#I just hated having to rewrite his memories

[circuitsofgold]

Have to say this isn't really that surprising to read. Give Leupai my best regards. They created a place most people remember fondly. Or at least I do. ( They were also one of the best Admins I’ve ever modded for. )

I'm only reblogging this so I can share my own experience with Sixar/kismeti. And so I have the option of a read more since part of this will be…potentially triggering to some audiences.

I joined Valenth under the name of Jergen Voller, a character I had developed in a StarCraft Rp with some friends of mine. Jergen, in that 'verse and in the resulting Valenth rps I did with him was a Ghost. A sort of psychic super soldier. ( in the group rp, he eventually became Infested as Kerrigan's consort. And he worshipped the ground she walked on. )

I'm AroAce but a vast majority of my characters are not. Jergen identifies as pan and is a massive flirt. But he's also a gentleman.

On Valenth, Jergen was well received and he enjoyed the resulting attention. He also gained the attention of one of Sixar's/Kismeti's characters, a leup that at the time went by the name of Sari. And this is where the read more comes into play.

I don't remember the exact circumstances that led up to the event happening. Just that Sixar/Kismeti's leup character implanted an egg inside Jergen against his wishes and against my wishes as Jergen's mun/writer. I say "against my wishes" but I was never consulted if that would be okay.

The end result was that Jergen panicked and threatened to terminate the egg, and likely himself, with telekinesis. The thing was removed but it left a sour taste in my mouth. Just about the only sour note in my recollection of Valenth/Revecroir but it's a pretty major one.

And the entire thing was played off as 'he had it coming'/for comedic purposes. Which neither Jergen or I found funny. And would be in very bad taste these days, even for a male character.

Luckily, Jergen is in a much better place these days with his dragon husband.

Right off the bean, this is not a callout post. I'd talk to the person this is about 1-on-1, but a) he's had me blocked for 4 years, and b) it's mutual. This is me venting on my personal blog, something that he decided to vague about me doing back when I had my first blog.

With that out of the way. I'm really fucking tired of people stealing from Valenth/Revecroir, and from its creator.

Years and years ago, when they were a literal child, my bff/queer life partner--for the purpose of this post, their name is Leupai--made lizard-critters with hands on their tongues and called them leupaks. Eventually, they ended up splitting off from Subeta where they worked at the time, making an affiliated petsite called Valenth where the leupaks featured quite prominently as creatures in a fantasy-meets-steampunk world.

Unfortunately, their boss was a piece of work, and following a rather large kerfluffle involving another petsite lifting other elements of my partner's work (namely, a dragon concept and a companion concept), my partner was fired by the Subeta head boss. The leupaks were renamed into leupai, and Valenth expanded into Revecroir. This was in 2014, give or take a few months.

Through about half of the Valenth era and into the Revecroir era, Leupai was dating someone else, who went by Sixar at the time, later Kismeti, and the two had a long-distance open relationship. Kismeti also did a fair amount of site art for Valenth, and described himself as Leupai's biggest fan; when he'd met Leupai originally, his username referenced leupaks, he had a bunch of leupak characters, and a leupak sona. I met both of them in 2013-2014, right around the close of Valenth, and started chatting with them both. Leupai was more responsive, Kismeti was more reserved, but I did the best I could.

Over the years, I kept trying to reach out to Kismeti, but found that Leupai was honestly more willing to talk with me, so I did become better friends with them. Note that I was friends with Leupai, and trying to be friends with Kismeti. We chatted, we sent memes, we played World of Warcraft, I bought folks pizza across the Pacific Ocean, you know the drill.

Through this, I became really familiar with Leupai's world, at that point named Revecroir. I got to know their lore, their worldbuilding, their current projects, and the leupai creatures themselves.

The leupai were--and are!--still fat lizards with paws on their tongues, who can open portals between worlds with acid in their claws, who transfer their consciousnesses to other bodies if one is destroyed, and whose strength comes from the realm of dreams and creativity. In the early days, in lore that wasn't publicized, leupai were roaming around to find a world to live on after Valenth. This was a project that was supposed to be worked on with Kismeti, but nothing really ever came of it. Eventually, Leupai kind of moved on from that storyline to write more about Revecroir itself.

At the same time, I tried asking Kismeti about his worldbuilding, because he had characters and allegedly a world of his own, but didn't really get a lot in the way of answers. I saw a lot of Sonic fanart, I saw a lot of homestuck, I saw a lot of MLP:FiM, I saw a lot of Captain Planet. Eventually, I kind of... Gave up asking? And that's on me, but frankly, if you ask someone to share their stuff and they don't share their stuff, I figure that's the signal to stop asking.

As time went on, though, I was seeing some cracks forming in the 10-year relationship between the two, and I was helping Leupai through a lot. I watched as he yelled at my best friend for not responding to messages fast enough. I watched as he made plans with Leupai and then fucked off to do other things for hours, leaving Leupai in the lurch and worried about his physical safety. I watched as he gaslit Leupai about their ability to use a computer. On one memorable instance, when Leupai's internet was unstable while we were all playing WoW together, Leupai left the voice call to go reset the router, and Kismeti decided that it was a great time to shit-talk Leupai's intelligence to me. For a half hour straight. Until Leupai rejoined the call.

Eventually, I visited Leupai in person and watched as they were broken down to tears by Kismeti failing to respect their boundaries for literal hours, until Leupai caved to Kismeti's preferences. That was a rough night, and I remember wondering why the fuck my best friend's partner was treating them so badly.

About a month and a half after I visited Leupai, they decided to break up with Kismeti, because they'd had enough of him verbally berating them for not responding fast enough to memes sent over instant message, among so many other things. He, to put it mildly, lost his shit.

(For the record, I know what went down, because Leupai had me read the messages sent back and forth, to make sure they were grounded, and were reading things right. I've seen logs going back 10 years. His original vague accused me of not knowing what I was talking about, but boy howdy I was either there, or have read the raw logs.)

Anyway, he begged for Leupai back. Leupai gave him a chance that he fucked up within a day. Leupai said goodbye and blocked him. He then started messaging me about this on discord, clearly trying to use me as a go-between to get to Leupai.

At the time, I was going through some Complex Feelings about my own abuse by various people in my life, triggered by his behavior, so was reblogging a lot of support stuff on my original blog. I guess he decided this was vaguing about him, because he made a vaguepost accusing me of not knowing all the details (unbeknownst to him, I'd read everything) and finally blocked me.

I figured this chapter in my life was done at this point, and moved the fuck on. Made a new blog because I didn't feel like getting all his shit off my old one, moved across the country, got a new job, the whole shebang. Leupai and I entered our odd QPP/partners/bffs/???? phase, and I genuinely didn't think much about him, unless I was helping listen to Leupai talk about stuff they'd gone through with him.

Until this year. When I saw some comment of his break containment and end up on my dash, under the name "riftclaw". I had a bit of an inkling, so I broke my "don't look" rule and looked at the linked toyhouse to confirm it was really him.

Turns out, riftclaws are... Lizard creatures. Who open portals between worlds with acid in their claws. Who are looking for a new world to call their own. And who have some divine properties, that may involve body switching.

And all of Kismeti/riftclaw's old leupai characters are now riftclaws.

Oh, and he was planning to make them into a closed species. To make money off them.

Now, leupai were decently popular back in the day. I still have leupai characters, and make some periodically from time to time. There's a tag on tumblr and everything; if you're reading this, there's a decent chance you remember Vee yourself, as a fair number of my followers were there too. People still talk about Valenth from time to time. Leupai still has a folder of old fanart from back in the day with some 800 pieces of art in it. They were, by all accounts, successful until they weren't.

But the height of popularity was back when Vee was still around, in the late 2000s and early 2010s. The only new stuff in the tags is from an archive blog of old Vee assets.

Despite that, though. And I know this from messages between the pair, I know that Kismeti tore into Leupai repeatedly for "being more popular" and "having more eyes on their work". Even though "those eyes" didn't keep Leupai fed or housed, or really give them any income. Even though "those eyes" meant getting 50 notes on a tumblr post as opposed to 20. Even though "those eyes" just increased thievery and the constant pressure to be a Content Creator(tm), and were a major part of what drove Leupai off the internet entirely starting in 2018.

So imagine. Imagine for a moment. Being so hungry for clout and attention. That you steal your ex-partner's species concept that they've had since they were literally 8 years old, barely file off the serial numbers, and then make that your entire online persona four full years after your partner broke up with your ass twice for being an abusive piece of shit over a 10-year timeframe.

To borrow my own tags from this post, which got me thinking about all of this again?

#This is all to say; if you're jealous of someone else's success? Fine. Go have your emotion. But don't lift their shit.#Your emotions are valid; your actions aren't.

(Oh, and this is the smallest thing in the world, the least important piece of this? Riftclaws are already a thing from a game released in 2016 called Grim Dawn.)

[localguy2]

Writing for a new AU rn and FUCK I'm at such a crossroad, because I have 2 ideas I absolutely like and adore, but I don't know which one to choose

And thing is the decision is gonna ultimately effect the entire story in the long run and could mean entirely different dynamics for eajc of the characters

God damn you silly little lego ninja and my attempt at altering the timeline before the show even starts proper

[sugurizz]

(SMUT/NSFW +18 - minors DNI !)

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭.: Joo Jaekyung x f! reader - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑 , 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: '𝐉𝐨𝐨 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐕𝐒 𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐥𝐥' — The eventful match that could rewrite team BLACK’s history is nothing but a few hours away. But a sudden rush of adrenaline had his very assistant and physiotherapist Y/n acting out her own character. Unwillingly, her fiery lust unravels for the sadist athlete, leading to a torrid pre-match night.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: TOXIC! behaviour, dark content ahead!, explicit/ graphic content, power dynamics, authority, Dom/sub dynamics, masturbation (fem. receiving)/ blowjob/ unprotected/ vaginal sex, anal sex (rough), reader losing all sense of self-control and just wanting to be pounded STUPID, reader turning into a braindead romantic slut, heavy degradation, taunting/ teasing, rough/hardcore manhandling, pining/begging, heavy squirting, water stuff *Ahem* (just a hint, you’ve been warned :) ), creampie, reader clearly catching feelings throughout the whole thing.

𝐰.𝐜: 2,7k.

𝐉𝐎𝐎 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐆 − 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐢 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

'What brings you here?'

He stood in the entrance, his thick dark eyebrows frowned upon the almond-shaped eyes.

‘I said to meet me at 10, didn’t I?’

'Sorry, I know. I'm way ahead of our… meeting.'

He let you in with a low grunt − a strong eau sauvage cologne scent filling his hotel room made you already more sensitive…

————

You struggled to sleep the whole night. The pent-up anxiety combined with the anticipation for Jaekyung's fateful match twisted your stomach into a million knots. Time trickled by painfully, waiting on his phone call to finally have you over.

You waited in your room, eager and in heat. Your little fingers fiddled with your pussy for minutes that led to hours. You figured pleasuring yourself to the thought of him would cut it off and finally offer you some relief, but the burning arousal between your legs dripping through and through put your efforts to shame.

Becoming jaekyung's personal slut within the first week you two met each other got your little inexperienced body so used to his. Nothing else but his strong scent, his bulky weight, his suffocating heat and his rough touches satisfied your cravings anymore. And it showed every time you tried getting yourself off on your own.

Your visual memory turned into luscious eroticas of the handsome man, fogging-up with vivid shots of him choking you out, groping your ass like a pervert and whispering the filthiest insults into your neck. And so came the moment where your own legs took you to his room, nerve-burning lust already clouding over your brain −

————

'Oh,'

He opened the door and stepped closer to the door frame, height difference soaking your cunt instantly.

'Well…I don't feel like it now.'

He smirked and looked you up and down, the upwards curl on his rosy lips paired with his thick adam’s apple tempted you to suck on, peck and nibble.

You hated to feel so small and needy, but you were soaking through your thong. His thick cock is all you had in mind all day, and the ache between your legs persisted, if anything it got worse now that you saw him in his black sleeve, his stomach muscles still contracting from his pre-match training.

'And you didn't bother putting something less slutty than that? How lewd of you…' He pinched your left nipple over your thin shirt, 'You walked down the hallway with your nips perked out. And showed up to my door two hours prior…

Have you lost it?'

'But sir…Please, w-what does it matter if we did it a bit…sooner?'

'So we asking for it now, huh?' He raised a brow, 'I'm so used to your bitchy whines whenever I lay a finger on you,

He stepped forward, closing the distance between your bodies as his beautiful black eyes stared you down

's not like you at all to be so eager, doc.'

'P-Please fuck me! I’ll take all of you, promise!' Your voice softens, legs almost giving in from lust.

'How shameless. begging me to run a train on you in a hotel room' He crosses his arms over his chest, giving you a better view of the inked dragon on his forearm.

'Go play with yourself for me, yeah? Take your time till I hit you up.' He coos, leaning down to reach your head level.

'But it's…n-not working!' You protested, eyes filling up with tears. There was clearly no waiting further, your poor pussy begged you to touch Jaekyung and your brain rotted away, picturing him thrusting in every hole you had on repeat.

You took a couple steps forward and propped yourself on his bed, sliding your hand beneath your underwear. Back arching and head digging into the matress, you pulled your thong to the side, giving him a perfect shot of your bare ass and slickened folds. His brows furrowed, curious at a slutty doc slowly losing all her shame.

You brought your middle and ring finger to your lips and coated them in your spit, shamelessly staring dead into his eyes as he watched with crossed arms. You thrusted your fingers into your hole with a loud ‘Oh gosh-‘, no thoughts left in your mind to care.

His pheromones took over your brain the moment he opened his room door. Or so you chose to blame them for slowly corrupting you. You hated to see yourself begging him, but pride be damned! Your pussy acted on her own free will, and you weren’t about to hold her back no matter the reason.

'You need cock this fucking bad huh, Y/n?’ He sneers, eyes glued to the lewd sight you just offered him,

‘You’re dying to take it, hmm?'

‘Mr Joo, please c-come closer to me,

‘C-Can’t take it anymore, mr Joo…please’ Your fingers sped up the thrusts, slimy precum dribbling down your thighs ‘Fuck me till I squirt! It’s so much better when it’s your cock fucking me!’

'Remember how much you begged me tonight, doc…'

He yanked a fistful of your hair backwards, lining your face lower with his throbbing bulge.

'Get my big cock hard for me and I’ll see if I can be nice to you, would ya?'

You shoved your face into his crotch, breathing in his slightly tangy scent as much as your lungs could take, muffling your nose into his freshly shaven pubes. You whine deliberately, sending vibrations through his shaft and squichy balls. The slit on his cockhead drips more cum, spreading the slight saltiness over your tastebuds.

‘Hey, look at me’

He stuffed his thumb into your mouth, slapping his flushed tip on your lips as you you planted a wet kiss right on his cockhead.

The feverish desire to touch him drove you insane, swirling your tongue over his tip and twisting your little fists all over his veiny length. you splayed your palms on his abdomen, fingernails tracing his strong V-line and groping his large pelvis for leverage.

‘mmh need it so much…’ Your tongue flattened, gliding along his thickest vein, that one that makes you moan in pleasure every time Jaekyung stretches your tight uterus.

He groans and falls back onto the couch, spreading his legs wider as you deep-throated most of his fat cock. You smirked and wrapped your lips shut, feeling proud of yourself as his thick base finally made contact with your lips.

‘Mmmh…look at you, Team Black’s sweetheart. Acting all nice and coy while milking my cock dry’ He falters and throws his head back, grunting louder.

His thick, toned hips clenched upwards as you hollowed your cheeks, letting go with a wet pop. You pumped him up and down, lips pleasuring his warm, fat ballsack. You suckled his left nut and softly fondled the right one in your palm, smearing it with his overflowing precum.

His fingertips dug into your scalp, messing your locks up and bobbing your head on his length. A deep crease formed between his raven thick brows, his plump lips forming a cute o shape.

‘You’re leaking so much precum, mr Joo..’ You coo ‘You shame me for wanting you…while your balls feel so full and heavy in my mouth’ You smirk and gently massage your fingers into his warm balls, kissing them even slower.

‘look…I made you hard… just as you told me’

You bat your lashes and stare into his eyes, leaning your head on his thigh and stroking his cock next to your cheek. You pump him faster, your free hand caressing his stomach and hips.

‘Ngh…you’re loud tonight, doc’ He shoved your head deeper in, gagging you till the fat tears came out. ‘But guess I gotta keep my promises huh?’ The two large hands held your head still, squeezing your already soaked chin. Your tears blur the sight of his reddned cheeks, hiccuping from how much your throat squeezed on his cock.

He props his hands under your arms and lifts you up. Noticing the spot of your wetness on the carpet. Your pussy throbbed from Jaekyungs raw groans. A clear puddle of wetness formed under you cunt, getting bigger and stickier the whole time you sucked him off on your knees.

'Did you cum yet, miss Doc?' he smirks and whispers into your neck.

The faux empathy in his voice struck a nerve. You shook your head no in frustration and turned around to face him. ‘You p-promised to make me feel good too!’

You straddled his thigh, small hands groping his hard pecs.

‘I don’t wanna wait anymoore..’

'I wonder what would you do without me, miss y/n.' He flicked his tongue, grabbing your waist firmly and setting you spread on bed surface.

‘Where do you want me, doc? which hole of yours wants me more?’ He stood over you and gave himself a few pumps, hand wrapped on your hip.

‘Whatever hole you want, I just want you!’

‘Both are damn tiny to me’ the cocky smirk on his face never falters, throwing you over his bed and pulling you closer by your ankles.

He flips you over and pushes your face deep into his sheets, pulling your thin T-shirt over your head. The soft flesh of your breasts tingles, nipples all raw and sensitive from the friction. His full weight pours onto your back, both your skins sticking on each other.

‘Want them both fucked loose tonight? I’m feeling generous’

You spread your legs wide, taking him past your puffy lips. His fists pinned your wrists to the bed, pushing a low curse under his breath.

He folded your legs over your head, pressing firmly till he shaped you in a perfect mating press. You gasped and clawed at the sheets, feeling the harsh push of his thick cockhead. You felt that puffy vein again, frotting in and out of you as your clenching got worse.

‘Fuck���mr Joo..feels so good- so fucking good!’

His steady pressure got heavier, ridged sides of his girth restlessly bumping into your cervix, ripping some of the loudest moans from your mouth. You locked him between your arms, pressing down on his back to keep him closest to you.

Taking him deep inside you did feel good, but the warmth his body covered you in got you to a different high, one that had you almost confessing to him mid sex.

‘I l-like it, mr Joo…I like you a lot-

'You're a fucking mess today, aren't you?' He grasped your throat tighter, slapping both your cheeks. You jerked away from the stinging pain, mouth opening to shamelessly ask him for another one.

‘I-I want more, want you…mr Joo..so bad’

'Hey, You're fucking wasted, are you?' He spits on your pursed lips and smears it, large palm hitting across your tender cheek again.

His stirred breaths ran heavier. The steamy air between you and him barely found a way, your skins sticking flush on each other, only separating to come back together with loud ‘plap‘ noises.

‘Mghh mr Joo…I-I’m close’ Your nails traced along his chiseled back, ripping your first orgasm for the night. The spasms coursed through your body as you creamed a frothy ring at the base of his dick. The blurry sight of his raven eyes turned you hungrier, babbling pleas in the crook of his neck,

‘Don’t stop, Joo…I want m-more, much more…please-‘

‘Dropping formalities now? Don’t recall you being so friendly, gross girl’

Your pussy flutters at his insults, He swept you off the bed with ease, hooking his thick biceps around your legs. suspending you mid-air with his fingers buried in your asscheeks. He lifted you up to his chest level, holding your legs wide open to the full-size mirror covering the wall.

‘If you want more you better watch every damn second of it, miss Doc’ His pearly teeth showed a cheeky smirk, ‘We look so good in this position, don’t we?’ He chuckles and bucks his hips up, thrusting again with a deep groan.

'Too much…I don't think I can..keep up− mmh fuck!..' He picked his pace up, his bulky thighs slapping yours senseless. The Room filled up with the lewdest noises as you grew worried about strangers on the other side of the wall.

You slipped a trembling hand into his hair, his smooth undercut and soft supple neck felt so pleasant to touch. He’s achingly handsome, crimson lips almost inches from yours. You seized your chance quick and slammed his mouth on yours, suckling his tongue like the lovesick mess you are…

A lovesick mess you’ve for a while now. You did hate him…almost to death. His demeanor, his bold advances, his rude mannerisms and even his mere presence were unbearable to you at first. And yet you opened your eyes to the intimate sight of him inside you. A sight that got you obsessing over for weeks before this night.

Suddenly being his slutty stress reliever felt so good to you. And the more he took it out on you the weaker your self control ran.

‘brace yourself, I’m making you face me now’ He flipped you around over his torso with almost no effort, your little hands holding still onto his shoulder blades. Your breasts pressed tight against his hard pecs, giving you a mini heart attack. You lost yourself on his cock again, amourously blabbering some lovedrunk nonsense.

‘F-Fuck…c-can we do it more p-pleasee, my pussy feels so good, I l-like it when mr Joo does it-‘

You stared at Jaekyung, eye to eye level. His thick baby-like lashes and the glossy sweat glittering on his skin had you all soft and fuzzy. You got so shy your stomach turned, realizing the tiny distance separating you two..

‘Mmh…still fucking tight’ He pants and bumps your foreheads together, teeth clenching the moment he slides into your tiny asshole.

You dug your heels into his firm butt, pushing deeper from the thick intrusion. And so he responded, smacking your ass a couple more times just to hear a few more cries.

You’re just about high on Jaekyung, he’s everywhere near and close to you, overwhelming your senses and taking over your trembling frame. His delicious musk got stronger, not only from his just ended workout session, but from pounding into you with a beast-like pace.

‘Fuck fuck it hurts…s-slow down, mr Joo’

‘Shhh…you’ve been a pain in the ass lately, making demands and being a brat as you please’

He chomps your neck, finding a better angle to viciously prod your G-spot from behind. Your bladder almost crushed with his heavy shaft weighing on it for long hours.

‘Joo…I feel like..peeing, m-my tummy-‘ You dragged your nails down his back again, bouncing your ass up and down his dick.

'Make a mess then, piss, cum, squirt-' He licks your cheek and grunts, hips still slamming yours ‘I’m curious how more gross you could get tonight, nasty slut’

A furious heat rised to your face. His rough words fueled the wetness between your bruised thighs and squeezed your tiny butthole tighter.

'Aww…such a weak spot ya got for me, doc.' He huffed, his sharp jaw clenched tight. Your pussy clamped around the emptiness in shame, legs numbly dangling over his burly arms, and heart palpitating as you finally sprayed your juices all over his abdomen.

You gush more, covering is lower half in your essence, seconds before Jaekyung busts between you two. He keeps it up, milking you both to the last bit of your pleasures.

His warmth pours loads into you, shaping your pussy walls to fit his dick once more.

‘I liked it so so much…mr Joo felt s-so good’

You panted, the wild orgasm lagging on your little head. The following minutes you spent cradled in his arms, legs folded around his sides and head resting heavy on his chest.

He held you closer for a moment and and you didn’t miss another chance. you nervously planted your lips on his own, feeling them instantly push back on yours…

his short embrace stopped time, blocked all your senses and swelled your little heart with euphoria. You felt so complete, almost as if you had a…lover..

————

You woke up to a bold fraguance filling the room. The joint white covered beds surrounded you, soft and empty. And so felt your heart, fragile and addicted to the champion fighter.

𝟐𝐤 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 −> 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟒

𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 :)

[iwannascreameurekaa]

So you're telling me that Leo returned to what was basically his home after dying, after killing and sacrificing himself t save his friends, family, and everything he loved, after literally exploding which probably wasn't very painless, he got back to camp halfblood after all of that only for his siblings and friends and those loved ones he died for to line up and punch him?

no crying? No hugs? Nothing from the hoard of people that cared about him and might've missed him and thought that he had actually died?

and it wasn't even playful punches either because it states, multiple times in the book, that Leo was hurt and that the punches were painful?

okay Rick I understand what you were trying to do but seriously?

And the only person to do the whole "crying and hugging" thing, which is probably a lot more realistic than freaking punching him, when reunited with Leo was piper and that was basically only because she was already sobbing because Jason was dead

Sometimes the canon makes me wonder if these characters really did actually care about Leo cause it's hard to tell and now I feel even worse

justice for Leo yall this is just mean

Edit: after this being up for a while and having different peoples opinions and memories throw at it, i would like to say that Percy and Will are the only ones to NOT punch Leo on his return to camp half blood and Harley did in fact end up sobbing but he also punched Leo. Twice. Really really hard. So

one commenter said how they believed that this is a common occurrence of ricks writing being unable to shown negative emotion in a correct way idk how to word this and honestly yeah I'm starting to notice that too (not hating on Rick) sometimes I love these parts of the books where it just doesn't make sense cause that means that I and many other authors have full rein to rewrite it as we please and we're gonna do that anyways even if the canon made sense in the first place

[spliqi]

i can't stop thinking about it. head in hands

emerges from the day i picked up dazai novel covered in blood

[hd-junglebook]

My Sunshine

Part 1 - rewrite of the original

Warnings - pregnancy, flirting, verbal abuse, gaslighting, slight mention of prostitution, unwanted pregnancy, abortion, crying, banana muffins

a:n I'm so in love with the way that this came out, I could literally faint. I want to this man. ferally. In the most respectful way that I can put it. Had me giggling like a SLUT. Like look at that face, come on..

Masterlist Link

GIF by jonasiegenthaler

Summary: Y/N reminisces about her past, the faint memory of her hateful mother as reality starts to really sink in. Along comes jack and his giddy smile, eager to get to know our dear sunshine.

Word Count ~ 4k

1 month later

10:00am

The doctor's voice cuts through the heavy silence, their tone professional yet laced with a hint of warmth. "While we wait for the results, can you tell me the date of your last menstrual period and any potential dates of conception?"

Y/N takes a deep, steadying breath, her mind instantly transported back to the haunting echoes of her mother's cruel words. The memories feel so visceral, as if the scenes are playing out before her eyes once more.

"I wish one day, you could see why I raised you the way I did. You're so weak, gullible, and always so goddamn sensitive. It's pathetic, really." Her mother's voice drips with disdain, the familiar sting of her judgement cutting deep.

Y/N can practically feel the weight of her mother's disapproving stare, the contempt burning in her eyes. "Just like your useless father, y/n. You've never been and will never be good enough, not like me."

"You will need me one day, when you have a baby, you're gonna wish I was the one there helping you, holding your hand. But I won't be, because you've always been a disappointment, a burden I never wanted." The thought of facing motherhood without the unwavering support she so desperately craves fills Y/N with dread.

"I hate you, y/n, and I wish I would've gotten rid of you when I had the chance. I never regretted anything more than letting your useless father talk me into keeping you. I lost my whole life raising you - I slaved and sold myself to put food on the table, all for you ungrateful little shits." The bitterness in her mother's voice is palpable, a raw wound that has never fully healed.

Forcing the memories to the back of her mind, Y/N provides the doctor with the requested information to the best of her recollection.

A knot forms in her stomach as the details flow from her lips, a painful reminder of the intimate moments with Jason - moments that had once filled her with such joy and hope, but now only serve to heighten her anxiety.

The doctor nods, jotting down the notes on their clipboard. They continue the conversation, their tone gentle and understanding, offering Y/N a sense of comfort in the midst of the emotional turmoil.

After what feels like an eternity, they excuse themselves to check on the test results. The room falls silent, save for the ticking of the clock – each second a countdown to the life-changing news that awaits Y/N.

When the doctor returns, they have a file in hand. Taking a seat beside Y/N, they meet her gaze, their expression softening with a warmth that puts her at ease, even as her heart races in anticipation.

"Y/N," they begin gently, their voice filled with empathy, "the urine test came back positive for hCG. Congratulations, you're pregnant." The doctor pauses, studying Y/N's face for a moment before continuing. "I understand this may be an overwhelming time, but I want you to know that we're here to support you every step of the way."

Y/N feels her breath catch in her throat, the news hitting her like a physical blow.

Part of her had hoped, prayed, that the results would be negative, that the at home test she took a few weeks ago were wrong, that she wouldn't have to face the daunting prospect of motherhood, especially without Jason's support.

But now, as the reality of her situation sinks in, she can't help but feel utterly alone, trapped in the shadow of her mother's cruelty. Following down the same path she did when she was 18 but only she was 23, grown, and by herself.

"What am I going to do?" she whispers, tears falling to the ground.

A sudden movement in front of her face snapped Y/N out of her trance, her body jolting in response. "I'm sorry," she blurted out, hastily wiping the tears from her eyes.

The doctor slid back onto his stool, a warm smile on his face as he handed her a stack of pamphlets. "I’m very happy for you," he said, mistaking her tears for joy. "Here are some resources for young mothers. I know this must be an exciting, but overwhelming time. Please don't hesitate to reach out if you have any questions or concerns."

Y/N stared at the man, momentarily confused, until the reality of the situation came crashing back.

…

11:30am

Y/N stood in line at 'The Brew' coffee shop, the warm, inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloping her like a comforting embrace, soft Russian music playing over the stereo. The rich scent of roasted beans mingled with the subtle sweetness of vanilla and caramel, instantly lifting her spirits.

As she waited patiently, her eyes wandered to the man next to her, who seemed lost in thought. He was engrossed in a conversation on his phone, his brow furrowed in concentration, creating a series of deep lines that etched themselves into his forehead.

He shuffled his feet nervously, the movement causing the light to catch on the polished leather of his shoes. His gaze flickered to the menu before him, a brief moment of indecision flashing across his face, and Y/N found herself wondering what could be troubling him.

Unable to resist the urge to learn more, she stole a glance at him, admiring the way the soft, golden light of the café danced across his features. The angles of his jawline were sharp and defined, a stark contrast to the soft, inviting curve of his lips that seemed to beckon her closer.

As if sensing her gaze, he suddenly turned, and their eyes met. In that instant, the world seemed to slow down, the bustling noise of the café fading into the background as Y/N was enveloped in a moment of pure connection. His eyes, a mesmerizing blue, held her captive, sparkling with a hint of mischief that ignited a spark within her.

A confident smile spread across his face, and he leaned away slightly, speaking into the phone. “Alright Lukey, I gotta go.”

"Hey, you're my neighbor, right?" he asked, the recognition evident in his tone. "You live on Baker Street?"

Y/N blinked, surprised by his sudden acknowledgment. "Yes, I do."

Yet, as she spoke, Y/N felt her shyness begin to melt away, like frost under the warmth of his unwavering gaze. There was a magnetic pull to this stranger, an allure that she found herself inexplicably drawn to.

"I'm Jack," he said, extending his hand towards her. His movements were fluid and graceful, his arm cutting through the space between them with a sense of purpose.

As he reached out, Y/N couldn't help but notice the way his fingers flexed, the tendons in his hand shifting beneath his skin like the strings of a finely tuned instrument.

Hesitating for only a moment, Y/N slipped her hand into his, relishing the gentle firmness of his grip. "It's nice to meet you, Jack," she replied, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she held his gaze, unwilling to be the first to break the connection.

He leaned against the counter, his gaze locked on Y/N, as if she was the only person in the crowded coffee shop. "I've been wondering when I'd get the chance to officially introduce myself."

Y/N felt her cheeks flush with heat, suddenly keenly aware of his undivided attention. "I, um, I'm not usually one for small talk," she admitted, her words coming out in a flustered jumble.

Jack chuckled, the sound low and rich. "Lucky for you, I more than make up for that." He flashed her a dazzling smile, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'm quite the chatterbox, as I'm sure you're about to find out."

Caught off guard by his confidence, Y/N found herself relaxing, drawn in by his easy charm. As the line moved forward, she fell into step beside him, her shoulders brushing against his as they approached the counter.

"So, what's your order of choice?" Jack asked, his gaze sweeping over the menu. "I'm a bit of a coffee connoisseur myself."

Y/N blinked, momentarily flustered by his proximity. "Um, usually anything caramel flavored, I think," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m leaning towards tea today though.”

Jack's lips curved into a grin. "Excellent choice. A classic, just like you."

"Can I have a banana muffin? And whatever she's getting, we're together." Jack said, flashing the barista a charming smile.

The barista nodded, punching in the order as Y/N stood there, momentarily stunned by Jack's gesture. She managed to give a small smile, her heart pounding erratically in her chest.

"After you," Jack said, gesturing towards the pickup counter. He placed a gentle hand on the small of her back, guiding her forward.

Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine at his touch, her nerves alight. As they waited for their order, Jack turned to her, his sapphire eyes sparkling. “Just a green tea please. And a banana muffin too.” She added, meeting jack’s eyes for a second.

"Such a gentleman," y/n teased. Jack laughed, flashing her a wink. He turned towards the seating area, gesturing for Y/N to follow. "Come on, let's find a cozy spot."

Y/N felt herself being drawn along by his infectious energy, her feet moving almost of their own accord as she trailed behind him. He led them to a small table by the window, pulling out a chair for her before taking a seat across from her.

She didn’t know what to do with herself as she took the seat he offered, settling in across from him. The way he was looking at her, with such open curiosity and intrigue, made her heart race.

"So, Y/N, tell me - what brings you to this fine establishment on this lovely day?" Jack asked, leaning back in his chair and regarding her with a playful smile.

Y/N felt herself relax slightly under his warm gaze. "Just my usual coffee run, nothing too exciting," she admitted shyly.

"Ah, but any day that starts with a chance encounter like this is anything but ordinary," Jack countered, his eyes twinkling. "You've got nowhere else to be, right? No urgent errands or appointments calling your name?"

Y/N shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "No, nothing pressing that I can think of."

"Excellent." Jack leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he studied her intently. "Then you won't mind if I take the opportunity to learn more about the mysterious neighbor from Baker Street?"

…

Jack's eyes crinkled with delight as the barista arrived with their order, setting down a steaming latte in front of Y/N and a banana muffin alongside it.

"Ah, perfect timing," he said, flashing the barista a grateful smile. The scent of the baked treat mingled with the rich aroma of coffee, creating a tantalizing combination that did little to calm her already frazzled nerves.

Glancing down at her phone, she quickly typed out a message to her friend Heather, her fingers trembling slightly. 'You're never going to believe this, but this unbelievably gorgeous guy just bought me a coffee and we're sitting at a table together! I'm honestly freaking out right now - I have no idea what to do.'

She hit send, her fingers trembling slightly as she placed the phone back on the table, unsure of what to do next.

Y/N couldn't help but sneak a peek at Jack, who was leaning back in his chair, a warm smile playing on his lips as he took a contemplative sip of his own coffee. The way the morning light danced across his striking features only served to heighten his already captivating presence.

 "So, Y/N, what do you do for a living?" he asked, his gaze warm and curious. "I have a feeling there's more to you than just your 'usual coffee run'." His gaze latched back onto hers, his eyes sparkling with genuine curiosity.

Y/N felt heat rise to her cheeks at his words, both flattered and flustered by his obvious interest. "Well, I, uh, I sometimes write for a sports magazine," she stammered, her heart fluttering erratically. "And I'm also working on a couple of novels in my spare time."

Jack's face lit up with delight, and he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he studied her intently. "A writer, huh? That's incredibly impressive. What kind of sports do you cover?"

"A little bit of everything, really," Y/N replied, slowly beginning to relax under the warmth of his gaze. "But I do have a particular fondness for hockey as of recently. There's just something about the intensity of the game that I find absolutely captivating. The fighting, the crowd, just a mix of all of it."

"Hockey, you say?" Jack's eyes gleamed with unbridled enthusiasm. "Well, as it happens, I'm a bit of a hockey player myself. I actually play for the Jersey Devils as a defenseman."

Y/N's eyes widened in genuine surprise, her earlier nerves temporarily forgotten. "What! Well, tell me about it. Do you enjoy it?"

Jack chuckled, the rich sound sending a shiver down Y/N's spine. "Well, then I'd be more than happy to regale you with tales of my hockey exploits." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But only if you promise to share some of your own stories in return."

She extended her pinky, a silent invitation, waiting for him to entwine his with hers, sealing their promise in a tender gesture.

Jack gently raised his hand to the table, his eyes fixed on hers, as he tenderly entwined his larger pinky with hers, sealing their promise with a heartfelt gesture.

The two fell into an easy conversation, trading stories and sharing their passions. Y/N found herself captivated by Jack's easy charm and infectious enthusiasm, and before long, the lunch rush began to fill the coffee shop.

"Maybe I should let you get back to your day," Y/N said reluctantly, glancing around at the growing crowd, a twinge of disappointment tugging at her heart.

But Jack's eyes held a glimmer of pleading, and he reached across the table, his fingers brushing against hers in a gesture that sent electricity coursing through her veins.

"Or you could stay a little longer?" he suggested, his voice low and hopeful. "I'm quite enjoying our chat, and I'd hate for it to end so soon."

Y/N hesitated, her heart palpitating in its cage. This was all so unexpected, but there was something about Jack that made her want to throw caution to the wind.

Taking a deep breath, she offered him a shy smile, her nerves and excitement mingling in equal measure. "You know, I think I'd like that. And maybe, if you're free sometime, we could, um, grab dinner?"

Jack's face lit up with a dazzling smile. "I'd love nothing more," he said, quickly pulling out his phone. "Here, let me give you my number. I can't wait to take you out."

As Jack typed away, Y/N felt a surge of giddiness. This was all so new and exciting, and she couldn't help but wonder where this chance encounter might lead. One thing was certain, though – she was more than ready to find out.

Jack made her feel - seen, heard, and utterly captivated.

…

14:00 pm

I debated including this, but I felt so giddy and in love with writing I couldn’t help it. I’m just a sucker for some pure love.

***A gentle breeze caressed her face, carrying with it the scent of springtime The world around her seemed to burst with vibrant color - the lush, verdant hues of the trees, their leaves rustling softly in the breeze.

The myriad shades of pink and purple adorning the blooming flowers that lined the sidewalk, and the vast, azure sky overhead, dotted with wispy clouds that danced languidly across the heavens.

It was as if the entire city had been painted with a master's brush, each detail a testament to nature's radiant beauty.

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her camera, her fingers trembling with excitement as she began to weave through the bustling streets.

In the nearby park, she captured the laughter of happy families, their faces aglow with pure, unadulterated joy as they swung gleefully on the playground or tossed a Frisbee back and forth, their movements fluid and carefree.

Further down the path, a lonely man sat on a bench, tossing a well-worn tennis ball to his faithful canine companion. As the dog bounded after it, his tail wagging furiously, a warm smile spread across the man's face, his eyes crinkling with a contentment that seemed to radiate outwards, touching all who witnessed the tender exchange.

Y/N couldn't resist the urge to capture these fleeting moments, her camera shutter clicking rapidly as she sought to preserve the beauty that surrounded her.

Every step she took seemed to reveal another breathtaking sight - a young couple sharing a picnic lunch on the lush, verdant grass, their bodies intertwined as they leaned into one another's embrace, and a group of elderly friends chatting animatedly on a park bench, their laughter carrying on the gentle breeze.

Each snapshot felt like a love letter to the world, Y/N's heart swelled with a sense of wonder, her steps light and airy as she continued her walk home.

With each snapshot she captured, she couldn't help but see the reflection of Jack in the scenes that unfolded before her.

The joyful laughter of the families in the park reminded her of the way Jack's eyes had crinkled with delight during their conversation. The lonely man's smile as he played with his dog mirrored the warmth and kindness that Jack had exuded so effortlessly.

And the tender embrace of the picnicking couple evoked the gentle way Jack's fingers had brushed against her own, sending electricity coursing through her veins.

It was as if the entire world had conspired to remind her of the captivating man she had just met, weaving his essence into the very fabric of her surroundings.

Y/N found herself wondering what she and Jack must have looked like, huddled together in the cozy coffee shop, their heads bent close as they shared stories and laughter like old friends.

The thought brought a smile to her lips, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of giddiness at the realization that this chance encounter had the potential to blossom into something truly special. Jack's colors had painted the world around her, and she couldn't wait to see what other hues he might bring into her life.***

…

14:30 pm

Y/N closed the door behind her, the solid wood frame pressing against her back as she leaned into it, letting out a deep, contented breath.

A smile slowly crept across her face, unbidden and unwilling, as she buried her face in her hands, momentarily overcome by the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her.

Slowly, almost reverently, her hands drifted down to her stomach, fingertips gently caressing the barely-there swell that held the promise of new life.

"Maybe this can be good for us," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words aloud would somehow make them more real.

Suddenly, a flash of self-consciousness washed over her, and Y/N felt a flush of embarrassment creeping up her cheeks. Had she really just been giddily daydreaming like some lovestruck schoolgirl?

The moment of levity was short-lived, however, as a familiar voice broke the silence, cutting through the haze of her thoughts.

"You just gonna stand there and be weird, or are you gonna come sit down?" Heather said, a teasing lilt in her tone.

Y/N's head snapped up, a sheepish look crossing her features as she nodded and made her way to the couch, her steps tentative and uncertain. "Sorry, I, uh, I was just..." Her voice trailed off, unsure of how to even begin explaining the maelstrom of emotions that had overtaken her.

Heather watched her fondly, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "You're being strange today," she observed, her tone laced with affection. "But I can't say I'm surprised, considering what you told me earlier."

Y/N could feel the heat rising in her cheeks as she settled onto the cushions, her movements almost cautious, as if she were trying to contain the giddiness that threatened to spill out.

Unable to keep the grin from spreading across her face, she shook her head in a half-hearted attempt to downplay her excitement. "I know, I know," she said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "It's just... I haven’t felt this way in a long time and it’s exciting, you know?"

Heather chuckled, reaching out to give Y/N's hand a gentle squeeze, her eyes crinkling with warmth and understanding. "I can see that.”

…

19:47 pm

Later that night, Y/N ran her fingers lovingly over the smooth surface of her stomach, the gesture almost reverent as she finished her nightly cleansing routine.

Just as she set down her phone, the familiar chime of a new message caught her attention, and a giddy smile instantly blossomed on her face as she saw Jack's name on the screen.

Sinking into the soft cushions of the couch, Y/N eagerly opened the message, her heart fluttering with anticipation.

"Hey there, beautiful," Jack's text read, the words sending a flutter through Y/N's chest. "I was just thinking about you and that lovely smile of yours. How about we make it a date tomorrow night? I know this amazing little Italian place that I think you're going to love."

Y/N's fingers hovered over the screen, poised to type a response, but a twinge of hesitation gripped her. The news of her pregnancy weighed heavily on her mind, a secret that both excited and frightened her in equal measure.

She knew she should tell him, but doubt crept in, insidious and persistent. After all, she and Jack weren't even officially dating yet. Their relationship, while promising, was still new and undefined.

The thought of burdening him with this life-altering news so early on felt unfair, potentially derailing the tender connection they had begun to forge. What if the prospect of fatherhood sent him running?

Shaking off her doubts, Y/N decided to throw caution to the wind. "A date, huh? Well, you certainly know how to sweep a girl off her feet," she typed, adding a flirtatious wink emoji for good measure before hitting send.

Almost immediately, her phone chimed with Jack's response, and Y/N could practically hear the warmth and charm in his voice. "Only the best for my favorite writer," he replied, followed by a string of heart-eyed emojis. "I'll pick you up at 7 sharp. Dress to impress, beautiful."

Y/N couldn't help but grin, a giddiness bubbling up inside her. "It's a date," she replied, adding a playful wink emoji for good measure.

As she set her phone aside, Y/N couldn't help but marvel at the whirlwind of emotions coursing through her.

Just hours ago, she had been a bundle of nerves, unsure of how to navigate this newfound connection. But now, with Jack's invitation in hand, she felt a renewed sense of excitement and possibility.

Sure, the news of her pregnancy was daunting, but she couldn't help but wonder if, just maybe, this could be the start of something truly special.

After all, Jack had already shown himself to be a charming, attentive, and genuinely interested companion. Perhaps, with a little bit of courage, she could find the right moment to share this life-changing news with him.

…

Tag List <3

@fearfam69691 @alwaysclassyeagle, @rebelatbay, @dancerbailey3

@snailss, @dasiysthings, @shawnshoney

[ziggymars]

mirror, mirror (18+) - cl.16

Charles Leclerc x Reader

winner from this poll

warning(s): sentences that would have gotten me lobotomized in the 1900s, terribly translated Italian AND French, established relationship, fingering, squirting, daddy kink, praise kink, unprotected pnv, cream pie, horn dog charles and awful writing probably, please don’t hate me im intimidated by the f1 fandom even though i am in it ..... also i didn't proofread the whole thing please forgive any errors, they will probably be fixed soon. minors pls DNI.

word count: 3.7k+

A/N: mama an inchident behind you ! I know I was going to post this like a month ago, but I'm going through it sis AND my computer ate the original so I had to rewrite this oop. i'm very sorry to everyone who was expecting timo, the mexico city gp had me feral so you get this monstrosity. don’t hesitate to send any dirty thoughts you have about charles, perhaps inspiration will strike and i will give you the gift of sinful prose. i'm nervous to post this but i'm going to anyways xoxo zigs

The first thing you usually hear that is a clear indication that Charles is home, is the purr of his engine pulling into the driveway. A sound that had quickly become one of your favorites. A cacophony that drove your neighbors completely mad, music to your ears. Next came the jingling of his keys, echoing in the foyer. Which was very clear to you from where you stood. Today you were faced in front of a ginormous mirror. It had just gotten delivered but the installation guys wouldn't be able to make it until next week; so now it was placed, halfhazardly, against the wall in the living room. Definitely not where it was supposed to go. It looked kind of nice there regardless, reflecting the warm glow of lights in your shared home.

You glanced over at the clock, a familiar anticipation bubbling inside of you. He had mentioned an interview with Max earlier, and you could only imagine how it had gone. The door creaked open, and you turned your head -- a warm smile spread across your face at the sight of him. There he was, looking so effortlessly handsome as he always does. "Honey, I'm home!" He chirped, once again, as he always did. Charles strode to where you stood, and he stopped in his tracks for a moment as his eyes fell on the mirror. "Wow, um.... that's huge," he said with a raised brow, astonishment clear on his features. He continued walking towards it and ran a finger along the ornate frame, your eyes following it the entire time "I didn't expect it to be this big."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his observations, you had thought the same thing when it came. "Neither did I." You said as you followed closer to him to wrap an arm around his side, head on his shoulder. "What do you think?" You asked, "I think it will look really nice in the stairway. Installation guys can't make it until next week though.”

Charles mirrored you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He tilted his head to the side as he studied his reflection and then he began to study yours. "I think it will look really amazing once it's put up. For now it takes up a lot of space, no? I guess that's alright." He said, the last part mostly to himself.

For a moment, you both stood there, caught in the sight of your reflection. There was something intimate about it, even if both of you were fully clothed. It captured your visage but also the energy in the room; remnants of shared memories and love. An idea came to him that made all of his cares about its current placement fly out the window.

"Do you want to try it out?" Charles asked suddenly, catching you off guard. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, don't you want to see how we look together?"

A warm flush spread across your cheeks and you ripped your eyes from his reflection to look at him for real as you asked "Together?"

"Of course. You know what I mean." He laughed and turned his gaze to look at you too, the intensity making your heart skip just a beat. "Please. Let me play with you, il mio cuore."

Your shoulders brushed as you turned to face him, your mouth opening to protest. You had two Cornish hen's in the oven that you desperately did not want to burn. It wouldn't have been the first time you nearly started a fire because of Charles' obsession with pleasing you. It was a protest that he didn't even let escape your mind before he was placing a finger over your lips to silence you. "Just turn it off, if you're worried about dinner." He knew without you even having to say it, he could smell the aroma from the kitchen. And while it did smell really, really good -- the pull to explore this mirror’s capabilities was too strong for him. Too strong to miss this opportunity.

You gave a playful roll of your eyes before you kissed the finger pressed to your lips, a sigh of “Fine.” slipping through the space around it.

Too excited to wait even a moment longer, he gives your ass a light spank, saying "Hurry along." The commanding tone sending a shiver down your spine and a skip in your step as you did as he told; scampering to the kitchen to turn the oven off. It took you no time and even less to get back to him.

"Good girl." He purred and then pulled you closer to him by the shirt you were wearing, his shirt, maneuvering your body until you were both facing the mirror. Charles towered over you, his torso brushing against your shoulder blades. He ran one hand across your collarbone and then down your clothed stomach. "This will be fun, I promise."

"I don't doubt that," you breathed, goosebumps starting to rise in the wake of his fingertips as your eyes closed, "it's just a bit awkward, watching myself."

"No.." Charles cooed, his fingers gliding back to where they came from, tracing along the swell of your breast, the feeling of it causing him to take a sharp inhale. "You're beautiful, please, look at you."

When they found their way to your nipples, which were already pert under his touch, your eyes finally fluttered open. A soft, almost indiscernible grunt leaving your already parted lips. "You're so excited already, and I've barely touched you." He said, a cocky grin slipping to his lips as he pinched at one of them absentmindedly. You let out a quiet yelp and your back can't help but arch into the touch, "More, please." coming from your lips.

Nearly every time he heard you say that, he would oblige. Right now was one of those times. Charles slid his hand down, slipping it under your shirt; fingertips gliding across your flesh, "So soft." He remarked, his voice becoming more thick the closer his hand got to cupping around your breast. Where he kneaded, his fingers melding to your skin deliciously. You gave off another soft grunt, your thighs wriggling in an attempt to rub them together. "Oh, feeling needy today?"

You were tempted to roll your eyes but decided against it, not wanting to thwart any chances of getting what you now desperately wanted. He took notice of your self restraint so he rewarded you by snaking his hand down and into the hem of your spandex shorts, the ones he loved so much. Charles was met immediately with the feel of your already slick folds. "No underwear, mon lapinou?" (my bunny).

All you could do was nod your head and look at his reflection with a pleading look as the pad of his middle finger circled in the slick you produced. "Use your words." His voice was a gentle coo urging you on.

"No underwear." You confirmed with a shaky voice "Please, Charles, you're driving me crazy."

"You drive me crazy all the time," he said "perhaps this is payback." The same smirk glued to his lips from before as he moved his finger up and down gently against your clit. "Fine," he huffed "I'll give you what you want though." It was partly for you, but also selfish reasons. He was eager to watch the show you were about to provide for no one but him; the thought of it intoxicating him relentlessly.

Without another word, he's tugging your shorts down and allowing you to step out of them before he dramatically, and honestly, a bit comically threw them to the side. Not giving a single care to where they went, tunnel visioned on nothing but making full use of the mirror.

Next, Charles started to pull the leather arm chair that was skewed beside the couch to sit in front of the mirror; patting his legs with a look to you. “Take off your shirt and come sit on my lap.”

Finally finding courage and clarity through swirling vestiges of lust, you purred a simple "Yes, papà."

Something you didn't call him often. Something you saved in your back pocket for when you really wanted to rile him up. A special treat, for a very special man.

One "Oh, Gesù Cristo." (Jesus Christ) and you knew it had worked. Perfect.

Charles' pupils blow wide and stuck to your hands that were now removing the last remaining piece of clothing. Your eyes, however, were settled on the wet patch that had formed on his shirt, almost the very instant that you had called him the name he loved so much. "Do you like what you see, papà?" You asked, metaphorically poking the sleeping bear.

"Love what I see," he said, beckoning you closer "but I'd love to see what you look like with my fingers inside you a little bit more, come here. Please." Near the end of the sentence, his voice was almost a whine. Giving away just how much he wanted to feel your body against his. You weren't cruel, and to be fair you wanted this just as bad as he did. So you were doing as you were told for the second time this evening. You clambered to settle in his lap and he was quick to adjust your legs. Spreading them impossibly wide with rough hands, your breath already beginning to bait at the implication alone.

Then Charles did something that left your cheeks burning; he spread apart your folds. His mouth fell open as he gazed at the sight in the mirror, admiring your beauty. “Look at that," he swooned, "so pretty. So fucking gorgeous.”

Feeling sheepish from being so exposed, you tried to turn your head and bury it inside the crook of his neck but there was absolutely no way he was going to let that happen. With his other hand he grabbed your chin, not hard enough to actually hurt you but hard enough to make you look; forcing your gaze to where his fingers held open his prize. "See? What did papà say?" He said, his tone scolding yet still warm "So pretty."

Your hips wriggled in his lap, a futile attempt to grind back against the now achingly hard length that was flush against his stomach. Trying to urge him on, to do anything else besides continue to wordlessly look at you like he was going to swallow you whole.

"I'm speaking to you, mon lapinou." Charles tsked, his index finger now circling around your entrance, "don't be rude."

Realizing you didn't have another option, you couldn’t be shy now that you had opened this can of worms with one simple name, you managed to parrot him “So pretty.” Followed by a choked and begging “Please, touch me.”

“Good girl.” He cooed, simple and sweet before he was plunging one finger into your depths; a soft, languid moan falling from your lips. If your vision had been any more clouded, you might have missed the way his eyes nearly rolled back at the sound alone.

Charles’ grip tightened on your chin, keeping your focus steady to where he was now slowly, but surely drawing his finger out, and then back in at an excruciatingly slow pace. Enough to give you what you want but not getting ahead of himself just yet. His eyes dipped closed for only a moment as he leaned forward to pepper gentle kisses to your shoulder. When his eyes open he had to still all of his movements for a moment, genuinely fearing he might cum in his pants at the very sight of you perched in his lap. Your lips parted, legs spread, arousal dripping down his wrist. It was enough to make him weak.

You let out needy whines, hips bucking against his hand, urging him silently. Charles chuckled and obliged, slowly pumping a second digit into your tight heat. “That’s it, ma belle. Let me make you feel good.” He purred, his accent becoming more evident the more he lost himself in the sight. He watched, ever intently, entranced by the way you fell apart under his touch — filthy, breathless moans tumbling from your lips like a leaky faucet.

Charles’ deft fingers continued their filthy dance, pumping in and out of your dripping core, his thumb coming to circle your throbbing clit. Your breaths come in short and labored gasps, chest heaving as you started to lean back against him, pleasure washing over your body. Your hips began to stutter and he made the executive decision to remove his other hand from your chin so he could use it to press them back down against him — spreading your thighs even further. “Oh fuck!” You gasped, a choked moan as he was able to pump his fingers even deeper. Your eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy, head falling back to his shoulder. He tilted his own to capture your lips in a searing kiss, tongue immediately dipping into your warm mouth to taste your sweetness.

Charles fingers continued to work, curling them just right. He stroked against the sensitive spot inside of you that made you see stars. A loud and wanton mewl is ripped through your throat, forcing you to pull away from the kiss so you could throw your head back against his shoulder. Obscene wet sounds filled the room as he began to finger-fuck you even harder, reveling in the way your smooth walls fluttered around him. Finally, you manage to pick your head up from his shoulder so you can look into the mirror. Blood rushes down between your thighs as the scene before you comes to view.

A third finger came to play and you were a goner. He reveled in the way your smooth, velvety walls pulsed around him. You became a whimpering mess, your mouth falling open as he met your gaze in the mirror. His eyes were dark and you could see he was holding himself back from just shoving you onto the floor and fucking you into oblivion. It made your eyes roll back, a slow moan of “Charles!” accompanying it.

“You’re close, I can tell.” He says, his voice course but somehow also boastful; knowing he’s the one who knows how to make you come undone like this, writhing in his lap like a first rate whore. One of the ways he can tell is now, how your moans grow even louder, higher pitched. Your hips started to buck against his hand frantically as you babbled “Yes, yes, yes!” over and over in his ear.

“That’s it, amore.” Charles encouraged you, voice husky in your ear. He gritted his teeth, “Cum all over my fingers, pretty girl. Come on, that’s it.”

It was enough for you, it was always enough for you. To hear him commanding you to cum. Like a sleeper agent only activated by a carefully constructed phrase. So with a loud and keening cry, your entire body seized. Thighs clamping around Charles’ wrist, a gush of liquid splashing against his hand and soaking his fingers. It dripped down the leather chair and onto the floor. His eyes widened in shock — you had never done that before. Charles could practically feel his chest swell with pride, satisfied smirk etched on his face. The puddle on the floor in front of you serving as a physical reminder to him of just how well he had done.

Somehow he managed to keep himself composed, grunting as he continued to pump his fingers, coaxing every wave of your orgasm. “Jesus, fuck! Baby!” He growled in appreciation, never ceasing his fingers movements until you were collapsing back, breathlessly, against his chest.

Slowly, he withdrew his fingers and brought them to his lips. You could only watch, mesmerized, when he sucked them clean. A deep moan rose from his throat that reverberated around his fingers. “Delicious,” he said, pulling them from his mouth with a satisfied hum. Charles can barely even hold himself back now, his cock straining against fabric as he stared at the ethereally erotic display before him. You panted, legs shaking from the orgasm he had given you. "Enough of that, mon cherie. I need to be inside of you."

He doesn't give you any time to respond before he is standing, and in one swift motion bending you over the side of the chair. Your face is pressed into the cool leather, your gaze stuck on the reflection of the two of you in the mirror. You didn't mind it being stuck there now, the aftershocks of how good he had made you feel helped your guard come down. And now all you could do was stare at him in the mirror, Charles missed it because he was quick to push both his pants and boxers down, settling himself behind you. You arched your back further and wiggled your hips, a giggle escaping as you presented your glistening pussy for him. He let out a low groan, hands roaming over your ass and up your back. "Fuuuck, look at that." Charles said, taking a moment to admire the view, slowly stroking himself a few times.

Positioning himself behind you, finally, he rubs the tip of his cock across your slick folds, teasing at your entrance. And then without warning, he sheathes himself fully inside of you with one powerful thrust. A long and low moan escapes both of your lips, a sweet symphony of soprano and tenor. Your hands grip onto the leather arm of the chair, trying to ground yourself into reality.

But it's hard. Really hard. Especially when he starts to set a steady rhythm, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. Setting a primal pace that leaves the both of you gasping in pleasure. His pelvis slaps forward against your ass with each and every powerful thrust -- each one driving you forward just a little bit more. Your eyes are half-lidded now, heavy with lust. But you will them to stay open. You can see everything in the mirror. The ecstacy etched in your furrowed brows, the bounce of your ass with every jolt of his hips, and his muscles flexing subtly as he fucked into you at a relentless pace. Hands down the hottest thing you had ever been privy to witness.

Another thing you're keen to notice is the way he's so focused on not losing himself. For a man so ready to fuck you in front of a mirror, it sure seemed like he couldn't handle it anymore. Evident by the way his head was thrown back, curses of your name tumbling from his lips over and over. Your eyes begin to roll, overwhelmed by the pleasure and the knowledge that you were the one who made this usually so confident and domineering man feel like this.

Almost as if he could sense your thoughts, his head comes back forward, his hands gripping tightly onto your ass now. "You like this, non?" It comes out with a quiet grunt "You like when I fuck you like this?"

When you're not answering as quickly as he'd like, he's suddenly bringing one hand down to slap against your ass harshly. You let out a yelp that turns into a pathetically pleasured whine, "Yes, Charles! Feels so good!"

Charles rubs his hand along where it had previously struck, soothing the angry flesh. "Good girl," he cooed through gritted teeth "milking this cock so good." One of his hands abandons its grip on your ass to reach and rub tight circles against your clit. It sends cascading shockwaves of bliss pulsing through your bones. Determined to make you cum again, he says "Come on, baby. Cum all over this cock," Charles can feel you tightening around him, your moans growing more insistent and drawn out "I want to feel you." He clenched his jaw, eyes squeezed shut in concentration.

He leans forward and loops an arm under you to palm at one of your breasts, rolling a nipple between his fingers as he pounds into you. The new angle allowing him to hit that spot inside of you. His thrusts grow even more erratic, teeth grazing the sensitive skin against your neck -- rapidly chasing his own release. The thought of him cumming, the look on his face, it was too much. You cried out his name and your walls rhythmically pulsed around his cock as you came for the second time this evening. It was his Achilles' heel. Charles' snapped his hips one final time, burying himself deep as he possibly could. There was a long and low grunt that bellowed from his throat as he emptied himself inside of you, both arms wrapping around your middle to hold you close to him.

There was a long moment where the both of you just stayed like that. Your heart rates coming back to normal, still joined together. "You are incredible. The sounds you make, how you take me..." Charles' praises you softly, his thumb running along your swollen lower lip "c'est magnifique. I love you." He presses a soft kiss to your shoulder before he pulls out, slow and careful. Watching as his release trickles from you, a wolfish grin spreads across his lips, but you're momentarily displeased. A whimper bubbles from your lips, wishing he could just stay inside of you forever.

You unfurled your body from it's position across the chair, trying to keep your thighs clamped together as best as you could, "I love you, too."

Before you can even blink, Charles is by your side, giving you his arm so he could walk you to the bathroom. He was sweet like that. Always making sure that he took the best care of you after he had done sacrilegious things to your body.

Together, you made your way down the hallway. Albeit, you had to practically waddle to ensure you didn't spill on the floors you had just so meticulously cleaned hours before.

"Maybe we could just keep the mirror there?" He looked over at you to suggest, cheeky grin in tow. Amusing suggestion from someone who just said that it was taking up too much space.

You laughed and then grimaced, your hand flying between your legs "Please, don't make me laugh right now, Charles."

[makeyoumine69]

Last Memory (Memory Reboot x5)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Some time after Patrick and Evelyn got married, Bateman thought he could live a normal life and finally forget about you, but he didn't realize that he was already starting to lose his grip on reality, slowly but surely.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: NSFW, Patrick's POV, angst, lots of sex, canon violence, blood, near-death experiences, dark themes, obsession, strong hallucinations, blowjobs, pussy eating, rough vaginal and anal sex, cum eating, tainted love vibes, drug use, depressing thoughts and intentions, blackout and fainting, rough choking, spanking, masturbation, cheating, dirty talk and slurs, pet names, degradation kink, self-harm and panic attacks implied, unstable Patrick is a warning himself, I might have forgotten something because this chapter is long af, so forgive me if I really did.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 15k

𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐂: VØJ, Narvent—Last Memory; Timecop1983—Back to You

ᴀ/ɴ: Hello dear readers, I'm sorry to keep you waiting, but I just wanted to make this chapter as good as possible! After several rewrites, I think I am finally happy with the result. I'm very sad that Memory Reboot will end in the next update, but I hope you enjoy this angsty story! Also, there are some easter eggs in this chapter, so be on the lookout! And please be aware that there is a lot of trigger material in this chapter, so be careful! Thank you so much for sticking with me, you are all incredible!

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]

An annoying, sonorous alarm sound woke me up and I had to hit it with my fist, almost breaking it, to make it fucking stop. Yawning, I sat on the bed and realized that I was still in Evelyn's apartment; these cream-colored sheets made me want to cry from how much I hate them, but instead of ripping them off, I stretched my arms. The tension in my body, coursing from my shoulders down to my groin, was an eloquent sign that I needed release. With a loud groan, I stood up and briefly grabbed my dick through my white underwear, which seemed to have been hard all night since that bitch Evelyn, who was my wife by the way, refused to have sex again. It was the second time in a row. Sliding my messy hair back, I walked into the living room and noticed that Evelyn had already left. I sighed with relief that I didn't have to see her irritated face since I was already on the verge of going nuts.    

In the kitchen, I took the bottle of Evian from the fridge and made a long gulp before checking the time on my Rolex, frowning right away as I remembered Evelyn yapping about me always keeping them on, even when I went to bed. 

God, why can't women have their mouths shut sometimes?

With a wry grin, I placed the bottle on the counter and paused for a moment to check my reflection in the gleaming metal door of the refrigerator. Today’s day in the office was going to be tough as hell since I had a fuck ton of stupid meetings I tried to convince Jean to cancel, but she reassured me that it would be too rude to ignore my business partners for too long. Hmmph…

A bit later, when I was almost finishing my work out, I suddenly realized that it had already been two months since me and Evelyn got married. And no, I couldn’t really believe this since all days were like one long day—a day that seemed to never end. Huffing, I did another push-up, the 50th in a row, feeling not tired at all. Small beads of sweat rolled down my tensed forehead and I could care less about brushing them off as I was so focused on the pleasant feeling of my muscles flexing each time my chest almost touched the mat. Normally, sports could easily help me to distract myself, to let off steam, to feel refreshed and clear-headed, but now I was more detached from reality than ever before. And it seemed that no amount of exercise could help. Also, my condition was aggravated by the lack of sex, proper sex. When my muscles finally began to hurt, I stopped doing everything and just lay on the mat, panting and looking at the ceiling above. Then, I slowly looked down at my groin—still hard as rock–before my hand involuntarily grabbed it, eliciting a small gasp to fall from my wet lips. Fuck, I was about to explode from my own touch. That was not normal at all. It was pathetic.

Frustrated, I was certain that even a quick release in the shower wouldn’t soothe my mounting tension. It never did, considering that over the past few days I couldn’t even sleep, and what was worse was that even violence couldn’t bring me this much-needed relief. As I made my way to the bathroom, I was thinking, literally drowning in my obsessive thoughts.

I need more…I really need to get this done. I REALLY NEED IT! I NEED THEM!

 I bit my lip and turned on the shower, then got rid of my white boxers, stepped out of them, and strided on the cold marble. The water washed over me like a tidal wave. I closed my eyes and let the steam splash along my flushed face. My skin felt like it was on fire, as if I were about to crash into the sun. I couldn't find any way to relax. I felt desperate and angry. I was pretty mad, too. But would killing you have helped me find peace? 

If I knew you were gone, if no one could ever be with you the way I was, would that be what I wanted?

 I let out a deep, exhausted sigh and pressed my forehead against the wet tiles, ignoring the way the tip of my cock brushed against the wall, sending tingles into my very core. The images of you covered in blood, trapped beneath me, almost sent me over the edge. I didn't let myself think about it for too long, though, because I knew it would lead to addiction. As if I weren't already hooked. My breathing got a little uneven, and I started scratching at the white tiles as I got hit by a sudden, intense rush of memories. I remembered your voice, your moans, and the way you screamed my name. I wanted to ruin you, to make you bleed, to tear you apart and leave you just like you left me. The pain you caused was so deep, it lingered. I was so caught up in the moment that I didn't realize what I was doing. I let my hand rest on my throbbing length while the fingers of my other hand slid down my lower back, right between my legs. The moment I touched my tensed asshole, I moaned. I was loud and needy. I was embarrassed but also aroused. I thrust into my hand, slowly at first but gradually losing control, while my digit slid inside my ass completely with ease. I couldn't hold back my whimpers as I was about to cum. My vision was filled with blood, intensifying my fantasies about you. With my eyes closed, I was on the brink of losing it when I suddenly heard some commotion coming from behind the bathroom door. 

"Damn!" I groaned and hit the wall in front of me, my dick pulsing even after I let go of it.

"Honey," Evelyn's voice echoed through the bathroom. I turned to see her casually walking to the shower, her blue eyes curiously examining my bare frame as if she was seeing me like this for the first time. "You didn't close the door."

Fuck, I really didn't.

Scrunching my nose, I pushed my wet hair back and spun around completely, giving her the full view of my nakedness. "I thought I'd leave before you got back..." my reply was brash and sharp. "...at least I hoped so."

Evelyn didn't react, she just stood in front of the shower, blinking and staring at me—at the way the water flowed down my sculpted body, to be exact—and something told me that just watching wasn't going to be enough for her.

"So... are you just going to stay and watch?" I said aloud before opening the glass door and letting some steam out of the shower. 

The blonde grinned broadly but remained motionless. "You're not trying to bait me like that, are you?" 

Jesus Christ, this woman is really driving me crazy.

Irritated, still struggling with my boner, I wanted to drag her into the shower without even asking and make her freshly bought Chanel suit so fucking shitty that she would definitely throw a tantrum, but I managed to control myself.

Leaning against the wet glass, I watched her unclasp her jewels, gems that shone in the dim bathroom light, my hands instinctively slipping down to my aching cock as I was now the one watching Evelyn take off her jacket, the delicate shape of her collarbones forcing me to admit that my wife was, after all, absolutely gorgeous and even though I didn't feel anything... sublime towards her, I couldn't deny that every time she did things like that, she stirred up a burning desire in me.

"What if I do?" My voice dropped lower from the tension building at the base of my spine. "You'll find another stupid excuse to deny me, like you always do?" I gave myself a slow stroke, biting my lips and quickly licking them as Evelyn removed her blouse and placed her leg on the edge of the tub, pulling up her skirt so I could see her black stockings. "Why didn't you go for Bryce when you had the chance?"

My body stopped listening to me as I said these words, as if I was hypnotized, but I felt no remorse, only a pang of conscience for how pathetic I probably was right now, standing in the shower jacking off to the woman I didn't really love, who was probably having an affair with my best friend all this time as a bonus.

"And you're bringing up Bryce again," Evelyn murmured, grinning like a vixen, her hands working meticulously to remove her stockings, stopping only when she was done with her expensive clothes, leaving herself only in a white Vanity Fair lingerie I'd bought her a few days ago to stop her hysteria. "Why is this only bothering you now...after we got married?"

"W-what?" I almost choked on my breath, my hand around my cock stalled in its momentum. "What are you talking about? It...it never bothered me."

Still, her words struck a chord within me and now I was even more angry with myself than before. Evelyn obviously thought she was in control of this situation—her extra confident demeanor, the way she moved and talked, even her blue eyes looked different now, as a wicked spark glinted in them. 

For a fleeting moment, I just stood there, trying to lose myself in the warm streams of water, not really knowing what to say, and a suffocating panic crept into my chest, but then, as I found myself gripping the glass shower door with all the force I could muster so that it wouldn't shatter, my vision blurred for a second before I noticed Evelyn's slender body pressed against the glass, her small but pretty breasts looking so damn inviting that I couldn't hold back a groan.

"What were you saying?" She asked indifferently, the water gurgling mixing with her voice inside my head pulling me into a trance.

"Nothing," I replied, leaning forward and pressing myself against the glass door from the opposite side, my dick brushing against it ever so slightly, but even this mere contact made me close my eyes for a dear moment. "I said nothing..." my eyes darkened, pupils dilated. "Now...get in...will you?" I grinned and tilted my head, watching my wife flutter her thick eyelashes like bird wings.

Evelyn didn't answer, standing still with her body pressed against the shower door, and I couldn't hold back anymore—I just dragged her in, not caring about her expensive lingerie getting soggy—I'd buy her a new one if I had to. With a surprised squeal, she then giggled as the streams of water ran down her fit body, her elegant fingers stroking my cheek for a fleeting moment before I picked her up and turned her around to press her against the cool marble wall. Evelyn's gasp echoed through the bathroom, sending a shiver down my spine, as if I were really into her, into all of this, and if that was not me imagining you in her place, if that was not making me want to be somewhere else right now.

Somewhere where nobody could find me. Us. 

"Patrick," Evelyn's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. "Can you hear me? The water's too hot..."

"Too hot?" I repeated, finding her statement so funny for no reason, but I cooled the water with my free hand anyway, still holding Evelyn in my arms as if she weighed nothing. "I'd say something like..."

"It's not the water that's making it hot, it's me," she cut me off, her face turning into a serious grimace, and for a second I felt like I was going to lose my shit. Is she making fun of me? "I've heard that enough, honey."

Frowning at that fucking nickname I really hated, I noticed the way she was pressing on my shoulders, implying that she wanted me to get her down on the floor, and I did—I didn't want to think, I didn't want to guess what was going through her mind—I just wanted to follow. To feel at least something beyond hatred and disgust. But I guess that was too much to ask.

Without saying a word, I knelt before Evelyn, leveled myself with her perfectly waxed pubic area, her breath hitching as I planted a soft kiss on her mound before tracing a finger along her wet from the water folds through the absolutely drenched fabric of her panties, which were now clinging to her like a second skin. I looked up at her with a mischievous grin, the water hitting my eyes painfully, but I held on to watch that raw need emanating from her body—savoring it like a vampire thirsty for blood.

My actions were smooth, calculated. When I got rid of her damp lingerie, I let the wet clothes that were now spread out on the shower floor fall to the ground, forgotten, and I was sure that Evelyn would have to throw them in a garbage can when we were done. The involuntary arch of her back, her hips brushing against my face and the moan she let out when the tip of my tongue flicked around her feverish clit, that was something I could live with. 

Letting Evelyn grind against my face, I began to eat her pussy more feverishly, my one hand holding her open while another was wrapped tightly around my hard dick as I jerked off in sync with my oral ministrations. It was actually a turn-on, but only because I managed to block out all thoughts of you... In another situation they would have helped me to orgasm, but now... now they would only destroy everything. 

I groaned when Evelyn pulled my hair harder than I liked, but I didn't want to punish her for it, not now, because I was still going to fuck her and this would be a perfect moment to show her how I felt and what I really needed. But then again, all of this made me feel pathetic in some odd, twisted way, that I was a starved dog who had to struggle to find barely any food to survive—what was my life—I was not living, I was surviving.

"Yes...yes...just like that," Evelen keened again as I tongue fucked her flushed cunt. "Keep...g-going..."

I could feel that she was so close to collapsing, it was kind of amusing how fast I could always make her cum, if only she knew that I always did it for myself, not for her, but for me. "Cum around my face," I spat out, my overalls buzzing from the tensind at the base of my cock; these little tingles were going to make me explode, but I didn't hesitate, increasing the pace of my own stroking. "Let it go. Now!"

My voice was muffled, gruff, I was sure its vibration only added to the overwhelming rush of bliss that was about to descend upon my wife as her legs began to tremble, her thigh on my shoulder jerking as I dipped my tongue inside her while my thumb caressed her oversensitive bud. And then she climaxed, convulsing and barely holding herself from screaming, I watched as she silenced herself with her palm, her eyes closed tightly, I reveled in such reactions, I always had, so I didn't stop as I wanted to prolong this scene—a scene full of fake emotions and this was just an echo of something I had experienced and lost— because if I stopped, I would fucking die.

Maybe this is what I always needed? Just to...stop existing?

Panting, I finally moved away from her hot, now swollen cleft, my own heart pounding so fast, but I couldn't move, I just stayed on my knees, the water falling on me like a heavy rain from that day I followed you to the airport and watched the plane take you away from me. For the second fucking time in a row.

Meanwhile, Evelyn was slowly coming down from her high, her chest heaving and falling so fast that for a moment I thought she was going to pass out, but then she turned and leaned against the wall, swaying her hips in the most inviting gesture I'd ever seen her make.

"Shit," I murmured almost imperceptibly, my basic instincts finally taking over. "You want me to fuck you?"

Gasping, she nodded and craned her neck to look back at me, I quickly stood and hugged her from behind, my lips tracing a short trail of kisses along her shoulder as I aligned myself with her entrance, she was so aroused and ready for me that I felt no resistance as I pushed myself into her malleable body. Just a few fleeting seconds for both of us to adjust before my pace picked up, the sound of wet flesh against flesh filling the room, and I pressed closer to Evelyn, her high-pitched moans fading in my delusions as I gave in—the images of you were so clear in my mind now that I clenched my teeth to hold back my own moans—I was weak and I hated myself for it.

Luckily Evelyn was on the pill so I didn't have to worry about a sudden pregnancy, but there was still some fear I tried desperately to ignore, my thrusts became ragged, raw and deep, I was about to spill myself inside her, both palms cupping her breasts, rubbing soft mounds, but then I squeezed them quite roughly and Evelyn's loud whimper was a sheer testament to my ferocity. Feeling my whole system shatter, I managed to stop myself from sinking my teeth into her neck as my vision turned white as I reached my peak with your name on my lips, though I never let myself say it out loud.

A little later that morning, as I dressed in my freshly tailored dark charcoal flannel double-breasted suit with wide white pinstripes, the sun was high in the zenith and its rays bathed Evelyn's bedroom in a soft golden hue. This brief encounter of intimacy with my wife gave me some hope that maybe there was still a chance to live a normal life, the one my mother and father always wanted for me, the American dream family they always told me about, but my parents never really tried to understand me, but since Sean chose a different path in life, not the RIGHT one, the legacy of my family fell on my shoulders.

Trapped in my thoughts, I didn't even notice the phone ringing somewhere next to me, I turned around to see a small black phone on the nightstand. At first I decided to ignore it, since I didn't really care about Evelyn's business, I didn't care at all, but this time something inside of me started to sting.

Who can call her at this hour?

With a soft click of my tongue, I finished adjusting my cufflinks and looked back at the buzzing phone, deciding to pick it up and find out who the hell was calling my wife. "Yes? Who's this?"

"Hello, Patrick," your voice crawled into my brain like a parasite, I swallowed, my skin covered in goosebumps and I sweated almost instantly. "How's it going? Don't you think it's a bit pathetic to think of me when you're banging your lovely wife?"

"You?" Was the only thing I managed to say. "Where did you get this number?"

I heard you laughing as if you were right next to me. "Tim gave it to me," you replied with blatant audacity. "Uh...you're not happy to hear me? That's a shame because I thought you missed me."

"Listen," I spat into the phone, gripping it so tightly that it was about to break in a half in my hand. "I don't know who you think you are...but believe me when I say I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOU AND YOUR FUCKING LIFE! DO YOU HEAR ME?!"

"Patrick? Who are you talking to?" I turned to see Evelyn standing in the doorway, her blue eyes full of concern.

Caught red-handed, I took the phone away from my ear and chuckled. "It's just...a random call...nothing serious." When I said that, her face became even more worried. "Is something wrong, darling?"

Evelyn blinked several times before answering. "I definitely remember turning off the phone before I went to sleep...I always do..."

Her words hung in the air for some time before I could actually continue, and when I finally did, I tugged at my collar from the sudden lack of oxygen in my lungs.

What the fuck?

Under Evelyn's attentive gaze, I looked up at the receiver as if seeing it for the first time in my life, then I pressed it to my ear again and all I heard was silence—a deafening, eerie silence—even a single beep could not be discerned. My throat tightened uncomfortably and I felt like throwing up from the tight knot in my stomach, for I'd never felt such fear before.

"Patrick...are you okay?" The blonde woman asked, not daring to come closer. "Are you taking the medicine your psychiatrist prescribed you..."

"Evelyn!"

"No, I'm serious! This isn't funny Patrick, I'm scared," she suddenly confessed and I swore I couldn't remember seeing her so worried. "You need help...why don't you let people help you?"

With that Evelyn stormed out of the bedroom and I was sure she was crying. Damn women, never give you a chance to explain yourself. I cursed before slamming the phone down on its station with a thud, probably shattering the plastic, but who fucking cared? All they cared about was whether I was taking those fucking pills, but no one really cared about...me. 

It took me some time to calm down and finally go to work. I didn't talk to Evelyn before I left, as it was pointless in her current state. As soon as I was outside, I breathed in the fresh air and watched the passers-by walking here and there without even noticing each other, this scene I saw every day, I picked out my Walkman like in a slow motion movie, put the headphones on my head and then attached it to my belt, the next moment I heard Madonna's deep voice surging through my head.

The taxi ride to the Pierce & Pierce office took longer than usual because of the heavy traffic. When I finally entered the high-rise building, I didn't take off my headphones because I didn't really want to talk to anyone, I just walked through the long corridors like a ghost without a name. It was really interesting that I never really thought about my fucking coworkers constantly messing up my name—they didn't know who I was even though we met every week—but you—you remembered it so clearly, there wasn't a single day that you mistook me for someone else. Jean greeted me as always with her sweet smile. Today she wore a dress and high heels. I smiled at such details and pulled up my headphones so I could hear her. 

"Did I miss anything?" I asked casually, thinking I was late as I often was.

Brushing her blonde hair, my secretary rose from her seat, clutching her favorite notebook to her chest. "Timothy Bryce called to ask about lunch."

My eyebrows raised in skepticism at her words.

Bryce. Wants to see me after not talking to me for almost a week. Interesting.

"Uh, right, but I thought I had a pretty busy schedule today?" I asked nonchalantly.

"Well, yeah," she quickly opened her notebook and then raised her bright eyes to me. "But you have a little window..."

At some point, Jean's voice became as much white noise as Madonna's song, the lyrics of which slipped away from me like a leaf in the wind. The thought of Tim finally revealing that he and Evelyn were having an affair behind my back, as if they really thought I could be stupid enough not to notice, brought me a strange sense of relief. It was like an itchy splinter in your finger that you couldn't bring yourself to pull out, but you knew that the longer it stayed there, the worse it would get.

"Okay, Jean," I heaved abruptly. "Be a doll and make a rez in a good place. Then call Bryce back."

Jean was noticeably confused, but I was too overwhelmed with my own chaotic thoughts that there was no room for anything else. With a devoted nod, she returned to her seat and I opened the door to my office, where everything was the same, all things in the places I had left them. At least there seemed to be something constant in my life.

The rustling of chatter and the clinking of silverware against plates mingled in a wild cacophony of sounds I was quite familiar with—I was born in the middle of this madness, to say the least, the lush life of people like me was something you couldn't really avoid, though I never tried to avoid it, I enjoyed every little benefit I got from being rich. 

So now I was sitting in Delmonico's lash interior, holding a glass of J&B on rocks in one hand and a cigar in the other. I waited for Bryce to come and soon I noticed his approaching figure, his black hair slicked back as usual, and I even chuckled at how fucking punctilious this man always was. Tim ordered a glass of Russian vodka and some seafood appetizers. After a short casual conversation we both fell silent and just when I was expecting him to tell me the reason why he wanted to see me, he suddenly picked up a shiny cardholder and put it on the table, then took out a pack of cigarettes to grab one.

"New cardholder?" I asked, definitely remembering that Bryce used to have a different one. "Looks...nice."

"It's platinum," Timothy commented before lighting his cigarette, his gray eyes scanning the room before focusing on me. "It's a gift...from our mutual friend."

Friend?

I almost bit the inside of my cheek to the point of bleeding. "Really?"

Bryce let out a puff of smoke and pointed to my empty glass. "I heard you quit drinking," he grinned and dabbed the ash from his cigarette. "That you're on... some medication."

"I wonder who told you that," my jaw almost snapped in anger, I had to claw at my knee to regain some composure. "And yes, I had to take medication for a while...but I'm on a break now." I hoped he could tell by the tone of my voice that I wasn't going to continue this conversation. "Who else would know how it works better than you since you went through rehab. Am I right, Bryce?"

I knew how much he hated talking about it, so his recent bravado faded like a cloud of smoke, but his cheeky grin never left his face.

"I get it, I get it," he laughed softly before sipping his drink. "You definitely got off on the wrong foot today, but it's okay," the man swirled his glass in his hand, watching the ice cubes clink against its walls. "I just wanted to tell you that... you're definitely missing something. Or maybe I should say—someone."

Narrowing my eyes, I tilted my head to the side. "Maybe you can tell me something more...specific, or are we going to play that crappy guessing game?"

Bryce shifted in his seat and wanted to say something, but he was interrupted by two familiar voices—Craig and David.

Shit, why did those two idiots have to come right now?

The moment was ruined, and so was I.

"Wow, I can't believe my eyes! See, I told you they had a date," McDermott let out a loud chuckle, my fists clenched, and if we were somewhere else, preferably alone, I'd fucking break my glass against his smug face. "I called Jean and she said you two were having lunch together. Isn't that sweet?"

"Oh, fuck you, McDermott!" Bryce retorted, but he wasn't really angry. "Fuck you and your cheap jokes. Your sense of humor is as flat as the ass of that chick you met in the Tunnel yesterday. Besides, how was she?"

The Tunnel, that damn club that started all this shit. I closed my eyes and tried to shake off the unwelcome memories of that day, but all I wanted to do was leave this place. Bryce's words became a breaking point, they helped a cup of weights to turn to another side without him even knowing it. Slowly I rose from the table, ignoring any questions, dismissing them with a clumsy gesture.

This evening was destined to be spent in the Tunnel after everything that happened today. I didn't tell anyone about my spontaneous venture to find some escape in the nightclub full of drug-addicted chicks and yuppies like me. My mind was racing with the idea of doing some coke, all I had to do was find the dealer that Bryce and I always hang out with and get a gram. A very simple plan to forget about all the shit that was going on in my life for a while.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, they say.

As I strolled across the dance floor, I noticed the bar was pretty empty, so I decided to have a drink before finding the dealer, as the glass of whiskey I had at lunch was not enough. The bartender greeted me with a polite smile as he cleaned the bar. 

"Good evening, sir," the man took a shiny glass and set it in front of me. "What would you like to drink?"

"A J&B straight and a Corona." I replied, taking a seat and fumbling for my wallet.

The bartender nodded and went to get my drinks. While I waited, I looked around when I noticed the only person sitting at the bar—it turned out to be a redheaded girl, a very good looking one—I hummed to myself, absolutely sure that such a girl was definitely not alone tonight. 

"Your drinks, sir." The bartender placed an open bottle of Corona next to my glass, now filled with my favorite whiskey.

"Thank you." I handed him a few bills before he could even tell me how much I had to pay. 

The young man babbled something incoherent that I couldn't even make out, but after I gave him a dead stare, he just took the money and finally left me alone. Annoyed, I checked the time on my Rolex before grabbing a bottle of Corona to take a sip, but I was interrupted again. This time not by the bartender.

"Hey," a soft female voice hung over my ear, sending a massive wave of excitement through me. I turned to see that the chick from the other end of the bar was now standing so close to me that I could smell her flowery perfume. "Are you here alone?"

I wish I could say that, but my thoughts of you were always here, with me, but instead of saying that bullshit, I nodded and grinned, checking her body in the most humiliating way, thinking it would scare her away from me, but the gleam in her green eyes only increased after my move.

God, she doesn't know what she's asking for.

"Yeah, you could say that." I smiled again as she sat down next to me. "What about you?"

The girl leaned against the bar, her ginger hair cascading down her elegant shoulders, and for a moment I couldn't take my eyes off her. "I wasn't supposed to be alone tonight, but...you know how it is...most men are total jerks."

I could barely keep myself from bursting out laughing. "Did someone offend you?" She played with the gold bracelet on her wrist and nodded shyly, a move I suddenly found very sexy. "Do you mind if I get you a drink?"

"First, tell me your name," she muttered in a challenging way—a blatant provocation that I ate like a starved man. "Then I'll think about it."

This girl is so sweet, I bet her insides are the same.

At first I wanted to use a fake name, like I always did, but then I just gave her my real name, because in the end it would make no difference. "Patrick....Patrick Bateman," I finally took a sip of Corona and savored the taste. "And you?"

"Nicole," the girl said, still fiddling with her jewelry. "But I used to have a lot of different names."

"I like this one," I chuckled, smiling charmingly. "It suits a girl like you."

"A girl like me?"

"A beautiful girl...very beautiful I must say." My voice was deep and soft like silk, I noticed the way she straightened her shoulders, slowly but gradually relaxing. 

"You really think so?" She asked me, her eyes roaming over my mischievous face, then down to my lips.

Instead of answering, I just smiled in the most enchanting way possible before calling for the bartender to order her a drink. Nicole and I talked for a while—she told me she was from Canada and didn't really have any friends in New York—it was strangely satisfying but I tried to be sympathetic and supportive even though my mind was so far away from here. The ginger girl didn't even notice how she finished one cocktail and then another, while I didn't even touch my whiskey, just idly sipped my bottle of Corona because for some reason I wanted to be as sober as possible.

As the club was getting more and more empty, Nicole was ready to give me a blowjob right at the bar, but I convinced her to go to my place and to be honest, I didn't expect it to be that easy since I hadn't really planned anything like that. I forgot about the drug dealer because now I had to worry about what I was going to say to Evelyn tomorrow because I was definitely not going to spend the night with her. 

"Patrick..." Nicole nestled into my side as we sat in the cab. "Did I tell you I know...F-French?"

I crossed my arms and shook my head in dismay. "No, you didn't," I said, looking down at her red, messy hair. "But it's nothing special...you're from Canada and French is your second official language."

Nicole let out a cartoonish giggle that made me cringe. "Oh...you know it? Damn, you're such a smart man...Mr. Bateman...so fucking smart...most guys I've slept with....didn't know that..." she giggled again and tried to pinch my nose, but I shooed her away. "Can you believe that?"

At a certain point, I was even starting to regret bringing her along, but I hoped I'd be able to shut her mouth with something...sharp and maybe deadly. "It happens, Nicole. Like you said, there were so many bad people in this town. Fortunately, you're lucky to have met someone like me."

The girl hugged me at my words, I could feel her drunk breath next to my lips, but instead of turning away I let her kiss me and it felt better than I expected. Soon the cab pulled up to the American Gardens Building. The walk up to my apartment didn't take much time, I was already thinking about how I was going to dispose of her body after I was done with her. Nicole, completely unaware of my dark thoughts, walked around my apartment barefoot as she kicked off her shoes, complaining about how fucking uncomfortable they were.

"Oh, this place is so fucking...c-cool!" She managed to say, swaying from side to side while moving. "Jesus, is that a telescope? Why do you even need that?" Nicole giggled like a child seeing one for the first time, but who knew, maybe she really was seeing it for the first time. "Do you... spy on people with that... thing?"

"No, Nicole." I replied curtly, standing next to her with my hands hidden in the pockets of my tailored pants. 

"Are you...an astronaut...from NASA?" She asked, then winced when she finally noticed my looming figure. "Are you... going to send me to the moon tonight, handsome?"

"I'll do more than that," I crooned, placing my hand on her waist and pulling her closer. "But I must say one thing you may not like..." a short pause, then a soft rumble left my throat. "I prefer that beautiful mouth of yours to be closed. Do you understand?"

I was expecting anything other than this bitch dropping to her knees and immediately working on unbuckling my belt. The way she was behaving was both amusing and enticing, but what I enjoyed most was that she was so naive and completely dumb.

"Look at you," I murmured before grabbing a handful of her ginger curls that were blocking her vision. "So inpatient, huh?"

By the time she managed to undo my pants, I was already so hard that my dick sprang out of the confines of my clothes and almost slapped her face, but it didn't bother her at all—I could only see an uncontrollable desire in those big green eyes that were now looking at me as if asking for my permission. 

Shameless, pathetic whore.

With a practiced move, I grabbed the back of her head to pull her closer to my crotch, then pressed my engorged dick against her lips, sliding it along them and making her lick off my pre-cum. "Yeah," I croaked, biting my own lips. "I definitely like you more like this...open your mouth, bitch."

Nicole obeyed and the next thing I knew I was thrusting into her mouth, her warmth welcoming me and making me grunt as I bucked my hips into her face, pushing myself further until I heard her gag around my shaft.

"'C'mon, choke on my dick," I snarled, pulling on her hair with brutal force, her nose rubbing against my pubis and I snaked my hand down to rest on her throat, wanting to feel my cock slide along it. "I'm sure no one has ever face fucked you like that...am I right, honey?"

I used that ugly nickname Evelyn always gave me and pulled myself out of her mouth to hear her answer, but she just gulped desperately for air and grabbed my legs for any semblance of support. 

"Oh-Christ...you're...s-so fucking big," she wept, trying to wipe the liquid mixture off her chin, but I wouldn't let her, pulling her head back. "Shit...you're really one of those guys...who likes it rough?"

With a devilish smile, I gave myself several quick strokes before answering. "Oh, darling. You can't even imagine how MUCH I like that kind of thing."

Panting, Nicole was not ready for me to invade her mouth again, but I didn't care, just as I ignored her little protest when I fucked her throat and felt the curve of my dick slide into her wet, tight channel. It was a bliss I had always sought, that fleeting moment of raw control over another human, once you tasted it you couldn't stop yourself.

Perfection.

As time passed, I came at least twice in her abused mouth, each time making sure she swallowed every drop, but then I got bored of fucking her face and left her sprawled out on my expensive living room floor, which I would definitely have to call the maid service to clean. Barely alive, Nicole literally vomited my sperm mixed with her blood, her plump lips swollen and bruised from my beatings—I couldn't stress her pathetic whimpering anymore, so I had to act—but she would last a while longer, I was sure of it.

As I rummaged through my stuff in the bedroom to get a condom, Nicole's pathetic whimpering was like music to my ears, but at some point I considered turning on some real music to muffle the girl's screams, although to my surprise she was not that loud. But just in case, I returned to the living room and stepped over Nicole, who was still lying on the floor, to get to my stereo and put on the latest Talking Heads album, True Stories.

"I didn't ask you what kind of music you like," I suddenly chuckled and moved closer to the sobbing girl to crouch down beside her. "But I doubt it would change anything."

After that, I stood up and decided to strip completely, every move I made calculated and mastered to perfection. One second, two seconds....ten seconds and I was almost naked, when the only thing left on me was my gold Rolex, I heard her weak, shaky voice:

"Whitney Houston," she murmured, barely audible. "I love Whitney Houston."

I stopped in my tracks. "Oh...really? What is your favorite song?"

My lips were curled in a smile that came dangerously close to something insane as I carefully placed all my clothes on one of my black chairs before picking up the girl and moving her to the window—away from my white couch that I didn't want to stain with her fucking blood. She didn't struggle, she didn't struggle at all as I positioned her against the window, pressing her bruised face against the cold glass.

"Take Good Care of My Heart," the redhead added as I began to poke at her soaked pussy, which was not shaved like most of the girls I used to have, and to be honest, I really liked it. "I...I really love the whole album."

"Oh yeah," I chuckled into her ear, fixing her in place as the tip of my cock plunged into her, causing her legs to shake. "This is such a good album..."

With that I bottomed her out completely, my balls slapping against her ass, red from my spanking, I thought I could see the outline of my hand. Her little cunt felt no worse than her mouth, but it was not as tight...after being with you, nothing seemed tight enough to me.

Fuck it!

Cursing under my breath, I sped up to pound into her as hard as I could. Thank God the glass didn't break, but I changed our position anyway. Now Nicole was bent over my black leather chair, her ass wiggling every time I thrust into her and I couldn't stop myself from spanking her, I wanted her to fucking scream and cry out in pain but all I could get from her was nothing that could signal that she was in pain. On the contrary, this girl seemed to enjoy it so much, as her hips moved in rhythm with mine, she bucked in my direction to meet my movements.

"Shit, you fuck like a whore," I blurted out, grabbing her hair in a self-made ponytail. "Is that why you came to America? To be a fucktoy for men like me?"

"Mmm...f-fuck me...please...fuck me!" Nicole didn't seem to hear me, I had to squeeze her throat to shut her up. "Ye-yes...fucking...c-choke me...please!"

Stupid bitch.

In one swift motion, I pulled out only to slam into her unprepared asshole, making her scream in pain and fuck, she sounded amazing. Quickly wiping the sweat from my forehead, I pushed her down on my cock, noticing the crimson drops of her blood on my dick, which only spurred me to move faster and more ferociously. This bitch didn't see it coming, but she was still pretty obedient, which started to seem pretty weird to me, because usually by this time women start to panic, fight and try to escape, but this fucking hoe didn't even say a word about the way I was treating her.

And that started to disappoint me.

When I thought I was not going to climax, I closed my eyes and let my imagination take control of my brain. Huffing, I rammed into Nicole harder, fantasizing about you—how we could go 69, your fingers buried deep inside my asshole - I could fucking feel the sensation of them and it sent an electric shock right through my tensed sac.

"Oh, fuck," I gripped her waist with both hands, fucking her with pure abandon. "You...fucking...arrogant prick...I hate you! I hate you s-so fucking much!"

All my curses fell on deaf ears as Nicole only whimpered in response, gripping the back of the chair and the next second I found her cumming around my cock, her inner walls spasming around me, triggering my own orgasm.

 When I was finally finished with her, I stood over her trembling body as she lay on the floor again. The girl was shaking and giggling, I thought she probably lost her mind already, so instead of using a knife or something, I decided to just strangle her with my bare hands. I wanted to see life slowly leave her body. I fucking craved it.

"Nicole," I shook her before getting on top of her, pressing her down with the weight of my muscular body. "Look at me."

Nicole's bloodshot eyes couldn't focus on mine for some time, she was stunned, dazed, ruined and intoxicated, I had to slap her face several times before she finally locked her hazy gaze with mine. The sweet anticipation of the kill enveloped my mind, my cock grew hard again as I placed both hands around her fragile neck, I began to squeeze it, lightly at first but then more and more forcefully.

"You made a big mistake coming to America, Nicole." I let out a taunt, not really expecting her to hear it or respond to it.

Everything was going according to plan when she suddenly smiled and covered my hands, not to take them off, but to stroke them with a wicked... attraction?

"Please...kill me already...I beg you..." She couldn't stop herself from crying and laughing. 

This was a psychotic episode I had experienced so many times, but I never expected to see it with my own eyes. I froze in shock, losing my grip, and as I did, Nicole pulled my hands back to her throat, shaking me as if to wake me up.

"No, no, no, no! Please...don't stop...please...I want to die! Patrick, please...set me free!" Nicole's voice cracked and I could finally see the sheer desperation in her green eyes, but this kind of desperation was different. 

This wasn't the kind of despair I'd seen before...this was something completely different. It was kind of a turn-off for me. The whole evening was fucking ruined, I couldn't believe it. Shaking my head, I stood up and stepped away from her as if from a fire. 

"Patrick...please!"

"Shut up!" I yelled, looking down at my own hands—they were shaking so badly. "Shut the fuck up!"

In a panic, I rushed to the bathroom to wash my hands for who knows what reason, then grabbed my robe and put it on. I couldn't really explain what was happening to me, but when I got back to the living room, I picked up Nicole's clothes and threw them at her.

"Get dressed," I ordered, and then I went into the bedroom to unlock my safe and take out several bundles of money. What was I doing? Panting, I paused in the doorway to watch her get dressed, then walked over to her and handed her the money. "I want you to take this, go to a hospital and get back to Canada. Do you hear me, Nicole?"

The redhead was silent, just looking at me with her pleading eyes. "But I don't want to go..."

"You have to." I emphasized the words by lowering my voice. "Just do what I say and everything should be... okay."

"But I don't want it to be okay." Nicole tried to touch me, but I pulled away.

"Just go," I repeated my previous words, this time in a more serious voice. "And never come back."

I spent the rest of the night sitting in the shower, literally sitting on the floor, crying. A lot. My eyes were so red and puffy that I didn't know which ice mask would help me look normal tomorrow. The hatred of myself that rose from my chest to my cheeks and made me nauseous—I hated myself so much that I finally admitted that I had changed—you had changed me and there was no going back. The man I was before died, now I was just an empty being, or maybe a new man had been born in my shallow soul?

When I finally managed to drag my ass out of the bathroom, the phone rang and I was sure it was Evelyn trying to fuck my brain for not coming back to her apartment and to be fair, I wasn't ready for anything like that at that moment, but considering how much of a pain in the ass she was, I didn't want any more consequences if I didn't pick up the fucking call.

As I walked into the bedroom, I took the phone from my nightstand and finally answered the call. "Yes?"

"Patrick! Jesus, I thought you weren't going to answer the call!" It was you, damn it, it was you.

My teeth almost creaked with anger and disbelief. "How many times do I have to tell you to fuck off?! Are you stalking me or what? How the fuck did you know I was in my apartment?"

"I... I didn't know... I just decided to try my luck and here we are," you replied, your voice was different than it sounded this morning. "Listen Patrick, I'm in New York right now...maybe we can see each other?"

"See each other?" Those words made me sick. "Do you even hear yourself?"

"I know that...things are pretty tense between us, but...maybe we can at least talk about it?"

"No, we can't," I clutched the phone as tightly as I could. "I don't want to see you and I don't want to hear you. Do you understand? If you ever call me again, I'll fucking find you and KILL YOU!"

With that, I dropped the phone on the floor and screamed so loudly that my throat began to hurt. Right now I was nothing but a living madness, the things that were happening in my mind were like an open chasm to hell—a place I'd be one day, I had no doubt about it.

The few days I spent in a dizzy state, I couldn't really remember what I was doing, but the only thing I was sure of was that I couldn't stop thinking about you. Also, I didn't kill anyone for lack of thrill, there was no more adrenaline or excitement—you changed me and now spilling some blood couldn't help me to relieve myself anymore. I felt like I was being shattered into pieces, decomposed into something primitive, for the first time I saw myself as being even more inhuman than I really was.

Inhuman.

What a perfect word to describe everything about me, but I still couldn't understand where I belonged? If not here, could there be a place for a creature like me?

This question was swirling around in my head like a brain worm; that damn rainy evening when I decided to stalk my dear wife. After my rather long absence, Evelyn was about to go to the police, but then I showed up at the door of her apartment at night, high as hell, but she didn't seem surprised at all. I expected her to be mad and angry, but instead she treated me really nice, I could hear her crying and her desperate touch when she hugged me, weeping and sobbing something about being so scared and worried about me and although I didn't believe a single word that came out of her mouth, something stirred inside of me.

The raindrops were falling on my umbrella like Morse code, hitting the surface with such a precise rhythm that I really thought maybe something or someone was trying to send me a sign. The level of absurdity was over the top, and if I were in a different state mentally and physically, I'd be laughing my ass off at this shit, but today I couldn't do anything funny. I couldn't smile, I couldn't sneer, I was like a ghost, a shadow of the person I was before I met you. So here I was, following Evelyn down the street after the taxi ride until I saw her stop at some hotel—a luxury hotel in Upper Manhattan to be exact— and then, after some time, when I thought nothing interesting would happen, a sleek black Cadillac stopped by the street and I saw Timothy Bryce get out of the car—he was holding a black umbrella just like me. Evelyn was so excited to see him that she didn't even wait for them to go inside the hotel, she kissed him now and then without holding back her emotions. This scene made the stone fall off my shoulders; I was so damn happy that I was right and that this fake marriage was about to collapse, but I still couldn't understand why Evelyn married me at all. To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if one day, when we finally had a serious talk about it, she would confess that she loved both of us—me and Bryce— and suggested that we all live together.

Say hello to an altered version of the American dream family.

The reality was always cruel, and I knew it too well.

A loud clap of thunder echoed through my apartment, waking me up in my living room, drenched in sweat. Breathing heavily, I turned around to register some pornography playing on my TV, my robe was undone, I was completely naked underneath, some remnants of my cum stuck to my stomach.

Shit, I just blacked out jerking off? This porn really sucks.

And this was the 5th or maybe 10th porn tape I had watched, and I only managed to cum once. Cursing and scowling, I fidgeted on my couch to find a remote control. I was disgusted with my current situation, but then I noticed two thin lines of white powder on my glass coffee table and a twisted $100 bill. Now everything started to fall into place.

Fuck, where did I even get this gram?

I rubbed my head, and instead of turning off the porn, I turned it up louder—two perfect bimbos making out, their oiled bodies wrapped around each other like two snakes—my hand instinctively sliding back to my hard cock, throbbing and soaked with my cum.

"Oh-fuck..." I murmured through clenched teeth as I pumped myself, watching the girls play with their large breasts. "Yeah...suck her tits...suck them like a fucking pacifier..."

The louder their moaning got, the more excited I got, and just when I thought I was about to climax again, I heard... a fucking phone ringing loudly—it hurt my hearing. Confused, I stopped doing anything, ignoring the fact that one slut was now riding on the face of another. There was only one thing I could think about right now— had I turned off my phone or not? Because I definitely remembered pulling the fucking cords out of it, but that thing kept ringing? 

Slowly I got up on my stiff legs and walked to the kitchen island to grab the phone, the only light coming from my playing TV and I bumped into something pretty hard before the fucking receiver was in my hand.

"Patrick Bateman's apartment..." I almost whispered, pressing the receiver harder against my head.

"...Pat..." the echo of a familiar voice wailed from the other end of the line, but I still couldn't make out who it was. "...need... -h-help!"

"Who...am I talking to?"

"Patrick, please, help me," your voice sounded so clear now that it echoed inside my skull, drowning out all the sounds of the bad weather outside. "I'm...I'm at Paul Allen's...I need help...please...I think I'm gonna die..."

Was this some kind of prank? 

I turned around and scanned my apartment as if someone was watching me right now. I felt insane and cornered, if I was really losing my mind the best option now would be to take more coke and trigger an overdose and then...

"Can you hear me? Please, come here, I'll... give you the address..." and then I heard loud interference and noise, so I had to pull the phone away for a second. "Patrick? Please...talk to me!"

"What...what happened?" I asked, still not believing what I was doing. "Are you in pain?"

"No...yes....Patrick...listen...you should write down the address..."

Without thinking, I grabbed the Vogue magazine lying next to the phone and a pencil, and the next second I was writing down the address where Paul Allen was supposed to live. 

"Hold on! I'll be right there!" I suddenly said into the phone, but all I could hear was the agonizing beep. "Hey...I'll be there...do you hear me? I'LL BE THERE!"

Fuck!

I dropped the phone and took several deep breaths before I finally came to my senses, or so I thought. Then I rushed to the bathroom to clean up and put something on without worrying too much. So I grabbed the first suit out of my closet, fixed my hair and left my apartment to take a cab. All the way to Paul's, I was holding a crumpled page of Vogue that I had to rip out. At first I didn't even notice that I wasn't surprised when the cabbie just nodded and we drove off, so this address was real? It meant you really called me? And what about all the previous calls?

Perplexed, I leaned against the cool glass of the car window and watched the nighttime cityscape blur into something unrecognizable, almost falling asleep, but the driver turned on the radio with some cheesy pop songs that kept me awake, as I was too irritated to ignore how much I disliked such music. When the car stopped in front of a towering building like the one I lived in, I paid the driver twice what I was supposed to and got out of the cab. There were no pedestrians and for a moment I really thought that maybe I was still asleep and had to pinch myself to wake up in my living room?

As I entered the building I saw a table where the concierge should be sitting, but there was no one, so I casually opened the journal to find the number of Allen's apartment—I felt a creeping shock when I actually found his name in the journal.

Okay… this feels…too real.

Feeling a strange thrill of the rush, I closed the journal and sauntered quickly across the large lobby to the elevators. Paul's apartment was on the 15th floor, so when the door opened on the floor I needed, I stepped out of the elevator with a heavy weight in my chest. Every step I took resonated with the fast beating of my heart, and when I reached my destination, I didn't know what to do - whether to ring the bell or knock or…

Shaking myself off, I first rang the doorbell—nothing. Then I knocked several times, then again, still no answer. Finally, I put my ear to the door to listen, but I couldn't hear a single sound. Anger overcame me, so I kicked the door and turned to leave. How stupid was I? Maybe mixing my pills and coke wasn't the best idea, but this...

When I got back to the lobby, an old man, who must have been a missing concierge, greeted me with a fake polite smile. "Greetings, sir. How can I help you?"

Annoyed as hell, I stopped next to his small table, adjusted my leather gloves, and pointed to his journal. "I was looking for Paul Allen's apartment, he's my friend and I wanted to see him, but it seems...he's out tonight."

"Oh, Mr. Allen left on a business trip this morning." The concierge said casually, but then he noticed how pale I'd become. "Sir, is something wrong?"

"Did you say he left this morning?" I asked again, feeling a few beads of sweat on my tense forehead.

"Yes, sir," the old man opened the journal and began to leaf through it. "I can even tell you the exact time he left..."

"No need. Thank you." Was all I said before I turned on my heels and headed for the exit.

Outside I noticed that the taxi that had brought me here was still standing by the side of the road. It was strange but I didn't even think about it. I got in and asked the driver to take me back to my place, but first I asked him to give me a moment to sit and think. With shaking hands I picked up the crumpled piece of paper with the address on it, I traced my handwriting before throwing it out the window, my temples pounding so hard I thought my head would explode. Exhausted both mentally and physically, I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples, not noticing that the concierge I was talking to literally ran out of the building, looking around, seeking someone.

"Let's go." I ordered the cab driver with my eyes still closed. "And can you please turn off the music...my head is killing me."

The taxi drove off and I didn't see or hear the old man following the car. "Sir, wait! I made a mistake about Mr. Allen-"

Today, after I refused to go shopping with Evelyn and help her choose a fucking curtain for her living room, she finally told me that she never loved me, that she wanted a divorce and nothing else from me. The relief I felt was comparable to a good orgasm, to say the least, Evelyn was shocked at my reaction—did she really expect me to beg for forgiveness? But the single mention of Bryce made everything come to its place, I wasn't angry, no, I just couldn't solve this fucking puzzle, what was all this for? If she really liked Bryce, why couldn't she just tell me and go for him? How many times had I told her that? A hundred? A thousand? Millions? Luckily, I wasn't inclined to leave my stuff in her apartment, so I finished my busing with 'moving out' pretty quickly and smoothly, because something glorious and important was waiting for me. The last moment of my drama.

I imagine that maybe someday there will be a show on Broadway based on my life—a great example of a life that no one should have lived—I smiled at the thought, as I always liked to romanticize things in the most clichéd and poetic way. After all, Bryce was right, I was mental, and no matter how hard I tried to run away from the dark version of myself, it would catch up with me one day. And that day seemed to have finally come.

As I walked down Wall Street, wearing my favorite headphones and listening to Huey Lewis and the News, I stumbled by the phone booth—a random idea plagued my mind before I could really think about it. Opening my briefcase, I found my notebook, and soon I was dialing your office number, hoping you wouldn't answer. But my hopes were never to be fulfilled. 

To my surprise, I heard a male voice coming from the phone and all the words stuck in my throat like a lump. "Uh...hi...can I talk to..."

"Sorry sir, I can't hear you properly...it might be the bad connection," the voice replied and it made me really nervous. "I'm sorry, but if you want to talk to my boss, they are out of the office right now."

Out of the office…shit.

"Who am I talking to?" I asked, almost fainting.

"Vinc..." an unpleasant static noise came over my brain and I held my eyes closed for a second from the stabbing pain in my temples. "My name is Vincent...I'm .... assistant."

"Listen, Vincent..." I started to speak, not even knowing that he could hear my words. "I want you to tell your boss that...Patrick Bateman called and...this would be my LAST call," I laughed hysterically, leaning against the phone booth door. "I'm going to, uh... disappear..."

A short pause seemed like an eternity.

"You mean you are leaving New York City, sir?" Vincent's question surprised me.

My lips twitched in a wicked smile. "No...I mean...yes..."

"Are you going somewhere in particular, Mr. Bateman?" The man asked me and I stopped breathing for a second.

"I'm going...to a place where no one will ever...find me..."

And with that I hung up the phone. There was already a line of people by the phone booth, and as I walked away, they looked at me with the most disdainful look I could ever dream of mastering. Unfortunately, I wouldn't need it anymore.

Soon the white walls of my apartment would be the only witness to my last confession. My apartment smelled so fresh and good, the maid had just finished cleaning, and I was glad that if the police found my body, they would see that wealth and money were not a panacea for a happy life, although I had believed in it fervently for almost all these years. With deliberate steps, I walked into my bathroom, grabbed a small bottle of medicine prescribed by my psychiatrist, and popped a handful of pills at once. Then I looked at my reflection in the mirror and somehow realized that the mask I had worn for most of my adult life was about to slip. Right now, at this very moment, I was about to die. An abnormal dizziness washed over me, I could barely stand on my feet when I suddenly saw your silhouette behind me in the mirror. I gulped and turned around to see nothing but the empty doorway, my hands shaking so badly that I failed to put the bottle back in its place, dropping it on the floor and scattering pills all over the bathroom.

Holy shit.

A strong gag reflex suddenly took over me and I managed to get to the toilet faster than I could throw up—I threw up all the pills—Jesus Christ, I was so weak I couldn't even finish this... I was so pathetic. In the end, I finally accepted that as the darkness took me in its cold embrace.

Knock…knock…

What is this? Am I still alive?

I kept questioning myself because I didn't feel anything, no pain, no remorse, nothing. But if I were dead, I wouldn't hear that strange sound, would I? I opened my wet eyes and looked up at the white ceiling—I was still in my bathroom— lying on my back, covered in my own vomit, saliva and bile. My mouth smelled like a rotten rat and I knew what I was talking about. The annoying knocking kept coming from my front door, and although I didn't want to get up, I felt that if I didn't, this fucking knocking would never stop.

With careful, unhurried movements, I crawled to the sink and, leaning on the bathroom counter, managed to stand up and quickly brush my teeth, avoiding looking at my reflection because I was sure I looked like shit. After that, I took off my stained clothes and put on a new robe that I had bought myself for no reason a few days ago. 

As I approached the front door, the knocking stopped and I thought it was just another hallucination, but I decided to open the door anyway and to my surprise I saw my concierge who looked very worried and even scared.

"Mr. Bateman, thank God you're all right!" The man blurted out, holding his concierge hat in his hands.

"Of course I'm okay," I replied nonchalantly. "What happened? Or did you just come to check on me?"

"Well," the concierge looked away before rubbing his gray mustache. "Someone was looking for you..."

My eyebrows furrowed, and I peered out into the long corridor. "Who was it? Did they give a name? Was it a policeman or something?" 

"No, sir." The old man gave me an awkward smile that made me even more angry. "They were so desperate...they were literally storming around the lobby...constantly saying things about you not answering calls and not opening the door...I told them maybe you just left..."

The rest of what he said fell on deaf ears, because now I was absolutely sure who was looking for me. "What time is it now?"

"11 a.m., sir."

"Today is Friday, right?" I asked, my head spinning. "It should be Friday."

The concierge paused. "It's Sunday, sir."

Sunday?

A sharp pang of nausea crept into my stomach, nearly breaking me in half, but I managed to grab hold of the doorjamb for support. "Where is this person?"

"Mr. Bateman, I had to call the police because they were being...kind of aggressive," the concierge explained, stepping back a bit. "The cops arrived pretty quickly...they found out this person had drugs, sir."

I stagger to the side as if from the hard blow. "And what happened next...did they arrest them?"

"I...I guess so?"

I let out a tired sigh, rolling my eyes and trying to keep it together - this poor guy was not guilty, it was just an accident, but how did you get caught with drugs? It was so fucking illogical to me.

My voice was unnaturally soft as I tried my fucking best not to snap at the man across from me. "Did the cops really take them away? Did you see that with your own eyes?" The concierge just nodded, and I could tell by his nervousness that he felt it was his fault at some level. "All right, thank you for your information, remind me to tip you next month." And with that, I closed the front door, leaving the man in a completely bewildered state.

Shit...this whole situation seemed like a fucking joke, but I had to think fast—I needed a plan how to solve this bullshit and maybe I could get some answers if I could help you. I took a moment to collect myself and told myself that one way or another I had to go there...to rescue you.

I'll do it even if I have to burn down this police station.

In record time, my impeccable appearance was ready, and now I confidently walked down the long, dimly lit corridor of the police station that was closest to where I lived—I hoped you were in that station, but if not, I would visit all of them until I found you.

Finally, I reached the reception area, where a pretty policewoman greeted me with a friendly smile. "Good afternoon, sir. What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for..." I opened my briefcase and showed her my notebook with your full name written in it. "Are they here, in this department? I believe they were arrested today."

The officer smiled at me before she turned around and started to rummage through some papers, folds, notes... With each passing moment I was getting more and more impatient, but I had to play it cool.

"I think I found the person you were looking for," the woman said, placing several documents on the reception desk, implying that I should take a look at them. "They were delivered here an hour ago."

"Can I see them?" I asked, putting on my casual, seductive smile.

“And what is your relationship to the suspect?” 

Damn, not this fucking question.

I was a little stunned at first, but then I quickly tugged at my red tie and tilted my head in a condescending way. "I'm their lawyer, and I need to see them as soon as possible."

I noticed that her expression suddenly changed, her eyes gliding over my massive form—she was obviously trying to access my appearance and compare it to the look of a successful lawyer living in New York City—when I gave her an intense look and then winked, she visibly blushed.

After a small cough, she took the documents and only then dared to look at me again. "The suspect is now in interrogation room number one. Don't get lost."

"Thanks." I grinned broadly and, after closing my briefcase, left the reception.

It didn't take me long to find the interrogation room I needed. As I stopped right next to the door, I checked myself in the reflection of the nearby window—I looked perfect, not as perfect as I used to be, but not too horrible either.

A light knock on the door before I opened it. "Good afternoon, sorry for the long wait. How is my client? I hope you haven't done anything inappropriate in my absence?"

The moment our eyes met, I could see a mixture of shock, disbelief, and something beyond human understanding.

"And who the hell is that?" One of the officers—a rather fat guy with a messy beard—asked his partner, then looked at you. "You said you were from Chicago and your lawyer had to catch a flight here."

"Yes, that's exactly what I said. Why are you telling me my own words?" You crossed your arms and gave me a scorching gaze, I seized the moment of your confusion to nestle into the empty chair next to you. "Probably...my lawyer has handed this case over to his colleague in New York, so he doesn't have to come here."

Both policemen looked at us as if we were idiots—which we definitely were—but I hoped this affair would work out.

"But you asked to be allowed to make a phone call... the whole damn time," another policeman replied, pointing his finger at you and then at me. "I'm going to send you both to jail if you don't tell me what-"

"Jesus Christ, I told you several times...I was at a party...I took someone's coat by mistake and there was...this fucking bag of cocaine, but it's not mine! You can check the fingerprints and you won't find mine on this fucking bag! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU?"

"My client is right. Before we get the results of the fingerprint analysis, the presumption of innocence should not be forgotten." I started in the most serious tone I could manage. "Remember that."

Both officers started arguing with each other almost immediately, using many different insults that I would definitely have to remember so that I could present them to Tim— he would love to hear them. I was about to say something clever when the door suddenly opened and a woman with dark hair stepped into the room.

"What the hell is going on?" The woman asked her colleagues, looking disappointed and quite angry. "Everyone can hear you outside."

"Oh, Miss Moore," one of the officers murmured like a guilty child. "Well, we..."

"Detective Moore to you, Rogers," she replied, her posture radiating confidence. You and I both stared at her for a while, I noticed her tanned skin and thick curly hair, she was definitely Hispanic, the accent was also quite noticeable. "Can I confide in you at least once?" Officer Rogers looked at his partner, neither of them said a word, and that made the detective even more annoyed. "We'll talk about it later, now go."

The cops didn't dare protest, and soon they left. Now it was just you, me and Detective Moore in the interrogation room. The tension was palpable in the air, my hands were sweaty and shaking, I had to brush them off my open coat, but before I could, you caught one of them and squeezed it barely sensibly—I gasped, almost choking on my saliva.

After a brief examination of the documents, the woman across from us raised her brown eyes and smiled, not too friendly, but not too menacing either. "So, my name is Andrea Moore," she turned to look at you, holding a piece of paper in her hand. "I already know your name," her piercing gaze finally stopped on me. "May I have your documents, sir?"

Swallowing hard, I unlocked my briefcase to hand her my ID. "Yeah, sure."

"Mr. Bateman...have we met before?"

"No...I don't think so."

Andrea hummed to herself. "Well, I hope you brought your law license with you?" 

Your grip on my palm tightened, I almost let out a hysterical squeal. "I... I must have left it in my office."

"Listen," you suddenly spoke up, gesticulating as if you were at a school presentation. "I need to call my assistant, Vincent Eisenhower...he will help sort things out-"

"Wait a minute...did you say Vincent Eisenhower?" Andrea suddenly stopped you, obviously surprised.

"Uh, yeah, he's my assistant at the company I work-" 

"...in Chicago?" 

"Yes..." you replied in confusion. "Is there something wrong with that?"

The detective didn't answer, and it made me nervous as hell, but you holding my hand in a gentle manner was strangely comforting, even though I despised such displays of affection.

Looking puzzled, Andrea finally took the pen and a clean piece of paper. "Can you give me the number...I'll call Mr. Eisenhower and ask him for...a real lawyer. Mr. Bateman, I hope you understand the consequences of your actions-"

"Leave him alone, it's not his fault," you cut Andrea off before I could say anything in my defense. "He didn't know what he was doing coming here...please...he hasn't done anything bad...he's just going through a hard time in his life and..."

"Enough," the detective raised her hand in a halting gesture. "I hope I can reach out to Mr. Eisenhower....You two better pray for that."

Andrea left as abruptly as she had come. We were finally alone. Both confused, frightened, and lost.

"Why did you even come here?" You asked, not looking at me, but not parting our hands. "How stupid of you to come here and act like you were my lawyer."

"I HAD NO CHOICE!" I almost screamed, turning in my seat to cut the mere distance between us. "Not after you terrorized me with those damn phone calls..."

As I said that, time stood still for us and I could see the inner conflict in your deep, mesmerizing eyes—you were broken and lost just like me—I looked down at our intertwined hands, waiting for your answer.

"What calls, Patrick? What are you talking about?" 

"You know WHAT I'm talking about...don't try to fuck with my brain," I husked, inches from your lips. "You think this is funny, huh?" 

"And you think it's funny to call my office and tell my assistant about your suicidal intentions?" Your warm breath wafted pleasantly around my face as you moved closer. "You think it's funny to appear and disappear in my life like I'm a toy you can play with whenever you feel bored?"

At first I didn't answer. Instead, I just kept eye contact with you, then I lowered my eyes to our hands again—my palm was bigger than yours, this little detail always made my heart flutter. Did I ever think that such a small thing would stir such strong emotions in me? Probably not.

Definitely not.

"By the way, did you manage to find out anything about that machine you told me about?" I questioned abruptly, putting my arm around your shoulders. 

You frowned and chuckled in disbelief. Well, at least the tension was relieved.

"What machine?" You fidgeted in your seat as I pulled you closer. "Hey, don't change the subject..."

"A memory reboot machine," I crooned, leaning forward so our noses rubbed against each other. "If you're here... that means you probably didn't find it."

The urge to indulge in this moment, to follow the passionate momentum and just kiss these lips I'd been thinking about all along, was unbearable, but I didn't want to be the first to fall apart and drop my defenses.

"Maybe I never needed this machine," you replied, pressing your forehead against mine for a brief moment. "Because I never wanted to forget...you?"

Was it a question or a statement—we never knew as we both moved towards each other, my burning lips pressed against your soft ones as we shared the most desirable kiss I could ever imagine. Gasping into my mouth, you let go of my hand only to wrap both of them around my neck as you responded with no less favor than mine. It was so hot, so desperate, so tragic. And it was all mine— your pain, your anger, your hatred.

Because you were my salvation.

With precise deftness, I carefully tilted your head back a little to deepen the kiss, my arms eagerly but not persistently roving around your back, knowing every little detail of your body, every dent and bump. As much as I wanted to tell you how fucking perfect you were for me, I didn't want this kiss to end, but as if you could read my mind, you suddenly pulled me away a little too abruptly and roughly.

"God, I hate you..." you wept, covering your face so I couldn't see your tears. "I really... I really thought you were going to do something bad... I was afraid it was too late..."

I was at a loss, I didn't know how to react or what to say—everything about you confused me, made my brain overload with different thoughts about what you said and why—now was no exception.

"But I'm here now...in one piece," I decided not to touch you, my hand resting on the back of your chair, ready to hug you at any moment if it was needed. "You should understand that...if I really wanted to do this, no one would be able to stop me..." I whisper above your ear and place my hand on the back of your head, gently stroking your hair as you rest your head on the table. "Even you."

I knew that this confession would mean nothing, just like all my previous ones, but as soon as I said it, you raised your tear-stained eyes and whimpered. "Don't say that...don't fucking say that! You can be a total asshole, but that doesn't mean you deserve to die..."

"Darling," I gently brushed your stray locks from your face, trying to distract you and keep you from saying words that would only make things worse. "You know so little about me...but I don't want you to say something you'll regret..."

"I've already said too many things that I now regret," you replied, turning away from me. "Have you ever thought about your family and how they would react if something bad happened to you? Have you thought about Evelyn?"

My eyebrows knitted together, the words you said pierced my heart like sharp daggers, but I didn't want you to stop, because you were right, I was always selfish, but you knew so little about my family, who would surely be sad about the loss, but they would recover pretty quickly, since they still had Sean. And Evelyn? I would laugh if things were not so sad.

Trembling and sobbing, you still sat with your back to my face. "I'm not going to ask you for anything except to promise me that you'll never even think about...hurting yourself."

Oh, dear.

With a soft clink of my chair, I stood up and placed both of my hands on your trembling shoulders. "I promise... if you stay with me, I'll never look back... on my previous life." I felt your body tense under my touch. "We can't reboot the memory, but we can...reboot our lives?"

This was it—the moment I had fantasized about so many times, considering different outcomes, scenarios—I was waiting for your answer when the door creaked and Detective Moore appeared in my vision. She was much more cheerful than before, which worried me a bit.

"So," she took a seat, opened a folder with documents and wrote something on it. "I spoke to Vince, and luckily for you, he has already contacted your lawyer-"

"Vince?" You asked in shock, but at least you stopped crying.

Andrea stuttered and cleared her throat. "I mean..." she paused and twirled the pen in her hand. "It happened that Vincent and I used to know each other..."

What?

We were both speechless, how the hell could such a coincidence have happened? 

"Well... I really didn't see it coming..." You murmured, brushing the remnants of tears from your face.

"Neither did I," the detective chuckled curtly before resuming her work on some papers. "Listen, we should wait for the results of the fingerprint analysis, and while we wait, you are forbidden to leave the city. Please put your sign here."

"What is this?"

"Your ticket to freedom," she explained. "A street bail."

I saw you hesitate, so I gave you a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and you looked at me, I simply nodded, and you placed the sign. 

"And how long have you known Vincent?" You asked after you handed the document back to Andrea. "Just asking."

"Since childhood, I think."

"Oh... that's... a lot."

"Vince has always been known for being a good boy..." the woman paused, coughing awkwardly. "Uh, you can talk to him about... that if you're interested." Andrea closed the folder and shifted her gaze to me. "And you, I highly recommend that you never do anything like this again."

"So you're not going to put me in a cell?" I replied in a slightly teasing manner.

"No...not this time. But the officer who allowed you to come here will be severely punished, maybe even fired," Andrea explained, getting up from her chair. "It's her first day at the police station, but she let a man go through without even checking his papers. Such violations are very serious."

And although I didn't feel sad for this woman I would probably never see again, I looked at you and your big doe eyes. "Maybe there's a way not to fire her? I assured her that I was a lawyer and...I could pay a fine if I had to."

Detective Moore said nothing, she just grinned and beckoned us to follow her.

An hour later we finally left the police station. For some time we walked in complete silence, the surrounding commotion drawing out my shallow breathing, my mind overclocked with the search for topics to talk about after all the shit that had happened.

"So... where did you stay?" I asked casually, looking at you from above, your eyelashes shimmering in the sunlight. "In the Plaza?"

"No," you replied almost immediately. "Not the Plaza this time...it was all booked up."

"You were really in New York... for the whole time?"

"Depends on what time you mean exactly," your slight smile made me almost stumble, but I pretended to see someone familiar. "Maybe I haven't left New York at all?"

No, that can't be.

"You know, since you can't leave the city... maybe we should spend some time together and... you didn't answer my question."

My offer made you stall, and I followed suit. Passers-by walked past us, not paying attention even though we were standing in the middle of the street.

"Was it really a question?"

"And what do you think it was?"

"A plea?" You smiled and stepped closer to me until there was no space between us. "If you weren't so stubborn...everything could be so much easier."

"And YOU tell me that?" I let myself pull you closer to me. "I have an idea...fuck the place where you stopped! We should go to Newport."

"Newport? Would it count that I left New York?" you asked me a little shyly. "Do you have a house there or...?"

"My family has a house there and since they are out of town we can use it to kill time...have you ever been to Newport?" My hands rested possessively on your waist and before I knew it, I added. "Me and Evelyn are getting divorced..."

"No, I haven't," you replied, finally resting your hands on my shoulders. "But I really want to...since I've heard a lot of good things about this place..." then you suddenly froze. "What... What did you say? Are you kidding me? God, I can't believe this...I..."

You continued to bubble something that made me smile in amusement and I couldn't help but hold you tightly in my arms— the place you always belonged to, though I understood it too late. The fresh breeze of change swirled around us, playing with our hair and clothes. Yesterday I didn't know if I would make it to tomorrow, but today I was sure that there would be so many tomorrows because I wasn't alone anymore.

With you, for you, in your name—I was still alive and finally free.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my writing community to know when I update!💞

[smartkookiee]

Wounds We Never Show // Prologue: Before It All —jjk.

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❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader (she/they, afab) ❥genre/rating: 18 + explicit content, enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, these two really do hate each other ❥chapter warnings: Fighting (verbal), swearing, mutual hate ❥word-count: 2.4k ❥Series Masterlist ❥ || Next Chapter fic is cross posted to ao3 send an ask or comment on post to be added to the tag list

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭

Your final together was tomorrow, after a month of painfully hard work it would finally be over. Except you hadn’t heard from Jungkook  this week at all. From what you can tell he seemed to finish all of his portion of the work. You on the other hand, due to some finals, were a little behind but you had no doubts that you would be able to catch up. 

Not hearing from Jungkook did have you somewhat concerned. 

You both were normal last week but this week radio silence. You had texted him just keeping him updated on the progress of your work. You choked it up to him probably being swamped with his own work, and his own projects for other classes. So you tried not too worry. 

You sent one more text, anxiety rising with each passing minute.

:hey sorry to text you again. I’m just checking in! I should be able to finish in the next hour or two, so don’t worry.

:we are going to kill this presentation in the morning.

May have been a touch late to texting someone, it was 1:30 in the morning. You didn’t care though, he had texted you at like two in the morning before. So, you figured he’d forgive you.

But the second you sent the text.

The lights and your laptop had switched off. You sat in completely darkness. Suddenly the emergency lights shown by your door. You turned on your flashlight. Your laptop was old so your power being out means that you don’t have a laptop to work on. You made your way to the hall where some others had gathered. Asking what had happened.

Your RA eventually came up to your floor and told everyone not to worry, they were going to have the power on soon and to stay in our rooms for now. That we would get some text updates. You decided to not panic yet, soon after you did get a text saying that their was a an on campus outage and the problem would be resolved soon.

“Seriously?” you muttered, going back into your room. You texted Jungkook again.

:hey sorry I swear this is the last one, power in my dorm is out.

:and you know how my laptop is, so I have to wait until the power comes back.

:still going to kill it tomorrow!

Forty-five agonizing minutes later, the power finally returned. You rushed back to your laptop, praying everything was still there. But when you opened your document, it was blank. Completely empty.

“No,” you whispered, frantically searching for any backup.

Your entire month of work was gone. You tried finding a previous version, but there was nothing. Not on your hard drive, not in your email, not even a single backup copy. Every word, every citation, every carefully crafted paragraph—vanished. Except... Jungkook might have a copy.

You grabbed your phone and called him, your fingers trembling. Voicemail. You called again, and it rang once before going straight to voicemail again.

“Jungkook, pick up. Something happened. I need you to call me back.”

Panic set in as you scoured every corner of your computer. Desperate, you even checked old drafts and random notes on your phone, but there was nothing. Your heart sank. You called Jungkook two more times, but there was still no answer.

You were going to have to start over.

You knew the material—you’d been working on it every day for a month—but rewriting it from memory was going to be a nightmare. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, and started typing. Every minute felt like an hour, but you pushed through. Tiredness clawed at you, and your eyes stung from the screen’s glare, but there was no other option.

Five hours later, you finally finished. The paper was nowhere near perfect, but it was something. A B, maybe a C at best, but it was better than nothing. Exhaustion overtook you the second you hit save, and you collapsed into bed.

It felt like only a second had passed when your eyes snapped open. You scrambled for your phone, the panic setting in again.

10:05 AM.

Ten missed texts and three missed calls from Jungkook.

“No!” You leapt out of bed, pulling on the first clothes you found, emailing the paper to yourself while sprinting out the door. You raced across campus, nearly tripping as you weaved through students, your breath burning in your lungs. By the time you reached the classroom, the hallway was filled with students leaving.

You pushed through the door, your hair a mess, sweat dripping down your forehead.

“Shit, no, no, please.” You spotted your professor leaving and tried to push your way forward, only to be blocked by Jungkook.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” he sneered as you stumbled in, breathless and disheveled.

“Jungkook--” you began, but he cut you off.

“Where the hell have you been? Why weren’t you here?” His voice was icy, and he took a menacing step toward you, making you step back.

“I—I fell asleep!” You stammered, tears welling up. Your exhaustion was really hitting you, and you couldn’t hold them in, “Did you see my texts? My calls? My voicemails?”

“Texts and calls don’t mean shit if you’re not here!” he snapped. “You’re acting like you care, but you clearly don’t. You’ve been flaky this entire time.”

“Jungkook, that’s not fair—”

“Not fair?” he cut in, voice rising. “Maybe you did this on purpose! Maybe you’ve been plotting to screw me over!”

The accusation hit hard. “Are you seriously accusing me of sabotaging you? I’ve worked my ass off for this project!”

Jungkook’s eyes were cold. “And where were you when it mattered? You think your excuses are enough? Friends don’t disappear.”

The recent reconciliation between the both of you now dissolving on the ground between the both of you. You both had taken huge strides to become friends despite your resistance.

“Friends don’t accuse each other of being petty schemers!” you shot back, the anger surging. “I’ve been working all night to fix this, and you’re just throwing all my effort back in my face!”

“Maybe I’m tired of your games,” Jungkook retorted, his voice dripping with contempt. “Maybe David was right about you. Maybe he was right that this is something you do.”

David, your ex-boyfriend. Who had manipulated so many people into believing that you were crazy, when he had cheated on you multiple times. What hurt worse? Jungkook knew all of this, knew that David was an asshole. Knew that David was an awful person who lied every time he spoke.

Now he was throwing it in your face, what the hell was wrong with him?

The sting of his words was unbearable. “How dare you! I trusted you to be reasonable. You said you believed me when it came to what David said about me. How dare you throw that in my face! I came here ready to explain, ready to make things right. But you’re too busy being a jackass to listen.”

“I may be a jackass but at least I can be relied upon.” he said quietly, almost dismissively.

The words cut deeper than any knife. “You know what? I don’t need to defend myself to someone who’s already made up their mind. You’re not worth the effort, since you are so quick to blame others. You’re just like David after all.”

You turned away, feeling tears spill down your face. You walked away, not looking back. You had to save your grades, even if it meant cutting ties with Jungkook for good. Didn’t really matter, you two didn’t know each other that well anyways.

You found your professor, explained everything through your tears, and showed him the evidence. He listened, though his sympathy couldn’t override the rules. He allowed you to submit your rewritten paper but couldn’t let you do the presentation. He promised to grade fairly but couldn’t guarantee a good mark.

You received a D. It was lower than you hoped but enough to pass. Jungkook, however, failed, delaying his graduation.

You felt a grim satisfaction, but the bitterness lingered. The loss of the friendship gnawed at you, even if you hated him. You’d never see him again, and you were more than okay with that.

That was five years ago now.

The memory lingered as fresh and raw as ever. You had moved on, grown, and carved out a space where Jungkook’s existence didn’t matter. That was until you became friends with Melanie, who in every sense of the word was your best friend. Though, because fate is a funny thing, she fell in love with Namjoon. Namjoon’s closest friend was none other than Jungkook.

That relationship kept you and Jungkook in each other's lives for longer than either of you had cared for.

Forcing the two of you back into each other’s orbit. That also meant facing Jungkook repeatedly, each time resulting in fights so venomous you wondered how Melanie and Namjoon put up with it. So many clashes over so many years, so many attempts by mutual friends proved futile in bringing the both of you together. Eventually, everyone gave up and just made sure to never have the two of you in a room together.

Now with Namjoon and Melanie’s engagement, a wedding loomed around the corner.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, mind still reeling from the past. The fallout from that final class had changed everything. Every time you saw Jungkook since then, it was an instant—words turned to daggers, and every conversation became a battlefield. Neither of you ever backed down; pride kept you both locked in a bitter stalemate.

“Just a heads-up,” Melanie said, breaking you out of your thoughts. She hesitated, eyes flicking away as if bracing for impact. “I know how you two feel about each other, but he’s Namjoon’s best friend.”

You knew what was coming, but you still grimaced. “Don’t tell me.”

Melanie sighed. “Jungkook is his best man.”

You clenched your jaw, the anger bubbling up instantly. You had known this was inevitable, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. “Of course, he is.”

Melanie’s living room felt unusually tense, the soft glow of the evening sun doing little to warm the atmosphere. Melanie had always been the bridge between you and Jungkook—constantly trying to keep the peace, but it was becoming increasingly clear that this time was different. You couldn’t just show up, exchange a few biting remarks with Jungkook, and call it a day. This was her wedding. This was the culmination of everything she’d dreamed of, and she deserved your best effort.

Melanie took a deep breath, her stern expression softening just slightly. “I know it’s a big ask, and I wouldn’t push it if I didn’t have to. But Namjoon and Jungkook—they’ve been through so much together. He’s not just a friend to Namjoon; he’s like a brother. And I need you both to make this work.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of her words. Melanie was trying to keep the peace, but the sadness in her eyes was unmistakable. She had seen you and Jungkook tear each other down time and again. Seeing the tears you shed over the times he would hit the nail on the head, and say something that went too far. Held you back from starting a physical altercation with him.

Each encounter was more bitter than the last, and every argument chipped away at the thin veneer of civility you both clung to.

“I promise,” you said, your voice steady despite the resentment simmering underneath. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Melanie’s lips twitched into a small smile, but her eyes remained cautious. “Thank you. And I mean it, no half-hearted attempts. I need rainbows and kindness coming out of both of your asses.”

You laughed despite yourself, appreciating the way Melanie could still inject humor into even the most awkward of situations. “Got it. Rainbows and kindness. I’ll bring a whole damn unicorn if that’s what it takes.”

“Good, I don’t know what I would do if we had another new years situation.” Although it was years ago, that was probably the worst fight you and Jungkook had. The things that were said and the drink you dumped on him are very present in your mind. Made you laugh to yourself even but it definitely caused a bot of an issues in your group.

You shook your head, feeling a familiar pang of bitterness. “Yeah that was a really low moment for me. I think because of that things between us will never change. He’s still that same arrogant jerk who can’t own up to his mistakes. And I’m done pretending I care enough to fix anything.”

“People change,” she said softly, it was something she tried to convince you of many times. “But I get it. You don’t have to be friends—you just have to coexist.”

“That, I can do,” you said firmly. “I’m not going to let him ruin this for you.”

“Thank you,” Melanie said, squeezing your hand. “I’m so happy you accepted the role. I couldn’t imagine my wedding without you there.”

“For you? Anything,” you replied, your resolve hardening. You would hold onto your promise to Melanie, no matter how much Jungkook got under your skin. This wedding was about Namjoon and Melanie, not you and whatever animosity you harbored toward Jungkook.

The room lapsed into a comfortable silence, but your mind was racing, already plotting ways to avoid Jungkook’s inevitable provocations. You pictured the rehearsal dinner, the ceremony, the reception—any scenario where the two of you would be forced to interact. You would keep your distance, smile politely, and not engage. If Jungkook’s presence was like a storm cloud threatening to ruin the day, you would be calm. You owed Melanie that much.

“When the wedding rolls around, I’ll keep up appearances and be civil and kind,” you said, trying to reassure not just Melanie, but yourself. “Jungkook might be the spawn of Satan, but as long as I don’t speak to him directly, everything will go perfectly.”

No amount of promises could erase the deep-seated anger you felt every time you saw his face. This time, though, you would have to bury it, if only for a weekend. You would smile through gritted teeth, hold your tongue when he inevitably said something infuriating, and pretend you were above it all.

You had months to prep yourself though. Plenty of time to make sure that nothing Jungkook could do could piss you off.

Nothing that weekend will surprise you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭

❥ || Next Chapter

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭

[ramhaiba]

𝖯𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾 (𝖸𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖠𝗍𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗎 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋)

𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝓃𝑒, 𝓇𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃𝑔𝑒

a/n: this is a rewrite of one of my old (and incomplete...) stories! the original

chapter contains: blackmail, kita x reader (side) series contains: college au, sexual themes, violence, kidnapping, tea

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

You hated Atsumu Miya since your freshman year of high school. You don’t think you can name one good thing about him. From his annoying voice to his stuck-up personality, you hated it all. 

It wasn’t like he was your biggest fan either- you still remember his dramatic reaction when he found out you’d be going to the same college as him. 

To quote him, 

“Jesus Christ- you obsessed with me or something? Gotta follow me all the way to college too” 

You can barely believe that you used to be his friend before high school, sharing some of your best childhood memories with the former nice boy.

Now, he’s just a scumbag who likes to go out of his way to make you miserable.

But yesterday, was the last straw…

Everyone knew you had a crush on Kita…well- everyone but Kita. 

And Valentine's Day was the day you were gonna man up and finally make a move. You spent all night making chocolates for him…which turned out well- it was edible at least! 

You knew that there was a big possibility that you’d mess up on your words if you verbally tried to confess to him, that’s why you settled for a love letter. You spent hours trying to write that one-page letter. There are at least twenty crumbled-up failed attempts of you trying to write a love letter. However, you settle for the best one, keeping it safely in your pocket. 

Unfortunately, on the day of Valentine's Day- you had a class with Atsumu Miya. At least you also shared that class with a good friend of yours- Usagi. 

You loved that girl but she was one of the girls who fanned over Atsumu. She probably gave one of the hundred Valentine’s chocolates that lay on Atsumu’s desk. 

You walked over to your desk, trying to ignore Atsumu’s bragging about all the love letters he’s received. You settle the chocolates that you made for Kita on your desk, praying that they won’t melt before you give them to him.

“Holy shit what’s that?” Atsumu asked, voice annoying as always, propping his hands on your desk, and leaning over. 

“None of your business” you responded, trying to move the chocolates away from him. 

“She’s going confess to Kita!” Usagi spoke up, the chance to talk to Atsumu being too exciting for her to remain quiet. 

“Usagi!” you yelled, turning your head to look at the embarrassed girl. “S-sorry it just came out” she mumbled. 

Your attention fell back to Atsumu as you heard him laugh. 

“Oh man- I feel so bad for Kita, he’s going to have the ugliest girl on campus confess to him? Talk about social embarrassment am I right?” Atsumu teased, wiping away a tear from laughter. 

“Fuck off for once, Atsumu” you scoffed.  Atsumu paused his laughter, eyes narrowing as he looked at your pockets. “What you got in there?” he questioned. 

“Nothing that concerns you” you replied, shoving your hands into your pockets, probably crumbling the love letter. 

“Well good luck on your little confession, Y/n. You’re gonna need it” Atsumu commented, a sinister smile on his lips as he walked away. 

God- what was he planning? 

---

During lunch, you were walking to your usual table, holding your tray of food in your hand. Just in a few hours, you’ll be confessing to Kita and god you’re nervous. You keep repeating the same phrase in your head,

The worst thing that can happen is that he says no. 

The worst thing that can happen is that he says no. 

The worst thing that can happen is that he sa-

Suddenly, you felt a strong force bump into you, almost everything that was peacefully lying on your tray spilling onto your shirt, hissing in the uncomfortable feeling of your drink drenching your shirt. You looked up to see that Atsumu was the one responsible for the mess. 

“Asshole, watch where you’re going” you huffed, trying to wipe away the food on your shirt. 

“Wow, I am just so sorry, Y/n” Atsumu commented, giving you a passive-aggressive smile as he tried to help you clean off your shirt. 

“God- I hate you” you replied, slapping his hand away as you stormed away. 

Thank god, your dorm wasn’t too far away- however, you did miss your next class because of your sudden need to change your shirt and shower. 

----

The clock struck three- it was finally volleyball practice..AKA the time that you’d be confessing your feelings. You stood in front of the gymnasium, chocolates in one hand, the other reaching into your pocket for the letter

Wh-where is it? 

You panicked feeling your empty pocket. Then you heard Atsumu’s voice in the gymnasium, causing you to slowly open the door, and take a peak. 

“Kita, I’m not sure where to start with this letter. There are just so many things I feel for you. Every time I learn more about you- you just manage to make me fall deeper for you. I just get so nervous when I’m around you but excited at the same time. Is this what love is? And I really hope somewhere in your heart you- 

Jesus Christ! this is the comedic goal” Atsumu burst into laughter, holding a letter in his hand that he seemed to be reciting. You felt your heart stop, your blood going cold as you listened to all the laughter in the gym.

Everyone was laughing at you stupid- stupid letter, well...everyone but Kita.

“Who wrote the letter?” you heard Suna asked Atsumu. 

Atsumu looked around the gym, finally making eye contact with you through the gap between the door, 

“Oh, don’t worry ‘bout that, it’s ain't anyone important” Atsumu responded, a smile across his face as he crumbled the paper before throwing it into a trash can.

----

You ran- you ran all the way back to your dorm room, the tears in your eyes making it hard to see as you crashed on your bed, cursing out Atsumu through the pillow shoved in your face.

The chocolates you made for Kita were crushed and thrown out in your trash can. 

It wasn’t long til your sadness morphed into fiery unstoppable rage. 

You needed revenge- so you came up with the perfect plan.

Unlike most students on campus, Atsumu and Osamu lived in a house nearby- god they were lucky to have rich parents. 

You showed up in front of their house night- it was so late at night that the whole neighborhood was silent. In your hands was a crowbar- 

You thought to yourself, holy fuck this is crazy. But you were so fucking exhausted from all the harassment Atsumu has given to you for years. You had to do this. So you sneaked into their garage, prying it open with a crowbar. 

You knew there was only one thing that Atsumu loved almost as much as he loved himself.

That damn stupid orange car he got for his birthday. 

You remember the countless times when he would drive that expensive car around your house his deafening trashy music blasting from his car. The painful memories of the gas from his car would blow into your face and give you a nasty cough.

You shoved your hands into your pockets, taking out your silver key to your dorm room. 

You hovered your key in front of the door of his car, hands shaking.

“Fuck it” you mumbled, dragging your key across the orange vehicle, leaving a white line on the paint. 

It made your anger and sadness disappear…for a second.

You were painting his car with the scratches done by your trustworthy key for at least ten minutes, getting lost in high of your revenge. 

The sound of footsteps descending downstairs interrupted your high, causing you to dash out of the garage, slamming the door behind you, hiding behind a tree as you heard

"WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO MY BABY"

Atsumu’s response causes you to laugh back home. Who cares about forgiveness? Revenge is truly the best feeling in the world. 

---

You were discussing yesterday’s event with Usagi- you told her almost everything besides… your very illegal form of revenge. 

“My beloved, Atsumu did what?” she cried in disbelief. “You mean that monster, Atsumu?” you corrected her. 

“I’m sorry that happened, are you okay?” she asked. “Oh, I am “ you replied, smiling while thinking of the event from last night. 

“Y/n.”

You turned your head, expecting Atsumu who came to annoy you…instead, it was Kita. “I’m sorry if you’re busy but may I talk to you for a moment?” Kita politely asked. You glanced back at an eager Usagi who was waving you off to shut up and go with him. 

“Y-yeah, sure” you replied to Kita. 

Kita held your hand as he led you to a more secluded part of campus, unaware that you were screaming in your head at the gesture. 

“What did you want to talk to me about?” you asked, praying to god he didn’t find out it was you to write that embarrassing letter.

“Well, I didn’t see you yesterday. So I didn’t have the opportunity to give you this” Kita responded, opening his bookbag, gently taking out a piece of chocolate wrapped in a pink transparent bag. 

I-is this what you think it is? Is this a confessio-

“Y/n, I wanted to tell you that-”Kita said, snapping you out of your flustered thoughts. 

“Oh, Y/n, I found you!” Atsumu sang, waving his hand as he ran up to you. You cringed at the feeling of Atsumu wrapping his arm around your shoulder, “Kita, I need to steal sweet Y/n for a moment. It’s important” Atsumu confessed. 

“If it’s important then I suppose it’d be selfish for me to say no” Kita responded. “Great, she will be back in a flash” Atsumu beamed, tugging you away to a different section of campus.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Couldn’t you see I was busy” you huffed.

“There is nothing more important than spending time with me” Atsumu replied. “You’re such a narcissist” you insulted. 

“And you, sweetheart, are a car wrecker,” Atsumu remarked, stepping closer to you with every word, arms crossed to emphasize his biceps. 

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about” You laughed in disbelief, trying to act dumb. 

“Ain’t I the luckiest man in the world to have security cameras?” Atsumu confessed, a smile on his lips as he waved his phone, a video of you committing the crime on the screen. 

Fuck-fuck- Fuck you’re so screwed. You’re going to get charged with trespassing and Destruction of property. You’re so going to get kicked out of school. 

“W-why haven’t you shown this to the police already” you stuttered, voice cracking, hands shaking at your side. 

“I wanted to give ya a better option” Atsumu hummed. “What are you trying to say” you replied. 

“You’re going to be my sweet girlfriend for a month”

“What? You’re not serious. You hate me like I hate you” you scoffed in disbelief. “Are you going to question me or be a smart girl and take what I’m offering?” Atsumu uttered, leaning over to your ear, his breath heating your neck. 

“Only for a month?” you repeated, hands forming a fist to your side, sucking up your pride. 

“Only for a month” Atsumu confirmed, pulling away to show you his smile. “Fine” you huffed. 

---

You walked back to Kita, still shaken up from what had just occurred. “Y/n, are you okay? You look worried” Kita questioned, reaching over to hold your hand in his. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. You wanted to tell me something?” you laughed away his concerns. Kita adverted his eyes, a faint red appearing on his cheeks as his lips turned into a subtle smile, 

“I just wanted to know if you had feelings for me…because I admire you. I want to be with you. If you’ll allow me to” Kita confesses, finally having the courage to look back at you. 

You couldn’t believe it, your heart was about to bounce out of your chest until you saw the demon- Atsumu Miya behind Kita, 

“Reject him. “ he mouthed.

Why couldn’t Kita confess next month? 

[cr4zy-cycl0n3]

Yo! I'm doing a Heroes of Olympus rewrite!

I'm not a huge fan of how some scenes go in canon and how the characters esp the gods are handled in Hoo, and after reading one too many rewrite/AU fics, I've decided fuck it, imma make my own.

I'm changing quite a few things, like:

- making Piper's memories not be tampered with and as a result be way closer to Leo (credit to Heroes of Juno by @queenjunothegreat for this idea!)

- MOTHERLY HERA/JUNO WHO PSEUDO-ADOPTS JASON FTW also parental Lupa but that'll be more apparent in a Jason prequel/sequel(depends on how I wanna format it) I’ll write after TLH is done

- slowburn valgrace instead of comphet jiper

- Leo and Piper QPR(+Jason when Piper stops being his #1 opp). Jasipereo ftw babyyy

- the whole series is just gonna have a good deal of focus on the Lost Trio. I'm not gonna shaft anyone ofc but my favorite punching bags characters are just gonna get extra love :3

- Jason's gonna be considerably more feral cuz CMON MAN WAS RAISED BY WOLVES(this is more prominent in the later books cuz in TLH he was alr feral, going at 2 giants with his BARE ASS HANDS)

- Jason has more bite cuz DAMMIT HE DESERVES TO BE ANGRY/BITTER AND CLAP BACK. HIS LIFE IS SHIT, LET MY BRO BE MAD

- more exploration into Jason's character cuz man was shafted so hard :(

- exploration of characters' powers in general, def buffing the Big Three kids to be as strong as Percy cuz holy cow he's OP. I love Percy and his OP-ness, but the other Big Three kids should be just as OP

- Zeus is the God of Justice, which we don't see much of in PJO's characterization of him, but Jupiter is Roman and hence is much more strict in the RRverse, so consequently I think his domain of law and order is more central to Jupiter than his greek counterpart, so I'd like to explore Jason having powers related to that and being an absolute powerhouse when it comes to debates and politics despite hating them

- characterizing the Gods differently from canon as I'm a Hellenist and writing them as they are in canon makes me like. Kinda uncomfortable. I will be using mythic literalism as that is what PJO/HoO's based on and I'm not rewriting the very foundations of the series, so they will still have committed the things they did in mythology, though I'm keeping them largely unaltered from the Og greek mythos and unsanitized as this isn't intended for a young audience like PJO is. Their behavior won't be exactly like their depictions in myths nor how they actually are irl, it's a mix of both(Ex: Zeus has still done heinous shit so he won't be as great as he is irl, but he isn't supremely petty and bitchy like he is in PJO.). This uhh. Will probably mean that PJO events would go differently which would influence HOO but if I think about that too much I'm gonna wanna do a PJO rewrite too and akbhdhd so just imagine that everything that goes on in PJO goes as canon (for now at least) for some reason or another.

- Octavian and Jason are were best friends cuz I said so. This change is inspired by To Storm and Fire(a Heroes of Olympus rewrite) which I am in LOVE with. The antagonistic side characters(like Drew and Octavian) got very little development or character exploration so l'm definitely giving them that in my rewrite!

- The Seven feel and are much closer together

- delving more into the sevens' trauma pre-camp, might also do a one/two shot for each of them. Jason’s a given cuz I’m writing a whole ass fic or even series dedicated to his past, Leo and Piper definitely, probably also Hazel and Annabeth, not sure on Percy and Frank cuz for Frank I’m def going into the trauma that comes with growing up in an Asian household but don’t have too many ideas on how to execute that, and for Percy I don’t have all that many ideas in general outside of the little we know in PJO(I used to think we knew a lot but honestly, we really don’t? Like we know Poseidon left, Sally had to work a lot, Gabe sucks, and he got kicked out of 6 six schools in 6 years and the reasons, but we don’t have any concrete details. There might be more in HoH, I haven’t read it yet so lmk if there is). Open to any ideas for this!

- camp is. Tense. It's been only a few months since the war, grief is still fresh, and Jason being tall, blonde, and blue-eyed with a scar ain't helping 💀 some people think Silena was a hero, others think she was a villain, some people sympathized with Luke, others despised him, there's a lotta differing views.

I have loads more ideas that I won't get into here cuz the post'll get way too long, but l'd love to hear what you guys think! What scenes/characterizations should I change? What topics would you like to see handled differently? What should I add? I'm open to any and all suggestions!

Currently outlining TLH, will start posting it on my ao3 once I have the first chapter and 4-5 buffer ones written so I'll prolly start posting it in a month or two? Idk, depends on my workload irl and if I get hit by writer’s block. Maybe less, maybe more, who knows. I'll be writing a bunch of shorter stories for specific moments, time between books, and namely a prequel/tih sequel focusing on Jason's past and who he was before Hera wiped his memory. Open to any suggestions for additional works too. Feel free to drop any questions and suggestions bout the rewrite here or in my ask box!

[sophrosynesworld]

Just Friends?

actor!Katsuki x actress!Reader

The studio lights cast a warm glow over the set as the host welcomes everyone back from the commercial break. I stand in the wings, nervously fixing my hair. Katsuki stands beside me, unfazed by the upcoming interview. The audience buzzes with anticipation, eager to hear from us about our latest movie.

"Welcome back to the Midnight Mic, everyone!" Late-night talk show host Hizashi Yamada greets the crowd, his voice bouncing around the room, riling everyone up. "We have a great show lined up for you tonight, so don't leave your seats!" Hizashi walks from center stage over towards his desk, pulling out the chair before directing his attention towards the second camera.

"Tonight, we have some amazing guests. Please join me in welcoming two of the biggest stars on the silver screen, Katsuki Bakugo and his leading lady!"

The applause is deafening, and I can't help but smile. Katsuki gestures for me to walk out first, my heels clicking as I wave to the audience. It's instantly twenty degrees hotter as the stage lights beat down on me. I don’t have to look back to know when Bakugo follows; the crowd’s excitement peaks as he steps out, giving a casual nod, his usual confident demeanor softened by a playful smirk. He glances at me as we sit, leaning over to adjust my dress.

"It's great to have you both here," Hizashi begins, turning towards us. "You two have been the talk of the town with your new film. How's the stardom feel?"

Katsuki leans back in his chair, clearly relaxed. "It's been a wild ride," he admits, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Most of us have done fine with the publicity. My co-star, on the other hand," he jokes, nodding towards me, "couldn't handle the heat at first."

I laugh, covering my red cheeks before nudging him playfully. "Yeah, this is just my first major hit. I wasn't used to the more persistent fans. This has been a wonderful experience though. The entire crew has really bonded over the last twenty weeks.

Our host raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "You seem to have a great dynamic, both on and off screen. What's it like working together?"

I glance at Katsuki, who gives me a look that says, "Go ahead." I smile and turn back towards Hizashi. "It's honestly been amazing. I don’t think Katsuki liked me very much in the beginning—"

“I didn’t.”

"—but I finally wore him down enough to tolerate me." I laugh, swatting his arm away while crossing my legs. "He’ll never admit it, but we clicked right away. It'll inflate his ego, but he's won three Oscars for a reason." I laugh lightly, smiling at the memories.

Katsuki grins, crossing his arms. "She’s being modest. I've won 4." The crowd laughs as he changes the conversation. "Honestly, she's the best costar I've had in a while. She's going to kill me during the nominations this year. I mean, there was this one scene where she just—"

"Oh, no, not this story," I interject, laughing.

He chuckles, ignoring my protests. "We're filming this one scene with all these seasoned professionals, folks who have been in this business for decades." He pauses, looking at me. "They had to rewrite the first version of the scene because her acting was so horrifyingly raw and realistic that it traumatized the crew. They thought she was actually dying."

Our host leans in, clearly shocked. "Are you going to tell us more? You can't leave us with crumbs!"

Katsuki shakes his head, his crimson eyes sparkling with mischief. "Definitely not. You'll have to see it in theaters to find out."

I shake my head sheepishly. "I don't even know if they left it in or not. They told me to act, so I did."

"This is why I love you guys. You're always so honest about your lives." Hizashi grins. Now, I hate to gossip, but there's been a lot of questions about your off-screen relationship. Care to clear up the rumors?"

Katsuki and I exchange a knowing look, a silent agreement passing between us. I decide to answer, leaning forward slightly. "We have a really close friendship. We're both super passionate about our work and love what we do, which makes working together even better. We definitely have a flirty friendship, but it's all in good fun."

Katsuki nods, his expression softening. "Yeah, she's great. We just get each other, you know? It's easy to be around her, whether we're on set or just hanging out."

Hizashi smiles, clearly enjoying our interview. "Well, it's clear that you two have a special connection. Before we go, is there anything you'd like to say to your fans?"

I turn to the camera, feeling a wave of gratitude. "Just a huge thank you to all the fans for their amazing support. This entire experience has been mind-blowing, and I can't wait for everyone to see it. We hope you love it as much as we do."

Katsuki chimes in with a grin. "Yeah, thanks for sticking with us, extras. Our new movie comes out in theaters September 22nd!"

The audience laughs and claps, clearly enjoying their money spent. Hizashi wraps up our segment, and as the band leads us to commercial, Katsuki leans over, nudging me gently. "You did great," he murmurs, a genuine smile on his face.

I grin back at him. "You weren't too bad yourself," I tease, standing up and heading back towards the green room, waving goodbye to some of our fans in the audience.

Katsuki is quick to follow, his steps only a few paces behind mine, practically pushing my bodyguard out of the way. I open the door and sit down on the oversized couch. Katsuki follows my lead, plopping himself close to me. His large hands almost instantly wrap around me, lifting me up and pulling me into his chest. I straddle him, our bodies dangerously close together.

"Just friends?" Suki whispers, his lips grazing mine as he looks at me.

"Just friends," I reply, the words soft and delicate as my freshly polished fingers wrap around the fabric of his shirt, closing the distance between us.

Authors Note: I'm obsessed with this idea and could probably write 200 of these little one shots.

[achaotichuman]

A couple of things I see a lot when it comes to the Tamlin vs Rhysand discussions are, who is worse? And Rhysand and Tamlin are two sides of the same coin, so they both have an equal negative effect on the series.

So I decided to compile a list comparing both Rhysand and Tamlin's negative/abusive actions within the ACOTAR series and compare them.

Note, this does not include actions from the CC series, though I am sure that would add to the list.

I tried to write this with as little bias as possible, but I am writing from memory, so please feel absolutely free to add anything I may have missed. But please refrain from rudeness or hateful behavior, you will be blocked and ignored.

Also keep in mind, all of these are their actions as they are, so no justifying context is given if there is any. And these are the things they are DIRECTLY responsible for, so anything that was otherwise out of their control is not being added, take Nesta and Elain being kidnapped by Hybern, that was not Tamlin's fault, so it is not on the list.

Without further ado, here is my list comparing Rhysand's actions and Tamlin's.

**Additions to the list.**

For Tamlin:

Slut-shaming Feyre at the High Lords meeting

Not apologizing for biting her

For Rhysand:

Encourages/forces segregation not just within the Hewn City but also with Illyria. Even when he allows Hewn City folk to come into Velaris, he makes for absolute certain that they will not be welcome and will be barred from everywhere.

Keeps evil men who abuse their power in charge, despite 'advocating for change', take Keir and Devlon. Keir tortured his daughter and left her to die. Devlon allows and promotes wing-clipping, despite Rhysand outlawing it.

Puts Feyre's life in danger with the Weaver

Uses Elain as a political pawn to string along Lucien

He suicide-baits Tamlin

He allows one of his IC members to attack Eris during the High Lord's meeting, despite peace being promised

_____________________________

Apologies if the quality is not the best, I took screenshots because I am NOT rewriting all of this into Tumblr post format.

[wintervalewritersecond]

siren song || - xavier thorpe

requested: yes! requests: open! second part of siren song! the third part is also out, check my masterlist! ^^

A/N: thank you for the love on siren song! to read part one, click here! i hope you enjoy this part &lt;3 i had to rewrite this considering i accidentally deleted it :')

wordcount: 4.736 warnings: xavier being a bad friend, curse words, slight memory loss, incorrect information about siren song probably, use of weed.

After finally convincing Bianca to use her Siren Song, you get some well-deserved peace in your head. How long does it take for Xavier to notice the changes?

"What?"

The question catches Bianca off guard, not something that happens a lot. Tears are staining your face as you sniff, trying to not start sobbing again.

"Hey, it's okay. Come in."

Her arm is placed on your shoulders as she guides you into her room, placing you on her bed before grabbing her desk chair, sitting next to you.

"What has gotten you so upset?"

You look down at your hands, biting your cheeks as you nervously fiddle with your fingers. You feel embarrassed to sit here, crying in the dorm of your friend that used to be Xaviers girlfriend, but you didn't know anyone that would know how you feel. No one except for Bianca.

"I think Xavier hates me."

"What?" Bianca exclaims shocked. "Why do you think that?"

If there is one thing that Bianca was sure of, it was that Xavier is completely infatuated with you. Even during their relationship, he still made sure to spend some time with you, and Bianca never cared. She trusted both of you, as you became her friend when the relationship was going on. When the couple broke up, your friendship watered down a bit, but you were still both friendly.

"We just had a fight," you whisper. "He never yelled at me like that. Never."

She hands you a tissue, breathing in deeply.

"He has been ignoring me for weeks. He became so obsessed with Wednesday that he did not have any time for me. She- she asked him to the Rave'n and then he found out that she just used him," you ramble. "I asked him to come with me, not even as a real date, but just so he wouldn't be alone. And then he totally ditched me there the second Wednesday came in. The worst thing is, she doesn't even like him. She told me."

How stupid can a boy be? Bianca grits her teeth, shaking her head.

"He is dumb. If there is one thing that he should do, it's to get his head straight. I can't believe that he would do this. Especially after all you have done for him!"

"What if I just become more like Wednesday? I- I can braid my hair? I will even learn to play the cello. He- He said that she was better than me... That I just bother him. Am I too obsessed or- or annoying?"

Even Bianca's heart breaks at that point. The tears are rolling down your face again as you still don't dare to look up at her.

"Am I really that bad of a friend?"

"No!" Bianca immediately responds. "No, Y/N, if anything, you are a great friend. Too good for him. You don't need to be Wednesday to be better. I think she is too emotionless for her own good."

"I wish I was that way," you sigh. "Please, Bianca. If I tell you that I really want it, can you really not use your Song?"

Bianca takes a deep breath, her leg bouncing up and down. Her eyes fall down to the amulet around her neck. It is very against the rules to use her Siren Song, it is something that could get her in a lot of trouble. But, at the same time, she knows exactly how you feel. Xavier is just someone who deserves love, yet he doesn't know how to act around it when someone is literally handing it to him on a silver plate.

Her heart tells her to help you, to give you everything you deserve, but she knows that she also needs to think about the possible consequences. Though your grades have been slipping and your mood has been down for a while now as well. So many factors.

"Y/N, I really don't know."

"What if I consent to it? Surely that must be fine. I- I will sign a contract, even. Write it myself. I- Even only thinking about doing this for me would already be enough."

You must genuinely sound so annoying now, but you know that this will help.

"Why won't you try talking to Kinbott first?"

"I just need something... Something that will work immediately. A Siren Song can always be undone, right?"

"I'm not sure about that," Bianca grimaces. "It's hard, Y/N. I promise you that I will think about it. Just... Try and get some rest, okay?"

-

You had spent the rest of the weekend laying in bed, napping or reading, and sometimes you would head to the Quad to get something to eat. Kent made sure to try and cheer you up, which did work to an extent. You appreciate having a friend like that.

Even from the distance you sit at now, you can still see the figure of Wednesday Addams, sitting alone at her table while writing something down in her notebook. Ajax waves Xavier over to get him to sit at your table but is quickly rejected as the long-haired boy decides to sit with Wednesday. She looks up with the deadliest of looks, though it doesn't seem to phase him at all. Can't he see?

Bianca looks out from the second level of the Quad, spotting both you and Xavier. Not one word is exchanged, though your body language speaks for itself. Your shoulders are slumped and even though Kent tries his hardest to make you laugh, it isn't enough.

Seeing you so upset about someone who doesn't deserve it makes her feel bad. Even in her relationship, she felt like you were more important to Xavier, and that is something she just... Accepted. She never blamed you for it, as Bianca could never really trust Xavier either. But the feelings he has for you are totally real.

After that dinner, you retired back to your room. Yoko would be hanging out with Divina anyway. Just as you let yourself fall on your bed, you hear a knock on the door.

"Coming!"

You kick your bag underneath your bed before walking up to the door, opening it to reveal a Bianca behind it.

"I will only do it after you agree to all the consequences."

She walks in as you close the door behind her, trailing after her.

"You're serious?"

"You deserve to have some peace, Y/N. God knows I wish someone could have done this for me when I was in your situation. I will tell you every consequence," Bianca looks at you sternly. "And I have some conditions."

"Yeah- Yeah totally."

Bianca sits down at your desk, handing you a pen and paper.

"You are to write down that you agree with the Siren Song. I can't just use it whenever I want. Principal Weems will have my head if she finds out."

"Anything, Bianca."

You start writing, still listening to the siren as she explains everything.

"I can genuinely not say if I am able to undo the Song. There is a high likelihood that it will not return to you and Xavier being best friends. I also do not know what to do if this news ever reaches Weems. No one knows that we are planning to do this, no one except for us."

"I promise you, I will take all the blame," you nod, a weak smile on your face. "It is the least I can do."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" She looks at you, her eyebrows stuck in a frown. "It's not something small. You deserve much better than how Xavier acts now."

"I- Yeah. I thought about it all day yesterday. I just... I want to. I promise."

You hand her the paper in neatly written handwriting.

I, Y/N Y/L/N, fully consent to the use of the Siren Song by Bianca Barcley. I have willingly agreed to be under the influence of the song for as long as I wish. All punishments that are given for using the Siren Song are punishments I will take over. Bianca Barcley is not to be lectured nor punished for her actions.

Underneath it is your handwriting, together with the date of today. Bianca takes a deep breath, nodding as she reads it over and over again.

"What exactly... Is it that you want me to do? You just... Want to forget him?"

You nod.

"I was thinking that... I don't want to be scared of him, I just want to stay out of his way. If that makes any sense?"

"Xavier Thorpe will be the one you forget, from now on his name will stop sounding in your head," Bianca mutters, trying to practice whatever she will say. "Distance is something that you will keep, he will not be the reason as to why you... Weep?"

You will forget Xavier, make sure to keep your distance, and not cry over him. You do feel guilty for making Bianca use the Siren Song on you, but in your eyes, it feels like the only way out.

"I think you will just return to how it was before you met Xavier," she then nods. "I will try to make sure that you will not get too close to him again, but I can't promise anything. If you have feelings for him now, you might just... Start liking him all over again."

"I just need to forget," you say, handing the handwritten note to Bianca. "Thank you so much, Bianca."

"This might be the first time I feel guilty for using it," she laughs nervously. "But, you deserve it. Truly. Xavier just needs to get his act straight. He loves you, he's just dumb."

You don't fully believe her. You want to, but you can't. You truly thought that he liked you back, that he was also interested in you. But now you were not even sure if he liked you as a friend anymore.

"Ready? You will probably be sleepy after this."

Trembling hands and nervous sighs.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

Bianca nods, pulling the necklace off of her neck. She closes her eyes, holding your hands in hers.

"Xavier Thorpe will be the one you forget, from now on his name will stop sounding in your head. Distance is something that you will keep, he will not be the reason as to why you weep."

-

You had woken up with a slight headache. Your limbs are still sore from the Rave'n dance, but that can't stop you. Not that you remember a lot of it; they must have spiked the drinks. You pick up your bag from under the bed, emptying it out before filling it with everything you need for the day. After finally finding all your books, pens, and notebooks, you exit your room.

"Hi, guys!"

With a big smile, you greet your friends, plopping down in between Kent and Bianca. You had gotten a sandwich from the dining hall, trying to get some breakfast in before your first class.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Kent snickers. "You're up before me most of the time."

You shrug, taking a bite of your sandwich.

"I was so tired," you mumble, wiping your mouth with the napkin. "I'm still sore from all the dancing!"

Ajax and Enid soon also join the table as Enid huffs.

"I feel like the paint is still in my hair," she complains. "I mean, it was a good post for my blog, but that dress was my favorite dress ever! "

You let out a chuckle, closing the sandwich container before placing the leftovers in your bag. Yes, the paint was a pain to get out of your hair and your dress has also been stained, but the rest of the evening went splendidly.

After fifteen minutes, the first bell rings, signaling that classes are to start in only five minutes. You sling your backpack onto your back before standing up from the table.

"You ready for Botany?" Bianca smirks.

"Well," you sigh. "Can I use your notes? I can't find any of mine from the last three weeks. I don't know what I did during class, but I know that there is a test coming up and this is not my best subject."

Bianca's smile falters for a second, realizing that you really don't remember a lot about Xavier anymore.

"Yeah, you can sit with me. Might be the easiest anyway."

You nod, entering the class as you greet miss Thornhill. She had already placed some strange plants in the front of the classroom as other students slowly entered the classroom.

Some students already picked a spot, including Wednesday. She is placed next to another person, hair to his shoulders and a frown on his face.

"Good morning, Wednesday!"

You sit down on the opposite side of Bianca as she and the boy sit between you and Wednesday.

He feels familiar. It is almost like he was in a dream. Like you accidentally bumped into him once or twice, only seeing him in your classroom once in a while. It's like the lingering smell of perfume when someone walks past you, or when you see a half-erased line of pencils on a page. He is mesmerizing, yet extremely intimidating. It is almost like you can't rip your eyes off of him, but you are also too scared to keep looking.

Bianca gives you a look before placing her notebook in front of you, making sure that you can read all of it as Thornhill starts talking. You try to write down all she says, making small sketches of the flowers and plants she shows while also trying to write down all the notes from the last few weeks.

"Alright, so, I will be expecting the essays about the Ghost Orchid and at least two more carnivorous plants. No maximum amount of words, but at least 450 words per plant."

Thank God for Bianca's notes. Without those, you would have actually failed this.

"I think I'm going to be doing my homework in the Nightshade library," you whisper to the girl. "I really need to get started on this."

After writing down the last few sentences, you drop your pen. Your hand is cramping from all the writing and your fingers are covered in ink. Only Biology and one hour of fencing left and after that, you were going to sit with the Choir Club, even though you're not a member. You would often hang out with them, sitting on a bench nearby while waiting for your friends to finish. You yourself were actually in the Art Club, but you tend to hang out with other clubs on days that you didn't have any.

A small break after Botany, just long enough to grab a hot drink from the dining hall before getting dressed in your fencing suit again.

"Bianca? You want to team up?"

She raises an eyebrow, smirking while grabbing a saber, switching it from hand to hand.

"I thought you would never ask."

"I can use some competition. And improvement."

Bianca won. Not once, not twice, but five times. You groan as you end up on the floor again, the tip of the saber pointing to your chest. You hold up your hand before pushing yourself up.

"We get it," you let out a laugh before pulling the mask off of your head. "I'm going to need a break."

She holds out her hand, helping you get up before taking her own mask off. The two of you walk towards one of the small wooden benches that sit against the wall of the room, grabbing a bottle of water before cracking it open, and taking big sips.

Everyone else is still training, the clanking of sabers and the sound of shoes against the mats filling up the classroom. You let out a big sigh, pushing some strands of hair out of your face.

"I don't know if I will ever fight you again," you mumble.

"You're getting better," Bianca laughs, closing the bottle back up. "I have seen worse."

You look at everyone around you, some also taking off their masks to catch their breath as Coach walks around, giving out tips and advice where needed.

The boy with the long hair is here again, yet you still don't know where you know him from. Bianca sneakily looks at you, blinking before looking at Xavier. He acted like you weren't even there as he just fenced against Ajax. She does still think the two of you fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, but Xavier first needs to figure himself out. She knows he likes you; it is clear as day. But as long as he acts like this, he doesn't deserve you. Not at all.

Has he always just been in the background? It is like a ghost, you know that you have seen him, yet you don't know where or when.

"One more round?"

-

"I think I'll be heading to the library now," you tell Bianca. "I genuinely don't know what happened these last few weeks, but I am behind on all my homework."

Half of the Choir Club time has passed as they rehearsed their songs for Outreach Day. They were to perform when the new statue in the town square was going to be revealed. But you had more than enough homework to do.

"I might join you later," she sighs. "Some quiet would be nice."

You tell your friends goodbye before slinging your bag over your shoulder, hurrying down the Quad and into the small hidden hallway leading to the Poe statue. With two snaps you get in, making sure that the entrance is closed off again before going down the stairs.

Nice and quiet.

After around forty-five minutes, you hear some more rumbling. Ah, Bianca must be here. You have gotten a lot of work done, actually. The Ghost Orchid part of your essay is already done, now moving on to the Crimson Pitch plant.

"Hey, Bianca!"

The footsteps descend the stairs, but the figure does not belong to Bianca. The tall guy with long hair walks into the library, the one that felt like he lived somewhere in your memory. Your eyes grow big as you immediately throw everything back in your bag. You didn't know that he was a Nightshade as well.

You close your bag hurriedly. Something about him is so intimidating, but he is absolutely mesmerizing at the same time. Why are you so afraid of him? When walking out you accidentally bump into him.

"Sorry," you quickly mumble, running up the stairs before he can even reply.

Bianca is cleaning up when you get out of the library, so you run up to her. Luckily she is still there.

"Can I do my homework in your room? Yoko was inviting some friends to my dorm and..." You look around, making sure no one is around them. "That guy showed up again. The new one."

Bianca clenches her teeth, grabbing the last few papers before stuffing them in her bag, taking your arm to take you up into her room. She can't have Xavier mess this all up. You haven't been this happy in weeks.

You sit down against her bed, laptop on your lap as you are typing away. But the words are getting stuck, the same sentence being rewritten multiple times before finally getting one that slightly makes sense.

"Is he new?"

Bianca turns around on her chair, looking at you.

"Who?"

"The guy with long hair. He was in the Nightshade library. I- I didn't know if he was supposed to be in there because I wasn't sure if he was in our group."

Why does he have to be there at the exact same time as you? It almost makes the Siren Song useless. You might avoid him as much as you can, but he isn't under the spell.

"He's new."

"He's kinda pretty."

Bianca scoffs.

"Pretty weird. It might be best to stay out of his way, he needs to work on himself before making new... friends."

-

Xavier groans, dropping his bag on the floor. You had been fully ignoring him, but to be fair, he totally deserved it. He had noticed you sneaking into the library and his plan was to try and talk to you, but you had fled before he could get one word in.

He had called Ajax, asking him to come down to the library as soon as he could. Xavier spent some time sitting in the room, biting on his lips while bouncing his leg up and down. He really, really fucked up.

Rumbling of stones and footsteps.

Ajax shows up, slightly out of breath. He had ran here from his dorm. Xavier said that there was a big problem and if he was needed in the Nightshade library, it would probably be huge.

"What's up, man?"

"I fucked up," Xavier runs his hands over his face. "Like, really bad."

The Gorgon frowns, looking at his friend. Xavier looks stressed out, more than usual. His hair is messy, his eyes are red and he has big eyebags underneath his eyes.

"What did you do?"

The artist breathes in shakily, pacing around the room while fiddling with his hands.

"I have been a total asshole to Y/N," he mumbles. "I left her at the Rave'n, drenched in that paint, and then she went up to visit me. I wasn't only a horrible date, but I was an even worse friend."

"Xavier?" Ajax asks yet again. "What did you do?"

Xavier breathes out roughly, blinking while pursing his lips. He is too ashamed to say it, but he needs to tell someone. He needs someone to set him straight.

"I treated her like shit. I told her Wednesday was better than she is."

His friend gasps, looking at his friend almost disgusted. How could he have said that to her? After all those nights of the artist hanging out in Ajax's dorm, him smoking some weed while listening to his friend blabber on about how much he liked you, and then he does this?

"What the fuck? Xavier, you have liked her for years, why would you say that?!"

Xavier rubs his eyes. If anyone is disappointed, it's him. He was so in his head that he took it all out on you. Wednesday isn't better than you. He has liked you for the longest time now, and this just messed it all up. Xavier his mental health has been declining, especially now that he is also suspected of being some type of monster. But that isn't your fault. None of it is. You have always, always been there for him, and he just swept you to the side.

"I'm going to be honest, dude," Ajax looks at his friend. "I am really disappointed in you."

"As you should be," Xavier whispers.

"I'll help."

Xavier looks up, kind of shocked. For some reason, he expected Ajax to just abandon Xavier in the library, leaving him to fend for himself.

"Only if you promise to never do this again. Go to Kinbott more, try and talk about your feelings. Y/N never cared, you could show up crying at her dorm at three am and she would make sure that you're fine before she even thinks of going to sleep."

"Ajax- Thank you so much."

"Yeah, yeah. Just try to talk to her. I'm serious, Xavier. You might be my best friend, but this is not cool."

-

For the last two weeks, Xavier had tried to talk to you on multiple occasions. He even sat at your table, though Kent and Bianca were hovering around you, not even letting Xavier get one word in.

During Botany he tried to draw a butterfly, making it float in the air before it quickly gets swatted away by Bianca who just gives Xavier a disgusted stare.

During Fencing he walked up to you, wanting to ask you to train with him like you usually did, but you quickly darted away once you saw him coming for you.

He went down to the Nightshade library to wait for you, yet you never came.

What he did do was 'accidentally' bump into you. He would calculate when he had to stand up to go to class. The first thing you would put in your bag was your notebook, followed by your pencil case. After that you would close the zipper; his sign to stand up. After swinging the bag on your shoulder, you would walk off.

You accidentally bump into someone's back, making the bottle of water that they had in their hand fall.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!"

As you go to pick it up and give it back, you see the boy again. The boy that appeared in your dreams as if they were faint memories. The boy reminded you of ink splatters and the smell of freshly painted walls.

You quickly hand him the bottle, excusing yourself before finding your way to a picnic table again. He makes you nervous, and you don't know in what way. Bianca warned you for him, so all you could do was listen.

In your room, you had a collection of handwritten notes, asking you to meet up in the Nightshade library. You never did. Once you showed them to Bianca, she immediately shook her head.

-

"I don't know what else to do," Xavier furrows his eyebrows, "She just doesn't want to talk to me. I don't blame her for not wanting to, but sometimes she even completely ignores me. As if she doesn't even know my name. I tried everything."

Ajax takes a hit of his joint, his eyes tinted red before he blows it out of the window. The moon is lighting up Nevermore, its stars shining around it.

"Everything?"

"Yeah," Xavier responds. "I tried to talk to her, give her notes, even accidentally bumped into her. But, Bianca and Kent are just acting like bodyguards to her."

"If you want, I can try to talk to her tomorrow."

"You would do that?"

"Yeah," the Gorgon shrugs. "She still talks to me sometimes. Hanging out in the Quad after classes. I'll let you know how it went."

-

"Y/N! Hey!"

Ajax runs up to you, a big smile on his face before he pulls his beanie back down.

"Ajax! It is nice to see you again."

"What are your plans for today?"

Hm, what were your plans? You did really want to go to the Weathervane to get a drink, but considering it is a Thursday, you weren't too sure. There are no shuttle buses today, and walking in the chilly weather for twenty-five minutes didn't sound too appealing.

"I have some homework I still need to do. I was thinking of going to the Nightshade library to study. Want to join?"

The boy eagerly shakes his head, following you through the hall and down the stairs. The small table gets filled with books, pens, and notebooks. Ajax didn't really take a lot of homework, but he did provide some snacks.

The two of you talked about all different types of things. How he was planning on asking out Enid, how you expected Outreach Day to go, which homework you were doing, and much more.

"Can I maybe ask you something personal?"

You hum, looking up from your paper.

"Of course."

"I was just wondering," he awkwardly laughs. "What happened at the Rave'n?"

"I have no idea," you shrug. "I think there were some Normies who set off the sprinklers. All I know is that my dress is still stained and that, whatever it was, really burned my eyes."

Ajax frowns, what are you talking about?

"Yeah, no, I was there. One beanie destroyed," he chuckles. "But I meant more like... After the Rave'n. What happened?"

It is your turn to be confused.

"Well... I showered, tried to wash the stains out of my clothes, and then hung out with Bianca."

Do you just really not remember?

"What? No, Y/N, I mean... What happened with you and Xavier?"

Even more confusion spreads on your face as you put your pen down on the paper. What is he talking about? All you did was dance, drink punch, took a break, danced more, and then went to clean yourself from the sticky red paint. And who is he talking about?

"Who is Xavier?"

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

TAGLIST

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[itsabouttimex2]

Deep Sea Sympathies

Yandere Sun Wukong

(Syntax alphabet is up next, then an LSO + Primal . Feeling super down, so I wrote something a little sadder. The villain tiers post I spent two days writing and rewriting again and again got anonymously sent to another user, who skimmed the majority of it, left out my opening and ending points, and called at least one of my criticisms “ridiculous” and even has a reblogger claiming that I “hate Macaque”, that I want “everyone to hate Macaque” and that I’m “salty”. Maybe it’s childish, but that kind of hurts when I’ve spent literal months making content for the show (often involving Macaque) that I genuinely love. I only wrote that list because I wanted to give my honest opinions as a break from my usual content as I prepared to watch and write for Season Five. Maybe I’m in the wrong and my rant was just stupid? Do you guys want me to delete the “Season Five Prep” posts?)

“I still can’t believe MK got me back into this,” the simian before you chuckles. “But I’m kinda glad he did. I really missed drawing. I forgot how good it felt.”

“…I see,” you “answer”, maintaining a stiff and poised position, staring down at the collection of utensils that the hero is using. “Are you… having fun, then?”

“Aww, bud. Come and take a seat, okay? Look, I’ll even put out a little mat for you. Come and take a seat,” he invites, plucking one of his transforming ginger hairs to make a proper cushion for you.

His tail winds lazily around your leg, tugging you closer and closer to the squishy orange padding.

“C’mon, bud,” he says, cutting through your hesitation. His voice has a powerful edge under all the sweetness- reminding you that the Monkey King is someone you can’t say no to. “I want you to draw with me, kiddo.”

Wukong is fond of this- pulling you into little “bonding sessions” that take up the whole day and leave you without time to spend with anyone else.

It’s funny, though, really- you are the last person that need be manipulated away from others.

“The Great Witch of Gloom,” was the title that you had been assigned. Before you had a name, before you had taken a step, before you had so much as uttered a cry… your fate had been decided.

You were to be a wicked soul with dark motives and a darker heart.

As old memories flood into your ever weary mind, Wukong arranges a few sheets of paper in front your mat. The grip of his tail slowly tightens, and you cease all stalling.

Lowering yourself to the ground, the mat provides a cozy cradle to shield against the cold wooden floor.

“…it’s almost Winter,” you mildly comment, tracing a finger against a smooth plank. “It’s getting colder.”

“Oh,” the simian casually asks, scooting his mat closer to yours, “you like the snow?” Here’s chance he always adores- any rare tidbit of info you offer is a chance for him to spoil you, stocking up on presents and snacks in an attempt to drown you in platonic love.

It didn’t help that you always felt so indebted after he was done stacking gifts into your arms and bag.

“So, bud- what’re you gonna draw?”

The curiosity in his voice is almost innocent, almost sweet. He pushes the multi-tiered box of crayons towards you, smiling.

“C’mon, pick a few out!”

Awkwardly; and with a shaking hand to boot, you reach for the box.

It’s… not a comfortable sensation. Waxy paper around thick wax sticks makes for an awkward feeling in your hand, and you slightly recoil from the hueless cylinder.

“Aww, kiddo. No one draws with white- heck, you’d be better off eating it! Not that I’ve, uh, ever done that.”

“…I don’t know what to do,” is your blank confession that leaves Wukong quirking an eyebrow.

“What, you don’t know how to draw? You’vd never had… oh. Oh, kiddo.”

Realization colors his golden eyes, leaving the simian king with a sympathetic frown. Your parents wouldn’t have ever let you have something as fun and bright as crayons, would they? How could he have forgotten that?

It had been a nightmare for the Monkie Kids to pry information out of you, and a further mess to try pushing you towards a healing state.

And, honestly- Wukong’s doting ministrations really didn’t help. All the love and gifts in the world could not undo your traumas- but certainly left you feeling as though you were mired in debt.

Not that you had the words to voice those feelings, leaving Wukong to continue piling on with his affections- all in the futile hope that he could love away the demons of your past.

“Okay, bud. Maybe we stepped out of your comfort zone, huh? Alright, my bad. Tell me what you wanna draw, and I’ll pick out the crayons for you, okay?”

“…I don’t know what to draw, though.”

His frown deepens. It’s hard to think that someone as young as you could be so… he wouldn’t say broken. That was far, far too cruel a word for someone he loved so dearly. You were… “cracked”, maybe. A little “tarnished”.

Like you had given up on seeing a light at the end of the tunnel and decided to instead drift slowly along in a dark ocean.

…actually…

“Bud, don’t you like the beach? C’mon, why don’t you draw something from there, yeah?”

“…could I?”

Your little words break his heart. You shouldn’t have to feel like you need permission for something as simple as drawing a damn picture. But you *do*, so he answers with false cheer-

“Of course, kiddo! Draw anything you want!”

“…how do… how would I draw… a jellyfish?”

Finally, a real smile graces his lips.

“I didn’t know you liked jellyfish,” he says, in a too familiar voice that lets you know you’ll be receiving a loaded armful of themed plushes and stress toys in the very near future.

Another load of guilt, another load of debt.

“I’ll take you to an aquarium one day,” he tacks on, unaware of your growing insecurities. “And we can look at them together.”

To him, this is healing. Love and affection and unending comfort.

And certainly, Wukong is far better a guardian than your parents were. Instead of blaming you for powers you couldn’t control, he was always ready with praise and applause. Instead of resigning yourself to rotted garments rummaged from the trash, you had brand-new clothes and warm shoes. You were never hungry. You were never bored. You were never alone.

And, above all else- you were loved.

But you were not happy.

And you doubted that would ever change.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Bloody Mary | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mentions/descriptions of parental death, implication of suicide (take care of yourselves, my loves)

Word Count: 6379

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You and Dean hadn’t talked much since the events on the plane. In fact, the two of you barely looked at each other anymore. Not out of disgust, your stomach just fluttered every time you caught a glimpse of him for reasons you couldn’t explain. You didn’t exactly like him, but you definitely didn’t hate him, either. In fact, your most recent journal drawing had been of your hand wrapped in Dean’s. You smiled at the memory.

Sam slept in the front seat while Dean drove the three of you to Toledo, Ohio. You had actually been the one to find this case. Steven Shoemaker’s eyes had bled when he died. According to his obituary, his death had been swift. He was much too young to have had a stroke or an aneurysm, and seemed to be in good health. Therefore, you concluded this was your kind of gig. 

Sam began to stir, catching your attention. You straightened in your seat as the Impala came to a halt in front of a large hospital complex. Sam’s stirring and whimpering was getting worse by the second.

Dean shook his brother. “Sam, wake up.”

He bolted straight up, confused, taking both you and Dean by surprise. After taking a second to catch his breath, he said, “I take it I was having a nightmare.”

“Yeah, another one,” Dean reminded him.

“Hey, at least I got some sleep.” Sam’s faux optimism caused you to shake your head. 

“You know, sooner or later we're gonna have to talk about this.” 

Apparently, Sam was choosing the latter. “Are we here?” he asked.

Dean was happy to drop the subject, too. “Yup. Welcome to Toledo, Ohio.”

The three of you began to approach the morgue wing of the hospital. You noticed Sam was holding the newspaper you’d circled Mr. Shoemaker’s death in. “So what do you think really happened to this guy?”

“That's what we're gonna find out. Ladies first,” you joked, holding the door to the first floor of the hospital open for the brothers. 

After making your way through the labyrinth of hallways, you found the dimly lit and vacated morgue. In the large room were two desks. One was labeled with a nameplate for Dr. D. Feiklowicz with neatly stacked packets, files, and books atop it. The other was a chaotic mess of stray papers labeled “Morgue Technician.”

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Yeah. We're the, uh, med students,” Dean responded.

“Sorry?” the morgue tech asked.

“Oh, Doctor—” Dean gave his best shot at the name, “—Figlavitch didn't tell you? We talked to him on the phone. He— uh, we're from Ohio State. He's supposed to show us the Shoemaker corpse. It's for our paper.”

“Well, I'm sorry, he's at lunch.” The morgue tech was smug, snarky, and clearly lacked people skills.

‘No wonder they have him locked up down here,’ you thought.

Dean changed course. “Oh, well, he said, uh— oh, well, you know, it doesn't matter. You don't mind just showing us the body, do you?”

“Sorry, I can't.” The morgue tech gave a tight-lipped smile. “Doc will be back in an hour. You can wait for him if you want.”

“An hour? Ooh. We gotta be heading back to Columbus by then,” Dean tried. “Uh, look, man, this paper's like half our grade, so if you don't mind helping us out—”

“Uh, look, man,” the technician mocked, “No.”

Dean laughed a little and turned around, mumbling. “I'm gonna hit him in his face I swear.”

You took the opportunity to try a different tactic. You leaned down on the morgue technician’s desk, doing your best to take advantage of the fact that he probably has had little contact with women. “Please?” you asked innocently. “These guys are my tutors. I’m really struggling in this class, and I just—” you bit your lip, “—I really need a good grade on this paper.” You used your arms to push your breasts together. “Please?” 

You could tell you had him on the ropes. “Uh…” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your cleavage. He cleared his throat. “I, uh, I guess I could do that for you.”

You smiled innocently. “Thank you so much.”

He began leading the three of you into an attached room to where the bodies were stored for autopsies. You turned around and winked at the boys with a smug smile. Dean rolled his eyes.

The morgue technician pulled the rack Steven Shoemaker’s corpse rested on out from the wall of stainless steel cells.

“Now the newspaper said his daughter found him. She said his eyes were bleeding,” Sam said.

The technician pulled the sheet back from over Steven’s face. “More than that. They practically liquefied.” The poor man’s eye sockets were still bloody, and they hadn’t yet been sewn shut. You could see the dried blood peeking out from under his partially-closed eyes. 

“Any sign of a struggle? Maybe somebody did it to him?” Dean suggested.

“Nope. Besides the daughter, he was all alone,” the technician answered.

“What's the official cause of death?” Sam asked.

“Ah, Doc's not sure. He's thinking massive stroke, maybe an aneurysm? Something burst up in there, that's for sure.”

‘Nope, he’s way too young and in much too good health for that to have been the cause,’ you thought, but kept the thought at bay.

“What do you mean?” you asked. You didn’t like playing dumb, but with this guy, it was necessary. 

“Intense cerebral bleeding. This guy had more blood in his skull than anyone I've ever seen,” the tech answered. Although, he was more responding to your boobs than to your face. You fought the urge to snap in front of his face and get his eyes back on target. 

“The eyes?” Sam asked. “What would cause something like that?”

“Capillaries can burst. See a lot of bloodshot eyes with stroke victims,” the morgue tech shrugged.

Dean’s tone was still aggravated with the guy. “Yeah? You ever see exploding eyeballs?”

“That's a first for me, but hey, I'm not the doctor.”

“Hey, think we could take a look at that police report? You know for, uh...our paper.”

“I'm not really supposed to show you that.” The technician looked back at you.

You suppressed the bile rising in your throat. Before you could do anything else, Dean stepped in front of you and pulled out his wallet. He shoved two twenties at him, hoping that would be enough. You could see the technician deflate, but accepted the money anyway.

Dean’s actions puzzled you. But you would be lying if you said your heart didn’t flutter at the thought of him doing it out of protectiveness of you. 

When you had finished looking over the police report, the three of you began making your way out of the building. 

“Might not be one of ours. Might just be some freak medical thing,” Sam suggested after having seen the report. 

“How many times in Dad's long and varied career has it actually been a freak medical thing and not some sign of an awful supernatural death?” Dean replied. 

“Uh, almost never.”

“Exactly.”

“Alright, let's go talk to the daughter.” Sam started picking up his pace out of the building. You were happy to see him getting his mind off Jessica and back into the job.

“Wait, Dean.” You grabbed his arm lightly before he could catch up to his brother.

He turned to face you. 

“Why’d you do that?” you asked. 

“Do what?” He furrowed his brow.

“Give the morgue tech your hard-earned poker money,” you half-smiled. 

“I just didn’t wanna watch you prostitute yourself for information,” he replied gruffly, turning away from you. 

You took offense. “Hey, I was not—”

He turned back to you and brushed a hand over his hair. “You’re right, you werent.” He paused again, and his voice came back quiet. “I just didn’t like the way he was looking at you, ‘s all.”

Your heart swelled in your chest and your cheeks began to heat up. “Thanks, by the way,” you said as you continued walking. You nudged his shoulder with yours. “You’re going soft on me, Winchester.”

***

When you arrived at the Shoemaker house, you hadn’t expected to be in the midst of the funeral gathering. If you did, you would’ve dressed more appropriately. Given this fact, you felt slightly awkward when you knocked on the door. A man let you in and pointed you toward the backyard and the two daughters of Steven Shoemaker.

The two sisters were sitting with two blonde girls near the firepit. Dean addressed the older, dark-haired girl. “You must be Donna, right?”

“Yeah,” the girl responded.

“Hi, uh, we're really sorry,” Sam lamented.

“Thank you.”

“I'm Sam, this is Dean and (Y/N). We worked with your dad.”

The girl looked at her friend before looking back at your trio. “You did?” She seemed surprised. 

“Yeah. This whole thing. I mean, a stroke…” Sam trailed off.

“I don't think she really wants to talk about this right now,” one of Donna’s pretty blonde friends spoke up. 

“It's okay. I'm okay,” she assured her friend. 

“Were there any symptoms? Dizziness? Migraines?” Dean asked.

Donna shook her head. “No.”

The younger sister, who looked to be about twelve, turned around. “That's because it wasn't a stroke.”

You were intrigued.

“Lily, don't say that,” her sister urged her.

“What do you mean?” you asked the young girl.

“I'm sorry, she's just upset,” her sister responded for her.

“No,” Lily wasn’t having it. “It happened because of me.”

Donna placed a hand on her shoulder. “Sweetie, it didn't.”

You got down on Lily’s eye level. “Why would you say that?”

“Right before he died, I said it,” she said softly.

“Said what?”

She lowered her voice even more. “Bloody Mary, three times in the bathroom mirror. She took his eyes, that's what she does.”

Donna interrupted. “That's not why Dad died. This isn't your fault.”

“I think your sister's right, Lily,” Dean broke in. “There's no way it could have been Bloody Mary. Your dad didn't say it, did he?”

Lily tried to take this in. She shook her head. 

“Exactly,” you told her. “I’m sorry, we weren’t trying to upset you. We’ll just be leaving.” You pulled the boys away from Donna’s group and went back into the house. Making sure no one saw you three, you crept upstairs to the bathroom where Mr. Shoemaker passed away. 

Sam pushed the door open, and you noticed some dried blood still on the floor. “The Bloody Mary legend. Dad ever find any evidence that it was a real thing?”

“Not that I know of,” Dean replied. He walked ahead of Sam into the bathroom. 

Sam stooped to the floor and touched the dried blood. “I mean, everywhere else all over the country, kids will play Bloody Mary, and as far as we know, nobody dies from it.”

“Yeah, but maybe it’s fine everywhere else, but not here,” you suggested.

“The place where the legend began?” Sam tried.

You shrugged as Dean opened the medicine cabinet. 

“But according to the legend, the person who says B—” you stopped yourself and noticed your reflection in the medicine cabinet’s mirror. “You know what is the one that dies. But here—”

“Shoemaker gets it instead, yeah,” Dean finished for you.

Sam rose from the floor. “Right.”

“Never heard anything like that before. Still, the guy did die right in front of the mirror, and the daughter's right. The way the legend goes, you-know-who scratches your eyes out.”

You considered Dean’s words for a moment. “It's worth checking in to.” You went to leave the bathroom when you noticed one of Donna’s pretty blonde friends approaching you.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked. 

“We— We had to go to the bathroom,” you answered, not believing yourself.

“Who are you?” the girl pressed further.

Dean stepped closer to you from behind. “Like we said downstairs, we worked with Donna's dad.”

She shook her head with scrunched eyebrows. “He was a day trader or something. He worked by himself.”

“No, I know, I meant—” 

She cut Dean off. “And all those weird questions downstairs, what was that? So you tell me what's going on, or I start screaming.”

Sam put a hand up to calm her. “Alright, alright, we think something happened to Donna's dad.”

The blonde looked at you three like you were stupid. “Yeah, a stroke.”

“I don’t think so,” you argued. “He was pretty young to be having a stroke. His eyes wouldn’t have liquified if he’d had a stroke. I think it might be something else.”

She scoffed and crossed her arms. “Like what?’

“Honestly? We don't know yet. But we don't want it to happen to anyone else. That's the truth,” Sam responded.

“So, if you're gonna scream, go right ahead,” Dean snarked.

“Who are you, cops?” she asked, her brows still furrowed.

“Something like that,” you shrugged.

“I'll tell you what. Here.” Sam took a piece of paper and a pen out of his jacket pocket and wrote his phone number down. “If you think of anything, you or your friends notice anything strange, out of the ordinary, just give us a call.” He handed her the piece of paper before leading you and Dean down the hallway.

Your next stop was the public library. 

“Alright, say Bloody Mary really is haunting this town,” Dean began. “There's gonna be some sort of proof— Like a local woman who died nasty.”

“Yeah, but this is hard. The legend is unbelievably widespread with hundreds of different versions of who she actually is,” you rebutted. “One story says she's a witch, another says she's a mutilated bride, there's a lot more.”

“Okay, then, so what are we supposed to be looking for?” Dean asked you.

Sam answered. “Every version's got a few things in common. It's always a woman named Mary, and she always dies right in front of a mirror. So we've gotta search local newspapers, public records as far back as they go. See if we can find a Mary who fits the bill.”

“Well, that sounds annoying,” the older brother commented. 

“No, it won't be so bad,” Sam replied, “As long as we…”

You cleared your throat, gesturing to the only two computers in the library that had “Out of Order” signs on them. 

Sam chuckled humorlessly. “I take it back. This will be very annoying.”

The three of you picked up boxes of the town’s newspapers and numerous books of Toledo’s public records and brought them back to Sam and Dean’s motel room. 

You were beginning to go cross-eyed after reading for so long. Minutes turned into hours. Dean was sitting in a chair, you were sprawled across the floor with papers and books scattered around you, and Sam eventually fell asleep.

You stood up to stretch your legs and noticed his closed eyes. “Poor fella,” you said quietly. “How’s he been sleeping?”

“How d’you think?” Dean responded, eyes never leaving his book.

You nodded. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Maybe we should get him to take something,” you suggested.

Dean chuckled. “He won’t do it.”

“Is it just because I’m suggesting it that you’re saying that, or do you really think he won’t take it?” you countered.

He gave you a deadpan expression. 

“You Winchesters are just about the most stubborn people I’ve ever met in my life. Including your dad,” you jested. You heard Dean chuckle a little, too.

“And I wanted to tell you,” you started, “I understand why you’d suspect me in your dad’s disappearance.”

He looked away from his book and over at you. “What do you mean?”

“What you said back in Colorado? The Wendigo case? I get it.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’re still on that?”

“I mean, yeah, that was just about the most heated fight we’ve had. It kinda stuck with me,” you answered honestly, looking down at your stripey-sock-covered feet. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I understand.”

A moment passed silently.

“And I, um—” you took a deep breath, “I want you to trust me.” You looked back at Dean who was studying you carefully.

The tense moment was interrupted by Sam jolting awake in his bed. “Why'd you let me fall asleep?”

“Cause I'm an awesome brother.” Dean’s attention was back on his book. “So what did you dream about?”

“Lollipops and candy canes,” the younger brother responded hazily while staring up at the ceiling.

You laughed humorlessly.

“Did you guys find anything?” Sam asked.

“Oh, besides a whole new level of frustration?” Dean responded sarcastically. “No. I've looked at everything. A few local women, a Laura and a Catherine committed suicide in front of a mirror—”

“And a giant mirror fell on a guy named Dave—” you chimed in.

“But no Mary,” Dean finished for you.

“Maybe we just haven't found it yet,” Sam tried.

“I've also been searching for strange deaths in the area, you know… eyeball bleeding, that sort of thing. There's nothing. Whatever's happening here, maybe it just ain't Mary,” Dean said.

Sam’s phone rang just as his brother finished talking. “Hello?” A look of concern crossed his face. He was trying to calm whoever it was on the other end down.

You waited until he got off the phone to bombard him with questions. “What? What happened?”

“Charlie,” he told you. “Her friend’s dead.”

***

Charlie sobbed as she relayed the story of what happened to her friend Jill. “And they found her on the bathroom floor. And her— her eyes. They were gone.”

You had met her in a park not an hour after she had called Sam.

“I'm sorry,” the latter responded.

“And she said it,” Charlie told you. “I heard her say it. But it couldn't be because of that. I'm insane, right?”

“No, you're not insane,” you said.

“Oh, god, that makes me feel so much worse.” You feared that might be the case.

Sam was honest with her. “Look. We think something's happening here. Something that can't be explained.”

“And we're gonna stop it,” Dean assured Charlie, “but we could use your help.”

You knew exactly where Dean was going with this. And thankfully, Charlie obliged. She snuck you and the boys into Jill’s room through the window. Dean and Sam gave you a boost into the second story room before throwing up Dean’s duffel bag.

“What did you tell Jill's mom?” you asked Charlie.

“Just that I needed some time alone with Jill's pictures and things,” she replied simply. “I hate lying to her.”

You heard someone closing the blinds and curtains behind you. “Trust us, this is for the greater good. Hit the lights,” Dean instructed her.

She obeyed but asked, “What are you guys looking for?”

“We'll let you know as soon as we find it,” the older brother responded.

Sam handed you a digital camera. “Hey, night vision!” You turned it on. You aimed the camera at Dean.

“Do I look like Paris Hilton?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes, suppressing an amused smile. You walked over to Jill’s closet door and began filming the mirror on it. 

“So I don't get it,” Sam began. “I mean, the first victim didn't summon Mary, and the second victim did. How's she choosing them?”

You shrugged. 

“Beats me,” Dean answered. “I want to know why Jill said it in the first place.”

“It was just a joke,” Charlie replied.

“Yeah, well somebody's gonna say it again, it's just a matter of time.”

You had made your way over to the bathroom and filmed around the mirror. You stopped when you noticed a trickle of something running from behind it. “Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?” He came over to you. 

“Look at this.” You showed him the substance oozing from behind the mirror.

Sam looked to his brother. “There's a black light in the trunk, right?” 

While Dean left to get the light, you and Sam pulled the mirror off the wall. When Dean returned, you could see a handprint and the name “Gary Bryman” illuminated by the black light. 

“Gary Bryman?” Charlie asked.

You looked up at her. “You know who that is?”

She shook her head. “No.”

You learned from Sam’s research and Charlie that Jill had killed Gary Bryman, an eight-year-old boy, in a hit and run accident. Dean then decided you needed to return to Donna’s house. When you pulled the medicine cabinet mirror off the wall, sure enough, there was another handprint and the name “Linda Shoemaker.” You learned from Donna that her mother had overdosed on sleeping pills. You had left Charlie at Donna’s house to comfort her friend after you and the boys had upset her with your questions about her mother’s death. 

You then traveled to Fort Wayne, Indiana to investigate the death of a woman named Mary Worthington. She had died the same way these victims were; bleeding from the sockets where her eyes used to be. You spoke to the detective who was the lead on her case. He believed she spent her last moments trying to expose her killer she was having an affair with. She went as far as to start spelling out the name of her killer in her own blood on the back of her mirror. She only got to the third letter of her killer’s name before passing away. It made complete sense to you that her spirit would spend its time exposing the secrets of other murderers. Mary Worthington’s body had been cremated, but the mirror she wrote on had been returned to her family. Now, you and the boys were trying to track down where that mirror had ended up. 

“Oh really?” Sam responded to the man on the phone. “Ah, that's too bad Mr. Worthington. I would have paid a lot for that mirror… Okay, well maybe next time… Alright, thanks.” He hung up.

“So?” you asked.

“So that was Mary's brother,” he informed you. “The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it one week ago to a store called Estate Antiques. A store in Toledo.”

Dean momentarily looked away from the road to his brother. “So wherever the mirror goes, that's where Mary goes?” 

“Her spirit's definitely tied up with it somehow,” Sam responded.

“Isn't there an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits?” you chimed in.

“Yeah, there is. Yeah, when someone would die in a house people would cover up the mirrors so the ghost wouldn't get trapped.”

Dean connected the dots. “So Mary dies in front of a mirror, and it draws in her spirit.”

“Yeah, but how could she move through like a hundred different mirrors?” you challenged.

“I don't know, but if the mirror is the source, I say we find it and smash it.”

“Yeah, I don't know, maybe,” Sam sighed. His phone rang. “Hello?... Charlie?”

***

You and the boys picked up Charlie and brought her to the motel you were staying in. You and the Winchesters were busying yourselves with covering every reflective surface in Sam and Dean’s room with sheets, blankets, jackets; anything. Charlie’s gorgeous blonde hair was knotted and messy, her eyes were puffy from crying but remained closed, and her knees were drawn into her chest. 

Sam sat on the bed next to Charlie. “Hey, hey, it's ok. Hey, you can open up your eyes Charlie. It's okay, alright?”

She looked up slowly. 

“Now listen,” he began softly. “You're gonna stay right here on this bed, and you're not gonna look at glass, or anything else that has a reflection, okay? And as long as you do that, she cannot get you.”

“But I can't keep that up forever. I'm gonna die, aren't I?” Charlie’s voice trembled.

“No. No. Not anytime soon,” the brunet assured her. 

You sat on the floor in front of her and put a hand on her knee. “We need to know what happened, babe.”

“We were in the bathroom.” Her eyes brimmed with tears again. “Donna said it.”

“That's not what we're talking about,” Dean stated. There was something dark behind his tone. “Something happened, didn't it? In your life— .a secret— where someone got hurt. Can you tell us about it?”

The tears were flowing from her eyes now. “I had this boyfriend. I loved him. But he kind of scared me too, you know? And one night, at his house, we got in this fight. Then I broke up with him, and he got upset, and he said he needed me and he loved me, and he said "Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I'm gonna kill myself." And you know what I said? I said "Go ahead." And I left. How could I say that? How could I leave him like that? I just...I didn't believe him, you know? I should have.” She pulled her knees back to her chest and buried her face between them. 

You felt completely horrible for her. But there was no time for a therapy session because you and the boys were off to that Toledo antique store where Mary’s mirror was being kept.

Dean sped down the road despite the pouring rain which you deeply wanted to protest against. You remained silent anyway.

“You know, her boyfriend killing himself, that's not really Charlie's fault.” Dean broke the silence.

“You know spirits don't exactly see shades of gray, Dean. Charlie had a secret, somebody died, and that's good enough for Mary,” you told him.

“I guess,” he shrugged.

“You know, I've been thinking. It might not be enough to just smash that mirror,” Sam chimed in.

Dean turned his head to his brother. “Why, what do you mean?”

“Well, Mary's hard to pin down, right? I mean she moves around from mirror to mirror, so who's to say that she's not just gonna keep hiding in them forever? So maybe we should try to pin her down, you know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it.”

“Well, how do you know that's going to work?” Dean asked. 

Sam shook his head. “I don't; not for sure.”

“Well who's gonna summon her?” his brother’s tone got a little panicked.

“I will. She'll come after me,” Sam replied solemnly.

“You know what, that's it.” Dean pulled over to the side of the road. “This is about Jessica, isn't it? You think that's your dirty little secret that you killed her somehow? Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night— it's gonna kill you. Now, listen to me, it wasn't your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the thing that killed her. Or hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I mean I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place.”

“I don't blame you.” Sam’s voice cracked.

“Well, you shouldn't blame yourself, because there's nothing you could've done,” Dean responded sharply.

Sam tried to shake his emotion away. “I could've warned her.”

“About what? You didn't know what was gonna happen! And besides, all of this isn't a secret, I mean I know all about it. It's not gonna work with Mary anyway,” Dean said.

“No you don't,” was all Sam could muster.

“I don't what?” 

“You don't know all about it. I haven't told you everything.”

You had been trying to stay out of it, but couldn’t hold it back anymore. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?” 

You and Dean were taken aback. “No. I don't like it. It's not gonna happen, forget it.” 

“Guys, that girl back there is going to die unless we do something about it. And you know what? Who knows how many more people are gonna die after that? Now we're doing this. You've got to let me do this.”

Dean gripped the steering wheel, clenched his jaw, and pulled back out onto the road. The air was heavy and tense in the car. You sat back in your chair with your arms crossed over your chest. No one spoke for the rest of the drive.

When you reached the shop, you picked the lock on the door to reveal dozens of mirrors. 

“Well, that's just great,” Dean grumbled. He pulled out the picture you’d gotten from the detective in Indiana of Mary’s body next to the mirror. “Alright, let's start looking.”

The three of you split up. You were an incredibly detail-oriented person, but even still, all of the mirrors seemed the same to you. 

“Maybe they've already sold it,” Dean called from across the room.

Your flashlight came to rest on a mirror you could swear you’d seen before. “I don't think so. C’mere, Dean.”

He came over to you and held up the photo to the mirror. And sure enough, it was a match. 

“You sure about this?” Dean asked his brother. 

Sam nodded and handed you his flashlight. Taking a deep breath, he says, “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.”

You whipped your head in the direction of a light coming through the store.

“I'll go check that out. Stay here, be careful,” Dean ordered. “Smash anything that moves.” He crawled away from you and you heard him distantly say, “Crap.”

You paid no mind to Dean as you tightened your grip on the crowbar. 

You heard a whooshing sound behind you and wheeled around. In the mirror was Mary. You sprang to action and smashed your crowbar through the dead center of it. 

You could hear a distorted version of Sam’s voice coming from behind you, but before you could aid him, your own reflection caught your attention. It wasn’t quite syncing with your movements; instead looking at you menacingly. 

Before you could move to hit it, you felt an insane pressure coming from behind your eyes, your throat constricted, and blood began to ooze down your face. 

“You can’t keep running, (Y/N),” your reflection told you. “How could you? How could you be so careless?”

The blood dripping from your eyes began to mix with your tears. You didn’t have enough breath to protest. You began to sink to the floor, the crowbar clanging to the ground.

“It’s your fault that they’re gone. Why didn’t you try harder? Why didn’t you fight to keep them alive? Why did you have to kill them? Your guilt should eat you alive. You don’t deserve another family. You know you don’t deserve to be happy again. You know your recklessness will get these boys killed, too. You are so selfish! And your brother! If you hadn’t done what you did, he would still be alive, too. You are worthless. All you bring is death and—” 

The pressure around your throat released when Dean’s crowbar went through the mirror. He barely spared you a second look before going over to his brother. 

“Sam, Sammy!” you heard from behind you. 

You clutched at your throat and began to cry. You knew Dean had turned cold once more because he heard what your reflection said.

Sam groaned in pain as you saw Dean shouldering his brother and pulling him toward the exit of the shop. 

“C’mon, (Y/N),” Sam urged you. 

You shakily stood and did your best to follow the brothers out. Your dizziness caused you to fall back down to the ground on top of shards of glass, making you yelp as they pierced your hands. 

“Help her, Dean!” you heard Sam demand. 

Dean came to your side, clearly in no hurry, and cradled you in his arms. Before he could get anymore than two steps, you noticed Mary crawling out of the frame of her original mirror. Her dark hair was matted and fell in front of her face. Her dress was tattered, and her limbs moved in an inhuman manner; cracking with every movement. You and Dean were sent flying across the floor toward Sam, and the bleeding of your eyes started again.

You looked to the mirror inches from your head. Despite your weakness, you forced yourself to grab it and turn its face toward Mary.

“You killed them!” you heard her reflection cry. “All those people! You killed them!” Mary started choking just as you had and then melted into a pool of blood on the ground. You threw the mirror you’d been holding and shattered it completely.

You dropped your head back to the floor.

“Hey Sam?” you heard Dean say.

“Yeah?”

“This has got to be like,what, six hundred years of bad luck?” the older brother joked. 

Sam chuckled weakly. You couldn’t even muster up a laugh due to the bile rising in your throat. Memories were eating away at you, and the fact that Dean had heard your reflection was only adding to your anxiety. Your breath began to quicken, but you did your best to soothe yourself.

“(Y/N).” Sam drew you out of your trance. “Can you stand?” 

You tried your best to, but couldn’t. Dean squatted down next to you. “C’mon.” He motioned for you to let him carry you. You complied. You looked up at his chiseled face. You swore he was handcrafted by the gods; perhaps Adonis himself. Your hazy mind couldn’t focus on anything aside from his beautiful green eyes. You had so much to say to him about what he’d heard. You knew he didn’t think highly of you, but your relationship had begun to get better. You didn’t want, well, you, to ruin it all now. 

“Dean, I—” you started.

He cut you off. “We’ll talk later,” he said gruffly. Despite his cold and guarded tone, he put you down gently in the back of the Impala.

You ended up falling asleep in the back of the Impala. When you next awoke, you had been tucked into your bed in the motel. Your boots had been discarded, your jacket had been removed, and your key that you kept in your jacket pocket was now on the nightstand beside you. The gesture was sweet, but your mind immediately started reeling about the conversation you needed to have with Dean. 

You checked the clock; it was ten in the morning. You were surprised how late you had slept, and figured the boys had dropped Charlie off; potentially had even left town without you. Your anxiety getting the best of you, you rushed over to their door. Dean opened it when you knocked.

“Hey,” you breathed.

“Hey,” he echoed.

“Can we talk?”

He nodded. 

You led Dean back to your room. You sat cross-legged on your bed and Dean chose the chair across from you.

“Okay, um,” you sighed. “What do you want to know?”

“Who’d you kill, (Y/N)?” came his straightforward and dry response. “Why did it say you’d get us killed, too?”

You looked down at the floor, the tears beginning to well up in your waterline. “I wanna tell you, I just—”

“Look at me.” His voice was firm.

You did.

“I need to know.”

You took a deep breath. “When I was eighteen, I was coming back home from one of my first solo hunts. My dad had sent me to take out a vampire nest on the edge of the town we were staying in. There were only three vamps there at the time. I got so excited that I had nuked them all, I didn’t account for the fact that all three of them seemed like newbies. I didn’t… register, I guess, that one or more was probably missing.” You averted his gaze, struggling to keep your voice level. “And so, I left. I went back to the house we were squatting in, and, um, one of them followed me.” Tears began to roll down your cheeks.

“Sweetheart, that’s not your—”

You shook your head. “It is. He turned them, Dean. He turned my mom and my dad. I— I had no choice. I had to—” Your sentence was cut off by a sob, but Dean understood what you meant. You wiped a hand over your face and did your best to continue your story. “I sat with their bodies for a long time after. When my brother came back and saw what I’d done, he drew his gun on me. He, um, he wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t let me explain. He couldn’t shoot me, though. He… He just… left. And then— And then, his best friend called me a few days later.” The tears came back. “He found my brother’s car.” You pressed a hand to your mouth. “And he was dead in it.” Broken sobs wracked your body once again. “It’s my fault that they’re gone, Dean, it’s my fault.”

You couldn’t bear to look at him. You knew how disgusted he must be with you. And then, you felt the bed dip beside you. Then, a hand on your arm. Then, he pulled you to his chest, and you melted into his embrace. Your cries still shook your body, but Dean’s strong arms held you together. He sat with you like that for a long time. 

You and the boys had decided to leave Toledo sooner rather than later after Sam told you what Dean had done to the cops in front of the antique store. Long after leaving Toledo, Dean broke the comfortable silence that had settled over the car.

“Hey Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret is.”

The younger Winchester sighed. “Look, you're my brother and I'd die for you, but there are some things I need to keep to myself.”

Your eyes remained trained on Sam as he looked out the window at something you were passing by. His expression went from confused to scared to saddened, and you knew he was seeing Jessica. After all, you had no doubt your face mirrored his every time you saw your mom standing on a street corner or your dad’s bloodied body lying in your footpath. In time, you knew he would learn to live with it just as you had. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz