#the claw marks ……the claw marks……..

[thatonegrimm]

The subtle reveal of Baby's Demon form was so cute and honestly perfect!!!!

if its no bother, could i request a continuation from that; Something the involves the other Saja Boys reaction to the 'Reader' knowing Baby's a demon. Like, one day, the group finds themselves at the 'Readers' and Baby's house/apartment and he just casually switches to his Demon Form.

Ahh I’m so glad you liked the reveal!! 😭🖤 Here you go!💌

“Wait—You Let Them See?!”

 Sequel to: Little by Little

Summary: Baby’s been slowly revealing his demon form to you. You thought the others knew. Turns out—not like this.

-------------------------------

It starts with a knock and three bags of fried chicken.

You weren’t expecting company—at least not company in the form of all four Saja Boys—when you opened the door to find Jinu, Romance, Mystery, and Abby standing on your doorstep like a very attractive demonic boyband reunion tour.

“We brought food,” Jinu said. “Baby’s texts were vague.”

“I wanted banana milk,” Romance muttered, brushing past him.

“We’re out of soda,” Abby added helpfully, already kicking his shoes off.

Mystery said nothing, just dropped a tarot card facedown on your doormat and stepped inside.

The apartment filled fast—too fast—and you barely had time to throw a blanket over the couch pile of laundry before you heard the unmistakable sound of your boyfriend.

You turned just in time to see Baby walking out of the bedroom barefoot, shirtless, and completely, casually, demon-shaped.

Lilac skin. Jagged violet markings. Gold, slit-pupil eyes.

You’d gotten used to it. Loved it, even. He didn’t always shift around the others, but lately—at home, with you—he didn’t bother hiding anymore.

And now?

Well.

That comfort was about to backfire.

-------------------------------

The silence that hit the room was instant.

Abby froze mid-drumstick bite.

Mystery tilted his head like an owl tracking prey.

Romance—halfway into your fridge—dropped a bottle of water and said, “I’m sorry, WHAT are we walking into right now?”

Jinu blinked. Slowly. Twice.

“...Is that a full skin shift?” he asked, sounding like he might need to sit down. “With claws?”

Baby looked up.

Paused.

Looked at you.

Then looked back at the boys.

“What?” he said, flatly. “I live here.”

-------------------------------

Romance recovered first.

“You live here like this?!”

“Yeah.”

“With your markings out?!”

“Yeah.”

He turned to you, slack-jawed. “They’ve seen the claws?!”

“More than that,” you said calmly, pouring Mystery a soda without breaking stride.

Mystery hummed. “They’ve seen the glamour down.”

Jinu choked on air.

“You took off the glamour?”

Baby scratched his neck. “It gets itchy.”

“ITCHY?!” Abby squawked. “Bro, we’ve been rooming together for years and you make us sign non-disclosure forms.”

“They're different,” Baby muttered.

You didn’t say anything. Just leaned against the counter while Baby came to stand beside you.

Romance blinked. “Oh my god. You’re comfortable.”

Baby didn’t deny it.

Which somehow said more than anything else could.

-------------------------------

Jinu finally stepped forward, eyes wide but not angry.

“You let them see you,” he said softly. “Like really see you.”

“They didn’t freak out,” Baby replied. “Didn’t treat me different. Just… accepted it.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, claws glinting in the kitchen light.

“It felt… good.”

Abby made a quiet, emotional wheeze.

“I’m gonna cry.”

“Don’t you dare,” Baby grumbled, nudging him with a toe.

Romance was already on the couch, kicking his feet up dramatically. “This is so unfair. When I dropped my disguise around my last crush, they threw a salt packet at me.”

“You were floating and whispering in Latin,” Mystery pointed out.

“It was a love incantation!”

-------------------------------

You smiled and grabbed another plate. “You can all stay for dinner. Just try not to burn anything.”

Jinu blinked. “We’re not getting kicked out? Even after—”

You reached over and gently adjusted the edge of Baby’s hoodie, exposing more of the jagged violet markings along his neck.

“He trusts me. I trust him. You trust him too, right?”

The boys all exchanged glances.

Abby nodded first. “Always.”

Mystery placed a second tarot card on the table—The Sun.

Romance sighed. “Fine. But if he starts glowing, I want it on record that I called him pretty first.”

Baby smirked. “You’ve called all of us pretty.”

“Yeah, but I meant it less with Jinu.”

“I heard that,” Jinu muttered, already reaching for the takeout.

-------------------------------

Dinner became loud again—bickering, sauce-stained, full of laughter and neon chopsticks. Baby leaned into your shoulder at one point and whispered:

“Thanks for not making a big deal.”

You smiled, kissing the side of his face near one of the glowing marks.

“You’re not a big deal,” you whispered back. “You’re just mine.”

And when the others weren’t looking, he wrapped his arms around you—claws and all.

-------------------------------

Later That Night 

After everyone had eaten and the chaos settled into content exhaustion, each of the boys found a quiet moment with you while Baby was in the shower, humming low and smoky under the water.

-------------------------------

Jinu found you in the kitchen.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just helped you rinse the dishes. When you passed him a towel, he looked down and said, almost too softly:

“He’s never shown that much of himself to anyone. Not even us.”

You looked up, heart soft.

“It’s not a secret,” you said. “It’s just… something he wanted to share. With someone who wouldn’t turn away.”

Jinu nodded, jaw tight.

“Thank you,” he said. “For not turning away.”

-------------------------------

Abby cornered you in the hallway, holding a half-crushed juice pouch.

“You’re in the safe list now,” he said, as if that explained anything.

“...The what?”

“People Baby won’t pretend to bite when they hug him. It’s a short list.”

You laughed. “I feel honored.”

He grinned. “Good. You should.”

-------------------------------

Romance plopped down beside you on the arm of the couch, watching the bathroom steam creep under the door.

“You know,” he said, tilting his head toward the shower. “It’s hot, right? That he trusts you enough to glow around you?”

You snorted. “Romance.”

“What? I’m just saying. If it were me, I’d be showing off immediately.”

He paused. A rare flicker of sincerity crept into his voice.

“But he’s only ever shown those to you. That’s not just hot. That’s… something else.”

You met his eyes. He winked.

“You’re good for him. Don’t forget that.”

-------------------------------

Mystery appeared beside you later, offering you the tarot card he’d flipped earlier.

“It changed,” he said quietly.

You glanced down. The card now read:

The Lovers.

You looked back up at him.

He gave the smallest smile. “You brought balance.”

-------------------------------

And when Baby finally reappeared—damp hair clinging to glowing skin, hoodie tugged on halfway, markings still dimly visible under the fabric—he blinked at the quiet hush of the room.

“What’d I miss?”

“Nothing,” you said, patting the space beside you.

He flopped down next to you, arms draping over your lap like it was his favorite place.

“They like you,” he muttered.

“I like them.”

“I like you more.”

You kissed his temple, right where the markings flared faintly again.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Me too.”

-------------------------------

Next Morning

The sun is barely up when you shuffle into the kitchen wearing Baby’s hoodie.

It’s too long on you. Still smells faintly like smoke and something citrusy and warm. You’re mid-yawn when—

“...You’re glowing.”

You blink.

Not you.

Baby.

He walks in behind you, half-asleep, completely shirtless, faint steam rising from his skin, and violet markings still very much visible all over his chest, shoulders, and neck. His eyes are a lazy shade of gold.

“Coffee,” he mumbles, walking straight past everyone and stealing Abby’s mug.

The room is dead silent.

Until—

“We get it, you’re in love,” Romance says, raising both eyebrows. “But do your marks have to sparkle at breakfast?”

“They’re not sparkling,” Baby grunts, sipping.

“They’re glowing,” Jinu corrects, not even looking up from his phone. “Soft bioluminescence. Very romantic.”

“He’s like a walking mood lamp,” Mystery adds.

“You're jealous,” Baby says without heat.

“A little,” Mystery admits.

You stifle a laugh, reaching over to tug down the hoodie hanging loosely off Baby’s shoulder. It doesn’t help much. The glow pulses anyway.

“You’re still lit up,” you whisper, biting back a smile.

“You’re still mine,” he murmurs back.

Romance makes a strangled gagging sound from the couch. ���I just sat down. I don’t want to get pregnant from secondhand tension.”

Abby throws a pillow at him.

-------------------------------

Eventually, someone makes pancakes.

Eventually, Baby puts on a shirt (kind of).

Eventually, Mystery stops using the steam from his skin to steep tea.

But even as the day rolls forward and the teasing settles into something warmer—something real—you catch Jinu watching the two of you.

Not with suspicion.

With something like relief.

Because the boy with claws and smoke in his bones glows now.

And maybe that says everything.

-------------------------------

M-List

[sourkiki]

dragon! riki x pussy eating

content: explicit mature content, monster-fucking (dragon), dragon! riki x fem! reader, pussy eating+fingering, squirting, face sitting, dragon-like features. wc: 961.

note: i can't be bothered to make this post nice, so yeah... i deleted my asks but to that anon who had requested this, this is for you!

You weren’t sure why you agreed to this but you weren’t complaining. At first, you were reluctant to give it a try. But if anything, Riki was kind and understanding. He didn’t force you to do anything, agreeing to go with your pace, even when it took him a solid five months for you to eventually have sex with him. One thing led to another and soon enough, you’ve graduated at the top of the class of being able to take him in his full size. 

“W-Wait, I don’t think—” You protested, voice borderline trembling as you dug your fingers into the bed frame, thighs shaking with your heart beating in anticipation and nervousness. 

“Don’t think. Just relax and let me do the work,” your boyfriend shushes you, drawing random patterns on your upper thighs. You tried to shift away, having second thoughts but with the way his tail was wrapped around your waist, you have nowhere to escape. 

You shakily exhaled, plucking up the remains of your courage and slowly lowered yourself. Riki purred in approval, eyes slitted as he abruptly tugged you down, catching you off-guard. You gasped when you ended up squarely sitting on his face, able to feel his nose rubbing against your clit. You wanted to lift yourself up—in fear of suffocating him but your mind blanked out the moment he did a long, flat swipe up your dripping pussy. 

“Fuck, missed this,” he groaned, voice muffled as he buried his face deeper into your pussy. Riki had to spread your puffy lips with two fingers, careful to not unsheath his claws so he could slide in deeper. 

“Oh gods,” you moaned, head tilting back at the delirious sensation of his long, slimy tongue tracing your gummy, velvety walls. You spasmed and tightened around his fingers, squirming about on the spot. 

You weren’t aware of the fact that you tried to move away with your back arching. Your action elicited a disapproved growl from Riki, who practically snarled, eyes flickering up to your face—a warning. And a silent warning, at that. Gulping, you readjusted your position, whimpering when he made no move to remove his tongue that was hitting places you thought it was impossible. 

“Stop moving, or you won’t get to cum,” he snarls. 

It was times like these where you get reminded that Riki isn’t human. No, he’s a dragon—a beast that has the ability to kill you with a simple turn of your neck or render you immobile by twisting your limbs. You should be afraid. Afraid of what he can do to you. But yet, a sick, twisted part of you felt aroused. Maybe it was the thought of what he can do, if he wished. You tightened around his fingers that had long stopped moving, making him smirked when he felt it. 

“What’s in your pretty little mind? Want me to break you, hm? Want me to sink my teeth into your neck, mark you as mine?” He coos, redrawing his tongue until only the tip—a two, splitted tip as he traces along your folds, collecting your dripping slick. 

“P-Please,” you whined, rolling your hips, only for him to hold you down with him digging his nails—now claws, into your skin. Hard enough to leave indents behind. 

“Desperate, needy little thing, aren’t you? You’ve been dripping nonstop, it’s like you’ve been wanting this,” he coos, faux sweetness in his voice as he rested his thumb on your clit, making no move to press down on it. 

You wanted to say something, anything to deny him, to tell him he’s wrong. But honestly, who are you kidding? The longer you dragged this out, the higher the advantage Riki has, in this mini tug-of-war game he always likes to play with you. Which was why you looked down at him, through your teary eyes and slightly blurred vision. Your lips curled down to a pout, hands pawing at his chest, like a kitten demanding for attention. 

“Please, make me feel good?” You pleaded, your words sending heat straight down to his cocks. 

Riki muttered an inaudible curse under his breath. In a blink of an eye, he flipped you around so you’re on your back as you laid on the bed. He didn’t give you time to regain your bearings, diving back into your pussy like a man on a mission. 

“Riki!” You cried out his name at a high-pitched tone, the sound echoed amongst the four stone walls of the bedroom. 

Your ears flushed red at the obscene, lewd sounds of him eating you out with his tongue and fingers sliding in and out of you, creating a consistent squelch, squelch sound. It’s like he’s fucking you with his tongue and fingers—a poor replacement of his cocks. 

“Oh fuck, gonna cum, gonna cum—” You whimpered, grabbing onto a fistful of his hair as you tugged him closer to your pussy, grinding into his skillful mouth as you reached your climax.

Hot, transparent liquid gushes from your pussy as you squirt all over your bodies. And yet, Riki didn’t pull away, stubbornly lapping them all up, like a thirsty dog. Your legs collapse to the sheets with a soft thud as you try to calm down from your orgasm. 

But, Riki has other ideas. 

You squeaked when he pulled you towards him by your ankles, his tail wrapping itself around your right thigh, forcing you to spread your legs for him. Riki positioned himself between your legs and he had already removed his boxers, revealing his cocks that stand proudly upright. You gulped at the sight, pussy clenching down on nothing. 

“You want this, right? Then, you better be prepared to scream my name,” he warns, a dangerous glint in his slitted eyes. 

taglist: @byshens , @hoonstqr , @emisluvr , @riqomi , @onlyywwon , @jjung-v , @jun2ki , @rikisoup, @chuhees

[niwaart]

More Sukubbus!reader! She's just a queen(⁠๑⁠♡⁠⌓⁠♡⁠๑⁠)

Y/N was summoned by a desperate Gotham villain trying to bind a succubus to do his bidding. The poor fool didn’t read the fine print. No soul offered, no leash attached. She slipped through the ritual circle with a stretch, a pout, and a whip of her tail.

Then she saw where she’d landed.

Gotham City.

Dirty. Dramatic. Delicious.

It didn’t take long to catch the attention of the Bat.

She’d just seduced a minor crime boss into handing over his penthouse when Batman crashed through the window like a brooding gargoyle in a cape.

"Who are you?" he growled.

Y/N blinked, licked her fangs, and gave him her best slow-burn smile.

"Awww, Batsy. You came to check on me?"

He aimed a Batarang at your heart. It melted midair.

Y/N blew on her claws. "Oops. You’re not immune, are you?"

"I don’t get seduced," he snarled.

Fifteen minutes later, he was backing out of her room red-faced, muttering something about "mental training" and "inhuman pheromones" while his cape flapped awkwardly to hide a very obvious... situation.

Y/N stretched out across the windowsill in a silk robe, tail flicking. Gotham was going to be fun.

The next week was like being dropped into a hot man buffet.

Nightwing was the first to show up.

He’d been doing his rounds in Blüdhaven, then came rushing when Bruce mentioned “a sex demon seducing criminals.” Big mistake.

"Hi! You must be the flying one," Y/N purred, materializing behind him mid-patrol.

He did a backflip out of pure instinct and landed in a defensive crouch. "Holy— What the— Okay, no offense, but you are way too attractive."

"Flatterer."

Y/N stalked toward him slowly. His escrima sticks shook.

"I have a very healthy sex life, lady," he stammered.

"Noted," Y/N grinned, right before she whispered something unholy in his ear.

He fainted. Straight up. Just face-planted on the rooftop.

Y/N turned to a gargoyle.

"Is this the Bat-standard?"

Red Hood found her next.

He was, as the humans say, built different.

He kicked open her door like an action movie hero, dual pistols aimed at her chest.

"Succubus, right? Demon, lust, and bad decisions?"

"Hi, Daddy."

Jason blinked.

"Okay, yeah. That’s not fair."

Y/N smiled slowly. "You’ve got rage. Trauma. Deep-rooted lust layered in guilt and defiance. I love that in a man."

Jason didn’t drop the guns. But he didn’t leave either. In fact, he sat down on her couch, threw his boots up on the table, and said:

"Alright. Seduce me. Let’s see what happens."

Y/N gasped. "Finally, a challenge."

Three hours later, Alfred had to call Jason’s phone six times to remind him to go home.

He left with his jacket half off and a glazed look in his eyes.

Tim found a lipstick mark on his neck the next day. Jason denied everything.

Tim tried to resist her with logic.

"I’m immune," he declared. "Demonology says succubi can’t affect people under high mental strain and with caffeine in their bloodstream."

"Is that a fact?" Y/N cooed, sitting cross-legged on the edge of his desk.

He nodded. "I drank four Red Bulls before coming here."

Y/N leaned in close, her breath like honey and heat. "Then let’s test that theory, genius."

Five minutes later, Tim was lying face-down in the Batcomputer keyboard mumbling, “We’re all going to hell.”

Damian was suspicious from the start.

"You will not corrupt me, temptress."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “I like you. Very Shakespearean.”

He crossed his arms. "I have trained in the League of Assassins. My mind is sharp. My body, pure."

Y/N blinked. "I’m not interested in jailbait, demon-slayer."

He stared. "You... you what?"

"You heard me, baby bat. Come back when you grow a little more... testosterone."

Damian looked both insulted and vaguely relieved.

He stormed off shouting, "Grayson said you flirted with him too!"

Y/N sighed. “Oh, I flirted with everyone.”

Later that night, the Batcave held an emergency meeting.

Bruce: “She’s a demon. We can’t keep letting her... exist.”

Dick: “It’s not letting, she just does.”

Jason: “Don’t look at me like that. She’s hot and possibly immortal.”

Tim: “I have regrets. I also have a hickey in the shape of an ancient rune.”

Damian: "You are all weak. This is why she mocks us."

Bruce groaned into his cowl.

Y/N, meanwhile, were curled up in Wayne Manor’s guest room (which you definitely broke into), sipping wine and watching Gotham’s skyline.

A succubus loose in Gotham, living rent-free in the minds of every member of the Batfamily?

Delicious.

Y/N blew a kiss to the moon.

“Nighty night, Bats.”

[callmenigma]

Two sides

His two sides are so different. Pairings: Jinu x Fem!Reader Warning: Obsession, NSFW, Demon/Human sex, dumbification, dirty talk

*

You’d fallen in love with Jinu twice.

First, it was the man—the soft-spoken version of him who kissed your shoulders in the morning, who brought your favorite snacks to late-night rehearsals, who touched you like he was memorizing you one heartbeat at a time. That Jinu whispered I love yous into the crook of your neck, smiled against your skin, held you close even when he didn’t have to.

He made love to you like you were something sacred. Reverent. Careful.

And then… came the truth.

He hadn’t meant to tell you, not really. But one night, breathless and raw with emotion, he’d confessed: “I’m not human anymore.”

At first, you didn’t believe it. And then—he showed you.

The glowing eyes. The lilac markings that crawled over his pale skin like veins of some divine corruption. The inhuman strength, the sharp canines, the hunger.

You begged to see more. To know him.

And eventually… he gave in.

That was the second time you fell in love.

But it was different.

You hadn’t realized how deep the abyss went—how completely the demon would overtake him when unshackled. Gone was the soft-spoken idol, the gentle man who held you like crystal.

What stood above you then was feral.

Eyes glowing like wildfire, stripes burning across his skin like ancient scripture. His voice, deeper. Rougher. Tainted by something dark and primal. And gods, the way he touched you—like your body was his altar. Like you were nothing but pleasure and purpose wrapped in warm skin.

Jinu didn’t just take you—he consumed you.

Because when Jinu gave in—when the demon stepped fully into the light—you learned what it meant to be claimed.

The stripes along his body lit like veins of starlight under pale skin, and his every movement became something animal. Every growl, every sound he made was low and devouring.

And gods, how he loved to ruin you.

“You asked for this, little flame,” he breathed into your ear, his voice a dark purr as your fingers twisted in the sheets beneath you. “Now look at you.”

Your body trembled, your mind already hazy, words half-formed and lost in your throat. You couldn’t think—he wouldn’t let you. Every movement from him was deliberate. Every thrust purposeful, dragging moans and mewls from your lips that made his grin go sharp.

He loved how your thoughts slipped away under him. How your sweet mouth, usually so quick with questions and curiosity, could barely string together a sound, let alone a sentence. He'd hover over you, his lips brushing your temple as he moved inside you with devastating precision.

“You’re so quiet now,” he’d purr. “Where’d that clever brain go, hmm?”

You’d try—gods, you'd try to answer—but it would just be another broken moan, another gasp, your fingers clinging to him like he was the only solid thing left in the world.

“Empty little head now, isn’t it?” he whispered, almost in awe. “Just like I like it. Nothing up there but me.”

You couldn’t even deny it.

Not when he was inside you. Around you. Everywhere.

Not when he moved just right—just once—and your entire body arched like he’d struck a chord only he could reach.

He groaned at the way you responded, the way your thighs shook, the way you clung to him like he was the only thing tethering you to earth.

“Perfect,” he murmured. “So good for me. My obedient little angel.”

And the worst part?

You loved it.

You loved how easily you gave in. How much you craved him like this.

The demon.

The man.

The everything.

Even when you were wrecked, he praised you. Worshipped the way your body trembled. The way your voice broke when you tried to speak and failed.

His clawed fingers traced the edge of her throat, slow and reverent.

“You begged for this,” he whispered, his voice a reverent snarl now. “Begged to see who I really am. And now look at you… letting a demon ruin you.”

His fangs grazed her neck, dragging over her skin in a slow tease before settling over her pulse point.

“I could bite you right here,” he murmured. “Mark you. Keep you.”

And she meweled, body arching beneath him.

Jinu groaned against her throat, his voice wrecked and hungry. “You love it, don’t you? Being ruined by me. Being my perfect little thing.”

And gods help him, he loved it too.

Not just the way her body surrendered.

But the way her mind unraveled.

All for him.

You whimper—helpless, needy, gone.

And he laughs.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathes, rutting harder into you just to feel the way your thighs twitch, “So obedient. So fucking good for me.”

He was two creatures in one.

The man who kissed your fingers and made you soup when you were sick.

And the demon who could fuck your thoughts clean and make you thank him for it.

And you?

You loved all of him.

Every beautiful, terrifying piece.

[crowshapedvoid]

[ID: three images. the first is a screenshot of a tag that says:

#implies a woman may have feathers or more than two legs...

/The second image is of chimera Falin from Dungeon Meshi. She is mostly human from the waist up but covered in feathers. Her torso is positioned similarly to a centaur's on the rest of her body, but her lower half is far, far larger, with her upper body being roughly the size you'd expect the lower half's head to be. Her lower body has four legs, a tail, and two wings. The front half of her body below the waist is feathery aside from her front legs which are red and scaley with claws. Her wings stem from her lower body's shoulders and are quite large as well. The back half of her lower body is red and scaley as well. She has a tail. In total she has four

/The third image is a green check mark. /end ID]

The only reason why transphobes always ask “what is a woman” instead of “what is a man” is because we all know that a man is a featherless biped.

[goddess-of-ash]

[ilium-ilia]

you're an angel // i'm a dog

kyle "gaz" garrick x fem!reader | omegaverse | alpha!gaz, omega!reader | masterlist

Chapter Six: scar

tw: smut, knotting, creampie, biting, blood

Despite the sharp teeth and curling claws yearning to wiggle free from him, Kyle is surprisingly gentle even in the haze of his rut. 

His hand is careful on the back of your head as he lowers you onto his bed, mattress dipping beneath your bodies as his nose prods at the hem of your shirt. The heat that rolls off of him is heavy and sticky, clinging to your skin until you feel as if you’ve been covered in sugar—a sweet treat for a very hungry dog. It doesn’t take him long to peel off the cellophane wrapping that separates his tongue from you. Shirt by your head, pants on the floor; you find his face buried against your sex before he’s even managed to get your panties off. 

“You smell so good,” Kyle laments, voice muffled against your body. “Been driving me insane, you know that?” 

Hands diving underneath your rump, he palms at your ass, forcing your hips to buck against his face. Your clit bumps against his nose and you squeak at the sudden stimulation. The hormones dump off of him in droves, leaving your mind as a murky maze. All you know is that your muscles are melting—going limp—submitting like the good pet he calls you. 

Your panties don’t last very long before they end up on the foot of his bed, leaving you naked with nothing but your skin to shroud the rest of your dignity. Kyle does not show the same amount of care to himself. While he’s already shirtless, he does nothing to fully rid himself of his trousers before he’s pulling himself out from between the fly. 

It’s hard not to gawk at him. Forgetting the fact that it’s been ages since you’ve last gotten laid—forced to suffer your heats in the loneliness of your home without an alpha to take care of you—Kyle’s knot is already swelling. Puffy at the base of his cock, veins protruding as they attempt to supply the proper blood flow to support his widening girth. Anticipating a sweet omega to sink into, he leaks a steady stream of precum that he haphazardly wipes along your pussy, soaking you until you’re glistening and ready for him. 

“Pretty pet, locked up in that office, smiling so sweetly.” He’s rambling now, rubbing the head of his cock against you all while grunting at the minor stimulation it offers. The raw, unbridled hormones leaves you quivering for him as you breathlessly stare up at him; but his eyes are only focused on the space where your bodies are about to join. “Been dreaming about freeing you from that place ever since you first had your heat. Unclaimed, no mark on your neck, no alpha to take care of you…” 

Finally, he slides in. Just the tiniest amount, stretching you wide open as you groan at the snug fit. Those soft eyes of his—always mellow and sweet like molasses—widen as he finally witnesses what he’s been dreaming of for weeks. 

“I’ll take care of you,” he breathes. “I’ll take care of everything.” 

Sliding turns into friction and it isn’t long before fire follows. Flames with forked tongues licking up your spine, curling between your vertebrae, burrowing into your spinal cord until your back is arching and the keen that falls from your lips is so sweet that Kyle has no choice but to drink it up. His lips are firm against yours, wanting and parched, he groans as he pushes further until he can’t anymore. 

“Fuck, Kyle, that’s—ah!” 

He hardly gives you time to adjust before he’s thrusting with poor restraint. Vacillation marks his movements as he keeps himself steady—keeps himself from potentially hurting you. But as your arms wrap up around his back, fingers curling into the taut, sore muscles abused from long days of work and travel, he falters. A sharp snap. A growl hidden in the flesh of your throat. How can he hold himself back from eating when he’s been starving for so long? 

“Christ, pet, you’re squeezing me—so fucking tight,” he murmurs over the background music of your cunt squelching with each thrust. “So perfect…” 

“That feels so good.” You’re panting. Eyes shut tight as you allow the bliss to fall over you. “Y-You’re so—ah—so big, Kyle. Fuck i-it feels so good.” 

Praise; it’s all his mind can register. He’s doing good. This is good. It feels good. For him—for you. He allows himself to let go a little. Indulging in the side of your neck, he runs his tongue over your scent gland until you’re whining from the stimulation, legs trembling around his hips and head turned to the side. His skin collects beneath your nails as you rake them down his body—back, arms, chest—but the pain only rials him up more.

It’s a good pain—one finally born of love rather than violence. No whizzing bullets or explosions ragdolling him, but you. The pretty omega trying so desperately to wiggle beneath his skin, to make a home in his chest, to curl up amongst his ribs and purr. Leaning back, he looks down at you and soaks in the view of your wet eyes, bouncing tits and the pout that forms on your lips when you’ve determined he’s wandering too far away. 

“Kyle! I’m—oh fuck,” you stutter. Your feet are kicking out behind him a little, knees extending just as your eyelids begin to flutter. Worried, his pace begins to slow until you snap at him with desperate hands on his shoulders. “No, no, no please, please I’m so close, keep-keep going.” 

Those are the only words he needs to hear to spring himself back into action. Abandoning his usual equanimity, Kyle’s thrusts become more erratic as he stares down at you, pupils dilating as he awaits the delicious moment you fall apart on his cock. Everything is bliss. Caught in perfect harmony. This is what that ancient piece of his brain has been yearning for despite being shoved beneath his skin, deep under his flesh where it festered for years. Now it’s free. A beautiful culmination here in his very hands. 

Then, he sees it. The tightening of the muscles in your neck, the way your diaphragm spazzes as your breath catches in your throat—before he knows it you’re constricting him, cunt pulsing in time with your orgasm as your walls squeeze around him, beckoning him in deeper. It’s as if a flip has switched. A brutal betrayal of his body, his core tenses up almost painfully and it’s as if his limbs have a mind of their own. 

Just as you cry out with your head tossed back against the pillows as far as they’ll allow, his knot slips into you before rapidly swelling wide, locking him against you. Gasping at the intrusion, you lift yourself up in an attempt to see where your bodies are joined. You feel the head of his cock up snug against your cervix as he spills into you, and the burn that follows as he nearly has you gaping is enough to steal your breath away. 

Still, it’s not enough. Even as his cum spills into you, even as you shakily smile up at him through your post-ecstasy tremors—

—that pretty little gland on the side of your neck calls to him. 

A siren's song he can’t block out, he stares at it as his weight begins to settle into you. Stomach meeting yours, arms on either side of your head; his tongue darts out between his lips and he swears even with the distance he can taste you. All musk and sugary vanilla sure to rot his teeth straight through the core. Syrupy vodka drowning out his senses until he’s drunk, unsteady on his palms.

His heart beats hard and fast in his chest. It’s as if it’s trying to tear itself apart. Cord by cord until nothing but shredded muscle and degraded arteries are left in its wake. His huff is warm against your face, fanning across your sweating skin, he notes the way your brows narrow. 

“Kyle? Is everything—”

His teeth meet flesh quickly followed by bone. Rock solid, firm against his canines; he grunts as blood floods into his mouth. Watery on his tongue, he can’t pull away from the flavor despite the pain blossoming in his body. After a few moments he begins to shake, biceps weakening, hardly able to keep himself afloat; the only reason he doesn’t crash is because of your alluring voice. 

“Easy,” you coo, fingers running along his spine. “Don’t hurt yourself, Ky.” 

Eventually he gets his teeth to unlatch, and when he pulls away he realizes he’s marked nothing more than the side of his hand. Deep dents mar the thick flesh of his thumb all the way to the tender metacarpals that scream out in agony as his blood runs and soaks into the bedsheets. His eyes flutter shut and he groans as he buries his face against you, body yearning so terribly for the real thing that he’s nearly left writhing on top of you. 

He wants it so bad—wants you so bad—but he knows he shouldn’t. 

You start taking deep, intentional breaths that he can’t help but fall into the rhythm of. His nerves calm, no longer jittery yet still teetering on the edge—he feels the bite of his rut ebb. It’s the closest to the real thing he’s gotten in quite some time, and the hormone dump helps to clear his head, even if only marginally. 

“Better?” you ask. 

“Yeah,” Kyle sighs, nose prodding along the underside of your chin. Better, but not perfect—not yet. 

“I’ve never seen an alpha bite into their own hand like that before,” you admit with a giggle. 

He shakes his head. “I can’t mark you. Can’t claim you.” 

The temperature in the room plummets, and you go still. “...oh?” 

“I can’t. Can’t do that. Can’t mark you. I won’t.” 

Through his mumbling, the swelling in his knot goes down enough for him to slip out of you, but his erection is still painfully present. Whatever response that’s bubbling up in your throat is pushed out as he rocks his hips back slowly, then snaps them forward. That heat is rising within him again. That demand that nature finally takes its course. 

Just before his lips crash against yours once more, you hear him growl: “This is gonna fucking kill me.”

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates | early access to chapters here

[yunjiluvr]

puppy megan — nsfw thoughts!

first time writing thoughts and not a full fic teehee (but it’s lowkey a fic kinda)

g!p puppy!megan, soft dom f!reader, unprotected sex, tiny bit of size kink, stomach bulge, knotting, creampie, meg refers to reader as ‘mommy’

puppy!megan is the type to whine for her owner not to leave and sit by the door all day waiting for them to come home :( imagine coming home from a long and exhausting day at work to see your puppy waiting for you at the front door🥺 her tail wagging at mach speed, the little tags on her peach-colored collar jingling as she jumps up to hug you before you even fully make it through the door.

“hii mei mei~ have you been good today?”

and of course she has. megan’s always a good girl and rarely misbehaves. she has acted out maybe once or twice, but she quickly learned her lesson after you punished her. she absolutely hates being punished. she needs you to tell her 24/7 how good she is, not say she’s a bad girl😣 bc she’s not!

puppy!megan is always more than happy to help you relax or relieve stress and use her however you like. yes i am adding onto the pillow princess megan agenda😼 so it’s no surprise that she gladly lets you push her down to the couch and have your way with her~

whispering “who’s my good girl?” while riding her on the couch, the title making her tail thump against the cushions <3 silly little thing would go “me me me!” before turning back into a whiny mess. you would tell megan to be a good pup and not touch, trying to teach the girl self control, and of course she’s your good girl so she keeps her hands to herself!!! she’s def a waist grabber so she has to focus hard so her hands don’t fly to your hips out of habit.

lightly tugging on her collar so she’s looking up at you>>> puppy!megan would look up at you with the softest puppy eyes everrr, ears twitching, tail inconsistently wagging and all. will whine out little pleas just to try and coax you to allow her hands on you. she just wants to feel you! she seems like the type to let out little gasps and whines, maybe a groan here and there. and her eyes will roll back bc her cock just isn’t meant to fit in such a tight space and it feels too good ☹️

puppy!megan will get whinier and start panting when her climax approaches. she would beg to touch you, or for you to at least do something, like rub those spots behind her ears that makes her brain go all fuzzy :(( and after you finally give her permission to touch, megan’s big hands are running all over your body, groping and squeezing as much as she can at once. the greedy pup bouncing you up and down her thick cock just to see the bulge in your tummy :( her dull claws will dig at your sides as she mumbles pleas to breed you and make you hers all over again

you will 100% find her mouth on your neck or tits, drooling all over the smooth skin, leaving little bites and marks to claim you as hers. and as soon as you say something like, “aww mei mei you poor little thing. cum for me, pup~” her brain is short circuiting and she’s immediately burying her knot deep inside you, hugging you tightly while her hips buck up into the warmth. if you rub that spot behind her fluffy ears, she’ll cum 10x harder :((( n that’s when she’ll be loud. moaning into your chest as her thighs shake and she paints your walls white while whining “mommyyy” <33

your puppy will never disappoint you. she’ll always be at your service no matter what, and in return she needs you to call her the goodest girl ever and give her lots of treats😤

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

i’ll come back later and add to this if i think of anything else :]

[endstar]

Vampire beirce sighs, and rubs the bridge of nose.

🦇"…don’t get reckless, Houser… contain yo—"🦇

Suddenly the vampire takes off with terrifying speed, and instead of using the latter grips his claws into the side of the wooden obstacle course, and starts climbing it, leaving deep claw marks within its wood.

🦇"or… don’t listen to me, like usual. That’s fine."🦇

Bierce begins to climb as well… but more like a normal person unlike the beast which is vampire Doug.

The multiverse is full of infinite possibilities...

Most worlds tend to connect through similar builds. Through stories, people, themes...

It's no surprise seeing a stranger to the multiverse. What IS surprising, however, was his condition. Covered in deep wounds, limbs twisted and torn, and he appeared to be drowning in his own blood by the time he was found. Holy weapons were embedded in his skin, and the flesh sizzled liked bacon around it.

He had red skin, gray hooves, horns that looked far too round and circular to have normally grown out of his head. His long pointed tail is covered in hand prints, and there are bones exposed out of his back. He lays face first in a pool of his own boiling blood, barely breathing or moving.

@ask-underfazverse

Cry’s come from the mass amounts of strangers, many just back away to cowedly to do anything, but a few step up, and begin to heal him. Mainly the younger, less evil Malak’s, a few Doug’s that are just simply concerned, and only one Bierce.

Dream Malak very hurriedly takes him to his hospital, with the help of the others.

[heavenlybodies333]

Perfect Little Intern -A.H

Aaron Hotchner x intern!reader

You sat perched at your little intern desk, the one with a faulty drawer and a squeaky chair that Garcia swore she’d fix but hadn’t. Your fingers hovered above your keyboard, pretending to type something of value, when really you were hyper-focused on the slow, predatory walk of SSA Aaron Hotchner as he exited his office, a file tucked beneath his arm and a bruising reminder of your night spent with him hidden neatly under the collar of his shirt.

He didn’t look at you. He didn’t need to. Your thighs pressed together instinctively, a Pavlovian reaction at this point.

You’d slept with your boss. Multiple times. Were still sleeping with him, in fact. It started two months ago, and you’d both convinced yourselves it was an isolated incident—something about stress, and late nights. But this, this is what you needed after four months of bullshit with the walking beige flag that is your boyfriend—Ethan from IT, who thinks quoting Reddit makes him intellectual and missionary is “kinky.” Hotch is none of those things. He’s everything else.

“Hey,” you chirped as you passed the IT desk.

Ethan barely looked up from his screen. “You didn’t answer my texts last night.”

You pretended not to notice the edge in his tone—or the fact that the man you’d spent the entire night tangled beneath hadn’t bothered pretending he wasn’t watching from the mezzanine. You felt Hotch’s gaze like a hot stone on your skin.

“I was asleep,” you lied with a bright smile. “Long day.”

Ethan gave a small, bitter laugh under his breath. “Right.”

Right.

“Good Morning.” You startled slightly at the sound of Hotch’s voice as you stepped away from Ethan. He was walking past you toward the bullpen, perfectly pressed suit, tie already knotted, no trace of the man who’d had you on your knees in his kitchen twelve hours ago, your hands clutching his thighs, mascara streaking down your cheeks as he said—You think your boy’ ever made you cry like this? Look at me. Look at me when I come in your mouth.

“Hotch,” you greeted coolly, trying to force your voice into something non-sexual. It came out about two octaves too low, breathy as hell.

He didn’t stop walking, didn’t look at you, just muttered: “There’s a file for you on my desk. Bring it into my office when you’re done.”

You nodded. “Yes, sir.” He turned his head slightly at that, and you swore the corner of his mouth twitched.

Forty-five minutes later, you swallow and force your hands to stop fussing with the hem of your skirt before making a beeline for Hotch’s office.

You shut the door; the soft snick of the latch might as well echo like a gunshot. Hotch doesn’t look up right away. He’s standing at the window, one hand in a pocket, the other pinching the bridge of his nose as though the skyline of Quantico personally stressing him.

“Summary,” he says without turning.

You clear your throat, flip the folder open, and launch into the bullet points—three victims, identical ligature marks, escalating timeline. Your voice is steady until you feel him move. He crosses the room in measured steps, stopping inches behind you. The scent of cedar and aftershave sinks its claws into your focus.

“You’re leaving something out,” he murmurs, low enough to vibrate in your chest.

“Victims were all found with…bruise patterns matching a three‑finger compression,” you manage, voice hitching. “Like someone wanted to leave a signature.”

His fingers coast lightly over the collar of your blouse, grazing the hidden purples blooming on your neck. Three fingertips. “Good girl.” Velvet approval. Your stomach flips.

“Hotch,” you hiss, but it comes out as a plea.

The blinds are closed, but glass carries sound; the bullpen hums just beyond. Anyone could wonder why the intern’s debrief is taking so long. Your pulse drums at the risk—and at how badly you want him to keep going.

“Let’s see it.” He orders.

You blinked. “What?”

“Your neck.”

Your face flushed. “Hotch n—”

“Aaron,” he corrected smoothly, stepping closer, voice lowered. “You moaned it enough last night, you don’t get to pretend you don’t know it now.”

God. Your body betrayed you instantly.

He reached out and tilted your chin gently up with two fingers, brushing your hair aside to reveal the constellation of bruises and bite marks that littered your skin. His lips parted slightly.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “I did a number on you.”

You swallowed thickly. “You always do.”

That earned the ghost of a smile. His hand wrapped around your throat—not tight, not bruising this time, just enough to make you look at him again. “You want him to find out?”

“No,” you whispered.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low. “Because the way you were moaning last night, anyone within five miles of my place could’ve guessed you weren’t being faithful.”

You clenched your jaw. “Don’t act like you don’t like it rough,” he added. “I have the bruises to prove otherwise.”

Your eyes flicked to the collar of his shirt, just slightly loosened today. You’d kissed him there, bitten your way down his chest.

He pauses before saying, “I saw the way you smiled at him.”

You raised a brow. “You mean my boyfriend?”

Hotch closed the space between you in three strides. “That boy wouldn’t know what to do with you if he had a manual and a map.”

You tried to play it cool—tried. But when he backed you up against the table and leaned down, your mouth went dry. His voice was a razor behind your ear. “I bet it doesn’t feel like this with that boy of yours, does it?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t call him that.”

“Why not?” His tone is sharp, mocking. “That’s what he is, isn’t he? You tell me—does he make you come like I do?”

You glare. “That’s not the point.”

“Of course it is.” Hotch straightens, looking down at you with all the smugness of a man who already knows the answer. “You keep crawling back into my bed every time you have a fight. Or he forgets something important. Or, what was it last week? He said you ‘overreacted’ to being left at Quantico without a ride?”

“That was a dick move.”

“He’s a child,” Hotch says, voice tightening. “You need a man who knows what to do with you. Who can put you in your place when you’re acting like a brat—”

“Oh, fuck off—”

“—and remind you,” he says, leaning in again, his hand threading around your jaw to tilt your face up to his, “exactly what it means to be wanted. Properly.”

The hand on your jaw tightens slightly—nothing rough, not now, not like last night—but enough to make your breath hitch. It’s the kind of possessive touch that feels almost loving in the way it dominates your attention. You can’t look away. “I hate when you talk like that,” you whisper, throat dry.

“No, you don’t.” His lips graze yours in the most frustrating almost-kiss. “You love it when I make decisions for you. When I tell you what you need. When I pull you over my desk and take what’s mine.”

You moan softly, the sound involuntary, humiliated by the way your body pulses at his words. “You’re such a fucking asshole,” you breathe.

He laughs. “And you’re a fucking brat.”

“Is that what you like about me?” you ask, chin tipping up stubbornly. “Or is it just that I’m twenty-three and flexible?”

That earned you a tight grip to your throat, his thumb pressing at your pulse. Enough to make your knees wobble. “I want you to remember who you’re mouthing off to.”

“Funny,” you said, leaning forward over his desk. “Because I don’t remember you complaining last night when I was on my mouth.”

"Turn around," he said, already unbuckling his belt. "Hands on the table."

You bit your lip.

“What? Not gonna fight me on it this time?”

You turned. Bent. Smiled. “Thought I’d be nice for once.”

Hotch scoffed behind you. “You don’t know how to be nice.”

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the desk with one hand, the other sliding between your legs, parting you with slow, calculated cruelty.

You whined. “Aaron—”

“Don’t whine,” he snapped. “That’s for when I don’t give you what you want.”

Your cheeks burned, but your body responded like it always did—with shameless, dripping need. You pressed back into him instinctively, trying to grind against the teasing brush of his fingers.

He clicked his tongue. “Desperate already?”

“It’s your fault,” you bit out.

Another slap, this time to the inside of your thigh.

“You know how to ask nicely.”

“Please,” you hissed. “Please, just—”

He groaned, undoing his belt fully now, the soft leather sound obscene in the silence of his office.

He sank into you in one perfect, devastating thrust.

You gasped, your forehead hitting the desk. Your legs wobbled.

“Oh my God—”

Hotch didn’t give you a second to adjust. He grabbed your hips and pulled you back into him again, setting a punishing rhythm from the start.

“This what you need?” he grunted, fucking into you with rough, desperate precision. “Is this what you keep coming back for?”

“Yes—God, yes—”

“You let him kiss you,” he snarled. “You smiled at him like you don’t come on my cock every goddamn night.”

You moaned, vision going white.

“I should fuck you in his stupid little server room. Let you come all over my hand where he could walk in and see exactly who you belong to.”

You sobbed a curse, your body already tight, trembling. “I—I can’t—Aaron—”

“Hold it.”

You shook your head wildly, panting. “I can’t—”

“You will,” he said, breath hot against your neck as he leaned down, voice tightening. “You’ll come when I say, and not a second before. Or I’ll make you scream my name so loud, I’ll make damn sure he hears it.”

You bit your lip so hard it nearly bled. He leans down, mouth pressed behind your ear, his hips still moving in punishing strokes. “You act out, you get bent over. You mouth off, you get filled up. That’s the deal.”

You nod helplessly.

“Say it.”

“That’s the deal,” you whisper.

He fucks you harder, his breath ragged now, his control slipping. The desk creaks beneath your hips. You can feel yourself tightening around him.

You stifled a moan, barely able to keep your hands flat against the wood. He wasn’t being gentle this morning. Not when he’d seen you flirting.

He holds you up through it, never slowing down, still fucking you through the waves of your orgasm as you whimpered. “That’s it,” he grits. “That’s my good girl. Can’t even think without me, can you?”

You barely manage to nod. Hotch curses under his breath, then slams into you once—twice—and groans your name as he comes, low and possessive in your ear. You can feel the warmth having your whole body buzzing. You were limp against the desk, trembling.

He held you there, panting above you, and slowly, slowly, pulled out. You whimpered at the emptiness, the aching.

He cleaned you up gently, far too gentle for the way he’d just wrecked you. He pressed a soft kiss to the bruises already forming on your shoulder.

“Go clean up,” he murmurs. “Take the back stairwell. You’ve got…” he glances at his watch. “Six minutes before the team briefing.”

You turn over your shoulder, dazed and purring, “That’s it?”

He raises a brow. “Unless you want to walk into the bullpen with my come still inside you.”

And then he slaps your ass once, sharp and affectionate. “Go.”

You adjust your skirt. Try to fix your hair. Fail. Your legs are jelly.

At the door, you pause. Turn back and say. “Hotch?”

His head tilts. You chew your lip, grin. “I really, really hate you.”

You slip out without another word, taking the back stairwell like he told you. You make it into the bathroom with four minutes to spare. When you catch your reflection, you wince.

Your mascara’s intact—barely. You fix the collar of your blouse, smooth down your skirt, and try to ignore the dull ache between your thighs that’s somehow already begging for more.

By the time you walk into the briefing room, the rest of the team is there—Reid flipping through pages, JJ nursing her coffee, and Morgan cracking a quiet joke to Garcia. Hotch isn’t there yet, thank God.

Ethan is.

He’s sitting near the back with his laptop open, the BAU's central database up, humming some awful indie remix to himself. You try to ignore the way his face lights up when he sees you—like he didn’t send you five increasingly passive-aggressive texts last night that you never answered.

“Hey, babe,” he whispers, leaning toward you like he’s about to kiss your cheek.

You dodge. Slide into the chair next to him with a tight smile.

He frowns. “Everything okay?”

“Peachy,” you lie.

Just as he opens his mouth to say something else—Hotch enters. He’s in a fresh shirt. Navy tie. Clipboard in hand. And not a single trace of what he did to you fifteen minutes ago.

“Morning,” he says simply, moving to the front of the room.

And in that look, in that two-second stare that no one else seems to notice, you hear every filthy thing he ever said to you with his hands around your throat and your body pinned beneath his.

Your mouth goes dry. Hotch doesn’t so much as blink. “Let’s get started.”

Your legs press together. Again. You keep it together, just barely. Manage to stammer out something semi-coherent about timeline patterns and behavioral escalation. His eyes linger on you a second longer than necessary. Next to you, Ethan leans over again. “You’re being weird today,” he murmurs.

You force a smile. “Just tired.”

He leans in closer, brushing his fingers down your arm like he’s entitled to you. “Come over tonight?”

“I can’t,” you say automatically. “Working late.”

His jaw tics as you direct your attention back to Hotch.

Hotch’s voice filters through the room, sharp and clear as ever. “Three victims. All local to the Quantico area. Pattern’s escalating.”

He looks to you. “Walk us through the victimology.”

Your throat is dry when you speak. “All women, late twenties to mid-thirties. No history of criminal behavior. Found within a ten-mile radius of each other, same ligature marks, identical postmortem staging.”

Hotch nods once. “And the signature?”

You cross your legs tightly and clear your throat. “…The unsub is escalating,” you finish, forcing your voice to steady out. “And I think he’s going to start targeting in-home victims soon. Isolated, routine-driven, easy access.”

Hotch nods once. No expression. No gratitude. Just: “Good work. Stay late. I want your full profile by tonight.”

And then he moves on—like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just bend you over his desk and ruin you fifteen minutes ago.

You feel Ethan shift beside you. “What a dick,” he mutters under his breath.

You force yourself not to laugh. Not because it’s wrong—but because if Ethan had any idea why Hotch is a dick, he’d probably shit a brick.

When the meeting ends, Ethan stands and tugs gently on your arm. “Wanna grab a coffee before you go back to your desk?”

“No,” Hotch answers smoothly from behind you, voice like silk over steel. “She’ll be in my office. We have a follow-up on the compression pattern from this morning.”

Your jaw drops. Ethan looks between the two of you, blinking. “Oh. Okay…”

Hotch doesn’t wait for you to follow. Just turns and walks off, his confidence obscene, his command total.

Ethan shrugs. “Guess I’ll see you later?”

You nod at Ethan, too stunned to form words. “Yeah. Later,” you mumble, already backing away, already under gravity’s pull toward the man you’re not supposed to want and absolutely can’t stop needing.

You follow Hotch down the hallway, keeping a pace that makes it seem—if someone were watching—like you weren’t following, exactly. Just…moving in the same direction. Just an intern. Just doing your job.

But then the door to his office clicks shut behind you, and the heat of him is back. And this time, he doesn’t touch you.

He just watches. Arms crossed. Jaw clenched. And something entirely unreadable in his eyes.

“Sit,” he says.

You do, carefully, thighs still tender beneath your skirt. He watches the way you squirm in the seat, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sore?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

His brow lifts. “That wasn’t a no.”

You glare. “You said we had to go over the compression pattern.”

He takes a step closer. Then another. Doesn’t stop until he’s braced his hands on the edge of the desk and leaned over you. “We do,” he murmurs. “But I’m going to say something, and I want you to actually listen this time.”

You open your mouth, smartass retort locked and loaded—but he cuts you off with one look. “You need to end it.”

Silence pulses between you.

“With Ethan?” you say, pretending you don’t already know where this is going.

His gaze is firm. “Yes.”

You scoff. “You don’t get to tell me who I date.”

“I’m not.” He straightens, tone cooling, words chosen with precision. “I’m telling you that the games stop here. If you want this—whatever it is—you don’t get to keep dangling him like a safety net.”

You blink. “So what, you’re jealous now?”

“No,” he says immediately. “I’m serious. If he finds out, this blows up for both of us. So either you cut him loose and stop dragging him into the middle of this—” he gestures between the two of you, “—or this ends. Today.”

You hate the way your stomach drops. Hate the way that threat feels too close to real. You reach for his tie, fingers curling around the navy silk. “I don’t want it to end.”

His breath hitches. His jaw works silently for a moment, like he’s fighting the urge to kiss you or argue with you or both. But then he brings one hand to your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye.

“Then be sure,” he says, voice low. “Because I’m not doing this halfway anymore.”

You nod. Once. “I’m sure.”

The kiss he gives you then is nothing like the ones before—nothing hurried, nothing dirty, nothing meant to bruise.

You leave his office five minutes later with your hair still in place and your skirt unwrinkled for once, but your head a complete mess.

Ethan’s not at his desk. Thank God.

You find him in the break room ten minutes later.

He’s microwaving something in a sad Tupperware container, humming under his breath. Still wearing that damn hoodie he thinks makes him look “approachable.”

You lean against the doorway. “Hey.”

He turns, surprised. “Hey. Thought you were—uh, with Hotchner?”

You nod. “I was.”

He waits for an explanation you don’t give.

“I need to talk to you,” you say.

And from the way his face falls, he knows. “Don’t,” he says softly. “Don’t do the whole it’s not you thing. Just—rip the band-aid.”

You swallow. “It’s not working.”

He looks at the floor. Nods. “Yeah. I know.” You don’t say much else. You don’t need to. Ethan blinks a few times, forcing a small, resigned smile. “Guess I’ll cancel the dinner reservation.”

“I’m sorry,” you manage.

“Yeah.” He sighs, sets the Tupperware aside, and offers a half‑hearted shrug. “Me too. Take care of yourself, okay?”

You nod and step out before either of you has to pretend it hurts more than it does.

Hotch is waiting in the corridor outside the bullpen, coffee in one hand, case file in the other. One sharp glance sweeps over your face—searching, confirming—before he passes you the mug.

“All done?” he asks, voice low enough for only you.

You wrap your fingers around the warm paper cup. “All done.”

He nods once, approval flickering in the curve of his mouth. Nothing more is said; it doesn’t have to be. You fall into step beside him, two professionals headed back to work—you walk quietly past the rest of the team, their chatter fading behind you.

When you reach the briefing room again, he doesn’t look at you. Just hands you another folder and says, “Victim’s sister is waiting for an interview. You’re sitting in.”

You nod. “Of course.”

Your fingers brush his as you take the file. And when you reach the stairs, he holds the door open like always—like a gentleman, like a man who wrecks you in private and remembers your coffee order in public.

You pause just inside the stairwell, waiting for the door to swing shut behind you. Then, quietly—without looking—he murmurs, “Proud of you.”

Your heart skips. Stupid, how badly that lands.

The interview goes off without a hitch. You sit, you nod, you ask the right questions. You play your part. By the time the sister leaves, glassy-eyed and clutching tissues, Hotch thanks her, closes the door, and looks at you.

You raise an eyebrow, daring him.

He only smirks. Barely. “Nice work.”

You smile, saccharine. “You too. Very professional.”

His gaze drops to your mouth. “Very.”

So much for professionalism.

a/n: I actually hate editing in public I’m so scared of someone reading over my fucking shoulder holy FUCK anyways here’s some more Hotch smut lmao

[jade-zzz]

MIND, BODY, AND SOUL

... YANDERE AK! JASON TODD

SYNOPSIS : After running into Bruce as the Arkham Knight, Jason spirals—again. You try to comfort him, to bring him back from the edge. But Jason doesn’t want comfort. He wants you. And the way he takes it isn’t quite what you expected.

WARNINGS : Yandere, Obsessive and Possessive Behaviour, Toxic Relationship, Mental Breakdown, Dubious Consent, NSFW, Sexual Content

A/N : I have a soft spot for Arkham knight Jason, he’s my baby INTERACTIONS AND REBLOGS ENCOURAGED!

You’ve woken to the aftermath of Jason’s breakdowns before.

They always left the same haunting traces behind—blood smeared like desperate brushstrokes across the white of the bathroom, crimson streaks like finger-painted agony across the tiles, shards of shattered picture frames glittering under the moonlight. The mirror was never whole. Its jagged remains clung stubbornly to the wall, fragments jutting out like teeth, still reflecting scattered in slivered pieces.

Tonight is no different. The first thing to reach you is the scent—sharp, metallic, impossible to mistake. Blood. It hangs heavy in the air, iron-rich and thick, clinging to your throat with every breath. You move slowly through the hallway, bare feet skimming past a ruined photo half-buried beneath splinters of glass. Your face, still visible, is split straight down the center. His side has been obliterated entirely. A fist, his fist, had done that.

By morning, the frames will be replaced. They always are.

He always fixes them. Yours first—smoothed out with calloused hands and fitted lovingly into new frames as if trying to glue the past back together with trembling hands. His own half, though… rarely replaced. He never looks long enough to care, crumpled photo paper shoved in the trash bag.

But for now, a trail of crimson leads toward the bathroom again.

You don’t have to ask what happened. You already know.

He’d seen him.

Not Batman. Not even Bruce. Just him. The man who left marks on his soul that never healed right. Jason doesn’t speak his name. He doesn’t need to. But his silence screams it every time. Bruce is the ghost that drags its chains through every shadow of Jason’s mind. No matter how far he runs, Bruce always catches up.

You breathe in slowly and push open the bathroom door.

Your eyes adjust to the darkness, carving out the outline of a shape crouched in the corner of the bathroom. He’s there, curled into himself like a collapsed nestling who fell out the nest, crouched in the corner with his arms over his knees. Shoulders hunched, fingers curled into fists slick with blood. The tile beneath him smeared with blood drips steadily from split knuckles, the rhythm uneven. He doesn't look at you. He rarely does after nights like this. The mirror above him cracked, lines like webbing decorating it.

Jason avoids mirrors like they might bare his soul and confirm the thing he already fears: that he came back wrong. That whatever clawed its way out of the grave wasn’t really him anymore. Not human. Not whole. Something ugly. Something unloveable.

And maybe he’s right.

You stand in the doorway, backlit in moonlight.

“Go back to sleep,” he mutters, voice rough as gravel, worn thin by fury and exhaustion. It’s not a request, not really. Just the only kindness he can offer right now.

But you don’t move. Your heart pounds—loud, too loud—as if it’s trying to warn you before your mind catches up.

The Arkham Knight was ruthless in every form—lethal in combat, cold in words, relentless even in the way he touched. There was no softness to him, not really. Just heat and fury and a deep, festering ache he barely held at bay.

And yet, you’d become his only weakness.

Jason hated it—how attached he’d grown, how your name had embedded itself in the hollow parts of his soul like a splinter he couldn’t dig out. The worst part? You still fought. You still snapped at him, pushed him, glared at him like you hadn’t already given yourself over to the madness blooming in the space between you. But the second his arms wrapped around you—tight, caging,—you melted. Every time. The resistance vanished in his grip. The fight always ended in your breath catching against his throat, in the tremble of your fingers curling into his shirt.

Jason loved the way you tried to mask your worry—the way your eyes flickered, just briefly, when you saw the blood trailing down his arms. You never said anything at first. Not right away. You just took him in with that quiet, frantic glance, your mouth pressing into a thin line as if restraint could protect either of you from the truth. But he saw it. The trembling in your fingertips. The ache behind your gaze. And it thrilled him—because that fear wasn’t for yourself. It was for him.

But if there was one thing he loved more than your devotion, it was you.

The way your thighs trembled when he touched you. The way your breath caught as he pushed you open, whispering things that weren’t quite praise and weren’t quite threats. The way your body responded to him like it had been waiting, aching, sculpted by fate to take only him.

He adored the slick heat of you wrapped around his fingers, the helpless arch of your spine when he pressed deeper, the ruined sound of your voice whispering his name like it was a prayer and a surrender all at once.

But most of all, he savoured the moments when he had you spread beneath him, gasping, trembling, completely undone—his mouth between your legs, his tongue slow and deliberate as he tasted the place that belonged solely to him.

There was something wickedly intoxicating about the way you tasted—bitter at first, then sweet, layered with every breathless sigh he pulled from your lips. He devoured you like a starving man with no promise of a second meal, eyes fixed on your face as he dragged you closer to the edge. Not just to make you come—no. To own that pleasure. To hear you cry out his name like it was the only word you remembered.

Because in that moment, you were his.

[thatonegrimm]

Hii!!! I love how you write the boys! Can I get the saja boys reacting to their girl loving their demon side and being super into it for spicy reasons? Xx hope you’re doing well!!

Hii!! Thank you so much — that means the world 🖤 and YES. You are so, so correct for wanting this. A girl who’s not scared of their demon side? Who’s into it? Who thinks the glowing marks and glowing eyes and fangs are hot?

Yeah. That’s absolutely going to break them.

Reader who…Loves their demon side (a lot)

-----------------------

🧿 Jinu 

Jinu didn’t mean for you to see him like that.

He’d lost control — full transformation, no glamor. Skin a cold lilac, glowing lines spiraling from his sigil across his chest, claws curved black and precise. Eyes golden, slit like a predator’s.

He turned fast. Covered his face with one hand.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Wait.”

You stepped closer, breath caught in your throat.

“Jinu.”

“…Yeah?”

“Your skin is… gorgeous.” Your voice dropped. “You didn’t tell me you had glowy marks. That’s unfair.”

He blinked, claws twitching. “This is my actual form. You’re not supposed to like it.”

You reached up, traced a glowing line near his collarbone with one finger. “Well, I do. A lot.”

His breath caught.

“You like this?”

“Jinu,” you said firmly. “It’s hot. Your eyes—god, you could wreck me just by looking at me like that. “So, like?” You stepped in closer, eyes flicking up to his. “No — I’m obsessed.”

The glow pulsed under your touch.

He made a noise in his throat — surprised, like the wind had been knocked out of him.

“…I’m going to need a moment,” he whispered hoarsely.

You didn’t give him one.

-----------------------

💪 Abby 

You weren’t supposed to see Abby transformed.

Not like this — lilac skin lined with glowing violet cracks, light pouring out from inside his arms and chest like magma sealed behind stone. Gold eyes that flickered with heat. Claws big enough to crush.

He hated how imposing it made him look.

Until he turned and saw you staring. Not scared.

Hungry.

“You okay?” he asked carefully.

You nodded.

Then: “You have no idea what you look like right now.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, voice rough. “Didn’t mean to scare—”

“Don’t move.”

He froze.

You circled him slowly, eyes wide, one finger brushing a glowing fracture on his bicep. “You’re… beautiful.”

He blinked. He swallowed. “…No one’s ever said that when I look like this.”

Then, quieter: “I look like a broken statue.”

“Exactly,” you breathed. “Like something dangerous people worship by accident.”

His claws flexed. “You’re not scared?”

You met his gaze. “I want to see how warm you get when I touch you here.”

You touched the brightest line on his chest.

He groaned.

And picked you up like you weighed nothing.

-----------------------

📚 Mystery

Mystery never let anyone see his true form.

He only shifted in shadow. In reflections. When he thought you wouldn’t notice.

But you did.

He appeared after a hunt, bones still humming with power, eyes glowing gold under heavy bangs, skin pale violet with thin, crack-like sigils running down his spine and chest. His claws still smoked faintly.

You said nothing.

You stared.

“…Don’t look at me like that.”

You stepped forward. “Like what?”

“Like you’re… into it.”

“I am.”

He flinched.

“I have claws.”

“I want to feel them drag.”

His eyes widened.

“I’m not pretty like this.”

“You’re divine.”

He kissed you then, clawed hands trembling as his voice broke a little. “No one’s ever said that to me.”

“Then I’ll say it again.”

He kissed you — a little desperate, a little feral — like he finally believed you meant it.

-----------------------

💋 Romance 

Romance never hid his demon form.

Why would he?

Lilac skin. Gold-slit eyes. Violet runes blooming along his neck and ribs like tattoos carved by moonlight. Even his claws were elegant — too sharp, too precise.

“You know,” you said once, leaning against the wall while he finished shifting, “you’re hot normally. But like this?”

He grinned. “Better?”

“Unfair.”

He flexed his hands. Gold glinted.

“Want me to scratch your back or something?”

“I want you to wreck me.”

He blinked.

Then smirked.

“My love” he purred, stepping in close, “don’t ask for things I’ve been waiting centuries to give.”

You didn’t sleep much that night.

Or at all.

-----------------------

🔥 Baby 

Baby didn’t like when people stared at his demon form.

Not because he was shy — but because they always stared like he was a weapon.

Violet markings flickered up his spine like wildfire. His skin shimmered pale lilac, claws sharp and flexing with residual power. His gold eyes glowed too brightly in the dark.

He meant to hide.

But you walked in, saw the full picture — and nearly choked.

“Stay. Don’t glamor down.”

He blinked. “You like this?”

“Like?” You stepped forward, breath shallow. “I want to paint you like this. Then ruin you.”

His eyes went wide. Then narrowed. “Say that again.”

 “Seriously,” he growled. “Once more, slower. I wanna remember it exactly.”

You brushed his clawed hand, brought it to your throat.

“I want to worship you, fire and all.”

His patterns pulsed.

The room got hotter.

And Baby stopped pretending to be anything less than a demon made to be wanted.

-----------------------

M-List

[arc-misadventures]

Human's Heat

Kali: Hello Jaune.

Jaune: Miss Belladonna! Hi, how are you?

Kali: I've told you already Jaune, call me 'Kali.'

Jaune: Sorry, force of habit.

Kali: It's alright. So... can you tell me something Jaune. Something... Something about humans?

Jaune: Humans? What do you mean?

Kali: Well specifically something about human males...

Jaune: What about us...?

Kali: Well, bar individual faunas attributes, human females, and females are rather identical. We look similar, develop similar, each of us have the unique assets...

"Boing~!"

Jaune: Uh hu...

Kali: And, we're both have to wait for a specific time in the month to reproduce...

Jaune: I have seven sisters Kali. I know more than most men do about woman's time of the month. My mother gave me a very... pointed lesson on woman's reproduction organs...

Kali: Well, if you know that, did you know faunas males are only fertile once every two to five years?

Jaune: They're what?!

Kali: Fuanas Males are only fertile once every two to five years, and it only happens after they have already turned twenty years old!

Jaune: What?! That's... Human males start becoming fertile when we hit puberty... Mostly by our late teens we are... But, we stay that way basically until we die, it just becomes harder when we get older... So... yeah...

Kali: Oh really~?

Jaune: Uhh... yeah...?

Kali: Then perhaps Jaune, I could ask you for a favour~!

Jaune: What kind of favour...?

Kali: I had Blake when I was just eighteen, and while my husband, and I planned to have more later on... He left before that could happen... But, now... I have a young fertile human male who's always in 'season,' and I just so happening to be entering in on mine own~!

Jaune: You are...?! What...?! E-Excuse me?!

Kali: So, Jaune~! Would you like to help this old lady live out her dream, and sire a littler of golden kittens~?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: N-No claws...

Kali: Aww... but, how will I mark you as mine~?

Jaune: Wear a wedding ring?

Kali: Oh, but Sienna was going to have a go with you after you put one in me. We have to make sure who the top queen is!

Jaune: She wants to what?!

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Baby I need more of our weird little monster husband :3 He's rotting my brain

Have you lot never heard of stranger danger? Honestly

Contains- more horrors! Gore, violence, possessive behaviour, body horror

Yandere husband??? X fem reader

It seems as though you're the only person who has noticed anything different about your husband since his return. But when the household runs as smoothly as always it doesn't feel too much of a concern to explain to everybody that the Lord of the castle has been replaced by a creature who shifts faces and changes skin like he's dressing for dinner. The only difference in his demeanor is his new love for you but it's no one's place to question the relationship their lord has with his lady.

Small mercies you suppose. You once asked him what had happened to anyone who realised he really was. Your husband turned to you in bed with that lovesick smile he has every time you speak.

“I ate them, my dear,” he says it so casually the words take a moment to settle in. There are only little cracks in his facade, slightly more pronounced at night when he lets himself relax, those teeth of his, sharpened to a point are always there, peeking out if you looked hard enough.

You pale, “you eat people” repeating the obvious as you suddenly think of every time he ever nipped at you, the marks littering your neck, chest, and thighs. How you showed very little resistance to them,

“I can steal anyone's face, but if I want their memories too I eat them as well.”

“Does that mean you ate my husband?” You turn over to face his side. He looks so proud of himself as he nods. “What made you choose to take his place?” you finally ask the question you've been holding onto ever since the night he revealed himself towards you.He pulls a grimaced face at your words, cradling your head in his hands, as he pulls you so close your noses touch.

“I'm your husband now, don't call that man by the same name as me,” he pouts, it's absurd this creature pouting in your bed. “He cared nothing for you, didn't deserve that title, he didn't deserve to have you first and then waste it.” He strokes your hair lovingly. “It was an accident at first, he found me feeding and tried to kill me on his own. When his men came looking for him I had already taken his face and his memories along with that. So I thought of taking his place too.I wasn't expecting anything much but when I came here and saw you.” He leans in, peppering new kisses across your cheeks, “how could I not stay here when I have the most precious pet by my side?” he pulls you down in one sudden movement. Hovering above you as he did that night with delight in those unending eyes of his .That's what you were in his mind, the most sweetest little pet to adore. Although he may look at you with all this love, you don't believe he truly can love . He can observe, obsess and adore, but can any of this really be called love?

It's the closest thing you've ever experienced to it though. So perhaps that's why you say nothing, don't look for any help and merely melt into his touch when he is so quick to offer it. Overlooking the way he glares at anyone else who takes up space near you, the insistence on only himself accompanying you every time you want to leave the castle grounds. You can't protest these restrictions when all the permissions you enjoyed previously were all from your first husband's neglect. So you say nothing.

Until you find your way to the stables, wanting an early morning ride, one of your few freedoms he hasn't thought to amend yet. It is quiet. Too quiet when the stable boy spends each morning singing to some ballad or other as he readies your mare for you. When you open the door the sun illuminates the horrors before you, your husband half regressed into his true form. That unending black mass of teeth and claws clashing against the form he's chosen to take. Bone and flesh corrupted in this unfinished mess, feasting on something. You think it's a horse at first, your brain trying to trick your eyes to protect you from the sight of that monster consuming from the broken ribs of that stable boy. His head littered close to your feet, face frozen in a terror you must also share, the eyes having been plucked out.

That sweet stable boy who was but your own age and stammered every time you spoke. Was that his great crime?

You don't scream, you don't think you even can, there's a slow dripping sound as the creature becomes aware of the light, swiveling his neck to see who discovered this massacre. The sight of his face, a cruel amalgamation of your husband and the stable boy as well as his own form, features contorting to a mockery of your own terror. Is this being discovered in this state? He makes no move to speak, only watching your reaction as you heave your breakfast all over the stable floor. Crooning in that tenderness he seems to hold for you. He doesn't chase after you when you flee back to your bed chamber, locking the door and throwing salt against it as though that could do anything.

You made a mistake in thinking your monster was harmless to the world just because he shows gentleness with you.

There is a knock on the door, the same mournful voice crying out over and over “If you loved me you'd let me in.” howling with the wind outside. He changes tactics every so often, now it's the guilting, trying to cajole you to the door. Begging for a warm hand like a stray dog. You stay in your room, wrapped in your blanket to keep out the cold, to keep out his words. Shaking under the bed.

“Please forgive me ,I didn't mean to do it in front of you, I didn't know you would have seen it” . You pray silently that the door holds but when have the gods ever heard a prayer of protection from him? “I was only thinking for your sake, you knew the way he'd look at you, I couldn't bear it if you fell for him. And I warned him before all this, to stay away from what's mine. But he didn't listen and I had to act before it was too late. You understand why I had to do it for you, right?” He waits for your answer growing more frustrated with silence “right?” He screams, the sound echoing. He pauses, you could think he was taking deep breaths to calm himself if he was capable of breathing.

“My love, my sweet sweet love,” the door begins to shake in its frame “I didn't mean to scare you. You must have been so scared to see me like that. But I promise you, I'd never do such a thing to you. I love you too much to ever lay a finger on you, so please let me in.” There is silence finally, but no footsteps making their way away from the door. Then a slow heavy sound, as you look from the crack of light where the quilt doesn't meet the floorboards.

A black form seeping underneath the crack in the door, like ink overturned onto a page. You curl into a ball and tremble. How could you think you would be able to barricade yourself against something that can become smoke or water just as easily as he becomes solid. He is silent as he forms himself again, clothing clean, with no memory of the blood and viscera that he was soiled in. Something both solid and smoke grabs at you with little ceremony. Dragging you from your hiding place into his arms, he embraces you as though with enough effort he can squeeze you into himself.

“You were sick,” he mutters, as though that was the only thing that happened. “You should return to bed.” no word goes between you about what was just witnessed. You only nod and let him put you to bed.

“I love you,” he says over and over as though those words could erase what was seen from your mind. “I know you don't love me yet,” he cradles you against his chest. Faintly, you can still smell rust from his skin. The bile begins to rise in the back of your throat. “but I can wait, and I'll protect you to make sure no one steals you from me until then.” When he kisses you, there is no taste on his tongue. No trace of that sweet stable boy apart from a blood stain on the stable floor.

[callmenigma]

True form

Pairing: Jinu x Fem!reader Warning: Demon/Human love, fear of rejection, pain, love, hurt/comfort *

The car didn’t stop.

You never saw it coming.

One second, you were stepping off the sidewalk, laughing at something Jinu had said—and the next, the world tilted. Screams. Tires screeching. A blinding flash of headlights.

And then—

Arms around you. A blur of motion. Wind, heat, him.

Your back hit the alley wall, safely out of the street. Jinu stood between you and the chaos, chest heaving, body trembling like a live wire about to snap. He held you tight, shielding you from the debris as glass and smoke filled the air. His heartbeat thundered against your back, his breathing ragged—but he didn’t feel pain.

He felt relief.

And then—he felt you still.

Safe.

Alive.

You pulled back slightly, dazed and breathless, clutching at his shirt before you froze.

Your fingers twitched.

You looked up at him—

And froze.

He wasn’t Jinu anymore.

Or—he was.

But not just Jinu.

His black eyes were gone, replaced by burning gold. His skin shimmered faintly, glowing markings—lilac, curved like ancient ink—tracing down his neck and arms. His canines were longer, sharper. His fingers slightly clawed where they gripped the wall beside your head.

You stepped away slowly, eyes wide. “What…?”

Jinu blinked at you, confused.

“…Jinu?” you whispered.

You reached up hesitantly, your fingers brushing his forearm, eyes trailing the glowing marks dancing across his pale skin.

Then, with a shaky smile that didn’t reach your eyes, you whispered, “Okay, so… surprise magician trick? New glow-in-the-dark tattoo?”

He blinked.

Then looked down at himself.

His heart stopped.

The stripes were visible. His claws were out. His skin shimmered with that soft, unnatural glow—and his golden eyes reflected back at him in the glass of the nearby window like a stranger.

“No,” he whispered.

His hand dropped from your waist as he stepped back once. Then again.

You watched him, your smile faltering.

“Jinu…”

He kept backing away.

“No. No—fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, barely registering how his claws tangled in the strands. “You weren’t supposed to—this wasn’t—I didn’t mean—”

You took a step forward. He flinched.

“Don’t.”

The word sliced through the air, sharp and raw.

“I didn’t—” he shook his head, voice unsteady. “I didn’t want you to see this.”

You stood frozen, your chest tight with confusion and something that felt dangerously close to heartbreak.

“Why?” you asked softly.

He looked at you—fully now.

Eyes glowing. Breathing uneven. Shoulders tense, like the very air around him was too much to carry.

“Because I’m not—” he started, then stopped. Then started again, faster now, words tumbling over each other like they were being chased.

“I’m not what you think I am. I’m not just Jinu. I haven’t been—not for a long time. I’m not human anymore. I—I tried to keep it buried, I swear I did. I tried to be enough. For you. For us. But it’s in me. And I—fuck—I can’t—”

His hands curled into fists at his sides, trembling.

“I crave things I shouldn’t,” he said, voice cracking. “I hear a voice every goddamn day, telling me to take, to ruin, to destroy, that I'm not enough. And when I’m with you, when you’re near me—it goes quiet. For the first time in years, it’s quiet.”

His eyes were wide now, panic bleeding into every word.

“You make it stop. You make everything stop. And if I hurt you—if I ever lose control—”

His voice broke.

“I couldn’t live with that. I’d rather you hate me than ever have to watch myself hurt you.”

They stared at each other.

For a long moment, the world went quiet—no cars, no shouting, no wind. Just the two of them.

Jinu’s chest heaved, each breath more ragged than the last. His eyes, golden and burning, refused to blink. His claws trembled where they hung by his sides. Stripes of soft lilac flickered faintly beneath the surface of his skin—glowing like something sacred, something dangerous.

You couldn’t look away.

This was not the man you woke up next to every morning. Not the man who whispered I love yous into your hair. Not the man who held your hand like he might break without it.

And yet… it was.

This was still your Jinu.

Changed, yes. Twisted by something ancient, by something powerful—but still him.

Your heart pounded so loud in your chest you could barely hear the wind picking up around you. Your legs trembled, your fingers twitching at your sides.

And then, without meaning to, you took a step forward.

He flinched like you’d struck him.

“No—” Jinu’s voice cracked, desperate. “Don’t come closer.”

Your breath hitched. “But—Jinu—”

“Don’t.” His eyes were wild now, voice raw with something that was too close to terror. “You don’t understand. You can’t understand.”

You stopped, frozen.

“I’ve spent the last year trying to keep this hidden from you,” he rasped. “Because I knew this would happen. I knew that if you ever saw me like this—if you really saw what I am—”

He stepped back again, almost stumbling.

“You’d leave,” he whispered. “And you should.”

Silence.

The wind stirred around you, lifting strands of your hair as you stood there, breath shallow, staring at him like you were trying to memorize the shape of his soul.

“…Why?” you asked.

He swallowed, shaking his head. “Because I’m the thing you’re supposed to run from. I’m the story they warn you about. I’m the shadow at the edge of the bed, the voice that lingers when the lights go out. I’m—” his voice faltered, “—I’m not supposed to be loved.”

You took another step.

Your heart twisted.

He didn’t say it coldly. He said it like it hurt to say. Like he was breaking himself apart just to protect you.

“Jinu—”

“I’m not just glowing eyes and a couple pretty scars,” he said, something in his tone unraveling, as if he was trying not to scream. “This isn’t a fucking fairytale. I’m not cursed. I am the curse.”

“I don’t care what you were told,” you said quietly, “and I don’t care what you are.”

“You should.” His voice dropped, quieter now—tighter. “Because if I lose control, even for a second…”

He looked down at his hands—at the faint glow still pulsing in the stripes across his knuckles.

“…I could hurt you.”

You were so close now. A breath apart.

“You saved my life,” you said.

“And I might destroy it the next time,” he snapped.

His voice broke open on the last word. Not with anger. With grief.

You watched him in the dim light, heart aching in your chest like a bruise.

This wasn’t a monster.

This was the man who had held you at 3 a.m. when your world fell apart. The one who kissed your forehead when you couldn’t sleep. The one who remembered your favorite songs, the way you took your coffee, the look in your eyes when you were overwhelmed.

And now he stood there—glowing, trembling—like his very existence was a crime against your love.

And still…

You stepped closer.

One foot.

Then another.

“I don’t understand,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I don’t understand what you are. What this is.”

Jinu looked away.

“But I know you,” you added. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes snapped back to you. “You should.”

“I won’t.”

He took a sharp breath through his nose, fighting the twist in his throat.

“You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“Then show me,” you said quietly, your voice barely more than a breath. “Let me see what you’re so afraid of.”

He stared at you—like the world tilted sideways. Like everything he’d built to protect you was crumbling one brick at a time under your words.

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” he said, his voice finally soft. “Because I don’t want to see the moment you start to fear me.”

And still… you stepped closer.

Your hand hovered over his chest—just above where his heart thundered beneath the glowing patterns of his skin.

“I don’t fear you,” you whispered. “I love you.”

And maybe that was the most terrifying thing of all.

Because in that moment, he looked at you like you were the one glowing.

Like you were the miracle.

The silence that erased the voices.

The light that made even monsters believe they could be loved.

You stood before him.

Close now—close enough to see the sharp curve of his jawline trembling, the way his chest stilled like he was bracing for a blow that hadn’t come yet. His glowing eyes darted between yours, and still, he didn’t breathe.

As if waiting.

And then—

Slowly, carefully—you reached up.

Your fingers hesitated just for a second, hovering by his cheek before brushing gently against his skin.

It was warm.

Softer than you expected.

And beneath your palm, the faintest vibration—like a hum. A low, subtle energy pulsing through the glowing stripes that curved along the side of his face. They weren’t just markings. They moved, like living things, faint and magical beneath the surface.

You gasped quietly, more in awe than fear.

Jinu’s eyes fell shut.

His brow pinched, his jaw tightening.

Like your touch hurt—not physically, but in that unbearable way that only love can ache when it’s not sure if it’s deserved.

You didn’t move your hand.

You whispered, gently, “What are you?”

A long pause followed.

He didn’t open his eyes.

When he answered, his voice was a low, broken thing. “Something I never asked to be.”

Your chest ached at the way he said it.

He opened his eyes slowly—those burning, golden eyes—and looked at you like he was preparing to say goodbye.

“…I’m a demon.”

There it was.

Spoken aloud for the first time.

The word hung in the air like ash.

And he watched you. Closely. Searching for the thing he feared most. Like he’d already given up hope that you could look at him the same way ever again.

The flicker of fear in your eyes.

The recoil. The silence. The inevitable step back. The look that said you’re not what I thought you were.

The look that meant you’re no longer mine.

He waited.

Braced for it.

He deserved it.

But it never came.

Instead, you smiled.

Soft. Warm. Disbelieving, almost. And then, you whispered:

“You’re beautiful.”

His breath caught in his throat.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. Couldn’t. His brows drew together again—this time not in pain, but disbelief. His lips parted, like he wanted to protest, to correct you, to say you don’t understand what I’ve done.

But no words came.

Your thumb brushed just beneath his eye, where a violet stripe flickered like a heartbeat.

You just smiled. Gently. Steadily. Not like someone who’d seen a monster—but like someone who saw him.

Jinu blinked.

His throat tightened. He didn’t know what to do with that—your voice, your eyes, your impossible softness in the face of what he truly was. He didn’t know how to hold that kind of grace.

Of all the things you could’ve said, that wasn’t one he’d prepared for.

His voice broke again, softer this time. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

“Do you love me?”

The question dropped between you like a stone in still water.

He looked at you like he was watching the last light of the sun slip beneath the ocean—knowing it would take him with it.

“I’ve never loved anything more,” he whispered. “And I don’t know if I even deserve to say that, but it’s the only thing that’s ever felt true in me.”

You exhaled, something shaky and relieved. A tiny smile curved your lips as you leaned into him again, both hands now cupping his face.

“Then I have nothing to fear.”

Jinu blinked—confused, lost, unraveling. He didn’t understand.

But you did.

You didn’t need him to be perfect. Or human. Or anything else but his.

You rested your forehead gently against his chest, where his heart still beat beneath glowing skin.

He slowly brought his arms up—hesitant, unsure—until they wrapped around you like they didn’t believe they were allowed to. Like you’d vanish if he moved too fast.

And then, you whispered again, eyes still closed:

“Do you hear Him now?”

He stiffened.

Then realized—

He didn’t.

Not a whisper. Not a hiss. Not even a flicker of Gwi-ma’s voice clawing at the edge of his mind.

Just the sound of your breath.

The rhythm of your heartbeat, nestled so close to his.

The silence.

He sank into it like a man collapsing into a dream he never thought he’d have.

“No,” he breathed. “They’re gone.”

And you just smiled, whispering against his skin—

“Then we’re both safe.”

[thehatboxwitch]

pls make another foxturine smut ur last one was so bomb.. this time he gets the reader all to himself tho🙏🙏

fem!reader, TW // nsfw, somnophilia (kinda), breeding, reader is a bunny hybrid, foxventurine, feline ratio. part 1.

when he reaches out to the other side of the bed, he finds it empty, ratio's warmth just beginning to fade from the sheets.

you're curled up in the curve of his body, your ears soft against his arm, still sleeping soundly. despite last night's activities, nothing could cover up your sweet scent, and it made aventurine's tail thump against the sheets with his and ratio's scent mingled with yours.

"don't do anything while i'm at work," ratio had told him.

"sure," aventurine had replied, blinking innocently back.

like he was going to obey.

"bunny," he coos, rubbing an ear between his fingers.

you twitch, sigh, roll over, exposing the smooth skin of your behind to him. aventurine's fingers dance lightly over your hips, feeling the marks that either of them had left.

"if you don't get up, bunny," he whispers. "i'm gonna fuck you again."

no response. aventurine hadn't really meant it, but now you were here...

you squeak, still half-asleep, when aventurine hauls you on top of him, propping your legs open with his knees. you yelp when he bites down on one of your bunny ears, whimpering when he presses a finger to your clothed cunt.

"better get you stuffed while i have you all to myself, hm?” aventurine murmurs into your ear.

he traces a finger down your slit, satisfied to find it already damp. aventurine can feel the saliva pooling into his mouth at the scent of your arousal, sweet and musky and heady all at once.

it's all too easy to slice open your underwear with a sharpened claw. you gasp when the tip grazes your clit, and though he knows you don't mean to be erotic, aventurine can't help but sink his fingers into you (claws sheathed, of course.)

you writhe in his grasp, but what use is a little rabbit against her predator?

he scissors his fingers a few times, and before you can recover from the simulation, he's pushing his dick through the tight muscle of your entrance.

if you've ever been overstimulated before, nothing compares to the feeling of aventurine pushing up against leftover cum, kissing your cervix, warmer still than your warm, sore insides. tears are tracking down your face before you even realise they're, aventurine swiping them away with deceptively gently fingers and licking them up.

you're shuddering in the throes of orgasm without even realising it as he guides your hips up and down, seizing and writhing and wailing each time aventurine's dick twitches up against your most sensitive spots, which at that point is every inch of your ribbed walls. he's saying something - sweet somethings, cooing, nibbling at your ears.

distantly you hear the sound of a door opening, and aventurine stops moving.

"oops," he says, grinning and not the least apologetic, when he sees ratio in the doorway.

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