#darkfic ocs

[vallcro]

TW/CWs: SH, Abusive Relationships, Vallee OC Posting Again

Thinking Too Hard Abt My Own OCs Again HDKAFHAK

Joey Telling Tracy Who Is A Chronic SH’er To Come To Him If/Whenever He Gets SH Urges

Tracy Thinks It’s Because He Loves Him And Wants Him To Feel Better But In Reality It’s Just Bc Joey Wants To Be The One To Hurt Him Instead

Idk If I’ll Incorporate This Into Their Canon Storyline But It’s In Character And Cute fuajfhajd

[whimsyvixen]

𝕊𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕌𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 ~ 𝟙/?

Stalker Fic (original work)

Rating: 18+ Pairing: Female Reader x Male Yandere Synopsis/Excerpt:   It felt like someone was looking at you. A predator looking at a fawn. Waiting for the right moment to sink its powerful jaws into its frail neck, and tear it apart. WARNINGS/TAGS: Dark fic, rape/noncon elements, extremely dubious consent, stalking, yandere, unhealthy relationships, obsessive behavior, masturbation, captivity, non-consensual bondage, dacryphilia, forced breeding, forced orgasm, vaginal sex, fuck or die, tags will grow as this story progresses. ⚠️READ THE TAGS: Please be aware this work contains content that the reader may feel uncomfortable with or otherwise triggered by. DO NOT READ if bothered by tags . NO minors. ⚠️

A/N: Wooo! so I finally decided to make story for this post I made awhile back (a thousand thank you's to everyone who liked and commented <3 ). Please read up on the tags, so you know what to expect in the coming chapters. Happy reading!

-Dividers by @adornedwithlight-

It was raining outside, the distant thunder and pitter patter of raindrops hitting the window creating a lullaby that was lulling you to sleep. Combined with the soft rumbling of the bus, you could feel your body’s desperate need for rest after a grueling shift at work. 

Familiar streets and roads were tracked by your eyes, the expected relief of almost getting home brightening up your mood despite the gloomy weather. You estimated that you'll reach your destination in less than half an hour, rummaging through your purse to take out your phone to set up a timer in case sleep overtakes you and you miss your stop. 

Pressing the lever of your seat to recline, you got comfortable and laid your cardigan over your chest, finally giving in to the urge of closing your eyes. Seconds ticked by and all you could think about was how you couldn't wait to be in the comfort of the soft bedding on your mattress. Your muscles were practically begging for relief and you had enough pillows and blankets waiting for you back home to alleviate this problem. 

It couldn't have been more than a few minutes that passed– your mind completely disassociating from reality while you snoozed– when your peace was shattered. A shiver of unease ran through you, waking up your consciousness abruptly and causing you to jolt awake. 

The same feeling that’s been haunting you for weeks now was back.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood and your heart rate picked up.

It hadn’t always been like this. You could still remember a time when you climbed inside the vehicle without your gut twisting anxiously. At first, you chalked it up to it being caused by some low level of anxiety you were experiencing or lack of restful sleep. Something that could be easily remedied by swallowing a pill stashed inside a drawer back home.

However, as of late, a feeling of wariness and fear seemed to consume you, your fight or flight response triggered whenever you climbed up the stairs of the bus, each step weighing heavy on your legs as you went to take your seat.

It felt like someone was looking at you. 

A predator looking at a fawn.

Waiting for the right moment to sink its powerful jaws into its frail neck, and tear it apart.

The paranoia getting to you, you turned your head to the right, swallowing down your nervousness as you tried to find the source of your panic. 

There was a man seated in the opposite seats across from you. His stretched out and bulky frame took up much of the space, the black cap on his head and the mask he wore obscuring his features and giving him a mysterious vibe. The turtleneck shirt clung to him, emphasizing the broad muscles of his upper body even in his relaxed state. His back was to the window, his left leg bent in a careless fashion along both seats, facing you directly as he was browsing through his phone. 

At least, you thought that's what he was doing. You didn't want to believe that the man was taking unwanted pictures or videos of you while you slept. 

You didn't realize you were staring for too long, the stranger’s attention shifting away from his phone when he could feel your gaze, freezing you in place as your eyes connected with those dark depths. For some reason, you couldn’t look away, too afraid to blink as a chill took over you from being under the perusal of those piercing eyes. There was something wrong, you just couldn’t explain it. He tilted his head to the side, regarding your stunned state for a moment before his eyes crinkled with amusement. He waved good naturedly at you, a normal gesture of greeting that you would've returned if not for the twisting of your gut that warned you against doing such a thing. 

When you didn’t return his gesture, the stranger’s eyebrows furrowed in dejection, bringing his hand down to lay against his lap almost disappointedly. 

A good few seconds passed with both unwilling to look away from each other. 

Your eyes, firm and guarded while his were inquisitive and curious.

As if finally sensing your unease, the stranger backed off by turning to sit properly in his seat and shifting his focus back to his phone. 

Letting out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, you grabbed your purse and whipped out your phone, your shaky hands nearly dropping it when you first grabbed it. Turning the screen on, you realized you had taken a ten minute nap with seconds to spare from your alarm ringing. You were mere minutes away from arriving at your stop.

Taking a quick glance at the stranger once more, you tried to rid your paranoid thoughts that he was the reason for your being on edge these past few weeks. It couldn’t be, you tried reasoning to yourself. If anything, you were in the wrong for staring at him funny when you’ve never seen him before. Maybe this was his first ride on the bus and you made his experience weird because you kept looking at him as if accusing him of something heinous. Maybe he was just trying to be friendly and not spook you when you caught each other’s eye by accident. Maybe your groggy mind was making things up about a complete stranger. 

Could the stress of work and your responsibilities piling up for the past few months be messing with your awareness? There was nothing special about you. You weren’t an important person. There was nothing, no gifted ability or priviledge, that separated you from the throngs of people you saw every day while heading to work. Why would someone want you with your bleak existence and no future aspirations?

Your anxiousness and worry slowly left you when you drew those conclusions about yourself, replaced with self pity as you realized you really had nothing going for your life. The somber expression staring back at you through your phone’s black screen only dimming your mood further. 

It was a while before the bus slowed to a stop, the driver’s familiar voice announcing your destination and making you stand to walk to the front. Not paying attention to your footing, you tripped over your own feet and felt gravity pull you under. A small yip tumbled out of your lips, feeling pain on your left elbow from the hard impact on the floor. Your purse went flying in a comical fashion, your disoriented mind not sure in which direction it landed or if anything fell out of it. 

Embarrassment quickly flooded you, feeling the eyes of other passengers stare at you and hearing a few snickers amongst them. Wincing from the blossoming pain in your arm, you had barely braced your hands on the floor ready to stand up, when you felt warm hands encircle your waist.

“Here,” a deep voice whispered against your ear. “Let me help you, sweetheart.”

You were lifted from the floor easily, your weight meaning nothing to the man as he held you gently until you got your bearings straight. You looked up at him, having to crane your neck upwards due to his tall height and seeing it was the masked stranger.

“I, uhm.. Thank you,” you stuttered over your words, a flush of heat blooming in your face at his proximity. You wanted to kick yourself for how high pitched your voice sounded, unable to maintain eye contact with him when he gazed so intently back at you. If you dared to say, it felt like he was trying to memorize every small detail about your face– birthmarks, the slope of your nose, shape of your lips, the emotion in your eyes. Realizing that you still held on to his arms wrapped around your waist, you nervously laughed before going to break yourself away from the intimate embrace. 

“I’m okay now, you can let go,” you assured him, the fake smile plastered on your face concealing your tense disposition from his closeness. 

You chose to ignore the way his fingers dug momentarily into your waist, gripping you a little too tight to be normal before he loosened his grasp, allowing you to generate a more respectable distance between you and him. Seeing your startled reaction to his handling of you, the stranger immediately apologized for his actions.

“You’ll have to forgive me for my forwardness.” He told you, imploring you with his eyes that he meant no harm. He bent down to pick up something on the floor, his other hand holding up the strap of your purse for you to take it. “I only wanted to make sure you wouldn’t trip over yourself again.”

“Oh! I-It’s ok really, I-,” your words were interrupted by the harsh voice of the driver telling you to hurry to the front if you planned to get out. You quickly snatched your purse back, ignoring the little jolt of electricity that zipped through you when you grazed his fingers. “Um, I have to go but thank you, again! Bye!” 

You turned to walk briskly down the steps of the bus, thanking the bus driver for his patience and stepping out into the familiar streets of your neighborhood. Luckily for you, the rain had slowed to a soft drizzle, an umbrella not needed for the small trek you took to arrive at the apartment where you’ve been renting for the past year. 

Locking the door behind you, you sighed audibly before throwing your purse at the chair nearest you. You walked over to your room, kicking off your shoes to land haphazardly along the floor because you were too tired to bother putting them away. Removing your damp clothing, you grabbed a towel and some night clothes to head to the shower.

Relaxing under the spray of lukewarm water, you found your mind straying to the stranger in the bus. 

Who was he? 

You weren’t lying that you had never seen him before. A man of his formidable size would have been easy to spot, sticking out from the rest of the passengers like a sore thumb. He was dressed peculiarly too, his attire giving off the impression that he values secrecy and privacy. And his voice! Goodness, you could feel yourself nearly melt remembering the richness of it. The way he held you like a dainty object didn’t escape your notice either, your cheeks aflame at how good his hands felt around your waist. The feminine thrill that his presence ignited was hard to subdue, unbidden thoughts of his hands squeezing and trailing over your naked body filling your mind.

Would his hands be soft and gentle? Or would they be strong and rough? 

As if your hands had a mind of their own, they moved up your body to cup your breasts making you gasp at the contact. You looked down at your chest, seeing the peaks of your nipples hardening under your soft touch. You tried envisioning his hands squeezing the doughy flesh, your head tilting to one side as you wondered if he'd be satisfied with your size. Small moans escaped you as you continued to fondle yourself, closing your eyes and imagining him whispering sweet nothings into your ear while he teased your breasts. You were sure he’d trail a line of kisses down your neck, pressing his naked front against you so you could feel his excitement poking at the small of your back. A sudden hard pinch to your nipple brought you out of your fantasy, the thought of his cock causing your fingers to twist the sensitive tip excitedly. 

You shook your head under the shower, trying to calm your racing thoughts before they got more explicit. 

To think such things about a man you hardly knew wasn’t good. What if you see him again tomorrow? Could you bear to look at him knowing where your thoughts were straying at this moment? 

You winced, memories of the loaded eye contact you threw his way making you want to smack yourself. Maybe you should apologize next time you see him. To prove to him that you weren’t a crazy lady that regularly gave the stink eye to neighboring passengers. Explain that your stress was getting to you. Perhaps be the first to wave at him next time to show there was no animosity between you. Maybe something could develop once you introduced each other, a giddy little voice tickled your ears.

Once you were done showering and drying your hair, you went back to the living room for your purse. You had placed your phone inside so the rain couldn’t wet it. You needed to wake up at a good time tomorrow to get ready for work so setting up an alarm was crucial. When you grabbed your purse, you noticed it felt lighter and looked down to see it was unzipped and wide open. 

Oh No. There’s no way…

You dug your hand inside, hoping to feel the familiar mass of your phone only to come out empty handed. Then you remembered your fall from earlier.

“Damn it, it must have fallen off when I fell,” you cursed under your breath, gnawing on your fingernail in worry for a minute before sighing tiredly. You needed to sleep and staying up late thinking about your lost phone was not going to help. You’d have to wait until tomorrow morning to ask the driver if anything was found.

Turning off all the lights in your place, you finally headed to bed, a yawn leaving your mouth as you placed a knee in your mattress. Under the covers of your blanket, you tried clearing up your mind so you could sleep quickly. A sudden image of the masked stranger flashed through your head, your growing curiosity of him affecting you even in your most tired state.

Right before you slept, a nagging at the back of your mind told you to be wary of him.

~

A man lay on his bed alone, hair plastered to his forehead as he breathed harshly. His shirt was raised to his waist, exposing his naked pelvis and muscled thighs as he pumped his rigid dick at a furious tempo. 

His choked groans and huffs were muffled by his mask, the man tilting his head back on his pillows to bask in the pleasurable sensations of his hand firmly stroking his length. Perspiration ran down every inch of him, the sweat dampening his bed and making him grunt at how his sheets clung to his heated skin. He slid his hand down his shaft– tightening his grip when he got to the base– hissing when it caused his cock to twitch before sliding it up once more to tease his cockhead and repeat the process. The squelch of the lubricant coating his dick was a decadent symphony next to his pleasured grunts, the aggressive handling of his pleasure nearly causing him to erupt as he continued to fuck his fist. 

He was nearly there, half lidded eyes eyeing the drop of precum threatening to slide down his shaft and mix with the lubricant. 

No, he didn’t want to cum so soon. Not without the image of the pretty bird he’d been stalking for the past month etched in his brain. God, she was so beautiful. Never had he seen a more perfect woman than you. His hands tightened remembering how soft and demure you were when he picked you up. The slight tremble in your body and your skittish behavior making him want to devour you where you stood. 

Biting his lip, he slowed his pace and closed his eyes in concentration, conjuring up an image that would help to reach his climax.

In his mind, it was no longer his hand wrapped around his dick. 

Instead, smaller hands were slowly stroking him in an almost reverent manner, seeming to worship every protruding vein and jerk of his member. A small gasp escaped you when cum drizzled out of his tip, smearing your fingers with the warm liquid to combine with the lube drenching his dick. He could feel the stickiness of it running down his thighs and balls, causing him to shudder at the sensation. 

He could see you biting your lip anxiously, staring at him with those expressive eyes of yours waiting for his instruction. Unable to resist, he'd grab your hair and yank you his throbbing cock, your flushed face gasping at the heat emitting from his rod of meat pressed against your cheek. He hoped you were a smart girl, knowing what he desired from you as he slapped his dick on your lips. 

He'd stare you down, arching an eyebrow as he waited for you to open that sweet mouth of yours. He knew he wasn't a small man–his girth was enough to intimidate even his most experienced past partners– but he was sure he could teach you how to swallow him down like a good girl.

You'd hesitate for too long, testing his patience. He’d need to be firm with you then. He'd pinch your nose between his fingers, blocking your airways and driving you to open your mouth to take a breath. It was all he needed to shove half of his cock inside your heated orifice. A guttural groan would echo in his room, the warmth of the hot cavern of your mouth and wiggling tongue on the underside of his dick making him see white for a second.

He could picture your muffled whimpering, your hands bracing against his thighs to pull away. He'd lift his upper body to get a better grip on your head, not allowing you to escape and forcing more of his dick down your throat. He'd praise you for being so good and lovely for him. Telling you to relax your throat, to make it easier for you. Before long, you'd obey his commands and start bobbing your head slowly to adjust to the fullness in your mouth. 

He'd allow you to work at your own pace, content with seeing your tear ridden face for a few minutes more before taking over when you were going too slow for his liking. Your eyes would widen with alarm when he thrusted his hips up, a gargled whine vibrating through his manhood from the fierce jab in your throat. He’d repeat the same action again, a pleased groan rumbling out of him at the feel of your mouth struggling to accommodate him. From there on, he'd use you like a fleshlight, gripping your hair tightly to pull your face down to every one of his savage thrusts. Spittle and cum would rain down your jaw, messing your appearance as you gagged and moaned around the dick hammering your throat. 

It was the fantasy of seeing you look up at him, eyes pinched with distress and tears streaming down your heated and sweaty face, that made him finally snap.

His hips jerked up in his hand, his body vibrating violently just as his cock shot out endless ropes of cum in the air. He grunted with each twitch of his pelvis, feeling the warm liquid pooling in the crevices of his contracting abs and staining his shirt. His chest heaved with exertion, the stranger breathing heavily as a result of cumming from his heightened lust. His mask hid his delirious smile, the stranger chuckling to himself at the euphoria he felt and the mess he created.

Only you could make him cum so strongly to drive him to lose himself.

Minutes passed until he was able to get his breathing under control, begrudgingly getting out of his bed to clean himself up. 

Something about you had him hooked. What started off as a fleeting crush morphed into a distorted and unhealthy obsession, the stranger falling deeper in love with you every passing day, as well as the urge to take you growing exponentially worse. .

He longed to know what it felt like to have you in his arms, the thought keeping him up often at night.

Luckily for him, his wish finally came true tonight, remembering the softness of your body in his hands. You were a small little thing compared to him, barely reaching his chest. It wouldn't take much to overpower you, the statement giving rise to depraved thoughts of your squirming body underneath him, naked and helpless under his ardent touch. It took everything in him not to pull you closer, wanting to feel your delicious shape against his frame as the fantasy played in his head. He hated his mask at that moment, realizing he could've caught a whiff of your scent too if he wasn't keen on hiding his identity. 

The stranger's eyes furrowed in displeasure at this, angry at himself for missing an opportunity to know you more intimately. Turning off the sink, he didn't bother to dry his hands when he ripped his mask off and flung it in the trash. 

In a foul mood, he exited his bathroom and marched towards his study. It was already past midnight but there was something important he had to do before he slept.

Entering the room, he didn't bother to close the door and sat down, sliding the chair closer to his desk to get to work. He was inputting his PC’s password when he glanced at the rectangular object next to him.

It was your phone. 

He inspected it, taking note of your phone cover and thinking it suited someone like you. He pressed the on button, seeing your phone screen light up and ask for the passcode to access it. He typed in a few guesses and not to his surprise, none worked. 

No worries. This would only be a momentary issue. Nothing that he couldn't crack open once he plugged your device to his computer. Sure enough, within a few moments, all your browsing history and personal information was revealed to him. His eyes traveled greedily over all your files, desperate to know who you were and what you liked.

His impatience to claim you was nearing a tipping point. He already had a small taste of you and it was not enough. HIs hands clenched into fists. He wanted more. Desired to thoroughly possess you and infect you with his love. 

One way or another, you were going to be his.

He would make sure of it.

[queenie-the-court-jester]

If there will be a part two for yandere online friend, once I found out im pregnant, I will cause a miscarriage on purpose and blame him for the lying, the cheating, the drugs, EVERYTHING. Tormenting him for his betrayal, because it’s not fair that he messed around with another girl while I was there for him when his own family wasn’t.

(I know i was aware high school love wasn’t gonna last but i love being petty and holding on grudges brings me joy.) 🥰💅

you're more fucked up than me dawg 😭 but at the same time it's understandable?? In a way?? But then again that isn't any better than the yandere... This will be the first, and last darkfic I will ever write

Tw: self abortion, guilt tripping, toxic relationship, mentioned non-con, this whole fic is a warning in itself, self harming, suicide. readers be warned,dead dove do not eat

🥀no no NO! WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS!? WHY WOULD YOU RUIN EVERYTHING HE WAS SO CLOSE TO ACCOMPLISHING?? you were supposed to love the baby.. all in all, he goes into hysteria when he sees you on the floor of the bathroom. Blood all over the tiles and toilet

💔calling 911 and breaking down, sobbing uncontrollably as they load you onto the stretcher and go to the hospital. When you wake up, he expected you to call the police or scream for help. But you just.. stared at him? No emotion..

🥀you stayed in the hospital for a week, he stuck to your side like glue. The nurses always commented on how much of a loyal boyfriend you had, but they were met with silence. It unnerved them a bit but they just brushed it off as you processing the miscarriage

💔when Damien took you back to his house, he boarded up the windows and doors. Adding multiple locks all while looking like he was hyperventilating. Images of you bleeding flashing through his head. the doctors said it was a miracle they even managed to save you

🥀he froze when he finally heard you speak for what felt like the first time in weeks.

"this is all your fault. You did this to me."

"d-darling please! Let's not go there.."

"you're a worthless pathetic bastard. I hate you."

💔he slowly goes back into his old destructive habits, cutting his arms and smashing solid objects against his thigh or legs. Making himself feel the pain you must've felt, always crawling back to you. Bloody and bruised, begging to be forgiven

🥀he starts making up stories. Saying the girl pushed herself onto him, or he wasn't thinking straight when it happened. He'd be so unstable you could even manage to get him to off himself if you pushed him farther, taking his money and leaving his bloody corpse in the shitty house he called a home. Did he seriously expect to raise a family here? Pfft, what a weirdo..

[after-witch]

Sweet Valentine [wri0thesley OC Lucas x reader]

Title: Sweet Valentine [@wri0thesley OC Lucas x Reader]

Synopsis: It's Valentine's Day and Lucas has some sweet surprises planned, but things don't go as well as you'd hoped.

Word count: 3164

notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of cannibalism, abusive relationship, mentions of violence, non-graphic descriptions of noncon and dubcon sex, reader is implied to be afab

“You… want somethin’ special for Valentine’s Day, sweetheart?”

Lucas’ voice is low and tender, and when you look up at him, you see a faint blush dusting his cheeks. It’s a familiar sight. He always gets like this, when it comes to romance. Or what he thinks is romance, anyway.

You think it’s all that vulnerability that comes along with romance; the possibility of rejection, as if you were stupid enough to outright reject anything he wanted to give you. Not unless you wanted to meet the sharp end of a glare

(Or an axe.)

But it’s there anyway, that vulnerability. In the way he sometimes glances away or the way his cheeks gain a deeper tint or the lilt in his voice. He gets awkward and when you’re feeling dark and low, you sometimes wonder what he’d do if you didn’t thank him for his gifts, if you didn’t lean into his arms when he opened them, if you wiped away his kisses, if you were as ungrateful and awful as you were currently too afraid to be. 

The answer always comes swiftly: He’d kill you, moron. 

Maybe not right away. But you’d chip at his goodwill, such as it was, bit by bit until nothing was left but raw steel. And where would that raw steel go? Right into your skull, stupid.

You’re a lot of things. Scared. A liar. Helpless. But you’re not stupid. 

So you return his blush with a practiced meek gaze. The kind where you glance up at him and then look quickly down, and cross one arm (but never both, that’s too petulant) over your chest. 

Shy, that’s what you are; or rather, what you’ve become in order to survive here. 

If he thinks you’re shy and quiet and meek, it seems easier for him to brush aside the way you tremble; the way you flinch; the way you sometimes find yourself begging him to wait, just wait oh please, you��re not quite ready to go all the way yet. 

And if you have to debase yourself by taking his length into your trembling hands, by letting him touch you until you trembled and came on his fingers, it’s what you’ll do to put off the inevitable for another day. 

“Nothing special,” you say, voice crackling with the dryness of the morning air. He doesn’t respond. He’s disappointed, you think. Nothing special isn’t good enough for Valentine’s Day. So you add, quietly but quickly: “But maybe… If it’s not too much trouble… some chocolate?” 

You glance up at him and he’s got an almost goofy smile on his face now. It makes you relieved--it makes you sick.

“Or--or we could watch a romantic comedy?” You suggest. You bite your lip then, a holdover gesture from your old life. “Oh, but you don’t really have any, so I guess we could just--”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that.” He pulls you close without giving you a choice and you lean your head against his shoulder, just like you ought to do. “I’ll find you somethin’ in town this weekend. Gotta go get some supplies anyway.” 

You smile and press your face towards his chest, so that he feels the curve of your lips against his shirt. “Thank you, Lucas. Really… really any movie you like is fine, but if you can find one, that would be okay.”

He sighs and presses one large hand against the back of your head, trailing it down past your neck--he could snap it so easily--until he’s rubbing your back.

“You’re the sweetest, you know that, angel?” 

You don’t answer, because you don’t need to, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

You were good. You behaved well.  You did what he wanted. Did it matter that you didn’t want chocolates or to watch a movie with him for Valentine’s Day or any day at all? Did it matter that at home, your real home, you were loud and brash and your mother would have pissed herself laughing if anyone called you shy? 

No. Of course not.

If only the truth wouldn’t get you killed. 

You don’t want chocolates or a VHS copy of some outdated romantic comedy.

The only thing you really want for Valentine’s Day is to go home. 

--

The chocolate isn’t great, but it’s not awful, either. There was even a cherry cordial--your favorite--and Lucas’ eyes had lit up when you told him so. 

It was a nice surprise. 

After all, the cynical part of you imagined Lucas showing up with a dusty box of chocolates that tasted like stale sweetness; the kind you find overpriced at drugstores, boxes that forgetful husbands pick up on the way home from work on the day-of. 

But when he came home from town, he’d sheepishly handed over a bouquet of colorfully dyed flowers. A mixture of carnations that were an impossibly vivid pink and daisies with bright blue petals. It was just the kind of bouquet you used to pick out for your mom when you were a kid, because you were drawn to the pops of unnaturally colorful simple flowers more than you were ordinary red roses. 

“Know you like, uh…” He’d held out the bouquet and waited for you to take it from him before continuing. “Know you like this kind of pink, so…” 

You held the bouquet to your chest and felt something that might have been pleasure. It was nice to have something familiar. Something you might pick up at a supermarket on the way home from work. Real flowers were beautiful, of course, and you’d grown to love the sight of them surrounding the cabin. 

But these couldn’t be found in the wilderness in which you were now settled. They were a sign that people still existed out there, people that weren’t you and Lucas and the ghosts of people who came before you.

And that made them more special.

--

“Honey?”

“Angel?.”

“Darlin’.”

It’s the darlin’ that yanks you out of your disassociation. How long had it been going on? You glance down at your fingers and realize you’re holding a half-eaten chocolate bon-bon. Your elbow feels stiff, you must have been holding it up for a while.

You shakily set it back down on the box and force yourself to look over at Lucas, who is cuddled up next to you, holding you in a firm but warm grip, with his arm slung around your shoulder keeping you close. 

He looks irritated. Like you said something wrong again. Only you weren’t saying anything, but that might be the problem; ignoring him was just as bad (sometimes worse) as doing the wrong thing.

“You don’t like the movie?” His voice is gruffer than it should be today, of all days. 

The movie? 

Oh shit.

You blink and blink and slowly details around you come back into focus. The dim lighting in the cabin, to set the mood. The flickering light of the TV and the soft whir of the VCR that could only be heard faintly under the movie itself.

And the movie…

The movie was almost over. The VHS he’d found was of a vaguely familiar movie you remember seeing on TV a few times. It wasn’t a classic but it wasn’t a stink-bomb, either. 

“Angel…” 

He turns toward you and after a moment, takes your chin into his hands.  You quickly glance down--meek, shy, feeble thing that you are--so he doesn’t see the fear that must be blinking through the back of your eyeballs by now. 

“You don’t like the movie, do you? Did I pick the wrong one?” There’s none of the usual sweet compromise in his voice, though, that makes you think saying “yes” might be an option. Instead, you get the sense that he’s laying traps for you to step on. Traps meant for someone ungrateful who completely zones out during what was supposed to be a romantic evening snuggling on the couch. 

Dumbass, you think. I’m such a dumbass.

“Do you…” You speak suddenly and swallow hard. Talking is awkward with his fingers holding your chin, but he doesn’t let go. “Do you want a chocolate?” You offer up the box that’s half-empty by now. The cherry cordials were gone, and maybe you should have offered him one since they were your favorite. But there’s nothing to be done about it, so you hold up the last caramel-filled piece towards him. 

Maybe he’ll appreciate the gesture. 

He finally lets go of your chin and huffs out a snort through his nose. That’s good, usually. A sign he’s calming down. But he doesn’t smile at you, and you can feel the heaviness in the air, a sort of sick pressure that you need to relieve before it gets worse. 

“I’m not much for sweets.” He says this like you ought to know. And you do, actually, it’s just… you don’t know what else to do. 

Your lips quirk downward. You lift the piece until it’s close to his mouth. 

“I know, I just--wanted to share. Please? One bite?” It’s almost a reversal, really; the way he sometimes has to nudge you to eat, when your stomach is all twisted in knots from anxiety or when you can’t shove away the thought that what you’re eating is almost certainly not an animal. Sometimes he feeds you just because he’s in a particular mood, a mood where you need to be more fragile and helpless than you are, which isn’t saying much.

Lucas’ eyes widen then and he finally smiles softly at you. His voice is low and gruff but you think, not quite as irritated as before. 

“All right, angel. A bite.”

He opens his mouth and you slide the chocolate forward until it’s under his teeth. He takes a bite and you pull away, caramel dripping from the half-eaten chocolate that you set back in the box. 

Lucas chews with his mouth closed (he has impeccable manners when he’s not murdering people, thank God for that) but then there’s the thought of the chocolate and caramel being chewed by the same teeth that just ate a “steak” for dinner--what if there’s a stray piece of meat left in his molars and they mix? 

It’s enough to make the sticky sweet flavor of the cherry cordials rise in your throat, acidic and sour from the chocolate digesting in your stomach. 

“Sorry,” you murmur, nuzzling closer to him like an apologetic pet as he finishes chewing. “I didn’t mean to get distracted earlier.” 

Lucas hums and pulls you tighter against him, harder than normal. He presses a kiss against the side of your head. A hint of caramel wafts in the air.  

“Mind you don’t drift often again, honey.” 

-

Lucas is still upset with you. Although you can’t quite call this “still” upset, because this is different from earlier. He’s not still annoyed that you were distracted during the movie or, at least, that’s not the real source of his irritation.

But what--what did you do? You thanked him for the flowers and chocolates. You kissed him (on the lips!) after he gave them to you.  You snuggled on the couch and yes you fucked up during the movie, but you made up for it, you thought. 

You set the table for dinner without being asked, you ate without hesitation and complimented his cooking… you were quiet, you helped him clean up the eggs, you made a joke about Dolly the chicken needing a Valentine’s Day card from him and he chuckled at it. 

You didn’t argue when he insisted he scrub you up during the bath, even when his hand dipped between your legs and lingered on your chest. You quietly let him brush your hair and pick out your pajamas (a pink nightie, tonight) and did everything you thought he wanted.

So what in the hell did you do wrong today that has him practically glowering at you as you both sit on the bed? You’ve re-read the same page in your book a hundred times while you tried to figure it out. You can’t go to bed like this, wondering if he’s angry, wondering if you’ll wake up in the morning to find him hovering over you with a glare and a weapon. Or maybe you won’t even wake up at all. 

“Angel?” There’s a gruff edge to the word tonight that tightens your chest.

“Yes?” Your voice is squeakier than you intended. You tuck a bookmark into your pages and set the book down on your nightstand, and look up at Lucas with practiced meekness that is made all the more real through the gnawing fear in your belly.

Lucas hesitates before he speaks. Emotions shift on his face. Irritation, disappointment, even something you think is sadness. They only make the feeling in your chest worse. What did you do? Why is he acting this way?

“I… wasn’t expectin’ nothing fancy, you know. But I thought you’d at least make somethin’ for me today.”

Make something for him? 

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

In all your worries about behaving perfectly, you didn’t even think about getting Lucas something for Valentine’s Day. Making him a card or throwing together a quick embroidery hoop or--something. That’s what a good spouse would do, right? It’s what he would expect from you, on today of all days. Sure, he wasn’t big on presents, and he’d told you a few months ago not to worry about Christmas (you’d embroidered a scene outside the window of his bedroom, the trees and snow and a little silver rabbit) but this was different. 

It was a couple’s day, and you were part of that couple. 

And you’d fucked up.

He’s not done, either.

“I went outta my way to get you everything you wanted. Drove all the way into town��� An’ you didn’t even pay attention during the movie.” If you weren’t increasingly terrified,  you might be able to snort at how petulant he sounded, complaining that you didn’t watch the movie well enough. But there’s nothing funny about the way his voice is starting to raise or the way you can practically feel his muscles getting tenser by the moment.

“Did you even appreciate any of it?” It’s more to himself than to you, and that scares you more than anything else has in recent memory. 

Your mouth comes up with a plan the exact moment that your brain does.  You’re not sure if your brain would have let you go through with it, if it had more than a split second to think. 

“I did get you something!” 

Lucas shifts on the bed and looks at you questioningly. He doesn’t look convinced. Not yet. There’s a swift moment in which you have to convince him and you jump into it, feet first.

“I… I just didn’t know how to wrap it, that’s all.” Your throat bobs when you swallow and you look up at him with a soft expression that’s part nerves, part hope. 

“I don’t know what y’mean, darlin’.”

 His eyebrows furrow and you take a deep breath before you reach over and take his hand. You give it a squeeze and shift on the bed yourself, this time leaning backwards on the pillows.

“My gift is…” Oh,  you don’t want to; but you have nothing else you can give him now. You swallow again and fiddle with the end of your nightgown. It’s a flimsy thing, isn’t it? 

“I’m ready to… that is--I’m ready to…” 

You can’t finish the words but you don’t need to, because both of Lucas’ eyebrows raise before his lips curl into a delighted smile as he realizes what you mean.

He looks giddy. He looks drunk, despite not having a drink tonight. He looks like he’s going to devour you, and you can only be mildly grateful that it’s not in the way you normally fear. 

“Oh, angel.” 

In moments, he’s shifted above you, his body looming over your own, filling up all of your space with his size and warmth. 

“This is the best gift you could give me.” He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, then again; a kiss to your cheeks, to your eyes that close so he can kiss the lids. “I’m sorry I doubted you. Oh, honey, you must have been thinkin’ about this all day. No wonder you were so distracted.” 

There’s nowhere to go, if you wanted to go. Nowhere to run, if you were capable of running. He’s here and you’re here and this is going to happen now.

No more putting it off, no more gentle pleas, no more convincing him that you can do that and not this, not yet.

All because you forgot to make a damn Valentine’s Card. 

His hands hold the edge of your nightie and begin to lift it up, exposing the soft cotton underwear underneath. 

“I love you so much. You know that, sweetheart?”

He doesn’t take the nightgown off; instead he bunches it up against your neck, exposing your chest. 

“I love you too,” you murmur, because you’ve had enough of your own stupidity today not to answer his declarations. 

Your eyes flick up to the ceiling as he begins pulling down your underwear. 

It’s going to happen now. He’ll fuck you. And once that happens, well. It’ll keep happening. Every night? Every other night? You don’t know, but he’ll expect it. Things are changing and you can’t stop them. All you can do is try to scramble for what little pleasantries this isolated, captive life can give you. 

Like not-bad chocolates and bunnies outside the window.

Lucas’ hands grip the meat of your thighs and pull them apart with little resistance on your end. You don’t want to make it worse, do you? And it was your idea, you can’t even pretend to be anything but meekly nervous, can you?

He murmurs something in appreciation at the sight of your naked sex and your fingers clutch the sheets underneath you in anticipation. 

You don’t want to look down. It’s like being at the doctor’s--looking away when they give you the shot. You hear the sound of his trousers being pushed down. But he doesn’t push into you just yet.

Instead, he leans down, pressing a hot, wet kiss to your mouth that opens without argument. 

There’s  a faint taste of peppermint toothpaste and a hint of lingering caramel--he didn’t brush his molars well enough, maybe--in his mouth. 

“Love you,” he whispers against your lips. Maybe he sees the nervousness in your gaze and for once, is fine with it. It’s normal to be anxious about your first time, after all. “It's gonna feel good, I promise… I know what I’m doin’.”

Damn, you think vacantly, stomach lurching against your thoughts when you feel the unmistakable press of something hot and hard and wet against your naked thigh. I wish I saved the second cherry cordial for tomorrow.

[ex1ledbrethren]

Where it all began

[dragonmaiden39point5]

No Escape (1)

Been working on this for months, was a one shot but now it's not. Lol. As usual hope you enjoy.

All characters depicted are over the age of 18.

Summary: You grow tired of Bakugo's bad behavior and after 4 years as a couple, you make a run for it.

Katsuki Bakugo x Black!Reader

Darkfic. Stalking, humiliation, dub-con, mild Daddy!kink. Potentially some untagged triggers.

@palettesofrenaissance as requested I am tagging you on my first part!

The stars had abandoned the sky, leaving the night black as pitch. The bladed edge of the cold air sliced at your ashen skin as you shuffled through woods. Here amongst the silent, barren trees, you were safe-- Far from the disaster of turbulence that was your relationship.

Katsuki was not right for you, a fact that you realized all too late after you were already involved. He didn't come on super strong when he first asked you out; He honestly had behaved as if he could've cared less if you were interested. However, within weeks of that first date, he was blowing up your phone with calls and texts every second of the day. It was cute-- even endearing at first, but as the honeymoon phase ceased, it was beyond overbearing.

With no regard for when you were at work, he was ceaseless in his seemingly sudden obsession. When you finally did hang out, he was all over you in near desperation, yearning for your completely undivided attention. It felt like you were suffocating as he consistently crowded your space and cut out all of the people in your life that mattered. You're not even entirely sure when you moved in with him. More and more of your stuff just kept turning up at his house, until he 'convinced' you not to go back to your apartment.

The clingy attachment got worse after you yielded to the pressure of living with him. You weren't allowed to keep a code on your phone anymore and only hung out with people he knew personally (most of which looked as if they wanted to go into a rut when they saw you). These things weren't something you took quietly though. There were countless screaming matches and arguments, all of which ended with him taking advantage of your heightened emotions and fucking you stupid across the nearest surface or piece of furniture after you had given up and started crying (you weren't exactly proud of that fact).

The highest point of contention after you'd yielded everywhere else, had been your job. His parents died and left an unspeakable amount of trust-fund money, so he didn't work which (to him) meant you shouldn't either. Plus, with you being in real estate, he outright said that he didn't want you, "Dressing up to be surrounded by a bunch of low-life bastards." There was also, the fact that you could ride around sometimes one or two towns over for hours ignoring him-- which especially caused him grief.

His solution was to track your car, stalking your every move when you left the house and actively attempting to make you quit. At one point he'd slashed all four tires of your car while you showed a house so that of course, you had to call him to pick you up. A different time, you took a (male) client and his son out to lunch to show him what the local attractions were like, and you went outside to a kicked in windshield, as well as all 4 windows busted out. Not even the sideview mirrors were spared.

Your management team was able to turn a blind eye those times and let you lie and claim random acts of vandalism or mistaken identity, especially with all the love you got from clients and other customers alike. However, not to be defeated, Bakugo upped the ante and had his buddy from the police force send SWAT to a house that you were doing a walkthrough on. They kicked in the doors and windows with guns and helicopters claiming that they received an active shooter notice for the address. You had been scared shitless, that is until the SWAT team carried you out and you saw Iida suited up, looking completely unbothered despite the 'severity' of the situation. He actually lit a cigarette and subjected you to an entirely unnecessary, way-too-thorough body search behind one of the police cruisers. Seconds later a familiar orange mustang with orange rims drove by and you knew what was going on. Luckily, the police presence spared you from being fired, as management had believed there was real danger. (The event was breaking news and blocked traffic for hours).

With that one having backfired and you crying and throwing a fit, he bought you a dog to 'apologize' though he never actually said the words. He later proceeded to double down on arguments about you quitting your job and broke your phone. Of course he ended up replacing it with a fancier more expensive one-- But you soon realized that it had only the contacts of people that had earned his approval and a monitoring software.

It was never ending with him, but trying to leave or break up face to face only made him hold you hostage until you promised not to leave. After waking up handcuffed to the headboard the last time you tried that, you chose not to try it again.

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Meanwhile, hard work and dedication (and screaming matches with your boyfriend) afforded you the senior salesperson promotion, meaning you were one step from a sales management position. With this title under your belt, you could step into a leadership role with more freedom than before.

To build reputation and show management potential, you were given the chance to sell a house of your choice and then would go through a shadowing and training process, meaning you were about 6-8 months shy of your dream position if everything worked out okay.

You'd spotted the perfect property and bought it on behalf of the company. There hadn't been too much confidence in it due to its age compared to other homes in the area, but with the right renovations and staging, and a well advertised open house, buyers would flock; that much was certain.

Late nights, early mornings, a dozen gallons of coffee. There was nothing your heart desired more than for the success of this house-- the success of you. It would be perfect and even set a new standard for open house events within the company.

There were unfortunately several out of budget expenses, like hiring a caterer and setting up before and after photoshoots for the property. The cost of landscaping had gone over due to several rotted tree removals, and sod placement for quite a bit of the back and side yards. There was also no way you were going to fill in the inground pool, which would become a major selling point after fixing it's disgusting condition. Repiping, rewiring, new insulation, trash removal (it was previously a hoarder's house), and a pool remodel... Everyone warned you about taking on a foreclosure sight-unseen for your first solo reno, but in your excitement, you tended to be exceedingly ambitious and with no HOA there were no limits.

At this point your job was the only thing you had control over, the only thing that gave you relief. And as you nitpicked yourself to a perfectionist's standard, your boyfriend remained oddly quiet. He actually volunteered his own money so it didn't look to anyone that you had technically far exceeded the company budget. The words of encouragement he offered while you worked were foreign, but you appreciated not having to fight when you were so tired. He was acting all warm and supportive like everything mattered to him so much..

💥💥💥💥💥

The house had turned out incredibly. Inside and out, there was no sign of the safety hazard that it had been, only an amazing dwelling that would belong to a happy family, hopefully in the near future. Before leaving home, you checked that all of your equipment was fully charged and ready to go: Laptop, tablet, phone, and USB that contained all the photographers pictures and video edits of the newly revived property.

Bakugo had a prior engagement and would be at the grand opening of his friend Midoriya's gym (a timing overlap that was very intentional on your part), though he would be dropping you off to the open house. The ride was silent, but not due to the aftermath of a huge argument; it was because something was up with Bakugo. All of his body language read that he was on edge, frequently tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He only behaved this way when there was something on his mind.

"You good, Kats? You look really tense."

He smiled gleefully before glancing your way with sharp red eyes. "I'm alright."

"Aight then." You shrugged. "Make the next right and the place is at the other end of the street, on the cor-"

"I know where it is."

"Of course you do." You sighed, throwing your hands up.

Pulling up to your destination a few minutes later, you got out of the car and Bakugo followed suit. Grabbing your bag for you, he stood on the sidewalk for a moment.

"Wow." He commented, admiring the property. "Way to turn this shithole around. Nice job."

"Uh, Thank you." You smirked, heat creeping up your cheeks. "You look surprised."

"Well, I haven't followed you in like a month. Been busy helping Deku with his shitty new hires."

You sighed, rolling your eyes. It wasn't like you didn't know that he did it, but you preferred he not mention the stalking.

Showing Bakugo around the inside, you wanted to make sure that everything was in place for guests. Design wise, it was perfect; Every accent wall on the first level of the house had the same pattern which became the theme for the furniture colors and pillows. The upstairs followed the same trend, just with a different color/pattern combination. The curtains for each level were in the respective opposite color of the accent walls-- But it was the little details that mattered, so you went from room to room spraying air freshener and placing a scented candle in each; it combatted the smell of recently dried paint. You also needed to sit out the gift bags that had your business card and number tucked within and set up the projector so that it linked to your laptop.

Bakugo was actually impressed and would've stayed to watch you all day (his own words) but he had to leave for Izuku's event. Meanwhile, the caterers had arrived and were putting together shrimp cocktails and hors d'oeuvres, in time for the early bird guests showing up.

It didn't take long before a steady stream of potential buyers filled the property. They were encouraged to mingle and look around on their own or join in as you gave a tour with details about the artwork on the walls, insulation, and the re-pipe/rewire. One of your assistants also helped you to do a live stream showing each room, while another managed the gift card raffle, and the third made sure that every single guest left with a gift bag.

The event went on for roughly 2.5 to 3 hours, which you were on your feet networking for the duration of. You'd picked up 4 more potential buyers for a few different properties after chatting up countless people, as well as several who wanted this one. A bidding war was most certainly on the horizon.

For everyone that stayed to the end, a film reel of before and after shots was assembled. You and your co-workers had the remaining people gather in the media room of the home, where the projector had been set up at. "Alrighty ladies and gentlemen! This will be the final act of our showing. We will put on display what each room looked like before the transformation, with side-by-side images recapping the final product you've seen here today-- The point of which is to highlight just how hard earned the beauty of this house is, and why it would be perfect to live and raise your beloved family in."

The video came on in clear, perfect hi-resolution, starting with a series of credits for all the companies involved in the renovation of the property (clean up, photography, landscaping, pool fix etc). In the meantime you slipped out of the room and down the hallway, heading to the mother-in-law suite on the front side of the house and closing the door. You wanted a hair and makeup touch-up before it was time to shake hands and say goodbye.

Pushing your blazer off and stepping out of your heels you went and opened the chest of drawers to pull out your tote bag. Out of habit, the first thing you did was grab your phone but strangely enough, there was only one text message from Katsuki awaiting you from about half an hour after the open house had started. "Made it."Was all it said. You hummed curiously, tossing it on the bed in favor of your makeup bag, flats, and spray bottle. It was severely, out of character for him, but you had to worry about closing out the evening.

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The audience sat politely through the first minute or two of the presentation. It consisted of the credentials and numbers for the separate business entities that collaborated on the house. Completely normal.

However--

Things took a turn for the worst just moments later after you stepped out.

The screen went black for about 5-10 seconds and the gruff voice of a male could be heard in the background. When the image on the screen resumed, it was of a man in peak physical condition from the chin down, proud erection sitting between toned thighs as he stroked it rapidly. There was a plain black band on his left ring finger with a diamond studded behemoth on the middle one. He had a sleeve of colorful tattoos and spider bite piercings under the right corner of his mouth ."I love these little tantrums you throw, Baby." He grunted through his teeth. "Gets me so fucken hard when you act like a spoiled brat..." He stopped stroking with his hand and began to thrust fiercely into it instead. "But no matter how mad you get..." He said, breathing ragged and labored, "You'll always belong to Daddy." He moaned, shooting his load straight up, allowing it to land on his incredible abs.

It felt like an eternity for those watching, but the clip was less than 20 seconds long. Some astounded viewers quickly vacated, while others lingered feigning disgust, gasps and whispers.

But not one of your coworkers-- the so-called 'work family' moved to stop it, even as the next clip started immediately.

This one was of the same man, face still obscured, but from the point of view of the woman he was on top of; you. The camera seemed to have been recording from just above your head and tilted downward, so your face wasn't showing either. It was likely placed in the headboard.

Length buried fully into you, with your legs wrapped around his waist, his usual tone was down to a gritty pur. "Shit girl... I fucking love when you act like this...You want Daddy to make you cum?"

Your hands ran up his arms as you pulled him down flush against you. "Yes please.." you whimpered from beneath him.

"Louder." He hissed biting your neck.

"--Yes, please Daddy! Make me cum!"

"Hehehe...Of course.." He pulled completely out for a moment and you began to protest.

"Wait, please, I--" you whined, before he soothed you:

"It's alright Baby Girl, just hold on."

Pushing your knees up to your chest so that your ankles were on his shoulders and getting into a kneeling position, he sunk into your tight pussy from a new angle-- both of you groaning unified bliss. Suddenly, his pace was fast, breathing labored as he fucked into your wet hole.

That's what you saw when you were finally coming back from your bathroom break-- just in time to look down the corridor that opened up into the media room and see yourself squealing in delight as you squirted all over your boyfriend.

It was so astonishing you stopped dead in your tracks, staring confusedly down the hallway for a minute as you tried to figure out what you were seeing and why. A vicious pang of sadness struck your heart as tears began to ruin your freshly redone make-up.

Meanwhile, a third clip started-- This one with you standing, facing the camera from the neck down, with Bakugo sitting behind you on the edge of the bed. There could've been plausible deniability that this wasn't you, that this was a data breach of some sort and the computer had been hacked-- but right there, dangling between your gorgeous bouncing titties-- was the necklace that currently adorned you. It was too distinctive, (a diamond studded hand-grenade with a flash behind it, engraved with the date you and Bakugo met) and you wore it every day.

Less than 2 minutes of footage, had effectively ruined your entire professional life.

Had you not been afraid of someone keeping or distributing this imagery, you would've marched right out of the front door and never looked back. Instead, you dragged your feet the rest of the way down the hall into a room full of scornful sneers from colleagues, and horny perverts that didn't care to avert their eyes from the video of you getting fucked.

It looked too good; with him having pulled you back on to his lap and lifted your legs up. The view of how accepting your tight cunt was of such a big dick would live forever with these people, partnered with the sound of your moans as your pussy was filled with cum.

You slammed the laptop shut and snatched it free from the cords of the projector, numbly walking out of the room to get your bag and go. After all of the measures that were taken to keep something like this from happening, it still ended up being a disaster. The laptop that you were using was at least 6 years old. You kept it as messy as possible, with file folders saved across the home screen and the taskbar full of miscellaneous interests. It wasn't synced to any accounts, all apps that weren't games were deactivated for the most part. No Docs, no Cloud, no Adobe suite. Just plain PowerPoint, which was over a decade old at this point. You wracked your brain, trying to figure it out; Where had you gone wrong? How did Katsuki even manage this!?

Heading down the walkway, the orange monstrosity that he drove was parked on the sidewalk waiting for you. The negative emotions within you undulated like snakes in a pit. You slammed the car door as you got in and didn't spare him a glance.

He didn't react, other than the smirk that he forced himself to suppress, expecting a blow-up any minute but it never came. Instead, you cried silently. The tears just started pouring down your face as you stared straight ahead. Immediately he felt a wash of guilt. He hated when you cried but you really forced his hand; You liked to go to work and pretend he didn't exist, like you were single and work was your everything. So it was your own fault. Still, he would forgive you with no hesitation as soon as you shed a tear.

"How?" You asked, voice low, still not looking at him.

"I switched the videos when you dozed off last night...You left everything open."

You didn't bother to respond, a massive sob coming from you instead as tears kept coming.

Bakugo was certain that he had never seen anyone cry like that; almost completely silently with no noise other than the occasional sniff and nose wipe with a handkerchief. Definitely a far departure from your usual. You winced when he rested his hand on your thigh but otherwise did not protest.

"Kats, I'm tired. Please head home, I've been on my feet all day."

"Uh, yeah." He didn't know how to respond.

"Thank you."

The rest of the ride was silent. You had screamed, shouted, and broken things more times than you could count and at this point, you just didn't have the energy to do that. Tired and angry for sure, but at the core of it all you were sad. That he could do such hateful things. That he could care less about what you wanted for yourself. That he would be so unnecessarily cruel, while still claiming to love you.

This was the last straw.

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For a few months, you plotted and played your role. If you wanted to go somewhere, you asked him to bring you. You wore overly revealing clothes and climbed all over him in public. You stopped using his name, referring to him exclusively as Daddy no matter who was around. You would initiate sex, begging him to fuck you; beg to fuck him. You even took to sending him video and pictures of you playing with yourself when he left you at home, sometimes in his oversized clothes, other times nothing at all-- (which would make him come back much faster, if he could help it). You really made him feel his victory.

Kats was too busy loving that you didn't resist him anymore and was all too eager to have you all to himself; You, he, and the dog had been to 5 countries in the three months since. It was easy to get swept up in the gifts and vacations (and mind-blowing orgasms) and forget he was something that you needed to get away from, since he had been absolutely perfect since you started acting the way he wanted. You almost felt bad about your brewing plot to leave.

Well, it actually wasn't much of a plot, you were you going to take a few thousand out of his home safe, get the dog, and ghost. He was just too unstable and insecure, and at this point it was clear that he could only behave properly when you were 'obedient'.

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The sole opportunity to leave came with the passing of another month. When he wasn't traveling, Bakugo habitually visited his parents' headstones on the Saturday of every third weekend, at sunset. It was the absolute only time that he left you devoid of incessant phone calls, messages, and his suffocating presence. A cloud of guilt shrouded the decision to leave at such a time... But you'd never know peace if you didn't. What other choice did you have? You had learned from the last several times you attempted to break up with him that it would only intensify his crazy.

When he left that evening, you waited until receiving the text that he was there to make your move. You left absolutely everything behind other than Thunder with his dogfood and cash from Bakugo's safe-- On foot, hence lurking through the woods that started on the edge of the property instead of taking a main road. The location of motion cameras on the edge of the acreage that surrounded the house were something that you had carefully mapped out the boundaries of-- And after almost 4 years, you knew where they were by heart.

There was also a small plan that was put into play as a distraction; He always took the smaller, more low key of the cars when visiting the cemetery. In turn, you sent his chef to a store over an hour in the opposite direction of where you were going, in his easy to spot orange car.

It would be hours before he knew you were gone...

💥💥💥💥💥

[inkwingsinc]

bit my gun with my black-gold gums by InkwingsInc

~small edit to celebrate chapter 26, posting soon~

Find the story here on AO3

[ancuninfiles]

Lithium Pt. 5

Screenshot by @lavendarr00

10.1k words - F/M - Astarion x F! Durge - 18+

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence.

Summary: Ronnie must reflect on what Astarion had told her the previous day, while she plays with the strange but somehow fitting gift he gave her.

She's to meet him at the park, and they get up to 🌶️no good🌶️ past the treeline.

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Tags: smut, AU modern setting in London UK, mental illness, p in v sex, creampie, semi-public sex, car sex, fingering, darkfic but NOT a dead dove. PLEASE READ FULL TAG LIST ON AO3.

MASTERLIST (Other works and chapters)

Read on AO3 for full tag list and proper formatting (recommended)

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Beginning notes:

I wasn't expecting to finish this chapter so soon, but I fixated on it. This might be the chapter that I'm the most proud of so far :)

This chapter is a whopping 10.1k words.

I can't believe it.

I'm still trying my best to breathe life into Ronnie, but I've been finding it very difficult so bear with me as I periodically go back to previous chapters and tweak her internal thoughts.

I'm BEGGING you to read on AO3 for proper spacing and formatting </3

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓: 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐎𝐦𝐞𝐧

꧁꧂

It'd been less than twenty-four hours since she last saw Astarion.

And she'd spent those past twenty-four hours thinking about him.

She laid in bed with her blackout curtains closed, as it was eerily dark outside by this time of night. The lamp inside her bedroom was warm, and tungsten-like. It sat on her reddish, wooden bedside table, and had a ceramic base and an off-white lampshade, stained with specs of blood.

Nag champa incense that Jen had let her take burned on her bedside table, creating a ribbon of smoke that dispersed as it flowed towards her eggshell-white ceiling.

She let herself sink into her navy-blue duvet, wearing headphones and the soft rope Astarion left—tied in a noose—draped loosely around her throat like a pearl necklace as she listened to music.

The rope… it reminded her of him.

All day, she'd been playing with the blue chrome balisong he'd gifted to her, decorated in intricate baroque-esq engravings. It was a real one—sharp as hell, and she was careful not to cut herself on it.

She ran her thumb in a line down the engravings on the handle. The metal was warm from holding it all day, and polished like its maker had put in a great deal of care.

Her lips pulled into a smile, admiring it.

When he'd given it to her, her immediate thought was that it was insensitive of him to gift her a weapon.

—Of all things.

But then, when she actually held it—felt its weight through her arm, and the smoothness of the pins—it felt like home. That was the only way she could explain it.

Something felt familiar about the balisong. 

When Astarion gave it to her, he'd taken it out of its—equally blue—velvet-lined box and given it a toss.

Everything he'd done with the knife should've been impossible to keep track of—with all of his complex tricks—but somehow, Ronnie felt names for each one on the tip of her tongue. She could almost feel the motions in her own hands as she watched him play.

Magnificent, she thought, the way he whipped it around. She couldn't wait to try it herself when he left.

When she did…

Well…

It was automatic—she could whip the blade around just as well, if not better than Astarion had. 

A part of her stirred with worry. Why was she so good at this? 

The only reasonable conclusion was that she'd done it before.

She didn't like that.

But a single consolation made the fact tolerable: Astarion would go mad once he saw her wielding the knife like a seasoned professional.

—Oh—he'll be so proud.

There wasn't a doubt in her mind that he—being the chaotic little gremlin he was—would be impressed at her skill.

The thought made her blush, and he wasn't even fucking there.

She opened the balisong and clipped its handle together, hugging it to her bare chest. She let her heels slide closer to her bottom, the blanket flitting in their wake.

Her knees came together and she closed her eyes. 

—Astarion…

   —Astarion…

      —Astarion is a vampire.

What a confession that was.

The vampire man—Astarion—had finally given her his number, but he explained that they had to talk in code, just in case his boss saw. Although, he assured her that that wouldn't happen.

The thought of it freaked her out, though, sending a chill down her spine.

—It'd better not happen.

Nevertheless, code or otherwise, she was glad to finally be able to text him.

She’d given him her work schedule, and he said he wanted to meet up with her as much as he could.

—As much as he could.

She wanted that too. Hell, she'd be elated to spend every waking hour with the bloke if it were on the table.

She'd board up all the windows in her flat—whatever it took. 

The bite mark on her neck had been itchy. She tried not to scratch it. She scratched it. It bled more, smearing blood on her fingertips and beneath her nails.

He said she was the first person he'd ever drank from. That his hunger got the best of him, but that it shouldn't have been able to.

…

He described his ties to his boss as some sort of pact, similar to a “deal with the devil”. Theoretically, it was supposed to make him physically incapable of refusing orders.

Drinking the blood of a “thinking creature” went directly against those orders. 

But he tried to run before, and he wasn't supposed to be able to do that, either, as it went against Mr Szarr’s orders. 

When Mr Szarr found him, Astarion was punished severely—he was locked and buried in a coffin for a whole year. 

Without food.

Without blood.

He didn't have time to explain everything. He had to leave Ronnie's flat before the sun came up. 

Astarion doesn't sparkle.

But, up until the moment he left, he’d been very… attentive towards Ronnie. He'd cleaned her up, and gotten her a blanket and water.

And she passed out on the couch when he showered.

The process of being carried to her bed and untied roused her from her sleep.

“See you,” she whispered, half asleep as he tossed the blankets over her.

“See you,” he responded as he walked out of her bedroom.

Ronnie worried that he might get caught. If Mr Szarr could compel him to do anything, could he force the truth out of him?

He said that he and his “siblings” had historically been able to get away with half-truths and redirects. Astarion in particular had somehow refused his compulsions entirely before. 

He wasn't sure why he could, but he said that he “couldn't afford to squander any blessings.”

“I wouldn't be here if I wasn't sure that you'd be safe,” he assured her.

He sounded so… genuine. His eyes were dark and serious as he squeezed her thigh over the throw blanket.

“Trust me,” he said.

She wasn't sure yet if trusting him was wise, but intuitively, it felt right. Had he given her any reason to distrust him?

Well…

other than the first day they met, when he lured her there. 

But he wasn’t… he wouldn't do that again.

But it played in the back of her mind—turned her stomach.

It scared her, but… she didn't care because it doesn't matter what happens to her, really. She doesn't have a family, or many friends. Her life… it’s going nowhere. 

What did she have to live for? What if not for the feeling of being held? That felt like something worth living for.

Something worth dying for.

She didn't possess such hubris to deny the inevitability of her kismet.

Death and abandonment were all her cards read. That, or she’d spend the rest of her sorry life working for pennies, living in her musty basement flat, stealing, and getting fucked up. 

She'd probably end up in prison eventually—it astonished her that it hadn't happened yet.

It was inimitable—the way she’d felt in his arms. Not even Jenevelle could make her feel this way. Not ever.

But… she didn't want to kill. Was it not against everything she'd been working so hard to become?

…

But as Astarion said: Mr Szarr owns slaves—kills multiple people a week, himself. Wouldn't it be better to kill him than not? Wouldn't it actually save people? 

—Isn't that justice?

Calling the cops wouldn't work, Astarion was adamant in that—Mr Szarr had been paying them off for decades.

“He must die,” Astarion expressed, as his eyes conveyed a newly surmounted level of intensity. 

This was all too much to process in a single day… especially after they…

That was unexpected.

Maybe it was selfish, or maybe it was self-destructive—hard to tell which.

Was it okay? Her mind raced. He made her feel so… good. But she somehow felt… ugly—ugly on the inside. 

She saw a grotesque, grey pile of sludge, tar, and sticks staring back at her in the mirror of her mind's eye.

That made her feel ugly on the outside, too.

Really, even if Astarion was doing this all as a ruse to lure her and sacrifice her again, she would deserve an end like that.

Dying sounded peaceful.

—Anyways…

She didn't want to think about it—it didn't matter. 

Nothing matters. 

—But other people matter. And keeping them safe.

… But not her.

—Ugh.

Her self-loathing was draining.

When Astarion told her that he was a vampire, she considered whether or not she should believe him. The internet said that vampires aren't real, but she called Jen, and Jen said that she thinks they're real.

Jen not only said that she thinks vampires are real, but also that her family are descendants of lycanthropes. 

It all seemed a bit “woo woo”, but Astarion took a picture of Ronnie's neck with her phone, and showed her the bite marks. 

Then she noticed the blood on his lips.

And it was hot.

It made sense. She’d never seen him in the daytime, his skin was always cool, and his eyes… she had originally thought they were a deep hazel, never having seen him in daylight, but they were red.

So either he was a vampire or she was the most gullible girl in the world.

She was supposed to meet him at one of their designated meeting spots soon.

He texted her earlier. It said: “23-green”, which meant that they would meet at the park near her house at eleven PM.

If he told her to meet her somewhere, she would. 

She realised that about herself.

…

Her own thoughts and feelings were discordant—they were sickeningly overwhelming. 

—It might be a good time to take those anti-anxiety meds.

Ronnie pushed herself upright, her slippers grazing the floor as she moved. Passing by the wall where her bag hung, she idly toyed with her balisong. With a practised flick, she snapped the knife shut and fastened it. The bag came off its hook, the blade slipping inside with a muted thud.

Settling onto the sofa, she leaned into the cushions and began rummaging through her bag. Her fingers sifted through the contents, searching for the medication Astarion had given her too much of that first night.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, shamefully navigating through her crumpled receipts and loose peanuts that littered the bottom of her bag.

Finally acquiring the small orange pill bottle, she read the label for the first time ever. It said: “LORAZEPAM 0.5MG SL—Dissolve 1 tablet under the tongue when needed.”

—Huh…

—Only one…

One to curb the anxiety and five to be completely incapacitated. 

—How many should I take this time?

The bottle rattled as she poured the pills into her hand. They were tiny blue things, with an “A” on one side and “0.5” on the other. It was hard for Ronnie to believe that such a small thing could do so much.

—Maybe just one, she decided.

So she let the spare pills fall back into the bottle and inserted one under her tongue. She closed the bottle with a strong palm, and put it back in her purse.

The flavour this time was almost… sweet—notably less bitter than the last time.

—Good.

She liked the feeling of something so powerful, right beneath her tongue. As if she were changing the will of the gods.

The park was a five-minute walk—she had to leave soon. 

꧁꧂

She left early.

She would not be late this time.

Wearing a long, dark-grey peacoat that billowed open as she moved, she locked her door and ascended the stairs of her building's corridor towards the heavy, metal exit.

She pushed it open with some effort, letting it slam shut behind her, and took long strides between the parked vehicles, crossing the empty street as it glistened with the remnants of a previous storm. The air was thick with the earthy scent of rain-soaked pavement and the subtle hint of ozone, lingering in the tiniest, invisible beads that stuck to her skin.

“Ronnie?” called a rich voice from behind her.

She froze, halfway across the black, rain-slicked street, a smile spreading across her face...

—Astarion.

Stopped in her tracks, she slowly spun on her heels, her eyes locking onto his. She tried to maintain a straight face, but the corner of her lip quirked up, betraying her attempted composure.

He was leaning against her building with his hands in his pockets, smiling with a slight furrow in his brow. He wore a white button-up dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up above his elbows and black formal trousers.

She took a deep breath. “I thought you wanted to meet me at the park?”

With a fist to his mouth, he cleared his throat, his cool demeanour faltering. “Well… I thought it might be safer if I walked you there.”

When he said that, it felt the same as when he had asked Ronnie, “How are you?”—as if it was his first time ever saying it.

“Right,�� Ronnie said, stepping off the street and walking towards him.

She watched her own step up onto the curb, but was stopped by his gesture.

He offered his arm… again.

Her eyes flitted from his arm to his eyes, as if she didn't know what was happening. But she did—she knew he wanted her to take his arm.

And she loved it.

But she couldn't show him just how much she loved it.

He nudged his arm towards her. “Still playing coy, Ronnie?” he smirked.

She loved the way he said her name.

Gritting her teeth, she begrudgingly took his arm. “No.”

She tugged him, and they started walking across the street together.

And she realised that she had walked to him.

—Desperate.

—Fuck.

She was practically dragging him across the street—leading the way—but she forced herself to settle down when they reached the other side, loosening her grip around the back of his elbow and slowing to a more suitable pace.

She glanced up at him, and he had that stupid smile on his face. Again.

“Having fun, are we?” he asked.

“I just wanted to get across the street, and you were too slow,” she said, huffing and looking at the ground ahead as they approached a cobblestone alleyway.

“Oh, yes. Thank you kindly for saving me—your little damsel in distress. What would I do without you?” He laughed.

Ronnie clenched her fists. He was so… annoying.

—Ugh.

She wanted to rip away from him and walk ahead—to make him follow her the rest of the way. But she stayed. And they walked onwards through the dingy alleyway, past a smelly dumpster towards the street over.

Ronnie held her breath until they were far enough from the dumpster. When she finally breathed again, she tried to do so slowly—undramatically.

“So…” she began, gearing up for her question, “How are you able to come and see me if your boss’s rules are so… strict?”

Astarion sighed, pausing for a moment. “My siblings are able to pick up my slack for… this… cause,” he explained.

Ronnie felt the familiar pang of guilt in her stomach. “And by that, you mean they’re… bringing victims to Mr Szarr for you?”

“Instead of me,” he spat. “It's not as if I want him to have any more victims.” His face twisted in misplaced anger.

Ronnie had assumed what his job entailed before, but every time she thought about it, it stirred something pained and uncomfortable within her, almost like the smell of the dumpster. She didn’t want to think about it.

—But maybe talking about it would help.

She pressed more, “Dalyria… is she… having sex with people to lure them like how you did with me?” Ronnie asked.

Astarion stopped on the sidewalk, and, consequently, Ronnie did too.

He walked in front of her, gripping both of her arms at her sides.

She looked up at him, witnessing the subtle intensity in his brow.

“I’m. Sorry.”

Again, he said something as if it was his first time uttering the phrase.

Ronnie tensed her shoulders closer to her ears. He looked… scared.

His grip loosened, and his thumbs rubbed along the front of her arms. He was clearly attempting to soothe her, but it was like he’d forgotten how. He’d been caring and affectionate after their couplings, but outside of that, he was a bit… awkward—like he was trying his very best to keep something contained.

Ronnie wondered what that was.

“Hey—it’s okay.” She bit her lip.

“It was my job to bring you to him,” his words echoed in her memory. “Nobody has ever bested him like that.”

“I—I want to help you.” The words leaked from her. She didn’t know why.

“Just—” don’t leave me when this is all over, she wanted to say but didn’t. Couldn’t.

He wouldn’t lure her there again.

—He doesn’t even want to be there. Ever again.

Closing his eyes, he huffed out an exhale through his nose. He held his arm out for Ronnie again, looking ahead—away from her.

She squeezed and unsqueezed her hands a few times, noticing they were suddenly clammy. Hooking onto his arm, she followed his lead to the park.

꧁꧂

The swings creaked in the cool breeze, their metallic squeaks echoing in the still night. The grass and rocks around the playground glistened with moisture, dark and wet from the earlier rain. Beyond the playground, a dense treeline marked the beginning of a small patch of woods. The sky remained overcast, the stars obscured by clouds.

They walked across the damp ground and paused before the playground, standing side-by-side, the night air filled with the scent of wet earth and foliage.

“So… why did you want to bring me here?” Ronnie asked, her voice tense. She held her breath, pressing her tongue against the roof of her mouth in a nervous habit.

“The trees,” Astarion replied, “they make for accessible targets to practice on.” He released her arm and looked down at her. “Did you bring it?”

He hadn’t even asked her to bring it, but—of course—she did. Just more evidence of how embarrassingly obsessed she was with him. And he’d surely pick up on it.

She exhaled sharply. “Yeah, I have it.” Reaching into her bag reluctantly, she grasped the cold metal of the balisong and pulled it out, feeling its familiar weight in her hand.

She wanted to show him what she could do.

“Perfect. Can I see it for a moment?” he asked, extending his hand.

With a hint of reluctance, she placed the weapon in his hand, not saying a word.

While it remained closed, he tossed it a few inches into the air, catching it with ease as if gauging its weight. “Here—come,” he said, gesturing to the trees and beginning to walk towards them.

She hugged herself, though she wasn’t cold.

Following in his footsteps, she did as he asked.

She wanted her knife back.

When they reached the trees, he glanced back to ensure she was watching. Unclipping the balisong, he unfolded it and snapped it open with practised ease.

This time, when he tossed the knife, he threw it higher. It spun in the air before he caught it effortlessly by the hilt.

—I could do that.

He flung it at a tree, it spun on axis and it hit with a satisfying thunk, embedding itself into the wood.

—The poor tree.

“Want to try?” he asked, walking over to pull the knife out.

Easing the balisong free with a careful, vertical wiggle, he inspected the blade for damage.

Seemingly satisfied, he took steps toward her and offered her the blade on his open palm, like he was offering a treat to a bad dog.

Ronnie removed her hands from under her arms and took her balisong back, avoiding his gaze as she dropped her bag on the ground against a nearby tree.

Taking a few steps back from where he'd thrown it, she tossed the knife in the air just as he had, catching it by the hilt.

She hadn’t tried this before, but it felt as natural as breathing. She wasn't scared.

She glanced at him and saw him grinning, arms crossed.

He was looking at her like that again.

Eyes snapping back to the tree in embarrassment, she blushed unbiddenly and steadied herself on her two feet, a bend in her knee.

Inhaling slowly through her mouth, she held her breath.

Exhaling, she flung the balisong… 

And it stuck in the exact spot he'd hit.

And she wasn't scared.

Straightening up, she turned her head to him to gauge his reaction.

His eyes widened, and his arms uncrossed as he stared at the tree. He looked back at Ronnie, cleared his throat into his fist, and painted on a smile—placing his knuckles on his hips. “You've been practising?” he laughed facetiously.

Ronnie made way to the blade-struck tree, freeing it from its peril, just as Astarion had previously. She, too, inspected the blade's tip for any damage, and she was grateful that it remained just as flawless as it'd been before.

“No, I… I just know how to do it.” Ronnie forced a smile. “Retrograde amnesia. Sometimes people forget everything from their past, but retain—uh,” she paused, swinging awkwardly, “certain skills or talents like… playing the piano. And other things, apparently.” Despite her stiff demeanour, her hands shook as she undid the handle and clipped the blade closed. She stared at the balisong in her hand. “Thanks for this, by the way. It was… actually really thoughtful,” she said, holding it tightly. Her eyes flicked back to Astarion, and her lips formed a tight line.

Meeting Astarion was one of the keys to uncovering her past.

She couldn't hide from it anymore—not when it was staring at her like this.

She'd hoped that her paroxysms were only ever a consequence of her “brain injury,” but the knife…

The knife—it changed things.

The knife meant that she'd always been this way, or something like that.

Fresh out of the hospital, she only had a few large scars. Now, she was swarmed with them.

How many people had she killed? How in the hells did she know how to wield this weapon so well?

Were there any other skills she possessed but didn't know about?

She sank to her knees on the pine-needle-covered dirt ground to place her balisong back in her bag. She pushed her palm into the earth and felt the thump of the weapon as it fell to the bottom. She grabbed at the dirt, letting the pine needles poke between her fingers. It felt good.

The wind blew through the trees, shaking raindrops from their branches, and she didn't feel anything except sick.

She heard Astarion crouch beside her.

“Ronnie?”

She wondered if that was her name before.

He brushed her hair behind her ear, and when she looked at him, her vision was blurred by tears.

Her chin was seized by a gentle grip between his thumb and finger.

And she felt the nausea fade away a little bit.

She closed her eyes.

She could stay there forever.

Until she died.

But she felt his breath on her lips, and then his lips.

And they were so soft.

She didn't want to open her eyes. She didn't want him to go. He made her feel better. He made her feel normal.

Tilting her head, she nudged closer into him, deepening the kiss. 

He let go of her chin and slid his hand under her peacoat, to her back, grasping at the fabric of her shirt like he'd fall right off the earth if he didn't.

She could do anything with her hands, so she chose to hold his head, carding her fingers through his hair on both sides with a thumb in front of either ear.

She breathed through her nose as he pulled at her shirt, lowering her and kissing her into the dirt, his hand flattening under the weight of her ribcage.

Her arms flopped around the back of his neck as he unslotted his hand from her back only to hold her waist while his elbow dug into the dirt beside her. 

He was between her legs, and she wrapped herself around him. It was like nothing else. Nothing had ever made her feel so… safe.

She felt safe like this.

With him.

She broke their kiss. And breathed. And opened her eyes. 

And he was there… 

looking at her.

He was so beautiful.

“Astarion,” she whispered, “thank you.”

His brow tensed again.

—Was he afraid for the same reason?

He tucked his face between her head and shoulder, and she held him tighter.

Allowing himself to collapse onto her, she felt his nose nudge her neck.

He was hungry.

And if she could give him a semblance of what he'd give her, she'd do it. 

“You can drink from me again, Astarion.”

Groaning, he pushed his hips into her core. 

And she held him so close.

“I can't.” he rasped.

Ronnie closed her eyes. “Because of—” Mr Szarr? she held her tongue.

He didn't say anything, he just rocked into her, and she could feel his hardness straining against his trousers as he hid away in the crook of her neck.

“Astarion.”

“I love it when you say my name, Ronnie.”

—How is this real right now?

She released one arm from around him to rummage through her purse beside her, her fingers tangling in the hair at his nape as she watched him.

When she found her balisong, her fingers curled around it. “Can you sit up?”

He nodded, pushing himself up and back to sit on his heels, her legs draped over his thighs.

Ronnie pulled the blade from her bag and placed it down in the dirt to shrug off her coat. The fabric slipped from her shoulders and onto the ground behind her.

His hands slid up her thighs, fingers tracing the skin beneath the hem of her loose t-shirt, lingering at the elastic waistband of her leggings.

It was very distracting.

She laid back on her coat and picked up her balisong, unclipping it, opening it, and admiring the detailed engravings on the blade.

It was really her, and that didn't make sense.

She held the blade to her scarred wrist, swiftly slicing a small line close to her hand. Blood immediately began to bead on the surface of her skin.

His expression shifted as he eyed the bleeding cut, restrained and hungry, like when she had bitten her lip. He watched the small droplet raptly as it journeyed over and around the other scars on her arm, trailing downwards towards her elbow.

“For you,” Ronnie whispered, “please.” She held up her wrist, offering herself to him.

He looked at her, seeking reassurance. She nodded, eyes steady, urging him on.

His gaze dropped back to her wrist as he took it in his hand, his thumb pressing into her palm. Their eyes locked as he leaned closer, propping himself up with one hand in the dirt.

She let him take his time, shivering as he kissed the backs of her fingers first.

This made her blood flutter in her veins.

She didn't know what this was—it felt like falling, but it was good, better than any drug she'd ever done.

He closed his eyes, turning her wrist along with his head, placing the flat of his tongue on the tiny trailing droplet. He closed his eyes so tight, as if savouring the taste.

She was entranced, watching him work his way up her arm.

The way he looked—she wanted to taste him, too.

The trees creaked and swayed, moonlight speckling through his curls.

He finally reached her wound, wrapping his lips around it. His groan of pleasure resonated through her.

It tickled, sending shivers down her spine.

She felt his tongue roll on her skin, and his hips roll into her.

He pressed his tongue onto her skin one last time before pulling away, leaving nothing left but the scratch she'd made.

She had stopped bleeding, but she knew it wasn’t enough.

He let go of her wrist, and she started to sit up. “Here,” she murmured, shimmying out from under him.

She stood, looked around, bent down, and grabbed her jacket. She flung it over her shoulder and laid it out beside a tree.

“You can sit with your back against this tree. What do you think?” she asked, her voice soft and inviting, hoping to make him feel comfortable.

He stood up and walked to her. “What have you got planned?” he asked, smiling.

“A treat,” she replied, smiling back and gesturing to the tree with both hands.

He looked at her sceptically but walked over and sat on her coat as she had asked.

Ronnie already started lowering herself to sit between his legs, her back pressed against his chest.

It was as if he suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands.

Ronnie leaned her head back on his shoulder, looking up at him. “I’m here.” She smiled, then looked away, pulling her hair to one side and exposing the bite marks from the night before. “Please—just try.”

She tilted her head for him and closed her eyes.

His arms found their way around her torso, holding her arms to her ribcage.

His breath was shaky, each inhalation expanding his chest against her back. His exhalations blew cool puffs of air against her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

She could feel his hesitation in the way he gripped her, his fingers tracing the marred skin on her arms as if unsure where to rest. The closeness of their bodies made her hyper-aware of every sensation—the lifelessness of his breath, the steady thrum of his strange heartbeat against her spine, the way his chest rose and fell.

“Please,” she whispered, “I trust you.”

His lips brushed against the tender skin of her neck, and she felt a wave of heat wash over her. The anticipation, the tension—it was intoxicating.

He hesitated for a moment longer before pressing his lips to her neck, his mouth lingering over the bite marks from the night before. She gasped softly, feeling a mix of pain and pleasure as his teeth grazed her skin.

His grip tightened around her, his hands finally finding their place as they held her closer. Each breath—each touch—was electric, sending jolts of desire through her.

“Your heart’s not racing, Ronnie. Why not?” he murmured.

—The medication.

“I took one of those little blue pills before we came here,” she said.

“You were scared?” he asked.

“I was… stressed. Just—thinking too much,” 

“About us?”

—Us?

Her cheeks bloomed with blood, the warmth spreading across her face.

“That’s better—quicker,” he noted, his breath cool against her neck.

“Do you like it better like that?” she asked, her voice breathy and trembling.

He pressed his lips to her throat. “It drives me crazy,” he whispered, grazing his fangs along her pulse point. He squeezed her arms, his grip possessive. “Stay very still, darling,” he cooed.

When he sank his fangs into her neck, she winced quietly at first as he held her taut against him.

Winced—at the pain, but it faded into a numb drumming.

It felt like everything.

He groaned again, his breath tickling her throat as he exhaled through his nose.

She tried to stay still, to keep breathing steadily—she wanted to make this easy for him.

His fingertips pulled at the skin on her arms, and she felt him take his first gulp.

She could feel him growing needy—the outline of him, against her back—and she couldn't blame him because she was feeling needy herself, with the way he held her like a vice.

Small grunts of pleasure escaped his chest as he imbibed. The more he drank, the less frantic his grip became, his hands travelling across her torso—one hand searched under her shirt, and the other ventured past her navel, slipping below her waistband.

He moved slowly and carefully, his cool fingers applying pressure to her skin on their journeys. It made it difficult for Ronnie to stay still.

She could feel her heart beating faster than before, each thump echoing in her ears. She wondered if that was why he was teasing her.

The sensation of his touch, the way he drank from her… it was stupefying, overwhelming her senses. His hands explored her body with deliberate slowness, igniting a cascade of sensations that rippled through her most sacred spots.

His one hand moved upwards, under her shirt until he was pulling down her bralette, making her breast fall out. Ronnie gasped—every way he touched her left sparks on her skin. 

He grabbed her mound, and she bit her inner lip, trying not to move or gasp like before—she had to remember to breathe.

But once he had a hold of her breast, his other hand journeyed lower—under her leggings. She parted her legs for him, and when his fingers slotted between her folds, her entire body tensed—his touch was still initially electric on her starved skin.

When he felt how wet she was, he moaned deeply into her claimed neck, and that incited her unbidden squirming further.

He moved through her folds under her tight pants, and dipped two fingers into her, palming her clit. He held her like that—close to him as he hooked into her cunt and latched onto her neck like a feral animal.

She didn't dare move—she needed him to feel comfortable.

But the longer they stayed like that, the more her stomach fluttered and her cheeks burned. She hummed a small moan—she couldn't stop it this time, but he groaned his approval at her noise, rewarding her with a wiggle of his fingers inside of her and a thumb across her nipple, which only made her moan more.

He kept going like that, and her breathing picked up—she didn't know how he expected her to stay still like this. It was torture, truly. Maybe he was evil, after all. 

He pressed his pelvis into her back—it was clear that he was hard.

Something felt different this time—like more than just sex. She thought of his mind and where it might be at, or if he felt the same way at all.

She hopes.

She thinks he does. 

He sometimes held her like this—like he was afraid of losing her. She knew she felt like that—afraid of losing him. Afraid that he'd disappear and she'd be alone again. Alone, and messy, and fucked up.

But she felt okay like this. To feel okay was an anomaly—it never happened, not really.

Not for people like her.

There was always a shadow, following her everywhere she went, casting over everything she did, like a tall building that blocked the sun and consequently stopped the flowers from blooming there.

She felt like her flowers were blooming with him.

And it was stupid.

She was stupid.

But maybe it was okay…

She felt okay.

A soft sigh escaped her as she felt the bristling trees shake themselves dry—a drop, landing on her cheek.

And she realised that things inside her were fading away—all the worst parts being washed off and leaving her pure and… free.

And he was still there…

Pulling his fangs out with a pop and pressing his lips on the wounds he made—like an apology.

He pulled his fingers out, and took his hand out of her shirt just to… hug her. He wrapped his arms around her like before, but much softer this time—like he was okay too.

Ronnie rested on him, and they stayed there, breathing together like they had all the time in the world, or like that was enough.

The clouds were all gone, and the summer air was heavy and humid, leaving a thin layer of it on their stacked bodies. 

If they were out of the city, they might have been able to see the stars, or lay in some tall grass and pick out the constellations.

She shut her eyes, and let her breaths come and go with his now-warmer arms around her.

“Thank you, too,” he murmured.

She looked up at him, and he was looking down at her. His brow was scrunched like he was afraid, again.

Ronnie turned and placed her hand on his chest. And she kissed him, like how he did for her. 

A kiss meant “I'm here”.

She broke the kiss, and gazed down to where her wrist met his chest. For some reason, looking into his eyes felt like too much—as if it made a time bomb start ticking and the only way to stop it was to look away.

She gave his shirt an affectionate scrunch before turning away again. 

They could still see the park through the trees, completely desolate except for the occasional squeak of the swings in the warm breeze. Everything was so dark and quiet—safe.

Ronnie imagined the sounds of people—children playing on the slides, parents chatting at the picnic tables. It hit her that she had never actually been to this park before. She lived so close, yet had only ever walked by.

“How do you feel?” Astarion asked from behind her.

She laughed softly. “Me? Just thinking about this park, wondering if it's always this quiet at night.” She laid her head back on his shoulder.

“Hmm… I suspect we just got lucky.”

Just then, a group of teenagers approached the park, smelling of spliff, laughing and hushing one another.

“Well now. Fun's over,” Astarion said.

Ronnie hung her head, sighed and then came onto her hands and knees to push herself up. She stretched her arms far above her head and then adjusted her bralette so it lay properly. 

With her sneakered feet standing on her coat, she turned and offered a hand to Astarion to help him up.

He stared at her hand for a moment, then took it and pushed himself up.

Every spot his body had touched her lingered. 

They began to walk away, leaving the quiet park and its fleeting serenity behind.

꧁꧂

“Do you remember being a teenager?” Ronnie asked as she walked beside Astarion down the sidewalk, her hands tucked into her peacoat pockets. It was easier that way.

“I—er—honestly, no,” he replied, his hands in his pockets as well.

Maybe he had the same idea.

“I can't remember much of my past—centuries of torment will do that to you.”

“Centuries?” Ronnie didn't know why, but she’d assumed he was younger.

“Two hundred years—give or take a few.”

“So you were here through it all. World War One? And Two?”

“Oh, yes. Work didn't stop for Mr Szarr’s spawn, either. We still had to bring…” His face twisted in disgust. “...bodies back to him.” He smiled sarcastically, turning his head to face Ronnie as they walked. “It's much easier—so to speak—to kill horrid people.” His head turned to watch the pavement in front of him. “People who the world would be better off without. By nature, my sisters are better at luring those… rotters.”

Was that what she was? A rotter?

“Here we are,” he said as they stopped on the sidewalk, between his Hummer and her building's door. “Suppose this is where we part ways.”

The aura between them was thick and heavy.

“Right.” She nodded curtly.

She stood stiffly for a moment, staring at the ground and clenching her clammy fists.

Turning to face the door, she dug in her purse for her keys, but she wasn’t ready to leave yet.

She wanted to stay with him. They still had so much time before sunrise. Still, it didn't feel right for her to pursue this; even if she could be restrained in private, it didn't change her fate.

She felt the balisong in her purse.

She began to turn to thank him again.

But he was already so close—right there.

And then he was on her—on her lips, on her everywhere.

He stole her breath with a hand through her peacoat and under her shirt, splayed out on the small of her back. His other hand carded through her hair, holding her head at the right angle.

Her own hands found purchase anywhere they could on his body with how fervently he kissed. 

His splayed hand changed its goal, as he pulled at the front of her leggings' waistband, causing her to lose footing.

Her body moved instinctively, tugging at his dress shirt to untuck it at the front and undo his leather belt.

But he grabbed her wrist to stop her. And he withdrew from their kiss.

She thought she ruined it—grossed him out, or made him uncomfortable with her eagerness.

But when he said, “My car or your flat?” she thought she might fly out of her body.

“Car,” she said.

Her whole body was becoming all too hot under her peacoat as he pulled her towards the large vehicle by her wrist. He reached into his pocket, grabbed the fob, unlocked the doors, and swung one open.

The vehicle's doors were high, and the fob was tossed somewhere on the floor inside.

With his hands around her ribs, he lifted her like a ballerina into the backseat, and she watched him crawl in gracelessly as she backed away on all fours.

Once he was in, he closed the door and pressed a button to lock it.

Every window was tinted, including the windshield—making things private but not too secluded.

Astarion sat on one heel, with his other leg off the seat, and started unlacing her sneaker.

He removed it quickly, his brow knitted in focus. The other one came off with the same level of ease.

Both sneakers were tossed on the ground and he hastily slotted his fingers under her leggings, pulling them down along with her knickers and socks in one go. The rush to undress filled the vehicle with the constant rustle of fabric.

Ronnie shimmied to sit on her bum and then shook her coat and bag off before lifting off her t-shirt and then her bralette.

Everything was happening non-stop without any time to breathe between beats.

By the time all of her clothes were off, Astarion had already thrown his own shirt on the front seat, slid off his shoes, and he'd begun to unbuckle his belt.

Ronnie thought he was the hottest person she'd ever seen, with his abs wrinkled as he slouched to view his buckle.

He focused on unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers, and he stood with one knee on the seat and his foot on the ground as he used his thumbs to pull his formal trousers below his hip bones.

He stood, crouching under the Hummer roof to get the rest of his trousers off—his socks following immediately after.

He was completely naked and his cock was already hard. 

Ronnie lay back on her coat—as she had earlier that night—and parted her knees for him as he stroked himself impatiently. She was already soaking from their mischief in the trees.

He brought two fingers through her folds, slipping them inside and feeling her out for good measure. When he pulled them out, he grabbed the back of her thigh, pushing it back before lining himself up with her seam, fisting his swollen length with urgency.

Once he had the tip in, he let go of his hardness and grabbed at Ronnie’s hips to twirl himself inwards, slowly. 

The stretch felt lurid, and she pulsed around him as he worked his way to her cervix. It didn't take much effort for him to do so, and she knew it wouldn't take much effort for her to cum, either.

“Fuck, Ronnie. You're so tight and warm around me,” he cursed, pulling out almost completely before snapping back in. “And I can almost fit all the way inside of you.”

He began his motions, ebbing and flowing into her.

The inside of her coat was silky—it reminded her of a plush and expensive blanket. She felt like a princess as she jostled on it.

His thumb was already toying with her clit, and the rolls of his hips were sultry and languid—almost matching the rhythm of his thumb.

The car was probably rocking, and the windows were becoming steamy like the lid of a pot of boiling water.

He was gorgeous—his mouth hung open, exposing his fangs as his eyes lay fixed on Ronnie's body; looking from her bouncing tits to their lower entanglement. 

And then finally: her face—her eyes. 

They hadn't truly looked at one another since their coupling in the trees. It stirred something inside her—both her chest and stomach tightened and tingled, as if birds were trying to fly out of her body like it was a cage.

She didn't want to look away, but the gaze between them was no longer playful—there was something behind his eyes that synchronised with her own.

And it was terrifying.

She didn’t deserve this.

She didn't deserve any of this.

Yet he was so good to her.

It felt wrong to question what they meant to one another, but she knew he made her feel a psychotic level of yearning that was a constant effort to quell or quench. It went beyond just the physicality of it all—beyond their ready bodies that so clearly wanted each other.

And she was fitted around him like his formal wear always was. He wasn't even going fast when she came—breathing heavily as her whole body lit up with surges of ecstasy. She had to grab onto the seat to ground herself, scratching at the leather fabric with her short nails.

He rasped a lengthy “Oh” when she fluttered around him. 

Gods, he was so hot.

He kept going as she rode out the tail end of her orgasm, removing his thumb at just the right time—before he started rutting much faster… and harder.

Ronnie's body was tired and limp from her climax, and he looked her over with smouldering eyes. 

Her arms had fallen so that her hands rested lazily on her torso.

He got her body moving almost like liquid—that made it clear he wasn't done with her yet.

The sounds they made were sloppy and uninhibited—Ronnie's coat would surely be a mess by the end of this. It probably already was.

She could feel each push and pull of his hips everywhere inside her, pervasive like dry red wine on her tongue.

With tepid hands, he pushed her knees towards her shoulders by grabbing the backs of her thighs, leaning into her closely—the herbaceous scent of his cologne whelming her.

He drew out his motion. “There we go—all the way in, now,” he cooed, a thrust breaking his sentence.

Once he settled into a rhythm, his movements intensified, growing more vehement and purposeful.

She wanted to hold him. She could hold him. Again.

So she wrapped her forearms around the back of his neck, his skin sticky and glistening as she urged him towards her for a kiss.  He complied, their lips meeting in a messy, fervent lock; all while his hips were relentless.

She could still taste her ichor on him, and smell it lacing his minty breath as their lips, teeth, and tongues fumbled against one another.

When he was done with her lips, he tucked his damp head between her neck and shoulder—the undertones of his scent always perforated her the most when he did that.

He was warmer than she'd ever felt him before, but still cooler than her. Despite his coolness, he still sweated, and he somehow made that look beautiful, too. It was unfair.

She uncrossed her hands and grabbed his shoulders, beginning to slide her fingers down his back. But she felt ridges on his skin—they felt like her scars.

They were scars.

In one swift movement, he pulled away from her, grabbing one of her wrists a bit too tightly at first. 

Her heart skipped at the suddenness, breath catching in her throat and expanding the top of her chest, causing her shoulders to near her ears.

His eyes were wide, almost panicked, his hold firm as if anchoring himself to reality.

Ronnie subconsciously mirrored his expressions as he went. She just knew she did something wrong.

In the subtle intensity of his eyes and brow, Ronnie sensed that fear again.

It was a fleeting expression, but he mustn't have wanted her to feel what she'd felt on his back—his own scars.

His eyes darted away—he wasn't looking at her, but rather somewhere irrelevant as he held her wrist; half zoned out or something.

His pace became offbeat, like he didn't want to be doing this with Ronnie anymore.

She didn't want it if he didn't want it, but that wouldn't change the way she'd never forgive herself for screwing everything up.

It was always too good to be true, anyways. 

“Astarion—” she began, her voice trembling with uncertainty. She didn't want to make things worse by saying the wrong thing.

Now, she was scared.

His eyes snapped to her, intense and searching. He took a deep breath, eyes closing as his thumb traced a comforting path along her wrist before letting her go. “I—” he began, but his words faltered.

And he was still fucking her, each thrust a contradiction—steady, but full of tension. Every motion was a blend of need and hesitation, making it difficult for Ronnie to track his aura.

But her body felt so right—she still couldn’t help but lose her breath each time he went into her again. However, she could almost see the cogs turning in Astarion’s mind, like conflict was carved into every movement.

She remained silent—like no words available to her could bridge the gap. Surely, nothing she could think to say would fix what felt broken between them.

It felt like everything they'd been building together was crashing down in an instant—her hands as the wrecking-ball. All she could do was lay there and take it.

Her heart hammered in the silence—

—Why hasn't he stopped yet?

She kept herself still, her hands withdrawn—since they were the grubby creatures that fucked things up in the first place. 

She fucked things up.

The silence was heavy, punctuated only by their breaths—primarily Ronnie’s—and the lewd, wet sounds of their bodies moving together. His hands anchored him to her, thumbs skimming soothingly over her pelvis—steady, grounding. Like a wordless promise that he was alright. 

Or nearly there.

Then, a small, stuttered whine escaped him as he rocked forward, raw and unfiltered. His eyes opened, sliding slowly from where they were joined.

Up…

Up…

Up her body, until they fixed on her neck, lingering there.

Although discomforting, it made sense. Her neck was a safe spot—far from the intimacy of her eyes, where every glance felt too close, too revealing. It was a place he could focus on, even if her clothes were still on. A place where the only scars were the ones he’d left behind, not the others that marred her skin.

The ones she wished she could erase.

She would rip herself out of her own skin if she could… 

If she could have a pretty body.

But something clicked in him when his gaze met hers.

His movements grew faster and his presence hastily morphed into something needy and desperate.

He leaned in and parted her mouth with a gentle press of his thumb, tasting herself on his skin. He pressed her tongue down, eyes locked on her lips. 

She could feel every ridge of his thumbprint as he drew a line, slipping it in further.  She tried to relax, but her tongue betrayed her, flexing beneath the weight of his touch.

He didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he seemed entranced, his thumb pushing against her bottom teeth, inching toward the back of her throat. She felt like a dog being trained—told not to bite, not to act, just to receive. The thought of scaring him away kept her still, though every fibre of her being ached to respond, to give in fully.

On her taste buds, he moved left and right, like he always did when trying to soothe her, his flavour a familiar metallic tang—iron, life, her remnants.

The darkness around them was absolute—an endless void that swallowed everything. But him—he was clear, vivid, a beacon in the dark. It was her blood that reddened his cheeks, a vivid flush that belonged there, like ink sinking into the coarse fibres of parchment.

He could have it. He needed it more than she did, anyway.

If only he knew she'd give it all, would he take it?

He slid further in, pushing to the back of her tongue until his palm rested against her bottom teeth. She struggled not to gag, but he brushed so deeply into her throat that she couldn’t help it. The reflex came, and with it, watery eyes and a hope that he liked this evidence of his effect on her.

His eyes darkened, filled with a focused intensity, as if he were a schoolboy holding a magnifying glass to an anthill, watching her reactions with a mix of curiosity and control.

Retracting his thumb, he used her saliva to trace a slow, deliberate circle around her plump, swollen lips, painting them like a canvas.

Like he needed it.

Ronnie thought she might just die from that—right then and there. The way he looked at her—treated her—like she was the most precious thing in the world… like a shiny diamond ring, gleaming in the dark.

He slid his thumb in again, and she looked up at him, wanting him to proceed as he focused on playing with her mouth.  He parted her mouth wider this time, pulling her jaw down with the firm pressure of his hand beneath her chin. His face inched closer, the air between them charged with the electric hum of anticipation.

And then he kissed her.

He drank her in with a ravenous intensity, his fingers threading through her hair, while the moist imprint of his thumb caressed her cheek with a tenderness that belied the ferocity of his kiss.

Their teeth clashed, breaths mingling as they devoured each other in a frantic, primal exchange. He caught her lower lip with his fang, the sharp edge breaking the skin just enough to draw a bead of blood.

And he sucked on it and growled like a feral and possessive creature. But even as he overtook her, his fingers remained gentle, coaxing, subjugating her with the lightest touch.

And the sounds that rattled out of him were visceral and untamed.

“You make such a mess of me, Ronnie. You—” His voice broke off in a hiss—he was so close.

He parted his glistening torso from hers, reaching down to circle her bud. 

His gaze into her pupils was commanding, a silent order that left no room for hesitation, pulling Ronnie into his desire.

He was… so intoxicatingly beautiful. 

Her body was feeling so much for him.

Too much.

She had to look away.

“Eyes up here, darling,”

And then she was climbing into oblivion as soon as she looked back. 

His crimson gaze… it was like a ship aflame, drifting in the middle of a dark lake.

His hand synchronised with his hips. And with that, he brought her through that burning ship.

Through oblivion.

And he was doing it, too. He was there. With her. Swimming through the heat and darkness.

And then floating down. 

Descending onto Ronnie, and becoming a tangled mix of sweaty limbs—his weight on hers like hydrostatic pressure; it was pervading.

He was in her in so many ways, it felt surreal. 

Like possession. 

He came into her like an omen, and kissed the breath out of her lungs—kissed her face from cheek to cheek. And from cheek to neck.

It felt like worship. He was worshipping her in the back of a fucking Hummer.

She let her hands drape lazily above her head.

His hips pulled from hers and she was left feeling messily revered as he poured out of her—a trail of him.

Their breathless forms, too apathetic to catch up just yet.

His arms hugged under her head, cherishing her and her neck—clearly a spot of interest.

She grinned sadly, her brows canting up. “I'll let you drink all of me one day, Astarion.”

It felt like the ultimate way to atone for what she'd done. Not only to him, but Alfira, and anyone else she'd hurt and forgotten about.

“Don't say that,” he said into her neck. “Then who will be there for me to practise sutures on?”

She didn't deserve this, but the urge to balance how much to truly show took over, causing her mind to revert and her shell to cover her once again.

Ronnie pouted. “Mean.”

Laughing, he sat up. “I mean it. That was fun—playing with my food.” He placed his hand flatly on her stomach, looking there while he stretched out his fingers. Sighing, his grin vanished.  “It's not something I've had the chance to do until—”

Ronnie watched the pain wash over him—twisting in his brow. 

If she could take it away—fold it up into a pill and drink it down until it swelled her brain and stopped her heart—she would.

“Let's get you cleaned up,” he said.

She should've said no—that she would take care of herself so he wouldn't have to deal with the hard parts—but something drove her to accept his offer.

Something selfish and impulsive and stupid.

He led her into her apartment with an arm around her back. Her clothes were slung over her bag strap and she folded her peacoat closed, walking down the corridor stairs, wearing her chucks undone.

Although it happened very fast, everything after that felt like slow-motion.

From her coat and bag dropping to the ground, to him tying her, to the bath they took where her ropes got all wet.

And she could finally see his back while they were in the lavatory… 

Someone had carved intricate rune-like patterns into him. Like a summoning circle, or something of that nature.

She didn't pry. She didn't stare. She just let everything soak into her pores—all the soaps that he scrubbed under her restraints… under candlelight.

Maybe she could wash him, too, one day.

He patted her down, as well as himself, and then changed her ropes with the help of the cuffs on the pole—all within their sanctuary of silence.

In the bed, after all was said and done, they shared her blanket.

Until she woke up to him untying her. And with a kiss to her brow, he was gone.

He always leaves.

It hurts.

꧁꧂

Her dream had been so peaceful, similar to the one she had at the pub. 

She'd been stoking the flames of a woodstove in a cottage she lived in, heating the home for the autumn. Out the window, the tall grass had turned beige, signifying the summer's end as it blew in waves with the breeze.

A kettle whistled on the stove for tea.

“Milady?”

She ended its whistling by opening its spout and removing it from the heat. Then, she poured the steamy water into a ceramic mug, its lip lined with gold.

The water glugged into the mug, turning red from the teabag that floated towards the top.

“Milady? A word, please?”

She grabbed a steel spoon, its handle engraved with a symmetrical floral pattern. The metal clinked against the ceramic as she plopped it in the water.

She turned to her green, vintage-style fridge and pulled out a glass bottle of soy-milk. Pouring it into her tea, she stirred it slowly until the liquid reached the gold.

“Milady!”

Ronnie felt a weak tug at her blankets, waking her from her slumber. 

She strained her sleepy eyes open, her heart racing as she craned her head forward to make out what was in front of her, coated by darkness.

Hastily propping herself on her palms, she flicked on her lamp with a shaky hand at the bulb’s base.

Before her, stood a small man-like creature, only his nose was bony and beak-like, his chin and ears were long and pointed, and his skin was grey—lifeless, like a corpse.

He wore a dated suit, and tophat, standing at Ronnie's bedside, near her feet with his lips stretched into a smile.

“Milady! A most joyous day it is, indeed. At long last, I have found you, oh depraved one!” said the creature, bowing. “Sceleritas Fel—your ever-faithful and adoring butler—at your service.”

꧁꧂

End notes: I hope you liked this chapter! Sorry if the Discord link expires. I believe it only lasts 7 days. :')

[forbiddenforestofdesire]

I commissioned a sketch of my OC, Sidwell McGucket from my fic all these evil things come from within

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49539601/chapters/125029834

credit goes to Salacious Ships or @salaciousshipping

Thank you so much for this piece!

This artist is amazing, please follow them on X/twitter at @Salaciousships

This is the scene is chapter 3 where Sid meets Ford and they spend the night under the stars right after Fiddleford's rehearsal dinner. I asked the artist to pick between this scene or the scene where Sid meets Stan "Andrew Alcatraz" at a bar for the first time and almost mistakes him for Ford! I think this works better as a cover for the work and reflects the overall themes of the story more. It's actually too cute, especially since I make the poor girl suffer so much in the story. I asked for Sid to wear her favorite Gunne Sax dress, even though Lee probably thinks they're overpriced and ugly. If you've read my fic, I hope it's nice to have some supplementary illustrations. I love this piece and I'm so happy with the final result

[theredofoctober]

Have you read my Tommy Shelby/Reader darkfic Five For Silver? I published it in 2022!

Synopsis: A young thief catches the eye of gangster Tommy Shelby, and they become entangled in a game only one of them will win

TW: noncon, violence, abuse

Read it on ao3 here

It's definitely one of my favourite stories I've written! Silver was like marmite for readers but for that reason she's one of my favourite inserts/OCs. Overall I really enjoyed this fic and will probably write a follow up eventually!

[vallcro]

Hi!! Tell us about your OCs? :>

YES YES I WILL !!

Tw/Cws: BullyxVictim Trope, SA, SH, Abusive Relationship, Abusive Parenting, CSA

Okay So My New OCs In Development Are Joey(Joseph) Wang And Tracy Weaver

Joey Fact: He Is Cisgender And The Embodiment Of Toxic Masculinity So He Goes By He/Him Prns He’s Also A Closeted In Denial Gay Dude Which Is Why He Targets Tracy For Being So Openly And Shamelessly Queer, Joseph “Tell Me Your Prns So I Can Bully You Correctly” Wang Except The Only Reason He Cares To Correctly Gender Tracy Is So He Doesn’t Get Painted As A Woman Beater, Homophobic “Physical Discipline” Defender Father Mixed With Boymom “My Little Boy Would Never” Mother Made This Dickbag, He Could Make A Long List Of Reasons Why He Bullies Tracy But One Of The Big Ones(Not Including The One Above) Is That Tracy Is Very Attractive And He’s Also Sadistic AF And Likes To See Tracy In Pain, He’s A SH’er But Only On The Inside Of His Upper Arms And Inner Thighs So It’s Easier To Hide

Tracy Facts: He Is Transgender And His Sexuality Is Unlabeled His Prns Are He/They With A Pref For He/Him, He Is A Big Pushover With Terrible Self-Worth Issues But Despite He Is Very Sassy And Frequently Snaps Back At Joey Despite Knowing It’ll Get Him Slapped, Tracy’s Mom Divorced His Father After He Got Outed For And Charged With CSEA Unfortunately For Her She Unintentionally Got Into A Relationship With Another Child Predator After The Worst Part Is This Time It’s Her Child(Tracy) Being SA’d, Even Though His Mothers BF Has Continued To SA Tracy Since The Start Of Their Relationship He Doesn’t Have The Heart To Tell His Mom She Unintentionally Got With Another Predator So She Is Unaware, SH’er With A Good Chunk Of Scars, He Has An Older Brother And Younger Sister, The Reason Why His Moms BF Doesn’t Abuse His Siblings Like He Does Tracy Is That He Uses Tracy’s SH As Blackmail Threatening To Tell His Mom If He Doesn’t Keep Quiet And He Doesn’t Have That Power Over His Siblings

Facts About Their Relationship: Joey And Tracy Met In Middle School And Joey Has Been Bullying Tracy Ever Since(For Context Both Of Them Are Highschool Seniors), Joeys Teasing And Name Calling Turned Into Being Physically Violent Towards Tracy And Harassment Eventually Joey Started Straight Up SA’ing Tracy Bc “It’s Not Gay If It’s Bullying”, The Thing That Made Joey Realize How Kinda Evil He Was Being Was When He Raped Tracy In The Unisex School Bathroom Looking At Tracy Crumpled Up On The Ground Just Crying No Sassy Comeback And No Attempt At Fighting Made Him Think “Wow So Maybe I’m Satan Reincarnated”, After The Bathroom Incident Joey Started Being Nicer To Tracy Leaving Them Super Confused And Unintentionally Developing A Bigger Crush On Him Than They Already Had(Tracy Being The Little Freak They Are Got Totally Wet Everytime Joey Beat Their Ass) Which Is How They Ended Up Dating, Just As Tracy Got Comfortable In Their Relationship Joey Slowly Started Hitting Them And Talking Down To Them Again But This Time In The Abusive BF Way Not The Bully Way

Sorry For Such A Long Post And The Very Chunky Formatting If You Wanna Know More Just Ask Me And I Will Happily Make More Rant Post Abt Them

[cnaaawd]

my opinions on dark fiction and the whole proship V antiship debate :p

[pockymorbys]

might make a Mortysona for the heehees and hahas!

stuck between making him a pathetic furfag loser who gets exploited by Ricks online or a brainwashed Rickworshipping and Mortyfucking weirdo :3

[the-whispers-of-death]

Crossroads

TW: Grief, Revenge Killing, Slight Gore

So I've decided that since I don't really have a masterlist of the Stone variants but rather just a list (because Tumblr search is too wonky for me to try and find everything I've ever posted about the Stone variants), I decided that I would just have a story post about a vital moment in each Stone variant's life.

This one's about Serial Killer!Stone and it's how he found out that his story ends in a tragedy. Well, sort of. He's not exactly told, per se.... It'll make sense when you're reading the rest of this.

So let me stop rambling!

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Stone stood at Kali's headstone, uncaring about how harsh the rain was pouring down onto him. His old Marine uniform was getting soaked along with his hair, it sticking to his skin and covering his view of the words he had memorized over the past few months.

In Loving Memory of

Ashok Manish Kumar

June 6, 1989 - November 13, 2018

A son, a veteran, and a soon-to-be fiancé. May he rest in peace.

Despite being the one to have had those words engraved on the headstone, they still made Stone's fists curl up as his chest felt heavy. His breaths came out in short, shaky puffs, his eyes prickling with tears that he could barely hold back.

It wasn't fair, he thought to himself. It wasn't fair that Kali wasn't here and it definitely wasn't fair that Kali's killer had been acquitted.

It had been two weeks since the trial for Kali's murderer had ended with the jury acquitting said killer and time did not soothe Stone's anger. He felt bitter at the judge, the jury, at the world.

And he just knew that the murderer had only been acquitted because the jury had been bribed, hell even the judge was bribed. Corruption and crime ran rampant in this city and everyone turned a blind eye to it.

No longer.

Stone took a deep, steady breath before turning on his heel and leaving the cemetery. Despite how odd he looked wearing his uniform and not having an umbrella, he blended in easily with the crowd, keeping his head down as he walked to his destination.

Fury and a sense of righteousness fueled every step he took as he neared the alley where he knew Kali's murderer, that damned Jacob Nelson, was getting high with his friends.

The same alley where Kali was murdered.

He reached over to grab his sidearm from its holster, his brown eyes dark with vengeance. He cocked the safety off and took a step into the alley.

Only, the alleyway changed into somewhere with strands of gold all around him. The energy in this place was charged, like he was at the source of everything in the universe. And he wasn't alone.

There was a very tall, brown-skinned woman—no, not a woman. Stone was in the presence of a goddess.

He could tell by the way her eyes are just two balls of light, the golden balls making it hard for him to look at her face. But what little he could see of her, he could make out that she looked ethereal. The golden strands around him were all connected to her, wrapped around her fingers and limbs.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice cold as always ever since Kali got killed. He lifted one hand to block out some of the light that was pouring out at of her.

The goddess smiled, her elongated canines showing and glinting in the natural light she exuded. "Mm, you should be careful whose names you ask for, Vikram. Names have meaning and you wouldn't want to give a dangerous deity more power than they already have," she said, her accent thick but indistinguishable.

It was like she was not even of this universe, which Stone didn't exactly think was possible. Especially since she knew his real name.

"But you have nothing to fear from me, though you would not be able to pronounce my name even if you tried," she continued, her head tilting in thought as to what Stone could call her. She thought for a while before humming in content. "You can call me... Time."

Stone narrowed his eyes at her, briefly wanting to roll them at the way she seemed to view herself so highly to call herself "Time".

"Alright, Time, what do you want with me?" His voice was laced with wariness, not trusting her in the slightest.

After all, he did have a murderer to kill.

Time didn't seem bothered by his wariness. "I know what you're about to do, Vikram. You're about to kill your beloved boyfriend's killer," she announced, like she was announcing the weather. "And I'm here to try and stop you."

"Stop me? Why?"

"Because, Vikram, if you do this..." She paused before stroking one of the golden strands attached to her and then letting it go. "If you do this, your future will be set into stone. You're at a crossroads, dear mortal. You have the power to turn away and to get a life of happiness again, or you can kill Jacob Nelson and cement your future as one that ends in tragedy."

"Why is this moment in particular special?" Stone asked, huffing at the notion. "Who's to say my fate can't change down the line?"

Time's power increased, causing the golden strands to get brighter. "Once you start killing in the name of justice, you won't stop. I've seen it, Vikram Mishra." Her voice was dark, full of anger and she tugged on the golden strands connected to her, drawing Stone's eyes to them.

"These golden strands are timelines and I see them all. Past, present, future of all every single universe. That is why I am Time. And all I have seen, in every variation of your universe that I can see, you will never stop killing in the name of justice once you start. And from then on, you will take the weight of the world on your shoulders, you will burden yourself with every guilt one could possibly place on themselves. You will be hunted for your crimes and you will die the way you've spent most of your life, alone."

Her power softened, bright but less so. "That is only if you kill Jacob Nelson," she murmured, her voice soft like her power. "You still have time to give yourself the happy ending you want. Do not let grief stand in the way of what Ashok wanted for you."

"Don't say his name like you knew him," Stone said with a growl. He tightened his hold on the gun in his hands. "He was everything to me, the ground I walked on. Life is already a tragedy without him."

"Don't do this," Time repeated, eyeing him with a stare so intense, Stone felt it in the core of his very being.

A pocket of space opened up, one that would send Stone back into that alleyway. A way for Stone to come back to what he was planning on doing, to get the justice he was itching for.

He had opened it, his grief too raw for the goddess to contain.

"Don't step through there, Vikram! Go home! Go home and get your happy ending."

Stone raised his gun, prepared to shoot as soon as he stepped through the pocket of space.

It was tempting to abandon his need for justice, to try and heal like Ashok probably wanted him to. But Ashok wasn't here to tell him to let go of his anger.

"I can't. Justice must be served."

With those words, Stone stepped through the pocket of space and as soon as he saw Jacob Nelson in his sights, he went for a headshot. The shot rang out and rang true.

Nelson's friends abandoned his corpse, scrambling when the blood splattered across their bodies. Curses filled the air, all of them not wanting to be the next one on Stone's list.

Soon, only Stone and Nelson's corpse were in the alleyway. Stone felt the air get heavy, like his fate was cementing and if Time was right, then it was. And Stone didn't have the will to care about it.

He cocked the safety back on the gun and waited for it to cool, watching the blood on the ground flow into the sewers with the rain. The air smelled like gunpowder mixed with the rain, but it calmed him nonetheless.

"For Ashok, I'll kill every criminal. I will be Justice and damn my own fate," he murmured into the night.

When the sirens sounded like they were coming closer, he disappeared, already planning his next kill.

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Did I also take this as an opportunity to insert one of the deities in the new pantheon/OCs I'm creating? Yes, yes I did.

So technically, Serial Killer!Stone wasn't just told about his fate, he also chose it. Also, he sounded a bit like the Dark Knight there at the end, whoops.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and request something! (Check the rules in "Rules for Requesting NSFW" before requesting.)

[dragonmaiden39point5]

No Escape (2)

Probably one or two more parts for this? Idk if I can get up five parts just yet. Appreciate the amazing response! Thank you so much to everyone who read, y'all are the best❤️💕🥰

All characters depicted are over the age of 18

Summary: You grow tired of Bakugo's bad behavior and after 4 years as a couple, you make a run for it.

Katsuki Bakugo x Black!Reader

Darkfic. Stalking, humiliation, dub-con, mild Daddy!kink. Potentially some untagged triggers.

For a few months, you plotted and played your role. If you wanted to go somewhere, you asked him to bring you. You wore overly revealing clothes and climbed all over him in public. You stopped using his name, referring to him exclusively as Daddy no matter who was around. You would initiate sex, begging him to fuck you; beg to fuck him. You even took to sending him video and pictures of you playing with yourself when he left you at home, sometimes in his oversized clothes, other times nothing at all-- (which would make him come back much faster, if he could help it). You really made him feel his victory; it was the only way to disarm him.

Kats was too busy loving that you didn't resist him anymore and was all too eager to have you all to himself; You, he, and the dog had been to 5 countries in the three months since. It was easy to get swept up in the gifts and vacations (and mind-blowing orgasms) and forget he was something that you needed to get away from, since he had been absolutely perfect since you started acting the way he wanted. You almost felt bad about your brewing plot to leave.

Well, it actually wasn't much of a plot, you were you going to take a few thousand out of his home safe, get the dog, and ghost. He was just too unstable and insecure, and at this point it was clear that he could only behave properly when you were 'obedient'.

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The sole opportunity to leave came with the passing of another month. When he wasn't traveling, Bakugo habitually visited his parents' headstones on the Saturday of every third weekend, at sunset. It was the absolute only time that he left you devoid of incessant phone calls, messages, and his suffocating presence. A cloud of guilt shrouded the decision to leave at such a time... But you'd never know peace if you didn't. What other choice did you have? You had learned from the last several times you attempted to break up with him that it would only intensify his crazy.

When he left that evening, you waited until receiving the text that he was there to make your move. You left absolutely everything behind other than Thunder with his dogfood and cash from Bakugo's safe-- On foot, hence lurking through the woods that started on the edge of the property instead of taking a main road. The location of motion cameras on the edge of the acreage that surrounded the house were something that you had carefully mapped out the boundaries of-- And after almost 4 years, you knew where they were by heart.

There was also a small plan that was put into play as a distraction; He always took the smaller, more low key of the cars when visiting the cemetery. In turn, you sent his chef to a store over an hour in the opposite direction of where you were going, in his easy to spot orange car.

It would be hours before he knew you were gone.

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Bakugo entered the house, flopping down on a couch in the den. Immediately a frisson ran through his body and he looked around as anxiety sunk its icy claws into his stomach . Something was *off*. The pitter-patter of Thunder's feet as he ran through the house to greet him was completely absent. He rose from the couch and called your name in confusion.

No answer.

"This again?" He huffed, going upstairs.

A pit formed in his stomach as blood and adrenaline began to course through his veins when he didn't see you or the dog in any of the rooms.

He tried to calm himself, shuffling through his pants pockets with shaking hands to check the surveillance. Other than seeing you go in through the front door and out through the back, they barely caught you and Thunder in range, before going completely out of view. Running sweaty palms through his hair he fumbled through his contacts until he found Midoriya and Iida's names name in the group chat.

He couldn't think straight, barely able to get his words out, typing with fidgeting hands, "She's gone!"

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A few months went by and you were living it up. You had moved 3 times since ghosting Bakugo and never looked back. The night you left, you walked through the woods until you reached a back road, and then continued until you reached a bus stop. Because you couldn't risk using a phone or GPS, you went off of memory to figure out how to get there.

You rode the bus to its farthest stop, and then another to Central Downtown, where you were able to catch the Megabus out of town. Of course you expected to be seen on the cameras on the streets and at intersections, but you did not care. It certainly helped that no one made an issue of Thunder joining you on each bus. Perhaps it was his service vest, or maybe there just weren't enough people around to care, either way it made your escape much easier.

Your life, now 8 hours and hundreds of miles away, consisted of a job doing live-in care for an elderly man named Torino. He still had his mobility, but no longer had the energy to stay on his feet long enough complete tasks such as cleaning or cooking and the person who usually took care of him was currently traveling for work.

In the meantime, you were able to live in the massive basement of the home rent free. It was basically a 'modern' renovated studio apartment, while the first and second floor of the house remained mostly in its outdated state.

When you weren't at home, you worked part time for a juice truck that drove around town. Thunder had to stay at the house for that, but he was a good boy and even knew how to get things for Torino.

Life had become so peaceful..

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Per your new routine, you cooked for Torino early on the weekends and then headed out by bike to your job on the juice truck. This day in particular, he asked if you could cook a bit more than usual because his former caretaker would be stopping over for a visit since he was back in town. You were more than happy to do so, proceeding as normal without a second thought.

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When Toshinori arrived at his former teacher's home, he was stunned to say the least. The trimmed front yard's garden beds were in bloom and the porch was clear of all debris and trash, instead having cute decorative tables and chairs. There were also a few hanging plants that there was certainly no way that Torino could've put up, let alone water every few days.

The inside of the house was now immaculately kept, with scented candles, incense, and more plants. All of the clutter had been thrown out, the dishes cleaned, and the floor shined. "I am Here!!" He called out to Torino and was pleasantly surprised to be greeted with the sound of paws clattering on the polished floors. "Hello there, Thunder!"

"I'm back here!" Torino called out from the kitchen.

Toshinori was beyond impressed. Everything was clean and smelled nice; You'd certainly exceeded expectations. He hired you on Torino's behalf since Midoriya had moved to open his second gym location and would not be able to make the journey regularly to care for the old man.

"Where's the boy?" Torino asked as soon as Toshinori entered the kitchen.

"Way to get to the point." He chuckled in response. "He's running a few minutes behind; I think he stopped by his dad's house first. But, wow everything sure looks nice in here!"

"Yes, indeed! That girl that you hired is very sweet. I asked her to cook some extra food so that you and Midoriya could have some when you got here. She even made tea." He said with a smile.

"It's great to see you in good spirits." Toshinori replied, "It seems like you're feeling better too."

"Yes. Remember that garden I mentioned her planting in the backyard? Turns out it's fruits and veggies instead of flowers! I've actually been feeling well enough to walk down the street and back."

"Wonderful!" Said Toshinori, "Here, let me help you with that." He carefully grabbed 2 of the covered plates from the counter and followed Torino to the living room couch, where folding table stands were waiting. Just as they sat down, Thunder took off towards the front door.

The lock clicked and Midoriya stepped inside, greeted by a perfectly seated gray pooch wagging his tail in the entryway. He stared in confusion for a moment. The dog had blue eyes and only the front paws were white, 'Thunder? I thought Kacchan's girlfriend ran off with him?', he thought to himself.

Of course other dogs could look like that, but a sharp shiver hit him and his heart skipped as alarm bells went off in his head.

"Midoriya, my boy? Is that you?" Toshinori called out.

"It is! Here I come!" He answered back, rushing to the living room to properly greet them.

"Did you get lost on the way in?" Torino joked.

"Oh, no. Sorry about that. This place looks so different than it did a few months ago." Midoriya remarked, sitting on the loveseat, "And the dog surprised me. When did you get it?"

"Oh, he came with the new caretaker." Toshinori interjected.

Midoriya hummed in response, as the cute animal came and placed its muzzle on his knee, looking into his eyes. Thunder would always do exactly this when he went to Kacchan's house and didn't give out pets as soon as he walked in. 'Yeah, this is definitely Kacchan's dog.' he thought to himself, as he finally reached down to give the dog the attention he was asking for. He gave the dog scratches under the chin as it panted happily, now putting both white paws on his leg-- the gesture that he used to beg for treats. Midoriya licked his lips as he thought of all the possibilities. 'She could've sold the dog to hurt Kacchan. Or maybe he got away from her when she was somewhere nearby. Because if he got lost or abandoned before they left town, Thunder probably would've just wandered back home. Or maybe--"

"Young man! Did you hear me?" Torino asked sharply, somewhat annoyed.

"S-Sorry Torino. No, I didn't hear you."

"I asked if you could put the dog bowl out. It's in the kitchen." Torino huffed.

"Sure." Midoriya got up, chuckling to himself. A perfect opportunity to be nosey.

"Where's it at?" He called out, after getting to the kitchen.

"You'd know if you'd been listening!" He heard Torino shout, followed by Toshinori's voice saying; "Bottom cabinet by the fridge!"

He went to the cabinet, pulling out the food bowl and removing the lid, revealing portions of lightly cooked steak (amongst other meats), fish, eggs, and fruit, in some sort of broth, all cold as if it had just finished defrosting.

"Goodness." He remarked, rolling his eyes. There wasn't even a need to snoop around-- this was too obviously Bakugo's dog, and based off of its diet being maintained most certainly you were here...

"Hey Torino, what's the dog's name?" Midoriya yelled to the next room.

"Thunder!" Came the reply

"Come here, Thunder!" Midoriya said, with a smug smile barely able to contain his glee. He sat the bowl down and washed his hands, quickly drying them on his pants to take out his phone and snap a picture of the dog eating. Then, he headed to a hallway in the back of the house where a lone door awaited him. Toshinori had mentioned a renovation overhaul for the basement so that a caretaker could move in right away and he wanted to see the space now that it was yours.

Kacchan had bragged on you for years, promising to share you with him and Iida as they had done all the girls before, but talked about how difficult you were being and how you weren't ready, or wouldn't go for it. He sighed as he walked down the stairs into the massive area of the basement. He'd had the biggest crush on you and was now presented with an incredible opportunity, if he was impetuous enough to take it.

Eyes scanning the room, he spotted a quaint full sized bed that was perfectly made, save for a set of pajamas that was tossed onto it. You were only using maybe 1/4 of the oversized basement, with a few colorful rugs, dog bed in the sleeping area, miscellaneous books and trinkets filling 2 sets of built-in shelves and 3 armoires full of clothes. There was also a couch and a loveseat around a large area rug facing a T.V. mounted on the wall. The kitchen was clean but mostly untouched, likely due to you doing most of your cooking upstairs. Aside from the one room on the opposite side of the basement that was fully closed off with its own door (the bathroom), you hadn't filled any of the other space.

Midoriya skulked over to your bed, flopping down backwards and covering his face with your pillow. He took a deep breath, inhaling the light shea butter and argan oil scent that lingered there from your hair products. "Mmmm..." He hummed, undoing his belt. He was already half hard rubbing the outside of his jeans when he got an idea. Sitting up, he smoothed your sheets over, putting the pillows back in place. He looked straight to the opposite wall of the basement where the washing machine and dryer were, heading over with a spring in his step.

The laundry bin beside it was less than half full, but he rummaged anyway. Amongst the handful of T-shirts and shorts he dug out a pair of your underwear, burying his nose into the crotch area. There was only the faintest hint of pussy, yet his mouth still watered to taste it.

Finally, he undid and dropped his pants with haste, groaning as his erection sprung free. His hand wrapped around it, stroking as he took deep whiffs to inhale the scent of your cunt. There was so much he wanted to do to you and now you were right here in his reach, a sitting duck who didn't know that a she was about to be pounced on. "Oooh, shit..." He moaned, fucking his hand, precum beginning to dribble from the tip. You only got away because Bakugo didn't know what he was doing; Midoriya would've never would've let you escape. He put your panties in the hand that he was stroking himself with, loving the feeling of thrusting his dick across the soft fabric, before tightening his grip. His now free hand went to caress his balls, as his eyes shut tight so that he could picture you. The last time he saw you, you were in a slingshot bikini and playing with yourself on that beach vacation with Bakugo. He'd longed to fuck you so bad then, stuff your pussy while Kacchan fucked your drooling mouth. Aside from Thunder, you two had gone alone that time, but Kacchan certainly took plenty of pics and videos; He was ready to burst just thinking about it. "Such a slut.." growled to himself as he stroked as fast as he could. He wished he could cuff your wrists to the headboard and tie your ankles to them, so that he could devour your pussy until you were overstimulated and incoherent, while Bakugo stroked himself over your tits.

A shiver ran through his body and he moaned as he came hard, shooting his warm load into your panties. He braced himself against the washing machine panting as the last waves of orgasm rolled through his body.

He looked into his palm to see the underwear completely ruined. Taking a deep breath, he buried them back in the dirty clothes hamper and collected himself, stepping into the bathroom to wash his hands and splash cool water over his face.

When he was done cleaning himself up, he went back upstairs to find Toshinori and Torino out in the backyard amidst the flourishing garden that you'd planted.

"...What were you doing?" Toshinori asked suspiciously.

Midoriya cleared his throat, hoping his eyes weren't too glazed over from his massive release. "Well--"

"There you are!" Torino's voice cut through the air from across the yard, "Come! Make yourself useful." He said, gesturing to the wagon he was pulling full of harvested vegetables and fruit.

"Oh--I just,,, used the bathroom." He chuckled nervously in response, quickly shuffling away to help the old man.

Toshinori wasn't buying it, but he would let it got. For now.

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[inkwingsinc]

Chapter 25 Live!

Hiatus over, crops burning, plagues returning, your very own Patron Saint of Utter Trash is back and is bricked up harder than ever.

If you're looking for utterly self-indulgent Feyd-Rautha fanfic, oh boy do I have the thing for you.

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bit my gun with my black-gold gums by InkwingsInc on AO3

The Druegelle siblings move to Geidi Prime, Harkonnen homeworld, to escape the ruin of their pasts and prove their loyalty to the Padishah Emperor following the execution of their parents for treasonous behavior. Walden Druegelle trains to be the House Harkonnen Guild Navigator and his sister Laera comes under the dangerous attention of Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, who will stop at nothing to make her his pretty little pet. This one is for the girlies who saw Austin Butler play Feyd-Rautha and lost all their morals. Kisses xx

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