#warnings: toxic relationships

[neocity-net]

new addition to our library 📚 by tomie! help to spread the word everywhere by reblogging!

Two Years And It Was Toxic Till The End - N.Jaemin (Teaser)

Pairing - Photographer!Jaemin x Digital Artist!Female Reader

Genre - Fluff, Angst

Warnings - none for the teaser (full fic: reader and Jaemin are toxic, narcissistic moments from Jaemin, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, reader is insecure/not sure of who they are)

Summary - You fell for Jaemin in the quiet of anonymity, two artists orbiting each other through screens and soft midnight messages. But when your digital world begins to blur into something real, what once felt safe starts to unravel. Some love stories burn brightest before they ever begin and you’re left wondering if knowing him was worth the pain.

Teaser Word Count - 1k

Estimated Release Date - July 17, 2025

Taglist - @k-vanity @cosyhomenet @neocity-net @k-films (send an ask or leave a comment to be added!)

Part of my NCT J-Line: Roses Are Rosie Collection.

Now playing: Two Years - Rosé, Toxic Till the End - Rosé 

Your bedroom is quiet, lit only by the pale glow of your laptop screen. The soft instrumental hum of some lo-fi playlist fills the room, low enough not to distract, yet loud enough to keep you from feeling completely alone. 

You stare at your latest piece, the cursor blinking beside the caption box. It’s a dreamscape. Two silhouettes, faceless but familiar, stand on a fog-drenched bridge. Light spills through the clouds overhead–not quite sunrise, not quite dusk. Caught in between. 

You upload the image. Title: Even fog needs a witness.Tags: #rosieroses #digitaldream #noirlight

You watch the page reload. A notification pops up. A like. Then another. Then a new comment, from a familiar name. 

NeverGone: That light between the clouds looks like it’s waiting for the right opportunity to peek out, like it’s waiting for someone.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, heart beating faster than it should. You type a comment back at them. 

RosieRoses: Lonely light feels like honesty.

The reply never comes immediately. That’s the rhythm you’ve fallen into. You speak to each other like passing trains. Never too close, never too far, just enough to feel real. Then–

A direct message.

NeverGone: Thank you. For the drawing. For the words.(attached: photo)

You open the attachment in full-screen. It’s a photo of an empty train station at night illuminated under a warm yellow light. There’s a single bench, unoccupied. The image aches. That kind of beautiful ache that doesn’t need explanation. 

The ability to communicate through art was truly such a beautiful thing. You stumbled upon an online platform that serves as a space for creators of all types. Photographers, writers, illustrators, and more. It’s niche, quiet, and unpolished in all the right ways. Comments still feel handwritten. The likes don’t flood, they linger like people admiring art in a gallery.

It’s why you like it here. 

You’re a digital artist by necessity as much as choice. A tablet fits in your bag more easily than an easel. A stylus doesn’t snap the way pencils do when you press too hard. Brushes can’t be lost if they live in code. You can draw anywhere—the subway, the back corner of a café, even your bed. You never like explaining your art in real life anyway. 

Here, online, you don’t have to.

You scroll. Further and further, two years of messages stretching like a constellation. You remember the first one, a quiet comment he left under one of your older paintings. Something about the way your shadows looked like they remembered being real. 

Then there were the late-night exchanges. A collab post where he used your painting as the backdrop for one of his photo edits. He called it ‘Unspoken Things.’ There was the time when he messaged you at 2AM to ask what color you thought nostalgia would be. 

RosieRoses: Muted lilac. With dust on the edges.

NeverGone: That sounds like it could be your voice. 

You didn’t even know what his voice sounded like. And maybe that’s what kept it sacred. No real names, no personal details, just usernames and pixels. RosieRoses and NeverGone. It made things feel safer, like you were both parts of some parallel world untouched by your real life, the one with deadlines and people who never looked close enough. 

Your inbox is full. But your room is quiet. 

You go back to his train station photo and leave a final comment before setting your phone aside for the night. 

RosieRoses: Lonely light feels like me.

The next night, his reply appears. 

NeverGone: You see things no one else does.

You read it once. Then twice. Then a third time. You fall asleep rereading his message, wondering if it’s possible to miss someone you’ve never met. 

The gallery smells like paper and polish. Light pools in warm circles on the concrete floor, interrupted only by frames of photographs, paintings, and digital projections, all suspended in quiet reverence. Jazz hums from the speakers overhead. 

You arrive alone, clutching your coat and the edges of your own nerves. Your name is printed on the program. You trace it once with your fingers before folding the paper and slipping it into your bag. 

You found out about the exhibition a month ago through a call for submissions tucked inside a local newsletter you almost deleted. It was advertised as a joint showcase for emerging digital artists and photographers. You debated submitting your work at all. 

Galleries made you uncomfortable. There’s something oddly vulnerable about watching people look at your art in person, about standing a few feet away while strangers tilt their heads and silently decide whether they understand you and your art. You always found it strange that everyone pretended they weren’t trying to decode each piece, to guess the backstory. You did the same. Everyone does. 

But in the end, you submitted. Not because you wanted the attention, but because some part of you wondered what it would feel like to see your work existing in the real world. Not just pixels, but projection and paper. Not just passing likes, but lasting light. 

Your piece hangs at the far end of the room. It is projected large and luminous. The bridge, the silhouettes, the clouds in the sky that can’t decide whether they’re coming or going. People pause in front of it, tilt their heads. Some move on too quickly, some stay longer. You stand nearby but don’t introduce yourself. It’s enough just to watch. 

Then you see it. Another piece across the room. A photo framed in black titled Two Years.

It was your work, but reflected in a puddle. Caught at an angle that distorts and elevates it, a shimmer made permanent through a photograph. There was a caption underneath it. 

A study in distance and reflection. Shot on a rainy night. Collaborator unknown. –Na Jaemin 

Your breath catches, and you take a step closer. You know that photo. The blur of your art mirrored in water, caught on the edge of disappearing. You remember the shape of the puddle, the way the neon halo curled around the edges. 

NeverGone.

[kflixnet]

New to KFLIXNET: Check out our member Sru's text chats!

JUST A BET ✶ ENHYPEN

𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗘─────𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂���𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ enhypen & 𝖿!𝗋 𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍𝗌 angst 𝘁𝘄 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾, toxicity, heartbreak ｡ ｡ ｡

스루 ܃ i was feeling kinda angsty so TT reblogs & feedbacks are appreciated ! part two soon maybe :0

© BYWONS 2025. do not copy / translate without permission

taglist is open nets @k-labels @k-films @kflixnet CLICK ME

[thegnomelord]

You ever hear the gross stories about people putting peanut butter on their junk and having a dog lick it off? This sounds bad but stay with me here, imagine it's marakov doing this with hound. Like it's a humiliation thing to break hound down or something and drive it into his head that he's no better than an actual dog. Marakov starving hound for awhile so he's famished and then pulling the peanut butter out. If hound wants to eat then the only food he can have will be the peanut butter he'll have to lick off marakovs cock.

Oh fuck that is disgusting and SOOO something Makarov would do. So here's a lil ficlet cause you got my brain going Brrrr

CW:NSFW, MDNI, Makarov x male reader, blowjob, peanutbutter food sex, toxic relationship, dom/sub dub-con, rough and quick, I дворняга - mongrel, mutt есть - eat, нет - no.

Rough fingers grip your jaw until it hurts, Makarov's thumb pressing down on your tongue to keep it flush with the bottom of your mouth. Drool and a bit of blood run down your chin, a small puddle already forming between your folded knees. The fingers on of his other hand wiggle your canine, uncaring of how your jaw trembles in an attempt not to bite him.

"Poor дворняга," Makarov chuckles, "Not liking your new teeth?"

Your 'new' teeth hurt like hell and that's saying something, gums around them still raw and irritated, knives stabbing at your entire jaw and down your throat whenever he wiggles the tooth even slightly. But you can't show that, don't bite the hand that feeds. So you swallow the sound of pain bubbling in your chest and shake your head as much as he allows you to do so.

You can see his smirk past the tears blurring your vision. "Good dog." He chuckles, pulling his fingers from your mouth to pat your head. "You must be hungry."

You are. Starving. You can't remember the last time you've been fed, probably before Makarov had your canines ripped from your mouth and replaced with metal, but the constant pain buzzing in your body makes it hard to keep track as the days blur together. You wordlessly nod your head, knowing better than to speak when he hasn't given you permission yet (you doubt you even could with how much your jaw hurts.)

Makarov leans back on your bunk, letting go of your jaw to fiddle with the jar of peanut butter. Unscrewing the lid he dips his pointer finder in and scoops up a big dollop of it. He holds it out for you, resting the back of his finger on your tongue. "Есть." He orders, tone leaving no room for arguing and you're quick to close your lips around his finger, tongue moving to lick it clean and trying to avoid nudging your teeth.

You've always hated the stuff since Price got you to try some when you were in America, the taste and texture making your skin crawl, but right now it may as well be ichor of the gods. Your stomach rumbles at finally being able to devour something, even if it's just a small scoop of peanut butter.

You open your mouth when you're done, spit clinging to Makarov's finger, and try your best to make a small whine. "Good, finally learning." He hums and sets the jaw down, unbuckling his belt.

Your heart stutters and drops to your stomach as you watch Makarov fish his half hard cock from his boxers, only needing a few strokes to get him fully erect. Makarov laughs at the face you make when he scoops up a good amount of the peanut butter and uses it like lube on his cock.

"Oh, did you think you would just get to eat?" He snorts, holding the base of his cock, "Нет, нет, нет you dumb mutt." He spreads his legs wider, patting his thigh. "You'll have to work for it, now есть."

You hesitate, some meager part of your pride absolutely unwilling, your stomach telling you to forget about that. Makarov waits, judgmental eyes locked on you, easily able to see the turmoil swirling in your eyes. He knows how to be patient, while he usually wouldn't tolerate disobedience, he knows he can't set up a hunting dog for failure and expect success so soon into your training.

His efforts bear fruit and you slowly shuffle forward on your knees. Even starved as you are, the wide span of your shoulders still forces his legs to spread wider. You hesitate some more, looking past his cock up at him, wondering if he really wants you to do this; is this a reward or just another way to tear you down?

"Do not make me repeat myself." He says, voice even and cool, but you're still perceptive enough to notice the sharp edge of danger in his tone, like a knife pressed into your throat.

Tentatively you lean in, fists clenching against your thighs as your tongue lolls out to hesitantly lick at his shaft. He doesn't rush you, doesn't degrade you, but his hand does settle on the back of your skull. You freeze, but he only hums, "Good dog." His hips twitch until his shaft bumps against your nose.

The hand on your head keeps you from pulling away, and your hunger soon wins out so you give a few experimental kitten licks. You start at the bottom, still uneasy about this, your tongue licking across his knuckles. Makarov purrs something in Russian you're not familiar with, his tone not sweet enough to make you think it's an insult, so you slowly continue up his shaft.

His precum mixes with the peanut butter, giving it a saltier tang that makes disgust curl in your stomach, humiliation making your face burn. Even your mind mocks you; Price's voice echoes somewhere in your ears "This is why we left you, you were just waiting for a chance to be a terrorist's whore." but that voice slowly gets quieter as Makarov's hand pets your head, making thinking about anything but the creamy peanut butter on your tongue difficult.

"Good dog, doing so well for me." Makarov hums, a pleased sound escaping his chest. The pleasure your mouth brings is miniscule compared to the sight of you - on your knees, eyes slowly closing as your malleable mind settles into static, drool smeared lips wrapping around his head to suck all the food your tongue missed - oh it's something else. He's seen many powerful men brought down to their knees, but nothing has ever made him harder than you right now.

You pop off his cockhead, chest frantically moving to draw breath, unfocused eyes staring at his drooling head before you look up. "Now wasn't that a good treat?" He asks, receiving your mumble in return, using your spaced out mind to smear more peanut butter on his head. "But you missed a spot. Go on, есть."

[darkpetal16]

GENERAL HOW TO SURVIVE ERROR HEADCANONS

T/W: Toxic / dangerous relationship, kidnapping, mass murder, genocide, etc. . . standard warnings for Error. I don’t even know how to categorize this specifically, he’s so insane.

Error is, unequivocally, a wet-cat of a monster.

This man is volatile, emotionally immature, and psychotic. He is the definition of a walking red flag.

You are not safe if this man dislikes you.

You are not safe if this man likes you.

You have a 50/50 chance of still being unsafe if this man doesn’t even know you exist.

Encountering this man is a risk in itself, but keeping his attention? You better be able to hop dimensions without help, or be very good friends with someone who can.

Your first encounter will go one of three ways:

One: Unremarkable, he won’t remember you. Congratulations, you are spared his ire. Unfortunately, there’s still a chance he’ll destroy your world and wipe you from existence just because he feels like it.

Two: You leave a positive impression. Congratulations, you are now being kidnapped and dragged into the antivoid.

Three: You leave a negative impression. Congratulations, you are now being murdered.

Realistically, there is no “winning” or “surviving” this man without external assistance.

For the sake of this narrative, however, we will continue with the branch of a “positive” encounter.

If you’re clever-tongued enough, you might have a chance to persuade him to *not* kidnap you. You might be able to argue that it’s better for him if you’re left in your current world.

Don’t try to tell him his world is dangerous. He turned out okay, right? R̭̹͈̤̦̝̟ͥͧ̾̇͆̚͢Ì̵̡̛̻͕̝̈́̾̉̕͢͡͡Ģ̷̢͍͗̚H̷̴̡̢̢̩̭͓͍͎̠̳̱͕̮̺͙̙͚͓͕ͮ̔ͦ͒̌̇͒̍̍̕͜͡T̬͍̥̭̙͘?͔̠̱ͦ̂̉͛͐̎ͩͥ̇ͫ̀ͨͦ̅͞

Or, perhaps, you’re friends with someone who helps you leave every time you are kidnapped. The scatterbrain psychopath may forget you were ever kidnapped, and over enough time of seeing you in your own world conditions himself to “that’s just where they are.”

Or, maybe, maybe, maybe, the voices in his head will like you enough to help you. Wouldn’t that be nice?

However you manage it, a positive-impression on Error goes a long way in. . . surviving(?) him. Perhaps, one day, even thriving(?) with him in your life.

This man doesn’t really have friends. At best, he has developed people who tolerate him–and he them–and at worst he has people that he despises with a fervent passion.

Loneliness, and prolonged self-isolation does a lot of damage to anyone. He is no exception to this. His stint in the antivoid, in addition to corrupting his very SOUL, has left him lonely in a deeply profound way. He doesn’t even fully realize how lonely he is due to the trauma done to his psyche. Being alone is so deeply ingrained into his being by this point that having someone become a (positive!) permanent addition to his life will. . .

A lot.

He lacks the emotional maturity / stability to handle the influx emotions in the beginning so he’ll feel overwhelmed easily.

If he likes you enough, he’ll start to spontaneously visit you.

Spontaneous visits will become your new norm. Time is irrelevant in the antivoid, so Error will never keep track of it for your world. At any point in your day / night, going forward there is a genuine chance of Error tearing apart the fabric of your reality and popping his head out.

His reasoning could range from anything small like seeing if you have anything good to eat, or to something more time-consuming like wanting to kidnap convince you to watch his soaps with him.

As long as you respond to his visits with delight, he’ll be embolden to keep going. Show him how happy you are to see him, and he’ll comfortably return.

But don’t be alarmed if these visits just randomly stop at some point for weeks or months on end. As mentioned, having an positive emotional connection can be a lot for someone so deeply disturbed. He’ll need to withdraw and “recharge” from you.

It’ll get easier with time, just be patient with him.

On that note of him visiting, though, it should go without saying you should always have good chocolate on hand.

Even better if you can make it yourself.

If you both get lucky enough for him to randomly visit you while you’re making chocolate, he’ll be tickled pink to watch the process and sample the batter as you go. Nothing beats good homemade chocolate as far as Error’s concern. And chocolate made by someone he likes, and not from that abominable world Underfell? Even better!

When you reach the He-Finds-Comfort-In-You-Like-His-Dolls stage, that means you’ll be getting visits when he’s hangry (hungry and/or angry).

Maybe he’s just craving chocolate and hasn’t realized how much time has passed since the last time he’s had some.

Maybe he’s in a sour mood that Ink harassed him.

Maybe the voices in his head won’t stop screaming.

Whatever the reason, having chocolate on hand and a smile on your face is the best way to handle the situation. It cannot be stressed enough that you have to keep being a positive experience for him, especially–ESPECIALLY–if he’s already in a pisspoor mood. This world-destroying-trigger-happy man is typically react-first, think-second when it comes to his tantrums.

To survive him, always do your best to keep calm. You can’t feed into his manic moments, nor encourage his destructive impulses (don’t say “Yeah, they totally deserve to get destroyed!” or things along those lines)

When he talks to you, listen. When he comes to you complaining, soothe him. When he starts talking about how nice it would be if you stayed in the antivoid with him, distract him with chocolate. Oh no, how can I make all this yummy food in the antivoid? Oh nooo. . .

Unfortunately. . . there may be times where, in his delusion, he thinks you already know something you don’t. He might conflate the voices with your voice and misbelieve something. If you can, play along to get more information. If witty enough, you might be able to pull out all you need to respond to him.

If not witty. . . distract, distract, distract.

Just don’t do it too often. He’s not stupid, and he’ll notice the habit which won’t end well for you.

Stay calm. Don’t get animated, don’t overreact, and don’t get loud.

This man is volatile and overly sensitive. He will never respond well if you yell at him.

“Y̴̷̸̴̶̧̧̭͖̻̻̗͕̙̦͓̘͉̱̳̯̬̻̠̌̈́̆͒̍͂ͫ̈́͛̀͋̇̊͊̚͟͜o̢̨̬̙͚̘̞̣̟̪̱̩͓͉̞̞͕ͨ̐̈́͆̿́̾́͂̔͟͢ǔ̵̢̨̫͕̺͚̺̘͉̫̓̑ͬ̈ͨ̅͑͂’̷̧̛͙͚̃ͨ̐ͯͧ͂͊́_̵̷̡̯̼̹̤̠̩̝̇͛̍̀͑̔ͧ̽͟͜͢͡r̡̰͇ͭͥ́͛̋ͯ̾̎ͩͪ͋̎͡ͅe͂ n̡̟̳̥̣̗͖̖̲̪̬̪͙ͨ̐̎̔͂̄̇̄ͪ̽͂ͪ͢͠o̷̬̬̩ͪ̉́́̒͋ͫ͘͝͡t̸̨̡̡̫͎̫̦̥̪̺̭̱̮̭̺͖͍̞ͤ̆̀͗̄́͋̑̌̎̿̋ͩ̔̊̿̚̕͘͝ͅ M̶̷̛̲̩͚̞̬̪̝̹̖̖͍̠͚͗̌̊̑ͦ́͐ͤ́̚̚͟��̛͉̻̫͐ͫ͆̂̓͘̚͟_̩̭ͩỲ̵̶̶̖̮̝̖̺̲̫͎̙̞̺͚͓̝ͧ̔͊̓́̀͆͋̓ͯ̉ͪ͆́́ͩ̒͢͠ Ỵ̴̯̬̌_̤̥͉̦̪̘̈ͧ̇̃̋ͧ̉͗̓ͧ͞͡/̷̵̰͍̗̥̦͚̮̯͈̺̱̥̒̀ͬ̑̾́̓͌͆ͬ̇̚͟͝͝_̼͙̣̬̭͕̮̈́̆̍͗̏Ñ̨̡̬̰ͨͫ̊ͯͦ͑̒͑̓̃̔ͧ͜!̢̧̛͍̩͓̥̱̒͂ͤ̅ͨ̇͊͊̚ Y̢̝̘̤̹̘̤͖̺̭͂̐ͯ̆̌̑̇͞/̢̧̣͕͓̙̦ͫ̉̃͠_̸̢̹ͦ_̰͚͊̈ͦ̇ͅN̘͉̭͎̥̩͈̳̰͑ͭ́̊͂̍ͭ̂̓́ͪ͒̍͌̚͢͜͠ w͚͔̰̝͂̈ͦ͋̽ͭ̈́͜_̵̨̢̳̱͙̪̳̥͙̲̗̜ͦ̇ͦ́ͧ̆̐͐̐͑̕̚ö̧̧͓̗̩̝̬̭̗͉̤̺͉ͪ͂ͪ̈́͒͘û̧̙̜̳̲̞̞̰̻̜̯̯͖̭͕̔́̏̀̈ͤ̏͌̏̆ͩ͆͐̄ͧ͐̈́̈́̄̚͠l̸̢̧̘̭̘͇͔̱̝̋ͤͬ͒̄̂̔ͧͣ̑͠͝͠͝d̵̴̷̢̛̫̜̻̻̱̰͕̜̱͈̑͐ͧ͂̏̀ͯ̌̊̒̈́̐̾̀̌͐͑̊̂͜͜͡͠ͅͅ n̸̷̬͓͚̝͓̦̦̼͚̜̼̩̈͗̇̌̍ͬ́̓̈̿ͬ̃ͨͨ̎͘͘͢͡͠ȩ̛̛̣̹̺͍̹̥͍̜̩͈̐̋ͪ̐̾̉̏̔̒͗ͬ̎̊ͬ̏̀̑͂ͥͫ͗̐̓̾̀̕͢͡͝͝v̶̶̧̨̡̯̰̼̰͚̣͍̬̬̱̣̫͇̞̖̥̐̾́̒́̄̈́ͯ͐̎ͨ̂ͧ͂̓ͥ͠͡e̟̎́́̂ͭr̠̖͓͐ͬ̿̓ y̧̧̨̪̙̝͙̳͈͙̋ͭ͒̎ͭͩ̉͑ͦ͗͂̒̕ȩ̀̎͌ͥ̂̉l̢̨͈̺͕͍͉̯̪̮̿̇ͬ̈́̉l̢͖͉͓̙͈̯̭̻͓̬͓̠̞̣̉ͩͣͩ̂̄̄͌̋ͦ̾ͭ̆̚͘͘͡_̜͈̭͈̥͒͑́ͬ͌̇͑ a̸̶̷͓͓̲̮͚̞̬͖̒͗̇͗ͮ̒͊̄̂̅̀ͪ̏͠t̛͓̫̆ͨ_̵̴̵̨̡̛̘͖͓̲̑̿̎͊̃ͣ̎̆ͤͮͪ̓͘ m̷̴̢̘̺̝͇̩͎͐́͑ͮ͌͗ͣ_̶̢͓̱̘̝͙̯̬̲̦̹̈́ͥͫͯͤ̋ͣ̽ͤ̒̓̅͘͞͠͞e̶͙̜͉̞͖̖̟̅̊͊̂̇ͤ̉ͫ͜ͅ_̲͎̦_̧͓̼̥̖͎͙͔͚̹͖̻̲̤̓͌ͪ̈́̍̽̿̒͛͑.̸̡͔̖̹̮̺̱͈̠̩̼̦̂ͫ̓ͯͣͨ͐̾̍͘͟͜” Cue your impending death, and him replacing you with a doll.

Or

“Ț̛̱̻͉͈̲̫̮̺ͪ͒̊̂͂͌̊̀̽̋̀́̽ͤ̕͘͘͟͟͞ͅọͩ_͖̭͓͖͔̀ͨ͜o̫ l̷̩̺͍̹͉̝̺̈́̍̑̊ͣͪ̋̕̚o̸̺̜͖̣͖̣̼̤͋͆͛̌̈ͥ̕͘ͅu̧̩̺̬̺̪̫̱̰̟̯̒́̄͆̄ͤ̈́͗ͥͣ̄̈́ͪͭ͂͂̈͢͝d͉͎̠͚̑ͧ͋̽͜͝,̵̨̰͈̓̏̿̈́́ͫ̚͘_̴̬͔̩̂̽͗ͪ̅͡ t̸̨̧̨̛̛̲͖̦̝̩̰̬̠̘̩͊̈͒̽ͯ̃͐͐ͭ̊̀̉̓ͦ͘͡͡͠o̡͎̹̻̰͖̐͒̉ͭ̎̒̌̇͊ͦ̄͐̔̊͞͠o̸̡̮̪̼͚̺̽̓̃́ͨ̐̂͋͘͟͝͡ l̸̴̛̻̺̗̱̬̝̮̘̤̳͕͖̟ͬ̔̌ͪ̍̌̽͋́ͭ͘͞ͅo̤̦̬̥ͦ͗͜ͅ_̴͖͈̬͇̳̣͂͐̓̀̇͘ů̷̸̦̫̺͈͈̳̳̬͎̣͖̝͔̫͎̠̋ͤ̍̑ͪ̎̏̂̀͌̏ͤͪ̔̓̃̒̿ͮ̀ͣ̈́͘͢͜͝͠d̶̮̫̺͛̎ͧͨͮ͊̐̓̿̀̏͆̕͢͞ͅ_̞ͥ̈́̆̎͝,̴̵̧́ͥͩͤͤ̔͛ ṫ̷̛̠̭̱̭̗̤͉͍̹̳̻̮̠͚̰̝͇̊̉̋̅ͩͤ̉ͧͥ̅́ͬ̐̂͋ͯ͗̿̚͢͞ö̵̷̧̡̨̜̱̬̞͙̠̹͉̹͚̘̦̖̔͊̃̔̋̀͐̔ͣͧ̀͊̕͠o̡̙͉̗͉͚̼͑͑̊̾ͤ̑ͨ͜͠_̪̼̳͖̽̇̽͑̾ͥ̐͊̃ͅ l̨͇͚̞ͨ͊̎ͪ̓o̸̘_̴̸̨̗̪̯̦̲̗̗̝̙͔̼̻̺̯̗͂̓̓̾͐͑̋͂ͩͪ̎̄̾̊͊ͪ̚͟͠͞u͐́d̴̡̢̛̼̘͙̞̰͒̂͐ͣ̈́̔͆̀ͣ̄̓̀,̭̀ͣͨ͐̕ T̷͙̹̖̦̂ͨ̇͗ͨ̿ͮ̎́̋͆ͯͤ͡ͅ_̟̫͙̱̺̹ͥͯ̈̅͆͋̕͟Ǫ̶̴̤̭͖̹̖͆̃̇̀͟͝Ò̤̮̩̠̬͊ͤ́ͪͭ́ͦ̍̄̌ L̡̛̪̖̟̮͇̬̣̟̼̦͕̣̞̊̌͗͗̈́̿̋ͧ͛̑̎̇ͨͣͯ͟͟͟͡Ơ̷̘͎͖̹͚̻̞̙͌̀̐̃̏͐͌͗̏ͬ̒̐͐̒̚̕ͅƯ̶̶̩̝̖̬͙̖̜̤͈͈̯ͨͬͩ̃ͪ͗̐̍͗ͭͦͬ͋ͩ̚̕͢ͅD̷̹̰͇̦̼̖͍̓̐͑̐͋ͯ̒ͧ̀̈́̈ͣͫͥ̀ͮ̚͠͠!͍͙͈͈̇̃͗̕” Cue you strung up in the antivoid with a stitched mouth to be silent.

Consistently presenting yourself as a balm to this man will have him coming back over and over.

And he will.

His chocolate addiction, and impulsive nature are the perfect combination to feed into a new hyperfixation. Namely: YOU.

Through repeated positive exposure, you will inevitably become a necessity for his day to day life.

From spontaneous visits throughout the day, to full-on hang sessions at your home.

He’ll start to leave things at your place because he’s there so often. Perhaps a blanket, or a beanbag he’s particularly fond of. Then a doll, or two, then some thread and needles. Then maybe you’ll find a spare room has been taken over by his threads and he’s snoring in his makeshift hammock.

Bit by bit, he will move his life into yours and integrate himself into your life.

Be prepared that when this happens, your home will now become the unwitting destination for many surprise guests. They’ll require their own survival guide to get through, but at least you have some semblance of protection with your association with Error.

If you have a basement, solid chance you’ll encounter strung up individuals there. He knows better than to hang them in your living room, and who wants to look at those faces while he’s eating? Not him! Basement they go.

Your home will become a horror movie set within a month. Stay strong.

Morning, day, night, there won’t be a time at home you won’t see his face. If you’re working, or taking classes remotely that’ll work out well for him. But if you have to leave the home for a prolonged period of time. . . might be a good time to get him a phone or some other less disruptive way for him to stay in contact with you.

He’s a wet cat. He needs to be in the same vicinity as you, even if he’s in a grumpy mood and don’t even think about touching him.

If you reach roommate level, you have him for life. This is very much a til-death-do-us-part situation, but mainly your death.

In this stage, it’s good to start focusing on making happy memories around the home. Help him associate being “here” in “this world” as a good thing, as much as being with you.

Living in that world increases the chances of it being destroyed as much as it being kept safe, and it all rests on you and your ability to befriend this man.

No pressure, right?

Make chocolate with him. Schedule movie nights with things you think he’ll like. Open windows when it’s nice outside and enjoy the weather together. Take him to see the stars. He’s still a Sans at heart.

Dates can be tricky in public (you can’t control how other people react) so try to keep it private as much as possible. Once he sees enough of how you handle it, he’ll try to mimic it in his own way.

You taking him on a picnic may result in him taking you to a world right before he destroys it.

Make you your world a home for him.

Be his home and he’ll always return to you.

As a roommate, aside from his tantrums, he’s. . . okay.

On the bright side you won’t have to worry about dirty dishes or things of that nature. He tidies up after himself decently well.

On the downside, you will have to worry about his dolls. Not all of them will be cute little knitted dolls.

Some of his dolls may ask your help to escape.

Don’t.

If you somehow endear yourself enough to this man that his emotions fester into romance, you’re in for a whirlwind of a life.

Him kidnapping you is just. . . it’s going to happen. He doesn’t have the emotional maturity to handle a romantic relationship where you aren’t in immediate reach / assurance.

Now it doesn’t necessarily have to be in the antivoid.

He likes you! He likes you SO much he’d be willing to show you through self-sacrifice.

Like he won’t imprison you in the antivoid, string you up like his dolls, if you REALLY, REALLY, beg ask him not to. He doesn’t want to see you upset.

How about a deserted world instead?

The kind where nothing, and no one can hurt you and you’re far, far, far, far, FAR away from the abominations?

Really, you don’t need anyone else but him so what more could you ask for? He’ll give you whatever you want. He has no problems taking from any world.

He may not understand all your silly requests. (You need more than chocolate to survive? Bathrooms? Doesn’t monster food disappear in your stomach?) But he is SUCH a good boyfriend he’ll comply.

IF you managed to make your home “homey” enough for him, he’ll be more inclined to let you return.

If you failed that. . . you’ll just have to try to be persistent and persuasive.

Just. . . don’t let yourself be “rescued” at this stage.

If he returns to find you gone, or oh no oh no oh no oh no with another man–?

Worlds are being destroyed.

Wage a war for the one you love?

Nah, not this man.

Destroy worlds and everything your loved one holds dear so they can only focus on you.

It’s okay.

Even if you come to hate him–even if you lose the spark in your eyes, the warmth of your laughter, the way you smile. . .

He can hang you up with his dolls.

He can stitch that smile onto your face.

And you can stay with him like that.

Forever.

. . .

But hey if you make yourself a home that is “homey” for him to keep you there, and reach the romance stage, you’ve now got yourself a husband.

He doesn’t really care about titles, or spectacles, so he’ll be fine if you want him to sign a certificate that names him your husband. He won’t care to do the wedding part–that’s just begging for someone to meddle–but yeah he’ll be your husband.

You’ve reached the domestic stage. By this point you already know how to handle his tantrums–right?--and can focus on a (mostly) peaceful day to day life. Living with you will be second nature, so getting him to contribute to smaller domestic things will also be easier.

He’ll help around where he can, as long as you ask for it / make him aware of where you need the help.

He wants you happy (within reason, don’t you dare try to leave him).

You will always have to make time for him. This is just a consistent truth across all stages of his relationship. If he wants to spend time with you, unless you have an “acceptable” reason not to, you have to comply.

It would be in your best interest to establish a schedule. He won’t keep track of time very well, but he’ll get a gist of Oh this is Y/N time out of habit. It’ll help if you build a routine around that, and then just naturally slip in “you” time. Maybe around the time his favorite soaps are on?

Spontaneity won’t be in your best interest long term with this man.

Even in a domestic life, he’ll still have his emotional outbursts but it’ll be easier to regulate them.

Especially with you; his balm & home.

Just don’t make him jealous. That’s an emotion that will always be volatile due to its intensity and rarity.

This was going to be a general Headcanons but then I refreshed myself on what canon Error is and uh. Here we are.

For @ima-roboto as thanks for her patience.

[ironandglass]

The Descent - Chapter 1 - Second Circle

Silco x female reader dark slow burn modern au. Stalker Silco.

A strange man moves into the apartment across from yours, he likes to watch and you start to like him watching. What could go wrong?

Warnings: stalking, violence, trauma, home invasion, sexual assault, threats, fear, panic, robbery, weapons, gun, romanticised toxic behaviour, toxic relationships, power dynamics, mental health probably, sex mention, swearing, bad editing (notsorry), evil silco, dark Silco, cold Silco. He’s not gentle and sweet ya feel? No jinx in this storyline bc I don’t know how to share. 🤷‍♀️

Chapter one

Second Circle

You peek out through the cheap venetian blinds to see him, leaning on his balcony railing, in the building directly opposite yours. Smoking cigarettes and watching.

He was always watching your apartment. You'd noticed it a few weeks after he had moved in. He made no effort to hide his blatant voyeurism. It seemed you had captured his attention somehow and that unsettled you. Living in the city for as long as you had meant you were no stranger to such things but something about his boldness made you especially uneasy. Some instinct in your gut warning you that this creep was not a typical window licking, peeping tom.

Yet, as the months pass you start to ignore that instinct. He makes no move other than to passively watch, so you try to keep your curtains closed and ignore him as best you can.

--

Sometimes your thoughts would turn to the bizarreness of the situation. This stranger who watched you. You had recently, and playfully started to consider that it was quite flattering actually. Saying to yourself that this was an admission of your value that anybody should pay that much interest in you.

Joking about it made you feel more in control, it took away the sting of fear and unsureness.

"My good lookin guy, very good at looking." you would mutter when you noticed him.

Despite all the jokes, In a strange way, it did make you feel special.

--

One night you were too drunk to notice that your windows and curtains were wide open as you rolled your hips on top of the nameless man that you'd procured from a nearby dive bar to satisfy your needs for the night.

You opened your eyes as you got close, relishing the rising anticipation of your hard earned, imminent orgasm. Bliss rises up your spine as you look out at the city lights panting and moaning shamelessly in a drunken haze.

Then you notice him, watching intently from his balcony through the large glass window of your modern apartment.

His eyes meet yours and you climax hard. Your orgasm ripping across your being with a quaking intensity you hadn't experienced for a long, long time.

--

After that, you dress and undress each morning and each evening, letting him see, going out of your way even to make sure he had a good view.

You start buying lingerie and sexy pyjamas to wear around the house.

If anyone ever asked you, you could never explain why you encouraged this. Other than admitting that you simply enjoyed the attention. There was something about being watched that seemed so harmless, a safe way to tease and taunt the man. His desire seemed to give you a strange confidence. You enjoyed ignoring him, pretending that you never even noticed he was there. That was part of the game for you.

He stood dutifully on his balcony for the show each morning, knowing your routine, chaining cigarettes, eyes like a wolf. Sometimes he missed the afternoon showing, you were always secretly disappointed.

--

You’re out of your usual routine one morning, running late. You walk out onto the street just as he is walking out of his apartment at the same time. You both freeze, like two mirrors across the road from each other. His considering gaze catches your own for a long moment before you panic, breaking the spell as you turn away down the street.

He doesn't follow.

--

In bed.

Your eyes snap open.

CCCCCRRUNCHHH

You're up.

You run towards the sound.

Splintering wood.

Your front door - It's being kicked in.

You scream but it's cut short as a massive man, unfamiliar, bursts inside, gun trained on you. Your heart beats a frantic rhythm as you look down the barrel of the weapon, frozen in terror, blubbering appeasingly.

Everything becomes a blur, suddenly, finding yourself giving any answers asked of you.

Briefly, over the muscular shoulder of the intruder you see your watcher across the way, holding a phone to his ear. Is he seeing all this? You hope he's calling the police. Who knew your sick games with this pervert would pay off. You would be more amazed if you weren't so absolutely afraid for your life.

The large invader riffles through your valuables. He drags you roughly by your upper arm like a rag doll from room to room, taking your laptop, jewellery and your purse.

He pushes you away demanding you stand against the back wall while he does a final sweep, roughly tearing cabinets open and swiping through your cupboards. You pray he will just leave but when he finishes his quick search instead of the door he wheels towards you. Eyes gleaming as if he just noticed that you are in fact worthy of his consideration.

Something in his eyes makes you step back into the picture frame behind you as he approaches.

He grabs a fistful of your hair, pinning you against the wall with his body. Running the tip of the cold metal gun slowly from your temple, down your neck, to rest just in between your cleavage.

"If I had more time I'd steal a lot more from you sweetness." The threat trailing his warm breath over your face.

With a gut wrenching start you realise you can feel his hard cock pressed against you through his pants.

He grabs your face with one hand, thick fingers holding your jaw as he forces your eyes up to his. "Too bad." He says as if you are missing out on a special treat. He pulls away from you smirking and backs out of the room, gun still trained on you.

"Next time" he says blowing a kiss before striding out the front door.

—

After the burglar leaves you wait, frozen in place for a short while, shaken and gently sobbing before running out into the street. You look left and right and who should be leaning against the bricks on the sidewalk out the front but your ever vigilant watcher.

You run across the road towards him and he looks shocked momentarily, taking a step back away from your rapid frantic approach before you shamelessly wrap your arms around him hugging him and crying. Needing support from someone, anyone.

Hadn't he always been there?

Slowly, unsurely he wraps his arms around you, reciprocating.

"Its okay" he says, his voice is pleasant. A low vibrating rumble against you.

"I called the Police, I'll wait with you."

He keeps one arm wrapped around you, rubbing patterns along your back soothingly as he receives a call with the other. It sounds like he's talking to police, here he was just handling this for you. Taking care of it as if it were his own problem.

When the police arrive you are still crying gently in his arms.

"Is this your... girlfriend Sir?"

"Yes." He says not skipping a beat. Okay that was strange, maybe he’s just trying to make it seem … not as strange as it actually is?

When he gives a statement he gives his name as Silco. You realise then, you are just now learning his name, he already seems to know yours which gives you pause, you had never spoken to him. But you weren't really in any position to worry about that having already thrown yourself at the man.

—

Police pour into your home, taking fingerprints and photographs. Its not long before one of the forensic team approaches you on the street and explains it might be a while before you could return home, definitely not till tomorrow morning at the earliest.

"Oh, thank you." You say, still quite shocked.

At this news you finally unwrap yourself from the stranger now known as Silco. Starring blankly out in the street you stifle a yawn feeling exhausted now that all of the adrenalin had worn off.

Embarrassment starts to sneak in, should you apologise to him? You wonder, turning your eyes up to his.

He looks down at you thoughtfully, as if you are a problem he needs to solve.

"Would you like to come in for a warm drink while you wait?" He asks gesturing towards his apartment across the road. His manner is cold and calculating but his actions had been nothing but generous and kind. It was a confounding combination.

You look up towards his apartment, probably not the best idea but you agree with a nod.

The thrill of the situation and the shock of the home invasion made everything seem less insane and more reasonable.

"I'd like that... thank you." You admit gratefully.

--

In his nice, high end apartment he stands across from you behind the kitchen island where you sit perched on a high stool.

He meticulously prepares you a warm drink before making some coffee for himself.

"It's a shame that we're finally meeting under such unsavoury circumstances." He says gently, pouring steaming liquid into a glass coffee mug.

You smile gently pushing a marshmallow around in your hot chocolate.

"As opposed to our usual unsavoury circumstances?" You laugh gently before sighing and resting your cheek against your hand.

"I like our thing." You confess keeping your eyes low.

"Me too." He replies softly before bringing the cup to his lips.

It felt good, to hear him say that.

Still, you knew how dangerous this was. Despite how comfortable you felt right now, there was something not right about this man, an air of malevolence (but that was thrilling too).

“Do you… “ you falter, unsure if you should continue but when you raise your eyes up to his one eyebrow quirks up, as if waiting patiently.

You clear your throat trying to rally your courage.

“Do you… watch other people?” You ask, almost instantly regretting it.

He takes another sip of his coffee, calm, unhurried.

His eyes never leave you. You struggle against the urge to squirm in the silence.

His focus on you was always so intense. Of course you enjoyed it, but being in a room together now, up close. It was something else, hot, fierce, like standing too close to the fire.

“I think that you want me to say no.” He murmers, eyes gleaming as he steps back away from you. Slowly, deliberately making his way around the long marble kitchen island that separates you both.

“I think, you enjoy my attention.” He continues, his lazy gait, unhurried on the tiled floor.

“I think you crave it.” his shoe clicks on the tiles, closer now.

He places a hand next to your hot cocoa, palm flat on the counter and leans in.

His other hand stays at his side, controlled.

“I think you enjoy being… just, out of reach.” He says closing in on you.

He leans in slowly, inch by inch, his breath brushes your cheek. Your heartbeat stutters. His lips near your ear.

“Just you.”

You stop breathing, the words settle on your skin, like ash. Hot, final, branded.

You don't move, his breath is still warm on your cheek.

Then he turns away, without a word. He walks towards the coat rack shrugging on a dark winter coat, it looks custom, fitted, clean.

You watch in silence as he walks back over towards you and grabs some of his personal items from a bowl on the counter.

He slides a key over the marble towards you with a shhhk.

“This is a spare key, you may come and go as you please.”

You stare at it.

“Are you… leaving?” the question feels louder than expected.

He doesn't answer at first, checking his phone.

”I have work.” he says simply.

“The spare room at the end of the hall is made up as a guest room. You’re welcome to stay while I'm out”

You nod slowly, processing this before asking.

“What … time do you usually come home?”

He pauses.

“Five ... Maybe six”

“AM?” You ask.

His eyes flick up.

“Yes"

That's all, Just one syllable. Heavy as stone.

He turns towards the door.

“Wait!” You call after him, stepping forward and reaching out, catching his coat sleeve.

“Thank you.” You say, meaning it, trying to show it with your eyes.

“It is nothing.” He says looking away and gently, but firmly pulling his arm away from you.

You watch his back disappear through the door. It closes slowly with a click.

Silence.

—

The spare room is immaculate, almost clinical, clean, comfortable and impersonal. Like a hotel room.

You go to the ensuite bathroom and splash water on your face, wincing when you see the large dark bruise blooming on your arm where you'd been dragged from room to room like a ragdoll. Helpless.

You quickly turn away from the mirror, and lay on top of the bed instead. You stare at the ceiling, mind racing, a deep sigh deflates you.

After about fifteen minutes, tossing and turning, you give in.

Of course you need to look in his room. Just in case there is some kind of creepy shrine dedicated to you, surrounded by candles or something.

You push the large door open, walking in to see black silk sheets on a large bed. You scrunch your nose at how typical it was of a wealthy strange man. His large walk in robe is filled only with fine clothing, all in shades of black and red. No shrine. You pick a discarded business shirt up off the edge of a laundry hamper and for some reason, you bring it to your face and inhale.

It smelled like cigarettes and aftershave and a subtle, spicy body odour. You knew this was weird of you but you were staying in your stalkers house after someone just threatened your life so you also felt like if there was a time you deserved a pass, it was now.

Through the long hallway of his walk in robe was the entrance to his bathroom, refined, spacious, stylish.

You’re pretty impressed by this point, and smile as you make your merry way back through to his bedroom. Now fully committed to disrespectful hedonism, you climb on to his bed and lay down with your head on the pillows. Sprawled out on top of the silk sheets you’re annoyed to admit they feel really nice.

Then you accidentally take a moment to let yourself think about everything that had happened in the last few hours. How blindsided you had felt, how helpless.

This time the tears well up in your eyes and you start to cry uncontrollably. The sadness and fear of what you had experienced pour out of you in shuddering, loud, uncontrollable weeping. You cry for a long long time, curled up on the black silk sheets, trembling as you weep. Staining them with your salted tears and smothering yourself in the scent of the strange man that watched you undress from across the road.

—

Silco comes home early, having delegated out as much work as feasible. It had been a long night, despite finally having held the woman of his desires in his arms for the first time. He sighs as he shrugs his slender shoulders out of his fitted coat, hanging it up on the rack before striding over to empty his pockets into the bowl on the kitchen counter. Noticing the half empty hot chocolate mug you had left in place, he pauses thoughtfully.

Turning his gaze up towards the hall where the spare room was.

He hesitates for a second before quietly and slowly padding up the hallway, he places a hand carefully on the doorknob and turns it, opening the door just enough to see...

Ah. It’s empty, she’s gone.

Of course, it was sensible and probably even polite for her to be gone.

Silco runs his fingers up through his hair and makes his way back out into the kitchen, reaching for his cigarette case and lighter, he strolls out through one of the large glass sliding doors onto the balcony, leaning on the railing and lighting his cigarette.

He looks out towards your apartment. The curtains are wide open as usual, the place was a mess but the police had all left at least. Silco glanced at the bed, empty. The couch, also empty.

Hmmmm, he didn’t like not knowing where you were. He also didn’t like not knowing things about you. He would resolve that, if you had family members or friends nearby that you had gone to stay with, he wanted to know.

He stubbs out the cigarette and strolls back inside, swinging the door to his bedroom open he starts unbuttoning his shirt, getting ready for bed.

A small noise makes him freeze, whipping his head to finally notice you, curled up delicately in the centre of his bed.

His breath catches for a moment at the sight and he wonders at it.

How your small soft form is so vulnerable, the gentle rise and fall of your breaths.

Hand curled towards your chest.

The slight parting of your lips, so peaceful.

So close.

Then your eyes flick open.

—

Your eyes snap open to see Silco, standing across from you, unbuttoning his shirt. You panic, realising that you’d slept in his bed, and now he was undressing as he approached you?

Oh no no no he was a creep, you knew it and you shouldn’t be surprised by it but this was too much. This was crossing the line, well further over the line. A new line?

You sprang up backing out of the bed and standing with your hands raised.

“I don’t want to sleep with you!” You blurt out defensively.

“Why are you in my bed?” He asks calmly, lowering his hands, leaving the top few buttons of his shirt open.

You falter.

“I offered you the spare room, at the end of the hall.” He says sternly pointing in that direction.

“I… I” You have no defence for this. Maybe you are the creep here?

He waits for a moment tilting his head.

“You what?” He asks. “Was there a pea under the mattress?” Taunting you now.

Your mouth snaps shut with your frown and you storm past him, making your way out of the bedroom door. In times like these, the best defence was a strong offence.

He turns cooly, watching you as you pass.

“Glad I could help.” He quips, following you at a measured distance.

His words still you briefly.

You turn to him, expression angry.

“Thank you for your help.” you bark awkwardly.

He gives a slight incline of the head. No more than that.

Then you storm out the door doing your best not to slam it like a child.

Definitely not your best work.

--

After the door shuts, Silco exhales through his nose in amusement.

"Her pride has teeth" he thinks, "but no aim."

Retreating into his room, he lays down, fully clothed on his bed, inhaling deeply.

It smells like her.

End.

——

Thanks for reading 🔪📖🖤

I have been really enjoying writing this so I hope you dig it!

Also- there’s A LOT more of it already written, so if you want more, let me know and I’ll try and make time to edit it sooner.

<3 Iron

—

>>>Continue on to Chapter two

Bonus - Chapter 2 teaser Silco POV short

[kflixnet]

New to KFLIXNET: Check out our member Lia's text chats!

REVELATIONS

⸻ when they find out you celebrate holidays/birthdays alone

⟡ ┆ featuring. ot7 x fem!reader (separately)

⟡ ┆ content warnings. she's a bit angsty :( mentions of family issues, abandonment and generally wack relationship to family, also shitty friends

⟡ ┆ note. first time doing ot7 version of my fake texts and i decided the request i got a bit ago would be the perfect opportunity for it HEHE so thank you to the anon who reqeusted these, i hope you like them :) also happy new year everyone !! and biggest thanks to @jayparked for helping me figure these out

© sungbeams — all rights reserved. i do not give permission to copy, repost, modify or translate my works.

[citrus-art-and-life]

You made the right decision, Blurr...

(((context no longer under a cut, i am FORCING you all to look at it now laksdjklasdj)))

[buubonita]

People are unaware of how terribly paranoid Horror is around people and the trust issues he has when it comes to dealing with others (especially Dust and Killer). Having a good relationship with them would take a long time, if there is even a chance of one to begin with.

I definitely see him terrified because Dust and Killer have monstrously higher LV than him and killing him is a possibility. That's why he has to rely on his ability to get under the skin of others to stay intact, although Dust has a harder time than Killer when this happens, it doesn't stop Horror from finding a way (although perhaps doing what Nightmare does with Killer feels too much even for him but Horror always tries to justify himself no matter how horrible his actions have been) But the thing about Killer is that his emotional atrophy is not permanent, and his soul can change stages depending on the circumstances, he is not exempt from Horror and his ability to push people to the edge.

[kflixnet]

New to KFLIXNET: Check out our member Yomi's headcanons!

𝗆𝗒 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅 𝗂𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 / ✶ 엔하이픈 . ⠀⠀⠀⠀HOUSE OF CARDS

承 ﹒ 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 더 버티기도 지탱하기도 。̊ ( 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 ) ── they are desperate to keep this love going, even though it would fall apart eventually 𝒇. ❨ 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 ❩

⠀⠀ 𝑖 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛 / 轉 ' ── 시간이 지���갈수록, 더 망가져가기만 해. no way 또 무너지는 걸 카드로 만든 집 그 속에서 . 📷

'⠀•⠀【 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑 】 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 ! enha & fmr ♱﹒ 2OOO wrds / 𝖿𝗍 . angst heh 𓈀 contains profanity, breakups, obsession mayb, toxicity ? 哈 ( 𝘩𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑜𝑛 ) + 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐒

여키 ─── 𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐈 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . man I miss my bts era I was so goated then. literally started writing this when I turned my bts playlist on •᷄ࡇ•᷅ liek&reblog!

⠀⠀' HEESEUNG

heeseung knew it was going to end. he could feel it when your arguments grew more intense, when you stopped saying I love you back. the kisses were pecks now, the bed felt cold even though you both slept in it every day. he was holding onto the love that had already decayed.

it was a useless, desperate plea—him trying to hold everything together. he knew one more crack was enough to break the love you’d carried for years. you had been by his side through thick and thin, yet he couldn’t feel your love anymore. something that rested at the back of his mind but was too painful to say out loud.

the clock ticked—it was past midnight now. a new day had started, yet his heart was stuck on the first date you both had years ago. his mind was stuck on how his heart had swelled at your touch. he was lying on the bed, you next to him.

heeseung was in the same room as you, but he’d never felt further away. he felt alone even though you were right next to him. he felt cold even though your warmth spread next to him.

you turned in your sleep, now facing him.

his pretty girl.

slipping away from his fingers.

he was watching you fade away from him slowly, and that was killing him. the girl whom he adored so much was disappearing into the background. his hands slowly hovered over your cheeks—you seemed peaceful.

he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, and his heart cracked. he knew he had to let you go, but he wasn’t ready. he never would be.

⠀⠀⠀⠀read more ── open for the others !

⠀⠀' JONGSEONG

you left him—or maybe pushed him away enough for you both to feel the heartbreak. the fights had blurred into the silence. your presence blended into the cold—you weren't there anymore.

you stopped answering his calls, you didn't open his text messages anymore. you left him in the dark when things got too hard.

that was what echoed through his mind. you left him. the realisation brought tears to his eyes and squeezed his heart. he was hurting. he always was. he wanted to cry, but there were no more tears left in him to let out.

your scent was still present in his bed. the toothbrush that you used was still next to his in the bathroom. your mug—cracked by the rim—still waited for you in the kitchen.

you were haunting him, but you weren't there. it drove him crazy. he was going insane without you.

he was turning into something he feared—a heartbreak full of bitterness and anger.

he could scream, cry, sob—you would never come back. but he was desperate. he ended up at your doorstep, a sour expression on his face.

you opened the door. there he was—your past love, waiting for you. you winced at his presence. the once comforting aura you both shared had become unbearable to stay in—it felt bitter and painful.

"jay, don't."

"please."

please.

that was all it took for everything to break down. he got on his knees. he was begging. he needed you—desperately. he was ready to leave his entire life if it meant staying in your arms again, just for a moment.

please.

that was all he could spit out. nothing else and nothing more. his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you close. his sobs were silent, but his grip on you said everything.

"princess, i can't survive without you."

and he really couldn't.

he wanted you to come back if it meant giving the whole world up. but you knew you never could—and that was what terrified jay. he could never have you again.

⠀⠀' JAEYUN

a pretence, that was what this had become.

nothing more than fake smiles and kisses that were hollow. conversations were forced out of you, hugs were given against your will. you did this for the sake of the relationship and nothing more.

it was empty.

jake felt empty.

yet he pretended this was enough. your absence, covered by the 'i love you’s' you both shared, broke jake's heart into a million pieces, but he turned a blind eye to it.

he ignored the pain you caused him, and the spark in your eyes that you’d lost.

jake kept telling himself this would pass. that the girl he fell in love with two years ago would come back. you were just tired. he brushed it off, even though it was what ran through his mind at night. it was what kept him awake. it was eating him alive.

he looked over at you, you both sharing a silent dinner that was once filled with conversations about how your days went. you looked back at him; he was still stuck in the same place that you’d moved on from months ago.

he still looked at you like you were the only girl that mattered to him. you dodged his gaze, too guilty to meet his eyes, but he didn’t care. he knew deep down that your love had left him a long time ago, but he was still there—waiting, trapped in place.

he was still loving someone who had already walked out the door.

yet he'd sit there with a smile on his face, knowing that even if you didn't come back, he'd still love you.

sim jaeyun would always love you.

even if it tore him apart, bit by bit.

⠀⠀' SUNGHOON

sunghoon was numb. numb to the pain. he ignored the silence between you two and the ache that rested in his heart.

the cold was biting at him; he’d grown used to this. you barely came home anymore, and when you did, the conversations barely lasted a minute. the words that left your mouth were short and brief.

you weren’t living with him anymore—you were just a stranger in the home that used to be yours.

you didn’t know how you ended up here, but soon you were in his arms, his hands holding your face like you were so dear to him. his breath hitched; he was terrified, more than he’d ever been.

the ignorance he had held onto finally broke. he couldn’t do it anymore. not when you looked at him like he was just another boy who passed through your life, like you were ready for the next step without him in it.

his voice cracked, holding onto the pieces that were left behind. “you’re still my girl. you always were.”

you couldn’t even look at him, let alone speak. instead, you just held him close.

“look at me, baby. please.”

his voice was strained. he spoke softly, almost whispering—like if he spoke any louder, you'd disappear like you were never his to begin with.

you slowly lifted your gaze. his eyes were glazed with tears. sunghoon let out the breath he’d been holding in. he finally looked at you—a raw and real sight.

he searched your eyes for the girl that still loved him. his pretty girl, the one who used to kiss him goodnight and laugh at him over burnt toast.

but she wasn’t there. not anymore.

you felt it—and so did he.

he hugged you once again, this time way tighter than before. he knew, from the moment he fell in love with you, that it would be impossible to let you go.

“my girl,” he whispered into the silence

a plea for you to stay in his arms just for a minute more.

⠀⠀' SUNOO

sunoo was trying. too hard. he did everything he could to keep this alive. sunoo kept holding onto the fleeting memories that you both shared when your hearts swelled with love.

now it was cold and bitter. it even felt painful to think about it. to think about the love that had been lost. the thought alone brought tears to your eyes. you both were so in love, what happened?

sunoo asked himself that question once a day, when he woke up and you weren’t beside him or when you went to bed facing him.

by now, you had forgotten a dozen dates you went with him and your anniversary; your first kiss and when you first slept over, how sunoo held you like he’d never let you go.

you had forgotten a lot of things you did with him. but sunoo? he sat there at night awake, replaying every fucking second. he could never forget—how could he? how could he forget his pretty girl? he wouldn’t dare forget a single moment of the memories he had.

he savoured them like they were his last meal.

he looked at you, your eyes distant. you were already halfway gone. so nothing really mattered anymore—not the first date you went on with him or when you held his hands for the first time.

when sunoo looked into your eyes, he could read you like an open book he knew what was in your mind. sunoo would be the only one able to do that.

and what he saw terrified him. "am i really that easy to forget?" he gulped.

you flinched; his question wasn’t fair. nothing about this heartbreak ever was.

"remember me one more time, please," he said, before he closed the distance between you, wanting to savour you one more time as he kissed you.

⠀⠀' JUNGWON

jungwon could see it from a mile away. the shift in your eyes when you saw him. you looked uneasy. that once warmth he'd desperately searched for in your eyes when he wanted comfort was gone, replaced by the guilt and shame you carried.

you were running away from him—away from the home you had built over years. escaping the walls you had built with him.

jungwon's heart ached and his soul yearned for you.he wanted you, but all he had were the memories you left behind. a lump caught in his throat whenever he thought about the day that this would end.

his hand trembled as he cupped your face, your breath hitched, unable to meet his eyes, which looked soulless and dull. it was cold, the way you looked at him like he didn't mean anything to you.

"you, you're the one thing that keeps me going," jungwon spoke, his words stinging. "and losing you scares me."

your breath hitched. you couldn't stay. not in a home filled with silence and memories haunting you.

you gulped, "but if i stay, i hurt you."

jungwon stayed still. he was at a point where he worried about you more than himself. he cared about your wellbeing rather than his health, which was worsening every day.

"stay, please. just for a bit."

he wasn't asking forever. just one more night with you in his arms before you become nothing more than a memory to him.

⠀⠀' RIKI

letting riki down gently was never an option.

he was never soft. when it came to you, he would burn. riki was passionate and reckless with the way he loved you. he knew no restraint nor had any regard for the damage.

he didn’t care if the entire world crumbled, as long as he didn’t have to leave you.

but you tried to make it easier. you stopped beating around the bush, getting straight to the point as you told him you weren’t his lover anymore.

though you were by his side, your soul was already gone, leaving him behind.

but you should’ve known better. this was riki, the boy who you didn’t love anymore even though he was standing in front of you, ready to bleed for you.

riki was selfish.

he didn’t care.

"i’ll stay here," he spoke. "even if it burns the both of us."

"riki…" you tried to stop him.

"no," he cut in, stepping closer and the distance between you shrinking. "don’t leave. i’d die if it means you’re staying with me."

and then you realised.

he was never asking you to stay.

he was begging to fall with you.

tags. @zuyairus @bubblytaetae @yenqa @voikiraz @miumura @haechansbbg @taejaysreads @shinunoga-iie-wa @teddywonss @naespas @isoobie @dimplewonie @jennaissantes @aishigrey @firstclassjaylee @rikislove @hynjinnnnnnnn

⠀⠀𝖺 𝗒𝖾𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗂 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖽. do not copy, repost or translate my works

[sketchthetofu]

Day 4: Toxic (Relationship)

Um so… yeah I can’t justify this- I’m not normal about them at all- (also!!! My own Wight & Kota designs <3!)

[catgirl-for-hire]

Girlfriend Ianthe Headcanons

There seemed to be a need for this and it was in my head so here ya go. Toxic girlfriend Ianthe, just beware

--------------------------------------------------------------------

 I’m not going to pretend any of this will be nice, so just be prepared

(but we don’t love Ianthe bc she’s nice, we love her bc she’s awful. So have fun you fucking freaks <3 )

Obviously I can’t imagine Ianthe ever having any sort of remotely healthy romantic relationship, for a myriad of reasons, but primarily because you will always be second to Coronabeth

No seriously, every tiny mistake you make would be compared to Corona. You trip, Ianthe snaps that Corona had better balance than that when she was a toddler. You cook something mediocre, Ianthe insists Corona’s spit tastes better than this. Even if you try and get dressed up nice for her, Ianthe only muses on and on about how Corona’s hair is shinier, figure fuller, style more tasteful. 

She’d never get over this habit even if you begged

But she doesn’t drag on and on about Corona all the time. No, Ianthe always has plenty of breath left to remind you how lucky you are to have her. 

Lover of strange pet names, as we know. Like “Harry” is such a downgrade from “Harrowhark” it's obvious that Ianthe just spits out whatever she thinks of as a nickname. Gonad, anyone?

There's standard ones like “babygirl” and “pet” which are diminutive but not outright bizarre. But if there’s any way to abbreviate your name she will, no matter how odd it sounds. Or like with Gideon, she will replace your name with any other word that starts with the same letter. Bonus points if it can double as a degradation for when she’s pissed. 

Loves sharing a bed. It’s one of the softer things about her, and you really have to squint to see it, but she takes great pleasure in having someone sleep next to her. It’s probably a subconscious need and loneliness being filled, but she’ll insist it’s because it keeps her from sinking into the center of the mattress and making a permanent dent. 

Not much of a cuddler. She’d absolutely have a quiet obsession with you clinging to her, though. 

This kinda goes for the whole relationship, actually. Like she’s not one to offer up much in the way of affection but if, for any reason, you stopped prompting it, she’d get all weird. Probably would very aggressively pester you asking what’s wrong, and if you do tell her, she just wouldn’t say anything and walk off again. 

Assuming she actually does care, though, she would fix problems for you without saying a word about it. And if you notice and bring it up, she’d tell you that the stress was giving you wrinkles and she can’t walk around with a wrinkly partner so she just cut it off at its source. This is in fact true to her, even if she also did it because she cares. Two things can be true at once. 

She’s just an attention whore at her core <3

Ianthe is actually very insistent about maintaining your appearance. She’s very materialistic, so if she feels like your wardrobe has gotten boring or your skin is dull, she’ll go out and buy you new things or ship you off for a spa day. She’s never nice about it, it’s always as if it's some moral failing on your par. But it’s almost worth it to have her fawn over you and dress you up. 

When she’s pleased with you, though, she can be a real delight. Attentive, touchy, she knows exactly how to push your buttons and get you comfortable quickly. It’s a skill she reserves for when she feels it’s truly merited. Every affection in her life always had to be earned despite her being born into apparent privilege and absurd wealth. So why would she be any different with you?

[quinloki]

That twisted villain kind of love where he’s already decided you’re his, and you just need to accept that.

The kind of love where he grabs you by the back of your neck and shoves his tongue down your throat, reveling in the sounds you’re making even if you wanted to stay quiet.

It doesn’t matter that you’re choking and protesting, the flush on your face and the gasp for air when he leans back is all he’s looking for. You can spit on his face and he’ll lick it off before pulling you into another invasive kiss.

You can scratch and beat on him the entire time, please do struggle against the inevitable. He’ll dine on your resistance and acquiescence in equal measure. There’s so little space between Monster and Master, but he’ll push you over that line in time.

[kflixnet]

Check out our member Izzy's oneshot!

show you the stars | tbz kim sunwoo

“Why's my girl misbehaving today, hm? Shouldn’t you be nice to the birthday boy?”

pairing » the boyz kim sunwoo x fem!reader

trope/au » friends to lovers, (or should i say...) 'friends' to lovers, situationship (?), non-idol au!

genre »​ very suggestive!! (as compared to my other one), it's kinda fluffy uwu (everyone act surprised), a dash of angst, dom!sunwoo at times, sub!sunwoo at other times, kim sunwoo being whipped and sweet for you, but he's also flustered, he's flirting with you, reader is a bit of a tease and is confident, you're also flustered at times, sunwoo loves you and you love him (again, act surprised), finding love and comfort in each other after past relationships, kim sunwoo who just wants to be close to you

word count, estimated reading time » 4987, 18 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » very suggestive!!, dom! and sub!sunwoo, mentions of unhealthy past relationships, a ton of kissing, making out, marking (teeth and kiss marks; reader receiving), pet names (baby boy, baby girl), reader licks cream off sunwoo, sunwoo licking cream off reader's neck and collarbones, sunwoo is physically bigger and taller, reader has medium to long hair, HIGHLY suggestive at the end, rapid proofread once

navi/masterlist!! 🤍

happy birthday to (one of) the loml 🥰

uhm...

yeah...

so!...yeah...

i'm just gonna go...

The delightful aroma of your hard work fills the volume of Sunwoo’s apartment easily. You've been chopping, stirring and sizzling ingredients for the last two hours, excited for the first birthday that you'll spend together with him.

To elaborate on your relationship with Sunwoo, you're ‘friends’. The explanation would give most people deadpanned looks, accompanied by the raised eyebrows that would follow. Otherwise, others would only facepalm at the stupidity that you both seem to obviously share. Anyone could tell that with the way that you both would drop any conversation that you're in or literally drop the paper cup in your hand whenever the other comes into even slightly just their peripheral vision, that you're more than the label that you both have decided to nonverbally settle for now. 

Like your best friend from diapers would say, there's no way those kisses on the forehead, trailing down side to side across your eyelids, back medially down the slope of your nose, along the underside of your jawline, were things that ‘friends do’. Not with the way that Sunwoo would subtly slide his palm down from the comfort of your back to cup one of your bottom cheeks, smirking when he feels the heat radiating from your cheeks. 

And for you? You can't help but feel the disappointment in your chest whenever he passes the quiet but rapid breathing of your lips whenever he bypasses them to work on that sensitive spot on your neck, sometimes whispering compliments to the shell of your eyes with that husky, low voice of his—but well, it's not like that anymore.

Friends don’t look at each other’s orbs and are so immersed that they say “I miss you” in the most dewy, honey-dripping voice. In public where they're most disciplined, they don't hold each other’s hands while walking, a thumb smoothing over the other when they’re just walking along the empty night street or the aisle of the grocery store.

Friends don't give each other their spare apartment keys or sweep them off their feet as soon as the front door opens, distracting their worries and other thoughts by locking lips with each other. You would never let any of your other friends carry you in their arms and pull the same blanket that they will use in the night over your body. In the same way, you would never snuggle to the warmth of the person next to you, kissing them a sweet “good night” and “thank you”.

But knowing the manipulation and tears from your past relationship, none of you could bear to address the looming label that others already deem you as. Sunwoo is too scared to ask too, going through the same thing from his past relationship. Through the healing of the break-up that you both had in your respective lives, came the comfort that the other’s lips would give, and he would chase that feeling from you over and over again.

You're okay with how things are now. You respect him and you don’t want to push him or the title that you personally want to have with him. For now, you decided that actions will speak louder than words and when the right time comes, you both will address it without the influence of the outside world.

Today is just one of those days that you use your spare key to use Sunwoo’s kitchen to cook up a little feast. The dining table is decorated with a vase of roses in the middle as you hop between the stove and make sure everything looks presentable. The light dimming system of his house is perfect for the shooting star projector that you aim towards a blank wall. You're satisfied with all the preparation for the main meals, making sure that the moment he walks in through the door, you can cook and plate it up swiftly while it’s still freshly pipping hot.

“Oh gosh,” you're proud of your efforts with the vanilla whipped cream for his cake. “I'm a genius.” You sang variations of the phrase to yourself.

Curse your horrible time management skills because the clock in front of you only reminds you that you have little time until the main key is used on the front door. The sponge cake is assembled quickly, with a thin layer of crumb coating and cooling before you make the smooth layer of cream at the end topped with some chocolate and strawberries.

You stepped back to admire your work, making sure the fruit was on the perfect slope and that the chocolate bar next to it complemented the negative space around the centrepiece. Your hand under the cake was about to slip when you heard the keys rattling from outside and you swore the fridge door hated you by how you had a hard time opening it.

On the other hand, Sunwoo could smell your home-cooked meal a few doors down the hallway. His stomach only grumbled in anticipation but his heart was jumping at the thought of you greeting him behind the door. The smile on his face grew, his overgrown bangs tickling his eyelids with his rushed footsteps towards the door.

The sweet scent of your perfume is what he manages to pick up first, and he remembers how his time was well spent when he was shopping for the bottle for you. 

“I'm home.” Something that he has always loved to say, hating the lack of light in his house after a long day at work. His fingers were about to switch the light on but your shout stops him halfway.

Your body crashed against his before he could comprehend. Sunwoo groans a little at how his back hit the door behind him but his palms settled on your hips lovingly while your arms were wrapped around his middle, face hidden to his chest, nose inhaling your favourite cologne. 

Chuckling at your small apology, his fingers raised to tug at the hair tie around your ponytail. He tugs down on the elastic, now savouring the scent of your perfume and shampoo. It left you goosebumps with the way Sunwoo massaged your scalp, his other hand untucking his tight shirt that he gave you, from your skirt so that the pad of his thumb could feel your skin better.

“Happy birthday, baby boy,” exhaling at the gentle swipes of his thumb on your waist. 

“Thank you, baby girl,” trailing kisses from the top of your head to the side of your head. You tried to escape from the ticklish feeling but his arm wrapped around you, keeping your lower bodies flush against each other, “Where do you think you're going?”

You giggle at his lips down the side of your face, his breaths reaching the crook of your neck as he takes comfort there. It's only now that you realise the fabric of his material, is no longer the white collared polyester. Your heated cheeks brushed against the metal around his neck and Sunwoo could feel the start of your complaints from your deep inhale.

So he closes the gap and kisses you to quiet you down.

He ignores the little muted surprised sound from you, pulling away only slightly to smirk at you before diving in deeper. His palm grips on the curve of your waist, keeping you in control. He whispers for you to pull him closer by the neck and he knows the roll of your eyes isn't an indication of annoyance. Your lips danced between his, a hand over his nape to pull him down, your other palm cupping his cheek as you tried to control his hunger for you.

“Sunwoo,” Slightly out of breath, “What are you wearing?”

As if he didn't see the deadpanned look on your face when he decides to give your poor lungs a break, he leisurely answers, “This is the suit and tie of someone who decided to leave the desk early,” fingers hooking around the metal chain around his neck whilst simultaneously peering down at you with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, “so that he could look hot for his birthday and his girl.”

You couldn't deny that. Shamelessly, you let your eyes roam over the somewhat tight shirt that he has. His pectoral muscles are defined with the grey stretchy fabric and the silver accessory around him only made him all the more irresistible. Kim Sunwoo knows how to make you swoon, styling his hair lazily with his strands covering his field of view. 

Sunwoo makes it known that your stare is invited, loving the attention that his special day gets him. You're looking at him so delicately that his smug confidence falters into a softer look. His lips form a straight line but the moment your eyes meet his, there's a deep resonating chuckle from his chest, a happiness that spreads to you.

“Let's go eat?” With an affirmative hum and a quick peck, Sunwoo lets your body go and links with your palm, letting you guide him deeper into his house.

As soon as his eyes take a glance at your work, he's momentarily still. From the tablecloth draped over his table to the stars on his wall when he realises, you remember his wish to make a wish to the star. He's always found the idea to be a bit innocent, unlike his relationship with you but the fact that you kept it in mind, and how his grip on your hand only tightens, tells everyone that Kim Sunwoo is ready for more.

He daydreams of a day when he would kiss you awake, and how you're the last voice he would hear before falling asleep. How you'll greet him when he opens the door and kisses all over his face and more. How he’ll be able to spend his money spoiling you instead of only spending it on himself. How you’ll be his number one and how you’ll be his. These thoughts have roamed his head for a very long time and he used to keep it in, hide it for the sake of not ruining whatever you two have.

But with the way that you would kiss his nape as a greeting whenever he would be sitting down in front of you, or the way you would sit down on his lap and crane his neck up to meet his lips with yours. How the heated sessions would only flare up more when he sneaks his fingers around the band of your bra, and the whole intimacy that you show each other—Kim Sunwoo is undoubtedly in love with you. 

Besides the intimacy, it’s the things you do for him. Namely, it’s the view of his house right now and the welcoming scent of his favourite food that you prepared for him. It’s even more precious to Sunwoo as he knows that you do this even when it isn’t a special day. You have done this whenever he would hint how much he misses you and you would show up to mend his tired heart the next minute. It’s not just the kisses and skin on skin. If you stopped guiding him to his designated chair and looked back at him right now, you would see that lovesick look on his face.

Sunwoo offers to clean up the space whilst you’re cooking but you quickly refuse, saying that he should take a rest, even if it’s for a while. After a few tries, Sunwoo finally listens to you, sitting down where you want him to. He takes this time to admire your decorations, snapping electronic memories of his surroundings and taking extra shots of the wall that seem so much more inviting with the video of falling lights. 

His eyes are stuck there, entranced by the view. You see from across the room how he readjusts his position and closes his eyes. Your heart swells with that, keeping the view of his head down slightly as he mouths inaudible words to the stars you projected. When he opened his eyes, you diverted back to dinner, happiness evident in your face at he appreciated your work.

While you focused on the pan, Sunwoo found a couple of metres gap between you cooking and him sitting too far away, so he took a seat from the other side of the kitchen island, the significant piece that separated you two. Soon enough, you pout at the return of the multiple camera sounds, this time louder and clearer. You tried to lean over the island to snatch his phone away and Sunwoo mirrored the playful smile on your face.

“Behave,” he knew it worked like a charm when he saw you flustered. Your outreached wrist from your attempt only gets caught up with him and Sunwoo draws you in closer while he leans in to meet you in the middle. The dim lights overhead set the mood more as they angle the shadows and highlight all the kissable parts of your face and Sunwoo swears he could kiss you all night. You watch the gulp down his throat and his stern eyes drifting to the knobs of the stovetop to turn off the fire. Kim Sunwoo is no longer playful like a minute ago.

You’ll admit that he sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach but it didn’t stop the tugging of the corner of your lips and Sunwoo’s eyes widening when you decided to turn off the fire but never returned to him. Sunwoo lets out an amused scoff at the way you cross your arms over your chest, leaning your back on the free space next to the stove. 

His eyes narrow to you, a tongue poking his inner cheek at your sudden surge of confidence, “Now,” You watch him turning his body sideways, walking along the opposite side of the island towards you. He stays silent for a bit longer, letting you know that a question is coming; and that he wants answers to it. Copying your gesture, Sunwoo leans before you not even a metre and nothing separating you anymore. “Why's my girl misbehaving today, hm? Shouldn’t you be nice to the birthday boy?”

“You really want me to be ‘nice’?” You shake your head, finding the statement amusing, “You love it when I play with you like this. What's life without a bit of misbehaviour?”

The boy couldn’t even get a word out when you suddenly took a big step towards him. Your palms rest on the edge of the table, caging his figure. You purposely lean into his chest, eyelashes subtly fluttering underneath the still orange lamp from above. There was no longer a chance that Sunwoo could think straight anymore. Not with the way that just like before, you cradled the underside of his jawline. 

However, your hold on him this time is different. It didn’t feel like you were going to pull him and have your kiss marks all over his skin like the way he would never refuse to when you asked. The confused lines between his eyebrows only deepen more when you just keep staring at him with a dazed look in his confused orbs but it’s then that he sees a glimmer of hope for the relationship that you both could share.

It may have been the light or it may have been the reflection of his own eyes or—and this is what he hopes—it’s the glimmer and stars in your eyes that you hold as you look at him at the moment. Sunwoo tries his best to understand your unspoken feelings but his train of thought is cut short when he registers the dollop of coolness on the left side of his jawline.

His breath hitches in his throat when your right hand hooks around his necklace and you latch your lips around the cream on his face. Your tongue swipes the food off his skin, alternating between kitten licks and long swipes. Your left-hand swipes the wall of the metal bowl behind him, trailing down a path that you would soon wipe clean. Sunwoo shudders, his light moan hitting your ear and his little whiny begs encourage you to keep going.

Your breath hitting his skin would normally rile him to put you in your place but all he could do with his lower back digging against the edge of the table is to clench his hands onto your mid-outer thighs to stabilise himself. 

“God…” Sunwoo calls out when he opens his eyes to meet your daring ones. “You're so beautiful.”

“Enjoying this?” And he responds with a harsher grip, hands raising and starting to lift your skirt to your upper thighs. 

The coolness of the cream, followed by your light alternations of sucking and kissing on his skin, and the way the air cools the area after is perfect and Sunwoo’s head tilts back in satisfaction. 

Too bad you wouldn't let him because you finished trailing his jawline, stealing a kiss straight to his subtle, hungry lips. The taste of vanilla and the pressure of your lips makes his head light and the room seems like it's spinning. But now, it's his turn and you know it with the way he pushes you away with all the strength he has left in him. He bends down to wrap his arm around your mid-thigh that has crescents of his nail on your skin and he sits you on the countertop and slots himself between your knees. 

Sunwoo’s eyes are darker than the night outside but it doesn't fear you at all. You're now the one caged between him but unlike Sunwoo, you knew you didn't have any strength to push him away—nor did you want to. You bite your lower lips when he starts tugging your left sleeve down your shoulder to have more area to work with. 

“My turn, baby girl,” metal against marble is heard next to you and Sunwoo uses his pointer and middle fingers to scoop the sweet white. 

A smirk comes up his face when you grow visibly weaker for him, your posture faltering underneath his dominating presence. Sunwoo held your chin between his thumb and ring finger and applied a thin layer between your open mouth. 

“Take a deep breath for me.” And you did so almost immediately.

You soon found out that the deep breath is needed as Sunwoo not only takes your breath away by covering your mouth with his own but that he multitasks to smear the food all over your neck and collarbone area. Unlike you who preferred things to be more uniform and clean, Sunwoo loves how you squirm and whimper under him with multiple senses. His fingers traced the horizontal line of your collarbones first before he came up and around the side and front of your neck less uniformly; he’s getting impatient now. You soon found out that the skin he exposed earlier wasn’t so that he could have a reason to place his tongue there, he’s just hungry for more of you, wanting to feel every part of you, just like how his tongue pushes against yours.

You find his little huffs of annoyance endearing as he mumbles about how the lack of oxygen has him pulling away from him showing his love. In reality, it was just a few seconds, but every second without you felt like a lifetime to him. He cleans the last bit of cream on his pants and he finally detaches his lips from you. 

Sunwoo straightens his posture, looming dominance over your wrecked mind and half-lidded eyes. A hanging weak string of saliva still connects you both in the air for a minute and his right hand wraps around your left forearm in place. You didn’t mind his sticky fingers that started to brush the strands of your hair from the top of your nape. It’s a lovely feeling from the adrenaline he gave you but he raises your heartbeat once more when he plays with the wind to your ears, “Tasting lovely, baby girl.”

Nothing else is said as his lips dive into the sweet trail that he made for himself. Your body reacts to the sudden warmth by pulling away, but his hold on your shoulder reminds you of your place to stay where you are. The same hand reaches to drip on his elbow for mind stabilisation but your free one pushes against the broad of his back. Your legs hook around the back of his thighs to feel him indefinitely closer. It seems like the boy has learnt quickly, especially when it’s from you because just like the way you made him see the stars on the ceiling, he made you see it but with more intensity and brightness. 

Sunwoo loves unpredictability over anything, even though he appreciates how you value the opposite. One of the reasons he appreciates it is because he knows what to anticipate next whenever you both feel each other, and he loves the building climax. But you who is receiving his unpredictableness, can only curse him out whenever he tries something new on the body that he has come to be familiar of. The thrill of your groans and whines makes him feel in control and just like any other time, Sunwoo didn’t hesitate to plant something new on the curve of your neck. You sharply gasp at the way his teeth very lightly plunged into you but whimper louder at how he hallows his cheek on the area. From the corner of your eyes, you see the vein of his neck start to appear with his actions.

“You’re right.” He pulls away slightly to admire a part of him on you before diving again to properly clean your skin. “I do love you like this.”

Your lips are trembling in pleasure too much to string in proper words so you only whine to his acknowledgement. When one side of your neck is clean, he doesn’t bother keeping his touch to himself, briefly swiping anything that he can get on the way to the other side of your neck. Kim Sunwoo drives you crazy and your legs around his body tighten for another attempt to stabilise yourself.

Your jaw slacks when he bites again, this time just a tiny bit stronger as a response to your lower body. He lets you drop your head back, hand still on your nape so that he has control over the area he’s marking and maximises the pleasure that he can give. The tip of his tongue starts to alternate between the sucking and long stripes that you did to him. A satisfied chuckle hits a sensitive part around your collarbone area when Sunwoo feels his shirt further define his pectoral as you clench his fabric in your fist. 

Ragged breaths along with a mixture of wet kisses are all that’s bouncing between the four walls. Flushed bodies and heated skin press against the two who are afraid to love again. You’re aware of his heart pounding against his chest, knocking on yours to let him in. The closer he travels down to your chest, you’re afraid that he will feel the pounding, afraid that your hidden desires may show through and be overwhelming for him. The meaning behind your clench changes in time that your skin is now littered with a different colour because of his actions. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, exhaling and stepping back to admire his work.

You do the same, chest raising rapidly to account for the lost air, taking advantage of the space now that he’s pulled away. Sunwoo couldn’t help the small chuckle at your pout and he wipes them away by granting you another kiss, palms resting on the edge of the table, trapping you once more. Your noses comically bumped into each other, still lightheaded from before but you enjoy the atmosphere that would always come along after the intensity you poured out to each other. Your legs relax between his figure and both your hands delicately cradle his cheeks. 

The realisation strikes again: all you want is him. 

Him and everything of him.

The thought of him kissing someone else churns your stomach and makes you green, even though he’s not yours. You didn’t want anyone else cupping his cheek the way you do, and you didn’t want to see anyone else next to you when you opened your eyelids to the song of the morning birds. You want to be greeted by his chest or hairline when he needed comfort the night before. You want his “I love you”s and “I’ll miss you”s even if one of you is just going to another room in the building. You want to be the person that he can always lean on for whatever and whenever. You want him to be the person that you can cry ugly to. The wishes filled your body as you wished he would kiss you like this forever with or without the title that you would love to establish.

You feel the clenching of your heart when you open your eyes with the final pull of the remnants of vanilla, greeted with the shimmering orbs that you’ve fallen in love with. Your eyes are stuck onto the smile lines around his face and he’s entranced with every single part of you, staring at you with the honey dripping from his eyes. The smile you offer him is bashful and slightly tense. Of course, he caught up to that, humming at the sight of your pretty head filled with worries. His thumb glazes upon the apple of your cheeks and you wish he didn’t just so that you could save yourself from heartbreak. 

Kim Sunwoo makes you believe that love is worth it; that you’re worth it.

You wish you were more confident to tell him that.

Sunwoo leans his forehead onto yours, eyes planted on your downcasted gaze, “Hey, can I tell you what I wished for at the shooting stars?” but you only hum back, refusing to look at him, “Can you let me be the only person to touch, hold and kiss you like that?” There was a moment of silence as Sunwoo let you register his words. When it does click to you, your eyes shot up to his. A nervous chuckle is what he offers you but he doesn’t plan to take his words back, “It’s okay if you’re not ready. I’ll wait for you. But,” he swallows the anxiety down his throat, letting his face roam around your slightly confused face, “I can't stand the thought of someone else littering kisses all over you other than me.”

It’s genuine.

Kim Sunwoo’s eyes are different than any of the eyes that you once put your trust in.

It’s obvious.

“Jealous?” It was supposed to be more striking and playful but it turned out to be more tiring and insecure.

Again, he caught up to it and decided to carry on the narrative of your words with a careful tone, “You’d be fine with other girls running their tongues all over my face?”

The mention of your past actions started the multiple offences to his chest and the poor boy loves the flustered look on your face, complaints flying out of your mouth. In this moment when you both indulge in the comfortable relationship that you share, your posture relaxes and your hands rest on your laps. Shortly, Sunwoo joins his own there, fingers intertwining between yours and just like how he soothes the heaviness that you hold internally, his thumbs swipe across the back of your hand.

“If you do, I won’t let you off easily, Kim Sunwoo.”

You hope that he realises the real implication behind the words. Sunwoo’s brain buffered a little bit but soon enough, the straight line shape of his lips raised into something more. Along with it, his naturally mischievous personality also raised his eyebrows. “That’s my girl.”

You couldn’t help the giggle at how his face flush red after, bashful at the effect you had on him. Your fingers brush along the ends of his hair that seems to get in the way of his eyes.

“You should cut them or something.”

“I look hot like this though.”

“You always look hot.”

And there comes little shy Kim Sunwoo once more. 

“I-Instead of flirting with me, why don't you grant my other wish instead?”

“Oh yeah?” You lean back on the table, hands behind you for support, “I granted you your wish, shouldn’t you grant mine first before you ask for another one?”

“How about I grant them both at the same time?” 

“You don’t even know what I want.”

True.

As much as Kim Sunwoo has been paying attention to you, you’ve always been the girl to never fully express what they want despite the encouragement from your loved ones that they will always stand beside you no matter what. An idea brews in his head when you lean back and he catches the glimpse of the white rays shooting out from the sky behind you. You know with the way that his tongue swipes along his bottom lip, mouth slightly agape that he’s up to no good.

His hand leaves the marble you’re on, drawing closer to the side of your thigh to your waist. Innocently, he displays his big, round eyes to you and his actions contradict them heavily. A few of his fingers slip past not only the waistband of your skirt but also the fabric underneath it. You thought he would stop his ministrations there but his other hand traces the same path on the other side of your body, this time however even though his hand did not go under the underband, the clip behind clicks open.

“You can’t wish for anything until I show you the stars.”

navi/masterlist!! 🤍

tags (send a dm/ask if you would like to be here or removed!): @deoboyznet 📢❤️ @k-labels 💙🤍 @k-films 🤎🎞️ @kflixnet 📺🍿 @sanaxo-o

[spookytrashturtle]

A man saying I love you while piercing another man's spine is absolutely heterosexual and friendship, isn't it? (waring: violence)

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[kflixnet]

Check out our member Coco’s oneshot!

in another life.

lee heeseung x f!reader x ??? (it’ll make sense when you read I promise)

SYNOPSIS: in which losing you is the least of heeseung’s worries, until he’s forced to watch you slip through his fingers.

wc: 1.9k (almost 2k fr)!

genres: best friends to strangers, unrequited love (or is it), best friends to lovers

warning(s): heavy angst, toxic friendship/relationship, heeseung is mean, very very mean, manipulation (nothing too crazy), refusal to take blame, and heeseung needs to be humbled imo…ANYWAYS, small plot twist but not really! (a/n: header is ugly because I made it in like 2 minutes since it felt naked without one 🤣☝🏽)

Lee Heeseung knows about your feelings for him at  the mere age of eight, when you give him the other half of your popsicle stick that you’ve just bought with your very own allowance. His smile is so bright taking the food from your hand that it doesn’t even matter if you’ve spent all five of your dollars on the popsicle because as long as your youthful heart can see Heeseung smile, that’s all that matters to you.

Heeseung also knows about your feelings for him when you’re both sixteen and he proudly exclaims that he’s finally asked Jisun out after months of pining after her. A hurt look flashes across your face for one, two then three seconds, then as if it was never there, it’s gone. He thinks it might have been a bad idea to tell you but he doesn’t reciprocate the feelings you have for him and in his mind, he never will. 

Keep reading

[ironandglass]

The Descent - Chapter 2 - Reflections  

Silco x female reader dark slow burn modern au. Stalker Silco.

A strange man moves into the apartment across from yours, he likes to watch and you start to like him watching. What could go wrong?

<<<Go back to Chapter One

Warnings: stalking, violence, trauma, threats, fear, panic, romanticized toxic behavior, alcohol drinking, toxic relationships, power dynamics, mental health probably, sex mention, swearing, bad editing (notsorry), evil Silco, dark Silco, cold Silco. He’s not gentle and sweet ya feel? No jinx

Chapter two

Reflections

-- 

There are few things worse than crying yourself to sleep in your stalker’s bed. Waking up in it while he undresses might be one of them. 

-- 

Back home, you’re abruptly confronted with everything as you enter the recently repaired front door, closing it behind you. Locking the deadbolt and the slide chain across.    

In that moment you wish there were more locks. 

Leaning back against the door you feel a pang in your chest that rises up into your throat like a painful stone. You rake your fingers up through your hair, a ragged breath escapes you.     Your home was a wreck, the police had left fingerprint dust stuff on walls and moved everything awkwardly. Bringing to reality the stark reminder that someone had broken in, so easily, to your private space and threatened your life.    

You take a few deep breaths. Running your fingers through your hair again and again, not even realising you're doing it.   

You try to push it all down. 

Suddenly gripped by a realisation, you stride across the apartment to pointedly close all the curtains. Silco wasn’t on his balcony, you assumed he had gone to bed. Or maybe he was washing the sheets after your intrusion.  

Oh no, how embarrassing, you hadn’t meant to fall asleep in his bed like that. You hadn’t planned on crying your little heart out till you fell into a deep sleep. If you were being honest, that was the best sleep you'd, had in a long time.   

You sit on the end of your bed, re-hashing your excruciating awkwardness. So what, the man watched you. You encouraged him by parading around In lingerie. So what if you came hard when you noticed he was watching you fuck somebody in your bed.  

You liked it, you like his eyes on you. He called the police for you when you were robbed. He supported you through it, as you cried in his arms. He was actually there for you. He even gave you a place to stay and made you a hot chocolate and sure, it was a little creepy that he knew your name and he said you were his girlfriend but everything else kind of balances that out… right? 

You flop back onto the bed, blowing air out of your mouth and letting your legs hang. 

Am… I the creep? You start to wonder. 

— 

That night you dream the door won’t lock.   

No matter how many chains you slide across or bolts you twist, it won’t hold. 

Someone’s on the other side and you can’t tell if you’re scared… or if you’re hoping it’s him. 

 — 

Over the next few days you wrestle with your behavior, feeling guilty for being rude to the man after violating his privacy. You supposed you had felt entitled to it because he always invaded yours, but… had he? Honestly, all you really needed to do was close the curtains. It was almost less invaded and more invited.  

It was impossible to try and justify your behavior by normal morals or logic, because you were both a little twisted. The rules seemed different between you two. 

You keep the curtains closed. 

 — 

The police call, requesting you come in and identify a lineup of potential suspects involved in your robbery and even though you'd rather walk slowly over hot coals you agree, because it seems like the correct thing to do.     However, a few anxious hours before you’re meant to attend, you get another phone call from the same officer advising that it’s cancelled.     “Don’t come in.” They say, no explanation, no reschedule.    

At first you’re annoyed at the lack of justice and potentially effort from the police but that is quickly replaced by a huge wave of relief.  

 — 

It’s a little over a week before you start to open the blinds up and see Silco again, because it takes you time to slowly ease back into your confidence.    

He gives no indication of annoyance or impatience -you do though. He feels so far away now.  

  You reflect on his words.    

Just you.    

The memory of that moment, his warm breath against your ear, feeling it sink gently down your neck. 

You desperately want more of whatever that was.  

 — 

Feeling inspired, you decide to thank Silco for helping you somehow. Maybe a gift? A token of appreciation? What do you give a wealthy man to say thank you… on a normal human budget?    

Wracking your brain, it takes you a while before you come up with the perfect idea. A small perfume sampler card of your signature scent (sprayed generously in store of course, unwilling to waste your own stock).    

Eventually, after visiting a frustrating number of stores, all over the damn city, you find a place that sells his brand of cigarettes, imported, black with a gold ring around the filter.    

You press your lips to the perfume sampler card, leaving a stained lipstick kiss and write on the back “Thank you Silco xxx" and sign your name.    

You tie the card and cigarette packet together with a luxurious dark red, silk ribbon, matching the deep red shirts he seemed to favor.     You beam down proudly at the final product before carefully packing it into a box and mailing it to his unit.     -and wait.   

 — 

The wind is so cold your fingers feel numb and clumsy through your thin gloves. You can barely see the footpath carrying a large and awkward parcel home from the nearby post office.  

  Regretting agreeing to pick it up for your best friend Mia on short notice. You did owe her though, and you know that she would do the same (and more) for you in a heart beat. That thought eases your frustration slightly. 

You’re only a few blocks from your front door when you hear an unfamiliar male voice laugh behind you. 

“Let me help” 

You open your mouth to protest but you feel the weight is lifted off your hands before you have the chance. You step back around the large bulky parcel to get a look at this mysterious helper.  

He is wearing the most obnoxiously bright yellow tartan suit you have ever seen in your life. More annoyingly, it looks quite good on his lean muscular frame. He’s covered in tattoos, you see them peeking out at his ankles and wrists, they’re also all across his face, he smirks at you and his shocking pale green eyes throw you off centre momentarily.  

“I don’t mean to be rude, drink it in, but it’s fucking freezing, and I‘ve got places to be.” 

You shoot him a half smile and gesture forward with your chin, not taking your eyes off him as you both start walking up the street. You, silently and thoughtfully, taking in this unexpected curiosity.  

“Seems like you don’t actually have time to help” you press as you walk together. 

He huffs a brief laugh and looks at you with an incredulous grin. 

“Honestly, you looked like a more independent type so… I was expecting you’d say no.”  

It was your turn to now to half feign offence while lowkey being actually offended. 

“Here’s fine…-" 

"-Finn” he interjects, catching your eye as he lowers the parcel to the ground. 

“Thank you Finn” your smile follows him as he stands to his full height. You pointedly do not offer your name, even after he gives you an encouraging look.  

“Tch, You’re difficult, … I like that.” He says looking down at you, his gaze seems to deepen with a predatory glint and he cuts a handsome smirk to match it. You hold his gaze, keeping your head high, this man, “Finn” was cocksure, and apparently just obnoxious as his suit. 

“See you round, difficult girl.” He gives you a sharks grin as he turns away up the street. 

You watch him go, unsure what to think, but also to make sure he doesn't see which building is yours before you pick the parcel up, cross the road and go into your apartment. 

 — 

Reading, on your couch, a small flicker of light out of the corner of your eye lets you know Silco is home and has moved onto the balcony to smoke. Possibly enjoying his small but hopefully meaningful gift.   

You turn slightly in his direction to smile warmly at his half lit outline for a moment before turning back to your reading, as one might greet a dear friend.  

His presence was a soothing balm, comforting after a long day at work. After some time, you found your thoughts drifting to how you clung to his warmth and how his fingers traced soothing patterns on your back to calm you. His expensive high end apartment with the marble countertop and large bathroom. His smell, his delicious hot chocolate, his warm whisper in your ear.  

You absently trace your thumb over your lip. You want more of him, but you’re not sure how, or why or… if you should?  

You flick your eyes towards him without turning your head. The curtains are drawn and he has retreated. Your heart sinks at the realization that he’s no longer watching, he’s not with you.  

You’re very much alone. 

Maybe it would be better to have a normal healthy relationship… or at least let off some steam.  

One of your friends, Mia, had been trying to get you to come out to something, anything… you decide in that moment to take her up on it and message her. 

YOU: "When are you coming to pick up this massive fucking parcel?" 

She replies quickly. 

MIA: "Awww are you missing me? Haha I can come grab it tonight! After work, Oooooh also, I have news!" 

You pause at that last line, that was never a good sign, it usually meant you were about to be dragged into something. 

You walk to the cupboard and pull out two wine glasses and a bottle in preparation. You had to admit though, her schemes were never boring and you catch yourself smiling.  

Before you sit down you pull the curtains closed.  

 — 

You don't have to wait long before you hear footsteps at your door, a key fumble in the lock awkwardly for a moment followed by the crash of a heavy keyring falling loudly to the floor and familiar cursing. 

You laugh and go to the door, opening it as an act of mercy. 

"How have you made it this far in life?" You ask at the grinning woman sheepishly clutching a set of keys covered way too many novelty keyrings. 

"There she is!" She says throwing her arms around you enthusiastically giving you a tight squeeze. "My favourite door opening, parcel receiving, goddess!" 

You snort a laugh and close the door behind her, locking the dead bolt and slide bolt in place as well as the new extra lock you had installed.     Mia glances at you over her shoulder for just one second before doing a little twirl into the room, towards the couch and pulling another bottle of wine out. 

"I come bearing tribute!" She says dramatically, bowing as she places it on the table, your traditional festive grounds. 

She flings off her large bright coat, tossing it over the back of one of a stool revealing a stylish bright ensemble with large earrings. She always looks amazing. 

You pour two glasses of wine before tilting your head to the package.  

"So what is it? Besides heavy?" You ask. 

She stomps her heels on the ground rapidly in excitement.    

"It's my wheel!" She says her eyes lighting up. 

"Like... a pottery wheel?" You ask. 

"Uh yeah, a pottery wheel! I'm sick of paying for classes like a peasant. I want to be at home with myself in the zone with that stupid song playing. Ohhhhhh myyyy looovvveeee…"  

You grin as you take another sip and she shows you photos on her phone of some of the things she has made. Some are bent and awkward but you can see as she progresses through the album her improvement, some of them are starting to look really good.  

"Damn, some of these actually look great." You admit smiling.  

She falls back on the couch smirking. "I'm full of surprises babe."   

"I'm gonna make vessels and talismans, maybe even urns, you know, for dogs or something."   

You giggle at the idea, joining her on the couch.     It's not long before both of you kick your shoes off and slump into lazy comfort with your feet lined up resting on the coffee table. Talking playfully and laughing a little too loudly, but in the best way. 

Suddenly Mia's spine stiffens and she looks at you like she just remembered something scandalous. 

"Ooooh that's right, my news!" She exclaims. 

"Don't make that face" she chastises you gently, slapping your thigh. "You'll love this!"    

Mia wiggles herself forward to lean in closer to you, conspiratorially.   

“So, get this—I met this guy. Tall, tattoos, gorgeous in a very bad idea kind of way.”   

You try to feign parental concern without smiling. “Oooh nooo.”   

“Ooooh yes,” she grins. “He came into the gallery looking like trouble in a yellow suit, asked all the right questions, bought two paintings, and might have invited me to a fancy charity ball.”   

You choke on your wine. “Wait—what?”   

Mia shrugs, way too casual. “It’s this weekend. Super posh. He said I could bring a friend.” She points at you. “You. Obviously.”   

You blink at her. “You want me to go to a rich people gala with a man you just met in a banana suit?”   

“He’s hot! And charming! And rich! And it’s for charity. Plus, he already arranged a dress fitting. Free couture, babe. Couture.”   

You stare at her, uncertain. Part of you wants to laugh, the other part wants to scream. But Mia’s looking at you with those big, hopeful eyes, practically vibrating with excitement.   

“…You in?” she tempts.   

You sigh, long and dramatic. “If we end up murdered, it's on you.”   

Mia squeals and launches at you with a hug. “We are gonna be iconic!    -- 

Watering your plants on the balcony, you glance up to see Silco’s not there—the large, empty glass windows of his apartment still and silent. The sun is high in the sky, so this isn’t unusual. You usually only saw him from dusk till dawn, maybe only a handful of times in daylight. 

Standing barefoot in the bright, natural light, tending to your plants, all of that feels far away. You enjoy this quiet moment with nobody watching, alone, but not lonely. 

The smell of damp soil and the weight of the watering can, sloshing gently with your movements, ground you. 

You hum a song to yourself as you move from plant to plant, enjoying the warmth. 

  -- 

The espresso machine hisses like a warning, sharp and sudden, not quite drowned out by the ambient music of the cafe.  

You'd promised yourself you'd take an actual break but for some reason you were still reading work emails on your company laptop. 

You don't notice him until the air shifts, something feels off, like pressure changing before a storm. Then the chair scrapes.   

"Relax" he says calmly sitting down opposite you. "I won't stay long"     You look up at him, eyes wide in surprise, your mouth half open. 

"Silco." You say dumbly, watching as he draws a card out of his pocket and places it in the middle of the table between you. 

"Your handwriting is terrible" he says. "But your perfume's better than I expected.” 

You stare at the card, then up at him.   

"You got it" you exhale. 

"I did" he replies, picking the card back up. Your eyes linger as you notice him brushing his thumb gently over it once before tucking it away into the breast pocket of his coat. "And I meant to thank you properly, after all it was a bold gesture." 

You freeze, like a deer in the headlights. Flustered and proud and nervous all at once. 

He leans in slightly, as if feasting, his eyes watching yours with exquisite precision. Always so intense. 

Your lips part slowly to say something. 

"-Do you know who I am." His question throws you off completely. 

You stumble for a moment, brows furrowing."... I mean sort of? You're my... Neighbour and... I know your name?"  

He nods towards your laptop. 

"Open a new browser." 

You do so, looking up at him. 

"Now type in my name." 

You raise an eyebrow at this but comply, the five keys clattering gently. 

The search loads instantly. 

Silco, Zaun Industries CEO wanted for questioning in relation to the disappearance- Industrialist allegedly linked to underground crime- Arson attack- Crime and corruption in- Undercity Kingpin -  several bodies found branded with the Eye of Zaun- Politicians revealed to have dealings with- police found no evidence- on and on 

Hundreds, no thousands of articles, boardroom photos, headlines, grainy security footage.  

All of it, him. 

Him. 

Your breath falters as you take all of this in. Before slowly looking up at him. 

"This is you" you say. 

"It is." He says, cold, unapologetic, honest. 

"I thought you were just... rich" you admit. 

He raises one eyebrow, mildly amused. "I am." 

"I mean like, eccentric, quiet, controlling rich... I didn't think-" 

"-That I was dangerous?" 

You fall silent at this. The words hit like a truck. 

He reaches over and takes a sip of your coffee, like it's a test, or a claim. 

You search his face, desperately clinging to the man you thought you knew. As if familiarity will ground you. 

"Why tell me this?" You ask. 

"I don't want you to remain ignorant." He says softly this time. 

A moment passes and your mind is racing, trying to make sense of all of this. "So what... Is this a threat?"  

"If I were threatening you" he says, eyes meeting yours.  "You'd feel it." 

You believe him. 

Your brows furrow deeper. "So why now? ... Why are you telling me this now?" 

He looks at you, considering for a long moment. As though he's deciding if you should know the truth- or something else. 

"You sent me a gift." He explains slowly. "You put something of yourself into it, thoughtfully and freely." 

A pause. 

"And you deserve to know what you gave it to."  

You blink at this. 

"I didn't know it was like that." You admit. 

"I know." He says, eyes flicking back up to yours. 

Silco leans back in his chair, relaxed. Calmly assessing your reactions, witnessing your thoughts. He takes another sip of your coffee, setting it down neatly. 

You close your laptop screen slowly and rake your fingers through your hair. "I don't know what to do with this." You confess. 

"You don't need to do anything." He says pausing. "Not yet."    Something about the way he says the last part makes your stomach drop. 

You narrow your eyes at him. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

Silco stands and tucks his chair in, the legs scrape softly against the tile. 

He adjusts his coat, and taps the breast pocket he had tucked your gift into, looking down at you. 

“You handed me a piece of yourself, and I accepted it.”  

A smile curls his lips. 

“That part of you belongs to me now... and it won't be returned.” 

He turns, walking toward the door. Calm, unhurried. No drama. No threat in his stride.    “You should’ve known better than to offer something you couldn’t afford to lose.”  

Just before the exit, he glances back at you smirking, like he already knows how this ends. 

And then he's gone. 

-- 

"And you deserve to know what you gave it to." 

That night you keep the curtains closed, sore eyes staring at the cold glass in front of you. On the screen is yet another news article. The screen is paused on the image of Silco. His face set firm, uncompromising. Two large bodyguards stand either side of him.     You blow a loose strand of hair out of your face and allow yourself to relax, sinking into the couch behind you. The muscles in your back easing after hours of tension.    For hours now, you had been researching him trying to make it sink in that this is the truth, the reality of your situation. Reading and reading until you can't anymore. You have to accept it, it seems impossible, but this is the man who you let watch, let him see so much of yourself.   “That part of you belongs to me now... and it won't be returned.” 

The man was so much worse than you could ever imagined. In every way. 

Dangerous, powerful, violent and you pranced around in your underwear for him and sent him tokens of affection. 

You drop your face into your hands. 

But you meant it. The man you knew, before you knew that, he was still the same man. Just ... significantly worse and most likely dangerous to be near.  

You sigh deeply. How the fuck did you get yourself so tangled up in this? 

And even after everything, why do you still think about how he held you that night.    “You should’ve known better than to offer something you couldn’t afford to lose.”  

You curl up tightly into a ball, like you can fold yourself away from it all, and you cry.  -- Thanks so much for reading Chapter 2! 🔪📖🖤 I have been really enjoying writing this so I hope you dig it! If you're comfy doing so, please let me know what you think! : ) Super curious to know what YOU want to happen? Or what you want to see more of or know more about?

I can promise you, shit is about to get WILD next chapter, I hope you're ready. <3 Iron

PS - If you’d like to be added to the taglist for “The Descent” let me know!✨

--

>>>Continue on to Chapter three

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