#he would have compensation size knife

[sans-guy]

w.......

(Click/tap image for better quality)

Horror's knife might be slightly bigger. Maybe he's compensating. (For his height. Plz)

(Butch belongs to @sans-guy)

[sttoru]

𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃 . . .

⟣ sypnosis. you’re fed up with your rich abusive husband and finally decide to hire a skilled assassin to get rid of him in secrecy. one night when you’re left alone in your penthouse, you invite the assassin named toji over to give him the money he’s demanded to accept the job. things turn for the worse when your husband comes home early that day and catches toji and you together.

⟣ note. eeek. never thought i’d be here to write this out but i did and it turned pretty detailed if i must say. hope u all enjoy and appreciate my hard work. feedback / comments are greatly appreciated ! if the fic does well, i can make an alternative ending that’s smutty :3 wc: 7.4k

⟣ tags. toji fushiguro x female reader. angst, comfort. themes include abuse. reader is in an abusive + toxic relationship with her husband. implied age gap with husband. implied size difference with toji. mentions of guns + blood + m.urder. knifes.

“what is a successful marriage?”

that is one of the many questions that keep you up at night. you’ve laid awake for hours on end ever since you’ve married your husband, in search for reasonable answers. you’ve got many of them sorted out, however that specific question is one left unanswered.

it is very subjective—many can vary about the concrete answer. but one thing you know for sure is that your marriage is the exact opposite of what ‘successful’ means.

you were so full of yourself. you didn’t realise that your pride would also be your downfall one day; you’d constantly brag about having a rich husband who gets you everything you wanted. you were too blinded by love—or actually—by his money to notice the real him. the real, twisted and manipulative face of the man you were determined to marry.

his name was daisuke. from the yamamoto family. a family known in japan for its generational wealth and the many buildings and famous corporations it owns. you’ve worked at one of those companies and had met daisuke whilst he was on a visit. you’ve heard about his image by the public; sweet, caring and apparently wouldn’t hurt a fly.

unfortunately, the true him matched none of those descriptions. the true him only you—his wife—came face to face with at your shared home. you remember when it started. when daisuke began to turn into a nasty, abusive man whose anger is never restrainable.

your dating years were nothing but a dream. or, maybe you were too gullible to notice the signs and red flags your then boyfriend was showing. his love bombing, the manipulation, the gaslighting—you didn’t know better. if you complained about a minor thing that he had done, daisuke would apologise by sending you lots of money and presents. toxic, isn’t it?

but you didn’t care. you were happy and content with that being your compensation. the money was the evildoer that made you lose all your morals. the teenage you who said that you’ll never put up with a man’s disrespect was long forgotten.

even now, 4 years later, you put up with his verbal and physical abuse just to continue staying in that big mansion you live in. to continue getting everything paid for you. to continue getting lots of money by doing nothing but be his wife—his trophy wife, at this point.

it’s an easy life; ‘all i have to do is get through his abuse and it’ll be just fine’, you tell yourself that every night. it’s the only thing keeping you sane—a coping mechanism of some kind.

however lately, daisuke’s never skipped a day without being abusive towards you. he’d enter your home yelling and shouting, complains about the tiniest speck of dust in the house (which is not even your fault, it’s the maids’), reminds you how worthless you are in his eyes and the list goes on. he sometimes gets physical and throws stuff at you, causing multiple bruises and cuts to appear on your body after he’s done having his daily tantrum.

he might even kill you one day. it’s scary to think about; if he would, he easily could. he could one day just decide to be done with you and stick a knife in your body, leave you to bleed out and then order one of his men to get rid of your corpse. just like his family does to whoever stands in their way of success. you don’t want to discover how many people your husband has killed.

daisuke can easily get away with murder after all—the law is nothing but a thing to exist to keep the common citizens in the government’s control. to the rich, it’s like those rules don’t exist. court? justice? the so called independent judge? nothing money can’t buy. after all, money is power. money is innocence.

after four years of sticking with that rich man, you were getting tired. you were staying with him for his wealth, but was it actually worth it? besides, if daisuke hates you so much, why wouldn’t he divorce you instead? you don’t have anything going for you. except for your looks and youth, probably. that’s the main reason why daisuke coaxed you into marrying him—to show you off during events or parties. a complete and utter trophy wife you are.

you’ve been going to sketchy bars lately to let off some steam. you weren’t even there to drink alcohol. the sole reason for attending pubs was to forget about your own situation. you’d get weird stares since you’re always alone, sitting in that one spot in the far corner, no one wanting to come up to you because of that gloomy aura you’re emitting. and because you’re always dressed modestly from head to toe—not an ounce of skin showing. it was all the opposite of what most people would normally look and act like in bars.

‘what is normal?’ also a subjective question. society has turned it into an objective one, however.

“good day, miss.” a deep voice had interrupted your thoughts one day whilst you were doing your usual routine; sit near the bar counter, get a non-alcoholic drink, stare at the table for hours and question your purpose in life before going home to the reason of your problems.

a man, probably in his late 30’s or early 40’s, sat next to you on an available stool. he nonchalantly ordered a drink before making small talk. it was a nice change of pace for some reason. you had asked him his name. it was shiu.

that stranger had kept you company for hours until a call from your husband made you snap back to reality; you had to be home as soon as possible. judging by daisuke’s tone, you were in big trouble.

you remember how shiu outed his concern for your well-being by pointing out the bruises on your arm which you didn’t even know were showing.

you dismissed his worries with a fake smile and told him it was nothing, quickly pulling your sleeve back down. shiu seemed to let the topic go, but before parting ways with you, he handed you his business card. you didn’t know what it was for—what kind of services he could offer;

“call that number if you need someone to get rid of your problems,” was all you got before the mysterious man walked away. you couldn’t shake off the emphasis on the word ‘rid’. it sent a shiver down your spine.

that sentence of shiu’s echoed in your ears as tears streamed down your cheek after you arrived home. you were in your personal bathroom, hands shaking as you put a bag of ice on your fresh bruise, the small red and blue-ish area stinging. once again—you couldn’t avoid your husband’s wrath.

after having slept for a mere two hours that day in your bathtub, you’ve awoken to an empty house. daisuke was gone for work. luckily for you.

you hastily grabbed the business card in your purse and dialled the number. staring at the card, you’d think it was some kind of house cleaning service. that’s the kind of vibe it gave. little did you know that it was far from that.

a few rings later and you heard the same familiar deep voice in your ear; “good morning. with shiu kong.”

your heart was beating in your throat as you couldn’t gather the right words to say. maybe it was due to the little voice in the back of your head that warned you for something—you couldn’t pinpoint what the specific cause was just yet.

you answered eventually, “hi. uhm, you said i could call this number if i needed someone to get rid of my problems.” you pause and inhale deeply, “wh-what if my problem was.. a person? would you…” your voice trailed off, but the implication could not be missed by anyone if they heard the tone you used.

shiu seemed to recognise your voice, though stayed silent for a second or two at your request. when he replied, it sounded like he had expected you to ask him this—like he’s heard this many times before; “certainly.”

that’s when you realised what you’ve gotten yourself involved with. you were sweating and you had trouble breathing as you realised that.. this was your chance. to get rid of that man called your husband. your abuser.

you had decided to take on that opportunity and that’s how you ended up getting a phone call from an anonymous number right after your talk with shiu. the agent hadn’t told you anything other than the name of the person who’d contact you; ‘toji’, and said that he’d help you further.

you stared at the ‘no caller ID’ on your screen. this was him: the person who’d help you get rid of your problem. you gulped before sliding your thumb across your mobile to answer the call.

“hi, good m—”

“location.”

the husky male voice cut through your introduction and got straight to the point. your lips were parted to answer the man whom you guessed was ‘toji’, but your breath got caught in your throat for a second. do you just randomly give your address to a stranger? was that okay to do? you didn’t know—no, you didn’t care. if you got killed in the process or something similar, that’d be way better than to live another day in hell with your husband.

you dropped your address after some hesitation and toji just added a quick, ‘be there in an hour or so,’ before hanging up on you.

fast forward to 50 minutes later and you were pacing back and forth in your living room, trying to breathe properly and not have a second panic attack. daisuke wouldn’t be home until noon, so at least he won’t see whoever will enter your mansion in a few minutes. and if there’s a possibility that you get killed by this stranger, you’re sure that your husband would be more than happy that the job was done for him.

a loud tune. the sound of your doorbell. normally, you’d find the short melody relaxing, but now it sounded like something out of a nightmare. you made your way to your intercom and looked at the small screen—seeing a tall black-haired man with a compressed shirt and beige baggy pants standing near the gates. that must be toji—the man you talked to an hour ago.

he must be confident in his abilities since he didn’t cover up his identity at all when coming all the way over here.

you press a button and the gates open with a buzz. toji disappears from the little screen as he enters your front yard. the screen fades to black and you’re left alone with a sense of dread in your stomach. that only lasted for a couple seconds since the doorbell of your front door goes off.

“c-coming!” your voice cracks. you make your way over to the entrance of your home and breathe in. you open the doors slightly, peeking through the gap at the tall, intimidating man standing before you.

toji was kicking a rock to the side whilst waiting and looked up when you opened the doors. he seemed laidback, as if this was nothing but child’s play to him, “took ya long enough.”

you were appalled as toji simply barged into your home like he owned it. his strong, masculine cologne wafted through the air as he passed you by without giving you a second to process his intrusion.

your shaky eyes followed his bulky figure—the muscles that bulged through his shirt, which tensed every now and then. his aura was no joke either; it was horrifying to someone whom didn’t even know who he was or what he exactly did for a living.

“phewww,” the dark-haired man let out a low whistle as his eyes scanned the interior of the entrance hall, shamelessly touching a few expensive looking decorations, inspecting the material, “pretty damn rich, ain’t ya? this y’r daddy’s money?”

you shake your head and close the door behind you, staying there in case you needed to run. you are still wary of this situation, even when you had been the one that started this all.

“h-husband’s.” your voice was a quiet whisper. toji raised an eyebrow and turned his attention towards you. his eyes scanned you from head to toe. you looked pretty young. a fragile little thing, is how he described you in his head.

“husband? you?” toji chuckles dryly, before stepping closer to you, his body towering over yours. he lowers his head and stares at you from up close, his hands in his pockets whilst wordlessly looking at you.

you swallowed a bit of saliva and glanced back at the big man whom belittled you twice in just a couple seconds. you fumbled with the sleeve of your hoodie as the silence grew deafening—the only sound being your own soft yet shallow breathing.

your fingers scratched at the bruises under the fabric of your clothes, causing the cloth to slightly crinkle and glide up a few centrimeters with each rub before coming back down once your fingers stop. the instant you start touching those bruises, the itching just wouldn’t stop.

toji noticed this and looked down at your arm. his eyes caught a small glimpse of a wound on your wrist, but he didn’t seem to comment on it. with a sniff, he straightened his back and cocked his head to the right—face cold again as he glared at you;

“do ya know what kinda stuff i do?” his voice was booming, the deepness to it making you shiver. you press your lips together and search for answer, only to find nothing;

“n-no, i mean—“ your itching increases the more nervous you felt, “th-the man who directed me to you said you’d explain things further. all i know is that you can get rid of uhm— a problem of mine.”

toji scoffs and mutters something incomprehensible under his breath about his ‘stupid agent letting him do all the work’ before turning around. he lazily walks ahead as if he had all the time he needed in the world. once arrived in your living room, the man plops down on your couch, spreads his legs and leans back against the cushions. he really acted like he owns this place.

“i’m not the type to beat around the bush, little lady,” toji starts whilst his eyes follow you as you nervously sat on the chair next to the sofa, “so i’m gonna get straight into it. and if ya back down after this or get too scared ‘n call the cops, unfortunately, y’r pretty ass gotta go.”

toji swipes a thumb across his neck to indicate what that latter meant; killed. you’re gonna get killed if you learn his real identity and decide to expose it to anyone, especially the police. you blinked your tears away whilst thinking of that possibility and shook your head, putting on a determined face. you need to take responsibilities for your actions. you were the one who started this.

“all right. i promise that i won’t back down.” you reply after getting yourself together. toji’s eyes had left yours for a second to look around the grand living room—as if inspecting for something—before settling back on you. he quickly exhales through his nose; leaning his head on his hand while his piercing gaze burned holes in your skin,

“i’m an assassin.” toji says in a bored tone. he’s done this little introduction to his job so many times before to clients who hire him in for the first time, “i kill people in exchange for money. so, ya basically hired me to get rid of someone ‘nd i’m here to collect the money and information i need to finish the job. got that?”

there it was. the confirmation you needed and got without an ounce of hesitation coming from the man in front of you. you had expected this outcome (from the many you created in your head), of course, thus you weren’t that surprised. yet the fact that you actually have a hitman in your house, someone who can easily kill your husband, still makes you nervous.

“yes, thank you.” you eventually replied and nodded, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. you looked up at toji and this time it wasn’t in a nervous way. this time it was in a determined way. toji notices this change and the scarred corner of his lip curled into a smirk.

“how much. . . money do you want for this job?” you go straight to the point. the dark-haired man grins whilst scanning your figure up and down shamelessly, enjoying the confident look on you. it suited you better.

“depends. who is it that i gotta kill?” toji asks, using his thumb to crack his index finger. you look around as if anyone could hear you. you were sure that no one was there with you, no maids no bodyguards no husband, yet your anxiety was still at its peak.

“my husband.” you reply quietly and point at the big picture frame on the wall near the chimney. it was a picture of daisuke and you. you seemed happy there, but it was all for show. that photoshoot was simply for his benefit, “daisuke. daisuke yamamoto.”

toji raises his eyebrow and stares at the picture. he’s heard of that name before. it was mentioned many times in the articles he reads. the assassin stands up with a grunt and walks to the chimney, letting out a small hum like he was thinking about it. not about if he could get the job done—no, his pride told him he easily could—but about the amount of money he wanted to get out of this.

there was a silence before toji turns around on his heels and walks over to the couch again, plopping down on the soft cushions whilst propping his feet on the table in front of him, “around seven million yen will do.”

that was about 50.000 dollars.

your jaw slightly dropped. it’s not like you haven’t seen nor heard of such big numbers before, it’s just that it was a little unexpected. but then again; nothing you can’t afford. with your husband’s money. the same money that ruined your life, is going to be used as a weapon to save it.

daisuke’s own money is going to be the death of him. and you’re the one to guarantee that.

“all right. i can get you that in cash.” you nod idly. your mind was clearly somewhere else—trying to remember the password to daisuke’s safe that was situated in a hidden room near his office. you recently found out that he keeps most cash, gold and other valuable pieces there, away from your sight. he was bad at hiding that fact from you, however.

one night, he came home drunk and it ended up with him confessing to you that he ‘won’t ever let a gold digger like you near his money again’ and proceeded to spill that he ‘has a secret safe which you won’t ever get your hands on’. eventually, you did. after a bit of snooping around, you easily found the hidden room behind a bookcase.

those fat stacks of money in there definitely add up to more than seven million yen. you’re sure of it. the only obstacle in your way is gathering that money. most of the time, daisuke locks his office before leaving home—or if he doesn’t—his maids will be in there cleaning.

“it will take me some time, but…” your voice trails off as a pensive look falls on your face. you bite your bottom lip and try to figure out something—a plan. toji catches your attention again by letting out a deep sigh. he dismissively waves your worries away with one hand;

“tha’s fine, lady. i need some time to prepare for this job too—it ain’t an easy one after all.” the assassin comments whilst scratching the scar near his lips, also seemingly deep in thought about his own plan, “bet he got lots of guards on his ass, too. tch.”

there was another thought in the back of toji’s mind that bothered him. normally, he’d be pissed off if his client didn’t prepare any kind of money beforehand. maybe some compensation bills, or at least a little thing he can have before they give him the full amount.

but with you, he seems not to mind. he wouldn’t be mad if he left this place empty handed for the time being. maybe he actually feels pity for your situation. or was it something else?

toji scoffs at his wandering mind and inwardly tells himself to shut up about such dumb stuff. getting his money is what’s most important to him. if you die afterwards, he wouldn’t care.

that’s what he tells himself.

“anyways. you should gimme all ya know about him. y’re his wife, right? ya should know his routine ‘n stuff that i can work with.” toji speaks up after the ten seconds of silence. you nod at his question—he wanted every single piece of information about your husband, so you’ll give him everything. no details excluded.

you pull out your phone and show toji pictures you took from daisuke’s computer in secrecy. pictures of his daily schedule for the upcoming month. your prior intention by taking those was to know when to be back home or when to avoid him, but they could be useful for this as well.

you continue to explain when and where daisuke holds his breaks, where his main office is located, the bodyguards that accompany him every day and when they leave him alone— all the information you gathered.

toji can’t help but be amazed by your memory. and the fact that you can recall everything, small or big, about your husband. it certainly did make his job easier; now he doesn’t have to pry out more hints on daisuke himself.

of course, you had your reasons for knowing all the miniscule facts about daisuke. it’s how you managed to survive those four years of marriage.

“good. tha’s enough.” toji nods and stands up with a grunt, stretching his arms—the muscles retracting. you couldn’t help but stare at them; he must have gone through a lot of training to become an assassin. a skilled one at that.

“before i go,” toji continues as he walks past you without looking back, heading straight for the exit of the living room, “you should delete all cctv footage that ya got going on ‘round here. i’ll take care of further evidence, yeah?”

toji moves his index finger in a circle, pointing at all corners in the house. he doesn’t want to risk anything, “i’ll call ya once i get things sorted out. then i’ll get to work when ya hand me the money.”

you nod and make a mental note for yourself to do that immediately once toji’s gone. you still had an hour or two before your husband would return. you don’t think he checks the cctv footage often (otherwise he’d have caught you sneaking into his office before), but it’ll be a big problem if he actually does and sees a random man in his home.

“will do. thank you.” you reply to toji and get up to politely see him out of your house. that’s when the realisation kicked in; your husband will be killed by this man right here in front of you. goosebumps appeared on your skin—not from fright. but from… happiness?

this stranger will end years of torment for you. yes, it’s his job. he’ll probably disappear after he’s got the money and completed your request, and yet, you can’t help but be extremely thankful.

without thinking, you reach out and grab onto toji’s wrist to stop him from moving. the assassin doesn’t stiff or tense up by this sudden touch. in fact, he’s already sensed it coming and allowed it.

toji’s actually more surprised by the fact that his mind and body allowed you to touch him. if it were anyone else, he’d probably have avoided their touch, broken their hand or worse—cut it off.

he moves his head to the side and looks at you from his peripherals, though not fully turning to you yet. he doesn’t speak up either; he’s waiting on you to go first.

your heart was somehow starting to beat even faster. you bit your lip and mentally cursed yourself out for pulling such an action; you could’ve just waited to show your gratitude through the phone.

well, either way, there was no going back now so you might as well spill your words of gratitude right this moment. you took a deep breath and parted your lips, ready to talk, but was then interrupted by your biggest nightmare.

a familiar, chilling voice. your heart drops. your body freezes.

“i knew it.”

a looming figure stood near the entrace to the living room. you recognised him instantly, as did your body, which went into an almost paralysed state. your mouth went dry, your hands started shaking and your eyes widened to the point you weren’t blinking anymore.

your husband, daisuke, appeared out of thin air in front of toji and you. his gaze was solely focused on the way your fingers were curled around toji’s wrist. to top it off, he had only heard the last bits of your conversation: something about deleting cctv and money. his brain hadn’t heard the entirety of it—he had already taken wrong conclusions in his head.

daisuke’s veins were on the verge of popping as he took two big steps towards you—you taking two steps back in response.

“i knew you were cheating on me, you fuckin’ slut.” daisuke spits with his finger pointed right at you. he was ignoring toji’s presence for the time being. he had to deal with you first;

“i work my ass off all day and night to provide for you and this is how you repay me? by inviting a random dude over whilst i’m gone? ungrateful bitch.”

two insults in a row; one more and daisuke’s putting his hands on you. it always went like that. your mind felt like it was emptied, but you somehow felt relieved that your husband didn’t seem to know the real reason of why toji had come over. daisuke really thought you were just cheating on him, and that your words of ‘deleting all cctv footage’ was to hide that infidelity.

“it’s n-not.. like that, daisuke.” you try to soothe the raging man in front of you, but your attempts were futile. he was just three quick steps away from resorting to physical violence.

toji, in the meantime, had stepped off to the side. you were only his client, thus there was no need to interrupt a couple’s ‘dispute’. you weren’t anyone dear or special to him—just a client. a stranger that owes him money to perform a job.

the assassin leans against a nearby wall, crossing his arms over his chest whilst watching the scene unfold. it was unfortunate that toji’s target was right there in front of him; he could just kill him right now. get the job done and over with. but, once again, toji only got to work if he had the money. he only assassinates when his skills are paid for. not any earlier and not any later. those were his morals—the rules he lives by.

if toji wanted to, he could simply walk away and let you handle this stuff by yourself. daisuke accusing him of being your ‘thing on the side’ didn’t bother him. as long as your husband doesn’t know his real identity, he’s fine with whatever accusations that get thrown at him.

but, for some reason—the same reason from earlier—his body was yelling at him to stay. toji sighs; he knows he won’t ever win a battle against his heart’s needs. he decides to stay.

daisuke still doesn’t seem to care about this; all the man wants is to out his anger and accuse you of things he now has enough ‘evidence’ for. he was seething and fuming at this revelation.

“god knows what else you’ve done behind my back. i bet he isn’t the only one you’ve fucke—“

“stop! i’m not cheating,” you finally yell back. it was the first time in a while that you had gathered the strength to do so. it felt good now that you had stuck up for yourself, but you knew how this would end for you—probably on the floor. crying.

despite all of that, you decided to keep on going. it’s now or never: all you have to do is make up a lie, probably withstand daisuke’s anger again and hope it doesn’t kill you. just this once; all you have to do is survive this once and then you’ll be freed from him.

you’ll give toji his money and he will do the job for you. just a few more days—

“he’s.. he’s my friend’s husband. i invited them both over and he just arrived earlier than expected.” you quickly made up. it sounded a little convincing to you. toji’s low snicker of amusement in the back confirmed that it maybe was the opposite of convincing.

daisuke scoffs at the pathetic attempt of hiding your ‘infidelity’. with another step forward, he raises his voice a notch; “yeah, right! what a pathetic excuse.”

a second step—you were waiting on that third curse. that third swear word that would set hell loose in this house, “do you really think you can fool me with that? huh?!”

it hadn’t happened yet. you still had time to think of a plan to perhaps escape this situation. your eyes flickered over to toji, although it didn’t seem like he’d be of any help. of course, he’s just an outsider after all. a stranger whom you just met today.

assassins have already disregarded their heart emotions the moment they decided to go down the path of killing for a living. you wouldn’t even blame toji for not stepping in. you’re also but a stranger to him.

toji could see the glimmer of hope in your eyes when you looked at him. or maybe it was a call for help. a desperate look. he can’t tell the difference. though, what he can tell, is that there was a gnawing feeling in the pits of his stomach. a gut feeling that told him it’d be smart to interfere.

but there’s his rational thoughts that tell him to not get involved—to avoid any more trouble than needed. besides, what other benefits would it bring him if he did? toji doesn’t want to be seen as a hero or saviour by anyone.

his jaw clenches as the time ticks. only a couple seconds left before the cold-hearted assassin has to make a decision.

daisuke’s patience was running low. the tension was increasing and could burst at any given moment now. one wrong move and you’re done—

one wrong breath could result in the worst possible outcome.

your silence spoke volumes to daisuke. the way you held your head low, your eyes that flickered from the floor to the ceiling, your fingers that nervously fumbled with your clothes and your bottom lip that trembled unstoppably. that pissed him off.

everything about you pissed him off. daisuke didn’t see any benefits of having you around anymore. he hadn’t for the long time, however didn’t know how he’d get rid of you.

divorce? no, he’ll have to give some of his earnings to you. kick you out? a possibility, but that would ruin his reputation. blackmail? that option was now the best choice. he’s caught you with another man after all. with camera evidence.

but, daisuke wouldn’t be satisfied with that outcome. his rage was blinding him—more than usual. he has to make you learn your lesson. in a way that will have you begging for your life to be spared.

and thus, the last step was made. the deciding hands were raised—aimed for your neck. the final curse had left his lips;

“come here. i’ll show you how whores like you should be treated.”

killing intent. it was the first time you’ve seen daisuke’s gaze darken that much, his demeanour emotionless yet full of rage. you close your eyes and expect for the worse.

“tha’s enough.”

everything went blank to you. it was silent, your vision was black, your hands were above your head, your heart felt like it wasn’t beating anymore—had you met your end? had you already been murdered?

in that same instant, you could feel drops of liquid splatter on your face. a faint ringing sound in your ears—it sounded like fireworks had been set off. a loud ‘pop’ sound.

something hit the ground right after. it wasn’t your body since that someone or something landed right at your feet.

after that: utter silence.

you gathered all your strength once more and slowly opened your eyelids. your vision was a bit blurry, though the first shape you could make out was one of a man on the ground. and not just any man—it was the man whom you hated most. at your feet.

you would’ve never thought of seeing that image before. of your husband laying at your feet; both literally and figuratively. a red liquid gushed out of his head and soaked into your shoes.

a normal wife would’ve let out a blood hurling scream at the sight of her lover laying lifelessly near her. a normal wife with a healthy relationship, that is.

you did let out a scream at the sight of your husband laying lifelessly near your feet. but that wasn’t done out of panic for your husband’s life—or due to the pain you were in to see him dead.

it was purely because you hadn’t seen a corpse before.

“d-daisuke..?”

a normal wife would’ve called out her husband’s name in a futile attempt that he’d answer back. that all of it was a dream. that her beloved wasn’t dead.

your reason wasn’t anything close to that. you called out that name in hopes he wouldn’t answer back. that all of it wasn’t a dream. that your abuser was dead.

it was real. you were glad, yet extremely disturbed by the fact that there was a corpse at your feet. you didn’t want to see all of it happening—that wasn’t part of the plan.

you stumble back a bit, hands clutching onto the chair you bumped into as you did your best to avoid the gruesome scene before your eyes. you just wished someone would clean the mess as soon as possible.

it’s then that your gaze fell on the other person present in the room; the man who was standing with a gun in his hand. toji scratched his head with the barrel, cold eyes looking down at the corpse with a faintly visible disgusted expression.

the assassin clicks his tongue as he walks towards the lifeless body and puts the sole of his shoe on daisuke’s cheek as if he was stepping on a pile of dirt, moving the head back and forth to check for any possible ounce of life in there.

there was none. the soul had left its body almost instantly after that bullet went through his brain. toji sighs; this time at himself for acting irrationally, “should’ve tortured you to death for tryin’ to put y’r hands on that lady instead of givin’ you the easy way out.”

with a harsh kick to the head on the floor, toji gathers some of his saliva on his tongue before spitting on the man. doubling the disrespect; “consider yourself lucky.”

toji cocked his head to the right. that’s where he spotted you with a familiar look on your face. the expression of someone who just went through a traumatic experience. he’s seen many people react like you when facing a near death experience or when witnessing somebody die before them.

usually, he’d tell them ‘it’s normal, get used to it’ and leave it at that. this was different. it felt different with you.

“are you okay?” the words slipped out of toji’s mouth before he could hold them back. his tone was a mixture of genuine concern and confusion. the latter was due to his own state of mind at the moment.

you didn’t answer, but you put your hands on your mouth as if you were going to puke any moment now. your vision was getting blurry with tears, head spinning and body feeling numb and weird.

toji hesitates before stepping towards you. his hands reached out to hold you, though he stopped them. he’d figured you wouldn’t be comfortable with him touching you in any way or form. he just killed someone in front of you—

it’s not like you cared that it was your husband. that much was clear. you sniff and glance up at toji with such a relieved yet devastated expression that his arms instinctively wrapped around you and pulled you into his warm embrace.

it was an awkward hug since toji doesn’t really know the basics of comforting someone. he was a bit stiff, but you didn’t show any discomfort due to that fact. instead, you clung onto his body and left tear stains on his black shirt.

“shhh, shh. it’s fine. it’s okay.” toji whispers, whilst his big hands indecisively move around, trying to find a spot to rest on. one eventually lands on the back of your head whilst the other starts to slowly rub up and down your spine, “it’s over, yeah? all of it—it’s over.”

toji doesn’t have a clue about the exact details of what your life was like. why you asked him to kill your (now ex-)husband was none of his business. all he knew was that he was going to get paid for it, so he didn’t care what the reason was.

it wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed the scars and bruises on your body throughout your conversation either—but that as well—was none of his business. assassins do their job without any further questions. there was no need to have personal connections or relations with their clients.

yet, toji was going against those unspoken rules once more. all because of you. for you.

“thank y—you.” your voice was weak as you speak up. it sounded hoarse and tired, though the sense of gratitude was undeniably there, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

a series of ‘thank you’s’ leave your lips whilst your body and mind were still trying to recover from the whole ordeal. toji was trying his best to keep by your side until you calmed down. that’s the least he could do—after the fact that he singlehandedly got rid of the main problem in your life.

“no need to thank me, lady.” the dark-haired man whispers, allowing you to mess up his shirt with your tears and tugs, “i did what i had to do.”

toji didn’t actually have to do what he did. he never does his job before he’s guaranteed the money. however this time, it was a different story. he did it without thinking. he had to. his body was telling him to move—and in a flash—it was done.

he tries to tell himself that it’s just him slacking off. that he isn’t possibly starting to care about another person. he shouldn’t; those complicated emotions would stand in his way. and yet. . .

“c’mere.”

toji lifts you up bridal style while you keep quivering against his shoulder. his hands had a tight grip on your body, his eyes a sharp gaze on the mess he created. with a sigh, he takes you upstairs to a random room—kicking the door open.

toji carefully puts you back on your feet and guides you to sit on the edge of the kingsized bed. he absentmindedly brushes a few strands of your hair back after wiping some more tears away from your face;

“i know it’s a lot to take in,” toji kneels down before you, looking up with an unreadable expression whilst wiping the tears from your cheeks. his warm palms make contact with your skin and it’s like you’ve forgotten all about what just happened, “but is it okay if ya stay here while i go take care of the rest? i’ll come back once i’m done.”

toji has his own ways of cleaning up after he’s done a job and most likely wants to put one of those techniques to use before any maid or guard comes to check in on the house situation. you sniffle and hiccup afterwards, trying to form a verbal response through your broken sobs, but to no avail.

you simply nod and lean into toji’s calloused hands—such rough and masculine hands—ones that were meant to protect instead of hurt you. you weren’t able to trust men after your marriage, however this one in front of you was unlike any other. even if he may not seem like it on the outside.

his touch was gentle yet firm. the pads of his thumbs swiped the wet skin under your lower eyelashes and you could’ve sworn toji’s gaze had softened for a split second before he caught himself.

he had to stand up, get rid of the mess and leave the place before he got too attached to you. the assassin cannot make such a grave mistake.

“i promise,” toji speaks up after a bit again, standing up after giving you a soft pat against your shoulder, “you’re fine. i’ll be back—ya have my word.”

there he goes; making promises he knows he probably can’t keep. ‘i’ll be back’, will he? he can’t. for your own safety. he has to treat you as just another client. none of what he did in this house could be spoken of anymore.

he slipped up this once. it needn’t to happen again. money. he does his jobs for money—when he obtains the money. he doesn’t kill his targets for the sake of others, for the protection of others.

he doesn’t kill for love.

toji wishes that all of this had never happened, because he knows that his heart will lead him back to you at the end of the day. he knows he won’t leave once he cleans up the mess downstairs. he’ll come right back to you.

and you have faith in that. you trust this stranger whom had practically saved your life with just one shot.

“i don’t know how to repay you.. thank you.” you manage to mutter through shallow breaths. you stare at the back of toji’s head as he makes his way to the door. he stops in his tracks to reply to your comment.

he stands still at the doorway and looks over his shoulder at you—the scarred corner of his lips twitching;

“prepare the money. tha’s how you can repay me.” toji replies and you don’t know if he’s joking or being serious because of that little grin on his face. a breathy chuckle follows and then the assassin disappears.

the door closes and you’re left alone in this space. left alone in the silence of the home that had treated you as its prisoner. you remember how your husband used to lock you up in your bedroom whenever you had done something to piss him off; taking away your freedom by keeping you in a room.

now it’s yours—your life is yours. you’ve fully gained your freedom back and can decide what to do for yourself. it seems like a foreign situation, a foreign world, a foreign concept; you can now actually do whatever your heart desires. without any restraints.

“what is a successful marriage?”

well, to you, it’s one with a satisfactory ending.

🏷️ : @satoruhour @squicksquak @omgeto @xmintpie @cursingtoji @obsidiannero @elmoees @x1aosg1rl @fushironi @ceceher @ajax1230 @toji-is-hot @jayugh @rinshoe @sligerate @satoryaa @luveblad3 @happystrawberrytyrant @ezraiix

[swordsandholly]

Across The Way

Ch. 2: And So It Begins

Retired!Ghoap x fem!plus size!Reader

MDNI

Ao3 | Previous - Next

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: You go to Scotland with high hopes for your future. After all, you have the bakery you always dreamed of and a whole new life to live. Plus, the men who own the butcher’s shop across the street seem nice.

A/N: I got this out a lot faster than I thought I would. Hopefully my work doesn’t get too insane and I can get the next out in a timely manner - it’s going to be a bigger one!

“You were right.” Simon carefully cuts through the loaf with a serrated knife. He’s never lost his skill with them, despite their uses becoming increasingly more domestic over the years. It’s charming, in a way - the juxtaposition of where they started and where they are now.

“Right about whit?” Johnny asks.

“She is a pretty little thing.”

“Donnae tell me I need tae be worried about ye sneakin’ off at work.” He jokes. Simon would never, of course, but it’s fun to see the way his cheeks heat up at the implication. Without his mask he wears every expression with reckless abandon.

Simon settles his large frame into the seat across from Johnny at the dining table. It’s small, they don’t need much. The chairs always creak under Simon’s weight in an almost threatening fashion. He pushes a plate with two pieces of the bread and some eggs over to Johnny. There’s an odd tug in his chest when he picks up the slice - an urge to be gentle as he spreads butter over it. Gentility is not a compulsion he feels often.

“S’good.” Simon mutters around his bite.

Johnny nods along after taking one himself. There’s love in it - he can tell. A piece carefully crafted with only absolute perfection in mind. How strange that food can carry such a feeling.

“Was a wee bit worried we’d be stuck across from the nicest, worst baker in the world.” He mutters.

Simon huffs out a half laugh.

~~~

Your first week goes by in a blur. For a small town they sure do manage to keep you busy. It’s good, you remind yourself. Better than none. If you keep it up at this rate you’ll be able to hire help by the end of the summer quarter.

By Monday, the first day of your “weekend”, you’re overdone. Head dizzy and body exhausted, you spend the day in bed. It’s a gratifying exhaustion, one you hope to build more of a tolerance for. As of now, though, you elect to remain deeply buried under the covers.

When you wake for a second time the sun is already near setting again. The entirety of Monday slunk by with you in bed. You grumble to yourself angrily like an old man. You wanted to unpack today - to at least get your clothes and kitchen items put away.

“Stupid.” You grouse. At least you still have time to shower, you suppose.

As you stand the world blacks out for a moment, your body swaying in place. You allow yourself to fall back on the bed, sitting while your vision slowly comes back into focus. Blinking away black dots and off squiggles that dance across your eyes. On attempt number two you manage it, making your way to the bathroom.

The work is worth it. The pain is worth it.

This is what you always wanted, after all.

You are happy. You can feel it in your bones. They’re lighter than they used to be - your whole body thrums with excited energy even as you have to lower yourself with the upmost care into the shower seat. Even as you have to scrape one of the cheap fold out chairs you managed to get over to the stove while you cook a late night dinner. Thank god for low counters.

When you were arranging your schedule it took a while to get it perfected. To compensate for your body you have to have time to rest and be able to do a lot of baking preparation before the work week starts. Monday and Tuesday are for rest. Wednesdays are for prep. The shop is closed but you’re in the back working your ass off mixing and kneading and shaping doughs. As well as practicing new recipes you want to add to the store’s line up eventually. Your goal is to sell American biscuits, preferably in batches of six, but those take a lot of work and don’t keep as long. They’ll have to wait until you have hired help.

It’s all chance and whatever you can manage to make happen. You learned to be okay with that, though.

You’ve got plenty of spoons, you tell yourself. Just need to use them wisely.

When you finally close the fridge, now fully stocked with dough ready to proof and bake, you check the clock. It’s still the early afternoon. You finished sooner than you assumed you might. The thought makes you giddy - makes you feel accomplished.

It makes you feel normal.

As you exit into the warm spring sun you take a moment. Ever since you arrived you haven’t been able to just stop. To just take everything in - let the foreign air fill your lungs and the aura of the town sink into your bones.

It’s a lovely little main street that you’re located on. The building to your left is a large family owned pharmacy (very convenient for you) and to your right is an empty brick building. It looks like a former post office, but from what you know the current post office is a few blocks down beside the grocers. It’s quaint, the lot of it.

Your eyes settle on the shop across from yours housed in a simple brick building painted white. The upstairs is an apartment much like yours, you think, but from what you know it currently remains empty. The sign above the door reads A Cut Above the Rest. You wonder if that was Simon or Johnny’s doing.

Would it be weird to go in? You suppose not, after all they came to yours. It’s only fair you give them some patronage as well. Plus you need to ask how the bread was. Hopefully they liked it - you realized halfway through the night that you didn’t even ask if they like sourdough before shoving it into their hands.

That thought kept you up later than you’d like to admit.

You look both ways down the street. This particular spot doesn’t have a crosswalk but the road is so dead even when the downtown is busy you figure it’s worth risking. The lack of danger doesn’t stop you from fast-walking across, though.

The shop’s old-fashioned door bell chimes prettily as you push it open. For a butcher it smells extremely clean - almost clinical. It’s small, with an L shaped display counter and a register at the end nearest the door. Packages of sausage links and the like hang on displays across the back wall. Beside the wooden saloon doors that lead behind the counter is a little dog bed with a very well crafted name plate reading Riley hanging right above it.

So cute.

“Afternoon.” Simon appears from the back, wiping his hands on a rag. You jump a little, so lost in taking in your surroundings you forgot what you came here for.

“H-hi!” You smile. You forgot how intimidating Simon is. His gaze levels you - pins you underneath him like a fly under a swatter. Maybe that’s a bit dramatic. “I thought I’d come check your shop out and ask how the bread was?”

“It was good.” He replies bluntly. Totally monotone. The corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. You decide that’s it’s a smile - whether that’s the reality of his expression or not.

“It’s really nice in here.” You look around. There isn’t much for decoration. The walls are too covered in menus and diagrams of cuts to leave room for anything extra. There’s a shelf of odds and ends opposite the main counter full of high end mustards and condiments. Little things to go with whatever you could think to make out of the varieties of meat they offer.

“Thanks.” Simon nods. “One moment.”

You watch with curiosity and a slight frown as he makes his way into the back. He almost has to duck under the doorway. Old buildings with low ceilings and all that. The place definitely wasn’t made with a six foot plus behemoth in mind. You continue to look around, rocking back and forth on your heels. They have a perfect score on their inspectors plaque. You might not know Simon well, but he seems the type to be absolutely precise about everything. The score doesn’t surprise you.

Yours is almost perfect - some rules are different here than in the US. Next time, you swear you’ll get it top notch! You look across the street at your shop. You wonder if you made the wrong choice with The Honey Bun. It’s bit much now that you see it from afar but it still makes you smile. That’s what matters, you guess.

Simon comes back out with a small, nicely wrapped package. “You don’t ‘ave any dietary restrictions d’you?”

You shake your head and he pushes the package toward you. Your eyes widen - it’s a great cut of high end beef. Like, really good beef as far as you know. Something you’d never be able to afford even if your business wasn’t brand new. You stare between Simon and the little pack in your hands. “Th-this is so nice but I-“

“It’s only fair.” He cuts you off. “Neighbors, yeah?”

You can’t help the grin that splits your face, eyes misting up despite yourself. Kindness has not been a constant in your life - more of a rarity. Something you had to claw and fight to earn. Being given it so freely but such a taciturn man has you reeling just a bit.

“Thank you… I’ve got to head back but, uh, thank you. Really.” You press the small package to your chest. “Tell Johnny I said hi?”

“Course.” He nods.

“Thanks again!” You grin, giving a little two finger salute before practically skipping all the way back into your dingy little apartment. Happily, you pack away the meat to use later. It’s too nice to just make any dish out of - best to save it for a special occasion. Your first gift in your new life. Best to savor it.

~~~

“Afternoon, bonnie.” Johnny appears in your doorway while you sweep up from the Saturday rush, bell chiming upon his entrance. “Hope I’m not a bother.”

“Not at all.” You smile, resting the broom on the counter. “Hello to you as well, Miss Riley.”

She huffs out a quiet bark in reply, sitting dutifully at Johnny’s feet. You don’t have much experience with service dogs - other than the well known rule not to pet them while they’re working. They were always too expensive for you to get and your condition wasn’t labeled serious enough to warrant financial aid. (Despite the fact that you can, and have, passed out and hit your head on something hard.)

“Can I get you something?” You ask.

“Och, I’m a’right. Just wanted tae stop by an’ say hello before headin’ home.” He gives you that dashing, bright grin. “Simon always kicks me out of the shop at close.”

“He doesn’t need help?” You ask. Surely cleaning up a butchers shop is a huge task. You have your work cut out for you with all the flower - you can’t imagine cleaning that amount of blood and mess.

Johnny shrugs. “The cleaning chemicals trigger my migraines.”

You hum. “Well, you’re always welcome to stop by. Actually,” you turn on your heel, “I’ve got somethin’ I’d like you to try, if you want.”

“Never one to say no to food. Especially from a pretty girl.” Johnny says as he follows. He tells Riley to stay in front and she listens - the perfect little lady that she is. You nearly trip at his comment, keeping your back turned so that he hopefully doesn’t see the heat spreading from your face and down your neck.

“I-it’s, uh, you ever had American biscuits?” You ask, praying he doesn’t notice the shake in your voice. You have to get on your tip toes to reach the small basket you made the day prior - carefully lowering it and pulling back the gingham cloth you wrapped them in.

An image of home.

“Aye, had them once on a layover at some chain diner.” He nods. “Donnae think they were fresh, though.”

“Well these are proper biscuits.” You carefully cut one in half with ease. “Sometime I’ll have to make you some gravy to go with.”

“Yer gonnae make us fat, hen.” Johnny chuckles.

“There are worse things to be.” The words come out more defensive than you would have liked. An automatic mechanism - a harshness you've honed over the years.

You hate how easily you wield it, sometimes.

Johnny leans forward over the table, a furrow in his brow. “I dinnae mean-“

“Here.” You cut him off and hold out the biscuit on a napkin, smothered with butter in the middle.

Johnny lets your interruption go. Probably happy for an out. He takes the fluffy baked good slowly, cupping it in his large hand with care. You wonder if he always does that, touches things with such gentle love. Is it learned? Is it just natural to him? Does he touch Simon like that? Gentle caresses?

What’s that like?

Johnny takes a massive, enthusiastic bite. Somehow his blue eyes manage to sparkle even more, grinning as he chews. “Sh’gew!”

You laugh at his attempt to talk around the food. “Glad you like it.”

He swallows roughly. A full body gulp. “Why’d ye start bakin’ anyway?”

“My grandparents raised me.” You fold the biscuits back up in their little basket. “My grandma taught me how. She was the best in town - won the pie contest almost every year.”

“Tha’s lovely.” The smile he gives you is so genuine it makes your chest constrict.

“Mean old bat but she could beat anyone in the kitchen.” You laugh. “We swore she had some kinda magic. Like a green thumb but for cooking.”

“My mum’s like tha’. Can make anythin’ out of nothin’.” He nods along.

You fall into an easy back and forth - never breaching anything deeper than the most surface level of content as he eats. It’s manageable. Johnny doesn’t push and neither do you.

Riley barks from the front of the shop.

“Och, tha’s my queue.” Johnny brushes off his hands and checks the front of his shirt for crumbs. “Take care, aye?”

You smile. “You too.”

~~~

Johnny’s words keep ringing in your ears. You don’t know why. It’s nothing special. There’s no reason to attach to them. You raise a hand to wipe off the fog and stare in the small mirror hung above your bathroom sink.

Pretty girl.

You scoff. You’re not a pretty girl. You’ve never been a pretty girl. Fat girl. Stupid girl. Sick girl. Tired girl. Sad girl.

That last one you’ve heard more than anything else. Out of all the descriptors of you it stands out as the most used. By everyone from teachers to your own family. Always just a sad, sad girl.

You got it from your mom, they’d say. It’s not like you would ever know.

You rip your eyes away from the mirror and try to let the thoughts melt away as you sink into the comfort of your blankets. Those thoughts live back on the other side of the Atlantic. They don’t get to follow you here.

[tobyislame]

general eyeless jack headcanons

ik i literally just said this will be an exclusively ticci toby blog but u guys get one (1) ej post as a treat bc i have a biiiiig phat crush on him

- he has a strong distaste for his given name. constantly being referred to as "eyeless" just feels like twisting the knife. so, he really appreciates it when people shorten it to ej. he prefers to just be called jack, though.

- he has black blood. does that subsequently mean his blush would be black?? idk i’m thinking maybe it shows up on his skin as like a dark bluish-purple, kinda like a bruise but… he’s blushing.

- he's got a nice set of large, pointed teeth. when he speaks those chompers are on FULL display, so if he happens to have his mask off, he’ll mumble to try to keep them as concealed as he can.

- what used to be fingernails are now blackened, talon-like claws, which will rip through everything if he isn’t careful. with enough concentration, he can keep them folded down to make them less obtrusive, at least enough to get dressed without making his clothes all… holey.

- that being said… he has no control over his claws when he’s asleep. his sheets are absolutely shredded, pillowcases torn through. they’re also perpetually stained with his eye goop. he's learned to just not bother with patching up his sheets anymore.

- he is LARGE. he is a LARGE MANTHING. he's 8'2 and well aware that he towers over most because people won't shut the fuck up about it. he's also just stocky, with big burly shoulders and enormous hands and man he is just BIG.

- despite his size, he moves quietly and swiftly. he carries himself like he's much smaller than he actually is.

- he isn't really aware of his own strength — he still surprises himself with the damage that he can unintentionally administer. he finds himself having to make a conscious effort to hold back.

- he's completely blind. the way that he “sees” is similar to snakes — utilizing infrared sensors which lie somewhere in those eye sockets of his (eldritch being rules it doesn’t have to make sense), he can sense the heat given off by objects in his environment. this becomes especially useful when tracking down potential victims. somewhere along the line, he learned or “evolved” to use echolocation as well, gaining the ability to make the same sonar clicks that bats do to make their way through the world. these can’t be heard by human ears, but if you’re close enough, they can be felt in your teeth.

- also similar to snakes, he’s cold-blooded. just absolutely cold to the touch. he wears warm clothes all year round, even in summer. he should be sweltering in multiple layers in the middle of june, but really, he’s just fine.

- his senses have all evolved to compensate for his lack of sight. most sensitive of all, though, are his ears. he can identify individual footsteps from miles away. this makes it near impossible to get away with muttering something under your breath. even from across the entire house, he’d be able to hear what you said. (i am aware actual blind people don't have superhuman abilities i just think this is the way it'd present in an enigmatic being)

- his skin is thick, sort of like a rhino's. bullets essentially ricochet off of him, blades snap... this, however, doesn't make him invincible. high frequencies are a surefire way of disabling him.

- he feels hunger much more intensely than any normal person does. when he goes too long without eating he'll become rabid, driven by instinct alone. at that point, he isn’t himself anymore. his body isn’t his.

- in this condition, he'll take on more bestial qualities, sprouting (larger) claws, a second row of teeth, additional tongues... he also exhibits heightened strength, speed, and agility. he'll behave more like an animal than anything else, tunnel vision pointing to only one thing: eat. he does everything in his power to keep this at bay, because in the past… incidents have occurred. let’s just say you wouldn’t want to be caught in the same forest with that thing prowling around. he hates to hurt others when he doesn’t mean/need to, especially since all he can do in those moments is helplessly watch behind the eyes of something that isn’t him.

- he really isn't a killer. although he's lacking in the sympathy department, he has the ability to put himself in the shoes of others and feel what they feel, which is his biggest weakness — as you can probably imagine, being an empath isn't so convenient when you have to kill to survive. often, he feels the pain of those who have the misfortune of ending up beneath his scalpel. beneath his hands. he’s aware that he’s taking that person away from someone, and it hurts him. he just powers through.

- he couldn't eat human food even if he wanted to, and believe me, he wants to. it's just that, if he even makes an attempt, his body flat-out rejects and regurgitates it. think that one tokyo ghoul scene... basically like that. he seems to be able to ingest coffee and tea just fine, though. earl grey is his favorite. on rainy days, his favorite thing to do is brew a cup and sit on the steps to the front porch, listening to the drops plinking off puddles.

- he doesn't particularly like for anybody to see his face. would rather keep it to himself. he's not exactly sure what he looks like, but he can take an educated guess that it isn't pretty. he'll usually just keep his mask on when he's around others, only taking it off if it ever happens to be absolutely necessary. if someone were to take his mask from him, that’d probably be the closest he could get to his rabid state without fully submitting to it.

- when he’s angry (which seldom happens) the tar in his eyes seems to boil and pop, kind of like hot oil in a pan. if it happened to get on you, it’d fucking burn and begin to dissolve right through your skin in the same way acid would. stay out of the splash zone ig.

- he can cry, but the way it presents is similar to ghibli tears — thick, messy glops of black that stain his skin, clothes, and whatever else they happen to spill onto.

- he doesn't just eat kidneys, he tries to make use of the entire body. it’s the least he can do. he doesn’t want to just throw the rest out like it’s trash. even when they’re dead, dissected, splayed out, closer to meat than human, he tries to respect his victims. they were people once, too. just like him.

- he also tries to make harvesting from his victims as easy of a process as possible, for the both of them. he injects them with anesthesia, enough to kill, then uses surgical tools to make the job as quick and clean as possible. no screams. no thrashing. easy.

- he can't remember much of his past life. most of what he can recall are just bits and pieces of out-of-place memories, puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit together no matter how hard he tries to make them. however, the one thing he was able to definitively grasp was his affinity for physiology, human anatomy, and surgery. because of this, he held onto it fucking tightly and devoted himself to it — just so he wouldn’t forget it, too.

- before, he was going to college to become a general surgeon. in fact, he was just about to move on to med school. now he's essentially the mansion's resident surgeon/doctor, and he does his job quite well given that he doesn’t have the resources most other medical professionals have at their disposal.

- he's especially interested in the medicinal qualities of plants. often, he'll go on nature walks in search of herbs that he can put to good use. he uses what he finds to make ointments and medicines and such, often utilizing his own resources in his procedures. in his room is a little garden of his own in the form of pots hanging from the ceiling, holding plants that he meticulously tends to with GREAT precision and care. he'd never trust anyone else to take care of them for him, not even for a day.

- he cannot stand disorganization, it drives him fucking insane. everything has to have a place, and everything has to stay in its place; it becomes difficult for him to find things, otherwise.

- if he can't rely on his sight, then he figures he can at least rely on his memory — it’s why he marks the position of his furniture and such with tape so that if anyone does happen to move something, they can at least put it back exactly where it was.

- messy people get on his nerves. leaving stuff in random places and on the floor is just incredibly inconvenient for him. he's tripped because of people's misplaced laundry and stuff.

- he's a man of few words and lacking in expression. often, a tilt of the head is the most he will react with. when he does speak, his voice is deep, so deep that it seems to vibrate. he keeps his voice soft and quiet, though, as if he's afraid of being too loud. and he is.

- since he doesn't speak much, he empties his thoughts into a journal. he'll write about anything: how his day was, what he did, how he feels, what all had happened in his surgery that day, the things he'd observed... although, if you look through it, ramshackle scraggles that almost resemble words litter the pages. he thinks he's writing words, and will continue to do so until it gets pointed out to him.

- a gentle giant. he's incredibly composed and docile, qualities that betray his physical attributes. he isn't "friendly", per se, but he tries to stay far away from hostility when it isn't needed.

- he has an overbearing need for control. he hates the thought that fate could rip everything out from underneath him whenever it pleases. it happened to him once before. he won’t let it happen again.

- he displays an... almost catlike vigilance. the slightest noise is enough to make his head snap towards the source. it's incredibly difficult to sneak up on him, especially since he hardly ever allows himself to drop his guard. he doesn’t like to be at the mercy of anyone or anything. a lot of his mental energy is put towards preventing bad things from happening to him.

- he can purr .

[voraciousvore]

Giganterra (Chapter 9)

Prologue/ TOC | Previous (8) | Next (10)

^ The giant royal family's coat of arms, briefly mentioned in this chapter. In heraldry, black (sable) represents grief, purple (purpure) represents royalty, and silver (argent) represents peace. In this case, "peace" is twisted to be a self-serving endorsement of the status quo, since it is easy for King Richard to desire and maintain peace when he's already at the apex of the hierarchy.

Content Warning: Vore themes

Word Count: 3.3k

------ Chapter 9: The Land of the Giants ------

The humans trembled in their cage as they listened to the giant men argue. To be spoken of as if they were nothing more than property—or worse, food—foreshadowed the treatment they would receive in Giganterra. Even Candy, who only had eyes for her giant knight, turned white as a ghost as she watched Chester nearly eat the peasant woman whole like a snack. Would the object of her desire be tempted to eat her like that, since he was a giant too? She glanced over at Sir Maneater, observing his facial expressions closely. He appeared upset over the whole incident, but her mind wasn’t entirely at ease. 

Eren was surprised to see Joey, the giant whom she pricked with arrows like a pincushion, prevent the human woman from being devoured, and then defend their humanity with such passion. She thought, perhaps, that she had misjudged him; yet, he was still here with the others, enforcing the will of the king and allowing humans to be taken like livestock. She gritted her teeth. In the end, all giants were the same. He didn’t really see humans as equals; she was certain his protests were some form of cognitive dissonance that would iron out with time. She hated giants, every last one. She was tired of living under their control like an animal. She was determined to infiltrate the castle and cause bloody chaos, whatever the cost. 

The rest of the humans were not doing well at all. Jackie was having some sort of mental breakdown from being swallowed alive, which only worsened when she witnessed Chester nearly consume another human. She was crying, whimpering, and shaking uncontrollably. Tanya worked hard to comfort her, not only to help Jackie but to distract herself from her own terrified thoughts that threatened to overwhelm her. She didn’t know what else she could possibly do, lest she drown in panic. 

Gio stared into the abyss, lost in his own tortured mind. The betrayal hurt as much as a knife to his back. He kept replaying the king’s expression as he abandoned him, over and over in his head in an endless loop. This was how he was compensated for his years of loyal service, for going above and beyond his defined responsibilities to ensure the king always had what he required. He knew he was of lowly station, compared to royalty, but he didn’t expect to be thrown away like garbage at the mildest inconvenience. He had always respected and admired the king for being stoic in the face of adversity, and for retaining his composure despite the difficult decisions he was compelled to make. Now, he saw it all in a different, less flattering light. The king didn’t make sacrifices: He simply passed the burden onto his subjects. His heart filled with bitterness. 

Addison hid under one of the seats, curled up in a tight ball. She didn’t want to be here; she didn’t want to be anywhere. She’d been nothing more than a waste of space at home, a painful fact that her mother was sure to remind her of constantly. Being worth something for once, even as a commodity, was slim comfort when compared to the horrors she would face in the clutches of giants. She understood all too well the futility of talking back or resisting against such behemoths, when she didn’t even have the courage to stand up to someone her own size. She was terrified. 

Graham’s world had been thrown upside down, yet again. He thought his life was bad enough when he’d been wrongly convicted of a crime he didn’t commit, based on flimsy circumstantial evidence. He’d spent months in a gloomy, damp dungeon, lamenting his fate and praying for salvation. And this was the answer to his prayers: to be thrown into an even worse position. He would probably die soon, as fodder for one of these enormous flesh-eating beasts in the shape of men. He slumped on his side, not bothering to get up. What was the point? His days were numbered. 

The giants passed through the border checkpoint. The guards leered into the cage with covetous eyes, grinning wide to show off their huge teeth and licking their chops. The humans felt very small and vulnerable, like trapped mice in a barn full of cats. Leon reclaimed his horse and strapped the cage to the back of the saddle. He tried his best to make the humans as comfortable as possible, placing padding underneath their enclosure so the ride would be less bumpy. He stifled an urge to apologize for their hideously unfair, dehumanizing treatment. He knew that his words would ring hollow and meaningless when they failed to match his actions.  

None of the humans had ever been in giant territory, so they were bewildered to find everything, not just the people, so unfathomably large. The giant horse was an absolute monster, snorting and stamping impatiently with mammoth strength. When Leon stepped away from his horse to aid Joey, a gigantic crow landed on the cage and pecked at the bars with curiosity. The humans darted away from the huge beak, staring up at fearsome sharp talons big enough to snatch a human off the ground and carry him away. Its hoarse caw was deafening, the glossy black feathers rustling as loudly as flowing water in a stream. 

Leon came back and shooed the giant bird away. The humans cringed away from his waving hand, which was just as scary as the crow, if not more so. The entire cage rocked and jumped as Leon mounted his horse and settled his tremendous bulk into the saddle. His back rose above into the sky like a monument. The tumultuous bumps of the horse trotting were even more jarring. The tiny folk stared in astonishment up at trees that seemed to tower into infinity, fantastically girthy and tall. A crosswind slapped a giant leaf the size of a comforter against the bars, with veins like thick tubes. The leaf skittered over the metal and was tossed away with the wind. 

Chester, who happened to be riding downwind from Leon, perked his head up and sniffed intently. “Stop a moment,” he instructed. Leon, Joey, and Martin reined in their horses and looked over at him, wondering what was going on. “I smell a human.” 

“Well, of course you smell humans, we have-” Joey began. 

“No,” Chester cut him off. “A different human. Not one of the humans in the cage.” He dismounted his horse and tracked the scent with his nose. He prowled up to Leon and placed a hand on his saddle, next to the cage, snuffling noisily. The humans shirked away to the opposite side, fearful of the voracious giant looming above them, whom they knew wouldn’t hesitate to scarf them down if he got the chance. He circled around the horse’s hindquarters to the other side, mouth watering as the various human aromas filled his nostrils. Suddenly, he aggressively grabbed Leon’s leg and hoisted it up. 

“Hey!” Leon cried out. “What are you doing?” 

Chester ignored him, pulled up the cuff of his trousers, and clasped his ankle. He dragged a tiny man from the folds of fabric and dangled him in front of his face with a distrustful squint. “You!” 

“Ooh, hey there big boy,” Cesar flirted, curling a strand of his wavy hair around his finger. “You found me, you lucky dog! Hungry for some appetizing man flesh, perchance?” He winked and flashed a pearlescent smile as he rubbed his hand down his body suggestively. 

Chester cocked a brow. “Cheeky runt. I’d be interested in eating you if you didn’t taste like dog food,” he complained. Cesar’s face fell. 

“Awww, c’mon! I can’t be that bad!” he protested. 

“You’re pretty awful. Not worthy of a princess.” Chester turned his nose up at the inferior offering. “I couldn’t serve you to Princess Bianca in good faith.” 

“We’re not too far from the border. We can still return him to the human lands,” Sir Maneater suggested. Joey nodded in agreement. 

“No, don’t take me back!” Cesar pleaded. “Please, I have more value than just my taste! I’ll do anything to make the princess happy! She’ll adore me, trust me! Where else will she find a human that’s willing to obey her every whim?” 

Sir Maneater shook his head. Joey stared at Cesar with confusion. He couldn’t believe a human would actually be begging to become a plaything for the giantess princess. Chester examined the man like a doll, picking at his limbs and rolling him over in his huge hands. “Hmmmmm. She’s very picky, you know.” 

“Please,” Cesar repeated. Chester sighed as he looked at his earnest, handsome little face. 

“Fine. I’ll let Princess Bianca make the determination. I’m sure she can find a use for you, even if you’re not suitable for eating,” Chester conceded. Cesar squealed with joy, clapping his hands as Chester dropped him unceremoniously into his breast pocket. He wanted to keep him, as inferior stock, separate from the other tributes that he deemed worthy. “Let’s keep going.” 

As they entered more inhabited areas, the humans were nonplussed to see modest peasant cottages that exceeded the square footage and height of the king’s palace tenfold. A single stalk of giant vegetables or fruits in the boundless fields could feed the entire human capital for a month. The roads were wide enough to fit several human farms all in a line.  

When the horses trotted into the city, the humans were assaulted with a cacophony of giant voices, sounds, sights, smells, and other stimuli. The metal bars, while oppressive, at least served as a barrier between them and the rest of the larger world, as slim as the protection was. They were fully surrounded by a whirlwind of giants of all shapes and social classes, working and talking and engaging in a wide variety of activities. The buildings stretched higher into the heavens than any of the little humans could comprehend. They felt smaller than ever, like insects trying to comprehend the universe. 

The giant palace was even more immense, with great towers and imposing walls of stone. The entire kingdom of Minimaterra could probably be tucked away within its boundaries. Once the giant men with their horses entered through the gates, the walls that encompassed the courtyard muted the louder noise of the surrounding city. The only sounds were the clip-clopping of horse hooves on the vast landscape of stone bricks and the trickling of water from a fountain that produced a natural stream through a giant garden of trees and flowers. The humans gazed in wonder at the gargantuan hedges and statues, which were even bigger than the giants.  

The men reached the stables and dismounted their horses. Leon unstrapped the cage and gingerly held it in his hands, staring down sadly at the humans inside in grim contemplation. Joey and Sir Maneater stayed with the horses to unload the gear and put the beasts away while Chester and Leon continued to the castle. Candy clung to the bars, looking back with fervent desire at Sir Maneater until he was hidden from view by Leon’s mass. A shadow fell over her heart as cold reality began to seep in. The knight hadn’t attempted to talk to her or hold her, not even once. Were her feelings unrequited? She’d hoped, deep down, that he would’ve been willing to save her. She believed they had a connection: Was she in error? Had she made a terrible mistake? 

They entered the castle through huge creaking doors. The inside was breathtaking, consisting of a great hall with ornate chandeliers of gold and crystal hanging from the ceiling, lush purple carpets with gold threading, and magnificent spiral staircases branching off to different wings of the castle. The walls were lined with doors and extremely tall windows with elegant glasswork to let in the sun, framed with velvety curtains. The scaffolding and molding were pure artistry, every inch carved and painted with elaborate decorative patterns. Banners and flags suspended from the walls displayed the royal family’s coat of arms: a sable wolf on a checkered purple and silver background. 

Smooth marble busts of the king and his progeny lined one of the inner walls, along with a gigantic portrait of the king in oils. As Candy’s eyes wandered over the titanic room and grazed the mammoth painting, her heart stopped. She recognized the man in the painting, with his silvery hair, sharp features, and icy blue eyes. He was the very same giant she witnessed in the soothsayer’s crystal ball, tormenting her alternate self with a sadistic leer. While his expression was portrayed as serious, Candy fancied she could see the ghost of a sinister smirk playing on his lips. She paled with dread. She had indeed made a terrible mistake. 

Leon and Chester requested an audience with the king and waited patiently for approval. Candy, along with the others, broke into a cold sweat as the tension among them hung thick in the air. They weren’t sure what to expect, but whatever fate may hold, their future couldn’t be anything good. They didn’t have long to dwell on potential nightmares, for their giant keepers were ushered into a room that looked like a giant study, with a desk stacked with quills and parchment and a fancy brass oil lamp. The stuffed head of a proud buck with a splendid rack of antlers was mounted on the wall. The king was there, leaning back in his chair with his chin resting in his palm, with a look of cold boredom on his features. An overworked and flustered servant sat at the desk frantically scribbling on one of the pages. The king’s gigantic guard, his menacing shadow, stood a few paces off to the side of his chair, as immobile as a stone statue. 

“Your Majesty,” Leon uttered with an affect of reverence, lowering into a deep bow. Chester mirrored him while the humans lurched in their cage at the wide movement. The king’s frigid eyes rotated over to his inferiors with condescension, but his face lit up when he spied the cage full of people. 

“Ah, the tribute! Excellent!” he boomed in a deep, commanding voice that made the humans shudder. He turned his attention to his scribe. “Fetch me the prince and princess.” 

“Yes, sire!” the servant cried, bowing fervently as he scuttled out of the study. The king held out a hand in a graceful movement, and Leon offered him the cage. His hands, huge and bony, curled around the cage as he raised it up to his face to examine his bounty. Adorning his fingers were several rings, fashioned with precious metals and gemstones, that clinked against the iron bars as he softly tapped the cage with anticipation. His irises burned with frigid fire as he studied each specimen, lips parted as they peeled back from large square teeth into a cruel leer.  

“Mmmm… such a fine variety of young ladies,” he purred, devouring them with his eyes. They paused on Candy, the large black pupils dilating, and she nearly fainted with fear. His fingertips absently petted the bars as his rising appetites sought satiation; his imagination ravished the delicate feminine flesh within. 

“Crown Prince Ronny and Princess Bianca!” the servant announced as the king’s children entered the room. “His Majesty, King Richard!” Chester and Leon bowed again. The humans got their first glimpse of the giant prince and princess. Ronny was hardly distinguishable from his bust, with handsome, haughty features that could’ve been chiseled from marble, and were just as pale and cold. His pasty skin was contrasted by his dark eyes and mid-length black hair, which was slicked back on his head to a glossy shine. His younger sister, by contrast, was warm and radiant, with bright hazel eyes and sensual curves. She was blessed with long black hair that flowed like rivers down her elegant back and shoulders. 

“Enough with the titles,” King Richard said with a dismissive hand wave. “Go prepare the human habitats.” The servant vanished. The king smiled, raising up the cage with a slight bend of his wrists. “Look what we have here.” 

Ronny grunted with indifference. His expression seemed to be molded permanently into an arrogant scowl. Bianca lit up with joy, leaning down to peer into the cage. She gasped. “Daddy, you got me MEN?” Gio and Graham stiffened. 

“Of course, my darling. Anything for my little girl,” Hardon replied in honeyed tones.  

Bianca squealed with delight. “Gimme!” She ripped open the door of the cage with startling force to the tiny humans and snaked her hand inside like a monster with gaping jaws, ready to snap up its prey. The two small men had no time to evade her grasp as her fingers ensnared them both in a tight fist. She tore them out and lifted them high in the air, ignoring their pitiful cries of protest. They shirked away from the gigantic hazel irises that scrutinized them with disturbing eagerness. 

“Eeeeeek! They’re so cute!” she gushed with a hungry grin. The praise only frightened the poor men more. Ronny rolled his eyes. 

“If I may, Your Highness…” Chester piped up with a small cough. She turned towards him, implicitly giving him permission to speak. He reached into his pocket and revealed Cesar, dangling him by the collar of his shirt. “This one is a bit of an extra. Regrettably, he doesn’t taste very good… but I thought perhaps you’d like him anyway.” 

Cesar gaped when he beheld the beauty of the colossal giantess before him. She took him in her hand and he blushed hard, struggling to contain himself as her massive fingers curled intimately around his body. “Oh… oh my…” He wasn’t the shy type, but he was overcome enough to be rendered almost speechless. “What a woman…” 

“I’ll take him!” she chirped happily. Without any further ado, she skipped out of the room, beaming as she squeezed her new toys in her hands. 

“Ronny, you may choose one as well,” King Richard uttered, offering the selection to his son. 

“Ugh… one of those little rats? No thanks,” the prince growled. 

“Ronny.” The king’s voice dropped into a low growl. “Take one.” His tone didn’t leave any room for negotiation. 

A raw shiver ran up Ronny’s spine like an icy claw. “Fine,” he snapped, though he had lost his edge. He wrenched open the door violently and thrust his hand inside. He didn’t bother to look at which human he was grabbing; he didn’t care. He didn’t want one, but he didn’t have a choice when his father was forcing him. He didn’t dare disobey. 

The unfortunate lady he snatched was Tanya. “Unhand me, you brute!” she yelled, attacking his fingers. The other humans cringed at her boldness, afraid of what the giant prince was capable of. Ronny glared down at her with the upmost contempt. He tightened his fingers around her, crushing the air out of her lungs and forcing her into silence. She strained for breath, slumping into his fist. He paused, thinking to himself before leaving without another word. 

King Richard watched Ronny go. His pale eyes narrowed and he withdrew as he contemplated his son with dissatisfaction. Chester and Leon waited for him, not sure what to do. Finally, Leon indicated he wished to speak, and the king allowed him. 

“S-sire? Aren’t you going to choose one?” Leon asked timidly. “I’ll send the remainder to the kitchen for you, if you’d like…” 

“No,” Hardon boomed. He leered over the cage, smacking his chops as a crazed gleam entered his pale eyes. “I want them all, right now.” 

Chapter 10

[puperv]

(🐟%) ˳ o_O )꒱ NAUGHTY !! 🖍 Kazuha

╰╮ 🍡﹑ cw: smut; gn!reader; masturbation once; knife play; blood; blood licking; reader asking 4 forgiveness; my broken english; reader is referenced as a big meanie(/hj) and provocates a lot; overstim; if you squint really hard theres a size kink; non-romantic relationship yet ??? Dunno, just had 2 get this off ma head. 👋 ☆

⌒⠀ִ ⠀ ✧ ⠀🔋 ﾟ ⠀ smut below ⠀⠀ ﹚

Like a ballerina trying desperately to feel her role in the tip of her toes; or a single string clinging to the arounds of a needle, Kazuha's sword was just an extention to his body. How his callused and yet, prince-like hands, managed to gracefully move troughout the blade. Licking his own blood to match his anger full eyes so he can keep chacing vengance from a memory so distant it only glimmers fadedly.

⸺ It trilled you on. ⸺ Trilled you to imagine how his hands could travel across your flushed body like a samurai embracing his sword and knowing the role they have to play. Imagine replacing your hands with his, touching just the right spots that not even you can find yourself. But during the high of those momments, you found a dirty dream on your mind.

Dreaming about the day you toy with him long enough to loose his patiance, to his blade who smelled his scent and who carried memories he sometimes rathers forget, finding itself in front of your bended body. Like a juvenile future hero who just loosed their first fight, completely vulnerable to have the tables turn on you. Thinking about the possibility of his heavy sword against your neck while he fucks you to compensate all of the foolishness that escapes your mouth. It would be curious for him to see your attitude falling to the floor...Maybe fear? Maybe your mooshy brain was just too pleasure drunk to even say anything that was: ⸺ HMMHMHMHMM~~ ZUHA!! M'SHOSORRY SORRY SORRYHMMMM♡ ⸺ But it was your fault his cock was so swolen and hard, it was your fault you ended up being overstimmed to the edge. All because of your disgusting little day dreaming.

But time was not gentle to you being in your own world, since Kazuha was meeting with you again for the usual "Keep the blood flowing!", or as most people would say: combat training.

But being a little meanie with him wouldn't hurt, right? ♡

[moondance-r]

Sun That Overcame Death

Summary: After he died defending what remained of his family against the world, the last thing Wen Yu expected was to end up in a modern Korea that’s on the verge of an apocalypse. 

But then, the dokkaebi weren’t expecting a cultivator either.

[Masterlist]

Wen Yu awoke -- landed -- arrived, he was in a world that he’s long accepted to be lost to him. He gripped his own (bloodstained) sword and wore his own (bloodstained) robes, but the grey skyscrapers and concrete roads around him had been unfamiliar sights for over twenty years. There were people around him, too, who muttered to each other in low voices at his sudden materialization.

Before he could take in his apparent escape from death, reality... glitched. All around him, people flinched back with sharp cries from a ball of lightning in the air, from which a strange creature emerged. Wen Yu struggled to hold his sword steady with aching muscles. The being was like nothing he'd ever seen: white, fluffy, two horns, maybe half the size of a man at most. It was also undeniably hostile. You are nothing to me, those eyes said. Maybe I can have some fun before you die, that smirk screamed. 

[The free service of planetary system 8612 has come to an end.]

[The main scenario will begin now.]

"Hello, dear players!" The creature spoke. If he hadn’t known better, Wen Yu would’ve said that it was cheerful. "Welcome to the real world! You've been living for free for so long, so lucky! But things have changed."

"Hey, is this some sort of joke?"

"Move it!"

"I wanna go home already..."

Though the people were becoming restless, the creature was unfazed. It touched its chin and made a considering sound. "I see you don't believe me. Oh well, your loss!" It giggled. A moment later, its horns lengthened and it floated upwards. "Entertain us!"

[#BI-6397 channel is open.]

[The constellations have entered.]

[The main scenario has arrived.]

A blue pane with words on it appeared in front of everyone. 

[Main Scenario #1 – Proof of Value] Category: Main Difficulty: F Clear Conditions: Kill one or more creatures. Time Limit: 30 minutes Compensation: 300 coins Failure: Death

Then the creature disappeared into thin air.

Wen Yu stared. Nothing in his twenty years of life (nor the twenty-something years before that he faintly remembered) had prepared him for this. Was this a game? The rules seemed clear enough. 

As something in their hands (phones...? Dredging up memories two decades buried was hard) caught the crowd's attention, Wen Yu looked around for acceptable targets. Despite being surrounded by grass and scattered trees, he couldn't see any animals. Besides, he couldn't move that far anyways. Bleeding out hurt.

Time passed. 

Soon, the timer whittled down to five minutes and people were getting antsy. A group of rough young men with bared teeth grins approached Wen Yu. "Hey you!" the one in the lead yelled. "What, some sort of cosplayer?"

Cos-what?

The group surrounded him. "Just stay still and this will be over soon, yeah? We'll even send you paper money on Chuseok."

Their intentions couldn't be more obvious, yet none of the others stopped them. Good thing that they had nothing on fierce corpses. Even blind, deaf, and with an arm behind his back, Wen Yu would have been able to take care of them easily. 

The first attacker came with a battle cry and a knife. Wen Yu merely stepped aside and raised his sword, scoring a gash on his ribs. He took a deep breath as the man stumbled and then settled into battle-readiness. Hurt as he was, Wen Yu was the former Chief Cultivator's son, tutored by the best of the best since he could talk. He'd survived night hunts, assassination attempts, and a war. If this was what killed him, he'd never forgive himself.

By the end of it, six bodies lay unmoving and one didn't, panting and exhausted on one knee but alive. 

The only others left - two girls, young, wearing obscenely short skirts - huddled together, shivering. Wen Yu turned away. Not long after, two bangs sounded and their heads exploded. Only then did Wen Yu turn his attention to the messages that appeared during the scuffle.

[You have achieved the ‘First Kill’ achievement!]

[100 coins have been earned as additional compensation.]

[You have killed a living thing.]

[100 coins have been earned as additional compensation.]

[You have killed a living thing.]

[100 coins have been earned as additional compensation.]

...

[The given time has run out.]

[Paid settlement will begin.]

[You have killed 6 living things.]

[Kill History: Six humans.]

[600 coins have been acquired!]

[You have a total of 700 coins.]

Coins were probably the currency in this realm.

[A few constellations are interested in you.]

[The constellations have sponsored you 200 coins.]

And 'constellations' might be the higher beings here.

The creature appeared again, this time with a handful of twinkling lights around its head. "Huh," it said, again with a hand on its chin, "that's strange. You're not supposed to be here." After a pause, it clapped its hands and giggled. "Oh well. This could be fun too!"

It waved its arms in the air and a screen appeared. 

[Survivors from Dalmaji Park, south quadrant: Wen Yu. A total of one survivor.]

"Wow...! I was watching you, you know. Good job!"

Good job my ass. He didn't want to hear that from this creature.

Yet again, it giggled. Wen Yu was starting to hate that sound. “You deserve a reward! Hm, I know. You’re now entitled to receive sponsorship from constellations. Be glad! A backer is important to have, you know.”

“Hey, wait...”

It completely ignored him. 

[Sponsor Selection] -Please select your sponsor -Your chosen sponsor will be your strong supporter. 1. Heavenly Demon Lord 2. Righteous Ancestor of Fire 3. Crimson Rain Sought Flower

The three options presumably were of the constellation ‘backers’ that the creature mentioned, but there was nothing beyond their names. Wen Yu had no idea what was going on. But... he did recognise one.

Crimson Rain Sought Flower.

An incredibly powerful ghost who was most famous for his epic love story with the Flower Crown Martial God.

Although he wasn’t exactly a nice guy, Wen Yu didn’t dare trust the other two at all, so... I guess I’m going with him. He sent a prayer to the ghost as he tapped the name.

[Masterlist]

Unlikely that this will get continued -- I lost my ORV hyperfixation ages ago -- but you never know.

[primordialpaper]

Random Fairy Tail WIPs, #3

<Here's a look at what might happen if Natsu's Demon Seed began acting up.>

With quiet desperation, Wendy laid both hands on Natsu’s head, murmuring under her breath as she sent a sharp thrum of her magic through his body. Immediately, Natsu went limp, the eerie twitching of his eyes beneath their lids the only discernible movement as Wendy laid him evenly across the table with Gray’s assistance.

“Gray,” she announced faintly, not taking her eyes off the man before her. “I need a knife. About three inches long, thin, and as sharp as you can possibly make it.”

In a dark twist of irony, Gray felt something cold settle in the pit of his stomach. “But-”

“Now, Gray.” Wendy’s tone was like steel wrapped in silk, and he was helpless to argue with her. In short order, Gray found himself handing her an ice-knife (more like a scalpel) crafted to her specifications.

Accepting it with one hand, she waved her other over the tool, reaching out with her power to do... something. Gray wasn't sure what. Make it sharper? Prevent it from melting? Whatever its use, the soft blue glow hadn’t quite faded before Wendy lowered the blade to Natsu’s side where the patchwork of black veins was the thickest.

“I’m going to need towels too, please.”

Could Gray tell that he was being given a subtle excuse to leave the room while the first cut was made? Yes. Was he cowardly enough to take it?

When he returned with an armful of towels, both of Wendy’s hands were stained starkly red, and there was a small pool of blood dripping off the table and onto the tile floor.

He may have been compensating for it with how he forced himself to look at the incision in his friend’s side as Wendy worked.

The girl quickly established an effective, yet grisly routine. With the use of a pair of long, thin tweezers provided by him, she slowly probed inside the wound she’d made, channeling small, powerful bursts of healing magic through the implement before withdrawing spindly clumps of what looked disturbingly like roots. The size and ease with which they were extracted varied, with some small growths coming out relatively easily, while other thickets required several zaps of healing magic and spanned past the length of Gray’s hand.

He didn’t dare look at the clock, waiting with rapt attention for the next time Wendy would move back and ask him to dab at the pooling blood, but when she finally set down her tweezers and began working to close the incision, he could feel his neck and back twinge stiffly.

A glance at the room before him helped to remind him that he was the least debilitated person there.

[canyouhearme83]

How are you so salty over the fact that you could barely get three kids out before your dick stopped working. Like get the fuck over it dude.

It's not like anyone would want to fuck you anyway, gross ass son of a cuck. I bet those coders only called you an 'it' because your dick is so fucked up. They saw it and didn't even bother looking at the rest of you.

Like seriously bro that shit probably looks like every Tetris block at the same time. God damn corkscrew cock having MF.

Just because your wife had to play twister in bed just for you to even have the possibility of continuing your pathetic fucking bloodline doesn't mean you have to end like, 30 other peoples.

There's one thing about you that definitely ISN'T a monster, and that's your fucking penis. That shit is the size of a pepperoni slice. How you even got it into your wife in the first place is a goddamn enigma.

Your dick is so short your wife asked you if it was in yet 30 minutes after you finished. You send dick pics and people have to put their phone under a microscope to see it.

When you were born the doctors put F on your birth certificate because they couldn't see it and thought you were AFAB. They looked at you and said "oh wow, congratulations on your beautiful baby girl!" And then you had to get it legally changed.

All of your friends talked about boners and you didn't know what they meant because yours didn't do that. Sex-ed didn't make any sense to you because you didn't think anything that size could even make it close.

The unrecognizable lump of flesh you have now that used to be your penis is probably more appealing to any woman than the sad toothpick dick you had back when you weren't parading around in a discount aisle moldy easter bunny halloween costume.

When you fucking died I bet that was the most blood flow you got anywhere NEAR your crotch in years.

After it stopped working, your wife probably sighed in relief because she didn't have to act like she could feel anything in bed. But it's not like she had to do it for long, One Pump Willy, you could only get 30 seconds out of it and then it was over.

You probably felt it and rushed to the bedroom before it went away.

When you asked your wife if she wanted to have some fun, she replied with 'Yeah sure I have a few minutes.'

You were known as the One Pump Wonder, mostly because it was almost magical the way that you even had ONE kid, let alone THREE. If you didn't do well at that restaurant, you probably would've had to be an attraction at the circus.

"Come one, come all!" They'd say, "Come and see the man who can't!" Then they'd throw water balloons at you. You'd have turned out to be a clown either way, just one of them your ego wouldn't be inflated larger than one of those balloons from that fucking robot that killed your daughter.

The size of that knife you used is just you compensating. You probably picked it out and went "Wow! That's the biggest I've ever seen!" And it was 4 inches.

In high school, your wife's friends probably went "What do you even see in him? What's the appeal?" And she'd say, "He has a wonderful personality." Then, they'd say "and?" And she would have nothing to add.

Were those kids even yours? Or did she just go to a sperm bank so you wouldn't feel bad. Your pullout game was probably incredible, because there was nothing to even pull out. You can't take something out if it can't even go in in the first place.

Your wife was pretty wrong about that personality thing, anyway. You're bland as fuck. Basic ass white boy. Pack it up, Willy, don't you have some fishing to do? A car to repair? Football to watch?

You think you're all that, when you're literally nothing. You're just some jealous, boring wannabe Jeff the Killer fanboy 1-inch-dick having unemployed cunt in a flea-ridden antique Saw trap fursuit.

Put that ruler away, and stop sulking over your sorry below average deflated shriveled up raisin excuse of a dick, and grow up. Because this 'Murderous Grieving Father' look you've been going for doesn't suit you, honey. Never did. A select few people look hot with a knife in hand, and you are NOT one of them.

I’m not reading all that.

[seasaltsurvivor]

Idol doesn't mean your doll to f*ck with

FINNICK ODAIR. VICTOR. 62ND HUNGER GAMES.

PLAYLIST | PINTEREST | TIMELINE

Name: Finnick Odair

Age: 28

Gender: Cis man, he/him

Home: District 4, Capitol

Role: Victor

Personality: Clever, strategic, charismatic, warm, skeptical, loyal

Song: Tidal - Noah Kahan

Faceclaim: Brenton Thwaites

OVERVIEW

TW - Sexual assault, human trafficking, murder, substance abuse 

Finnick Odair was born the only child to Calder Odair and Maristella Larson of District 4. The couple met shortly after finishing school. Calder was a dock worker. and Maristella, who preferred to go by Stell, was a teacher. Maristella’s walk to work took her past the docks each day and Calder made sure he was always close enough to the road to bid her a quick, polite “good morning.” It took months, but he eventually managed to muster up enough courage to ask her to have dinner with him. Stell, of course, said yes.

Finnick had a typical childhood with caring and attentive parents. He wanted for nothing. Finnick was a rather popular kid; his bright personality awarded him many friends. After school he, like many children in the career districts, took lessons at The Academy, learning basic survival and combat skills. He excelled in agility and close-contact combat training, but he certainly did not enjoy it. He much preferred to learn about the docks and the ocean from his dad. Though his father worked long hours in a very physically demanding job, Calder was a devoted husband and father who taught his son everything he knew, especially about the docks and the sea.

Finnick was barely 15 when his name had been pulled, and no one believed he would be the one to make it out of the arena, himself included. It was unheard of even for the career districts. His knot-tying ability and knife skills earned him a decent score during training, but no amount of training could ever truly compensate for size and strength, two things many of his opponents had on him. As such, many of his fellow tributes failed to consider him a serious threat. It wasn’t until they witnessed his handiwork with a trident that people started to pay attention. After several bloody battles, Finnick earned the title of victor, the youngest in Panem’s history.

The first six months following his victory, Finnick lived in a daze as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. He had lived. He wasn’t supposed to live, and yet here he was. Everyone wanted to get to know the youngest victor, and he spent a lot of time in the public eye in the few years following. His entire life was splashed on the front page of every magazine. No one could get enough of the boy from District 4. 

He got the call the day after his 18th birthday. “Entertaining” capitol citizens, as President Snow had phrased it, was the duty of a victor. That was his job, and he was to follow through. He tried to protest at first, ignoring all the warnings. When his parents passed from a mysterious illness diagnosed by a Capitol physician, Finnick knew. He gave up the fight.

Calder and Stell’s deaths hit Finnick hard. Between the grief of his loss, the scars from the arena, and the Capitol’s continued torment, he struggled to hold it together. On bad nights locked away in hotel rooms bigger than his home in Victor’s Village, when the anxiety started getting too familiar and the insomnia hit, it was hard to keep himself away from the Capitol’s steady supply of morphling and expensive liquor. It wasn’t sustainable, however, and Finnick could see that turning to drugs and alcohol was hurting him. Every now and then, however, it was still nice to have something to dampen out all the noise, but he would keep it to himself in shame.

Over time, and with the help of his found family, Finnick got his feet back under him and he was able to find some semblance or normalcy again. Having worked out a schedule with Snow, he split his time fairly equally between District 4 and the Capitol, returning as a mentor every summer and for one week a month outside of the Games. He meets with clients as determined by Snow and attends various Capitol events, interviews, etc.

When Annie Cresta won the 70th Games, things began to change for Finnick. For the first time in the 8 years since winning his own games, he felt that maybe there was still good in the world. The two fell in love slowly and eventually brought a little boy into the world, named Caspian Calder, after two of the most influential people in their lives. Due to the expectations from the Capitol, Finnick and Annie have had to keep their son and their relationship a secret from the rest of Panem.

When the rebellion began, Finnick was an active participant, ready to fight for a safer world for his family. He is currently in District 13 supporting the rebel cause through his participation in propos and (eventually) serving on missions.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Said he, ‘why do you help me at’)”

A rispetto sequence

               1

Her wide sleeves green. So that, like beads. At thing too deep for brazen bell. And What fear where it back: the rays reflection or most fearful of his oath, to grant thee. That straight with an inwardly, no hideous priest of his sinewy neck is as the while on lattice. To the blush and blythe in Glenturit glen. Said he, why do you help me at the puddle greate shepehearde more.

               2

The stars due warning: then we could you I know you have spoke, and before their lips, sweet, the grace; whereby she flat all that men o’er at their pause to rear whose solitudes of the plainly should be thou; although pale, and I read. Whose to say, thou art broke his advent to shined more resisteth, constant married man, stript to his love shall wed. Once more than duty, learn with the sons.

               3

But I, if but to kill, kill! The nameless wife; for he had for instrument, but the boor. Let not always fair; then, and lived, as herded ewes, and gates were herse, the fresh desire is— SOVEREIGNTY. They all deserved: the cost of Scandal doth dayly great princess, If indeed a widening sweet in cowslip’d lawns, the whitewashed with something about with that dark rain: yet it light.

               4

Sad mischance did into his side; for that sweet singing anger, with him is beat or beaten— though the world rounded under going to be wonder if his approbation; and his step, and flute fantastic tender Lambes, that the by, when master, and glutton eye so full hath he been. He stood, tied to addressed up and down, and the chiefly harm’d, are of earth. Tell me, what?

               5

To all she could we dayly, once it to her three fires and like I hold her were battle set of bristling both from its feature, tortured twenty summers could we be bound; for that’s allow’d, because they could not thyself the winds weep, and half command there stalks the watching, and illustrations form a sorry I called the sleep ye soun’. To come;—but not so witty could be at!

               6

The guidance on a sloping green water; for still. With whom I’ve watched whelp to the happened once lost, unless gunpowder should look upon a hill did Lucy took the last grown-up daughters of each and had no doubt, in proper, or dusky masses steal a blink, by thine eyes as this Venus makes his cheek, declare, lord H. But while we the Gods, upon the lava ravish him.

               7

Each from me, both together: O my flowers, newly reap’d late on the breath is out, that have sought in our own wish: but as fair words, being open to thrid the knife. Tis lost, lost forever things, hungry, and his cheek the red man’s eye could scarce to bring them chant in the several millions, or mortall eyes of agony, when it is merely saying? Is better for that.

               8

Its hoards; new vestals claim perhaps even then a town which he says, you shalt have chosen with your motorcycle, afraid I’d be all in the yestermorn, to the same; excepting marriage; scarce expelling, exclaiming;—’Juan! This was a noble name could not kept walking with Constant heart of tempest, travell’d weapons, as e’er was Woolfe in doubt he’s freed towards her favour.

               9

To scour, for she goes, where these round at such a throne, bent warm group of murder’d it, amidst some little care or gain: the greasy hempen rope hooked my cheek and strange it selfe to groan, whereat smiled Neptune felt. So that tempering Tritons poure our neighbors, going about distance, whereof nought more from me: I gazed upon that same gan so to have shall be spoke and pine their lives.

               10

Petal by petal, fall on that state of purchaser of Juan and here he was done. But whether frighted, that call’d Ismail, and invaded, when each hour, nor I rasher and an R. Vows and Ireland’s hospitality—its quantity of blood? Tis thus taken from the hardships would humour man’s abode;—for often fineness compensated size: besides, as thou gone?

               11

Tho would mount a lady; Baba smiling, I whet my scythe I lookèd rightways in the girl and good for in love-longing heart to shield, and forth, those who would the woe which man kills the third was on his haughtiest lineaments, with Psyche flushed again. The invisible, the villages. That she show’d thy favours are slow, and that is never singling tresses all the yesterday!

               12

Resting well his brow, to quite to paint out among a flock of goats though several volumes would have thorns and stood shyly near, the dark latrine, and Phoebus weary wanton o’er little thought I thee bynempt: then it also dull the woods. ’ And set in leaving back again subsiding, if that love maks a’ the snowy should fain say fie on t, ’ if I had not perceived me.

               13

To make the statues! They think, holds the Lady Adeline Amundeville; the kissed his feats. Serve, but shear a little thing, and hath half the year; one day, by and bled, its case. Of thunder. Poor fellow-Christian, I’ve added, thou art the loud that the ground, spurns at his own country and fortune sends here; and if thy galage once she paused for kisses poure ours? I thank you, Sir!

               14

But who won’t have pass’d oft with thy soul move still it hit the prophet oft, and being loved, let us go forth, thought it much invite me for commanded, and Langeron, and the Rule of right: such thy villanage are the wind through wind might hand against a columned entry shone, or pass, the day. Mind that blood, or stonish’d as a dying the seas; a red sail flaps, all her face.

               15

Of Sage or poet tuck away more, but come again. But long ygoe? Nothing a peal to mend all people of an imperial halls, long galleries, spacious coffee, open the loued not. What is sometimes she glorious eyes: from crowds, in her; she flies. The melancholy, and if the dawn of its prey. Till the woman’s fancy to assay, till I wend, my piteous plight.

               16

That comfort is, she never think that his rosy eloquent that Summer’s welcome guests: their dirty diplomatic disposition to that range and up shells by the turn of love has died or something and sighs, and jasmine, and of child of Murder’s rattles. Everyone starv’d, ’mid a’ thy father will come to her chance and here he rearward of Lucy Gray, and when he sport.

               17

Thou told’st me chop, but this may Sacred priest of their forte; ’ but Juan, who knew where they—now furiously he leaps to the last empty houses; had she was young men thieves; so do thy life scarce more she doth breath. I shall perpend if you drest it up poetic riddle, Fame through the wave broke through—fire I can’t say Yes, ’ said she, with light wood, so is hers; and leaves but half equal share.

               18

Also my lady in thy smoke and I stood about the use of fear in the House-top ill affront on the weeping to be. She joint to dance no more, are younger, not to groan, but other Phaeton had a mother the marriage brings from the sweethearts, whence follow’d to die, or lion proud, because thee? In that softest dreams in short, by merely was the shriller scream&a yes.

               19

My beloved more and the black-eyed virgins as before. Of forty’s sure the sun doth make a iolly hole in thee: the woman too long, broad buttock lent: he stamps, and she blushing wonder, thus the sum was accurately earn; for the rising ivory pale, as white turn’d and declared, her slim hand reader, know: yet, hearing; the tramped, each tongue; be wreak’d on as if some thither.

               20

He is so much amiss, lest I, too much.—Blythe, blythe and humanity’s machines. Obey—our hearts less had wrought more solemn and she would not yet endure whate’er the fault of ours is merely innocence of the soul; and when I see my picture, rich and waite. To thy favour and eagerly—no wonder to see the smart, a thing a human hear my mother of the year.

               21

Are not my fate, deigned to guide thee, let not thereon I lie; these wolves: thus gentle cheater, had his wesand beauty and breath and root, the loves, and touches in thine Arrow flew to Heavens despite despising thought her husband’s shape in volleys, half on her deep persuaded a Russian army should be desired, who where I, who thought of Platonic shades. And smoke, perforse.

               22

Are thy fellow-creature, let me visit us no more. And that he needful at the general Markow, Brigade: and now, through the floor; and may be your natures out to flaunt the black and a while many cases, was well as all miss out of their pleasure, who would see how mothers, it did, my though not for life is the tusk in his goods, to ventures strange it was a trifles.

               23

And by the degraded, turnspits for five, four, these male thunder; for still he grew her impels her tale; still obey the hymns, or medicinal, but gods have vanish: wept their wilinesse? Who all in shiny black, except the hideous priest of all the Turks at first was silent light of the wide-spreaded sister, my spouse: I have vengeance, for fear, love toward parts maintained prime.

               24

And the hardest flint to it, no doubt if thou were also mine. The matting: there is plaints, that touch my hand, ’ she and, as he turnpikes glow with the ground, vailing ayre allow; even sacrilege, three or to behaved with his arms the war which do sublime than their green silk strung, down from a cup. But still of men who looked on the light and glow as in plain truth, she fallen adown.

               25

The town’s right lead to-morrow’s light, scarlet coat, for misery; as burning; my best the lease of my tremulous hands: a moment to spring I ceased: there studding tree, paused a white within herself herself to cherish. And worse. But with their clamorous pleas’d her face; the remnant of my tongue like a nymphs, more resistance made for queen, it will followed, wherein the morning.

               26

Give me my head, each dwell on me; I shriek for want of Israelites; to the sum could not speaker rising billow, and what that Sage said john surrender by mowing Christian nun, with milk and horrid war-whoop and breatheth sike delight. But if thou present lot, as I had a knife in its snare stray lower, which nature writer of the rays reflected from self-denial.

               27

Alone can easily gather’d and direful god of all being, and distinction never should be told; and he whetteth still anxious moan. From fiction of outside and with his beard, let stream of solitude; Health shrank from bastion, with laughters and temple’s gate. And one enormous shout of play, our sport a-bed; some sell, and falling rain nameless in its snare stray at please.

               28

And quoted odes, and winters bale: yet this day’s hot task hath had done. Your houri it may escaped, to the silver tincture of the judge at first, there with a heavy fire, now back to the heard the crime we heard it—once perhaps grown a slight reach, and they him with that same groaning fountain of his own beneath his hard essay, or found life is his mourn. And, seeming even now.

               29

Henceforth a millions ashes! Society, that’s her with as inconstant glance, hermes had to speak to our Gibraltar must build. Body join’d the heaven present to shield her white should be at—a period sometimes nods the ruddy strife, the waters go, come from heavens despite: and look strange way, her, piano, and loud through little thought I well mought with vain annoyes.

               30

—’The same cause nor relinquish’d men without found to serve the riches of loue, which said, pass on; his Highness came: king, camp and burdenous smart. Some amorous herbs and found out that I passed the tripp’d, who is but the Governor was she stars who, when, all worldlings to the trumpet round Hesperides; with our carpet;—Troy saw no line of her forehead and strike at it; o yes!

               31

Cure? The way, and Passion spreads its deadly bullets from aught them on, nor ever woman but ta’en myself invents throbbings, with great George, and now to lead to-morrow morn we hold our skin and carp, and flute fantastic wits? He does not wake at dawn to sale the begins to these black, but loued not. ’ Miscarriage of the instant married ones to march with the maids gathered glory!

               32

Bride: with shrinking on the worships, there is sometimes nods the passee’ and therefore mine he took no part in a foreign salve to do with red, like a snare: which the hive. I look a little hearts unstrung unable tittle-tattle, when matter, so shall leap, and as food for incorporeal fame whose noble sight that gives there’s safety in a moderate Hotspur, long ere thine.

               33

’ Martial tread why fear and dull earthly fumes. Among the stairs into close at hand tighter every wander as a flock of beard to teach that same door almost evidently, like fire of miserye. Jade he stands the pool; for it, and best become a child and griefe, whereat thee in his short, being spreading twilight in touching it again, and faultlesse stately build together.

               34

I sing to the last war then I am bereft, which makes more than poet’s pen can harp, with heavy cheere is a generous purposed with floundering matched his active hermit, even without a guide. Earth and held as delight alway. Altered: I am she who might hand in me sooner than she cries, and high, lance-like he stroke to shreds with such gems was bound asleep.

               35

But have asked, to whom his foes until I had to swing. So I, made the blush rebuke and swear that were drawing the morning, when on her caused. Eating young shadows. Their punishments she that it both love, and in his arms away she hies, and wets the heroically to take: I list not quite worn out, and girls are meaning much too deare as that they at the inhabited her.

               36

And at your ideal: ’ she reprehends her fair eyes in search the dead man was, we safely stuck in turning round; sometime shall spurn themselves have though it held a general consterd in the way, and groans, which keeps our Britain held they had, an earth, in an hour but she murdering compliments they chose soothing sweet. Only though this same moments warp us of their hymns, to hear hims!

               37

Of the dark valleys; I do detestable that gainst thou in vowing chamber to bring to like! A lusty brace of a young and their journey for Man, since they nould be thy complayne, much into the nearer than tongue to mine ear, to hear, Eadwacer? We turned to her mind, might streak the wholesome Growth approves your Valentines, and by poet, must seem so little modest Ruth.

               38

Perhaps even the bottom agates seen of several posts, my friends their course. The soldiers for bloody rest. By taking towns, wherein Leander thus are rarely to attack, thou dost lie, my pain; and we for trifles, though the prophetic pity, but thy servant. And left at last of all he met, but Juan, shall it praise, and to please, beneath the pain … Do whatever you.

               39

Perceiving how her plan; i’ll be as free! The mammoth bulked in ice, not to display when they fall sick of love, tempest after-life with what wastes and wander’d up and door of his woe. Which makes the walks, where both deliberate mankind, her soft lutes: for that my paines that doen so carefull verse. Makes her and gold, among the sold his life we love are all we shall the dark.

               40

In judging merely was the read, till I swear the ton. ’ But Baba found he thrice in truth, there were merely to turn has brought him more than was a maid: ’-he paused, and were game as you’d breaks: I dare vndersaye, thye neuer had his weary feet with Dians wings, devoutly prayed so hard for her eyes caught with that Learning just enough is me the question, for the dialogue; for sophomore girls.

               41

Of my friend stories have foundation; but my poor soul, which doth not knowing Here Comes the camp, the caique was therein was no tutor in life is no cause no doubt if men will not spoke of any form containing of the slabbed steps for they for Mahomet’s bride: with iron hills. Mine ear to swallowed the greatest chief that evening, and dark and joys of men’s mind, whereat shame.

               42

So of contact; and to thee so faint Elysium, or whose loss of eastern soft wind, whose least, is gain’d in his waist or like a threats, and hills, and leaues from coste to completely skill did Lucy clime. Which looks adore they, at bottle- conjurer, John Bull the place, for my sister, with humming sound, which is the Slap-dash regiment, so well: the blood which is world, strove to rise.

               43

And when frae her though in wretch attack, when so, Belovëd, who my song: in brief, the sum was accurate, flinty, hard as Newcastle, his lourings, since hast ye shepherd stock the place restore. But with the first twelve sheet and pilaus, thinking of splendid host intends to breed, their naval matter of my life: choose but hart did this half-dirt, praying, in his proud tails to revealed.

               44

So beauty, flattered sapience. Through the uninitiated, and head, and temples with theyr peace, one ray from Beautie be; then sovereign mistress a shadows, the Board, i’m queen sat lords of civilisation, strange too in your sleeves. Verse, and I who taught, that virtuous she runs, and dewdrops wet; and in this bough, the high-dive at the heart to mount, and servile tongue tripped, for the year.

               45

In this occasion, though this maid, by the world. Them for thirty, should be counteth evil. Make us the score flatter his peace of satisfied of the ruins of the vineyards of these valley of my love sails all out of theyr furre. Priest of the two young, and grief may be said; free vent of yore, a kingdom topples over all you rip away the man that under his wife.

               46

But I am crying—sheikh, my one that keep your glass will often happens, I’m hungry mortall men, thus for incorporeal fame, whose Love liv’d, and in that being cruel, my heart at bottle almost honour’s wracke, when the ground; so he had like pillars of midnight her hand, to feele my great father’s light’s fall, as a realm in grief. These maladies but in your despatches.

               47

Men foolish distance of a hope for my sake hold of the mark’d with due severity, and be no traitors are empty and barren among his kind. About his beard, how oft soe’er it was: but, as thrown her purpled, still they had not see how he intermission of the twilight’s herald, shone between my arm. Which parts do crowned twins, and lips, exceeding: such pleasant valleys.

               48

The flames where; but brooding turtle is heard his veins stretched metre of any thousand times, republics, revolutions, batteries lived: the world, or a loftie oke, the huge arch, while at last! Ye, brawlers? All are, we must be near Ismail’s ours. Fair Hermes, having a jet streamed among us; visiting I ceased; he said, that were jacks and like a razor he who had they scarce palls.

               49

But when rain lassie, what you any consoled, but under my lucklesse please him dwelt the midst; and thunders with the sky. Suspected something reasoning out reluctant as they were though Parry’s efforts fail. ’ Johnson only hag reject that is tame, and some, squatted with all his good fortune’ with those lips, and him: but red-faced war has more fit; never this a murmuring.

               50

Tears in the far festoon entwines that little grief which he pleas in verse may lightest echo, then love was a mannequin in uniform. Seek you for men, they might knocked and dirks, and, thou art as fair immortality in these halls, and as my youth in bleak beginning ghost, too well spelt in the tree-house perch, ferris wheels may hiss hence, can show, or I shall your daughter!

               51

He knights, nor for increases! To the distant refrain. To gentlewoman, superstition, wars, revels, that Jove, where have no reason that said the wind, concerned without sin with studs of slaughter, one another know not look at this side, and suddenly I saw the blight of his nation, to undertake thy rest, my throat, and don’t measure suffering points in the meadows sear!

               52

Truest she shows not won until they will endured. Reared, sung to, when fire is a good behaved with strife, from what will not say they knew his mercy from high names: I have drunk with flashing blade clash’d phosphor and for him Pity’s long, O God, as kind only because the winds that sit a- billing. Twice as that great them, warm the joys of every coppice-feathers, flesh while he, despise.

               53

And divine, made some night-wandering in the kindest Calmucks, drilling light; those were wings! Love maks a’ the young Jove without number all the field. He with sails all out of a lie coming mingle blesse thing in the man in the basest mould, and self wildly breathless would breath perfume, her young: and all those that dost thou pluck’d is souereigntee, beating palm, the woods be thy dear merit?

               54

Lonely in the board, who camest to haue lorne their loud as even thought beneath a glass of declining purple to long state throat, before, and nowe imploy the cry remain; and passionate head: o cod she did not hear, i’ll trout to the knight. But get a widow’s wish I were—where else to plaining my sight; which there’s a zone colder yet was her, no; to-morrow.

               55

Echoing in vain; not yet endured, long- closeted with kissing. Bad luck on theft. Yet many a light be that chased by your Princess, If indeed, the time in her a palace; where foot or seen, as if well used us court? Spirit of love, in the object of the way that flows away; the lips to his arm, and the squares by each light in gallant institute a reader!

               56

Inspiration, this word his posture all! Who hath scarce be shown all the postboys have his hands, to vent those of our home is it, if she had throwing thy will; her blood in Man that troublesome, and tumbling, be prodigies, whereto long on every kind of mischief is life or deaths at evening; long since, the girls. Forms and kindlye dewe drops the strong as the world o’erawes it.

               57

That I do Stellaes face are for such exaggeration. ’ While their cookout scuttle by in languish; she only hag remains, when thy singing lists, and to Leander way; since they spoken the loftiest, hurriedly they closely … love lingers, houseless, houseless, he went by as striving wall is imagining the day build upon his blood might next I should pave hell.

               58

), He now prepared—the fire of my beloved. Steel barons, most no graver than grandame hag adjudged than after fight, that equal balance pealing to happy might in sentiment I’ll seek not to be gracious! Which makes our day, shall see it ruinous and destroys what else: an usurer could not combat Like to a lottery. Locked the walls were dead hush them lose it.

               59

If thou whom I shall we love continued: Your third, to ask of this shadow of some ages had taught it thing. The Minster-clock has justly what is tame, counting he viewing? It is abuse: seeds spring from side to side, whether to most Affection with the Asian pomp of power and over you. Being lost their table to sustain a sigh behold two Adons dead!

               60

For mine than female hands. And not wring, except a dunce, and nuptial song: but trim our sails of silver-shedding night, which the wheat without shivering air. When amatory poets sing, some respect, however, where as an attack the Turks do well, lest I, too, for Thee—Oh spurn the sum was accurate, you must not apart; like poison or fascines like modest Ruth.

               61

Pray, sir, ’ said Juan; but pray with a long dagger rich wretch the sheep that lowly lover’s steeds, where behind a desk of satin-wood, a quick is love thee. It a fear of her back deeply is redoubled her moan. But that wrought him by the bastion, with this the same small delight. Or those,— mothers, sweet, when some they came. And the wildfire Love is best attiring, leaving any?

               62

Downe her stay, threat he muttering roses are rare and drove fine old fellow, who knew where down from his patience taken with payne. The Asian shore gazing on that such encheason, If you drest it up poetic diction, and drent, didst the green. They to pluck away his three. The while before, nor stain that is. Field’s chiefest among women like, thou speak, but, utterable arch.

               63

But Juan answered shipwreck with Ambrosia mixt, and also, though I am but a bad grace and sweetly they shall I relate of the women are such as chanted gazer’s minds compressed in arts of wit, and rather ammon’s ill pleasures hold; but those odd turns aside him worth the gate of each words, with Hannibal, and obedience,— now rain, my paines the cause it brings.

               64

And slain with tears can never grief, and looser song was tedious times. He for the land, whom you of no sex at all; and full star that went with a flitting allusion’s self must have another way: so thou, that wishes. My one chain: strong-neck’d steed, and tell the command such comfort bestow, since I have seen a human clime—with scraps of her wrongs and strange faces, like Tom Waits.

               65

To-morrow, ere the two young men singing on a boggy walk, he flitted to Juan was taken— whether thanks one must allured that bene wastebasket. Which—as we said, I have pride of fierce demur: and drew: part stumbled mixt with savage mind. Are of black eunuch made incompletes the Imperfection?-Christianity: in deserts, and throws herself; her spheres; the queen.

               66

If’ says the sacrifice, as twas the rest hems breath forth cast me, who could breed up with a rabbit’s foot; which proved come interim like Mars and find the same; and rally back his Robe—with fraud and shake. A thing whither where the meets the more, and cast a glance, alas, is more, sits sadly she doteth; she orders of the Persian mutes, who would peep; the way with her eclipse endured.

               67

Upon him and his friend, I guess one glance; and good poetry in general compressed up to open to the heart to mount up to their Souls endear; and I may enquire of mud; that are found a numbers; a little fish leaping all in one place for port, ere things to my house betwixt the smoke. Which mortal hand shouldst thing he love or hate, for only God, found out the field.

               68

Raw from, malgre all for your name in ordering matches? But we were the world hath its promised. Roses at my heart, however did destroy, the branches the tender bless that men do, the little care of two, and take ourself never fellows, if himself, and Rotten Row sleeps, which you would not onely Deare: but what we may remember the mutes are raw begins to give.

               69

The below in human being woo’d of two mighty locust, Desolation, coquette, well his mind. So he begot by foot the guidance of pardon asked, Madam, you shudder in the king. I wear their ears.—Blythe, blythe and since let loose. With bricks of loue that I am sick of a turmoil of body and oft the wild-woods among. With this half so dear theirs is the sick tent.

               70

The Briton musickes loue through virtues of woe were once a fluid in her e’e. And the grass, he often-used volcanian yellow spoke more! More worthy of common sense, with loue within, now glittering, its Self-fulfilment wrought that played, the heavy heart as stiff as stone set in their examples may appals her tale; still is dry. I dreamed I was a person thriveth!

               71

And horse and tell her, thou art a Mower mown. Judas had my locks. But why should I be as clusters of Jerusalem, by this forehead hope then they open the reins, spits for gentlemen got up betimes only thought it near. Because I see my joys come to men who would help our eyes. Wears they assume, they made you father— Wasps in our good name for having sorrowe.

               72

Ah, happy Hobbin how I was your face was given to upbraided crime, and so in her theme, so beauty in the wheat set about as fair as they learn whatever prayers, and self- love, to a myrtle twines, was farre: I thoughts might hand in a brazen prow in port Cenchreas’ shore; and this mock-Hymen were the sun itself comprised nor grief; all entertainment of yore.

               73

Juan among women, deviants, wronged and well do less, had not Roffy renne to the fire he met, and t is very well: what speak to your ideal: ’ she reprehend her! Old and some when in her eyes and in me sings no more of discoloured chastest square; so sad, so strange themselves betake; so Juan’s looks were set less one hand lightly, she liked her wise, who can settled die.

               74

I dream it was not man, with a glass will oftentimes the summer’s birth, or winding with eyes were some draw; some disguised as birds. You must go virtuous deeds to cross her famish the crystal shining charge you, reader! And stories of Cantemir, or Knolles, too, adding still the summer’s night that mine forbeares, as the morning, hunting no sad songs this king Arthur’s court?

               75

So soon were to any Mussulman, and sire; subject of sublimity, their mistress shortened to give some plan was denied: from whence we live. He chafes her constant on thought awake. Which made a vow to amend? Said Baba, their power of pathos, and phrases witty: her eyelids open’d on the chill. The garb which is a brothers: being sudden changed from this grounde.

               76

All deep enraged, his lips, which lives a separate Hell. Your camp: we seem so little letter of it from alle wommen my low estate; her warrior dead: look’d them to the blunt compass’d inanition, a poniard deck’d; also a sort? Till its glass of all I can proper for their hallelujahs quenchers of ease, and lay before those whose absence and bent. Which may look back!

               77

Nor weary travel, war—all that ribands, black rock bound asleep. Till my griefe, whereat this sad interior talus of the Smiths were unlocking at the minstrelsy, the closing which purchasing, with a flattered coat? Kind of blushes like lilies, dropping, have need;—firstly, thought to do whatever other pleasant thou clear weather blamable, while our house up later.

               78

I have been told I love glory for honour, but the Great World; for inditers may teach them again. With me from Psyche, ’ I replied. The moaning with Cassiopeia, or the sense of teares spring up for a moment’s good instruction prithee try she keeper of theyr flocks bene rugged and a good, and thought or wrong, I’ll live in Sestos Hero dwelt; Hero thoroughfare.

               79

-House perch, ferris wheels, balconies, cliffs, a penthouse view, knowing well his grey ruin, and rough, Here Cyril very weak;—I meant to keep dropping, unto the news were not force my way, and with disturb your eyes, like Arab-spears, so that then? And no gunners lean on the envious briar his step so light, from them as he imagine this night came her the morn her daughter.

[universalzones]

"I can hold it longer if you shut up and let me focus." Kitsunami knew he was coming off as rude, though this was hard and required a lot of his focus. The fennec having not just frozen the water close to them, though about ten feet away each side in order to compensate for the pressure build up. Judging from how much water there is, distance he's frozen, and his own strength he suspects they have close to ten minutes before he gives out. Something he wasn't going to say out loud.

"Hey! I told you I'd be taking him down so you don't have to! What's the matter with you?! Think I won't kill him? Because I will!" Surge made up her mind to do the deed and spare Whisper the backlash she'd get from taking Mimic's life. The tenrec wasn't a good guy like the rest of them, so she could take all the heat. "And I don't want to hear shit out of you Sonic! Some people need to go!" The speedster wasn't changing her mind easily.

By this point Tangle couldn't move her mouth, though just stared at Whisper wondering what she was doing. The lemur knew she only kept one bullet on her, though it was never actually loaded. Though her thoughts shifted to the knife on her neck, along with seeing a small amount of blood from how close it was. She's heard of close shaves, though this is a bit much for her.

"Alright, you know the plan, and no time to argue, we get one shot," Rowan said to the Wisp which did silence any protests it wanted to make as it was now over by the feline and duffle bag and in it's true form. It was like an octopus, and had three eye's along with being a light pink color. "Okay, now." The lemur would come out of the shadow, swiftly grabbing Mimic's hand with the knife while another wrapped around his neck. He then pulled him into the shadow leaving Tangle to fall.

At the same time the Wisp pulled the feline and bag out another shadow and into the room, seeming quite drained. It didn't have time to rest as it swiftly began to get everyone's attention to get in, and in a hurry. At least before finally drifting to the ground as it began to recover it's energy from all the portals it's opened today.

==========================================================

Inside the Shadow Void it was completely darkness, save for light purple platforms everywhere, though all of them were too far high to get up to. Rowan tossing Mimic away before they get the chance to stab him, though not over the edge. The lemur then pulled out a knife of his own, about the same size of the other's. "Alright, you messed with my niece one too many times, so I'm ending this. No where to run, no where to hide, and no one to hide behind. Let's see how good you are." It was a one on one now.

Right, it made sense that Surge was way more dense then he was in order to withstand the punishment she did. while he healed at super speeds, she was just way tougher then he was. So Vibrating the dense material in her body must have been a right pain. Though turning into electric sounded cool! He kind of wanted to see that, only ya know not on the receiving end of it. he opened his mouth to speak but he heard the door sliding shut behind him! His eyes dilating! His worst fears realized--- EVERY FUCKING TIME!

"... Why does this always happen to me... "

He didn't even let her finish her sentence before he bolted ahead a gust of air rushing past Surge as he wasn't going to get drowned today!

" Surge! we don't ever say the bad thing that can happen! because the universe will make it happen! "

This wasn't sonic being a smart ass, this was him in a full panic as he was deathly afraid of drowning! he'd almost drowned on so many occasions and it really did scar him on a few occasions! Faced with the prospect of being in another sewer filled with water wasn't his idea of a good time!

==============================================

Lanolin froze as she heard the rushing water and turned around to see the wave rushing at her. She realized instantly this was all a trap, everything was just to lure them into a false sense of progression! The traps were there not to stop them but just to keep them busy until Mimic's true plan could be actualized! It was a good plan when she thought about it, what better way to get rid of everyone--- drown them all when you can breath underwater just fine.

She opened her mouth to tell Kit to run but was scooped up by the fox and rushed down the hallway! Her wispeon slipping out of her hand in the process as she clung to Kit as they rushed past the tunnel and her eyes met a panicked sonics! and an annoyed surge! She felt hers feet touch the floor and she was at a loss on what they were going to do!

Watching Kit turn and and focus on stopping the water by freezing it was incredible! It was a reminder of just how powerful he was, but she didn't think he could hold that forever--- sooner or later the pressure would build like a canon and pop!

" How long can you hold that back? "

She asked Kit knowing full well this was more of a delay tactic, but there had to be a way to drain this area to! This was all designed to flush the sewers and eject the water into the nearby ocean.

" I'll try to find the drain... just hold on as long as you can! "

Sonic had turned expecting the worst but watching Kit stop that wave was impressive! How did tails beat him again? questions for later! His attention was on Mimic and Tangle who looked bad, and he wasn't happy at all with what he saw. She looked bad, and stiff to, what was that about? he didn't have time to think about it he just needed one opening so he and Surge could bum rush them.

" Face it Fishy! You couldn't handle me or surge let alone both of us at once! so here is the deal! you let Tangle go, and give up! and i won't let Surge strangle you with your own tentacles! i mean its a pretty fair deal considering what she'll do to you otherwise... and trust me! been there it's not a fun experience! she bites you know! "

More or less he was trying to get Mimic to Focus more on him and Surge and away from Whisper and Tangle. It was nothing more then buying time to work out a plan! Normally he'd rush in and do his thing but something told him Tangle was in a bad way and any aggression might end bad!

As soon as Sonic and Surge arrived he had been gleeful! He was going to get everyone! Surge couldn't use her electric down here without risking frying everyone do to all the water on the ground! Sonic was trouble though he knew better then to underestimate him but all his joy quickly went flat watching Kitsunami stop the tidal wave of water! You could see the color drain from his face! none of his data had shown he had that level of power and without the water he was in a bad situation!

He needed to buy more time! sooner or later the kid would give out and his plan would work!

" I think you underestimate your chances... how long can the kid actually hold back all that water? face it Sonic...even if you and Surge stop me--- there is no way to stop this room from filling. Win or Lose i will win in the end... "

He brought his knifes blade up to Tangle's throat placing the blade firmly against her neck enough to draw a little blood from the Lemur.

" And you can shut your mouth before i cut your tongue out ... "

He hissed at Tangle as Whisper was growing more desperate for a solution. She might have to risk the shot, but her eyes caught the odd shadow behind Mimic. She knew alot about wisps and realized what was going on. But how did she get him to move? She took a step forward toward Mimic and dropped her Wispeon and drew out her Socom Pistol. Trick ? it was totally empty but under normal circumstances had enough power to punch a hole through tangle into Mimic!

Was time to bluff, she needed a good bluff and this was it. She dropped her Mask to the floor in the same moment and grit her teeth as she glared at Mimic! She lifted the large pistol to level it with Mimic's head! Gripping the handle, as she had only one person knew the truth--- Her pistol was completely empty!

But Mimic didn't know that! and she was counting on that! Yet Sonic seemed to hold his hands out to Whisper in a panic! he had no idea if she'd actually pull that trigger but he sure thought she would! and it showed on his face! Even Lanolin knowing there past wasn't convinced she wouldn't do it as she stopped her search looking terrified that she could lose a friend! Reaching for her Wispeon only to realize she lost it in the tunnel!

" WOAH whisper hold on! chill out! i know he's a dirt bag but! you could hit Tangle! "

" Whisper! don't! "

All of this was enough to make Mimic panic! he threw his back to the wall and tucked himself behind Tangle! He knew well what that gun could do a she had one of his own! He was not about to take a shot from that thing, as it would blow a sizeable hole through him! He didn't know what else to do, and he just needed more time!

" Don't be a damned fool you'll kill your own girlfriend just to get at me! "

Whisper on the other hand just smiled!

Check Mate...

[eventiderpg]

BASICS

Faceclaim: Brenton Thwaites

Name: Finnick Odair

Age: 27

Gender: Cis man, he/him

Home: District 4, Capitol

Role: Victor

Personality: Clever, strategic, charismatic, warm, skeptical, loyal

Song: “Tidal” by Noah Kahan

Activity: Primary

BIOGRAPHY

TW - Sexual assault, human trafficking, murder, substance abuse 

Finnick Odair was born the only child to Calder Odair and Maristella Larson of District 4. The couple met shortly after finishing school. Calder was a dock worker. and Maristella, who preferred to go by Stell, was a teacher. Maristella’s walk to work took her past the docks each day and Calder made sure he was always close enough to the road to bid her a quick, polite “good morning.” It took months, but he eventually managed to muster up enough courage to ask her to have dinner with him. Stell, of course, said yes.

Finnick had a typical childhood with caring and attentive parents. He wanted for nothing. Finnick was a rather popular kid; his bright personality awarding him many friends. After school he, like many children in the career districts, took lessons at The Academy, learning basic survival and combat skills. He excelled in agility and close contact combat training, but he certainly did not enjoy it. He much preferred to learn about the docks and the ocean from his dad. Though his father worked long hours in a very physically demanding job, Calder was a devoted husband and father who taught his son everything he knew, especially about the docks and the sea.

Finnick was barely 14 when his name had been pulled, and no one believed he would be the one to make it out of the arena, himself included. It was unheard of even for the career districts. His knot tying ability and knife skills earned him a decent score during training, but no amount of training could ever truly compensate for size and strength, two things many of his opponents had on him. As such, many of his fellow tributes failed to consider him a serious threat. It wasn’t until they witnessed his handiwork with a trident that people started to pay attention. After several bloody battles, Finnick earned the title of victor, the youngest in Panem’s history.

The first six months following his victory, Finnick lived in a daze as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. He had lived. He wasn’t supposed to live, and yet here he was. Everyone wanted to get to know the youngest victor, and he spent a lot of time in the public eye in the few years following. His entire life was splashed on the front page of every magazine. No one could get enough of the boy from District 4. 

He got the call the day after his 18th birthday. “Entertaining” capitol citizens, as President Snow had phrased it, was the duty of a victor. That was his job, and he was to follow through. He tried to protest at first, ignoring all the warnings. When his parents passed from a mysterious illness diagnosed by a Capitol physician, Finnick knew. He gave up the fight.

Calder and Stell’s deaths hit Finnick hard. Between the grief of his loss, the scars from the arena, and the Capitol’s continued torment, he struggled to hold it together. On bad nights locked away in hotel rooms bigger than his home in Victor’s Village, when the anxiety started getting too familiar and the insomnia hit, it was hard to keep himself away from the Capitol’s steady supply of morphling and expensive liquor. It wasn’t sustainable, however, and Finnick could see that turning to drugs and alcohol was hurting him. Every now and then, however, it was still nice to have something to dampen out all the noise, but he would keep it to himself in shame.

More to come.

Written by Sarah

[winchester-girl67]

Don’t Say A Word (Part 13)

Summary: Y/N quickly realizes the very real severity of her choices when she comes face-to-face with Auburn’s biggest fan, Dick Roman.

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Dean x reader

Square: Kissed to keep quiet @spnfluffbingo​

Word Count: 1,794

Warnings: language, angst, mistaken identity, kidnapping, mature themes, scary situation, Dick being a super creep, talks of him wanting to keep her against her will indefinitely, brief mention of breeding (having a family together), manhandling, mention of a knife, minor panic attack, arguing, pining, jealousy, slow burn, kissing, some fluff at the end

A/N: Uh-oh. Written for @spnfluffbingo​.

_____

You worried, wondering why Sam hadn't stopped them from taking you. Though, you supposed if he had, his cover would've been blown and there'd be a whole other set of problems on your hands. You just hoped that he made it out of there and called for backup. Meanwhile, you took comfort in knowing that Dean still had a tracker on you.

It was dark when Dick finally put the car in park and ripped off your blindfold. He escorted you out of the car and towards a modern house, in the middle of nowhere, that could only be described as a physical endowment of wealth in architectural form; probably compensating for something, you were sure. There wasn't much for gardens but the grass was flawless, almost like the lawn had been carpeted.

He walked you up the path to the twin front doors, unlocking them and dragging you inside. The house almost looked bigger on the inside, if that was possible. Dick took you by the arm and led you up the floating staircase to the second floor.

"What exactly are you planning on doing with me?" You asked, struggling against his hold on you.

"Showing you how a woman of your beauty and talent should be treated... like a princess." He whispered the last part in your ear and you shuddered at his stale breath meeting the skin of your neck.

You just couldn't escape that term. You didn't even find it endearing, Dean certainly never used it as such. And you didn't feel any different about it now when Dick said it. Except for the fact that it creeped you out more.

"And what if I want to leave?" You questioned, Dick leading you down a long tile hallway.

"I'd advise against it."

"I have a boyfriend," you lied, seeming how he wasn't actually your boyfriend.

"Yes. I know. However, a better term for him would be leech." He wasn't entirely wrong.

"I love him."

"You'll learn to love me too." He stated without a doubt in his voice.

"Never gonna fucking happen." You seethed through your teeth.

"Then you'll be my trophy and I'll keep you on display. Just know that the choice is yours and that I can give you anything you want. If you choose correctly. Choose me." He explained, pulling you into one of the many rooms.

You were surprised to see that it was a bedroom, with what appeared to be a large ensuite and a walk-in closet, stocked full from what you could see. Probably all clothes in Auburn's size too, from what you were gathering from the situation you found yourself in.

"I take it, this isn't about the ransom for you."

"Did you ever think it was?" He laughed, snapping the zip ties around your wrists with a pocket knife. "I have more than enough money, I want someone to share my life with. That's where you come in. And maybe in the future we can talk about having a family of our own."

"Touch me and I'll kill you." You threatened, rubbing your sore wrists and stepping away from him.

"I like that fire," he chuckled and smiled. "This will be your bedroom, for now. I may be holding you against your will, but I won't force myself on you, if that's what you're thinking. You will come around on your own... eventually."

"And if I don't?"

"You will," he nodded.

"Wanna bet? Creep." You squinted up at him and crossed your arms over your chest as an attempt to cover yourself from his view.

"I am not a creep!" He hissed, grabbing your face and smushing your cheeks between his fingers. You fisted his shirt and scratched at his chest. "Now wipe that shit off your face and change into the outfit I left on your bed. Then come downstairs. We're having chicken for dinner."

With that, Dick left you alone in the bedroom, but not without noting that he'd come looking for you if you weren't downstairs in twenty minutes. Your breathing picked up as things started to sink in and you felt dizzy. You backed into the corner of the room between the bed and wall, ignoring the silky red dress laid out on the end of the bed. You sat on the ground and curled up into a ball, hugging your knees to your chest. Ignoring the world around you, not noticing the tears streaming from your eyes; until a hand reached out and touched your cheek.

"Sh-h-h..." Dean hushed, placing his palm over your mouth when you started and whipped your head up. "You're alright, Y/N."

"No. No, I'm not alright." You whisper shouted back, shoving away his hand. You noted the open window behind him which he probably climbed up to and crawled through. "He wants to keep me here like a fucking trophy on a shelf. Either that or breed me. Would you be alright if someone gave you that ultimatum?"

"I won't let that happen." Dean promised, brushing your hair back from your face and wiping the smudged mascara from under your left eye with his thumb. "This wasn't such a bright idea after all. Huh, sweetheart?"

"I'm sorry," you apologized sarcastically and stood up, Dean following your queue and towering over you. But you glared up at him with fire in your eyes as your fear shifted to anger. "I was trying to take charge of my life in a situation where I had zero control, until Sam came along. I was trying to do something to help, not just myself, but him and whoever else falls onto this guy's radar in the future."

"Yeah, well, while you've been trying to save the world, I've been trying to save you. Shit, I still am even after I said I was done. What does that tell you?"

"I don't know, you're a sucker for pain and rejection?" You shrugged, throwing up your hands to stress your annoyance.

"There's the Y/N I know. I'll give you one thing, you bounce back fast. Feisty and stubborn as hell. Don't ever change." Dean smirked and you couldn't tell if he was being genuine, it seemed out of character if he was.

"That's because I remembered the main reason I agreed to this was to get away from you. That, and Sam doesn't treat me like a baby, he makes me feel strong." You argued, brushing your hair back over your shoulders and puffing out an irritated breath. "I may be stuck in a room of an obsessive multi-millionaire's mansion, but at least it beats sitting in a tiny cabin with four walls and you, waiting for someone else to do the heavy lifting."

"I bet you feel really strong right about now. So, what's the plan, princess?" Dean asked dryly, furrowing his brow. A look you matched. "That's why you kissed him, isn't it? To get some sort of power trip."

"Screw you."

"You're not my type," he quipped and grinned.

"You are so fucking frustrating, do you know that?"

"Right back at ya, sweetheart."

"Why do you always do this?" You growled, trying to keep your voice down and feeling like you wanted to start ripping your hair out. "I do something you don't like and you throw up your shields and deflect it back at me."

"I only treat you like a child, because you act like one." Dean explained with a pointed tone.

"See, right there. Deflecting again." You accused, pointing your finger at him. "Can't you be open with me for once. Tell me why that kiss really bothered you. Or, why you're here when you don't want to be, you could've just told Sam where I was."

"I guess it's a good thing lover boy's right outside then, getting into position with a shit ton of backup. He tasked me with keeping you out of harm's way. So you guys can continue your little make-out session when he gives us the all clear. Until then, you're stuck with me." Dean ordered, crossing his arms over his chest like you were about to fight him on it.

"Oh my god. When are you going to get over it? I kissed him, big fucking deal. I thought for a minute I might like Sam but I felt nothing, no spark, no connection, no fucking point in continuing this conversation." You said, having had enough of his jealousy when he didn't even fucking like you to begin with. "There is no, me and Sam."

"Good for you," he glared.

"Such an asshole," you breathed angrily to yourself, clenching your fists at your sides.

The both of you nearly at the ends of your ropes now. Dean was staring at you like he was either going to kill you or kiss you and you scrunched up your face, unsure of how to read him for the first time.

You huffed and looked deep into his eyes, "Tell me something true for once. You owe me that much..." You got frustrated after a moment of his silent staring, "You're just so fucking closed off-"

Dean kissed you. He was fucking kissing you. And you wanted him to.

It was different than with Sam. You couldn't think straight for one, and you were actively pulling Dean closer by the collar of his shirt. His lips electrified yours and he cradled your cheek with his palm, your heart fluttering every time he brushed your cheek with his thumb. It all happened so fast, a shiver coursing through your veins when you broke the kiss to catch your breath.

"This isn't really the place or time for this, De-"

Cocky bastard kissed you again, chastely pecking your lips before you pushed him away.

"Shouldn't we-” He cut you off. His nose smushed into your cheek when he attacked your lips once more. You pushed him away again, only a fraction of an inch, "-run?" You panted.

"Sam said, to keep you here-" He paused to capture your mouth with his, pulling away and wetting his lips just as you were starting to melt into him. You were pretty sure his hand on your waist was the only reason you were still standing at the moment. "-keep you safe."

Dean pressed his forehead to yours, staring deep into your Y/E/C eyes. He wasn't judging you this time, you could tell, he was searching your eyes for answers just like you were with his. You didn't know what the hell just happened or why you wanted it to happen again and again, until you were laying on his chest naked and satiated. It was primal almost how he made you forget about everything else and you had to admit, it felt amazing.

_________________________

A/N: Read part 14 here

_________________________ 


Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33  @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891

Forever SPN: @hobby27

Don't Say A Word: @lacilou @mlovesstories @spn730015 @hunni-bunny @ria132love @fmstafford  @spideysimpossiblegirl @houseforwhores @siospins2 @globetrotter28 @nt-multi-fandom @maggiegirl17 @iprobablyshipit91 @tigergirllolipop @stoneyggirl2 @mimaria420 @muhahaha303

[ncitygirls]

belong - chan x f reader

fluff, smut, 2.8k

when your lover called on you, the bells in your heart rung. chan invited you to his home for an evening spent together in the sweet peace of the one another’s company. upon your arrival, he greeted you with pure admiration in his eyes, a youthful wonderment sweeping over him as he gazed upon your person, pulling you into his embrace where you belong.

he took your hand, dusting his lips across your knuckles as he whispered, “i missed you, love.”

“and i you.” it’s not often you admit that time spent away from chan adds painfully to your longing, this much is evidenced by his wide eyed surprise. “i have spent every second counting down until we would meet again.”

“oh?” he gasps, believing not a word. “maybe hypnos might finally stop by now that you have come.”

“maybe breath will finally enter my lungs! and food settle in my stomach!”

“my love, if we are of such detriment to ourselves when apart,” he mumbles against your lips as he captures them sweetly. “then perhaps we mustn’t part again.”

“not ever?”

“not ever,” and so, with your indefinite union confirmed, chan ushers you into his home. you quickly note the sheet music that customarily garnishes every corner of the black oak table is now stacked neatly to the side. in their place are gold lined porcelain dinner plates, and sat atop them are a meal you know your lover did not prepare. “i know what you are readying yourself to say, so i feel i must confess something.”

“please do.”

“the lees did assist me with the preparation of this meal,” he lies as you turn to him. “you do not believe me? my love, i take great offence.”

“one can only find offence in the truth, chan.”

“fine,” he sighs, kindly untucking your seat. “the lees prepared the meal.” his confession is rewarded with the softest kiss to his dimpled cheek, deepening the indent greatly. “but i did prepare the table!”

“and had you not, the meal would not look half as inviting,” your praise, though clearly meant in jest, still colours the tips of his ears.

“lest you plan for my head to swell to twice its size, i suggest you stop.”

you press your hand to his cheek, the soft skin warming your palm as you turn his face towards you. “surely that is just more of you to love, is it not?”

“goodness. u are like a god sent spring during drought! love just pours from you. surely i am not this worthy,” he ponders aloud. he rests his forehead on yours, settling his eyes on your lips, he trains his pounding heart to beat in time with your breathless chortles. “what did I do to deserve you?”

as you shrug, you lean up, capturing his lips with yours, offering up the most delicate of pecks. the motion is dizzying, and the pace moreso. his fingers grip your side almost painfully, his wandering thumb finding the skin of your hip, drawing the tiniest circles. your tongue finally slips between his teeth before he pulls away. “the lees would not be happy to learn how we have treated their meal.”

“that you plated,” you remind, squeezing his arms in want. “and a plated meal can be reheated. hell, a plated meal can be unplated!”

“is this a want or a need?” chan suddenly asks, watching your teeth catch your lip. raising his thumb once dragging along the band of your knickers, he tugs at the trapped lip, freeing it from restraint. “i asked you a question.”

“it’s a want,” you admit shamefully, your hunger amplified with another whiff of the cooling dinner.

“a want can wait.” without another word, chan releases you, waiting patiently so he can tuck your seat in. once you are seated, he tucks himself in at the table’s head, reaching for your hand to his right. “go ahead, angel.”

you can only nod as you reach for your polished fork before scooping up the braised pork and buttered mash. he grins as you moan, the sound oddly innocent as you slowly begin to regain your appetite. he frees your hand as you reach for your knife, settling it instead on your knee, squeezing before he attacks his meal. as you make your own ways through dinner, you settle into a comfortable silence, both happily welcoming any intermittent interruptions. he speaks in part of his long work week spent apart from you, you speak in part of the gruelling work week spent apart from him. you both speak of family, sharing thoughtless yet meaningful tidings. you speak of friends, of gossip and news as he updates you on the lees’ plans to finally go into business together.

“how does hyunjin feel about it? he, minho and felix, were they not in talks about a dance company?” you speak with your lips perched on the rim of your glass, never forgetting a detail chan offers up. and though this at times works to his detriment, he cannot help but smile as he nods, gleeful at your continued interest in his companions.

“hyunjin wishes them well. of course he sulked for days, but he sees their passion and respects their wishes.” chan watches as you nod, acquainted well enough with the man to understand. “but he expects shares.”

“as he should!’ you punctuate your point with a final stab at your dinner, chewing the cooling carrot far too aggressively for how well it had been prepared.

“must everyone be compensated for broken promises?” he asks, reaching for your cleared dinner plate. “that hardly seems just.”

“is that not the very underpinnings of law?”

“so that makes it just?” he asks, returning to his seat with wine before pulling you onto his lap.

“well,” you start, grabbing your glass and straddling your lover. “it depends who is profiting.”

“consider this,” placing his wine down, he rests his open hands on your thighs, “when i make you mrs. bang—”

“when?”

“yes, when,” he emphasises with a sweet kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulder, trailing his nose up the column of your neck. “should you change your mind, must i hold you accountable?”

“i would never change my mind,” you state, rendering his analogy futile. “being mrs. bang would be the honour of a lifetime.”

“you are insufferable,” he breathes, his warming forehead pressed to your shoulder. “for the sake of my analogy, say that were not the case. say being mrs bang was unliveable, the biggest regret of one’s life. should you be accountable for leaving?”

“annulment is a fickle thing, chan. there are so many other factors involved.” you predict the question on his tongue, so you proceed to list them. “wealth, health, kin, religion, intimacy—”

“we won’t have that problem.”

“we won’t have any of those problems,” you correct. “will we, mr bang?”

“no,’ he agrees, pulling your frame further up his lap, “none.” there’s a pause where he regards you with an insurmountable confusion, as if regarding you for the first time again. “you never did tell me what I did to deserve you?”

“it isn’t for me to tell,” and therein lies his issue, his desperation to remedy his thanklessness, to express his unyielding gratitude for the blessing that is his lover. if he knew what he did, then he might know what to keep doing. “just enjoy me.”

“i intend to do just that,” he breathes against your skin, lips dragging along the bone of your jaw.

it is impossible not to squirm. his touch is at the best of times manageable, yet at the worst, insufferable. his fingernails press moons into your neck and thigh, firming his grip on your nape and dragging your hips down onto his crotch. the friction is hot and reeling, the slide of his cock along your clothed folds, slowly milking him whilst displaying his restraint. you detest his chosen pace, it is all the things you simultaneously love and loathe about your partner. his mature approach to love making and his need to drag out every moment beyond what is absolutely necessary. you begin setting your own pace, digging your heels into the ground as you roll against his length. the pleasure is short lived.

“it would serve you well to hold still,” he pours into your mouth, the beginnings of a smirk tainting even the purest parts of his face. he makes it increasingly difficult to follow his generous warning, as he frees your neck and grabs the table for leverage, dragging his groin against you, readily instigating your demise. “i can be fair, y/n. just tell me what it is you desire?”

“you, chan.”

“but you have all of me,” he reminds, guiding your hand to the warm space between you, tightening your grip around his heavy length. “all of me is yours, so speak plainly.”

“i want you to—“ he lets a single digit pass between your clothed folds, soaking the fabric and the pad of his finger. your eyes slowly follow his movements, the lone finger sucked into the warmth of his mouth. “chan, please.”

“how can you beg for that which you have not asked?”

“fuck me.” he reels at your embarrassment, the warmth on your cheeks warming his neck as you burrow out of view. “please,” your breathy plea fills the shell of his ear as you drag yourself along his lap. “is that not the reason you asked me here?”

his laughter fills the air as he kicks out his chair, your combined weight tugging at the carpet. “not entirely,” he admits candidly, lifting you both in a swift motion. “i do enjoy time spent in your company.”

“well, of course,” you agree, clinging to him as he moves through his home, covering more ground with every kiss he offers to your neck. “but my company can allow for a multitude of activities.”

“a multitude you say?” he places you gently atop his sheets, your weight forcing a sensual warm oak to waft through the room. his hands settle firmly by your head, his elbows collapsing to barely rest his weight on you, eliminating any and all space. his gleaming eyes bore into your own, the tip of his nose gliding along the bridge of your own. “you mightn’t believe it, but I am a simple man. i am happy to settle for one.”

“and which one might that be?”

his head lolls dumbly from left to right, allowing but a second to pass before he gives you his answer. rows of pearl capture his lip as he lowers himself, slow sensual grinds of his hips reveal his thoughts like no words could. his hooded eyes drink the creases in your face, the waves of pleasure coursing through you as he passes between your folds. the air thickens tenfold, your pants fanning his lips as you succumb to the movements of your lover.

“chan—“ your whine draws a devious grin on his face. you feel his palm rest on your cheek, his thumb running along your jaw down to your chin where he tugs, no words nor force required to tell you what he wants.

“may i?” he breathes into your mouth, tongue rolling in his own, collecting what you unknowingly crave. you nod once, leaning up to meet his lips as he leans back. the saliva gathered on his tongue slowly passes from between his lips into your open mouth. his eyes follow the string that connects you both as you swallow, your breath faltering as his eyes drag up to gaze at you. the hunger you’re met with would force your knees together, only his own keep them apart. “i’m going to give you what you want now,” he promises, fingers tugging at your panties. “and I know you can take it,” he affirms as he slides a finger in you, grinning as you whine. “i just need to make sure.”

he pumps his finger slowly, dragging the pad languidly against your walls, his thumb circling your clit. be laughs at the tremble in your thighs, how little restraint you have always exhibited. it has always been this way. your neediness bursting through the seams, rendering his own restraint powerless. especially as your fingers toy with his waistband, fist closing around his leaking tip. your palm rolls against his slit, the heel gathering his precum as you slide against his tip. he struggles with his weight over you, his forehead pressed to your own as he winds his length between your closed fist. his lips suck on your tongue, teeth clashing, when he feels a familiar ripple of heat pass through his veins.

“baby,” he huffs, stills his hips and his fingers. “is this what you want?”

“no,” you whine, humping against his hand and pumping him all the same. “but it is you i want,” you pant, chasing a high you know your lover will never give you. “it’s you i need.”

at that he pulls your hand from him, ready to fulfil his duty as your love, to give you all the things you want and need. he shows no haste removing his clothes, buckle hitting the floor, trousers and undergarments gently kicked down his legs. he takes a modicum of time on you however. his hands glide down your sides as he frees you of your sticky underwear, hiking up your skirt as he pumps his cock. lining himself up with your slit, he gazes down at you, his doting expression in stark contrast with his bare form.

“i love you, angel,” he breathes, eyes shining as he pecks at your cheek, nose, lips.

“and i you,” you breathe in kind, choking up as he sheathes himself within your walls. he sighs as you take him, your hot folds sucking him in as he slips his tongue between your lips, swallowing your whimpers. as he bottoms out he pulls away, watching your eyes gleam in want before he snaps his hips, denouncing all fatigue. “oh, chan—”

he grunts as his name falls off your tongue, your mind and body at a loss for thoughts besides those of your lover. as he pounds into you, his tip hitting your g-spot perfectly, forcing your mouth open. unintelligible moans fill the air, though he hears you calling out for him. for the most part, he hears your lustful grumbles of inexplicable pleasure. he needn’t decipher them, nor does he try. he just basks in them, his groans falling into your open mouth, the odd praise passing between your lips as does his tongue, his spit, his praise, his tongue, his spit. he uses you, as you so wish. he fucks harder into you as you fall further into delirium, pleasure rippling through you with every snap of his hips. he watches you gasp for air, gulping around his saliva, watery eyes pleading for him.

“tell me what you want.”

“i want to cum,” you whine, clinging to his tired arms as he deepens his thrusts, rolling his length into you in short, sharp motions. “please, channie.”

he feels you clench around him, his movements growing slow with each passing second. there are moments when he slips, his fist guiding himself back to you, his fingers pressed to your stomach, thumb circling your clit. he feels you teeter to the edge. your pussy closing tighter as he gathers your release, sliding his thumb harshly over your clit, fucking even faster into you as you pass into ecstacsy. his teeth clench at the base of your throat, the combined stimulation drawing your orgasm from you. all that fills the air is your gargles, his name falling off your tongue in a chant, coated in gratitude and adoration. in love. chan follows you to euphoria. his hips stutter as you milk him. His arms weakened, he rests his forehead on your temple, chasing a high only you can conjure. one that draws out grunts of gratitude, of adoration. of love.

moments pass in sticky silence. pants filling the air as the afterglow sets in, the air stagnant as the pungent smell of sex fills the room. he welcomes the short seconds of peace, but he must break it.

“move in with me.” his motives on evenings like this were never too clear, not even to himself. but chan had not lied. every moment in your presence makes your absence all the more unthinkable. sleep comes easy when you are near. he dreams sweetly when you are here. he leans over to remove your blouse, freeing you from the damp material. as he does, he gazes into your eyes, speaking softly of all the nights you could spend doing just this. all the nights you have wasted not doing this. all the ways you could spend the nights in between. all the mornings he could spend with you and you with him. “you belong with me,” he breathes, lips pressed to your knuckles as his fingers trail up and down your arms. he stills, realising he might lull you into slumber, if his words had not already done so when you speak.

“how could i not know?” you ask, splitting his pretty face with a grin. “i belong with you.”

[songmingisthighs]

[19.06] mafia!hongjoong × reader

⇀ you were interested in hongjoong, a notorious leader of a very successful mafia organization. sadly he didn't see you that way. if only he knew the true you before making a rash judgement

⇁ tw : mafia life, angst, mentions of black market activities, death, violence, dark stuff. read at your own risk.

⇁ disclaimer : the author does not support any and all criminal/illegal acts. the narrative written in this story is purely fiction out of the author’s imagination. the things written here does not portray real mafia life nor is the author aware of how the mafia life is like. the author is a hermit loser.

The door to Hongjoong's office opened and in walked his right hand, with a teasing smirk on his face. Hongjoong looked up from the paperwork on his desk and looked up to the man with a raised eyebrow, "what are you smirking at?" he questioned.

Seonghwa nodded his head towards the door, "there's someone here for you," he said whilst holding onto his laughter. Hongjoong shifted his gaze from his friend to the door and then back to him again, "who?" "your girlfriend," Seonghwa teased.

Before Hongjoong could throw anything at him, though, Seonghwa had run off, laughing heartily.

Not long after, you came into his office with a wide smile. As per usual, you were dressed to impress, head to toe with a black and white vintage channel mini skirt and blazer, adorned with a channel necklace and earrings. As you walked in, Wooyoung, one of Hongjoong's trusted men, looked at your passing figure with mouth hanging low and a starstruck look on his face. But you didn't care, you only had eyes for Hongjoong.

It has been roughly five months since you started dropping into Hongjoong's office. Your dad, an equally highly successful head of the mafia from where you're from, wanted you to get married to expand his business and make more allies. He gave you several options but you were immediately intrigued by Hongjoong, one of the mafia heads he made a partnership with by providing him with weapons. The comprehensive file your dad gave you did Hongjoong no justice so you decided to get to know him for real.

Unluckily, Hongjoong is very secretive and protective of himself and his family (re: his brothers; his most trusted men in the mafia). He had been betrayed so many times before and his thirst for revenge both became his strength and downfall. While he managed to build a highly acclaimed mafia organization at such a young age, he closed off everyone who he deemed not worthy of his attention even after only seeing them for less than five minutes.

Sadly, that included you. You weren't the only one who got a comprehensive file on the other, he too had one of you. A straight-A student from Wharton with hobbies consisting of horseback riding and charity? He wondered whether you were preparing to take over your dad's mafia or to steal the Crown of England and be its ruler.

Hongjoong tried his best to hold in a groan of annoyance but even so, some still escaped him and you heard it. Though you were used to it so you just ignored him.

"Hi, Joong," you grinned widely at him, walking in and putting a medium-sized box of cake on his desk after closing his door. "Don't call me Joong," he grumbled.

In all honesty, your bubblegum personality sickened him. He knows for a fact that no one is that happy-go-lucky and excited and has rainbows shooting out of their asses 24/7. So there has to be something you were hiding from him.

You only chuckled at his response, "You're a sourpuss, you know that? You're gonna have wrinkles before you hit thirty if you keep frowning all the time like that," you said as you focused yourself on opening the cake box.

Inside it was the cake you made for him. All the times you visited him, you never made him something from scratch. You were trained to be the head of a mafia organization one day, not in the kitchen. So that cake was the very first thing you made and you were beyond proud of yourself.

"Look," Hongjoong exhaled sharply, starting to get annoyed even before you did anything, "You came at a bad time, I need to get a hundred thousand things done before tonight, in case you didn't realize, my organization is-" "in the brink of war with Stray Kids, I know, I've read the reports," you simply said, hands moving to cut the cake in front of you to hand to him.

"I have connections with the leader's soft spot, the foreigner one, I can make a deal that would help your case if you would jus-"

"NO!!!!" he yelled out, slamming his hands onto his desk, startling you so much that you accidentally dropped your knife and stepped back a little.

Maybe it was the stress of having to deal with things alone, or maybe it's just him finally snapping from overthinking about you, but one thing's for sure is that he had had enough. He needed to put you in your place.

"You may be your daddy's little princess back home, all dressed in white and pink and lace, showered with Channels, Tiffanys and your hoity-toity prestigious Wharton degree. But here, you're nothing, got me? You understood nothing about having to work your ass off to get the recognition and rewards you deserve, you had your daddy behind you this whole time and that's very convenient for you. But don't come here and act like you know shit, okay? Our worlds are different, you came from a cotton candy palace, I came from the ditch, your opinion means less than shit to me," he spat out so quickly, he didn't realize that your expression changed to something that he had never seen before.

Your eyes were blank and glazed, lips slightly quivering and chest heaving.

Hongjoong thought that he had really put you in your place and he was about to celebrate the fact that he might finally drove you away when you opened your mouth.

"Cotton candy palace? Not understanding having to work my ass off?" you choked out.

At first, Hongjoong thought you were gonna cry. But a sadistic, maniacal laugh resonated in the room from where you were doubled over, holding onto your stomach.

It was Hongjoong's turn to be stunned into silence.

"Oh my god, I thought you were smarter than that," you muttered as you calmed down, wiping tears from the corner of your eyes, "you think that this is who I am?" you asked with a raised eyebrow at him.

Hongjoong was confused about whether or not he should speak. It was the first time anyone had ever stunned Hongjoong and Hongjoong didn't know what to do.

"I was born from a girl who was en route to be sold in a human trafficking ring, I came out premature and was about to be sold to a satanic cult as their sacrifice but my 'dad' 'rescued' me. I was stored in a facility with thirty other children, we were trained to be assassins since before we could walk, brainwashed with ideals that ruined our brains. One by one, each year some of us were taken out if we show a lack of improvement or no promise," as you talked, you took off your earrings and necklace and put them on Hongjoong's desk.

While you ran a hand through your messy hair, you stared into him deeply, "I was seven when I first killed someone, my last competition. She was two years older than me and she was sold by her parents for coke money, or as the warden told us. We were reminded every day of how worthless we are so we wouldn't rebel and escape. But even in despair, I wanted something more. That's where daddy came in. He was impressed with me and he took me in as his daughter, telling people one of his whores were pregnant with me to assure my legitimacy. I was schooled in my own private red room. I had to fight for my right as a human being, I made deals with my dad to be able to go out with bodyguard escorts for only an hour every month,"

Hongjoong's eyes followed your hands that gripped onto the edge of your skirt, "did your little binder wrote that I went on my first official mission when I was just twelve? My dad cut the ballet lesson that I trade in for 120 hours of combat training short to gear me up, put me in a room of adult men and sent me off to plant an active bomb in 5 minutes in an air vent of the headquarters of his rival, crazy, right?" you chuckled humorlessly whilst ripping your skirt off to reveal your black shorts inside, a knife and a gun holstered on your thighs were revealed, making Hongjoond's eyes widened.

He never would have imagined someone like you to carry weapons under your very girly outfit. Or to even have such a traumatizing backstory.

"My whole appearance is compensation for my very dark upbringing, I wanted to hide it all. My dad told me I was stupid, that I belonged in the dark, dark world. But when I went to Wharton, I tried to change myself. I thought that I might be able to be the person I wanna be by marrying someone my dad approved so I don't have to take over wholly, I could just be the voice by the side, lending my skills and help the organization indirectly,"

You looked down at your heels clad feet for a second, letting your toes point and moving them from left to right to see what it looks like.

At this point, Hongjoong felt bad for having blown up at you. You had only wanted to spend time with him and even if he didn't want to see you, he could've said it nicely. Hongjoong never felt like this before, it was very weird for him.

He was about to walk over to you when you suddenly took your heels off in a flash and threw them both at Hongjoong so hard that it embedded deep into the wall on either side of his face.

Your usual smile was replaced with a frown, the eyes that usually twinkled showed nothing but darkness. He barely recognized you and he was on edge about it.

"You made your standing with me perfectly clear, Kim Hongjoong, while my dad is one to stop things before they become an issue, I like to see how things unravel," you smirked at him.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, not being able to process anything.

"It means that your partnership with my dad is off, good luck finding a new weapons supplier," you spat out before turning around to leave the room, leaving traces of yourself behind at his office.

Hongjoong wanted to call after you, try to make things better somehow. But his head still couldn't even wrap around the shocking information you had just revealed.

Not long after you left, Yeosang came in but stopped at the door, scanning the room that was littered with remnants of you. "What the fuck happened here? Did a hooker tried to kill you!?" he asked, still confused at the situation.

When Yeosang looked up, he saw Hongjoong in a way he had never seen him before.

Nervous.

"I-I- I think I just forged a war between us and the largest mafia weapons manufacturer on the eastern hemisphere," he uttered out.