#Weirdcore reader

[princessjello]

Oh it did not hurt me, no. It DESTROYED me.

[cursedloop]

Geto Suguru

[1sab4lla]

weird ; a. donaldson

you and art had fallen into a rhythm—uncomplicated, familiar, and maybe just a little sacred. he'd play his tennis matches, inevitably win, then he'd pick you up from your trademarked spot on the bleachers.

and without fail, you’d be perched in your usual spot, second row from the back on the left side of the bleachers—the one with the creaky board and the view slightly obscured by a light post.

you said it gave you “visual drama.” he didn’t question it.

after came the ritual debrief, always over food. takeout, obviously—tonight was thai, your pick. from there, the two of you would retreat to his dorm, settle onto his laughably narrow twin bed, and you’d put on a film you were sure he hadn't seen. today was no different.

the screen flickered blue and gold in the dim room, casting odd shadows on the popcorn ceiling. you were cross-legged, still in your moth-bitten cardigan that smelled faintly of lavender, scooping pad see ew into your mouth.

art, meanwhile, had only half-heartedly eaten a few dumplings, eyes darting to you more than the screen. you were locked on the screen. he was locked on you.

he stared at you for a moment, still half-reclined, leaning against the wall. a few minutes pass in relative silence, the only sound coming from the tv (or his obnoxious chewing).

a few quiet minutes passed—the only sounds the tv's muted dialogue and his obnoxiously loud chewing. then he shifted, turning toward you fully, tucking his legs beneath him.

“hey,” he said softly.

you didn’t look away from the screen. you made a soft sound—half hum, half sigh—that could have meant yes, not now, or i'm busy. but that was just how you were. always a little impossible to read, like one of your films, or the strange poetry you left folded in your coat pockets.

he looks at you once more, eyes flickering as he searches for something in your face. then he takes another deep breath, and the next thing he says comes out all in a rush — like he's afraid he might change his mind if he doesn't spit it out fast.

"i need to tell you something. something i've been hiding for awhile now, and i've been trying to keep it down, but—"

now that catches your attention. your gaze meets his, and he quiets down, jaw tight. he looks away from you, one hand running through his hair.

when he looked back at you, his eyes were different. there was something raw in them—something uncertain and painfully open.

“okay,” he said, almost hoarse. “okay, i’m just gonna say it. i don’t want to waste any more time.”

another breath. a longer silence.

for a moment, the only sound is the low beat of the movie and the faint crackle of his lamp. then art takes another deep breath. "i'm in love with you," he breathes, the words so soft you almost don't hear them at first.

you blinked. for a second, you weren’t sure you’d heard him right. but he didn’t look away. didn’t laugh. he just stared at you, his eyes wide and unblinking, waiting for something—confirmation, rejection, anything.

“i—what?” you said. “me?”

it had to be a joke. some weird, surreal prank. because you were you, and he was art. he was golden, effortless. you were the opposite of effortless.

a flash of something sad passed across his face—he recognized that look in your eyes. he’d seen it before, the disbelief, the deep-rooted doubt.

“yeah,” he said, voice gentler now. “you.”

you shook your head a little. “why? i’m too weird.”

his features softened, and something in him seemed to settle. he knew where this was going. he’d been watching that seed of insecurity grow in you. he could name every reason you were about to list—too awkward, too different, too much. you’d given them all to him before, like a warning label.

he sat up straighter, shifting on the mattress so that his knee bumped gently against yours.

“too weird?” he echoed. “says who?”

you hesitated.

“everyone.”

a beat. he looked at you, really looked at you—at the way your fingers had started to pick at your chipped yellow nail polish, at the way you always folded in on yourself when you were unsure.

“not me,” he said finally. “not once.”

you didn’t say anything. but you knew, deep down. this was art. the boy you'd liked since he gifted you a pack of colored pens because he knew you liked that specific brand. who walked you home regardless of the weather because he wanted you to be safe. who didn’t mind your mindless rambles, or spouts of information only you would have.

he continued, quiet and careful, as if he was trying not to spook you.

“you think being different makes you unlovable. but it’s the opposite. you see the world sideways, and you make me see it that way, too. you’re weird, yeah. but it’s the best kind. the kind that makes everything a little more interesting. the kind i’ve been drawn to since the day i met you.”

you stared down at your lap, teeth worrying your bottom lip.

“you don’t have to say anything,” he added quickly. “i just… i needed you to know. even if it ruins everything.”

another silence. longer this time. then you looked up.

"i don’t think it ruins anything,” you said quietly.

he looks you in your eyes, his gaze flickering just slightly as something flickers through his expression. affection, affection, affection. for you. for you, and all of your little flaws that you hate so much.

the silence between you wasn’t heavy now. it was warm, full. you could feel it buzzing just under your skin, a soft kind of tension that didn’t need to be named.

he reached for your hand, tentative at first. but when you didn’t flinch, didn’t look away, his fingers laced gently through yours. his touch was steady, grounding. like something long overdue.

you met his eyes again, and for the first time, you let yourself really look—at the boy who knew your favorite films and never laughed at your poetry, who kept showing up, game after game, smile after smile. at the boy who saw you, truly.

“i think,” you said slowly, “some part of me’s been waiting to hear you say that.”

his thumb brushed over your knuckles. “then i'm sorry it took me so long.”

you shook your head, a soft laugh slipping out. “it didn’t. i think it came exactly when it was supposed to.”

he leaned in, the space between you folding in on itself. his forehead rested gently against yours, and you closed your eyes. for a moment, there was nothing else—no tv, no flickering lights, no creaky bleacher seats. just the quiet breath between you and the feeling of being chosen.

and then, slowly, like a thought turning into a feeling, he kissed you.

it wasn’t rushed, or cinematic, like the black-and-white kisses you loved so much in your old french films. it was softer than that. quieter. his lips met yours like he’d been thinking about this for a long time—like the motion was already memorized.

you kissed him back without hesitation, something small and certain sparking in your chest. the kind of spark that felt like it had been smoldering there for years, just waiting for the right match.

when he pulled away, barely an inch, he didn’t move far. he stayed close, eyes still shut like he was trying to hold onto the moment. “that okay?” he murmured, voice low.

you nodded, your nose brushing his. “yeah,” you whispered. “that was… really okay.”

a smile broke across his face then—small, crooked, almost sheepish. he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “good. because i’ve wanted to do that since you made me sit through Wings of Desire without subtitles.”

you laughed, eyes bright. “i told you it was better that way.”

“you’re still wrong about that,” he said, grinning. “but i’d sit through it a hundred more times if it meant getting to be here with you.”

you rolled your eyes, but your fingers squeezed his. “you’re sappy.”

“i’m yours,” he said, and he meant it.

[hisbodycorpse]

16,597’ ❘❙❚❙❘❙❚❙❘❘❙❚❙❘❙❚❙❘ 🪖

[holorform2009]

เภ tђє ๒คςкг๏๏๓ร

Guys, hear me out on this one please

You hummed as you stroll the yellow infinite maze with no exits and no desired destinations, just walking peacefully, there was never an exit existed in the first place anyway. Just levels after levels. You hopped in your steps and suddenly skidded to a halt, you tapped your branch that it is in your left eye socket activating your ability to see if there is any human or a lost scientist wandering around this never ending-white-noise-yellow-maze.

But there is none.

You hummed in wonder though it only showed these hostiles entities, the red highlights says to you otherwise but no blue highlights in sight. You moved forward as you hopped in your steps once again, patrolling for any poor humans that lost in this reality. If there's any, then you won't hesitate to help them.

As you wondered this yellow walls the buzzing noise that seemed to never stop but you paid no mind to it as you avoid the hostiles entities that are too close for your liking.

Hmm, maybe you could go to the bar level for a break and drink some milk shake or something. You've been patrolling here for.. what? An hours? Minutes? You don't know because you did not have a watch with you nor did you mind to count anyways. Even if there's a time limit here you can always leave on time without needing a watch to tell the time when to leave.

Yeah maybe you should go to the bar level and meet.... what was his name again..? You forgot.. you only remember him having a TV for a head with tons of eyes in his screen and a monitors on his back acting like a tendrils.

You sighed and smiled, you should take a break...

There was a wall closer to you, you can no-clip in there to teleport to the bar level. You take a step back to run towards a wall to no-clip but before you can do anything, there was yell echoed throughout the walls, and then an onomatopoeia sound of thud noises. Must've land hard enough to make such noises.

Ahh... just you were about to take a break....

But that's fine! You always loved helping humans. You quickly make your way to where the sound came from. You hoped there is no entities in there to kill them.

"Ughh.... my head hurts.." Elliot rubs the back of his head as he adjusted his red visor, he then opened his eyes only for it to widen in shock. "W– what the.." He stood up slowly from the floor dusting some dust on his clothes while doing so. "W– where am I..? What is this place..?" Clearly unaware a person who is watching him from behind, and that person seemed to look like you! Because it is you...

You hummed curiously, he didn't you noticed you yet but you sure are curious why his skin is oddly yellow... You never seen a human with that skin so yellow before, maybe he have some kind of disease? Or is it something else that makes his skin yellow? You don't know...

You cleared your throat before approaching him. "Hey there! Are you lost?" You smiled, your hands on your back. Poor guy was startled that he jumped a bit in surprised. "Gosh you startled me there..." You clasp your mouth and held back a giggle. "Oh— so sorry for scaring you, mister."

"I'm [Name]! What's your name mister?" You step forward and reached out your small hand at him for a shake which he hesitantly took yours. "I'm... Elliot" You shaked his hand a bit too fast with a wide smile before letting him go. Elliot glanced at your little branch sprouted from your left eye in concerned he wondered how hurt that is for you, especially a child, seeing how your left eye is bleeding non stop... So he ignored it for now.

Suddenly, the lights began to flicker alerting you and him. "Ah.. so I'm right after all. IT heard you too." Your smile twitching slightly almost turning your smile to a frown. You look back at him and spoke; "We should go to a safer level friend, we don't want it to kill you now do you? You just got here after all."

"Who—?"

"Shhh!!" You shushed him, your finger over your lips doing the hush position. "It might hear you." You tapped the branch again and saw a red highlight that is way too close, an entity is here. And it is behind Elliot. Shoot. You immediately grabbed his arm and started sprinting causing him to yelped in surprised at your sudden action. Elliot looked behind him but only for his eyes to widen again at the sight of a black slim figure that he can't make out what that is.

"What is that?!"

"There's no time for explanation, friend!"

You both turn to a corner and saw a dead end, you bolted towards it while your hand is gripping his in an iron grip. When Elliot noticed the dead end, he panicked. "Wait! It's a dead end!" You looked over your shoulder and smiled at him reassuring him in a slightest "No it's not! Trust me!" When you first collided the wall your figure glitched before no-clipping, the same goes for Elliot who's mouth is left agape. And just like that, the two of you no-clipped leaving the entity in frustration.

Now back to you two. Elliot panted in exhaustion his shoulder slouched and his hand moved up to swipe the sweat off of his forehead. "Hey! Over here! There's no time for a break here friend, all of them knows you are here. We should go this way!" You motioned your hand at him while the other is pointing at a direction. Elliot straighten his back and looked up he sighed as he nodded.

As you guide him to a safer level Elliot's mind wonders.... He's worried about something er— more like someone...

His friends. Right... He is wondering where they are right now or how are they, their only healer is gone and that made him worried even more. Who's going to heal the team if he's not there anymore?

This place he is in? It scared him. He doesn't know what to do but to follow you behind like a duckling.

And you noticed this, you pulled out a single bottle out of nowhere it's an almond water, and handed it to him with a small smile in your face as the blood in your left eye sockets is still continuously bleeding and a single blood dropped on his black shoes. "Here, have my drink. Hopefully to make you feel better friend." He took it from your hand and smiled back at you "Thank you, I appreciate it"

"Your welcome!"

"W— wh- where am I- I..?" A voice stuttered.

A figure who's skin is yellow, a blue hoodie and a green jeans— tears is filled in their eyes as they rubbed their shoulders in fear. He is in a place where he is unfamiliar, and this is totally not the cabin. "G— guest..? Hiccup! "Ch– chance....? Where are guys.....?" He sniffled as he wonder aimlessly in this yellow maze.

Oh dear...

That's not good......

Not good at all...

[luxthestrange]

MASHLE Memes #7

[grrrlpsychotic]

Today's breakdown: I adore the "weird ones." The characters everyone labels as strange — the authentic, the theatrical, the over-the-top. Especially those with a rocker, outsider vibe, so stylish it hurts. Dark aura? Accused of witchcraft? Satanism? Branded as "freaks" by puritans? YES, PLEASE!

[k5bain]

Y’all I promise I like other stuff I’m just hyperfixating rn😭 but forealzies idk if I should keep posting remmick content because I don’t wanna be annoying and I’m getting insecure about it🥲

[ncsdlr]

Getaway Person Car

Y/N: talking to steve

Natasha: Smacks Y/N on her arm

Steve: runs away

Y/N: Ow! What the fu-

Natasha: jumps on Y/N in a hug

Y/N: catches her

Natasha: Take me away, mortal!

[rikudaa]

Brushstroke of a Bullet

Jason Todd/Red Hood x Reader | <<< Part 2. >>>

𐚁A/N: weird kink but I seek the thrill. Dividers are made by @cafekitsune !

⚘. WARNING!! NSFW, Gun Shooting, Blood, Violence, Cursing, Erotic Scene, Jason and Reader is freaky, (I will add more..)

Note: Reader obsessed with art. This is a Fem!reader story. Long chapter so prepare!

Gotham Art Museum – 2:03 A.M.

The security lasers were child’s play. The cameras? Outdated. And the guard watching monitors? Asleep with a donut on his chest.

Midnight Miu was already upside down, hanging by a wire from the ceiling, clawed gloves itching to own a glowing impressionist masterpiece with the awe of a worshipper. Claws tapped softly against marble, eyes gleaming focused on a surrealist cursed oil painting titled “Catharsis in Crimson” under a sleek column of glass.

You pressed your gloved fingers against the glass case, felt the coolness of the alarm panel beneath the surface, bell chimed faintly on your choker, a feline giggle in sound form.

Your pupils were blown. Blushed cheeks. Breath fogging on the glass. As you leaned your head against the cold case like getting off on the texture of the colors.

You was high again—not on drugs, no. On art. Pure, uncut creativity. That masterpiece in front of your sights? Orgasmic. A textured orgasm of oil paint and torment, abstract chaos in crimson, slate blue, and streaks of black.

“God,” you whispered with a delighted little shiver then cut through the glass surface, eagerly to obtain the so treasure in hands.

“This looks like someone slashed a dream in half and bled it on canvas. Mmm—this is so much better than sex”

A familiar voice called down from above.

“…Better than our sex?”

CLANK

You didn’t even flinch as Red Hood dropped in from the skylight, landing like a ghost on the marble.

You just looked at him upside down, eyes wide, still laughing under breath like you was seeing something divine.

“Jaybird,” you cooed, purring out the syllables, “You followed me. Again”

He approached slowly, boots echoing in the open hall.

“What’s wrong? Daddy Batman not giving you enough attention?”

“You’re high off art,” he muttered. “That’s a new kink, even for you”

You tapped your temple. “High off meaning. The chaos. The unspoken confessions in every brushstroke. Look at it–it’s screaming, and I want to taste the scream.”

Jason exhaled. “You need help and put the damn painting down immediately”

“Or what? You gonna shoot me?” You asked, hanging upside-down like a devilish chandelier. “Or punish me in other ways, officer?”

“You’re completely deranged,” he said unamused. “Breaking into a historical vault with your ass practically asking to be arrested”

“You say that like you weren’t staring at it”

He stared now. Let himself. “I am staring at it. I’ve shot people for less”

You giggle, relinquishing all caution. “Shoot me, and I’ll bleed pretty shades of scarlet.” You flex on the wire, flipping upside-down, arching your back to tease him. “But darling… you’d miss the fun part.”

“Why do you do this?” He asked impatiently.

“Do what?” You asked innocently, flicking claws over the glass case. “Make you hard while committing crimes?”

Jason’s breath hitched sharply.

You tilted head with that wicked cat-smile. “Gun is not the only thing cocked tonight right?”

Red Hood leveled his gun. “Drop it. I don’t want to break the prized loot—unless you’ve got a death wish”

Your grin widened beneath the mask. You sprang off the pedestal in a single bound, tail swishing behind like a whip. “Always. Don’t let me keep you”

You landed thirty feet away, crouched low. Red Hood’s boot cracked against the floor as he advanced, gun never wavering.

“You know, I could shoot you right now,” he said, voice low and lethal. “But I’d rather…not” There was a glint in his eyes, amusement sharpened with something like hunger. “You really think you belong in my nightmares?”

You pressed the canvas against your chest, so close that you could smell the paint’s faint turpentine tang. “You already live there”

You bolted. Red Hood fired one round—pure intimidation. The bullet shattered a display case behind you. You hopped to the side, letting loose a string of curses that echoed off the polished floors. In one swift motion, you extended a steel claw, slashed the bullet’s trajectory just enough to spray sparks across the walls.

Red Hood grunted. “Impressive”

“Thanks. I try,” you cooed, backing toward a pillar. “Now, if you don’t mind, let me go home with my little companion here”

He holstered his pistol. “I prefer fair fights” He launched himself at you, fists aimed at disabling strikes. You twisted your body, silk-like, and spun away. Jacket flared as you whipped around and delivered a kick that smashed his shoulder. The impact rattled his helmet; he staggered back.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Didn’t hurt that badly.” He shook it off. “Your turn”

You moved so fast that Red Hood saw only afterimages. Your blade flashed—once, twice—slicing his gauntlet before he could bring his arm up. Pain lanced through him, but he fought through it, tackling you toward a display of medieval daggers. You then twisted in midair, slipped from his grip, and landed on all fours, cat’s eyes blazing.

Red Hood stared, a dark grin forming. “You like playing rough”

You cocked your head. “I like playing you”

He lunged again; you dodged, one hand brushing his thigh. He jerked—semi-panting. “Don’t touch me,” he snarled.

You flicked a strand of hair from your face. “Your helmet stops you from tasting me” voice dipped to a sultry whisper. “Bet you’d love it”

He advanced slowly, anger and desire tangling inside him. “I don’t like you”

You stepped close, breath warm even through the mask. “You like me. You like me a lot”

Before he could react, you tossed the painting across the floor. It skidded into the darkness. His eyes followed its direction, then flicked back up to her.

“Smart,” he breathed.

You vanished in an instant—no scream, no flash, just empty space where you’d stood. He whirled to catch sight of your silhouette on the catwalk overhead, tail flicking like a question mark.

“Nice trick,” he said into the silence. And then: “Come back” It was a challenge, a plea, half-lost in the shadows.

You perched on the railing above him, the stolen object cradled in your arms. “You lost something?” You asked with false innocence, voice echoing across the high ceiling.

Red Hood stood below, one fist clenched. “Give it back”

You tossed it. Red Hood caught the canvas, finger brushing the cursed object. The moment he touched it, a chill spread up his arm, and he grunted, shifting the weight of it. “I thought you were smarter than this”

Then you dropped to the floor beside him—a soundless landing that sent a tremor through his spine. You flipped the tail, bell jingling. “You didn’t say there’d be no curse”

His jaw tightened. “Hand over my gun”

You grinned. “That’s the best part” In a heartbeat, the bones in your hand cracked, retracting claws from your gloves—three razor-sharp talons glinting. Pointed them at his helmet. “Or do you prefer bleeding?”

Red Hood’s gut twisted in pleasure-pain. “I prefer you begging”

Your laugh was a dark melody. You crouched lower, claws extended. “Beg?” Your eyes darkened. “Why would I beg the Red Hood?”

He stepped forward, fists raised but slack. “Because you want something from me”

You tilted your head. “I want this” tapped the canvas propped under his arms. “And I want you to want me”

He shoved the oil painting into your hands. “Happy?”

You embraced it as hide it behind your back. Then you kissed him. It was brutal—claws pressed into his hip, coat collar snagged around his neck. Her tongue was a challenge, seeking his. He froze, one arm locking you skull in place while the other drifted down, squeezing your hip through the spandex.

You hissed, then yanked back. “Relax,” you whispered, smirking. “You’re tense”

He growled, fingers curling into your hair. “Don’t pull that trick”

You yanked him forward for a swift punch to his abdomen. He absorbed it, chest caving in, but held fast. “You think you can break me?”

“You almost did,” you purred. Claws pressed lightly across the front of his helmet. “But I want more”

He caught you by the waist and slammed you against the display case behind them. Glass cracked; shards fell like crystalline rain. Your breath escaped in a gasp as his body pressed against you, hard. One hand cradled the back of your masked skull; the other slid between them, fingers brushing the bell on your choker.

You arched into him. “Is that… discomfort? Or excitement?”

Red Hood’s voice was husky. “Both”

You twisted sideways, slipping from his grasp like smoke. “Your turn to run”

He staggered after you, pistols drawn again. But you vanished behind a column, bell jingling like a seductive echo. He fired a non-lethal round; you tumbled from a ledge two floors above—landing gracefully on feet, twisting in midair so the painting stayed secure. You sprang toward him, boot burying into his sternum; he punched your jaw so hard head snapped back, bell clattering against throat.

You laughed. Blood trickled from the corner of your mouth. “You really are stupid enough to want this, aren’t you?”

He laughed, a low rumble that made your pulse bolt. You dipped into feline grace, slipping past him—he lunged, but you flitted sideways, a wisp in leather, and ghosts of the bell-choker chimed on your throat. His fist sliced the air where you’d been, and you slipped into a dark corridor, fingertips slick with stolen paint still.

Later, after a dizzying chase through artifact rooms and brass railings, you finally come to a halt among scattered white velvet cushions you’ve looted from display stands—now your makeshift throne. Sprawled like a desecrated angel across stolen velvet, the holy relics around you turned into thrones of sin.

The painting leaned crooked against the wall, light from the skylight casting divine gold across the bloodied strokes. Your legs draped over a silk-draped altar, body half-melted into the cushions. Breath slow. Bare shoulder gleaming beneath the loose slide of your jacket.

You was already twitching with impatience, ready to dive back into the canvas, but another presence filled the doorway: Red Hood, helmet in hand, hair mussed from exertion. He watched with narrowed eyes, corner of his lip curled, as though he’d caught you sneaking whiskey in church.

You propped yourself up on one elbow, legs splayed like a feral queen. “Took you long enough,” you said, voice sweetened by mischief and sweat. “I thought you’d given up.”

He pitched the helmet onto a nearby crate. “I almost did.” He kicked one beside you, sat. “But then I remembered how you look when you’re lost in your little art highs. And how much I hate that it turns me on.”

You rolled onto your elbows, smile lazy and wicked. “It’s not the art that gets you, Jay. It’s me. Chaos in a catsuit.”

He didn’t deny it.

Instead, he stepped closer, something glinting in his hand—a brush. Wooden, worn. The tip dipped in something thick and white. Paint, probably. Or something more metaphorical. You watched it like prey watches a loaded trap. Licking your lips.

“What’s that for?” you asked.

“I’m painting,” he said simply. “You called this religion. So let’s worship.”

Your breath caught, but you didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just lifted your chin and smiled like the devil whispering secrets in church.

“Where’s your canvas, preacher?”

“You,” he said.

You rose in one languid motion, skirts of shadow swirling. “Paint me, tough guy? And show me whatever twisted vision you got?” You grin was feral—hungry. “I’m all ears.”

He set up on the loft floor: a small wooden easel, his brush, and a jar of thick, creamy white paint—lead-heavy, sweet-smelling who knows where he got that. You perched on a battered stool, legs parted just enough to tempt him, breathing soft and shallow. Every inhale made the fabric of your shorts cut into your skin, and you danced fingertips over the soft flesh of your thighs, blinking dreamily at the unrolled canvas behind you.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, voice clipped-quiet. You complied, eyelashes fluttering down over eyes already half-lidded with desire. “I want you to imagine you’re floating—no gravity.” He dipped his brush into the paint, tapping it against the rim with a dull thock. You felt a tickle of cool air as he lifted the brush toward your inner thigh. Electricity.

First stroke: a long, lazy swipe of paint across the soft, vulnerable skin above your knee. You gasped, breath hitching, and arched into the touch. The brush dragged slick wetness into you, smearing alabaster white against black spandex.

“Fuck…Jason,” you whimpered, eyes still closed, voice thick with need. You could feel paint sliding up you leg; a fine, trembling prelude to something deeper.

He obeyed your unspoken invitation—the brush dipped again, now heavier, and he slid it higher, closer to the place where the skin was most tender. A single stroke smudged white across the slick seam of your shorts; parted legs a fraction wider. The bristles curved and soaked into the tight fabric, brushing directly against your heated flesh.

Squelch

The sound was wet, sinful. You tilted head back on the stool’s backrest, lips parted, a soft moan slipping free. Your body quivered, as if every cell screamed delicious surrender.

He paused, brush hovering at the edge of the fabric. “Relax,” he murmured. He tore at the shorts—soft rip of fabric—exposing you fully. Your skin glowed pale even in the dim loft light, and he couldn’t help the dark thrill that twisted his gut. He licked his lips, dipping the brush deep into the paint again. “You know I’m not just painting your outside tonight.” The promise in his tone made your pulse a drum.

Then he did it: He slid the brush—not the tip, but the full belly of it—inside you. You gasped so loud it echoed off metal beams. The thick white paint slurped and smeared into your depths, the bristles sliding sluggishly, coating your wetness with creamy slickness.

Schhplorp

The sound was obscene: a squelchy, rhythmic plunge. You arched off the stool, hands clawing the leather cushion.

Your voice was ragged. “Holy…shit…Jason.” Every thrust of the brush sent paint further in, flooding you, mixing with your heat. He stroked slow, deliberate: pulling out to drip ivory nectar across the folds, then plunging back until your core was a churned canvas of wet white. With each move, the loft filled with wet cries and the bristles’ obscene.

He pressed his free hand to your hip, steadying your shifting body. “Look at you,” he growled, “all painted up like art.” He pulled you to the edge of the stool, edging your back until shoulders pressed against the hard wood. The brush’s handle nudged your clit, slick with paint and arousal. Squip

A tremor ran up your spine, and you bit your lip to stifle a scream.

“How—does—this feel?” he asked, voice warm but wounded—like he was amazed by your reaction. Your could only arch and moan, paint dripping from the brush tip back into the jar before he plunged once more, your insides a palette of creamy white madness.

When he finally pulled out, your body shivered, lips parted, paint oozing from center in thick, gleaming drips. He set the brush aside and leaned down, kissing your inner thigh where the paint pooled, smearing the last of it into you. Sluuurp

You clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into leather as hips bucked.

You whimpered, voice low and shuddering, “I… I thought you were just… painting me white.” Broken laughter. “Fuck, I didn’t know it’d be…like a masterpiece in my pussy.”

His breath warm against your cheek. “You’re the only canvas I want to ruin tonight.” He paused, gaze softening for a flicker. “No gallery would ever hold what I see here.” He dragged his thumb through the paint lingering on your lips, then kissed your mouth—paint-smudged, salty, divine—capturing your moan with his own hunger.

*ੈ𑁍༘⋆ *ੈ𑁍༘⋆ *ੈ𑁍༘⋆ *ੈ𑁍༘⋆

Your body still damp with dried streaks of paint that cracked in places as you moved, him shirtless, mask discarded, eyes glittering with something raw. The stolen painting stood silent witness in the corner, its pale curves echoing the contours of your body. You blinked at him, chest heaving, hair matted with sweat. Cheeks were flushed, pupils so dilated you looked like a dream.

He brushed a lock of hair from your forehead. “You…okay?” His voice was uncharacteristically gentle, as if he worried you might shatter under the weight of you own sensation.

You rolled onto your stomach, head cradled on one arm, tail-thin belt spilling over the couch like a living thing. “Never better,” you rasped, fingers trailing down his spine to brush at the waistband of his pants. “But I’m gonna need more paint tomorrow.” Your grin was wicked, glazed with lust. “Think you can deliver?”

He smirked, shifting to capture your bottom lip between his teeth. “I’ll bring the painting supplies—and maybe a new canvas.” He winked, then kissed the side of your neck, whispering, “You know, I might just paint more than your pussy next time.”

You laughed, a low, throaty sound. “Only if you promise to hang me somewhere afterward.” You tapped at your collarbone where the choker’s bell rested. Ding

He chuckled against your skin. “Deal. But only if you promise to keep stealing those paintings for me.”

You reached back, wrapping an arm around him, dragging him flush against you. “Anything for art…anything for you.”

He pressed a kiss to your painted spine, eyes shining with dark promise. “Good. Because tonight, you belong to me—and to every twisted stroke of paint in your veins.”

You purred, stretching luxuriously, paint cracking beneath fingertips. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Next up: Heaven Was Never For Us | <<< Part 2. >>> Tagging: @zomqiez

©𐙚 rikudaa—Please do not repost or copy this content to other websites.

[greenandsorrow]

IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU. 🎈

Pennywise bonding with a teen!reader/ platonic

-> I decided to write this more like a casual narration, for the storytelling vibes. Also, I might have tried to pull a "going back and forth in time like I'm S.King", so not everything will be crystal clear from the get-go. Hope you enjoy and feel free to interact!!!

-> I tried to keep the reader gender neutral, but the fem pov came more naturally to me, so I apologise if it takes away from the story for some of you.

-> Pennywise the Dancing Clown: A trans-dimensional entity that shapeshifts and feeds on the fear -and sometimes the flesh- of kids and animals. IT hibernates for 25 to 27 years, then wakes up for 12 to 16 months, manipulating reality and slipping past the notice of adults.

Listen to: Five Years by David Bowie

~ 1 ~

1979 Derry, Maine

A family of three moved to Derry, for the father's work. Maine has its fair share of factories and the average person here doesn't mind getting their hands dirty, if it means paying the bills.

You were twelve when your family settled in an amiable house in Witchham St.

You may be seventeen now and you may have embraced the Losers' Club almost like a parental figure... But that wasn't the case five years ago.

When you first moved to Derry, you were twelve.

It was that same year you attended the annual Derry Funfair -Pennywise's favorite time to wake up. How could it not be, with so many kids out after dark... The Derry Funfair. The perfect hunting ground for the entity. That fateful night, you saw him for the first time. You call IT a 'he' because in the form of a clown, IT feels like a 'he'.

The air at the funfair was thick with the smell of popcorn, sugar... and something faintly metallic. As you walked through the crowd, laughter rang out around you, along with the loud music coming from the speakers far above your head.

You spotted the Ferris Wheel turning slowly against the darkening sky, each of its blinking lights reflecting in the deepening puddles scattered along the path. The Carousel line was snaking on that very path. You always loved how the painted horses glistened under the soft glow of the carnival lights...

Fed up with a group of cocky twenty-somethings, you slipped away from the fair, eventually finding yourself by the bridge for a moment of peace. You liked the breeze and the faint smell of night-blooming flowers. You still do.

It was quiet, until you suddenly heard a distinct sort of giggling. You also spotted a single, shiny red balloon floating toward you, bobbing against the wind. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled. Chills ran down your arms. Instinct warned you that something was very wrong.

That night, in your rush to escape and flee back to the fair, you left your hairbow at the bridge.

Later, as you looked out the window of your father's car on the ride home, you looked back and saw him -an enormous figure in a dusty, faded clown suit, watching you, waving slowly at you. His face was ghostly pale, almost like porcelain, with eyes that gleamed a strange and unsettling shade of amber. Those eyes seemed knowing, as if they could peel back every thought and fear inside you. A painted smile stretched across his mouth, far too wide and framed by rows of teeth that looked far too many, like something out of a nightmare. Wisps of reddish-orange hair framed his face, stiff and wild. The ruffles around his neck were yellowed with age, their edges fraying.

The suit itself was old, streaked with grime. Large, oversized pom-poms lined the front in an even row. And yet, despite his faded, worn appearance, there was something disturbingly vibrant about him. It was as if he wasn't really standing but rather waiting -waiting for you to wave back at him.

Even from the safety of the car, a chill had crept through you, and somehow you knew that he was still watching long after the car had turned, his gaze following you all the way home.

That night, when you woke up thirsty from all the popcorn you'd had at the fair, you wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water. There, neatly placed beside the sink, was your lost hairbow -the same one you'd bitterly cried over after realizing it was missing.

Two days later, you returned to the fair with your parents. You felt happy. You were carefree. You were stupid. You couldn't resist looking for the clown who had waved at you... You had a strange feeling that the balloon belonged to him... It was the shame shade as his painted lips. You also had another, even odder feeling that he had somehow been the one who returned your hair ribbon.

Eventually you found him. The clown waved again and this time, you waved back, even managing a smile. But when he extended an unnaturally long arm, gesturing you to come closer, you were smart enough to keep your distance. You felt a shiver run down your spine as his voice, soft and coaxing, whispered your name.

Strangely, your parents didn't seem to notice him, neither that day nor the first time you'd seen him...

It was July. You didn't see the clown again until early autumn, right around the time you started feeling nervous about your new school.

That summer, he haunted your dreams night after night. They'd start innocently enough, not like full blown nightmares -you'd find yourself back at the fair, wandering through empty stalls. The colors were brighter -somehow too bright- and the air too thick. Then, he would appear. A clown in the distance, his wide smile aimed straight at you. You'd try to move, to turn away, but somehow, your feet kept inching closer.

In those dreams, he told you his name -Pennywise-, his favorite color -red- and his favorite food -cotton candy-. You remember telling him that you knew he was lying, that he wasn't just any clown. After that, the dreams stopped.

1984 Derry, Maine

You think back to all that as you blankly stare at the pages of your math book, you think back to what belongs in the past, but your mind drifting off to five years ago is more than justified.

People in town are noticing things these days, though no one says it out loud. There are hushed conversations about kids going missing -George Denbrough included-, strange sightings near the sewers, and that eerie feeling you get walking through Derry alone.

The old-timers say things aren't right this time, that it feels different somehow. You overhear a few whispers that maybe this time, it's sticking around longer. And the worst part is that you know why. You know why even better than your younger friends do...

Since last autumn, you've gotten close to Bev Marsh. She sees you as the older sister she never had. Bill lives right across the street. You babysat him and his little brother, Georgie, over the summer. But since Georgie's death in the Fall, you and Bill have drifted apart. Stanley… well, he may or may not have a crush on you. You know him through Bill -he's a good kid. Eddie Kaspbrak, same way, also through Bill. Thank God he gets some fresh air with his friends -you've heard his mom isn't the easiest. Then there's Ben, your reading buddy from the library. Richie Tozier? You two got into a fight once, over which Led Zeppelin song is the best. And Hanlon, he nearly knocked you over with his bike the first time you met.

Another remarkable mention? Henry Bowers. He is a year younger than you. Sure, the guy's a bully, but oddly enough he and his friends never caused you any trouble. And I say 'oddly enough', in the same way Derry's misfortunes oddly enough never seem to touch you. The bad luck that hangs over this town, the accidents, the disappearances, even the craziness... it's as if you've been given an unspoken pass, a quiet immunity no one else seems to have. Even when trouble looms close, you remain untouched, like some silent pact with the shadows in this place.

However, it's not just the gossiping ladies at the grocery store, or the old wise granddads who enjoy sitting on their porches, that made your mind wander to the past with their words.

As of late, your dad started locking the doors at night without explanation and your mom seems anxious, checking the windows like she expects something -or someone- to be watching. They'd never talk about it, but you can tell they sense it too... The whole town feels off, like there's something lurking beneath the surface. Sometimes, you catch a flash of red in the distance or hear a faint giggle that seems to echo from nowhere. It happens often enough that it feels like more than coincidence.

You've started wondering if he's ever really gone at all.

Even your dreams are different now.

More vivid.

In them, you're back at that same funfair... but it feels hollow, like something out of a faded photo. Every creak of the Ferris Wheel, every rustle of the trees ...sounds wrong. Sometimes, you see him waiting by the bridge, his head tilted in that unnatural way. His smile is sharper and more dangerous, as if he's been waiting all this time, keeping a part of you trapped there. You always wake up shaking, heart pounding in your ears.

The worst part is that the closer you get to waking, the darker the dreams grow.

In last night's one, Pennywise had held his gloved hand out to you, as if inviting you closer. You had felt the weight of his gaze, pulling you in despite everything inside you screaming to run. You started to remember that he's taken kids before, that he leaves things behind as markers -ribbons, scraps, things no one else notices... And then had woken up gasping for air.

No matter how much you try to shake it off, the feeling lingers, leaving you wondering if he's still out there, watching you, just as he was five years ago.

For you, fear twisted into something almost exhilarating five years ago... thanks to all those fleeting moments of intimacy when he would whisper secrets, just for you. It was wrong and you know that, but there was a thrill in the danger he represented. You think about the stories the others tell, how they shudder at the thought of him -of IT- while your heart races at the memories of the laughter, of the games. It's a longing that gnaws at you, even as you wrestle with the dread of his return.

It was easier to just forget before, but now the thought of him returns like a shadow. As you flip the pages of your stupid math book, you wonder if he's standing outside your house right now, waiting for you to come back to him, just as you've secretly wished for him to do all these years. Because, it's true, there's a twisted part of you that misses him.

When the Losers share with you Bill's and Ben's theories about IT and how IT came to be, you can't help but recall how Penny would laugh, a sound that echoed like a melody in the chaos of your childhood, dancing on the edge of terror. His voice, with its playful cadence, would weave stories that made the mundane feel magical. You remember how you'd lean in, drawn by an irresistible urge, despite the way your heart raced and your instincts screamed to flee.

Even the memories of those long, shadowy nights away from the comfort of your bed, punctuated by the pulse of adrenaline, stir something within you -an inexplicable yearning for the connection you shared, however dark it was.

You close the book since there's no way you can concentrate on your homework now and instead, you settle on washing the dishes.

Despite everything, beneath that longing lies the heavy weight of guilt and sorrow. 'Penny' killed Georgie and that truth looms over every fond memory you have with him. This is the part you feel compelled to remind yourself: he's a killer, a predator.

To any onlooker, all they would see is a broken girl, haunted by a lost childhood and a shadowy figure that once made her feel alive and seen. You know better than anyone that the line between fear and fascination is a thin one, and that's a truth you'll have to grapple with...

...in the chapters to come.

masterpost☁️

Would you like to help a struggling uni student? Support me here-> PayPal link ❤️

You can always ask to be tagged :)

Tags; @satubby @sketchist-art

[ak319]

Weird Yan Cousin x reader (Platonic)

//Warnings: Mentions of prostitution, human trafficking, kidnapping, weird behaviour but not incest, gore)

Your life had taken such a twisted turn for the worse this year, leaving you wondering if you were cursed. First, your parents died tragically in a fire that destroyed their home. Then, you found out your partner had been unfaithful. Since you shared an apartment, you had to move out, but they stayed, and the two of you were still arguing about selling it to split the money.

As if that wasn’t enough, you lost your job just three days after the breakup--allegedly for poor performance, which was completely untrue. None of this was your fault, yet everything seemed to be spiralling out of control. You were teetering on the edge when you received a strange phone call.

It was from someone claiming to be a distant cousin, Nova Salem. The name struck a chord--she was from your father’s side, the daughter of your uncle Ralph. But you had never met her or any of that side of the family. Your father had severed ties with them long ago. Ralph was only his half-brother, born from your second grandfather, Edmund Salem, whom you’d also never met.

Her sudden call made you feel uneasy, but you were desperate for help, and she offered it without hesitation. Pushing aside all the questions swirling in your mind--about your family dynamics, her abrupt contact, and the series of unfortunate events that felt like a row of dominoes crashing--you packed your bag. The next day, Nova's chauffeuse, Robyn, picked you up from your friend's place.

Robyn was an odd one, giving you mostly one-word, cryptic answers to anything you asked. What really threw you, though, was the route she took. You’d assumed Nova lived somewhere in the city, but Robyn just kept driving... and driving.

Now, here you were, standing in front of a massive estate in the middle of nowhere. You nearly jumped out of your skin when Robyn suddenly spoke from behind you.

"Let's get you inside, ma'am." Robyn's voice cut through the eerie silence as you gripped the strap of your bag, letting out a nervous chuckle. "Um, are you sure this is--"

"Yes, it's the Salem estate."

You glanced around, trying to keep your nerves in check. It could easily pass as a horror movie set, noting the distant tree line, the stormy skies, and the endless dirt road behind. Was this even the right choice? Panic started to creep in. What if she's not my cousin and just stalked my family tree to lure me here?! I am so stupid!

"Welcome, cousin."

Your eyes snapped forward to see a tall figure standing in the entrance, finally registering. Nova, no doubt. She stood taller than you, with short, thick black hair neatly styled, wearing a black turtleneck beneath a long cloak-like robe, paired with black pants...and bare feet?

Before you could even react, she closed the distance and pulled you into a tight hug, muffling your greeting and leaving you a bit breathless from the unexpected embrace.

"I can't believe you're finally here! You see this, Robyn?!" Nova exclaimed, her large hand gripping your head and shaking it playfully. "My little sister is here at last!"

Robyn merely nodded and silently took your other suitcase inside, leaving just the two of you.

"S-sister?" you stammered, taken aback. Her eyes gleamed even brighter, if that was possible, the intensity in her gaze at odds with her composed appearance.

"Indeed, my soror," she affirmed, her hands now firmly grasping your shoulders. "I never got the chance to feel the love of siblings, and with all the family drama and stuff, I was always left out. I never had the chance to have any real connection with family. You’re the only cousin I have."

Her words tugged at your heart, though you couldn’t shake the underlying suspicion.

"No other cousins at all?" you asked, cautiously.

"Nope. My mother was an only child. Anyway, let's get you inside." Nova kept her hold on you, gently steering you toward the entrance. Just before stepping in, she paused, making sure you took off your shoes in the porch. "Enter humbly," she said with a strange conviction. "We are born of the earth, and to the earth, we will return. It’s only right that we honour our origin, for soil should never fear soil."

What? The statement left you puzzled, but you decided to go along with it, stepping inside the dimly lit hallway.

Candles? Really?

"Um, why are the lights off?" you asked, your voice slightly shaky.

"Electricity? Oh, I forgot--you’re a city girl," Nova replied, her tone almost teasing. "I'll ask Robyn to have the switch on for your room--the fan, the lights---but the rest of the house operates without it."

"Why, though? In this day and age? Like, nothing at all?"

Instead of answering, she simply let out a low, eerie chuckle, leaving your nervous laugh hanging awkwardly in the heavy air.

"Let me show you your room." Nova's voice echoed down the dimly lit corridor, where candle flames flickered against the walls, casting long, dancing shadows. The mansion’s interior had an unmistakably gothic feel, with dark wood panelling, high arched ceilings and classic, aged furnishings. The air was thick with an old-world charm as if you had stepped into a place frozen in time. The paintings on the walls, though faded with age, exuded an eerie beauty, depicting somber figures mostly of a woman--always the same portrait of her--and forgotten landscapes

You stepped inside the room, expecting more of the same gloomy charm, only to freeze in disbelief.

What the hell is going on?

"Why is it… all… pink?" you asked, blinking at the sight before you. The walls were plastered with Barbie stickers that looked as vintage as the rest of the house. The bed was oversized and covered in frilly pink bedding, surrounded by plush toys that had seen better days.

"Isn't this what girls love?" Nova said with a wide, innocent smile. "Like little sisters?"

You spun around, trying to process everything. "Hold up. I just met you for the first time ever, so can you please stop calling me your little sister? We're cousins and barely even know each other." Your voice rose as you gestured at the pink explosion around you. "Also, do you think I’m 12?!" The moment the words left your mouth, you felt a pang of regret. Nova’s smile faded, and she looked taken aback. Guilt set in as you realized how harshly you had reacted. She had offered you a place to stay during a rough time. Maybe you could have been more understanding and patient, especially considering she provided you with a bed and a roof over your head.

"Oh my God..." For Nova, that was the most adorable thing she had ever witnessed.

"Um... I--"

"ROBYN! ROBYN!" Nova’s voice cut through the air, making you back away nervously. Her gaze remained fixed on you as she continued to shout.

"Yes, ma'am? How may I assist you?"

"(Y/n)..." Nova grabbed Robyn by the collar, shaking her with surprising force. "My sister--sorry, soon-to-be sister--just had her first tantrum! All thanks to you, Robyn, you absolute genius!"

What in the world--is she being excited or just passive-aggressive? You couldn’t tell.

"It’s okay! I mean, I like it... It’s good."

"You do? You don’t want another room?"

"Um, if... it’s available th--"

"No, it isn’t."

"...this is it then... I guess."

"Robyn, get the food ready. My cousin needs her evening nourishment."

"Aye."

They left you standing in the room, utterly dumbfounded. Everything about this day--and about her--was making you feel dizzy. The way she carries herself, the way she speaks--it’s all becoming a blur. Something in your heart warns that this is going to be a nightmare.

But at least you’re not in some serial killer’s clutches, as you feared before entering. Being an only child and living in such a large mansion might have messed with her mental health, but you hoped it hadn’t gotten worse than this.

The sudden flicker of the lights jolted you from your thoughts, making your soul feel like it had left your body. The room’s colour was now painfully vivid, almost too much to bear. Honestly, the dim glow of the candles was easier on the eyes.

You soon found yourself dining with Nova in the grand dining hall, the two of you beginning to learn about each other. Mostly, you listened to her recounting her adventures. It was impressive how many languages she knew and the places she had visited, though she seemed completely oblivious to modern slang and anything related to media, which you found a bit amusing.

"Anthropologist, huh? Isn't it boring?"

"Boring?" She cackled, her laughter echoing through the vast room. "Absolutely not! I get to travel, explore, and find fascinating things." Judging by the eclectic items scattered around the room, she was certainly telling the truth.

"You seem to have a fondness for skulls."

"Oh! Haha! Aren't they so symbolic in their own way? They are empty, yet their hollow eyes seem to gaze into the essence of mortality itself. Each one holds the silent echoes of a life once lived, a reminder of our own fleeting existence and the stories that we leave behind."

"Are they real?"

"I leave that to the admirer to decide. What do you think?"

"Fake or maybe both, judging by how much you’ve explored."

"You think I’d bring skulls from my adventures?"

"Umm..."

Her laugh interrupted you again. "You’re so naive, (Y/N)."

Just as I suspected.

"Anyway, what about your love life?"

"I don't feel attracted to the idea of being subjected to bodily fluids, particularly in moments of passion. " You felt your appetite slip away.

That’s a rather...unique way to say you’re asexual and single...?

"Cool. But doesn’t it get lonely here?"

"Loneliness isn’t something I mind. Besides, I’m not alone--I have Robyn and now you. A little-"

"Cousin."

"Indeed, a little cousin." You picked up your phone and then realized something. "Oh, I need the Wi-Fi password."

"Sorry, but that might not be possible."

"What?! Don’t tell me you don’t use Wi-Fi! That’s atrocious."

"You see, this technology that the youth have become so attached to has many malevolent effects. I cannot let you be subjected to that."

"What do you mean?! I need to find a job! And how do you do your own work?" Her calm demeanour remained unshaken as Robyn appeared behind you, slamming a newspaper down in front of you. The suddenness startled you. What is it with these people and their jump scares?

"This is today’s paper and your source for finding work."

"Are you kidding me? I need Wi-Fi for my job. I do half of my work online!"

"I’ll need to observe the signs this week. If they are favorable, you might get access. Farewell, cousin. Have a good sleep. Robyn, please escort her to her chambers." You clenched your jaw as she walked away. "WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?! WHAT SIGNS?! SO YOU DO HAVE WI-FI?!"

God, what is going on? Is this a fever dream?

You were absolutely enraged in the following days. Apparently, the signs were negative, which meant you were stuck with no FUCKING Wi-Fi!

"Maybe the signs will be positive next month."

Whatever that means. In the meantime, you faced a series of bizarre occurrences that only deepened the unsettling feeling about your stay here and made you question reality. Despite her insistence on not using electricity, the candles lit themselves as if by some hidden mechanism. You were certain she used Wi-Fi--how else would she manage her research and extensive travels?

Her behavior was equally bewildering. She walked barefoot, even in the muddy grass outside during the rain, and would spend hours out there.

Some events left you sleepless for nights.

You once saw her talking to a pillar in the lawn from your bedroom window at night. At first, you thought she might be on a call, but no. She was facing the pillar the entire time. And then there was the incident where she literally smelled your... period.

"Eat this," she said, offering you a bowl of literal pickles. You swatted it away.

"What the fuck, dude?!"

"It’s to relieve menstrual pains. Although not scientifically proven, it is a good remedy."

"I’m fine. AND HOW THE FUCK DID YOU DO IT AGAIN?!"

"Just a matter of having good senses."

In the evenings, she always visited you for tea, bringing her two black hounds along. Despite your protests, she continued to bring them inside. You hated how they always seemed to sniff under the bed, her dark, void-like eyes trained on them as if she wanted them to find something.

Wouldn't want her cousin hiding something, would she? Perhaps thinking she could slip away, unnoticed, back to her old life?

Due to the lack of Wi-Fi, you spent most of your time reading books and exploring the mansion, trying out the strange array of activities Nova had set up for you. She instructed Robyn to teach you various skills like shooting, wrestling, and knife throwing....? You enjoyed it though but yes, you were shocked to discover that Robyn wasn’t just a driver, chef, or butler but seemed to be some sort of retired hitwoman. She never confirmed nor spoke about herself, adding to the mystery.

Despite the chaos and strangeness, you found yourself adapting to this bizarre new routine, almost treating it like a vacation and unexpectedly lifting you out of your depression.

You tried finding jobs but with no success. Every time you found a promising ad, something mysteriously went wrong with the car. It always seemed to break down, as if on cue. The phone in the estate barely worked, with your friend's voice garbled into unintelligible fragments or the call cutting off entirely before you could get a full sentence in. It was as if the house itself refused to let any connection to the outside world slip through.

One day, you had had enough of watching Nova work on her COMPUTER in her study while you languished in boredom.

"Look, I appreciate your hospitality, but it seems I’ve actually found a job, and it's time for me to-"

"You haven’t," Nova said, her voice smooth but chilling as she stepped closer, her face half-hidden in the shadows. "Don’t lie. I despise liars."

"Nova, I’ve had enough of this. I’m sorry, but living here is overwhelming with all the bizarre restrictions, the eerie silence, and the lack of contact with anyone! I can’t stay here. I need to go out and find a job! I didn’t come here to live permanently."

"And you think you have a say in that, cousin?"

"Wha-" Before you could finish, a cloth soaked in a strong, suffocating chemical was pressed against your face. The world around you blurred and faded as you struggled to breathe, slipping into unconsciousness.

"You are not going anywhere, Duif." (dove, in Dutch)

You woke up to the unsettling sound of floorboards creaking and the ominous clinking of metal against metal. Your body felt unnervingly cold, and you soon realized you were bound to a chair with ropes.

"Awake, (Y/N)?" Nova's voice, as smooth and chilling as velvet, made your blood run cold. You shivered uncontrollably as you saw her standing a few feet away. Robyn was in another corner, methodically sharpening a row of gleaming knives.

God, no. This can't be happening...

"Please... Nova, what is happening?! THIS ISN'T FUNNY! Please!" You didn’t care that you were pleading and sobbing in front of this lunatic. Fear clutched at your heart, twisting it painfully. You regretted everything that had led you to this point. You’d already lost your parents, your partner, your job--was your life now slipping through your fingers as well?

"Shush. Don't be scared. I just want you to listen to me. And carefully." Nova said as she grabbed a stool and sat in front of you. Where are we even? Is this some hidden room? Your eyes darted around frantically, taking in the grim surroundings, chains hanging from the bloody walls, a nailed coffin standing ominously in the corner, a table cluttered with various torture tools that Robyn stood beside, and, bizarrely, a fucking jacuzzi in the corner.

"Listen, it's time I tell you the things you need to know. About me, this family and even yours. You see (Y/N), my father, Ralph Salem, he wasn't a good man. He was involved in all types of bad things. Especially regarding...women. I was a teen when I found out he was involved in trafficking girls, the reason he fucked around with lots of women and... young girls, simultaneously abusing my mother mentally and physically. When he caught her leaving with me, he killed her... in front of me. Imagine that, I couldn't do anything." She paused with a dry scoff, "You have seen that pillar right? The devil buried her under it. I couldn't stand it. I wanted to die but he kept me alive because I was his heir, with his fucking disgusting blood inside of me. So I waited, I became the perfect heir for him only so that I could kill him in the most brutal way...which I did," You whimpered at her dark chuckle as she wiped your tears.

"Do you know where you come in?" Nova's voice was icy as she continued. "I began researching you the moment I discovered your existence. I wanted some form of familial love, even after I convinced myself I didn’t need anyone." Abruptly, she rose and moved to Robyn, taking a freshly sharpened knife from her hands.

"Guess what I found? Your parents were my father's business partners at one point. You see these skeletons here?" She gestured to the grim collection. "These are the people I hunt, (Y/N)--the ones my father worked with, those entangled in this... industry. And I continue hunting them. So I did to your parents what I did to all of them. Robyn, show her."

The butler pulled a lever, causing a hidden closet to open. Inside, the bodies of your parents were revealed--half burned, half slashed, with their limbs gone, only torsos-making you scream in horror.

"The bodies at the crime scene weren’t theirs. I used my connections to save them for you--along with another surprise," Nova said, her voice dripping with cold satisfaction as she slid the door open further. There, your partner’s corpse was revealed, grotesquely nailed to the wall like a butterfly, their chest open and hollow, blood eagle...which Nova once told you about. Without warning, you threw up to the side, your legs trembling uncontrollably. You could barely breathe, each gulp of air shallow and shaky, and you felt the world closing in. Please just let this be a nightmare. Wake up (Y/n), wake up!

"Did I mention that I eliminate bad partners too? How could I let them live after what they did to my dear...cousin?" She stepped closer, the knife gleaming in her hand. You shook your head desperately, unable to form coherent words. With a swift motion, she cut the ropes binding you, forcing you to stand. Her gaze was fierce, unyielding.

"You, however , were innocent, unaware of your parent's past. So from now on, you are a Salem. You will live here, as you are meant to." Her gaze darkened. "This is your place, your family. And I won’t have you trying to run away."

You slammed the trunk door shut and turned to Nova, who was meticulously removing her gloves.

"He was quite the noisy one," she remarked with a nod. "Indeed, sestra. Though you did a commendable job tracking him, little nerd. Now, let’s head back. My favourite part awaits in the mansion."

Ah, yes, it was Wednesday--skinning day.

From a software engineer to an assistant to a serial killer cousin with an intriguing butler, you found yourself strangely enthralled by this new life.

‘I want this world to be rid of those like my father, who mirror him in even the slightest way, together with you, my dear cousin.’

(AN: I realised that Nova might have put her own childhood plushies in the reader's room, which tugs my heart😭my baby)

[cursedloop]

gojo satoru

[1sab4lla]

INTRODUCING.. weird girl! reader

whimsical. curious. mismatched socks. layered outfits.

introspective. apples. twee. green + red. cinnamon.

paired w/ stanford! art donaldson

how you met

confession

more works coming soon :)

[revengesthings]

guys am i crazy for when i want to read a "joel x reader" or a "arthur morgan x reader" i don't want an age gap? like please let me be old and also be with an old guy. age gaps just lowkey turn me off. maybe it's because of the character? like c!joel would never date anyone way younger, freshly 18, or a minor... and c!arthur morgan? okay I understand maybe an age gap for the time... maybe. but he wouldn't just fuck an 18 year old, that seems out of his character. idk man. just doesn't settle right within me. i want to be an older woman, maybe a single mom, maybe a widow, and have joel miller romance me. none of that "your dad doesn't approve of me cause we're the same age" stuff. guys am i crazy? maybe i need to get laid.

[holorform2009]

Ŧยภ єאקɭ๏гคՇเ๏ภ

Before I go completely on Hiatus because school is about to start soon! (but don't worry! I'll make sure to update the OG! Platonic forsaken x child reader) You guys deserve this one TW: Blood mention, eye contact, human turned into cake mentioned. You have been warned.

"hmmm... If I remember correctly, this path should lead us to floor 5! Hopefully the maze didn't changed this time around...." You exclaimed as you open a door and head inside, Elliot soon followed behind. He didn't expected this place to be... Upsidedown? Odd. It looked like both of them are walking in the ceiling, he can't quite explain how to describe this...

"So! Where do come from? Before you got here of course." You turn around to look at him while walking backward, head cocked to the side as a friendly smile appeared in your face.

"Well, I'm from Robloxia." He replied as he softly smiles back at you, he scratch the back of his nape before he spoke up. "What about you?" That question sounded stupid of course this place is where you came from— "Oh I'm from level 78! Though I recommend you not to visit there..." Nevermind he takes it back.

"I see, I thought you lived here.." You gasped as if you're offended. "Lived here? Oh no no no no dear friend! Every entities have their own homes er– levels to stay forever or just hang out." You explained as you skipped in your steps in backwards. "Beside, I don't even like this place—–-

Iͭ̂͂͒ͤ͡ ̛͛ͦ̈́̑ͪC̄ͮͯ̒ͨͮ̑҉̷͡A̴̡̓ͩ̄̑̓̀͗͗̓͋̄̆̓̉ͪ̚͡N̸ͭͩ̍̊͑͑͊̉͌ ͭ̆͐̿ͧ͒̏͋̉Ṡͣ̒҉̨̢̈̃͡Tͯͬ͋̐ͮ͌ͨ̒ͤ̊͘͟͢I̵̴ͭ̂͂͒ͤͯ́̊̉̈́̇̀ͦ́͜͡L̵̴̓ͯ́̊̉̈́̇̀ͦ́͜L̓ ͭ̆͐̿ͧ͒̏͋̉Ṡͣ̒҉̵̨̢̍̾̕͜Mͪ͆ͧ́ͯͮͫͩ́͜E̵̴͆́͆̑ͧ̐ͯ́̊̉̈́̇̀ͦ́͢͜L̵̴̓ͯ́̊̉̈́̇̀ͦ́͜L̓ ̈̃͡T̢ͯͬ͋̐ͮ͌ͨ̾ͪ̌ͪ͘͘͟͢H͆̿͒҉̸ͮͫͩ́͜E͆́͆̑ͧ̐͢ ͬ̐̂͑͗̓͟͡B̵̴ͬ́͋̅̾̆ͯ́̊̉̈́̇̀ͦ́͜͞L̴̨̓ͥ͐͟Ǫ̴̆̏̅͊ͥ͐͟͠Ŏ̏̅͊̄̏̓̆̏ͣ́̚͠҉D̄ͯ͢ ̴̨ͥ͐͟Ŏ̴̏̅͊ͩͤ͑̏̿́̕͠F̈́̐ͣ̓͆͛ͧ̀̀ ̢̾ͪ̌ͪ͘H͆̿͒҉̸̡͊̇̇̒ͯ́͆Ů̵̀̍̾̕͜͡͞Mͪ͆ͧ́ͯA̴̡̓ͩ̄̑̓̀͗͗̓͋̄̆̓̉ͪ̚͡N̸ͭͩ̍̊͑͑͊̉͌ͭ̆͐̿ͧ͒̏͋̉Ṡͣ̒҉̨̢ A̴̡̓ͩ̄̑̓̀͗͗̓͋̄̆̓̉ͪ̚͡N̸ͭͩ̍̊͑͑͊̉͌̄̏̓̆̏ͣ́̚҉D̄ͯ͢ ̒ͤ̊Iͭ̂͂͒ͤ͡ ̢̋̆̆̒W̢ͥ͆A̴̡̓ͩ̄̑̓̀͗͗̓͋̄̆̓̉ͪ̚͡N̸ͭͩ̍̊͑͑͊̉͌̈̃͡Tͯͬ͋̐ͮ͌ͨ͘͟͢ ̈̃͡T̴̨ͯͬ͋̐ͮ͌ͨͥ͐͘͟͢͟Ŏ̏̅͊͠ ͭ̆͐̿ͧ͒̏͋̉Ṡͣ̒҉̨̢ͮͫͩ́͜E͆́͆̑ͧ̐ͮͫͩ́͢͜E͆́͆̑ͧ̐͢ ͬͩ́Y̶̴̨̛̾̋͗̐ͥ͐͟Ŏ̡̏̅͊͊̇̇̒ͯ́͆͠Ů̀͡͞ ͬ̐̂͑͗̓͟͡B̵̴ͬ́͋̅̾̆ͯ́̊̉̈́̇̀ͦ́͜͞L̓ͮͫͩ́͜E͆́͆̑ͧ̐ͮͫͩ́͢͜E͆́͆̑ͧ̐̄̏̓̆̏ͣ́̚͢҉D̄ͯ͢— You and I are going to get along just fine, I can tell!" You closed your eye with a small on your face as you turned around and hopped each steps you took.

". . ." Elliot stood in silence, his eyes were in fright as he wondered what the hell was that about.. You stopped and noticed he wasn't following behind you, so you called out to him to snap him out from his thought, you put both of your hands cupping your mouth and yell; "Hey! Are coming or not?"

He hesitate for a moment before slowly catching up to you, he feels something about you that doesn't seem right to him... "Come on! We're going to level 5!" You let out a giggle as you swayed your arms playfully like a carefree child. "And maybe I should introduce you to my friend!" The long hallway seemed to be curving downwards and wait— downwards? Before Elliot could react, small hand tightly grabbed his and he looks down at you in surprised and is sightly terrified about what is about to happen next.

"Hold on tight friend! It seemed like it is changing!"

"It what now?—"

He feel the floor beneath him curved downwards in lighting speed and it made him immediately fall down as he screamed while you just laughed. An arm wrapped around your small figure. "How fun!— Weeeee!"

Now you may be wondering what happened to Noob....

Noob walked around for bit, exploring and hopefully find an exit to leave this eery place at once. They rubbed their shoulders as they spotted a red exit sign in the corner of their eyes, their eyes widen as a smile appeared in their face. "F– finally! An exit..!" They run towards the door and grab the knob out of excitement and relief, they twist it open and their smile vanished away the moment they see a hallway full of balloons and smiling faces drawn on the walls.

In the middle there's a colorful table with a cake and a drawn smiley face with a 'Welcome New Friend!' on it, the sight left them freaked out and disturbed. But what disturbed them the most is the smell of iron...

They quickly shut the door out of fear and turns around— only for them to see they're not in the yellow hallway anymore, a smiley red balloon boop his face suddenly and he pushed it away revealing all the balloons soon after. They took a step back, it look liked they're at the birthday party and they feels so uninvited here... They felt their heart quickened. No no No No NO NO NOO!! They looked back again to see the exit door wasn't there anymore and suspiciously a yellow figure hides in the corner of their eyes.

What

Was

That

They don't what to know what that is and they immediately turned around to start running, ghost burger in hand just in case. They need to get out of here like right now! As they run down the hallway all of the colorful balloons and red smiling faces at the walls seem to multiply the more they keep running.

A rope suddenly caught on their foot and Noob yelped in surprised and fall forward– face first. Someone placed a rope in here and Noob falls straight for the trap without them knowing. Then. Suddenly. Noob heard something falling and when they look up they were met with a splash of water and then a laugh right after that. This startled noob and they never screamed so loud before in their entire life.

"HAHAHAH!!

Chill out man! It's just a prank!" Noob opened their eyes and they were met with a person with yellow felt skin and a party hat on top of it's head and it's hands were larger and they could've sworn they saw teeth in it's palm, it's face was a red creepy smile like someone stabbed it face to carve a childish smile. "You should've seen your face! PPFTT— BAHAAHAH!!!"

Then a person came in. "Woah! What did I missed??" The other person was slightly different from the red smiling face entity.

He was wearing a yellow sweater and black pants with pale skin and his face was covered with what seem to be a yellow paper bag with a red smiling face drawn on it. If you look closely you could see it's blood.

"You missed a LOT bro!" It laughed and slapped it's knee. The guy with paper bag looked at noob and approached them. "Hmm.. I don't recognize you.. are you new? Also, wear this." He placed a blue star party hat on Noob's head and helped them stood up as he pat their shoulder. "You should know it's your birthday today buddy!" Noob can hear him smile and in response they look at him in confuse. Their birthday..? "Welcome Home!" It said as it comes closer to noob and sling it's arm on their shoulders.

"Come! You have to meet the others! I bet they're very excited once everyone laid their eyes on you!" He grinned and grab Noob's hand and began leading them to the fun area with the party goer following behind.

Noob doesn't know what to do but follows them with no other choice. It happened suddenly so fast, first they were chased by Jason and now they teleported here out nowhere. Just what the hell is going on???

Once the three of them reached their destination, he opened the door and head first inside before noob went second and second it. The room was pretty dark and noob couldn't see anything, they tried reaching to the guy in yellow paper bag but they just reached an air. Before they could panic a huge onomatopoeia pop was heard and colorful confetti raining on noob making them jumped in surprised as they squeaked, their body shivered in fright as they stood there.

"SURPRISE!!"

Everyone said in synchronized while Noob stood there in shock. They can't believe what their seeing. There on the table laid a cake with blood dripping from its icing, the smell of iron was pretty obvious. Especially bits of pieces of flesh scattered on the table in a mess.

They want to puke.

"What are you waiting for new friend? Blow the candle! We've picked the right human just for you!" All of them smiled. The man in yellow paper bag stepped closer and clasp a hand on their shoulder. "Go on don't be shy! Appreciate their effort, friend..." He moved them forward towards the cake. Noob's vision were starting to blur with every step they took, they're now standing in front of the cake, the small was unbearable they could feel their acid rising in their throat.

Their figure was shaking to the core as they heard the entities in the room giggled and laughed. With their mouth slowly open– hesitant evident in their movement before taking a deep breath and blow the candle. Everyone cheered as another confetti was thrown in the air again as everything faded to black...

"Woah!—"

The man in yellow paper bag catched Noob in time before they could touch the ground. "Huh. Guess they were that excited to the point they overstimulate of happiness..." That was the last thing Noob hear before they went completely go unconscious.