#I NEED TO HALLUCINATE HARDER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[fiveredlights]

under the whispering door by TJ Klune given the maxiel treatment—but i only read the blurb, the top goodreads reviews and the free kindle sample because i haven’t decided if i want to pay $10 to read the book yet

“Ah.” Daniel brings the tea up to his lips, aggressively huffing out short and sharp breaths. The steam bends in Max’s direction, like the chicanes on circuits he’s driven on throughout his whole life. Or well. The chicanes he used to drive on.

Daniel takes a sip, hissing through his front teeth, before biting down on his tongue, cursing the teacup like it personally set out on a vendetta against him. He drops the tea down, the murky brown splashing along the rim and onto the table.

It’s kind of stupid, Max thinks. To be trivialised by silly things like the temperature of tea. It’s not like he could harm himself further.

“My official title is Ferryman,” Daniel continues, looking back up and smiling at Max. He wonders if he bit hard enough if he would still bleed. Can people still bleed here?

Max raises his eyebrows. “Ferryman?”

“You know? Because we ferry people to and from realms. Like a boat.” He holds his fist and pumps it up and down two times. “Choo-choo.”

“I know what a ferry is, Daniel.” If he didn’t watch the dirt be shovelled on top of his casket, Max might’ve thought he was hallucinating. Or in a coma. Maybe both. “And trains make the choo-choo sound, not ferries. Is that how boats sound in New Zealand?”

Daniel, for his part, doesn’t bat an eye. He tilts his head, ever so slightly and leans in, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. Max almost tells him to get his elbows off the table. “You and I both know you’ve been to Australia too many times to confuse the accents for another.”

Max blinks a couple times, and Daniel just leans further in, smiling even harder. Another stupid thing, to add to the list. Something deep in his gut swirls larger every second he witnesses Daniel’s smile.

He wants to punch it off his face.

“I’m good at my job, Max,” Daniel says, with an air of almost too much confidence, considering his job is to literally just walk people into the afterlife. A dog could do it. “Best to not keep secrets from each other, hey?”

“If you knew who I was, then why ask anyway?” Max questions.

Daniel seems to seriously consider it, searching Max’s eyes for something. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he’s definitely trying to find something. Maybe he’s a mind reader too.

“I think people are more complex than words on paper,” Daniel replies. Definitely not a mind reader. “I want to know who you say you are.”

Max picks up his tea, watches as Daniel tracks every minuscule movement he makes, eyes flicking down to his mouth as he mimics the two puffs of breath Daniel did minutes earlier. He didn’t need to.

The tea is uncomfortably lukewarm.

“That’s very generous of you,” Max eventually settles on. “Usually people have already decided who I am without even asking or knowing me.”

“Like I said,” Daniel finally drops his chin off his hand and the elbow off the table, leaning back in his chair. “I’m good at my job. That’s why I stay,” he says, grinning.

Most of his shiny pearlescent teeth are on display, and it feels like the grin of a wild and crazed animal trapped in its cage, baring their teeth as a method of distraction.

He would know. Max has spent a long time watching his smile transform into something that could bite. He perfected it enough to sink and burrow underneath his thick skin, so it would be easier to sink it into someone else’s.

“I thought we weren’t keeping secrets from each other?” Max asks, running his tongue on the sharp edges of his upper teeth.

It’s incredibly satisfying to witness Daniel slowly absorb what he’s saying, attempting to shutter himself up before Max can dig any further.

“No. No I guess not,” Daniel echoes, bringing his teacup up, slowly sipping the tea. There’s no slow and sharp huffs of air, just someone who is trying to pretend he hasn’t been pierced through his soul.

It’s too late.

Max has already bitten.

[katyspersonal]

What does Dark Souls fandom ship.....?

Okay so... me and @val-of-the-north arrived to an unhappy conclusion that Dark Souls trilogy doesn't have 'legit' yuri ships?

Like I know that any yuri ship is valid because in Soulsborne we hardly get any lore so it DOES lay on our imagination, but hear me out; in Bloodborne and Elden Ring fandoms we have many "staple" ships such as Mariadeline, Finlenia, Yurimposter, Nephelika, Rom x Ebrietas, Rom x Yurie, Rennala x Marika (canon too), Henriett x Amelia, those two Nox women that put the first puppet experiment on themselves. Even Eileen x Doll, Ariadella, Maria x Doll, Annalise x Maria or Imposter x Iosefka @ all those Ranni x Melina tier ER ships when you go to the dark side. Even rareships like Maria x (female) Izzy, Maria x Eileen, Rom x (female) Caryll, Gratia x Maria, Kos x Flora or Wet Nurse x Queen Yharnam don't really make you question! And new ships keep popping up!

But with Dark Souls trilogy it's like.. *cicada noises*

It is either a crossover ship with another Soulsborne game (Maria x Friede is THE example), or a very random ship that doesn't have any substance/justification besides literally put two women together and Thats It (either porn addict reasons or spite FOR those porn addict reasons). I am not really sure, either 1) actually Dark Souls trilogy fandom has genuine yuri ships that are neither crossover or random but I am unaware and need to socialise with DS fans more ( @heraldofcrow let me know as the only member of Lore Council who isn't ridiculously asocial),

or 2) Dark Souls simply IS crafted like this with timeline and contexts so that one can't instantly deduce a genuine yuri ship, in WHICH case there is only ONE thing I can do to improve the situation:

[swanpyart]

Honestly, there’s a lot of instances of the game where Jimmy’s intense rewriting of history really shows how delusional he is. And I don’t think these manifest from guilt, but from a victim-martyr complex: a lot of these are used to make himself look good to the audience, but the utter dissonance between these visions and reality make it terrifying instead.

1. The Birthday Party scene

It seems like something obviously scary, but it’s actually what Jimmy thinks his crew should do. He wants to be celebrated, wants to be admired, and up until he dies is still convinced he was just a well meaning guy who did his best. The party was not a guilt and fear ridden hallucination, but Jimmy deluding himself into thinking he’s the hero. His team should be thanking him and throwing him a party, even when they’re all dead by his own actions. In reality: there probably isn’t even any balloons or confetti, and all Curly sees is Jimmy and the rest of the corpses of the crew sitting at an empty table in a dark room.

2. Curly in the Chair attached to Wheels

The scene where Curly is attached to wheels that must be turned for his organs to sit right so you can feed him his leg is also a good example. This isn’t how bodies work, and Curly is a burn victim, so his internal organs being rearranged makes no actual sense; all of his health issues are external. No, this is what Jimmy thinks must happen; that Curly simply can’t keep down his food, and that all Jimmy needs to do is try harder to get him to eat it. Jimmy, in reality is probably just forcibly feeding Curly his own puked up leg chunk over and over again until Curly grows too tired to fight. And isn’t it like Jimmy to shove a square peg in a round hole and insist it’s the hole’s fault? Jimmy already has shown he’s perfectly fine with force feeding Curly already and is not afraid to get violent when doing so. The reality of that situation is that Curly was probably resisting as much as he physically could, but eventually grows too tired of the abuse and just gives in.

3. Swansea with an axe

And with Swansea, the entire sequence of Swansea chasing him around with an axe may be partially true, but a lot less even-sided in reality. Swansea was shown to have a temper, but killing Daisuke was horribly difficult and emotionally crushing, even if he wouldn’t admit it outright. Jimmy on the other hand clearly views Swansea as an axe wielding maniac who kills without remorse and wants to hoard the cryotank all to himself. I think Jimmy was hallucinating Swansea chasing him around, because I think it would be in character for Jimmy to witness Daisuke’s death at Swansea’s hands and, rather than think over his actions, instead become paranoid and fearful that Swansea would target him, too.

Cus think about it: while Swansea is bigger, he’s also a drunken old man whose grieving the loss of a kid he viewed like his own, while Jimmy is a comparar healthy younger man with a gun. Jimmy already has a track record for picking on those he sees as vulnerable (Anya being the only woman with her room not having a lock, Daisuke being the youngest and easy to influence, and Curly being physically disabled and unable to fight back). What’s more likely: that Swansea suddenly goes from sullen and mournful to an axe wielding maniac gunning for Jimmy’s blood, or that Jimmy is paranoid about an older grieving man and holds him at gunpoint to tie him to the chair?

Feel free to add more examples, this is fascinating

[teletubbyinlipstick]

Hybrid!Poly TF141 x Reader Rambles

Once again, I'm unsure what to say. I get high, I get horny for these men, and then I hallucinate scenarios with said men. Please enjoy, please feel free to send in anything about these boys! Requests are open! I really like this idea, and I might continue to add on to it. https://www.tumblr.com/teletubbyinlipstick/760241391145238528/more-hybridpoly-tf141-x-reader-pleaaasseeeee?source=share heres the second part!

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

OwlHybridAU!

Captain Price has big wings. When spread, they're just shy of 28 ft. A beautiful array of ash and brindle the feathers are easily the length of your arm. He keeps them tucked nicely, looking smaller than they are. On the field, if it ever comes down to it and he needs his wings, the look on enemies' faces when they spread is, in Soaps words,"so fuckin hot."

No one disagrees.

Johnny's wings are a bit smaller, around 23ft they're a deep honey brown. In the light, in-between the feathers, an indigo blue shines just slightly. His are more pointy at the end, a ripple effect used for disguising. Simon loves nothing more than to preen him.

Usually it ends with Johnny face down, high whimpers in his throat.

Speaking of Simon, he has the biggest wings in TF141 at 30ft. They're midnight black with streaks of white. When he's moving fast, they look almost like lightning across a black sky. His second layer of feathers is a dark gray. It's hard to notice the difference, but once you do, it's harder not to notice. He's intimidating. He knows.

It's his kink.

Gaz has the prettiest wings, 20.5 feet, and the sweetest cocoa color. He has dirty blonde undertones that fade into pure auburn. His feathers get ruffled a little easily, and the boys love teasing him for it.

It's a group effort to preen his wings.

Now theres you, new to the group, younger than them at early-mid twenties. Assigned as a mate for the boys by the government in hopes of reproducing strong genes. You're a sweet little thing, lithe with a pudgy tummy. Your wings are only 15ft. And very fluffy, a gorgeous cream with strawberry blonde highlights. The edges appear light tawny.

You're very beautiful. And the boys fall in love almost immediately upon receiving your file. They nest for you, soft blankets and pillows and sweatshirts placed in the rec room for a cozy habitat. They're keen to meet you, forgoing preening their feathers the night before in hopes of pack bonding tomorrow with you.

So imagine when you end up being the most reclusive, quiet church mouse they've ever met. You speak maybe 3 sentences in total at the meeting. You were quick to bat Johnny's hand away when he reached for your shoulder for a friendly pat. Feathers ruffling just slightly.

They backed off.

Simon stood quiet the whole time, eyes zeroed in on you. Assessing.

They showed you the loft to your room. Simon kept a polite distance, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. Gaz and Johnny were waiting for Price to make the first move and let you know about the nest they had secured for you in the rec area. But when you politely and quickly excused yourself and darted inside, closing the door with the resounding click. They realized you weren't going to the nest. Nor were you going to the rec room in general.

They slept in their shared king bed. The nest left cold and barren. Tears were wiped from Gaz's eyes, sweet cooing coming from the bed as the boys sought solstice for each other.

No one dried your tears, and you stayed curled in the corner of your bed. Scared. Alone. And unsure what the future will bring.

[ozzgin]

“Do you mean it in the sense that Reader goes through monster boyfriends and is quick to dump them for the next catch”

Yep. Just a vile reader who’s breaking hearts left and right. I think you’ll write it beautifully if you channel your evil side like when you play the sims! ☺️

-👘

Yandere! Monsters x Heartbreaker! Reader

You've always been a free spirit, unable to settle on a single partner. Even after being abruptly transported into a different dimension where you are the only human surrounded by monsters, this habit of yours has persisted. Except monsters, as you will see, are harder to discard than humans. They aren't as willing to accept rejection.

Content: female reader, reader is a player, monster smut

Ah, how troublesome. He won't stop calling. You lazily pick up the phone and look for the options to block the number, clicking your tongue in irritation. You'd specifically told him you're not interested in anything serious. "Who's calling?" The man shuffles under the sheets, still half-asleep. "No one." You respond curtly, glaring at the intruder. "It's morning already, by the way. When are you leaving?"

You slam the door shut before the overnight guest can bring up the classic "Will I see you again", and exhale theatrically in relief. Finally alone again. You look up and shake your fist menacingly, as if whichever entity governing this world is responsible for your bad luck. You've always been utterly indifferent towards committed relationships, and yet most fuck buddies end up head over heels for you, dragging themselves at your feet like pitiful beggars. Pathetic and a pain in the ass to deal with.

Well, someone must be up there, because your situation feels too much like a sassy answer to your complaint. You've just rushed out of your apartment a moment ago and last time you checked, the concierge office wasn't on a rocky hill covered in deep cracks erupting with lava, stretching out into the seemingly unending horizon. Where the hell are you? You turn on your heels, reaching for the door, only to find out - who would've expected? - that it's gone. Great. Your immediate explanation is that the guy you've mistakenly brought home last night must've slipped something in your drinks. All this for a sloppy, clumsy eating out.

The worry of being drugged vanishes quickly once the first creatures of the realm appear. Hard to believe anything on the market could cause such detailed hallucinations that can sniff and touch you: Some alligator-looking minions with eyes popping out of their backs slid out of a nearby crevice to investigate the newcomer. Ironically enough, they seem to be the ones shocked by your appearance. Once they've hesitantly assessed your presence, they scurry aside to discuss their findings. "What could it be?" You hear one mumble, completely baffled. For whatever reason you can understand their language, so you decide to speed up their detective work. "Ever heard of human?" You shout, with a hint of sarcasm in your voice. The beasts gasp in unison. "Nonsense! Straight out of a children's tale!"

Eventually, after a lot of confusion and pointed fingers, you manage to figure out your predicament. You've somehow landed in a world of monsters, where humans are more of a fictional, mythical existence. Thankfully they don't seem to consider your potential as food, though you're not sure if the sudden, massive ambush of creatures is any better. The alligator-like quadrupeds brought you to the nearest settlement and had to form a barrier to stop the curious beasts from almost trampling you in their frenzy to see "the human". You've garnered ridiculous amounts of attention, yet such reaction is to be expected; how often would an earthling wander into their world? It could very well be a lifetime singularity for many.

As the days pass and you become more accustomed to your fate, you begin to feel that familiar calling. It doesn't look like you'll be going home anytime soon and a lady has her needs. Additionally, whatever popularity you had back in the human world is a minuscule fraction of what you're currently experiencing here. In the eyes of the monsters, you're an exotic treat that cannot be refused. It shouldn't be too hard to find yourself a partner, or two. Or three. Who keeps count nowadays?

You remember stumbling upon a postcard print of "The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife" at some museum shop. You immediately picked up the thick cardboard, eyeing the artwork in amusement. A woman enveloped in the limbs of two octopuses and very obviously enjoying herself. Who even came up with the pairing, you wondered at the time. Whatever the artist was thinking, you can certainly see his point now. The first one to receive your indecent proposal was an eldritch creature of sorts, something straight out of Lovecraft's lucid dreams. Dark, long tendrils sprawling out of an amorphous core - which you assume is its head based on the bulging, glistening orbs hungrily staring at you. Your whole body is throbbing under the tight hold of the slippery tentacles, wrapping around you in masterful intricacy. You could see the result featured in a bondage magazine, though you don't...can't ponder much on it given the fact you're, well, stuffed with monstrous appendages. You doubt any genital variation back home could compare. The monster is even polite enough to occasionally wipe away the continuous stream of drool spilling out of your whining mouth. Towards the end you barely have a voice anymore, throat sore from the loud moans and merciless constriction. Your muscles contract all at once, overwhelmed by the sensations. Whatever sensitive areas you might have are presently aching under the needy fondling of the creature.

Mind-blowing. The memory is enough to have you wet and squirming with desire. Even more so when you consider the other varieties of monsters ready to fuck you senseless. Soon enough you're surveying the neighborhood for the ideal suitors and thankfully you don't have to worry about making wrong choices, as there's always a next target. Thus the following weeks fill you with a particular kind of nostalgia (among other things and fluids), reminding you of the bed-hopping in the human realm. From werewolves drowning out your whimpers with their desperate howling, to hooved legs of hybrids violently thrusting into you until you're a dripping mess. "Look at me" is what one of the beasts demanded in a low growl, turning you on with its ragged voice and clawed hand encircling your frail neck. Although you had to ask it where exactly to look, given it was covered entirely in eyes.

You yawn and stare at the ceiling, reminiscing about the depraved fuckfest you're currently recovering from. You might've overdone it with the last one. Alas, you came enough times to make up for it. Just as you turn around to readjust the ice pack, you hear a loud thud coming from the entrance. You (carefully) sit up and rub your eyes, trying to focus on the shadow figure approaching your bed. It's one of the lizard monsters, swiftly slithering across the wall and landing over you with an angered expression. "Where the fuck is that dog?" it inquires with a hiss. "What? Who're you talking about?" you mumble, wildly confused. "The one that dared to touch you."

Oh, not this crap again. You almost roll your eyes. "You never said anything about us being together." Is your annoyed reply. "What? I thought it'd be obvious you belong to me!" You're about to question the strange logic, but your couple's quarrel is interrupted by the sound of shattered glass. The many-eyed monster crawls its way in with fluid, uncanny movements, releasing a deafening screech once it notices the lizard in your bed. "Off! Get off my human now!" is what it finally manages to verbalize in its fury. Okay, it seems to be the common belief. To clear off any shred of doubt remaining, the ceiling gives in and crumbles like putty under the weight of an enormous tentacle. You scream and cover your face from the bits of rubble flying everywhere, but you're quickly sheltered by another thick appendage looping itself around you, against the wrathful protests of the lizard. You did not anticipate the eldritch creature could expand to this gargantuan size.

For the first time since arriving here, you feel homesick. At least back home you could get rid of your annoying admirers with the slide of a button. Is there a larger scale alternative for cosmic blasphemies? You shake your fist (up? down? you can't tell in the darkness of the tentacle shield) towards the entity once more. Damn it, you've learned your lesson. Several steps must’ve been skipped before reaching a pack of angry, possessive monsters fighting over your ownership.

[piastappies]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 END OF THE DAY ! ᡣ𐭩ᯓ

pairing. lando norris x reader

summary. being a supportive girlfriend during an awfully stressful time is hard, so when reader and lando ends up fighting, neither of them is surprised. however, she can’t help but be in love with him at the end of the day.

notes. pretty short and not proofread 😕😕

YOU WERE WALKING ON EGGSHELLS FOR THE PAST two weeks around your boyfriend. he was thrown into contention for the title mid-season and as the last race weekend of the season was getting excruciatingly closer, lando’s mood was dropping drastically. you understood it, not in the way that you were in the same situation as him, but frustration, pressure and disappointment weren’t strangers to you. you could see that your boyfriend was gradually becoming a ticking bomb, yet unsure when will his breaking point happen.

as it turned out, it happened on a second day after he got back from brazil. it was a silly argument that escalated to a major fight, resulting in you, driving back to your apartment in ventimiglia to give the brit his required space.

it wasn’t ideal, coming home, you hardly stepped a foot into your apartment, when lando was in monaco as you usually stayed at his place to get as much of him as possible in the — usually — short period of time. norris, unbeknownst to you, immediately felt terrible just as he watched you left. guilt creeped up his spine, yet he made no effort to stop you, knowing that he needed some space to get ahold of himself. no title could make him fill the void if he lost you.

so, after a few days of radio silence from one another, you were starting to feel like you were losing the precious time you had with lando. the clip from max fewtrell’s stream with your boyfriend there, saying that he’s eating food that sat in his fridge for more than six months or staying awake for 26 hours, has found its way into your twitter feed. it made you worry restlessly.

thirty or so minutes later, while lando was still playing some game with max and a few of their friends, you let yourself into his apartment and started rummaging through his to find all those expired items and threw them out, already making an order for new groceries. as much petty as you could be sometimes, you didn’t want your boyfriend to end up with food poisoning, it was kind of oscar’s thing now.

cleaning his fridge took you fifteen minutes at most, considering that you threw up a huge portion of its content. it was just then, when you decided to put on your big girl pants and face him. you made him some tea with lemon and honey, before quietly tapping him on the shoulder.

“jesus christ!” he shrieked, causing you to giggle. “mate, i think i’m having some sorta proper hallucinations.” your boyfriend spoke into his headset, not believing the sight in front of him — not believing that he was seeing you. you could’ve easily picked up the guys taking a piss out of him, which made you laugh even harder.

“you need sleep, lad.” “yeah, you sound like a maniac.” “that’s the expired meat speaking.”

“don’t worry ‘bout it, lads. i’ll take care of him.” you moved closer to the microphone to let the guys know that everything’s taken care of, fully aware that max, your boyfriend’s best friend, would get concerned.

“i’m super sorry.” lando spoke softly, once you left the discord call. his arms snuck around your waist, pulling you flush against him — almost as if he had really missed you. “i love you so much, please don’t break up with me.” he added. you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth to bite back the chuckle upon not only hearing his words, but also upon seeing his childish-like expression.

you managed to escape his embrace, dropping your hand into his, while trying to drag him back into his room for a nap. it wasn’t a hard task with lando trailing right behind you until you sat him down at the edge of the bed.

“i’m not mad at you, baby.” you reassured him in a gentle tone. your hand caressing his cheek. “i still love you, okay? but you gotta go to bed, lando. we’ll talk later, alright?” you tried to coax him into listening to you and you’ve succeeded.

WHEN YOUR BOYFRIEND WOKE UP A FEW HOURS later, he thought that your presence in his apartment was just a dream. having pushed himself off the bed, he walked to the kitchen to finish off his expired chicken. that’s when he found you lounging on the couch, while eating something that smelled incredibly well.

yup, he must’ve been hallucinating.

with that in mind, he didn’t even approach you, trying not to feed into his delusions. if his mates knew that he started seeing his girlfriend after eating something that spent a few months in his fridge, they would never let him live it down. he furrowed his brows at the sight of a pan full of carbonara that he had no recollection of making — maybe he should go see a doctor?

lando sighed in relief after having taken a sniff of the dish, realising that somehow it’s not gone bad. how did it ended up in his place? no idea.

“bloody hell, no more eating expired food. i’m seeing stuff.” the brit muttered, rubbing his face in slight frustration. upon hearing his quiet mutter, you let out a small chuckle, tilting your head to the side in amusement.

“lando, you know i’m real, right?” you mused, a small smile creeping up on your lips. your boyfriend’s forehead creased in confusion. god, he seemed so out of it. “as in, i came here this afternoon, you’re not seeing stuff.” your words were coated with hilarity as you gave him a look.

lando was bewildered. twenty six hours of sleep weren’t that much, how did he forget that you got to his apartment and, apparently, talked to him? his cheeks flushed in embarrassment as he put the plate down on the coffee table and sat next to you.

“i, uh, wanted to call.” he spoke, his head hanging a bit lower. “t’was unnecessary, my outburst, i mean.” a sigh escaped his lips. he was slowly beginning to look like a sad, kicked puppy.

“it was super unnecessary.” you agreed, running a hand through his hand in a slow motion. “we can’t really go back in time, can we?” he shook his head at your words, taking your hand in his hair as an invitation, so he moved closer to you, his arm sneaking around your waist.

“but you still love me?”

“yes, lando. i still love you.” you leaned your head on his shoulder.

“good, i would probably kill myself, uh, or die without you.”

[luv-lock]

⸻ ᴊ ᴀ ʏ ʙ ɪ ʀ ᴅ ⸻

“ The Broken Mask: A Name to Remember ”

Pairing: Dark Jason Todd x Fem Reader Part 3

Summary: After waking up, you found yourself in a dark and dirty room. Tied up without a way out. And there's him who kidnapped you...

Warnings: Physical violence, Child abuse, Psychological trauma.

Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

The stench of blood and decay filled the air, suffocating her. It clung to her skin, her hair, and every breath she took. She woke with a sharp gasp, her body screaming in pain, every muscle twisted and strained. She couldn’t move her hands or legs—tied down, the coarse ropes cutting into her skin. Her wrists burned as she tried to twist them free, but the bindings only dug deeper. The metallic taste of blood lingered in her mouth.

Her vision swam, the room around her blurry at first, but as her eyes adjusted, she took in the nightmare she was trapped in. The room was small, the walls stained with streaks of dried blood and rust. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of death, and the dim light above flickered weakly, casting eerie shadows across the walls. Her heart raced as the reality of her situation sank in.

Where am I? What happened?

Memories flashed back—rain, green eyes, a sharp pain. She’d been in her house. And then...

The door creaked open, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silence. She flinched, her breath catching in her throat. A figure stepped into the room, and her stomach turned. He was tall, his frame imposing, clad in a leather jacket that seemed worn from years of use. His face was hidden beneath a red helmet, the visor reflecting the dim light, making him look more monster than man.

In his hand, he casually twisted a knife, the blade catching the light as it spun.

It’s just a dream, she told herself. It has to be. It can’t be real. It’s just a nightmare.

Her eyes squeezed shut tightly, as if that could force the nightmare to end, as if closing them would make it all disappear. She needed to wake up.

Please… please just wake up.

But then, she heard it. A voice—too familiar, too close—cut through the fog of her delirium.

“Jaybird…”

Her heart stopped.

“Jaybird, Jaybird, Jaybird,”

It couldn’t be. No. No, there’s no way. There’s no way it’s him. He’s dead. He has to be. He can’t be here.

She shook her head violently, trying to shake the word out of her mind. It was a hallucination. It had to be. She hadn’t taken her pills. Her therapist had warned her about this. The voices, the dreams, the confusion—it’s just the pills.

Jason's dead. He’s dead.

"Well, look who’s awake," he said, his voice low and mocking. He leaned against the wall, tilting his head as if observing her. "Sleeping beauty finally graces us with her presence."

She squeezed her eyes shut harder, trying to shut out the world, trying to shut out him.

"Oh, don’t be shy," he continued, pushing off the wall and taking slow, deliberate steps toward her. His boots echoed with each step. "What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?" He crouched in front of her, tilting his head like a predator sizing up its prey.

She didn’t respond, keeping her head down. Her breath was shallow, her pulse hammering in her ears. She bit her lip hard, her breath hitching. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t think.

It’s just a dream. It’s just a nightmare.

“C’mon. Say something... Anything.” he said, dragging out the words.

“Why don’t you look at me, sweetheart?” He was taunting her now. A sickening, twisted laugh bubbled up from his throat, sharp like broken glass. “I know you want to princess.”

Her blood ran cold. Her chest tightened, suffocating her, every inch of her body screaming in terror.

No, no, no. She couldn’t be hearing this. It couldn’t be real. She wasn’t strong enough to face him—him.

Jason was dead. He was gone.

But… this voice? It was his. His voice… twisted, broken, yet unmistakable. It was Jason. But it couldn’t be. Not like this.

He straightened suddenly, his tone shifting to one of mock enthusiasm. "How about we get to know each other better, huh? What do you say?"

Her head remained bowed, her tears threatening to spill.

He crouched again, his voice darker now, more menacing. "Look at me princess."

When she didn’t move, his tone snapped like a whip. "I said, fucking look at me."

She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. She kept her face down, eyes squeezed shut.

It’s not real. It’s not real. He’s dead. He’s gone. This is just my mind playing tricks on me. This is my fault. I forgot to take my pills. That’s it. That’s all it is. I’m crazy. I’m going insane.

“Fine.” His tone shifted, sharp and biting. “Let’s play it your way.”

He straightened, the knife twirling in his hand again. “Who are you? Tell me your name,” he asked, the question laced with venom.

She didn’t respond.

“I said—” His voice boomed as he slammed the chair’s armrest with the butt of the knife, making her flinch. “Who the fuck are you?”

Still, she said nothing.

The slap came hard and fast, the force whipping her head to the side. Her cheek burned, and she tasted copper as her lip split against her teeth.

“Say it!” he barked, his voice a dangerous snarl.

“Y/N,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He stepped back, clapping his hands slowly, mockingly. “There it is. Good girl.”

“Now,” he said, crouching again, his tone shifting into something almost playful. “Do you know who I am?”

Her heart pounded in her chest, the blood rushing in her ears. She nodded slowly, her throat closing up as she whispered, “No.”

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. And then—

Stab.

The pain was blinding.

She gasped, her whole body convulsing as the knife dug into her hand. She screamed, her back arching against the chair as the metal sliced through her flesh. Her eyes watered, tears streaming down her face as she cried out in agony.

“Wrong answer.” His voice was dripping with venom as he twisted the knife, pushing it deeper into her skin. The world around her spun in dizzying circles. “You don’t get to lie to me.”

The tears poured down her face, each sob racking her body as the knife tore through her palm. The burning pain was too much. She was going to pass out. She was sure of it.

But the pain wouldn’t stop.

He yanked her hair back, his fingers tangled in her hair as he pulled her face up to meet his. “Now, tell me again, what's my name?”

“J–Jason...” The word was barely a whisper, escaping her lips without her consent.

“Who?” He mocked, his voice a sickening blend of sweetness and malice. “Say it louder, sweetheart.”

Her mind was unraveling. No, no, no, no. She could barely breathe through the tears, through the overwhelming agony, but somehow, her voice broke through the fog.

“Jason!” she cried, her voice hoarse, desperate.

“Good girl.” His smile was audible, twisted and cruel, as if he reveled in her pain.

She trembled, her hand still bleeding, the pain a constant, raw fire in her veins. She could feel the warmth of the blood pooling beneath her, slick and hot against her skin.

“Oh, but look at you,” he said, his tone light, almost playful. “Look at that hand. We can’t just leave that, can we?”

No, no, please, no more.

The room spun around her as he moved, as he crouched in front of her with a sickening gleam in his eyes. She looked down at her hand, still bleeding, the crimson liquid dripping onto the floor.

What is he going to do?

He stood suddenly, his movements jerky and manic as he raised his hand to his chin, pretending to think. “I don’t think I have any bandages. What should we do, princess? Hm?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block him out. The world was closing in on her.

Then, his voice dropped, as if struck by an idea.

“I’ve got it!” He laughed, a wild, unhinged sound that made her skin crawl. “We’ll just have to burn it shut! That should work, right? That’ll stop the bleeding. I learn that from him.”

“No… no, please!” Her body jerked violently as she tried to back away, to get away from him, but the ropes held her fast. “No! No, please, Jason, no!”

He smiled, his eyes lighting up with sick joy as he pulled something from his belt—a lighter. She didn’t have time to scream before he pressed the heat to her hand.

The pain was unbearable.

It was like her hand was being set on fire, the flesh searing as she screamed. Her body spasmed in agony, the heat radiating through her entire arm. Her vision swam, her body trembling as she pulled against the ropes, trying to escape, trying to pull away from the suffocating burn.

“No! NO! NO! NO!” She couldn’t stop screaming. “JASON, PLEASE!”

He held the flame there, the fire licking at her skin, and she felt herself slipping, her mind fracturing.

This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. It’s just a dream. It’s just a nightmare. He’s dead. He’s dead.

“Shhh,” he whispered, his voice soft and sickeningly sweet. “It’s okay. You’re doing great. Just a little more, and we’ll be done.”

But the fire burned through her mind, through her heart, and the last thing she could think of before the pain swallowed her whole was the sick, twisted laugh that echoed in her ears.

She hated the smell of him, the acrid stench of liquor mixed with sweat, burning through the walls of their small, suffocating apartment. His voice, thick with slurred words, called to her from the darkened hallway.

“Y/N… Y/N, get in here, you useless girl.”

She froze, her small body trembling as her heart hammered in her chest. She didn’t want to go to him. She didn’t want to face him—never again, never ever again. But she knew better. If she didn’t obey, it would only get worse. The bruises would last longer. The sharp, angry look in his eyes would linger until he got what he wanted.

She shuffled toward the kitchen, her bare feet cold against the cracked tiles. The apartment was always cold, like a morgue. The lights flickered, casting eerie shadows as she stepped into the small, dim room where her father sat slouched over the kitchen table. His face was flushed, eyes dull and red from too many drinks. The half-empty bottle of whiskey sat next to him, the amber liquid swirling like poison in the dim light.

He didn’t look at her at first. He just muttered something under his breath, too drunk to focus. Then, without a word, he reached over to the table, his hand shaking slightly as he grabbed the cigarette pack. He lit one, the ember glowing briefly before the thick smoke filled the air.

“Push your sleeve up,” he rasped, not looking at her. His voice had a hollow, empty ring to it, like he was talking to a ghost. A sickening feeling twisted in her stomach. She didn’t want to do it. She never wanted to do it. But she knew if she didn’t, he’d hurt her worse.

“But it hurts daddy...”

“That's the point you dumb girl.”

She shook, her tiny fingers fumbling with the sleeve of her worn shirt. She hated him. She hated the way he made her feel small, insignificant, as if she was nothing but an object to be used, abused. But she pushed her sleeve up, the cool air against her skin sending a shiver through her body.

He flicked the cigarette, and the red-hot ember hovered close to her skin. She felt the sharp, searing heat before she even saw it. The first press made her gasp, her arm jerking involuntarily as the pain seared through her like fire. He didn’t stop. He didn’t care. He pressed harder, digging the burning tip into her skin, his laugh low and raspy as she cried out in pain.

She hated him. She hated him more than anything in the world. And she cried—quietly, trying to hide it from him—but she cried because it was the only thing her body knew how to do. She wanted to scream, wanted to yell at him, to say all the horrible things she felt deep down, but she knew better. It would make him worse. It would make him hurt her more.

I hate you. I hate you. I wish you would die…

The room was quiet, save for the crackling neon sign outside the grimy window, its light flickering red against the concrete walls. The silence wasn’t comforting—it was suffocating, a prelude to something worse.

Her breath uneven as she stared at him. Jason loomed over her like a shadow, his presence thick with menace. His helmet sat discarded on a nearby table, revealing a face hardened by trauma and vengeance.

“You’re new to all of this,” he said, his voice low and measured. There was something mocking in his tone, something almost tender, if tenderness could be laced with poison. “So, we’ll start simple.”

Her eyes widened as he crouched down in front of her, close enough that she could see the faint scar along his cheek, something like a name.

Her name...

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a knife, the blade catching the dim light in a way that made her stomach churn.

Her lips trembled. “No… please, no… don't kill me please...”

Jason’s head tilted, his expression almost curious. “What? You think I’m going to kill you?” He laughed, a bitter sound that echoed in the small room. “If I wanted you dead, sweetheart, you’d already be in the ground.”

Relief flickered in her chest, but it was short-lived.

“No, I’m not that cruel,” he continued, his tone almost gentle. “I’m not like him. I’m not the Joker. I don’t take without asking. See, I’m giving you a choice.”

Her breath hitched.

“I’ll mark you,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “But I’ll let you decide. Should I use the knife? Or maybe…” He pulled a lighter from his pocket, flicking it open. The small flame danced in his hand, casting flickering shadows on his face. “…I could burn it in your pretty little face. My name. Right here.” He pointed to her cheek, just under her eye.

The way he said it—so casual, so matter-of-fact—made her stomach twist into knots.

Her head shook violently, tears streaming down her face. “Please, don’t… don’t do this… please…”

His lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Oh, come on. I’m being nice. Joker didn’t ask me what I wanted, now, did he?"

She shook her head again, her sobs growing louder as she begged, "Please, Jason, just let me go! I-I’ll do anything!"

His eyes darkened, irritation flashing across his features. “You’re not answering.”

“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “Please just let me go…”

His jaw tightened, and his patience snapped like a brittle thread. He lunged forward, gripping her chin with bruising force, his fingers digging into her flesh.

"You’re wasting my time," he growled, slapping her hard across the face when she tried to turn away. Pain blossomed on her cheek, sharp and searing, and she cried out.

"Fine. I’ll choose for you."

Her cry echoed in the room, but it didn’t stop him. His fingers gripped her chin, forcing her face upward. “Hold still,” he hissed, his voice cold. “If you don’t, I’ll mess it up. And trust me, you don’t want that.”

She thrashed weakly, but his grip was unyielding. The blade hovered near her skin, its cold edge biting into her cheek as he positioned it just below her eye. Her sobs turned into desperate, panicked pleas, her voice cracking under the weight of her fear.

“Shut up,” he growled, his tone sharp enough to cut. “You’re making this harder than it has to be.”

Her heart pounded, terror screaming through her veins like wildfire. She squeezed her eyes shut, trembling uncontrollably.

And then the blade bit into her skin.

At first, it was a sharp, stinging pain, but it quickly bloomed into something far worse—searing, unbearable agony that made her throat raw from screaming.

Her vision blurred with tears, and she clawed weakly at his wrist, her nails scraping against the leather of his glove.

"Stop! Please, Jason! Stop!" she sobbed, her voice breaking with desperation.

He didn’t.

The knife carved deeper, deliberate and precise, dragging slowly across her flesh. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, and she felt it trickling down her cheek, warm and sticky.

Her mind fractured under the weight of the pain. Memories flashed—happier times, the moments where he had promised he will always protect her. They felt like cruel jokes now, mocking her. But was it really his fault? Could she blame him?

The first cut was shallow, almost teasing, just a warning, a whisper of the agony to come. But the second came deeper, harsher, as his name was carved into her flesh. The pressure was excruciating. The sting of the blade tore through her skin like fire, but the worst part was the coldness of it. The way the letters were etched slowly, deliberately, carving through her soul as much as her skin.

It hurts... it hurts...

Her breath hitched, ragged and shallow, each jagged line of pain sending tremors through her body.

Stop... stop... please...

Her eyes squeezed shut, but the pain wouldn’t let her escape. Every stroke of the blade felt like an eternity. Her vision blurred, and her throat constricted as she fought to stay conscious.

I hate it... I hate it...

When he finally pulled the blade away, his name was etched into her skin, the wound raw and angry. Blood trickled down her face, staining her shirt, but all she could focus on was the pain, the overwhelming agony of what he’d done.

Jason leaned back, admiring his handiwork with a strange sense of satisfaction. His thumb brushed against the edge of the wound, making her flinch.

"Perfect," Jason whispered, his voice disturbingly soft. "I told you I’d be kind. You should thank me."

She sobbed, her tears mingling with the blood on her face.

Jason’s hand cupped her cheek—almost tenderly this time—and he forced her to meet his gaze. “Don’t cry,” he murmured, his tone deceptively gentle. “You should be grateful. After all, I’m not him. He never gave me a choice. But I gave you one.”

Next: Part 1. Part 2. Part 4.

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉����𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[bblairxe]

HI BESTIEEE ITS MEEEE I NEED A CAITLYN FIC RN. I NEED IT TO HAVE PLOT BUT THERES SO SMUT THAT THE PLOT IS FORGOTTEN. I NEED THE SMUT TO BE SO SCARILY DETAILED AND UNHINGED THAT IT SCARES THE AO3 WRITERSSS

ANYWAYS IT WONT LET ME GO ON ANONYMOUS SO I HAVE TO REVEAL MYSELF NOW 😭😭 IM 𐦖

hii angel !! it’s so nice to see you again !!

৻ꪆ cw : fem!reader , smut , 18+ , dom!cait , teasing , tension , fingering (reader receiving) , begging , slight mocking , slight praise

৻ꪆ wc : 2.6k ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

caitlyn has been searching for you for weeks now — zaun’s most wanted criminal, a ghost slipping through cracks that no enforcer could reach. she’d tell herself her attraction towards you was just the amount of effort she puts into the job, nothing more, but as she see stands there watching you plop bottles, pills, and medical wrap into your bag, her judgement changes.

you needed medical supplies for your cousin back in the undercity. apparently, she had the bright idea to see how many mushrooms she could fit in her mouth at once. spoiler : it was one too many and now she’s laid up, hallucinating and nursing the huge scar on her stomach.

the sound of boots echoing down the hallway snaps you out of your thoughts and you freeze. you had everything you needed and all that was left was to escape, but as you turn to the window a familiar shadow creeps up behind you. it’s not until you realize you’ve been followed and watched this entire time.

the shadow calls out your full name with a thick british accent, echoing through the dark, dimly lit walls. “you’re under arrest for theft. do not make this any harder than it needs to be.” she spoke, her tone was confident and firm. even if you did explain what was happening, you know she wouldn’t excuse your actions.

but there’s no harm in trying.

“caitlyn, uh, kiramann, officer kiramann.” you stumble over your words, her bold demeanor quickly overpowering you. “i need these for a family member. she’s injured, badly.” you turn around to face her, taking a few steps closer, putting one hand out and the other behind your back, hiding the bag filled with supplies.

she pulls out her gun and your movements stop abruptly, not wanting to test how good her aim really is. “don’t move,” is all she says, angling the barrel right between your eyes.

“listen,” you say, hands still raised, voice carefully measured. “i’m not here to cause trouble, i just need this, and i swear i’ll be out of here.”

“you think that excuses breaking into the piltover infirmary?” she arches a brow, stepping closer. her presence is nearly suffocating, like she’s closing the air in on you on purpose. “you’re one of the most wanted criminals, and now i catch you stealing. what, do you expect me to just look the other way?”

“i’m asking you to have a little humanity.” you retort, trying to meet her strong gaze. “she’s my cousin, for fucks sake. what do you want me to do, let her die?”

her jaw tightens, and for her a moment, her eyes flicker to something softer, as if she’s actually understanding where you’re coming from. sadly, in the blink of an eye, her resolve returns, she tilts her chin up as if she’s looking down on you. “and what about all of the other things you’ve done? the heists, the break-ins, the stolen hex tech devices?”

you exhale sharply, shifting uncomfortably at her words. “those were . . . different. this isn’t about me, okay? it’s about her.”

“everything’s always different when you’re the one doing it, hm?” she spat, though there’s less bite in her words.

you notice the way her fingers hover over the trigger yet, she doesn’t pull. even if it’s small, it’s enough to reassure you she’s listening. “just let me go this time. i’ll disappear and won’t ever be a problem for piltover again.”

her lips press into a thin line and she studies your face, as if she’s trying to search for a ruse. for a moment, it feels like the entire world is on pause. caitlyn’s decision can decide the fate for you and your cousin.

“hand over the bag,” she says, her voice low but commanding. “now.”

you keep your position, the bag gripped firmly in one hand, resting behind your back. her eyes narrow at your stubbornness, she lunges forward, grabbing for the bag. instinct kicks in and you twist away, nearly losing your balance in the process. “don’t make me do this,” she growls, her voice closer, harsher now. “you can’t win.”

“i don’t need to win, i need you to fucking move.” you shoot back, your breath hitching as she grabs your arm, yanking you towards her. the bag drops on the floor with a thud, but the grip on your wrist doesn’t falter, in fact it tightens.

“let me go,” you hiss, but there’s no certainty to your voice, certainty that you want her to let go. her face is just inches away from yours, the two of you locking eyes.

“absolutely not. there’s no way i’m letting you go, not this time.” she murmurs, her tone is lower now and teasing in a way. the feeling of her breath on your cheek causes you to freeze, and the intensity of her gaze isn’t helping. her body leans towards you more, and you feel your face heat up. the two of you get so close, to the point your noses are brushing against each other, it feels like she’s going in for a kiss, but she reaches for the bag instead.

you react on instinct, shoving her away from it. the action makes her stumble slightly but she recovers rather quickly. her hand shoots out over your shoulder, reaching for the bag again. she fails and instead the scuffle sends the two of you to the floor. her weight presses down onto you and she takes both of your wrists in one hand, pinning it above your head. “you’re making this harder than it needs to be.” she breathes, her voice trembling between frustration and something else — something that makes your heart race.

a million thoughts race through your head, and all of them are about the bag. she could grab the bag any moment now but, she doesn’t. she keeps her eyes trained you, studying your every movements just as she was doing before.

“you didn’t have to get on top of me to make a point,” you snap, but your voice falters when you feel her free hand glide up your torso, your shirt slightly lifting with it. you shiver and squirm at the feeling but her grip on your wrists tightens, just enough to remind you who’s in control.

“didn’t know you were so sensitive to touch.” caitlyn teases, her fingers continue to trail up and down your stomach, never going any higher or lower.

heat floods your face, and you hate the way your body betrays you, your breath quickening under her. “get off me, kiramann,” you manage, but it sounds more like a plea than a demand.

“you don’t sound so convincing.” she murmurs, her voice dropping lower as she leans in closer, her breath kissing your ear. “but tell me, before i continue, do you want this as bad as i do?”

your breath catches, the question hanging heavy in your head. her grip on your wrist loosens, she’s giving you an out and all you have to do is take it. all you have to do is tell her no, and you’ll be on your way. except you don’t want to. you know how wrong this is, an enforcer and a criminal. in what world would this make sense? how would your family feel knowing you betrayed them all for a quick fuck? but the way her body presses against yours, the way her voice sounds like honey, it’s addicting.

“don’t . . . do this,” you mumble, as if you were trying to tell yourself that and not her.

“don’t do what?” she questions, “ask for permission?”

she tilts her head, her dark blue eyes boring into yours, and it’s like pulling the answer straight from your lips. every inch of her screams confidence, the kind that makes you want to crumble at her feet immediately.

you squeeze your eyes shut, biting your bottom lip to keep the words you desperately don’t want her to hear from spewing out. but it’s no use, your body betrays you first, your eyes flicker from her lips to her eyes, back to her lips again. your legs spread open just enough for her to for her to fit her leg in between. she notices and does just that, her thigh hitting right where you need her most. a whimper seeps out from your mouth, embarrassment written all over your face.

“you’re cute, but nothing happens until i get words.” her tone is soft, coaxing even, “i need to hear you say it.”

your lips part, hesitant, the words tangled in your throat. but when she leans in even closer, your lips mere centimeters from each other, you break.

“yes,” you whisper, so quiet it’s barely audible.

her lips curl into a smug smirk, her free hand traveling lower, gripping her hand firmly on your hips. “again,” she purrs, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

“yes,” you whine, your chest rising and falling with each passing breath.

“good girl,” she mumbled, the words alone sending heat throughout your body.

her movements are slow and deliberate as she presses her thigh into you. the sounds coming from your lips spark something within her — her smirk widens, and she leans in, her lips grazing your ear.

“you sound so sweet when you stop pretending to fight me,” she mewls and pulls back to watch how your face contorts as she grinds her thigh harder into you, bringing a hand to lightly tug on your nipple. her lustful gaze drinks in every flick of emotion on your face: need, lust, desire.

she pulls her hand away, and coos at your whimper. reassuring you that she’ll make you feel even better than before. her hand trails lower, brushing over the tip of your waistband of your pants, lingering long enough to make you squirm. “tell me,” she starts, “how bad do you want me to touch you?”

you swallow hard, your heart rate fastens every passing second. her fingers slide in but the barrier between your cotton underwear and her fingers keep her from going any further. she glides the tip of her fingers up and down your hardened clit, eliciting small moans from you.

“mmmhhh , just like that.” you moan out, arching your back towards her like she owns all of you.

her fingers skim over the extremely damp spot in your panties, a huge smile growing on her face. “is this all for me, love?” she asks, her voice dripping with smooth yet condescending.

you nod weakly, your voice failing you and it’s not enough for her. her fingers stop making those small, sweet circles. instead just hovering over where you need her. “words,” she demands, her voice firm yet intoxicatingly soft. “i want to hear you say it.”

your chest heaves, nails digging into her back as you try to gather your thoughts. “yes,” you breathe out, “it’s all for you, caitlyn.”

“that’s better,” she coos, rewarding you by moving your panties to the side, continuing to circle your clit. the feeling of her cold fingers against your warm flesh is enough to make your legs tremble, your breath hitching as a moan escapes your lips.

she reaches up and wraps her lips around your firm nipple, teeth lightly grazing the sensitive skin before going back to making out with it. “you’re so responsive,” she murmurs against your skin, “i could spend all night learning every little sound you make.”

her fingers working against your engorged clit was making you feel dizzy, but it wasn’t enough. you needed more from her, you needed to feel her, all of her. you buck your hips up at her fingers, she brushed it off at first, assuming it was just reactions from her work, but the more whines that came from your lips, the more she knew you needed more. the only problem is, is that you know she wouldn’t give it to you unless you ask.

“you need something?” caitlyn muses, giving you a fake puzzled expression.

you don’t respond with words but instead with noises, touches, and giving her that look. your hands roam from her neck down to her clothed chest, teasing her nipples. you latch your mouth onto her neck, planting open mouthed kisses that’ll leave a sweet dark purple mark.

“so eager, darling,” she pants, your touch is sickly addicting, finding herself craving more but she knows she can’t be that vulnerable in front of you, not yet. “use your words, and you’ll get what you want.” she says, quickly regaining her composure.

those words shoot straight to your core, causing you to clench around nothing. you part away from her neck and meet her seductive gaze.“caitlyn,” you whimper, your voice is trembly and shaky, “i need more, please.”

“yeah, is that what you need, love?” she mocks, using the same whiny pitched tone you have. she gives your clit a slight slap before moving her fingers lower. coating her finger in your slick, before finally plunging two digits deep into you. “just needed my fingers to turn off that pretty head of yours, hm?”

the stretch from her fingers is perfect, feeling your walls clench around her. “you feel incredible,” she breathes, completely entranced with the way your body succumbs to her. she keeps her rhythm steady and measured, making sure the pleasure isn’t overbearing.

she curls her fingers to brush against the spot that makes you see stars. your hands come up to pry at her back, a string of moans leaving your mouth with every thrust. “cait , oh fuck, you feel so good. please don’t stop, don’t fucking —“

your words are cut short with the feeling of cait pushing your legs to your chest, plunging deeper into you. your eyes roll to the back of your head and if feels as if the earth has stopped spinning completely. your hips move against her hand, chasing the friction you so desperately need.

each movement of fingers, each brush of her palm against your clit sends you spiraling further into bliss. the pleasure builds up like a storm waiting to be released. your body trembles beneath her, any form of sentences turn into mindless blabbering and moans.

caitlyn knows you’re close. how your sounds became higher in pitch, how your body became completely still as if it was ‘the calm before the storm’, and how you’ll respond to all over her questions with repeated, whiny yes’s.

“tell me, darling,“ she whispers, her lips brushing against your chest. “you gonna cum for me, make a complete mess all over my fingers?”

your response is nothing more than a choked moan. your head tipping back as her pace quickens, her fingers curling inside you and with one last thrust, you come undone all over her.

she doesn’t remove her fingers, only slowing her pace. testing the waters to see how much you can take, if you even can. eventually you let up, the overstimulation being too much to handle.

“c-cait please, i can’t take it,” you whimper, your face is completely flushed, barely able to hold eye contact with her.

she removes her fingers slowly, leaving you empty once more. you gasp out to catch your breath, still coming down from your high.

she comes up to meet your face and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, something strangely intimate for the two of you. she plants a kiss on your forehead, before going back down to adjust your underwear and pull up your pants.

she gets off from on top of you and stands up, leaving you sitting on your haunches. she walks up to you, and grabs your chin, angling your face up to her. “don’t let me hear about you doing something you’re not supposed to.” she speaks in a soft tone but you can tell she means every single of one her words, “i won’t be so nice next time, darling.”

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Coveted.

Pairing: Yandere!Geto x Reader (+Yandere!Gojo) [JJK].

Word Count: 1.1k.

TW: Set Two or Three Years Post KFC Break-Up, Intimidation, Prolonged Stalking, Future Dub/Con, Mentions of Non/Con, and Unbalanced Power Dynamics.

[Part Two]

“You’re Satoru’s date, right?”

The voice was masculine, deep and as rough as it could be without crossing the line into gravelly. You stiffened, squaring your shoulders and burrowing your nails into your palm as your eyes darted across the table – where a man with dark hair and an off-putting smile was currently sliding into the unoccupied side of your booth. He reached out, clearly planning to shake your hand, but when you failed to move, he only let out an airy chuckle, propping his chin on his fist as he went on. “I’m a friend of his – Geto Suguru. You can call me Suguru-chan, though. Has he already told you about me?”

He was dressed like he’d just rolled out of bed – his attire limited to a form-fitting black shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants in the same color, his hair pulled into a loose bun. His tone was friendly, light. You returned it with a dead-pan stare, hoping it conveyed the weight of your exhaustion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Is that what he told you to say?” Another laugh, somehow more blood-chilling than the first. Your attention shifted outward, to the late-night diner where Gojo had asked you to meet him. There were only a few other customers, the skeleton of a proper staff, but single other person would’ve been one too many. You didn’t need to make a scene, not again, not after last time. “That sounds like him. He’s always been a stingy bastard.”

With a pressed frown, you pushed yourself to your feet, but Geto’s grin only broadened. He snapped his fingers and as if it’d only been waiting for a queue, a shape manifested at the end of your bench. You couldn’t bring yourself to look directly at it, but you saw enough out of the corner of your eye; a bulbous torso, shrunken arms, too many eyes to resemble any living thing. Instantly, what little courage you still had was replaced with a knot of dread, a bolt of pure anxiety. You half-expected it to lunge, to bite, to attack, but it didn’t move, only standing guard at the foot of your table.

It didn’t move, but it didn’t have to. In a moment, you’d fallen back into your seat and shoved yourself against the wall, fighting not to shake. It was a sight Geto seemed to take a particular joy in, letting his head lull to the side as he watched you curl into yourself. “You can see them. I was starting to think I had the wrong person.” A pause, a glance towards his summoned monster before his narrowed gaze skirted back to you. “Don’t be shy, now. How much did he tell you?”

It took you a moment to find your tongue, another to swallow back the tremor in your voice. "He said he could protect me.” It was harder to admit than you’d expected – not so much that you needed protection, but that there was something you needed protection from. You’d spent so long writing off your monsters as hallucinations that it was still a struggle to act like they were anything more. But, for as unwilling as you were to confront your little monsters, the resounding ache in your right leg where that thing had dug its claws into you was impossible to ignore. “He… he didn’t mention anyone else, but we’ve only spoken once. He was supposed to explain—” You gestured to the monster. “—all of this today.”

A slight hum, a look of genuine surprise. “So, he’s got some self-restraint after all! I thought he would’ve cracked months ago, considering how long he’s been following you around like a lost puppy.” He must’ve seen your expression fall, your posture slacken, because he didn’t wait for a response before going on. “I mean, you must’ve known that, at least. Did you think he’d play knight-in-shining-armor for just anyone?”

“I…” You trailed off quickly, shaking your head. “I don’t care. As long as he can protect me, I don’t care why he’s doing it.”

“That’s a dangerous thing to say. You wouldn’t want to make Satoru feel so replaceable, now, would you?”  

At that, you met his stare. “What do you want?”

His eyes skirted towards the monster, who took an obedient step back. For a second, you considered running, trying to slip away before the man in front of you or your newly-realized stalker could make you regret ever showing up at all, but Geto was quick to cut off your escape route, filling the empty space beside you before you could so much as pick which door you would barrel through on the way out. “Well, now that we’re on the same page,” Unlike his monster, he didn’t give you the option of leaving him in your peripheral; settling close enough for his leg to press into yours. At this proximity, you could pick up the smoke on his breath, the scent of stale gore clinging to him like a second skin. As if he’d just stepped out of a blood bath. “I’d like to make you an alternative offer.”

“You’d protect me?”

“Oh, I’d do more than just that.” His hand fell to your thigh. “I’d have everything you’ve ever been afraid of bowing to you by the end of the night.”

You swallowed dryly. “You didn’t answer my first question. What do you get out of helping me?”

His answer was nonverbal, but clear enough. With that same idle grin, he nodded toward the streaked window, to the building across the street. Your heart fell into your stomach. It was one of those sleazy, by-the-hour hotels – the sign missing more than a few letters and the parking lot as empty as the diner. It was the kind of place that you only went to for one thing, and you had a feeling Geto hadn’t found some miraculous second reason to want to be alone with you in one of those bug-infested rooms.

You weren’t sure why you said it. Maybe to buy yourself time. Maybe because you couldn’t stand the idea of being left in silence as what was left of your rational mind screamed at you to get out of there. “I don’t have any money.”

“It’ll be my treat.”

“What happens I refuse?”

“I kill everyone here,” His nails bit into exposed skin. “And then fuck you on this table while their bodies attract flies.”

You might’ve cried, if you hadn’t been so tired.

You might’ve done anything, if you could bring yourself to care about anything but keeping those awful creatures at a distance.

Stiffly, with your eyes shut and your teeth grit, you forced yourself to nod. Geto rewarded you with an impossibly wide grin, a breath of a laugh. “Smart little thing.”

This time, he didn’t pretend it was an option; reaching out, taking your trembling hand in his own, and squeezing so softly, you could almost convince yourself he was being gentle.

“It’s only a shame Satoru isn’t here to join us.”

[milkteahood]

together through it all

Simon Riley x fem!reader

Summary: being there for Simon during one of his many night terrors

“No! No! Fuck no! Please… please not her. DON’T TAKE HER AWAY FROM ME”

Sweat broke on Simon’s forehead as he jolted awake, gasping for air. Stumbling, almost as if running from something, he made it to the bathroom where he threw himself over the toilet, puking his guts out. His whole body was breaking in cold sweat, shaking, with a blurry vision.

He didn’t hear you come in and almost attacked you when you placed a hand on him. He stopped midway, eyes bloodshot, his body only shaking harder when he realized it was only you.

“Si? Baby, it’s ok” your soft voice echoed in his mind, hand running up and down his back as he started vomiting again.

It wasn’t the first time this happened. Simon had severe ptsd, and this reaction was nothing new. He tried to warn you, saying you wouldn’t be happy with him. To go find someone that can actually love you normally. But he didn’t get to decide for you. And over time you got better and better at helping him when needed.

“You’re ok Si” you spoke gently, using a towel to wipe the sweat off his face.

He didn’t respond, but when he finally looked up at you, his face was incredibly pale. His lips were losing color too, and his eyes were a little glossy. This panic attack was one of the worst you’d seen him have.

Your hands cupped his face, and without even realizing it, he leaned into your touch, almost to see if you were actually real.

“You’re ok now” you said. Again, he didn’t respond. His breathing was heavy, and he closed his eyes, leaning more into your touch.

You held him for a while, giving him time to relax. His head almost fell onto your chest and strong arms wrapped themselves around you. There was something different about all of it. The way he held you, as if he was almost afraid you would vanish into thin air.

“Do you feel alright enough to walk?” you asked, arms wrapped around his neck, holding his head close to your chest. He only nodded in response.

As you stood up, you gently helped him up too, using your body to support his.

Once you made it to the bedroom, he collapsed on the bed, but still refused to let go of you.

He didn’t speak, his body still slowly shaking as he buried his face deeper into your chest, taking in your scent, trying to convince himself you’re actually real. He’s not hallucinating. You’re indeed there, trying to wrap a blanket around him as he refuses to let you move.

Once the blanket was over both of you, you resumed your gentle touches, fingers running through his hair as his breathing was slowing. Your fingers worked like magic on him. Your patience, something he never saw himself worthy of. All the times he yelled at you during one of his episodes. And even now, he was about to attack you. He didn't understand why someone like you would put up with someone like him. He didn't deserve you, he was sure of that. But he will be damned before he lets anyone take you away from him.

“You’re ok now” you said again, kissing the top of his head “it’s just us here” you continued, nose nuzzling his hair.

He nodded, closing his eyes.

You only closed yours once you heard the soft snoring coming out of your lover’s mouth.

“I love you, Si” you said, earning yourself a little snore in return, which made you chuckle.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

If you want to could you please do a fic with Jason's Girlfriend (rather Arkham Night or when he is still early Red Hood) gets hit with Scarecrow's fear toxin and Jason is trying to help her through it or give her an antidote. But she is terrified of him and think he is attacking or trying to kill her. Maybe it's because while she does love him and he loves her she started working with him because she is helping Batman get Jason to hopefully see his family again and Jason does know so she is scared of his reaction. Sorry if that's confusing or a lot.

Thank you for reading whether you do the request or not

-🍓

Guilty Hearts

Hi 🍓! I know this took a while to get out but I hope you see it. I think we might be psychically linked because this came into my ask box while I was editing my other fear toxin fic. Enjoy! ~1k words

The Arkham Knight is going to destroy whoever caused you to get like this. He stands, ridged and protective, between you and the milita medics who are shifting uneasily behind him. You're curled into the corner of the room, knees to your chest and arms wrapped around yourself. He never breaks his gaze as you rock yourself, silent tears spilling down your cheeks.

Seventy-two minutes. That's how long you've been like this. Trapped in the nightmares of your mind's own creation, hallucinations caused by a dosage of Scarecrow's fear toxin. 

He doesn't know how you got like this, what happened, he didn't bother to ask when he was finally informed. The Arkham Knight just stormed his way to you. 

The medics managed to tell him that you've screamed your voice raw but still fought anyone who got close enough to try and stick you with the antidote. 'That's his partner,' he thinks. Always the fighter.

He scowls behind his helmet when he notices the self-inflicted scratch marks over your arms, a common reaction to the toxin. "Everybody out." He snaps, snatching a needle filled with the antidote from one the medics. They file out quickly, sensing his mood. They should be running. Everyone knows what you are to him. He's made it more than clear and the fact that you're suffering? The fact it took over an hour for him to be told? He'll make sure someone pays for that later.

But that is later, and this is now. You're what's most important. He tugs off his helmet once the last medic leaves the room and takes a step towards you.

You let out a raw, strangled cry with what's left of your voice. He doesn't know what you're seeing, what you think he is, but it makes his heart clench to see you so scared. He knows he can be frightening now, so different from what he used to be. But he'd never hurt you, never, not on purpose. 

The Arkham Knight crouches down to your level, and says your name softly, carefully, trying not to startle you. "I'm here to help, I promise, baby. I need you to trust me. I'm going to make it better." He soothes, creeping closer to you inch by inch. He makes sure to stay low, to make himself look smaller.

It doesn't seem to help, fresh tears fall faster from your eyes and you whimper. He repeats your name over and over, trying to draw you away from whatever fear is tormenting you. "Just hold on a little longer. It's going to be okay. I'm going to make it okay."

He shifts closer to you, reaches out one hand to try and touch you, and you bolt, scrambling to get as far away from him as possible. 

He catches you around the waist, needle clattering to the floor as he wrestles you to the ground. It's harder than it should be, he's trying to be gentle, trying not to harm you, but you're kicking and crying and clawing like you'll die if you don't fight. The Arkham Knight wonders what you see, what twisted image is taking over your mind as you fight him.

You see him. The Arkham Knight– Jason. You know there's something wrong with you, something bad, but between the pounding of your heart and the way the shadows seem to writhe, you can't remember what it is. 

You tried to get away from him– it. He's angry at you, you know he is. You can hear it in the robitical breathing, the way fire dances in place of the glowing whites of his eyes. 

You're scared. You don't know how he knows. You don't know how he found out or what he thinks, but he's going to hurt you. That's what the choir of hissing voices whispers into your ear. 

He knows you've helped Batman– Bruce. You didn't want to betray him. You weren't trying to hinder his revenge plan in any way. Bruce didn't even know it was you who told him. You just– all you did was tell him to have extra fear toxin antidotes ready. You just couldn't stand the thought of someone losing the people they loved, not when you knew exactly how it felt.

The Arkham Knight freezes when you start to beg. He's never heard you so scared, so shaken. You sound like he did. Back in that cell.

You thought a part of him might understand that. Your adrenaline spikes when he reaches for something just out of your field of vision. He's going to hurt you. He's going to make you pay for your disloyalty. You let out a sob and start to beg, broken pleas of his name leave your lips, it's the only sound you can make anymore.

"Please, Jason," You rasp out, "m'sorry. So sorry." He shushes you as you start to paw at his chest plate in a last ditch attempt to get away. Always so strong, you are. 

Jason takes your wrists in one hand and sticks the needle into your skin with the other, releasing the antidote into your bloodstream. 

"There you go, there you go, doll. Good job." He mumbles into your hair, pulling you up so you can settle in his lap, his arms securely around your body. Your breathing is shaky, uneven, and your hands move to curl into the straps of his armor. You're not trying to get away from him anymore, proof the antidote is taking hold. 

He keeps cooing mindless reassurances as you cry quietly into his shoulder, his hand running soothing lines up and down your back. He presses his lips to the top of your head and holds you a little tighter to him.

When you're more yourself, Jason will tell you you have nothing to be sorry for. He knows. Of course, he knows what you told Bruce. He knows everything about you. If spilling a few secrets to his plan eases your guilty conscience and keeps you by his side, so be it.

Scarecrow's just a means to an end anyway. All that matters is that you stay. That you keep following him down his path in hell, and if you turn to look back a few times, well, he'll just hold your hand all the more tighter and keep dragging you along with him.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Walking the Road for Her

Wanda Maximoff x Gray Witch!Reader

Word count: 1.2K

Summary: You can't live without Wanda and you've tried everything else so when Agatha comes knocking on your door you accept immediately, but the teen that's with her...he seems so familiar

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 3 OF AGATHA ALL ALONG! Grief/Loss, hallucinations, death/mortality, emotional distress, supernatural elements, implied self-sacrifice, character death, reunion with a deceased loved one

Authors notes: Thank you @scarlethexelove for indulging in my random Wanda thoughts.

When Agatha asked for you to walk the witches road, you didn't hesitate. She was put off by your eagerness, but never told her why you were walking. You kept that part to yourself she didn't seem to mind. Everyone had a reason, and everyone had their secrets, so no one asked, and you weren't about to tell them you wanted, no needed Wanda back.

You would give up anything and everything to have Wanda back. If it meant to team up with Agatha, you would do it.

So you did. You met up with her and put on the cheery smile she hated. You always assumed she hated you for being a younger witch still full of life, but since Wanda died, you felt like you died too. You got along well enough with the others. You knew Jen the best being closer in age, though you didn't care for her products.

The teen seemed eerily familiar, but you can't put your finger on it. Why does he remind you of Wanda of a life you can't seem to remember.

You're overly protective of him. You don't let him have the wine, and when you hallucinate from said wine, you blink, and suddenly, you're looking at Wanda. Back in her early twenties with the eyeliner, ripped stockings, painted nails, and rings on every finger. You cry over it, cupping her face until it turns back to his.

“Are you okay.” He looks at you with concern. You pull away quickly and wipe your eyes.

“S-Sorry.” You quickly run the ingredients back, trying to escape the feelings. You need to stay strong. You need to get Wanda back.

You end up getting through the trail. Not without its costs. Losing Sharon wasn't something you had in mind, but the witches road is treacherous and has no place for mortals. You never should have let Agatha do that, but hindsight and all that. You knew you had to press on and on the road Teen asks,

“Are you sure you're okay? You and Sharon called out for the same person.” You swallow hard.

“Yeah I'm fine. We all had hallucinations about things. I'll be okay.” You tell him and then mumble under your breath, “Not like I don't deal with it every morning...” his head swivels.

“What was that?” He asks.

“Nothing, just mumbling to myself.”

The further you journey, the harder it gets. Sometimes, you want to give up, to give in, and join Wanda another way. But something stops you every time. You almost think you can feel her, feel her all around you. In the trees, the air, the leaves beneath your feet. With a quick turn of your head, you think you so the soft auburn color you miss so much. The road is playing tricks yet keeping you grounded to your goals.

You make it to the end. Finally passed the last trial everyone who had made it. Their prize awaited them. You waited, didn't see her, and then you heard a whisper in Sokovian.

Your name.

You looked around everywhere. “Over here milaya.” You hear her call. You whip around and see her. She doesn't look like the Scarlet Witch anymore. Back before that. Like when you were on the run. You run into her arms without a second thought.

You can't help as you cry. Burying your face in her neck as your body shakes with sobs. Her vanilla scent invades your senses. “Shhhh sweet girl, I've got you.” Wanda holds you close. Your heart feels whole again now that you're back in her arms.

Your sobs turn into sniffles. “I've missed you so much.” You mumble against her. Her nails lightly scratching at your back. Something she's always done to sooth you. Kissing the side of your head and letting her lips linger.

“I know Detka. I'm so sorry. I'm here now. I'll never leave you again.”

You held onto Wanda tight, afraid to let go as if she'd disappear again if you stopped.

Wanda opened her eyes, looking past your shoulder her eyes widened in surprise and then softened as she saw him.

“Bi-Billy?” Wanda's voice shakes slightly. You pull back but not fully letting her go. You follow her gaze that lands on the teen. Your brows furrow before you look back to Wanda.

“Wanda?” You question her.

She lets go of you when Teen responds to the name. He tries to say something, but the sigil protects him. A wave of Wanda's hand changes that. “Billy?” She asks again.

“Yes, that's me.” You're really confused as you see Wanda's red tendrils come out sending red waves through his eyes before disappearing. “M-mom? H-how did you...?”

Billy runs towards Wanda, slamming into her, but she doesn't budge. She holds him tightly in her arms. “What kind of mother would I be if I didn't know my own son?” Wanda whispers. It's just loud enough for you to hear. Confusion morphs into realization as you look on.

The reason he looked so familiar, the reason he reminded you of her. Of course, it was one of the twins. Sure you hadn't been a part of the hex, but you had seen the recordings of it. Last you had seen the twins, they were 10 inside the hex.

Your heartbeat quickens when you remember what you had seen next as the hex fell the you Wanda had created was destroyed along with the twins. She had held you tightly until you were no more.

It's a shock to see him in the flesh. To understand who he really is. He pulls away from Wanda and turns to you. “Mama?” He's cautious having been giving the memory from Wanda and realizing that you had never got to meet him. Do you even know who he is? Will you accept him as your own?

Your breath catches. It's like waves of memories flood through you as if they had always been there. Everything from the hex coming to life as tears fill your vision and spill over. “Oh my sweet little boy...look at you!” Your arms wrap around him tightly. It had been there, blurry when you thought about it. Of this being your son. “Mama is sorry you had to go through all of this.”

“Mama don't apologize. I'm happy to have you back.” He pulls away slightly keeping an arm around you and opening his other for Wanda. She joins into the hug.

“I'm happy to have both of you back.” You can feel the tears pricking your eyes.

You hug them both tightly. This still left you without one son, but you knew you'd find him. If Billy made it out somehow, then Tommy must be out there, too.

Wanda cups both of your cheeks and looks between you. “Moya lyubov i moy syn (my love and my son).” Tears in her eyes she can't believe she is back and that she had both of you. Her heart is almost complete, but there is still a missing piece to the puzzle.

You didn't need her powers to know what she was thinking, “We'll find him, milaya.” She smiles at you, giving a soft peck on your lips.

“We will. Now that I have you two I know we will.”

This was more than you could have asked for at the end of the road.

[astrangerthatlovesyou]

“It’s okay to not be okay”

Unless it impacts your work performance…

Or your grades

Or how you act

Or if it causes you to say no

Or if you’re harder to be around

Or if you need time alone

Or if you talk about it

Or show symptoms

“It’s okay to not be okay”

Unless you have trauma

Unless you have one of those “scary” mental illnesses

Unless it inconveniences me

Unless you’re undiagnosed

Unless you cry or scream or make a scene

Unless you don’t keep that shit to yourself

Unless you make me uncomfortable

Unless I can’t infantilize or fetishize you

Unless you have hallucinations

Unless you have psychosis

Unless you get angry

Unless I think you’re cringe

Unless you can’t preform hygiene tasks

Unless you’re disabled, or trans, or gay, or not white, or fat, or AFAB, or intersex, or a man… so I guess anyone

“It’s okay to not be okay”

As long as nobody ever finds out.

Our society has a severe issue with performative activism, and mental health is a huge example of this. Every time someone considers reaching out, they run through this list mentally. This is why true activists and resources need to be loudly supportive of all the things on this list. Take the subtext out of your support.

[alisblackgf]

okok hear me out.... yk the scene in s1 where the old guy (mr han i think) hugs hyun su and hyun su basically kills him with his monster wing thing what if reader took mr hans place and hyun su killed reader, but then reader comes back as a neohuman and they reunite in s2 (i hope this made sense pls im bad at explaining)

someone cooked here. LMAO anon you're a genius

rememberance

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: cha hyun-su x gn!reader

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: hurt/comfort(?)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you died by his hands, and he never forgave himself for it. that was until he saw you standing alive and well in front of him.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i didn't know if i wanted to make it an established relationship or not, so that's up to you! also when i finished this i thought it was way longer than it actually was. hopefully you still enjoy it!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mentions of death, blood, basically anything you'd see in sweet home

"it's not your fault."

your voice echoed in his mind continuously. part of him wishes he could forget, the other part of him wishes it'd stay forever.

he remembered the way your arms wrapped around him, even when your skin was pierced by his wing.

"it's not your fault," you whispered, your grasp slightly loosening due to your injuries. you could feel yourself slipping away.

you used your final breaths to reassure him, relief taking over your features when his wing turned back into his arm, and the pure blackness of his eyes returned to the eyes you'd stare into with adoration.

once he fully processed the situation, he held you tightly and cried into you. you held him back for as long as you could, and once he felt your arms let him go, he cried harder.

he remembered how your lifeless body felt. the weight of you was still there, but everything else that made you you was gone.

it had been a year since it happened. he thought it'd get better with time, but it hadn't. he catches himself thinking about you more often than he should, but he can't—he won't—let himself forget you.

he didn't think that his determination to keep your memory alive would lead to hallucinations of you. was he hallucinating?

eun-yu stood next to him, and upon seeing you, she ran up to you and hugged you. you hugged her back and gave her a soft smile. she pulled away, and your gaze landed on him.

he definitely wasn't hallucinating.

he looked different than when you last saw him. his hair grew out a bit more, and you observed his shirt.

it looked cut up, and you could only assume it was from his wing. the same one that "killed" you. you winced at the memory, convinced you could almost feel the tears in your skin again.

you had changed, too, though. your hair was different, more suitable to the outbreak of monsters, and your choice of clothing was, too. it's not something he expected you to wear, but it looked good on you.

he walked towards you and you stood before him, unmoving, just as shocked as he was.

"hyun-su?" you reached out to touch his face, and once he felt your touch, he gave a shaky sigh and tears began to fall.

you wiped his tears and gently shushed him, pulling him into an embrace. he buried his face into your neck, mumbling apologies.

"i'm sorry," he cried into you, just like he did when your pierced skin leaked blood onto him.

"i know. it wasn't your fault." you held him tight, expressing that your grasp wouldn't falter this time, and you let him stay in your arms as long as he needed to, because this time, you weren't going anywhere.

[majinbangus]

"Sunshine, where you goin'?"

You're three steps out of the bar when you hear him calling over the light pitter patter of the rain. You turn around to see him standing in the threshold, keeping the door open with the low light of the bar streaming out behind him. He looks ethereal. Like some type of incorporeal vision as the background chatter of the bar leaks out, creating an asmr-esque buzz.

You're unworthy to be in his presence. Wet and cold. Miserable and pitiful. A background character no one ever pays attention to. Yet he's here talking to you.

"I'm going back to the barracks." You shift uncomfortably between your feet. "I'm tired."

Maybe it's the way the shadows play across his face, but he looks disappointed for a split second.

"Oh, but you just got here? I wanted to..." He trails off, frowning and clenching his fists for a moment before letting the tension drop with a sigh, "Never mind. Lemme walk you back."

"You don't have to do that-"

"No, but I want to."

He's already stepping your way, leaving little room for argument. The bar doors shut, and suddenly, it's just you and him. Still, you try to give him an out.

"But what about that lady you were talking to?"

The one you saw start a conversation with him before you left. The one in the pretty dress. The one who looked like she would be his perfect match.

"Only lady I wanna be talking to is you, Sunshine."

It's a funny joke, so you laugh. "Be serious."

"I am, Sun." He says it like it's true, and because he's got you stunned, he takes the opportunity to grab your hand and place it on his chest, holding you there.

He's warm. A stark contrast to the coldness that runs through your body. And despite the layers of clothing, you can feel the faint beating of his heart under your palm. Strong. Steady. Alive.

Your fingers twitch, curling into his chest. There's something calming about feeling that heavy beat against your palm.

"I was gonna tell you this inside where it's warm and dry, but I guess now's a good a time as any."

You look up from where you were watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. "What?"

"I wanted to tell you how I feel, Sun. Ask you out proper and take you out on a date," He confesses, hand pressing against yours a tad tighter, heart beating just a little harder. "If you'd let me."

It somehow doesn't feel real. Like you're having an out of body experience or dreaming something impossible. And yet... And yet, the way his heart beats so clearly tells you everything you need to know. Everything you ever hoped for. You would be a fool to reject him, even if this all turns out to be some cruel hallucination.

"I'd really like that."

The grin he rewards you with is heavenly.

"Yeah?" He steps a little closer, his musk filling the air you breathe, amplified by the misty rainstorm. You're surrounded by him. Encapsulated in his presence. It'd be a crime if you stepped away now. "You mean that?"

"Yeah, so... Guess there's nothing left to do but kiss in the rain, huh?" You shoot him a tentative smile, hand trembling nervously against his chest. "Take advantage of the crappy weather and all."

The amused huff he exhales lets you know you said the right thing, and the bashfulness you feel is replaced with anticipated glee at the sight of his lips slashing into a smirk. He uses his other hand to wrap around your waist and pull you flush against him. You lick your lips when his eyes dart down to study them, breath stuttering as he leans in, murmuring in that low, resonating timbre you love so much, "Guess so."

And then he presses his lips against yours with the beat of his heart thundering wildly under your palm.

-

Inspired by this:

Bruno Mars, Anderson .Paak, Silk Sonic- Leave The Door Open (Live from the iHeartRadio Music Awards) @ 2:35

[sp0o0kylights]

Steves always felt stuck. 

Slightly out of place, like a character that was supposed to be killed off, but was kept alive instead. 

Adrift with no friends and a family thats absent, Steve wastes most his life working a retro video store in a dying mall. 

Nothing feels real. Has felt real, ever since a party he threw in high school got wildly out of hand. 

Until some guy named Eddie shows up.

Eddie, who slaps down a copy of some former major TV show everyone used to binge.

Eddie, with his wild hair and wilder eyes and an outfit that looks like he himself came out of the stupid 80s show.

Eddie, who worms his way into Steves heart, the only bright spark of his day, and who no one else seems to be able to see.

It's easy to ignore at first. Easy for Steve to dismiss the weird looks and quiet questions--especially when Eddie flirts like he does. 

Kisses up Steves neck in the work closet, whispering assurances that they can be quick. 

Its a little harder when his concussions are brought up. His brain damage diagnosis thrown at him.

That it's his fault that girl drowned. It's his fault he sacrificed her to save himself, even if the lack of oxygen is the entire reason he's different now…

Steve is certain Eddies not a hallucination, or some kind of--imaginary friend.

So sure hes furious with it when confronted--until that night. 

When Eddie sits Steve down and informs him no one else can see him because he is from the stupid tv show.

And so is Steve.

In fact it's not a tv show, its reality and Steve is caught in Vecna's evil mindtrap--except his very real brain damage caused things to go a little differently.

Steves trapped apparently, and El has sent Eddie to go get him--and Steve wants so badly to believe it.

That he's not this lonely. 

That this--dull, friendless, family-less life he's barely living, is the fake one. 

Except….

“So how do I wake up then?”

“That's the hard part, Stevie.” Eddie tells him, thumb running soothing little circles on overheated skin. El thinks you need to drown--just like Barb did.”