#a trap for broken souls

[ignyxdaughter]

𝐗𝐈𝐕 - 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄

(𝐦𝐨𝐛 𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐬! 𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 / 𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐨 𝐱 𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬)

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summary: Katherine has to talk to people from the past. Her and Billy have a loving moment at the end :)

word count: 4174

warnings: none

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There's a whole minute of silence between us. I analyze every detail of Katrina. Last time I saw her, she was with short hair on its natural color — light brown — and a frown that reminded Tissaia's arrogance and Andrew's hate towards the whole world. But now Katrina has light on her face; her blue-green eyes are shining and she doesn't seem the same spoiled girl I know — though she's still wearing fancy clothes.

For the first time, Katrina Eloise Morris looks like a good person.

"You're different", she says.

"You too."

Her smile catches me off guard. She's never smiled towards me. "I changed for better, I think, and I wanna talk to you about it." I raise an eyebrow and she looks at the men by our sides. "Alone."

No. I glance Billy, praying for him to notice my despair. No. No! I don't want it!

My heart sinks when he nodded and let go of my arm. "I'll have a talk with Cypress, then." When the albino capo opens his mouth to talk, Billy adds: "But with you two on my sight."

"Fair enough." Cypress faces Katrina. "Go to the opened hallway, amore mio. We'll be looking at you from here."

She smiles and grabs my good arm, pushing me to the spoken place. I keep glancing back at Billy while being guided, silently screaming for help. But why would he help me? I'm his hostage, a mere pawn on his game. For him, it doesn't matter if I'm hurt; he just wants me alive till we find Katarina and solve the case. He may even kill me later to avoid any living evidence.

He won't dare to do that. I shake my head to gather my thoughts. You're a Mikaelson.

But what if he finds out my family doesn't want me anymore? Will he attack or have mercy?

No. Billy's smart; he wouldn't have mercy.

"So", Katrina's voice makes me finally come back to reality.  "Here we are, sis."

"What do you want, Katrina?"

"To apologize." I scoff. The day my sister regrets everything she's ever done to me, it'll also be the day when pigs will fly.  "I mean it."

My serious face is long gone when I laugh. That can't be true.

"Katherine! I really mean it!" She exclaims in indignation, which just makes me chuckle more.

"Oh, Katrina, when did you join comedy?" I giggle, almost having a belly ache from laughing so hard. "You really should do a stand up. It's been years I haven't heard a good one."

Her expression is stern, the mirror of someone gathering patience to not punch someone. And she knows better than to attempt that. "I really mean it, Katherine! I've been horrible to you."

It takes me a few seconds to realize she's telling the truth. I take some breaths to compose myself and look deep at her eyes for a moment, trying to see if this isn't an act. But no; this is indeed the truth.

"I know." My sister uncomfortably gazes the floor in shame. "Years ago I wouldn't believe me either. But I've changed. I really have."

"That doesn't erase everything you've done— or better, haven't done with me."

"I won't try to justify myself, 'cause there isn't any reasonable reason." She looks at me. "But I want you to know that I'm sorry."

I bite my tongue to avoid a fight in the middle of this event. What Katrina's saying doesn't make sense. She was never like that, a good person, so why change it now?

"Why?" I ask her. "Why telling me this now?"

"I— I don't know, but maybe it's to be forgiven, to end the guilt. Even if I realized I was wrong just a few years ago, at least I noticed!" I stay silent, analyzing each movement to detect a lie. Her little speech seems like a perfect trap, one that I won't allow myself to fall for.

She lets out a deep breath. "I found out how mom and dad left people. They were good and suffered because of us." I can't believe I'm hearing that.

It takes everything in my will to not roll my eyes. "How do you think they were left, Katrina? Happy for being poor? Enlighted for being fooled by a couple and some kids? Heartwarming for helping a scammer family?!"

"No! I— I knew they wouldn't be happy, but at least they had each other. All of them were an united family, not a broken one like ours."

"Yours", she closes her eyes as I correct her. "You are not my family."

My sister sighs and stays silent about the correction. Good. She knows better than to argue that with me. "I didn't know at the time what people would do for money, Kat."

"Oh, you didn't? It'd take just a look at your parents to find that out. After all, their money appeared out of nowhere." I look deeply at her blue-green eyes, gathering all of her attention. "I don't blame them for being on the criminal world, Katrina, but I do hate them for being cowards. Because only a coward would steal from the good instead of being face to face with another criminal."

"I know!" She sniffs and quickly passes a hand on her nose to not mess her makeup. "And that's why I told the latest family to call the police after I left. They had a little boy and—  and it was the first time we went to a family with a kid. I couldn't let a kid suffer."

"Did they call the police?"

Katrina nods. "They're good now, but our—", she shakes her head, remembering to correct herself "— my family spent the night in jail."

"When was this?"

"6 years ago." She was 20, then. "I started working on a restaurant to gain my own honest money and rented a flat with a rommate. That's actually where I met Cypress... I was having my night shift when he entere—" Oh, bloody hell!

"I'm not here for a love story, Katrina."

My sister nods, yet gives a little scoff. "Yeah. Yeah, of course you aren't."

"Does Katarina talk to you?"

She bites her bottom lip. "None of them talk to me anymore. Dad and mom cut me off that night, and a year ago Rina did the same." I keep looking at her for an explanation, but I guess she didn't want me to have a richer boyfriend."

I raise an eyebrow. That's such an immature reason to cut someone off, though Katarina is exactly that kind of person. "So she stopped talking to you because you started dating Cypress?"

"Seeing. I wasn't even dating him yet!" I roll my eyes. "But she was dating Billy!"

Hum... Maybe this conversation won't be a total failure.

"She used to tell me how he was handsome and rich and good in bed—"

"Katrina, I'm not here to praise Russo either."

"Okay!" She throws her hands in the air. "What I want to say is that she told me about the scam. She wanted him to give mom money to invest on the stock exchange. That way, mom'd already have enough on her company when Rina left Billy."

"Company?"

"Yeah. She has a loan company. That way she's access of other people accounts to steal their money."

"Oh, that's so her."

My sister nods. "From what Rina told me, she and dad broke up and now she has a lover. Aaron LeBlanc, I think."

I shiver at the thought of someone loving Tissaia. That woman doesn't deserve anything good in this world. "And Katarina? Where's her?"

"She said she'd go to London. But I'd search on Amsterdam too."

I frown. "Why?"

Katrina shrugs. "She just loves that place. You know, the green."

"Well, now it makes sense why Katarina's brain is so damaged."

She chuckles, what makes me raise a brow at her. "Your lungs are as damaged as her brain."

"So is your liver."

Her laugh increases with my statement. "A pothead, an alcoholic and a smoker. What a wonderful trio mom birthed." Ok, maybe this was a little bit funny. But I won't join Katrina at that joke.

"We're not a trio."

She stops laughing to face me with a regretful expression. "I know. And you have every right to hate us, but, please, know that I do regret. I changed, Kat. I really did, and I don't blame you for not forgiving me."

I look at her blue-green irises to make myself clear to her. "I recognize your change, Katrina. But I can't forget everything with a conversation."

My sister nods. "I wanna help you to find Rina though."

"In exchange of my forgiveness?"

She shrugs. "I wanna end the guilt."

I narrow my eyes at her, scamming every detail on her to not fall on a trap. "And will you not feel guilty of betraying Katarina?"

"Not when she doesn't want my happiness."

After a few seconds, I finally nod. "Tell me everything, then."

────────── ★★★ ──────────

"Must've been a good talk", Billy says when we come back to the men. They're seated on comfortable white chairs; Cypress is with a cigarette while Billy and another man drink whisky. I know the latter from some old business. He didn't change much on the outside, and I suppose his dirty inside is still the same. After all, Viktor Orlov is from the Russian mafia since he was born.

"We had some issues to solve", I say as taking a chair to seat.

Viktor smirks, well aware of my relation with my biological family. "Good to know you're friends now." We aren't.

A waiter appears with champagne glasses, and I happily take one. Alcohol can help me a lot tonight, yet a cigarette would be better. "I'll then assume you are making some friends too."

The Russian man passes a hand on his blonde hair, an habit he's always had. "Of course! Actually, Billy was just telling us how you two met! Though I don't imagine any of you at a museum."

I control the urge to roll my eyes.

"What?! I totally imagine Kat at one." All eyes go to Katrina, who's on Cypress' lap. "Last time we saw each other, she was doing history in Harvard!"

How the hell does she remember that?

Viktor's jaw drops in shock. "You studied history?!"

I smirk at his face, suppressing a laugh. "Surprised?"

"It's just so... weird." I raise an eyebrow at him. "So different from you."

"That's because you don't know me, Orlov."

"Katherine", Billy's looking at me like a hawk "may I talk to you?" Nodding, I excuse myself from the crowd and accompany Billy to an isolated corner. "What did you two talk about?"

I take a sip of champagne before answering: "Katarina's in London or Amsterdam. She robbed you to get money for Tissaia's company."

"But her company's of loan." I nod. "She got all kinds of accounts to rob. So why wanting my money?"

"For more money, of course. Tissaia's never satisfied, nothing is enough for her."

Billy frowns, probably solving the puzzle on his head. "No, there's more that we don't know."

I scoff at his skepticism. That man simply can't stand that he was fooled, that Katarina planned to leave him since the beginning, and not the other way around. However, as time passes, Billy's confused face suddenly changes to a smirk, realization hitting every inch of him.

Uh oh. This isn't going to lead us to any good.

This is a victorious grin, one that express his contentment for finding out what happened between him and his ex. It's clear that Billy's just discovered my sister's weakness.

"She's in debt."

A tired sigh escapes my lips. I really don't have time for this paranoia. "Billy—"

"Her mom's already had money when she started dating me. She could've choose any NY rich man but she chose me!"

"So?"

His dark brown eyes are shining when he looks at me. "Rina's not dumb—"

I chuckle. Is this a joke? "I beg to differ."

"She knew I was from the mafia. She knew it, and that's why she wanted me: to have money and intimidate her enemies. It was killing two birds with one stone!" Oh, God, he is acting like a mad man. "We've to find out who's that enemy."

"Now?"

"Right. Fucking. Now."

Billy pulls me by the forearm so quickly that I gasp in pain and almost drop champagne on the floor. I feel my wound sting because of the muscle's stretch, which makes me stiff for a moment. But the Anvil CEO doesn't care; he leads me through the ballroom, probably searching for someone. After all, he wouldn't be crazy enough to leave a — criminal — business party so soon, which would certainly stain his reputation.

"W—What about Petrov?"

"We're goin' right to him."

After minutes of trying not to trip on my own gown and dodging the crowd of guests and waiters in the ballroom, Billy finally stops at the garden, a few inches away from 3 men talking to each other. I just know the tallest of them. His brown hair is thrown back with gel exactly like Billy's, his navy blue suit seems new, as if it was bought yesterday, and his tattooed hand holds a glass of vodka.

I analyze the tattoo on his hand. It wasn't there on our last meeting, though his hand was covered in blood. It's a lighthouse at sunset. For the Russian mafia, that means freedom.

"Petrov."

Kage's gaze turn to us, and a smirk forms on his lips as he sees the man by my side. "Oh my—  Billy Russo!"

The Anvil CEO gestures to himself. "The one and only."

"What a wonderful surprise, my friend", although better, his Russian accent is still noticeable when he speaks english. "This is your girlfriend?"

"Oh, no!" I chuckle while Billy answers we're partners.

Kage narrows his hazel eyes at me, scamming every detail of my face. "You remember me of someone. What's your name?"

"Katherine Elizabeth Morris." My eyes go wide at the stone cold voice behind me, my whole body freezes and a shiver runs through my spine. It's been 3 years since I've heard that French accent, and at the last time, it was filled with rage. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

With closed eyes, I take a deep breath before making a spin to face the woman. She's stunning as always; half of her hair is tied down, letting the blonde curls fall on the red gown that contrasts with her pale skin. However, Michelle's light blue eyes gaze me with complete hate.

"Mich", her name almost sounds like a plead on my tongue.

"Michelle for you." Her correction breaks my already shattered heart. "What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" Oh my God, why have I just said? She's going to hate me even more for this!

"She's my girl", Kage's voice interrupts our conversation, but none of us turn to him. "Now how about all of us sit down and—"

"Actually we've gotta talk", Billy says. "Just the two of us."

"Right now?"

"Business doesn't wait, Petrov. Let's leave them on our sight while we solve some things."

He groans and faces Michelle. "It'll take a minute. Will you alright, sólnêchka?"

She nods. "Oui, mon amour."

It's obvious the annoyance on her face when she turns around to face me. It's been 3 years and my cousin hasn't forgiven me, which, honestly, I understand. And that's why I have to contain myself to not apologize to her and say everything that really happened on the night we last saw each other.

"So—", she huffs before I even finish my sentence, as if my voice was a disgusting sound to be heard by her ears "how are you doing?"

"How am I doing?" She repeats it out loud, questioning herself. "Let's see—"

Something good won't come out from her.

"I'm young and beautiful, rich and popular... I haven't seen you for years — which made miracles for my mental health—"

I take a deep breath to control the urge of slapping her. "Michelle—"

"And I've a handsome and loving caring boyfriend that you can't kill."

A punch would have been better than that. My heart sinks in my chest, her sharp words hitting me like a train.

The message couldn't be clearer: my life's better without you. Michelle hasn't just said that she doesn't want me, but that Kage — and her — will kill me if I ever lay a finger on him. But the worst part of all is that, although filled with rage, my cousin's right.

I've never been good enough for anyone. And I'll never be.

I'm nothing but a burden. Everyone's better without me.

"I want to apologize", I gulp in an attempt to avoid crying. "Not for Mason and his dead body, but for hurting you. It was never my intention."

"Wow—", her scoff lifts one of her blonde locks "you're so cynical, Katherine. More than I've ever thought."

"Michelle, I'm not being—"

"Ah, spare me your words! You kill my boyfriend, disappear for years and now is following me like a puppy as if nothing happened." She narrows her light blue eyes at me, pure hate inside them. "You're acting like a victim, something you sure aren't."

I chuckle at that. Is she really calling me the handler in this conversation? "I know I'm not the victim, Michelle."

"Oh, do you?"

"If I were doing what you're implying, I wouldn't be here apologizing to you again. So stop distorting my words."

"Ok, then." My cousin nods. "Say that you regret killing Mason and we can never discuss 'bout that again."

"And will we see each other again?"

She scoffs in annoyance. "What do you think?"

I sigh in frustration. God, she's more difficult than I remember. "You know I won't apologize for Mason, Mich—"

"You accused Mason of cheating on me, filled my head with your paranoias of the time, and then you killed him! How can you not regret that?!" She yells at me with widened eyes.

"Because he cheated on you and betrayed the family!" I raise my voice, all of my patience running out.

"That's your freaking paranoia!"

"Goddamn it, Michelle! I showed you the photos and all evidences that he wasn't as trustable as you'd thought. He didn't deserve you!"

"And you had to kill him for that?! You had to break my fucking heart?!"

"I did it for you, for the family! He tried to hurt us!"

"Mais tu m'as fait mal!" (But you hurt me!) "Tu as détruit mon bonheur à l'époque juste parce que tu n'étais pas heureux!" (You destroyed my happiness at the time just because you weren't happy!)

I go immediately still. Firstly because my cousin's speaking french, her native language; something she just do when she's losing her mind. Secondly due to an accusation I would never do it. If Michelle — or any of my cousins — knew of my mental breakdowns and all of emotions I kept to myself in order to help the family, she would've never said that.

"Don't you dare." I clench my teeth to control my rage. "I would never do that."

She scoffs, clearly not believing me. "Vous savez quoi, Katherine? Va te faire fou—" (You know what, Katherine? Go fuck your—)

"Alright, that's enough", Sorrel puts herself between us. "You kids had your fight, but now it's time to rest."

Behind my friend, I see Viktor holding Michelle in an attempt to calm her down. She's acting like the perfect victim as always. Nobody but her can make a mistake. She's the only one that can do whatever she wants despite all the consequences of her actions.

I'm used to that since we met as children, but sometimes it really gets on my nerves. And I really would've stayed calm if it wasn't for her wiping some tears away.

"You're crying?"

"Katherine—"

I completely ignore Sorrel's warning. "I'm the one with no family or place to call home and you're crying?!"

She's seeing red when she faces me, but I'm seeing that color too. Every part of my body wants to slap and punch her till she screams 'I'm sorry'. Michelle has the perfect life, with a dream job, alive parents, cousins that talk to her and a boyfriend. She should've been thanking for still being part of the family and being able to live that wonderful life. But no, she had to cry tears and act like the victim.

She points a finger at me with a psycho face. "Oh, tu n'oses pas." (Oh, don't you dare.)

"Oh, but I dare on the same way you'd the audacity to say I wanted to fuck up your life because I wasn't happy!" I yell at her, letting all of the feelings flow. "And you do want to know more? I've never been so miserable than nowadays. So congratulations for your perfect life. Try not to ruin it yourself—", I slowly approach her, well-aware of Viktor holding my cousin to not jump on me "because we both know you're very capable of that."

A strong grip on my arm almost makes me gasp in pain, however, I don't have time to compose myself because of the same person that is pulling me through the ballroom. Again. I don't need to look up to know it is Billy, to his face that must be stone cold right now.

He didn't let go of me until we reached the open-air parking lot of Cypress' mansion. His warm hands suddenly released my arm like he was disgusted of me, and although I know Billy's done this due to his anger, a tiny voice in my mind said that he truly was annoyed by everything that I am. My appearance and body, my personality and habits and even my skills.

Suprisingly, that thought hurt me straight on the heart, and, unfortunetly, the pain I'm feeling on my arm isn't enough to make me stop this thought.

"What the fucking hell was that?!" His scream makes me gulp for a second. "I try to talk to Petrov and you started to make a scene with his girlfriend?!"

"I tried my best—"

"Yet you fucking failed." I let out a yelp when he strongly grabs my arm again, right on the wound. "Next time you know someone, let me know to avoid you ruining everything like tonight!"

He increases the grip strenght, making me involutary back off of him to stop the pain. Suddenly, Billy's dark brown eyes changes from rage to regret.

Wait. Regret? I question. No, he would never feel that. I must be seeing things.

The Anvil's CEO, aka mob boss, sighs, which eases the tension on his shoulders. "Let's go home."

I slowly nod and follow when he starts walking to the car, the sound of gravel the only noise in the open-air parking. No one else's near us, all of employees on the gates or entrance of the mansion, and I thank God for that. It'd be more humiliating to get a scold with people looking and listening to us.

The ride to the penthouse is silent, with no stealing glances nor jokes. I look at the window the entire time, seeing a few drunken and homeless people walking around the cold NY streets. This helped me to forget Michelle's words, especially because I feel better after saying hurtful words to her too. It's true I'm upset, but at least I'm not alone in that.

However, there's one little thing that's been on my head the entire way to apartment and is indeed making me regret of what I said to the blonde French woman.

"I'm sorry", I say to Billy when he's taking his suit off.

"Huh?" He throws it on a chair and turns around. The moonlight going through the huge windows lets me see the slight frown on his face, since we haven't turned on any lights yet.

"I'm sorry for ruining the mission. I let my emotions take over my ratio." I sigh while approaching him. I want to look at his eyes to know I'm forgiven, to be sure he's not disgusted with me like on the mansion. "You're one of the only people I talk to now. Even when our talks aren't good, that's the truth, and I don't want to make our relationship any more difficult than it already is." 

"Katheri—"

"Especially when I'm in debt with you... for helping my anaemia and wound."

"Katherine, it—"

"And yet I don't regret anyting about Michelle—" I'm interrupted by his lips collinding in mine, which makes me still in surprise for a moment, thinking if I'm dreaming.

But after realizing I'm not, I return the kiss and open my lips to let his tongue inside my mouth. My hands go to his neck while his arms wrape strongly around my waist, pulling me closer to him. A good sensation spreads through my body: there's a coil forming in my stomach, and my muscles relax while my mind goes silet. The only thing inside my head now is the kiss and the deep desire for more.

Billy breaks us apart when air is necessary. Both of us are panting, with red lips and looking deeply at each others eyes. "It's ok." One of his hands goes to my cheek. "There's nothing to worry 'bout."

I only nod with a smile before pulling him for another kiss, not caring for anything else now.

────────── ★★★ ──────────

Michelle's look:

Sorrel's look:

────────── ★★★ ──────────

A/N: English is not my first language. I don’t own The Punisher and Legacies characters; they’re, respectively, Stan Lee and Marvel Studios, L. J. Smith and Julie Plec. Also, this is my Billy and some The Punisher events will be changed due to the story's course!

#a trap for broken souls #fanfic wattpad #mafia stories #assassin au #spy au #billy russo #mob! billy russo #billy russo x y/n #billy russo x oc #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #the punisher #the originals #the vampire diaries #legacies #the mikaelsons #original character

[flowercrowngods]

what if who did this to you part 4 is tinged in the pale blue of max klinger’s l‘heure bleu and what if it’s so liminal it doesn’t feel real because the after never does when you don’t even know the before, and what if robin turns into a caspar david friedrich painting and what if steve becomes the blue that depressed robin but she loves him anyway and what if i just lose my mind about them

#seriously just. man the world is ending. and there are monsters. and eddie doesn’t know shit about any of that. but he feels this fear that #is palpable and he sees the way robin looks at steve and he sees the way steve lets himself be held #despite the broken ribs despite the bruises like he’s used to bone crushing hugs when his body is already crushed #he should flinch he should wince and eddie’s witnessing and telling a story he’s not even a part of #so what if it all goes blue but it’s the wrong shade it’s the sad shade it’s the liminal shade that traps eddie in this moment #so what if i go insane about how far removed eddie is from everything and still he sees it all but he has no way to come to the right #conclusions and tell the correct story. so what if the narrator is not part of the story he tells. so what so what so what #who did this to you #who did this to you part 4 #also everyone look at the paintings: l‘heure bleu and wanderer above the sea of fog #these paintings are what my soul looks like (when i dissociate) (which is often)

[lesbaurinkos]

(feeling faint and desolate) its like. the typewriter clacking at the very very end. jughead ending the second to last episode writing what was to come. its all still the story being told- and we can't even be sure how much of this episode was true, how much if any was actually real or if it was our narrator tying up The Story. and in the end they're in an eternity of high school. the end of the heathers episode the lyrics to seventeen they were a promise. you cant escape riverdale forever. you can never truly leave. maybe we won't grow old and maybe then we'll never die. high school may not ever end. the cycle may not ever be broken. not even after the story has ended

#did i LIKE the ending? not really. but is it giving me much to think about? well yeah #i wish they had gotten out of the 50s of course i do. wish they had gotten to end being People and not Characters #but they didnt.... theyre forever treading that same road trapped in that cycle forever #ideas. characters. comic book world. forever in this lingering high school era JUST like archie comics themselves #man...... staring blankly at a wall...... feeling broken in my soul. i surely will be able to post more coherently tomorrow #riverdale spoilers #riverdale

[fawnoir]

God hates me especially. If you even care.

#who was the guy who fought the angel and got his arm broken bc me #instead I’d square up w god bc he honestly could have let me been born a man so that I wouldn’t have turned out so fucked in the head #abt my perceived safety or lack thereof #this has all been spurred by the fact that I’ve been forced to re-remember that race play + corrective r*pe ‘kinks’ exist #where is that post abt being suggested blogs that you’d actively get a restraining order against #bc I just read a post that has triggered my fight or flight to such a degree ….it’s insane #if I ever met a man and found out he’d get off on r*ping me either bc of my race or my fear of dick I’d just kill him and then myself #bc it not fair that ppl like that get to be having fun while I’m critically unhinged bc i feel trapped in this body #we both get die I’ve decided! #then I’d bait god into a fist fight and win #literally my soul would materialize in front of him and I’d choke him out until he gave me what I want #i waant to be a boy like I’m going feral abt it I just want to fuck w the universe and make it so that I was born a guy #I’ll be so responsible w my privilege I promise I swear so so much #lemme switch my avatar lemme out I’ll stop biting :)) #also idc that I may have internalized -isms or internalized -phobia or whatever the fuck idc idccccc fuck off! #I’m done ~unlearning~ shit until I discover proof that it’s WORTH IT

[theimpossiblescheme]

*arrives in the Dark Souls fandom a decade and a half late with Starbucks and this ancient meme*

So I guess it’s my turn to say my piece about these games I’ve recently discovered I love so much.  And the thing I want to talk about is this insistence from so many people that Siegmeyer and Siegward of Catarina are just the exact same character lazily reskinned.  Even though when you look at the actual text of the games, you know that’s not true.  Yes, they share a voice actor and some of the same vocal tics, and their armor is almost identical (which I always thought was a silly criticism because presumably that’s just how Catarinian armor looks), but beyond a surface level their personalities and presences in the games really couldn’t be more different.

Siegmeyer is a man who holds himself to a very high standard--much too high for any ordinary adventurer to achieve, Undead or no.  He dreams of being a true legend, a knight of the highest caliber who can conquer any obstacle set in front of him.  But whenever he finds himself coming short of that goal, he just kind of... shuts down.  If he can’t open a huge gate, if he can’t fight his way past a coterie of Silver Knights, if he can’t get through a poisoned swamp without weakening--all things he believes a true knight should be able to do without a problem--he just doesn’t.  Because if you can’t be perfect at something on the first go, what’s the point of trying?  He’s certainly a very proud man who places a lot of stock in honor and gallantry, but because he despairs of ever living up to his own standards, he becomes insecure and indecisive, and we can surmise that some of his jovial nature serves to mask that.  The only time he volunteers to fight beside the Chosen Undead is when he’s already “run up quite a debt to (them),” and he feels ashamed of letting them both down.  “I curse my own inability,” he says, and the uncharacteristically grave tone of his voice is honestly kind of haunting.  We worry about Siegmeyer because we know his insecurity and indecisiveness runs deep, and it’s going to get him into much more serious trouble someday.  Trouble we won’t be able to get him out of.  So when we hear about him heading down to Ash Lake for his “final adventure,” our first thought is “ohhhhh, no.”  Because that’s where the Black Hydra and the Everlasting Dragon are... Siegmeyer’s going to try to fight them.  To prove himself worthy at last.  It’s a suicide mission.  And when we make it down there, we find Siegmeyer dead at the hands of his own daughter--a still-living human who came to pass on her mother’s last words.  There’s two more people Siegmeyer feels as if he’s failed.  At the end, Siegmeyer couldn’t live with his own imperfections.  We knew him as an easy-going, warm, cheerful, and rather brave man in his own right... but for him, that wasn’t enough.

Siegward, on the other hand, always seems a lot more comfortable in his own skin. There’s no “by my knighthood, I’m ashamed to ask” from him--just earnest talk about courage and duty, and we can tell he takes those things very seriously.  And it’s not just talk either.  While the Ashen One does help him out of a few tight spots, he’s more than capable of taking care of himself.  Within seconds of us rushing down to fight the demon in the Undead Settlement, he’s right there with us, rushing into battle by our side instead of letting us do all the work.  If we get his armor back from Patches, he saves Greirat from certain death in Irithyll.  And when we march in to take down Yhorm, Siegward appears there, too... ready to finally bring his old friend a much-deserved final rest.  He doesn’t agonize about being an adventurer and hero--he just is one.  On another note, knowing about his friendship with Yhorm and promise to him puts a lot of his behavior in the game into perspective.  His insistence on “talking sense” into enemies much bigger and craftier than himself?  His best friend is a giant, so of course he thinks he’d be able to do that.  His constant stopping to drink and sleep?  He’s deliberately dragging his feet.  He doesn’t want to kill Yhorm, he doesn’t even want to think about it yet, so he takes the scenic route and enjoys a few creature comforts while he still can.  As we learn later, his mission to find and defeat Yhorm was the only thing keeping him alive and sane, and shortly after the fight and one last toast, the Ashen One finds his soul and armor where he once sat.  It’s a bittersweet moment because our friend--the one we shared both battle and peacetime with, who warmed us with the only real food and drink besides estus in the whole trilogy--is gone... but he went on his own terms.  No final despair, no doubt, no drastic rash decisions.  He fulfilled the duty that meant so much to him, and his last words were wishing us luck on ours.

So in short, in a way Siegward is Siegmeyer... but a fully realized one who managed to find his courage and sense of purpose, overcome his insecurity, and become the true knight he’d always dreamed of.

#dark souls #siegmeyer of catarina #siegward of catarina #the schemer speaks #It always drives me a little bit nuts because while there are valid criticisms to be made about DS3 #(I think coming out after DS2 which was so radically different from the first game accounts for most of it) #it's galling that everyone falls back on 'Oh it's Anor Londo/Earthen Peak/Onion Knights/Gwyndolin/what the hell ever again'. #And I'm like... okay so let's interrogate that a little more from a story perspective? #Let's talk about how these repeating elements--in a story that's *always* been about natural cycles and how they can be twisted and broken #and how people can be trapped within these cycles and used and abused by much more powerful people and forces-- #actually serve the narrative being told instead of dismissing them out of hand? #Yes I know that Doyleist and Watsonian readings are often quite different but I do like to take *both* into account when analyzing art. #When you take it for granted that artistic decisions are made for a reason and sometimes it is Really That Deep #it makes things a lot more interesting y'know? :P

[sexysilverstrider]

SHE CANT SEE SHE CANT SPEAK SHE CANT MOVE THAT IS A SOUL TRAPPED IN A CORPSE

#THAT IS A LITERAL SOUL TRAPPED IN A CORPSE #yoritomos heartbroken desperate broken is sexy af tho #BUT GODDAMN!! #fafar plays birushana

[nocturnal-desolation]

There is no true freedom for a soul like mine. A soul that is imprisoned within unbreakable walls, trapped in a dark and lonely place where it is bound to continue a discouraging cycle of pain and hopelessness. But it still wants to be free, it wants to breathe, to be happy… it feels like there's always something keeping me from reaching it. Like a force holding me back. It's frustrating and well, it also feels so unfair that I can't escape it. Because I know the path, I know the way out, and yet it's this constant voice of self-criticism and self-hatred that keeps pulling me back in. I wouldn't be that bad, I'm really not, it's just my damn mind that keeps telling me, "Yes, yes you are, they hate you as much as you hate yourself."

Just my damn mind…

#freedom #soul #trapped in my head #hopelessness #frustrated #so frustrating #self criticism #feelings #broken mind #thoughts

[gaecactae]

Smily Adventures #2!

Sleepover⭐️

I decided to make an alternative version of sleepover cartoon that we saw 🥰 in this cartoon universe, CatNap doesn’t have red smoke. There are different methods of putting your friends to a nice sleep, aren’t there?🐱

🌙The characters displayed in the comics remain in strictly platonic relationships, are embodiment of innocence and purity. They do not contain a trapped, poor souls of a broken child, nor a scientist. They are seated in a cartoon world, which is not infulencing PoppyPlaytime’s original storyline🌙

#poppy playtime #dogday #catnap #poppy playtime catnap #poppy playtime chapter 3 #poppy playtime comic #smiling critters #picky piggy #hoppy hopscotch #bubba bubbaphant #kickinchicken #bobby bearhug #craftycorn #poppy playtime fanart

[whumptober]

Whumptober 2023

Welcome to Whumptober 2023 — the sixth year running!

COMPLETIONISTS/PARTICIPANT BADGES CAN BE FOUND HERE

To those of you who participated last year, welcome back! To everyone joining this year, welcome!

Please make sure to read the Event Info carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

And this years playlist can be found here.

There are 139 prompt options in total this year - this is including the alternatives list! A special thanks goes out to those who took part in our trope vote back in July. From the 1526 responses to our list of 223 tropes, we looked through the popularity results, as well as your honourable mentions, and were able to produce this years prompts list. Stay tuned, as we will be posting some of the results at a later date!

We’re very excited to see the community come together once more and be a wild, chaotic bunch of creators and consumers of whump. Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information and FAQs are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2023 Prompt List

No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”

Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”

No. 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”

Thermometer | Delirium | “They don't care about you.”

No. 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”

Journal | Solitary Confinement | “Make it stop.”

No. 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”

Cattle Prod | Shock | “You in there?”

No. 5: “You better pray I don't get up this time around.”

Debris | Pinned Down | “It's broken.”

No. 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”

Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”

No. 7: " “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.”

Alleyway | Radio Silence | “Can you hear me?”

No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”

Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | “It’s all for nothing.”

No. 9: “Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.”

Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | “You're a liar.”

No. 10: “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”

Broken Phone | Stranded | “You said you'd never leave.”

No. 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.”

Animal trap | Captivity | “No one will find you.”

No. 12: “I haven't slept in days but who's counting?”

Red | Insomnia | “I’m up, I’m up.”

No. 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”

Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”

No. 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.”

Flare | Water Inhalation | “Just hold on.”

No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.”

Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

No. 16: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”

Gurney | Flatline | “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

No. 17: “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.”

Collar | Touch Aversion | “Leave me alone.”

No. 18: “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened.”

Blindfold | Tortured For Information | “Hit them harder.”

No. 19: “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.”

Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

No. 20: “People don’t change people, time does.”

Blanket | Found Family | “You will regret touching them.”

No. 21: “See the chains around my feet.”

Vows | Restraints | “Don't move.”

No. 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.”

Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | “Watch out!”

No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”

Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?”

No. 24: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule.”

Goodbye Note | Neglect | “I thought they were with you.”

No. 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”

Storm | Buried Alive | “They’re not breathing!”

No. 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.”

Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”

No. 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding.”

Matches | Scars | “Let me see”

No. 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.”

Bloody Knife | Sacrifice | “You'll have to go through me.”

No. 29: “I only sink deeper the deeper I think.”

Scented Candle | Troubled Past Resurfacing | “What happened to me?”

No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.”

Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”

No. 31: “I thought that I was getting better.”

Emptiness | Setbacks | “Take it easy.”

Alternatives List:

Betrayal

Aftermath of Failure

Brass Knuckles

Decoy

Body Modification

Playing Cards

Examination

Hunting

Drugging

Shaking

Panic

Broken

Miscommunication

Lab Rat

Reluctant Whumper

Event Info & Rules

~ Please read our extensive event info posts before sending us an ask ~

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. The 'theme' of each day is the line of lyrics.

The prompts are merely to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is "flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be related to the 'spark' of a relationship. It's truly up to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day: there's lyrics, an object, a trope and a line of dialogue to choose from.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag the with:

#whumptober2023 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(day number)

#lyric, #bruises, #stabbing,  …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#fandom or #OC, … (ironman, originalcontent, oc …)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #gore tw, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Add "tw" AFTER the trigger/content warning. )

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed the event. You do not need to post anything you have created, we rely on trust and we will not check this.

Questions not addressed in one of our many event info posts can be directed to this blog. We will not answer any questions that have been answered in the FAQs or rules already.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q. How does this year’s prompt list work? What do I have to choose?

You can create something based on:

The overall theme/lyric of the day

Prompt 1, 2 or 3

One or several of the alternative prompts

A combination of the above

Q. Is [specific anything] allowed?

When in doubt: JUST DO IT!

Q. Do I have to do all 31 days?

Participate as much or little as you like! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.7, #radio silence). If you create works for 31 total theme days you will become a completionist. But apart from that, there are no repercussions if you don’t fill prompts for each day.

Q. Can I post early/late?

Yes, you can post whenever you want. We will only reblog posts during October, but you can use our prompts all year round. The day you post will only affect your probability of being reblogged.

Q. Will you reblog my post?

Due to the sheer number of content posted during Whumptober we can’t promise to reblog every single post. We will make a random selection trying to capture a wide variety of content. The following will increase your chances at being reblogged:

tag your post properly

post within 2-3 days of the theme you want to fill: if you fill the prompt for Day 1 your chances of being reblogged during October 1st to 3rd are highest and will go towards zero afterwards.

Q. What if I don’t understand a prompt/theme?

Send us an ask! We’re happy to help with wild, unhelpful clarifications or brainstorming. That being said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation. Don’t take them too literally. For example: You can be choking on a cherry, someone else can choke you or you could be choked up on emotions, etc.

Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?

This is a MIXED MEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gifset or photo edit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you’ll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe.

Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?

Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

Q. Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms?

Of course! You can post your own content wherever you like (or you can opt to not publish it at all). Additionally we’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. It can be accessed here. The tumblr blog @whumptober-archive is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle.

Q. Can I use prompts to write a new chapter for an existing fic?

Yes.

Q. An existing fic I am currently writing contains many of the Whumptober prompts, can I use it?

If you are actively writing this fic at the moment with the Whumptober prompts in mind, yes. If you’ve previously posted something that checks the boxes, we ask that you not include it retroactively for this current year. You can, however, add new chapters relating to one or more of the prompts.

Q. What kind of characters can I write for?

Fandom characters, OC characters, human, furry, alien, cyborg, RPF, whoever you like. You can use the generic “whumpee” character or have specific ones.

Q. Does it have to take place in a specific fandom?

No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want.

Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?

Yes, but it only counts once towards being a completionist.

Q. If I’m not comfortable with one day’s prompts can I use a prompt of a different day as a substitute and still be a completionist?

No, you can’t exchange prompts for different days. However, if all four prompts of a specific day make you uncomfortable, we have created an alternate prompts list that you can draw from. You can exchange any prompt with these, but please make sure not to use them twice.

Q. Where can I post my work?

Post where and how you want. You don’t have to (cross)post it to Tumblr or at all. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive.

Q. Can I start posting early?

You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? That being said, you can post early, but we won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st.

Q. Do I have to finish a fic I started/can I post WIP’s?

Yes you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish it in October for it to count towards being a completionist.  

Q. Is co-writing allowed?

Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you.

Q. Do I have to create 31 standalone pieces to be considered a completionist or can I write one continuous story?

One continuous story is fine.  The challenge is to write something for 31 prompts. If that’s spread over 31 fics or just one, you are still considered a completionist. (The same goes for every other media you choose.)

Q. Is there a min/max limit on word count?

There is no limit.

Q. Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many?

No limit and combine as many as you’d like.

Q. Is a hc/angst/emotional whump focus ok?

Of course! We are not going to establish a threshold for whumpiness. If you think it’s whumpy enough, then it’s whumpy enough. It can be physical, psychological, emotional, or any combination of the three.

Q. What’s considered nsfw?

See this post

Q. What is whump?

Typically the genre includes situations where a fictional character is hurt, be it emotionally, psychologically, or physically. Fanlore provides information here.

Q. My interpretation of the prompt isn’t whumpy at all, does that count?

If you don’t think your interpretation is whumpy, then it doesn’t count for Whumptober. Remember that whump comes in many forms, though, and that we don’t have a whump-checker or a threshold for how much whump needs to be included. If you think your interpretation contains enough whump to count, then it does.

Q. Can I start working on the prompts before October?

Absolutely! That’s why we post the prompts a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time” so feel free to start creating early!

Q. How do I tag triggers?

tw at the end of the word, ex. #gore tw

Q. Do I have to use your tags?

Yes, if you want your work archived on the blog. If not, feel free to use whatever tags you want. 

Q. Does combining prompts count towards completion?

Yes

Q. Can we @ you?

Yes but we mostly rely on the #whumptober2023 tag.

Q. Is there anything we are absolutely not allowed to write?

There are no rules, but please make sure to properly tag your trigger warnings. And keep in mind Tumblr’s policies if you are posting it here (or the policies for whatever site you use).

Q. Where can I go for brainstorming help?

Here on Discord or come into our ask box.

Q. My characters are minors, is that ok?

Yes, but as with everything else, use clear and descriptive tags.

Q. Can I cross post on other blogs?

Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable. You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once.

Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).

Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!

#whumptober2023 #whumptober 2023 prompts list #whumptober #prompts list #long post

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru x darling

TW: NSFW, noncon, fantasy au

gn reader

Thinking about hunter Gojo and the pretty little nymph that gets themselves snared in one of his traps.

You can’t get your poor leg loose, having twisted your ankle in your fall to the ground – something’s wrong with your wing too, you can feel it – the thin network’s been folded, almost broken – so even if you did manage getting loose, you wouldn’t be able to fly away.

Branches snap around you along the crunch of old leaves – and your heart’s beating out of your chest in fear of it – knowing something large and dangerous is not far behind, that whoever set the trap is not something that wishes you well.

“You’re not a rabbit.” The man says, having crept in close before you’d even heard him approach – crouching in front of you with a hunter's grace. Hawk-eyes ice-blue and piercing, hair as white as pure snow.

He’s got three daggers sleaved in his belt – a fillet knife, a gutting knife, and a larger one you imagine is meant to slice throats. He doesn’t carry a sword like most men but has a bow and sack of arrows slung on his back. Otherwise, dressed lightly – brown leather boots, brown slacks, and a blue cotton shirt. You could have mistaken him for a woodland elf if it weren’t for the thick stench of man.

“Eating creatures from the holy forest is forbidden.” You snip, despite your wide eyes and the wobble of fear evident on your lip.

He only smiles at the quip, a grin like a predator humored by prey. “You wouldn’t tell a wolf not to hunt.”

He stalks you, leaning in closer, and you try shuffling away – but the movement only makes you wince.

“I’m just another hungry animal…”

Rope gnaws into your fine skin while his breath puffs hot and dewy on your face.

“And tonight… seems lady luck has favored me once again.”

He gags you and ties you further up before redoing his snare for the next unlucky creature – then carries you over his shoulder until he’s dropping you down on a bed of furs.

Your skin flushes with goosebumps at the thought of being skinned the same way – mouthing a little prayer around the cloth he’s split your teeth and lips with. He’s cut trees down as well; you hear their pitiful screams when he lights a fire with their bodies. You mourn them, too.

At his full height, the man must be two heads taller than any male nymph you’ve ever seen and at least three heads taller than you. You hope you’re enough to satisfy him tonight, to spare the forest of further bloodshed.

You shiver and sniffle when he starts prepping you – removing your clothes and groping your tender, fleshy places with a strength you’re not used to – hands large and crass – kneading you like dough – probably to assess the quality of your meat. He has a smile on his face while at it. 

Humans make you sick – to think he’s planning on roasting then eating you despite the soul fueling your spirit and the beating heart in your chest. But you’ve long known that all death but their own matters little to them – they don’t feel the same way nymphs do – they don’t regard life with the same respect they’ve donned themselves. It must be a sad and lonely existence, you think. It even makes you feel a little sorry for him.

You yelp when his gritty fingers brush the area between your legs – shimmying when he lowers his mouth down to the same place. Oh God – does he plan on eating you raw? While your body’s still hot and pumping blood?

But the bite never comes – not yet eating but tasting it would seem – licking and slurping and sucking on you.

He takes his shirt off. Probably to avoid spilling on it, you think.

You don’t really understand what’s going on until he’s got his fat manhood pointed toward your kernel-sized hole. Eyes wide as he splits you apart slowly and unabashedly – as though it isn't as deviant as a dog mating a cat – sinking in inch after meaty inch.

You whimper at the stretch – wincing when the plush mushroom-shaped head grinds against that special place inside you. 

It doesn’t fit more than halfway, but that doesn’t seem to bother him – rolling his head back with a rusty groan, even with just the tip gaining purchase within you – pounding into you like a beast in his rut.

“What's the matter, pretty nymph? Did you think I was gonna eat you?” He laughs, bearing over you – his hands steadying your hips to meet his sharp thrust – each hit deeper than the last. “I’m the only hunter in this forest; I can eat what I want when I want – but eating you?” He scoffed and snickered. “That would just be a waste.”

The blood on his breath makes you wrinkle your nose – squeezing your eyes shut as his tongue sweeps up the tear streaks on your cheek.

“My stomach’s already full. Time to empty my balls.”

#yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojo smut #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo saturo #jjk gojo #yandere gojo x reader #yandere gojo satoru #yandere gojo #yandere satoru gojo #jjk smut #jujustu kaisen headcanons #gojo headcanons

[evilminji]

You know what idea has always ENCHANTED ME?

Ever since I saw it on a sci-fi show?

The Deadly Magical House That Loves You™. See, it's a house that has become something MORE. Gained sentience. And? Instead of acting out some cheap horror movie jump scares? It digs deep to its foundations, thinks long n hard, and decides on what it WANTS.

And it WANTS?

To be a HOME™.

To TAKE CARE OF somebody. Have LIFE in its halls. Meals at its tables. Joy and laughter bouncing across its walls. So? It lays a trap. Lures people in.

Come live in me~

I am a good home.

I am Free! I am "Safe". I will give you whatever your heart desires.

I care not for morality or laws. Boundaries or taboos. Do you desire? Come, come, be HAPPY~! Live in me! Relax here! Forget about the world beyond these walls. Anything I can not give you, I can bring TOO you! This is a Happy Home.

But, of course, such sentience and pushiness terrifies. People run and flee in horror. The house getting more aggressive. Trying to hold tighter. After all! If they would just STAY for a while, they would SEE! It's so LOVELY here! The would LOVE to live inside them!

But... instead?

They are hurt.

Doors smashed open. Windows broken to escape. Furniture thrown. Their avatar, Jeeves, bashed with heavy things. Why... WHY?! They are only trying to HELP! To LOVE them! Be a good HOME! They grow more and more run down. Starved. Wrathful.

It is, of course, their Obsession. To be a home. They are so very hungry.

When? Who should come along?

But the depressed AF Ghost King! He's been... not TECHNICALLY kicked out. But "things are tense" kicked out. He's tired. His college courses are remote. He can't really AFFORD rent. And everything is just...

He's TIRED.

He wants to cry.

Why... why can't he have ONE good thing? ONE sign everything's gonna be alright?

"Free House!"

Well... I mean... that IS a literal sign. Huh. He flies down. The house notices him. Tries to look as enticing as it can. And? Gasp! I... It's WORKING? This one seems INTERESTED? Quick! Flowerbeds! Look at my flowerbeds! Ooooh, lovely floooowers! A.. and there's probably really nice wood flooring! C'mon. C'moooon!

Danny? Sees a free Lair. Not too far from both Gotham AND Metropolis. Good location. Needs a little fixing up. But I mean... you can't beat free, right?

Is he really gonna do this?

......fuck it. Yeah, let's do this. First house time. He's just glad he carries a sharpie on him most of the time. Scribbles "Sold!" Over the sign then calls Jazz. He's... kinda not sure WHAT he's supposed to pack?

Finds out, post move in, whoop. Sentient Lair. Clingy, clingy, highly desperate sentient Lair. Oof. Guess fixing up the place can be therapy for both of us. Jazz helps.

The house heals. He falls into a routine. Schoolwork, hang out in the garden or the observatory, meals FaceTiming friends or watching videos, naps whenever he wants them. It's... it's so peaceful. Quiet and soothing to his agitated and worn down soul. Like a balm.

House gets him whatever he needs. They're kinda awesome like that. Always seems to have room to fit this or that. He doesn't question it. His brain figuring it works on Zone logic.

He probably SHOULD have.

Because? Things have been going missing. At a slow, steady, pace. Food, technology, entertainment. A building that shouldn't BE there, has been spotted in a wealthy county just outside of Superman and Batman's two cities.

No one can get near it.

It's been getting BIGGER.

Growing, like a tumor, room by room. Floor by floor. The gardens creeping like kudzu, to swallow everything in their path. Yet delivery drivers drop things off. Things they don't remember. On trips they don't recall. People are scared.

Amateur detectives have managed to discover some sort of starlit fae that lives there, along with a human boy.

Justice League Dark has been called in. Are currently standing just outside the slowly creeping property line. A garden statue just hissed at them. The trees are trying to throw acorns. A hushed argument has already broken out. How do they contain the house?

@the-witchhunter @nerdpoe @hypewinter @hdgnj @babbling-babull @mutable-manifestation @spidori @lolottes

#minji's writing #dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt

[deadsetobsessions]

Tim Drake, Danny’s human identity in this universe, is a boy trapped in an empty manor with absentee parents a low socialization.

Danny Phantom, on the other hand, is Gotham City himself. He could fly, he could interact, he could be the heart of his city like he needs to be. From the lowest of the lows to the highest of the highs, Danny loved the people that were his. Well, most of them. Child molesters often found themselves crossing paths with a vengeful, mostly recovered Robin.

He is the city, he is Gotham. And with his status came more changes, ones he welcomes more readily that the changes that came with his title of Ghost King.

Being a city couldn’t change him as much as it would have, had he gained the title before becoming King. But now, his shadows are dark, curling around his shoulders and curling away what little light he allowed into his city. His skin, having once glittered green with stars and galaxies and black holes, clouds over just a bit. It gives him a misty quality. His hands become sharper, stronger. Gargoyle-like. He wonders what he looked like to Batman, holding his broken son cradled safely to himself. He’s crueler, now, but that’s easily balanced by his years of being a vigilante himself.

He loves these changes. They are loved in a way changing into Dead Danny Phantom and Ghost King Danny Phantom will never be loved. And even though his human features are different in a way he never had to deal with as Danny Fenton, because it was his body that he died in, Danny finds himself enjoying the distinction. And he enjoys when they combine, because in the end, they’re just facets of who he is, now.

Gotham flies through his city, and enjoys it as a whole. A bigger picture.

Tim Drake walks through his city, and enjoys it as an individual. The smaller picture.

Being Gotham reminds him of what he had to protect as a whole. A duty he gladly bears.

Being Tim reminds him of the people he’s meant to help, the stories he doesn’t get as Danny. A connection he gladly encouraged.

Gotham is power. He is duty, he is fierce love. But for the good of the whole.

Tim is kindness. He is choice, he is gentle devotion. But for the good of the individual.

He’s both.

Danny. Danny Phantom.

Phantom glides through the smog.

The ebb and flow of people is his life blood, the thrumming of life and death and fear and hate and love and everything the city is sung through him and Danny sung back with everything he had. Danny is the gargoyles perched high, watching everything. He’s the stone curves of the sewers, sheltering his rats and mutant murderous crocodile man. The is no love comparable to a city’s mutant rats and their sewers. Ancients, he loves his city.

It would be nice, Danny thinks wryly, if they’d love me enough to stop blowing up buildings.

The sting of destruction to his city would hurt much more, had he not also been King. Regardless, every time there’s an explosion or general large scale property damage, he feels a stab of mild pain. Catching sight of his Bats, Danny stays invisible while following them. He wills the shadows to cradle them, to hide them further. He softens the stone, the mortar, the steel, just a hint. Their footsteps, silent and aided by the city himself. The wind steal away the noise of the grappling guns, so when Danny’s favorite vigilante duo (a fascination he shared with original text!Tim) broke into the building, not a single soul aside them are aware of the intrusion.

Batman skulks across the support beams, Robin following with an anticipatory grin. Danny floats, invisible, undetectable, besides them.

“C’mon!” A goon grunts beneath them. Danny tilts his head. A… Dresden Aberthy. Wow. That’s one hell of a name.

“Hurry it up! Boss said Batman’s going to get here soon!” Another goon- Robbert- said, waving around a gun like a moron at the terrified hostages. Danny could tell half of them were part of a tour bus, mostly because the other half were his Gothamites, bored and unfairly used to this kind of thing. The tourists… He’s fond of them, having kept track of their progress through his city. He doesn’t care for intruders on his haunt, but tourists like to appreciate his city and its doubtlessly Sam-approved architecture. Most of them. Rude tourists get pigeon shit on their heads and food stolen by his lovely rats.

He’ll have to make sure none of the bullets hit the tourists. He likes this group, even if he has enough awareness to question their sanity in choosing his city to sightsee. He knows it’s a mess. It’s Danny’s mess though, so whatever.

——

All said and done, Batman whoops ass and Robin rescues the hostages just fine. Danny grins proudly as Robin knees a guy in the crotch and punches a lady’s throat in order to incapacitate them.

After they tied the goons up, and interrogated them for Two Face’s plans- explode a quarter of Gotham to distract the Bats from his diabolical plan to murder half of Gotham’s judges and lawyers that have been going after him and his people- the duo retreats to the rooftop.

“Didja think Gotham saw that?”

Batman goes to reply, but Danny beats him to it, coming back to visibility with a wind touched laugh.

“I did, little Robin.” Danny smiles, fangs and shadows on display as his vigilantes startles and whips around to face him. “You did well.”

Robin- Jason!- gapes at him.

“I see you’ve recovered, little bird.”

“Gotham! Oh. Wow. People always said Gotham was a lady, but you’re a guy!”

“It was a Lady,” Danny confirmed. “It’s complicated, little bird.”

“So, you’re really… you’re really Gotham? The city?”

Danny looks at Robin with the weight of the city behind his gaze.

“I think you know the answer to that. But yes, I am your city.”

“Constantine,” Batman starts. “He said that city spirits only appear in times of grave danger.”

There is deference in his words. Batman is Batman for Gotham, after all. Danny just wishes he could… well, be friendlier with his knights. May this is a good place to start.

Are you in danger? What threats do we need to handle? How can I help? How can I protect? Please, let me help.

His Knight always felt more than he ever says. Danny smiles.

“Was Robin’s wellbeing not in grave danger?” Danny floats closer. “I am your city. You protect me, it is only right that I protect you, no?”

“Thank you for saving me, Gotham!” Robin’s grin is a touch more sincere than usual.

“Of course, Robin. You are loved.”

“Is there… a reason you’ve shown yourself today? Gotham.”

Danny chuckles, understanding the awkwardness that was Batman addressing someone with deference.

“I wanted to tell you that you did well tonight. Those tourists weren’t harmed in the slightest. Well done.” Danny gave Robin a playful but sincere thumbs up.

“They weren’t a match for us!”

“No, they weren’t.” Danny ruffles Robin’s hair, noticing how still he grew at it. “Robin was too fast for them. That maneuver at the end was masterfully executed.”

Batman clears his throat and Danny resists the urge to laugh at him. It would be mean.

“Thank you, for the… praise.”

Fuck it. He’s played well behaved for too long.

“Yes. I read in child rearing books that positive reinforcement is necessary for healthy development. You did well, Batman.”

Despite trolling Batman- and somehow holding a straight (and hopefully wise face)- he meant every word.

Allowing a small smile to slip at Robin’s chortles and Batman’s quiet sputtering, Danny moves on.

“Where is Nightwing, Batman?”

“He’s still on a mission...”

“If it is awkward to refer to me as Gotham, Phantom will do.”

Batman dips his head once. “In space, with the Teen Titans.”

“I see. Please tell him I request his presence,” Danny barely waits for Batman’s oddly acquiescing agreement before summoning a pigeon.

“Follow her,” Danny instructs the duo. “She’ll lead you to the places with explosives. I will guide you through her, to Harvey Dent.”

Danny winces as another explosion rings out.

“Your face is cracking!” Robin exclaimed, worried. He surged forward to stare at the hairline cracks appearing on Danny’s jaw.

“That would be the explosives. Any damage to the city will be shown on me.”

“Well take care of it.” Batman growled, shoulders straightening once more into an imposing symbol.

“Yeah!”

“I know you will. Stay safe.” Danny disappears, spreading his awareness and directing his Birds to the explosives that will go off the fastest.

Batman and Robin share a glance and leaps off the roof, ready to save their city once more.

——

Tim Drake wanders around Crime Alley, and meets a blonde nine year old trying to throw hands at her absentee Riddler knockoff of a dad. He dodges the brick en route to his face and kicks the guy’s knees out.

“You okay?”

The girl blinks. She stares at her dad, groaning on the dirty street of crime alley, and flicks her gaze back up to Tim, who waits casually.

“Yep. I’m Stephanie. We’re gonna be friends now!”

She grins at him, a baby tooth missing, and Danny melts.

“Heck yeah. Tim!” He introduces himself for the first time in a long time.

Maybe with Stephanie around, he’ll finally use the name Tim? Maybe he’ll get used to it, finally!

#Danny Phantom #danny is Gotham #gotham bay is a corpse dumping ground #gotham #batman #DCxDP #dpxdc #Bruce Wayne #Danny is a menace #he sets Gotham city pests upon rude tourists #that’s right respect the city or get shat on #Batman: no outsider heros unless with my express permission #Danny: literally fuck everyone else but my own city #also Danny: I’m a hero I gotta help people everywhere #batman: this is my city and he deserves all the respect and reverence #also Batman: that is a child asking me to save them I will do whatever #nightwing is still in place #tim drake is a menace #tim drake is a little shit #but in a slightly more eldritch way #instead of the sleep deprived unhinged badass that is original Tim

[hypnos333]

Slowed to Anger

Alastor x reader

Synopsis: You loved the hotel and yet you risked your life for it

“Omg! Alaster I can’t believe you’re doing this and it looks so nice, I can’t wait to decorate” You gushed looking everywhere around the hotel making him chuckle.

“I’m glad you find this Journey to find this exciting my dear, I wish I could say the same but i’m stuck on a leash” Alaster sigh still smiling but with a broken one. You wrap your arms around his neck forcing him to wrap his around your waist.

“We’ll break this deal so we can go back to living happily together” You said kissing his temple as he closed his eyes as your kisses. “We have been married for decades it’s nothing we can’t handle My love” You continued saying.

Little did you know this was gonna be very different from those decades.

A war broke out between heaven and hell and you were against Lute and keep in mind you weren’t the best in combat nor fighting but you did have powers and you were gonna try your best to survive for Alastor.

You are a doe it made you fast but you felt like a prey everywhere and every time.

You created multiple shadows to corner Lute making her struggle until she actually stabbed you making clueless before looking down at your heart.

“Oh fucking hell” You whispered until your eyes went wide realizing what’s happening. You held onto the sword before Lute pulled it out of you before this time stabbing you in the stomach making you instantly let the life leave from inside of you.

Lute was about to check your pulse until a shadow elopes you making you disappear within an instant.

“M-My dear?” He asked hesitantly in horror seeing you gone and dead. He quickly held you into his arms rocking back in forth trying to heal you he couldn’t because he was trapped.

“No, No No No No NO NONONONONO” He yells out his smile vanished as tears leaked down his face and onto your body.

“This place reeks of death, there's a chill in the air

And I barely escaped being killed by a hair

My wife risked her life just to see the hotel thrive

"Great Alastor, altruist, died for his friends while wife takes the fall"

Sorry to disappoint, that is not where this ends

I'm hungry for freedom like never before

The constraints of my deal surely have a backdoor

Once I figure out how to unclip my wings

Guess who will be pulling all the strings?” He sang before hiding your body somewhere safe to keep so when he gets your soul, you can come back home to him just like you wanted to do.

#alastor x demon reader #alastor x you #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel x you #alastor imagine

[munson-blurbs]

Escaped Convict!Eddie Munson x Innocent!Reader

Summary: a peaceful morning of reading and coffee is interrupted when you stumble upon convicted murderer and prison escapee Eddie Munson, and your kindness towards him does not go unrewarded.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI!), unprotected p in v (wrap it up), oral (f! receiving), fingering, corruption kink, 'sir' kink, spitting, biting, mention of blood, mention of assault/murder

WC: 2.6k

A/N: in this fic, "innocent" refers to some sexual inexperience. Eddie and Reader are both in their mid-20s and neither are portrayed as childlike.

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

At first, you don’t think anything of the slight rustling noise coming from the trees. It’s been a windy morning, the leaves swaying in the breeze since you’d first sat down at your favorite picnic bench, book in one hand and travel mug full of coffee in the other.

Now, you’re several chapters in, coffee long gone, the air warming as the sun reaches its peak in the sky. It’s almost time for you to head back home and get some lunch, and you begrudgingly tuck a bookmark into your tattered copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.

You hear the noise again; this time, it’s not accompanied with a gust of wind, and it draws your attention to an overgrown shrub in the near distance. Curiosity gets the best of you as you peer over it, but nothing could have prepared you for what you find.

One hand shoots out from behind the bush, yanking your wrist and pulling you down. Your jean-clad knees scrape against the cold ground, grass stains seeping into the fabric. A terrified squeal remains trapped in your throat, but you’ve gone completely silent in horror. Before you can process what’s happening, you feel a palm against your mouth.

“Don’t move,” a voice growls, low and slow against the shell of your ear. You keep your eyes staring straight ahead, unwilling to make contact with your captor. “You work with the cops? Hmm?” When you shake your head, his grip loosens slightly. Maybe it’s also because he can feel you trembling within his grasp, not even contemplating fighting back. “If I let you go, you promise you won’t tell a soul?”

You nod against his hand, taking a gasping breath when he hesitantly breaks contact, still unsure about trusting you. You try to scramble to your feet, but your body betrays you; every bone is gelatinous. Falling back with a pathetic whine, the adrenaline fades and the emotions it had been staving off comes flooding in. Tears fall from your eyes, hot as they slide down your cheeks in heaving sobs. The man swears under his breath, evidently distressed that you’ll give away his hiding spot with your crying.

“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry,” you apologize weakly, wiping at your face haphazardly and trying once again to stand. You’re successful this time, but before you can run away, you get a glimpse of him. 

He’s absolutely filthy; a mixture of blood and dirt covers his hands and bare feet. A formerly starch-white undershirt is caked in the same grime, bright orange jumpsuit tied around his waist. His hair is matted in several places, though you can see a semblance of curls amongst the knots. And the expression on his face is not one of anger or violence, but of fear. The same fear that wraps around you like a boa constrictor, squeezing and choking until there’s nothing left to feel.

It’s his eyes, the deep brown windows to his soul, that give away his identity. And though his current get-up is a stark contrast from the ill-fitted suit he’d worn to his televised court appearances, you know who he is.

Eddie Munson: murderer, prisoner, and now, escapee.

Your own eyes widen, and you take a staggering step back. You’d seen on the news that he’d broken out of Indiana State prison three days ago, but you’d never imagined that you would be the one to find him.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” he snarls, snapping you from your stupor. “Just go!” He scoffs disbelievingly, not understanding why you haven’t taken off bolting back through the forest.

To be honest, you’re also unsure why you remain in place. You’d followed Eddie’s case since the moment it had first broken: a man leaving a bar in the strange hours that are past the night but not quite morning, plans of trekking home derailed by the sound of a woman’s frantic scream. Without thinking, Eddie ran towards it, fingers digging into a man’s throat to pull him off of her. He could have stopped there, the jury argued; he should have stopped there, but he didn’t. His fist connected with the offender’s cheek, delivering one punch after the other until his own fists were battered and bloodied. 

Eddie might have been hailed a hero if the perpetrator hadn’t been Jason Carver: All-American basketball player, a senator’s son, and most importantly, a man whose family had access to the best lawyers money could buy. The court overlooked Eddie’s act of courage in favor of the murder he’d committed and sentenced him to twenty years behind bars.

Was he innocent? Technically, no. But he also wasn’t the cold-blooded killer the media portrayed him to be.

You extend your hand, wincing at the way it shakes in front of you. “Let me help you, Eddie.” He flinches at his name, pulling back from you. “I…I can hide you, if you want.”

“Wh…what?” There’s no way he heard you correctly. You, the young woman in the soft sweater and frightened but kind eyes, just willingly offered to harbor a fugitive? “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says gently, pinning his hopes on you recognizing his authenticity, “you don’t have to do anything for me.”

“I know.” You keep your hand out, biting your lower lip with so much force that you could draw blood. “I want to.”

With a plethora of reservations, he accepts your proposal as you discreetly lead him to your car. You naively expect him to sit next to you, but he opts to lay down in the backseat where nosy drivers are less likely to spot him. He pulls his knees to his chest, hugging them tight to shrink himself even further. 

“If we get caught,” he whispers as you turn the key in the ignition, “tell them I made you do this, okay? Promise me.”

“Y-Yes. I promise.”

At your apartment, you point Eddie in the direction of the shower while you start on lunch. There isn’t much to choose from, but you crack open a can of Campbell’s tomato soup and make three grilled cheese sandwiches: two for him, one for you. You pour the soup into two bowls just as you hear the water turn off.

“Um, Sweetheart?” The nickname sets off a flurry of butterflies in your abdomen. “Do you have anything for me to wear?” He steps out of the bathroom, just a towel slung low on his waist. Droplets fall from his hair down his chest, blurring the lines of his tattoos. A dusting of brown hair trails from his navel and disappears below the towel. “I could put my own stuff back on, I guess, if you don’t.”

You will yourself to look away from the living, breathing artwork standing before you. “Y-Yeah, give me a sec.” Your arm grazes his torso as you walk past him towards your room, goosebumps appearing on your skin, and not just from the cooling water. Digging through your drawers, you manage to find a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt that your ex-boyfriend had left behind, never bothering to return to collect it. “Here,” you say; he doesn’t question why you have men’s clothes at the ready, just takes them gratefully and pads back into the bathroom to change.

You’re left breathless again when he walks out again, fully clothed. His biceps strain against the cotton material, filling it out better than your ex ever could. And his lack of underwear is evident, the outline just visible through his sweats. 

He’s gorgeous.

Eddie devours the food like it’s a delicacy, rather than canned soup and some Kraft slices on Wonder Bread. Perhaps, after years in prison and an undisclosed amount of days on the run, it is. He brushes the crumbs from his hands into his empty bowl and leans back with a small stretch. “Thank you,” he mumbles with a small smile, leaning over to take your own used utensils. “I’ll wash these. ‘S the least I can do.”

You nod, not wanting to protest and risk making him feel like he’s a burden. “How long can you stay?” you ask softly, nervously picking at your fingernails. “I mean, you’re welcome to stay as long as you need, but I know you probably shouldn’t stick around in one place for long…” You feel silly saying it, like you have any idea of what the protocol is for running away from prison.

“Not long,” Eddie admits, wiping the sponge over a spoon before rinsing it and placing it in the dishrack. “Probably should head back out as soon as it gets dark again. But, really, I can’t thank you enough. The warm shower, the food, the clean clothes…just wish I could repay you somehow.”

You don’t miss the way his eyes flick across your body, soaking in the sight of you. The ache between your legs pulses now, desperate for him to fill the space. You’ve only ever slept with people you’ve been in relationships with; certainly never with escaped convicts who you’d found hiding in the woods.

“What…what did you have in mind?” Your voice is small, barely above a whisper as you stand up and walk towards him. 

“Don’t…don’t do this,” he hisses, raking his fingers through his hair. “Please. It’s been fuckin’ forever, I can’t…” He bites the inside of his cheek and shakes his head. “I haven’t touched someone like I want to touch you in so fucking long, sweet girl.”

“You want to touch me?” You’re shocked at his candor, the way he readily confesses his needs. “W-Where?”

Eddie exhales, gliding his forefinger down your cheek. “Everywhere. I can’t get enough of you. Pretty little bookworm just begging to be corrupted, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you squeak, letting your palm fall to his bicep.

“Need to hear you say it,” Eddie urges, for your sake and his. His breath tickles below your ear. “Say it for me, sweet girl.”

“Corrupt me, Eddie.”

His hands are on you in an instant, pinning you against the countertop. Your lips find each other with the force of magnets, a clashing of teeth and tongues more fervent than you’ve ever experienced. He hoists you on top of it, tugging on your jeans and panties until they’re on the ground.

“‘M gonna taste you. See if you’re as sweet as you look,” he murmurs, crouching so he’s got a perfect view of your glistening folds. Broad arms wrap around your thighs to pull you close and he dives in, nose nudging your clit as his tongue broaches your hole. Your toes instinctively curl, back arching as he feeds off of your pleasure and gradually quickens his pace. One thick finger slides inside you, making you moan. “Goddamn, even your sounds are sweet.” He continues licking and sucking, adding another finger as you get wetter. “‘M sorry, I wanna keep eating you out, but I gotta…” His lips latch onto one nipple, giving it the tiniest bite that draws a whimper from you.

You’re surprised to find that you’re enjoying the pinch of pain, lacing your fingers through his curls and holding his face to your chest. You allow your senses to be overwhelmed, drowning them in the sensation of his mouth on your upper body and his fingers within you.

You rock yourself into him, desperately chasing the release that he’s inching you towards. It allows him even deeper, impossibly so, and you tighten around him.

Eddie lets go of your breast, focusing all of his attention on your pussy. His fingers plunge in and out as he looks deep into your eyes, not daring to break any contact. “Thassit, sweet girl,” he says in a cross between a hiss and a coo, “come f’me.”

And you do, relinquishing whatever semblance of control you’d tried to hold on to. You soak his fingers with a cry of his name. There’s no mistaking the proud grin that sweeps over his face, knowing that he was the one bringing you this pleasure. “You’re ready for my cock now, aren’t you?” He laughs when you nod, helping you off of the countertop. He tugs his pants down, exposing his hard length. He’s big, already leaking pre-cum, and you’re salivating at the anticipation of him stretching you delectably. “Bend over for me, honey. You’re gonna take it from behind today.” 

“Yes, sir.” You turn around, bracing your forearms on the Formica while he delivers a harsh slap to your ass.

“Fuck, say that again.”

“Yes, sir. Whatever you want, sir.” 

He groans, throwing his head back as he runs his tip along your folds. “Such a good girl, knowing her place. Gonna take whatever I give you, s’fucking good for me.” He pushes inside you, little by little until he bottoms out. “So warm, so wet, holy shit.” Calloused palms grip your hips as he thrusts into you. “Take it, sweet girl. Mmm, jus’ like that.” Each snap of his hips is punctuated with a wanton groan. “I’ve barely fucked you and you’re already cock drunk. No one ever fucked you this good, huh?”

“N-No, never. Only you, Eddie.”

You feel your chin being pulled so your head faces sideways, his thumb ghosting over your kiss-swollen lips. “Open wide, pretty little thing.” You do as he orders, his saliva coating your tongue as he spits into your mouth. “Mine,” he declares possessively, eyes widening as you swallow what he’s given you without even being asked. 

He pushes down on your back, your breasts pressed against the counter while he thrusts faster and faster, no longer concerned about holding back. “‘M gonna come on your ass.” He squeezes there, turning himself on further just having your supple skin in his grasp.

And because you know how wild it drives him, you consent with a, “yes, sir.”

Eddie pulls out just in time, his hot spend spilling out of him and onto your flesh. You wish you could see the way he’s adorned you, but you’ll have to settle for the feeling of him dripping down your curves. He stands behind you, panting heavily, holding his softening cock in one hand. 

“God fuckin’ damn, sweet girl,” he mutters, reaching over you to grab a paper towel. It’s scratchy as he cleans you up, then takes another and wipes the residual cum from his tip. “You really are perfect.”

You face him and gingerly kiss his lips, probably too intimate for the utter filth you’d just engaged in. Still, he returns it, hands roaming your body with intent but no real destination. 

“Mind if we get some rest?” he asks, poorly stifling a yawn. “You, uh, kinda wore me out just now.”

You lead him to your bedroom, both of you climbing under the covers wordlessly, heads barely hitting the pillow before you’re each sound asleep.

When you wake up hours later, you’re alone in the dark. At first, you wonder if it’s all been a dream, but when you click on your bedside lamp, there’s a handwritten note hastily scrawled on some scrap paper:

My sweet girl,

I had to go and didn’t want to wake you. I knew that if I did, you’d convince me to stay longer, and I can’t put you in any more danger than I already have.

I hope that fate will allow us to meet again, maybe if I’m ever truly a free man. ’ll be thinking of you until then.

Yours, 

Eddie

P.S. burn this note and flush the ashes after reading

You do as he asked, heart sinking as the flames swallow his words. Maybe he’s written the same ones to dozens of different lovers, or maybe you’re the only recipient. It doesn’t matter anymore. All that fills your memory is the way he felt inside you earlier today. 

You will it to live there forever.

--

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #fanfic #eddie x you #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson stranger things #smut

[pseudowho]

Red

Nanami Kento, the infamous Curse User, is finally captured and sentenced to death after years on the run. The reader feels her grasp on morality quickly unravel, when her ex-boyfriend breaks down any inhibitions she thought she still had.

Warnings: 18+, smut, MDNI, Bad!Nanami, really a reprehensible man, rough sex, bondage, forced orgasm, multiple sessions, coercion, dubcon, tw: gaslighting, tw: abuse, reader is obsessed and hopelessly in love, and Nanami Kento takes full advantage of that.

*I absolutely do not endorse a relationship like this, and I must insist that anyone who reads this sees it as the red flag it is...ANYWAY...*

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You felt sick to your stomach.

"They caught him. Did you hear?"

You stumbled through the rain, barely composed, your heart in your mouth. Anxious desperation clawed up your spine, on your way to get the fix that you had been withdrawing from for so long.

"Yeah, Gojo got him, obviously. No, no, he's alive, for now."

Mud spattered up the backs of your legs, tripping through puddles, passing under rain-hush willows, Torii gates, and so many graves filled by his hand. His hands that you knew. His hands that knew you, so intimately, a body and soul so untouched by anyone else ever since and ever again.

"Nanami Kento. The Nanami Kento...scheduled for execution. Finally."

You reached corridors, a caretaker shouting in indignation as you tracked mud all over his freshly polished floorboards. You gained speed, running, ready for his face his hands his smell his eyes his body his heart and yours that was always his forever his still his--

"You shouldn't go in there." Your hand retracted so briefly over the handle of the door to the execution chambers. Feeling cold drip down your spine, not knowing if it was rainwater, sweat, or Gojo's voice behind you, you shivered. You felt him approach. A long hand on your shoulder; protective, apologetic, grieving.

"I...I'm sorry. I didn't want it to be this way. But you shouldn't go down there. He's...bad for you." You sniffed, straightening yourself, steeling against him. Gojo was so insignificant to you in this moment. "Are you keeping watch? Is there anyone else?" Gojo sighed, knowing better than to argue with you, feeling dread creep through him regardless. He leaned back on the wall, hands in his pockets, eyes downcast. You heard your own heartbeat, amplified hummingbird's wings. You heard the rain, cleansing on the leaves, but weighing you down with your sin. You felt the thread on your finger, trapped beneath that door and running down the stairs.

"No. No, it's just me. I...understand. Whatever you want to do, I...I understand." You felt the ghosts in this corridor. You felt the footsteps long since gone. You felt the shadows of the other half of Gojo's soul. Ah, yes, you thought, raindrops running down your cheeks, you would understand, of course.

"There will be a gap in the guard. At midnight. Just five minutes. Ten, if you're lucky." Gojo turned, facing down the corridor. You could smell the regret. The weight of his own failures haunted him. He sensed your fingers grip the handle, squeezing down, taking your life into your own hands.

He would give you this, what he had prevented you from taking five years ago. He would not see another whole broken into halves. He would not regret, for a moment now or for years to come. Behind him, your other hand, cold and damp, reached out and squeezed Gojo's. He felt the farewell upon your skin. "Thank you, Satoru. I love you." "I love you, too. Be good." You wracked with need, trembling down those spiraled steps. They took you so deeply underground, that you could feel the earthen chill of ages past upon your skin, and you welcomed the death and rebirth, shedding the life you had left at the surface.

You knew Nanami Kento would, inevitably, be your downfall. And yet...you had shared a room with death so many times, now, that you would not fear him reaching for your hand. You paused near the bottom of the stairs, soaked in the soft orange glow of ten thousand illuminated paper charms. You felt him. He beat you to it. "I can smell you." Your knees almost buckled; that voice. It ran through you, spitting hot oil in cold blood. You flurried down the rest of the steps with numb feet, rounding the corner. The breath rushed out of you, into him, and he smiled at you, so much wider than he used to, all canines and white.

Nanami Kento was bound to a small chair, barely enough to hold the sheer width of him. In this short (long too long so long) five years, he had grown from a man, to a beast, his shoulders hulking and mountainous, scars littered across his forearms and collarbones.

His white shirt was bloodstained-- mostly someone else's, you assumed, but some from Kento himself. Kento was scuffed, bruised, red at the corner of his lip. His parting remained, disheveled from his capture. His harness, the brown leather soft and aged, strained against his chest and shoulders. His blunt blade rested, leant against the wall in a dingy corner of the room.

The only thing holding back what you knew would be Kento's enormous, overwhelming power, were the ropes that restrained him. You fingered at the blade of the Cursed tool in your pocket. He was...ethereally beautiful. You felt the last vestiges of yourself pass to him, blissfully unaware he would take so much more from you yet. His smile grew, eyes full of searingly cold ice, sneering at you as tears built in your eyes.

"You're crying for me?" He cooed, soft and mocking, "Why is that? You made your choice, all those years ago." "You were the one who left." "You were the one who stayed," he growled, lurching forwards against his bonds, chest heaving and straining, snarling. Expecting you to step backwards, instead, he felt the sick satisfaction of you stepping closer instead-- drawn in by his gravity. "You didn't give me a choice, Kento," you begged, shameless, "You didn't come for me. I couldn't find you." Kento huffed, scoffing, twisting against his restraints. "Fuck off," he scorned, spitting a wad of blood to the floor, "I came for you. The night I found you in Gojo's bed, of all people." You frowned, remembering the night Kento snapped and executed two dozen colleagues in his offices, years after leaving Jujutsu High. Remembering the news reaching you third-hand, through whispers in the corridors, as you had headed to Jujutsu High to see if anyone had heard from him. Remembering Gojo's grim confirmation, how you had collapsed in his arms, carved in two. Remembering how he had taken you home with him, tucked you into his bed, where you slept fitfully, alcohol-soaked to numb the nightmares. Your stomach filled with ice water. "You were-- you were there?" You choked, tears spilling over, "At Gojo's? You were there?" "Tell me," Kento commanded, his lip curled, "how many hours it was, after you heard? How many hours before you let Gojo Satoru fuck you like some desperate little whore? How many hours it was before I found you in his bed." You shook your head, brutally injured by his venom, punctuating him with sobs and denial as his voice rose.

"Three? Four? So devastated, it took another man fucking his seed into you before you could get over the loss of your lover? And you have the fucking audacity to come in here and cry over me?" Kento strained forwards, teeth bared as he sniffed deeply, breathing out with a satisfied smirk, a laugh, deep and smoky. "Can't smell him on you now, though," he mocked, filthy and merciless, "I thought he liked pathetic little scraps like you, but I suppose one fuck was enough to tell him you belonged to someone else, just as much as he did."

Kento already knew, of course, that Satoru would not have taken you even once. Kento felt his cock swelling against his thigh with your anguished begging. "Is that what he told you? To make you leave?" Your head swam with the revelation that Kento had come back for you, the rage that Satoru had lied and sent Kento away. You shook your head, dropping to your knees before him; desperate for his approval, full of dreadful fear of rejection.

"Nobody else," you pressed, crawling forwards and squeezing his thighs with cold little hands as he scoffed again, looking away, "ever. Kento. Ever, ever, for years. There won't ever be--" Kento suppressed his smirk, reeling you in after you bit so willingly. He leaned down to you, his cock twitching at the memory of the last time you knelt between his legs, looking up at him with wide wet eyes. He allowed his breath to ghost over your neck, seeing your skin prickle. He softened his face, nectar and promise in his eyes. "...you and Gojo...you didn't...?" His voice was soft, gentle, hopeful. Your head shot up, fingers digging deeper into his thighs as your eyes brimmed over again, thrilled by his belief, his trust in you. His lips were so close to yours, that you felt his hot ashen breath upon your tongue, dragon's fire, those whiskey-soaked eyes flicking across your face. God, if I'd known it would be this easy, Kento thought, maliciously possessive, I'd have let you find me years ago. His cock twitched at the feel of your hands clawing his thighs. He imagined fucking you down into the bed while you clawed at him, struggling, gasping and crying.

"Never," you promised, chasing his face with yours, while Kento withdrew just enough to maintain a teasing closeness, "he lied. He lied to you." Kento's cock twitched again, thirsty for your desperation.

Kento smiled again, that beautiful, cloud-parting smile, and you preened into him. He hummed, leaning forwards so briefly to brush his nose against yours. Your breath left you in a shudder as his voice passed over your lips;

"That's good...good girl. I couldn't bear to think of anyone else's hands on my beautiful girlfriend."

You sunk into his sudden warmth, your hands stroking up his thighs, his hips, up his ribs and shoulders. He allowed you to embrace him like this, for just a moment. Prickling with fear, you felt the frost form over him once more. Kento sneered again.

"...she's gone though, I think. Rotting here, festering with the dregs of Jujutsu Society. Willing to live and die a pawn. Scum. Less than scum."

Kento sighed, withdrawing from you fully, his back against the chair, turning his head as you tried to cup his jaw in your hands. He shook you off, face twisted with disgust. He was thrilled to watch a part of you shrivel and recoil, before reaching out harder, begging in fractured whispers, clawing for dry land.

"You had your chance. You're too wet for my life. You couldn't do what I do, live how I live. You couldn't lie, cheat, extort, torture, murder. You're too soft." Kento's lip curled in disgust as you pressed yourself between his legs, begging, beseeching, "To think of all the cum I wasted by fucking it into you." He hoped you couldn't feel him, hard and throbbing against your belly.

"--anything you want-- I'll do anything you want-- please--"

"Please what?" Kento shot, shaking the ropes around him with thick, scarred arms, "I'll be dead before dawn. And I want some peace and quiet. You're nothing to me now."

A part of you died, shattered by his rejection. Clapping a hand over your mouth, your shivers threatening vomit, you sat back on the floor, pressing your face into your knees, sobbing and abandoned for a second time.

"It's a shame," Kento scorned, tutting, "we were beautiful, once. But I'd rather die than have you be my only fucking option."

Kento felt you break, and it was delicious.

You shook within, panicking at his imminent second abandonment...but you were more determined than ever to prove yourself to him. You would sell your soul. You would sell the lives of your fellow sorcerers. You would sell your dignity, your self-respect, your whole being. Having Kento in any form, even this cold-hearted killer, was better than the agony of his death, where you would surely die with him.

From your pocket, hands shaking, you withdrew a blade; a special grade cursed weapon, stolen, illicit. You reached around Kento, breathing deeply of the sweat, sandalwood and copper tang on his skin. You pressed the blade into the hands bound behind his chair. You turned, hesitated...and walked away.

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You could not bear to return to your apartment. You had staggered past Gojo, reeling from Kento's biting rebuttal. You had wiled away the evening in some backwater ditch of a bar, sinking into spirits and self-loathing.

You waited to be found...by him, or by your colleagues, for execution as an accomplice to his escape. You didn't care anymore. You would die at his hands, or theirs, and cling onto that final shivering bliss of his bound body against yours. Even as a good man, he had always possessed you, more than you possessed yourself.

Walking to your door just after midnight, fumbling with the keys, you let yourself in, to spend a final night alone before your inevitable execution.

The alcohol numbed your senses, the darkness close around you. You did not feel his approach, this killer in the shadows.

All at once, you felt an enormous hand clasp over your mouth, and another pinning your wrists behind your back, tugging you backwards against a body, such an immovable chilly presence. A whisper, a tongue grazing against the side of your throat.

"I want you screaming...but not yet." You arched back into Kento's body, seeking a warmth he didn't have any more. The man you knew was long-since dead.

You felt his hand loosen, drifting slowly from your mouth, to your throat, squeezing just tightly enough to make your breath hitch, examining the length of your throat from the outside with a hum. You smelled the cigarettes and whiskey on his breath.

"I'm so proud of you," Kento purred, stepping you slowly through your apartment, pushing you towards your bedroom, "such a good girl...I knew you'd pass the test." Your heart swelled with his praise, but a lingering doubt soured the edges of your tongue.

"--how did you-- s'too early, Kento-- the guard--"

"Guard?" Kento laughed, booming with genuine mirth, "Some scrap of a boy in a beanie? Please. They'll find what's left of him in the morning."

"Oh--Ino--" you felt tears prickle on your lash line, your breath leaving you with a gasp as Kento tossed you face down on your bed. You tried to turn back to look at him, but felt his hand grip the back of your neck, shoving you roughly into the sheets. You shivered, fingers clenching as you heard the telltale clink of his belt undoing, the soft shhhk-shhhk-shhhk of Kento unthreading it from his waist.

"Oh, Ino!" Kento mocked, "Shut the fuck up, before I make you shut up," his voice pitched and ruthless. His face twisted as you trembled, noting smears of blood left by his hands on your wrists. You smelled the copper tang over his sweat and stale cologne. You knew you would never reject him, already wet with the promise of him coming back for you.

Kento softened momentarily, knowing he would struggle to fit inside you if you were scared and trembling. The faintest ghost of him wanted to pull you into his arms. The ice over his old soul knew he'd break if it cracked.

Kento crawled over you, his black trousers unzipped, cock straining against the tight fabric of his boxers. He clasped your hands, binding them with his tie to the head of the bed. You were so ready for him to take back what was his, that you didn't hear his next words, rumbling and gravelly on the back of your neck.".

"Keep still, and do as you're told. I'm sure you remember the old safe word...if I care to listen."

You felt your skirt forced up to bunch around your waist, heard a fabric rrriiip of your tights and underwear being shredded away from your core. Kento breathed heavily as he knelt above you, hooking his cock and heavy balls out, stroking himself with one thick hand as his fingers jabbed between your legs, sinking between your folds with little to no regard for your pleasure.

You jolted, squeaking against the sudden intrusion. Kento letting out another rich, smoky laugh as he sunk two thick fingers into your entrance.

"...ahhh, lovely. Can you warm my fingers up for me?" Kento laughed again, drawing out into a stilted growl as he jerked his cock eagerly to your tight wet walls around his digits. You panted into the sheets, Kento releasing his cock you squeeze your arse as he fucked you with his fingers, leaving bruising fingerprints before slapping the skin harshly, groaning as your fat jiggled, flushing with the abuse.

"-- better than some common whore...shit. Such a good girl...getting me out of there. Maybe I'll keep you around...just to fuck, my sweet little cocksleeve. Or are you better than that?"

"--anything, I'll be anything you want-- Kento-- please please take me with you please--" Pleasure burned in your belly as you heard the wet slaps of his hand, masturbating himself again to the sight of his fingers moulding you to the shape of him.

You filled with a burning need to be what he wanted you to be, so exhausted by life, so bitter and ready for someone else to take control. Kento did so, gladly, withdrawing his fingers to your disappointed groan. He slapped your backside again in punishment, once, twice, three times until you learned your lesson, biting your lip against your cries.

"You'll come on my cock, or not at all," he snapped at you, impatient, with his pre-cum dripping down your folds as his cock grazed at the entrance to your prone, bound body. He rammed his fingers into your mouth, forcing you to lick him clean, low voice husky with need at the feeling of your tongue swiping over him.

Pressing one hand down on the back of your neck, before raising it to yank sharply on your hair, Kento fucked into you without warning, pressing hard, to bottom out immediately. Your scream was choked, your neck hyperextended back at the insistent pull of your hair. Your body ached and strained against his use of you, and you revelled in it, in too deep to care about how wrong it was. You stung with the size of him, always big, and so much bigger without preparation.

"--haaaah fuck-- good girl...fuck you through it-- fuck you through it-- scream all you like-- been waiting for this for so long--" Kento crushed your body flush under his, so heavy that he forced the air out of you, making you lightheaded against the raw pleasure of his cock pounding into you without mercy, simply chasing his own orgasm.

Kento's skin electrified with the sinful joy of stealing pleasure from you, ripping his shirt and harness off over his head with a fractured growl. He gripped your bound hands, slipping a hand under you to squeeze your throat, his hips slapping into you with agonising bliss. He cursed and spat against the pleasure, demeaning you and praising you in equal measure.

Breathing hard and fast, Kento saw a bead of his sweat fall to the back of your neck, and leaned down to bite you there, hard, mounting you like an animal as he fucked you harder, faster. Your clit throbbed, untouched, but you lost yourself in the deep primal ecstasy coiling in your belly. You felt the telltale twitches of his thighs and abs against your legs and back, knowing from his frantic jagged moans that Kento was about to cum, before remembering--

"Ken--Kento--oooh--ooh, Ken," you cried, whimpering as his cock bullied against your cervix, "...'m not-- not on-- pull out Ken--"

Kento jerked and groaned, grinning that wide sharp-canined grin again, his laugh leaving him in ragged breaths as his balls drew up close, ready to spill; "--fuck...pull-out? Not a--haaah-- fucking chance, without the safe word, sweetheart." Kento fucked you faster, challenging you as your cock-addled brain clasped at straws, trying desperately to remember, fuck what was it--

Kento gasped, his orgasm starting to wash over him, "Too late," he jeered, and came with a broken hushed roar, rutting his cock inside you so his seed would spurt, coating you, thick and sticky, all over your deepest walls. Kento didn't give a shit that you hadn't come-- and neither did you, trembling and mewling as his length jerked thick heavy ropes inside you.

As Kento pulled out, breathing hard, pumping his length a few more times to spill his last drops of seed across your back, he huffed out a humourless laugh, running his hand back through his hair; "'Pull out'...you'll take what I give you, and be grateful." Kento scooped up some seed, dripping from your cunt, shoving it roughly back inside you.

"What fucking use are you," he spat, ramming his fingers in you until you sobbed, squirming around him, "if you can't even keep my cum inside you? Pathetic." Your breath hitched, tears spilling over at his brutal mockery. Seeing your tears, hearing the lump in your throat, Kento cooed at you, clasping your jaw in one thick hand.

"Oh darling...don't be sad...just be better." He slapped at your cheek a few times, too stinging to be tender, pressing a hot wet kiss just beneath your eye. He stood up, stretching, padding over towards the door.

"I need a drink." Kento mused aloud. You pulled yourself up the bed, still tightly bound, clamping your legs together to keep his cum inside and win his approval. You almost wept with the bitter ache in your shoulders and arms, how your pussy stung, how worthless he thought you were. You heard the clink of bottles and glass in the kitchen.

Kento returned, sitting in the chair at the end of your bed, naked, legs crossed, as he poured himself a full glass of whiskey. You could not see him, your face pressed into the pillow. You couldn't see the cold, impassive gaze upon your bound, shivering form. You couldn't see the way he idly played with his cock, slowly stroking life back into it as his cum glistened on your folds.

"Let's play a game," Kento proposed finally, as sleep began to creep across you, "and if you win, I'll take you with me. If you lose, I'll leave you here for the dogs." Kento took a long drink, draining his glass with a satisfied hum, his cock now half-erect against his thigh.

Your determination peaked again, so certain you could make things right, and make Kento love you like he used to. You were a void, yearning to be filled.

"Yes, I-- I can do it-- anything," you pressed, voice strong and bold now, eager to shed the shell he had left you in. Kento refilled his glass, almost to the brim, grinning wolfishly. He reached into your bedside drawer, tipping his head and raising his eyebrows at you with a smirk, withdrawing a vibrator, and a dildo.

"So confident," Kento teased, a shadow of the way he used to play with you when he was softer, more restrained. He couldn't deny the flicker of joy he had felt at the old you, briefly rearing her head.

Kento emptied his hands for long enough to flip you to your back, binding your arms to the bed again, ripping your shirt and bra open at the middle, exposing your breasts and belly. Kento grabbed your nipple roughly, yanking it until you squealed, slapping it hard with a gravelly chuckle.

"Don't spill my drink." Kento ordered, picking his glass up, placing it on your chest, between your breasts. You faltered, stock still, staring up at him, uncertain.

"...I-- what?" Kento's slim brown eyes burned down at you, teasing the dildo against your sloppy cunt, before ramming it into you. You instinctively moved to squirm away with a cry, understanding almost a moment too late, the meniscus of the whiskey kissing the lip of the glass. You stilled completely, shuddering at the cold rubber filling your cunt to the belly, squelching with Kento's cum.

Kento hissed between his teeth, face twisted with nasty glee. He looked so animated, so alive with this hedonistic torture, such a far cry from who he once was.

"Close," he taunted, leaning down to brush his lips over yours, pulling away as you moved to kiss him, satisfied to hear you swear under your breath as he denied you. Kento flipped the wand vibrator in his hand deftly, switching it on and clicking to max out the vibration.

"Don't...spill my drink." Kento repeated slowly, pressing the brutally vibrating wand directly against your clit.

You saw stars, your body moving to convulse reflexively, and you gritted your teeth, eyes fixed on the wobbling glass on your sternum. Your legs shook, the pleasure too harsh to be enjoyable, feeling yourself being unwillingly dragged towards a bone-wracking orgasm.

"Kento please-- please stop please please-- I can't do it I can't keep still I can't--" You babbled at Kento, tears streaming, certain he may not acknowledge your safe word even if you did squeeze it out. Only your desperation to win him back stopped you from even trying.

"Then die here." Kento shrugged, stroking himself again as he pressed the wand harder against your clit, thrilled to hear you scream in anguish. Your orgasm hit you with stunning force, harsh wracks of pleasure pounding through you as your body remained rigid. Still, the whiskey did not spill.

Your teeth gritted around your cries, and you met Kento's eyes with a ferocity that used to make him hard in seconds. His cock twitched in his hand in memory, pre-cum dripping down to wet his fingers. Baring his teeth in a snarl now, Kento knelt between your legs, grabbing the dildo and fucking it into you with harsh strokes, pressing harder with the punishing vibrations of the wand.

Your body was on fire, every part of you burning, from bruised bound wrists, to your feet, crackling with electric overstimulation. You cursed, spitting out tearful bile at Kento.

"--Kento-- stop it-- you fucking monster-- I hate you-- you fucking left me and I hate you so just stop it--"

Kento grinned, growling out as he continued his messy overstimulation of you; "There! There she is! That's my girl...make me proud!...shit, you're a mess. Don't spill it now." As another orgasm hit you, a primal hideous landslide, you screamed with your head thrown back, woefully unable to dissipate the pleasure through movement.

Suddenly full of unbridled rage, the years of grief and abandonment pouring out of you, you snapped, certain you wanted to hurt him as he had hurt you.

The glinting madness in Kento's eyes, the way his hand worked his rigid cock harder as he released his grasp on the dildo, now ramming it back into you with his knee...he wanted this. He wanted you pouring with spite. With rage. He wanted the venom and the hatred. He wanted the raw unbridled loyalty that you promised him through this humid obsession.

"--let me go-- KENTO. I'm warning you--"

Kento laughed, rich and earthy, as he gripped you by the throat, pinning you to the bed. Your body was exhausted, groaning, all bone-deep and guttural aches. By the time your third orgasm hit, you were floppy, the whiskey glass tilting on you just too sharply--

--before being snatched up by Kento, who drained it in one thirsty gulp. Pulling the sex toys out of you and tossing them aside, Kento moved to line his cock up with your entrance. Full of tearful anger, you kicked, hard, fighting back against him as he laughed, encouraging you-- "Fight me-- come on girl, COME ON--"

Kicking out again, spitting acid at Kento, berating him for leaving you, berating him for the twisted hatred you had endured alone for the miserable job you did, you cried, all bitter spite and loneliness. Kento caught your legs, forcing them open, pressing himself between them. He jabbed his cock between your folds as you squirmed, struggling up the bed, until Kento folded over you, grasping you by the back of the neck, and pulling you up for a searing kiss-- the first time you had tasted him in years.

Kento took advantage of your gasp, and invaded you with his tongue and cock, fucking sloppily between your legs, cursing into your mouth, until he met your entrance, slamming himself in to the hilt. Kento gripped you by the hips, thrusting into you while he slammed your pussy against him. He immediately set a feral pace, intent on claiming the last scraps of you, if he couldn't get you out of Jujutsu society alive. "--not gonna-- haaah-- let you die here-- fuck, good girl, good fucking girl, take it-- FIGHT ME--"

Every time you tried to buck and kick, and throw him out of you, Kento cupped your jaw, kissing you just like he used to, disarming you as you bit into his forearm planted beside your cheek. Kento kept up his punishing pace, reaching up to release the belt as he groaned into your throat, biting the delicate skin there. The briefest flicker of warmth passed over him, to feel your hands clutch at his chest, still trying weakly to push him off you. Kento reveled in your fight, your incessant struggling beneath him making his need to cum, to fill you again and make you his, urgent. You felt this in him, in his trembling arms and sloppy thrusts, all at once splitting you in two and completing you. Relenting, you allowed him to claim your mouth again, lips smooth and supple against yours, whiskey on his breath. Kento couldn't last any longer, and didn't want to; he finished with a broken rumble, all groans and whispered curses in your hair. Crushing you to the bed beneath his hulking body, you whimpered to feel his cock twitch and bound inside you, filling you again with sweet ache and seed. Kento rested on you, ignoring your gasping little breaths as you saw stars, buried beneath him. Swallowing away the lump in your throat, your mind swam with your fates; killed in battle or executed or on the run or hiding with filthy curse users or begging the higher-ups for mercy but all alone every one of them alone-- "...come with me." You blinked. Kento's back still heaved with exertion, his face buried in your neck. You felt a twinge, a prickle down your spine-- Cursed energy, approaching from a distance. "You have to decide...there's no time. I lie. I steal, and extort. I blackmail. I murder. I live in...in absolute luxury. You will never want for anything, while you're with me-- but you must be with me." You smiled. Another door had opened. Kento was the easiest decision you ever made.

#Curse Nanami #Rednami by pseudowho #Rednami #jjk #kento nanami #jjk nanami #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x reader #nanami fluff #nanami kento #nanami kento smut #kento nanami x y/n #nanami headcanons #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #kento nanami smut #nanami #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami x y/n #nanami kento fluff #nanami x you #nanami kento angst #nanami angst

[azsazz]

Silence Isn't Quiet Anymore

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel finally understands.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 892 (short but so good?)

Notes: This might be one of the most interesting concepts I've ever written. I'm obsessed.

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Azriel finally understands.

He’d caught a Suriel once. It hadn’t been anything more difficult than, say, crossing a river, which Suriels cannot do. He’d tracked it for an hour, two, the wind whistling through the trees as his only companion. His shadows had cowered away from the creature that belonged to something other. Another life, perhaps one before even the first of the fae or humans or animals that inhabit the continent found their way here. Before plants had taken root and clouds poured rain from the skies and the sun and the moon had been together, not forced apart by day and night.

There wasn’t a trap to be laid. A crossing of rivers had done enough.

The creature's tattered robe pulled from its bony body as a gust of wind brushed through the woods, sending shivers up his spine. He could’ve turned away right then. Should’ve. He wasn’t looking for answers to any questions, too stubborn in the fact that it was his job to know more about anything at any given time.

The Suriel stared into his soul as he stared into the cavity of its presence. A stalemate. Death looking at Death, a boy looking at his truth.

And its words were nothing but.

“One day, Shadowsinger, when the world has gone still around you, you’ll find out why silence isn’t quiet anymore.”

The harrowing words had haunted him for centuries. Azriel had shrunk in on himself, retreating further and further inside of the cavern of his mind as the words clung to his brain matter, always there. 

In times where he might’ve forgotten the roughness of the Suriels voice, the pondering of so few words spoken, as if they were a curse branded into his soul, even his shadows would remind him. Curling behind the backs of his ears in a movement that reminded him so much of ragged, bony fingers reaching out for him in the same way. As he stared into those empty eye sockets, puzzling words falling from lips that didn’t move, a tongue that wasn’t there, from a jaw broken and swinging with the breeze.

Azriel finally understands.

Azriel finally understands why silence isn’t quiet anymore.

It’s your soft breaths, fingers brushing against the crisp page as you turn it. The cracking of the stiff spine. Your quiet gasps as the story goes wrong and the rubbing of your thighs when it goes right. He watches you from his place next to you, blankets shifting as you draw your knees to your chest, completely lost in the novel settled in your lap. You don’t even know it, that his hazel eyes are drawn to you like a maggot to rot. You’re lost in your own world, the quiet of the room a friend, a safety that allows you to immerse yourself in letters on pages.

It’s the wooden spoon scraping the bottom of the pot as you stir, staring at him with those heated eyes as if this is as tough for you as it is for him, keeping away. It’s the constant constricting in his chest, a yearning slowly stoked into a wildfire, cracking in the quiet as he waits. It’s the way your skirts whisper against your skin as you move around the kitchen. The sprinkle of spices, coarse salt pinched between your fingers, dripping into the stew. It’s bubbling, it’s meat so tender it falls apart with the spear of his fork, it’s a slurp of broth that burns him up just like you do, accepting the bond.

It’s your body curling into his while you sleep. The crumple of the sheets as you roll. Your fingernails against the mattress as you feel for him, mind buried deep in sleep. He wonders what you dream of, when you cling to him like that, the contours of your body fitting perfectly within his own. He can feel it, almost, the warmth in his chest as you dream.

It’s the flap of his wings in the night sky. You, cradled in his arms. The whipping of your hair across his wind-burnt cheeks. The light scratches at his scalp as you run your fingers through his unruly hair. It’s the steady thump of your chest, your heart against his as you cling to him, the scream you hold in but your body is tight with it.

It’s when you’re gone and he’s all alone. The silence doesn’t stop, but neither does the noise. It’s filled with voices, shadows cawing in his ears, sliding against his skin, chasing his footsteps like predators. It’s the voices in his head, the roaring of his beating chest as it screams at him to find you, even though you’re only gone a few more hours. 

It’s clothes peeling away from skin. Buttons flying to the ground, fabric tearing. Footsteps stumbling closer to the bed. It’s nails scraping down his muscles, his around your waist, pressing bruises into your flesh. All the words that need to be said aren’t words at all. They’re tongues pressing against each other, soothing along each other. It’s teeth clicking, sticking to skin when you bite. It’s your flushed body peeling from his with every move, sticky with sweat. It’s the roiling inside of him, his mating bond coiling with yours, tighter and tighter and tighter until—

Azriel finally understands.

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