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beloveds-embrace · 2 months ago

Note

Emotional Support Omega getting scented by an unknown alpha?

Using this also as an oppertunity to just write the part three in too 🙂‍↕️

Part One | Part Two

The barracks were busy, a hum of conversation and the smell of warm, albeit unappealing, food filling the space. You had just returned from a supply run with Soap and Gaz, the three of you still dusted with the frost of the outside world, the winter season felt acutely in this weather.

Though missions continued as they were, you still weren’t a part of them. Not really.

But you were part of the base now.

The rookies adored you, the medical staff always had a cup of tea ready when you wandered into the infirmary, and even the grizzled veterans had started seeking you out when the weight of war grew too heavy on their shoulders.

You weren’t unwanted.

Just… unwanted by them- even if now, they lingered in your space, hanging to your pesence yet unwilling to bring you into theirs. It was a strange balance, and one you desperately wanted them to break.

But maybe… they didn’t want to?

At least, that’s what you had come to believe- until the moment a stranger dared to touch you.

A hand, large and firm, settled suddenly on your wrist as you made your way to the mess hall. The scent that curled toward you was strong, pungent in a way that sent an immediate alarm through your mind- thick with musk, uninvited and cloying. New to the base, though you couldn’t be too sure.

An Alpha.

But not one of yours- not that you had Alphas.

But this wasn’t right.

“You smell too neutral, Omega,” he rumbled, his grip firm but not bruising- yet. He leaned in, voice dropping into something that was likely meant to be coaxing, but it came across as just sleazy. “Scenting you would help. You should-“

“No.”

It was firm, immediate. You tried to pull back, but he didn’t let go, and a flash of irritation sparked in his eyes.

You had spent months on this base without anyone pushing your boundaries like this. Sure, there had been some flirtations, a few playful, harmless offers from Betas and Omegas looking for warmth- but nothing like this. Nothing so entitled.

The Alpha frowned, his grip tightening just slightly. “Come on, now, there’s no need to be difficult. It’s unnatural, the way you smell-”

He didn’t get to finish, and you didn’t get the chance to knee him like you’d been intending.

Because the moment he pulled at your wrist again, another hand caught his and twisted it away from you.

A deep, warning growl filled the space, thick with rage- Ghost.

And he was furious.

The room stilled, the air heavy with the presence of three more Alphas who had materialized so quickly, so silently, that it felt like the whole world had stopped breathing.

John was at your side in an instant, broad frame half between you and the offending Alpha, while Soap and Gaz flanked you like silent shadows, eyes dark with something unrecognizably vicious.

“You don’t touch who’s ours.” Ghost’s voice was quiet- so quiet that it sent a chill down your spine. His grip on the Alpha’s wrist was vice-like, and from the way the man winced, you knew it was taking everything in Ghost not to break bone.

The Alpha scoffed, though he was clearly unnerved. “Didn’t realize she was yours. She doesn’t-“

“She is.” It was Price this time, voice low, commanding, absolute. He took a slow, measured step closer, shoulders squared and stance firm. “Let go and walk away.”

A tense beat.

Then the Alpha, wisely, did as he was told. He stepped back, rubbing his wrist, eyes darting between the four l who had suddenly made it very clear where they stood.

Where you stood.

“I didn’t mean any offense.” The Alpha muttered at last, but he didn’t wait for a response before retreating. You knew that come tomorrow, he would not remain in the military any longer.

Silence stretched in his wake.

Your wrist still tingled where he had grabbed you, but you weren’t focused on that. You were focused on them.

On what they’d said.

Ghost’s hand was still hovering near yours, gloved fingers twitching slightly as if resisting the urge to pull you close- and then he simply gave up and held your hand tenderly. Price’s jaw was tight, eyes scanning you as if checking for any sign of harm. Soap and Gaz weren’t touching you, but their presence was solid, grounding.

And then, the weight of their words settled in.

“She is.”

Not she might be.

Not she could be.

She is.

Your breath hitched slightly. “I…” You swallowed, unsure how to process what had just happened.

Soap was the first to break the silence. “Took us too damn long to figure it out,” he admitted, his voice softer than usual, but still thick with something unyielding. He ran a hand through his mohawl, exhaling sharply, and giving you a weak smile. “Should’ve done this ages ago. Sorry, lass. This is our fault.”

Gaz nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line before he sighed and nudged your shoulder lightly. “You alright?”

You blinked at him, at all of them, before nodding. “Yeah,” you murmured, voice a little breathless. “Just… confused.”

“We were idiots, ‘mega,” Price said, his gaze holding yours firmly- it reminded you of that snowy mission once more, when they gave in and accepted your offered warmth. “We kept you at arm’s length when we shouldn’t have. We didn’t want to admit what was obvious.”

Ghost finally moved then, his fingers tightening around your wrist in silent apology, silent claim, still so gentle. “You’re ours.” The words were raw, gruff, like they had been carved out of him. But he didn’t take them back.

Ours. Yours.

The warmth that bloomed in your chest was overwhelming.

It had taken months. It had taken nearly losing the chance entirely.

But finally- finally-

You were theirs.

cod omegaverse masterlist

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et6rnalsun · 2 months ago

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rafe's entire career would have gone to fucking ruin, all because of you.

he has been teaching for years now, and in all this time everything has always gone smoothly. he is a meticulous, serious man — good at his job like few others.

all that until you came into his perfectly-composed life as his student. but, god, you should be so much more.

he still didn’t know if it was on purpose, but during his classes you were always dressed in the most unseemly ways ever. tight pants that perfectly adorned the curve of your fucking sculpted ass, short shirts that revealed your belly button as soon as your arms were slightly raised. he was deeply distracted by you, by your person, and while he was explaining complicated concepts of his subject — his mind wandered to what could be hidden under this clothes.

the worst was that you even dared to tease him. you were the worst ever. your fingers brushed against his when you handed him homework, how you looked up at him when he approached your desk, submissive and big eyes that melted him. more often than not, your lips were wrapped around a lollipop, and in a direct and downright dirty way, your tongue would twist around it. you would stay in the classroom for minutes after everyone had left, pretending to have to fix things in your backpack better while you hoped something would happen.

he was patient, really, until the rope broke.

he had you bent over his desk as his large hands gripped your hips harshly, leaving marks on the exposed skin after he had completely stripped you — like you had always dreamed. his hard thrusts were splitting you openly on his cock, something unapologetic, ruthless.

your whimpers and mewls were too loud to be in a damn school, and his fingers reached for your mouth to enter it, silencing you and drowning you against them that went deep enough to increase the tears that pricked the corners of your eyes. “shhh, quiet, baby” he murmured in your ear, hissing at a particularly strong thrust that almost made him give in to the immediate orgasm. your walls were clamping around his cock like a vice.

but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't keep quiet. your body shook like crazy as his skin slapped against your ass with unnatural force, his tip abusing your weak spots enough to make you cave under his lustfully rough touch. “is this what you wanted, huh? say it, c’mon, tell me how much of a slut you are” his tone was taunting, teasing, as he purposely made the pace hard and slow — a torture that only made you nod in response, head falling back as his fingers wet with your saliva tightened around your neck.

“words” he quickly reminded you, his free hand falling to slap your ass, the noise echoing throughout the classroom.

you moaned, biting your lip so hard it hurt. “yes, wanted — wanted this so bad” you managed to let out between all those desperate sounds you naturally made, the knot in your lower belly forming as you felt on the verge of exploding.

he groaned at your words that only increased everything he felt, his balls tightening in the clear need to come, and to do it inside your heat. “gonna cum” he warned you, adjusting his angle slightly. it was risky, he knew, but his mind was so clouded that he lost the sense of reason that he should have had at the beginning of this situation in the first place.

so he did. he came in spurts of seed that colored your insides as his thumb moved in circles over your clit to give you the same level of pleasure, making you follow right behind him. the pressure he applied made you squirm against the desk embarrassingly.

he would have regretted it a ton.

#rafe cameron #outer banks #obx x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron blurb #outer banks smut #obx smut #obx blurb #smut #18+ mdni

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dcxdpdabbles · 3 months ago

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Die with a Smile

For @anonymous-existences who asked for a "Die with a Smile" by Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga using Spirt Halloween ship. Hope you like it!

Danny remembers being alive, but it was a distant memory as if he had woken from a wonderful dream. He could recall no scents or tastes from his time being flesh and bone, but he remembered sights and sometimes, if he was lucky a few sounds.

The sound of his sister singing. His father's laughter. His mother's humming. His best friend's fingers tap on his keyboard. His other best friend's plants when the water of her watering can fell over their leaves.

Danny held all the sounds dear to his heart, even if he could not remember their names or voices. Just their faces, smiles, and the warmth in their eyes before the car accident. Danny had been a Halfa from the age of fourteen, but twenty years later, he had died in a collision caused by a drunk driver, turning into a complete ghost.

Like all his previous adversaries, Danny could no longer return to the human world willy-nilly. He had reformed after he died in the Zone, becoming one of its citizens, anchored to the Realms between Death and Life.

He needed a gateway made by a mortal who willingly invited him through. All natural portals were nice, but it was a one-way. Anyone could pass through them to the Realms, not vice versa.

His parents had unknowingly created an open invitation when they stabilized their portal, allowing ghosts to run a rampage in the city. Danny doesn't remember why they had made it, but he wishes it was still there so he could see them again.

So that he could feel the deep love so evident in the glimpses and flashes of their faces that ran through his mind. He couldn't find his way back, so he spent years looking. He was one of the few ghosts that had no anchored haunt. Danny spends all eternity flying through the Realms in search of the love that he had once felt.

He lost count of how long ago that was. But along the way, he picked up other various wonders.

A bag that opens to his pocket of cosmos is flung over his shoulder. A long cloak that protected him from the scorching heat, freezing blizzards, howling winds, and drowning rain. A glimmering book that recorded his adventures in the consultations. And many new friends who have been in the Realms for so long they had developed their own culture and given birth to generations that knew nothing of the mortal realm.

Danny's ghost's name had also faded from his mind, knowing he used to answer something when he was fourteen. He is grateful that his birth name stays with him, even if he does not know his surname.

He now went as the Wander. Always searching for something he did not know if he could hold, let alone own. Wander grew in power, for his death had brought along all the ectoplasm of his Halfa days, and while his travels were relatively peaceful, there were times he needed to fight his way through.

He has never been defeated.

That was Danny's experience now. Wander, find adventure, find friends, find new incredible sights, become saddened that the new things didn't match the love he set on a pedestal, and wander again.

Over and over. Never lingering for too long. Never belonging.

Just lost in the endless void of the Realms.

Then, Danny had run into him.

A human had fallen through a portal caused by unnatural means. It was due to being attacked by a monstrous tyrant that was threatening his world. Omega Beam radiation polluted the portal, and for a second, Danny had thought he had finally found a stable way into the human world.

But alas, when he approached it, an invisible force kept him from leaving the Realms. Its constant flickering and electrical crackles mocked him, even if the scene behind the portal depicted a broken world.

Danny wanted nothing more than to fly through the human world, feel all those fantastic emotions, and live again. He pushed and pushed against the force field; however, there was no open invitation. He could not pass through the portal.

The human that fell after being pushed by the sudden explosion could. Danny had caught him and nursed him back to health, and when he awakened, he was struck dumb by those intense, intelligent eyes.

Batman was the name the human gave him, and for a few months, that was what Danny called him. The way to his home, an Earth called Gotham, had closed as soon as the omega beams had vanished. Batman was beside himself, attempting to find another portal.

As the man was living without means of flight between islands, Danny offered to take him to a few natural portals. He warned him that even if he could enter said portals, there was no guarantee he would be back when he vanished.

Portals bend time and space. They may appear in the same spot, but it was also a gamble of when that would be. Batman had no care, taking Danny's offer, and the two went off on a new adventure.

The broken pieces of an endless city was the connection between the Realms and Batman's Gotham. It took some time before Batman admitted that the city they traveled through - as, for some reason, the city bounds stopped Danny's flight - was his beloved city. It was an exact duplicated, over and over again as time moved on in the mortal world; this one copied every new development without removing the old one.

It merely expanded right next to the old building. The natural portals across the range were unstable, lasting only a few seconds before Batman was forced to throw himself back into the Realm or he got stuck at the wrong time.

Batman left a clue at every stop the portal gave him, claiming one of his children would notice and help find a way to bring him home. Danny wasn't so sure, but if the human found comfort in the thought, he would not be the one to burst his bubble.

As for Danny, the familiar emptiness that came with the urge to move on never showed itself. He found comfort in the footsteps of Batman. He found glee in the laughter around the small fires they make in the destroyed streets, void of any color.

Danny had forgotten most colors, so used to the Grey's, blacks, whites and dark purples of the Realms but the way Batman spoke of it made him think back to the reds blues yellows and greens he had not realized he missed.

Slowly, his journal filled itself with nothing but the mortal he had found.

Batman survived on what little they could find in the broken streets of his colorless home. He seemed disgruntled by the silence of the repeating streets, the obvious signs of violence that never quite healed in his city.

After a while, Danny realized he felt whole again. As if a part of his soul had been returned. Batman did not bring him back to life, but he made him feel alive.

Danny informed him it meant the land was cursed, but that only earned him a cold glare and a sharp bite of beef jerky from a gas station with its window smashed in. Their travels continued, with Danny dreaming of the five sounds he could recall of his loved ones- he did not need food anymore as a ghost, but he did need sleep. His core required recharge- realizing a new sound had been added.

The sound of Batman's soft taps as he marched on, searching for a way home.

Danny created a new constellation for him. He named it the Lost Vengence. It seemed right, even if Batman rarely spoke.

A few months of them together, Batman had wandered into an air that exploded with green grass. He grasped for his belt, but whatever he was searching for wasn't there, and he fell to his knees screaming.

Danny, who hadn't breathed it in, had rushed him over to a crumbled hospital, strapping the human down and panicking over his state. He was no doctor, but if he left Batman alone to get help, leaving the area that didn't allow him to fly would take far too long, and Batman would die.

Already, his heart was beating too fast for a human. Danny had ripped off his strange mask, trying to get him out of the clothes covered in the green goo, but it didn't do much. All that was left was a human- a handsome human- screaming his head off.

Eventually, Danny realized that his journal may have the answer. He could not always remember what he recorded, but if he asked it to, it would pull up records of adventures he may have forgotten.

There was a method of passing on his healing that Frostbite once shared with him long before his death. He pressed his hands over Batman's chest, not with his palms but with his soul, and prayed the human would accept it.

A few minutes later, Danny's ectoplasm had sunk through the skin and cleaned out the effects of the strange grass. Batman slumped against the metal table, breathing heavily and sweating profoundly, but he stared up at Danny as if he were bestowing an angel.

Since ectoplasm was purely emotional, no words had to be shared between them to know Danny had wanted to save him more than anything. Had felt the way Batman made him feel complete.

"My name is Bruce Wayne," Batman had told him later that night while the pair looked through a mall that seemed to have been flooded. The water splashed against their mid-calfs, slowly picking their way through the new clothes that Bruce could wear.

His soft smile filled up to his core, and neither mentioned the way the distance between them closed or the fingers that laced together,but Danny knew he had found it.

What he had been searching for all these years.

Bruce would sometimes stop them in the nicer parts of his city- places that merely went out of business instead of being broken down- and treat him to the few things he had forgotten of the human world.

An ice cream parlor had been stripped clean, but the owners had left one fringe with three tubs of ice cream. As time was frozen, it was good to eat, and Danny realized that while he did not need food, he did enjoy it. Bruce was sensitive to the weather that changed every few hundred miles.

In the parts with ice and snow, he curled up on Danny's chest, protected by the cloak that expanded to cover them. In the fires, he was carried on Danny's back, the fabric of the cloak protecting him from burning while Danny's hair flickers snowflakes for him to breathe.

Other times, he merely liked holding hands because he, too, felt whole with Danny.

Then they came upon a part of town that belonged to Bruce's third youngest son. He called it the Nest, and a date and time was carved on the wall. His son had found a way to stabilize a portal, and he planned to pull Bruce back home.

The boy thought Bruce was trapped in the past, but his rescue would still work. Bruce could finally return to the humans.

He understood. Danny had lived his life. Now, it was time for Bruce to finish his.

"Will you go? Would you leave me?" Danny knew the answer to his questions the second he looked into Bruce's eyes. It cracked something deep inside, but he was not angry or feeling betrayed.

"I'm sorry," Bruce whispers, tracing his hand on the curve of Danny's cheek. The ghost leans on it, wishing, not for the first time that he had the sensation of touch again. He only gets brief impressions of something against him, but Danny can not feel the texture of Bruce's clauses.

The warmth of his skin.

"Don't be. This was the best part of my existence in a long time. You were everything that I had forgotten about love."

He knew humans were warm. He remembers a tiny moment when his sister's fingers in his hair comforted him.

But he could not remember what their warmth felt like.

Bruce's face crumbled before it softened. "I'm not gone yet. We have a few hours."

"Just three," Danny whispered, looking at the numbers on Bruce's watch. He had set a countdown to when Tim would activate the machine- the portal- that only called Bruce home. Since the boy did not know it wasn't a time issue but a different reality, he had unintentionally made it with only Bruce in mind.

The force keeping all ghosts like Danny in the Realms wouldn't let him enter.

"I know how I want to spend them." Bruce found a record player broken in the movie theater beside his son's shining new hideout. Apparently, it was the one that had been abandoned in Bruce's youth.

It played a lovely old, slow dance from the forties that echoed through the dusted room, surrounding them in its soft, wistful melody. Bruce guided Danny to the center of the stage- the only place not covered in dust or supplies- and carefully bent him into an elegant dip.

At that moment, Danny and Bruce were all that existed in the broken-ended city of Gotham's past.

A smile blooms on Danny's face, twirling around the man who caught him and guided him, saying without words how much he adored Danny. The unsaid words between them meant nothing in the face of their world ending, but their smiles made up for it.

Danny's book had fallen open at one point, his collected stars and cosmos flying out to surround the pair as they swayed and slowly danced. He felt the thumping of Bruce's heart against his chest, pressing closer to record the feeling in his core and soul.

Song after song. Step, spin, sway, dip, intelligent eyes that watched him with the same amount of wishful longing and bright, loving smile.

"I could die again," Danny told him, hands on Bruce's shoulders and the human hands on his hip.

"I am," Bruce whispered back as his clock started beeping. They had ten seconds left. "I want you to remember me with a smile."

"Of course." Danny leaned back only far enough that when he pushed his face against Bruce's, their lips sealed in a burst of incredible, indescribable sensations. All at once, it's like sounds, feelings, tastes, and sights rush back at him, making him feel as if life was being breathed back into him, only for it to vanish as Bruce's body slowly fades away.

He leans back after his hands pass through Bruce's body, no longer anchored enough in the Realms to hold, and gives him the brightest smile he can muster. Neither mentions the tears rolling down their faces as he whispers.

"The party is over, and our time on this Earth is through, but I'll love you. For all eternity. I always do when I think of those who are still alive." Danny watches him fade away in soft, gentle sparks that he would later gather and shift into stardust.

He places them in Gotham's skies so Bruce can have a tiny part of him, even though he cannot see it. Danny turns around and marches back towards the realms.

The Wander must find a new purpose.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Die with a Smile #Part 1 #spirt halloween ship #TW: Main charater death #Danny misses his human side #Bruce fell in love but he has a life to live #They were only meant a little while #slight angst #bittersweet ending?#Tim brings Bruce home #Danny is unaware he's an Accient since he can effect the living world even if he can't travel to it

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strwbrychffoncke · 29 days ago

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"lets ,you and me ,start over today ,be happy,, 2k+ words synopsis: you hope for a miracle on white day contains: lnds caleb x reader ,its white day! ,angst -> fluff ,kinda yearner!reader ,oblivious!reader ,jealousy (u think he likes someone else ,he thinks u like someone LOL) ,chef!caleb ,you're both kinda dumb tbh ,reader cries ,caleb comforts you ,slightly possessive!caleb ,confession ,kiss scene ,later a misunderstanding is fixed ,fluffy end ,i think thats it note: (unedited!) wow didn't mean to not write for so long OOPS.... i found this concept in my notes and decided to cook it up today and slowly get back into the writing groove cause i missed it...... ill edit this later too lazy to do it rn :x

you're not really sure what triggered it.

maybe it was the excited giggles of girls passing you through the halls as they chatted with their friends about who had left them chocolates on this special day. maybe it was the shocked expression on your close friends' faces, pleasantly surprised at having received chocolates of their own, yet trying to brush it off as no big deal realizing you had yet to receive any.

or maybe it was the fact that you'd caught caleb up in the kitchen later than usual, the sweet smell of your favorite chocolates wafting through the space and towards your nose.

you'd watched him meticulously measure out the proper ingredients, noticing he was trying his best to stay quiet (seeming to recognize both you and gran were asleep, or so he thought) while quietly humming to himself, carefully stirring and monitoring the sweets as they developed. a pleased smile graced his features when he delicately poured the fresh liquid into cute molds you couldn't make out (but realized with a sinking heart had to be new, because you didn't recognize them) and watched as gathered a dallop of it on his finger to taste test.

having seen too much, you managed to rip yourself away from where you hid in the hallway, quietly retreating to your room, and burying yourself into your covers.

you didn't want it to be true. you didn't want to think about caleb working so carefully to make something for another girl, who just so happened to have your taste in sweets.

how bittersweet.

you heard his footsteps pass by your room, fighting the urge to burst open the door and corner him for answers, and instead listening to the soft pat pat of his socks against the wooden floor retreating just down further into his own bedroom.

tears slipped down your cheeks as you willed yourself to sleep, trying to think of anything to push away the image of caleb gifting the likely very-nicely wrapped chocolates to some mystery girl.

he never mentioned anyone. why would he keep this a secret from you?

wasn't he the one that said there shouldn't be any secrets between you both? that he was the first person you could speak to about anything, and vice versa?

you don't remember falling asleep, but are quickly shaken back to reality in the morning when you wake to your tear-stained cheeks.

and now you had arrived home, locking yourself in your rooms as you curled up and cried to yourself about the situation all over again.

of course he wouldn't think of you like that, he couldn't possibly, you knew this and thought you'd accepted it long ago—

so why was it that the tears wouldn't stop flowing?

you didn't even care that you didn't receive anything from anyone else (even caleb piped up the question on your unnaturally quiet walk home, but you only shook your head. since your gaze was trained infront of you, you missed the relief that flooded his prior sharp eyes and the sigh that escaped his lips) because you only wanted something from one person.

the one person who you could never have.

you're not sure how long you were crying for, but accustomed to being left to yourself for awhile after school, you were startled at a sudden knock at your door.

you jumped, head perking up towards your door— you'd left it unlocked.

"pipsqueak?"

you cursed to yourself.

of all times.

you frantically wiped at your wet cheeks, taking quick deep breaths to try to ensure your voice wouldn't come out shaky.

at another knock, you found it in yourself to answer.

"y-yeah?"

dammit.

with any luck, caleb wouldn't notice the shake in your voice.

"hey, are you alright?"

you cursed his perceptiveness.

"yeah, what's up?"

you hoped that sounded more convincing.

a beat of silence passes between you both, and you want to speak up again to ask what he needs when he beats you to it.

"i'm coming in."

"wait—!"

your panicked cry is ignored as caleb bursts through the door, eyes quickly locking onto you.

in seconds, he closes the distance, kneeling before you and gently gripping your shoulders.

"hey, hey, were you crying?"

"...no—"

"don't lie to me."

"don't ask stupid questions!"

you huff in mild frustration, rubbing at your eyes to try to keep any more tears from falling in his presence.

at your action, he reaches up to pry your hands away from your face, holding them gently in his own warm ones. his thumbs start caressing the backs of your palms as he looks into your eyes.

"what's wrong?"

you quickly shift your gaze away from his.

"nothing—"

"it's not nothing. come on, you can tell me anything."

you take a deep shaky breath.

"did something happen today?"

shouldn't you be the one asking him that?

he tilted his head, trying to meet your eyes.

"is it because you didn't get anything?"

"no, caleb—"

"then what?"

the soothing movements of his thumbs on your hands stop for a moment.

"did someone say something to you?"

you sniffle, shaking your head.

"did someone—"

"no one did anything, caleb, that's the problem!"

his eyes widen slightly, and his thumbs resume the soothing motion again at your sudden outburst.

"what do you—"

"i just—! i just hoped...."

a fresh batch of tears well up in your eyes, and you try your best not to let them fall.

"hoped for what?" his voice is quieter, almost a whisper.

"hoped for the impossible."

your gaze is on your lap, looking at the size of caleb's hands compared to yours.

he's close, so close, and yet...

you sniffle as a couple of tears fall, dropping to where your hands are connected.

"the person i like.... made chocolates for someone else."

caleb feels his heart stop.

is that what this is about?

while a large part of him wants to shake you for the name of this person so he can beat them to the ground for making you cry, the deeper twisted part of him is relieved that you haven't been taken from him.

he couldn't allow that.

"pipsqueak..."

"am i... not enough?"

he feels his heart shatter at the sound of a broken sob escaping your lips after these words, and his hands fly to cup your face, bringing you closer to him.

"of course you're enough, don't ever question your worth because of someone else. they're just too stupid to not see that, so its better not to think about them, alright?"

your eyes widen in surprise at the intense look in his eyes mixed with his honest answer, and you both feel comforted and a little more heartbroken hearing this come from the one this is about in the first place.

he swipes your tears away with his thumbs, one hand moving to pat your head. his eyes soften, a fond looking taking over them.

"one day, someone who's worthy of your love, who knows everything about you and cares about you more than anything in the world will sweep you off your feet. trust me."

the way he says these words with such certainty in a calm and kind voice warms your heart.

"do you really think so?" you murmur.

"i know so," he answers.

you both stare into each other's eyes for a long moment after that, exchanging a million words in just one look.

maybe its because of what day it is, maybe its because he's so close, or maybe its because the person he described reminds you so much of him, but for whatever reason, you find yourself leaning forward.

there's not a lot of distance between the two of you, and in a way you think 'maybe its now or never,' as you decide to close it, tilting your head and closing your eyes as your soft lips land onto his.

its brief and fleeting yet so much is exchanged in the few seconds you're merged together this way. caleb is shocked to his core, eyes wide and not having time to even process if this is real or not. when he feels you begin to pull away, the hand that's planted itself on top of your head slips behind and pushes you back, this time leaving you in shock as he properly melds his lips with yours.

you're the first to pull away again after a few long moments, close enough that your breaths mingle as you both catch your own, eyes locked onto each other.

one of his hands is still cradling your face, his other brushing some stray hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear, breath shaky as he follows the movement, eyes dragging over every detail of your visage.

his sunset eyes bore into yours as he speaks his next words, voice wavering.

"did you mean it, pipsqueak?"

you can only nod your head in his gentle hold as a response.

surprise crosses his eyes for a moment when his brows suddenly furrow slightly.

"what about... your crush?"

a small smile stretches across your lips.

"he's been by my side this entire time," your eyes drift away from his face as you nuzzle your cheek slightly into his palm.

"i couldn't help myself."

his heart feels like it could burst, his eyes practically glimmering, and a smile painting his lips.

at the sight of his lovesick expression locked onto you, you sniffle, turning your head towards the door.

"well, i think i'm gonna get a snack—"

you move to get up but are stopped by a hand wrapping around your wrist, quickly pulling you back.

you yelp in surprise, falling into caleb's arms as he cages you against him, embrace holding you close, nose nudging against your shoulder.

"should i take that as a confession?"

extra:

"wait."

you perk up, looking to where caleb is standing over the stove, the man in question already facing you.

its hours later, and you're sitting on a nearby stool, completely reassured from earlier's outburst, watching him cook dinner for you both.

"i'm still confused about one thing."

you tilt your head.

"ok?"

"you said the person you liked gave chocolate to someone else," he starts, stirring what's in the pan he's holding before tossing the food slightly in midair before briskly catching it all in the pan, body turned towards you.

showoff, you think, grinning and shaking your head slightly.

"buuut, i didn't give anything to anyone, pipsqueak."

your expression morphed into one of puzzlement.

"but... i saw you... making chocolates...."

caleb took a moment to process your words before small chuckles began escaping him.

he lowered the heat, placing the pan back down before facing you completely, his laughs growing louder at this point and of pure amusement.

"its not that funny," you pouted.

he took a moment to catch his breath before walking over to the fridge and pulling something out, shutting the door and approaching you.

"its just— pip, they're for you."

you tilted your head at him, looking down at the packaging wrapped prettily.

"earlier, i had originally gone to your room to coax you out and give you these, but then..."

you gasped.

"c-caleb—!"

"did you notice these were your favorites?"

"which is why i was that much more upset!"

a fond chuckle rumbled through his chest as he reached out with his free hand to pet your hair.

"so cute."

"i deserve them for the distress you caused me," you pouted, reaching out for them only for caleb to hang it higher above you, out of your reach.

"nuh-huh, i don't think so."

"caleeeeeb!"

"not before you've had your dinner," he reasons.

you slump back into your chair, sighing.

"okayyy."

"hm, good."

that night, after a fulfilling share of "caleb's famous cooking," you helped yourself to the love-filled chocolates made specially for you, caleb feeding them to you, his gaze full of only love for the one he's wanted for so long.

this was definitely a white day to remember.

a/n: heyyyyyy guess whos back..... prepare for me to spit out more fics cause im dying to after not writing for like a month (and for no particular reason) stay tuned.... side note the current zayne event game is so fun ugh

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #l&ds #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #lnds x reader #l&ds x reader #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #lnds caleb #l&ds caleb #lads caleb x reader #lnds caleb x reader #caleb x reader #xia yizhou x reader #xia yizhou

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thatshadowgastwhore · 6 months ago

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Okay, addict tim Drake. Because this is a rich kid with no supervision, a stimulant dependency, and a disdain for normal bodily limits. I don’t personally think he’s into vaping/nicotine bc he needs his lungs to be working to do Robining, BUT the perfect vice for him is coke. Like, just a step further than his energy drink dependency. And he’s always trying to get clean and then he relapses again and over and over and yet NO ONE notices his struggles or thinks twice about the insane shit he pulls when he’s high, how long he stays awake being unnatural, etc, until Jason finds out, bc that is the sweet sweet angst I’ve been craving

#addict tim drake #tim drake #tim drake angst

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anatomyleigh · 3 days ago

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“A sonic boom is a sound associated with shock waves, created when an object moves through the air faster than the speed of sound.”

And Invincible, clad in black and blue, leaves one behind as he vanishes into motion, fleeing not from fear, but toward a threat so cataclysmic it warps the air around him. A man engineered for destruction, broad-shouldered and cloaked in white, crashes into him mid-flight and drives him into the earth with the force of a dying star.

_______ doesn’t know how long she’s been lying on the gravel. Air barely able to get into her lungs, ears ringing from the chaos above. She feels the sound energy vibrate the ground. Feels it rattle her bones. She knows she should move.

Move.

Get up.

Move.

MOVE!

But she can’t. Her fingers could hardly twitch, her body aching. A wet tear slides down her cheek, a daunting thought plaguing her mind: Nobody will save you now.

“Maybe, you just need a little motivation.” A sinister, grating voice growls above her.

A massive hand wraps around her neck before she could scream. Her body lurched upward, as if gravity itself had betrayed her– limbs heavy, lungs locked. The pressure against her neck tightened, and her feet scraped uselessly against the air. Her hands clawed at the fingers choking her, but they might as well have been carved from metal. Something cold and unyielding pressed against her back. Not skin. Armor. Muscle. Bone. All wrapped in something too still, too unnatural. An arm slithered around her waist like a vice, locking her in place. The air thinned. Her vision stuttered at the edges.

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Invincible spat–sharp and desperate. But his voice sounded so far away, as if he was shouting from the other side of a void.

“Oh, I am beginning to understand your affinity for these lowly creatures, child.” He leaned in closer, his face brushing hers. The man behind her laughs, but nothing about it was joyous. It wasn’t mirth, it wasn’t even madness. It was a sound that crawled underneath her skin, perverted and sick. Bile burned at the back of her throat.

“This one has the most gorgeous face. She even cries pretty.” A wet tongue slid up against her cheek, lapping up her tears. Her body recoiled on instinct, but there was nowhere to go. Her stomach coiled with dread, her sobs unending.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream. Couldn’t stop him.

“Get away from me!” She choked out, voice shredded. The cuts on her limbs throbbed. Blood trickled down her skin, warm and slick. She dangled higher now, suspended in the sky. The world below blurred into a sickening kaleidoscope—buildings, pavement, fire, smoke—spinning like a carnival ride from hell.

“Look at this, Mark. This is what you’re willing to die for? A weak, trembling little human, begging for her life? How touching. Let’s see how much of her I can rip apart before you beg me to stop.”

Mark? Wait–

“NO!”

It was only a split second. A nanosecond in the infinity of time. One moment she was suspended in the sky like a marionette on broken strings, and the next–she was falling.

The wind whipped past her, her limbs flailed uselessly as gravity tore her down, down, down. Towards the distant, uncaring earth.

A scream ripped from her throat, ragged and raw.

This was it. This was the end—splattered on the pavement, insignificant, and forgotten. There was no time to regret. No time to think about how she should have told him the truth. Should have told him that she loved him. He’ll know, she prayed.

But just as the Earth reached up to claim her—

A deafening crack split the air.

A sonic boom erupted above her, a force so powerful, it split the clouds. Then—impact, but not with the ground.

Invincible slammed into her trajectory mid-air, arms catching her with a force that made her ears ring and bones jolt. They spun through the air, before he redirected them both in an arc that sent parked cars below flying from the shock waves.

The ground never touched her.

His chest heaved. Blood smeared the collar of his suit. One eye, almost swollen shut. Ribs rising unevenly beneath the tight fabric. His hands trembled—either from fear or rage—but he held her. Held her tight.

She stared up at him, dazed, heart still hammering inside her rib cage.

“Y-you…” She breathed, voice cracking. “Mark?”

His jaw clenched, his lip split and bleeding.

“I’m sorry.” He rasped. “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

Tears spilled from her cheeks at the sight of him. Battered, bruised, soft hair swaying with the wind. It made her heart ache.

“You’re—you’re him.” She whispered. “You’re–“

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Above them, a shadow blotted out the sun. A familiar monstrous silhouette began to descend. Mark turned his head, teeth gritting against pain. Something off-kilter flickered in his expression–rage, fury.

Vengeance.

He set her down to her feet gently, his hands lingering at her waist longer than necessary. When his defeated eyes meet hers, she swears her heart cracked into a million pieces.

“I’ll come back,” He said, voice low and fraying at the edges. “I swear. I just need you to call for Cecil. I need you to get out of here and I need you to take Oliver. Do you understand?”

“Mark–“ she reached for him, tears still falling, panic swelling again. “You can’t go. You’re hurt–“

“________! Do you understand?!” He snaps, gripping her arms. Panicked eyes darted across her face frantically, as if he’s trying to hastily memorize this moment. She swallows, and despite the dread snaking around her bones, she nods.

Before she could say anything else, he was already gone. The wind from his flight blowing into her face, a sonic boom cracked the sky again as he shot upward. A trail of blood, left in his wake.

She dropped to her knees, heart in pieces. She heaves–heavily and forcefully. She breathes one last broken sob, before her chest hardens and her resolve fights back.

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈: can you tell i haven't posted on tumblr in years? (& note to self–put this in a future fic, fingers crossed!)

#invincible #invincible x reader #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #invincible mark grayson #invincible season 3 #cecil stedman #omni man #invincible show #invincible conquest #original character #mark graryson fanfic #invincible fanfic #ᥫ᭡ 𝒶𝓃𝒶𝓁𝑒𝒾𝑔𝒽'𝓈 𝒻𝒾𝒸𝓈 ࣪

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breederbutch · 4 months ago

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"The essence of butchness is interior, psychological, emotional— a form of psychosexuality as fundamental as heterosexual male, heterosexual female, or femme. Some butches are easily recognizable by outward manner and gesture by even the most naive heterosexual, but most have picked up from the prevailing culture outward behavior that makes 'passing' easy. Only the experienced eye of another lesbian can spot the little telltale gestures. A factor of consequence in this matter of behavior is the butch's own attitude toward herself. If early on she has fully accepted herself, she ceases to be concerned with every little gesture that might give her away. She presents a naturalness that offends no one despite her being thought of as a masculine woman. In contrast, the butch who fears herself, who is overly sensitive to the ridicule generally heaped upon the masculine woman, may suffer the torments of hell. Day in and day out she tries to disguise her inner masculinity; she may even manage to hide it from herself. To others she appears strange and unnatural. Though she has thoroughly accepted her lesbianism, she knows not what to do with this tender masculinity hidden within her. In some instances this leads to her taking the role of the femme. This is a curious inversion of her true self, one that points out the reciprocity or mirror-image aspect of butch-femme. For the qualities of butch and femme are not opaque to each other— the butch senses the nature of the femme by what it is she seeks in another, and vice versa. An analogy might be the right and left hands. These two hands, though the same in most ways, are also the exact reversals of each other."

- Rita Laporte, "The butch-femme question," from The Ladder (1971) [reprinted in The Persistent Desire: A Femme-Butch Reader (1992)]

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fangdokja · 23 days ago

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♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 1,087

You should have known better.

Should have learned by now that no kindness goes unpunished. That the moment you start responding to soft hands, to a quiet voice, to even the tiniest fucking shred of mercy—you seal your fate.

Now you’re here. Bent over a makeshift desk in the commander’s tent, face smashed against the rough wood, the stink of sweat, gunpowder, and raw fury clogging your senses. The air is thick with him—heat, smoke, leather, the lingering tang of blood, like he was just out killing before he came to punish you.

His grip is a vice on the back of your neck, so strong you feel each individual tendon flex under thick, calloused skin as he presses you down, shoving your spine into an unnatural arch. Your arms are useless, twisted behind your back, wrists caged in just one of his massive hands, squeezing so hard the bones grind together. Your legs shake—tiny, weak things compared to him, barely able to take his weight.

A dark chuckle rumbles from behind you, low and gruff, curling around your throat like barbed wire. “Not even trying to fight back, lapochka?” he drawls, deep and mocking, voice dripping with condescension. His hips grind forward, the monstrous heat of him pressing against you, rutting in slow, deliberate strokes. “Hah. Got comfortable, da? Thought you could pick favorites? Thought you could let some weakling treat you like a person?”

A sharp pain lances through your chest at the memory. A soldier—too soft, too gentle—had given you water. Let you rest after they passed you around like a disposable rag. Whispered apologies, cleaned you up, treated you like something more than a nameless hole. And you—stupid, naive thing—had leaned into it.

Now you’re here. Trembling under the weight of the man who actually owns you.

He tuts, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth as his other hand leaves your neck only to spread you open, thick fingers prying at your raw, ruined hole—torn up from days, weeks, months of use. You jolt at the sharp sting of it, at the way he just—invades, inspects, like you’re nothing but property to be checked over. He hums, pleased and cruel, pressing a thick digit inside, watching the way you twitch and gasp.

“Not even tight anymore.” His voice drips contempt, full of biting, condescending amusement. “Let those fuckers ruin you, hm? Greedy little thing. Didn’t take long for you to spread your legs, eh?”

Your stomach lurches at the way he says it—like you had a choice, like you were begging for it.

A sharp, vicious slap lands across your ass, the crack of skin-on-skin ringing through the tent. You jolt, body instinctively trying to curl in on itself, but he’s got you trapped. The pain barely has time to register before he lines up, the brutal, searing heat of his cock pressing against your entrance.

Too big. It’s always too fucking big.

You whimper, thrashing weakly, knowing it’s useless, knowing how this goes, knowing he wants the fight just to see you lose. But your body reacts before your brain can tell it to give up, every muscle locking up in useless resistance.

He laughs, deep and dark, grip tightening as he holds you still. “Da? You fight now? Pathetic.”

Then he shoves in.

A broken, strangled noise rips from your throat as pain explodes through your gut. Your body stretches—too wide, too much, stuffed full of thick, unrelenting heat. His cock forces you open in brutal, raw inches, splitting you apart on sheer size alone. No prep, no warning—just brutal force, forcing you to take him, forcing you to accept.

Your mouth opens in a silent scream, but no sound comes out. Your body trembles violently, fingers curling into the wood of the desk, nails digging into splinters, eyes squeezing shut as agony burns through your insides.

He groans, deep and guttural, pressing his weight against you, grinding himself deeper. “Feel that, dorogaya?” The words come through gritted teeth, his own breath shuddering as he bottoms out, stuffing you full. His cock pulses inside you, stretching, bruising, ruining. “That’s what you get for being a little whore.”

He pulls back just enough to slam forward again, setting a pace that’s brutal and unforgiving. Every thrust forces you forward, slamming your hips against the edge of the desk, bruising skin already painted in older, faded purples. Each snap of his hips is sharp, merciless, each one punctuated by the obscene sound of wet skin-on-skin, the slick squelch of your ruined hole struggling to take him.

“You liked it when he touched you, da?” he breathes, voice thick with something dark, something dangerous. His teeth graze your ear, a cruel smirk in his tone. “Thought you could be his little pet instead?”

A choked sob escapes, body wracked with pain, exhaustion, humiliation. He laughs at the sound, amused, cruel. “Nyet, lapochka. You don’t get kindness. You don’t get mercy.”

Another slap lands on your ass, harder than the last, making you jolt. His fingers dig deep into your bruised flesh before traveling up, wrapping around your throat, dragging you up until your back is flush against his chest, forcing you to arch for him.

His grip tightens, cutting off your air, making your vision blur at the edges. “Say it.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out, your throat crushed under the weight of his fingers.

He clicks his tongue, almost pitying, almost amused. “What’s wrong, dorogaya? Thought you liked being treated nice. Don’t tell me you need him to save you.”

He releases your throat just enough for you to suck in a desperate breath, coughing, choking, tears streaking down your face. He waits, gives you a second—then thrusts back into you with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs.

“Say it.”

Your body convulses, every nerve fried, mind blank from pain, exhaustion, the unbearable stretch of him inside you. The words stumble out, broken, ragged, barely recognizable as your own voice. “I—I belong to you.”

The moment the words leave your lips, he groans, deep and satisfied, fucking into you harder, faster, like a reward for finally submitting.

“That’s right,” he growls, panting against your skin. “You’re mine. And if I ever catch you looking at another man again—” His grip tightens on your hips, fingers digging deep, possessive, bruising. “I’ll fuck you in front of them. Make them watch while I ruin you.”

Tears spill down your cheeks, useless and ignored.

You should have known better.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

♡ List of Fandoms and Characters.

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

Ace Attorney: Barok van Zieks

Arcane: Jayce

Blue Lock: Michael Kaiser, Rin Itoshi, Sae Itoshi

Boku no Hero Academia: Endeavor

Brutal: Satsujin Kansatsukan no Kokuhaku: N/A

Death Note: N/A

Demon Slayer: Sanemi Shinazugawa

DC: Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne

Dishonored Series: N/A

Genshin Impact: Childe

Haikyuu!!: Hajime Iwaizumi, Tetsurou Kuroo

Honkai Star Rail: Blade, Boothill, Nanook

How to Live as an Illegal Healer: N/A

Hunter x Hunter: Uvogin

I'm Not That Kind of Talent: N/A

Jujutsu Kaisen: Ryōmen Sukuna

Kill The Hero: N/A

Love and Deepspace: N/A

Mobile Legends: Bang Bang: N/A

MONSTER: N/A

Naruto Shippuden: Hidan, Zabuza Momochi

One Punch Man: Suiryu

Reverend Insanity: N/A

TOUCHSTARVED: Vere

Undertale Multiverse (Human AU): Bill! Sans, Fresh! Sans, Ink! Sans, Killer! Sans, Nightmare! Sans, Shattered Dream! Sans, Undertale Chara

Wuthering Waves: Brant, Scar

Your Throne: N/A

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood. Thank you.

Official TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @save4h , @rofkshinee , @songbirdgardensworld , @yanderedrabbles

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution

♡ Book 6 [you are here]. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourself—repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.

Test-Phase TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”:

♡ Book 7. Corpus Delicti (CD): Donum Mortis.

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halosdiary · 6 months ago

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witch's brew | witch! t. fushiguro x magical girl!reader | 呪術廻戦

a/n: if I'm starting kinktober, I'm starting it right. Have some toji you animals. I personally blame @blkkizzat and @hoshigray for this.

wc: 2.5k

contains: masturbation, sexual fantasies, entrapment, kidnapping, unrequited love, possessive behavior, just horror themed based.

synopsis: it seems that you have an admirer in the form of a witch.

The night was unnaturally quiet, the air thick with an impending sense of doom. You’d been walking home from an uneventful evening, but something was wrong. The moon hung too low, too bright, casting strange shadows that seemed to follow your every step. Your chest tightened, anxiety gnawing at you like a parasite. Every rustle in the trees, every crunch of a leaf made your skin prickle with unease. You swore someone was watching.

That’s when he appeared.

Toji Fushiguro.

He was panting, stroking himself, his arm shielding away his eyes. the sight of you always in his mind. You were beautiful to him, you were everything he envisioned. Your smile, your innocent spirit, the way you just looked so perfect. His moans echoing his chambers as he slowly started to thrust more as he felt himself about to cum soon.

"Fuck...FUCK." He hissed out. His blacken hand feeling each inch of ecstasy.

As he arches his back, he yells out as he sprays out nice essence at the throat of you. An orb was glowing as he grabs it and looks into it. He saw you, you were finishing up something, and just wanted to go home. You were done slaying curses for one night and were heading home.

Tall, dark, and painfully handsome, his presence was as overwhelming as it was eerie. His eyes gleamed with a wicked intensity, and his lips curved into a smile that sent chills down your spine. You’d seen him before—once, in passing, and again in your dreams, where the world twisted into something nightmarish.

"Leaving so soon?" his voice was smooth, almost mocking.

Your heart raced. Every instinct told you to run, but your feet remained frozen in place. You tried to speak, but words caught in your throat.

Toji stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I've been watching you," he said, his tone casual, as if talking to an old friend. "You, with all your power... It’s fascinating, really."

You felt a surge of magic flicker within you, instinctively raising your guard. But before you could react, he raised a hand, muttering something under his breath. Darkness exploded around you, and the world spun into oblivion.

When you awoke, everything was wrong.

You were no longer in your world.

The room was unfamiliar—gothic, ornate, and suffocating. The air was thick with magic, dark and twisted, and you felt it clawing at your skin, seeping into your very soul. You tried to move, but invisible chains bound you in place.

Toji stood before you, his eyes gleaming with a predatory glint. "You're mine now," he whispered, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "There’s no escape."

You struggled against the invisible hold, summoning every ounce of magic you had left, but nothing worked. It was as if the very air around you drained your power.

Toji chuckled, watching your futile attempts.

"You don’t understand, do you? You’ve walked right into my trap. This place... it bends to my will. And you?" He knelt in front of you, lifting your chin with a single finger. "You’ll never leave."

Panic rose in your chest, suffocating you. His presence was overwhelming, oppressive. You felt his magic wrap around your mind like a vice, tightening slowly, mercilessly.

"Let me go!" you gasped, your voice trembling.

He tilted his head, amused by your defiance. "Why would I ever do that? I’ve been searching for someone like you for so long. A magical girl with so much potential... You’re perfect." His voice dripped with obsession, his eyes darkening with desire—though not the kind you expected. His obsession was something darker, more twisted, a need to control, to torment.

Days blurred together in that prison. Toji was always there, watching, waiting. He whispered dark curses in your ear, slowly unraveling your mind. You would wake to his voice in the dead of night, a phantom in the darkness, promising that you belonged to him. Every time you tried to fight, to escape, he would tighten his grip, his magic suffocating your own.

"You’ll never be free," he would say, his lips grazing your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "No one will ever find you here. No one can."

You could feel yourself unraveling, piece by piece. He would keep you locked away, forever a prisoner in his cursed world. And the worst part? You began to doubt yourself. The walls seemed to close in, your reality slipping away. His voice became the only constant, his presence the only thing you could rely on.

Maybe you were crazy. Maybe this was all a dream. Or worse, maybe it wasn’t.

Toji's obsession only grew with time, his torment becoming more intimate, more invasive. He would appear in your thoughts, twisting your memories, making you question what was real and what was his doing. Every time you thought you had a moment of clarity, he would be there, dragging you back into his grasp.

"You can't escape me," he whispered, his voice echoing in the dark. "No matter how hard you try."

You screamed, but your voice was swallowed by the void.

Toji smiled.

You were his.

Forever.

The days stretched into weeks—or was it longer? Time itself had become a blur, an untraceable loop in this twisted dimension Toji had crafted around you. The lines between reality and nightmare thinned until they bled into one another. You couldn’t remember what it felt like to be free.

Every day, Toji was there, his dark presence a constant reminder that you were nothing more than his puppet. He never allowed you to be alone for long. You would wake to find him watching from the shadows, his piercing eyes drinking in every ounce of your fear, feeding off your helplessness. It was as if he relished your suffering, delighted in watching you come apart at the seams.

Sometimes, he was gentle, almost tender. He would sit beside you, brushing the hair from your face, his touch cold but oddly soothing. "Why do you resist, little one?" he would murmur, his voice low and seductive. "Don’t you see? I could give you everything. All the power you could ever want, all the knowledge of the dark arts... If only you would stop fighting me."

But you knew better. His words were poison, a slow-acting venom that crept into your veins with every passing day. He wasn’t offering you freedom. No, he was trying to mold you, break you, until there was nothing left of who you once were. He wanted to consume you, body and soul, until you were nothing more than a hollow shell, a reflection of his own twisted desires.

And despite your attempts to hold on to your sanity, you could feel the cracks deepening. You tried to remind yourself of the life you had before Toji trapped you in this dark purgatory, but the memories were fading. Your friends, your family, even your own reflection in the mirror had become distant, abstract things.

Sometimes, you questioned if they ever existed at all.

And Toji—he noticed. He always noticed.

One evening, when the suffocating darkness of his world felt heavier than ever, Toji appeared, sitting at the foot of your bed with that familiar, cruel smirk. "I see you’ve been thinking about escaping again," he purred. His voice was silk laced with malice. "You still believe there’s a way out of this, don’t you?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat felt raw from all the silent screaming you had done, your thoughts tangled and foggy.

He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting across your skin.

"Do you know what I love most about this curse I’ve placed on you?" His smile widened, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. "It’s not just your body that belongs to me. It’s your mind." He tapped a finger to your temple, his touch electrifying in the worst way possible.

"I know what you’re thinking before you even think it. Every fear, every hope, every desperate little plan to escape—none of it is a secret to me."

Your chest tightened with panic as his words sank in. It was true. Every time you had tried to break free, something had gone wrong—like he knew your thoughts before you could act on them. You had been playing right into his hands, and now, the despair was unbearable.

He tilted your chin upward, forcing you to look into his eyes. "You’re starting to understand now, aren’t you?" His voice dropped to a whisper, dark and intoxicating. "There is no escape from me. Not here. Not ever. I will have you, in every sense of the word."

Something inside you shattered at that moment. A sob ripped from your throat, and the tears you had been holding back for so long finally spilled down your cheeks. Toji only smiled, his expression one of triumph.

"Good," he said softly, brushing a tear away with his thumb. "Let it all out. The sooner you accept your place here, the sooner we can stop this silly game of resistance."

You wanted to fight, to scream at him, but your strength was slipping away, stolen by the relentless grip of his curse. Each passing day, each whispered word from his lips, eroded the pieces of you that still held on to hope.

There were moments, fleeting and cruel, when you thought you felt something stir within Toji—something softer, a glimpse of the man beneath the monster. But those moments were always brief, vanishing like mist under the sun, leaving only his malevolent intent behind. You were his obsession, his dark prize, and he had no intention of ever letting you go.

And as time stretched on, the worst part wasn’t the torment. It wasn’t the loneliness, or the fear, or even the way he toyed with your mind, unraveling you bit by bit.

The worst part was that you were beginning to believe him.

His whispers echoed in your mind, filling the void with sweet promises of surrender. Maybe this was your fate. Maybe he was right. Maybe you would never escape. And as the last fragments of your resistance began to crumble, you felt a sickening sense of relief—because at least in surrender, there would be an end to the struggle.

Toji’s voice cut through the darkness one last time, soft and full of twisted affection. "You’re mine," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "And soon, you’ll learn to love it."

And in the silence that followed, you couldn’t help but wonder if you already were.

The days slipped into a state of numbness. You had stopped counting the time, stopped fighting against the inevitable. The once-loud voice in your head screaming for escape had grown quieter, weaker. Toji’s presence had seeped so deeply into your mind that you could no longer distinguish his thoughts from your own.

And in those quiet moments, when he wasn’t watching you, you would feel it—the curse tightening around your soul like a noose. There was no escaping it. You had tried everything, but now… now, a part of you wondered if it was worth it to keep trying.

One evening, Toji appeared in your room, his silhouette framed by the dim light of a flickering candle. His expression was different, colder. His obsession hadn’t wavered, but there was a new edge to it, something more dangerous, more final.

"You’ve been quiet," he said, his voice smooth as ever. "No more attempts to break free? No more fighting?" He tilted his head, studying you with that unnerving gaze. "Have you finally accepted it?"

You stared at him, your body too tired to move, too drained to react. Deep down, something inside you still screamed, still begged for release, but it was so far away now, buried under layers of magic and madness.

Toji’s smile widened, pleased with your silence. "Good," he whispered, stepping closer, his shadow engulfing you. "You’re almost ready."

Almost ready for what? A flicker of fear surged within you, but it was fleeting, drowned out by the heavy, oppressive weight of his curse. You wanted to ask, but your throat felt constricted, as if speaking would unravel you entirely.

Without warning, he reached out, his fingers grazing your face. But this time, his touch wasn’t cold. It burned, searing your skin, branding you with his curse in a way you hadn’t felt before. You flinched, but the magic binding you held you still.

Toji’s eyes gleamed with something primal, something more than mere possession. "You don’t understand yet, do you?" he whispered, his voice laced with dark amusement. "This isn’t just about keeping you here. This curse... it’s about making you mine, in every sense. Body, mind, soul."

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath sending a sickening shiver down your spine. "I’ve been patient. I’ve let you fight, struggle, even hope for a way out. But that’s over now."

A cold dread washed over you as his words sunk in. You tried to move, to scream, to do anything to stop what you knew was coming, but it was too late.

Toji’s grip tightened, and you felt the full weight of his magic flood your senses. Your mind screamed in agony as the curse dug deeper, sinking into your very being. Memories you had clung to—the faces of loved ones, the warmth of freedom—shattered like fragile glass. Your thoughts twisted and warped until they were no longer your own. The last remnants of your identity, the last pieces of you that had resisted him, were being torn away.

You gasped, choking on the darkness that swallowed you whole. Toji’s voice echoed in your mind, louder than ever, his whispers filling every corner of your consciousness.

"You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. And now… you’ll never escape me."

The truth hit you like a dagger to the heart.

This was it. There was no escape, not from him, not from this place. Even if you could leave the room, the world outside would never be yours again. The curse had taken root, deeper than you had ever imagined. You weren’t just trapped in his world.

You were becoming part of it.

Your vision blurred as tears welled up, but even they felt wrong, foreign, as if your emotions were no longer truly yours to control. You could feel the walls of this twisted prison closing in on your soul, tightening, suffocating. Your heartbeat slowed, your breath shallow, as if your body itself was slipping away into the void.

And Toji stood over you, watching it all unfold, his eyes filled with a dark, victorious satisfaction. He had won.

The final, horrifying realization crashed into you.

You weren’t just his prisoner anymore. You were becoming him.

Piece by piece, your thoughts, your memories, your very soul were being consumed by the curse, by him. You could feel Toji’s presence growing stronger inside you, his dark magic replacing everything that had once been you. Your mind fractured under the weight of his influence, and a sickening dread filled your chest as you realized that, soon, there would be nothing left of you at all.

In the last moment of clarity before the darkness swallowed you whole, you saw it—the faintest flicker of yourself, disappearing into the void. And then, it was gone.

Toji smiled, leaning down to press his lips against your forehead, sealing your fate.

"Welcome home," he whispered.

And in that moment, you knew the horrifying truth.

You were no longer the victim.

You were the curse.

Forever trapped in Toji’s world. Forever him.

TAGLIST: @ryomens-vixen @littlemochabunni @blkkizzat @buttercupblu143 @lowkeyremi @yung-notorious @arlerts-angel @honeeslust @nkogneatho @hoshigray

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #halo's writings #呪術廻戦 #jjk smut #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jjk toji

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uniquethingtastemaker · 4 months ago

Text

Vil x Reader -- Body Swap Pt 1

Summary: You and Vil swap bodies near the beginning of VDC.

Word Count: 4k+

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Character Arcs

Author's Note: Merry Christmas. There's more to come. This is what I have so far. It's great. Buckle up and good luck. I'm not going to give you any other context. You're welcome

Tags: @solxamber @marsinrain

You open your eyes to a dark room. You feel strangely alert. There’s no grogginess or desire to stay in bed. It’s unnatural. What time is it? You fumble around the nightstand, searching for your phone.

You click it on. It blinds you for a moment and you squint. 4:01 am, it reads. It’s not your lock screen though. The background is a dark purple with a familiar dripping red apple in the center. It’s framed in swirling gold. It’s a variation of the Pomefiore crest. This has to be Vil’s. Who else would have this lock screen? But why is it in your room? Did he leave it when he checked everyone’s rooms? It seems unlikely given his personality. Either way, you need to give it back. He’ll wake up in a frenzy if you don’t do it now. You’d rather deal with a half asleep and grumbly Vil than an awake and frantic one.

You sit up and place your feet on the floor. There’s a pair of plush and cozy slippers underneath your feet… You don’t have luxurious slippers. You furrow your brow. Something’s off.

Nonetheless, you slip on the comfy shoes and shuffle to the light switch. You flick it on.

The first thing you notice is the mirror. Vil’s reflection stares back at you. You raise your eyebrows. It copies you. You glance at your body. You’re wearing the dorm leader’s expensive silk pajamas. You pinch yourself and wince in pain. This is real. You’ve somehow swapped bodies with the Queen of Pomefiore. You have to solve this.

You spin around on your heels and stride out the door. Your slippers pad down the hall. You knock on a specific door and wait. It doesn’t take long for the occupant to answer.

“Roi de Poison?” Rook questions, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Let me in,” you command.

The vice leader steps aside as you to brush past. He turns on the light, closing the door.

“You know I’m not Vil,” you state, turning around.

“Oui,” he confirms, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“It’s [Y/N],” you answer.

Rook raises an eyebrow.

“Your gait is the same, Trickster,” the hunter tells you with a nod.

“I’m not surprised you know,” you comment, “Do you know what’s going on?”

“Non, I’m just as baffled as you are. I’ve never heard of a magicless person and mage swapping bodies,” Rook replies, before looking curious. “Did you come to me because you want to get this sorted before Beautiful Vil wakes up?”

“You’re sharp as ever, Rook,” you confirm, “Yes, he’ll flip his lid once he finds out. I would like to prevent that.”

“I agree, Trickster. It’s for the best. I assume you have a plan,” the hunter replies.

“Of course, we break down Crowley’s door and demand answers,” you tell him.

Rook laughs, “Such an aggressive tactic from our lovely Trickster! I’m most honored to see such a beautiful and unique side to you. I will do all I can to help.”

“Including my hair,” you add.

Rook lights up. “I’m glad you’ve already thought of that, Trickster. I was going to offer my assistance.”

“As long as I have a reference photo, I can recreate Vil’s makeup. I’m well-versed in skincare, so that shouldn’t be a problem. That being said, do you have any recommendations on what toner and serum to use for Vil’s skin today?”

You lean in to let the hunter get a better look. Rook’s eyes widen before he breaks into a delighted grin.

“Trickster has amazing foresight!” he praises, before examining Vil’s skin. “I would suggest the Shrinking Toner to reduce pore size and the Luminous Serum to brighten the skin.”

“Perfect. Thank you. Get ready and come to Vil’s room to help me,” you instruct before leaving.

“Oui!” Rook agrees with enthusiasm.

You shake your head with a smile, striding down the hall in Vil’s comfy slippers.

——————

“Bang on his door,” you instruct.

“Oui! Trickster’s suggestions are straight to the point and no-nonsense. It’s so different from how you usually behave. It’s magnifique,” he compliments.

“Yes, yes, hurry up. We don’t have all day,” you urge.

You wait before the thudding of footsteps is heard. The bird man opens the door with ruffled feathers. He’s wearing dark indigo flannel pajama bottoms and a ratty white t-shirt with black crows and feathers.

“What is all this racket? It’s 4:45 in the morning. Couldn’t this have waited?” Crowley scolds, before pausing to register who’s in front of him. “Mr. Schoenheit and Mr. Hunt, what are you doing here?”

“It’s [Y/N]. Vil and I have somehow switched bodies. I want answers before he wakes up in hysterics. It would be in your best interest to let us in,” you demand.

Crowley is stunned but steps back. You sweep past him with regal elegance. Crowley raises an eyebrow at your demeanor. Rook slips in, standing beside you. The headmaster closes the door and puts a hand to his chin.

“A mage fueling a magical phenomenon for themselves and a magicless person isn’t unheard of. The caster has to be extremely powerful, but Mr. Schoenheit fits the bill,” he muses.

You stay quiet as Crowley thinks.

“The only thing I can think of is wish magic. Do you have a strong wish?” He asks.

“Yes, I wanted to perform on stage in front of an audience,” you reply.

The headmaster nods before consulting Rook, “Mr. Hunt, you know Mr. Schoenheit well. Is there anything he desires more than anything else?”

“Oui, Roi de Poison wishes to break out of his role as a villain,” he answers.

“Everything fits the requirements for this phenomenon to occur,” Crowley murmurs before speaking up with a clap. “I know what happened!

“Sometimes when two people close by have an intense wish that can be solved with one solution, the ambient magic grants them an opportunity to obtain both wishes. Once both wishes are fulfilled, the magic will revert to normal,” he explains.

You’re silent, before turning to Rook.

“My wish won’t be fulfilled until VDC ends. I want to perform on stage, so I’ll be filling in for Vil,” you inform.

There’s a flash of deep concern before he covers it with a familiar encouraging smile.

“I have no doubt you’ll be able to fill in for Beautiful Vil! I will support you in every way I can. As the resident Vil expert, I can help coach you,” Rook offers with an elegant bow.

You cut his movements off.

“I’m Roi de Poison for now. I expect to be addressed as such. I won’t tolerate a slip of the tongue. I suggest you start practicing in private. I’m sure you know what will happen if you don’t,” you punctuate with an icy voice.

Rook jolts with wide eyes. His hands fly up into a surrendering pose.

“Oui, Roi de Poison, I will heed your command,” he complies.

“Good, I expect nothing less from my vice leader,” you state, before addressing Crowley. “That’s the most helpful you’ve been since I’ve arrived here. I suggest you get your act together before your negligence is exposed. If people learn of my living conditions, my fans will riot.”

Crowley looks at you, gobsmacked. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times.

“Are–are you threatening me?” He stutters.

You narrow your eyes.

“The only thing I’m threatening you to do is your job. If you don’t want your reputation to go down the drain, I suggest renovating Ramshackle Dorm. I’ll even be gracious,” you say, emphasizing his signature word. “I’ll give my portion of the VDC reward to fund the operation.”

The headmaster stares at you in shock. Your eyes sweep the older man’s form, evaluating him.

“You also have… questionable tastes. As a sponsor, I will be consulted before the designs are finalized. It’s nonnegotiable. Thank you for your assistance, headmaster. Rook, we’re leaving,” you command, before sweeping out of the room.

——————

You lower yourself to the ground, dismounting the broom. You prop it against the wall.

“Trickster, you’re a natural! You fly and handle your magic like Beautiful Vil. It’s elegant and powerful. It’s a beautiful flurry of flowers in a windstorm,” Rook compares.

You raise an eyebrow before stating, “Thank you, but I’m more concerned about passing as Vil.”

“Oui! You’ll fool everyone!” Rook reassures.

You drop your Vil act and answer with a smile.

“I’ll fool everyone except for you. You’re too observant,” you correct, sitting next to him. “Thanks for helping out. I wouldn’t be nearly as good if you didn’t correct my walk and give me pointers to handle this body’s magic.”

“Of course, Trickster. You’re a wonderful and talented person to work with,” he answers.

“You are too,” you return with a smile.

The two of you fall into comfortable silence. Your eyes slip close and allow yourself to breathe. It’s been hectic these last three hours. You finally have time to process. Your breath slows, as you slip into a meditative state. It’s something you picked up a few years ago. When you meditate, you’re less reactive and more grounded. When you finish, you hear an ear-piercing shriek.

“That’s our cue,” you comment, standing up.

“Oui!” Rook agrees, following your lead.

A herd of elephants thunders down the upstairs hallway. There’s a muffled shout.

“Don’t yell in my ear, henchman!” Grim yells.

A door slams open.

“What’s wrong?! Are you hurt?!” Deuce cries.

You and the vice leader arrive at the foot of the stairs.

“I expect you to back me up,” you tell Rook, slipping into your Vil persona.

“Of course, Roi de Poison, let’s give them a show,” he grins with a bow.

You nod and ascend the stairs. More footsteps join.

“Is everything ok?” Kalim’s voice resounds, “Jamil’s good at first aid if [Y/N] is hurt.”

“Yo, why do you keep staring at yourself?” Ace questions with mild irritation, “Has Vil infected you? Are you freaking out over a breakout or something?”

Epel pipes up, “You’re kiddin’. Ya woke us up for nothin’? I could’ve slept for another 30 minutes if ya didn’t start hollerin’ like a rooster.”

You breach the stairs with a disapproving expression.

“Epel,” you snap, “Watch your language and accent. If you want to reach your full potential, you must speak with eloquence. No cutting corners. You have to practice in private.”

The group whips around to face you. You stride up to them. They part, allowing you to peer into your room. Vil gapes at you like a fish out of water.

“Close your mouth. It’s unbecoming,” you tell him, before addressing the others. “We’re having an emergency meeting downstairs. I expect all of you to complete the skincare routine I detailed last night. Once you're done, meet Rook and me in the living room.”

The group shares a few concerned looks, before dispersing. You turn to the person occupying your body.

“That includes you,” you add before walking away.

Once you’re out of earshot, Rook reveres you.

“That was the most worthy performance! You live up to your namesake, Trickster. You’ve tricked the others,” he gushes.

You chuckle at the clever wording and sit down on the sofa. Picking up the papers Rook organized, you flip through them.

“Thank you for giving me written documents about Vil,” you voice, “I suspect you know more about him than he does.”

“Oui, Roi de Poison has told me that multiple times,” he confirms with a chuckle.

You shake your head with a small smile. Rook’s far better than any of your perverted stalkers and hate fans in your original world. At least the hunter has good intentions and is helpful. You don’t mind his strange antics. You skim through the documents while you wait.

The first one to arrive is the youngest Pomefiore student. You zero in on him, looking for a fault.

“Your slip up was improper and your attire is too,” you criticize, “Your vest is wrinkled and your bow is crooked. Rook, take Epel to steam his clothes.”

“Oui!” He complies, ushering the boy out of the room.

You sigh. You disagree with Vil’s methods. They’re inefficient and callous. Thankfully, you only have to play along for a little while. You can tweak his character after you’ve proven yourself.

The Clown Crew announces their arrival by sounds rather than sight.

“How dare they kick me out?! It’s my room too,” Grim complains.

He comes around the corner with Ace and Deuce in tow. You skim over the two Heartslabyul students, before doubling back. You stand up and stalk over. The three freshmen freeze as you bear down on them. You grab Ace’s face and click your tongue.

“You should’ve thought better than to forgo my skincare routine. You underestimate my expertise,” you sneer, releasing his face. “You missed toner, serum, and sunscreen. You're going to do it again. What are the steps?”

“Cleanser, toner, serum, moisturizer, sunscreen,” Ace lists with dead eyes.

“So you’re capable of absorbing information. Learn to apply it in the future,” you scathe, “Get out of my sight. When you come back, I expect you to have done it right. I don’t need someone on my team who can’t follow basic instructions.”

Ace backs up, startled. The Scarabia students step in. Your attention shifts to the newcomers, allowing your friend to flee.

“Did Ace get in trouble?” Kalim asks, glancing back at the dashing freshman.

“Indeed, he decided to skip some steps in his skincare routine,” you confirm with distaste.

Kalim comments, “I would’ve forgotten too if it wasn’t for Jamil.”

“I’m sure you would have,” you retort with an eye roll.

Rook’s voice comes around the corner.

“Oui! Monsieur Multi is one of the most helpful people I know. He truly is a master of multitasking and many skills. He’s deserving of his title,” the hunter compliments.

The vice leader reveals himself along with the shortest Pomefiore student. You assess Epel and deem his appearance acceptable. The sunshine student turns to Rook with a blinding smile.

“Yeah! Jamil’s the best. He’s way smarter than me and super helpful. He also cooks the most delicious food,” Scarbia’s leader praises.

You tune out their ramblings, returning to the couch to refocus on the documents.

Vil runs with Jack Howl, his childhood friend, every morning at 6 am. They’ve cancelled until VDC has concluded.

Vil knew Jack as a kid? That’s unexpected. You didn’t even think they knew each other. They’re in different grades and different dorms. However, you’re unsurprised that Vil chooses to work out and run with him in the mornings. The actor seems like the type.

Your body walks in. You glance up to scrutinize Vil’s appearance. Before you can look very hard, Ace sweeps in front of him. He passes the disguised dorm leader and your focus turns to the redhead. Observing his skin for a moment, you find it adequate and retract your gaze.

“Sit and let’s get started,” you instruct.

Rook takes his place beside you. The others find a seat. Once everyone is settled, you address them.

“Vil and I have switched bodies,” you state.

The group pauses.

“What?” Deuce blurts out.

“I said Vil and I switched bodies,” you punctuate.

“You switched bodies?” Kalim clarifies.

You let out an irritated sigh. “Is that not what I just said?”

Ace speaks up. “Wait, who did you switch bodies with?”

You give an unimpressed look.

“Who else but the person who screamed bloody murder, waking everyone up?” you suggest, looking at the culprit.

All eyes turn to your body.

“V—Vil?” Kalim questions hesitantly.

The dorm leader nods but doesn’t say anything. He continues to glare holes into everything around him. Rook jumps in to ease the tension.

“Trickster and I found out what happened!” He exclaims, reclaiming the crowd’s attention. “We broke down Crowley’s door and demanded answers.”

“You broke down the headmaster’s door?” Deuce repeats, stunned.

Ace smacks him upside the head.

“I can’t believe you’ve survived this long considering how dumb you are,” Ace quips.

“Hey!” Deuce shouts in defense.

Your voice cuts across, silencing them.

“It’s an exaggeration.” you clarify, before launching into a summary of the situation.

“Vil and I won’t switch bodies until after VDC. With that in mind, I will take up the mantle as leader,” you conclude.

Vil bolts up from his chair.

“You can’t do that! You have no right!” he opposes.

“If you want me to perform in an important movie instead, then we’ll be here longer,” you state.

“That’s not what I meant,” Vil growls, “You can’t act as me!”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Why not?” you question.

“You’re going to mess up,” he snaps, “You have no credentials! I have a reputation to think about. You can’t just parade around in my body. I have so many schedules and habits. You won’t be able to remember them. I refuse to have my body deteriorate because of your incompetence! Unlike you, I have responsibilities. I’m the head of Pomefiore, the leader of this team, and a third-year student! There’s no way you can act as me. You’re unqualified!”

Vil’s voice grows and grows until he’s shouting by the end. His chest heaves up and down. He glares daggers into you. You stare at him with no reaction.

It starts as a quiet scoff in the back of your throat. Then, a small shake makes its way into your shoulders. A chuckle slips out. From there it turns into a wicked laugh, before crescendoing into a demonic cackle. You double over from the force of your howls. You can’t get enough. He’s playing right into your hand.

It takes a minute to calm down. When you recover, you glance at the others. They stare with disturbed concern and unease. You chuckle to yourself again. You sit up with a sinister smirk. You stare into Vil’s eyes.

“You should think twice before criticizing someone,” you advise.

‘Someone who’s in your body,’ you silently finish.

You wait for the implication to sink in. It takes a moment, but Vil’s eyes widen in horror. You put a hand up to stop his line of thinking. You just want to scare him.

“Don’t worry. I won’t do something so barbaric as threatening your body or reputation. As a former top-charting idol, I understand the importance of a well-maintained public image,” you inform, “As for the third-year curriculum, I’ll allow Ace to confirm my credentials.”

Ace gives a wary look before his mouth quarks in a mischievous smile. He doesn’t mind putting Vil in his place.

“Yeah, if you haven’t noticed, but by some miracle Leona’s test ranking has gone up. That’s because of [Y/N]. They've been teaching and tutoring Leona, since his overblot. They’re up to date with the homework,” Ace brags.

Without waiting for a response, you gesture to Rook.

“And your evaluation of my magic?” You request.

“It’s strong and similar to Roi de Poison’s. I was surprised at how quickly they picked it up. They’ll have no problems posing as you in terms of magical ability,” Rook details.

Vil is still, staring at Rook. You can practically hear the thought swirling in his head: He’s being replaced. You decide to push him over the edge.

“I don’t think I have to give my resume for my acting, but I’ll ease your mind. I’ve done a few jobs here and there. I was most well-known for my favorite roles: villains. In light of that, you’re quite easy to play,” you reveal.

There’s a moment of silence before Vil screams and lunges. On instinct, you grab his throat. Vil halts with wide eyes. You take the opportunity to push him back against the wall. He regains his bearings and slashes at your face. You give Vil’s neck a short squeeze. He gasps and his hands fly to your’s.

His fingernails claw into porcelain wrists. It stings, but you ignore it. You snatch his hands and raise them above his head. You slot yourself against his body and restrain him. Now, you wait.

Vil struggles. He attempts to bite, kick, and scream his way out of your hold. He’s not thinking. Vil doesn’t remember there are other people here. He’s just focused on you. You don’t flinch and you don’t react. You wait for him to lose steam.

He becomes desperate with your unresponsiveness. Vil throws everything he has into fighting back. Tears of frustration and anger stream down his face. He’s loud and messy. It’s so different from the put-together, dignified Vil. All he cares about is lashing out and hurting you.

By the end of the one-sided battle, Vil is heaving, unable to breathe enough air. His body slackens, falling limp. His head is tucked into his chest, hiding his face. He stills and falls silent. His body is still coiled with tension. You finally speak.

“How does it feel?”

Vil tenses beneath you, but doesn’t say anything.

“How does it feel being on the receiving end of your behavior?” you try.

Vil’s head snaps up.

“I don’t act like that!” he growls, gritting his teeth.

You keep your eyes on Vil but address Epel. Your tone is softer.

“Epel, is this how you feel when Vil insults and criticizes you, then he forces you into compliance just because he’s stronger than you? Is this how you feel?” you question.

There’s a brief period of silence. The only thing you hear is Vil’s labored breath.

“Yes,” Epel replies.

You stare at Vil.

“This is how you act. You poke and prod people’s weaknesses. You’re annoyed when they become upset and resistant to your advice. So, you strongarm them into submission, citing you’re doing it to help them. The reality is you’re hurting people and accumulating their ire. You wonder why people keep treating you like a villain. Wake up and face your reality, Vil,” you state.

You let him go, stepping back. You turn to face the others. Shaking off the lingering tension as much as you can, you perk up to address them.

“We’ll have rehearsal as usual. I will lead the team. I expect the same dedication you’ve demonstrated so far. My teaching style will be different, but still effective. I look forward to working together,” you tell them, before looking at Epel. “Epel, I have a special project for you. I’m going to solve Vil’s problem for him. You’ll have a few adventures in the upcoming days. You’ll miss some regular practice, so I’ll privately tutor you.”

Checking that they understood, you dismiss them. You pick up Vil’s backpack and place Rook’s notes in it. You call out to the two Pomefiore students. They wait for you. You finalize details regarding Epel’s “adventures.” The two other students seem wary of your body against the wall. You make a point ignore him.

You escort them out of the Ramshackle Dorm. When you get to the door, Rook hesitates. You place a hand against his back and guide him forward. Vil needs to reflect.

Afterward, you ask for some bandages from Rook.

—----------

“Wake up and face your reality, Vil.”

The words echo and swirl in Vil’s head. He sinks to the ground. Vil sits under the spot where [Y/N] restrained him. His head thumps against the wall and he thinks. Did he become a villain? Did he become the very thing he despised?

He glances at his hands. They bleed. Your hands—he corrects—bleed down your wrists. He sank his nails into your hands when you restrained him.

This isn’t his body. You promised not to hurt his. He’s already failing to maintain yours.

Vil feels empty. A void has opened up in his chest. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s not special. He’s a villain and he doesn’t know what to do.

Without his permission, tears slide down his face. He doesn’t have the right to cry. He forced others to feel this way. He didn’t know. However, it doesn’t change the fact Vil hurt others. He caused more pain to them than he feels now. Vil has no right to cry, but can’t stop the spring shower falling from his cheeks.

Vil looks at his wounded hands and hates himself.

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

Author's Note: Very proud of this one. Let me know your thoughts! If there's any mistakes let me know too. Just make sure to point them out gently lol. I'm working on pt2. Look forward to see some of Epel's adventures in there as well. What are you guys looking forward too?

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jjkssin · 2 months ago

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Midnight whispers. [Part-II]

Pairing: Married jk x (fem) reader

Genre: Dark Romance|Angst|Tragedy

Character count: 5,624

Tropes: Forbidden love, toxic relationship, infidelity, suicide , funeral, heavy angst, power dynamics, emotional conflict, dominant jk.

Summary: Jeon , a ruthless man bound by duty, his heart claimed by a woman he can never make his own. He gives her everything but denies her the one thing she craves: commitment. When love turns into an ultimatum, fate delivers a devastating price.

The night air was thick with silence, an unnatural stillness that seemed to stretch endlessly. The dim glow of the chandelier barely touched the edges of Jeon’s penthouse, the very place where Y/N had once breathed life into his existence. Now, it felt empty. Hollow. Like something had been torn away, leaving behind only ghosts of the past.

He should’ve known. He should’ve seen it coming. The cracks in her voice, the haunted look in her eyes, the way she had clung to him in those last moments, whispering words that he hadn’t understood at the time. "Please. Don’t leave me, too."

Yet, he had walked away. He had left her.

The weight of responsibility had chained him down, his daughter’s innocent face a reminder of the world he had built not out of love, but out of duty. He had obligations, a name to uphold, a legacy to protect. He had thought Y/N would understand that she had always been more than a mistress to him, that she was the only thing in his life that had ever felt real. But he had been wrong.

His phone had rung.

A frantic voice. A name. A location. A body.

At first, his mind rejected it. Denied it. It was impossible. She was stubborn, fiery too full of rage and hurt to do something so final. But the moment he had stepped out, the weight of dread pressing against his ribs like a vice, he had felt it deep in his bones. Something was wrong.

The drive to the cliffside had been a blur. His driver barely kept up with the reckless way Jeon had ordered him to move but nothing mattered except getting there. His heart pounded against his ribcage, fingers curling into fists so tight his nails bit into his palms. He wouldn’t believe it.

The sky was a sickening shade of grey, the waves crashing violently against the jagged rocks below as if the ocean itself mourned her.

A body had been recovered.

Her body.

His chest constricted, something raw and unfamiliar coiling inside him, tightening around his throat. He had seen death before. He had sent men to their graves, watched the life drain from their eyes without so much as a blink. The weight of responsibility had forced him to be a man of steel, untouchable, unshaken.

But this..this was different.

Y/N.

The name alone made his entire being shudder.

The officers present had sealed off the area, but Jeon walked through them as if they were nothing, their voices drowned out by the pounding in his ears.

He saw her. He saw the spot where she had stood, the last place her feet had touched before she let go.

Let go.

She had been afraid of heights. He remembered how she would cling to him at high balconies, her fingers digging into his arm, her breath uneven. She hated the sensation of falling. And yet that was how she chose to leave this world.

He had loved her. He had loved her in ways words could never capture but he had never given her what she needed.

Jeon stumbled forward, breath hitching, heart slamming against his chest like it was trying to break free. His knees buckled the moment he saw the sheet covered stretcher, the unmistakable outline of the woman he had once held in his arms just the night before.

His hands trembled as he reached out, gripping the edge of the sheet with an almost painful gentleness as if he could rewrite this moment with nothing but sheer desperation.

But the moment he pulled the sheet down, the world around him shattered.

He had lost her

Not to another man. Not to fate. Not to time. But to his own fucking choices.

Her face was pale, eyes forever closed. The wind tangled in her long hair which he loved , strands falling across her lifeless skin.

She looked beautiful.

She looked like she was sleeping, like at any moment she’d wake up and roll her eyes at him, scream at him. But she wouldn’t. She never would.

His throat tightened as he turned away from the cliff, his body shaking with the force of what he was feeling. His car was waiting, his men silent as they watched their leader crumble before them.

The reality of it crashed over him like a tidal wave, suffocating him, drowning him in a grief so deep it was unbearable.

Jeon had built an empire. He had controlled men with a single word, had ruled with fear and power. And yet, none of it mattered now. None of it meant a damn thing when the one person who had truly seen him , the real him, beyond the cold exterior.

He had done this. His words. His choices. His failure to choose her.

His fingers traced the curve of her cheek, desperate, reverent, as if he could memorize her one last time before she slipped away completely. A tear fell, landing against her skin, but she didn’t flinch. Didn’t react.

The girl who had once screamed at him in frustration, who had kissed him with a love so consuming it made him forget everything else she was nothing more than a silent, lifeless echo now.

He clenched his jaw, trying to contain it, trying to bury the grief beneath the weight of everything else. But it was useless. The pain tore through him, raw and merciless, until he could no longer hold it back.

He had never deserved her.

Never deserved the love she had given him so freely, so recklessly. And now he would never get the chance to tell her that she had been everything. That no matter what he had said, no matter the choices he had made, she had been his greatest love, his greatest regret.

But it was too late.

By the time he reached his penthouse again, the weight of her absence had settled in fully. The air felt hollow, the space too quiet, too still. He walked through the room where she had once lived, his fingers brushing against the remnants of her presence, the silk of her nightgown draped over the chair, the scent of her perfume still lingering in the air. A picture of her that he took sit still at the bedside table.

The funeral was a quiet affair. No extravagant display, no headlines, just the silent mourning of a woman who had loved too much and received too little in return. She had loved roses, white ones, specifically. So, he buried her in his home's garden, surrounded by nothing but the purity of the flowers she had adored.

She should have been his wife. She should have been the mother of his child. She should have been standing beside him, not lying beneath the ground, cold and lifeless

The weight of finality settled over him like a suffocating shroud.

He didn’t cry. He couldn’t. His grief was something deeper, something corrosive that gnawed at his insides, a punishment he would bear for the rest of his life.

She had been the only person who had ever dared to love him, truly love him, beyond the man the world feared.

His phone rang but he didn’t answer it. He couldn’t. Because nothing in the world mattered anymore. Not the business. Not the status. Not the empire he had built with his own blood.

None of it mattered without her.

The last thing she had said to him kept replaying in his mind, over and over again like a cruel, unrelenting ghost.

As he stood there, drowning in his own grief,the rain continued whispering secrets to the night carrying with it a final aching thought the one that he would never be able to escape.

Maybe in another world he wouldn’t have been too late.

[End] 🤍

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Part 1 here: https://www.tumblr.com/jjkssin/776364247534927872/midnight-whispers-part-i?source=share

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