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hungermakesmonsters · 3 months ago

Text

Love, Sick Love

Epilogue

Plot summary : Working at one of the shadier bars in Brooklyn, you have one rule; don’t mess around with the patrons. Most of them are criminals, dangerous. None more so than Billy Russo, but Billy believes that rules are made to be broken. Especially your rule. One lapse in judgement is all it takes for Billy to decide that you’re his, and he’s never been the sort of man to take rejection well.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smutty behaviour. Pregnancy mentions. All chapters will deal with dark and smutty themes, including but not limited to stalking. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : 5.1k

A/N : Don't scream too much. I'm sorry, okay?

Master List

Epilogue

ONE MONTH LATER

“Do you regret it?”

The question broke through the silence and caused you to stir, opening your eyes so you could look up at him.

It was out of nowhere and, for a few seconds you almost allowed yourself to believe that you’d imagined it.

Billy still seemed to be reading - he’d been reading for at least an hour, sitting with you on the sofa in front of the crackling fireplace, a blanket covering your laps as you dozed against his side. It was the sort of afternoon you’d assumed only really existed in movies; quiet and still, just enjoying being close to each other without need for conversation or anything else.

But then came the question.

And, it was a strange thing to think about after everything that had happened, both in New York and, there, at the lake house. What was there to regret?

Sure, things had gotten off to a rocky start and, after getting to the lake, you’d spent the better part of a week worrying about him when he developed a fever, but you were together. It was just you and Billy, and that was all that really mattered.

“Regret what?” You finally asked, not really sure you wanted an answer.

Billy let out a slow breath, dog-earred the page he was on, and closed his book.

“All of this,” he answered, “leaving your life behind. Choosing me.”

You frowned and sat up a little straighter, pulling away from his side so you could look at him.

“Do you regret it?” You asked in return.

(Was that what he was trying to get at? Had he realised, after spending a month with you exclusively, that he didn’t want you anymore? Had the novelty finally worn off?)

“No - fuck, kitten, no,” he said emphatically. “I just - I don’t know. This last few weeks, getting to wake up next to you, spending whole days just holding you... I just feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop...”

“Why? I don’t understand, I thought... this is nice, isn’t it?”

Were these new thoughts or had it been stuck in his head since you’d first arrived?

A sense of panic slowly started to swell inside you, wondering if you’d thrown away what little life you’d had for nothing. Up until that moment, you’d been enjoying it, you’d grown to almost love the lake house; sitting in front of the fire with him, waking each other up with hands and lips, and drinking your morning coffee on the porch overlooking the water.

To you, it had felt like a little slice of heaven, like your life was finally getting better.

Billy’s hand found yours and he gave it a squeeze.

“This is nice. I’m just -” he sighed, “- it’s stupid.”

“What?” You prompted, needing to hear him give voice to whatever was troubling him so you could quiet your own panic.

“I’m not used to people staying,” he said softly, so quietly that you wouldn’t have heard it had you not been sitting right next to him. “It’s been five months and you’re still here.”

You were silent, not sure what to say and not possessing the words to explain the feeling you got in your stomach every time you looked at him, the swarm of butterflies that would take flight whenever he smiled at you, whenever he kissed you. Your lips parted but no sound came out as the seconds ticked by.

He’d been abandoned by his own mother, he couldn’t remember how he’d lost his closest friend - all Billy knew was being alone, being left behind. In a lot of ways, he was just like you, except your isolation had been mostly self-inflicted.

“Oh, Billy,” you finally muttered, speaking just as softly as he had.

You reached for him, delicately framing his face with your hands. He stared into your eyes, watching you as you looked at him, as you saw through it all to the tragic and delicate man beneath the scars, the man who just wanted to be loved. The man that you wanted to love, even if neither of you had been able to bring yourselves to say the words since leaving New York City.

A few tender moments passed without words before you closed the distance and pressed your lips to his, softly and gently, lovingly. Your thumbs caressed his scarred cheeks and Billy didn’t flinch, didn’t tense.

Every time you touched his face, you wanted to remind him that he was more than his scars, that he wasn’t the man who had been hurt, he wasn’t the man who deserved that pain. He was your Billy and he could leave all that darkness behind him in the past where it belonged, part of another life that no longer belonged to him.

His arm wrapped around your waist and he pulled you back into his side, holding you tight, like he never wanted to let you go.

And he didn’t. He never wanted a day where you weren’t by his side.

When the kiss broke, you smiled at him.

“I won’t leave you, if you don’t leave me,” you said.

“Deal.”

He barely gave you time to think before his lips were on yours again, his kiss more insistent. You’d already fucked earlier that morning, but the moment he started to pull at your top, your hands found the hem of his sweater, not wanting to deny yourself another taste of him.

Somehow, as you pulled at each other's clothes, you ended up on the floor, on your back on the cream coloured shag-pile rug in front of the fireplace. When he’d first seen it, Billy had joked that it looked like something from a porno, as if he’d foreseen this moment.

You were breathless by the time he pulled his lips from yours and, once more, you found yourself getting lost in his dark eyes as he stared down at you, looking at you like he didn’t understand how you were even real.

“I love you,” he muttered tenderly, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose, finally saying the words again. “I’m glad you’re mine.”

There was no surprise when he started to slowly trail kisses down your neck and body, only anticipation. Billy was insatiable when it came to eating you out, and he seemed to enjoy it almost as much as the sex itself. And you certainly weren’t going to complain about it.

“Twice in one day?” You joked as he settled between your thighs, your hand reaching down to run fingers through his hair.

“What can I say? I’m obsessed with your pussy,” Billy answered back with a smirk, running his fingers through your folds and causing your back to arch off the rug. “How can I resist when you’re already so wet for me?”

You bit your lip as he made a show of licking his fingers.

It had quickly become clear to you that you’d never really get over how much Billy seemed to want you, it would always leave you breathless and desperate, wanting more, wanting everything.

A loud moan torn from your lips as the heat of his mouth and tongue pressed against you. Billy groaned just as loudly, sounding like a starved man voraciously devouring his first meal in months.

Your fingers in his hair tightened their hold, pulling him closer, making it impossible for him to pull away (not that he had any intention of pulling away until he’d dragged at least one orgasm from you). All you could think about was his lips and tongue, the warmth of his mouth and the growing wetness between your legs. Every artful stroke and swipe caused you to writhe, working your hips against his face, grinding down against him.

How had you ever thought that you could live without this?

How had you ever thought you could live without him?

One of the best things about the lake house was the knowledge that you and Billy were the only people for miles, and there was no chance of anyone but him hearing the eager and needy sounds he managed to pull from you as his tongue flicked against your clit.

It wasn’t long before you fell apart for him, your back bowing and your thighs trembling as you came. His name fell from your lips over and over as both a prayer and plea. And Billy didn’t stop. You’d come to learn that Billy rarely liked to stop at just one orgasm. He wanted to make you come again and again, as if he was partaking in some contest that you didn’t understand.

“Fuck,” you groaned as two fingers easily slipped inside you.

He didn’t even let the first orgasm peter out before he started to push you towards the next. With his fingers inside you, bending as they fucked you, his tongue focused on your throbbing clit, easily working you into a frenzy again. Your whole body trembled and shook, completely overwhelmed by Billy.

Looking down only made things worse, your body clenching around his fingers at the sight of his dark eyes staring up at you, drinking in the look of ecstasy on your face. You felt his lips pull into a smirk against you, obviously proud of himself.

(Grudgingly, even you had to admit that he had reason to be proud of himself, the man went down on you like it was an olympic sport and he was the reigning champion.)

Your thighs clenched around his head as another orgasm quickly overtook you. Your body felt like jelly, all uncontrollable tremors and shakes. You whined his name, this time begging for mercy, too sensitive to take much more. He’d created a slick and sloppy mess between your legs and you felt your cheeks warm when you wondered about the state of the shag rug beneath you.

What you didn’t expect was for Billy to let out a laugh, his eyes sparkling as he looked up at you from between your thighs.

“Can’t stop if you don’t let me go,” he muttered.

Every word, every brush of his lips against you, sent fresh sparks of arousal through you - fuck, would you ever have enough of him?

A second later, you let out a laugh of your own, unclenching your thighs and releasing your grip on his hair, allowing Billy to move back up your body.

“You enjoy that far too much,” he said.

“And you don’t?”

“I enjoy it just the right amount.”

Billy gave an amused hum. “Well you’re definitely going to enjoy what comes next.”

A breathless moan stole its way from your lips the moment he pressed his hips to yours, grinding his hard cock through your wet folds. His lips swallowed down the sound, kissing you deeply as he continued to tease the main event.

But, when he pulled back, you surprised him with a hand on his shoulder, gently pushing until the pair of you were rolled and you were on top of him.

Never in your life had you thought you’d be the sort of person to leave condoms on the coffee table but, after sharing a living space with Billy for little over a week, you’d come to realise just how insatiable his appetites were. Yours too, if you were honest.

Billy pouted as he always did when you reached for a condom and sat back to roll it down his length but he’d long since given up on trying to convince you to change your mind.

Then it was your turn to smirk down at him, his cock in your hand as you hovered above him. His hands ran up your thighs to your hips and held on, making no attempt to get you to move. When you did start to lower yourself, you moved slowly, savouring the feel of his cock slowly filling you.

His eyes closed and his head fell back once you’d taken all of him, your hips rocking as you took a moment to get comfortable.

You didn’t fuck him. Despite that feeling inside of you that was desperate to lay claim to him, to make him tremble and writhe and moan for you, that part of you that wanted to bite and bruise to show that he was yours. Instead, you moved slowly, the rise and fall of your hips sensual rather than desperate.

You didn’t just want another orgasm. You wanted to make love to him. You wanted to make him fall apart for you in the rawest way.

One hand rested on his shoulder, while the other traversed his torso, mindful of wounds that had almost healed. So many marks and scars on one man, it didn’t seem far to you that he had had to endure so much pain and suffering, but it was that pain and suffering that had created the man beneath you.

Billy - your Billy - had been forged in pain and violence.

And, now, you wanted to give him a life that was anything but.

His grip on your hips tightened, but he let you set the place, he let you love him and show him how you felt. The words were always clumsy and difficult, but this - this was something you could do.

“Fuck, kitten, you feel so good,” he moaned.

You’d come to love seeing him in those moments, so completely lost to you, so yours.

Leaning down, you kissed him, hips moving a little faster as you swallowed down his groans.

“Love you,” you muttered softly against his lips.

“Say it again.”

His hands on your hips started to pull, not much, just enough to show you that he wanted you to move a little faster, and you were more than happy to oblige.

“Love you, Billy.”

“Keep saying it.”

There was something so soft in the request, something that felt almost broken, like he still didn’t expect or believe that he deserved your love. So, you said it over and over, as many times as he needed to hear it, until his breath started to hitch and every exhale was punctuated by a moan.

Suddenly his hips lifted, driving his cock into you and catching you off-guard. You could tell by the way he was gritting his teeth that he was trying to hold back his own orgasm, waiting for you, and you didn’t want to disappoint him. Without hesitation, you took his hand and led his fingers to your clit and, less than thirty seconds later, your head was falling back as you came undone.

Billy gave a grunt and thrust up into you one more time before his cock started to pulse.

You collapsed on top of him, pressing your face to his neck while you caught your breath. Eventually you carefully rolled off him to lay at his side, holding him as he held you, both of you kept warm by the crackling fire despite the light snow falling outside

“I don’t regret this,” you told him softly after a few minutes. “It’s been strange and I know that we can’t just stay like this forever, but I want whatever comes next.”

A sigh slipped from his lips, a noise that sounded a lot like relief.

“We can go anywhere,” he said, smiling tenderly as he brushed your sweat-damp hair away from your face. “We can do anything - anything you want.”

You smiled, not having a thought or answer for him at that moment. You were just happy to be in his arms, enjoying the heat from his body at your front and the heat from the fire on your back.

“Do you regret not going after Frank?”

It had been the elephant in the room since you’d first arrived at the lake and, every day, you’d carried around the worry that he would decide to go back to the city to try and finish things.

Billy didn’t answer straight away, and you didn't want him to. You wanted him to think about it, to know what he really wanted.

“I did, to begin with,” he finally answered, “but after being here with you, just us, with none of that other shit… it's just not worth it. Frank, everything that happened, that's my past. You're my future.”

Billy reached for you, cupping your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you, backing up his words with actions.

“When I'm with you like this, I feel like…” for a moment he seemed to struggle to find the words, “I feel like this is what I always wanted; someone I could love and who'd love me.”

“That's all I want too,” you told him, a tender smile growing on your lips.

It was a sweet and gentle moment that you wanted to bask in for as long as you could but, unfortunately, Billy wanted to be a pragmatist.

“We're gonna have to decide where we want to go from here. As much as I love it here, we're gonna burn through all the money if we stay.”

He was right, as nice as the lake house was, you were paying AirBnB prices and it would only get more expensive in the new year.

“We can figure it out over dinner,” you said.

“You gonna cook for me again?” He asked, sounding almost eager.

You'd both become oddly domestic in the weeks since arriving, taking it in turns to cook for each other. Billy was a surprisingly good cook, and he seemed to enjoy the meals that you managed to throw together for him. You'd developed a certain kind of harmony that you'd never expected to find with a man like Billy.

And it all just made you love him more.

“I'll need to head to the store and see what I can find,” you muttered but showed no sign of wanting to leave his embrace.

A minute or so later, the fire gave a loud crackle and Billy sighed.

“I'll chop some more wood while you're at the store.”

“Don't overdo it,” you warned. “I don't want you to hurt yourself playing sexy lumberjack.”

“Sexy lumberjack?” Billy repeated, laughing. “Is that why you like watching me chop wood?”

You shrugged and stifled a laugh. “I can't help it if men chopping wood turns me on.”

Both of you descended into fits of laughter. Billy pulled your body against his, pressing playful kisses all over your face.

“So we’ll need to find somewhere with a fireplace?” He asked. “So I can keep being your sexy lumberjack?”

“And somewhere in the middle of nowhere so no one can hear how loud you get during sex,” you added.

You both started laughing again.

It stayed like that for a few minutes, both of you laughing, wrapped up in each other's arms but, as the time ticked by, you knew you’d have to move.

You pulled your clothes back on and kissed him goodbye before heading to the nearest grocery store, a twenty minute drive from the lake. Since arriving, you’d been the one to do all of the shopping, not wanting Billy to overexert himself or for anyone to recognise him - though you were hoping the fanfare had died down since you’d left the city.

You took your time as you wheeled the cart around the store, stopping to check anything that caught your fancy. It was strange, knowing that you didn’t have to worry about money or keep a running tally in your head of how much everything would cost so you didn’t overspend. Thanks to Billy’s money and the money you’d managed to stash away over the last year or so, for the time being, you were comfortable.

Stopping in front of the butcher’s counter, you idly glanced over the selection before settling on a couple of steaks, knowing how much Billy liked it. Then you went off to find some carrots and baby potatoes.

It was strange, the sort of things that you’d come to learn about him while living with him, things you probably should have learned well before all of his darkest secrets, like his favourite food and the fact he loved to read. But, the order of events has worked for the both of you, in fact you were certain it was what had brought you both together in the first place.

There were still some doubts in your mind about what he’d done and the person that he used to be, but there was no question about who he was now. Your Billy. It didn’t matter so much to you what he had done but, rather, what he was going to do and who he was going to be with you. And, so far, he’d shown that he wanted to be nothing but attentive and loving.

In return, you wanted to be the same for him.

Both of you had spent your lives lost and searching, and now you had each other.

On the toiletries aisle you stopped, knowing that you needed condoms, and that you’d probably need some period products.

Only -

You started to do the maths in your head, trying to figure out when your last period had been.

Fuck.

In the insanity of the last few weeks, you hadn’t realised just how late you were. Over three weeks.

It hadn’t even crossed your mind; you’d never been all that regular and your periods had caused you problems in the past, but you’d never been three weeks late before.

Your stomach threatened to turn itself inside out as you thought back to that morning in your bed, the first and only time you’d let him fuck you without protection. You’d planned to get the morning after pill before heading to the bar that night but, instead... well, everything else had happened and it had slipped your mind entirely.

No… no, you couldn’t be pregnant.

Though, you had been feeling tired recently and perhaps a little more emotional than usual. But, surely that was just because of Billy and everything that you’d been through.

No. You forced a breath and decided not to worry about it. You were probably just panicking over nothing and there was no point losing your mind until you knew for sure. So, quickly, you grabbed a pregnancy test, a box of condoms and some tampons, covering all of your bases. Then you headed for the check out, only stopping once on the way to grab the biggest bar of chocolate you could find.

Billy was sitting on the porch reading and nursing a hot mug of coffee when you arrived back at the lake house, though he quickly got to his feet to help you unpack the groceries. It made you feel an awkward pang of longing, the thought of coming home to him, being welcomed back with open arms. You felt like a family already and you didn’t want anything to ruin it.

You made sure to grab the bag with the pregnancy test before Billy could, your cheeks warming just at the thought of him seeing it and jumping to the same conclusion that you had.

Racing upstairs, you hid it away in the bathroom for later that evening, too tense to even consider using the test then. Your excuse was that it was nearly dinner time and you’d promised Billy that you would cook.

He was waiting for you in the kitchen, diligently putting the groceries away but he stopped when he saw you, looking at you for a moment. Your heart almost stopped and you found yourself wondering if he could tell you were hiding something just from looking at you. His expression softened and he stepped forwards, gathering you up in his arms.

“You look tired,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “D’you want me to cook tonight?”

Your heart stuttered at the gesture, at how soft his voice was, the care in his tone. It was almost enough to make you blurt out what you suspected because the idea of hiding it from him just made you feel even worse.

“I’m fine, might get an early night after dinner though, ”you shrugged. “But, if you want to help, you can cut the veg while I cook the steaks?”

Of course, Billy agreed and the pair of you started to move around the kitchen like you had so many times before, seeming so in sync with each other.

“Do you want a glass of wine?” Billy asked and, again, your stomach tied itself in knots.

“No... not tonight.”

He didn’t question it but it felt like yet another layer to your potential deception, but you tried desperately to force the thought away. You didn’t know for sure, so it wasn’t as if you were deliberately lying to him. The chances were, you tried to reassure yourself, you were just worrying over nothing.

Once the steaks were in the pan, Billy came to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around you, resting a hand on your stomach.

How many times had you stood together like that? How many times had his hands or lips ghosted over your stomach?

More thoughts you were eager to try and push away.

Finally, you sat down together at the little dining table, next to a window that overlooked the water. It looked so pretty at night, the water reflecting the stars, while the snow slowly started to blanket the ground.

You found yourself staring out, wishing that you could stay, wishing that nothing had to change.

But things did change, it was inevitable.

“Are you okay?” Billy asked, halfway through his meal. “You’ve been quiet since you got back.”

“I’m fine, really,” you told him. “I was just thinking about the future.”

“What about it?”

“About where we’ll end up and what our lives will look like,” you shrugged. “I dunno, I guess I never really thought about having anything like this. I always thought I’d spend the rest of my life moving from place to place, trying to escape from my past.”

He gave an understanding nod. He knew better than most what you meant and how you felt, he’d already told you as much.

“What do you want our lives to look like?” He asked, his attention leaving his dinner and focusing entirely on you.

You were silent for a few, long moments, trying to think of an answer that was honest and that made sense.

“I... I guess I want things to be like this, for us to be like we are here,” you said, not sure it even made sense. “Promise me that nothing will change that. Promise me that you’ll always want me the way you do now?”

There was a flicker of confusion on his face and, for a moment, you thought you might have given yourself away.

“Kitten, nothing is ever going to change the way I feel about you. I’ll always want you. I’ll always love you,” he told you. “For as long as you want me, I’ll love you.”

“I’ll always want you,” you said back to him instantly, not wanting him to question your feelings for even a moment. “Even if things... change, I’ll still always want you. I just... I don’t want you to think that I ever don’t -”

“Where is all this coming from?” He asked.

“I - I don’t know. I just -” you struggled to find the words to express what you were feeling, still not wanting to tell him what you were worried about, “- I feel like things are gonna change when we leave here. This has felt almost like a perfect vacation, but I don’t want us to stop feeling like this when we have to go back to living real lives, y’know?”

“I get it,” he said, reaching across and taking your hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze, “but don’t worry, nothing's gonna change. We can have a life like this, just me and you.”

You returned to eating and, despite your earlier suggestion that you plan your next move over dinner, he didn’t bring up leaving the lake house. It was as if he could sense you were struggling with the idea of change and he didn’t want to bring it up and make you more uncomfortable.

Together, you washed the dishes, the perfect picture of domestic bliss; him at the sink while you stood at his side drying. Really, you should have known that things couldn’t stay so saccharine and simple, but you’d allowed yourself to get swept up in Billy and the fairytale ending you’d tried to create with him.

“I’m gonna have a shower and get into bed,” you told him, lightly kissing him on the cheek..

“Want me to come get your back?” He asked, smirking that smirk that could only mean one thing.

You swatted his chest lightly before giving him a gentle push.

“You can snuggle me in bed when I’m done,” you told him, managing a smile despite your nerves. “I think I’ve had more than enough orgasms for one day.”

Billy looked genuinely offended and confused by the thought, but he let you slip away from him and up the stairs without further comment.

And, of course, you put off taking the test.

You took a long shower, washed your hair and shaved your legs, then afterwards you lathered yourself in moisturiser and put on a face mask. Anything to forestall the inevitable. The longer you left it, the easier it seemed to convince yourself that it wasn’t happening, that it couldn’t possibly happen.

But, finally, you knew you had to do it.

You peed on the stick and set the timer on your phone before shutting your eyes tight, trying to picture a future where you and Billy really were a family. You imagined holding a child in your arms, a perfect mix of you and Billy, and you tried to imagine Billy’s face at seeing his child for the first time. You’d both suffered through such terrible childhoods, you’d both been hurt so much - but surely that meant you could do things better, you could get it right?

If you were pregnant, you wouldn’t be like your mother, you wouldn’t put your needs and wants first. And, unlike Billy’s mother, you’d never give the child or Billy up.

You’d do better. And you were hopeful that he would too.

But, despite that glimmer of hope inside you, there was still a healthy dose of fear; you didn’t even know whether Billy wanted kids, or how you were going to tell him if the test turned out to be positive.

You grasped the test in your hand, eyes squeezed shut, until the timer on your phone started to beep.

Then, you looked down...

End Note : I know, I know... it was a mean place to end it but, even though this hasn't been the most popular of stories I do fully intend on writing a second part to this (I know I say that every time, but with this one I do have a fairly solid idea of what I'd like to happen in the next part). I've had a lot of fun writing this, I know it's been a bit different from my other fics and I know a lot of the romance aspects have fallen into something of a grey area, but I kind of like playing with the idea of reader knowing that Billy has done horrible things but not wanting to hold the man he is now responsible for things he can't even remember doing - honestly, in her position, I couldn't say I'd do the same, but it made writing the story fun for me.

Also sorry if the TWs at the start spoiled the twist, I never know what do put in TWs but I'd rather be safe than sorry on tumblr.

Anyway, thank you so much for the love and support you've shown this fic. It really always means so much to me when anyone takes a little bit of time out of their day to read something I've created. You've all been wonderful, and I look forward to sharing my next Billy fic with you soon.

On that note, as I've said a couple of times now, the rest of December is going to be a chill month for me. I do have a little mini-series I want to try and post, and maybe a couple of one-shots, but I don't know when any of that will happen. (Probably still on fridays, but maybe not, I don't know.) Later in the month I'm going to put up another poll for my next fic.

Anyway, I'll stop rambling now. Thanks for reading! Have a wonderful weekend.

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johnwickb1tsch · 6 months ago

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Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 9

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER!!!

one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight.

Nine. 九

You wake up the next day certain you will be fired. But when the axe does not fall, you relax slightly, going about your tasks. It occurs to you that maybe you should leave–but you don’t really want to, and only part of that has to do with your fascination with Donaka himself. The coming weeks seem almost normal, and you begin to think that Mr. Mark decided to be a gentleman about it all, and pretend it never happened.

What a fool you are.

Your first inkling of your idiocy comes when you are called into Mr. Mark’s office, after dinner, when usually you are hanging up your apron and calling it quits for the day.

You approach his massive carved ebony desk with folded hands, feeling all for like a naughty school girl. Donaka Mark sits behind it, every bit the lord and master of the house. He has discarded his suit jacket, the top buttons of his black dress shirt undone, so handsome it hurts. His eyes are sharp as obsidian knives upon you, and a cold chill runs down your spine as you come to stand beside him, as he directs.

That is when he produces the colorfully-covered journal you usually keep secreted in your underwear drawer, the little book dwarfed in his hands. Your heart does a swan dive–you hadn’t even realized it was missing.

He does not seem amused.

Maybe you can’t blame him. In that book, amidst your more pedestrian musings and accounts of your day, you have detailed every torrid little fantasy your rotten brain ever concocted about this man. Scorching alternate endings to all your encounters in which you were too smart, or too much of a coward to actually see through. Not to mention, the completely fictional bonus scenes too. It’s like an X rated love letter that rambles on for pages and pages and dear lord, it’s in his hands.

He throws the book down on his desk with a clap that makes you jump out of your skin. With narrowed eyes he looks up at you, his voice low and dangerous. "Care to explain this?"

Your mouth makes a perfect ‘o’ of surprise, your blood turning to ice in your veins. A flood of unbearable embarrassment washes through you, and you begin to shake like a leaf. Never in your life have you ever been so mortified, or, so angry, that he has that obviously private book in his hand.

"How dare you read that?"

Rage flares in Donaka's dark eyes, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he grinds his teeth.

"How dare I read this filth, written about me, in my house? I have every right."

You are quaking, tears in your eyes. The things you wrote about him in that diary...it’s not all filth. Some of it…is foolishly sweet. And he read it all. Your chest feels like it's pressed in a vice. You feel like you want to throw up...or just die, there on the rug of his office, rather than speak to him further about this. A timely earthquake would be most appreciated; a fissure in the floor to jump into, quite ideal.

Donaka takes in your reaction to his intrusion of your privacy with secret pleasure; he knows he's got you right where he wants you, completely at his mercy, humiliated and vulnerable.

He leans back in his chair, his eyes fixed on your face, drinking in your misery. "I read every single word," he delights in telling you.

You look away, utterly unable to meet his eyes. "Congratulations, Sir," you rasp past the lump of sand in your throat.

Donaka can't help the cold smirk that appears on his face as he watches you look away, unable to meet his eyes. The way you address him as "sir" makes a shiver of satisfaction run down his spine.

“I've got to say, I'm impressed. I never would have guessed your imagination was so...vivid. You seem like such a nice girl.”

A shuddering breath escapes you. You’ve resisted him all this time, taking solace instead in writing in your journal. It was better that way. Safer. But this man is not the type to be satisfied with just words on a page. That's why...he runs a billion dollar corporation, and you...sweep floors.

Donaka watches your defeated gesture, savoring it like a fine dessert.

“Just what did you intend to do with all this?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you defend immediately. Dear god, you think. Please don’t let this man think I was planning a ‘Tell All’.

“This is a lot of energy gone into nothing?”

He doesn’t have to tell you. “It’s just…my journal. To clear my head.”

“Your journal. Of things that never actually happened?” It sounds pretty stupid when he puts it that way–you feel every pound of pressure he puts in that statement, and you think you really just might faint right there beside his desk. “Do you actually get satisfaction out of that?” He sounds genuinely curious.

You close your eyes, so you don’t have to look at his blazing dark stare boring into you as you nod.

“Just give it back, and you never have to see me again.”

He laughs at you, a cruel little chuckle that pierces you to the core. “No, this little treasure is never leaving this house. And you’re not going anywhere.”

You can do nothing but shake your head, trembling in your very bones.

“You’re brave in many ways, y/n,” he tells you, fingering the cover of your damning treatise on The Art of Being Creepy About Your Boss. “But in others? Such a coward.”

It’s the understatement of the century, and you can’t stand it anymore. You turn on your heel to leave–and a grip like iron encircles your wrist, so tight the bones creak. You get your first real taste of how strong this man is, when he jerks you down into his lap like you are a ragdoll made of straw. A yip of a scream escapes you, as he manhandles you like he owns you.

You feel so small, enveloped by his massive frame, his long arms wrapped around you.

"Let's have story time, shall we?" he says with a wicked chuckle, cracking the journal to a random page, and he begins to read the explicit scene you wrote starring the two of you, against the bookshelves, in the library. You can feel his deep, baritone voice vibrating against your skin as he recites, his arm around your waist holding you tight, preventing you from escaping.

“The strength in his hands makes me weak, those veritable paws gripping my thighs and lifting me, the desperate fury of his kiss pressing me back into the shelves so hard there will be linear bruises imprinted upon my skin. Perhaps I will look upon the souvenir tomorrow with equal parts pride and horror, still unsure if I am a victim, or if I welcomed the beast’s ravishment with open arms. Both feel true. The lush wetness between my legs suggests the latter, and as he explores my center with those long, blunt fingers I embrace the prospect of my ruin, bewitched by his skillful touch… Sweetheart, I’m flattered!”

You are dying in your mortification, your face on fire, your every nerve ending aware of this man. You physically cannot stand it, going feral in his arms, squirming in his lap like a fish on a hook, desperate to get away from this hell of your own making. It’s like pushing on a steel wall; he does not give a millimeter up to you.

"Forget travel writing, I think your calling is the x-rated romance novel," he congratulates you cruelly when you finally go still with exhaustion. And maybe it’s true–you can feel the bulge of his erection pressing into your behind, and fuck if despite your desperation, you start to ache between your thighs, your unhelpful lady parts casting their usual vote for what is undoubtedly a form of suicide.

He leans closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Look how you’re trembling. You’ve tried to deny it all along, but you want me."

"I want you to let me go." You push at his muscle-corded arm around you again, fruitlessly. You haven’t resorted to nails or teeth yet–somehow, you suspect you would not like the result of such an escalation.

Donaka's grip on you just tightens even more, squeezing the breath from you. “You know…something about reading this makes me think that’s not what you really want.”

Suddenly he stands, dropping you on his desk hard, tossing the little book away so that he can use two hands to pin you down. You might have screamed, had it not knocked the breath out of you. "I liked your ideas about this desk," he growls, taking your mouth in a punishing kiss, pressing you down into the wooden surface with his full bodyweight, his slender hips wedged between your legs. He kisses you like he means to devour you whole, starting with your mouth.

This. This is what you expected all along.

"Please, Donaka–" you plead when you are allowed to draw a breath. But his fingers in your hair control your head, pulling your lips to his again. His kiss is fueled by a fierce, primal hunger, his tongue delving deep into your mouth, seeking and claiming every inch of you as his own. His free hand moves over your body, exploring and caressing every curve and contour, squeezing the soft meat of your bare thigh, sliding under your panties to cup your ass.

"I'm not angry that you wrote the words," he snarls against your cheek. "I'm angry that you dared to deny me, lying to my face while you wanted me all along." His eyes lock onto yours, his gaze intense. "Your charade ends tonight."

“But I–”

You whimper as he tugs at your hair, forcing you to meet his eyes again. "No more excuses, you little coward," he snarls. "Did you think you were going to tame me with a potato chip?”

"I wasn't playing with you," you protest, on the edge of tears. "I never meant to hurt you!"

“Hurt me?” His tone is incredulous, but in that moment it dawns on you that that is indeed the root of his fury. He’d offered you sweetness, at least his version of it, such a rare and unheard of thing for him, damn near showing vulnerability–and you’d denied him. So now…you were getting the stick, and despite the flood of arousal between your legs, you weren’t really sure you liked it all that much. There were no straight lines with this man. Everything was a jagged edge, or a shade of grey.

"You didn’t hurt me, you infuriated me,” he insists, his lips on your neck. “You knew what I wanted, what I needed, and yet you still dared deny me." He returns to your mouth, his lips hovering just above yours. "You wanted the thrill of bedding the bad man, but none of the blame. That’s fine, bunny. I’ll be your villain.”

At hearing that you renew your struggle, trying to worm out of his grasp.

Donaka's grip on you tightens even more as you writhe, his weight crushing the breath from you, his hips pinning you like a butterfly on a board. There truly is no escaping him like this. “Give it up," he admonishes, his voice a low, dark rumble. "You wanted me to make you. I read all about it, and I’ll give it to you, sweetheart. I'm not letting you go. Fight me, I like it. Or submit, I like that too. Either way, you're mine tonight."

You’ve known all along that he is a dangerous enigma, and that was why you tried to exorcise your desire for him in words on a page, and not play with fire, not taunt the beast and offer him your tender flesh because you knew you would get bitten.

But deep down...God, you’d wanted it anyway. You’d wanted to know, just once, what it would be like to bare your throat to a man like Donaka Mark, wondering if he might find you enticing enough, worthy enough, to kiss rather than kill simply because he could.

“I hate you,” you hiss through your tears, but all you win is his dark laughter.

“You wish that you hated me, baby. I read all about that too.” He kisses you again, almost tenderly this time, though his hold on you is still bruising. He kisses your cheeks, savoring the wet tracks of your tears. “Don't cry. I’m going to make your wicked little fantasies come true.”

He kisses you, a deep, punishing lock of lips, and his hand disappears beneath your skirt. When he touches your soaking wet center he smiles against your mouth. You know it is not a nice smile, but still you moan as his thumb circles your clit confidently, as though he knows exactly how to handle you–as though you already belong to him. When he withdraws you watch with horror as he licks his thumb clean, his eyes all for you.

“Tastes like little liar,” he sighs with narrowed eyes. “But we’re going to fix that.”

You scream, when he savagely tears open the front of your dress, the black buttons flying to every corner of the room. He ducks to kiss your freshly bared skin, impatiently pulling down the cup of your bra, presenting your mounded flesh for his delectation. When his lips close on your nipple, his tongue flicking, you feel it simultaneously in your throbbing clit. An involuntary moan escapes you, and you know this is the beginning of the end.

“That’s my good girl,” he encourages between ravishing your sensitive flesh, his hips locked against yours. “Tell me all about it.”

“I do hate you.”

He laughs, a short bark of mirth before kissing you again. You feel him reach down to work his buckle and buttons and zipper, taking himself out with one hand, the other still holding you down. He’s so impatient he simply pushes your panties to the side, his thick tip sinking past your entrance with embarrassingly little resistance, you’re so wet. He growls as he bullies himself inside, lost in the sensation of you, drunk on the heady high of triumph at last.

When you open your mouth to protest he makes the final thrust that fills you completely, tearing a sound from your throat instead that sounds suspiciously like enjoyment. Your head rocks back against the desk as your body adjusts to this delicious invasion.

This is bad. Very bad. But it feels so very good.

He pauses for a moment to savor it, looking down at you with a smirk, and maybe you invent it out of desperation–but a smoldering warmth in his eyes.

You are so fucked.

“I just knew you’d have the sweetest little pussy.”

He kisses you, moaning in your mouth as he thrusts, losing himself as he wrecks you with his unfairly endowed cock. When his tip hits your cervix you flinch, your body still trying to get away, even while the rest of you has accepted the inevitable. “Too much?”

“Yes,” you hiss, still writhing beneath him.

“Be good then,” he warns you, his voice rough in your ear. “Or I’ll have to punish you.”

He ducks to your breast again, his tongue wreaking havoc as his thumb slips between you, moving in time with his manhood stretching you to perfection, hitting just the right spot like he was made for you…

“Fuck,” you pant, out of frustration and need and worst of all…the knowledge of absolute defeat.

You feel him smile against your skin, surrendering to pleasure while he works inside you once more. “Someone’s finally catching on…”

You let out a growl…but you’re not fighting him anymore, your back arched as you strain for the release that is building in your hips, that maddening promise of euphoria coiled in your loins, the gratification you’ve craved from this man since day one. The tightening of your walls around him wins you another ragged groan, his forehead pressed to your breastbone as he concentrates on making you cum first. A part of you wishes he’d just get off and leave you alone–but he’s not going to do that. There’s no way in hell, you’re in his claws and so you might as well wring every little bit of enjoyment out of it that you can, before you meet your inevitable demise…

“Come on baby,” he coaxes. “Give me what’s mine. From now on, this is where your pleasure comes from, and I intend to keep your schedule full.”

“This is not–becoming a thing,” you insist, short of breath, because it feels like he’s in your lungs.

He laughs at you, a wicked chuckle that raises your every hair follicle. “No? Do I have to keep you on the edge until you beg me for it, pretty girl? We could do this for days.”

Is it possible, to cum out of spite? You think it might be, as you wrap your legs around his narrow hips in a bid to control the timing of his thrusts. He lets you, caught up in the moment you start participating rather than fighting. You clench upon his perfect cock buried inside you, desperate to indulge yourself before he can torture you by withholding it.

Your orgasm takes mercy on you, rising to the occasion valiantly. The rapture of it destroys you like a chain explosion, filling your loins before ripping up your spine, hitting so hard you arch and lift him from desk for a few, beautiful moments of ruin. He moans with you, fucking you hard as your needy, turncoat of a cunt milks him, sending him over the edge to spill inside you. He fills you with hot spurts of his essence, his powerful body locked against yours as though to make sure you get every drop.

For a few long moments he collapses on you, his breathing heavy in the bend of your neck, his lips gentle behind your ear.

“Was that so terrible?” he asks you smugly, sitting up on his elbows to sweep the wisps of your sweat-plastered hair from your forehead. You close your eyes, lulled by the unexpected tenderness in his touch.

“I still hate you,” you sigh unconvincingly.

“Mmm hmm. I can tell. Are you on birth control?”

“Shouldn’t you have asked that beforehand?”

“Don’t be smart, just answer the question.”

You growl, winning that smirk that quickens your heart. He just thinks you’re cute, goddamn him.

“No, I’m not going bear your demon spawn,” you grumble with an eye roll.

“Hmm.” He smirks down at you, his eyes sweeping your face, then lower, and for a terrifying moment you can’t tell if he’s pleased by your preparedness, or contemplating the thought of filling you with his child. The latter scares you more than anything else he’s done so far tonight.

Spitefully you muse, “I kinda wish I had a venereal disease to give you though.”

Now he narrows his eyes. “Very funny.”

“You’ll find out, I guess...”

He puts his hand over your mouth; it's so big it envelopes the whole lower half of your face.

“Let’s have silence now.” You glare–and you lick his hand, though you don’t make a sound. He looks at it with a frown, then wipes it on your cheek.

“Come on.” He withdraws, righting himself, then you, papers fluttering to the ground as you make your dismount from the desk. Whatever he was working on is surely ruined by sweat…and other bodily fluids. He doesn’t seem to care, for the smug way he smiles at you.

You might have fallen, if not for his strong arm steadying your shaking limbs. He gives you a moment to find your legs, and as you rest against the solid warmth of his chest, enveloped by the spice of his cologne, you are consumed by the warring urges to kiss him and to hit him. This man. This man could prove to be the death of you through confusion alone.

He tilts your face up to his, surprisingly gentle now. It’s hard to believe this is the same man from five minutes ago, when he presses his lips to yours.

You try to button your dress, but it's a lost cause. Maybe it doesn’t matter, because he is pulling you away, towards the door. In the hallway you try to break off in the direction of your room, but he snorts at you, guiding you in the opposite direction with a hand on the back of your neck.

“I’m not done with you yet, bunny…”

“Donaka…” You only narrowly resist the urge to sob. “You won. Just let me go…” All you want to do is be alone to lick your wounds, and reflect on what the fuck just happened to you. Your thoughts are a complete jumble; you are a walking well-fucked vessel filled with shame and confusion and you hate to admit–total gratification. It all went by so fast and maybe deep down you wanted it but he just took you and you–

As though he knows you are trying to pick all this apart and doesn’t intend to give you the chance, Donaka jerks you to him, pulling you into a punishing kiss that melts your bones all over again. You make a small, kittenish sound that betrays your begrudging enjoyment. You swear you feel his smug satisfaction emanating from his pores.

“Don’t you get it yet?” he asks you darkly, a dangerous sparkle in his midnight black eyes. “You’re mine now.”

#donaka mark #donaka mark x reader #donaka mark x you #donaka mark x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves #dark romance #plz be warned #have you noticed how much donaka mark laughs?#he is a very bad man #and he is having a very good time doing it

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receivemymajesty · 2 months ago

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A Best Enemies AO3 Analysis Part 1

Hello! I had the burning urge to put together some rough stats around Thoschei fanfiction on AO3. As I had problems scraping the data, most of this analysis is pulled from the aggregations on AO3's tagged works page. If I find a better way to extract this from AO3 I'll likely come back and do something more comprehensive!

(This analysis is not statistically robust and may be subject to errors. Please keep in mind this is just for fun!)

To start with, what are the top pairings in the "The Doctor/The Master" tag on AO3?

Thirteen/Dhawan!Master sits at the top of the list, occupying 23% of all Doctor/Master content on AO3.

The first seven pairings listed here make up 83% of all Doctor/Master fics, the remaining Other category comprising of all possible Doctor x Master combinations make up 27%. *

*Multiple relationship tagging means that some pairings may overlap for the same fanfiction

What are the ratings of the top pairings?

Five/Ainley!Master stand as the raunchiest pairing in the list, with 34% of all Five/Master fanfictions falling under the Explicit category.

How do the top pairings compare over time?

There were just 53 fanfics completed in 2008 on AO3. While fanfic volumes increased in line with the growing popularity of AO3, the reappearances of a certain fictional villain resulted in spikes in publication.

Though the global pandemic definitely had an impact on AO3 activity during 2020, this also coincided with the introduction of a pairing that saw a meteoric rise in fanfiction. Can you guess which one?

Thirteen/Dhawan!Master saw 615 fanfictions during 2020. For comparison, that's more than the total amount of Doctor X Master fanfiction published in 2018 and 2019 combined!

That's it from me for now - but I'll be back soon to look at a few other areas of interest in the AO3 fandom sphere!

#thoschei #doctor/master #doctor who #twissy #spydoc #best enemies #tensimm #everything was manual data entry here #I'm a proponent of work smarter not harder but ao3 seems notoriously difficult to pull data from #understandable with anti-ai measures!

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btsmosphere · 11 months ago

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Supercharged | JJK

Chapter 1: the Light Dies

masterlist | next

🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens? 🗲this chapter: He’s the hero. Unfortunately for you, you’re not the villain.

🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader 🗲word count: 6.6k 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, it’s sorta like a mafia au but they have superpowers lmao 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: violence with superpowers, minor character death, attempted murder, injury, loss of consciousness

a/n: I have to say thank you to @casuallyimagining and @bluewhale52 for betaing this chapter, although this might come as a surprise to them since that was maybe 3 years ago now?😅I'm really not sure how much my writing had changed since then, but you guys can be the judge of that as the future chapters unfold! In the meantime, enjoy! If you want more supercharged in your life, you can also search my supercharged tag to find some musings, rambling, gifsets and visuals etc that inspired me and kept me going while I lost my mind over this story!

Lastly, I present the supercharged playlist✨ I had a lot of fun making this – several songs align with plot events, while some of them are there for the title, the vibe, or even a single line! Feel free to guess which are which or come and chat with me about it👀

An ear-splitting roar was barely contained behind shuddering steel doors. Just down the corridor, your fingers still clicked away, unperturbed, at your keyboard.

Tapping your foot, you looked impatiently up at the clock as another thunderous bellow assaulted the air. If the full-length windows weren’t reinforced by your boss, Kuyang’s own design, they would be rattling in their frames.

Blowing to rid your face of a strand of hair, you returned to your work, not even sparing a glance towards the source of the racket. It was only around half an hour until you could leave work for the weekend.

Finishing your task, you turned to filing the correspondence on your desk as a few yells carried through the air, mingled with the monster’s uproar. Bills and business deals the lot of them, you tucked them away in their respective places to be dealt with next week – only to stop on the very last one. How many times had the postman ignored the very clear sign for no newspapers?

You supposed the city felt the need to remind everyone that there was some semblance of central control – not really of much concern in a workplace such as yours, mind. Glancing across the front page, you realised why. You didn’t have a tv at home, but you would have to live under a rock not to recognise your city’s most celebrated superhero. Bolt, the media’s beloved, had claimed another victory against some crazy start-up trying to build their own bombs downtown.

The hero’s blue-masked face grinned confidently up at you from the desk, while police led what looked to be two scruffy teenagers into the back of their van. But Bolt’s vivid presence eclipsed them in his suit that matched his bright eyes.

Not bothering to read further, you pushed the paper into the waste bin at the end of the table.

Just as you were tucking away the final bits of paper, your boss emerged, wiping his brow on a cloth that looked as dirty as his face. Smiling pleasantly despite his ruffled state, you rotated on your chair to face him.

“Frank’s all good and sleepy now,” he said, “if you could get him sent up to the chamber.”

“Sure,” you nodded, already getting up and straightening your jacket.

With nothing more than a weary nod of appreciation, he left for his private laboratory. This was through a series more armoured doors, to which only you and a small number of lab workers knew the codes.

He was a scientist. And you were sure he was unhinged, but the job paid well, so that was all you concerned yourself with.

In fact, you had got very lucky. You had been surprised when such a good position had become available and quickly given to someone as ill-qualified as you, with no references to give. But your lack of connections seemed of no concern, and here you were, finally making ends meet and no longer in fear of being turned out of your run-down apartment at the edge of town.

So you did your job as well as you could, worrying yourself over nothing except pleasing the odd man that was Kuyang.

Even so, it was still a little daunting each time you had to come face-to-face with one of his experiments.

Reaching the steel doors that had not long ago been seriously threatening their hinges, you took a breath. Holding your thumb over a scanner by the door, you plastered a confident smile on your face as you walked inside.

Affectionately dubbed ‘Frank’, a great lump of teeth and dark furry flesh several times bigger than you was sleeping in a pod at the centre of the room. Surrounding this were multitudes of screens showing graphs and readings you couldn’t hope to understand.

At the edges of the room, a smattering of other workers were slumped against the stainless steel lab walls, almost as rumpled as their boss had been.

A hulking guard, Taeyeon, stood near the entrance, and you quietly confirmed with her that Frank was under and secure. Nodding, you gestured to Taeyeon’s team, another man and woman with the same uniform and intimidating stature.

Together, you assembled in front of the tank that held Frank, Taeyeon typing authorisation into one of the computers. The others locked down the external doors, just in case.

Though it was a familiar sight by now, the opening of the pod always prompted you to run through your training. If you hadn’t read it in the documents you dealt with, you would not have known Frank was also known as Necrus X, a new prototype Kuyang was working on, although you could not imagine what for.

Kuyang had been sure to tell you how to knock out the creature if it ever came to it, though. There was a spot behind his ear, which was more of a ridge at the side of his enormous head.

With the pod open, a panel rose from the floor, taking Frank rotating upwards. You caught sight of the patch behind its ear, zeroing in on it. Just in case.

The smooth expanse of ceiling split then, a hole revealing itself as the roof shrunk away into the walls, leaving a clear path for Frank to rise to the next floor, where he was stored.

As effortlessly as the ceiling retreating, a smooth steel staircase emerged from the walls. You and Taeyeon climbed it, spiralling around the edges of the circular space until you drew level with Frank, now snoring on the upper floor. Here, the space was wide open like an empty art gallery, half the walls comprised of expansive windows, no lab equipment to be seen.

The floor closed up beneath you both and you walked around Frank, opening a secret panel in the wall. As before, you raised your thumb to a blank scanner – but got no further.

A deafening smash sent you crouching to the ground in panic. Livid blue painted all the walls in the space as shattered glass skidded across the floor.

You had thought that glass to be unbreakable. At least that was the intention. But when you turned, you were forced to believe your ears: the central panel of glass was completely blown in, all the others down the row cracked from the force.

At the same moment the glass had shattered, you could suddenly hear what before had been hidden behind soundproofing. Outside, there were shouts, screams, car horns and alarms blaring from every angle – and above all, sirens. Sirens wailing through the air like disembodied banshees, descending, apparently, on your building.

Shuffling along the floor, you peered past the sleeping mass that was Frank in front of you. Walking across the room was a man in a tight blue suit, the same hue crackling in the air around his hands.

Bolt.

Mind short-circuiting, you were frozen. What should you do?

What was Bolt doing here? Was there some kind of threat? The image of him should have brought you relief, even though you knew nothing of what the danger was, but you hesitated.

Only having the presence of mind to shrink back silently behind Frank, you looked between the beast and the control panel you had abandoned. But you had no more chance to move before a fearsome crack ripped through the air, another flash of blue, sending the hairs on your arms bolting upright.

Spinning back to face Frank, you were met with a thump. A body, falling onto the floor.

Though she was mostly obscured by Frank’s sleeping form, you stared in unbelieving horror at Taeyeon where she lay, unmoving. Breath accelerating in your throat, you moved at last, scooting yourself back and away. Closer to the wall.

First you lunged to sound the alarm, mounted inside the wall panel, which instantly lit the room up in throbbing red, blaring loud enough to drown out the sirens outside. Then your hand was fumbling across the scanner. You had to get Frank locked away.

The walls of the pod which safely contained Frank overnight began to descend, much too slowly for your liking. Whirling to face the room, your heart seized in your chest when the imposing figure of Bolt, now shaded purple by the red light, met your eyes.

A glance up at the descending walls. They were halfway to the ground by now, but you still had to enter the code to lock them down.

Bolt yelled for you to stop, barely audible over the dizzying noise of the warning siren.

As he strode towards you, you could only watch, pressing yourself desperately against the wall as if it could swallow you up.

Bright light cut through the imposing red as the heavy door at the opposite end of the room was thrown open. Bolt stopped, both of you turning to see Kuyang enter. His hair was still sticking up from earlier, a strange expression on his face that you hadn’t seen before.

Paying no mind to the maniacal smile that had no place on Kuyang’s face, you took the moment of distraction to scramble for the code lock.

Without a sound, the gap between the floor and Frank’s pod closed, and your fingers were already leaping to action, typing the numbers behind your back at lightning speed.

Kuyang was running now, a direct path towards Bolt. But Bolt turned back towards you.

You were nearly done, but his hand was raising towards you…

In a split second, your fingertip met the final key of the code. Almost instantly, it was ripped away as shocking blue light cut through the air. You felt the impact before you could even notice that it was aimed at you.

Hitting you square in the chest, white hot pain scorched through your every nerve as your body was flung backwards, powerless as a ragdoll sailing through the air. The collision with the cracked window behind was almost lost on you. More intense pain was writhing its way down each limb, making you cry out, uncaring about the rain-spattered wind that whipped about your face now.

But you could see shards of glass as they fell along with you, like daggers aimed at the ground.

Biting wind rushed in your ears, the sound crashing over you like waves. And just as a pan sizzles down off the heat, the ferocious attack of pain seemed to reduce just as fast as it had invaded you.

Your heartbeat was the loudest thing, booming over the insistent web of sirens and whistling air.

Breathing choppily, you screwed your eyes nearly closed, suddenly aware of the tempest around you as you fell. Above, the already darkening winter night was illuminated with flashes of that awful blue.

You were falling.

It hit you then, as if you hadn’t been falling all this time. But it was only now that your senses caught up with themselves. You worked on a very high floor of the skyscraper, but as you were tossed around in the air, you saw the ground rapidly approaching.

A horror gripped your chest like nothing you had ever felt before.

Below you, and rushing towards you at terrifying speed, a skip sat surrounded by heaps of trash on the street. Unable to think, you could only shield your face with your hands, stretched out in front of you as if to stop the inevitable collision.

Though your eyes fell closed, you felt the jerk that flung your whole body backwards.

That wasn’t what you had expected.

Eyes snapping open in confusion, you found your vision lit with blue. In front of your face, blue light was shooting from your palms, pushing you up and away from the ground.

Your mouth fell open. Gaping in shock, you did nothing as the light died and you slowed again in the air.

Though you began falling much slower this time, you barely had time to notice your surroundings – much nearer the ground – before you were plummeting again, and this time nothing could stop you.

Your eyes weren’t even open when you felt your body slide off something. Not a second later, you were crumpling onto hard concrete which grazed your cheek.

You groaned.

It was dark. High above, any flashes of light didn’t reach you here, having landed in a thin alley beside the building. And though this shielded you from the commotion on the main streets out front, sirens still pierced the air, each one feeling like a stab to your head.

You clutched it as you maneuvered to sit. It took you a few tries, groping for a wall or something to lean against as you regained your balance.

Eyes cracking open, you waited patiently for the dark splotches to dispel before looking around.

Right next to you was a car which blocked you from view of the road beyond this alley. Evident from the dent that caved in its bonnet, that was what you had landed on.

Turning your head, you had to squint even more as light assaulted your sensitive eyes.

Among a blazing light, you could make out the vague shapes of rubbish bags and an overflowing skip that you recognised. Out of these, a vibrant fire was now burning. The correlation was too strong for you to ignore.

Breath shallow, you turned your horrified gaze to your hands.

They had done this… but how? They looked totally normal now.

Frowning, you brought them up closer to your face, so that your nose was practically buried in your palms.

No difference.

You were sure you hadn’t imagined that blue light which saved you earlier. Was there a way to make it come back?

While you were puzzling, you lowered your hands again, still staring intently as you rotated them in your lap.

Then, quick as a blink, a blue flash darted from them again. So fast, in fact, that you had no time to react before one of the bolts was fired directly into your opposite arm.

Snatching it away reflexively, you hissed in pain as a burning sensation crawled, tingling, over your skin there.

Despite the pain, the blue light didn't cease shooting from your hands. They tingled, a strangely uncomfortable sensation. It was as if something warm was wriggling its way up your veins and spilling from your fingertips.

“Stop! Stop!” you whispered in panic.

You turned them outwards, aiming away from you, but if they kept at it for much longer you were sure to draw attention.

Moving your hands around jerkily, the beams of light shook along with you, but did not go out. With each unsuccessful movement, panic made you more frantic until the glowing rays jerked erratically around the small space.

Straying too far, the light came into contact with a post at the alley’s entrance. You could only watch, helpless, as light like blue snakes skittered up it and latched around the wires it supported.

To your relief, the strange current seemed to have found an outlet, and only remained a second longer before cutting out. You were left blinking in the relative darkness. Panting heavily, you stared down at your hands, although you did not bring them too close anymore.

Once again, they appeared utterly innocent. There was nothing to suggest they had just channelled lightning through them.

Suddenly, the world plunged into darkness. The fire still burned at the other end of the alley, or you would have been left totally blind. In the building behind you, in the street, all the lights had gone out.

Almost instantly following the blackout, screaming rose again in the air.

Gulping, your eyes travelled to the blackened post at the corner, which you had accidentally electrocuted.

This was bad. Your head was spinning, both from your short, hard fall and from the whirlwind of events that had happened in what could only have been minutes. Surrounded by darkness, with the wail of the city and a fire for company, you could only see one course of action.

Run.

You had to get away from here. It wasn’t safe. You had little idea where was safe, but you couldn’t be here anymore.

It wasn’t like you had anyone to call who would care enough to come and pick you up. Nor did you have the money to try a hospital, though you felt as if you may need it.

But especially with electricity shooting from your hands at the drop of a hat, it probably wasn’t best to be anywhere around people.

The dizziness from your unfortunate landing on the car had worn off while you were sitting, but the world swayed anew the moment you made to stand. Pushing determinedly against the wall, you struggled on anyway, brand new dark spots in your vision offset by the brightness of the fire you walked towards.

This end of the alleyway led out through smaller streets, away from the city centre and furore of sirens.

On reaching the opening, you cautiously assessed the road stretching away either side. Empty. And if there was anyone there, they wouldn’t see you in this darkness.

Shoving your hands beneath your armpits on some misguided hope of keeping them from causing problems, you lowered your head and ran. It was more of a jog, considering everything, but you still moved as quickly as you could beneath the dead streetlamps.

Head throbbing more with movement, you stumbled a few times as you went. The pavement tilted around you.

You had made it a few roads before you felt that awful tingling in your arms again. It itched, like something fighting its way out of your skin.

Nausea rolled in the pit of your stomach. This couldn’t be real.

Slowing down and stopping beneath a signpost, you drew your shaking hands out in front of you. The world careened on its axis, revolving around the sight of your palms as a faint blue glow grew in them.

You were going to throw up, you were sure of it.

You wanted it to stop.

A few flickers of blue darted down the veins in your wrist. Towards your fingertips. Sparks leapt from them, small tendrils of lightning crackling between your fingers like webbing.

At last, you gave in to the rising horror mixed with a sick feeling. The floor’s spinning became too much, your hands turning to a bright blur in the centre of your vision.

You passed out on the spot.

Lights were turning on again around the city. Television sets flickering back to life to announce Bolt’s victory against the beast that had attacked earlier that evening.

But not on the street where you still lay.

The return of light only reached neighbouring roads, dim glow snuffed out before it could penetrate the middle of this street. A white-haired young man stepped forwards, but his face was totally obscured in darkness.

“Here,” he spoke to the silence.

The next moment, a deep red glowed in the middle of the road, though it brought little light. The red bounced off a signpost before it was gone, replaced by another man, seemingly from nowhere.

The newest arrival stood there, looking down at your figure, unconscious by the sign. Then he disappeared again, leaving total darkness behind as if he had never been there at all.

A few more moments passed, you and the hidden man the only beings on the dark road.

Not very long after, a car’s engine rumbled and sputtered into earshot. The bright beam of headlights rounded the corner, growing larger and shedding light on your form as it drew closer.

Pulling up next to you, the engine died along with the lights. Two doors opened and slammed shut.

As two pairs of feet stepped nearer to join the one remaining beside you, the streetlamp directly overhead began to glow. The faint glimmer grew until it illuminated the scene. Still no other lights joined it, leaving the small group of you lit up as if by spotlight.

“It’s her?”

The man crouching beside you asked the question without looking up, and the shadowed man answered.

“Pretty sure.”

“She’s breathing?”

“Yes.”

The crouching man hummed. Moving to kneel instead, his eyes roved over your somewhat battered face, dark hair obscuring his own.

“Namjoon?” he asked then, turning to the other man from the car. It was the same man who had momentarily appeared in the street earlier.

Taking his cue, the tall man, Namjoon, walked forwards and bent to lift your hands by the wrists. In just moments he was placing them carefully back, nodding.

“No doubt.”

“Okay then.”

“Can she travel, Jin?”

“Give me a moment.”

Producing a small object, he pressed a button and a small light sprung from the end. Carefully lifting one of your eyelids, he shone the light into it, observing like a doctor.

The first you became aware of was the far away sound of voices being quietly exchanged. But with the cloudiness in your head, identifying them didn’t seem very urgent. You were preoccupied with the swirling feeling that made the world swim around you, even though it was dark.

But as dim awareness was returning to you, the process of regaining your senses was violently accelerated as a blinding light was thrust into your vision.

You flinched, and as Jin pulled away he saw you blink, eyelids screwing shut in protest. His eyebrows raised in slight concern as he watched your first groggy movements.

Blinking around at the dimly lit figures over you, your eyes widened. The nearest man held the illuminated light stick. Was he a doctor?

Next, your eyes darted to the tall man standing behind him. You recognised neither.

Some strange feeling told you someone else was standing there too, but when you looked to your other side you were faced with nothing but empty shadow.

“Can you sit?”

The first man’s question was gentle, his hands ready to support you.

Nodding timidly, you heaved yourself up with his help. It embarrassed you to be panting after just that much movement.

“What happened?” came the next question.

As you replayed the events, you avoided their eyes. You could not let them know what happened, what you had become. They were helping you, and yet you might hurt them-

Fists clenching subconsciously, you stuttered in panic.

“I-I can’t pay,” you told them, but before you could say more a new voice was speaking. The standing man stepped forwards, his voice calm and surprisingly friendly.

“There’s no need to pay. We can help you. Can you tell us what happened?”

“I don’t, uh, I-I-“

His eyes travelled towards your hands, which you were trying to tuck behind you.

“You gained powers, didn’t you?”

You froze.

“I have them too,” he smiled, “I know what it’s like to be scared. But you can work with this and learn to control them. I’m Namjoon, and this is Jin. We’ve been through this before, we can help you.”

At your sides, your hands relaxed. Tension lifted from your tightly hunched shoulders. Wordless, you looked between the men who were watching you, ready to move, but only on your word.

Swallowing, a light frown creased your brow.

“What do you want-”

Namjoon’s smile dimmed into something kinder.

“At least let us check you over.”

Your hands fretted together. It was strange, you couldn’t feel anything there. Surely they should feel different? How would you know if these… powers, Namjoon had said, were to come back?

“You won’t hurt us, don’t worry,” he seemed to anticipate your thoughts as he watched you, “we can protect ourselves.”

“You were unconscious,” Jin spoke, drawing your perplexed gaze back to him, “did you hit your head?”

You blinked, but found yourself answering.

“I think so.”

Nodding, Jin shuffled at your side. He leaned a bit closer.

“I need to shine this light in your eyes again. You may have a concussion.”

Complying, you sat through the eye-watering brightness. He asked you things, like a doctor would, except he was working in the middle of an empty street in the middle of the night.

“Do you feel dizzy?”

“I did. I think still, a little.”

“Any nausea?”

“Yeah… but maybe because of the…” you gestured to your hands.

Jin sat back, taking the light with him. Namjoon shot you a sympathetic smile at that. You supposed he had been through the same thing, from the sounds of it.

Jin looked up at Namjoon.

“It looks pretty rough. Definitely a concussion, and she needs patching up, but in the long run she’ll be fine.”

“I-I’m serious,” you interjected, “I don’t have the money for hospital…”

Your voice faltered. You half thought of asking to just go home, but you were hardly sure of even making it there by yourself. And if you got there, then what? The prospect of burning down the place with these errant powers didn’t fill you with comfort.

“Good thing we’re not going to bring you there, then,” Namjoon said, “but I meant it when I said we could help. We can take you home, if you want… but you can stay with us, too.”

You stared at him wordlessly. Was it crazy that you were considering this?

“Just for a bit, if you need,” Jin added softly, “it’s just… now might not be the smartest time to be alone.”

You chewed your cheek. But your head was pounding too much to think very hard, and this seemed like the most straightforward option. The people in this city kept surprising you, after your first stroke of luck with Kuyang's generosity.

“Sure…” you spoke quietly, not quite able to look them in the eyes, “yes please.”

“Okay,” Namjoon took it in stride, “but let’s get moving.”

“Just one moment – we should wrap that.”

Gesturing towards your arm, Jin stood and went back to the car. On his return, he knelt again and began to secure cling film around the angry red blotch blistering your skin, where you had caught yourself with your own beam.

“We’ll sort it out properly when we get back,” he told you, “but Namjoon’s right, we should be going.”

You followed his gaze which seemed to dart up and down the street. However, nothing was there.

Jin helped you stand, still looking around. Sure enough, the dizziness from before hadn’t quite left you yet. Biting down on your lip, you focussed hard on getting the short distance to the car. You were led to the passenger seat and crumpled gratefully into it.

But just as Jin closed the door, you felt an uncomfortable prickling clutch your forearms again. Namjoon slid into the back seat in time to hear your gasp, noticing the way your fingers flexed in panic. Digging in his pockets, he produced a pair of thin black gloves and held them out to you just as the first trickles of blue appeared in your veins again. He watched with a studious frown as you pushed your hands into the gloves.

“Those will help,” he said, still looking at your wrists, “they can contain the powers. But you shouldn’t keep them on for too long.”

Jin was seating himself in the driver’s side as you frowned over at Namjoon. At first you had been relieved to have a solution to your erratic lightning problem, but that was ripped away at his last addition.

“Why not? It will keep you safe,” you questioned, but kept your voice quiet.

“Don’t worry, we’re more than capable of handling anything you could throw at us,” he laughed, “but you can keep them on in here. Best not to bottle up your powers forever, though.”

Resigned, you turned back to face front. The moment Jin stepped on the gas, all the lights in the road sparked to life at once. Startled, you blinked, looking around. On the pavement you were just pulling away from, a man was walking away, unidentifiable behind a hoodie.

Slumping back in your seat, you breathed a short, dry laugh. This mysterious happening was just the latest in this crazy night. You had no choice but to accept it.

The car ride was fairly short, but you were too tired and distracted to take in exactly where you were going. Streets seemed to blur together, aware only that you were heading out of town.

The itching in your arms had persisted for a while, but as promised, the gloves seemed to work. No fiery blue burst out of your palms, and, eventually, whatever it was decided to give it up, subsiding again by the time the car pulled up.

But no one got out yet. Jin had stopped at the end of a small road, big enough for only one vehicle, directly facing an expanse of crumbling and graffitied brick.

Curiosity woke you up from your daze, and you watched as Jin reached to tap something on his dashboard. Almost instantly, a groaning reached your ears from over the whirring of the engine. The wall ahead shook before shifting, sliding sideways until it tucked itself behind a dented dustbin, unveiling a space beyond.

Leaving you little more time to wonder, Jin started the car again and you rolled downwards through a plain, dark entrance. It reminded you of those multi-storey car parks formed with ugly blocks of concrete. It was considerably smaller than those, however, Jin pullingup into a space alongside about a dozen other vehicles, beyond which the place seemed entirely deserted.

Jin came around to open your door, but you were able to stand by yourself. It was still a bit of a struggle, your limbs sluggish and the world dull around you – although that may have just been the low underground light.

Namjoon led you, Jin staying close by your side. Blinking at the space as you moved through it, your eyes traced over the various car roofs, some cleaner than others. A larger four-by-four was particularly beaten up, with a large crease in one of the metal wheel arches.

Your eyes rested longest on what was probably the most pristine: a motorbike, at first hidden by the cars either side of it.

Soon enough, you were past them. Stopping as Namjoon did, you watched him expectantly. However, he did not turn around, instead standing face-to-face with a plain concrete wall. Except… now a low rumble announced the movement of a panel which slid away, revealing a wide doorway which had previously blended seamlessly with the flat wall.

Your eyebrows raised at the touch that was reminiscent of Kuyang’s lab. Without time for you to dwell on this, your small group moved up a dingy staircase that lay beyond the doorway.

At the top, you emerged into a new space, notably lighter than before. You assumed you were back on ground level, perhaps above. It was hard to be sure, disoriented as you still were in the whirlwind that had overtaken your day.

Bizarrely, the space appeared to be someone’s home. There was a large and coffee-stained table surrounded by mismatching chairs, a kitchen behind it littered with mugs and pot plants. Still, beyond the lived-in array of things lying around, it was big. You imagined it must be miles more expensive than the shoddy apartment you stayed in.

It was open plan, and you followed Namjoon past the dining table towards an area filled with two enormous sofas.

The back of a blond head was visible over the sofa, and now the person turned towards you.

“Guys!” a loud exclamation rang out as he leapt up. A dazzling smile spread across his mouth.

When his eyes fell on you, wincing at his sudden volume, the smile dimmed a little.

“Not so loud, Hope-ah,” Jin spoke gently from behind you.

“Sorry,” he dipped his head, smile remaining on his lips.

Jin’s hands came lightly to your back, steering you over to a sofa. As you sunk into it with relief, the blond man sat across from you, tilting his head to catch your eye.

“I’m Hope,” he smiled, “I’m glad we found you. You’ll be right in no time!”

Frowning, you couldn’t help but notice his eyes flicking over the damage on your face. Averting your gaze, you chewed your lip absently.

What did he mean? I’m glad we found you…

Had they been looking for you? You still weren’t sure if it was a lucky coincidence they found you, but perhaps it was something more.

The lingering ache in your head forced you to push the issue away. You missed Namjoon’s stern look at Hoseok as he hovered behind your seat.

Jin pulled a pack from a cupboard and set it beside you. You let him lift your arm and unwrap the burn, your unfocussed eyes dragging across the room while he applied something cold over it. Next came stinging, scattered over your face as he wiped at the small cuts and grazes with an apologetic grimace you barely saw.

You only forced the world back into focus when someone else entered your sight. Emerging from behind you, a gentle, friendly smile was directed your way from a man with pale pink hair. Swallowing, you never managed to smile back before he was turning away.

The pink-haired man reached a hand out to someone you couldn’t see. Another man appeared, walking towards him, but he never looked at you. Or if he did, it was obscured behind the black hair that fell to his eyes.

The two new people left towards the kitchen, though not without another smile from the pink one.

Who were all these people?

Frowning after them, you were interrupted by a clap on the shoulder from Jin.

“We’ll talk more in the morning. You need to rest.”

Looking around, you had half a mind to protest, but were overruled by the shakiness taking over your frame. Body too fatigued to allow you much say, you meekly followed Jin.

Beyond the living space, a thinner corridor led away, several closed doors along its walls.

Further you went, until a door just ahead opened. Another person walked out.

When he stopped to face you, his posture remained stiff. Tall and muscular, he was clad all in black except for a towel slung over his shoulder. Damp hair fell messily around his head. But you had little time to take this in, as his eyes fixed themselves fiercely on yours, rendering you unable to look away.

Mouth remaining in a hard line, his expression only twitched further into a frown.

Then his gaze flicked abruptly away, travelling to Jin just beyond you.

“Kook-“

Jin never got further than that before the man strode forwards, marching sharply past you and away with a scowl. Turning after him in surprise, you watched his tense shoulders disappear behind Namjoon, who you hadn’t noticed hovering.

Namjoon stared sternly after him, but the man seemed to avoid his gaze.

Jin sighed, sending an apologetic glance at you.

“That’s just Jungkook,” Namjoon spoke, ushering you all further along the hallway, “don’t pay him any attention.”

“Why was…”

You trailed off, unsure of what exactly to ask. Neither of them made an attempt to answer.

You had no idea a wordless encounter could leech so much hostility into the atmosphere. Picturing Jungkook’s glowering face, you blindly followed the others through a different door.

“You can sleep in here.”

“Hm?”

Shaking yourself, you looked around the new room. There wasn’t much to see. Beside a low bed, there was a mirror, a wooden closet and nothing more. Looking up, you didn’t even find a light in the ceiling. The only light leaked through from the hallway.

Clearly reading your gaping mouth and furrowing brow, Namjoon moved in front of you.

“Don’t worry, this is just a place to sleep, nothing more. But since you’re going to have to take those gloves off, we can’t have you in a space with any electricals.”

Stepping back defensively, your fingers pressed tightly together. Having the gloves on had let you almost imagine that nothing life-changing had happened. Like gaining unpredictable powers, for instance.

Namjoon watched patiently, holding out a hand.

“You don’t need them…”

He realised he had never asked your name, and let his sentence trail expectantly. Telling him your name, he relaxed into a smile.

“You don’t need them, Y/N,” he repeated, not that you believed him for a second, “you’ll be perfectly safe. And so will we.”

Only the yearning to collapse onto the bed persuaded you to hand over the gloves. The instant they were in his hand, you swore you could feel a shock go up your arm. Immediately tense again, your breathing became shallower, with no idea how to try and stop power shooting from your hands any moment.

But Namjoon and Jin seemed content. Before you could gather your thoughts, they had left, closing the door and drenching your room in near total darkness.

Stumbling to the bed and virtually falling into it, you wiped sweating palms against the fabric. Your mouth was dry with fear.

This couldn’t have happened.

Alone for the first time since your initial panic, it didn’t take long for your mind to wrap itself in circles again. Only hours ago, you had been sitting happily in your bright office, going through the motions…

One split-second decision from a powerful man had changed that.

You knew full well he had intended for you to die. But he was Bolt...

He had probably forgotten about it already. The guard he sent lifeless to the floor, the secretary he threw from the building.

Itching feeling returning, you swallowed desperately and raised your hands. Sure enough, against the darkness, blue pierced your vision, darting its way up-

Turning your face away, you flinched as the outburst came. Your eyes screwed shut, you pressed your cheek into fabric, not wanting to see the deathly lightning that shot through the room. Shuddering breaths broke into your lungs when at last it subsided.

Letting them fall, limp, to your sides, your hands fisted the covers tightly.

You were almost afraid to open your eyes, knowing it would only show you the empty room, confirmation that this was real. You were dangerous, shut in a safe room where you could hurt no one. Would you ever get out? Succeed in controlling this, like Namjoon had said?

With no idea where you were, barely any idea who the people here were, you wanted to block it out. But even with your eyes closed, you couldn’t escape.

The memory of Jungkook’s suspicious face made your heart sink. Perhaps people should be afraid of you, now. As much as you may want to, there was no getting away from this.

Pushing yourself to sit, you surveyed the room. Eyes accustomed to the blackness a little more, you could make out vague shapes. Your breath fell alone in the silence. This really was the safest place you could be right now, even if it was a nightmare.

As your head turned, you suddenly came level with your eyes in the mirror, and a shock of light.

For an extended moment, you could only stare.

Then all at once you were rushing forwards, tripping from the end of the bed. Bracing your arms against the wall either side of the mirror, you gaped at your reflection.

As you watched, an angular bolt of blue shot across your irises, which were already dimly glowing.

You gulped against the thick feeling crawling up your throat. Faced with this, you could no longer have any hope of denying it.

This was really happening.

Thank you for reading!! Please please let me know your thoughts on this chapter, comments make it all worthwhile!💜💜

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colubrina · 1 year ago

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How I Got My Agent, Take Two

I’m so ridiculously over the top happy to say I’ve signed with a literary agent to sell my magical bookbinder book. This has been a long process that started in 2017, and I’m genuinely overjoyed.

It played out thus:

Write book one.

Write book two. Query the book.

Write book three. Query the book.

Write book four. Get into Pitch Wars with the book. (Yay!) Query the book.

Write book five. Get into Author Mentor Match with the book. (Yay!) Query the book.

Write book six.

Write book seven.

Write book eight.

Write book nine.

Get a Revise and Resubmit offer from an agent for book five. Do it.

Start querying book six.

Get an offer from the R&R (Yay!)

Write book ten.

Book five dies on submission.

Start writing book eleven.

My agent and I amicably part ways.

Start writing book twelve.

Finish querying book six.

Query book ten.

Start writing book thirteen.

Go back to book eleven.

Go to a live pitch event. Pitch book eleven to two agents. Neither likes it. One asks what else I’m working on, and when I do the one sentence pitch for book twelve, says, “I could sell that.”

Pivot to finishing that book.

Query book twelve, sending queries first to four agents who only want queries and who are actively requesting off those queries. Get a 75% request rate. Query is fire. Check. Unfortunately, every agent rejects when they see the opening pages, which turn out not to be fire.

Revise opening

Resume querying book twelve. In case you’ve lost count, while this is the twelfth book I’ve written, it’s ‘only’ the seventh I’ve queried.

Finish drafting book thirteen in NaNo. Revise. Send to CPs.

Have existential crisis on a Tuesday. Meltdown on Tumblr. Weep in my living room. All my books have failed. I do not know how to write a better book. Maybe I should give up. This turns out to be a very well-timed dark night of the soul within the narrative.

Get two full requests for book twelve on Wednesday.

Get an email telling me one of my short stories has been held for consideration on Thursday.

On Friday get an email that the woman who handles submissions for one of those agents from Wednesday loved the book but she doesn’t think it’s a great fit for the agent I queried. Would I mind if she forwarded it in-house to a different agent? In shocking news, I would not mind this.

On Monday, get an email asking for a call.

On Wednesday, which is Valentine’s Day, have a call with the agent. She’s lovely in every way, her thoughts on the book are so good, every editorial idea she floats is good. Like, really good. She is super enthusiastic about repping the book and offers to do so.

There is an etiquette requirement at this point that I tell any agent who has the book that I have an offer on the table and give them two weeks to respond, so I go around nudging all the agents with a full (four people) and several agents who only have a query. Three more agents request fulls. The rejections start trickling in. People are very sweet and complimentary, and I am deeply, deeply relieved that I never waver from how much I adore the original offering agent.

I sign with her on February 29.

Final stats for Book Twelve (THE ARCHIVE OF THE WORLD):

Total Queries Sent: 39 Requests Before Offer: 8 (20.5% request rate) Request Rate Including Post-Offer Requests: 28.2%

Year I Started this Nonsense: 2017 Total Queries Sent across 7 books: 456

Takeaway wisdom: The query trenches are a soul-mangling machine into which we all keep putting our souls and most of us don’t make it out unmangled. I am not unmangled. BUT, I am a persistence hunter, and I will walk steadily towards publishing until it lies down in exhaustion and gives up.

Thanks for hanging out with me as I do.

Also, this book is so much fun. You’re going to love it.

#querying #wow that process sucked #when we've sold the book you will hear about it #and when you can pre-order #and when you can order

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shaotie · 4 months ago

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my masterpost

🐢 I write rottmnt angst. often heavy on the angst and Leonardo-centric

🐢 most of my fanfics are rated mature or explicit for graphic depictions of violence, discretion is advised

🐢 unless drawn on paper, all art is done in Ibispaint, and credit goes to Nickelodeon and the wonderful artists who worked on Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

🔷 ◼️ 🔷 ◼️ 🔷 ◼️ 🔷

random rottmnt stuff:

- random art and comics

- random videos

- random rottmnt stuff (not mine)

- other ao3 fanfics I like

- some old rottmnt sketches || pg 1 || pg 2

- Krangified Leo (art based on Leo's Returning Debut au)

- Art and summary for some of my rottmnt fanfics

🔷 ◼️ 🔷 ◼️ 🔷 ◼️ 🔷

my rise of the tmnt fanfics:

Broken Bonds Masterpost

None of them spoke - neither the four in the room nor the figure staring at them, who audibly groaned at the sight of who, exactly, came to pay him a visit.

Seven Years Masterpost

Sometimes tragedy can split a family apart. And sometimes it can bring them back together again. If it isn't already too late.

Leo was rescued on the same day he went into the prison dimension. Wasn't he? And nothing bad could possibly happen from being shoved into and ripped out of an alternate dimension.

Right?

You Ruined EVERYTHING!

- cover art || summary

- ch 1 || ch 2 (ao3)

The Infection

- summary

- ch 1 || ch 2 (ao3)

Where Loyalties Lie Masterpost

Raised as Baron Draxum’s assassin slave, Leo (X, Experiment Alpha 002-2) comes in contact with his brothers and wants to draw close to them, but his only father-figure wants them dead.

Thrown in the middle of two worlds, will X carry out the will of his master, or will the lives of his family be precious in his eyes?

Also, as time progresses Leo must find the answer to some hard-hitting questions, such as: Who can he trust? Who is steeping him in a cesspool of lies and deception? And...

Where will his loyalties?

Two Minutes . . . And Counting (series)

- series summary is in this post (contains spoilers)

- 'Loss' art (cover picture)

- 'Loss' speedpaint (with sad Rise music)

Alternate happy ending for Two Minutes (first fic in series):

a. Doing the Impossible by DiresNightmare

b. Healing From the Impossible by Shattered_ontheInside (me)

Life: The Ultimate Sacrifice

- my art dump

- fan art by @magisav (thank you!)

- Ninpo Connection (watercolor art)

- "I'm Sorry Tiny Mikey" (comic & fanfic dialogue)

- Blame it on My ADD (music video comp of my different fanfics)

- Let's Be Friends art and excerpt

- Let's Be Friends art (zoomed in on Leo)

🔷 ◼️ 🔷 ◼️ 🔷 ◼️ 🔷

unpublished works that may eventually make their way to ao3.

A Ninja’s Greatest Weapon series

(complete series but rewriting into my current writing style before posting)

- summary (for books 2 & 3) is in this post

- my art dump || page 1 || page 2

- Blame it on My ADD (music video comp of my different fanfics)

- "Who Said I Was A Hero?" video || comic

- "Does That Make Me Insane?" (music video)

- "Fun" art and excerpt

Where You Belong

- summary at the bottom of this post

- my art dump

- Blame it on My ADD (music video comp of my different fanfics)

- "Red" art and excerpt

🔹🔹🔹

next chapter preview and divider (for ao3)

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shadowsndaisies · 4 days ago

Text

death, who?

a/n: staying true to the resolution! the largest folder in my wips is probably the crossovers. way too many possibilities for someone entrenched in too many fandoms. but, nonetheless, here we are. also big shock! i still write for other fandoms, not just dc.

main masterlist

prompt: A; hold on you died?! ... B; yeah, well, it didn't stick.

synopsis: what if a hunt brought you and your older half-brothers and guardians, Sam and Dean Winchester, to Beacon Hills, and what if, you get in a spot of trouble with your new friends, and need to call for a ride.

wc: 2.7k

Black.

Everything is black.

You feel your body being torn apart, excruciatingly slow, and suddenly it all snaps back together, muscles, veins, tendons reconnecting and attaching, skin growing back.

Flashes of light, bright, discombobulating.

And then your eyes open.

You shoot up, bodies hovering over you.

Someone screams, someone else is crying.

You choke on nothing for a second, and then you push yourself back to your feet.

Hands grip onto you, frantic, and finally everything fits back into place.

You blink and turn, coming face to face with two boys. Not your brothers, a piece of you panics, but the memories come quick, and you force yourself to relax.

Stillinski and McCall, your brain supplies as you stare at the two. Both are watching you with wide eyes, lips parted, slightly pale. There’s a girl behind them with tears in her eyes. The redhead, Lydia you mind supplies after a second, looks especially distraught.

The choking feeling comes back and this time when you cough, something falls from your lips, a bullet.

You stare at the brass for a second, “seven fucking hells,” you hiss, bending down and picking up the bullet.

It’s deformed, likely the exact bullet that had killed you mere minutes before. Deformed from where and how it had impacted against your body.

The memory of being shot comes back fast and painful, your whole body flinches as you jerk to check your side. There’s blood, and your brow furrows as you push off your jacket and then pull your shirt off, wiping at your side, until you clear away most of the blood.

No wound.

“(Y/n)?” Stiles’ voice cracks as he says your name, and your head snaps back to the others.

They’re still staring at you like they’re all about to be violently sick.

“Hey,” you say, swallowing thickly as you calm your heart rate.

Who brought you back? No Angels nearby… Crowley didn’t have the pull anymore… Leaving… Billie? Or… Chuck?

You shudder at the thought, you hoped it was Billie.

You reach into your pants pocket, and pull out your phone, but your frown deepens when you realize it’s broken, screen cracked, totally toast— kinda like you were.

“Damn,” you mutter, turning back to the four still staring.

That was a problem.

“Can I borrow a phone?” you ask, voice hoarse, but they’re all still staring at you. You roll your eyes, and snap your fingers startling them. “Phone? Please?”

Lydia reaches a shaky hand into her purse and pulls her out, holding it to you.

You’d just dialed Dean’s number when Scott comes back to himself.

“Hold on,” he begins, “you died,” he states.

Newbies, you scoff internally.

“Yeah, well, it didn’t stick,” you lament, raising the phone to your ear.

It rings, and rings, and keeps ringing, until you’re met with “Agent Plant, FBI, leave a message.”

“Damn it,” you mumble, dialing Sam’s number next

It rings, and rings, and rings…

“Agent Page, FBI, leave a mess-”

You don’t wait for the end of the message, and instead hang up, biting your lip you try the last active number you knew of.

It rings, and rings, and rings…

“This is Agent Jones, FBI. Please leave a message and I will-”

“Chuck’s sake,” you grumble and then freeze. There was more than one way to call Cas.

“Your tattoo is gone,” a voice interrupts and your head whips back over to the other teens.

“Fuck, are you sure?” you ask tilting your shoulder in to look at the blade. “You’re so dead, Chuck, stupid things hurt like a-”

“What is she talking about?” you’re vaguely aware of Stiles’ muttered question, but you force yourself to take a deep breath and refocus on the task at hand.

“You were dead,” Lydia finally speaks up, as you hand her phone back.

“Yes,” you nod.

“We did CPR,” Scott adds on.

“Explains the pain on my ribs,” you note, looking around, eyes perking when you spot your backpack.

“It didn’t work,” Stiles.

“Yup, got that,” you confirm half-heartedly, as you pull open the bag, rummaging through.

“I heard your heart stop,” Scott adds, and you pull a spare t-shirt, the one you’d used for gym class, out triumphantly.

“Make sense, since I was dead,” you nod, tossing the shirt over your shoulder, and looking back into the bag.

“I felt it,” Lydia adds, you shudder slightly at that, Banshee premonitions were an entirely different beast.

“Sorry about that,” you say uncomfortably clearing your throat as you pull out the small container of hand sanitizer.

You grab the bag and walk back over to the other three, they’re still starring wide eyed, and you refrain from rolling your eyes again as you reach down for the bloody shirt. You reach to your ankle and pull out your switchblade, using it to cut up the shirt, taking the clean parts, and then dousing it in the hand sanitizer, using it to remove as much blood from your skin as possible.

It leaves the skin sticky, you wrinkle your nose at the feeling, but once content, toss the bloodied clothes in a pile, and wipe your blade before putting it away.

You toss the mostly empty hand sanitizer back in your bag, and run your finger over the bullet again before putting that in your pocket. You pull on the gym shirt, it reads Beacon Hills High School, across the front, and is made of a stiff cotton polyester blend that scratches at your skin, and well, it smells like gym, but you’ve had worse, that’s for sure.

You swipe back your hair and reach into another pocket producing your lighter. You crouch down, and set the bloody clothes on fire. It burns quick, hot, and bright. Especially once it catches on the cloth that had the hand sanitizer. You watch the flames quickly until your blood is gone, and then you stamp it out.

Finally, you swing the bag back on your shoulder and you turn to the other three, really taking the time to take them in. This time you do roll your eyes.

“Yes, I died. Tragic, I know. And yes, I’m back, shocking is an understatement I’m sure, but can we please move on?”

“You died!” Stiles repeats again, and you let out a long sigh.

“And it didn’t stick. It’s not the first time, probably won’t be the last,” you admit, but that seems to be the wrong thing to say because the three of them seem to raise into higher hysterics. “Right. okay! You process this, however you need to. Let me know when you’re ready. In the meantime, I gotta… make a call.”

The three offer jerky nods and you huff, walking ahead of them. They follow in a daze as you guide them out of the preserves and back to the main road. You look up and down, and quietly you close your eyes and pray.

Cas… Castiel, I could really use a hand right about now… Please?

You peek an eye open but are disappointed by the lack of blue-tie-trenchcoat-wearing angels.

You cave after another few minutes of silent prayer.

You drop your bag and walk into the street, “CAS! CASTIEL!!!” you shout.

Stiles flinches so violently he trips over his own feet, the three staring at you as if you were a lunatic, which; fair, but now was so not the time, to go into the angels and demons of it all.

“CASTIEL!” you try again.

“What is a Castiel?” Scott asks, eyes wide and concerned.

“CASTIEL,” you begin, shouting his name once more for good measure, before your lips turn into a deep frown, “is a no-good, older-brother preferring, utterly useless contingency plan,” you huff out, before looking back at Scott and shrugging, “apparently,” you add clearing your throat.

“Right,” Scott nods, but nothing about his response inspired his belief.

Again, fair.

You huff again, “guess we’re doing this traditionally,” you mutter, turning to the three. “No chance any of you has chalk?” you ask.

“Chalk?” Stiles repeats, spluttering. “What like sidewalk chalk? What are we gonna do hopscotch our way back into town?”

You deadpan at Stiles unimpressed, and he shifts under the weight of your stare.

“So no chalk?” you ask, and he huffs. “Fucking townies,” you mumble under your breath, but the look you get from Scott tells you he heard it.

“No chalk,” Lydia confirms. “But, chalk’s mostly made of the shells of single-celled organisms, like coccolithophores and foraminifera,” she explains and your brows furrow.

“What?”

“It’s found in most sedimentary deposits,” she continues.

You blink at her.

Her shoulders sag a bit, “Limestone rocks would work,” she relents.

You perk at that. “Wait here,” you tell them, taking off back the way you’d come. “I saw some limestone on our way out!”

By the time you make it back to them, the three are huddled, whispering quickly and casting weary glances around. They pause as you come back but you barely pay attention, instead, you focus on chalking the ground, delicate and precise marks as you use the limestone on the asphalt.

Once happy with the markings you stand outside the drawing, and toss the leftover limestone aside, wiping your hands on your jeans and standing at full height. You crack your neck, and turn to the markings.

“Amaymon, Amaymon, appear now, by the power of the Angelical Keys, I summon thee, Castiel,” you begin, voice loud and clear. It pulls the other three’s attention. Stiles ready to interrupt when you began again. “Rah ah gah ee oh es, Castiel, Rah ah gah ee oh es,” the three were now staring with wide eyes, on your second pass of the Enochian chant, your voice seemed to reverberate through the preserves, sounding less and less human. “Amaymon, Amaymon, appear now, by the power of the Angelical Keys, I summon thee, Castiel,” you repeat a final time.

You hold your breath, waiting, seconds tick by and finally your eye twitches. Fucking Castiel, you appear whenever Dean calls, bastards, all three of you.

“Fine,” you huff, throwing your hands in the air. “Prayer didn’t work, neither did calling nicely, or an official summons, so I guess that leaves me with threats! I hope you’re happy!” you shout at no one, and you catch the look Lydia shares with Stiles.

“(Y/n) maybe you should-” Scott begins and you wave him off.

“CASTIEL, YOU GET YOUR WINGED ASS HERE RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR ON MY NAME I WILL NEVER LET YOU HAVE ANOTHER MOMENT OF PEACE YOU WINGED RAT!” you scream, causing the other three to flinch.

And then a man in a trenchcoat materializes right behind you, and the three lose their shit.

“WHAT THE FU-”

“WHO?”

“WHERE DID-”

You whirl around and the Angel stands stiffly as he stares at you.

“About fucking time,” you huff, glaring at him.

“I find your demanding tone off-putting,” Cas decides and your eye twitches.

“Off-putting? Are you kidding Cas? I’ve been trying to get in contact with Dean and Sam, no one’s answering their phones!”

“Which numbers did you try?”

“Plant, Page, and Jones, FBI,” you counter.

“We deactivated them.”

“No shit,” you hiss.

“You are acting like a-” he stops himself, sighing.

the audacity.

“Like a what, Cas?” you press.

“Like an ass-butt,” he admits and you have to scrub your hand over your face. “I do not appreciate it,” he adds on.

You open your mouth with a sharp retort but you stop yourself, count to ten in your mind and let out a deep breath instead. Reminding yourself, you can’t talk to Cas the same way you would to Dean and Sam, it was counter-productive at best.

“You’re right, I apologize Castiel. I’m… flustered,” you admit, levelly, jaw clenched and eye twitching as you do.

“Is it because of these three?” he asks, finally addressing the others hovering just a few feet away.

“No, these are friends Castiel,” you huff.

“Why then? You are usually the most put-together of the three Winchester siblings,” he questions.

Isn’t that a low bar? The 17-year-old little half sister is the most put-together when compared to her two adult older brothers.

“I was shot, and killed about an hour ago Cas, I can feel where they sliced me open down in hell, and smell like a mix of death, blood, and high school gym class. I would very much like to know where my older brothers are, right now,” you explain, once again keeping your voice in that forced level tone.

“I see. One moment,” he says and before you can disagree he disappears.

“Oh, Fuck me!” you shout again.

“I have so many questions,” Stiles speaks up from where he and Scott are still stood.

“Sliced you open?” Lydia repeats, voice pitching up.

“Yeah, and Hell?” Stiles tags on, funnily enough, his voice did the same thing.

You glare at the two. Chuck’s sake, it was going to be such a pain to do the whole tip of the iceberg speech, at least they already believed in the Supernatural.

“Just-” you pause for another deep breath. “Please, let me find my brothers first,” you request instead.

Luckily you don’t have to wait long, because only a few minutes later you can hear an engine coming up the road, and you sigh when you catch sight of the Impala.

The car’s moving fast, and it screeches, skidding a bit, as Dean throws the thing in park. Both of you brothers rushing out. Dean gets to you first, hands on your shoulders, looking you up and down.

“The hell happened?” he asks, voice gruff.

“Hell,” you answer shortly.

“That’s not funny,” Sam counters.

“Neither is radio silence,” you shoot back.

Both of your brothers share a look.

“Fair,” Sam concedes, when Dean stays resolute, he hasn’t let go of you yet.

You feel Dean’s grip tighten and you sigh, “I’m fine, seriously,” you relent, voice softening far more than it has since you woke up.

“C’mon let’s get you to the motel,” Dean decides, keeping one hand on you as he starts pushing you to the Impala.

“Uh, Dean?” Sam calls after him, a nervous laugh paired with a clearing of his throat.

“What?” Dean barks the question over his shoulder, walking you forwards.

“She’s got friends,” he reminds him and you shrug at Dean who finally turns and stares at the the three who have been watching your brothers with curious eyes.

“Ah shit, more teenagers,” Dean frowns. “Fine, pack it in,” he huffs, opening the door.

Sam smiles nervously and gestures for the three to slip into the back row. You on the other hand, end up sandwiched between your two big brothers. Sam casts another look over you once he’s back in the car, and Dean’s pulling a U-turn.

“You sure, you’re okay?”

You sigh, and reach into your pocket, pulling out the bullet, and then dropping it in Sam’s hand as a response.

“Sorry I asked,” he backtracks.

You roll your eyes, and lean back into the leather seat, “Someone has to redo my tattoo when we get to the motel,” you speak up.

“Damn, total wipe?” Dean asks looking over at you.

“Not even a scar,” you mutter.

“That’s not too bad, I mean that wendigo last fall caught you pretty bad, right? Scar’s gone now?” Sam tries to point out but both you and Dean level him with a look.

“I thought we agreed to no bright sides on death, hell, torture, and resurrection,” you mutter mutinously.

“We did,” Dean agrees.

This time Sam rolls his eyes, “Alright, I’m sorry I tried,” he huffs, settling back as well.

“So many questions,” you hear Stiles repeat, and you groan in despair.

...

everything tags: @butterfly-skinnylegend

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refractionfish · 8 months ago

Text

rating akira's outfits from the devilman manga because he's a fashion king and i'm tired of the denial

FIT ONE: little shit goes to school. 3/10.

not off to a great start. every anime boy who likes beating the shit out of people walks around their shirt unbuttoned — UNORIGINAL. points are only granted for the confidence, eyeliner, and being so dedicated to this stupid look to unbutton both the uniform jacket and undershirt.

FIT TWO: matching striped jammies. 6/10.

tits out even while in pajamas! no wonder miki won't leave the guy alone. plus, one can't not appreciate the kitschy charm of a pajama set. real honk shoo honk shoo mimimimimi vibes. however, points lost because all go nagai protags own this set.

FIT THREE: perfect for sitting gayly in a chair. 9/10.

if there is one thing that i liked about 2010s fashion it was the ringer shirts. i fucking love a contrasting hem. we're also seeing an effective use of the sandwich method: light top, dark pants, light shoes. bell bottoms always a win. points lost because i dont think converse are the move when your pants are a little too short.

FIT FOUR: even gayer than the last 10/10.

this could be the fit as above and nagai just forgot details of it, seeing as he forgets the lace up neck on literally the next page. however it looks different enough that im counting it separately. considering the prev, we have an already great fit made even better by the deeper cleavage + sexy neckline. literally no complaints here.

FIT FIVE: goth rugby player. 20/10.

personal bias for monochromatic fits coming through here but whatever!! the flares + rugby shirt w/ contrasting collar is absolutely incredible. sleek with visual flare from the collar, of which the contrast serves to draw attention directly to the tits. which was the intended goal, i'm sure.

FIT SIX: literally double breasted. 0/10.

i'm sorry akira but what is this. "double breasted" because he has two jackets on, a look that i think only works if the under-jacket is lighter. a uniform jacket under a blazer just warrants the question of why doesn't one wear a heavier jacket.

FIT SEVEN: goth steve jobs. 100/10.

THE CLASSIC DEVILMAN FIT. the fit for a reason. all black is always so sleek and so sexy. add that to a turtleneck and little gay booties and you have a fit that defines alluring. the class of it all is somehow more sexy than the deep cleavage favored earlier in the story.

FIT EIGHT: the boyfriend fit. 8/10.

yes that is ryo's shirt and blazer — akira's got all ripped when he fought the demon army. clearly ryo's got more reserved tastes compared to akira, and the result is classy. i prefer flashier, so most points are awarded for pulling off the wearing my boyfriend's shirt look.

FIT NINE: inappropriate apocalypse attire. 6/10.

back in his own clothes and thus back to showing off the tits. looks like a white shirt and black pants, which is nothing to write home about despite tailoring looking nice. cleavage is the only thing pulling this above 5.

average score: 18/10!! i hope to have made my point!! put some respect on akira's name for knowing how to dress.

#text #official art #long post #devilman #akira fudo #miki makimura

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rosewind2007 · 1 year ago

Text

Okay! So System Collapse is now published!!!

Whoohoo!

I’m clearly most excited by how Murderbot is dealing with the emotional repercussions of Network Effect, and of course [redacted], but I’m also utterly thrilled to present the updated Fuck Density Data!

I’ve been tracking the density of the word fuck since I noticed the word’s use increase as the series progressed, three (3) in All Systems Red, nine (9) in Artificial Condition and most recently thirty seven (37) in Fugitive Telemetry (order of publication)

I graphed it:

As you can see I boldly made a linear and an exponential prediction of the density of System Collapse (I was pretty sure it was approaching exponential, though some mathematicians I know suggested the linear was equally likely—I dunno, it was my gut feeling was that it was exponential)

SO: the data is in…

And…

At approximately 62500 words and ninety (90) fucks the density is actually 144! A gross!

This is, indeed far closer to the predicted exponential of 160…(to get 160 there would have needed to be 100 fucks, such neat number!)

Amazingly this means that if the next book is the length of Network Effect, and the rate of increase continues the next book would have 250 fucks! (Which seems unlikely, but frankly 90 fucks seemed a lot for a novel this length too—so, I live in thrilled anticipation) 250 fucks would be a fuck almost every other page (maths is similar for All Systems Red)

Currently we have 90 fucks, over 256 pages which works out as over one every three pages…

I think—corrections welcomed, I am delighted to rework graphs etc.

#murderbot #the murderbot diaries #murderbot diaries #system collapse #system collapse meta #not actually spoilers as it literally just includes fuck density

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euphoricfilter · 2 years ago

Note

pt 3 smut for yandere mafia yoongi please!

consumed by you:

pairing: yandere! yoongi x f. reader

genres: fluff || smut || non-idol au || mafia au || yandere au || established relationship

summary: yoongi is finally home and you have a special way of showing him how much you missed him

word count: i wrote on tumblr for once so idk 🕺

tags/ warnings: fluff, pwp, smut in the forms of; hand job, fingering, oral (very brief: m. receiving), titty sucking, unprotected sex (don’t be stupid, this is fiction), creampie, cum play,

notes: im somewhat getting back into writing, so finally here’s the third installment of the yandere yoongi drabbles!! it’s months late but it’s my page so what are you gonna do about it ‼️

this can be read as a stand-alone!!

other drabbles for this series: how time has changed you || it’s all in your head

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

a week.

it had been a whole week, seven wretched days, and 168 full hours since yoongi had seen you. and even then, when he’d gotten home, and taken a slow peek into your room, you’d been asleep. ever so soft, curled up beneath an array of blankets, edges of your bed bordered off with pillows and plushies and all the soft things you loved.

soft things that built up a wall to protect you from all the bad that awoke when the sun would set, and laze in the darkness.

and maybe that’s why yoongi chooses to close your bedroom door, and decides that he’ll let you sleep in your own bed tonight. because some days he thinks you forget that he’s worse than the monsters you fear sleep under your bed, or the beady eyes that peek through the cracks in the closet.

he’s sluggish as he showers, lethargic, irritated, and ready to sleep for most of the morning before he wakes and smothers you with a weeks worth of love.

it’s when he’s sat up in bed, there’s a light knock at his door. heart rate skipping at the flitting sound.

“come in” he calls out, running a hand over his face.

his gaze falls onto you, head peeking into his room; hair mused and eyes heavy with lingering sleep. but even then, yoongi thinks he sees a halo surrounding you, a warm little glow like a precious little angel toeing past the lines of sin.

“yoonie?” you slip past his door, pushing it shut with the tips of your fingers.

“hmm?” he hums, beckoning you closer with a cock of his head.

the velvet blanket you have tucked under your arm drags across the carpet as you slink closer.

you barely make a fuss when his fingers wrap around you wrist, tugging you down until you’re laid belly down over his lap; legs hung over the edge of the bed.

his hands trail up the expanse of your back, gentle motion tugging your night dress further up your thighs. an unintentional tease that has him changing his motions.

the tips of his fingers explore further down your body, skimming over the backs of your thighs, easing over the swell of your cheeks.

you wriggle, soft whine barely making its way past your lips when his hands drag up the hem of your dress over the curve of your ass.

something feral— something raw claws it’s way through his chest when he sees you’re not wearing any panties.

“don’t tease” you turn your head, cheek resting against the sheets as you try and catch a glimpse of your boyfriend. the scar across his face illuminated by the light of the lamp.

he’d always been so pretty. so pretty and rough, and soft and rigid. a living contraction it had your mind spinning, spiraling so fast really all you could think of was him.

yoongi hums when your fingers dip below the sheets, tracing the waistband of his underwear. nails tickling the bare skin of his stomach before dipping that slight bit lower.

“now you’re the one teasing” he inches his fingers closer to your pussy, thumb parting your folds. already so wet and slick, awfully amusing considering he’d barely had his way with you yet.

“sorry” you murmur, eyes flitting across his face as you dip past his underwear. tips of your fingers nudging against the base of his cock.

you trail up his length before pulling the sheets down and then his underwear, hard cock slapping wet against his stomach.

yoongi’s head tips back, uncoordinated as his thumb dips ever so slightly into your cunt; your thighs twitching at the unexpected intrusion.

you spit onto the palm of your hand, eyes meeting yoongi’s as you wrap your fingers back around his shaft.

“good girl” a smile pulls onto his lips, reward coming as two fingers slipping into your pussy, curling over your sweet-spot.

you squeeze his length, hips rutting back into his fingers.

“hold on” you bat his hand away from your cunt, sliding off his lap onto your knees on the floor.

yoongi cocks his head to the side, “you don’t know what you do to me, when you get on your knees like that, my love”

you wet your bottom lip, a smile toying at the corners of your lips. balancing your elbow on the edge of the bed, your free hand takes hold of yoongi’s hard cock.

he simply watches you, watches as you trace the tip of cock over your bottom lip. how your gentle tongue slips past the petals of your mouth, swallowing down his precum and then letting your saliva dribble down his length.

his hand covers yours at the base of his length, tapping the tip against your bottom lip.

your jaw falls open, blinking up at yoongi through your lashes. his free hand tangles into your hair, pulling you down to feed his cock into your awaiting mouth.

your fingers dig into the meat of his thigh, eyes falling shut as you sink further down his length.

he pulls you up, tip resting on your tongue. barely having to guide you as you take him back into your mouth.

your lips close around his cock, sharp intake of air filling your lungs through your nose as his cock-head pushes into the back of your throat. squeezing it’s way into your windpipe.

you hum, thighs squeezing together, clit throbbing with an incessant want as you drool over yoongi’s cock. the mere act of being stuffed so full of him sending you reeling.

he groans, a little mean as he tries to get the last few inches into your mouth, your throat swallowing as you try and take him further.

you pull off with a dry heave. “s’ too much” you whine, kissing over his slit.

“yeah?” he murmurs, pushing your hair from your forehead, “all your holes are too small for my cock, huh?”

you shake your head, “not true” you suckle at his tip.

“no?” he mocks, tone that tinge of condescending that he knows burns under your skin perfectly.

you were a shameless little thing after all. and he watches as your thighs clench, your needy little fingers twitching to sink into your wet pussy and thrum at your clit until your thighs are shaking and nothing but incoherent words slip off your tongue.

you pull off his cock, tongue licking up the precum that clings to your bottom lip.

you shake your head to his earlier question.

“come here” he tugs you up onto the bed, impatient fingers pulling your night dress over your head.

he palms your tits, thumbs running over your pert nipples as you line him up with your cunt.

you drag his cockhead through your folds, hips twitching when it nudges against your clit; unabashed moan vibrating from your chest at the flash of pleasure that flits up your spine.

“no teasing, love” he wraps his lips around your nipple, tongue flicking over soft skin as you nudge his tip over your eager entrance.

your thighs quiver as you sink down yoongi’s cock, tip of his cock splitting you open deliciously.

yoongi’s hands fall to your hips, lips still kissing over your chest, nipping over tender skin; blossoms of red staining your skin with the rawest form of his love— feral art over your pretty skin.

your hands fall to his shoulders, hips rutting forward, messy and uncoordinated as you chase your own pleasure. always a little greedy and pleasure drunk, though yoongi never minded. not when you looked like the epitome of sin, beautifully depraved and eager to please yourself.

weak little moans slip past your lips in quick succession with each jab of his cock over your sweet spot.

“yoon” you whine, nails digging into his skin. dragging down the length of his arms.

his kisses trail up your neck, tongue licking at sweaty skin. traveling upwards to your cheeks, then to your lips.

you let him lick into your mouth, let him consume every little moan and gasp and whine and cry for more more more. a slick mixture of yours and his saliva coating your lips and chin shiny.

you bounce in his lap, thighs starting to burn.

“s’ too much” you murmur against his lips, tongue lax and brain barely there as his fingers find their way to your ass; digging into your flesh.

your hands trail down your stomach, two fingers flicking over your clit as yoongi thrusts up into you. a lewd harmony of both your moans mixing thick in the air.

“i’m close” you pant, stomach clenching as you near your peak. yoongi crashing close behind you.

“me too. be a good girl a play with yourself”

a thick sheen of your arousal coats the length of his cock, thick ring of white clinging to the base with each wet slap of his balls against your ass.

your fingers lose their rhythm over your clit, messy as you climb higher and higher until something inside of you snaps and you’re tumbling so fast; little hiccups of moans catching in your chest as you ride out your high.

you feel yoongi’s cock twitch between your walls, his hands sliding back to grab onto the meat of your hips as he holds you down. cock fully tucked between your walls.

you feel his cum flood your insides, thick ropes of it coating your pussy with his heady release.

“so good” his head tips back, knocking against the headboard, “did so good for me” his hips roll upwards, your cunt milking him. final spurts of his cum stuffed into your wet pussy.

your thighs shake, hands finding purchase over your tender tits as your hips stutter forward.

yoongi groans, pleasure bordering overstimulation as you chase those fleeting sparks that make you feel ever so good.

“no more, darling” he laughs, soft cock slipping out of you.

you make a noise in the back of your throat, pitiful little pout tugging at your bottom lip as you look down at him from where you’re sat on your knees.

your pussy clenches, and you watch down the length of your body; unable to take your eyes away from your pussy. watching as a thick dribble of yoongi’s seed spills out of you, puddling over his stomach.

he closes his eyes, barely opening them to look at you as you scoop up his cum with your fingers. insatiable as you push his seed back past your walls.

he wets his lip at the slick sound of your cunt.

“how greedy” he laughs, breathy and gruff. another wave of arousal licking down your spine.

your fingers stay buried within your cunt, curling and unfurling.

“go on” he nods his head towards you, “put on a show for me. and then we’ll wash up”

a devious little smile pulls at your lips, a third finger joining the other two already stuffed inside your pussy. a newfound vigor unraveling in your chest.

“okay” you chirp, fingers slipping out of your pussy. already hell bent on grinding over his cock until your legs gave out and the pleasure made your brain nothing more than a puddle.

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