#executioners are the worst

[goblinrockcandy]

'stuck doodles

[renthebarbarian]

[shakes you by your shoulders] “let them eat cake” was never said by marie antoinette, it was a quote from jean-jacques rousseau attributing it to a nameless princess; marie was 9 when he wrote this and she’d never stepped foot in france at the time, you must stop perpetuating this myth

[lockedtowers]

in true cat fashion, cassie getting declared as evil basically for existing when shes NOT done half the shit her dad has is truly funny. girlies 4’11”, she’ll eat raw fish, she just wants affection and attention, and though she can kill you a thousand ways without a thought she doesn’t just jump into doing that unless she’s actively being threatened or something she cares abt is. a tiny apex predator that does NOT get it

[newvegascowboy]

Talked to a ghost had a trial went on a date. Only real dnd experiences.

[blacktailmon-uver]

Gonna wait until ghost game ends but I’m gonna do a favourite and least favourite ghost game episode poll

[gremlingottoosilly]

Horsin' around (Centaurus!Konig x fem!Reader)

Konig is exiled from his people. You are exiled from yours. Together, you make about 6 legs and a perfect pair. Tags and CW: Size kink (duh), Centaurus!Konig(horse cocks), Konig is awkward, slight dub-con, power imbalance, belly bulge, praise kink, monster fucking. Thanks @kneelingshadowsalome for the prompt! AO3| Word count: 3016

Centaurus are not wild animals. You keep repeating it to yourself as you come deeper and deeper into the forest. You keep mumbling it to yourself as you feel the eyes watching you. judging you. Centaurus are not wild animals even if sometimes they behave like one. Not like you’re any different, any better – you’re a human, invading the sacred forests. You’re a human who is dumb enough to go foraging into the depths of their territory. Centaurus are not wild animals, but you don’t feel that repeating the same sentence over and over makes it sound any more convincing. You feel the danger in the air – with each step you take, with each fallen tree you’re stepping over. With every attempt to simply run ending up not working, you know you got lost. Long abandoned the basket you came with – you don’t recognize a single berry that grows here, not a mushroom or even some edible plant pieces to be found. This place is devoid of animals, of flowers – like something just snatched it all away. Ate it all, maybe. You don’t want to think what kind of creature could cause a migration like this. You don’t need to think though. Because the creature finds you first. 

You yelp in a mix of surprise and horror when the arrow flies right in front of you, the skill of the archer is high enough to make the arrow cut down a few bits of hair in front of your eyes. If you were a mere millimeter closer, you’d be dead. If he wanted you dead, you’d be dead. This much is obvious. You freeze in place, not daring to move an inch when you hear it. Loud, not even bothering to conceal the sound of it – the creature was confident enough that the prey wouldn’t run. Not the creature, you correct yourself immediately. Centaurs are not animals, they are closer to humans than a lot of other monster types – with their strength and warrior culture, you’d say that they are even more humans than citizens of the village who forced you out. 

The centaur doesn’t even bother to hide himself from you, concealing the sounds of heavy hooves on the ground or evading the branches that crunched against his body. This is exactly what made you surprised when you understood that instead of a rough, but mostly handsome face that most centaurus tend to have, you’re met with a black hood which only spared two holes for the icy-blue eyes staring back at you. 

Is he a grim reaper? An executioner for other centaurus? Would that mean you don’t have to worry unless your lower part resembles a horse? 

You take a quick look at your bottom half. Not a horse. 

Centaur reapers the gesture, looking at his bottom half too. Definitely a horse. 

You decide to speak first, hoping to find words that would work just fine to be your last. 

— I am really sorry for intru…

— This is not the sacrifice season yet. 

Ah, well. 

The people from your village believe the centaurs to be sacred – despite them being monsters they knew a lot about, they were still given sacrifices. Food, some farm animals, especially fatty pieces of meat, and fancy jewels along with some weapons. Centaurus kept the worst predators at bay, herding the wolves to be their pets and sometimes driving deer and rabbits away to the village. They kept you protected from werewolves and orcs – with a meager payment of never touching the sacred grounds. 

You just stepped into the deepest, most protected part of the forest. You wonder if you would deserve a peaceful death. 

— It’s not. I…I made a mistake. 

No, you wanted to be here. When the village decided to drive you out, you thought that foraging in the part of the forest, untouched by humans, would be the most profitable thing. Centaurus won’t take berries anyway, right? But they might just take your life. 

— A mistake? 

He tilts his hooded head to the side. It’s such a boyish expression, that you almost let go of a nervous giggle. Perhaps, you were going crazy…but the centaur seemed a bit nervous. As seasoned as he looked – with battle scars covering his body and a bit of silver mixed with his ginger fur on the horse part – he seemed almost awkward standing here. Tapping one of his hooved legs like a nervous child. Squeezing the bow in his hands with vigor that made you scared he will just snap it in half. 

— I just wanted to take some food. 

— Is there a hunger? 

— No. 

— Humans aren’t allowed in these parts. Why would you go if not out of despair? 

You gulp. 

— I…am not allowed back. 

— Why? 

Because you’re a forest witch who will doom them all, according to the village of a horse people worshippers. Because you’re a monster in disguise who keeps straling babies, according to the village that uses the best pieces of food to feed the horse people who can take of themselves just fine, instead of feeding it to the orphaned children. Because you’re a whore who refuses to accept the new type of sacrifices – the virgins of the village as a breeding material for the Centaurus, according to the village filled with people who would gladly push a poor virgin out in the forest once she turned of age, so she could be mauled by horse people. 

— We had…mutual disagreement. 

You stare at the mighty body of the centaur. You fight the urge to get your hands down his torso, play with its short hairs, and…you were always a bit of a horse girl. Wondering if he is strong enough to lift you up and get you somewhere safe, somewhere far far away from here. 

Centaur has this weird, almost boyish tone. Deep and yet, sounds just a bit deranged. Unhinged. Like he is going to maul you any second – and judging by the bow and arrow still in his hands, he might not be wrong. You lick your lips. He stares at them – or at least you think he is. Hood only reveals his eyes and you can already get lost in them. Cold, like the northern sea, Like the snow outside. You thought all mythical creatures were supposed to be warm-blooded. 

— You’re exiled then. 

He isn’t asking. Centaurus are omnipotent and wise, they should know about human affairs more than humans themselves. You made them into sort of gods – you shouldn’t be surprised that this guy knows way more than he should. Somehow, you still feel safer around him than other humans – and maybe, it’s more of a you problem. Maybe, you ended up eating some of the weird berries and it’s just your hallucinations before you die. 

— I am. 

He takes a step back. He is big – all of them are, you suppose, but, somehow, he is bigger than he should be. Giant, muscular torso on top of an already muscular and big horse part – he can pick you up, throw you, and break you with one finger, probably. No, definitely. You don’t want to give him a reason to, so you just stay in place. Hoping he wouldn’t deem your trespassing as a matter worthy of a torturous death. 

— My name is König, human. Repeat, ja? 

The name feels weird on your tongue. Rude, sharp. You don’t want to call him wrong and receive his wrath, so you try your best to repeat this. 

— Ko-nig. Ja? 

You tilt your head to the side, a curious little bird. Centaur – König, König, König – squints his eyes like he is smiling. You made the god smile. The horse god. The horseman. Just…man. If you don’t look down, where you already see something giant and heavy standing between his horse legs, you could forget that he isn’t a man at all. 

Suddenly, you feel light. Suddenly, you feel your legs dangling in the air as you were picked up and bumped into the broad chest. Suddenly, you feel hands everywhere. On your ass, under it, touching your chest, your stomach, trying to get to the best position so you would stop moving constantly and trying to get out. You don’t want to fight him because you’re already in the air and falling right now could result in a broken neck – but you don’t want to be suspended in the air either. You whimper, pathetic sound escaping your lips as you feel calloused hands pressing on your mound. Traveling down your stomach and touching, squeezing, petting your delicate parts. 

You spend so much time without a gentle hand or a soft touch, you can feel yourself dripping on the fingers of a centaur. Embarrassing, yes – but you know that if he were to proceed, you wouldn’t really resist. 

And oh, he proceeds. 

— They finally send us proper sacrifices. 

He mumbles it into your hair, taking in your smell. You’re nice for a human – not scared of him too much, not trying to ran away or fight. Humans are usually just annoying insects under his hooves, but König can feel your face growing on him. Your body, too. Too weird for other Centaurus, never being able to find a proper mate who could take his lack of social awareness, he found himself mounting a human. His tribe would call him pathetic. His tribe would laugh. 

Then again, he is the first to get such a delicate little gift. Who is laughing now? 

You aren’t crying in his hands, and he is a bit surprised. You smell like a proper mate, like a good bitch in heat just for him – yet, you’re not falling on your knees to present your dripping cunt. You’re just trying to whimper to ask him to be gentler, and he is happy to oblige. Calm enough to listen to you. Ripping your pants apart because this is such a useless piece of clothing – concealing your rich smell from him. 

König doesn’t waste any time when he dips his finger across your swollen folds. Playing with the slick running down his wrist, smiling as you are closing your eyes and pressing your head in his chest. He is strong enough to keep you suspended in the air without a care in the world. Weak human, he would have to spend so much time preparing you for him – taking his cock would be a task no sacrifice ever competed before. 

König stares at your dripping pussy that is already clenching around nothing just because his fingers are pressing on the hood of your little clit, and he knows you’d be the perfect wife for him. Taking him properly as his mate, moaning as his cum fills you up. he can’t wait – knows that he should, preparing you properly. His hooves are beating the ground in impatience as his fingers slide in and out of your pussy. You spread your legs, moaning louder. Such a filthy whore for him. 

— Relax, human. Be a good mate. 

— This isn’t what I wa…

— Quiet. Such a good…good girl, Schatz. Will bring me strong children. 

— We can’t have sex. It’s im…impossible.

You whimper, trying to squeeze your legs, to shut his hand. You only moan louder, knowing that you would accept everything he gives you, and ask for more. 

You don’t want to imagine his cock entering you over and over, forcing its way past your walls and making you round and soft with his children. It’s a foreign concept – centaurus shouldn’t mate with humans, it should be physically impossible. Yet, you almost want to try. A breeding mare, made for one and only. 

König gets you on…something. It isn’t exactly a natural thing – a pile of stones and trees, perfect height for you to lay your back on, with some soft leaves and animal skins to rest comfortably. His hands support you on the perfect height and you immediately know what he construction is. A mating stand. Probably for other centaurus – but you feel almost fine laying on it too. Almost normal. Your muscles sting as you try to rest your legs and then spread them wide enough for König to stay between them. He is a big guy, after all. He turns you around, on your tummy. Ass in the air, you don’t like not seeing him. The heavy musk fills your nostrils, making you suddenly aware of what is about to happen – you’re wet, spread enough on his fingers, calloused fingertips scrubbing your gummy walls from the inside. He is fingering you with ease, but it doesn’t feel like a man with experience – he is touching and probing like he doesn’t know what he is doing and, honestly, you kinda like it. He is exploring your body with his and you moan, not caring that you sound like a whore. Humans have already abandoned you as part of society – you might as well just take it. — I will prepare you. 

— It won’t fit… — It will, Schatzen. You’ll get used to it. — What if I break? 

— I will be careful. Trust me, ja?

Even his fingers are a bit much when he enters your body with a third digit. One, two, three – you are about to burst when he is massaging your G-spot, when he is smiling in your hair and gets you so aroused just on it alone. You’re about to cum when he slowly extracts his fingers, deeming your sloppy cunt as explored enough. Your walls are clenching around nothing, a beautiful display of desire – maybe, it was the right call that humanity abandoned you. König looks at the perfect centraius whore on display and he can’t wait to claim you. To make you his. 

He is exiled from other centaurus. 

You are exiled from humans. 

What a beautiful fucking pair. 

He enters your body slowly deliberately. Regrets it immediately – you are wonderful. Too perfect to be this slow, being soft with you is torture. Your walls accept him with a stretch, like a warm glove around his cock. Slowly shifting, softening, straddling his cock with each inch he buries in the depth of your warm, weeping cunt. He can’t touch you, as unfortunate as this is – dumb horse body is making it impossible, even looking at you is hard enough on his neck. He wants to mount you properly, but you’re simply too fucking small. Wants to touch your hair, to whisper some encouragement that human women would probably love to hear – but he can only breath heavily and enter you, one painful centimeter after the other. 

— T…too much, too much, please, I can’t, it’s… You whimper, you cry, it breaks his damned heart because you don’t deserve this. You need to be treated with care, with softness and yet, he can’t give you that. He wants so much to just put you in his arms and hug you, but that would be impossible. König will give you all the coddling in the world after you’re done. After he is sure that you received all the possible breeding and seed he could gave you. 

— Quiet, human. It would be nice soon. 

— It’s not…

— Touch yourself, please, bitte. I can’t…can’t touch you. But you will feel better. 

Your hand goes between your legs, playing with yourself. Spreading your folds around his cock even more, fingers sliding past your clit. Touching the little button and hoping it would be enough to make you aroused – and it is. Your cunt is a mess of your own juices mixed with König’s pre cum, and you already know that you won’t be walking the next couple days. 

König bottoms with a deep sigh, and you feel him in your stomach. Bulging with his giant cockhead, making the outline of his cock visible – you touch it with shock, not understanding how your organs are even in place. 

He starts moving and you finally feel it – the burning pleasure setting fire in the pit of your stomach. the excess liquid pouring from your damp cunt, moans spreading from your lips. You never felt this way with a human before – then again, no human cock would ever be able to compete with König. He can reach the parts of your body that you never knew existed, and the mix of pheromones and musk is making you dizzy. Light-headed. You don’t even need to touch yourself more to feel the height of your orgasm, building in as rapidly as König’s thrusts. 

In, forcing its way to hit your cervix gently, massaging the sore spots of your tight pussy. 

Out, grazing over your inner walls, touching all the buttons. 

In again, filling you up with his pre-cum. Moaning loud enough for the whole forest to hear. 

Out, dragging you back with him, as you’re still impaled on his cock. 

— S…so perfect for me. Scheisse, so pretty… He can’t touch you and it breaks his heart. König goes to praise you instead – words feel awkward on his tongue, but he knows you need to heart it. He wants you to hear it, wants you to fee wanted, entitled. Soft. He smiles when you whimper and moan, milking him for his orgasm. Your cunt is made for him and he wants to spend every waking moment buried inside of it. Gods, you are a perfect sacrifice. 

He is coming embarrassingly fast, pumping his giant cock even deeper into your pussy. Filling you up with hot cum that can’t even stay inside of your cunt. Leaking everywhere, you two are making a mess – you breath heavily, not understanding what is right and wrong anymore. Only knowing, remembering the shape of his cock. Pushing in and out, forcing its way in. God, you feel full. And ridiculous. And so, so perfect with his cock slowly starting to pump you again. And again. Konig came embarrassingly fast, but only because this is just the first orgasm in a row. Forcing its way inside, you are overstimulated already – but you will take him, of course, obviously. You have to.

König is going to enjoy breeding a new clan out of you. 

[tsukimefuku]

blunt trauma ♰ nanami kento

summary: your mission is to execute a curse user. the issue? said curse user is nanami kento, your former high school classmate and the man who you still secretly love.

tags and cw: dark content, no use of y/n, sorcerer!f!reader, villain!nanami, +18, explicit smut (mostly rough with tender moments hate/love sex), unprotected sex (wrap it, ppl), masturbation, oral (f receiving), pv, from enemies to enemies who fucked 👍, drama and angst (i’m a latina who grew up watching telenovelas), mentions of death, canon-typical violence, ptsd, cursing, hurt/no comfort, this man is saltier than the sea and turned it into everybody else's problem. 

wc: 7.5k

notes etc.: somehow it became a character study. this is my rendition of what i think gege would make nanami to be like if they followed their original plan and had nanami be a villain. inspo list is so huge i had to make a playlist, i got carried away.

writing/reading soundtrack: playlist link ; main songs → way down we go (kaleo) and daylight (david kushner).

disclaimer: i do not in any way approve of (or encourage) the relationship depicted here. it is toxic and bad for all parties involved. this is fictional and should stay that way.

oh, father, tell me ♰ do we get what we deserve?

It felt like the air had been beaten out of your lungs by the very one and only blunt blade you ever knew when you heard the news from Gojo.

Of course the first thing he did when he finished wrapping things up was calling you. If roles were reversed, and this had been Geto, he wouldn't expect any less from you.

During the School's Exchange Event, Jujutsu High was attacked by multiple high grade curses and curse users.

One of them was your former best friend from high school, Nanami Kento. 

"Are you certain it was him?"

"Absolutely," Gojo replied on the other side of the line, "there were traces of cursed energy from his cursed technique. He was also spotted by one of MeiMei's ravens."

"And how many students did he…"

"Two students from Kyoto."

Your head instantly felt dizzy.

"He also killed around a dozen assistants and people securing cursed objects underground."

"Shit… shit," you muttered, forgetting for a few seconds what words were and how to form a coherent sentence. Following suit, your stomach dropped with a sinking ache the moment you made the obvious realization, uttering the most painful thing you had to say in your life — even worse than he's gone, so many years before.

 "This will earn him a death sentence, won't it?"

Gojo was silent for a few moments.

"Hey…"

"Tell me. I can take it."

After a bated breath — from your end, mostly — he confirmed your worst fears.

"Yes. It will."

Ever since Geto's and Nanami's defection, you and Gojo had a special type of shared sorrow over each other's failures to save the people you both loved the most. Call it trauma bonding or codependency, but you developed an unwavering sense of loyalty towards one another.

For that reason, he already knew what you were about to ask him, and you only would because you knew he wouldn't find it in himself to refuse it.

"When it happens, please, have me be appointed as the executioner."

"Of course."

Sitting with a glass of whiskey while gazing out of the window in an understated house just by the outskirts of Sendai, Nanami couldn't say he was fulfilled, unable to grasp the concept of feeling in any way elated ever since his teenage years. However, he was definitely satisfied that this plan had worked.

He managed to put a dent into Jujutsu Society, aiding Geto — or, at least, someone that looked like him, not that Nanami truly cared about it by this point — in retrieving multiple cursed objects that would be used for their inevitable fallout.

There had been a few casualties, though.

Two students and many personnel died — or rather, met their fateful end by the edge of his blunt blade —, but some deaths should be expected if Jujutsu Society was to be brought to the ground, down to its last brick.

Ever since that fateful day when he was nothing but a tall child sitting beside the cold corpse of his best friend, Yu Haibara, Nanami had simmered what would become a cauldron of absolute venom-dripping rage against Jujutsu Society.

To hell with saving other people — what about them? What about the teenager that would never grow to be a sorcerer, who became an inanimate nothing before ever getting the chance of making something out of himself? 

That face… Nanami could never forget it. It haunted his dreams, even a decade later. Such a stark contrast between the light-spirited smiles and this cold, gray monolith that laid in the morgue.

They had no right to rob their students from their youth, much less from their lives, but that's exactly what Jujutsu High did when they didn't even bother to check the mission appropriately before dispatching Haibara and Nanami to a certain death.

Nanami escaped, but just barely, by the skin of his teeth. Haibara, however, wasn't blessed with the same luck, and drew the short straw when his hitched final breaths met their end against Nanami's shoulder. Nanami, who carried his best friend on his back, desperately tried to win a losing race against death. 

Help was late to arrive.

They were too late for Haibara.

And, in a sense, they were too late for him, too.

The worst part, though, was when they were finally being transported all the way back to Jujutsu High. As he glanced over Haibara’s cadaver, now covered by a body bag, one particularly insensitive assistant very rudely stated, “at least there is a body to be buried.”

At least

There is a body 

To be buried

Those words echoed in his head for what felt like eternity. Was that the best they all had to hope for? To at least have remains left behind for the mourning?

In any case, that was why, even though he had to kill, Nanami never mangled any of his human victims — something not easy to do, given how his technique worked and how easy it was to split someone in half.

You had noticed this perverted benevolence while looking over the necropsy reports, a realization that just added insult to injury.

Let there be something for the funeral, I suppose, was what he told himself.

In his own twisted way, Nanami figured this was a kindness very few sorcerers received at their tragic ends, and decided he'd definitely be more compassionate than what Jujutsu High put their sorcerers through. 

In his eyes, those from Jujutsu High who died under his will were the ones granted a truly merciful death.

His peace was disturbed by the sound of the entrance door being brutally kicked in, flying its way across the living room. He pulled his blunt blade from the side of his armchair with his free hand, but quickly put it down when realizing it was you that had just barged inside.

He knew you very well — well enough to be certain you wouldn't come swinging at him immediately.

"I can see you still have a temper. Destroying the door wasn’t necessary, I would've opened it for you," he stated, sipping on his drink.

"I don't care," you retorted, "I guess you already know why I'm here, in any case."

"I do. You're here to carry out my death sentence," he stated, completely unbothered, as if talking about the weather.

As if he was just mundanely stuck in his ways. 

You huffed, placing your hand over your sword's handle.

"Precisely."

"We haven't spoken in a long time, why don't you take a seat?" Nanami inquired, pointing at the armchair right in front of him. "I want to finish my drink."

You glared at the curse user, as he, unfazed, kept gulping on his whiskey. Nanami was wearing a black buttoned shirt, black pants and black oxford shoes, and you couldn't help but see him as a grim reaper — this was a somber look, fitting for the equally somber man who carried it.

For a second, you took in his features — you hadn’t seen Nanami for a few years after the last time you crossed paths.

His shoulders had slightly broadened, and he still bore the same chiseled face, framed by his sand-blond hair neatly slicked back.

Nanami’s eyes traveled over you quickly, apparently doing the very same thing.

Time had left its marks. It was evident you both had grown up — and apart.

You knew this was a shit idea, but entertained it enough that you actually walked towards the chair and sat down. There were definitely things to be talked about, and you just about had a million questions for him.

Most of them, however, boiled down to what you immediately asked.

"Why did you do it?"

Nanami put his glass on the coffee table right in front of you.

"It was a necessary means to an end."

His words came with frost-bitten coldness, his voice embodying the monotone you once loved, but eventually, grew to hate.

You scoffed, incredulous at his reply, involuntarily clenching your fingers around your katana's handle as it laid on your lap.

"Necessary means to an end? Nanami, you killed teenage sorcerers!"

"As I said, and I don't like repeating myself," he interjected, "it was a necessary sacrifice for a greater cause."

"You're such a hypocritical, self-righteous ass!"

Nanami sighed, clearly displeased.

"We have always been able to keep some semblance of respect for each other, despite our… differences. Do not use that foul language with me."

You laughed bitterly, no amusement or fun in your voice as you did.

"Do you think I can still have an ounce of respect for you after what you did? You murdered my people! They were all sorcerers. You killed students, Nanami! Jujutsu High's students! Just like Haibara once was!"

He shot his eyes at you, and the aura of his cursed energy grew sinister at your words. 

"Don't say his name."

Yu Haibara, arguably the glue that kept the trio together. You were hot headed, Nanami was intransigent, and Yu was the conciliatory ray of sunshine that kept you two — but you, particularly — from constant quarreling as classmates nearly every day.

But back then, you'd argue with Nanami with love.

This wasn't the case now.

Not entirely, at least.

"He was my best friend too, the three of us were! Do you really think this is what he would've wanted?!" you questioned him, equal parts hurt and enraged.

"I'm not one to ponder on could've or would've been's. Haibara is gone."

"I'm not a would've been!"

You could still remember it. The day you realized why dealing with Nanami and hearing his sharp comebacks riled you up so intensely. 

You finally understood you were in love with him.

Ever since the first day you met Nanami, you envied the way he'd be able to keep his feelings in check when you constantly felt like falling apart. You felt jealous at how he was considered a greatly competent individual, regarded by all as the best of your class, while you were basically viewed as a ticking bomb nearing explosion. And finally, it made you livid the way how everyone treated him like the informal leader of the trio when the three of you were out on a mission together.

However, those were the same things that got you to admire your friend and, eventually, fall in love for him.

That day, you asked Nanami to meet you outside after class by himself — much to Haibara's dismay —, because you had something to tell him. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and the unforgiving sun of summer was already setting, casting an orange glow through the leaves of the tree you were both under.

After confessing your feelings for him and bracing yourself for being shot down, because why the hell would Nanami Kento, the brilliant, competent, and mature second-year, have any interest in the chaotic, hot headed mess you were, you realized he actually looked surprised. After taking a few moments to collect himself, Nanami told you how he had thought you actually hated him.

At last, somewhat nervous — but definitely intent on not letting it show —, he confided he had affectionate feelings towards you as well.

Your first kiss was awkward, as it would be expected out of two inexperienced people such as you and Nanami were at that age, but it carried the sweet taste of a blue spring marked by teenage years' innocence.

It felt like a promise.

Unfortunately, such promise was unmercifully cut short the very next day, when Nanami and Haibara were dispatched to their life-changing mission.

What an irony it was that, in the end, you were the one to actually mature over Haibara's death, growing up to be an upstanding sorcerer, loved and admired by peers and students alike, and Nanami was the bomb to blow up in everybody's faces.

What a cruel irony.

"I was there too, and I'm still here, having to pick up the pieces of what you deliberately destroyed!" you rasped, angrily.

"You weren't a 'would've been'? Where were you when we needed you? When I needed you?" his voice didn't conceal the tinge of hurt that those questions carried.

What a fucking low blow.

"Nanami, that's not fair. There wasn't anything I could've done in that situation, and you know that!"

You blamed yourself for a while for not going on that mission with them, until you realized that you too would probably have died if you were there. From the three, Nanami was the only one strong and fast enough to pull off an escape like he did.

He diverted his gaze back to the window.

"You were the one to bring up hypothetical scenarios. Let's indulge in them for a minute, shall we?" 

Nanami glanced back at you, and his next words brimmed with bitter resentment, even if his voice sounded more calm and collected than ever.

"You see someone you supposedly love slowly sinking into darkness. What do you do?"

"Don't you dare, you condescending prick! I asked you so many fucking times what was going on. You were the one who shut me out!"

Your voice carried a decade-old pain that resonated from the depths of your soul.

It came from all the times you entered his dorm room with his favorite sandwich after he had cooped up in there for days on end, and he didn't even bother to eat it. Every time you asked him to talk to you, said you were there for him, and was met by a vacant stare.

And, at last, the time when he cruelly blamed you for not being there when Haibara died.

The way he coldly told you about Haibara's last words.

According to Nanami, Haibara said he wanted to speak to you one last time, at least to bid you farewell.

And you weren't there.

Oh, the viciousness with which he blamed you, and decided you owed him something for this perceived failure. 

The next time Nanami talked to you, he asked you to leave Jujutsu High with him, just like Geto did, and swore to destroy them. You tried, pleaded, implored for him to reconsider and stay, but the very following day, you were met by an empty room where the person you once loved used to be. 

That emptiness had, paradoxically, filled you wholly with grief.

Gojo once told you that nobody could save someone who didn't want to be saved.

You still thought you should've tried harder, in a childish attempt at giving yourself an illusory semblance of control over that clusterfuck of a situation.

This is the gap inside our psyche that feeling guilty tries to fill, isn't it?

We can only feel guilty about the things we could've changed, right?

Your voice sounded decades older than yourself, burdening the weight of multiple lifetimes of hurt and grief. Your soul was too old for your own good.

"How can you find it in yourself to blame me for this?! No… This is a prison of your own making. You built the house of cards that is tumbling down on your head as we speak entirely by yourself."

He huffed intensely through his nostrils — Nanami’s version of a snort —, looking the other way before proceeding, each syllable hitting you with the deadly precision of his cursed technique.

"You abandoned us, leaving me and Haibara to fend for ourselves, just like Jujutsu Society did."

By that point, you began yelling, and your voice reverberated all across the room.

"The hell I did!"

You had to take a deep breath before proceeding.

"I just couldn't get behind this dumb idea that we should become curse users and bring down Jujutsu Society."

"Why didn't you come with me?" he finally asked, in an amalgam of pain, sadness, longing, anger, and stinging resentment. "I would have followed you to the deepest recesses of hell if you asked me to."

You huffed, laughing angrily in between your teeth, before thrusting your words like thorns against him.

"Funny you should say that. You'd go anywhere for me? How about staying? Why couldn't you have stayed for me, then?!" 

Perhaps that request was egotistical, but you didn't care. If only for a moment, you wanted to give yourself this small privilege — to want in a world of duty.

"I was the one actually left to fend for myself, right inside the belly of the beast, and you couldn't have cared less."

He stared at you, nothing in his eyes other than the void left behind after his spirit got killed with his best friend so many years ago.

"I didn't stay because… Because," Nanami stated, with a grave finality, "and you're the one who chose to stay. You're still actively choosing to, just like you did back then."

"That's not a good enough answer," you replied with a bad taste in your mouth.

"It's what you've earned," he coldly replied, "but in case you change your mind-"

"Enough," you interrupted him, incredulous that even after everything, this man had the nerve of suggesting you'd ever be interested in running away with him. "It appalls me you would even consider I could… After what you've done? No, never."

Nanami sighed, and for a brief moment, seemed to be actually disappointed under his resigned, polished visage.

"Well, then. Let's get this over with, at once."

In a split second, you pushed your chair on the ground, falling on your shoulders and rolling on your back, dodging his lightning-fast attack. It left a crater behind, right where you were seconds before. Nanami jumped over the fallen armchair, and you dodged him once again, spinning on your heels, unsheathing your sword as you did so, to deal a beheading blow on the back of his neck.

However, right before impact, you faltered, slowing down your movement.

Your own body held you back from taking his life.

He didn't seem to notice.

Nanami bent down just in time to avoid the blow, and swung his blunt blade towards your kneecap. You were quick on your feet, and jumped back, putting a good distance between the both of you.

"I can see you're actually fighting to kill," he noted, getting up on his feet.

"Of course. That's what I came here to do," you spat in his direction.

"You were never the practical one."

You scoffed.

"Guess I learned something from you."

He smiled at the irony of that, but his eyes didn't follow his expression. 

Nanami lunged at you, but while you thought he'd deal his next blow in your direction, he hit your footing, having you fall on the ground. Abruptly, his blunt blade descended in your direction, but you were able to catch it and have it slip to your side using your katana supported by your hand behind it, sending a sharp, loud sound around the vicinity, trembling against the bones and flesh of the house.

You rolled on your side when he struck a new hit in your direction, leaving another gaping hole on the floor, and you jumped yourself up. 

Before you could attack him, however, he took you by surprise, and you lifted your sword to defend yourself. Nanami hit your katana with his blunt blade, breaking it near where the handle and the steel met, launching your body back on the wall.

The impact knocked the air out of your lungs, and you fell to your knees, unable to recover yourself as you got up. Instantly, you heard his quick, steady steps sprinting their way in your direction.

You were cornered.

This is it.

You braced yourself for the impact, closing your eyes. You remembered his technique perfectly.

Precise, just as he was.

Deadly, just as he was, too.

You were to die at the hands of the man you loved, who had become a murderer and only a distorted, broken version of whom you used to truly love.

This seemed like an oddly cruel way to go.

However, the impact never came.

His blunt blade stopped as it was about to hit your stomach, and you opened your eyes, just to see his face mere inches apart from yours. His mountainous form blocked your view from anything else behind him, and Nanami, at that moment, actually looked like the menace he truly was. 

“Why were you appointed as my executioner?” Nanami asked, much to your surprise.

“I asked to be,” you answered, holding his gaze as something went through his eyes. A hint of anger, most likely, and some sense of betrayal, certainly. 

“So, you want to kill someone you once loved? You were always prone to self-penitence, so it stands to reason you’d do something idiotic like that.”

You scoffed, grimacing at him, feeling your entire body incandescent with rage.

“I fucking hate you, Nanami.” 

He inched his face even closer, brushing your noses against one another, eyes stone-cold and hauntingly vacant.

“I hate you as well.”

For a moment, you wondered if he had really stopped his blade before impact. You didn't expect it, but hearing those words felt like you just had been hit, victim of a blunt trauma, at how much they tore you apart. 

The same blunt trauma that severed the Nanami you once knew — the teenager with bangs, who'd always be carrying around a few spare changes to get soda cans from the vending machine for you and Haibara, in his own understated kindness — and this empty monster looking back at you.

"Good. Finish me off, then, and get your revenge for a crime I never committed. Being unfair and an all-around self-centered asshole certainly suits you, fucker."

His hand made its way up your neck, and you were pressed against the wall. The grip was firm, but not enough to choke you — it came more as a warning than anything else.

"I already told you to stop using that foul language with me," he ordered, low voice simmering with genuine irritation.

"Then make me," you challenged him, hoping for this torture to be over as fast as possible.

Just fucking kill me already.

His blunt blade fell with a thud on the floor, and you were confused for a moment, wondering if he really wouldn't give you the kindness of a quick demise. Did he plan on choking you to death?

Did he hate you that much?

His other hand came up, but before you could do anything to try to resist — which would be nothing but a futile attempt at survival, given that Nanami was physically much stronger than you —, his fingers snaked their way through the back of your hair, tugging it at the roots. 

His mouth clashed against yours, all teeth, tongue, anger, and hunger, and instantly every nerve in your body flared up with a raging fiery ember you hadn't felt in years. All the pent-up resentment, hurt, and desire you had for Nanami swirled together in your gut, guiding your hands up his hair, as you also pulled on it intently, robbing him of a gasp.

You intertwined your tongue against his, and he unceremoniously bullied his own inside your mouth, leaving no crevice unexplored, as his hand on your neck descended towards your waist, where he clenched his fingers with a vicious grip. You whimpered against his lips, and he grunted in return, pushing his body on yours. His throbbing growing cock could be felt, even through both of your clothes, as he pressed it right against the edge of your pants.

When you finally parted after what seemed like a not-long-enough eternity, you huffed and panted, and albeit less than you, he was panting too.

"I fucking… hate you…" you gnarled, glaring into his eyes. The hazel-brown gaze you once adored was now clouded and dark, like the muddy waters of a deep lake.

"Shut the fuck up," Nanami groaned back, strongly cupping your cunt with his large hand. You whimpered in surprise, and he pulled you in harshly for another kiss, letting go of your hair and sex to sink his fingers on the backside of your thighs, pulling them. You immediately jumped up and threw your arms around his shoulders, as he manhandled your legs to have them hooked around him.

He quickly took you both inside the room, and tossed you on the bed, having you gasping in surprise. Before you could catch your breath, he climbed his way on top of you, pressing your body down, and clashed his mouth against yours again, making you actually lightheaded from a lack of air.

You pushed against his chest, grunting uneasy, and surprisingly, he parted his lips from yours.

"What?"

You panted heavily, nearly hyperventilating, and mindlessly rested your hand on his cheek.

"C-can't breathe…" was all you mustered up to say, trying to replenish oxygen back into your system.

His eyes softened so discreetly you nearly missed it, and his cold-ivory enclosure slightly cracked under the affectionate touch he didn't expect.

Nanami had no idea how much he had craved it ever since you parted ways, and hated himself, just a little, for how much such an innocuous gesture stirred his old feelings up, throwing his heart against his chest in a fluttering rush.

I should be over her by now, dammit.

Nanami also brought his hand up your face, and ghosted over your cheek for a second before sliding his fingers delicately down over it.

You also weren't prepared for that, and your chest tightened all over your heavy heart as you remembered your first kiss.

The way he'd cup your face in his hands.

 So delicate, so lovely.

This touch, at this very moment, felt like a painful reminder of everything you had lost.

"Kento…" you cooed, voice strained in your throat, with all the things you were sure you'd never say.

He hummed your name in return, and kissed you while sinking your body against the mattress. This kiss was different, as his lips brushed gently over yours, and his tongue tenderly teased over the seam of your mouth. You welcomed him in, and you both explored these deep waters tentatively, as he upped the intensity after each stroke of your tongues against each other.

He tasted like whiskey, and bread, and the tainted love left behind as nothing but a reminiscence of less grueling days. You couldn't help but feel robbed by him.

You both had been missing out on this for all these fucking years.

"Why did you have to go?" you asked, pulling back from him, a tinge of anger to your cadence, and another of pain in your face.

"Why did you have to stay?" he spat back at you, equal parts saddened and resentful.

His mouth made its way to your neck, and you gasped with the sensation of his warm breath mingled with saliva against your skin, as he licked and bit his way around.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to push him away, and your eyes burned with the prickling sensation of tears that wouldn’t come. You were starved for his touch, his smell, his body, even if this was the murderer of your students, of your friends.

In your head, you felt like digging a hole and throwing yourself in it, to wallow in the misery of realizing that you were about to fuck the murderer of people you loved, and that it felt good.

A pool of heat and fire shot down your insides as your heartbeats throbbed in between your legs.

You hated yourself, and on top of it all, hated Nanami. 

Hated that you couldn't help but still love him, even after all he had done.

This was the setting tension in between the both of you, the two extremes of hate and love pulling against each other, all while the tug of war rope refused to snap to either side.

He pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it aside, and you undid his shirt, unzipping his pants. He unzipped you too, and quickly enough, took off your pants along with your panties with a single sharp tug.

Back to rough, but not entirely, it seemed.

His hand glided against your thigh and his fingertips slipped over your entrance, getting completely glazed by your already dripping arousal. He grunted, a guttural and intense sound deep in his chest, giving you another bite on the soft skin of your neck.

"Hate me?" Nanami asked, teasing his digits over your cunt, "doesn't seem like it."

You managed to scoff at him, which would prove to be a mistake.

"Go fuck yours-"

Before you could finish your sentence, he dove two of his fingers inside knuckle-deep, without any hint of a warning, forcefully stretching your walls around them. You immediately let out a whimper so pitiful you wondered if that was really your voice.

He seemed satisfied at that. Perhaps, even elated.

"Good girl," Nanami whispered right beside your ear, nibbling against your earlobe with his teeth, sending shivers down your spine. He began sliding his fingers in and out, and you bucked down against his hand while moaning and mewling, walls sheathing his digits as he finger-fucked your cunt, neglecting your clit as punishment for calling him a condescending prick earlier.

His palm rucked against your dripping folds, echoing wet slaps all throughout the room, as your arousal kept pooling on his palm.

He mumbled softly against your skin, bringing his mouth up to brush against yours, "hate… you still love me."

You instantly drew one of your hands to slap him in the face for this hurtful teasing, but he had quick reflexes — quicker than yours. He dodged himself back as your hand hit the empty sheets, and edged his fingers to hit against your soft spot, pressing it so violently, you let out a strained cry from the shooting overstimulation pain.

"Ah- Shit!" you shouted, face all scrunched up.

"Can't you behave for once?" he chided, "why is it so hard for you to j-just-“ 

Nanami’s breath hitched in his throat as he grunted, unable to finish his sentence.

You shut him up the only way you could think — grabbing his cock harshly over his boxers. It was extremely effective, and he immediately humped his length against your hand, while lowly groaning.

With trembling hands and a violent snap, you haphazardly pulled his boxers down to his mid-thighs, as his fingers kept mercilessly bullying their way inside you, sending vibrating waves all throughout your body with every thrust.

“Stop… telling me… ah-aaah-“ you rolled your eyes back with a loud moan, struggling to keep a train of coherent thought, gnarling your next words,  “what to… ah- do!”

His cock sprang out, slapping against his belly. The tip was already flustered red, leaking with pre-cum, and had a long, prominent vein on the underside.

To punish him back for the roughness, you grabbed his length with one hand, and with the other, pressed the middle of your palm against his flushed tip, glistening his arousal around it with enough force to jump across the divide between intense pleasure and painful overstimulation.

Nanami cursed with a feral voice through his teeth, immediately biting the side muscles of your neck with no semblance of restraint, making sure to leave a purple remnant of pain etched on your skin.

“Ah- ouch! Fuck!” you spat out, tightening your grip around his cock, but weakened enough to release the tight pressure against his tip, letting him fuck into your hand. His hips bucked erratically, and his lips pressed a quick kiss right where he had previously bitten.

He couldn't help it.

Suddenly, Nanami stopped his rutting fingers to press his thumb against your already throbbing clit. That instantly had you seeing stars as you cursed loudly in between moans and grunts, drawing your free hand to his head, ferociously tugging at his hair, as heat pooled in your lower abdomen like fiery embers of coal.

He grabbed your arm, pulling it away from his shaft, and removed his fingers from your walls, having them clenching around nothing at such a sudden emptiness. You began complaining, only to have your voice cut short by his tongue slipping its way inside your mouth, in a sloppy, wet kiss. 

Parting from you, Nanami’s eyes were glassy, and you were absolutely sure your gaze must’ve looked just as hazy as his.

In a brief moment, before you realized it, he slid himself down, and unceremoniously lapped at your already sensitive clit with his warm tongue, hot breath tickling against your sensitive skin.

Both of your hands descended towards his hair, brushing over his golden and now messy locks more tenderly than you expected. Nanami suddenly shivered and moaned into your cunt, edging his tongue down your folds and back, eyes fluttering shut the moment he tasted you entirely.

He felt a tinge of pain clench at his chest, realizing this was the taste he had missed out on for all that time — your taste, which would surely ruin him forever.

Nanami’s pain, however, was quick to turn into outrage, as he began sucking on your clit relentlessly, eliciting the most animalistic sounds you had ever uttered.

You instinctively tried backing away, and he pulled on your thighs, holding them with such a violent force that his hand was sure to leave an engraving of his digits over your plush skin.

Nanami was intent on dragging this orgasm out of you by any means necessary.

You had never given him anything he wanted from you — be it the company to fight against Jujutsu High or the same unwavering loyalty he had for you. So this was something he’d take.

If you wouldn’t be by his side, then the least you could do was to cum for him so fervently, he’d be sure to ruin you just as much as he felt like you had ruined him. You owed him that, or so Nanami thought.

“Aaah-- Kento! S-slow d-… fuck!”

You came with a thunderous shout, jolting your hip forward as your thighs tightened with inhuman strength to the sides of his head. Nanami made sure to deliciously lick your way down from your high, applying such a precise and perfect pressure on your clit that you could’ve wept from sheer satisfaction.

After your legs went limp, he slowly climbed his way back to you, pressing kisses all over your body, leaving a ghost of heat wherever his mouth traveled. When Nanami finally reached your face, he put his forearms against your sides, hands over your shoulders, caging you in, as he pressed his mouth against yours in a slow kiss.

You were floating in a calm sea, salty waves caressing your body every time they passed through, and it felt cozy. Inviting, even. As he parted his lips from yours, Nanami gazed into your eyes in the way he used to.

For a second, you got catapulted into the past, and the orange sun that warmed your cheeks through the leaves as you kissed for the first time seemed to shine its rays over again.

With his arms around you, the nonsensical feeling of being protected washed over your heart.

“Come with me,” he whispered with a sultry, husky voice. 

“Kento…” you cooed, sighing, wanting nothing more than for this moment to extend for infinity.

But it couldn’t.

You didn’t go with him, so many years ago.

And wouldn’t go now, either.

That wasn’t how it worked for the both of you.

Nanami understood it, and what seemed like another crack against his unwavering walls had formed the moment his brows furrowed above his eyes.

“Fine, then,” he said, with a tinge of genuine hurt to his voice.

You parted your thighs to accommodate his hips, and he obliged, guiding his hand down to align his cock against your entrance. You bent and hooked your legs around him, pulling him in, and as the tip of his length got pressed against your dripping cunt, he gasped slightly over your lips.

Nanami sunk in slowly, going through your already relaxed ring. However, it apparently wasn’t relaxed enough, or perhaps he was just too big, because you could feel every inch of stretching his cock made against your walls as he slowly bottomed out inside your cunt.

His mouth fell open and you exhaled a moan into it, breaths mingling together. You two drank each other in. Nanami pressed his forehead against yours, and you both held each other’s gaze, as he pulled your left wrist above your head, holding it there, pushing you down the mattress by your waist with his other hand.

After a moment for you to take him in, Nanami began rolling his hips into you, while his hand kept bruisingly pressing your wrist against the mattress. You could feel his balancing act of trying to love you and wanting to hurt you at the same time.

You weren’t so different from him in that sense, though. Your nails got dragged down his back with abrasive force, and for a second, you considered drawing blood from him. He grunted, and you saw the spark of cold-hearted anger flash through his now dimmed eyes.

You both wanted to love each other just as much as you wanted to hurt each other.

In a more forgiving universe, perhaps, he’d hold your hand tenderly, intertwining his fingers in yours. Maybe you two would be in the kitchen as he showed you one of his favorite bread recipes, and share quiet moments of understanding companionship when remembering those who had left this world too soon.

But this wasn’t that universe, unfortunately.

He was to die, and you were to carry out his execution. 

Except you couldn’t, because even if you still tried to cling on to any sliver of morals, even if his life was something yours alone to take, the mere thought of a world without Nanami was far worse than the reality of a world in which he was a murderer.

You insisted on fighting a losing game, and much to no one’s surprise, you lost. 

Good riddance to me, I suppose.

His grunts came hitched and stuttered against your mouth as he was now rutting himself into you, biting your lower lip hard enough to almost pierce the skin with his teeth. You moaned loudly, dragged around with pain and pleasure, the combo that seemed to summarize the gist of your relationship.

He let go of your wrist and descended his hand without a warning towards your already overworked clit, glazing his thumb against the ring of arousal you were leaving around him before starting to make circles around your nub. Your moans came out cracked and faltering, as you tried to resist the instinctive urge of fleeing that the overstimulation was eliciting.

“Give me… one more,” Nanami groaned lowly against your cheek, planting multiple kisses down the side of your face and your chin. His hair — which had already fallen from its usual slick arrangement — brushed against your fluttering eyelids, momentarily weaving golden sand colors over your your vision, and you drove both your hands to the back of his head, pulling him in for another kiss. 

You could kiss him like this forever. 

You actually wanted to, at that moment.

To his request, you nodded, and this was probably the first time you acquiesced to any request Nanami had ever made to you. 

Fulfilled, his thrusts and his finger over your clit became increasingly erratic, as he was now moaning your name against your mouth. You pushed your tongue over his, sliding your hands up his head to tug at his roots, and that was all it took to tip him over the edge.

Nanami came with a muffled groan, having your tongue still pushed inside his mouth, and kept pumping himself inside you trying to keep the comedown at bay. His thick, white cum got glazed all over inside you, and the slaps of flesh and skin began sounding ever more wet than they already were.

You weren’t so far off, with your walls fluttering around him, and he noticed it, keeping his now trembling thumb pressed and circling intently over your clit. With one perfectly applied nudge on your sensitive bud, Nanami finally pulled you over the edge along with him.

Some tears began pooling on the edges of your lashes, and all your emotions — anger, sadness, grief, longing, and a particular brand of despair you cultivated during the last decade — came crashing down as he wrenched your second orgasm from you.

Your body convulsed under him, fluttering walls expelling his softening cock out, as you shouted and grunted into his mouth. You didn’t know if you were more furious at yourself for still loving him, at him for loving you, or at Jujutsu Society for jumbling you both like pawns to be tossed around until you two were broken beyond repair.

Angry at them for sending the young out to have their spirits crushed too soon. For all the deaths no one got to mourn because there was too much work, too little time, and the wounded were always left behind to fend for themselves.

Just like you were.

And just like Nanami was.

You sat at the edge of the bed while putting your shirt back on, and looked back at Nanami, who had his buttoned shirt open over his chest.

“Are you still resolute on your decision of not coming with me?” Nanami asked, with a tinge of eagerness. Or maybe it was just your imagination.

You pondered for a moment, and knew exactly what the answer to that question was.

“Yes. I’m not coming with you.”

For a second, you caught the faintest glimpse of the person he used to be. Something aching to genuine disappointment.

The longing that flashed through him, unfortunately, was quick to go, as he began buttoning his shirt down, averting his gaze elsewhere.

“Why?”

“Because I’d hate myself for the rest of my life if I did,” you stated, sighing before continuing, “and it’s not because I can’t kill you or because I love you that I don’t despise you. You crossed an uncrossable line.”

He pursed his lips, and almost felt regretful for the path he chose.

Almost, since regret now would come ten years too late.

“You can’t go back. They will know you let me go,” Nanami remarked. Be it from him or from looking around this house, Jujutsu High would surely hold you accountable for this — for willingly letting the curse user and murderer, Nanami Kento, escape their wrath.

“I know that,” you replied, a tad bit more defeated than you expected, “that’s why I’m fleeing to Hokkaido.”

He sighed and looked at you. You held his gaze, feeling a little hint of anxiety at what he seemed to be simmering under the surface.

With a warmer expression — or as warm as he could muster it up to be  —, Nanami spoke again. 

“I truly want you to come with me. You’d be safer. We’d… be by each other’s side.”

For a moment, you faltered, open lips with no sound coming out of them. Blinking yourself back to Earth, you asked, “you mean together?”

Nanami kept silent, but nodded, waiting for your response.

He wasn’t just asking for you to come with him, but to be with him.

You wanted to. You did. Something Nanami never knew was just how much you wanted to follow him when he asked you the same thing, so many years ago.

But even though you wholeheartedly loved him with every minute part of your being, your loyalty lied elsewhere.

Not with him, but with the people he had killed.

Well, at least that was the comfortable lie you were capable of living with.

It would destroy you to realize the loyalty you had for the murderer of the people you loved. 

In the end, even if you weren’t a teenager anymore, you were just as much a hostage to your feelings as you had always been.

The ticking took a long time, but the bomb eventually went off.

With a decade’s old delay.

“I… just can’t. I can’t.”

Nanami reclined himself against the wall over which the bed rested, closing his eyes as he supported the back of his head on it. 

He never told you, but this moment broke his heart all over again.

He felt pathetically small.

Guess we get what we deserve, after all.

“You really do have a taste for penitence,” Nanami noted, his voice barely concealing the bitterness that tainted those words.

You scoffed, getting up on your feet, ready to leave as the first rays of sunshine began bleeding through the thick curtains that covered the bedroom’s window.

“Go to hell.”

He chuckled, a sound you hadn’t heard in a very long time. However, it sounded off-key. Wrong.

Sad.

“We’re already here.” 

At the end of it all, he wasn’t wrong.

You were doomed to always keep leaving each other.

If only the world had been a little kinder.

But kindness, it seemed, wasn’t in the cards for you.

End notes: I’m silently screaming. Oh my, this one took way longer than expected, but I enjoyed the writing process during every step of the way (I mean, if that wasn’t evident already from the fact that I made a playlist for this 😂). I forgot how much I was a sucker for gut wrenching angst. Hope you enjoyed it too! 🦉

-

Tag list: @actuallysaiyan @diogodxlot @jadedjane @redlikerozez @voiceless9000

@marvelousfanfictionbitch @kentocalls @ohhheymessa @magical-girl-b @simp-manhwa

@codenamesongbird

[comfortless]

syl im begging on my hands and knees pls pls pls expand on that idea of könig being a warrior rumored to eat womens hearts its like giving scheherazade and i NEED IT

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. vague time period/setting. fem(afab) reader. light descriptions of violence and gore, talk of cannibalism, non-con groping & cuddling, forced marriage.

There are endless tasks to be done and everything beneath a vast blue sky to explore, forgoing those things, the men about your village often prefer to gather for a duel. There are no rules for their game, only that you bring a weapon and thrust it toward the opponent in such a way that it brings you glory, pride, some scabbing mend to a crooked scar.

Except not you, never you. They wouldn’t so much as allow for the women to watch unless sparring for the hand of a weeping bride happened to be the gleaming prize waiting at the end of the night.

Your eyes had witnessed such before, a girl with hair the color of autumn straw that rolled down to the end of her back, whisked away by some man from the sea after he dug his blade into an old farmer’s belly. Her father. A sad thing, but you imagined her life must be much better now. Instead of tending to a mule or pricking her fingers on needles for sewing, she’s off collecting sea shells and has the ocean’s breeze eternally perfumed in her hair. Maybe she cradles a baby on her hip now, plump and cooing happily whilst they watch the waves roll and glitter beneath the sun.

A better life for only the cost of a swift death. It was something that you had always envisioned wanting for yourself, away from this village that reeks of blood, the very place where your options were limited to shoveling after the horses or to die a lonely hag.

That was until the behemoth began to show his face. Not quite his face at all, actually. It changed things for you. Instead of a longing for one of these strong men to carry you off into the night, there sat a creeping terror each and every time he crossed the threshold into the village.

He was rumored to be many things: an executioner from a foreign land, either a lost and wicked saint or a demon made flesh, and worst of them all… a cannibal from out in the untamed downs that crest the mountainside.

The women of the village were frightened by him, by the bulk and height that suggested he was not a man at all, but something far more terrifying beneath that black veil. They hid away when he first arrived, claiming he carried an organ in his hands, chewing away at a still-beating heart with blood running down his fingers. The men remained rigid, but their hands shook when they took up their weapons against him.

And there was no way of knowing then that this man was to be yours.

Time and time again, the giant would win, request a warm meal and a bed for the evening, and would be gone away come morning. He wouldn’t return for months, and the gossip would continue to fester until his return. Then, only then, would lips be pursed in silence and another fool would rush to death in an attempt to win some measure of pride. His opponent would be buried in the very field they would fight in, his bones serving for another layer upon the earthen stage once the worms and rats had picked him clean, and the giant would be back. He was always back.

The town is hushed to silence when his horse is led through the well-worn street. There are lingering observers: the broad stable hand that would not even dare to raise a whip or a dagger to this behemoth, the women of the brothel even shy away from him, and the children who whisper their rumors behind open palms.

He does not stop for any of them, only carries forward with that dark cloth concealing his head.

You peek out from your window, nursing tea with honey to calm the chill drifting through the air, feathering over your skin. It’s bitter on your tongue, even with the sweet coursing through it. Bitter, when his blue eyes flick in your direction and you feel every inch of your skin begin to prickle and tense.

He’s worse up close like this. The man doesn’t conceal his torso, never seemed to find a need to— no one ever gets close enough to wound him. Not any more, at least, judging by the pasty scars that mar his chest with the biggest being a healed, pinkish blemish that stretches from below his ribs down to a narrow hip. You find the most unsettling part about him is not those marks of violence, but the fact that you can not read his face.

Time slows to a halt as he just stares, takes you in with your cup of tea and the old dress stolen away from your mother’s own wardrobe. And you return it, warily looking him over from his veiled head down to the toes of his boots. After regarding you in the very same way a bored cat would observe an unaware, little bird, he moves along his path with a quiet huff of breath as his face is turned away from you.

There’s a heavy axe strapped to his back that you only notice then. Something new and shiny, glistening in the rays of golden sunlight above. Sharp and wicked, too cruel a weapon to be used in a bout for dinner and a lumpy mattress stuffed with decaying straw.

You could only hope he brought a cloth to clean it once this ordeal was over. Perhaps he truly does use his veil to do so, gets drunk on the scent of blood and gore clinging to it and pleasures himself to the violence as they claim. The macabre tales of this giant only go darker than that. But the tales he lives up to most of all are the ones about his skill in killing.

When night begins to scrape across the sky in dark, drab purple, fate comes crawling throughout the town as though it is nothing more than a famished ghoul.

Your mother storms toward you where you’re sat, preparing for bed. Her face is a mask of pure anguish when she pulls you into a tight embrace. She bawls into your hair, digs her nails into your back as though she would sooner die than let you go.

The men of the town follow behind her, wrenching her arms away from you and pulling you up by the front of your gown. The thin linen tears with the force of rough hands, rips a thick line down your chest that almost leaves you bared to them. Though the hands are eager, the eyes of these men do not shine with hunger, only with fear.

The shouts and cries from your lips are lost to them, to even your mother who wails in defeat someplace behind you.

“You’re plenty old enough to be a bride,” says one of the men, voice like a coiled snake spitting venom. It doesn’t take one of the well-educated people of the capital here to explain just what is to happen to you now.

The giant, the cannibal, saw something that he liked, and decided that you would be his prize. When you’re led to the field, kicking and flailing against the strong arms that hold you tightly in their grip, the sight is enough to tell you just how much that he enjoyed your silent, curious staring only hours before.

He stands upright, silent and daunting above a body that’s been split by the axe still held in one strong hand. The color of crimson cakes his knuckles, crests over his arm and the expanse of his chest, all from the headless corpse lying disposed at his feet.

The scene is what you expected, you’ve heard the words of your people about this beast of a man’s propensity for violence, but no amount of mental preparation could have truly readied you for seeing so much blood. The blood of a man you knew to be good and true, a hard-working blacksmith from the foothills. What a tragic way to go out: fighting for a pouch of coin when this horrible giant must have clearly lost his mind to rut and rage.

No hand comes to cover your mouth when you shriek, and the tight grips guiding you forward only loosen when your man or murderer stalks forward to take his prize. Through your tears, you still manage to make out the lines beneath his eyes, how they fold upward, and there’s no doubt that he’s smiling beneath that mask. A big, ugly grin at the thought of prying open your ribs and helping himself to a maiden’s heart.

He lifts it over his head in a swift motion, and drops it over your own instead, opposite to the hastily cut eye holes to block out all of the hazy, pale light of the moon and flickering yellow-red torches surrounding. Amidst the panic threatening to send your heart fleeing from your chest, the cold trickle of dread that finds itself curling in your belly, you feel two arms hoist you up and settle you over the back of his wretched steed.

“Gehen wir.”

Then, the darkness turns abyssal.

You only pray your body has truly died of fright when you first wake. There’s no darkness, no scent of blood when your eyelids pry apart to flutter. Water laps over your bare thighs, cold enough to force a shiver up from your feet to the blades of your shoulders. But behind you sits fire, a warmth so comforting you would think you’re rested against a stone bathed in summer sun, if not for the softness.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, rationalize just what’s happening, until a hand clutching a scrap of cloth maneuvers up from your thigh to your tummy, lathers you in a soap that smells only of pine. It halts, cinches around your waist when you begin to tense, when he knows you’re truly awake. A pond to your front and a man of horror at your back.

There’s sunlight streaming down from above, painting the clouds in gold. There are birds happily singing from the surrounding trees, and other, unseen animals scurrying through fallen leaves. Serene, pretty, and almost comforting when the wind turns course and brings with it the scent of late-ripening fruit. If the reality of your situation were not so dire, perhaps you would have enjoyed it, being here with a man who killed instead of presented your family with a dowry or offered you some pleasant wedding to dine and drink your fill of berry wine at.

“Let me go.” Your voice is a feigned warning, the mocking growl of a mere pup. You imagine he must keep his weapons close, only offering himself the courtesy of cleaning you so your meat doesn’t taste of dirt or lavender oil when he sinks his teeth into it.

“Süss frau,” he mumbles behind you, presses his head into your hair and inhales deeply as your body only grows further rigid. There’s a pause, before he corrects himself. “Meine süss frau.”

It would help if you knew what he was saying, calm your nerves some, maybe, but each word spoken only sounds guttural and instills further fear. You twist in his grip, hissing small curses that would have left your mother in a rage, but he only laughs at your squirming. Then, he tightens his grip as the cloth is dropped into the pond’s glassy water.

“Take me back home,” you continue to urge, placing a trembling hand over the limb pressing your body further back against him. “Please.”

Your small attempt at pleading is met only with his head dropping to the nape of your neck, a kiss pressed against the flesh there. It warms for him, sends a heat spiking up to your cheeks in spite of the way you still suspect he wishes only to rip your throat open with teeth more akin to a devil’s fangs.

You turn your head, intent on spitting right in this monster’s face, but find only a man looking back at you.

There’s a shimmer in his eyes that almost seems playful, a grin so prevalent there it must cause the corners of his mouth to ache. No blood in his teeth, and though the silvery-blue of his eyes seems distant, they are not cold. The goliath who stole you away stinking of blood and innards isn’t present now, and that seems even less of a comfort. He’s even handsome in the strangest way, certainly not the look of nobility, but none of his features are cruel. There’s a boyish charm to him, perhaps he would have the look of a charismatic farmhand or an apprentice of sorts if not for the scarring.

“Won’t hurt you… too pretty,” he assures, burying his face against the side of your neck. But the bastard does, digs his teeth right in and suckles at your skin when you claw at his arm in surprise. It’s not enough to draw drops of blood, but it accentuates the point that he seems to see you as something of his, a possession of sorts.

There’s a messy patch of drool over bruising skin when he pulls away to laugh at the wounded expression upon your face. He apologizes in a huff of breath as he guides you up to stand at his side. His hands linger too long for comfort when they rest along your waist. Your sullen glare only seems to further endear him. Too much, judging by the way the pillar between his legs bounces thick and hard and proud, throbs when you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze and angrily hiss to him about how a man should treat his wife. Cannibal or not, the beast needed to learn some manners.

Fear still edges its way up your spine, but it diminishes more and more as the seconds pass.

He’s no gentleman when he splashes away the remnants of soap from your body, hands grazing over every inch of your bare skin he sees available to touch. Your breast first, weighed up in his palm with the nipple pinched between his index and middle. Emboldened by your hushed protests, he dares to slip his other between your legs, and only then do you force his hands away.

He certainly bears no resemblance to a proper husband when he hoists you over one shoulder to carry you further into the woods and into his shack, either.

It’s barren and ugly, an unsightly wooden structure decorated only with a thin mattress, a table too small, and blades of many forms. The axe sits proudly below the window, astonishingly cleaned of the gore from the night prior. The veil rests above it on the sill, damp from a cleaning that never should have been. You stare at his belongings for a time when you’re placed on your feet, silently judging the array in search of anything to justify the gossip, only to come up short of anything.

He doesn’t even touch you past the bathing in the pond. You’re dressed in a tunic that fits like a dress upon your form: far too big, long and dull to be anything you would normally be seen in. But there are no tailors this far out in the wilderness, though there’s an apologetic promise whispered to you once he sees you in his clothes. He’ll buy you a new dress upon your first visit to town as his wife, several if it pleases you.

The man leaves for a spell, brings you rabbit to clean and prepare, then busies himself stoking up a fire for cooking. His speech is a little broken when he tells you of how long he’s waited to have someone like you here with him, how he never suspected a woman so pretty would be his wife. And you don’t eat when the meat is fully cooked and placed in front of you both. You insist that you only wish to return back home, to hug your mother and tell her that you’re still alive.

That, he takes insult to.

His brow is pinched when he forces you to sit in his lap. He brings the meat to your lips and presses into your cheeks with his free hand to force your mouth open. There’s nothing romantic or cute about it, about him, but you do glumly settle in his hold when the realization does dawn on you that, though his strength is extraordinary, he is only a man and the only harm coming to you would be between your legs.

You’re drug over to the mattress after dinner by a tight hold over your wrist. The fight hasn’t left you, not by a smidge, even when the loose tunic is lifted over your head with shouts of your displeasure and you’re pressed onto your back with the giant watching you curiously from above.

He pins you there, but doesn’t force his hands down to your sex again. He only sighs when he rests his weight next to you and curls in to lie his head over your breasts.

You’re body remains stiff and rigid as a bowstring. His nearness only sends that same swell of heat back from the pond, brings with it the scent of fire smoke and sweat emanating from him. His hair is long and soft, soft as the kisses he places on the plushness of your tit, long as the drag of a callused palm from your hip up to cup the other.

He offers you no warning when his teeth circle over your nipple, holds fast to you when your back arches and your fingers weave into his hair to jerk him away. The worst part about him seemed to be having a penchant for leaving a mark, and the smug grin that crosses his face when he meets the fury in your eyes with the lust-drunk look in his own.

“Was? You don’t like?,” he grumbles, tracing over the marks of his teeth with his thumb, pressing against and smearing his saliva until you feel your back begin to arch and your breathing grow heavy.

“It hurts.”

He stares at you in amazement for a moment, whether surprised you haven’t made an attempt to flee or startled by the lack of a strike to his jaw after such a thing, it mattered not. Your terrible, ignorant “husband” only seems satisfied with your response. He draws back to sit on his knees before you, sliding his hands along each curve and dip of your body until they rest at your ankles.

“Ja… hurts. I will make it better, meine süße.”

He’s no less brazen when he makes a dive toward your womanhood, lips parted in preparation to breathe you in. Or… taste you in full, whichever option was suited for men who were more beasts than men at all. Maybe that was his only feat of cannibalism: licking at women until they were wet and pliant for him to take entirely. You pry him away with a gasp and a quick shift onto your side, demanding that he not touch you any further.

Again, he laughs, curls behind you and shifts his hips to slot the girth of his cock between your thighs, buries his face into your neck once again. You can feel the grin that stretches over his lips against your skin. When the dark envelopes you both, the quiet crackle of the fire in its pit still showing signs of life, he seems content to just cuddle you close.

Exhaustion creeps its way through your limbs, steals the fight from your voice and leaves your eyelids heavy. You consider waiting it out, listening to his breathing deepen and slow to creep away, but his grip is firm around your middle, so strangely comforting that you do allow yourself to relax. Running could wait until the morning sun rose.

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

BACK TO THE NIGHTMARES

Pairing - Jonathan Crane x Robin!fem!reader

Summary - Even though you go under the alias of Robin whilst fighting crime in Gotham. Your past catches up to you with a certain Doctor that always had a fascination for you.

Warnings - noncon!, violence, dead dove do not eat, rough sex, abuse physical and mentally, bondage.

Word count - 6.3k+

Notes - This was actually the first Cillian fanfic I wrote ages ago and idk highkey just posting it for the lolz.

The name Jonathan Crane was an open wound to you. No matter how much you would try to cover it, it would bleed back open without you noticing. 

You were an orphan at the age of 16. Your family’s tragic death broke you completely, it led to a life of deviance and crime in Gotham City. Your father had you trained in martial arts from an early age, so it benefited your unlawful acts of theft and robbery. However, you would only steal from the greedy. 

You first met Doctor Jonathan Crane when you were hardly an adult. You were arrested for robbing some rich asshole that scammed all of his workers. If only you weren’t so determined to beat the crap out of him you would have gotten away. Your lawyer told you to take the insanity plea, a major reduction of time locked away convinced you to agree with your lawyer. Worst mistake ever. You could tell he wasn’t right in the head as soon as you saw him, despite his charming face. 

When he put on the mask, your worst nightmares came to life. 

It felt like years, being under him as an experiment (even though it was only a couple of months). You fascinated him. He spent a lot of time with you at Arkham. He would tell you how you were his favorite little experiment and that he treated you so much nicer than the others. As if that was a compliment. It was dehumanizing, how he tortured you with your worst fears. To the point that he was your worst fear. You were able to fight back at him a couple of times, get a few good hits in. Despite the consequences, you didn’t regret it. 

Thankfully, The Batman saved you. Bruce heard of your story and felt sympathy for you. You never knew how ballistic Jonathan went when he got the call that you had escaped. And how he swore one day you would be underneath him again. 

Bruce wanted to help you, he felt your pain and struggles. It took you a while, but you agreed, under the hidden agenda that you would use your training to kill Jonathan. He trained you, physically and logically. Also helped you heal, enough to keep Jonathan out of your mind for most of the day. You eventually became Robin. Suit and all. 

When you thought you were ready, you snuck out of the manor. Your mind set on killing Doctor Jonathan Crane. You waited outside by the outside alleyway of Arkham, ready to pounce as soon as you saw him. When he was descending the stairs, you bolted to him. You swiftly pushed him down to the ground and hell broke loose. Punch after punch, kick after kick. You wanted him to suffer, just as he made you suffer. Jonathan tried to defend himself but couldn’t. You straddled him, the street lamp illuminated Jonathan’s eyes wide with fear, you somehow felt guilt. But you pushed that feeling aside, ready to use the final blow. 

But The Batman interfered. He pulled you off of him, a tight grip around your waist, and in a second, Jonathan was shrinking under you. The both of you landed on an exterior landing staircase and he reattached the batclaw to his belt. You shoved Bruce viciously and hissed. 

Bruce shook his head to you, as if you were a child. “I’m disappointed in you” he scolded. 

“Fuck off Bruce!” you growled. 

“I did not train you to become an executioner” he continued. “You do not decide who lives and dies” Bruce stated, leaning on the railing. 

“We both know I’m not the only person he tortured! It would be a mercy kill for the city of Gotham. You know he doesn’t deserve to live” you scoffed. You both had your points. You huffed and looked back down, he was gone. Bruce placed his hands on your shoulders, comforting you. 

“His day will come, we just need to wait for the right moment. Trust me” he reassured. 

And his day did come. Jonathan was arrested for numerous charges after his toxin exposure into the water system. You were free. Or so you thought. He disappeared after the League of Shadows incident. Bruce said he would never dare to return. You thought the same. 

Over the years, you assisted Bruce on missions, both with an agreeing mindset of making Gotham better. Your name became popular in the public eye, Batman and Robin. The vigilante’s sidekick in Gotham crime. You became obsessed with bringing criminals to justice. Sometimes you’d stay up for hours, listening to police radios waiting for something worth your time. Honestly anything was worth your time. But Bruce told you that you have to draw a line. 

Bruce was out of the country. Something had come up elsewhere, you asked to join but he gave a sly grin and said “someone has to protect Gotham”. 

Here you were again, sitting on the rooftop, the moonlight shining on you. Your feet dangled as you watched the moon, a police radio sitting next to you as you waited. You couldn’t sleep much anyways, the nightmares still couldn’t go away. That’s when it caught your eye, the Bat-Signal in the sky. You stood up immediately. Bruce forbids you from going alone. But he wasn't here, he wasn’t even in the country. This was a gray area in your agreement. Oh well, it’s probably something stupid anyways. 

You were quickly dressed and sped to the building. Adrenaline rushed through your blood. You were up there in no time. But by the time you were sneaking up to the rooftop, the light was turned off. You could hear Commissioner Gordon, yabbering about how some deviant must have snuck up to turn it on as a practical joke. You listened to him close the heavy door and sighed, climbing onto the rooftop regardless. Disappointment filled you as you sat on the ledge, overlooking Gotham. 

“What’s got you down, little one?” that familiar, terrifying voice captured your attention. Chills ran down your spine and your chest tightened. You spun around up onto your feet to see him. Jonathan Crane. Your heart raced. He was wearing his mask, he stood tall with his hands behind his back. He loved to call you little one, even after all of this time. 

“Scarecrow” you snarled, bracing for a fight. But you had to remind yourself what Bruce taught you. You also had to force your nerves to the side. 

He said your name. “You know me better than that” he said enthusiastically. Your face dropped. He couldn’t know it was you. How could he know it was you! He laughed at your frozen state. “Even though you beat me bloody that night, eyes never change” he explained, you could sense the grin on his lips. 

“So this was your plan? You want a repeat then?” you laughed, brushing off your nerves. Fists formed and jaw clenched as you waited for his move. 

“Not exactly, The Batman isn’t here to save you this time. In Prague the news broadcast shows” he mentioned, mocking ‘The Batman’.

It was impossible not to laugh. Who did he think he was?

Your feelings got the better of you. The actions of neutral good left you, your judgment clouded by your locked away anger towards this man. He was to die at your hands at this very moment, he didn’t deserve to live. Pure evil doesn’t get to walk free.  

“I’m going to enjoy this” you gritted your teeth. 

With a flash, you charged towards him and tackled him to the ground. You straddled him, ready to knock his teeth out but noticed his arm raise towards you. With a swift movement, you grab his arm and rip the fear toxic from out of his sleeve. Fuck this guy, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. You ripped off his mask and aimed the canister towards his face and released the gas. 

You breathed in the substance instantly and it blurred your sight. He tricked you. You jumped off of him and coughed intensely. The effects from the substance got to work immediately. Jonathan looked terrifying, your heart raced, body shock and anxiety felt heavy on your chest. No, you still had to fight. You yelled in anger and fear as you threw a punch at him, heart pounding in your chest and mouth hanging open. But your reflexes slowed down so much. He dodged you, effortlessly. Another attempt failed, again and again. Jonathan shoved you to the floor and you fell onto your back. His shoe pressed into your chest, keeping you down. 

“Stop, you’re wasting your energy” his voice sounded demonic. You still tried to fight him off. With a huff, Jonathan bent down and mounted you. You screamed at how close he was, there was no hallucination to his appearance. He looked exactly how you remembered and it haunted you. It was pointless trying to hide the fear he brings upon you in this state. His eyes were dark and expression was blank as his hands tugged onto your loose hair. “There, there, little one. You’re safe with me. You have nothing to fear” he cooed at you with a wicked grin as he pressed his crotch into you. 

You were frozen underneath him, you tried to move but couldn’t. Was this a newly developed substance? Or was your body in shock because of him. Your body trembled and you just wanted to call out for Bruce. With all of your strength, you hand slipped to your belt, searching for the distress beacon. Your actions went noticed by Jonathan and he smacked your hand away. He laughed as he picked up the device and threw it to the side. 

“What did I say again? The Batman isn’t here to save you this time” he mocked, his hands feeling up your body animalistically. He ordered you to sleep and for some reason you did. Falling from one nightmare to another. 

You groaned, your head was aching, but your thoughts were softened with the feeling of fuzziness. The fear toxin had worn off. Your lips were cracked dry as your head rolled from side to side. Your eyes peaked open, you lightly hissed at the bright light piercing above you. Slowly, your eyes became fully wide. You took in a deep breath as you analyzed your unfamiliar surroundings. Everything was white. The walls, counter, floor, exam table and the medical bed you laid on. You harshly blinked as you looked down at your body. A loud, uneased breath echoed throughout the silent room as you stared at yourself. You were wearing a white patient gown and your wrists and ankles were restrained to the bed. 

“You’re awake, finally” the dark voice traveled to your ears from behind. It sent shivers down your spine, knowing who it was immediately, Jonathan Crane. You took into note how his appearance has changed a bit. Just his hair cut shorter and he looked a bit older. If you saw him as a stranger on the street you would think him to be charming. He took slow steps towards you, raising the fear on your cold skin with him approaching you. His hand rested on your shoulder, almost as if to comfort you. “Now the fun can begin” the words slithered off of his tongue. You lied there frozen. Completely clueless of what was about to occur. He sat on the stool beside you and watched you like a hawk. “I had to strip you immediately you know, The Batman had a tracking device on your suit. He must really not trust you. You’ve always made dumb decisions, remember?” he chuckled, speaking casually to you. 

Anger consumed you, you struggled against the restraints and then you froze from the realization of how easy your inner thighs rubbed together. You looked down at your body, and saw your hardened nipples from the cool room poke through the thin cotton. You could feel your body prepare itself to hyperventilate. “You’re going to-” you gasped as you couldn’t finish your sentence, tears flooding your eyes. 

“No no no” Jonathan soothed, leaning closer to you. His fingers interlocked with yours. “You’re going to want me to fuck you, sweetheart” he flashed a smile. It looked pure at first glance, but the longer you stared, the quicker the evil painted over. 

“Help!” you screamed over and over again. Jonathan couldn’t help but to roll his eyes. God you were still such a fucking whiny bitch. 

Robin was gone, now you were just the broken girl that fell into his hands all of those years ago. It was shocking to see how easily broken you’ve gotten. All of this training and skills for what? You should stand strong, just take it, show no fear and pain. But you were just a girl. 

“No point in screaming. We’re not at Arkham. We’re very far away from Gotham” he sighed, looking up to the ceiling briefly. He yanked a dry cloth from the exam table and stood up. 

“Please Jonathan-” you yelped as he viciously gripped your chin and pulled your face closer to him. 

“Doctor Crane to you” he spat. But he didn’t loosen his iron grip. Your eyes were wide as he stared at you with anger. How dare you. You were not equals. You tried to nod your head against his iron grip. Once he let go you took a large gasp.

He leaned over you and forcefully shoved the cloth into your mouth. You cried, your eyes pleading with him as if it would actually make a difference. He admired the sight below him. “Look at you my sweet, all bound up” he commented, his hand trailing across your collarbones. “You thought you were fucking better than me, smarter, stronger. You dumb fucking whore. Don’t worry, I’ll show you your place. Right under me, figuratively and literally” he explained, the back of his cold hand raised to your flustered cheek. “I’m going to fix you” he said quietly. 

Your eyes didn’t follow him. You couldn’t dare to look at him. Jonathan sat back on the stool. He looked back up to you, noticing the tears slipping down your cheeks. “Oh don’t cry. You wanted to bring me down too. I just acted sharper than you. You let your emotions cloud your judgment, you only have yourself to blame” he elucidated.

He had a point. You were taught better. But you chose to react the way you did. Nevertheless, you didn’t deserve to be in this situation. 

He’s waited so long for this moment. The patience this man has had for this moment. It was all worth it. Now he has the power to break you down mentally and physically. You muffled into the rag, trying to plead with him. 

“I care about you” he randomly admitted. “Even after all this time” he mumbled slightly. It shocked you, this monster having feelings for someone other than himself? Impossible. “More importantly I care about how you feel about me” he added, leaning closer to your face. “So, I’m going to please you to show you just how much I care about you” he grinned, his hand tapping your cheek. 

You knew exactly what that meant. You aggressively thrashed your body. This couldn’t be happening, you needed to get out of here, out of these restraints. Your muffled cries echoed throughout the room. The breakdown quickly unfolded when you realized it was pointless. Your eyes squinted shut, this had to be a dream, a nightmare. You needed to remain calm, what he said was true. Your judgment was clouded by your emotions. What would Bruce do? Fuck, as if he would ever end up in a situation like this.  

You were too focused on your attempts to control your breathing to realize that your ankle restraints had been uncuffed. Jonathan pushed your ankles up, bringing your knees up closer to your chest. He reattached the restraints to a closer pole, keeping your knees at a 155 degree bend. Your gown rode up to your hips, exposing your bare pussy. That’s when you realized what he had done. Jonathan walked over to the counter, opened a draw and retrieved a pair of silver scissors. He looked back at you and gave you a wicked grin. Your head shook excessively, as if it would change anything. 

“I’ve wanted to do this since I met you. I regret not fucking you in Arkham. I was just such a workaholic I didn’t want my urges to get in the way. I thought of it as unprofessional. But I’ve become open to exploring new methods” he said slowly as he approached you. You resisted, knowing it was pointless but it was natural reflexes regardless. He towered over you, briefly admiring you before cutting the gown straight down the middle. You cried out as the last inch was snipped apart. Jonathan grinned as his large hands traveled all over your heated body. “I jerked off to you after every session” he admitted proudly, playing with your plump tits. He pushed the cut gown to the sides of your body, you were completely exposed to him, mentally and physically. “I’m going to eat your cunt out now baby” he told you with a smirk. The low tone terrified you. 

He stood directly in front of you, his body leaned over onto the end of the bed. He crawled up high enough for his upper body to easily lay on the bed. “God, you’re fucking dripping!” he exclaimed as he examined your wet region. “Is this all because of me, my sweetness?” he taunted. You refused to give him any pleasure by responding. But he was too focused on the sight of your sweet spot anyways. 

Jonathan examined your cunt. His fingers stroked your folds. You whined, shaking your restricted body in an attempt to get him to back off. He harshly smacked your pussy and you cried into the cloth. “Stop resisting” he growled, his long fingers returning to their playful manner. 

You didn’t like this, at all. However, from his touch you couldn’t help but to feel weakened. Your knees felt like jelly. The further his strokes went, the heavier your breathing got. You didn’t notice your hips flex forward to Jonathan, back arching. He grinned at your sexual response to his touch. You liked this, he knew you did. One finger slipped inside of you, causing you to groan painfully. Fuck, you were tight. Pristine tight. You cried as he finger curled inside of you. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked up to you, realization glowed in his eyes. 

“Oh my” he breathed out as he analyzed your expression. He slid another finger inside of you to confirm his theory, you were a sobbing mess from this. “Oh my!” he exclaimed as he pulled his fingers out. He climbed on top of you and grabbed onto your jawline. “Did you forget to tell me something very important darling?” he questioned you, a wicked smirk on his cold lips. Your eyes swelled up, this was so humiliating. You kept your eyes low and he harshly tapped his fingers onto your cheek until you looked up to him. “Have you ever been touched? Fucked?” His dark eyes demanded an answer, his hands loosened enough for you to lower your jaw. He forgot about the cloth in your mouth from excitement. 

You could always lie, but he knew when you were lying. You shook your head, still in his grip.

“Not even by yourself?”

Another shake of the head. 

A dark laugh echoed through the room. “Fuck, do you know how arousing that sounds? Too busy fighting crime to get dicked down. No wonder you’re such a stuck up cunt hm?” he chuckled, caressing your heated cheeks.

Jonathan’s words were too overwhelming. So you just cried, face still in his grip. He comforted you by petting your cheeks and brushing your hair to the side. He couldn’t help but to feel irritated by this information as well. A sudden urge to make love to you rather than to fuck you. No, you’ll like the way he fucks you. There is no choice in the matter. When your cries became minimized he slid back down your exposed body.

“You’re going to taste so fucking devine” he commented, stroking your gushing region once more. “Your body will be so delicate to my touch. I can’t wait to explore all of these new experiences with you. If you are good and embrace my touch I’ll take it easy with you. If not, I’ll make you scream. Not in a good way” Jonathan explained as he gripped onto your outer thighs. 

You whined at the first lick, eyes rolling back as your head dug back into the bed. Jonathan quietly moaned at your sweet taste. It was everything he dreamed of and more. His lips attacked your cunt as his tongue slipped inside of you. A scream of pleasure escaped your mouth. It was humiliating, enjoying pleasure from this evil man. You harshly bit onto the cloth to avoid another muffled moan satisfying his ears. It was amazing with how quickly your orgasm was building, it had only been a couple of minutes. Your legs began to tremble and fists formed. Jonathan’s nose pressed against your clit as he viciously ate you out as if he hadden eating all day. 

He pulled his mouth away, but quickly replaced your tender cunt with the touch of his digits. Two fingers easily slipped inside of you. Muffled cries snuck out. But the deeper his fingers went inside of you, the harder it was to hide your moans. 

“You’re so close to coming already. Making me feel a bit pompous honestly” he chuckled.

You couldn’t help yourself when his fingers reached your g-spot. It felt magnificent, your warm walls squeezing around fingers. He slid in four digits, causing an awful cry of pleasure mixed with pain. You were climaxing in the worst way. Jonathan’s expression looked crazed, like he was a wild animal teasing his prey. It was a surprise that he hadn’t creamed in his pants already. You rode out your very first orgasm on his filthy fingers. Your hips naturally rocked on his fingers back and forward as you became undone. 

You felt like you were going to pass out. Nostrils flared as your body fell back into the bed, it was so fucking hard to breathe. It went unpassed as he untied all of your restraints. Your eyes squeezed shut from exhaustion and embarrassment. You rejected the thoughts of you enjoying the assault, enjoying Jonathan’s touch. 

Your bloodshot eyes opened again when you felt Jonathan climb on top of you. His covered erection poked your thigh as he watched your manner. But his eyes locked onto your gagged mouth. He gently pulled the cloth out of your mouth. You gasped for air, chest raised. 

“Hm, I’ve kissed your pussy before your mouth” he grinned. It was a foul joke. It made you physically gag which he didn’t like at all. He ordered you to kiss him. 

You whimpered at the pain of your sore jaw. But he was gentle with you, his tongue slipped in and lower lip massaged yours. It felt nice, relaxing to feel his touch in this manner. He caressed your breasts as his lips nipped your neck. You let out a soft moan and pressed your body against his, arms wrapped around his upper back. It felt like bliss, the comforting touch to your sensitive body. Your bodies molded together, his breathing was by your ear as you felt your soul leave your body. It felt too good to be true. That’s when you realized it was. You were being physically and emotionally vulnerable with your assaulter. Your body tensed and he noticed immediately. 

“What is it?” he questioned, sounding concerned to the slightest. He stared into your teary eyes, the back of his hand softly stroked your cheek. His free hand lowered to your stomach in an attempt to comfort you.

You regretted it immediately. The action went without a thought. You just saw an opportunity and didn’t think of what the consequences would be. The slap echoed throughout the room and it was followed by complete silence. It was a surprise that you even had the strength to land the hit. You laid frozen as his head remained in the position your hand forced it to. If anything, it was your opportunity to escape. But that slap had used all of your strength. Slowly his dark eyes turned to you, his thighs keeping you trapped underneath him. You stared back at him in fear, waiting for his fury. He backhanded you, again and again. A last gasp for breath left your lips as his hands wrapped around your throat. You struggled underneath him, your face quickly turning red in the process. His expression was emotionless as your fingers dug into his hands, forearms, anything to break the grip. 

“Fucking ungrateful bitch” he growled. “You know, I was going to be nice and wait to fuck you until tomorrow. I thought it would have been a kind gesture to give you some recovery time since, being a pure virgin and all. But you’re just a bit of a fucking brat now aren’t you? Unfortunately I’ll just have to show you my rough side as well” he snarled to you. 

It was a lie, he was going to fuck you today regardless. It was just amusing to fuck with your mind. Your vision became blurred and your hands fell to your sides. He let go of his grip and you gasped for air. His hands quickly gripped onto the sides of your head, his fingers tugged roughly at the roots of your hair. 

“Apologize to me” he spat his demand.

“I’m sorry!” you cried. “I didn’t mean to hit you. I wasn’t thinking straight” you cried your explanation. The apology was genuine but that didn’t satisfy him. 

“Show me you’re sorry” he ordered. You blinked as you processed his words. You tried to move your head closer to his but his fingers pulled your hair back. You winced as you figured you had to work harder to kiss him. Jonathan watched your frustrated and distressed look as you tried to press your lips against his.

“Please let me kiss you” you begged. He chuckled, and let go of your hair. You kissed him desperately, your tongue slid into his mouth. He didn’t like it at all. It felt way too forced by you. Jonathan pulled away and slapped you. 

“You’re trying too hard baby. It’s rather embarrassing” he laughed. “Now, don’t make any rash decisions as I fuck you. Despite my pleasure, I think you’d prefer not to be drugged into a state of  paralysis”. 

Jonathan stood up on his knees, you being trapped underneath him. He towered over you as he began to unbutton his shirt. His eyes did not drift away from yours as he dropped the shirt to the ground. Skin as pale as ghost and had little body fat and muscle definition. It was confusing how easily he could overpower you, drugs you’d guess. “Is there any fantasies on how you want to be fucked little one?” Jonathan teased. 

“No” you spat. 

Jonathan hummed as he slid off the bed. Your lower region was still raw from your orgasm. He unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his trousers. He pushed down the clothing enough for him to pull his cock out. A cry left your sore lips. His size was much bigger than you’d imagined. Maybe it was just an illusion, his cock just looked bigger because of his small size. Stroking his cock Jonathan ordered you to turn to your side. You buried your head into the bed as you turned your body away from him. 

He pulled your hips towards him, his cock rested by your entrance. You whimpered at the feeling of him against you. He caressed your ass a little bit as he lined his cock up. “This is going to hurt, a lot” he warned you with zero care. With one forceful thrust, he was completely inside of you. It wasn’t an illusion, he was as big as you thought. The inside walls of you cunt ached as it stretched around him. It was instinct for you to scream and it was diabolical for Jonathan to enjoy your sounds of agony. 

You wanted to thrash out, attack him. But you knew the consequences, how easily he would be able to restrain you. And you didn’t wish to know what torture he would bring upon you. So instead you just laid there crying with him watching you, your fingers curled into the fabric. Jonathan’s grip on your hip tightened as he began to thrust viciously. He popped your cherry quickly, your blood coated his cock and he thought that it was a heavenly sight. He stared at the back of your head as his balls smacked against your core. 

“I want you to look at me while I fuck you” he ordered, his jaw clenched and nostrils flared. You did as he said and turned your head back. His mouth fell open as you two stared at one another. “How does it feel? Losing your virginity in this state? I bet you feel like a dirty little whore. Good, because you like this, I can feel your cunt clench around me. You’re dripping darling” he pointed out, you were. The thrusts became easier because of how wet you were from this. 

His finger drew blood for your hip as his thrusts continued at the same quick, rough pace. He analyzed your expression, noticing your eyes trying not to roll back and jaw lowering open. “Are you about to climax again darling?” he asked with a grin, he could feel it. You shook your head, not wanting to believe it yourself. A harsh smack landed on your bruised hip causing you to yelp. “Don’t lie baby” he warned in a low voice. 

“Yes!” You cried out. Jonathan laughed at how easy it was to unfold you.  

“Don’t let me hold you back. By all means, come!” he commanded, slapping your ass in the process. 

Quickly after that, you followed through with his command. You cried out, eyes completely rolled back, mouth panting for air, chest tightened and body falling numb. Your head fell back as you rode out your orgasm on Jonathan’s cock, hips rocking in rhythm. 

“The little virgin really must love my cock” he noted. 

“Please- stop. I-” you were lost for words. Could he blame you? Two orgasms in a row when you’ve never even attempted it before? Jonathan chuckled darkly at your request. 

“Darling, I’m not even close to finishing. You’re just going to have to hold it out. Maybe we should see if I can get a few more in?” He smirked and you shook your head. 

You couldn’t do this, you’ve had enough. You twisted your body back in an attempt to push him out of you. He reacted quickly and climbed on top of you. His cock slipped out as he grabbed onto your chin. His eyes gave you a warning not to disobey him as he realigned his member. With an easy push, he was back inside of your sweet canal. He bit your neck roughly as he found the right angle to fuck you. You moaned, he felt so fucking good and you hated it. 

Jonathan stared at your expression. Fear mixed with pleasure. It was the ultimate combination. He kissed you passionately, his tongue sliding down to your throat. You tried to fight him off with your own tongue but it was no use. You didn’t notice your arms snaking around his back to hold him close to you, as if he’d leave at any moment. 

“You like this” he taunted. You ignored his words and just focused on him fucking you, feeling yet another orgasm building up inside of you. But then he stopped fucking you all together. His cock slipped out of you and you frowned at him. You almost asked as to why he had stopped. Has he finished? “If you want me to continue fucking you, you’ll ask me nicely” he explained, a sly look on his face. 

You laughed weakly, he wasn’t serious? Why would you want him to continue? But then he rubbed your clit and you knew why you wanted him to continue. Humiliation was such a turn on. You cried, your chaotic thoughts were too much to unpack. Why would you even dare to ask him to continue? But you were already so close again and the discomfort in your core was becoming unbearable as he rubbed you just enough to keep you on edge but not enough to push you over. 

“Don’t feel guilty about your pleasures Y/N. Your body betrays your mind, it’s so fascinating isn’t it? The relationship between the mind and body. There’s no point in fighting it. Just embrace it, embrace my touch” 

His words felt like bliss. He was so smooth tongued. It was true, you did enjoy this, well your body did at least. What was the point in fighting? You had already lost to him. 

“Please” you whimpered, keeping your head low.

“No” his reply was blank.

“Please!” you sobbed, head shooting up to look at him. Your eyes screamed desperation and irritation.

“Please what? Please Doctor Crane fuck me? I’m such a pathetic greedy little slut that wants to come again?” His words were a slap to the face. It was as mortifying as you thought. 

“Yes that yes!” your response was quick. “Please- I want, I want your cock inside of me. I want to feel you inside of me” you said overwhelmed. You were whimpering a lot, your hips rocking on his thumb.  

Jonathan watched you rub yourself on him and bit his lip. “Oh, you really are a fucking slut. But you’re my slut. You’re mine. But I think you know that already. You’ve always known. Don’t you?” He grinned. You hummed and nodded your head. You shrieked when he pinched your clit. “Use your words girl!” he growled. 

“Yes! I-I’m yours!” you answered. Tears streamed down your cheeks and your mouth trembled.

“Oh you make me want to come so hard. I want you to hold it out. Can you do that for me baby? Wait for me so we can come together” he grinned as he lined his cock at your entrances, brushing against your wet folds. You nodded your head in agreement. Whatever, whatever he wanted. 

The force of his thrusts was like a jackhammer. For a man his size, he sure had stamina. Your foreheads pressed together, fingers interlocked and your legs weakly wrapped around his waist. It terrified you because you came before him. You just couldn’t help yourself. But he didn’t stop so you rode out your high as best as you could. You knew he was about to come undone. Both of your hips locked forward at the same time. Jonathan groaned loudly as you clenched against his shooting cock. His eyes squeezed shut as he held you tight and head flung back. His thrusts came to a sudden stop, his cock completely inside of you, his load spurting deep inside of you. With a few more softer thrusts, Jonathan pulled his soaked cock out of you. 

He let out a satisfied sigh. “I told you it wouldn’t be considered rape” he reminded you expressionless, not even breathless unlike yourself. 

You broke down, unable to control your emotions. You were a sobbing mess. Surely he’s drugged you with something else, right? But the gut feeling inside of you told you otherwise. Too many conflicting thoughts were fighting with each other. After watching you for a quick moment, he got off of you and fixed himself up, redressing himself and combing back his damp hair from all of the sweat as you laid there helpless. There was the opportunity that you tried to make a run for it, but the success rate was at minimum at this point. 

The Doctor went over the sink and ran a cloth under warm water. Ringing out the water, he walked back over to you and began to clean you up, completely ignoring your state of distress. Aftercare was the least of your expectations. He left your cunt till last. His fingers pressed up against the folds of your entrance. A mixture of your fluids oozed out.

“What a sight” he murmured to himself. 

You whined and hissed as he cleaned your raw, swollen, abused cunt. When he was done, he chucked the cloth into the sink and climbed back onto the bed next to you. You silenced yourself, expecting him to make another attack on you. He watched over you quietly and you weren’t sure what to do. It was like he was a crazed monkey waiting to snap.

“You’re still such a good girl for me” he cooed as he planted soft kisses all over your heated skin. The memories of your history filled his mind. There was a passionate kiss shared between you two, the type that doesn’t show desire but shows romantic intimacy. You kissed him back gently, it felt nice and you hated it. Jonathan pulled away and wiped your tears. “You still know your place. Mhm, you took my cock so well baby. I’m so proud of you little one” he praised as he groped your tits. “God, who knows, I might just fall in love with you” he laughed softly, kissing you once more.

[mikavlcs]

Not On My Mind

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader

Summary: You leave school for a trip, and Wednesday doesn’t miss you. Not even a little bit.

Warnings: soft/ooc!wednesday but she’s like...in denial about it, my writing

Word count: 2.8k

Notes: this is kinda messy, but cute. nothing else to add tbh. hope you guys enjoy<3

Masterlist

Wednesday Addams was not soft.

She simply wasn’t. She never had been, and she never would be, for as long as she drew breath. The word didn’t even exist in her vocabulary.

Because she, Wednesday Addams, was a singularity. Unlike any other lowly mortal, she was not born from a womb, but forged in the hottest, most ferocious flames of hell by Lucifer himself. She was pure menace and dread given a small, but formidable physical form.

A vile miscreant equipped with a smile that could make even the purest of angels scream in terror and a glare that could make the devil shed tears of despair. Judge, jury, and executioner—someone capable of horrors beyond even your worst nightmares.

(Well, not executioner since she was unfortunately not yet a murderer, but she would be someday. It was the only incomplete task on her bucket list.)

So, no, Wednesday Addams was not soft. Nor could she ever be capable of such abominable behavior.

And yet…here she was displaying signs of this weakness. Because of you.

You were going on a family vacation. An event which, to Wednesday, sounded like a particularly gruesome method of torture, but you were positively buzzing with excitement about the trip.

Either way, you were going away with your family for a week. An entire seven days without you constantly at her side, chattering in her ear between classes, and lounging around her room in the evenings.

This, in theory, should have been great news. Lucifer knew how much more writing she could get done without you dragging her out to Jericho after classes or trying to read over her shoulder despite her threats of bodily harm. But it wasn’t great news. In fact, the information brought forth an odd sort of discomfort. A dull ache in her chest she’d never experienced before.

It was disgusting, it was vile, and it would certainly stain her reputation if it ever got out.

She supposed her reputation had already been defiled by the fact that her roommate and self-appointed best friend was the human embodiment of a rainbow, but this? This was a new low.

Her shamefulness was all she could think about while she watched you pack from her place on your bed. Well, “pack” was a generous way to describe it. You were actually just frantically grabbing clothes and other various items from around your room and throwing them into your suitcase and duffel bag, much to the disapproval of the meticulously organized Addams.

You insisted that you had a system, a method to your madness. Wednesday disagreed but didn’t bother voicing it.

From the ground, your voice rose, sounding far too winded for someone doing so little exercise. “Can you hand me that box on the dresser, Wends?”

Wednesday exhaled sharply. She came here to see you off, not help you pack last minute. Still, she obeyed, not without sending you a scathing glare that you promptly ignored.

The box in question was easy to find, already open atop your dresser where you directed her. She took a passing glance inside to survey the contents within—a bunch of mismatched jewelry that sparked vague recognition but no interest.

Just as she was about to close it, something caught her eye. A ring, sitting in the corner of the box. It was a simple, visually unobtrusive black band with silver engravings wound throughout. She recognized it as one of your most frequently worn pieces of jewelry, but it had never captured her attention before now.

She was overcome with the sudden, overwhelming urge to take it. Wednesday very nearly stifled it, but she figured since you were subjecting her to these horrific feelings, she was entitled to a settlement of some kind.

Swiftly, she pocketed the ring and snapped the box shut, venturing back over to you, none the wiser as you messily stuffed clothing into your suitcase. She held the box out to you, eyes narrowing in condemnation at the messy state of your things below.

“Why are you taking the entire box?” Wednesday asked neutrally.

“Because these dorms are not the most secure,” you answered, taking the box from her hand with a smile and placing it on top of your clothes. “And I would hate for something to get stolen while I was gone.”

Wednesday’s lips twitched. “Yes, that would be unfortunate.”

Soon enough, you were finished packing and ready to go. Almost. For some reason, you were struggling to carry both your duffel bag and suitcase at the same time. It was quite humorous, watching you struggle, but she took pity on you knowing you were on a schedule.

“You’re weak,” she grumbled as she snatched the duffel bag from your hand, slung it over her shoulder, and stepped around you to open the door.

You followed closely behind, flashing her a grateful, slightly sheepish grin while closing the door behind you. “Thanks, Wends.”

She said nothing, just kept walking, finding amusement in the sound of you fumbling to catch up. When you found your footing, you took your usual place at her side, shoulders brushing while you easily fell into step with her.

The whole way down, you chattered on and on about what you were excited to do on the trip, but Wednesday wasn’t tuned in. Her attention was on the way her stomach fell further with every step closer to the waiting car outside and the pit she could feel forming for seemingly no reason at all.

She despised it, this ever-growing weakness you unwillingly made her develop.

Walking out, you found the car parked right by the curb outside, Principal Weems already leisurely resting against it while she waited for you to arrive.

The tall woman greeted the two of you with a smile, to which you offered a wave in return while Wednesday just stared. She came to collect your luggage and went to put it in the back of her car, leaving the two of you to say your goodbyes.

You turned to her, rocking back on your heels, clearly unsure of what to say. Wednesday, though she’d never admit it, was in a similar predicament, without the slightest clue of what to do now.

She didn’t know why, but she was tempted to pull you back into the school and drag her back to her dorm. The urge was utterly ridiculous, yet grew more powerful by the second, nagging at her as she watched your agonizingly slow internal debate.

“I guess I’ll see you in a week,” you finally said, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. “It’ll be over in a flash, and I’ll be back to talking your ear off before you know it.”

Wednesday gave you a firm nod in lieu of a verbal response. You sent a sideways glance to the principal’s car, clearly remembering you had a flight to catch.

“Bye, Wends,” you said, then added, “Please don’t kill anyone while I’m gone.”

“No promises,” she deadpanned, earning a laugh from you.

After another moment of indecision, you pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, feather-light and entirely too quick for her tastes. But she didn’t voice that embarrassing thought, just watched you walk off and enter the vehicle with her arms crossed.

As the car pulled off, you turned and waved to her out the back window, and she lifted her fingers from her forearm slightly in response. The smile you gave her got smaller and smaller with distance.

Wednesday stayed standing there until the car was out of sight, the unidentified pit in her stomach never abating.

—

The week that followed was…weird.

It was the same as any other week at Nevermore, yet entirely different.

She was indeed able to get much more writing done, but it wasn’t as triumphant as Wednesday imagined. The silence in her room was refreshing for all of twenty minutes before the tone of it shifted, and the quiet felt empty. It didn’t impede her workflow—if anything, it increased it—but it just felt wrong.

There were a number of notable happenings throughout the week as well.

Bianca suffered her 47th defeat at the hands of Wednesday during their weekly fencing practice (she was very excited to get to 50), Eugene somehow got six bees stuck in his hair and, in a show of true incompetence, Xavier managed to spill an entire can of paint on himself. Something he would never, ever live down as far as Wednesday was concerned.

In all of those instances, she found herself looking to her right to see if you were smiling or laughing. Until she was met with the empty space you would’ve occupied, and she remembered. You weren’t here. It made a certain hollowness settle in her chest, making her mood drop ever so slightly.

It was pathetic, honestly. It made her want to self-lobotomize herself to attempt to determine just how much damage you’d done, to see if it was reverible.

Still, she mentally cataloged the events to recount for you upon your arrival. Only so she wouldn’t have to deal with your whining about her not telling you anything once you inevitably heard it from Enid.

Throughout each day, your ring accompanied Wednesday everywhere she went. Slipping it on right before leaving her dorm and taking it off just before bed quickly became her new routine.

She had never fully understood the obsession that people had with rings as the only hand jewelry she ever enjoyed wearing was brass knuckles, but she was beginning to get it now. The light weight on her hand was somewhat soothing, especially in moments when your absence was particularly potent.

She hoped that no one would notice it. Most wouldn’t have even known it belonged to you, but your shared group of friends (acquaintances on Wednesday’s end) would likely recognize it since you wore it so frequently.

Knowing this, Wednesday did her best to take it off in group settings, slipping it into her blazer pocket to put back on after, but it was harder to remember during classes. This oversight ended up being her undoing.

It wound up taking three days for someone to notice the ring. And, of course, that someone was Enid.

They were in Botany, listening to Miss Thornhill drone on about some rare carnivorous plant. Enid was in the seat next to her to “fill in the void” you left behind in your absence with her peppy, prismatic presence.

Entirely unnecessary, but so were most things Enid did. Wednesday had long since learned not to question her anymore.

Wednesday, having already known everything there was to know about the plant, had finished taking her notes five minutes after class started, but Enid wasn’t even trying to take notes. She was instead doing seemingly everything in her power to irritate Wednesday. Incessantly doodling, clicking her pen, constantly fidgeting and shifting, drumming her fingers against the desk.

It was positively maddening. And not in a good way.

In an effort not to snap at her, Wednesday occupied herself with your ring. Tracing the engravings and twisting it around her finger. It was soothing. Enid, nosy as she was, glanced over at the movement and paused her pen clicking.

“Hey…” she started, and Wednesday immediately knew she would hate where this was going. Enid leaned over, making Wednesday lean back in turn. Her eyes narrowed then widened moments later with a soft gasp. “That ring, isn’t that—"

“None of your business? Absolutely,” she gritted out, sending her a scathing glare. “Now, perhaps you should actually pay attention. Maybe then you’ll have a chance of finally getting something higher than a 70 on the next test.”

Her roommate looked like she wanted to say more but eventually conceded with a disgustingly wide smile and a mumble that sounded awfully like that’s so cute of you, roomie.

Wednesday swore that if it were anybody else, she would’ve finally completed her bucket list that day.

—

After what seemed like an eternity and many more tests to Wednesday’s patience (almost exclusively from Enid), seven days passed and the time for you to return to Nevermore arrived.

It had actually been longer than seven days—170 hours and 17 minutes, to be exact—but who was counting? Certainly not Wednesday.

The principal’s car pulled in just as the sun began to set, and Wednesday was there, standing off to the side of the school’s entrance. Not because she was waiting for you, she simply had matters to attend to in the courtyard around that time.

You stepped out the car moments later and your eyes found hers instantly, expression brightening. Bags in hand, you ran over to her but stopped just short of her, excitement fading into uncertainty.

Wednesday stared at you, then, with an audible sigh, stepped forward. Your smile returned, increasing tenfold as you dropped your bags and wrapped your arms around her, careful not to squeeze her too hard. If you questioned the way she barely leaned into your embrace and turned her face just slightly into your neck, she would say it was entirely in your head.

“Did you miss me?” you asked once you pulled back, hands coming to rest on her shoulders.

“Not for a second,” she answered. “I was able to get twice as much writing done without your constant prattling and distractions.”

“Uh-huh.” The sly smile on your face told her that you definitely weren’t buying it, but you plowed on before she could confront you. “Y’know, you could have texted me if you had a phone,” you persuaded, fixing her with a look she’d become intimately familiar with since you’d started dating. “I could always get you one.”

Wednesday blinked, shot you a dubious look. “You’re broke.”

Your shoulders fell dramatically, but your tone remained light. “Damn, Wends, you didn’t have to say it like that.”

She didn’t dignify you with another response. Knowing you would need time to unpack before dinner, she slung one of your bags over your shoulder and took off in the direction of your dorm, leaving you to catch up.

It wasn’t long before you were by her side, matching her pace easily. And, of course, you had more to say.

“Do you wanna hear about my trip?”

“No,” she said. A beat. Then, “But you may tell me while you unpack. I know you like to run your mouth while completing tasks anyway. I have things to tell you as well.”

“Really? Thanks, Wends,” you grinned brightly. Wednesday shot you a glare, and if you noticed that it was softer than usual, you didn’t comment.

Unable to keep your mouth shut, you started ranting about the traffic you hit on the way back to the airport, or something related to that. Wednesday wasn’t quite listening. She was instead taking in the unfocused drawl of your voice in her ear, the strides perfectly matching hers, the light brush of your shoulder against hers—just appreciating the familiar presence at her side once more.

It had only been a week, yet it felt like a lifetime since she had last experienced this.

Without thinking, her hand drifted to fiddle with your ring, and your eyes caught the movement. You stopped suddenly, prompting Wednesday to come to a halt as well with a questioning look.

Gently, you grabbed her hand and brought it closer to your face to inspect the band around her finger.

“This is mine, isn’t it?” you asked, brows knitting together. “I’ve been wondering where it went, I swore I packed it...”

Wednesday snatched her hand away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about but grab my hand like that again and yours will be swiftly removed.”

“But—” you started to protest but stopped abruptly. She watched, curious, as your expression smoothed over into something even she couldn’t quite read. You nodded, smiled. “Yeah, I must be confused, sorry.”

Wednesday narrowed her eyes but accepted the apology with a nod.

The rest of the walk was spent in silence. It was odd. Wednesday stole a few glances to see if you were upset, but you seem to be. If anything, the opposite.

Still, the silence stretched on even when you both arrived at your destination, and you were pulling the door to your dorm open for her. She strode inside, trying to find a way to broach the subject without sounding too concerned.

But there was no need.

Just after the door closed, you put a hand on her shoulder and leaned over into her space. She gave you a startled glare but didn’t move away, ignoring the way her ears burned at the sight of your soft smile and the equally soft whisper that followed.

“I missed you too, Wednesday.”

—

everyone @ wednesday while reading this:

anyways happy pride to my fellow loser gays 🥳🏳️‍🌈

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

full hcs for what post-route m6 would say if they got to talk to pre-memory loss mc for a few minutes?

The Arcana HCs: Post-Route M6 get 10 minutes with Pre-Memory Loss MC

Julian

He's sorry

There's a lot more he wants to say, but he begins with a stream of apologies when the person in front of him isn't the investigator who became his ally, but the assistant he failed to protect

He's not proud of it, but for a moment he feels himself slip back into who he used to be

Someone whose value lay solely in how useful he could be to someone else, self-hatred creeping back in like an estranged family member when he sees how useless he was to you

But the you from back then, standing in the middle of the plague and seeing someone stronger, better-fed, less sleep-deprived, the you from back then can see that he's grown. He's happy

The you from back then only seems to want to know if the plague you died trying to make up for had a cure, and if the doctor you lost your life assisting was ever able to find it

And he did. Twice. Without having to prove himself to anyone

Asra

Oh, how they used to miss this version of you

There's so much running through his head. On the surface, it's the first and only chance he's really had to see the difference between who you were when he lost you and who you are now

But deeper, it's the wave of phantom pains, pulling them under and back to when they would've given anything to see this version of you again, when they waded through hell to get you back

And the fear, flashing up from an underlying simmer, that the you then and the you now are so irreconcilably different that there's only one of you he can truly love

As they fold you into the kind of hug that only old friends share, the first difference they notice is that your heart doesn't beat in time with theirs the way they're used to - and it's their revelation

He had enough love in his heart for who you were - and it grew to love you back into his life - and more again to hold both of you in the current one. He has enough for every piece of who you are

Nadia

She's ... humbled, a little

The you that she knows and loves now is someone who has faced down the terrifying and illogical with her, who has supported her through the rejuvenation of an entire city

But the person standing in front of her reminds her more of the person who first walked in through the Palace gates

You're ... normal

Not in a bad way at all, but - you look like every other citizen her carriage passes on her way through the streets. She's reminded all over again how important seeing you in her dream was

Because if you hadn't been pointed out to her, if your first proper meeting hadn't been you freeing her from three years of nightmare plagued sleep, she would have never thought to seek you out

So when the you from the past seems surprised to see the elusive Countess, not nearly as well-known as her extravagant husband

All she really wants to do is thank you by showing you your worth

Muriel

Well. This is awkward. And that's coming from him

There's a well of emotions swirling in him as he looks at you, at the you that Asra left the hut to live with, at the you that took his only found family from him, at the you he came to resent

Because if the worst he can see when he looks at you is someone who captured more of his friend's attention than he did -

What do you see when you look at him?

The you from the past wouldn't have known him when he was retired and forgotten, the you from the past would've known him when he was a gladiator

Or more accurately, when he was the Count's executioner

He's not sure it's good for either of you to be looking at each other

But he can't turn away, and that's because not only do you not seem to be afraid of him, you won't stop looking at him

Your gaze feels the same. Exposing. Open. And though this one is considerably less affectionate - safe, somehow

Portia

She is both starstruck and deeply disappointed

Starstruck because the person she's looking at seems a lot more put together than who you are now, if a little less ... developed

Your magic hovers around you like an old friend and your eyes seem a little more sure about where they want to look

And that's exactly why she's also a little disappointed

Because you aren't like the person she loves now in that way. Who you are now is always looking, always soaking up the world around you like a sponge, because so much of it is still new to you

And nothing seems new to the past you - not even her

She's so happy to take your hands in hers and ask you all about who you've been and collect all the stories and fill in all the gaps she can, to better know how you got to where you are now

And then when the visit's over, she'll happily wave goodbye and walk forward to who you are now

But not without a word of encouragement to her darling first

Lucio

Oh. Ohhh boy

You see, he was fortunate to meet you when you knew fairly little enough to encounter him with an open mind. By the time you learned about his horrible past, you knew his present self

But past you ... past you seems to know quite a bit more

And he doesn't like the way you look at him

There's an edge of uneasiness to the way he plasters on a smile and loudly calls your name, only to be met with a gaze that's polite at best

You're not supposed to be polite to him, you're supposed to love him, to want him, to admire him when he's done good and call him out when he's done bad and forgive him when he tries to do better

At the same time, this is the version of you whose death he knows he's responsible for. It makes him wonder if he's a bad person for being relieved that you changed before meeting him

He'll be happy to leave - but he does manage an apology, first

[periwinkla]

What I love the most about narumitsu is that, although they knew each other for 25 or so years but spent more time apart than not, the little time they did spend together was so incredibly meaningful it irreparably changed both of their lives. Phoenix wouldn't be a defense attorney, he wouldn't be able to defend the innocent. He wouldn't even be a father to Trucy (or have any of his current friends-turned-family). Miles would be dead by the executioner's hand or his own. And even if for some reason Manfred didn't frame him for murder, he would at least still be having nightmares nearly every day and questioning what he was even doing with his life. They both became the best version of themselves because they inspired each other. It's not even about 'saving' (sure Phoenix may have literally saved him during his trial but that is something he would do for anyone he believed innocent), it's just that the other person made them believe they could accomplish whatever they set their mind to. That they could better themselves. And then they did it on their own. Phoenix got up and decided he had to become a defense attorney. Because he had to help his friend, the very person he admired when he was a kid but had lost his way. Then he got disbarred. And then he went and got his badge back again, because now he had to help someone else, and only he and Edgeworth together could make it possible. But also, don't you think the reason he adopted Trucy was, in part, because she reminded him of what Edgeworth went through? So he got his shit together even though that was the worst time of his life, because he couldn't let Trucy go through that. Miles decided that it was time to face his own demons. So he left. He came back as a better person, someone he wouldn't be quite as ashamed of. Phoenix didn't simply give him comfort, that was not what he needed - instead he made him see the bitter truth - 'What happened in this trial can either make or break you as a prosecutor. In the end, it's up to you.' But also, what he says to Kay: 'If you don't believe in yourself, believe in the me that believes in you!' suspiciously sounds like 'I don't believe in your nightmare.' That's one of my favourite quotes from him, actually. Basically the culmination of his character development.

They are each other's fodder for character development and I love it.

[crooked-wasteland]

How do you feel about Charlie as a character?

When someone brings up Charlie to me, three scenes immediately come to mind:

Charlie whining that being direct and using her status and responsibility to influence change is "mean".

When she's frantically panicking over how the hotel is not "working", but instead of actually specifying the events in the series that brought the cast together, she only mentions the things she herself suggested, despite her own ideas having been useless at best and actively detrimental to the people in her care at worst.

When she vents to Alastor about Vaggie not telling Charlie about being an angel, she doesn't once look at the situation from Vaggie's perspective of being no different than any other sinner, she demands to know what about her is untrustworthy. Entirely self absorbed.

Medrano has stated that she sees both Vaggie and Charlie as self-insert characters. Putting aside the Freudian self-cest implications, I feel that Medrano's self righteousness and superficial idea of kindness are on full display in Charlie's character. As a person, Charlie is insufferable. She inserts herself in ways people ask her not to, she has a surface level form of empathy, and she exists in a world where her intention supercedes the consequences of her actions. She is nothing but kind and understanding to everyone around her, a perpetual victim of people snubbing her, but she perseveres nonetheless.

Charlie's line in particular about Vaggie encouraging her to take control of a situation being "mean" is clearly how Medrano hand waves her own responsibility to the overall culture of her fandom. To try and regulate anything would be her being "mean", when in reality it is a way of not taking responsibility for the consequences of her own behavior and encouraging the hostility within the fandom.

Furthermore, the fact that both Charlie and Vaggie are two qualities of a single person explains why neither of them have any nuance. It's why Charlie wants to "help" the Sinners in Hell despite them generally accepting and being content with their lives, revelling in their "sins". It's why Charlie's skit for Angel and Pentious has dogmatic language about the "right" way to live one's life. And it's why Vaggie is never explored as being an exterminator who once was so successful as an executioner that she was considered the best of the best, and yet when faced with a black and white ethical concept of killing a child, she immediately has a change of heart.

There is no internal conflict or nuance for either of these characters because, ultimately, both are self righteous caricatures of the director who is broadcasting how much of a "good" person she thinks she is. That she knows what is best for everyone because she just wants to help, regardless of anyone else's desires or situations.

Small edit to point out this is a theme in her works. It directly parallels Blitz in Truth Seekers telling Moxxie that he is "hard" on him because he knows that Moxxie can be "better". And instead of just talking to Moxxie or encouraging him to keep growing, he instead uses manipulation and abuse to "persuade" Moxxie to change. Just like how Charlie imposes her own desires on others and then just keeps "suggesting" that they change. Because, really, Charlie and Blitz know what's the best for everyone around them.

It's why I am vehemently opposed to the idea that anything about Hazbin Hotel is a criticism of Christianity. Because in the end, Charlie is an evangelist spreading her teachings and Good Word to the sinners to save their souls, whether they like it or not.

It's not hard to see how Medrano sees herself in these qualities, and the passive aggressive self righteousness is thinly veiled under a smile and "good intentions".

[kurosstuff]

could you do 🍯 3 with girl dick lute?

Of course~ decided to do it like the last one in a way? Demon x angel plot♡♡ but it's a different plot is- execution day still though(cause I don't think she'd go to hell for anything else)

Warning(s): demon x angel, unprotected sex, girl dick lute, tail and horns thing, wing stuff? Idk, mating season(both of yours) afab reader, mating. Heat/ruts(mating season) , Lute is MEAN(but also praising you♡)

Didn't say if you wanted fem reader so I did gn reade

Gp! Lute x GN!demon reader

There are a lot of things you hated about hell. One of the biggest things? Was mating season. All demons go through with it- it's a normal thing. Considering sinners now have animal tributes, it's just something you'll have to deal with. No matter what you are- for some it's easier to handle and deal with.

But the beginning of it is the worst. It's like you've never BEEN in one before.

Panting you hid in the abandoned building, looking around, tail curled, tucking nervously. Its like God himself hated you the most. As if waiting to laugh in your face considering its execution day.

And your being hunted.

The flapping of wings nearby made you duck to hide, but you were too late something hit your side, making you fly to the side looking back. You saw her. A executioner staring you down.

Just your fucking luck. It's the leaders second in command. Lute.

"He-hey-" waving backing up, ignoring how she snarled stalking towards you as she found her prey. Her victim. "Been a while, huh lute?' Swallowing the last time you ran into her. You somehow out ran her.

Ever since? Her sights have been on you.

"Yeah. After you humiliated me. A sinner outrunning me? You got lucky" she snarled out swiping her sword to the side the blood on it flhong around.

It was fresh.

And, of course, your big mouth had to just speak. "Yeah, six times, is it?" Cursing yourself for uttering that. How she stopped and stared snarling wings fluttering flapping. You really did it now.

You pissed her off more.

Yelping, you turned rushing off. "NO NO IM SORRY LUTE SHIT-" you screamed out, racing into the first room you could find stumbling into it. A dead end. Seriously? Who the fuck sleeps in a room with no windows? Sighing, you turned barley missed the swipe of the sword from lute as she attempted to kill you.

With her being silent? You knew you really fucked up. Hearing her snarling and..panting? You turned, kicking her back roughly. "Sorry!" You couldn't help but call out as she luckily? Landed on the bed. Turning around she on her back she groaned taking a moment-

Taking the time with her on her back, you pounced on her, holding her down. "Stop! I- I don't wanna fight!" As she squirmed, trying to buck you off, making you whine unaware she's trying to stop you from feeling her shame. Her guilt for feeling like this in this situation.

Gasping finally feeling something poking your thigh smirking, you grind against her waist slowly, making her moan snarling up at you. "y-your mating season is here too?" Whining softly as she grabbed your waist roughly bucking up into your hips, panting heavily

"Yeah~" she whined softly, getting harder at the reveal. "fuck~ you fought me on your mating day? Did you want to get fucked?" She snarled out allowing you to reach up taking her mask off biting her lip kissing you deeply flipping you onto your back

Gasping ypu flushed looking up at her "i- I had to! Had no choice it comes when it wants!" You panted out on instinct, almost submitting to her looking away feeling guilty. By the smirk on her

You knew she saw-

"Guess there's only one thing to do, no?" She purred out, grinding against you, leaning to take her shirt off "we fuck of course. We're both on our mating season? Why not?" She hummed answering for you when you didn't reply "I'm gonna ask you once. Do you want this" She huffed out

Gently rubbing your waist wasn't what you expected from her, but here she was, waiting for you to think ignoring her instincts. "Yes. I... I want this" humming in approval she kissed you leaning back to strip you using her sword - "wha- I- my shirt!" You huffed flushed seeing her roll her eyes

"Take my jacket after. Ok?" Grunting leaning back, pulling her pants down- pulling her hard cock out already leaking pumping herself slowly groaning softly "fuck~" moving close testing rubbing her tip on your entrance smirking

"Wait, wait! You're too big!" You gasped moaning at the sheer length of her- making her hum rubbing herself on your entrance, grinding against you moaning against your neck leaning back "you- will you even fit-?"

"I'll go slow" at first- left unsaid not fully answering- grinding more on you covering her cock in your slick she hummed "it won't hurt slipping in. Your to deep in your heat you'd already pooling of yourself." She Grunting slowly pushing into you moaning loudly "fuck~ your tight~"

"Oh- oh god~" you sobbed out, spreading your legs more, feeling her push in more stretching you fully "too much~" moaning loudly under her tail thumping whining more when she reached gently taking your tail making you gasping loudly slipped under her

"You were just crying for my attention sweetheart~ now your begging me to stop? You sure that's what you want~?" She hummed, moaning, pounding into you, gasping."fuck~ getting even tighter for me~ fucking rutting against me before no~? Now you want me to stop" Leaning back rubbing your tail, watching you squirm more under her gently pinching it making you sob moaning drawing a loud whine

"No~" you begged out, sobbing under her kissing her deeply sobbing out her name, making her smirk pinching your tail, causing you to gasp whining lewdly

"That's my good pet~" she purred, shoving Into you fully moaning loudly eagerly fucking you into the bed panting heavily "thank God there was a bed here no?" Kissing along your neck hearing the purrs mixed with your moans "fuck you like this~? Being fucked by your greater?" She moaned out gasping leaning up pulling you by your horns to show your neck more- forcing you into submission for her "that's a good pet~" panting heavily pounding rougher into you flushed darkly

Whining loudly wrapping your legs around her waist, yanking her deeper into her, fully submitting to her "oh fuck please~ c-claim me~" you sobbed out holding her close watching her wings flap in approval. Puffing in a way to show off- like a dance of sorts "oh please~?"

Humming biting your neck roughly "claim you? You want to be my mate?' She growled out pounding rougher holding the bed- your sobs moaning for her, making her hum "your tail sensitive or something?" Rubbing it making you nod sobbing out

"It- its a courting thing ~ like like- sensitive makes them want to be mated-" You choked out arching your back into her at her unrelenting pace "horns and tails make- make demons horny at the touch If not careful~" flushed at her smirk as she tugged at your tail once more

"Guess I'll take you as mine then, huh? My pet?" Pounding roughly leaning close biting at your neck,"making you my mate~? Mine?" Purring out moaning heavily holding their waist roughly claiming you as hers.

She didn't care for the consequences(she does but she's so lost in her rut to acknowledge it) that she does do it. She bites down roughly "my mate ~ my sinner~" she snarled out her cock twitching deep inside you moaning heavily feeling you tighten around her moaning her name out smirking she hummed "yeah you like that? Like being claimed?" Groaning "fuck~ go ahead cum for me my pet~"

Sobbing our nodding, releasing around her clinging to her feeling her pound deeper shoving fully into you cumming deep inside with a loud moan snarling into your neck claiming you from the inside as well "fuck~" Sobbing out panting heavily rocking up into her feeling yourself gush onto the bed from them "n-need more~" you gasped out sobbing out for her

"Fuck~ yeah?" Pounding into you against groaning, twitching deep inside you,"want more? Fill you up more~?" Kissing you deeply relishing in the moans and cries you let out for her "fuck~ doing so fucking good what a good whore I have huh?" Snarling against your lips wings puffing up expanding fully flapping happily showing off smug

"Yes fuck yes~" you sobbed out moaning arching your back cumming around her cock again sobbing from the overestimating from the unrelenting pounding- the roughness from her "oh please~ please~" Sobbing out loudly

Groaning "this- is this the last time~ go-got to go-" hearing the alarm go off for her to come back snarling loudly pounding roughly into you- shoving fully into you so lost in her rut she couldn't hold back cumming deep inside you once more moaning loudly rocking into you slowly before slowly gently pulling out watching you gush of her. Feeling smug- possessive she properly mated you.

Made you hers.

Humming, she reached up, plucking a feather from her wing, putting it on your chest "wear it. Make it a necklace" putting a claim physically on you. "Accept my mateship by putting it on~?" Purring out kissing you gently moving to get dressed quickly putting her jacket on you rubbing your twitching legs

After a moment, she fled. Flying away without a goodbye(she hoped to see you again) humming, she smiled happily, hopping it all would end well for you both.

-

-

-

But all acts. Have consequences. Mating a demon as an angel? Would have a consequence

[circeyoru]

The Black Leash = Requested

[Alastor x High-ranked Hellborn Contractor!Reader]

The Request

When you went on your duties as one of the rare high ranking hellborns, Alastor saw this as his chance to leave your side and look for somewhere to be safe. Where better than the hotel the foolish Princess of Hell was promoting. It was perfect

Until you caught wind of his location

You had Alastor for 7 years, no one in Hell knew what happened to him. That was false. No one in the Pride ring knew where he was and what he was doing because he wasn’t in Pride ring. You as a Hellborn have the privilege to travel between rings. Alastor took your deal and now his soul was yours, so you could bring him away from Pride

Now your part of the deal was to give him souls, and you did when you brought him to the other rings. But he never said how you give him souls. He was on your leash, he could only have souls when you have no need for them, he took what you didn’t want. He acted like your bodyguard and executioner to the demons that disrespected you

So it caused you quite the disappointment when he went back to his home ring and to the side of the Princess just to avoid you. He should have said he wanted a break, you’d give him! You nearly laughed your head off when you heard where Alastor went, oh, it was his bad luck

No questions asked, you arrived in front of the hotel and prepared yourself before making your presence known to its residence and staff

“A good day to you, Your Highness.” You greeted with a bow of your head to show respect. However powerful and feared you may be, the sunshine and rainbows delusional demon was still the Princess of Hell and the King of Hell, Lucifer’s beloved daughter

You were immediately brought into a bone-crushing hug and squeals of excitement. Charlie chanted your name with glee as she spin you around, only stopping when her girlfriend came over to calm the princess down

Charlie immediately introduced you to Vaggie, claiming with pride that this little demon was the love of her life. You congratulated her and aggressively threatened suggested that if Vaggie was to break dear Charlie’s heart, you’d be hunting her down throughout the rings of Hell. Charlie quickly explained that you were an old friend of her father’s and you have been around when Charlie grew up so you were like family

The sweet girl was honestly Alastor’s worst ally because the second demon she introduced to you was none other than the Radio Demon. Your smile grew as you said Alastor’s name when Charlie was about to. Spotting the nervousness of the demon dressed in red

“You can say this fellow has other jobs before joining your hotel, Princess.” You spoke, momentarily taking your eyes off of Alastor to give him some air, less he faints from shock

When Charlie was about to introduce you to the rest of her newly made friends, Alastor was quick to interjet, claiming that it hardly was important. You glared over to him, making him shut his mouth as you dared him to interrupt Charlie again. Where, oh, where was his manners?

Seeing the tension, Charlie opted to show you around but you declined, saying she was needed elsewhere more important than to show an old acquaintance like you around. You made sure Alastor heard it loud and clear. Alastor stepped up to ‘show you around’ as the host and the two of you disappeared deeper into the hotel

“Quite the lovely place, the Princess built.” You admired the decor, leisurely walking around and taking your time with each step you took. At a peculiar hallway, you saw the past with smokey figures and heard an interesting conversation that involved your deer. You grinned at the freedom Alastor seemed to be taking advantage of

“You are close with the royalties?” Alastor spoke more as a question of confirmation than a statement. Him obediently following behind you, just as a dog on a leash should

“Yeah.” You gave him a lazy smile. “You’re aware I have connections, but you didn’t seem to think I would have closer connections with the royal family. Why I wonder. But it’s okay. I don’t mind. It made it all easier to find out where you are and what you are doing.”

Alastor’s smile tightened. He really thought he found his way out when he became a valued demon to Charlie why helping out at the hotel with all of his present abilities. Trivial as it may be, it slowly made Charlie and the rest of them more reliant on him. If he were to disappear, he’d be missed in some way that could be beneficial to him

“Helping out for entertainment, huh. A unique answer but not from you.” You looked over over to Alastor who seemed to be deep in thought. You cooed as you comforted him for his failed escape plan, you reminded him of your abilities of visions capable of seeing the past and future. You were like an oracle. You saw everything that Alastor did before your arrival

Transparent chains turned black as they formed around Alastor’s neck, pulling him to the ground and made him on his hands and knees. You relished the look of restraint on his face and the way those cute ears of his pinned back

“Since you like to help out in this hotel, why not go all out. You are to protect this hotel and its residence with everything you can.” Your open palm appeared a red and green soul, it was like an energy ball but there was a tail on top of it. “Should this hotel or dare I say the Princess fall, the same will happen to your precious soul.” You grinned, “Is the order heard?”

Alastor bite down his pride, bowing his head to you as he acknowledged it, “Yes. Crystal clear. My Liege.”

The Radio Demon nearly had his heart ripped out when Mimzy returned to the hotel once more, behind her was some demons she pissed off. She couldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer can she? What’s more it was an Overlord that she meddled with. Alastor had wanted to ignore it, since if he didn’t know, even you wouldn’t judge it on him, but he couldn’t lie, there was no room for it with your powers

Not to mention you were right by him, it was just one of your spontaneous visits to the hotel for Charlie and him. He bowed his head like clockwork and asked for you to let him use a bit for power for this ordeal. You waved your hand and allowed it

Oh, and he did not disappoint. Not only did he leave the Overlord in a wrecked stated, but he also devoured Mimzy to proved that he was loyal to the hotel’s safety. You had seen what Mimzy did before and was aggressive towards any mention of it, Husk being no help when he kept telling you all the things Mimzy did and the reputation she had

Perhaps Alastor allowed it before because he was yet to be under your control, but not anymore would you allow Alastor to use his powers for something so trivial. No, Alastor’s powers were much more useful elsewhere

You purposefully disappeared when Alastor was near death with his battle against the first man, Adam. You wanted to give him a taste of his medicine. To see that weaken state of Alastor calling out for you, knowing that you were watching and listening. It was enough for you to heal him up good as new

“I hope you learnt your lesson, your punishment for disappearing from my sight was long overdue. My deer.”

As always, Alastor bowed his head, his eyes closing from your faint and soft brushes through his hair, “I apologize, My Liege.”

Note: Hope you guys like this, I'm not satisafied with it, but it is what it is. (╯︿╰；)

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland

@crowleysthings

@donustellaron

[whohasthecards]

Hangman was always compared to Iceman while at Top Gun. He pulls of stunts with perfect precision. Gets along well with the upper brass. Natural leader during dire situations.

His instructors all agree that he'll go up the ranks.

Hangman, however, he wanted to be more like Maverick.

He wanted to be able to fly outside the box, push himself and the plane to it's limits.

Because when worst comes to worst, technical precision will not be enough. However, creativity? Especially finding creativity within a technical field requires a different kind of mastery.

Maybe if he tried had tried hard enough to develop that kind of mastery his wingman wouldn't have been shot down.

Mission was deemed a success, they concluded that he did not make any mistakes.

("You did everything you could, son," the admiral said setting the briefing papers aside. "Your actions were deemed the best course of events given the circumstances, you made no mistakes given the circumstances."

Only because none of us were able to think of a better alternative.

"Of course, sir." Hangman simply said.

No mistakes given the circumstances isn't enough. And it won't bring a dead man back to life.)

He tried to be better, but in the process made Hangman the name of someone untrustworthy, the name of the executioner.

(It's fine. When it matters, I'll be able to complete the mission and they'll be able to go home.)

---

Hangman wasn't chosen as Dagger 2. Maverick named him spare.

He didn't want to think about the implications of The Maverick not choosing him. Although, he doesn't blame him.

His job was straightforward, fly in fast, and provide air support. Cool. Precise. No mistakes.

Target locked. Fire.

---

He stepped forward to meet Admiral Kazansky.

"You disobeyed orders," the man said looking him up and down.

"Yes, sir."

"Do you regret it?"

"Not when it saved the lives of my team," Hangman said meeting his eyes. "We may all be rivals, but at the end of the day we all want everyone to come back alive."

Admiral Kazansky didn't respond, simply staring at Hangman, and Hangman didn't avert his gaze. The silence stretched until he could hear the static of electricity from the walls.

Admiral Kazansky chuckled as he shook his head, "You're just like Maverick." Kazansky looked the younger man in the eye, "you put your whole heart and soul in your flying."