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shintin · 3 months

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Gunpowder Dreams

Chapter 10 (Plan)

↳ Vash the Stampede x Female Reader

They didn't know a wounded man would show no mercy when they took the best thing he ever had away from him. What did they say? Don't poke the dragon if you can't take the heat; if you do, expect the flames.

Genre: explicit smut, toxic relation, romance, angst (Mafia au).

Warnings/Tags: +18, NSFW, Alternative Universe/Modern Setting, no spoilers from manga and anime, dominate Vash the Stampede, sexual situations, dub-con, graphic violence, gore, angst, toxicity, gunplay, manhandling, cunnilingus + fellatio, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, too many smut scenes, emotional trauma, and etc.

Song Recommendation: Arctic Monkeys - Do I Wanna Know?

Note: Sorry for the delayed update. Unexpected events in life took place. I hope with this smut chapter, I can earn your forgiveness.

Chapter Index - Next Chapter

The darkness suffocated you; unsettling dreams bled all over your mind and prevented you from finding rest. You only had your dreams to give you peace, but now they had vanished, leaving you unsure how to get them back.

All you saw when you closed your eyes was Knives.

You kept getting cut over and over and over, with a knife in his hand, and Vash shot his brother in the leg and outside, the wind sang, but its high-pitched and off-key melody made it difficult for you to ask it to stop. The blood on your skin drained the warmth from your veins, leaving you freezing. The floor beneath you seemed to engulf you as you lay on your back. You could taste the clotted blood in your mouth, throat, and heart.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Yet another delightful adventure in the land of perpetual misfortune.

With a sigh, you turned in bed, your eyes adjusted to the darkness, and when you blinked, you realized the leather couch in front of the windows was empty, with rumpled sheets tossed aside. Despite the house having millions of rooms, he chose to sleep on the couch. You weren't sure why he kept you in his room or why he preferred the sofa over another room. You didn't seek answers or dwell on it. Having him in the room brought comfort, but he was absent right now.

Once again, a sigh came out of your lips.

Being in Vash's presence was like a rollercoaster ride. He was so used to solitude that each day spent with him brought new revelations. These discoveries weren't entirely negative; in fact, most of what you learned about him was endearing and harmless.

Just last week, you stumbled upon him in his office, listening to vintage vinyl records. While you had seen his collection of records before, stacked high alongside old books and artwork, but seeing him simply sitting and listening to the music was a new experience altogether.

He didn't even notice your presence when you walked in that day. He sat completely motionless, staring at the wall, and you later realized he was listening to a Johnny Cash record. You discovered this when you peeked into his office hours after he had already left.

Your curiosity got the best of you as you couldn't help but wonder why Vash kept resetting the needle to listen to that one particular record. You were determined to find out which song it was, and it turned out to be a tune called "You're My Sunshine."

You had yet to share with him what you had witnessed that day, as you didn't want to disturb his comfort in his own space. However, some of you wanted to unravel his past, uncover both the good and bad aspects, and lay bare all the secrets so you could be done with it because you believed your imagination posed a greater threat than any of his hidden truths.

But you were not sure how to make that happen. He wasn't exactly known for his communication skills.

The previous night, you had feigned sleep as you watched him enter the room, cautiously lighting a small lampshade to avoid waking you up. He silently took a seat at the table, unloading his firearm and arranging the golden bullets on a cloth. He leaned over and cracked open the window slightly, hoping to dissipate the scent of gunpowder, but the bold wind had other plans. It audaciously swept in and playfully tousled his golden locks, eliciting a bittersweet smile from you that carried a tinge of pain. Yes, even smiling hurt. But witnessing him find solace was a rarity; now, you were fortunate enough to experience it twice.

With a revolver clutched in his gloved hand, he diligently used a bore snake to clean the barrel. You recognized the process because, when your father still had remnants of his humanity, he had taught you how to assist him in maintaining his firearm. However, you were only a child back then, unaware that cleaning the gun meant he had likely used it to take someone's life.

Men and their guns. They all use them for destruction, and the man before you had even used it to make you—

As the old memory resurfaced, a blend of anger and shameful emotions welled up, stinging the back of your eyes. You closed your eyes tightly, unwilling to witness Vash's sinful ritual any longer.

As you glanced around the dim room, your sleep-riddled eyes scanned from the couch to the shadows cast by the furniture. The filtered sunlight seeping through the covered windows faintly illuminated the space. Amidst the shadows, a phantom-like silhouette took shape that wasn't there, with light blond hair, chilling green eyes, and a mole beneath the right eye—a vicious ghost.

Your grandmother used to say that if you dwell on the thought of the devil long enough, he will appear at your doorstep.

The floorboards made a creaking sound to your right, seemingly originating from somewhere in the bedroom. Your head swiftly turned in that direction, and you took a sudden, sharp breath. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end like a frightened dog backed into a corner. You held your breath, being cautious not to make any noise in case the sound repeated. Silence enveloped the room, an eerie stillness. Your fingers tightly gripped the duvet on your lap as your heart raced faster.

There was an intruder in the room. But how? How the fuck did Knives manage to evade the guards again?

After another creak, a distinct footstep echoed through the room. You cautiously rose from the bed, but as you stood up, a wave of dizziness nearly caused you to fall. You managed to grab onto the side of the bed, trying to steady your spinning head.

You made your way over slowly, masking the nausea coursing through your body. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, breaths coming in quick succession. With measured steps, you pressed your back against the cold wall. Despite your attempts, a trembling breath managed to escape. Your chest heaved as you took rapid, shallow breaths while the echoing footsteps reverberated from an unfamiliar location.

You stood frozen, your back melding into the wall as if you were one with it, rendering you immobile and unable to hide. However, you refused to become a victim once more. Determined, you knew you had to find a sharp object. With urgency, you sprinted towards the wooden nightstand by the bed, frantically rummaging through the drawers in search of a knife, a gun, or any means of defense.

But you suddenly stopped.

One of the drawers contained a collection of origami made from napkins, which you had previously crafted. It struck you as odd that Vash had kept these seemingly insignificant origami pieces while discarding the plates he used to bring you donuts.

With hands trembling, you shut the drawer and turned your attention elsewhere in search of a weapon. However, in your state of unease, you accidentally collided head-on with something solid.

Something human.

Male.

You heard him sharply inhale, felt his hands stabilize your body, and sensed the blood draining from your face, leaving you weak and lightheaded.

"Vash," you exclaimed, struggling to catch your breath. You went through the familiar motions, just as you always did. Your heart skipped a beat, then raced uncontrollably, your breath became shallow, and your palms grew sweaty. No matter how many times you encountered him, he consistently evoked the same response from you: a mix of fear and excitement. You couldn't quite explain why it excited you.

Something had to be amiss with you. It wasn't ordinary for fiery warmth to surge through your veins in such conditions, leaving a tingle in its wake.

He refused to release his grip on you. You could hear the rapid, forceful thumping of his heart in the quiet space between you. He remained incredibly still and tense as if he were struggling to maintain control over his own body.

Your heart was giving out. "It was you—"

"What are you searching for?" he whispered, his words strained as if he struggled to breathe. His eyes, an unusual shade of blue, captured your attention even in the darkness—they were stunning, crystal clear, and had a penetrating quality that was somewhat unsettling. His hair was thick, a lustrous hue of gold, and his physique appeared slender and unassuming, yet his grip conveyed effortless strength.

"I thought someone was in the—" you trailed off, abruptly stopping your words. Vash stood before you, clad in nothing but a towel. A TOWEL! The embarrassment swept over you, and you wished you could simply disappear, perhaps even roll under the bed to avoid the awkwardness.

The voice you heard came from him. He had just stepped out of the shower, appearing as if he had hurriedly done so because of you. Water droplets cascaded from the tips of his hair onto his shoulder blades, trickling down towards his chest and well-defined abdominal muscles.

Vash maintained a deliberately neutral expression, his voice unaffected as he assured, "He won't return to this house again."

For a brief moment, it was hard to fathom that you were still standing there, gazing at Vash, who was wearing nothing but a towel. It wasn't easy to take the situation, or even yourself, seriously.

"You kept those origamis."

There it was. A flash of anger. In and out. Vash's eyes flickered with intensity, then settled. He shifted his gaze towards the wall, remaining silent for a moment. "Yes," he murmured, his voice calm and composed.

"I didn't intend to rummage through your belongings."

He said nothing.

"I was searching for something sharp to defend myself against the person hiding in the room." The words slipped effortlessly from your mouth. What surprised you even more was the need to vocalize them, to reassure Vash that you hadn't invaded his privacy.

"I couldn't care less if you get bored and snoop around my stuff," he stated dismissively, walking past you without making eye contact. "My mother used to craft origami. They reminded me of her." His voice was chillingly cold. You observed as he opened the drawer, clutching the towel around his waist with one hand, and crushed all the origami in his wet fist. " But she's dead now, so it holds no significance anymore." With that, he returned to the bathroom and flushed them down the toilet right before your astonished eyes.

You couldn't quite understand why you felt a pang of hurt, considering those napkin origamis held no particular significance to you. However, witnessing him collect and preserve them in the drawer beside his bed stirred something tender in your heart. Unfortunately, as always, you couldn't shut up and ended up ruining the moment.

However, you were now aware. This man would go to any lengths to eliminate anything that could be perceived as a weakness.

He emerged from the bathroom and proceeded towards his walk-in closet, disregarding your gaze. You continued to watch him as he dropped his towel, exposing his bare buttocks to your view. You gulped as a hot sensation enveloped you, and your eyes shamelessly roamed from his butt cheeks to the muscles of his thighs, finally settling on his calves.

Who did sculpt this man?

Vash had everything going for him in the looks department. He was hot as sin, with a stunning body and killer charm. You almost drool, but when he caught you stealing a glance, you hastily averted your gaze, pretending to be engrossed in the fantastic sheets.

Sheets? Seriously? Huh!

"You know, it's pretty rude to be snooping on people, love."

Embarrassment flooded your face, heating your cheeks, as you were caught in such a juvenile act. Suddenly, you felt utterly clueless about what to do with your hands. Your thoughts raced, overtaken by self-reproach. What the heck was wrong with you? The overwhelming urge to hide and disappear consumed you. You sprinted to the bathroom, securing the door with two locks. Leaning against the door, you slid down until you sat on the cool, black-tiled bathroom floor.

Stop grinning, stupid girl!

Another day in the never-ending circus of misery.

The gentle afternoon sunbeams lazily brushed against your cheeks, almost as if teasing you. Squinting your eyes, you peered out the window. It was chilly outside, yet the usual forecast of rain seemed absent for the day. The Gods above were like twisted demons, mocking you by making such a gloomy day appear this beautiful.

Ugh! Why—

No!

Wait a damn minute!

Vash stood in the yard, and you were aware of this because you could see him from behind the curtain. He wore a tailor-made shirt that hugged his figure, a black shade so deep that it nearly dazzled. His shoulders were embraced by a charcoal gray coat, fifty shades darker than coal, while his golden spiked hair contrasted the somber autumn surroundings. Black pants adorned his legs, accompanied by black leather gloves and matte black boots.

He appeared flawless, particularly amidst the grimness of the dirt and decay, encompassed by the dreariest hues this scenery could present. He stood as a striking figure, his eyes adorned in shades of deep blue and turquoise, casting a captivating silhouette against the backdrop of the setting sun in a stunningly beguiling manner.

He could be glowing.

That could be a halo around his head.

This could be the world's way of making an example out of irony.

Vash possessed a beauty that surpassed even your most attractive ex-partner. He was far from being human; every aspect of him was extraordinary and unconventional.

He looked around, his eyes shielded by purple round sunglasses, and a gust of wind momentarily revealed the holster strapped to his right leg as his coat flapped open. He didn't even step into his own yard without his gun. The irony!

The men surrounding him appeared to be awaiting instructions, anticipating something, and you couldn't tear your eyes away. A strange thrill coursed through you, being in such proximity yet still distant. It felt like an advantage, being able to observe him unnoticed.

He was a strange, strange, unhinged man. You weren't sure if you could ever forget what he had done to you, the way he had made you feel, and the intense desire to bring harm upon him. The urge to despise him indefinitely lingered within you, but it was gradually weakening. He had abducted you, callously exposing you to danger, and vanished while his brother subjected you to repeated torment. Yet, he also took it upon himself to mend the shattered fragments afterward, carefully gathering and reassembling them—as janky as it was. You wanted to harbor hatred towards him but found yourself at a loss as to how to do so anymore.

You had no clue about who he truly was—actually, you never had much knowledge regarding how he spent his days unless he was in your company. Even now, you remained clueless about his purpose for being there.

He eventually uttered a few words to the men, and they nodded in swift agreement before running around. You retreated entirely behind the curtains, making sure to stay hidden. You positioned yourself at an angle, ensuring he wouldn't catch sight of you even if he happened to glance in your direction.

Vash removed his glasses and ran his hand across his face, briefly covering his eyes before his hand settled on his mouth as though he held something he couldn't bring himself to say.

Suddenly, he seemed tired. His eyes appeared somewhat … sorrowful, although you were convinced you were just reading him wrong. You observed him as he observed those around him, paying close attention to notice that his gaze lingered on the red Geranium flowers, fighting to survive in the harsh weather. You attempted to decipher Vash's expression as he stared at them, but he was always careful to keep himself completely neutral. He remained like a statue in the wind, doing nothing more than blinking.

A stray dog headed straight toward him. Suddenly, fear gripped you. You felt concerned for the poor creature, a weak little animal that had mistakenly wandered into the wrong place, searching for morsels of food to stave off hunger for a few more hours.

Your heart began racing in your chest, pumping blood too quickly and forcefully. A sense of impending doom washed over you, leaving you with an unexplainable feeling that something dreadful was on the horizon.

The black dog dashed straight into the back of Vash's legs as if it had impaired vision and couldn't see its path clearly. It panted heavily, its tongue hanging to the side, seemingly unsure how to retract it. The dog whined and whimpered slightly, leaving saliva all over Vash's impeccably fine pants. You held your breath, anxiously awaiting as the golden man turned around.

You half expected he might draw his gun and shoot the dog directly in the head, having witnessed him do such a thing to a person before. However, upon seeing the dog, Vash's countenance underwent a transformation. His flawless facade fractured, revealing cracks in his otherwise perfect demeanor. Surprise elevated his eyebrows and widened his eyes if only for a fleeting moment, providing you with ample opportunity to take note of it.

He looked around, his eyes shifting as they surveyed his surroundings before he gently scooped the animal into his arms. You felt a sudden desperation to witness his next actions, and your anxiety heightened, making it difficult to catch your breath.

You had witnessed the extent of Vash's capabilities when it came to harming another person. You had observed his callous heart, his emotionless eyes, and his complete indifference. His composed and collected demeanor remained unshaken even after he took a life without hesitation. Now, you could only speculate about what he might have in store for an innocent dog.

You felt an urgent need to witness it firsthand. You had to dispel the notion of him being a good person from your mind, and this was the perfect opportunity. It would serve as evidence that he was sick, corrupted, completely in the wrong, and would forever remain so.

You had to see what he was going to do to the helpless animal when a familiar voice called out from behind you, causing you to freeze in your tracks.

"Having an absolute blast, aren't we?" Bradd remarked sarcastically. "This room conveniently provides the ideal windows for our top-notch boss surveillance operations."

You quickly turned your head, giving him a sharp glare. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and shrugged nonchalantly upon noticing your reaction. He proceeded, "I knocked on the door multiple times. However, it seems you were so absorbed in your mission that you didn't notice, and I had to come in without an invitation."

Bradd moved until he stood beside you, and his presence tightened the knot forming in your stomach. T There was an ice-cold fortress shrouded around him, as palpable as the tension in his shoulders. It felt as though he was creating a distance between you, as if you were about to be sent off to war, and he believed he would never see you again.

On certain days, you resented him for assisting the twins, but deep down, you couldn't deny the truth that he was a good man. He had become your emotional support in recent months, and you had started to understand his character. He belonged to the category of men who prioritized only their own family, and anything beyond that circle? Held no significance to him.

At the moment, you were an outsider who had disrupted their usual order, akin to a parasite, just as he had described.

You turned your head, and your eyes widened at the sight of Vash crouching on the ground, using his hands to feed something to the dog. The trembling, bony body of the animal was nestled inside Vash's open coat, seeking warmth after enduring the cold for so long. The dog wagged its tail vigorously, briefly making eye contact with Vash before diving back into the cozy refuge of his coat. You heard Vash laugh, a sound you had rarely witnessed. It was a laughter that seemed to transform him into a completely different person, the kind of laugh that put stars in his eyes and dazzled his lips.

You realized you had never seen this side of him before. You had never glimpsed his teeth, so impeccably straight and white, an embodiment of perfection.

A flawless, flawless exterior for a man with a black, black heart.

It was almost inconceivable that the person you were staring at had blood on his hands. He looked soft and vulnerable—so human. His eyes squinted from his wide grin, and his rosy cheeks bore the marks of the chilly weather. Even his dimples were visible, adding to his overall charm.

He was undeniably the most breathtaking sight you had ever encountered. And yet, you wished you had never laid eyes on him, for something within your heart was tearing apart at the seams. You struggled to comprehend the image before you, as you desperately needed him to be wicked so you could revert to hating him. However, he defied your expectations. You didn't want to see Vash like this. It felt wrong, yet in some inexplicable way, it also felt right.

You believed that the revelations had ended, but you were mistaken once again. This realization left you pondering the extent of what remained unknown and how much more you would discover about Vash in the days and months ahead.

And it scared you.

Because the more you uncovered about him, you found fewer excuses to distance yourself from him. The image you once had of him was transforming right in front of your eyes, becoming something that terrified you in ways you never could've expected. Amid so much uncertainty, all you could think was that it wasn't the right time. It wasn't the right place. Not when there were still so many problems around.

If only your emotions could grasp the significance of perfect timing.

You released a sigh, frustrated with your own indecisiveness. Although you couldn't ignore your physical attraction towards him, you struggled to let go of your initial perception of his character. It wasn't easy for you to abruptly shift your perspective and view him as anything other than a manipulative monster. You required time to adapt to the idea of accepting Vash as a normal human.

"The dog," Bradd interrupted, returning you to the present. "Nicholas used to take care of that dog, but we hadn't seen her around for quite some time until a few days ago," Bradd explained. "Seems like Angelica has taken a liking to Vash as well." Bradd glanced at you from the corner of his eye, and you found yourself perplexed, trying to comprehend why he continued to smile at you even after he averted his gaze. Flustered and feeling strangely embarrassed, you scrambled to find something to say.

"Is there anything you need from me?" you inquired, keeping your gaze fixed on Vash as he affectionately rubbed the dog's head and chuckled, trying to avoid eye contact with Bradd.

"Hm?"

You shifted your attention to Bradd. "You're here. Did you come for small talk?"

"Oh," Bradd responded, scratching the back of his neck while sporting a smile. The creases forming at the corners of his lips and eyes revealed his age. You wondered whether he had a family and if they were aware of his association with mafia freaks.

"I came to see how you're doing and to let you know that Vash wants to meet you in the living room. If you need to change, I'll wait here to accompany you. I know you've likely become familiar with the layout of this house through your very successful attempts to flee, but I still want to ensure you don't wander into the wrong rooms," he said, winking.

You bit your tongue to refrain from responding with more sarcasm than his.

Vash couldn't hide his surprise when he walked into the living room. As you glanced up, you finished the remaining Vodka in your glass. "Apologies for once again getting into your alcohol," you said to him, and he blinked in response.

"You're feeling better."

You nodded over your shoulder. "I was thirsty, and the drinks were there while you ran late."

"Yes," he replied, speaking slowly and cautiously.

"So I had a few shots."

"I can tell," Vash remarked, remaining stationary near the stairs, his gaze fixed upon you. He didn't utter a word but slowly advanced into the living room, removing his coat and delicately placing it over an armchair. He retrieved a gun from his holster and another from his back, deliberately positioning them on the table beside your empty vodka glass.

"I want to hurt your brother, Vash Saverem," you blurted out abruptly. It startled you to realize how much you had transformed over the past few months. You felt like an entirely different person—more audacious, hardened, and, for the first time, willing to acknowledge your anger. It was a liberating experience.

"Are you—" he shook his head, then apologized, "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

You looked up, feeling the weight of Vash's stare. He appeared captivated as if intrigued by your words. If he didn't fully grasp your meaning, you were prepared to express it differently. "I need revenge," you stated firmly, or that's what you thought.

He took a seat and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and intertwining his hands. A wide, amused grin spread across his face, radiating a genuine sincerity that struck you like thunder. Something pricked at your eyes and weakened your knees. "How do you plan to accomplish that, love?"

"I've got plans."

"Is that so?" He leaned back against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest, and couldn't help but maintain a constant smile.

"Yes," you replied, growing increasingly irritated. Vash didn't seem to be taking you seriously, likely attributing your seriousness to being drunk. While you were indeed drunk, you were also very, very serious.

Vash waited, observing your annoyed expression, and nodded once, signaling you to continue.

A familiar, intoxicating buzz settled in your stomach, amplified by the alcohol swirling within your empty belly. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead, and your mouth felt parched as if you had swallowed sand. "Your brother—"

"You can't even speak his name yet talk about revenge?"

You attempted to conceal your surprise, but now you found yourself uncertain why you hesitated to utter his name. Perhaps it was because you feared that he would suddenly materialize, much like summoning a devil by speaking his name.

You slid your empty glass towards Vash, indicating that you wanted him to refill it. Vash glanced at you, and what looked like concern was clouded in his pretty eyes.

"If you want me to mention his name, hand me the bottle," you declared, snatching the vodka bottle from his grasp before taking a large gulp. The taste made your face contort, reaffirming your belief that alcohol tasted like shit when it wasn't mixed with something. You'd die on that hill. However, you did appreciate the burning sensation as it traveled down your throat, spreading warmth throughout your body.

"Knives," you said the name, taking a deep breath. Remembering the adage that fear of a name only heightens fear of the thing itself, you decided to defy that fear. So fuck him and his name! "Are you content now?"

He let out a snort. "Do you honestly believe that you can simply stroll out of this room," Vash said to you, "knock on Knives' door and shoot him in the head?"

Yes. "No."

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Vash said softly, and you glared at him. "My brother isn't here," Vash continued. "He's gone to deal with a business complication elsewhere."

"He's not here?" you questioned.

"No," Vash responded, his smile fading. "And that's precisely why I wanted to speak with you." He picked up a larger glass from the table and poured himself a whole serving of Bourbon, likely his preferred drink. He downed the bitter liquor in a single gulp, then refilled the glass. He pressed the glass against his lips with his gaze fixed on you. "I need you to be gone until he returns," he said, closing his eyes as he swallowed the entire contents of the glass.

"What?" Your heart picked up so quickly that you thought you might be experiencing a heart attack.

"You heard what I said."

"No," you declared, shaking your head. It's often said that you can't repeat the same mistake twice; for the second time, it becomes a choice rather than a mistake. Therefore, this was your decision.

"Bradd will help you. It's up to you whether you want to return to your father's house or forge a new path for yourself. If you opt for the latter, I'm ready to offer my support—"

"I JUST TOLD YOU I WANT TO GET MY REVENGE!"

"How?" Vash scrutinized you intently. "How do you plan to reach my twin? How will you confront him?"

"I already told you I have plans!" you exclaimed, clenching your fists. "But I require your help," you whispered, filled with both fear and a glimmer of hope. You caught Vash's gaze from across the table. "What if I exploit Knives' vulnerability?" you asked, raising your eyebrow slightly.

"That seems unlikely."

"Why do you think that?" you said, feeling desperate. "Even if there's the slightest chance—"

Vash sighed and ran his hand through his hair, disheveling his perfectly spiked hair. "He doesn't have any weaknesses. If there were any, I would have discovered them long ago. You wouldn't be making such statements if you knew him like I do. Hope will only break your heart all over again."

You dug your nails into the leather that you feared it might rip. However, you resisted the urge. You were well aware of the threats you had heard and your chosen path. "I am an outsider," you found yourself saying. "Maybe I can perceive things more clearly than you—"

"Love—"

"Dammit, Vash! I have to give it a shot. You have to understand—"

"This is not good for you," he avoided eye contact. "It's dangerous for you to believe anyone could harm Knives."

You stared at his resolute and unwavering profile while he focused on his hands. "In the worst-case scenario, I might end up dead. You have nothing to lose, so why won't you allow me to pursue it?" you whispered.

He rubbed his forehead. "I have numerous conflicts to deal with in the coming days," he said, his voice tense. "I have meetings to attend and negotiations with people even worse than my family." He took a deep breath, the air feeling constricted. A weighty silence hung between you. "I understand that you are now afraid of even your own shadow," he continued, his voice filled with concern. "You struggle to sleep, and I know my presence makes you uncomfortable. However, I can't leave you alone anymore. I've lost my trust in Knives. So, I'm granting you your freedom once again. But this time, I'll ensure you truly are leaving. I'm making this decision for your well-being."

"Oh." A pause. Was he sleeping on the uncomfortable couch because he was worried about you?

"Yes," he said—another pause.

"Or," you said to him, "I remain here, and you use me for whatever plan you have involving my father—"

"I don't have any plans regarding that," Vash replied melancholic.

"Fortunately for you, I have made plans, and in exchange, you will allow me to seek revenge against your brother, I mean Knives. I am prepared to face the consequences on my own."

Vash fought a smile but couldn't hold it back. He glanced downward, letting out a small laugh, before locking eyes with you. He shook his head.

"What's so funny?"

"My lovely girl."

"What?"

"I've been waiting for this moment for quite a while now."

"What do you mean?"

"You're finally ready," he remarked. "You're finally ready to fight back."

Shock surged through you. "Of course I am," you replied. In an instant, memories of the unbearable pain and the horrifying fear of being brutally attacked flooded your mind. You hadn't forgotten any of it, but you realized that if you wanted to find peace, you needed to momentarily set aside your animosity toward Vash. Because now that you were prepared to fight, you felt a sense of empowerment like never before. You marveled at how different you felt and how different you knew things could be. You had a lot of things to do, so many scores to settle, and a big revenge to exact.

Everything had changed. The child you once were had succumbed to her foolishness. It was your turn to engage in this game on your terms, and you were not afraid of cheating.

No matter what lay ahead, there was no going back for you now. There were no other choices. "I forge forward or die."

Vash burst into laughter, his expression bordering like he might cry.

"I will cause hurt to your brother," you declared, "and I will make sure he learns not to threaten me."

He was still smiling.

"I will."

"I know," he said.

"Then why are you laughing at me?" you asked, puzzled.

"I'm not," he said softly. "I'm just wondering," he said, "if you would like my assistance."

"What? You agree with—" You blinked rapidly, unable to believe what you just heard.

"There are three things you should know about me, love," he said, leaning his elbows on his knees and interlocking his fingers. "First," he began, "I hate my brother more than you could comprehend." He cleared his throat. "Second, I am unapologetically self-centered and make decisions primarily based on my interests in nearly every situation. And third," he paused, looking down and chuckling softly, "I believe death would be a reward for despicable people like me or your father." He lifted his head. "I've always told you," Vash said, "that we would make an exceptional team. From the moment we met, I've been waiting for you to be ready to acknowledge your anger and strength. I've been waiting patiently all this time."

"That's why you wanted to use me to hurt my father?"

"Does that bother you?"

Your jaw dropped. "What? Of course, it bothers me! Wouldn't it bother you?"

"No," he said casually. "I would feel honored to have assisted."

Words eluded you. You couldn't tell if it was the influence of alcohol or a newfound courage that ignited within you, urging you to let your inner fire scorch others as well. "If that's the case," you declared, your gaze fixed on Vash's face, "then I want to bestow an honor upon you, Mr. Savrem."

He raised an eyebrow. "You want to use me?"

"Yep," you exclaimed, emphasizing the P. "We can hit two birds with one stone."

Vash took hold of his glass and reclined against the couch, looking at you as though he no longer recognized you. Good. When something is subjected to intense pressure, it becomes distorted. It forms sharp edges that can inflict deep wounds.

He lightly tapped his finger against the crystal, and the sound reverberated through the quiet living room. The crackling of the fireplace was the only other sound present.

Vash crossed one leg over the other. "Elaborate," he demanded.

"Do you—like, do you just like men?"

"Why? Are you trying to seduce me?" Vash asked in a relaxed manner, drawing your focus toward him as he sipped his Bourbon and peered at you over the rim of his glass.

His gaze was probing and studious, yet you offered no reaction. Your facial muscles remained steadfast as you replied, "That's what you desire, isn't it?"

A sly grin appeared on Vash's face, accentuated by the dim lighting and the flickering shadows, giving him a sinister look. However, you didn't even flinch in response. He no longer had the power to intimidate you. You had witnessed him kneeling before you.

"Is this a part of your grand plan?"

"Yes," you replied, contemplating how you wished you had a bigger mouth to accommodate more alcohol. It was essential to muster courage for what you were about to say.

"Nothing will hurt my dad more than seeing everyone talk about his beloved daughter fucking his enemy. And about your brother," you stated, taking a deep breath. You couldn't believe those words had come from your mouth. Your ears grew warm, but you had to press on because Vash didn't even flinch and needed him to take you seriously. "He has a vulnerability, and it's you," you continued, and he lowered his glass, tilting his head to the side as his eyebrows furrowed. Encouraged, you pressed forward, "He cut me because he believed you cared for me, and I am growing in you." You let out a mocking laugh, "So, you are his weakness. He doesn't want to share his little brother, and I want to do the exact opposite."

"You didn't tell me anything about this detail."

"There was no reason for you to be aware of it then. However, now I want you to pretend that you have succumbed to my seduction. I know you are skilled at acting, so it shouldn't pose a challenge for you," you said, taking another swig and wincing at the burning.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I can't fuck you," he stated, finishing the remainder of his whiskey.

The words felt unpleasant on your tongue, but you forced them out anyway. "I don't want a relationship, and If you are interested in the buttholes—"

"For fuck's sake! I've been with women as well. So, let's put an end to this discussion about holes!"

"So, if you're not exclusively interested in men, what's holding you back?" you rushed out. He tilted his head, patiently waiting. "From fucking me," you stated plainly. "You didn't hold back before. What's preventing you now?"

He remained quiet for a moment. "Because I couldn't bear the guilt," he whispered, gazing at you contemplatively. "If it were to happen again, the outcome would be vastly different — you're already aware of that."

You folded your arms. "Would it, though?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "Do you think if I were to pin you against a wall, you would resist initially only to succumb to pleasure eventually? Or do you think you would fight as if your life depended on it, only to end up mentally checking out from the trauma?"

You swallowed, the truth leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

"I will never claim to be a good, kind, or even honorable man. There is little of that left in me, and the truth is, it was never truly there to start with. I was born with a blackened soul. However, there is a distinction between those who are needlessly evil and those who do wrong in the hopes of achieving something good. I'll leave it up to you to decide which category I fall into."

You realized you didn't need to think about it at all. Trauma had a tight hold on you, but all you wanted Vash to do was hold you tighter.

You downed the remaining Vodka in a single gulp, relishing in the burn as it traveled down your throat. The clock ticked, approaching eight PM. It was the perfect timing since the household staff would soon be present to serve dinner. Why not put on a performance for them? You were confident that at least one of them would discreetly inform Knives about everything.

Adrenaline got steadily released into your bloodstream, akin to injecting heroin into a vein. Rising to your feet, you approached Vash, causing his muscles to tense up as you parted his crossed legs and settled onto his lap. Almost subconsciously, his hand swiftly grasped your waist to hold you. No matter how much he pretended otherwise, it was clear that men were all the same. Their dicks dictated their every decision.

"You'll end up getting hurt," he cautioned, his voice taking on a deeper tone as the words slipped out quietly and deliberately.

" Maybe I need another pain to wash away the one I'm experiencing now," you stated, unreservedly running your hand between your legs, provocatively stroking his crotch through his pants, all while maintaining unwavering eye contact with him.

He took a deep breath. "You're toying with fire," he croaked, shifting his gaze from your face to your hand resting on his groin.

"Then let your flames consume me, Vash," you urged, intensifying the pressure of your hand against the fabric. "Imagine the retribution we will exact upon the men who ruined us."

He tightly shut his eyes, tilting his head back as his lips parted. You reached out and touched him once more, this time with gentle tenderness. You felt his thumb caressing your side. Good.

You wished for Knives to witness this moment, wanting to prove something to the deluded man who thought he owned you. The only person with the right to claim your body was the one you granted permission to. You would allow Vash's hands to explore every inch of your skin, followed by the touch of his mouth. You would let his tongue lick your pussy until you were sated, right before he fucked you until you no longer knew your name.

You would let him because you said he could.

Vash drew you closer, pressing his body against yours and pinning your breasts against his chest. Your breath faltered as you felt the warmth surround you, his arm encircling your waist tightly, firmly locking you in place.

You liked the way he felt pressed against you. The softness of your body molded against the hard ridges of his. It felt... pleasant. Satisfying.

"We can handle this, Vash. Approach it like a business," you whispered in his ear, sensing his breath leaving him and his heart pounding against your chest.

Vash locked eyes with you briefly, and as you leaned in to kiss him, he placed his forefinger on your lips. "No need for kisses. This is not about making love. It's strictly business," he asserted.

As you were about to part your lips to speak, you were interrupted by his soft lips gliding rhythmically against your neck, reminiscent of water swaying the rocks beneath a cliff. A moan rose from your throat, and you immediately grasped the back of his neck, urging him to press his head closer to your skin.

He emitted a low, primal growl, his self-control slipping away. His other hand entwined itself in your hair, adjusting the angle of your head to gain better access. He sank his teeth into your flesh, skillfully exploring with an unrestrained fervor.

You clung to him tightly, pressing further into him. Shuddering with the feel of his hard cock digging into your stomach, his size only fueling your desire. He wasn't small, and that was precisely what you craved tonight. Something that would silence Knives' voice with pleasure, leaving you breathless and thoroughly gratified.

His tongue wrestled with your collarbones, skillfully swiping and lapping while his teeth playfully nipped at them. Another moan slipped free, bouncing in the air until he matched it with his groan.

The grip on your hair tightened, tilting your head back, allowing his lips to roam freely along the sensitive area where your neck and shoulder met.

You gasped as his teeth grazed your skin, a subtle warning before he sank them in. The sharp pleasure rolled your eyes to the back of your head, followed by a long moan.

"Fuck," he cursed, his tongue flicking against your neck as he emitted a primal groan. "That voice drives me wild."

You felt your eyelids flutter as you succumbed to the pleasure his tongue and teeth were drawing out of you. His hands ventured lower, and soon, you felt a firm tug on your jeans. The button popped open in seconds, accompanied by the low purr of your zipper being undone.

On a low growl, Vash inquired, "Is your pussy wet for me like before, love?" as he playfully nipped at your neck. It stung a little, causing you to wince in response to the slight pain. However, his tongue glided over the bite mark, soothing the sting.

"Yes," you whispered, pleasure overpowering the lingering pain. His hand smoothly slid down the front of your jeans and underwear, his fingers gradually moving lower until the tip of his middle finger teasingly dipped inside you.

A low, guttural growl arose from you as he realized how truthful you were being. "Fuck, love, that's it. If you want our plan to succeed, you need to be louder. Don't you want everyone to know we're fucking?"

Suddenly, two fingers delved inside you, skillfully curling to hit that sweet spot. Your vision blurred, and a scream of pleasure erupted from your lips, becoming your sole response. It was the only thing you could do at that moment.

With instinct, you tilted your hips, grinding against his hand. He withdrew his fingers partially before driving them back into you again. And again, until he fucked you with his fingers, leaving you with nothing to do but hold on tightly, your nails digging into his shirt.

You let out long, husky moans that emanated from your throat, obediently filling the space precisely as he had requested.

"You certainly know how to make a scene," he whispered into your ear, punctuating his words with a sharp nip. The heel of his palm pressed firmly against your clit, sending waves of pleasure through you. With his skilled fingers, he elevated your arousal, causing the orgasm to coil deep in your stomach. Then, he rubbed you just right, causing your knees to quake from the intense pleasure.

"Oh," you moaned, your breath coming in irregular, breathless gasps.

In a dark whisper, he asked, "Will you scream when you come on my hand, love?"

You thought you nodded, but you couldn't be sure, for in a matter of seconds, your head jerked backward as your climax escalated, building up to an intense peak.

"Let me hear it," he encouraged. His fingers glided out, only to plunge back in, this time with the addition of a third finger.

You bit your lip as you tumbled over the edge. A cry rushed out, the sound wavering in pitch as deep-seated pleasure engulfed you. Shamelessly, you pressed against his hand, surrendering to the relentless waves of ecstasy.

"So vindictive," he murmured, his voice tinged with satisfaction. Breathless yet possessing a heightened hunger, he took out his hand and lightly brushed it against your lower lip, spreading your arousal. "You've made quite a mess on my hand, love. It would be rude not to clean it up."

While maintaining eye contact, your tongue darted out, the tip sliding across his finger. He smiled wickedly, prompting you to open your mouth wider. Soon, you tasted your own familiar flavor, but it didn't last long as he withdrew his fingers and licked the remainder himself. You never expected such a simple and primal act to make you ache for him even more than you already did.

His hot breath tickled against your face, causing a shiver to run down your spine. As you closed your eyes, you couldn't help but bite your lip when you felt his hands slip into your shirt.

"Vash," you said in a hushed, breathless voice. His warm breath caressed your neck as he leaned in closer. Gentle lips delicately grazed the edge of your ear. Like a cascading waterfall, a torrent of chills raced down your back.

"You're such a good, obedient girl," he remarked. The aroma of smoke mingled with hints of mint and wood enveloped you. The thought of him being delicious and the desire to have him in your mouth crossed your mind.

As if reading your mind, he reached up and placed his hand on the back of your head, his fingers entwining in your hair and drawing you impossibly closer. In a moment of impulse, you did something foolish. You drew his lower lip into your mouth, savoring the taste of him and the feel of his lips against yours. Suddenly aware of your behavior, you let go of his lip, attempting to pull away.

He was like a drug, and similar to the actual substance, he led you to make idiotic decisions.

He held onto you tightly, using his hand to press your forehead against his own forcefully. "I explicitly said no kissing. Right?" His grip on your hair was firm.

You nodded in response.

In return, his tongue traced your chin, descending towards your neck once more. You let out a soft, unintentional moan, and as soon as he noticed your body's response, he nibbled on your skin. He completely consumed you, sucking and licking your body in a way you'd never experienced.

He was leaving hickeys all over your skin, and you found yourself powerless to resist him, just as you were powerless to deny the pleasure that ran through your veins. Another low growl pinged through his mouth, serving as a mere indication of his following action.

He gripped your waist and lifted you. "You're such a good fucking girl," he praised, leaning against your chest before biting your breasts through your shirt and bra. He held you against the wall, his body pressing tightly against yours.

Gasping for air, your feet touched the ground as you struggled to hold up your head, desperately inhaling precious oxygen. He firmly held your cheeks with his large hand, growling against you.

You inserted your hands between your bodies, traveling towards his muscled stomach and firm chest. With force, you roughly pushed him away.

"Wait, please stop," you gasped, feeling a haze of confusion clouding your mind. The heat of the moment had left your pussy pulsating and your senses overwhelmed.

"What did I tell you?" he demanded with a sharp tone. His piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, captivating you in a hypnotic grip. It was difficult to avert your gaze when you felt like a helpless prey entrapped by the eyes of a predator.

"What?" you whispered, still feeling lightheaded.

"You're toying with fire," he reiterated slowly, his voice rough with gravel. Your mouth opened, but the words remained trapped, unable to get out.

His lips brushed against your cheek, tracing a path along your jawline. "Think about the prying eyes behind these walls. Let's stick to your original plan and provide them with something to gossip about," he concluded, punctuating his words with a sharp nip on your earlobe. Your body reacted, arching involuntarily as sweat drops formed on your skin. " I know you want me."

"No," you denied in a whisper. "You're wrong."

He raised his head, a smug smirk gracing his lips. "So, you're going to be a bad girl tonight? Lie to my face and act like your pussy isn't aching to be filled up with my cock?"

A flush of heat spread across your cheeks, a blend of anger and embarrassment. "Not everything revolves around physical attraction," you retorted after a moment. "Maybe my body wants you, but up here," you tapped your temple, "it's a different story."

He nodded slowly, studying your face with a pensive gaze. Stepping back, he left you feeling a sense of emptiness. It was akin to a dark veil encasing the sun on a scorching summer day—a sudden, chilling coldness that seeped into your bones.

He seized your hand and yanked you away from the wall. He twirled you around until you stood in front of one of the mirrors next to the fireplace. You watched him from the reflection as he pressed his body against yours, his warmth soaking into your very being. Your gaze fixated on the mirror, your eyes meeting and colliding through the glass.

He lowered himself gradually, bringing his mouth close to your ear, never breaking eye contact. "If you've had a change of heart, I won't push you into anything and will stop right now," he whispered in your ear, eliciting sparks throughout your nerve endings. His voice carried ominous promises and dangerous new beginnings.

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. The word "No" teetered on the edge of your tongue, like a delicate ballerina dancing precariously at the tip, dangerously close to falling off and breaking her ankle. Because if you said no to this man, you'd spend the rest of your night—week—possibly longer, regretting it.

As he desired, a sense of recklessness and impulsiveness descended upon you. All you yearned for was to surrender yourself to him. You were dying to deny him, yet you had to fight your body from turning and pulling him into you.

Perhaps, just this once, to piss off Knives, you considered giving in.

You rolled your lip between your teeth, and he watched you closely, studying every gesture as if trying to interpret a cryptic language concealed within the contours of your body.

"So you think it'll work?" you inquired, your voice husky and uneven. His mouth remained close to your ear while his gaze remained fixed on yours.

He nodded slowly, his expression serious and his gaze penetrating. "Yes, love," he whispered. You closed your eyes, resignation taking over your body. You couldn't deny the truth to yourself anymore. Even if he doubted the plan's success, you still wanted him to have you tonight.

Noticing the shift, he trailed his hand over your stomach. You stiffened under his touch, feeling goosebumps rising on your skin. His fingers gripped your shirt, gradually lifting it up, parting the material at a painful pace.

"Does it hurt you when I touch your scars?"

Your eyes widened. The man, bearing his own soul's fractures, would never perceive your scars as repulsive.

"Just get it over with," you snapped, frustration emanating from his intentionally slow progression.

A malicious grin appeared on his lips, and even the mirror couldn't diminish the cruelty behind it. "Poor little thing," he jeered. "You miss having a man inside you? Were your fingers not enough to satisfy you? Have you fantasized about me while touching yourself?"

With just a glance, he possessed an uncanny ability to steal the air from your lungs. When his words accompanied that piercing gaze, it felt like you had no lungs at all.

Your shirt fell to the ground.

"What if your men come in?" you whispered, your voice barely breaking through the palpable tension in the air.

He grinned—a mischievous smile that conveyed his indifference if someone did. "What do you think they'd do?" he asked, his fingertips lightly brushing against your scars.

Goosebumps emerged, a tangible reaction from the electricity dancing across your skin wherever his touch landed.

"Do you think they'd watch?" he asked. "Do you think they would relish the sight of your naked body? Maybe they would get off on witnessing your dripping pussy or the rise and fall of your chest as you climax. I even think they would delight in watching your eyes roll back when my cock fills you so fully you can't fit any more of me inside you."

A shot of fear jolted through your heart, forcing the muscle into overdrive. Yet, despite this, your body still reacted more illicitly. Just like his words, you felt a renewed throbbing between your legs.

Would you be comfortable with a stranger observing? You doubted it. But there was something about the way he described the scenario that made you wonder if he would allow it to occur regardless.

"Are you comfortable with others seeing us undressed?" you challenged, breathless while staring at your shirt on the wooden floor.

Vash's fingers traced along your spine, moving slowly and purposefully. Their touch felt scorching, like searing lava against your flesh.

"No," he murmured into your ear. You observed him as his gaze descended, fixating on your chest. The band of your bra tightened, pressing uncomfortably against your skin before loosening. The black cups that held your breasts released, leaving you fully exposed. Your nipples were painfully erect.

When he caught sight of your hardened peaks, his tongue drifted across his lower lip as if he was salivating at the sight. "Do you want to know what I would do?" he questioned. "I would allow them to watch. I would let them watch me fuck you. They would watch as my cock fills every one of your holes and watch you cry with intense orgasms. And then, I'd fucking kill them. With my cock still wet from your cum, I would slice their throats for daring to lay their eyes upon us."

The fear within you constricted, forming a sharp tip that seemed capable of bursting the fragile balloon of sanity you clung to.

"You're insane," you gasped.

This time, he chuckled, his deep laughter sending a shiver straight to the apex of your thighs. "You were aware of this, and yet you asked for it," he murmured absentmindedly.

His focus pulled away, and his hands explored your stomach, delicately tracing the lines of your scars as if he found them captivating. Eventually, he cupped your breasts, his large hands making them appear smaller, barely contained within his grasp. He was a monster. Inside and out. Yet, despite all logic, you couldn't ignore the fact that other than your panties, your jeans had become wholly soaked, too. It seemed impossible for the body to experience both hatred and desire simultaneously.

He forcefully squeezed your breasts, causing you to scream out of pain.

"Be a good girl and scream louder," he ordered before relinquishing his hold on your breasts and moving his hands towards your jeans. You were swamped by confusion and a sense of dread. You knew this was all so terribly wrong. Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to stop him as he hooked his thumbs on either side, pulling your jeans down. First, he assisted you in removing your shoes and effortlessly slipped the jeans off, setting you completely free.

You remained clad only in your wet black panties. Swallowing hard, your heart raced as you surveyed your reflection. Vash, on the other hand, remained fully clothed, his eyes examining every angle of your undressed form. He looked as if he couldn't decide, unsure where to begin.

You resisted the impulse to cover yourself. The act of hiding felt more humiliating than standing nearly bare before an attractive man.

"You need to undress as well," you insisted. There was no way you were going to be the only one left vulnerable and exposed.

Finally, he came out from behind you and stood directly before you. It felt more real when you were not looking at them through a glass mirror. Yet, you couldn't pretend that your pussy wasn't weeping for him and that you were not anticipating the feel of him inside of you. You weren't a victim this time, as you were the mastermind behind this ill-advised situation.

"If you want that, love, then you'll have to be the one to do it," he declared with a raised voice. He regarded you skeptically as if he doubted your willingness to undress him. And there was no doubt in your mind he understood the effect that look had on you. The jerk was well aware of your inability to resist a challenge.

You reciprocated the same level of respect he had shown you. Slowly and delicately, you undressed him, purposefully grazing your fingers against his skin, earning your own shivers and growls of impatience.

You took off his shirt and stared at his scarred and rugged skin. His scars still caused him pain, evident by his reaction when your fingertips brushed over them, causing him to tense and bare his teeth. It wasn't physical pain; these scars had already healed. Yet, they resembled icebergs—seemingly formidable and commanding on the outside, yet concealing something far more significant and menacing beneath the surface. They had the power to sink someone to the depths of their darkest desires, much like the Titanic. These scars wounded him deeply within, and you were genuinely curious about the stories behind each one.

In the areas without scars, there were tattoos. The most notable tattoo was a giant maze extending from his neck to his right arm. You didn't know, but he had a few small tattoos here and there, too.

"You didn't cover any of your scars with tattoos," you quietly observed, running your finger along the maze lines. The tattoos intentionally avoided the raised skin, as if deliberately respecting the scars.

"I don't hide from my failures," he asserted. However, his physical beauty extended beyond his failures. His body was filled with well-defined muscles, strong without being too bulky. His physique made it clear that he could kill you with his pinky without looking like he took steroids for breakfast. And if that alone didn't turn your knees to jelly, the thick veins roping from his neck, down his robust arms, and into his large hands were enough to unravel you.

He was… fucking phenomenal.

He observed you with great care, his eyes burning with intensity as you examined him. He was nearly vibrating beneath your slow perusal, so you moved on and resumed your torture. It took a total of zero seconds before he was bristling with the need to fuck you. You felt so much power in your fingertips, and you couldn't help but wonder how much more powerful you would be if he had a feeling for you.

With every inch of his skin revealed, you grew shakier and wetter. It seemed unjust for someone to possess such flawless allure despite the visible imperfections and scars. If anything, the evident signs of the hardships his body had endured only made him that much more edible.

You choked on air as you lowered his pants, his hard cock jutting out from the confines of his pants. So this was what accepting death via dick looked like.

Once he was completely undressed, you took a big step back and examined the reflection in the mirror. Your gaze fixated on his muscular thighs, firm and shapely buttocks, and sculpted back that had enticed you since that doomed morning. You couldn't help but fantasize about running your hands all over them. And then there was the most gorgeous cock you'd ever seen.

You wanted to run away. Far, far away. To put as much distance as possible between yourself and this man. It was clear to you that he would bring about your downfall after tonight. You could taste it on your tongue.

"Are you scared?" he asked in a low, dark voice. His gaze bore into you, his expression inscrutable.

"Yes," you responded honestly. His smile, almost breathtaking, nearly weakened your resolve. It felt unnatural how strikingly beautiful he was. Without a doubt, he was the embodiment of darkness. Now, more than ever, you were convinced he was the fucking devil.

"You ought to be," he warned, his voice tinged with menace. Without thinking, you took another step backward, but he made no move to impede your retreat.

"Get on your knees, love," he commanded in a sinister tone. You hesitated, uncertain whether to obey or search for the common sense you seemed to have misplaced somewhere along the way into this living room and make a swift escape.

"Don't test me," he growled, his face dropping into a stern expression. Lowering his jaw, he glared down at you with an intimidating gaze. The threat in his face frightened you, causing your juices to dampen your thighs.

You dropped to your knees with a jolt, the impact causing pain. It was exactly what you both desired. He tilted your head back forcefully, making you gaze up at him. His cock brushed against your cheek, serving as a forewarning of what lay ahead.

"You enjoy being a naughty girl, don't you? You like the thrill of testing me because you get off on the fear I instill in you. You're a silly little girl toying with danger," he taunted, his face contorted into a cruel snarl. Tears welled up in your eyes as he held your head firmly, burning just like the inferno of ire and lust in his eyes.

"Tell me, love, have you ever been fucked by a man like me?"

"Better," you hissed, feeling the dormant resentment towards him resurface. Something very dark and dangerous shuttered over his eyes. He raised an eyebrow, and instantly, you recoiled inward. It was a lie. You both knew it.

Good girls don't lie. That was the first thing you learned when you were put in a religious school as a child. The second lesson was not to trust the devil and his influence. However, they forgot to mention the crucial advice of not provoking him once you had fallen under his sway. Perhaps that was considered basic common fucking sense.

Your lip quivered as you scolded yourself for your foolishness. Feelings of bitterness and mistrust simmered just below the surface. You couldn't fathom why you entertained the idea of allowing Vash to dominate and have his way with you without putting up a fight.

"Open your fucking mouth, bad girl. Right now, or I'll make you gag on my cock," he demanded, his voice dripping with threat.

This time, you obeyed. The moment your lips separated, Vash forcefully thrust the tip into your mouth, pushing it deep down your throat. He hissed through his teeth, accompanied by another feral growl.

You whimpered and then gagged as he pushed his dick deeper. It felt like rigid steel wrapped in smooth fabric, but the sleekness did little to alleviate the pain. He was too thick and too long for your mouth.

Tears instantly flooded your eyes and streamed down your cheeks as he continued to penetrate you forcefully. As a reflex, you grasped onto his sturdy thighs, attempting to create some distance. However, he swiftly seized both of your hands, clasping them together in one of his while maintaining his grip on your head with the other. He held your bound hands high against his abdomen, giving the appearance of a woman kneeling in prayer, worshipping the very embodiment of evil.

"Suck it. Now," he growled.

You complied with his command, hoping he'd ease up. You sucked hard, creating a hollow in your cheeks while running your tongue smoothly over the prominent vein on the underside of his length.

"That's it, love," he exhaled, granting you a momentary respite. However, within seconds, he pulled you back towards him, taking control of your movements as he guided your head back and forth while you continued to suck him with your mouth.

He murmured words of encouragement and let out deep, pleasure-filled groans as he became increasingly assertive. Every syllable and moan that left his lips fueled your growing desperation to satisfy him.

"Let's see. Your high school sweetheart, Eren Yeager, he was better than me, huh?"

Your eyes widened in confusion, unsure of how Vash knew him and fearing this conversation's direction. "I highly doubt he was better than me. Who else?" he emphasized the last word by thrusting deeper into your throat, causing you to choke. After a few seconds of struggling, he relented. "Satoru Gojo, Cloud Strife, that boy Zuko..." he continued, listing off every man you had gone on a date with. Admittedly, the number wasn't significant, but it felt a lot considering the peril in which you had just placed their lives. He abruptly jerked your head back, granting you a brief moment to catch your breath as he uttered, "I will enjoy killing each and every one of them, love."

Before you could even form a response or take another gasp of air, he resumed choking you with his cock. Your vision began to blur at the edges as he thrust deeply into your throat. No matter how much you gagged and fought against him, he only became harder and more aroused.

"What if I cum in your mouth, and you swallow it to make your father proud?"

For a brief moment, you glared up at him, your hatred burning brighter than any trace of desire. He smiled, or rather revealed his teeth, as he noticed the anger reflected in your eyes.

"You want it, but you won't damn well receive it. You haven't earned that privilege just yet."

Without any warning, he forcefully yanked your head back, his cock popping free. He gripped your chin firmly, raising you until you were on your tiptoes.

"Vash, please," you whimpered, your vision hazy from tears and your chest constricted from the lack of air. Uncertain of what you were pleading for, whether it was your own life or the lives of the innocent men you had unknowingly condemned to death.

"That's such a good girl," he praised. "I love it when you're scared and begging."

Just as you believed you could finally inhale, he swiftly stole your breath again. His lips closed tightly against yours in a captivating kiss, electrifying your senses. Your nails dug into his chest, provoking a deep growl from him as he dominated your mouth with his own. He claimed he wouldn't kiss you, but the energy between you crackled and exploded, causing both of you to drink from each other fervently. The kiss ignited sparks of fire and filled your tongue with the mingling flavor of bitter whisky.

Poison had never tasted so good.

As your tongues battled for control, he firmly grasped your waist and yanked you upwards. Your legs naturally wrapped around his trim waist just as you felt the cool glass pressed against your back. The mirror's chill threatened to send shivers curling for epilogue through your body, but the heat radiating from his body against yours was scorching hot.

A sudden, piercing bite of pain on either side of your hips caused you to gasp into his mouth. With a quick, forceful pull, he tore your panties away from your body, leaving the shredded fabric caught somewhere between your bodies.

He withdrew and positioned the head of his cock at the entrance. "Spread your pussy for me, love," he commanded.

"No!" you shouted. "There's absolutely no way I'll let you fuck me without a condom!"

"Why bother? You already have an IUD, so clearly, my spawns won't have any chance of impregnating you," he retorted, his tone laced with heavy sarcasm.

"How the hell do you know that?" you exclaimed, swiftly hitting his chest.

"Milly."

So the nurse examined you, checking if Knives had raped you or not.

"I don't want your STDs!" you spat out angrily.

"Who the fuck do you think I am?" Vash demanded, his eyes ablaze with anger.

"A manwhore!" you said.

He pushed you closer to the mirror while glancing between you and his reflection. "I haven't been with anymore since Nick!"

"Oh, C'mon! You fucked a girl on your birthday!"

"I didn't," he said, then relaxed his hold, letting you free.

"But Bradd—"

"I helped that abused waitress to run away," he said quietly.

You tried to speak up and ask him to just fuck you, but the anger on his face silenced you. Just as he was about to move away, you halted him and obeyed his instructions.

You spread your legs and, grabbing his cock, guided it into your entrance. It was belittling when he knew you weren't supposed to want it. And as a consequence of offending him, he was going to make you show him how much you wanted him. By spreading your pussy and inviting him in.

Gods, you hated him.

His hands tightened on your hips painfully. You knew that you would wake up tomorrow with bruises shaped like handprints, and a part of you dreaded that. The imprints left on your skin would make it impossible to forget what happened.

"Do not ever label me as a manwhore," he warned just before he forcefully brought you down onto his awaiting dick.

"Ah!" you cried out, your hands poised to push him away from your chest. He was too much, stretching you wider than you'd ever been. Your eyes rounded into giant saucers as you whimpered in response to the extreme pressure.

You sensed his grith slipping through your fingers as he worked himself deeper. "Stop! It's too big," you gasped.

"Well, tough luck for you," he cooed mockingly, his tone husky and tight. "This is the consequence of being a naughty girl, isn't it?"

When you remained silent, he forcefully pulled you down on his dick harder, causing you to let out another pained whimper.

"Answer me," he barked.

"Yes!" you exclaimed, breathless, as you tightly shut your eyes in response to the invasion.

"Will you behave now?"

"Yes," you mewled desperately. The pain was morphing into something much more intense and breathtaking.

He slid out and then eased back in with a gentler but still angry motion. It felt as if your body was on the verge of exploding. This wasn't natural to be so goddamn full.

He withdrew until only the tip remained, and then he slammed his entire length inside of you. It went so deep that you felt it all the way up to your throat.

You cried out, your voice cracking under the swell of emotions welling up in your chest. It didn't feel right at all.

"Damn, love, I can barely fucking fit."

Perhaps that's why it felt as if he was ripping you apart. He began with deliberate and powerful movements, forcefully thrusting before pulling out at a painfully slow pace, only to slam back inside you once more.

You felt your body starting to yield, eagerly taking him in as he ravished you with each thrust. He widened his stance, using the mirror for support, causing your stomach to tighten in anticipation of the damage he was about to exert on your organs.

Shockwaves scattered throughout your nerve endings as he quickened his pace, roughly fucking you against the mirror while loud noises you never made in your life fell from your lips.

The pleasure was blinding, and the sight of him moving in and out between your fingers heightened the strong desire stirring in the pit of your stomach.

He let you down, swiftly turned you around, and wasted no time before thrusting back inside you. You closed your eyes and pressed your palms against the mirror to find stability.

"Look at us in the mirror," he demanded roughly. It required significant effort, but you pried your eyes open and let them wander over the mirror. It was too much— watching him drive himself inside you so deeply.

Your eyes were partially closed, and your face displayed undeniable bliss. Then, you caught a glimpse of him in the mirror, and your gazes met. A torrent of emotions washed over you, causing your heart to sink, and you quickly averted your eyes. It was the most euphoric experience you ever had.

Your eyes met his again, and a sly smile spread across his face. He leaned in, his lips gently skating across the crook of your neck as he watched you slowly come apart at the seams, all the while maintaining a mischievous grin.

"Now, confess, have you ever been fucked by a man like me?"

You nibbled on your lip and shook your head, resisting the temptation to roll your eyes in sheer exasperation.

He abruptly halted, causing an involuntary, embarrassing scream to leave your lips. He pushed your back down to readjust your positions, and the moment he hit that particular spot, your legs trembled uncontrollably.

"Oh my God," you moaned, unable to prevent your eyes from rolling back this time.

"That's right, love. I am your fucking God," he growled, and then you felt his teeth sinking into your neck.

Your stomach tightened as an orgasm built rapidly, threatening to overpower you. It felt as if a furious Poseidon resided within, conjuring a destructive tsunami that seemed poised to engulf you.

The mirror began to shudder from the force of his intense thrusts violently. It seemed as if it could shatter at any moment, yet you were unable to bring myself to care. Just as you were on the brink of reaching climax, he pulled completely out.

You whimpered, feeling the sudden emptiness almost as if it were painful. "What—"

He took a step back and gestured towards the floor. Your knees wobbled, your balance disrupted by the sharp pleasure throbbing between your thighs. "Get on your hands and knees," he instructed.

You didn't protest, primarily because the absence of the orgasm was distressing, and your legs could barely bear your weight any longer. Frustration welled up, evident in the tearful corners of your eyes, but you suppressed your snarky remark. You knew that he would only escalate your punishment further.

You expected him to enter you once more from behind, but instead, he swiftly slid his hands between your legs and gripped you from underneath your hips. He lifted you, causing your knees to lose contact with the ground, and you had to quickly catch yourself to prevent from falling face-first.

You felt his warm breath fanned across your pussy just moments before his teeth latched onto your sensitive clit. You yelped as pain and pleasure mingled. However, he wasted no time in lavishing attention on your throbbing bundle of nerves, skillfully using his mouth to suck while lapping at your dripping cunt.

He hummed, sending delightful vibrations resonating through your core. "You taste so fucking good," he murmured before teasingly flicking his tongue against your sensitive clit. You gazed up shamelessly, observing him feast on you from behind. You adjusted your head to obtain the best view of him on his knees, hungrily devouring your pussy as if he were famished.

The impending orgasm resurfaced, now even more imminent than before. You were unable to grind back into Vash's face like you desired, leaving you utterly defenseless against the relentless assault of his tongue.

"Vash, please," you begged, your eyes crying with pleasure.

"Do you want to come?" he asked; his voice was breathless and unsteady.

"Yes," you pleaded with a groan.

Vash pulled away, and in frustration, you screamed, pounding your fist against the floor. Overwhelmed by fury from being denied for the second time, you struggled against his grip, thrashing in defiance. He chuckled at your futile attempt.

"You motherfucking ass—"

He abruptly halted your outburst by seating himself inside you, causing his balls to smack against the sensitive nub. You choked on your words, this angle allowing him in far deeper than before. He seized your hair, forcefully pulling your head back, making you look directly into the mirror in front of you. From this angle, you could witness him vigorously fuck you.

"You want to cream all over my cock, love?"

You nodded your head frantically.

He responded with a smile. "Have you been a good girl?"

Once again, you nodded unsteadily.

"Then fucking say it," he urged, calling out your name.

As his gravelly voice pronounced your full name, you instinctively clenched around his cock.

"I'm a good girl," you breathed, too far gone to feel anything but blinding lust. He molded his body against your back, spearing through your tightening pussy. The hand in your hair slid down to wrap around your throat, exerting a firm grip, while his other hand splayed across your stomach. Your vision became hazy, and finally, the tsunami of orgasm crashed through you.

You emitted an ear-piercing scream that nearly rattled the mirror. Vash's name spilled from your lips in a frenzied chant as your entire world exploded into myriad fragments.

"Fuck! That's it, love. Your pussy is incredibly tight. Milk my cock," Vash managed to say through gritted teeth. He concluded with a growl, his hips trembling as he slammed into you for one last time, filling you with his cum until there was no room left inside of you. Your combined fluids trickled down your thighs as you lay on the floor, panting and breathless. Your body convulsed with aftershocks, even after the biggest orgasm you had ever experienced subsided.

You couldn't fucking breathe, let alone move or form coherent thoughts. None of it felt normal. Not a single bit.

Your breath hitched, and your teeth clenched from the feel of him sliding out of you.

Disregarding Vash's presence, you hurriedly scrambled to dress yourself.

As you approached your shoes, a muttered "shit" caught your attention from behind. Turning around, you found Vash staring at his phone, his face etched with a serious expression. He was dressed in nothing but his black boots and loosely fastened pants, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the well-defined V disappearing beneath the fabric. The glow from his phone emphasized the muscles flexing against his smooth skin, with scars and intricate black tattoos only enhancing his raw allure. The veins coursing through his hands and arms were visibly bulging, and if you weren't already leaning against the mirror, his overwhelming presence would have caused you to collapse. That masterpiece of jagged scars and rugged edges had ravished you completely, leaving you breathless.

You closed your eyes and leaned against the glass, seeking respite. Suddenly, you felt the warmth of Vash's hand on the back of your neck, causing your eyes to snap open. You realized he was pulling you closer, resting your head against his chest and draping his shirt over your shoulders. Assuming that this would be the last time you permitted his touch, you allowed him to slip his hands beneath your knees and neck, hoisting you effortlessly into his arms.

Exhaustion had enveloped you so entirely that his words, "Let's bring you to our room," evaded your weary ears.

Taglist: @julk4e - @lune010 - @beanibon - @emptybrain01 - @changingchances @awkwardchick87 @enchantedforest-network

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bettsfic · 26 days

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betts i am reading the kennedy book now. the amount of admiration and devotion this man has for her is off the charts. normally you only find this dedication on ao3

and it's REAL LIFE.

you know, in looking through all my notes and annotations, what fascinates me more than what's said is what's *not* said. and while at first i read it gritting my teeth against these kind of writing moves that remind me so much of the writing students submit in intro cw (which is to say, creative writing from people who have spent far too much time writing reports, and who are maybe a little rusty in their creativity), i admire the precision of it.

i first noticed this kind of textual scalpel at the very end, with the way he describes the autopsy, somehow giving a graphic description of what he saw while denying both the lone gunman theory and any potential conspiracy, simply in the phrasing itself. but then when i looked back over it, i started seeing those same moves in other places: when the president chastises him for pulling the film out of a photographer's camera, and he has to decide if his drive to protect Mrs. Kennedy is more important than his drive to do what he's told; when he confronts Onassis and seems to take pride in the fact she went to bed alone that night, which could be interpreted as either "just doing what the president told me to" OR possessiveness/jealousy; when he mentions missing his wife and kids during the first Christmas away, and missing the birth of his second son, and then stops mentioning them at all until the very end; the bizarre tension between his wife and Mrs. Kennedy when they finally meet; when he picks up the train of Mrs. Kennedy's dress so she doesn't trip on it (why that detail? why?).

and then there's this lack of information at the very end that is just killing me. i read somewhere that if a first lady is widowed while her husband is in office, she receives Secret Service protection for the rest of her life, unless she remarries. then she went on to marry Onassis and lost her security detail. but in the book, they part ways much earlier than that, even though she chose him to follow her afterward. and that makes me think there's something big that wasn't mentioned in the book and that i'll have to find elsewhere.

in fiction, all these little threads and hints would lead up to something. but this isn't fiction and so all we can deduce i think is that this story is simply what he remembers, and that memory is distorted by time and how much he loved her, like she takes up this huge part of him. and i think if Jackie would've written a book about those years in the White House, i wonder how often her Secret Service agents would even come up.

anyway, i'm so glad you're reading it and you're seeing what i'm seeing, which makes me feel a little less Pepe Silvia wall about the whole thing. i know it's a rough read and it's repetitive and the pacing is a mess and if i'd edited it, the thing would be dripping red. but it's just so achingly vulnerable i can't believe it exists. right now i'm reading a book that won the National Book Award, some of the most beautiful writing i've read in a long time, like a kind of skill i can't even dream of, and i'm still here emotionally gobsmacked by this extremely commercial, poorly edited memoir.

#dazzle

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kaddyssammlung · 1 month

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ED - Related Sleep Token lyrics Part Two

Part one klick here

TW : ED (and yes it gets a bit graphic and also I mention my alcohol addiction and also SH; but I just mention it)

Sugar:

“Believe that though we never eat”

Again...maybe he means eating as an analogy for something else. Maybe being with Sleep?

But the lyrics have multiple layers and to me this just means starving yourself.

“We still know how to feed”

This reminds me of starvation and that strange need to kind of feed others. To cook for them or bake or buy food for them and never have anything yourself. That need to surround yourself with food.

The same lines together

“Believe that though we never eat We still know how to feed We still know how to bleed”

Eating, throwing it back up to the point where you start throwing up blood.

Things have happened...but it was again due to my drinking problem.

I guess the reason why I was not bulimic is because I hated throwing up because I did that anyway so often because of being hungover. Idk.

It's just something that occurred to me while writing this.

“Sugar I've developed a taste for you now”

I will never forget how I high I was on sugar. It was the moment I was not able to starve myself any more and I began stuffing my face my sugary foods. Foods that I had not eaten in over a year.

“Let my wrap the chains addicted to the pain”

The pain of starvation. But you can do more, right? At least that's what the ED tells you.

“Do you wanna see how far it goes? Do you want to test me now my love?”

Being tempted by food but being able to not give into the temptation.

And also my love...some have a tendency to see their ED as their partner and even give it an name. I never was like that but I can totally feel that.

“Things we buried low comin' to the surface now, my love”

Throwing up.

“You must be crazy if you think that I will give up the game”

Giving up on the ED.

Drag me Under:

“Drag me under Deep into your love”

Just wanting to be thin, wanting to be ED ed and having a romantic way of seeing this disorder.

Sometimes anorexia still comes knocking at my door and is like “don't you miss me? Don't you just miss it? How do you like your period, when you had me you were don't bothered by that stuff? Don't you want me back?

NO!

Bloodsport:

“I made loving you a blood sport I can't win”

I spent so many years in online communities with other humans who also had an ED. We also met in real life a few times. I travelled half across the country to the meet ups. Whatever.

Many that I know who had an ED also self-harmed.

so...”loving you” = holding on to that ED ; “made a blood sport” = made me self-harm. Often for punishment.

“You are still my weapon of choosing”

Holding on to this behaviour even thou you know that it does not serve you.

“I wanna choke up chunks of my own sins”

Again..that feeling of having eaten too much and seeking relief.

Shelter:

“And when you can't swallow your demons, you become starving”

Emotional pain can make you do many things. I can lead to believe that when you starve yourself your problems go away but they don't. You just add another problem to your already existing problems.

“Laughing at perfect death then you change, suddenly hollow you become starving”

It makes me think about someone who struggled with an ED for such a long time that she decided to end everything in 2016. You know what I mean.... And also it takes a lot of self-hatred to want to starve yourself to death.

#sleep token #sleep token lyrics #tw ed #ed recovery

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tayfabe75 · 4 months

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your thoughts on the leaked collab on Slut well the lyrics at least the vocals not leaked. See Itsthebml on TikTok and it appears that it’s not fake as Target is pulling all the tangerine versions of vinyl from stores

My preemptive apologies, as brevity is not my forte… and I have many, many thoughts about this leak!

On authenticity:

There have been enough separate instances of people posting clear photos (1, 2, 3) of the lyrics and credits for the "Slut!" collaboration, that I lean toward it being real. And, when it comes to things like this in the realm of Taylor Swift, I'm more inclined to believe that "nothing is accidental" and that a mistake this significant wouldn't make it to shelves at all (while that might be giving Taylor too much credit, I spent most of my life never giving her enough credit (new fan!) and I have since amended my ways) Indeed, it is very strange that Target pulled the vinyl from its website, perhaps lending further credence to the leak's authenticity.

Another thing to consider when it comes to authenticity is - who would fake this and why? There are a few ways I'd categorize 75 fans & Swifties. You have:

Fans of one or the other who just want new music and are open to a collab with whoever (likely don't care enough to fake it)

Fans of both who would probably like the collab but aren't super invested (likely don't care enough to fake it)

Fans of both who are sad about the implications of a pulled collab (unlikely to create something like this without specifying it was wish fulfillment)

Fans of one who hate the other artist, their fans, and anyone who supports the union (bingo!)

So, even though there are like, a hundred 'Maylors', tops, the people we annoy get great satisfaction from attempting to emotionally wound us. I know from experience lol So, since I have had the extreme displeasure of speaking with some of them, I'm not sure they have the wits about them to make a convincing argument, let alone convincing 1989 album art (graphic design, especially a recreation like that, can be a pretty tedious and complicated process - this I know from experience) but you never know! Unfortunately for all of us, hate can be quite a motivator, and if human history is any indication, the sky's the limit!

Apart from that, though, there are so few people who have any incentive to fake this two months later. Now, the alleged audio leak is another story. Since the 'anti-Maylor' crowd has now seen how upset we were and no doubt reveled in our misfortune, I could easily imagine them whipping up an AI version to bait us so they could point and laugh. I have heard the alleged leaked audio - and while it sounds like Matty's voice, something seems a bit off to me. Considering Brad Troemel has a full AI report coming in a matter of days, I am keeping my defenses up!

For what it's worth, I believe that I hear Matty's voice accompanying Taylor on the last line of "Slut!", on just the word "drunk". Someone then found or made stems for arguably clearer audio. To me, it still sounds like Matty (perhaps wishful thinking), but the user who found this audio thought it didn't sound like him. Figured I'd share both opinions and links and see what you think!

On why we didn't and might not get it:

I was shocked that, when the leak happened, most of Twitter seemed to have one of two takes: 1) "Matty ruined this for Taylor and what a no-good bad horrible man, just like we said!" and 2)" Taylor and Matty are immature children who can't speak like adults and need to grow up."

Genuinely, I couldn't and still can't quite comprehend how anyone came to those conclusions based on what happened in May, or that these were the widely accepted takes. There was a whole campaign by Taylor's fans to get her to break up with him, as well as a media storm (including social media) that did everything imaginable to demonize Matty, right down to choosing the most unflattering photos of him for every article. Speaking of AI, does anyone happen to remember the disturbing AI images depicting Matty's death with Taylor standing happily over his body? My god. Absolutely shameful behavior. And that was as late as October, you know, the same month 1989 released. All because of Matty's involvement in two relatively offensive jokes in February that were apologized for. I truly pity anyone who harbors that level of irrational hatred.

I've said that, at this point, releasing the collab would be like giving your dog a treat for peeing on your favorite Cardigan. So, while I've never wanted to listen to a single song more than that one, I am at least happy that it was (most likely) real! It means we weren't reading the signs incorrectly, and that the collaboration was for 1989, as foreshadowed by both artists (1, 2). The pair co-writing a song called "Slut!" has much wider implications about the muse of 1989 (who is often perceived to be one singular entity - judging by the linear nature of the album's liner notes and perhaps even confirmed by Taylor, herself, with a like).

Lastly, I'll say this: Taylor has several songs in her catalog that seem cyclical ('Love Story', for instance), and "Slut!" feels like one of those songs to me. We'll see!

Thank you for the question!

#answered #tatty #maylor #taylor x matty #song: “slut!”#topic: leaks #topic: collaboration

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lemonhemlock · 10 months

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15 questions and 15 mutuals

tagged by @hellshee 💞💞💞 thanks a bundle!!! 🎀

anyone who sees this on my blog and wants to do it is welcome!

were you named after anyone?

i was named after a very specific queen of hungary (no, my family is not hungarian) and my middle name is after my dad

when was the last time you cried?

succession series finale full-on sobbing girlies where u at

do you have kids?

i do not

do you use sarcasm a lot?

i believe so!

what's the first thing you notice about people?

i'm SO bad at this, i freeze and remember neither their looks nor their names 😅 i have to ask for about 3 times before i can remember

i'll only notice if they have a very distinctive fashion piece i guess

what's your eye color?

boring brown:(

scary movies or happy endings?

hmmm i really like horror if done properly, which it rarely is to my standards. i don't like cheap tricks or jump scares so a lot of scary movies i find v disappointing. so i'll pick happy endings i guess since there's a higher possibility of me liking the story

any special talents?

i can braid my own hair in complicated styles that people are often surprised i can do without assistance. i spent a lot of time in uni braiding my friends' hair for fun and as a bonding past-time. i'd say i'm above average at doing my makeup but i can't do anything crazy like graphic eyeliner unfortunately (i think it's because i can't draw). i have the best RP accent out of any non-native i know. my bf says i'm really good at manipulating dough (i think i'm only decent, just not afraid of moving it around). one day i hope to learn to do nail art and maybe sew clothes

i wish i could sing though. if i had a decent voice i'd never shut up. straight-up musical over here all the time. i would be SO annoying

where were you born?

eastern europe baby!!!

what are your hobbies?

well, you know, apart from hobbies that everyone & their mother has, like listening to music / reading / watching shows & movies, i like formula 1 & football. whenever i have the time, i watch the most random videos like tyre rules, racing lines and tactical breakdowns of various games. when it strikes my fancy i'm a VERY amateur aerodynamicist, in that i like to go oooh & ahhh whenever i look at an f1 car and cackle over how beautiful/ugly it is. i like castles a lot & want to visit all of them. i like learning about fashion history & creating lewks & outfits. i have beautiful tarot cards and was fairly good at weaving a narrative when i did readings but i'm out of practice. my bf & i love making & discovering new cocktails. my latest hobby is that i'm obsessed with perfume and have a budding collection

unfortunately i haven't really had time for any of my thousand interests lately bc i've had to focus on my thesis so i'm kinda floating anchorless & disconnected atm

have any pets?

i don't, i like animals but wouldn't have the patience to look after them. also the animals i like are generally not suited to urban life, like goats or donkeys :))

what sports do you play/have you played?

unfortunately i was never good at them

how tall are you?

170 cm

favorite subject in school?

english & history!

dream job?

honestly pit lane reporter sounds like a pretty dope job. perhaps in another life i would have liked to be an archaeologist

#hellshee #tag games #lemonposting

0 notes

simonsoys · 7 years

Note

... No lava lamps?

jellydragons

lava lamps?

#infullmoon #jellydragons #ask #i can't believe i spent any of my life making that graphic

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gretavanlace · 2 years

Text

Incubi (Part 1)

GVF x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, dark content, oral sex, angst, alcohol abuse, death, etc

"We've spent nearly the entire session discussing how things are going at work." Dr. Edwards– or, Laura, as she insists on being addressed– looks at the delicate gold watch that adorns her wrist. "And we're nearly out of time. I get the impression you're avoiding something?"

Well, that's what I get for seeing the same damn therapist for nearly 4 years...she knows me far too well. Frankly, it's obnoxious.

"Not really." I shrug. "Nothing new."

It isn't a lie. There really is nothing new. It's the same song, same dance. Hey, at least I’m consistent.

"How are things progressing with..." she pauses to flip through her notes.

“James?" I flick my hand dismissively. "That's over with."

She raises an eyebrow. "By your choice or his?"

"It was sort of mutual." There, now I’m lying. It most definitely wasn’t mutual. The poor guy had looked devastated when I’d delivered the news. “I don't know, he was boring, I guess."

Her eyes remain passively trained on my face, waiting me out.

"I just..." I trail off, gazing over her shoulder. Staring at the splashes of cerulean and emerald that decorate the canvas hanging behind her desk, I feel small- disappointing to the universe. It's an abstract piece of art, created by her sister's hand. I know this because I’ve asked about it. It's lovely, but I hate it. Something about it's beauty makes me feel unworthy and loathsome. Nothing that beautiful could ever come from me. Self-pity isn’t a good look, but I cling to it like a bad haircut one has grown used to.

Laura has mercy and doesn't make me say it. "Is it the dream again?"

"I know it's ridiculous, okay?" I’m too defensive, too intense, even I can see that, but I can't seem to stop myself. "I'll figure it out. Eventually. On my own."

"I have no doubt that you will." She offers a sincere smile that makes me feel like an asshole. "I've been thinking a lot about it, actually. I believe you're suffering from what is known as Sleep Paralysis."

I cock an eyebrow and wait for her to continue with her campaign to waste my time.

"It's extremely common, and incredibly realistic. The reason being, is that you are essentially trapped between a state of sleep and wakefulness. Your brain shuts down your ability to move...sort of like a safety mechanism so that you don't physically act out your dreams and harm yourself."

She pauses to give me a moment to process the information and ask any questions I may have, then continues on when I remain silently stoic.

"Where the problem lies is, in essence, a matter of crossed wires. Your brain wakes and becomes aware, albeit muddled, but the paralysis switch fails to trip. Now, in your case, my theory is, here is where the hypnagogic hallucinations step in.

Again, they're extremely common and a frequent partner to sleep paralysis. These hallucinations are frighteningly realistic, and made all the more terrifying due to one’s inability to move or call out for help."

"But my visitors aren't frightening." I remind her. "Unsettling at times, absolutely, but I never feel imminent danger. Quite the opposite really.” I feel heat in my miserable cheeks, as though they’ve been pinched by an invisible hand.

My visitors, as Laura has dubbed them, began infiltrating my life right around the time I packed my meager possessions into boxes that were then loaded into the back of my rusted out honda.

My mother stared out the smudged front window at me, glaring with an expression of disdain, while father dearest drank himself to sleep at the kitchen table. Not long after that day, my father drank himself to sleep permanently.

The afternoon of dad’s funeral, my mom had staggered her way over to me, purse loaded with pills and rattling like a sinister maraca. "Good of you to show up." her slurred words floated into my face, reeking of stale coffee and poor decisions. "But he didn't have shit to leave us, so if you're looking for money, look somewhere else."

What I had wanted to do was laugh in her face. My father hadn't held a steady job since I was still in diapers, and even then, most all the money was quickly sunk right back into their respective vices.

By the time I was five, I knew how to throw blankets over the pup tent in my room to stay warm when the heat was cut off. By seven, I was adept at walking through the house each night to ensure the doors were locked and their cigarettes were extinguished before bed.

What had given this woman, swaying so smugly before me, the impression that I was delusional enough to think there was any money to be had? It would have been downright laughable if it hadn't been so fucking sad.

Yes, what I’d wanted to do was laugh in her face. What I had actually had done was offer a brief hug and a quiet. "Love you, mom."

Then, I promptly spun on my second hand heel and made my way out of the funeral home, and out of my old excuse for a life.

That night, as I slumbered on the mattress in the bedroom of my sparsely furnished studio apartment, the 'visitors' had come to me for the first time.

I snap out of my thoughts and Laura is still chirping along about sleep paralysis and how sleep position can play a role in it's frequency and severity. "It seems to happen more often when patients sleep on their backs, though little is known about why that might be. Let's try sleeping on your stomach tonight." she poses, as if we’re a team. "See if that makes a difference."

I agree to try, and think more about them on my way home. I also think about them as I move through my apartment, flicking on lights and watering plants. I ponder them while I slurp a sorry dinner of ramen down...and I think further still when I climb into bed and sprinkle flakes of food into my angel fish's tiny underwater world that rests on my nightstand.

"I just want to feel normal, Lennon." I sigh, watching him peck his dinner from the surface of the water. It has always struck me as slightly cannibalistic, the way fish flakes reek of fish. “Dreams, nightmares, sleep paralysis whatevers, I don't know." I switch the light off and turn over onto my stomach, willing to give Laura's suggestion a shot. "Whatever they are, I just want them to go away.”

The dream begins differently tonight, as it always does. My phantom visitors, (ie: my imagination) like to keep things interesting.

Tonight, a warm weight slips over me like a plush blanket fresh from the dryer. My body seems to soak in the heat, drawing it in deep into my bones until it simmers the marrow. Breathing deeply, I sink into the warmth, allowing it to spread like red wine until my limbs feel weighted. I indulge in the heightened temperature and bask in the strange fever that wreaks havoc inside me.

A silken curtain of hair falls over my bare shoulders, becoming a veil of the most dizzying scent. No, that isn't right. Scents. There are so many layered and draped over one another. Aromas that I cannot identify, but are as familiar as my own reflection in the mirror.

I feel anxious, bordering on frightened. Yet, calm and content, all at once. Tears threaten to breach the rims of my eyes, while a delighted smile tugs at the corners of my lips.

The voice, when it comes, is a low rasping hum in my ear. It floats through my senses oddly, occupying each of them. It is technicolor lights chasing each other before my eyes. Casting vivid trails like rainbow comets dazzlingly behind in my peripheral vision.

I can smell the voice, it reminds me of a warm apple plucked right from a tree in the sun, and it tastes like a spice I can't describe, but I want to savor it on my tongue for as long as it takes to identify it. Something about that spice reminds me of my grandmother, and how safe she always made me feel.

The voice, It feels like something tangible, and I’m certain I could cup it in my hands and secret it away somewhere sacred if only I could move.

"Do you really want us to leave you?' It asks. "To abandon our most beloved?"

Warm breath floods the tiny secluded world that his silken shade of hair has created and it is the sweetest perfume I have ever known. It makes my head swim with drunken bliss.

"Why should we go?" the voice urges. "For what reason would we desert our golden sun of light and everything beautiful?"

Lips move like the wings of butterflies against the curve of my neck, lighting my body aflame with the immeasurable pleasure only they have ever bestowed upon me. I writhe inwardly, but remain still beneath his weight as he poses questions I am unable to answer.

My lips part to speak, though what I plan to say is a mystery even to myself, but it doesn't matter much, as I find I’m unable to utter a sound.

Unable, that is, until a ghostly hand wraps it's way loosely around my throat. A slight twitch of a squeeze seems to milk the words from a hidden room down deep inside me.

"I don't know what you are." My confession is whispered, yet rushed, as I am afraid I’ll lose my nerve. This moment feels suspended in time, and bizarrely pivotal.

“I don't know what you are, but I know you aren't real, and you ruin me for everyone else. I'm scared I'll die alone because no one could ever be you. You aren't real." Do I reiterate that last bit to make myself clear to him or to convince myself?

"Ah, but we are real, Pet." Vibrating strums of pleasure begin to pluck at my nervous system.

The pulses wax and wane, warboling through me like a dark and mournful guitar.

“Is what you feel right now not real?"

It is impossible to formulate an eloquent response when all I can think is this: "I want to touch you."

The heaviness that bogs my muscles down lightens the moment I utter the request, and I reach back, blindly grasping in search of him. My fingers are graced with a suckling kiss that lights a wild, undulating flame in my belly.

It lasts for only a moment before an unseen hand presses my own back down into my pillow.

"When your skin flickers with raging, unbridled bliss simply because our eyes rest upon you, that isn't real? When we touch you and make you cry out to gods you have never seen, is that not the closest you have ever been to understanding your place in the universe? You are here for us, and we in turn, are here for you. And that, my love, is real. That is the only thing that is real."

"Please," my plea quivers into the dark. "Let me look at you."

Something is different this time, there is a closeness that is foreign and new, though it has nothing to do with proximity. It seems almost like he is finally ready to really be seen, and that I am finally ready to really see.

Without the normal physical trajectory, I am suddenly on my back, staring with wide, astonished eyes at the most hauntingly angelic face you I ever seen. To look upon him this closely is new, and I am stunned into silence. In my wildest dreams I could never have imagined the world was capable of holding the beauty that is before me. In an instant, I am convinced that the creation that hovers above me was carved from an ancient and blessed piece of marble by the hand of God himself.

He is the only art that has ever been. He is the creation that hearts yearning for the meaning of it all have been seeking. He is love. He is hate. He is the quiet, and the sound. He is the love that seizes a child's heart when their mother sings them to sleep, and the sighs that fill rooms when lovers make love. He is the dark and the light. The calm and the chaos. He is everything.

The tips of my fingers reach up to ghost over his beautiful, blush pink lips, but quickly retreat, fearing I’ll mar his perfection with my ordinariness.

His skin is luminous, pearlescent and alive. Eyes the color of rich amber honey flecked with glittering topaz mingling with flashes of predatory garnet when the moonlight catches just right. His stare steals the oxygen from my lungs slowly, drawing the life force from me bit by bit. Incidentally, I am fine with that. Fine to die right here and now, quivering and breathless beneath this otherworldly angel. In this moment, he is greater than God and I am prepared to relinquish my soul without question or hesitation.

"Take the heart from my chest, my soul from wherever it might reside, take everything, it is all for you." I part my lips and draw the breath to speak the words into existence, but all I am able to communicate is: "Anything."

It's one word, but when he nods his understanding, I know without doubt that he has heard everything I wanted to say. My soul has known him for a very long time, of that I am sure.

"I am your favorite right now, pet, but only because you are cradled in my arms. How I wish it were always so."

His revelation reminds me of the other shadows. One, tall and lanky, with a strange gait and a thick mane of shining waves. He makes my feel younger than my years and his touch elicits a deep humming vibration through me, way down deep in my spine– much like a bassline being plucked out.

There's another, who could easily be the being poised over me now if not for the hair and difference in aural tone. He feels lighter, impish somehow. When he visits, laughs bubble forth from my chest as easily as the moans do. The sounds he coaxes from me are ethereal, glitteringly mystic.

He transforms me into something gorgeously angelic, drawing forth cries of rapture that drip with a beautiful vibrato I normally don't possess.

Lastly, there is the darkest horse. He is different, cut from an entirely separate cloth, it seems, yet the same. somehow, I have always understood that while he may have had his beginnings somewhere apart from the others, he has been with them so long that it no longer matters.

He is resigned, and visits me less often, but the impact he bestows upon me is nothing short of enigmatic and powerful. He sinks into my body and pounds into my consciousness heavily, like a drum. His life force bangs in time with my thready pulse and hummingbird heart.

I startle out of your thoughts and watch as darkness casts his features in jealous shadows. "Now I've made you think of them." he laments.

The pitch in his tone all but blots out the entire world save for him, but he doesn't seem to know.

"I'll just have to make sure you think only of me tonight, Pet." his fingertips brush lightly over my jaw until my chin rests in his grip. "Close your eyes."

I do as he asks and find myself staring up at a cloudless sky, surrounded by the perfume of a thousand white roses. I can't see them, but I instinctively know that they’re there, and that they are a gift for me, from him.

He finds me there, in my imaginary snowglobe of a world, and with a quiet call of my name he is inside me. Inside me, everywhere. He occupies every cell, every molecule, every atom...he climbs inside my soul and makes himself comfortable. How I wish he would stay forever.

"Our sun," he whispers, grounding my attention into the here and now with his prose. "We could never leave you. We've grown much too fond of you. It should never have been this, but we cast the rules aside for you. We would cast everything aside for you."

He produces a single, beautifully bloomed ivory rose, drawing it from the waistband of the black leather pants that rest low on his hips.

“For you, our most treasured. Keeper of us all." he whispers, regarding me quietly for a beat before dragging the petals slowly along my collarbone and then further down my body, creating a soft, serpentine path.

The trail it blazes burns with a blue flame of fierce pleasure, immersing me in unimaginable euphoria. A shaking moan bursts forth from my gasping chest, and then there are his esoteric eyes flashing into mine, professing his undying devotion with merely a gaze.

“You are our goddess," he remains still as a statue as he ravages my body below him. "Our Aphrodite. You are our beautiful mortal, and we are caught in your tenuous web. Don’t wish us gone.”

His fingers dip down and slip between my legs, tracing through my slick folds before sinking into me. With his touch, euphoric rapture clouds my vision and blurs my thoughts.

I feel as if I am one of his transcendental roses, blooming from the inside out. If he produced a dagger and pierced the flesh over my heart, I am certain that silky white petals would float up out of the wound.

With a soft exhale— just a light puff of sweet breath in my face, he makes me cum. The orgasm builds me up beautifully and then deconstructs the fiber of my very soul with stunning precision. I explode into light, into

love, into creation...I find myself in the Before for a moment, the place where we all begin and end. He takes me there, he gives me everything, and then waits patiently for my return.

My eyes find his slowly as I twist and tremble and cry out to him, unsure of what to do with the static pleasure drowning out my lucidity.

"We are real." his voice rides in on a wind of magnolia scented air that clouds my head further and pushes you towards sleep. Deep sleep. I give in to the warm sand that I feel blissfully buried under and my eyes flutter closed. His heartbreaking beautiful face is the last thing I see, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

When my eyes blink open, the room is bathed in what looks very much like afternoon light.

Jesus, how long have I been sleeping?

Last night's dream was the realest it has ever felt, I can almost smell him lingering on my skin.

"So much for Dr. Laura's sleeping on my back idea." I laugh, dragging my finger over Lennon's tank, careful not to tap on it, promising, "Breakfast after my shower."

I roll over, ready to climb out of bed and stumble into the bathroom, only to find a single alabaster rose nestled on the pillow beside me.

***

I stare at the withered rose that, despite being very dead and wilted, holds court in it's mausoleum of a bud vase on my nightstand.

Stupidly, I thought it might live forever, that my phantom lover might've somehow made it immortal just for me. But, watching it fade slowly into a shell of it's former lustrous beauty seems more than fitting, as my heart is caving in on itself and shutting down just the same.

It's been weeks since he, or any of them, have visited me in my sleep. Since they began coming to me it's never been longer than a few days between, and I am beginning to lose all hope.

I miss them terribly, and feel despairingly alone, but rather than distract myself, I welcome the heartache. If I let the sorrow go, it would feel too much like letting them go.

So, instead, I surround myself in hope, only to be disappointed over and over. Each night, I spend lengthy periods of time in the shower, shaving and exfoliating, buffing my skin until it shines pink and inviting. I wash my hair carefully and let the conditioner soak while dragging a puff bubbling with pomegranate scented body wash over my body. My after shower routine is just as intricate. It's all a fruitless effort to lure them home me.

Everything is for them. Are you still here? Do you still want me? Are you ever coming back?

Tonight is no different than any other night has been for what is quickly beginning to feel like an eternity. I’m curled up in a ball under the covers, listening to vicious sheets of rain pound against my bedroom window relentlessly.

An occasional flicker of lightning bathes the room in a white, flashing light that illuminates the tears on my cheeks. Reality is blotted out by the storm, and I feel weightless and snug in my isolated pit of agony. If I can't have them, I want to stay here forever with my aching soul and piercing pain.

Somehow, sleep muddles through my misery and takes me by the hand, lulling me into the dreamless dark.

When I hear them, they sound very far away.

Calling my name as if from across a vast field of blurry space, guiding me into wakefulness bit by bit, as one would wake a small, easily disoriented, child.

"I've missed her." one ethereal voice laments to the other. "We've been away too long."

The other hums in agreement. "It was necessary. She needed to decide if she really wanted us to go."

"You know she didn't mean that."

"Yes. But she didn't."

I fight to wake fully, it feels as though I’m swimming against a current of thick, sludgy water, and I’m so, so tired, it would be as easy as breathing to fall back into unconsciousness, but they are worth every effort...I won't let them go without saying the things I need to say.

When my eyes open at last, I scan the darkened room rapidly, hungry for a glimpse of them. They are there, shadowy figures lingering ominously in the corners of my room, but there are only two.

The two that have chosen to return to me step forward in perfect sync and allow me the time I need to take everything in. I find that, once again, I’m crying. Only this time, my tears are of relief.

"I didn't think you were coming back," I sob quietly, bunching the blanket up in my fists. I feel like I could dissolve at any moment, and I need something tangible to hold on to. "I just...I needed you to come back and I didn't think you would."

"We missed you more, pet." My rose bearing god moves closer first. He strokes a gentle hand through my hair when he is near enough to reach out. "Don't cry, we're here with you now."

"I like your tears." the other smiles, now close enough to cup my chin, he leans in and sweeps his tongue over my cheeks, gathering the salt water tracks into his mouth. "But they taste better when they are expressions of pleasure."

I’ve never been given the chance to look upon this one so closely, and I cant help but study him with fascination, trying to commit every inch of his breathtaking features to memory.

He is exquisite, and so much like the other –I knew that already, I figured it out long ago, they are like different sides of the same beautiful, otherworldly coin– but up close like this, it's shocking...they could be twins, if such a thing even exists in whatever realm they are born of.

"Where are they?" I question softly of the missing two.

"They'll be along, pet." Light kisses are blessed against my temple. "Maybe tonight, maybe another night. You must have patience, immediate gratification is overrated. Remember?"

He places his palm over my forehead and draws forth a crystal clear memory; I am lying on this very bed pleading and writhing as he brought me to the brink of orgasm and then back down again, again, and again, until I was distraught with need and frustration.

"She remembers." the other dips his hand beneath my blanket and circles his thumb over my nipple. It jumps to attention and instantly hardens, his touch flipping a switch of unbridled erotisism.

"Please..." I trail off, unsure of what to call either of them. This has strangely never dawned on me before, perhaps because they have never allowed me to scrutinize them as closely as they are now.

They hear my query, though I haven't spoken it aloud.

"Our names are of a dead language. Your tongue, as beautiful and talented as it is, cannot form the sounds required for pronunciation, so we have chosen new names designed just for our beautiful pet." the spector shakes his glossy hair, tossing it over his bare shoulder.

“You may call me Jake. And this," he gestures to his companion, "Is Josh."

The names they have chosen come with an air of comfort, they make me feel safe somehow, though I can't be sure why.

"Think, lumen." Josh urges softly.

A look of confusion must cross my features because Jake clarifies "Lumen, bright, light, star. He is sentimental, and you are his lumen, his light."

"That you are," Josh concurs. "Now, think."

My mind wanders back deeper into the garden of my memories than it has ever before, and I suspect them of having a hand in it.

Suddenly, I find myself on a noisy, rambling school bus. I am carsick, and sad. It’s my first day at a new school, my parents fought the night through and no one thought to make me breakfast or wish me a good day. Looking on now as an outsider, I look so very small and alone. Until, the bus putters to a stop to allow a small boy to clamor aboard. He is slight and scrawny, lumbering along with a too large backpack strapped to his shoulders. Without asking permission, he plops himself down into the seat beside me. He has the prettiest skin I’ve seen in my six short years, it reminds me of the bitter coffee my Grammy used to stir copious amounts of milk into and sip all day until she went to heaven. 'Want a skittle?" he nudges me, asking like he's sharing a secret. 'Don't tell. We aren't allowed.' I watch as a tiny me plucks two reds out of his extended palm. 'Red's my favorite too.' he tells me, but then lets me have every single one as the two of us work our way through the bag. 'I'm Josh.' he smiles, and suddenly I don't feel so alone, I have a friend, and on that chaotic bus, we share a quiet moment, and I feel safe.

Emerging from the fog of memory, I squint hard at the one who calls himself Josh, searching his stunning features. "That was you? Have you been with me all along?"

"No," he caresses my neck. "I searched through your memories for someone who cared for you and made you feel safe. I borrowed his name, I hope you don't mind."

“I don't mind." I smile, turning my attention to Jake.

"Inquisitive isn't she?" he sighs with resignation and takes my hand in his own. He waits a beat, and then allows me to see.

The music is entirely too loud, and the floor is tipping this way and that below my feet. I’ve had too much to drink and everything around me is unfamiliar. The house, the people, the names being called back and forth. I’ve lived in this town for less than a month and I shouldn't have come. The girl from Trig who invited me along disappeared with her boyfriend ages ago. Stumbling through the kitchen, I find a sliding glass door on the far wall and slip through it. Stepping into the cool of the night onto a quiet deck, I instantly feel better ten fold. If I can just ride out the rest of the night here in the silence by myself, I’ll be alright. An unwelcome voice emerges from a shadowy corner 'Got a cigarette?' I shake my head. 'Uh, no, I don't smoke. It's terrible for you.' The voice, now connected to a kid I recognize from school, sighs. 'Oh well.' He shrugs and tugs open the sliding door, vanishing back inside. Later that night as sirens wail on the front lawn of the house and lights flash blue and red, announcing very big trouble for every underaged soul within the walls of the house, I feel a hand dart out and close around my wrist. 'Come on, Surgeon General.' The boy from outside tugs me along, leading me down a set of basement stairs and then out a dimly lit door. 'Head around back,' he points over my shoulder. 'I'm parked down the street, just follow me.' For some reason, for once, I do as I’m told, and before I know it, I’m tucked into his car, making my way safely out of the path of raiding law enforcement. 'Wanna get high?' he asks, reaching forward to pluck open the glovebox. He retrieves a blown glass bowl and a mostly empty baggy of weed, and before I can talk myself out of it, I’m sitting on the hood of his car pulled off to the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. I learned his name that night, Jake...and we smoked and stared up at the stars as if the sky was a painting we had created together, talking about absolutely nothing until the sun was beginning to curl her fingers over the horizon. Nothing else happened, I let him take me home and drop me off with a grin, and then I never really spoke to him again. It was just one of those things, and we took it for what it was and then left it...but that night, he had made me feel special enough to protect.

"And you borrowed from him?” I ask, shaking off the recollection. "Do you have access to all of my memories?"

Both of their fingers are now playing idly with my hair. "You guard some more closely than others." Josh whispers.

“You aren't ready for anyone to see those, even us." Jake finishes.

Their touch brings my body to life like a live wire, and the simplest stroke of their palms along my freshly washed, silken hair makes my back bow away from the bed and a long moan of ecstasy drips from my lips.

The entire room smells of them, warm and ancient, like flowers dotting a grecian sea a millenia's worth of years ago. I feel complete, and whole. At home in a way I never have before in my life. They are my home. They are my true north, and I want them forever. I’d sleep for a thousand years if it meant I could stay here with them, and the others.

The thought reminds me. "Are they coming back? And what do I call them when they do?"

Josh answers, talking over his darker counterpart. "They'll be back, and they'll tell you their names, and likely why they've chosen them, if you're inclined to know."

With a deep breath, I offer a meek "I think I know what you are." Feeling timid, now that I’ve uttered the words out loud. If I’m wrong- and I probably am- I’ll sound like I’m reading lines from poorly scripted horror film, at best. At worst, I’ll sound insane. And maybe I am. Insane, that is.

"Do you?" Jake lends a warmth to his tone that makes my stomach flutter.

"Tell us then, lumen." Josh parts my knees and settles himself between them. He nudges my jaw with his nose and speaks soft, tingling words directly against the shell of my ear. "What are we?"

Instinctively, I can tell he is intentionally trying to cloud my thoughts. They reside in the shadows, and that seems to be where Josh, at least, would like to stay.

Forcing myself to stay clear headed is no small feat, but I manage to hang on, even as slow kisses light over my flesh like pleasant flames licking at my body.

"I've researched." I suck a breath in sharply when his teeth sink lightly into my shoulder. He hums in response, sucking gently until I shudder and press myself tighter against him.

"So easily distracted." he teases in a hum, but my eyes are now trained on Jake, he is regarding me carefully, like he isn't underestimating me the way Josh seems to be.

My thoughts scatter when Josh snakes a hand between my legs, but Jake steps forward and places a hand on his brother's –as I have come to think of them– back. "Let her think." he instructs kindly. "I've grown so fond of the way her mind works."

His attention turns to me, pulling a soft moan from my lips just by training his eyes on my face.

“Tell us, pet. What have you learned?"

I have to claw my way out of the fog Josh has flooded my brain with, but somehow, I fight through.

“There were so many possibilities, but none of them were right, until one was. I knew it right away, I knew it in my bones, in my soul."

They wait in silent patience and the only thing left to do is say the word, so I do.

"Incubus." the title comes out hushed. "I know that's what you are— incubi."

"Clever girl." Jake breathes, sounding astounded and proud...also, a little pensive, as though he is treading lightly with me.

"You're not afraid, lumen?" Josh asks teasingly, clearly he already knows the answer to his question.

"I was only afraid you wouldn't come back."

Now Jake is leaning in, curtaining your face with his glossy , perfumed hair. "Do you not understand the concept of self preservation, pet?" he purrs into my ear soft as baby’s breath.

"I've thought about that, too." My confession rides out on a whimper as Josh kisses his way down my chest. "You're supposed to drain my life force every time you come to me, but I always feel more alive afterward. I feel younger, healthier, happier. Why is that? Aren't you taking what you need from me?"

"She worries for us." Josh murmurs against my sternum before lapping his tongue over the swell of my breast.

Jake chooses to ignore that comment and lifts my face to his. "You confound me, little lamb. So beautiful to look upon, but your mind? Your mind is the true beauty. I want to crawl inside your head and wander through the library of your thoughts."

Once again, he lays his palm over my forehead. "Show me a memory, pet. One of those you keep locked so tightly away."

Before I have a chance to ask how I’ll discern which they have already seen, he answers my unsung question. "You'll know."

Can he read my thoughts? Or does he simply know me well enough to understand what I’m thinking?

I flutter through the files of my memories and settle on one that makes the heart in my chest burn. Visiting it for even a second is horrific, but I want so badly to hold it out in my hands for them— it is an offering, a sacrifice.

I would relive it every day for them should they ask me to.

Jake looks down at me with unimaginable pain evident in his eyes, but when his hand lifts away from my head, I can't seem to remember why he might have cause to look so sad.

"It's gone now." he ghosts his fingertips over my temple, soft as a breeze.

I realize that he's a little less radiant. He looks tired now, faint smudges suddenly visible below his eyes.

"Jake." Josh speaks with concern. "You absorb too much. Be careful."

"I like it." Jake argues, bending to press his mouth to mine. "It's like having her alive inside of me."

I make a tiny sound of confusion and Josh responds by sliding back up to nuzzle my ear.

"We struck a deal for you, lumen." he whispers, stroking his thumb over my cheek. His voice is so soft and soothing. It lulls me effortlessly.

"For me?" I can't imagine meaning enough to these ethereal wonders that they might bargain anything on my behalf.

"For you." he confirms, fluttering his lashes prettily when I reach up to caress his face.

"With who?"

"Don't." Jake orders Josh in a low, menacing tone before he has a chance to answer my question.

A silent exchange passes between them, and then Jake is moving forward. There will be no further questions answered tonight.

Josh sidles over, making room for his other half, and dips his head down to take the peak of my breast into his mouth. He suckles slowly while Jake's lips fit themselves over mine. He licks against my tongue, allowing me to really taste him for the first time in weeks– and I want more.

"I want you in my mouth." I purr desperately.

He makes a positively filthy sound in reply.

"Which part of me would you like to have in your pretty mouth, pet?" he presses two fingers into the cradle of my tongue for good measure and I suck them like a cock-hungry whore.

His skin is inhumanly warm and he tastes of a thousand lazy summer afternoons.

"Your cock." I clarify, though of course he already knew.

"I love when you talk that way." Josh whispers through the gentle trails his tongue is blazing along my waist.

Dark entity from another realm or not, it seems shockingly mortal when Jake unzips his black leather pants and withdraws his breathtaking, and already hard, cock. He presents it to me like a gift, and I am elated to receive it.

"Slowly." he whispers, lovingly drawing me near. "I want to savor you."

My tongue spirals and flickers over the head– it's so swollen and plush against my lips that I wish he would keep it there forever. I toy with him gently, sucking and stroking delicately until his breath is quaking through every exhale.

Josh has abandoned his efforts to tend to my body in preference of watching the show, but he utters soft words of praise now and then so I’ll know that he's still present in the moment with me.

For his part, Jake keeps his eyes locked on mine as I gaze up at him through the thick fan of my lashes. He's quiet, save for his subdued moans of pleasure...until he isn't —

"What a vision you are, pet." he soothes, trailing his thumb along my jaw. "An angel sucking the wicked cock of a monster."

My circulatory system hums to life further at his praise. I want to tell him how wrong he is, that he isn't a monster. He is a god and I would gladly sacrifice my life for his. That I would throw myself upon a sword without hesitation if it meant that he might smile from the entertainment of it all.

Yes, I want to say those things to him, but that would require relinquishing his cock, and I’d rather not do that. Not now, not ever. To that end, I remain silent with his length locked in my mouth and buried down my throat.

Instead, I try to convey my opposition to his statement by adoring him with my stare.

In the end, I’m forced to stop anyway when he tips my chin up until length his slips from my lips. A frown furrows my brow at the loss, but Josh walks his fingers up my sides and puts a stop to it.

"None of that, lumen." He pulls a genuine laugh from somewhere deep inside me — simply brings it forth out of thin air. It flutters up out of my chest as they look on adoringly.

"Do it again." Jake whispers to Josh when my laughter subsides, and just like that, a second giggle floats into the room.

"That's better." Josh nods, smiling at my blushed cheeks.

They give me a moment to catch my breath, and then begin a leisurely path down my impatiently waiting form.

In retrospect later, I will see that their intentions should have been obvious, but in the thick of it, I don't see it coming. Because of that, I am massively unprepared when they settle side by side between my legs and lower their mouths to my center simultaneously.

Their tongues flicker on either side of my clit and with a guttural groan that I would never admit to, my back arches off the mattress and my hands sink into their hair, holding on for dear life.

Raising my hips to meet their obscene ministrations, I earn a rumbling growl and a rasping groan, respectively.

My mind wanders, imagining the picture we would paint if someone else happened to stumble into the room. Me, splayed out on the bed, panting and writhing, legs spread to accommodate both of them as they fight for purchase, burying their faces in my overheated, aching cunt. The thought of it alone is enough to wildly unravel me.

"Yes, yes, yes—-" the word spills from my lips steadily. But, again, I’ll remember that later. For now, I’m hardly aware that I’m even speaking, let alone practically chanting a mantra of ecstasy into the darkness of my room.

"Let go, Lumen." Josh urges, curling his fingers inside me as Jake sucks my clit into his hot, wet mouth. "We need it, come on."

Jake nods and pats my thigh in silent encouragement."

"Here she goes." Josh sounds positively beside himself with anticipation. "Can you feel that?"

Jake nods once more and I get the impression that what they are feeling isn't something physical that my body is doing, but something that is taking place within themselves. I’d like to think that over a little more, but it will have to wait.

"I'm gonna cum." I manage to choke out, though they're clearly already aware. "Fuck, please."

With a surprisingly whiny, coaxing whimper from Jake and a gently issued, "Give it up for us, angel." from Josh, I am sinking into a pit of satin, orgasming with a strange and beautiful slowness. The languid pace allows me to really feel it all. The pulsing clench of it keeps perfect time with my flickering heart. Wracking me with a sensual, careful, violent, euphoria.

It fades slowly, like the tide pulling away from the shore and then they are curling themselves up around me, whispering softly and stroking my skin carefully as they ease me back to the here and now.

"You did so well for us, pet." Jake breathes into the crook of my neck, a tingle travels down my spine, causing a little shiver to shake my shoulders.

"So well." Josh agrees, his palm presses into my stomach, soothing me physically while I fight to calm my breathing.

They look even more radiant now, if that is even possible. It reminds me of shining an already gleaming coin.

I know goodbye is approaching, but as they coddle me closer to sleep, Josh uses whatever hold he seems to wield over my emotions to keep any sadness at bay.

"You'll come back, right?" I sigh, sleep threatening to overtake me at any moment. "You won't stay away so long this time? I can't go through that again."

"We'll come back, lumen." Josh promises. "Very soon."

You stave off unconsciousness long enough for one last question. "Will you bring them back to me too?"

"Of course we will, pet." Jake assures just before I drift off into a dreamless void.

A/N: so I know this is a little different from my usual content, but I felt like stretching my wings and isn’t that what it’s all about? Anyway, this will be a 2, possibly 3 parter, so I hope you enjoy. I love you all so very much. Ps- Part 2 will have more of the obscene nonsense that you’ve grown to love 😏

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-flanveet-admin @gardenofgreta @greta-van-chaos @moonlightbrekker @theweightofstardust @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @shesalrightshesouttasight @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @kdarling1 @gretasmokerising @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @trplshotofdopamine @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @dakotadovato @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @kiszkashorizons @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @agirlwithmanytastes @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @janegvf @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @pardeeinsaginaw @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @loofypoofy @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @ohgotthisfeelingthatyoucantfight @prophetofthedune @gretavanflowerpower

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soyouthinkucanwrite · 3 years

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July 2nd - Daniel Ricciardo

Based on New Year's Day by Taylor Swift and this request by @spikejonzed

Fluffly, mentions of sex, banter, nothing graphic.

BTW, I don't know how I've never paid attention to this song, it's so so beautiful and honest. I've thought about this concept before though: the "Sunday afternoon effect", when all the excitement of the weekend wears off and you're just hanging out with your friends, laughing about silly stuff, or cleaning up the house after the party. The thing is, the friends that stay till then are the ones you wanna hold on to, and the same goes for lovers. I feel kind of bad... well not BAD but you know, must be hard... when you're famous and rich, to recognize the good ones from the beginning before you give yourself too much away and it's too late.

To be honest with you guys, I think Daniel must feel a bit lonely sometimes. We all do, but to think that people are only interested in you for your fame and money must be tough... something you worked so hard, that you keep dedicating your life to, to think that that thing is the reason for your heartbreak, to your loneliness... It's a two-edged sword, isn't it? Anyway, I wrote this little something with Daniel in mind, hope you guys like it. Hope he finds someone to be like this someday. Hell, hope I find someone to be like this someday. I think everyone deserves that.

Daniel woke up in his bed, no shoes, but jeans and party shirt still on. The light coming through the windows, shining directly on his face, threatening to make his headache even worse. He let out a groan and turned to the side. There's someone on his bed with him. Shit. He just remembered. Last night was the first time he was introducing (y/n) to his friends. His birthday "small get together" (or at least that's what it was supposed to be) was the perfect opportunity for testing the waters and giving the "next step" without making too much fuss about it, after all, they've only been going out for a couple months and with his tight schedule it meant a lot of facetime calls and weekends, but almost no weekdays and routine stuff.

Yet, he was absolutely smitten with her, she was fun and easygoing, passionate about her own work and friends, but still caring and interested in him. They had amazing chemistry, mind-blowing even. But Daniel had lived enough to know that hanging out with someone on the weekends and knowing their best side was one thing, living through daily and mundane stuff was a completely different thing. Where this could go was still a mystery to him and he didn't want to raise too many expectations before he was sure. Still, she looked so beautiful sleeping, a true vision. He tried to remember if something had happened last night, but judging by his clothes still on, and hers as well, he guessed not. As if on cue, she smiled, with her eyes still closed.

"Stop being creepy" she said smiling. "I can feel you watching me sleep"

"You're not even asleep anymore" he smiled and she opened her eyes. He was taken back by her eyes staring directly into his.

"Still creepy though" she laughed, getting closer to him. He held her and they stayed like that for a while.

"Are you ok?" he asked her.

"What do you mean?

"Aren't you hungover, or sick?" he asked again and she laughed.

"Not at all. I have this really weird superpower, you know, I don't get hungover. Ever, actually" she laughed.

"I don't believe you. I have the headache"

"No, it's true. We did drink a lot yesterday, though" she commented.

"Yeah, well, welcome to having Australian friends. No such thing as light drinking with those guys" he laughed but grimaced at the pain in his brain.

"I'll get you something"

"Huh?"

"For the pain" she explained getting up from the bed.

After a while she returned with a pill and a glass of water, passing them to him.

"Thank you, baby" he took the glass, finishing it. "Come back to bed now"

"Your house... like, I'm not even sure if I should tell you to take a look or just pack your essentials and abandon it" she smiled.

"Uhh" he groaned. "I'll call someone later"

"Like a constructor with a wrecking ball?" she laughed.

"It can't be that bad"

"It's bad" she started. "But we can manage it" He looked at her intrigued. "After a shower" she pulled his hand. "Join me?"

"If I ever say no to that question, just put me in an asylum" he said. "I need a kiss though, as motivation" he smirked.

"Noo... I have morning breath"

"What? Me too" he said pulling her down and kissing her anyway. "Uh, no. You're right. Yours is worst" he said laughing while getting up and walking into the bathroom.

"Asshole!" she laughed following him.

They stripped and got into the shower, taking turns in letting the water run through their bodies.

"Come here" Daniel said, putting some body wash in his hands and spreading them over (y/n) body.

"Hum... this feels nice" she said.

"You're so beautiful" he said kissing her shoulder.

"You're so wasted" she laughed lightly.

"Hey! I'm sober. I'm just too tired. Give me a couple hours to recover, and I'll claim my birthday privileges"

"Birthday privileges? It's not even your birthday anymore" she laughed.

"Okay, but first, it's the weekend of, and second, I didn't get any time alone with you yesterday"

"Fair. And what will be your requests, may I ask?" she asked teasingly.

"Humm... you're so creative" he said kissing her. "I'm sure we'll think of something"

They finished the shower after a while, enjoying each other's company and the comfortable silence.

"Did anyone crashed here?" (y/n) asked when they were stepping out of the shower.

"I have no idea" Daniel answered. "I just remembered going to take a nap and waking up this morning. Shit, we didn't... did we?" (y/n) laughed out loud at that.

"Wow! Really, Dan?"

"We did not. I would've remembered"

"Good save. Such a gentleman" she laughed.

"I drank way too much. Sorry. Don't be mad"

"It's fine. I'm messing with you, I don't remember anything either. To be honest, I don't even remember joining you on your 'nap'" she said making air quotes.

"We're the worst hosts" he said getting out of the bathroom and going into the closet to get some clothes.

(y/n)'s heart swelled at the thought of hosting a party with Daniel. There was something so intimate about that statement, so homey.

"You want a shirt?" Daniel asked from the other room, waking her up from her daydream.

"Yeah, sure" she took the shirt, some underwear, and some sweats. Then brushed her wet hair and looked in the mirror. Not a trace of makeup left. She sighed thinking about how falling into a routine with Daniel meant letting the barriers down.

"Alright, snap out of it" she said to herself, getting out of the bathroom and walking outside, to the living room where Daniel was standing rubbing his neck and looking around.

"This is bad" he said when he saw her joining him. There were empty beer bottles and cups all around the living room and balcony, pizza boxes (with half-eaten slices left behind) in the coffee table, party decorations hanging from the ceiling, and the kitchen was even worse, with liquid spilled on the ground and bottles everywhere. There was glitter all over the floor and the couch - someone had brought some of those party poppers, which looked so much fun yesterday, but no so much now. But the best part was the polaroids, left all over the house with the craziest poses.

"Pack your stuff, we're deserting this goddam hellhole" he said and she knew he was joking, he said that about everywhere, but she still shook her head and rolled her eyes, picking a polaroid photo from the ground.

"Everyone had so much fun" she showed it to him. "I loved meeting your friends"

He took the photo from her hand, it was one where (y/n) was sitting on the couch with two of his buddies from Australia, making funny faces while holding cups. He remembered the moment because he was the one who took the photo.

"How's the headache?" she asked him.

"Almost gone"

"Good. So you don't have an excuse. Move your ass, where are the trash bags?" she laughed going into the kitchen.

"Hey! That was very sneak of you" he laughed but followed her anyway.

They spent the next hour collecting bottles, vacuuming glitter, and just cleaning the whole house. Daniel complained the whole time, but in truth, he was very glad to have her there. Sure, he could just ignore the whole mess and hire someone on Monday to clean everything (he probably would still do that anyway, for the heavy cleaning like bathrooms), but it was really nice of her to just stick around, seeming unbothered by the housework. When she finished tying the last trash bag and putting it on the entry hallway she flopped on the couch besides Daniel, who had called it a day some good 10 minutes ago.

"Done?" he asked her.

"I feel like punching you for asking me that" she answered playing annoyed. He lifted his hand in defense.

"What? I did my part!"

"Men" she shook her head. "I'm surprised you haven't complained about being hungry yet"

"Well, I'm starving! Was just waiting to suggest going out, or ordering in"

"Ordering in, please. I don't want to get off this couch any time soon"

Daniel got his phone out to order some food. It was almost noon, so he thought about something like pasta, some carbs would be nice right now. Then he felt (y/n)'s head drop on his shoulder, her hand caressing his arm. It was such a sweet gesture, so understated, he just stopped what he was doing and looked at her.

"What?" she looked at him.

"I'm really glad you're here. Thank you"

"It's nothing" she smiled.

"I don't mean the cleaning. Well, that too. But just, thank you for being you and wanting to hang out with me, you know, after the party"

"I'll always wanna hang out with you, partying or cleaning bottles" she said and leaned in to kiss him. "Happy birthday old man" this made him smile through the kiss.

"Thank you, young lady" he said still smiling. "Let's feed you now, yeah?"

"Please! Let's get some carbs on this house!" she smile.

"Hey, guys!" (y/n) and Daniel looked up to see Luke, one of Daniel's buddies walking out of the guest bedroom.

"Dude! I didn't know you were here" Daniel laughed.

"Yeah, just woke up. Definitely wasn't hiding in the bedroom waiting for the cleaning end to get out" he grinned making (y/n) and Daniel laugh.

"You know what? Just for that, you're going downstairs to pick up the food when it gets here, and taking out the trash!" (y/n) teased him, tossing a pillow from the couch at him.

Daniel just observed while his friend and his girlfriend joked and laughed. He thought about how right now he was enjoying a feeling of contempt that wasn't really natural or much appreciated by professional athletes, but this time felt right to indulge in it. He felt safe like someone's got him, finally. He took (y/n) hand on his and squeezed it three times, he knew this was already a good thing, something to last. She looked at him, she knew exactly what he meant.

#Daniel Ricciardo #Daniel Ricciardo fic #daniel ricciardo fluff #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo fanfic #daniel ricciardo imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #daniel ricciardo oneshot

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midnightswithdearkatytspb · 3 years

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VelvetCardiganBucky’s Recommendations 2021: Week 16 | April 11th – April 17th

Welcome to week 16 of my recommendations, if you would like to be featured on a future list, I follow the hashtag #VelvetCardiganBucky, message me, tag me in your future works, or reblog this post and link to your story, one-shot, Masterlist, writing challenge, etc.

Be aware some if not most stories and writers on this list are meant to be consumed by an audience of those 18+. My blog is also an 18+ blog.

✨Page breaks are made @firefly-graphics✨

«Last Week

Week 17»

My Masterlist

My Fic Rec List of Mafia/Mob Bucky/Sebastian & Steve/Chris/Andy

Stuff I Posted This Week:

Lee Bodecker

One-Shots:

Rough Love by @ladyfallonavenger » Lee Bodecker x Reader — Lee wakes to his wife getting ready for the day. This work is inspired by the song Poker Face by Lady Gaga. | So very hot. 🥵

I Can’t Wait To Meet You by @not-a-great-writer » Lee Bodecker x Pregnant!Reader — Request: Lee doesn’t want to leave his pregnant wife’s side. | I summarized the requested one-shot up. It’s very fluffy and domestic and sweet. I say we petition for the user name to be changed not a great writer to a fantastic writer!

(Mini) Series:

*Give In 🎡 Pt.21 🎡 Pt.22 by @not-a-great-writer » Soft!Dark!Lee Bodecker x Shy!Reader — She didn’t think she was anything special. So when the intimidating Sheriff takes an interest in her, she can’t help but feel a little unsettled. Her boring life is about to get a little interesting. | Can I just say this story is just *chefs kiss*? Lee Bodecker? *chefs kiss* Reader? *chefs kiss* It’s just all so perfect and so is the smut.

Bucky Barnes

One-Shots:

I’m In The Water by @nsfwsebbie » Dark!Winter Soldier x Reader — He’s in the wind, and you’re in the water. Nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter. | Read the tags, this is extremely dirty as well as dark, but I honestly enjoyed it. Sabrina really blew my mind with this one.

Show A Little Gratitude by @thicccsimp » Bucky Barnes x Reader — You discover a new kink with Bucky after making a bad call during a mission. | Hot, Hot, Hot 🥵

Just Wondering by @infernal-fire » soft!dark!Buck Barnes x Reader — Reader is pregnant and has some mixed feelings. | This is sort of adorable, and pregnancy hormones really come out in this.

Sunday Kinda’ Love by @msmarvelwrites » Bucky Barnes x Reader — You weren’t sure when it happened, falling in love with Bucky Barnes. | Brontë is such an amazing writer who wrote something that made my heart squeal while the rest of me just thought it was really hot.

Don’t You by @pagesoflauren » Bucky Barnes x Reader — Bucky sees you for the first time after breaking up with you. | Taylor Swift and Bucky Barnes what more could you ask for in life?

(Mini) Series:

Just Like Dad 💋 Pt.2 by @ladyfallonavenger » Bucky Barnes x Reader — The Reader loses Bucky in the snap and life presents a whole new challenge. | It’s got your angst and your fluff, everything you need for a perfect one-shot.

Sweet Dreams Pt.3 ✨ Pt.1 ✨ Pt.2 by @jedimastermelkor » Bucky Barnes x Reader; Mystery Avenger x Reader — Your daily routine involves waking up in the morning, going to work and sulking at night. But then you meet the man you’ve fantasized about for your entire life, Bucky Barnes. At the same time, you’ve caught someone else’s eye and his first step in winning you over is to cook you breakfast. But will you be welcoming of that person’s affections? | You can tell Bucky really likes the reader in this and the reader has a crush on Bucky. Now you add Peter who you know has a crush on the reader. It's sort of adorable. I highly recommend it. It will keep you at the edge of your seat and your jaw hitting the floor a couple of times along the way.

Stucky

(Mini) Series:

The Miracle Pt.3 ✨ Pt.1 ✨Pt.2 by @heavenhatesme » Soft!Dark!Stucky x Reader — When infertility threatens mankind with extinction and there hasn’t been a baby for almost 18 years, what happens when two certain super soldiers fall for the same woman and accidentally impregnate her? | Heed the tags folks. I want to call them soft!dark, but they are pretty dark, but it’s up to you the reader to decide. The smut in this is great, and the storyline just as good, it also pulls on your heartstrings.

Vampires Will Never Hurt You by @missgraceomalley » Steve Rogers x Darcy Lewis; Bucky Barnes x Darcy Lewis; Steve Rogers x Darcy Lewis x Bucky Barnes — Darcy's been hiding something and Steve can't pin what it is. Can the serum help him? Or will he be compelled away? (AO3)| I love stories that take you on twist and turns, I also love vampires, add in Damon Salvatore plus the two Super Soldiers? You make me very happy!

*Brooklyn Wars by @world-of-aus » Mob!Steve x Reader, Mob!Bucky x Reader / Eventual Mob!Stucky x Reader — Childhood friends pulled apart by a move and a rivalry between families, will a shared promise of ‘till the end of the line’ be enough to keep them together. Or will a deal struck up gone wrong, and an indecisiveness to choose who your heart loves be the ‘end of the line.’ | I spent my Saturday morning re-reading this and loving every part and wishing for more. @world-of-aus is such a fantastic writer that doesn’t get enough recognition in my list.

Steve Rogers

(Mini) Series:

*His Koala Bear by @kinanabinks » Dark!Steve Rogers x Innocent!Reader — You and steve have been best friends since you were 5. for the longest time, he has wanted so much more from you. and it’s getting harder for him to stop himself from taking it. | Prepare for the emotional roller coaster this story is going to take you on and to change your underwear or perhaps to take a cold shower, maybe both.

*Lipstick and Crayons 🖍 Pt.5 by @oneoftheprettynerds » Dark!Mob!Steve Rogers x Single Mom!Reader — Steve can’t ever repay you for what you did. After meeting you, Steve believes his broken family is the missing piece in the puzzle of your own wrecked one. Indebting the crime lord to you has been the biggest mistake of your life, cause now you can’t get rid of him, no matter what. Loyalty and favours go a long way in the mob. | This story makes you feel like you are watching a Dark!Mob Romantic movie staring Steve Rogers. It’s just that good and I love it.

Ransom Drysdale

One-Shots:

Sugar by @chrissquares » Ransom Drysdale x Reader — Reader sees Ransom in his glasses for the first time. | Let’s be honest, I wouldn’t mind seeing Ransom in his glasses more often, especially if he looked like that.

(Mini) Series:

Stolen What’s Mine Pt.1 by @wanderinglunarnights » Ransom Drysdale x OFC!Charlotte Callahan — Charlotte and Ransom are up for the same promotion at the publishing house. She hates his handsome ass, especially when he steals the job as editor in chief out from under her nose. | Charlotte is sassy and she isn’t going to take any of Ransom’s nonsense, I love it! You can tell it’s going to be a good one!

Andy Barber

One-Shots:

I’ll Be Here by @candlefics » Andy Barber x Reader — Jacob grew up with you around. What happens when he’s convicted of murder, and his family falls apart? What will your relationship with Andy turn into? | I like this take on a show I have still yet to watch. It was sweet and emotional, a must read in my book.

(Mini) Series:

*Moment’s Silence Pt.3 🥞 Pt.1 🥞 Pt.2 by @syntheticavenger » Frank Adler x Reader; Andy Barber x Reader — The tumultuous relationship between twin brothers Frank and Andy takes a turn for the worse when Andy offers to wipe out Frank’s debt by asking for the one thing Andy wants that Frank has. | This story has me wanting to bite my nails in anticipation even though I can’t. So freaking good!

Misc.

Drabbles:

Good Behavior by @syntheticavenger » Dark!Andy Barber x Reader; Soft Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader — Andy’s special delivery arrives with a familiar face. | This is hot in a way you wouldn’t expect it to be, and I’m sort of wishing for a part 2.

One-Shots:

*Distractions by @rebelwrites » Jax Teller x Reader — I requested “Can you please put a shirt on?” | Let me just say this prompt was just so well written and it put a smile on my face. I would welcome Jax as a distraction any day, as long as he threw one of his signature panty dropping smiles my way.

Seal Team

One-Shot:

I’m Not Good Enough by @rebelwrites » Sonny Quinn x Reader — “So, we’re just going to ignore the fact that you drunk-dialed me to tell me you love me?” | This broke my heart than it fixed it. 💗

No Damsel In Distress by @rebelwrites » Clay Spenser x Reader — #3 and #13 for Clay Spenser. “Even when we were kids, i always kicked your ass!” And “How is my wife more badass than me?” | So hilarious and badass.

You Aren’t Allowed To Be Sick by @rebelwrites » Clay Spenser x Reader — “What do you mean you’re sick?! You’re my partner in crime!” | Clay can buy me flowers and take care of me any day.

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angellesword · 3 years

Text

MAGIC SHOP | JJK (07)

Description: You and Jungkook were best friends who were in love with each other. What would happen when Soojin, your half sister who you’re trying to impress, told you she’s in love with Jungkook too?

Alternatively:

“Would you believe me if I said that I was scared of everything too?”

Genre: childhood best friends to lovers, family drama, angst, fluff, idiots to lovers, pining, slice of life au.

Pairing: Architect!Jungkook x Architect!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: homophobia (Tae’s family is insisting he can’t be gay)

SERIES: CHAPTER 6 | CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER’S OST: Fix You covered by BTS

When you try your best, but you don't succeed

You closed your eyes the moment you heard the first line of the song.

When you get what you want but not what you need

Your heart was thumping, unable to bottle up the emotions that had been eating you for months now.

One year and seven months, to be exact.

You left Seoul, your hometown, nineteen months ago.

"Why can't we just eat at home?" Taehyung groaned, clearly not happy with how things were going right now.

You shrugged because you also didn't know why Yoongi and Jimin decided to have dinner at Per Se, a fine dining restaurant, tonight.

Did they forget that you and your brother were broke? The both of you couldn't live life like you once did in Korea.

Life in the city that never sleeps was different. You still had a job, but you were no longer an architect, deciding that it was best to pursue graphic designing instead.

You worked from eight to five pm in an office now. Gone were the days you visited construction sites. What you created at your current job were images, logos and even diagrams.

When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep

You loved your job, unfortunately your compensation was not enough to keep you going, making you feel like you were:

Stuck in reverse

Your salary was barely enough to cover your rent and utilities expenses. Jimin, your roommate, knew this so he lent you his car, the same car Taehyung was driving at this moment.

You didn't want to borrow your roommate's car at first, but Jimin insisted, saying that he had a new car and that he didn't know what to do with the old one.

Jimin didn't want to sell it. He was a very sentimental person and the car was actually a gift from his parents.

So he let you use it. You were special to Jimin. He wouldn't mind that you and your brother were using something that he loved.

"Fuck it. I'm going home," Taehyung announced, suddenly turning right.

Your eyes widened, ready to scold him.

But you didn't. Now when—

And the tears come streaming down your face

—he was crying.

You gasped, but you quickly pursed your lips into a thin line. You also looked outside the window of the car, refusing to look at your brother.

You didn't want him to feel like you were prying or that you felt bad for him. No. Taehyung didn't appreciate empathy. For him, it was just the kinder version of pity.

He didn't need you or anyone to feel bad for him as it would only make him feel like his decision was wrong.

When you lose something, you can't replace

When Taehyung moved back here in New York, he lost something that he could never replace: his family in Seoul.

You remembered why your brother lost contact with the Kims. It happened almost two years ago.

"I'll just change," was your excuse so that you could get out of the dining area and also because you knew Jungkook would follow you.

You had to talk to him.

You had to remind him again not to tell anyone in your family that you and him were dating.

You thought it would only be for the meantime; however, you changed your mind after your father explained why he wanted Soojin and Jungkook to get married.

It was for Castle, the company your mother, Taemin, and Jong-in all built together.

How could you let the empire fall?

Apart from this, you saw how Soojin looked at your boyfriend. She loved him. Maybe more than you could ever love Jungkook.

When you love someone, but it goes to waste

You didn't want Jungkook's love to go to waste. You didn't deserve him. He deserved Soojin, someone who could love him dearly.

"Jungkook, as we are saying—" Sin-ae tried to open the conversation again the moment you disappeared from the scene.

Your best friend cut Sin-ae off though. You were right. Jungkook was going to follow you.

"W-Wait! Jungkook! Where are you going?" Sin-ae panicked, getting up so she could follow Jungkook.

Sin-ae could tell that this situation was starting to upset her daughter. Soojin was gritting her teeth, tears filled her eyes.

"Mom. Let Jungkook be." Taehyung said, stopping Sin-ae from running after your best friend. He just knew Jungkook's going to go to you. You and him clearly needed some time alone.

"No. I still have something to say to that boy!"

"It can wait." Taehyung clenched his fist. "I have something to say to you too. It can't wait."

"What is it?"

Taehyung had the undivided attention of his mother now. Admittedly, every member of his family was focused on him, waiting.

Taehyung gulped.

It was now or never.

"I'm gay."

Could it be worse?

Was telling his family about his sexual orientation the worst thing that could happen tonight?

Maybe.

It was the worst because he didn't think this through. It just happened. It was the only way he could think of to stop them from meddling with your relationship with Jungkook.

"You're what?" Taemin's jaw ticked, eyes turning dark as he turned to his third born son.

Lights will guide you home

Taehyung's heart skipped a beat. He was nervous but he didn't regret anything. He was certain that the truth would guide him towards light.

And ignite your bones

He would be free after this night.

"Taehyung..." Sin-ae held onto the head of the chair, grasping for support. She felt like she was going to faint.

This night was stressing her out so much.

"A-Are you sure? I-I..." Sin-ae swallowed hard. She was shaking. Soojin caressed her mother's hand.

"What if you're just confused? Have you dated women before—"

"Yes. I dated seven women. All didn't work out."

"B-But..." Sin-ae tried speaking again, however she trailed off.

Taehyung shrugged upon seeing her mother's expression. He continued eating his food as if nothing happened.

"Sorry it came out of blue. I didn't want to shock you, but seeing how this dinner turned out, I didn't really have a choice but to tell you."

"What do you mean by that?" Namjoon creased his forehead, he obviously didn't like what his younger brother was implying.

"Well, it seems to me that you all know about the engagement party, but you still didn't budge even when it's clear that Jungkook doesn't want to marry Soojin."

Taehyung shrugged before speaking again.

"I don't want to go through the same thing, I guess? I don't want you all to suddenly force me to marry some rich girl. But! If it's a rich guy, I might just agree—"

"Kim Taehyung!" Taemin's voice was like a thunder when he cut off what his third born son was saying.

And I will try to fix you

"Stop your nonsense right now!" Taemin shouted, as if it was going to fix something, as if shouting would suddenly change Taehyung's preference.

"Ouch, dad!" Taehyung pouted, clutching his chest. "Don't be mean. This is not nonsense. This is me telling you the truth about myself..."

The third born son was trying to joke around, thinking that it would at least calm his family.

"I like boys, dad. I let them do me—"

Taemin abruptly stood up. He was holding a table knife, ready to attack Taehyung.

"I said shut up!"

"Yeobo!" Sin-ae hugged her husband.

Seokjin and Namjoon stepped up too, protecting their brother.

"Father, you are overreacting." Seokjin said, hiding Taehyung behind him.

"My son tells me he's a faggot and you're telling me to calm down, huh, Kim Seokjin!?"

"There is nothing wrong with being gay, father. What's wrong is harming people just because of their sexuality." Namjoon said this, touching the hinge of his eyeglasses to stop it from slipping down his nose.

Taehyung's brothers never defied their father, but they would never stand still if Taemin did something to hurt any member of their family, except you. Seokjin and Namjoon didn't care about you.

"It's okay, hyung. You don't have to defend me." Taehyung smiled at his brothers before switching his gaze at Taemin.

"Tell me, father. If I don't 'stop this ‘nonsense,' what would you do to me?"

"I will disown you." Taemin snarled, pushing Sin-ae away from him. "You won't receive anything from me."

"Ah, you will disinherit me. I see..." Taehyung smiled, though his heart was breaking apart. "Okay, then. I will make things easier for you."

"Yah! Kim Taehyung, what are you talking about?" Soojin glared at her brother. She wanted to slap him. He was being stubborn!

"Well, father can't disinherit me, his legitimate heir, just because he wants to. But like what I've said, I'm gonna make it easy for him." Taehyung slightly raised his shoulders. "I'm disclaiming my inheritance. I'd rather be broke than have a homophobic father."

Taemin was about to attack Taehyung, but Sin-ae hugged him once more.

The corner of Taehyung's mouth quirked up as he placed his car keys and card on the table, a proof that he would not take anything from his father anymore.

"Don't worry. I will also pay back everything you spent on me since I was a child." Taehyung bowed down. "Thank you for everything. Goodbye."

And high up above or down below

You blinked back to reality after remembering the reason why Taehyung left his family. The way he told you that story made you feel like you were there when it happened.

But you weren't.

You were busy breaking your own heart.

When you're too in love to let it go

You went straight out of the mansion after mumbling an excuse to your family.

"Hey..." Jungkook followed you, grabbing your wrist.

"I told you not to tell them." You twisted your hand, a not so subtle way of asking him to let you go. His palm was hot, but it was causing you to shiver. You didn't want to be touched by him.

"I didn't—"

"You almost did." You snarled, becoming more frustrated as time passed. "You broke your promise to me."

"Tiger..." Jungkook called softly, trying to hold your hand again.

You walked away, as if you were too scared to stand closer to him. You were. You didn't trust yourself when you were around him. It was like you wanted to just bury your face in his neck. You knew Jungkook felt that way too, but he shouldn't. You shouldn't.

You were in the territory of the Kims. All of them wanted Jungkook to marry Soojin. They would most likely scowl if they saw you being intimate with your 'best friend.'

"I'm sorry..." He said, still following you.

You were headed to the garden of the mansion. No one really went here at night. There were just too many mosquitoes here.

"I won't break my promise again." He said softly. Jungkook was trying to catch your gaze.

You avoided it.

You couldn't look at him as you said "of course it won't happen again. You can't say something that isn't true anymore."

"What do you mean?"

But if you never try, you'll never know

"I'm breaking up with you, Jungkook."

"What?" He was breathless. Your cruel words knocked out the air out of him.

"You heard me." You said simply, still avoiding his gaze. Do not look at him or you'd break, you reminded yourself.

"Y-You're kidding, right?" And he still couldn't believe what was happening.

No. This couldn't be true. He just had you. He was just starting to show you how much he loved you. Why were you pushing him away again?

This wasn't fair.

"You're engaged, Jungkook. To my sister." You gritted your teeth, looking down at your feet. You could see a mosquito sucking your blood there. It hurt.

"You know I don't joke around when my sister's happiness is at stake—"

"What about your happiness?" Jungkook cut you off. And mine?

"I'm happy when Soojin is happy, when my family is happy."

"What about me?" His voice was so small when he asked this, like he was ashamed and hurt. "Am I not your family too?"

Your stomach churned. Your tears fell, you saw your teardrop hitting the mosquito sucking at your foot.

Your foot hurt. Your foot itches.

You were focusing on the wrong things. You complained about the wrong things.

Your heart hurt. But you didn't care.

Your foot. It itched.

Just what you're worth

"You are." You blurted out after a few moments of silence. Would it feel good to scratch your foot?

"That's why I'm ending this. I don't want to hurt you any further..."

You're not hurting me Jungkook was about to say this. You didn't give him a chance to speak though.

"I can't love you, Kook..."

Lights will guide you home

They said lights would guide someone home. Lights helped people see. It helped them so that they wouldn't stumble in the darkness, into something they couldn't possibly fight.

For the longest time, Jungkook believed this. He thought you were his light, guiding him—leading him towards home.

Home was supposed to be safe and it should bring comfort—this was what Jungkook longed. A home.

And ignite your bones

A home full of love, laughter—just things that would ignite his bones, that would make him thank the Maker for giving him life.

"Why not?" Jungkook managed to ask even though he was breaking inside.

All he could think about was your cruel words.

I can't love you, Kook...

It meant he was hard to love, right? He was hard to love despite the fact that he was trying his best. He was good. So good—too good, but it wasn't enough.

There was no home to come to.

Your foot still itches.

"Because I'm broken." You were stupid to think that you could fill his heart with love.

Love didn't work like that.

Jungkook shook his head violently. He knew you didn't want him to touch you, but he did.

He couldn't stop himself.

He took your face into his hands, feeling your skin. He was touching you like he was making sure you were real.

"And you can't love someone when you're broken."

His response was instant.

"Then let me try to fix you." He said this as if it was easy.

You cackled. This was better than sobbing.

"Too bad..." You finally had the courage to meet his gaze. You looked at him dead in the eyes, saying this: "Because I don't want to be fixed."

Jungkook was right.

You were his light.

You were his light, but you weren't going to guide him home.

You were the light that was going to blind him.

"Goodbye, Jungkook." You smiled.

And then you walked away.

This time Jungkook didn't follow you, but aside from this nothing else changed—well except that you weren't looking down anymore.

You looked up, remembering that when you kissed Jungkook for the first time, the moon and the stars were there to witness it.

The moon and the stars were still here.

This time they witnessed how you broke Jungkook's heart.

Damn. Your foot still itches.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #ficswithluv #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #armywriterssupport #jungkook x you #bts fic

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sophi-s · 3 years

Text

After three days. Three freaking days.

It is finished.

A kiss to die for

By: sophi-s (me)

Words: 4,531

Franchise: Darksiders video games

Characters: Fallen!Astarte, Abaddon

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, near death experience, angst, necromancy, I changed the storyline just a tiny bit for the purposes of this, Abaddon gets his ass handed to him by his ex :P.

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Eden. The first gift from the Creator himself to the Humanity. A home for the First Ones. Once, an indescribably beautiful place full of grand trees and fresh, soft grass, flowing with cool, crystal clear waters. Colorful fruits growing in the trees, a delight to eye and tongue. Within, no danger could reach Humanity's ancestors. Truly a paradise the first humans rightfully called it. But now, after a great war that took place here, seemingly not that long ago, the great garden was left scarred and burning. Made into a tomb for those who sought to claim it. Bodies of Nephilim were left to burn and decay, forgotten and abandoned.

However, something has changed. A dark shadow passed over the sacred graveyard, leaving only madness and corruption in its wake. Those who perished picked themselves up from the ground and lashed out at Eden's guardians. Surprised and unable to respond with a coordinated defensive, the Faneguard had to call for retreat after their leader, Malahidael fell to the blades and arrows of the living dead. Amongst the scattered angels was the general of Heaven's Legions. Trying his best to keep his brethren focused and plan a tactical escape.

At least that's what he was trying before. Before he saw the cause of this nightmare. Now, outstretched on the ground in the dust, he forced himself up onto his elbow as he crawled towards his discarded blade, clutching at his chest that felt as though it had been caved in after a charging monstrosity trampled him in full speed.

How could this happen?

Fighting with his chaotic thoughts, he finally got a hold of the hilt but when he turned around, it was already too late. A large paw armed with razor-sharp claws landed on him, pinning him down and successfully immobilizing his lower half. And then his own blue eyes stared up into a pair of white ones, the same eyes that doomed him from the moment he met their gaze for the first time. The eyes that occupied his thoughts when he was awake and his dreams while he slept. Eyes of Astarte.

But what stood above him… this thing, this monster was Astarte no longer. From the waist up, the woman was stunningly beautiful as she always was, with her pale white eyes and long flowing, platinum blonde hair. But her legs have been replaced by a body of a feline beast with wings coated in blackness of corruption, feathers shimmering with red glyphs. A wicked smile was twisting her petal like lips and wherever her clawed paws fell, the dead bodies shivered and rose, called back into the accursed unlife. Utter insanity shone in her eyes.. Keeping his stone façade was no longer possible as inwardly he was falling apart. Astarte. The same Astarte who would kill and die for him, the same who he trusted more than anyone. The same Astarte he dared to love. Her smirk grew wider as she chuckled.

"Who do we have here? The great general of Heaven's Legions Abaddon himself!"

The unfamiliar taunting tone of her voice sent a shiver down his spine, as did the way she bared her teeth in a disturbing grin. Giving the large paw a tug to try and wriggle free, quickly realising it's pointless as the damned thing didn't even budge, Abaddon took a struggling breath, pretty sure his sternum was damaged if not broken.

"Astarte…"

His voice came out as a broken, pleading whisper. He still couldn't… or maybe he didn't want to… cope with what he was seeing clearly like on the palm of his hand. Astarte, his most formidable soldier, the strongest of them all, and the only woman in the Universe he felt something special for… Fallen into the vice-like grip of Lucifer's corrupting influence. Gone was the gentle smile that crawled its way up onto her face whenever she spotted him. Abaddon swallowed thickly when he noticed the spear in her hand poised to strike and carve his broken heart out from his chest. Astarte would never harm him…

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

She scoffed and used her other paw to press his right arm to the ground should he try to take a swipe at her. But they both knew far too well that he couldn't have, even if he wanted to. Astarte leaning over him was still the one his heart yearned for, still beautiful just… in a different, more horrifying way. Through the ringing in his ears after his head cracked against a rock, he could hear someone call out to him but whoever it was, they were successfully pushed back by the horde of undead Nephilim.

"Astarte, don't do it.."

He quietly begged, even though he never begs. Seeing her like this, twisted and bestial, did something to him he couldn't quite comprehend. Touched that part of his soul he didn't even know about. Strangely enough, even in her madness, Astarte must've sensed something in him that gave her a pause as she curiously tilted her head to one side. All the moments, even the shortest ones, he'd spent with Astarte in the past were flashing before his eyes. Every time they had one another's back in battle, every time one saved the other's life, every time they spoke about the things they would never tell anyone else whenever they were alone. And that memorable moment when they stood together, away from the prying eyes that moonlit night. Abaddon was listening to her as she asked him if what she feels is right, if there's any possible way he feels that way as well. He almost laughed at her obliviousness and the fact that his love was there before she even realised her own. Of course.. He took her hands in his and gazed into her eyes, absolutely mesmerized, waiting for permission to finally grant her the proof of his love and devotion, one which she silently gave him with a nod and a smile.

"I would walk through the fire of Nine Hells for you."

He said before leaning down to place a chaste kiss on her lips. A kiss, stolen kiss he was dying to receive. It was very brief but still felt like his first flight over the White City. Liberating, wonderful and equally as intoxicating. Those were the most beautiful memories he'd ever made but now they were like a parasite buried deeply into his brain, one that refused to leave his head, reminding him of better times and cackling maniacally at him as the present was coming undone before his very eyes. He wanted those memories to go. But there was no escape. Neither from them nor from Astarte herself.

"Look at me.."

"I am."

"Please, come to your senses. It's not you.. You need to fight it, I know you have it in you. Don't leave me like this… Don't you remember everything I'd done for you? Everything you'd done for me ?"

For a second, Astarte's grin fell, making place for a thoughtful expression and for this short second Abaddon dared to hope that there's still light in her. That he somehow managed to get to her. But all these hopes were taken away when she shook her head and looked at him… not with anger. It was pity, plain and simple as she spoke in a condescending tone.

"Fool. So loyal and righteous. Look around! The war had ended long ago, yet we remain stranded in this forsaken tomb! We've been abandoned and no one will set us free if we don't do so ourselves! Don't tell me you cannot see it."

He couldn't believe his ears. It wasn't the honorable and just angel he used to know. The Astarte he knew was gone. This was a twisted monster bearing the visage of his dearest, taunting him with her beauty that was always keeping his hand paralyzed whenever he tried to strike her even though his life depended from it.

"I have chosen my path, Abaddon. And you can walk it with me.."

Abaddon eyed her hand warily as she stretched it out to him, offering him help in standing up. He was torn. On the one hand, he so, so wanted to accept and be with Astarte as he used to. No one would take her from him ever again. But taking her hand would also mean slipping into the hateful darkness. Welcoming the sullying blackness inside and succumbing to madness. Straying from the light and forsaking his duty in favor of the same accursed power that destroyed her.

It was a dangerous thing, this love.. Pushing even the most reasonable people to do unthinkable and dangerous things in the name of it. More often than not at costs that rarely make it worth it. Lucifer knew this. And he used it as a weapon against Abaddon by turning Astarte. He knew not what the Dark Prince offered her but it must've been worth losing oneself. Astarte was now Lucifer's servant, not the love of Abaddon's eternal life. He couldn't… he couldn't end up like her. His already bleeding heart screamed out with anguish when he finally gathered himself to speak.. and refused.

"I… can't do this, Astarte. Not even for you…"

"That's a pity…"

Abaddon grunted in pain when the pressure on his wrist increased to the point when he could feel his bones beginning to crack. And then as suddenly as it appeared, the crushing weight was gone, both from his arm and his chest. But he wasn't free. His breath was abruptly cut off when Astarte's slender fingers, which often fiddled with his hair when he had a moment to lie down and rest after a hard day, looking up at her sitting beside his head, before all this, mercilessly curled around his throat and lifted him up to her eye level until his toes could no longer reach the ground. She was strong. Stronger than he remembered. His left hand grasped Astarte's wrist as he tried to struggle free while he raised his sword to attack. But… looking deep into her eyes, at her face, mouth curved in a poisonous sweet smile, the silken skin of her cheeks… His hand trembled. Once again he proved her and himself he doesn't have it in him to do this. Damn it all. This one, seemingly harmless emotion was what ultimately led him to his own doom. If he'd never fallen for Astarte he wouldn't be here, flapping his wings madly in an attempt to wriggle out of her hold. But he couldn't command his heart. It would not listen to him.. Abaddon couldn't simply stop loving Astarte. Her eyebrows furrowed in a gentle frown and he felt the tip of her gilded spear press insistently against his abdomen, right under his ribs. Cold sweat began to bead around his brow. Oh Creator…

"Fret not, love.."

Astarte purred, making him finally stop beating his wings and look her in the eye again only to see an unsettling spark in there. Despite the obvious danger, hearing her call him her "love" in this deceivingly sweet voice still made his racing heart skip a beat.

"It won't be long.. And when you die, you'll be forever at my side. Just as you desired."

As a monster, not unlike her. A living corpse that defiled the natural order by its existence itself. He didn't want to go like this. What an end it is for a general of Heaven? Killed by his own lieutenant and brought back to life as a shambling husk of what he used to be? Preposterous. Cold lump of fear settled into the pit of his stomach. He could only count seconds. One.. two… it didn't even come to three when the blade sunk deeply into his flesh, piercing the armor as though it wasn't even there in the first place and running him through. After all, the spear was created specifically to fight armored opponents… Abaddon wanted to scream out in pain but the wail of agony was cut short by the firm grasp on his throat that stopped the air escaping his lungs. Pain clouded his vision but did not silence his racing thoughts. He was weak. He couldn't strike Astarte down as his enemy, denying her the well deserved rest and falling to her blade like a fool he felt like. He struggled to breathe and keep his eyes opened when he felt Astarte loosen her ironclad grip on his neck and move her hand to his face, oh so gently pulling the strands of his hair, matted with sweat, to the side and behind his ear before placing the same hand on the back of his neck to keep his head still. He gasped for air through his opened mouth as blood was beginning to well up in his throat and dribble down his chin. And then Astarte unexpectedly leaned in and decisively captured his lips with her own, granting him the final kiss for a farewell.

Abaddon's eyes widened in fear and shock but even though the pain of the spear through his side, he found himself going slack in Astarte's arms. His ornate blade clattered to the ground when his fingers unfurled and let it slip out. No strength remained within him to even try and respond to Astarte's lips, even if he wanted to. But what he hoped to be his last comfort turned out to be nothing more than a cruel torment with how cold and meaningless the kiss felt. It was nothing like the one back in the White City. Hollow seconds ticked by. It tasted only of the blood flooding his tongue and the bitter defeat. No love, no passion and no feelings remained in her black heart. Only the empty void and tasteless ashes… Monster. Astarte no longer… She would never hurt him…

Astarte knew him and all of his weak spots all too well. She knew how and where to strike to make it hurt. And this last kiss was only a tool to her. There wasn't any physical pain anymore when she finally pulled away with his blood painting her lips in deep crimson and let his body slip down the spear to collapse onto the shriveled grass. The last thing Abaddon saw before numbing darkness swallowed him was Astarte delightedly licking his scarlet life essence on her mouth and teeth before she hummed contentedly

"Farewell, my love. I'll see you again soon enough…"

She stood close, gazing at the distant stars shimmering in the black sky.

"The night sure is beautiful."

"It is. Even more so with you around."

"Tsk. Sweet-talker…"

In the impenetrable black, Abaddon heard nothing, saw nothing and felt nothing aside from the dull ache within his chest. Betrayal… Every beat of his heart was a torture. He couldn't even tell if it was really beating or not anymore. It bled ceaselessly. Craving for the lost love. Crying out to Astarte as something started to tug at the strings of his very soul. Trying to pull him free from his still body that refused to move no matter how much he wished to stand or at least sit up. Memories were passing all too quickly through his head. Eyes shining with uncertainty, a relieved smile as he staggered upright with a pained grimace that was supposed to be a comforting smile..

" Are you certain everything is alright? For a moment there I was afraid you were gone.."

"Never, my light. I would never leave you."

He wasn't going to the Kingdom of the Dead, he was certain. Astarte would make sure of it.. Curse Lucifer.. curse this wretched feeling still coiled in his chest, like a festering plague. Warriors of Heaven are people of unbreakable steel. Calm and collected beings of logic. But when it comes to honest feelings, there's nothing in between. They either don't care or love to the death. And when they love and it all falls apart, their hearts break like no one else's. No, they don't even break… they shatter to a million pieces like a frozen flower. And even if they are ever put back together, they're never the same. Those scars run too deep to ever disappear. Curse everything… Soft hair he tangled his fingers in, a heartbeat right beside his… warm presence next to him and a misleadingly delicate cheek pressed to the skin on top of his chest..

"What happens now then?"

"Doesn't matter. As long as we stay together."

"We will, Abaddon…"

He tasted the copper tinge of blood again as Astarte's voice echoed in his head when she swore to him. When he believed her..

I P R O M I S E .

Those two words… They meant a world to him. Even after he saw what Astarte had become… Abaddon desperately clung to those words like a drowning man holds onto the final breath until the very last second. And that was his downfall. She promised me…

The last memory of Astarte before all this chaos wormed its way into his mind. A less pleasant one. He could see there was something wrong with her back then. This was the first time they had a true falling out. Well.. can this really be called a falling out if it was just him being yelled at? Astarte was changed already. Something happened to her after the Nephilim slaughter. Something he had foolishly overlooked. Maybe he was just too preoccupied with his own grief? Blood tumbled down from her wound, painting both her and his armor in vibrant red from where a crude spear met her body…

It didn't take long for the last of the Nephilim to fall when this happened. She held onto life tightly as he led her deeper into the garden where healers would take care of her. Abaddon waited outside the tent, pacing back and forth until Azrael, who'd been tending to Astarte himself, walked out. A slender hand fell onto his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks and making him look at his old friend bearing a sullen expression. He'd never been so terrified in his life like in this short moment when he waited for Azrael to inevitably tell him that it was too late to help her but he merely asked Abaddon to come with him inside. Somehow, it was even worse. He saw her sitting on the edge of a cot, face pale, lips pressed into a thin line, staring at nothing. Eyes of other angels were on the three of them as the two archangels walked in. It was a relief to see her alive but there was no doubt that something was wrong. The patches of fresh crimson staining her trousers on her inner thighs only confirmed his suspicions. And Azrael didn't keep him waiting for an explanation.

"She was with child.."

The news hit him like a slug to the face. With a sack of bricks no less. Astarte, his beloved, bearing his blood in her womb. By all means he should feel ecstatic. He should rejoice. But this one word, this tiny word filled him with absolute dread. Was.

"The blade went deep.. There was nothing I could do. I'm sorry."

Who knows how long he stood there like a wooden stake? There was nothing I could do. Azrael was inarguably the best healer in the White City. He knew what he was saying. And yet… Abaddon found it difficult to believe his words. A child. His child. Died before they even had a chance to live.. It hurt more than any wound he'd ever received. When he finally could move, he approached Astarte and sat beside her, reaching for her hand to give her something to hold on to. But her violent reaction caught him off guard. She jerked away, her words dripped like acid.

"It's your fault. Get away from me!"

"Astarte, listen.."

"No! It never should've happened! Why would you do this to me?!"

This was the first time she called him per "you" in the presence of other angels. He knew not what she was truly going through but if his own sorrow was any indication, it must've been a nightmare. They'd lost something they didn't even know they had and it felt like the end of the world they'd built together. In a way, it was... Abaddon tried reaching out again but Astarte batted his hand away and leaped up to her feet despite the pain.

"Don't touch me! Do not speak to me, get off!"

"Astarte!"

He managed to call out before she stormed out of the tent, wrapping her wings around herself as a barrier that could protect her from the world around. Were it not for a firm grip on his arm, he would've gone after her. It was Nathaniel who stopped him. Abaddon looked at his friend, the right side of his face wrapped up in bandages just like his side he was keeping his hand over.

"It's not going to help. Let her go for now."

It's been a long time since he felt this lonely. He left the tent without another word, ignoring whatever it was Azrael was saying, and walked away from the camp like a wandering spectre who lost its way to the Well. And when he was far enough, he found himself collapsing on the ground, angrily hitting it with his fist as though it was the culprit here. They died without so much of a name.. Abaddon knew that what Astarte said wasn't true. He had no idea, it can't have been his fault… and yet this thought kept bothering him.

I should've protected you better. I have failed you.. both of you…

It took a couple of shaky breaths to collect his thoughts. Unable to do anything else, he pulled himself to his knees, clasped his hands together and started to whisper a prayer, seeking compassion in the Creator and his silent presence.

Astarte was already slipping after that and the prolonged stay in Eden only made it worse. She became distant and irritable, constantly itching for a fight, be it with words or blades. He thought she needed time to grieve. But this was something else. Something more sinister. Perhaps if he noticed it earlier.. done something… If only…

The odd tugging suddenly ceased and moments later a wave of comforting warmth washed all over him, gathering in his side where he was impaled. Deep within his chest, he felt his heart quiver, desperately fighting to keep beating. At first he thought he was merely waiting for Astarte to pull him back into the land of the living as a detestable abomination but no.. He yet lived. His thoughts were abruptly dispersed when he heard voices, very familiar and concerned voices, break through, the buzzing in his head.

"Did that do it?"

"Is he even alive ?"

"Hard to tell. It doesn't look good.."

"No, it doesn't.. Do you think we got to him on time?"

"I do not know. I'm not even sure if- Wait, I think he moved."

Abaddon indeed stirred, prying his eyes open with no small effort, immediately regretting his choice after a far too bright light intruded underneath his eyelids, and descending into a fit of uncontrollable coughs, spitting out all the blood that remained within as soon as he took a deeper breath. Pain. Horrible, excruciating pain filled his chest. He had been right. His sternum was definitely broken.

Damn all of it. Damn Lucifer, damn the Nephilim and damn the blasted air that hurt his lungs with every breath. Mist eventually fell from his sights, revealing to him familiar, tired faces of angelic soldiers leaning over him with distressed looks. His men. The Faneguard. They survived. Some of them at least… Malahidael wasn't so lucky.. One of them, Fariel if his memory doesn't deceive him, was holding up Abaddon's hand in his, and held between his curled fingers, Abaddon noticed an emptied crystal, a used up healing shard glimmering in the sunlight as the energy that was channelled into his body began to close the torn blood vessels.

"Lord Abaddon. Can you hear me?"

Gasping for another bit of air, horribly weakened but still very much alive and likely to stay that way, Abaddon gurgled out a disturbing sound that was supposed to be a miserable chuckle. In honesty, it sounded more like a dying demon than a laugh.. It only served to agitate them even further until he breathed out with relief and nodded as no coherent word could form in his mouth. What happened to Astarte when he was on death's door, he could only guess. But one thing he was sure of. She was still out there. Raving mad and dangerous to all who step into Eden. The law was clear. Astarte had fallen into darkness, defiled the dead and raised her weapon against her brethren. This was not an easy decision but after what he'd seen and lived through, Abaddon was certain now. He tried to bring her back, save her from the hate that grew within her like a malicious weed. But she was clearly too far gone. He couldn't help her.. Too late. As always, he was too late. Whether Abaddon likes it or not, Astarte needs to die. There was nothing more he could do for her. But he won't be the one to play the executioner and the hand of justice. He knew he couldn't. He'd failed twice already.. It will be done, just… not now.

Perhaps another time… They were safe for now. And he needed to think… Abaddon lifted his free hand to his mouth. It was still there, this horrid sensation.. and he knew it won't go away for a long, long time. Resting his head against the ground, he exhaled heavily as blessed unconsciousness started to take a hold on him once more. He needed to rest. They all did…

Even as he was falling into the dark again, he could still feel Astarte's venomous kiss upon his lips. Burning like fire and sinking cruel claws into his chest. Would he ever forgive her for tearing his heart apart? Probably. It wasn't her fault after all. It can't be, can it? Would he ever forget, though? Unlikely.. Abaddon couldn't help but wonder… if it was all his fault? He couldn't command his feelings and order them to leave him. But still, he felt guilty. Not even for Astarte's fall anymore but for ever letting this infatuation control him. That's where this love had gotten him so far. It left him weak and vulnerable. It was beautiful while it lasted but now? Only suffering remained.

No wonder Heaven has such a disdain for love. It causes naught but misery and ruin. A dire thought invaded his hazy mind. It matters not what Astarte had done. He still loved her. Soon, she will be put to rest. And him? Well.. Every, even the greatest warrior has to fall in battle. Eventually… And when that day comes, he will be ready to embrace his end. When that day comes.. they will meet again. Maybe... But until then… His heart hastened even still as he took another breath and silently told himself…

…Never again…

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It.. it was supposed to be short? I did say short fic, didn't I? Uhh.. Whoops 😓

Also, Gimp 2 has nearly succeed in driving me nuts. In Poland we say "stand on eyelashes and clap one's ears" when something is nigh impossible. Yeah. That was that.

Btw, I take back everything I said about Abaddon's shoulder pads , they're mf'ing gorgeous 👌

#darksiders #darksiders fan fiction #darksiders genesis #my fic #darksiders astarte #astarte #darksiders abaddon #abaddon #here I go writing about that arsehole again XD #idk #I can't tag properly :P #my art #fan art #darksiders art #also .I.. Gimp #it's so hard to do decent stuff #it's not even that good :/

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yandere-society · 5 years

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I'm hoping that the request is still open. Can I please please request a reaction from yandere rap line where the OC finally explained why she can't accept their feelings was because she believed that she doesn't deserve to be loved then the rap line found out that the reason why the OC was thinking that way was because that's what her family and friends keep on saying about her so they can use the OC for financial gain. Thank you so much

Your Love is Not Enough

Word Count: 4.5K

A/N: I wanted to try and write longer. The ending is alright I guess. I was inspired by class differences in Gatsby.

Trigger warnings: yandere-themes, domestic abuse, manipulation, slight sexual tension, profanity, graphic language, alcoholism/alcohol abuse, slut-shaming, threats. Please do not read if you are sensitive to these topics.

“In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since. ‘Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,’ he told me, ‘just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.’”

― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

It was typical, overhearing conversations on the city streets as you commuted. The annoying voices of kids and teens would push you to the edge. They never knew how lucky they were. It was days like these that you wished you could slap some sense into these kids. Their constant bothering and nagging of their parents for these material things. It was also inconsequential in the end.

While they complained about their clothing, you never were able to afford the trends. You never needed them, but you couldn’t help the feeling of being worth less than someone just because of what you wore. It was a repetitive pattern: you would watch as their eyes drifted up and down as if they were judging what you had on. It ticked you off as you clenched your fists. The annoying voice broke into your thoughts again.

“My phone broke! What do you mean you can’t get me a new one?”

It was as if fate was stopping you from flying that kid down the street. Your phone vibrated in your pocket, signaling a phone call. Taking out your outdated phone that you never needed to replace, you looked at the caller ID. Your eyes grew wide as you quickly accepted it and put it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi, darling,” The smooth voice of your mother reached your ears, the velvety consistency of her voice that brought a warm feeling throughout your body. “Are you busy right now?”

“Uh, I am. Going to do class today.” You mumbled in an apologetic tone, walking across the street.

“I see.” A long and awkward silence was shared before she spoke again. “Your father is in the hospital. You know why. Just… If you have time, please give us a visit.”

“I understand… Bye.” You hung up, bringing your phone down as you hung your head down at the sidewalk.

Your notorious father… A huge hatred hung in your heart towards him and everyone knew it. He was the sole reason why your life had been so difficult. Drinking and wasting his days away, he dragged you and your mother down with him. In terrible debt, you struggled to support yourself at the most crucial point in your life, watching as your father spent the last of his paycheck on another case of beer. Instead of the notebooks you were supposed to store information in, the backpack which was supposed to hang on your back, or the folders to hold all your papers, you watched the last of the money selfishly spent on himself.

It was because of him that you refused and denied everything he was. His whole existence was an embarrassment to you. You studied grueling hours, always seen at the back of the library, your nose stuck in a book. The part-time job in which you worked for more than eight hours took pity on you, observing the way you saved your money to get that extra hour of tutoring. Your notebooks, filled to the brim with information as you desperately needed to ace the college entrance exam.

It finally paid off that fateful day as you got the letter of your acceptance, accepting to pay almost ¾ths of your tuition. You won. You forgot about your father, leaving his footprints and making your own path. The light was there at the end of the tunnel. Now you ran full speed ahead, hoping to forget everything of your past.

With a push of the door, you entered the campus library, walking to the special spot in the back. The rich architecture and wood that was delicately sculpted of the shelves brought about a calm and classy atmosphere. Your feet dragged on the soft carpeting, your eyes looking for the three blobs of hair in the corner. With a turn of the corner, three heads shot up as they saw your figure approach, two of them giving waves.

“Good morning, y/n.”

“Hi y/n!”

“…”

You smiled at the three men as they all gave you a gaze, each in their different way. Hoseok sat at the far left, his smile wide and eyes glittering as he looked up at you. He held a large textbook in his hand, a frame of glasses cutely adorning his face as they were on the verge of slipping off his face. His bubbly and exciting personality made it so that he got tasks done and quickly. He took charge regardless of situations and circumstances. While everyone was awkward and didn’t know what to do, Hoseok would propose something that everyone would try to follow. He started and initiated something, which made the difference. The existence of Jung Hoseok embodied “down to Earth”. He could get along with anyone. It didn’t matter. You were bound to end up liking him.

Which is how the man who sat in the middle ended up a part of this peculiar friend group. Yoongi, his head laid on the table as his arms propped it up, was the quiet one. Preferring to show his personality through equations and math, he was the one who silently observed everyone. His more expressive personality came up as he set fires on the countertops of the lab tables in the laboratory, watching as everyone panicked. He would always laugh at their scared expressions, standing with a proud smirk on his face.

“The tabletops are fireproof, you idiots.”

His dry humor was a huge breath of fresh air. He was “actual” comedy. There was never a doubt in your mind that he was judging everyone as if he was secretly planning world domination. He never denied it when you jokingly asked.

Namjoon sat on the far right, a notebook on the table and pencil in hand as his eyes drifted up towards you. His calm demeanor always set him as the mediator of the group. His love for biology connected the sentimental literature major Hoseok and the explosive chemistry major Yoongi.

It wasn’t difficult to bond with them. As they were already connected with each other, you quickly fit in. You were all bonded together with the love of learning. Before you had interrupted them, Hoseok was reading a physics textbook aloud, Yoongi translated it and broke it down as Namjoon wrote the easy to understand ideas in the notebook. You took a seat next to their assembly line of learning, watching with curiosity as Hoseok excitedly read the textbook. His excitedness made it seem like he was reading out of a children’s book.

Yoongi muttered and translated the complicated ideas softly to Namjoon. His voice was so quiet that Namjoon had to stop and ask him to speak louder. This definitely occurred more than once.

“Huh? What did you say? Can you repeat that?”

“I SAID-!”

“SHH! You’re in a library, yoon~” Hoseok chirped.

Your soft laughter would break them away from their little quarrel, a blush adoring Yoongi and Namjoon’s cheeks as they quickly went back to work. Hoseok would look up and watch in admiration as you laughed, your hand covering your mouth. From an outsider’s perspective, it would look as if a group of friends was goofing off, but to the four of you, you all loved each other.

It had not been long when you had realized you had fallen for these three boys. As you struggled with these feelings, you went to them, somewhat embarrassed, but more scared. Love was something you rarely experienced in your life. As you tried to hold back the tears of scars you didn’t want to reopen, they all embraced you, happy that you had come to them first.

The three of them had formed a pack, discussing ways to seduce you while also preventing any foreign intervention. They didn’t need to deal with someone who was just as smitten as them. Their toleration for each other blossomed into young love, as Hoseok charmed both men. They learned how to love the little quirks and charms of each other, believing that they were irreplaceable.

When you came to them, confessing your feelings, they all cried together. Hoseok had embarrassingly taken your first kiss out of elation, awkwardly crushing his lips onto yours. Yoongi ripped him off, not being to take the clumsiness of his affection. Namjoon stood in the back, awkwardly fiddling his fingers in embarrassment as his glasses slid lower on his face. He would cringe whenever he remembered the way his face heated up as he brought his lips onto yours, before ripping himself away. The sensation and the intense beat of his heart screamed out to him, saying how this was all he wanted. Yet, he felt a rush of insecurity at the thought of you ever leaving him. Leaving them.

As Hoseok ended on the last section of the chapter, he gently closed the top of the book flat on the table, a smile never leaving his lips. There was a calm silence that graced your group, but your smile faltered. The three pair of eyes observed your every expression, watching as they saw worry flicker in your eyes. On cue, Namjoon spoke up, his arm extending as he pushed your hair behind your ear.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“My father… He’s in the hospital right now.” You left out a sigh of annoyance which didn’t go unnoticed. “I’ll probably visit him after classes.” The boys hummed while Hoseok playfully tried to harmonize with the rest of their voices.

“Do you want us to come with you?” Namjoon asked, clasping his hands over his lap as he crossed his legs underneath the table. “We wouldn’t mind.” The two other boys nodded, agreeing with Namjoon’s statement.

“Yeah, I would appreciate that. I’ll text you the location later. Have to go now!”

You lifted yourself up from your seat as you gave each boy a small wave, off to your awaiting marketing class. As you disappeared off into the distance, their gazes grew dark.

“Do you think it’s a good idea to pay him a visit again?”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Hospitals. There was nothing great about being inside a hospital. It was sad, lonely, and filled with so many people with at least one thing in common. They were all hurt. Each patient had a story, one that you would be better off not knowing. The smell and the lighting all gave off an eerie vibe. There was nothing similar to home in a hospital. To you, it was no different from confinement. This was a place full of sad souls. And your father was no different.

The elevator ride was uncomfortable. It’s poorly dimmed lights tried its best to brighten up the small container, but there was no point. The old woman in a wheelchair was planted next to you as you subconsciously stepped away from her. You wanted to leave, but there was still a force that somewhat held onto you, telling you that it was the right thing to do. How you hated this soft part of yourself.

With a loud ding, the elevator stopped at your destination. The fourteenth floor, high above and peering over the city. Your sneakers squeezed on the smooth floor, walking over to the sign that was hung on the wall. You went left, towards room 13-4. You dragged your sweaty palm on the side of your pants, realizing just how nervous you were.

You didn’t pay your parents visits anymore. You don’t even know what compelled you to come here besides doing the right thing as their child. People would have told you that you shouldn’t go to see them. But even so, you couldn’t help but hold onto the naive belief that your father wasn’t always like that. Vague memories flooded in your mind as you stood in front of the door, unable to turn the handle. You reminisced about the memories of your early childhood and the small happiness that they gave you before everything came crashing down.

With great intensity, you pushed the door, stepping in and looking over at your mother who sat next to your father’s bed. Your mother looked up first, her lips curling up as she met your eyes.

“Hi,” you breathed out, suddenly out of breath. “How is he?”

“He’s just suffering from alcohol poisoning.” She replied, tapping his arm and shaking him awake. “Honey, y/n came to visit.”

The pet name made you internally cringe, the snap of bad memories of drunken fights that flashed instantly through your mind. Your eyes darted to your father, who lay in the hospital bed. His cheekbones were more apparent than before and his arms were skinnier, lacking the muscle that used to be there. A small smile graced the corner of your lips at the revelation that this man could no longer hit or pull you down anymore. As you stood by his bedside, you felt powerful, your eyes looking down and boring into his skull as he was forced to lay there.

A small knock broke you from your thoughts as you looked back, three men poking their heads in as they shuffled in. They all hung their heads low, ducking as if they were intruding on some secret plan. You had to stifle your laugh because they looked absolutely ridiculous.

“Oh mom, these guys are three of my friends in college.” You directed your hands towards them as they bowed politely, biting their lips from correcting you and admitting that they were dating you. Your father had awakened slowly, rubbing his eyes as he looked from your mother to the trio in the back. He held back from cursing out, “Who the fuck are these clowns?”

“Hello,” Namjoon started as he gave a polite full 90-degree bow. “I’m Kim Namjoon. It’s nice to meet you.” He nudged the rest of the two boys to go.

“Hi! I’m Jung Hoseok! Nice to meet ya~” He smiled wide, bowing, with his hair flicking up as he brought his head back.

“Hello… I’m Min Yoongi.” He murmured, bowing like the rest.

You father stared at the three men, grunting and turning onto his side. He laid expressionless as he looked straight into your eyes.

“Are you a slut now?”

Your mouth fell agape in pure disbelief. You couldn’t even find the words to describe your shock and the pure disgustingness of his comment. As you sputtered, the eyes of Namjoon and Yoongi turned dark while Hoseok no longer held a smile on his face, but instead completely blank.

“I came to see you and this is how you treat me?” You shouted, trying to keep your composure even though you felt the urge to slam the door shut and leave.

“Well, are you?”

“No!” You yelled, getting more furious by the second. You turned to the boys, your eyes pleading for them to step out of the room. They nodded, Hoseok staring straight into your mother’s eyes before heading out.

“What are their future careers?” Your father yawned, leaning his head into the soft pillow.

“Teachers for their respective subjects.” You leaned on the white stone of the hospital walls, taking deep breaths to dissolve your anger.

“Teachers?” He repeated in disgust. “They won’t make enough money, they’re teachers.”

You just had about enough of this. Your father had crossed the line, pushing each and every one of your buttons.

“And what would you know? You barely make any money in general, sitting on your drunk ass every day.” You grit your teeth, turning your heel towards the door.

“So what? You can’t be with three people anyways.” His voice stopped you before you could grab ahold of the handle. “You’re dating them right? Anyways, we don’t think they’re good for you.”

You snickered, glaring at him from the door.

“Just watch me.”

Your feet carried you as you sped down the hallway, lost in thought.

I’ve overcome so many obstacles in my life to get where I am today. Does he really think his opinion is going to change that? If I cared so much about his opinion, I would’ve ended up just like him. Taking my anger on others for my own faults. Struggling to get my daily dose of alcohol. No better than a failure.

When you turned the corner, you ran into the three boys near the elevator. They gave you a concerned look, but you just brushed it off, giving them a reassuring smile and thumbs-up.

On the other hand, your mother just sat there in the hospital room, looking at the ground. Her eyebrows were furrowed as she dreaded what was to come. She couldn’t speak up even though she knew. Their gaze was sharp, something that made an impression the first time she had seen them. She squeezed her eyes shut. You definitely had jumped to a conclusion. You had no idea what those boys were behind those masks. She gasped at the realization of her actions. She just let her daughter run into the palm of crazed maniacs.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The dark of the night was perfect for three men looking to fulfill their deepest and darkest desires of you. The boys had you cornered in the comfort of their shared home, a space where they shared the rent together. You sat on the bed, your back hitting the headboard as Hoseok and Yoongi sat on each side. Their close proximity was excruciating close, causing your face to flush red. You remembered it was barely past the first month since you had started dating them, yet you trusted them entirely.

“Is this why you were so hesitant at first?” Hoseok whispered in your ear, his voice sending tingles down your arms, making your hands like putty.

“Poor baby, she’s been through a lot.” Yoongi spoke from the other side of your ear, his hand brushing up your leg.

Namjoon stood in front of you, his fingers running through your lower lip as he glanced up from your mouth to your eyes. “Care to share his name?”

“Guys… It’s really fine now. You don’t need t-”

With a harsh yank, Namjoon tilted your head up as he connected a deep kiss with your lips. He dove straight into the cavern of your mouth as you pushed him out of reflex and shock.

“I won’t ask again, y/n.” His voice was low as separated from your lips with a ‘pop’. His dark gaze sent a shudder down your spine. You eventually gave in, telling them what they wanted. At first, it was difficult for you to open up to the boys about your problems, afraid it might drive them away. But over time, you realized that they were more than happy to know more about you. They loved it when you were honest with them, sharing your raw feelings were the highlight of their days. It took months for you to share about your not so glamour household. But now, they finally got the names and the address.

“That was really pressuring…” You groaned, your face still red with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, y/n.” Hoseok cooed, bringing his hands up to cup your cheeks. He nudged your foreheads together as he laughed with you. His smile was contagious as you couldn’t help but smile with him.

It’s a shame he really wasn’t.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

“Did you find it?” Namjoon’s voice reached his lover’s as he himself typed away on his keyboard.

“Yup got it right here,” Hoseok responded, his face serious and his eyes fixed on his computer.

The arrest record of your father, as well as the warrant, flashed on the screen. Yoongi looked over with such disgust, it could’ve killed.

“I’m going to kill that fucker, I swear I’m going to-”

“Yoongi, breathe.” Hoseok snapped, his gaze never leaving his screen as he scrolled through his computer. Yoongi murmured things under his breath, remembering the tricks his partners had taught him on anger management. It was a “turn-off”, they had told him, something that made people not want to befriend them. Namjoon and Hoseok would snap at him, reminding Yoongi how important their image was. It mattered even if they weren’t in public. Bad habits tended to display in times of immense pressure, something they didn’t need.

“Okay, we’re going to pay them a lovely visit. How does that sound?” Namjoon spoke up, the three boys crowding around his office desk in their small living space. With a loud slam of the top of Yoongi’s laptop, he pushed it off to the side, collecting his bag and coat.

“Let’s go,” Yoongi called from the door, slipping into his sneakers. Hoseok followed, his serious gaze never leaving his face. Namjoon threw on a trench coat, collecting his things and locking the door.

The sun was setting as the boys made it to the neighborhood where you previously resided in. Yoongi adjusted his bucket hat and the black surgical mask that hung around his ears. Namjoon slipped on his shades and beanie, preferring to shove his hands in his pockets. Hoseok opted for a white mask, his hair blowing in the open wind. The three moved quickly, splitting up as they rapidly approached your street.

On a three-way call, Namjoon delivered quick instructions as the boys roamed around. Namjoon pressed his phone closer to his ear as he heard the ruffle of a coat and deep breaths.

“Namjoon. I found one.” In a flash, Hoseok cut off the line before Namjoon could yell anything. He sighed in frustration, instructing Yoongi to meet him at Boulevard Street. Yoongi jogged to Namjoon, looking around for Hoseok.

“Where’d he go?”

Namjoon groaned. “He found one. I bet he’s playing around.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

“Why aren’t you such a doll~” Hoseok cooed sarcastically, taking excruciatingly slow steps towards his prey. “Why are you so scared of me? I haven’t even done anything yet, darling.” The woman looked behind her, nothing but a dark and closed off alley that she was only slowly backing into.

“I’m hoping you had enough fun of cat and mouse? I gave you a fair shot to escape, but you’re the one that cornered yourself here. Can’t you see? This is your fault. You deserve this.”

The fear that radiated off the poor woman sent a pleasurable shock down his spine. Hoseok licked his lips in anticipation feeling on the verge of exploding. He couldn’t contain his excitement in him anymore. He needed a release. NOW

“Oh Mrs. Y/L/N, seeing you so scared and weak is truly enjoyable. I think I can understand why you can’t do anything for your daughter. You’re too weak.” He watched as her expression changed in humiliation, her whole body shaking in fear. Hoseok grabbed onto the collar of her shirt, his eyes staring into hers.

“You’re pathetic.”

Hoseok let go of his grip, watching as her legs gave out onto the dirty ground. He turned his heel without looking back as he left the alley. His feet carried him as he called Namjoon back on his phone. Within seconds, he picked up.

“Did you have your fun?” Namjoon’s voice came in, perfectly annoyed.

“I did~” Hoseok cheered, a smile returning back to his lips. “How about you?”

“Yeah, we saw him. Taught him a lesson. Yoongi surprisingly held himself back more than usual.”

Hoseok hummed into his phone, increasing the pace of his strides. “I thought I was going to have to interfere if things got too violent, but all he did was spit some nasty threats at him. Even I got chills.”

Hoseok heard Namjoon chuckle out of his receiver. Music to his ears. “See you soon, Joon.” Hoseok murmured into his phone. “I miss hyung already.”

“Aish, you always get soft after your outbursts.” Hoseok’s eyes looked over at the street sign, looking at Boulevard Street. He walked across the street, his phone still pressed next to his ear. “Well anyways, you’ll need to calm him down, he’s pretty worked up.”

When Namjoon and Yoongi appeared in the far distance, Hoseok ended the call, running up to meet them halfway. Hoseok bent down, swooping up Yoongi into his arms. Giggling, Hoseok squeezed the older, feeling his body slack in his arms.

“Did you have fun?” Yoongi mumbled into his chest, his arms coming up to push himself off. Yoongi was brought back onto the ground as Hoseok turned around and bent down again. Yoongi jumped onto his back as Hoseok hoisted him up until the older sat on his shoulders. Namjoon followed behind, watching as his two partners displayed blatant affection with each other.

“Mhm. How about you?”

A low chuckle fell from Yoongi’s lips. “He was absolutely terrified. I don’t think he’ll ever touch her again.”

The three of them let out each of their own smirks before arriving at the bus stop. Hoseok let Yoongi down as they both stared at Namjoon, making him feel awkward and out of place.

“W-what?” He asked, their stares making him feel self-conscious. It was a subconscious reflex as Namjoon folded his arms in front of his chest.

“Don’t you feel left out sometimes?” Hoseok asked, cocking his head to the side. Yoongi nodded in agreement as he stared at the younger.

“No, I’m alright, guys. I don’t really like that sort of affection…” He trailed off, refusing to meet eye contact. A thought came into his brain and before he knew it, he blurted it out.

“What do we do if we meet y/n’s parents for the ‘first time’?”

Hoseok just grinned.

“Do you think she’s going to believe us or her abusive parents?”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The boys laid with you after your exhausting meeting with your parents, your limbs intertwining with each other in the bed. Namjoon laid directly behind you as Yoongi laid in front of you with Hoseok hugging him from behind. Your breaths were even with the boys as you all experienced a tranquil bliss. It overcame all of your bodies, your stress slowly fading away for the time being.

You couldn’t imagine being somewhere without them. They were your life, precious little angels that would always support you. You dedicated yourself to them and soon or later you would have the courage to tell them for once.

It’s a shame they didn’t know of your decision yet. They already planned another visit. Very soon.

-nomnomsik

#yandere bts #yandere rapline #yandere hoseok #yandere yoongi #yandere namjoon #yandere jhope #yandere suga #yandere rm #bts x reader #rapline x reader #hoseok x reader #suga x reader #yoongi x reader #namjoon x reader #rm x reader

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