#this obsession will lead to my destruction

[katsudon2021]

Gagging and throwing up I love that stupid clown from One Piece, It’s gotten so bad my friends can always guess what I’m drawing😢

“Bet you can’t guess who I’m drawing-“

“It’s Buggy isn’t it.”

“Yea🙁”

[normal-about-charcters]

i have a fanfic/universe rewrite in my head of a transformers series and if I ever hunker down and work on it these two will be irrevocably linked together in my head for it

[pearlymel]

"The Masks We Wear"

Summary: as a journalist, you are itching to find the identity of this mysterious hero. But could it be that the hero is closer to you than you think?

Wc: 7.3k eat up

Warnings: Wriothesley x afab!reader, gn! reader, modern au, hero and villian au (one of each), reader is a journalist/cameraman, fluff, making out, crack (i laughed a lot writing this), angst (oops), one small sex scene, slightly under the influence, cursing, it's pretty unrealistic, petnames used: sunshine, love, and sweetheart.

Notes: i poured my heart and soul into this, i think it's my best piece so far ^^ give it a chance, maybe you'll love it. (Pleasepleasepleaseplease) Rbs are greatly appreciated!

Credits: banner art by the great @/danijaci

Click!

The city is absolutely beautiful today. No, no. It’s not because of the lights that makes the place brighter and a bit more magical, how it seems livelier with a group of teenagers laughing together while buying street foods together, or the old couple that seem still very much in love, the gentleman kneeling down and tying her shoes just to make sure she wouldn’t trip this time.

Humans can be cute, you think.

But of course, among those innocent ‘humans’ are those who desire destruction.

This time, you think you might have caught something in the shadows, and you stare intently at your camera, zooming it in to see the faintest color blending in with the darkness. Hair? A part of clothes? You don’t know, but you got it.

you have this obsession of finding out who the hero of this city was, or even the villian. Although, you would be technically be walking into death if you try finding out who the villian is.

Where did this hero come from? No one knows. Sure the crime rate has lowered, but it felt like the world became even more messed up.

It all started a couple of years ago when you were in your college days, one day almost dying from a falling building, and you thought you saw the scythe waiting to take your soul at that very moment but, no.

The mysterious hero of the city that you never thought you would never encounter carried the building with his super strength power, apparently.

He who has no name, took your hand and lead you into a safer area with the police.

cliché story, right. But that’s what got you into journalism and media now.

And let’s say… you’re too far into the deep black hole to back down now.

The almost blinding light made you come back to your senses, the sounds of engine roaring in the air as the bike approached you, and your shoulders were already slumped.

“How did you find me?” You raise your voice due to the loud engine running, covering parts of your vision from the light.

“Lucky guess.” Wriothesley replied gruffly, pulling his helmet off and shaking his head slightly to fix up his messy strands.

“Care to explain what on earth are you doing here in this shady alleyway? At nine thirty where the moon is out and wolves could be coming for you?” He starts scolding you, quirking an eyebrow when you give him the bored expression, and he immediately mimics it back.

“Taking pictures.”

“Of the rats?”

“Wriothesley.” You shoot him a look and he raises his hands in the air. “I understand your… obsession. But it could hurt you in the process, mentally and physically.”

You know he’s saying all this because he cares so much about you. Loves you too much that it would break his soul piece by piece if one day what you’re doing will hurt you.

“Hop in, sweetheart.” He hands you the extra helmet, and you take it with a sigh. Securing it around your head before taking your place behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist as he revved the engine.

The whole ride back was silent, yet traffic, which entirely ruined the whole mood. With the constant car horns ringing in your ear.

You tap at his thigh to grab his attention, “Why’s it traffic?” You grumble, rising yourself from the seat to look at the row of cars trying to get through.

“Not any holidays or events i can think of,” he responds back to you.

Red mixed with orange fills your vision, suddenly the car at the very front explodes. The car parts flying in the air and landing at the other vehicles which makes you frozen in shock.

Wriothesley’s clenches his hands tightly as he turns the bike around, speeding his way far away from the scene. “Hold onto me tight, and don’t look back, you hear?” He yells enough to grab your attention, and your arms tightens around him, but you have your head turned around to see the people yelling and dashing out of the vehicles. You want to capture the moment with your phone so you could submit it in for the news, but you know more than to ignore Wriothesley right now.

It’s not rare to see destruction happen in your city, it’s just… terrifying every time anybody witnesses it.

Maybe it wasn’t an accident, maybe it was planned.

“You’re not allowed to go out after seven.” Wriothesley makes it clear to you with his firm tone as you both step inside your shared apartment, locking the apartment with a click. He then tosses his keys into a bowl on a small table, before turning to look at you.

“Are you seriously setting a curfew for me? Please. what happened was not new—”

Your face is now being cradled by his rough hands, but the way he swipes a thumb under your eyebags really makes you melt. And you forget what you were going to say when his lips curl the slightest.

“I don't want anything happening to you. Ever.” He takes you in his arms, holding you like you were the most precious thing he ever held. “I didn't mean to pressure you like that. I'd hate it if you were in the position of those injured people.”

You pat his back to reassure him that hopefully nothing like that will happen. “And, if, hypothetically, something like that happened; What would y—”

“I'll kill everyone.” he doesn't even let you continue before he answers, though the chuckle against your hair followed after makes your tense shoulders relax.

“maybe not to that extent,” he lifts your head up to lean in and press a tender kiss on your forehead.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“what is it?”

“… something or someone.”

Your boss gives you a nonchalant sharp look when you eagerly showed him the bits you managed to capture last night before you were interrupted by your great boyfriend.

His eyes squints at the more of a blurred photo that sits on the display of your camera, taking the glasses that hanged from his collar.

The sigh afterwards makes you feel discouraged when he hands you back your camera.

“i see it.” He starts and you perk up immediately.

“it looks like a blurred image of a fucking bird taking a shit on the electrical cords.” You press your lips into a thin line at his description. Too detailed of a description,

what a bastard.

It.. certainly didn't look like that.

You clear your throat, pinching the bridge of your nose to compose yourself.

“You're lucky i like your determination or you would've been fired,” he utters out in a lax tone, resting his glasses on his big bald head that you want to spill with ketchup.

“Keep looking, i need the hero's face, details, anything. Just think of the money you and i could both earn.” He seems too enthusiastic about it, showing you determination with his fists pressing together and his wide ear to ear smile.

You leave work early that day, starting your daily walk of looking around for at least two hours or—one hour?

No, Wriothesley would be too worried if you came back after… nine. Your words not his.

You need to rearrange a schedule in your head.

Step one: somehow convince your boss that you need to leave early everyday.

Step two: search every nook and cranny of the city, ask every shady person if they get to talk to the hero in person or got a glimpse of his name.

Step three: go to the dark web— is that car flying infront of you right now?!

Shit. Just why does everything have to go down wherever path you go?

The people around you panics, and you equally panic with them because you're no fucking hero to tell them to get away from that flying car.

You take your camera out hurriedly from its case that slung around your shoulder, pressing record while frantically looking around. The ground shakes, it shakes so much that it feels like an earthquake almost.

“it's him! The villian!” Someone shouts from the distance, and just like that the screams that follows are in sync.

You know why the ground shook, the street has become a battlefield for the hero and villain fighting together with all their strengths, the air is filled with tension as they both clash in an epic confrontation. The ground trembles beneath your feet again as they traded blows, sending shockwaves through the battlefield. The once tranquil street has now been transformed into a chaotic arena of power and destruction. As the battle rages on. The hero and villain continue their fight, each strike more powerful than the last, their movements a blur of speed and precision.

You try capturing anything with your camera, but your hand shakes that it was impossible. When the villian lands a powerful punch on the hero’s shoulder, sending him way back, it makes you think it's time to leave.

You run with the rest without stubbornness this time. You should've listened to Wriothesley, why did you always have to be so curious about everything?

This curiousity will kill you next after the cat.

“Taxi!” You shout, waving your hand at the yellow vehicle, but every taxi seems to ignore the people's pleas, determined to save themselves instead.

Guess it's time to burn calories and run back home.

You were a panting mess once you reached back to your comfort space, eyes zeroing at the running television in the living room. Watching the newscaster talk about today's battle and how it affected the shops and buildings.

It seems like the battle lasted twenty minutes before the villian gave up and fled away.

Your head snaps to the bathroom once you hear the sink water drip, you didn't even think if he would be here this early.

“Wriothesley,” you say breathlessly when you swing the door open, arms squeezing his side as you take a deep breath in.

“woah, easy there. What happened?” He takes you in, hand rubbing at your arm.

“i was…” nevermind. Maybe you shouldn't tell him what you have witnessed, he'll know once he checks the news.

You only realise that he was chest bared at the moment, and you furrow your eyebrows once you see a bruise on his shoulder.

“What happened?” It was your turn to ask, talking a gentle finger and running it over the bruise, earning a hiss from him.

“was changing the car oil at the repair shop.” He mumbles, gaze turning to the mirror, “then accidentally hit my shoulder once i got up.” he turns his arm, swinging it slowly.

“but you don't work at a car repair shop?”

“it's a side hustle, sunshine.”

“why didn't you tell me?” You press on, and he hangs his head low, both of his hands gripping the sink bowl.

Okay, maybe you have annoyed him a little too much now. Upon sensing your incoming apology, Wriothesley smiles at you.

“don't worry your pretty little head too much. The bruise will fade.”

“i can massage you later?” You offer, and he lets out a breathy chuckle. “You're the best.” He gives you a chaste kiss on your lips on his way out, which makes you feel a little fuzzy.

The evening gave way to the night sky, and you found yourself lying on the bed, replaying the video captured on your camera. The footage was far from perfect, shaky and lacking in clarity, but it still managed to capture fragments of the intense confrontation between the hero and the villain. You couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement as you watched the brief glimpses of the clash that had taken place earlier.

How the villian managed to blow a punch on the hero’s shoulder, sending him way back. Must've hurted.

It's almost like the same spot Wriothesley got his bruise on.

…

Wait, the same spot?  You sit up on the mattress, replaying the video on repeat of their fight.

The hero was about the same height as him, the same physique, same cake—

You shake your head, focus. Wriothesley can't be the hero, no that's impossible. He was a busy man, doing… side jobs and whatnot.

Sure he was kind, always helping everyone, even walking the neighbors dog because they got sick one day.

But then again… you never saw Wriothesley and the hero at the same time,

Or was it merely a coincidence, a random alignment of physical features?

“Sunshine?” You gasp when you snap your head up to find Wriothesley leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

“y-yes?” You set the camera aside on top of the drawer. He moves closer, seating himself on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixated on you then glancing at he camera.

“dinner's ready.”

You nod, silence fills the room after. You know he's waiting for you tell him more, on why you were so shocked.

“was looking at the hero's pictures.”

“not mine? I'm wounded.”

You roll your eyes, a slow smile creeping up your face, and he loves it. He takes it as an invitation to lean closer, suddenly pinning you down on the bed to capture your lips with his.

It's slow, and gentle. It makes you hum softly, taking his face in your hands to kiss him back, moving your lips together until you were gasping for air.

You forget you were even suspicious of him a second ago.

Your fingers lightly trace his jawline and you feel the pricks of his growing facial hair. A small smile plays on your lips as you inform him in a soft tone, "You need to shave." Wriothesley chuckles softly, the sound warm and low. He reaches up to your hand, gently taking hold of it and bringing it to his lips, pressing a kiss on your palm. "Is that why you stopped kissing me?" He says, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "No! I find you more.. attractive. Plus it.. yeah, it feels like little needles on my face.” you admit quietly.

Wriothesley presses his face into your neck, his lips tracing soft kisses along your skin. His hands begin roving your body, each touch sending a gentle shiver across your flesh. He whispers quietly next to your ear, his voice low and smooth as he responds, "I'll shave after dinner." The sensations of his lips against your neck and his hands exploring your body mix together, creating a heady combination that heightens your senses and ignites a slow fire within you.

“I'll.. help.” You whisper, bringing both of your arms to wrap them around his back. “What a sweetheart.” he uttered out, voice muffled from trying to mold into your skin.

Your mind stops working for a second when he presses his knee gently between your legs to pull them apart, “Wriothesley, what about dinner?” You frantically ask him, tugging his hair up so both of your gazes could meet. And the almost drunken expression he has on makes you let out a shaky breath.

“later,” he drawls, his fingers tracing lazily along your sides.

Hero? Pftt, what hero? This is just your wriothesley, it's quite impossible for him to be the hero.

You snap out of your daydream when your colleague hands you a cup of coffee, he raises an eyebrow at you and you smile back awkwardly.

A sip of the coffee to get a bit of energy, but only just a bit, since too much caffeine makes you nervous.

“You filmed the crazy battle yesterday?” Your colleague sneaks from behind you, watching the video replay again on your camera.

“they do movies about them now, insane huh?”

“well atleast the hero knows he's popular.” You reply bluntly, taking anothsr sip from your hot beverage.

“flash news, someone heard that his name starts with the letter ‘W’ or som—”

You spit out your coffee all over your white attire. You both exchange surprised looks, but you quickly wipe your mouth using the back of your hand.

“where exactly did you hear that?” You get straight to the point, gesturing them to sit next to you.

“from my father's friend’s cousin sister.”

His reply makes your eyes twitch, from who and who?

“Okay…” you whisper, turning around and thinking of the utter nonsense they spouted.

“you don't believe me.” he sighed, “I've been telling this to everyone in the building but no one is believing me! Just tryna’ do my job here.”

Let's say maybe you believe him. But the dots are connecting too fast that you want to refuse from believing it.

Was your target closer to you than you had expected?

“I'm clocking out, can you cover for me today?” You inform your colleague, and he crosses his arms while eyeing you up and down.

Your roll your eyes, “I'll be the cameraman for next week. So you could get three days off.” You force a smile and they smile back enthusiastically.

Wriothesley is definitely home. Earlier than the usual time he'd be back.

Oh, he's asleep on the couch. Leaning back tiredly with an almost stern expression on, but his body seems relaxed.

Now is the time to do anything. Investigate? Go through his things without his permission? That sounded all awful… surely he's not hiding any—

“go search his things.” You furrow your eyebrows when the devil on your left shoulder speaks, it makes you rub your face in annoyance.

Then a sudden white little angel poofs on your right shoulder with a disappointed face, “no, don't do it. He's a little scary when he gets mad. But he'd never betray you!” you feel reassured at it's words and you nod in agreement.

“don't listen to it. He could hurt you if you keep it a secret.” The red devil whispers again and it makes you shiver a bit.

“he would never hurt you.” The angel frowns.

“yes he would, he's a man.”

“a good man.”

“yeah? You're no better than me, you just want that—”

“okay shut up both of you. Shoo.” You brush both of your shoulders off before taking a deep breath to brace yourself.

You'll just search his.. clothes.

You feel guilty once you pocket his jackets and pants in his side of the wardrobe, checking every hidden pocket thoroughly while glancing at the door once in a while to make sure he doesn't wake up.

As your fingers brush against his jacket, you notice an unusual sensation – a cool, metal feeling hidden underneath the fabric. Your eyes widen in surprise as you recognize it to be the form of a gun's handle. A mixture of curiosity and concern floods through you, freezing you in place.

It really is a gun. You study it carefully, turning it around and feeling it's heaviness in your palm.

But you feel your heart run out of your ribcage when two pairs of arms wrap tightly around you, his chin resting on your shoulder.

Shit.

“hi,” he whispers next to your ear, but you're too nervous to even look back at him.

“nice thing you got there.” He muses, and you feel like you're losing oxygen once he tightens his grip around you even more.

“… i just found it.” You mutter, mostly to yourself. Your head hanging too low to avoid his eyes.

“Could've just asked me, no?” He clicks his tongue, almost in disappointment.

“i have it on me because—”

“because you use it for the good, right? Because you're the hero?” Your voice is shaky when you ask, the gun in your hand shaking with you, and you're afraid to drop it.

“hero?” Wriothesley repeats, shaking you gently awake and you gasp harshly, taking in big breaths, your boyfriend immediately trying to soothe you.

it was a dream.

“you were mumbling something about a hero in your sleep. Are you okay?” He asks in concern, brushing a strand off your face. You were sweating too much for your liking.

“when did i get here?” You look around, taking your palms to rub the sleepiness off. “Right when you got off work. You slept on the bed without changing your clothes.”

Oh… so you never checked his clothes. Deciding to just sleep instead.

Your head turns back to the wardrobe, staring at it intently. Could the jacket be in the same arrangement as you found it in your dream? Or will the gun also be there?

“you're going to poke a hole through it if you keep staring.” He stifles a laugh, and you couldn't help but try to smile as well. “Drink up. Slow sips.” He offers you a glass of water, and you hold the glass firmly in your hand.

“so… what was your dream about? Even this hero appears in your dreams? Can't say I'm not jealous.”

“You'll have grey hairs too early from overthinking.” You tease, sitting upright in bed, “oh no, you already do, old man.” you frown, tracing the grey strands along with his black hair. He watches in amusement.

Wriothesley lets out a deep sigh, “give your old man a break. They're a badge of wisdom and experience,” he rests his head on your lap, nuzzling close as you massage his scalp.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Breaking news: the ‘’lola” flower shop sets on fire just three hours ago. Our dear hero saves the day yet again, protecting the old lady just in time before her shop explodes. The cause of the fire is still unknown…”

Destruction out of nowhere again. Accidents out of nowhere again.

The voice of the newscaster on the television fades away in this little diner you're in. You drive your attention away from it, instead focusing now on the Polaroid pictures laid out infront of you.

The hero always wore a mask to cover his identity, obviously. But even after watching the countless of interviews he had, the deep tone slightly matches Wriothesley’s voice, or maybe he's changing his tone on purpose. You can see it by zooming in on the video, how he's catching his breath everytime he speaks when he's just sitting down.

Asthma? Nah.

You tap your fingers impatiently on the table, this is not helping at all, and the slightest itch in your brain worsens as the time goes by.

You think about giving up on this, but the possibility of finding the answer on how or why did all of this happen is probably closer to you than you think.

“Bad guys never end with their schemes. Bunch of attention seekers.” The hero speaks on the television, and you hum curiously as the hero salutes the camera playfully before disappearing from the crowd.

Is it possible that there are multiple heros? Working all together in some basement and taking turns to go out and do a better job than the police?

Possibly, and you write down your new theories down on your little notepad.

You check your phone next, Wriothesley still hasn't answered you back from your most recent text to him.

It's nothing to worry about, but the thought that he's busy saving the city is gnawing at you.

Batman?

You shake your head again, gathering your things to stand up from your seat. You should be blunt asking him about it tonight.

It's cold. Colder than usual. Was the air conditioning on? No. But the windows are sure wide open. You look around the living room before closing the windows and curtains from the outside world, as you draw the curtains, the outside world becomes obscured, leaving the room in a soft semi-darkness.

“Wriothesley, honey?” You call out softly, peeking through the bathroom, not there. The bedroom? Nope.

That leaves the kitchen, you slowly peek your head in he kitchen, and sure enough, he was there.

Wriothesley was rubbing his face in exhaustion while mumbling words under his breath that you can't quite hear. Having one singular glass of some drink in his hand.

“hero this.. hero that..” you finally listen to his mumbles, which makes you furrow your eyebrows together.

"Wrio...?" You call out softly, flipping the switch to turn on the light. His sharp eyes immediately dart up to look at you, and you can't help but shiver under his intense stare. You let out a small gasp of surprise as he suddenly stands up, the glass in his hand slipping from his grip and shattering on the ground along with its contents.

Taken aback by his sudden movement, you instinctively take a step back as he approaches you. But before you can even register what's happening, he crashes his lips against yours in a hasty, rushed kiss. Caught off guard, you cling tightly to him, desperately seeking support to prevent yourself from toppling over.

“You love me,” Wriothesley's voice breaks through the heated kiss, his words coming out in a low, guttural groan. He grips the back of your thighs, hoisting you up against the wall and wrapping your legs around his waist. “right?” His voice holds a hint of vulnerability and desperation, as if seeking reassurance and affirmation of your feelings for him.

And when you don't answer him right away, he takes your lower lip between his teeth, nipping at it gently, “answer me.” He almost growls.

“love, what are you taking about? Are you drunk?” You ask breathlessly in concern, your lips feeling swollen.

His jaw clenches, “Why can't you say it?” he inhales your perfume, your scent filling him that it makes him groan, his mouth lavishing your neck and collarbone, leaving kisses and littering marks then soothing the area with his tongue that it makes your pant softly, pressing your face into his hair while your fingers weaving through his black-greyish strands.

“i love you,” you utter quietly, and it suddenly makes him start grinding his hardened length against you. “I'm sorry in advance, sweetheart.”

One minute you're confused about his words, and then the next he's pounding so hard into you like there was no tomorrow.

Strings of “don't leave me,” and “i love you’s,” are echoed in the air. Wriothesley's mouth moves against yours with a sense of urgency and haste, his tongue gliding and tangling with yours in a fervent dance. The bed creaks so loud underneath you that you think it might break anytime, the embarrassment of the headboard banging against the wall immediately gone once he hits your sweet spot rapidly.

Poor neighbors

"Wrio... Wriothesley?” you slowly flutter your eyes open, still in the hazy realm between sleep and wakefulness. The sunlight streams through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room, and you blink a few times as you take in your surroundings. A quiet sense of contentment washes over you as you remember the events of the night before, the memories of Wriothesley's body against yours and his lips on yours still fresh in your mind.

You prop yourself up using your elbows, only to look down at the sight of your sleeping lover with his head pressed up on your chest. You collapse back on the bed with a tired sigh.

You still couldn't understand the reasoning behind his.. desperate actions last night. He seemed so pent up and stressed, you'll forgive him this time.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• It's the day where you're covering for your colleague, being the cameraman for tonight's news. Yes, tonight.

Wriothesley would kill you if he knew you were working so late at night, but only because he cares about your safety. Good thing he's out of the city for a day.

Or he claims to be out of the city for some important work.

You press the button on your video camera, adjusting the lens to focus on the newscaster standing in front of the camera, holding the microphone with a serious expression. The news van is parked in front of a desolate, run-down neighborhood known for its high crime rate and dangerous reputation. The newscaster speaks into the camera, her eyes boring into the lens as she reports on the neighborhood.

“We are now standing in the heart of one of the most dangerous areas in the city. This neighborhood is notorious for its high crime rate and volatile atmosphere.”

Your senses are heightened at this rate and you really try to focus but the moment you hear the faint crunch of leaves, you lose composure just a bit.

Okay you're a bit scared, but as long as your workmates are he—

a group of armed gang members suddenly appear from the alleyways between the buildings, surrounding the news van and the camera crew. The newscaster, taken off guard, gasps and steps back.

The gang members brandish their weapons, circling the news crew menacingly. One of them shouts at the newscaster, waving his gun in the air. “Hold it right there, pretty lady. This is our turf! You ain’t gonna be broadcasting nothing about us!”

You're about to shit your pants for real this time.

“Drop your cameras and get outta here, or things are gonna get real ugly real fast,” he growls, and one of them points the gun right on your camera.

“I'm talkin’ to you too.”

Yeah, you're not going to fight anyone and act all big. You simply drop the camera on the ground to raise your hands in the air.

As the gang members close in on the news crew, the atmosphere is suddenly shattered by the sound of footsteps pounding against the pavement. Everyone turns to see a tall, muscular figure approaching from the distance.

It's the hero.

You watch in awe as the hero strides towards the group of armed gang members, his movements fluid and precise. With a swift swing of his fist, he lands a powerful punch on the leader's face, sending him stumbling backwards. The other gang members are taken aback by his sudden appearance and the display of force, their eyes widening in surprise and fear. They exchange nervous looks, realizing they're facing a much stronger opponent than they anticipated.

“Hey, let's go!” Your workmate calls for your name. Her hand waving at you so you could all retreat back to the van.

And before you could follow, the van explodes.

The sudden explosion catches you off guard, jolting you out of your stupor. Shouting in surprise, you recoil from the loud blast, ducking instinctively as debris and fragments fly through the air. Your colleague, sitting next to you in the van, lets out a terrified yell as the force of the explosion propels the driver backward. The van shudders and lurches from the impact, the windows shattering and various objects sent flying.

“in the building! Let's go!” All three of you dash to protect yourselves inside this tall company building.

“I will call the police,”

“but the hero is here!” the driver of the van speaks, almost yelling in frustration.

“the hero is also a human. Just a strong one. We can't rely on him—” but before you could continue, you all cover your ears once you hear gunshots come from outside.

Ohmygosh. It’s—it could possibly be Wriothesley who's getting hurt right now. What are even the chances?!

“Fine! Just call the fucking police!” The driver gives up, leaning back against the wall while breathing heavily.

You want to go out there. You want to see. It's your chance to see who the hero is if he got hurt. Just to get the crumbs of news in exchange for your life apparently.

When it grows quiet, you peek outside, “it's clear, I'll take a look—”

“No, you're not.” her hand is firm as she grips your wrist, “just let them go.” He, on the other hand, scowls.

“Be safe!” She shouts at you as you make a run for it, running down the alleyway while looking left and right.

Someone's in the area.

You dart behind the nearby dumpster, heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline courses through your veins. Hiding as best you can, you press yourself against the rough metal, trying to keep your breathing steady and quiet. Peeking out from behind the dumpster, you cautiously scan the surroundings, trying to catch a glimpse of someone nearby. For now, the area seems to be clear, but you can't shake the feeling that someone is in the vicinity, lurking in the shadows.

“Where ya at, lil’ birdie?” You cover your mouth when you hear someone speak, it sends a chill down your spine and you can feel your heart drumming in your ears.

Your sharp eyes turn to your side to find a metal rod, you don't hesitate to grab it before smacking the shit out of the guy.

No that did not happen, but you wish it did.

Instead, the minute you see his feet pass the dumpster, with a swift movement, you grab hold of both of his ankles, using your weight and leverage to pull them out from under him. He lets out a pained shriek as he suddenly loses his balance and topples to the ground, his body hitting the pavement with a thud.

Alright, you can be cool sometimes.

Stepping at his hands to hear him cry again, you run put of the place, making turns and finally spotting the hero sitting down against the building wall while panting, seemingly exhausted.

“…” you take slow steps once you approach him, looking down at him with your eyes already glistening.

This is it, you just have to confirm it.

Your hand pulls at his mask, “Wrio—”

Huh?

This…

Is not

Wriothesley.

“Ah, what the fuck?” He grunts, the blonde grabbing the mask from your hands and you take a step back.

“Elias?!” You yell out in confusion, it's your colleague that you're covering for supposedly today's shoot.

“You're the hero??”

“not a word. Scram, you freak.” he mutters, eyes diverting away from you and staring up at the roof. “The roof,” he whispers to himself, making the effort to stand back at his knees.

Is this bitch serious? He's the last person you expected to be the hero. With his stupidly arrogant and lax attitude.

You give him an almost death stare, studying his features again before making your way out.

You need to check the other people that were with you.

But when you arrive back at the building, they were gone.

Did the police arrive? You don't hear any sirens. Could they have possibly went up on one of the floors to hide?

You find yourself in the elevator next, watching as the doors close with your hands clasped infront of you nervously.

You take deep breaths, trying to calm your racing heart and steady your nerves. Hey, at least there's nice elevator music.

As the elevator comes to a halt, the doors slide open with a soft ding, revealing the rooftop and the figure standing in the open space.

There's a figure standing at the edge of the building, you can see the person's silhouette clearly now, but you can't make out their features just yet.

Your steps are hesitant as you slowly approach the figure, the wind gently billowing around you. The city lights twinkle below, but your attention is entirely focused on the person standing at the edge of the roof. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever may come, and call out tentatively, "Hello?”

Your voice rings in the air, that the person's shoulders tense.

When they look around, you're met by the same blue eyes you've known for three years now.

“Wriothesley.” You whisper, in shock, breathlessly under your breath.

He's holding.. a gun? The same gun you remember seeing in your dream.

Something in his mind snaps when you turn around, in fear. Like it was a mistake to ever see him in the first place.

Wriothesley doesn’t even give himself time to think before his body suddenly reacts, suddenly reaching out and circling his hand around your wrist to forcibly tug you back.

He yanks hard enough that you lose your balance and fall against him, his other arm coming up to wrap around your shoulders, preventing you from going anywhere.

“W-wrio—”

“think it's time we talk, sunshine.” He speak into your ear.

When you try to move the slightest from his hold, he grips you around him tighter. You figure it's best to stay still for now.

“what? Are you going to kidnap me now?” You manage to chuckle out, nervously though, your voice coming out more shaky than you intended to.

“Is that going to satisfy your little fantasy? What, I should play into it and shove you into a corner, keep you under my thumb until you’re begging me to set you free? Or no… you want to be saved by the hero.”

"You know you're not helping with your case, right? You really sound like the bad guy now.”

You’ve definitely found his breaking point because that comment makes him snap.

Wriothesley suddenly whirls you around so you’re facing him before he’s pinning you against the nearest wall, his body practically covering your own.

“Well…” He whisper, raising an eyebrow calmly in the way you look being at his mercy. “Aren’t I?”

Your jaw practically hangs at his words. Is he... Playing the bad guy now?

Or was he really… not the opposite of the hero?

He sees the shiver you try so hard to suppress and smirks at that, clearly satisfied with your reaction, “What’s wrong, sunshine? Finally realize that the man you’ve been dating isn’t the hero you've obsessing over?” He chuckles.

“i… i knew it—”

“You didn’t,” he says, his tone suddenly becoming cool and firm.

Wriothesley leans forward, pressing into you so that you’re smashed between him and the wall. His hand suddenly comes up, cupping your jaw so that he tilts your chin up to look directly into his eyes.

“If you’d known, you’d never have come within twenty feet of me. You’d never have been alone with me or spent a single night in our bed.”

He's right. And you hate it. You feel betrayed, lied to, even.

It makes you rethink your life choices.

You've gotten too comfortable with him that you didn't even think about him being the villian. You've gotten too close while you were being a complete idiot.

“you hid it.”

Wriothesley laughs, the sound almost sounding cold, “of course I hid it, sunshine. I wasn’t going to just come strutting in wearing a big, red sign saying ‘look at me, I’m a bad guy!’ was I?”

You clench your fists together, “you tricked me.”

“Tricked? No.” He shakes his head slightly. “I simply… left out key details.”

“Why?”

“ah, there it is.” He steps back, giving you space to breath, to recollect your thoughts.

“why? Because the hero isn't a hero. He started all of this destruction. Why? To get fame, recognition, power, and to be seen, to look like he's doing something when he's not.” He lets out all in one breath, and you lips part again.

“four years ago when the building almost fell on you? He did that, on purpose. then saved you to make it look like he's the one that everyone needs.”

What the hell?

“Wriothesley, we were strangers to each other four years ago. How did you know?” You don't hesitate to step closer to get more answers out of him, but he only stares at you.

You swallow thickly when he draws infront of you once again, “i did this all for you, love. I-i will do everything in my power to stop him, i will kill him so you wouldn't get hurt—”

“Okay, fucker. Out of my way,” Elias, the ’hero’, suddenly barks, and without warning, a gunshot rings out. The bullet pierces through Wriothesley's shoulder, causing him to flinch and stagger backwards.

Your eyes widen in horror as you watch the scene unfold. "Wriothesley!" you cry out, watching as he turns around despite the injury and charges towards Elias.

Despite the pain he must be in, Wriothesley doesn't relent. Ignoring the gunshot wound, he barrels towards Elias with unmatched determination, closing the distance between them.

"Bastard," Wriothesley manages to grit out as he collides with Elias, knocking him off his feet and sending them both crashing to the ground.

You don't hesitate to rush forward, with adrenaline fueling your actions, you move quickly towards them as they roll dangerously close to the edge of the roof.

"Stop!" you shout, your voice filled with desperation. "You'll fall!”

And surely enough, Your two hand clamps down on Wriothesley's, desperately grasping onto anything you can to prevent him from plunging off the edge.

Meanwhile, Elias grips Wriothesley's leg, using his strength to anchor him in place. The three of you hang there, suspended over the city, Wriothesley's body along with Elias’s dangling in the air.

“Sweetheart—”

“shut the fuck up I'm not letting go.” They're both too heavy, the feel of his fingers slipping away from yours increases everytime you try to pull them up.

Elias is purposely pulling Wriothesley's leg down to drop them both, your lips quiver, crying when two of his fingers slip now.

“hey,” his voice is soothing when he calls for you.

“at least… i protected you till the very end, right?” He tries smiling but it only makes the lump in your throat grow.

“i love you.”

“Wriothesley!”

…

“Wriothesley—!” You gasp harshly when you open your eyes so wide, finding that your hand was already reaching out for nothing.

You rest your hand on your chest before leaning back on your seat.

“are you okay?” The newscaster, the friend you made, offers you her handkerchief so you could swipe the sweat off your face.

“i think… continuesly searching about this, is making you stressed.” She points out, looking at the papers and drawings splayed out on your desk.

More theories of the disappearances of the hero and villian. Not their death. Their bodies were never found.

“it's been a year.”

The realization is like a punch to the gut as you bring a sweaty palm to rub at your temples.

“This is not over.” You whisper, more to yourself than to her. “We got no more trouble. No more heroic or bad guy news. The world is back to normal, almost like they never existed huh?”

Never existed.

She then suddenly gasps, which catches you off gaurd, “are engaged??” She eyes at the gem resting on your left ring finger.

The ring you found in one of his jacket pockets when you sorted his things out.

“yeah…” you decide to drawl out before sitting upright on your seat.

“now, if you'll excuse me, i got work to do.”

You're never going to stop searching, to find another answer of the question; 'why?'

Even if it will mean risking your life this time.

[astuteology]

Some more astrology notes/observations🍀🦫

🪐Aries placements are more observant than Scorpio placements. Here's why- they are the babies of the zodiacs, and as a baby, they observe everyone and everything around them. Learning things on their own. Knows who has bad aura or energy.

🪐Planets in the 5th house makes you more appealing to others than planets in the 1st house.

🪐Capricorns placements are hard to anger but once angered, their rage is worse than an aquarius or a cancer.

🪐Underdeveloped cancers fit the stereotype of gemini having 2 faces than gemini itself.

🪐Mercury in the 1st house individuals are turned off "badly" by people who talk shit and speak with half knowledge.

🪐1st house moon has this brightness on their face that makes others stop and stare. I'm sure they've had this question "do I have something in my face?". Actually you do, it's your magnetism.

🪐Underdeveloped Scorpio rising are all talk and no action. They're gonna be like "oh I'm gonna show them why they shouldn't have done that!". And then they run away, avoiding confrontation.

🪐As much as an aries like direct, clear and open communication, they themselves act passive-aggressive sometimes.

🪐Speaking of aries, their love for freedom is above everything. They want love that frees them. Same goes for aquarius.

🪐Virgo's perfectionism can make them loyal and dedicated partners.

🪐Cancer sun + leo moon, when in an argument with their love, they became dramatic and attention seeking, needing reassurance.

🪐Aquarius sun + Scorpio moon makes the individual fear intimacy and emotional vulnerability. Aqua's reluctance to open up and scorpio's intense emotional needs. This create a push and pull dynamic.

🪐Taurus venus + Sagittarius mars makes an individual have conflicting desires. Commitment vs exploration. Stability vs adventure. Emotional intensity vs intellectual connection.

🪐Scorpio placements are often lost in their thoughts even more than gemini or pisces placements. They often feel like outsiders, observing life from afar.

🪐Leo placements are passionate. Like VERY passionate. They do be having a tendency to burn the bridges, quick and fast.

🪐Capricorns often possess a witty, understated sense of humor.

🪐Speaking of Capricorn, they are sooooooooo slow to trust. Even more than a Scorpio.

🪐Aries moon is as sensitive as cancer and pisces moon. They feel so deeply.

🪐Aries placements competitiveness can lead to sabotage and self destruction.

🪐Cancers strive for perfection more than a virgo. But this can lead to anxiety and burnout.

🪐Taurus placements can love you and never let you know. Ever.

🪐I've seen virgo placements being obsessive in relationships more than Scorpio placements. (Tell me why, please.)

🪐Sagittarius placements are often restlessness. They are looking for something that they don't even know.

🪐Mars square uranus- self destructive tendencies.

🪐Aries venus in the 12th house: hidden vulnerability- fear of loss. Fear of losing themselves or their lover.

🪐Mercury square neptune- inner turmoil and emotional depth.

🪐Moon square Saturn: inner critic. Perfectionism.

🪐Gemini in the 12th- easily distracted. Easily scattered. A small memory can scatter them.

🪐Cancer moon in the 12th: fear of abandonment. Fear of emotional rejection. Difficulty in trusting others.

🪐Sun square Jupiter- confidence or arrogance?

🪐Sun conjunct saturn- fear of not shining. Fear of not meeting the expectations. Self doubt.

🪐Mercury conjunct pluto- obsessive tendencies.

🪐Mercury square chiron- self doubt that feels like it goes on forever. Self criticism.

🪐Venus square Saturn- harmony or authenticity?

🪐Libra venus in the 12th- fear of opening up. Fear of being judged. Fear of angering your partner.

🪐Pluto square moon- terrified of superficial people tbh. They are very very very scared of opening up.

🪐Pluto trine neptune: rebirth. Transformation. Regeneration. Renewal.

🪐Jupiter square uranus: restlessness for something. Something that needs a change.

🪐Jupiter conjunct mars- fear if the unknown. (Strange? I know.)

🪐Saturn square moon- weight of responsibilities. Their head are usually heavy. (I'll fight with god to take half of your responsibilities.)

🪐Uranus square venus: detachment. Fear of intimacy. May even lose interest in love.

🪐Neptune square moon- reality or illusion? Is it real or is it fake? Am I being guided or am I being lied to?

🪐Scorpio in the 8th house is same as the Scorpio sun, moon or venus.

🪐Aquarius moon experience emotions in different ways, often needing space to process.

🪐Aquarius ascendant- unpredictable first impression.

[hyperions-light]

ceaselessly rotating the veilguard companions around in my head so I can see all the ways their stories are interconnected

Shokra toh ebra. You must struggle with what you are.

What is a Warden? A monster hunter, the one who will make the ultimate sacrifice to hold back the dark? A protector? Can they be something else? Do they get to give the gift of life, of joy, instead of only preventing more destruction?

What is a monster? If you become one, if you reach a place where you cannot recognize yourself, how do you start putting everything back together? How do you see yourself as worth saving? What makes someone a monster, anyway? Pain?

Is anyone beyond redemption? What do you do when someone you love is hurting other people? Is it worth trying to save them, to fix them, for the love you share? Should you try, when they are causing people pain?

If the pain is in you, if it is so strong it threatens to consume you, how do you face it? How do you hold the anger and the anguish that is your inheritance inside of you and remain yourself?

How do you overcome something you have spent a lifetime trying to face, when finally it is in front of you, when it can no longer be ignored? How do you let go of something or someone that is so precious to you that it has sustained you?

Someone so influential that they have defined you? How do you know yourself apart from them? When they are gone, who will you be? How will you honor their legacy, how they loved you?

How do you love something right? Is it more important to protect what exists, no matter what it costs you, or to be an example to aspire to, even if it is frustrating and difficult? Should you become the monster, if it means you protect what’s important?

If you are the example, if you stay your hand, what do you do in the aftermath? If you save the person you love from their own mistakes, who are they to you now? If you don’t save them, if they’re gone, then how do you keep going? If you lose your purpose, if you can no longer be what you were, then how do you make a new one? And on, and on.

they’re so entangled with one another

when you pull on a loose thread in one story it will lead you to the next one

Obsessed. Never getting over them

[yzzart]

౨ৎ⊹. BOYFRIEND!KENJI HEADCANONS! ── PART THREE.

── content warnings: F!reader, quick mention of Mina, KDF, Ultraman, petnames and first and second parts here!

── word count: 592!

⭑.ᐟ We already know perfectly well that this man wears a necklace that carries his promise ring, right? So, when you wake up in his arms, you can never resist locking your eyes on the significant accessory and sometimes, playing, touching it like a young girl in love. — And, with his eyes half-open, pretending to be asleep, Kenji couldn't hide his smile because he found it so adorable and charming.

⤷ Not to mention the times you find him around the house, roaming the hallways or base, shirtless and highlighting that necklace with the jewelry. — Kenji can't resist teasing you and crossing his finger to your chin, lifting it.

"My eyes are here, my love." — Sato said, catching your engaging and almost fatal gazes on him, with a thin and mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his lips; you didn't know if you wanted to kiss him or punch him.

⭑.ᐟ Kisses on your forehead is a prime point for Kenji, that's more than a fact; it is something respectable, crucial and valuable. — The feeling of his lips on your temples is precious, it highlights a feeling of protection, security and comfort; something so true. — Like his passion for you.

⤷ When he wakes up, leaves for a press conference, before and after a match, when returning home after a battle or when in need of your affection, Kenji always places a long kiss on your forehead.

⭑.ᐟ Take you for night rides on his motorcycle? This is also crucial for Kenji and something extremely special for you. — After such an exceptional and successive match, guaranteeing remarkable points for the team, Sato couldn't help but celebrate with you; planning multiple locations for the celebration. — Restaurant, some stunning region to admire next to you, among others.

⤷ The main focus is that Kenji likes, or rather loves, making curves, which require more precision, and feeling your arms squeezing, holding with strength and firmness, also with fun, his waist and pressing yourself even more into his body; in addition to your screams mixed with laughter. — He's almost obsessed with doing this. — And Sato doesn't stop doing it on straight lanes, when there aren't many cars around him.

⭑.ᐟ In his locker in the changing room, there is a photo of you, which Kenji had taken, next to a photo of his mother and during every match, he never stops looking at them with dedication and affection, feeling confident for the game. — And, right when Kenji makes peace with his father, he puts up a photo of him too.

⭑.ᐟ Reading the newspapers, watching the news or commenting together on the Kaiju invasions, the conflicts that Ultraman saved and his matches is another routine in yours lives; and that you both consider and appreciate very much, no lies.

⤷ Complaining about certain actions of the KDF, and how this organization simply changed over time, seeing that Ken didn't cause much destruction or get distracted during battles or praise his batting became something, peculiarly, special. — Mina is also included in this.

"And the baseball star, Ken Sato, shined, without many surprises, once again on the field last night, my friends!" — Cried the radio host while broadcasting some of Kenji's moves from yesterday's match. — "Taking the GIANTS to the lead and..."

"I'm so proud." — Your radiant, bright voice warmed Kenji's ears, who smiled with satisfaction and recognition when he heard your words, and raised the mug to his mouth, enjoying the flavor of the coffee. — "My player." — Your lips rested on his cheek, leaving a momentary kiss; pushing the mug away and looking at you, keeping his smile, Sato pressed your lips against his, forming a pleasant and warm kiss.

[nataliescatorccioapologist]

Each Yellowjackets character’s greatest strength (and why it is also their greatest weakness)

Natalie: Empathy/Selflessness

Despite her abusive home life and edgy, intimidating exterior, Nat is one of the kindest and softest characters on the show. She has a deeper understanding of other’s trauma and pain than most due to her own experiences. Nat was the only one to show empathy towards Travis when his father died, even when he was an absolute asshole to her (and pointed a loaded gun at her!). She helped Travis cut the ring off of his dad’s finger because she knew Javi needed it. She faces her trauma and becomes a hunter to provide food for the group. When Jackie tells Travis about Bobby Farleigh and Travis breaks up with Nat as a result, Nat still helps Jackie on the night of Doomcoming. She also doesn’t hold a grudge against Travis for sleeping with Jackie and even wakes up at the crack of dawn everyday for months and trudges through snow for miles to help him look for Javi. She helps Lisa steal back her goldfish, defends her against her mother, and even dies for her (literally!).

This is also why her selflessness is her greatest weakness, she gives too much of herself and does not believe she herself is worth the care she gives to others, resulting in self-destructive tendencies. Her one act of selfishness (letting Javi die in her place) completely destroys her. Her empathy results in intense guilt and shame when she has to hurt others in the Wilderness, resulting in her spiraling into a life of drugs in order to cope and keeping people at arm’s length to avoid harming them.

Taissa: Ambition/Drive

Taissa is driven and successful in pretty much anything she sets her mind to. Before the crash, she’s a straight A student and an exceptional athlete. In the Wilderness, she takes the lead on leaving the plane wreck, finding the lake, and forges her own expedition to find civilization. Post-rescue, Taissa is arguably the most successful survivor. She’s a lawyer and burgeoning politician with a prestigious academic background and a picturesque family. Tai’s determination and drive for success ensures not only her survival after the plane crash but also the survival of her teammates.

However, Tai’s ambition is also one of her greatest faults. Her tunnel vision towards success can result in herself and those around her getting hurt. She accidentally breaks Allie’s leg trying to get her to improve her soccer abilities. She sets out on her expedition despite Lottie’s warnings, resulting in Van nearly getting killed. And, as an adult, she (literally) drives herself mad trying to win her political campaign, pushing her entire family away in the process. Tai is fierce and accomplished, but always at a cost.

Misty: Devotion/Loyalty

When Misty finds someone she views as her ‘person,’ she latches on and does not let go. We see this in the Wilderness with Coach Ben and Crystal; and in the adult timeline with Natalie. Misty desperately wants to be loved, and therefore she will do anything for the people she cares about, hoping that this will gain their affection. She nurses Coach Ben back to health, she shares all of her secrets with Crystal and does everything in her power to ensure that the others don’t eat her body when she dies. For Nat, she not only gets arrested trying to help her, but also snorts her cocaine to prevent her from relapsing (my favorite scene in the whole show ngl), sets up a whole interrogation with Randy, and travels to a compound in the middle of nowhere to find her after she was kidnapped.

This unconditional devotion, however, definitely comes with its flaws. Misty is obsessive about the people she loves, and this obsession often leads to people getting hurt and/or killed. She kills Jessica Roberts in order to save her fellow survivors from blackmail. She drugs Coach Ben with shrooms (and accidentally the whole team) in order to win his affection, which results in Travis nearly getting killed and Javi going missing. She intimidates Crystal off of a cliff to her death when she rejects Misty and kills Nat when she had been trying to protect her. Misty is loyal, but her loyalty results in sociopathic tendencies and the loss of the very same people she is devoting herself to.

Lottie: Spirituality/Open-Mindedness

Lottie’s spirituality and open-mindedness has been key to the group’s survival in the Wilderness. Her ability to see, hear, and sense what other’s cannot (whether you think it’s real or not) gives her teammates in the teen timeline and her cult (intentional community) members in the adult timeline hope and purpose. Without Lottie, the girls likely would have given up on survival long ago. She has an other-worldly, healing presence that those around her are naturally drawn to, and she helps a lot of people as a result.

Lottie’s spirituality can also be dangerous and even deadly, though. Her time as the Wilderness’s prophet causes the group to spiral into ritualistic sacrifices and cannibalism. In the adult timeline, her spirituality gets her locked up in a psych ward for years. Even after she has healed and moved on, Lottie’s belief in supernatural forces catches up with her again and results in her reinstating The Hunt, ultimately causing Nat’s death.

Van: Perseverance/Resilience

This poor butch goalie has almost died a ridiculous amount of times. She gets in a plane crash and is ditched by Jackie and Shauna in the wreckage, narrowly avoiding burning to death. Then, she’s nearly chopped into bits by a plane propeller. Then, she gets brutally and almost fatally mauled by a wolf. Then, she’s nearly burnt to death again on a funeral pyre (while still actively bleeding to death from the wolf attack). Then, her face is stitched up with a sewing needle by a 16 year-old (with no drugs to numb the pain). Then, her girlfriend starts losing control of herself and trying to run off of cliffs in the middle of the night so she has to regularly tie her down and keep watch of her all night. Then, she gets terminal cancer and only has a few months left to live. And that’s not even considering her life before the crash, living with an alcoholic mother that she has to take care of. Needless to say, Van has been through it. And through it all, she maintains her strength and witty sense of humor. She’s a light out in the Wilderness, keeping her team uplifted and laughing even in their worst moments (this girl is literally cracking jokes with her face torn to shreds). Her perseverance through hardship is next level.

However, this perseverance seems to have created a numbness in Van. Over time in the Wilderness, Van becomes more numb and reaction-less to the tragedy and trauma occurring around her. When the group eats Jackie, she bluntly tells Tai “we ate her” with little emotion. When they kill and eat Javi, Van tells Travis she has no regrets because she’s grateful to be alive. In the adult timeline, Van calls off the psych team for Lottie and goes through with the card ritual, knowing that this will likely result in the someone getting killed. Van is resilient and driven to survive through hardships, but her way of surviving means losing a little bit of her heart and humanity in the process.

Jackie: Influence

Before the crash, Jackie is undoubtedly a leader. She’s the Yellowjackets’ team captain and has an almost magnetic force around her that seems to captivate the whole school. She’s pretty, popular, and excels in everything she does. Shauna especially is completely caught in her orbit. When her teammates are fighting at the party, she single-handedly manages to calm them all down and help them mend their conflicts with each other.

The downside to this influence, however, is that it does not transfer to the Wilderness. High school rules don’t apply to trying to survive in the Canadian Rockies, and Jackie’s influence lies in civilization and traditional society. Jackie struggles to have the same power that she did before, and those who are more unconventional (such as Lottie and Nat) have more influence in their new living situation.

Shauna: Intensity/Passion

Shauna is completely driven by her emotions. She feels things strongly and loves people intensely. We see this first with Jackie, who Shauna has an all-consuming (pun-intended) love for. Her world revolves around Jackie, she doesn’t know where she ends and Jackie begins. In the Wilderness, this intensity of emotions translates to a ferocity that keeps her and her teammates alive. Shauna is unafraid to become the butcher of the group or to take the first bite. On the surface, Shauna appears timid, reserved, and gentle. As a teen, she’s invisible at school, hiding in Jackie’s shadow. As an adult, she’s an unassuming, soft-spoken housewife. But underneath is a darkness and fierceness that catches people by surprise and serves as her secret weapon.

The downside to Shauna’s intensity and passion, however, is that she does not have control over it. Her emotions spiral until she or someone close to her gets hurt. She loves Jackie and feels jealous of her, so she sleeps with her boyfriend, gets pregnant with his child, and implodes their friendship. She is deeply mourning Jackie’s death, so she eats a part of her to feel close to her again. She’s grieving the loss of her baby and doesn’t know what to do with that feeling so she nearly beats Lottie to death. She has a feeling Jeff might be cheating so she starts an affair with Adam. Someone stole her minivan? She’s gonna track them down, hold them at gunpoint, and nearly kill them. When she begins to feel unsafe and suspicious of Adam, this feeling, too, spirals out of control and she ends up murdering him. Shauna’s emotions are powerful, and while they do serve an important purpose of keeping her alive in the Wilderness, she doesn’t know how to express them in healthy ways and ends up lashing out as a result. I have a feeling they’re going to play an important role in Season 3, as well, as we can see that Shauna’s jealousy of Nat’s leadership is already beginning to make itself known.

[writers-potion]

Writing Mad Characters

Okay this is a bit awkward because I had this question copypasted into Google Docs I use to draft my answers, and I realized I've lost the question in my inbox (which is being flooded).

So...I'm so sorry for whoever asked this question. Sorry for the delay because I was struggling with life in general for the past month and definitely SORRY for losing your question (－‸ლ)

Q: I'm writing a story where a major character is slowly spiraling into madness where small details kinda hint into the downfall right before the bigger details appear and then it the floodgates open. Is there anything I should avoid? Anything that I should keep in mind? Anything that I should research?

Things to Avoid

“Mad” or “Insane” is too general. Writing a cliched ‘crazy’ character who randomly talks to imaginary people and lashes out at strangers, you’ll offend a whole bunch of people who've gone through/have mental illnesses. Read up on existing mental conditions (schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, post-traumatic disorder and borderline personality disorder, etc.) to see what your character might have. 

Words like “mad” “crazy” or “insane” aren’t enough when you’re describing their status. As mentioned, these words hardly mean much when it comes to providing a clear description.

Contradicting yourself. Throwing random unhinged symptoms here and there wouldn’t work. In fact, you must have a clear arc on which they’re traveling and ensure that your “hints” are all getting at something.

Making the character overly destructive or harmful to others (when nothing really justifies it)

Justifying damaging behavior with this “madness”. Mad or not, your character will still have motives and goals that drive them forward. 

Making them look incompetent just the fact that they have a mental condition that makes them appear “mad” to others shouldn’t prevent them from achieving success. In fact, they may be even more cool-hearted and logical when it comes to their obsessions/goals. 

Research Tips

Narrow down the mental conditions your character experiences. Even if it’s a fictional condition, try basing it on existing ones and building on top of them. 

Take some time to study characters and/or real clinical cases that resemble the kind of madness you’re going for. 

- Anxiety Disorders: excessive fear and dread (ex. phobias) - Mood Disorders: persistent swings in mood or persistent feelings that interfere with daily life (ex. Depression, bipolar) - Psychotic Disorders: disordered thinking (ex. schizophrenia) - Eating Disorders: extreme emotional attitudes toward food (ex. Bulimia, anorexia) - Impulse Disorders: unable to resist urges (ex. Kleptomania, pyromania, gambling) - Personality Disorders: extreme inflexible personality traits (ex. Anti-social disorder, OCPD) - Past Traumatic Stress: persistent, frightening memories leading to emotional numbness 

Does your character have empathy?  

A sociopathic kind of madness is different. 

General Writing Tips for Spiraling into Madness

Establish a Baseline 

A lot of factors (stress, family history, innate personality, trauma, etc.) can contribute to madness, but it is not going to happen in a week. Define the existing mental and physical conditions your character has, and start from there. 

If you’re aiming for suicidal tendencies at the end, you want to start with symptoms of depression (a condition that may lead to suicide) - growing apathetic, erratic sleeping patterns, irritability, etc. 

This is also the stage where you want to plant some triggers that’ll go off later.

Trigger Events

A perfectly sound character suddenly spiraling down the madness route due to a single accident or traumatizing event isn’t convincing. 

A madness “snap” denies the reader the experience of watching the character’s journey into madness and how they feel about it. 

Internal Conflict (antagonist in himself) 

You must remember that madness is incurable. If someone could “cure” themselves by eating healthy, exercising and taking a few pills, it wouldn’t be much of a madness, would it? This means that the worst antagonist is going to be the character themselves, or the part of them that’s been taken away. 

Show how they are frustrated with themselves, scared of themselves, angry at their “alternative self”. The experience of not knowing yourself is a whole journey of its own.

Physical Manifestations/Quirks

If your character has a routine, show how they break down. 

They might develop habits that they otherwise would never allow themselves to have, perhaps as an effort to “keep this madness out”

Deteriorating Relationships

Depict how the character’s madness impacts his closed/loved ones. In the earlier stages, those close to him might be faster to notice and accept the signs of madness, even if the character denies it him/herself.

The first signs of madness might show when the character is trying to deal with difficult relationships - like losing patience and being unable to pick up subtle social clues.

Choosing Obsessions Over Primal Urges 

For these characters, obsession can take over a person’s normal urge to eat, sleep or even live. This can lead to, more or less, suicide. 

Example: In Black Swan, Nina’s obsession with becoming the perfect ballerina drive her to insanity, to the point where she doesn't mind dying on stage for the show.

[droaxa]

the villainesses scheme

✧ tags: yandere haikyuu male leads x villainess reader

✧ warnings: yandere behavior (later on), reader hits her head

✧ a/n: hi guys guess who’s back!! i love the isekai trope where the mc gets reborn a few years before their death and i needed to put my own lil’ twist on it! i’d love to turn this into something longer (like a series or something) so give me your thoughts!! my recent haikyuu obsession led to this one lol, inspired by: the male leads were stolen by an extra

You were a loser, well not exactly. You had a pretty stable job and a nice flat but lacked one major component in your life: friends. But it’s not like you were antisocial! Moving to a new city just a few months ago, you had been busy with moving in and didn’t exactly have enough time to make friends.

Besides you were preoccupied with your favorite web comic of all time: Flower of the Estate! A commoner girl that has three noble men falling for her? This girl really had some crazy cha(rizz)ma. You weren’t really into harem type stories but wow did it keep you coming back to see what happened.

It was another late night reading Flower of the Estate when you decided to head to the kitchen to get some snacks to keep you fueled. However, when you turned to retreat back you slipped on spilled water near the sink and hit your head on the granite counter! You mentally curse yourself for not cleaning it up as you drift into a deep slumber.

When you open your eyes and the lights blind you, quickly slapping a hand over your face you shoot up. Registering the soft plush beneath you you opened your eyes, when did you get in bed? Looking around your jaw drops, who the hell put you in a room like this! The whole room was illuminated by sunlight peaking behind the luxurious navy drapes and you gasped at the sheer size and extravagance of the bedroom. You were… in a castle?

Jumping off the bed you immediately fell to your knees with a thud. How long had you been out for that your legs were this weak? You push yourself up and stumble to the mirror on a vanity next to the bed. The satin fabric of your night gown fell to the ground, revealing the length that had been bunched up while you were sleeping.

In the mirror, the first thing you see is (e/c) eyes and a face eerily similar to yours. It was your face and body for sure but the state of it wasn’t, your hands were usually rough and your knees were scarred from playing as a child but now both were smooth and even. Then your eyes feel on a crest engraved onto the top of the vanity and your heart dropped.

The beautiful family crest of a black fox protected by two swords was a prevalent symbol in Flower of the Estate. It was the crest of the villainess. You, (y/n) Aleria, were the cruel villainess of the story, waking up here and looking like this had no other explanation. To see if it was true you quickly pushed the sleeve of your left arm up, on the wrist was a faint birthmark. A scar in the shape of a half moon, your fate was sealed. You fall back on the bed. ‘Shit.’

You were official the villainess of Flower of the Estate, who bullies the main character, get thrown out of high society, and then dies. You knew the path that the villainess followed and the actions she took, did that mean you could avoid facing the same death as her as well? The first mistake that she had committed that set her on the path of destruction was her bullying of the main character.

The villainess was notorious for her extravagant lifestyle and cruel manner, she didn’t have anyone close to her and the book never showed her point of view. You knew the basics about her but who was (y/n) — really? Was she really just jealous of the commoner girl that had managed to outshine her or was it deeper than that?

No matter why she behaved that way, you knew that following on her footsteps would only lead you to doom. You needed a game plan, plus you read enough reincarnation manga to know what basic things to avoid as the villainess.

Love Interests and Relations:

Tooru Oikawa - Childhood love (One sided) and (y/n)’s main obsession

Tobio Kageyama - Royal knight who pledged their loyalty to (y/n)

Ushijima Wakatoshi - Esteemed scholar who ended up being (y/n)’s tutor for a short period of time

Ok… this would a little harder than you thought. Why were all the love interests involved with the villainess anyway? Oikawa could be avoided easily enough, you just needed to distance yourself from him and considering that Oikawa was keen on getting rid of you. If you remembered correctly he was rather annoyed by the villainess who would cling to his side like a lost puppy. As for Ushijima, you knew that he would only be your tutor for a month, then leave your care to meet the main character who he would eventually fall in love with. Kageyama would be the hardest to get rid of compared to the other two, he would be around the villainesses the longest and somehow fall in love with her. However much like the others, he would fall in love with the female lead and leave (y/n) to be with her, withdrawing his pledge to be by her side.

Ugh. This is going to be a headache isn’t it?

[gnawing-suspicion]

Favorite Hannigram Fics of 2024

So! I’ve been thinking about making this list for weeks but it overwhelmed me — I started reading Hannigram fic this year and have consumed millions of words of it. I began without an ao3 account so many of the ones I started with are lost to the aether, but here are the absolute gems, the ones I can’t stop thinking about. Some are popular, others less known.

My tastes might not be yours, but I am drawn to excellent writing, slow burns, power dynamics and a healthy dose of twisted kink. So! ONWARD!

Note: The Shape of Me Will Always be You and Consenting to Dream are a given.

Blackbird by @emungere - “Shortly after Will kills Garret Jacob Hobbs, he and Hannibal stumble into a D/s relationship. It's a relief to have Hannibal telling him what to do, but the closer they become, the closer he gets to realizing who and what Hannibal really is.”

I love D/s Hannigram and this was exquisite. Everything by emungere is, of course, but this is my favorite.

Bram Stoker’s HANNIBAL by @dbmars - “Hannibal + Bram Stoker's Dracula + the classic novel = a new version of the seductive vampire legend.”

A love letter to both the 90s film and the original work. This is the longest fic I read this year and it consumed me for weeks. It’s gorgeous, sexy, beautifully-written and every casting choice made me kick my feet with glee.

Secretary by FragileTeacup and ThisIsMyDesignHannibal - “Will Graham needs a job. Since quitting the FBI, he’s been adrift for months, broken and lost; chasing a desire he doesn’t understand in increasingly destructive ways. What he needs is stability, direction, something to help put his life back in order and quiet the buzzing in his head.”

Secretary is one of my favorite films ever, and this take on it had me foaming at the mouth. It’s so good. SO GOOD.

Hinterland by @pastelwell - “When they crash into the water he believes it’s over. He followed his final impulse to do the right thing by his friends, his family, the world. The last flutters of morality within him had guided him, even as he looked into the eyes of a murderer who had somehow compelled his fall from grace. Here, in the frigid deep waters, their chapter is closed and their story is concluded. Except it isn’t. This is just the beginning.”

A divine post-fall fic of rehabilitation, angst, longing and some of the hottest smut imaginable. I love a post-fall fic and this is top-tier!!

With skin intact and altered souls by romanticallyinept - Will snorts his laughter, shifting to tuck his hands under his arms. “Come on,” he says, turning his head to look over at Hannibal. “The chances of two serial killers being in one car would be astronomical.”

They’re both serial killers!!! What are the odds!! This one is so fun, so fucked, so hot. Really great dialogue.

Our Shadows, That are Bold, Sing by @highermagic - “The monster under Will's bed calls himself Hannibal. He has lived there since Will was old enough to have a bed. He is very smart, and Will likes him very much. He protects Will's dreams, wakes him when he has nightmares. He embraces Will with shadows that black out the morning light when dawn comes, and sings soft songs that Will doesn't know.”

Listen, I read basically every one of HigherMagic’s fics this year. They’re all, every one of them, incredible. This one really got me, though. Monster Hannibal is my husband now.

patroclus in furs by bleakmidwinter - “Will Graham has been acting in heterosexual porn for years but is fired when his manager encourages him to take a higher-paying job for a homosexual centric porn company. There, he finds his expectations turned upside down.”

This is obviously ABSURD but oh my god, did I love it. Will Graham having a sexual identity crisis with notoriously sadistic porn god Hannibal is like candy to me. 10/10.

Cuisine Euphonique by thecountessolivia - “Nightmares brought on by a gruesome case lead Will to some unorthodox therapy in the form of a YouTube cooking channel.”

Will gets obsessed with Hannibal’s secret ASMR channel. Incredible phone sex is the natural conclusion. The descriptions of sound in this are viscerally gorgeous.

Funeral of Flowers by thecountessolivia - “Venice, 1870. The heart of winter. The once great city republic is on its knees. The banned institution of Carnevale lives on discreetly in the masked balls that light up the grand palazzi of the rich and the well-born.”

Hannigram at Carnevale. Sumptuous, longing, decadently described historical AU. Loved this to death.

Black Rock Mountain by bokunojinsei - “Will is a hitchhiker with questionable hobbies. Hannibal is a man who has questionable motives. When Hannibal drives by Will who just so happens to need a ride, things quickly take a turn from the questionable to the downright depraved.”

An even smuttier They’re Both Serial Killers fic that had me howling in the streets. You want bloody horny Hannigram? This is elite!!

To Fuel Your Radiance by GoldenUsagi - “AU where Will is the actual Devil. After Hannibal sells his soul, a fascination begins to develop between them. Will is intrigued by the unique monster Hannibal is, while Hannibal thinks Will is the most magnificent thing he's ever encountered. As their conversations continue, their involvement with each other becomes something else entirely.”

I’m not gonna lie, I think this was my favorite fic I read this year. Will as The Devil is so hot I screamed. There’s a scene at the end that is so fucked I lost my mind. Not even close to safe or sane. A masterpiece.

The Night Owl by sourweather - “Will works the graveyard shift at his University's 24 hour Library. There's another student who only comes in to study in the dead of night. Will can't explain why, but something about that boy has caught his attention.”

College AU! COLLEGE AU! Featuring some great Beverly fun.

An Ounce of Wit by winddragon - “AKA a modern magical AU where the entire point is to turn Will Graham into a catboy.”

The infamous Will is a Catboy fic that is somehow SO good. I had to be convinced to read this but I’m so glad I did. It’s an absolute delight, and the dark magic is so cool?! Goofy, yes, but delicious.

old-fashioned divinity candy by antiheroblake - “the relationship between old money, med student hannibal lecter and his newly rich sugar daddy, will graham”

An ongoing WIP that has me hooked by the throat. If you like the boys being absolutely stupid for each other and also absolutely stupid about it, you’ll eat this up. Young Hannibal is such an idiot. I love him.

in the gruesome do we trust by sidnihoudini - “Hannibal and Will have murder husbands mind palace sex, and Alana watches obsessively.”

I mean, it does what it says on the box. It does it SO WELL. Honk honk and, if I may add, awoooga.

show me where it hurts (I’ll lick it clean) by antiheroblake - “at 18, will inherits a ranch upon the death of his father, a man who died from a supposed family curse. at 33, will becomes prone to accidents, and the new town doctor starts to see him more than he sees his cattle.”

Accident-prone Will in the Old West HATES his sexy new doctor. You won’t believe what happens next!!!

Bring Out Your Desires by TheCosmicNSFW - “After spontaneously having to save a man's life inside an ambulance, Hannibal Lecter finds Will Graham being naughty in the bathroom. He decides that Will Graham might be a more valuable asset than he originally thought, and he convinces Will to let him work out his true desires - but is offering your mind to Hannibal on a silver platter such a great idea?”

An ongoing Hypnosis Kink fic that has absolutely inspired some of Fever Dreams. Bonus points for a fic that gave me a new kink!! Doesn’t happen every day!

The Sugar Bowl by BelladonnaWyck and raiast

Listen, ok, I like a sugar daddy fic. I’m picky about them, though!! This one involves University Will and he’s such a perfect mess.

Mine to Touch by piginapoketuesday - “Will's neck flushed with fear. Never being allowed to feed himself again. Learning to associate food with a swollen, untouched cock. Swallowing prettily and on command. His body betrayed him, and he moaned around the fork in his mouth.”

This one popped up during my exploration of the Sub Will Graham tag and woooooof, yes. Yes!!

2 weeks by EarthsickWithoutYou - “After reading the news of Will's marriage to Molly, an incarcerated Hannibal cannot bear their separation or his own jealousy any longer. He breaks out and finds Will, proposing a bet: that Will gives Hannibal two weeks to prove his love and convince Will to run away with him. If Hannibal succeeds, they will be together for life, but if he fails, he'll return to the BSHCI and never see Will again. With Hannibal's heart on the line and Will's inner moral conflict hard to hear above the roar of his longing for the killer, what choice is he going to make?”

Insanely jealous Hannibal + bone-deep yearning + “I can give you what she never could” = 🔥🔥🔥🔥😤🥵

Appetites of the Flesh by Magnetism_bind - “Will gets aroused at murder scenes. Eventually this gets noticed.”

A rec from @graciereadshannigram that also introduced me to a new kink. It’s twisted, obviously, but godDAMN it’s hot. And speaking of Gracie…

CrimsonDesires by Scifibabe - “Post-fall, Will and Hannibal discover that Alana became a bestselling erotic novelist and surprise! She based her characters on Will and Hannibal. Drunken dramatic reading of various passages ensues.”

This is absolute crack and I ate it up like ICE CREAM. A kick-your-feet delight. Watch as Will blushes so hard he nearly dies. And lest we forget my fave of her Kinktober fics…

Touched for the Very First Time by Scifibabe - “One night post-fall, Will proposes something new: letting Hannibal seduce him as if it's his first time. As Will slips into a younger, more hesitant version of himself, he’s reminded of all the things he's never let himself fully experience. With Hannibal guiding him through each step, Will discovers just how much he still craves being taken care of, in every sense.”

This blew my mind. It’s so hot. Thank you for the food!!!! Bonus mention for the Daddy Kink Fisting episode.

act on it by acheforhim - “Will is lonely and his long-distance fuckbuddy encourages him to pursue Hannibal.”

It took me MONTHS into reading fic to give omegaverse a try. I’m still fussy about it, but this one is so hot.

Graham Cam by bigfootghostdick - “In nearly every aspect of his life, Hannibal is wholly unabashed in the endeavors he chooses to take on, especially where Will is concerned. At his core, he lives outside the realm of societal norms, so in a twisted effort to learn more about the beautiful empath that has captured his attention so utterly, he decides to install hidden cameras inside Will’s home.

Will is blissfully unaware…or is he?”

Hdhagahajajbfdg.

Illicit Affairs by EarthsickWithoutYou - “AU in which Will is living a quiet, safe, but deeply conflicted life in Maine, married to Molly but secretly longing for his dark Becoming. Mired in self-hatred and despair, he seeks comfort in the church. But things get very complicated once he meets the new priest at his parish, Father Hannibal Lecter.”

I have a massive Priest Kink and this did it for me in every way possible. I love how all of EarthsickWithoutYou’s fics are so deeply religious. I’m not, but I love reading it!!

suffer does the wolf by cedarbranch - “Under extreme physical duress, a werewolf's transformation cycles may fall out of phase with the moon. Will has experienced it once before. He'd hoped he never would again. But the fall was not kind to him, and when two full moons pass afterwards with no sign of a change, something has to give.

The solution: a tight leather collar, woven through with pure silver chain to prevent unwanted transformation. Will hates the collar. But it might be different when Hannibal's the one putting it on him.”

I may be iffy on omegaverse, but I LOVE fics where Will is a werewolf. It just suits him. That plus BDSM power dynamics? SOLD

even though our love is doomed by bleakmidwinter - “Hannibal solves the mystery of time travel and he and Will decide to go into the past and take opportunities previously missed along with rewriting the regrets they each hold. Changing the past does not effect the future and they have free reign to play as the please.”

I loved this, oh how I loved this, particularly when they fuck themselves. What a treat for me!!

How to Be a Good Boy: A Guide for the Novice Werewolf by HigherMagic - “Will gets scratched by a strange dog during the full moon.”

I told you I like Will as a werewolf and this is peak!!

WHEW. I know there are more I could add and some I’ve lost track of or forgotten, but these fics changed me!! I obviously pored through the archives of a few authors - HigherMagic, emungere, MissDisoriental, thecountessolivia, EarthsickWithoutYou, Scifibabe, antiheroblake, bleakmidwinter and DBMars all kept me fed this year! 🖤 without all their incredible work I never would’ve started writing my own fic, so I’m deeply grateful.

I love this fandom and now that you can see my tastes, I am very open to your recs 🖤🖤🖤

[merakiui]

angel/angler.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, stalking, non-con, non-consensual photography, chikan/groping (train molestation), obsession, kidnapping/captivity, drugging, violence, blood, death (or is it??), azul's insecurities and low self-esteem, azul’s not-so-subtle breeding kink, implied disordered eating, reader's height isn't described, but it's written that azul is taller note - to obsess is to hunger like an angler from the deep sea. living his entire life in pitch-black solitude, entranced by an angel's halo; his only purpose is to find the body that will become his lifeline and, one day, his cemetery.

entry 1: 18 April, 20XX.

For anonymity’s sake, I’ve chosen to write using a vague pronoun. Additionally, this diary will be a record of my thoughts so that I can keep my mind and senses intact. In my youth, I was prone to terrible fits of self-destructive rage, and as a result they suggested I write my feelings down to prevent any outbursts. I’m not very physical towards others. Rather, it was the harm I posed to myself that fostered concern.

But this space isn’t for my own views on myself. It’s about someone else. 

I have a confession: I’ve fallen in love with you from the train, and I’ve been in love with you for the four months I’ve come to know you.

You wear perfectly pressed suits, heels of a modest height, tights, and pencil skirts that cut just at your knees. I want to touch you, but if I do you might stop wearing skirts altogether and then I’ll never see your legs again. I suppose trousers aren’t so unattractive. They’re appealing in their own right. Everything looks good on you, though. (Nothing would look even better.)

You work in an office building. I’m not sure which floor, but I’ll know soon enough. I wanted to follow you inside, but there’s a security guard in the lobby. He always greets you, and you always smile and chat with him. You’re a kind person, so I let this pass without incident. But I can’t lie to these pages and say it’s not troublesome when I watch his gaze linger longer than it needs to. 

I’d kill him, but then they’d employ a new guard and you’d make friends with him because you’re so kind. I don’t admire kind people. Rather, I find kindness to be a double-edged blade (Is that the correct phrasing? It’s different in my hometown. We say kindness is like pufferfish—harmless until it’s provoked and then it becomes poisonous). It’s not that I look down on kind people. I just think you shouldn’t be so quick to befriend the world in its entirety.

After plenty of observation, I’ve learned that you often leave your building to get lunch by yourself. This is what you’ve eaten in the week:

Monday - A salad at a popular café. Iced tea because it was a sunny day. A tiny cheesecake for dessert. It was blueberry.

Tuesday - A wrap of some kind. Chicken? Or was it vegetarian? Sweet potato fries. Water.

Wednesday - You didn’t leave your building. Were you at work today? 

Thursday - Another salad. Water. Same café. No tiny cheesecake.

Friday - You went to lunch with that guard. I only remember my irritation and so I’m afraid I can’t make note of your meal for today. He looks at you like an obsessed puppy waiting for its owner to give it attention. I want to pluck his eyes from his sockets so he’ll never look at you in that way again.

You lead a healthy lifestyle, but I can’t help wondering if you’re eating well. Did someone say something about your figure? I’ll eviscerate them for you and then they can see how much it hurts when unnecessary scrutiny is thrown around.

It’s quite late. I want to sleep, but thinking about you has my body wide-awake. I wonder if your mouth tastes like the moonlight shining in through my window. I wonder if your body is soft like mine… Of course it is. A silly, irrational thought. You’re much warmer than me. This is just a theory. I’ve yet to feel and confirm for myself. I will in the foreseeable future.

Before we part ways, I want you to know that I’m not very good at cooking. I’ve picked up a few books and hope to learn. I’m going to practice so that I can feed you better meals one day. Salads are the worst. Fried chicken is the true meal of heaven. I’m certain you would share this sentiment.

If I were to be condemned to a last meal like those serial killers on death row, I’d ask for fried chicken. Knowing you, you’re too good to kill anyone. In this hypothetical, supposing you’re a heinous criminal, your last meal would be something healthy. Do you even like those salads, or are you forcing yourself because you must? I understand calorie-counting well enough, but if there’s one thing to enjoy in life it should be food.

I suppose that makes me a hypocrite. I ought to take my own advice.

Oh. I’m starting to grip my pen with more force and the lines have become shaky. I usually break my writing utensils if my focus strays. I’ll stop here for today. Ink is a pain to clean.

AA.

The morning rush is your greatest enemy.

Jack Howl, the lobby’s security, has suggested giving you a ride on numerous occasions. “It’s part of the reason I got my license,” he explained once, “so that I can protect those who work in this building from the rush. Not like you have to accept my offer. It’s just…convenient for both of us. Again, I don’t care what you do.”

(He does. You see through his gruff surface.)

According to him, the morning and night rushes bring out the worst kinds of characters.

But isn’t that everywhere? you think as you peer out the window, watching the city come into clarity.

Like every morning, the train car is more crowded than a sardine tin. You’re used to being pressed up against other commuters, pinned to the window or between people. You’re flattered to know someone’s concerned, but nothing has happened yet. And why would it? It’s bright outside. No one would dare do something during the day. At least, not in a crowded area where anyone could see and hear.

I wonder what I should have for dinner. I still need to go shopping. My fridge is way too empty, you think, sighing. And I need to follow up with that one author. They’ve yet to get back to me about my edits. Perhaps we should meet in the office instead of through video call… And I also need to finalize that other style sheet after the last round of editing. And then another conference… There was something else. Was I scheduled to have lunch with an author? Or was that next week? I should check before—

The train shudders as it slides into the station. Someone brushes against you from behind. Their hand is pressed against the window just near your head. They steady themselves, their body so close to yours you can hear their staggered breathing.

“Ah. S-Sorry…”

It’s next week, right? I really should check once I get to my stop. This is going to eat me alive all day.

“Mhm,” you hum, waving dismissively.

The stranger standing behind you peels his hand away from the window. A sweaty palm print is left in its wake.

“We will be approaching the next stop shortly.”

Just one more and you’ll be getting off.

A pair of bright eyes blinks back at you in the reflection, watching the city just as you are.

entry 5: 22 April, 20XX.

I’m not a social person by any means. If I can avoid crowds, I usually do. An introvert’s paradise is best spent in the comfort of their own room, after all. But if you prefer outdoor dates I can become extroverted for your sake. There are lots of things I’m willing to do for your sake.

Which is why I’ve forced myself to tolerate the train. I loathe it. It’s cramped and uncomfortable. Most days I’m not even near you, and so all I can do is stare longingly from afar. I content myself with imaginary scenarios like in the books you edit. I’ve mentioned it sparsely in this diary, but you’re a brilliant editor. Most of the novels you work on aren’t exactly my taste, but there’s something to appreciate about them. Reading through them knowing your very eyes pored over these pages dozens of times before publication… I admire your work. Immense time and effort goes into all professions, especially ones that involve meticulous touches. 

With this discussion of careers, you might wonder what I do for a living. I manage my own restaurant chain off-site. It must be shocking news for you to realize: your secret admirer is actually quite successful.

If I’m not able to provide an adequate life—no, more than that. If I cannot drown you in all of life’s luxuries, I should sooner throw myself on the beach and let this soft, wriggling body of mine dry out than settle for the barest of minimums. You deserve only the finest.

In fact, I have a room in my home dedicated to you. A private office in which you can write and edit in peace. It’s furnished with everything you’d ever need. I hope to gift it to you one day.

Remote work is very relaxing. (You’ll know this once you try it here.) When you’re boss, you work your own schedule. That’s why I’m able to fit our secret meetings into my weekly itinerary.

Today’s meeting was quite fortuitous. I felt like I’d won the lottery. Mostly because I was finally given the opportunity to be close to you. So close, in fact, that you didn’t even notice when I slid my phone under your skirt to take a few photos. Your undergarments are unexpectedly plain. Truthfully, I’m somewhat disappointed. I was hoping to learn your lingerie preferences. At the very least, I know your tights are sheer enough to show me the color of your panties.

I consider myself a connoisseur of many things, and I’ve done enough interior decorating in my time to become well-accustomed to color palettes. A fool would say your panties are red, but they’re actually maroon.

That same fool wouldn’t take another breath after glimpsing such a private side of you.

If you must know, my dear, I am excessively avaricious when it comes to the things I like. I have always been this way. I am a collector. A hoarder of secrets. I refuse to let others touch or take the things that belong to me, especially when they are wholly undeserving…

I’ve broken another pen. Thankfully, the mess wasn’t so extreme. Not-so-thankfully, I’ve lost my train of thought.

Ah. Right. Trains.

Today I rode the train, and I was standing right behind you. You were looking out the window, lost in your thoughts, and so you didn’t notice me. You must have seen my reflection, but I wear a mask and a hooded sweatshirt when I go outside. Perhaps it’s a touch embarrassing to admit, but I am very self-conscious of the way I look. Firstly, my eyes are too tired. I’ve read that many people are not fond of eyes with dark circles under them. Secondly, my face is average—unworthy of your love by my lofty standards. My hair never cooperates. My smiles never fit properly. My skin is too pale. My eyes are too blue and my pupils are abnormal. My weight is just a few kilograms above the average. I will work hard to bring it back down for your sake and for my own so that it won’t show. I prefer a slim waist, so I must stomach all manner of healthy foods for the weekend. What a pity… Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could eat whatever you wanted without having to worry about caloric intake and numbers on a scale?

That aside, there are times in which my glasses sit crooked on my face and it’s a horrifying thought to imagine I walk around looking like that! As if I’ve rolled right out of bed with no regard for my appearance whatsoever!

Perhaps the both of us share one similarity. We are vain creatures who care too much about how we present ourselves to others.

Thus, I conceal myself so that you won’t judge me harshly should you look upon me. Not like you’d do that. You were so immersed in your head that you hardly paid any attention to your surroundings. You should be more careful. What if something were to happen and I wasn’t there to protect you?

The train stuttered to a halt at the first stop, and some fool bumped into me. I should thank them because I got to brush against you. You gasped softly. I watched your breath fog the window. I placed my hand just above your head and apologized softly, and you weren’t bothered in the slightest. Oh, how I envy your carefree nature.

As a result of that stranger’s mishap, I’ve learned something new. You wear perfume. Even with my mask, I could smell it. Strong and flowery, overwhelmingly sweet. Maybe you prefer these scents? I’m more partial to mature scents, but I admit there’s a certain charm to the scents you wear. I wish I knew the exact brand. There are dozens of perfumes with the same notes as the ones I picked up, but none can compare to the one you use. I want to be able to hold the bottle knowing it’s your favorite.

I’ve prattled enough. With the length of my entries, you’d assume I was this chatty beyond the page. I’m not. I only say as much as I think is necessary.

Once again, I’m having trouble falling asleep. I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m looking through the photos I snapped and the outline of your lips against your panties is lovely. I’m sure you’re just as soft and sweet inside as you are on the outside. If only I could experience it right now. My hand can’t replicate the softness or the wetness or the way you’ll probably clamp down when we finally make love.

I can only fantasize for now. What a pain. 

AA.

“It’s going to rain today,” Jack tells you the minute you step through the lift doors into the lobby. He stands straight like a soldier, his shoulders squared and features set into something serious.

“Looks like it, huh?” You glance at the darkening sky outside, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Hopefully it rains after I get home. I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

“I’ll drive you.” He falls into step beside you. “It’s dark out and the station is—”

“It’s only five minutes away. I’ll be fine. I take this way all the time.”

Jack’s lip twitches into a grim frown. The beginnings of a sharp, pearly-white canine flashes at you as his mouth curls. “Fine,” he concedes with a huff. Awkwardly, he scratches the back of his neck and looks elsewhere. “Do what you want. I’m not forcing you or anything.”

You smile at him. “You’re very considerate, Jack. I appreciate the concern.”

He’s like a puppy. It’s really sweet.

“W-Wha—who said anything about concern?” His face is growing warmer by the second, thawing his external ice.

“I’ll be okay. It’s not even that dark out either.”

“Still…” He sighs and cards his hand through his hair. “You haven’t noticed anything weird lately, have you?”

“Anything weird?” You furrow your brows, suddenly confused.

“On your way home. Nothing out of the ordinary? It’s the same every day?”

“Mostly, yeah. Why? Did something happen?”

“No. Just wondering…” Jack looks past you then, searching for something you can’t seem to see. “You sure you don’t want a ride? I can walk you to the station. Protect you if anything or anyone—”

You force yourself to laugh. “Come on. You’re trying to scare me on purpose. This is because I told you I’m editing a horror novel, isn’t it?”

Jack doesn’t share in your humor. Instead, his frown tightens on his face.

“While I’m grateful you want to help, I really don’t want to put that on you. It’s not your job to chauffeur me around. I’d feel bad if I made you do that. So thank you, but I’ll have to decline.”

You turn swiftly on your heel before he can protest, striding out the door into the gloomy night.

When is it going to be summer? It’s way too chilly.

You burrow into your jacket as you beeline for the station. A brisk breeze blows through busy city streets. Even though there are still people out and about, it feels strangely desolate.

Jack’s heart was in the right place, but did he really have to phrase it like that? 

You wrap your arms around yourself and hurry along. Your steps are in time with your pounding heart. A cold sweat beads along your forehead. 

Relax. It’s nothing to get worked up over. I’m fine.

Crunch.

You whirl around, clutching your bag between your arms. There’s no one in sight. The city seems eerily quiet tonight.

Stop scaring yourself. Nothing’s there.

No, it’s not something that could make that sound—a noise akin to a footstep. That belongs to someone.

Is someone following you?

You aren’t going to wait around and find out. Now you’re jogging the rest of the way, your heels clicking against the pavement. Your breath comes in shaky heaves, and by the time you finally step into the station’s blinding fluorescents, adrenaline still vibrating through your veins, you notice the time.

My train—it’s already here! Thank you. Oh, thank you so much!

You rush through the station in a flurry, and the relief is tangible once you’re safe and sound inside the train car. You squirm through the throng of late-night commuters towards the window.

“Sorry. Excuse me. Pardon me,” you murmur as you navigate the crowded space.

You make it to the window just as the doors slide shut. Moments later, the train squeaks into motion.

I worked up such a sweat. I can’t believe I got so frazzled over something as small as a snapped twig…or whatever that was. It wasn’t a footstep. And if it was, it was probably my own.

You shake your head at your reflection.

Look at me, losing my mind all because I let someone’s words get to my head. 

The stranger standing behind you sighs alongside you. You’re about to turn around, but it’s their hands on your waist that stop you. Your blood freezes. Your spine goes rigid.

“Excuse me? Um… C-Can I help you?”

You gasp, horrified, as the hands creep higher until they’re wrapped around your chest. The stranger squeezes almost curiously. Their breath catches on an eager hitch. You peer helplessly at the window. Two blue eyes blink back.

“Wait… Hold on—”

“It’s okay.” A man’s voice. Sweet and silky-smooth. A reassuring whisper. Only you can hear it with this invasively close proximity. It might as well be a drop in the ocean that is the rickety din of the train on the rails. You reach to grab his arms, hoping to pry him off. “I’m not going to hurt you. As long as you’re quiet…”

“No, you can’t. Please, sir. S-Stop… Don’t touch there.” Your fingers curl around his wrists. You squirm against him, your brain blanking.

This can’t be happening… There’s just no way…

Something stiff prods at your ass from behind. You yelp softly when he rubs himself against you. You try to catch sight of his features when you crane your neck, but all you get is a faceful of a dark hoodie. He’s tall enough to block you from the other passengers, his body caging yours against the window. One hand slides away from your chest to slip under your skirt. He gropes at your inner thigh; his fingers draw dangerously close to private territory.

“Sir—”

He inhales a dreamy breath. “Perfect,” he babbles, his words muffled by his mask. “So perfect. Warm… And soft. Just as I thought.”

There’s nowhere for you to run. Nowhere to hide. You’re trapped here with this fiend until you get off at your stop.

“We will be approaching the stop shortly,” the woman on the intercom says, but it doesn’t give you the relief you’re after.

Three more stops and then you’ll be at yours. Three more. Three. Your stop might as well be years away.

Two fingers trace the outline of your pussy through your panties. You’re grateful you’re wearing tights.

His breathing is heavy. He’s mumbling filth in your ear. You hardly register it over the static in your brain.

Gross. So gross. Stop it. Please stop. I don’t want this.

A whine bubbles low in your throat when he presses down against your clit. He caresses you through the fabric of your panties. You slump against the window with your palms on the glass. Your heart is in your throat. You feel sick and dizzy. It’s too hot in here. Everything is spinning. Your heart is picking up its pace. Your hands are starting to shake. 

And there’s nowhere to go. No amount of begging will stop him. He’s all over you, pressed impossibly close—so close you think he’s trying to fuse his body to yours, becoming one mutual unit.

You want to scream, but you can’t find your voice. You can’t do anything. You can’t even think.

“Don’t be scared,” he murmurs, twining his fingers around your trembling ones. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Mmh, no… No—stop. P-Please, sir, please stop.” You shudder against him, and a choked, broken sob rattles through your ribs. 

He chuckles and squeezes your hand. His other circles your tender, sensitive clit, and the contact elicits a whimper from you. “Even though you’re making the cutest sounds? Aah, I wanna be inside you so badly… I’m sure it’s even softer there.”

You bite down on your bottom lip so hard that your teeth pierce the skin. A thin ribbon of blood dribbles down your chin. You refuse to give him that satisfaction. Even though your attempt to snuff your voice is successful, your body doesn’t seem to agree. It shakes in fear and arousal. When he presses against your panties next, he feels the growing damp spot. 

That’s just a natural reaction, right? I’m not actually aroused by this. There’s no way!

Just when you think he might pursue further, he pulls back. His hips are still flush to your ass. You can feel his cock straining against the fabric. It’s gross and demoralizing. You’re nothing but a doll for him to get off to. Less than a person.

The train glides to a halt and the doors open. People exit and enter in a busy fashion. You stare out the window at your blurred surroundings.

When the train eases back into motion, you realize tears are welling in your eyes. They don’t fall. Not yet.

It isn’t until you get off at your stop, sprint the rest of the way home, hurry up into your apartment, and lock the door that the horror of it all finally catches up to you. You collapse to your knees and wail like you’ve just lost something precious—something you’ll never be able to get back.

You’ve never felt more dirty before.

entry 36: 4 May, 20XX.

I did it. I finally did it.

My hand is shaking; I’m so happy. No, I’m more than happy. I’m absolutely overjoyed!

You don’t know this about me yet, but I’m terribly envious. I suppose that’s why I could muster the confidence to touch you and hold you… Your body is so soft against mine. Every inch of you is beautiful. I wish I could have felt beneath your shirt, lifted your bra to see your bare breasts in the window’s reflection. This is quite the shameless admission. Even I, despite admiring you for so long, am loath to admit it.

You mesmerize me. I’m already flustered just thinking about the way your hand fit in mine when I held it… And you were aroused! I was so close to such a precious area, and you were wet for me and only me. I feel so overwhelmed. It’s a dream come true. You’re such an angel. My angel.

My dear, darling angel, I’m sorry for startling you. That was the only way, you see, and certain circumstances led me to that point. You must understand.

To be unfiltered about it, it was annoying seeing that security guard pester you. I had the strongest urge to kill him, but that’s not something you can do on a whim. Murder is like running a business, in a way. One misstep, a bad investment or a sliver of evidence left behind, and it might spell the end.

That’s besides the point. It’s hardly worth the time. 

Regrettably, while on the train into the city, I noticed you were wearing trousers today. I was right. Last night was a once-in-a-lifetime event. A pity. Your legs in those sheer tights is a vision to behold. Luckily, I have enough pictures to satisfy the craving to see you in them. When you live with me, I’ll buy plenty of tights for you to wear around the house. That way you won’t have to worry if I rip them.

That aside, you’ve started looking over your shoulder more. You talked to that security guard longer than you normally do. It’s irritating. Quite frankly, it pisses me off.

I don’t want to be childish. I understand you’re stressed and nervous. Anyone would be. That’s normal. But I’m not going to hurt you. I even told you those exact words! I’m certain you would have calmed down if you could see my face. Unfortunately, I’m not very blessed in that department. I assure you my personality is far prettier…despite the ugly truths I’ve penned here.

But then those don’t matter when it comes to love. Even in love, couples are supposed to recognize and accept each other’s flaws. So it’s fine if I’m an ugly person. It’s fine if I’m a devil or something grotesque from the deepest trench in the sea. At least, in spite of such darkness, your halo will continue to light the way and I will always be lured in by your luminosity.

I can’t do much of anything right now and that has led me to feel increasingly itchy. I want to feel you again. Smell you. Touch you. I’d like to taste you next time. Part your legs or tear your skirt off and indulge in the space you keep hidden from me. I want to sink into your depths and know the shape of you just as you twist yourself to take the shape of me. 

It’s just not enough. I desire more of you. 

AA.

entry 40: 8 May, 20XX.

It’s been a few days. You haven’t taken the train since. Now you’re driven to and from work by that pest. I was overcome with such frustration yesterday that I slammed my hands down upon my desk and fractured my wrist. For the time being, until my wrist heals, I must wear this unsightly stabilizer-brace-thing and write carefully with my non-dominant hand. I like to consider myself ambidextrous, if only because it’s a talent I’m sure will impress you, as you seem to surround yourself with successful, talented people, but I must admit my lettering is rather…subpar.

It’s not as neat as I hoped it would be. Something to practice while my wrist heals, I suppose.

There’s only so much strain I can take, my angel. Are you really so afraid of me that you’ve chosen to rely on someone else to protect you? If it was funny, I’d laugh. But it’s not. It’s annoying. Must I chain you up by the throat so that you won’t run away? Must I cuff our wrists together so that neither of us can part ways? What must I do to ensure you’ll never leave me?

Every day I spend in solitude, you grow closer to everyone but me. It’s infuriating.

However, there are always silvers of hope to be found and exploited in misfortune. As a businessman, I know this well enough.

I can plan around this. I’ve taken a few photos of your house at every angle. It’s important to think ahead when making a calculated risk.

When you go to kidnap the love of your life, you must dress appropriately, no? Now should I wear a formal suit or something casual?

I have some time and plenty to look forward to.

AA.

Like always, early as usual, Jack is waiting for you below your apartment. You see his car from the window and light up at once.

It’s been two months since the incident on the train. Jack insisted you go to the police when you confided in him a week after the fact. But what could they do? A story isn’t evidence. Evidence is evidence. So to combat that, you’ve avoided public transport altogether. Jack drives you to and from work and anywhere else you need to go. You never knew him very well before this mess, and you regret not starting a friendship sooner. He’s everything you need right now: a friend, a listener, and someone you can trust and rely on.

Like always, he unlocks the door so you can put your things in the back. “It’s my turn to treat for lunch today, so let’s go somewhere you like.”

You shut the door and open the passenger side, sliding in seamlessly.

“There’s no need for that.”

Your heart skips. Your breath stumbles in your lungs. Your body tenses.

You finally look at the driver.

He’s wearing what appears to be an expensive collared shirt with a tie, but the top half is covered by the soft hoodie he’s thrown on over it. He has a mask like before, but there’s no denying his eyes. Bright and blue, deep and deceptive like the ocean, they blink back at you.

The door locks with a click.

You throw yourself at it in a useless effort to escape. The masked stranger seizes your wrist. You scream.

“There’s no need to be afraid. I-It’s only me! I won’t hurt you.” He tugs his mask down to his chin so that you can see the wobbly smile on his face. “Please don’t be scared…”

“Let go of me, you pervert!” You rip your arm free and reach for the door once more. “What the hell are you doing here?! W-Where’s Jack? Why are you—”

You choke around the rest of your words when he wraps his arms around you and yanks you over the seat towards him. You kick out like a deranged animal, breathing heavy and frantic, your eyes darting to and fro. The stranger manages to manhandle you into a chokehold despite the struggle. With his arm wrapped around your neck, he grabs a plastic water bottle with his free hand. Clumsily, he unscrews the cap and presses the lip of the bottle to your mouth.

“I’m sorry for being so rough, but I need you to drink this. Can you do that for me? Drink all of it.” As he says this, he tips the bottle and the strange liquid fills your mouth. You fight against his hold, doing everything you can to resist. He tightens his grip on you, dragging your body closer to his. “Swallow it, or I’ll slit your throat.”

Against your will, very shakily, you gulp down the solution. It tastes bitter and vile like medicine. A little salty.

“I didn’t want to frighten you, my angel, but this is the only way you’ll listen.” He swipes the tear threatening to spill from your eye. “You don’t have to cry. I’ll take you home and keep you safe. Just drink the rest of this and take a nap until we get there. That’s it. You’re almost done. I know it’s disgusting, but you have to drink it all, my love.”

“Why…” you sputter, coughing. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why?” He blinks at you as if the answer is obvious. “Because I love you.”

You can’t understand the logic there. You don’t want to.

Slumping against the seat, boneless and disturbed, you tremble when he leans over to buckle you in. And you continue to do so until you’re pulled into sleep. 

Two blue eyes follow you in your dreams, sticking to your body like old gum under a school desk. In sleep, you feel his hands on you—clinging and cloying like tentacles and the stench of brine, all-enveloping.

entry 179: 24 September, 20XX.

Summer is winding to a close. The last few vestiges of warmth are slipping away. Today’s weather was crisp. Autumn is approaching. 

It’s been a difficult few months. I’ve catalogued my process in the time you’ve spent with me, locked away in our bedroom. I must keep you chained to the bed for the time being. It’s long enough to lead into the bathroom. Until I can trust you, this is the arrangement at present.

They’re still searching for you, albeit not as frantically and frequently. I hope they assume you’ve met some grisly end so that I can finally shelve that anxiety and move on with my life. While I’m relieved it wasn’t as messy as I thought it’d be, I’m just a touch disheartened. I would have loved to watch the light fade from that guard’s eyes.

But that just wasn’t feasible or smart. Besides, what else am I to use my current fortune for, if not the props needed for that day? You call it kidnapping, and while that term is technically true I prefer something sweeter. A reunion of sorts. 

There’s nothing of note to discuss. You haven’t accepted your new home or me yet, so I will continue to wait. I can be patient. I must be if this relationship is going to work (and it will). 

I don’t particularly believe in soulmates. Rather, I find the concept to be foolish. Fate does not dictate an entire life. It is the decisions you make along the way that shape your paths. Just like in my favorite board game. I’d like to play it with you. Although I must admit I already know how our life goes. I have a few routes in mind.

You look at me with such scalding contempt when I imply we ought to start a family, and even though I’ve been victim to that look so many times it doesn’t burn any less. You just can’t see how good this is for you yet.

What else are we to do with our time if not use it to fill quiet halls with the pitter-patter of tiny feet? I have a few names in mind, but for now we’ll take it one day at a time. I’m a patient man despite my temper.

AA.

entry 257: 11 December, 20XX.

Exciting news! Though it may seem small, we’ve reached an understanding. Or so I suspect. You’re not so averse to me anymore. In fact, we take baths together, eat meals together, watch TV together, play board games together… There are so many things we do together as a couple and so, despite the encroaching winter frost, my days have become warmer! Just last night you allowed me to sleep beside you on our bed, and I held you close and you kissed me and I felt like the luckiest man alive.

Finally! Genuine progress!

I won’t delude myself and say that you may finally love me in the way I love you, but a start is a start. I admit I couldn’t help myself. I returned your kiss tenfold, all over your face, down the column of your throat to your collarbone. I was gentle and careful. I didn’t rush.

I like to play experienced in all fields, but even I can’t act perfectly. How should I describe our first time without all of the shameless vulgarity? Perhaps it doesn’t matter. Sex is sex no matter how you try to embellish it. Filthy and imperfect, sweaty and sticky, more effort and exercise than I realized.

You pulled me in close, pursued my mouth with the same want in mine, and it was more cathartic than anything I’ve ever known. Oh, to be kissed by the love of your life! I wasn’t aware such joy existed.

You palmed me through my pajamas and told me you wanted a family—that the idea of raising a little one was perfectly charming. I admit it’s an alluring thought I’ve had long before you lived with me. I’ve always thought you would look very enchanting while pregnant. I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself. Even though it isn’t official yet, it doesn’t hurt to call myself your husband. In my mind and heart, we’re married. It may not seem so to you yet, but it will be.

Back to the matter at hand. Hearing that you wanted a child with me made me happy. I can’t remember if I cried. I must have because you pulled me in close and you, lying beneath me, wiped at my face and told me you wanted me to give you a child. And who am I if not the most doting, most benevolent husband? I’d do anything for you.

This must be what a predator feels when they tear into prey: a rapture so absolute and all-consuming that it covers their brain like a cotton shroud and renders every other action a hazy instinct.

It was a blur even though I was sure I moved slowly. Clothes weren’t exactly shucked. They were in the way and we had a singular goal, far too focused to remove them completely. Thus, they were pulled up, down, to the side, in whichever way provided easiest access. I closed my hands around your breasts and they feel so much softer without the obstruction of clothes.

Perhaps, rather than humans, we’re just anglerfish. Hungry for each other, using the other, a voracious relationship full of mutual benefits. If I could, I’d love to live inside you. I want nothing more than to press myself close enough to feel your heart beat alongside mine. To feel rushing blood. To turn myself inside-out just to satisfy you. Give you every little thing I can offer—brain and body—and we’d cleave through sunless waters as one, together forever.

The word ‘love’ is not large enough to truly encapsulate all that I feel for you.

My forehead pressed to yours. You kissed me once. I felt sloppy. I was sloppy. Inexperienced. We both are. Your hand wrapped around me. I told you it was okay, to do it at your own pace, to tell me if it hurts. But you kissed my every anxiety away, and in just a few strokes we were connected. Perhaps I died then and I’m still dead now.

Maybe I’m writing this from the moon or the deep, dark sea. Maybe all of this is just a long dream and I’m not even human. Maybe I’m the anglerfish stuck to your side, latched on with my sharp teeth, our lives forever intertwined. You taste of fruit and blood and every beautifully painful thing in this world.

For the first time in the many months we’ve lived together, you called me by my name. You gasped it as you curled your legs around my waist and clung to my chest, your arms draped over my neck, nails in my back. You chanted it like a song. I must have done the same with yours.

However, no amount of carnal euphoria can change the fact that I still have my reservations about unchaining you.

A deliberation for another day. It’s time to cook dinner. I’ve improved lots in the time we’ve known each other. You help around the kitchen as well. Harmless things like stirring batter or mixing a salad. I can’t trust you with actual food prep for reasons I’m sure are obvious and understandable. I try to create balanced meal plans. Now that I’m no longer eating alone and surviving off of misery, I want to show you that I’m both a great chef and a conscientious eater.

AA.

You watch the seasons shift outside the bedroom window and there’s nothing you can do.

You live life chained like a prisoner and there’s nothing you can do.

You eat off paper plates with the same utensils made for toddlers and there’s nothing you can do.

You let the same man whose touch was once so covetous pet you all over with his hands and mouth and there’s nothing you can do.

You’re stuck here forever and there’s nothing you can do.

There are highs higher than the clouds and then there are lows lower than the sea. You oscillate between these temperaments, a body thrown around on rocky waves. How you’ve yet to sink and drown for good, you’re not sure.

Today’s low has brought Azul to his knees. You stand over him, gripping the knife in a shaky hold. Chopped vegetables scatter in a rainbow on the floor. He had been chopping them so methodically, so wrapped up in pleasant conversation with you, that he hadn’t been expecting the retaliation. The blade is freshly sharpened. The perfect weapon. The perfect opportunity. Freedom just after this final hurdle.

Freedom that comes with its burdens—with a child and the law and the media and… And then what? A life of loneliness. A life spent working through mountains of trauma. A life in which you can never look at the train again.

Two blue eyes blink up at you. For the first time, Azul looks scared and weak—a small, pitiful thing. For the first time, you have him trapped beneath your thumb.

You want to bring the knife down and put an end to these cyclical days. You want to crush his spirits in the same way he crushed yours. You want him to know pain so brutal it rots him from the inside.

But you can’t. You want to and in an ideal scenario devoid of fear you would. But you can’t.

You dig your heel palms into your eyes and sob. “I can’t! I’m sorry. I… I can’t do it!”

Azul deflates with a deep sigh. “Oh… Oh, my angel, it’s all right. I forgive you. You’re just a little confused. A little emotional—I get it. We all have emotional moments. I’m not upset.”

“But I—I almost… I was going to—”

“You didn’t. You didn’t, my love, and that’s what matters.” 

He beckons you to his height; you lower to your knees. The knife is still clutched in your hands. He looks between it and you, as if weighing which is more dangerous. Volatile emotions or a blade. Maybe both.

Azul wraps his arms around you and rubs your back consolingly. “It’s okay. I’m not angry.”

You sniffle, but the tears won’t stop flowing. “Still… I almost did such a horrible thing to you. I could’ve hurt you—k-killed you!”

“My dear, it’s okay.” He kisses the top of your head, tucking you beneath his chin. “I forgive you.”

Your fingers tighten around the handle. “You do?”

“I do. I always will.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Angel—”

You turn the sharpened point inwards and slam it into his side, just below his rib. It pierces through soft flesh. You pull away just in time to see hurt and betrayal flash across his face, hot like the tears you’re now drying.

Shakily, his movements unsteady, he reaches for the handle. His fingers dance across it, assessing the reality of the situation. You stabbed him. You did it.

He hisses through his teeth when he tears it out. Blood spatters the kitchen floor in a brilliant, vermillion arc. Azul, knife in hand, staggers to his feet and lunges.

You stumble away in a blind panic. 

“How dare you…” He clutches his side with one hand while the other slashes through the air. You narrowly dodge before the knife can slice your arm. Blood seeps through Azul’s shirt, staining his palm red. His expression is twisted in a dark concoction of agony and anger. “I’ve shown you nothing but love and care… I’ve been nothing but patient. I’ve done everything! You were beginning to warm up to me—to this life—our life! I was wrong to trust you. Get back here—”

“You’re crazy! You assaulted me, kidnapped me, threatened me! Do you really think I’d love you after all of that?!” You yelp when his slick, blood-stained fingers wrap around your wrist to drag you down. “Stop! Let go of me!”

You elbow him in the ribs, which causes a shockwave of pain to travel through him, and it gives you enough time to wriggle free. Ripping your arm from his hold, you try to get away when he, aiming to subdue you, grabs hold of your ankle next. You feel the blade sink into your calf before you see it. A terrible cry frays your throat, torn from the depths of your chest like a flower pried from the soil.

“If I’m going to die…” He flops to his knees, wheezing. “If I’m going to die, you’ll die with me.”

“Like hell I will!” you hiss through your teeth, thrashing wildly.

Stupidly, you pull the knife from where it’s wedged in. Blood spurts from the wound, trickling down your leg in a thick, steady stream. You wince and limp towards the door. Closer… You’re almost there.

Azul reaches out with a bloodied hand, his expression utterly shattered. “Wait… Don’t go any further. Please… I need you. We need each other. My angel, my love, please don’t go!”

You tear your eyes away. He’s a monster. You’ll never sympathize with him.

Just before you can get to the front door, Azul picks himself up and wraps his arms around your waist. He pulls you down and your head hits the floor with a harsh smack. You see stars. The ceiling spins above you. You try to get up, crawl away, escape—whatever it takes to lose him—but he clings to your side, holding tight. His blood is warm and wet against your shirt. The pain in your calf is sparking up your leg, joining the ache at the back of your head in duet.

Pressed so closely, the flow of blood slows. Your shirt soaks up what the rest of his already drenched shirt can’t hold.

You watch the ceiling. The light looks like a halo; it shines brightly. Azul blinks up at you, hopelessly, sickly enthralled. The tip of the knife prods at your stomach. If it pierces, you don’t feel it. You’re sore all over. Bruises are already beginning to bloom.

At the bottom of the sea, clothed in frigid darkness, there is no sense of direction.

That’s the sweetest relief while you wade into unconsciousness with a parasitic angler.

[muletia]

Obsessed-Predaking thought that I have had floating in the back of my mind for years:

There were other predacons being revived from the recovered CNA that never made it to term (thnx Megs). Scenario: Human has met Predaking, the obsession has taken root. He successfully saves them before Megatron orchestrates their destruction via leaking intel to the Autobots. But removing them from their stasis before they reach full size like he did means that they won't grow as fast as he has. So he gathers them all up, establishes himself as their sire, and takes them to his human, introducing them as their mother. Cue dragon predacon sparkling shenanigans, a blissfully happy Predaking, and a very out of depth human who was in no way ready for some simple conversation to lead to becoming the Cybertronian version of the Mother of Dragons.

Awww, what a big and adorable family you’ve created <3 (please ignore the fact that you were kidnapped and are being kept against your will lmao).

Assuming Predaking has already started building your shared little nest and has gathered plenty of gifts for you, it doesn’t surprise you when he leaves again to bring you another batch of random items. So imagine your shock when you see him flying back, but instead of one giant dragon, you spot several smaller ones flying next to Predaking...

The Predacon sparklings instantly adore you and treat you like their mom. They’re adorable in their excitement and how quickly they warm up to you, but like Predaking at first, they have absolutely no idea how humans work. While the Predacon king himself has learned to adjust his strength to your fragility, the little ones haven’t yet. So at first, you’ll probably end up with a few scratches and bruises when playtime gets out of hand. But your beloved mate will quickly scold them and correct their behavior, showing them how they should handle you.

Predaking will definitely take them on his treasure hunts for gifts for you, during which they’ll hold little competitions to see who can find the most beautiful present for you <3 (Predaking always wins, by the way).

The fact that humans need to sleep every day will also be taken full advantage of by them as they wrap themselves tightly around you, warming you with their bodies. The thought of escaping this cuddle trap is something you can pretty much abandon because you won’t set a foot outside your nest. Someone is always keeping watch, and the moment they sense you’re not inside, you’ll immediately be dragged back by your clothes to resume snuggling <3

And while having adopted sparklings has slightly eased Predaking’s need for offspring, he’ll still want to have a few biological sparklings with you. He’ll make this very clear when he sends the kids off to bring you something pretty...

[thesirenisles]

Neptune’s Angels🐚🪽

beauty, love, planet energy astrology observation✨

Neptune in the 1st House, Neptune in 2nd

Neptune Ascendant Aspects

Neptune Sun Aspects, Neptune Ruled/ Dominant

Pisces Sun, Venus, Moon, Mars

Pisces Ascendant, Pisces Rising

12th House Placements, esp. Pluto, Neptune, Sun

🐚“Ethereal, but beheld. She was absolutely magical. A changeling. The moon danced in her wet eyes, beckoned by her pure heart. Then like the tide.. she was gone.”

Do not copy any of my original work. All rights reserved. © 2024 The Siren Isles |

🧿BEWARE OF ENVY🧿

esp. 12th housers, 1st housers, and Pisces Asc & Venus

You never have to do too much. Your siren’s tune announces your presence before you enter the room. Gifted with the siren’s stare and the mermaid’s heart. In social settings, you will find many people push their projections upon you, envious of your ethereal energy.

In example,

POV: You are engaged in a conversation about a niche topic you possess extensive knowledge of (with your philosopher’s soul lol). The person you’re speaking to is mesmerized, completely entranced by your eye contact.

Usually a particularly miserable, (insecure, mean girl type) bystander who witnesses this energy exchange, picks up on this. They see the genuine glimmer in your eyes and can easily deem it flirtation, flattery, and even worse…arrogance to others. This can create negative clouds of gossip, fueled by your natural mystery.

This lack of clear energy, the child-like purity you possess is a key theme of Neptune. This Neptunian energy makes for a juicy meal for the beasts called Envy and Jealousy.

I believe it’s worthy to note the distinct difference between the two.

Jealousy is anger towards the thought of losing something to another, whether that’s a competition, person, or admiration.

Envy, of course is wanting to possess exactly what the other person has. Envy calls upon an evil fouler beast… the coveting.

Coveting is perhaps one of the most dangerous forms of envy and Neptune seems the perfect victim to a covetous green eyed beast.

Why is this?

Neptune’s energy to its core can be compared to the archetype of Persephone, in my opinion. The paramour to Persephone is Hades.

Hades, God of the Underworld rules Pluto.

Per the mythology, he falls deeply and insatiably in love with the young Persephone. She is pure, loving, and adored. He is the broken protector and she is the healer.

He is scorpio and She is pisces!

Side note: Any couples with significant pisces and scorpio placements… I know you feel this. The PASSION!

However, as it pertains to envy... Pluto rules over these obsessive and destructive energies. Others possessing bad aspected Pluto or Mars… even Mercury *cough* Gemini’s… can be really put off by the grace of an ANGEL.

The obsessive digging of a Plutonian, aggressive courting of a Martian, or excessive gossiping of a Mercurial is inevitable as they try to define you or figure you out.

But, you are an enigma! A changeling, always shifting shape…

At first, they will adore you. This adoration will lead to coveting as they try to possess what you have or even worse, YOU. They can become fiendishly obsessed.

This healer dynamic can also get a bit toxic within a relationship if badly aspected or if the broken person does not wish to grow.

protect yourselves, queens!

NEPTUNE��S 🔵 ✨GIFTS

While the energy can come with baggage, ultimately your energy manifests several beautiful gifts. The first and most obvious gift is YOUR BEAUTY!!

You’re the type of person people just stare at… simply in awe of such a uniquely beautiful and out of this world face.

Neptune in the 1st house is a well-known models placement. A gorgeous innocent with a siren-like gaze. Everyone wants to possess you! Some even want to BE YOU.

Immediately what comes to mind is Ms. Marilyn Monroe (Pluto 12th house). So many have idolized and mimicked her energy because she was sexually attractive, but she was most likely even more intoxicating in her private spaces where she felt comfortable.

Nobody oozes sex appeal like the siren, Rihanna. (Pisces Sun) Countless celebrities have mentioned how entranced they were by simply her presence. This is not a beauty that has to be symmetrical like Venus, but ever-changing. You’re everybody’s cup of tea. You have OPTIONS! Some women really just got it like that.

🐚 However.. as I mentioned, people adore your innocent energy and some will expect you to be vapid. They will expect you to be a push-over with a pretty face.

On the contrary, Neptune (and Big Daddy Jupiter for those with pisces placements) blesses you with a vast knowledge, which surprises those who underestimated you… enticing them even more!

🐚 But, My dear Angels… Do you truly KNOW how special you are?

Do you know that your very being consists of magic and Angelic healing energy? The 12th house and Piscean influences are not of this earth, but of the metaphysical. This means that your energy is literally unexplainable to the 3D. It is literally magic connected to spirit!

This energy gifts you with a mermaid’s heart… bigger than your body. The gravitational pull of your heart’s energy is so powerful. Within you is an infinite amount of love for literally all beings. (No joke, it’s giving animals are attracted to you and babies love you vibes. Disney princess vibes! PURR.) Esp, Pisces Venus

However, this includes those who hurt you. (Because your heart is just so pure, it empathically understands why they did what they did and you actually sympathize with your attacker!)

STOP THIS IMMEDIATELY. It is totally stopping your evolution and glow up.

🧿Please protect your angelic energy.

Please take the time to fully isolate and recharge that energy. That is a luxury you MUST afford yourself to maintain or achieve optimum health and vitality. Neptune is the higher octave of Venus, a planet that thrives in self indulgence through the means of the human senses. Pamper yourself. 💅🏾

Think of yourself as a rare silk. You wouldn’t let just anyone trample all over your exquisite fabrics with dirty shoes, hands, or their outside clothing.

The same goes for you, your aura, and your PRESENCE! 🪽

The mere presence of your energy is like fresh Filet Mignon to those starving of true self love.

🐚 An undeserving or broken soul will seek you out like a wayward sailor in a dark storm… hearing your siren song.

You MUST be handled delicately. People love to project their issues onto you. They will paint you in the colors of their own pain, trying to define you.

But, your privacy is GOLDEN. Keep it.

Thank you for reading. Wishing you blessings! 🪽✨

PLUTO AVAILABLE ♏️✨ MERCURY AVAILABLE ♍️♓️✨ MARS AVAILABLE ♈️✨ VENUS AVAILABLE♉️♎️ Other planets coming soon.

@thesirenisles | masterlist |

[eunseoksimp]

Obsession ; Lee Donghyuck

Pairings: Ex Boyfriend! Donghyuck x Fem!Reader

Genre: angst, smut

Description: trapped in a web of desire and destruction, you find yourself drawn back to donghyuck—a man who thrives on your desperation, wielding your vulnerabilities like weapons for his amusement. he's cold, cruel, and intoxicating, a storm you can't resist even as it tears you apart. torn between guilt and longing, between a love that nurtures and a lust that consumes, you surrender to the chaos, knowing he’ll leave you broken but always coming back for more.

Warnings: donghyuck being your piece of shit ex that you can’t resist, infidelity and questionable morals, fingering, unprotected sex, use of swear words

a/n: it’s been such a long time since i’ve written something, but i saw the dreamies live three weeks ago and i couldn’t get haechan out of my head. also isn't a riize post oops. also trying to slowly ease back in to writing a bit more smut without cringing :)

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

“i’m starting to think you’re enjoying this a lot more than you let on,” he drawls, his voice a velvet blade, cutting through the fragile resolve you tried to muster.

what could you say? what excuse could possibly justify why you always found yourself drawn back here, like a moth courting the flame it once swore to avoid?

the door swings open, and there he stands, the glow from the hallway casting a golden halo over his sharp features—a devil in disguise. his lips curl into that infuriatingly lazy smile, a smirk that teeters on the edge of arrogance and amusement, gaze raking over you, deliberate and slow, before his fingers loop around your wrist and pull you inside.

the warmth of his touch shoots through you, a traitorous shiver trailing in its wake and he catches it, of course, his smirk widening, as you practically feel the weight of his ego swelling in the confined space.

nine months. nine months since you stormed out of this very apartment, every door slam echoing your hurt, every bitter word hanging in the air like a ghost. you had left him, shattered and raw, swearing it was the last time. yet, here you were—cruel fate, or perhaps just your own weakness, leading you back to the scene of your undoing.

“shut up, hyuck,” you murmur, keeping your gaze firmly anchored to the floor. even now, you can’t bring yourself to meet those molten eyes, the ones that always seem to see right through you.

“cute,” he muses, his tone dripping with mockery. “you think pretending to hate this will make cheating on your boyfriend any easier to justify?”

the words hit like a lash, shame igniting across your skin. but then he moves, closing the space between you with the ease of a predator circling prey. each step is deliberate, calculated, until your back hits the edge of his marble countertop, the cold surface seeping through your clothes, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from him.

his hands settle on the small of your back, the grip firm but not harsh, like he knows he doesn’t need force to reel you in. his touch drags you forward, and your breath catches as the cool metal of his rings presses against your sides, tracing small, maddening circles.

shame courses through you like a tidal wave, bitter and suffocating, but it’s no match for the inferno he stokes within you. desire, hot and all-consuming, rises to meet his touch, stealing the air from your lungs as he tilts his head, lips ghosting dangerously close to yours.

in this moment, your body betrays you completely, leaning into his pull, despite the fractured pieces of your conscience screaming in protest.

and he knows. god, he knows.

“look at me,” hyuck’s voice is a low, deliberate murmur, the kind of sound that slithers down your spine and pools in your stomach. his lips hover near the shell of your ear, the heat of his breath prickling your skin. your fingers dig into the edge of the table, the hard wood biting into your palms as you fight the tremor threatening to buckle your knees.

you don’t dare obey. you know better than to meet his gaze—those dark, magnetic eyes that have always been your undoing. one look, and you’d be lost. he’d have you exactly where he wanted, and like the fool you are, you’d let him.

instead, you shake your head in protest, squeezing your eyes shut as if that flimsy barrier could shield you from the pull of him. you don’t see it—the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips, the way that wicked grin carves its way across his face, sharp as a blade and twice as dangerous.

and then you feel it.

his hand wraps around your neck, firm and unrelenting, his grip just enough to force your eyes to fly open. a gasp tears from your lips, sharp and startled, as you’re dragged back into his orbit.

“you know I hate asking twice, angel,” he says, his voice dripping with mock sweetness, though the pressure of his hand tightens ever so slightly. your pulse throbs wildly against his palm, and you hate—hate—the way it echoes the same rhythm pounding between your thighs.

he sees it all. knows it all. and the glint in his eyes says as much.

as if to drive the point home, hyuck pulls you closer by the neck, erasing the last sliver of distance between you. his gaze doesn’t waver, locked on yours like a predator reveling in its prey’s surrender.

“but of course,” he purrs, his lips curling into a smirk that’s pure sin, “you probably like making me have to bend you to my will.”

you can’t speak. whether it’s from the pressure of his hand around your neck or the weight of his question, you’re not sure. but deep down, you know the real reason—the truth festering in the corners of your mind that you could never bring yourself to admit.

how could you say it aloud? that you relished this? that the chaos he stirred in you, the reckless abandon he ignited, was something no one else could replicate? certainly not your sweet, dependable boyfriend.

your boyfriend. the thought flickers briefly, like a distant beacon you don’t really want to follow. he was kind, attentive, always answering your texts with care, never vanishing into thin air to “enjoy the night” or leaving you second-guessing yourself.

he was everything hyuck wasn’t. and yet, here you were.

because there was something about hyuck—the way he upended your calm, the way his unpredictability set every nerve in your body alight. you knew the butterflies in your stomach weren’t some romantic thrill but a warning, your body screaming danger. yet, you ran toward it anyway, like a ship steering straight into the storm.

you’d leave your boyfriend’s place with flimsy excuses—work, errands, anything to mask the truth—and find yourself here, wrapped in donghyuck’s intoxicating pull.

donghyuck, with his honey-brown skin that seemed to glow in the dimmest light. donghyuck, with his dark hair falling just so, framing those piercing eyes that stripped you bare, laying your soul out for him to toy with. no one else had ever reached you like this—peeling back layers you didn’t even know existed, exposing raw emotions you didn’t know how to hide.

and he knew it. of course he did. that’s why he’d send you pictures of other girls he was hooking up with—deliberate, cruel, knowing exactly what it would do to you. he fed on your reactions, thrived on them, wielding them like a blade. and like the masochist you were, you let him. you always let him.

“enlighten me,” he taunts now, his lips curling into that smug, wolfish grin. “why is it you keep showing up at my door, hmm?”

“i thought you told me you found everything you deserved in him.”

his voice is low, teasing, but there’s an edge to it, sharp enough to cut. he knows the answer, of course. he always does. but he wants to hear it fall from your lips, to drag the truth from you as if it’ll make his triumph all the sweeter.

“words, angel. i need you to use them,” he coos, his mockery wrapped in honey. his lips purse into a feigned pout, as though this were some mundane conversation, as though his fingers weren’t still wrapped firmly around your neck, holding you in place.

“i-i…” the words stumble from your mouth, fractured and useless. the dizziness comes next—a hazy swirl from the weight of his grip, but worse, the heat that floods your body as his lips descend.

they graze your neck, soft yet deliberate, each kiss a spark igniting a trail of fire beneath your skin. goosebumps erupt in his wake, your body betraying you yet again. you head tilts of its own accord, baring your throat to him as if in surrender.

and hyuck? he chuckles softly against your skin, low and smug, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“so eager for me. i wonder,” hyuck murmurs, his voice a silken blade that slices through the last of your composure, “if you’re this pliant for sungchan.”

the name lands like a blow, a reminder of the person you’ve betrayed in your spiral back to hyuck’s clutches. your breath hitches, eyes squeezing shut as the sting of guilt prickles behind them.

you bite down hard on your lip, desperate to stifle the sob building in your throat. what kind of person does this? what kind of girlfriend are you, when your body—traitorous and weak—only seems to come alive for him?

a single tear escapes, tracing a slow, shameful path down your cheek. hyuck’s low chuckle follows, dark and knowing. the click of his tongue reverberates through you, his enjoyment as palpable as the air that thrums with tension.

he releases your neck, his hands sliding up to cradle your face instead, his thumb swiping away the tear with a tenderness so contradictory it makes your chest ache.

“don’t cry, silly girl,” he croons, his tone both mocking and saccharine. “i already know the answer to that question.”

you try to look away, but his grip keeps you steady, his gaze locking onto yours with the kind of intensity that burns.

“of course you don’t,” he continues, his lips curving into a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes. “nobody knows how to make you feel this way but me. that’s why you keep coming back.” he leans in closer, his words brushing your skin like an intimate caress.

“isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

your resistance crumbles under the weight of his words. against your better judgment, your eyes meet his, truly meet them, for the first time tonight. you take him in, every detail. the dark flecks in his irises, the scattered moles you once traced with your fingertips, the way his hair falls a little longer now, grazing his lashes.

your heart slams against your ribs, a violent rhythm that feels too loud, too desperate. you swallow hard, unable to tear your gaze away as your eyes trail down, drinking him in like you’re parched and he’s the only thing that could ever quench you.

god, he hasn’t changed. not a bit. he still burns with that same maddening allure, that magnetic pull that sets your world ablaze. the fire he ignites in your stomach roars to life, an uncontrollable inferno that only he seems capable of sparking.

and that’s the most terrifying part of all.

you’ve tried to move on, tried to fill the void he left behind with someone kind, someone stable. but it was all in vain. every attempt to leave him behind had been futile. every lie you told yourself unraveled the moment you stepped back into his orbit.

because no matter how much you pretended, no matter how much you wanted to believe otherwise, some part of you—the most vulnerable, broken part—would always belong to him.

the silence between you is unbearable, charged with the kind of tension that tightens around your chest like a vice. his thumb lingers on your cheek, dragging slow circles as if savoring the tear he just wiped away. his gaze, dark and piercing, drinks in every crack in your composure, but there’s no softness in his eyes—only cold amusement.

“you’ve always been so predictable,” hyuck says, his voice as smooth and sharp as a blade. “throwing yourself at the things you know will ruin you. it’s almost pathetic, angel.”

your breath hitches, and his smirk deepens, smug and unrelenting as his hand drops to your throat again, holding you in place. his grip isn’t tight—yet—but the promise of his strength makes your knees tremble. you wish you could deny the power he has over you, but the truth is in the way your body responds to every word, every touch.

“maybe,” you manage to whisper, though your voice wavers under his scrutiny. “maybe i like the way it feels to fall.”

he lets out a low laugh, humorless and biting. “oh, i know you do. that’s why you’re here. why you always come crawling back.”

his hand slides down to your collarbone, then lower, the heat of his touch searing through your clothes. his eyes rake over you, slow and deliberate, like you’re nothing more than something to be dissected, picked apart piece by piece.

“you’re just so easy to break,” he continues, his lips curling into a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “always so eager to let me destroy you.”

your fingers twist into his shirt, your grip trembling as you try to ground yourself, but it only seems to fuel his cruel amusement. his free hand wraps around your wrist, pulling it free with a force that feels more like a warning than a rejection.

“look at you,” he says, tilting his head as if observing something trivial. “you don’t even try to hide how much you like this, do you?”

the sting of his words slices through you, but shame only tightens the knot of desire in your stomach. he knows it—sees it in the way your lips part, the way your chest rises and falls as you fight for composure, how you’re struggling to clench your thighs together.

“say it,” he demands, his grip tightening on your wrist as he yanks you closer, his voice a low growl in your ear. “admit it. admit that no one else can make you feel like this.”

you want to fight, to cling to some shred of dignity, but it’s useless. he’s already unraveled you, stripped you bare, and he knows it.

“i hate you,” you whisper, but even to your own ears, it sounds like a plea.

he barks out a laugh, sharp and mocking. “liar,” he spits, before his lips crash into yours.

the kiss is rough, bruising, a clear reminder of how little control you have. his hands are relentless, sliding over your body like he’s claiming you, like every inch of you belongs to him alone. and in this moment, it does.

the counter digs into your back as he presses you harder against it, his grip firm and unyielding. your fingers claw at his shoulders, desperate to find something to hold onto, but he doesn’t care. you’re nothing more than a toy in his hands, a distraction to pass the time.

when he finally pulls back, his eyes are cold, calculating as they search your face. he doesn’t need to say anything to remind you of your place—you see it in the smug curve of his lips, the way his gaze lingers like he’s already grown bored.

“see? that wasn’t so hard,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with condescension as his thumb brushes your bottom lip.

“you always give in eventually. it’s almost too easy.”

your chest heaves as you try to steady your breathing, your head spinning from the intensity of him.

to him, you’re nothing more than a game. a way to stroke his ego, to remind himself of the control he wields. and yet, despite knowing that, you still find yourself reaching for him, your fingers grazing his arm as if you can’t bear to let go.

hyuck chuckles, low and derisive, before shaking his head. “pathetic,” he says, the word cutting deep, but you don’t flinch.

because he’s right. And you hate how much you like it.

“hyuck—” your voice cracks, trailing off as your fingers clutch at the hem of his tank top again. the fabric is soft but stretched taut in your grip, an anchor in the storm of your own undoing. you tug him closer, your hands trembling, though whether it’s from desperation or shame, you can’t be sure.

“what?” he drawls lazily, his voice dripping with mockery. “what do you need from me, princess?”

the nickname isn’t affectionate. it’s laced with condescension, a sharp reminder of how thoroughly he has you wrapped around his finger. you can feel the weight of his gaze, studying you like a specimen caught under glass, a plaything meant only to amuse him.

and you hate yourself for the way it thrills you.

hyuck tilts his head slightly, feigning ignorance, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrays him. he knows why you’re here—of course he does. this is his game, after all. you’re just the piece he maneuvers however he pleases.

“come on,” he presses, his voice smooth and teasing, like a predator drawing out its prey. “you’ve got something to say, don’t you?”

your breath hitches, your chest rising and falling as you try to force words past the lump in your throat. but all you can manage is a shaky, “hyuck, please.”

his smirk widens, and the way his eyes gleam—dark, triumphant—makes your stomach churn with both desire and self-loathing. “please,” he echoes, as though the word tastes foreign on his tongue. “you’re so weak. you can’t even say what you want, can you?”

the sting of his words leaves you breathless, but it only tightens the knot of longing in your chest, and most importantly between your thighs. you’ve walked willingly into this trap, after all.

this is what he does—feeds on your vulnerability, siphons every ounce of emotion you have to give, leaving you hollow and craving more.

he closes the sliver of space between you, his shadow swallowing you whole. his eyebrow arches, the picture of bored indifference.

“you’re an adult,” he snaps, his tone sharp enough to cut. “start acting like one. if you want something, you better speak.“

your grip on his shirt tightens as you stare up at him, trembling under the weight of his presence. the cruel set of his jaw, the way he looks at you like you’re nothing more than a toy he hasn’t finished playing with—it shouldn’t excite you the way it does. but it does. god, it does.

you take another deep breath, trying to piece together a coherent thought, but your mind is a blur, your words caught somewhere between your heart and the tightening ache in your stomach. he’s watching you unravel, his gaze cold and calculating, like he’s already grown bored of this moment and is waiting for you to catch up.

“hyuck,” you whisper again, though it’s more of a whimper now, your voice trembling as you meet his eyes.

he chuckles, low and derisive, the sound reverberating through you like a pulse. “that’s it?” he taunts, his hand shooting out to grasp your wrist. his fingers curl around it firmly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that you’re his for the taking.

“all that begging and you can’t even tell me what you want? what a waste of my time.”

his hand moves, gliding from your wrist to the base of your throat, his thumb resting just below your jaw. he tilts your chin up, forcing your gaze back to his, his smirk cruel and unwavering.

“let me guess,” he says, his tone mocking as his eyes trace over your face.

“you want me to ruin you, don’t you?” his voice slithers through the air, coiling around you like a noose.

your breath caught in your throat, chest rising and falling in uneven gasps as his eyes bore into you—dark, sharp, dissecting every inch of your trembling frame. the room felt impossibly small, the air heavy with the weight of his presence, thick and suffocating, like you were drowning in him.

“you want me to take every last shred of dignity you have,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin, “and destroy it.”

the words hung in the air, a challenge, a promise, a sentence. you felt the floor beneath you disappear, the groundlessness of your own desire swallowing you whole. the ache inside you was unbearable, raw and clawing, a hunger that could only be sated by him.

he tilted his head, watching the way you trembled, the way your lips parted without sound, as if your body couldn’t keep up with the hurricane of emotion ripping through you. his smirk deepened, cruel and predatory, as though he were feeding off the desperation radiating from you, drinking it in like nectar.

“do you see yourself?” he sneered, dragging the back of his knuckles down the curve of your jaw, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the way you leaned into his touch despite his words. “allit takes is a few words, and you’re already falling apart for me.”

your voice faltered, your throat tightening as shame and longing tangled into one insidious knot. he knew exactly what he was doing, dangling you on a string like some pitiful marionette, pulling at your every weakness with precision, unraveling you with his callous control.

you craved the way he broke you down, stripped you of everything you thought you were until all that remained was your raw, unfiltered need for him. it was dangerous, maddening, addictive. the fire in his eyes burned too brightly, and yet you leaned closer, knowing it would consume you.

“say it,” he pressed, his hand cupping your chin now, forcing your gaze upward to meet his. his grip was firm, unyielding, and the dominance in his stare made you feel as though he could see every fragile piece of you, exposed and laid bare.

“say you want me to ruin you.”

You swallowed hard, shuddering, your chest heaving as you try to steady yourself, but it’s no use. you’re already undone, every wall you’ve built crumbled to dust at his feet.

“i—” you start, but the words die on your tongue as his grip tightens slightly, just enough to make you gasp.

“speak, princess,” he sneers, his smirk widening. “if you can’t even do that, stop wasting what little patience i have left for you.”

the cruel dominance in his tone makes your head spin, your body betraying you as heat blooms in your core. you hate him. you hate how easily he breaks you, how effortlessly he pulls you apart. but more than that, you hate how much you need this. need him.

“i want- i want you to ruin me. love it,” you finally manage to choke out, your voice barely audible. tears prick at your eyes, but you don’t care. he’s already seen every ugly, vulnerable part of you. there’s nothing left to hide. “i love the way you ruin me.”

hyuck’s smirk sharpens, his satisfaction rolling off him in waves. “good girl,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your lips. “you’re learning.”

he tilts his head, his smirk curving into something sharp and predatory. His fingers trail down your jaw, the cool press of his rings sending shivers through you.

his touch is light, teasing, but there’s nothing tender about it. every motion feels calculated, designed to make you unravel just a little bit more.

“you’ll say anything I want, won’t you?” he murmurs, his voice low and condescending. “you’d do anything just to keep me interested. it’s disgusting.”

“you hate yourself for it, don’t you?” he continues, leaning in until his lips are just a breath away from your ear. “hate the way you keep coming back. like a moth to a flame. like you don’t know you’re going to get burned.”

you can’t answer, can’t even look at him. your head dips, but he catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing your gaze back to his. his eyes are dark, devoid of warmth, but the power they hold over you is suffocating.

“you think you’re special?” he asks, his tone almost amused. “that i actually care about you? that i lose a single second of sleep wondering if you’ll come back?”

“i know what you are,” he says, his voice soft but laced with venom. “you’re nothing without me. just a sad little thing, begging for scraps of attention.

“is that why you keep coming back, hmm? because no one else would put up with how pathetic you are?”

you flinch, the tears threatening to spill again, but his smirk only deepens, pleased with how easily he can manipulate your emotions. his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, tracing it slowly, almost mockingly.

“cry all you want,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough for his breath to ghost across your face. “it won’t change anything. you’ll still be here, won’t you? letting me do whatever i want. because you can’t help yourself.”

“hyuck,” you whisper, the sound of his name barely audible. your voice shakes, and you hate how desperate you sound, but the way his eyes glint with satisfaction tells you he loves it.

“what is it, angel?” he mocks, tilting his head as if he’s genuinely curious. “tell me what you want. use your words like a big girl.”

you bite down on your lip, struggling to force the words out. Your mind is a mess, every coherent thought drowned out by the sheer presence of him—overwhelming, suffocating, intoxicating.

“say it,” he demands again, his tone hardening as his hand drops to your throat, the pressure just enough to make you gasp.

“i want you,” you finally choke out, your voice breaking. “i want—”

he cuts you off with a laugh, sharp and cruel, as if the mere idea of you wanting him is a joke. “of course you do,” he says, his grip tightening slightly.

“you always want me. no matter how many times i push you away, no matter how many times I remind you that you’re nothing to me, you come crawling back. like a good little toy.”

you squeeze your eyes shut.

“open your eyes,” he commands, his tone cold and unwavering.

you hesitate, but his hand tightens around your throat, and your eyes snap open instantly. His face is so close now that you can see every detail—the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble, the glint of malice in his eyes.

“good girl,” he says, the words dripping with mockery as his thumb brushes over your pulse. “you’re so easy to control. so desperate to be wanted, you’ll let me do whatever i want, won’t you?”

you nod, your breath hitching, and his smirk widens.

his other hand trails down your side, his touch firm and possessive. the room feels hotter now, the air thick with tension as he presses his body against yours, pinning you against the counter. his gaze never wavers, holding you captive as he takes in every crack in your resolve.

“you don’t even care that this is going to destroy you,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his smirk curling into something sharper, more dangerous. “you just want to feel something, don’t you? even if it ruins you.”

he’s right. you can’t deny it, can’t fight the truth in his words. no one else makes you feel this way—alive, raw, completely undone.

“my room. now.” his voice cuts through the charged air, sharp and commanding, leaving no room for hesitation.

he doesn’t bother sparing you another glance, already turning on his heel as if your compliance is a foregone conclusion. of course, it is.

you scramble to follow, nearly tripping over yourself in your rush to keep up with his lazy, unhurried strides. the disparity in your urgency and his indifference couldn’t be more stark, and it only serves to amplify the tight coil of tension in your chest.

there’s no warmth in the way he looks back at you—if he even bothers to look at all. he doesn’t need to. he knows you’ll follow, knows you’ll stumble through fire and glass just to stay close enough to bask in his shadow.

it’s dehumanising, and yet you can’t stop. you don’t want to stop.

your breath comes shallow and quick, anticipation crackling in the air around you like a live wire. the hallway feels endless, every heavy footfall echoing in the suffocating silence. it’s all-consuming, this quiet, and it does nothing to mask the way your heart hammers against your ribs or the way your palms tremble.

hyuck barely spares a thought for your clumsy attempts to keep pace, his hands shoved casually into the pockets of his sweatpants. if anything, he seems amused by how desperate you are to match his rhythm, your starry-eyed eagerness practically oozing from your every movement.

“you’re really just a pitiful thing, aren’t you,” he mutters under his breath, the words low and dismissive, but it hits you like a freight train nonetheless.

when he finally reaches the doorway to his room, he doesn’t pause. he pushes the door open with a careless shove, the motion so casual it’s as if he hasn’t already consumed every one of your thoughts, hasn’t already rendered you into this trembling, obedient shell of yourself.

he strides inside without looking back, leaving you lingering at the threshold for a heartbeat too long. the hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed.

“are you just going to stand there?” his voice is sharp, laced with irritation, as he glances back over his shoulder. The way his lips curl into a faint smirk is a silent dare. “or do you need me to drag you in, too?”

the air feels thinner now, harder to breathe, as you finally step inside. the door clicks shut behind you with an unnervingly loud finality.

“look at you,” he says, turning to face you fully now. His eyes rake over you, slow and deliberate, and it feels less like admiration and more like dissection. like he’s picking you apart piece by piece, savoring every crack in your composure.

“you can barely stand still,” he taunts, his tone thick with mockery.

“what’s got you so worked up, hmm? is it the way i talk to you? the way i remind you just how insignificant you are to me?”

your throat feels tight, your pulse hammering in your ears. but even now, even when he’s baring his cruelty so plainly, you can’t bring yourself to turn away.

hyuck takes a single step forward, the distance between you shrinking until there’s barely a breath of space left. his hand finds your chin again, his grip firm as he tilts your face up to meet his gaze.

“do you even realize how pitiful you look right now?” he murmurs, his smirk twisting into something sharper. “standing here, waiting for me to throw you a bone. it’s almost sad.”

almost. the word lingers, cruel and deliberate, reminding you that whatever scrap of validation he might offer will always come with a price.

but it doesn’t matter, not when his thumb brushes over your lip again, not when his presence feels so overwhelming that you can’t think straight. the shame, the desperation, the sheer exhilaration—it all blends together, until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

his gaze darkens, his smirk never wavering as he leans in just enough for his breath to ghost over your lips.

“you love being treated like this. like a toy I can pick up and toss aside whenever i feel like it.”

“of course you do,” he says, answering his own question with a laugh that sends a shiver down your spine. “you wouldn’t keep coming back if you didn’t.”

he pulls back slightly, just enough to give you a moment to catch your breath, but the space he leaves feels suffocating in its own way. his hand doesn’t leave your chin, his thumb still resting against your skin as he watches you with a cruel sort of satisfaction.

“go on, then,” he says, his tone light but laced with command. “tell me how much you need me. how much you hate yourself for it.”

and you know he’s enjoying every second of this—the power, the control, the way you’re crumbling under his touch. because for all his apathy, for all his cold detachment, there’s nothing he loves more than watching you fall apart for him.

“i need you,” you whisper, voice trembling as your fingers clutch at his shirt. “please. i want you so badly—please, hyuck.”

the words tumble out of you like a confession, raw and unfiltered, and for a fleeting second, the weight of your own desperation threatens to crush you. but then his laughter cuts through the silence, low and mocking, and it draws your focus back to him.

he leans against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smirk as he takes you in. your tear-streaked cheeks, the way your chest heaves with shallow breaths, and that reverence in your eyes—it’s intoxicating. you look at him like he’s something divine, something worthy of worship, and he drinks it in like it’s his lifeblood.

“you’re a fucking mess,” he says finally, his voice laced with amusement. “crying, begging—do you know how stupid you look?”

his words are cruel, but his tone is almost light, as if this is all just a game to him. and maybe it is. you can’t be sure anymore, not when he tilts his head to the side and his dark eyes glint with unspoken intent.

“you really can’t help yourself, can you?” he muses, reaching out to swipe a thumb across the wet trail of a tear, his touch deliberate but devoid of any real tenderness.

“such a wretched little thing.”

his hand doesn’t linger, pulling back as quickly as it came, and the absence of his touch feels like a punishment in itself. you shift, uncertain, waiting for him to say something more, to give you some sign of what he’ll do next.

“you’re my stupid girl,” he says, his tone almost conversational, like he’s stating a simple fact. “aren’t you?”

his grip on your chin tightens, just enough to demand your response, and you nod weakly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“yes.”

his grin is wicked, devoid of anything remotely kind, and he lets go of your chin, stepping back just enough to make you feel the loss. he watches as you sway slightly, unmoored without his touch, and the satisfaction in his expression is unmistakable.

“good. on your back for me, pretty.”

the command, simple and sharp, slices through the tension thickening the room, and relief rushes through you like a flood. you obey instantly, scrambling toward the bed with a clumsy urgency that only feeds his amusement. propping yourself up on your elbows, you inch backward until your shoulders press into the edge of his bedframe, waiting for his next instruction.

hyuck takes his time, leisurely closing the space between you as his dark eyes sweep over your body. his tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and his gaze lingers shamelessly on the curve of your thighs, the hem of your skirt pushed just a little too high, the knee-high socks hugging your legs like they were made to tempt him.

“you’re such a sight,” he says, more to himself than to you, his voice low and edged with a cruel sort of amusement. “and all mine to play with.”

heat blooms across your skin under his scrutiny, but you stay perfectly still, holding your breath as though any sudden movement might break the fragile thread of attention binding you to him.

“you’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?” he steps closer, towering over you now, his shadow stretching across your trembling form. the corner of his mouth tilts into a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“take everything i give you without complaint, right?”

you nod frantically, lips parting to form a shaky affirmation, but he clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“words,” he reminds you coldly, his tone clipped. “you know i hate repeating myself angel.”

“yes, hyuck,” you blurt, voice barely above a whisper. “i’ll be good. i’ll take it all.”

satisfaction flickers across his face for a fleeting moment before he leans down, pressing his palms into the mattress on either side of your head. his proximity sends a shiver rippling through you, his scent—clean, sharp, and intoxicating—wrapping around you like a noose.

“no tapping out until i say i’m done.”

the warning in his voice is as sharp as the glint in his eyes, and the way he says it leaves no room for negotiation.

it’s not a question, it’s a sentence, handed down by the man who holds all the power in the room, and you know better than to argue.

“yes,” you whisper, though your voice trembles. “yes, hyuck.”

hyuck doesn’t rush. he takes his time watching you squirm, his fingers tugging at the edge of your skirt as he basks in the control he wields so effortlessly. the corner of his mouth twitches, his smirk deepening as his eyes lock on yours.

his hand reaches out, brushing against the side of your face, his touch deceptively soft as he tilts your chin up.

they trail lower, down further until he stops at your thigh, tapping it once, then twice, watching your face for any reactions.

you try your hardest to stay still, taking heed of his earlier words, knowing that any time you showed your impatience or tried to take the lead would only make things worse.

leaning down, he places a soft kiss on your stomach, before placing several more down the expense of your thighs. it’s torture, having him so close to where you wanted him to be, yet still too far.

“you’re getting better at being patient for me, aren’t you angel?”

you nod, sucking in a harsh gasp as he uses his middle finger to pull at the hem of your panties, as he slowly slid them down till they stopped mid thigh.

stupidly, your cheeks heat up as you feel embarrassed as the way hyuck’s gaze rakes over your bare skin, hungry even, as he positions himself between you, your legs encompassing his broader frame.

without warning he plunged a finger inside of you, not caring to take off his rings because he knew you liked it like that, the edge of the metals soothing your burning cunt.

you cried out his name, fingers clutching the sheets as a way to anchor yourself against donghyuck’s viscous attacks. the spontaneous addition of his tongue only intensified your pleasure, and he worked hard to make sure your body stayed planted on his mattress.

the truth was, sungchan was too soft when it came to having sex with you. he was always too concerned with not hurting you, taking things excruciatingly slow as he constantly checked up on you, asking if you were okay, pressing soft kisses all over your body.

he was the complete opposite to hyuck who so violently used your body like it was nothing more than a ragdoll to him, bending and moulding you to his liking, throwing you around and treating you like nothing.

even now, you shudder as he adds another finger licking and sucking on your cunt as if starved, making your toes curl and your fingers card through his hair.

it’s embarrassing how fast you feel yourself approach the edge, the tell tale sales making themself more apparent as you moan pathetically, your senses on overdrive.

“you wanna cum?”

“please —fuck— please please please. i’ve —shit — been such a good, such a good girl.”

“good girls don’t fuck their exes while their boyfriends wait at home. you’re not a good girl, you’re a cock drunk whore,” you clench around his fingers at his harsh words, another pathetic moan escaping your lips.

“yours—shit— your whore.”

the grin that breaks out in hyuck’s face is so wide yet so delicious as he adds a third finger, your whines only spurring him on as he uses his thumb to trace circles on your clit.

one particular thrust has your head thrown back against the pillows, your hands instinctively reaching out to his wrist, the pleasure becoming unbearable.

“that’s the spot, isn’t it baby?”

“oh hyuck– fuck it feels so so good.”

you’re incoherent, the only thing on your mind is chasing the delicious orgasm burning in your lower stomach. thoughts of sungchan have been pushed so far back in your mind, your own selfish release tainting you.

“yes– yes– yes,” you’re chanting, your words slurring as you buck your hips to the pace of hyuck’s feelings that piston in and out of your dripping core, legs already shaking uncontrollably until you scream out his name, gushing all over his fingers as your thighs trap his hand.

“look at all this mess you made slut,” he doesn’t seem to care much about your sensitivity of having just orgasmed, collecting your juices with his fingers, spreading them all around your lower body, as if he were painting on a canvas.

“i’m not even close to being done with you,” he tells you once he’s done, tugging his shirt off with one hand, hastily reaching for the drawstring of his sweatpants as he discards of them somewhere near the foot of his bed.

It had only been two weeks since hyuck had last been inside you, but staring at the heavy bulge protruding through his boxers, you knew the stretch would burn all the same.

as he grabs a hold of your ankles in his hands, you can’t help the eagerness spread so obviously on your feautures- biting down on your lip as you look up at him through your eyelashes.

like a habit your hands hold onto his thighs, your eyes trained on his cock as he holds the base of it, so dangerously close to your welcoming, wet pussy.

as much as he ridiculed you—mocked you for being the desperate little thing you were, so consumed by lust and your filthy cravings that you discarded every shred of dignity—there was a flicker of something untamed beneath his carefully crafted exterior.

hyuck prided himself on being detached, the puppet master pulling your strings for his amusement, but even he couldn’t entirely deny the rush that coursed through him as he looked down at you now. the sight of you, flushed and trembling, your ruin written all over your tear-streaked face, did something to him. something primal.

you were his creation. his masterpiece. every tremor in your limbs, every shaky breath, every ounce of humiliation and need—you wore it like a brand, and he was the one who burned it into you.

and that knowledge? it fed something dark inside him, a satisfaction so raw it was almost animalistic.

be tilted his head, the smirk on his lips widening as his eyes roamed over you again, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every second.

“look at you,” he drawled, voice dripping with derision. “you don’t even know how filthy you look right now, do you?”

your lips parted to respond, but no sound came out, just a shaky exhale that betrayed every effort to keep yourself composed.

he chuckled, low and cold, the sound curling around you like a chain and you feel a shudder wracking through you at his words.

“that’s right,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, his smirk twisting into something cruel. “you’re mine. no grace, no dignity, no self-respect—just a pretty little mess for me to destroy over and over again.”

“you ready for me princess?”

you nod, heart leaping out of your chest in anticipation, throbbing as the tip taps on your clit twice.

as he pushes in you can’t help but screw your eyes close, the feeling euphoric as he sinks in. your legs automatically come around his waist and his hands reach up to cup your breast, squeezing them between his palms, his thumb rubbing over your sensitive bud.

but he knows how you really like it, and so both hands dance up your body till they stop at your neck. he squeezes, hard enough at first to knock the wind out of you, delighting in the way your moans now come out in breathless squeals as he drives himself impossibly deeper into you.

He reached out, fingers grazing your jawline before gripping your chin, forcing your head up until you had no choice but to meet his gaze. His touch was firm but cold, an unyielding reminder of who held all the power here.

“i could tell you to walk out that door right now,” he said, his thumb brushing over your trembling bottom lip, “and we both know you wouldn’t make it five steps. you’d be back before you even reached the elevator.”

you whimpered, the sound pitiful, but it only made his grin widen, his amusement at your weakness as sharp as a blade, revelling in the way you were falling undone on his cock.

“say it,” he demanded, voice low and commanding. “tell me why you’re here. why you keep sneaking off from your boyfriend.”

“b-because i— fuck” you stammered, your words catching in your throat as tears pricked at your eyes again, feeling him so deep inside of you that you were sure he would leave a mark, the tip kissing your cervix so deliciously.

“because you need me,” he finished for you, his tone dripping with mockery. “say it, angel. i want to hear you admit it.”

your breath hitched, shame warring with the unbearable heat pooling in your stomach and the way he lifts your legs and lazily throws them over your shoulders.

“i- i need, i need you,” you whispered, the words so soft they barely reached your own ears, any morsel of strength dissipating.

“of course you do,” he murmured, the satisfaction in his voice undeniable. “you need me to tell you what to do. yo remind you what you are.”

“he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as his hand slid lower, skimming the edge of your waist as his nails dug into the plump flesh, eliciting a hiss from your lips at the cocktail of pleasure and pain.

“a toy,” he continued, his voice a velvet whip. “something for me to use when i’m bored. isn’t that right?”

you swallowed hard, tears slipping down your cheeks as the last vestiges of your pride crumbled beneath his words.

“yes,” you choked out, your voice raw and broken.

“i’m your stupid toy. stupid slut, stupid toy,” your words are garbled, hardly making sense as he kisses up your neck, feeling dizzy as his hair tickled your skin, the sweet smell of his cologne mixed with sweat invading your senses.

he pulled back just enough to look at you again, his eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction.

“sweet angel,” he said, the praise cutting as it was rewarding. his thumb swiped at a stray tear, his smirk softening into something even more chilling.

“now let’s see if you’re as obedient as you claim to be.”

the night stretched painfully as hyuck pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you, cruelly making you keep score, and rewarding you with a harsh slap to the cheek if you were wrong.

you were writhing in his hold, your hands feebly pushing against his pelvis as you reached the climax yet again, swallowing shallowly as you will yourself to manually breathe.

“good slut, there you go. how many was that?” he makes no effort to stop to help you catch your breath and your eyes gloss over, and your mouth lolls open, the feeling of being filled so well too much for your brain to handle.

a stinging pain accompanies your right cheek as punishment for not answering hyuck’s previous question and he flips you over on your stomach, plunging into you without warning.

“dumb sluts so fucked out she can’t even use her fucking mouth,” he enunciates every word with each thrust, your thighs quivering as you bury your head into the sheets.

you had no more intelligible answers to any of hyuck’s words, brain turned to mush as the sound of skin slapping together becomes overbearing.

“too – fuck – too much – can’t– fuck please hyuck,” you whine, tears spilling from your eyes as you try to find strength to speak.

“what was that? you want more’” he’s cruel in the way he lifts you up by your neck till your body is plush against his own, the new angle only making your eyes roll back even further.

“i don’t give a fuck about how you feel. i’ll be finished when i decide i’m done with you, so be a good cum slut and take it all.”

he presses a kiss to your temple before releasing his hold on you, fucking you further into the mattress, your whole body quivering as your face screws tight.

it feels like you could snap at any moment, your body so frail and limp, as the only thing that keeps you from collapsing in a heap on hyuck’s bed is the firm grip he has on your hips.

“fuck.. pussy’s sucking me in so deep, it’s practically made for me,” he groans, the restraint he had been practicing for the last half hour withering, his face screwing at the feeling of your walls hugging his cock unbearably tight, like it didn’t want to let go.

he wanted to push you even further, to keep going until you teetered on the edge of life and death, but he knew he couldn’t last much longer.

he lifts one of your legs up, jackhammering into you with as much force as he could gather, using his strength to keep you in place as he continued to fuck into you.

“fucking take it, useless slut. that’s all you’re good for,” his chest rises and falls, dick twitching at the sight of your head cocked to the side, eyes glimmering from all of your tears as you try to push him away, your body seizing.

“move that fucking hand and take it,” he swats your hand away with ease, deepening your arch as you let out a sharp gasp before your body is convulsing again, your fourth orgasm of the night washing over you with such intensity that hyuck had to hold you up by the waist to stop you from collapsing.

it was hard to keep you in one place as he fucked you through your orgasm, but he’s bigger and stronger than you as he tightens his grip on your body, racing towards his own release.

“gonna fill your pussy till it’s dripping down your thighs. hope that – shit – hope your fucking boyfriend finds out how much of a whore you are.”

his thrusts get choppier as he loses himself to the feral urge to fill you up, to paint your insides pearly white and let the world know who had the ability to ruin you like this.

“yes please – need it – need it please – need it so bad,” a heavy groan rips through donghyuck at your words, thrusting into you a couple more times, pushing himself impossibly deeper inside of you as he pours hot spurts of cum inside of you, overstimulating himself so that it reaches deep before he lets go of you as you fall into a heap on his sheets.

the room felt oppressively quiet now, save for the sound of donghyuck’s soft footsteps as he moved away from the bed. he didn’t look at you, didn’t speak. his attention was already somewhere else, his movements casual, indifferent, like nothing had just happened.

you lay there, sprawled across his sheets, the aftermath of it all still clinging to your skin. your chest heaved as you tried to steady your breathing, but the hollowness in the pit of your stomach made it impossible to feel grounded.

you turned your head, watching as he crossed the room without a backward glance, already flipping the power button on his game console, simply throwing a towel in your direction with an infuriating amount of carelessness.

the screen illuminated the corner of the dark room, and you could hear the familiar chime of the startup music as he slid onto the chair, controller in hand, as though this was just another ordinary evening for him.

for you, though, the silence pressed down harder. the ache in your chest began to mingle with something sharper, something you were too scared to name.

your phone buzzed from the nightstand beside you, pulling you out of your haze. the sound felt jarring in the stillness. turning your head, you reached for it with trembling fingers, watching the screen light up, and the name at the top of the message.

sungchan.

i miss you. let me know when you’re home safe, okay?

the words reverberated in your chest, soft and full of kindness, the exact opposite of everything donghyuck was.

sungchan was stable, predictable, safe—the type of person who held doors open and kissed you goodnight like it was second nature. but here you were, sprawled out in another man’s bed, the ghost of his hands still lingering on your skin.

you turned your head toward donghyuck, searching for something in him. something human. something that might tether you to the idea that this meant more than it did. but there was nothing—not even a flicker of acknowledgment as he barked a low curse at his game, his focus unwavering.

and yet, despite his cruelty, despite the hollowness he left in his wake, you felt yourself drawn to him like a moth to a flame. it wasn’t love, and it wasn’t even lust—it was the gravitational pull of your own self-destruction.

the bed creaked as you sat up, the cool air biting against your bare skin. your phone buzzed again, its screen lighting up the darkened room. sungchan’s name flashed across it once more, and the guilt twisted like a knife in your chest.

this was wrong.

you knew it was wrong.

but as much as you wanted to gather your things, to walk out of this apartment and leave donghyuck behind for good, you knew you wouldn’t.

“you’re thinking too loud,” donghyuck muttered, his voice cold and detached as his fingers moved deftly over the controller. he didn’t even look at you.

“i should go,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

this time, he glanced over his shoulder, raising a brow in mock amusement. “then go,” he said simply, his tone devoid of care, as if your presence—or absence—meant nothing to him.

your throat tightened, tears threatening to spill again. you gripped the edge of the sheets, your knuckles white, your mind warring with itself. every rational part of you screamed to leave, to call sungchan, to beg for forgiveness.

but the irrational part of you—the part that craved donghyuck’s indifference, his cruelty, the way he stripped you down to your rawest form—kept you rooted in place. because for all the emptiness he left behind, donghyuck made you feel something.

the shame, the desire, the heartbreak—it was all consuming, chaotic, alive. and as much as it hurt, it was better than the numbness you felt everywhere else.

your phone buzzed again, the sound cutting through the air like a razor. sungchan was waiting. he always was. and yet, you turned your gaze back to donghyuck, who had already dismissed you, his attention back on his game.

you would stay.

you always stayed.

and as you sank back into the mattress, staring up at the ceiling with tears pooling in your eyes, the frailty of your willpower sank in like a stone. you hated yourself for it, hated how weak you were, hated how easily he broke you.

but deep down, you knew you’d come back again.

you always did.

[1mm4d13]

I’ve talked before about my ideas on where a new film run following G: Minus One could go, but I’ll expand a little on it.

So, the first film is done, Godzilla’s in pieces at the bottom of the ocean, and Noriko got hit with some of that goji-goop. My idea is that, over time, all of those chunks of the original Godzilla will regrow into some new abominations; some with horns and broad wings, some with crowns and thick, armoured hides, and all with vague memories of pain and destruction that somehow feel like they are and aren’t theirs, driving them into conflict with humanity. One chunk, of course, becomes Godzilla’s second raid, the memories much more vivid in his head but still, an individual seperate from the original.

Now, while it’d be cool for Mothra to also be one of those regrown chunks, only with a lot more purity and nobility and whatnot, she could potentially tie in well with the whole “goji-goop” thing going on. For instance, if Noriko unfortunately passes and is left a rose where her body lies in the soil, that could lead into Biollante, a late human spirit, a maternal human spirit, reanimated and twisted by the Godzilla‘s mutation and his lingering obsession. Now, once Biollante meets her demise and Noriko gets her final “goodbye”, what springs from this spiritual purification is an egg, and from that egg sprouts the eternal, maternal, noble and pure Mothra.

From here, Mothra can be undyingly defensive of humanity and would fight anyone for their sake, but maybe, can also be fascinated by Goji to the point of following him around and observing him up close, much to his dismay and for no other reason other than I’m a hopeless mothzilla shipper.

Otherwise, I’ll leave it for anyone else to make something of my thoughts.

[redcallisto]

ruby found dead in a ditch

Help I need that boy out of my head I can’t go through another arc I’m too weak. I’ll die