#Metal liquid lip color

[artbohemia]

[nightingale-prompts]

The Nightingale Family-DC x DP prompt

(Shameless Addams family inspired prompt)

News travels fast in Gotham, especially in affluent circles. A new family has arrived in the city, old money at that. They had taken up residents in the old mansion overlooking the Historic Gotham Graveyard.

The Nightingales had a way of letting their presence be known. They were rarely seen in public. The eldest Jasmine Nightingale however had made waves working at the Gotham Asylum as a psychologist. She was often escorted by her younger brother Dan Nightingale. The public really started talking when Jazz was seen talking with Harley Quinn.

There were two children that lived in the Nightingale manor. They were elusive to say the least as the family didn't attend the parties of Gotham.

It wasn't until Damian Wayne got an invite from his classmate Danielle to visit their manor that someone saw the lives of Nightingales. This invite had been received after Damian carefully befriended the youngest Nightingale to investigate their connections.

That's how the Waynes ended up at a dinner party.

The manor was bleak to say the least and that's saying something in Gotham. The buildingbwas made from black stones and gargoyles perched on the roof. The garden was wilted and full of thrones that crept up the walls.

Bruce felt a sense of Deja vu as he approached the door and rang the bell. Tower bells rang out as the face of Jasmine Nightingale appeared. She was dressed in black dress pants and blazer. Her lips were painted to match. Her red hair had a striking white streak through it which had become a fashion trend since the family's arrival to girls wanting to seem mysterious.

"Good Evening. It is so nice to meet the infamous Waynes." She shook Bruce's hand. Behind her, the sounds of clanking metal was heard. "That is just my younger siblings playing. You don't you boys join while I talk to your father.

Despite only being a fresh-faced 20 year old Jazz carried herself like a confident adult. A certified genius in psychology who graduated early she also handled the inmates at the Asylum well enough that escapes are at an all time low.

"She's got it all" was what Harley said.

Bruce's admiration of the young lady was only matched by his suspicion. The house the Nightingales lived y had once belonged to the Al Ghouls. There was no telling yet if there was a connection.

He took a seat in the living room with Jazz tea already prepared. She poured two cups of black tea. Not black as in the type of tea but the color of the drink. Bruce cautiously sniffed the black liquid, it smelled earthy and acidic. Poison.

"Do you like it? I made it myself. I added the belladonna myself. It has a sweet taste so you don't need sugar. The kids have sweet tooths but we avoid added sugars. They love nightshade." She smiled drinking.

Bruce put the cup down. So they drink poison at a young age. They must be part of The League of Assassins. But why are they here?

"If you don't mind me asking. Why did you move to Gotham? Your parents-" Jazz put a hand up as she finished her cup.

"Mr. Wayne I'm sure you are no stranger to parents leaving before their time nor the concept that not all parents deserve children. Now I can't confirm or deny if that is the case for use but you can understand that it's a private matter." Jazz said sternly.

That wasn't an answer.

Upstairs Danny and Danielle played with Elle's new toys. Swords from Dan's trip to Portugal. He even sharpened them. They were currently tearing through the mansion.

Tim and Damian caught them while Danny had successfully pinned Elle to the ground.

"Dami! Help!" Elle yelled catching Danny off guard as Damian tackled Danny to the ground.

"Alright, alright. You can go next." Danny rolling Damian off him and passing him the sword. "Im taking a break."

Danny loved playing with his little sister but baby games are tiring.

"They let you play with swords," Tim exclaimed. This wasn't something he expected, sure it was normal for Damian but Damian is weird and was raised by assassins. Damian didn't do it for fun, it was training.

Damian and Danielle ran off while fencing.

"You must be one of the Waynes. Elle has been excited to have your brother over." Danny said politely if not a bit dismissive.

"Eh, yeah. Your sister said we should join you." Tim said a bit awkward. " You have another brother right?"

"Oh, yeah. He travels alot but he's relaxing right now. He's probably swimming." Danny shrugged.

Tim had heard of Danny. They went to the same school but Danny was part of a program that allowed him to come to school when he felt like it. The program is for young engineers who want to work for Wayne Industries. He mostly worked on small experimental projects. So far Danny's superconductor tech was revolutionary but impossible to replicate. Danny somehow managed to make a more effective coolant than anything they had created in the lab.

"You have a pool?" Tim knew that the mansion didn't have a pool.

"Of water? No." Danny shrugged but gave no further answer.

"I see, so what do you do?" Tim tried to sound normal like he was talking to his friends and not someone he was trying to probe.

"Anything, everything. I was going to recalibrate my telescope but I have a laser to test." Danny walked off expecting Tim to follow.

Testing was just cut a bunch of things in half. Tim got some great info on making an explosive ice canister and foam bombs. Tim made sure to get his number to hire him to make some gear for him.

The Nightingale kids were absolutely lawless. They destroyed everything in their path.

Elle had dragged Damian to her room to show off her toys. She used to travel with Dan until she started school. She picked up a bunch of items. Cult artifacts, shrunken heads, voodoo dolls, cursed puppets, knives, swords, and the homemade taxidermy Elle made from roadkill. She also had a pet dodo bird named Ernesto who had a bed next to her bed. Ernesto took a liking to Damian and sat on his head. The way he shows his affection

Soon enough Dan came upstairs to check on Elle and Danny.

"You kids, need to get ready for dinner. Sharpen your nails and teeth." He said before going back to the kitchen.

"What does that mean?" Damian asked.

"You don't sharpen your nails. Well good luck at dinner." Elle said bemused.

Dinner was...horrifying. Watching the family chat happily as they ripped apart the moving food as it came to life. Damian was actually excited as he skewered the cheese and broccoli casserole that screamed at him.

"Father, why can't we do this at our home?" He asked.

[corkinavoid]

For @ladydoptera, to 'Pomegranate Lips' by Derivakat,

DPxDC Get a Taste

"Password?"

Tim swallows. The eyes in the narrow window of the metal door are plenty familiar, dark violet with black makeup. But knowing who is on the other side doesn't help him in the slightest.

"Going ghost," he says, keeping his voice low. The window slides back shut with a snap - metal over metal, Tim's ears hurt - and then, there's a click, a snap, and the door opens.

A girl in a creatively ruined but still somehow stylish gothic lolita dress is standing in front of him. She looks taller than usual, and when Tim looks down, he knows why - those platforms must be at least four inches, how does she even walk in those?

"Welcome, McFly," Sam's dark red lips curve in a smirk that looks just a bit too smug on her. Also, to this day, Tim has no idea why she picked that nickname for him.

He steps inside, and the heavy door slams shut behind him, leaving them both in complete darkness. Or, Tim thought so until he looks a little closer and notices how Sam's violet eyes are faintly glowing - not enough to light the way, but enough to raise a few questions.

Questions that Tim is not going to ask.

Yet.

"Follow me," the girl says, her voice on the brink between annoyed and amused, and starts walking away through the narrow hall. Tim does his best to follow; his eyes are adjusting to the darkness, albeit slowly.

However, the walk doesn't last long - ten or so steps later Sam pushes another door, and-

The closest thing Tim can describe it as is a rave, of all things. Loud, rhythmic music that thrums through his whole body, strobes and bright green lights everywhere, and people, hundreds of them, dressed in all kinds of things. Tim freezes in the doorway, struggling to take in the sight.

A woman in a Victorian dress is dancing with what looks to be a werewolf in prison robes. A child just threw a one-eyed parrot at a man in a black tie suit. A knight of plated armor is waving a sword around, seemingly arguing with-

"Keep your mouth closed," Sam's finger taps his chin from below, and Tim shuts it back closed with a snap. Right, he's got no time to gawk, he is here on a mission. But, when he looks back to Sam, his mind comes to a screeching halt yet again.

"How'd you-" he starts, looking at how the girl's skin, usually pale and almost white, is glittering with small lines of blood red runes. They are not tattoos, or at least Tim doesn't think so because they move, like tiny snakes or vines over her skin.

"Nope, not answering," Sam clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, her perfectly sharp eyeliner getting a deep, dark red hint as well, "I don't owe you shit."

With that, she turns around and starts weaving through the crowd, leaving Tim no choice but to follow.

The music is nearly crushing his eardrums. The crowd should feel suffocating - Tim knows it usually does in places like these - but somehow it doesn't. What's more, it feels cold. So cold, in fact, that goosebumps run over Tim's skin.

However, just as he feels like they are completely lost in this freezing, neverending sea of faces and figures, Sam stops. Tim almost runs into her back, actually, but, just as he is about to ask her why, she steps to the side and gestures for Tim to go ahead.

And Tim... Tim can't move a muscle.

There's a corner booth in front of him, with red velvet seats and more than a few dozen drinks, empty and full, on the table in the middle. Some of the liquids are glowing toxic, unnatural colors, and in the back corner of his mind, Tim still remembers why he's here. He is investigating, right. Which includes meeting the owner of 'Afterlife' face to face, yeah. Something about a new drug on the streets of Gotham, probably.

Tim can't concentrate.

The guy lazily sitting at the table, with hair so white that it's nearly glowing and his pale skin shimmering with highlighter on his cheekbones, causes Tim's mind to completely bluescreen. Because the unbuttoned black suit with embroidered stars and an open white shirt underneath, the neon blue, faintly glowing cold eyes, and blood red lips stretched in a dangerous smile - that's thankfully is not directed at him - are all... Too much.

Not blood red, actually. It's a different color, but Tim can't remember the name.

He can barely remember his own name, to be honest.

"Oi, Danny," Sam snaps her fingers in the air, and the ethereal being blinks, tearing his unblinking gaze away from the man in a white suit sitting across from him to look at her. Then, his eyes slide to Tim, and, okay, he thought he was well past the gay panic stage of his life, but apparently not.

The guy - the god? because only divine fucking things have the right to look so otherworldly pretty, in Tim's opinion - tilts his head to the side slightly, a curious edge to him. And then he smiles, nice and a little sly, but Tim can't shake off the feeling of sharp danger that runs through his spine.

Pomegranate, that's the color.

Bite it once, and you will never leave the Underworld.

"Can I help you, little bird of crimson color?" The ethereal owner of the most mysterious place in Gotham asks without raising his voice, and yet Tim can hear him despite the loud music around.

...Maybe he doesn't mind never leaving, if he can get a taste.

~•~•~•~

When I put that song on for the first time, I was like, that's Sam. That's so Sam. But then I started writing, and things got weird, so it's both Sam and Danny now.

Tim is so gone, I'm sorry, RIP Tim. Funny thing is, he barely said a single word throughout the whole piece.

[ohproserpine]

viii. deer dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, alastor tweaking, VERY heavy warning for violence and blood, overdose, murder, DEATH, hunting, VERY graphic descriptions of injuries, vox being painfully obvious, vox malfunctions (lmao L), drowning, flooding, mentions of glass piercing skin, a gun, threats of death, valentino warning, alastor's demon form

Alastor's head snapped to the side, with a sickening crack accompanying the movement

"Show me," he snarled, his voice taking on an inhuman quality, heavily filtered by radio waves.

Without hesitation, Angel gestured towards the billboard, his expression blank.

"Get in there, and see for ya'self."

.

A few blocks away, at the Vox Tower.

The heavy door before you swung open to reveal a diner. Chandeliers hung from the lofty ceiling, the crystals casting shattered reflections of light across the expanse of golden tables below. The centerpiece of the room was an expansive aquarium, its transparent walls housing sleek, metallic sharks that glided gracefully through the rose-tinted waters.

Vox guided you inside with a hand on your back, leading you towards a secluded booth. He was dressed in a neat, crisp royal blue suit, perfectly matching the attire chosen for you by Velvette. She had dressed you in a stunning cerulean silk dress that hugged your figure in all the right places. The fabric flowed gracefully as you moved, the long skirt sweeping across the floor with every step of your white heels.

"I didn't realize there was a restaurant tucked away in here," you whispered, your eyes widening in awe as you took in the glowing ambiance of the place.

"Well, we at VoxTek are full of surprises, my dear," Vox chuckled smoothly as he moved to pull back the chair at your table. "It's quite a diverse company."

"I see," you murmured, a sense of intrigue coloring your tone. Taking a step closer, you sank into the plush seat, a soft hum of contentment escaping your lips as you settled in. Vox pushed you in before taking his seat across from you. With a snap of his finger, he gestured for a nearby waiter to approach.

Once the menus were presented, Vox glanced over at you expectantly. "Feel free to order whatever you'd like, my dear. Consider it a treat for all your hard work." A waiter slid over a tablet for the bill, and Vox pulled out a sleek black card which he quickly swiped. "Take your time. We have all night to go over your contract."

Grateful for the gesture, you returned a smile before turning your attention to the menu, scanning the options while Vox took a sip from his glass of wine, the scarlet liquid swirling.

Before the moment could continue, however, a sudden wave of static crackled through the room, causing the tables to tremble, drinks spilling and tabletop decor tumbling aside as the lights flickered erratically. Startled, Vox choked on his drink, coughing as he accidentally spilled it on himself.

You looked around in worry, confusion furrowing your brow as you whipped your head around to assess the situation. A few of the patrons were talking amongst themselves in hushed tones, their concern mirroring your own.

"What was that…?" you asked, your voice barely audible above the din of the lingering static.

"Second fucking time," Vox grumbled under his breath as he attempted to wipe the wine off his crisp white dress shirt, but his efforts only seemed to smear the stain further across his chest. The crimson stain stark against the pristine fabric made it look as if he was just mauled.

With a resigned sigh, he abandoned his futile efforts and without a care in the world, tossed the soiled tablecloth back onto the table. Despite the mishap, he flashed you a reassuring smile.

"I'm sure it was nothing, my dear. Just a temporary glitch in the system. I'll have my workers look into it later," he said, waving it off.

Vox clapped his hands with a sharp, authoritative gesture, summoning a few waiters to swiftly clean up your table and retrieve the menus from your hands. They rushed over with a sense of urgency, their movements swift as they began tidying up the contents, the clatter of plates and silverware echoing through the air.

Meanwhile, a tall, slim blonde receptionist approached, her steps slow as she made her way towards Vox. Her slender fingers pushed her slim red glasses up on the bridge of her nose, accentuating the sharpness of her eyes as she addressed you both with a polite nod of her head.

"Mister Vox," she began, tapping a pen along her clipboard. "I have a few tables available for you upstairs. Would you like to transfer while we get the ground floor cleaned up?"

"Do that for us, will you?" Vox nodded, standing from the table with a sigh you couldn’t hear but could see in the slump of his shoulders. Straightening up, he brushed invisible dust off the front of his jacket and suit pants with swift, agitated motions.

"This day has been nothing but shit to me. The hell even was that?" Vox muttered under his breath as he glanced down at his watch, a luxurious 10-million soul bucks carat model he had allowed himself to purchase a few moons ago. "Alright. Time is ticking. Let's not waste any more time and move somewhere else, love."

With a nod, you followed suit and stood up, mirroring his movements as you prepared to leave the table. But before you could take a step, another round of static swept through the room, much stronger this time. The vibrations pulsed through the floor, causing you to stumble and grasp onto the table for support. The lights flickered and dimmed before abruptly going out, enveloping the room in darkness.

"What the fuck?" Vox snarled, the glow of his screen casting eerie shadows in the darkened environment as he turned sharply to the receptionist, the faint illumination of his face acting as a temporary flashlight.

"Get this checked out, will you?" Vox hissed.

"Of course, Mister Vox," the receptionist nodded briskly, maintaining her composure despite the chaos unfolding around her. Her pen scratched against the paper as she made a note of his request. "I'll have someone look into it right away."

"Satan. Alright, come on, doll," Vox called for you and slipped his hand into yours, interlocking them together with a firm grip. Reluctantly, you accepted his hand, feeling a sense of unease creeping over you as you followed him towards the staircase.

Together, you ascended the steps, the lingering sensation of static still hanging heavily in the air like an ominous fog. Another wave swept through the atmosphere, causing your skin to tingle with prickles and sending a shiver coursing up your spine.

Something was off.

The second floor was eerily quiet, devoid of the bustling activity in the ground floor. The subdued murmurs of the remaining patrons echoed faintly against the walls. You noticed that some of the only patrons left were already making their way down the stairs, their hurried footsteps punctuating the hushed atmosphere as they descended the glass steps.

As you scanned the area, your eyes landed on a TV perched high on the wall. Whatever show had been playing before was now reduced to nothing but static and glitches, its wires crackling with electricity like an angry serpent. Thin wisps of smoke curled up from the tangled mess.

"Doll?" Vox turned his head, catching your wandering eyes with a knowing look.

"I apologize for all this trouble, my dear, but worry not, everything will be handled in a jiffy," he reassured you, his thumb tracing soothing circles over your skin as he guided you by the railings.

Leaning his elbows against the metal, he took your hand into both of his, kneading and caressing it as he grumbled to himself. "If I knew this was going to happen, I would have taken you out another night."

"Well, there's no way you could have seen that coming," you muttered as you turned your gaze towards the ground floor. Below, various demons and imps scurried around, attempting to manage the chaos. With a shrug, you moved to lean against the railings, the cool metal soothing against your skin.

Resting your cheek on your free hand, you continued, "I mean, there's always another day. We can even hash out the contract right now."

At your words, Vox visibly deflated, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he cast you a dry look. "Always so professional, are you?"

"Yes?" you replied with a nod, tilting your head in genuine curiosity. "Is that bad?"

"No, not at all," Vox huffed, a barely concealed smile playing at the corners of his lips as he pulled you closer to him. "It's actually quite charming."

With a yelp, you stumbled into his arms, your hands pressing against his chest for balance. Vox leaned in further, his left hand coming to rest on your back, his touch gentle yet firm as he looked deep into your eyes.

"But would it be bad to say I wanted something more?" he murmured, a pinkish gradient tint glowing softly on his screen, casting a warm and inviting glow across his features.

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden intimacy. "Something more?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze softened, his thumb gently tracing the curve of your cheek, his touch tender against your skin.

"Yes, my dear," he murmured, trailing his thumb down to press and part your lips. "Something… personal."

"I-I don't really get what you're telling me," you stammered, your heart pounding in your chest. As Vox leaned in closer and closer, you found yourself backing away until you could no longer retreat, your back arching dangerously over the railings.

"Then perhaps it's best if I show you," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

Popping the lid open, a familiar golden band sat inside, glimmering softly in the dim light of the room. Your eyes widened with recognition, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"My ring," you gasped, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached out to pluck the precious jewelry from its box. However, your hand halted in midair as you noticed an unfamiliar engraving gleaming on its honey-colored surface. A wavy symbol was etched onto it, its silver detailing standing out against the smooth gold of the ring.

"Vox, what's… what's this?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly as your eyes darted back and forth between the two sights. You could feel a hot fire starting to coil in your gut, your skin already slowly cracking. "What'd you do?"

Vox's expression remained impassive for a moment before softening with a touch of vulnerability. "It's a symbol, my dear," he explained, his voice gentle as he slowly took your hand and raised it to his lips. "A symbol of our… partnership."

"Partnership?" you echoed, your eyes tracing the movement of his lips as he pressed a gentle kiss to your fingers.

"You'd make a good wife," he blurted out, catching you off guard. Your gaze shot up to meet his, wide with surprise, as his declaration hung in the air between you. "I could provide for you. I could make you happy. Give you anything, anything you want."

A clawed hand, its digits tipped with sharp, pointed nails, delicately plucked the ring out of its velvet cushion. Taking your hand in his, he gently slipped the ring onto your finger, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. Before you could even process what had just happened, a wave of static washed over the room, crackling through the air like tiny bolts of lightning, causing him to curse under his breath.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he growled.

The room trembled again as another wave of static hit, this time with greater intensity than any of the past waves. The floors shook beneath your feet, the building groaned in protest, and you stumbled forward with a gasp, your knees buckling under the force of the tremors. Desperately, you reached out to grab onto Vox for support, clinging to him as the world seemed to tilt and sway around you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the receptionist stumbling toward you both. Her calm demeanor had vanished, replaced by frantic movements and panic in her voice.

"Sir, sir!" she huffed, her words punctuated by labored breaths as she stumbled to her feet. Her hair was disheveled, and her clothes were torn. "The building is under attack!"

"Attack?" Vox scoffed out in disbelief, his shoulders shaking from his laughter. "Who in Lucifer's name would even think of crossing me?"

The receptionist shook her head vigorously, her eyes wide with terror, strands of her disheveled hair clinging to her sweaty forehead.

"The radio demon," she rasped out, her voice barely above a whisper, laden with fear.

You froze, your hands shaking as they moved to cover your gaping mouth. Another wave of static shook the building, but your thoughts were scattered, unable to focus amidst the chaos.

Vox's grip tightened on you and the handle of the railings, his claws raking against the metal with a sharp scrape. His expression slowly shifted, the laughter fading as a dangerous seriousness settled over him. He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes briefly before looking back at the receptionist with a dark glint in his eyes, a storm brewing within him.

"What did you just say?"

Before a response could be made, an explosion thundered through the floor, sending debris and dust swirling through the air. In shock, you watched as tendrils of inky shadows began to writhe and thrash, lashing out and slamming into the walls with bone-shaking force.

A particularly powerful tendril crashed against the aquarium, its force shattering the glass and unleashing a deluge of water that flooded down through the ground floor, drowning the patrons below. The sharks were caught in the torrent, their powerful bodies tossed and thrashed about as they were swept away.

Another tendril snaked its way through the dust, wrapping around the receptionist with a vice-like grip before flinging her high into the air like a ragdoll. The desperate cries of the poor woman echoed through the room before abruptly falling silent as she slammed into a wall with a sickening thud.

"Fuck—" Vox cursed, pulling you into him. His arms tightened around you protectively as he scanned the scene, his eyes darting around in search of any functioning piece of technology that could offer an escape and allow him to teleport you both out. However, his efforts proved futile; every piece of tech in the room was malfunctioning, either from the rampant waves of static or the overflow of water from the shattered aquarium.

Creak.

Suddenly, there was a deafening sound, cutting through the air and the chandelier above you both began to tilt dangerously, its crystals catching the flickering light before it started falling. Vox's curses mingled with the din as he swiftly scooped you into his arms, his muscles straining under the weight as he sprinted away just in the nick of time. With a thunderous crash, the chandelier came hurtling down, shattering into a thousand glittering fragments upon impact with the floor.

The glass shrapnel, propelled by the force of the chandelier's collapse, began to ricochet in your direction. Reacting swiftly, Vox made a split-second decision and hurled you over the railing and onto the ground floor. Screaming, you landed with a thud, the shallow water from the shattered aquarium splashing around you, soaking your dress and sending a shiver down your spine. However, Vox's own descent was less fortunate. As he jumped to follow, a few sharp glass shards found their mark, piercing his metallic body, tearing through his frame, and exposing the wires beneath.

"Ah…" Pushing yourself off the floor, you grappled with a moment of hazy confusion before a shock of fiery pain shot up your leg, so intense that your body instinctively recoiled, nails clawing at the flooded floors. A scream threatened to escape your lips, but you bit it back, your breath catching in your throat. Your eyes blinked rapidly against the pain, struggling to adjust to the darkness surrounding you.

Everything blurred together in a mess of shadows and rushing water. Your breaths grew heavy and frantic, your heart pounding in your chest as you began to shake from the sheer intensity of the pain.

"Doll—!" Vox's voice crackled through the darkness, his form glitching and sparking from the water that seeped into his exposed circuits. Before his outstretched hand could reach you, shadowed tendrils snaked around him, yanking him away with a jolt and tossing him aside, sending him skidding into a nearby column.

You watched in horror, the dim light reflecting off the wet floor and casting eerie shadows on your face. Just then, the tendrils, like twisted serpents, slithered towards you, causing you to shut your eyes tight, bracing for the impending danger.

Time seemed to stand still as you lay there, your breaths shallow and rapid, every nerve on edge.

Still, nothing happened.

Slowly, cautiously, you dared to open your eyes, your vision blurred. As your sight cleared, you found yourself face to face with a familiar shadow.

"William?" you croaked out, your voice raspy from the exertion. William, Alastor's loyal shadow, perked up eagerly at the sound of your voice, its form undulating as it slithered around you, enveloping you in a gentle embrace.

With a weak smile, you raised a trembling hand to pat at the comforting darkness. "Hey, buddy…"

Your attention was abruptly torn away as a red blur darted towards the spot where Vox had been slammed into. Shock seized you, freezing you in place as you watched with wide eyes, feeling your pulse pounding against your chest and skull in a frantic rhythm.

William followed your gaze, his form stiffening as he silently scanned the area for any sign of danger. After a tense minute of no one seen nor heard, he turned back to you, his shadowy head tilting in confusion.

With quivering lips you uttered one name that had explained everything, "Alastor."

.

"Mgh!" Vox grunted as he collided with the wall. The sickening crack tore through his body as he crumpled to the floor amidst a splash of sparking wires, debris, and hanging metal. His systems went haywire, his vision obscured by flashes of glitches and static, each burst of light stabbing into his consciousness like searing knives.

Despite the system failures, Vox couldn't miss the sight of a familiar red-clad demon stalking towards him with a menacing grin etched on his face.

"You..."

Struggling to move, the overlord felt his arm pinned under debris, the weight pressing down on him like a vise, squeezing the air from his lungs. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he sucked in a breath. Each inhale felt like fire scorching his insides.

Finding the leverage, with closed eyes and clenched fists, Vox braced himself and pushed with one hand while the other pulled, every movement sending waves of torment shooting through his body like bolts of lightning.

There was a sickening crack, the sound drowned out by the deafening roar of static and electricity that erupted from him. His back arched involuntarily, nerves and sinew spasming, his body instinctively attempting to curl in on itself to shield against the onslaught of pain as he ripped his arm off. Opening his mouth to scream, Vox found no voice escaping, only a glitched, distorted wheeze.

"My, my," Alastor chuckled, his voice dripping with sadistic amusement as he watched Vox dry-heave from the pain, relishing every moment of his torment. "Good show! Ho-ho! It's always such a thrill to witness your suffering."

"Wh-Wh-What the fuck do you want, old man?" Vox's voice glitched out as he shakily got to his knees, beads of water dripping and soaking through his suit, mingling with the blood and grime that coated his skin. The stench of metallic decay hung heavy in the air, mixed with the acrid scent of burning wires.

"You've got some nerve coming for me straight at my base," he shouted out, his screen flashing with a fierce red hue. "I've got you at a disadvantage!"

Alastor raised a brow in mocking surprise, twisting his head side to side to survey the torn-up tower with exaggerated interest. "Who's at a disadvantage?" he quipped with a shrug, his tone laced with derision as he gestured casually at the chaos surrounding them.

"I'm not the one on my knees, old pal," Alastor mused, his tongue dripping with sinister amusement as he tapped his staff against the flooded floors, the sound echoing. In one, swift motion, a shadow shot out, piercing Vox's shoulder and pinning him back against the wall, the tendrils coiling around him like a vice.

"Fuck you!" Vox hissed, his anger boiling over as he shot out wires of his own. Alastor made no attempt to dodge, staying put as the wires struck through his shoulder, flesh and muscle spraying out in a grisly display. Despite the gruesome injury, Alastor seemed unfazed, tilting his head with an audible crack, his grin widening into something unsettling.

"Sloppy," Alastor spat, blood trickling down the side of his mouth and dripping down his chin. With deliberate slowness, he raised a hand to grasp at the wires, his fingers curling around them with a sickening creak as he pulled them out.

"What the fuck are you even here for?!" Vox screamed.

"Funny you should ask," Alastor mused, his empty gaze boring into Vox's screen. Shadows wrapped around his injured shoulder, forming a makeshift bandage, while his other tendrils reached out, snaking towards Vox's ankles and forcibly dragging him forward. The demon fell onto his back, briefly submerged in the water as he was pulled towards Alastor.

Humming, Alastor slammed his foot down on Vox's torn arm, eliciting a scream of pain as sparks shot out. Chuckling, the Radio Delon hand came down hard, driving Vox's own wire into his eye with a sickening crack, causing the screen to fracture in a spiderweb of cracks.

"I'm here for my wife."

"Wife?" Vox narrowed his eye at Alastor in confusion for a moment, his screen flashing with red, blue, and yellow hues, before widening in recognition at the sight of a golden glint on Alastor's mangled, clawed hands.

Immediately, he snarled, his voice barely audible over the glitches and static, "I ain't telling you shit."

"Oh," Alastor drawled slowly, twirling his cane in his hands with a devilish grin. "You will."

Alastor moved with startling speed, lunging forward to grasp Vox's arms with his bare hands. With a vicious snarl, he began to tear at Vox's chest cavity, his claws digging into the metal casing with a sickening screech as he began to pull it off. Vox screamed in pain, his systems protesting against the assault, but he fought back, unleashing a flurry of sparks and glitches in a desperate attempt to break free.

"Old piece of shit!" Vox roared, his words dripping with venom as he punctuated them with a furious pound of his fist against the ground. Leaning up, he lunged forward, his hand shooting out to scratch at Alastor's eye with a scream of rage. "Radio's fucking dead!"

"You've got quite the fight in you, don't you?" Alastor's laughter echoed through the room as he jolted back from Vox's retaliatory strike.

With a casual flick of his hand, he wiped the crimson blood from his cheek, strands of his hair falling over the new scar that marred his face. "But I'm afraid spirit won't be enough to save your worthless life."

Alastor leaned down, his muscles tensing as his fist crashed into Vox's broken eye with a crack, causing the screen to fracture further. Lifting Vox by his collar, Alastor brought him closer to his face with a snarl.

"Radio killed the video star."

Alastor's tendrils coiled like vipers ready to strike, but before he could unleash them, a sudden crash of debris behind him jolted his attention. With a swift twist of his head, he peered over his shoulder.

Against the backdrop of the dark brick wall loomed a disheveled figure, her rosy cheeks and tousled hair framing her big, doll-like eyes. The shimmering of a necklace with a delicate rose pendant around her neck caught his attention, and in an instant, he recognized you.

Your hand pressed firmly against the wall for balance, while his shadow, William, enveloped your waist, supporting your weight. The fabric of your dress clung to your drenched skin, torn in parts, with one heel missing from your sprained foot. Streaks of makeup ran down your face, smudged by tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. You sniffled, your face flushed with warmth as a burning pain spread to your throat, choking back every sob that threatened to escape.

"Al…"

Alastor didn't know what to do with himself.

Every muscle in his body tensed, locking him in place as if he were frozen in time. In his shock, Vox slipped from his grip, crashing to the ground in a heap of metallic clangs and crackling wires.

With cautious steps, he stepped forward, testing the waters, metaphorically and literally. To his surprise, there was no barrier, no force pushing him back, and no contract manifesting before him.

"Cher?" he called out, breathless.

The sobbing wail that escaped your lips was answer enough.

Heart pounding in his chest, Alastor rushed forward and caught you in a desperate hug. His arms enveloped your trembling form tightly, as if he could shield you from the world's horrors just by holding you close. You sobbed against him, your nails digging into his shoulders, your body going limp like a puppet whose strings had just been cut. His hand flew up to cradle the back of your head, his touch both tender and urgent, his claws grazing your skin slightly in his desperation.

The smile on his face long dropped. His muscles tensed as he whispered your name over and over again like a mantra, each repetition a plea to whatever higher power might be listening.

For the first time in decades, Alastor felt fear grip his heart in its grimy claws. His eyes remained wide open, unblinking, as if he feared that closing them would make you vanish before his very eyes.

"Mon cœur," you heard the dark timbre in his voice, the faint crackle of radio static lingering in the air. Your husband drew his head back, and you winced at the loss of touch, but he immediately dove back in, pressing his lips against yours in a long overdue kiss. The taste of his metallic blood flooded your mouth, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Sighing against his lips, you tilted your head and pressed yourself further against him and Alastor grunted in response, his clawed hands mapping up the curve of your hips and moving up to your chest, pressing his palm flat against your heart to feel its steady rhythm. It beat for him, raced and throbbed because of him

You trembled beneath his touch, more tears slipping from your eyes, dribbling down your cheeks.

"That’s it, cher," he hushed. "My sweet girl. You’re alright. Everything’s going to be alright."

His hand reached out, cupping both of yours firmly, causing your rings to clink together. His thumb gently traced over the back of your right hand, caressing the golden band.

Alastor paused, his fingertips gliding over the unfamiliar texture of an engraving on the ring, a curious furrow creasing his brow as he moved back in to examine your hands. You hesitantly allowed his inspection, silently noting the subtle twitches on his blank expression.

Despite the tenderness of his touch, Alastor's face remained devoid of his usual smile. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, silently asking for an explanation, and you answered the unspoken question immediately.

"Vox."

With just one word, Alastor immediately understood. A fleeting smile graced his lips as he pressed a final tender kiss to both of your eyelids before his grin returned in full force. he snapped his head back to face Vox, holding you close in his arms, supporting your weight due to your broken ankle. "It seems we have some unfinished business."

"Yeah, we fucking do," a new voice interjected, causing both you and Alastor to whirl around.

Velvette and Valentino made their presence known as they stood stoically by the entrance, their disheveled appearances and visible injuries painting a picture of the struggle that had unfolded. Every bruise, every torn piece of clothing seemed to speak on its own of the relentless assault Alastor had unleashed upon the building. It was clear that they had endured their fair share of the battle.

"Come."

Velvette reached her hand out, and you felt an odd sensation of tugging at your neck. Suddenly, a hot pink collar materialized around you, and before you could react, you were forcefully pulled forward with a sharp yank. The sudden movement caused you to stumble several feet, your injured ankle buckling beneath you with a jolt. A scream ripped from your throat, the intensity of the pain washing your vision with a blaring flash of white.

Valentino immediately grabbed you by the hair, wrenching you up as though you were nothing more than a prize to be claimed. "You want her? Well, we're going to have to make a deal," he taunted.

Something primal gnawed and snarled at Alastor's insides. Even in the brief seconds since you were torn away from him, the ache for your presence already began to consume him, searing through his veins like a wildfire. It cut him deeper than any of the physical wounds he received. He had just gotten you, and now you were being torn away from him once more.

He wanted to scream, to tear at his own flesh in anguish, to rip through the barriers separating him from you until he could hold you close once more.

And if he had to paint the sidewalks of hell with the blood of these vermin to achieve that, then he would stop at nothing to see it through.

"There's not going to be a deal. I doubt anything you can offer would be of any value," Alastor's grin twisted into a snarl, his eyes flashing red. With a swift motion, he slammed his staff against the floor, unleashing a blare of crackling energy and swirling shadows into the air. "I'm going to end your fucking lives."

"Ay, calm down," Valentino snarled, his voice dripping with menace as he spread his wings, casting a shadow over the room. Dipping a hand into his coat pocket, he drew his gun and pressed it tight against your temple, the cold metal sending a shiver down your spine. Sweat beaded on your forehead as the searing burn of the barrel pressed against your skin, a silent threat hanging in the air.

You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt Valentino's thumb run across your cheek, the demon cooing at you as if you were a child. Blinking away the tears, you opened your eyes to find Alastor's figure standing out vividly amidst the chaos, his red suit and hair glowing like fire against the darkness.

Like blood.

Alastor's entire body practically shook with anger, the shadows in the corners of the room writhing and twisting.

Their tainted blood should never dare to soil your skin, nor should the gaze of these wretches ever dare to tarnish your beautiful visage. In his eyes, you were pure and untainted, and above all, you belonged to him.

Only him.

"Now," Valentino chuckled, a twisted smile playing on his lips as he reached out to pet your head with a hand, his fingernails sharp and threatening. "It's really not worth the trouble. So why don't you stop this tantrum, grab your little bitch, and get out? She's not this fucking valuable to us."

"D-D-D-Don't!" Vox's voice crackled from his spot on the floor, his one functional arm trembling as he struggled to rise.

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Velvette scowled, her nails digging into the fabric of her torn dress as she hurled your contract towards Alastor with a vicious flick of her wrist. "Do we have a fucking deal?"

Alastor's hand shot out, snatching the contract mid-air before it could reach the ground. Holding it aloft, he tore it apart with a savage rip, the sound of paper shredding echoing like thunder through the room.

"Deal."

Instantly, the chains restraining you dissolved, and Valentino moved away from you. You felt a gentle tug as Alastor's swirling shadows guided you towards him. His arm enveloped you protectively, pulling you close as if shielding you from any further harm. His wide-eyed gaze remained fixed on Velvette and Valentino, a silent warning in his stance.

"I'll make sure you regret ever crossing us," Alastor declared with a menacing growl, summoning a swirling portal of shadows behind him as he slowly backed away, pulling you along with him. Before departing, he deftly removed your engraved ring from your finger and tossed it in Vox's direction.

"Radio isn't dead," Alastor snarked as the shadowed portals began to envelop you both, their inky tendrils curling around you like a shroud, "but this broadcast is coming to an end."

With that, you and Alastor vanished into the swirling shadows, leaving the three figures standing amidst the aftermath.

The building lay in ruins, reduced to disrepair. Water trickled down from the shattered remnants of the aquarium, its glass now fractured and broken, mingling with the thick dust that hung in the air like a shroud. From top to bottom, no room was left untouched by the devastation wrought on by the Radio Demon.

Velvette stood rigid in the center of the room, her figure shadowed as she bore her intense gaze into Vox. The TV demon scoffed dismissively, his broken screen flickering erratically, casting disjointed shadows across the room.

"I'm killing her," Velvette declared.

"Who?" Vox croaked, doing his best to sit up as Valentino helped him to his feet.

Velvette clenched her teeth, her frustration boiling over as she stepped forward and forcefully slammed her heels down on Vox's legs, sending him slamming back down, the sound echoing in the room. She spat in his fractured screen, her voice dripping with venom.

"I'M FUCKING KILLING HER!"

.

"Don'tcha worry about a thing, sweetheart!" Mimzy chirped cheerfully, her voice ringing out above the din of the crowded bar. Balancing a huge stack of beer in her arms, she maneuvered skillfully through the maze of tables, dodging patrons and obstacles with ease. The dim lights of the bar reflected off the bottles, casting shimmering patterns across the worn wooden surface, while the faint scent of alcohol lingered in the air, mingling with chatter and laughter.

Arriving at the table, a group of men erupted in hollers and cheers. Mimzy giggled in response, her laughter joining the chorus of noise as she shot a playful wink in their direction. With a bit too much force, she shoved the tray onto the table, causing the overflowing glasses to slosh and liquor to spill onto the tabletop.

"Enjoy!"

With a toss of her hair, she sauntered away, her heels echoing against the wooden floorboards as she made her way towards the entrance. The club was delightfully full tonight, and Mimzy could practically taste the mouthwatering green of money already.

But just as she reached the doorway, a hand grabbed her, yanking her out into the darkness beyond. The blonde's cheery demeanor disappeared in an instant as she found herself shoved up against a nearby wall.

The cold grime and mysterious mold clinging to the brick surface sent a shiver down her spine, the dampness seeping through her clothes and chilling her to the bone. The dim light from the bar seemed to fade into obscurity as the darkness of the alley enveloped her, suffocating her senses. Panic surged within her as she struggled against her assailant.

"Hey! What gives—" Mimzy began, but her words caught in her throat as she realized she was face to face with Velvette. The overlord looked disoriented and disheveled in the dimly lit alleyway, her clothes torn and her hair in disarray. Her eyes, usually sharp and calculating, now held a wild, frenzied glint.

"There you are," Velvette's grip on Mimzy's dress tightened, her nails digging deep into the fabric and piercing skin, sending a sharp twinge of pain through the blonde. "I've been looking for you."

The blonde recoiled as Velvette's claws trailed up her throat, leaving a trail of stinging scratches in their wake. The metallic smell of blood flooded her nose as one of Velvette's nails grazed over her skin, catching on the delicate chain of her necklace and tugging it slightly.

With a trembling voice, Mimzy managed to choke out, "Oh! W-What do you need me for, sugar?"

Velvette's lips curled into a sinister smile, the glint of her sharp teeth shining under the alley lights.

"Oh, just a little chat," she replied, her voice dripping with malice. "Aren't you curious about what's been happening in your absence? Some skeletons in a closet got dug up."

The blonde's eyes widened, her heart pounding in her chest as she realized the gig was up.

"I didn't—!" she started, but her protest was cut short by the sickening thud of Velvette's fist against the wall beside her. Cracks spiderwebbed across the brickwork, the crumbling debris cascading to the ground in a cloud of dust.

"Don't lie to me," Velvette hissed, as she leaned down to the blondes height, meeting her face to face. "You knew who she was. And you helped him."

"I-I didn't know," Mimzy lied straight through her teeth, trembling in her heels. "I swear, Velvette. I didn't know anything about his wife."

"Don't play dumb with me, bitch. You knew full well who she was," the overlord snarled.

With a derisive laugh, she threw her head back and added, "But you couldn't even keep it under wraps! You got fucking ratted out in less than 2 days!"

"No! No, I swear on my life, sugar!" Mimzy pleaded, her voice trembling as she shook her head, her golden curls bouncing around her shoulders. "I was just a stray bullet!"

But Velvette's expression remained cold and unforgiving, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"You fucking liar," she spat, her voice dripping with venom.

A flash of silver caught Mimzy's eye, and she flinched as she saw the dagger in Velvette's hand. The cold metal glinted with a blue glow in the dim light of the alley, its edges sharp and sleek.

It was angelic iron, and the very sight of it sent bile rushing up her throat.

It hurt her eyes to look at the dagger, its presence filling her with a sense of dread she couldn't shake. But despite the fear coursing through her veins, she couldn’t tear her gaze away. She was frozen in place, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

But then, there was a sudden blur of movement.

"Wait!"

A sharp, searing pain shot through Mimzy, causing her to gasp. The sensation of blood trickling down her skin sent waves of nausea through her, and she dry heaved, struggling to keep herself upright.

Her eyes remained locked on the smeared blood on the steel lodged in her, the sight both horrifying and mesmerizing. It was so revolting, so surreal, that she failed to suppress a shudder of dread as she stared at it, transfixed by the grim reality of her impending fate.

Coldness began to envelop her, seeping into her bones as the darkness closed in around her like a suffocating cloak. Dark spots danced at the edges of her vision as the edges of her consciousness blurred and faded. She felt herself slipping away, consumed by the shadows, as the alleyway swallowed her whole.

Velvette let the body drop, the dull thud echoing in the desolate alleyway. A twisted feeling of satisfaction flooded her veins, coursing through her with a sickening thrill.

The harsh glow of the streetlights cast eerie shadows across her features as she surveyed the aftermath of her actions. With a flick of her head, she turned away from the lifeless form, her cracked heels echoing against the cold pavement as she disappeared into the darkness, leaving behind a trail of crimson steps in her wake.

"And so it begins."

.

[whimsyvixen]

𝕄𝕚𝕟𝕖

Resident Evil Drabble

Pairing: Lord Dimitrescu x Female Reader

Rating: 18+

Synopsis: You learn that you can never refuse your Lord's desire for you.

WARNINGS/TAGS: dark smut, rape/noncon elements, extremely dubious consent, explicit content, teratophilia, master/slave, monster/human, overstimulation, forced pleasure, table sex, dacryphilia, food kink? Lord D likes to attend to you, unprotected sex, creampie, very obvious size difference since he's literally fucking 9'' tall.

A/N: Guess my perverted ass did want to write more filth for this man. Gonna have to dedicate this to all those Lord D fans out there 💋!! I changed up his design a little so I hope you still like it!

The castle was cold, goosebumps rising on your skin and making your nipples stiff beneath your dress. You couldn’t suppress shivering, folding your arms over your chest to try to stay warm, unknowingly giving your Lord a flattering view of your cleavage. You squeezed your legs together, mortified when you could still feel it swirling inside you, Lord Dimitrescu’s gift to you filling your womb. 

After swallowing the last bite of food on your plate, you looked up nervously to your right, flinching at the intense look your captor threw your way. He was a giant, making you feel like little more than a doll seated at the table, the satin, maroon night dress you had donned making you self conscious from how thin it was. It did little to hide every imperfection or curve along your body, making you lift your shoulders up defensively as his eyes traveled down your seated form. 

He filled up your cup, the red liquid swirling around the glass making you uneasy as it reminded you of the color of blood. You didn’t bother to reach for it, Lord Dimitrescu already bringing it to your lips to coax you to drink it. He held your chin gently, his eyes focused on your puckered lips as he raised the glass. To your relief, it tasted like ordinary wine (albeit with a very rich texture) and not the metallic taste you feared. The liquid ran smoothly down your throat, a trickle escaping the corner of your mouth to trail down the length of your neck to slide between your breasts. 

Lord Dimitrescu’s attention was fixated there, bringing a calloused thumb to trace the path of the droplet, grazing the numerous bites and hickeys littered across your neck and shoulders along the way. When he tugged down the front of your dress, exposing your naked tits to his hungry gaze, you had to resist the urge to scoot away from him, gripping the sides of your chair tightly to allow him to inspect you. 

The feeling of his warm palm caressing your globe had you biting your lip, unwilling to let him know much comfort it brought to your freezing body. When he tugged on your nipple, squeezing the tiny nub between his thumb and forefinger, you couldn't contain your small mewl, breathing shallowly as your nerves lit up with your arousal. He shifted his gaze back to your heated face, taking in your tortured expression with a smile before leaning down to kiss you gently on your soft lips. 

It started out innocently, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing manner as he continued to grope at your plump breast. It had you sighing into the kiss, your body responding to his soft touch as it warmed up your body. When you felt his other hand squeeze your inner thigh, you gasped allowing his tongue to breach past your lips to plunder the hot caverns of your mouth. From there, the open mouth kiss turned heated, your tongues dancing aggressively against each other, Lord Dimitrescu growling deeply with every muffled moan escaping your sweet lips. The hand on your thigh traveled up to push your dress out of his way, his thick fingers brushing against your swollen folds to make you jolt in your seat. You flinched away at the contact, your wet lips disconnecting from his sensual mouth when you shoved him away from you.

“I, I..” you stuttered out the words, snapping your legs closed to prevent him from touching you further. “I don’t…” You cast your eyes down, trying to explain yourself when a stony expression crossed his face. “It still hurts.”

Your response only had him raising an eyebrow, Lord Dimitrescu clearly not pleased with your reluctance to service him once more.

Suddenly, he grabbed you by the waist and lifted you off your chair. He sat you on top of the table, amused at your little shocked gasp before pushing his chair back to kneel before you. He brought his hands up to his neck to begin unbuttoning his shirt, showing off the broad expanse of his chest and muscled form as he pulled the fabric to the sides. You couldn’t look away from his body, your mind replaying the events of last night when you lay under him, screaming and moaning out in ecstasy as he took you over and over, uncaring of your sobs as he brought you to climax after climax. 

When he applied pressure on your knees, his large hands possessing the capability of breaking your bones, you knew what he wanted. 

“Open up for me, uibito.” His smooth voice tickled your ears. “Let me see what I’ve done to you.” 

“M-my Lord!” You put up your hands to stop him, “Don’t you think it’s too soon to… to-.” A shriek escaped you when he forced your legs open, the cool air stinging your inflamed vulva and making you shudder when you felt his cum dribble out of you in copious amounts. You tried to reason with him once more, desperate to hide your shame from his curious eyes. “What I mean to say is, I have not fully recovered from your affections, and I don’t think it’s a good idea that we–AH!”

He rubbed your engorged clit, shocking you enough to have you fall back on the table on your elbows. You tried to shove his hand away, tears of humiliation glistening your eyes when you felt his spend leak out of you to pool on the table cloth. You hated how you couldn’t control yourself, your hips grinding against his palm despite your protests. He rubbed none too gently at your stimulated nub, taking note of how your little breathless gasps indicated your body’s readiness to take him once more. With his other hand he tugged down his pants, the twitching organ responding to your pleasured moans as it sought out your tight pussy. You shook your head, twisting and turning your body when his cock rubbed along your ass. 

“You’re still of a mind to refuse me? My patience grows thin with you, draga mea.” Lining up his cock to your reddened folds, he began to push his way through, delighted at the sight of your pussy struggling to wrap around his sheer girth. “Shall I remind you what it means to be mine?”

💓 Thank you for reading!! 💓

Here is the art for my drabble ft my OC so enjoy~🫣🤭

For the full NSFW Art, select here --> (⁠●⁠♡⁠∀⁠♡⁠)

[calmcoldevening]

Back at it again with a prompt idea!

What if the slasher/s are trying to kill a victim but they are immortal and keep coming back

And the victim keeps following the slasher only to annoy and be a little menace to them >:3

(maybe they fall in love later O.O)

What ever slasher you choose is fine for me ;)

Art the clown x immortal!reader

Tw: blood, murdering, torturing? well, yeah. Art is an ass sometimes

• Art has always been a fan of violent and noisy 'games' that chilled the blood in his veins. That was his sadistic nature, and the whole of Miles County and people for hundreds of miles around had already heard a lot about it. A strange man in a clown costume, who sent at least a dozen unhappy teenagers and adults to the next world. He loved blood and horror, and no one would dare stand in his way, not wanting to become another victim of brutal violence.

• Maybe it was fate's will, or maybe it was just your bad luck or an accident, but one day Art saw you in one of the cafes late at night. He was watching you from a dark alley, so it's unlikely that you would have seen him even if you really wanted to. He clutched his garbage bag in his hands, and a cruel grin appeared on his face. You were a good little thing and you definitely could have brightened up this cold night for him.

• Without thinking for long, Art hit you on the head at the most unexpected moment and took you to one of his 'game rooms', which in fact was just a room of one of the old factories in the city. He wasn't in the mood to hunt you down and catch you in your own house for a long time. This game was supposed to be fast but colorful.

• The clown involuntarily licked his lips, watching you slowly regain consciousness and open your big innocent eyes. He walks around you like some kind of fancy Christmas tree. You're sitting on an old wooden chair, badly scratched and already soaked in blood from past victims. Your limbs are tied in wooden material with strong leather straps, and thick barbed wire with rusty, blunt teeth is wrapped around your neck, chest and abdomen. There was a smell of dampness and fear in the air, which made the Clown giggle noiselessly.

• Finally, Art stopped right in front of you and gestured at the trash bag to your right. Making a playful, almost pretended sweet expression, or reached into the bag as if looking for a Christmas present for a small child. In the flickering light, a long thin tool with a convex handle and a bizarrely curved metal tip appears, more like a sharply sharpened blade. A man comes behind you and caresses your tense shoulders with almost uncharacteristic tenderness. His fingers are rough and rough. The clown's palms slowly descend lower, sliding along your clothed back through the open part of the back of the chair. The movements are slow and measured. Suddenly his movements stop and in the next moment they are replaced by acute pain. Sparks dance in your eyes and you emit a strangled cry, reflexively your body gives way forward, blunt spikes painfully dig into your tender flesh. Art laughs soundlessly, continuing to press the blade deeper into your spine, and then abruptly moves his hand down. With a nasty creak, the fabric of your T-shirt is torn, and at the same time your soft flesh is torn. Art rejoices, seeing how his hands and white gloves are stained with maroon lingonberry liquid, flowing in a thick stream onto the concrete floor. Tears are pouring from your eyes as you desperately bite your lower lip in an attempt to control yourself. Your back, which was once a flawless canvas of pale skin, is now covered with a network of terrible red lines, each of which testifies to the cruelty of Art's tools and his relentless thirst for suffering. There is a pungent smell of iron in the air, mixing with the acrid smell of fear that remains on your sweat-soaked skin.With deliberate slowness, I pick up the razor-sharp instrument again, its sinister curves gleaming in the dim light. Your body is trembling, every muscle is tense with fear, while the man is preparing to inflict even more torment on you.In the flickering shadows, a grotesque smile appears on his painted face, a silent promise of future torment.

• Suddenly, the blade hits the blood-soaked concrete with a ringing thud and bounces off somewhere to the dark wall. Art goes back to his "magic" bag and takes out some kind of leather strap. With a deft movement of his hands, he hooks the clips connected by a strap onto your wet cheeks, the gloves wet with blood rub unpleasantly against your face. Art smiles his creepy smile and gently touches your chin with his fingers. Your eyes were swollen and your cheeks were wet from tears and saliva flowing from your open mouth. But not that you can complain here. All you had to do was mumble something, barely moving your limp tongue.

• An unpleasant crunch filled the half-empty concrete room. With a strong crack, Art broke off a piece of your tooth with pliers, the fragment unpleasantly scratched the already bleeding gum. All you had to do was mumble something indistinctly, to which Art just grinned madly and jokingly grabbed your tongue with the edges of the pliers, watching the despair in your eyes. He broke off tooth after tooth until a dozen teeth had been pulled out in his hand.

• Your throat burned from screaming, and your eyes burned unpleasantly from the tears you shed. You wanted it to be over as soon as possible. Realizing that Art won't get the right reaction from you anymore, noticing your exhaustion, he snorts soundlessly, clearly losing interest. With a graceful movement of his hand, Art deftly takes out an old battered pistol from a trash bag. He slides the edges of the gun over your cheek, drawing uncomplicated patterns. His movements are slow and upward. One. Two. Three. Finally, his hand reaches your head, the muzzle of the gun is pressed against your painfully throbbing temple. You wearily close your eyes, feeling a leaden heaviness in your limbs. His arms and legs were already blue from lack of blood.

• Art blows on the smoke coming from the shower of the gun and throws the weapon back into the bag. The man steps back, admiring his work and your smoking wound on his temple for a couple of moments. After that, he carefully removes the straps from the dead body and puts them in a bag, slowly leaving the building.

• Art pinned a young man to the ground, slowly cutting the meat from his face and putting the skin in his mouth. A soft laugh was heard abruptly behind him, and another pair of hands, softer and softer palms, covered his hands. The man raises his eyebrows questioningly and turns back, meeting your satisfied gaze. Your face still looked tired and tear-stained, and there were bruises and streaks of blood on your neck, but overall you looked almost.. normal?

• Without thinking twice, you grab the scalpel from his hand and with a sharp movement stick the blade into the clown's eye. He screams soundlessly, raising his hands to his face. You step back, watching his agony with a satisfied expression on your face. "You didn't think it would end so easily, did you?" You purred, folding your arms over your chest. The clown frowns, baring his sharp black teeth, and jumps up from the lifeless body. He walks towards you with quick steps and grabs your throat with his cold hands, lifting you off the ground. No matter how thin he looks, the guy has plenty of strength. You giggle, covering his hands with yours. You can already feel the air leaving your lungs, being replaced by an unpleasant burning sensation. Without thinking twice, you reach out your hands, touching the clown's face with your fingers, and scratch his painted face, mixing the paint with the blood from his wounded eye. He presses harder, enjoying the crunch of your airways.

• It quickly turned into a constant game of cat and mouse. Wherever Art was, you were always there. And I was in his way. Art was angry, cursed, and killed you. But you were coming back. Each time, your body was still decorated with old scars, but the man added new ones. He realized that the old scars would disappear. He had to make new ones. It was as if he was celebrating his favorite, best victim in this way. He can't be uninterested in your natural stubbornness and immortality.

• Over time, the clown really begins to look forward to your recovery and return, despite the slight irritation that you cause in him. He feels it in the pleasant piercing of his fingers. His hands crave you, your body, his fingers want to touch your scars and leave new ones.

• Your constant presence in Art's life begins to gradually change his thinking and thoughts, your image has settled in his head like a damn poison.

• Your immortality and lack of fear make you a really worthy partner for Art, he realizes this on an unconscious level. There's something about you. Something that makes his blood boil in his head. He's falling in love with you. Yes, in his own way, but he falls in love. Despite your initial maniac-victim relationship, Art is starting to see you as almost an equal. This is surprising. He loves you in his own twisted way.

• Art and you are in a love-hate relationship, constantly joking and arguing with each other. Despite the constant quarrels, you are united by a deep connection and understanding, which becomes apparent in your communication. You both feel extremely comfortable in such a relationship in your own perverted way (this is especially damn noticeable in sex..)

• Art begins to crave your company and gets annoyed when you are not around. There's something nice about knowing that after a bloody murder, he can properly combine his anger and passion on you. Especially in your intimate moments. Playing with blood, strangulation and other elements of bdsm is an integral part of your pleasure. You are a perfect match for each other, you are feared by all the states in the district.

[megtrns]

not to sound insane but i'm bedridden at the thought of being intimate with these giant bots — no, not interfacing (although that's also great), but rather the nervous brushing of fingers against servos, the firm press of skin against metal, the bend and curve of muscle to cradle the shape of their armors. 

fort max, who came to life in the crux of war and violence, wiping a stray eyelash from the corner of your eye, servos faintly trembling as they tentatively cross the space between your bodies. unsure and afraid of hurting you, he tries not to exert too much effort, constantly reminding himself that just because his mass was displaced doesn't mean he didn't have the strength to tear mechs apart with his bare hands. his optics, garnet red under the distant starlight, soften the moment you lean your cheek against his open palm; the skin under his touch, smooth and organic and alive with a warmth he didn't know existed. 

brainstorm running his digits playfully over your face — tickling your nose, your chin, your ear — causing you to giggle against the pillows as he conducts a thorough examination for the purpose of 'science', using it as an excuse to 'stimulate your nerves' and make you smile. here, face to face with him above the mattress, with laughter embracing your bodies like a weighted blanket, you let him gently trace his servos across your lips. the scientist, drunk on studying you. 

swerve letting you throw your arms around his neck — body melting against his chest plates, nose already buried at the crook of his neck cables to express your sympathies. you were one of the few people who see through the chink in his optimistic armor, always trying to cheer him up even before he even realized he needs the comfort. and how can he not feel better already, when you were looking up at him like he hung the stars for you? 

perceptor catching himself in awe of human irises and the myriad of colors they take after. he thinks it's beyond fascinating that, for some, the eyes reflect the color of their seas, cerulean blue dissolving against white foam. and other times even the forest, their strange and halcyon woodlands dense with emerald trees that sway with the wind. but most curious of all, he thinks, is the color of the earth : darker than rust yet radiant like the sun — a shade that doesn't naturally occur on his planet, swimming like liquid gold behind your eyes.

megatron, elusive and distant, anchored by the delicate weight of your fingers above his servos. when he saw your hand sliding across your lap from under the metal table — using the distraction caused by whirl in the middle of a crowded night at swerves — to move closer to his, megatron had thought about stopping you. he thought about retracting his hand to excuse himself back to his hab-suite. but the ex-warlord is tired and worn, powerless against the sight of your affections. so he let it happen — and it was fleeting, only a brush and barely a touch. yet it went straight to his spark like a jolt of electricity. just like that, under your fragile, tiny hands, the mighty has fallen. 

[multifandoms27-blog]

First Kiss

Content: TFP! Megatron x Fem! T/O! Reader

Warnings: Drug use

Notes: The T/O above stands for techno-organic. Y'all already know I had to write about my favorite bot

• ───────────────── •

Entering the control room, you looked around at the unusually empty room. Normally Vehicons and Soundwave would be in here, but today, it's just Megatron. He had called for you over the comms, and you hoped you weren't about to get the Starscream treatment.

"You called for me, my liege?"

Megatron stood in front of the biggest screen that was currently off, and served as a window now. The stars and dark sky made him hard to see, if it weren't for the dim lights in the room. He had his servos clasped behind his back, and he slowly turned to look at you.

"Yes, I have called you. I wanted to...address something peculiar I heard." Megatron spoke...softly? Why was he speaking softly?

"And that would be?" You asked.

He let out a small chuckle and fully turned to you, letting his servos fall to his sides. In large strides, he was suddenly in front of you. Raising one servo, he placed it under your chin to ensure you wouldn't look away.

"Soundwave gave me some intel that was most...intriguing to me, and I wanted to double check with you first."

You weren't that high of a rank. You were barely at Knockout's rank, let alone Soundwave's or anyone elses. "Why me, sir? I'm no high ranked officer. Why not double check with Soudwave himself?"

"Because my dear, it is about you and your...feelings. Soundwave was gracious enough to tell me what you are too afraid to do."

You grew nervous. Did he know? "And...that would be?"

Megatron chuckled and looked over at the door. As if on cue, a Vehicon walked through with a tray in his servos. On the tray were two purple energon cubes...dark energon. You blinked in surprise, Megatron never shares his energon with anyone.

"Forgive my ignorance, but please no more dancing around the matter. What is really going on?" You spoke out of turn, you knew it, but you needed to know what this was about.

Megatron chuckled. "I know of your feelings for me."

The Vehicon stopped. Your heart stopped. Time seemed to have stopped. Megatron's smirk however, grew. So time didn't exactly stop. You felt the color drain from your face. How did Soundwave know? You felt a wave of betrayal wash over you. Unfortunately, that's how things go in the Decepticon ranks.

Megatron laughed and took both energon cubes and dismissed the Vehicon. "Do not worry, my dear. I return your affections. In fact, I asked you here today to toast to our new relationship."

"Relationship?" You were still lost.

"Well yes, we return each others affections, so its only natural we become one." Megatron's narrowed optics pierced through you.

"Yeah...yeah that is true." He handed you one of the cubes as you spoke.

"And what better way to become one, than to relish in Unicron's blood together?" Megatron placed one servo on the small of your back.

You were pulled closer to him, and you clutched the cube close to your chest. You had to remind yourself that you could ingest energon, but...what kind of affect would dark energon have on you? Regardless, your heart did all the thinking now.

"Okay. I accept."

Megatron's grin grew wider, showing more of his sharp teeth. He put the cube to his lips and drank the whole thing, and went in for a slow, sensual kiss. His metallic lips moved along with your fleshy ones. You felt the shock increase in your body, but you did relax.

Then you felt liquid enter your mouth, despite not drinking any energon. You thought Megatron had swallowed his...

The dark energon dripped down the sides of your mouth, and he slowly pulled away. He threw the empty cube to the side and caressed your cheek. "Feel the blood of Unicron take over your system, my dear. Soon it shall consume you, and we will be one in our shared interest."

The effects were immediate. You felt the familiar sensation of being high. Light headedness, delayed vision, sluggish movements...you were amazed at how fast it worked. You watched as Megatron slowly pried the dark energon cube from your hands and drank it himself, this time swallowing it. His optics turned purple and he placed both servos on your cheeks.

"We will rule the world, together, my love." Megatron grinned and kissed you once more.

You let the dark energon take over your system, and relished in the blood of Unicron with your new love.

• ───────────────── •

Here's my Transformers masterlist in case you wanna request something!

[clawsdevour]

hii can i have a kuroo x fem reader who is sick pls??

in kuroo's care

wc: 0.7k content warning: fluff, kuroo x reader who's sick, not proofread, my shitty writing

note: YOU FREAKING GET ME. SICK READER X KUROO WHO TAKES CARE OF YOU UGGHHHHH HE'S SO HUSBAND. HOPEFULLY U ENJOYYYY THIS SHORT SCENARIO !!!!

୭ ˚○,.

Waking up later than usual, your mind was so hazed and scrambled. Your forehead felt like a hot firework about to be released in the sky in the smelting humid air on the Fourth of July. Mustering all your strength to shuffle your head to turn to your left. Kuroo wasn’t at your side in bed with you, he’d already left for work as he usually leaves earlier than you. You groan, feeling horribly cold as you quiver under your warm covers. 

Occupied with promoting volleyball across the nation, Kuroo gets a phonecall from your workplace. He’s been informed as your emergency contact, and learns that you didn’t show up to work today. Kuroo furrows his brows in suspicion from hearing your work tell him about your unexplained absence. Ending the call, getting up from where he sat. Kuroo hurriedly grabs his blazer that was hanging on the back of his desk chair and calls off the rest of his day for work to see you.

You’re laying in bed eyes shut, soundly snoozing until you heard your bedroom door open with a slight clunk. Holding his blazer over his right shoulder, his heart sinks at the sight of you laying in bed with the covers wrapped around you. You’re overheating and struggling to breathe through your stuffed nosed. Rushing towards your side, Kuroo’s hand is feeling the warm temperature all over your face. 

“Kuroo… is that you?” Shifting your heavy head your hoarse low voice muttered out. Through your eyelashes you see Kuroo with an expression of worry spread across his face. You’re trying your best to keep your gaze on him as he’s feeling the heat emit from your face.

“Yes, I’m here. Why didn’t you tell me you’re sick?” Looking into your eyes, whispering to prevent your head from throbbing. “Hold on, let me get you a wet washcloth really quick.”

Nodding your head before he heads to the bathroom. Your eyes droop, letting your drowsiness consume you. Hearing his steps grow louder in your direction, you feel a cool dampness press against your forehead and a large hand caress your furiously warm cheek. Seeing him in the corner of your vision you avert your gaze to see what he has to say.

“I’m gonna head out to get you some medical rememdies to make you feel better, m’kay? Don’t move, I’ll be back.” He’s stepping back, grabbing his wallet out from his pants pocket. Kuroo slips on his blazer, making adjustments as he swiftly strides out of the bedroom.

At the corner of your house, Kuroo’s looking at the medicine and health aisle. He picks up what he believes would be the best remedies to fight back against your cold. Reading all the colored labels that say things that best fits the description of the state you’re currently bedridden in. Scanning and paying for the items, Kuroo dashes back home knowing your sickness wouldn’t get any better if he walked.

Back in your bedroom, he switched out your current washcloth for a cooler one, freshly dipped and wrang out for your warm forehead. Pulling a chair to sit next to you, he’s put all of the remedies on your side table.

Spoon in hand, pouring the thick liquid that takes shape of the utensil. In your deep slumber, you feel a cold metal prob against the opening of your mouth. You fight back against your eyes, peeking at him through your heavy eyelids, Kuroo’s spoonfeeding you some bright blue cough syrup that tasted like mint.

“Say, ‘Ahh’ and take this medicine will you? You won’t get any better if you don’t open up.” Kuroo’s soft silky voice cooes at you. Parting open your lips, the minty syrup enters your mouth which you swallow down feeling the cool mint drip down your throat. Putting the spoon down, he’s observing you with his mouth curved into a gentle smile. “Rest up, before dinner. I’m gonna cook you a nice warm soup to eat.” Kuroo fluffs your pillow at the sides and tucks you into bed, one last glance at you before turning off the lights to let you recover.

masterlist here

[dyeher]

HAHAHHA "Get back down here. We're not done yet." WITH RINDOU. I'm gonna catch a stray with this

Prompt| "Get back down here. We're not done yet."

Includes| Facesitting, Overstimulation, Choking, Impact Play, Squirting (real pornstar shit *megan thee stallion voice*)

“That’s it baby,” Rindou slurs.

One big hand is wrapped securely around your throat, the cool metal of his rings digging into your exposed throat. His finger pressing gingerly on the veins on either side of your head.

You’re dizzy, lightheaded and weak. Your body no longer yours as you buck wildly on Rindou’s face. Your hands are wrapped weakly around his wrist, not pulling him closer but not pushing him away either.

You stopped seeing straight after the first orgasm where he hoisted you on his shoulders and ate you out against the door. Now, things are fuzzy, the room is a kaleidoscope of colors, sound is muted except for his voice. Sure and steady spurring you on. His palm slapping your thigh when you falter. Pinching your nipples, slapping your breasts. Tapping gently on your face. His thumb occasionally pressing your mouth open.

You can feel the next orgasm as it crests. The tightening in your stomach, the clenching of your insides around nothing. This time feels different.

Rindou knows it.

Your bucking is more frantic, your grip on his wrist bordering painful, your lips parted in pants and little hiccuping sobs. Your pussy is loud, clearly wetter than before. Rindou moves one hand to anchor you to his mouth and sucks.

You cum with a startled scream, body bucking right off his face and ass landing on his chest as you scramble to rub your clit as you squirt.

“Fuck, yes,” he purrs, mouth opening to catch the liquid. You soak him, his pillow and his head board. He has to swipe a hand down his face to clear his vision and what he finds has his cock bobbing and dribbling pre cum.

You’re slumped, chest heaving and thighs trembling. But fuck if he’s done. He wants to do that again. He needs to. Maybe even get it in camera.

He finds himself smacking your thighs gently, smirking up at you, face wet and hair plastered to his head as he chuckles, "Get back down here. We're not done yet."

@audrinui ❤️

[luviwon]

brat tamer jay spanking reader for misbehaving 😵😵 reader's hands tied above her head with his tie and since he was too pissed off to remove her clothes, he just slipped the straps off her dress off. Going feral rn. Oh and I read 'alluring me' and it was soo good you have a way with words and you do it so well. I hope your blog reaches even more success <3

\\ thank you for your sweet words, love! i hope you enjoy the short drabble, please don’t hesitate to come to me again <3

“will you ever learn from your mistakes?" jay asked, biting his cheek and crossing his arms in annoyance. you found yourself hanging in front of him, your hands tied to the coat rack. "i’m sorry," you whispered, too afraid to meet his eyes. you could feel the weight of how much you had upset him this time, and it was clear he needed to vent his frustration. "let's see for how long you can handle this," he stated.

before you could answer, with a swift, angry motion, he unbuckled his belt and pulled it free from his waist, holding it firmly in his right arm. the leather felt heavy and the metal clinked softly as he moved. his eyes narrowed, and without a second thought, he turned to face you. the sight of him gripping the belt tightly sent a rush of shivers through you, your heart racing in response. it wasn’t much of a fear tense, but an unexpected impatience to be punished by him.

you did him wrong and you needed to be taught a lesson, right? he needed to discipline his bratty girl. your wrists started to get sore in the tight knot formed by his tie, your body feeling heavier as he stepped closer towards you. with a sudden flick of his wrist, he swung the belt up into the air, the leather slicing through it with a sharp crack that echoed off the walls. you knew what to expect.

you wore a dress that felt like liquid silk, the deep sapphire color wrapped around you perfectly, highlighting your curves and drawing in the light. jay stood close, his gaze intense and hungry. he held the cool leather of the belt in one hand, while the other slowly reached for the delicate straps of your dress. his fingers brushed against your skin, sending a thrill through you. as he harshly pulled the straps down, a shiver ran down your spine, igniting every nerve. the straps slid off your shoulders, exposing your collarbone and upper chest.

“be quiet and it will be finished soon” he whispered, unable to hide away a sly smirk.

with a sudden movement, the cold material of the belt hit your round ass with a powerful gesture, making you whimper and move your body forward, while biting on your lower lip to prevent yourself from disturbing his silence. it took jay just another second to spank your butt again, this time harder as satisfaction grew inside him. the view of you crying out and taking your punishment so well awakened something within him.

“does it feel good being reminded to stay a good girl, princess?” he stated, pulling your dress lower to fully expose your perky tits. without second thoughts, he spanked your breasts with the same belt, admiring the red mark formed already on your skin. it looked so good on you, the pure evidence of his punishment. it looked even too good that he had to do it again, harder, another set of marks forming along.

it hurt so much but it felt so freaking good that you couldn’t help but lightly moan out his name. jay noticed how your nipples hardened after the painful impact, only making him chuckle ironically “aren’t you such a nasty girl for enjoying this?” he asked on a sarcastic tone. “jay, that’s no-,” “your nipples say it all” he breathed, lowering his face down to give them a small nipping.

whimpers couldn’t be avoided as you were a whole mess, half naked with red marks on your chest area, much likely under your dress as well. if he wasn’t so pissed off, maybe he would have lifted your dress too to give you a proper punishment and turn your ass into a whole different colour. but wouldn’t that bring you even more pleasure? what kind of punishment is it then?

“jay,” you whispered, crossing your legs as soon as you felt his mouth on your sensitive buds. he stood back up, bringing the belt upon your ass again, seriousness growing on his face. it was all fun and games until he actually needed to make sure you will be obeying from now on. “it will be so sore to even sit down after i finish with you” he ‘assured’ you, spanking your ass again, feeling the pain growing each time, just as your moaning did.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): foul language, suggestive themes, brief non-consensual grab (non-graphic)

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: Part One of Ink & Needle

Inside the club Riot Room, you meet a masked stranger.

Chapter Two

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

The puddle in the caved pavement ripples as a raindrop shatters its silent surface. Small, but growing larger and wider until the water is still again. Another raindrop falls from the sky and the process is repeated.

A beginning. An end. A beginning. An end. A—

Fresh start.

New roots.

The brick that starts the riot.

All things have a beginning. This moment is no different, because it feels like the start of something, and for so many fucking reasons.

And it’s not just the water. It isn’t only the water. There is a neon sign, and its reflection is in that tiny pool. A bright pink that is at odds with the old London architecture surrounding it. Maybe the color is melting, or maybe it’s your imagination, and your brain has finally kicked off and this is its farewell salute.

Why, when you are here for someone else’s beginning, does it really feel like yours? It’s not sour or sweet or foul or sticky but heavy as if your boots are filled with liquid cement.

This is supposed to be Evie’s night. This is her bar crawl. This is her marriage. This is her bachelorette party. But now you’re at the last place of the evening, and everything is suddenly barring down like an avalanche.

Riot Room blares the pink neon sign. It’s loud, and the very edges of your consciousness ache from how bright it is. You’re not even standing that close.

Below the sign is an archway with an open gate. A tall man in all-black stands off to the side of it checking IDs and handing out wristbands. From the open gate comes a pounding, shredding beat that you’re not sure is heavy metal, electronic, or a combination of the two.

Riot Room is completely different from the other places you’ve visited tonight. The four places before this were all quaint pubs with odd names and a nostalgic sense of comfort. Riot Room is a club. There is nothing quaint or nostalgic about it.

Two scantily clad women in black leather wearing large coats trot by, their heads bent close as they talk to each other. Their lips are painted a dark purple that resembles bruising as if they’ve been kissed roughly.

To your right, Sam’s gaze drops to span the length of one of the women. She looks on in appreciation, her pink-painted lips pursing with interest. Her dark skin is speckled with gold dust and her tight curls are bundled up on the top of her head in two big buns.

Sam’s gaze draws away from the woman’s bare legs. Her gaze falls on you, and you grin widely, knowing she’s been caught. The corner of her mouth quirks with a hint of smile.

She leans in until your shoulders touch. “It’s not like you weren’t looking.”

You lean in a bit more until your noses are close to brushing. “But I wasn’t the one who got caught.”

Sam laughs and pulls away, the sound of it bright and airy. She waves her hand as if trying to ward off evil.

Once she’s caught her breath, Sam leans around you, addressing the two women standing to your left. “Ready, ladies?”

Jade tilts her head, her blue ponytail shifting to fall over her right shoulder. She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “Did you pick this place, Sam? Seems like a ‘you’ kind of place.”

Sam nods toward Evie with one of her buns. “The bride-to-be agreed to this.”

You and Jade turn in unison. Evie shrugs. “I did.”

Jade snorts and holds out an outstretched hand toward the club. “You hate these kinds of places.”

“Oh my god,” mutters Sam throwing her arms up in the air, her gold bangles clacking against each other.

Evie laughs softly, and the sound is sweet enough to rot your teeth. That’s the thing about Evelyn Green. She is the nicest, most kind-hearted, selfless person you’ll ever meet. Rarely does this woman do anything for herself, and putting this evening together for her was a struggle. Not because she’s difficult, but because she wanted tonight to be about everyone, not just herself.

Evie’s button-nose scrunches slightly. “I told Sam I wanted to come. When am I ever going to go to a place like this after I marry Archie?”

Jade’s lips form into a thin line and she shakes her head. “Archie is the most un-pretentious rich boy I’ve ever met in my life. He’d love you even if you were a plastic bag. And he hates all those events the two of you go to anyway.”

“Yes,” agrees Evie. “But he’s required to go, and once we’re married, I will have to attend as well.” Her face falls slightly, and it’s understandable.

Evie’s fiancée comes from wealth—the old money kind. Archie’s great grandfather is of British nobility, and while Archie isn’t titled, that doesn’t really seem to matter. He is well-educated, and many of his closest friends and colleagues all run in the same circles.

Evie is not from that life. She grew up a poor coal miner’s daughter in southern Missouri. She managed to scrounge up enough money to move to Columbia to attend Mizzou and met Archie during an exchange program. She was in a park, and Archie was playing soccer with friends. Knocked her in the side of the head with the ball. Archie sat with her in the ambulance and the two went on a date the next day.

They’re in love, and it’s a gorgeous, beautiful thing. But not all of Archie’s family is supportive of their marriage. Many look down on her for her background. Evie acts like it doesn’t bother her, but you know different. Those events they attend together cut deep, tear into her until there is nothing left but her forced smile.

Jade sighs loudly and then turns toward Sam, pointing at her. “If I find out you forced her—”

Sam groans and then grabs Jade’s outstretched forearm, tucking Jade against her side as the two of them walk arm-in-arm towards the club. “Oh shove it, Jade,” mutters Sam.

Evie giggles and holds out her hand to you, wiggling her fingers. Grinning, you entwine your fingers with Evie’s and follow the bickering duo.

They argue all the way to the door. IDs are checked. Wristbands are handed out. A cover is paid. And then you’re walking through the gate, under the archway, and into an open courtyard.

That heaviness returns, and your boots feel like lead. Something about this place is different from the rest, and you cannot put a finger on what you’re sensing. It’s a change in the direction of the wind. It’s a falling autumn leaf. There is a shift happening, and you’re not aware of where it might come from.

The night sky is directly above your head, and you can see every star in the sky. To your immediate right—just inside the gate—is a coat check. Next to it is a stage where a man in a Jason Voorhees mask stands behind a DJ booth. He is shirtless, well-muscled, and covered in fake blood. Though both feet are on the ground, the rest of his body shakes and writhes with the intensity of the music. The bass is the loudest aspect, rattling around in your body until you start to feel dizzy.

On stage with DJ Voorhees are several other masked men. They too wear hockey masks, but they are all painted a different color. They don’t wear shirts either and they jump around on the stage, pushing and shoving each other, occasionally dropping down into the crowd to do the same before running to the stage.

The crowd is thick but mostly near the front of the stage. Beyond them on the far side of the courtyard is the bar. It’s long, spanning nearly the entire wall, with several bartenders and barbacks working along it. Next to the bar near the stage is a set of stairs that leads up into a building. People enter and exit through the door. There are windows but they’re entirely blacked out and you have no idea what might be back there.

You scan the length of the bar and find another set of stairs on the other end. This one descends and next to it is another gate—this one much smaller than the entrance—guarded by security. The back wall of the courtyard—the one facing the stage—is lined with people, but there is walking space between them and the crowd near the stage.

Evie’s smile widens, and you suddenly don’t care anymore. This is for her, even if you feel uneasy. Her happiness is the most important thing right now.

“I’m grabbing us drinks,” yells Sam over the music. She gestures with her thumb over her shoulder before she heads that way.

Evie steps a bit closer to you. She’s nervous but eager as she squeezes your hand.

One of the masked men jumps off the stage and into the crowd. They all yell and then he pops up, throwing himself in people’s faces. You instinctually step forward to block Evie as he darts around a club-goer and appears directly in front of you.

“Fuck off,” you yell when he pushes himself into your face. All you see is the purple-painted hockey mask and he won’t fucking move. He just stands there like an ill omen that won’t allow you to look away.

You’re about to speak, your lips and tongue forming the shape of what you want to say. Then, he disappears, as if knowing your intention.

Jade snags your upper arm and leans in, her gaze fixed on the point the guy slipped away to. “I’ll stay with Evie. Go check on Sam. Make sure she isn’t just buying us tequila shots.”

Evie reluctantly gives up your hand as you navigate the congested dancefloor. You have to twist your upper body to avoid collisions. Just through the crowd, you can just make out Sam’s buns. A man steps into your path. He isn’t looking—likely too drunk to even notice that you’re right behind him—and you step out of the way to avoid is wayward swagger.

But there are too many goddamn people, and you can’t avoid them all. Instead of him, you bump into someone else.

“Shit. Sorry. I—” You glance up. “Oh fuck.”

A wraith stands before you, all cold shadow and violent foreboding. Dark eyes surrounded by pale eyelashes observe you from behind a black balaclava. Around the mouth are skeleton teeth but they’re a tad faded which only adds to the ominous presence of this strange man. He is tall, and you have to bend your neck to see directly into his face, and that doesn’t even take into account how broad his shoulders are.

Space is non-existent. The only thing you understand about your surroundings is him. This man is a being out of hell, a creature of fire and blood, and yet you’re drawn to him. You are a pale moth, a gentle creature, and he is the pyre in which you will burn.

He takes hold of your upper arm, and his grip is strong. His strength is both a threat and a comfort. He could snap you in two, but it’s placement and how firmly he holds on to you tells you otherwise. This man is dangerous, and yet through the hardness is a softness in the brow that you recognize as concern. His dark eyes narrow, and as he pulls you closer to him, he leans in before his gaze moves to a stop over your right shoulder.

“You okay?”

It isn’t the wraith gripping your upper arm who’s addressing you. You glance over your left shoulder and meet a softer expression. Black hair cut short, tanned skin, and kind eyes. This man is completely different from the one that still holds onto your arm.

“Fine,” you murmur but realize he can’t hear you over the music. “I’m fine.” This time you project, and he nods.

“Gaz!” He turns away, and a different man holds out a plastic cup full of beer to him.

Gaz takes it and then this newcomer turns in your direction. You want to leave, to walk away, but that’s difficult when your upper arm is still in a vice grip. You shake it, trying to throw the stranger’s grasp, and make no ground. His hand stays put.

“Who’s this?” asks the newcomer, and you recognize the accent as a Scottish one.

“Some wanker ran into her. Knocked her right into Ghost.”

“Fucking hell. You good, Lt?”

Ghost doesn’t say anything, or if he does, you don’t hear him over the music. Shaking your arm again, you attempt to free yourself for a second time. Ghost still doesn’t let go. Instead, he tugs you a little closer until you feel his body heat.

You hate being told what to do, and you especially hate men who cannot take a fucking hint. You try again, ready to smack the balaclava right off Ghost’s face if he doesn’t release you. But he does, and his grip is gone so suddenly that you nearly topple backward.

Acting bolder than you feel, you give Ghost your best scowl before turning toward Gaz, your mouth forming into a smile. “Thank you,” you say, excusing yourself quickly and heading toward the bar.

“What kind of a name is Ghost?” you mutter to yourself just as Sam turns around from the bar. She cradles six drinks in her arms like a newborn baby.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You reach for them, grabbing one before it tips over to spill across the floor.

“Jade sent you, didn’t she?” laughs Sam, handing you another plastic cup. “Can’t trust me after that tequila incident.”

“No comment,” you answer, making sure the drinks you’re holding are secure and won’t slip out of your grasp.

When you return to Jade and Evie, the two women have their arms wrapped around each other, swaying in a little circle, giggling hysterically. The moment you and Sam appear, Evie is pulling away from Jade, reaching for the gin and tonic you hold out to her. When the drinks are distributed, Sam and Jade have one in each hand while you and Evie only hold one.

Before this, the four of you visited four different pubs, and had plenty of drinks at each establishment. While it’s nearing the end of the night, there isn’t any reason for you to go overboard. Slowing down might be best, especially if Sam and Jade are going to double-fist drinks the rest of the night. Tomorrow—technically today at this hour—is supposed to be a spa day with some of the women from Archie’s family. Hungover is the last think you want to be while dealing with them.

As your lips suction around the head of the straw, you feel a pull, a tug toward the back wall of the courtyard. You resist the urge, refuse to look because you know who you’ll find. Instead, you suck on the straw, focus on the bite of the gin, sway your hips until the pounding beat is all you know in your veins.

But the pull won’t release. It won’t slacken. And the more and more you resist, the more it aches to not look, because no matter how startling his appearance is, it intrigues you, makes you think about how long it’s been and how you wish to be touched.

Would he keep the balaclava on? Would he take it off? And why does that intrigue you?

You start to turn, to surrender to the tug, and then snap back to reality, nearly knocking into Jade as you force yourself away from looking. The drink in your plastic cup sloshes harshly against the side but doesn’t spill over.

Evie leans in, her lips close to your ear, and she nods in the direction of the tug. “That guy won’t stop staring at you.”

“Who?” you ask innocently, knowing exactly who Evie is referring to.

“Mystery masked man.” Evie grins, her straw caught between her upper and lower teeth.

This time you look. There he is. Ghost, as his friends called him. He leans against the wall, the same small group of people surrounding him from earlier. They’re all talking, but Ghost is staring in your direction, and his gaze is locked in on you.

You quickly glance away and shrug even as a dull heat warms your limbs. “Looks like trouble.”

“Looks like a good time if you ask me.”

“Evie,” you gasp, bumping her shoulder.

“What?” she laughs, sucking up the last bit of her drink.

Jade goes up on her toes, her head swiveling back and forth. “Who are we looking at?”

Sam catches on and twists, glancing in the same direction. She’s successful first. “Oh my god.” Sam leans in until her cheek is pressed against your own. “That man is staring at you.”

“I know!” You pull back a bit, but Sam doesn’t let you go far.

She bumps your shoulder. “Go talk to him.”

“And say what?”

“Hello. Have anyone waiting on you? No? Great. Let’s get out of here. You can even keep the mask on.”

You roll your eyes. “No. I’m not doing that.” You reach out and snag Evie’s arm. “And it’s her night. Why would I leave y’all for a hook-up?”

Sam finishes one of her drinks. She removes the straw and pops it into the other cup, doubling it up by putting the full plastic cup into the empty one. “Listen, if you won’t. I will. The guy next to him with the dark hair is an absolute snack. Even the older guy with the weird mustache is making my daddy issues purr.”

Jade’s eyes widen slightly. She nods enthusiastically. “Oh he is quite nice.”

“Right? Girl. I could take him and not in a fight.”

“Fine!” you exclaim. “I’ll go talk to him.” You turn toward Evie. “If you’re okay with it?”

Evie grins around her straw. You know what it means. Evie wants you to go because she wants to see everyone happy, but you wouldn’t call yourself excited. That heavy feeling is back, the one that feels like a new beginning.

The issue is that fresh starts are a cleansing. They are often a renewal. You think of cold water, of a slate wiped clean, but there are other markers for such things. Fire destroys but it also creates the opportunity for new life. Controlled burnings are a thing, and this man—this Ghost—can only be fire.

“I need a refill anyway,” you mutter, turning toward the bar, some of your confidence slipping.

You take a deep breath, the alcohol in your blood singing, giving you a feeling of lightness that makes your feet move of their own accord even as they want to drag. It is confounding. You don’t know what you want.

Slowly, you navigate through the crowd, moving ever closer to your wraith. He watches you the entire time. As you draw nearer, and your gazes lock, he straightens. Ghost pushes off from the wall like he’s expecting you to come to him. You notice the rise and fall of his chest, and the way his right hand clenches and unclenches in anticipation.

The gesture is so surprising, you lose all your nerve, walking right past him and to the bar. You don’t have to see him to know that he’s watching. His gaze is a drill, and you sense the bite of it at your back. Your palms are sweaty, and you discard your empty drink in the nearest trash bin.

You order another gin and tonic, handing over a crumpled pound note to the bartender. As you turn around, you notice that Ghost is gone. He isn’t leaning against the wall or even lingering with his friends. They’re still there, chatting away, but Ghost is missing.

Your heartrate kicks up and it’s suddenly so loud you don’t hear the thunderous pulsing beat of the music. It’s like you’re standing in a dark train tunnel, and everything is narrowing down to a single point. The crowd near the bar has grown in the last few minutes. People walk up and down the stairs next to the bar, and now that you’re actually focused on the building, you can some of the interior lights.

Evie, Sam, and Jade are out of sight, but you know they’re probably rolling their eyes, ready to question you about why you didn’t approach him. Better to accept your defeat and move on. Yes, there is a tug, a tether attached to this stranger that you cannot seem to shed, but you don’t know this person. There is no harm in not pushing this further, in moving on, and pretending you never met him in the first place.

“Whatever,” you mutter to yourself, as the roar of the music comes rushing back.

As you squeeze between two people, one of the mask-wearing men from the stage appears from nowhere. It’s the same guy from earlier. The one with the purple hockey mask who threw himself at you and Evie. You step back and bump into someone. That momentum only pushes you closer to him.

Purple-mask cages you in, lunges repeatedly like he’s going to grab you or hit you. It’s intimidating. Awful. You want to tell him to leave you alone, but the music is so loud you’d have to scream.

You step to the left to try and move around him, but he only puts himself back in your path. This time, you form the shape of a bite, ready to sting with your words, but all conscious thought leaves you the moment his hand makes contact.

He does touch. And it is not gentle.

He tugs on your jacket, then your top, then your jacket again. You bat is hand away, try to move out of range, but he is so much faster. His arm goes around you, and then he drags you in like you asked to dance.

“Let go!” You yank your arm free, but the guy still holds firm, guiding you deeper into the crowd.

Everything is hot. Tight. Overwhelming. Stealing all breath.

You pull again. “Let go!”

This time he does. This time, he disappears.

Ghost looms like a dark shadow, his hand around the guy’s neck. His palm is large to the point that Ghost’s hand easily encases the man’s throat.

“Touching a woman without her consent isn’t polite. In fact, I’ve killed men over less. How about you apologize to her, yeah?”

It’s the first time you’ve heard Ghost speak. Even over the music, you easily hear the rough, gruff timbre of his voice. It’s harsh like liquor and yet entirely smooth when it washes over your body and floods your senses.

Ghost drops the guy and he immediately bolts, darting through the crowd and pushing people out of his way. Ghost does not run after him.

Instead, he turns toward you and lowers himself enough to get close. All you see are his eyes which at first seemed dark, but now look like how light shines through a whiskey bottle.

“Did he hurt you?” The concern in his voice is genuine, and somehow that pleases you. There is a small trace of anger, but it’s fleeting, and not worthy of attention. Ghost isn’t worried about your purple-masked assailant. He’s worried about you.

You shake your head. “No.” Lick your lips. Breathe deep. “No. I’m fine.”

His pale eyelashes look like little halos. Is the hair on his head the same? Is it darker?

“You sure?” he asks, this time starting to straighten a bit.

“Yes. I just—I need some air.”

Ghost nods. “Come with me.” His hand gently rests against your elbow, and you accept it. This touch is not a threat, and you surrender to him, allowing him to lead you away from the crowd. They part easily as if on instinct. Maybe Ghost is truly that intimidating.

Ghost leads you to the far edge of the bar near the secondary set of stairs. He does not escort you down the stairs but to the other archway you noticed earlier. The security guard nods at the two of you and then you step down onto damp pavement in a little alleyway.

Your rescuer immediately pulls out a pack of smokes from the inside of his leather jacket. He selects one and then holds the pack out to you. You reach for one. It’s a reflex. You tend to smoke when you drink because it prevents you from drinking more than you need, but sometimes all you do is chain smoke and then you can’t talk the next day. It’s a terrible habit but one you haven’t been able to kick.

“Thank you,” you murmur once your cigarette is lit. He simply nods and pushes up his balaclava to suck on his own.

You try not to stare but you catch the faint hint of a long scar along the edge of his jaw. Beneath that, his entire neck is a solid black tattoo. You’ve seen them before, where people blackout parts of their body in ink. His stretches across the muscles in his neck, and when he inhales, you take note of every ripple of muscle. The strength there is astounding.

Glancing away quickly, pretending you weren’t admiring him, you clear your throat. “I didn’t catch your name.”

Ghost cannot be his name. There’s no way.

He exhales, the smoke drifting up into the air. “That important to you?”

“Yes.”

He stares at you for a moment. “Ghost.”

Fuck. Why’d you think he’d say anything different from a man wearing a balaclava out in public. It’s not his real name. That’s obvious, but you’re not sure if you want to push the matter. Yet it does make you wonder why he didn’t give you his real name.

You decide not to push it, giving him your name instead. As he exhales, the smoke fans upward to crown his head like a pair of horns before twisting off into the night sky.

“Why’d you scowl at me?” he asks, ashing his cigarette.

You run your tongue over your front teeth before speaking the lie. “I didn’t scowl.”

“But you were angry,” says Ghost, pointing his cigarette in your direction before he takes a drag.

“You wouldn’t let me go,” you counter, growing annoyed with this line of questioning.

“Someone knocked you down. You didn’t speak or look at me. And I’m the one you ran into. I was concerned.”

“For a complete stranger?”

“I’m a compassionate person.”

You sigh and roll your eyes. “And yet you threatened to kill the man who touched me.”

Ghost points toward the gate, emphasizing each word with a light thrust of his hand. “The threat was deserved.”

I’ve killed men over less.

His words rattle around in your head. What normal person says something like that? The fact that he said it without fear makes you question what line of work he’s in.

Ghost drops his arm and takes another drag on his cigarette.

You should be afraid. You should walk back inside to your friends. That’s the safe thing to do. It’s the smart thing. But you’re feeling a bit bold—and a little annoyed. You want to know where this goes or if it’ll lead nowhere at all.

Straightening your shoulders, you drop your cigarette and put it out with the toe of your boot. “My friends think I should fuck you.”

It’s out of your mouth before you have the chance to think twice. Ghost’s hand pauses halfway to his mouth.

His head tilts slightly, and then turns in your direction. “What?”

You hate repeating yourself, but you’ve already said the words. You cannot take them back.

“My friends noticed you staring at me. Told me to talk to you. If I didn’t, one of them would have.”

Ghost fully shifts in your direction. He takes one step toward you. Another. There is a dark swagger there, and he’s trying desperately not to smile.

“You want to have it off?”

Yes.

“Thanks for the offer but I really should leave.” You start to step backward as if to return to the club.

Ghost must realize this because he moves like a bullet, blocking your path, planting one hand against the brick wall behind you. Your gaze falls on his hand and you notice all the tattoos. They cover his fingers and the back of his hand, disappearing under the sleeve of his black leather jacket.

“You’re taking the piss.” Ghost is smiling now but it’s not nefarious or cruel. He’s politely amused, and that is somehow worse. He leans in until you can smell the rich scent of his cologne. “You want to fuck or not?”

You swallow, desperately wanting to say yes. “I have to stay here. Can’t leave my friends.”

Ghost shakes his head and lowers his voice. “We don’t need to leave.”

The thick lust in his tone worms its way into your bones. From there, it oozes from the marrow, sinking into your blood and nerves, consuming every piece of you until your autonomy is nearly snatched from your control.

“You’re being awfully bold,” you murmur.

“You suggested it. I’m simply finishing it.”

“Don’t play games.”

“I’m not.” Ghost straightens a bit. “But I don’t want to unless you’re willing.”

He is sensing you hesitation, and it’s not that you don’t want to. It’s that you’re making excuses because that’s what you do. You step around things, shimmy by issues, and try to avoid as much as you can.

You cross your arms and pop a hip. “I am willing. But I don’t believe you when you say we don’t have to leave.”

He smirks. “So I can’t bend you over that box?” Ghost nods his head at a point behind you but you don’t even look.

“Very funny,” you deadpan.

Ghost straightens his back and his hand falls away from the wall. “This place has an underground area. Mostly employee only but there are a few back rooms where the…musical guests stay.”

“You know an awful lot about this place. Take women down there often?”

Ghost shakes his head. “Never. I like to scope a place out first.”

I’ve killed men over less.

What does he do for a living that he wears a fucking balaclava out in public and wants to “scope a place out” first? Every possibility flows in and then directly out of your head. Any of them could be possible.

“You’re not making a good case for yourself.”

He shrugs. “Up to you. Come with me or don’t.”

Ghost’s word and tone are casual, but you see the tension in every muscle and in the way he carries himself. There is a hesitation in him. A fear that you might say no. But the gin in your veins is strong, and it’s singing, convincing you to go with him.

When do you ever take risks?

“Okay,” you murmur. Then, more loudly. “Lead the way.”

Chapter Two

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado

[starlordsandrockets]

Take a Seat

pairing: Star-Lord/Peter Quill x reader

word count: 2k

summary: You and Peter have some drinks in the Milano's cockpit. This leads to you being strapped into his chair with your legs over his shoulders.

a/n: i'm riding out everyones Star-Lord high for as long as i can. so glad my fics from 4 years ago are finally getting notes lol

(also i didn't proofread so i apologize for any typos)

One of your many playlists hummed through the cockpit of the Milano as you stared out of the ship’s large window. A drink sat in your hand, the glass filled with a comically colored blue liquid, “What’s this again,” You somewhat slur, “Looks like windex, you trying to poison me,”

“And why would I do that, darling?” Peter questioned, “You said you liked blue raspberry, those fruity drinks,”

You turned your head, it spinned as your eyes attempted to focus on Peter, “Mhm,” You hummed, “but why do you get whiskey and I get this,” He made his way towards you, setting his glass down as he passed the low table.

“Because,” Peter spoke quietly before planting a kiss on your lips. His words smelled of whiskey as his rough kiss tasted bitter, “it makes your kisses sweet,”

“Aren’t they always?” You asked. You looked up at the outlaw through your mascara coated lashes, “Shit,” You muttered, realizing it has been another night since you forgot to take off your makeup, “my makeup,” You rubbed your eye, slightly annoyed.

“You look fine,” Peter spoke, “pretty,” He corrected as you stared back at him, “A really pretty girl,” He praised as you took a sip from your glass. A small laugh passed through your lips as you knew how the night would end based on Peter’s behavior, “What?”

“Nothing,” You lied. Focusing on your music, you began to sway to The Eagles as ‘One of These Nights’ hummed off of the metal cockpit. Peter’s hands found their way to your hips, attracting your eyes to your own body. The two of you had been shut away in Peter’s room, waiting for the others to retire to their own rooms. Since you joined the Guardians on sudden notice, there was no room for you on the ship. You did not mind sharing a room with Peter, however sometimes you longed for a space that was not so small and filled with Peter’s dirty laundry.

You were only wearing a large black, band t-shirt, Blue Oyster Cult to be specific, over a pair of black underwear. Peter was not complaining as his fingers slipped underneath the shirt’s rough fabric, falling on your soft skin, “Must feel nice to get out of my room,” Peter spoke, as if reading your mind, “Next stop I’m looking into getting you a seat,” he added, watching your eyes fall on the large seats that surrounded you.

“You mean I won’t be tossed around your room when you’re driving,” You teased, “What a relief,” Walking out of Peter’s hold, you studied his seat that sat in front of the large window before finishing off your drink, retiring the glass.

“Take a seat,” Peter instructed, watching your hands tracing the cold metal, “Might have to get you a smaller size,” He teased, seeing how much larger the chair was than you.

You almost fell into the large seat, the alcohol hitting you more than you thought, “This thing looks like a death trap,” You slurred, hands playing with the buckles that were placed there for safety. You watched as Peter took the buckles from your hands, his palms almost engulfing your fists.

Tossing the buckles to the side, the metal echoed through the pit. You watched as Peter placed his hands on the chair’s arms. His hips swung loosely as he stared down at you. Removing his dominant hand, he took hold of the hem of your shirt, pushing the fabric up over your chest, exposing your skin. The cool air sent a chill up your spine as your nipples hardened at the change of temperature, “Quill-” You stuttered as Peter now proceeded to pull chair’s safety straps across your chest. The thick fabric crossed your body, allowing your breasts to be framed almost artfully. His hands now traveled to your knees, falling behind them, guiding your legs as he spread them apart, slowly, “Quill,” You repeated, watching him kneel before you.

Peter’s lips brushed your skin, barely honoring you with the much needed contact, “What darling?” He felt you squirm in his hold, not wanting to wait any longer for the contact you burned for, “Don’t look so desperate,”

“Shut up,” You pouted as Peter saw right through you, “you’re the one who made me the drink,” You spoke, knowing exactly how you get after a few drinks, “you probably did this on purpose,”

“Well… you get less pissed when you’re drunk,” Peter smiled, taking a sip from his glass, “but you also scream louder,” He added, placing his fingers under the elastic of your underwear.

“S-shut up,” You stuttered, struggling against the fabric straps, “Quill… what if someone comes out here,”

“Then I’ll have to be fast,” Peter spoke, pulling down the black fabric. Watching you struggle in front of him turned Peter on more than he wanted to admit. You were headstrong, always fighting back, so putting you in your place made him want to do so many things to you, “And maybe don’t be too loud then,”

Anxiety pained your chest but it equally excited you. You felt yourself grow wetter as you watched Peter sip on his whiskey between your spread legs. His chair was large, making you feel minuscule and submissive, “Then stop teasing me and hurry up,”

“And do what?” Peter pressed, slowly pulling the fabric down your thighs. Your underwear rolled down your skin in his large hands, “What do you think I’m gonna do to you? Whadda ya’ want me to do?” The whiskey drew out his accent, which went into your ears and straight between your legs.

“I want you to stop teasing me,” You answered before a whimper bubbled past your lips as the cold metal chair cooled the heat between your legs.

“S’no fun that way,” Peter admitted, his hands pulling your hips towards him as best as he could with how you were restrained. Throwing your legs over his shoulders, he stared at the sight before him, “Fine. You’re dripping wet as it is, huh?” With a grin, he moved closer to you. He watched as your hips rocked towards him, begging for any sort of relief, “I think I teased you enough,”

Throwing your head back, it smacked against the heavy metal. Your eyes screwed shut, not only from the pain, but from your restlessness. You felt Peter’s hand trail from your knee, up your inner thigh. You whined at just how painfully slow his touch was as it neared your clit, “Quilllll,” You groaned, “Please,” You sucked in air between your clenched teeth as Peter’s thumb finally began to rub circles on your clit, “s-shit,”

Peter watch as his fingers ran through your wet folds, the slight sounds was orgasmic to him, “Fuck sweetheart,” You wiggled underneath his touch, making a smile curl his lips. A moment later, he brought his smiling lips to your clit. He planted a wet kiss before his tongue began to explore you, it ran through your folds and left wet trails on your inner thighs. His rough hands found hold on your plush skin, calloused fingers digging into your outer thighs. His flat palms snaked to your ass, holding it as his tongue worked you.

Your attempts to hold back the moans that were crawling up your throat failed, whimpers passing through your pressed lips. You were terrified that someone would walk into the cockpit at any moment and see you strapped to Peter’s seat with his skilled tongue working between your spread legs. However, the thought also turned you on slightly.

“Let them hear you,” Peter spoke, realizing your struggling above him, “Maybe if they hear how good I’m making you feel they’ll stay in their rooms,”

“Q-Quill,” You stuttered, however your tone was stern. Your lips returned to a pressed line, afraid a moan would pass through your parted lips. Your attempt did not last long as Peter found the rhythm that you loved, “f-fUck,” You moaned, volume louder than you wished to admit.

“There you go,” Peter coaxed, his tone praising. One of his fingers unexpectedly entered you, pumping in and out at the perfect pace. He paired the slow finger fucking with a faster pace from his tongue, making you grow close to climax without warning.

“I’m… I’m so-so close,” You moaned, struggling behind your restraints but Peter only hummed back in response, the action vibrating against your clit slightly, “Ffffuck,” You moaned, “I’m gonna cum,”

“What was that sweetheart?” Peter questioned, pulling his head out from between your legs, his finger picking up the pace and attempting to keep your orgasm at the brink.

“I’m so close… please,” You studied his expression, knowing exactly what he was waiting for, “S-Star-Lord,”

With an overconfident smile, his lips returned to your clit, planting a wet kiss before he brought you to your climax.

“Fu-fuck- I’m-” You moaned, hips rocking towards his tongue. You matched his pace as your eyes screwed shut, feeling yourself reach the high you had been chasing.

Now comes the part you always dreaded.

You felt Peter keep his pace on your sensitive clit, overstimulating you. You whimpered, unable to flee him as he overworked you.

Once Peter was satisfied, he leaned back onto his heels, “How was that?” He questioned you, watching your eyes slowly open, brows un-furrowing, “Want your own chair? Or do you just like mine?”

Your heated skin was cooled slightly by the chair’s metal as you shifted in the large seat. Your chest rose and fell as you attempted to catch your breath, a small smile curled the ends of your lips, “I… I think I’d like a chair,” You spoke as Peter began to free you, “But only if we can do this again in my own chair,”

“Of course,” Peter laughed slightly, “I’ll make a call in the morning,” His voice echoed off the walls as the two of you realized the music had stopped humming through the Milano.

“I think we should go back to your room,” You spoke, wondering just when the music had stopped and your moans started. Peter shot you a glance, “I think I need a break before we do anything else,” You laughed.

“You can take all the time you need, I can wait,” He took your hands, helping your shaking legs off of the large chair, “So like… twenty minutes?” He somewhat joked as he led you towards his room.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Silent Nights, Warm Hearts

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: Fluff

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy! He’s such a pretty princess

Word Count: 1k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The snow outside drifted lazily from the darkened sky, blanketing the brownstones of Brooklyn in a thick, pristine layer of white. Each flake sparkled like glitter under the soft glow of the streetlights, and the muffled quiet of the city lent the night a kind of magic you could only find during Christmas.

Inside your cozy apartment, a different kind of warmth filled the air. The fireplace crackled in the corner, flames dancing over the wood and casting a golden glow across the room. The faint scent of pine and cinnamon lingered, mingling with the rich, buttery aroma of cookies baking in the oven. A half-decorated Christmas tree stood proudly in the corner, its branches weighed down with glimmering ornaments and garlands of red and gold.

You sat cross-legged on the plush rug, surrounded by a tangle of colorful Christmas lights that refused to cooperate. Each tug only seemed to make the knot worse, and you sighed in frustration, leaning back on your palms. “This has to be some kind of cruel holiday magic,” you grumbled, glaring at the offending lights as though they might untangle themselves out of guilt.

Leaning against the doorway, Bucky Barnes watched you with a crooked smile. He looked so at ease in the soft glow of the room, a stark contrast to the sharp, battle-worn image most people associated with him. His hair, longer now, fell just below his ears in soft waves, and he was dressed in simple clothes: a dark Henley that clung to his broad shoulders and faded jeans that had seen better days. He wasn’t wearing his gloves tonight, and the metal of his vibranium arm caught the firelight, shimmering like liquid silver.

“You need some help, doll?” he asked, his voice low and warm, carrying that subtle rasp that made your heart flutter every time.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, feigning annoyance. “You’ve been standing there for five minutes just watching me struggle. And now you offer help?”

A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest as he pushed off the doorway and walked toward you, his steps slow and deliberate. “I was enjoying the show. You get this little crease in your brow when you’re mad, and it’s cute.”

“Flattery’s not going to save you,” you retorted, though you couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Bucky crouched down beside you, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “Let me see this mess,” he murmured, gently taking the string of lights from your hands. His fingers—one warm, one cool—moved deftly, untangling the knots with a precision that made it look effortless.

“You’re annoyingly good at this,” you said, watching him work.

He glanced up at you with a playful smirk. “One of the few perks of being a super soldier. Untangling Christmas lights with extreme efficiency.”

You laughed, the sound soft and melodic, and it filled the space between you like a balm. Moments like this with Bucky were precious—quiet and ordinary in a way that felt extraordinary, given everything he’d been through.

“Here,” he said, handing the now-perfectly untangled strand back to you. “Knots gone, just like that.”

“Show-off,” you teased, rising to your feet and beginning to drape the lights over the tree.

Bucky stood as well, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed as he watched you work. There was something about the way you moved—focused, purposeful, yet graceful—that he found endlessly captivating. The twinkle lights reflected in your eyes, and your smile lit up the room even brighter than the star you’d eventually place on top of the tree.

“You’re staring,” you said without turning around, sensing his gaze.

“Can’t help it,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “You make all this—everything—feel like home.”

You paused, your hand resting lightly on one of the branches, and turned to face him. The look in his eyes was so raw, so open, it took your breath away. “You *are* home, Bucky,” you said quietly. “You don’t need to keep looking for it. It’s right here.”

His lips quirked into a small smile, and he stepped forward, cupping your face gently in his metal hand. The coolness of the vibranium didn’t bother you; it was Bucky, all of him, and you loved every part.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

“You just have to let yourself be happy,” you replied, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him softly.

The timer in the kitchen beeped, jolting you both back to the present. You pulled away with a grin, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the kitchen. “Cookies are ready!”

The two of you spent the next hour decorating sugar cookies with ridiculous amounts of frosting and sprinkles. You laughed until your sides ached as Bucky attempted to pipe a snowflake that ended up looking more like a starfish.

By the time the evening wound down, you were both curled up on the couch, a thick, knitted blanket draped over your laps. Bucky’s arm was around your shoulders, and your head rested against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The fire crackled softly, and the twinkle lights on the tree bathed the room in a soft, golden glow.

“This is perfect,” you whispered, your voice heavy with contentment.

Bucky pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there. “It is. Because of you, doll.”

You smiled, your fingers curling around his. “Merry Christmas, Bucky.”

His voice was a low murmur, filled with more love than he could ever put into words. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[mrchiipchrome]

Nosebleed(s)

W.C - 1,6k

The moment you hear the resounding crack of your nose, you know something is wrong, seriously wrong. Pain sprouts from your nose out towards your eyes in unsettling waves and you feel how a warm liquid seeps down from your nose and into your mouth, half open in a silent scream.

The metallic taste of the sticky liquid clues you into what it was, the red staining your hands in an unsettling way. You can feel the tears welling up in the corners of your eyes as your surroundings fall away, the pain much too overwhelming as your face throbs. 

Your knees find the ground in an instant, the turf scratching uncomfortably against the tough skin. The rest of your body soon follows in its path, meeting the ground painfully. 

Your already red jersey stains with a deeper shade of red as the waterfall of blood continues its rampage. The warm blood soon transfers onto the vibrant green grass, making it an ugly greenish brown color as you shove your forehead into it, willing the pain to go away.

Only moments after your form dropped onto the hard ground, you can feel pain spreading on the left side of your face, distracting you a smidge from the pain in the middle of your face. The scratching sensation disappears after a second or two but leaves behind paralyzing pain that makes the wail stuck in your throat escape.

Blood mixes with sweat and drips dangerously into your sensitive eyes, something you can feel as the burning sensation in your eyes blinds you. 

In the span of a few seconds, you had gone from running all over the pitch and creating chances left and right to laying on the ground twisting and turning as the pain creates spots in the little vision you had.

The last thing you could feel before everything went black was a hand giving you a soft pat on your shoulder and someone trying to turn you over onto your back. 

The limp nature of your body concerns the Chelsea player who’d taken you down, the blood not noticed by her yet. She stands up, dusting herself off all while thinking that you were fine. 

It’s when the whistle blows and she notices that you still haven’t moved from your position that she starts to become slightly concerned. She bows down, putting her hand on your shoulder softly as she waits for you to react, only you don’t. 

The referee approaches with a slight jog as she notices the small commotion happening on the field. All the players' eyes follow after her and soon after they notice the pool of deep red appearing around your head. 

The Arsenal players rush towards you, pushing the Chelsea player out of their way as they crowd around you. A few of them turn you on your back, gasping at the horrific scene that might as well have come directly from a horror movie. Blood covers the majority of your face as deep scratches on your left side continue to seep out metallic liquid at an alarming rate.

There is a gurgling sound coming from your throat and your girlfriend drops down to her knees worriedly by your head. Leah pulls your head onto her lap and with the help of a few teammates, she turns you on your side looking on in worry as a few drops of blood slip out from between your lips.

Somewhere in the far distance she can faintly hear how Katie argues with half of the Chelsea team and the referee to card the player that took you down, but she tunes it out, all too focused on you and the continuous flow of blood from your nose and cuts. Leah strips her shirt off in a desperate attempt at stopping the bleeding, pressing it firmly to the side of your face, the blood staining yet another shirt.

Leah presses a soft, reassuring kiss to the only piece of skin she can find that isn’t smeared in blood, muttering soft reassurances to you as she strokes your hair carefully. She doesn’t want to mess you up any further.

Soon enough, the once steady shallow breaths turn labored and deep, the puffs of oxygen mixing with whines as the pain hits you like a truck. Your face feels sticky and dirty as you regain consciousness, the soft and familiar feeling of your girlfriend's thighs making everything better. 

Your senses are in overdrive as you feel everything all at once, the roughness of the turf beneath the rest of your body and everyone’s eyes on you, the smell of sweat and metal mixing together in an unpleasant symphony and how everything just hurts.

“Make it stop, please Lee make it stop.” You manage to get out from between clenched teeth and chapped lips, the whisper being near inaudible due to the surrounding noise and yet, Leah could hear you perfectly fine.

“The medics are coming love, don’t worry you’ll get some help. See they’re nearly here.” She dips her head to whisper in your ear, fearing that the rather obvious concussion would get worse if she were to talk normally. 

She continues to reassure you, telling you that the help was near when it wasn’t in fact near, the slight tremor to her voice telling you as much. Leah grasps the hand that comes up to touch your face in her own, her fingers hugging yours tightly in a comforting gesture.

After what feels like an eternity, but in reality closer to minutes, the medical personnel finally show up. Leah wants to scream and question why in hell it took so long for them to get there, but she realizes that it’ll help no one, not you nor the medics if she did. She lets them run through the concussion protocols, and as it turns out you in fact have one. 

The garment she placed over your cuts gets removed, the shirt having formed a glue-like bond to the cuts on your face which in turn reopens the cuts and lets the blood start to flow yet again. You groan in pain as the normally stinging sensation instead turns out to be a sharp and stabbing pain.

The medics take one look at the deep scratches made from the Chelsea player’s studs and decide that they’re deep enough for you to need stitches. The continued groaning and moaning pierces Leah’s ears and she keeps her hold on your hand firm as the medics wrap your head in blindingly white gauze.

Red spots soon appear on the light bit of fabric, looking more like an abstract artwork than a football player’s head, and you can feel how fingers prod at your nose. Your eyes start to water once again and as one single tear slips down your face, it leaves a noticeable path of unstained skin.

They decide that it’s broken fairly quickly, sticking two wads of cotton up your nose to stave off the bleeding a bit.

The grass feels pokey in your hands as you put them to the ground, pushing yourself up to your feet with help from your girlfriend who keeps you steady with her arm hanging firmly around your waist. Your body sways dangerously as you put your arm around her shoulders, steadying yourself while the other one goes around one of the medics shoulders.

The two escort you to the sidelines and as you reach them, you feel Leah let go of you, Jen quickly taking her place so as to not let you fall down. Leah presses a quick kiss to your lips, the blood having been wiped off earlier, before she tugs on her new shirt and runs off towards her place on the pitch. 

The rest of the game is played with surprising vigor from Arsenal, the red side scoring a few more goals in your honor and as soon as the whistle signaling the end of the game blows, Leah legs it to the medical room. 

The door slams open, leaving you to turn your head quickly and spot your girlfriend standing in the doorway panting slightly. A smile paints your now clean face as you open your arms for her to enter, and she springs into them carefully so as to not put pressure on any of your cuts and bruises.

“Are you okay? It doesn’t hurt too much right? You’re coming home with me, I’m not letting you drive let alone be alone at your apartment.” Leah rambles, her nerves quickly becoming noticeable as she rants to you, cupping your face in her soft hands.

“Lee, stop worrying, I just have a pretty bad concussion and my nose is broken but I’m fine. I love you so much babe.” You respond to the pretty blonde, a small smirk situated on your swollen and bruised face.

“Okay, you're still coming home with me, I’m not letting you out of my sight for the next few weeks.” Leah tells you sternly, but the loving look in her eyes betrays her as she looks down at you where you’re sitting on your bed.

“I can agree to that, I guess”

Six days later

Looking down at the field from your place in the nosebleeds is an ethereal feeling. The club had been nice enough to give you some seats with an incredible view to watch the rest of its fixtures until you were back to training again. 

Sitting in the nosebleeds, watching your team destroy another team was bittersweet as you’d much rather be down there playing with them, but you had a much better view of your girlfriend which sweetened the deal oh so much…

a/n; honestly this is so shitty, but i felt like posting something

[chuubian]

Let the light in

Tags Beast Dazai x gn civilian reader, secrets, obsession (kinda), kidnapping, Dazai just needs to be loved, pathetic wet cat Dazai

Summary Your boyfriend, Dazai, has been acting weird. You suspect he's been seeing other people, but the reality is worse than you could've imagined.

A/N This one is rlly long again but i didn't feel like splitting it up into parts I'm so sorry

A loud ring cuts through the pleasant atmosphere of the cafe- dragging you out of your thoughts. You turn your head to look at the source of the interruption. There's a tall man at the door. The bags under his eyes are dark and heavy, pulling the rest of him down with them, hunched over, slowly making his way to the counter. Taking in the rest of his appearance, you notice the darkness of his eyes, and the dullness of his skin- stretched over fragile bone, giving his face a gaunt, hollow appearance. He seemed to be on the verge of death.

“What can i get-”

“Get me a regular coffee.”

Rude. He didn't even give you a chance to finish. Your eyebrows furrow, fingers tapping on the counter impatiently. Blood boiling, you decide not to start anything, instead turning to prepare his drink. There wasn’t anyone else in the shop so you could take your time. Grabbing a pour-over brewer, you set it down with a loud clunk. Making coffee was something that usually relaxed you. Warm steam rose up, washing over your face, cleansing your body of the irritation flowing through your veins.

From the corner of your eye, you could see the man settle down, taking a seat on the stool in front of you. You pour scalding hot water over the grounds, watching them bloom and bubble. Golden liquid circulates through the coffee, dripping down into the glass container under it. The see-through jug turns foggy and opaque- filling the entire brewer with not only freshly brewed coffee, but hot water vapor. The scent of a fresh brew is loud- filling the room, sticking to the walls and your clothing. It's hard to miss it.

You pour the man's coffee into a white mug, setting it down infront of him. His gaze had not left you the entire time, it was unsettling. A freezing cold shiver traveled down your spine. What was with this guy? You had never met anyone that was so ominous. So haunting. His lips stretched into an unnatural smile. It looked off. Like he had never done it previously.

"Thank you."

His voice was softer, not as freezing or rude as he had treated you only a few minutes ago. You set down a little jug of creamer and some sugar cubes. He didn't seem like the type to like sweet coffee, but you didn't like to make assumptions. His slender fingers reached out to pick five sugars, putting them in his coffee and so much creamer that it turns into a light beige color. Seriously? What is wrong with this guy.... He tips the mug back, chugging like its water.

"It's delicious."

"It's basically just milk and sugar with everything you put in it."

His dry lips quirk up into a small grin- genuine this time.

"Still tasty."

The only sound resonating through the cafe is soft classical music and the man's quiet drinking. You hadn't realized before but... he was so handsome. Dark hair framed his thin, pale face. His eye is big and dark, like a black hole, swallowing up all the life around him. Did he lose his other eye though? Why is there gauze covering it? His features were small and delicate, nothing like his demeanor. There was something so captivating, so uncanny about him. He almost seemed like he was half-corpse. Everything about him was so cold.

When he finally finished his drink, he asked for the check- pulling out a black metallic credit card from his wallet to pay with. You looked him up and down. Was he rich? You wouldn't doubt it. His clothing seemed to be good quality. Signing the bill, he slides the receipt back to you.

"Have a good day!"

You wave him off but he doesn't respond. As he disappears out the door, the tension from the room dissipates, only leaving a churning sensation in your lower stomach. Like your belly is eating itself. You look back down at the check. He left a huge tip. 45%. And his number.

Call Me :p

It wasn't uncommon for customers to try and hit on you, but they had never been like this guy. And none had been as bewitching. Something in you urged you to call him. To not let him slip away. You punch his number into your cell phone, a prickling sensation spreading over your skin. When your phone asks for a name, you don't know what to put. Fuck. Why didn't you ask?? What are you supposed to call him?? Suddenly, a realization comes over you, the fog clearing from your mind. You were fucking stupid. You pull the crumpled receipt back out from your pocket, looking over the messy signature. Dazai Osamu.

—

In the few weeks you had known Dazai, he had completely overtaken your life. He frequently sent you gifts, called you everyday for hours at a time, taking you out on beautiful dates every week. He always came back to your apartment after, but for some reason, you were never allowed in his house. Any time you would bring up the subject, his face would turn impassive, voice growing frigid. What could he possibly be hiding?

"Don't worry about it. We can always go to your place anyways right? What's so important about mine?"

"I guess... but why can't I? It's just weird that you won't let me."

He presses a small kiss to your forehead. Immediately, all your muscles seem to even out, relaxing.

"It's just... not somewhere you want to see alright? You trust me right? I have your best interest in mind."

When he puts it that way, it makes sense. Why are you so suspicious? He hasn't done anything wrong. He's been perfect in every way so far. Maybe it's just new relationship anxiety. Things have been moving quickly but that doesnt mean Dazai can’t have boundaries. You sigh, wrapping your arms around his slender waist. Solid bone digs into your flesh painfully, sharp aching throbs lighting your nerves on fire. It always hurt to be so close to him, but you couldn't stop going back. Being with the brunette was too addictive. You wished you could have all his attention to yourself.

"Let's go back to yours."

You nod, taking his cool bandaged hand in yours, leading him through the streets towards your apartment. As you two walked hand in hand, you noticed something that never happened previously. It was noon, but the street was relatively empty. This is a big city, why is it so still? Everything is so peaceful. The few people that are walking, are looking down at the floor, seeming humiliated- almost distressed. Men refuse to even look in your direction, deciding the wall is much more interesting than anything else.

"It's so empty..."

Dazai hums quietly, looking straight ahead, not answering. It's uncharacteristic of him. He usually can't shut up. He pulls you closer, arm wrapping around your waist, pressing you up against him. You walk back home with him, an awkward silence fills the air. You took a long deep breath, eyes darting all over. Moisture beads on your forehead. It's far too warm. You step away from Dazai, taking hold of his hand again. It's uncomfortable to be too close right now.

When you arrive at the door of your apartment, the pressure weighing on your shoulders lifts. It's home. You stick the key in the door. A jangling noise fills the air- metal against metal, clinking and working to unfasten the padlock. Once the door opens, cool air rushes towards you, refreshing your overheated skin. A shiver runs down your body to your fingertips. The feeling of tranquility descends over your muscles.

Before you can take a step forward, Dazais slender fingers wrap around your wrist.He pulls you inside, going through the doorframe- his shoulders sag forward, letting out a breath he had been holding the entire walk home. The scowl that had carved its way between his eyebrows finally evened out, leaving only smooth skin between them. He takes off his coat and scarf. He hands them to you, already anticipating you'll do everything for him.

You grab hold of his stuff, taking off your coat too. When you reach up to hang your stuff up, you feel thin arms wrapping around your waist- smooth plaster grazed against your clothing, his nails biting into the fabric, keeping you in place. Warmth radiates from his body. Overwhelming and stifling. You wanted to push his arms off of you. To free yourself from his crushing restraint. Maybe you shouldn't have let him come over. It was difficult to behave normally around him. What is he hiding?

Dazai rests his chin on your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. His dark hair brushes against your cheek. You don't want to do this right now. Not like this. He needs to go.

"Dazai..."

You grab his wrists, prying his arms off you.

"Hm? What's wrong, darling?"

"It's just... I've told you everything about myself but I barely know anything about you. Why?"

His arms tighten around you. He stretches his lips into a tight smile.

"We went over this. You need to trust me, honey. What do you want to know anyways? I'll tell you anything."

"Well for starters... I don't even know where you work. Where is your family? Are you close with them? You never mention your mom or anything."

His eyes blacken. Absorbing all light. Empty and chilling. It sends a shudder down your spine. The skin crinkles around his eyes, teeth flashing, smile widening. It seemed forced.

"Well... I work in marketing, and my family lives in Osaka. I moved away for University and i've been here ever since. I call my mom every day, i love her dearly and even though we dont see eachother often, were very tightly-knit."

He sounded like he was telling the truth... Maybe the reason he never mentioned his family is because they're far away, but something in the back of your mind was nagging at you. Did his explanation even make sense?

"Where did you study? What company? How can you afford all the gifts with just a marketing job?"

You shoot out questions as fast as you can, trying to catch him off guard.

"Yokohama city university. Mikatsu group. I have a good position. Money isn't something I need to worry about."

He answered without hesitation. Expression giving nothing away. He must be telling the truth. He seemed so sure of himself.

"...Really?"

"Really."

He looked into your eyes, maintaining eye contact until you decided to look away. Dazai gave you no reason to doubt him. He just wanted trust. But there was something telling you he was lying.

"I believe you."

You lean back into his touch, melting under his ministrations. He leans down. Pressing his lips to your temple, he starts walking you back to your room.

"Come on... Let me help you relax, yeah?

—

Stillness seems to follow you around. In the cafe. In the street during rush hour. Even in shopping centers that are supposed to be overflowing with people. Whenever you stepped foot anywhere in public, the floor cleared and your surroundings were drained of people. They didn't even look up as they stream past you, rushing out like water that's been repelled by oil. Oil that for some reason just can't get the harrowing feeling that their boyfriend is lying to them, to stop.

So you decide you have to investigate. Maybe it's absurd. Dressing up in all black and dark sunglasses, you head out- making your way down the stairs, up the sidewalk to Dazai's supposed place of work, and hiding in the alleyway beside the old building. Waiting for three hours, from seven to ten, just to make sure you can see him if he comes in late, proves to be more uninteresting than anything else you've ever done. Why didn't you just ask what time he goes in?

Now you have to spend too much time in this dirty alleyway. The smell of grease and trash permeates the hard concrete of the buildings and sidewalk- it would be unthinkable for them to ever be apart, especially when the ground is covered in decaying food and random black stains you would never want to know the origins of. You don't dare to touch anything around you, deciding to just stand. Even if it hurts your legs.

It's been at least an hour. Where is he? People have been filtering in and out, unaware of the person observing them in the shadows. This is ridiculous. You should call and find out. The fluorescent glow of your cell phone blinds you, making you squint as you scroll down your contact list and press on Dazai's name. A ring circulates through the air. You look up, startled out of your trance.

Of course he's there.

You see him dig his phone out of his pocket. He looks at the screen, thumbing at the buttons and holding it up to his ear. You do the same.

"Hello?"

"Dazai... uh...where are you?"

Fuck. Does that sound suspicious? You definitely should have planned better.

"I'm going into work right now. Why? You miss me?"

He's smiling, earnestly, stopped in front of the door to the building. His suit is finely pressed, his bandages are clean and neatly arranged. He looks so good.

"No.. uh... I just wanted to see if you wanted to come over afterwards? Do you usually go to work at this time?"

"I do. Are you suspicious of me again darling? Is that why you're watching me right now?"

His voice had flattened. Dazai turns his head slowly to look in your direction. Your blood runs cold and your heart hammers in your chest. His gaze was piercing, seeing right through you and into your very core. Past all the deceit. You felt naked. Stripped of all the pomp and frills.

As he steps closer, his sharp features become clearer to you. His lips are pursed together, hands clenched so hard his knuckles are turning white. A prickling sensation shoots up your spine. You try to look around frantically for a place to hide but it's a pointless endeavor. Sooner than your shaky legs can move, you feel a heavy hand gripping your shoulder tightly, forcing you to turn and look at the offender.

Dazai was grinning.

"Why do you look so scared, darling?"

"How did you-"

He cuts you off.

"You're so obvious... But seriously why are you following me? I thought you trusted me. Did you think I was lying?"

Your hands reach out for Dazai, curling in the fabric of his suit jacket. Taking a long, slow, deep breath, your eyebrows pinch together.

"I-i'm sorry I don't know... I just had this feeling..."

"Don't listen to your feelings, listen to me."

His grip turns gentle, boney hand traveling up to your scalp, petting your hair lovingly. You look up at his handsome face, eyes shining with amusement. A tremble runs up your body.

"You're not mad?"

Dazai holds your face.

"Of course not. I just think you're crazy and a little silly, but I'm not mad."

He leans down. His warm lips press against your forehead.

"I'm not crazy-"

"You are. Don't deny it. You figured out where I worked and stalked me."

His voice is sharp, reminding you of the severity of your transgression.

"Sorry..."

A low chuckle rumbles in his throat.

"Why should I forgive you huh?"

Your eyebrows pinch together. Really? You're not begging for his mercy.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. Go on, tell me how much you love me, I'm listening!"

He puts his hands on his hips, stepping back and puffing his chest out. You could feel the blood simmering under your skin.A displeased sound leaves your lips without your permission, unintentionally encouraging Dazai to keep going.

"Don't be shy, I know how much you love me."

Has he always been so irritating? You swear he wasn't like this when you first met.

"Look.. I'm sorry for following you but I'm not saying that."

Sighing, he looks you up and down. His eyes are downcast. Disappointed.

"You dressed up for this? You're not in a spy movie you know."

You push him away lightly, cheeks heating up.

"It helped me get in the mindset."

"I'm sure."

Dazai steps forward, arms coiling themselves around your shoulders. His rigid, skinny sternum presses against your chest. It's ice cold and sharp.

"You look stunning."

Dazai noses at your throat, a fluttering feeling nudging at the walls of your stomach. Pushing the limits of your anatomy. Your knees are on the verge of collapsing. He keeps going, pressing soft kisses to the sensitive skin of your neck- his dry lips scrape against the surface, sending small sparks of pleasure down your spine. Bandaged hands migrate down to your lower tummy, lifting your shirt and gently caressing the small bit of flesh there.

"Ready to eat, really."

A breath catches in your throat. Your hands shakily grasp onto his arms. Before you can lean in to kiss him, he drags himself away from you.

"I'm gonna be late, I should get going."

You cross your arms, feet tapping against the concrete.

"You're such an asshole."

"Hm? What did I do? You know I have work right now."

You huff, shoving his shoulder away softly.

"You knew what you were doing."

His lips stretch into a sleazy smirk.

"Yeah, I did. But I really do have to go."

Dazai pulls you closer, hands on your waist.

"Do you want me to come over later?"

You can't bring yourself to make eye contact, nodding.

"Fine."

He snorts gleefully, kissing your cheek before bolting into the building. His feet slam against the floor as he calls out to you.

"Get ready for me!"

You're left there, again. All alone. It happened so fast you could barely process everything that happened. Your brain was scrambled- whiplash blurring your vision and filling your ears with cotton. You don't even get to say a proper goodbye when Dazai is gone, inside the building and presumably hard at work.

Gathering what little remains of your pride, you drag your feet across the pavement, slowly making your way down the empty sidewalk. The minute amount of people around you, refuse to look up. How can they even tell where they're going honestly? Were you that ugly that they couldn't bear to, even briefly, glance over at you?

Despite the fact that no one was looking up at you, there was still a persistent feeling of being watched. No matter how fast you ran, how furiously your lungs worked to keep oxygen in your lungs, Or how strenuously your heart worked to pump the blood though your arteries- you could not escape the penetrating gaze. You whip your head around, hoping to catch the freak in the act, but nothing was there. Only a vacant, silent street.

Was it just your imagination?

It couldn't be.

You stand still. Glaring at the deserted sidewalk behind you.

"Come out! I know you're there!"

Nothing happens. The bird's morning songs fade into hushed, uneasy chirps. Even nature can sense the impending crisis.

"I don't have all day! Why are you following me?!"

A small shuffling noise comes from the alleyway behind you. As soon as you turn around you're greeted with a short man who has white hair and a bizarre haircut. The collar around his neck looks heavy and painful. What's wrong with him? He's hiding his face, peeking up at you almost... scared?

"You. Why are you following?! Who are you?!"

You don't dare to get closer. He could be dangerous. Who knows if this stalker would get violent.

He doesn't answer.

"My boyfriends a cop! You better answer me!"

It's a complete lie. But he doesn't know that.

"No he's not."

You're taken aback. How the fuck would he know.

"What?! Yes he is! How long have you been stalking me? You don't even know basic information about me. You're bad at this! Find something else to do!"

"I'm not stupid. I know what I'm doing."

The man's voice was soft- weak and meek. You slowly make your way over to him, arms crossed in front of you.

"Then you should know my boyfriend can beat you up."

He stays deathly silent, hunched over. Almost like he's an animal- ready to attack or make his escape.

"You better give me one good reason not to call him up right now."

"It's pointless."

Your eyes narrow.

"Why would you say that? You don't know anything. You're a degenerate freak. He'll kill you."

He stares at you, eyes boring into your soul. He seems confused. The white haired man's head is tilted curiously- looking at you like youre a dumbass.

"He's the one who sent me."

What.

Dazai??

"Huh?"

The man steps forward.

"You didn't know? He just wanted you to stay safe... I swear it's not me being a creep, but with his work, h-he's worried about your safety."

This man is delusional. His work? What could a man in marketing be trying to protect you from?

"You're crazy."

"I'm telling the truth!"

Does he truly think you'll believe something so ridiculous? Your hands clench, face heating, breath picking up. You're seriously in the mood to put him in his place yourself.

"Stop lying."

He senses that you're getting angry.

"I have proof!"

"Show me. It better be real."

The man pulls out a flip phone with unsteady hands, snapping it open, and pressing a few buttons. When he turns the phone over to you, you are horrified by the amount of pictures taken without your knowledge. It's hundreds. Pictures taken through the cafe windows, from behind while you're walking, of you out with friends. It's only been a few weeks. How are there so many?? Your eyes widen, blood draining from your face. A dreadful feeling forms in your stomach.

This can be true. You frantically take hold of the device, holding the radiant screen close to your eyes, uncaring of the damage it could cause to your sight. Pressing a few buttons you go to the contact information. It's his number. You would recognize it anywhere. But what if it's fake?

"What's your name?"

"Atsushi."

You look back down at the phone, thumb hovering over the keys.

"Atsushi. Okay... you better not be lying to me."

Before you can overthink it, you press the call button. Your hands are shaking as you bring the phone up to your ear. You hardly have to hear the rings when a deep voice comes through.

"Atsushi. What is it?"

Chills run down your spine. It can't be him. Why does he sound so distant? Like when you first met him. You quickly hang up, handing the phone back to Atsushi. Your abdomen feels like it's eating itself. Churning and swirling. A hollow vortex swallowing you up.

"W-what does Dazai work in again?"

Atsushi's face gives nothing away.

"Management…?"

You roll your eyes. He knows exactly what you mean.

"Where."

"If he hasn't told you, I can't either."

Your eyebrows pinch together, scowling.

"Fine."

You toss the phone back to him.

"If you won’t tell me, I'll figure it out myself."

The despair in your gut turned into burning white hot rage coursing through your veins. This time, you couldn't even enjoy the empty street on your way back home- stomping past the gardens you usually visit when you're out alone. Your entire body was trembling, both with anger and anguish. How dare he? He made you feel like you were crazy! He lied to you this entire time?! Why?!? Brass keys rattle loudly as you try to unlock the door.

The door unlatches and swings open. Emptiness is the only thing you can discern when you walk through the threshold. Dazai, the person you once trusted isn't here. Even when he does finally make his way back to you, the lies he told can never be untold. The walls shake as you slam the opening shut- anticipating the storm that's about to come, quivering nervously.

Time goes by faster than expected as you wait for Dazai. Your mind is racing- trying to process everything you knew and everything you didn't. What was he thinking? Why? What else had he lied about? It's been hours and your brain still can't figure it out. Why? It can't be that bad... He could be on the verge of bankruptcy and it wouldn't have mattered to you. Maybe he was just a pathological liar.

Your head is spinning in circles, exploring any path it could, trying to find its way to the truth. That's the important thing. Your blood is boiling- bubbles of frustration rise up to the surface, bursting in vicious outbursts. The resounding scream you let out make a  dryness and pulsating throbs echo through your esophagus. Your ears ring horribly. 

You're dizzy. And there's no other choice left but to confront him.

The echo of a knock on the door reverberates through the room. Your legs feel sluggish, you have to force the muscles to work. Force yourself to go to the entrance. Your skin heats, and small drops of sweat start forming around your hairline. Quickly, you wipe your forehead and hands off. When the door swings open, you're met with the face you dreaded the most. Dazai.

He doesn't even wait for you to let him in before he lunges at you. His skinny arms are surprisingly strong, squeezing your waist and pulling you closer.

"I missed you so much honey."

He buries his face in the crook of your neck. Warmth engulfs you, dragging you in. Your head knows you should push him away. You should be confronting him- but your body wants to give in, to give it up and just forget about everything. After all, did it really matter? It's just his job, he isn't a bad person.

With great effort, you managed to separate his hands from your midriff.

"Dazai. We need to talk."

He smiles, pulling you right back in.

"No we don't, come on you seem tense. I'm already staying up all night. We’ll talk after."

He insists, hastily pressing gentle kisses to your jaw and neck. You thoughtlessly tilt your head back, giving him free reign. Dazai doesnt waste a second, nipping at the delicate skin. Your heart is pounding against your ribcage, blood rushing up to your head. It's hard to keep your composure. A soft gasp escapes your lips.

"See? You need this."

Dazai is merciless- when you try to get him away, he dives right back in. He’s relentless.

"D-dazai, I'm serious!"

After wrestling with him for a few minutes he finally backs off.

"What is it?"

His voice is flat, eyes darkening- he sighs and steps behind you, chin resting on your shoulder. It's a drastic change from his former appearance. He definitely knew more than he let on.

"Tell me the truth."

He doesn't answer.

"Please dazai... Why is this such a big deal for you? I don't care where you work, I just can't be with someone who keeps lying to me."

He tightens his grip on you.

"I can't tell you."

"Really. Why not?"

Dazai turns you around to face him. His fingers dig into your sides.

"Because it's just not important. I thought you loved me. This shouldn't be a big deal if you truly do."

That was so unfair.

"Of course i do. But I don't want you to keep lying to me... please."

He stares at you for a few seconds, judging your expression.

"I work as a programmer."

"Nope."

"I do!"

You give him a pointed look.

"Fine, I'm actually a lawyer."

"Dazai."

"Doctor."

"Don't make me laugh."

"Sanitation."

"No."

"Barista."

"Seriously? How long are you gonna keep this up?"

Dazai runs his hand through his hair, clearly stressed out.

"You really want to know? You're not gonna like it."

"Dazai... come on, you know I'm not like that. I wont stop liking you so easily."

He looks away from you, squinting, deep in thought.

"I work somewhere dangerous."

"Where. Specifically."

He shakily takes hold of your hands. The old bandages are unraveling slowly- revealing more and more of his pale skin. It's littered with scars and scabs. There's a few spots with discoloration, and you can practically see his veins through his skin.

"Promise you won't hate me first."

You raise his hand up to your face, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

"I promise."

He takes in a large lungful of air- releasing the tension from his shoulders.

"I work for... a criminal organization."

You lower your head. A hollow feeling grows in your chest. It's like a huge weight has been plopped onto your shoulders. Your ears stop working for a second as the sound of water rushing resonates through your head- washing in fear and outrage.

"Like.. a gang?"

"Slightly bigger."

You pause.

"How much bigger..."

"Like... Port Mafia sized."

Your body stills. There's a loud ringing in your ear. Scenery of horrible new stories flash past your eyes- destroyed jaws from biting the curb, and hundreds of poisoned civilians as a way to achieve their depraved objectives. What?? You can't find it in yourself to speak up, your voice is weak and cracking.

"A-As a cleaner or something... right? Something that doesn't i-involve..."

Some things were better left unsaid. You couldn't imagine him doing something so cruel. He's not capable of killing someone... right?

"As the boss."

Dazai can't seem to look directly at you. His hands tighten painfully. You try to step away, to process everything, but he won't let you. You just wish the ground would swallow you whole.

How naive of you to ever think Dazai could genuinely be good after lying so much. The small flame of hope that your heart fostered, was blown out within seconds. It left your body freezing to the touch. No longer does the love for him blaze on. Even if it did, it was your duty to extinguish it. You couldn't be with someone so cold-blooded.

"Please say something."

It's like your body is not your own anymore. Like your soul has escaped its bodily imprisonment. You wish it had. Then this would be none of your problem. What could you even say?

"Leave."

He stammers over his words, shocked.

"W-What?"

"I said leave. I don't want to see you any more."

Desperately, he starts shaking his head. The one eye that's exposed widens. They're no longer than deep empty black, but something more ardent. Something frantic.

"No. No. You can't do this to me. I won't let you!"

You lightly squeeze his fingers.

"You can't stop me. It's not your choice to make Dazai... If one person says it's over, it's over."

"I can't be without you. Please."

Abruptly, he drops onto his knees. Hard. Dazais body presses against your leg, fingers sinking into the flesh of your thigh. He holds on urgently. It's like he's climbing a mountain. He's hopelessly struggling to hold on to the last remaining ledges, trying to make his journey up to the top. It's something he knows is futile. The cliff is too steep, there's nowhere left to step, he's tired and starving after all his effort. But he can't help it. He has to. What else is there to do? He can't go back now- it's too late.

The relationship will never be the same. You know it. He knows it. But is it so wrong to want it back? His eyes keep darting around the room, looking for anything to help him. It's... unsettling. You've never seen him like this. He's usually so much more composed- so much harder to read.

"Y-You can't just break up with me. Not like this... I can't live without you."

"You have to find a way.”

Dazai pulls you down to his level, holding your body against his slim sternum. He's trembling.

"Never. I won't go back! I can't!"

You shake your head.

"It's over Dazai."

—

It's been a month since you left Dazai. You haven't dated for long but he's the kind of person that's hard to forget. The little time you spent together left a huge impression on you. Everything felt... oppressive, unfulfilling without him.

Coming back home from work with nothing to look forward to- boring white walls stare back at you. The quietude was ear-piercing. When he was here, the air was filled with laughter and Dazais ominous jokes. They always made you laugh even though they weren't funny. Only the noise of the air conditioning, working tirelessly, was present.

The scent of his cologne had long since faded away. He took back all the clothes he'd left over the weeks. When he was over at your apartment, he'd always start making coffee. But the aroma of those stupid beans made you feel sick now. The taste had turned bitter- and not in the acidic way that was characteristic of the scalding hot golden drink. Within the first week of your break up, you were forced to throw away your coffee machine. In the second week you could barely even handle your job at the cafe anymore.

Working at the cafe is a bleak affair. The coffee shop has too many memories. Coffee in general has too many memories. It was still as peaceful as ever in the shop, but you found yourself rushing through your work- trying to get the customers out as fast as possible. You didn't want them to stare. You didn't want them to see the tears forming in your eyes, or the tremors wracking your body.

Dazai never failed to be the first one in the cafe, even before it opens. Not a single morning would pass without him there. How he gets in you'll never know. The door is still locked and it doesn't seem like he broke anything to get in. You set up for the day, not sparing him another glance. He doesn't speak anyways.

You quickly make him a coffee.

"Thanks."

You don't respond, turning away and cleaning up. Soon, customers will start pouring in. Dazai will be gone by then.

"I miss you."

Your chest tightens and your eyes start to sting. It never seems to get easier.

"Please leave, Dazai."

"No. You need to hear this. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I cant concentrate on my work. Please... You don't have to be upset at me, just imagine I'm someone else, it's fine!"

Why did he have to be so difficult to be with? Part of you wanted to just give in. To feel him close to you. But you couldn't forgive him for something like this so easily.

"Dazai... don't make this harder than it has to be... please..."

When you glance up at him, you notice the small teardrops clinging to his eyelashes. It's a pathetic display of vulnerability- something he would never allow himself to do in front of anyone else. He sees you viewing his pitiful state, hurriedly turning away, hiding his face from sight. It's odd that a man who has been begging you every day to get back together with him, begging you to believe that he'll change, still refuses to be open with you.

"I have to go."

Before you can protest, he's gone. He, of course, leaves an absurdly large tip.

The rest of your shift isn't much better. You were already having an awful day, full of overthinking and longing- but angry business men in a rush to get to their office jobs also had to add onto the pressure. Hopefully they don't notice that you spit in their coffee.

At the end of a long eight hours, your coworker eventually comes to relieve you. As they take over, you clock out and start your journey home. Interestingly, nothing had changed since Dazai and you broke up. The people in public still avoided your gaze, and you altogether.By this point it was obvious they only did that because of your ex-boyfriend. But is it really still necessary? You're not together anymore.

Atsushi's gaze is piercing. He's likely been watching you all day, even when Dazai was with you. His footsteps behind you grew heavier and heavier. He must be tired. A wave of remorse hits you like a tsunami. Your chest throbs painfully for him. You should probably make it up to him- it can't be easy working for Dazai.

Without a second thought you turn around, ready to offer Atsushi a bottle of water at the very least. But what you’re met with isn't the familiar face and uneven bangs of Atsushi. Instead, it's a tall man, completely dressed in black pants and a black hoodie, face shrouded in darkness. Your heart stops. Cautiously, you step back. It's like you're drowning and unable to breathe- water impeding your ability to scream and call for help. What?? Who is this? Where's Atsushi?

"W-who are you?"

The dryness in your mouth and throat make it hard to form proper words. Instead of responding, the man springs forward, arms reaching out to grab you. Instinctively, you try to run, but your legs feel heavy. They won't move no matter how much you try. Strong hands restrain your movements and pull you against him. His nails dig into your waist and arm, making you cry out in pain.

In a frenzy, you try anything you can to at least run- kicking and screaming. With everyone on the street avoiding you, there's no one noticing what's happening. They're all gone. It's just you and the strange man. It's an impossible feat. He's bigger, stronger, taller. Without delay, he holds up an old white rag to your nose and mouth. The last thing your mind recognizes before your vision goes black, is the syrupy scent practically gushing from the cloth.

—

Your eyes flutter open, vision hazy, head inflamed. Your body is completely covered in a cold sweat and begging at you to go back to sleep. Metal chains hinder your ability to move. The solid wood bars of the chair dig into you cruelly. Adjusting your posture only makes the wrists tied behind you pull against your bonds more- you are sure your bones are going to break.

It's impossible to escape. Everything around you is dark, you couldn't see your hand waving in front of your own face if it was free. A constant ear splitting vibration resonates in your head. Where are you? What's going on?

"Ahh... you're finally awake."

A deep voice speaks up from behind, startling you. A fist clamps onto your hair, pulling back brutally. Your scalp was burning.

"Ahh! That hurts!"

The man chuckles, letting go of your hair and putting his large hands on your shoulders.

"Now... Since you're awake, we can get started."

You can hear the sound of his heavy boots slamming against the floor, stopping in front of you. The gleam of his bright phone screen stings your eyes. His face is now visible to you- illuminated by the fluorescent light. He looks dirty. There's muck stuck in the crevices of his wrinkles. An unevenly shaven beard has left behind a green-hued 5 o'clock shadow over the lower half of his face and red inflamed ingrown hairs. A thick layer of oil covers his skin, sealing the filth and grime between his skin and itself.

It's like a bucket of cold water is poured over you. Your muscles seize, freezing, unable to move. But at the same time, your body is trembling- as if expecting something. Why are you here? Is he planning to... No. You shouldn't even think of that.

"Just sit there and look pretty for me okay?"

He raises his phone. The man is pointing the camera towards you, flash on, his grimey hand coming up to graze your chin. He doesn't even speak to you, instead he decides to address the camera recording.

"See what I got here?"

He tightens his clutch on your face.

"If you don't get me 300,000,000 yen by tomorrow at 6 pm, I'll make sure you never see them again... alive, at least."

The man lets go of your cheeks, alternatively opting to bring down his open palm on your face. A gasp emerges from your lungs. Your cheek stings and burns. The blood rushes to your face, overheating your skin. Your jaw clenches. A scorching heat travels down your body. Anger makes your blood boil. You couldn't do anything if you tried at this point. If you could just get out....

"Fuck you. I'll get out of here soon.. and I'm going to kill you."

He howls. As if it was just a silly joke.

"You really think you can do that huh?"

The man's face twists, like he just tasted something bitter. He knees you right in the stomach. You double over. Air rushes out of your lungs, they throb and heave- yearning for another breath. White spots dance in your vision. He ignores your cries of agony.

"You have until tomorrow. Osamu."

He spits out that name. The dirty man pulls your head back, recording the miserable look on your face for his camera before he shuts his phone off and slips it into his pocket again. The noise of his steps fades away. The hinges of the door creak and echo through the empty room. You once again are left in the shadows. Deserted.

So that's what this was about. That bandaged asshole. Resentment and outrage fills your entire being. If he had never gotten involved with you, this never would have happened. It's all his fault. You could never forgive him.

Time flows by slowly. The things you see, the things you hear, become hazy. A tide of seclusion rushes in, polluting the little cognizance you have. The edges of your memory blurr and muddy. All that is left is the bitter taste in your mouth. The ire towards that man. That man who could have avoided this if he just never came into the cafe.

Your head hangs low, unable to hold itself up from the weight. Wood chips invade the space under your nails as you scratch at the arms of the chair. They poke at your sensitive nail beds, drawing out small droplets of blood. Saliva could no longer soothe the cracking of your dry lips. The taste of iron in your mouth was sickening. Every muscle in your body is sore.

In the distance, a faint buzz of excitement tears through the deafening silence. They must be thrilled. It's a lot of money to squeeze out of the boss of the port mafia. It must have taken a lot of planning. The noise becomes stronger and louder. As you pick your head up, your ears can discern the muffled sounds of screaming. There's loud banging against metal, creating a sort of disorienting wobbly noise. You flinch as there's an intense explosion, followed by gunshots. Your entire being vibrates with the force of the blast.

After a few minutes, the thundering clamor vanishes, leaving behind an eerie tranquility. Is everyone gone? Did they leave you here alone? To starve? Eyes darting around the room, you try to find anything you could use to break out, but the room you were currently held captive in is too dim. You're practically stuck in a black hole- consuming everything around it, all light and sound, letting nothing evade its unforgiving clasp.

Heavy steel chains clatter noisily. Your head whips around to look towards the source of the sound. A piercing ring and clash resonates through the room. Soft leather crashes against the concrete floor before stopping right in front of you. Freezing, slender fingers brush against your jaw. It's... familiar. You could recognize that bandaged hand anywhere.

"D-Dazai...?"

Searing hot agony spreads down your throat. You could barely recognize your own voice. They had given you no food, no water, no mercy. A deep voice hums softly.

"Yes.. It's me, I came for you."

Fury and panic stop you in your place. Your heart feels like it's jumped into your throat. He's here. His nimble fingers are undoing your restraints, he's helping- but you can't help wanting him to get as far away from you as possible. He's the reason you're here to begin with. Unfortunately, your body won't let you fight back. Uncontrollable shocks attack your nerves- your skin feels raw and delicate, on the verge of splitting.

"Get a-away from me.. I-I can handle myself."

"Shhhh."

Boney hands reach out for you. He gently reaches out for you, lifting you up with no problem, and pressing your chest against his.

"Relax... you're okay now."

The hardness of his body isn't even uncomfortable. It's... calming. You don't even realize when your eyes slowly flutter shut, shutting out the world, cascading into a tranquil slumber.

—

Only aching pains and drowsiness registers in your mind. The sun is too bright in your eyes, and it's far too cold in this room. Actually... where are you even? You whip your head around, puzzled. There's red silk curtains draping down the floor-to-ceiling windows, and lavish persian rugs. Everything was luxuriously decorated in reds and black- only the highest quality fabrics and furnishing were allowed.

You rip off the fluffy warm sheets. Freezing cold air rushes towards you, attacking your body and etching goosebumps onto your skin. The sensation of spines pricking at the soles of your feet when you step onto black tiles is agonizing. Your legs tremble with effort- carrying you out of the lush bedroom and into the large, just as extravagant living room. Dazai lives like a king.

Dazai is sitting silently on the couch. He's leaning forward with his hands clasped under his chin. As soon as the door opens, his head whirls around.

"You're awake."

He stands, running over to you and helping you over to the sofa.

"Are you okay? Does anything hurt?"

The bandaged man tries to sit next to you, invading your personal space. but you scoot further down.

"I'm fine. I don't need your help."

The hopeful look in his eye dims.

"Honey-"

"Don't call me that. You lost the privilege to call me that the moment you lied to me."

An anguished, guttural noise spills out of his lips.

"Look... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have lied, but I saved you didnt i? I care about you. I didn't mean for you to get involved like this. I have a lot of enemies and i know i shouldn't have kept things from you-"

"So you admit you were a horrible, deceptive boyfriend?"

His skin is flushed, hands shaking and fumbling- he's clearly frustrated. He scurries closer. A slim thigh presses against yours, his bandaged hands dart out to grasp yours. His touch is frigid, but somehow it makes a heated feeling develop in the pit of your stomach. You can't deny that you're still attracted to him.

"Yes. I know I was, but I love you... We don't even have to date anymore i just- "

He stumbles over his words. A breath catches in his throat.

"I just want you in my life."

Your brain is spinning. You don't know what to do or say.

"I need time to think-"

"That's fine."

Dazai answers immediately- far too eager.

"I'll wait however long I need to. For you."

The delighted expression on his face sends a pleased trickle down your vertebrae. You almost wanted to believe him. Your skin tingles where he's touching you. It's been much too long since you were this close.

Questions you had been pondering for your entire stay pop into your head again. He must know right?

"If you're truly sorry, prove it. The people who took me... Who were they? What happened to them?"

Surprise flashes in his eyes.

"You want to know about them? huh... Well, they were just a small-time gang. Nothing special. And we did with them what we do to all people who oppose us."

Your blood freezes.

"You killed them."

He nods. There's a hardness in his eyes- a deep, dark look. He clearly doesn't regret it.

"I had to... I can't let them get away with something like that, especially not if it's you."

Despite the heavy sensation in your stomach, you're glad. It's horrible, it makes a guilty feeling settle into your bones. You shouldn't be glad someones dead. But what they did was heinous. It's a relief to know they can ever do that again. That Dazai crushed them with all the power of the Port Mafia behind him.

The organization was a hurricane, destroying everything in its path that dared to challenge it. Nothing would be left if they could help it. Everything would bend to their will, whether they want to or not. Everyone in Yokohama knew about it. How that tiny gang figured they could get the boss to fold, was beyond you.

"Are you upset about it? It's not the most savory method... I know you don't like unnecessary violence, but to me it was crucial."

You nod.

"I get it. To be honest, I'm glad."

His lips curl up into a creepy grin. He's clearly not used to smiling but it looks... cute. Unnatural, but cute. You can't help but smile back.

"What about Atsushi? He's not in trouble is he?"

Dazai chuckles.

"No he's not. The only reason he wasnt there is because I called him into my office. Any other time, he would have fought those guys off himself."

"Good. I feel bad for the kid. He has to deal with you."

"Hey! I'm a pretty easy going boss!"

You roll your eyes, waving him off.

"Whatever you say."

His skin is brighter. It doesn't seem to have that dull, gray tone any more. The gauze that used to cover even his fingers, has receded back down to his wrists. Redness paints the fragile skin of his pale knuckles. He stands up, putting his hands on his hips.

"Did you want something to eat? Drink? You must be tired."

"Some coffee is fine. I feel like I'm going to collapse from exhaustion."

He races to the kitchen, like his life depends on it- way too excited for something like making coffee. Never in your career as a barista had you been that excited to serve customers. Within a few minutes, he's back. A cafe latte stares back at you when it's placed on the table. Your favorite, and he knew it. You beam at him.

"Thank you."

"Anything for you."

He's always too greedy for any sort of affection. Too eager to please. Dazai was almost like a child sometimes. A child that had never felt the warm embrace of a lover. Who would forever yearn for more. To pine for someone, anyone to keep him company. It was obvious from the moment he begged you to stay with him just a month ago. It almost made you feel.. pity for him.

A part of you still loved him. He's not easy to forget. Does he even have any friends? Your thoughts are swirling. It's dizzying. You don't know what to do. Maybe it would be best to try again...

Bringing the mug up to your lips, you take a sip. Your tongue burns from the freshly made coffee. It's pleasant.

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah, it's smoother, not so sour. It's way better than last time. Did you practice?"

He nods enthusiastically.

"I wanted to win you over... so I was practicing a lot while we were apart."

That makes you stop in your tracks. It's so sweet but so disheartening to hear. Was all he did the past month simply working towards the goal of getting you back?

"Really?"

"Yes. I was serious. I can't live without you."

You sigh, putting the mug back down.

"Dazai... You can't just revolve your entire life around me. It's not healthy."

He sits right next to you. Personal space is a foreign concept in Dazais mind- he does what he wants, and what he wants now is to drape himself over you, to feel your body against his.

"I know. I can't help it. You're everything to me. I've ever met anyone like you."

"You really feel that way?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

He was crazy. He was definitely completely insane. But he looked so angelic. It shouldn't be possible. If anything, he would be a demon. Something evil that can only be found in the deepest pits of hell. But here, where he's being so genuine and honest for the first time, he's heaven sent.

Without noticing, your face starts leaning closer to his. What would his lips feel like on yours? Would it be the same as last time? You can't turn away from him- your eyes are locked on his moistened lips. Dazai was the same. His eyes darted down, longing for you. a gasp catches in your throat. Anticipation fills your whole body. Time seems to stop. His breath brushes over your skin.

He closes the distance. It's as if he's consuming your entire being. Taking you all for himself. It's difficult to not get completely swept up in him. You thrust yourself against him, deepening the kiss. He responds positively, hands tangling in your hair, practically trying to possess you- mind and body.

When you pull away, craving fresh air, Dazai pulls your right back in. He's greedy. Selfish. He can't stand to go on another second without you by his side. After a minute of him trying to kill you by asphyxiation, Dazai finally manages to feel satiated enough to tear himself from you. Your lungs are on fire, begging for air. He isn't much better- if the heavy breathing and flushed skin is anything to go by.

"So... you'll stay...?"

His inflection is higher than usual, hopeful of what's to come.

"Sure… I'll stay."