#venom proceeds to sob on the floor about it

[bridoesotherjunk]

venom watching romantic movies -- "Oh, Eddie, it would make us so happy if we did this too"

eddie, squinting -- "Vee, I am not recreating the entirety of the Notebook with you"

[i-hold-horrors-hand]

"Hold Me?"

For Ghost Whump Month by @cirrus-ghoulette

(Also readable on AO3)

Papa Emeritus the Third couldn't sleep. Nightmares—of death, of darkness, of despair—kept waking him up, keeping him on edge and preventing him from getting any rest.

It was a problem that he'd been having ever since he'd been resurrected.

It'd been happening every night, and tonight was no different.

Huddled under the blankets in his bed, clutching onto the sheets, fresh tears streaming down his unpainted cheeks, shivering from trauma-induced fear and inexplicable cold, Terzo didn't hear the door to his old papal suite open.

"Papa?"

Terzo cautiously peeked his head out from under the blankets, squinting into the darkness of the room. "Eh? W-who is it?"

"It's me, Omega."

Terzo's breath caught in his throat at hearing the name of his old ghoul. His old bandmate. His old love. Swallowing a sob and clearing his throat, Terzo croaked out a "Come in."

He laid there as he heard the large ghoul slowly walk across the carpeted floor to his bed. There was silence for a moment, just the sound of them both breathing, then, "Papa?"

"I am not Papa anymore," Terzo replied, bitterly. "I am just someone who was cast aside when I was no longer useful."

"Papa—"

Terzo sat bolt upright, flinging the blankets half off of himself in the process, and spat out, "I am NOT Papa anymore, cazzo!"

Though it was dark, he could still see the effect that his venomous tone had had on the quintessence ghoul, and immediately regretted opening his mouth. These sleepless nights had made him irritable, and he felt like such a stronzo taking it out on his beloved ghoul.

"Terzo." Omega's voice was steady, but still with an edge of sadness to it.

"Omega," Terzo breathed.

The two men were silent for a long moment, looking at each other in the darkened room, neither of them really sure just what to say or how to proceed. They'd been reunited shortly after Terzo's resurrection, but for the past week or so, Terzo had been avoiding everyone, including Omega.

Now, with the nightmares plaguing him, and the trauma of being killed, revived, and replaced...Terzo regretted it. He was lonely, and felt an unbearable ache in his soul and body, for contact with someone who actually cared about him. Someone like Omega.

Omega closed his eyes, muttered an apology, and turned around to leave. Just as he was about take a step toward the door, Terzo whispered, "Hold me?"

The quintessence ghoul stopped in his tracks, and Terzo feared for a moment that he had make a mistake, that speaking to Omega so harshly had soured his beloved ghoul's opinion of him, that Omega would disregard his request and walk back out the door...

But he didn't.

Instead, Omega slowly turned around, looking at Terzo with an unreadable expression, then nodded.

Terzo pulled back the blankets and scooted over, giving Omega enough room to join him in the bed. They stared at each other for a moment, feeling a bit awkward, but that moment soon passed and then Omega was laying down next to his Papa—because Terzo knew that he would always be Omega's Papa—and wrapping his big, strong arms around him.

Terzo buried his face in Omega's broad chest, clutching at his shirt, letting more tears fall. But this time, they were tears of relief. Being in Omega's arms seemed to heal a part of his shattered soul, even if only slightly.

"Omega."

"Terzo." Omega pressed a kiss to the top of his Papa's head, and Terzo felt his heart flutter in a way that it hadn't in a very long time.

Before long, both of them fell asleep; Omega happy to be with his Papa again, and his Papa so comforted by his ghoul that he finally felt safe enough to drift off, and the two of them slept through the rest of the night. Safe, secure, and in each other's arms.

Just how they were meant to be.

[iironwreath]

Liquid [Vierna]

[cw: vomiting, mild body horror, seizure/convulsions]

Nepenthe never looked small, even among hobgoblins twice her size. She held herself confidently, square-shouldered and straight-backed, her lips forever upturned at the corners like it was effortless. Even in the face of what could kill her, her expression and posture remained the same.

Vierna avoided picking at the skin around her nails—an old tick—and observed. It started the way it had with everybody else: a chamber, sepulchral with its high ceiling and ribbed vaulting, like they were inside someone’s chest cavity. There were a few high priestesses arranged in a wide circle, and hobgoblin and drow muscle beside them in case it went poorly. 

She tried not to think about that. It started the same way, only this time it was her wife.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t confident in her antidote. Multiple paladins survived it—it was that she cared for Nepenthe too much to want to risk failure. But that choice wasn’t hers. 

Head matron Vivurk Tonn was there to oversee it as well. She waved for Vierna to proceed. Vierna glided forward, offering Nepenthe a vial filled with a mercury-like liquid. She accepted with a lopsided-smile. Their exchange didn’t linger—they had said all they needed to. Vierna nodded, lips pursed, and retreated to where she’d been, at the south end of the circle.

Nepenthe uncorked the vial with her teeth and spat it to the floor, bringing the open top under her nose. She gave a quick, testing sniff, nostrils flaring. She blew out a quick prayer, lips moving in a familiar pattern, then tossed it back like a shot. The glass dropped from her fingers.

It must have been a private thing, originally, for drow to consume Lolth’s blood and turn into driders. Something they did in desperation, or from longing, but usually alone, hunched over a pool, cupping it to their mouths to drink straight from the earth. It wasn’t pretty. Sacred and painful, yes, but inelegant. 

Nothing happened immediately, physically—but Nepenthe lurched and slammed the heels of her palms into her eyes, screaming through clenched teeth. She shuddered, fullbody, gagging like she might throw it back up, but wrestled it down. On the little exposed skin above her armour, sweat formed unapologetically, her cheeks flushing with fever. Vierna’s jaw clenched reflexively, her heart drumming up against her throat.

Nepenthe crashed to her knees, arms crossed over her belly, alternating between laughing and sobbing and sometimes both at once. Vierna resisted flinching towards her, clutching her cane in a deathgrip.

Then it happened—a polymorph, but slower. The spider’s abdomen replaced her from the hips down. Eyes split open her forehead to her hairline, the same stinging yellow as her irises. Eight hooked legs curled out from her middle like bony fingers, sticking to the floor and raising Nepenthe up, befitting of her ascension. Her spider-body was a coal black, like it would leave marks behind. She snarled. 

Drinking Lolth’s blood was the easier part—it was the antidote that was riskier. It was a combination of will and physical fortitude. The drider had to want to change back.

The guards readied their weapons, and Vierna didn’t know which was worse—Nepenthe succumbing to indelible madness, the antidote, or getting skewered by their family. Would they corral and free her into the wild underdark, or would they slay her? But she saw awe and respect in the guards’ faces, observing something holy—at least Nepenthe would die revered, if she did.

Nepenthe heaved, the transformation ended. Her eyes were unfocused, and spittle mixed with blood oozed out of the corner of her mouth, the tips of fangs pointing past her bottom lip. As she gained awareness, she looked at her fingers, curling them one at a time like a wave, then turned her head over her shoulder, examining the spider-half. 

She looked beautiful—still deadly and fearsome, but with added grace and venom. If the slow degradation of sanity wasn’t the cost—there had to be driders out in the world who had their full wits, but Vierna hadn’t met them—there was no reason not to make it permanent. 

Vierna stepped forward again, steeling her spine.

“Nepenthe?” she asked. 

All eight eyes snapped to her. 

“Can you understand me? Can you hear me?”

Nepenthe nodded, once. The smile returned. Soft, confident, hers. Vierna offered up a second vial: this one, the liquid a thin, sickly green. Nepenthe’s new spider appendages widened their stance, lowering herself to take it. Even through her armour, her skin burned.

Nepenthe did the same as before—uncorked it with her teeth, sniffed experimentally, only this time she tipped it back gently, her hand trembling, eyes closing. 

The reverse transformation was no less painful—arguably moreso. Vierna could only make a single dose so concentrated before it crossed the line and killed them. Vierna had learned that death wasn’t a cure for madness, not where the Chained Oblivion was concerned, but it worked for driders.

Nepenthe’s spider-body tucked itself away, the extra eyes vanished. Nepenthe landed on two feet and toppled to her shoulder, convulsing, limbs locking up as she retched up blood and bile.

Vierna wasn’t supposed to show weakness in front of the others, but the situation was exceptional—she rushed forward and fell to her knees, her cane landing with a clatter beside her. Her hands flittered, undecided, before settling around Nepenthe’s shoulders to prop her into her lap, on her side. She could beat herself up all she liked later—at the moment, Nepenthe needed her.

Did she need her? No, but she wanted her. That was enough. 

“She’ll live?” Vivurk called.

“Yes,” Vierna announced. “She’s breathing. She should.”

The guards relaxed, as did the priestesses. A victorious, self-satisfied murmur rose up around her, congratulations passed through hands and by word. Vivurk nodded to her, smirking, and filed out with everyone else. Nepenthe’s convulsions slowed, then stopped. She panted at first, then that slowed, too.

Time crawled by. Her ankle and legs ached, both from hard cobblestone underneath and where Nepenthe’s armour dug into her skin on top. She untied Nepenthe’s ponytail, combed the hair through with her fingers, and laid it out to one side. Nepenthe had gone from solid to liquid—even though she breathed slower, more at rest, Vierna was terrified she would drip through her fingers. 

She hadn’t noticed from a distance, but the blood on Nepenthe’s chin wasn’t pure red—silver veined through it. There were faint, closed stitch lines on her forehead where the eyes had grown, small enough to heal with time. But how much time would there be in-between? Now that they knew Nepenthe could survive it, she was their newest weapon.

Finally, a single, involuntary cough jerked Nepenthe’s body and her eyes flew open. Her whites were wrong—off-white, like someone painted over them with a granite grey. It made the gold of her irises more stark. Relief surged up Vierna’s throat, hot and briney, cresting high enough to prick the corners of her eyes. Nepenthe rolled onto her back and reached up a limp hand, knuckling at a tear.

“You’ll smear your makeup,” she said.

“You’ve already smeared yours.”

Unthinkingly, Vierna bent to kiss her, but Nepenthe stopped her with two fingers on her lips. 

“Don’t,” she warned, voice rough. She gestured to the blood smeared all over her mouth and in her teeth. Vierna pursed her lips again.

Nepenthe’s tongue dabbed at the blood, and something like ecstasy rippled across her face, eyes temporarily squeezing before opening. In that brief moment, Vierna was almost jealous.

“What does it taste like?” Vierna whispered.

“Like blood, but—charged. Like drinking hot coals. It tastes like power, and love.” She gazed into the middle distance, past Vierna. “It serves a greater purpose.”

[ask-alterwolf-curseko]

I don't care man I just wanna know what your goal is.

KO/Atlas: For the third time, you freaky eldritch thing...

WHY. ARE.

YOU.

TARGETING ME?!?!

[The distorted memory KOs and TKOs tighten their grip on him by just a little.]

Gyyaagh!!

KX: You want the short or long version?

KO/Atlas: Just tell me!!!

KX: Alright, alright, don't get your panties in a bunch. [It plants its KO-reminiscent feet on the floor as it walks back and forth with its hands behind its back.]

You've been on this road before, Atlas... Remember when Shadowy Venomous took you under his proverbial wing when you were TKO? And he cared about what you wanted? Only to find out that it was only a mask, and used you for his own power-hungry, selfish gain? You killed him... You were drunk with immense power from the Lakewood glorb tree... And in a fit of blind rage, you killed e̶v̸e̴r̸y̴o̴n̷e̷ ̸o̸n̷ ̷s̵i̸g̸h̵t̴.̷ ̶F̵r̵i̴e̴n̴d̸ ̵o̵r̷ ̵f̵o̸e̵. Because they were no longer worth living and breathing...

And you without a second thought punished yourself with a grisly, extraterrestrial canine ghoulish curse because of it.

Your other counterparts have been through the same path as well. Some of them are s̶t̶i̷l̸l̴ ̷v̶e̷r̶y̶ ̵m̵u̶c̸h̵ ̶o̸n̴ ̵t̸h̷a̴t̵ ̵m̶u̸r̴d̸e̶r̵o̷u̸s̴ ̸d̸e̸s̵t̵i̸n̶y̷, some others have moved on past that.

And then... there's your blunder from a recent therapy session of yours. You know how your "good friend" Lupus wants to exterminate a particular parasite carrying infamous alternate of you? You decided to be so ignorant enough to follow his wishes and submissively hand him over to an almighty deity and be executed.....

KO/Atlas: I know! [He sobs.] I was stupid, I was such an idiot! Why do you keep going on about——?

[The memory copies hiss in response to the vivid description and harshly pull on his legs, arms and head very hard, causing the emotionally damaged teen to yell out in pain.]

AAAAAAAAAAAGGGHH!!! 😭

KX: But that all turned out to be a mere simulation. Your trial partner's fate was simulated, the deity was simulated... everything was a setup. But that does not lessen the agony, now does it...?

[The copies glare at KO and proceed to pull even harder, making him scream even more.]

KX: And that's why I've decided to get it done and wipe you off the face of the multiverse. Even you're not worth living and breathing yourself because of your repeat...

You're just.

L̴̺̐͜͠ͅi̶̡͎̐̃k̵͔͗͛e̷̮͎͊̚.̵̼͎̂̑͆

T̷̢̡̮͔̜̩̮̮̀̋͐̓͐̆̈̃̾͛̓ḩ̶̬̠̰͙̘̈́͋͋̇́̎̀͐̏͘͘͝è̷̛̹̤̏͒̀͜ ̶̰̩͖͇͕͓̳̳̘̯̝͍͒̈́͒̒̑̈͘͜r̴̨̤͚̙̬͖͕̦͈͈̯̗̈́̈́̒͂̚e̸͔͑̀̋͆̅͠s̶̲̭̬̟͖̔̍̈́̂̅̄̏̋͂̒͝ẗ̷̢̫̟̺͎͉̝͔̻̻́̌̍̈́̓͐̓͘͠͠.̷̰͊̔́̿́̔͌̈́̕̚͜

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨6/End

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) cucking, violence, blood, some untagged extreme events.

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: Here’s the grand finale, I hope you all enjoy it!

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You breathed shakily as you clipped the chain of diamonds around your neck. Clark stood and you watched him place his gun down. He rolled his head back and cracked his neck as he shrugged off his jacket. He slung it over the corner of the upholstered chair and your fingers fluttered down the front of your dress.

“Marcus,” he called tauntingly and clapped his hands, “I think you should see this with both eyes, don’t make me take one out.”

“Stop,” you hissed, “please.”

“What do you care about him, sweetheart? He’s a pimp,” he said brusquely.

You lowered your eyes and sniffed. He nudged you with a bent knuckle then hooked his finger under the strap of your dress.

“It’s getting late,” he warned, “let’s go.”

You stepped away from him and pushed down the zipper hidden underneath your arm. You kept your gaze to the floor as you slid the straps down your arms and shimmied out of the taut fabric. You flung the dress away and bent to undo your strappy heels. Clark tutted as he got close and slapped your ass.

“I like those, they go well with the necklace,” he purred and traced his finger up your back to snap the band of your bra.

You winced and stood. You reached back and unhooked the bra and tossed it at him with venom. You exhaled and pushed down your panties as he hummed. It took all your strength and pride not to cover yourself and cower. He came up behind you and traced your shaped with his fingertips.

“Come on,” he gripped your waist and walked you around, only feet from Marcus as he stopped you in front of the ladder, “up.”

“What?” you grabbed the rungs as he urged you closer.

“Go up,” he repeated brusquely.

You climbed carefully and when you got to the top, he tickled the back of your thigh.

“Turn around, sweetheart, and take a seat,” he demanded.

You heard Marcus sob against the gag and you turned as you tried not to slip. You sat on the top of the ladder as you faced Clark and he grasped your knees. He pushed until you let him part your legs and you felt the cool air along your cunt. He bit tip of his tongue out and kneaded your thighs.

“I’ve been patient, I can keep on,” he taunted as he leaned in and his hot breath grazed your folds, “I want to savour this, sweetheart.”

He flicked his tongue along your cunt and you hissed and clung to the sides of the ladder. He pushed your legs back so that your feet hooked around the rungs and held your hips in place. You gasped at the sensation that steamed from your loins and bit your lip. 

You put your bent finger between your teeth and moaned. His tongue moved faster as if encouraged by your weak drawl and your heart fluttered wildly. You dropped your hand to your throat and the diamonds pressed to your palm. You gulped and leaned your head back as you tried to stifle a whine.

He kept more fervent with each lap, and you pushed your thighs against his face. You looked down without thinking and the height made you dizzy. You rasped and grabbed the back of his head as you feared you would fall. He growled and sucked on your clit. You groaned as your lungs burned and your eardrums pulsed. 

You panted as the flames licked at your flesh. You turned your head away from Marcus in shame as you felt the sudden peak rising. Your hand slipped down to grasp the back of Clark’s neck and you squirmed as you came into his mouth. He kept the pressure on your clit and teased it lightly with his teeth until your legs hung limp and slowly dragged his lips down your thigh, a trail of your arousal left along your skin.

“Mmm,” he stood and shoved his hand between your legs. He pushed a finger into you suddenly and the ladder teetered beneath you. He steadied it with his other hand and added another finger, “listen to her, Marcus. How could you let this go? Priceless.”

He pulled his fingers from your cunt and held them up so that they glistened in the light. He presented them to Marcus and raised them to his mouth to suck them clean. You grimaced and looked away once more.

“Sweetheart,” he turned back and kicked the bottom rung, “you can turn around.”

You blinked at him and swallowed. You trembled as you stood on a rung and he caught you before you could fall. He helped turn you around and placed your hands at the top of the ladder and he guided you to the bottom rung. You gripped it tightly as he groped your ass and smacked it several times so the sound reverberated. 

Your flesh stung as he pressed himself to your back and nuzzled your head. He gripped your hips and rubbed his thumbs along your hips. He pulled your waist back so you were bent slightly against the ladder. He pushed apart your ass as slid two fingers down to your cunt.

He ran his fingertips along your wet folds and unzipped his pants with his other hand. You quivered as he came flush against you and bent his knees as he prodded at you from below. His tip brushed along your entrance and he coated himself in your juices before he slid just inside.

You bent your head and gulped in air as he stretched you. You reached back as he pushed in another inch and you pressed your hand to his stomach blindly. He grabbed your hand and twisted your arm behind your back. He thrust into you completely and bent to whisper along the shell of your ear.

“Feel that,” he jerked his hips so that you cried out, “perfect fit.”

“Please…” you croaked.

“Please… more?” he mocked and drew his hips back, only to slam into you again.

“Nnngghhh,” you groaned and clung to the ladder as he rocked slowly.

“This is real art, Marcus,” Clark said as he ran his hands up your side and cupped your tits, “look at her… listen to her.”

“Pl--” you couldn’t speak as your walls tightened around him snugly, begging for more even as the strained around him.

“Mmmmm,” he kissed your neck and sent a shiver through you, “so sweet.”

He nibbled playfully then sank his teeth in as he sped up. He grunted and stood back as his hips clapped against your ass. His motion stuttered for just a moment and suddenly a loop of cloth fell over your head and around your neck. He pulled the tie until it was taut around your throat and wrapped the tails around his hand.

“Ah, look at her wearing her leash like a good kitten,” he purred, “my kitten.”

You shook your head and moaned through your clamped lips. Why did it have to feel so good?

He grabbed your chin with his other hand and turned your face towards Marcus. Your head lolled in his grip and your lashes fluttered as you saw the shadow of the man you loved. You couldn’t just let that go, not in a night. A tear trickled from your eye and leaked down the side of Clark’s hand.

He kept his hand firm around your jaw and his other arm swept around your waist. He lifted you from the ladder and you squeaked. He carried you to the chair, his cock buried as deep as it would go. He bent his legs as he placed you on the cushion and you latched onto the back as he began to fuck you again; harder, faster than before.

Your voice rang out as your groans grew almost to wails. All your anger and sadness bubbled over as the pleasure forced it from your lungs. You bared your teeth and blinked through the blur. Marcus shook his head as the stool wobbled beneath him. You hated him, you hated the man behind you. You hated that you were so stupid.

You came with a shrill cry and Clark dropped your head against the back of the chair. You hugged the upholstery and whimpered as he sped up. He lifted your legs off the seat as he rutted into you, his growls savage and carnal. Your nails dug into the fabric and you closed your eyes, surrendering to the swell of ecstasy.

He rammed into you so hard you were crushed against the seat. He supported himself against the arms of the chair as he pounded into you. He huffed and swore under his breath as you felt him quake and he spilled into you. You braced yourself, disgusted by him and how great it felt.

When he finished, he lingered inside you, his knee against the edge of the seat. He slid out of you slowly and his cum dripped out of you as you sat back to catch your breath, your arms shaky as you pushed away from the cushion. He went to the table where your paints were and he took a clean rag from the bunch to wipe himself. He whistled and caught his breath.

“Did you like the show?” he taunted Marcus and tossed the dirty cloth at him, “I sure did.”

Marcus grumbled through the gag and you backed off the chair. Your walls were tender and tingly, your legs trembling, and your soul racked with shock and spite. You could hardly see as the dim light made your head ache and you shook your head as you tried to escape the afterglow that drained the energy from you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her,” Clark continued, “I can give her anything she wants and what can you do, hmm?” 

You fell against the small square table and your hand scrambled for the dark pistol. You stood straight and turned to limp over towards the men. Clark’s back was to you as your heels knocked clumsily against the wood. As you neared, Marcus lifted his head and his brow wrinkled.

You aimed at Clark but before you could pull the trigger, his arm was around yours. He pushed the gun down and you fired into the floor. He overpowered you easily as his hand wrapped around yours and you fought for control of the gun. He chuckled darkly and forced your arm forward.

He pointed the barrel at Marcus as you tried to push it away and another shot went off and left your ears ringing. You screamed as you watched the blood spread across your boyfriend’s chest. Clark released you and you fell to the floor as the gun spun across the floor. 

You got to your knees and dragged yourself over to Marcus. You reached to touch his bleeding chest and more spread onto the gag shoved into his mouth. The red stained your hands and dripped down your arms as you rose to cradle his head and his breath rattled as you pulled the cloth from his mouth. His eyes rolled back and you felt the strength leave him entirely.

“No, no, no,” you grabbed his chin and smacked his cheek, “please, please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Marcus…”

You were yanked back suddenly and nearly fell over on the strappy heels. Clark spun you to face him and you hit his chest. You looked up at him as he pushed your face against him and embraced you. He hushed you as he pet your head.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s alright,” he cooed, “you won’t be alone.”

Tears flowed down your cheeks and choked you. You sniffled and shook your head as you pushed weakly against Clark, “you’re a monster.”

“You pulled the gun, sweetheart. We could’ve been done…” he snarled as he dragged you over to the window and spun you against the glass, “but the adrenaline always get my blood pumping.”

He pressed you to the glass as your hands streaked scarlet along the window. You heard his zipper again and in an instant, he was inside you. You were on the toes of the heels as he shook the glass and thrust into you deliberately. You leaned your forehead to the cold pane and stared out into the night, the metallic smell of blood tugging at your nostrils.

🎨

You didn’t sleep, you didn’t even lay down as Clark moved your body how he wanted. The water couldn’t be hot enough to scald away your guilt and the memories of a night that never ended. The afterglow of the shower and your night did little to ease the horror of your existence. You felt as if the blood still stained your hands as you buttoned up the borrowed shirt.

You went to the window of the spacious bedroom and looked out as you heard the voices below. The black plastic bags loaded into the back of an equally dark car. You sobbed and smothered it with the loose cuff of the shirt. That was how you said goodbye, watching the remnants of your boyfriend thrown away like trash.

“Sweetheart?” Clark’s voice set your hair on edge and you turned to face him, a towel hung loosely around his waist, “I know it’s hard now--”

“How can you be okay?” you edge away from him as he neared, “he’s dead. You shot him.”

“Wasn’t my finger on the trigger,” he planted his hand against the wall and blocked you with his arm, “you shouldn’t play with guns.”

You sniffed and mopped up the last of your tears. He was so callous, so calculating. It chilled you completely.

“Who are those men?”

“A few soldiers,” he said as he dropped his arm and grabbed your hand, “you look tired. You should sleep.”

“I can’t,” you tried to tug away but he kept a hold of you.

“Well, if you’ve still got the energy,” he pulled you against him and snaked his hands down to your ass.

“You’re horrible,” you uttered as you grasped his thick biceps.

“To some,” he bent so that his nose touched yours, “but I can be real good to you, sweetheart.”

You stared at him, worn and weak. He kissed you and you let him. Marcus was dead because of you. You thought he was the selfish one for wanting everything this man had, but hadn’t you wanted the same? You came here to paint because you wanted to get paid. You were no different and now he was gone and you were stuck exactly where you belonged. It was what you deserved.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he parted and turned you to walk you backwards to the bed, “you’re gonna need your sleep.”

He nudged you down onto the bed. He went to the window and drew the long drapes and the room dimmed. He swept away his towel and let it pile on the floor as he climbed up next to you and reclined with a sigh. You laid back on the pillow and looked up at your reflection in the mirror set into the ceiling.

“Now that is art,” he winked at your reflection as he reached to caress your cheek, “you’ll see it soon enough.”

[seiyasabi]

Yamaguchi’s Awakening

(Here’s a Yandere Yamaguchi Tadashi x Female Reader story :PP I know you only mentioned a Mommy fic, but I kinda added a lil more ‘spice’ to that lol, so I hope that’s okay! If not, feel free to message me! Also, he’s known the stutter, so I made it a bit prevalent in the story. Sorry if that’s annoying.

TW: !Noncon/dubcon!, Mommy kink!, !You are p mean lol, Painslut Yama!, Masochist Yama!, You physically fight him but he loves it, practically wrestles you to the floor!, thigh fucking, creampie!, Calls himself baby boy but alternates that w ‘pig slut!’, etc.. 

Please proceed with caution!) 

You woke up to Tadashi’s moans, eyes practically popping open in both terror and confusion. You’d taken a nap whilst waiting for him to come home from work, but you hadn’t expected to wake up to such a lewd sound. 

Pushing yourself up with shaky arms, your slip’s thin straps slide off of your moisturised shoulders, causing more of your cleavage to show in the skimpy garment. Tired eyes land on the green haired man’s slumped form, his long, lean body practically falling off of a plush chair on the other side of the room. His large hand is fisting his cock at an alarming pace, while his hips stutter upwards to meet his ministrations. 

“What the hell are you doing?” You frown in mild annoyance, scoffing in disgust. Is he really getting off to your sleeping form? 

“Mu-Mommy!” His face is pulled into the perfect Ahegao expression, tongue lolling out stupidly, as drool drips down his chin. Beads of sweat intermix with his perfectly scattered freckles, and if it weren’t for the fact that Tsukishima helped him kidnap you, you most likely would have found it arousing, “Puh-Please pu-punish me! I-I’m such a-a bad boy!” 

Screwing your face up in disgust, you practically spit venom at him, “Oh my God, you’re fucking disgusting. How dare you-” 

With a loud whine, he cums. His liquidy release coats his chest in large streaks, partially splashing himself in the face with his own spunk. The liquid creates a large puddle on the floor, demonstrating just how much semen he’s stored in his purple tinged balls. The sight before you has left you absolutely speechless, as Tadashi keens and whines for you to punish him. 

“Please, please, Mommy! I-I need you to-” 

“What the actual fuck did I just witness?” Your eyes never leave the puddle on your room’s wood look tile, “Oh my God, you’re such a disgusting pervert.”

At your words, the freckled man practically throws his naked body onto your lap, “Yu-you chose me! That means that you love me, right? A-and if Mommy loves me, she should punish me for being bad! Please hit me!” His previously softened cock is now standing back at attention, humping at your exposed legs. 

One of your perfectly manicured hands (thanks to Yamaguchi’s hard work) shoves his head off of your stomach, “Get the fuck off of me! Clearly, I chose wrong, because you’re just a slobbering pig!” Tears bead his large eyes, but the tall man doesn’t back down. He continues to try to rut against you, causing your shoves to become more violent, until you effectively shove him off of your bed. He lands on the hard ground with a ‘smack,’ as he moans on impact. 

“Ye-yes! Hi-hit me mu-more! I de-deserve it, your baby bu-boy deserves it!” He tries once more to crawl his way onto you, but you react far quicker than him. You use the ball of your foot to push him away by the forehead, dropping him back onto the cold floor. 

“Stay the fuck away from me! I knew I should’ve liked your asshole for a best friend, at least he wouldn’t be such a fucking weirdo!” You push yourself off of your bed, trying to escape to the bathroom, but it’s to no avail. Tadashi, in some sort of lucidity, drags you to the ground with him. His lean form tries to trap you to the floor, but your thrashing limbs and harsh elbows keep him from getting too close, “Stop it! Let go of me-”

“Du-don’t say you want someone else! Your precious piggy will do anything you want! Let your baby boy make his Mommy feel good!” You end up on your back, allowing your hands to worm their way between the two of you, and create a small distance. Taking full advantage of that, you get a single hand up by your face, which gives you the perfect opportunity to slap the dogshit out of the feral man. 

He moans breathily, as if he’s savouring the feeling of your harsh touches, “You’re fucking pathetic, Yamaguchi. No one would willingly choose you, which is why you lied and manipulated me!” You smack him multiple more times, his freckled, drooly cheeks quickly becoming bright red. You force your knees against his toned stomach, kneeing him uncomfortably in the ribs, which he just pushed more of his weight on. 

“Yes! Yes! Tell me more of the things you hate about me! Your harsh words are almost enough to make me cum!” Screwing up your face in absolute fury, you punch him in the throat, whilst simultaneously kicking him in the cock, causing him to cum immediately with a small scream, “Mu-Mommy, your piggy is cumming!” His hot, watery cum lands on your slip clad body, making you want to vomit. So, in a last ditch effort, you shove him off whilst he’s still recovering from a second intense orgasm. 

Scrambling to your feet, you make a break for the bathroom door, only to be dragged down to the floor by a firm grip on your ankle. Tadashi’s hot, wet body slots itself on top of yours, effectively pinning you down. Although he may be quite slim, his sheer size is enough to weigh you down. 

“Get off of me! You’re fucking sick!” He pants next to your ear, practically trying to mount you like a dog. His chest is firmly against your back, pushing down your lower half. His knees spread yours apart, allowing him to slot himself between your legs. 

You try to hit him, but because he’s behind you, your hits don’t land very hard. Both of his hands fumble whilst he tries to push your panties down, causing you to thrash even more than before. Growing tired of your ministrations, he rips the garment from your pussy. 

“Stop it! Yamaguchi, get off of me! Don’t do this to me!” Tears drip down your face in thick rivulets, as you sob in pure fury, “I-I’ll never forgive you! I’ll never forgive a pathetic fuck like you! I should have never become your friend- you don’t deserve any!” He lightly moans at your words, not quite listening to what you have to say, but enjoying your harsh tone. 

“Ye-yes, Mommy! Threaten me! I love how you belittle me so well!” He then tries to force his long cock inside of you, but is unsuccessful. You’d just barely moved your thighs together in time, blocking him from breaching your unprepared walls. But, that doesn’t seem to faze him, as he starts to hump your sweat slickened thighs, “Oh-oh my God, your thighs feel so good, Mommy! Your piggy slut loves them!” His eyes are practically rolling to the back of his head, as multiple squirts of precum escape his cock, slicking your pussy opening inadvertently. 

You throw your elbows at his head again, but he just lets them hit him, relishing your harsh blows. If anything, your attempted hits trigger him to hump you even faster. Which, in turn, unfortunately, causes him to accidentally hook his cockhead on your cunny opening, and force his prick inside of you. Your mouth gapes in both shock and pain, as you let out a shrill scream. He slams a sweaty hand over your mouth, fortunately minding your nose, letting you breathe through it. His entire body is convulsing, as he sits inside of you, relishing your twitching walls around his cock. 

“Mu-Mommy’s piggy lu-loves Mommy’s pu-pussy!” In quick, sudden movements, he bucks his hips into yours, his breeder balls slapping against your clit with every thrust. Your pants and light moans are muffled behind his hand, as you continue to cry and try to get free. Your thrashing does nothing but seat you further on his long cock, allowing him to hit your g-spot with every movement. Your pussy gushes at his ministrations, as you fall limp, “Fu-fuck, Mommy! Mommy, I-I’m gunna cum!” 

Your slack mouth tries to deny him, but your eyes practically roll up into your skull as you cum suddenly, spraying girl cum on his cock and on the floor below your chest, practically covering your entire torso. Feeling your orgasm milking his cock, Yamaguchi cums quickly after you, filling you to the brim with his watery, overabundant cum. It was like he was trying to fill every crevice inside of you with his milk, relishing how well you take him. You practically collapse to the ground, no longer having the strength to hold yourself off of the now slick wood look tile. This, in turn, causes his still cumming cock to fall out of you, spraying your ass and thighs with his seed. 

Yamaguchi strokes himself, trying to wring out as much cum as possibly on your crumpled, fucked out form. He looks down at you with an innocent grin, before smooching you kindly on the face, “Thank you, Mommy, your baby boy feels sooo much better, now that I’ve filled your pretty cunny! Do you want a bath?” 

You say nothing, seemingly still in shock at what just transpired. Yams coos at you, trying to gain your attention, but when you don’t respond, he takes it upon himself to clean you up. 

“It’s okay, sometimes when Tsukki would experiment with me, I’d be too sore to move, too! Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re all pretty and clean after a long, hot bath.” 

With wobbly legs, the tall man stalks off to the bathroom, not batting an eye at your weird silence. 

[sincerelystranger]

authors note: jin ling and his uncles get drunk and find out why JC was blacklisted by all female cultivators

---

It doesn’t happen every month, and it’s not like planned or anything, but every couple of months, with no rhyme or reason, both of Jin Ling’s uncles will come to Koi Tower at the same time.

Jiang Cheng comes armed with Yunmeng wine and weak excuses as to why he’s suddenly shown up and Wei Wuxian will come with a crate of Emperor’s Smile and no excuse at all – just a huge smile and a hug and stupid words like: “I missed you!”

Jin Ling doesn’t really say anything when they suddenly show up like this. He just orders the kitchen to bring out two bottles of Lanling wine and to prepare uncle Jiang’s favorite assortment of nuts and uncle Wei’s preferred dried and spiced sliced brisket

When all of his orders are prepared and Jin Ling and his uncles are sat around the table in Jin Ling’s room, they place all the bottles of alcohol on the table and proceed to get rip roaring drunk.

It shouldn’t be a good time – it really shouldn’t. Jiang Cheng is ornery on the best of days, and alcohol does not mellow him out, like, at all, and drunk Wei Wuxian only gets (if possible) more annoying, and Jin Ling usually spends more than half the night just mediating between his two uncles, but…

But Jin Ling looks forward to these nights more than he’d ever care to admit.

Because even though most nights, Jin Ling ends up having to act as a physical barrier between his two uncles so they don’t kill each other (or more so that Jiang Cheng doesn’t kill Wei Wuxian), there are some nights like these…

Nights where they’re all laid out on the floor, staring dizzily up at the ceiling, just…

Just enjoying each other’s company.

It’s… nice.

“This is nice,” Jin Ling says, feeling warm and dizzy and a little fuzzy around the edges.

“Mm, yeah,” Wei Wuxian sighs above him, or maybe next to him – Jin Ling can’t really tell.

“What’s so nice about laying on the floor?” Jiang Cheng scoffs – but he’s laid out on the floor too so Jin Ling doesn’t really understand what he means.

“Understanding the niceness of laying on the floor is one of the things you’ll have to learn if you ever want to reach nirvana, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says sagely.

“As if you even know what nirvana means,” Jiang Cheng grumbles.

Jin Ling doesn’t know what nirvana means, but he understands the niceness of laying on the floor. The floor is solid and real underneath him. Grounding him when the world around him is jiggling like acorn jelly.

“I know what nirvana means,” Wei Wuxian answers haughtily, “I know a lot of things.”

“Shut up – you know jack shit,” Jiang Cheng says, but there’s no real venom in his voice so Jin Ling doesn’t move. Jiang Cheng probably won’t attack Wei Wuxian tonight.

Probably.

“I know a whole lot,” Wei Wuxian mumbles petulantly.

Jin Ling can hear him move then, the hurried rustle of his robes sounding louder with his ear to the floor.

“I know a whole lot, but there is something I don’t know,” Wei Wuxian says, his voice playful.

Uh oh.

A playful Wei Wuxian does not mean good news.

“Tell me Jiang Cheng… Why have you been blacklisted by all female cultivators?”

Suddenly the room is quiet.

Still.

Jin Ling doesn’t think he’s even breathing.

He waits for Jiang Cheng’s inevitable anger. He waits for the shouting, the screaming, the crackle of Zidian…

He waits.

And he waits…

But…

“I don’t know,” Jiang Cheng finally answers, “I went to meetings with three different cultivators and after that I was suddenly blacklisted.”

“You don’t know?” Wei Wuxian asks incredulously, “You really don’t know? How did the meetings go? Did they go well?”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “No, they didn’t go well!” he answers, “But I don’t think it was my fault – the ladies were strange!”

“Strange?” Wei Wuxian asks, “Strange how?”

“Well the first lady didn’t stop eating the entire duration of our meeting. It was obvious that she hadn’t been taught correct meeting manners so I corrected her – but maybe that embarrassed her because she left in a huff.”

“What did you tell her?” Wei Wuxian asks, and he’s definitely stifling a laugh.

“I just told her that no man would want to marry her after seeing the size of her appetite – I mean, imagine the cost!”

Oh gods…

“And the second lady?” Wei Wuxian squeaks out.

“She talked the entire meeting! Barely stopped to take a breath!”

“Oh, so you didn’t get to say anything to her, then?”

“Of course not! Barely got to say hello,” Jiang Cheng pauses then, “Well, I did ask her if she was related to Wen Chao, because he’s the only other person I’ve ever met who could talk about themselves for so long.”

Jin Ling can feel the floor shake with Wei Wuxian’s stifled laughter.

He’s still caught somewhere between humor and horror. How can his uncle be so clueless?

“I guess she took offense to that,” Jiang Cheng continues, “because she dumped her cup of tea on me as she left. Very rude lady.”

“And the third?” Wei Wuxian asks, and his voice comes out in a pained squeal.

“Oh, she was the worst,” Jiang Cheng says, “I didn’t even want to meet her – she begged the match maker to set up a meeting with me! But when I finally meet her, her face is caked with powder and her lips are so red they look like the center of an archery board!”

Don’t laugh, Jin Ling tells himself, Jiang Cheng will be upset if you laugh.

Don’t laugh.

“So I tell her to be careful because our disciples might get confused and try to shoot her – I was just looking out for her, right? Well, for some reason, that made her cry and run straight out of Lotus Pier. And after that, I was banned.”

Don’t.

Laugh.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian exclaims and he’s laughing so hard he can barely talk. He’s laughing so hard that his laugh comes out in these long wheezes. “Jiang ---- Cheng!!”

Jiang Cheng is still besides Jin Ling, and Jin Ling is trying his damned best to keep his laughter in, but it’s so fucking hard.

An archery board.

A goddamn archery board.

“An archery board?” Wei Wuxian asks with a wheeze, “Fucking Wen Chao?”

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng says but his voice shakes and Jin Ling can literally feel him vibrating with held in laughter beside him.

Jiang Cheng is trying not to laugh.

His fucking uncle is trying not to laugh.

And somehow that’s what pulls Jin Ling over the edge and he has to curl into himself because his laugh is too big and powerful.

“Don’t laugh,” Jiang Cheng hisses, smacking Jin Ling on his back, but Jiang Cheng’s laughing too and Jiang Cheng telling Jin Ling not to laugh is only making him laugh harder and --

“Uncle, you’re the worst!” Jin Ling crows, actual tears of mirth streaming down his face, “The worst!”

Jin Ling can’t breathe because he’s laughing so hard and Wei Wuxian is laughing just as hard somewhere near Jin Ling’s head and Jiang Cheng is laughing too and…

And it’s so nice.

“And you don’t know why you’re blacklisted, Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian asks, his voice coming out in something that sounds like sobbing, “You really don’t know?” And he falls into another fit of giggles.

“What did Uncle Jiang do wrong?” Jin Ling asks, just to be a little shit and because he just can’t. Stop. Laughing.

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng growls, but it’s tempered by the fact that Jin Ling can literally feel him shake with laughter, “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

Maybe Jin Ling will never reach nirvana, but he knows the niceness of laying on floors and he thinks that must be close enough.

“Stop fucking laughing!” 

[solarwonux]

Minghao x f!reader drabble

w.c: 2.8k

warnings: angst, slight mention of not eating, minghao be an asshole sometimes

note: I’ve had this one collecting dust in the docs so I decided to upload it today, it was meant to be part of a bigger fic but I decided to not continue though who knows it might be referenced later on in a different fic. Enjoy and let me know your thoughts.xx

Also I’m changing my schedule around a little. So instead of me posting Mon, Weds, Fri, I will be posting Mon, Thurs, Fri. You can find more info on Navi

drabble game || masterlist

There were sides of Minghao  that unfortunately weren’t reserved for you, except for one. The one you hated the most and the one you wished you could stray as far away from. The side that received you with a frown and a bitter cold glare. The side that spoke to you in short sentences, a sour tone that would weave its way through his voice like vines whenever he spoke to you. It sent shivers down your spine and not the good kind. It was the side that you couldn’t break through to get to the side that was reserved for the people he loved and cared about most in the world. And you weren’t one of those people.

Maybe this was the way the universe decided to punish you. A punishment you wholeheartedly thought you didn’t deserve because you were tied at your feet with no way out. When you had been matched with Minghao  by the System it was either you marry or die. And of course, selfishly you choose to live. You knew he resented you for it, but in the year and a half that you two were officially married, you had secretly seen the warmth that oozed out of his pores. You saw the wide smile that would light up the room whenever darkness poured in. His laugh sounded like a sweet melody that you would never get tired of listening and just his presence made you feel like home.

Minghao was a gift, the purest form of art, a being so powerful you swore he would restore the peace in the world. He could resent you, hate you all he wanted, look at you with an overwhelming amount of venom in his eyes. And you’d let him, you could never let yourself regret your final decision because he deserved to live.

Sighing deeply, you pushed yourself off the elevator walls watching as the hallway to your apartment came into view. This was the part you hated most about your day. It wasn’t the part where you woke up alone, it wasn’t the part where you had to go to work and it wasn’t the hour and a half walk home. It was the short walk from the elevator to your apartment. It never failed to stretch out miles as your heart caught itself in your throat because behind that closed door you weren’t sure what you’d encounter.

Sometimes it would be a quiet Minghao , sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table with his headphones on. His studio set up scattered all over, a notebook and his unlocked phone next to him. Sometimes it was him quietly sitting at the coffee table eating take out, sometimes it was him on his phone arguing with his mother as he shot piercing glares at you, probably wishing you weren’t alive. And other times it was a dark and cold apartment, nothing out of place. The silence creeping underneath the floorboards, reigning, occupying its throne in between the walls as it desperately tried to push the two of you out.

For some reason that was the apartment you always found yourself hoping for whenever you stopped in front of your door. Your hand gripping the doorknob tightly every night that it had started getting loose.

This was a routine by now. You’d put the key in the key lock, turn it until you heard it unlock. Then you’d close your eyes, slowly count ten Mississippi’s, proceed to give yourself a pep talk and then finally biting the bullet and opening the door. Anxiety rushed through you quickly when you saw what was waiting for you behind the door, Minghao  on the couch typing quickly on his phone, while the TV beamed with life in front of him. Lighting up the dark living room with undertones of blue.

“I’m home.” You spoke, a shake in your voice making you wish you were stronger. The door clicked behind you, signaling there would be no way out until tomorrow morning so you might as well bite your tongue and deal with anything you’d encounter tonight.

“Welcome, I ordered food but wasn’t sure if you wanted any.” He shrugged, locking his phone and setting it by his side. He crossed his arms in front of him and turned his attention to the TV.

“It’s fine I’m not hungry anyway.” You took off your shoes by Minghao’s worn out ones. The hunger swirled inside of you, but you pushed it aside, telling yourself that you’d find something to eat once he was asleep in the guest bedroom that by now had become his room. “Mhm, you are eating right?” He said a hint of concern in the back of his throat, but that could’ve been your mind playing games on you. Though the question had caught you off guard and you weren’t sure how to answer without lying because in truth for a while now your appetite had severely gone down.

“I am, had a big lunch with one of my coworkers.” Minghao  nodded at your answer, finally turning to face you, furrowing his eyebrows. You tried to ignore his gaze, relax your body as much as you could and placed your bag down on one of the highchairs in front of the kitchen island. “My family’s coming over tomorrow, my mom wants to cook dinner…you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to.” He blurted out the last part, hollowing out the part of your heart that was reserved for him. You loved Minghao ’s family as much as you loved him, but unlike him they had been very welcoming of you. Embraced you with open arms and you found comfort knowing that at least a part of him loved you.

“I’ll be there.” You whispered, shrugging off your coat and placing it on the back of the chair. “I have a day off tomorrow so I can clean up around here before they come over…I mean if that’s fine with you and all, I don’t want to make things uncomfortable.”

“Do whatever you want.” He spat out leaning back on the couch. His tone returning to the one you were used to hearing and you knew you had overstayed your welcome in the living room. “Right, I’m going to bed then.” You nodded walking past him and straight to your room, closing the door behind you quickly and resting your back against it. You breathed out a sad sigh of relief feeling the tears build up behind your eyelids, the hunger gnawing its way through your stomach ripping it to shreds. As well as your need for some sort of comfort, as you came to your first realization of the night. Just like it washed over you every single night and for once you wished you didn’t feel so alone, when the person that was supposed to love you stood on the other side not caring.

Oddly there was a side of you that loved Minghao  and maybe it was the side that kept holding onto the hope you first felt when you were given the news. Or maybe it was the image of him that you created in your head from all the fragments of light he let out whenever he thought you weren’t looking. But you loved him, that was something you were confident in because you saw him for who he was, flaws and all when the two of you weren’t alone.

“Fuck.” You pushed yourself off your door throwing yourself on your unmade made and grabbing the turtle stuffed animal you slept with every night. It brought you a small sense of comfort and any comfort you could get you would grab and indulge in it blissfully. It was small and useless in the long run.

You buried your head into the head of the stuffed animal, finally letting the dam loose and the sobs came in full throttle. Thankfully the TV in the living room was loud enough to muffle your sounds. It wouldn’t matter if he could hear you anyway because you knew he wouldn’t be running into your room like a knight in shining armor and save you from yourself. He just didn’t care and that was the second realization you would have every night. Each time you did, it sent a jab through your body, cracking the little wall that kept the small sliver of light you held onto dearly. Each night though you felt it flicker slowly losing its innocent glow. Sometimes you’d wonder when the light would finally die out, when the numbness would finally overtake your body and you could go on with life without feeling like you were worthless. Without feeling anything.

“Can I come in?” You sat up on your bed at lightning speed. Minghao ’s soft voice sounding from the other side of your door. A knock following in between syllables. Your breathing sped up and you brought your hands up to your cheeks slapping your tears away, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of him seeing you in this state. “U-Um yeah.” You spoke moving to rest against the headboard of your bed, grabbing your laptop on your bedside table and opening it to make it seem like you were doing something other than crying.

“I brought you chicken as I couldn’t finish it all.” He walked in, a styrofoam container in his left hand. His aura took over the air in your room and you felt as if you were suffocating. You watched as he slowly took in your room and your face heating up as you remembered the untidy state of your room. His eyes lingering on the wall of polaroid’s behind your even messier desk.

The girl in those pictures, the one whose smile reached her eyes and laughed still lingered in the small cracks on the walls of your room was someone that was unknown to you now. On days when you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of bed you looked at her as a sign of motivation. Telling yourself that that person was still within you and that she would come back you just had to fight through whatever you were going through. At the end of the day she always came back.

“Oh, I’m not hungry.” You closed your laptop and set it aside, the forgotten google tab opened waiting to be used. “I can have it for lunch tomorrow though.” You brought your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them. To avoid his curious gaze, you looked out the window, the moonlight shining down at the skyline. You wondered if they were at peace unlike you.

“Why do you cry every night?” Minghao  blurted out. He had placed the container on your desk and sat down on the foot of your bed. His back turned to you. The question had caught you off guard as you searched through the files in your brain in order to come up with an excuse. Yet, you came out unsuccessful and decided to just finally confess to him. You had nothing left to lose. “I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you?” You choked out biting your lip to keep the sob that threatened to spill locked away in the back of your throat.

“You can’t love…you barely know me.” He turned to face you and for the first time in a long time you couldn’t read the emotion that was playing against his features.

“Maybe I don’t love the person I’m faced with everyday, but I do love the person I see whenever you let your guard down around your friends and family.”

“But aren’t you tired of all of this? He raised an eyebrow, lifting his palm up and signaling all around the room as if the extra gesture would help prove his point.

“Exhausted.” You breathed out your shoulders falling as you felt yourself fall apart little by little in front of him. “Then why not hate me?” Minghao  brought his legs up to your bed and crossed them underneath him. This was the longest the two of you had spoken or been in each other’s presence and although it was suffocating there was a small ring of light that lingered between the two of you.

“Because as much as I want to sometimes, I can’t bring myself to hate someone that’s hurting inside as well.”

The deafening silence that the two of you had grown accustomed to entangling itself in the warmth that was lingering above the two of you now. Somehow bringing the two of you a sense of comfort in the midst of this confusing situation you found yourselves in. Although you could feel like you could breathe again, the question that still kept you up at night stayed put in the back of your throat waiting to finally be let out into the world. For months you had pushed it back, deciding you already knew the answer to it. But as you sat in front of Minghao , his soft eyes dancing between your puffy ones you weren’t sure anymore. So, you put your preconceived notions aside as well as your pride and opened your mouth, letting the question run out to freedom. Your heart raced as you anticipated his answer.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

“I don’t hate you, truthfully I don’t think I could ever hate you.”

“Then why can’t you love me back?” You whispered, shutting your eyes. Your hold on your legs getting tighter.

“Because I can’t bring myself to do so no matter how hard I want to sometimes, especially when I listen to you cry every night. I wish…I want to set everything aside and hold you. I want to make you feel less alone…but I can’t.” Minghao  let out a frustrated sign running his hands through his hair and tugging at his roots in desperation. The sight made your heart wrench. You wanted to reach over and hug him, give him the comfort you craved.

“W-Why?”

“I feel guilty.” He nodded resting his forearms against his knees, finally breaking his eye contact with you. Searching your room rapidly for another point of focus and finally settling on the humidifier on your bedside table. “I feel guilty because before I met you, I had chosen to live, not knowing that I would be the reason why your light would start to fade as the days went by.”

Without a second thought you let go of your legs, maneuvering yourself around your bed and wrapped your arms around him tightly. Finally breaking the barrier that silently lingered between the two of you.

You buried your face into his neck letting your tears run freely for the second time that night. Though this time instead of feeling the loneliness you had felt earlier, you felt a sense of relief wash over you.

Minghao  felt himself hesitate for a moment feeling overwhelmed as he felt your touch for the first time, not knowing he missed it. A thought he couldn’t explain because how was he missing something he had never had the pleasure of feeling. But he pushed it aside and hugged you back, letting the tears he had kept in for far too long out in the open. He wasn’t happy but he felt like he could be happy if this was what it felt like to finally have you in his arms. He held you tightly, gripping onto you and burying his nose in your hair taking in your scent, one he decided right then and there he would never grow tired of. The two of you basking in each other’s arms, your hearts racing against one another and it overwhelmed the two of you greatly.

“I know we have a lot of things to get through but I’m willing to start over if you are.” You whispered, removing your arms from his body and sitting back on your knees. You wiped your tears with the back of your hand, letting out a small laugh and shook your head in disbelief before holding your hand out for him to shake.

Minghao  smiled widely, chuckling before taking your hand in his. The feeling was enough to send shivers up his spine. The good kind.

For the first time that night he had a realization. A secret that he would carry out to his grave, unless you prodded it out of him and with how things were going, he was sure that you would succeed at it too. But for now, he would keep it to himself and enjoy the way your touch felt against his skin and the way your smile was enough to have his heart beating out of time.

“I’m Minghao, your husband.”

[seokustic]

➝ three months into working for min&kim, coming across the forged company audit is the last thing you’d want in your plate. and min yoongi isn’t convinced that you’d keep your mouth shut.

➝ yandere!ceo!yoongi x secretary!reader

➝ 2 242 words

➝ warnings: dub-con, blackmail, coercion, unprotected sex, stockholm syndrome

➝ author’s note: read the warnings. don’t proceed if those elements make you uncomfortable.

―

“please, i won’t tell anyone,” you can taste the fear on your tongue as you gaze into yoongi’s unbending eyes.

“i understand i’m not in any position to make demands but please let me go home and i’ll forget this ever happened,” words of desperation and submission leaves your lips faster than the ‘sorry’s you owe every possible colleague that works under you.

“self-aware. i like that,” he husks, tossing the sleek black blazer of his onto the couch as he begins to undo the buttons of the cuffs around his wrists, “no wonder namjoon’s eager to keep you to himself.”

at the mention of that name, a bleached blonde haired man with the kindest dimpled smile flashes at the back of your mind. you remember shooting up from your seat and bowing as he passed by you whilst words of “have a good evening, mr. kim,” leaves your pretty wine red coated lips.

‘will i be able to meet him again?’

the thought chills you to your bones.

‘why wouldn’t i meet namjoon again?’ you internally laugh. if it was an audible one, it would have sounded pathetic yet hopeful.

to think you’re worrying about the future when your present is shriveled with uncertainty.

you watch as the man he calls his brother and partner amble towards you with leisure but dominating steps. like a hunter sizing up his prey.

if yoongi was black leopard, you’d be a white little bunny who’s trapped between the recliner and the glass desk, unable to move even though you’d spot him in your line of sight.

“i-is it money you want?” the words slip past your lips before you can even register them.

when you’re mentally hitting yourself for asking the co-owner of the firm you’re working at if he wants what little savings you have in your account, yoongi is already chuckling. it sounds melodic for someone who looks like he’s about to eat you alive.

“you and i both know i’ve got more money on my wrist than you do in your account.” he stops in front of you, feet wedged between your heeled ones.

as if on cue, the rolex on his wrist glints. as if mocking you as he pulls open the top most drawer, pulling out a miniature tripod with a phone readily attached to it. all you can do is continue to watch as he unlocks the screen.

the sound of you sucking in a sharp breath is the only thing that fills the silence when you see yourself reflected in the square frame. the time played over your wide-eyed gaze begins at 00:00:01.

“oh, that? don’t mind that. i like to look back at the time we’re about to spend together and... reminisce.” he wears a smirk on his face and pushes the hem of your dress up with his hand.

yet the billion dollar smirk you’d be dying to see and would fawn over with krystal from afar now makes your stomach knot with disgust. your heart’s palpitating but the sweat trickling down the side of your face is cold.

“please,” your head shakes, as if that little gesture could touch his heart and make him stop what he’s doing.

the metallic sound of his belt clicking as he undoes it drums it your ears, “get on the desk, sweetheart.”

when silence and your disbelieving stare is all he gets as a response, yoongi’s voice rises higher than the usual smooth, husked tone you’re used as he passed you and bade you good morning these past three months since you started working and min&kim.

“fucking do it!”

you scamper to hoist yourself over the flat surface of the table. both your ass and palms feel ice cold against the glass material.

“spread your legs.”

the tip of your heels teeter on the edge of the desk as you force your legs apart, gaze thrown to the pen holder on the opposite side of where the camera phone is set to capture every angle of your disgraceful position.

a whimper escapes your mouth when you feel something touch you through your panties.

“i must say, i didn’t peg you for a lace girl, ___.” gone is the rage in his voice once you did what he asked and in its place, a deep, appreciative purr. as if it’s supposed to be a compliment.

“won’t you even look at me?” he sounds almost devastated, as if your silence and refusal physically hurts him.

“look at me!” he roars a second later, giving you no time to ponder nor prepare yourself for it.

you meet his gaze with furrowed brows and bitten lip, trying hard not to show how much they’re trembling.

“pretty,” he holds you by your jaw, turning your face to the left and then right, as if conducting some kind of observation, “if only i didn’t take rose as my secretary... we would’ve had so much fun, you and i.”

“i can ask to be transferred here! i’ll keep your secret. just please... don’t do this.” gaze boring into his with sheer disgust while you beg with desperation while the cold nips on your exposed legs.

at your words, his hand seems to stop just millimeters from your clit. as if he’s truly considering the offer. the heart that blooms with hope gets crushed in that same instant as a smile stretches across his face.

“you really think you’re in a position to be negotiating?”

nimble fingers pulls your panties to the side before you feel his digit teases you, “sweetheart, you’re dripping wet.”

as if only realizing the juices leaking down your ass and the full view he has, your legs start to close, only to be tightly gripped by his free hand. you wince. that’s going to leave a bruise.

but before you can think of what excuses you’d use to wear skirts longer than your usual mid-thigh ones, the sound of the zipper grazing as it gets pulled down - brushes your eardrums.

“no, please! i promise i’ll do anything! everything you want! just please! don’t!” s series of pleas pour out of your lips like a broken tap. you don’t realize you’re crying until yoongi’s tall, lean figure becomes blurred from the tears.

“shhh,” he coos, sweet as honey but pushes himself in to the hilt.

the sigh the leaves yoongi’s lips makes your stomach twist.

‘how can he enjoy this?’

your palms clasp over your face and eyes as tears wet your skin. your back is cold as you lose all energy to hold yourself up. your body shifts upwards with every thrust.

but it’s the way he slides right into you that burns you with self-loathe. the way the discomfort you felt in the beginning gradually morphs into flames of wonton as you taste blood in your mouth, biting on your lower lip as hard as you can to not make a sound.

because you’re not sure if it’s a plea for him to stop or a plea for him to fuck you harder that will come out.

and you silently sniffle as yoongi turns you on your side, bent over to hold your body that’s wrecked with sobs and pleasure. the groans that brush your ear sickens you to your stomach but makes you clench around him harder as you near your climax.

“don’t be shy, moan for me, sweetheart,” he says grunts, tugging on your wrist as if trying to get you to stop covering your face.

as if he wants to see you break. see the tears cascading down your cheeks. see the shamelessly pleasured face you’re making as your heart beat to the staccato of his thrusts.

“stop...” you whimper, “stop, please, don’t- stop- ah! oh!”

“what’s that? don’t stop?” he laughs, “i’m not wearing a condom though. you sure you want me to but a baby inside you?”

“fuck, just like that. yeah- yoongi-ah right there- oh!”

you should’ve kept your mouth shut. because once the moans pour out of your lips like an open floodgate, there’s no stopping the salacious sounds from filling the room.

you don’t even realize yoongi pushed you to lay on your back again. don’t even realize how your legs clench around his waist whilst your ankles lock together on his lower back as he fucks you raw like he’s never fucked a woman in a long time.

you don’t even realize your lipstick smudging that area on his shoulder as you bite into his flesh, unable to take the surge of ecstasy coursing through your veins before a scream scratches your throat, your back arching as you see stars behind your eyes.

the warmth of his cum spreads through your lower belly as you lay limply on the desk, muscles still twitching from the sparks of electricity of your after orgasm. your legs dangle off the edge of the desk, still parted and in full view of the cum that pours out of you and onto the carpeted floor.

it takes you what feels like hours to push yourself up. gather your broken pieces, put your panties back on and pat down your skirt, feeling the warm, sticky cum drip down your legs and soils your skirt.

the heat of yoongi’s gaze digs into your pores. even when you’re all dressed up like the way you first walked in and saw the open email of the files of the unaudited expenditure of the firm’s income and the forged one. underneath the email, signed victoria song, the head accountant.

“come on, i’ll drop you home.” he says, the blazer he tossed now draped over his arm.

it’s as if he didn’t just smirk as he rewatched the first few seconds of the video. the sound of your desperate pleading commanding the silence while you laid like a lifeless corpse on the desk, trying to make sense of what just happened.

he’s acting as if nothing happened.

“i’ll take catch a cab,” you send your thanks to the gods for venom in your voice and the glare in your gaze.

“i said,” his husks, ever so gently with a threat that he will have no problems executing, “i’ll take you home.”

the whole ride is silent save for the sound of your sniffles yoongi pretends not to hear.

how gentleman-ly of him.

when the car rolls to a stop in front of your apartment building, you meet his gaze with round, terrified eyes. heart palpitating uncontrollably as he smiles like he’s dropping off his girlfriend after a date.

“how do you know where i live?”

you were too busy wiping away stray tears and gazing out the window to worry about giving him directions.

supposed he doesn’t need it after all.

yoongi doesn’t answer. he dodges it as smoothly as he dives in for a kiss. you recoil, pushing yourself up against the door and as far away from him before realization hits you like a pang of ice cold water in winter.

the glint in yoongi’s eyes is telling enough that he isn’t pleased with the trick you just pulled.

even if it was no trick at all. even if you truly only want to leave.

but there’s a video of you in a phone stored inside his desk 20 minutes from here. and you’d be a fool to think he didn’t airdrop it to his personal phone when he was rewatching the video after that.

who knows how long it’ll take for it to hit the internet if you so much as piss him off more than you do now.

the answer is a no brainer.

in a matter of seconds, min yoongi could ruin your life and rebrand you as a licentious woman who sleeps her way to the top.

those pleas for him to stop?

easily overridden by the way you clung onto him like you don’t want to let go.

“sorry, i was just... surprised,” you blink back the tears, lips curling into one of your professional smiles, heart thumping at the way his expression lightens into a pleased one at your own change of expression.

with a trembling hand, you touch his cheek. it feels soft under your fingertip. you wonder how it’ll look if you’d graze it with your fingernails.

your lips brush his and your stomach knots in discomfort. he deepens the kiss, pulling you by your hair, tongue slipping past your lips, tasting the fear that lingers like an unspoken truth on your tongue.

but it’s the way your arms involuntarily wrap around yoongi’s shoulders, kissing him back without even a word of command - that’s what makes you want to hurl your insides out.

it’s the moan that slips past your lips that makes you push him away. eyes wide. you look at him like a deer caught in headlights.

“i-i’ll see you tomorrow.” it’s almost as if waiting for his reaction has become an instinct to you too fast and too soon.

“yeah, see you tomorrow,” when yoongi reaches out his hand and wipes away the corner of your mouth that might’ve been lipstick that got smudged from the kiss, you grope for the door handle.

and you slip out of the car and walk to the entrance of your apartment building, not looking up even when you hear the amicable “good evening, miss ___, working late, are we?” from the security.

you keep walking until you’re inside the elevator.

and only then do you let out a breath you didn’t know you’ve been holding. then the sob wrecks through your cold body.

funny how being trapped inside a metal box gives you more security than any human could provide.

[ninnodesu]

“Can I See You?” ch 2 || Modern!Thomas

Well. People apprently wanted more of modern!Thomas, so naturally, my brain conjured up a continuation.  GUESS WE HAVE TWO LONG STORIES NOW, FRIENDOS

I AM GOING TO TAG EVERY CHAPTER OF THIS FIC AS CICU IN CASE YOU WANT TO BLOCK OR FOLLOW!

TWs: - Mentions of rape - Broken bone - Mentions of cannibalism - Mentions of murder - Murder

He could see in your eyes, how the tears welled up and streamed down your face that you’d recognize him and he left. He couldn’t look at you at this point, couldn’t look at you cry because of him. He heard you cry behind him as he turned to go into his basement bedroom, his heart stung in his chest as he heard you beg and scream in fear. Closing the bedroom door, he proceeds to lean up against it, back pressed hard to it, eyes shut closed. Some kind of desperate way to make your panicked begging go away.

I can't, I can't, I can't, his inner voice chant like a mantra. His anxiety gets the better of him and he starts pacing, the wood under his feet already marked with a worn-out pattern left by his heavy boots after years and years of anxious pacing. A fierce battle erupts in his mind.

- I can't kill her - You have to, and you know it - No, I won't - Come up with one good reason to fistfight the old man about this - He would die and I wouldn't have to do this fucking thing anymore - And what? You'll live happily ever after with this woman? - I… - She would never accept the truth

Returning to his original place with his back to the door, he slowly sinks down to sit on the floor, one leg sprawled in front of him, the other resting under it. He's lost, he doesn’t know what to do. If he lets you go, you'll go straight to the police. If he kills you, he'll never hear from you again, he'll never see your face again, a sudden wave of intense nausea hits him at the thought of keeping the skin of your face to make a new mask. No, no he can't do that.

This is the first time since he had to butcher his first human that he feels genuinely lost.

He's mad at his uncle for wasting the low amount of money they do have on ugly hookers and booze, having Thomas resort to this way of living. He never truly did want this. The first time Charlie, or Hoyt as he wants to be called now - although Thomas never really did care about his apparent name change and still called him by Charlie to piss on his ego - talked to him about this, he threw up minutes after being left alone.

He still remembers the first time he got forced into butchering a person, just like it was yesterday, even though it’s nearly four years ago.

That day, he was on his way home from work, ending the day with bashing his old boss’s head in with a sledgehammer. The old man had disrespected his family, something Thomas wouldn’t stand for. Knowing that the security cameras were already turned off, he swung the hammer out of anger. He was mad that they were closing the slaughterhouse and he was hurt by the words that had been spoken. No one disrespects his family and gets away with it. Killing his boss didn’t wake any regrets. He believed the old man deserved it. The afternoon sun was still blazing down at his already sweaty form, propping his headphones on his head, he turned the music on full blast and lumbered home with no care in the world.

His right hand carried a memento of his old work, the slaughterhouse’s chainsaw.

As he had come out from a few trees up on the gravel road, a police car was parked by the side of it, the harsh blue and red light blinking to get his attention. Figuring he was caught, he took the headphones off, letting them rest around his neck and stopped in the middle of the road. His hair blew in front of his face as he took heaving breaths, waiting for the piercing pain of a bullet.

Bang! Thud.

What greeted him instead of searing pain, was Charlie standing behind him, brandishing a shotgun and looking down at a police officer with the head blown off. Everything after that is a blur. Vague memories of Charlie talking to him about the plan, the body was laid out on an old table in the basement. He’d never seen this side of his uncle before, so he tuned out.  Words like “ do it”, “no money left”, “can’t afford”, “ butcher him ”, “don’t tell mama” and the worst sentence he’d heard in his life; “ you have to do this, Tommy. For the family. We need meat to survive, boy.” echoed in his mind.

A loud bang coming from outside woke him from his memories. When he just seconds later heard your voice in a shrill pitch, he almost jumped off the floor and hurried out only to see you laying on the floor with half the table over you, the other half leaning against the metallic sink.

Jesus christ…

Being left alone again, your thoughts start racing and your heart along with it.

Where did he go? Why is he here? Does he live here? Is he going to kill you? Rape you? Keep you as a hostage? Was that his family? What? Why? Where?

It’s quiet, but you hear a faint shuffling coming from somewhere close to you. All you can do is lay there and look up at the ceiling, and to your left or right.

On your left you see what looks like a workbench, an apron rests on a hook next to it. It looks well used, stained with a dark and muddy hue of red. There's a sink and dirty towels hanging off the edge of said sink. The sight to your right, however, makes your stomach flip and turn on itself. There’s cleavers, knives, hooks. Huge bins stained with the same red hue as the apron. Putting all the puzzle pieces together, your breathing increases, teetering on the edge of hyperventilating. Thomas, your Thomas. The Thomas you’ve gotten to know, the one you’ve missed for these two weeks, the one who made you all giggly when he sent you the first full-face selfie of himself… a murderer.

As the adrenaline starts shooting through your body, you try wiggling a bit to see how bolted down you are. Your fastenings are tight and they burn as you try pulling your hands out. The metal just digs into your skin resulting in nasty burns.

Fuck…

That’s when an idea - or rather a small glimpse of hope - blooms in your head. Hopefully, the table is not bolted down. It’s a stupid idea, and you know that if Thomas doesn’t kill you, the table most likely will. But rather the table, than the man you’ve slowly started to fall in love with during the months you’ve talked. Getting killed by Thomas’ hands would haunt you more in the afterlife than anything else.

Gathering all the remaining strength, you throw the entirety of your body not bolted down to the side, doing your best to ignore the burning in your wrists and ankles. The first attempt yielded nothing major, the table moved, yes, but not to the extent you wanted. So you do it again, this time, the table goes down, and you with it. You feel the bone in your leg crack before you feel the brutal pain that explodes through it.

Your scream is high to the point where you feel your vocal cords strain and your voice slowly becoming lower, raspier. The pain is enormous, the throbbing pain in your leg thrumming together with your rapid heart. But - thankfully - your scream summons movement, footsteps, and voices. The most prominent footsteps, heavy ones, belong to Thomas as he’s the first one to your side. Even if you can’t see him, you see his clunky boots and grayish jeans, at least you hope that’s Thomas and no one else. All you do is sob onto the floor, your tears pooling under your chin at the pain radiating from your leg… and the burns around your wrists. It takes a full minute before you see big fingers curling around the edge of the table, a grunt coming from above you before your vision starts flying. He was lifting the table up. A loud, hoarse cry escapes your dry throat as the table thuds back into place, jolting your broken leg.

You're about to scream again when your brain catches up to the cleavers and knives hanging to your right but quickly after the first raspy pitch leaves your throat, a hand clamps over your mouth. The rasping sound is muffled under the big hand and you can feel it moisten due to your breath, but all he does is put a finger to his lips in a shushing motion and plead with his eyes for you to stay quiet. Which you don’t, you rasp out a hoarse scream against his palm and keeps shooting daggers at him. My god, are you pissed right now.

Who the fuck are you, and what have done to the Thomas I know, you fucking animal!

You don’t quiet down until you hear that sliding door slide open again and an angry voice rings out. "Thomas! What the fuck is that racket?!"

Thomas jerks his head up as he hears Charlie's voice. He's not sure what to do, his uncle’s footsteps thud down the stairs and soon enough, Thomas sees him in full and exchanges eye contact. "This bitch is still alive? Why haven't you taken care of'er yet, ya idiot?".

Shit uh…

He glances down at your dagger filled eyes while trying to figure how to keep you quiet and talk to his uncle at the same time, needing both hands to do so. He can't sign to Charlie if his hand is clamped over your mouth. Letting out an annoyed grunt, he grabs the nearest towel and shoves it into your mouth as quickly and deep down he can without choking you, making sure you can’t spit it back out. Seeing you so shocked, and angry and… some other kind of emotion he couldn’t place, he got the urge to show you some kind of affection. Resulting in him patting your cheek, his huge hand basically engulfing half your face before walking over to the stairs.

"Well?", Charlie spits out his venomous words. Thomas' hands fidget a bit, nervousness taking a hold of him.

'I know her' The same signs that he kept on repeating earlier, annoyance building inside him knowing that his asshole of an uncle refuses to learn more. Making it almost impossible to have a normal conversation with him. "Listen, Tommy, I. Don’t. Care.", the looks between the men are like venom. "You were 'sposed to get to work on'er before mama gets home. You know damn well how much she hates when the cattle scream." Thomas really can’t help the smirk hiding beneath his mask when he hears that. He glances up the stairs before checking the time on his wristwatch before shrugging, pointing to it, and slowly signing two words he knows Charlie can decipher.

'Fifteen minutes'

That's when Charlie grabs the neck of Thomas' shirt and yanks him forward, the only reason he's able to is that he manages to catch him off guard. His breath reeks of alcohol. A clear cut sign that he’s drunk. "Listen here, you bastard. I've had enough of your defiance today. If you ", he stabs a finger in Thomas' chest at the last word, "don't take care of that girl, I will . And you know damn well I ain't going easy on'er." Charlie releases Thomas with a shove, making him stumble backward slightly. The final words from Charlie’s mouth before leaving the basement stings in Thomas’ heart. "I don't want to see your ugly ass upstairs until she's done for."

Thomas watches him leave and turn towards you, who’s still crying silently on the table.

His heart stings more and more the closer he shuffles to you. Sure, he had had nights where he dreamt that he would meet you. But not like this. Never like this, never here. He did not want to see you on his butcher's block. At the same time, he moves to remove the towel he makes the same shushing motion towards you, with the same pleading eyes as earlier. This time, she nods. And Thomas lets out a sigh of relief. As he removes it, you’re panting, breathing sounding almost more like wheezing squeaks. He goes to rinse the towel under some lukewarm water to pat clean the bloody gash over the eyebrow that got hit to knock you out before getting here. All the time, he feels a burning gaze on him, from eyes that are seemingly watching his every move.

You wince when the damped towel touches your eyebrow, a wound you didn't know you had greeted you with a sting, a small hiss leaving you. Your eyes are glued to the giant man, making sure you see his hands at all times. You want to speak, but your throat is dry and hoarse, figuring out that your earlier screaming has annoyed your vocal cords to a great extent. So all you do is watch him. He, on the other hand, is doing his best to avoid making eye contact with you. And it pisses you off, but at the same time, it relaxes you and makes your heart hurt.

Why the fuck are you avoiding me?!

The thought makes your eyebrows furrow. He’s seen you naked, yet can’t fucking look you in the eyes? You try thrashing a bit with your shoulders to try and get his eyes to yours, but to no avail. His tender way to clean your wound surprises you. This huge killer, this murderer, and straight-up deranged man are making sure not to hurt you, and you can't help but breathe out a laugh.

That's when he - apparently - seems happy with his cleaning and turns his back to you, he turns the water on and it sounds like he's rinsing something. Shutting the water off he moves out of your line of sight. A slight panic arises in your chest at the thought that he might have gone off to fetch whatever tool he seems fit to end your life.  You hear a rummaging sound close by, and then he's back above you, looking down at you. This time, you feel a large hand on your head as he slowly and carefully tilts your head back, your eyes are met with harsh light and you shut them. That overwhelming want and need for him to look into your own eyes die down. Now, you don't want to look at him when he slits your throat.

But he doesn't.

You hear what sounds like a paper wrapping open. Two fingers press on either side of the gash over your eyebrow, a small whimper escapes you at the pinching pain, and then something sticky is attached to you. A band-aid. He had put a bandaid on the cut of your eyebrow. It isn't until you feel his hand leave your head that you open your eyes. And at that moment, your eyes are met with his blue ones. The way he's looking at you makes a tiny bit of your anger and hurt, and fear goes away. His blue eyes are filled to the brim with hurt, and sadness, and confusion. It almost looks like he’s about to burst into tears. He looks broken down.

Thomas fiddles a bit with the paper wrapper of the bandaid after making sure it's secured on your eyebrow and proceeds to look down into your beautiful eyes, your eye color popping in the harsh light. Something in them reflects his own emotions. He doesn’t want this, he punishes himself for not responding to your text messages the past weeks, or that he didn’t reach out to you. What he’s looking at is clear cut torture for him. He wants to cry.

I'm so sorry…

He hears the familiar clacking of his mother's shoes above the both of you, a sigh of relief escapes him. Patting the pockets of his jeans, he makes sure he has his phone and the keys to the basement before he heads over to the stairs. But he stops right before ascending them and looks over to you.

He pulls his phone up, unlocks it swiftly, and goes to his text-to-speech app, making sure the volume is put on high before typing out two words and hitting the speech button. A male voice rings out through the basement.

"I'm sorry"

[atsunflower]

Semi Eita x Reader

Rated: SFW — Angst, cursing, traffic accident, injury descriptions, slight mentions of anxiety and post traumatic stress. 

Word count: 2070

Author notes: and here is the second part of our F.L.Y collab. I want to thank all the girls from Knights of the coconut and in particular, both @mooshua and @neonghxst who were pretty patient with me and helped me a lot throughout this process. You guys are amazing and I can't thank you enough. I guess that's all. Please enjoy your reading!

F.L.Y Masterlist

If this can no longer resonate/ No longer make my heart vibrate/ Then like this may be how/ I die my first death

He felt suffocated as the breath hitched on his throat.

Staring at his hands, the male recalled how said limbs brought the best time of his life:

A setter position at Shiratorizawa Volleyball club.

A desk job at the public department.

A promise as a rising star along his band, under a label with a contract too good to be true.

Roaming through his memories, he remembers that every single one of his  achievements were accompanied by lights:

The reflectors on the court.

The white lamps from his office.

The blinding lights from the stage.

Once had he everything he wanted. Now it was all out of his grasp — And lights, very similar to the last ones, now plagued his thoughts.

After all, he remembers when they blinded him before the car came crashing onto his body. Chills ran down his spine every time he recalled how the headlights of the vehicle were the last thing he saw before blacking out.

All it took was one second and then, a month at the hospital that turned into a lifetime of pain — it took only an accident for his life never be the same again.

"Maybe this is what they call first death" He muttered to himself, the words tasting bitter in his mouth as he took on his surroundings.

The constant tapping the secretary made on the keyboard left his nerves on edge and, added to the sterile scent hanging on the air, it felt like a reminder of the folder that sat heavy on his lap. In addition, the curious, pitying, eyes trained to his figure did nothing to soothe his anxiety.

Well, it's not everyday you see a rockstar sitting in a clinic waiting room, after he almost died, the man mused in distaste.

"Semi Eita?" The voice called from the door across the lounge. There, a male stood eyeing him as he made his way to the office.

The room was spacious, with a desk, cabinets, a stretcher and some anatomic models. A typical physiotherapist office, he guessed — not like Semi had ever been into one before, though.

"Make yourself comfortable, Semi-san" The brunette said as he organized some papers on the desk surface "I see it's your first time here. I'm Ennoshita Chikara, the physiotherapist who will take care of your condition from now on" They both shook hands as Semi sat on the chair. He cursed internally as he felt no force on his right hand.

"So, what brings you here today, Semi-san?" Ennoshita asked, eyeing Semi's right hand.

The grey haired male gulped before handing the folder to the physiotherapist.

"Here, this is the medical report. Shirabu-sensei made sure to specify everything regarding my hand." The brunette hummed before taking it. Semi couldn't muster up the courage to talk about his condition.

"I know, Semi-san. But I need to hear it for the history taking and you may know acceptance can help you through the recovery process" The apologetic tone made him sick.

"I don't want to talk about it. Could you please just proceed with the therapy?"

"Look, I know it's a sensitive topic but—" The therapist was interrupted mid sentence when Semi stood. The chair screeched on the floor at the sudden movement before the male tried to snatch the folder from the other.

Tried. 

The paper sheets scattered on the floor, since he couldn't take a proper grip on them.

Tears of frustration welled up on his eyes, as he murmured a meek apology only to storm out of the place.

Semi Eita felt the pitying eyes following him all the way back to his house.

At home, he felt in peace.

No sympathetic gazes and no condescending words. Just him alone with his own demons.

I need a bath. And a beer, the gray haired man decided as the weak hand carded through his hair locks. He flinched at the touch, feeling how dull it was — tactless, even. Just a bundle of flesh and bones hanging from his wrist. Nothing like it used to be.

Ignoring the pang on his chest, the man walked through the corridor. By his left, he saw a shining glass door and immediately, a sensation of longing crawled up his spine and clawed at his heart. He opened the tinted surface, entering the room.

The music studio was the same way he left on the accident day: the gray hoodie thrown over the chair, the paper cups of coffee scattered over his desk and the Moleskine with the lyrics he wrote that night. They resembled three months of hard work and the whole place, a sanctuary built of his dreams.

Too bad the room now felt like his own private purgatory.

Running his index finger over the notebook's leathery spine, memories invaded his mind. Regret gnawed on him even though he wasn't at fault — well, who would have predicted that going to get cigarettes late at the night would end up in a near-death experience? Who would've guessed that, on the way back to his condo, a drunk fucker would hit him with his car and vanish from the scene, without calling an ambulance?

If the medical help came sooner, would things be different? He often wondered, even though he knew it couldn't be helped. His friend, doctor Shirabu, said the damage on his arm was too extensive with a chance of recovery little to nonexistent. His heart stopped beating when he heard those words.

Looking back at it, Semi Eita regretted getting out of his house for such a trivial thing. Before, the musician had his dreams to push him through. Now, all he had left was a medical report — written in a horrendous handwriting, if he may add — stating that patient Semi Eita suffered a minor brain damage and multiple broken bones that caused a lower motor neuron syndrome with wallerian degeneration on the median nerve of his right arm — he didn't understand a shit about the medical terms, but he knew it was bad. Well, it's not like paralysed fingers in the form of 'the hand of benediction' could be a good outcome of an accident.

Benediction? More like a curse, he scowled.

Snapping out of his internal turmoil, brown orbs wandered over the music studio, eyeing all his equipment, as the man drowned on the nostalgic feeling.

On the far corner of the room, white tiles smiled at him — Though, it wasn't a sign of sympathy: in the far corner of the room, the black piano was smiling in mockery, as if it laughed at him, knowing his condition.

You'll never play again, The piano said

"I know!" He retorted.

Your career is dead, the piano chanted.

"I know!"

So pitiful, it snickered — and that was the last straw before despair washed through his body.

Semi spotted the electric guitar by his left. Grabbing the instrument by its neck, he threw it at the other. The wooden body crashed onto the keyboard, the ivory keys agonized at the violence.

Not that he cared, though. He was hurting a lot more than the piano did.

And the tears running down his face were proof enough of it.

Absorbed in his self-conscious state, he didn't see you entering the room, eyes roaming over the mess he made.

"Oh my, Eita!" And his body crashed into yours, sobbing uncontrollably. 

"Eita, love" You said softly, testing the waters.

"Get out" He pleaded weakly, both of you still slumped over the carpet of his studio. Your boyfriend stopped crying long ago, but sorrow still covered his face.

The sight was heartbreaking.

"You know I won't" You said, holding him tighter.

"[Name], get the fuck out!" He said an octave louder, pushing you away "The last thing I want now is your pity. And I don't want you to see me like this, either" Ever the proud man he was, hatred laced his voice — and even though you knew it wasn't directed at you and that he didn't mean it, it still hurted.

"I won't leave you. And I don't pity you" You sincerely stated.

"So why the fuck you're looking at me like this?" Hazel irises squinted at you, the hands clutching your shoulder tightened their grip — the hold on your right felt a lot more stronger.

"I'm worried" And then, he laughed.

Hysterically.

Almost scaringly.

"Why waste your time, huh?" You tried to retort, he beated you to it.

"Why bother with a failure for a boyfriend, hm?"

"Eita"

"What's left to you, huh? I bet you're leaving me now that my fucking career went downhill and I won't be famous anymore" The venom of his words scorched your ears.

Throwing insults at you, Semi didn't measure his words and nor did you measure your actions. A second after, all the two of you felt was the stinging flesh.

Of your hand.

Of his cheek.

"So you'll just sit here and cry?" You grabbed him by the collar, eyes boring into his "Shirabu himself said there was a chance. Are you giving up this easily?"

"Shirabu said there was a slight chance" He corrected you, saliva was sprayed over your skin when he screamed at your face.

"And you'll just take it, giving up without a try?" You were so done. The Semi you knew wasn't a spineless man who gave up so easily.

"You don't know how it feels!" He cracked again, the cry went past his mouth, wavering on the air. Your features softened as your hands moved upwards, cradling his face.

"I don't" The words came ragged "But please, don't give up without pulling out a good fight. You're not acting like yourself"

"It's just so hard. You don't get how empty I feel" The man before you was nothing like your Eita.

"For fuck's sake, Eita. Try the surgery and if it doesn't work, wait for the physical therapy results. If it still doesn't work, learn to play with the other hand, goddammit" You leaned onto him, joining your foreheads "Just don't give up. Back to our Shiratorizawa years, you said you wanted to rely on your own strength to show you abilities, because you desire to do things were always too strong. You prided yourself for being free when showing off, then why are you letting this situation hold you down?"

"It's hard. It's like I'm dying, but feels much more worse than that" Words came in a whisper, still reluctant to consider the options.

"But did you die? Did your talent die?" You lightly shook his body, trying to infuse some energy into it "Did you, all of sudden, forget how to make music?" And he saw determination painted in the hue of your irises.

"But—" He tried to argue.

"No buts, even if you can't play in the band, you can still be a producer. Don't let life reap your art away from you" You pleaded, hoping your words could somehow touch him.

Peeking into his face, you observed its features softening as you felt his muscles relaxing under your palms and your boyfriend reciprocating your loving touches.

Your heart was finally at ease.

"How come you always know what to say in the right time, even if it's cliché as fuck?" Eyelids covered the orbs you loved so much as the words were spoken in a serene mode. 

Semi Eita felt peace.

You tucked the broader body inside of your arms, caressing the lean muscles of his shoulders.

"There's a reason why, other than my pretty face, I'm your muse" He playfully scoffed at you, tightening the hold on your waist.

"Who said you are?" You ignored his words, paying attention to the hair locks under your chin "[Name]?" He started uncertain.

"Hm?"

"You're right. Guess if I didn't die in the accident, it's only fair if I don't let my life as an artist go away either" His soft-spoken words meant everything to you.

Relief washed over you as your heartbeat increased in your chest. But the most important was how you could feel Semi's heart beating again.

I'm in my workroom, it's my studio/ The waves go darkly by in a throe/ But I'll never get dragged away again

Taglist: @anseoo @keiijiis @inarizakikoukou @deerixiie @bristil @maramalademadara @thedreadthreadanomaly @catharsisbabey @aprettyfruit @ttsukii @chasekudo @kenmashoe @daijoubuyuki @krusty-cheetahs @ohmythatmiya

[justasparkwritings]

Exile: My Town

Previous: Five Whole Minutes

Pairing: Timotheé Chalamet x Reader

Genre: Angst, Slice of Life

Rating: PG15 

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: If he was honest with himself, Timothée expected her to cancel. But there she is, on his doorstep.

Exile Master List

     The phone had rung hundreds of times over the last six months. The first month, Timothée called her twice a day, every morning and every night. On weekends he called more frequently, drinking his days away, leaving embarrassingly long messages. He declared his love, shared his vision for their future, talked about what he wanted to name their kids and when he thought they’d get married. He described the property in France that he wanted to buy, did she know he had been looking? He detailed how he wanted to continue to go back to Crema for the summer, maybe buy a villa there too, and split summers between the two locations. He wanted their kids to learn French and Italian, he wanted her to learn too. He wanted to wear a paisley suit, or maybe velvet, for their wedding. Their wedding, he had already planned, and wouldn’t it be romantic if it was over three days in their new château?

    He became more desperate as the days turned into weeks, which turned into months. On one particular evening, his anger overcame him as he yelled into the receiver about her belongings and their house. What the fuck did she want to do? Did she fucking plan on ever coming back for her clothes? Did she expect him to fucking ship them from their house to wherever the hell she was? And, where was she? Where the fuck was she? Why was she doing this to him? To their life? Why the fuck couldn’t she get over it and come home? Didn’t she realize how much he needed her? Why wouldn’t she just talk to him?

    This had been the final straw. He had awoken to find a new folder had been shared with him. He opened it and was confronted with what he had become. She had saved his voicemails, his drunken assaults and languid descriptions of their life. She had kept his sobs, his deepest secrets, his desires. Here they were for him to relive. At the end was a memo he hadn’t recorded, a message from her, telling him the days she would be coming over to pack her belongings and detailing the furniture in the house that she wanted. She didn’t care where he went, but for those three days, he couldn’t be there. She told him to sell the house, she’d take her share of the profits, and if he decided he didn’t want to move, he needed to buy her out.

    The cracks deepened. The sorrow became overwhelming. The darkness was everywhere. Despite her best attempts, her jovial personality and excitement at preparing for the baby, Florence was at a loss. She didn’t know how to make him feel better. She didn’t know how to dissuade the guilt she felt at playing a part in their demise.

    After six months and one week, Florence had gone into labor. They decided to keep it low key, which is why on a Saturday a month after his daughter’s arrival, he had called her to ask if she would come by and meet his new daughter. He had left it open ended, a few friends stopping by to meet her, no big deal, and maybe could they talk? She had said she would stop by. After seven months, she still hadn’t spoken to him about why she left.

    Florence had brought the baby over to get acquainted with Timothée’s home, since she would be spending half her time with him. Tim was excited to have his daughter in his house, instead of staying at Florence’s a few nights a week to take care of her. He recognized that they would need to find a solution until she stopped nursing, and he was more than happy to spend the night, often taking all the night shifts so Florence could sleep. But he wanted his daughter in his house, and he wanted to share his daughter with his love, even if they hadn’t spoken in seven months. She was still his love, his future, wasn’t she?

    If he was honest with himself, Timothée expected her to cancel. But there she is, on his doorstep.

    “Hi,” She says, holding the gift box tightly in her hands.

    “Hi love,” He says, smiling at her. “You look, gorgeous.”

    “Don’t,” She says.

    She had tried to prepare for this, for being in her house when it was no longer hers. Timothée wasn’t making a move until they had spoken. Why would he sell their house, the house that they had built and let their love blossom in? She couldn’t tell if he loved it because it was theirs, and in his mind, he still thought there was a chance they would get back together, or because he really liked the modern home. The fact that he hadn’t bought her out or moved to sell it both infuriated her and reminded her why she would always love him: sentimentality.

    She stands at the threshold, peering in. The memory of picking out the tiles in the entry way and the stain of the hardwood floors cascaded over her. She had insisted on the herringbone pattern, which made the stairs look like a maze of wood grains. Timothée had just looked at her, smiling and saying, “as you wish”. She hadn’t imagined when they’d hung their Christmas photos leading towards the living room, that she’d been on the outside, wondering how long he’d keep them up and when he took them down, would he tell her? What would he do with the framed images when he realized they no longer had a future? Would he keep them up, despite it no longer being a home, but to show his daughter what once lived in this place? Or would he discard it to create something new for his life with his child?

    “We’re in the living room,” Timothée steps aside and lets her walk in. She kicks her shoes off and pads softly towards the voices and baby coos.

    “You came!” Florence calls, standing up to meet her. “I’m so happy to see you.”

    She meets Florence’ enthusiasm and hugs her. Florence had wanted to meet with her at various points in the pregnancy. She wanted to talk with her, try to get her to understand what her having Timothée’s baby meant, but she didn’t budge. She would only see Florence in group settings, and even then, she stayed away. Which is why Florence is so thrilled when she walks into the living room.

    “You look amazing! How are you feeling?” She sits on her couch, the one she spent weeks researching, picking patterns, comparing quality of fabrics, before insisting on this one. She hadn’t expected Timothée to change their home, but it was almost worse sitting in it, everything where she left it. He had bought similar items as placeholders for the ones she had taken, his unwillingness to admit that the items weren’t coming back evident in their lesser replacements.

    “I’m doing well, really well. Did you bring a gift? You didn’t have to!” Florence says, reaching for the present.

    “Oh, it’s nothing, really,” She hands the box to Florence, who proceeds to open it quickly.

    “Oh my god, this is so cute!” Florence calls, taking in the puzzle she’d picked out.

    “You know, for when she’s a little older and is playing. I remember my name puzzle from childhood, I always loved it,” She says smiling.

    Timothée can feel his heart aching. Of course, she picked a thoughtful, caring gift for his daughter. Of course, even in this challenging situation, she chose to take the high road.

    “Well, speaking of, this is Margot,” Florence says, picking up her daughter from the bassinet to the right of the couch. Placing her delicately in her friends’ arms, Florence sits.

    She smiles and cradles Margot in her arms. She can feel the tears as they begin to form and wills herself to not let them fall. She has Timothée’s eyes, and enough curly hair to match her father. Her olive skin and delicate features resemble her mother. She’s beautiful.

    Moments pass before she realizes she’s staring, unmoving, unspeaking.

    “She already loves you,” Timothée says, coming over and sitting next to her on the couch.

    “She’s really beautiful,” She says, handing her back to Florence. Silence falls as Margot coos. “Um, I can’t stay long, just wanted to stop by,” she says standing.

    “Nonsense, stay for a drink!” Florence says, positioning herself to nurse baby Margot.

    “No, I can’t, thank you though, for inviting me,” she quickly hugs Florence and says bye to Margot. She walks swiftly to the foyer and slips her shoes on before he’s grabbing her wrist.

    “Don’t go,” Timothée says, grip tightening on her skin.

    “I have other plans, can’t cancel,” She says, free hand moving to wipe a stray tear.

    “Talk to me, you haven’t spoken to me in seven months, please,” He says.

    “Well you’ve done enough for the both of us,” She opens the front door and starts walking down the driveway.

    “I’m sorry, I don’t know how else to say it, I’m sorry,” He grabs her wrist again in an attempt to turn her around.

    “Stop apologizing.” She says, tugging her arm out of his grasp. “Just, stop.”

    “Why can’t we talk about this? Why can’t we share in this? I need you; I love you. I know you’re mad at me, I know you’re upset but I’ve been racking my brain for seven months trying to figure out why you can’t handle this. You are my rock; you are my fucking harbor. We have a life together! I need you; I need you,” He says, the crack in his voice giving way to the tears spilling down his cheeks.

    “I can’t do this,” She says, voice wavering

    “Why the fuck not?” He calls.

    “Because! Because Timothée,” She yells, venom in her throat. “This is supposed to be me. This is supposed to be my life. This is the life you promised me.” She tries to inhale through her sob. “I know you need me. I know it’s been a difficult seven months. But this was supposed to be us, it was supposed to be our baby in our house. You and me.”

    “I’m sorry, I know, I know we had plans I know, but, she’s my daughter and I can’t change what’s happened with -”

    “You don’t fucking get it, Timothée,” She cuts him off.

    “What don’t I get? What don’t I understand? I have been trying to understand why you left for months! I keep coming up short. Why would you walk out on us? Why would you abandon me and our dreams? What possib-

    “She made you a father,” She gasps as the words tumble out. She pauses, trying to inhale and regain any sense of composure. “Florence gave you a child. She did! No matter what I do, I will always…”

    “I-I,” He stumbles, realization washing over him as his body gives way to another round of sobs.

    “I will never be able to… my entire life, my life with you … our life … is gone, Timothée. Sell the house, buy the villa in Crema, raise your daughter…” She throws her hands up and inhales abruptly, “This was supposed to be ours.”

    She darts into her car and quickly pulls out of the driveway. She doesn’t stop as he falls to his knees. She doesn’t stop as she drives away from the house and the life they shared. He doesn’t stop calling after her, even after his knees hit the concrete, the snot and tears mixing on his tongue as he tries to will her back.

Next: Insult to Injury 

[rvmmm21]

. kill me with your favourite weapon .

summary : seungwan barely feels warmth painting thin lines down her skin as joohyun drinks her down. the pain is awful. it sears, pierces and blinds – until it doesn’t. 

small note : yandere vampireverse. twisty. the human x monster thing is worryingly fun to stretch. let's hope i haven't broken it.

[yanVampire!irene x human!wendy]

tw : non-con sedation and implied use of aphrodisiacs, yandere themes, small mentions of blood, slight crying kink.

. . . 

When Seungwan shivers, she notices.

It’s a cold, dry night after all.

She’ll keep her warm.

She rolls over and drapes an arm over the back of the girl lying next to her. “Poor baby,” she coos, “bad dreams again?”

After a minute, Seungwan stirs. Through the darkness, she can barely see the other woman now slowly propping herself up on her elbows. Still, she groggily nods and lets out a small, sleepy whimper, unable to recall why she woke up so suddenly.

Nightmares aren’t a completely inaccurate assumption though, she supposes.

Cold fingers brush delicately through her fringe in an attempt to soothe, and in her drowsy state, Seungwan almost whines out loud at the act of comfort. She manages to catch herself just in time, though. The real-world spins behind her eyes, prompting her to lift her head from the pillow, staring down through grainy vision. It’s mildly uncomfortable waking up on your stomach, and she feels the overwhelming urge to roll onto her back and let her lungs expand, properly.

Seungwan hears the soft rustling of cotton sheets before she can even think to settle down again.

“Does my baby need my help?” the voice comes again, singed with concern and a lot closer than it had been moments ago.

Consciousness hits Seungwan with the velocity of a bullet train at that poorly disguised question. Shaky, nervous eyes dart towards the direction of the voice. She knows exactly what that means.

It occurs to her that she may have actually been woken up out of a good dream. Just for this.

No, no. No help, please.

She isn’t even aware she’s shaking her head until there’s a hand on the back of it, shoving her cheek into the pillow, and a body straddling her back. Seungwan tries to pull away from the hand that has a fistful of her hair, in an equal effort to breathe as well as beg.

“N-no, I can – can sleep on my own,” she stutters, trying her best to mask the desperation in her voice, as if self-conviction will save her from what’s about to happen.

The response is a hopeless one. One that Seungwan has heard as many times as her knees have hit the floor and her back has been pressed against the wall.

“Lying to me now?” The grip in her hair finally loosens, but it’s just as swiftly replaced by fingers around the nape of her neck. “Naughty, naughty. I thought I trained you better than this.”

A sob claws its way up her throat, but she hastily chokes it back down, for fear of feeding into the sick fantasy even further. She screws her eyes shut, cringing at her own stupid reflex. The stupid reflex to defend herself; no matter how many times she’s learnt it’s futile, she still chooses to lie to her beloved.

“I-I’m sorry, I – I didn’t mean, didn’t mean to –”

Seungwan feels her face forcefully pushed back into the pillow, smothering the plea into a string of muffled gasps. The irregularity of her own heartbeat is pulsing in her ears, and she instinctively goes rigid when she feels those horribly sharp, un-human incisors graze against her shoulder, exposed from the loose neckline of her sleep shirt.

Her only warning that it’s feeding time.

When Seungwan squirms to get away, Joohyun doesn’t give her anywhere to go.

Although that’s never stopped her from trying. It’s natural instinct to struggle against anything pinning you down, even if she has yet to learn that she doesn’t so much as move without Joohyun’s permission.

In a swift manoeuvre, Seungwan is flipped over onto her back and caged in by two ridiculously strong arms that cause the mattress to dip on either side of her face. At this point she almost wishes she was face down again. Because then, at least, she wouldn’t have to… face the intensity of the vampire now leaning in far too close for her comfort. Her knee presses into Joohyun’s chest as she pushes herself closer still; a feeble attempt to keep the inevitable at bay.

Seungwan should be thankful Joohyun is kind enough not to point out how hopeless she looks right now. A meagre human, physically inferior and trapped under a vampire ten times her strength.

Like pitching a rodent against an impatient, famished snake. It also doesn’t help that Joohyun thinks her little field mouse could do with another dose of venom, if only to make for an easier consumption.

“Beg me not to.”

The dazed girl blinks fresh tears from the corners of puffy eyes, letting them fall into platinum blonde tresses as she looks at the vampire looming above her. Those eyes; a blood-thirsty red and glinting with the unparalleled desire to just… devour. She has never seen her look this feral before. And if she hadn’t known any better, she’d have called it downright animalistic. Despite this, Seungwan proceeds to falter with her words, desperately wanting to say something new or something right for once, in the hopes of being spared.

Unfortunately, monsters love playing with their food. Joohyun would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy seeing her prey like this. The way her favourite human girl struggles so hard to keep from bawling her eyes out, because she knows the tears excite her. A little too much.

But Seungwan isn’t a forward thinker. Not when it’s to do with being at the mercy of someone as conniving as Joohyun. “P-Please no… I’m – I’ll go to sleep now, p-promise, I – mm! Ow! Ow!”

She’s interrupted by a hand tangling roughly into her hair and yanking her head to the side, holding her in this new terribly strenuous position and forcefully baring the column of her neck. Shying away from the fangs nudging against her throat isn’t an option anymore, and the threat of breaking that fragile barrier to get to what the vampire is really after lingers like the stale air in an unused basement. Joohyun knows that Seungwan absolutely deserves what’s coming to her if she’s still duped that easily.

A devilish grin crawls onto her face and tugs at the corners of her lips.

“Stop struggling, baby. Don’t waste your energy so quickly.” Joohyun’s voice resonates somewhere between a drawl and a primal growl, and it just breaks Seungwan. She can’t help the violent shudder when Joohyun starts giving her little warning nips along the base of her jaw, so vulnerable. It’s infinitely worse when she can’t turn her head to gauge Joohyun’s proximity, can’t shake her head ‘no’, can’t even brace herself for the impact.

When she can’t do anything but lie there and take it like the weak, helpless human she is.

A broken shriek is ripped from her when fangs sink into soft flesh, aimed right for her jugular, hitting with a devastating accuracy. It’s calculated and deathly precise, just like every other time. Seungwan barely feels warmth painting thin lines down her skin as Joohyun drinks her down.

The pain is awful. It sears, pierces and blinds –

 – until it doesn’t.

And then Seungwan can’t remember why on earth she was protesting this in the first place.

The pain dissipates as quickly as it came, and a tingly numbing sensation is rapidly spreading from where those fangs are still embedded in the crook of her neck. The longer Joohyun drinks from her, the deeper the euphoria seeps, and Seungwan’s mind is clouded over with a blissful airiness that just grows more and more overwhelming with each passing second.

There’s no time to worry about nonsense like blood-loss when all she can want is more.

But Joohyun is satisfied, for now. She extracts her fangs and licks over the twin puncture wounds to ensure proper clotting. For the briefest of moments, Seungwan lays there, stunned in muted ecstasy. And then her top lip quivers before she all but grabs Joohyun by the collar and drags her down until their chests are flush against each other’s, the tips of their noses grazing as the smaller girl cranes up to collide them in a passionate, metallic kiss. Suddenly, the heat has resurfaced somewhere else. And it’s a very different kind. Seungwan isn’t sure if Joohyun can feel her helplessly bucking up into nothing. She’s drained and delirious from the after-effects of Joohyun’s venom, but she feels the urge to voice her needs, nonetheless.

“I want – I need you…”

The vampire pulls away slowly to peer down at her human lover, now weakly grasping at the lose fabric of her top, too exhausted to finish the sentence, but unwilling to lose her grip on consciousness until after she’s been given what she now craves.

“P-Please, Joohyun… please…”

They’re the same words as before, but Joohyun knows exactly what they mean this time.

And she’s ever willing to oblige.

Because she loves Seungwan, and she loves having her like this.

Even if she has to do a bit of convincing first.

[mythrilhusk]

Korosensei Never Dies - Chapter 7

Words - 2,153 AO3 Version Chapter 6 (Last)

Chapter 8 (Next)

TW: vague body horror, violence, threats

The floor trembles as a nearby generator turns on to power the flickering lights. The sterile brightness slices painfully through Ranboo's head. He winces and tries to cover his eyes, only to discover his wrists are bound behind his metal chair. Out of curiousity, he tries to move his feet. Also bound. The taste of dry cotton in his mouth warns of the muffled noises he produces when he tries to shout. 

Lacking options, Ranboo takes in his surroundings. The tight, grimy walls and lack of windows hint that he could be in a bunker. For the moment, his mind is calmly blank, clear of panic, but that could change in an instant. Not this again. Ranboo shakes his head. His fingers reach and clench in thin air, desperate to cling to his book, feel the glittery cover, see the bright colors of the kittens dolphins. 

Sounds of muffled outrage echo through the otherwise silent halls. Ranboo perks up, listening intently. He can't tell who else is in this predicament with him. 

What happened? Blurry flashes of terror, of pain, of rage, boil just beneath the level of recollection. The dart in his neck, spitting poison into his veins, weakening his limbs- 

He can't recall anything. Not even the terror as his friends scream for help, scream in anger, what are they angry for, why are they scared, why are you scared? 

Ranboo clenches his eyes closed, trying to shut out the creeping panic and the soft voice. 

You're scared because you hurt them.

Ranboo shakes his head frantically. No! No, he would never hurt anyone.

But you would. And you did. They're all here, now, because of your little display. Oh, you won't die. But does he need them?

Who's he?? Ranboo glares at the wall, unable to visualize the voice that sounds so very familiar.

"Aren't you an unusual find." The man slouches in the door, draped in an oversized purple hoodie. "Heh. Techno will want you back, won't he." 

Ranboo scowls at the man as best he can with a sock in his mouth. Technoblade and Philza wouldn't care if he disappeared. 

"You want to talk? Too bad. Maybe later. You don't get privileges after what you did to us." 

The sock contains Ranboo's shouts and curses. 

The man smiles grimly and turns, limping out. "Your friends are fine. For now. Fuck up and one of them dies." 

Tears leak out of Ranboo's eyes, burning and blurring his vision. He hangs his head and trembles with small, miserable sobs. He can't even remember what he did to deserve this.

++++

It's the weekend after exams. Summer vacation. And that means time to fuck shit up. Philza has given out a schedule for the fighting classes, so he'll be preoccupied with that, but Technoblade has other plans. 

Techno strides out of the building, narrowing his eyes at the camouflaged form of Awesamdude in the trees. The government security agent has been watching him for a while. Techno's not technically allowed out of Sam's perimeter around the building, but rules are for losers. 

"Techno." Sam greets him as Techno strides past. "Where are you going?" 

Techno wrinkles his nose, wishing he'd transformed into his chrysaor state earlier. Human form tends to be limiting, and the boar-like attributes, not to mention the multiple sets of wings, are useful for intimidation purposes. "Oh, nowhere in particular. I just thought I'd boost the economy of the nearby town with some of your president's money." 

"Have you seen Tommy anywhere?" 

"Mm, no. I'd assume he's on vacation." 

"Interesting." Sam's expression is completely unreadable. The leaves behind him make a fascinating shape, almost like a dog. Techno stares at the waving greenery, failing to catch Sam's next words. 

"What's that? The leaves distracted me." 

"I said, I got a strange call from him, but now I can't find him anywhere." 

"That's odd." Techno yawns. The kid is probably off gallivanting somewhere and laughing about pranking Sam. "Did you try Quackity's treehouse?" 

"No- he has a treehouse? Where?" 

"Forget I said anything." Technoblade waves a dismissive hand. 

"Tell me, Techno." Sam growls. 

Technoblade considers the effort of intimidating Sam, added to the potential backlash onto Philza, and decides it's totally worth it. "Oh, I'm keeping you safe. It's for your own good." 

"Huh? Techno, what do you mean?" 

"Quackity and the Ducklings will shoot first." Technoblade lets a slow smile crack across his face. He can see Quackity sneaking up behind Sam. 

"They're teens, how aggressive can they be?" 

"We sharpen the motherfucking bones of our enemies and use them to slaughter every bastard who stands in our way." Quackity drops down from the tree, grinning wickedly. "Oh, and Tommy isn't at our place, either. I was just looking for him." 

"Quackity." Techno greets the teen with equanimity. 

"Techno." Quackity returns in the exact same tone. 

"Uh, alright, I'm going to go see if Tubbo knows." Sam moves off awkwardly. "Techno, don't leave the perimeter. I will know." 

"Will you, now." Techno returns in a slow drawl. 

"I've got the kill switch, Techno. Don't push me." Sam scowls, then yelps as Quackity kicks him in the shin.  

"Fucking don't ever threaten the old man again, you bastard." 

"Don't let Phil hear you call him that." Techno reproaches with a grim smile. 

"Alright, alright!" Sam cries, losing the battle for his dignity as Quackity manages to steal his cap and then proceeds to wear it. "Techno, go ahead, but if you hurt anyone in the town, there will be consequences." 

"Who said anything about killing? There's no major governmental figures down there. They're safe from me." 

Sam gives a pained sigh and then strides off to look for Tommy. Quackity sticks his tongue out at Techno, then trots to catch up with Sam, still wearing the agent's hat. 

Techno heaves a relieved sigh at finally being alone and free to wander. Hidden in the seclusion of the trees, he stretches out his wings and breathes in the aromatic air. The thousands of souls murmuring in his veins hunger for blood. Not yet, though. Not quite yet. 

++++

Wilbur keeps his eyes closed, feigning sleep as he examines his situation. His feet are free, but his wrists are bound, and there's a gag tied around his mouth. He can hear Tommy beside him, raging through his own gag. Charlie whimpers on Tommy's other side. 

Where's Eret and Ranboo?? What the hell happened?? Wilbur tries to think back.

<<~rewind~<< 

Eret suggested building a treehouse like the Ducklings'. He said he knew a good place for it, so Wilbur and Tommy followed him. Charlie tagged along, cracking terrible jokes with Wilbur. 

After passing the perimeter, which seemed to have been deactivated, Eret stopped at a huge tree. Ranboo showed up out of the blue, disoriented and asking Eret why he was there. 

And then- and then- what happened? 

Wings, so many wings, bird and bat and beetle and butterfly- 

Ranboo transformed. There's no other way to say it. The quiet, creepy boy who had always sat at the back of the classroom went absolutely feral for no goddamn reason. 

A man appeared, dropping from the trees, buried in an oversized hoodie. He was unfamiliar, but Eret fought by his side like they'd sparred together before. Ranboo, or whatever creature Ranboo had become, grew weaker and slower by the moment, lashing out at whatever was closest. Wilbur dragged Tommy away from the fight and tried to flee. 

Charlie was wounded while trying to break up the fight and calm Ranboo down. Tommy screamed and tried to run back to save him. Wilbur had to follow, he couldn't let his idiot friend die on his own. 

Eret stepped back as Ranboo finally fell unconscious to the ground. The mutant-- or angel-- looked almost adorable, lying there in a limp puddle of wings and eyes and claws. Tommy pulled bandages out of his backpack and started binding Charlie's wounds. 

Wilbur remembers the next few moments vividly. 

"Eret, fucking help me!" Tommy snapped. 

"No hard feelings, boys." Eret said. 

A dart pricked Wilbur's arm. Tommy shrieked as he was darted as well. "You bastard, you fuckin basss..." He didn't get to finish his words. 

Unable to move, Wilbur soon followed Tommy into unconsciousness. 

>>~present~>>

Remembering the events only leaves Wilbur with more questions. But one of them is about to be answered. The man in the hoodie stands over him, his heavy footsteps so unlike Eret's. 

"I know you're awake, Wilbur." 

Wilbur opens his eyes and shrugs eloquently. 

"I want you to write a letter." 

Wilbur makes an agreeable noise through the gag.

"Alright, I'll take the gag off. There's nobody near for miles, so screaming won't do anything besides piss me off." 

"Who are you?" Wilbur asks as soon as the gag is off. 

"Purpled." The man checks his wrists to make sure they're still tightly bound. 

"What would you like me to write?" Wilbur attempts civility. There's no point in pissing off his captor yet. 

"A ransom note." Purpled doesn't smile as he moves to check Tommy's wrists. Tommy attempts to headbutt him, but recieves a smack for his trouble. 

"Don't fucking touch Tommy, you son of a bitch." Wilbur snarls, anger sparking in his eyes. 

"Alright." Purpled laughs, pissing Wilbur off further. "Eret, got a pencil and paper?" 

"Yes, sir." Eret limps inside, one arm dangling, broken. 

"I hope it hurts like hell." Wilbur glares at him, baring his teeth. 

"Ha... I assure you, it hurts plenty." Eret gives a small, guilty laugh. "But you'll all be safe. We aren't going to hurt any of you. All we need is bait." 

Purpled unties Wilbur's hands. "Be good." 

"He just said none of us will be hurt." Wilbur retorts, stretching his sore fingers. "What're you going to do if I try to escape?" 

"I'll kill Tommy." Purpled says darkly. 

Wilbur shoots a venomous glare at Eret. "Hm??" 

Eret puts the pencil and paper on a nearby table and moves to the door silently. Purpled answers for him, "We don't plan to hurt you if everyone behaves. But step a toe out of line, and someone will get hurt." 

"What do you want me to write?" Wilbur decides to change the subject. He won't let Tommy be hurt, no matter what. 

++++

Technoblade returns to the school at night, practically inhaling pockies from the several boxes he acquired in the town. The townspeople had freaked out upon his arrival, but they'd been amenable to contributing food in return for his timely departure without harming anyone. 

He enters the school building and flicks on the lights. Philza tilts his head up, raising the brim of his hat to peer at Techno with narrowed eyes. "You're back late." 

"I got distracted." Read: there were fluffy dogs, and Techno gave all of them pats. "Want some pocky?" 

"Sure, mate." Philza catches the box thrown to him, and snaps one of the chocolate-covered biscuits between his teeth. "I just got some troubling news, Techno. But I want you to stay out of this one. I have reason to think it's a trap." 

Techno shrugs with a dry grin. "You really think I'd let myself be taken down by a trap? What's going on?" 

"It's Purpled, mate." 

"Oh." Technoblade clenches his claws into fists, his eyes darkening. "What makes you think I don't want revenge?" 

"I know you do, Techno." Philza says apologetically. "But it ain't safe. He's gotta be working with Schlatt, you know that. If Schlatt is making a move, that means he's got something up his sleeve he thinks can take care of you." He chomps another pocky. "Look, I'll take care of this one." 

Techno strides up to Philza and snatches him up by his coat. "I can't let you be captured, too." He growls. He can't let Philza be taken away, not again.

"I won't be. I'll get help." Philza smiles and presses his hand to Techno's bristly cheek. Techno pulls him into an embrace. "There, there, you big lug, I'll be fine." 

"What happened?" 

"Purpled kidnapped some of your students. Wilbur, Tommy, Charlie, and Ranboo. Eret helped him. I just got the ransom note." 

Technoblade drops Philza with a gruff snort and turns away. "I'm coming with." 

"No, you're not." Philza retorts. "It's a trap." 

"How can you be sure it's not a trap for you, too?? I can't- I can't let them take you, Philza, I can't." 

"If Schlatt wanted me, he'd have me. He's got President Skeppy in his pocket. You know that." 

"Take Sam." Techno growls. "If you refuse to take me with you, at least take Sam." 

"I already asked. He's not allowed to interfere." 

"He will be held accountable if you're harmed." 

"I'll be okay, mate." 

"You better be, Philza. Or I don't know what I'll do." Technoblade gives a dry, ragged laugh. That's a lie. He knows exactly what he'll do. 

Chapter 8 (Next)

[yandere-oppai]

My Omega

Yandere! Omega! Kirishima x Reader

Forced Partnership (pt.2)

Words:1900

Warnings: Mentions of non-cons

Note: Not beta-read

The calm before the storm. Next chapter is all yandere behavior

----

The week of the incident was the first rut you’d experienced while off of strong medication. At that point, you knew everyone on the girl’s floor of your dorm knew what you are (and then passed it on to the rest of your class). A filthy mongrel who was dangerous to be around. You didn’t need them to say this. When you walked back into class on the first day you knew your thoughts to be true. Wherever you went, your class quieted. Like your presence sucked all of the fun out of the room. They felt as though they had to stay on edge. And maybe they had the right to be.

“(L/n)-san?” your head shot up from your desk. The week of silence had made it so that you thirsted after any type of attention. 

“O-oh, yes? That’s me!” You stuttered and made your way over to the girl in the doorway of the classroom. 

“Some guys are looking for you. They’re in the courtyard,” she said before taking off. Well, that was incredibly vague. But at this point, it beat eating lunch alone in an empty classroom. 

You made your way outside the school building and to the back courtyard. Sure enough, as you rounded the corner, there were two people there. But when you looked at the style and color of one of the pair’s hair, you quickly tried to hide back behind the corner. But it was too late, you were spotted. 

“Oi! I saw you! Get your ass back here!” A scream sounded from around the corner. You sheepishly stepped out from around the corner and made your way over to the two. As you got closer a realization hit you.

“Hey, you’re the explosion kid from the sports festival,” you couldn’t help but say. He let out a hissy ‘tch’ which took you aback. It wasn’t like you said anything wrong. 

“Oh sure you recognize me, but not the one you forcefully claimed,” he said pulling the second boy from behind his back. Making his face flush in embarrassment. 

“H-hello I’m Kir-” You didn’t let him finish.

“I’m sorry! I took advantage of you in an altered state and shouldn’t have done so! I hope you can forgive me and we can move on!” You yelled with a bowed head. This outburst took both of them by surprise and made them pause.

“Y-you...YOU IDIOT!” Came the blonde’s yell followed by him bashing you on the back of the head. You doubled over, clutching the back of your head as you looked back up at the two. “You call that taking responsibility for what you’ve done?! Just leaving a newly claimed omega unprotected and unscented?! Do you even have a brain in there?!”

“W-What?” You questioned. He took his friend by the upper arm and shoved him towards your figure. 

“This is Kirishima, he’s your mate now. Take responsibility and keep the other annoying alphas away from him. If you don’t, I’m not afraid to harm an extra,” he threatened before leaving you and Kirishima behind.

His face was still bright red. And when you looked up at him in a questioning manner he just let out a nervous chuckle and pointed after his friend.

“That was Bakugo.”

At first, it was a little unsettling to have an omega waiting for you before and after class to walk with you to wherever you needed to go. And it was more strange for you to awkwardly comply with his requests of waiting after school for his hero courses to end. His reasoning was that the two of you could use the bonding time. Because, as he put it, the two of you would be spending so much time together. At least until the mark wore off.

From what you learned, a newly marked mate emitted a strong fragrant scent. Possibly attracting nearby alphas. The only way to dull the smell is for an alpha to have their scent cover it up. Leading to you agreeing to be his temporary mate. The guilt would eat at you if you left him defenseless to another alphas pheromones. Quirks wouldn’t help at that point. 

So, casual hangouts turned into forming a bit of a fondness for the boy. Less in a romantic way and more in a close friend kind of way. And his friends seemed to adopt you into their group as well. While eating lunch you were able to goof and joke around with the Baku-squad like you’d known them for ages. When none of you had classes or training, you’d stop by their dorm to hang out and watch a movie or two. It was fun if you took away the reason why you were so keen on being with the group. Since your last rut, your class had practically disregarded you as existing. The class had practically shunned you so even working with someone on group projects seemed like pulling teeth. It was only about two months later that you got a reason why. 

Ectoplasm-sensei had asked you and another girl to put back some study material in one of the storage rooms. She seemed to be keeping her distance, which ticked you off. After all this time of being classmates, you’d think they all know how non-violent you were. When something had been tipping off the top shelf. Almost falling on her, you reached over her head to stop it from cracking her skull. But all she did was flinch and tell you to get away from her. At that point, you snapped. 

“If you would take your head out of your ass, you’d know I was trying to help you!” Your voice rose. He flinched at your tone but returned your glare.

“Well, maybe I don’t want your kind of help,” she shot back. There was so much venom in her voice that you thought she was going to bite at any moment. 

“What do you mean my kind of help?” you replied, edge not hidden in your voice.

“You know what I mean. The ‘help’ of a filthy alpha,” your eyes widened. “Don’t look at me like that. I know how you all think. The easiest way to solve a problem is to claim whatever you want and disregard others’ opinions. Yeah, I heard about what you did to Kirishima. How you forced yourself on him. I thought you were better than that (y/n). I really did.”

Your lip quivered as you thought of how to reply. But you couldn’t refute what she said. You knew what she said was true, but it still stung. 

“I didn’t ask to be born like this!” You yelled and took off out of the hall.

When you made it back to your dorm you locked yourself in your room. Then shot a quick text to Kirishima saying you won’t be able to hang with him this weekend like you’d both planned. You then tossed the phone on your desk and nuzzled into the thick blankets on your bed. When you started crying you couldn’t stop. The guilt that you felt the day you claimed Kirishima came back tenfold. Leading you to have the same passing thoughts you’d had since childhood.    

‘Alphas give omegas no choice. I gave Kirishima no choice. I forced myself onto him and made him cling to me. I’m the villain. I’m useless. I bring nothing to this world. It would’ve been better if I just never existed.’

It felt like you only blinked before you were awakened to quick sharp knocks were sounding at your door. Your head was fogged as you made your way over to the door. When you opened it you were immediately smothered in a hug. You sobered up quickly and struggled for a second before recognizing the familiar vanilla scent. Weaker than the first time you met him. The mark must be fading. He finally pulled away and shocked you up and down with an agitated look. 

“Are you crazy!? You tell me out of the blue that we’re not meeting after school and proceed to ignore my calls and texts. What happened??” He said as he nudged the door closed. 

“It’s nothing. How did you get here, I thought sneaking out was against the rules?” You asked.

“Don’t give me that bullshit. I’m your mate. I know you best,” he ignored your question. “I want to know what made you cry. Your eyes look raw and red. Please tell me.”

His voice was quiet now. Soft and comforting. Which made you realise just how much you bonded with him. You took him by the hand and sat him down on your bed. You let the silence overtake both of you. He let you take your time getting on with explaining. 

“I-” you started. “I’m not a burden to you right?” your voice quivered. Kirishima looked shocked. Like he’d just been shot. 

“What?! No! Who made you think like that?” He questioned frantically. This made you chuckle sadly. 

“No one did Kiri. I’ve always had these thoughts. Since I was young I knew that alphas and omegas are two different beings. One with more manipulation power compared to the other. So, when I marked you, while you were in heat. I was taking away your chance to choose a partner for yourself,” you started to tear up again. “And I lost control. I could’ve heart you.”

You were bawling again. Violent sobs wracking your body. Kirishima immediately took you into his arms and held you close. Allowing you to get his shirt soggy. He let you cry while he stroked your back. His comforting was nice, it made you stop sooner than expected. When the cries turned to hiccups he began to speak. 

“You were never manipulating me (y/n), in fact I was happy you were the one to find me in the nurse’s office,” you paused for a moment. “Before that, I had a huge crush on you. During the sports festival, I noticed you manning one of the booths after my match against Bakugo. One of the kids there had lost your mom and you gave him a free scoop of ice cream to cheer him up. It was sweet how you even told him cheezy jokes so that he’d stop crying and would instead be weirded out by you. It made me laugh. And when you used your quark to stretch your neck over the crowd to find his parents? It was the manliest thing I’d seen that day. Even with the quirks, I’d seen that day. So I guess subconsciously that day in Recovery Girl’s office, I knew you were the best choice to help me. So I didn’t fight as hard against my urges as I could’ve. If anything, I’m the one in the wrong,” He finished. 

You sat there for a moment, taking in what you said. You were partially his choice. You weren’t completely in the wrong. You both had a hand in the claiming of Kirishima. Both of you participating in a claim. Just as relationships should be. You were yet again overcome with emotion. But happier ones. After all, a huge weight was lifted off your shoulders. You both sat clutching at each other. You now mumbling small ‘thank yous’ and him with a smile on his face. Maybe being an alpha wasn’t so bad. Maybe all of them weren’t bad. Maybe you weren’t bad.

[jeromesxreader16]

Such A Joker 37

SAJ Part 36

~

"How are you going to do it?" I ask holding Jerome's cold hand. "Sending waves of high electricity and jump-starting the brain should trail with the elements of the awakening."

A loud laugh echoes through the warehouse causing me to fight green eyes I lost long ago. "He's going to fry me!" Jerome laughs looking down at himself.

"Well looks like when this is all over you won't need that replacement any more."

Xander. Crap.

Jerome giggles clapping his hands together. "He's not real anyway, doll. Don't worry about it. You think you've been living a life without me to help you along?" Jerome pets my head kissing the crown of my head and grabs my cheek. "Aw, sweets, you do need me."

Everything I've done in the past couple of months has been fake? It would explain how closely Xander and Jerome resemble each other. Maybe I am just crazy. Maybe I never was cured.

Maybe I just need to be free again.

"If you don't want to get shocked Ms. Gordon I would advise you to remove your hand." Dwight places clips on Jerome's body and flips switches making a huge machine hum with power.

Dwight giggles as he rests his hand on a large lever. "HOLD ONTO YOUR HATS FOLKS!" The lever is forced over and lightning fires within the room. Dwight cackles at my poor lover's body gets fried.

"Come on Jerome. Come on, baby." I beg, gripping the chair for life.

Soon after the machine clams down and Jerome is still lifeless. I grab his hand weeping. "J?" I lean down trying to listen for a heartbeat any sign of life.

"He's still dead." Dwight's assistant addressed. "I know he's still dead. I ran into some technical difficulties. Nothing that I can't fix."

"Is everything plugged in?" "Yes." "Try turning it on and off." "I did! Three times."

"Look, you have spent the last year telling everyone that the Prophet would return. People have made sacrifices for you, Dwight. I left a really good job at the post office. The police are coming, and you promised them Jerome. The others expect to hear him speak. They want to see his face and if you can't do that-"

"You know, you make an interesting point."

Dwight walks near, grazing Jerome's face. "What are you doing?" I gasp seeing a small scapula in his hands. Dwight smiles and rests a hand on my cheek.

"Shh."

the black bag is thrown over my head and I'm forced away from Jerome.

~

I'm sat in a chair now fully handcuffed and unmoving. I groan moving my arms and resiting against the restraints.

"Don't move too much, doll. You'll bruise your pretty wrists." Jerome whispers in my ear. "You're not even here!"

"Not yet."

"Brothers and sisters, I promised you Jerome would return and today your faith is rewarded. Jerome is here, and so is our Queen!"

The bag is ripped off my head and I'm set on stage for the whole cult to see. I look up the stairs behind me and feel my heart sink.

Jerome's face is being used as a mask for this wannabe! Dwight prances down the steps wearing my lover's face!

"Behold the Prophet. The Prophet is here." Dwight grabs my hair raising me to a standing position. "We are back!"

The crowd screams in protest of their false leader. "Where's Jerome?" "Where's the hell's Jerome?"

Dwight groans pulling me forward. "The Prophet is here. Tell them, (y/n)!" I glare at him smirking at the mask. "You'll never be Jerome. You will never even meet the standers." Dwight hisses and throws me to the pavement harshly making the crowd scream.

"The Prophet is here! Listen to me! Jerome is here. He never left us. Each of you kept him alive. Each of you is Jerome. I am Jerome. We are all Jerome."

The cult chats over and over again getting louder every time. Dwight rips me from the floor and holds me in his arms. "Kiss me, doll face." I glare at him and turn my head. "I only kiss men with scary smiles."

"Then I don't need you." His voice is thick with venom and he tosses me into the crowd. "Remove the toxic cog! She has resented me. She has disrespected Jerome!" They push me away and out the door scraping my legs and arms every time they push me to the ground until I exit the building and run into town in search of my father.

I run into the GCPD panicked. "Dad." Lee catches me as I stumble past. "(Y/n)! What happened?"

"Dwight! He took- He cut off his face!" I cry out letting my tears fall. Lee leads me to Jim in an examination room.

"(y/n), god where have you been?" I fling into his arms crying. "Dwight took me. He- He's wearing Jerome's face! He cut it off, Dad." I sob in his chest as he smooths my hair back.

"(y/n)." Lee says grabbing my attention. "We know." I turn around seeing my faceless Jerome laying on the table.

I cover my mouth choking on my sobs. "Why couldn't they just leave you alone?" I whisper and touch his shoulder still feeling the coldness of the grave.

"I was going through the evidence you recovered from the scene. That phone was on the corpse next to Jerome. The last number came from the precinct." Lee explains passing over a flip phone to my father.

"Wait. You're saying someone in this house tipped them off?" I ask never taking my eyes away from Jerome.

" It would make sense. They cleared out moments before we got there." "So we got a freaking mole? Is there any way to know who called?" "The number came up as the main."

"So you can't make some kind of gadget to figure it out?" I look up meeting my father and Lee. "Why don't you just flood them out? You have the phone. Go call the number back from the floor and see who sweats." They both nod and move to exit the room until Jim grabs my wrist.

"I'll let you say goodbye, (y/n). Properly this time." I smile and wipe my tears away. "Thanks, dad."

A quiet room surrounds me and all I can do is stare at the faceless man I've loved for years. I sit next to him playing with his fingertips. "I wonder where we would've ended up if we skipped Gotham together. You might be here. I might not be crazy. We might be happy."

I let a tear slip from my eye sighing. "I've just lost the fire in me. It was all connected to you Jerome, and now I feel empty, but I know I have to get healthy. I need to stay strong. You were always worried about me stepping out alone in Gotham. So I can't live how we want. I'm going to have to be a fucking cog, and be the boring detective's daughter again. I'm just sorry you can't be here to laugh at me."

I close my eyes crying alone. I miss him so much.

"Detective's daughter, huh? I could make it work."

I giggle opening my eyes and looking over to the corner expecting the ghost that keeps me company, but the room is empty.

"Looking for someone, doll?" I avert my eyes down and see the faceless Jerome smiling widely at me. I drop his hand covering my mouth in shock. Jerome laughs looking at the hand I was previously holding. "Strang."

He sits up staring at me with his green eyes. "I know you. Don't I?" I nod my head feeling a smile creep its way up my cheeks.

The door opens and closes shut and not a second later Jerome has my gun pointed at my head and is threatening Lee. She looks at me with wide eyes. "(y/n)." I shake my head sighing. "It's alright. He won't shoot me." Jerome tightens his grip digging the end of the gun in my head. "Is that so?"

I smiled turning around to meet his eyes. "I know you. Don't I, Jerome?" He stares at me and begins to cackle madly. "You've got me, honey." He then points the gun at Lee. "Game change! Now tell me. What's going on?"

I sigh walking to the door and blocking it from entry. "(y/n), what are you doing?" Lee asks panicked. I roll my eyes picking up medical supplies to wrap Jerome's face. "Looks like I'm taking care of your patient. Now tell him what's going on." "Why do you do it?" I laugh rolling out the gauze. "Well I'm not the one with the gun pointed at them, am I?"

I watch Lee's facial expression change from confused to realization. "You never changed did you?" I roll my eyes walking over to Jerome.

"Gosh, you sound like my father." I place one end starting at Jerome's neck. "Hold please." He smiles and holds the cloth down.

"Storytime. Let's go!"

Lee proceeds to tell him the recap of his last living months, and everything that's happened in between.

He throws his head back laughing. "Wow. Now that I quite a story. You know, I know I've been dead, but doesn't that seem kind of crazy to you?" Jerome looks at me laughing.

Lee tilts her head smiling sarcastically. "Hey, maybe you're dreaming. Try shooting yourself." Jerome hums putting the gun to his head making me giggle. "Makes sense. Maybe you're right. Is this my angel?" He points to me winking.

"Hey, tell me more about this cult. They think I'm pretty great, huh?" I roll my eyes spinning in the chair. "They're a bunch of raving lunatics and idiots."

"Plus they have no respect for their queen."

Lee raises an eyebrow at me. "They didn't even get me a crown."

"Aw, baby don't you worry. I'll get you the biggest crown in the city." Jerome says pinching my cheek. He groans grabbing at his head. "Sorry. Head's a little fuzzy. You know, I was just reborn. Last year was nothing but darkness as far as the eye can see."

I sit next to Jerome patting his shoulder lightly. He looks over at me and tilts his head. "I know both of you, right?" He giggles smirking at me.

"Hey, did you and I ever, uh..." Jerome places the gun suggestively near his crotch and winks at me. I nod returning his wink. "Ah, I knew you were something else, doll. Long history?" "Another story for another time, love."

Jerome waves my gun at Lee laughing.

"That's right, (Y/n) Goron, the crazy, badass, sexy daughter of Jimbo. It's good to have you back sweetheart. Now that leaves you. You're Jim Gordon's little Twinkie." Jerome moves closer pressing the gun against Lee's face making me smile.

"How's it going between you and Jimbo? Huh? You still together, or..." "No." "No?" Jerome turns to me, "You knew this? Daddy can't keep a girl huh? Oh, that's a shame. I really liked you guys. What happened?" Jerome lays his arm over my shoulder pulling me to his side.

"He killed my husband on our wedding night." Jerome starts to laugh pulling me along. "Glad you two find it funny."

"I do. I get why you don't. Wow. You miss a lot of being dead!" He laughs again. He pulls me close and kisses my head.

"You know what? Go ahead, enjoy it. There are about a hundred cops on the other side of that door ready to kill you all over again, and all they'll do for (y/n) is lock her up in Arkham."

I huff rolling my eyes leaning my head on Jerome's chest. "I see your point."

"So, when I was last, you know, uh, alive, I was about to kill Bruce Wayne. I suppose I didn't manage to-" We shake out heads. "No. Right. Theo Galavan killed me, that jug-eared Judas. Well, I suppose I should start by killing him. Does that sound like a good plan, doll? I'll let you get the first swing."

"Theo Galavan's dead, J." "Oh Who beat me to it?" "W-Which time?" I grit my teeth as I feel Jerome grow tense. "Galavan came back to life, too? That son of a bitch is always upstaging me. Well, I guess I'm just missing one thing, then." Jerome presses the gun to Lee's face again. "Where is my face?"

I push myself off the chair and tap Jerome's shoulder. "I can help with that." I turn on the TV finding the station showing Dwight making a speech wearing Jerome's face. Jerome watches the TV closely. "Huh. Interesting. Looks almost like my twin!" Jerome cackles with glee.