#while growling and growing claws and so so many sharp teeth

[puppygirlgirldick]

trans women should be able to impregnate trans girls, me in particular. trans men should also be able to. also cis women.

[inubaki]

Taking What’s His

-Chapter 2

-warning for Adams x Lucifer smut-

-commissioned art by @sir-tater-of-the-tot and story by @libby-for-life! A gift for myself. -the bonus comic picture that tater made inspired by this. It’s so good, I still have to add it. Please check them out!!

Not gonna lie. I’m spoiling myself a bit.

—-

"W-what...what do you mean no?" Lucifer stuttered out, not quite believing what he was hearing. Adam looked down at him with an unreadable expression before shrugging, as if indifferent.

"I said what I said. We're done. It was fun while it lasted but you had to know that this was never permanent, right?" Lucifer could only stare at Adam with wide eyes, refusing to let the tears fall. "I mean, you're just a side piece."

Side piece...that's what Lucifer was reduced to? But...wasn't he being good? Doing everything Adam wanted? Why he was throwing him away?! He could fix it!

"I can fix it, Adam! Please!" Lucifer begged, falling to his knees. "Just tell me what I did—"

"You can't fix it, dumbass." Adam said with a roll of his eyes. "Look, my new wife will be back soon and I don't want her to see...this." He gestured towards Lucifer's whole body with a grimace making him flinch. "Just go." And Adam walked away, leaving Lucifer to cry by himself.

This couldn't be happening! Lucifer...was being replaced?! By a new wife?! A deep throated growl left Lucifer's throat, his once blue eyes bleeding into red permanently. His claws got larger as he clawed the ground in anger and his sharp teeth grinded together as they got larger and sharper.

His horns ripped out of his skin, blood pouring down as they grew into full height. His wings were the only thing left of his angelic appearance, though even that was mixed with red feathers amongst the blue. Lucifer didn't care though. He was far too angry. At Adam for leaving but most at this new...human who has come into the picture.

Who did she think she was?

He turned towards the direction of voices. Times to see what the fuss was all about. 

Lucifer spied on them for days, his anger and bitterness growing by the day. It was his new wife, Eve, that was in the way...Lucifer glared at her coldly. What if she was getting what Lucifer had? What if she was getting that pleasure that should have only been reserved for him? His teeth grinded together in his anger once more. He hadn't seen his reflection in a while so he hadn't noticed that his teeth were now dangerously sharp.

She needed to leave. Now. Tricking her was easy. He simply gave her the fruit and told her that she would know so many things with it. The same deal he had once been so eager to dazzle Adam with, he now used to entrap. Unlike Adam, Eve greedily ate the whole thing and Lucifer watched as she slowly realized what she had done.

Lucifer slipped away, knowing that Adam would no longer be with her and that the Archangel could swoop in and take her place.

He should have thought it out better. Should have come up with a different plan because then Heaven got involved making everything so much harder.

The Elders had said, "For your disobedience and your reckless behavior, you will be banished to the darkness you created." Lucifer's eyes widened. That meant...he would never see Adam again. He would never again get that feeling he craved with the First Man. He couldn't let that happen.

XxX

Adam stood amongst the host of angels, the radiant light of their wings creating a halo effect around him, yet he felt an unsettling tension within. He had hoped that the scene unfolding before him would evoke a sense of inspiration or, at the very least, a familiar indifference. However, everything felt different this time.

Before him stood Lucifer, once the embodiment of purity and celestial brilliance, now marred and twisted beyond recognition. In Adam's memory, he could easily bring to mind the angel who had once soared through the heavens, filled with joy and light. But now, Lucifer was neither the angel he once was nor the devil Adam had come to associate him with. Instead, he lingered in a shadowy limbo, exuding an aura of bitterness and resentment. The familiar spark of mischief in his eyes had been replaced with a cold, piercing glare, one that seemed to hold a weighty accusation. 

Lucifer didn't cry or plead as he once had, desperate for understanding or forgiveness. Instead, he stood there, a bitter smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, gazing at Adam with a look that was almost akin to betrayal. The air between them felt thick and charged, as if the very atmosphere knew the history they shared—both beautiful and tragic.

Eve, standing beside Adam, was a stark contrast to the chaos swirling around them. She cast wary glances at Lucifer, her expression a mixture of concern and confusion. It was almost unsettling to witness her normally composed demeanor disrupted; Lilith, too, was visibly shaken, her usually confident posture faltering. The sight of Lucifer seemed to rattle her, sending ripples of discomfort through her strong exterior.

In that moment, Adam should have felt safe, surrounded by his kin and sheltered by their divine presence. Yet, an unsettling feeling gnawed at him, an awareness that the fragile peace they had once known was slipping through their fingers. The bond that had once unified them now felt brittle, threatened by the weight of betrayal and the remnants of a friendship that had transformed into something dark and complicated.

The atmosphere was thick with tension as the celestial beings observed the unfolding drama, their ethereal forms shimmering with anticipation. Lucifer, the Morning Star, was surrounded by an aura of chaos, his presence a stark contrast to the serene beauty of Eden. His gaze fell upon Adam, who was now acutely aware of the weight of temptation and sin lingering in the air, a testament to the treacherous legacy left by his fallen counterpart. Unlike the fateful narrative of old, Adam had never succumbed to the allure of the forbidden apple this time; Eve had not whispered sweet seductions into his ear, and the fragile balance of their existence remained unshattered—at least for the moment.

Yet, as Adam stood there, drenched in sweat and anxiety, an undeniable foreboding crept upon him. Every instinct screamed that upheaval was imminent. He clung to the hope that the tempestuous storm brewing around him would soon pass, that Lucifer’s wrath would not destroy the fragile peace they still held. He envisioned a future where Lucifer and Lilith would tumble from grace, where Eve would be cast out into the unknown, and Eden would return to its idyllic state, untouched and pure.

Unbeknownst to Adam, the winds of fate were shifting. When Lucifer learned of Adam's unexpected freedom from corruption—a purity that eluded even the mightiest of temptations—his reaction was perplexing. The scowl on his face, once a mask of all-consuming rage, began to fracture. Beneath the anger lay a glimmer of something deeper: a poignant sadness mingled with self-realization, all made raw by a primal instinct that clawed at his very being. 

Just then, the ground beneath them shuddered ominously, morphing into a quicksand of molten despair that threatened to engulf them all. In a heart-stopping instant, Lucifer lunged forward, seizing Lilith with fierce desperation before launching himself at Adam. He pushed Lilith away, sending her tumbling toward Eve, as he gripped Adam with a relentless death grip. The spears of judgment that flew toward him held no terror; he cared not for their piercing intent in this moment of primal urgency.

As the blazing earth caved in beneath their feet, it was as if all of Hell had opened up to swallow them whole, drawing them down into a maelstrom of chaos and sorrow. The air was filled with the cacophony of their struggles, the fierce clashing of intentions, and the chilling echoes of lost hope. The last thing that reverberated in the minds of those left above was the haunting sound of Lucifer’s laughter—sobbing and maniacal, it echoed through the chaos, a haunting reminder of despair, resilience, and the thin line between salvation and ruin.

—-

———

My birthday is tomorrow! And these came just in time! There will be a last chapter and I hope you all enjoyed it. Prevs:

Next:

[gabessquishytum]

Hob gets kidnapped and as he's slitting the throat of the last person alive, Dream stalks in, full on Nightmare mode, prepared to unleash his wrath upon the fools that dared take his human.

Dream freezes for a second when the scene registers: Hob, knife in hand, near naked, sporting wounds from his imprisonment and successful escape. He’s covered in blood, his own and that of his enemies. Bodies lie scattered across the room. Dream can smell the lingering traces of sedatives and unknown humans on Hob.

He growls.

Dream smashes into Hob with all the force of an undammed river. He lifts Hob, clawed hands under his thighs, without breaking stride until they hit the wall, Dream drowns Hob in fierce, bloody kisses all the while.

Hob drops the knife in favor of gripping Dream's hair, grinding insistently against the erection he can feel growing against his ass. He pulls his head back to speak. “Fuck, I need you in me,” he gasps. “Make me forget every touch but yours.”

Dream drags sharp teeth along Hob's jawline, traces the shell of his ear with a long, black tongue. “Patience, my vicious wraith. Your body will know only me before I enter you,” he croons.

First, he plans to lick the blood from every inch of Hob's body. Then, he will overwrite the wounds others have left with tooth and claw. Only when Hob bears the bruises and gashes Dream has granted him will he tenderly prepare Hob. He will call Hob back from the battlefield with gentle lovemaking, will soothe him with soft touches and playful kisses.

There will be nightmares later, but Hob will rest, safe in the knowledge Dream is watching over him.

Aww hell yeah! Bamf Hob, Bamf Dream, post-kidnap sex. I'm convinced that Dream would to see Hob being unhinged and bloody (although the circumstances could be better). He loves seeing his little human let go of all his civilised restraint and just going absolutely ballshit crazy.

Also, Dream should definitely use the blood of their enemies as lube when he finally enters Hob’s body again. All other traces that the captors left on Hob have been eviscerated but now Dream wants to use them to bring Hob pleasure. They are nothing to him now, nothing more than a tool that he can use to make Hob feel good.

Hob loves it all as much as Dream does (although he would prefer not to have been kidnapped and beaten up). He loves that Dream is so possessive and protective, and it almost makes the whole ordeal worth it when Dream literally licks him clean from head to toe.

And later, when he's in bed and shivering after a bad nightmare, Dream will be there all over again to hold him and kiss him and make him feel safe. They can love each other in so many different ways.

And being fucked up against the wall by his 7ft, sharp clawed lover, is definitely one of Hob’s favourites way to be loved.

[bubuslutty]

Wolf in sheep’s clothing

Pairing: werewolf!fem reader x werewolf!john price

word count: 715

Tags: werewolf au, smut, m masturbation, cum marking poc friendly, no use of y/n, 3rd person pov, proof read by me

Warnings: minors do not interact!

Summary: John jerks off right in his lamb’s underwear, and she spends the rest of her day with her underwear stained by him.

a/n: this is nasty and i have no excuses. Stop looking at me.

Price’s the alpha of their pack, carrying out many responsibilities on his shoulders and pack. So, it’s not unusual to see him frustrated or agitated under the pressure once in a while. He will somehow grow bigger in size, his back hunching, his shoulders getting closer to his ears and his breathing picking up, gums aching under his fangs.

He’s a force to be reckoned with, especially when he’s really pissed.

And few things can tame the beast trapped in his ribcage, gnawing at him from the inside out, trying to howl, growl and rip apart the flesh of anyone who dares to shake him up.

One of the few things that can manage to knock back the mean beast inside his head, away from the front of his consciousness is his pretty little lamb. She’s a wolf wearing sheep’s clothing, really. She has sharp teeth, and claws to match. And her eyes match the shades of the moon during cursed nights, just like all of her mates, and this includes john price.

She smells him before she even knocks on his office door, reeking frustration and an urge to dig his teeth in warm flesh. But she hasn’t come to sacrifice herself, to offer herself to the beast, to be chewed and spat back out.

Price’s pretty lamb walks around his desk, pretty as stars and the moon, wearing a simple shirt and short skirt over her hips with a pair of socks. She looks cosy, comfortable and smells like home.

He suddenly wants to bite for a whole other reason, not to destroy but to claim and taste. She makes him hungry and he can’t focus on any measly papers spread out in front of him on his desk. His fingers itch to dig themselves into her flesh and for his nose to bury itself in the crook of her neck.

And she doesn’t say anything. She smiles at him, a friendly, loving, innocent smile even. And her fingers reach down to her skirt and lift it up.

Price’s heart jumps up his throat and then down to where his cock is swelling.

Then, with her other hand, she tugs the waistband of her panties away from her skin, and he’s now looking at the curve of her pretty cunt. And she’s looking at him expectantly, gazing at him with stars and sin in her eyes.

She doesn’t have to say anything.

She doesn’t have to ask him anything because Price knows what she wants.

He gulps and stands up, towering over her smaller frame, and wraps one veiny hand around himself. She smiles at him and looks at him like he hung the sun and the moon in the sky with his own hands.

And how can he deny his pretty girl anything?

Price jerks himself furiously over the opening of her panties, wet and filthy, the sounds are the only thing that could be heard in his quiet office, along with his grunts and gasps.

When he cums, his dick jerks and his spend ends up on her lower stomach, the curve of her pussy, catching on the curly hairs and the fabric of her panties, but most of it ends up in the little pocket she made him.

She smells satisfied, his mate smells happy. She smells like she everything John loves and hates at the same time. She smells like wild flowers, rain, and everything that makes him appreciate living, but also like sweet liquor, caffeine and nicotine in one addictive pretty package, slowly killing him.

His lamb and love let go of her panties, the waistband smacking against her perfect skin and there was a filthy wet stain on their front, sticking to her pussy lips. She giggles, stands on her tiptoes and kisses him on the side of his mouth, then on his chin, over his beard.

She fixes her skirt and turns around, skipping out of his office like a dream, like a fae straight out of his darkest dreams.

And John shudders, cock still sticking out of his trousers, heavy, wet and dripping, and realises his lamb is about to spend the rest of her day with her pussy drenched in his cum, in his claim.

John can’t breathe and he loves her so much.

tag list (pls ask to be added or removed): @obiwankenobis-lap @goapgrim @smalldemonlover @silviafantin15 @reveluving @bobastayhigh @originalsimp @h-leigh @gxldyjess @msdrpreist @chaoticevilbakugo @Lacunaanonymoused @whore4dilfs

[sil-writes-fiction-too]

A Moment of Distraction

Gale x OC!Tav

Genre: hurt/comfort with just a dash of angst

CW: bodily harm, injury, blood, gore

A/N Here's June of Doom, Day 5! This time with the "It's not as bad as it looks." prompt paired with the "Bite" and "Swelling" prompts. Just some delicious battle aftermath for Gale and Summer this time around (there's plenty of time for more heart-wrenching angst). @juneofdoom . Also don't call out my absolutely wrong use of the Infernal language, I kinda have my own tweaked version of it so if it doesn't check out that's why.

The stench of blood and guts hangs heavy in the air. Summer once heard someone say that one never really grows accustomed to this scent but she is starting to doubt the truth of that statement. By now this smell accompanies their little ragtag group's everyday endeavors. The sticky, slimy sensation on their skins, the taste of copper in their mouths, the red staining their vision...

Luckily, they seem to be competent enough to ensure that most of it doesn't belong to them. In the beginning, Arwen had expressed with Summer her worries over taking in so many strangers. She was fully convinced the two of them would have to pull all of the weight and babysit a bunch of stumbling, incompetent fools, before being stabbed in the back by at least one of them (to be completely fair Astarion didn't make such a good first impression)... but she was wrong.

Sure, some of them aren't really physically strong, but not one of their new companions is a damsel in distress, that's for sure. It's been a while since Summer's last felt like this. Confident in her allies' ability, not having to constantly keep an eye on them for fear of having to rescue them while she tries to fend off the enemies. The fight is getting to her head, she is entering that particular mind space where everything blends together in one seamless dance. The crushing of bones, the slicing of skin, the stabbing of bodies and the clashing of metal all together in one blurry cacophony. Summer would like to think of herself as a good person, but it's at times like this when she has doubts. No matter how many people call her a hero, a friend, a good fucking person... she likes all this. Likes the fighting, the warm splash of blood on her face, her claws ripping through flesh and the smell of burning skin... her enemies falling at her feet as she triumphs. She wonders if this is Doskan's doing, or if she is just a fucked up person deep underneath. The heat of the fire and the raging inferno inside of her soul makes her hope the former explanation is more accurate than the latter.

Maybe it's this freedom to slash and bash without fear, or her ever-present internal crisis that dulls her perception, but the core of the matter is that all of a sudden something heavy smashes into her, throwing her to the ground with a fierce, deranged growl. A sharp pain explodes in her left shoulder, spreading through her arm and chest, and more warm and sticky blood pours onto her red skin. Her blood. Goddamn gnolls.

She finds herself wrestling with the beast, gripping at its muzzle to try and pry its maws from her poor shoulder. She manages, and the rest of her efforts are spent trying to push the snarling creature off of her, but the pain shooting through her shoulder makes it impossible for her to put her whole strength into it. She sees herself getting a faceful of sharp teeth, but before her grotesque imagination can become a reality, a bright, blue and purple light flashes from somewhere at her right, followed by a loud boom, and the ferocious gnoll is blasted away with a yelp. It crashes into a nearby rock wall and then limply falls to the ground. Dead.

"Summer!!" Gale's frightened voice reaches her ears even through the ringing in her head. Fuck, that was loud. She sits up with a groan, grimacing at the painful sensation now spreading through the entire left side of her body. "Ffitch", she curses when she sees the gaping wound in her flesh that's dripping blood and soaking her clothes. Great.

"By Mystra's mantle, what happened back there??" he exclaims as he wraps an arm around Summer's back in order to keep her propped up. "Ah, I guess I slipped up" she says sheepishly, grinning at him through the pain. "It's not funny!" he bites back with a surprising amount of anger, catching her off guard.

"Woah, Gale, I'm fine. See? Still breathing, still here among mortals-". He shakes his head in disapproval at her words, urging Wyll over so he may help him lift her up to her feet. The last gnoll has just been slayed, and now everyone is gathering around with varying degrees of worry plastered on their faces.

"Oh come on guys, don't look at me like that..." she looks around with a dash of confusion and perhaps even a little bit of annoyance. She's not annoyed at them, in truth, but at herself for being such a klutz in the middle of a battle.

"Okay, don't just stand there like a bunch of idiots. Let's find a place to camp and get Summer the help she needs." Arwen's harsh voice is the first to cut through the awkward silence and the uncertain shuffling of hands and feet. After that they all act swiftly, camp is set up rather quick and Summer finds herself laying down in her tent with Gale and Shadowheart sitting at her side. The cleric is in dire need of rest and that becomes apparent when her attempt at healing Summer's wound fails miserably. Unfortunately all the group has left is a small potion of healing so... traditional medicine it is!

"Go and take a rest Shadowheart, I can perfectly manage to tend to Summer's wound on my own this time around." Says the wizard as he grabs the healing kit from Shadowheart's hands. She'd insist on helping, but right now she feels like she'd best leave these two alone or Gale will have a nervous meltdown. "Very well, but Arwen will punch you in the face if you mess it up. No pressure." She says with her snarky smile before getting up to leave the tent. Her little quip would usually pull at least an amused smile from him, but not this time.

Silence falls between Summer and Gale, and it's definitely not the usual, comfortable quiet that comes between them whenever words are no longer necessary.

"I need you to take your shirt off" he say with a sigh, his hands tightening into fists in his lap. She'd normally crack a flirty joke at him for saying something like that, but for some reason she feels like that might not be the best idea right now, so she does as she is told, unfastening her corset and pulling her blood-stained shirt off of herself. At least it didn't get stuck in her horns, she thinks. That would be embarrassing.

It's subtle, but she hears Gale's breath hitching in his throat as soon as her wound is uncovered. She notices the tension in his body and how his agitated expression turns into one of pure worry. Summer is quick to look down at her shoulder and then back up at him again.

"It's not as bad as it looks" she says softly, propping herself up on her elbows. Gale's eyes snap to her face at her words and he opens his mouth in what she can only assume to be bewilderment.

"Not as bad as it looks?? Look at it!" he gestures to her shoulder with wide eyes, flabbergasted by her behaviour. A full bite mark is embedded in the flesh of her shoulder. Even though the blood has stopped flowing, the wound is of a dark crimson color that somehow looks even more sickening on her naturally red skin. Had the gnoll gotten a better grip on her, a good chunk of her flesh would be missing right now. As if that wasn't enough, the skin around the wound is swelling and getting irritated. It ain't pretty.

She huffs a little in exasperation, but doesn't find it in herself to actually be annoyed at him. Actually she is quite endeared, but she'd better not say it out loud right now.

"I mean to say that I am okay. I mean, it hurts like a bitch, but I've definitely had worse before. This is nothing compared to other things that happened to me." She tries to smile reassuringly at him, but he definitely misses it as he's already fully focused on treating her wound.

"You're not okay. You're hurt. And I, for one, fail to see why you would be so reckless in front of a pack of gnolls! I expected better from you Summer! It was right there, you couldn't have possibly missed it! Honestly! What if you- you...! What if you didn't-" he stumbles over his words, suddenly failing to find what he wants to say to her, and Summer feels his hands tremble while he patches her up. Before Gale knows it, she is grabbing one of his hands and bringing it up to her lips, then down to press against her chest. Right there, her heart beats strongly in her ribcage. "I am okay." She repeats with more sincerity in her voice, staring right into his eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize what it must have looked like to you when it happened. I didn't mean to scare you".

A trembly sigh falls from his lips and he slowly relaxes, suddenly feeling incredibly tired. "Just... please be more careful next time. I saw you, you were... absent." This time it's her turn to sigh, perhaps to gather the courage to acknowledge his correct observation. "I was. I'm sorry. I promise I'm not trying to be so reckless while we fight." She smiles at him, and this time he returns the smile, even if wearily.

"Gods, don't do that to me..." He leans his forehead against hers. "My heart can't take losing you. Hells, even seeing you hurt proves to be too much sometimes." She answers with a small, breathy laugh, her eyes shut in contentment at the contact with him. "I know. But I hope you know that the only thing stronger than my will to live is my will to come back to you at the end of the day, no matter how gruesome the battles become. You won't get rid of me so easily, Gale of Waterdeep." She grins at him with that sparkle in her eyes that simply makes him melt like butter in the sun.

"I couldn't ask for anything better." His smile turns warmer as he cups her cheek in his large hand. She leans her face against the warmth of his palm, sighing softly. Then, her eyes crinkle again and another grin curls her black lips. "That was an impressive rescue by the way... got me all hot and bothered." She jokingly wiggles her eyebrows at him and he huffs in amusement, leaning back as his eyes roll in exasperation. "Of course."

Her contagious laughter can be heard even from outside the tent, much to the group's relief.

[acapelladitty]

Whole Day Off: The Apartment

Word Count: 7k (nsfw)

Pairing: Jonathan Crane/Reader

Summary: One week has passed since the basement incident and emotions are still running high. However, a knock on the door announces a late night visitor and with Jonathan Crane now standing in your apartment, perhaps it was time for some answers.

(warnings for: mentions of assault, threats, oral sex, piv sex, groping, mentions of drugs, mild d/s undertones)

The thick branches of the overhanging trees are dense enough to almost obscure the moon fully from your gaze as quick feet snap the thin twigs which line the uneven ground. Panicked gasps break free of your lips with every pace as your body sprints through the trees of Robinson Park, the chill of the Gotham evening nipping at your senses through the thin dress which hugs your body like a second skin.

Twisting your head, the hulking form pursuing you grows closer with every passing second and terror grips your heart as your attention falters, and you stumble in place for a heart-stopping moment.

It was one hesitation too many and you yelp as something hot and violent slams into your back.

Knocked to the harsh ground with a pained grunt, the sound of ripping fabric alerts you to the fact that the hem of your dress is in tatters, but that concern is immediately squashed by a sobbing horror as the creature descends on your prone form.

Sharp claws dig into your exposed wrists, forcing them against the muck of the forest floor as a heavy weight settles against your stomach.

“No!” You scream, arms and legs kicking out at the monster which pins you in place with obvious ease. “No! Get off me! NO!”

“Yes, witty girl.” An inhumane voice emits from the beast, familiar and yet utterly unknown. “And now to take what is mine.”

Razor teeth clamp around your neck, piercing through the skin like it was little more than butter, and the pain is so intense that you cannot even cry out as the air is sucked from your lungs. As darkness touches at your vision, a bestial growl reaches your ears while the teeth pull free of you, ripping a chunk of flesh from your neck with them as a spray of warm blood splashes your upper body.

Gasping in terror as you bolt upright from the couch, your hands fly to your neck in an instant as you fight to stem the flow of blood from your injuries. Feeling no torn skin or wetness there, they drop back to your chest just as quickly as reality sets in.

A nightmare.

Nothing more.

The sigh which escapes your lips blossoms in the quiet room. One week having passed since your incident in the basement, the lingering nightmares which accosted you were sparse but intense with each one ending in a destruction which you didn’t need to be a genius to figure out the meaning of.

Glancing over at the calendar which hung over the sideboard, its pages splashed with various farmyard animals, you could easily make out the marked day which you were due to return to work. Highlighted by several, messy red circles, your paid time off had been much appreciated and a quick lie about a familial death had ensured that the time would be given.

You didn’t like to lie, but the truth would have been a much more terrible burden to bear.

The first day following your experience of a true batch of fear toxin was awful. Even a reduced dose which had been swiftly provided with an antidote still afflicted some side-effects and you had spent the majority of the hours trapped between your bathroom and kitchen sink as waves of nausea ebbed and flowed. Mild cramps were another inconvenience but the pain there was massively overshadowed by the fatigue which gripped your frame and made the small journeys across your apartment seem like a pilgrimage.

But, with a little painkiller and a hell of a lot of water, it had passed, and the rest of your time had been spent catching up with odd bits of paperwork and cleaning out cupboards and drawers within your apartment that hadn’t seen such meticulous care since you had moved in. It was a deep clean which had been needed and one that allowed your mind to focus on something other than the messy thoughts which were always on the peripheral, just waiting to sink their claws into your mood.

You had not spoken to Crane.

The temptation is there, even now as you glance over at your phone. It would be easy to fire off a quick text message. Just a few shaky taps of the touchscreen could draft something resembling forgiveness or a rejection and then the limbo which you existed within would be laid to rest, one way or another.

However, it was an impossible task since neither option was one which you were willing to commit to fully.

To reject him would be dangerous and you were not stupid enough to believe that you would escape from such a rejection without losing a pound of flesh. That possessive streak which brimmed just below the surface of his stoicism would not allow for you to escape him so easily and the hurt that a rejection would inspire would no doubt result in another dose of his toxin.

He wouldn’t kill you.

That much you felt confident in.

This whole mess was his mistake, and he knew that well enough to let you leave the basement without any further hassle.

You don’t want to leave him. A merciless voice whispers at you from within. Even after everything, you still like his company and what he can give you.

Grimacing at the difficult truth, you kick your feet off the couch as you stand from your seated position.

A rejection was not what you wanted.

But you were also not ready to forgive as there were still questions which needed to be answered.

Your kitchen is spotless, the scent of bleach tickling your nose as you pull open your pantry and snatch free something simple for dinner. In no mood for anything which required effort, the allure of some tinned soup and buttered bread was a siren call which you could not even pretend to ignore.

It’s a quick meal and within half an hour you find yourself crawling back on the couch, the pleasant warmth of your recent meal making you feel slightly more invigorated as you relax against the pillows.

Reaching down, you grasp at the nearby remote and flick the TV on, ready to lose yourself in whatever overproduced cooking show that Food Network had to offer.

“-officials say. Mayor Wright has yet to give a public statement about the incident but sources report that he is recovering well and will be available to speak within the hour. Both the Joker and Harley Quinn have been taken into custody by the Batman and will return to Arkha-“

Ah, fuck.

The news.

Zoning out of the ongoing newscaster’s speech, your eyes zero in on the headlines below as they quickly absorb the details of the story. A failed attempt to kill the mayor at his own birthday party. Saved by the Batman. The Joker and Harley Quinn apprehended and thrown back in Arkham where they belong.

Harley Quinn.

Everyone knew the story of Harley Quinn and her fall from grace to become of the most dangerous women in the city. All because she fell in love with a monster.

Discomfort settling into your gut as you continue to watch, your mind wanders once again to your own monster.

Was Crane as much of a monster as the Joker?

Every part of you wants to scream no at the accusation. Crane didn’t seek out pure chaos like the Joker did. He didn’t kill people indiscriminately and with such an obvious and irreverent joy. He didn’t kill children.

But he was a monster.

He tortured people with his fear toxin, forcing them to face personal horrors before allowing many of them to die by his hands. He used his skills to advance his studies in a way which had utterly destroyed the lives of so many people. He didn’t care about anything aside from his research.

It was a truth which sparked guilt. A guilt which you could only soothe by telling yourself that your relationship with him was separate to his other work. You did not help him. You did not encourage him. You were innocent of that, at least.

Laying flat on the couch, your hastily eaten dinner now sitting much more heavily within your stomach, the circumstances were perfect for another short nap and you didn’t bother to challenge the sleep which came quickly to claim you as you sink into oblivion once again; a vague hope that the nightmares would allow you a little bit of peace being your final conscious thought as the darkness crept in.

x-x-x-x-x

A loud knock at the door pulls you from your sleep with a violent start as your eyes fly open and your breath catches in your throat. Groggily looking at the small clock which sits by your TV, you can faintly make out the late hour and confusion twitches at your expression as you wonder who the hell would be calling on you at this time of night.

Smoothing out the longline t-shirt which serves as your loungewear, its hem falling to just above your knees, you shuffle to your front door as another loud knock makes you jump once more. Lacking a peephole, you palm the metal baseball bat which sits in the umbrella stand by the side of your doorframe as you hesitantly unlock the door, leaving the chain on to ensure that it cannot open more than an inch or so.

You pull the door open slowly, a neutral expression on your features as you prepare to call out whoever is there for such a late disturbance, but the neutrality is shot to hell by the shock which overtakes you as you take in your visitor.

Standing on your doorstep and casting a shadow which blocked out most of the dim light, Crane looked so out of place that it took your brain a moment to process that he was actually there.

“Hello?”

Such a lame response but one you stood by as your fingers flexed around the metal bat just out of sight.

“Good evening.” He responded, the simple words sending a shudder through your spine as the familiarity of his voice sparked an unfair reaction.

His thin frame was mostly covered by a deep brown overcoat, the material worn-looking and frayed at certain edges in a way that spoke of its historic use. Peeking free from beneath the old coat, dark slacks and a wrinkled brown shirt finished off his simple ensemble with the only strange thing being the slight bulkiness of his right arm; the limb covered by the coat.

Nothing happens and the lack of event is agonising as your mind whirls with the limitless possibilities of his appearance. He didn’t appear to be angry. Or sorry. Or even happy to see you. He revelled in his typical stoicism and it sparks a nervousness which causes your feet to shuffle against your cheap carpet.

“May I come in?”

“Can I trust you?”

The question escapes before you can think about it, and you freeze in place at how harsh it sounds.

To his credit, he takes it in his stride as he leans closer to your slightly opened door.

“When has that ever stopped you before?”

The slight movement on his part causes his words to wash over you and you can detect the faintest hint of whisky on his breath. He doesn’t appear to be drunk, his eyes holding the pinpoint clarity which often promised trouble, and so you relent.

Stepping back to close the door, you unlatch the chain before opening it to him fully.

He slips within your apartment like a shade, closing the door behind him with a gentle tap of his foot, and his brow quirks as he takes in the metal bat which is still clasped between the fingers of your left hand.

“Should I be concerned?”

“What? Oh-” Dropping the bat back within the umbrella stand, a slight flush of embarrassment tinges your cheeks as you feel the need to explain yourself. “I keep it there fo-”

“I’ve lived in Gotham City for many years,” Crane cuts you off with a cough, “and I would be more concerned by any obvious lack of protection. Have you considered a gun?”

“No.”

So thrown off by seeing him in the hall of your shitty apartment, you can’t muster the necessary wit to enjoy a back and forth with him; instead your thoughts land on the stupid t-shirt your wearing as another flush of hot embarrassment floods you.

Fuck it.

It’s your apartment.

“My living room is through here.”

You guide him through, indicating the single plush armchair which serves at the only other seating within your living room which isn’t the couch that you had just been asleep on.

“It’s too late for me to get you anything to eat. Do you want a drink?” You offer.

Seated on the armchair, his answer is a stiff nod and his eyes refuse to leave your own, even as you turn your back to him and go to prepare you both some drinks.

“I have water, Pepsi, red wine, or vodka. Pepsi as the only mixer.”

“Vodka will do.”

Your eyes squint at the strange label, the majority of the writing in some language you cannot read and so you go by the pictures which coat the front of the bottle.

“I think it’s peach-flavoured. Is that okay?”

A grimace tilts his lips.

“Red wine, please.”

The wine sloshes dangerously inside the glasses as you pour it out and a flinch overtakes your frame as a soft creak of your flooring alerts you to the fact that he has moved from his seated position.

Turning in place, you watch as he approaches your kitchen area and shrugs off his brown overcoat before dropping it in a messy pile atop your kitchen table. As the fabric falls, his thin hands delve within it to pull free something which makes the wine bottle still clutched within your hand stutter for a moment.

His fear gauntlet.

Anxiety spikes your heart as you glance between the gauntlet as his expression while he inspects the wrist of it quietly. Why would he have brought it? The answer seems obvious but something about his presence tells you that it is not meant as a warning.

“Should I be concerned?” You mirror his earlier question back at him as you keep your spine stiff.

“Always, but not because of this.” He places the gauntlet atop his overcoat as he fixes you with his gaze once more. “I am developing a new compound so the toxin hidden within the gauntlet is the only viable solution I possess at the moment. And I never travel through Gotham without at least one dose on hand.”

“Have you considered a gun?”

His lips quirk into a smile which disappears just as quickly.

“My history with guns is an interesting one. They have their place.”

Handing him a glass of wine, he accepts it with a polite nod before returning to the armchair. His wrinkled shirt is much more apparent now - the clothing in such a mess that you suspect he may have slept in it - as you follow him quietly and sit on the edge of your couch with your legs tucking themselves under your ass.

Your dressing gown is laying out on your bed and it would take less than a minute to go and collect it but you resist the temptation, not wishing to appear uncomfortable in your own home. The t-shirt wasn’t ideal but it was better than the underwear which had also been one of your main outfits of the week.

“This apartment is nice.” Crane offers with a deadpan glance around the small space. “Not what I expected of you but not cluttered with useless ma-”

“Why are you here?”

The question of the hour.

It would have been kinder to indulge his pathetic attempt at small talk but the roiling emotions which are barely being repressed within your chest demand their answers.

His response is just as sudden, any pretence of disinterest dropping in a moment.

“I wanted to see you.”

“And you always do what you want.”

“Yes.” His confirmation is simple and undoubtedly honest. “I very rarely consider others when making my decisions, even less so when it comes to their emotional needs. It is not in my nature to think of others before myself.”

“Well,” you pause, taken aback by the apparent honesty, “at least you’re aware of it.”

His long legs were not built for your cheap armchair and his hands came to rest on his splayed knees as he pins you with his gaze, the wire-rimmed frames barely hiding the intensity of his look.

Refusing to back down from the comment, you hold it without flinching.

“The decision I made regarding Sionis and my toxin was the best decision for me to make in that moment, but I understand that my actions wronged you in doing so. His presence within our space caught me momentarily off-guard and I reacted accordingly.”

Our space.

Whether he noticed that slip in his speech, you didn’t know, but you are content to let him speak and explain himself as a traitorous warmth spread through your veins at the mild acknowledgement.

“I regret allowing him to put his hands on you and hit you. That was ugly to me, and I took no satisfaction in his words or actions towards you.” Pulling the glasses free of his face to punctuate his speech, he folds and drops them to the arm of the chair. “I do wish I had intervened much sooner, but I never thought he would have been so bold as to do what he did.”

“I will not warn you again, leave my subject alone.”

The memory of his expression flashes through your mind and to someone who was not familiar with him, it would be easily to miss. But you had seen it. The barely restrained anger. The distaste.

Yes. He had tried.

You could give him that much.

“I appreciate that.” You relent, giving credit where credit was due. “Sionis is a monster and he acts like one, but what hurt me more than his hands was how quickly you threw me under the bus with your toxin.”

Feeling emboldened by the fact that you were on home turf, paired by the fact that he had come to you, you allow yourself to air the grievances which simmered below your skin; the hurt there no less disappointing even after a week apart.

“The,” Crane pauses to consider his words as an odd look of uncertainty shadows his features, “understanding that you and I share is one which is built on a particular level of trust. Something which I’m sure comes as much of a surprise to you as it is does for me, possibly more so given my own inclinations. However, I broke an element of that trust and I apologise. Had the situation been reversed, I can’t deny that I would have also been furious by the loss of autonomy.”

“What if it happens again?”

Frustration at the fair question adds a certain curtness to his tone which does not go unnoticed.

“I will not allow this to happen again, I can give you my word on that. You will never again experience my toxin because of third party interests.”

A very specific promise, but one you can accept in the moment as your mind falls to earlier considerations.

“I’m no Harley Quinn.” You state, fingers anxiously playing with the hem of your long shirt. “I don’t want to be a criminal. I couldn’t live that life. I know who you are, what you are and what you have done. I can’t condone any of it and I won’t condone any of it.”

“I don’t expect you to.” His leg raises from the floor to cross over the other, a slight relaxation taking over his frame as he realises that the conversation had shifted from accusation to something approaching a negotiation.

A clarification.

“Then what are we doing?”

The neutrality of his expression is overtaken by confusion, his brows pinching together as he tilts his head to the side and encourages you to continue.

“What is going to happen here?” You gesture vaguely to the empty space between you, the divide marked nicely by the tacky, plush rug which sits atop your carpet. “Eventually, something will have to change. I will not give up my life and you will not give up yours. We both get something out of these meetings but-”

Uncertainty clamps your speech.

You could both find other people to fuck, that wasn’t the issue here, the issue was everything which surrounded it. However, to verbalise that sentiment felt taboo. A potential truth which would prefer to remain unspoken, understood in a way which prevented either party from having to truly define it.

“The future is unforeseeable and our fear of it is as natural as our fear of the void and the horrors which lurk within. However, I will admit that there is something pleasant about having a distractive element in my life which remains unconnected to my work or necessary criminality.”

The words are thoughtful, spoken as much to himself as they are to you, and the apparent honesty within them is refreshing.

Over your time together, there are many words which you could use to describe him if asked - with most of them not being considered the kindest. But a liar? No. He may obscure or flirt around the truth at times, but he hadn’t ever disrespected you with a direct lie.

He didn’t want things to change, and the implications of his words was undeniable.

You were his something pleasant.

That was probably the closest thing to a genuine recognition of anything you were getting, given the circumstances.

“And you won’t ever force me to do something that I don’t want to do?”

Understanding your meaning despite the wilfully broad question, his head shakes slowly and the movement agitates his russet hair, causing a few stands to fall over his forehead.

“At times your presence reminds me of an earlier point in my life and I would enjoy being able to selfishly cling to that for as long as possible. In the interests of total honesty, it would be,” he hesitates for a moment, “preferable for you to remain separate from my mainline work. Besides, you do not strike me as ‘Mistress of Fear’ type. You hold far too much spiteful anger to be of any clinical or rational use in practical fieldwork.”

It was a frankly rubbish attempt at humour, but it was enough to break what remained of the tension and you offer him up a deep sigh which swiftly turns to a soft smile as you incline your head in his direction.

It was as close to forgiveness as you are willing to offer.

Besides, you had missed him.

Rising from the couch, you don’t bother to fix the shirt which rides up your thigh as he matches your movements and stands at his full height; his long legs making short work of the distance as he strides forward to stand before you.

From this close, the scent of him is maddening in its familiarity. The sharp scent of unknown chemicals mixed with the deep musky cologne which was his preferred aftershave sparks an arousal within your chest as it elicited memories of your various games together. The phantom ache of his hands on your body creating a hitch in your breath.

Feeling bold, you make the first move. Tilting your head up, you push your lips against his own and bite back a moan as he responds immediately, his mouth parting to grant you access as his hands lock themselves around your arms to pull you flush against him.

The kiss is filthy but short as you pull away, your lips tingling from the unexpected pressure, and your hands are quick to match his own, latching around his thin wrists as he remains clinging to your hips. He tastes of cheap wine, it’s fruitiness sweet against your tongue.

A wicked idea alights within your mind, one which you suspect he may enjoy and, more importantly, one which will allow you to claw back a little of the dignity which he saw stripped from you. Pausing his hands as they move to grope at your chest, you pull his attention to your face as you fix him with a heated stare before flicking your eyes to the side.

“Ignoring some of the stuff I said earlier, I want to wear it.”

“It?” He follows your gaze to the kitchen table and a visible flush overtakes the heights of his cheeks as his eyes land on his beloved fear gauntlet. “Oh.”

You break free of him in a single fluid move, your body shifting like a dancer as you slip through the room into the kitchen and pluck the gauntlet from his coat. The metal is cool to the touch and you run a finger along the heft of it seductively before pushing your hand within the opening.

Flexing the glove, the mechanism laughable oversized on your hands and the clink of the metal is surprisingly loud in the quiet room as you test it out, unsure how the thing actually works. As you turn to face him, the gauntlet held with a false confidence in your right hand, the obvious tent in his slacks speaks more than his blank expression ever could.

A small part of you can feel the fraudulence at play, the desperate clamouring to show at least some level of dominance which speaks of your desire to not resign yourself to an unwilling victim. Your submission to him was something earner, a reward which blossomed from his ability to recognise your needs and not push your limits in a way which you would be unable to come back from.

He would earn it back by allowing you this.

Retaking your earlier position before him, you run the sharp tips of the syringes down the thin fabric of his shirt. Not enough to pierce through but enough that you can imagine the gooseflesh the ticklish sensation must be leaving in its wake.

His hands raise to his neck as he loosens the top few buttons of the shirt, willingly exposing a small patch of his defined collarbone and no doubt making himself a little more comfortable from the heated situation.

“Tempting isn’t it, witty girl?” He growls, the words going straight to your core as you shudder and consciously rub your thighs together. “It would be so easy to take your revenge right here and now. One quick indulgence and you could prove us both wrong.”

Backing off him, you drop to the couch with some grace, allowing the arm to prop up your back as you flex the gauntlet at him in invitation. He follows rapidly, his tall frame moving to loom over you as you stretch below him, your right hand playing softly with the clothed peak of your right nipple in an open tease.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you, Dr. Crane?” You purr, running the edges of the syringes against the dark fabric covering his thighs. “To make me stoop to your level.”

His acknowledgement is a hum as his eyes dart between the gauntlet which vaguely threatens his groin and the tantalising movements your hand is making against your chest.

“If you won’t force me to taste my toxin then at least let me taste you.”

Adopting a predatory look, he doesn’t wait for permission as he sinks to his knees before your couch and you gasp as his hands confidently push the hem of your oversized shirt up to expose the underwear below. Simple black cotton, nothing too exciting, but it makes no difference to him as his fingers hook within the elastic and pull them free of your ass – slipping them off as you adjust your body to allow the movement.

Your non-gloved fingers bunch within the fabric of your shirt as his stubble grazes against your inner thigh, his breath hot against your skin. His teeth are vicious as they sink into the sensitive skin of your thighs and the sudden shock of pleasurable pain makes you flinch in place, the metal of the gauntlet squeaking as you flex it without thinking.

The flat of his tongue is warm against your skin as he draws it slowly up your slit, his thumbs pressing into your skin to open you up to him and allow him free access to his prize. A cry, almost savage in its intensity, break free of you as his tongue grazes your clit – the pleasure stiffening your spine as you lounge back against the couch.

Settling into a rhythm, his pace is cruel as he refuses to relax in his attack on your sensitive sex; alternating between using his tongue and his lips as he ensures that no inch of your cunt remains safe from his ministrations. Licking, kissing, sucking, and nipping away at your core, the hot pleasure of his tongue pairs with the sharp pain of his teeth to melt whatever sanity remained within your skull.

Pressing the tips of the needles against his back, his body stiffens in surprise for a long moment before he pulls away and turns his face up at you.

“A change of heart?”

His question is a tease, the words breaking free of slick lips which are coated in the same arousal which stains the rest of his lower face.

“Only if you stop.” You gasp out between pants.

A victorious snarl escapes him as he dives back in with similar enthusiasm.

Through the rush of blood in your ears and the moans which are escaping your lips in a frantic rhythm, you can faintly hear the hum of his mouth. The sound one of appreciation as he drinks down everything you have to offer while the softly vibrating noises serve to spur you on. In a stunning move of utter wickedness, his lips gather around your ultra-sensitive clit and suck at it with a keen pressure.

The result is dramatic as you unleash a high-pitched yelp, the fear gauntlet going taut against his back as your other hand buries itself in his russet hair, forcing his head roughly against your soaking core as your orgasm hits.

Rocking against his mouth, unintelligible pleas erupt from your lips as he meets your enthusiastic release with his own excitement; his movements never hesitating despite the death-grip which must be harming his scalp as you pull at the hair there, uncaring of anything aside from the waves of wicked ecstasy which are rolling through your frame.

It passes quickly and you carefully discard the gauntlet on the couch as you push at him gently and stand up, your legs feeling loose.

“Bedroom?”

It’s all the invitation he needs as the cuff of his shirt comes up to wipe away at his messy chin.

“Lead the way.”

In such a small apartment, the journey lasts little more than a few seconds and your hands run down your sides to smooth your t-shirt as you cross the threshold of your bedroom. A childish anxiety ghosts at your frantic thoughts as you survey the basic bedroom, relief fresh as you realise that the space is tidy with no embarrassing items left around.

Pulling the dressing gown for your bed, the dark cotton sheets now marred by small flecks of light pink fluff, you drop it to the floor in an untidy heap.

His body is hot behind your own, his chest pressing against your back as his hands seize around your waist in a vice-like grip.

“Are you going to let me fuck you, witty girl?”

The unfamiliar crudeness pairing with the hard length which makes itself known against your hip inspires a wicked shudder across your skin as you go pliant within his grasp.

“I think I might.”

Your fingers once again fall to the hem of your t-shirt and his grip loosens as he allows you enough space to pull the fabric overhead; the movement exposing your entire frame to his hungry gaze as he takes in your braless state, the black cotton panties still discarded somewhere beside the couch which you had both recently occupied.

A girlish yelp slips free as you find yourself thrown down atop the soft sheets, the new position forcing you to stare up at Crane as his fingers move to unbutton his shirt. At some point, he had taken the time to roll his sleeves up to expose his forearms and the slight exposure is surprisingly erotic given his usual state of dress.

Your hands move quickly across your chest, fingers pausing to tweak at your peaked nipples. Almost in tandem, his hands drop to his fly and loosen his slacks enough to free his hardened cock. The slight glisten at his cockhead speaks of his excitement and your tongue flicks at your lips without thought.

“I didn’t bring any protection.” His voice is clipped, hoarse with his arousal as he palms his cock. “This was not an expected outcome of this visit.”

The temptation to ask just what those expectations were is strong, but you dismiss them to focus on more pressing needs.

“I’m on birth control,” you admit with an open shrug, “and I can pick up extra tomorrow.”

Your eyes flick between his face and cock as your foot comes up to slowly press against his thigh in open invitation as your legs widen slightly.

Watching the brazen spectacle, any hesitation flees in an instant as the full force of the Scarecrow descents on you in a flurry of movements.

His hands dig into the soft skin of your thigh as he pulls your body to the edge of the bed. The tip of his cock bumps against your slit messily and he releases your left thigh to wrap his fingers around his length; coating the head of his cock in your juices as he rubs himself along you roughly.

“Fuck me.” It was a demand and the second word catches in your throat as his cock grazes your clit, sending a bolt of pleasure through your groin. “Please, Dr. Crane.”

Sinking himself within you in one swift thrust, his groan of satisfaction merges with your own hiss of pained pleasure as the stretch takes you by surprise. His hips move back until he is almost free of you before slamming back, forcing you to take everything he has as he sets himself into an easy rhythm.

“I should be punishing you.” He growls out. “The Scarecrow does not take kindly to a little mouse who neglects her duties while also plaguing his thoughts with her wanton ways.”

Never relenting in his frantic pace, his words are surprisingly coherent if a little breathless and you curl your fingers into the sheets beneath your writhing frame.

“And how would he punish me?”

“He would begin by warming that lovely skin up with a belt to see how beautifully reddened and welted it would become. Then he would take his time to ensure that every inch of you received a thorough inspection. I think particular attention would be paid to certain areas which deserve more thorough testing.”

Finishing his small speech, the fingers of his left hand come to rest on your chest as they grope at the flesh there with a possessive, almost painful grip. Shuddering into it, a mewl of pleasure breaks free as you find your nipple captured between his thumb and forefinger with a wicked pressure, his tugging a notable threat of a much more intense future experience.

“Maybe such a test should be scheduled for my next visit to the basement? I would hate for my wicked doctor to feel that he was neglecting his patient.”

A victorious snarl curls at his lips as he sets into a more rapid pace, every thrust being met by your own a you push back to meet him with everything you have. It’s sloppy and chaotic, your mutual movements being guided by a selfish need for pleasure which neither of you were sure you would share again. Your nails carving soft crescent shapes into his forearms just as relentlessly as his hands grip at your flesh, groping and massaging with pure greed.

His release reaches him quicker than either of you could anticipate as his thrusting grows more frantic and brutal, every stroke within your walls feeling like a delicious assault until an animalistic growl spears the air between you. A hot warmth spreads through your core as he fills you with his release, the sensation different enough to your usual fucking to make you dig your heels into his back as you revel in it.

Riding out his orgasm, his thumb is rough as it presses against your clit to rub cruel circles into the sensitive nub. It straddles the line between pleasure and pain, the torturous sensation very quickly forcing you to writhe against him as you simultaneously beg for mercy and yet demand more.

He pulls free of you, his attention now focusing on ensuring your own completion and his wicked thumb pairing with the intensity of his gaze is enough to get you there as you come violently against his hand. Your fingers twisting into the cotton sheets, the wet mess of your slit is obscene as his release mixes with your own, spreading against his palm as he continues to draw you to madness with his talented thumb.

Before you could become too over-sensitive to his touch, his hand pulls free of your shuddering frame as he extracts himself from your jellied legs and drops to the bed by your side. In the quiet of the night, very little sounds invade the space between you which isn’t your shared breathing.

Feeling delightfully fucked as you enjoy the post-coital comedown, your hand presses against your chest and you can feel the frantic beat of your heart beneath the slightly reddened skin.

“Did you mean it?” His voice is loud in the quiet room and you tilt your head in his direction. From here, you can see the flush which sits high in his cheek as he tucks his cock away once more within his slacks.

“Mean what?”

“Do you agree to return to the basement? Willingly?”

“Yes, but on the condition that what I said earlier stands.”

His hum of approval is enough, and he sits upright with a small sigh which would be easy to mistake for an exhale. His russet hair is a shock of untidiness, the strands sticking up on end in areas but there is something relaxed within his features which hasn’t been there since he first crossed the threshold of your front door.

It’s surprisingly endearing.

“Stay with me?”

Again, your lips seem unwilling to allow your brain to dictate their actions as you throw the question at him softly.

Freezing in position, Crane covers the momentary hesitation on his part by turning to face you more clearly, his eyes locking to your own as he pauses to consider the meaningful request.

“Why?”

“Why not? You’ve seen my apartment now and we just fucked in my bed. Plus, it’s very late and you might as well stay the night.”

He remains unmoving and anxiety swirls in your chest as a fear you may have overstepped the mark cuts through your post-coital bliss. Regardless, you continue.

“Concerned about a little bed, Dr. Crane?”

“Concerned that a certain little mouse may finally come to her senses before dawn and attempt to kill me in my sleep.”

His reply is deadpan but the speed of it earns him a tired giggle as you shrug your shoulders.

“If I wanted to kill you, I could have used your gauntlet.”

A grunt of acknowledgement is his only response and your smile blooms slightly as he retakes his earlier position, laying back on the bed in his full shirt and slacks combo.

Feeling victorious, you wriggle your body further up the bed until your head falls against a familiar pillow. The mess between your legs would require an early morning clean-up but you were content to leave it for now, not wishing to disturb the peace too greatly.

Crane follows your lead but rather than suffer the indignity of wriggling across the bed, he stands fully before walking around the other side and dropping to the soft sheets once more. In all your time within the basement, you had never once witnessed a bed and you briefly wonder how long it must have been since he had truly lay down for a night sleep which wasn’t on his work chair or the ratty couch which often housed your fun.

The urge to reach over and press yourself against him gnawed at you like a beast, but the more rational part of your brain understood that such a movement would probably result in him choosing to leave.

It was better not to push it.

Sure, he would eat you out like a man possessed before fucking you senseless, but post-sex cuddling was beyond him in a way which make your heart clench in vague disappointment.

Stretching out fully, you turn to your side as fatigue claims your thoughts. You press out your foot almost without thought until it touches his calf, the skin there protected by his slacks. It was enough and the small piece of physical contact soothes some primal part of you as you press your head into the pillow and allow him to make himself comfortable in the space beside you.

In the grand scheme of things, very little would change.

Your life was your own and his world was one which you had no interest in experiencing.

By agreeing to return to his basement, you had sealed your fate. A fate of faintly addictive sex rounded out by a companionship which both parties were content to settle into.

No spoken commitments.

No unwarranted cruelty or betrayal.

No perceivable future.

I will admit that there is something pleasant about having a distractive element in my life which remains unconnected to my work or necessary criminality.

Something pleasant.

That, at least, you could probably do.

Also posted on AO3

[loakstahni]

Found

warnings! ⚠

Mentions of death, starvation, gore, blood, near death, insecurities, trauma, fluff.

Na'Vi translations; sa'nok - mother. nantang - viperwolves. sempuln - father. Ikran - banshee. Eywa - the great mother.

Artwork of Litx made by @snomoscribbles!❤❤❤

featuring; jake, neytiri, Neteyam, lo'ak, kiri, tuk, spider, and Litx.

It was a blur for the five year old, losing his mother to a breathing sickness that had taken her slowly until she joined the great mother in her sleep. And then his father dropped dead one afternoon while looking for a place for the night. 

The young child was alone, alone and hungry, his ribs viable; arms and legs thin. Litx had found a small hollow log and made that his sleeping place, he hadn't left the log in nearly two days, he missed his sa'nok and sempuln deeply, he wasn't sure why the great mother took them from him so soon, he didn't even know how to hunt yet. 

It was late, well past eclipse when strange sounds woke the young boy from his sleep. He slowly lifts his head out from a hole in the log, "sempu..?" Litx asks quietly, his golden eyes scanning around the dark forest, the glowing plants dim, foreshadowing the upcoming horrors that were about to happen. His eyes lock with many pairs of glowing yellow eyes in the dark, he quickly ducks back down into the log; little ears pinned flat to the sides of his head. He curls into a ball, his heart pounding in his chest - rattling his ribs.

That's when it happened.. Things happened so fast that the young Na'Vi couldn't even try to defend himself. Sharp teeth and claws snuck deep into the right side of his face shredding his right ear. 

Litx was drug out of the log by his leg, he tried kicking his other leg, his foot hitting the muzzle and face of the nantang many times, but it didn't do much other than make the animal growl and hiss deep in its throat, tightening its hold on his ankle. 

Litx screeches, the pain was shooting all over his face, he couldn't see out of his right eye.. All he could smell was his own blood and feel the hot stickiness dripping down his face and onto the forest floor. 

Litx looks up, his vision going black in his left eye. Feeling himself starting to grow weaker and weaker before everything went dark..

Neytiri was out early that morning, her bow slung over her back as she weaved through the forest, very pregnant with her and her husband's first born. 

Her ears flicker upwards and her nose wrinkles at a foul scent, it was thick and smelled heavily of blood. She makes quick work of stepping over some smaller bushes before stepping into a small clearing. 

Her golden eyes widening as she looks around, seeing splinters of wood and puddles of blood. 

She glances around once more, doing a double take once she saw a little foot from behind a large log at the far side of the clearing. 

She quickly sets her bow and arrow quiver down, speed walking across the clearing and rounding the log her heart dropping at the sight; 

A small child, now younger than 6 laying on their side, right side of his face covered in a crusted layer of blood and dirt.

"Oh, great mother.." She carefully knelt down, minding her round stomach and carefully leaning over. She gently brushes her hand over the left side of the boy's face, her eyes lighting up once his ear flickers and he whines lightly. 

Neytiri gasps gently, placing her hand over the child's chest and carefully pulling him up and onto her lap, cooing gently at him. She brings a hand up to the throat comm around her neck presses the button, "ma Jake, I found a child, he is severely injured," she said quickly, glancing at the child in her lap. 

Jake's voice came in slightly rushed and a bit startled, "is he breathing?" Jake asks quickly, the rushing of wind over the comm making neytiri think that he was already on his way with his ikran. 

"Yes, but he is not waking," she said, gently cupping the child's cheek. 

"I'm on my way, hold on." Jake states getting off the comm channel.

"And that is how we found you," neytiri explains to a now 15 year old Litx, a 10 year old neteyam sitting right beside his older brother along with kiri and lo'ak who were both 9. 

Litx sat there in shock, jaw slightly dropped. 

"That's so crazy!" Spider, the 11 year old boy said with a giggle, plopping himself down in litx's lap.

"And you are sure it was nantangs?.." Litx asks softly, glancing at his mother who was holding his 3 year old baby sister.

"Yes, now, time for supper, it's getting cold." She scolds lightly. 

"Yes, I hear you sa'nok." He chuckles lightly, handing Lo'ak his wooden bowl. 

"So that is why Litx has these?" Kiri asks, gently reaching over and touching Litx's scared cheek. 

Litx slightly flinched, pulling his head back. In doing so making kiri frown. 

"Yes, now eat before it gets cold." Neytiri shakes her head fondly, handing Litx a dish which he gladly takes and smiles softly. 

[hermesserpent-stuff]

@astronautvibess

hi. this is a scene. of creed being a bit of a horror monster. to adonis. who is his own sort of monster.

spoilers for teeth and cards

tw: hunting people, stabbing, blood, violence

Sabretooth lifts his head to sniff the winding streets, dragging in the foul scent of city and meshing of too many bodies too close together. He can smell his prey. Much like his cub’s scent, the presence is scattered about the city, with traces pressed into nearly everycorner. Yet, unlike his cub’s scent, the traces are thick, fresh, and fill him with boiling rage that bubbles and froths within the confines of his chest.

He opens his mouth wide to allow more of the scents in, to capture more of a taste for the hazy air of late night New Orleans. The scents of alcohol and smokes, reverly and sweat mingle and thrash in the air, but he is not distracted. His prey is in the city, and he will be tracking Adonis down. Melina is not here. Not according to his nose. But other scents that had mingled in his cub’s bed spark in the night air. And he would hunt those down too. 

But Adonis first.

Sabretooth shifts his great bulk quietly through the streets, stalking the scent to where it is strongest. Bourbon mingles with it, ontop of so many other alcoholic drinks. He breathes in, and slowly breathes out, pulse quickening as his pupils dilate as he hunts. The crowds mean nothing to him, with soulless thumping tempos rattling the streets as the beast within rattles his ribcage, ready to be let out. Ready to tear apart and destroy. 

His eyes traces the slope of his cub’s house. The house he had visited once before to save his cub’s cats. Cats that Remy had claimed as his soul and heart. Adonis’ trail leads too the door. The door of his cub’s home. Broken into and desecrated. Sabretooth stalks forward, flickering his eyes over the defenses and sniffs the air. The smell of another meshes with Adonis’ own scent. A scent that had also been on his cub’s bedding, full of illicit smells and befouling odors that took his cub’s home and twisted it into something sick. 

Sabretooth snarls and cuts the power to the house with powerful claws. He hears cries inside the house as he pushes his way in, eyes well adapted to the stretched shadows cast by the lights coming in from the street lights. He smells the stench of foul things, of fear, of vile people who had invaded his cub’s poor nest that had failed to be protected and tended. A cub should never be afraid of their nest being ruined while they are gone. Of enemies sleeping within and leaving filth of all kinds about.

His steps grow heavier, creaking floorboards purposefully as he snarls and growls, letting his noises echo. He draws his claws against the walls and he can hear fearful whispers and scrambling of cloth. Sabretooth leaps forwards as he hears a window’s lock begin to creak.

The bedroom is a mess with sheets flung about, Adonis is picking at the window lock as the woman tries to get him to hurry. Both of them snap their heads to stare at the doorframe that Sabretooth looms in. He snarls and smirks, showing his sharp teeth in the band of light that is filtering through the window. 

“Hello.”

He rasps out, enjoying the shudders his voice elicits from both. The woman pulls a blade out, hands shaking violently while Adonis’ eyes widen further and the man looks ready to bolt. Sabretooth leaps forwards, laughing as the woman attempts to stab him. His claws flex and flair in the air. He cuts through the air, clawing out her Achilles tendons, and slitting her gut. He spins on his heel as he notes Adonis bolting through the now-empty door way. Sabretooth gives chase, snarling deeply and viciously smiling to himself. The scent trail is not hard to follow. In the kitchen, Adonis chucks three knives and they slam into Sabretooth’s chest. The stings of pain gives a vicious thrill and he launches himself forwards. Adonis doges, but fails to get away. Sabretooth pins him to the kitchen floor, claws digging deep into Adonis’ arms. The scent of blood blooms through the air and Sabretooth's breath comes out in pants, maw stretching open.

“GET OFF!!”

Adonis screams, thrashing and crying. The stench of fear wafts off the man, mingling with the sweetness of the smell of pain and blood.

“Like you ever listened to Remy asking that of you.”

He snarls leaning forwards, teeth snapping with each word. 

“Maybe I should drag you into the swamp, get some swamp mud in your hair. Since you liked it so much on my cub.”

He growls. Adonis struggles and tries to say something. Sabretooth cuts him off by slamming his head into the ground and drags him back to the bedroom where the woman is still screaming. Time for some revenge for his pack.

--

and then hermes got scared and walked away. beep boop.

[halloweenrazorcandii]

Monster - Dodie. @anonbinaryweirdo Zephyrine scene.

"Well this ends bad then. I knew it would. We knew it would, So we won't eat our words, 'Cause they don't taste good." Zephyrine has always had a feeling, a funny feeling. That her marriage and seemingly monogamous love for the funny, prepped demon father, King of Hell, she thought she would last lifetimes with. Whatever a lifetime in hell is, anyway. As soon as the dreaded Lilith had shown to their door, there's been a sinking boat in her vixen senses she hadn't noticed until she felt she needed to slam herself as far away from her husband as possible. Their son growing fond of the former Queen of Hell, she felt she couldn't drag him away. She'd see them post pictures having fun on Sinstagram, going to hells luxury firey lakes, having fun. Lilith cooking her former husband dinner, happily serving Zephyrine's child, along with Lucifers she'd grown fond of. Like a family. No matter the tears and fears that had grown to the fox breed, no matter how many times she'd tear the fur from her tail or tug on her horns in agony upon just the thought of missing her life, she'd never gotten the audacity to let herself back in. "Look, I know that I've seen this before. High and mighty, at the top of your list, Adoring every move, and now my rank is sinking. But we're both guilty of black or white thinking. And through my red eyes, you look pale. All of your scars, Now look more like scales." 7 Months. 7 months without her family. During these times she'd confided in her loved friend, Angel Dust, a pornographical actor. He'd undergone some unfair treatment at his studio, since he'd "worked" there. Despite her not confirming the spiders own theories of her new behavior, she'd still appreciated his comfort. Though she felt she couldn't even find the feeling to appreciate. When Angel had come to the hotel with a black eye and slumped figure, Zephyrine had enough. She, one night, had strided to his studio, owned by infamous overlord Valentino. She had striken a deal with the overlord for Angel Dust's time of abuse to be replaced by her. She became popular by the viewers fast, Valentino using her body for all sorts of entertainment. She'd started appearing on bigger screens, deemed the audience. She hadn't enjoyed this. Not a bit. "I'm guessing that I've grown horns, I guess I'm human no more I can tell I've rotted in your brain. Oh how easily passion twists, You think I'm a crazy bitch. A thousand words are left unsaid, 'Cause no one listens to the dead. So maybe I will talk to you the only way I know how to. I've said my speech, through sharpened teeth." While at work, Valentino commands a new form of entertainment. Muzzling. The device is set on her, her fur sleek, she'd already been worn and used. The notice of the muzzle instantly clicks with the vixen, and she doesn't like it. At all. Her performance being shown on a big screen, just outside Lucifers tower, for all to see. All, to see. The crowd around the screen eminent. Zephyrine begins to growl. Her sharp fox canines peaking from her dirtied lips. Her claws hooking on anything they can find, and after being kicked by Val to "calm down", she goes batshit. From worker to worker anyone in her way, mauled. In desperate attempts to take off the Muzzle, she panics, scurrying around the studio, already breaking the chain attached to it. While the scene displayed on live hell camera, from the Voxtech Horns channel, it just so happened the King of Hell was looking out his window as his worst nightmare shone upon to the entirety of the Pride ring. It was almost as if the violence in the porn was being taunted. Was this planned? Lucifer began to shake. After failed, desperate attempts to subdue the rabid animal let loose in their studio, an employee, a likely familiar one at that, resorts to last option. Click. . . . Boom. The silence rattled all of Hell. Lucifer turnt away, only to find two of his sons, frozen in place, eyes locked to the device.

[petboymart]

jaguar!kageyama x kitty girl!reader NSFW

tw/cw: talk of reader starving/hunger(not self inflicted), fem!reader, manhandling, possessive!kageyama, breeding kink, talk of rut, use of good girl + little one + whore(once), slight voyerism ig?

a/n: i use so many commas. like so many. anyway, i seem to have found some inspiration! i may focus on fem! or petgirl!reader for now because that seems to be the only thing my brain wants to write. i think it’s the “good girl” that i’m drawn to lmfao -eden<3

it’s been over a month, and you have finally accepted the fact that your owners had abandoned you.

you don’t remember hearing them leave, but you do remember waking up to them gone. you had searched every room one hundred times over and called their names as loud as you could, but they never showed up.

you had eaten all of the food there was left in the pantry and cabinets two or three days ago, and your hunger was starting to bleed into starvation. so you decided that you needed to go in search of food while you still had some strength. you crept out of the small house in your cat form, and began scavenging for food in nearby dumpsters.

you did this for two days. leaving your house at dawn, scavenge for food all day, then retiring to your house at night to have a safe place to sleep. today, however, it seems as though you made a mistake of some sort. you were rooting through a dumpster behind a restaurant when two big scary stray cats began to hiss and swat at you. in your fear, you ran away from them as quickly as you could. you looked behind you only to find them chasing you, so you began taking lost of twists and turns to try to lose them, which landed you in the forest.

you’re not quite sure how you got here and you definitely didn’t know how to get out, so you began to aimlessly wander around in search of an exit. along the way, you felt as if you were being watched, but it always felt as if they were in front of you. you had shook off the subtle fear the crept into your stomach, but now you really wish that you hadn’t. you had spotted a fruit that you really wanted, but we’re to small to reach in your cat form, so you shifted and reached up to grab the fruit only to be tackled to the ground by the biggest hybrid you’ve ever encountered.

a giant hand lined with claws is currently pinning both of your wrists above your head, the owner bearing his teeth down at you with a menacing growl, while the other hand digs into the dirt next to your head. you gulped as your eyes trailed down from his fluffy round ears to his rippling muscles, avoiding his eyes along the way. you gulp once you process just how much this being towers over you, with muscles that could snap you like a twig and teeth and claws that could rip you to shreds.

his mouth moves, but your jumbled brain doesn’t process his words. he bares his teeth yet again before snapping his jaw at you, brining you out of your trance.

“w-what?” you stutter.

his eyes narrow menacingly and his words come out it a deep growl, “i said, why. are. you. in. my. territory?”

despite the silent threat his words held, your couldn’t help the rush of heat that pulsed in your core. he glanced down as you pressed your thighs together, so you quickly tried to divert his attention away from your growing arousal. “i-i didn’t know this was your territory! honest!” you rushed out.

with his eyes still narrowed, he tilted his head to the side, and gave you a once over. he opened his mouth as if he was about to speak, only to be cut off by the rumble of your stomach. his eyes widened slightly at the noise and you blushed in embarrassment.

“are you hungry?” his deep voice asked, and you only nodded your head. he growled again before releasing your wrists and standing, then he turned on his heel and began to walk away. you lie there in shock until he turns back to you with a sharp order of “come!” to which you quickly scramble to your feet and run to catch up to him.

the walk to his home was short, but filled with twists, turns, and roots and vines that seemed to have it out for you ankles. he stopped at the base of a large tree, and climbed into a hole at the bottom, which when you followed lead to a cozy burrow with a bed made of fur pelts which was stuffed with straw and leaves. he moved to an area that he stored food, almost like the cabinets in a kitchen, and pulled out some kind of meat before moving back over to you. once he reached your position, still standing awkwardly in the ‘doorway’, he shoved the meat into your hands. your eyes moved from the meat, to him, back to the meat, and back to him a few times before he barked an order to “eat!” and you didn’t need to be told twice.

once you finished the food, you gave him a quiet thanks and fidgeted, you didn’t know if you should leave or not. it seemed as though he had read your mind though, because he spoke, “if you go back out there at this time you’ll get killed instantly.” he said is casually as if he were speaking about the weather.

so in response you asked, “am i allowed to stay?”

he paused for a moment before answering, “yes. but only if you do as i say!” the last part was spoken quickly, then he added, “and don’t eat any food that i don’t give you! and don’t touch anything i don’t say you can!”

you smiled slightly. the way he spoke almost seemed like he was making up rules on the spot as to not seem soft. like he had to cover his generosity of letting you stay by giving you orders.

you spoke again, moving to sit across from him on the floor, “can i ask your name?”

his eyes darted to yours, slightly narrowed, “tell me yours first!”

“i guess that’s fair. my name is y/n!” you said with a smile.

his gaze moved back to the ground, fingers now playing with a stick, “…tobio kageyama.” he paused again, “but you just call me kageyama! that’s my family name, and it’s one you should be scared of! we’re the best hunters in this forest! besides, you haven’t earned calling me by my first name yet!” his words were once again rushed out as if he was trying to cover up any softness.

“well thank you for helping me kageyama!” you spoke with a smile, and pretended you didn’t see his blush.

<3

time flew by, and you’ve now been staying with kageyama for just over a month. you’ve worked out an arrangement where you take care of what you have dubbed the house and scavenge for fruit and nuts during the day, while kageyama hunts and protects his territory at night. you eat meals together at dawn and dusk, before you begin your daily duties, and before he begins his. this way, you could both use the bed to sleep without the other one being in it. not that you would have minded, but you didn’t want to make kageyama uncomfortable in his own home, especially after he let you live with him.

spring is just around the corner, and you are exited for the pretty flowers! however, kageyama seems to be on edge as of late. he’s been more moody and snappy than usual, and he huffs at you whenever you come back from scavenging. you don’t know why, but you really hope that you haven’t upset him. you really like living with him, it made you so happy when he allowed you to stay after the first night. you want to approach him about it, but your worried it might only worsen his already sour mood. however, it all came to a head after the first week of spring.

<3

you had just returned from your daily scavenging to find kageyama sitting on the edge of the bed. his hands were next to his thighs and you watched as they formed an iron tight grip on the makeshift mattress after his eyes landed on you, and a low growl rumbled through his chest. this confused and concerned you. you were worried you had done something to upset him, and you voiced as such, “kageyama,” you began cautiously, “did i do something wrong? you’ve been huffing at me when i come home from scavenging, and today you seem more upset than ever. if i did something please tell me! i promise i won’t do it again!” you didn’t see how the word “home” slightly relaxed him.

his eyes locked with yours, and you now notice how blown his pupils are, how his fuzzy black ears twitch, and how his tail swishes behind him. he searches for words for a moment, and when he finally finds them his voice comes out raspy and strained, “…i don’t like that you go out..” his eyes fall to your tank top and small shorts, “…in that without me..at this time of year.”

this time of year? what about this time of year is special? you move to begin putting the fruit away, turning your back to him. but your eyebrows furrow as you try to piece this puzzle together. however, your lack of response only irritates him further.

“unless you’re dressing like that for a reason?” kageyamas voice comes out low and dangerous, and you once again feel the way that you did when he pinned you to the ground. only this time, the arousal is much stronger than the fear. he speaks again, “are you meeting someone?” he begins. there is a long pause before his next words, and you jump in surprise when they are whispered in your ear, “or do you just want everyone in this fucking jungle to know what a whore you are?”

you take in a breathy gasp when he grabs your hips and tosses you onto the ‘bed’. you land on your back, impact cushioned by the mattress, and only have a moment to breathe before kageyama is caging you against the furs. he grips your face between his thumb and pointer finger, forcing you to make eye contact with him. his teeth are bared when he grits out his next words, “are you meeting someone? or are you just trying to get breed by anyone in the jungle?”

you gasp before vigorously shaking your head no, or trying to with the grip he has on your face. “words.” he snarls.

“n-no! i was just wearing this because it’s hot! i promise i’m not meeting anyone or trying to!” your words are a little slurred do to your position, but he seems satisfied with your answer.

a small, content smile spreads across his face as he purrs out, “good. good girl. you don’t need anyone else because you have me. isn’t that right?” a pang of heat shoots to your core at his praise, and your quick to nod your head with an ‘mmhm’.

he releases your face and nuzzles his head into your neck while purring, perfectly content with your answer. and you feel guilty for hoping he leaves soon so you can take care of your situation in peace.

<3

later that day, right after your evening meal together, he does leave for his nightly hunt. and right after you send him off with a hug and a soft mumbled ‘please be safe’ you dart to your bed while quickly stripping off your clothes. one of the perks of sharing a bed with him is that it’s drenched in his scent, even when he’s not in it. you dive into your bed, laying on your stomach, and burry your head into the fur. you find yourself releasing purrs of content, tail swishing back and forth as his smell envelopes you, causing another pulse of heat to bloom in your pussy. you move your hand under your body until it finds your clit, where you begin to trace light circles. you bend one of your legs so that your thigh is even with your hip to give yourself better access, and shiver at the cold air on your wet sex. still lying on your stomach, you allow your free hand to caress over the curves of your body while your other hand moves to dip a finger into your pussy. you begin to subconsciously rock your hips to grind on your finger, all while inhaling the delicious scent kageyama has left on the plush furs.

your purrs increase in volume, and you begin to let out small mewls and whimpers. because of your own noises, your foggy brain, and his stealthiness, you don’t hear the soft footsteps of the very man you’re fantasizing about.

but he hears you. god, he could hear you from a mile away. and the closer he gets, he can smell you. kageyama had been trying so hard. so. hard. to not push you on the bed, pin you down, and pound you until he was sure you were pregnant with his kittens. he knew that his rut would hit him full force soon, the same as the others in the forest. that’s why he hated you going out in those clothes that he loved so much. no one else should get to see you like that, you’re his mate! but now, as he smells your arousal, hears your adorable purring, and you cute mewls, he doesn’t think he can hold back anymore. his black ears twitching to pick up every sound. he’s rock hard and can feel his knot begin to swell as he makes his way into your home, and stops to stand at the side of the bed, looking down at your beautiful naked form. kageyamas final straw is hearing your breathy whine of, “kage-yama” with a stuttered little moan in between.

the first thing you register is his deep, smooth, hungry growl. and when you turn to peak up at him, you see that his blue eyes have been swallowed by black, and he is wearing a borderline feral grin.

“oh little one,” he purrs out while crawling on the bed and caging you under him, “i’m gonna fucking ruin you.”

a/n: there will be a part two! i am already working on it! it should be posted tomorrow! i’m proud of myself for doing things! -eden<3

edit: part two !!

[altocat]

Heeey, i saw you answer some asks earlier relating to catboy sephiroth, and on a similar vein id love to ask you how you felt about sephiroth having more alien qualities? Like prehensile hair or weird inhuman instincts?

(or any hyperspecific weird behaviors he has due to his j cells?)

I love exploring the idea of weird alien shenanigans! Seph has plenty of traits to choose from.

-A lot of his outward physical traits are so small you might barely notice them. There's the eyes of course. They're the most prominent characteristic, capable of both rapid focusing as well as seeing in the dark, and reacting based on emotion. And of course the odd purrs and growls I mentioned as well.

-But there's other things too. Sephiroth's precognitive senses are always keenly attuned to his surroundings. Sometimes, he can literally sense things in advance, or even dream them. He's not very up to scratch on these abilities but they can be useful in battle.

-Sephiroth's hair grows alarmingly quickly, even after it's just been cut. His teeth and nails are very sharp as well, though most do not initially notice this. Sephiroth himself doesn't.

-Certain small limbs have the ability to regenerate if they are severed. Fingers. Toes. An ear. Sephiroth's healing abilities are incredible, to the point where it's extremely hard to kill him unless you go all in like Cloud did.

-Sephiroth is nocturnal. His mind works rapidly at night and his natural inclination desires sneaking about in the dark. Sometimes, he has strange desires to go hunting in the woods or to just sit outside and look at the moon. It's all extremely confusing for him. Catboy hehe.

-Part of Sephiroth's fascination with stars comes from his alien origins. But thankfully, his is more from curiosity than the need to outright conquer, at least while he's sane.

-Sephiroth has mimicry abilities from Jenova he hasn't even utilized. He doesn't know they exist. But he could probably shift his voice if he knew it was there. Or use certain sounds as camouflage to ambush the enemy.

-There's an undercurrent of brutality in Sephiroth's most secret, hidden desires. One he doesn't completely understand. The need to just go completely feral and decimate his surroundings. To claw and tear people apart. To eviscerate every human in his path. Like so many other things, he bottles up these feelings. Past trauma and frustration in his past only made it worse.

-Sephiroth also feels occasionally playful when it comes to poking and batting at things lol. No particular reason. Much like a cat, he has a hidden need to toy with smaller creatures or stare at tiny things others can't really see.

-Sephiroth's wing is only the first basic indication of prominent J-cells. There's the opportunity he could grow other mutations. He has a level of control over what shape it forms into. Due to his crazed ideas on godhood, his Safer Sephiroth form is the direct product of both his mutations and the skewed way he perceives himself. Thus, an angel, cruel and beautiful. There's the Remnants as well, though they're both autonomous and different aspects of Sephiroth's psyche.

-Alien catboy. He do a big stretch! He purr! He leap! He sits in full loaf position on the corpses of your friends and relatives!

[some-messed-up-writing-for-you]

A lot of people wanted a part two of #2, so here it is! (Also thank you for all the kind words I really appreciate it!🥺💖)

Request #6

Warning: non-con touching (nothing sexual), slight body horror, abuse, one-sided attraction.

Honestly, I remember that with #2 I really did have some kind of breakthrough or something lmao. It just came out so good! And this continuation? Well, let's just say that as I was writing it, I got my own stomach to twist a little bit. ;]

Enjoy, dearest anons!

Part 1 here | Next Part

~~~~

Hero's legs burned as they ran with all their might, turning another corner. The halls of Supervillain's lair were like a maze. Everything looked identical no matter where they went. The hero could take twenty different turns and would still be met with the same dead end.

This was bad, very bad. Hero had to get out. They had to get away. The monster- The monster was after them. They had to find an exit, because if the monster caught them...

Hero shivered at the thought but refused to give up just yet. There had to be an exit somewhere! There just had to be! Because if there wasn't one then Hero- then Hero was as good as dead-

The same dead end again. Except this time, the hall leading up to it was much longer. And... And at the end of it was...

"N-No... no, no, no, NO, NO, NONONONONONONONONONONONONO!" - Hero turned on their heel and ran, tears falling from their eyes as their body shook in terror, lungs burning in need of more air. The corner they had turned just moments ago was gone now. There was only one long hallway. Hero could only run forward and nowhere else. They could not leave the monster's line of sight.

They spared a quick glance behind themself.

A mistake.

The monster's face was millimeters from their own, and Hero looked into one of its many eyes.

Another mistake.

Without warning, the hero's mind screamed in agony. They grabbed their head, forgetting that they were running and falling to the ground with a loud thud. They clawed at their temple, trying to get the abnormal pain out of it. Hero realized they were still looking into the monster's eyes. They tried to look away but couldn't. They- They couldn't move.

Their body refused to cooperate. They continued to stare deep into the monster's dark orbs, and as the beast neared them, they pleaded, they begged, they screamed for it to stop.

But the monster was silent, one of its clawed hands grabbing Hero's head, bringing them closer. The pain only worsened as the distance between them shortened.

Hero was apologizing now. What were they even saying 'sorry' for? They didn't know, but maybe it would help? Maybe that's what the beast wanted to hear from them?

The pain only grew. And Hero-

Hero awoke, gasping for air as their entire body shuddered with leftover terror. Where were they? They opened their eyes, but there was only darkness. W-Why? Why was it so dark-

The blindfold. That's right... Hero's eyes were covered so that they couldn't see. They took in a shaky breath in an attempt to calm themself, but it didn't help much.

They decided to focus on their other senses, feeling what was beneath them with their hands. It was soft and warm. Hero found the feeling rather pleasant. The arms around their waist were also quite comforting.

...

Wait, arms? W-WHAT ARMS-

"Did you have a bad dream, darling?" - a voice softly sounded in Hero's ears. They shivered as one of their captor's clawed hands trailed up and down their side, their hold tightening just a fringe.

"S-Supervillain... W-What are you d-doing..?" - they asked, worried confusion taking over their face. Why was Supervillain back already? Hero couldn't have slept for that long! They- What... What even was that dream just now?

Reading their thoughts, the supervillain answered, "Oh, I just happened to get done with work a bit sooner than planned today." - the monster started, nuzzling their face into the hero's hair, adoring their scent. "And, well... You just looked so cute sleeping in my bed. I simply couldn't resist cuddling you~. "

Hero had to resist another shiver trying to move through them. They were just... sleeping on top of the criminal for.. well, who knows how long! And Supervillain... Had they been watching them sleep? Hero couldn't stop the shiver that time.

The monster's grip suddenly tightened but stopped just short of hurting the small hero in their grasp. Said hero's entire body froze. A pit grew in their stomach as Supervillain pulled them closer and whispered lowly in their ear, "What was your dream about, little hero?"

There was an edge to their voice, Hero noticed. Were they angry? B-But why?! Hero hadn't even done anythi-

The dream.

The hero inhaled sharply as a realization hit them. It wasn't a dream. They- They remembered now- IT- IT WASN'T A-

A clawed hand suddenly gripped Hero's neck. They could only whine, terrified as the supervillain's grip threatened to cut off their air. A deep growl echoed in their ear, the monster's hold tightening even more and becoming painful.

"S-Supervillain, please- I-" - Hero never finished as another hand clamped over their mouth, keeping them quiet. Where did the third hand even come from? They didn't know nor needed to, as they had more pressing matters at hand.

"He̠̋ro... My l̟͊ittl̨̉e ̾͢H̺̾ė͈ro... ͛ͅỶͅoụ̿ tr̺̚ǐ̞e͂ͅd ̪̾t͓͑o r̰͕͊̍ư̥̟͈̝̅̆̓̍͢n̤̩̟͓̯͆̒̀͠͝ a̍ͅw̡̲̫̘̣͚̩̆̈͐̌̋̀͝a̹̜͙̎̿̄y͕͡ ." - Supervillain's voice had grown octaves deeper. It sounded... corrupted as it echoed in Hero's ear. It made their head hurt. They shook once more as a familiar pain brushed against the edges of their mind.

"Y̘̋ou th͚̆o̜͘ug͘͜h̖̽t͕̀ ͍̄y͕̒o̤̕u c̪̐oul̲̿d ̯͆j̮̎ust ̥̀g̙̈et awa̛͖y, ͇̇hm̓͟m?" - Hero could practically feel the other's anger- no, rage filling the room. It felt suffocating, it was making them struggle to breathe. Or was it the hand at their throat squeezing too tightly? They couldn't tell. Everything was starting to hurt. That- That pain from before- It was all coming back-

Hero whimpered against the hand at their lips as more arms came seemingly out of nowhere. They still couldn't see anything. They could only feel them wrapping around their small form, slowly crushing them.

The hero felt the tears flowing down their face, their terror growing as the grip on their neck tightened, just a pinch away from choking them. They could only breathe through their nose, and it hurt. It hurt so much. Everything hurt so, so much. Their heart was hammering against their ribcage, trying to get out. They- They couldn't get out- They couldn't- They-

They screamed as sharp teeth wrapped around their neck, about to bite.

Hero tried to struggle against the monster. They writhed and fought, but their body didn't even budge. Not even their head moved. They screamed out loud but were muffled. So they screamed inside their mind, crying out, begging, making promises the hero knew they would regret making.

But nothing worked. They could feel Supervillain's teeth slowly sinking into them, breaking their skin with ease. They tried to jerk their head away one more time, but it did nothing. Nothing worked, there was nothing they could do.

They grimly realized just how powerless they were, and even though it changed nothing, they squeezed their eyes shut, and went limp in the monster's hold, submitting to them. Only muffled sobs escaped the hero, their head empty of thoughts or pleas. Hero-

Hero-

Hero flinched as a gentle kiss landed on their neck. The razor-sharp teeth from before were now gone. They whined, confused and scared. They didn't understand.

The many arms holding them loosened their grip, the hand around their throat released completely but did not leave. The hero gasped for the precious air their lungs were demanding as the hand on their mouth pulled away. However, once they got a good lungful of oxygen, the hand moved back to cover their mouth. A whimper left Hero as its fingertips brushed against their face, a weak "Please..." managed to slip past their lips, their voice cracking, broken, and petrified.

But Hero's plea was for nothing. They shook as the hand covered their mouth once more but said nothing else. A shiver ran down their spine as a trail of more gentle kisses was left upon their neck, the last one underneath the hero's ear, in which Supervillain whispered, "Do you understand now, little hero?"

The monster's voice was back to normal, but Hero's stomach twisted into knots regardless. Not awaiting an answer, the supervillain continued, "Do you understand that I'm in charge here? That I'm choosing to be nice to you?"

The hand laying on Hero's throat squeezed once more, just the slightest amount, and they froze at the feeling, more sobs threatening to rip out of them. "I could do so many terrible things to you, little hero. And yet, in the three months that you've been here, I've never actually hurt you, now have I?"

Their throat was released a second time, and Hero couldn't deny it. Supervillain could do whatever they wanted with them. They could easily hurt them or- or use them. But they hadn't. The entire time that the hero had been here, the supervillain was always very gentle towards them. Perhaps they scared them every once in a while, but Supervillain never did anything... extreme...

"A smart conclusion as always, Hero~." - the way the supervillain said Hero's name made them shudder. They were still helpless in their grasp, but at least they were no longer on the verge of having a heart attack.

Supervillain chuckled as they read the hero's mind. They left another kiss on their neck, before continuing, "Will you play nice now, little hero~?"

"I-I will." - Hero answered in their mind.

"Good~." - the monster purred. "That means that you'll keep all those promises you made a few minutes ago, right?" - they asked with a grin, and Hero froze once more, their muscles tensing in new fear.

"Mmm, what was it that you promised again..?" - Supervillain mused, pretending not to remember, just so that they could smell their hero's fright in the air. "You promised to... do anything I asked for~?"

Another whine escaped Hero as their body began to shake against the other's. The arms holding them tightening. The hand at their throat squeezing again. A few small, still muffled sobs escaped them as Supervillain's sharp teeth brushed against their ear, "Well, Hero?" - the monster pressed.

"I-I I'll do whatever you w-want, j-j-just... P-Please just don't h-hurt me." - even inside their mind, Hero's voice still broke and quivered. They whimpered as Supervillain relaxed their hold once again, their various hands now caressing and petting the hero's body. "Oh, of course I won't hurt you, Hero..."

The blindfold around Hero's eyes suddenly got torn away, and they opened their eyes out of reflex. At first, they thought nothing had changed, as there was darkness all around them. But then their brain registered all the eyes around them. They noticed the darkness surrounding them moved unlike normal shadows but rather like living flesh. Out of the corner of their eye, they could see that the giant mass around them was connected to Supervillain's body.

Hero tried to close their eyes in their terror but found that they couldn't. They could only stare wide-eyed, breathing growing unsteady as a hand somehow formed in the dark, a terrible sound of wet flesh squelching and bones cracking echoing across the entire room.

They whimpered as the new hand cradled their cheek, thumb wiping away some of their tears, all the eyes focused on them as the monster finished their sentence,

"...No̼͡t̠̾ uṋ̓l̳̔eś̼s̩̽ ̫͋yo̻͞u ̮́ģ͒ive m̙̏e a r̮̂e̾͜a̺̽ṡ͎on̎͢ ̧͂ṱ̾o."

And then, at last, the sweet embrace of slumber overtook Hero's body and mind.

[ein-liebloser-wanderer]

⸸ Who is Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf? ⸸

(A Yandere AU of Lobotomy Corporation where I turned a cartoon-looking wolf into a a walking dumpster fire. OOC and fanon to be expected)

Characters: Big and Will be Bad Wolf (Lobotomy Corporation), gender-neutral love interest (called 'N' or 'The Agent', and 'Meat' or 'Little Lamb' by the Wolf)

Warning: non-con (there is nothing pleasurable about this for the MC), erotic gore (the non-con is just gore with erotic subtext), explicit content

Contains: cannibalism, distorted sense of self, moral declination/apathy, angst, overwhelming fear of loss, non-human-compliant understanding of love, bitter with barely-any-sweetness ending

Description: F-02-58 had breached containment just after Agent N successfully suppressed another WAW-class Abnormality. Still badly injured from their last battle, they decided to hide among the deceased until the new calamity passes by.

They should have never underestimated the nose of a bloodthirsty wolf.

(Not directly related at all to my other snippet, "Wolf in Sheep's Clothing")

Viewer discretion is advised

"I can smell you all the way from here, Meat." His voice echoed down the long hallway. "Even with all these delicious food lying around...your scent is something I would never miss."

The Agent knew that, of course. With his heightened sense of smell, it would be surprising if he didn't.

"Just in case you have forgotten, I will have you know that I don't like sharing my food with others. How could you let yourself be beaten around by someone else?"

His tone remained cheery and joking, but N undeniably heard the grating hostility behind it. He must be snarling by now. Try as he might to hide his anger, his big sharp teeth would always betray his true nature.

“But all can be forgiven, Meat. After all, it isn't your fault you are so pathetically weak. I could only imagine just how scary it must have been."

It was an attempt to sound understanding, but how could he possibly expect them to believe that he wasn't fuming underneath that sheep façade? They could hear his ragged breathing. It sounded too slow, too controlled.

And how could they not notice the growl accompanying it?

"Come on. You are making it very difficult for me to understand you, Meat. It isn't fair that you allowed someone else to get a taste of you, when you won't even allow me the same courtesy."

I never asked to be hurt, you monster, the Agent wanted to say. But what would be the point of explanations to someone who thinks with their stomach rather than their brain?

"Meat~" he sang aloud. The clacking of his claws against the concrete floors were growing closer and closer. "I am becoming impatient with your game. Come out while I'm still feeling reasonable. Or..."

The clacking stopped.

"...Would you rather have me force myself onto you?"

That was when they were harshly pulled up by the collar of their shirt. They had been hiding among the many bodies strewn on the floor, lying face down, hoping that they would be mistaken for just another corpse.

In his grasp, they felt like a kitten being held by the scruff of its neck. Abnormalities tend to be taller or bigger than regular humans. But F-02-58 wasn't in his 'sheep' disguise like he usually was in containment. At least then, he held some semblance to a human even with his eldritch height.

Now, with all pretenses of humanity dropped, the Agent could only scream as big, sharp teeth gleamed back at them.

The Wolf immediately slammed them onto the nearest wall, and the impact of it was enough to shut them up. Lightheaded, they could only listen to him laugh. He was smirking from ear-to-ear when he leaned down to breathe his hot, rotten breath against their ear.

"Scared, Meat?"

The only response he got from the human was squirming.

With a slow lick of his lips, he growled.

"You should be."

The Abnormality let go of them. The unexpected action sends them falling down to the ground, but before they could do so much as sit up, he grabbed their wrists and pinned them on the floor above their head. The Agent tried to squirm free, but that only made him growl. His grip which was already so tight only clamped harder, and now, his claws were puncturing into their soft flesh. So, they stilled, too hurt to move even more.

"Good...that's a good little lamb," he said with the sickest grin the human ever saw. There was something in his eyes. Something soft...and loving.

The Agent took this as an opportunity to get away.

The Wolf must have thought he had them under his control, because he didn't seem prepared to be kicked on the abdomen. He fell down on the floor beside them with a gasp, the air having been knocked out of him.

Even if it was just for a little while, this incapacitated state meant life and death, and they weren't going to waste it.

Unfortunately, it wasn't enough.

Just as they were about to grab their EGO weapon, something strong and sharp tore through the sensitive skin on the back of their neck. N was just a hair's breadth away from salvation. But the monster pulled them quickly back to his maw, denying them of any safety.

"Aww. Did you really think you had a chance against me? How adorable."

And just like that, he had flipped them around to face him with their thighs spread out. With their legs wrapped intimately around his waist, it felt too much.

Like this, they were exposed. There was nothing to defend their vulnerabilities from him, nothing to protect them from feeling the growing warmth between them. His left hand was still holding their wrists up, and his other one—

Oh, god.

The Agent began to struggle with all their might when they felt his warm palm brush up beneath their shirt. When they didn't stop, the Wolf only growled as a warning before digging his nails hard into their wound.

"Yeah, it hurts, doesn't it?" The Abnormality laughed louder, angrier. "I considered being nice earlier. I wasn't even that hungry, now that I thought about it...But you just had to act the way you did, didn't you?"

He leaned forward slowly. This close, N could feel his hot, rotten breath against their cheek. With a tone so serious and ferocious, they knew this was the point that the Wolf would stop playing around.

"Fine, then. I will treat you like the prey that you act to be."

Without warning, his sharp teeth sunk deep into the crook of their neck. His Little Lamb's lips only parted slightly before he clamped his hand shut around their mouth to muffle out their scream.

"Shut it."

It wasn't that he didn't want anyone to hear. But with the state of the facility now, it would just be terrible if another one of his kind were to hear it, wouldn't it? No, their agony was only his, and his to relish.

"After the first couple of tries, it's not so difficult to break down those doors, you know. It makes me wonder if your Manager even really wants to keep us locked."

Pulling his bloodied hand back, he licked the tips of his claws clean. Just mentioning that human alone sent a bitter taste down his mouth, and he wanted nothing more than to be rid of it.

"But anyway, I escaped. And while I was at it, I made sure to release some of the...what do you call it? Abnormalities?"

His Little Lamb's eyes widened as the realization sunk in. Took them long enough. "What? You didn't think I was the only one that got out, did you?"

Everything around the Agent began to look blurry as their eyes filled with tears.

They had just successfully suppressed an ALEPH, and the price of it was the lives of their many colleagues. Now, it was all for naught because some WAW-class Abnormality felt jealous?

"Why?"

The Wolf tilted their head. "What did you say?"

There was a tight knot in the back of their throat. They felt like they were going to suffocate if they didn't force out the words strangling them.

"Why would you do that? I...We did everything we could just to send that thing back, and you just—" Their voice hitched, and the tears began to stream. "—How could you?!"

Crudely, he placed a bloody finger on their lips. "Shh...don't cry."

How could I not when you're giving me every reason to? Their eyes cried out.

"I don't know who you are talking about exactly, but if I released the one who did this to you, I would know." Your blood isn't something I could miss, he didn't add. "And believe me...I won't let them get away with what they did to you."

The Wolf leaned back down again, eyeing the red stain on their uniform. It was undeniably their blood, but he couldn't help but notice a faint stench.

It was from the fucker that caused it.

Slowly, he began to remember why he did this in the first place, and with his claws , he ripped their shirt open, exposing their clammy skin to the cold air. It only brought him slight relief to see that it was nothing fatal. Just a mere stab wound from...something.

Still, he hated to know that anyone other than him had hurt his Little Lamb.

Unable to hold back his desires any longer, he bit down around the foreign mark, hard.

His cobalt pupils dilated as sweet ambrosia seeped into his mouth. Truly, nothing tasted better than fresh meat.

Something hot was beginning to pool within him. Whether it was lust, hunger, or rage that someone other than him was able to experience this, he couldn't even tell anymore. But then again, did it really matter?

As soon as he got a good chunk between his teeth, he yanked back. He had to make it quick so he wouldn't cause any unnecessary tear to their skin. It was reasons like this why predators killed their prey first.

But his Little Lamb wasn't just a food source for him, no. If that was all they were, he would have swallowed them whole a long time ago.

Like he wanted, his bite had covered the mark entirely until it wasn't even there anymore.

He successfully chewed it out.

Being a carnivore, his teeth was sharp and jagged enough to tear through their skin and flesh with ease. Perhaps, his Little Lamb would disagree about the 'ease', but...heh. If only they knew just how painful he could make this.

The wounds were relatively clean. Uneven viscera poked out with their peachy hues, now revealed since the thin layer of skin hiding them had been ripped off.

Had he bit any deeper, he might have reached his Little Lamb's hip bones, or maybe something else that was crucial. Like intestines.

It would be a shame if I did, he chuckled darkly.

As he chewed and savoured the sliver of meat, he sat back and took this moment to study and observe every movement his Little Lamb made.

He drank in every crinkle of their face, every twist their delicate features made. They had been biting down on their lips so hard that it bled.

In that moment, he felt a strong urge to lick the crimson off their lips, but at the same time, something else was nagging at him. It chewed and nipped at his heart like a persistent bug, and it wouldn't relent.

He knew what it was, and that realization only served to fan the dying flames of his anger. It was guilt.

Feeling indignant, he scoffed.

In the war between the rational man and his inner beasts, he thought the former lost a long time ago. So, why did he decide to come back now?

Ignoring his human conscience, the Wolf lowered himself onto the small body beneath him before licking at the exposed skin of their collarbone. It seemed like a soft gesture until he returned to biting.

His Little Lamb instinctively began to hold onto them. He could feel their nails, small and pathetic as they were, digging in through the thin fabric of his shirt.

They were obviously trying to hurt him. When hitting him didn't work, scratching was all that was left for them to do.

But for the Wolf, who could only express his desires through controlled violence...he could pretend that this was their beloved reciprocating his love.

Perhaps, in a different world where he didn't surrender to his instincts, things might be different. That man might feel guilt and disgusted with himself for even thinking of doing this.

But as it was...he felt nothing. Only possessiveness, and satisfaction at the thought that he had reclaimed what was his.

By now, he had left a trail of large puncture wounds on their collarbone up to their neck. He made sure not to hit any vital arteries, but feeling them thrum and heat with life, it was very tempting.

The Agent could feel the Abnormality's eyes on them, studying their every reaction and response to the unbearable stimuli that was his 'marks'. Even with how burnt through their eyes were from all the fluorescent lights, they could see he still wanted more.

It was in the way his cobalt eyes gleamed brightly. The way he clenched and opened his fists around their hips as if he were torn between leaving and attacking.

And on their legs, they could feel it.

They didn't dare to look down.

The Wolf didn't stop until nothing but the scent of his darling filled his nostrils. It clouded his mind, muddled his judgement, and the only reason why he even stopped was because he noticed how eerily quiet everything was.

He sat back, eyes looking over their body. He knew for a fact that the human was still alive. Their heartbeat was still there. But with their eyes closed...ah.

He went too far.

In his daze, he became no different from a beast in heat, and he had pushed his Little Lamb past their limit.

The Abnormality couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of it.

With a tenderness uncharacteristic for the Abnormality, he lifted the unconscious human off the ground, remembering to be careful with their injuries.

Did he regret this? No. Did the human regret ever getting close to him? Maybe.

Regardless, he knew he wasn't the one at fault. He warned them since the very beginning, yet they kept drawing themselves closer to his mouth. Like a lamb to the slaughter.

So, if they had anyone to blame, it should be themselves.

Because right from the beginning, they should have been afraid of him.

Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you, love, for reading until the end~

Here is a cute video of three wolves!

If I missed any warnings, I deeply apologize. Please comment, so no one has to bleach their mind of my writing. （" ´▽ `)>

[inkykeiji]

Many sad thoughts running through my head but I can imagine Dabi having trust issues as you and the other anon saying. Him being afraid of getting left behind. I feel like he would say “I didn’t mean to say I love you” at some point because that’s a type of vulnerable he doesn’t want to be but it’s just one of many thoughts

AHHHHHHHH anon anon why must u hurt me like this?????? pls my whole heart just broke at this and i uhhhhh wrote 1.7k words about it,,,

❅ cw: soft dabi, angst, rly sappy ❅

It seems to happen at the most random of times. It isn’t like the movies, isn’t ever after some profound incident or momentous occurrence shared between the two of you—no, it’s always right after the most mundane things; after he catches you brushing your teeth in a cute matching set of panties and a tank top, sticking out your tongue at him, mouth full of foamy white toothpaste; after he finds you curled up on the couch buried under a fluffy blanket, nothing more than a lump and a head as your eyes rapidly scan the pages of the book in front of you, entirely absorbed in whatever world it’s built for you; after he walks into the kitchen to see you by the sink washing a few dishes, hips swaying and head nodding as you hum along to whatever song is blasting through your headphones.

But God, does it hit him like a motherfucking bus every single time, punches him in the stomach without warning, knocks the breath straight out of him.

He’s usually good at keeping it to himself, usually able to swallow it back down when those three little words begin to creep up his throat, dancing on the back of his tongue and restricting his breathing.

But eventually, he messes up.

You had started it, right after you had finished sprinkling the pizza stone with some flour while he was rolling out the dough, wiping your powdery fingers down his t-shirt, then swiping a thumb across his cheekbone, leaving a streak of white flour painted in its path, a little mischievous smile on your face and glint in your eyes.

He retaliates immediately, grabbing a pinch of flour from the bag and flicking it right in your face.

“Dabi!” you gasp, but your shoulders are shaking with silent laughter as you wipe at your face, fingers only managing to leave more strokes of the substance instead of clearing it. Your hand dives into the bag, grasping a handful of flour, inhaling deeply—enough to expand your entire chest—before blowing air out of your mouth, casting tiny, thick explosions of white at him, speckling his shirt and dusting his inky hair.

“Oh, you little brat,”

And, fuck, you look so goddamn beautiful, giggles ringing out around the room, flour strewn in your messy, tousled hair, smears of it across your cheeks and neck, sprinkled on your clothes, eyes bright and breathing laboured with exhilaration as you daintily leap away from him.

They’re bubbling up in his chest, those three stupid little words, climbing up, up, up his throat to settle on his tongue, light and sweet, floating in his mouth like candy floss and melting on his tongue only to be resurrected by another one of your giggles, or playful yelps, or squeals of his name.

And he’s too preoccupied to remember to swallow them down, to chew and chomp on them until he’s crushed them into a thousand tiny pieces as he chases you around the kitchen while you throw clouds of flour at each other, too enraptured by the soft, cute, precious sounds he’s endlessly pulling from you, too hellbent on hearing more, a man possessed.

Because he hasn’t laughed like this in ages, isn’t sure he’s ever laughed like this in his entire life, and they just slip out, when he finally catches you, chest heaving a bit from the thrill of it all as large hands curl around your shoulders.

“God, I love you,”

They’re muttered softly, just a huff of breath, really, blanketed by his laughs and yours, and you nearly miss them.

Nearly.

And then, everything stops. Your laughs abruptly cut off, and he wishes he’d have missed the sharp intake of breath you inhale through your mouth, lips parted slightly, wide eyes staring at him as your body freezes up, going rigid in his grasp, feet fused to the floor.

He stops, too, lets go of you so quickly you’d think your skin burnt his palms through the thin material of your shirt, sapphire eyes growing wide—wider than you’ve ever seen them before—as his mind catches up with his mouth, stumbling a few steps back from you.

He wants to say something, anything, but his voice is caught in his chest, fading into pathetic squeaks of breath any time he tries to force a few words out. And it aches, heart pounding almost painfully against his ribcage, breathing shallow—almost ceased completely—as he stares unblinking at you, sharp, tingling anxiety flooding his veins.

And you—well, you’re staring at him with this look in your eyes, something that he can’t decipher, and it makes his stomach lurch. It’s a look he’s never seen before, your eyes shining as you gaze at him, almost glittering as you stare at him, unmoving, unbreathing, unexplainable. Are you upset? Angry? Disgusted? Stunned? A combination of all four? None at all?

The fact that he can’t tell, that he doesn’t know, when he prides himself on being able to read others so insanely well, ignites flames of anger that alight his entire body, right to the tips of his fingers and his toes, blazing straight through the anxiety and simmering in his chest, eyes hardening as they glare back at you.

A beat passes, your ears ringing from the thick, tense silence draped over the room, and then he’s pushing past you roughly with a choked snarl that sounds a little like a mix between a sob and a growl, and storming out of the kitchen.

He’s cut off all communication entirely, has been ignoring you for a few days now, only leaving his bedroom out of absolute necessity and refusing to answer any of your countless texts that have been collecting on his lockscreen, refusing to even touch his phone. He doesn’t want to see what you have to say, desperately tries to convince himself that he doesn’t care, that he isn’t scared of what your messages might reveal, isn’t terrified of that impending rejection he’s so sure is lurking on the horizon.

But there’s only so long he can keep avoiding you before you finally catch him in the kitchen, just past three in the morning, fixing himself a late-night snack.

“Oh, thank God,”

He whirls around at the sound of your voice, cobalt eyes gaping for a moment before narrowing into sharp slits an instant later.

“Dabi, listen—”

“No,” he growls, eyes flashing. “You listen, I don’t want to fucking talk about it, alright?”

Leaping in front of him, you block his path, prohibiting him from leaving the kitchen and speaking quickly. “Yeah? Well I do!”

“I don’t care,” he spits viciously, the ache throbbing deep in his chest—at the very core of his body—reminding him otherwise. “There’s nothing to talk about, anyway! It’s not like I meant them,”

And that—that gets you to stop, tripping a little over your own feet as you stumble back like he’s physically slapped you, a soft, hurt little whimper getting caught in the back of your throat as tears rapidly pool in your eyes, blurring your vision.

“Wh-What?”

He glares down at you, molars grinding together as his nose twitches.

I didn’t mean to say I love you.

What a pathetic fucking sentence—it’s almost laughable, the corners of his lips quirking up in a sardonic little grin. Your breath hitches, and his shoulders tense at the sound.

‘You aren’t supposed to know I love you’ is much more accurate, his mind sneers at him. Coward. Fucking coward.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says, though his voice is beginning to quiver, trembling hands curling into tight fists in an effort to stop it, short nails biting into the flesh of his palm as the skin stretched taut over his knuckles turns bone white.

“Didn’t mean what?” you whisper, glistening tears finally spilling over and streaming down your cheeks, leaving gleaming trails of salt water behind them. “Say it, Dabi,”

He’s got his eyes shut tightly as he shakes his head, knows if he opens them, if he looks at you, that he’ll break, shatter into a thousand pieces, split himself open at the very core of his body and bare his entire soul to you.

“Look at me,” you demand softly.

His jaw flexes once, slowly exhaling out his nose.

“Dabi, look at me,” a pause. “Please?”

“No.”

“W-Why?” the word escapes your lips in a little whine, broken up by your sniffles.

You know why.

But it’s those little half-sobs, the ones that keep catching painfully in your chest, that do it, interspersed with your soft whimpers as you plead with him—please, open your eyes, just look at me for a second, please!

Unable to stand it any longer, his lids finally rise, slowly revealing sparkling sapphire, glowering at you, his harsh gaze protected by a thin shield of water.

He hates this, hates not having control over his own fucking body, over his own fucking thoughts, hates the unfamiliarity of it all, of the unpleasant fluttering in his stomach and burning in his throat, swallowing thickly past the hard lump that’s formed, constricting his breathing.

Revolting, his inner voice snarls at him. You’re weak, letting some stupid little girl get to you like this, as if you even—

Your touch silences the voice, cutting it off midsentence, his whole body flinching at the soft, small hand resting so tenderly against the curve of his face, subconsciously nuzzling his cheek into your palm a second later, eyes slipping shut again.

“Dabi,” you begin, and something has changed. You no longer sound hurt, no longer sound wounded, your voice gentle and—

No. No, no, no, this can’t be happening to him right now. Panic grips his heart, puncturing it with its claws, sending blistering, sharp pain searing through his chest and slicing him open, raw and vulnerable.

“Please, don’t,” he whispers, words tumbling from his lips without his permission, voice frail, fragile, broken.

Don’t. He doesn’t want to hear them, doesn’t need to hear them, can’t bear to hear them—not if they’re false, fake, uttered out of misplaced pity and sympathy.

“I love you, too,”

A pathetic hiccup gets caught in his throat and he chokes on it, chest stuttering as he shakes his head, lids clenching tightly against the unfamiliar sting of tears, lips pressed together firmly to stifle the tiny distressed sounds that keep crawling up his throat, trying to escape.

There’s no way, she’s lying, how could she ever—

“Yes,” you whisper, thumb caressing his jaw. “I love you, too,”

[olivyh]

Twst Species headcannons

Beastmen:

-Palms and bottoms of their feet are rougher and more padded, as well as a slightly darker shade than their normal skin tone

-Legs are built similar to the hind legs of animals (with the sharp angles and little bumps)

-Start “walking” as children on all fours because it’s more comfortable due to the way their legs are built

-Many have scars under their bottom lip due to accidentally biting it bc their fangs were longer after losing their baby teeth

-Similarly, they also have small scars across various parts of their bodies due to their claws

-They can see in the dark to an extent

-Their eyes also do the glowy thing in the dark, as well as on camera

-Beastmen have very thick and coarse hair, which makes it notoriously harder to cut

-Many lion beastmen especially do not cut their hair often, as their hair symbolizes strength within their communities

-Cutting ones hair is a sign of trust in beastmen communities, considering how guarded they are with who touches their head (Patting a beastman’s head is a quick and easy way for them to get their guard down, and it takes them off high alert) as well as their ears being within constant danger near scissors.

-Beastmen do shed, a lot, like, a lot a lot

-They have been known to growl and purr like their animal counterparts, as well as hunch their backs and snarl when threatened

-Baby beastmen will bite you, as a sign of affection. They also wrestle with their caretakers from a young age to show affection as well. Grown beastmen will let the younger beastman win, regardless of species

-They also play wrestle with mates and potential mates to show their interest and affection. Not too hard, but enough to jostle the mate around. They will be absolutely smitten if the mate does it back.

-Beastmen grow up using the same sounds their animal counterparts do, as its similar to being taught a first language that the rest of your family speaks. Most aren’t taught English (Or commonspeak since England is nonexistent in Twisted Wonderland) until later in life

-Beastmen can understand similar dialects and tones of other species, and can further understand and speak a little bit of other beastmen languages

-They cannot eat certain foods that their mother species can’t. Canine beastmen cannot eat chocolate, onions, etc, feline beastmen cannot eat onions, garlic, grapes, etc etc without having issues afterwards. (This makes them a target for pranksters on NRC’s campus. Ex: The incident of Heartslabyul’s Ace Trappola switching out all the tea for coffee during the unbirthday party and Chenya unfortunately missing the cues and drinking the whole cup)

-They are very territorial to anyone besides the clan they reside with. The only people they aren’t territorial with are young children, although they are on high alert if the child’s guardian is nearby

-Beastmen will adopt a child if they see it doesn’t have a clan to stay with, regardless of species. It’s not unheard of to see a beastchild of another species or a young human in beastman clans

-I saw a hc that said that Rook is mixed beastman/human so I’m gonna roll with that for the next one: Beastmen and human mixed babies can have the same attributes as beastmen but on a tamer scale. Their vision, hearing, sense of touch and smell could be higher than a human’s but not as high as a beastmans. The ears and tail are the more dominant gene but it’s not uncommon to see a mixed beastmen/human child with more human features

-Beastmen grow larger than most humans, with the average beastmen (under the right conditions) ranging around six ft at full height. Female hyena beastmen grow taller than their male counterparts

Mer:

-They’re hypersensitive to sunlight at first and have to wear sunglasses or something shading their eyes their first few weeks on land

-They also get dehydrated very easily even in human form, so they have to carry around water bottles

-Their skin dries out quickly, so their hands and feet especially will be very dry and potentially cracking unless they moisturize often

-They have a lot of back and leg pain because they’re not used to gravity pulling them down

-Can also see in the dark very well due to living at the bottom of the ocean

-Their hair is also very thin and silky, but separated into thick chunks, almost looking like scales from a distance. Furthermore most Mer don’t like having longer hair due to the amount of effort it takes to maintain it, with currents twisting it up and the high chances of it getting stuck between rocks and coral

-Most mer have the habit of picking up whatever’s nearby and eating it raw, due to the fact that their bodies can process it. It’s not uncommon to see a mer picking a crab off the side of their house and plopping it into their mouth.

-They have no problem with eating the fish they are associated with, and they do not consider it cannibalism since they aren’t exactly the same species. (Meaning the Tweels can eat eel and Azul can eat octopus without any problems)

-Baby mer can swim around at a very young age (from just a few days old), and mature faster than most other species in the first few weeks of their lives

-Azul has horizontal, rectangular pupils

-Aside from cecaelia, most mer do have slanted pupils that change shape depending on the danger in the area.

-Mer communicate under the water using clicks and chitters similar to echolocation, and could choose to not learn commonspeak as they don’t interact with humans as much as beastmen

-They are born with teeth and can eat smaller fish from birth (or hatching, depending on the species)

-They’re not mammals, so they don’t have nips I think

-They don’t choose to wear clothing or accessories unless it’s for a formal event or a family heirloom

-Back to the birth thing I think mer eggs are very easy to lose due to the harsh climate of the ocean. Many mer settle for only having a child or two due to how hard it is to raise a child there. Jade and Floyd also hatched from the same egg, meaning they were on the smaller side as babies

-Mer babies also bite to show affection, and will wrap their tail around their guardians when they feel scared or nervous

-Cecaelia babies are well known for sticking to their guardians for the first few weeks of their lives, and are very difficult to pry off due to the strength of their tentacles (And when they do theres little marks left across their backs, stomachs, shoulders, etc from the suction cups) (I’m sorry i cant stop picturing tired momma ashengrotto walking around w little marls on her and baby azul still stuck to her like 👁👁)

-I know this is a little far fetched and is nowhere near mentioned in the game or comic but I have a feeling the tweels have a hard time seeing out of their gray eye? Like coming from the same egg they maybe took some features from the other or they had a difficult development while in there (or maybe I just know nothing abt twins)

-Incredibly territorial, especially towards members of different species.

-Most mer have skin pigmented similar to their tail color as well as thick layers of scales (if their species permits) around their throats, their sides, their arms, and around their ear fins (It throws me off how Azul and the Tweels are the only ones with different skin tones- like you’re telling me you have two teal mer and a black and white mer but the guards at the museum had just blue tails and absolutely no other signs of being a mer??? Give us green Rielle pls and thx)

-Mer grow much larger than humans and beastmen, and don’t stop growing until their twenties.

-They also have markings on their torso, tail, and face that’s similar to others in their families. Normally you can tell which mer is from which family depending on the markings said mer has

-Similar to beastmen tails and ears, mer can be read by their fins. In extreme emotion, mer’s fins will flare out or flatten against their body when they feel threatened.

-They don’t know how to drink things when they get to the surface. I think they’d struggle with the idea since you can’t drink underwater or else the liquid will go everywhere (but then how’d Azul make those potions???)

Fae:

-Also hypersensitive to sunlight, which results in many fae being nocturnal.

-Older fae have been known to go days without any sleep with little to no repercussions. Younger fae have more difficulty with this.

-They have a stronger immunity to magic, and often potions crafted by them are well known to be more potent due to this fact

-Fae speak many languages, with many smaller species talking in little chirps and bell like noises, with bigger species talking in low growls and hissing noises. Fae on opposite sides of this cannot understand each other, but each species of small fae can understand other small fae, and larger ones can understand other large ones, even if there’s a difference in language.

-All of them can practice transformation magic without the use of a spell or potion, regardless of genetic makeup. It’s not uncommon to see large dragons or other reptiles walking the streets of the Valley pf Thorns, nor is it too uncommon to see small “floods” or floating fire balls in more secluded areas of the woods

-Fae grow the largest out of all the groups, but have control over their size due to their transformation magic. They don’t stop growing until they appear the same age as thirty (but is actually a much longer time considering their lifespans)

-Because of this fae take much longer to mature from birth/hatching (I like to think 1 normal year= 80~ years) (So An 80 y/o fae would only be equal to a one year old in any other species)

-Very reserved in their relationships with other fae and especially species. I think the cultural differences between other fae is enough to create a large gap between them, and most fae understand the difference in life span between them and other species, so they actively go out of their way to avoid forming relationships with them. (I feel like this is a part of why Sebek is so abrasive towards humans. I mean, his life span has to be different even if he’s only half, so he might be using his anger to deflect his own feelings about eventually having to lose his human father and Silver, as much as they bicker. Poor guys just in denial and trying to protect himself :(()

Human:

-Humans who grew up around magic users have more resilience to magic and potions (meaning Mc/Yuuken, who grew up in a world without magic at all, is more susceptible and will be effected longer by the side affects of potions and spells, or the spells will pack more of a punch and be potentially more dangerous)(Meaning they could take a sleeping potion meant to give the user a full nights rest and be out for a week straight)

-The chances of a human’s unique magic leaning in one direction depends on the area they live in and what resources they have available (I can’t think of anyone else’s unique magic who does this but Kalim’s oasis maker is a big example. He mentioned they had difficulty getting water on the Land of the Hot Sands so maybe that could have been a factor that altered the makeup of his magic. Like a demand and supply type deal?)

-Magical human’s pupils also change shape when they’re using their magic. I like to think that whenever it’s being used their pupils are blown wide to the point where you can hardly see their actual eye color

-Either that or their eyes glow

-Magic using humans are typically stronger, but have lower endurance than non magic users. This is due to the strain that’s put on their bodies even when magic isn’t in use. There are potions they can use to lessen these effects, and many choose to naturally boost their endurance through various activities, but they have to work harder than non magic using humans

[archived-kin]

words upon the wind

note from kin: i don’t really know how to feel about this one, to be honest - it feels kind of half-baked and messy, but oh well, what can you do?

the basic premise is that, instead of dvalin, it’s you, a dear companion from long ago, that venti finds rampaging through mondstadt after waking up from a long, long sleep

i’m pretty sure adepti are exclusive to liyue, so i guess reader is just the mondstadt equivalent? basically you’re in that grey area between vision-holder and archon - you’re not powerful enough to have received a gnosis and ascend into godhood, but you’re powerful enough to have attained a level of immortality and be able to control the wind to a certain extent!

enjoy!! (or don’t enjoy, it is meant to be angst after all)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, venti

pairing(s): venti/reader

warning(s): memory loss, general manipulation of one’s actions, brief mention of death, sad venti

genre: oh it is angst time baby (i think so anyway, please let me know if this managed to get you In Your Feels or not)

Where am I?

Your eyes burn, the air whipping around you in harsh gales that tear at your clothes and dig into your skin like blades. Your hands move of their own accord in a pattern that you don’t recognise, and the wind seems to move with them, swirling around you in a vortex that obscures the world from view, until all you can see are blurred lights, blurred lines, blurred green.

Green. There is a boy dressed in green, far below, arms braced above his head, staring at you. His mouth opens and shuts, but you cannot hear anything - only the whistle of the wind.

Who is he? Who are you? Why does the air bend to your will? What is this strange land below you, spreading out in grassy fields to the south and a bustling city to the west?

The boy is shouting now, straining so hard that the force of his own yells almost knocks him over. Something lies abandoned in the grass by his feet - a lyre with broken strings. There is something familiar about the sight, something familiar about him - something that you can’t quite place. His face is twisted, as if in pain. Are you hurting him? You don’t want to hurt him.

“I’ll be back before you know it. Wait for me, promise?”

You don’t know this feeling - you don’t know this anger, this sorrow, this anguish that digs its claws deep into you and threatens to rip you apart. Tears sting at your eyes, but why? For who do you so desperately want to cry for?

The boy stands his ground, even as the wind around you swells in rippling masses and threatens to crush him under its sheer power. You want to shout, to scream, to tell him to run, run far away so that I can’t hurt you, but the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a guttural, inhuman howl of anger as the storm around you swells.

He fumbles with something on his back - a bow, a bow that trembles in his hands as he raises it and prepares to aim. How can he expect to fight the power of a thousand winds with an arrow? He’ll be killed before his arrow reaches its target, thrown back and forth by the very air around him until his limbs grow limp and his eyes lose their light. He knows this, he must know this - so why does he continue to refuse to relent?

He pulls back the string. You look back, expecting to be staring down the shaft of an arrow, but he isn’t aiming at your head. His face is scrunched in concentration, feet firmly anchored to the ground - and he is deliberately and determinedly pointing his arrow down at your hip. You don’t understand y our wind can easily snap any arrow of his in half, so why waste them on trying to slow you down? Why not go straight for the kill?

You don’t know why, but something tells you that he doesn’t want to kill you. He isn’t aiming an arrow in hopes of eradicating a target. You don’t how you know this, but somehow, against all odds, you’re willing to believe that this boy you do not know would never seek to harm you.

Perhaps that is why you do not intervene when he looses his arrow. Perhaps that is why you do not interrupt its path even as it sails forward, sharp and true. Perhaps that is why, even as the arrow strikes its target and the sound of something shattering rings in your ears, you do not lift even a finger to fight back.

You look down. Something purple and alien is crumbling from your hip, dissolving in the wind as it falls away. Quite suddenly, the wind calms, and you drop to the ground.

The boy stands in shocked silence for a moment, as if he can’t quite believe that his plan actually worked. Then he moves again, running to you, leaving both his bow and the broken lyre behind.

“Stay right there!” You warn as he reaches out a hand, jumping back into a defensive stance. “Don’t touch me!”

He pulls back, and an strange expression of hurt flashes briefly across his face. “But... it’s me. Surely I haven’t slept so long that you’ve forgotten me?”

You ignore the sharp tug in your chest at the sound of his voice, instead narrowing your eyes and glaring at him. The wind continues to swirl around the two of you, tossing the ends of his braided hair about in an almost playful way.

“I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about,” You growl in reply. “What are you doing here?”

He’s silent for a long while before he replies. “I’m here... to free you.”

“Free me?” You scoff. “What on earth would you be freeing me from? I control the very wind! How much freer can I be?”

His eyes are sad - so sad that you can barely stand to look at them. “You haven’t been free in a long time, [Name]. Please… all I want is to help you.”

The silence would be suffocating if not for the breeze rustling the leaves of the nearby trees. You refuse to meet the boy’s gaze. You speak again, but your voice is softer… weaker. “What is there to help?”

Against all best decisions, he chooses to move closer, reaching forward and grasping your right hand. For some reason that you can’t quite fathom, you let him.

“This destruction, this rage… none of this is you. You’re no Stormterror, you never have been. You... you were always just my Starseeker.”

“Who are you to tell me who I am?” You shoot back in reply. You want to pull your hand from his, to push him away and scorn him, but somehow you can’t quite bring yourself to. “I don’t know who this Starseeker you speak of is, but they aren’t me, and I most certainly am not yours.”

“Then who are you?” He asks, and you find yourself at a loss for an answer. “Who are you, if not Starseeker? Why are you attacking this land, if not because of the Abyss Order’s control?”

“I am controlled by no one,” You snap, but there is no real bite in your tone. You raise a hand to your temple, gritting your teeth.

“How many gaps are there in your memory?” He presses further, his voice increasing in intensity and desperation with every word. His grip around your hand is so tight that it almost bursts. “Do you remember how you got here? Do you remember why you’re doing this? Do you remember how your abilities came to be, how you were even created?”

“I…” You pull back, and he releases your hand, gazing at you imploringly as you turn away. “I don’t…”

“They must have manipulated your memories, stolen them even,” His voice breaks slightly, and he rubs furiously at his eyes with one sleeve as he continues, “Anything to keep you under their control, to rip away the person that you were to leave only a weapon for them to use… but please… you have to try to remember!”

“What is there to remember?!” You finally turn to look at him, and your eyes blaze so brightly that he freezes in place. “This is all I’ve known, and as far as I’m concerned, it is all that I want to know. I will let you live, but I don’t want to see your face again.”

“No—!” He reaches for your hand again, but you push him away with ease, and he lands roughly in the grass. “Please, wait!”

You only shake your head in response and turn to leave, the air around you beginning to stir in preparation to lift you. But then the boy cries out once more, and you pause for just long enough for him to leap to his feet and throw himself at you once more - and in one final, reckless movement, he rips the flower from his hat and presses it into your hands.

“The Cecilias, [Name],” he says desperately, closing your fingers around the flower’s delicate petals. “Don’t you remember the Cecilias?”

“The… Cecilias…” You stare at the innocent flower sitting in your palm for a long moment. Something suddenly tugs hard at your chest, and you inhale sharply, almost crushing the flower in your fist. The boy catches you as you stumble forward, and two of you sink to the ground in tandem.

“I brought you to Starsnatch Cliff,” He begins to speak so quickly that the words seem to blur together. It feels as if he wants to say so much more than what he can. “We went to Starsnatch Cliff together, and we sat and watched the sunset, and we talked all night, until the sun came up again. You remember the stars, don’t you?”

“Stars...?” You repeat. The boy gazes at you hopefully, nodding, and, before you realise it, you’re lifting a hand to cup his cheek.

He reaches up and softly places his own hand over yours. He’s trembling, but he smiles nevertheless - he smiles for you, even though you don’t know him, can’t know him. How many memories have you lost? And what is his place in them?

“You were still so young back then,” He murmurs, eyes distant as if reminiscing something that has long since passed. “You didn’t know what stars were. That night, when we sat together beneath the night sky, I sang you a song. Do you remember how it went?”

“Star…” Your words come of their own accord, unfocused and dreamy. “Fly me to the stars in the sky…”

Something deep inside you seems to stir at the way that his eyes soften. There is something so achingly familiar about their colour, somewhere between blue and green, like the ripples out on the open sea where there is no land to disturb its waves, like the vast emptiness of the sky that goes on for longer than you can remember and longer than you will live to see, like the quiet rustle of the trees in a peaceful evening breeze.

“It was our song,” He murmurs, and his eyes slowly fall shut. “I never sang it for anyone else, and I never will.”

You stiffen.

“Did you like it?” The boy asks, his eyes bright against the dark sky behind him as the final notes of his song fade into the night.

“I… think I did,” You reply, unsure. You press your hand to your chest, and your heart thumps loudly against it.

“Come on, no need to sound so unenthusiastic!” He sets down his lyre, leaning forward, so close to you that you can see every flyaway lock of hair scattered messily about his face. “I wrote this song just for you. It’s all yours.”

You ponder over his words for a while. “...but it’s your song.”

“No, no, I’m just the one who sang it,” He shakes his head. He pauses and thinks for a moment, then continues, “And wrote it. And composed it. And named it.”

He pauses again, his face scrunching up slightly. Finally, he decides, “You know what, we’ll share it! It’ll be our song. Ours only. I won’t sing it for anyone else, and I never will. How does that sound?”

Everything is coming back now, bursting the banks and submerging you in its endless flow. You remember nights spent beneath an inky sky filled with stars, you remember the ring of laughter around a forest clearing, you remember hours spent riding a breeze above a city of flickering lights. You remember the rush of excitement as you plummeted from the sky to a rippling lake below, only for a pair of hands to dip down and catch you before you could break the surface. You remember arms wrapped around your shoulders in an warm embrace, spinning the two of you through the air until sky and land became one, until you couldn’t tell where you ended and they began. And the boy in front of you—

You know the curve of his smile and the dip of his frown. You know the way that his hair falls around his face in messy waves. You know the way that he laughs, head thrown back as if expressing his mirth to the very heavens above. You know the quiet melody of his voice, soothing you to sleep when the sea is too deep and the storms too strong. You know this boy!

“Barbatos...?” You whisper.

His eyes fly open. For a single, frozen second, the two of you stare at each other, one in disbelieving wonder and one in quiet realisation.

Then, before you know it, you’re toppling backwards. The boy throws his arms around your neck and hugs you tight, burying his face into the nape of your neck as he sobs, and the only thing you can distinguish among his muffled whimpers is your name, repeated like a mantra or a spell, as if you might disappear at any moment and leave him all alone once more.

Venti holds you close and cries. He cries for the memories that you were forced to forget, for the destruction that you were forced to wreak, for the people that you were forced to forsake. He cries because the centuries that the two of you have lost can never truly be recovered, because even though you are here with him, you are still so lost and the years have been so long and he doesn’t know i how to go on from here. You slowly shift and return his embrace, and he can’t help but sink into your touch, like a stone disappearing under the surface of a river.

It will take time to heal. Wounds as old as yours and his do not stop hurting easily, after all. But, as Venti burrows closer to you still, selfishly revelling in the feeling of your arms around him, he listens to the quiet hum of the breeze around him, and he allows himself to be hopeful.

He won’t be afraid of the storms on the horizon anymore. After all, it was those very winds that brought you back to him.