#welcome to the void Jazz

[saxandviolins77]

Jazz playing a Berimbau*

*Afro-Brazilian instrument used in Capoeira dances/fights

[thenightwolf51]

What if Jack and Maddie Fenton were actually Jack and Janet Drake?

The Drakes are their actual identities but they created the Fentons as a why of letting loose, of getting to be their truest most unhinged selves and pursue their true passion without the eyes of high society Gotham judging them.

Whenever the Drakes are supposedly out of the country on archeological digs they are actually in a little no where town in the midwest.

The Drake wealth is perfectly capable of funding their experiments and prototypes and every now and then they do show up to a dig for a week or too, but the Fentons are who they truly are.

So of course Gotham never finds out about Janet's first pregnancy and little Jasmine is welcomed into the world as an Amity Park Fenton, not a Gotham Drake. Janet's second pregnancy however.

Well as i said, the Fentons are who they truly are at their most unhinged and unfiltered. And upon finding out that their having a set of identical twins, well, can you really blame them for passing up this perfect opportunity to test Nature vs. Nurture.

One boy would be a wealthy Drake raised as an only child in a hostile city, the other would be a Fenton raised with his older sister in a peaceful small town.

That's what they decide and thats what they do, and everything is as cannon goes. Tim doesn't know that his parents "archeological digs" are really an excuse to spend most of their time as the Fentons, and Danny and Jazz don't know that the longer "ghost conventions" are an excuse to handle Drake affairs and check on their unknown brother.

At least until things start to get complicated.

(Im not sure if Maddie fakes Janet's death or if she really dies, and if Jack's coma is fake or real and he lost his Fenton memories. Or maybe the death and coma dont happen at all and the truth comes out some other way like Danny finding the Nature vs. Nurture notes or a school trip to gotham or maybe Jazz desides to go to college in Gotham and it comes out that way somehow.

This obviously works best as a "bad parents Jack and maddie" though how bad they are can be entirely up to you. Maybe everything comes out sometime after a "reveal gone right" and Danny and Jazz think their parents are getting better only to be smacked in the face by the betrayal of "secret billionaire parents who essentially abandoned their brother"

Dont know but im tossing it to the void.

To me the most important scenes in this idea is Tim angst at the fact that his parents were never actually too busy to be there for him and had instead chosen no to be there, the somewhat bitter consolation of learning that even when their parents were physically there they still weren't there there for his siblings, and then some good ole slightly unhinged sibling bonding.

Maybe the measuring of ecto contamination and debate in if their parents presence did more damageto their health or less

They honestly might be tied on mental and physical scars. All three kids tend to come with headcanons about neglect and malnourishment)

@hdgnj @omnicrafts @im-totally-not-an-alien-2 @tathartiel @0mnicrex @ailithnight @little-pondhead

[luxaofhesperides]

Accidental Bride Sacrifice ; requested by @starlightcat04!

Danny has long since gotten used to the feel of summonings. They don’t happen often, but sometimes the right components are put together to force him into answering, and he’d have to go as the new Ghost King.

Which no one told him was a thing! He hadn’t protested too much about the whole Ghost King deal when they finally told him about it after he graduated high school. It gave him a good excuse to ditch life in the living realm and not worry about college or a career, and let him really embrace his ghost side. 

The summonings are a problem, though. They always feel staticky and bad, like a dumpster that just got struck by lightning. The taste of iron on his tongue, a clear sign of blood being spilled, lets him know that it would be one of end the world for us summonings, because some people can’t put in the effort to do it themselves, apparently. 

But this time, the summoning feels different.

Danny pauses, eyes going unfocused in the middle of his conversation with Jazz. He had been looking forward to spending the week with her, now that she’s on winter break, but his luck is as bad as always.

“I’m being summoned,” he tells her, cutting off her rant about a transphobic professor she had. 

“Oh, no. Do you need me to do anything? Should I go with you to beat up whoever it is that’s summoning you?”

Danny tilts his head to the side, considering. The taste of blood is noticeably absent. In fact, this summoning pull doesn’t make him feel sick at all. It makes him feel warm, as if he’s just been wrapped in a hug.

“No,” he says. “I think I’m good. This one feels different.”

“A good different?” Jazz asks, worry clear in her voice.

“Yeah. A good different. I’ll come back soon, okay?”

“Alright. Be careful, Danny.” Jazz pulls him into a quick hug, then steps back to watch as Danny stops fighting the pull of the summoning and disappears into a swirling white rings that flashes into existence behind him, blinding her for a moment, and is gone when she manages to blink the spots out of her vision. 

For a minute, Danny drifts in a void of stillness, traveling through the realms as the summoning draws him closer to the correct realm. And then he’s rising out of the ground in a dark building made of concrete, candles of green flame scattered all over the place.

“Great One!” someone in a hooded cloak cries, raising his arms in jubilation. “Our calls have been answered!”

“I’ll fucking kill you!” a mechanical voice yells from farther back. When Danny looks past the cultists’ heads, he spots a man in a red hood and leather jacket chained to a pole, along with a bunch of other people in strange costumes tied up, desperately trying to free themselves. 

“Silence!” The leader of the cult, or who Danny assumes is the leader, snaps at the hooded man and gestures to the people off to his left. They force another costumed person forward, this one in yellow armor. He can see the blood running down their face from beneath their helmet and from their nose, dark lines of blood cutting through their brown skin. 

The cultists throw the armored person forward, forcing them to kneel. Then they bow to Danny and step back.

“Great One,” the leader says, voice unpleasantly reverent and grating, “Welcome to the mortal realms. We offer you this sacrifice to feed your strength. He will make a fine general for your undead army in your crusade to rid this world of its filth.”

The people in the back begin shouting all together, panicked voices overlapping, and Danny is left staring down at the cultists in shock.

The summoning had felt so nice. What the hell was this? He did not sign up for another ‘end of days’ insane cult. He just wanted to be hugged. 

His silence makes the cultists nervous. They begin to shift uneasily, whispering to each other, and the leader clears his throat, then pulls a large crystal dagger out of his cloak. “We shall prove our devotion to you through an offering of a hero’s blood!”

And then he moves towards the sacrifice and Danny snaps out of his shock to yell, “Wait!”

The entire room freezes. Even the costumed people in the back go still. 

Danny winces, then tries to smother his power, make himself more palatable to the humans of this dimension. “Wait,” he says again, and he sounds closer to human now. If he could, he would drop his ghost form entirely, but he knows better than to endanger himself like that. “What, exactly, did you summon me here for?”

The cult leader stares at him for a moment. “To… To rid the world of filth and allow your loyal followers to spread word of your power. You will be worshiped again, Great One, and serve as a reminder to man that Death shall always prevail.”

“Okay, I get that, but I was talking more along the lines of the summoning. What ritual did you use? What specifically were the summoning requirements?”

Normally, he’d be able to figure it out himself, but these cultists didn’t use a summoning circle. So they did something else, something less visible and therefore harder to figure out, in order to bring him here.

A woman standing off to the side speaks up, stepping forward hesitantly. “I had pieced together a few summoning spells from this book to bring you here. You had to accept our chosen sacrifice to your side in order for the summoning to work.”

“Hold up that book for me, please?”

She does, and Danny flies down to grab it from her hands. “Point out which lines you used,” he says, already reading a few of the words written down. It’s definitely ghostspeak written down, which should be near impossible for living humans to translate without being skilled in magic.

“Ah, these ones.” She points to each line, reading them out for him, and Danny starts understand what, exactly, went wrong.

“Is there a problem, Great One?”

Danny returns the book then floats over to the sacrifice and picks him up. The costumed people make alarmed noises, but quietly quiet down again when all Danny does is move him away from the cultists.

“Okay,” he says, “So. The lines you used to summon me were not translated properly. What you interpreted as ‘accepted to stay by the king’s side in loyalty and strength’ is not meant to be, like, him being part of my undead army or whatever. It’s a royal marriage vow.”

“They married us?” the sacrifice shouts, disbelieving. The cult leader buries his face in his hands and sighs.

“My deepest apologies, Great One. We meant no offense. We simply wanted to aid in your destruction of this depraved world.”

Danny scrunches his nose and shakes his head. “Yeah, that’s not gonna fly with me. I do not do the biding of random people, especially those who are ready to murder innocent people for no reason. Frighty, if you would.” He snaps his fingers, calling up Fright Knight who always enjoys getting to torment the people who summon Danny for murderous reasons.

Fright Knight appears in a swirl of darkness and screams. Shadows swallow the room, and when they recede, no cultists remain.

“Thanks, Frighty. Have fun with them. I need to figure out all… this.”

Fright Knight bows to him, then disappears. Danny lets out a breath, then floats down lower to be eye level with the sacrifice. “Hey,” he says gently, with a smile, “I’m so sorry they did this to you. I’m Danny. What’s your name?”

“Du— Uh, Signal,” the sacrifice says, sounding rather dazed. 

“Signal,” Danny repeats. “Like… a traffic signal?”

“No. I mean, maybe? But it is Signal. That’s my hero name, not my real name.”

“Oh, you’re a hero!” His getup makes more sense now. Danny checks him over for any signs of injuries. So far, only his head and nose seem to be injured, but his wrists are tightly bound behind his back. Carefully, Danny calls upon his ice and shapes it into a sharp knife, then cuts through the zipties.

He helps Signal up to his feet, floating by his shoulder. “All good?”

“Yeah, man, all good. Let me just get the others free.”

“Oh, I can do it!” Danny flies over to the other costumed people, who must also be heroes. All it takes is one link in the chain being frozen and broken for the entire thing to go lax, allowing them to free themselves. Hooded guy spares Danny a single glance, then hurries over to Signal to check on him. The other three, a man with a blue bird across his chest, a blond girl with a yellow bat outline on her chest, and a guy with bandoliers and a golden bird emblem, all watch him warily as he floats back towards the center of the room.

“So,” the blue bird man says, “If they summoned you with a marriage vow, and you accepted, does that mean you’re planning to steal Signal away from us?” He’s smiling, but it’s not a nice smile.

“No! I had no idea they did this! I am so sorry you all got caught up in this. You most of all, Signal.”

Signal shrugs, nudging hood guy away from him. “Nah, man, it’s all good. This is definitely the better outcome.”

“I don’t know, being married off isn’t really a good thing.”

“Hey, at least they married me off to a decent guy.”

“You don’t know that,” Danny says, “What if I’m secretly evil?”

“If you were secretly evil, you’d be destroying the world right now. I think you’re fine.”

The blond girl waves at him, demanding his attention. “Quick question! They were calling you ‘Great One’. Are you a god or something?”

“Not really? I’m the Ghost King. So I’m a ghost who rules over other ghosts and also a majority of the Infinite Realms.”

She nods as if this is all totally normal for her, then shoots Signal a grin. “Congrats on bagging a king! Not the worst way to spend a night, right?”

“Can you break the marriage?” blue bird man asks, the lines of his shoulders tense.

Danny awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, not looking any of them in the eye. “I honestly don’t know. I can look for a way! But I genuinely have no clue. This was unexpected.”

“But you accepted.”

“I didn’t know what I expected! It just felt like a hug, and I wanted a hug! I thought I was being summoned for something nice for once!” Danny curls up, bringing his knees up to his chest, and hides his pout behind his hands. He knows he’s being childish, but he can’t help but be upset that he couldn’t have this one good experience from being Ghost King. 

It’s always responsibilities and death cult summonings and fighting ghosts who don’t think he should be king. Sure there have been some good things, but they’re comparatively few when looking at all the other stress and pain that comes with the crown. Sue him for wanting to have a nice night for once. Hell, at this point, he’d take being summoned to help with some kid’s homework, because at least then he could have a quiet night helping someone.

“Hey, man, can you come down here?” Signal asks. 

He wants to stay out of reach, hiding himself away for a bit longer, but Signal is his new, surprise, accidental husband, so Danny lowers himself to the ground and peeks through his fingers to look at him.

He tenses when Signal hugs him, soft and warm and comforting. It takes a moment for him to realize what’s going on, and then he’s melting into Signal’s embrace, dropping his hands to wrap them around Signal’s back.

Distantly, he can hear the other heroes talking quietly amongst themselves. He blocks out the sound as much as he can, determined to enjoy this hug while it lasts.

Which is… fairly long. Signal makes no moves to end the hug, so Danny closes his eyes to really savor the moment. 

“So,” Signal murmurs into his ear, “As newlyweds, how about we get to know each other a bit better before we start working on fixing all this?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Let’s ditch these guys and take some time to ourselves.”

“I promise I’ll get this fixed,” he says, just to make sure Signal knows. “Genuinely, I am so sorry to have married you through an old Realms vow when you had no say in it.”

“Hey, if it lands me a very nice, very attractive king, then I don’t mind at all. I could have done without the murderous cultists, though.”

Danny huffs out a small laugh. “Oh, for sure. Thanks for being so cool about this. Want me to fly us out of here?”

“Yes please,” Signal says. Danny smiles and tightens his grip on Signal, then lifts them both up. “I’ll see y’all later! Have fun with the rest of your patrols!” he calls out to the other heroes, who start shouting at him.

Danny flies them right out the roof before the other heroes figure out a way to kick his ass. The city they’re in is smoggy and dark, tall buildings rising up into the cloudy sky, and police sirens ring through the air. There’s no where that looks like a particularly nice spot to land for a conversation, so he asks Signal where he’d like to go and follows his directions from there.

They end up phasing through a building, then into the floor, which leaves them in what Signal calls The Hatch. 

Danny takes a quick moment to freak out over being in a hero’s secret hide out, the composes himself and finally pulls away from Signal.

“So,” he starts, looking around The Hatch and taking in the giant computer, the workstation, the motorcycle farther down the way, “What did you—Woah!” Danny spins around, slamming a hand over his eyes the instant he realizes that Signal is taking off his helmet, leaving his face bare.

It’s not like he’d know who Signal is anyways, being from a different dimension, but it’s the principle of the matter.

Signal laughs when he sees Danny’s attempt to keep from looking at him. A warm hand wraps around his wrist and gently pulls it away. “It’s okay, Danny, you can look,” he says. “It would be pretty weird if my own husband didn’t know my face.”

Slowly, giving Signal to change his mind, Danny opens his eyes. He moves his gaze up, going from Signal’s armor to his face, his very cute face and his warm brown eyes, and Danny stares for a moment. 

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” Signal says, fondness coloring his voice. “My name’s Duke. Are all Ghost Kings as cute as you?”

“Duke,” Danny repeats. “Hi. Um, no. The last one really sucked, actually, which is why I fought him. He was so bad the Infinite Realms didn’t want him anymore, so though I technically didn’t beat him in single combat, it was enough for the Infinite Realms to kick him out and get me on the throne.”

“Man, I can not wait to hear more of your stories. Think we got time for that while we search for a way to undo that marriage vow?”

Taking his chance, Danny says, “Sure! It’s a date.”

He’s awarded by Duke’s bright smile and idly wonders how long he can keep them married. Hopefully long enough for them to get into a real relationship where he can propose properly. And then he can get Jazz’s blessing too—

“Oh shit,” Danny realizes. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I need to tell my sister or she’s going to actually kill me.”

Duke winces. “And I should probably tell the others before Spoiler makes a mess of things… B is not going to be happy with me.”

They share a despairing look, already dreading the amount of scoldings they’re both going to get. He’s not looking forward to it.

“...Put it off until tomorrow?”

Duke nods. “Yeah. That’s a tomorrow problem. For now, how about a late dinner?”

“Sounds perfect.”

. . .

[send me a ghostlights prompt!]

[redvexillum]

I feel like the way I portray Alastor is all in the spectrum of Yandare. So, I tried my best to write...yandare Alastor in a way it makes sense for my head canon of him. I want to give a quick shout out to my friend @peach-flavored-flambe ! I thought the best way to welcome her is dedicating this unhinged Alastor story to her!

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, dead dove: do not eat, dub con, obsessive!alastor, p in v, gentle sex, gaslighting, entrapment, breeding kink, psychological, dark, mental torment, unhealthy relationship, orgasm denial, power dynamic, unhinged!alastor, reader is not okay, implied cannibalism, suicidal thoughts, depression, reader is delulu, alastor is delulu, extreme co-dependency, extreme denial, yandare!alastor

🙏 please mind your mental health before you read 🙏

The thought curled through you like poison, clinging to every corner of your mind: you wanted to die.  

It was a siren song, cruel and haunting, a whisper that slithered deep into the crumbling fortress of your mind, eroding the defences you’d built to keep it out. Your hands shook as exhaustion seeped into every crack; bones weary from a battle that felt endless. It wasn’t just tiredness – it was a soul-deep weight, a leaden heaviness that hollowed you out.  

In the background, soft jazz played from the kitchen, each note swirling with a warmth that felt so alien in the cold void within you. Sunlight poured through the window, a golden river that washed over everything it touched, indifferent to the shadows lurking within.  

You noticed the knife on the counter – a sharp gleam that seemed to pulse with a dangerous allure, its polished blade catching the light with a slick, almost wet shine. It seemed to call out to you, offering a quick, dreamless eternity.  

But even as your gaze lingered, your heart resisted, tethered stubbornly to someone who’d become both your prison and sanctuary. 

Alastor.  

A man you never should have crossed paths with. A man you should never have fallen for.  

You sighed, holding the knife as you turned back to the chunk of meat. Its once bright crimson flesh changing to a dull, dead brown. The raw smell was overwhelming, thick and nearly spoiled in the oppressive Louisiana heat. Alastor left you with some tasks today, after you had begged him to give you something to do as you wait for his return. Your task was to package the meat, clean up the kitchen, polish the floor while you waited for his return.  

The smell of raw meat brought images to flicker through your mind: men and women, faces frozen in terror as Alastor dragged them down to the cellar. A shiver ran down your spine, and a small whimper escaped, a whisper of fear against the tears that threatened to fall. You tore your gaze away from the knife and forced yourself to look outside. The bayou stretched out beyond the window, a bleak expanse of gnarly trees and dark water – silent, desolate, and as inescapable as him.  

You took a steadying breath, mentally reciting the day’s tasks like a prayer to keep you grounded. Finish the meat, scrub the blood stains, bleach the floor, and when the last crimson smear was gone, he’d return. By then, you’d be ready, composed. With a sniff, you shoved your feelings back, burying them under the monotony of chores.  

Finally, when every trace of red erased from the floor, you heard the front door click open. The sound echoed, a rhythmic click-click-click, each lock sliding free, the metal grating sharply against the silence. Your heart skipped as the door creaked, and there he stood – Alastor, haloed in the setting sun. His smile was gentle, but his eyes gleamed as he opened his arms.  

“My love,” he murmured, setting down his bag and slipping off his coat with an air of practised ease.  

You scrambled to your feet, the memory still fresh from the last time you hadn’t been there to greet him. He had panicked, refusing to leave your side for days. He held you then, whispering sweet words of devotion, his arms an unyielding cage, each word sinking deeper until it was all you knew. You didn’t know if he knew the truth – that every word bound you closer even as you longed to escape.  

Fear wrapped around you, yet somewhere deep within, in a place even you struggled to reach, you needed him. The years of isolation had stripped you bare, leaving only the two of you locked in this strange dance.  

Five years – five years of him as your only constant, your only company in this void. That had to be love. It was the only way to make sense of why you stayed, why you remained bound to him by something more powerful than chains.  

It had to be love.  

“Alastor,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, legs shaking from hours of kneeling on the hard floor, scrubbing away every crimson stain. You took a step forward, the chilling clink of metal grazing the wood beneath your feet with each uneven, hesitant step. The floorboards seemed to pulse below you, each creak an echo of your own heartbeat, until finally, you stopped, frozen four steps away from the exit.  

He chuckled – a warm, resonant sound that should have been comforting but only heightened the chill trickling down your spine. With graceful steps, Alastor closed the distance between you, his arms circling around your shoulders. His chin rested gently against your head, the weight of him grounding you in place, his presence washing over you like a tide you couldn’t escape.  

“I missed you,” you mumbled against his chest, nuzzling into his embrace. The heat of him, the solid reassurance of his touch, brought you back to yourself, to the one undeniable truth of your existence: you were here, alive, because he held you tethered. “Did you have a good day at work, my love?” you murmured, soft and tentative.  

His hand slid over the back of your head; fingers gentle as he stroked you. He breathed in deeply, a wistful sigh slipping from his lips. “My love, you never left my thoughts for a single moment.” His voice was soft, warm, and his arms tightened around you, so tightly that for a second, you felt as though the air was slipping away.  

Finally, he parted, just enough for you to breathe again, his fingers grazing along the warm curve of your cheek. “Let’s get you out of that, hmm?” His voice was gentle, and his whisky-brown eyes glittered with a kindness that made your chest ache.  

A swell of relief surged in you, and you threw your arms around his shoulders. “Thank you, Alastor, thank you!” Laughter bubbled out of you, bright and involuntary, stretching your lips into a smile that felt foreign, almost unbelievable after everything.  

He lifted you effortlessly, his strength both exhilarating and terrifying as he carried you toward the couch. Each step sent the faintest clinking of metal into the air, a reminder of the bond that held you captive.  

As he set you down and took a step back, you could feel his gaze moving over you, slow and deliberate, like he could peel back each layer with a single look. You flushed under his scrutiny, your shoulders curling inward, a strange blend of shame and need warring within you. Despite your clothes, under his gaze you felt exposed, vulnerable, as if he could read every thought you’d ever dared to keep from him.  

“Cher,” he murmured, his hand drifting over the outside of your calf, fingers tracing a path until they reached your ankle.  

You heard the fabric rustling, and then – there it was, glinting between his fingers: a silver key. Your eyes focused on the key, and your heart skipped, hope blooming like wildflowers in a barren field. The promise of freedom lay in that tiny object, so close and yet, a lifetime away. You watched, hardly daring to breathe, as he took your ankle in his hand, his thumb brushing lightly over your bare foot. It was a reminder of the first time he’d ordered you to go without socks when you first escaped from this manacle.  

He slid the key into the lock, and with a single twist, the manacle opened with the same familiar click that marked his return home every day. The cool metal fell away, clattering weakly to the floor. A rush of air hit the skin beneath, and you winced as blood surged back into your ankle, a dull ache flooding back into limbs so long constrained.  

The shackles lay there, lifeless on the floor, the physical proof of your captivity now nothing more than a scrap of metal, stripped of its power. And yet, as you looked up at him, his eyes shining with something both possessive and achingly tender, you realized you could never truly cast off the chains that bound you to him.  

Not as long as you believe you loved him.  

“Oh, my poor cher,” Alastor murmured, his voice thick with a twisted blend of regret and possessive tenderness as his eyes traced the dark bruises wrapping around your ankle. His lips brushed softly over the tender skin, lingering in a gentle, reverent kiss before his forehead rested against your leg.  

With his eyes closed, he sighed, pressing warmth into you. “It pains me,” he whispered, “to see even the slightest mark of discomfort on you.” His lips began a slow journey, grazing from your ankle upward along the sensitive skin of your inner calf, each kiss stealing a shiver from you. “But you understand, don’t you, cher? It’s a necessity.” 

He lifted his eyes to meet yours, their intense gaze sending a shudder through you. His position – kneeling between your legs – made it impossible to think straight. Despite being in a servile pose, he was still the master of your heart.  

“Yes...I understand,” you managed, your voice raspy and barely audible. His lips continued their climb, each kiss leaving a cool, tingling path against your skin. “But I’ve been good, Alastor.” Your breath hitched as his head came to rest in your lap, his fingers tracing languid circles along your thigh.  

He chuckled softly, low and indulgent. “You have been,” he murmured, his warm breath fanning across your skin. “Perhaps if you continue to behave...I might let you roam freely around the house when I’m not here.” He looked up, giving you a small, playful smile that made your heart stutter.  

The thought of moving freely, without the heavy, omnipresent clink of the chain dragging behind you, sent a thrill through your veins. You clenched your hands into fists, desperate to keep your excitement contained.  

“I can be good,” you whispered, fingers drifting to his hair, threading through the soft strands as you stroked his head. “I can be good for you, Alastor...” 

A groan escaped him, his eyes falling shut as he leaned into your touch, savouring the sensation like a man starving. Emboldened, you took a breath, letting words slip out – words you’d held back for so long, daring to hope he might grant them.  

“Maybe...” you hesitated, voice barely a murmur. “Maybe sometimes in the distant future, I could go into t-town with you?” Your fingers froze in his hair as his body tensed, muscles stiffening under your touch. You held your breath, dread and hope tangling within you, afraid you’d crossed some unseen line. Alastor’s overprotective streak was ironclad – whenever he sensed a threat, real or imagined, his vigilance would lock you down even more tightly than before.  

A heartbeat passed before he spoke. “Perhaps...” He rose to his feet slowly, drawing you up with him, a gentle smile curving his lips. “Perhaps one day, cher.” His hands slid under your legs, lifting you from the couch, his grip firm and desirous. “But for now...” he trailed off, leaving the sentence open, thick with suggestion as he carried you up the stairs.  

The scent of him, rich and intoxicating, filled your senses, mingling with the sharp, metallic undertone of old blood. Recently, he had brought up the idea of family, his eyes lighting with a dark kind of joy when he saw your loneliness. The house felt hollow most days, empty but for him, and he’d suggested a child - a little soul to fill the silent rooms.  

At first, the notion had left you reeling, uncertain, but the longer you were left alone with only your thoughts, the more the idea began to take root. Its appeal started to bloom uncontrollably like weeds in your mind.  

Now, Alastor and you spent every waking moment together in his bed, until your wishes took fruit.  

He lowered you onto the bed with an almost reverent tenderness, as though each touch was sacred, each look a silent promise. He shed his clothes slowly, his eyes never leaving you as his skin emerged, bare and raw. By the time he climbed onto bed, leaning over you, his desire was unmistakable – his cock hardening just from watching you laid out beneath him.  

He hovered for a moment, his face close to yours, and his gaze softened as his hand brushed along your cheek. “Cher,” he murmured, a plea woven into his tone, his voice low and thick. His fingers traced down the side of your face as though memorizing you by touch alone. “Will you let me...feel you tonight?” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, slow and lingering, each word like a promise. “For the rest of the night?” His hips lowered, pressing himself against your thigh, his warmth branding you.  

Heat flared through you, your body’s response instant and shameless. Every part of you remembered him – his hands, his mouth, the way he claimed you until the world slipped away. Your body answered before your mind could, a warmth pooling low in your stomach as he lifted the hem of your dress, slowly baring your skin. You sat up, letting the fabric fall away, and his eyes flickered, his gaze dropping to your bare breasts. Your only cover now a thin piece of cloth hiding the most intimate part of you.  

Alastor’s grin widened, his gaze roving from the pebbled peaks of your nipples down to the damp fabric between your thighs. His hands traced down, catching the waistband and tugging it free. His touch lingered over each inch of exposed skin as he pulled it over your thighs, past the bruises on your ankle, until you lay just as bare before him.  

Your legs fell open, your slick folds glistening in invitation, your body traitorous in its eagerness. Alastor’s eyes darkened, his fingers tightening around his cock as he gripped himself, slow strokes stoking his own arousal as he stared, captivated by your wetness. 

“The thought of you carrying my child, cher...it drives me mad.” His voice was a rough whisper, his breaths shallow as he stroked himself harder, faster, his eyes on your throbbing core. “It drives me to the edge,” he murmured, his grin feral as he leaned closer, his gaze smouldering with dark intent. “Drives me to the point of bloodlust,” his adam’s apple bobbed up then down, his grin trembling as it couldn’t stretch further lest it tore through his cheeks.  

You swallowed, your pulse quickening at the edge of his words, at the memory of the shadows he kept hidden – the bloodstained cellar, the bodies you helped him to clean. Whether you were here or not, you knew he would continue to kill, as relentless and ruthless as ever.  

"Ah, cher,” he sighed, settling his body over yours, his hard length pressing flush against your entrance, teasing you with his warmth. “Cher, cher, cher,” he murmured, his voice a low chuckle as he brushed his fingers through your hair, wrapping it around his fingers. “Why do you have to be so lovely?” His nose skimmed your hairline, nuzzling his way to your temple, where he pressed a slow, heated kiss. “Why do you tempt me like this?” 

“You’re all I think about, dream about,” he murmured, his voice honey-sweet as he pressed his mouth against your skin, each word a whisper trailing down your cheek, your neck, and finally, open-mouthed and lingering on the curve of your breast. “So much so, cher, that I sometimes imagine killing you.” His tone was soft, unsettlingly jovial as though he’d confessed a secret desire, his hands tracing delicate patterns over your skin.  

Your heart pounded, memories flashing across your mind like dark, haunted snapshots – the cellar door muffling desperate cries, the hollow silence that followed. The scent of blood hung thick in those memories, the darkness swallowing up the faces that haunted you. Your hands trembled, a pulse of fear mingling with something deeper, something you could barely acknowledge.  

“But I won’t,” he murmured against your skin, pulling you from the spiral of those memories. He lifted his hand to catch a tear that had slipped from your eye, his thumb brushing it away softly. He gazed at the glistening drop before licking it from his fingertip, his eyes darkened as he held you captive in his gaze. “I would never hurt you, cher. Have I ever hurt you?” His voice was quiet, coaxing yet intense, his question leaving no room for escape.  

His eyes burned into yours, searching, unwavering. “Tell me, cher,” he pressed, his voice as smooth as silk but laced with a demand that made your pulse stutter. “Do you see me as a bad man?”  

There were moments when Alastor felt so delicate, so gentle that he might as well have been made of glass, every touch featherlight. But there were others, moments like this, when he shifted – his possessive grip, his words, his gaze – all dark and consuming. When he asked these questions, you felt like a bird trapped in his cage, heart fluttering as you tried to find the right words.  

Your lips quivered, unable to form a reply, the silence thick as more tears slipped down your cheeks. Alastor’s gaze softened just slightly, and he gathered you close, arms wrapping around you as he rocked you, as if you were a fragile, precious thing in his hold. “Shh,” he whispered, his lips against your hair, “I love you, cher. I love you, I love you,” he repeated, his voice lilting like a lullaby.  

Your mind fractured, the edge of your memories sharp, each fragment glinting in the dark recesses of your mind. You reached out within yourself, searching, groping for the piece of you that had loved him first – the man you’d met one hazy night at the speakeasy, the man who seemed to light up the room just by existing.  

Slowly, you let your hands drift to his back, your fingers pressing against the warmth of his skin. Your eyes closed, more tears slipping free as you tried to remember the feeling of joy, of laughter that you’d felt with him. Your lips brushed against his shoulder, a tentative sign of trust as he sighed, his body relaxing under your touch.  

You dug deeper, sifting through memories of that laughter, of your first dance, your first kiss – all those quiet, gentle confessions that had once coloured his eyes in soft brows. You found yourself on your knees, clutching at those fragments with desperate hands, determined to recall the moments when his touch had felt safe, cherished.  

“Shh,” Alastor’s mouth hovered over yours, his lips ghosting against yours, a barely there whisper of warmth. “It’s alright, cher. I have you.” He guided himself against you, pressing gently, his cock slipping slowly into your wet, pulsing heat. His mouth melded to yours as his tongue traced along the seam of your lips, savouring each taste as his low moans mingled with your soft gasps.  

A hum escaped him, rich and satisfied, as he sank into you, his body pressed to yours, filling you with a quiet intensity that left you breathless. The salted trails on your cheeks lingered as your lips curved into a slow smile, your legs parting, welcoming him deeper, your heart opening despite everything, the echoes of his whispers filling the night.  

“Good girl,” Alastor groaned, his hips pushing forward, stretching you around the hard, unyielding thickness of him. “Oh, cher, you’re perfect for me,” he murmured, his words a deep, reverent moan as he sank in deeper, inch by inch, until he was completely enveloped. His hands settled possessively on your hip, his eyes devouring the sight of you.  

“I’m going to fill you with my seed all night, love,” he purred, rolling his hips with a languid, maddening rhythm. “After all, your body is begging me to take you – wouldn't you say?” His voice rose with playful amusement, the bed creaking beneath you as if echoing his delight.  

“Yes,” you gasped, breathless, the sensation of him making you tremble. “Please,” you whispered, your nails pressing into his shoulders, urging him closer. Alastor drew his hips back slowly, agonizingly, until only the tip of him remained, only to push back in, the pace deliberate, every inch of him dragging against you with intent. Each movement seemed to ignite a new flame within you, stretching your pleasure, drawing it out until it was almost unbearable.  

“Look how good you are for me,” he whispered against your flushed cheek, his lips tracing his words into your skin. “Look how perfect you are,” he breathed, sinking deeper as he tightened his arms around you, locking you into his rhythm. “No one will understand you the way I do. You were destined to be mine.” His voice was rich, warm, but tinged with darkness that was both thrilling and terrifying.  

“Al-Alastor,” you whimpered, each thrust stoking the tension building inside, reaching deeper, pulling you into a spiral of desire and delirium. His moans, his heated words, his relentless pace – all of it washed over you like a fevered dream. Each breath, each sigh and whispered praise tangled together in a symphony of need.  

The creaking of the bed became louder, and with a sudden surge, he lifted himself, teeth gritted, and drove into you harder. His hips snapped against yours; his pace relentless.  

“Cher...cher...” he growled, beads of sweat glistening on his brow as he focused on you, his gaze hungry. “That’s right, cher,” he chuckled breathlessly, each laugh broken by the sound of his hips smacking against your own. “Oh, you’d make a perfect mother,” he panted, his words nearly incoherent as he picked up his pace. The final thrust left you both gasping, his grip on you tightening as he finally reached his own release, filling you with powerful, pulsing bursts of warmth.  

You moaned in frustration, your pleasure still simmering, unsatisfied, leaving your skin taut with need. You tried to move, but Alastor held you firmly, pressing himself deep inside, his body still wrapped around yours.  

He brushed a stray lock of hair from your face as he slowly softened within you, the warm rush of his seed starting to trickle down. When he finally withdrew, his fingers slipped to your entrance, pressing lightly to try and keep every last drop inside, as if marking you as his.  

Lying on his side beside you, he gazed at you, his expression gentle as he took in your flushed, tear-streaked cheeks, still needy with unfulfilled desire. A smile tugged at his lips when you also turned to your side to face him. His eyes drifted down, and you knew he was watching his own essence escape, sluggishly slipping down and pooling on your inner thighs. He leaned in to press a soft kiss to your shoulder.  

“Don’t worry, cher,” he said quietly, his voice low and calming. “I’ll take care of you, again and again, tonight.” He withdrew his fingers, now slicked with his and your arousal. “Until your body takes my seed, we’ll keep trying,” he promised, his gaze flickering down between you both before meeting yours with a playful, boyish grin.  

With a breath that finally began to steady, you raised a hand to his face, touching his cheek tenderly. He turned to press a gentle kiss to your palm, a quiet moment of warmth shared in the aftermath.  

In moments like these, in the field of fractured memories, you saw one shard glinting brighter than the rest, pulling you toward it. It was a piece of you – something essential, something more truthful and dangerous than anything else. It shimmered with dark clarity, cutting through the shadows of doubt and lingering despair. 

You drifted past the memories that still haunted you, not quite registering the images that flooded your mind. Alastor’s eyes, once warm, turning nearly black with fury the night you tried to leave, his grip like iron as he vowed you’d belong to him. You passed by the moment he chained you to the cellar walls, his victims mere echoes in the darkness, his voice soothingly venomous, telling you that no one else could ever understand you as he did.  

Each scar those memories left on your soul was still fresh, a raw edge in the depths of your mind, fragments of yourself that would never heal.  

But in this one shard – this singular piece of undeniable truth – you saw something more. It was in these quiet, raw moments after he’d loved you, held you close, his breath mingling with yours. It was here, next to him in the aftermath, that you could almost believe he was the only soul in this world who would ever love you with such consuming fervour.  

You dragged your body closer to him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, as his arms immediately circled protectively around you. His eyes softened as you leaned closer, drawing him into a gentle kiss. Your lips grazing his in a tender, slow exchange that felt achingly real. His fingers traced up and down your back, as if branding his name on your skin.  

In this quiet, lonely world, he was your guiding light, a burning soul who consumed all but left you somehow whole. You wanted to hold on to him, to keep him by your side. You feared whatever darkness lurked beyond Alastor, the fear of the unknown paled in comparison to the thought of leaving the one person who had vowed to love every fractured, scarred piece of you.  

He needed you, just as much as you needed him.  

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[alyakthedorklord]

Welcome to Danny’s Part 2

People have been asking for more of this ^^ so here you go, have a really long word vomit of stuff i think is funny

(IM NOT WRITING THIS FIC GDI I HAVE ENOUGH WIP’S!)

Danny’s restaurant is ALSO manned by-

Tucker, who will fix your tech for free, has tattoos of hieroglyphics and lines of code that shift around when he gets busy.

Sam, who makes an express line for veggie orders. If you try to order meat from sam all the potted plants start trembling.

Jazz, who has a special booth in the back and Magically makes people dump their deepest secrets to her in streamlined Liminal Powers Therapy. (It’s a bit weird but hey the people she targets feel better so whatevs.)

Dani, who shares pictures from tourist traps she's visited, though there’s also some REALLY WEIRD pics of alternate realities and cult shenanigans mixed in. Some of the older patrons are concerned. She’s a little too young to do all this alone- actually, how old is she? Her father looks like he’s in his early twenties…

Dan, who is working here while “on parole” and often loudly argues with Danny about it.

“I don’t want to work in your stupid shop, Dad!”

Dan is two whole feet taller than danny and three times as wide i will not be taking constructive criticism. He’s a whole silver fox. There are some ladies who have a crush on him and they’re really concerned if he’s legal bc danny is younger than them how is Dan his child-

“Dan, how old are you?”

“I don’t know, like, a hundred sixty something?”

(Lady turns to look at Danny, who shrugs and smiles.) “time dilation. What a world we live in. Dan, kiddo, can you get some more napkins from the back?”

“Ugh, fine, dad.”

The first villain Danny ACTUALLY fights isn’t the Joker. It’s Condiment King. Dan runs away from him, which is already weird bc guy is MASSIVE, and the condiment king chases him bc YES SOMEONE FINALLY FEARS HIM PROPERLY.

Danny bursts out of the shop in righteous fatherly fury and beats the snot out of him. Everyones is confused bc… what? Dan is massive? Why is he scared? Why is the twink beating the snot out of condiment king?

“Dan had a traumatic experience with Burger Sauce.” Danny explains, glaring down at the rouge at his feet. He kicks him, growls, “Don’t mess with my kid.” And walks back inside.

No one asks, bc this is gotham. Asking is rude, and also it lessens the Mystery that is Danny’s. No one knows how the kids came into existence. No one knows, before someone from out of town (metropolis, ugh) asks about the sign.

The sign outside the shop says:

Welcome to Danny’s!

Do no harm and no harm shall befall you.

Start nothing and nothing will be ended.

We have baseball bats and fists and a mean swing.

This establishment does not serve- guys in white (suits), Vlad, Transphobes, Vlad, Clowns, VLAD.

Do not ask for the secret menu. If you can get it, Danny will offer it.

(Don’t scare the other customers, please.)

When asked who Vlad is, bc he’s banned three times, Danny just kind of sighs.

“He’s my kid's other parent. He’s an obsessive creep who completely ignores Danielle because she’s a girl, rolling in money but won’t pay his child support. You know how it is.”

Several goons ask what he looks like so they can keep an eye out. Dani happily tells them “look at Dan, take away Dad’s features, then convert 30% of his height and weight into smarminess.”

It's an effective description. Vlad gets full body tackled the moment he enters the neighborhood. Danny gives the goons free fudge (family recipe, one of the restaurants signatures)

One of the reasons Danny’s is so popular is bc its open 24/7. (Unless its one of those weird times where all the doors are locked and if you look through the window blinds theres nothing but a starry void.) One of the reasons Danny’s is so weird is bc Danny is ALWAYS behind the counter. Always. Round the clock. He doesn’t sleep, eat, anything. Some people swear he has a twin he swaps out with (clones).

Sometimes, after a really difficult customer, Danny will let out a really long sigh and mutter “time out” before glitching into a new position, with a new shirt and combed hair. No one mentions it.

Theres a deal that’s just, “beat danny in a fight you eat for free.”

The deal extends to both Dan and Dani as well. Even if you lose you get fudge as a reward for courage.

No one ever wins.

One time, a couple brought their kid, recently discharged from the hospital. Danny comes over to them and grins. “Hey, kiddo! Bet you gave your parents a scare, huh? Pulled through in the end. That means you get the secret menu!”

Parents: hey wtf?

Danny, handing over a perfectly normal menu: 😀

Kid: “ooh mommy look at the glowy stars!”

Parents: !?!?!?

Danny: 😁

Old man Dave, whose heart has stopped like three times now: “Oh don’t worry about that, prices are the same and it will help your kid feel much better. Danny’s just a little weird.”

After all, it’s not just full ghosts that get the menu. If you’ve been dead, heart stopped, soul out of body before being popped back into place, then you get it. There’s actually a pretty high number of people who get it, bc this is Gotham. People get resuscitated after rogue attacks. The ecto actually helps stabilize their soul after getting jerked between life and death so rudely.

The secret menu that they’re given is just a normal menu, scribbled over top with an ecto pen, invisible to non-secret menu havers. Different “ecto-levels” to choose from, and three extra dishes. There’s also instructions to get into the “back room” for those who can’t go intangible, though it comes with a disclaimer “not for the faint of heart.”

There’s also a small note at the bottom- “do not share food.”

Anyways, as per original post. Tim herds Joker into Danny’s radar bc he Cannot Deal Right Now. He salutes Danny, who waves back, grinning like he didn’t just come at the Clown Prince of Crime like a feral badger on crack cocaine. “Heya, Red Robin! You want a coffee?”

“Please.” Tim sighs. “You’re the best, Danny.”

Jason looks between tim and the shop danny just vanished into. “Uh, what?”

“Danny doesn’t like clowns.” Tim explains. “Or condiment king. They get close, Danny takes them out.”

Jason is incredibly confused, bc he just came back from an out of town mission, but this place is right on the edge of his territory and he should definitely know about it. He asks tim, who just shrugs.

“That shop is weird. It’s like a grocery store at 3am. I stumbled in there after a rough night and Danny just whipped me up the best coffee i've ever had. Still can’t find their website. I swear it’s bigger on the inside and the door keeps swapping from one side of that fire hydrant to the other.”

Danny comes out and passes Tim a massive coffee cup. “Come back and talk shop with tucker, okay? You’re welcome any time. Both of you, actually.”

He gives Jason a weird look and then goes back inside.

Jason, who is a little concerned that the reverence tim has is more than his average weird worship of coffee (it's just that good) goes back the next day in civvies.

He gets offered the secret menu, danny does the eye thing, Jason retreats to look at the secret menu. Unsure of what just happened, he texts tim.

Jason: Why was i given a “secret menu”

Tim: WTF WHAT DID YOU DO TO GET THAT

Jason: IDK THATS WHY IM TEXTING YOU

tim: I'VE BEEN GOING FOR MONTHS I’M A LOYAL PATRON WHAT DO YOU HAVE THAT I DONT

Jason: the secret menu apparently (image)

Tim: …thats just the normal menu???

Jason: no? It looks like a kid went ham with a neon green marker tf?

Duke: you know this is the family chat right?

Steph: order the waffles

Jason: you order the waffles. Wtf is an ecto-level.

Jason asks for what danny recommends, Danny immediately gives him a milkshake and tells him it's on the house bc he “looks rough.”

Jason is kind if offended, bc he actually got a decent sleep- but then he tries it and its like.

Oh.

Now. Between the stink Tim is making, and the sudden worship that Jason has of this shops milkshakes, the BatFamily is now Curious and will Investigate.

Are the milkshakes really that good?

The full force of the Wayne Family™ isn’t exactly subtle, so they go in twos and threes over the course of a week.

Damian gets offered the secret menu, and is also directed towards Sam’s express vegetarian line. Danny just Knew. Damian accuses Tim and/or Jason of pulling a prank on him, but they both swear up and down they didn’t say anything.

Both Steph (i think? Did she fake her death or actually die idk) and Cass get the secret menu, and they keep trying to ask Tim what certain things on the menu mean. Tim Cannot See what they’re talking about. He’s starting to get frustrated. Is it some sort of magic spell?

Tim takes Kon to Danny’s. (Is it a date? A test date on a low-stakes investigation? Maybe.) Danny, who is really starting to enjoy messing with Tim, gleefully offers Kon the secret menu, and Tim the normal one. Tim bangs his head on the table.

Dick doesn’t get a secret menu, but he does notice a couple disappear through the wall. He’s almost certain he’s seen them before, but it will be a while before he remembers Kitty and Johnny from his early Robin Days.

Duke is also not offered a secret menu, but he can see the writing anyways. He can also see that some of the patrons have weird auras, and what on EARTH is up with Danny himself? He tries to ignore it, up until Steph gets him to order one of the specials off Cass’s (secret) menu. And Danny just kind of sharpens, the air going cold.

“I didn’t give you that menu. Just because you can read it, doesn’t mean you want it. Order off the right menu, please.”

Duke, freaked the hell out by the Biblically Accurate Horror that Danny is shifting into, orders off the right menu and apologizes.

“Oh, it’s alright!” Danny flips back to cheerful in seconds. “It’s just that it wouldn’t be completely healthy for you to eat it, even if you are part immortal.”

Duke bluescreens.

Alright, somethings definitely going on.

Tim and Jason both order the same thing- an oreo milkshake, one off the secret menu, one off the normal menu. Jason confirms the one from the normal menu does not taste the same and isn’t as good. Tim cannot confirm the other way around, because Jason nearly punches him when he attempts to taste it.

They take samples home, analyze them, and go over anecdotes from other patrons, trying to figure out what makes Danny’s so weird. What makes Kon, Cass, Jason, and Damian different?

Wait a second. Kon, Cass, Jason, Damian. The ones that died and came back to life.

It’s around this time that Dick remembers where he’s seen Kitty and Johnny before. Lovers from two houses, both alike in (in)dignity, had a romeo-and-juliet-esque escapade across Gotham, ending in high speed chase with Kitty’s gangster father and a fatal motorcycle accident. Both are dead. Both are in Danny’s.

Danny’s has something to do with death.

Having heard a couple stories about food of the dead, they notify Bruce (who is very concerned as to what exactly his children have been putting in their mouths) and then call in the magic users of the justice league.

It’s a mess. Dan calls Constantine a whore. Deadman and Secret (i think thats Tim’s ghost friend?) get abducted to the backroom. Dani clocks Capt. Marvel as another kid who looks older than he actually is, with magic powers, and his showing him her REALLY interesting travel photos. Zatanna is like “this place needs an exorcism” and danny just goes “ma’am please don’t exorcize my customers.”

Tag list (if you saw me attempt this before no you didn’t)

@nappinginhell @apointlessbox @thegatorsgoose @chaos-n-kindness @mimilikey @phoenixdemonqueen @treepainting @sjrose1216 @akikkobara @malice-of-the-sunrise @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @randomkiddoscrewingaround @call-me-strega @blankliferain @somera-rubina @wordsgohere95 @rukiaai @mirellacoco @stargazing-bookwyrm @bathildaburp @littlefeather345

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Alastor - [ MASQUERADE PT. 2 ]

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A/N: I physically can not refrain from writing smut with angst or implied angst… please forgive me.. ❤️

WARNINGS: [ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ SMUT ] + [ MATURE THEMES ] + [ MALE READER ] + [ SLIGHT ANGST ]

xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxx

“Would you mind if I came to see you again? I'll be in town by the weekend.” You tried not to smile too hard as the question left your lips, carrying through the telephone’s gentle crackling to resonate to the receiving end clearly, and the man you'd grown to cherish after a few short months of quiet correspondence gave a low response.

“I'll have you all to myself?” Alastor tugged your inquiry along with his own, smirking as you huffed dramatically and no doubt rolled your eyes at his words.

“As always, Al. You know I'm not one for having many friends,” you admit, slumping further into your living room sofa as if to sink through cushions and disappear from the blooming embarrassment you felt hearing him laugh again.

It was your second favorite thing about him. His honest charm was the first, and that had yet to change since the last time you'd enjoyed his company. Exactly six months ago, during your second visit to the City of Jazz, it was fun!

Alastor had essentially filled the void you'd been unable to conceal, keeping you on your toes at every turn and stringing you along in affectionate mind games you knew better than to entertain.

It was difficult not to, though; he knew what to say, what to do with you, and how to handle you. At times, you considered the idea of him being no ordinary man.

Devilish.

That's how you'd describe him to anyone who asked. Alastor was a striking character, able to overshadow your persona with a gentle smile, making you feel very accessible.

You weren't allowed freedom from judgment, public image, and parasocial expectations like every silver screen star was subjected to. Fortunately, you had no obligations with Alastor, no point to prove, and you amounted such casualness to the building of mutual bonding.

He understood fame and its demands.

He understood you…more than most.

Alastor interrupted your wandering thoughts with a witty comment, “Hm, touche, but I suppose I'm the exception.” You scoffed, grinning at the ceiling before making an equally snarky retort.

“Don't sound so full of yourself..” you heard him click his tongue, a sharp sound you wished to hear in person again sooner rather than later.

“But it's the truth, mon cher. Plain and simple.” he concurs, and you shift to sit up straight, reaching for the glass on the coffee table before you, studying the few ounces of liquor before downing the bitter liquid. “Am I welcome or not, Mr. Hartifelt?” You suck your teeth, nose scrunching as the alcohol flushes your veins, promoting your nerves to settle and easing your heart rate as you wait for his answer.

You felt a thrill from just speaking to him. It was beautiful, really, and scandalous to some degree.

Falling for a man you’d met only a handful of times shouldn’t be possible, but here you were, waiting with bated breath to hear his decision to see you again.

Please say yes…just one last time.

Alastor smiled, taking his time to contemplate your offer while leaning back in his desk chair, eyes trained on the intricate soundboard he sat at. He'd grown attached to you in one way or another, unsure if it was pure curiosity or pity on his part. Both reasons hadn't plagued him before your first encounter, and Alastor refused to acknowledge such impractical emotions, reminding himself that you were nothing more than a tag-along for him.

A lonely soul he could very quickly leave behind.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

That's what he forced his conscience to believe, willing itself to envision his compliance to your request as intrigue rather than genuine affection.

“I wouldn't dream of you refusing you, my friend. I look forward to spending time with you soon,” his answer was concise, a brief hint of satisfaction in his tone, and you immediately blurted out a joyous remark of relief.

“Then it’s settled! I’ll see you in two days,” a bright smile stretched across your face as he laughed softly on the other end, “You make it sound as if I’m your only reason for living, my dear.” Alastor shakes his head at his statement, knowing it held truth and proud to know he had such an effect on you.

Am I really that obvious to him?…

A stab of embarrassment hit you square in the heart, a subtle frown replacing your grin as you reflected on the time you’d spent with the radio host. He’d taken you anywhere and everywhere in New Orleans, insisted you join him for dinner on nights he wasn’t broadcasting, and even made an effort to view your recent film. However, he avidly proclaimed his hate for lackluster visual media.

However, he never criticized your films, choosing to compliment your scenes, or congratulating your recent success on his broadcast, as any good friend should do.

You couldn’t recall when Alastor had ever let on he knew of your attraction to him. Yes, he pried at your emotions for the hell of it a few times, but he’d never explicitly acknowledged it.

This was the first time he’d even alluded to such feelings, and your nerves were alert instantly, mind going blank as you navigated your flustered state before murmuring into the phone with a sheepish smile.

“You think very highly of yourself, Alastor..”

“Apologies, my dear. I’m partial to being honest with you. Take it as a form of flattery, if you will.”

His attempt at a modest apology failed, but you had no intention of stamping out his smug nature. Alastor’s blatant confidence was refreshing, and though you wished to keep speaking with him, your evening wasn’t absent of essential events to attend to.

You bid him goodbye with a heavy heart, wishing him a good evening despite knowing he’d put off sleep until the early morning to keep broadcasting as long as possible, and he returned the subtle sentiment before ending the call.

Hours passed, pictures were taken, interviews were conducted, and fans were screaming your name, but the only person on your mind was Alastor.

The following two days felt tortious, a strained waiting game you couldn’t wait to finish, and the second you arrived back in New Orleans and found the time to slip away from your manager, you headed straight for your usual rendezvous spot with the acclaimed radio host.

Club Intime

—- ——- ——- ——- ———

There he was, relaxed in the seclusion of a velvet lounge booth, merely hidden away from the rest of the dimly lit speakeasy. Alastor wasn’t one to socialize unnecessarily. He was content with observing others through the lenses of his round glasses that were beginning to fog up from the fumes of his cigarette, a cold glass half full of whiskey set before him to aid his solitary sedation.

From afar, he looked out of place, cordial, and put together, unlike the rest of the patrons waltzing around. The only unkempt detail about him was the state of his bow tie and collar. He’d undone it the second he sat down, nimble fingers unlacing the stiff ribbon before trying to unbutton his dress shirt's first two clasps. It was a habit he’d yet to avoid after a long evening of work and one you thoroughly enjoyed.

The insignificant results hit just the right nerves, drawing your eyes to his clean-cut features, caramel skin, and hidden scars that he’d once called “unavoidable trophies.” From what or who you weren't sure.

You’d thought to ask him why he felt so highly of his wounds, concerned they’d hit deeper than he let on, but Alastor reassured you through a tight smile your sympathy for him wasn’t needed.

He was a proud man, very sure of himself, and it showed even in a room full of illicit drinkers and rowdy partygoers. Intimidating was the easiest way to describe him, and you felt exactly that way as his hazel eyes settled on you from across the room: intimidated.

You stood at the club's entrance, letting one of the hosts take your coat, but as he asked which table you preferred, you politely declined his offer before looking back at Alastor.

He hadn’t moved, still staring you down with a gentle smile, glasses pushed to the top of his head, and drink in one hand while the cigarette dangled above its rim nestled between two of his fingers.

God, he was beautiful, like a demon straight out of hell.

Alastor tipped his head, signaling you to come his way, and you did with a certain excitement in your eyes. He studied you just the same as you’d done to him, watching your form intently as you snaked through the bustling crowd toward your regular table with him, and by the time you were close enough to call his name, a shameless grin was on your face.

“Al!” You shouted above the drumming music, slipping to sit beside him in the blink of an eye, and he didn’t hesitate to make room for you. “I see you made it to town safely, my dear!” He placed his drink down, taking one last drag from his cigarette before putting it in the liquor. You blushed at the sight of him exhaling the smoke, brown eyes trained on you and an expectant glint in them as he shifted to face you.

“Y-Yes, well, you’ve been an excellent guide the first few times I’ve come here, so I suppose I’m used to the city now.” You smiled at him softly, hoping he’d disregard the stutter in your voice, but knowing him, you were sure he’d caught it very clearly.

Nothing ever got past Alastor.

He hummed, flattered by your praise but more interested in your apparent nervousness. You had yet to act unbothered by him, which amused the radio host.

“Glad to know my assistance was helpful. Do you plan to stay longer this time round?” Alastor rested an arm on the table, chin finding his open palm, and his head now level with yours.

Fuck, I forget how tall he is sometimes…Jesus Christ…

You gulp, blood running hot as his gaze bores into yours, searching for an answer you had yet to give him. It felt hard to breathe for a moment; all you could hear was your heartbeat and the muffled noise of the club.

Why’d he always have to be so close?

Didn’t he know who you were, who he was, what this looked like to other people?

Granted, the onlookers were drunk or too dizzy from dancing to focus on you both.

But the risk of it all, that unmistakable boldness Alastor embodied, had you nervous in all the right ways.

After a beat of silence and staring, you mustered up the courage to give him a response. “Seeing as I have time off from filming, I’ll spend it here. A change of scenery is an actor's best challenge.” You broke eye contact with him, staring into the crowd to keep from fidgeting as he nodded with a low hum, “So, in other words, I won’t be rid of you anytime soon?” Alastor chuckled as you feigned offense at his question, head snapping towards him and a discreet frown on your lips.

“That was quite rude of you to say, Mr. Hartifelt. Especially since I came all the way here to see you…”

A mischievous spark lit up his eyes, smile growing devilish as you glared at him, “Ah, so I am the apple of your eye, mon cher…”

It wasn’t a question.

He didn’t pose the observation as anything else, wanting to bait you into a confession, and he succeeded quicker than you realized.

“No, I did come to experience the city,” you retort flatly, tempted to order a drink and down it to freeze the nerves burning your skin.

Alastor glanced around, assuring no one was invested in your exchange, before dipping his head to whisper in your ear. “Don’t lie to me, cher. I can see it written all over your face, and I must admit it’s a delight to see.” You could practically hear the wicked grin on his lips, sweet and sinister all at once.

Damn. It.

You paled as he pulled back, smirk ever present as he waved a waiter down to order another drink as if he hadn’t reduced you to a fluttery mess beside him.

You sat pin straight, willing to breathe, and on the verge of zoning out completely.

“And what would you like to order, monsieur?” The waiter addressed you, brow raised as you flinched from the sudden question, “I…uh…I-I’ll have the…” you inwardly panicked from the lack of coherent speech left on your tongue, but the building embarrassment dulled as Alastor spoke up for you.

“He’ll have the same as me. Double it and bring the tab as well. Merci.”

“Je vais le faire sortir tout de suite, monsieur. “ The waiter nodded, taking down Alastor’s request quickly before throwing you a strange look and strutting away.

You had to pull it together, or the image you worked so hard for Katina would crumple at one man’s behest, and deep down, you didn’t mind.

It was tiring being perfect, faking your entire personality for the masses's support, and the longer you lingered in Alastor’s company, the more enticing it was just to let it all go.

To drop the mask you wore like an overbearing shroud.

Just once, you’d like to be another person, someone less empty and carnally fulfilled.

One night wouldn’t hurt, right?

You glanced at Alastor, entranced by his lax manner, foot tapping to the swinging melodies and his eyes scanning the room as if searching for prey.

One night with him…wouldn’t be your end, right?

He didn't pretend with you, nor sugar coat his thoughts and actions in hopes of impressing you, and on more than one occasion you both sought some form of imtalcay from the other.

This man had seen what others couldn’t, so why deny yourself a chance at fleeting freedom?

He could pick you apart and put you back together again, and you wouldn’t mind.

So long as Alastor remained the only man to see through you.

One night.

That’s all you asked him for when your drinks arrived, and you were prepared for him to reject your offer, but the sting of refusal never came.

He accepted the arrangement, smile wide, and his eyes hazing over with lust the moment your question reached his ears.

“I thought you’d never ask, cher….”

The night was a whirlwind after that; the tab left on the table tallied to a large sum from the amount of alcohol ordered, and by the end of two hours, you were utterly inebriated.

You met the comfort of your hotel room not long after your time at the hidden bar, stumbling through the door by Alastors lead, laughing softly as his grip on your wrist tightened when you reached behind to close and lock the door.

If you'd seen the malicious edge to his smile as your lips met, you could've sensed danger before it arrived. Maybe if you'd stopped to think properly as clothes were tossed to the floor and his hands met your bare skin, you would've been weary of how cold they felt. Maybe if you'd perceived the rapid pace of your heart as fear for your life and not a side effect of mind-boggling pleasure while he fucked you to the point of tears, you could've vied for safety.

If only you'd seen through his mask, through his glamorous praises, and listless stares…

Maybe you could've survived and tried to fight him, but the rewards of cracking under his pressure rendered such critical thinking useless.

Once. Twice. A third.

Alastor took you from one height of pleasure to the next, forcing whatever bit of raw honesty he could out of you with a series of unforgiving thrusts, swallowing your breathless moans with shallow kisses. He'd never let you utter a word of refusal, using your body to the fullest without a second thought and scarcely sympathetic of how much you could take from him.

At the mercy of your fourth high, you clung to him, nails digging into his scarred back, head tucked into the crook of his neck, and your chest heaving with quiet groans of his name. Alastor could feel the stray tears on your cheeks, melting on his skin, exciting him to no end. “Oh, you poor thing..” he teased you through gritted teeth, biting back a smile as your walls tightened around his cock, another whine rippling your throat at the condensing remark.

“To think so many adore you, and yet here you are…” Alastor pressed his weight down onto you entirely, hands tight on your hips as he deepened his strokes, reaching places inside you that felt almost foreign. You gave up trying to speak, scratching down his back instead as a wordless warning for release, but he didn't let up.

“…showing your true colors to me. I could almost feel sport for you, Cher.” his tone dripped with vague pity, full of satisfaction as he buried himself in you, earning a soft gasp on your part and a fulfilled grown from him.

A warmth enveloped your core as he spilled his cum into you, adding to the amount he'd already so graciously given and triggering your release in seconds.

“Don't want you to feel bad for me..” you huff tiredly, eyes rolling as your cock twitched and leaked between you. Alastor hummed, eyes lowering the sight of skin glossing over with the sticky white fluid, “I pity any soul as desperate as yours, darling…”

“Desperate?” you question him with a lazy smile, ready to correct his comment but failing to as he pulled out of you, leaving you empty and restless.

“Desperate to be loved by any and everyone…” Alastor clarifies, staring at you with a soft smile on his lips as he leans down to graze them over your parted ones.

“Even by a killer like me…”

xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxx

I finally completed this!!!! I'm seriously considering getting an Alastor blanket to curl up in because the stress I've been feeling this week is wild…❤️

Quick side note: do you all realize Alastor would be the most toxic partner in history? Yes, he's sweet, respectful, dashing, and everything else needed to be a surface-level perfect companion. But once you get past all of that, there's not a single aspect of your life Alastor wouldn't control, stalking you, weaving webs of lies to isolate you, using minor signs of affection as a way to keep you close, and buying you gifts to mask all his deep seeded antagonism. He would be your dream man but a total nightmare in one way or another.

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

Pilot Alsstor was something else I love him so muchhhh ❤️ credit to creator

[phantoms-world-and-more]

An idea came to me reading a fic where Danny was a kryptonian. What if Amity Park instead of being a city in the USA on Earth was once a city on Krypton (in what would be a kryptonian version of early 21st century or at least about 100 years before the planet blew up). Basically almost everything that happened in cannon DP happened and everything is mostly the same but with a more alien then earth tone to it.

After Phantom Planet Danny's parents except him being part ghost, the government overturn the Ecto Acts, and he able to finish high school and goes on to college after which he is happily welcomed to for work for KASA (Krypton Aeronautics and Space Administration). He becomes an Astronautical engineer. Danny is in his early thirties when he is testing out a new experimental space ship engine for KASA. While doing a flight test Danny's ship losses signal and no one can find it (kind of what happened in the show Farscape).

100s of years go by Krypton explodes baby Kal-El is sent to Earth where he grows up to be Superman. The JL suddenly get a signal/warning about some alien tech on the edge of the solar system. They send one of the Green Lanterns to take a look, where they report a spaceship dead in space. They don't expect any life forms but surprise because of his ghost half Danny was in a sort of suspended animation. He is brought back and wakes up in the Watch Tower.

Just Random ideas...

Kryptonite is the crystalized form of ectoplasm because of this Danny is not effected by it.

Danny's kryptonian name is Daniel Fen-Ton

The phantom zone projector was originally called the Fen-Ton zone projector or is was based off a Fen-Ton gadget.

Years after Danny disappears Krypton starts turning on ghost again, so the town of Amity, which now has a symbiotic relationship with ghost, vote to pull the whole town into the Ghost Zone. So it is not blown up like the rest of the planet though Danny does not know this in the beginning.

Danny has an easier time learning to use Earth technology then he does the Kryptonian technology in Superman's Fortress.

Danny also has slightly easier time when getting the regular Kryptonian power set due to the yellow sun because he went through something similar when getting his ghost powers.

Danny adopts Connor almost immediately. Maybe during Danny's time there was laws about cloning and clone rights on Krypton. Also while Connor is not a replacement he sort of fills in the void of losing Ellie.

While Superman has no idea who Danny is, Kara/Supergirl has a faint idea because he was briefly mentioned in her Krytonian History class. Also she is happy to have someone who can natively speak the kyrptonian language even if it has older vocabulary. Don't get her wrong its great to speak it with Kal-El but he learned it later in life.

Holly char this is amazing!

How many people will have a stroke when they see Danny casually pick up a piece of kryptonite? Batman? His normal Kryptonian contingency plan won't work. Luthor? There's a version of superman IMMUNE to Kryptonite. Clark? What the hell do you mean you can touch kryptonite

I think after Danny explains everything about his past and species so many people are going to just...give up. Hahaha a stronger version of superman who isn't effected by kryptonite, goodbye world

Connor will be ecstatic, Danny will do ALL the dad stuff, teaching him their language, proper training, engineering lessons and you bet he's going to use jazz's psychiatrist stuff on this kid

Danny's probably going to get mega-depressed, all his hard work breaking the racism against ghosts only for that to come back a few years after he left? And he can't even fix it again because their world went bye-bye

Also- here me out

Co-pilot Valerie

[voidheartkisses]

THE VOID. WELCOME. SHAMU-REAL, THEY OF WAR, MADE FLESH, SAYS HELLO. YOU ARE BUT ONE OF MANY THAT HAVE BEEN GRACED BY THEIR PRESENCE. YOU ARE LUCKY.

SHAMU-REAL SAYS: If you're having a bad day or stress is taking hold, I, personally, like to sit and enjoy some old jazz. Some Miles Davis or Chet Baker, something relaxing. Maybe play a game of knucklebones while the music sets the mood, maybe a cup of ambrosia. It may not work for everyone, but it works for me.

Thank you Shamu-real 🙏 Wise words indeed

[anamelessfool]

A Young Nihil & Jocasta & Kid Terzo Drabble (wc 1900)

Nihil returns from a tour with an even colder reception than usual. But he's not one to worry. He gets by with a little help from his friends. Tags: Domestic Fluff, Found Family, Platonic Bonds, No Plot Really Just Me Sorta Waffling Around, The Most Basic German You'll Ever Read In Your Life, If You Read The Most Recent Violence and Gentleness Chapter This Hits Harder, Our Loveable Fuckup

I keep thinking my latest work is the most self-indulgent thing I ever make, and then this happens. Dedicated to @saintbowie who asked me "What was the worst gift Jocasta has ever received?" and I thought about it for a long while. Also @historian-crown who said "Yes, this is exactly what I'd say if I got a gift that bad" and helped me out. Thanks. @ghuleh-recs thanks for catching up on your reading too haha

1971

Ministry HQ

It felt like there were less and less Siblings out on the Ministry portico every time Nihil came back from a gig. He liked to assume the best and so he decided life around HQ was oftentimes too busy for an official welcome of the Head of the Satanic Church of the Void. For one thing, he knew Secondo’s mother Rebecca would not be out there. At this point in their relationship they communicated solely through written memos on formal letterhead. Sister Imperator, the Dark Mother, would oftentimes scowl out the window at him from her office but even she hadn't bothered this time.

Nihil’s ghouls exchanged shrugs while they stood alone on the gravel drive, then marched in near unison through the front door. At least somebody left it unlocked.

The ghouls filed into the empty foyer, and quickly lined the perimeter with trunks and instrument cases. A certain restlessness came over Nihil as he watched them wordlessly stack their things around him, building up the walls. If they were summoned by him, if they were his servitors and constructs then they had an attunement to his emotions. He had a swell time this tour circut. So why were they making themselves so busy? Why with every trunk that rolled in did he feel the ties that bound them to his Will go slack?

Jet lag, obviously.

“You uh…wanna play some records up in my rooms? Wonder if my Ethio Jazz record I wanted came in…”

Rigor Ghoul, Papa’s head ghoul and keyboardist, crossed his huge arms. He was kind, but honest. Sometimes a bit too honest for his summoner’s liking. NO. WE CAN'T. GHOUL BUSINESS.

“Right,” chuckled Nihil. “Well, enjoy.”

Rigor gave him a noble nod, a polite clap on the shoulder, then led the rest of the ghouls up the stairs to their Roost. Nihil decided to abandon the towers of luggage in search for some sort of interaction, but the halls rang impressively hollow as his Chelsea boots clicked along the marble.

At last one of his flock emerged from a side hallway, balancing a basket of laundry in her arms and shuffling with determination over to the washer. Nihil grinned expectantly, and the sibling did a quick bob of her head over the pile of linens before sidestepping and scuttling away. Papa Nihil rubbed his jaw, considering.

Damn man, when Sister Imperator said you were down you really were down.

There was some friendly chatter from the common room, at least. It was two voices he recognized, two people he actually looked forward to seeing. By the empty fireplace, posed amidst a chaos of creativity, was his Protégée Papessa-Elect Jocasta and his youngest son Terzo. Two beings that didn’t hastily find something to be busy with when he approached.

“Oh, welcome! Welcome back Papa!” Jocasta waved from her place on the carpet. Terzo lounged beside her, legs twisted in an impossible sitting position as he picked colored pencils from a tin. The whole floor was scattered with old birthday cards and magazine cuttings. A glue brush planted across its pot dripped glue on the carpet in slow syrupy strands.

“A yellow dress would look good for this one,” she suggested to Terzo. She herself wore a pretty polyester suit of bright orange with a matching scarf to hold up her golden hair. Terzo was working on an obvious recreation of her look for one of the paper dolls in his collection.

“You're a sight for sore eyes, doll,” Nihil leered. Jocasta threw him a wry wink, the whitened Infernal Eye in her skull a weird comfort for him to see after a few weeks on the road.

What he first thought could be a possible fling with an exotic woman in a bar became something completely different, something more. She wandered over to the stage and said she was inspired. He had inspired her. His work. His art.

For once the devil in Nihil didn't raise its head and sniff the air. He couldn't switch on that flirty little part of himself as he looked at her in that half dark New York club. Staring down at her from the stage, a foot and a half above her so she had to strain her neck to really look in his eyes when she confessed. He couldn't touch her. Not when she was that small below him. Not when her red eyes wept black smears.

“It's my first night here,” she had said, and more tears washed the black down her cheeks. Her voice was dark, thick with an accent that she struggled to suppress. “It's my first night here and want to follow you.”

What could he possibly say to that? His mouth stretched into a dopey smile as he brought out a hand to her. She took it. “Just say yes, babe.”

He brought his attention back to the present. Jocasta smiled at him. After a day's travel with masked silent ghouls it was the first smile he'd seen. “And how was the flight?”

“Oh not too bad, gonna sleep it off later,” he said. “You cats having fun?”

Jocasta was his odd daughter, his right hand. She knew so much already but was always eager for more. Always striving in a way that scared him a little. He had a tough time on the road before joining the Church, and he could sense that hungry drive from anywhere. But he had buried it deep long ago.

And then Sister had chosen her. Chosen her for his Protegee. Or, the Void did, in all the strange and unearthly ways it whispered to the Dark Mother. Nihil had watched her endure the Rite of Construct that he himself had blotted from his mind except for the occasional nightmare. They've suffered. They've fucked up. They survived. So whenever he looked at the dead-alive eye in her skull above her smirking lips a protective feeling came over him, a tide of true responsibility. It was a feeling that brought up memories of Primo. Primo, a few seconds old, in his arms.

Primo…wherever you are…

“Where's Secondo, now?” Nihil asked.

“He did not want to play paper dolls with us,” said Jo, exchanging a nod with Terzo.

Secondo had been cold and bitter about Terzo ever since the lad’s unexpected arrival. “I was on tour of Europe..what's a few souvenirs?” Nihil had joked, once and only once and never ever again, to Secondo’s mother.

No matter, Secondo had been adjusting to his new role…for almost two years. He'd come around. Brothers always do, right? And like all of Nihil’s dark concerning considerations, it passed over him as quickly as a brisk summertime cloud. His mouth creaked back into a smile. “Right on,” he said, and sat cross-legged on the ground with as much grace as his bandy legs would allow.

“Oh, hi,” said Terzo. He was cutting out a pre-printed red dress for the dolls propped in their cigar box; a two-dimensional hot tub party. He bit his lip, his big green eyes blazing with intensity. He constantly tripped over himself but if there was a challenge he'd give it his all. Every little nuanced divot of the paper dress's puffed sleeves needed to be freed with the most precision a six year old with safety scissors could obtain.

“I got you a present here, my boy.” Nihil waggled his eyebrows at his son. “In Canada they got all different types of candy, yanno. I heard this one was the best.”

Terzo took the brightly colored candy bar from his father’s hands, but frowned as he bent it in a way that shouldn't be possible. Right. Nihil winced.

“Er…must have got too hot— Just throw that in the fridge, it’ll be fine,” suggested Nihil. Terzo continued to squish the melted remains trapped in the wrapper, mesmerized.

Jo laughed and for a moment everything was groovy until a realization hit him like a freight train. Gifts. He forgot one for her. His very own protégée. His long fingers drummed on his knees as he added, “Oh, and uh— I got something for you too of course, uh—” He launched himself into a scour of his sport coat, his face getting hot with shame. Luckily he never really thought to ever clear out his pockets, which meant that there was a dragon’s hoard of hotel matchbooks, used saxophone reeds and phone numbers scribbled onto bar napkins. And a gift for Jocasta, if he tried and wished hard enough.

“Jesas— no, no you did not have to get me anything, please don't worry, I'm perfectly fine!” No, it wasn’t fine at all.

Shit. “Haha no I had to, yanno— you're like uh…like uh…” The only person other than Terzo that smiles at me anymore. “Gimmie a minute, it's in here somewhere!”

His fingers closed around their prize. Something in the pocket close to his heart. Of course. He always came out on top. The power of keeping it cool triumphs once again. He drew it from his sport coat in a theatrical sweep, presenting it to his ward with a rubbery open-mouthed smile of victory.

It was a pen he got from some businessman sitting next to him on the PanAm flight that liked his style. A photo of a blonde with big hair and sultry eyes leered from the side of it. The pen when turned downward dropped the woman’s black dress and left nothing to the imagination. Jocasta let out a little squeak through her nose that Nihil decided came from a place of amused approval. Terzo silently considered the pen and then his own paper doll collection.

“Oh, it’s…” Jocasta’s mouth cracked into a fiendish grin as she played with the pen in her hands, muttering something under her breath.

“Deppatta,” Terzo parroted.

Jocasta’s eyes widened, the smile fading in mock solemnity. She leaned close, squinting. “No no it's not that— now listen… Du. De-pehr-ter. Faster. Du Depperter.”

“Du Depperter.”

Jocasta clapped her hands and Terzo brightened. “Yes, that’s it!”

“Du Depperter! Du Depperter!” The two of them began a spirited chant. Terzo choked and howled and doubled over, laughing. Jocasta joined in, wiping her eye.

“Yeah, exactly, right on,” Nihil chuckled, albeit a bit bashfully. I really should learn German, he thought to himself. Maybe tomorrow. Got plenty of time now. Until the next gig.

Jocasta wrapped an arm around him, giving him a quick peck across the cheek. “I love it though, I really do love it. Thank you.”

“Oh, good!” And he didn't have to worry about anything ever again, until there was something else to worry about. Nihil craned over Terzo’s project. “And what we making today, sport?”

Terzo presented a homemade paper doll from the cigar box. She had a red-lipped smirk and raven hair. Green eyes to match his own. Nihil remembered vaguely this particular one was his son’s favorite. “She needs roller skates.”

“Course she does, all the cool chicks need skates,” said Nihil, gesturing for some supplies. Terzo dropped some crayons and a scrap of old birthday card in his father’s hands. “I saw some real hot ones on a girl in Venice Beach once.”

Jo gave him a nudge and a wink. “Let me know if you need a pen.”

My Fic List | Other Nihil HC Stuff (AO3)

Du Depperter: "You idiot" (affectionate)

[frankiensteinsmonster]

ID in Alt Text!

Hey, sorry I haven't been doing my daily outfit posts lately-- I guess I never mentioned why I started them, but it's this personal project that I'm working on where I take a picture (though, in all honesty, it's a lot of pictures lol) in whatever I'm wearing and I feature my cane to promote awareness and give representation to other cane users and members of the cpunk and Physically Disabled community. I'm working on building up the courage to take these pictures outside as well, because I do them on campus, but we deserve to see ourselves outside as well!

The reason I haven't been keeping up with it is because my partner and I have really been really struggling financially as well as with our mental health (and me with my physical health as well, obviously lol) we moved across the country to go to school and it is So Hard-- I had to drop three out of five of my classes because the course work was just too much in volume and I need a job really bad (which is going to be Hard to do since we don't even know why I'm in such chronic pain yet 🙃 it's hard not to feel defeated!)

Either way, I think going to start posting them with the tag #TheVainCanes and #MobilityAidVainity but I'm also going to host a poll for some options bc I want this to be a widespread community thing!

I'm choosing these names because I've seen from both ableds and disabled elitists this idea that we and our mobility aides need to look like they're fresh out the hospital for us to be Believed and deserving of respect, and anything beyond that voids our suffering and invalidates our experiences-- and I think that's reductive, harmful, and just plain wrong! Our mobility aides are an extension of ourselves and we deserve to dress them up however we want. We deserve representation, and the normalization of Joy and Having Personality While Disabled.

This will be intersectional as well (bc. I mean look at me. Also I don't need a reason!) , people from all identities are welcomed and encouraged to join! This is meant to be a celebration of Us, Disabled, BIPOC, LGBTQIA2S+, and All That Jazz! (If you use a mobility aid, you're in!) We're beautiful gorgeous handsome devils and I think we'd do good seeing how good we all look in a designated tag

Also my cash app and Venmo are @/cherubpunque 👀 if anyone has some spare change I could have that would be an amazing help towards feeding me, my partner, and our two cats!!

To kick things off, I am a 2S, Afroindigenous person (Gullah and Kanien'kehá:ka!) who experiences chronic pain and fatigue. I have PTSD and a few other brain things going on, less than perfect eyesight, and a great passion for Art, Music, Subculture, and Helping Others whenever and however I can! I'm majoring in art and am working towards becoming a published graphic novelist. Idk I just have a lot of love and support to give, and a big need for love and support for myself as well, and I'm hoping to offer us a good opportunity for us to connect in a space that's just for us! We're already living outside of society's expectations for health, so why should we let these folks decide the way we look while doing it? Express yourself! (I'll also be tagging myself in future as #mothie so you can find me in the tags! Anyways, I gotta go lay down. My back hurts.)

[scarletsaphire]

Dani and Danny return to Amity Park after a long time away, one last time.

--

This is my first fic for @phicphight, done for @ashseadreamer's prompt: They lay side by side on a blanket, fingers intertwined as they whispered dreams into the night. The fireflies look like falling stars-- beautiful, mesmerizing, and sad.

I hope you enjoy!

"Oh thank the Ancients!" Dani called out the moment the run down, faded "Welcome to Amity Park" sign appeared in their line of sight. "It feels like we've been flying forever!"

"It does feel like its been a long time, hasn't it," Danny replied. "It's nice to be back home."

Dani laughed. "I know. I still think we should've stayed in Taiwan."

"Yeah, well, you lost at rock paper scissors, so there." Danny stuck his tongue out at her, and Dani returned the gesture. It wasn't long before they both devolved into giggles.

After the two of them regained their composure, Danny spoke again. "C'mon, we've got a few hours to kill before sundown. What do you want to do first?"

Dani hummed thoughtfully. "Do you think the Nasty Burger milkshake machine is still running?"

"There's only one way to know for sure."

There was, unsurprisingly, nobody working, but one look at the machine, wrapped in bright yellow caution tape, told the half ghosts exactly what they needed to know. Much more surprisingly was the bundle of french fries, tucked in the very back corner of the freezer and next to some nasty sauce.

"Oh, there's no way that's any good," Danny said as Dani pulled the bag out.

"It's not like it can kill us any more," Dani pointed out as she opened the bag. "Besides. It's better than nothing, right?"

"Fair point."

The two ate the fries on the rooftop of the building. They definitely didn't taste as good as Danny remembered them being, but he blamed it on the fact that they were cold. At least they were still edible. Technically.

Dani belched, the sound echoing through the quiet streets of Amity Park. "That hit the spot."

All Danny did in reply was nod. At his silence, Dani turned to face him. "What's wrong?"

Danny shrugged. "You know. Same old, same old."

Dani leaned back on her hands, staring up at the sky. The sun burnt an angry red, low in the sky. It would've hurt her eyes, if she'd been human. "Yeah, I know." She tilted her head to the side, so that it rested on Danny's shoulder. "I can't imagine how weird this all is."

She felt the ice chill of his breath on her head. "It's... something, alright." He lifted his arms, pushing Dani's head off, and floated to his feet. "But we're not going to waste our time feeling sorry for me, okay? We only have..." He glanced down at his wrist, where a sleek watch sat. "An hour and a half. So, what do you want to do? We can check out the park, or maybe those sewer rat ghosts you befriended a while ago?"

Dani narrowed her eyes at him, the same expression he made whenever he was thinking. "Fentonworks. I think we should check out Fentonworks."

Dani did not miss the way Danny stiffened, or the single, sudden swallow, but his demeanor shifted back to casual not even a whole second later. "Sure. Let's go."

--

The halls of Fentonworks were never quiet. When Danny had been little, they were filled with the noises of two small children running around, getting up to all sorts of mischief. One of his earliest memories was of himself running through the halls on tiny little toddler legs, Jazz in hot pursuit and his mother not far behind.

When they'd outgrown those kinds of games, other sounds filled the void. Jazz's tuba practice from when she played in middle school faded into Danny listening to Dumpty Humpty with Sam and Tucker faded into alarm sounds for ghost attacks and phone calls about Danny's academic performance.

No matter how those noises changed, one sound remained consistent; the sound of metal and electricity and machinery. Sometimes it was loud enough to drown everything else out, and sometimes it was nothing more than the persistent hum emanating from the walls, so quiet and routine that Danny only ever noticed it was there when it wasn't.

Coming back to that familiar hum felt right, even if he wasn't pleased to admit it.

The hum of the portal underneath his feet, still as strong as the day he'd turned it on, vibrated in time with his core, with his bones, and he felt a bit like he was slotting back into place, like a puzzle getting completed.

It was nice to feel it again, after so long.

Danny ran his hand along the shelf in the living room, his gloved hand coming back coated with dust. Without a second thought, he turned and blew the debris into Dani's face.

She sneezed, shooting herself up into the air a good foot, before floating back down to ground level. "Hey!" she shouted. "What was that for?"

Danny laughed and danced out of the way of her lunge. It was clumsy; he didn't know if she was thrown off from the dust, or everything else. "Revenge."

"But I didn't do anything!"

"Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that." Danny turned away, floating down the hallway. "Come on. Help me find a duster or something."

"But why? You've never cared about dusting before."

Danny shrugged. "Better now than never, right?"

Dani fell quiet behind him, but he didn't mind. He'd made it to the closet, and was busy searching for the aforementioned feather duster. The closet was filled to the brim with old junk; boxes of rusty spare parts, bits and bobs that would've been useless even if they were brand new, and cardboard boxes that looked more like flat pieces of cardboard after sitting under everything else for so long. No duster, or even something that could be used as one in a pinch.

He laid eyes on it after floating up to the top shelf, phasing through the boxes of board games so faded or covered in dust that their names were illegible. The blanket was folded neatly in the far back corner, and sparkled ever so slightly in Danny's natural green glow. He pulled it out without a second thought.

"Not a duster, but I guess if you're set on this idea," Dani started before Danny cut her off with a look.

The blanket was tiny and the years spent in the closet hadn't been kind to it; there were holes in the sides and center from where a moth had gotten to it, but Danny could still tell what it was.

"Do you recognize this at all?" he asked.

Dani narrowed her eyes for a moment, studying the worn fabric, before shaking her head. "Might not have gotten those memories."

"Yeah, well, I'm not too surprised," Danny said. "But this was my favorite blanket when I was a kid. I think Mom had to pry this out of my hands when i was in kindergarten, and even then I would try and sneak it into my backpack every day before the bus came."

He ran his fingers over the fabric. The edges, which had been lined with a soft silk, were still shiny, if not as reflective as he remembered them being, and the swirling pattern of pastel blues, oranges, and purples in the middle had muddied together into a faded mess. He folded it back up as neatly as he could before shoving it into his side.

"Are we using it for dusting after all?" Dani questioned.

"Of course not."

"Then why...?"

Danny didn't have a good answer, but he hadn't spent so long trash talking other ghosts to not be a quick thinker. "It might be nice to have. For later."

Dani nodded slowly. "Does this mean we're giving up on the feather duster dream? Because I'll be honest, that's not what I had in mind when I said we should come here."

"Oh?" Danny asked, flooding his voice with fake innocence. "And what did you have in mind?"

Dani opened her mouth before closing it again. "Fine. Dusting it is!"

They left Fentonworks an hour later. It wasn't perfect, but it was a lot closer to how Danny remembered it.

--

"I think this is the spot," Dani said, her hand shielding her eyes.

"Looks right to me," Danny agreed. Dani had started to lower herself to the ground before his hand on her shoulder stopped her. With a mischievous grin, he pulled the blanket out from his side and laid it out on the ground with a flourish.

"Told you it'd be useful," he said.

Dani didn't have it in her to argue.

The two of them laid down next to each other, arm pressed against arm, both pairs of eyes trained on the sky. Despite the time, it wasn't dark. Small lights danced in the sky, spinning and swirling amidst the stars.

"I didn't expect them to be so beautiful..." Dani whispered, near reverentially.

"Neither did I." Danny's tone matched hers.

"It's hard to believe they're-"

"Fireflies."

Dani spared one glance over at Danny, whose eyes remained trained on the sky. "Fireflies?"

"It's hard to believe they're fireflies," Danny repeated.

Dani shifted her eyes back to the sky. "Right. Fireflies."

She felt the blanket shift as Danny nodded his head. "We're just two cousins, watching the fireflies, on a warm summer evening."

"Just two cousins," Dani agreed. "And tomorrow, we're going to sneak into the movies, and we're going to watch the goriest, nastiest, R-rated movie we can get into."

Danny laughed, but it blended into the soft buzz that filled the air. "Yeah. And we're going to buy enough candy and popcorn and slushies to make us sick."

"Make you sick, maybe. I'm made of stronger stuff."

"If you say so,” Danny said with a roll of his eyes. 

Dani kept talking to fill the silence, even as the buzzing noise got louder. “After the movies, we're going to come back here. To the park."

"Yeah?"

It was Dani's turn to nod. "We're gonna play hide and seek."

"Whose gonna hide?"

"You will. Obviously. Because you were too weak to keep down the snacks."

"Oh, so you're going to send me on a wild goose chase through the woods?"

"We need to build your endurance for next time."

She heard Danny's sharp inhale next to her, followed by a deep cough. The scent of smoke filled Dani's nose, but she didn't need to breathe, so she didn't let it bother her. The fireflies danced in the air above her, so much brighter and closer than they were before.

When Danny had cleared the soot out of his lungs, he answered. "Next time. Right."

Dani's eyes burnt. She wanted to close them against the smoke and the angry, searing light, but she couldn't. She couldn't look away from the lights on the sky, falling ever closer. For a moment, she tore her eyes away to look at Danny's face. Tears streamed down his cheeks openly, and she wasn't sure whether it was from the air or his feelings. She reached out the few inches to Danny's hand, intertwining her fingers with hers.

"You don't have to watch," she whispered. The buzzing sound had gotten louder, changing to a whooshing that almost drowned at her words.

"You know I have to," Danny answered just as quietly. "This is my home. I can't just-" He paused for a moment. "Someone needs to see this." He pulled his hand away from hers to wipe away the tears. "I promised not to waste the time feel sorry for myself, and here I am."

Dani didn't answer. She didn't have anything to say that she hadn't said a dozen times over, through theirs hours of planning this day. She'd tried to talk him out of it, originally. She didn't see the reason they needed to be here, didn't think it was a good idea, but Danny had been insistent. Dani could understand that, at least. Amity Park had always been his home, not hers. Earth had always been his home.

It made sense he'd want to say goodbye.

The lights in the sky were closer now, close enough that the air was hot, and her watery eyes made them blur and elongate. The whooshing was louder now, so loud that she couldn't hear anything else.

The sound of the first meteor crashing was deafening, even with it being nearly a mile away. The ground shook beneath her back, and Dani couldn’t keep her eyes open against the searing heat anymore.

The world froze in an instant. Every sound, every motion, even the temperature in the air. 

Their time was up.

Dani opened her eyes, grateful to see the swirling green portal covering her view of the sky. Clockwork floated on the mouth of the portal, perpendicular to them. His face was customarily stoic, and his gaze was focused on Danny, who seemed to be staring straight through him.

"It's time to go," she said quietly. Her words shook Danny out of his trance, and he nodded stiffly before floating to his feet.

They'd made it most of the way to the portal before he turned around and hurried back to where they'd been laying, gathering the blanket back up in his arms once more, and returning to Dani's side. He mumbled something under his breath that Dani couldn't figure out, before walking through the portal. He didn't look back.

Dani did. It was a terrible sight, the world burning around her. She took one final deep breath, even though the smoke burned her nose, before stepping to the other side of the portal. It was time to say goodbye.

Their final goodbye to their dying world.

[noitkot1]

InktoberTale Day 1: Ink Warm-Up!

Adjusting to anything is changing. Say, a new family member, or a shift in a lifestyle. Sometimes it is a peaceful walk through the park, other times you have to step into the volcano with a smile. The universe discovered though that change is needed. People need to adapt, grow, and shift. And for you?

The milky white void stings your eyes as little giggles chime in the air. Cringing, you raise your hands and gasp as the void twirls, putting on an elegant dance with browns, yellows, and pinks splashed into the whites. Legs failing, the rollercoaster finally arrives at its destination, and you gasp for a breath.

Straight ahead, two big, upside-down shapes stare past your soul. Above the black holes and shapes, you see the other gasp, “look! A friend has decided to join us!”

Tilting your head, you stare down the monster- a skeleton. Narrowing your eyes, you watch the others smile grow. Bird calls sing through the air. You focus on the black birth mark atop their cheek. That's the face from the dreams. 

Ink waves with a paper in hand, “hello, very curious creator! Welcome to the doodle sphere!” Both arms raise up, Ink performing a jazz hand and slowly going down, like a sun vanishing into the earth.

Following the skeletal hands you see more off-white backgrounds, piles of paper, then a mountain of said paper, which with a little cleared out path led straight to landfills of it. Eyes returning to Ink, behind him there's a floating human. Their shirt blue and purple, striped, with shut eyes and dark brown hair.

The skeleton spins away, leaving the flickering creator visible, more see through, more there. They squeak, legs kicking out and arms making a swim motion, reaching Ink's physical form and slipping back behind the skeleton. Shifting blue loading eye lights turn and stare into the void.

"There's nothing to be afraid of. Another creator has only come to say hello!" They call out, but the other creator does not show. Although, there's a distant bird call. Ink moves his head towards the call, and their eye lights change to squares with a shining grin. "I think that is an incredible idea!" The skeleton broadcasts with glee, it reminds you of a ringleader, someone at the center of everything.

One moment later the bird churr-churr comes back, pounding a little like a drumbeat, a grumble and pop and it grows and booms- and your fellow creator pokes their head back into vision of you with a little frown.

Ink taps his chin, still looking to the dumped papers opposite of you, "It's a wonderous idea! I'm sure your fellow creator would love to hear your story!"

Hear another's story? That's never happened here before.

You can hear Ink's sly smile in the air as he turns to look at you, "It's rare for creators to appear in another creator's world without an introduction!" He explains while facing you with one sun shaped eyelight, "this creator," his free hand waves to the hidden human-ghost-esk creator, "would like to share their story with you."

There is a glint in the other's eyes as they bend down to where Ink's ears would be a low looming whistle. The chimes ring as Ink lets out a full laugh, summoning a pencil to his fingertips and writing on the paper. "That's a great addition!"

You don’t know yet how this particular change is going to affect you. Does anyone even know when it begins how much you can change by the end? Does the change ever really stop? The fellow creator shuffles, slowly lifting their head to look at you.

Smiling, you nod to them. Who wouldn't want to read a new story?

Both of the other's glow like fireflies, Ink cheering and the creator getting a miniature smile. After a moment, the paper levitates from Ink's hands, "this is their story," he starts walking towards you, "they've asked me to share that it is not complete yet and constructive criticism is appreciated! They'd like to improve, and the best way to do that is through each other!" Ink pauses, "and practice too of course!"

Floating down, you hold out your hands, taking in the dusty and new flowery smell of the paper. Glancing up, a gigantic smile to your fellow creator, who lets a chirp echo throughout the universe and slips back behind Ink.

The skeleton sits down criss-cross-apple-sauce- he snorts. Glancing away just for a second and eyelights returning as bright colors. Leaning forward with a bit of a mischievous grin, "Are you ready to dive into this story?" His eyes turn behind him, "and for you to be sharing your own story?" It's light and warm and full of pride.

It was as if someone had turned on a flashlight with how wide their smile became and with their entire form floating up.

You grasp the edges of the paper, clear your throat, and begin with the first sentence, "once upon a time-"

----

Ink!Sans belongs to Comyet!

[bangtangalicious]

nexus (m) part 2

pairing: ot7 x freader smut: yoongi x reader chp-focus: jjk, ksj, myg

premise: a notorious casino conglomerate, took you in when you were young. you practically grew up alongside their sons; inseparable from the oldest, infatuated with the middle, and engaged to the youngest

summary: accused of murdering your best friend, you team up with a vengeful detective in an effort to uncover the secrets of the family you swore your loyalty to

characters: detective!jungkook, bartender!yoongi, bestfriend!seokjin, ceo!namjoon, fiancee!taehyung, model!hoseok, therapist!jimin

genre: 18+ smut slow burn angst romance thriller mystery eventual yandere casino!au organizedcrime!au arrangedmarriage!au revenge!au

wordcount: 7k

warnings: explicit smut, rough sex, todays theme is JEALOUSY, manipulated consent (emotional blackmail), teasing, manhandling, fingering, dirty talk, breast play, crying, penetrative sex, rough oral (m), power plays, a very sexually charged card game and limo ride, a whole lot of SEXUAL TENSION, jin is a FLIRT, suggested dacryphilia, toxic relationships (jin sir pls u good), petnames--princess, mourning/angst, jungkook is hot and COLD (tsundere), obsessive themes, blackmail, guns, character death (nonrelevant), alcohol, gambling, fear, mention of psychiatric treatment

taglist: @raynom @gimmythatjib00ty @yoshiure @greezenini @victoryscreech61 @tbzhubrecs @namjooningelsewhere @sugarcoffeemochi @jiminie-08 @jinssexytoe @kooookie @only4sana @pinkcherrybombs @taeslarityy @natalie-rdr @mageprincess7 @hopeonysus @bibbykins @sameifnn @shadowmoon21 @juliemae80-blog @gaeguuliii @dvalitaes @satorinnie @fournia @kassandravictoria @jazmine2904 @marslena @iloverubberduckiez-blog @manchuria @btseverafter7 @jamlessstars @doublebunnykoo @you-are-my-wind @toughbook @mini-euphoria @lvrseok @n4mina @imjinvolved @rp171198 @codeinebelle @itsallabouthedetails @btseverafter7 @just-me-and-myselfs @blonde-bummer @hcneybees @babycoffeefire @totallynoanalien @seokjinkismet @itslanaanditssad @rhyperia @sporadicfuryface @azazel-nyx @hani-neko-nee-chan (rest of tags on reblog)

series navi | join taglist | masterlist

The smell. The distinct smell of false hope. Strong enough to cover the heaps of despair and loss which built it. The casino was ever lively—money on the table, green on green. The sounds of hearty laugher audible over the subdued jazz. Behind the polished bar, Yoongi watched over the crowd with caution. A smile painted on his face like art, unmoving but beautiful to those who looked upon him. He’d chat up his patrons, expertly pouring drinks, movements fluid as he created liquored masterpieces. The trust he held, like a chemist preparing a cure. Their lives locked in his palms.

He excused himself, towel thrown over his shoulder. His all black uniform a welcome contrast to his pale skin. Like a shadow he slipped into the back office. Within a small desk drawer was his pistol. A custom model—the five-letter branding so subtle only those who knew would be able to find it.

He held the weight of the gun in his hand. Nimble fingers tracing along it’s contours. The metal was cold to touch—and he hated it. He hated the life he had been thrown into against his will. But he did it for you.

And you hardly knew. You were utterly blind to the leash which held a vigorous hold around his neck. Even on nights where you’d kiss him so sweetly he could almost forgive you.

Ears tingling from the absence of the pounding music, deep-set laugher. Laughter only those with no care in the world could afford. The silence reminiscent of the void in his heart. He loaded the weapon. Locked in the cartridge and stared down the barrel. You’d look beautiful with it stuffed down your throat. But more likely, it would be Jin pointing it down his.

Tucking the gun in his back pocket, his shoulders relaxed.

A window to the casino floor showed a weak reflection. The fear in his eyes still hiding amongst theatrics of bravery. The fear that the Kim heir had beaten into him with his raw fists. The crooked man who you worshipped was a menace. But you worshipped the ground he walked on, and Yoongi simply couldn’t break the spell.

He returned to the bar. Smile wide with charisma. Despite the pulse of the casino around him, the weight of the gun dragged him down. A harrowing reminder of who he belonged to.

Yoongi hated gambling. It was his least favorite thing about you, yet you knew not of the high-stakes gamble he played almost every night. With every strategically poured drink and every charming conversation, he collected fragments of information, forging alliances and defying destiny. With every step, he embodied the dual essence of a bartender and a gangster—making him a valuable piece in Kim Seokjin’s game.

“Promise me something” The night before, you looked at him with so much adoration, he swore he could melt into your touch.

“Don’t fall in love with me. Because I can never love you back”

His lips parted, shocked—breathing in. Met in seconds with a kiss so incredibly hot that he could feel the burn even hours later. His palms immediately cupping your cheeks, lips pressed tight against yours, unwavering. The pain searing with your words made him dizzy. Made him nauseous. You were sickening, addictive and he craved you insatiably. 

Deeping the kiss as he tilted your head back more. Eyes shut—lost in the feeling. Everything vanished. There was only him. Only you.

He pulled you in closer—lifting you into his arms. Soft moans escaping but neither of you separated for long. He didn’t want to part. Didn’t want to breathe. He wanted to be consumed by the crippling mess you were. Lips sliding across your jaw—peppering hot kisses down your neck. Your fingers weaving through his hair, guiding him. He gripped your hips gently, knee slotting between your legs.

“Promise me, Yoongi” You exhaled quietly, breath uneven, shaky. “I need you to say it”

Yoongi’s teeth grazed over your ear as he grunted in irritation. Fingers intertwining with yours he finally backed away, meeting your eyes.

“We can’t do this unless you promise” Exasperated, he cupped your face again, thumb tracing your bottom lip fondly. You grabbed his wrist, begging him with your eyes. Your voice was quiet. So quiet he could feel your words without hearing them. Lust burned in his gaze—eyes darkening.

The pain was delicious. The ache burning in his heart. He had never entertained the thought of ever having feelings for you. Never rendered the possibility. He understood the arrangement well. But hearing you say it. Seeing the way you looked at him. The way you kissed him, let him touch you, let him make love to you night after night.

“Yoongi, please” Words had a way of ruining the most beautiful things. Yoongi wondered if he had just stayed quiet, would the pain never come? You began clawing at his shirt, popping the buttons off one by one. Yoongi hissed, tugging at your lip warningly. Blinking at you for a second, he seemed to weigh his options. He lifted you up, allowing you to wrap your legs around him.

Staring at you a moment, everything slowed down. He grew annoyed. Why would you say that to him—you didn’t know him. You had no way of knowing whether or not you could love him so why cut off the possibility? Would it really be so wrong? He would care for you. Far better than any of those Kim bastards ever could, anyway.

“Yoongi” You screamed, back slammed against the wall. His hands hovered over your shoulders, fingers hooked under the straps of your bra. Swiftly he pulled them off, allowing it to fall into a puddle on the floor, his shirt following. Yoongi simply chuckled, pushing two fingers down your throat.

Yoongi pulled his fingers out, smirking slightly at the way your eyes quivered. He slid his hand down your body, under your panties so he could paint your quivering cunt with his wet fingers. He watched you carefully as he drew small, tight circles on your clit. His other hand on your neck, thumb tilting your chin up to face him.

“Yoongi stop” Your voice was tiny, almost afraid. The sound only made his heart pound.

“Fuck no” He growled. He dipped his fingers into your cunt, allowing his palm to flatten as you unconsciously grinded your hips against it. Curling his finger, he pumped in and out of you—your eyes rolling back. His lips going down your chest, dragging your bra down with his teeth till he could round his lips over your tender nipples.

A loud moan left your lips, causing him to hiss. Pulling his finger out he turned you around, pushing your chest against the wall before gripping your panties and tearing them in two. It burned against your skin, a dizzying sensation in your head as you heard the fabric rip. Immediately he pumped two fingers back inside, teeth grazing over your shoulders. His belt unlatched, you felt his hard cock slap against your ass. He pushed you down, bending you over with a hand tight  on your neck, holding you steady.

“Who the fuck do you think you are huh? You came onto me, bitch. You don’t call the shots anymore, I do” You whimpered as his thick head pushed in. He lifted you onto his cock, chest pressed up tight against yours—looking nowhere except deep into your eyes.

You sank down so perfectly. Your tight walls hot against his pulsing length. Your legs wrapped around his waist so tight he could barely move. It was emotional, the way you held onto him as he rolled his hips, pulsing into you. Staggered breaths. Sweat on his forehead.

Harder. His hips jerked at the sound of your pussy, dripping out with his every move. Your eyes blasted with lust—lips parted, so incredibly fucked out with pleasure it had him salivating. Pretty little moans as he fucked into you.

Tight. Fast. Lost in your sensation. Eyes rolling to the back of his head.

His lips nipped at your jaw, tasting the sweat glazed over your skin.

“Where can I come?” His voice was hoarse. Low and broken with need. You stilled yourself, sliding off of his throbbing cock until you found your feet and stood. Within seconds you slid to your knees, mouth wide open—eager to please.

He swore you had never looked more beautiful.

He admired your face. Lips swollen, pressing his flushed tip between them, eyes wide with a false innocence. Swiping the drool away from the edge of your lips. You let your tongue wrap around his length, cautiously, exploring across his veins, watching his reactions as you tightened your cheeks around him.

Yoongi’s eyes rolled back, hissing as you began to bob your head up and down. Sloppy, saliva dripping everywhere, the obscene sounds exemplified by you taking him throat-deep, gagging all over. He chanted like a mantra, “Just like that…fuck…just like that”

Both hands on his base, you worked him vigorously, enjoying his throaty moans echoing throughout the room. He bucked his hips, tugging at your jaw as he pushed further down your throat. “Always so good to me”

His hand moved to your forehead, his grip on your head leading you along his shaft, urging you to go faster. He thrusted his hips forwards, forcing you to take him all the way. Fucking your face roughly.

“You can take it, I know you can baby come on” Back and forth, he pulled his cock all the way out, letting you catch your breath before stuffing you full once again. You squealed around him, smacking your lips, pouring yourself into your movements.

Every fiber of his body shuddered as he came, twitching and jerking as he spilled deep in your throat. You licked up every last drop.

He dreaded the silence that followed the beautiful storm. He pulled you into an embrace before you could think too card. Laying you down, peppering you with kisses. Loving ones.

He didn’t know you, and you didn’t know him.

But he wanted to change that. He wanted to fight.

He nuzzled into your neck. Sweet. You blinked back tears. He saw this, growing concerned. “Baby I—I didn’t mean to be rough”

You shook your head, sniffling. “It’s not you I just” The tears spilled down your cheeks. Yoongi’s heart wrenched, reaching to wipe them away. His touch endearing. “I don’t want to hurt you”

Yoongi pressed his lips against yours. Long, sweetly. A tired, exasperated kiss that seemed to say you’re incredibly, utterly perfect.

“I just don’t make promises I can’t keep”

You had cast a spell on him and he was undoubtedly cursed.

The next morning, Kim Seokjin had arrived at the suite. The broad man appeared much friendlier in person than the magazine shoots he had seen him in with his infamous mother. Likely his same age, he was undeniably handsome. Brown eyes that incited mischief, yet with a softness that was almost genuine.

Almost.

You had answered the door, wearing a fluffy casino robe. Unphased when you saw your dear friend. He looked at you briefly, before his eyes shifted to Yoongi who was still in bed.

“Morning princess” Tone was steady, smile evident, but Yoongi could see the irritation in his eyes.

“Hey” You greeted him politely. “Did you need something?”

Jin’s gaze was locked on Yoongi. “Actually, I’m here to talk to him” You seemed to pout. “Don’t worry, it’s just work stuff. Give us a minute, okay?”

Reluctantly, you wandered off.

Jin painted another smile on his face, entering the room. He walked up to where Yoongi had stepped out of bed. “Yoongi—right? I’ve heard great things about the tips you bring in”

There it was. The tricky power games that were synonymous with Kim Seokjin’s reputation.

“Yes sir”

Jin grinned at his attitude. “Now, Yoongi. Man to man. Where do you see this” He gestured his hand, “Going?”

Yoongi pursed his lips. He knew getting involved with these kinds of people was always complicated. But he was in too deep. He wasn’t going to give up on you just over some baseless threats. What he really wanted to know—was how the fuck Jin knew where you were? Was this motherfucker having you followed?

“She came onto me, sir”

“Oh I know” Jin chuckled, “She was nursing a broken heart, poor thing. My idiotic brother crushed her, so she’s acting out”

Namjoon. Yoongi recalled.

Jin’s gaze was intense—serious now, in contrast to his playfulness earlier. “I want you to understand something, Yoongi.” He took a seat on the bed. Leaning back, his hair flipped over his forehead. “I’m allowing this. For now.”

“Sir”

“There will be a time where I’ll need you to back off. And you’ll do it, otherwise your dean is going to get an interesting phone call”

Yoongi swallowed thickly. He didn’t like being threatened. How could you live like this? Did these guys interfere in every part of your life?

“Yes sir” He responded, humbly. Jin seemed satisfied.

“One last thing” Jin stood up, brushing the dust off of the lapel of his designer suit. He rest his hand on Yoongi’s bare shoulder. Skin cold to touch. Grip firm. “Hurt her, and I will kill you”

You made your way back eventually, noticing Yoongi’s shifted demeanor.

“Sorry, I know Jin is a lot sometimes” You kissed him, crawling into his lap where he sat, defeated. “He’s just looking out for me. We’re like best friends”

Yoongi scoffed. How naïve could you be? He knew crazy when he saw it, and that man was no friend of yours. He looked at you, eyes softening once he saw how cutely you were grinning.

“I’m glad he approved” You beamed at him. “This means, we can like, actually hang out…if you want”

God, of course he did. He would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked. Interestingly, Jin was welcome to Yoongi after that day. You would bring him along on weekend getaways, Monaco, Bali, Paris and Milan. Jin would be there, occupied by his own vices while you and Yoongi got lost in a honeymoon haze. Sharing your darkest thoughts under the eastern sunrise, to hushed confessions under the northern stars. He learned you. Knew you like the back of his hand. Your quirks, likes, irritations and dreams.

“You’ve seriously never had feelings for him?” He asked you one day. You made a face.

“I’ve only ever loved Namjoon” Ouch.

Yoongi was skeptical. Frankly because Yoongi knew you were in love with him from the way your eyes would light up talking about him. Your memories from childhood, or the intimate laughs the two of you would share. You followed him like a little lamb, adapting his crazy lifestyle and engaging with his elitist friends. And after the glimmering lights would go down, you’d make your way to Yoongi, who was…

What was he?

A dog. You had him on a leash, Jin had him in a cage. He was a mutt allowed to you out of pity, to distract you from the real things that were controlling your life. Yoongi’s job was to give you a semblance of control. A sexual outlet, a shoulder to lean on.  

And Yoongi hated you. Hated who you were around Jin and hated that no matter what he did, Jin would be a huge part of your life. Even if he did somehow, miraculously, make you fall in love with him, make you feel for him what he did for you without a doubt—Jin would still have control. Yoongi was useless in his shadow. It enfuriated him. Drove him mad. What lengths would he have to go to get you? What would it take for Kim Seokjin to back the fuck off and let you live your own life?

But your life was never your own. And now here he was, all the loyalty paid off into dust as he tended the bar at your engagement party. It was ridiculous. Did he truly mean so little to you—that he wasn’t even a guest? Let alone the fact that it infuriated him you had to marry one of these twisted, god-awful Kim boys against your will.

In front of him, the man of the hour—the so-called Kim Taehyung, sat with a dirty smirk on his face, eyes drilled onto the pair of die rolling in his palm.

“So”

It was in the job description. Make conversation with the guests. Yoongi had been around long enough to know how to make men like Kim Taehyung feel great about themselves, in more ways than one.

“Been a while since you’ve been home huh”

He set down the shaker, straining the drink mix into a margarita glass with a slight flick of his wrist. Taehyung watched the steady pour of the liquid.

“Absolutely” He smiled, although Yoongi could tell it was fake. “I had to come home. See my family—my brothers. After all,” He flashed his forearm at Yoongi, where the Kim crest was neatly tattooed, same as his brothers.

Yoongi squinted. He knew about the tattoo. He had seen it, both on Namjoon and Jin. He knew they got it after their mother died. But as far as he knew, Taehyung had left at a fairly young age, not keeping in contact with his family. Taehyung hadn’t been around for his mother’s death.

Right? Yoongi pursed his lips. Taking another look, he watched Taehyung carefully. Round eyes, thick lips, small fingers in which the dice rolled.

He looked familiar. Yoongi swore he must have seen this man somewhere before. He knew nothing of where Taehyung had been for the past ten years. According to you, no one did.

“Please excuse me,” Nodding politely, Yoongi rushed off into the storage room. Grabbing his phone, he googled the man you were about to get engaged to.

Kim Taehyung.

Nothing.

Nothing at all—not even so much as a media article on the engagement. No photographs, nothing.

But I know I’ve seen you somewhere.

He went to his own camera roll, scrolling aimlessly in an attempt to jog his memory. Would it have been school? The casino? He couldn’t figure it out.

Until he saw it.

A group picture. From a dinner one of his professors had invited him to. There he was—Kim Taehyung.

Except there was no way, Yoongi would have remembered if he met someone with that name. Was he going by an alias? Who was he?

Dialing his professor, he gulped the sour bitterness in his mouth.

“Yoongi? Odd time to be calling—is everything alright?” His professor greeted him kindly.

“Hi sir. Sorry about that I just have a quick question. That dinner you invited us out to…there was another person there who was not a student. Could I know their name?”

His professor chuckled, “Oh, sure. That was Park Jimin—he was a student of mine who now runs a private practice, pretty upscale clients apparently.”

Hanging up abruptly, Yoongi ran back out to the bar.

Yoongi didn’t like anything about it. But he had little time to ponder over it when suddenly you walked in, and he swore his heart stopped.

He couldn’t breathe.

Because it finally hit him. Had he told you everything he held inside? Had he made sure he savored every last second he had you? He couldn’t think. His mind went blank, red with rage—even moreso when Taehyung stood up in front of him and went to go see you.

He watched as he pulled you onto the dance floor—you hate dancing, Yoongi thought to himself. He watched as the man touched you, the lust in his eyes shamelessly evident.

He felt like throwing up. He prayed and prayed that you would stop. He wanted you to get away from him, he wanted you to be in his arms.

And his prayers were answered, as the ceremony was brought to a startling halt.

“You’re under arrest for the murder of Kim Seokjin”

Yoongi’s eyes darted towards the small ensemble of law enforcement that pushed through the crowd towards you, led by a man in a dark coat. Handcuffs clicked around your wrists and you were being dragged out. Yoongi ran to the entrance before they could take you—reaching out with assurance

“Y/n—listen to me” Your eyes were void of emotion. Frozen with complete and utter shock at the news. “Don’t say anything without a lawyer okay? I will meet you at the station with bail money”

You nodded slowly, but Yoongi wasn’t convinced you had heard him.

You were gone. Arrested. Yoongi spun around to scan the crowd—it was a critical time after all. Where was Namjoon? Yoongi looked on, searching for the Kim heir who was nowhere to be seen. His eyes landed instead on Taehyung who stood in the middle of the dance floor, a small tug at the edge of his lips.

Playing with those goddamn dice.

-

Jungkook’s mind went blank when he saw you. Breath quite literally stolen from his lungs. Never in a million years would he admit just how pretty you looked tonight. The soft fabric of your engagement dress fell against your body just right. Your face glowed, glitter on your eyes. Diamond choker on your neck—simple and yet dazzling.

Your lips were his favorite. Plump and glossy pout on your bored face. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to taste you. He wanted to tear it all off and ruin you.

Jungkook wasn’t cruel. He didn’t intend on arresting you in front of everyone. But the vile jealousy that built in his chest when he saw the way your fiancée, Kim Taehyung, sweep you onto the dance floor—he couldn’t help it.

The burning sight of Taehyung’s hands on your waist, face a breath away from yours, lips so close to your neck. The way he looked at you—way you looked at him. You barely knew this man—how could you look at him like that?

He had to stop it. Fists clenching he decided to arrest you then and there. The way your face fell when you saw him was priceless. You seized up at his touch, the soft click of the cuffs around your wrists where your ringless fingers lay limp. Slow, shaky, tears budding in your eyes but never spilling.

Oh how he would love to see you cry.

The moment he had you outside, all hell broke loose. You were livid. Dragging your ankles into the ground like a little brat. Rolling his eyes, Jungkook decided it would be far easier to toss you over his shoulder rather than continue putting up with your antics.

“Put me down you fucking asshole, I didn’t do this!” You screamed, kicking your pointy heels into his back. “Where the fuck is Namjoon huh? Why aren’t you arresting him, if anyone had motive—”

Jungkook suppressed an urge to snap back at you. Setting you down harshly, he pinned you against the side of his car, forearm by your cheek.

He paused, looking deep into your eyes. The rise and fall of your chest calling him closer. You glared at him with such spite. Such disgust. The thought of planting his lips on yours crossed his mind. Put that all that pent up anger to good use.

“Fuck you Jeon Jungkook” You hissed, your hot breath against his cheek. “I’m gonna get you thrown off this fucking case you piece of shit”

“That’s enough” His fingers gripped your jaw, forcing you to look up at him, “Do you really think any other officer in there is going to take on a case to arrest Kim Namjoon for murder? This is my chance to finally tear that stupid family to pieces and I’m not letting a spoilt little cunt like you get in my way”

Jungkook hadn’t realized how loud his voice got by the end. You looked petrified, nodding slowly. His heart squeezed as he could see a tear forming at the corner of your eye.

He let you go. Shit. Your best friend had died. You likely were just hearing about it. Clearly in denial or putting on a brave face for him. For the crowds. Turning away, he opened the door.

“Just get in”

Huffing, you did as he said, slamming the door closed. Jungkook slid into the driver’s seat, starting the engine as he looked over at you again. A tear finally spilled from your eyes, causing Jungkook’s heart to jump. Dammit. Reaching nervously into his coat, he pulled out a handkerchief, handing it to you.

His fingers brushed against yours as you took it. Your skin was cold—instinctively he grabbed your hand. You flinched at his touch, pulling away but Jungkook grabbed it again, tightly, pulling it back towards him. His hold unwavering.

“I am sorry for your loss” Jungkook’s eyes softened with something bordering concern. Gulping he released your hand, diverting his gaze. A reluctant blush painting his cheeks.

Jungkook knew you weren’t his culprit. As much as he loathed you, he had no vested interest in your demise. You were collateral damage. Unfortunately for him, the Kim’s had police tucked deep in their silver lined pockets. He had to be careful. Someone was always watching.

Clearing his throat, he put the car in drive, pushing the temperature higher to help you warm up. Turning out of the parking lot, he figured he should try and get some information off record before everything you would say would literally get used against you.

“Where were you last night?”

You scoffed. “You’re not getting a fucking word out of me.”

God, he forgot what a pain in the ass you could be. Spoilt brat. “Y/n” Jungkook’s voice was stern. “I can make your life hell, or I can help you. And trust me, I’m not someone you want as an enemy”

You chuckled bitterly, “Yeah because otherwise you’d be fucking obsessed with me like you are with the Kim’s”

He slammed his hand against the wheel. “Answer the damn question, Y/n”

“Getting ready for my engagement—which you crashed, by the way”

Jungkook’s tongue rolled against his cheek. “You didn’t want to marry Kim Taehyung, did you?” He needed to know. Needed to be sure you didn’t actually care for that man.

You grinned. “Why, you jealous?”

He looked you dead in the eye. “Yes”

That shut you up. Jungkook bit back a smile as you processed his response. “Enough with the attitude. Who was making you do this—was it Jin?”

You groaned, tugging at your handcuffs in irritation. “No, it was Namjoon.”

Jungkook pursed his lips. That wasn’t true. He debated if he should tell you now or wait until you reached the precinct so you could see it with your own eyes. He had hard evidence that painted Namjoon even more so as the culprit.

Jin wanted you to marry Taehyung.

Namjoon didn’t.

⟶ One Day before the Murder ⟵

The scratch of a record. A soft echo of jazz filled the glass walls as Namjoon stood, staring out the window. The 52nd floor. Looking out at people scurrying in the dark, small as ants, truly meaningless. His employees thought he was given this office, unaware of the blood spilt for him to truly position himself as the inheritor of Kim Enterprises.

Namjoon was forged in the shadows of the charming, alluring Kim Seokjin. And Kim Seokjin was gold—magazines chased him, models threw themselves at him, colleges begged for him to attend. To the world, Jin was perfect. Which meant Namjoon had to ascend perfection.

So he did.

Jin would spend his nights partying while Namjoon would study hard. Seokjin would sleep around while Namjoon ran for miles. Seokjin would get lost in the limelight, drugs, alcohol, sex—Namjoon abstained. He was focused on one thing: he wanted his throne.

The 52nd floor was his right. The cage he had built for himself. Here he was untouchable.

Here he felt, absolutely broken. Alone. Moreso because he had spent the day preparing for your wedding. His heart ached inside his chest. He wanted to vomit. Each time he’d see your name on a wedding card or an article, he felt like he was getting brutally stabbed in the chest.

You probably didn’t know. Of course you didn’t—but Namjoon had grown truly fond of you lately. Jin had moved out at a young age, wanting to freely bring home sexual partners. You and Namjoon remained living at the Kim mansion for a few years now. The two of you had a banter—ever since the night he took advantage of you, he knew you no longer had feelings for him. He had seen the way you changed after that. While he was ridden with guilt, the hurt made you blossom into someone else entirely. You became confident, sexy, and never let a day go by that Namjoon didn’t regret treating you better.

He kept you at a distance because he needed to stay focused, but things were getting too real now. You were getting married.

You were leaving him.

And he only recently admitted to himself that he loved living with you. He loved the way you would bug him while he worked. Loved the way you would throw little tantrums when you couldn’t figure out what to wear, or after a shopping spree you would come home and try on everything for him, ignoring anything he would have to say. He would miss walking past your room to see you lying on your sheets, blanket on the floor, pillow tucked in your hold—sound asleep. He’d pick it up and cover you, admiring your face as he did.

“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”

Like a punch in the gut, Namjoon let out a sharp breath. Turning, he faced his college friend, Jung Hoseok.

Namjoon hated being vulnerable. So Hoseok was a great friend to have—because he was hardly ever in town, being a self-made supermodel. He was low risk. Disposable.

“No” Namjoon grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. Hoseok chuckled, seating himself on Namjoon’s desk chair. He was wearing a bright blue jumpsuit—hair a shocking silver white.

“I can’t tell you how many bets I have that you’d fall for her one day. Damn, I’m gonna be rich”

Namjoon rolled his eyes, “I didn’t fall for her. I don’t give a shit about her”

Hoseok scoffed, “Mhm, sure. What I don’t get is why this fucking wedding is happening. You’re the heir now can’t you call it off? Don’t marry the woman you love off to your brother, that’s just fucked up man”

There were many times he wanted to tell you the truth. But he had worked too hard to give up his dream for you. When his mother died, Jin had agreed to surrender his birth-right to the company on two conditions.

“In exchange for the company, one of the things I had to promise Jin was that this marriage would happen”

Hoseok raised his eyebrows. “Really?” He rubbed his chin, “Interesting. What’s that about?”

Namjoon shrugged, turning back to the window. It was something he often wondered. If Jin cared about you so much—why would he force you to have an arranged marriage? To Taehyung, of all people. Taehyung who none of them had seen for over ten years. Taehyung whose whereabouts only Jin knew. And his mother, of course.

“I don’t know. But I agreed” And he knew you wouldn’t forgive him for that if you knew. He rolled his neck, denying the tears building in his eyes as he thought about you in a wedding dress, walking down the aisle next to him as he let you go. Forever.

He didn’t want your hand to leave his. He wanted to be on the other side. He wanted you to come towards him.

“What was the other condition?” Hoseok’s voice shattered his fantasy.

“He wanted to keep Nexus—Y/n’s mom’s company that my mother got in the will. I didn’t give a shit about it so.”

Hoseok raised his eyebrows, smirking slightly. “Nexus, huh” He mumbled under his breath. Licking his lips, he pulled out his phone. “Kim Seokjin—just what are you up to you little bastard?”

Namjoon pulled out a cigarette from his breast pocket, lighting it quietly. Taking a quick puff, he exhaled the smoke.

"I can't let her do this" His voice was hoarse. "I can't do this to her. She deserves to choose"

Hoseok rolled his eyes, standing up and walking besides Namjoon. Pulling the cigarette from his fingers, he grinned widely.

"I thought you’re the smart one, Namjoon. Jin's the problem. Get rid of him"

It wasn't as if the idea never crossed his mind. Namjoon hated Jin. Everything about Jin make him want to vomit, and yet, this was a line he couldn't cross.

Could he?

-

“All in”

Jin cursed inwardly. Your long fingernails traced along the edge of your cards, eyes flickering between your hand and the man in front of you. Dim casino lights accentuating the glitter on your lids, the pop of your lush lips which were grinning ever so slightly. You always looked gorgeous to him but tonight you were something else entirely.

His breath was heavy, palms sweating as he clenched his fists in desperation to keep it together. To keep his hands off. You blinked his way, innocently as if you were unaware of the teasingly low cut of your dress. The spill of your chest as you pushed your chips towards him.

As if that wasn’t enough. You laid your cards down right in front of him. Sliding them across the table. Pair of kings.

Jin didn’t even care. You would always win. And he loved that about you. It was as though you knew his thoughts before he even had them, always one step ahead, reading between the lines. You were a force to be reckoned with ever since Jin first took you to a backroom poker game years ago. With pride he’d observe your nonchalance—sending bratty chaebols running to their mother’s in tears after you swindled them out of their trust funds.

Seeing you at the table was something else. When you were in your element, your eyes would light up with a fierce blaze. With a slight of hand, you turned thousands into millions overnight. But you were never in it for the money.

You were in it for the kill. 

“Fuck this, come here” Tossing his own cards aside, he beckoned for you to come to him. He needed to touch you. He couldn’t hold back.

Grabbing your wrist, he pulled you into his lap. Your scent was intoxicating. Familiar, and yet addictive. He placed his lips softly against your neck. You giggled, pulling away but he wasn’t about to let that happen.

“When did you get so pretty?” His finger trailed up your neck, tilting your chin up. Things had been tense between the two of you. The soft touches, the lingering stares—he was flirting with you. He knew he was, but he wanted to. So badly he wanted to tease you, rile you up and watch you unfold. It had taken every ounce of his self-restraint not to touch you in the shower that morning—something which hadn’t left his mind since.

“I’ve always been pretty” Your response was cocky, as expected. “You’re usually too drunk to notice”

“That” He nipped at your jaw between each word, making you giggle in the process “Is not true”

He allowed his fingers to aimlessly brush against your thighs. He looked at you enticingly, nothing but mischief on his mind. He pinched the fabric of your dress between his fingers, wanting to tear the damn thing off. Your hand covered his, halting him in his tracks.

“Tell me you don’t like it and I’ll stop” He sighed into your skin, tongue licking under your jaw. Your sweet skin was addicting to taste, and it didn’t help that he could feel you trembling in his hold. You were confused, he knew you were. But he could see that you wanted him. He could feel it.

He hugged you closer—chest to chest, feeling the drum of your heart on his. He wanted to fuck you so bad it hurt. He was so sure he had never been attracted to you this way. Of course he loved you, there was never any question about it. But you had been like a sister to him your whole life. Lately he found himself wanting you in a way he shouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Because you were getting engaged to his younger brother. And he had known that all along.

“Jin,” Your voice was barely a whisper, “Why?” It was a valid question. One he was not ready to answer. His advances had hardly been subtle.

“You said I wasn’t giving you enough attention. So here we are. Just me…” His finger trailed up your thigh, “you” From the table, he pulled out a single card, twisted between two fingers which he slid down the side of your face before pulling it away so sharply, a drop of blood trickled from your cheek.

“And a deck of cards” He leaned in, lips brushing against the tiny cut in a soft peck. 

“Stop fucking around Jin” Standing up from his lap, you looked him dead in the eye. “I’m getting married to Taehyung. Your brother, who you love.”

Jin tilted his head in irritation. He absolutely hated being told no, it wasn’t something he typically had to deal with. Frustration boiled in his veins, the confusion so overwhelming it made his head spin.

The reality that he was falling for you. Hard.

He gulped, staring at you. Eyes softening as silence filled the air. He felt choked, throat gripping in anticipation of what he should say next—if he would actually say what he knew you both were feeling out loud.

There was a knock on the door. Instinctively, Jin grabbed your wrist, holding it firmly.

“Mr. Kim, you have a phone call”

The door opened, allowing one of Jin’s guards to walk in and hand him his cell. You motioned to excuse yourself, mouthing the word 'bathroom'.

Jin nodded, pressing the cell to his ear. 

“Mr. Kim,”

The distorted voice through the phone gave him chills. His heart pounded through his head, veins pulsing with anger.

“Did you forget about me?”

He glanced at his guard—whose eyes were questioning him with worry. He tensed his shoulders before nodding at his guards softly, indicating for them to act accordingly.

“You’re making this too easy Kim. Shouldn’t leave your most prized possession unattended. I could just snap her pretty neck”

Jin could only hear his own racing pulse. Anxiety gripping his chest with desperation—you couldn’t be in danger. He had no idea the chaos that would ensue if there was even a scratch on your body under his watch.

“Then again, I’d much rather snap yours”

Jin lunged forward, a mere millisecond before a bullet shot through, piercing his guard in the gut. The man fell over, not before two more guards arrived in a panic. Blood began to pool on the dark red carpet. It was almost despicable how the color matched.

Jin felt dizzy, his body acting purely on instinct where his mind simply couldn’t catch up. He could feel a heaviness in his throat, but now was not the time. Where were you—you went to the bathroom—he had to get you out of here— and so he ran. Faster than he ever had. Mind empty except for the need to keep you safe.

Slipping quickly through the hall, Jin rushed over to the bathroom, locked from the inside. He pounded against the door, a sweat breaking across his forehead. What if—no. Don’t think like that.

He shuddered, imagining the worst. Throwing himself at the door, he screamed out in frustration.

“Y/n!” He never used your name. Not unless it was serious. “It’s me, we need to go, now” He paused, catching his breath as he heard the lock click from the inside. The door swung open and there you were, a disoriented look on your face.  

“What’s going on—” Without so much as a second thought, Jin grabbed your wrist, pulling you through a back exit—ignoring the blaring fire alarms that went off as he kicked the door open. His guards pulled a car around.

Settling in the back seat with you glued to his side, he barked at his guards “Safehouse, now”

He was trembling. Not even realizing how tightly he was still holding your hand. So lost that he didn’t hear you calling his name frantically—“Jin what the fuck is going on?”

A shaky exhale left his lips at your words. Almost out of sheer desperation he turned, pulling you into his lap where he cupped your face. You were so close. Close enough that he could almost taste the sweat on your neck. You held him, allowing his hands to roam your body in assurance that you were alive. That you were okay.

He tried not to entertain the thought. To appreciate that you had survived, but his mind couldn’t help but wander as he gazed into your sweet eyes—what the fuck would he have done if something had happened to you?

His eyes shifted from your eyes to your lips. He gulped. He needed you. Tempted to slam his lips onto yours, but instead just breathing you in, letting his eyelashes brush against your face. Holding you in a tight embrace. Tears rolling down his face.

It was as though in that moment, everything became so clear. For a moment he swore that nothing made more sense than you in his arms. You consumed him. You were a fever, he woke up burning, went asleep in sweats—he craved you, like a man on the brink of insanity. If this was love, he wanted to drown in it. He couldn’t breathe—not if you weren’t besides him. You were beautiful, flawed, and simply everything he ever wanted.

“I can’t—”

He choked on a sob, looking at you again. There was more said in those two simple words. Everything he needed to communicate, and he knew you would understand “Princess, I can’t”

The tears fell harder. His walls came crashing down, all he had held back seemed to overflow. The fear of losing you triggering so many pent up emotions that he couldn’t take it. His body trembled.

“Fuck” He cried out in frustration, almost tasting your lips against his own. Fingers tightly intertwined in your hair. He didn’t have it in him anymore. He couldn’t hold back.

Except he had to.

“Jin,” Your tone shifted. He understood it—it was pleading. Your eyes were wide with confusion, with want. Your lips—your sweet lips, he could only image how amazing they would feel. The world would fade away in an instant and he would be lost in your touch. He would kiss you everywhere. All night long. He would never let go.

His breath was shaky, cutting his desire to cry harder. Letting his eyes fall shut, he pushed you off of him, turning his back towards you. He could hear you scoff and swore his heart shattered. He didn’t want to hurt you. He was equally perplexed at how quickly his love for you and surfaced within the past few days. It had been there all along, but now that you were forbidden, it came pouring out of his every move.

He shook his head. There was no point in starting something that couldn’t be finished. If he were honest with you, you would end up getting hurt in the worst way possible. If you knew all the lies he had told you, all the secrets he kept. All the ways in which he used you as a puppet for his own gain. Jin wasn’t proud of who he was. And surely, you deserved better.

“I’m sorry” The words hung heavy in the thick, disappointing silence. The tension throbbing in his veins as the drive continued on in the dark night.

The second the car pulled into the safehouse, you pushed yourself off of him—jumping out of the car. Jin followed as you began to run—grabbing your wrist before you could.

“Let go of me” You hissed, tugging at his grip.

“No” With a jerk of his arm he pulled you towards him.

Cricked chirped in the dead of the night—there was no living soul for miles. The stars shone brightly through the chilly wind and there you were.

Kissing him.

-

⟶ Years before the murder ⟵

“Tell me about the dice”

Back & forth. The steady creaking of the bed as the patient sat, curled up into himself. Across the room Jimin sat, waiting, observing. The patient was staring into the palm of his hand. Two red die, rolling around in his palm.

He had been at it for a while, not uttering a single word. But Jimin was trained for this. He was nothing if not patient. He could dig at his patient for hours until he would get them to bend to his will. Persistence, determination, delayed gratification, these things came to him easily.

Jimin cleared his throat, “Nurses are telling me you throw a fit when they try to take those away from you. It must bring you a lot of comfort”

The patient continued to ignore him.

“I understand you are very fond of playing cards” Jimin flipped through his files. “Want to tell me about that? Do you like gambling?”

The patient stilled his wrist, closing his long fingers over the dice. “She gave them to me”

Jimin raised his eyebrows. Finally. He was breaking through to him. He was so close to getting what he needed he was practically salivating. So close to getting all the information he needed.

He set his notebook aside, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked at his patient with sincerity. He was careful with the way he spoke, never wanting his patients to feel patronized, judged or scrutinized. He needed his patients to trust him. To confide in him without holding anything back.

“Why don’t you tell me about her, Taehyung?”

⟵|| previous || next ||⟶

series navi | join taglist | masterlist | scream in my asks

thanks for reading you cutie <3 have a great day!

[icyfox17]

I’m curious now. Would you rather live in the ocean or in space? And more importantly why?

-🌲

UHMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

this is a hard question sprucie...

they are both terrifying !

ig the ocean would be a bit more familiar and there are more colours n stuff... space reminds me more of the void... i think space would get suffocating and lonely. the ocean feels more welcoming yknow? as long as ur not super deep sea lmao but like u can still see the sun and there are fishes and coral reefs and all that jazz so !! i think the ocean<3

[justanillvampire]

👋 Welcome Friends **EDITED 03.01.25**

This here is my medical journal and venting into the void. Trigger warning I don’t hold back my emotions here. I should probably just get a therapist but this is free.

You can find: health updates, my thoughts, a dash of art if at all possible, and the beginning to the end.

I was an artist. I had plans to be a farmer, business women, craftsman. Everything I knew and wanted was slowly ripped away from me when I got sick in 2023. Haven’t found a reason why or competent doctors.

I’ve been here longer than a decade but my old account was shadow banned so here we are forced to start anew.

Its a bit of a dark place that I’m trying to keep the light on. Some days are darker then others. My anger burns hotter than the flames in hell. Sometimes the lights go out, but the fire keeps it bright enough.

I truly live in my own world. Chronically ill, and chronically over most of it. I try to live a simple life, away from it all. Always up for a chat.

***The DNA test result illnesses comes with info on them and symptoms. Dm or anon if you have questions and I’ll post the information I was given. There’s just so many so I’m just posting the names of what came up and that jazz.

Safe for all 18+ 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🩼

I love many art medias. Most current projects or ideas or obsessions:

-sewing (dyeing clothes/creating dresses and patterns. Quilting)

-making jewellery (beads, metal, clay)

-cooking (I don’t like cooking but I like good food and I cook well unfortunately. Not like being facetious. It’s a blessing and curse though I don’t have the hands to cook all the time.)

Painting and pastels have my heart but it’s a rarity for me.

Video games. (Minecraft and hearthstone)

I do/like other things I just can’t think of anything else atm my brain just checked out.

If you want to know my name just ask.

[anthrubicon]

Masterpost Thing

*please do not send asks seeking support. I use Tumblr to enjoy myself and that just depressed me.*

Welcome! This is the blog in which i'm gonna be making posts about stuff 'n such, including complaining about life or posting the odd sunrise pic or something (but mostly reblogging furry art). This blog is completely sfw, so if i accidentally post/reblog something too spicy here you're legally allowed to kill me. That being said this is still a 15+ blog because there will still be mildly suggestive stuff and other mature topics.

I currently have two side blogs:

@anthrubi-con-artist is where i'll be posting my art (which will be reblogged here anyways so mutuals there's no need to follow there unless you love me forever and ever). The art there is strictly sfw, but can be suggestive.

I'll also post any art that I commission from others there - it's basically an art dump for anything relating to me specifically.

I have an 18+ blog! I don't draw nsfw, but if that ever changes that's where it'll be. But for the moment it's just horny reblogs or just reblogging stuff that shouldn't reach a non-18+ audience. I'm not linking it here because there are minors following this blog, so just send me a dm if you want the link.

I'll use the #rubi rambles tag for general talking into the void, and you can check the art blog for my art. Everything else will just be uncategorised reblogs.

Some more info about me:

Asexual, but still figuring things out.

You can call me Rubi

19y/o, I typically go by he/him but gender is whatever so I don't really care what pronouns you use for me. She/her, they/them, it/its et cetera. Feel free to stick to just one set if you'd rather.

Pianist who loves jazz or anything with good enough chords

Studying electrical and electronic engineering at university

idk i'm boring shoot me ask for literally anything I'm biologically incapable of being offended

Br*tish 😔

It should go without saying, but given the recent state of this website I feel the need to clarify that this is a safe space for trans people, and no hate will be tolerated towards anybody (not just trans people).