#i feel so unsafe in this house a lot | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pascalispimp · 3 months ago

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Damp, Dirty, His

Summary: Joel’s been through a lot, but mysteriously damp flannels? That’s a new one. When he sneaks home to investigate, but what he finds is far filthier than he imagined. His housemate’s got a thing for his shirts… and from the way she’s moaning into one, she’s got a thing for him too. And Joel’s got every intention of making it worse.

Warnings: 18+ afab and fem reader, p in v sex, alludes to curvy reader, unspecified age gap, no description of reader but has big boobs and ass, some dubcon but she’s into it, dirty talk, no use of y/n, unsafe sex, oral (m! receiving), fingering, finger sucking, creampie, degradation, praise kink, ass play

Word count: 4.3k

Joel Miller wasn’t a man who jumped to conclusions. He was a man of patience, of careful observation. Years of surviving had drilled that into him. But something wasn’t sitting right.

For the past few weeks, his flannels had been turning up… different. Damp in places they shouldn’t be. Not rain-soaked, not sweat-stained—just wet. He’d pick one up from where he left it, and the fabric would cling to his fingers, the scent of something faint but unmistakable lingering in the fibers. Something warm. Something intimate.

At first, he thought maybe the laundry had been left out too long. Maybe it was just one of those things. But it kept happening. And every time, it was one of his favorites. The ones he wore most. The ones she seemed to watch him in. His housemate.

She wasn’t careless. Wasn’t the type to spill something and not say a word. But Joel had noticed the way she lingered when he pulled on one of those flannels, how her gaze dragged over him, how she hesitated just a little too long when handing one back. He already had a feeling. And today, he was going to confirm it.

So instead of heading out on patrol like he was supposed to, Joel doubled back, moving quiet, careful. The snow crunched beneath his boots, but he knew the sounds of Jackson well enough to weave between them, to slip into his own home without so much as a whisper.

The house was still. The kind of stillness that came with someone who thought they were alone. He gently turned the knob and pushed the door open, the hinges whispering a soft protest. The warmth of the house enveloped him like a lover's embrace. His eyes adjusted to the dim light, and his gaze fell upon a sight that made his blood boil with desire and possessiveness.

And the moment he heard it—soft, breathy, a sound that hit him low in his stomach—he knew.

Her.

His flannel—his—draped over her frame, too big, the sleeves bunched around her wrists, the hem riding up as she moved. She was bent over the kitchen table, the flannel riding up to expose her round, bare ass. The shirt was too large for her, but it clung to her in all the right places, revealing her voluptuous figure, hips rolling into her own hand, her face turned into his shirt like it was the only thing tethering her to this moment.

And Christ, if that wasn’t a sight that damn near knocked the air from his lungs.

Joel exhaled through his nose, slow and deep. He should leave. Should turn around, pretend he hadn’t seen a damn thing.

But instead, he stepped closer, the floorboards groaning a little under his heavy boots. She gasped, spinning around with a start, her cheeks flushing a deep red. The flannel was open, and she had been using his shirt to muffle her moans. The sight of her, so vulnerable and caught in the act, only served to fuel his desire. He set the rifle against the wall, his eyes never leaving hers, and strode purposefully across the room.

"That why my flannels keep turnin’ up damp, darlin’?"

"Joel," she stuttered, her voice a mix of shock and arousal. "I-I can explain."

He didn't wait for her excuses. The sight of her flustered and exposed only added to the power he felt surging through him. "I don't want explanations," he said gruffly, his voice a low rumble. "I want to know why you're using my things for... that."

Her eyes widened, the pupils dilating as she took in the look on his face. It was a mix of anger and something else, something darker and more primal. She could see the tension in his jaw, the way his muscles flexed under his shirt. Joel was never one to mince words, and his directness only served to turn her on even more.

"I-I just..." she stuttered again, trying to find the words, but they were lost in the thick haze of lust that had settled over the room. The flannel fell open further, revealing her naked chest, her nipples hard with arousal. She reached for it instinctively, but Joel's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and stopping her.

"You like wearing my shirts, huh?" he said, his voice thick with a challenge. "Let's see how you like the real thing."

With that, Joel closed the distance between them, pulling the flannel from her body. She didn't resist, instead letting out a shaky breath as his calloused hands grazed her bare skin. He tossed the fabric aside, his gaze raking over her nakedness. The sight of her made him want to conquer and claim, to show her who was in charge here.

He grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her closer until their lips almost touched. "You're playing with fire, darling," he murmured, his voice a warning and a promise. He felt her pulse racing under his fingers, her body trembling with anticipation.

Their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills, but Joel knew he'd already won. She was his for the taking, and she knew it. With a smirk that barely touched his lips, he claimed her mouth with a bruising kiss. His tongue pushed past her teeth, tasting the sweetness of her mouth as his hands roamed over her curves, leaving goosebumps in their wake. She moaned into the kiss, her body melting into his, and he knew he had her.

Breaking away, Joel stepped back, his eyes never leaving hers. "On your knees," he ordered, his voice low and demanding. She obeyed without hesitation, the submissive side of her bubbling to the surface, eager to please the dominant man before her. He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, letting them fall to the floor. His erection sprang free, thick and proud, pointing straight at her plump, parted lips.

"Open," he said, and she did, her eyes never leaving his. He took a fistful of her hair, guiding his length into her mouth. She gagged slightly, but took him deeper, her eyes watering with the effort. Joel's hand tightened in her hair, controlling her movements as he began to fuck her face. He watched with a mix of pleasure and possession as she struggled to keep up with his rhythm, her cheeks hollowing with each thrust.

He could feel her submission, the way she eagerly took him in, and it only made him harder. "You like that?" he growled, his voice thick with lust. She nodded, unable to speak around his cock, and he chuckled darkly. "Good girl." He stroked her cheek with his thumb, the gesture oddly tender amidst the aggression.

Joel pulled out of her mouth with a wet pop, his cock glistening with her saliva. "You've been a bad girl, using my things," he said, his voice a teasing purr. "But I'm going to show you how to use them properly." He stepped back, grabbing a chair from the nearby table and spinning it around. He sat down, his erection still standing proud, and gestured for her to straddle him.

With trembling legs, she obeyed, her pussy wet and aching as she settled over his lap. He reached between them, stroking her clit with a rough thumb before plunging two fingers into her heat. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as he began to pump them in and out, his eyes never leaving hers. The way he touched her, so rough and yet so precise, made her feel alive, like she was teetering on the edge of a cliff and only he could save her from the fall.

"Beg for it," he demanded, his voice a dark whisper that sent shivers down her spine. She bit her lip, fighting the urge to give in, but the pleasure was too much. "Please, Joel," she whimpered, her voice barely a breath. "Fuck me."

The words hung in the air, heavy with need, and Joel's control snapped like a twig under a boot. He yanked her onto his lap, the chair groaning under their combined weight. He positioned the tip of his cock at her entrance, feeling her wetness and heat against his skin. With a single, powerful thrust, he buried himself inside her, making her cry out.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, her body tightening around him like a vice. Joel's eyes rolled back in his head as he savored the sensation of her warmth. He began to move, his hips rocking into hers, each thrust punctuated by a guttural grunt. She met him stroke for stroke, her breasts bouncing with the rhythm, the friction sending waves of pleasure crashing through her body.

He leaned in, his teeth grazing her earlobe as he whispered filthy words, degrading her in the most delicious way. "That's it, take it," he growled, his breath hot against her skin. "You're such a slut for me, aren't you?" She whimpered, her body responding to his words, her walls clenching around him. He liked it when she played the brat, but now she was all his, all submission.

He could feel her climbing closer to the edge, her breaths coming in ragged pants. He reached up, grabbing one of her breasts, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The pinch sent a bolt of pleasure through her, making her moan around his cock. He smirked, knowing he had her right where he wanted her.

Joel's other hand slid down to her ass, giving it a firm squeeze before his fingers delved between her cheeks. She gasped as he found her tight hole, teasing it with a single digit. "You're mine," he murmured, pushing into her untouched entrance. "All of you."

The sudden intrusion made her jolt, her eyes flying open. But instead of pulling away, she pushed back into his hand, eager for more. He chuckled darkly, his grip on her hip tightening as he began to fuck her with his finger, the dual sensation making her pussy clench around his cock. "So greedy," he said, his voice a low rumble. "You're going to take everything I give you, aren't you?"

Her only response was a muffled moan, her voice lost in the fabric of his shirt. Joel could feel her orgasm building, her walls fluttering around him like a caged bird desperate to fly. He leaned back, watching her face contort with pleasure, his own climax approaching like a storm on the horizon. His strokes grew faster, his hips snapping into her with a ferocity that left them both gasping for air.

He withdrew his finger from her ass, reaching around to pinch her clit as he fucked her harder. She bucked wildly, her nails raking down his back as the first wave of her climax washed over her. He felt her pussy clench, her juices flooding his cock as she screamed into the fabric of his shirt. The sound sent him over the edge, and with a roar, he emptied himself inside her, filling her to the brim.

Her orgasm was a symphony of sounds, her moans and gasps echoing through the small house. Joel held her hips firmly, ensuring she took every last inch of his release. He watched as she rode the peak of pleasure, her body shaking with the intensity of it all. When she finally collapsed against him, panting and sated, he couldn't help but feel a smug sense of satisfaction.

He kissed her neck, his breath warm and ragged against her skin. "You're mine now," he murmured, his voice thick with possessiveness. "And you're going to wear my cum as a reminder." He felt her shiver in his arms, the dirty talk only serving to excite her further.

Joel's thumb continued to circle her clit lazily, keeping her on the edge. "You liked that, didn't you?" he whispered, his voice a dark promise. "You liked being caught, didn't you?" She nodded, unable to form words, lost in the aftershocks of pleasure.

He pulled out of her with a wet sound, the head of his cock glistening with their combined juices. He stood, lifting her off his lap, and spun her around to face the kitchen counter. "Bend over," he ordered, his voice still commanding. She complied, her knees wobbly from the intense orgasm.

The cool countertop sent a shiver up her spine, and she gripped the edge, her knuckles white with the effort. Joel stepped behind her, his eyes feasting on her reddened, swollen pussy. He grabbed her hips, positioning himself again. With one swift movement, he plunged back into her, making her gasp. He was still hard, still insatiable. He began to fuck her from behind, his thrusts deep and powerful, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing in the room.

Her breasts bounced with each impact, the painful pleasure sending her spiraling back towards the edge. She could feel his grip tighten, his hands leaving bruises on her hips, and she loved it. He was claiming her, marking her as his own, and she reveled in the feeling of submission. She pushed back into him, taking him deeper, her walls clenching around his length.

"You want more?" he growled, his hand reaching around to pinch her clit again. She moaned, the sensation too much, too intense. He chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing her ear. "That's my girl." He pulled almost all the way out before slamming back into her, the suddenness of it making her cry out.

The kitchen counter was slick with their sweat and desire, their bodies moving in a dance of passion and dominance. Joel's hand reached up, wrapping around her neck, his thumb pressing lightly against her throat. The subtle hint of control sent a thrill through her, making her pussy clench around him. She pushed back, eager for the pain, for the feeling of him owning her completely.

He groaned, his hips pistoning into her with renewed vigor. The angle was perfect, hitting her g-spot with every thrust. She could feel another orgasm building, a crescendo of pleasure that threatened to shatter her into a million pieces. "Beg for it," he whispered, his breath hot against her neck. "Tell me you want it, tell me you need it."

Her voice was a desperate whine as she pleaded, "Please, Joel, please let me cum again." He tightened his grip, his thumb pressing slightly harder on her clit. "Not until I say so," he said, his voice a dark command. She whimpered, her body writhing under his control. He knew exactly how to play her, how to tease and taunt until she was begging for release.

He slowed his pace, drawing out each thrust, savoring the feel of her tightness around him. The anticipation was intoxicating, a sweet torment that made his balls ache with need. He watched in the flickering candlelight as her ass cheeks clenched with each movement, her pussy gripping his cock like a vice. The room was a cacophony of their harsh breaths and the wet sounds of their bodies colliding.

"Please," she moaned, her voice desperate. "I need it."

Joel's hand slid from her throat to her clit, his thumb circling it with the perfect amount of pressure. "You're going to come for me," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. "But not yet." He watched her body tense, her muscles tightening around him, desperate for release. The power was intoxicating, the way she trembled under his touch.

He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back. "You're going to take it all," he breathed into her ear, his voice a seductive growl. "Every inch of me, until I say you can come." She whimpered, her head dropping forward as she tried to push back against him, her hips moving in a silent plea for more.

The room was a blur of sensation, the smell of sex and sweat mixing with the faint scent of burning wood from the fireplace. The candles cast shadows across their bodies, flickering with each thrust. Joel's hand slid down to her ass, his fingers tracing the line between her cheeks before pushing into her again. The feeling of fullness was almost too much, but she craved it, her body begging for the painful pleasure that only he could provide.

"You're so fucking tight," he murmured, his voice strained with his own climax approaching. "I'm going to fill you up until you can't take anymore."

Her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth opening in a silent scream as she felt his thumb push past the tight ring of muscle, invading her ass. The pain was sharp, but it only served to heighten the pleasure. She was lost in a whirlwind of sensations, her body no longer her own as he controlled her every movement. Joel's other hand wrapped around her hip, guiding her to move back onto him, her pussy clenching around his shaft as he pushed deeper into her.

"Look at me," he demanded, his voice harsh. She opened her eyes, her vision swimming with lust. Their gazes locked, the intensity of his stare piercing through the fog of pleasure. "You're going to come for me," he said, his thumb moving in time with his cock, pushing her closer and closer to the precipice. "Now."

Her body obeyed, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. She screamed his name, her nails digging into the wood as she came apart in his arms. Joel's own climax followed swiftly, his cock pulsing inside her as he filled her up with his seed. He groaned, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself completely.

For a moment, they remained like that, panting and spent. Then Joel pulled out, his cock slipping from her with a wet sound that made her shiver. He stepped back, watching her with hooded eyes as she slowly straightened, her legs shaking. He reached out, tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb, his touch gentle despite the roughness of his hand.

"You're mine now," he said, his voice low and possessive. "Every inch of you." She nodded, her cheeks still flushed, her breaths coming in shallow pants. "Say it," he demanded. "Tell me you're mine."

Her eyes searched his, a mix of shock and awe at the intensity of what had just transpired. "I'm... I'm yours," she finally managed to whisper, the words thick with desire. He leaned in, his mouth claiming hers in a brutal kiss, his tongue demanding entry. She melted into him, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her climax.

Breaking the kiss, Joel grabbed her chin, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. "And don't you ever forget it," he warned, his voice a low rumble. "You wear my shirts, you take my cum. You're going to be walking around with a constant reminder of who's in charge." He smirked, watching the way her pupils dilated at his words.

Withdrawing his cock from her, Joel reached down, his thumb sliding through their mixed juices, and then back to her pussy. He pushed two fingers inside her, her walls still spasming from the aftershocks of her orgasm. She whimpered, the sensation overwhelmingly intense. He curled his fingers, hitting that spot that made her knees buckle, and began to pump his cum back into her. Her eyes rolled back in her head, her body jolting with each thrust of his digits.

"Look at me," he ordered again, his voice a gravelly whisper. She forced her eyes open, meeting his fiery gaze. "You're going to wear this," he said, pulling his fingers out and holding them up, glistening with their combined release. "Every drop." He brought his hand to her mouth, and she obeyed without question, licking and sucking her taste from his skin. He watched with a dark satisfaction as she swallowed, her eyes never leaving his.

With a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes, Joel leaned in, his breath hot against her cheek. "Now, tell me how much you liked being caught," he said, his voice a sinful purr. She blushed, but the brat in her couldn't resist a little sass. "I liked it," she admitted, her voice a mix of defiance and arousal. "But maybe next time, you could be a bit more... creative with your punishments."

Joel's eyebrow shot up, and he stepped back, his cock still semi-hard and glistening. "Is that a challenge, darling?" He grabbed the flannel she'd been wearing earlier, now discarded on the floor, and wrapped it around her trembling body. "Because I've got plenty of creative ways to keep you in line."

Her heart skipped a beat at the promise in his words. "Maybe," she replied with a smirk, her voice still breathless from her recent climax. "But I'm not promising to be good."

Joel chuckled darkly. "That's what makes it fun," he said, his eyes glinting with amusement. He pulled her closer, his cock brushing against her stomach. She could feel it thickening again, a testament to his insatiable desire. "But for now," he murmured, "we should clean up before I have to be back out on patrol."

The water was cold when Joel turned on the faucet, but it did nothing to cool the heat that still lingered between them. He grabbed a cloth, soaking it before gently cleaning her up. The tender act was a stark contrast to the raw passion they'd just shared, and she found herself leaning into his touch, craving the comfort he offered. When he was done, he tossed the cloth aside and picked her up, carrying her to the bedroom.

He laid her down on the bed, his eyes raking over her naked body. He was still dressed, a stark reminder of the power dynamic they'd just established. "You're going to be the death of me," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. She couldn't help but giggle, the sound light and airy in the tension-filled room.

The bed dipped as he climbed onto it, his weight pressing down on the mattress. He hovered over her, his hand sliding up her thigh, his thumb brushing against her still-sensitive clit. She gasped, her body reacting instantly. He chuckled, the sound dark and seductive. "I can see you're eager for more," he said, his voice a tease.

He leaned down, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss that was both punishing and gentle. His tongue danced with hers, tasting the lingering flavor of their passion. When he pulled away, she was left panting, her eyes glazed with lust. "But I've got patrol," he murmured against her skin, his lips moving to her neck. He bit down, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make her moan. "You're going to have to wait for it."

Her hands found his shoulders, her nails digging in as she tried to pull him closer. "Please, Joel," she begged, her voice needy and desperate. He chuckled, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "You're insatiable." He kissed her again, his hand sliding down to cup her breast, his thumb teasing the nipple until it was a hard peak. "But I like that about you."

With a final groan of protest, Joel rolled off the bed, his cock still semi-erect. "I'll be back," he said, his voice a promise. "And when I do, you'd better be ready for me." He strode to the bathroom, the muscles in his back flexing with each step. She watched him go, her body still trembling from the aftermath of their encounter.

The cold water from the sink brought Joel back to reality, the chill a stark contrast to the heat of his desire. He washed his hands, taking a deep breath to compose himself. He couldn't believe he'd just taken her like that, in the kitchen of all places. But the sight of her in his flannel, her face flushed with arousal, had driven him over the edge.

Wiping his hands on the towel, he returned to the bedroom, his eyes devouring her again. She lay there, a mess of tangled limbs and desire, the flannel barely covering her curves. He couldn't resist leaning down to kiss her, his hand caressing her cheek. "I'll be back soon," he whispered, his voice hoarse. She nodded, her eyes still glazed with passion.

Joel pulled on his patrol gear, his mind racing with thoughts of her. The way she'd looked at him, the way she'd taken him, it was all he could think about. He had to get out there, had to focus on the job at hand, but she was a siren's call he couldn't ignore.

He stepped out into the cold night, the chill air slapping him in the face, a stark contrast to the heat they'd generated in the kitchen. The patrol was quiet, his mind wandering back to her, to the way her body had responded to his every touch. He found himself smiling, a rare occurrence in this post-apocalyptic world.

Hours ticked by, the moon casting eerie shadows across the deserted town. Joel's thoughts remained fixated on her, his cock twitching at the memory of her moans and whimpers. He'd never felt such a potent mix of lust and tenderness before, and it unnerved him.

When Joel finally returned home, the house was quiet, the only sound the crackling of the dying embers in the fireplace. He shed his gear, stripping down to nothing but his skin, his cock already hard with anticipation. As he padded silently towards the bedroom, his eyes fell on her, sprawled out on the bed, her chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. She looked so peaceful, so innocent, but Joel knew the fire that burned within her, the desire that she kept hidden.

With a smirk playing on his lips, he stepped into the room, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open to find him standing over her, naked and gleaming with sweat. He leaned down, his hand trailing up her thigh, his breath hot against her ear. "Are you ready for more, darlin'?" he whispered, his voice a dark promise.

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cazshmere · 8 months ago

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Astrology Placements & Aspects that are likely to be stalked or attract obsessive people 🩸🕷️

(TW / MINORS DNI⚠️ : mentions of stalking and sexual content)

materialist 🔖

DEFINITION + DISCLAIMER : Stalking is persistent, unwanted attention or surveillance by an individual toward another person, often involving repeated following, contacting, or monitoring in ways that make the person feel threatened, harassed, or unsafe. It typically includes obsessive behavior aimed at controlling or staying close to the person, even without their consent. These are just my personal observations and are meant for entertainment purposes only; it may not resonate with everyone due to the nuances of astrology. Please respect my work and avoid copying or stealing it. Enjoy reading!! 🕷️🩸

🩸All Water Sign Placements (Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces): Water signs are deeply emotional and intuitive, often forming intense bonds with others. Their empathetic nature can attract people who feel misunderstood or who have obsessive tendencies, as they believe only these individuals can truly understand them. This connection to the water signs' emotional depth can lead to feelings of obsession.

🩸Neptune in the 1st House: Ahh I think everyone’s heard of how much of a blessing and curse this placement is. Neptune in the 1st creates a mysterious or ethereal aura around the person. This makes them hard to read, which can magnetize those who idealize or obsess over mystery. Their ability to project fantasies onto others can lead stalkers to feel as if they’re connected on a deeper, almost spiritual level. A lot of celebrities with this placement have PSYCHOTIC FANS💀.

🩸Moon in the 1st House: These individuals are extremely attuned with their surroundings and can easily empathise and pick up on energies. They may unknowingly attract others who become fixated on their vulnerability or nurturing qualities.

🩸Pluto in the 1st House: Omg this placement is scary ngl because people notice how much power and magnetism this individual possesses and people just can’t help but be amazed and intrigued by these individuals. This intrigue makes them want to know more and more about the person which then leads to obsessive tendencies, such as following them around, stalking their social media page or just keeping tabs on them. These individuals surely have a strong, sometimes mysterious presence that can fascinate or captivate others, leading to obsessive behavior from admirers or stalkers.

🩸Chiron in the 1st House: Chiron in the 1st house can make someone appear vulnerable or wounded, which can attract individuals who want to "fix" or control them. This placement often draws people who are compelled to heal or dominate the person’s perceived weaknesses.

🩸Lilith in the 1st House: Lilith represents our shadow selves and repressed desires. In the 1st house, it can give off an aura of raw power and sexuality, attracting people who are drawn to what they perceive as forbidden or unattainable.

🩸Pluto-Ascendant Aspects (esp harsh aspects) : When the ascendant comes in contact with pluto, pluto intensifies its characteristics. This could indicate that these individuals have something super striking about their appearance. Pluto is also the planet of mystery and uncertainty so these individuals exude a sense of mystery which attracts people to them because they want to know more about this individual. These individuals attract people who want to control, or “possess” them which leads to stalking tendencies.

🩸Pluto-MC Aspects (esp harsh aspects) : People can easily retort to stalking tendencies when it comes to these individuals as MC represents their public persona and people get obsessed with the way the individual portrays or presents themselves to the world. This reminds me of stalker fans that celebrities have that would go to any and every extent to see them or be near them because they are so fascinated with how they “appear” in public. If you follow kpop there’s a term for these type of fans called as sasaeng fans (please go and look it up, it’s actually so scary) who also possess obsessive and super CONCERNING qualities which resonate with how stalking and obsession can occur in respect to this aspect.

🩸Pluto-Moon Aspects: This aspect gives rise to others becoming emotionally obsessed, attached and dependent on the individual. This attachment or dependence leads to obsession as other people feel they NEED this individual in order to survive and this causes obsession. These individuals may attract obsessive or controlling partners who are drawn to their emotional depth and vulnerability.

🩸Pluto-Venus Aspects (esp harsh aspects): Omg individuals with this aspect, PLEASE PLEASE be really careful with who you trust or share your information with, especially when it comes to romantic relationships. Your partner could become super possessive of you and would want to monitor you 24/7, so creepy omg. These individuals also attract really insecure and possessive people. So please be mindful when you’re letting your guard down with others. These individuals attract obsessive partners who are unable to let go, often experiencing power struggles or possessive behavior.

🩸Pluto-Mars Aspects (esp harsh aspects) This aspect heightens the individuals sexual energy which in return tends to attract attention of A LOT of perverts or people who just want to sleep with you. They see you as a way to sexually satisfy their needs and they become obsessed with the fact that you might sleep with them and slowly start getting creepy and stalking you till you give in and sleep with them (PLEASE RUN AWAY IMMEDIATELY). If you have this aspect and feel like partners are just using you for sexual activities, PLEASE LEAVE because I’m sure when the attraction is genuine you will know it. This aspect induces a lot of LUSTFUL intentions in others towards you.

🩸Neptune-Mars Aspects (mainly the square and conjunction) : Oh god the amount of times people with this aspect get sexualised is so sickening. Literally people fantasise about you in their sexual scenarios and get obsessed with these scenarios and desperately want it to happen in real life. This desperation gives rise to obsession and stalking. TOXIC ASF.

🩸Venus Square/Opposite Saturn: Individuals with these aspects usually tend to have low self esteem so they can mistake obsession as love because they think this is exactly how love is supposed to feel like and this is all they’re going to get. This aspect also often suggests struggles in love and relationships, which can manifest as attracting partners who are emotionally unavailable or controlling. The difficulties in achieving healthy relationships may attract obsessive behaviour from others who know that the individual is easily controlled and can be manipulated. This power that these toxic people have over the individuals is what makes them obsessed because they just NEED to control and possess the native. Even if the native cuts ties with these toxic people, these people would stalk them and somehow try manipulating their way back into the natives lives.

🩸Scorpio Venus: OKAY this placement takes the winner title for getting stalked. Literally every single scorpio venus I have encountered has one or the other story of how their partner or someone who liked them OUTRIGHT stalked them. The people who are into these natives are SUPER possessive and observant over these individuals. They stalk their social media, probably have a secret folder of their pics and somehow “magically” appear in the same places as the native is in. I’ve noticed that sometimes people with this placement do enjoy this kind of attention, as long as the other person is respecting your boundaries and the actions in the relationship are both consensual, then it’s all good. If you guys have watched the show “You”, there’s this character called Beck and I feel like she probably had this placement and that’s why Joe was so freakin OBSESSED with her and the amount of times and the ways in which he has stalked her is crazy💀

🩸Scorpio Mars: These people attract ATTENTION everywhere they go. A lot of staring from others too because it’s hard NOT to notice these individuals. Their powerful sexual energy and ability to dive deep into relationships can attract obsessive or controlling individuals who want to dominate or consume them.

🩸Pluto/Scorpio in the 7th House: Oh god, these people can’t help but not attract intense and controlling people. Their partners have a need to KNOW every single thing about them - where they are, who they’re with, what they’re doing. Basically 0 privacy. A lot of intrusive partners are attracted. Well the native itself could possess these obsessive tendencies and sometimes they might enjoy a little bit of obsession from their partners side but eventually it gets toxic wherein it gets hard to cut ties with their partners and this obsession turns into something detrimental.

🩸Venus in the 8th House: SO MANY STALKERS, SO MANY SECRET ADMIRERS. Trust me if you think people aren’t watching you, THEY DEFINITELY ARE. For some reason people tend to notice even the tiniest amount of change in your physical appearance. This is scary honestly because there are eyes on you always because honestly your energy is so POWERFUL and MAGNETIC that people just can’t seem to get enough of you. These individuals attract bitchy friends who want to know everything about the native and always try to ONE up them. Please be super careful with who you engage with and share your energy with. I feel like just because this is a super intense placement, your intentions might not be clearly understood by others. For instance if you’re just acting friendly with a guy he might mistake it as flirting and then develop feelings for you and become obsessed 💀💀. Scary asf.

🩸Mars in the 8th House: Just like venus in the 8th house your sexual energy and presence is very high. Honestly this placement is SO MUCH more than just intense sexual energy but what to do, these individuals inevitably exude this type of energy. So if these individuals are being friendly with someone, the person might mistake this friendliness as something more and try and make a move because these individuals do come off as slightly more sexual than other people. This could also mean that people who have sex with these individuals ALWAYS want to come back to them because it was probably the best sex they ever had. They basically become sexually obsessed with the natives and keep coming for more and more.

🩸Mars in the 10th House: Mars in the 10th house can make a person’s career or public life a focal point of their energy, which can attract admirers or stalkers who become obsessed with their achievements or public image. For instance Jungkook from BTS has this placement and his fans are feral and superrr obsessed with everything he does and as a fellow army it’s honestly concerning to see 😭💀.

🩸Pluto in the 10th House: I feel like this placement attracts more of haters who are OBSESSED with the power these natives hold and want to either possess the same amount of power or overtake the native. This obsession stems more from hatred and envy. This intense, sometimes intimidating energy can draw admirers or obsessive followers who are either fascinated by their authority or want to undermine it.

🩸Neptune in the 10th House: Neptune in the 10th house can make a person’s public persona appear glamorous or unreachable, drawing people who project fantasies or illusions onto them. These individuals may find that others become obsessed with their perceived image rather than their true self.

🩸Venus in the 12th House: Venus in the 12th house can create secretive or unspoken love affairs, which may attract admirers who remain hidden or watch from afar. This placement can sometimes make it difficult to see a person’s true intentions.

‼️Of course, there are likely other placements that may experience similar things, but these are the aspects and placements I can recall off the top of my head. It’s important to note that having any of these placements doesn’t guarantee that such experiences will occur. This is merely a possibility and may be nothing more‼️

banner/gif credits to the rightful owners

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savanir · 11 months ago

Text

DP x DC prompt [6]

Weapon design always came easy to Jack Fenton. He grew up with it, all the way back in Atlantis, when he was just a little guppy.

What he wasn’t aware of at the time was that his parents were from a long and prestigious line of scientists and weapon manufacturers in Atlantean society. But things had been getting dangerous.

The King at the time cast them out when they refused his demands of greater, stronger, deadlier weapons. The kind of weapons they knew would not only destroy their enemies, but themselves as well.

They fled and went where they thought they would never be found, the surface.

Jack had the easiest time adapting, being as young as he was getting used to breathing air was a lot less of a struggle.

He adopted one of the most generic male names he could, and adapted the family name of Fenestratus into Fenton. And then it was just living as a human, as humanly as possible, nothing to see here.

By now Jack basically doesn’t know any better. but this piece of heritage is coming back now all these years later, when his son is looking to him for help from the government.

But first he holds his boy close and apologizes, because he sees the fear, and he understands a little too well, and he doesn’t like the picture he’s seeing now that all the puzzle pieces are falling into place.

“I almost became the thing I hate the most. I’m so sorry Danny, I’m sorry I made you feel unsafe in your own home”

The hug is long and warm and tight and Danny isn’t ashamed to admit he might have clung a little bit.

Then Jack holds Danny tightly by his shoulders and gives him a big grin, “Good news though, you’re only half ghost, the other half is not only human but also Atlantean, and there are laws protecting us now” Jack mutters to himself, “I wonder if the whole ghost stuff would actually be put under the meta protection thing… hmm”

Danny blinks for a moment, Jazz gapes, Maddie is suddenly no longer spiraling about how her baby boy got in a terrible accident in their lab and she didn’t know.

“I’m also what?”

“Dad!?”

“oh did I forget to mention that? I thought I did, I know for certain that I had been meaning to”

“Jack sweetie, are you-”

“oh yes, and I remember now, I decided to tell you after our big breakthrough because I didn’t want to distract you, and-” Jack looks sheepish, “I hope you aren’t too mad at me Maddiecakes”

“mad? oh I would never be mad at you about this but we could have- I don’t know, accommodated- Atlanteans are aquatic, well I guess that explains how you could always put away so much water, and when you gave me your umbrella and I thought you were just making an excuse when you told me you didn’t mind and in fact loved getting pelted by the rain-”

Maddie goes on, and Jack thinks to himself that this is exactly the reason why he kept it to himself at the time, Maddie never half asses anything, he’s sure a lot of things are going to change in the house now, it honestly only makes him fall in love with her even more.

Meanwhile Jazz had filled up a bucket of water and then dunked her head in, then came back out not even slightly gasping for breath, just saying “oh my god” over and over.

Danny timed it, “yeah okay, I guess that proves it. now I’m starting to wonder if my weird relationship with air is ghost related at all”

#dpxdc #dcxdp #danny fenton #danny phantom #jazz fenton #jack fenton #madeline fenton #good parents jack and maddie #Atlantean Jack #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #I like how Atlantean heritage explains a lot of the enhanced super human abilities the Fentons seem to have #also history repeating itself yadda yadda #Danny is actually a triple hybrid #Danny eventually becoming friends with Garth because of all this would be really sweet I think

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noctiva · 1 month ago

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reader and Toby get into a heated argument which leads to hate sex and Toby is SOOO mean the whole time like degrading, spiting on reader, choking her whole nine yards and reader tries to stay mad and keep their attitude during all this but just totally crumbles and becomes sooo pathetic - 🪽

OOOOOOOOH MAN mean!toby… the way to my heart truly.. I know this is a request but writing this was very self indulgent I was kicking my feet giggling writing this

Unbearable

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!]

WC: 8.4k

Summary: Fighting with Toby is always a lost cause, because it’s just a case of two stubborn forces butting heads with one another. It all just comes down to who caves first (spoiler alert: it’s you. It’s always you.)

CW: explicit sexual content, toxic relationships + behaviour, I repeat - they are so toxic, this is not healthy relationship behaviour!, they fight and Toby’s an asshole about it, possessive and jealous behaviour, degradation, choking and asphyxiophilia, biting!!, biting and blood!!, very dead dove, rough handling, rough sex, outdoor sex, semi-public sex, toby being so fucking mean I hate him, mocking, face slapping, spit and drool, overstimulation, arguably CNC, but it’s alllll consensual, just maybe not safe or sane, hate sex!, multiple orgasms, dom/sub undertones, unsafe sex, creampie, hair pulling, dacryphilia, putting this here again bc I have to make it clear toby! is! an! asshole!, they make up at the end, but again - toxic, did I say dead dove? because dead fucking dove.

Reminder to separate reality from fiction!! Some of the acts written here are definitely not meant to be endorsed or romanticized irl! Stay safe!

NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

“You don’t have t-to be such a bitch all the t-time.”

That, is what set you off.

Those words, spoken in that stupidly nonchalant tone of Toby’s as he milled around the kitchen after a mission, looking through the cupboards for a snack to ease his rumbling stomach.

And maybe, he was just tired. Maybe, he was just irritable because the mission had taken a lot longer than he was hoping it would. Maybe, you were both too cranky to have a proper, civil conversation. Maybe, maybe, maybe. What was certain, was that those words had pissed you off, because they had been said in response to you telling him it would be nice to know if he’d be home for dinner, so that you could be prepared for it.

And yet, despite your words so clearly showing your care for him, he decided the best plan of action would be immediately attacking you - like some stuck up teenager with his head up his ass. You loved Toby, you did, and you found more and more reasons to every single day - but, he also gave you more and more reasons to be left seething on the couch while he padded around the house as if he had done nothing wrong.

He was exhausting to deal with, just as much as he was a joy to be around. It was something you had gotten used to, chalking his snippy attitude up to just being a side effect of the strenuous line of work he found himself to be a part of. But, it got to a point. Got to a point where you just couldn’t excuse it anymore, especially when you had spent the greater half of your day tidying up after him. Making sure the cabin was nice and spotless, so that he wouldn’t have to do so much as lift a finger when he got home.

“Is that what I am?” You snap back to him, one hand on your hip with your eyes trained on his back as you watch him in the kitchen - peeling open a pack of chocolate chip cookies before promptly shoving one in his mouth. “I’m a bitch, because I want to know what time you’ll be home?”

“Uh, yeah. Y-You really want me to re-repeat myself?” His voice, partially muffled by the half-chewed cookie in your mouth, just proves to stoke the flame of anger brewing within you. You feel your eye twitch, and somehow you manage to just get angrier when Toby turns around to look at you. It’s the nonchalance on his face, like he couldn’t see a single reason in the world why you’d be getting so upset over his choice of wording. It’s maddening really, how this argument had barely even started, and yet you already felt like you were two words away from fucking strangling him. “I’ve t-told you before, I can’t predict how long these- fuck! -these things will take. Maybe, if you listened-“

“I do fucking listen, Toby!” You snap back at him, cutting him off so swiftly it makes his expression harden. You can practically see the switch in his brain flip, when he realizes that this wasn’t just going to be another one of your little spats. You were mad at him, actually, genuinely mad at him. Brimming with anger as you stood before him, jaw clenched and fingers curling into fists down at your sides. “All I do is fucking listen, and be the perfect little homemaker so that you don’t have to do jack shit when you get home.” You lift a finger to point at him, and his eyes narrow. “But you don’t seem to give a shit about any of that.”

“W-What?” Toby takes a step forwards, bringing with him an aura that was so imposing it nearly made you shrink. Thickening the air around you, making your lungs feel tight as he imposed on your personal space. Another step, he takes, then another, before tilting his head down to look at you - making it all too clear who would really have the upper hand if things went far south. “I’m supposed t-to pat you on the back be-because you swept the fuh-fucking floor?” His growing annoyance only made his tics worse, sporadic jerks of his neck and shoulders making him look all the more intimidating as he glowered down at you. “I just spent f-five fucking hours in the d-damn woods, hunting down four people all on my own b-because Brian and Tim were t-too busy to help.” You swallow thickly. “But when I come home, d-dead tired, the first thing I’m supposed to do is thank you for doing the ff-fucking dishes?” He rolls his eyes. “That’s the least you could do.”

“The least you could do, would be to at least be a little bit appreciative.” You spit back at him, crossing your arms over your chest and standing your ground though the weight of his presence was making you tremble.

You didn’t often think about what it might be like to be one of Toby’s victims - but standing there right then with him towering over you, the look in his eyes so cold it brought a chill to your veins - you could really picture it. Really picture the fear that he struck people with, before stealing their last breath. “You’re barely around anymore, y’know? And when you are, you’re like this.”

“Like what?” Toby presses, tilting his head down more to encroach further into your personal bubble. Those words were bait. And if you took it, you knew that this fast devolving conversation would just take a turn for the absolute worst.

But well, he had already resorted to name calling, so why couldn’t you?

“Like, an asshole.” You grit out, taking a step forwards as proof of your resilience, even when faced with a man you knew was dangerous. Toby wouldn’t really hurt you. You knew that, you hoped that, and yet pushing his buttons was still something that made your stomach twist. It was the knowledge that, if he wanted to, he could. Easily. Could probably incapacitate you before you even realized what had even happened. Knock you out cold with a swift jerk of his arm. He wouldn’t though. Not to you. That’s what you were banking on. “Like some self-centred prick that I can barely stand being around.”

Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but the point still stood. And you really, really, just wanted to get it through his head that as of late, he really hadn’t been acting like ‘boyfriend of the year’ material. Was that something you should expect, from a literal axe murderer? Probably not. But he used to be better. A new, heavier workload on his shoulders was forcing a strain onto your relationship that you hadn’t been prepared to face.

Toby was barely home. And when he was, it was for mere hours at a time. He barely touched you, barely kissed you, apparently finding a quick peck on the lips before he left again to be an adequate amount of affection. He was hardly present. When he was by your side, he was mentally distant. Never letting you peer into his mind, most likely for your safety, but forcing a wedge between the two of you nonetheless.

At the root of it all, your anger stemmed from sadness. Sadness, because you missed him. Missed the Toby that had stolen your heart, went out of his way to do stupid things just to earn a laugh from you, showered you with love every moment he got, and hated leaving your side for even a moment.

But, all those cushy soft emotions were hidden under the hardened shell of annoyance that had built up over time. And so, you were left spouting awful, awful words at the man you loved so dearly.

Hoping that maybe, this would be what cracks him.

“You c-can’t stand being around me?” Toby’s eyes flash with something you can’t quite decipher, but it looks far too close to hurt for comfort. Whatever it was, he masks it quickly, covering the rawness of his emotions with that same passive expression he wore so often. “That’s c-cute. Why’re you still here th-then?”

“That’s not even funny.” You hiss, words laced with venom as they drip off of your tongue. “You know I couldn’t leave if I wanted to.”

“No, b-be my guest.” Toby snorts, sarcasm laced around every letter. You knew, that arguing with him was a lost cause. You had been down this road before, and it was much more beneficial to just roll over and let him believe that he was in the right. Not today though. As you had said before - it got to a point. “The d-door’s right there if you hate me so much.” He gestures towards your front door in a mocking manner, eyes locked on yours the entire time.

“As if it would be that fucking easy.” You spit back at him, before promptly turning on your heel. Unable to stomach another moment of eye contact with him. Those eyes, weren’t the ones you had fallen in love with. They were lifeless, filled with the type of malice you never would’ve dreamed he’d direct at you of all people. It just made you angrier. Angry at the fact that he felt like he had a reason to be mad at you. “Acting like one of your buddies wouldn’t track me down and kill me for ‘knowing too much’.”

You stalk out into the living room, and you hear him follow behind you, the heavy soles of the boots he hadn’t taken off tracking dirt against the hardwood floors you had just cleaned earlier that day. “I don’t have a choice, you know? I have to either put up with you, or die, those are my only options.”

“‘Put up with m-me’?” When you turn around once more it looks like Toby had quite a lot to say about that choice of words - jaw clenched with his eye twitching - but he bites his tongue. Choosing instead to say; “A-And you act like it’s my ff-fucking fault. You knew what you were getting into w-when we started dating.”

“I didn’t!” You spit back at him, chest tight with anger as you force the words out of your lungs. “You told me you were a fucking hunter!”

Toby barks out a harsh, dry laugh, his eyebrows crinkling together in disbelief as he stared down at you. He looked almost amused, in some sick sense of the word, soft snorts of laughter bubbling from his lungs before he’s able to speak again.

“D-Don’t tell me you actually believed that.” He chuckles, raising an eyebrow. When the only response he gets is a quiver to you pouted lips, it just makes him laugh even harder. “H-Holy fuck, you did. I- chirp! -I didn’t think you were that- that fucking stupid.”

And with that, he’s managed to stun you into silence. The absolute disconnection and lack of accountability for throwing you into such a volatile way of life was sobering. He didn’t look the least bit remorseful, or even just a little bothered by the fact that he had effectively stolen away your freedom as a normal member of society. He hadn’t taken you hostage, you had agreed to be with him despite his flaws - but to pin all of the blame on you? That was just insanity.

You gaze at him with wide eyes, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as you try to shake the shock from your bones. Toby, either just isn’t patient enough to wait or simply doesn’t care, because before you can form a proper response he’s turning on his heel and walking back into the kitchen. All while muttering; “‘Hunter’… Fucking idiot.” Under his breath.

Christ, he just didn’t know when to stop today, did he?

“Do you hear yourself?” You tell after him, snapping out of the stupor he had frozen you into. You don’t move from where you’re stood though, knowing that keeping distance is probably the smartest move. “You can’t fucking speak to me like this.”

“W-Why not?” He asks, refusing to meet your eye. “Normally it gets you t-to shut up faster.”

Every time he opened his mouth, it just got so much worse. And maybe, the reason he wouldn’t look at you was because he knew he was in the wrong. Wouldn’t be able to stomach it, if he saw the unbridled wave of hurt that coated your entire expression when what he said sunk in. You blink a few times, and almost feel the need to rub your eyes in disbelief - because there’s no way he actually just said that to you, right? Had your boyfriend been swapped out one day, replaced with someone who looked just like him, but was filled with spite instead of love?

It sure seemed like it. The more you stared at him he didn’t even look like the Toby you knew anymore. Pale skin somehow paler. Sickly. His chiseled jaw too sharp, cheeks too hollow, the normally well-kept stubble on his face obviously a few weeks past being properly groomed. His under-eye bags were darker, and his eyes in general were… Deader.

Had something happened to him? He wouldn’t tell you, even if it had.

“Fuck you.” You hiss back out to him, and if your mind wasn’t so clouded by anger you wouldn’t shocked yourself with the amount of malice you managed you pack into those two words. You spit them out at him like you were trying to wound him, and it almost works - you see his shoulders tense up completely.

But his ego, his horribly inflated ego, just couldn’t let him back down. Couldn’t let him realize that he was doing a lot of damage, and that he should really stop while it was still reversible.

So his shoulders relax, his neck cracks in a way that was extremely unsettling, and then he’s muttering;

“Y-You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He picks at his fingernails absently, still not lifting his gaze to meet yours. “You sure that’s not w-what this is all about? Just mad I haven’t been giving it to you lately?”

Maybe. Partially. But not the fucking point. And the way he was treating all of this like it was just a joke? Yeah, you felt pretty close to jumping to kitchen counter and fucking killing him.

So, you choose the less violent route instead.

You don’t respond, you simply turn on your heel and start walking. Through the living room, on a beeline towards the front door.

That, had Toby’s gaze flicking up immediately. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. Out.” You snap back to him, already slipping on your shoes and grabbing your jacket. You don’t know if you’ve ever seen Toby move faster in his life once he realizes that you’re serious - crossing the living room in large strides, in just a matter of seconds.

“N-No you’re not.” His voice holds a tone of finality, but you couldn’t give less of a shit. You weren’t about to start taking orders from a man who had spent the last half hour making a complete mockery out of you.

“Why not? You do all the time.” You cross your arms over your chest, eyes narrowed as you glare up at him.

“B-Because I know how to deal with what’s out there!” Toby borderline growled back at you, jerking his arm towards to window as a means to enunciate his point. Towards the forest outside, that your little cabin resided in. The forest that you knew was teeming with genuine monsters, and people that were closure to monsters than humans. Toby, being one of them, when he wasn’t at home with you. “It’s- It’s late, and the sun’s going down. You cannot go out there. Jack’s probably-“

“Jack’s probably out hunting, I know.” You cut him off in a tone so cold he can’t even mask it when it visibly startles him. “I don’t give a fuck. He’d probably treat me better than you do anyway.”

A disastrously low blow. Such an egregious thing to say, even in your fit of anger, that you regret it the second the words slip off of your tongue. Because in general, that’s just such a horrid thing to say to the man you love, but saying it to a partner that you are well aware has some pretty unresolved jealousy issues?

Yeah, you just dug your own grave and laid in it.

You freeze after you speak, and the silence that follows makes your skin crawl. You stare up at Toby with bated breath, watching as shock settles onto his expression - and you know the worst is yet to come. It seemed like it took him a moment to really process what you had just said, or maybe he just couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Hoping that, you’d backtrack, or correct yourself and clarify that’s not what you meant.

But you don’t, too stunned at yourself to even speak another word.

And that’s when everything blows up.

Once the shock drains from his face, Toby looks like you just slapped him. His expression crumpling, eyebrows furrowing together as a mixture of hurt and anger flooded his eyes. You could practically feel his temper rise, the air around you growing thicker and thicker the longer that he just stood there and stared at you like you had insulted his entire being. Maybe you had.

And then;

“W-What the fuck did you just say?” His tone is dangerous, holding an undeniable threat that shook you to the core. You couldn’t think of a single instance in the years you had been together where you had actually been scared of Toby (besides the day you had found out what he really did for a living) but right then, you were fucking terrified.

Suffocated by the fury in his eyes, feeling like you were being choked by the weight of the tension around you. It had never been more clear, who exactly you were dating.

Someone who could - might - hurt you.

And your fight or flight instinct kicked in fast. So fast, that Toby didn’t even have time to react before you were whipping open the door and darting outside. Down the steps of the front porch, feet crunching leaves under your feet as you sprint off into the very woods he warned you against traversing day after day.

Toby wastes no time perusing you. He is on your trail in a matter of seconds, bursting through the door after you with all the practiced ease of someone who had done this chase many, many times before. You hear him bark out your name after you, the low growl of his voice echoing through out the forest - bouncing off the trees to meet your ears and send a shiver down your spine. “G-Get the fuck back in the house!”

“Fuck you!” You scream back at him, still running though your lungs were starting to burn. The air around you was cold, stinging your skin and biting through your clothes to rise goosebumps on your arms. Your heart was racing, pounding so loudly in your ears that you could barely even hear the sound of your own feet hitting the ground. You could hear him though, gaining on you fast - boots snapping sticks beneath the soles. “Get the hell away from me, Toby!”

“Fat chance!” Toby snarls back at you, and fuck he sounds really close now. You won’t look behind you, knowing the sight of him would only make you falter - but you know it’s probably fruitless anyway. He’s close, and just gaining on you by the second. “You th-think you can just say that shit to me and then r-run away?”

His fingers graze your back as he reaches out to grab you, and you yelp, just barely steering clear of his grasp. “What the fuck is wr-wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” You push forwards through your legs are starting to ache, lungs burning with each cold breath of air that you suck in. “What’s wrong with you? You started this by being a dick for no reason!”

“At l-least I didn’t- didn’t threaten to fuck one of your friends!” Toby reaches out again, and this time - he gets you. Fingers curling into the hood of your sweater, yanking you backwards with a force that made you choke and wheeze - hands flying up to try and claw yourself free of his grip. It doesn’t work, of course it doesn’t, but he does release you a few seconds later, only to shove you to the forest floor below you. Your back hits the ground and nearly knocks the wind out of you, eyes blowing wide as you struggle to take in a few panicked breaths.

“I never said that!” You grit out, going to prop yourself back up on your elbows but he promptly shoves you back down with a boot to the chest. He pins you down that way, nearly crushing your ribs under the weight of his body as he stands above you - absolutely teeming with unspent rage.

“No? You didn’t?” Toby sneers as he glares down at you. In the low light of the forest, he looks even more intimidating. The low lighting casting stark shadows against all the high points of his face, his eyes glinting with something downright maniacal. “W-What were you implying then, huh? Saying he could- fuck! -could treat you better than me?”

His boot leaves your chest and then he’s dropping down onto you, knees digging into the ground on either side of your hips - pinning you to the forest floor with his body weight. “Y-You really want a piece of that fuh-freak?” Toby reaches down and grasps your face roughly, fingers digging into your cheeks so deep it forces your lips into a pucker. “He’d bite your p-pretty little head off.” He leans in close, so close that you can feel the heat of his breath against your face, and he looks like a beast. Snarling, twitching, shaking from the potency of anger flowing through his veins. Not looking the least bit fazed when the legs he had pinned down started to kick. “I-I’m a fucking saint, compared to the rest of them. You’re l-lucky I’m the one you met first.”

“Lucky?” You somehow managed to keep up the attitude despite the absolutely humbling situation you found yourself in - pinned to the forest floor by your serial killer boyfriend. And yet, it’s the closet you’ve been to him in days. The longest he’s held you in weeks. “Yeah, I sure feel lucky right now.” You spit out another wave of sarcasm as you struggle against his grip. “Get the fuck off of me, Toby.”

He doesn’t listen, predictably. If anything, your words just fuel him.

“And y-you wonder why I call you a bitch.” He hisses, the sting of his nails biting into your jaw making you wince. “M-Maybe, if you stopped acting like one, I’d stop calling you one.”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a prick, that might happen.” Again, you struggle, straining against his unyielding grip as a strained whimper of pain slips from your lips. You make no progress though, forced to be at the mercy of this unmoving force above you. “Get off of me, asshole!”

“Fuck no.” You can feel rocks and twigs biting into your back, your face throbbing where he’s gripping you so harshly. “A-Act like a bitch, get treated like one.” His hand slides down, curling around your throat instead with a grip just as mean. “Maybe I’ll j-just tie you up and leave you here. Let ol’ Jackie find you.” His eyes are feral as he gazes down at you, as is the smile that stretches across his lips - uncanny sharp canines glinting in the low light. “That’s what you w-wanted, right? Wanted him to treat you good?” You were really kicking yourself for letting those stupid, stupid words slip before. You should’ve known he was going to fixate on them. “I bet he’d t-treat you real good, actually. Would really make you scream.”

Your breathing comes out as a wheeze as his palm presses down against your windpipe, restricting your airflow and making your vision swim. He’s done this before, in a much different situation (when you asked him to), but this time around you’re not too sure he’d stop if you asked him. When little black dots start popping up in your vision, your stomach flips in fear.

But, why the hell would you make things easier for yourself?

“I hate you.” The words come out as more of a wheeze than anything, but they do the job nonetheless. The job being, just riling Toby up further.

His fingers tighten around your throat, and your eyes widen even further - legs kicking and arms flailing when you feel your airway close up completely. You knew he was strong, but being at the mercy of his strength was something else entirely.

“You h-hate me?” He spits leaning down lower so that his nose is pressed to yours. “You don’t fucking hate me.” He says it like it’s a certainty, like there’s not even a single possibility that his words might be true - and the worst part is, that he’s right. Because you don’t. You don’t hate him, even as your vision starts to go fuzzy. “I-I could turn you back into a lovesick little slut in ss-seconds. I’d love to hear you try and say that you still h-hate me when I’m stuffing you with my dick.”

You must be sick. Or maybe, just unfulfilled as of late. Because as horrible as it was, his words sparked up something within you. Something that desperately wanted that, something that would kill to feel his bare skin against yours once more - even if it was just to get his anger out.

And you must not have masked it as well as you would’ve wanted to - too preoccupied with trying not to pass the fuck out - because you watch through blurry vision as Toby’s grin widens into something menacing. “I knew it.” He laughs - not the warm, sweet sound you had grown accustomed to - this laugh was bitter, and cold. “Look at you, p-practically drooling at the thought of it.”

He releases your neck, to which you greedily gasp in air so quickly it nearly makes you choke, before you feel a sharp sting connect with the side of your face. Not hard enough to make the skin smart, but hard enough to shock you - because did he actually just fucking slap you? “F-Fucking whore.” He did.

Too stunned, you barely have time to think before you feel Toby’s rough fingers curling under the fabric of your hoodie. In a matter of seconds, he’s practically ripping it off of you. The cool wind hits your bare skin and makes you hiss, goosebumps immediately trickling up your arms and across your chest.

“Oh, fuck off, Toby.” You grunt, bringing your arms up to shield your chest from his hungry gaze. “We are not doing this here.”

He snorts out a laugh as if you had told him a joke, and shakes his head. Not listening at all, as his hands trail down your stomach, finding a home at the button of your jeans.

“And why would I l-listen to what a whore has to say to me?” He mutters, already popping the button of your pants and tugging down the zipper even as you try to jerk your body out of his hold. His fingers scratch at your skin as he starts tugging your jeans off with an insistence you could only dream to fight against. “T-Talking about letting Jack have a p-piece of you.” Fucking hell, this again? “Gotta remind you what you already have.”

He tugs off your jeans so harshly that you hear them tear, the fabric buckling under the force of his grip. And now, pinned to the forest floor beneath him in nothing but your underwear - it’s really setting in what situation you had gotten yourself into. How did the day end up like this? Just one horrible decision after another leading to you trapped beneath Toby like prey for him to feast on, with the cool night wind nipping at your skin and leaving you shivering.

“Give it a rest, Toby.” You huff, trying again to wriggle away from him but failing yet again. “You really think I meant that?”

“I don’t c-care if you meant it or not.” He snaps, your hips jolting when his fingers slide down towards your panties. Giving you no warning before his touch meets the front of your clothed cunt, pressing against your clit in a way that had you gasping. “The fact that you e-even fucking said it is enough.”

It’s around then, that you realize something absolutely horrific. Absolutely mortifying. With calloused fingers roughly rubbing your core through your underwear, you’re getting wet. Actually, getting wetter. You realized it the moment he tugged your pants off, the coolness between your legs when the breeze hit your cunt - you had been getting wet from Toby pushing you around like a cat batting around a mouse. And that… That was fucked up.

And Toby knows that too. “You’re already so f-fucking wet.�� He growls. “And I’ve barely even touched you.” With this new revelation, he wastes no time slipping underneath the waistband of your panties instead, sliding his fingers through the wetness accumulated between your folds. “What a stupid slut. I c-coulda killed you, and yet here you are, soaking your panties.”

“F-Fuck you.” You bite out, your shoulders bowing and back arching against the forest floor as he rubs rough circles against your swollen clit with his thumb. Your teeth grit together, so tight you’re almost afraid you might crack a tooth. But right now, you’d much rather that than to accidentally let a moan slip out. You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. He didn’t deserve it.

“I know you’re impatient, b-but at least he subtle about it.” He doesn’t let up in his ministrations, playing with your clit as his other hand comes up to roughly grasp your tit. Gripping it hard enough to make you wince, maybe even enough to bruise. And it’s stupid, how good it feels. “You still hate me? S-Say it again.”

“I hate you.” You don’t even hesitate, taking the bait eagerly as you feel him nose into your neck, stubble scratching against your skin.

“Hm. I’ll follow back up on that later.” Then you feel his lips part, and you’ve been under Toby enough times to know he wasn’t going to just gently kiss and lick your skin. Especially not right now. So, the sting of his teeth sinking into your neck is expected - but that doesn’t lessen the pain any. It’s a dull ache, and then it’s a sharp skin.

When he breaks skin, it’s a blinding pain. Your vision goes white for a second, your whole body goes rigid as absolute agony ripples through your veins. It’s a pain that couldn’t be described, unless you were there to experience it. A pain so ruthless, that the scream that tears from your throat because of it sounds almost inhuman.

A shrill, desperate cry, like a wounded animal. Echoing throughout the forest like a taunt. “Oh that’s good.” Toby mutters once he tugs his teeth from your neck, gazing down at the gruesome indent of his teeth in your skin. Watching as blood pools in the deepest pits of the wound, before it starts trickling down your neck. “K-Keep on screaming. Anyone who could hear you doesn’t care.”

And then he’s biting down again, just a few inches lower than the first one. Pinching your skin between his teeth with a pressure that makes your head spin. His jaw locking into you as your fingers pick up in speed - rolling your clit beneath them with an unrelenting force. Ruthless, in every action. Overwhelming your body on every single front. Pleasure, pain, it was difficult to even tell the two apart anymore when both were so intense that your ears were ringing. “‘I hate you’ she says.” Toby murmurs in a mocking tone against you, his lips smearing your blood across your skin. “A-And yet you’ve stopped fighting. Why? Feel too good?”

Yes. But you weren’t going to tell him that.

Not that it mattered anyway, because your body was going to give you away regardless. You could feel it, that familiar heat, almost mocking in the way it just kept burning hotter and hotter even with all the violence being dealt upon you. Your stomach was twisting into a knot, hips bucking and twitching as you tried to hold back.

You were failing, miserably, because Toby was hellbent on making you fail. He wanted you to crumple, wanted to wipe away that attitude you were still clinging to so desperately. He wanted to break you down, and to your detriment and his gain - he knew just how to do it. His hands had roamed this body a million times before.

He drags his head down your chest, and uses his free hand to push your bra upwards - freeing your breasts to the cool night air. He captures a nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue against it as his fingers pinch your clit, and your thighs start to shake. He grazes it with his teeth, then biting down with enough pressure to make you wince - and you’re done for.

Your hips buck off of the ground when your orgasm hits you with full force, the intensity of it nearly knocking the wind from you as your vision goes fuzzy. Your own voice sounds faraway and foggy, but you know you’ve failed at keeping your moans held back - because your jaw has gone slack now. A chorus of desperate, choked out sounds spilling from your lungs as drool drips down your chin.

And it’s humiliating. Absolutely humiliating how good he makes you feel, even when he’s being such an asshole. Even when he’s throwing your body around like a toy.

That feeling of shame only intensifies, when you hear Toby snicker. A cocky, self-satisfied sound - mocking in its nature. “H-How ‘bout now?” He chuckles against your skin, before leaning his head upwards to stare down at you. His chin dripping with your blood, teeth stained with it when he cracks a grin. His eyes are wild, glinting with a crazed sheen that makes your whole body feel cold. “Still hate me?”

“You-“ Your voice cracks, raw and strained from all of the screams and moans that had ripped out of your lungs. “You think that changed just because you made me cum?” You try to glare at him, but your convincing factor was gone now that you lay quivering below him - streaked with your own blood and slick. “I can do that myself.”

“I bet you can.” Toby laughs wickedly, his eyes never leaving yours even as his hands travelled to the buckle of his belt to pull it free. He’s quick with it, and in a matter of seconds the belt’s undone, his button’s popped, and his fly is tugged down. “B-But not like I can.” You watch with rapt attention as his thumbs hook under the waistband of his boxers - no shame in his actions as he lets his cock spring free.

And god dammit, it’s been too long. You try to hold it back, but you can feel drool pool in your mouth just from the sight of him. Thick, long, and so unbelievably hard. Flushed red at the tip, leaking precum that was just begging to be lapped up by you.

Maybe he deserved to be a little cocky, walking around with a dick like that. “O-Oh look at you.” He slots himself between your thighs, tugging your panties to the side before grinding his length against your slick folds. Coating himself in it, rocking his hips against you, really letting you feel the size of the cock you were about to be stuffed with. “You’ve practically got hearts i-in your eyes, baby. You can drop the act.”

Both hands curl around your waist, fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh - and you can’t hold back the whimper that falls from your mouth. “Just ss-say it. Say you missed my dick, and maybe I’ll forgive you.”

“Forgive me?” You jolt when you feel the head notch on your entrance for just a moment before it’s slipping past it again - nudging against your clit instead. “Y-You were the one being an ass.”

Toby hums softly, not looking at you, too preoccupied with watching his cock slide against you. Glistening with slick already and he hadn’t even sunk into you yet.

“M’kay, make it harder for yourself.” He mutters, before finally lining himself up properly. “I d-don’t mind.” His hands pin your hips to the ground, leaving you nowhere to run as the head of his length slips past your entrance - and despite it being awhile, you should’ve known he wasn’t going to be gentle. He practically rams his cock into you, filling you up in a motion so quick it wipes every single thought from your brain.

Your body doesn’t even know how to respond to it, really, your pussy spasming and twitching around him as it struggled to accommodate to the mind-numbing stretch. Your hands fly up immediately, instinctively trying to push at his chest, but the other half of you (the stupider half) was what took over. You push against his chest weakly just once, before your fingers are curling into the front of his shirt - knuckles going white from the force of your grip.

Your whole face was scrunched up, tears springing to your eyes and clinging to your lashes from how overwhelmed you were. It hurt, of course it did, being stretched open around him without an ounce of care, but that fullness. God, it just felt so right. Felt like everything you had been missing over the past few weeks. You could feel him throb inside you, pressed so deep it made you dizzy. You can also feel, all of the anger within you fizzling away.

Just like that. Because he had been right earlier, unfortunately. “F-Fuck-“ Toby groans out, his eyebrows pinching together. An expression of unbridled ecstasy washing over his entire face. He takes a moment to savour the moment - just a moment - before he starts pounding away at your cunt like he owned it. Barely letting you adjust, snapping his hips into you with an intensity that stole all of the air from your lungs. “F-Forgot how good this pussy is.”

And the way he says that, he nearly sounds lovestruck, awe dripping off of every letter. But, then he had to go and ruin it. “Too bad it belongs t-to such a stupid bitch.”

And you can’t even respond, you want to so badly, but with how he was drilling his cock into you the only sounds you’re capable of making right now are downright pitiful gasps and moans. He was fucking the daylights out of you. Fucking you, like it was the last thing he’d do on this godforsaken planet. Like he was trying to mould your body to the shape of his cock, carving open a path that only he could fill. Leaving you absolutely ruined, for if you ever did run away with someone else.

You wouldn’t. You couldn’t. Not when the pleasure he was dealing upon you was downright godly. Rough, aggressive, but so fucking good. Making you gush all over him, coating his cock and staining the front of his jeans every time he sunk into you. “C’mon, say somethin’.”

The feeling of his palm connecting with your cheek again barely even sobers you. The sting is welcomed, because it only deepens the pool of ecstasy he had thrown you into. Even more so, when he does it again to the other side of your face. The force of it, making your head crack to the side.

Cheeks stinging, tears rolling down your face, and dirt caked deep into your hair - your whole body was melting. Absolutely melting for him as his hips slammed against yours. “Say it again. S-Say you hate me.”

And you know he’s asking again, because he knows that he’s gotten you. You’re a pathetic mess on the ground below him. You don’t even have to see yourself to know that. Taking his cock like he hadn’t been insulting you since he got home. Like he hadn’t been insulting you while inside you. It’s degrading, and completely demoralizing - but that’s not all it is.

It’s the passion you had been missing. It’s his hands gripping your hips like letting you go would physically wound him. It’s the sound of his husky grunts and groans. The feeling of the wounds on your skin throbbing, while his cock pulses inside you.

It’s what you had been needing. Being his again. Being the object of his obsession. No work, no missions, no distractions. Just you, him, and the sticks digging into your back. This forest belonged to the two of you right now, all the dangers living within it fizzling away to create a sanctuary made to take you apart.

The ground you laid on, an altar where you sacrificed yourself to the man above you.

“I-“ With your cheeks streaked with tears, you can barely speak past your sobs of pleasure - hands slipping upwards to claw at his shoulders, pulling him in closer though he was the one dealing all the damage. You didn’t care. You just needed him. That’s what this had all been about, after all. “I don’t-“

“You don’t?” Toby’s hands slip under your thighs and press them upwards, folding you until your knees nearly touch your chest - spreading you open as wide as could be for his taking. And his stamina, never falters. Just one after another, he deals these brutal thrusts upon you, the head of his cock abusing your gspot every time he snapped his hips back in. He was downright punching the moans out of your lungs, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your thighs and scraping against it - leaving angry welts behind that you knew you’d feel the sting of later. “Say it proper.”

It’s a tall order, considering that you can barely breathe. More so just a puddle of drool and tears beneath him, than a person who could form coherent thoughts. You can barely even feel the scrape of bark and rocks against your back every time your body slides across the ground from the force of his thrusts. Mouth hung open, but producing nothing but intelligible babble choked out between sobs. Eyes squeezed shut because you couldn’t even see properly even if they were open, vision blurred with tears you couldn’t blink away.

He had, effectively, completely broken you down. He had the moment his cock slipped inside you. And the worst part was that he knew this is how it was going to go down, he knew that you’d crumple the moment he sunk in balls deep. He had said it himself; ‘I-I could turn you back into a lovesick little slut in ss-seconds’.

And he had. Almost laughably easily.

“T-Toby-“ You cry, hands clawing upwards to tangle in his hair, tugging at the strands so hard that the sting probably would’ve buckled him if he could feel it. “I-I didn’t mean it. I don’t-“ A particularly harsh thrust makes your eyes roll back, stars dancing behind your eyes as your words choke off into a moan. “I don’t hate you. I c-could-“ He’s not making it easy to get a full sentence out, with the way he was seemingly trying to pound you into the ground. “I could never! You- You were just being mean.”

A sniffling, blubbering, sobbing mess. That’s what Toby was staring down at as he bruised your cervix. Such a pitiful sight that it made his chest twist, so incredibly beautiful throughout it all, that it sent a shiver down his spine. You just looked the most lovely like this - completely broken down. Crying for him while taking his cock so wonderfully.

He can’t help it when his expression softens. Can’t help it when the lingering annoyance started to morph into affection.

Could you blame him? You looked like an angel. An angel he had soiled, and ripped the wings off of.

So, he caves too.

“I know I was.” He murmurs, the grip on your thighs lessening a little bit. Leaving a sting behind but soothing it as his thumb smooth over the welts. “I know. I was r-real fucking mean.” The force of his thrusts doesn’t weaken, but he does slow down just a little bit - finally giving you a chance to catch your breath. “W-Wasn’t even mad at you. Just life in general. Work’s been… Really hard to deal with lately.” He pauses, eyes honing in on your face, tracing across every tear-soaked feature. “Well, not until you said that shit about Jack.”

“I was-“ Your toes curl, breathing stuttering when he grinds the head of his cock against your gspot. “I was just trying to hu-hurt you back. You know I- I’d never.”

And he really does believe you now. Because if you’d still love him like this, after he’d brutally broken you apart piece by piece, you’d probably love him every which way. Which, may be your downfall, but he still felt lucky to be the reason you were willing to go that far.

“Y-Yeah, I know.” He curls his body over you completely, nuzzling into your neck as his hips start to stutter, only spurred on by the way your pussy had started twitching around him. Your walls squeezing him tight, the beginnings of your release coaxing out his. He parts his lips, and this time he is gentle, lapping at the wounds he created with a tenderness so starkly contrasting his previous actions that it nearly gives you whiplash. “I’d kill him i-if he touched you anyway.”

And the sentiment is cute, but…

“Isn’t he like, an immortal demon?” You manage to gasp out, rolling your hips back to meet his thrusts as you let your head fall to the side - giving him more surface area to lick and kiss upon.

“I’d find a way.” And then his free hand is slipping down lower, finding your clit to roll it in time with his thrusts. Taking you higher and higher, practically smothering you as his hips snapped against yours. Skin on skin echoing through the forest, the sticky sound of him separating from you making your cheeks burn hot.

You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in him shoulder and breathing in his scent, and then - you’re cumming. Even harder than the first time.

You all but convulse, eyes rolling back as the pleasure consumes you - nails digging into his back through the fabric of his sweater. And you sob into his shoulder, an absolutely wrecked sound that Toby was sure would be pinging around his skull for weeks to come.

And your pussy - it practically strangled his dick when you fell over the edge. So tight, and milking him so good, that he only manages to get three or four more thrusts in before he’s coming apart as well.

Nestled right up against your womb, he spills his spend. Pumping your cunt completely full of that warmth you had missed the feeling of so dearly. Toby, obviously just as pent up as you had been, absolutely flooded you with it - having it dripping out around his length before he even pulled out.

And then, he collapses. The only thing stopping him from being complete dead weight on top of you, being his elbows which he propped himself up on. Still inside you, he stayed that way for awhile, letting you feel his cock soften inside you as he took in dazed gasps of breath against your neck. You can feel his hair tickle your skin - practically soaked with sweat that was rolling off the strands to drip onto you.

As soon as his erratic panting turns to calmer, quivered breathing, you hear him mumble. “I’m s-sorry. You’re not a bitch.” He finds the strength to snake his arms beneath your body, pulling you in close and shielding your bare body from the cold ground. “O-Or a whore. Or any of those horrible names I called you. Sh-Should’ve never said that shit. It’s like I’m trying to get you to hate me.”

Should you forgive him so easily? Probably not, but well, you had already crossed that bridge.

So you do anyway, your body pliant as you sink into his hold. “A-And I know you do a lot for me. I’ve just been too wrapped up in m-my own shit to appreciate it.”

“It’s fine, Toby.” You murmur softly, as you let your eyes flutter shut. All the anger you felt before just feels like a distant memory now, completely fizzled out. Insignificant, with your body pressed to his. That was all you had been wanting, really. And though you may have taken the worst route possible to get here, you were here nonetheless.

“It’s n-not, though.” Toby grumbles, his arms curling around you tighter. And you can feel his heart beat against your chest, still frantic - just like yours was.

“Maybe it’s not.” You agree. “But I’m too tired to fight about it anymore.” You lift a hand, and use it to gently pry his face out of the crook of your neck, tilting his head up so that you could look at him properly. “Can we go home now? It’s cold out here.”

You watch, as Toby’s lips slowly curl up into a disbelieving little smile, before he’s nodding softly. Then, he turns his head to the side, to press a gentle kiss against the centre of your palm.

“Y-Yeah. Let’s go home.”

—————————————————————————☆

OKAY! yeah this was filthy but honestly very fun and refreshing to write considering that the last smut I posted was fluffy fluff with some fluff on top

I hope you enjoyed it lols

thank you for reading!!

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pellucid-constellations · 9 months ago

Text

Trial and Error (3)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Based on the request: "Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell… reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame"

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Very small mention of blood

a/n: I am lovinggg writing this and I can't stop so don't ask me to 🏃‍♀️

Read part one | part two | part four

Main Masterlist ♡

Azriel had been by the apothecary four times since his first visit. That wasn’t an unusual number by any means, but it was alarming that he was supposedly going through his headache tonic so quickly. You would give him a week’s worth and he would return for more within three days.

Melanie had begun to expect him and had taken to examining his wings each time he walked through the door. She would run and stand atop the counter—much to your dismay—and Azriel would unfurl them from his back just a hair so she could get a better look. Her comfortability with him scared you. You’d spoken to your daughter about stranger danger and had emphasized it a million times, but with Azriel, she held no reproach.

Azriel didn’t seem to mind. You had apologized countless times for Melanie’s staring and her invasive questions, but Azriel would only wave you off with a glint in his eye. He always chalked it up to being an uncle, but you’d had an uncle and he was nothing like Azriel.

None of your family was like anyone you’d met in Velaris.

Still, there was a lingering pit in your stomach each time Azriel would ask you a question about yourself or smile at your daughter. It didn’t feel safe to make too many friends, and Azriel was a particularly unsafe friend to have.

The Shadowsinger.

You’d learned of his position within the Night Court’s inner circle after Melanie had asked yet another question about Azriel and his shadows.

“I’m a Shadowsinger,” he had explained, your daughter spinning in circles around him, tugging his shadows along with her. A small smile graced his face as he spoke. “My shadows tell me secrets so I can ensure everything is going okay in Velaris.”

A cold sweat broke out along your skin as he spoke the words, but you only continued to smile and focused on keeping your breath even.

He would be the one to find you out—there was no doubt about it.

But something told you the closeness could be a good thing. Perhaps, if he knew you, he would take pity on you when he found out. Perhaps, if he knew you, he wouldn’t feel the need to dig into your history and ask questions.

At least, that’s what you were hoping for because Azriel didn’t show any sign of staying away from you or Melanie—a truth made even more apparent at Melanie’s open house.

“Melanie does so wonderfully in all her subjects,” her teacher gushed, a clipboard held tightly at her chest. “She especially loved our cooking unit. She loved the burners and heating things up.”

You raised your brows and grinned. “I’m so happy to hear that. She talks about school so often. I’m glad her enthusiasm is reflected in her work.”

An obvious avoidance—an attempt to curtail the subject away from your daughter’s affinity for flames.

Her teacher did not seem put off. “It is! I know she began in the middle of the school year, but she has caught on so quickly. I can tell she has a lot of support at home. Big family?”

Perhaps her teacher wasn’t as oblivious as you had hoped. You fought the twitch in your eye, dreading that this woman would know more about you. Five years of careful isolation and suddenly you were thrust into the public eye.

“No, just the two of us. But my work is quite flexible so she’s never alone. I always have time to help her with school.”

“That’s so great to hear. I have to ask, just for the sake of my student, her father—”

“Hello, Ms. Fern.”

Azriel’s voice startled you out of the panic rising in your chest. You turned to find him rooted in his spot behind you, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze flicked down to you for a brief moment before settling back on the teacher.

“Azriel!” Ms. Fern delighted. “I didn’t expect you today. I saw the High Lord and Lady earlier so I assumed it would just be the parents.”

Azriel hummed. “I wanted to come by and see Nyx’s art. You mentioned he painted the family.”

“You didn’t need to do that! I know you’re so busy. What a wonderful—“

Azriel slowly edged in front of you, hiding you from Ms. Fern’s watchful eye. You felt a slight push against your hip and held in a laugh as Azriel reached behind him and ushered you off without ever looking away from the teacher. You quickly scampered away and made yourself busy examining the art around the room. Upon closer inspection, Nyx had painted a troll—not his family.

It took about 10 minutes of lingering before Azriel joined you, his shadows giving him away. They slinked around your wrists and traveled up to caress your neck.

“Apologies for their familiarity,” Azriel said in place of a greeting. “They seem to have grown comfortable with you.”

“And Melanie,” you added. You rounded a table and meandered out to the hall. Azriel followed. “They love to chase her around the apothecary. Sometimes I wonder if you keep coming by because they’re making you.”

Azriel bit back a smile but it still formed into a bashful expression. “Perhaps that’s why.”

In the hall, you found yourself alone with Azriel—utterly and completely alone. Melanie was with one of your neighbors as the teacher made it clear no students were allowed at the open house, and no one else occupied the space. You leaned your back against the wall and looked up at Azriel, a shyness overtaking you.

You were never really alone with him—Melanie was always right around the corner.

“That was some maneuver earlier,” you commented, fidgeting with your fingers at your waist.

“She was prying,” Azriel replied. You watched the way he carefully trailed his gaze down to your fingers. “I certainly wasn’t going to let her know more about you than I do. Not when I’ve put in far more effort.”

“I thought your shadows were the reason you came,” you teased.

“Right, my shadows.”

You pressed your mouth into a line, feeling small under Azriel’s never-ending gaze. His eyes never left yours as silence blanketed the hall. It was as if he saw through you, understood you in a way that didn’t make sense.

Maybe you could tell him.

No, that was ridiculous.

Was it?

“Where’s Mel?” Azriel asked, startling you out of your internal strife.

The words didn’t comprehend, the jumbled mess of your mind intensifying as the Shadowsinger knocked his head to the side and asked you questions.

“What?”

“Melanie,” he clarified, brows bunching. “I was going to offer to watch her for this but I didn’t want to impose. I know I’m still mostly a stranger, but I don’t know if you have family in the area and I just…”

He trailed off. You never mentioned any family because that was one of the topics you strayed from each time it was broached. Family, your origins, Melanie’s father; he never brought any of it up directly, but he’d hint at it. And you always changed the subject.

“I—I don’t,” you revealed. You broke his gaze and stared down at your fingers, picking at the skin around your nails. “Have family here, I mean. But I have neighbors that Melanie likes. They’re watching her.”

“Do you trust them?” Azriel asked, an edge to his tone.

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t leave her with anyone I didn’t.”

“Good,” he grunted out.

“And I would never ask you to watch Mel. That—I know you’re probably busy and she's kind of a handful..”

Azriel started speaking before the last word left your mouth. “She’s not. And I would never be too busy for that.”

Another silence fell. You picked harder at your nails.

“Azriel, I—“

“I want you to feel safe with me. To trust me.”

His admittance shocked you into silence. You weren’t actually sure what you were going to say to him, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Everything you had ever thought exited your brain.

You opened your mouth to speak but no sound escaped.

“I mean—I just mean that I want to be a person you can trust Melanie with. That you can trust to… to share more with. I don’t know what you’ve been though, or how you ended up here in Velaris, but I want to be something safe for you.”

It felt as if something was pressing against your chest. When Melanie was around, he never looked at you with such intensity—he never said these things with so much devotion to back his words.

A sharp, hot feeling pricked your fingers. Azriel’s hand immediately covered both of your own, his warm touch pulling your fingers away from each other. You’d drawn blood—a terrible nervous habit.

With all of the shock you missed the fact that this was the first time Azriel had touched you with such intentionality.

“It’s like you’re living in survival mode—you and Melanie. I want you both to feel like there’s someone looking out for you.”

“Why?” you whispered, the word still sounding entirely too loud. “Why us? Why me?”

Azriel hadn’t removed his hands from yours. He offered a small squeeze to your fingers. “Why not you?”

Something broke in you. Something pulled.

You wanted nothing more than to open your mouth and let everything out. You wanted to trust him—to be able to trust anyone—but there was so much danger to that.

You could be forced back home. You could be forced to marry that man. You could lose Melanie.

But Azriel was looking at you as if he’d place his life before any of those possibilities. His gaze was beseeching, almost desperate, and something was urging you to trust him. Something intrinsic. Something that felt right.

Your lips parted.

“Rhys, I told you, Azriel isn’t here.”

“I saw him leave just after us, darling. He came.”

“He came to Nyx’s open house? What could he possibly have to gain?”

The conversation down the hall startled you. You yanked your hands from Azriel’s grip and whipped your head to the side in anticipation.

Rhys, Azriel, Nyx; you knew who was about to enter the hall, and reality came crashing down on you as soon as you made the connection.

“I have to go,” you rushed out, eyes widening. “I—Thank you, Azriel, but this isn’t—this isn’t safe for Melanie. Not… all of this. I have to—”

You left, and Azriel stayed.

You heard your name as you went, heard it echo down the hall, but you still left.

And Azriel still stayed.

part four

#azriel x reader #azriel x female!reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar fanfiction

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aliwritex · 3 months ago

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Heyy!! could you make a franco x reader where they are young parents fic?

a/n: this is short but super cute. some thoughts about dad!franco

Finding out you were going to be parents at 21 wasn’t exactly the greatest thing ever. You were scared and confused at first, not knowing what to do about anything, really. And it was a while till you finally figured out what to do about it.

After you told Franco about your suspicion, you took a test and cried yourself to sleep in his arms when it came out positive. That was not what you had planned. Having just finished your studies, you wanted to start working in your area, get married and then finally start thinking about kids.

He did his best throughout your entire pregnancy, of course that landing the Alpine seat meant he was working more but he always made sure you look after you. He suggested you moved in as soon as you found out, already planing to turn the empty room in his apartment into a nursery.

Franco’s excitement made things a lot easier, he loved kids and always wanted some of his own, surely not so early but he had to take what the universe offered. He showered you with attention and he was in love with your bump. When the baby started kicking he’d lay his head on your lap and stay there for hours, feeling all the movements — then telling the baby off for hurting you.

Your baby boy was born in the summer, little Mateo looked just like him, it almost made you mad. But with a face like that it was impossible.

You were convinced that he was the easiest baby ever, completely healthy, settled into a schedule quickly, quiet and not much work at all. That was until he started walking. The boy became impossible, baby proofing the house was needed the day after he stood for the first time. Your once quiet little boy was now a cheeky smiley toddler.

“¡Boludo, te va a dar um toque!” Franco exclaimed, quickly picking up the child from the floor “Did you see that, mi amor? He was pulling the tape from the outlet” he explained popping into the bathroom where you were getting ready

“Don’t swear around him, please”

Mateo was now a little over a year old and was attending his first race. What you didn’t realize about traveling with a curious toddler was how unsafe hotel rooms are. You had managed to tape all the outlets shut but the baby boy was a little too smart for his own good.

“I didn’t swear!”

“Was that not a bad word?” he shook his head and you rolled your eyes “Right. Need to remember to bring the plugs next time, he’s too smart for the tape.”

It’s not that Franco kept you a secret, you just had a private relationship and never posted about your son. So when you walked into the paddock together with a stroller it was a surprise to many people. You tried to keep a low profile but Teo was just too happy to be there, waving and smiling at everyone. He also did not want to be locked up in his dads room while an entire world for him to explore was right outside.

“He kept calling for Papá” you explained as you walked up to the garage.

It was still Friday morning so there wasn’t much happening around, just Franco talking somethings through with his engineer. So he was free to take your son.

“Vení acá, Teo.” the child smiled, slipping his hand away from yours to run to his dad “Wanna see Papá's car?”

Your son absolutely loved everything. You could see his eyes light up in excitement when Franco showed him anything. He picked him up to show him the inside of the car, Teo was giggling as he flipped him almost upside down to look at it. He even pulled out the steering wheel and the kid was perplexed with all the buttons. You took pictures of everything, so many of them both smiling and laughing at each other.

“Right, that’s enough exploring” you took the child from his arms “someone needs a bottle and a nap or they’ll be too cranky to watch Papá drive later. See you in a bit, okay?”

Franco nodded, stealing a quick kiss on your lips before you left. He couldn’t be happier that he had his family there for him.

#dad!franco colapinto #a writes #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto imagine #a answers

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omegamoo · 11 months ago

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one of my favorite parts of c!niki’s arc is manburg era because she was the person living in manburg who was most outwardly rebellious. she never stopped fighting - she made it clear that she hated the schlatt administration and everything they stood for, and so she fought back. she didn’t screw around with a “will-i-won’t-i” she just did. and i think people undersell that a lot, especially in favor of the pogtopian rebellion. but c!niki refuses to pay taxes, she sets fire to the manburg flag, she refuses to cater for schlatt and co. she doesn’t stop! when cschlatt exiles ctommy and cwilbur, she’s the one shouting about it. during the festival, she’s the one who shouts while ctubbo’s getting blown up and says from the beginning how much she hates the new country.

also the festival - if you watch the vod from your pov (which you totally should!!!!!) she just sits there and looks So Pissed Off the entire time. like she doesn’t hide how pissed of she is. she’s downright furious during that entire discussion!

and i think the most crucial part of all of this is what happens to her because of this. she is consistently belittled by c!schlatt - frequently in a “omg shut up”/“would somebody shut her up” in a way that feels like how somebody talks about a bug in the house. it’s misogynistic in many ways, i think - she’s consistently invalidated and overlooked, like her rebellion doesn’t even hold weight.

and then when she finally does more - i.e. the taxes - she’s literally hunted. and she runs, and calls c!wilbur, and she is terrified. and he says “can you just hold out a bit longer? pogtopia’s kinda full right now and we can’t take more people” and she’s like, actively unsafe in manburg and has nowhere to go and can’t go home. and she is told “just hold out a bit longer”

and then. the festival. again, she’s in the audience and watches tubbo get blown up and she’s shouting about it! like screaming at him! and finally c!schlatt is like “you’ve been a thorn in my side for too long” and he has ponk kill her! and she runs and he chases her and nobody follows to help, they just tell her to run. and she’s in the call w all of them and the conversation just moves on while she silently runs and silently gets killed. and that’s when she leaves for pogtopia.

anyways. point being: c!niki and overlooked rebellion.

#dsmp #dream smp #niki nihachu #c!niki #cniki #ramblings #i’m fucking main tagging this haha #dsmp analysis #i did not mean to go on this much of a rant but i did. and i’m based i think #moo analysis tag

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cloversnstrawberries · 22 days ago

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“safespace” platonic!yandere!og michael myers & gn!bullied!teen!reader [oneshot] ! !

masterlist !

description; For a while now, you've been using the old Myer's house as a home base of sorts; previously, your bullies had never dared to rush in after you, too afraid of the history of the house. That changed one fateful Halloween night, and unknowingly, you'd just sealed yourself into a fate different from death, but not much better.

The Haddonfield Boogeyman has taken a liking to you, and that's not something you can easily retreat from once it happens. Not safely, for that matter.

additional notes; this is. extremely long and I managed to write it within two days. help. i hope you enjoy it, because it was actually really fun to write. it might be in a bit of a different style than normal, because i've been reading. so much junji ito & gothic lit and i don't know if that affects anything.

warnings; bullying, possessive behavior, overprotectiveness, Michael being unsettling, discussions of past murder (judith primarily), violence, blood & gore, murder/murder of teens (reader's bullies), slight/implied neglect (reader's parents are very lax), soft michael (as soft as he can get), kidnapping/imprisonment, and if there's any I missed, please let me know!! i do believe this is the most intense (?) one i've posted so far?? mayhaps?

w/c; 10.2k (OH SWEET MOTHER OF PEARL!)

It’s silly, stupid, some would say-- and you know it is. You know it’s not a good idea to set up shop in the old Myer’s house, and that it was, realistically, the least safe place you could camp out at in Haddonfield,

Structurally speaking, considering how long it’s sat vacant and unattended for the most part. The story and tragedy surrounding it kept squatters away, but it was surprisingly easy to sneak into.

For you, it was one of the safest places possible-- because everyone knows about how unsafe it was. An oxymoron in a way, that you claimed this old rickety house as your safe space because you know it’s dangerous.

Because your tormentors know it’s unsafe, so they’ll leave you be for the most part-- once you’re inside the house that should’ve been torn down ages ago.

It’s a nice house, but you’re sure someone will roll up to a city council meeting and propose tearing down the place. No one’s going to buy it, no amount of polishing the hardwood floors and replacing the peeling wallpaper is going to change that.

The Myer’s house could be renovated into the most gorgeous, affordable home for a good sized family-- and still, no one would buy it.

Judith Myer’s blood, spilt by her own little brother one normal Halloween night, was like a curse laid on the house. Even you have to admit, there’s a strangely foreboding, suffocating atmosphere about it that doesn’t suit how… plain it otherwise appears.

For a few years now, you’ve had your claim staked on this house. Over those few years, you’ve gotten used to that atmosphere. It even began to feel comforting, at some point-- like a hug, kind of.

Your bullies know you’re in here, but they can’t bring themselves to enter it and drag you out. Sometimes they’ll wait outside for you, but don’t take into consideration is that you’ve supplied yourself with enough snacks and various forms of entertainment to be able to wait them out most times.

Cowards, the lot of them-- that’s all they ever were to you. A bunch of unruly, rich assholes that take their grievances out on you for lack of a different outlet,

More like you’re the most interesting outlet-- you’re sure their parents have enough money to get them another way, other than razzing and beating on you constantly-- but they don’t want it.

They like watching you cry, the sickos. But that’s not a sight they get to see too often; not since you’ve almost accidentally made the old Myer’s house into your own kind of fortress,

Guarded by a moat of bad energy and an awful story behind it. Judith still lingers, maybe not her ghost like most would think-- but she’s there.

One time, you walked into her room. It was almost pristine, kept nearly the same as the night she died, you think. The blood is gone, but the chair to her vanity is still knocked over.

You haven’t gone near that room since that one time-- spotting the rotting bag of melted taffy on her bedside table, her brush on the vanity top with golden hair still stuck in the bristles; an opened bottle of lip gloss, long dried up…

It made you sick like nothing before or after could, the knowledge that this was just a normal girl. A normal girl who expected to live another day, to eat the taffy by her bed, knowing she had to clean her hair out of her brush eventually--

She never even got to screw the cap back on her lip gloss, maybe her favorite one if you think about it. A part of you wanted to do it for her, to clean up her room a little for no real reason other than self-imposed obligation.

You’re taking up this space illegally, not quite a squatter, but still a consistent trespasser. The least you could do was clean it up for a family who’ll never come back.

But then, wouldn’t that be rude to mess with a deceased person’s belongings? You stepped out of the room, shutting the door as you clutched your stomach. In your mind, you barred off ever entering it again.

You’ve only had a peak in the little boy’s room-- Michael. Such an ordinary name, and an ordinary room to match. Hell, he could’ve been your little brother, it all appeared so average from the quick look-see you’d gotten.

As soon as you realized who’s room it was, you slammed the door and vowed to never open it again. You didn’t even go near it most times, if at all.

How can someone so normal-- a child so young, just snap like that? It made you sad, thinking about it.

Eventually, you knew it’d come to this, though. When your bullies’ need to torture you overrode the fear, and they followed you into your previously impenetrable fortress.

Your safe-space desecrated, the next time to ran in-- nothing too damaging to the actual house, but your books and magazines were torn. Snacks either eaten or crushed, and the little nest of pillows and blankets you brought from home was tossed around, dirty footprints all over.

“You’re such a coward,” the head boy spoke up, and you know his dad was a real estate agent, the one that oversaw the house, you think. That’s why there wasn’t any real damage to the place.

In your anger and grief, at your one good thing being wrecked like this; you spoke up. These kids-- no, you all weren’t kids anymore by most’s standards. Well into high school, and they were still messing with you for no good reason.

Tears welled in your eyes, not from sadness but from rage. You’d been chased in by two other kids, who were now behind you. Two kids were already inside along with the head boy,

You were surrounded, 5-to-1, and stood no chance. Not because you couldn’t fight physically, but because you knew the consequences of fighting back against these daddy’s money types.

They’ve broken bones before-- your bones, but if you so much as left a scratch on them, they ran to their parents and the repercussions were… dire.

You’d nearly been booted put of school before, because you left a tiny, already healing bruise of one of the girl’s arms after you shoved her down so you could flee.

“Look who’s saying that!” It’s not like you haven’t fought back with your words before, but it’d never been this up close as of late. You’d grown too comfortable, taunting the kids through the door as you did.

Poking a sleeping bear. You really wished this method could’ve lasted a bit longer, hopefully until after you finished high school and left Haddonfield; but beggars can’t be choosers.

You’re lucky it’s worked for this long anyways.

Before the kids could say anything, you started on a tirade. Letting out every little grievance you’ve had over the years-- they can’t let you have this one good thing.

They all get friends upon friends, secret admirers and good partners; they participate in school, they’re active in the community-- meanwhile you’ve been shunned for a good half of your life, resorting to hiding in an abandoned house while they were out living their best lives.

Once you were done, chest heaving up and down, did they say anything further. They mocked you, of course they did-- and when you asked “So what are you gonna do now, huh? Break a couple fingers? Strangle me? Kick me until I’m bruised all over--!”

They called you unoriginal, then grabbed ahold of you. They wrapped rope around your wrists and ankles-- then started dragging you upstairs.

No.

And they didn’t tell you their plan, but you were smart. You picked up on it, especially from how they were talking about the recent breakout from the nearby mental institution.

The institute currently home to none other than the Haddonfield Boogeyman himself, Michael Myers. Or, more accurately, no longer housing the man.

He was among the escaped, one of the few that hadn’t been rounded up after the transport bus crash-- it was October 31st.

You were doomed.

They dragged you to the little boys room, the atmosphere you’d become accustomed to suddenly cranked up to 11, choking you, clinging to the inside of your throat like cling-wrap. Making it hard to breathe, as they tossed you into Michael’s room,

And boy, did they really not want you to leave without their help. They tied you to the wooden poster of the bed, and you couldn’t help but cry.

Ghost stories about Judith staying behind were all fine and dandy, but the very much alive perpetrator being on the loose? The one who’s spent the past god-knows-how-long confined in a mental hospital, since he was a child?

That was a real threat, because it was to some extent predictable and unpredictable what he’d do next. There was no set guarantee that he’d stop by his childhood home, but there was a chance.

And the bullies knew it.

“Stop! Stop, I’m sorry--!” You hated groveling, but this was a real threat. This wasn’t funny-- it hadn’t been for a long time, but this time you can’t comprehend why they’d be laughing at all.

It’s not funny.

You could die. Even if it’s a slim chance of happening, there is a chance nonetheless. A chance greatly increased by Myer’s unpredicted ‘discharge’ from the hospital.

As always, they didn’t care. They were all giggles and smiles as they bid you farewell-- you heard another door open, then a scraping sound as something was set down in front of the door.

You’re sure it was Judith’s vanity chair, that they’d pressed under the door handle. Why? Why do they hate you so much-- there wasn’t even a promise of them returning, either.

Even if the Boogeyman doesn’t show up like you’re afraid of, they might just leave you here to rot with the house. No one would come looking for you, you don’t think-- unless they’re pointed in this direction by your bullies.

What an awful way to spend your Halloween night, huh? Not like you had much planned in the first place, but still.

This isn’t a position you wanted to be in right now. Or ever, thank you very much.

It got dark out a while ago. Inside here, somewhere, there's a clock that still works. Or maybe you’re already going crazy, imagining the ‘tick-tick-tick’ to try and make something for you to do.

Restrained as you are, it’s not like you can do much besides slump against the bed and wait it out. Hope your exhaustion from coming down after an adrenaline rush takes you out sooner or later, because it’s getting awfully boring.

Boredom overrode fear, maybe because you’re loopy from said exhaustion, but too high strung and uncomfortable, sitting on the hardwood floor with your wrists and ankles tied, to take a little nap as it is.

Throughout it all, you kept your eyes shut. Not because you particularly want to sleep, (though you do want to, if only to pass the time quicker) but because you’re trying to pretend you’re anywhere else but here, on this night, at this hour.

Your only other hope at being released right now was if some stupid kid got dared to come in here, like they did every Halloween. But the outlook wasn’t too good, considering the different framing the Myer’s house had with Michael’s recent escape still fresh on everyone’s minds.

Distantly, you can hear kids laughing, screaming, playing around-- all in good fun. You ache, sad that the experience of it had been cut short for you. For years now, you’ve stayed inside as much as possible.

Even on Halloween, and it hurt. Childhood cut short because some rich kids decided to make you their stress toy, punching bag, and scapegoat all in one.

When you hear a creak downstairs, you fight with yourself not to open your eyes. It’ll be pitch black anyways, your reason with yourself. It’ll only make you panic even more.

It was futile, trying to convince yourself that it was just the house settling. For hours, all you’ve been able to hear for the most part was the house settling.

This was different.

Someone was downstairs-- no joking, no yelling at their friends, no egging each other on; and it wasn’t a cop either, because they’d be shouting by now, telling anyone in here to get the hell out before you’re arrested.

It was uncanny, how quiet this person was-- both literally and with their movement. You first heard them faintly, on an especially creaky board near the front door. Then nothing-- until you heard them on the 3rd step, the one that’s about to cave at any moment from termite damage.

A primal kind of terror curled deep in your gut, the hair on the back of your neck stood straight up; silence again, until you think the person stopped moving.

Straining your ears, you heard a semi-familiar scraping noise. Whoever it was, was standing in front of this room, and was planning on entering it.

Your eyes flung open, desperately blinking as you tried to force your vision to adjust to the darkness. Surprisingly, the room was a lot lighter than you’d think it be.

No doubt aided by the moth-ravaged curtains serving as the only barrier(s) between the moonlight shining in through the windows.

When the door opened, your heart soared for a moment-- someone wearing work-boots and a mechanic’s jumpsuit. An adult, a scarily quiet adult, but hopefully a responsible one.

All hope was dashed when you looked up at your savior-- and saw a sun-bleached, cheap Captain Kirk Halloween mask staring back at you. Something glinted off the moonlight, you looked down and sure enough; he was clutching a large kitchen knife.

Maybe it was an impersonator, or not Michael at all-- But something made you doubt both ideas. The kitchen knife was a big giveaway, not the plastic kind with fake blood, or a retractable prop one.

It was real, as real as your terror-- was this a hallucination? That thought soothed you more than it should have. Or maybe a dream-- and that’s what made you work up enough courage to speak,

“…Hello.” Voice croaky and trembling, it took away from the casual aspect of the greeting. Trying your best not to look at the knife, or the unsettling mask, you took to staring at the person’s boots.

They looked bloody, drying and tacky-- and you did your best to ignore that for right now. The floor was interesting. Yeah, you opted for looking at the floor instead as you continued, introducing yourself with a shaky voice.

The person didn’t answer you, but they didn’t attack you either. You looked back up at their mask and-- wow, you must look pathetic, you realize now. Eye’s puffy and red from crying, lips chapped and bitten to hell and back, your voice nasally from your stuffed nose.

After a couple minutes of agonizing silence, the person started to move forward-- slow, almost placatingly so, like they were dealing with a startled animal.

You think that’s a very apt comparison, right now. As you jerk away, uncaring as the wooden post dug into your spine-- glancing at the person’s knife, you tried to swallow past a lump in your throat “Don’t hurt me-- please. I-I don’t have much to say, uhm, other than that.”

In all honesty, you don’t think you’re that important of a person-- in everyone else’s eyes, that is. You won’t be missed by a good majority of Haddonfield, and that’s what makes you want to live this through.

For a moment, the person stopped dead in their tracks-- and slowly shook their head. That could be interrupted one of two ways,

One, they have agreed to not hurt you. They shook their head as in ‘okay, i won’t hurt you’, or the more likely option in your mind-- considering they still held onto the knife-- they were disagreeing with your plea.

When they went to move again, you jerked back again. It didn’t do much, and wouldn’t do much unless you suddenly gained the ability to fuse with objects, that is.

The person stopped dead in their tracks again-- even taking a few steps back, and shook their head again. You piped up, despite the way your heart pounded and blood rushed in your ears.

“I-I don’t know what you mean. By that-- the shaking your head.” Almost as an afterthought, you tacked on “I’m sorry.”

Make no mistake, it was a genuine apology. Originally brought on by fear, yes, but you did regret not understanding them nonetheless.

When they started moving again, they were slower. You would’ve felt insulted, being treated like a wild animal ready to bolt-- if this had been a normal situation.

Right now, though? You appreciate how careful they seem to be, as they make their way to the little desk pushed up near the head of the bed.

The placement of the furniture in this room was odd, in your humble opinion-- the desk was where a nightstand would be, but what you assume to have been the nightstand was pushed under a window on the far side from the bed.

Then again, you can’t really expect interior decorating to be the specialty of the homicidal 6 year old that once lived here.

Reaching into the second drawer down, the person pulled out a little journal-- and crouched down to grab a pencil off the ground, before standing back up.

they’re too comfortable here, you anxiously realized. Almost like they’d put that stuff there-- but this can’t be Myers. If or was, wouldn’t he be hacking at you with his knife by now?

The stranger (which you’re hoping and praying isn’t who you think it is) set their knife down on the desk, much to your surprise. You don’t want to touch on why it surprised you, not right now, anyway.

Again, the person moved slowly, this time without the knife-- which let you relax enough to stop trying to actively fuse with the wooden bed frame. For now, at least-- who knows what the near future may hold, maybe you’ll succeed in it.

Weirder things have happened, and weirder things are happening right now-- as the stranger plops down on the floor, just a few feet away from where you sat restrained.

You couldn’t help but smile, as they sat criss-cross applesauce-- half delirious and sleep-deprived, yes, but a smile nonetheless.

Flipping to a page, that was random to you, hut didn’t seem to be to the person, they put the pencil to the paper and started writing something.

Refraining from trying to discern what it is they’re writing. you waited patiently until they stopped and turned the pad to face you,

Heart sinking to the bottom of your stomach, you read the words (god he presses hard with that pencil, even left dents in the paper from what you can tell) written on the pad.

“I won’t hurt you. It’s too easy.”

Simultaneously relieving and distressing-- the confirmation that you won’t be hurt (for now, you’re choosing to believe this person), but the ‘reassurance’ that it’s because you were too big of a target. Too obvious of a target,

If only your bullies had taken that sentiment to heart, too. Then you wouldn’t be here in the first place.

Curiosity outweighing your caution, you ask “What’s your name?”, despite being about… 85% sure you know who this is.

Turning the pad back around, he scribbles something else. When it’s facing you again, you can very clearly ready what name he’s written down.

“Michael”

You can tell yourself ‘It’s a common name!’ all you want, but that didn’t stomp out the feeling of dread as your suspicion was proven correct.

This was the one thing you’d hoped desperately to be wrong about. Guess life just hates you like that, huh?

You’d say it couldn’t get any worse-- but this is actually going pretty well, all things considered. You aren’t dead, and he’s actually communicating with you-- so that’s something, right?

“Is… was this your room?” For once, his answer was immediate-- he nodded. You suppose there was no reason to hide it, your face must be showing that you figured it out already.

It fell silent, and you didn’t know how to feel about that. Glancing around, you spotted an older edition of Clue sitting on a bookshelf nearby-- right on the top.

Looking back at the man-- Michael, the Michael Myers, which is a fact you’re trying not to dwell on too right right now-- you hazarded to say “Do you wanna, uh-- do you like board games?”

Tragically, he didn’t respond as quick this time. Leaving you to wallow in your own thoughts, wondering if you’d misstepped right into his steadily growing roster of victims.

a short, almost jerky nod, following by him abruptly standing made you jump. Hilariously, he seemed to jump as well; just a little twitch of his hands, but it was reaction nonetheless. You think that’s the closest you’re going to get to scaring a guy like him.

Then he headed to the bookshelf, and easily grabbed Clue from the top. He hadn’t always been this tall, obviously-- you spotted a step ladder, rusted and coated in dust like a majority of the room (and house as a whole) is;

It’s a cute thought, the idea that the kid this bedroom belonged to needed a step ladder to grab a boardgame. As you looked closer, you saw quite a few boardgames up there that you hadn’t noticed before,

The idea that Michael Myers was such a mundane kid, with an interest in board games-- liking them so much that he needed to have a step ladder of his own because he accessed them so much, was a jarring idea.

Another jarring idea-- or realization, more like, is that he must’ve been watching your line of sight very closely to immediately figure out that you were referring to the Clue game.

Before you could get pulled into a panic attack in full (you’ve narrowly been avoiding such a thing by pretending that this was some dream, and you had managed to fall asleep against the dusty children’s bed), Michael came back and sat down again,

This time, he was a little further away. He set the box down, and started opening it-- before you stumbled over your words, remembering that you were a little tied up right now.

“Do-- can you undo the rope around my wrists?” Slowly, ever so slowly, Michael’s head rose from where he’d been looking down to set up the game, black eyeholes eventually meeting your gaze.

Another nod, and he stood. Walking over to the desk, you realized your mistake in wording-- and as you feared, he picked up his knife again.

You’d said undo, not untie. It’s not a stretch to think that meant you have permission for him to cut the rope.

Let’s just hope he doesn’t catch any flesh while he does, yeah? When he walked back over, closer than he’d been this whole time, you valiantly fought back the urge to scream. To tremble, kick, try to fight--

Something about the way he crouched down by your side, still taller than you, with the knife gleaming made you feel vulnerable like never before. It made you feel exposed, flayed open and waiting to prepared into clean cuts of meat for packaging.

Michael was careful with it, his hold almost gentle on your arms, silently telling you hold still as he hooked the knife under the ropes and began to pull up.

Must’ve been a pretty damn sharp knife, or maybe some exceptionally cheap rope on your bullies’ parts, but either way, he got you free pretty easily.

Avoiding any sudden movement, testing the waters; you lowered your hands down to your lap. Michael stayed there a few seconds more, before quickly walking back to desk the drop the knife off on top.

When he came back, you’d already started sorting the cards-- which had gotten a little jumbled in the box. He set up the board, meanwhile.

Is it a very sad thing to say, that you felt more connected to this enigmatic, urban legend-esque serial killer (well, he killed one person definitely and a few other were suspected, but the knife didn’t paint a very good picture) than you did your classmates?

In part, that may be your fault. Alright, it may actually be mostly your fault-- but you were self-isolating for a reason.

You wouldn’t want any possible close friends to incur the wrath of your tormenters-- and become another victim, just for being near you.

Something tells you that Michael wouldn’t-- literally couldn’t-- succumb to that fate for obvious reasons. Maybe that’s why, as you two played a couple rounds of Clue before a cop came nosing around the place, you felt the safest you ever have.

And when the cop did show up, Michael was gone in an instant, almost like a ghost; but you knew better. He just had very quiet footsteps, the kind you would think impossible to achieve with his height and all.

You stayed in that room, waiting until you were sure Michael was gone to shout for help-- the cop came, and you hoped it gave Michael ample time to hide or run if need be.

And you didn’t rat on him-- to show your gratitude for him, y’know, not killing you. And being the closest thing to a friend you’ve both been allowed and allowed yourself to have as of late.

The cop walked you out-- but not before you noticed a little note folded on the accent table near the front door. “meet again?” it read, the pencil still lying next to it.

Taking a short detour, you quickly scrawled "yes :)" and while the smiley face was shaky at best, you hope he'd get the message. Besides, something tells you he'd understand that you were being rushed by the cop right now.

Because something also tells you that he's still here, watching-- you just don't know where. It's the way your skin crawls under the feeling of eyes on you, that tips you off.

When you leave the Myer's house this time around, you don't dread exiting it, some part of you afraid that your bullies had waited it out on the porch, or the yard. Maybe it's because you have a cop escorting you out this time,

Or maybe it's the lingering feeling of the Haddonfield Boogeyman himself keeping on eye on you. Presumably, of course.

The next time you visit the Myer's house, you aren't being chased in for once. If you were, there'd be no real reason to hide in here anyways. Your tormentors evolved, now being able to enter what you previously considered you safespace.

But you had to be sneaky regardless, as the country sheriff had been observed walking around the premise. Maybe to catch Michael, who was still on the loose as far as you knew, or to prevent foolhardy kids from entering the house on a dare.

That'd always been an issue, but before now the cops never cared to do much. The kids almost always psyched themselves out after taking a few steps into the house anyways, and there was hardly any vandalism to worry about.

Now, however, it was far more about keeping the kids themselves safe rather than the house. When you got there, the country sheriff was nowhere to be seen; there was a cop car in the driveway, but you recognized it as one of the ones used for false speed traps.

There was no one in there, and no cop in the house either. The car was enough to deter most, but you've been coming here for a while. They've done something like this before, especially around Halloween.

The difference came with the fact that it was November 3rd, and they usually did away with the deterrent by now. They have good reason, considering you know Michael Myer's is definitely in the house, or at least visiting regularly, but it's a little annoying.

Knowing they'll keep this up for a while longer, indefinitely, and you haven no way of telling if they suddenly decide to plant a cop inside the house to switch things up.

You entered through the back kitchen door, something you don't often do. Usually, when you enter this place, you don't care how you enter it-- just the closest possible entryway.

Which was usually the front door, or a window on the side that's easy to open from the outside. But this time, you get the luxury of picking where you get to enter from.

You brought a wrist watch with you, to monitor the time. Your parents never cared about how late you stayed out before,

But after a cop showed up at their door, you in tow, informing them that you'd been 'hanging out' in the old Myer's house (of course he left out the part where your ankles were bound), suddenly they had something to say about what time you returned home.

And maybe you'd think it was annoying, if you didn't know they had good reason for it. Honestly, you don't know what possessed you to come back here. To agree to meet up again, with a known murderer.

Years of isolation and ostracization at the hands of your peers and bullies alike must've corroded a part of your brain, is your theory. Your need for friendship and belonging was so big that you settled for meeting with a Boogeyman for social interaction.

A Boogeyman that was both parts legend and fact, because when you headed upstairs-- and was almost scared so bad you tumbled down the stairs, when you saw that sun-bleached mask staring back at you.

There was no way you could stifle the little shriek you let out when you felt a hand, large and warm and real-- wrap around your upper arm, your entire body going tense as you were pulled forward, and you could already imagine how it'd feel to have the blade of a kitchen knife lodged deep in your stomach and--

But no pain came, your eyes screwed shut out of terror, you didn't keep track of where he was taking you. In this blinding moment of fear, you forgot all about why you came here in the first place.

This was a bad idea, coming back here when you'd escaped last time by the skin of your teeth, and a few rounds of playing a murder mystery board game with a real mysterious murderer.

When you were pulled to a stop, static filling your ears as your heart pounded a mile a minute, you didn't open your eyes at first. Not until Michael let go of you, and your eyes promptly shot open.

It was only 5:12PM, so there was still some sun shining in through the motheaten curtains, but it wasn't much and you knew it wouldn't be staying for long. It casted long, eerie shadows into the room.

But nothing could compare to how to fell on Michael's mask, making it even more menacing than before. Who thought that a cheap reproduction of William Shatner's face was strike such fear in you?

He was just standing there, which you guess you can't fault him for. When he noticed you were looking at him, he pointed to the floor, near the foot of the bed. Where you'd been sitting last time.

Taking the hint, you quickly plopped down, this time unhindered by ropes restraining you. Funnily enough, you were subconsciously treating Michael as a dinosaur; a T-rex, to be specific.

You moved slowly, trying not to trigger his prey drive or whatever. Trying to make yourself seem as small and weak as you could, to try and keep up his sentiment of “I won’t hurt you. It’s too easy.”

Awkwardly clearing your throat, you tried to start a conversation as Michael walked over to the bookshelf again. "Uh-- so... how have you been?" Obviously, he doesn't respond.

Honestly, you don't know where you're going with this. You try to save yourself, by adding on "Have you been good?", and after a moment, you saw him nod from behind-- as he stood, facing the bookshelf.

He didn't reach up for any game, just slowly turned to face you; when you finally realized he was giving you room to choose, you panicked and squeaked out a little "Sorry--"

Comically, you'd forgotten that was a game-- and game he had, apparently, as he pulled away a few other games and got it out from the back. Task failed successfully, as your math teacher always said back in 7th grade.

When he came back over, you weren't any less high strung. He didn't seem to care-- maybe he didn't even notice-- and went about setting up the game. You busied yourself with reading the manual, having forgotten how to play it.

You weren't perfect with it, though. Sometimes you'd mess up, and it'd lead to Michael moving your piece back to where it'd been, or just pointing at the manual again; sitting innocently beside you on the floor, easy access.

Eventually, when you finished up the first game, only 34 minutes had passed. The sun was almost completely down, but something kept you rooted to your spot for a little longer. A few more rounds of Sorry, and you were well on your way to worrying your parents;

It was only 7:18PM now, but it was November. The sun was long set, and you were getting antsy to leave. After your fifth game concluded, you quickly blurted out "I have to go home."

You tried your best to catch Michael before he started setting up for another round, to minimize any irritation-- but it was obvious he'd been expecting to have another go at it.

Slowly, as everything he seemed to do was either methodically slow or terrifyingly quick with no in between yet to be seen, he lifted his head and stared at you point blank. His eyes hidden behind the mask, but that didn't mean there was any room for you to delude yourself into think he didn't have his full, undivided attention on you.

"My parents will be worried, they're already, uh, suspicious of how late I stay out." Michael doesn't move at all, staying still as a statue, just like you are. You don't make any move to get up, not until you get his express permission.

No matter how human he seems, playing board games so innocently with you-- the fact he was a cold-blooded killer never left your mind. There was no lead-up to his original snap, when he slaughtered his sister in the room just across the hall.

There's no reason to think you'd be an exception to that. One moment it could be fine, and the next you'll be bleeding out on the floor; it made you uneasy, for good reason.

Relief flooded you, a weight lifted from your shoulders as Michael nodded, the relief was pulled away when he stood and approached you-- but reinstated when he got close, just to extend a hand and offer to help you up, it seems.

Palm up, slow with his movements. Like he was dealing with an especially skittish dog. You felt like one, cornered as you were-- but you took his hand, and he was...

Well, it was like he tried to be gentle, but he didn't know how to be. He pulled roughly, but the way his grip faltered when you stumbled-- how he caught you with his other arm, almost desperate. Like he didn't know his own strength.

That terrified you more than the idea that he'd stab a knife through you. The idea that it was more likely for him to accidentally hurt you, how he was trying to restrain himself but it'd always end the same way.

In your panic, you didn't realize the way you'd grabbed onto him. Almost like a hug, one you pulled away from quickly. His arm lingered on your back, barring you from gaining any meaningful distance from him. Before you could think to panic some more, he let you go.

Grabbing onto your hand, he led you out of the room. Down the stairs, and to the living room. He didn't drop your hand once, even as he opened the door and pulled it open for you,

It was you, who wrestled away from the hold. You were on edge, freedom so close you could taste it-- the frigid midwestern wind blowing against your face had never felt so nice, a reprieve from the stifling presence that is Haddonfield's own personal Boogeyman.

Belatedly, you realized what he'd done. He walked you to the door, and he let you pull your hand from his grasp. if he didn't want you too, it'd be easy to not let it happen. His arm stayed where it was for a moment, before dropping heavily by his side.

You took a few small, miniscule steps; careful as you crossed the boundary between the inside of the house and the porch. Michael made no move to stop you,

A part of you wanted to run, a vestigial part of the human mind; buried, fear for something so closely human but so damningly not. Something that landed in the uncanny valley, when it should be human but something was off.

Michael Myer's was the only thing that's ever dredged up this forgotten kind of terror, something that was bigger than you'd ever be resided in him, you think. Deep down, though, you knew you two were similar. Similar enough for him to take mercy on you, for whatever reason.

Similar how? Well, you just don't know, but it's all you can think of as to why he's doing this. Why he not only let you go, but asked for your return-- not to cut a loose thread, but to play board games.

A few steps further, and you stood on the edge of the porch. When you turned around, seeing Michael standing in the doorway like it was normal; like either of you were normal, softened something in you.

Fear loosened it's hold on you, and in that moment, all you could do was smile and give a little wave, saying "I'll see you again?" He nodded, slow again. Smile growing wider, you let yourself giggle-- why? You don't know, you didn't find anything funny. It just felt right.

"Okay. I'll... see you later, I might get grounded for this, so it might be a while." You flashed a little thumbs up, before turning around and staring at the three short steps before you.

Feeling freer than you had in years, a bit of your childhood returned to you-- the childhood stolen by your bullies, you let yourself take a few steps back; gaining a running start, you hopped all three stairs.

Landing hard on the concrete, you wobbled a bit. Legs shaky from sitting for so long, but you didn't fall. If you had, you probably would've scraped your knees-- and the idea of it was freeing.

Being able to get hurt in such a meaningless way, getting hurt in a way kids should be getting hurt. Not coming home with broken ribs after school, before shutting yourself away in your room and seldom going outside, But coming home with a big smile, despite the shallow cuts on your legs.

When you turned around again, the door was closed-- but you saw a hint of movement from the window beside it, and sure enough, you saw the telltale white of Michael's mask.

You spared another wave, before you were off on your way.

5 months.

It's been roughly 5 months, since you started hanging around Michael. The feeling of guilt comes and goes on a whim, when you'd remember who this really was. A few more murders, some rich people from the nicer part of Haddonfield; the news attributed it to Michael Myers, which you couldn't argue with.

You could turn him in. You should turn him in, should've done it ages ago, you know-- but you can't bring yourself to do the right thing. It's wholly selfish, your want to keep him a well-hidden secret.

As sad as it was, he was your only friend. He didn't ask questions like your parents, questions that never lead anywhere-- it didn't matter if you told them the truth or not,

Whether or not you said "it was awful, the kids are still bullying me" or "it was okay" when they asked "how was school?", you always got the same kind of meaningless, cookie cutter response.

Sometimes it was more insulting, though, when you used to answer truthfully. Condescending, as your mom once again told you to "Think of what they're going through" and it irked you. She's the one who took the brunt of the bills, had to do the co-pay after you got a cast for your broken arm.

Those kids... they aren't bullying you because their life is bad. The worst they've gone through is their favorite perfume being out of stock, or their siblings got to have the TV remote the night prior.

Why should you give them that kind of consideration, when they obviously didn't spare you a second thought? You had a metal bat by your bed for a reason, walking everywhere with a small switchblade nestled in your coat pocket.

You never used it, but even Haddonfield could be dangerous-- there were three main sections of it, the Diamond District, a gated community for the ultra rich; the suburbs, and the closest to 'slums' as it got.

Where you lived, far from the white picket fences of the suburbs, and the glitzy modern exteriors of the Diamond District

But now, you practically live at the old Myer's house. Your bullies are still after you, but you always try to lose them before making it to the Myer's house. You hated them, but you didn't like the possibility of Michael going berserk on them.

He's probably snap at you too, and you wouldn't know how to cope with it-- for the remaining few minutes of your life, that your only friend would turn on you on a dime. Even though you knew it from the get, that this was dangerous. This agreement.

Sometimes you slept over, and you'd tell your parents that you finally made a friend. They wanted to meet them, but you'd just say they're shy, or something along those lines.

It was on accident, the first time you did it. It was in the dead of winter, bundled up in your outerwear while in the house. It was cold, and Michael was kind enough to wrap a few blankets around you.

And you kept delaying leaving, as cold as it was in the old Myer's house, you knew it'd be worse outside. You ended up falling asleep, waking up when the sun began to rise.

Michael came in, and handed you a granola bar. You don't know how he sourced it-- sourced snacks he'd give you, but you never thought to ask. You wanted to, but you never actually considered prying.

You scarfed it, before saying your gratitudes, goodbyes, and rushing out the door-- your parents were surprisingly lax with it. Under the false pretense that you'd been safe and sound in a warm house, with your friend from school.

Besides, everyone assumed that Myer's had moved on back then. There was this 3 month gap between his killings, and even when that broke, they were sparse enough that your parent's still didn't care much.

It was early April, and it was getting nice out again. You've managed to avoid your bullies trailing you as of late, by... just letting them whatever at school. It's not like they want to brave the cold weather anyways, so you knew sooner or later they'd start harassing you outside of school again.

Even if you let them hurt you at school, do whatever they please-- it still won't be enough. It'll never be enough, nothing will for people like them. You just can't wait to graduate and get the hell out of dodge.

The past few weeks, they've been trying to follow you. Every time they did, you managed to lose them; probably because they weren't too intent on it yet. They liked toying with you, but didn't care enough to keep following after a certain amount of times.

As a diversion, you've been sitting around the park a lot, in a little grotto near the playground no one plays on anymore. It's wooden, rotted, and should've been torn down ages ago-- the swings are still functional though, if a little squeaky.

It wasn't a stretch to assume you'd succeeded in tricking them; that they assumed this was your new home base. Again, no matter how much you hated them, you didn't want them dead.

And you definitely didn't want to be the one responsible for leading them to their death; to the murderer you deemed a friend, your only one. It was a moral dilemma. Michael was still a killer, and you should turn him in--

But you don't. Again, it was selfish, but he wasn't... doing that much harm right now. Just a few people, rich people who you have no connection to. It makes you sick, the fact you, by default, don't care that much.

You care, you care when you realize they were people with lives and families, that they were just like Judith. Ever since you started coming to the old Myer's house, you've been making a picture of her in your head.

Those people, too, had taffy left uneaten by their bedside. Hair brushes to clean, caps that needed to be screwed back on lip glosses; not those items exactly, you're sure, but the allegory stood the same.

The guilt is unbearable somedays, the idea that you're also partly responsible for those people's death. If you'd just turned in him, then you wouldn't have gotten in this deep.

just a bit longer, you tell yourself. I'll... report him if he kills anyone else, but maybe he's getting better, you think-- knowing more than well he isn't.

He's stagnant right now, but that's because he's satiated. Maybe by your near-daily meetings, the feeling of human contact that he probably hasn't felt since he was child. Since before he was locked up from such a young age.

i hope it stays that way, and deep down, you know it's in vain; recognizing that hope will do no good in situation like this, when dealing with a man-- an entity-- like Michael Myers.

This can't be real. It's a nightmare, it's a nightmare-- you can scream it all you want, but it won't take away from the scene before you.

You were toying with danger, with death itself; you stared in its face and dared to call it a friend, and look where that got you. It was always going to end like this, wasn't it? And you knew, you knew it would but that didn't stop you from it.

A lonely child will always seek the comfort of anyone who offers it without hesitation, and no matter how much you've grown-- how close you are to being an adult, teetering just on that edge,

Once a lonely child, always a lonely child. The bruises have healed, but it still feels like they're marring every inch of your skin; ribs that were broken are just fine now, but if you move too quick you swear you can feel them like you'd felt them back then.

"Why?" Your voice is choked, and you haven't felt this afraid in a long time. Cowering as you were, in the far corner of the attic. A large circular window loomed behind you, casting light onto you like Heaven was calling you home.

Do you even deserve Heaven, though? You might not have been the one to wield the knife, but you're guilty by association. There was no blood on you, but your hands were still painted red.

All five of them, crumpled on the ground; they looked so scared, but something in the back of your mind told you that they'd never understand true fear. This was momentary, before they met their swift end,

They didn't know the fear of anticipation. The fear of never knowing what would happen next, when or how it would come about; but just knowing that it would. That you weren’t at the end of the tunnel just yet, and fearing that you never would be.

Michael just stands there, unmoving. His head tilted like a curious bird, like the crows you fed at the park sometimes. He wasn't wearing the mechanic's suit anymore-- you'd bring him clothes when you could, picked up from thrift shops or garage/yard sales;

It felt even more damning, the red staining his previously pristine sky blue t-shirt. The shirt you’d given to him. Blood once again caked on his shoes, after he'd worked so hard to clean them when you expressed discomfort at it once.

The mask never came off, you never saw his face-- but at this point, you feel like any face that wasn't the mask wouldn't be Michael's. The most you've seen was up to his mouth, when he'd eat with you sometimes.

Again, as you pull your knees to your chest, and fight to hold back a shuddering cry, you ask "Why? Why would you do this?"

And he just stands there. He just stands there and stares at you like he always has, like he always will. You've long come to terms with the fact that he doesn't speak, and in your opinion it makes him a little easier to interact with.

Slow, steady steps-- he turns, and walks to entrance of the attic. He climbs down, leaving you alone for now. With no way to tell the time, you just sit there. The sun doesn't dim, since it was just a little past noon when you got here.

When you saw that note on the accent table near the door, telling you come up to the attic. You didn't question it, you didn't think anything was amiss until you were halfway into the room and Michael stood between you and the exit, bloodied and pointing to the heap of bodies.

Bodies that had once been so full of life, active in the community; beloved by most, feared by others. The golden boys and girls, the ones everyone strives to be or envies in some ways, unless you happen to be their punching bag.

Even with how terrible they were, it wasn't meant to end like this. You shake and tremble as you press your face against your knees; you don't forgive them, you never would, but they have lives.

Had lives, something you were never afforded the luxury of, holed up in your room half the time, and hanging out with the serial killer that did them in the rest of the time.

Michael was being loud, louder than you've ever known him to be. All you could think was maybe... he was trying to ease your worries? Wordlessly let you know that he wasn't going to sneak up and add you to that pile?

For once, you hear when he comes back up. You don't look up, fear seizing every muscle and making you unable to move an inch-- until he's just a few feet away, and your head flies up from where you'd pressed it against your knees.

He was sitting on the floor, right in front of you-- he was writing in a notepad, the same one he used when you first met. Michael's used it since then, but usually just communicates with shakes or nods of his head.

When he turns the book around, it's hard to read the words-- not for lack of light, but because of the way your tears blur your vision. When you're able to blink them away long enough to read, you almost can't believe what he wrote.

"Didn't mean to scare you. They were hurting you, and I didn't like it."

Didn't... didn't mean to scare you? He-- he brought you up here, just to find him covered in blood and pointing at five dead bodies!

five dead bodies of people you knew, even if you didn't like them, you still knew them-- and you knew this was likely to happen, but you tried to convince yourself it wouldn't. For your own sake.

"Are... are you going to..." Kill felt like too heavy of a word right now, too real, so you opted for "...Hurt me too?" Voice small, smaller than you think it's ever been. God, you feel like a child again, asking your mom why the kids at school didn't like you.

Small and helpless, lost and unable to come up with answers on your own. Michael shook his head quickly, and it made you jump-- it wasn't often that he moved quickly like that. He stopped immediately, and turned the notepad around and quickly scrawled something, before turning it back to you.

"Never hurt you" It was hastily written, messy in a way that disturbed you, when addressing Michael. He didn't even add punctuation. For a third time, you ask "Why?" But this time with more intention, knowing what exactly you were asking about.

He didn't move for a bit, and turned the notepad around more slowly, and his pencil hovered above the page-- like he was really thinking this through. A few minutes passed, moving at an agonizing crawl, before he finally turned the notepad around so you could read it.

There were a couple messages scribbled out, but you didn't bother to try and make them out. He'd finally settled on a simple "Because you're my friend."

"How do I know you won’t hurt me?" It was a hard pill to swallow, the knowledge that you just... there's no way to confirm that he won't. He's unpredictable in a way that scares you, because you can't even begin to wrap your head around how he operates.

This time, the answer came quickly; it was messy again, the handwriting, and it made your heart sink to the bottom of your stomach. It made you turn inward and ask why you did this to yourself, why you couldn't have just turned him in at the start.

There's no one to blame but yourself, and that's what hurts the most-- you knew the risk, you took it, and now you're reaping what you sowed.

"I don't hurt what's mine", written in dark letters; once again, he was pressing too hard with the pencil. Once, you thought it was endearing, but now you can't help but realize why he pressed so hard in the first place.

Michael didn't know how to be gentle. Yes, he tried, but there's no telling that he won't give up eventually. For a while, you just stare at the words, at the claim-- he doesn't turn the notepad away,

It's damning, it's a vice gripped around your heart; a steel wire wrapped around your throat. Rope around your wrists, a lock on the door. Everything that can and will be used to keep you here,

To keep you with him.

"I want to go home." You choke out, but he just shakes his head. Oh, how badly you want to scream, to shove him and run; it's broad daylight, surely he won't follow you.

But he's... God, you hate to admit it, but he's all you have. And-- and the bodies, oh god, you're going to be blamed for it, aren't you? It's a perfect story in the making, you've been tormented for so long, so publicly.

It wouldn't be a stretch to say you went mad, that there was something innate to the ground below the Myer's house; a curse weaved into the floorboards, that makes anyone who spends time in the house lose it eventually, if they're capable of such a thing.

That you took the knife in your hand, and slit their throats yourself.

The notepad was facing you again, and you hadn't even noticed he was writing in the first place. It was an explanation for his refusal, but it only made your skin crawl,

"This is your home.", and you just sit there and stare again. Slowly, Michael sets the notepad down. Slowly, he inches forward-- you don't flinch, eyes glazed, staring at where the notepad had been.

Then, his arms are wrapped around you-- and you just... you just melt. You cry, there's no way you can't. You weep until you have nothing left, face tucked into Michael's shoulder.

The blood, still a bit tacky at first, clung to the front of your shirt as well. Michael pulls you as close as he physically can, without merging you two into one continuous being.

He's right, isn't he? This is your home now, and has been for a long time. Before Michael showed up, even, you were spending nights in the Myer's house. Despite the history, it felt leagues safer than your own room.

When your tears are all dried up, still hiccupping and trembling, Michael carefully picks you up. Handling you like glass, but it's unnatural. Stilted-- not a performance, but it's new to him.

Going down the ladder was a slow process, and you were half asleep from pure exhaustion when he set you down on a mattress-- his old bed. You sat, slumped sideways against the headboard as he pulled the cover back and helped you lay down,

He tucked you in, and the thought crossed your mind that his parents must've done this for him when he was younger. They were a normal family, the Myer's-- over the years, people had tried to prove that Michael's snap was caused by abuse, or neglect, or something bad that happened to him in his early development.

But nothing was found on the topic, if anything, the digging exposed the Myer's as the picture-perfect American family. No reason for a 6 year old to kill his sister, other than he just wanted to.

Demonic possession was also a proposed explanation-- more by the townspeople than actual professionals, but it had merit, didn't it? Something about Michael was off, and even if you removed the mask, you're sure it wouldn't change anything.

By the time you're drifting off, weighed down by bone deep weariness from all that happened, Michael is still sitting at the foot of the bed, off on the edge. He isn't watching you, his head facing forward, but it was still unnerving.

When the news of six missing teenagers hit, the town went into a frenzy. Michael has long since dropped the bodies off in the forest-- he didn't want it stinking up the house, because he knew it'd make you uncomfortable,

They found the bodies there, but that didn't stop the cops from searching the Myer's house one last time. That night, Michael took you on a walk, and you two visited the park his parent's used to take him to often.

You were actually swinging, while he kind of just sat on it. Nobody saw you two, there were no reports of you still being alive. Everyone assumed you'd died with your bullies, but your body was elsewhere.

That you fought more than your bullies had, or maybe less-- either way, you died further away from them.

Isolated, just like you’d been in life; even in death, Michael’s sure those horrible kids would make to not be near you.

The cops never considered the possibility that they were killed elsewhere, and dumped later. An oversight on their part, but Michael obviously wasn’t going to correct them on it.

Michael cleaned the attic, not like they'd check it anyways. They never did when they searched the house, and Michael thought it was ridiculous. It was almost too easy to avoid them, but he didn't want to take a chance with you.

He doesn't know what he'd do without you now that he has you. There's no solid reason why he spared you that first night, the 'it's too easy' had been little more than an excuse to spare you, or why he kept sparing you. Why he began to look forward to your meetings.

Something about you was comforting to him, a comfort he hasn't felt in so long that it feel alien now that he's feeling it. Those kids had it coming, he thinks. He's considered going after their parents, as well-- for raising such awful brats.

To torment someone like you-- it both enraged and confused Michael to no end. You were the most innocent person in his mind, even if it was just dumb luck that he found you when he did; that he wasn't in a bad mood.

He doesn't know what comes next, but all he knows is that he'll keep you by his side the whole time. Maybe... you two could move, he'd take on a false identity and flee to Canada with you. Pretend that you're his... younger sibling, because he doesn't think he can get away with claiming you as his child. He isn't all that much older than you, in the grand scheme of things.

As long as you're by his side, then he doesn't really care about what comes next. He just wants you, and to keep you safe and happy. Michael isn't familiar with this, with being soft or gentle; but he'll try for you.

He'd do anything for you, if he's completely honest with himself.

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fartcloudfartcloud · 7 months ago

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Simon Riley x Maid!Reader

based on this text post

Summary: Simon has a house cleaner come clean once a month. What happens when she goes on vacation, and you're her replacement?

warnings: sfw but theres tension 😋, will make an nsfw part two if you guys want it :), Simon being big and scary and offputting per usual, lots of internal dialogue

a/n: loved this concept, and since I actually worked a door to door cleaning job I thought this fit so well and needed to write it. hope u enjoy :)

You took a deep breath.

These were the steps you were to take in this job. You had no reason to feel unsafe or in danger of any sort. Yet, the thought of walking up and knocking on this door had your heart in your stomach.

Simon Riley Is what the work order had listed as the clients name. Ex Military. Large German Shepard named Riley. Liked his wooden floors cleaned with vinegar instead of the regular cleaning solution. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

Except for the entry instructions. The small box on the piece of paper that would normally hold a few finely printed words, things such as "Homeowner will be not be home, key is under welcome mat"

or "Homeowner will be home and located in office on second floor, door will be unlocked"

had big, bold font to start. Your manager had to go in and manually change that detail, and knowing her, that must mean this is serious.

The box reads-

"DO NOT ATTEMPT TO OPEN DOOR. HOMEOWNER IS EX MILITARY AND EXTREMELY STRICT. RING FRONT DOORBELL ONCE AND WAIT."

Yeah. Very normal and not at all gut-wrenching.

You keep taking deep breaths as you go through your routine. Read the work order thoroughly once more, try not to shit yourself, go and grab your equipment, and follow the instructions.

Easy. Just follow the routine.

Your equipment is as big and clunky as usual. With a vacuum on your back, a bucket full of microfiber towels, a backpack full of chemicals, and knee pads on both knees, you knew for sure you were a sight for sore eyes.

You're not quiet as you walk either, each step making every plastic piece of your puzzle clunk and scrape in a cacophony of reminders of why you were here. You thunk and bang your way up the front porch, eyes everywhere but the front door, still taking deep breaths as you try to just focus on your surroundings, taking note of the nice front garden and walkway as you pass.

You finally settle on the front porch, your arms dropping the bucket and preparing yourself for the big push to start this job.

One ring, you remind yourself. Then wait. Deep breath.

You look up to find the door bell, hand pulling up in a search for the button when you see him.

He must have heard you, you decide as he stands behind the screen door with his arms crossed.

Simon Riley is massive, standing what feels like a clean foot taller than you, big muscled arms bulging from his tight t-shirt. They're as big as your head, his thighs probably twice so. His face was pulled down in a heated gaze, though the bottom half of his face was covered by a black mask. He was scary as he stood there, his aura menacing and doing nothing to sooth your nerves.

Yeah, ex Military makes sense, Jesus christ.

"Ya pissed of my dog, allat noise." You jump, the deep british voice startling you as he begins chastising you. His face frowns down it you, his eyes angry. You're speachless, "Well? Talk."

You stammer as you realize you were just sitting and staring in awe, mind suddenly back on track and then derailing again as you have no idea what to say.

The routine, Jesus christ the routine what's the next step. You scramble for your binder, pulling it open to his work order page and looking up at him as you muster up the courage to speak.

"Um, are you, uh, Simon Riley, sir?" You ask, stuttering and staggering between every word.

He reaches foreword and opens the screen door, getting a good look at you first before he can respond.

"Hm. You the cleaning lady?" He questions, the hand not holding the door open now stuffed in the pocket of his pants.

"Mhm, yeah, im- uh. I'm from Housekeeping Heros, you have an appointment for, um-" you start rustling through more pages of the binder, desperate to find the information, needing to prove to yourself more then him you were in the right place.

"I know i 've an appointment," He holds out his hand and halts your movements. You relax, all the horrible conclusions you were drawing coming to an end. Though, as per usual, they were quickly replaced with new ones, his voice still short and snippy with you.

Deep breaths, girl, we can do this.

He points to your small pile of equipment. "Ya need 'elp?"

You shake your head no, suprised he'd offered. Though he just responds with a head shake, motioning to give it here with his hands. And you do, you don't even second guess it, handing him your bucket and backpack without a second word, something in you submitting to him without a care in the world.

He turns around and walks everything into the kitchen where he gently rests it on the table, softer then you were expecting. You follow him in, feeling like a stray with your legs tucked between your legs as you fet settled. He looks at you expectantly.

Not sure what he's looking for, you start explaining the cleaning process, using your binder as a reference and pointing to each section. He stands behind you, arms crossed again and chin tucked down as he nods along with your words.

He points to the vacuum on your back, "Not round Riley, ya 'ear me?" He scolds. You take note of the large German Shepard snorring lightly on the couch.

"And none o' this shite," He kicks at your knee pads, pointing to a mop he had in the corner. Thank God, cleaning on your knees always sucked, and why your bullshit company made you do it anyways was a marvel.

"Oh, thank you!" You chirped up. He seemed to scowl further when your voice pitched up, so you slink back in on yourself. Understood, point taken, sir.

You still were not feeling great, the pit in your stomach unrelenting as you organize your stuff.

He looms close by. You figured he would, not doubting the "extremely strict" next to "ex military" on your work order at all.

You start with the first step of your process, filling the bucket up in the sink and soaking your towels in the cleaning solution.

"Where's yer boss?" He grumbles from behind you, making you jump.

"Um, Nancy?" Bucket now full, you throw the towels into the warm water with a dash of solution.

"Eh, whatever her name is," He grumbles. How polite.

"Haha, um." You giggle akwardly, "she's with family right now, I think," you stutter, trying to speak loud enough that he could hear you clearly.

He just hmphs in response. As your towels soak in the water, you reach for your extendable feather duster and start wiping the top corners of the room.

"Whats yer name?" He grumbles. It shocks you when he says it. He couldn't seem to care less about the other workers name, but he was interested in yours?

You told him, quiet, "sir," peeping out after. He just hmms again, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed as he watched you work.

It was nerve-wracking, having him over your shoulder. He hadn't said anything yet, but it felt like you could feel the complaints waiting to come. You just kept up the deep breathing, taking the clothes out of the water and dispersing them on the countertops throughout the house.

He had a very large home, no mcmansion that took up half the street, but a pretty place tucked in a nice down town area. Honestly, if the home and neighborhood wasn't so gorgeous, you probably would've turned around and told your supervisor to give the damn house to someone else.

But thankfully, or not, Simon seemed to harbor a certain comfort for his homes presentation. The indoors of his home reflected it as well, the house put together like it was being staged, every inch perfectly in place.

Maybe that's why it's not so surprising when the first complaint does manage to leave his lips in the form of a hiss as you go to open a cabinet door.

"Oi, what do you think yer doing?" He hisses, rushing over to grab your wrist and pull it from the knob. You gasp as he's suddenly in your space and touching you, flinching as he does.

"Um, I just gotta m-make sure the insides don't need to be wiped down, sir," your muscles shake as you speak— him actually coming over and grabbing had you a little shook up.

He waved his hand infront of your face, dismissing whatever you have to say, "None of that. Don't need'a open nothing that ain't yours." you just nod, taking your first breath once he's finally out of your space.

That would've been a very good thing to include in the work order, Nancy.

Well, at least that's a few less things to worry about cleaning, though you may have failed your task of not shitting your pants, because good lord. He's right back to his perch on the wall, observing you carefully now.

You get into your routine, floating room to room and doing each task per the work order. You slowly scrub the slight musky smoke smell that lingers throughout, instead replacing it with the smell of cinnamon and detergent.

He likes watching you work, but he knows he doesn't show it, not a flutter or twitch anywhere to be seen. He growls small, careful, watch it, leave it, keeping you on edge through every movement.

You do move much faster than your college though, much more gracefully. He notices your wandering eyes, lingering on the photos on the wall and the dates on his calender. He let's you get away with it, for now. Figured he'd picked on you enough, should probably just let you finish your work.

That is, until you approach the end of your routine. You'd been scrubbing and whipping and Simon snipping and snyding for almost an hour now, you'd made excellent time and you hope Simon knows that.

It's all you can think about, actually. Him and the way he has you doting on him, some broken part of you combined with the fear his giant stature instills has you easily folding to do whatever he says and respond to his every grunt. It has your mind a little clouded, even more so as you swing through every step of your routine with practiced care.

It was finally time for the last step of the routine, and you shivered out a breath as you unwrapped the vacuum. Simon had sank a little further away, now sitting at the kitchen table with his eyes glued to a newspaper, anxiety settling slightly without his prying eyes.

You get the cord untangled and laid out across the carpet, searching the perimeter of the room for an outlet. You couldn't see any in the open, and not wanting to risk pissing off Simon for moving furniture, you start to round the corner in your search.

Suddenly, you're against the wall, a giant hand against your sternum as the breath is knocked out of your lungs. His face is in yours, eyebrows furrowed and breath hot on your face as he spoke.

"Tha fuck ya think your doin'?" youre confused and breathless, small under him as he leers above.

"I dont- im-" "Been nothing but nice to ya since you clambered yer way up my damn porch, and I gave you one fuckin' rule." His voiced is raised at you now, chastising you in that brazen, gravely tone. "One! and what do you go and try to do?"

You're just confused, what had you done to elicit this response from him? You thought he was complacent and quiet at the table, what of his million little rules could you have broken?

That's when you see it. Her, you should say. Rylie, the big German Shepard he'd warned you to by no means vacuum around, was bundled up on the couch, inches from where you stand.

Fuck. how had you forgotten.

"Sir, i- I didn't realize, I didn't know she was there sir i-" You desperately try to make an excuse for yourself, but he's just shaking his head at you.

"Do ya think flutterin yer eyelashes a little is gonna make everything better?" He mocks you, his big blue eyes locked on you. You shake your head no, half of it to answer him, the other half just you shivering where you stand.

"No sir- I'm sorry sir I didnt- I forgot you told me and-"

He's clicking his tongue at you, a tsk tsk to put you to shame. To your suprise, each click when straight to your core, and suddenly the heat in the room is rising. Your body is flushed and your sure your face matches, if the way his eyes crinkle when he looks up at you says anything.

His hand doesn't leave your sternum, as he speaks, Inches from your face, "too good at this to be forgetting," he shakes his head, the praise a little shocking, and the soft, "too pretty," that follows it hammers the fact.

You breath is caught in your chest again as he leans into your ear, eyes wide and mouth clamped as he murmurs a deep.

"So how do you think I should go bout making sure you remember?"

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x housekeeper!reader #ghost #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod fanfiction #ghost cod fanfic

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777rare · 29 days ago

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12th housers

As a 12th houser myself, yes..normally I have always felt unsafe in my surroundings, even if its my own home, and did learn that my root chakra was blocked when I had my spiritual awakening few years ago (Root chakra is linked to ones feeling of safety and security). Yes, I do sing and dance...mostly in private, at night, and when I do that, I manifest so much faster.

I pray a lot..especially before I sleep as well so I guess this is inbuilt in all 12th housers. We all love to do a lot of activities in private and are uncomfortable doing the same things around others.

12th housers love sleeping and we heal very much in our sleep. We have premonitions and strong gut feelings too.

Also A person having Uranus in the 12th house do have prophetic dreams or dreams that become reality so I suggest those having this placement to maintain a dream journal so that when you get a dream that you remember, you write whatever happened in the dream, the scenery, the climate, the place, the people, the numbers, whether it was day, afternoon, evening or night, what feelings were you feeling, etc. Write down whatever you can remember because it will definitely have some connection to future events (that's why you remember it).

They say the dreams you remember have some meaning or a message for you while those you don't remember are just dreams.

Btw, I won't be so active for a few days because I'm busy with my best friend's birthday....gotta surprise the hell outta her so yeah..for those waiting for my response anywhere, i request for your patience. I will come back soon dw.💝

I will keep posts in the my schedule list so when new posts come, it isn't me being active lol.

Thankyou and have a great day ahead❤️‍🔥

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calebsdog · 2 months ago

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You know what baby Caleb absolutely did for baby Mc? Helping her with her clogged sinuses.

Your school was ground zero for a common sickness passing around. Caleb was one of the lucky few children who didn't get hit with the symptoms. You, however, were not so lucky.

"C'mon, pips. You'll feel a bajillion times better when you're done." Caleb stands in front of you with a small blue container in his hands. A dastardly neti pot.

You haven't had to use a neti pot many times in your life. But the thing you remember most about the neti pot was how miserable of an experience it was. The drowning sensation doesn't go away after the first few times.

"Nu-uh. I don't wanna." Your clogged nose makes you sound nasally. Like you were speaking from the back of your throat. Reduced to mouth breathing you were unable to get a good night's sleep.

"I know you hate it. But it's just for a minute. You won't have to huff and puff through the house anymore." Caleb tries to guide you into the bathroom.

"It's distilled water. No brain eating amoebas can gobble up your brain on my watch." He already set your stepping stool in front of the sink.

"No!" Snatching your arm out of Caleb's grasp you spin on your heels. Rushing away as fast as your little legs can carry you down the halls and away from the cursed neti pot.

You curl up in the closet. Your usual hiding place when you feel unsafe. Or, in this case, when things weren't going your way. You stay there for hours, trying with all your might to breathe in through your nose. The mucus lodged in your nostrils remain stubbornly clogged.

But where was Caleb? He always found you, no matter how good your hiding spot was. Was he mad at you for running away when he was trying to help? Was he going to ignore you forever now? Were you all alone?

"Gege!" Unable to take it anymore, you run to Caleb in tears. Your sobs only manage to stuff you up even worse. Your entire head felt heavy with mucus. You needed Caleb to make everything better again, the way he always did.

"I'm sorry!" Caleb allows you to curl up to his chest and pout. This would've been over if you hadn't been stubborn.

"Don't cry." Caleb scoops your tiny, trembling frame up. He doesn't seem to care about catching your sickness, even when you've been nothing but a brat.

"Next time, just listen to gege. Okay? I only want what's best for you." When you're done crying he leads you into the bathroom, helps you step up onto your stool, and tilts your head to the side when he uses the neti pot.

The distilled water rushing through your nose felt just as horrible as all the other times you were sick. But Caleb was right. You do feel a lot better once you're able to breathe through your nose again.

#love and deepspace #caleb x reader #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x mc #lads caleb #lnds #love and deepspace caleb #lnds caleb #caleb xia #caleb x you #caleb #lnds caleb x reader #caleb x y/n

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wwwrottoncxrecom · 1 month ago

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Breath with me, baby

Pairings: BangChan x 9th member!Reader

Summary: The second your logged in, notifications fill the side of the screen. All emails from your team, most of them containing guidelines to deal with the stalker. The room falls back into a thick silence

Warnings: heavy references to throwing up and anxiety, reader has a panic attack, descriptions of a panic attack, stalking, cussing (one time), angst, this fic is heavy asf, i think thats it ??

Word count: 1.3k

Everything felt like it was falling apart at what was, supposed to be, the best time in your life. You finally started the process to debut as a soloist and everything was falling apart. Someone leaked your debut album and you’ve caught the eye of a sasaeng. Said “fan” has made it their life goal to make yours as unsafe and fear inducing as possible while believing everything they were doing was normal. You could throw up.

You push past the doors of JYP’s building, the taste of bile slowly raising the longer you think about what’s happening. Everything was so normal a mere month ago, how did it all come crashing down this quick? How did you manage to miss so many signs that this was gonna happen?

You skip on the elevator, not wanting to be in a confined space so quiet right now. As your feet thud up the stairs, your mind races with memories of signs you so blatantly ignored. This fan wasn’t new. But it started innocent enough that you brushed it off. But when the dms went from sweet fan messages to pictures of your house, you started to realize it wasn’t as innocent as it originally came off.

A headache is beginning to form, and you slowly raise a hand to rub at your forehead. Why you? Why anyone? Why were idols expected to be ok with dealing with this simply because they’re famous? The thought only increases the feeling of your heavily increasing nausea. With weak steps, you manage to reach the studio door.

The door opens, and you’re immediately hit with Chan’s cologne. It calms you, as do the dims lights. You two lock eyes and your shoulders visible relax. There’s a unspoken conversation between you before he’s standing and pulling you into a tight hug. You swiftly hug back, albeit not with the same amount the strength.

“It’s ok. Do you wanna talk about it?” You shake your head, and he mumbles a soft ok. One of his hands moves to your hair and he softly threads his fingers through the strands. It relaxes you, and you melt into his embrace. A couple minutes passes before you feel comfortable enough to pull out of the hug. You look up at him and he softly rubs his nose against yours, giving you an eskimo kiss.

“What do you wanna do?” His voice is barely above a whisper, but you hear it perfectly. The question is simple, but it causes you to think and you don’t really want to do that. So you quickly shake your head and fully pull away from his embrace. You reach for your bag, unzipping it and pulling out your lyric journal.

“Can we work on my album? My mental state has changed over the past couple months and I’m considering a new concept with everything going on.” There’s a deafening silence after your slip up. You stare at each other for a brief second before he’s opening his mouth to question it.

“What do you mean with everything going on?” The panic starts to raise again, causing your breath to pick up slightly. How did you let that slip? Why did you let that slip? The bile is slowly raising in your throat again and it takes everything inside of you not to throw up. The silence is deafening, and you quickly come up with a lie.

“Schedule wise. With my solo debut and our comeback in Stray Kids, It’s just a lot.” Chan seems to buy the lie as he nods. You let a breath of relief, and allow Chan to see your journal. You trust him enough to not judge you. Trust him enough to see the layers that you have peeled back in that journal. Despite all this trust, you couldn’t tell him about what was really going on. The guilt of worrying him gnawing at your bones like a dog with a bone. It was suffocating, it had a grip on you that you just couldn’t release.

You trusted him with your life, that’s why you couldn’t tell him the truth.

The more the lie sits on your mind, the more the panic starts to creep into your throat. As the urge to throw up returns, your hands start to tingle and shake. The rooms shinks and everything started to feel suffocating. It feels like your lungs are tightening, your nose is tingling and air refuses to enter it. Just before you can tip over the edge into full blown panic, Chan softly touches your shoulder.

“Hey. I’ve been talking to you for the past minute. You’re obviously not in the right mindset to be working, so how about we schedule for another day?” You suck in deep breaths before slowly nodding. You reach for your planner thats tucked away in your bag. Upon opening it, the tingling returns. Most of the dates are filled with fan calls, all for the same person. You quickly slam thee planner shut, throwing it roughly back into your bag. Chan eyes you but doesn’t say anything, simply watching as you instead grab your laptop.

In an attempt to escape the reality that’s becoming increasingly obvious, you decide to use to the calendar on your laptop. It’s a personal one, still having important dates but it allowed for a less stressful approach. Or, that’s what you were hoping for.

“Come here, we can pick a day together.” The second your logged in, notifications fill the side of the screen. All emails from your team, most of them containing guidelines to deal with the stalker. The room falls back into a thick silence. You know Chan is reading the emails, if roles were reversed you would be doing the same. You usually have nothing to hide from each other. Unfortunately for you, you did have something to hide.

“Wait, I can explain-” The panic is raising, your breathing is back to a rapid pace, your hands starting to shake as the tingling returns. His lips are moving, but your brain isn’t allowing for your ears to process what he’s saying. You look away from him, the look in his eyes only increasing what your feeling.

“..Are you even listening to me? Where are you going that you can’t fucking listen to me?” Silence, then his face quickly reflects both hurt, regret, and realization. The look makes you sick to your stomach.

“I didn’t mean to yell, i’m sorry. But you should of told me this was going on. You lied to me earlier when I asked what you meant. Why? Do you not trust me?” The tears start to flow at that and you quickly shake your head.

“I trust you with my life, but I knew you would react like this and I couldn’t handle it. I still can’t handle it. I can’t handle you being worried about me like this, it makes me sick. It drives me insane.” His face relaxes slight at that, but you can still tell he’s still upset.

“I understand you don’t want me to worry, but how you feel about me worrying is how I feel about you worrying about me. I’m your boyfriend, I’m supposed to be there with you in moments that are hard. That’s why I’m here. I wish you told me so I could of helped.” The tears flow harder, causing your shoulders to start shaking. Chan pulls you into a big hug, softly rubbing your back.

“Breath with me, baby.” He breaths in slowly and you follow after him. As he exhales, you exhale. After doing this for a few minutes, the sobs turn into soft sniffles and the occasional hiccup. Chan whispers sweet nothings until you pull away from him. He leans back down and gives you another eskimo kiss.

“What do you need from me?”

“I just need you here.”

#kpop boys #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids fanfic #stray kids angst #bang chan #bangchan x you #bangchan angst #bangchan x reader #bang chris

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monayen · 5 months ago

Note

Psst..

*gives you a letter and runs away*

It says: Can you please write a fic where the (fem) reader is in heat and Nyen helps her out? Luther was supposed to help but he's not around (he's out of the house with Randal, Sebastian and Nyon)and that left the reader no choice. Also she's very desperate and really loud during it :>

Needy | Nyen

➷ Paring - Nyen x Fem!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - animal heats, degradation, biting, dirty talk, teasing, unsafe sex, fingering, light scratching, begging / crying

a/n - ngl this one is realll dirty. lots of dirty talk and degradation that nyen definitely wouldn't say directly but this is my horndog blog and i do wat i want. i also am not that knowledgeable on "heats" but just take it as reader being incredibly horny. is that accurate to an animal heat? whatever! also someone put a gůn to my head and make me fix my masterlist page thanks enjoy

Your body feels like it’s on fire, skin hot and flushed as your heat takes hold. You pace restlessly around the room, your mind consumed with a primal need that coursed through your veins.

Normally, Luther would be there to help you through these episodes, soft and caring as he held you. But your heat came on sudden today, just when he was out with Randal, Sebastian, and Nyon. It would take hours for him to return, and with how your body ached, you weren't sure how much longer you could handle this feeling anymore.

Your lips were red and sore from biting back the moans that piled up in your throat. Every movement feeling like a rush of adrenaline that has your heart beating out your chest.

With your senses growing increasingly sensitive, you decided to strip to your underwear, the heat unbearable. It isn't anywhere near enough relief, but at least the rub of fabric doesn't feel as suffocating anymore.

You groan, now laying on your bed as your breathing scattered more and more.

Shaky hands trail your bare torso, skin sticky with sweat. You immediately trembled, a hand moving against the fabric on your crotch. A loud moan escapes before you get the chance to bite it back, your fingers needily rubbing for any type of stimulation.

It wasn't enough, nowhere near enough.

Whines spill from your mouth, eyes shut as you hump against your own shaky hands. You need something, someone now.

“Can you shut up? You're so fucking loud.”

A deep voice pulls you from your horny trance, eyes shooting open as you realize who's standing at the edge of your bed.

Nyen looms, his scowl sharp as his gaze lingers on your flushed figure, unmistakably eyeing you. Another wave of adrenaline floods your system, your heart pounding in your chest as your hands refuse to move from your aching heat.

You look up at him with big, needy eyes, “S-sorry, my heat– I just–”

He cuts you off, head cocking to the side as he makes a face, “I can smell you too. You really can't control yourself?” His eyes rake over your sweat-slicked body, taking in how your fingers continue to graze the fabric of your underwear. A low growl rumbles in his chest as he steps closer to the bed.

"Fuck, you reek of desperation," he sneers, his voice dripping with disdain even as his pupils dilate. "Can't even wait for master to come back and take care of you properly…”

You can't help but continue to whine, his words making your stomach twist as you rub for more stimulation, “Please,” You cry, cheeks flushed as you watch him put a knee on the bed, it sinking with the added weight.

He reaches out, roughly grabbing your wrist and yanking your hand away from your clothed crotch. Nyen brings your fingers to his face, inhaling deeply as he rolls his tongue over them. "Mmm, you're dripping.” He shoves your hand back, but still doesn't let you move your hands down to resume rubbing.

Nyen hovers over you, one hand fisting in the sheets beside your head as the other trails down your body, claws lightly scraping against your skin. "I could help you out, you know. Give you what you need so badly."

You arch helplessly, a needy whimper escaping your trembling lips, “Oh, p-please, please, help me! I can't– I can’t…” Your breathing jaggers, pathetically melting into his touch.

He leans in close, his breath hot against your ear as he growls, "You're so fucking pathetic, begging like a whore.”

Nyen's other hand continues its torturously slow path down your body, his touch leaving tingling trails of heat in its wake. He hooks a finger under the damp fabric of your underwear, tugging it aside to expose your aching, dripping core.

"Look at you, so wet and ready," he sneers, rubbing the pad of his thumb over your swollen clit. "I bet you'd let anyone fuck you right now, wouldn't you? Desperate little slut."

You can only whine in response, mind foggy as he presses his heavy hand against your heat. He’s rough in his touch, much more than Luther. He isn't considering just how sensitive you are, instead choosing to immediately sink two fingers into your welcoming pussy just to watch you squirm.

“Nyen!” shaky moans keep spilling from you, each more desperate than the last. Nyen’s eyes darken, choppy bangs falling over his face as he leans in closer, sharp teeth grazing against the soft flesh on your shoulder.

He continues to set a brutal pace with his fingers, his free hand moving to roam over your sweaty skin, claws leaving red lines. He could feel how you shake beneath him, your body wound tight with tension. He takes in the sweet energy smell of your arousal, thick and heady in the air, making his own cock twitch in interest. The catman has never seen someone so needy before–hell, not even his own heats get him like this.

Pulling back, Nyen admires his handiwork–your face was beat red, lips parting as panting huffs escape. Your eyes were glazed with desire, pleading with him to bring you to come. It was a pathetic look on you, and he wonders just how sir handles you when you're like this.

"Fuck, you're such a mess," he growls, fingers pulling from your soaked cunt. "Not yet.”

He leans down, tongue swiping over your collarbone before biting down hard enough to leave a mark. You cry out, begging for his fingers to push back inside, your pussy clenching around nothing in desperation.

He moves to strip off his dark shirt, revealing his toned chest and arms. There's a sheen of sweat on his skin, making the hair there glisten in the dim light. His cock strains against his pants, the outline clearly visible and throbbing. You stare shamelessly, mind too far gone to even hold back the pure horny look on your lidded eyes.

Leaning forward again, his hands grip your thighs as he pushes them further apart as he settles between them. The head of his clothed cock prods at your entrance, smearing your arousal around.

You're practically drooling for it, hips bucking up in an attempt to create more friction. A wet spot forms quickly, a mix of your own juices and his.

Nyen lets out a jagged breath, pulling back and quickly shucking off his pants to free his throbbing cock. It springs up, hard and heavy, the thick shaft covered in veins. The head is an angry red, already dripping with precum. He takes hold of the base and smacks the length of it against your cunt, making you gasp and writhe.

“You want it?” Nyen growls, grinding against you, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through your body. Your hips buck up, trying to take him inside, but he holds back, denying you what you so desperately crave.

"Please, Nyen," you whimper, your voice high and needy. "I can't take it anymore.”

His fingers dig into your thighs, holding you open and exposed for him. The head of his cock catches on your clit with each hump, slickness coating his length. He's relishing in the teasing, but his own cock aches to sink right in, to feel you clench around him.

"Nyen," you plead again, tears of frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I feel like I’m on fire.”

Nyen just smirks, fisting his cock and giving it a few slow pumps. "You think you can take it, slut?”

You nod eagerly, reaching down to spread yourself open in offering. "Yes... Please... I want it... Want you..."

Growling, Nyen lines himself up, the broad head of his cock pressing against your soaked entrance. With one sharp thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, stretching you wide around his thick shaft.

You gasp at the sudden stretch, walls clenching tight around the thick intrusion. It feels much bigger than you expected, his thick length giving a splitting sensation. It’s almost too much, the burn of the stretch mixing with the intense pleasure of finally being fucked.

The wet sounds of skin slapping against skin fill the room, mixing with your loud moans of pleasure. You hold on, nails scrabbling at Nyen's chest as he pumps roughly into you.

"Shit," Nyen snarls, relishing in your warm walls. "How are you so f-fucking tight–”

A little drool drips from the corner of your clenched mouth, mixing with the tears of pleasure that roll down your flushed face. The intensity of your heat makes everything feel ten times more intense, and all you can think about is needing more.

Your head feels light, your vision swimming, but you manage to keep it upright, barely able to focus on Nyen’s figure above you. With a surge of effort, you sit up, your hand finding the back of his head as you pull him closer, pressing your lips to his.

You half-expected him to pull away, to say something cruel and push you back down beneath him. But instead, he responds, his teeth grazing your lips as he leans in closer, deepening the kiss.

The flavor of smoke and beer lingers, mixing with the sweetness of your saliva. His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you flush against him.

The kiss was hungry and desperate – mostly on your part. Enough that you practically cry when Nyen breaks the kiss to look at you.

Your face is flushed, lips swollen and parted as you pant for air. Your hair is a wild mess, sticking to your sweat-slicked skin. But it's your eyes that draw his attention – glazed over with desire, the irises on your hazy eyes nearly swallowed by blown out pupils.

Your moans echo off the walls, your body shaking beneath his harsh grasp on your hips. You're so close, the pleasure in your abdomen swirling and building until you feel like you're gonna pass out.

"Nyen," you gasp, not being able to hold back anymore, "I'm close!”

Nyen grits his teeth, feeling his own orgasm forming tightly. He curses under his breath, a deep groan escaping him as he hurries his snaps against your hips.

"That's it," Nyen growls, his voice rough, "Fuck– come for me, slut.”

Your whole body tenses, your back arching off the bed as the orgasm crashes over you. You cry out, your voice breaking on a sob of pleasure as your walls spasm around him.

It's intense, almost too much to handle, but Nyen doesn't stop. He keeps fucking you through it, his cock hitting roughly inside you enough that you practically see stars.

Nyen throws his head back with a guttural groan, his hips stuttering as he chases his own release. Your cunt doesn't relent, squeezing and twisting around him as he fucks through the orgasm.

Nyen collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. He's panting, his chest heaving against yours as he tries to catch his breath. He's just as– if not more– spent, heart pattering as both your skins mix with sweat and come.

After a moment, he pulls out, his softening cock slipping from your sensitive hole. You whimper at the loss, your pussy still twitching with aftershocks.

He rolls off you with a lazy exhale, a huff of breath escaping his lips as he somehow pulls a cigarette from nowhere and lights it. He inhales deeply, the smoke swirling around him before he blows it into the air.

Your body still trembles, heat pulsing through you, lingering deep inside. Your gaze shifts to Nyen–his bare, sculpted chest rising and falling with each breath, his long fingers holding the cigarette to his lips, his skin slick with a sheen of perspiration and something else. The sight makes you bite your lip, a new wave of heat rushing over you.

You sit up swiftly, a flushed smile spreading across your face as you shift to straddle Nyen’s hips.

His cigarette hangs from his mouth, brows furrowing as he questions just how you’re up so fast. You don't give him enough time to say anything though, eagerly beginning to grind against his slick crotch.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He hisses, already feeling himself hardening from your touch. A desperate whine escapes you, eyes shut as you settle on top of him. “M-my heat–” you pitch louder, “Again. Please– I need it.”

#ranfren #randals friends #nyen catman #nyen ranfren #nyen x reader #ranfren x reader #ranfren smut #cw heats

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