#DEMENTED. HAUNTED EVEN.

[courtiers]

2016 GAVE they were like "yeah captain america is and has always been a nazi. we're retconning his backstory. this is the plot twist of the century" and it was a lie..... like that categorically was not true.... they just straight up lied about it...... 2015-2017 comics you are so beloved to me you are so evil you are so stupid.......

[batsplat]

Casey Stoner, Pushing the Limits

GP11:

GP12:

x

[hella1975]

going crazy about an oc again. like it's my fault

[scvrmqueen]

Tag, You’re It - Danny Johnson

┊ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — one-shot.

┊ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — Danny Johnson x afab!reader.

┊ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — SMUT! dubious consent, descriptions of gore, vaginal sex, use of knife handle for penetration, dirty talk, unprotected sex, no aftercare, Danny is literally his own warning. 

┊ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 2,982.

┊ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ I got this idea after listening to Tag, You’re It by Melanie Martinez. Takes place during Dead by Daylight. I don’t own the rights to Danny or DBD. You’re just trying to survive another trial when Danny proposes a little game. 

“Oh, you were so close, kitten!” A mirthless chuckle slipped from the macabre figure perched above you, his hips pinning you to the frigid earth. Your struggles had promptly ceased once his steel blade found purchase against your throat. 

“And to think, one more step and you would have been home free,” he tsked, blade digging further into your sensitive flesh to reveal a crimson stream. “Didn’t know you could be so cruel, kitten, trying to leave me on my lonesome without so much as a goodbye kiss.” 

“Fuck you, Danny,” you spat, glaring into the shadowy abyss of black fabric that concealed his eyes. “Kill me and be done with it, I’m sick of playing your fucked up games.” 

An audible gasp sounded beneath the foreboding mask, a gloved hand - the one not preoccupied with mutilating you - covering his heart in feigned shock. “Y/n you wound me! Where’s your fighting spirit, huh? C’mon, I know you have that ‘I’ll go out kicking and screaming’ final girl mentality.” 

You were mere feet from a successful trial, sparing a glance toward the cement hatch. What anger bubbled in your chest was steadily replaced with fatigue, an overwhelming sense of feebleness rendering your fight or flight instinct futile. You pressed your scorched fingertips into the dirt beneath you. A shaky breath pierced through pursed lips, frustrated tears gathering in the corners of your eyes as you realized just how close you had been to besting the Ghost Face. 

“Aw, doll. You’re so pretty when you cry for me,” Danny cooed, his blade smearing blood on your cheek as it moved to collect the pearly drops. “Tell you what, I’m feeling generous. Play one last little game with yours truly, and I’ll let you have the hatch.” 

Mouth agape, you waited for the inevitable ‘ha, gotcha’ moment. When Danny remained silent - a phenomena in itself, you finally responded, “what game?”

“Atta girl.” He lowered his head until cheap plastic scraped your cheek, his faux mouth resting by your ear. Leather and copper flooded your senses, head reeling at the intimacy of his proximity. “You’re familiar with tag, aren’t you, doll?” 

You scoffed, “tag?” 

“That’s what I said, Y/n.” You could feel the deep chuckle rumble through his chest. “Try to keep up, sweet thing, you’re smarter than that. Now, if I catch you - and we both know I will - I get to do whatever I want with you.” 

“But you won’t kill me?” The question was more breathless than you intended. Whatever he wanted? Your cooperation was founded on the promise of making it out alive. Still, you couldn’t help but hesitate. If Danny’s intention wasn’t to give you to the entity, what did he want? 

“Cross my heart hope to die, kitten.” His words dripped with deranged glee, the rough edge to his voice sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll even give you a ten second head start, being the generous fella I am.”

“Fine,” you conceded. “Get the hell off me so we can get this over with.” 

“There’s the Y/n I know and love.” A leather clad hand wrapped around your throat, using the leverage to drag you to your feet. You reluctantly complied, attempting to ignore the traitorous heat that pooled in your abdomen. 

You sprinted in the opposite direction the moment he released you. 

Aside from a guaranteed win, this game hardly differed from the demented reality of every trial. You were perpetually haunted by that damned mask - led to slaughter each time the sanctity of the campfire was torn away. Unlike your counterparts, your penchant for fighting back had earned Danny’s favor from day one. His insatiable obsession blossomed during your first trial, when you drove a jagged plank through his abdomen. 

Had you predicted he would save you for last each trial, you wouldn’t have been so damn heroic. 

Your lungs burned, legs aching as your pace gradually relented. You spared a glance over your shoulder to determine Danny’s proximity. Though momentarily relieved to be greeted by empty darkness, his absence ultimately proved equally troubling. Ghost Face was synonymous with stealth, often remaining undetected until his signature hunting blade was buried deep in your gut. It was impossible to determine where he prowled now. 

Haddonfield offered little room to be chased. Eventually, you would have to loop back to the hatch in order to escape, a feat which would require you to pass through the decrepit homes. Though entering structures always proved to be a precarious gamble, remaining on the street much longer practically ensured your capture. 

You bypassed the first few houses you passed with the intention of throwing Danny off your trail. Zig-zagging through abandoned vehicles, you staggered toward the Myers residence in hopes of a momentary reprieve. Hiding in the abandoned building was futile - Danny had prompted a game of tag after-all. The moment you ceased moving he would be there, his merciless shadows ensnaring you. You prayed slipping through the rooms undetected would buy you some time. 

Pausing briefly upon entering, you attempted to regulate your rapid breathing in order to detect his presence. Satisfied, you darted into the kitchen to grab a butcher’s knife from the familiar wooden block. Danny hadn’t specified rules regarding self defense - his mistake. Should the occasion arise, you fully intended on making grabbing you a hellish feat. 

No sooner had you grabbed the knife did a familiar dark chuckle sound from the doorway to the porch. You turned slowly towards the culprit, as if minor movements would shroud you from his gaze. 

“Really, bunny? The Myer’s house? Tsk, never knew you were so cliché.” Well, at least you knew where he was now. Spinning on your feet, you sprinted back toward the main entrance. Knowing Danny, the moment you stepped out onto the porch he would be there to grab you, blade against your throat and arms encircling your waist. Hesitation would cost you precious seconds, leaving you to scamper up the stairway on shaky legs. 

“Annndd going up the stairs?” His distant voice only caused you to increase your pace. “Y/n, haven’t I taught you to be better than those horror movie bimbos?”

 As you reached the room with a large opening to the roof, you couldn’t resist screaming a hearse, “Fuck you, asshole!” Once on the roof, you would slip into the backyard and make a swift exit back to the hatch. You could taste victory on your tongue, beyond pleased to have outwitted Ghost Face. 

Or at least that was the plan. 

You hadn’t planned on Danny tackling you mere feet from the roof, his imposing figure weighing heavy on your back. Thrashing beneath him proved futile. He grabbed your wrists with little resistance, pinning your arms by your head. The cold hardwood was pressed roughly against your cheek, and from the awkward angle you watched as his mask lowered to your ear. 

“Tag, you’re it.” His deep chuckle reverberated through your spine. 

“Let me up, Danny, and I’ll gladly come get you.” Clutching the butcher knife tighter, you wriggled your ass slightly in hopes of providing a momentary distraction. A throaty groan sounded above you, his hips digging further into your own. His grasp loosened, and you used your remaining strength to twist on your back. You were quick to extend the blade toward him in a punishing stab. But Danny was always quicker. 

“Feisty,” he growled, his hand encircling your wrist and slamming it to the ground with excessive force. A small yelp escaped you as the knife flew from your grasp. 

“But I think you’re forgetting the rules, kitten. Naughty girl.” You were pinned beneath him once more, glare burning through his black mesh. “Let me remind you what happens when you don’t. fucking. listen.” 

Danny shifted, capturing both your wrists in one hand, his knife skimming your waist. The cool steel scraped against your stomach as it lifted your shirt. Before you could even comprehend struggling, your hip burned with a familiar intensity. Searing pain crept up your side as Danny sliced into your sensitive flesh - a hiss escaping through clenched teeth in a poor attempt not to scream. The blade curved against you, shallow in its path but agonizing enough to demonstrate his wrath. 

“Ah, perfect!” Danny leaned back on his heels to observe his work. Your eyes drifted down to observe a jagged “D” carved into the left side of your hip. 

“You sick fuck!” You shouted, all thoughts of self preservation having dissipated. The wound would heal upon returning to the campfire, but it didn’t stop the blinding rage that permeated your senses. 

“Oh, Y/n,” he snarled, using the blade to slice through the middle of your tank-top. “You have no idea just how sick I really am.” He traced the steel around the top of your exposed breasts, humming his approval as your breath hitched. The knife slipped beneath the thin fabric in the middle of your bra, exposing your chest to his ravenous gaze. A traitorous moan slipped from your lips - a wanton sound that you attempted to disguise as disgust by struggling beneath him. 

“Danny-” his name tumbled from your throat with unintended reverence. Your voice trembled with thinly veiled desire, leaving you to pinch your lips together. You desperately hoped Danny hadn’t recognized your slip. 

“Fuck, kitten, I love it when you say my name.” His hips bore into your own with bruising pressure, forcing a haphazard squeal from you in response. Admittedly, this wasn’t the first time that you had been in a compromising position beneath the killer. While the previous instances had ended in your untimely demise, this moment whispered promises of something more - something deep-seated that you could never come back from. 

“You know, I can’t count how many times I’ve heard your screams of pain,” he muttered, the deep, guttural sound going straight to your core. “I can’t wait to hear what you sound like screaming for more.” Without further warning, his chilled, leather fingertips pushed past your denim shorts, briefly grazing the hem of your panties. 

You didn’t recognize the sound that emitted from the depths of your chest as he slid into you - facing little resistance much to your dismay. His finger curled, stimulating a part of you that hadn’t been unearthed for far too long. Dragging in and out, hitting a spot that made your vision dance with speckles of white, you couldn’t find the strength to resist his ministrations. 

“You like this, don’t you? What a dirty little girl you are, bunny.” His voice fractured your lust-fueled haze, attempting to slip your hands from his grasp as you bucked beneath him. Your resistance hardly fazed Danny, earning no more than an amused tsk as he tightened his hold. 

“Now, now, bunny. If you’re going to be naughty and not play by the rules, I’m going to have to punish you.” A wisp of fear at the promise of discipline caused your core to clench. Danny groaned as he removed his fingers completely, the sudden emptiness sobering your senses. The reprieve was short-lived, the leather previously working you replaced with the blunt handle of a familiar knife. 

“What the fuck -” Your words slipped into an unexpected cry of pleasure as the handle brushed your center with expert precision. Discomfort melded into bliss, your will to fight a distant echo in the recesses of your mind. His concept of ‘punishment’ seemed skewed, particularly as a skilled finger danced along your clit in tandem with the blade’s thrusts. Your eyes fluttered close, walls clenching with bruising force as you reached the precipice - nearly pushed over that delicious edge - 

And just as soon as sweet release had been promised, it was stolen. 

A pitiful whine escaped you as his attention ceased, robbing you of the peak you so desperately craved. Ah, punishment, indeed. 

“Ah, ah, Y/n. Only good girls get to cum.” Danny adjusted his position so his hips were once again pressed firmly between your legs. Much to your dismay, the coarse fabric of his pants caused you to grind against him - desperately searching for friction.

“I might consider being merciful and letting you cum on my cock if you beg me for it.” His deep rasp trailed into a lilting tone, teasing you - humiliating you. Even in all your torturous deaths dealt by Danny’s blade, you had never begged him to spare you. Though your hips chased his, desperate to ease the ache between your legs, you would sooner die than plead for him to fuck you. 

“You call that merciful?” You scoffed, attempting to ease the tremble in your voice. “You’re even more fucked up than I thought if you think I want you.” 

“Oh, I think you’re pretty fucked in the head yourself, kitten.” Those fingers slid between your thighs once more, gliding up your center to collect evidence of your arousal. “You can lie to yourself all you want. But see this?” He pressed the glistening leather to your lips, forcing your mouth open to taste your body’s betrayal. “This doesn’t lie.”

“So, you’re going to be a good girl, and you’re going to take everything I have to offer. Every. Last. Goddamn. Inch,” he growled, each word only fueling your thinly veiled desire. You wanted to protest - wanted to kick and scream like a good little survivor. But something within you, some deep, animalistic urge only satiated by the thrill of danger, wouldn’t permit it. Maybe Danny was right. Maybe the endless torment of fighting to survive fueled something savage - a ruinous need to be ravaged by the enemy. 

Saving you from the false pretenses of your moral obligation to resist, Danny flipped you onto your stomach in a swift motion. One firm arm wrapped around your waist, using the leverage to lift your hips up. With your face and arms planted to the floor, the harsh arch of your figure placed your bare ass on display for Danny. 

Without warning, two fingers were buried deep within you, setting a brutal pace that set your body ablaze with burning embers. Just as your walls began to flutter, Danny removed his fingers before delivering a sharp slap to your sensitive flesh. He waited a moment, allowing you to drift further from the promise of release, before claiming you once more. You lost track of time as he continued to edge you - cooing dirty words in your ear and chuckling at your growing frustration. 

“You know how to make this stop, kitten.” Your body ached, core pulsing as his touch parted once more. Danny trailed his blade down your thighs, collecting the slick of your arousal. You had been so determined not to beg. But now as you burned with stifled desire, begging for release seemed preferable to continuing this torture. 

“Danny,” you whined, aghast at how difficult stringing together a sentence had become. “Please, please, just fuck me already you fucking psychotic -” 

You were cut off by your own hoarse scream as Danny pushed into you, forcing you to take his entire length in one fatal thrust. You arched further into the ground, allowing him to reach impossibly deeper as he brushed your cervix. He was so big, feeling as though he would split you apart as he snapped his hips against yours. 

“That’s it, Y/n - fuck, you’re so tight. Bet you haven’t had anybody fuck this sweet cunt like this, have you?” You could only moan in response, clenching around him. 

A gloved hand fisted your hair, pulling your head back roughly so his mask rested by your ear. “I asked you a fucking question, bunny. Nobody fucks you like this, do they?” 

“No!” You squealed. “Only you, Danny - Danny.” His pace increased as you whimpered his name, thrusts intensifying until your looming orgasm was forced upon you. Your body trembled as your release washed over you, waves of fierce pleasure threatening to consume your very existence. 

“Yes - yes, that’s my girl.” He didn’t slow down, allowing you no reprieve from the overstimulation that wracked your core. You attempted to pull away, to form a coherent thought that would save you from the onslaught of fervent sensations. 

“Danny s’too much,” you slurred. A venomous laugh sounded in turn as he flipped you over again, hands gripping the undersides of your thighs to press your knees to your chest. He resumed his brutal pace, brushing the pad of his thumb against your clit as you writhed helplessly beneath him. 

“C’mon, Y/n, you can take one more can’t you?” That familiar pressure was already building. You forced your fluttering eyes to gaze upon his mask, the mere sight of his looming presence causing you to tumble over the edge once more. You screamed his name, overwhelmed by the earth-shattering intensity of  your climax. 

“Fuck, yes, that’s it,” he groaned. Danny’s pace became frenzied, each thrust forcing brutally past your fluttering walls. “You want me to fill you up, don’t you? You want to be dripping with my cum when you sit around that campfire with your pathetic little friends.” 

“Fuck. You,” You managed, the breathy words lacking their usual bite. Your fire only spurred him on as he buried himself to the hilt within you, hot ropes of his cum coating your insides. 

As he slipped from you, allowing you to come down from your orgasmic high, the weight of your actions settled in your chest with crushing realization. Danny placed a finger under your chin to return your gaze to him - an uncharacteristically gentle gesture. 

Whatever insults you prepared to spew were quickly lost as he moved his mask - revealing a finely sculpted jaw covered in dark stubble. He leaned in close, pouty lips hovering above your own and stealing the breath from your lungs. 

“Until next time, kitten. And there will be a next time.” 

[leviathanleva]

Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader [DARK FIC]

Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

........................

[5.1k words]

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 4 "The Plea"

You stretch and groan.

The sound comes out jumbled and is drowned out by the violent vibrating of the washing machine you’re perched upon. You strain your legs, flexing your thighs and working out the sleep from your numb muscles. Your toes squish against the inside of your boots before you relax and rub at your eyes, wiping away the tears your incessant yawns were causing.

You’d seen plenty of pictures of children hollering in front of a fan on a hot summer day, some sort of weird way to entertain themselves because the beat of the fins distorted their voices. It was a good commercial for any fan whenever summer rolled around. Sadly, now when you were free to wander and do as you pleased, much of the mundane experiences you wanted to dip your toes in were impossible to achieve. You were two hundred years too late. You took what you could get though, hence why you’d let curiosity guide you on top of the washing machine once it had started centrifuging.

The steaming coffee mug sat on the L-shaped kitchen counter just next to you and after a moment of being thoroughly jostled around, you picked it up with as much care as you could. Lips latched onto the edge of the mug with haste before you took a big sip, slurping audibly before the coffee could spill out from the violent thrashing causing your arm to quake.

Wet hair clung to your bare shoulders and the aromatic droplets of water dripped and soaked into your dress. It had taken you a good hour to get the ghoul inside the shower after you’d gotten out, all squeaky clean and smelling of lavender soap. How he managed to bear being a grimy crusty prune was beyond you, but as soon as the generator had kicked back to life and restored some power in the vault, you’d jumped at the idea of a nice hot shower.

His clothes were strewn on a dangling cable, as clean as they could get after being worn for who knows how long without a proper wash. Some stains persisted and the washing machine couldn’t do anything about the faded colors, but at least they didn’t smell of death anymore.

He’d dismissed your proposal to launder his rags at first, bumped the butt of his shotgun against your stomach hard enough to make you wheeze and still you hadn’t relented. It was the least you could do, you’d said, begged even. After everything he’d done for you, you wanted to repay him outside of the hefty tato sack stuffed to the brim with bloody Pip-boys and medical supplies and provisions. You’d chewed at his ear until he’d given up with a sigh and hidden behind the shower curtain before tossing his clothes at you layer by layer.

In truth, you just wanted to prolong his departure. Thinking of anything and everything because you didn’t want to be left alone in this haunted vault, you’d come up with ploy after ploy and the power coming back had only aided you in your private battle. So traumatized by the last day that you clung to him even if he was a demented, deadly wastelander probably no better than the raiders he’d slaughtered.

Your sleep had been plagued with nightmares that night; grotesque sceneries of violence and gore were painted in detail over your closed eyelids, making you stir and whimper in your bed. The ghoul was a light sleeper, trained to spring into action at the slightest noise and you tossing and turning and making the bedframe creak gave him all the rights to chuck a cushion at you. He’d scared you half to death with that, but the reminder that he was still there, grumbling on the couch and trying to catch a wink of rest, had given you enough comfort to sleep peacefully for a few hours.

When the washing machine stilled, your reminiscing ended.

You tipped the mug, suckling at the last few drops of sweetened coffee, before setting it aside and hopping on your feet. After pulling the foggy lid open, you drape your socks and your old dress over your forearm and a scowl pinches at the corner of your lips.

Apparently, Abraxo wasn’t strong enough to wash away radroach intestines. You mourned the ruined dress, bitter with wasting the cleaning product for nothing, but decided to hang it up regardless and let it dry.

Who cared for stains anyway? You had bigger problems on your plate.

The screech of the shower tap and a curt whistle have you automatically groping at the ghoul’s clothes.

“Be right there, Mister!” you call out and bunch them up in your hands, placing his hat over your head to save space, his coat is still damp but you doubt he’d mind. You skitter to the edge of the shower and leave the pile next to his weaponry before your manners lead you away to give him some privacy.

The half-empty coffee pot caught your attention once you were back in the bright yellow kitchen area. Despite your low tolerance and the apparent twitches in your fingers, you refilled your mug, deciding that adding sugar wasn’t needed this time.

You were free now, you could drink all the coffee you wanted.

Once the rustling of clothes and buckling of belts and straps ceased, the ghoul appeared from behind the wall, finding you sitting on the counter with ankles crossed and kicking your feet rhythmically. You beam at his slightly less disheveled state, eyes darting from him to the full mug waiting for him. He scoffs and accepts your silent offer.

“Feeling better?”

“Like a new man.” he declares with a sense of peace to his tone and leans back against the fridge before taking a long sip from his lukewarm drink.

Cooper was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. He’d caught on to your innocent scheme quickly. From the coffee to your constant close proximity, to washing his clothes. The biggest giveaway was you trying to hide your nervousness and biting back victorious smiles whenever he accepted any of your domestic offers. You were kneading him like sourdough, nice and good and gentle, hoping for something in his brain to click and his simple plan of taking his things and leaving to take a different course.

That’s why he fought against melting in the shower and suppressed a genuine smile when he saw the coffee. He kept his guard up, concrete walls so high one couldn’t see the top, locking away whatever humanity was left to rot, untouched and undisturbed. Joy was an illusion, peace was the quiet before the storm.

Nothing lasted, neither would you.

“Take me with you, I won’t be useless, I promise.”

He could almost hear those words twirling on the tip of your tongue, threatening to spill but never being voiced. Like hell, he’d ever entertain that idea.

“So what now, Mister?” you ask casually, hiding pouty lips behind your mug and looking up at him in question. “Where you headed off to?”

“Well, – ” he rasps and clears his throat. “ – considering my bounty’s prob’ly dead. Gonna head off to Tillburry.” he nudges his chin at the sack resting by the exit of the suite. “Gonna sell some o’ that, make me some profit.”

Your vigorous slurping stops and you swallow the mouthful of bitterness before cocking your head.

“Tillberry?” you test the unfamiliar word with hesitation. “And that’s…what?”

“Tillburry.” he corrects and rests one foot against the fridge door, the spur on his boot clanking against the metal. “It’s a settlement, Darlin’. Quite the big one too.” he mulled over a particular memory, looking down at his drink. “ ’Bout three hundred people last time I checked.”

“There are settlements?” you choke and cough out the spit tickling your throat with a fist to your mouth.

The thought that a good number of people had survived and were thriving enough to start rebuilding was unfathomable. Even if said settlements were based on the ruins and scraps of the cities from the old days it was still such a groundbreaking piece of knowledge.

Considering the raiders and the ghoul, you’d assumed everyone on the surface was deranged and out for blood. A man-eat-man nightmarish hell in which not even the strongest survived for long.

But no, there were people, honest hardworking people, that were coming together to build safe havens and restore some order to the chaos they had been born into. Sure, they had probably seen their fair share of hardships and were rugged and hard-skinned, but if they’d managed to keep the peace and grow towns and develop businesses, they couldn’t be that bad.

You had to see this. You needed to.

“Plen’y of em.” he pipes in, then tips his head and his voice acquires an almost mocking twinge. “Wasteland’s not as dead as you think, Sweetheart.”

“Take me there.” you blurt out before even realizing it.

“Pardon?” he’s surprised for only a moment before his demeanor shifts to dangerously sharp and his eyes harden. He moves in an instant, large palms planted on either side of your thighs and you have to jerk back to avoid him smashing his forehead into yours. “Mind your fuckin’ tone with me, Missy.”

When you squint and recoil, he eases, satisfied with your reaction.

“Just cuz I been toleratin’ you don’t mean I can’t stuff a bullet in your belly.”

“I’m sorry! Sorry, Sir.” you rush to undo your mistake, having spent too much time with him while he was docile to remember that you weren’t dealing with a friendly neighbor. “I meant no disrespect.” with a lowered gaze and a lump in your throat you continue. “I’d just really like to see such a place…”

“And I’d like a fifty-acre ranch to breed horses.” he sneers at you, yellow teeth peeking under his chapped lips. He shifts his weight around, resting from one hip to the other as he pulls away just barely. His fingers still grip the counter, still around you and ready to subdue another fuss. “But we don’ always get what we want.”

“Maybe I could…live there?” you didn’t believe your own words, but you still persisted. Flickering lashes swatted over pity eyes as you stared at him like an expectant street cat waiting to be adopted.

A preposterous idea. You didn’t know the first thing about surviving on the surface, couldn’t tell a radroach burrow from an anthill, and yet however difficult it would be anything would be better than living by yourself in a hole in the ground. Maybe you would have managed if the raiders had just left and the ghoul never crossed your path. But now, after knowing the bliss of company, of a friend who didn’t talk about medicine and made-up cures, now you couldn’t.

You needed him and not just for his skills or his wisdom of living off a toxic land. You needed him for him, just the ghoul, just the man who’d shown you kindness.

“Sweetheart, you needed t’ read the manual before turnin’ on the washin’ machine.” he states in a very mocking matter-of-fact way and snorts with a half-smile. “Twice.”

“But I did it.” you say back, struggling against a lost battle but how could you not when there was a blueish limp hand peeking from beyond the complex exit.

He gives you a once over, considering for a second before shaking the thought away with a bitter glower.

What the hell was he even thinking?

“You don’t really fit in with the common folk.” he counters again and he’s confident that soon you’ll wane. “Don’ think they’ll take too kindly to you.”

“What’d you mean, Mister?” you tilt to the side, leaning on one hand with a faint pout.

“Yer too clean.” he mumbles while skimming over you with a judgmental expression, his mouth pursing as he took you in. “Too pretty. Too kept.” he leans back to cross his arms, a half-frown of disapproval glooming over his face. It wasn’t a compliment; it was dry facts that he offered you to get through your thick skull that you’d be in more danger than you realize if you ever managed to reach a local town. “Surface dwellers don’ like your kind.”

“Then I’ll work on it until they like me.”

The back of your boots hit the counter each time you kicked your feet, egged on by the caffeine overdose. You kept your eyes glued to his because you didn’t know of a better way of pleading without sounding pathetic and getting on his nerves.

“You can’t even fire a gun, Darlin’.” the ghoul sighs in defeat, not because you’re getting under his skin, but because you fight this ferociously for your demise.

Both of you are aware that you wouldn’t last long outside. You were defenseless and had no usefulness, you weren’t accustomed to radiation, and everything on the surface was soaked in it. Most available jobs either needed you to get your hands dirty or break your back with overtime and you’d nearly passed out after walking half a day in a desert and thrown up at the sight of a dead body.

He’d be damned if he let you abandon a life of comfort and security because you didn’t know what you were asking for. Letting go of constant food and fresh water and hot showers just because you were too scared to learn by trial and error on your own was too much for him. It was stupid and you rebelling against him tooth and nail made it worse.

You weren’t winning anything; you were just giving him a headache.

“Someone would be willing to teach me.” the naivety in your comeback makes him laugh and your brows rise and furrow at his reaction.

“Ain’t nobody gonna do shit for free.” that was his last pushback before he made up his mind on ending your charade. His hat dipped and his tone lowered to an even rasp. “You’ll be just fine here, Darlin’.” he takes a few steps back and chugs the remainder of his discarded coffee before grunting in satisfaction. “Good cup o’ coffee…Now be a dear ‘n show me the way out.”

“I could make you more if you stayed a bit longer, Mister.”

A drowning man’s attempt to keep from sinking.

You give him a tiny smile and roll your ankles to release some tension. You knew you were pushing it, from his stiff shoulders to his thinned upper lip, but you didn’t want to stay here anymore. Disregarding the steady supply of provisions and the regulated temperatures, the medical supplies and the safety. You wanted to go with him. Wherever he went, no matter the danger, you want to be in his shadow. The radroaches and raiders forgotten, ignorant of just how hostile his world was and selfish by continuing to thrust your life in his hands when he didn’t want it.

“Das enough, Darlin’.” he mutters while picking up the supply sack and flinging his bandolier over his shoulder.

“What if – ”

“– Enough!” your mouth shuts at his command. His glare is piercing while he stands by the door with his back turned to you, giving you only a stern side-eye. “Move.”

You slide off the counter without another word and pat down your dress, not that anything could be seen underneath the thick tights but common decency forced you to. He waits for you, motioning with his hand once you're by his side and you walk forward, through the dingy corridor and past the raider he’d gutted the day before.

You try not to look, but it’s difficult when the deep red hues contrast with the metallic white of the wall and floor. It’s an abominable sight. There’s a cut spanning over the entirety of the man’s neck, horizontal and precise, so deep that amidst the flesh and blood, you see bone.

You could almost simulate the pain and you struggled to swallow.

He was a raider… he was a criminal. He was a bad man, he’d tried to murder you and failed by just an inch, the ghoul did what he had to do. There would be plenty more with much the same mindset if he agreed to take you with him. Scenes like this would probably be a daily occurrence, but you wouldn’t be the one doing the killing and still seeing the raider nearly decapitated scarred something deep within you.

Were you really willing to go through this again just to stay with the ghoul?

Maybe, for him, maybe.

“Fuckin’ piss stain…”

You look to him at that remark, then down at the center of his attention. He had one foot set in a puddle of blood and pieces of flesh, both attached to an unmoving vault dweller. He wiped his boot in the corpse’s suit and spat with malice.

 “You really don’t like this place, Mister?” it’s more of a statement than a question, but your quizzical expression gives him enough room to reply.

You had noticed his visible disdain once he’d first entered the vault with you, but you’d blamed it on him being an experienced bounty hunter who knew better than to let his guard down. Then you’d seen his complete lack of empathy for the dead bodies littering the hallways and even a drop of anger edging his default scowl. He had a personal vendetta against the inhabitants, a distaste that went so deep he’d preferred to sever the wrists of the corpses over just unclasping their Pip-boys and claiming them for himself.

You’d never brought it up because it wasn’t your place, but now you had a reason to, and your curiosity was peaked.

“Vaults ain’t my thing, Darlin’, nor vaulties.” he speaks with spite, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips when he raises his gaze to you. Then he kicks the mess out of his way without a hint of shame, splashing the gore over the floor, and continues after you.

“Why?” you peep and it’s so innocent and light because you don’t understand the gravitas of the answer you’re reaching for.

There’s a small pause as you glance at the ghoul with a blank visage. There’s a certain lethargy to your step and a bounce to your slack shoulders because you’re relaxed and clear-minded and you have no idea just what you’re asking him. He could be angry, you’re poking around topics that are beyond your capacity, ones of resentment and shrewd grudges that span over such a long time that you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

But he wasn’t upset, there was no point. You were just a stupid little thing trying to sow a light chat before your paths diverged.

The memories are knocking on the front door of his consciousness, but he refuses to indulge them. Not now, maybe later when he was alone and could recollect everything in peace.

“That ain't none o’ your business.” his words are snippy but his tone is placid, he doesn’t even reciprocate your prying eyes, just stares straight ahead with a tense jaw.

His reluctance to delve deeper and the shift in the air give you a good enough hint to not press the matter further. You would have reached to pat his arm, a benevolence he undoubtedly deserved along with so much more, but refrained from doing so. Despite you having placed him on a golden pedestal for all he’d done for you, which wasn’t much, but enough to leave you with an unforgettable impression, he didn’t see you in the same manner. His life had hardened him both physically and emotionally, he hadn’t even trusted you to sleep together in the same suite, having tucked one of his pistols under his pillow with a finger on the trigger.

You’d seen it, you just didn’t mention it.

He didn’t need your pity nor your good-heartedness, he didn’t care and that’s why you kept from overstepping even if you wanted to comfort the restless beasts pacing somewhere within his being.

“You’ve been nice to me though.” you put forth a honeyed smile and steered the conversation to a lighter note. A small sugary quip to oppose his hardened exterior and alleviate him of his hissy mood.

He chuckles, a raspy chortle that tickles your ear and curls your lips into a grin.

“Ain’t nice, Missy, just tolerant.”

Your chirpy chat continues as you pass through the whey field and into another brightly lit tunnel. He doesn’t have to know that you could have led him to the elevator three times already through a shortcut. You like him, harbor such fondness for him in all his gruffness, you might have agreed to lead him out but you never said you wouldn’t take the scenic route. An extended detour while you continuously banter with each other and you always relent because you want him to be happy with having the upper hand in the conversation.

But no matter how long you tried to prolong the inevitable, eventually, you found the way to the elevator. Before it had been your savior, taking you away from those vile people before they could sink their grimy claws in your flesh. Now it was an unwelcome vestige, the last step before the ghoul left and you were abandoned to waste away in an underground prison.

He entered first and leaned against the steel wall, a thumb tucked in his belt and hat tipped over his eyes. You turn your back to him and press the button and it’s suddenly awkward and silent.

You wished the damn thing moved slower, but it propelled up, passing by vault levels within a blink. Such a cruel construct…

Misery didn’t thrive for long, you didn’t let it.

Maybe one day you’d meet him again. You’d learn to shoot a gun, there had to be at least one stashed somewhere for emergencies, then you’d learn to sustain yourself and grow crops, fiddle with the mechanisms of the vault and read every book and article and document regarding medicine. You’d prepare well and one day leave again to explore the world outside and maybe if fate was kind, you’d run into him on your journey.

Maybe he wouldn’t remember, maybe he would, but you’d be happy all the same.

And you’d be different then, stronger and more independent and not useless. Maybe he’d take you with him when you proved that you wouldn’t be a burden anymore. He’d take you on his adventures and teach you how to be a bounty hunter like him and you’d make the best duo the surface has ever seen.

Your self-assurance dwindled when the elevator reached the top level and the door slid open. He walked out unbothered and you struggled to keep the calm façade going.

It wasn’t healthy to form such attachments so quickly, but it happened and you were torn between begging him one last time and giving him the solace he craved. But could you really be blamed when you’d known only solitude?

He stood at the vault entrance and tossed you a slow, expectant look and you fiddled with the Pip-boy. Stiff fingers scrolled through the menus, determined to take as much time as possible while you prayed for a miracle. Your pleas remained unanswered, the time for stalling ended as the gate screeched and rolled to the side. A hot gust of wind crept through, drying your eyes and making your throat scratchy after a few silent breaths.

“Best of luck, Vaulty.”

He raised his arm and flicked his wrist in a goodbye after readjusting his hat, boots clinking as he set forth with an even pace. You watched him leave, heart asunder, mouth cracked open but no words came out. Gripping onto the control panel, frustration flaring, desperation so intense it made the hairs on your arms lift up.

Was this really it? Was this the end of it? Was this the last time you saw him? The only friend you had, the only person you knew, the only warmth ever given to you.

He could let go without a second thought, but you couldn’t.

“Go…GO!”

A shaky step, then another.

With each step, the quake in your legs eased, determination overpowering hesitation, and before you knew it you were jogging and then running. The sand wasn’t kind to your shoes, you nearly tripped, wide strides bringing you closer to him because, unlike his tempo, yours held intention.

He knew you’d do this, he knew and he had the common sense to pull out his pistol and threaten you back inside.

You might have tumbled him over if you had the strength, but instead, you splat yourself against his back and drape your arms around his abdomen. His hand faltered, resting on the holster of his gun as you squeezed him and slid your fingers past his coat, grabbing at his vest.

“Please.” you force through a clenched throat, choosing to beg him instead of breathing. Saliva pools in your mouth and tears form in the back of your eyes as you press your cheek against his spine. Your eyes squeeze shut as if cutting off your vision would make you deaf to his answer. “Please…I’ll – ”

He’d taken what he needed, completing your transaction and wanting nothing more, but maybe you could find something else he had use for. He sighs and you’re so regretful, but you can’t let it go without a final push.  And he’s fed up enough to maybe just shoot you, but if he was you’d have a chance at bargaining again and keep him around for a few more minutes.

“ – I’ll pay you.” you sniffle back the runny mucus seeping through your nostrils and swallow a mouthful of thick spit, it distorts your voice just a bit. “Please take me to Tillberry. I’ll find a job – I’ll – You can have everything I earn, I just need enough to buy some food.”

“Tillb – ” he grunts and pinches the space between his eyes as they shut.

He wanted to rip you off of him and leave, with no mercy and no care, but you just had to play nice. You had to play house with him and make him coffee and wash his clothes and be soft with him. The sweet gestures and light words did things to him, he was no fool, they reminded him that humans still existed and they were still kind. A peek into the past.

“I won’t be useless. I’ll learn quick and stay out of your way and do anything you ask…Just until the settlement.”

Whines and sobs and sniveling sniffs and chokes, they crawl up his skin like maggots and try to burrow and find an ounce of empathy, but he has none.

“Right.” he whirls around with such force that if it hadn’t been for the iron grip he clasped over your jaw, you would have fallen. He’s an eyelash away from your face, with a fowl snarl carving into his gaunt features and he spats poison at you. He speaks the truth. “Do you fucking know what the hell you’re asking for?” he’s so pissed that his accent dissipates. “You’re gonna fuckin’ die out here. With or without help.”

“Plea – ”

“ – I ain’t no God damned babysitter!” he snaps and forces you back. You stumble and curl your hands over your chest instinctively as he points his pistol at you, forefinger on the trigger. “Now get the hell outta my sight.”

His lips pinch in annoyance when you don’t move.

He didn’t give a damn if you lived or not, but you’d shown him respect and generosity and he repaid you by not shooting you down on the spot. He gave you a chance at survival, exterminated the pests in your home and made sure to leave enough provisions to live off of while you worked out how to take care of yourself. You wouldn’t receive half of what he’d done for you in the wasteland, it was a cutthroat fever dream that no one could wake up from.

Precious things lived in castles, not in the wilds.

But then you finally move. You move and it’s the wrong fucking way.

The tip of the gun glosses over your cheek as you enclose trembling fingers around his wrist and his sleeve is pulled back enough for you to find his skin, marred and leathery and disgusting and safe and wonderful. Your eyes close and press into his glove as the barrel rests against your bare shoulder and all it would take was a click and you’d be dead.

“Please, Mister.”

You sink to your knees, bringing his arm down with you.

A lost little dove, fluttering in his palm, trusting and willing and kneeling at the gates of hell because it already knew what heaven was. Or maybe it didn’t, maybe you knew a different hell he was unfamiliar with so you begged for his instead of going back to your own.

“I’ll do anything…”

He’d seen plenty of people beg for their lives, for food or water or help. He’d heard it all, from bargaining to taunting, reverse psychology, and manipulation tactics all in the name of living to see another sunrise. This was the first time anyone had ever pleaded for him.

He should have left yesterday, the moment you’d found the storage unit he should have taken his things and been on his way. He should have tried to find the exit while you were sleeping and never looked back. He should have done more, everything in his power to not be in this damnable situation. You fed something within him, a slumbering behemoth forgotten over time, you sated a need he’d developed so long ago, a need so constant he didn’t realize was there anymore until you.

“Get the hell up.” he grips your arm like the brutish man he is, pulls you to your feet, and spins you around like a puppet.

You don’t fight, drained by both the searing sun and your turbulent emotions, letting him latch his hand to the back of your neck and drag you forward, back to the vault.

Back to solitude. Back to hell.

“Three hundred caps.”

You muster an inquisitive hum and dare to steal a glimpse of his expression. It’s haggard, annoyed, defeated.

“For your safe transportation t’ Tillburry.” he offers you nothing, not even a peak, but his hold on your neck tightens and you wince. “Now use your fuckin’ legs. We’re loosin’ daylight.”

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 5 >>>

🌼 Daisy Masterlist 🌼

Tag list: @bountydroid @windierhades @ultimatereality @gruffle1 @v3lv3tf0x @fallout-girl219 @one-of-thewalkingdead

[stickyspeckledlight]

Boop! 🐾

(L didn't get this out yesterday but I was also a smidge busy balduring my gates and stockpiling knock off thin mints)

Unfortunately I do not have enough thoughts to write a drabble, but yan!aventurine would totally boop you.

The worst part is that you have no one to blame but yourself. On one particular night, when you weren't quite pushed to your limit but where your thoughts certainly did verge on the homicidal, an idea crosses your mind that, you believe to be utter genius in the moment: if you cannot overpower him or outwit him, then you certainly can use your meager mental faculties to bamboozle the fucker.

It's ingenious, you're certain! A touch that is not provocative, not aggressive, but OH so...powerful. A primordial innocence primed with mischief and tomfoolery. An action of such utter stupidity that no one in their right mind could even begin to react to.

He has been attempting to goad you into playing one of his games for the past five centuries (and no, you affirm that your sense of time is quite in order), and from having performed this song and dance innumerous times, it is about now when he says or does something to make you give in, and then entraps you in his hold before you can escape.

It is you who takes the initiative.

A demented grin full of malice and desperation spreads on your face as you ready your finger, and rush over to him, and

Boop! right on his nose.

And it works. He is too stunned; either by the stupidity of the situation, or that you've initiated contact. But you do not fret over the reason. You seize the opportunity and slip into the bathroom, locking it and securing it with a chair you grabbed for good measure. In the throes of your victory, no rational thought crosses your mind.

But all actions have consequences, and this very true fact catches up to you. Aventurine has not come banging on the door or mocking you as you thought he would. You have not heard from him at all. This is a good thing, but it makes you nervous---compounded by the fact you cannot stay in the bathroom forever.

Sure, you could theoretically survive here for three weeks, as the only thing you'd be lacking was food. You had a toilet, and a shower and bath to decompress in, even! And if you wanted to lay down? You could merely set up a haven of comfort with the millions of towels Aventurine keeps in his gargantuan bathroom. It was a great place to bunker in for sure!

.......but do you really want to starve? Like, do you really, really, really want to put yourself through that over him? You do hate him and want to see him suffer, but your mother and every self-help book ever says that you should love yourself! And unfortunately and fortunately for you, you do love yourself enough to not want to go through it. But, you can at least be strategic about it. Nabbing supplies in the night? No, Aventurine has proven himself capable of operating without a wink of sleep for good knows how long. The key to this operation is to leave when he's left! Ahahaha! Good job, you! You really are a bonafide genius! Nous ought to send you an invitation to the ranks of the Society!

(you're aware that he could just bust down your door without issue, but you'll take reprieve when you can get it, you know?)

So, you wait, and keep on waiting even after you hear the entrance close. You will not take any risks, and you wait for what you think is a good hour or three. And then, you emerge.

You are swift and precise, making a beeline towards the kitchen to stock up, and just as you are about to open the cabinet to nab a box of succulent bioengineered cheese crackers---

"Boop!" a gentle pressure mounts on your nose.

There really isn't any winning with this guy, you think. After this nasty surprise, he "revokes your bathroom privileges," mounting it with a lock and essentially requiring his permission with the key card he gives you for it.

And worst of all, your concept of utter genius comes to haunt you in your every waking moment. Coming home from a long day of work? Boop! Threatening your family and friends? Boop! Playing Animal Walking? Boop! Throwing you into a bare room handcrafted for sensory deprivation? Boop! Post nut clarity? Boop!

You then see the one glaring folly in your initial thought process: why did you ever assume Aventurine to be in the right mind in any way or any situation?!

[daizymax]

descent to depravity | psh, cs (m)

summary: just when you think you have convinced yourself that the sinful creature who visited you all those nights ago was merely the product of a vividly erotic dream, he returns to you — and this time, he is not alone...

pairing: seonghwa x fem reader x san

genre: fantasy, smut

word count: 8.1k

rating: mature (18+)

warnings & features: part two of these wicked delights; incubus!seonghwa; incubus!san; profanity; supernatural elements; slight religious elements; graphic sexual content; dubcon; d/s roles without proper safety or aftercare; threesome; dirty talk; oral sex (f receiving); unprotected piv sex; multiple creampies

author's note: rewritten for ateez and reuploaded from my old blog. meant to upload this on halloween but oh well. heed the warnings and enjoy y'all.

( click here to read on AO3 instead )

---

It all ended in a dream.

Because it was never real. Of course it wasn’t. It was merely a strikingly vivid dream.

It had to have been.

That’s what you have been repeating to yourself in regards to the bizarre — and erotic — encounter you’d had with the mysterious, otherworldly creature months ago. It was both easy and difficult to write the experience off as some sort of demented fantasy brought to life during the worst dry spell you’ve experienced. After all, the dream has never once revisited your sleeping mind, despite plaguing many of your waking thoughts.

So when a wave of foreboding pinpricks trickles down your spine, paranoia makes you twist away from the bathroom sink to look behind you. Nothing seems out of the ordinary in your bedroom, however. There is no visitor sitting on the bed, nothing has been disturbed.

You close your eyes and shake your head, then resume brushing your teeth. But the tingles that linger at the start of your spine are just so familiar…

After you finish rinsing your mouth, you turn off the bathroom lights and shuffle tiredly to bed. Just as you pull back the covers to slip under them, you catch sight of two circular, red lights in the window from your peripheral vision.

It’s him, those are his eyes!

When you lift your head to get a proper look, the red glow has vanished. You step around your bed and up to the window to peek through the blinds, but the only lights to be found are the one reflecting off the rotund moon and the ones from the street lamps. There is nothing and no one to be seen — least of all a creature with eerie crimson eyes in the guise of a humanoid body.

You decide it was probably just some passing tail lights from a car and remove your fingers from between the blinds.

Switching off the bedside lamp, you do your best to push away the thoughts of the demonic being from your mind as you snuggle into your pillow. Your breathing and heart rate slow as you relax, lulled by the chirping of crickets and the occasional hum of car tires rolling by outside.

Just as you are finally sinking into slumber, something suddenly brings the hairs on the nape of your neck to attention. The pinpricks from earlier ripple over the entire expanse of your skin with greater force. Before you can roll over, your muscles are stiffened to total ineffectiveness, though the sound of his haunting voice would surely have frozen you just as effectively.

“Hello again, pet…”

The dehumanizing way in which he greets you is chilling, but you cannot shiver.

This is just a dream… you repeat your sacred mantra silently because your lips are sealed tight. This isn’t real…

“Ah. You wound me, child,” the creature laments in response to your thoughts. “I did not think it too terribly narcissistic of me to expect a warmer welcome, hm?”

“She is afraid,” drawls a second male voice, every bit as melodic as the first, “but not of you. Not directly. She is afraid to admit how much she truly enjoyed your last visit... and she is wondering who I am.” He reads and voices the question in your mind before it can even fully form.

“I have brought another of my kind to accompany me tonight, my pet,” the first one explains to you. “Think of his name as ‘San.’ Do you remember my name, child?”

You flinch again at the way he thinks of an adult woman as a child compared to his innumerous years, but not before your mind recalls the answer to his question.

Seonghwa…

He hums, seemingly pleased.

“You were right about this one being a desperate little thing,” the one named San muses. “The vibrations of her lust are remarkably strong for a human. I am curious to know if she is truly as sweet and supple as you claimed, Seonghwa.” The tone he accentuates on the name sounds like a tease, if you are not mistaken.

“You will still address me respectfully, novice,” Seonghwa bites back. “Especially if you wish to discover her sweetness for yourself.”

San does not seem to have any comeback for that and remains silent.

“I can sense that others of her kind have done the same in the time since I left her,” Seonghwa goes on. “There is a lingering stench on her skin that is not hers. Faint, but there, particularly between those supple legs.”

You feel your face heat up at the memories of your recent, meaningless hookups. You had been relieved to have finally quenched that previous dry spell with tangible encounters with real people, but the powerful creature’s tone fills you with a surprising sense of shame.

You try to gather your thoughts to form some sort of defensive explanation, but Seonghwa cuts you off.

“I am not upset with you for attempting to fill your baser needs, child,” he tells you almost soothingly. His voice is so sweet, so beautiful. “In truth, I am partly to blame for that. I told you our time spent together would take its toll, did I not? Our encounter has fueled the carnal desires I meant to sate, and now it is nearly impossible to sate them, isn’t it? You crave more and more. That is why I have returned and brought along another. Though San is younger and less experienced than myself, he is quite… voracious. And a quick learner. Between the two of us, you will never need to seek a lesser form of pleasure ever again.”

“Shall we begin, little one?” San asks without missing a beat.

A weight presses against your shoulder through your blankets, and you assume it is a hand. San’s hand, from the proximity of his voice. All of your movements and sounds are still constricted by the foreign yet familiar force held over you, however, and you are still rendered blind.

“She will not deny us, hyung,” the newcomer tells Seonghwa knowingly. “I know you can hear the blood thrumming in her genitalia. Her body is screaming for us to ravish it; there is no need to keep it bound. Release her. I want to hear her proclaim her wanton desires with her own tongue.”

Surprisingly, Seonghwa obliges the request, and a baited breath rushes past your lips the instant they loosen. You blink your eyelids slowly to allow your pupils to adjust to the scant light in your bedroom.

When you shift and look up, you recognize Seonghwa’s towering form standing in the shadows several feet from the foot of your bed. His black hair is swept back from his forehead, giving you a clear view of the eerie ruby eyes set in his ivory face, calmly observing you.

Next, you turn your head to the side to seek out your other ‘visitor.’ Your gaze first falls on the claw of a hand still resting on your covered shoulder. The fingers are slender and knobby at the knuckles; the nails are black and pointed. You feel heat swirl in your lower belly when you suddenly recall the way your inner juices had shone on Seonghwa’s fingers during your last tryst.

A hum of amusement draws your gaze upward to properly see the demonic figure looming over you, and you gasp softly at the sight of him. The fringe of his blond hair dangles into his crimson eyes; the orbs are a lighter, brighter shade than his elder’s. High cheekbones jut sharply out of alabaster skin. A tendon in his creamy neck flexes under your scrutiny. The thought that this could be Satan himself briefly flits through your hazy mind.

It is impossible to discern which of the two creatures is more beautiful.

San chuckles to himself whilst reading your mind, and the abyssal timbre of the sound — almost like music — makes you shudder.

“My companion is quite proficient at hearing unspoken thoughts, but he wishes to hear you speak your desires, pet,” Seonghwa says to you. “So, go on and tell us how desperate you are for us to use your body for our pleasure as we give you yours.”

“We cannot guarantee we will be gentle,” San inputs as a warning, “but all parties shall be sufficiently satisfied in the end.”

You look back and forth between the two hellish beings — taking a quick second to be thankful for having control of your body, unlike before — as you contemplate the situation. If these were normal men, there is no chance you would agree to this, no matter how good-looking they were…

Would you?

The mere presence of these beings makes you question your reality and your morals.

“Why does your mind dispute your body’s wants, little one?” San wonders aloud. He sounds genuinely curious. “Would you truly rather return to a slumber filled with fleeting, unfulfilling fantasies than have us drive you to the brink of madness one orgasm at a time?”

How easily your morals crumble from one salacious promise.

“Please...” you finally croak weakly.

San’s fingers tighten in the sheets. You wouldn’t be surprised if he has punctured tiny holes in the linen. “Please what?” he presses.

You lick your lips and utter, “Fuck me,” in a voice you can barely recognize as your own.

San finds something funny with your words and laughs darkly. “So crass,” he tsks, but sweeps the sheets from your body nevertheless.

In two swift, easy motions, he slashes your sleepwear to shreds, rendering you nude. The action startles you, and you automatically curl in on yourself out of sudden shyness.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Seonghwa tuts in disapproval. “Do not make me restrain you again, child. Be a good pet and let your master look upon what is his.”

He steps closer and coaxes your legs apart, not with unseen force, but with a manual graze of his large hands along the flesh of your thighs. His touch is light and frigid, and you shiver as you let your legs fall open. Once your center is visible to him, he traces the pad of his thumb along the outer circumference of your folds. There is a sort of reverence in his gentle touch.

From beside you, you notice San craning his neck to glimpse the view his elder is enjoying.

“San,” Seonghwa calls softly.

San obeys the unspoken command, moving to sidle beside Seonghwa in a motion so seamless he almost seems to glide across the floor. Your nerves tingle when both of their red gazes are fixed so intently on your naked pussy.

“You may proceed in discovering how sweet and supple our little pet is,” Seonghwa grants him, as though your body were his personal property to give away as he pleases. And of course he hears your silent (and justified) protest, because the next thing he says is: “Your body is my property, child. When I am here, I am the master, and you are the pet. My cohort and I will give you more pleasure than could ever be found behind Heaven’s gate, but on our terms. You must comply to our every whim because you are not in charge here, not even of your own body. Am I in any way unclear?”

His voice booms deeper on the last sentence. You meekly shake your head no.

Seonghwa hums and pats your thigh approvingly. “There’s a good pet. You may proceed, San.”

A wide, wolfish grin appears in the darkness below San’s glowing eyes. “Gladly.”

With that, he becomes a blur of motion from how fast he kneels to dive between your legs. His wide shoulders knock against your knees, and his fingers roam up your thighs to replace Seonghwa’s with a strong grasp. He drags you downward until your ass is even with the edge of the bed. When his nose nudges the folds of your cunt, he takes a moment to breathe the scent of you deeply, and your face burns hotter than you thought possible.

“Intoxicating, no?” Seonghwa asks as he moves out of the younger’s way.

“Indeed,” San agrees. His lips are cold but his breath is steaming hot as he ghosts over your sensitive skin.

Not another second is wasted before he pokes his tongue out to take that first anticipated taste of you. The muscle feels scaly and clammy, precisely the way you recall Seonghwa’s tongue. It is not entirely unpleasant, however — especially when it drags upward from the bottom of your slit to fit itself snugly between your petaled lips and inside your hole. The walls of your pussy instantly clench tighter at the sensation of being filled by the inhumanly long muscle.

“How is she?” Seonghwa — who has wandered up the side of the bed to stand at your side — asks. He busies an idle hand with one of your breasts, rolling and pinching the nipple almost absentmindedly. You automatically arch into his touch, and he smirks down at you crookedly.

San has to withdraw his tongue from your insides to murmur his response, “Even sweeter than you led me to believe, hyung. This one is quite a treat indeed. A sweet little flower.”

You can’t help but feel flattered by the compliment coming from the ethereally beautiful creature tonguing you in the most intimate of places.

Seonghwa grunts in satisfaction — and perhaps also a sense of validation — at his companion’s apparent enjoyment. The accompanied pinch he gives your peaked nipple sends a twinge of pain and pleasure straight to your core, and you are sure San is aware of the increased wetness pooling into his mouth. He starts licking wide stripes along your opening; back and forth, up and down. His actions are not done with much finesse, and the slurping sounds he is creating are more than a little lewd, but he does seem to be enjoying you, and having someone eat you with such gusto is a turn on of its own.

“Is he making you feel good, my pet?” Seonghwa asks, switching his ministrations to your other breast.

You nod and moan a breathy, “Uh huh.”

San seems to gain encouragement by your answer and begins mouthing at your pussy faster. His lips sweep against yours while his tongue digs deep. His actions are undeniably pleasurable, but you soon realize it isn’t enough when your clit is being neglected.

Seonghwa senses your mild frustration and speaks up on your behalf. “San, you selfish glutton, be sure to administer to her clitoris as well.”

“Her what?”

“Do you not remember? It is the small nub at the top of the human female genitalia that gives them great pleasure.”

San pulls back to study your pussy again. He quickly finds what he is looking for and brushes his thumb against it experimentally. You gasp and writhe your hips appreciatively.

“My apologies, little flower. Is that better?” he asks you in a tone both impish and honeyed.

You nod again and squeak out a tiny: “Yes.”

He directs his next words to Seonghwa. “Are you always this attentive to your pets’ desires during your time with them, hyung?”

“Of course. This one climaxed thrice when I last visited upon her,” Seonghwa says matter-of-factly.

“Hm. Well, we can easily reach that number with the both of us here,” San says. The circular motion of his thumb does not falter while he holds the conversation. “In fact, I am certain we will. My favorite part is watching them come undone and cry out for me as though I am their savior, after all.”

“It seems you still have quite some work to do on our little pet, then,” Seonghwa spits.

San grunts at the criticism, but rather than biting back, he returns his full attention to the task of undoing you. He bends to plant a rather kittenish kiss on the hood of your newly-found clit, then latches on to suckle at it. The graze of a sharp tooth elicits a gasp from you, and a succinct shiver courses throughout your body from the danger of having his fangs in such close quarters with a sensitive place.

“Mm, do not fear, little one. I wish to unravel you, not harm you,” San purrs. “Now let me hear those lyrical sounds spill freely from your lips.”

A whine issues in your throat at his words, but it is quiet and pinched. Hardly ‘lyrical’ at all.

“If you want her to sing for you, you have to make her,” Seonghwa says, unimpressed. He removes his hand from your chest to shove the younger demon’s face tighter against your center. His fingers twist in the blond hair. You can tell the action is far from tender.

As though a whip has been cracked, San groans and redoubles his efforts to gain the noises he so craves by adding a slender finger knuckle-deep into your dripping cunt. He curls it in slow but unmistakable ‘come hither’ gestures. The scratching of his jagged fingernail along your most delicate skin should by all means be painful, but it isn’t. Not in the least.

And you are by no means complaining.

“How did you ever fit inside of her, hyung?” San asks. “She is so tight around just my finger.”

“You will learn more of her tightness yet,” promises Seonghwa.

It does not take long for a trail of fire to ignite your nerves, sending your limbs twitching with pent-up energy and rising pleasure. The embers in your blood bring forth a thin layer of sweat onto your skin. Your breath comes and goes in shallow puffs as if your lungs have suddenly lost all holding capacity. Every hot, wet lashing the unholy creature’s tongue gifts you is a step you take closer to the brink, and the brink will soon be within tumbling distance.

Seonghwa, however, seems displeased by the rate at which San is building your climax.

“Do you consider this to be ‘unraveling’ her?” he hisses, fisting his fingers even tighter against his companion’s scalp.

San whines at the physical assertion bestowed upon him, and the vibrations of his sound travel through your center, all the way to the polar ends of your toes and fingertips.

“She is so easy, yet you are having to work so hard,” Seonghwa taunts. “Do better if you wish to achieve your own release tonight.”

The blond growls in determination. His response to his elder’s words is to bring the total number of fingers in your cunt straight to three. He does not push the additional two fingers in one at a time, but rather in a single forceful thrust of his hand. A shriek escapes you at the sudden stretch to your walls, soon followed by a long, low moan at a particularly powerful swipe over your pleasure point. Both demons hum, deep and satisfied.

“She sounds as heavenly as she tastes, does she not?” Seonghwa says, seeming much more proud now.

“A perfect choice of word, hyung,” San agrees with his tongue still around your clit.

“Keep going, just as you are,” Seonghwa urges, though it seems San has no intention of doing anything to the contrary. You can’t take your eyes off the crown of his head between your legs as he licks and sucks and flicks and strokes you into a frenzy. Your fists repeatedly clench and unclench in the sheets around you as every thought in your mind concentrates on that looming ledge.

“It’s ecstasy, isn’t it?” Seonghwa whispers to you now, and you whine something incoherent in response. He cards the fingers of his other hand through your hair as well, then fists them right at the scalp with a firm tug, just as with San’s. Except instead of pushing, he pulls your head further backward on your pillow to tilt your gaze up to his. His eyes are daggers under a coat of blood. “Isn’t it?” he repeats. His voice is not particularly loud, but the power of the question reverberates against the walls all the same.

“Y-yes, it f-f-feels so good,” you whisper, not daring to break eye contact.

“Mm, yes, I know it does. San is working diligently to prepare you for me, isn’t he?”

As though to verify Seonghwa’s claim, San thrashes his face back and forth in the juncture of your thighs with animal-like fervor. Seonghwa’s arm shakes along with the motion from where he still has a grip on the demon’s scalp.

“Such a good pet. A pretty little lamb, so willingly being devoured by the ravenous wolf,” Seonghwa coos at you, syrupy-sweet. “Let yourself come undone for him, pet. Give San what he so desperately craves. Come in his mouth.”

The casual yet inherently filthy way he uses the terms ‘come’ and ‘in’ is all it takes to fling you off the ledge and into your climax with eyes shut tight and a loud cry. Every muscle in your body pulls taut as a bowstring, and San opens his mouth wider just in time to catch the gush of wetness that bursts forth. The steady rumble of his groan — along with some softer strokes to your g-spot — helps your high taper off into a shaky yet satisfying finish.

“Oh my god,” you whisper under your breath when San finally removes his fingers and lifts his face away from your quivering, sensitive core. He looks downright devilish as he tongues his inner cheek with a smug smirk and hooded eyes. He seems proud of the mess covering his chiseled chin and cheeks, and he is looking at you as though he could devour the rest of you whole.

“God? He would never give you this much pleasure, little one,” San purrs.

Seonghwa chuckles and scratches the top of San’s head, equally proud of him. You vaguely register the tickling of his fingernails on your own scalp before he pulls his hand away from you to grab San’s — the one dirtied with your juices. The raven-haired demon takes the blond’s slick fingers, brings them up to his lips, and slips them inside with slow purpose. San does not resist the intimate act. On the contrary, you can just barely see the way his wrist moves with the way he presses his fingers back and forth against Seonghwa’s reptilian tongue.

Your mouth falls open at the display of pure eroticism, but you cannot find enough humility within you to close it again — especially when San pulls his fingers back with a wet slurp and pops his thumb into Seonghwa’s mouth next, unprompted. The two hellions lock eyes until Seonghwa has apparently sucked all the remaining residue from San’s last digit.

Only when Seonghwa finally looks back to you do you snap your jaw shut. He sneers at you and drawls, “Just as I remember: sweet as nectar.”

“She has had her pleasure. I want to take mine now, hyung,” San declares. You watch him reach down to palm at his genitals, and your eyes widen at the sight of his erection standing proudly out in the open. “I need to feel her wrapped around me.”

“You will...” Seonghwa sighs. He curls a hand around the back of San’s neck in a seemingly tender gesture, then uses his other hand to shove San away with impressive force. “...but not until after I have taken my fill of her, you selfish, impatient glutton.”

San rolls his neck and peels his back off the wall, staring coldly at Seonghwa. He does not argue, however. He just wipes the rest of your wetness from his face with the back of a hand and stalks over to wait at your side.

Meanwhile, Seonghwa takes up San’s previous position at the foot of the bed, and you shift upward on the mattress to prepare for his next move. He kneels onto the bed to follow your movement, then presses a hand onto your stomach to stop you when he judges you’ve gone far enough. His touch feels solid, but the mattress does not creak under his added weight the way you know it is prone to do.

“Not another inch, pet,” he murmurs. “Stay right there, just like that.”

He pries your legs apart again, and the tip of his sizeable cock prods against your inner thigh as he situates himself. The burn of his rigid flesh feels like a brand on your skin. You hiss when he lines himself up with your pussy.

“This may be easier than last time, but still painful, despite how drenched you are,” Seonghwa warns.

You nod in understanding. When he lifts one of your legs to wrap it around his slim waist, you take in a breath and hold it.

“Exhale, child,” Seonghwa guides you as he begins to ease himself inside.

You try to let go of your breath, but the reflex to hold it to cope with the stretch of his burning shaft is too much, and you end up gasping instead.

“Relax, little lamb,” San murmurs from your side, adopting Seonghwa’s new pet name for you. He returns his hand to your shoulder and squeezes. “Hold on to Seonghwa-hyung and breathe.”

You lift your hands up at once to find purchase along Seonghwa’s wide shoulders. His skin is buttery smooth, but the muscles beneath are rock hard. You were unable to touch him like this — or at all, actually — the last time, and you find your fingers roaming greedily. It is a good distraction from the pain coming from below.

If Seonghwa is bothered by your wandering hands, he does not show or comment on it. He simply continues feeding his cock into you, inch by inch, until eventually he can go no further.

“How does she feel?” San demands to know before anyone can do or say anything else.

“Like silken bliss,” Seonghwa answers, to which you tuck your head down shyly. One of his fingers hooks under your chin to lift your face back toward him so you can see his wicked grin. “Such a shy little thing. And yet here you lie beneath me, penetrated by me, desperately wishing me to pound you into this flimsy piece of furniture.”

“Yes, yes, I can hear her wishing that very much, hyung,” San says excitedly. “Are you going to oblige her?”

Rather than verbalizing a response, Seonghwa sways his hips backwards to withdraw a portion of his girth from you, then surges forward again. You barely have time to register the sensation of the jostling motion before he repeats it with a distinctly sharper snap. The wet slapping sound of the movement is every bit as erotic as the friction being created. His length easily reaches places inside you that other lovers can only aspire to. Every ridge of his bare shaft pulses tightly against your walls, making you mewl and squirm in no time.

“Don’t tear up our pretty pet before I have had the pleasure of her,” San adds. It sounds like a warning, a tease, and a whine all at once.

“I have not even started on her yet,” grunts Seonghwa. He peels your fingers off of him, and as he moves to pin your wrists above your head in a tight grip, the weight of his solid torso settles squarely upon yours. His skin is cool to the touch at first, but soon warms as it absorbs your heat. The movement of his hips has altered from jarring snaps to a deep, continuous roll. It feels as though his cock is quite literally stirring a second orgasm within you.

All the while, the unnatural creature keeps his deep ruby eyes on yours. It seems he wants to witness the exact moment your orgasm boils over, and you are certain it will not take long. The close proximity of his beautiful, marble sculpture of a face alone is enough to set fire to both your cheeks and your loins, as well as tug the knot in your lower belly tighter.

“She enjoys this angle, hyung,” San comments. His palm manages to slide its way flat against one of your cheeks, and his cooled touch is most welcome on your sweaty, burning skin. “But I can barely touch her when you are draped over her like this.”

Seonghwa smirks and says, “We can remedy that, if you are truly so impatient to join in.”

“Please. At least allow me to touch her as much as possible while you are tearing her apart.”

“Very well, but I will not cease taking my own pleasure for a moment.”

That is the only warning you receive before Seonghwa hoists you up with him. He stands at the foot of the bed again with his cock still sheathed securely inside of you. Your arms and legs reflexively wrap around his muscular body to keep yourself from falling, but his strong hands — and whatever otherworldly force he wields, perhaps — are more than enough to keep you upright. He uses those hands and that force to set you to moving along his turgid cock.

The shift in position does nothing to lessen the depth at which his cock reaches; if anything, it feels as though he is hitting even further inside of your soaked, narrow tunnel.

After only a few bounces, you feel San’s hands press firmly against your back and push you even closer into Seonghwa. His shove also forces Seonghwa to step backwards until it is his back that meets the wall this time, along with your crossed feet on the small of it. Immediately after Seonghwa connects with the wall, San connects with you, effectively sandwiching you in the middle of this most unholy union.

Seonghwa does not stop moving you up and down his cock. He keeps the pace he has set against your g-spot evenly. A wanton moan breaks through your throat at the sensation of all the sinewy skin and rippling muscles covering you front and back. San’s erection twitches against your lower back, giving away his own excitement at the situation.

“Mm, she likes this position even more, hyung,” he purrs against the nape of your neck. His hands circle around to trap your breasts in a tight grope. He pushes them close together, pulls them apart, tweaks your pert nipples; every fondle takes away just a bit more of what little breath you have.

Eventually, San’s fondling fingers slide their way down from your breasts, across your stomach, along your hips, and finally around to your backside where they help hold what flesh of your ass Seonghwa’s hands are not already covering.

“I know, I can hear her, too,” says Seonghwa. “Her other lovers are not able to ‘fuck’ her in this fashion, so it arouses her even more. I can feel her getting even tighter around me with every stroke.”

“Even tighter, hm?” San gently nips his razor teeth into your shoulder, and you can feel his lips curl against your skin. “That is because you like being stuffed full, don’t you, little lamb? Seonghwa-hyung’s cock is filling you up so well, isn’t it?”

It is all you can do to bob your head in agreement, since it seems your voice can only be used for moaning while you are pistoning up and down Seonghwa’s cock through no effort of your own.

“Your sweet genitalia is not the only orifice that can be stuffed full,” San goes on. “I have always wondered just how tight the hole on the other side is…”

For a brief second, you fear he will attempt to shove his well-endowed member up your ass with no further warning, but his hips do not move. Instead, he takes you by the chin and turns your head until you are facing him as much as your neck will permit with the angle, then taps against your lips with one of his fingers. You grant him entrance, and he lies his finger flat against your tongue.

“Lubricate it well,” he instructs into your ear, then licks the shell of it as though to demonstrate exactly what he wants you to do.

You dutifully flick your tongue around his finger, sucking on it until all you can taste on it is your own saliva. Only then does San retract his hand to drop it down below and probe between your jiggling backside where you cannot see.

In the midst of his thrusts, Seonghwa adjusts himself to stand straighter against the wall, then uses the full grip he has on your ass to spread the cheeks further apart and allow his companion better access. You hiss in a sharp breath when San hits pay dirt directly on the ring of your smaller hole.

“Breathe, little lamb. Just as before,” he whispers next, lush lips still caressing your ear.

You slowly let go of your breath, and San begins to push his finger past your rim. The continued up and down movement of his target does not deter or hinder him from plugging your anus. He wags his spit-slick finger back and forth inside your clenched ring of muscle as he goes. The stretch of it stings, but it is not as uncomfortable as the initial pressure of Seonghwa’s cock had been a moment ago.

In fact, you have never felt more lust-frenzied, mind-hazing pleasure all at once than you do right now, with a pair of strong hands cupping your ass, your thighs wrapped around a sturdy waist, a thick cock plunging through the walls of your cunt, a silky pair of lips trailing down your neck, another cock poking into your back, and the feeling of damnation in your puckered hole. Every nerve ending you possess has been ignited to an unquenchable pyre.

“The flower between your legs is tight, pretty pet,” San breathes, “but this sphincter of yours is at least doubly so. And hotter, too. It is a shame it is not also self-lubricating.”

An ambiguous-sounding groan rumbles through you, but every fiber of your being is in agreement with his words and actions, and San knows it.

Seonghwa knows it, too. Your eyes fixate on his beautiful lips as he drawls, “Yes, you like being penetrated front and back, don’t you, pet? Speared by my cock and skewered by San’s finger simultaneously?”

At Seonghwa’s words, San drags his finger down to tease shallow circles around your opening, then wiggles all the way back in to his knuckle. “She is loving it, hyung. Just listen to her trying to form a coherent thought right now; she cannot.”

Seonghwa hums in agreement. “Yes, she is so close to unraveling again. Just a few more thrusts against this sweet spot inside of her… and a little stimulation on the nub between her soft legs…”

San brings his other hand around to take care of the latter, tickling the swollen point between your legs the way he learned earlier as best he can while you continue to jostle up and down against Seonghwa’s hip bones.

“Are you going to release soon as well, hyung?” San asks. “Are you going to fill her?”

“Mm, yes. I suspect I can time it perfectly with our pet’s release,” bets Seonghwa. “It will not be long. She has just gotten even tighter again at the thought of being filled with my seed.”

He has barely finished calling you out before your orgasm hits, and it hits you like a freight train. Your toes curl and every muscle in your body clenches as a shockwave of pleasure detonates in your core. Your holes clamp down on the cock and the finger inside of them as you let out a shriek, sinking your fingernails into Seonghwa’s broad shoulders as he brings your body to a halt at his hilt. He lets out a booming moan of his own as his cock swells even more and erupts. A copious amount of hot liquid squirts against your cervix and lines your walls. Some of it leaks down around the plug of Seonghwa’s still turgid dick from the pull of gravity.

You let out a pinched moan as your climax spikes to its peak, then fall limp as a rag doll against Seonghwa’s frame with your forehead against one of his shoulders. San does not remove his fingers from your clit until your legs begin shuddering violently from the overstimulation.

“That’s it, my pet,” Seonghwa praises at the same moment San coos, “Such a good little lamb.” Both demons caress you as you pant heavily. Seonghwa’s hands massage your butt where he is still holding you up. You had almost forgotten San’s finger was embedded in your anus until he withdraws it and rubs your shivering spine.

You lift your head off Seonghwa’s shoulder, suddenly curious to see if he is any worse for wear than you are. He has some markings of being fucked-out: some strands of his hair have fallen out of place, and his hairline is slightly sweaty, as is his neckline and the cleavage between his pectorals. But he does not appear the slightest bit breathless, even after all his exertions in giving you the ecstasy you just experienced.

While you are still coping with the sheer amount of beauty before you, you are suddenly torn off and away from Seonghwa and tossed back onto your mattress by San. He retakes his earlier position kneeling at the foot of the bed. Without physically touching you, he drags your body down the mattress until your used pussy is inches from his face, then spreads your legs wide with firm hands. You clumsily prop yourself up on your elbows, scrambling to see his next move.

“You made quite a mess of our pretty little flower, hyung,” mutters San, cocking his head as he studies your sullied and swollen cunt. He sounds far from upset over this observation, however. In fact, you might even say he looks awed by your condition.

Seonghwa steps to the side of the bed and watches on as his companion appreciates his handiwork. Wordlessly, he dips a hand in front of San’s face and drags two slender fingers along your slit, and you shiver from sensitivity.

“So I have,” Seonghwa muses, unapologetic. He lifts his fingers to examine the tips of them shimmering with a pearly mixture of your cum and his in the moonlight. When he rubs his thumb against them as though to test the consistency, you are certain you have never felt more aroused in your life.

Thankfully, you do not have to voice your most vulgar, hedonistic desire in the moment, because Seonghwa hears you loud and clear. With a lopsided grin over your shameless thoughts, he brings his sticky fingers to your already parted lips and settles them directly on your tongue.

“So foul,” San breathes, sounding more reverent than appalled as he watches you suck Seonghwa’s fingers clean of your own free will. “Our sweet lamb will be wholly corrupted yet.”

Seonghwa draws his fingers from your tongue and slowly, so slowly runs them over your lips. You try to chase and recapture them, but he grabs your chin roughly. You flick your eyes to meet his, and his bloody stare sears you, body and soul.

“Take her,” he commands in booming bass.

The younger hellion is over you at once, pinning you to the mattress and feeding his steely length into your sloppy cunt in one smooth thrust. He grunts as he makes his entrance and bottoms out within the same second.

The cum inside you has barely had a chance to cool before it begins frothing from the incessant withdrawing and plunging of the new cock assaulting you. The excess leaks down your ass crack, but any discomfort you may feel from the unpleasant stickiness is overridden by the sparks rekindling in your blood.

From the pulses coming off the veiny shaft inside you, you get the impression that San’s blood may also be boiling. The notion that his riled-up state could be caused by you and not just a primal, carnal instinct makes your core throb tighter, however far-fetched it may be.

“He enjoys you,” Seonghwa confirms for you, tracing his thumb along your jawline. “He enjoys your scent, your taste. Right now he is swearing that your cunt is the tightest he has ever felt in his long life.”

San groans in agreement. His pace momentarily stutters as he redistributes his weight over you, and you marvel for a quick second at a bulging vein in his neck when he leans closer. “How is she still this tight after taking you, hyung? The pressure is divine. It makes me all the more eager to penetrate and get a proper feel of the vise that is her other hole, but I realize now that it would be excruciating for you, little one. Your wet little cunt will have to do for now.”

You give a silent prayer of thanks for the surprising consideration for the sanctity of your asshole. San chuckles lowly when he hears it but provides no further comment.

One by one, he takes both of your hands in one of his to lift your arms up from your sides and pin them over your head exactly as Seonghwa had done earlier. Without being prompted to, Seonghwa takes that hold on your wrists out of San’s grasp and into his own, leaving San’s hands free again to prop himself up and hover above you. The fringe of his blond hair bounces to and fro with every thrust of his hips. His eyes are cast down at your heaving breasts. His perfectly pink lips glisten with a clear coating of spit applied by a swipe of his lolling tongue. A muscle near his jawline briefly pops as he concentrates on achieving the release he has patiently awaited.

You long to stare at the heavenly yet sinful feast before your eyes forever, but your eyes are gradually rolling back into your head from the onslaught of his flared cockhead against your cervix.

Suddenly, San stops his hips altogether and pulls away to straighten his back. You roll your eyes back around in time to watch your feet hike themselves up into the air and onto his shoulders by his mystical power before he leans in closely again, essentially bending you in half as his torso presses into the backs of your legs. Your muscles burn with the unaccustomed stretch, but the languid roll of his pelvis against yours is all that is important. He grinds against your clit and your g-spot simultaneously, much to your mutual pleasure.

You arch your back at an especially deep press, but Seonghwa’s grip on your wrists keeps you from going too far. You turn your head to look at him and find him looking right back at you. He cocks his head and smirks when he listens to you wonder if he is enjoying simply watching the ‘show’ without participating.

“I do enjoy watching you, pet, but fret not; I will participate again in some capacity before the night is over,” he promises.

San pays no mind to your short conversation; he continues rutting into you, but his speed is not as frenzied as his pace from just a moment ago. The angle allows him to hit your inner pleasure point with ease, however, and he is keen on hitting it with each and every plunge.

You would say it is hard to tell which of you is closer to the edge… until all of a sudden, San lets out a bellow of a moan a mere second before his cock throbs even harder and discharges a long stream of cum, then another, and another, until the heat of it can be felt down to your bones.

He continues to grunt in deep baritone as the last of his impressive release dribbles out of him and into your clenching pussy. He gives a few last shallow thrusts, and as soon as his cock withdraws, his cum — along with whatever is left of Seonghwa’s cum combined with yours — trails out of you and onto the sheets.

The blond sighs in satisfaction and slides his fingers through his hair as he pulls away. Your feet fall from his shoulders and your legs slump to the sides. San closes his eyes and bites his lip as he recollects himself; he does not seem nearly as coolly composed as Seonghwa was after his climax moments ago.

By now, you are feeling much too exhausted to care that the two creatures did not bring you to the predicted three orgasms. Your body is a little numb, your vision is slightly blurred, and it feels like there is barbed wire in your head.

“Mm, you are a revelation, little lamb,” San murmurs huskily, breaking into your thoughts. He reopens his eyes to peer down at you, and when he finds you staring back at him, he grins and licks his lips again. One of his hands comes down to cup your chin and cheeks. He tilts your head back and forth, side to side, as though determining whether or not you are the one who is truly real after all this. Then he runs his fingers down the slope of your neck, between the valley of your breasts, over your belly button, until he reaches the mess between your spread legs and stops. The sharp tips of his fingers edge around your sticky, swollen folds.

“You have sullied our flower as well, haven’t you,” Seonghwa speaks up. It is more of a statement than a question.

Without waiting for a response, he releases your wrists and glides beside San to see for himself. His eyes drop down, and for the second time tonight, both demons are staring at your bare sex — except this time, it is in a much different state; the ‘after’ depiction in a set of ‘before and after’ pictures, you imagine.

San snickers at your crazed thoughts and latches his thumb onto your clit. “You make for a pretty picture, even in this state.”

“Especially in this state,” Seonghwa emphasizes.

“Wrecked...”

“...ruined...”

“...corrupted…”

“...debauched…”

“...depraved…”

Your mind flutters between a state of conscious and unconsciousness with each blasphemous word they spit your way. Your eyes fall closed as San accelerates on your slippery bud, rebuilding the pleasure he failed to bring to fruition while inside of you. But just as he reaches a tempo that will have you cresting in no time, his thumb is replaced by a pair of lips. You cannot bring yourself to see whether they belong to San or Seonghwa; your eyelids are leaden, and so is the rest of your body.

A couple fingers enter your weakly clenching core as a wicked tongue flits intricate patterns onto your clit. Hands roam along your thighs and hips; one of them reaches up to contour around your throat.

“Let go for us, pretty pet,” purrs San. His voice sounds faint and distorted, like your ears have been submerged in water, but you recognize that it comes from above you, not between you. “Let it all go...”

He sweeps that sweet spot at your center, and Seonghwa gives you one last suck to pull you over into the abyss. If you had any control of your limbs, you would clench your fingers in the sheets and curl your toes again, but you don’t. You can’t. You remain stiff as a board as a final row of pleasure washes over you. A moan swells in your throat beneath the fingers around it when it cannot pass your clamped lips.

Your mind is much nearer to the side of oblivion than wakefulness when you vaguely hear San ask, “Is there any hope left for her soul, hyung?”

The mouth leaves your quivering pussy with a parting kiss.

“For this one?” Seonghwa whispers with a light smack of his lips. “No, I am afraid she is beyond redemption.”

---

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copyright © 2023 by daizymax. all rights reserved. part one | back to masterlist

[enterwittyjokehere]

Ghosts of the Past

[Fujin x revenant! Afab reader smut]

[⚠️Warnings⚠️]

[Afab reader]

[No pronouns used]

[Heavy smut 18+ only]

[Multiple org*sms]

[Oral afab receiving]

[Fingering]

[Semi- teratophila]

Fujin remembered your life together with fondness, it was what led him to visit Earthrealm and learn more about the people you had come from.

Being a God and essentially immortal, he knew the two of you would not last long from the beginning of your relationship. However, that did not stop the passion the two of you had held for each other.

Fujin missed you in every way since you were ripped away from him. He missed finding scratches littering his back, he missed you reading your favorite classic literature to him, he missed you.

He often got these somber reminders when he would see people who looked like you, other humans, with similar features.

Something small like your hair color or your eyes, although, for the past few days, it had been almost like a cruel prank. He swore he was seeing humans who looked exactly like you, not just with your hair or eyes. But you.

He could easily shake these feelings away clearly it wasn't you. You had been taken from him decades ago, besides you never had that sinister aura about you.

You had always been kind and cute, unlike this spectre following him around earthrealm. When it happened again, this time the feeling of dreadful deja vu had him almost inebriated with a mix of dread and confusion.

Sitting in a coffee shop, similar to one you would take him to, the dull imposter walking into the line. The familiar feeling of being watched took over his senses, he glanced up and the lookalike quickly removed their stare.

Now, being the best look fujin had gotten of the mimic, he could easily see the cracking skin and dull grey completion. He knew what was going on, but he couldn't bring himself to accept it. Why would anyone bring you back?

To haunt him?

To track him down and do elder gods know what with him?

Necromancy was frowned upon for a reason, he grabbed his drink along with the book he had buried his nose in and left through the side door.

Whatever sick game someone was playing fujin had already decided he would not be a part of it.

The entire rest of the day, the wind God was on edge, feeling at any moment he could be ambushed. He went home, he had found a house similar to the one you and him had shared all that time ago. Still living quaintly even though he could do much better, fujin had come to enjoy the more quiet life.

As the day settled into night, Fujin's mind had also settled, fear no longer tormented his waking consciousness. As he laid out spread on his large bed, reading a book, he had surely read a hundred times before. 

A noise from the deep recesses of the house stirred him, almost immediately he searched, looking for the cause of the sound. 

His heart beat pounded in his head, “Hello?” 

Fujin's call was not met with an answer, he laughed to himself, licking his trembling lips as he mumbled, “Come now, Fujin, you're being foolish. There's nothing here.”

Turning on his heel, he gasped and stumbled back when a dark and demented figure stood directly behind him. It was you. Well, not you you. It was your revenant, an undead version of you, only alive due to necromancy.

“Why do you run from me, Fujin?” Your voice was eerily monotone, it sent shivers down Fujin's spine.

“I am not playing this disgusting game.” Fujin declared pushing past you, in an attempt to leave the conversation.

The sound of your voice quickly turned him around, “Fujin, please, I want not to harm you, my gentle love.” 

Disgust filled Fujin's senses, but at the very base, happiness sprung from hearing your pet name for him. It had been so long since he had heard those words.

“You're not… you. You're a revenant, I am not so foolish as to not know that you no longer have feelings.” His words were spat at you, a frown donned your features.

“What can I say, love, even in death, my heart longs for you.” You approached him, placing your cold dead hand on his shoulder, “I'm breaking a lot of rules by being here right now.”

Fujin’s eyes flicked to you, your dull grey completion and cracking skin did little to convince Fujin that it wasn't you. Giving him a soft smile, that only retracted when your hand did as well, “but if you no longer feel the same, perhaps I'll go back to the netherrealm, do whatever it is that Liu Kang and Kitana have planned for me.”

The words you spoke, accompanied by how hoarse your voice sounded, drew Fujin in, you sounded sick, ill, nothing Fujin hadn't already seen. 

“Wait, no…” Fujin said, taking your hands into his own, “if what you say is true, you're not after me… why have you come here.”

Your eyes dropped to the ground beneath your feet, “I was sent to spy on your brother, while doing that he mentioned you still living among the humans in earthrealm… at first I was jealous, I'll admit, I thought you had found a new love.”

Fujin's heart swam at the thought of you being jealous, he had missed you dearly, living among the earthrealmers proved that much. 

“I, originally, came here to see for myself, to see if you had… replaced me, and then you kept running from me… It hurt me, Fujin, I only wanted answers. From the moment I was resurrected, you were the only thing on my mind.”

Fujin's soft smile covered his face, “Oh my precious wind flower, how I have missed you.” 

As his strong arms enveloped you, fujin pulled you closer, kissing you slowly. A whine left the wind God's mouth as you pulled away from the embrace, “Fujin, you mustn't tease me, it's been so long.”

You tugged on the fabric of Fujin's top, his hands resting on your hips as a pensive smile adorned his bright features, “My dearest one, you are absolutely correct, we have much time to make up.”

Fujin began an assault on your neck, biting and kissing the sensitive area, your lifeless hands reaching up to pull at his hair. 

“Come, we shouldn't waste more time.” Fujin said, taking your hand, placing delicate kisses to the cracking, grey flesh.

“Lead the way, my sweet breeze.” 

Fujin took you to the bedroom, large and decorated beautifully, almost reminiscent of the room you had when you were alive…

“F-Fujin?” 

“It's no coincidence, I see things I think you would like so I bring them home… old habits die hard…” He answered almost as if he could read your mind, although if he could read your mind, you wouldn't have gotten this close.

“It's perfect, Fujin, absolutely and wonderfully perfect.” You smiled, and almost for a second, Fujin was back with you, back before you died, happily living his immortal days in a quiet and happy town. Lazing around on the weekends and traveling around with you during the week, the small and trivial things that should not have mattered to a God, yet they made him undeniably happy.

“Like you, my dearest one.” He said, moving to kiss you, his weight on top of you pushing you onto the bed.

The fluffy comforter rose around your body, framing you beautifully, Fujin pulled back to admire you. Smiling to himself, he licked his lips, “I've missed you, your absence drained me so, to be in your light again, makes me happier than I have been in the last few decades.”

“Always the sweet talker, Fujin.” 

Hands traced down your hips, digging into the trousers you wore, feeling your flesh against his own. Fujin let out a soft whimper, “May I?”

“Please.” You nodded, taking the opportunity Fujin stripped you of your pants, tossing them to the side, staring at your body like a starved man looking at a great feast.

His hands rubbed the flesh of your leg, pulling it up onto his shoulder as he toyed with your clothed core. Shuddering as the pleasure ran through you, your mind stumbled across thoughts.

Fujin moved your underwear aside to insert his fingers, thrusting them into you quickly. He watched as you squirmed beneath him, his free hand massaging the doughy flesh of your thigh. The eyes of the God peered into you, fully enjoying the display you were putting on.

“Fujin-!” The building feeling of ecstasy clouded your mind, your hips involuntarily grinding against his large fingers. 

“Yes, my darling, just like that.” His fingers began to curl the pads of Fujin's fingers stroking the sensitive area. 

A small simper moved to his face as he pushed your legs further apart, pressing a kiss to your cl*t. Before he began to rub the small bundle of nerves, the wet massaging feeling made you see stars as you bucked and moaned.

“Fujin, please-!” You cried, breathless and needy, your eyes were glossed over in pure ecstasy.

Fujin moved his hand before replacing it with his mouth once more, suckling sweetly on the nerves, erupting more of a response from your hoarse voice. His now free hand moved back over to tug softly on your thigh, his hand grabbing and pinching at the sensitive skin.

Slightly moving away from your cl*t, he spoke pushing air on the sensitive nerves as he did, “Patience…” 

He continued teasing the button, his tongue licking it and moving his lips around it to gently suckle on it. That combined with the movement of his hands was amazing, you swore under your breath as that all familiar tightening got closer and closer to snapping.

Fujin moaned against your clit sending shockwaves through you, your core tensed around his fingers. Fujin pumped his fingers into you, pumping you through your orgasm, stopping as overstimulation faded in.

Fujin's face was removed first, followed by his fingers, pulling away from you. Your own hand moved to hold your cl*t, your hips jerking as you did, “F**k, Fujin.”

A laugh erupted from him, earning your attention, “Oh my sweet dear, I am all but finished.” 

It was Fujin's turn to remove his trousers, you leaned on onto your arms to watch. Fujin undressed himself, completely looking to you. He motioned for you to remove your own shirt.

“Come get it off me.” You teased, Fujin licked his lips before pouncing onto the bed, he hovered over you, kissing you gently. His hands settled at the hem of your garment, breaking the kiss to slip it off. 

The shirt Fujin wrestled off you was discarded, tossed to the side, he set back to look at you. Now completely exposed to him, he held his p*n*s in his hand, pumping it slowly.

Prec*m leaked from the red tip, your body ached for him, your core subconsciously closing around nothing, wanting him. Fujin could tell how needy you were, squirming around beneath him, like you hadn't already had an org*sm. 

A deep breath released from Fujin as he moved to bend down over you, his hands settling on your hips. “You're too good for me, my love.”

You shook your head, smiling, although every inch of your consciousness told you, you had no right to smile. Not after what you were sent here to do.

He gently pushed himself deep into you, your legs wrapping around his waist, “wait, wait, Fujin.”

“Take your time.” He said, patting your leg, reassuringly.

After a few moments passed, you had adjusted and your body craved more, “O-Okay, I think I'm good Fujin.”

His glowing eyes lighting up as you spoke, his hands found your hips once more as he made sloppy thrusts inside of you. His grip on your hips was gentle as though you were fragile and yet the force of his thrusts were enough to hit the very back of your core.

Fujin was getting so close, so quickly to that special place, he grunted as he f**ked you. Moving down to place kisses along your neck, your small and cold hands found his hair. Tugging gently on the base of it, nearest to the scalp, he bit down on your skin, bite marks left up and down your body.

Once Fujin hit that already more sensitive spot in the back of your body, he slammed into it. Throwing you into your second climax, it wasn't long before the squeezing milked Fujin to his as well, he groaned and swore as he delivered sloppy thrusts, pushing his seed deep into you. It being the only life in your body.

After you had both come down from your climaxes, Fujin pulled out, collapsing on the bed beside you. Only then did the thought enter his mind, “What happens now?” 

“I suppose I will report back to Liu Kang and Kitana…” You spoke, your hoarse voice was now normal to the wind god, “staying here would only endanger you and the rest of earthrealm.”

“I could protect you, me and Raiden are-” 

“Your brother is not the same one you've always known. Fujin, he is different now.” You informed him.

“You should stay.” Fujin's words were mumbled, grumpily. 

“I wish I could, my sweet. I'll stay for the night, but you being safe is my top priority, Fujin.” You spoke matter-of-factly.

Fujin let out a gruff, “Will I get to see you again?”

Your glowing red eyes traced over Fujin's face, “If the winds allow.” 

When it was time for the morning to rise, you were about to leave, Fujin had just gotten up to get ready. He walked back into the room, frowning at you, “this is really it?”

“For now, Fujin. For now.”

You left reporting back to Neverrealm, Liu Kang and Kitana were not pleased about your lack of information on the Wind God.

“What do you mean, you couldn't find him on earthrealm?” 

“Your intel must have been incorrect, Liu Kang, for everywhere I looked I could not find Raiden's brother.”

Liu Kang swore, red eyes peering into you, luckily he too could not read minds.

[h3wi]

if i had a flower for every time i cursed you, i'd make a thousand bouquets for you

you gifted him immortality and left him to deal with the fallout.

blade x gn!reader. hurt/no comfort. angst.

blade can never fully describe the complex feelings he has for you in mere words. love and hate are only two sides of the same coin, and he's been playing an eternal, demented game of heads or tails.

he traces his skin, more marred than not. he thinks about how it was all your fault, how every scar was a tribute to you. then, he thinks about how you would kiss every one of them in worship, caress them with adoration, say they remind you of constellations.

if his scars were constellations, you were the god that hung them in place with careful hands. the one who decorated his skin until he can't even look at himself without being reminded of you.

"don't die, don't leave me. i love you." your words haunt him. it's some sort of ironic bullshit, he thinks, because you were the one who left him with this curse, left him all alone.

you are treacherous. how could this be love?

even so, he drowns himself in memories of you. your smile. your eyes. your touch. drinking under the moonlight with you. watching starskiffs and wishing upon them as if they were shooting stars.

i wish you were here. i rue the day you were born. you're the only one that matters. we should never have met. i'll kill you for what you've done for me, and then i'll kill myself. (i couldn't possibly live without you)

he loves you, so he curses your name. it is all he is able to do nowadays.

[aconflagrationofmyown]

You’ve definitely become one of my favorite Elvis writers on here, Marina.

And I wanted to ask you, are you planning to do more Elvis series? Like a series of Hollywood!Elvis, where he fights to be a serious actor and falls in love with one his co-stars. Or more Elvis AU, since we already have Pirate!Elvis. For example Cowboy!Elvis. Spy!Elvis like a James Bond or Agent Elvis. Mafia!Elvis. Even a Superhero!Elvis.

I think you’d do such a good job bringing all those concepts to life 🤭

My sweet anon, thank you so much, what a kind thing to say, I’m so glad my writing has brought you joy. 💋🌸💋 As for AU’s I did start a series about Hollywood E, yet never finished it. And for now I’ve got riverboat Captain E and father figure E to chew and that’s a lot on its own…but never say never. I think this would be something I’d have to have pitched to me and see if it resonates? So far I’ve not fully cooked up anything else original that hasn’t been done better by others. I’m always happy to dish out recs, fyi.

BUT THAT SAID…I’m messing around with little snippets, a filthy fairytale in collaboration with @elvisabutler and this demented Regency Elvis headcanon below that “my sexy secretary” @ab4eva took down from a chat. Enjoy…

I Bet on Losing Dogs -🥀 A Regency Elvis Blurb

18+ blurb, warning sexual content ahead, arranged marriage, romance novella style stuff

Imagine this: Regency Elvis whose wife has recently left him for a foreigner, taking with her his only child -a daughter who cannot inherit. He needs an heir.

Zero promises of love or fidelity or even bare respect for his new wife but…there’ll be position and status and jewels so long as you perform your wifely duties without complaint.

Jaded and lonely, I need freshly betrayed Elvis buying off a nobleman for his daughter, a Baron who’s mortgaged his estate for debts, Mr. Presley gets the association with your family’s nobility and you get the much needed wealth that new money brings.

And so your new husband comes in nightly in an embroidered robe and a solitary lit candle to consummate your union. He’s got all that chest hair displayed and a lil ponch of a belly showing out his robe as he slowly undoes the tie every night, never rushed, and you can feel the jitters down to your toes every time as you hug the sheet to your chin.

*Let go, Darlin,* he’s always murmuring as he pulls the sheet from your grip, *must do what needs done*

He fucks you hard and fast for such a delicate woman and then tosses you spending money to make up for it.

Reminds you after each visit to yoru chambers that you have a job to do. One single job.

*Gimme that son and maybe you’ll get that sea bathin’ ya been hankerin’ for*

(Elvis is from Yorkshire if he was ever transported to an English Setting AU, ok? No question, unless the question is Irish versus Yorkish)

Each time, when he finishes and pants into the humid crook of your neck, his hand blindly strokes away your tears and he whispers in gravelly apology, *I’ll leave ya alone, moment ya start to swell, I swear it, I’ll leave ya alone lil girl*

But that’s not why you’re crying, you wish he’d stay, he doesn’t know how cold you get when he leaves you and his sweat and spend cools on your skin and leaves you shivering.

You could curse the woman who laid here before you, who broke his heart and still haunts this place, like the wall opposite the bed with its outline of a portrait missing on the sun-bleached wall.

You wonder what she looked like, this missing wife.

You wonder if she secretly craved the burning stretch of him like you do, possibly not if she left for someone more…continental. Was he too voracious for her? Or was it the loneliness that finally ate her through like the moths who try the same with the bed canopy.

One night, Mr. Presley’s hand slips from your shoulder down to your breast, very rarely does he maul you there except in his direst paroxysms of pleasure, but tonight he slips and grabs and it’s so sore you nearly cry aloud from the ache.

*I swear I’ll leave ya be* he had said and you bite your lip savagely, cinch your corsets cruelly and wonder how to make him love you, tolerate you even. Anything so that you’re not left alone like he promises.

Are your breasts sore from being with child? You worry so.

So the next night you scheme, and when he shakes atop you and catches his breath and makes to roll away, you grab hold of him and keep him close.

*Six months* you murmur, and he seems confused by your meaning, *six month’s you’ve visited me nightly save for menses and Lent, and no child to show for it. Won’t you stay? Nurse says if the man remains…after…the chances are greater.*

Ensuing cockwarming between two people who’ve barely spoken outside of bed…little chats…because neither can sleep and in fact, he doesn’t really sleep that much at all, he admits.

*what do you do then? At nights?* you ask.

He reads a lot, he tells you and he’s got a telescope, and you tentatively ask if he’ll read to you.

He agrees with a shy *i-if ya want that, I will*

About the books. You asks if he will tonight instead of leaving and he says yes.

Then he hesitates and asks lowly, *can we…once more?…before?*

He asks if he can do it again, before he grabs the books, because he firmed up again while acting as a stopper in your warm cunt.

You’re already a wet mess down there and perhaps he moves you around, spoons you.

Puts himself back in and you’re so wet from what he gave you before and your excitement at the intimacy you feel in this movement.

And due to the difference in angle, for the first time, you actually come from the feeling of your husband inside you. His flaming hot body behind you, his thick arms wrapped around your body, the delicious rub of him in your womb.

And you’re quite sure you’ve already made a child but he doesn’t need to know. Not yet.

Anything to keep him coming back.

[ask-court-genshin]

Not anything related to events whatsoever but imagine growing up with Kaveh and Al Haitham in an orphanage.

The three of you are inseparable. Although none of you had reached the world outside the Akademiya, your close-knit group was more than enough mental stimulation for your young mind.

You don't remember a lot about your childhood enough, but you'll never dare forget these two. You enjoyed playing with the two boys, often teaming up with Al Haitham to assign Kaveh as a family dog or making Al Haitham play lazy roles like "the tree that stands outside a castle". There was never any need to know any other faces than the people you've seen throughout your childhood, and you've never wanted to cross the outside bother.

That was all until third grade when one day, your teacher gloomily walks to class, dropping a few of their papers, sloppily picking them up before sitting down. Every child sees her as a guardian. It was clear to everyone that Miss Rukkha had been having a particularly rough patch that week, and then she asked you all a question:

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

Numerous voices– dreams filled the room, bright. Nilou said she wanted to be a dancer– you've heard Dehya speak of becoming an adventurer of sorts that protects her friends– and Kaveh proudly stated that he'll become an architect worthy of expanding the orphanage.

But Miss Rukkha laughed somberly.

"I'm sorry, children, but much like a seed expected to be grown and plucked as a beautiful rose–" she breathed, the pain evident in her voice.

"The truth is, we will see no fruition to those dreams, for you are created and raised to be harvested– with the time for wilting stolen from you." Miss Rukkha sobbed. "You will never see what becoming old is like. We have reared you in for the potential of your organ donations, and to this day, we cannot even tell if you children are human."

Miss Rukkha gazed at Al Haitham specifically.

"Even with my age–" she laughed again, although joking, her chuckle remained hollow. "I still can't tell. I still can't tell if clones are just like us– just like me."

Your teacher slowly skimmed through the papers, seeing Kaveh's crayon drawings. The colors are vibrant and the strokes were masterful: befitting of a genetically enhanced child.

Memories are a fragile thing, but it's not particularly forgiving when it comes to phrases that will haunt you.

"Do any of you have any real souls and dreams at all, or am I fighting for my delusions...?"

You don't have anyone in life anymore. They've all "completed" the goal they were assigned to. Now in your thirties, you've gotten yourself a rather unsurprising occupation as the "carer". You've convinced yourself this was the job for you since it helps you look after the clones who will donate their organs until they inevitably pass.

But it does have it's empty moments. Sometimes, you'd take a good look at the drawings Kaveh had done. You wished you had better momentos to keep Al Haitham in your mind, but perhaps his faulty earphones is enough for you to hold on to.

"Miss Dehya, are you ready?"

She sighed.

"(Y/n), you know this is my last donation..."

"I know, I know..." You nodded politely. "I'm sorry."

"Just– just shut it." This was Dehya, that was by no means impolite. Being blunt was her weapon of choice to protect herself.

...

"Say, (Y/n)," she looked down. "When's your... You know..."

"In October 13th."

Dehya immediately jolted up.

"On the same day?!–"

"On the same day Kaveh and Al Haitham had theirs in 2021 and 2022 respectively, correct."

"These people are demented."

Dehya didn't know you three chose this date.

"At least they're people." You smiled. "We're just clones, after all."

"But it don't feel that way, don't it?"

You didn't say a word.

...

"... Will you be fine?" She asked.

"I'll be fine– and you will be fine." You took her hand. "Because..."

"Why are you crying?" Al Haitham bends down, looking down at you. He was slightly taller, but with you on the ground it seemed as though he was towering you. "Are you sad because we're clones?"

"Of course they're sad about that, you idiot!!!" Kaveh smacked his head. "Who wouldn't?!"

Al Haitham didn't seem to mind as much as anyone else, and perhaps that's precisely why Miss Rukkha gazed at him.

"But what exactly are you sad about?"

"I-I–" you choked out, mid-tears. "I wanted to be with you two!!! I wanted to be with you and Kaveh for much longer!!!"

Kaveh's lips trembled. "(Y/n)..."

Al Haitham frowned. He knelt down to your level.

He hugged you.

"I see."

Al Haitham pulled away. "How about this: why don't we all complete our final donations on the same day?"

"We can't," Kaveh frowned. "I'm older than you guys by two years..."

"If we can't do it in the same year, then let's pick a date." Al Haitham proposed. "This way, we'll still feel a bit closer."

He wiped your cheeks roughly. "How does that sound?"

You sniffled.

Kaveh, knowing that Al Haitham's idea doesn't sound particularly comforting, knelt down beside him and took your hand.

"Hey, hey, you'll be okay– we'll be okay– wanna know why? Because..."

"Because even though we're having a hard time leaving– we're not meant for this world. Our dream life is somewhere up there, on a castle in the sky, where there's a lush green tree that lazily sways and a happy golden retriever waiting for us to come home."

[izzythehutt]

As horrible as Walt's parting words to Jesse in Ozymandias were, in some ways it seems like they would be psychologically freeing for him.

Walt giving him over to people who he clearly hired to kill him and telling Jesse, "oh, before these people torture you for information and then shoot you, I want you to know I also let your girlfriend die of an overdose" with zero additional context is such clear and unequivocal proof that Walt was always a soulless monster who never cared about him. Which like, we the audience know is not true, Walt is grief-stricken, blames Jesse for Hank's death (lol Walt actually it is 10000000% your fault and you're projecting but what else is new?) and this final parting shot is a big fat "I never loved you" shaped-lie and the kind of deeply personal knife twist you could only give someone you loved like family and felt betrayed by, but Jesse has zero reason to think that.

Jesse can't comprehend that Walt thought Jane was so bad for him it would be better if she died rather than drag him down into a heroin-fueled OD spiral with her. Maybe years down the line he would be able to understand that was the rationale for this repulsive act, but there's a very good chance he will never understand it, and this will just be one of the giant mysteries of their relationship that haunts him for the rest of his life.

In the moment, though, his cruelty is the ultimate bridge-burning severance. All "complication" and gray areas are gone. No more mixed feelings.

A lot of what makes the relationship so uniquely upsetting for him is never really knowing if Walt cares about him or not, because so much of their dynamic is built on lies and manipulation. And in the short-term, this removes the ambiguity! Mr. White really always was the devil in a family man, chemistry teacher skin suit! Even if Jesse is beating himself up for loving this monster and having such misplaced faith in him, at least he can now just hate the guy in peace.

(Though...was Jesse even thinking much about Walt in that five month period of servitude? I get the sense that in Granite State the two of them in their respective prisons are avoiding thinking about each other because they both blame one another for where they ended up.)

Then the finale happens and all that uncomplicated hate gets mucked up again, because hey, what is Walter White good for if not messing with your head?

Walt comes into the compound with a plan to kill everyone there, has Jesse brought into the room where he's going to set off his robot machine gun death trap, clear proof that Jesse was one of his intended victims (if he'd come there to liberate him he would have done it and then gone to the lab to let him out.) Then he sees Jesse, pathetic and in chains, and....tackles him to the floor and shields him with his body before setting off the trap, calmly watches as Jesse strangles his chief captor, then once everyone in the room except the two of them are dead he...slides Jesse his gun and tells him to shoot him. Which is Walter accepting that he deserves death at Jesse's hands, an apology, forgiveness and what he wants to happen all rolled into one. Jesse demands he admit this is what he wants, sees that Walt has been shot (meaning he will forever live with the knowledge Mr. White literally took a bullet for him) and refuses to indulge him in this final act of murder/suicide.

Then he follows Jesse out of the clubhouse and has the gall to SMILE AND NOD AT JESSE before he jumps into Todd's car and speeds off to freedom?? Like, really? How DARE you, Mr. White!

Everything about this is completely consistent with the selfish asshole that Jesse has known for the past two years....but also very clearly and unequivocal proof that he cares about Jesse and always did! There is zero reason for him to do this except for the history between them. This is the bizarre swan song of their demented criminal partnership.

And Jesse gets his second chance...solely because of Walter White.

Walt freed Jesse in the only way he possibly could that would keep him out of jail. He could have turned himself in, reported Jack and Co. and gotten them all arrested, Jesse included. Instead he perpetrated incredibly fucked up, science-adjacent violence to kill everyone who hurt his partner and died in the act. This is the Heisenberg equivalent of a giant-ass apology.

Which means that in the years that follow, Jesse will have to parse through everything that happened between them, reevaluate it all, live in that bizarre gray area when in many ways it would have been easier to just hate him. Not to say there won't be a part of him that does. But it won't be the only part.

Poor Jesse. He will forever have to live with the knowledge that Mr. White did, in fact, care about him, and the inevitable ambivalent and complicated feelings that come from that.

[hiskillingjar]

Omg I saw your requests are open. Mc cleaning Strade's bathroom, but not up to par with what he wants. Shenanigans ensue. (This disgusting grubby man haunts my every waking thought)

hmmm...

what can i say, my hand was forced.

1400+ words. contains piss. what do you expect

"Hey, buddy! How's it going?"

You looked over your shoulder with a somewhat incredulous look to where Strade was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, his work gloves and tan skin streaked with oil and grease, looking like he had been working hard in the garage (or basement, you didn't know.)

"Mm, it's fine, I guess?" You murmured, dunking your scouring sponge into a bucket of soapy, grey water at your side and moving to a new section of the tiled floor to clean.

Part of your role as Strade's demented pseudo-housewife (a role you had kind of given yourself, admittedly), amidst cooking (when Ren let you) and...relieving stress, involved a lot of cleaning while he was busy at work, keeping his house in the pristine, model house condition that he liked...and you didn't even like cleaning that much.

"Oh yeah? Keeping busy or, ah…hardly working?" Strade asked, as he leaned against the doorway with a casual chuckle, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his glove.. 

When he was standing closer, you saw that the oil and grease stains from his gloves were all over his pants and shirt too, displaying how much he had been working before (the irony of the working patriarch looming over the housewife was not lost on you), his golden eyes observing you thoughtfully. 

He started approaching you, the smell of gasoline assaulting your senses even when he was just a step closer.

"Ah," You sat up quickly on your knees, turning to face him for a moment. "C-Can't you wait until I'm done?"

“Hm? Ah, yeah, I suppose so...if you reeeeally insist." Strade drawled with a little huff, crossing his arms and looking irritable as he watched you clean.

You did not doubt that he was probably enjoying this, despite the irritated look, his eyes softening with poorly concealed lust as he stared at your body bent over, on your hands and knees, scrubbing the floors on which he had streaked blood, viscera or even more domestically, oil, grease and dirt countless times before. 

The more you thought about him enjoying this, the more uncomfortable you became...

You grimaced slightly, watching as he stayed put in the doorway, but despite your discomfort, you reached for the sponge again. 

“So, you really are working hard, hm?" He asked airily with a tilt of his head, watching intently as you continued working, scrubbing at a stubborn spot of caked-on grease behind the sink. There were orange hairballs back there too, which made you grimace a little more. "Playing wife?"

"Hmph..." You huffed with a roll of your eyes, not properly responding.

"Hah, what, you don't like the term?" He teased, raising his brows as he studied you closer. The smell of oil, maybe even blood was quite strong now, mingling with the harsh chemicals of cleaning products and bleach, and it made you feel sick. "Well, how else am I going to refer to you, hm?"

"A hostage...a prisoner, maybe." You murmured with a shrug, wringing the sponge in the bucket of water again. “What I actually am?” 

"Mm, I don't know...those words imply that you’re trapped here." He mused thoughtfully, uncrossing his arms and sliding his hands into his pockets, apparently not caring when the mess was further smeared on his trousers. "I think the most accurate word for your situation is 'captivated'."

"Captivated...right." You murmured in a deadpan tone, shaking grey water from the bucket off your hands as you reached for the dustpan to sweep up the hairballs, behind the sink. 

"I think it paints a much different and more accurate picture of the...situation, don’t you?" Strade said, his voice still thoughtful, if…a little distracted. "It's harder to acknowledge that you might be complicit in our…ah, dynamic, hm? Or maybe it would be easier to acknowledge it and you just don’t wanna do it, since it feels better to lie."

You were quiet for a long moment, the only audible sound in the bathroom being the rough scratch of the scourer on the white tiles. You cleared your throat uncomfortably but said nothing, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

"Ah, look at that…you're not doing the best job today." He said with a low click of his tongue, changing the subject and taking a step into the clean bathroom, his boots trekking in dirt and greasy viscera from the garage on the newly cleaned tiles. “I really don’t have the patience to wait for you if you’re gonna do a shitty job, you know.”

"Hey, come on, I asked you not to-!" 

You had started to speak, to yell, turning to face him with a red face and an angry expression, but had not expected him to grab the front of your metal collar and force your head down to the open (and freshly cleaned, thank you very much) toilet seat.

You shrieked shrilly as Strade pinned your body still with his boot, rough and painful on your shoulder and nearly spanning up to your collarbone and throat. 

The smell of gasoline mixed with bleach was thick and heavy and absolutely revolting, enough to make your stomach churn, your throat constrict, and your eyes burn as your head was forced down even more roughly, your collar digging into your neck painfully tight.

“I've needed to take a piss all afternoon,” Strade said, his grip on your collar loosening (just slightly) as he reached up to unbuckle his belt.”Keep quiet and stay still.”

Your eyes widened a little, watching his deft hands unbutton and unzip his trousers, and tucked down the open fly of them along with his boxers, exposing his half-hard, naked cock. When he began to urinate, you had to bite your lip hard to stop yourself from cussing him out, and maybe you didn’t even want to that badly.

Despite his warning, you couldn’t stop yourself from squirming underneath him as the stream of urine splashed loudly and obscenely in the porcelain toilet bowl, inches away from your sweating, red face. You also couldn’t stop the disgusted groan that lurched from your throat as a bead of urine splashed across your lips.

"Aw, did I get you?" He asked with a mean laugh when he looked down at you, his golden eyes locking onto yours as he did, a wide grin etched into his face…as he aimed the stream of urine towards your cheek.

“Ngh-!”

You immediately squeezed your eyes shut with a little whimper as you did your best to jerk your head away, struggling despite his grip on your collar and the boot on your shoulder. He didn’t stop you from doing either of those things, though.

“Ah, that’s a fun reaction. Priceless~”

Strade's expression was easily comparable to that of a starving predator, salivating and hungry, as he watched the urine spray across your face, your lips, your eyes, his grin wide and goading.

"Look at me." He growled softly as he continued, his breath hot and heavy in the close space of the bathroom as he spoke.

You didn't listen to him, keeping your eyes shut and your lips pressed into a tight line, and you tried to desperately shake your head and resist him.

His grin turned to a cruel glare of disdain when he noticed that you were resisting him (more so that you were trying to diminish of the fun), letting a low growl through grit teeth as he jerked your chin upwards and pressed more weight down on your shoulder. 

"Look at me, bitch."

You finally stared up at him with a defeated whimper, despite the dark flush to your cheeks (and the sudden stirring in your core, god fucking damn-it). The consistent stream continued and you shook your head to throw off the splashes of fucking urine the best you could, cringing as you felt it cling to your skin and soak in your fucking hair, god-

"Good girl." He praised as he watched you, the cruel glare fading and being replaced by something akin to a pleased smirk as he sighed, finally letting go of your collar and stroking your damp hair. “Good girl…”

"Ah..." 

You let out a shaking groan, your lips trembling as you peered up wearily towards him, drops of fluid still clinging to your eyelashes. 

"Good..." 

He finally said after he was finished, letting go of you before pulling away, planting his boot back down on the ground and zipping his trousers back up.

"Clean this up,” He ordered, taking off his gloves and setting them on the side of the sink. “And clean yourself too. You’re disgusting~”

[honorarybuckley]

been reading @evcndiaz’s buddie infidelity posts and my mind is whirling. i wrote this down last night and wasn’t gonna share but when have i ever just kept my thoughts to myself. but go read jack’s stuff for the truly messy and twisted wonderful angst and context lol. anyway, it’s like eddie could leave her for buck. he could do that. but there’s the part of him that loves her too. that loves the kids they have together. who doesn’t want to fuck up another relationship with a woman who loves him too. eddie constantly torn apart in the middle of this web he’s spun himself. but when it comes down to it he’ll always choose buck. when they’re finally caught in the act because the kids are getting older and marisol has had enough and won’t let one of them be the one to uncover dad’s secrets and there’s no pretending anymore from any of them he’ll choose buck. every damn time. not that marisol gives him much of a choice because she’s a self respecting woman but still he’ll break her heart and his just to see buck’s in tact. but because buck loves him and he respects her on some sick demented level his heart will break too. because that’s always where this was headed. buck and eddie together as they’ve always been and three hearts broken at their feet. and kids in the middle of it all. and they’ll stay together because they love each other and they need each other and most importantly they deserve each other but it won’t be the same. the lack of secrecy, lack of deluding themselves will be gone. now they’ll be in the light and everyone will know how they got together and the ones who don’t will ask not knowing that their only receiving half the story when their told the friends to lovers version of events. shame and guilt will haunt them, will taint the taste of each other even though they still have that hunger, that never quenched thirst that leaves them both wanting more. they’ll stay together but there will always be something rotten festering between them.

[paragonrobits]

on the question of 'does the ice crown make you want to be a Dad to reflect the OG Gunter viewing Evergreen as a father', let us look at the behavior of everyone to wear the crown and whether this contrasts with their behavior otherwise

Gunter: the original wearer of the crown, he put it on and immediately started blasting ice everywhere and just shouting GUNTER NO because that's all Evergreen was to him. if there's a paternal aspect to this, he wasn't around long enough for it to happen

Farmworld Finn: An interesting question. He definitely has a large family; the largest family of any Finn incarnation. But the thing about it is that every version of Finn we've seen grow up, barring Our Finn (and that's largely because we don't really see much of him later on in life, just hints), they always have a number of children, and ALWAYS named Jay and Bonnie. So it seems a bit more likely that this is just part of who Finn is, not the crown lingering on him. Farmworld Finn DOES have the largest number of kids, though its hard to say if that's significant or not. Additionally, he doesn't really act particularly fatherly (even account for being just a kid at the time) while wearing the crown. He's manic, demented and almost a walking horror story, but he's not inclined to take care of other people except in a vaguely proactive and twisted way.

Vampire King: he is clearly the biggest question here and the one that makes this an important question. Does his treatment of Marceline as a spoiled rotten monster suggest the crown is making him more paternal, in a twisted way? I would say that his behavior isn't actually that different from what we see of him, and in fact this is a pretty common vampire trope in itself, where the eldest and strongest vampire has vampire heirs that get special treatment. Of note, he explicitly does not have any physical alterations or the mental changes of the crown at all, which would suggest that its not affecting him at all. If the crown DOES make you father material, it would be strange for that to be the ONLY change to him while he is otherwise completely unchanged.

Simon Petrikov: Whoo. Here this is. The big one. The most important question here. It haunts my dreams and torments my memories, and the answer either way completely changes and influences Simon's entire character and his interactions with others. If the Crown makes you fatherly, then his relationship with Marceline was purely a result of that. The one good part of being Ice King being a compulsion he was helpless to resist; that makes it HORRIFYING. The one happiness he has here being just another part of the crown making him into something he wasn't. And the flipside is this; that in some way, everything he suffered was worth as one tiny part of himself remained intact, making him paternal and a caretaker in his own strange way; first to Marceline, then to the penguins. I keep having images of Simon wanting to be a father and have a family long before meeting Betty or finding the crown, and it just feels so RIGHT for it to ultimately have granted him that wish.

So let us compare and contrast his behavior towards the other wearers of the crown, and the interesting bit is that there are VERY few common denominators, whether in behavior or not. The crown turns you into a mutated image of Evergreen, but the actual personality changes vary REALLY wildly; Ice King becomes maniacal and prone to mood swings (And we see that Simon himself has a pretty violent streak when annoyed), Finn is a destructive force of nature with a dissonant serene attitude as he freezes the world to save it, the Vampire King is completely unaltered, and Gunter was just completely out of it. There's very little behavior in common, and most interestingly it seems to amplify your personality traits, not completely change them.

Few of them have fatherly vibes at all; Simon sticks out for it being the most consistent aspect of his character, and perhaps significantly here, its most present BEFORE he completely loses himself to the Ice King persona, and is otherwise mainly present in subtextual impulses and Ice King's behavior when he's in a good mood.

Perhaps most tellingly of all, the opportunity to help others is what snaps Simon out of apathy in Fionna And Cake, suggesting it is a deep seated part of himself; while it's not IMPOSSIBLE that this is a lingering aspect of the crown, I suggest that its something fundamental to Simon himself, amplified and warped by the crown.

In this vein, those years he spent with Marceline before he couldn't win against the crown anymore were retroactively the happiest in his life; he doesn't have the lingering doubts or questions if he could have done better as with Betty, and he can't remember much of his time as Ice King for good or bad. Being Marceline's father is the best part of himself, he might think, and his character strongly circles around protecting, caretaking, and supporting others.

[lesbianwriter]

Villain goes to the heroes base to kill Superhero then walks in on Hero mopping up her blood next to her dead body.

“This was…unexpected.” Villain commented, at a lord for anything else to say as her voice echoed in the deathly silent room.

She had originally prowled into Superhero’s office, a knife in her hand and ready to strike, but at the unusual sight of her enemy—of the goody two-shoes Hero, mopping up the blood of her mentor’s body—well, Villain’s grip on the knife faltered and she could only stare, like a twitchy animal prepared to run the other direction.

Hero’s cheeks flushed, and she sheepishly fidgeted with the mop in her hands. “Ah, yeah…it’s a little bit of a surprise, huh?” She moved the hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear, and looked up at Villain. “Did I ruin your fun?”

“Yes, a little bit.” Villain replied, peering at Superhero with curiosity shining in her eyes. “Care telling me what happened?”

There were stab wounds…a considerable amount of them, enough that something had to have prompted someone to stab them that many times, but what had happened to provoke Hero, of all people, into committing such a bloody murder?

The laugh that came from Hero’s lips was uneasy, a little shaky. “Oh…ummm…I wasn’t exactly planning on it, but Superhero said something that made me angry, and before I knew what I was doing…I was stabbing them.”

Villain shook her head incredulously. “I didn’t think you had something like that in you.”

“Neither did I.”

What were the chances that the docile underling to Superhero had such a murderous side? While she didn’t seem happy about her kill, she didn’t have a speck of guilt on her face nor a single tear in her eyes or running down her cheeks—it was alarming, and deeply intriguing. Villain wanted to sink her claws into this woman and find out how much she didn’t know about her.

Slowly, Villain took a step forward. “Y’know, blood stains, even if you wipe it up. I know how to get rid of it, if you’d like some help.”

Hero had a small smile on her face, a smile like that of a haunted porcelain doll’s. “Really? You’ll help me?”

“If you agree to join me.” Villain replied, taking Hero’s hand in hers.

There was something about Hero that she was compelled by. This woman was dangerous, she was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but Villain wanted her. What she’d done to Superhero had lightened something in Villain—excitement? Longing?

“I killed Superhero, and they were my boss—who says I won’t do the same to you? Who says I don’t want to do the same to you, right now, right here?” Her eyelashes fluttered, as if she were saying the most innocent thing in such a delicate whisper.

“I’ll take that risk,” Villain held Hero’s hand, and she leaned down to kiss her hand—the hand responsible for Superhero’s death. “I’ll take that risk because I want you as you are. There won’t be anything you have to hide from me, because I’ll have you for everything, and I will treat you as a goddess for all your ‘flaws.’”

Hero flushed again, and Villain moved the hair out of her eyes for her, her fingers lingering a moment too long as she brushed them behind the other’s woman’s ear. “You like this side of me? Truly?”

“Truly.” Villain locked eyes with her, smiling. It was an evil smile, a smile that promised chaos, but it was perfect for the two of them. “Let’s clean this up, and then it’ll be you and me tonight. I’ll take you to a fancy restaurant—I’ll pay for it, of course—and we can discuss your employment over a romantic dinner.”

“Well, if you like this side of me so much, then how about I stab you right now to see if you’re committed?” Her eyes flashed with something dangerous, a bloodthirsty glint in those deceptively innocent-looking eyes.

The switch in her demeanor was enticing, and Villain willingly wrapped herself in this poison—Hero was so much more than she let on, and Villain would unravel her deepest secrets. It was inexplicable what about this demented woman that Villain had fallen head over heels with in a matter of seconds, but she was in too deep to back out, and she didn’t want to back out.

She had survived worse.

Hero wouldn’t kill her, she wouldn’t let her, but she wanted to see where this path would lead.

“How about you stab me after dinner, hmm?” Villain offered. “It would be a pity if I couldn’t take you out to a nice date before I died.”

Hero’s cheeks tinged pink. “You know how to charm a lady, don’t you?” Her giggle was too sweet for what lurked beneath her surface. “Alright, I’ll agree to that.”

“Splendid.” Villain clapped her hands together.

Together, they began to clean up the mess of Superhero’s body.

It was a horribly wrong path to go down, the entire thing from keeping someone like Hero alive to going on a date with someone she knew was going to stab her, but at the same time, it felt so right. Villain was hooked, and she began to suspect that Hero was equally hooked by the time she brought out her knife.