#i just wanted to write something and this was in my drafts so i just vomited words lmfao | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bonbonly · 2 days ago

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𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: heavily inspired by hannibal - after hearing tons of praise in regards to psychiatrist!max verstappen, you decide to test your luck and see what his true colors are 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: this is a dark fic! you have been warned! do not read if you're not comfortable with dark fics or any of the following in this fic: dubcon, drugging/aphrodisiac, knife play, cunnilingus, p in v, character death, reader is not a good person, blood/gore, slapping 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5k 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i want to give a special shoutout to @gokyrts because look at the abomination she's made me write, oh my god...

"mr. verstappen's skills knows no bounds, but the only ones being bound under his spell are the countless patients he must've paid to spread his work as if it were a gospel," you echoed the words that you wrote onto your laptop, the rough draft being filled with small notes on the side of the document to remind you of any criticism of the man that you might've missed the first time. your fingers drummed against the keys of your laptop, your brows furrowed as you tried to find another sentence to add. to spite him. to inform him that he had to be a greedy, money hungry hoax. your friends always told you that his appointments were so relaxing, they were very helpful but you saw through his lies. you knew that something had to be up. working as a forensic scientist for the BAU, and secretly organizing a crime blog under a pseudonym, you've racked up enough credentials to be under verstappen's radar. perhaps he was the only one that knew about the blog, and it irked you.

he mentioned once after you stopped by his office to request his presence in the lab. direct orders from your boss, you stated, making it very clear with your tone that you didn't ask for it. you'd rather die than have him near the corpse, stealing all the credit that should rightfully go to you. the depths you went to find the real perpetrator days later was overshadowed by the single fact that verstappen had walked in and saw a petal of a rose just underneath the right calf of the corpse. a careless mistake, he told your boss, but one that could be easily tweaked if you had just scheduled an appointment with him so he could discuss parts of your childhood that you locked away, buried underneath your heels so that every time you stomped around, you imagined it to be the throat of your parents. you were told to accompany the psychiatrist back to his office, and when you dropped him off he merely smiled at you, his dutch accent infiltrating your ears, "you always miss the details, which is surprising because you never seem to do it under your blog, caroli- i mean, ms. (l/n)."

your blood ran cold at his words, and you stumbled out of his office with a hardened glare. he was reading your blog, and had somehow directed it to you. how did he know? there was no possible way for him to know. you worked for the fbi, for peter's sake, you knew how to tidy up evidence, to be careful when lurking through unclear waters. how did the bastard know about this? so, when you typed up the new article criticizing his work and suggesting that he might be behind the disappearance of a few colleagues of yours, you knew he would read it. with full confidence, you wanted him to read it and storm into your office ready to snap your neck.

but he never did. in fact, he never even looked at you at all the next day. or the day after. or the week after. he smiled at your associates, then locked himself in his room, welcoming in patients and booking appointments for the ones too timid to ask him for one. during a lunch break, you walked past his hallway and pressed your ear against his door to listen in to an appointment he had with your friend. the shattering of glass, a muffled scream, the sound of a bullet, metal cracking against her skull, any sound would do for you. you just needed one piece of evidence, but you received none. your friend walked out unscathed, a happy smile on her face as she greeted you back in the lab. your eyes cast down to your hands, a feeling of momentary guilt rising in your gut. you wanted to forge your hands into the fire for writing that article and painting him in a bad light; no favorable colors, no accurate brush strokes, a half-assed attempt where the paint bled through the canvas, seeping through the lines that you carefully concocted. it didn't make sense, you were so sure of it! all the victims -charles, lewis, carlos, daniel - your good friends who were missing had one thing in common: they had booked appointments with verstappen before their disappearance. they also were in contention to get a promotion, daniel had also been a psychiatrist, eagerly waiting for his new life to become the head of the department one day. it was a risky move, but you figured that if you pushed his buttons enough, he'd slip up. he'd expose himself, he'd make a mistake and then you'd have him trapped. the entire BAU would understand that they had a criminal right under their noses this entire time.

for this entire plan to succeed, you had to do a few things. your first plan was to write more articles on your secret blog. while the BAU was scratching their heads about how their confidential cases were being exposed so easily, you were dropping bombshell after bombshell on your blog, your finger always pointing to the psychiatrist that would now look at you across the room with a deadly glint in his eyes. his lips were always in a thin line, and occasionally you caught him smirking whenever you'd miss a detail during analysis. you were predictable to him, and you needed to find a way to defeat him at his own game. there was a reason as to why he hadn't exposed you yet, perhaps the lack of evidence but you realized that there was something about you that made him keep quiet. you had power over him, the thought of it made you giggle uncontrollably at your desk one day, spinning around your chair like a little school girl. the second plan was to use his own tricks against him, which meant finally noticing the smaller details, being smarter than the rest of the team and most importantly, being incredibly fast. whether it be responding to your boss, showing up to a meeting, scavenging a crime scene to find clues or evidence, you had to be first. this entire time the team thought of him as reliable because he was the first one present at all times. you had to change that, had to show the team that the tide was turning to your favor. you noticed the way he'd bite the inside of his cheek, the light illuminating from the side would highlight his cheekbones, the dent a shadow amongst the very little light on his face.

and then finally, the third part of your plan. book the appointment with him. this one hurt your ego the most, but in order to catch him you had to stoop down to his level. making him think that you were willing to open up to him should give him the opportunity to do the same with you, and once vulnerable you could easily coax the truth out of him. you sat across from him on a velvet chair, legs crossed as your eyes traveled around the room, memorizing the layout of his office and the objects that were on display.

"lots of cars i see here," you pointed towards one large model of an RB19 on his shelf. he buried his hands in his pockets, teetering on his toes as he let out a small chuckle,

"i like things that are fast. things that fly, speed through... run," the last word sent shivers down your spine, but you swallowed the bile that threatened to rise and forced a smile at him.

"care for a drink? i got some wine if you'd like?" he walked over to the stand of champagne bottles on display. the glass sparkled under the light, its contents swishing around with each step that he took closer. it reminded you of your guts wanting to spill out and as he grabbed the bottle's neck, you gulped and felt the ghost of his hands tightening around yours. with a cough, you shook your head but he rolled his shoulders in a way of disbelief and stalked over to you with a wine glass in his hand, "please, i think you need it. it's ok, it'll help you relax."

the liquid pooled down your throat, but you kept your eyes open in fear that he might take advantage of you like this. you couldn't let your guard down, not like this. you watched as he settles down on the couch directly across from you, his legs spread out giving you an ample view of what you assumed to be his cock fighting to be restrained in his pants but with a firm snap of his fingers, your eyes flicker up to his face and then you saw the smallest hint of a smile on his face. you hadn't seen one in weeks.

"so why exactly did you book this appointment?" he asked, tilting his head. his hands clasped together, the forefingers coming up to touch his lips. you shrugged in response, before quickly shaking your head. shit, you needed to follow along with the plan you made!

"just... just been having some bad nightmares about my past," you responded. the topic of your parents was sensitive, one that you kept hidden for many years after you graduated high school. their death was their own doing, but somehow you felt that you had a part in it. had the murderer been you, it would've made no difference because the guilt remained. the bystander was far worse than the actual criminal. your mother's head rolling down the hill as your father watched with a twisted back. you winced at the memories, the glass slipping from your hands, "fuck!"

max watched your reactions carefully. his eyes were drawn to the way your fingers hovered over the glass, almost afraid that it would grab you. you paid no mind to the wine stain, but the countless apologies that spilled from your lips was music to his ears. he wanted to hear you say them, but in a very different circumstance. he read every article you wrote, he noticed your shift in behavior around him. he was a psychiatrist; if you wanted to play mind games with him, he was already ten steps ahead. while guiding you to stand near the shelf of cars, he went over to his closet to grab the broom and dustpan. he took off his coat, rolling the sleeves of his shirt before crouching down to gently grab the large pieces of glass. he dragged his finger onto the pool of wine on the floor and licked a long stripe, "such a shame. i always hate seeing my appetite go to waste."

the appointment was cut short much to your chagrin. your carelessness, you thought to yourself, you just didn't understand why you kept making small mistakes like this. you had to train your mind to be better. you sighed and gave one last glance to the RB19 model when you noticed the initials D.R. in italics on the edge of the car. before you could step closer, you felt strong arms grab onto your shoulders, guiding you out the door, "ms. (l/n), i am so sorry about what happened here. i would love to hear more about your past, but perhaps in a setting that might not scare you too much. dinner at my house, maybe? would that be an offer you're willing to take up?"

you frowned at his words, wriggling away from his touch, "you invite all your patients to your house for dinner?"

"only the ones i believe i have a strong connection with," he responded, licking his lips as he leant against the doorframe. you tapped your heels a couple times, thinking the offer over. if you declined, you'd have to come back to his stupid office. but... but if you accepted, you'd be able to catch him in his environment - and while he had the advantage of home ground - he definitely had to be hiding things there.

"you mind if i bring a friend over?" you asked, and he smiled,

"the more the merrier, but i don't think we can talk about your history then."

"it's ok. we can talk about my life later."

"6:30 at my place, i'll send the address down to you shortly."

"oh, mr. verstappen, dinner is very lovely! did you make this all by yourself?" your friend asked while taking a bite of the lasagna. her words are tuned out as you shifted through your food with a fork. the darkness of the dining room did little to ease any of your fears. you had walked in feeling confident, ready to tackle the monster down with your bare hands, but his kindness. his professionalism. his unwavering stare. they all made you feel as if you were being suffocated. you didn't have much energy in you to continue with the fake conversations. excusing yourself to use the bathroom to then explore his mansion would be too cliche, he'd be waiting for you to do it anyway. being too predictable would bore him, which would mean the chances of you being killed would be higher.

"not liking the food, ms. (l/n)?" max asked, his eyes flickering down to the food he cooked being tossed around like a bird amongst hyenas.

"no, i'm just... not very hungry, unfortunately," you responded, grabbing the wine to drink.

"a bite wouldn't hurt. just one bite, i spent hours cooking for tonight," he chuckled, and your friend kicked your leg under the table, her eyes narrowing at you to take a bite. you could already hear what she was saying in her mind. the poor man went out of his way for dinner and here you are, being a rude guest! with a very reluctant sigh, you grab hold of the fork and let your teeth sink onto the lasagna, the flavor melting into your tastebuds as you let out a slow hum of approval. it tasted nice, very nice actually. so you took another bite, and then another. her appetite's back, your friend laughed and max nodded his head, smiling at you.

but when dessert rolled in, you felt uneasy. your insides felt empty, as if craving for something that you couldn't quite place. your thighs clenched together as your gripped onto the arms of the chair. you couldn't make out whatever max was saying. he was asking you if you were alright, but his eyes asked a different question. you hadn't noticed how big his eyes were before, or the fact that his pupils were so dilated. how did you miss that detail before? was he always like this? you quickly excused yourself, running to the bathroom but each brush of your thigh under the thigh made you choke on air, your mind hazy. upon locking yourself inside, you immediately collapsed onto the ground, your head in your hands. you felt strong pair of hands around your waist, groping at your tits that spilled out of your dress - or was it be ripped off of you? your pussy bare against the cold dampness of the room, your mouth propped open with fingers as the sweet taste of an apple made its way. your jaw was sore at how your teeth delved into the fruit and stood rooted there as your arms were bound above your head. was that the woody scent of a candle, or the fireplace that was underneath you? where was that burning sensation? under you... or inside you? your legs were being spread apart, the itchy rope curling around your limbs to make sure you wouldn't move. you opened your eyes lazily to see a figure with dirty blonde hair at the end of the table, his shiny teeth visible amongst the evil grin you saw.

"my favorite meal... all to myself." he whispered, letting his tongue rake over your glistening folds. your strangled moans are swallowed by the apple in your mouth, your body aching for more as his nose nudges your clit. his teeth nip at your labia, tongue invading your womanhood as you can't do anything but scream out loud, drooling from the corners of your mouth. his tongue rolls your clit around, lapping at any juice that seeps from your cunt. he wants to ensure your taste is on his tongue forever. the sweetest dessert that one would ask for. his fingers spread your mound to get a good look at his masterpiece and he lets his saliva stalk down to your pussy before harshly rubbing your clit. when you finally look past your tits to see who this figure was: your heart stopped at the sight of max staring down at you with a predatory look.

you screamed as you woke up in your bed, cold sweat dripping down your forehead. you glanced down to your hands, your feet, your clothes that covered your body. you looked around your room, unsure as to how you were back in your bedroom. it felt real... was it real? you couldn't tell. you pulled the waistband of your panties down, check to see if you were still a wet mess. nothing. laying back down on your bed, you placed a hand on your heaving chest and ran your free hand down your face. what just happened? what was going on? you had to find out, you had to get to the bottom of this.

which meant having to go back to his house. on guard, and once again with someone. you decided to bring a colleague that you despised, but it would be better to sacrifice her than your friend.

you sat across the dining table, and despite how predictable it was, you excused yourself to the bathroom, keeping note as to how his eyes focused on your ass. never miss the details, you thought to yourself. you headed to the bathroom, opening the door to turn the lights on before shutting the door. with a few fake thuds just outside the bathroom door, you took your heels off and carefully took them with you around the staircase. with the layout of the house, the dining room wouldn't give clear access to the left side of the kitchen. which meant that the pantry could be entered carefully without him noticing. your colleague was busy entertaining him about her vacation in milan, her loud voice thunderous enough to rattle the house... and enough to mask the creaking of the pantry door as you slipped inside. it was cold, almost like entering the arctic as you pulled out a tiny flashlight to guide you through the foreign place. the meat hung forlornly from the hooks, the torse of a pig on display. you frowned at the ink patterns on the meat, and you hesitantly turned it around. you'd seen these marks before somewhere. a vacation trip with your friends that you planned one evening. someone had dragged you into the pool as a prank and when you floated to the surface, spluttering out the chlorine water, your hands found the shoulders of a man inked with tattoos on his back. it was lewis. your flashlight slipped out of your hands and clattered onto the metal railings.

"fuck, fuck, fuck!" you hissed, scrambling to grab the small material. you were delighted that your suspicions were correct, that this entire time you were right about verstappen. but you needed to get out. you could see the shadow of footsteps underneath the pantry door. there was a back entrance to the pantry, and you stumbled towards it. from the corner of your eye you noticed a bottle of liquid and you uncapped it with your teeth, chugging the liquid down. you really needed some wine to calm your nerves down at the moment. letting the bottle roll back onto the metal table, you ran out the door into the open woods. you'd have to go around the path to get back to your car in the front of the house. the more minutes you stood to think about a plan, the more time was being wasted. from the distance, you could hear the back entrance of his house being opened and you whined out loud, pushing your feet to continue running. you didn't want to die, not like this... no, not now, not ever!

and yet with each step that you took, you felt a strong pain inside you. that pain you felt when you had dinner for the first time at his house. you were craving for something, you didn't know. was it his tongue again? no, what? why were you thinking about that awful nightmare? you remembered the outline of his cock during your first appointment, oh it looked delectable. you could've gotten on your knees then and sucked him as payment for the appointment! as your mind was reeling with uncontrolled desire, your knees buckled and your leg caught onto a root from a tree. crashing forward with a loud groan, you struggled to get back up on your feet when you felt the underside of a boot press gently against your neck, pushing your face onto the ground.

"i told you before i liked things that run. at this point, you're just teasing me," a familiar dutch voice rang from above you. the boot nudged you over onto your back, causing you to hold back a whimper at the sensation. you were sensitive to everything, your skin on fire as he trailed his foot down your body and right below your heat. right below where your desire was burning.

"y-you killed them. i was right, you killed them all," you weakly laughed, "i was right this entire fucking time."

"round of applause for you, ms. (l/n), oh wait..." he paused, looking around the empty woods before he glanced down to you, "no one's here." he rubbed the toe-box of his boot against your clothed cunt, enjoying the way your back arched, squealing at the way your clit was being dragged along your damp panties.

"tsk tsk tsk," he circled to stand right in front of you between your legs, "you always missed the details. you could've made it, you know? you could've gotten to your car and made it back to your house, schatje. but it's your carelessness... what did you drink before you came out here?"

"w-w-wine?" you responded, tilting your head. you let out another moan as the boot dug deeper onto your mound.

"wine mixed into the aphrodisiac. which would've been my last resort if you had properly rescheduled the appointment that we never finished. details, ms. (l/n), always look at the details," he knelt down, letting his hand replace his boot. the warmth of his fingers made you whine, begging him to end your suffering. your mind was purely empty - save the thought of having him satisfy your primal needs. he bunched up your panties, tugging them up to see your pussy coat the fabric with more of your juices, "fuck... you're so wet. it must hurt doesn't it? you wish you had someone to help you, schat?"

"yes, yes, yes please... please!" you cried, bucking your hips up. max laughed, seeing the way your pussy was grinding against your panties. he ripped them off of you, throwing them over his shoulder as he picked you up into his arms, carrying you as if you were his bride.

"i think a change of environment will put you in your place." he mumbled, and while you didn't catch onto it at first, when he tossed you onto the metal table in his pantry, you felt fear course through your body. "such a nice suit i had on today, and now you made me ruin it."

he slips off his coat and vest, rolling the sleeves of his shirt that hugged his biceps. he searched around the pantry for a while before grabbing an apron, tying it around his slim waist. he gazed up at you as his chin tucked into his neck and he let out a dry laugh, "you know... if you had just stuck to your job, this wouldn't have been a problem. always wanting to be the hero, when you're the villain yourself."

he grabbed the butcher knife, tossing it in the air a couple times, "i used to keep him with a bunch of other knives, all neatly organized just like i love. had to use him so often these days that he gets his own special spot. what do you think? he's beautiful isn't he?" he holds the knife up to your hooded eyes, and when you don't respond, he uses the butt of the utensil to slap your face, beckoning you to respond.

"i-it's nice," you mumbled, and he nods his appreciatively, letting the sharp edge of the object gently kiss your skin before he cut away at your dress and bra, exposing all of you to him. he saw the lump in your throat when you swallowed, and he brought the edge of the knife to your neck, watching you crane around to avoid the sharp edge. he tossed the knife in the air once again, which caused you to shriek out loud in fear that it'll slice you but he caught it and tapped the butt of the knife on your lips.

"suck," he commanded, and still clouded by the aphrodisiac, you do what he asked and twirled your tongue around the tip before opening your mouth wider and letting it fully devour your throat. you caught your reflection in the metal, and you can't even believe how blinded you must be. the details, the details, the details. the body of daniel hanging above you, staring at you with closed eyes and parted lips should have you screaming as you rolled your eyes back, but instead you're feeling yourself growing wetter, eager to please max. the weapon hits your teeth as max trailed your saliva down the valley of your tits, over your navel and to your cunt that's been so desperate this entire time. he pursed his lips as if he was deep in thought and then brought his free hand to spread your legs wider, shoving the butt of the knife into you. the feeling of being stretched out, of finally being filled - even if only a little - had your back escape the confines of the metal table, your tits out in the air as you're sobbing in joy. max saw the way you're mewling, body contorting in pleasure and he left your cunt empty once again before slamming the butcher knife right beside your head. your breath hitched in your throat, the fear once again settling but it made your heart race in excitement. there was a small thrill present, maybe he was right earlier. you were the villain all along. you were worse than him. he took off the apron, unbuckling his belt and he snickered,

"you could've grabbed the knife and stabbed me by now, but you didn't... too desperate to get fucked, isn't that right, liefje?"

he let his cock spring free from the confines that tormented him since the day he saw you at the BAU. head held high, a haughty gleam in your eyes. the arrogance as you talked down to him, acted as if you were superior. he was waiting all along for this moment. his cock slid against your folds and when he pushed in, the tears that flowed from your eyes combined with the guttural moan made him smile. something was missing though, something that could make this so much more better for him. and as he began to thrust, he glanced up to see another corpse from a previous victim hanging to the side. a cruel idea formed in his mind and he grinned down at you,

"schatje, i don't think i could bring myself to hurt you... not when you're being such a good slut for me," he cooed, "but... but a man can't help but imagine..."

he grabbed hold of the butcher knife, slicing the corpse and letting the blood splatter onto the top half of your body. it trickled onto the table beneath you, the tiled floor now the canvas of a new twisted desire. he laughed out loud at the sight of half of your face covered in blood, and he brought the coated knife to your neck, continuing to thrust his aching cock into you as you screamed out loud in a horrid mix of fear and desire. you could feel your cunt clamp onto his cock, so close to cumming as his thrusts became more erratic.

"i knew you'd like this... you came all this way here to see if you could understand me. schat, but do you even know who you are?" he questioned, letting the edge of the knife kiss your neck. and as you came undone with a scream, your vision blurring at the intensity, you realized he was right all along. the details, you missed all the details. your parents death wasn't because of some man that had swerved the car late at night. it was you. you swung the sledgehammer at the car while they were driving down the highway, drunk out of your mind out of anguish from all the abuse you faced as a child. the man stopped to see the commotion and you sent his body flying down the hill. you'd done it, you were a murderer. you were twisted, you were... you were as bad as him. you glanced up to see max still bullying your cunt, pushing you to another orgasm before you could process the toll your body was taking in the process.

"your scent always drove me wild," he whispered, leaning down to bite your nipple, "fuck, schatje... i'll give you a deal." he lifted his head slightly to meet your gaze, "we can work together, you know? with your skill and this cunt of yours, i could keep you around. no harm to you at all, unless of course you'd like it."

"t-the blog... no, no, i can't... i'm better than you. i'm not you, i'm not fucked up like - oh fuck, don't stop!" your argument melts away with each snap of his hips,

"you have no other choice here. there's two ways this can go. you keep coming to my office, be my personal slut, trained completely to take my cock and i'll let you live... with the added benefit of working and helping me. and if you don't," the butcher knife digs a bit deeper into your neck, "i think you understand what i mean, right schatje?"

you nod your head, throwing your head back as you let out another visceral scream as your second orgasm rips through your body. he captures your lips in a bruising kiss, murmuring praises at how perfect you'd be, how you were always destined for this, no matter how much your ego told you differently.

and yet as you laid beside him on his bed that night, well-cleaned and taken care of as his new trophy, you secretly uploaded the photos of his pantry to your blog and slipped out of his house, past your dead colleague in the living room. he'd come after you, that was for sure. but he liked to hunt, and you've learned to run.

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igotanidea · 2 days ago

Text

The talk : Dick Grayson X reader ( with Bruce Wayne)

A/n : it's a snippet, I might consider writing it fully

Warning: suggestive but not explicit

Summary: it's time for the bees and bird talk with Dick

***

Bruce walking in on a young adult! Dick and his girlfriend y/n getting cosy between the sheets.

Obviously, as a normally functioning adult and a father, even if just a foster one, the batman takes it upon himself to have a talk about bees and birds with his favourite son.

He got it all planned out, schemed, thought out to avoid surprises and misunderstandings.

He actually had the contingency plans from A to Z drafted for a while, only hoping that those would never come to use.

Unfortunately, seeing y/n, with her blouse undone, hair a mess and Dick's hands (and apparently more) on her, forces Bruce to retreat to hide the blush creeping on. The last piece of his dignity is gone and he is pretty sure there's no good way to recover from such a failure.

He had reached the ultimate botttom.

"Hey B, you good?" Hours later Dick found him in the batcave, engrossed in some feigned, quickly fixed work. It was too easy to figure he would hide there to avoid seeing or - god forbid - hear anything.

"Hm."

"You wanted to talk to me about something, didn't you?" He grinned, delighting in a way Bruce seemed to develop an eye twich.

"Hm".

"Great. I got some time before I get back to y/n, so?"

"Get back?" Bruce turned to face his son and immediately regretted it. He seriously wished to erase the sight of lipstick and love bites on his neck.

"Something wrong?" Once more dick flashed a smile, trying to force a reaction out of Bruce.

"hm."

"we're being safe"

"Amazing"

"and she's okay with it"

"Great"

"And I've studied female anatomy so I know a thing or two about --"

Oh dear lord...

"Dick." Bruce was an inch from having a spasm. How ironic it would turn out to be if gotham lost its protector because of certain golden boy growing up.

"hey did you know that --"

"Get out, Dick."

"But I thought you wanted to--"

"I said get out"

"-talk?"

"I believe you got it all wrong. It was Alfred. Yes. Alfred wanted to talk to you. Not me."

"You sure about it B? You want me to talk to Alfred about -"

"yes. Absolutely. Now go. I'm sure time is of essence"

"it is. Though Alfred took some time off, thanks to your generosity, Bruce. So I'll go, sure, but I've already got so many questions that I don't want to search online and--"

"Dick?" Y/n voice sounded dangerously close to the batcave entrance "Where are you? I'm gonna have to go soon and I need a proper goodbye --"

"coming!!!" Dick yelled rushing off the room " great talk, Bruce. We'll continue it later."

Dick left and Bruce was finally able to let out a groan. The masterplanner forgot to acknowledge the fact that sweet kids tend to turn into feral, hormonal young adults and require actual upbringing.

***

"you're so mean to him, you know that?" Y/m muttered, once again with his lips on hers

"mean? Who, me? Ouch! You're hurting my heart here princess."

"you are. He could easily be a DILF, yet is alone and you're tormenting him."

"but if you saw the look on his face --"

"you're only proving my point of you being mean".

"I'm sure he'll get some, some day--"

"but still- mmm!"

"I remind you that you enabled the plan baby.... Played quite an important part in it." Dick started kissing her a little harder, not even trying to hide where he was heading. "Wonder why that is..."

"cause you're also a -- ohh!"

"you were saying?" He smirked, looking up at her.

"-prick"

"Am I?" His hands moved where she liked it "what else?"

"liar..." She gasped. While it was true he didn't tell her why he invited her over and that his father was in, his movements were serving as a pretty good apology.

Even if knowing Dick it was obviously also a way to boost his ego and prove his point and complete his twisted and deranged plan.

"you know what, I've already had one talk, I don't really need another.... Rather keep my lips occupied with something else --"

***

Bruce came out of the batcave only after making sure it was safe.

Mentally cursing himself for having not one, but four boys under his care.

Which meant that this - whatever it was-- was about to happen again.

#Dick Grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson smut #nightwing smut #dick grayson x you #nightwing x you

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waywardangel-wilds · 9 hours ago

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I don't know why, but the ask you sent me @mollywog disappeared from my drafts??? Anyway, this is to answer that ask: I wish you would write bromance/friendship Peeta and Gale.

"Oh!" Gale throws his hands over his head. "And that's how it's done!"

Peeta watches on, unimpressed, as he absentmindedly texts his girlfriend back: Sorry gonna be home late. Something wrong with Gale.

Katniss's reply is immediate: 😞

"Are you in or you still too chicken shit?" Gale grins, dropping back into the booth across from him to take a long drink from his beer.

"I'm just a better gambler than you." He replies dryly. He looks back at the dartboard briefly while Finnick shoves his way out over Gale to take his turn.

"He's just chicken shit," Finnick adds in, shoving Gale's head out of the way when he doesn't let him out of the booth immediately.

"Thanks for that," Peeta picks up his beer and takes a drink. He turns back to Gale. "So?"

"What?" the other man replies.

"Why am I here?" he asks exasperatedly. "You know I have a job, right? Those things people do? For money? Yeah, not optional for me."

"Ugh, you're such a killjoy." Gale groans throwing his head back against the seat. He's a little drunk. "I don't know, I just wanna hang out, okay?"

"I'm leaving," Peeta stands and yanks his coat on. He's been here for the better part of the night and he still has no idea why Gale made it seem like he was in the middle of a crisis. He's never answering his texts again.

"Wait!" Gale calls after him with a stressed look to him. "Fine. Sit down."

"Madge," he drums his fingers against the table, "is leaving me."

Peeta blinks at him, shocked. Gale and Madge are high school sweethearts. They were going to get married by the end of the summer. Peeta already bought a suit.

"Oh shit," he sits back down. "Are you okay?"

Gale shrugs and takes another drink, his eyes taking on a troubled look. "I'm fine."

"Do you wanna come back to the house? You and Katniss should prob-"

"I'm not gonna talk to Katniss about this." Gale cuts him off, dropping the bottle back to the table with a thump. "She's on her side."

"There's no sides," Peeta shakes his head.

"There are." Gale rolls his eyes. "Girls side with each other."

"Women," Peeta corrects. Gale glares at him. "Sorry, too easy."

Gale groans, dropping his head to his hand.

"Uh, what happened?" Peeta asks. He's never seen Gale so, openly emotional? "Did you guys have a fight? or-"

"We had a fight." Gale interrupts again. "I'm a work-obsessed maniac who doesn't even want to have kids, I'm just marrying her because it's what we're supposed to do. Apparently."

Peeta raises his eyebrows, "that's rough."

"It isn't true!" Gale insists. "I want to get married. And yeah, I care about my job, but so what? I worked hard to get where I am, what am I supposed to do? Fucking-"

"What's going on?" Finnick asks, having returned to their table with another round of beers.

Peeta shoots him a look meanwhile Gale groans and drops his head to his hands again.

"Madge dumped him," Peeta hisses. Finnick's face pales.

"Oh, fuck, I'm sorry man." Finnick puts the beers down slowly like he's worried they'll explode. "That's-- I'm sorry."

"My ma's gonna kill me," Gale moans miserably.

Peeta smiles involuntarily. "Listen, maybe it's nothing."

"She said she never wanted to see me again!" Gale argues, his eyes like an accusation.

"Yeah but, maybe it was just a fight? You both probably said stuff you didn't mean." Peeta says. "Maybe you both just need to cool off for a bit. Talk it out in the morning."

Gale scoffs, "yeah right."

"No! Come on, we all do it." He looks over at Finnick for some encouragement. Finnick looks at him like he just threw him a hot potato without any prompting. "Right? You and Annie argue all the time, don't you."

Finnick jumps as if physically struck. He looks at Gale's miserable face and blanches. "Uh, yeah. All the time."

"What could you and Annie possibly argue about?" Gale asks derisively.

"Stuff." Finnick shrugs. "You know, whose turn is it to do the laundry, why is Finn saying the f-word so much. Just stuff."

"Wow, tough." Gale rolls his eyes. "Mellark?"

"What?" Peeta looks at Finnick for a lifeline but he just shrugs at him. "Me and Katniss?"

"No, you and your mother. Obviously you and Katniss." Gale bites.

"Um, I don't remember anything specific." He fiddles with the label on his beer. "But yeah, mean stuff sometimes. Like..." he trails off. "Oh right! The other day she called me an idiot."

"Did she actually mean that or was she joking?" Gale asks with disinterest.

Peeta turns sheepish. "Okay, so she didn't mean it, but we really do fight all the time!" He insists. "It's just not that big of a deal! We cool off and move on, which is what you and Madge can do tomorrow."

"Tell me you and Katniss have actually had a real fight in the past year and I'll go." Gale challenges. "I dare you."

Peeta sighs, "Fine." He drums his fingers against the table while Gale's eyes bore into his skull. "We fight about money."

"Money?" Gale asks.

"Oh, that's a tough one." Finnick scratches at his beard. "Annie and I too, before I got the new job. That sucks."

"Yeah," Peeta agrees. "I don't know, we just move on. Katniss doesn't want to feel like she depends on me for anything, but I always tell her that she can, I'm not going anywhere or anything but she's-"

"A pain in the ass?" Gale offers.

"Stubborn,” he corrects. “And independent.”

“That’s married for pain in the ass,” Finnick intercepts.

“Yeah, she can be a pain in the ass,” Peeta admits. “But I love her. So, whatever.” He shrugs. “I just deal with it.”

“Oh, I see.” Gale turns to Finnick. “He just rolls over and takes it.”

“I don’t,” Peeta rolls his eyes.

“I think what Peeta’s trying to say,” Finnick interjects. “Is that sometimes you just gotta deal. Meet in the middle. It’s an argument not a war. At the end of the day you still gotta like each other.”

“I don’t know, I just don’t have the fucking patience, you know?” Gale rubs a hand through his hair. “I just- I get all defensive and… I guess I’d just rather hurt her before she hurts me?”

“That’s really unhealthy,” Finnick says. “Just so you know.”

“If you want to get married you have to stop thinking about her as someone who’s gonna up and leave,” Peeta adds.

“What are you talking about? You’re not even engaged.” Gale snaps.

“Well…” Peeta trails off, playing with the beer label. “I asked.”

“What?” Gale snaps.

“Congratulations!” Finnick exclaims at virtually the same time, slapping Peeta’s shoulder. “That’s huge!”

“She said no,” Gale reads his expression.

“She said she’d ‘think’ about it.” He corrects, still playing with the bottle. “She’s not ready.” He shrugs.

“Oh,” Finnick whispers awkwardly.

“What?” Gale frowns. “That’s stupid. Does she think she can do better? She can be such a fucking idiot-“

“Okay, don’t talk about her like that,” Peeta interrupts. “She’s allowed to say no, okay?”

“And you’re just okay with this?” Gale stares at him like he’s insane.

“We’re not going to break up over it, if that’s what you’re asking.” He snaps. “I knew what I was getting into when I got involved with Katniss Everdeen, alright?”

“Damn,” Gales leans back against the booth.

“So yeah,” Peeta’s voice calms. He lays his hands on the table. “Come on, you can sleep on my couch and call Madge in the morning.”

Finnick puts a hand on his shoulder, “it’ll all work out.” The older man smiles at him.

“Thanks,” Peeta says with some annoyance. He stands. “Gale?”

“Fine,” his friend grumbles, yanking on his coat upside down. “But I don’t wanna deal with your girlfriend, keep her away from me.”

“I’m sure your beloved cousin wants nothing to do with you either,” Peeta replies dryly.

#the hunger games #everlark #thg #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #fanfic #send asks!!#send asks #katniss and peeta

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planetpedri · 7 hours ago

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hiii

could u write an academic enemies to lovers for kenan yildiz pleaseeee

Do I wanna know? 𖦹 Kenan Yildiz !

summary. You’d known Kenan since you were kids, you’d despised him since you were kids, and even know in college, you—oh. Maybe you didn’t?

word count. 545+

disclaimers. banter / slight enemies to lovers due to rivlary

bea speaks! didn’t even realize i’ve had this in my drafts since september i am so so sorry??? and this is kind of open ending but wtv i need it out of my drafts asap

You’d thought leaving your hometown for university would mean freedom—freedom from him. Kenan Yizdiz. But, as if the universe found pleasure in your misery, Kenan had shown up at orientation day with the same annoyingly perfect smile, acting as though he wasn’t the bane of your very existence.

You’d known Kenan for as long as you could remember, but not in the way that was heartwarming. No, he’d been your rival since grade school. Always somehow always beating you in everything. The spelling bee’s and honor rolls. Everything.

So, seeing him on orientation day was… well, infuriating.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he had drawled, leaning casually against the registration table as you signed in. “Still chasing my shadow?”

“More like trying to escape it,” you’d snapped, not even sparing him another glance. “Guess I failed that too.”

Now, three years later, Kenan is still somehow everywhere. In your classes. In the library. Everywhere. He’s still the same old Kenan—competitive, cocky, and stupidly good at everything he does.

But that wasn’t even the worst part. It was the way his smug grin grows wider every time he beats you (which is annoyingly often.)

The final straw comes when you were both nominated for the same prestigious academic award for your class. Today, you’d caught him the library with dozens of books spread around his study table.

“You’re really trying to win this, huh?” You ask, slamming your book into the table across from him.

Kenan’s gaze flickers up to you, unimpressed. “What gave it away, genius? The mountain of research around me or the fact that I’m not out partying like a dog like you act like I do?”

Okay, attitude.

“Hard work doesn’t make you special, Yildiz,” you shoot back. “It simply makes you tolerable.”

“Funny.” He counters quickly, leaning back into his chair. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

The two of you lock eyes, and for a moment something shifts. You were so used to the banter, the constant push and pull, that it takes you by surprise when his smug smirk.. softens?

“Why do you even hate me so much?” He asks, voice dropping into a quieter tone, breaking the silent tension. “You’ve been acting like this since we were kids. Like I stole your puppy or something.”

Your posture straightens and you shift on your feet uncomfortably. “Well, Frank did run to you before me that once.” You scoff at the memory of your childhood dog and Kenan, “and, I don’t hate you, Kenan. I just don’t like losing to you. That’s all.”

The brunettes lips twitch into a grin, “Is that so? Because I don’t mind losing to you.”

That.. well, it shut you up. Your eyes lock on his, stunned, while he gathers his books. As he walks past, he leans down just enough to whisper in your ear, his hot breath painting your cheeks a crimson red.

“Maybe if you stopped trying so hard to beat me—to dislike me, you’d realize we could make a really good team.”

Then he leaves.

Leaving you standing there, pulse racing, wondering what the hell just happened. And when did your agitating rival become someone who made your heart stutter.

Better yet, did you want to know?

likes, comments, and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @lechrts @sakashq @ar4ujos @be11ingham @spidybaby @st4rgirl-ellie @piastri-fvx

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fangdokja · 14 hours ago

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i keep rereading your yan marine corps! x fem reader. what was reader's role that she had to follow the marine's... adventure?

"You’ll never escape me—not when I’m the only one keeping you alive."

❤︎ Synopsis. In a world where death is mercy and survival means suffering, he claims you as his, promising protection through fear, control, and a twisted love that will leave you questioning if escape was ever truly possible.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured (AHD) : A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Marine Corps x Fem. Reader

♡ Oneshot. #2 - The Devil Who Saved You

♡ Word Count. 3,153

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non-con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, descriptions of gore and human suffering, themes of violence and dystopia

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr content guidelines involving minors, some plot details of the original story were changed to fit the platform. If you want the true original story, please look at the author's official website or Ao3.

♡ A/N. I'm glad you enjoyed it :)). I'm surprised you're rereading it a bunch. But, I guess people do technically reread anyway. Sorry, slipped out of my mind. It just makes me happy seeing underrated works get credit, whether fandom or other stories I've written. So, thank you. Anyways. Technically, this was an ask. But it's a nice idea, and I've already had it in my drafts since before. I was just postponing lore dump with Yandere! Marine Corps, due to other works. Anyways. All I knew before, in all honesty, is that it's war time. But, time to pull out the fantasy skills and world build! Wooh! And to be honest, I'm hungry to write some gore crumbs like my familiar writing style, ahh. So, here, I present to you lore backstory (well technically part of the backstory). Hope you all enjoy it (also, sorry I talk a lot in notes).

♡ Music. Levee & Brick (Down to This) by Graffiti Ghosts

The world had fallen into an abyss so deep it seemed there was no end to its descent. The wars that came before—those waged for borders, ideologies, or resources—were merely preludes to this ultimate collapse. What erupted now was not war; it was annihilation. A calamity that turned cities into craters and humanity into prey. Every shred of civility burned away in the endless fires of desperation. The air was thick with the ash of the old world, a grim veil that painted the skies an eternal gray.

You had lived a different life once, one of relative normalcy in the dwindling days before the collapse. Back then, you had a future, a purpose, something as simple and human as hope. But that had been stripped away when the world’s powers unleashed devastation so complete it birthed horrors no living creature could comprehend. Technology had become a weapon of eradication, bioweapons and nanotech turning survivors into deformed creatures of flesh and steel, feral and mindless, hunting whatever moved. Rogue factions—remnants of militaries, mercenaries, and scavengers—rose like carrion birds, preying on the remnants of humanity.

In this hellscape, survival was no longer a matter of luck but of submission. Submission to those strong enough to carve their will into the earth and impose their dominion. He was one of those few. A towering force of unyielding violence, a soldier molded by decades of carnage, by a war that had reshaped him from a man into something closer to a machine of flesh and blood. The United Corps, once a venerated military institution, had fractured into splinter groups, each operating like a self-contained warlord’s regime. He was among their best—a leader, an executioner, a strategist, and now your captor.

You were assigned to him by pure chance—or perhaps cruel design. In this new order, value wasn’t measured by money or power but by the usefulness of flesh and mind. And you had been marked as useful. Perhaps it was your background—your knowledge, your resilience, or simply the misfortune of catching his attention when your convoy was intercepted by his unit. The corps didn’t merely take prisoners; they assessed, dissected, and consumed whatever remnants of humanity they deemed salvageable.

And he deemed you salvageable.

There were no illusions about the nature of his claim over you. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t mercy. It was obsession, possessive and cruel, born of a warped sense of necessity. “You belong to me now,” he had told you in that deep, unrelenting tone, the heat of his breath warming your face even as the chill of his words froze your soul. “Out there, they’ll rip you apart for the scraps on your bones. With me, you’ll live—if you behave.”

The battlefield was safer than the no-man’s land outside his dominion. That was the most damning truth. To run from him was to dive into a living nightmare where survival wasn’t a goal but a punishment. Outside his protection, death was not granted quickly.

You’d seen it. You’d heard the screams echoing through the wastelands, watched the crude factories churn with suffering. He’d forced you to look once, pressing your face against the window of a blood processing plant as tears streaked down your cheeks. “This is what’s waiting for you if you run,” he had whispered, his voice devoid of sympathy. “With me, you’re mine. Out there, you’re theirs. Decide.”

────────────

The smell hit you first. It wasn’t just the copper tang of blood; it was the rancid stench of rotting flesh mixed with chemicals—formaldehyde, acid, and something sour that clawed at the back of your throat. You gagged, instinctively raising a trembling hand to cover your nose, but he was quicker. His large, calloused fingers wrapped around your wrist, dragging your arm back down with enough force to make you whimper.

“Don’t look away,” he growled, his voice low and gravelly, vibrating like a distant explosion. “You need to see this.”

You didn’t want to see. You didn’t! But he held you there, his unyielding grip on your wrist a silent command. He stood just behind you, close enough that his breath fanned across the back of your neck, hot and suffocating.

The factory loomed before you like the mouth of some great beast, its jagged, rusted metal teeth glinting in the dim light of the sulfur-stained sky. The air outside had been foul, but inside, it was worse—a miasma of decay and despair.

The conveyor belts stretched endlessly, carrying bodies in various states of disassembly. Some were intact, their limbs hanging limply as they were dragged by crude metal hooks. Others were barely recognizable—mangled flesh and shattered bone mashed together in a grotesque parody of humanity. You tried to look away, to focus on the machinery, but even that was a nightmare of grinding gears slick with gore.

A loud, wet squelch drew your attention to a nearby station. A corpse—a woman, or at least what remained of her—was hoisted onto a steel slab. Her eyes were still open, glassy and staring, as if frozen in the moment of her death. A mechanical arm descended, its blade glinting dully under the flickering industrial lights. It carved into her chest with a precision that was almost surgical, splitting her ribcage open to reveal the organs beneath.

You felt bile rise in your throat as another arm extended, pincers gripping her heart. It yanked the organ free with a sickening suction sound, sending a spray of blood across the walls and floor. The heart was deposited into a waiting vat, where it joined dozens of others, floating in a viscous, murky liquid.

“They don’t waste anything,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion, as if he were explaining the workings of a simple machine. “Every part has a purpose. The skin for leather. The bones for tools. The organs for… whatever the hell they need them for.”

Your knees buckled, but he caught you, his arm snaking around your waist to keep you upright. “No,” he hissed, his breath hot and sharp against your ear. “You don’t get to faint. You’re going to watch. You’re going to understand.”

A scream tore through the air, high-pitched and raw, and you realized with horror that some of them weren’t dead. Your eyes darted to the source of the sound, landing on a man thrashing against his restraints as he was dragged toward another station. His legs were gone, severed at the thighs, and the stumps had been crudely cauterized to keep him alive.

“Please,” the man sobbed, his voice hoarse and desperate. “Please, just kill me. Just—”

The blade came down before he could finish, cleaving his remaining arm from his body. His scream turned guttural, the sound of a soul breaking, before it was cut off entirely by a needle plunging into his neck. The liquid injected was thick and black, spreading through his veins like oil. His body convulsed violently for a moment before going still.

You turned your head, choking on a sob, but he gripped your chin and forced you to face the scene again. His fingers dug into your skin, bruising and relentless.

“This is what happens without me,” he said, his voice a low snarl. “You think you can survive out there? Think you can make it without my protection? Look at them!” He shook you slightly, as if to drive the point home. “This is what you are without me—meat.”

Tears streamed down your face, hot and shameful, as you stared at the conveyor belts and the countless bodies reduced to parts. You couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop the nausea that twisted your stomach into knots.

Another scream pierced the air, this one an elder's. Your head snapped toward the sound, and your heart plummeted. A thin figure, frail and sickly, was strapped to a table, his wide, terrified eyes fixed on the approaching machinery.

“No,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “No, no, no…”

The machine didn’t care. The blades descended, and you squeezed your eyes shut, the image burned into your mind even as you tried to block it out.

He didn’t let you escape even that. His hand tightened on your jaw, forcing your eyes open. “Don’t you dare look away,” he growled. “This is reality. This is what’s waiting for you if you run.”

You broke then, sobbing uncontrollably, your body wracked with shuddering breaths. He held you there, unyielding, until you were too weak to fight. Only then did he pull you close, his grip on you shifting from punishing to possessive.

“That’s right,” he murmured, his tone softening in a way that was somehow more terrifying. “You understand now, don’t you? You’re mine. And as long as you’re mine, this will never happen to you.”

His lips brushed against your temple, a mockery of comfort as he whispered, “But if you ever forget, I’ll bring you back here. And I’ll make you watch again.”

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The battlefield stretched like a bleeding wound across the earth, jagged trenches carved into the mud and ash. The remnants of what had once been cities were nothing more than skeletal buildings clawing at the smog-choked sky. The air was thick with the acrid tang of burning fuel and the gut-wrenching stench of charred flesh. Bomb craters bubbled with viscous, oily water that gleamed under the pale, radioactive sun. It was a place where hope had been smothered, where humanity’s last breaths came in choking, gurgling gasps.

He stood before you, his shadow long and oppressive, a monolith of muscle and bloodied steel. His armor—if you could call the piecemeal, blood-streaked remains of his tactical gear armor—clung to him like a second skin, the fabric worn thin and blackened with soot. In his hand, a rifle dangled lazily, as though he didn’t need it. And he didn’t. He was a weapon unto himself, his body and mind honed by decades of violence, cruelty, and war.

“Do you remember this place?” His voice was a low rumble, scraping against your nerves like a blade dragged across bone. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, bore into you with a force that made your knees weak. “Where I found you?”

You nodded faintly, though you didn’t trust your voice enough to speak. Your silence wasn’t just fear—it was a learned response, a survival tactic you’d mastered in the years since he’d claimed you.

“Do you know what they were going to do to you?” He crouched, bringing his face level with yours. His presence was suffocating, his frame dwarfing your own. His voice dropped lower, almost tender, as though sharing a secret. “No, you don’t. You only saw what they let you see. Let me show you the rest.”

He yanked you forward, his grip on your wrist unyielding, and led you toward the edge of the battlefield. The ground squelched beneath your feet, a revolting mixture of mud, blood, and something viscous that you didn’t want to identify. In the distance, the ruins of an old hospital came into view. The building leaned at an unnatural angle, its walls crumbling but still intact enough to conceal the horrors within.

“You’ve seen death,” he said, his tone conversational, as though discussing the weather. “But you haven’t seen what people do when death isn’t enough. When they want to break you first.”

The interior of the hospital reeked of antiseptic and decay. The sterile smell of chemicals clashed with the unmistakable odor of rot. The walls were streaked with dark stains, their origins uncomfortably clear as you stepped over discarded limbs, the flesh marbled with gangrene and crude surgical scars.

In the first room, a soldier lay strapped to a gurney, his body contorted unnaturally. His chest had been split open, ribs wrenched apart like the wings of a grotesque bird. His heart was missing, the cavity where it had once beat filled with a tangled mess of wires and tubing. The machinery whirred softly, pumping fluids through his veins and forcing his lungs to expand and contract in shallow, mechanical breaths. His eyes were still open, rolling wildly in their sockets as they locked onto you.

“He’s alive,” the man behind you whispered, his voice a mix of mockery and menace. “Barely. They like to see how far they can push the human body before it gives out. Sometimes they even stitch people back together, just to see how much more they can take.”

You gagged, your stomach lurching violently, but he grabbed your chin, forcing you to face the horror. “Don’t look away,” he commanded, his tone sharp and unyielding. “You need to understand. This is what was waiting for you.”

He dragged you into another room, this one colder, darker. Rows of tanks filled the space, each containing a murky, greenish fluid that distorted the shapes inside. At first, you thought they were bodies, but as you moved closer, you realized they were something worse. Limbs were fused together in impossible configurations, heads sprouted from torsos without necks, and eyes blinked independently in faces twisted beyond recognition. The creatures floated listlessly, their expressions a grotesque mix of agony and confusion.

“Human experimentation,” he explained, almost lazily. “They weren’t trying to kill you. They were going to use you. Turn you into something like this. A weapon. Or worse—a resource.”

You stumbled backward, but he caught you, his arm curling around your waist with a possessive strength that left no room for escape. He pressed his lips to your ear, his voice a dark caress. “I killed them all for you. Do you see now why you belong to me? Why you owe me your life?”

He pushed you onward, through rooms filled with horrors you couldn’t have imagined in your darkest nightmares. A man impaled on a series of metal rods, his skin flayed back to expose muscle and bone, still breathing through a series of tubes jammed into his throat. A woman with her limbs replaced by crude prosthetics, her mouth sewn shut but her eyes screaming. People of all ages locked in cages, their bodies twisted and deformed, their cries muffled by gags soaked in blood.

“This is what humanity has become,” he said, his voice cold and detached. “This is what I saved you from. You were a prize to them. A rare find. They would’ve broken you in ways you can’t even imagine.”

You fell to your knees, the weight of it all crashing down on you. He crouched beside you, his bloodied hand gripping your chin and forcing you to look at him. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, were filled with something dark, something terrifyingly close to affection.

“Don’t forget this,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Don’t ever forget who saved you. Who you belong to. Because without me…” His voice trailed off as he gestured toward the carnage around you. “This is all you’d ever know.”

You sobbed, the sound muffled against his chest as he pulled you into his arms. His embrace was as suffocating as it was unyielding, a cage that you could never escape. And yet, in that moment, you clung to him, because the alternative was too horrifying to bear.

────────────

So you stayed.

Not because you trusted him. Not because you wanted him. But because the alternative was infinitely worse. And yet, staying came with its own horrors, its own chains. His obsession didn’t shield you from his cruelty; it only redirected it. He was a man who didn’t just command obedience—he demanded submission. Every glance, every word, every trembling breath was a reminder of your place beneath him. When he touched you, it wasn’t with gentleness. His hands were calloused and bruising, gripping and claiming, leaving marks that would never fade.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he would say when your eyes filled with defiance or despair. “You’re still alive because I allow it.”

The world outside was dead, a barren wasteland of mutilation and starvation, yet with him, the torment was suffocatingly personal. He didn’t just want your compliance; he wanted your surrender. His words were a scalpel, cutting into your psyche with surgical precision. He would pull you close, his breath hot against your ear, his voice low and gravelly as he whispered promises of protection intertwined with threats so visceral they made your stomach churn.

“You’re mine,” he’d say, his hand resting possessively on your throat. “Every inch of you. Every thought. Every breath. Try to take that away from me, and I’ll show you what real pain feels like.”

There were moments when his control slipped, when the line between protector and predator blurred beyond recognition. He would keep you close, his body a cage of muscle and violence, his gaze piercing through your facade of composure. The way his hands roamed wasn’t tender—it was invasive, a reminder that he could take whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and there was nothing you could do to stop him.

And yet, you didn’t resist. Couldn’t. Resistance wasn’t a choice. Not here. Not with him.

The world outside was unlivable. The world with him was unbearable. Between the two, you chose to endure.

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If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “A Heart Devoured”: @definetlythinkimanalien , @floooring

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someprettyname · 1 day ago

Text

Pairing : Bachira Meguru x Reader

Basics : SFW, aged up readers, reader is a certain someone's sister

Your eyes observe the light bounce off the golden of your champagne as you swirl it in your flute. Well, that's all there was to observe anyways.

You sigh and look around. God. Why did you let your brother drag you here to begin with?

"Careful!" Your head whips towards the source of the warning, an eyebrow raised. "You might step on my heart which just fell for you."

You blink slowly. Did he just.... Oh. Yeah. He really just used that on you. You scoff in amusement.

Then why is it that you are NOT unimpressed?

You scan him up head to toe - blunt bangs, highlights, blazer rolled up and first two buttons unbuttoned.

Quirky yet mature.

Hm. Is that golden retriever energy that you sense?

After your initial silence (in your defence, you didn't expect to be hit with such a cheesy pick up line NOW of all times) you speak up, "Good for you, I'm a very careful person." Your tone was hostile enough to let him know you aren't going to entertain another man just looking for hookups but all your initial suspicions are thrown out of the window when he grins.

Oh.

Adorable.

"Well good for me i found YOU of all beautiful then ~"

Yeah. DEFINITELY golden retriever.

You couldn't help but let out an amused chuckle, cheeks flushing slightly. And if you were looking up, right at him you'd have seen the way his eyes lit up with you smiled.

"Y/N," you look up, "in case you wanted to put a name to this beautiful face."

"Meguru," he offers you his hand with sparkly eyes, "Bachira Meguru."

Despite your scepticism (or tiredness, could be either at this point of this time), you couldn't help but smile at his energy as you shake hands, "It suits you," you take a sip as he takes a seat beside you.

He was about to say something in turn when your brother appears behind you, "Bachira!" You almost roll your eyes, "I thought you'd left," he then looks down at you, "enjoying yourself?" You simply shrug.

Are you?

Isagi sighs internally, "In any case, now that you're both here let me introduce you to each other! Y/N this is Bachira, Bachira this is Y/N, my sister."

a/n : i was just in a mood to write and this has been sitting in my drafts since September so i decided to give it a direction. This is my first time writing him so I honestly dunno what I'm doing. If you have any feedback, please do give me. I'm also very tired of electrochemistry. I'll write a part 2 too maybe, i just haven't seen any fics with Bachira where she's isagi's sister so i thought it'd be a fun dynamic to mess with :]

divider credit - @/cafekitsune

#Blue lock x reader #bachira meguru x reader #isagi yoichi #bachira meguru #bachira x reader #bachira x you #blue lock fluff #blue lock x you #bllk x you #Fic : Bachira Meguru #Masterlist

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caterkinnie · 8 hours ago

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Hi Caterkinnie! Your work is really amazing, thank you so much for all your work in the fandom! I think anyone who sees your headcanons days are brightened! May I request Rook, Jamil, Ruggie and Azul or Vil (up to you) with a friend they have been deeply in love with for a long time, who's just broken up from a long-term bad relationship. I'd find it really interesting to see the angst the boys struggled with while their friend was in such a bad relationship--a relationship that would somehow never end no matter how awful or neglectful their partner was (up to your imagination how their partner was)--and how they handled not letting their deepening love/crush show (if that's how they'd handle it. I honestly have no idea as to how Rook especially would handle this situation). And of course, now that there's been an unprecedented breakup, what now? I hope that wasn't too specific. I just thought it'd be interesting because I just broke up from a long-term relationship @__@ (5 years for me... In my case, I was dating a selfish man child. According to my friends, it was heartbreaking to watch because no matter what they said/did or what he said/did it would never end, so they just had to watch the rollercoaster play out while white knuckled). I haven't seen headcanons on this type of situation yet and how the boys would respond, so I'd love to see your headcanons. Not to mention, your writing is so top knotch, and I feel like you really get the complexity of so many of these characters, that I was pumped to ask when I saw your requests are open. If it's too specific or you're not feeling it, I get it! I hope you keep rocking on with this blog and whatever else you're up to! Thank you for the hardwork!

Supporting you through a bad break up...

❥ ⌗ characters: Rook hunt, Jamil Viper, Ruggie Bucchi, Azul Ashengrotto.

❥ ⌗ Summary: After a long long time with the person who you thought was the love of your life, ended the relationship suddenly with the pretext he was no longer in love. You decided to confide your feelings with your closest friend; a friend who happened to be deeply in love with you.

❥ ⌗ tags: tw for toxic relationship, though details aren't given, there are mentions of arguments and toxic behaviour. didn't proofread enough. sorry if ooc.

❥ ⌗ a/n: sorry anon!!!!!!! I've had this drafted since you requested this... and only now i finished it!!! i couldn't bring myself to delete it as I loved the idea so much. Hope if you see this that you're doing so much better now!!!!

Rook made it very clear from the beginning he had feelings for you, but would not attempt to show them.

He also could see the signs of what seemed to be an unhappy relationship that sooner or later was going to come to an end; signs you probably didn't notice.

He's a very caring man, ever since the moment he met you he always tried to help you in any way, and this was no exception; but he also knew, as much as it hurt him, you needed time to realize that the person you loved didn't treat you in the way you deserved to be treated. It hurt him so deeply to see the way he talked to you, but Rook wasn't a hero who would yell at your boyfriend to stop. He had to be subtle — trying to calm the waters when he was around, defending you in his own way. His heart ached, sometimes with jealousy, sometimes with rage — sometimes both, but he refused to let you know about any of these emotions. He was there for you, whether you needed help or advice.

He helped you because he loved you, he constantly told you how important you were to him and there was nothing he wished more than to take you away and treat you like a queen. But alas, his love was not only unrequited, you were in love with someone else.

Oh, how glad he'd be if only one day you woke up and chose him! The selfish part of him wanted to rush, but he knew he had to be patient... Someday it'd happen, or at the very least... you'd be with someone else who makes you happy, and that's something he would like as well.

But when you come to him to tell him everything that happened...

He's going to comfort you and walk you through the feelings the breakup left… In those cases, he's not as mischievous as he typically is. His voice is soft and soothing, as he tries to get your mind off things, as well as being of support when you need it the most…

He can't bring himself to court you while doing so, although deep down, he wishes someday you'll see his efforts, even if he's not exactly expecting you to fall for him…

However, your now ex-boyfriend will avoid you like the plague, and runs away when Rook is nearby, and you wonder if he had something to do with that….

Jamil warned you about your partner a few times, he didn't want to get TOO involved to avoid making you upset, but every time the subject was brought up…. he felt a deep heaviness in his heart that he hated.

The least thing he wanted was for you to notice his feelings. But maybe he was too insistent on the idea that it was best if you broke up…

But those were genuinely good feelings. He saw how bad you were being treated and constantly found himself thinking… “I could do better, so much better…” Yet he hated himself for it. What could he do, if you never saw anything in him?

He feels all of these things, yet it's like… he only wants you to Not Be with your boyfriend. Jamil believes you'd never love him back as well.

If you came to him for advice, he'd give it to you— but his voice was always restrained… and soon enough, he just tried his best to act as if his feelings weren't there, as if he was just a friend who gave advice and was exhausted by you not following it.

But then… it finally happened, but as happy as he felt, seeing how much it affected you.. it didn't feel like victory (even if it was!)

He wouldn't constantly seek you out. But if you need to vent he's always there. He's not good with comforting words… but his honesty can be soothing and grounding. As well as he might sometimes just try to aid you in general, after all… acts of service (unfortunately) are second nature for him.

Whether it's for food… studying… anything. You don't even have to ask… But he's not expecting you to like him back. And not in a cute “he'll wait for you!” kind of way… he thinks you'd never reciprocate his feelings. And he's not sad about that! Jamil just accepted that as a reality. Whether that changes or not is up to you…

Ruggie's pretty straightforward… Not with his feelings, but with his opinion on your boyfriend.

He takes every chance he gets to say something about him and as much as he tries to play it off as a joke, his voice is bitter… He hates him so much!

Ruggie wants to believe he only hates him because you're someone he could dare to call a friend! He denies any other underlying reason for his distaste for your boyfriend that isn't that he's unfair with you... But obviously, he's a bit prideful, a tiiny bit. He couldn't help but try to impress you every time he could. He wished that you'd see how you deserved to be treated… And maaaaybe how much better he is. And he tries for so long, it's kind of obvious if you know him well. If you're observant enough you might have caught on to his feelings.

However, that all changed when you went to him looking for the comfort of a friend, after your relationship ended…

Like Jamil, Ruggie wanted to feel happy, he wanted to celebrate! Finally you weren't tied to that man-child! You could finally focus on yourself and maaaybe on him….. But when he saw how heartbroken you looked, he couldn't bring himself to act on those emotions. You were hurt, and he hated seeing you like that. Though he's pretty awkward at it… He'll try his best to comfort you, but his words feel stiff and you can tell this is not his area of expertise…

He does so much better when it comes to acts of service. He'll try his best to distract you, make you laugh… which is something he'd love to hear again. He won't dare to mention his feelings however. It'd take a long time before he even considers that he could have a chance.

Unlike everyone before, Azul'd rather stay quiet.

He already hated the idea of having feelings for you, and just wanted to forget you existed to make the tightness in his heart disappear. He wasn't one to believe in love, let alone the fact that you were already committed to a relationship…

Yet because of that same reason he wasn't able to leave.

He had a special way of aiding you out of uncomfortable situations and stupid arguments, almost appearing randomly and requesting attention from one of you. The way he dissipated the tense air by just intruding (literally) was almost comical.

Azul's not sure of what to do, as he always regrets helping you, he says you're hopeless and it's up to you to change the situation… as if he doesn't care at all unless you're going to make a deal with him, but then he ALWAYS comes back, lends a listening ear, maybe greets you with some tea and a few snacks… Oh he pays for them, don't worry. It's a gift.

Then he goes back to feeling guilty for helping you, and frustrated for liking you.

….He's a complex guy.

One of those times, you came to talk to him at his office (which the twins knew you had special priority over his other tasks. Even if he never asked.) and told him what happened, you had an argument and it escalated, leading to the breakup… In which he seemed calm as always listening to you… asking you to sit on the couch as he paid attention to your woes.

He was at a loss for words.

Yes, he did believe this was for the best… but this ACTUALLY happening made him realize he never planned what to do beforehand. He repeated the typical routine, something sweet to drink… something soothing to eat… He's a good listener, and he will easily ignore his crush on you to help you better.

His feelings were always second place for him, and Azul seems like the kind of guy who low-key wishes you don't love him back, as he wouldn't know what to do if you did... (even as flattered as he'd feel, he still struggles with trusting people.)

However… if you're too uncomfortable with tour ex… He might ask the twins to aid you if you wish to not see him again! For free of course. You shoule accept his kindness… as he typically doesn't offer such services for free.

Reblogs are appreciated!!!

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #twst #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #ruggie bucchi #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto

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taylor-titmouse · 12 hours ago

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Are there any of your books where you reread and you're like, "yo, I had the SAUCE with this one" ? Books where you were in a flow state so crazy you don't even know if you can replicate it?

hmm. it's less about the reread and more my memory of the experience of writing it, but i think objects of affection is the most focused i've ever been on what i was doing. once i knew what i wanted it to be it came rocketing out, to the point even my editor was like "you hardly need to touch this part" about the samart story, something i've never managed to achieve (and is in its own way harder to deal with, because you'll second guess what edits you Do make forever. but that's for another post)

for a while after writing it and especially after releasing it to the most positive critical response i ever received, it was a bit daunting to think how i could follow it up. i'd raised the bar for myself away from silly, horny shenanigans. i had other ideas in the androids genre, or to revisit the characters, but couldn't imagine writing them if only because simple horniness could undermine the points about misogyny and consent. so i ended up pretty stuck until i let myself just have fun again with the work i'm doing for atra menta.

though in regards to True Flow State, i think the fastest i ever wrote something was my very first book, the captain of the tybaltine. i banged out the first draft of that in ten days. and i think an early unreleased first draft of roger and the vampires was a week? but that draft was Not good so it's hardly worth bragging.

#tt asks

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abbysimsfun · 12 hours ago

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Get to Know Me Better

Thank you so much for the tag @itmeansiris!

Last Song: "Do You Believe In Magic" by The Lovin Spoonful wakes me up most mornings and did today. It's just a bop that says 'Get up, smile or something, and dance a bit after coffee.'

Favorite Color: I don't have one! I have colours I don't like (that awful greenish-brown hair colour from Sims 3 for one and there doesn't need to be so many shades of black in my opinion), but the world is better in multicolour!

(Yes, I DO cry when I watch those 'got my dad glasses to see colour for the first time!' vids and these 60-year-old gruff men realize how beautiful colours truly are.)

Last Movie: We watched a bunch of movies over Christmas - Remember the Night, Edward Scissorhands, Wizard of Oz. Remember the Night was the only one I hadn't seen before but I love Jimmy Stewart and I'll watch him in anything - even Vertigo, despite the fact Kim Novak's acting gives me hives.

Last Book: simblr counts, so your story was the last! Yes, you reading this!) But last actual book I read was Spell Ya Later by Zoe Shae and the final draft of my own second novel (which I may never release, we shall see but releasing your own book ain't cheap) before I sent it to an editor!

Sweet, Spicy or Savory: mmmm... umami (so basically all!) but I have moods for sweet and savoury fairly often. Spicy I don't crave but I like it!

Last Thing I Googled: "Who owns Etsy?" (Black Rock and Vanguard wheee!)

Current Obsession: simblr and the story I'm playing and writing that's become very inspired by simblr!!

Looking Forward To: playing with ballerinas the next time I load up the game, hopefully!!

I tag: @hashimasims @changingplumbob @matchalovertrait @purplesimmer455 @oimygiblets @hellgirl-ix @strawberriesnpopmusic @simscici @dreamyyesenia @simmora and anyone else who wants to do this one! Ignore if you like, and if you're not tagged and want to, I'm tagging you anyway. I'm such an awkward bean about tags. 🤦

#tag game #get to know me

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kaylas-words · 2 days ago

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Wisdom from Stephen King's On Writing

So I tested out my new eReader with Stephen King's On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, and one day and 18 Google Doc pages of quotes later, I found it quite interesting and motivating. These quotes resonated with me most:

I was built with a love of the night and the unquiet coffin, that’s all. If you disapprove, I can only shrug my shoulders. It’s what I have.

Write what you love! Kings of the Wyld by Nicholas Eames immediately comes to mind. I could tell Eames had so much fun writing the book, and it made the whole reading experience that much better. (Highly recommend if you like your fantasy with some blunt, laugh-out-loud humor.)

…let me reiterate that it’s all on the table, all up for grabs. Isn’t that an intoxicating thought? I think it is. Try any goddam thing you like, no matter how boringly normal or outrageous. If it works, fine. If it doesn’t, toss it. Toss it even if you love it. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch once said, “Murder your darlings,” and he was right.

Don't restrict yourself before you've even begun. I need to remember this more often. "But the audience—" "But the plot—" Write for you. Experiment! Especially in your first draft. Even if it doesn't work out, that's wisdom you can take with you.

You can’t please all of the readers all of the time; you can’t please even some of the readers all of the time, but you really ought to try to please at least some of the readers some of the time.

Something else I like to hear. I tend to put wine glasses in my audience's hands and raise their noses, telling myself they would disapprove if I did it like this, the way I want. But there's also a whole world of others that might just enjoy the same things as me, and maybe I can focus a little more on them. (Key: still keeping some semblance of an audience in mind.)

You must tell the truth if your dialogue is to have the resonance and realism that Hart’s War, good story though it is, so sadly lacks—and that holds true all the way down to what folks say when they hit their thumb with the hammer. If you substitute “Oh sugar!” for “Oh shit!” because you’re thinking about the Legion of Decency, you are breaking the unspoken contract that exists between writer and reader— your promise to express the truth of how people act and talk through the medium of a made-up story. ... The point is to let each character speak freely, without regard to what the Legion of Decency or the Christian Ladies’ Reading Circle may approve of. To do otherwise would be cowardly as well as dishonest, and believe me, writing fiction in America as we enter the twenty-first century is no job for intellectual cowards.

King repeats the importance of honesty in writing, and how it invests readers with a layer of life and meaning. This is something I strive for.

My first-draft characters tend to curse more than they probably should—even the ones supposedly known for being more wholesome—but I should strike a four-letter-word for being out of character rather than for worrying what my parents might think when their unvulgar daughter relinquishes one of her chapters to them.

The book gave me a lot to think about, especially where my process differed with King's, but it was also just neat to hear his story. I need to find some more memoirs to read.

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wonder-worker · 5 months ago

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Wild how we know that Elizabeth Woodville was officially appointed to royal councils in her own right during her husband’s reign and fortified the Tower of London in preparation of a siege while 8-months pregnant and had forces gathering at Westminster “in the queen’s name” in 1483 – only for NONE of these things to be even included, let alone explored, in the vast majority of scholarship and historical novels involving her.

#lol I don't remember writing this - I found it when I was searching for something else in my drafts. But it's 100% true so I had to post it.#elizabeth woodville #my post #Imo this is mainly because Elizabeth's negative historiography has always involved both vilification and diminishment in equal measure.#and because her brand of vilification (femme fatale; intriguer) suggests more indirect/“feminine” than legitimate/forceful types of power #It's still bizarre though-you'd think these would be some of the most famous & defining aspects of Elizabeth's life. But apparently not #I guess she only matters when it comes to marrying Edward and Promoting Her Family and scheming against Richard #There is very lacking interest in her beyond those things even in her traditionally negative depictions #And most of her “reassessments” tend to do diminish her so badly she's rendered utterly irrelevant and almost pathetic by the end of it #Even when some of these things *are* mentioned they're never truly emphasized as they should be.#See: her formal appointment in royal councils. It was highly unconventional + entirely unprecedented for queens in the 14th & 15th century #You'd think this would be incredibly important and highlighted when analyzing late medieval queenship in England but apparently not #Historians are more willing to straight-up INVENT positions & roles for so many other late medieval queens/king's mothers that didn't exist #(not getting into this right now it's too long...)#But somehow acknowledging and discussing Elizabeth's ACTUAL formally appointed role is too much for them I guess #She's either subsumed into the general vilification of her family (never mind that they were known as 'the queen's kin' to actual #contemporaries; they were defined by HER not the other way around) or she's rendered utterly insignificant by historians. Often both.#But at the end of the day her individual role and identity often overlooked or downplayed in both scenarios #and ofc I've said this before but - there has literally never been a proper reassessment of Elizabeth's role in 1483-85 TILL DATE #despite the fact that it's such a sensational and well-known time period in medieval England #This isn't even a Wars of the Roses thing. Both Margaret of Anjou and Margaret Beaufort have had multiple different reassessments #of their roles and positions during their respective crises/upheavals by now;#There is simply a distinct lack of interest in reassessing Elizabeth in a similar way and I think this needs to be acknowledged.#Speaking of which - there's also a persistent habit of analyzing her through the context of Margaret of Anjou or Elizabeth of York #(either as a parallel or a foil) rather than as a historical figure in HER OWN RIGHT #that's also too long to get into I just wanted to point it out because I hate it and I think it's utterly senseless #I've so much to say about how all of this affects her portrayal in historical fiction as well but that's going into a whole other tangent #ofc there are other things but these in particular *really* frustrate me #just felt like ranting a bit in the tags because these are all things that I want to individually discuss someday with proper posts...

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bloodfin · 1 year ago

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quintessence ghouls have their cool healing and body powers, but i think water ghouls also frequently found in the halls of healing.

they have naturally cool temperatures, helping to soothe fevers. water bends to their will, they can clear sinuses with one tap to the forehead. dry eyes, dry mouth, dry skin, burns, all relieved by water's gentle touch.

sure, it's not setting bones and stealing migraines and sensing and preventing harm before it even occurs, but it's healing all the same

i thought too much about this

#as i think about it really all of the elements can work as healers #just so happens it's more common for quintessence and water ghouls #nameless ghouls #the band ghost #*alright this was in my drafts i don't recall writing it blame the covid #*i do think im on to something though #*if anyone wants to send a ghoul to my house to dropkick my sinuses be my guest #*i need to come back to this #*halls of healing lord send them to bleach the sw from my brain too lmao

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shmorp-mcdurgen · 6 months ago

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Aftermath au: Red Letter Day

Barney gets a call that Gordon Freeman had been found after ten years of being missing in action.

Word count: 4382

Notes: Another fic for my au "Aftermath" because I think its neat. I'm not sure what else to put here, enjoy the fic

Barney was beginning to remember how much he hated Winter as he stared through the warehouse window in front of him. Despite it being the beginning of March, spring was yet to come, meaning the snow was still falling with the temperature following suit. Barney had always hated the season, and as much as he tried, he could never come up with a proper reason. Maybe it was the fact it was cold, wet, and dreary, making any trip outside miserable, or perhaps it was the fact he was mainly cooped up inside all day, leaving him to get cabin fever. Or maybe it was a mixture of those two at the same time, along with the loneliness that came from them. No matter the reason, Barney kept quiet about it, realizing he had no ability to change the weather. All he could do was drink his hot coffee and put on a few more layers than usual.

Barney took a sip from his mug as he looked away from the window, instead focusing his attention back into the room he was in. It was a storage room, full of random junk and scientific doodads Barney had no knowledge of. Boxes and crates were stacked up in piles taller than he was, stacked in such a way that it made Barney nervous even being near them in the case of them toppling over. Due to the lack of a radiator in that room, it was even chillier than the rest of the refurbished warehouse, making Barney glad he was wearing the warmest sweatpants he could find in his closet, along with a worn out grey hoodie, with the logo on the front being so faded that it was hard to make out as Black Mesa’s logo.

As he looked around, he was startled by the sound of a box slamming against the concrete floor, along with a short exclamation. “Oh, blast it!” “You alright, Doc?” Barney asked the other man in the room, watching as he bent over to pick up the fallen crate.

“I’m fine, just…hoping whatever was in here isn’t fragile…”

Dr. Isaac Kleiner, or “Doc” as Barney referred to him as, was wearing a white lab coat over a robin-egg-blue dress-shirt and black tie, trading warmth for safety at his place of work. His glasses were slipping off his face as he moved boxes and rummaged through everything in the storage room, making it even more of a mess than it was before.

“Where on earth could she have gone?” Kleiner asked, not necessarily expecting an answer. “There aren’t any vents she could have crawled in, are there?”

“I hope not,” Barney stated. “Last thing I want is that thing to fall on someone.” As Kleiner looked under a table, Barney spoke up again. “You think it ran off or something?”

“Oh no, I don’t believe so,” Kleiner stood up straight, “I’m sure she wouldn’t. After all, she needs to get fed eventually, so I imagine she’ll come out for that.” “If the thing didn’t eat someone's cat or something.”

“Hush!” Kleiner held a finger up to his mouth, causing both he and Barney to become silent as he listened closely. Barney attempted to hear what Kleiner was listening for, but to no avail, hearing nothing but silence. “Fie! I could’ve sworn I heard her moving around…”

Barney let out an exhausted sigh, “Doc, please, there’s plenty of those pests out there–”

“But there’s only ONE Lamar!”

“...Right.”

“Now, are you going to help me look?” Kleiner adjusted his crooked glasses, “Or are you going to simply stand there, doing nothing?”

“Uh…” Barney glanced away, thinking for a moment. “...No thanks.”

“Oh, you act like she’s some kind of wild animal.”

“It kinda is.”

“She’s been de-beaked and trained, and you know this!” Kleiner stated as he walked towards a filing cabinet near the corner of the room.

“‘Trained;’ I don’t think that thing is really…trained. My dog is trained, and I know you can train cats, but I don’t think you can train a literal parasite–”

“Oh! I think I’ve got something!” Kleiner said excitedly, “Help me move this cabinet, would you please?”

Barney reluctantly approached the metal cabinet as Kleiner positioned himself to the side of it, ready to move it as soon as Barney was. As soon as Barney placed his free hand against the side of it, he pushed, with Kleiner on the other side pulling it towards him.

Barney let out a loud yelp when something leaped at him from behind the cabinet, causing him to fall on his back and drop his mug on the floor. It was Lamar, the “Pet” headcrab that Kleiner had lost, and it was even uglier up close. As it laid on Barney’s chest, its six small, beady eyes stared back at him as he remained absolutely still, afraid of it trying to attack him. Its teeth on its stomach prodded at his stomach, along with its chipped, large front claws, which had colorful duct-tape covering the tips of them to prevent them from being too sharp. After a few moments of tense silence, Kleiner came to the rescue, picking up Lamar from where it rested on Barney’s torso, allowing him to take a breath.

“LAMAR!” Kleiner exclaimed, looking at his pet with relief in his eyes, “Oh, delightful! I’m so happy to see you weren’t left out in the cold somewhere…”

“Mm-hm…” Barney lifted himself off the ground, looking at his feet to see his knocked over coffee cup, with its contents spilled over. “Ugh…”

Barney picked up his cup from the floor as Kleiner let Lamar go, watching as it waddled across the floor before jumping up onto one of the tables. Barney stared at it with contempt, the opposite reaction to Lamar’s rediscovery compared to Kleiner’s joy.

“Do you even have a license for that thing?” Barney questioned as Lamar sat down on top of some loose documents. “If you don’t and animal control finds it, they’ll kill it–”

“I’m…in the process of getting one,” Kleiner stated, voice stumbling slightly. “And I hope no one finds her, cause if they do…I’m afraid of what you said coming true. I’m sure it will be fine regardless, at least she knows to stay inside.”

“...Sure.”

“Is everyone safe?”

Barney and Kleiner turned towards the doorway that led to the rest of the warehouse, seeing a lone, albino Vortigaunt staring back at them with her four maroon eyes. She was wearing a similar lab coat to Kleiner’s, with a borrowed pair of black dress pants, along with a fitted light brown sweater, with a hole in the middle of her chest for her third pseudo arm. She stared at Kleiner and Barney for a little while before Barney answered her question.

“Yeah, we’re fine…” Barney sighed, glancing towards Lamar, “We just found Kleiner’s…pet.”

“Everything’s under control, Violet, you can get back to work!” Kleiner added.

“I see.” Violet’s gravelly voice seemed quieter than usual, making Barney’s brows furrow a bit.

“You alright?” He asked.

Violet seemed puzzled. “Hm?”

“Are you doing alright? I have noticed you’ve been a bit…closed off for the past few hours.” Kleiner inquired.

“We have been…distracted…” Violet responded. “I imagine it will be cleared up soon.”

“We?” Barney asked.

Violet didn’t answer. “I must get back to helping the others…the teleporter is nearly ready for its first test...”

“Oh! Wonderful. I’ll be there in a little bit.” Kleiner stated as Violet left the room. Barney remained puzzled, looking back at Kleiner with a feeling of unease in his chest.

“She said ‘we’.” Barney stated.

“I’m aware,” Kleiner responded. “You see, the Vortigaunts are able to tap into something they refer to as the ‘Vortessence’, and are thus all conne–”

“I know, Doc, I just…” Barney paused for a second. “If she’s talking about all the Vortigaunts, then wouldn’t that be a bit worrying?”

“...Maybe, but I'm not sure.” Kleiner stated. “Though, one of the members of the survey team we sent earlier today was a Vortigaunt, and that team hasn’t returned yet so…maybe there is a connection there.”

“Maybe.”

“Either way, I believe i’ll go and speak with her, just to make sure everything’s alri–”

Barney’s phone ringing from his pocket interrupted their thoughts, and when Barney pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open, he saw the number was from one of his coworkers at the hospital. “Sorry, I gotta take this.”

“You’re fine, you go ahead and I’ll go check in with the others.”

Barney nodded, watching Kleiner leave the room before he answered the call and put his phone up to his ear.

“Hello?”

Barney listened closely to the person on the other end of the phone, barely processing what they were saying.

“What’s going on?

Not going to believe what?

So what, why are you telling me this?”

Barney listened closely, all before he felt his heart skip a beat. The sinking feeling in his chest was enough to render him silent, all before he let out a meek “I’ll call you later.”

Barney rushed out of the room, running past Kleiner in the process, nearly pushing him over as he approached the exit. “Barney? What’s going on, are you alright–” “They found him.” Barney’s voice shook as he spoke, with him barely being able to make out the words from how tight his throat was.

“Found who?”

Barney was already out of the building by the time Kleiner asked the question, leaving it unanswered.

Barney saw his own breath clouding in front of his face as he sprinted across the parking lot of the warehouse, nearly slipping on ice multiple times but not giving any time to care. When he reached his car, he swung the door open and crawled inside, starting the engine and speeding off without a single word. His thoughts ran through his head faster than his car was capable of going, slurring together without a single cohesive thought coming through. He didn’t care if he was a few miles above the speed limit; he needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible. He needed to see if what his coworker said was right.

If it was truly Gordon Freeman that was brought into the ER, he needed to be there.

When Barney made it to the hospital lot, he rushed through the front doors, looking around before approaching the front desk, out of breath from both the physical and mental strain that was put on him. Through harsh breaths, he asked, “Is Gordon Freeman here?”, with pleading eyes focused on the woman behind the desk.

“Oh, hello Mr. Calhoun, I can look through the system for a ‘Gordon Freeman’, if you’ll sit tight for a moment.” She looked towards the computer in front of her, typing in something and looking through files as Barney waited, his impatience building up inside of him.

“Fuck this.” He pushed himself away from the desk, storming down one of the hallways despite the woman at the front desk telling him he wasn’t allowed to as he was off duty. Barney rushed past hospital workers, asking them if they knew where Gordon was, only to be met with worried and frightened looks along with no answers. Barney’s frustration only grew as he ran through the hospital halls, with the familiar building beginning to feel like a maze meant to confuse him. As he ran further into the hospital wing, he slammed against one of the doctors in the hall, causing him to topple to the ground as Barney tripped over his own feet.

“Sorry, I just have to–”

“Barney? What the hell are you doing back here?” The man questioned as Barney sped past him.

“I’m looking for Gordon Freeman,” Barney answered, turning around. “Have you seen him?”

“He’s in the ER right now,” The man snapped back as he slowly stood up. “You can’t see him until he’s out of surgery.”

“Surgery? Is he safe? Is he alright?” Barney questioned, walking closer to the doctor.

“Yes, he’ll be fine, just…” The doctor let out a tired sigh. “Get out of here, you’re off duty and risking your job with a stunt like this.”

“I need to see Gordon, alright?” Barney explained. “He’s been gone for a fucking DECADE, and he’s been found again, I can’t just leave him–”

“Calhoun.” The man raised his voice as he glared at Barney with a look of both contempt and pity. “...Listen, just wait until he’s out and I’ll see what I can do, do you understand?”

Barney remained silent for a moment, letting out a sharp breath before nodding. “Alright,” He stated, defeated. “But he better be getting the best treatment in there.”

“I’m sure they’re doing all they can, they understand his reputation–”

“I don’t care about his reputation, if i’m right, that’s my goddamn friend in there.” Barney spat. “...Let me know when he’s out. I need to at least…make sure it’s…the right guy.”

“I’m sure someone will let you know.” The doctor stated. “...Now please go back to the waiting room before I call security.”

Barney did as he was told, reluctantly walking across the hospital premises and back into the waiting room, where he will stay for another few hours. He paced around the room, bounced his foot up and down, fidgeted with his hands; anything to try and pass the time as the minutes passed by agonizingly slow. After he had already been there for what felt like days within the timespan of a few hours, he saw a nurse walk towards him. “Mr. Calhoun?”

Barney’s head lifted up, looking towards the nurse before following her down a hallway. After a couple-minutes walk, they stopped in front of a door leading to a recovery room. “He’s in there,” The nurse stated. “He’s currently sleeping, so I ask you to be quiet and not attempt to wake him up.”

“...Yeah.” Barney hesitated before walking through the door, stepping into the room, seeing a curtain blocking his view of the bed. He paused, standing in place for a moment as he wondered if the face he was about to see was truly Gordon, or simply someone mistaken as him. He wondered if he wanted the answer, or if he’d rather live in ignorance, avoiding the crippling disappointment if it wasn’t the man he thought it was, but as he walked past the curtain, every worry in his mind ceased and his thoughts became silent as he looked at the man on the bed.

Sure, his body was covered with blood-soaked bandages, his right leg was in a cast, he had medical equipment around him, and he was missing his glasses, but his face was painfully recognizable. Barney choked back a sob, covering his mouth when he saw Gordon’s face again.

“Are you alright?” The nurse behind him asked, noticing Barney’s teary-eyed look.

“I’m fine.” Barney whispered before letting out a short chuckle and a forced smile. “It’s just…he didn’t change a damn bit.”

Barney hadn’t even noticed it had been an hour since he entered the room, being surprised when he glanced at the clock and saw it was nearing 10 PM. He sat on a chair beside Gordon’s bed, having moved it from the corner of the room to right beside it. His leg bounced up and down as he looked at Gordon, all before lowering his head and letting out a deep sigh. He wished to speak to him but he was out of words he could possibly say at that very moment, not to mention the wish to stay quiet so Gordon could recover without being woken up. He wanted to tell Gordon everything that had happened in his absence; how Kleiner started up another lab to continue Black Mesa’s studies, how Eli also set up one on the other side of the city, and how Barney had finished college and was able to become a nurse. Gordon missed so much, and even though Barney wished to dump every piece of information onto him, he realized that even the realization that it had been ten years would be overwhelming enough. Thus, Barney figured to start simple, and just talk, like friends, for the first time since the Black Mesa incident.

As Barney leaned back into his seat he felt the back of his head hit something that wasn’t there before, feeling bitter cold yet organic at the same time, like a corpse’s fingers curling around the top of the backrest. He swung around, half expecting someone to be there, yet he saw nothing of the sort, seeing only the beige wall behind him. Barney let out his breath, looking back at Gordon before realizing he should head back; his stress and emotional state must have made him paranoid, not to mention the feeling of his hair standing on end. He stood up, walking towards the door out of the room before taking one last look back at Gordon before he finally left.

Later that night, Barney paced around his living room, being watched by his pet rottweiler as he talked on the phone. “The Survey team were the ones that found him?” he asked.

“That’s what they said,” Kleiner stated from the other side of the line. “The Vortigaunt was apparently the one that found him, specifically.”

“I see.”

“Quite Miraculous,” Kleiner continued, “The fact that Gordon had survived there for ten years before being found.”

“Yeah…” Barney unsurely stated under his breath.

“Nevermind that, what are you planning now?” Kleiner asked. “Should we have some kind of party? A celebration should be in order for him being back, I’d say–”

“I think he needs rest, he’s…been through a lot.” Barney stated. “I’ve thought of him staying over at my place until he can find a place of his own or until he recovers, but we’ll see how he’s feeling.”

“Are you sure? I’m sure we can find a spare room in the lab for him.”

“I dunno if he’d wanna live in a loud lab with a headcrab, doc.”

“...I suppose you have a fair point.”

“It was just so…strange.” Barney stated. “They say it was a ten year coma, but I don’t buy it. I don’t buy it at all.” “What makes you believe that?”

“The fact he was bleeding. The fact he had fresh wounds from Black Mesa,” Barney elaborated, brows furrowed and his free arm crossing over his chest. “Not to mention the fact he was found with that…suit on.” “What kind of suit?” Kleiner questioned. “Oh, do you mean the Hazardous Environment Suit?”

“Yeah. Why would he be wearing it ten years after the incident was already over?”

“Who knows,” Kleiner sighed, “I’m sure I can talk with Eli to see if he has any ideas on–” Kleiner was interrupted by a loud crash and squeaking coming from behind him, audible through Barney’s phone. “Goodness gracious, LAMAR, NO–”

“You alright Doc?”

“I’ll have to speak with you later, Lamar got in the vents again–Lamar get DOWN from there, that’s not safe!” After that, the call ended, and Barney was left to himself once again. Barney sighed, putting his phone back in his pocket before he heard a deep ruff coming from his dog, who was laying next to the couch in the living room, with its white patches of fur on its snout showing its age.

“You hear that, Gordon?” Barney said. “You might get a new roommate…a…different Gordon.”

The dog yawned and rested his head on his paws as Barney walked towards the living room couch, sitting on it and resting his feet on the coffee table in front of it. He leaned over the armrest, scratching the top of the dog’s head. “Guess I’ll have to explain to him why you’re also named Gordon, huh bud?”

Gordon didn’t respond, instead just letting out a soft ruff again. Barney leaned back in his seat, staring up at the ceiling before folding his hands on top of his stomach. He wasn’t looking forward to explaining why his pet was named after his friend, he realized. After all, it’s not very easy to tell someone you thought they were dead for years.

As soon as Barney received the call that Gordon was awake the following evening, Barney rushed back to the hospital to visit him once again. As he drove across the city, worries he didn’t think about before began to creep up inside his brain. Even though he didn’t necessarily believe the coma theory the doctors had, nor did he believe even they believed it fully, he thought of the possibility of it being true, and if Gordon would even remember who Barney was after a full decade of sleep. It would be a surprise if Gordon remembered anything after that amount of time, but Barney pushed down his pessimism, trying to be optimistic just this once.

After making his way down the hospital hallway once again, he found himself back in front of the door to Gordon’s room, with a nervous feeling deep in his gut as he prepared to walk inside. He took in a breath and stepped inside, looking towards the bed in which Gordon was laying on, only to have his gaze met by two bright green eyes, ones Barney hadn't seen since ten years prior. Barney froze in place, staring back at Gordon, who appeared to be surprised to see him. As Barney sat down in the chair beside the bed, he swallowed hard, wondering what he could possibly say now that Gordon was awake. As he thought to himself, a question left his mouth that he wasn’t initially planning on asking:

“Where were you?”

The question lingered in the air like a foul odor, with Gordon’s brows furrowing lip quivering slightly, all while he curled his hands into fists. He turned away from Barney, looking down at his feet, thinking of something to say, though his hands didn’t once lift up to sign a single word.

“You…disappear for 10 years without warning,” Barney continued. “Leaving everyone to believe you were dead.”

Gordon didn’t make eye contact with Barney as he spoke.

“I thought you were dead and buried somewhere, Gordon,” Barney choked. “But…You’re here in front of me now.”

Gordon glanced at Barney before he felt arms being wrapped around his shoulders, tight, but not too tight to make it hurt.

“I fucking missed you, Gordon.” Barney said as he hugged Gordon, feeling the gesture being returned to him. Gordon’s hands shook, feeling weak and cold, yet he didn’t want to let go of the single shred of kindness he had felt since what felt like eternity. After a few moments Barney let go, sitting back down with red, tear-filled eyes.

“...You…missed a lot.” Barney stated; Gordon nodded knowingly in response. “I’d tell ya’ everything, but…I don’t even know how to start.”

“Are they safe?” Gordon’s hands were shaking, but Barney could make out the message regardless.

“Who, like…Kleiner? Eli?”

Gordon nodded slightly, lips pursed in anticipation.

“They’re alright,” Barney assured, allowing Gordon to let out a breath. “In fact…they’re excited to see you again. Kleiner especially, he’s hoping to get you back into his lab…don’t know if you want to do that, but the offer’s there.”

Gordon appeared to have had a weight lifted off his shoulders at the news, but the cold yet somber gaze didn’t leave his eyes. Barney planned to tell Gordon that they were among the few survivors of the Black Mesa incident, but he bit his tongue for the time being.

“...Never thought you’d be in the history books, did ya?” Barney let out a lighthearted chuckle in an attempt to lighten the mood. “You’re a hero in everyone’s eyes, now.”

Gordon shook his head, looking down and away from Barney’s gaze as he clasped his hands together on his lap. Barney stared at him with a look of confusion and worry, all before forcefully clearing his throat.

“I’m just…happy to see you alive, Gordon.” Barney stated. “After…a few years I began to…to lose hope.” Barney paused for a second, realizing Gordon was still not meeting his gaze. “...Should’ve known you were a tougher son of a bitch than that, I guess.”

Gordon scoffed slightly before shaking his head again, still staring at his feet. Silence fell as Barney attempted to think of something else to say to ease the tense atmosphere, though his thoughts were blank and void of any ideas. Barney looked towards Gordon yet again, seeing he was raising his hands up to sign something:

“Missed you too.”

Barney smiled slightly, despite feeling as if he wanted to cry right then and there. He never anticipated he’d be this emotional in his life, yet here he was; about to cry for the second time that day. Seeing his legally dead friend after ten years of being missing in action was enough to warrant it, he supposed.

“I’m sure the others will be happy to show you everything they’ve been working on,” Barney said, with Gordon finally looking back up at him, before looking directly behind him, “They’ve been working on a new telepor–”

Gordon flinched, staring at something behind Barney before attempting to crawl backwards, nearly ripping off his IV in the process. Barney looked behind him, seeing nothing but the wall before he heard a loud thud coming from the bed. He turned, seeing Gordon had fallen off of the bed and onto the cold linoleum floor. “Gordon!” Barney quickly ran to his aid, holding out an arm for Gordon to grab, lifting him off of the floor. When weight was put onto his right leg, Gordon grimaced, using Barney as leverage as he was put back onto the bed. “Jeez Gordon, what got you freaked out so ba–”

Barney was silenced when Gordon hugged him without warning. Barney could hear him quietly sobbing into his shoulder, and as he returned the hug, he wondered if he had ever seen Gordon so touchy before; It was as if he hadn’t had human contact in days. This time however, Barney wasn’t quick to let go. The last thing he wanted to do was leave his best friend behind again.

Not this time.

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