”

Vale’s rant is cut off when one of Azriel’s shadows wraps around his throat. The blue skinned male chokes, eyes widening. 

“I’d watch your fucking mouth if I were you,” Azriel hisses, only letting up his shadow’s grip when Cassandra nods her head at him. 

“At least any one of these males could get a woman into their bed without having to rape her,” Cassandra retorts, Cassian snorting out an amused laugh, relaying the message when Vale looked his way, turning back and snarling at Cassandra like a rabid wolf.

The interrogation went on for what felt like hours. Vale answered the questions Rhysand asked. Cassandra confirmed if he was being truthful or not for certain things. And they all stood there as he described every awful, vile, disgusting thing he did to the women he bought and sold. How he had brutalized and assaulted them before selling them off to be salves for pleasure houses. 

He knew none of their names. None except Neema. He didn’t even know Cassandra’s name and she was standing right there in front of him. 

He did however know the names of all the ones who sold the females—they now had a list of where to start, of how to find the females that had been sold off to the three pleasure houses. 

It’s was when they were getting ready to leave that things started going sideways. Azriel had check in many times with Cassandra to make sure she was okay. And she had been, despite this feeling in her stomach, this thrumming that made her skin feel like it was vibrating. 

“So, I guess it would be out of line to ask for a turn with you before I go out?” Vale laughed, leering at Cassandra. And it was Cassian’s fist that landed the blow to his face. 

“Fuck! You know,” Vale continued with a  laugh, blood dripping from his mouth, “your father almost sold me your sister instead. Pretty little thing she is.” 

He just wants to rile you up. 

He wants to scare you.

He wants a reaction. 

“Only he wouldn’t have got as much for her cause she’d had sex with some male. She was used—but man, if he had I would have kept her, too, I would have taken both of you and kept you just like that little bitch in my basement—“

Cassandra snarled and something inside of her snapped. Before anyone could blink she was across the room Truth Teller gripped in her hand and pressed against Vale’s throat as she crouched over him. Black eyes widened in shock—fear. Good. He wasn’t expecting it. 

“Cassandra?” Azriel’s concerned voice sounded muffled and far away. She didn’t take her eyes away from the man cowering beneath her. 

“She can shield?!” is Cassian's alarmed shout. 

“Cassandra?!” Rhys calls out, feeling whatever shield was around her vibrate as he sent a blast of magic into it. 

“I don’t think she can hear us, Rhys!” Azriel calls out. 

Cassandra could hear them but the look on Vale’s face was too satisfying to look away from. She pressed the dagger harder against his neck, digging it into the skin there, scenting his blood. 

“Are you afraid?” She asked, faces only inches apart. She wasn’t sure how she was talking to him but she didn’t care either. Not when the smell of blood mixed with urine as he pissed on himself. 

“Please, p—please,” he begged, trying to pull away from the blade digging into his throat. 

“Cassandra, come on, let the shield down, love!” 

“I remember begging you like that before you took my tongue. I shouldn’t let them kill you, everything you did to me, to Neema, to all those other girls you deserve to have done to you,” she snarls, Truth Teller thrumming in her hand as if encouraging her to slit his throat and watch him bleed out. 

“What the hell is happening, Rhys?” Cassian’s voice rings outside of that shield. 

“Fuck!” Azriel hisses as he tries to touch that shield, his hand bouncing off of it immediately. 

“I should take your eyes,” she declared. “So that you can never look at anyone again. I should take your tongue the way you took mine. Chop off your cock so you can never fuck again. I should do all that and let you live with it every day of your miserable life!” 

He cries out, struggling under her and she laughs. Right there in his face she laughs.

This is the male she had been afraid of?

This is the male that tortured her everyday in that basement? This pathetic excuse of a male. 

“Absolutely pathetic,” she spits, snarling at him. 

She drops Truth Teller from her hand, falling somewhere between their bodies as she grips his head on either side. “Look at me!” She bellows, forcing his eyes to meet hers. Panicked terror looked back at her and she smiled. 

“Kill me, just kill me, please!” He begged, thrashing under her, her wings spreading to keep herself stead where she was crouched over him—drowning out the voices beyond the shield. He’d had no remorse for anyone else, he deserved no remorse. She leans down, close to his ear, changing her grip on his head. 

“No,” she mouths against his ear as it echoes in his head. Then her thumbs are pressing into those black soulless eyes, his screams echoing around them with nowhere to go, pressing and pressing until they pop. Turning into a bloody mess under her hands. His screams don’t stop as she speaks. 

“You’ll never see again,” she said, grabbing Truth Teller once again sliding it along his exposed skin. “You're lucky I don’t take your hands and tongue. I won’t take your life either. You’ll suffer the way me and so many other girls did.” 

She slides off of him, his screams turning into whimpering cries. 

“Cassandra?” The voice sounded normal again and she looked up, green eyes meeting violet. “Are you okay?” 

“Am I okay?” She asked, glancing at the man she had just maimed without a second thought. 

“I’m not worried about him, are you okay?” Rhysand asks again, taking a step closer to her.

“I’m okay,” she nods, slipping Truth Teller back into its sheath, not hiding the angry tears that welled in her eyes. “I want him to have to live with what he’s done. Death will be too kind for the offenses he’s committed—for the way he’s violated so many.” 

“If you no longer wish death on this male so be it, we will lock him away to rot for the rest of his days,” Rhysand promises and I nod my head. 

“I only have one request,” I tell him, glancing at the man still moaning and whimpering—whispering to himself about his eyes being gone and begging for mercy. 

“What is it?” Rhysand asked. 

“Take his cock,” I demand, there’s no question or judgement in those eyes. He nods but Azriel is the one to speak up. 

“Done.” 

Tag list: @aelinwya @starlightandsouls @fullmoon-94 @aetherl0l @caticorn61 @lilah-asteria @blackgirlmagicforever @div94 @purple-writer8 @little-missbookyworm @saltedcoffeescotch @namelesssav @slytherintaco @whatsupb @mariahoedt @railingsofsorrow @fightmedraco @nickishadow139 @a-courtof-azriel

[corpusdiem-seizethedead]

Husk: When I said "bring me back something from the beach", I meant like a seashell.

Angel: *struggling to hold a seagull with all six arms* Well, you didn't fucking say that!

[ryllen]

Look what came through the mail today! The letters & ( •̀ω•́ )σ 3 little gremlins from letterstoear.

Just wanna say i adore the flower stickers on the letters too much, they are that much worth mentioning.

[conan-hearts-u]

Sleeping beauty !

"why is he is so pretty " You brush his hair out so you could see his face better

You had been awake for almost an hour. You should have already started your day but you didnt want to get up. Not with the pretty boy sleeping next to you.

Your boyfriend Ran was the most beautiful human being you had ever meet (other then you ofc🤭) but his beauty was tripled when he was sleeping. Its just the way he looked so peaceful as if he hadnt almost beat up all those people. And his "messy" black and blonde hair always looked so perfect.

But of course he is such a blanket hoarder . Sometimes you wake up at night feeling cold only to see that your boyfriend has taken the entire blanket all to himself. And when you complain about it he just denies it!

You fell back as soon as you notice that he was awake and smilling at you. You dont know show long you had been staring at him. You quickly tried to prentend that you sleeping which didnt work.

He started laughing "I caught you dont pretend to be asleep"

Made with love by very sleepy Conan <3

[mcondance]

till death starring stu macher

dead dove, do not eat. like the dove is actually fucking dead.

written from stu’s pov-ish.

remember when i said i needed stu to kill me and then fuck my corpse as a final act of desecration and perversion? happy halloween. and happy kinktober.

he’s proud.

lifeless, but still warm. the blood pouring from your abdomen is still bright, rushing red. his skin prickles with what he’s feeling.

jesus.

you’re still so pretty. prettier, really, now that he’s conquered you. now that you’re his victim.

so his hand draws to your hot face, and he wipes away the tears you’d shed. he’s in control of himself. the only one in the driver’s seat when he raises up over you and gazes at you with blown pupils, like he did when you were still here.

his mind is moving a million miles per hour, bouncing off of logic and murder and perversion, as his eyes dart down to the waistband of your sleep shorts, tiny ones you only wore when you were alone, or with him. you trusted him.

you trusted him. he’s hard. ridiculously hard, harder than he ever got when you were alive, even when you were letting him turn you into something unrecognizable for his pleasure.

he killed you in your home, in the space you let him into because you really, really trusted him, even when it was obvious you shouldn’t have.

it’s your fault, really. stupid girl, not smart enough to know the man she was fucking was a killer.

how did you not know, he thinks.

what a pretty body.

maybe those guys are right, maybe his knife does represent his dick. they have to be, with the way it felt nothing but sexual when he sunk it into you, when you called his name and looked right into his eyes like you used to when he fucked you, when he kept going even when you pleaded with him to stop.

his bloodied hands drag your shorts and panties down your heavy legs and waste no time in pulling his pants down. black blown-out eyes focus on the fountain of blood pouring from your stomach. this is sexual, the blood, the wound, the kill excited him more than your cunt ever did.

he loved your cunt. still does. he loves your blood, too. he swears to god it’s a different red than everyone else’s, a gleaming vermillion he’s never seen before. pleasure is pleasure, your warmth wrapped around him felt good. but he liked to hear you beg more, to see you wrap your hand around his wrist and plead with him to let go as your eyes began to flutter.

your eyes. shut closed forever.

you feel just like you did when you were alive. still tight and wet and your tits bounce just like they used to. jesus, they’re so pretty, feel so good under his hands.

he’s sweating. it drips down onto your neck as your body rocks with his movements. he’s fucking you, hard, rutting into you and grunting and groaning with so much feeling he thinks he’s going to fucking explode.

one last time, he gets to defile you, to steal your innocence and light and make you his.

you screamed when you first saw him. mask on but shroud forsaken. terror, then confusion, then realization, then fear.

you couldn’t be faster than him even if you tried your hardest.

the sound was beautiful. your shoulder firm under his hand as he held you still.

his mind is on fire.

you felt betrayed, really. brown eyes big and hurt like you couldn’t believe what he’d done. he sunk down with you, guiding you to your living room floor as he watched your life leave you. he watched your blood pour from your wound. he nodded as you reached up for him, rubbing his face and pleading as if your show of connection in your final moments would mean a thing to him. still, unmoving as he listened to you beg him to “get some help, stu, please, please help me, why would you do this, stu, oh my god, oh my god, god, stu, please. please, please, pl—.” he watched you take your last breath, and he savored it all.

his hips stutter as he cums, and he pulls out to jerk himself onto the hole he carved earlier. lights flicker behind his eyes as his rubs the tip of himself through the bright red blood, smearing it all over your stomach.

he owns you. from the moment he saw you, he owned you. in life, and in death.

[zorosdimples]

mdni. reader has a vagina. i love big noses.

it’s the sort of thing you don’t notice until someone points it out—then it becomes all you can see. higuruma hiromi remembers the exact comment (the first of countless) from when he was a little boy, running around on the playground.

“how come your nose looks like that?” one of his playmates asked, scrunching up a cute, button nose in what hiromi later recognized as disgust.

“like what?” hiromi asked, touching his nose. it didn’t hurt; nothing was broken; it wasn’t bleeding. so what was wrong?

“it looks like a bird’s beak!” the child squealed, making a squawking noise to emphasize their point.

that was the day hiromi became self-conscious of his nose. the remark spread around the playground, and made its way onto the school bus, and into the classroom. he couldn’t escape it, not even in high school. “hawk” was his nickname; he loathed it, but nothing he said helped.

hiromi never cried—boys don’t cry—but he may have shed a tear or two in frustration in the bathroom when he stared at his reflection, picking himself apart. he vowed that one day, when he became a lawyer and earned enough money, he would get a rhinoplasty and be done with his beak.

when you meet hiromi, he’s a powerful lawyer. you discover his secret in the form of a stack of plastic surgery brochures when you visit his unkempt apartment after you’ve been dating for a few months. he’s shocked when you grab him by the face, running your soft fingertips down his aquiline nose, from the strong slope between his brows to the sharp tip that shades his lips.

“your nose is sexy, hiro,” you breathe, smoothing your palms to rest on his shoulders. “it suits you.”

hiromi doesn’t fully grasp what you mean until later, when you settle your knees on either side of his head, lowering yourself so that your pussy kisses his face. he starts slowly: he’s tentative in his licks to your folds, occasionally sucking, mouthing up to your clit, getting a feel for what you respond to.

when he tongues at your entrance, moving his face so that his nose smears through your juices and rubs against your clit, hiromi gets exactly the reaction he’s looking for. he uses his nose more: he nuzzles through your wetness and grinds right where you want him—where you need him, if your moans are anything to go by. your soul-shattering orgasm makes him realize something.

maybe his nose is sexy. regardless, hiromi throws the rhinoplasty pamphlets away the next day.

[writeouswriter]

Rip to all the fics I got halfway through (either writing or reading) before the hyperfixation on their media promptly left my body like a demon being forcibly exorcised without warning 😔