#unmarked anime

[ikebanaka]

My dad: the Easter Bunny isn't real and it doesn't lay chocolate eggs

Me: what?!

Me: *looks at the Easter Bunny I've had trapped in my room and laying chocolate eggs for 20 years*

The Easter Bunny: *averts its gaze*

[annieartist03]

[kanamesengoku]

awwww i love the sight of unmarked a//i art in fandom tags and innocent people unknowingly giving them notes thinking it’s actual skill :)))

[paramouradrift]

Okay, but you don't get it, the last chapter is done and it's in edits but until I have finished screaming into this pillow about Sasaki to Miyano it's going to remain in beta hell

[alwayseclecticobject]

not a huge disney fan but i fw tigger

[tonycries]

KNOTTY GIRL!

Synopsis. Your boyfriend’s in his rút? No worries! Of course, you’re there to help.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, omégaverse AU, alpha!JJK men, RÚTS, knóts, bréeding, ínnappropriate use of jujutsu techniques, jealousy (Toji’s side), slight fóodplay (Nanami), making Sukuna BREAK, cúmplay, spítting, PÚSSYDRUNK JJK MEN, mentions of kids, true form Sukuna, dp, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Last day of k!nktober, this month was lovely and so were y’all.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Mine, doll.

Truthfully, you shouldn’t even be here - you shouldn’t have dared to step through Toji’s firmly shut door for a reason. 

Because he’d already warned you he wasn’t going to be himself once his rut hit, already musing that your cute lil’ self won’t be able to keep up with him this day. This week.

Yet, here you were - folded into such a mean mating press. 

“Toji.” you’re hiccuping when he furiously fists the thickened base of his cock, giving one, two tight squeezes before drooling out in stringy wads of cum from the reddish divot on his fat head, smearing your puffy folds in a sweltering white, white gloss. “D-don’t be such a hngh- tease-”

And he can only grin, “Shoulda thought of that before ya came up hah- begging for my cock, doll.” Tapping the hot curve of his still-hard tip in a sopping wet thwack! thwack! thwack! on your puffed-up clit. You’re watching with glassy eyes as his thick thumb smears over the milky dredges of cum. Popping it shamelessly into his mouth, “Because this pretty pussy is mine now, ma.” 

Just the thought has him wrenching out an animalistic groan. Using his inhuman strength to haul you even further down the sinfully soaked silken sheets, he throws your trembly legs over two broad, sculpted shoulders. 

You moan and Toji can’t help but snicker. Can’t help but throw his head back with a sleazy grin, “I t-told ya not to catch me like this, needy girl.” Eyes glowing, dragging that pert scar of his smugly down the side of your ankle, before plugging you full- “Now, jus’ sit back n’ let me make a pretty momma outta ya.”

He grunts once your velvety walls close in around his heavy girth, massaging down the sensitive divots of his rock-hard shaft. Shit, he was going to spend every waking minute of this week making you memorize it. 

Viciously he snaps his hips down, bulging knot kissing your swollen folds with a wet thwack! thwack! thwack!

“D-didn’t think you’d be so mean.” you’re puckering your glossed lips into a pout. Gliding your fingers across his rippling abs, it makes his hulking body just shiver, hips stuttering sloppily. 

“D-d-d-didn’t think this cunt of yours would be so slutty.” he’s mocking in his baritone rumble, big beefy arms caging you in to split you apart with every swollen inch of his massive cock. Fucking out those utterly bratty words on your tongue. 

Toji’s thick digits curl firmly around your throat, running a fat thumb down the side of your still-unmarked scent gland. He positively titters at the way you jolt, “So would ya ah- c-care to explain why my girl s’suddenly smellin’ like fuckass Shiu?”

Fuck - you’d forgotten. Being too caught up with Toji to remember how you’d run to the other alpha to understand how to help your dear boyfriend, still wafting with his smokey sweet scent.

Your inner omega whines, clawing to prove him wrong. “N-No–” The words are barely falling from your stupidly drunken mouth before your voice just hitches, strangling out the remnants of a syrupy moan that makes him twitch. “P-promise I jus’ met him to h-help-”

But oh, Toji was more animal than man right now.

A thundering growl cracks at the very back of his throat, rummaging at the very bottom of your pussy with no mercy. And no apologies, either. “Is that so?” His teeth nip on your lips, “Heheh, sure tha’s right. But when I’m done with you-” And something oozing from his tone told you that Toji didn’t mean it to be “done” for a long, long time. “-every other fucker’s gonna look at you n’ know you’re mine.”

The bed creaks riotously when he’s bucking his toned hips into you so hard that you see Toji’s creamy skin redden. 

And Toji was always massive - but in rut he couldn’t stop all the blood pumping twofold into his expansive girth, nudging past every bruised sweet spot and even more. 

“My pretty girl- fuck- even prettier full w’me-” he’s spitting wetly into your pathetically slack lips. Peppering eager kisses down your cheek, your neck, your collarbone, lolling his tongue out to suck on your tits. 

His eyes were drooping shut, mouth babbling out drunken purrs of your name. “Fuck- fuck when m’gonna ngh- have these girls all swollen f’me.” One of his hands attach thoroughly at your breasts, circling his fingers over where your nipples were the most sensitive. And he’s smashing into you so rawly, sneaking his fingers all glistening with cum into your already snugly stuffed cunt. Plugging more in and in. “Fill you up so much yer gonna ngh- gonna feel me for months-”

“Yes yes yes-” you’re sobbing out, being fucked utterly stupid on his cock. “Wan’ ah- wan’ it so bad, Toji.”

He chuckles out smugly when your teary sweet lips glide across his in a messy kiss, tightening the fingers around your throat to crane your pretty neck upwards. Into a proper kiss, pinkish lips wrapped around your tongue - he sucks.

“You don’t just ‘want’ it, ma.” His pants grow harsh, shuddering, stars bursting behind his dewy, dark eyes every time your spongy cervix makes his slams recoil backwards. “Yer gonna need it.”

Your spine curves so deliciously upwards into his front when the two long digits sunken into your entrance spread just enough for your sloppy hole to be fed Toji’s achy knot. Pinning you down with his pressurized weight to stop your squirmy wrangling. 

“Gonna need me in ya, so hah- much that this sweet lil’ pussy’s gonna be twice her size, heh-” Those obscenities in his voice make you gasp. “All round n’ gorgeous- they’ll hngh know what I’ve done. Every single fucking one s’gonna look at you and see me me me-” He sinks his teeth into your scent gland, hard.Bonding. “Cos’ you’re mine, doll.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - More, more, more

“K-Ken, s’everything alright?” Your voice trembles with the tiniest whimper when you’re whirling your glassy eyes over your shoulder, meeting your husband’s darkened ones locked on you.

“Of course, my love.” Comes Nanami’s answer - but, shit, you already knew better. “J-just keep doing what you’re doing.”

There’s such a sodden drag of clothes on clothes resounding throughout your cozy kitchen, and your fingers shake where you were whisking a batch of sweet, sweet frosting. 

Because you could already catch the way his words broke into a gruff moan, the slight shiver in his Adam’s apple as his hot, thickened cockhead twitches ferally. Hips buck up against you desperately. 

He’d come home to you in rut. 

He was needy, bothered. Barely even changed out of his work clothes before he’s clutching roughly onto the fabric of your apron.

You’re whining, “Ken– we needa get you-”

“Shhh my pretty wife, m’alright, m’alright. Don’t- ngh! Worry about me, darling. Just-” He gulps before loosening his favorite yellow tie - the room too hot. Scent glands puffing out another heatwave of his expensive pine smell, his massive hands trace down the curve of your hips. Mindlessly. Kneading.

SMACK!

Shit, he didn’t even mean to do that. 

But oh how you gasp so prettily at Nanami’s unusually harsh treatment, the barely-there sound being instantly picked up by his sharpened senses. Restless. Mouth watering. 

God, he could cum just like this. He was ruined for you.

“M’alright jus’ a rut- keep doing- hngh-” he gasps, a feverish puff against your ear as your bodies glissade across one another. “Jus’- ahh- fuck- jus’ need a bit more, my love.” Free hand dancing down your forearm to help you stir your bowl, the other ravenously leading a hot trailway to the hem of your cotton shorts. Pulling - tearing. 

Your shorts are left nothing but tatters on the floor, and Nanami’s throwing his head back with a drunken grin. Eyes falling half-shut at the absolute mess your cunt has made, dribbling a glossy sheen down your inner thighs.

Yeah, shit, this was what he’d left work early for. 

And you could tell he was still staring, still gleaming a translucent coating with just a single roll of his thumb over your throbbing clit. Dragging the very edge of his fingernail down, down, down the crevice of your pretty pussy lips. 

And he’d do it all over again.

You moan - and as soon as you do, you’re finding yourself shoved onto the cool tile of the kitchen counter as Nanami doubles over. “M-more?”

His teeth grit, canines bared, grunts of your name spilling over and over when he hovers them over your racing pulse. Sweat-slicked strands of blond tickle your nose when he’s heaving out, “Yes, darling- j-jus’ a bit more. Just a bit.” One hand of his curls around your throat, wrangling you into such a sweet, sweet french kiss. “-I need it- fuck- need it- s’alright, is it?”

Yes yes yes, your inner omega was keening out to him. Your own shaky fingers tugging lightly on his hair in a way that makes him nip at your mating mark. 

But Nanami didn’t even need that to already know your answer by the way your hip squirm back in wet, swiveling gyrations. Again. And again and again. Honeyed little movements that make him gasp. 

“Shit- ohhh, smell so good- need you so badly-” his gentle baritone voice breaks with something primal. You flinch at the echoing clatter of his belt onto the hardwood floors, and the feeling of something steaming hot pressing into your skin. “Need- you- fuck, didn’t think I’d even make it this hah- long. Been thinkin’ about breeding this sweet cunt all day.”

Then he’s kissing down the very edge of your drooling pussy with a sweeping swipe! of his fat head. Peaking in just the very beginnings of that sinful curve, meshing your sopping folds with his prominent veins that thump thump thump away against your cunt. 

Enough to have him panting - crying out. Pound after pound.

“Stuffin’ ya full- Oh god, y-you have no idea what you do to me-” Nanami’s strict brows furrow into the tightest knit, and his words take on a ragged tone that makes you clench. An obscene little action that he feels against the very tip of his achy cock, gushing out a sticky slosh of precum that sticks to you like a second skin. “No- hah- wait- no no no no- keep ‘er open f’me, my love.”

Those toying fingers on your clit give a sudden pull at the very peak of the sensitive nub - leaving your body wracking with shudders long enough to have Nanami splitting you apart. 

The bowl is knocked over now, and Nanami takes the opportunity to lace his fingers with yours into the most innocent little hold. Dragging your intertwined hands up for him to press a flurry of pecks onto, sucking up that sugary sweet mess on your digits. 

Something you barely even register with how deliciously he was stretching out your snug insides, fucking out each and every thought in your hazy mind with quick, shallow grinds just to fit inside. “Spit.” he’s gritting his teeth at the feeble resistance, and he can feel the way your cunt gapes all around him. “Spit in m’mouth-” 

You do, Nanami groaning appreciatively, gaze flurrying shut. Your puffed-out folds bulging around his hefty cock, snapping deeply into you. Again and again.

All the way until-

“Hah- shit- jus’ a bit more-” Nanami’s groaning, eyes narrowing over his now-disarrayed glasses when he’s greedily thumbing apart your slick-glossed folds. Eyeing himself all stuffed and overspilling inside you, your sloppy hole trying desperately to milk his fattened knot. Clenching around the very tip of the bulge. “Fuck back into me now, darling- ah- fuck back into me n’ lemme make you a pretty momma- jus’ a bit more.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Tongue-twister

Just a taste. Just one.

Two.

Four.

Over and over. Whenever Geto Suguru was on his rut, he couldn’t think of a better heaven than where he was right now - locked in-between those pretty thighs of yours. With you splayed out on the tatami mats of his firmly shut bedroom, your legs on his muscled shoulders, drenched panties pulled just enough to the side to stuff your puffed-up clit in his drunken mouth.

“S-Suguru–”

You feel a sudden - barely-there - nip at the very peak of your sodden sensitive bud. Not enough to hurt, but enough to have your entire body jolting with electricity, Geto snickering against your swollen folds. 

“Fine- hngh Sugu–” you’re crying out, fingers interlacing in his long, soft strands in a pathetically useless attempt to drag him from making out with your poor overworked pussy. “I don’ know- ah if I can cum a-again.” 

That has him quirking up a dark brow in question, parting with your drippingly wet cunt with a gasping grunt of disappointment. You can only watch when his overly-glossed bottom lip wobbles, “Don’t want you to cum again, gorgeous.” He’s pouting, delicate strings of slick snapping with every peck after peck planted on your clit. “I want you to squirt–”

Oh, god, he was hypnotized.

Barely being able to get out the words before reattaching his sly lips down to your own, meshing them in a sopping wet french kiss. It leaves you bucking, and he distantly wonders whether he’d see the imprint of the tatami on your back tomorrow. “Y-you’re so addicted, Sugu-”

“No m’not.” Geto’s pulling out a sudden squelch as he spits a sudden wad of thick, silvery spit down onto the very middle of your puffy pussy lips. Smearing a thumb down between them up and down up and down- before swirling those slender digits easily past your sloppy hole. “S’not my fault you’re so hngh- irresistible- s’yours.”

Shit, to be honest, Geto couldn’t even register what he was saying right now. Couldn’t think of anything but the way you tasted so sweet on his tongue - as syrupy as that scent of yours was puffing out. He wanted- needed more more more-

He’s grinding his painfully aching cock down like some animal, slithering down his free hand to knead over the bulging shaft in quick, solid slides. 

Matching the pace of those two fingers massaging your gummy walls. So hot inside it’s like you were melting, milking his fingers so plianty with every languid push and pull into your g-spot.

“Jus’ one more taste– hah- hold up my hair, can’t see- yeahhh jus’ like that.” Geto’s whining once your trembly fingers wrap tight to collect his stray locks, giving you the perfect view of his high cheeks hollowing. Rosy pink lips wrap around your clit to suck once more. And if his voice cracked ever-so-slightly at the end, well, he was only grateful that his beautiful girl was too fucked-out to notice right now. “S’not addicted if I only want one more- is it? C’mon, honey- please, honey, for me?”

Every groan has such lewd shockwaves sprinting through all your veins, and the sheer overstimulation makes big fat tears well up behind your eyes. God, it was too much. 

Noticing, he’s letting out such calming pheromones of sandalwood - enough to make you dizzily babble out, “Think I’m- ahh- think m’close- Sugu–” To bring you close. Something was pulling taut, knotting in your stomach almost painfully. 

Suddenly, the heady room resounds with a wet gasp - and only later do you realize that it came from Geto himself.

Because oh, are you cumming - and it’s pulled out from all of Geto’s filthiest wet dreams. Because not only do you cum, you’re squirting all down the lower half of his pretty face. Your thighs squeezing tighter and tighter around his head with each crashing wave of pleasure. 

“Shit- ngh-” you’re sobbing out, cheeks wet with all the big, bulbous tears that your high brings. “Oh fuck- Sugu m’cumming m’cumming n’ s’all your fault- ah-”

“M’not addicted.” Is all he can spit out into your convulsing pussy, over and over like his own personal mantra. And it’s only when your orgasm bates into mere tingles, when your eyes roll back down from the back of your head, head just slightly clearer that he can manage to rip himself away. 

Still, groaning gutturally at the loss of your sweet, sweet cunt - he looked so pretty this way. 

Dark hair untamed, curtaining his glassy, pussydrunken eyes. Practically glowing in the dim lighting, devouring you just as much as his mouth had. Glossy, it drip! drip! drips down onto your shaky thighs with every bead of your juices he’d lapped up. Leaving a syrupy aftertaste on his tongue and shit, was he hooked. 

In a split-second, Geto’s smoothly towering his body over yours, placing a sodden kiss right on your lips to let you taste all the honeyed sweetness yourself. 

But just as you were distracted by how rudely he was claiming your tongue, you’re feeling the sharp smack! of something hard and swelteringly hot on your shamelessly spread pussy. His knot.

And then the squelch of ribbon after ribbon of Geto’s hot cum spurting out. Over and over. 

His body half-collapses onto yours, every gushing wave of sticky seed so violent that his head throws back, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Shit, orgasms during a rut always did crash headfirst. Always did have his furiously weepy head dripping out in overly voluminous dredges of thick cum.

“Jus’ ohhh- one more t-taste before I hngh- breed this cute cunt.” Geto hiccups, wet lashes batting up at you in a lazy way from in-between your legs. Long tongue dragging over the mess, smearing across the sheen of white. Every single pearlescent wisp - only to spit it back out onto your cunt. “For now.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Please…”

You’re snapping your head down at Choso teary plea, pecking at the corner of his wobbly lips. All pinkened and kissed raw, wobbling when he begs, “F-for my first knot can I oh- cum inside, baby?”

Shit, your poor boyfriend was so pretty looking up at you with his twinkling, dewy eyes like this. His creamy skin flushed, twitchy fingers craning upwards to grab at the headboard to keep some sense of his sanity when you glide your dripping wet cunt down his cock.

His mouth gasps open in a feverish puff of your name over and over when your gooey walls in turn just squeeze around his sweltering hot girth. Velvety walls sucking up every thrumming vein down his length.

“Please— ah-” Choso’s breath hitches upwards in both volume and pitch when your hips slam down in a particularly harsh squelch! Mouth lolling open at both the filthy way you were riding him and your teasing silence. “Baby- oh, baby please say- s-something-”

You can’t stop your syrupy giggle from escaping your lips, “Awww, m’sorry Cho, What did you say you wanted again?”

And Choso has always been the type to be so greedy when he has you in bed - but you’ve never seen him like this. His first ever rut - a late bloomer - and oh, did that make him extra sensitive. 

Mouth slacking open into a broken cry, frustrated droplets of sweat beading down his forehead, his slender hips just rut upwards in a pressurized thrust that has your sloppy pussy dragging down every one of his swollen inches. 

Spearheading so deliriously deep, his length swirls around to easily massage your tenderized sweet spots.

So needy.

“Want to- want to cum inside–” he whines, thick lashes fluttering at the heavenly feeling inside you. You feel two of his soft palms attach themselves to your hips, bleary gazing tilting downwards to watch himself grind up, up, up trying desperately to squeeze his achingly fat knot into your tight pussy. “Wanna make ya a momma. T-to breed my pretty omega, please- S’calling to me- it hurts ah-”

“My poor baby–” you’re humming, with that honeyed tone of yours that makes the very end of his furiously leaky cock twitch. Leaning down to kiss away his big, pearlescent tears, “You sure you want to-”

“Yes!” he’s cutting you off with a long, dragged-out groan. Head throwing back over and over into the plush pillows when he’s feeling your snug, swollen pussy lips spread over the bulging curve of his knot. Bit by bit. “Yes yes yes- please more- hngh- t-take it all– needa-” One of his thumbs caresses right over where he knew your womb to be, feeling for the nudge of his thick, bulbous head swipe a wet glide across your walls. “-need to make you mine here, too.”

Just as he’s pressing the thick curve of his thumb down hard, both of your ravenous bodies glide together in a harsh ram. 

And shit - you already knew by the way that Choso’s dilated eyes roll to the back of his head, the way his biceps flex with a wracking shudder, the sudden cracking moan of your name - that he’d plugged you full of his knot.

With a gasp your heady senses catch up around the staggeringly wide stretch. The way this was all it took for your elastic walls to constrict around him, being pushed to your very limits. Pulled taut.

Then and only then do the both of you realize that both of you are cumming. 

Your toes curling, moaning out a shrill, “Shit- shit shit shit- I’m–” Before the zaps of white-hot pleasure take over your mind, being fucked pathetically stupid on Choso’s raging cock. 

His feet plant flat on the silken sheets to buck up in meeting your sloppy staccato, his hipbones smack into yours in hard kisses to drag out your pleasure. 

“Yes- oh god.” It’s just about all that he can whimper out right now, and he’s boring his eyes up at you like you were one. Strong arms wrap around your still-shivering waist, until Choso was whispering in hot puffs against your ear, “Gonna fill this ah fuck- t-tight pussy.” Nodding you through every thick wad of seed knocking at your womb, drool dripping down each side of his lips. It overspills - from both lips. “Y-you’ll take it right? Every drop? Gonna hngh- make me a fuck- daddy, right, baby–?”

Fuck, right now all you can do is squeal. 

Let yourself be easily manhandled by all of Choso’s strength when he flips the two of you over, kneeing apart your thighs to fold you in half for him. A thorough mating press, “Yeah- yeah you are-” he breathes into your lips. “She’s gonna have my eyes- n’ your p-pretty smile ah- n’ she’ll call ya ‘momma’ and ohh-”

Just then, for how badly Choso wanted you all full of his knot, he finds himself bawling at the way his stuttering hips can no longer thrust into you back and forth. Locked in place.

“Still gotta-” he’s gasping out through wet licks up the tears streaming down your face. And there’s something so darkly primal in Choso’s tone - something there to send shivers down your spine, to remind you exactly what he is in a rut. “-gotta fill ya up more, ngh- m’still so hard- still cumming, baby.” Furiously, he’s grinding his hips in needy gyrations, weepy cock surging further and further to knock up against your g-spot. “Still need to- breed- you-”

One of Choso’s palms comes pressing down hard onto where his cum was sloshing around your inner walls, and with the dredges of creamy white that spill out - so does his slightly-softened knot.

Enough for him to grin such a dangerous grin. 

Drunken, humorless. Whispering, “Please, baby- c-can my second knot be inside, t-too?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - NO CONTROL!

“Fuck-” you’re hearing Sukuna’s ragged grunt against your ear, low and dark in a way that only his deep baritone could be. “Fuck.”

Oh how you wanted to ask him what was wrong - you wanted to raise your bleary eyes from the silken pillows spread across his royal bed. 

But Sukuna was plummeting his hefty cock into you so deeply, pound after pound that has you scrambling to catch your breath desperately. His thick head was branding circular bruises at the very end of your spongy cervix, girthy shaft stretching you from the inside out. 

And this was only his human form.

He curses at the clingy grip of your gooey walls, unable to tear his devilishly red eyes away from how well your sodden folds were puffed up around him. Milking his staggering size so well.

It has his kiss-bitten lips a little looser than he’d have liked, “Fuck, this filthy pussy of yours mighta jus’ th-thrown me into a rut, brat.”

“What?” you’re gasping, all the air tucked away in your lungs being fucked with another shuddering slam into you. Your limbs tremble where you’re bounced against his hard front on all fours, barely managing to choke out, “Y-you’re in a rut, Kuna?”

“Heh, yes.”

Sukuna can’t help but bark out a rumbling bout of laughter at the way your pretty mouth falls slack. Drool dripping down the side of your lips in a way that he really can’t help but crane over his hulking body to lick. A long, languid drag of his tastebuds.

“Yeahhh- really did kickstart my hah- rut. You naughty girl- now I hafta breed this cute cunt.” Five of his thick fingers kiss the very curve of your ass in a sudden swat, and the sting makes your cunt drool down his inches. Gliding down in a greedy trail to curl around the urgent swelling at his already-thick hilt, he swipes at the syrupy translucent beads of your slick pooling at the very top. “Yet, how come you’re more hngh- affected than me, huh, silly girl?”

Laughably, the only things that your blabbing mouth could get out right now were a few cockdrunken whines and whimpers. 

Music to Sukuna’s ears. That is, until-

“Hah! Sukuna!”

That makes him snap his scrunched eyes open - shit, when did he even close them? Sculpted, broad chest heaving with shuddering inhales for air, and a sudden wave of fatigue mixed with the saccharine sweet high of being sunken into your drooling pussy hits him.

It has him handling two of his hands into a bruising grip on the small of your waist, and the other two-

Other two?

“Y-you–” you’re mewling, each one of your throaty moans spilling and slurring together at how utterly full you felt. Double the sinful stretch of just mere moments before. “-you shifted into your ngh- true form!”

Indeed, the notorious king of curses was so hypnotized by your pussy that he hadn’t even realized when he’d slid back into his true form. Beefy biceps flexing as his inhuman hold on your body roughens, twin cocks spearheading into you maddeningly. 

His pheromones are so overpowering right now, the slight tinge of spice and metal makes the omega in you already purr in satisfaction.

“Y-yeah?” He’s gritting out through clenched teeth, and those sharpened canines make you clench. Makes him use every shred of willpower to pretend that he wasn’t as fucking out of control as he was right now. “N-n’ what about it, brat? Don’t hear ya ah- complainin’.”

Yeah, he’s letting his head throw back, totally on purpose, right? 

Twice the stretch had your teeth sinking down into the pillows. Matchingly throbbing girths drawing matching glides down all your sweet spots, you feel him jostle and bump into each of his cocks. Kissing dripping wet kisses to your cervix and your g-spot your cervix and your g-spot- Gurgling out only little pleas-

“Wha’s this-” you’re hearing Sukuna seethe from above you, voice a few octaves higher than usual. One of his towering palms easily wraps around both your wrists. Hoisting you upwards, “-started my rut n’ now you’re not letting me hear it?”

You’re now fully supported in midair by him - his absolute favorite position.

Because of the perfect angle to spy the way your cunt was swallowing every one of his powerfully pressurized thrusts. 

To have his seeping hot cum trickle out of your surely overspilling cunt - down to his achingly tight balls. Where he’d scold you for wasting his precious seed, and then fuck it back into you all over again.

Because with this, Sukuna’s dancing up one hand about halfway up your stomach, pressing down brandingly where he can feel the bulge of his two thick cocks. “Guess tha’s hah- twice the amount m’gonna fill ya up-” Pressing down with all five digits splayed out. Hard. Your body erupts with tremors when his second hand toys deftly with little circles around your puffed-up clit. “-twice my chances of g-gettin’ an heir-” 

You’re bouncing uncontrollably back and forth into Sukuna’s riotous hips, making him gulp at the few strings of wispy white spurting out of his furiously weepy divots. 

Half-deliriously, he wonders whether you’d be able to take two knots.

Shit, his fattening knots leave wet thwacks at your pussy lips, those ringing squelches only growing louder and louder in your ear as soon as his third hand scissors open your messy entrance even further. Vision spinning when your honeyed scent has him shooting blanks already, stickily soaked balls clenching painfully. 

Again. And again and again-

You were putty in his hands, surely at his mercy. “So the o-only question now is–” Or, at least, that’s what Sukuna was making it seem. Grunting, when he knows he’s on the very tipping point of cumming in such thick, voluminous wads already. “-are ya gonna be a good queen n’ gimme all that?”

He was no match for you.

♡ GOJO SATORU - Like an animal

“Sweetheart- oh, sweetheart—” Gojo’s leering after a hefty gulp of saliva, his breathing comes out in pants. Heaves. Fanning your face in an utterly feverish way, “Sweetheart, we’re not making it outta this alive.” 

And this was the fifth time he was echoing this mantra tonight - the fifth time since breaking down your apartment door into the tiniest of splinters. The floor rattling as the strongest strode his way to take you right then and there on your living room table, already in the throes of his rut.

Ready to ruin.

Looking like he was about to kill.

“Toru- Toru someone could walk by-” you’re gasping, barely able to catch your breath with the sheer, staggering amounts of punishing thrust he was planting on your cunt. Shoveling all thickened inches into you with no mercy or regret. “They’re g-gonna see, Toru–”

Not to mention, the sudden crack! of mahogany wood as the cool surface of the table sags down on one side. Already broken. 

And the first thing you’re being given in response is the powerful slap! of his swollen knot against your puffy pussy lips, leaving a stinging kiss that has you keening. 

The second is your back hitting the soft bounce of your plush mattress - all the way in your bedroom. Teleported in nothing but a split-second. 

“S-s’this ah okay, then?” Gojo tongue half-lolls out with his broken moans, and your glassy eyes peer through your lashes at those bolts of purple jujutsu at the very edges of his half-lidded eyes. “Can’t complain now- h-huh- can’t ah– jus’ let me fill ya up now.”

God, he’s fucking himself pathetically stupid on your gummy cunt, every slobbering drag down your velvety walls having his lids drooping closer together, minty scent puffing out mindlessly, words tinging with a primal sort of hoarseness. 

You’re squealing at the wet thwacks! when he’s pounding you into your fresh silken sheets. “Y-you’re so infuriating-”

And just as your mouth opens in a sloppy whine, Gojo’s taking the lewd opportunity to spit a wad of syrupy sweet saliva onto your tongue. Grinning at the breathless way you’re taking it all - on instinct. By nature. 

“And yet your o-omega loves me as ah- much as ever, huh?” he whispers down at your pretty self, words honeyed with the sort of smugness that only Gojo Satoru could have. 

As if to prove his little point, he’s crushing you even harder with his weight. Strong arms jostling your limply falling legs to lock around his neck so easily, and shit- he could feel the way the very end of his fat, rotund head poke into the bullseye of your g-spot. Sensitive slit swiping back and forth on your heavenly cunt-

But it still wasn’t enough.

CRACK!

Just as soon as the creaking protest of the bed rings across your dazed mind, Gojo’s hauling the two of you into a sitting position. Your cunt sat prettily down his long cock, being bounced up and down with the help of his jittery hands clenched roughly around your waist. 

“Wh-what-” you mewl, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. Nails digging red hot marks down the plane of his milky shoulders, “What even b-brought this on–”

“Some fucking curse-” he’s rolling his eyes, with a mindless swat of the slender, rounded tips of his fingers on your clit. Bringing them up, up, up to be popped into his mouth - making him moan. “Heh- can’t help but think about how much sweeter you’d be when I finally breed this pretty cunt.”

And you didn’t realize just how badly Gojo Satoru was ruined because that tiny smack has bands of electricity spiking through your entire body. Arching your spine into a delicious bow that makes his mouth water. 

“Y-your powers-”

“And?”

Electricity sparks at your lips when Gojo’s crashing his own against yours - literally. 

“Please-” he weeps out. And it’s enough to make you sob, your dripping walls being coated in another fresh wave of his precum. “Lemme make a m-momma outta ya- fuck this hngh- cunt till she c-can’t anymore-” His hefty balls shifting underneath your ass with each clench, each twitch. “Wanna ahh- breed you so bad- think I might just die, sweetheart.”

He was losing it. 

He was cumming - and so were you.

Spurting out wave after wave of sweltering hot cum that invades your insides, there’s so much of it. Sloshing around your snug channel sloppily, it’s coating your cervix in a sticky gloss. And you swear you could feel the thick dredges of his seed ooze down your gooey walls. 

Your teeth gnaw at Gojo’s flushed skin on the crook of his neck - and his on yours. Breaking skin, tasting the metallic tinge of red. 

The very taste is enough to have him dumping out another great load of his cum, overstuffing your poor cunt until you could feel yourself swell. It’s enough to drive you mad. 

And enough to have Gojo stuffing his bulging know past your swollen folds with a drawn-out moan of your name. Pretty lower lip quivering, dewy eyes firmly drooping shut as he’s bulling into the feeble ring of muscle. 

Tight. 

“Take it- sweetheart- take it all–” he’s whimpering into your ear, powerful legs jittering upwards to have his cum splurge into every nook and cranny of your cunt. Fingers thrumming jujutsu down your spine, “Sweetheart, sweetheart ah- fuck-” You can only bare your widened eyes at him as he looks over your shoulder, grinning. “The bed’s broken.”

Before you know it, you’re being splayed out on the floor - teleported. 

You’re wincing at the slow, swiveling grind of Gojo’s hips on your own. Too impatient to even let his knot go down before trying to fuck you through your high, teasing out slow pushes and pulls against your cum-coated sweet spots. “Y-you did that on p-purpose, Toru.”

“Y’know what e-else I did on purpose, sweetheart–” his slurring words are accompanied with another smack! to your cunt. And an even filthier press on your stomach to watch his cum dribble out, which Gojo gladly smears along his fingers - pressing into your mouth to let you taste the candied mess. 

“Wh-what?”

Whispering in your ear, “Hah- getting hit by the curse.”

A/N. Of COURSEEE I had to end it off with a guilty pleasure of mine mwahaha

Plagiarism not authorized.

[pathologicalreid]

central nervous system | s.r.

in which you are drugged on what should've been a routine case

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst; hurt/comfort content warnings: being drugged, threatened sexual assault, season 10, blood, broken glass, in a bar but reader doesn't drink, jareau!reader. word count: 1.7k a/n: oh dear. this week was so eternally long. work was crazy busy i worked overtime and almost ended up in the hospital which all led up to me taking the lsat today. crazy shit, but margovember will prevail. also! i'm hoping to get masterlists updated tomorrow if that's something you've been waiting on.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” an unfamiliar voice intrudes on your private thoughts, looking around the bar that you had been planted in to see if you could catch your UnSub before he had the chance to attack someone else.

He sets a glass in front of you, and you drop some cash on the wooden surface, you shrug, “I’m in town on business.”

The bartender laughs heartily at your response before shaking his head, “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just—that’s a line I hear a lot.”

Your face warms at the recognition that the bartender was flirting with you, but this is a man who gets paid to be nice. You take his words at face value and sip at your drink, “Well, I have no reason to lie to you,” you squint at his name tag, “Jackson.”

He wipes down a spill, hooking the rag over the sink, and smiling at you, “Well, it’s nice to meet an honest woman.”

Following him with your eyes as he walks away, that last comment rubs you the wrong way, but Jackson Gleason was the bar manager, and Garcia had already cleared him from the suspect list.

You find yourself wishing Hotch had sent you into the bar with an earbud to communicate with the team, but instead, you were handed a phone, preprogrammed to alert the team if you hit the power button. There was a plainclothes officer somewhere in a corner to keep an eye on you, and the rest of the team was at the precinct or in an unmarked van outside.

Kate had coached you to the best of her abilities, but this wasn’t your first time going undercover. Catching serial rapists was more her speed, but she was pregnant, which immediately took her out of the running. Sipping from the thin straw in your glass, you let your eyes wander around the bar, antique posters and advertisements are littered across the walls, and someone just started playing Radiohead on the jukebox.

Eyeing the phone in your purse, you sigh, stirring the ice in your cup listlessly.

“Can I get you another? Maybe something stronger?” The manager offers, returning from the employees-only door with a new package of straws to restock the bar.

You shake your head, holding your empty glass out of him to take, “The same thing is fine.” Ignoring the fact that you don’t drink—you couldn’t drink on the job; all you’d been given was a coke.

He raises his eyebrows at that, “Suit yourself,” he says, ignoring the fact that you were trying to hand off your already dirtied glass to him and filling a clean cup with ice and coke.

Brushing it off as company policy, you thank him for the drink, placing another few dollars on the bar and smiling at him. Over your shoulder, you glance at the plainclothes officer, engaging in an animated conversation with another patron over whatever sports game is playing on the TV. You suspect he’s a little too good at pretending to be off the clock.

You make a face at the straw in your glass, and the bartender notices, “Sorry, just ran out of plastic.”

Taken aback, you use the paper straw anyway, sipping at your drink while you still can—knowing the straw will inevitably disintegrate.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice something wrong, a dull ache in your chest exacerbated by a slight rise in your body temperature. Your fingertips feel hot like they would after coming inside from the cold. You look down to find the emergency phone in your purse, but your head droops with your eyes, every controlled movement before a struggle.

“Hey,” Gleason says, jutting his chin in your direction, “You don’t look so great.”

A different version of yourself would’ve given him snark in return, but that different version of yourself would’ve been able to feel her extremities. “Woah,” You breathe, trying to swing your legs off of the stool only to find that you’re much higher from the ground than you initially thought.

When you lift your head again, whipping it back so hard you’re afraid it might fly off, he’s standing directly in front of you, “Why don’t I take you out back? You can get some fresh air,” the offer is innocent enough, but it rubs you the wrong way. His hand is on your waist, at the very least you know that’s wrong—you have a boyfriend, and it’s not this guy.

No, your boyfriend is outside of the bar in a van, waiting for your signal because you’re… oh. “No,” you whisper, trying to get your breathing under control. “I’m— Where’s my phone?” You’re digging through your purse as he stands you up and guides you to the back of the bar, closer to a large exit sign.

Sirens are going off in your head, but even they sound separated from your situation. “I can call a cab for you,” he assures you, leading you by your arm and closer to the back door.

“No,” you say again, “I really need my phone…” his grip tightens on your wrist, practically dragging you out of the bar while you use your free hand to find your phone, pushing the power button before it slips out of your hand, clattering to the ground. “That really hurts,” you tell him, now able to give more of your focus to evading the man who was most decidedly not Jackson Gleason.

Pulling your arm back, you manage to break free from him, the momentum from your struggle sends your hand flying into a picture frame, shattering the glass and causing the UnSub to spin on his heel. “Look at what you did,” he seethes, gripping your hair at the back of your head and forcing you to look at the shattered glass.

Your mouth gapes at the sensation of your hair being pulled until there’s a rush of cold air and he pushes you forward, into the waiting arms of someone else, “Woah, hey, I’ve got you,” Spencer says, keeping you off of the floor and, with the help of someone else, carrying your dead weight over to one of the booths.

Spencer clambers into the booth seat first, seating you in front of him so that your back is pressing against his chest. You let out a low groan when he wraps an arm around your waist, keeping your body from flopping onto the sticky hardwood.

“Do you know what you took?” He asks, pressing his face into your hair so that the two of you can keep your voices down.

Vaguely aware of the way his fingers are pressing into the pulse point on your wrist, you shake your head, “I didn’t take anything.”

He hums in response, “You were drugged. I— I’m so sorry we didn’t realize who it was sooner. By the time we realized there was a discrepancy in Jackson Gleason’s file, you had already pushed the alert button,” he tells you, being careful not to move around too much. “Can you lift your head for me? It’ll help your breathing.”

With tremendous effort—and some help from Spencer—you lift your head, letting it rest on him. Now, you can see that the majority of the bar has cleared out, Rossi watches you nervously from the bar, telling Spencer something about paramedics. You huff, “Where’s JJ?”

“She’ll meet us at the hospital, love,” he answers you, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head.

Trying to adjust yourself, you shake your head indeterminably, “No, it’s… I need my sister. I need my sister.” Somewhere—a past version of yourself, perhaps—you knew that JJ was at the hospital, speaking with one of the survivors.

Spencer speaks with someone that you can’t see, they’re standing in your periphery, a mangled blur of a person. Moments later, something cold is pressed to your face, and the sensation makes you jump, “Ow,” you whine, though it doesn’t hurt.

“Ducky?” Your sister’s voice rings through the phone, and you’re surprised to hear her using your nickname. Although, your status as JJ’s little sister tends to come through when you’re hurt.

You hum into the receiver, “Hi, J,” you greet wearily.

A sigh of relief is her next response, “Hey, Derek said you’re waiting for the paramedics to take you to the hospital, and I’ll be here to greet you when you arrive. Does that sound alright?”

“It’s cold in here,” you mumble, wondering if Derek is the blurry shape remaining in your periphery.

There’s a pause on her end before she speaks up again, “I’m sorry, Ducky.” There it was again. “You’ll be okay though; you just have to wait it out.”

You nod as a jacket is laid out on your lap; Spencer must’ve heard you mention being cold to your sister. Your boyfriend whispers something to you, “Spencer says the paramedics are here and I can’t talk to you anymore.”

JJ laughs slightly on the phone, “I’ll see you when you get here, okay?”

“Yeah, J,” you whisper, letting someone take the phone from you. You frown at Spencer, “I don’t feel quite right.”

Helping you get on the gurney, Spencer holds your hand while an EMT wraps a blood pressure cuff around your arm, “He likely gave you a central nervous system inhibitor.”

You nod slowly, wrinkling your nose when the other paramedic shines a light in your eyes, “I am nervous,” you answer. Trying to listen to the medical personnel as they explain what’s going on, but it all goes in one ear and out the other. One of them crudely wraps a cut on your hand to staunch the bleeding, but you couldn’t even remember when it started to bleed.

Anxiously, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “Don’t bite down on your lip,” Spencer instructs, “You could bite right through it and not even realize.”

Releasing your lip, your eyes widen at him while he pulls a blanket over your shoulders. “That’s scary,” you whisper.

“I agree,” he says, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “It is scary.”

[shotmrmiller]

in which johnny gifts the love of his life a sex toy outta nowhere

when you mumble into the phone that you miss him, johnny, he pauses for a second, then tells you he's going to bring you a gift back home. "to keep ye company, hen." after, he locks himself in a bathroom stall and watches you play with yourself until you both come.

but you'd thought he'd bring you a pet. a live animal that needs a cage to be brought across the world, not a long, slim unmarked box.

it's a sex toy. and it's rather large, at that. your hand wraps around the base, fingertips still a good inch apart.

"and i'm supposed to be using that?" his arms wrap around your waist, his thick stubble grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, raising goose flesh.

"don't like it? only had ye in mind, hen." he presses a wet kiss on your fluttering pulse. you've never really talked about toys in your relationship. you don't need them, of course, and johnny more than makes up for the time lost between you two whenever he's home but this?

"i don't know," you mumble. "a bullet would've made more sense, i think. at most a rose." his hands run up your sides, to the swell of your breasts and give you a gentle squeeze. he doesn't believe the tripe of people valuing size over all else, does he? the thing is easily as thick as your forearm and it's corded with veins. and it's uncut. whoever is making these are going to extreme lengths to make it as realistic as possible.

he bucks his hips, prominent bulge in his jeans coming to rest in the small of your back. of course he'd get excited. menace.

"ye willnae have t'use it alone now tha' i'm here. 'sides, i think ye'd look perfect with my pretty kitty stretched thin around it." johnny grabs your hips firmly, creating small divots as his grip tightens. "maybe i'll watch ye fuck yerself on it, hm? lap at yer clit while ye do." liquid heat pools in your belly, pulsing hot between your legs.

he really wants you to use it, given by his ragged breathing and he rutting himself against you. fine. "okay. just, not right now, yeah? i want only you in me." his eyes burn fluorescent as he nods, his large hand cradling your head as he pulls you in for a kiss.

you missed this. the sweet sting of his cock sliding home in your aching cunt, the sharp pinch below your navel when his tip comes to sit snugly against the plug of your womb. you've missed this. missed him.

maybe he'll forget all about that monstrosity sitting in the box.

-

he doesn't. he's bringing it up hours later, his spend still dripping warm on your thighs. johnny cannot be serious.

"course i am, hen." his fingers sweep at the hair stuck to your sweat-slick forehead. "is it a crime to want to see ye split open on some- something else?"

you think nothing of his stutter. "alright," you groan. if that's what he wants. it'll be interesting to see just how much you can take. you'll never tell him that your pussy clenched around nothing at the thought, his cum trickling out faster, pooling on the sheets.

-

it's not warm. the tip of it presses against your swollen entrance, cold in contrast to your heated flesh. johnny watches you swallow a gasp, your trembling hands reaching for his as you slide down an inch, two, three. johnny's cum is wonderful lube, but the searing burn- the size of toy is overwhelming, your walls being wrenched apart as you glide down further. johnny presses a prickly kiss on your cheek, cooing in your ear all the while his clever fingers draw gentle circles on your clit. "focus on breathin', bonnie. yer tensin' up."

desire begins to bubble beneath your skin, pleasure causing your muscles to warm and slacken, and after a long couple of minutes, you find yourself at the base.

but then johnny grabs your hips from behind and pulls- oh. "that's it." if you'd thought the toy had originally been in your stomach, it's now in your throat. "pretty as a peach, hen. jus' wha' i wanted to see." a shiver dances up your spine, notches trembling as you get used to the unforgiving stretch of the toy. his breath warms the side of your neck. "on yer go."

you come around it no less than three times, leaving it milky and johnny cleans it up with his mouth before he cleans you up.

-

the girth of it is something you'll never get used to but it does get easier. when johnny goes back to work, he tells you that all he asks for are videos of you using it. for his collection, he greedily says.

you send him as many as you can, no matter the hours. just a quick nsfw text before getting his thumbs up and away it goes. it's incredibly fun. the relationship hadn't been dull by any means, but this just feels invigorating. you feel rejuvenated. that johnny is your biggest cheerleader while using it is such a bonus.

you oughta marry him. maybe you'll elope the next time he's home. but when the next time comes, johnny calls you instead of messaging you the usual be home soon text.

and it sends you reeling.

bonnie. the toy treat ye well while i was gone?

no better than you could me, but yeah. i'm still sore from using it in the last video i sent you.

that's great. if ye like the toy then ye'll love the real thing, i ken. we'll be there in 10.

[bogleech]

Oh my god thanks for telling me how this youtuber has said uncomfortable things or remains a little ignorant on select topics, and you say they have associated with this other individual who said something "worse" once....I dare not ask. I cannot imagine fouler malevolence. I dare not fathom what darkness I might have blindly participated in had I continued enjoying their video essay about the greatest anime ham sandwiches or the history of ireland's ugliest horse. If I were to mistakenly endorse this knave's playlist of the worst birdhouses ever built I may as well have kissed them on the mouth and married them. It'd practically be sleeping with them. And then that would be like sleeping with everyone they've ever remained friends with after those friends in turn exhibited the ethics problematical. I'd be literally like a slut but an evil one. The evil kind. And the 4 cents I could have accidentally given them if I saw an ad....dear god.....the degenerate cruelties they'd have surely done with it........you saved me. You saved my life. You literally saved me from dying into carrion forever. If it ever happens, if I ever watch and enjoy a deep dive into the invention of truck nuts by a guy who made a tasteless remark in a tweet and it's like I married them and slutted all over all the bad guys and or ladies in their contact list and this kills my whole body to death.... I trust you to bury me in an unmarked grave with the world war II defectors and cannibal serial killers where I belong but for now...for now I live another day blissfully untainted

[moonlight-prose]

PICK YOUR POISON

➻ 01. ATROPA BELLADONNA

a/n: the october season calls for me to delve into the grotesque and gothic story ideas i save up year round. so that's what this is! i love the idea of logan howlett stuck with an immortal reader. but there's a twist. our lovely reader isn't a mutant, but someone cursed to live life in the worst way possible. i hope you enjoy the small journey these two go on and happy spooky season!

summary: life as a lumberjack gives him the freedom to pretend he's human. that he hasn't lived enough lives to leave him withered and weary. ready for the grave that will never come. until he happens upon an unmarked grave in the middle of the forest and his life changes forever.

word count: 4.2k+

pairing: lumberjack!logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: NOT EXPLICIT BUT DARK THEMES AHEAD, gothic themes, horror, necrophilia (kind of!), death, graves, vomiting, tw: blood, feral reader, poison, immortal!reader, curses, witchcraft of some kind, chance encounters, they're both a little unhinged in this one.

NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

The forest is silent save for the rhythmic thump of an axe against wood. Life doesn't exist in the small sphere of dead branches and fallen leaves. No bugs, no birds. The wolves hunt elsewhere; the prey have all but abandoned a place where death permeates the air.

What was nature to do when someone so unnatural had been laid to rest?

He knew he was too far from the predetermined area. The yellow tape was marked for trees ready to be chopped down. But the sound of the men laughing about some bar they found had set his teeth on edge—a rush of anger from deep in his chest now resurfacing quicker than he liked.

Some days were better than others. Some days he could join in on the laughter, make simple conversation, and pretend to be normal.

Other days he felt the clawing urge to bite and snap and dig his claws into flesh rear in his head. Try as he might, he couldn't ignore that unhinged sensation. Even if he wanted to. On those days he preferred to be alone. Away from humanity, separate from what they wanted from him.

They saw him as a man.

Not an animal.

That should be enough to appease his restless spirit; give him some peace after so much chaos.

His teeth ground together in his clenched mouth, sweat sticking to the back of his neck despite the cold weather. The axe felt like an extension of his arms. Hacking away at the base of a tree he knew would make enough noise to draw attention once it tipped. That didn't deter him from repeating his swing. From baring his teeth and growling through it in order to dig out what calm he could.

The blade wedged itself halfway into the bark before he heard it. The stifled scream of a woman. His body went stiff, head whipping around to see if someone had followed him. The instincts from before—days spent as a soldier still burned into his nerves—began to overtake his senses as another muffled scream pierced his eardrums.

He left the axe behind, heart thumping an unsteady beat in his chest as he made for the forest. Trees blocked what little sunlight poured through dense clouds; the air a murky fog that chilled his lungs with each breath. He could taste the sap dripping off tree bark on the tip of his tongue—his mind clinging to the edge of sanity as he moved.

Twigs snapped beneath his boots, leaves cracked with the weight of his body, but Logan couldn't think about moving silently. Someone was getting hurt. He could practically smell their fear. The heady coagulated tang of blood spilled over the forest floor.

"Hello?" he called out, emerging through the thicket of branches.

A small clearing gave way to what little light remained in the afternoon. Petrichor lingered in the pockets of clear air, familiar enough to set his earlier anxieties aside. Fall in Canada shepherded rain forward with a heavy hand.

He knew the woods would be soaked come morning. Any signs of life lost to the pelting drops of rain that dragged hail right alongside it.

His feet stopped at the edge of freshly packed dirt, a shovel tossed to the side with a dent in the metal large enough to resemble the size of a skull. Sucking in air, the hair rose on the back of his neck when the shriek sounded again. Pained. Anguished. As if someone was fighting to claw their way to the surface.

"Fuck," he gasped, dropping to one knee—fingers burrowing in the moist soil and heaving it over to the side. "I'm here. I've got ya!"

Another muffled cry filtered through the layers of dirt as he dug with heaving breaths. Sweat prickled along his forehead, dripping down his temple. The brine of salt dripping onto the already muddy area. What hope he could grasp onto began to slip through his fingers; now dragged beneath the surface of an already haunted forest.

Logan stumbled back when a hand shot through the dirt, piercing the ground by his foot. He sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide as an arm appeared, fingers grasping for leverage in the loose topsoil. He'd never experienced terror before. True fear that lingered in the bottom of his chest, echoing a solemn tune he wanted to rip from his flesh. But the sight of someone clinging to life filled his lungs with water.

You could feel it. The dirt and stones that packed themselves beneath your nails, slicing open what remained of the once pretty nail bed. It happened later this time. Took longer than you expected. Crimson blood mixed with the black soil as you vomited what stuffed itself into your lungs; the impacted earth was too heavy for your body to hold onto and thus the result remained the same.

Somehow it felt worse each time.

A cry of agony pierced the brume—splitting open the silence that could no longer exist. And with another heave, you managed to free yourself from a shitty dug grave with barely enough dirt to cover.

Sucking in a lungful of air, you collapsed to the ground. Body nude and streaked with mud. You couldn't tell which parts of you were sliced open this time around, could barely make out the color of the trees through the thick layer of fog. But the leather brown boots two feet away caught your attention instantly.

With a whimper, you lifted your head—eyes latched onto the broad man above you who looked ready to lose his breakfast, or join you on the ground. Perhaps both with the way his paled face stilled at the sight of you.

Of course, the time it took to return would fuck up your plans for solitude. Of course, you would have company at the worst possible moment.

This part was never easy.

"Hi," you meekly rasped, voice entirely gone from how many times you screamed.

Harrowing silence became the space that hung between your body and his. You curled your toes to force the blood back down through your veins. Hands holding an unsteady shake that would take a good hour to dissipate. You began to notice the color of his flannel—a deep umber with lines of brown. The scent of cedar permeating the air; sap a thick sweetness you could practically taste in the back of your throat.

Senses took a few moments to return back to their original vigor. Yet you couldn't allow yourself to slip into the you from twelve hours ago.

Not when the man still watched you, eyes overflowing with dread. You wondered if he was real. Would he flinch if you swung a fist at his shin? Or was your dilapidated mind conjuring him in a hallucinatory haze you'd eventually break free from.

Pushing yourself up on trembling limbs, you managed to contort your half paralyzed body into a sitting position. The feeling would return to your numb core; the steady drip of life slowly seeping back into your veins the longer you remained still.

Movement seemed to puncture a hole in his stupefied mind—yanking him back to reality. He dropped to one knee with a heavy exhale. "Who the fuck did this to you?"

You wanted to laugh. You nearly did laugh.

How were you meant to tell this complete stranger that you in fact...did this to yourself?

"Are you cold?" he asked as if you still held the capability to speak.

When it became clear you had no intention of offering him any sort of explanation, he promptly cussed under his breath. Hands stripping off the brown leather jacket that hung over his clearly muscled form. You tried to shake your head, hoping he'd get the hint and simply leave you alone.

The cold didn't harm your already frozen skin. Not when a rush of blood coursed through you—pumping an unhealthy amount of adrenaline back to your now racing heart.

He draped the heavy fabric over you anyways, securing it to cover what skin he could. His eyes fixed on the side of your face. What a goddamn gentleman. Hilarity of this entire situation flickered brightly in your mind, forcing a jolt through your body that had him rearing back a few inches.

He must not be used to the sight of someone coming back from the dead.

No one would be. Unless they understood your current predicament.

"Do you have someone I can call?"

Again...silence became all that lingered in your mirrored confusion. You pleasantly discovered that you liked the sound of his voice. He felt his stomach churn with the eggs he scarfed down an hour and a half ago. Oh what a hapless pair you made. Two strangers bound in this tight knit bond of befuddlement.

"Can you speak?" He pushed for you to give him something.

You nodded, trailing the curve of his jaw with your gaze. If you had to guess his profession, you'd pick lumberjack. That made the most sense as to why he found himself standing at the foot of your grave trying to help you escape it.

Although you supposed he might have just been on a stroll through the woods; seeking time to himself. An escape from the busy world above ground. You peered into his clouded hazel eyes - plucking what you could from her expressions alone. This was a man who didn't seem drastically horrified by the sight of you coming back to life. Rather lost in murky thoughts of how.

Again the aforementioned question you loathed answering left his plush lips.

"Who did this to you?"

Sighing, you felt the blood begin to rush to your legs, a tingle of awareness entering your system. You were coming back from the state of rigor mortis. Which meant that stick around here would no longer be an option. As much as you were inclined to entertain the idea of getting to know him, the reality was far too bleak for him to accept.

He was a mere human, you were something else. It would never work.

“What’s your name?”

Agitation clearly lined his nerves the longer he crouched beside you. He’d never receive the knowledge he wanted, never get to the bottom of this otherwise grueling mystery. The longer you stayed, the harder it would be to leave. Putting him out of his misery now was the only option you had.

The only one that might guarantee his safety.

“Please. Let me help you.” His sincerity struck your heart, causing it to twist until the jagged edge of pain spread through your entire body.

They always sounded this way.

Hopeful. Intrigued.

Too many people, too many broken souls.

The path of your existence was littered with unsalvageable pieces of those you allowed to wander into your life. You refused to say goodbye to someone who clutched your love too tightly. Who never understood what this meant—the horrid depth of what you were forced to endure. You’d never be able to find freedom in love, never find hope that things might one day be different.

Eventually your curse would kill them in the end. And you—the sole survivor—would be left to pick up the fragmented shards of your armored walls.

With a pained groan you stumbled to your feet—legs shaking like a fucking fawn right after birth. He shot up beside you, hands outstretched in case you collapsed. But after so many years, you’d grown used to the sensations of a body that fought against you. The sight of him made you grin; a man so large, so imposing, somehow looked small compared to your mangled body.

Oh, how you’d remember him.

Tucking his kindness into the depths of your heart—fondly looking at it more often than you’d ever admit.

Dragging the leather jacket off your shoulders—much to his dismay—you tucked it back into his grasp. For a brief moment, you traced the shape of his eyes with your gaze. Solidifying the hazel in your mind, the hints of dark umber speckled through the iris. Eyes that would haunt you for years to come.

You wanted to ask what caused him such anguish—what had he been through—to hold an unfathomable amount of grief in eyes so tender.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the unbearable scratch in your throat dissipating the longer you were alive.

“Wait–”

With surprising quickness, you walked past him, trembling with each step. Your stomach gnawed at your insides—the vacant sensation in your body determined your next course of action. Where you were heading with no need for direction.

This wasn’t unusual. Hours spent in the ground was bound to force your body to find its sustenance one way or another. Even if you weren’t technically alive. The adrenaline would wane, leaving you rattled—in a panic about the way your soul plunged into an infinite expanse of darkness. A place with no path.

Over the decades you managed to get a handle on your body;s tells. The routine it formulated to deal with the ancient magic coursing through your veins. Sparks of a past self never to be touched again; no matter how much you bargained.

Heavy footsteps trailed after you, entirely unaware that silence wasn’t his forte. He still clutched the jacket aimlessly, unaware that the temperature dropped rapidly the longer he remained outside. You’d grown used to the behaviors of men who found you. Their incessant need to follow, to see if they could get away with what they wanted.

The same fucking song and dance; a battle you learned to evade swiftly and without mercy.

You stuck to the carved pathway created by your own footsteps trekking the same ground over the span of many years. Those who worked this deep in the forest rarely stuck around to find out who dared to live this far away from humanity. Many assumed an old psychotic woman, man, or spirit, resided in the run-down cabin.

Others whispered of a witch cursed to roam in darkness for all eternity.

Though both were merely myths spread by bored townsfolk.

You often wondered what they would do if they found out that neither strayed far from the actual truth.

Each year that came and went people dared themselves to check—to see for themselves if the stories held a bit of authenticity to them. They more often than not, left scared out of their wits at the sight of a naked woman trailing dirt in across the threshold of an archaic home.

Your shadow persisted in his personal mission—five feet away, lumbering through the silent forest like a bear with no real direction. Scaring him off should have been your first priority. You knew the longer you sanctioned this behavior the harder it’d be to get him to fuck off.

Although you couldn’t deny the instantaneous attachment you felt for a man with such a tortured soul.

Perhaps some part of yourself could see the fragments that went missing harbored in his heart.

Like a fool, you continued on the familiar trail—giving yet another aimless person leeway in your life. Regret hung heavy in your heart—a promise of what would inevitably come to pass screaming in the icy air.

Your breath forms a cloud with each puff; the exertion far too much for your freshly revived body to handle. Later when you were adjusted once more, the remorse would return within each stiff joint that pleaded for an ounce of rest. Whether you wanted to partake in the act never remained up to you—rather an inescapable future that awaited you with open arms.

The cabin stood on the remnants of an old cemetery. Bits of cracked stones that once housed names were scattered around the front. Moss clung to walls built of worn in bricks that had seen better days. You liked each part of your home. The haunting beauty that kept others out, gave you the solace you needed on days like this. Here you could pretend you were a normal person, not someone stuck with the scars of wounds that never remained.

Of pain you held no proof of.

The path was lined with plants of varying species. None of them should have survived the weather in Canada, yet like you they persisted.

Just as fucking stubborn and determined to remain alive.

Kicking a loose stone over, you reached for the rusting iron key lodged into damp dirt. The man stopped speaking long before he followed you here. Probably coming to the same conclusion they all did. You were not going to listen to a single thing that came out of his mouth.

You had to hand it to him. He knew where he stood in a situation like this—given your relatively calm exterior.

The door creaked with a weathered groan as you pushed it open. A bag of grave dirt hung on a nail in the wall to your left, an old shovel stood propped against the entryway, and a trail of dried herbs were suspended from the ceiling. You inhaled the scent of home with a grin; finally at ease within the place you knew well. A line of hooks held blankets for this very situation—heavy wool lined coats beside them.

Instead of grabbing one, you reached for what was still tucked in the pocket. The thud of his boots against the front step echoed loud in your ear. That seemed to be all you needed to hear the warning bells signal in the back of your mind. Allowing him to shadow you had been fun, but the truth still glared in your direction.

You didn’t know this man—you never would.

Better safe than sorry.

Spinning your heel, you jammed the silver dagger against his throat, forcing him to stumble back. His hands clutched at your wrists, eyes wide with the shock of what just happened. You didn’t want to admit that a small part of you liked seeing him this way. Yet no fear could be found in the darkened hazel. Merely a hint of concern—pity.

That only served to piss you off. He dared to follow you home, thinking he could enter your house without permission. In such a case as this you faced him with the fire that fueled your inhumane rage. The match struck against your heart, igniting sparks that existed long before he was ever born.

“You’re not welcome here,” you spit, eyes narrowed and lips pulled into a snarl.

He held every right to look at you as if you were a feral animal he accidentally cornered. You knew you resembled one. Right down to your hackles being raised—bloodlust burning in your glare. If he wasn’t careful, he would wind up with a split open throat and you’d have one hell of a mess to clean.

“I’m not gonna hurt ya,” he murmured.

“You followed me home.”

Swallowing thickly, Logan felt an old familiar ache rise in his chest at the sight of you. He’d been where you stood once. Desperate to be left alone; angry at a world who abandoned him. The thought of you believing the worst in him left bile climbing the back of his throat, shame burning hot in his stomach.

“Just wanted to see if you were okay.”

You grinned yet a dullness remained at the center of your eyes. “I’m alive. You can go.”

“You crawled out of a grave,” he growled.

Only to be met with one of your own. “No shit.”

“You live alone.” The knife pressed down against his skin, red welling to the surface in an instant. “Who put you there?”

“That’s none of your fucking business.”

You held no reservations against cutting him open. You’d done it before and would do it again in a heartbeat. Logan could see that clear as day. This wasn’t about him attempting to help. He’d surpassed that half a mile ago when you began to walk it off like you knew what was happening. And perhaps he was stupid to keep standing there in a pathetic attempt to tame you.

But he needed to know what happened.

Simply for the sake of his own sanity.

“I won’t hurt you bub,” he echoed, releasing your wrists with a soft exhale. “That’s not why I came.”

The anger dulled like the blade of your knife at the sound of his voice. Putting your faith in someone to uphold their words wasn’t something you excelled at. In fact, you found it was easier to bite first before you even bothered to bark at them. A feral animal who held no sense of safety—who thrived in bitter chaos and would until the very end.

But for the first time…you found yourself unable to fight against someone who stood before you like a mirror from a past life. The anguish in his eyes resembled your own. A fractured window that spilled light along the darkness, even if it didn’t belong. Even if you were born to exist in the vacant nothingness they put you in.

“Help me out here,” he murmured.

Before you could silence it, you laughed. Short and stunted and still layered in the gritty rasp from earlier.

“Fuck you.”

He sighed, stepping forward—his throat opening even further. You expected him to flinch, cuss loud enough to scare the varying corvid that often perched in the trees, but all that remained was that damn sincerity. The echo of a man who you somehow understood exactly what ran through your mind even before you let him in on the secret.

Logan kept his eyes locked on yours, even when his body screamed for something else. He wasn’t a stranger to having a blade to his throat, nor to violence in general. But even with the intent of killing him clear in your gaze, he knew something else stirred beneath the surface of your mind. He latched onto the quick pace of your heart, clamoring for a deeper look behind the walls of your impenetrable armor.

“I know what it’s like.” Your eyes went wide for a brief second before you resumed your previous stance. That remained enough for Logan to feel he touched on exactly the right thing.

“You don’t know anything.”

“Believe me bub,” he retorted, lips curling into a half-hearted grin. “I know what not dying feels like. Even if you want to.”

The breath was punched from your lungs, body going still as the waves of disbelief washed over you. He grasped your wrist gently, prying the knife from his throat, and you watched his skin stitch itself back together. The only remnants of your violent act was left in a stain of red he promptly wiped off.

You had half a mind to try again. Test the proof he so blatantly showed you without an ounce of shame. He seemed to catch onto your interest quicker than you expected—his palm spreading wide beneath yours and hand forcing the blade along his skin. A gasp fell past your lips at the sight of his body healing rapidly—the cut nonexistent within seconds.

Logan felt pride pierce his chest. Unfamiliar and yet entirely welcome.

“How…”

“I’ll explain it bub,” he uttered, drawing your attention back to him. “If you tell me the truth.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

He huffed, moving close enough to feel the warmth emanate from your bare skin. “I’m pretty good at spottin’ bullshit. Someone put you in that grave.”

“Yes.” Blindly you reached for a jacket behind you, slipping it on as his eyes took in the small bits of your home he could see. “I did.”

His head snapped back to you, lips set in a firm line. “What do you mean you did?”

“It’s a long story.” You waved your hand as you tied the jacket’s belt around your waist.

“I got enough time to hear it.”

Turning back towards the entryway of your home, you didn’t bother to bite back the smile that bloomed across your face. Somewhere in the back of your mind the voices of years past shrieked in horror at the choices made in the past hour.

How could you drag another soul into the darkness? Torture them with the duress of your life—of what you were forced to endure. Was it merely to appease the growing ache of loneliness that gnawed at your heart. A constant hunger you could never satiate.

He didn’t deserve what came next.

No one did.

But you were a selfish person who had tolerated far too much—who gave up every piece of your heart to keep others safe. For years you claimed you were better off alone. Only for the sight of his ability to fracture that part of yourself in two, burying it in a shallow grave with the hopes of no resurrection.

One day you’d come to regret your choice. You always did.

Tonight however you would give yourself this. Time spent in the company of another, even if it might end in a tragic disaster.

“Would you like some dinner?” you asked over your shoulder, too afraid of what his response might be.

His lips pulled into a grin as he crossed the threshold of your home—placing his jacket on the now vacant hook. “I’d love some.”

note: i handwrote a giant portion of this & proceeded to type it on my brother's laptop. so if there's mistakes forgive that. i don't have a laptop rn and i'm working with literal scraps.

[syoddeye]

the warren

price x reader | 895 words

had the overwhelming urge to write creepy!price. this is the result. not closely edited, apologies.

CW: blood (mentioned), hunting (mentioned/implied), theft, stalking

Bare footprints, neat impressions set into the loam ringing the lake. They veered left to the woods, to the direction of the climb leading to meadows.

Where'd you run now?

The signs of her trail are near invisible in the night - disturbed foliage and snapped twigs - but not to him. Crouching at the edge where the prints disappear into the underbrush, he sees dark droplets of blood, wet, painting leaf and root. He wipes one off of a stone, brings it to his mouth, and runs the pad of his finger over his gums and tongue. Salt and metal, the very things she tried to use to keep him out, keep him away.

The very things he had developed a taste for.

John admires her spirit, even with his plan to snuff out that independence. Her frenzied escape only heightened his anticipation for when he'd catch her.

Run, rabbit, run.

~~ Three months earlier ~~

John knew the day he spied her trespassing at the hutch that her hands were clean. Soft and unsullied. Not a speck of dirt under her fingernails. Polite and easy with her apologies, lips parting to show a pink tongue and good teeth.

She saw the cat, followed it over the unmarked property line, and then spotted the colony in its enclosure.

"You like animals?" 

"Yes, who doesn't?"

"Come see the kittens, then."

She trailed after him, around the side of the shophouse and back to the business side. He held his tongue when she observed none of the lots on the road bracketing the bay were fenced.

Fences were unnecessary this far out. Everything, everyone, knew their place. Knew where they were not allowed to tread without invitation. Everyone except her, apparently.

A newcomer to this neck of the woods.

She crouched, peered into the plastic, straw-filled tub on the porch, and watched the week-old creatures half-blindly search for their mother. The heat lamp was a functional substitute while the queen was out filling her belly.

"So, this is your shop?" She brushed herself off when she stood, eyeing the store's interior through the front windows.

"Mhm."

"Are you closed?"

"For lunch, as of five minutes ago."

"Oh."

He sighed. "But I can delay my meal. C'mon."

"Thank you, I promise I won't take long."

~~

She takes ten minutes. John leans against the back counter, steel thermos down to the dregs of the morning's coffee. The basket in the crook of her arm carries a week's worth of canned and dry goods. She presents it with a small smile and digs into a pocket for her cardholder.

He rings her up, poking through the haul. In addition to the sundry of foodstuff, there are basic toiletries, insect repellent, a lighter, and a pack of twelve-hour candles. She adds a pair of cheap red sunglasses from the revolving display. They do not make it into the final total.

"Can I ask what brings an Englishman here?" She asks after handing over a wad of cash, setting her wallet down to take the tag off of the sunglasses.

Like clockwork. Always the same question with every new face.

"Retirement," He cards through the bills and makes change. "And you? Visiting?"

"I'm renting for the summer."

He smirks and closes the cash drawer. Holding out what she's owed over a manicured hand, he tilts his head slightly. "Would that be the old Warren place? Or the Lakeshore Arms?" He drops the money.

A few coins slip through the cracks of her fingers, clattering sharply against the formica, some ricocheting to the floor at her sandaled feet.

"Limited housing supply here, least longer term," John explains, making no move to assist other than lazily pushing a quarter back across the counter.

She scrambles to collect the scattered tender, resurfacing from the other side of the counter with a sheepish look beneath her brow, clearly flustered. "The Warren place."

"Hm. Need a bag?"

"No, thanks," She says, smiling tight when she pulls two canvas bags from the sling over her chest. She drops the items into each bag inelegantly. Cans settle atop the loaf of white bread, and the bug spray slots snugly next to the toothpaste.

Never bagged her own groceries before, I'll bet.

She grabs her wallet. "Are there…any other stores nearby?"

"Next place is two towns over. About an hour and a ten-minute drive, forty-five minutes if you speed," John leans back, arms crossing. I assure you, though, the store's got everything you need right here. And if it doesn't…All you need to do is ask."

It's heavy-handed. He knows. But it's better to plant the seed now and let it take root.

"I'll keep that in mind," She sets the sunglasses atop her head and turns to leave, only to spot the short stack of bagged deer corn near the door. One hand on the door, she takes a closer look. "Aw, I didn't know you could feed the deer like this."

His mouth slowly curls. "It's bait, sweetheart."

The instant drop in her expression sends a wicked thrill down his spine.

When she leaves, he watches her hurry down the road through the glass. He flips the sign on the door again: Out to lunch. 

John fishes her ID card out of his pocket, murmurs her name, and looks back at her retreating form.

You're a long way from home, rabbit.

[ohbo-ohno]

merry christmas @luminousbeings-crudematter, here's the ghoap x reader purge au! (a week and a half after you posted about it... im so sorry)

5.7k, mind the tags <3

cw: ROUGH NONCONSENUAL SEX in all caps, pwp, under-prepared/painful anal sex, some pretty intense fear stuff, people covered in blood and referenced violence (it's a purge au lol)

Your hands tremble where they’re tucked close to your chest, blood sticky and thick between each finger. You feel coated in it, like someone has taken a brush and gone over every inch of your skin, painted you in red.

It’s in your mouth. You can feel the warmth of it on your tongue, the taste of iron sickening. You tell yourself that maybe you bit your tongue, that it’s not really your ex Phil’s blood coating your teeth.

Your thin pajamas are hardly any protection against the chill of the night air, less so with how soaked they are. The stench of piss is heavy in the air, a mixture of yours and his, but you don’t have time to go back inside and change.

You’re running on pure instinct, an animal urge deep in your mind insisting you run. You’d always thought you’d have more of a flight instinct than fight. Despite how you feel now, how your legs itch to carry you as far away as possible, the cooling corpse left behind tells you the truth. 

You stumble into the wall, a wave of nausea knocking you off balance. There’s a trail of red left behind as you use one hand to balance yourself, the other held protectively over your heart. 

Your security system - cheap, but usually enough to let you sleep through the Purge - is completely destroyed. There’s no chance of it protecting you, and the bust in windows will let anyone on the streets see your vulnerability. You’ll never feel safe there, and you can’t shake the need to run.

There’s no chance of any of your neighbors helping you. There’s some neighborly camaraderie between your floor-mates, but that all disappears on Purge night. It’s every man for himself, every year, without fail. You know that. You even think the same as them, pretend no one else exists when that siren goes off every year. 

But now, shaking and terrified, you wish you could knock on a door and see it open. Hear the security system disengage and see a familiar face, beg for help and thank them on your knees.

It’s a nice fantasy. Reality is less kind, seeing you shake with a dawning chill as you manage to shoulder open the door to the stairwell, cringing when it slams behind you.

The cold cement is rough on your feet, and a distant part of yourself worries about slipping - your feet are slick with blood, and you can hear yourself leaving a trail of footsteps. You don’t try to slow down, holding tight to the metal railing and shuffling down the stairs.

You’re halfway down the first of four flights when the door on the next floor opens, a large figure stepping into the stairwell. Your stumble to a stop before you even register that you’re not alone anymore, and you’re backpedaling before you even fully realize.

He’s big, his face covered in a red skull mask. From your vantage point you can see his hair is shaved into a mohawk, and he’s shirtless with only a pair of gray sweatpants on.

He’s drenched in blood. Even more than you, and you feel like you’re drowning in it. If you’re painted in blood, someone took a bucket and dumped it on this man. You can hardly see any unmarked skin, and you wonder for a split-second if the skull was once white.

There’s an audible grin in his voice when he calls up to you. “Look’it you, bonnie thing. You tryin’ to run?” He steps to the side, leaving a wide open space for you to pass him to the next staircase. You’re frozen where you’re leant against the railing, hardly able to breathe. “C’mon, give it a shot.” 

You listen, scrabbling further back and all but throwing yourself up the stairs on all fours. You’re only the need to get away, an innate fear that tells you to get as far from the blood-soaked man as quickly as possible. You swear you hear him laugh as you launch yourself up the next flight, panting already.

There’s no safety found in going up though, as hardly two flights later you’re tugged to a stop by your instincts alone.

Standing above you, hardly six feet away and blocking the door he must’ve just come from, is another giant. This one fully clothed and with a white skull mask, somehow bigger and more intimidating than the man you can hear coming up the stairs behind you. You can’t see even an inch of skin, black gloves on his hands and mean black combat boots reaching nearly his knees.

There’s a moment, before the chase ends, where you contemplate jumping over the railing. There’s no going up, there’s no going back, and you can’t even begin to imagine what these two men want with you. The only thing that keeps you from throwing yourself over is the fear that you wouldn’t die on impact, that you’d be left injured and even more vulnerable to these men.

You’re not sure you could’ve tried that plan had you even wanted to, because the moment it forms fully in your mind a pair of thick arms wraps around you, and a heavy weight forces you to the ground.

You cry out at the sudden shove, palms scraped raw against the cement. The man behind you covers your body completely - his knees bracket yours, his hands rest on either side of your head, and there’s no part of the back of you that isn’t cloaked in him.

He doesn’t say anything as he ruts against you, the blood from his chest soaking through your tank top and making you cringe further away. You can’t stop the quiet stream of whimpers as you try to shrink into the stairs, try to get away from the beast behind you. He doesn’t care, only drops more of his weight onto you and pantomines fucking you.

You can feel the outline of his cock through his pants, as thin as the clothes both of you are wearing are. If you weren’t wearing your shorts, if he tugged the waistband of his pants down, he’d be inside of you.

The thought makes you tear up, makes you want to slam your head back and try to knee him in the balls, makes you want to fight.

But all your fight is gone. It died with Phil and your security system, and you’re left only with a weight in your bones that makes you wish you could sink through the floor. 

The hard plastic of the skull mask presses to the sensitive skin of your cheek, biting into the fat there. You can see the gleam of bright blue eyes in the sockets, the creases at the edges that tell you he’s smiling.

“You gonna fuck her here for the first time?” The white skull asks, voice deep enough that you hardly register the words. Your eyes are jerked to his form and it makes you shiver to see him sitting on the top of the staircase you’re pinned to, legs spread wide as he stares down at you with a cigarette between lips exposed by the tilted mask. You feel like a sacrifice, thrown to the stairs of a temple for a god.

“Can I?” The man over your shoulder pants, accent roughened from his own movements. You can’t tell if the wetness between your thighs is piss, blood, or an even worse option. You bite your tongue to hold back a whine, wince at the burst of iron in your mouth.

The man above you tilts his head, smoking blown into the air. “You fuck her here, you won’t get to go again on the roof. Don’t need you gettin’ spoiled.”

Your nails dig into the concrete, folding beneath the pressure as you shake beneath the red skulled man. He whines over you, like a petulant kid being told no for the first time, but goes still against you. That alone has you blinking open damp eyelashes, watching him from the corner of your eyes.

“Alright, I’ll wait,” he pants, chin resting on your soldier. “Give ye some time to get ready, huh lass? It’ll be easier for ye then. Just think about what we’ll do to ye, how good it’ll feel to get properly fucked, yeah?”

You sob when he grinds one final time against you, your hips pushed into the harsh edge of the stairs. 

He’s dragging you up after that, hardly letting either of you stand fully before shoving you up the stairs. You can’t catch your balance and let out a small cry as you fall back to your knees, mouth twisting in pain at the unforgiving surface against your naked knees.

You flinch when a gloved hand grasps your chin, tugging up until you’re forced to look towards the white skull above you.

You’ve landed between his feet, a boot on either side of your body, and if you’d moved forward even another half foot, you’d have face planted into his lap. 

Your heart skips a beat when you realize you’re making eye contact with him. The dark brown of his pupils blends almost seamlessly with what must be black paint smeared around his eye sockets, and the only reason you even realize you’re locked in a staring contest is the way the light reflects off the whites of his eyes.

You don’t have time to try and move away from him on your own (or, more accurately, to throw yourself backwards and pray you didn’t break something falling down the stairs) before a pair of bare hands are shoving you up from beneath the armpits, making you almost squeal as you jerk in the direction you’re forced.

“Up, c’mon,” red skull grunts, hands flitting from one part of your exposed skin to the next as he herds you upstairs. “Need to get inside ye, kitty, fuckin’ walk.”

You sob as you stumble up the stairs, the top of your foot scraping painfully against the concrete. You glance over your shoulder just in time to see White stand to follow you two, but you’re nearly sent sprawling again when Red only shoves you all the more harshly.

“Pl-please,” you manage to gasp, shoulder roughly bouncing off the wall. A glance up tells you you’re two full flights away from the rooftop. “Please, I don’t know what you want, b-but…” You can hardly talk around the sobs floating in your throat, choking you. “Please, please don’t hurt me.”

Red groans as he tugs you nearly off balance, the sound echoing off the walls and full of what you can only describe as hunger.

“Fuck, haven’t even gotten ye naked yet ‘n yer already beggin. Knew ye’d be perfect for us.”

You can hardly see through the tears in your eyes, the rest of the trip up to the roof all gray with streaks of red and black. You can’t focus enough to try and get away again, can’t get enough of your panic under control to fucking think.

The red skull catches you when you almost go careening over the rails, one broad hand catching you by the chest and gripping.

He groans, you flinch. “Fuck, cannae wait to get my mouth on these.” He pinches with his whole hand, your breast going sharp with pain on every fingertip. You whine, flinching further against his chest and trying to shrink away.

“Keep movin’, Soap.”

“Aye,” Red - Soap - pants, and you can practically hear the saliva gathered in his mouth when he swallows. “C’mon, kitty, only a little further.”

The blood on your hands has dried by the time White is shouldering open the door to the roof, your hands itching and the red flaking away every time your fingers twitch. The night air is a cold shock, just jarring enough to tug some reason back into your brain.

Soap doesn’t stop his herding until you’re far enough from the door for his partner to block it with an old metal chair, the back tucked under the door handle. You tuck your hands beneath your arms, shoulders curled in in an attempt to preserve warmth.

You wouldn’t have expected the night to be so cold. Half of the street is burning - flames painting the sky, giving you the exact opposite impression of the biting chill you feel. There are dozens of people in the streets, carrying guns and axes and chainsaws and all sorts of other weapons you can’t see. You feel bile rise in your throat when you realize the dark pools reflecting flames in the street are blood, not water.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Soap grumbles, and you don’t have any time to think before his mouth is pressed forcefully against yours, tongue shoving at your lips.

Your eyes are wide open, unlike his, and you make a shocked sound high in your throat at the sight of his maskless face. You can’t really see what he looks like with the way he’s pressed against you, but it’s a shock nonetheless.

You keep your lips pressed tightly together, no matter how much his tongue prods and tries to force its way into your mouth. You feel more than hear him laugh against you after a few long seconds, and one of his massive paws comes up to cradle your jaw pointer finger against your temple and thumb under your chin.

He stops trying to force himself between your lips after almost a minute, instead shifting to just… licking your lips. His tongue paints wide across your mouth, soaking you in his saliva. He’s almost scarily determined in the way he accosts you, his grip tight on your face as his other hand shifts to bruise your hip, covering what feels like the entire bottom-half of your face in his spit. You can’t help but grimace, trying to pull away from him, but he’s pressed too close.

“Can’t fuckin’ wait to be in ye,” he pants, breath warm and wet against your cheeks. “I know yer gonna squeeze me just right, bonnie, can tell already.”

“Please,” you say, voice weak. “Please, don’t, I don’t want you to-”

His groan is guttural. “Ye wanna know a secret, bonnie?” His voice is quiet between the two of you, bright blue eyes boring deep into yours when he pulls back. To your endless frustration, he’s handsome.

He leans close, whispering so low that you almost have to strain to hear hum. “That’s what makes you fun. Wouldnae be draggin’ you up here if ye wanted it, could get you any other night of the year for that. But it’s Purge night, lass… so you go ahead and fight as much as ye want, yeah? Just makes it more fun for me.”

You can’t help but sob at that, fat tears streaming down your face as he maneuvers you. You feel disconnected from your body as he forces you down to the ground, your soft belly left exposed when he pushes up your tank-top to cup one of your breasts, a whimper crawling out of your throat at the way the gravel presses into you.

You feel his breathing grow heavier as his hands move down to your shorts, shoving them off your hips and leaving them loose around your calves, completely disregarding your pitiful attempts at crawling away.

“Poor thing, been stuck in these the whole time? They fuckin’ reek, bonnie, no offense. That his piss or yours?”

You shake your head against the ground, face twisted up in acute humiliation. For some stupid reason you don’t want to even begin exploring, you find it necessary to whisper, “H-his.”

Soap hums, and you curse yourself inwardly when the humiliation is slightly alleviated.

“Get ‘em off her,” the white mask says, and you can’t help but jump at the sound of his voice. He’s sat on a large box only a few feet away, leaning back and relaxing, looking for all the world like he’s settled in for his favorite show. “Don’t want anythin’ of his touching her now.”

The sound Soap makes at that is animalistic, a snarl coming from deep in his chest that makes you flinch as he all but tears the shorts from your body. You wince at the wet splat of them landing several feet away.

You force your forehead into the gravel when your knees are forced wide, a rough hand and another pair of knees spreading you.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no…” you can’t help but beg, voice trembling. “Please- god, please don’t-”

“Fuck,” he moans over your shoulder. “Yeah, keep goin’, lass.”

You sob at the feeling of warm skin against your bared behind, his thick length slotting itself smoothly between the slightly spread lips of your pussy. Your eyes squeeze shut and it takes all your willpower not to keep begging.

He slides himself back and forth against you for a few long breaths, using online the slight slickness from a mixture of piss and blood to get some friction. But to your immense horror, it only takes a few moments for the sensual movement against your clit to have your body preparing itself.

The slight wetness at your hole might be a betrayal, but it’s not nearly enough to ease the way when he pushes inside of you with no warning.

You nearly scream, a high sound of pure panic and pain when it feels like you’re being split in two. Somewhere off in the distance, you hear someone laugh. Right above you, Soap groans.

He’s buried himself to the hilt inside you before the pain has had any time at all to fade, and he’s fucking into you hardly a second after that.

Every thrust forces a grunt from your throat, the entire weight of him slammed into your back each time his balls smack against your clit. Your face is twisted up in a grimace, your whole body racked with pain that your assaulter couldn’t care less about.

“Fuck, kitty. Yer squeezin’ me so good, such a good girl, shit-! Knew you’d be ti-tight as a vice, fuck, but didn’t know you’d be squeezin’ me so tight I can hardly move.”

Your whine is plaintive, his moan is filled with pleasure.

“Yer gettin’ so wet for me, bonnie. Ye like this, huh? Bet you like it just as much as I do, gettin’ thrown around and takin’ advantage of. That it, kitty? Ye like being forced?”

You sob and shake your head against the ground, crying all the more when sharp pebbles dig into your cheeks.

“Naw, I think ye do. Why else’d you be- fuck, squeezin’ me like that?” 

“Cause- because-” you try, but you can’t get the breath in to get more than a single word out.

“Huh? Cause- cause-?” Soap mocks, his voice pitching up to mimic you as he plants himself deep inside you, grinding his hips against the meat of your ass. “C’mon, kitty, tell me why. Go on.”

“Cause I want you to stop!” You cry, balled up fist slamming into the gravel. You can’t help but whine ow when the sharp rocks poke into your skin, and Soap’s laugh shakes your entire body.

“Good,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear. “Squirm all ye want, lass. I love it when you fight.”

You can do nothing but go limp beneath him as he begins fucking you again, his pace somehow faster and even more relentless. It’s a small mercy that there’s no fight left in you, that you can’t give him any more pleasure. 

It certainly doesn’t stop him, though. Despite the fact that you’re doing your best impression of a dead fish, Soap pants and moans against your shoulder like you’re the single best thing he’s ever slept with. His cock is painfully hard inside of you, and his pace never once slows.

He’s loud when he finally comes, the sound of his orgasm clear enough that you know he’s thrown his head back to the sky. You can only whimper as he rolls his hips against you, working the last spurts of cum out of his cock and into your unwilling body. 

“Fuck,” he sighs in your ear, sounding far more satisfied than he has any right to. “Good girl, kitty. You were perfect.”

You sniffle beneath him when he slowly pulls out, both of you groaning at the sensation. He gives you an almost perfunctory pat on the ass, and stands to walk away. You manage to open your eyes and focus just in time to see him slide to the ground in front of his partner, leaning against the wall.

“Yer turn,” he sighs. “Warmed her up good for you, Lt.”

Despite the hatred boiling in your gut, you can do nothing but lay limp on the ground and watch as his partner stands, cracking his neck and moving towards your prone form. 

You want to run, you want to fight, but you can only watch the executioner come closer and wait for the metaphorical axe to fall.

He crouches by your head first, grasping your chin and pulling up until your torso tries to follow to alleviate the tension. He stares deep into your eyes for a long moment, and you find that it’s impossible to even tell where his pupils are with no real lighting. You feel like you’re truly looking into the empty eye sockets of a skull, no man and no mercy to be found.

“You’ll call me Ghost when I fuck you,” he rumbles, thumb stroking over the scrapes on your cheek. He doesn’t wait for a response, simply hauls you up by the shoulder and turns you onto your back. 

He’s rough with your limbs as he shoves your legs together and up, his forearm banding across the backs of both of your knees and holding them to your chest. You whimper and wiggles as best you can, but the bruising blow against your thigh is enough to have you gasping and stilling.

“Don’t fight,” he warns, and you feel his gloved fingers running up the crack of you. “You’re hurtin’ enough as it is, and I’m not gonna help. You wanna make it worse too?”

You shake your head, unsure if he can even see you through your legs. He doesn’t respond, and hums when he swipes two fingers through the liquid gathered between your lips.

You whine when those fingers move further down, a fresh panic creeping in when he presses around your back hole.

“You should be glad Soap fucked you so good,” Ghost drawls. “He gave you all the lube you’re gonna get.”

You feel like an animal when you whine again, unsure of how to even begin trying to speak. You yelp when a thick finger slides into your hole, completely disregarding any resistance and forcing its way in until it’s buried to the knuckle. Your cries go ignored.

“Quit squirmin’,” Ghost scolds, pulling his finger out to smack your ass before shoving two back in. “You’re fine.”

You’re not, you’re terrified and hurting and upset, but none of those things matter when Ghost only coaxes more of your slick and Soap’s spend to your unused whole so there’s less resistance. 

The only blessing you have is the fact that you can’t see more than the outline of Ghost’s figure with the way he’s got you positioned. You try your best to close your eyes and float into disassociation, and while you can’t fully manage it, the fact that you can’t see his face - his mask - helps you distance yourself from what’s happening.

The moment you realize this is of course the moment it stops being true. 

He seems to decide you’re ready after scissoring three fingers inside of you, hefting himself up so that he looms more fully over you. You can only whine as you feel the movements of him unbuckling his belt, feel the weight of him slap against your slightly spread cheeks.

Fresh tears fall past your lashes as you stare up into the fathomless darkness that are Ghost’s eyes. There’s nothing there, just a cold empty skull prepared to ruin you.

You don’t even have the energy to beg.

The stretch of him inside your ass is five times worse than Soap was. There’s no natural lubrication, and nowhere near enough synthetic lube either. Your hole feels like it’s on fire, the stretch white hot as he gives you no mercy.

You’re not even fully sure what you’re babbling as he slowly sinks to the root, only aware of the pain and fear and panic sitting heavy in your heart. You fear you’ll choke on your tears, head jerking back and forth.

He sighs when he bottoms out, heavy barrel chest forcing your knees past your shoulders. Your hips strain, just another pain from the endless abuse.

“There,” he grunts, patting your thigh when you go limp from it all. “Stay nice and still now, just need a place to dump my cum.”

Upsettingly enough, that hurts. The idea that you could mean nothing to this man is somehow worse than the thought of him having some other twisted feelings for you, your hormone-addled mind deeply insulted. 

His thrusts are long and slow, each one pulling nearly completely out before slamming back in. The sound of your skin slapping together is embarrassingly sexual, and a distant part of you is aware enough to pray that no one nearby had heard your screams and cries.

Ghost is near silent as he fucks you, the opposite of Soap. You can only hear the occasional grunt when you squeeze him because he’s inches away from your face - you can even feel the occasional gusts of breath when his hips start working a little faster. 

There’s nothing you can do but lay limply beneath him and take it, just a vehicle for his pleasure. You almost manage to float away, to pretend none of this is happening or has ever happened, when his free hand moves from your thigh to the top of your cunt.

You nearly squeal when he rubs your clit, the smooth leath gliding over your slick bud. Your eyes fly wide open, back arching as much as you can with three hundred pounds of man holding you down. The loud laugh from several feet away only makes you writhe more.

“Make her squirt, Lt!” Soap shouts, his voice carefree.

“Shut it, Johnny,” Ghost grunts, voice roughened with pleasure. You don’t even have time to focus on the fact that he’s just told you Johnny’s name, far too preoccupied with the tidal wave of pleasure rushing towards you.

You have no idea why it happens. You’re never quick to come - almost every single partner of yours has complained about you taking so long to get off, it’s been an Issue in several relationships. 

So it makes absolutely no sense that after hardly a minute of rough circles against your clit, you’re clenching down on the cock in your ass and moaning loudly as your orgasm overtakes you.

The natural clench of your body only makes the pain worse, a sharp spike of it running up your cunt and making your moan shift into more pained sounds. Ghost only moans in tandem above you, his thrusts becoming slightly less even as he lets your orgasm coax out his own.

You sob when you feel his cum paint your insides.

Unlike Johnny, Ghost doesn’t pull out after he comes. He lets your legs fall limp on either side of him, just barely managing to catch them for you before you slam your ankles to the ground. He leans his torso over yours, elbows resting on either side of your shoulders while you do nothing but wait beneath him.

He’s sweat off some of the makeup. This close, you can see hints of pale skin in the sockets of the mask. There’s nothing to read in his eyes, but that flash of skin tells you he’s still a man.

You swallow, trying to work moisture back into your dry mouth, and whisper, “Will… will you let me go now?”

You know it’s more likely he’ll kill you. It’s what you can only imagine happened to all those bodies in the streets, what you know happens to tens of thousands of women every year. 

So it’s not a surprise when he doesn’t answer you verbally, instead covering your mouth with his palm and pinching your nose shut with his fingers. 

Your eyes flutter shut after a moment, lungs tightening already, and all you can hope is that suffocation is a quick death.

———————————————————————

You wake, gasping, in a dark room. 

You’re lurching forward before you’re even fully aware that you’re awake, coughing loudly and gasping when it feels like your throat is bleeding.

“Oh, poor thing,” you hear a familiar accented voice coo, and a moment later there’s a warm hand patting your back. “Yer alright, deep breaths.”

You jerk back from Soap - Johnny - as soon as your coughing is under control, scrambling back on your palms and staring at him with wide eyes. He only grins at you, looking for all the world like any other normal man in his sweater and sweatpants.

He got changed at some point - these pants are clean. He’s not wearing his mask either, and you’re struck dumb by how non threatening he manages to look.

He also changed your clothes - or Ghost did, maybe. You try to cover your chest with one hand, but there’s no hiding the fact that you’re completely naked. 

Johnny only laughs at your attempted modesty. “Been starin’ at them for hours, lass. Ye’ve got nothin’ to hide.”

That’s… horrifying, and does absolutely nothing to calm you down.

It’s then that Ghost rises from a chair, stepping forward and making you aware of his presence. “Calm down, Johnny. We don’t want her panickin’ this early.”

Soap fully pouts, tilting his head at you before glancing up at his partner. “I haven’t even done anythin’, Ghost. Was just sayin’ hi, tha’s all.”

Ghost snorts, gripping Johnny’s mohawk and tugging back until the other man sprawls back on his ass. “You know how you are, pup. Give your kitty some space.”

Johnny listens, crossing one leg beneath him and bending the other close to his chest, looking casual as can be. Meanwhile your heartbeat only gets faster, and you wince when you happen to lean too far one direction and feel a throbbing reminder of what these men did to you.

Ghost steps forward again, crouching just out of arm's reach. You realize he’s not wearing the same skull mask as before, but a balaclava with a printed skull pattern instead. His eye sockets are unpainted, and you’re shocked by how such little things make him look so much more human. 

“You can calm down. Long as you behave, nothin’ much worse’ll happen to you.”

You find yourself almost comically not-comforted by that, and can do nothing more than stare at him with wide eyes. 

“Where…” Your voice cracks, so you swallow and start again. “Where am I?”

It’s Johnny who speaks up. “Our place. We finally brought ye home with us, kitty.”

The world feels like it’s slowed around you, and your eyes drag from one kidnapper to the other. You have to swallow again to work any moisture into your bone-dry mouth.

“Is the Purge over?”

The creases at the corner of Ghost’s eyes are painfully obvious with how pale his skin is, and you shudder at the thought of him smiling.

“Been over for… what, five hours now? Somethin’ like that.”

You can’t fight the tremble in your voice now. “Then… then you have to let me go.”

Ghost’s head tilts, the creases get deeper. “Do I?”

You nod with as much conviction as you can - which is almost none. “You can’t keep me here. You’re breaking the law.”

Ghost leans closer on the balls of feet and you lean further back, your spine pressing into the wall behind you. “Are we now? And who do you think will stop us, pet?”

“The- the police. Someone will report me missing, they’ll come looking.”

“Oh? And you think they’ll come here?”

You nod as best you can, and jump when Ghost laughs. It’s low and quiet, only a few beats, but it’s like gasoline thrown on the small fire of panic in your mind.

“You have no idea where you even are, and you think they’ll find you? I hate to break it to you doll, but you’ll be lucky if they look for you for a week. You have any idea how many people go missin’ after the Purge?”

Your breath is quickening. “So that’s it? You’re just going to… going to keep me here, forever? What are you even going to do?”

His laugh is sharper, meaner this time. “We’re gonna do a whole lot more of what we did last night, pet. Keep you as a little cocksleeve, a pretty thing tucked in the basement just for our entertainment. Ain’t that right, Johnny?”

You manage to tear your eyes away to look at Soap and see that he’s nearly salivating, having inched closer and closer and shifted so he’s knelt behind Ghost. There’s a feral spark in his eyes that has every hair on your body standing straight up.

“Yeah, tha’s right. Don’t worry, lass, we’ll make sure yer never lonely. Might even stay the night with you, cuddle up in the winter. Bet ye could keep our cocks nice and toasty in the cold, huh? Gonna let us use ye as a little heater?”

“A heater, a mattress, a fleshlight… your future’s lookin’ bright, sweetheart,” Ghost drawls, mockery dripping heavily from the cruel words.

Your eyes dart back and forth between the two men and their predatory stares, your heart racing against your ribcage.

It’s not a conscious choice for you to launch yourself towards them, reaching out and clawing your sharp nails down Soap’s face with a feral scream that tears your throat to shreds. 

Even as Ghost throws you off and forces you to the ground, you vow to fight these men to the end. You’ll kill them both if you have to, leave them dead and wander however many miles it is back to your apartment.

Ghost only laughs when you shout this in his face, and you scream as you lunge forward, just managing to catch his masked chin between your teeth and bite.

With your fight instinct back in full force, you’re ready to make their lives hell.

[cerastes]

"Actually, women being short in anime and games makes sense because Asian women are short in real life."

-- Sentence uttered by those marked for ignoble death in unmarked graves.

[riddlemethis-or-riddlemethat]

Hello! If u don't mind i would like to req Tom Riddle x m!reader where reader is an exchange student and surprise surprise he's a parselmouth! So let's say, speaking with animals r common on where he live, n obviously Tom was intrigued

U can do anything w this prompt, sfw, nswf, whatever! I js need to feed my TR brainrot

omg yes!! this is a brilliant idea!!! thank you for requesting, I love this prompt so much

the TR brainrot is so real😔

I made the reader confident, because I felt like they would be interesting to someone as narcissistic as Tom, and he'd probably feel more curious about the new boy who seems so oddly comfortable in what should be this new, unfamiliar environment.

hope you enjoy!

tags: x male reader, kinda ooc Tom? (not really though, this is how I imagine he would act around others at Hogwarts, seeing as he was supposed to be charming and perfect, you know?), suggestive thoughts (Tom has pretty interesting thoughts about reader 😏), cocky!reader, use of y/n, not beta-read

word count: 1564

Fresh Face - TR x male!Slytherin!reader

The Great Hall buzzed with chatter, friends catching up after the holidays, first-years being welcomed to their new houses, excitement and general anticipation for the new year. Tom sat, surrounded by his friends, making idle small talk with a pleasant smile painted on his face.

Suddenly, McGonagall stood at the podium, gesturing for silence. A respectful hush fell over the Hall as people broke off their conversations to tune in.

Some keen individuals began to notice that the Sorting Hat was still out. Other even more observant students noticed the figure stood off the side of McGonagall. Some particularly enterprising students made the connection between these two observations, and concluded that this figure was a new student, about to be sorted.

But that still left the question: why was he separated from the first years?

Only one specific student, Tom, noticed that the figure was a young boy, around his age, who stood with confidence and a calmness that was odd for someone clearly in an unfamiliar environment. Tom also noticed that the boy was dressed in brand new school robes, unmarked but pressed and proper, high quality and perfectly tailored, highlighting the boy’s long legs and muscular chest and strong thighs and-.

Tom moved on.

He noticed more. He noticed movement.

Movement?

Yes, right there, on the boy’s shoulders, around his neck (and what a lovely neck it was, Tom wanted to know what it would look like bruised and with his hands wrapped around it-). A dark, sleek thing, winding about the boy, a small, narrow head, a flicking tongue...

A snake?

Tom watched, in curiosity, as the snake shifted, pressing its face close to the boy's ear, hissing something Tom couldn’t hear, too far away. He watched, in shock, as the boy chuckled, slanting a gaze towards the snake and rolling his eyes (Godric, what Tom wouldn’t give to see those gorgeous eyes roll for another reason-).

Bloody hell, what was with him today, these cursed thoughts were getting out of hand.

Tom watched, intrigued and definitely not obsessively so, as the boy (a parseltongue?), turned back to the podium, attention back on Professor McGonagall, who had finished her speech.

Tom was ashamed to realise he had heard absolutely none of it, and he could only watch as McGonogall turned to the mysterious boy, calling him up.

“Y/n Y/l/n, if you could please come up.” McGonagall called out.

Well, at least he knew his name.

Tom watched as the boy strode up the stage, nodding politely at Professor McGonagall, a small gesture of respect and deference that detracted nothing from his confidence. The snake was still on the boy's shoulders, mostly hidden by the boy’s robes.

The boy, Y/n, sat down on the chair, elegant and comfortable, waiting as McGonagall placed the hat on his head. Y/n’s eyes slipped shut for a moment, a small smirk spread across his face as he opened them again, a loud declaration of “Slytherin!” ringing out across the Great Hall from the old hat.

Tom found that a small, barely noticeable twitch had occurred on his own lips, tugging them slightly upward in a mirror of Y/n’s smirk. Tom quickly reigned in his features, unfortunately not before Mattheo, his younger brother, noticed it, a teasing smirk spreading across his face, an expression promising misery later.

Suddenly, gasps rang out across the Great Hall, and Tom watched in awe as the boy gracefully stood from the seat, each movement powerful and controlled. That wasn’t what the mindless fools about him were gasping at, however. They were gaping at the beautiful, gorgeous snake on Y/n’s shoulders, uncurling from where it was looped about his neck, baring its head and hissing out at the crowd.

“Look at these idiots.”

Tom raised a brow at the snake’s rather offensive comment.

Y/n chuckled, a hand lifting to stroke at the snake’s head, a languid smirk on his face as he walked off the stage, joining the Slytherin table amidst hesitant cheers and staggered applause.

“I know, Nyx, I know. But it’s rather funny isn’t it?”

Tom could barely hold back the smirk as he heard your response.

“I suppose...”

Tom grunted in surprise, glaring at Mattheo, who had elbowed him in the ribs, and at Theo and Enzo, who were snickering behind their hands and avoiding his gaze by collapsing into each other.

“What’s got you gawking, Tommy?” Mattheo asked, a cocky smirk on his face as he avoided Tom’s retaliation.

“None of your business.”

“Aww come on, don’t be like that Tommy. I’m your little brother, it’s practically my duty to make it my business.”

Tom scowled, swatting at Mattheo’s head and slapping him, hard.

Mattheo whined, rubbing his head and glaring at Tom.

“You’re mean. And your boy is staring at you.”

Tom was embarrassed at how quickly he turned his head, the tips of his ear flushing slightly and a scowl fixing on his face as Mattheo cackled with Theo and Enzo, laughing at him.

All thoughts of revenge and fratricide were chased out of his mind as he looked at you, your (beautiful, merlin) eyes already staring at him, meeting in a thrilling clash of wills.

The snake, Nyx, flicks its tongue, looking at Tom assessingly.

A shame you were seated so far, Tom had no means of speaking with you right now. Whatever, he was a Prefect, and in your new house. He’d find time.

You smiled passively before turning away, paying attention to the young boy engaging you in conversation.

Tom, too, turned back to his brother and friends, scowl returning as he watched them falling over each other and howling with laughter.

****

You were reading peacefully in the common room, catching up on topics covered at Hogwarts your old school hadn’t covered, when you felt a presence approaching you, and the cold nose of Nyx, your pet snake, pressing against your neck. You look up, seeing Tom Riddle, Slytherin’s perfect prince, heading towards you.

You slid a bookmark into your textbook, marking the page before closing it and setting it aside. As Tom approaches you, he smiles pleasantly, eyes calculating as he greets you.

“Y/l/n, right? Nice to meet you, I’m Tom Riddle, the Slytherin prefect.” He extends a hand, elegant, pale, and slender. You take it, shaking it in yours and noting how cool it was to the touch in contrast to your own warmth.

“Yes, nice to meet you, Riddle.”

Nyx raises her head, peering at Tom.

“Hello, speaker.” she hisses, and you turn to the snake, brows lifting in surprise. You had been warned that Hogwarts had no speakers.

“Hello, I am Tom Riddle, what is your name?” Tom speaks back, calm and collected.

“Nyx. You seem more intelligent than the buffoons around us.”

You laugh, fond amusement at your snake’s discontent with the lack of intellect surrounding you.

“Sorry about her, she’s crabby about the move.” You hiss, speaking to Tom as you pet Nyx’s smooth scales.

“I was told there were no speakers at Hogwarts. That it was considered... Dark arts.” you speak, tone questioning as you raise a brow at Tom, your eyes appraising.

He just smirks, his eyes equally calculating. “It is considered Dark, yes. And no-one but my closest friends and trusted know of me. You are quite bold to have revealed your... talents, so readily to the whole school, Y/l/n.”

Tom was intrigued, fascinated, curious even. (obsessed~ sings a voice in the back of Tom’s head that sound suspiciously like Mattheo)

“They can’t do anything about me, and I refused to leave Nyx lonely and unattended.” you shrug, smiling at Tom.

“You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?” Tom raises his brow, smirking at you.

You smirk at him as you pick up your book, standing and walking past him to your dorm room.

“I’ll see you around, Riddle.” You call out over your shoulder.

Tom chuckles to himself as you walk away (and salazar, that ass-), before turning away to return to his dorm for the night.

The minute he walked into the dorm, he was greeted by jeering and snickering from all fronts, Mattheo, Lorenzo, Theodore, the assholes three.

He ignored the hollering of the three idiots, and strode into the en suite bathroom, showering and getting ready for bed.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, it was to be met with Mattheo and Theo looping arms around his shoulders and walking him over to their bed, one either side, and Lorenzo sprawled on his bed, laughing his head off as the Theo-duo menaces traded matching smirks and launched into a merciless interrogation and endless teasing.

****

After substantial ribbing and general bullying from all three fronts, and Mattheo being dramatic and snuggling with Theo and Lorenzo cooing over him in a bed together after Tom hexed him, Tom settled into his own bed, his eyes slipping shut as he systematically went through the memories of his day, filing them away as was demanded.

Eventually, he fell into his memories of you.

Y/n Y/l/n.

Parseltongue, exchange student, smart, snarky, confident. (hot, gorgeous, delicious-)

Curiouser and curiouser.

Tom smirked to himself as he crafted a new room in his mind, one just for you.

He fell asleep with one thought in his mind.

This was going to be interesting.

****

Word Count: 1564

I might do a continuation of this eventually, it's a great idea! thank you so much for the request @prettorett I hope you enjoy this!

🥰🥰

tag: @helendeath this is the fic haha

[ax-killjoy]

☆ Because, you’re kind.

Note ! 𖦹 : this is based on a D&D tiktok i saw. :,) i hope this fic makes sense- if not then it becomes part of my sleep deprived nonsense.

Jake Sully/Gn!Reader (Platonic !)

tw !!: child neglect

Y/N was a child birthed from two horribly neglectful parents. Jake Sully remembers vividly, the way your body was born into the light, a gift from Eywa. And the look of your mother’s disgust written on her face, and the distant look from your father.

Jake couldn’t tell whether the heat rising from his throat was bile, or the anger he felt.

I guess Na’vi can be shitty parents too.

He tried giving your parents a chance, seeing that maybe they were just simply fatigued. But that wasn’t the case, he watched over you closely as you grew up. Neytiri could tell something was up with Jake, whenever your parents came to help with operations.

Jake was stiff, his teeth gritting, his jaw clenched and furrowed brows. “you should be looking after your kid.” he seethes, glaring at the parents who were gathering guns. They were chanting loudly, loading guns into saddles as they cheered, killing sky people around the wreckage. “Why ? That child is no gift from Eywa, a mistake maybe. but no gift.” The father says, and Neytiri ears flatten. A crack in her heart, like glass. Jake Sully suddenly stops what he is doing, “You will love your child, you should. Your child, EVERY child is a gift from Eywa.” he says, before storming off to find more guns.

After that, both Neytiri and Jake swore to look after you. To watch you closely, to treat you like one of their own. Until you officially became one of their own.

When you turned 13, you don’t remember it. And Jake thanks Eywa for that, but both of your parents seemingly forgot about you. Or maybe it was intentional.

It was your first hunting trip, you had been begging your parents to take you hunting. They took you to the forest, to the deepest parts of forbidden to unmarked territory, Telling you that all the good animals to eat were here. Your father and mother say that they will watch from afar, and before you knew it. They had left you there, in part of the forest unmarked on a map.

It took a week for Jake and Neytiri to find you, you hid yourself in the nook of the tree. You slept soundly, and the seeds of Eywa surrounded you like an unspoken hug, as if Eywa was reassuring you. Jake’s eyes became glossy, he kneeled down over your body, and he cried. His body shivered and small sobs were let out, god he was so scared. He was so fucking scared you died.

That was when you became an official Sully.

.｡.:*☆♡*.+

As you grew up, you forgot about your parents. Or that’s what everyone saw, you were bubbly now. Nature loving, Curious, full of life. A personality that was never shown when your parents took care of you.

The Sully family cherished you dearly, quickly becoming one of the eldest of the Sully children. Jake and Neytiri were everything your parents weren’t.

Your parents were quickly exiled from Omatikaya, It felt like the sun got brighter, the stars twinkled more, and the breeze welcomed Jake when they left. Relief washed over him.

It was a quiet day, you had come back from hunting with Neteyam. You and Neteyam had just finally turned 15, meaning you both could officially hunt without supervision. Neteyam went to explore with the rest of the family, whilst you and Jake stayed home. He watched as you prepared food, whilst he cleaned his weapons and reassembled them. Checking each bullet intently, putting the broken ones in a separate box. It was a comfortable silence, the warmth of breeze welcomed both of you.

“I know you’re not my real father.” You said simply, cutting the chunks of meat and putting it in a basket with various vegetables.

Jake stopped what he was doing, looking up but not looking at you.

“I know that Neytiri is not my mother.“ you say softly, like it was a secret. As if it was forbidden to say.

“how did you know ?” he asks, his voice is raspy yet ever so soft.

You look back at him, your eyes bright yet spoke a million words. you stopped cutting the meat, you walked to him and sat next to him. Letting your head rest on his shoulder, and you sigh.

“because you and Neytiri are kind.”

[heartfullofleeches]

Current brainrot is my Priest Yan Jeremiah and kind, innocent unintentionally a bit of a tease Angel Darling. TLDR for Jeremy here is he was fed God's flesh and started a cult, feasting on and gaining power from those who oppose his order aka angels who obey their fallen creator. Angel Darling has been off doing their own thing since shortly after the creation of humans and no clue what's happened these past centuries - probably off on some unmarked island taking care of animals they admired a bit more than humanity.

They eventually decide to catch up on what they've missed and seek someone in the new world to aid them - finding a strange human that gives off the faint essence of their master. Jeremiah figures they're going to make an attempt on his life like the rest of their kin, but can't because for Christ's sake can they put some damn clothes on before he runs a blade through them. The last time Angel Darling was around mortals there was no such thing. They're confused by his repulsion to their flesh. It's hardly any different from his. Jeremiah eventually realizes how lost they are and almost pities the creature. Since they're barely a threat he allowed them to live.

Angel Darling is so happy to have made a new "friend". They follow the homicidal priest like a puppy and asks him all the questions they have running through their feathery head. Apparently God entrusted the earth to him and they'd be wise to follow him as their traitorous kin refused to. Angel Darling believes him wholeheartedly - they just wish they didn't have to wear the robes he gave them. Human clothing is no different to being weighed down with chains to them. Mr. Priest does get rather red in the face when they remove them. Perhaps it makes him sick, but a lot of things they do make him flustered. They hear him calling their name in his office, but whenever they go to answer the door is locked and shouts at them to go away. Mr. Priest is so weird sometimes, but they love him dearly.

Jeremiah adores their obedience, but other aspects awaken urges he rarely had even in his mortal days. It's like he's a horny young adult all over again - something he missed out on the first time around. His Angel is so unaware they probably know nothing about such sin, but the way they bend over leads him to hope otherwise

-

Jeremiah: Good Lord, what on Earth are you wearing?

Angel Darling, wearing a sexy nun outfit: Huh? I thought this was typical for members of your faith. Do you not like it, Mr. Priest :(

Jeremiah: I do which is exactly the problem.