#this is so sick and twisted and disgusting

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Nineteen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader AO3 - 3.2k words Tags: 18+ mdni. nurse!reader. Pregnancy and things that come with it. PTSD, anxiety, despair, depression. A lot of internal monologue.

“I need to borrow your car.” Marshall’s eyebrows shoot straight up into his hairline.

“Excuse me?”

“Your car.” You spit, barely containing the tremble in your voice. Your throat is tight, hundreds of thousands of pounds sitting on top of your chest, crushing you, your heart. “Marshall-“

“I’m confused why you think I’d let you borrow my car.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, the thin shred of patience you’ve been holding onto finally ripping apart.

“I have put up with you for years. I have dealt with your shit, your relentless pursuit of anything that walks, your lack of interest in your own patients. I have covered for you. I have babysat for you. You owe me.” He blinks, and then pats his pocket, scrutinizing your expression.

“Are you okay?” You glitch for a second. The orchestrated denial, evasion slips away as you grapple with his question. You’ll never be okay. Never.

It snaps back like a rubber band. Like a backhand across your face.

“I’m fine.” You’re not fine. You’re drowning. You’re at the bottom of a well, stone walls cracking and crumbling at your feet. “Keys.” He drops them into your outstretched palm with a sigh. “You can pick it up at the south station in a few hours, okay?”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes…” A plan is still rapidly taking shape, forming from bits and pieces of roads laid out before you. “My mother is sick, and not answering the phone. I’m worried, trying to get over there as soon as I can.” He nods, unphased by the glaringly obvious hole in your lie.

“Of course.”

You have no one to blame but yourself.

The girl in the mirror blinks back at you with judgement in the quiet of the bathroom. She regards you with disgust.

Foolish.

Hot water flows over your knuckles, your palms. It burns, too hot to be sensible, scorching your skin.

It’s pain you deserve.

This is the only time you’ll give yourself for now, the only time you’ll break until it’s safe again.

You shatter to pieces. You scream into your hands, sobs cracking your ribs, cleaving you apart.

It was all a lie.

And you’re the one who fell for it. You’re the one who believed it was real, that they were true. You believed you could walk in the sun, and you only have yourself to blame.

You try to burn their faces from your mind, incinerating your memories to ash. Johnny’s eyes, his easy smile, the lilt of his accent when he’d say your name. Simon’s low murmurs and comfort in the dark, the way they molded themselves around you, held you.

They tricked you, but they made it so real, so believable. So sweet as they wrapped you up in a web, dripped poisoned honey into your mouth from their own.

Lies. They’re full of lies.

Steam rises from the bowl of the sink, and you look yourself in the face again. You stare at the woman who allowed herself to be manipulated, who gave herself to two people who only sought to harm her.

But-

They gave you a gift, didn’t they? They gave you this chance.

Your palm hovers over your stomach, and you fill your lungs with oxygen.

Get it together. Get yourself together.

Your world crumbles beneath your feet, but you’ve done this before. You’ll do it again. Better, even, now with the stakes so high, higher than you could ever imagine.

You can do this.

Deep breath.

The foundation of your resolve cracks when you step through the front door and Penny comes padding down the hall with her arms up.

You meet her in a crouch, letting her cuddle you, small fingers twisted in your scrub top. “Hey Penny girl. How’s your day, huh?” She signs something and then points to the living room before smiling.

“Bocks.”

You retreat into yourself, burying the lump in your throat, swallowing your tears. “I love you; you know that?” You lick your thumb and wipe the corner of her mouth. “So much.” Lou clears her throat from the hallway, watching with a strange expression.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just tired, and forgot my work backpack.” You had forgotten how easy it is, to lie. How easy the mask slides on. It’s almost nonchalant, a practiced art.

You retreat upstairs before she can question you further.

In a sewn in pocket of a backpack shoved under the guest bed, is a cellphone. It’s a flip phone, old and clunky, always charged, but almost always off, except when it’s needed. Programmed with a single contact, a pre written text already in the drafts.

I’m moving again. I’ll keep you posted.

The response is always the same. Be safe.

There are too many items in your life now. Too many objects, too many things, and too little time to pick through them.

You stick to your rules. Pack light and easy. You can replace anything left behind once you’re somewhere safe. Nothing frivolous, self-indulgent, or even sentimental.

It’s tempting to take a permanent marker and scribble fuck you across their bathroom mirror, tempting to take a knife to the mattress and slice it to shreds. It’s tempting to rip their clothes to pieces, to soak their life in lighter fluid and strike a match. The anger pulses in your veins like poison, knowing you could never.

Even now, the idea of them hurting makes you feel sick.

Fool, you’re a fool. A silly, stupid girl who got caught up in a fairytale with no sense to save herself.

You take one last long look at the bed. The bed where you thought you were safe, the place where your nightmares eventually turned to dreams.

Tears burn at the back of your eyes, and it takes everything you have to stay upright.

Phillip terrorized you, beat you black and blue, stole your future, your life-

but it never hurt as bad as this.

Marshall’s car is, of course, is expensive. Something out of a fancy television commercial. It’s comfortable, fast, and drives smoother than butter.

It reminds you of Phillip. Of all the luxury and riches surrounding him, the mile high leg up he had since the day he was born. His entire existence carefully crafted and honed into something out of a nightmare, the mask of a monster slipping on and off as easily as yours.

You used to wonder if money really did buy happiness before you met him, and then you learned. Some people crave more. Some people crave violence. Destruction.

There’s no happiness for those who are rotten to the core, their souls as dark as night, their desires putrid and inhumane.

You never saw it with them, in them. You never felt it, the way you felt it in Phillip. They fooled the wariest heart.

Will your child be like them? Deceitful? Evil?

Will it be nature versus nurture?

The first piece of the puzzle is figuring out where to go, how far to run. You need a city or a town big enough to hide in, a hospital that’s in desperate need of nurses, and a flat that’s available immediately. No smaller islands in case you need a quick escape, no countries where you may struggle with the assimilation. Accessible by train. Primarily English speakers.

You briefly dream about something tropical and warm with a beach before you shake the thought loose in favor of the city that’s always been on your short list.

Edinburgh.

It’s painfully kismet, knowing you’ll bring your child to one of their father’s birthplaces, fitting in a sick, senseless way, but you have no choice. You vetted the city in the past, scoped out appropriate neighborhoods, chose a potential workplace. It’s been at the top of your list.

It’s the logical option.

The air is cold. It stings the tip of your nose, your ears, isolates your exhales and turns them into white puffs of fog. Your jacket is too light, too soft for this kind of weather, representative of all the clothing you have in your backpack, and your wallet weeps at the idea of a brand-new wardrobe.

Still, you don’t cry. The tears don’t come, they’re held back by an iron clad dam, an impenetrable fortress built around your heart. People move around where you’re stuck still on the platform, a round rock in the middle of a river, surfaced smoothed by the repeated flow of water.

That’s what you are.

A smooth surface, a still pond, a tranquil lake. Cohesion in its ultimate form, hydrogen bonds clinging to one another, casting a tightly knit net of water molecules over the whole of your being. Lies upon lies meshed to create perfection, an unblemished nurse, an agreeable personality, an overall uninteresting but more than perfunctory person. Forgettable.

Step off the platform, into the street. Slip beneath the surface, swim to the bottom, pack yourself away and assume your new life, new name, new existence, the glass surface hiding a turbulent sea.

Things fall into place. You get hired on the spot and find a great apartment almost immediately. Better than great, if you’re honest. It’s a generously sized two-bedroom, freshly painted, no landlord specials in sight.

“What do ye think?” You wince. The accent pulls a string, tugs on a chord buried deep.

“I’ll take it. I can give you three months’ rent up front,” you survey the locks, “if you can add a deadbolt.” The door only has a keypad lock, the fancy new kind touchscreen kind. You don’t trust them. The wires are too easy to manipulate. He cocks his head.

“Shouldnae be a problem.” He’s looking closely now, too closely, and you flash a smile.

“Thanks. I’m a bit paranoid, you know? New city, can’t be too careful.”

“O’ course.”

“So… how far along are ye?” You choke on the dry piece of scone in your throat.

“Sorry?”

“The bairn?” She points to your belly, and you shift the hospital issued zip up hoodie over your waist. Her face softens. “Don’t worry, I willnae tell.” You haven’t disclosed the pregnancy to your boss yet, trying to wait it out as long as possible to prevent getting fired, still holding onto hope that no one will notice. It’s common practice, something women around the world try to manage, tiptoe around until the last second. Sisterhood, you guess.

“Almost twenty weeks.”

“About halfway then.” Her name is Ally, you think, or with an ie, Allie maybe. She’s a float, the worst position in the hospital, and your envy is nowhere to be found. You’d rather work peds than be in her shoes.

“Yup.” The p pops on your lips apprehensively. Being noticed is a problem. You can’t lose this job, not after the all the energy and effort you’ve expended to make this place home. The apartment you’ve slowly furnished, the baby’s room you’ve now painted, all the broken pieces starting to fall into place.

“Boy or girl?”

“I don’t know.” You manage a weak smile. “I’m gonna wait, I think. Leave it as a surprise.” She claps her hands.

“That’s the best! I have two and did it the same way. It’s so fun.” The conversation wanes, her expression shifting into sympathy. “If ye ever need anything, I’m around. Okay?” Your jaw clenches.

It’s a reminder of how alone you really are. How you have no one to depend on, no one to go to, nothing holding you up. The extension of a helping hand almost brings you to tears, and you whisper with true gratitude.

“Thank you.”

You lose hold of the strings stitching you together as you stare at parts and pieces spread out around your knees, screwdriver abandoned, instructions crumpled up and tossed to the corner.

The ache in your heart is physically spreading. It’s crumbling your weary bones to dust, zapping your strength and resolve away until there’s only despair, desperation left in its wake. You press the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to stem the loss of the control, the tears slipping down your cheeks. “I can’t do this.”

It’s the first time you’ve admitted defeat, and your arms fall limp before wrapping around your belly. “I can’t. I can’t do it.” The words are stifled by gut wrenching sobs, the wave of hopelessness washing over you like a wall of water intent on destruction.

How will you do this alone?

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, slowly stroking over the curve of your bump, rocking back and forth. “It’s just you and me little sunbeam, and I- I don’t know how to do this. I’m going to mess it up.” That’s the crux of it, the heaviness weighing on your shoulders. You’re going to fail. You don’t know how to be a mom, you never imagined doing all this alone.

You wish they were here, you want them here, against all better judgement, and as you lay down on the carpet in the baby’s room, you close your eyes and allow indulgence, a fantasy where you’re not alone. Where you’re curled up on the couch between them, safe and warm. They tell you they love you, assure you how good of a job you’re doing, how wonderful of a mom you’ll be. A dream where they would hold you, wipe your tears, hold their hands to your belly to feel the baby kick. You’d experience all the firsts together, watch Penny become a big sister together, go through all of the highs and lows together.

The fantasy falls away as the cold creep of dread drags you back to reality.

They don’t love you.

They never did.

Your dreams are just that, dreams. Made up nonsense that never existed in the first place.  

Something is wrong.

His knees flex on the bench, attention fixated on the giant sliding doors at the entrance of the hospital.

He’s unsettled. It’s a rare feeling, but Phillip fucking Graves appearing in the hallway today like a nightmare that never goes away has thrown him off kilter.

“Have a man in surgery here. Flown in on a medivac this morning.”

He threw a barb at Johnny immediately after, a comment in jest, but there was something unusual about the glint in his eye.

It was a shine Simon recognized well. The ripple of a hunter, on a scent track of prey.

You’re ten minutes late now, but it’s not unheard of. You rarely, if ever, get out on time.

It never concerns him, except for today. A cloud lingers overhead, caliginous and heavy with rain, waiting for the right moment to change everyone’s day, to spoil it all.

It’s a bad sign, and he doesn’t know why.

When the clock hits twenty minutes past, he texts you.

No response.

He texts again.

No response, again.

When he calls, the phone doesn’t ring. He tries a second time, and then a third, before shoving it into his pocket and stalking inside to the information desk, conveniently placed right in front of the double doors.

“I need a visitor pass.” He towers over the poor girl behind the counter, and she blanches. “For the ICU. I have a family member up there.”

“O-okay.”

There’s only one person at the nurses’ station, a man, a doctor, who is regarding him with cold curiosity as Simon comes striding over, your name on his lips.

“Wait… you’re one of the boyfriends, right?” His tags reads ‘MD’ with his first initial and last name. J. Marshall. He holds his hands up in surrender. “I don’t know where she is. She ran out of here hours ago.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Asked to borrow my car and everything, said she…” He’s still talking, but nothing is registering. There’s a high-pitched frequency ringing in the back of  Simon's head, a whine turning to a roar, a tinny sound making the backs of his eyes hurt.

He leans into Marshall’s face, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. “Where did she say you could pick it up?”

“S-south station. Get the fuck off me-“ Simon shoves him backward, sending him flying on the rolling chair he was lounging in. “I’m calling security!”

“Don’t bother.” Simon doesn’t look back. By the time the call connects, he’s already on the first floor and almost out the door.

“She came home in the middle of the day.” Johnny’s pacing, hands in his hair, ignoring Simon’s pleas to sit down, calm down. “Lou said she seemed off.”

“Something must have spooked her.” He accedes, staring at a spot on the wall, trying to put it all together. You wouldn’t have run without a reason. After everything, after all this time spent together, building trust, building love, a relationship, it’s the one thing he knows for certain. You’re in danger, he can feel it.

Johnny stumbles, careening to the side, and Simon darts forward, tugging him into his chest, nose in his hair. His breath catches, once, twice, before it breaks into a wet cough, a cracked cry caught in his throat, crestfallen and agonized, and Simon tries to soothe him. “We’ll find her.” They have to, there’s no other option, no other paths that don’t lead to you.

“She’s out there alone,” Johnny shakes his head, “she’s in danger, she must be.” He knows it just as Simon does, knows you like he knows each line in Simon’s palm.

“We’ll find her love, we will.” The rest of it hovers in the air between them, the painful acknowledgment that maybe they’re not so different from your abuser, maybe they’re no better than the man who brutalized you. They’d chase you across oceans, across the globe to bring you home. They’d use all their resources, manipulate systems, act with violence, to see you again. To hold you.

“What if she doesnae want us to find her? What if…”

“That’s not why she left.” Simon’s resolute in his denial of the possibility. You haven’t run away from them. You ran from something, someone, hunting you. “We’ll fix it.”

It’s been six weeks since they’ve seen you.

Six weeks since they’ve seen your smile, the thing they worked so hard to earn, the curve of your lips that you graciously gifted them along with your trust. Six weeks, since they’ve heard your laugh, held your hand, rolled over and felt the heat of your body between them in bed.

The hallway is full of doors, but none of them lead to you.

Their smart girl, so clever, a fox in the woods, a master of camouflage, of stealth. Or, as Kate said-

your girl is ghost. This kind of wipe work is professional level… are you sure she’s a nurse?

In these moments, the quiet dark ones where Johnny stares at the ceiling in bed, he wonders if you’re more. If you held out on them, this whole time, if there’s something else.

It’s ridiculous, he knows that, but the ache in his heart demands answers, explanations, things he can’t provide.

“Close your eyes sweet boy.” Simon kisses his neck, thumb stroking circles into his collarbone.

“She’s out there somewhere, Si, on her own.” His voice cracks, Simon’s arms tighten.

“I know.” A phone buzzes on the nightstand, and Johnny jolts, heart leaping in his chest.

It’s a text from Kate.

>Finally got the footage.

[crookedteethed]

18+ - mdni

ᥫ᭡. kook! jj, who can't keep his dick to himself.

warning: toxic!jj, cheating, public sex (fingering), language

You sighed, watching JJ flirt shamelessly with yet another woman at the Country Club bar. His pearly whites flashed as he leaned in close, whispering something that made her giggle. You rolled your eyes, sipping your martini.

A familiar pang of jealousy twisted in your gut, but you pushed it aside. This was nothing new. JJ had always been a player, even back when you first met him. You'd known exactly what you were getting into.

Still, you couldn't help but wonder why you stayed.

Maybe it was the way his khakis and Polo hugged his athletic frame, or how his cologne lingered tantalizingly whenever he brushed past. Or perhaps it was the thrill of being with someone so desired, knowing you were the one he came home to at the end of the night.

As if sensing your gaze, JJ glanced over and winked. Damn him and that roguish grin. Your anger melted away as he excused himself and sauntered back, sliding onto the barstool beside you.

With a sinister smirk, he leaned in close and whispered, "Did you miss me, gorgeous?" His hand slid up your thigh with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Despite your anger, JJ's touch ignited a fire within you that you couldn't resist.

Your mind raced as he brushed the hem of your skirt, reminding you of all the times he had bought you gifts to win you over. But this time, his touch felt like a threat, like a possessive mark left on your body.

"This a cute piece," he taunted, pulling at the fabric possessively,

"Did I buy you this cute little number?"You could feel yourself weakening under his manipulative hold and hated yourself for still wanting him despite everything he had done.

You tried to push away the memories, but they flooded back as his fingers traced patterns on your skin.

"I can tell your side piece over there can't get enough of you," you growled, nodding towards the girl JJ had been cozying up to, who was now frantically scanning the room for him.

"She ain't missing me, she's just craving my dick. I've already had her once--" he says casually, as if it means nothing.

"When?" you interrupt, your jealousy fueling your words. But deep down, you already know the answer and it makes your stomach churn with disgust.

"I don't know." Jay shrugs. " A week or so ago? Two weeks ago, maybe." He casually said, as if it means nothing.

Your blood boils and you feel sick to your stomach.

"You're such a pig," you spit out, unable to contain your disgust any longer. With a heavy heart, you stand up and walk away, unable to bear being near JJ any longer. But of course, he follows behind you, trying to make excuses or apologies that fall on deaf ears.

"Hey, come on, don't be like that," Jay's voice echoes after you, his footsteps pounding against the linoleum floors as he rushes to catch up. "I was just being honest."

You spin around, seething with rage as you lock eyes with him. "Honest? You're supposed to be loyal to me, Jackson, but instead you're out here screwing other women behind my back?" Every word drips with venom as you advance towards him, ready to unleash your pent-up fury.

"Sweetheart, come on." JJ tries to smooth things over in his suave manner, glancing around the deserted hallway before pulling you closer by your hips. "You know I love you, right? You're my everything."

JJ's face may have been a replica of his mother's flawless beauty, but his father's manipulative nature runs through his veins like a toxic poison.

The mere thought of Groff's influence on him ignites a fierce rage within you, intensifying as you feel JJ's hand creeping up your skirt once again--this time his fingers exploring the delicate lace of your panties. You can sense his intent, and it sends shivers down your spine as you struggle to contain the boiling fury inside you.

"You know I wouldn't intentionally hurt you, baby." His words do little to calm the storm brewing inside you as he looks at you with those soft, doe-like eyes--damn him--just as his palm cups your throbbing sex.

A moan escapes your lips as his cool Signant Ring presses against your engorged clit.

"Jay, we can't do this here," you hiss, turning your head to scan for any onlookers.

"Who says we can't?" He counters, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

Your senses are heightened as your eyes dart around, searching for prying eyes or gossiping villagers. The thought of being caught only intensifies the thrill coursing through your veins.

"Jay, please," you mewl, feigning resistance, though your hips betray you by arching closer to his touch. His lips curve into a smirk, knowing how deeply his ministrations affect you. He uses this knowledge ruthlessly as he presses down on your sweet spot with just enough pressure to have your toes curling in your heels.

"No one's looking," he whispers in your ear, his voice low and velvety, just as his fingers slipped beneath the silk of your panties. A shiver ran down your spine at the feeling of his fingertips brushing against your bare skin.

As JayJay's skilled fingers continued their exploration, your mind clouded over with desire. The combination the warmth of the room, and the knowledge that you could be discovered at any moment only served to heighten your arousal. You gripped the wall, desperate for support as sensation after sensation washed over you.

Suddenly, he slipped a single finger inside of you, and you couldn't help but moan louder this time, Smitten by lust, you didn't care. All that mattered was the delicious friction between your legs, the expert way his fingers moved in and out of you, plundering your depths with practiced ease.

As JayJay added a second finger, stretching you open even further, every ounce of resentment and jealousy you harbored vanished into thin air.

The smooth, probing digits hitting all the right spots within you, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your entire body. All that mattered in that moment was the exquisite sensations building up inside of you, demanding release.

That bitch at the bar, JJ's insufferable bragging about their sexual conquests—none of it mattered anymore. The only thing that mattered was the overwhelming need to come on JayJay's fingers, right there in the dimly lit corridors, far away from prying eyes but close enough to tease with the risk of getting caught.

The silence around you was deafening, broken only by the wet sounds of arousal escaping as Jay fingers pumped faster into your cunt, his blue eyes never leaving your face.

JJ could feel the tight grip of your pulsing pussy around his fingers, a clear indication that you were on the brink of ecstasy. He knows that if he can make you gush and lose control, you will forget about everything else - him, the girl at the bar, and any other thoughts that may have been occupying your mind.

JayJay added a third finger, stretching you deliciously, his thumb circling your clit as he began a relentless assault on your most sensitive spots. The wall behind you felt like the only thing keeping you grounded as your senses swam with lust and need. His gaze bored into yours, his smirk widening as he witnessed the effect he had on you. You were open and vulnerable in more ways than one.

The corridor spun dizzyingly around you, but all you could focus on was the pleasure building up inside you, coiled tighter and tighter as JayJay continued his expert ministrations. Your moans became louder, more desperate, and you didn't care who heard or saw anymore. All that mattered was reaching the peak that was so close yet so far away.

"That's it, baby," he cooed. "Let it all out f'me."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt yourself teetering on the edge. JayJay's fingers curled inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made you see stars. Your legs trembled, threatening to give out as the pressure built to an almost unbearable level.

"J-JayJay," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so close…"

He leaned in, his hot breath tickling your ear as he whispered, "Then come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you fall apart."

That was all it took. With a cry that echoed through the corridor, you came undone around his fingers. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, your body shaking as JayJay worked you through your orgasm. He held you steady, his free arm wrapping around your waist to keep you upright as you rode out the high.

Jay’s lips curled into that devilish smirk—a signature of his, one that both thrilled and infuriated you. His fingers, slick with evidence of your surrender, brushed against your thigh as he slowly retreated, deliberately leaving a trail of heat in their absence. His blue eyes bored into yours, darkened with triumph and something more primal, something that left your knees trembling.

And just like that, JJ had you again in his magnet tar pit trap.

As JJ removed his fingers from your panties and brought them to your lips, coating your mouth in your own juices, savoring the sweet, musky taste of arousal. His eyes locked with yours, a challenge dancing in their depths.

"Taste yourself," he said, his voice low and commanding. Your cheeks flushed red, but the arousal coursing through your veins overpowered any last shreds of modesty.

Slowly, you parted your lips and closed them around his fingers, lapping up every drop of your essence. Your heart pounded in your chest as your tongue swirled around his digits, a sultry dance of your submission and desire.

JJ had treated you like shit, you knew, your friends knew, even JJ himself knew, yet you couldn't help the craving that swelled within you for him—a craving to be claimed, to be marked, to be his in every way that mattered.

as always, reblogs and comments keeps me motivated. 🫶🏾

[burningcheese-merchant]

I know that it is highly unlikely that it is the case, but come and give it a thougjt with me (Yandere Spice with a twist).

What if: Burning Spice, despite being completely obsessive and being the sadomasochist he is, routinely cuts off the heads of animals and cookies and brings them to her the first time with a love letter (he used to be the Herald of Change, so I'd imagine he's got- and retained- some brains, enough to at least write a psychotic obsessive love letter).

Now, Golden Cheese is obviously gonna freak the f out and gape as he shoves the head into her arms (probably throw it into the air and back up in panic) while Burning Spice- though displeased at first, just grins manically at her reaction soon enough (maybe even laughing), before he grabs it and shoves the letter and head onto her hands again and leaving.

Golden Cheese, having noticed his reaction to her throwing it, becomes concerned with what he might do if she doesn't accept the 'gifts', decides to keep it (She flies hella fast and enters through her window and hides it in a secret compartment in her room, before creating a hidden room the other gifts in the future).

Now, here's the twist:

Despite the shock and horror she displayed to Burning Spice's gift, she knew that deep down... She fucking loved it. She silently revels in it, even. At having so much of the Beast- A cookiebeing you could practically almost consider primordial and all-powerful-'s attention and taking up so much of their headspace. To be obsessed over adored by someone like that, so much so that they would go out of their way to behead someone and something and write a love letter daily, just to give it to her as a gift-

In short, she absolutely loves the attention she will never say it and will keep that to her grave and Burning Spice and everyone else is none the wiser of it. Of how she'd kept every letter and laminated every single one with the care and cautiousness and love one would use when holding thin glass, of how she intentionally goes out alone every day for a few minutes just so Burning Spice would 'see an opening' and give his gift, where Golden Cheese would then act terribly disgusted and horrified, and then keep the gifts. Ignorant of how she has a room full of the 'gifts' he's given her- which she'd taken the time to personally taxiderm each and every one, before hanging it on the wall like a reward or trophy. Of how she'd come to the room every night to just adore it just the sight makes her want to coo and purr in delight for a few minutes to an hour, before going to bed and resting.

Sorry for the rambling and the long paragraphs 😅😅

This is such a horrifying (in a good way) concept that I MUST acknowledge it and give my take!!! Gonna put it under a cut because this is particularly dark

Yandere Spice basically acting like a cat is so fucking funny to me lol I love it

I'm so glad you think Spice is a smart guy due to having been the Herald of Change/History, because I think that too! He simply HAS to be intelligent, even wise to a degree. It would be ridiculous if he wasn't; being buff doesn't automatically mean you're dumb. And I LOVE the letter thing, I've always headcanoned Spice (the "normal" one, not the yandere one) as writing Golden romantic poetry (and her liking it lol. It helps win her over).

Now, with the murder gifts: of course Golden is horrified. Not only has Spice ended innocent lives, but he did it for her. In a way, it's her fault, and she feels horrible. Animal, person/cookie, doesn't matter, Spice has killed again and he gives the fruits of his sinful labor to her as a declaration of "love". It's sick. No matter how deranged she finds him, he finds a way to sink lower. (But... one thing: he never hurts birds. He has never once brought her a dead bird, because even he knows that's a step too far and she REALLY won't like it. It's the one little drop of care and tact that he possesses.)

But that twist: somewhere beneath all those layers of shock, disgust and righteous anger is... flattery. Sick, twisted flattery. There's nothing Golden loves more than being praised, than being worshiped, than being showered with attention and gifts... and Spice is doing that. He's feeding her ego, albeit in the worst way possible. And so great and terrible is her ego, no matter what she does to temper or suppress it, that somewhere deep down inside, she enjoys what he's doing. That he'll gladly kill for her. That he'll show off his hard work in search of her praise and admiration. She is a goddess and he knows it. He is giving her the adulation she rightfully deserves.

Now, of course, this contradicts her normally altruistic nature, and she has a massive crisis of conscience. She keeps everything Spice gives her, she keeps the heads and the letters and stores them all properly, because... Well, she tells herself that it's better this way. If she refused them, he would retaliate, if not against her then against another innocent. If she preserves the heads, she can later discover who they belonged to and hopefully return them to the person's family (and it was the least she could do; clean them up, give them back even a fraction of their grace and dignity...). If she reads the letters, she'll have better insight into his mind and how he thinks, and thus be able to formulate a better response to him and his behaviors. These excuses are what she mutters under her breath over and over as she sneaks the heads into her room, through the window so no one sees her. As she tidies and laminates the letters, and stores them in a secure folder that she tucks into a box under the bed (which eventually becomes boxes, the more and more letters she gets). As she expertly taxidermies the heads and places them on nice shelves in a hidden closet in her room. It's better this way. She has to do this.

...and these are all true, they really are. But at the same time... Existing alongside this pain and terror and crushing guilt, is the sick joy in knowing that she has someone wrapped around her finger this completely. And a Beast, too. The Beast of Destruction, no less. Burning Spice himself, heads over heels in love with her, willing to do anything to have her. It shouldn't please her to have a monster practically at her beck and call, but... it does. It really, truly does. And no matter how much she hates herself for it... It's never enough to make it stop.

Sometimes, she'll hint at a specific person she doesn't like - usually a known enemy of her kingdom - just to see if he'll do what she thinks he will. Sure enough, the next time they meet, he has that person's head ready for her, all but puffing his chest out in pride and grinning that hideous, face-splitting, cruel grin of his. She acts upset, but she's actually pleased to know that she was right: he WILL do what she tells him to, just to please her.

Sometimes she'll stand there admiring her ever-expanding taxidermy collection, congratulating herself on her hard work; she does a better and better job every time. (And when the guilt comes bubbling to the surface, asking her why they're still here and not with their loved ones so they can have a proper funeral, she tells it that Spice will lose it if he catches her giving them away. Or she'll be made out to be the one responsible, since she's the one who has them. Or they're dead, their souls have departed to the afterlife, what happens to their mortal vessels matters not anymore...)

Sometimes, when she's in bed at night, she'll pull out the letters and read them. Sometimes she'll read one, sometimes a few, sometimes all of them. Some are surprisingly sweet and romantic, full of oddly gentle and doting words; she can feel the warmth and affection soaked into the page. Others are downright vulgar; she feels her own face catch fire as she reads through what are obviously his fantasies, the list of ways in which he wants to pleasure her so long and graphic that she suspects he wrote them one-handed, if you know what I mean. The rest are just flat-out deranged: feverish rants about his ownership of her, how he hated and wanted to get rid of those around her, how she took everything from him (his power, his sanity, his heart, his soul) and he was willing to pardon it if she gave him everything of hers in turn. How he will never stop hunting her. How he will slaughter thousands to get to her. How he will bring the world to ruins just to have her to himself. Madness. All-consuming delusion that she fears is incurable.

But the worst part is... she doesn't know if she wants it to be anymore.

All she can do now is... hope he never finds out. Hope he never knows she feels this way. That she relishes his kills, his gifts. That she has a godforsaken trophy room now. That now she's as starved for his attention as he is for hers. (And he will. The idea is simply too tantalizing. He WILL find out eventually, someway, somehow - and when he does... Oh boy.)

TL;DR: Golden is so greedy that her greed has warped her into being as bad as Spice, at least in her own way. They probably deserve each other at this point. Pure, incorrigible arrogance and psychopathy all the way down. God/Witches have mercy on us all

[the-glorious-evolution-fanart]

It's crazy how cringe Arcane S2 Viktor is. He's a Machine Herald without the "machine". It's just like calling Mordekaiser as the "Iron Revenant", and taking away the "revenant". It makes no sense at all, and destroys the whole character. It's like making Jhin with his face visible, when everything that makes Jhin himself is the anonymity of his face.

Suffice to say, I'm disappointed, and if they choose to make Arcane Viktor as the in-game one with the VGU & Rework, I'll quit playing Viktor. I don't want to play as another corrupt mage like Brand or Xerath. I want to play as a cyborg man from Zaun. Closest we have is Urgot, but even then, he's not a ranged character. Camille? Again, close range character, and from Piltover. And they're not quite the same as Viktor, who is fully set on prosthetics, and helping people, and being a scientist who builds golems.

It's like Viktor will become a completely different character, and I'll continue to prefer his current LoR version as the in-game canon since I love that version of him right now. Welp, guess the only place where we can play as his original version will be LoR. Such a shame.

The whole plotline of "Piltover-Zaun becoming one against Viktor's and Noxus' armies" makes me cringe so hard, you have no idea. Weren't we supposed to have an animation series about Piltover and Zaun? When did it become about "Noxus vs Piltover and Zaun"? But I liked Jayce. He's become Giga Chad, basically. Sure, doesn't fit his S1 character, but which character stayed loyal to their S1 versions? I didn't like S1 too because it didn't set up the base for Viktor becoming the Machine Herald at all (not into robotics, no comment on human emotions, etc.), or for Jayce to be an arrogant guy who's very hard to work with. No, instead we had their "better" versions. It makes me so angry. 😭 I'm not even starting with what kind of abomination they've turned WW into. He's supposed to talk. Not act like an animal %90 of the time and just speak one word the whole season.

Swain crows and Mel allying with LeBlanc was cool, ngl. Doesn't make a lot of sense as to why Swain doesn't move a finger to stop Ambessa and her army whatsoever, but whatever. Also what was the "subtle foreshadowing" they did on the last episode? Geez.

Ambessa fighting scene is literally what happens in every movie: the guys who are shooting all the time suddenly stop and let the main character(s) kill them. What a classic.

Betrayal wasn't expected but didn't surprise me.

Viktor model is just outright cringe. Mask looks ridiculous. Hair looks ridiculous. Cane? A whole another level of ridiculous. Voice not at all Machine Herald's. Human face still visible under Reddit Upvote button, disgusting. Halo of runes(?) behind his head, forced Biblical stuff. Has magical husk slaves like Evelynn in LoR who has the ability to fly and infect, apparently. SUS. He also has gone to the full "people shouldn't have control" mind-set, which I don't appreciate since even the Convergence Comic Viktor at the start was hating the cult, blaming them for twisting his ideology for their own sick beliefs. His third arm just looks like a horrid monster from S.O.M.A. game, but in a really bad way. Also wow, Viktor now apparently has the power to telekinesis.

Wow, apparently Caitlyn is such a powerful and lucky(!) character that she can fight while being stabbed by a dagger. Wow. Not plot-armor at all.

I appreciated how Ambessa's men literally do nothing to help their commander, which should have happened since Noxians use any and all means necessary to win. They used Singed's chemical weapons during the invasion of Ionia. Guess they forgot about their own principle: "Guile" 💀

WW can teleport now?! Wtf. Also impenetrable skin. They're really going for that "Shuriman Ascended WW", huh? Everyone can fly now, apparently.

Wow, galactic god Viktor. So cringe. Old Viktor. Viktor paradox. How worse could it have been?

Aaand, "happy" ending because why not. 💀

Jinx using herself as a bullet? Now that's a first. Was Jinx's death supposed to be sad? Sorry, I was cringing over every other thing wrong with the act that I couldn't find it in myself to feel bad.

What I didn't understand is how did Orinna came to be??? Hello??? Can we get an explanation please??? Because she's not the Orianna we know at all.

NOOO THEY'LL DESTROY NOXUS NEXT!!! NOOOOO 😭😭😭

^^^ it's over.

Orianna got injected with Viktor's and Warwick's blood I guess, so now she has 3 dads!

[unhingedangstaddict]

Because the weather is absolute garbage (well below freezing temperatures and snowing) and I'm feeling kinda unmotivated atm here's a small teaser for the next chapter of All Of You, All Of Me (Intertwined) - my bucktommy mpreg fic

The next morning Tommy walked to the coffee shop and arrived early, only to find Evan had also just arrived. “Hey.” He said as he approached Evan.

“Hey, why don’t I grab us drinks while you find us a table?” Evan suggested.

“Sure.” Tommy agreed.

“What do you want? Not that I forgot your usual order but you probably can’t have your usual because the caffeine…” Evan frowned. “Not that I’m trying to police what you eat or drink!” He added quickly.

Tommy had to chuckle a bit at how nervous Evan was. For a moment it could almost be Evan’s regular old nervous excitement and not the new much more complex nervousness that Tommy had instilled in Evan yesterday with just just five words. “You’re fine. Get me a decaf mocha with raspberry syrup-” Tommy could see Evan’s face twisting into one of confusion or perhaps disgust. “It’s what she wants. I’m not exactly a fan but it does taste good.” Tommy explained, gesturing vaguely at his stomach.

“Got it. Coming right up.” Evan nodded and went to order.

Tommy got them a table in a quiet corner of the coffee shop and waited patiently for Evan, who soon came over to the table with their drinks in hand.

“Have you uh, have you had a lot of cravings?” Evan asked as he set Tommy’s drink in front of him, then sat across from Tommy.

“Yeah. This drink is one of two consistent repeat offenders and there’s been lots of one time cravings for different things too.” Tommy nodded. Tommy knew they should be talking about more important things but Evan was nervous and it was probably less nerve-wracking for him if they eased into it, and maybe it’d be easier for Tommy too.

“What’s the other consistent one?” Evan wondered.

“Lucy makes fake gagging noises every time it comes up,” Tommy admitted. “Grilled cheese with peanut butter and tomatoes on it. Usually needs to be on sourdough bread, cinnamon-raisin bread on one particularly notable occasion though.”

“Like all together in the sandwich heated up?” Evan wondered.

Tommy nodded and shrugged. “It's what the kid wants. Can’t wait til she decides she’s sick of them.”

“No kidding.” Evan mumbled and sipped his drink.

“Look, I’m sure you have things you want to say and ask, and so do I. There’s a lot up in the air at the moment and I just want to make something super clear before we get any further.” Tommy told Evan.

“Okay,” Evan sat up straighter and made sure he was showing that he was paying attention.

“I know I told Lucy, to tell Eddie, to tell you this, but I wanted you to hear it from me directly also. If you don’t want to be involved, I don’t expect you to. The last thing I want is for you to feel trapped by this in any way. So, if you’re not interested you can walk away now, no hard feelings. I can’t promise she’ll never get curious or grow up and find you herself, but if you don’t want to be a part of this, I will keep you out of it as much as I can.”

“Tommy I want to be involved-” Evan started.

“And if that is genuinely what you want Evan, then great.” Tommy cut in. “But if you think there is even the smallest chance you’re gonna wake up one day and regret staying, just walk away now. It’s one thing for us to break each other’s hearts, it’d be another to do that to our daughter.”

“I know I just found out but I swear I’m not going anywhere. I- I’ve been a sperm donor before- I told you about Connor and Cameron’s son- and I’m not interested in doing that again, Tommy. I want to be a part of my daughter’s life.” Evan insisted.

Tommy nodded and almost smiled. “Okay.”

(Read the full chapter on ao3)

[possessedopossum]

The Veilguard: my full review [positive, long post, less about game mechanics and more about meta, spoilers]

The thing that makes Veilguard special to me is how self aware the game is. In every dialogue, plot twist or quest I can feel the presence of somebody who wanted to share something with me. Be it personal experience, message, pain or joy. As of 2024, many games have lost their creative spark. Video game industry is no longer a nerd only zone, it's a business no different than others. Many studios utilize AI to write their plots, chase after current trends or simply make decisions that would create the biggest audience possible at the expense of something people love the franchise for. Veilguard did well, because it showed me something I haven't seen in a very long time: the human soul.

Perhaps you have noticed it on your own. The world has gone completely nuts after the covid. Or maybe it has always been this way and I only noticed it now. It is not a surprise to me that players want their game to be darker, to have more aggressive dialogue and to have a morally grey or even evil protagonist. For the past few years I've been feeling like someone had turned the lights off. And the game gave me an impression that someone at bioware feels this way too.

Only negativity gives content creators views and money these days. Open any social media, read any post or watch any video. If something is on top, it's almost always a hate post. What was the last movie most reviewers enjoyed? The last game? Perhaps the one that was released 10 years ago? What was the last time, you, my dear reader, have smiled? Not bitterly or sardonically, but out of genuine joy?

It is extremely fitting that Rook's mentor figure is Varric. Varric is somebody who always sees the best in people. He grew up in one hell of a city but he still loves it. He can find something to laugh about no matter how dire the situation is. He is a people person who can build friendship with anybody. Varric is very charismatic and tends to avoid conflict. He is a chronic liar but that doesn't make him bad because he never lies with malicious intentions. And in some ways, Rook is similar to him.

Yes, Rook can't be a complete asshole. Because the game is not about being an asshole. One of our antagonists, Solas, considers the world to be sick. Modern Thedas is a grave mistake that haunts him. He can't forget and move on because even the elves themselves wear his mistakes on their faces. Many things that are normal to the player character aren't normal to Solas. The world is so wrong and disgusting to Solas that he is willing to sacrifice things and people who are dear to him just to make the twisted world better.

Rook is nice because they are supposed to represent what is good in modern Thedas. They are supposed to be somebody who thinks the world is worth fighting for. And to a certain extent, their factions as well. The crows are contract killers and the lords of fortune are thiefs. Grey wardens are very concerned with politics and all the secrets they refuse to share constantly get people killed. Mourn watch has their immoral power hungry politicians as well and veil jumpers are sometimes willing to trade people for ancient secrets. They all aren't without sin but that's not the point. The point is, even with all the ugliness and darkness, there is still a place for light. And the light in the darkness is the exact message bioware tried to convey. The crows not being comically evil is not bad writing. It is a conscious writing choice to give us a human face for something we consider ugly and not worth fighting for. The player is metaphorically Solas, who needs to be persuaded that the world is worth at least something. The writers didn't need to bare the souls of player factions in all their mistakes, imperfections and cruelty. Because they showed us the factions' humanity. Some cruelty is still there, on the background, but it doesn't overshadow what is good. The crows, no matter how terrible, are a family. Viago may call Rook an idiot and while Rook considers their training literal torture, they sure love Viago back.

In fact, familial love is one of the core themes of the Veilguard. We have Emmrich and Manfred, Davrin and Assan and uncle Endrin, Lucanis and Caterina and Illario, Taash and Shathann, Bellara and Cyrian. It's a bit less direct with Neve and Harding. Neve has a lot of love for her city which is almost like a person to her, and Harding...I'll explain with a quote. "You're Lace Harding! You're more than this rage! You believe that the world is beautiful! That people are good! Hold onto it, hold on to who you are!".

Even the evanuris share the theme of family. Rook can compare Elgar'nan and Solas to relatives who can't get along. Elgar'nan calls Ghilan'nain his sister. Both shards of Mythal consider modern elves her children. Different but no less beloved, as Morrigan puts it.

Veilguard shows family without rose-tinted glasses. It shows that sometimes to love your children is to sacrifice something else you love (Lichdom for Emmrich), that parents have their own problems that may harm their children no matter how much parents wish to protect them (Shathann understands she is not the best mother and has complicated relationships with the Qun that harmed Taash), that sometimes parents do not understand their children at all and it's only up to children themselves to close the gap in understanding (Mythal, Solas and Rook), that familial love and desire to protect your family may turn into something ugly (Caterina being cruel to her grandchildren to prepare them for harsh realities of the antivan crows).

There is conflict in Veilguard, of intergenerational nature. Companions and their families, Rook and their faction leader, elves ancient and modern. It's up to the player how to deal with the last one. Humans, dwarves and qunari may not share blood ties with ancient elves but they still live in the world ancient elves created. As Rook, you're allowed to lash out in anger at Mythal and Solas. You can call Mythal guilty of all modern problems and fight her. You can bind Solas to the veil by force, call him asshole and express your frustrations with him multiple times throughout the game. You can also express sympathy and forgive them both. Because forgiving is neither condoning nor condemning, it's understanding and letting go. Being understood and allowed to peacefully let go of his mistakes is the exact thing that Solas needs to change his mind.

I believe that the Veilguard companions are one of the very best I've ever seen in a video game. They may not have as many different fates as for example Alistair has but is goodness measured with the amount of ways a character can be killed? I love the Veilguard crew because they all feel very real. Their personal problems are universal and very close to the player. Taash's story is not about being non-binary. It's about growing up, finding your place in the world, separating from your family and learning to appreciate it despite the mistakes your parents did while parenting you.

It's hard to decide who is my favorite. Taash's story made me cry but so did Harding's and Bellara's. The last scenes of Lucanis romance made me feral. I can't stomach the scene where Davrin and Assan die. The consequences of destruction of Minrathous/Treviso were hard to look at. I felt guilt, and if a game makes me feel something, it's a good game. I laughed, I cried, I was afraid and I felt joy, I was angry, I felt shame, I felt love. The game made me feel alive, I played through Rook's story like it was my own, what not to love about it?

The double blight wreaking havoc in Southern Thedas is sad but beautifully symbolic. Almost like a love letter from a long lost lover, It felt like bioware's meta commentary to me. "Yes, a whole lot of time has passed. We are no longer as young as we used to be, and so are you, not only the player, but our treasured friend as well. We have changed, you have changed and so did the world around us. Gaming and the video game industry are not what they used to be. We will never be able to go back no matter how much we want it because the only path that is left is the path forward. It doesn't mean that we no longer remember our shared past, no. We may not be able to go back but we promise to remember it fondly. We are still capable of creating beauty and the past will serve as a foundation for something new. We still have hope, and so should you".

The Veilguard to me is about nostalgia as well. I don't want to feed my inner Solas who sees the current world as sick. I want to make space for my inner Rook who is hopeful about the world just enought to fight for its future.

[star-suh]

The Nastiest

Johnny Suh x Male Reader

cw: mafia au, reader is a sick pervert, dom top johnny, toxic relationship, enemies to fuck-enemies, knife play, “marking”, blowjob, pain kink(?), breeding, degradation, hair pulling, cum as lube, fingering, choking, dacryphilia.

an: this is in the same universe as this jaehyun mafia fic.

—

the city is dominated by many mafias but only two of them are the best of the best they're the most dangerous and respected by the other gangsters wannabes. in one of them there's a very skilled sick fuck pervert boy, he fucks anyone who passes in front of him… well except for one person, johnny suh.

he is part of the other mafia, a direct rival of the mafia yn belongs to, one thing about him is that he despises yn a lot. he has tried to kill him so many times but in the end he regrets it, arguing that “he does not deserves to be shot by one of his bullets”.

one day johnny was walking down the street when he heard whimpers in a dark alley, as if someone was getting beat up. yes, he was in the mafia but he is still a good person looking out for everyone's well-being, except yn's tho.

“hey what are you two doing” johnny pulled out a gun and pointed it at them, gesturing for them to leave, and they did. he turns around seeing how both guys were running and just when he was going to ask the other person if he was okay, the cold metal of a gun is placed right behind his head. "son of a bitch i was having fun", that voice... that familiar and disgusting voice… "it was you… if i had known, i would have let them kill you" johnny says it without any emotion on his face, hell, yn didn't even deserve his anger. "you say that but i know that deep down you want to do it" a twisted smile making its way onto his face, "you're right" in one smooth move johnny manages to take the gun from yn and hits him with his knee in the stomach leaving him lying on the ground trying to catch air "if you want me to kill you that bad, i’lll do it then” johnny points the gun at yn but sees that it still had the safety on, realizing that yn was only using it to threaten him and not to cause him any harm, but nevertheless he takes it off and is about to pull the trigger.

"wait" yn yells and proceeds to laugh and spit out some blood "didn't you say before that i don't deserve to be killed by one of your bullets?" to which johnny replies "the gun is not mine"; “before you kill me i have one last wish" yn crawls to where johnny is and then kneels, resting his face on top of johnny's bulge, acting as if he were a cat, rubbing his face on the crotch, feeling the heat of johnny's huge cock "i know you get hard in these situations, you're a fucking pervert you know" yn murmurs, "give me some of this and then you can kill me, i would die happily" johnny was disgusted, not because of how yn was acting but because of what he said, although he wished it wasn't true, it is, yn he knew him very well. “shut the fuck up bitch, last time i checked you're the pervert, a sick fuck who gets off on beating and killing people” johnny pushes yn to the ground again, “it’s unbelievable how you're on the verge of being killed but you still manage to think about cocks drilling into your used loose hole, the fuck is wrong with you”.

yn stands up, he turns around to leave but instead he throws himself at johnny and fight to take the gun from him, during the fight the gun falls a few centimeters away from them, yn tried to grab it but johnny was way stronger than him, the taller throws him against a wall, then pushes him against it and pulls out a knife putting it in his throat. “i'm so sick of that goddamn grin on your fucking face i'll have to cut it off”. when johnny made eye contact with yn he saw his red face and hooded eyes “you're face is like the one of a bitch in heat… wait… what the fuh...” johnny looks down watching his bulge rubbing against yn's ass, he then looks towards yn's watching how he was hard already, johnny laughs “that look on your face… i'm starting to think this is why you always want to fight with me.. because i'm the only one who knows how to treat you the way you like it, sick bastard”.

"fine… if you want me to destroy that used hole that bad, i’ll do it, maybe this way you can leave me alone” johnny finally gives in, despite everything he said before, he knew deep down he also wanted to fuck yn, it’s not a secret for everyone that yn is hot but his freaky personality is what makes everyone go away from him, but guess he has finally found someone who matches it.

“go rougher” yn pleads in a soft voice.

the taller one pulls out some zip ties to tie yn's wrist behind his back, “this is your last chance kinky bitch, just say this was all a joke and run”. yn didn't say anything. “on your knees. now”.

johnny pull out his big dick “suck it like the good slut you are” yn hesitated “what? why are you acting shy now?” johnny grabs it and put it to rest on top of yn’s face “open up, it's not gonna suck itself”.

little moans escaped johnny's mouth, yn knows how to use his mouth after all, “i wonder how many dicks have you sucked to know how to do it properly.. fuck.. you're so disgusting” yn was about to stop to talk back but johnny didn't let him and started to mouthfuck him “your throat is such a good fleshlight” he forces yn to deepthroat him, causing a bulge to form there. johnny grunts, pulling the other's hair so he can go deeper. “ooh hahaha your little friend here seems to like this, you're like a pain slut” johnny uses his foot to massage yn's bulge “do you jerk off after every fight we had?” johnny mocks loving how he can say anything without yn talking back at him, “this is a good use for your mouth” he murmurs.

sloppy wet noises coming from yn's mouth filled the dark alley. “look at you gagging on my cock, who would've thought that my neat would be enough to have you under my power”. yn just nods, all he wanted was finally becoming real, the johnny fucking suh is emptying his balls down his throat, something that might be considered a privilege knowing that johnny was known to be someone who doesn't have sex a lot and with anyone that crosses his path, despite having a lot of people lined behind him.

johnny pulls out and came on yn's face, grunting obscenities, “this is so humiliating for you, the cocky bastard yn covered in cum like a useless alley whore” he says in between pants, “maybe if i leave you here someone would find you and have some fun too, bet you would like that”.

“shut your ass up and fu-” a slap interrupts yn, “alley whores don't demand shit, they just accept what they're given, you deserve a punishment”.

johnny uses his knife to make a small cut on yn's cheek “it fucking hurts” yn whimpers. “that's the point dumb bitch, this way you would be reminded who owns you everytime you see yourself in the mirror”. yn was impressed to say the less, he knew johnny was freaky but not that freaky.

a wet spot formed in yn's black pants he tried to hide it but johnny noticed it, “did you just came just for me face fucking you? you're pathetic”...

“get up, i'm not done with you”; “i can't i feel weak, asshole” yn replies, “you're such a loser” johnny blurted out.

johnny pushed yn against the wall again, unzip his pants under and pulled it out along with his underwear, then scooped all the cum in his face to use it as lube, he smeared it in his dick and yn's hole, fingering it a little before putting all his dick inside “i'm gonna fuck you so hard you're not gonna be able to sit for the next week”. he put the tip first and then rammed himself inside, all at once, drawing a loud moan out of yn's mouth. “... fucking tight” johnny keeps pounding, his left hand leaving marks on yn's hip while the other was on his neck choking him. yn was starting to being loud, he was not being able to bear with johnny's powerful thrusts “shut up or i'll slam your head against the wall”; “n-no… no” yn manage to say, “what was that? i thought you were a tough guy ynnie?” the top once again mocks him. the feeling was so unbearable for yn that tears formed in his eyes and started to roll down his face, seeing this makes johnny so horny that he licked them from the other's face, then cupped the bottom's head with his right hand and turn him so they can make eye contact “you're being such a good sex toy, you're not that useless after all” then he kissed him.

right when johnny kissed him yn came hands free, “every time you touch yourself i want you to remember how i fucked you in an alley next to a dumpster like the piece of shit you are” johnny pounds faster “remember who beat you and broke you, now you would think twice after picking a fucking fight with me, you hear me?” after this johnny came inside, his moans were like the ones of a beast, damn he hasn't emptied his balls inside someone for ages. he pulled out and yn just slid down the wall, too weak to stand up.

“you look fucked up and disgusting, the freaky, tough guy ynnie just got obliterated by some cock" he laughs "… imagine if everyone knows about this… stay away from me and keep my name out of your filthy mouth” johnny got ready to go and leave yn there but he saw his face, that was still bleeding for the cut with some traces of seeat and cum, he looked so vulnerable a part he has never seen on him but he goes anyway.

yn was lost, he just got what he wanted but he was too tired to even celebrate it so he just smiled weakly and then fell asleep…

yn woke up in an unfamiliar room, it was a hotel room he got up and went to the bathroom, in the mirror there he saw he was already clean and the cut on his cheek was bandaged already he also took time to appreciate johnny’s marks scattered all over his body, smiling like a psycho when touching every single one of them. but yn doesn't remember how he ended up in a hotel room until he sees a card on the nightstand near the bed that reads *you owe me the money i wasted paying for your hotel room, bitch* it was from johnny. yn saves the card in his pocket murmuring a little “asshole” while leaving the room.

[heathers-oneshots]

Chapter 5 ~ Having Some (Not So) Big Fun!

TW: SA - skimmed over because im not writing that in detail

They pull into the driveway of the house, the music able to be heard from the outside due to swung open doors and windows. Heather's stomach twists and tightens, her heart has began running a marathon and beats against her ribcage. She can feel herself starting to sweat and she hesitates to open the car door. Unfortunately Veronica isn't that oblivious and notices Heathers stress.

"Hey, you okay?" Veronica rest her hand gently on top of Heathers, causing the girls face to heat up.

"I'm fine, shut up" She pushes Veronica's hand away, she's horrid when it comes to handling comfort so she forces herself to get out of the car and start walking inside with Veronica trailing behind her. 

The music is loud, echoing through your whole body. The room is thick and hot, the tremendous amount of sweaty, drunk teens filling the halls and main rooms. Chandler's stomach continues to squeeze to the point she feels sick and lightheaded, it felt like having a bucket of ice water dunked on her head. Veronica was close on the same line, being her first party she was pretty nervous.

As they walked to where people dropped their coats, the worst people arrived in front of them, the dreaded David and Brad. Chandler couldn't even focus on what they said, thoughts swirling in her head and her organs being squeezed to the max (well what she hoped was the max, the squeezing was extreme). She finally snapped back and tried responding without stuttering.

"Let's party.." She quickly spoke before they noticed she hadn't been paying attention, not wanting to anger David. 

As the party goes on, Kurt and Ram rear their stupid drunk little heads and try to dance with them. Chandler is obviously uncomfortable and Veronica notices, feeling extremely jealous that Kurt is dancing with her, btu also how she doesn't even want to dance with him. She wants to step in but Ram has a tight grip on her.

After Kurt and Ram finally fuck off, Veronica can't see Heather at all, seeming to have just vanished. She looks around everywhere, running into McNamara and Duke. They are no help and she can't find the blonde anywhere. Eventually giving up, she sits on the couch, holding her Heather's coat on her lap to make her feel better, sipping away at her drink.

"Come on, David- Sh-Shouldn't we get back to the party?" She attempts to push him, feeling extremely uncomfortable with him so close and in her space, especially when he's forcing his stupid dry as lips onto hers. She rather be next to Veronica...

"We will! I just can't control myself.." He spoke in that stupid, wanna-be flirty voice. She knew what he wanted, saying no would be the worst decision she could make, he always found a way to get what he wanted.

-

Heather stood in front of the bathroom mirror, taking a cup of water and spitting the water in her reflection. She was so upset with herself, feeling gross with what she did, she let that happen, she let that disgusting thing touch her. She wanted to curl under the sink and hide away forever but she knew if she took too long in the bathroom, people would be upset with her so she left the bathroom.

Veronica began messing with a match, trying to see how close she could get her hand to the flame before it hurt. Eventually she got bored of the little game she made for herself and dropped the match in her almost finished drink, to her surprise the alcohol caught on fire. In a panic, she threw the cup out the window and being drunk, she didn't think it would do anything bad. 

She kept waiting for Heather, fidgeting with the black coat. Then her worst nightmare happened, Brad came over to her and got uncomfortable close. He was obviously tryna fuck, but she rather do something like that with Heathe- No I can't be thinking that-.. She rightfully so snapped at him but he didn't get the hint, continuing to try hit her up. She snatched her coat from him and walked off, going back to searching for Heather. The alcohol was beginning to fade into sickness, her stomach dropping and feeling oozy. She leaned herself up against a wall, the overpowering nausea causing her to forget that she was looking for Chandler.

Little did she know, Heather wasn't far from her and Brad was snitching of Veronica. But he was blowing it out of proportion, saying Veronica insulted him for no reason. Heather didn't want it to anger David and him blaming her for her friend being 'rude' to Brad so she approached Veronica.

"What's your damage?? Brad says you're being a real cooze" 

"Heather I'm feeling really sick so can we please jam now.."

"No! Hell no!!" She snapped before Veronica couldn't hold it in and she vomited on the floor, some getting on Heathers shoes. Embarrassed, she ran out of the party, trying not to stumble from her tipsiness.

Heather followed after her and an argument began.

"You stupid fuck" She spat.

"You goddamn bitch"

"You were nothing before you met me, you were playing barbies with Betty Finn!! You were a blue bird, you were a girl scout cookie. I got you into a Remington Party!! What's my thanks? It's on a hallway carpet!! I got paid in PUKE!!" Heather ranted in a drunk fit.

"Lick it up, baby! Lick. It. Up." Veronica remarked with a smirk, leaving Heather a little stunned. Heather didn't respond and just grunted and made her way to her car, Veronica following after.

"Where are you going??" She tried catching up and opening the car door but Heather had locked the doors.

"I'm going home to get cleaned" She growled.

"You're my ride! You can't leave me here!!"

She was mad but she couldn't stay mad at her, her messy hair was extremely-.. no stop thinking that! She unlocked the car and Veronica stumbled over to the passenger seat. She started the car and began driving.

Chapter 1 ~ Would you fight for me..?

In the cafeteria of Westerburg High School, Veronica sat with the Heathers, the Mythic Bitch of the three on one of her super long ass rants. After being friends with them for 2 weeks, she'd gotten used to the girl in reds pages and pages worth of rants. Veronica was eating her sandwich until a familiar hand slapped onto the table in front of her, she looked up and it was none other than Kurt Kelly with Ram Sweeney standing beside him. That stupid grin on his face IMMEDIATELY told the girl in blue of his intentions. 

"Heyyyyy 'Ronica, Heather, Heather and Heather. What are you loooveelyy ladies doing this fine lunch hour?" Kurt said in a awful attempt at flirting tone. 

"Eating, what does it look like!?" Heather Chandler spat, her icy steel blue eyes piercing through the jocks brown eyes, but he didn't take the hint. 

"Easy there, baby. Why are you using your little harsh eyes on me?" Kurt tried at his horrible flirty tone again. "My buddy Kurt just asked you a question, babe." Ram touched Heather's hair and she completely flipped. 

Veronica didn't see it all too well, but quickly realized what happened as she heard Ram yelp and fall to the floor, a mix of red and slight purple quickly washing over his cheek. 

"Holy shit!" Heather Duke and Heather McNamara blurted out. 

- 

Why when you see others fight, Does it look so horrible yet feel so right? I shouldn't watch this crap, that's not who I am. But with this Heather Chandler... Dayumn..                    ........ But everyone sees her that way, right?

Hey, miss Demon Queen, so what is this feeling? But would you fight for me And hey, could you face the crowd Could you be seen with me and still act proud.. ..... Hey, could you hold my hand .....In a platonic way..  Well, whoa, you can punch real good You're a lot stronger than I thought you were.. "Holy shit"

[strwbrrysauce]

dear whoever wrote the current fic i’m reading

why did you shoot the dog ):

it is 1:45am and i am crying about words on a screen.

but seriously, what did bear ever do to you huh??

just cause he loves buck more than tommy, his actual owner???

i hope you are ashamed of yourself because i haven’t even started reading it yet, i only saw the tag.

but in all seriousness, stunning writing, i absolutely adore this lil series and i am eagerly awaiting more <3

[thefloatingstone]

The older I get and the more terrible takes I see the more in favour I become of gatekeeping

[strwbrrysauce]

fucking hell i wasn’t supposed to cry on the way back from work 🥲

[caressthosecheekbones]

Saltburn last fifteen minutes: *things happen*

Me: :(

[slipperywhenwet0o0]

The next person to make a jjk edit to mitski is getting shot o

IMMEDIATELY

[davrinassan]

tyranny game is so sick and twisted for giving me a masked authority figure that the player character can have a really questionable dynamic with.

[danthropologie]

listening to note to self (jim-e stack, empress of) and it's so daniel mclaren -> red bull 😵‍💫

your infidelity with the bestie playlist has a CHOKEHOLD on me and i'm wondering if you have a red bull redux playlist i can devour?

when you sent this, i realized that while i had a playlist about going home after the worst year of your life and one about the enduring love that eventually brought him home, the only thing resembling a red bull redux playlist had been forgotten with just had a handful of songs on it. but i've been cooking for two weeks and here she is, the (un)official red bull redux playlist:

[perenlop]

gonna say something that's probably gonna piss some people off.

"media literacy is dead" discourse has gotten to the point where i think some of yall are only a few steps removed from "we can't let our kids watch spongebob, it might turn them gay" parents