#however it is a good distraction from the horrors of having a body

[whimsicalcotton]

it is by the grace of arceus alone that i made it this far

[spockiguess]

I Start My Mornings With Folgers and Hot, Steamy Sex

Summary: Dr. Robby doesn't get to share many mornings with you, so when the day comes that he's finally able to spend just a little bit more time in your embrace, he doesn't pass on the opportunity to make it memorable.

Pairing: Michael "Dr. Robby" Robinavitch x FEM!Reader

Warnings: SOMNOPHILIA, Smut

A/N: HEYWASSUPYOUGUYSYES, I am back from my nearly year long hiatus with something from a fandom I have never posted about before, but that's okay! I'm a dirty liar and a cheat, so I'm sorry for not updating the Laszlo Kreizler series I had in the works. I'm bad at continuity. Anyway, I hope you guys like this one! Yay!

Mornings spent with Michael Robinavitch have always been painfully short, fleeting moments that spill from the gaps between your grasping fingers like rushing sand, so you treasure the times when everything seems to stop for just an hour or two and you can hold each other while the sun begins to rise. This morning is one of those intensely special times.

It’s around four in the morning–only now the sun is still slumbering soundly just beneath the shimmering horizon millions of miles away–when Robby snakes his arms further around your middle and squeezes ever so slightly. You unconsciously moan in response, the deep recesses of your brain faintly aware of the comforting action as you melt deeper into his velvet touch. His nose is pressed against the back of your neck, inhaling your vanilla-sweet scent with every easy breath, while his large, sculptural hands cup the heavy mounds of your breasts, gently kneading. 

The emergency room attending could stay in this protective bubble forever, completely blocking out the frenetic, ever-speeding pace of the world outside as he keeps one of the people he truly cares about anymore locked in his embrace forevermore. The glimmering lights of lampposts and stretching skyscrapers would wipe across his vision in great streaks, like the measured strokes of a master’s paintbrush across a twilight canvas. Robby is content to have that be his future; these rare instances being wholly untainted by the horrors of the known universe and only meant for your shared enjoyment. Then, he could finally find peace.

Unfortunately, that's not quite in the cards for him just yet. Life has its hands wrapped firmly around the deck, dispersing fate indiscriminately. Dr. Robby has this, though. He has just a few hours with you before he’s inevitably pulled into his grueling work and forced to clear its waters for the next twelve hours. Because of this, Michael Robinavitch is eagerly determined to make the best of the time he has with you. Robby figures he'll start this day off on a good, memorable note.

With that, Robby commences with his plan. As an attending who's participated in countless, intense surgeries, he's startlingly deft with his hands. His grip around your breasts tighten, causing the skin to spill over his palms before Robby lightens up and allows the tip of his calloused finger to graze the pebbled surface of your nipple. Robby’s touch is feather-light, for now, he doesn't want to rush through this like a crazed bull released from its pen. 

Ever so slowly, he circles your nipple with his forefinger, tentatively forcing the skin to contract and become a stiff, little peak beneath his hand. Now, Robby’s able to delicately grip the peak with his forefinger and thumb and roll it between the two, slightly squeezing with every other turn. The effects of his work are already taking place as you moan again, unknowingly bucking your plush hips into his, awakening Robby’s cock to full attention. Robby forces back a pleased groan of his own as he feels the soft mounds of your ass tenderly grip his aching dick in a warm hug. You're too tempting, most of the time. 

Robby isn't distracted from his goal, however. No, he just shifts his attention on your breasts to the other hand while another travels down the curved planes of your body, rustling your sleep shirt and shorts. Your stomach is smooth under Robby’s hand, radiating a soothing heat that he could get lost in for hours. On some days, he comes back from work and immediately draws you into bed just so he can rest his weathered face against your tummy. There, he’ll press light kisses and reminisce on how lucky he is to have a partner like you. At this moment, though, Robby is only using your stomach as a roadmap to somewhere far more important. 

Robby’s searching hand stops just above the puckered hem of your elastic, light blue sleep-shorts, curious as ever. As if it had a mind of its own, Robby’s hand begins to toy with the top of your satin shorts, mindlessly playing with the band while his other hand continues to work one of your stiffening nipples. Finally, your brain switches gears and your toasty body moves of its own accord, rocking into Robby’s firm silhouette. 

Robby unashamedly moans, now, his rough throat giving way to breathy gasps as your ass cradles his hard dick in a near-perfect way. He can already feel sticky, hot precum leaking from his tip, no doubt staining the front of his boxer-briefs with a damp puddle. Every sense is electrified, begging for Robby to amp up the sensations tenfold, but he can't let that happen just yet, this is still about you. 

So, Robby’s hand continues its adventure north, down the front of your shorts, and lightly skimming the silky lace of your panties as it reaches the apex of your pubic mound. Robby can feel the intense heat emanating from your core, nearly burning up his hand with its fire. The emergency room doctor can feel his head go dizzy as he fantasizes about how hot you'll be wrapped around his weeping cock. Still, he presses onward. 

With Robby’s hand now firmly seated above your sex, the man whose whole body surrounds you presses warm, wet kisses to your neck as his middle finger inches forward to grab the edge of your panties and pull them off to the side. Now, your sticky cunt lays exposed to the cold air around it, and even in your sleep, you shudder from the chill. Slowly, Robby’s middle and ring finger search through your folds, grabbing the glossy slick that's there, before finding the rosy bud at the top of your cunt. 

Covered in your wetness, Robby uses his fingers to rub slow, tight circles around your now-buzzing clit, delighting in the sounds you're making as his forearm muscles strain from the awkward position. You shift, opening your legs further as your sleepy brain struggles to process the new sensation probing at its walls. 

Even though Robby’s pace is sluggish, he can still hear the quiet, squishy slap of his fingers against your throbbing cunt loud and clear. Robby knows how wet you can get–what exactly can happen if all of your delicate buttons are pushed in the correct way and order, and tonight, he hopes to have you writhing beneath his touch while your sex unleashes tidal waves of arousal on his dick. In the times Robby has managed such a feat in the past, his ego would skyrocket to preposterous levels, allowing him to walk with a certain bravado he isn't keen to most days. Robby figures that he’ll like to start today off like that, even if it'll draw attention from others.

As the good doctor fantasizes about making you squirt, his rugged hand absentmindedly speeds up its pace, pushing against your clit just that much harder. It's not a painful amount of pressure, but just enough to make your entire body buck with pleasure, nearly pulling you out of your unconscious state. 

Too soon, Dr. Robby thinks. With this, he slows to a screeching halt as he can practically feel the electric currents of arousal flowing from your body to his, exciting his cock further. Robby guesses it would be fine to move on from this phase of his plan, even if every molecule buzzing around in his body is telling him otherwise. All of his barbaric senses are screaming for him to make you cum right then and there, to force multiple orgasms from you before you're even awake, but Robby wants this to be a somewhat relaxed morning, all things considered.

So, Dr. Robby stops his ministrations. Instead, he brings his hand to the edge of his mouth and takes in your heady flavor. When Robby is in a situation like this, something nestled deep within him, a primal urge, takes over his mind and he becomes something wholly unlike his usual self. He can't quite explain it, but you're the only person who's ever brought this side of him out, before. Robby isn't necessarily complaining, either. No, he just moans around his fingers before eagerly unearthing himself from the nest he’s built around his body, you included, trying carefully to not wake you just yet. 

As he finally finds himself free, Robby climbs down the length of your now-prone figure and sheaths himself between your silky legs, adjusting once more to allow his arms to come around the bottoms of your thighs so his hands can rest just below your navel. Once there, Robby slides your sleep shorts and underwear to the side, breathing in your sticky scent, all the while. With your cunt now fully exposed to the outside air, Robby can see it glisten in the low light of your shared room, still drooling from before. 

Robby waits a beat, stilling as he watches your resting form rise and fall with each breath that leaves you, and he finds himself utterly in love with the person caught beneath his eager body. Dr. Robby is incredibly lucky to have someone like you.

It’s with that thought that Robby finally delves into your weeping folds with a parted mouth, his tongue zeroing in on your clit the moment he makes contact with your cunt. You and Robby share a wanton moan as you wake up from your sleepy reverie, your hips moving of their own accord while Robby desperately tries to pin them down once again. 

With a hazy fog still trapped in your throat, you call out to the man nestled firmly between your legs, “Mhm, Michael, what are you–what are you doing?” 

Robby hums before pulling away from your sex, slick dripping from his bearded chin, “Starting the day off strong, don’t you think?” Robby’s voice is deep and rich, now, his vocal chords inactive until recently. 

You laugh before choking back a strained moan when Robby reassumes his work, “If this is how we’re starting the day, I can’t wait to see how it ends.” 

Dr. Robby laughs, too, the vibrations ricocheting against your clit and sending shockwaves directly to the base of your spine. You thread your hands into Robby’s thinning hair, pulling ever so slightly when he sucks your clit into his lips and licks. You don’t know it yet, but your orgasm is closer than you can register, especially considering what happened before Robby positioned himself beneath your quivering sex. Your mind is too caught up processing how enthusiastically he’s eating you out, as well as the way Robby’s hips seem to hitch against the mattress with every swirl of his tongue. You don’t even catch when one of his hands slips from the resting point above your pubic bone to travel beneath your legs and station itself just to the side of your parted lips. 

When your mind finally does catch up is exactly the moment Robby begins to ease a finger into your cunt and carefully curl inwards, in a sort of beckoning motion. You groan loudly, impatiently welcoming the intrusion with a strong clench of your legs while Robby presses his free hand into the base of your stomach. 

His tongue, his finger, and his other hand all create this perfect symphony of pleasure that has you shaking beneath Robby’s touch. If you were in your right mind, you might have possibly felt Robby’s smirk against your cunt, but you’re currently preoccupied. 

Still, when Robby introduces another finger, deliciously stretching your wanton hole to a comfortable degree, you can’t help the thrashing your body does, completely overwhelmed with sensations. Before you know it, your orgasm is at the door and knocking to be let in, which you gladly allow. 

A burst of electricity simmers beneath the surface of your skin as your cunt spasms, your hold on Robby’s hair tightening that much more as he continues to lap at you like a starved man. Liquid gushes from your core, absolutely coating the lower-half of Robby’s face, the beginnings of his neck, and his hand while wild slurping noises can be heard just below your shaking body. 

He’s barely letting up, so it’s not long until you’re buzzing from overstimulation and begging your partner to ease off of you. Dr. Robby relents, struggling to hold himself back from tasting even more of you as your orgasm washes past your senses. 

Once the rush of sound filters through your ears, you tug on Robby’s sleep shirt to bring him to eye-level with you. Robby crawls back up your body, arms supporting his weight on either side of your head. 

“So, how was that?” Robby asks, a wide smile painting his features. 

You giggle, leaning in for a kiss and only slightly grimacing at the feel of your juices on Robby’s face.

“Is amazing an okay descriptor?” You answer his question with a question of your own, to which Robby chokes back a laugh. 

“That’s great. Don’t change it,” he says, leaning down to peck your cheeks and neck. 

The morning isn’t quite over, yet, as you feel the hard length of Robby’s dick pressing against your most sensitive spot. As Robby spares a kiss to your cheek, you take a minute to worm your hand down your bodies so you can firmly grasp his cock and squeeze. 

Robby moans, quickly getting the hint as he’s reminded of his own pressing matters that need to be attended to soon. Your partner pushes himself off of your body so he can lean back on his haunches and yank his pajama pants down, just enough to free his glorious dick. 

The sun is starting to peek through the curtains, now, so you’re able to see the faint outline of his cock, long and thick, proudly shoot out from the base of his pelvic bone. Robby takes it in his hand and cautions a gentle swipe over the leaking head, moaning again as you attempt to take your shorts off, as well. 

Robby snaps out of his daydreaming and helps the offending garment off of your legs, your lower half perfectly bare for him. You open your legs further, to which Robby eagerly positions himself between them before resting his dick against your stomach. You’ll never get used to his size, you think, with his dick being much bigger than anyone you’ve been with previously. 

Robby smiles, his question heavy in the air, “Are you ready?” 

You nod, eventually voicing an affirmative when he doesn’t continue. Satisfied, Robby takes his cock in his hands once more and leans back to line it up with your entrance. What a way to start the morning.

[writingwisterias]

Together

Vendetta!Leon X AFAB!Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, MNDI, Angst, Drinking, Nightmares, Hurt/comfort, Friends - Lovers, Near death experiences, PTSD, Depression, Alcoholism, Unprotected Sex, Needy Sex, Missionary,

Summary: The beauty of change is acceptance it will always happen. Leon's a man of many secrets but after one to many close calls he finally breaks needing you to help hold him together.

Words: 4k

Thank you @shymoob for beta reading again ily, also sorry in advance I just needed him to have a big cry....

Salvation. That's what he heard over and over again in Spain. Whispers in his head as he felt the parasite spread throughout his body, infecting each one of his nerves. It was a promise he would be eager to take now. Salvation from his sins. From the lives he couldn't protect, for the people he couldn't save. All of them now forever linger in the creeping darkness of his bedroom; the moonlight that filtered through his blinds wasn't enough to keep them away. It felt wrong to pray for something good as if he should even be given that option when he feels like all he has done was wrong. Mistakes that could have been prevented, saved people that didn’t have to die for him. 

Leadership was something he always rejected, the responsibility of everyone's lives felt too much. Maybe that's why when it was one of the few times he was in charge, an entire squad of eager people behind him – died. It wasn’t his fault, there were forces out of his control but that just felt like an excuse now. He’s been through too much, repeated a situation twice, fought off literal nightmares that should have stayed as sketches in a horror movie storyboard. 

Shouldn’t he have learnt by now? To expect things to go wrong, prepare for them. 

You didn’t deserve this, this man he had turned into. It was never what you expected him to grow into when you were younger. In college where you bunked together after a bad day; spending the night holding each other as you stared up at the ceiling wondering what the future had to hold. Pinky promises to always be there for each other no matter what. 

Life wasn’t that kind however. He knew that now, it was never going to be kind to him. He was a fool for thinking it would be. Even more of a fool that he now stood at your front door. 

The rain drenched him, his dark hair sticking to his face. His body ached, his chest covered in bruises from things he couldn’t lie about anymore. The secrets that he kept from you for years were threatened to spill out tonight, perhaps that's why he showed up here. It didn’t matter how hard he tried to protect you from this backpack of trauma that he shouldered everyday. It would just be another thing he was going to fail. 

It was late, he intended on going to a bar finishing the rest of his vacation deep in the bottle like he started before it was interrupted. His knuckle was curled hovering in front of the wooden door that separated him from you. From your embrace and kind words, the distraction he had pushed away for so many weeks in favour of a crappy resort with alcohol.  The distraction he should have leaned for in the first place. He couldn’t help it, pushing you away. He didn’t want to stain you with the blood on his hand. 

He knocked. Just once. His hand hidden in his pocket quickly, hiding the scrapes that decorated his fingertips. 

You wouldn’t answer, normal people were asleep at this time. People who weren’t plagued by nightmares like he was. Maybe he could sit here instead, looking out at the plants you decorated the porch with as he waited until a more reasonable time. The rocking chair in the corner looked cosy enough to sit there for a while. 

He didn’t get a chance to make up his mind, not when you opened the door. A gasp leaving your lips as you looked at him. “Bar fight?” You asked, your warm fingers examining his face, touching the cold skin of his cheek. He flinched slightly, the bruise that still lingered was tender to the touch. “You should see the other guy,” He joked. He was always good at that, getting a laugh out of you whilst using his humour to hide the turmoil inside.

You guided him inside, held his hand tightly like he was going to suddenly decide to leave. It had been months since you had seen him. The last point of contact was a blunt text about being out of town, nothing unusual in terms of news but it was the bluntness of the text that had planted a seed of worry that spread throughout your brain. You trusted him and knew his work was intense. 

He had never been the same since he left for Raccoon City to start at the RPD, returning to you a few nights later with a hollow look in his eyes and some crappy excuse as to why he returned. You knew something was wrong then, with how he was now flinching at the sound of the weather, at the sound of dogs barking or if you walked too loudly throughout your apartment his head would shoot up with alarm. The day that he returned was the same one that he shut you out, kept you away from everything that went on inside in an effort to hide the fact he had changed. That he wasn’t the Leon you knew before. 

“Do you need anything for the bruises? Or have you already treated them?” You asked him, ready to grab the first aid kit if he needed it. You watched as he gave you a delayed response, a small shake to the head. He sank onto the sofa, the cushions swallowing his form in comfort. With his blank expression it was clear his mind was elsewhere, stuck in some far away world that you didn’t know if you could pull him out of. 

You sat next to him, laying your hand on his gently. It was only then being this close you could see the struggle he had in his eyes, the inside fight he was going through. “Leon, we aren’t kids anymore. You can talk to me” You whispered. His hand was stiff as you held it, your fingers ran along the back of it in soothing circles, going over the new scrapes and playing with the older scars that littered them. Each one holding a story you knew nothing about. 

“I– want to but I can't,” He whispered, his eyes never leaving your hands. Leon flinched at the sound of your sigh, your gentle frustration. He knew that with some more prodding he would have caved this time, and spilled everything he has kept inside for years in some babbled mess. You never pried for information, instead you smiled softly at him guiding his face back to yours. 

It hurt him to feel all this pain, it came crashing against him wave after wave. Suffocating him in a tight grip that it was always too much, nothing worked as well as alcohol to numb it even for a short while. However tonight, this was the longest he had been sober, his hands shaking with the need to fill them with a glass of something but instead they held onto yours. Tightly. 

His eyes were so sad, like a puppy that had been scolded for doing something wrong. “I understand, would you like to shower and stay the night instead? I think I have some shirts and sweatpants I stole from you” You offered, your weight now leaving the spot besides him to stand and hold out your hand. A lifeline, a slither of hope. At least that’s what it was for him. Leon smiled slightly before nodding and following you. He watched as you rummaged through your wardrobe, holding out the clothes and a towel. “You didn’t just steal my clothes but also my favorite ones” 

“Can’t help it when they are comfy” 

He had showered before he came a quick one so that he didn’t smell of sweat and blood like he did when he sat on the helicopter. However, being surrounded by the smell of your shampoo and bodywash sounded perfect right now. As he welcomed the warmth of the shower spray, Leon found himself thinking of Arais’ reasoning. 

Let the world burn for what it did to mine. 

In some twisted way he understood the man – not enough to destroy the world himself, his moral compass was too strong to resort to that. But instead following along with the thought of what if something happened to you? He knew he would then struggle to know what to do with himself. He really won the jackpot with you, everything he did was to ensure you never saw the horrors he did. To not be reminded of their gruesome features when you sleep, you deserve to live in the warmth of this house. A safe place you had created not only for yourself but for him as well. 

You have always been there to cheer him up and help him, whenever it was offer a place to sleep when the boys at the orphanage he shared a room with were mean one night, sneaking him through your bedroom window just to hold each other, or during college when you would be on the sidelines encouraging him to beat his best time as he ran around the track. 

You were the cheerleader he needed, the sunshine in his cold, dark world. 

The clothes you had given him were slightly looser on his body, most of his muscle he had gained in his 20s now shredded by his poor upkeep. Most of his fulfilling meals came from you, the pasta dishes were always his favourite. 

When he approached the living room he spotted you pulling out the sofa for him, struggling to keep the fitted sheet on the corners as you adjusted the next one. It was amusing to watch, it always was. The blue flowers that decorated the linen were always a perfect mixture of the two of you. He used to grimace at the sight of the feminine bed sheets but today he didn’t seem to care. Not when he smelt your wash powder as you shook them out. 

“There, do you need anything else?” You asked him, your arm touching his forearm guiding his attention away from the bed back to you. He still wore the sad look, his face now pink from the hot water. Few of the dark strands still fell over his eyes, but he looked somewhat refreshed and that was enough for you. Leon muttered a small thank you before shaking his head. His hands awkwardly at his side waiting for the hug you alway gave him before bed when he would come to visit. It was all about the little things with you. 

You felt him cave when your arms wrapped around him, his body sagging against yours, his arms trapping you close in an attempt to hold you into him. “Are you sure you are okay?” you whispered into his shoulder, squeezing his form tightly like you were attempting to pour your love into him that way. He didn’t respond. His silence was enough of an answer anyway. 

With yet another soft smile you pulled away, cupping his face. You watched as he pressed the cheek further into your hand, subconsciously chasing your touch after rejecting it for so long. “Goodnight” He whispered, pressing his lips against your soft skin with a timid smile. 

“Goodnight leon” 

He watched your frame walk away towards the bedroom, listening for that soft close of the door watching the light that slowly leaked out across the hallway floor disappear, leaving him now again in the darkness. The sheets were comforting at least when he slipped in them. He would stomach the springs and divots in the sofa to be surrounded by the scent of you. The pillow was always too soft for him, his head sinking down far too much for his liking but as exhaustion crept in he didn't care. His eyes shut slowly, succumbing to the darkness and for the first time in years doing it sober. 

The whimpering is what you heard first, quiet and muffled through the door of your bedroom. You knew what it was, who it was coming from. You were quick to get up, wrapping your robe around yourself as you quickly ran to see him. The lamp that flickered on awoke him from his dream, half of his body hanging over the edge of the sofa, his hand touching the soft rug. You watched as his eyes widened in realisation before he shot up scooting away from the edge before curling into himself. Leon brought his knees to his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around them. It broke you to see him like this, to watch the broken man that tried so hard to hide it from you despite the tears that ran down his eyes. 

You didn’t call out to him, only walked in front of him. Your hands a firm touch on his knees as you brought his attention back to you. “Oh leon…” You whispered as bought him close to you, cradling him into your chest as he cried. Finally cried. After so many years of holding it together. He seeked your comfort like an injured child would to a mother. Claimed your body as his source of comfort whilst he wept. His tears weren’t silent, no matter how much he tried for them to not be. The sobs that left his lips were sure to be heard from outside the house. 

You didn’t ask him to explain or lift him away from you to wipe the tears away. Instead you held him closer like you were trying to squeeze them out of him. Drain him out of any bad emotion so you could refill him with your love instead. His sobs soon turned into small hiccups, his shoulders shaking off the final stray whimpers. You had questions, they lingered in the air and rightfully so. It wasn’t everyday that someone you loved, someone who was always so strong like Leon, broke down like this. 

He could feel the shake of your chest with every inhale you did, the shiver in your breath as it exhaled over your neck. He shouldn’t have come, he should have gone to the bar and drank himself to sleep there. The shakes didn’t stop, it was getting hard to breathe now. It wasn’t just the numerous near death experiences he encountered last night, it was all the ones before that. All the times he failed and almost failed to return back to you whole. Unchanged.

He felt you tug at him, pulling him away from the sofa silently. Leon flinched as you turned off the lamp, your hand tightening around his in response as you led him down the hallway into the softness of your bedroom. The door trapping the darkness away. 

Leon stood in the center of your room, watching with small sniffles leaving his lips as you turned on the fairy lights around your bed frame. The warmth glows off them, illuminating the room enough that you could still sleep. You pulled back the bedsheets for him, an invitation for him to join you. It was familiar the feeling as he tucked himself in, one arm under the pillow the other laid on top of the duvet just a hairline away from you. Leon looked into your eyes, he was sure he was blotchy with leftover tears. The skin becomes red and blotching following the tracks they left behind. 

Yet, despite all of the sadness that radiated off him, the warning sign that he was too much for you to handle. That he was too broken to be healed, he found himself leaning in towards you. Laying close where your pillows met, the crease being the only thing separating the two of you. 

It was only a few breaths of silence before you leaned in, tasting the dried tears on his lips in a soft kiss. He didn’t register it at first, thinking it was just some pretty after dream he often got after the nightmares. He still chased it when you broke away, whimpering slightly as you moved back. You didn’t realise how much he needed this…needed you after all these years. 

Your fingers laced with the strands of hair that ghosted the nape of his neck, trapping him in a kiss again. Your lips desperate and needy as you fought for each other. His hand pulled you closer, his body dominating yours as he pushed you into the mattress. “We don’t have to do thi-” 

“Please”

Leon’s beg was pitiful, he should be pushing you away not drawing you in closer so your smell suffocated him. He didn’t deserve the softness of your fingers as you pulled his shirt above his head displaying the fresh bruises that littered across his torso. “I’m an agent” He spoke between kisses against your neck. It was hardly the time to talk about this but he needed to, needed to get it out into the air as you pulled him closer. Let him into your heart as if he wasn’t already trapped in it. 

“I have been for years, since I came back from Raccoon city…I was forced to do this” 

It was hard to concentrate on his words as his fingers ghosted over the nipples through your tank top. Tweaking the small buds as his lips ghosted the words on your skin. Your breath hitched as he finally pulled the top above your tits, exposing them to the cold air of the bedroom. “I survived that night” He said as he kissed along your collarbone creating a trail towards your breasts. “I survived spain, rescued the president's daughter” 

Another kiss on your nipple, you tugged him closer, suffocating him with the soft skin of your chest. Your smell calmed him as he worked his tongue around your nipple, circling the bud with insane precision. You whimpered when he pulled away again, your grip keeping him close as you guided him to the other breast. “I tried to save people, to stop them from dying” 

Your heart broke at each confession, at each secret he revealed of his hidden life. The one that you would have supported him on, helped him work through his moments. “I’m proud of you” You spoke softly, lifting his head, trying not to whimper at the sight of his messy face. “You shouldn’t be, people have died on my watch…I get people killed” 

“Am I dead?” 

Leon looked at you, his eyebrows pinching in thought as his chest rubbed against yours. Your cores are needy for each other, waiting patiently for the pleasure that they seeked. “No,” he whispered. With a smile you bought him into a kiss, your hips grinding against his in a needy motion to feel his twitching cock. “Then I trust you to keep me safe. Just don’t keep me in the darkness anymore please…” You whispered against his lips.

It was only then his hips met your grind, pressing them against your clothed pussy pinning them to the bed. You watched him bite his lip to stifle a groan, his pupils growing darker as lust replaced the sadness. “I’m a bad man” He whispered. 

Your fingers pushed against the waistband of your pyjama bottoms, exposing your weeping sex to him. “Not from where I’m looking” 

Leon’s head dipped, clearly having a mental battle with himself before finally deciding to give in. To cross this line and let you inside again, it was only fair after all. He treated you like you were the only drug worth living for, an addiction he would never recover from. His cock slapped against his stomach as he finally exposed it. The tip eagerly beads pre-cum which he uses to work his sensitive cock. Each pump produces more for you in a steady supply. 

You gasped when you felt him notch himself at your entrance, his cock twitching against your hole spreading his pre along your folds. Leon brought you into a passionate kiss as he finally sunk himself into you, your warmth welcoming him like the hug he had always needed. The type he has never been selfish enough to take from you. His shadow loomed over you as he began to thrust. A low grinding motion, almost like he wasn’t ready enough to pull away. 

You had no idea how long he needed this, the release from hiding everything, the safe space to do so. Deep down he always knew it had to be you, the one he would grind himself deeper and deeper in such a vulnerable state. He thanked the heavens he was sober, so he could remember exactly how your walls felt as you hugged his cock, dragged him in further. Your grip so tight against his shoulders that you made your own marks along his back. 

As if he pulled out anymore of his dick you would change your mind and push him away. He almost cried when your legs wrapped around his waist trapping him there, pinning his hips closer to your own. His name became a chant as it felt from your lips in deep groans. 

The pain was welcomed compared to the aches in his joints that he still felt, pure desire willing him to take you like this. “You are so perfect” he whispered against your neck as his thrusts picked up, chasing the pleasure you were pleading him to give to you. “Please– leon” You whimpered as you arched yourself closer to him. Leon grunted in your ear, his heart beating wildly as he poured everything into you, thrusting his entire soul into your pleasure like it was the only thing worthwhile for him to do. 

You were his everything. The only thing he needed, you felt it with every twitch he gave you. His mouth sucking against the skin as he whimpered at the feeling of you. Sweat dampened his body as he finally chased the high. “I love you” You whined, pulling his head away from your neck as you finally kissed him. Tears pooled in his eyes at your words, his head nodding in agreement. 

Leon shifted his thighs underneath your ass, pressing you further into the mattress every thrust. In a pleading whine you finally orgasmed around his cock. The feeling was perfect, rejuvenating the energy he needed for his own finish. He needed you to feel the same warmth he felt inside, the same love that you offered him so gracefully. He loved you, he will always love you. He needed you to know that despite him changing, growing into a colder man, his love for you was the only thing that stopped him from freezing over entirely. 

As he unravelled himself inside you, fucking his seed deep into your warmth with a whine. He entrusted that your grip would keep together, that your hold on him would slowly close the wounds that had bled for too long. As they had become infected and leaked over his soul in an angry attempt to kill his spirit. 

Your chest greeted each other with each breath you took, unspoken words and confessions still lingering in the air, but in this moment he didn’t care. Not when you looked back at him with so much love. “I love you more” He finally whispered before pulling away to hold you to him like a weighted blanket. 

The silence that filled the room was comforting as you both came down from your high, your minds working too much for sleep to take you in its graces. “I almost died yesterday…flung so far I broke through a glass barrier and hung on the verge of life and death. I knew it was going to happen someday…but I wasn’t ready. Not when I hadn’t told you that I loved you” Leon admitted. It was scary to listen to these words, your heart skipping a beat at the confession of his near death. Realising that this was the moment that made him panic earlier, his body hanging off the sofa in a similar fashion you assumed. 

“Then don’t waste anymore time, I’m right here.” 

Instead of panicking, just like you always did, you offered him a space to talk. An opportunity to finally go through everything he has, to listen to every heart breaking moment he shouldered alone. In hopes that together, you could help him move on and finally begin the process of healing.

[shouyuus]

unfading memories/price of perfection

vi is married with cait, living in a grand kiramann household, with a secure job. There’s nothing to really complain about, however one day she reunites with the reader by chance and realizes the perfect life she’s living in isn’t what she wanted.

She decides to wash out the dirt beneath cait’s nails.

send me one + a character and i'll write you a drabble

─── Ⅵ LIKE MY WHISKEY NEAT (or, the price of perfection)

violet; sfw, fluff and angst; vaguely implied infidelity

it was a good life, vi thinks, smiling at caitlyn from across the market, the bright progress day sun beating down on her shoulders, making her skin go tacky beneath the thick fabric of her enforcer's uniform.

it was a stable kind of life, vi reflects, letting cait lace their fingers, lean down to murmur something about a trinket or other. there's a badge heavy around her waist and the dull buzz of the crowd humming somewhere behind her ears.

"— this year… vi?"

vi blinks, shaking her head, "huh? oh — sorry cupcake, got distracted." vi flashes cait a half-strung grin. cait smiles, the uncertainty that had once sat behind her ocean eyes having flashed off the with the passing months, years…

vi swallows, following behind cait as they work their way through the vendors on the bridge of progress, ostensibly on "patrol" but vi knows (and so does everyone else who sees them) that its just a glorified shopping trip.

this is what you've always wanted, vi thinks, staring up at the moon-slatted ceiling, cait lying by her side. her breathing is steady, her honeyed scent familiar and slightly cloying. its a scent that vi's grown to love, she tells herself — to love.

"do i really have to wear this?" vi asks, plucking at the dark red organza monstrosity currently strapped around her torso. cait tuts, glancing at her in the mirror.

"its not for long — you know how big this council gala is —"

vi sighs, her hands dropping to her sides as she watches cait fuss with a pair of sapphire drop earrings the precise color of her eyes. something inside her flops — its a soft, sagging kind of feeling — and vi wonders why it feels so suspiciously close to where her heart used to be. she takes a breath and puts on a smile, the kind of smile she remembers offering to powder when she wanted to placate her, the kind of smile that's tight-lipped. the kind that doesn't quite touch her eyes.

this shit itches — it's the only thought vi has as she waddles her way through the piltover glitterati, cait laughing softly behind her hand at something someone's said, the sound prickling at vi's skin till she can't help but to scratch at the material of her top. thankfully, cait had spared her the horror of wearing a dress and had only insisted on a pair of tight black slacks.

someone somewhere tries to press a glass of something into her hands but cait only smiles and waves it off.

"sorry. gin, vodka, or champagne only, please."

vi purses her lips into what she hopes is a convincing grin before turning away.

the music starts, and a stream of feathered burlesque dancers flow onto the small stage situated at the center of the room, surrounded by a mote of champagne glasses. guests gasp with delight as the dancers start to sway in tandem with the music, a few clapping as a few dancers fall into graceful flips, each layer of brightly colored bodies falling away like the petals of a blooming flower, and at the center, rising above all the rest —

vi's breath catches; her heart thumps like a fist against her sternum, heavy and insistent.

you.

you'd always been beautiful, the kind of beauty that is in and of itself a defiance, especially in a place like zaun. vi can't believe how much she's forgotten, but it also startles her how much she can remember the moment she sets eyes on you — the sound of your laughter, the coco butter smoothness of your skin, the twinkle of lost stars caught behind the twin mischief of your eyes.

you'd been friends, once — or perhaps even more. but neither of you had been old enough to know the name for the unspoken thing that had strung between your bodies, glimmering and gossamer thin, caught with the pendulous dewdrops of adolescent longing.

the world falls away as you start to dance, twisting your body around a long metal pole striking up to the ceiling. men and women alike share appreciative, covetous glances at you, and you bask in the attention, glowing beneath the attention and concentrated stage lights — glowing. vi hears nothing of the music, but she feels the breath and swell of it in the way you move; she doesn't know the words but she knows that it's a love song without ever having to stop and listen.

for a second, your eyes flicker down to meet hers, and the recognition she sees there paralyses her.

a breath, and the dance has finished. the song tapers out even as the room rumbles around her with thunderous applause. you sweep into a deep bow, and vi fights for a breath you've long since stolen. she grapples at her own chest with a hand, gasping. by the time she looks up at the stage again, you've gone, but she's pushing her way through the crowd before she can stop herself.

a pair of hands catch her arm and she twists around to see cait's wide, questioning eyes.

"vi? where're you —"

vi swallows, licking her lips, "i'll — i'll be right back," she says, and her stomach clenches at the taste of the lie — she's long since forgotten how sweet they could taste. she sees the worry flicker out of cait's eyes as she lets vi go, nodding.

vi turns and tries not to gag around the bitterness already welling up the back of her throat.

she finds the dressing rooms without much difficulty, following the soft laughter and click-clatter of dancers heels and the tantalizing smell of perfume oils. when she peers around a slightly opened door, she catches sight of one of the other dances, who glances at her as the door creaks, a knowing grin slung around her hips.

"ah — she's here," the dancer says, shooting vi a playful wink, jerking her head towards the back of the room. vi doesn't even have time to question how this dancer knew just who she'd been looking for before her gaze falls on you again and the words slip from her, as does all coherent thought except —

"oh."

you turn, your eyes limned with kohl, your cheeks dusted with rouge. there's a sparkle to your skin that vi suspects isn't entirely natural, but the way you smile is everything she remembers and more. a thrill tingles down her spine, and suddenly, the dressing room feels too small and too big all at once, space pressing in and pushing out till she's stumbling forward.

"if it isn't zaun's very own piltover enforcer," you say, drawing out your vowels as you twist around to grin at her. the oxymoron of your words don't escape her, and vi feels heat flush into her cheeks as she presses her lips.

"i — it's —" she clears her throat, curses inwardly, and tries again, "it's been a long time."

you bite at your bottom lip in a gesture so familiar vi's entire stomach flips.

"yeah, i mean —" you wave a vague hand at the shape of her, standing awkwardly in your dressing room, her itchy, tulle-pleated top making her skin prickle worse than ever. an amused grin spread across your lips even as vi resists the urge to yank the entire thing off, "i never thought i'd see you in something so…"

you trail off, searching for a suitable word. finally, you settle on —

"festive."

vi frowns, shoving her hands into the blessedly deep pockets of her slacks.

"it was just for the party," she says, feeling more defensive than perhaps absolutely necessary. you shrug, light and uncaring, turning back to your mirror, picking up a small white pouf to dab at the bridge of your nose.

"even so, i hear you've been living the good life," you say, glancing at her from the reflection in the mirror. vi crinkles her nose and takes a few steps forward, something very much like a scream building in her chest, though she doesn't quite know why.

"it's —" her breath cuts off as she realizes the knee-jerk denial that had bubbled up out of her before she could even think to stop it, acerbic and mind-numbingly honest. you pause mid-pouf to pin her with a look, and for a single, solitary second, vi can almost pretend you're both kids again, her watching you primp in the reflection of a shard of mirror (broken, of course — probably stolen), leaning against the edge of her and powder's bunk bed.

"it's… not all bad," she finally manages, to which your answer is a single derisive ha of laughter as you continue to dust a fine shimmer of light powder over your already flawless skin.

"sure," you say, your voice going saccharine in a way she's always hated. vi sighs, dropping her eyes. she realizes then that she'd been fiddling with her fingers, an old nervous habit she thought she'd kicked years ago.

"it's not —" she says, though her voice wavers, and when you make a noncommital noise, vi huffs out a breath. "this — this is what i've always wanted — what we've always wanted — i — i'm — happy —"

you set the pouf down and lean forward to straighten a few strands of artfully loose hair framing your face before twisting and pushing yourself up from your chair. like this, you're almost nose to nose, and vi has to suck in a breath to keep from the tantalizing thought of tipping forward, if to find out if your lips were still as sweet as she remembers them to be.

you cock you heard, watching her with dark, light-stricken eyes.

"vi… i never said i thought you were unhappy…" you say, your words low and steady.

vi's heart skids; her stomach clenches. a dull, pulsing ache is settling behind her eyes that she does not have the name for but perhaps, once, it'd been a familiar thing — want. that sparrow-wing thing, desperate as it beats up against her chest, threatening to crest like a tide of feathers into her throat — back when she could still remember what revolution tasted like on her tongue.

"r-right…" she breathes, falling a half step back, even though you haven't made a single move towards her. she runs her fingers through her hair, tugging on the ends just to ground herself in the sting against her scalp.

"but…" you say, and vi's eyes snap up again to find you watching her with a grin curling at the edge of your lips, a molten, midnight light caught behind the flicker of your lashes. you take half a step forward and vi feels the air rush from her lungs at your advance, "if you want… we could sneak out for a drink," you offer.

vi nearly gasps as the sudden rush of certainty that floods through her, thick and hot as adrenaline, at your words.

"y-yeah — i think — i think i can swing that."

you laugh, softly, lightly. then, you peer at her from beneath your thick band of lashes, a wicked grin twisting at your mouth as you cross the gaping cavern of space between you.

"tell me, violet…" you whisper, brushing your lips by her cheek if only to feel her shiver beneath you, "do you still take your whiskey neat?"

a whine almost works its way out of vi's throat as she hisses out a breath, nodding.

"yeah — fuck — yes. i — i do."

[pneumaticshift]

i have been plagued by thoughts of star sapphire hal and by god it kills me and would absolutely kill bruce to see him in the outfit carol wears in most runs she's in

Ooooh, this is a fun request. Thank you for the wonderful mental image.

———

For a very long moment, Bruce just stared. 

There were a great many things he had prepared himself to encounter tonight. A high-speed chase across Gothams rooftops. Explosions in the streets he’d somehow end up getting blamed for. A concussion he’d insist wasn’t a concussion while Alfred stared at him like he was the biggest disappointment to ever wear body armor. All scenarios that were perfectly reasonable for a man like him to expect. 

This, however, was new. 

Bruce prided himself on his ability to remain unshaken in the face of the bizarre. He had shared into the abyss, stood beside gods and monsters alike, and had endured all the spectacular shit the universe had thrown at him. He’d even suffered through Green Arrow’s attempts at philosophy while stranded on a mission together, and that alone had to count for something.

Now he was standing in the Watchtower, taking in the full reality of what was standing before him, and he knew with absolute certainty that his life had gone completely and irrevocably off the rails. Really, he should have seen it coming the moment he decided to devote his nights to dressing as a bat.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t noticed that Hal Jordan was attractive. He was one of the most infuriating men Bruce had ever worked with, but he was also objectively good-looking. When a man flounced around in a skintight suit with an ass like that, even Bruce was bound to notice. It was a completely manageable distraction in his day-to-day experiences with the League. One of those minor observations you’d acknowledge, catalogue and then brush aside. The sky was blue, grass was green, Hal had a great ass. 

But now he was making a very solid effort at testing the limits of Bruce’s restraint, and it had everything to do with how Hal was currently standing there in a Star Sapphire uniform.

Or, to be specific, a Green Lantern construct of the uniform. And, because apparently this was a test from the Gods to specifically screw Bruce over, the ring had chosen accuracy over modesty.

Bruce knew this because the boots were there. Knee-high, heeled, and glossy in that very specific way that suggested Hal’s ring had spent far too much time on the details. 

The rest of the outfit clung to him indecently. Obscenely. The intricate filigree was vacuum-packed to his tanned skin, high-cut at the hips, plunging at the chest, with goddamn gloves that went up and past his elbows. It should have been impossible for anything to be both skintight and flowing, but the ring sure did make a good go of it.

The tiara really brought the whole thing together nicely. Or insanely. Bruce hadn’t decided yet. 

For the longest moment, Hal didn’t even notice Bruce was there. 

He was too busy flailing his hand around to notice. The ring was glowing in fits and starts as he tried, and ultimately failed, to dismiss the uniform. The man was practically bordering on desperate as his own willpower betrayed him. 

Bruce, for his part, wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

He could enjoy the show, he supposed. Hal was stumbling gracefully in those ridiculous heels, cursing under his breath and trying to lock his knees in place for balance. He had been to alien planets, fought cosmic horrors, survived all the shit of the universe, but apparently walking in heels was where he met his match. 

Alternatively, Bruce could walk away and pretend he wasn’t going to think about the image for a very long time. Because unfortunately, he was.

He had appreciated Hal’s ass in the usual Lantern uniform many times before. (After all, he wasn’t blind.) But the Star Sapphire costume didn’t just highlight his assets, it was parading them. Utterly salacious, utterly unfair. Definitely a matter that warranted further rumination later.

Unfortunately, Bruce didn’t have time to decide which course of action to take, because right as he was mentally filing away this entire moment for later analysis, Hal’s entire scantily clad body froze.

Bruce saw the exact moment his instincts kicked in. His back snapped ramrod straight. The energy of his flailing vanished, replaced by something almost eerily still, and slowly, so painfully slowly, he turned his head.

He looked confused at first, like some part of him knew something was wrong but hadn't fully processed what yet. His brow furrowed, his mouth parted slightly, and for a brief, glorious second, Bruce could see the gears in his head struggling to turn. Then his gaze met Bruce’s. And his brain caught up.

Bruce had never seen a man visibly lose the will to live so fast.

Hal’s face went through three separate stages of emotional devastation. Shock, realisation, and existential despair. His pupils dilated. His breath hitched. His entire body seemed to shrink into itself like he was experiencing ego death in real time.

“It’s not what it looks like!” he spluttered.

Bruce tilted his head ever so slightly, letting the silence stretch. He could see Hal floundering, the sheer panic in his eyes as his mouth opened and closed, his brain scrambling for some kind of explanation that didn’t immediately collapse under scrutiny.

“Oh?” Bruce finally said. Partly to be a dick. Partly because he was truly at a loss for words. 

Hal’s hands flew up in immediate defense, then just as quickly shot back down when he remembered he was barely wearing anything. “No—shut up!” he snapped. “I swear to God, this is not what it looks like—”

“It looks like you’re wearing the Star Sapphire uniform.”

Interestingly, Hal made a noise that could’ve been a whine if it wasn’t also fifty percent death rattle. “I— No, wait—” He looked down at himself and cringed. “I can explain!”

“I’d love to hear it.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You’d love to laugh at me. There’s a difference.”

Bruce couldn’t deny it. He’d also love to do a few more things too, but that probably wasn’t entirely helpful. He let his gaze drag deliberately from the top of Hal’s ridiculous head down to the heeled boots and back up again. He tilted his head, taking in the very specific details of the construct. It really was a very well made piece. 

“God, you’re an absolute—” Hal cut himself off to drag a hand over his face. “God. Okay. Look.”

“I’m looking.”

“Not like that, you asshole. I got hit with some weird energy surge and it scrambled my ring's templates. I was thinking ‘armor’, this is what came out!" Hal gestured to himself in exasperation, the movement making the construct shimmer. Good Lord. There was a sheen. "I am working on fixing it!"

Bruce hummed again, completely unhelpful, entirely entertained.

“It’s not like I chose this, alright? This is just some kind of ring feedback. It’s not, like—"

“Subconscious?" Bruce supplied.

Hal scowled at him “No.”

“So your ring just happened to manifest this design, with those proportions, entirely by chance?”

“Yes,” Hal hissed. “Obviously.”

He crossed his arms, which did nothing to make the situation better for him. Or Bruce. It called attention to the way the construct moved with him, emphasising every flex and shift of his muscles. At this point, Bruce was fighting the deeply unprofessional urge to drag him closer and haul him over his shoulder like a caveman

He didn’t. Because he was a professional.

But goddamn.

Hal shifted. The boots squeaked when he did. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“I don’t know. I think it has potential.”

“I’m gonna fix this, you’re going to be very discreet about what you definitely didn’t see here today, and we’re both going to just go ahead and pretend this never happened. Got it?”

“Hm. Shame.”

“Don’t test me, Spooky, I am so close to committing a crime.”

Bruce tilted his head slightly. “In that outfit?”

Hal lunged for the throat.

Unfortunately for him, the boots were still heels and Hal was still incapable of walking on them. The moment he put too much weight forward, his ankles twisted, his balance wobbled, and for one wonderful Bruce watched him go down. 

He really didn’t have any intentions of catching him because he always took great pleasure in the Green Lantern eating shit, but that outfit must have triggered some kind of neolithic instinct in him, because before he could think better of it, Bruce’s hands shot out and caught him by the waist.

Hal crashed into him gracelessly, all flailing limbs and deep personal shame. He scrambled for purchase and ended up gripping the font of Bruce’s suit, and for a second, Bruce was treated to the utterly incredible experience of Hal Jordan, fully wrapped up in his own humiliation, realising that he was now draped across Batman. 

It was beautiful. 

Bruce could feel the exact moment Hal’s soul left his body. His entire frame went rigid, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a dying wheeze, and his hands twitched against Bruce’s chest like he wanted to push himself away but had lost all motor function. Bruce, meanwhile, was noting things.

Specific things. Like how Hal’s waist was bare thanks to the cut-outs, and how it fit suspiciously well in his grip. Or how his bare thighs, lovely, tanned and toned, had pretty much tangled themselves up in Bruce’s cape. Or the way Hal’s entire expression had gone somewhere beyond horror, like he was experiencing a deeply spiritual crisis.

Hal froze.

Bruce froze. 

The tiara glinted in the light.

Bruce wasn’t sure if it was because Hal had ascended to a higher plane of mortification or because his own brain had completely short-circuited, but neither of them moved. He could feel the tension locked up in his muscle, could see the deer-in-the headlights look Hal had, and, worst of all, could feel some primitive part of his own brain straight up celebrating these turn of events. 

The part of his brain that still thought in terms like mine.

The part of his brain that had already acknowledged Hal’s body against his.

The part that was now, alarmingly, imagining many, many, many things.

Bruce forcibly shut that particularly thought process down.

But then Hal exhaled. Not just any exhale. A shaky, uncertain, what-have-I-done-to-deserve-this kind of exhale. The kind accompanied by one of those thousand-yard stare typically reserved for people who had just walked in on their own funerals.

There was barely time to dissect that before Hal was speaking.

“... So, uh. You come here often?”

Bruce decided to drop him.

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 4)

—

Tw: descriptions of body horror, Dr. Crane has PTSD and Does Not Realize, Crane has an actual panic attack and just doesn’t care, the Riddler makes one (1) sex joke about Batman

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) (Prev here) - (Pt. 5 here)

(Masterlist here)

—

Dr. Jonathan Crane is in his lab, the acrid scent of chemicals filling the air, and his hands are shaking.

Danny’s health, for the first week that he had him, had been steadily improving at an extremely quick rate. However, his healing had begun to stagnate. Danny said that it was because his body had run out of ectoplasm, and that while there was a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham, he needed a stronger type in order to heal.

And so, that led Dr. Crane here.

He had stolen the research notes from the Penguin years ago regarding his experimentation on him.

(He quite vividly remembers the sound of bone creaking and groaning as it twisted, lengthened. The squelching of shifting tendons and muscles, the strange fabric-like tightening of skin. The feeling of going from man to monster, of losing all claim to his humanity.)

Danny had called him Liminal, part ghost. He had said that he was transformed by, among other things, a kind of synthetic ectoplasm.

Danny needed ectoplasm.

Crane had the research notes. He had every ingredient necessary. And yet, attempt after attempt failed.

The chemical smell burns his nose. His hands tremble.

Dr. Crane is not afraid.

He doesn’t feel fear anymore. He’s tried to, many, many times, but nothing has worked. And yet, his hands are shaking still.

(The horrifying sensation of vertebrae pop-pop-popping along his spine, growing and lengthening. The unbearable itching beneath his skin as toxin glands begin to form. The feeling of his teeth sharpening and elongating, of his skull growing, of his vision changing and brightening. The awful stench of chemicals. The awful stench of ectoplasm.)

Jonathan takes careful note of his shaking hands, his blurring vision, his accelerated heart-rate and shallow breathing.

(Human hands. Human vision. Human heart and lungs and organs.)

He takes note of them, but he does not let that distract him from the task at hand. Danny is not a chemist, but Jonathan is.

The boy knows enough about chemistry in theory, but he won’t go anywhere near Crane’s equipment. He seems to have some sort of intense fear of laboratory settings, probably developed during his stay with the GiW, and Crane is willing to respect that, if only because he cannot afford to lose him.

As such, Crane is the only one qualified to do this. And, unfortunately, if he isn’t successful the boy may very well die.

He heats the chemicals to precisely the right temperatures, adding each one to its correct container.

Dr. Crane thinks of the Scarebeast, that creature born of cruelty and greed and a sense of superiority. That creature which he tries to ignore is a part of him, that can never be removed. A damage which cannot be undone.

He pours the contents of a small beaker into a larger flask, watching the liquids swirl together. The stench in the air is becoming closer and closer to the one burned into his memory.

Crane’s whole body is wracked with unpleasant sensations. It’s truly unfortunate, he thinks, that despite his mind’s lack of fear, his body still reacts so harshly.

Jonathan’s eyes wander, eventually settling on a purple and green card sitting innocently on the corner of the table.

Right.

Even if they wiped out the GiW tomorrow, and even if Danny could survive without ectoplasm, he would still be in danger.

Crane has to get him back to good health. It’s the only way he can be sure that the boy can defend himself properly.

The solution in the flask begins to foam, and Jonathan does not hesitate as he adds the final ingredient. He pours the mixture into a new container, capping it and placing it into a freezer set to -40 degrees.

Hopefully this time he got the timing right.

Jonathan tries to relax, the ventilation in the room slowly but surely clearing the familiar smell from the air.

He thinks of the letter.

Surely, he thinks, that man can come up with some better material for his jokes. Or, at least something new.

Same old threats, same old attempted poisoning.

Aiming his threats at Danny, though, that was new. New and utterly unacceptable.

Scarecrow did what he had to.

He doubted that his solution would last forever, of course, as with that man it never did. As such, he would prepare both himself and Danny for the inevitable moment that his choices came back to bite them.

However, for the moment, they were safe. Danny could rest and recover, and Jonathan could figure out a plan to minimize possible damages.

Jonathan is no longer shaking.

He’s exhausted. This is his fifth attempt today, and each one leaves an unfortunate strain on his mind and body.

With a sigh, he settles himself into his seat at a nearby desk, opening up his computer and logging his most recent attempt. He still has to wait for it to chill to know if it was successful, but he can always update the logs later.

Once he’s done, he stretches, joints popping loudly as he walks to the freezer.

When he sees the results of his tireless work, the ghost of a smile flits across his face.

Success.

Jonathan picks up the jug of ectoplasm and leaves the lab, which is in all actuality the basement of the new apartment that he moved himself and Danny into after receiving the note. The scrappy old woman who was his landlord had told him that as long as he paid her five hundred dollars up front, she would let him set up in the basement without any questions or cop calls.

And so, the most expensive apartment in the Narrows was his.

At least, he thought, the distance between the basement and the apartment was short enough that Danny didn’t have to sit in while he was doing his labwork.

Jonathan knew that he didn’t exactly have a strong grasp on the concept of ‘lab safety,’ proven by his built-up immunity to almost every toxic chemical he’d ever encountered, and he doubted that Danny should be around such an environment.

He was back to the apartment quickly, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied smile on his face. Danny is sitting in his armchair, trying to read one of his books. Danny looks up, ready to greet him, when he sees the jug in his hands and pauses.

“Is that..?”

“Synthetic ectoplasm,” Jonathan says proudly, “I found the Penguin’s research notes and decided to recreate it, since you said that you needed it to heal properly. I’m not sure if it’ll work the same as what you usually have, but I hope it’s helpful all the same.”

Danny is standing, now, and looking at Jonathan with a strange look in his eyes. He looks, Jon thinks, like he’s about to cry.

Then Danny is rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Jonathan, his scrawny form shaking.

Jonathan is, for a moment, horrified. Did he do something wrong somehow? Why is this child, who’s so afraid of touch, hugging him?

And then he hears Danny’s voice, and he knows that it was all worth it.

“Thank you,” he’s mumbling, over and over, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Jonathan says softly, because what else can he say?

The boy cries in his arms for a while, and Jonathan briefly wonders what his life must have been like before, if a person like him can be seen as a comforting figure.

Then, Danny pours himself a small glass of the synthetic ectoplasm, putting the rest into the small fridge which had come with the apartment, and he settles back down, sitting in the armchair once again.

Jonathan sits opposite of him, and they chat with one another as Danny drinks.

Danny talks to him about the stars and tells him about different spaceships, and Jonathan makes sure to pay attention and ask the boy questions.

He doesn’t miss the way that Danny lights up every time he asks him something about his interests. He’s so passionate, so smart, a trait that he seldom sees outside of his fellow rogues, and Jonathan wants to encourage that.

It’s…nice. Peaceful, almost.

And then the front door flies open, because Jonathan isn’t allowed to have nice things.

“Jon,” a familiar voice rings out, “what the hell?!”

Danny is frozen in place, clearly terrified.

Jonathan heaves a sigh, turning to face the nuisance who’s entered his apartment.

“Eddie,” he drawls, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Edward’s face is red with anger as he invades Jonathan’s apartment.

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it’s the fact that you sent a bunch of rogues a cryptic message and then dropped off the face of the earth for two weeks! I was worried, Jon!”

Jonathan hums in acknowledgement.

“I didn’t think it was that cryptic,” he says, picking up a book in order to pointedly ignore the Riddler.

“Oh, of course you didn’t, you straw-stuffed hickory dickory dickhead. I swear, you’re always—” he pauses, finally having noticed Danny sitting opposite of Jonathan, “—who is this?”

“My apprentice,” Jonathan replies, dreading the upcoming headache he was no doubt going to develop from Edward’s company, “he’s helping me hunt down the GiW. His name is Danny.”

Edward gasps dramatically.

“You—an apprentice?! And you’re letting him sit in the old man chair?! You don’t even let me sit in the old man chair,” he wails, draping himself over the headrest of the couch with a flourish, “Jonathan, I thought I knew you!”

“Edward,” Jonathan says, “get out of my apartment.”

“Oh my goodness, this is incredible. You’re becoming the bat!”

“I am not becoming the bat, Eddie, now get out.”

Edward has a shit-eating grin on his face as he waltzes over to Danny. Danny, who seemed terrified when he first appeared, is now looking at him with obvious amusement written all over his face.

“I mean, look at him! The hair, the eyes, the scrappy build. If you put him in one of those traffic light vigilante costumes, he could easily pass as a Robin!”

“I’m not doing this with you today, Eddie.”

“Riddle me this, Jon: I am a treasure hidden inside of a chest. You can break me, or steal me, or give me a rest. I can flutter, or pound, or attack, or drop, but if you don’t have me, you’re certainly fucked. What am I?”

Jonathan pauses for a moment before he groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“Eddie.”

Danny sits still, a confused look on his face as he repeats the riddle silently. Then, his face lights up in delight.

“A heart!”

“Jon, I like this one,” Edward says with a smile, ruffling Danny’s hair, “you are correct! A heart, something that I wasn’t aware that our dear Jonathan had!”

“Eddie, stop.”

“No, no,” Edward says, “I was worried about you, you deserve this. I mean, you even missed girls night! You never miss girls night!”

“Girls night?” Danny asks, absolutely delighted.

“Oh, of course,” Edward says, sprawling over on the couch, dangerously close to just laying in Jonathan’s lap, “we have it once a week. I’m invited because of Selina and Jon’s invited because Harley likes him.”

“And what does girls night entail, exactly?”

“Eddie,” Jonathan groans, “please.”

“Well,” Edward hums, “we usually paint our nails, or watch a movie, or gossip about the other rogues, and occasionally, we tell each other about any ‘encounters’ we have with Batman,” he says, raising his eyebrows up and down.

Danny’s jaw drops.

“Edward, shut up,” Jonathan says, an irritated tone in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“No way,” Danny says, “I thought that Batman, like, hated you guys or something. You mean he actually..?”

“Oh, the Bat is much like a bottle of liquor or a cheap cigarette, in that he was made to be passed around.”

Danny chokes on air.

“Edward Nygma,” Jonathan hisses, getting out of his seat and looming over the man, “get the hell out.”

Edward pales.

“Leaving, leaving!” Edward says, dashing away from Jonathan. He pauses, turning to flash Danny a quick smile.

“Remember Danny, I’m your favorite uncle! Not any of the other rogues, me!”

With that, he leaves, the room falling completely silent.

And, as per usual, that silence does not last.

“You full-named him?” Danny asks gleefully, “and it worked?”

Jonathan just sighs, sitting down on the couch and rubbing at his temples.

“Please, don’t take anything Eddie says seriously. He’s a moron.”

“Dr. Crane, please let me come to girls night with you,” Danny pleads, his eyes sparkling, “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Jonathan groans.

“Of course you won’t, Eddie will do it for you.”

“Come on, please?”

“I think we’re a bit busy with the GiW at the moment,” Jonathan snaps. He pauses as he notices the crestfallen expression on Danny’s face.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

“Perhaps, though, when all that is taken care of…”

Danny cheers, grinning wildly, and Jonathan is not at all relieved to see him happy again. Certainly not.

The rest of the day is relatively normal.

Danny works on trying to get information from the GiW database while Crane refines his his fear toxin, both preparing for a raid on the GiW base they located in Gotham.

It was only a temporary base, nothing of note, but there was a chance of discovering more bases through it, and that wasn’t something either of them were willing to give up.

Still, something like this would take time. Rushing would only lead to failure.

…

Late in the night, long after Danny is fast asleep in his room, Jonathan pauses.

The GiW are not the only threat out there. They aren’t the only threat to him or to Danny. Perhaps it could be helpful to reach out to someone with greater resources than himself.

He sends a quick message to Red Hood.

Hopefully, he thinks, everything will go smoothly.

—

[loveandmurders]

Hello🖤

If you're accepting requests i may have a fun idea. I've had this scenario in my head for a while but dont have the writing skills for it.

So basically billy, stu and reader (all three were ghostface) escaped from the police and while on the run (let's ignore geography for this) they come across a kind (but a bit strange) man who carries roadkill on the back of his truck and he kindly gives them a ride to the nearest town - Ambrose. Slasher shenanigans ensue

The reader can be gn, the gender doesnt really matter. You can choose if you want to write a blurb, headcannon and stuff

Im sorry if this too much to ask and you can tottaly ignore this

Hello, love sorry it took me so long to get to your request, but here you are! Hope you'll enjoy <3

SOME INTERESTING HOLIDAYS (Ghostface x GN!reader)

Warnings: no proof reading, mentions of sexual activities, of blood and violence

-You hadn’t thought things would go so out of hand. But now the more you thought about it, the more obvious it was that your plan wasn’t a flawless one… you actually forgot the essential (like in most horror movies): a good ending - especially for the killers.

-You killed everyone - no final girl for once.

-And your two lovers would have enjoyed playing with you in the blood of their victims and glory of the victory, but you quickly realised you had to leave before the cops could find you.

-So here you were, with your two lovers - Billy and Stu - running away as far as possible and as quick as possible from Woodsboro.

-Billy was a little bit annoyed he was forced to leave the city. He hadn’t really thought of the consequences of all of this, and maybe it was also why he was feeling so upset. He was supposed to be a mastermind.

-Stu was laughing, he was so proud of what happened and adrenaline was still pumping into his veins. His hands were happily roaming your body as Billy was driving.

-As long as your boys were safe, you were happy too. You kissed Stu with fierce passion until you heard Billy groan.

-You sent him a little look, quite curious about why he was so grumpy now. “Don’t distract me” Billy finally said and both Stu and yourself started to laugh and to tease him.

-Your life was a dangerous one and you didn’t even know what you were going to do with yourself now, but as long as you were all together, you didn’t really care.

-The three of you drove for days and weeks; you were starting to get bored actually, and there was no plan on when to stop or even where. Until you saw some advertisements for a “House of Wax”.

-Billy didn’t want to stop for this but you whined so much - and Stu supported you - so he finally gave in. He rolled his eyes and reminded the two of you you were children.

-It was then you met a truck on the other side of the road. The driver stopped at your level and lowered down his window “All good?” he asked you in a very heavy southern accent. You peered into the truck and could see roadkills, but the man looked sweet.

-You knew you all looked innocent as well though; so you knew better than to judge a book by its cover.

-Billy explained to the man that you were on holiday and you wanted to visit the House of Wax since you saw the advertisements. He also asked if there was a motel nearby. 

-The man - Lester - said there was no motel near the House of Wax, that you would need to go into another town for that. However, the museum was a really interesting place. It appeared that his late mother and brother were taking care of it.

-You all politely thanked Lester and agreed to follow behind his truck to not get lost on the roads. The man was nice but you all felt something was… amiss.

-When you arrived in Ambrose, you all exchanged a look.

-“If that’s not a killer on the run dream…” Billy muttered as he looked around “No one could find us here” he continued.

-“But there is no motel around either.” you hummed “And it really looks… deserted. I didn’t even see Ambrose on the plans when we looked at the last gas station.” you added “How could people still live here?”

-“Well you'll quickly know it, because we’ll try to stay here, at least for a little while. No one can find us.” Billy replied and you pouted.

-“We’ll get bored here” you whined but the boys gave you a look full of promise; how could you get bored when they were around?

-You all got out of the car and thanked Lester again. He also introduced you to his big brother, Bo.

-Bo instantly watched you all with great interest. You were young, you were hot and he was certain you would all look amazing in the House of Wax.

-No need to say that the twins were very surprised about how good you were when they tried to kill you, and that you were now the ones trying to kill them. With Lester, you were clearly on equal strength.

-You had discovered that the town was empty apart from the Sinclairs and the wax statues and you started to understand that it was like a massive deadly trap. But you were good with your knives and you actually were crazy enough to enjoy it. It was like a workout for the three of you.

-At some point, you managed to jump on Vincent and to put a knife under his chin. Bo aimed at you, Billy aimed at Bo with a gun he found and Stu blocked Lester from coming closer.

-“Alright, alright, how ‘bout we talk ‘bout this?” Bo finally offered. He noticed that Vincent didn’t try to get away from you, so it meant his twin could tell you would slice his throat open if he tried anything.

-“You’re the ones who attacked us” Billy argued back.

-“Is it like a playground for killers?” you hummed and Stu smirked.

-“Who the fuck are ya?” Lester frowned.

-“Who we are doesn’t matter, what matters is that we are killers. Just like you. But right now, Y/N is the best of us and they are going to kill your brother if you don’t let us go” Billy replied and you looked up at Bo with a dark smile, drawing a little bit of blood from Vincent.

-Bo instantly lowered his gun, put it on the ground and Lester moved away a little as well. They both put their hands up. You exchanged a look with Billy and Stu before moving from Vincent. You were all facing each other now, wondering what to do next.

-The Sinclairs had never met people like them, especially not people so brutal, so smart and so dangerous than you all. They felt curiosity, even more when Billy wrapped an arm around your waist and you moved your head on Stu’s shoulder. You looked like the lovers of Death. So young and so good looking, and yet so deadly.

-“Ya’re on the run” Bo hummed “And ya were lookin’ for somewhere to stay” he guessed. Vincent signed something to his brothers. Lester didn’t seem too happy about it and Bo thought his twin was losing it.

-“What did he say?” you asked with an arched eyebrow. No one answered you and it annoyed the boys “They asked you a question” Billy growled.

-“Vincent’s invitin’ ya over… he’s really interested in ya’ll” Bo finally replied.

-You were always the one enjoying playing with fire the more so you quickly moved closer and shook hands with Vincent.

-“I’d like that. I’m Y/N, nice to meet you, I guess” you smirked.

-Vincent and you got along pretty instantly, even though you didn’t know ASL. He wrote to you so you could communicate. Your shared love for knives helped a lot as a discussion starter. And then, your love to sneak around and kill people. And then, your love for every kind of art. You wanted to hide in Ambrose now and Vincent was more than eager to welcome you here. It would be nice to have people around who were understanding his way of life. And there were so many houses that could be your new home, at least for as long as you needed to hide away.

-Bo and Billy weren’t too happy about it, because it wasn’t part of the plan, because they couldn’t trust anyone, because they would need to be even more careful than usual so their favourite people wouldn’t get hurt.

-Stu was happy if you were happy, even if he was a little bit jealous of the attention you were giving to Vincent, at first. So he joined the two of you in your conversation, and he actually started to have fun as well. Lester noticed how Vincent seemed to be relaxed and it warmed his heart. It never happened before that his brother was so at ease around strangers.

-You all ate together in Sinclair's house. Bo stayed quite silent, observing you all, just like Billy. At some point, he asked: “So what, ya ain’t surprised my brother’s wearin’ a mask?” he asked. He just wanted for you to say something that would upset Vincent so they would kill you all in your sleep.

-But the three of you just shrugged “You’re kidding, masks are super cool. We’ll show you ours tomorrow” you smiled and the boys nodded “What’s a killer without a mask anyway?” Billy agreed “It’s classic horror” he added “Yeah so lame of you, Bo, to not wear any mask, by the way. You could have been the masked twins, ugh such a missed opportunity” Stu continued.

-Lester started to laugh and he thought he quite liked you all. You were some fresh air in Ambrose, fun and crazy. He knew it was the beginning of a new era for his family.

-Bo was bewildered but he guessed you weren’t so bad then. You had been polite with Lester and you weren’t judging his twin, so you could stay. Maybe he would even learn to love you.

-Vincent was eager to keep you all in Ambrose, forever. Maybe you could even help the Sinclairs build the future. You were going to be part of the family, he could feel it because you were different from usual people.

-You were monsters, too.

[lokisprettygirl]

Light into the Darkness (Bill Skarsgard! Eric Draven x Female Reader) (Horror Romance) (18+) (70s AU)

Read Chapter 4 here // Series Masterlist

Chapter 5

Summary : An interaction with a handsome man leaves you spiraling but Eric knows how to put you in your place.

Warning: 18+, Sex, Verbal degradation, blood drinking, Reader is depressed, blood kink, smut, reader has plethora of insecurities, she's passively suicidal, she's in her thirties (for some of you that's a warning I guess), when I say alternate universe i mean it

He must care. Why else would he leave the coin? You wrestled with the thoughts. Was this his way of rewarding you for doing what he had asked or he felt bad about you losing all your money because of him? Or was he just thinking of himself? You were the source of his nutrition afterall and he couldn't afford to make you go hungry.

You placed the coin somewhere safe in the closet, you had made a note to ask Mr Rogers if he'd pay you in advance, for some reason you didn't want to sell it. It seemed special. It was a gift..in a way.

Your eyes then fell upon the plant you had kept on the ledge of the window, dull and lifeless now that you had forgotten to water it. You moved into the bathroom to fill a glass but as you returned you realised it was beyond salvaging.

“I'm sorry” you murmured as you plucked the dead roots out of the pot.

While you bathed your fingers trailed over your skin, tracing the path his lips had traced the last night. And then you felt ashamed again as if you had committed a sin, a crime against nature and everything that was holy in this world.

He wasn't a man, he was a creature and you had let him in every possible way. You had given him your body, your blood and perhaps a piece of your heart as well.

Was he even capable of love? Or was it just hunger?

You mindlessly scrubbed every inch of your skin with the loofah, a sudden sense of disgust wrapped around you from head to toe. Did it come from him or from within you? You couldn't really tell.

*******

The bell above the door jingled with a familiar chime as you stepped into the record store an hour later.

“I'm really sorry again Mr. Rogers” you apologised so he sighed.

“Well I'm glad you got your rest, you do look alive today”

You smiled as he said that. Only if he knew. The air around the store smelled like dust, vinyl, and coffee as usual, but it was comforting in its own way, it was routine. It was normal.

However your life was anything but, you belonged to someone else now. Not visibly. Not obviously. But you felt it in your bones.

The craving, the need you had for him, it was deadly how you felt ashamed of the encounter and still wanted to experience it again when the sun would go down.

The shop was quiet. You tried to focus on refilling the jazz section, but your fingers moved on autopilot. Your mind kept drifting back to him. To his mouth. His hands. The way he looked at you like you were the only living thing left in the world.

His voice faintly echoed in your head. You scowled and rubbed at your temple as if that would make him go away, you couldn't really hear anything but you just knew he was there.. like a parasite, crawling and infecting your thoughts.

The bell jingled again and you straightened instinctively. A man walked in, he was tall, so tall, clean-shaven, early thirties maybe but you couldn't tell. He had a leather jacket on, his hair tousled from the wind.

“Hii” he gave you a smile so you returned it. Gorgeous smile. He moved with the confidence of someone who knew he looked good and also knew that other people thought so too.

“Morning” he said again “Looking for some Nina Simone, but open to suggestions”

You offered a polite smile, grateful for the distraction from your own jumbled thoughts.

“You’ve got good taste. We just got the Little Girl Blue live version this morning..if you want to start there..It truly is magical..must have been surreal for those who got to see it live” you said to him so he smiled again.

“Perfect.. See? I knew you’d have just what I need” you laughed lightly at his words, feeling the first flicker of ease since last night.

“I work here. It’s literally my job” you said as you chuckled, his brows quirked up.

“But you like it..dont you?” he said, watching you closely as you pulled out the vinyl for him “I can tell. You don’t just sell music, you love it”

That startled you a little. No one ever noticed things like that. Not even Adam. You did love music and you loved working at the store.

“I do” you admitted, a little shyly. “Music… keeps me company when nothing else does”

“A woman after my own heart”

You handed him the record and his fingers brushed against yours, lingering just a little too long than it should.

“The name is Clark by the way, what do they call you?” he asked curiously so you mumbled your name.

“Wait I'll wrap it in the case” you said to him so he gave it back to you, his eyes staring deeply in you.

He was flirting with you right? The lingering glance, the way he looked at you, though you didn't quite understand why he'd do that. He was a good looking man and way out of your league. He was handsome. Normal. The kind of man your mother might have called a jackpot. He probably had a job, a dog, maybe even a fancy apartment with plants that were watered regularly.

And for a split second, you saw a different version of your life flash before your eyes. One where you’d waited for something like this to happen to you, maybe there was a love story waiting for you, waiting to be written but..you burned the blank pages before it could begin. Maybe if you had just waited and hadn’t whispered into the night, you'd have a life that was sane and normal, a life where you hadn’t offered your blood, your body, your soul to a creature you didn't know anything about.

Your throat tightened as the panic began to build up.

You could have had this. Something real, something that wouldn't disappear in the morning light.

You should have waited.

But you didn’t.

And now he was inside you. Eric. Eirikr. Whatever he truly was. You could feel him.

He'd bore you in a week, little flame.

You dropped the record as his voice echoed.

Clark looked at you, a bit surprised, a bit concerned

“Hey, you alright?” he asked so you composed yourself.

“Yeah, sorry. Just... clumsy today” You forced a smile as you knelt to pick it up

Your heart pounded in your chest as you quickly wrapped up the vinyl and passed the bill to him.

Before leaving Clark left his number behind for you. After he left, you locked yourself in the stockroom to calm down. The last thing you wanted was Mr. Rogers to see you act this way in front of the customers, you had been behaving weirdly from the past three days since Eric had arrived.

As you stepped out of the store in the evening you found yourself distracted, you weren't even watching as you bumped into a man. He was old, not as old as Mr Rogers but old enough, dressed in a complete five piece suit with a hat and everything. You wanted to apologize but something about him unnerved you in a way that only one other man did.

As you walked past him he suddenly spoke.

“I see he has found a bait”

His words confused you so you turned to look at him and ask whatever the hell he meant but as you did he was gone. He had disappeared.

When you returned home you looked at the mess that was your bed. The bloody sheet, the ripped dress, the smell of sex lingering in every corner of your room only heightened your discomfort.

You couldn't bear the sight of it any longer so you quickly stripped the sheet.

“Well you're going straight to the trash bin” you murmured as you picked the bloodied sheet off the bed and made your way into the kitchen to grab a trash bag.

Your heart leapt out of your mouth as you came back to the sight of Eric sitting on the bed, he was back to his old attire. All black like the darkness he had in him.

“God you scared me” you said as you entered the room, a bit unnerved by his presence when last night you were squirming mindlessly underneath him.

“Why? Were you not expecting me?” He asked as he stared at you, his pale skin seemed to have picked up some warmth, maybe it was your blood.

“No it's just uhh-” you stuttered on your words, not wanting to offend the creature who could bleed you dry instantly if he wanted to.

“Do you regret our union?” He asked so you looked him in the eye finally. Did you regret it? You wished you knew the answer but you didn't, you felt shameful and guilty but was it regret?

“I just..I feel insane okay.. and don't act as if you weren't in my head listening to my thoughts all day.. and you know what .. I don't appreciate it” you crossed your arms as you spoke to him.

“You let me in” he said as he got up and got around the bed.

“No not like that..not in my head..it's too much”

A flicker of hurt flashed across his eyes before he composed himself and smiled. His steps were slow and deliberate.

“You knew what you were getting into” he pressed on every syllable as he spoke.

“No I didn't..you took advantage of me..you saw someone pathetic and desperate and you knew I'd give in-” you retorted, a part of you knew you were being unfair but you just wanted to vent.

“I gave you a choice..why didn't you deny?” he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of anger now.

“Didn't you just hear me? I am pathetic and desperate” you said as a matter of fact, as if that's just who you were deep down.

“I hear you loud and clear but you can not play victim again as you always do. I didn't force you, I could have, I am capable of it but I gave you a choice and you chose me. It can't be undone now. I'm bound to you”

He walked closer to you so you stepped back, fearing as if he'd harm you when he hadn't given you any reason to believe that. As he reached closer to you, his fingers wrapped around the back of your neck, his thumb circling the mark where he had fed from the last night..

“You can run away from me y/n if you wish to” he spoke softly, his nose scrunching, teeth baring. You could tell he was restraining himself.

“I can?” you asked to confirm if you had misheard him.

“It's a choice” he responded.

“And where would you go?” he let out a chuckle as you questioned him.

“It's not your burden to bear is it?”

“It's not..i don't even know you” he scowled as you said that with such ignorance and arrogance. You didn't know him but you had no qualms giving into him.

“You say I used you, that I took advantage of you. What have you done? In the dark of the night you lived a fantasy with me, the morning came with regret and look how willing you are to discard me now” you heard the hurt in his voice, you couldn't even tell if he was manipulating you or not.

“That's not what this is about ..”

“You're ashamed of yourself, ashamed of our consummation because your fragile, limited, mortal mind can not comprehend how much you reveled in it”

“Stop-”

“You can pretend all you want, get rid of the sheets, scrub your skin raw but you can't get rid of me and that scares you. Even given a choice you wouldn't want to lose me” he kept talking, kept saying things you didn't want to hear.

“I don't even know you..I don't know a thing about you except your name -”

“Knowing me isn't going to rid you of your shame, you loathe yourself so much it really is pathetic”

Your eyes teared up as he said that.

“I'm not pathetic” you yelled at him like you had never yelled before, you didn't want him to think of you like that. Not how Adam did. Not how other men saw you, as someone so worthless.

He approached you, his palms cupped around your face as he made you look at him.

“You are not. You truly are not..you see that? You believe that now alright” He said as he cupped your cheeks, his thumb wiping your tears away.

“Stop stop stop..you're doing it again” you said as you pulled away from him, his touch, his words weakening you again.

“What am I doing?”

“You're pulling me in again”

“You think he won't hurt you? After he has what he needs you think he'd not give you up for another conquest? You have been down this road” you scoffed as you knew he was talking about Clark.

“You know when you say such things it makes me feel horrible as if I'm not worthy enough for a man to stick around for me” you turned to face away from him.

“It has nothing to do with you”

He said to you, you knew he was in your head, he was listening to your thoughts and doubts and fear, he knew how insecure you were.

As you didn't answer he sighed deeply before he grabbed your arm to turn you to him.

“Do you want to end this?”

“I thought you said once we are bonded it can't be undone”

“It can't..you'd always have this emptiness in you, a void, when your regret fades, when you're hurt again by someone you will think of me i promise you that, with time you'll forget the sound of my voice or how I look but you'll never forget the way i filled you” you looked away as he said that. A part of you already knew you didn't want him to leave.

“You're manipulating me again”

“I'm telling you the truth”

“And what about you? What will happen to you” he let out a snicker as you questioned him so he let go of your arm and walked towards the window, his fingers brushed over the edges of the now empty pot.

“What happens to a plant when you quit nurturing it y/n?” he asked you, the question was rhetorical.

“It dies”

“Eventually. Not immediately, it survives as long as it can on its own, relishing in the last bit of the moisture it carries in its roots” he paused for a moment before he turned to look at you “And then it wither down slowly, it deteriorate, suffer in agony until it succumb to death”

Your eyes welled up with fresh tears again as he said that. You didn't want him to disappear from your life, you knew you'd regret it if you lose him too, he was already in you, as much as you wanted to deny it he was all inside you, the taste of his lips, the euphoria from his essence, the feeling of complete fullness you had last night, you knew you won't be able replicate it or replace it. You hated how much you wanted him

“You're too intense..has anyone ever told you that?” you spoke between the tears and you heard the sound of genuine laughter erupting from his chest. Oh he had heard that one before.

“I apologise? It's been a while since I have been around someone.. I have forgotten what it is like to be human”

He stared at you intensely, you found yourself burning under his gaze, the need to be close to him resurfaced, all the regret and shame was forgotten now that he looked at you like that.

“I am going for a bath”

You said as you swiftly turned to rush into the bathroom. You didn't ask him to leave so that only meant the other thing.

You wanted him to stay.

You filled the tub with hot water, the steam fogging up all around so much that you couldn't even look at your reflection in the mirror anymore, the same type of fog that he had wrapped around your brain.

You lit up a candle to place it on the window before undressing, then you tied your hair up in a bun before you sunk into the tub until only your head was peaking out. The images from last night flashed as you closed your eyes, the ache between your legs pulsing for his touch again, your blood calling for him, you wanted to feel his teeth sink into your flesh again.

And then you felt him around you, his scent clouded your surroundings, the sound of the leaky faucet dripping water into the tub was the only other sound in the room apart from your heavy breathing.. He was quiet as he sat down at the edge, making you shiver as his fingers brushed your hair from your forehead before they slipped down between the valley of your breasts, his touch cold against your warm skin.

“I didn't ask you to come in” you said boldly, even though your lips trembled.

“You left the door open”

“It's not as if you used it to get in”

“I wouldn't have if it was locked, I come only when you invite me in”

He murmured softly, his fingers slipped between your thighs, gliding with precision on your soapy skin, your breath caught in your chest as he rubbed your lips, his thumb pressing circles on your clit.

“Ask me a question. You said you didn't know anything about me so ask but just one, that is all I'm willing to give you tonight”

He mumbled nonchalantly as if he wasn't torturing you in the same breath.

A gasp escaped your throat as his middle finger slipped into you, he watched as your fingers clutched around the edge of the tub, your head resting at the back.

“Who are you? Who you used to be?” You asked, voice barely a whisper as he pumped his fingers in and out of you.

“A man with a pulse and a dream. I was born..just like you. A son, a brother, a lover” he answered sincerely.

“How old are you now?”

“I don't even know anymore. But i remember the scent of the earth before they filled it with bricks and concrete, i remember when the sky used to be clearer”

You opened your eyes as he said that.

“How did you become this?’ you asked him, even though he had asked you to ask one question.

“I made a choice..a bargain” he said, your eyes rolled into your head as his thumb pressed over the bundle of nerves..

“You chose ..too uhh you chose to become this?” you murmured

“I did but it wasn't for eternal life or glory” your thighs clenched around his hand as you neared your peak.

“Then why?” the words slipped out at the same time as your orgasm hit you like a wave.

“That's a good girl.. so beautiful when you fall apart for me” he mumbled softly, his fingers still working you slowly..

As you breathing leveled he pulled his hand out from under the water and sucked his fingers into his mouth, the remnants of soap and your juices filled his taste bud.

You couldn't keep your eyes off him, the way his skin shined in the candlelight was ethereal.

Grabbing onto the edge of the tub you rose up, water cascading down your skin, his eyes gleamed even in the dim light, his lips parted as if he couldn't wait to sink into you again, you brought your face closer to him until you had your lips on his, he didn't waste a breath, his arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you on his lap effortlessly, he was so strong, he could do whatever he wanted to do and you knew you'd have no choice. Except you had one.

He gave you a choice. He always did.

As the kiss heated up he fell back into the tub, taking you along with him, your thighs straddling him, water splashing around you as your lips moved from his mouth to his neck..all your thoughts and worries from the day were gone now, disappearing into the thin air.

“I can't give you normalcy, little flame but what I'm offering is real and lasting” you pressed your head up to look at him, he sounded honest but a part of you still felt wary of his intentions, not that you cared at the moment.

“I guess I'll just have to get used to not waking up next to you”

You said as you took his drenched coat off his body, his shirt sticking to his wet body like a second skin.

“I may disappear as the sun comes up but I'll never leave. I'll always come back for you”

You nodded as he said that, his lips then latched onto your neck, his fangs grazing over your skin but something was holding him back.

“Do you want this? Want to feed me?”

He whispered in your ear so you nodded in desperation.

“So eager”

His fangs pierced your flesh and the familiar sensation of being high from the night before filled you again, like a drug you found yourself wanting to take him in again, and you knew the more you let him in the more addicted you'll get to him but you didn't care, along with the daylight also went down your shame and hesitation.

You didn't remember him taking you out of the tub and into your bed, the bed without the sheets, you were too high to think clearly, but you remembered writhing and squirming underneath him as he fucked you ever so slowly while he drank the blood from your wrist. Your naked bodies tangled around with each other.

He didn't stop that night, it was as if he was punishing you for acting out earlier, he knew how much blood you needed to survive, how much he could take that was not too much to make you sick, so he pierced wherever he wanted to, your neck, your thighs, your wrist, the curve of your breasts, his fangs opened you up for his consumption and then his lips sealed you with same urgency.

All while his cock stayed stilled in you as he made you cum over and over again.

At night you didn't dream of some knight and shining prince who'd come rescue you on a white horse or serenade you with a love song, all you needed was a monster, a creature who lived in the shadows, the one who'd pleasure you all night long and would drink from you to his heart's content.

The next morning a thought kept bothering you though.

He never answered your last question. Why did he become this?

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Taglist @mariaenchanted @malenoradgn @muchwita @loushaw131460 @wiseyouthinfluencer

@a-differentbrandof-beans @urmomsgirlfriend1 @serving-targaryen-realness @mskiabbs

[lilacxquartz]

— ALL EYES ON YOU —

prison realm (cursed spirit form) x gn!reader

plot: tasked with retrieving the prison realm nothing could have prepared you for what it truly was — tw: horror, sad themes, major character death • ao3 • part 3 of 3 • < previous chapter • part one • masterlist

Final Chapter. Trophy

It couldn’t have been a minute—could it?

Because if that was the case, then you weren’t in a good position at all. By legend alone, all it took was sixty seconds of a distracted mind for the true power of the realm to activate. Was it still the same case when the prison realm was… alive… in a form like… this?

You could hardly think as you processed the idea. The air around you grew thicker at a rate that left you unable to adapt to the progression of anything. It felt like the oxygen had been suddenly sucked out of the room and as if the walls were closing in, leaving you feeling suffocated and small. Each attempted breath you took felt solid, the sensation of bricks anchoring in your lungs with each attempted pull.

In an attempt to ground yourself, you swallowed thickly, trying to bring yourself to turn around but it was as though your body had hardened into stone in the process. Even the slightest movement felt close to impossible, and just as you finally met with what stared right back at you…

Your heart sank.

Dozens of unblinking, widely bulging eyes focused on your form with an almost paralysing intensity, staring right at you, just like before, but something this time was terribly off. Without warning, its arms began to lengthen, spearing forth like shooting vines, rooting at your form as though starved.

The prison realm—or the being that took its form—wrapped itself tight around your unwilling body, continuing to feed into the suffocating sensation that manifested within. You tried to scream—to will yourself out of this situation—but it relented, fighting to pull you back into the depths of its core instead. It seemed bent on assimilating you into its very sense of being, grappling towards you while keeping you frozen still, much like a insect trapped in a spider’s web.

Thin, bony digits that perhaps once resembled fingers curled around your wrists and ankles, creeping around your flesh like parasitic ivy starved of sunlight. The realisation stole the last of your breath away, leaving you reeling and gasping for air in a fit of choked panic. You could hardly come to terms with what was happening at all, and then amid the assimilation, its form changed again.

The prison realm twitched into sudden stillness, tilting its head a moment later. The pupils that adorned its decoy eyes rolled with the movement, which could almost be perceived as comical if the situation wasn’t as terrifying as it was. Its expression intensified from curiosity and grew into a deep, barely-contained hunger instead.

You remembered something important as it regarded you—that it never actually ended up understanding you—your technique likely still causing it to be confused. Perhaps to it, you had deceived it somehow, and now it sought to eliminate the greatest threat it knew. After all, you had warped its perception of you, even if unintentionally, weaving its scope of you into something unresolved.

Indeed, to this creature, you were the anomaly, not it.

(And now, all it wanted to do in its limited form was to try and understand you, even if it threatened to consume you in the process of trying to do so.)

Just as you were about to force your voice to breach through the silence, however, it managed to utter a sound of its own. It didn’t sound like anything alive, much closer perhaps to the low rusty creak of a door that had been wrenched open after centuries of disuse. It sounded metallic, almost, like a declining bridge on its very last hinges threatening to collapse.

“Gate open,” it simply croaked out, causing your eyes to widen in sheer horror.

No. No. No.

You tried to shake your head despite being confined to what felt like an invisible coffin that entombed you into a state of perfect stillness. You could neither move, scream, nor protest in the slightest, with all of your very own agency taken away from you within an instant. Panic clawed its way up to your chest as you tried to fight it, the desperation you felt rising in feverish intensity, but it was of no use at all. You felt as your cursed energy quickly dispersed, absorbed into the depths of the creature that sought to claim you, or perhaps rather, more likely, destroy you altogether.

Your body trembled as you took in the situation you were forced into, the painful pull of being forced into the core of something else entirely. The consequences of being distracted within the company of something so potentially devastating as this creature—this thing—slowly, or perhaps quickly, savoured you, digesting you into its very soul to keep.

(The prison realm was known to warp time, after all. This could be taking mere seconds, for all you knew.)

Perhaps the most insulting thing about this whole process, though, was that as you slipped away into the promise of unknown darkness—or wherever it was you were headed—it felt comforting rather than dreadful. Its embrace was warm, like a welcoming hug, even if it was one that could never be broken—never be parted from. You wondered if this would be forever, or if death would find you at some point. If you would take your own life within it, if you would be killed by it, or if your boss took mercy upon you and killed it under their own accord.

(Though that much was unlikely. They seldom acted out of kindness, rather necessity instead.)

The prison realm cradled you as your eyes drooped shut against their will, the weight of exhaustion pulling you under. It whispered a slurry of unintelligible murmurs directly into your ears, giving you the impression that it was trying to soothe you. Its limbs retracted back into a proportionate form, tracing delicate strokes along your skin as you faded away.

“Gate close,” it murmured, its voice barely a whisper to your ears.

It happened so slowly yet so quickly all at the same time. Within just mere moments, you were submerged into the fabled void that existed within it; a place as dark as night before a bright flash blinded you, assaulting your vision with burning white. You came around as quickly as you passed out, blinking into the impossible landscape of a field that felt so strikingly real. You couldn’t have been anywhere that existed elsewhere, so this must have been within the depths of its soul.

A fabricated reality that you were forced to face alone.

You gasped as you were met with the chilling realisation, falling backwards onto your behind as you tried to stumble away. Your palms sank against what felt like dirt as the silken blades of grass filtered through your fingers. Your nostrils burned with deep despair, sniffling back anguished tears. The perfectly blue sky enveloped you, trapping you in a deceptively tranquil world, even though the reality was far from that.

You were nowhere good, after all, no matter how much the place tried to pretend to present itself as, and eventually, you heard something new. Again. A voice. This time, however, it sounded more human than before. Softer, though, it held onto the same roughness from before—rough from disuse, just like that guttural sound.

You paused as you registered it.

“What… did you do to me?” it asked, the accusation in its tone echoing around the small space. The spite laced within its voice finally pulled you away from your dissociated stupor and back into the grounding wake of your new reality, forcing you to confront it.

(To come to terms of where you were and who, or what, you were in here with.)

You tried to talk, surprised that your voice could even exist in a place like this, “Who—” you tried, only to be cut off by the man that blurred into focus just in front of you.

“You’re in my realm,” a monk greeted you, adorned in tattered robes, “but you’re not where you’re supposed to be – you’re not where they’re supposed to go.”

A heavy silence followed as you tried to process his words, your voice coming back to your defence as you tried to explain yourself. You had no idea what was happening either. This was just as foreign to you as much as it was to the stranger before you.

“I didn’t do anything – at least not on purpose…” you trailed off, “I-I have a cursed technique that might have confused you. It rewrites and changes intentions, I didn’t mean to even come here.”

The man regarded you quietly, studying you with an unsettling intensity, and after a tense minute, he simply just nodded. “I see. How unfortunate.”

“How unfortunate…?” you repeated, your voice ripe with disbelief. You were stunned to hear that the person before you wasn’t breaking down along with you—that he wasn’t freaking out to the same extent. “If I’m not supposed to be in this place, then why are you okay with me being here?”

“Don’t misunderstand,” the monk continued, retaining a calm tone, “I’m just as surprised as you are, but also, I’m relieved. After centuries of existing within a nightmare of a long dream, I finally feel… alive.”

“Alive?” you asked, an idea forming in your mind. “Are you… Genshin himself?”

The monk shook his head. “No, but I am born of his legacy. Perhaps the intention of your technique helped me realise a form of my own, allowing me to exist.”

You scoffed at the thought; your technique had doomed you instead of helped you! That was a first. You shook your head, backing away from the man in fear, unable to process—let alone digest such horrible information. “No, no, no!” you exclaimed. “I can’t… I won’t accept this. I can’t… I won’t…” you trailed off, babbling away into crazed refusal.

The personified realm simply stared back at you, finally registering the gravity of the situation it had put you in. Seeing you so upset, for some reason, also upset him, and in that moment, any warmth it had given you faded away as quickly as it had arrived. Like a glitching reflection, his body shifted violently, distorting back into the form he had before.

Back into the… thing… that had taken you—that had trapped you along with it—back into the very depths of the nightmare you both sought to escape from.

Once again, you tried to back away from it, wanting to be anywhere but near this dreadful thing, no matter what it took to distance yourself. Despite this turn of events, however, something deep down told you that it wouldn’t even let you try.

If this thing associated you with feeling alive, if it had brought you into this terrible place by its own unprompted accord…

Then who was to say it was about to let you go?

~~~

Days passed like this, or what felt like it. Time didn’t move within this cursed reality, and you had quickly grown insane from being trapped within it. Your body felt numb with exhaustion, unable to sleep but also unable to keep awake to the same sharpness either. You were left in a state of limbo as a result, within a wakeful comatose, forced to accept your situation whether you wanted to or not.

You’d scream into the void on occasion, whenever you’d let the madness take you over.

“There has to be a way out!” you would demand, “if you can leave—then so can I!”

Though this didn’t seem to be the case at all. The creature appeared to be equally trapped with you, unable to return to the real world either. It had explained this to you many times before at this point, but you refused to accept its words.

You had to get out, after all. You just had to. Your life couldn’t have been over just yet! You had plans to fulfil, a job to do. You had given your life to work on something far greater than your being, only to never see it in reality because your technique had awoken something alive in something that shouldn’t have been.

Protesting around it was a bittersweet affair, too. In moments of calm, it assumed a more human-like form, seeming almost happy to be around you. This was how you passed the concept of time through conversation. Whenever you’d grow bored, though, or seek to leave, then it would glitch and shift again, warping back into its original monstrous form.

It would growl warnings into your ears, but it wouldn’t exactly harm you. It couldn’t. Not in a place like this. You weren’t unfamiliar with domains, and to an extent, you could compare it to something similar, but this place wasn’t that. It was different in the worst possible way. It was closer to a reality where death didn’t exist, where time didn’t move, where nothing other than experiencing a falsely fabricated reality was the only option of living.

Eventually, of course, you succumbed to acceptance, because what could you have otherwise done? After a while of descending into madness, you had no choice but to do just that. It wasn’t something that you wanted, but what other options did you have? The quicker you accepted this hell, the less daunting it somehow seemed. The realm eventually stopped glitching, maintaining its human form, and as you accepted it, you found sanity within a place that lacked none.

This overjoyed the creature, of course. You accepted being with it!

It quickly wrapped its arms right around your body just like it did before, its touch gentle, though locking. Trapping. Its fingers drifted back and forth along your spine, softening its touch around you. Its chest pressed against your back, pulling you tighter.

Though, as it brought you closer, repeating all sorts of things that soon you understood, the odder you felt. “I won’t let you go,” you heard, “I won’t lose you,” you registered.

It was as though by accepting the creature, you were finally allowing yourself to accept the nothingness that awaited you.

To allow yourself to truly assimilate into the realm itself, something that the creature realised all too late. It took a while, but the creature had finally absorbed you into the depths of its soul, just as it was designed to do.

It was only then, as you finally disappeared, that it understood however, what had just happened. Its breath hitched in realisation, refusing to accept what it had indirectly subjected you to. With your technique, you had given it life, but also, you had condemned to solitude, forcing it to grieve eternally after a person it loved, the one who had willed it into life, but also, died.

And when Kenjaku later found it in its unassuming square form, back to how it was supposed to be, they could have sworn that it was crying real tears.

(For even the memory of you would soon be fleeting.)

(It would be gone.)

a/n: experimental fic & idea; accepting the cursed spirit’s end goal means being becoming a part of it like you would have been in the cube, you’d lose yourself in it as fine would have passed. unfortunately for the suddenly alive yandere cube though, this meant death for you at its unwilling cause.

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

Sweet Past - Ch.7

Summary: Planning your new home is not as easy as you though, when there's Joel Miller involved. Oh, and that little akward dream you had.

Warning: a little bit of SMUT (so under 18 bye bye), fluff, Joel being Joel, weird feelings shit

Word count: 4 860

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

“Such a good girl.”

Joel’s voice was rough, edged with something primal, something possessive. The sound of it made your back arch, your body responding instinctively to the way his fingers worked you closer to the edge. His lips traced fire along your neck, the scrape of his beard only adding to the heat coiling low in your stomach.

Your hands clutched at his broad shoulders, gripping onto him like an anchor as his pace quickened, his touch both merciless and precise. The tension built, sharp and overwhelming, the pleasure nearly unbearable.

“That’s right, baby,” he groaned into your ear, the deep rasp of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “I can feel you.”

He nipped at your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin. You let out a choked moan, too far gone to be embarrassed by the way your body betrayed you. Joel only chuckled at that, his amusement thick with desire.

“Those noises you make, sweetheart... you’ll be the end of me.”

His mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking, biting—harder this time—while his hand worked you with devastating precision. The contrast of pain and pleasure made you whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair, nails digging into the nape of his neck.

Then—

He curled his fingers just right, hitting that spot. The one that had you crying out, thighs trembling, pleasure tearing through you like a live wire.

“There it is,” he murmured, smug, satisfied, his voice thick with approval. “Go on, pretty girl. Let go for me.”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t let up. He pushed you over the edge, his voice commanding—

“Now.”

And that did it.

A sharp, shattered cry ripped from your throat as your body tightened, then broke apart entirely. White-hot pleasure crashed through you, unstoppable, relentless—

And then—

You woke up.

Gasping. Shaking.

Your body was still tight with the ghost of it, your thighs pressed together, the damp heat between them making your stomach plummet.

Oh, fuck.

You shot upright, pressing the heels of your palms into your face, as if you could somehow will the dream away, erase it from your memory.

It was bad enough that you’d had a wet dream, but about him?

Joel fucking Miller.

Your stomach churned with a mixture of horror, embarrassment, and something you really, really didn’t want to name.

This wasn’t happening.

It was a dream.

It didn’t mean anything.

Right?

---

The sharp scent of sawdust and metal filled the air as you stood in the middle of the hardware store, trying to keep your focus on renovations and not on the fact that you were standing way too close to the man who had just wrecked your subconscious this morning.

Joel, blissfully unaware, was scanning the aisles with that serious, calculating look he always had when he was working. You, on the other hand, were desperately trying not to think about how his fingers had—

Nope.

Absolutely not.

You needed a distraction. Now.

“Do you have this in pink?” you asked, turning to Mark, the store owner, while eyeing a power drill.

The reaction was immediate.

Both Mark and Joel turned to you, wearing identical expressions of disgust and horror.

You burst out laughing. “Oh God, you should see your faces.”

Mark muttered something under his breath, shaking his head as he grabbed a nearby clipboard. Joel, however, crossed his arms over his chest and gave you a long, unimpressed stare.

“You know what, Mark?” Joel mused, a slow smirk creeping onto his face. “Find her a pink one.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“Bet it’ll match your childish personality just fine,” he continued, turning to you with an infuriatingly smug expression.

You gasped, clutching your chest dramatically. “How dare you?”

Joel just grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

“You keep it up,” he warned, “I will make sure everything you own is pink.”

Your stomach twisted—not in annoyance, but in something dangerously close to fondness.

The teasing. The attention.

God, you needed to get a grip.

“Fine,” you huffed, shoving his arm playfully. “Party pooper. I apologize.”

Joel gave you a slow, approving nod, reaching out to pat you on the head condescendingly.

“See? You can act like an adult,” he drawled. “Good girl.”

And just like that—

Every single thought you’d been trying not to have that morning came rushing back.

Your body betrayed you.

Your breath hitched. Heat shot up your spine.

Joel noticed.

His hand stilled. His brow furrowed slightly, gaze flickering over your face. “You okay, kiddo?”

“Yep!” you blurted out, stepping back so fast you nearly tripped over a bucket of paint. “All good! So, uh—what’s next on the list?”

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he let it slide, rolling his shoulders before turning back to Mark.

You exhaled slowly, willing your heartbeat to calm down.

It was fine.

You were fine.

You just had to get through this shopping trip without combusting.

Or worse—without Joel realizing that somewhere between the teasing, the familiarity, and that damn dream—

You’d started looking at him differently.

And you had no idea what to do about it. All you had to do was focus.

That was it. Just focus on your new project. The house. The renovations. The long list of things that needed to be done.

Not on him.

Not on the way his voice still rasped in your head from that dream. Not on the heat that still lingered in your skin, phantom touches that hadn’t even been real.

This morning? It didn’t mean anything.

You were just pent up. It had been a while since you’d been with someone, and you weren’t exactly the type for one-night stands. That was all it was—basic, stupid biology. Your body reacting to a man who just so happened to be Joel Miller.

Joel, who was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, glaring down at Mark like he was actually considering knocking him out right in the middle of the hardware store.

You frowned, stepping closer as their voices became clearer.

“I’m telling you, Miller, this is the best brand you’re gonna get.”

“That’s not the best,” Joel scoffed. “That’s just what you’re pushin’ ‘cause you got extra stock.”

Mark groaned, throwing his hands up. “Jesus, again with this? You always think I’m tryin’ to scam you.”

“‘Cause you are tryin’ to scam me.”

“Joel, come on, man.”

“Nope.” Joel shook his head. “I ain’t buyin’ that piece of shit.”

You sighed, stepping into the middle of them. “What exactly is the problem?”

Mark let out a dramatic breath. “Your friend here—”

“Boss,” Joel corrected, completely deadpan.

You blinked, a laugh nearly escaping. “Excuse me?”

Joel shrugged, finally looking at you. “I’m the expert. He’s just tryin’ to sell you overpriced junk. So, technically, I’m in charge.”

Mark shot him a glare. “Technically, you’re an ass.”

Joel smirked. “That too.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Okay. Before you two kill each other, can someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Joel turned to you, arms still crossed, jaw tight. “Mark wants to sell you this garbage-ass brand of drywall that’ll probably crumble if you so much as look at it wrong.”

“Oh, come on,” Mark huffed. “That is not true.”

Joel ignored him. “You want somethin’ that lasts, we’re goin’ with the other brand.”

Mark gestured toward the stack of drywall. “Okay, first of all, the one I suggested is perfectly fine—”

“Bullshit.”

You sighed again. “And the difference in price is…?”

Mark hesitated.

Joel smirked. “Oh, look at that. He ain’t answering.”

Mark groaned. “Fine. Yes, the better brand is slightly more expensive—”

“‘Slightly’ my ass,” Joel muttered.

“—but it’s not necessary.”

Joel rolled his eyes. “See, now he’s just insultin’ you. Tellin’ you to settle for somethin’ half-assed like you don’t deserve better.”

You looked between them, watching Mark glare while Joel looked downright smug.

It shouldn’t have been funny.

But it was.

You bit back a grin, rubbing a hand down your face before looking at Joel. “So what do you say, kiddo? It’s your project. Your decision.”

Joel’s eyes glinted. “Damn right it is.”

Mark groaned again. “Oh, my God—”

“I’ll take the better brand,” you interrupted before they could start up again.

Joel smirked, satisfied, while Mark looked personally offended.

“Unbelievable,” Mark muttered, shaking his head.

You just smiled sweetly. “I trust my boss, after all.”

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Smart girl.”

You turned away before he could see how that made your stomach flip, pretending to focus on your shopping list instead.

Just focus.

That was all you had to do.

---

You had been in this damn hardware store for two hours.

Two long hours.

And in that time, you’d witnessed four separate arguments between Joel and Mark—each one somehow more ridiculous than the last.

Argument #1:

“This is the best caulking gun you’re gonna find,” Mark said, holding it up like it was a damn trophy.

Joel scoffed. “That cheap piece of plastic? You’re jokin’, right?”

“It works, Miller.”

Joel crossed his arms. “Yeah, until it doesn’t.”

“It’s literally fine.”

“You wanna bet?”

Mark groaned. “Are you seriously tellin’ me you can tell how shitty a caulking gun is just by lookin’ at it?”

Joel shrugged. “I know a shitty tool when I see one.”

You stepped between them before Joel could start a damn field test in the middle of the store.

Argument #2:

“You don’t need a heavy-duty drill for simple wall fixtures,” Mark argued.

“You don’t need that much gel in your hair, but here we are,” Joel shot back, completely deadpan.

Mark blinked. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

Joel smirked. “Just sayin’.”

Mark turned to you in exasperation. “Are you seriously listening to this guy?”

Joel grinned like he’d already won.

Argument #3:

“Just get the damn standard screws,” Mark said, rubbing his temples.

“The hell I will,” Joel grumbled. “We’re not half-assing this.”

“They’re screws, Miller!”

“They’re shit,” Joel corrected.

Mark gestured wildly. “They are literally the same as the ones you want but cheaper!”

“Exactly.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Argument #4:

“This specific tile pattern is really popular right now,” Mark said, holding up a sample.

Joel looked at it like it personally offended him. “That’s ugly as hell.”

Mark exhaled through his nose. “It’s modern.”

“It’s horrendous.”

“It’s sleek.”

“It looks like a damn hospital bathroom.”

That time, you had agreed with Joel.

But once. Just once you’d agreed with Mark, and Joel had been pouting like a damn child ever since.

You sighed, rubbing your temples as you trudged toward him, feet aching from standing for so long.

“Joel,” you said sweetly, smiling as you stepped up to him.

His eyes narrowed instantly.

He knew that smile.

“What is it, traitor?” he muttered, arms still crossed, clearly still not over it.

You let out a dramatic whine, resting your forehead against his back. He chuckled, the deep rumble of it vibrating against you before he turned, his expression mostly playful, though you could tell he was still holding a grudge.

“So,” you started, tilting your head, “when are we gonna make some actual decisions?”

Joel frowned. “What do you mean? We already made important decisions.”

He started ticking off points on his fingers.

“One—we picked the best drywall so your walls don’t crumble like that cheap crap Mark was tryin’ to sell you.”

Mark grumbled something under his breath a few aisles away.

Joel ignored him.

“Two—we settled on proper screws instead of that garbage that woulda left your shelves on the damn floor.”

You rolled your eyes, but he kept going.

“Three—we made sure you ain’t usin’ a drill that’ll quit on you after a month.”

You sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

“Four—”

“Oh my God.”

He smirked. “Don’t get pissy just ‘cause you ain’t got the patience to do this properly.”

You groaned, throwing your head back. “Joel, I’m hungry and my feet hurt, and we haven’t even chosen colors yet.”

Joel blinked, his expression softening almost instantly.

That should not have made your stomach flip.

His eyes lingered on you for a beat, taking in the slight exhaustion in your face. Then, without a word, he reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek.

You froze.

His touch was so gentle, so easy, like it was something he did all the time.

And when he smiled, slow and knowing, your brain completely short-circuited.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Might’ve gone a little overboard.”

The pet name hit you like a sledgehammer to the chest.

Your mind immediately betrayed you—flashing back to the dream, to the way he had growled it against your skin, to the way his voice had rasped just like that—

Nope.

Absolutely not.

You shoved the thought away violently.

Joel didn’t notice your internal breakdown. “How about this—we pay for this stuff now, grab some lunch, and talk colors over food?”

Relief washed over you.

“Thank you,” you breathed, taking his hand in both of yours and squeezing.

His brows lifted slightly at the touch, but instead of pulling away, his thumb brushed over the back of your hand, the movement so small you almost thought you imagined it.

“And just so we’re clear,” you added quickly, ignoring the way your pulse spiked at the contact, “I’m paying for this.”

Joel sighed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

You narrowed yours. “Joel.”

He smirked.

That smug bastard.

“Fine,” he said, amused. “But I’m only lettin’ you ‘cause I know I’ll win next time.”

You groaned, tugging his hand toward the register. “Just take the damn win, Miller.”

Mark watched you both pass with a look of pure exhaustion. “Finally,” he muttered. “I was about to start charging extra just to get you out of here.”

Joel just grinned. “Oh, shut up.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

Maybe this was why you hadn’t really minded spending two hours here.

Maybe this was why Joel Miller—despite being the most infuriating man on the planet—was also the one person you’d willingly suffer through four unnecessary arguments for.

---

“Can we get burgers?”

The second you dropped into the passenger seat, you let your head fall back against the headrest, completely drained. Getting all the materials loaded into the truck had been a whole other battle—one that took nearly thirty minutes and involved more cursing than actual problem-solving. And don’t even get started on the moment Mark told you the final price. If not for the so-called “family discount,” you might’ve passed out right there in the middle of the store.

Joel huffed as he settled into the driver’s seat, adjusting his rearview mirror. “We can get whatever you want,” he said, throwing the truck into reverse. “You survived over two hours in there. You earned it.”

You grinned, clapping your hands happily before fastening your seatbelt.

Joel glanced at you, shaking his head with a soft chuckle. “You’re such a damn kid.”

You stuck your tongue out at him in response.

He arched a brow, completely unimpressed. “My point proven.”

You just laughed, watching the buildings blur past as he pulled onto the road. Your stomach growled, already anticipating the food. “Is Javier’s still there?”

Joel nodded, already making the turn. “Yeah, yeah. Where the hell else would we go?”

“I dunno,” you shrugged. “I was afraid you’d take me to Burger King or something.”

The truck slowed to a stop.

You turned your head to find Joel staring at you. Hard.

Then—

“Get out.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Get out of my truck.”

Laughter bubbled up from your chest, but Joel kept his face perfectly straight, shaking his head in pure disappointment.

“No Burger King will be spoken here,” he muttered, shifting the truck back into drive. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

You gasped in mock horror. “Joel Miller, what is that language?”

He flicked his eyes toward you, unamused.

“You raised Sarah and Ellie with that mouth?”

“First of all,” he started, voice dripping with sarcasm, “there ain’t a single thing I could say that Ellie don’t already know.”

You snorted at that, because yeah—that was absolutely true.

Joel continued, shaking his head. “And Sarah? Well, she’s heard enough from your smartass over the years to worry about what I say.”

Your jaw dropped. “I am offended by that accusation.”

Joel smirked. “You’ll live.”

“I am a delight.”

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered, pulling the truck into a parking spot outside Javier’s.

He threw it into park and turned off the engine before glancing at you. His lips quirked as he reached for the door handle.

“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s put some food in you before you turn into a damn brat.”

“Hey!”

Joel just chuckled, shaking his head as he climbed out of the truck, and you followed, rolling your eyes with a grin.

Maybe you were acting a little bratty.

But something about this—being with him, like this—just made it too easy to slip into.

---

The second you took a bite, you moaned.

Loud. Shameless.

This was what you missed.

Sure, the wings from the other night were still the best damn thing you’d ever eaten, but this? This greasy, juicy, perfectly messy burger? This was pure heaven, especially after the hellish marathon of hardware shopping you’d just endured.

Across from you, Joel let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he took a bite of his own. “Jesus,” he muttered, amusement clear in his voice. “Behave yourself. People are staring.”

You barely spared a glance at the crowded diner, shrugging as you took another slow, obnoxiously satisfied bite, moaning again—louder this time—just to mess with him.

Joel’s chewing slowed. His eyes flicked up to yours, narrowing slightly as you smiled at him sweetly.

“This,” you said, gesturing to your burger, “is a fucking foodgasm.”

Joel choked on his Coke.

You had to press your lips together to keep from bursting into laughter as he coughed, setting his drink down and swiping a napkin across his mouth. “What the fuck?”

You grinned, leaning forward slightly. “Foodgasm, Joel. You know, when the food’s so good, it’s like—”

“I get what it sounds like,” he cut in, glaring at you while his ears burned red.

“Then why’d you ask?”

Joel sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face like he was already regretting this conversation. “Jesus Christ… That’s a thing?”

“Of course,” you said matter-of-factly, taking another bite. “Wasn’t my cooking worthy of a foodgasm?”

You watched with delight as his jaw clenched, his grip tightening around his cup before he took a slow sip, trying to act unaffected.

“It was good,” he mumbled, not meeting your eyes.

You gasped, dramatically pressing a hand to your chest. “Just good?”

Joel let out another sigh, shaking his head. “You really want me to say it?”

“Yep,” you said, popping the ‘p’ with a wide grin.

He exhaled, shaking his head like this was physically painful for him. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he muttered—

“Fine. Your food was… worthy of a foodgasm.”

You froze.

You hadn’t expected him to actually say it.

Heat crept into your face, something shifting in the air between you. Your mind betrayed you immediately, dragging you right back to that damn dream from this morning—the rasp of his voice, the way he had groaned good girl against your skin—

Nope.

You bit your lip, forcing down the memory, trying not to focus on the way his voice had dipped just then, or how good your name sounded when he said it.

Instead, you dropped your gaze, suddenly shy.

“Thanks, Joel,” you murmured, poking at your fries. “Means a lot coming from you.”

Joel stared at you for a moment, eyes flickering over your face like he was trying to read something there.

“You’ve become a hell of a woman, haven’t you?”

Joel said it so casually, like it was just an offhand remark. But the second the words left his mouth, your eyes went wide, a bite of burger still halfway to your lips.

He chuckled at your reaction, shaking his head as he took a sip of his drink. “Relax. I’m just happy, that's all.”

You swallowed, setting your burger down and narrowing your eyes at him. “Don’t get all emotional on me now, old man.”

Joel let out a slow exhale, setting his drink down with a thud before turning to you with an unimpressed glare.

“Old man?” he repeated, voice dry as hell. “I’m only ten years older than you, may I remind you?”

You grinned, reaching for another fry. “That’s a whole damn decade, Joel.” You popped the fry into your mouth, chewing dramatically. “Basically half of a new generation.”

Joel scoffed, shaking his head. “Okay, you know what? Never mind. You’re still a brat.”

You laughed, loud and unfiltered, the kind of laugh that made your shoulders shake.

And Joel—he just watched.

Because damn, that laugh suited you.

It was good to see you like this—unburdened, relaxed, light in a way you hadn’t been in a long time.

Didn’t mean the guilt had disappeared, though.

He still carried it. Still bore the weight of knowing he hadn’t done enough back then. He should’ve fought harder. Should’ve called your father out for the bastard he was instead of standing to the side, pretending he didn’t see what was happening.

But he had seen.

And he let you go anyway.

The regret still sat heavy in his chest, even now.

But then—

Your hand brushed over his.

The touch was soft, featherlight, but enough to pull him back—away from the past, away from all the shit he couldn’t fix, and right into the present.

“Hey,” you murmured, tilting your head slightly, voice teasing but warm. “You good? Did I hurt your feelings?”

Joel blinked, momentarily thrown off by the concern in your voice. You always did that—worried about everyone but yourself.

Well, that was gonna change.

He let out a dramatic sigh, leaning back in the booth. “Yeah, my pride’s officially ruined,” he muttered. “Might never recover.”

You rolled your eyes and pulled your hand back.

And for some reason, Joel missed the warmth of it more than he should’ve.

“Don’t worry,” you said, finishing off your burger with a smug little grin. “For an old man, you’re not doing so bad.”

Joel arched his brow. “Oh, really?”

You wiped your fingers on your napkin, nodding. “Yep.” Then, as casual as anything, you added, “You’re still really handsome.”

Joel froze.

His hand tightened around his drink.

You just threw it out there, no hesitation, no teasing lilt—just an honest statement, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

His brain short-circuited for a second.

And then—

He narrowed his eyes.

“… What are you up to?”

You grinned, reaching across the table to steal one of his fries. “Oh, come on, don’t give me those bullshit eyes.” You popped the fry in your mouth, smirking. “You know half the girls in my school had a massive crush on you.”

Joel let out a long, suffering groan, dragging a hand down his face.

“Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Don’t remind me.”

You giggled, watching the memory physically pain him.

“God, it was hilarious,” you went on. “You’d walk in to pick up Sarah, and I swear to God, every girl would go silent—like you were some kind of rock star.”

Joel groaned again, scrubbing a hand over his beard. “It was awkward as hell.”

“Awkward for you, maybe,” you teased. “But for me? Hilarious.”

Joel shot you a look, lips twitching. “That was more than a decade ago.”

“So?” You shrugged. “Some say men age like fine wine.”

Joel snorted. “Yeah? And what do you say?”

You smirked, reaching across the table again—this time deliberately stealing another fry, eyes locked on him the whole time.

“I say,” you murmured, popping the fry into your mouth, “you try.”

Joel narrowed his eyes, slow and calculating.

Then—

“You do that again, I’ll cut your damn finger off.”

You laughed, tipping your head back. “Oh my God, you’re so dramatic.”

Joel just huffed, shaking his head. But there was a hint of something else there—something behind his eyes, something he wasn’t saying.

And you saw it.

You saw the way he lingered on your face. Saw the way his fingers flexed slightly against the table. Saw the moment of hesitation before he exhaled through his nose and looked away.

And suddenly, you weren’t just playing anymore.

Because for once, it wasn’t just you feeling all kinds of things.

Joel felt them too.

And damn, wasn’t that an interesting little discovery.

---

Joel leaned back in the booth, one arm draped over the backrest, watching you with that familiar mix of amusement and mild impatience. "So, the colors?" he asked, voice low and gravelly, cutting through the quiet hum of the diner.

You shifted in your seat, suddenly self-conscious. "I have some actual ideas on how I’d like the rooms to look," you admitted, fumbling for your phone.

He arched a brow. "Let me guess… Pinterest?" You shot him a surprised look. "One more age joke, and I’m out."

You exhaled a short chuckle. "I’m just surprised you know what Pinterest is." You smirked, flipping through your saved boards. 

"I do have two daughters, y’know."

Something in your stomach twisted at the way he said it. Matter-of-fact, but weighty. You chewed your lip before adding, "These are just ideas, you know… nothing set in stone. If something won’t work or it’s a bad idea, I trust you. Just—don’t laugh."

Joel held out his hand, palm up. "Show me the damn pictures."

You placed your phone in his hand, trying to ignore the way your fingers brushed against his. The warmth of his skin sent a tiny jolt up your arm. You took a quick sip of your drink as the waitress slid a fresh basket of fries onto the table.

"It’s not bad," he muttered, scrolling through your selections. "Some things might be tricky or just not worth the trouble."

Without warning, he shifted, standing briefly before settling beside you in the booth. Your breath hitched, your entire body hyper-aware of his proximity. The scent of sawdust and worn leather clung to him, something distinctly Joel.

And just like that, the memory of your morning dream came rushing in, unbidden and all-consuming.

"See here? This kind of kitchen would need the window moved. But—" he pointed at another image, his voice a near-growl against your ear, "if we shift the sink here instead, we could get a similar look without tearing the whole wall down."

You nodded quickly, forcing yourself to focus on his words rather than the heat radiating from his body.

"I like the colors, though," he admitted. "Would need to see the whole space to say for sure. Show me more."

You fumbled to take the phone back, your fingers shaking slightly. "I have catalogs, too."

"Of course you do." His smirk was almost smug, but there was something fond in his tone. You rolled your eyes, handing the phone back.

You watched as he scrolled through the images, the crease in his brow deepening in concentration. The longer he studied them, the more anxious you felt—like a kid waiting for a grade on an important test. But it wasn’t just about validation.

It was his validation.

"Most of this… yeah, it’s doable," he murmured, before leaning in again. His shoulder pressed against yours, his body warm, solid. "But that color in the kitchen? You’ll hate yourself trying to keep it clean. And this—" he tapped at another picture "—we can swap this top with the one from this other kitchen. Same style, better finish."

You glanced at the screen, then at him, before a soft laugh escaped you.

Joel frowned. "What?"

You shook your head, smiling warmly. "Nothing. It’s just… I spent whole week obsessing over these pictures, trying to figure out what works, what doesn’t. And you? You take one minute to go through them and already know better."

His smirk returned, laced with something undeniably smug. "I do this for a livin’, sweetheart. Kinda obvious I’d know more."

"I know." You rolled your eyes, laughing as he suddenly jabbed his fingers into your ribs. A surprised yelp left your lips, and you swatted at his hand.

But then the moment shifted. The playfulness gave way to something quieter, something deeper. Your smile softened, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I really appreciate you, Joel. I hope you know that."

He stilled. For a fraction of a second, he looked almost caught off guard. Then, slowly, a faint blush crept up his neck. His hand, rough and calloused, lifted to your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin in a touch so gentle it nearly stole your breath.

"I know, sweetheart. I know."

And just like that, it felt natural—the two of you, sitting in a quiet diner, talking about wall colors and countertops. It should’ve felt strange. It should’ve felt too close, too comfortable.

But it didn’t.

It felt good.

It felt right.

[anistarrose]

The possible explanations for why the fuck Barry could've felt the need to open that scene with "are you afraid?" have been analyzed by this fandom for basically ever since the Red Robe identity reveal, and a lot of people have brought up good theories that I've adopted bits and pieces of from each. But one thing that I haven't actually seen proposed as a factor is this:

Talking to Tres Horny Boys through the facade of the faceless "Red Robe" might've just been Barry's backup plan. Plan A was, quite possibly, to sneak Junior's ichor out of Lucretia's private quarters, be able to actually inoculate THB, and actually have them recognize him. (A proper reunion, with no cryptic warnings. With no dancing around static — just Barry and Tres Horny Boys, actually trusting each other innately.)

Why do I think this is plausible? Let me clarify the timeline a little: at the start of the Petals arc, before THB leave the Bureau, all is normal with their soon to be ex-roommate Pringles/Robbie (Ep. 18). Upon return, THB are informed that at some point during their (overnight, so 24 hour-ish?) absence, Pringles was thrown in the brig (Ep. 28).

It's eventually revealed by Pringles and Barry, in The Suffering Game and Reunion Tour respectively, that Barry possessed Pringles to do "reconnaissance" on the Bureau, specifically on where to find the second Voidfish (ie, Lucretia's private office, which is where Pringles "woke up" and was "arrested summarily").

I will note that Barry describes this as just recon — implying information gathering, and not necessarily a Voidfish ichor heist. However, this was an explanation he gave through a recorded message in the coin, where he was likely choosing his words carefully to confuse THB the least amount possible. And moreover... I just find it hard to believe that Barry wouldn't let himself hope, leading up to and during this infiltration, that he could make it out with the ichor he so desperately needed.

After all, Barry may be Going Through It during the podcast, but he definitely knows that as much as he needs information, it's going to be a lot harder to pull off his eventual heist if Lucretia catches him in the act, and winds up knowing that he has that information. Barry also chose to make his infiltration attempt while the Bureau was distracted, monitoring the Gaia Sash — in a lot of ways, this might've seemed like not just his first chance at the ichor, but also his best chance at it.

Barry's both an incredibly determined and opportunistic, calculating guy. I don't think Barry would've left Pringles' body unless/until he was absolutely cornered; no hope left of getting out with the ichor this time. He wouldn't pass up a chance to restore his family's memories — because of his deep, deep emotional and practical stakes in restoring those memories, first and foremost — but he even feels kinda bad about possessing Pringles (calling it "unfortunate collateral damage"), and would certainly prefer for his unsavory tactics to be, you know, worth it.

So when Barry fails? When he comes away from his mission he's no doubt been planning for weeks, waiting intently and single-mindedly for his chance with the right Relic-based distraction — and it turns out he has information, but no ichor, to show for it? When he fails, Barry's left on the back foot.

He'd dared to hope it might turn out better than this. He'd dared to hope this might be a turning point, and the world might remain in danger, but at least he'd have his family back. He'd dared to hope he might be able to speak to them, in his right mind, with his memories, and be recognized for the first time in a decade.

So when none of that comes to fruition? When he knows his boys won't recognize him yet, no matter what he does? Yet he still needs them on his side? He still needs them to be prepared for the horrors coming?

Well, he just fucking improvises.

"Are you afraid?"

[icedb1ackcoffee]

Corrupted by Design CH 5 | Feyd-Rautha x Reader

After generations of pillaging and destroying their ecosystem, you are assigned by the Emperor to work on with the Harkonnens to improve their planet’s agriculture as Imperial Ecologist. However, Giedi Prime is far from welcoming, and you must fight to survive the horrors you endure at the hands of the Harkonnens. When you catch the eye of the Baron’s youngest nephew, and most prized possession, you step into a world complicated by politics and revenge.

Tags: Unbeta’d, AFAB Reader, multiple OCs, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, enemy to friends to lovers/enemy lovers, slow burn, fake science, blood, violence, gore, body horror, cannibalism, uncle/nephew incest (implied), eventual smut, etc.

A/N: I’ve never read the books, so this is a combination of the Villeneuve films, the Dune Wiki, and a heavy dose of just making shit up lol. I try my best to make Reader as nondescript as possible, but there are mentions of having periods and body hair in later chapters. As a warning up front, this will not have a Happily Ever After ending, but maybe more like Happy For Now?

Please mind the tags; this is very dark, but that comes with the territory.

Chapter Five: White Poison

Previous Chapter ⦾ Next Chapter

“He is staring again.”

You did not need to turn to see who. “Pretend he’s not there.”

“It is distracting .” 

“Then come here and busy your hands.”

Rho huffed, but complied. Crouching beside you, she offered up her open palms and let you drop the collected samples into her hands. 

You inspected her out of the corner of your eye as she stuffed the inkvine and pilingitam samples into her satchel—her dark gaze still on the unwanted party standing only a few paces away.

The sun overhead bleached all color from the hands that dug into the soil. Sweat dripped down your face as you and your workers toiled in a small plot of land, your sun blocking glasses slipping down your nose from the effort. 

How Rho and the other Gammuen were able to work in this blinding heat was a mystery. Even looking up at the cloudless sky was impossible, its sunlight coming from all directions. The barren land was several kilometers from the fortress, but looked to be from another planet. Monochrome covered the world in an otherworldly blanket. The mouth-covering cloth you wore to subdue the smell did almost nothing, the polluted and sour air making your lip curl.

After the Atreides fell, the fortress was a flurry of activity. Slaves whispered at every corner, guards moved from one post to the next, the Harkonnen Court was in endless meetings, and the Baron was noticeably absent. In its hunger for power, it was evident that the House will eat and destroy anything in its path to achieve absolute victory. 

The good House has fallen, and fear was its replacement. 

Read More

[zablife]

Now You Know the Truth (Part 5)

Summary: You don't understand why you're unsettled by your seemingly perfect life with Tommy until the family gathers together at Christmas.

Author's Note: There's one more part to come!

Warnings: pregnancy, flashbacks

Part 4

Tommy wrapped his strong arms around your waist and hips protectively, placing a kiss to your midsection. "You're perfect," he praised against the slight swell of your stomach, voice muffled in the plush velvet of your gown.

You stroked the shorn sides of his head and down his neck in slow, soothing strokes. However, the gesture was mostly to calm yourself. Unsure if it were the hormones or the house full of relatives waiting downstairs for Christmas dinner, your body hummed with nervous energy.

Sensing the slight tremor in your hands, Tommy placed his palm over your fingertips to still you as he murmured. "It's going to be different this time."

Pulling back from him, you stared intently into his crystal blue eyes. "What do you mean, Tom?"

Growing serious, he stood to meet your eyes, cupping your face in his palm as he instructed, "You're to look after yourself. Follow the doctor's orders to stay home and avoid exertion." He stressed the last part and you bit your lip as you nodded slowly in understanding.

“Yes, I know. The dizzy spells..." Looking away from him shamefully you added, "I know I shouldn’t have been on the stairs when I was unwell.” You recited the words you’d been told repeatedly since your hospital stay to prove you'd listened to the advice, even when it left a bitter taste on your tongue.

"That's my girl," Tommy beamed, offering his arm to escort you downstairs. "Now shall we announce the good news?" he asked jovially.

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

The shouts of congratulations had barely died down when Frances appeared with a message. "Sir Mosley is on the line, Mr. Shelby," she informed your husband quietly.

A look of bewilderment crossing your face, you objected, "But it's Christmas!"

"I won't be long. Open the champagne," Tommy said placing a kiss to your temple. Watching him stride away to his office, Ada distracted you by asking, "Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?"

"I hadn't thought about it," you admitted, fidgeting with your wedding rings.

"If Polly were here we wouldn't be having this discussion at all, would we?" Ada joked with a wistful laugh.

An inebriated John threw his hand up in protest. "Pol didn't always know best," he interjected. "Remember when we had the twins, Es? Two boys she said!" As he turned to his wife, you found yourself drifting from their conversation, eyes wandering across the hall toward your husband.

Watching him absently swirling the whisky in his glass, a sense of deja vu struck you like a bolt of lightning and your limbs suddenly froze. Your eyes slowly swept from his hand to his face as a distant voice echoed in your head like a faded record. "Pol didn't always know best. She wanted me to make an honest woman of ya... I wish I'd just gone on paying you for it."

You inhaled a sharp breath as a rush of memory came over you all at once. You felt your pulse quicken, heart knocking against your ribs as you recalled Tommy's humiliation of you in the parlor followed by a frantic rush to pack and then the confrontation on the stairs. Doubling over, you clutched the back of the sofa to conceal your unsteadiness. However, you couldn’t hide the look of horror in your eyes as you relived every hateful word, stomach lurching with the final memory of crashing down the stairs. "Even if you die, you die mine."

"Y/n? Are you alright?" Ada asked, touching your forearm gently.

"Just a bit dizzy," you mumbled the half truth.

"Oh, that's right. Your condition. Have you found anything that helps?" she asked, viewing you with sisterly concern.

"I think I know what to do about it now," you said, cutting your eyes back at Tommy and feeling the spite grow within you.

Part 6

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

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[merakiui]

victorian era doctor riddle rosehearts and his darling patient suffering from hanahaki disease.

dr. rosehearts who is the finest medical practitioner in town, renowned for his expertise and intelligence in the field. so it's only fitting that, as a noble and only child hailing from a wealthy set of parents, you are given the best treatment available. riddle sees so many affluent families and so you're no different. this disease, however, is an oddity. it's very scarcely documented in old texts, and most of the information regarding it has been lost to time. supposedly, the cure to this flowery ailment remains unknown. for riddle, this is as much of a challenge as it is an inspiration. he will cure you; that's his promise as a proud doctor.

so to better monitor you and keep track of your condition, riddle suggests you be moved into his home. a temporary arrangement, of course. it's not nearly as grand as what you're used to, but it is quite spacious. it's half hospital and half home, a place in which patients come to him. for isolation purposes, if their illness is particularly dangerous, amongst other reasons. and what reason would anyone have to doubt the great dr. rosehearts?

your parents are desperate. they'll do anything if it means you'll stop coughing up petals or complaining of a throat scratched sore by persistent thorns. riddle collects samples of the petals in hopes that the town's botanist rollo flamme can identify the exact species, where it commonly grows, how to safely manage it, and so on. it's a peculiar case, one riddle has only ever spied remnants of in old notes.

you rely so heavily on dr. rosehearts, your way of life compromised. you beg him to help you, to get rid of whatever's causing this. it takes time, but rollo identifies the flower. it's a curious finding. such a flower is not native to this part of the country. in fact, there should be no reason for it to be here, for it cannot thrive in this type of environment. riddle is left puzzled. just how did such a flower find its way into your system? what is sustaining it? is it sapping your life away? so many questions arise, yet none can be answered in full.

most importantly, what does the timeline look like if death looms on the horizon? how long does he have before the worst strikes?

it has been some time and, though he knows he ought to remain impartial, dr. rosehearts has found himself infatuated with his poor patient. he tends to you like one might a rose in a garden, diligently and ever so carefully, pruning away signs of sickness in order to keep you somewhat healthy. it feels inevitable, even more so when your legs give out and, much to your horror, little branches with tiny leaves begin to poke through your ankles.

so now you're placed in a wheelchair, and that is that. most days he thinks you're more doll than human, especially since your spirits seem far more dampened than they once were. you wither in your chair, quiet and wistful, longing for good health. though it's in his profession to save, he's never seen you in a more beautiful state. like a statue doomed to exist in stiff silence. like a single flower struggling to brave harsh conditions. like a doll destined to be taken care of by his gentle, capable hands.

he was never allowed dolls as a child. such toys were distracting according to his mother. but now he has one for himself and, even if he thinks himself too old to play with dolls, you're one he just can't put down.

perhaps it's for the best that your legs are broken and your lungs are weak and your entire body is supported by this parasitic plant. with this, he's given the chance to finally indulge in one of the many things he was denied as a child.

the appeal of a doll is that they are versatile. they can wear an entire wardrobe of clothes. they can be bent into various positions. they can look upon you with glass eyes and smile with rosebud lips. and they can't speak. never speak!

riddle doesn't need to be traditional for something so unethical. weddings and rings and courtship mean everything in his dreams, but he is a man watered with logic and sensibility. and you are just a quiet, fragile rose drowning in unwanted, suffocating affection.

[welldonekhushi]

Silent Decay

Disclaimer: This fic contains content that may be unsuitable for readers uncomfortable with profanity, body horror or grotesque visuals. It is a psychological horror story featuring me and my friends' OCs! Story is all written by me!

The age description to read this fic is 16+ so if you're younger than that, please avoid reading this! Proceed with caution, and enjoy! (Don't worry! You may opt out of this fic if you like, self-care is absolute necessary <3)

Special thanks to @efingcod, @imagoddamnonionmason, and @alypink for allowing me to use their OCs for this collab fic! Park and Adler belong to Black Ops: Cold War, by Treyarch!

MASTERLIST.

PART THREE.

PART TWO

Two days had passed, and everything seemed normal as usual, with Timmy outside the house, somehow on the ground and not eating anything even if Mila already poured the food for him early in the morning. 

However, it was not looking good for Jodie. She could feel the change in herself, slowly. She stepped into the warm shower again, the steam filling the bathroom. When she wiped the mirror clear, she was taken aback by what she saw. The dark circles under her eyes had deepened, and now her skin looked almost translucent, faint veins visible beneath the surface.

Lightly touching her face, turning it sideways for a better glimpse of it. She suddenly got a painful flashback of the basement door, which stings her brain. But instead of being worried about it, she chooses to ignore; thinking that stress may be the sole reason. “It’s just stress. Nothing else, Jay. Get over it.” 

Maybe she was trying to distract herself from how the cough was making her lightly suffer; it feels like it was now choking her. She didn’t want to point it out to anybody. She said she was alright.

Mila went outside to check onto Timmy, only to find that he wasn’t eating. She walks towards the dog and kneels down, gently petting it. “What's going on, Timmy? You’re not hungry?”

Timmy whimpered and looked at Mila, sadly. To cheer him up, Mila came up with an idea. “You’ll come inside and eat with us, is it okay for you?”

Timmy’s eyes lightened up with excitement, drooling as he wagged his tail. Mila giggles and takes off the leash on the log that he was tied on, so she could take him inside for breakfast. She placed the bowl on the laminate flooring, next to their table as Timmy approached closer to his food and started to eat.

Mila calls them down for breakfast with the small bell in her hand. Hearing the faint bell ring, Jodie quickly hides her visible weakness with her long, brunette hair, and makes her way downstairs.

Mila had set the plates, having pancakes with butter and honey for breakfast with fresh coffee. Vincent, as usual, arrived with his usual enthusiasm, ready to devour breakfast, Jodie also joins at the dining table and starts to eat her food, and Timmy who was already distracted by his food. Mila was setting her plate, her attention moved towards the basement door. As much as she tried to convince herself to not think about it, Mila couldn’t.

“Timmy’s eating inside now?” Vincent asked, observing their dog was now joining them to eat in the room.

“I thought if we kept him inside, he’d feel a little better. Perhaps he worries about Jodie's condition.” Mila replied, eating onto her food as she watched Timmy eat in silence.

While eating, Jodie felt an unusual taste to the pancakes, much to her disgust yet bewilderment. “Why is there no sugar in the pancakes?” She asked, her voice edged with confusion.

“No sugar?” Vincent looked at her, confused. “What do you mean? They’ve got honey in them.”

“I don’t know.” Jodie muttered, sighing as she eyed at her food. “I just don’t taste anything sweet.”

Timmy gently wagged his tail, softly whining but not in pain. She let out a small groan and kept eating, forcing down each bite. The food was warm, filling but utterly tasteless. And for some reason, that unsettled her more than she wanted to admit. 

“How’s your health?” Mila asked, despite the little issue Jodie was facing.

“Hm? Yeah, it’s uhm – good so far? I feel like I’m recovering.” She replied while stuffing the pancakes in her mouth. “But my muscles hurt a bit. Since last night they hurt like I got cramps.”

“This happens when you’re sick, so don’t worry about it.” Vincent explained, as he chewed on his pancakes while talking to Jodie.

“But I haven’t even done any exercise for a while now. My body felt so weak that I didn’t even feel like doing it.” Jodie casts her head down, gripping onto the end of the fork as she wonders. “I don’t even feel like doing anything..”

Jodie gulped the liquid forming in her throat, growing nervous. Her eyebrows were knitted, as concern striked through her already weak face, but she masked it well, hiding the growing distress from Mila and Vincent. They didn’t need to know. She couldn’t let them worry.

Jodie continues to eat her pancakes, coughing once more, as Mila and Vince felt pure worry for their little sister. Somehow, Vincent had lost his appetite because he can’t seem to eat freely while seeing his sister in this condition. 

Trying to voice her worry towards her younger sister, Mila finally speaks up. “We can go to the doctor if you wa—”

“It’s okay. I’ll be fine, guys.”

Mila noticed the strain in Jodie’s voice, seeing the way she forced herself to eat, and coughed abnormally. Jodie was always stubborn, always brushing things off, but this? This wasn’t normal, at all.

The breakfast went a bit unsettling, Mila made her way upstairs to her room after cleaning everything up, staring at herself in her dressing mirror for a bit. She tried to set her own hair, and kept a smile, but it didn’t really feel genuine. It felt forced. It felt like she was just trying to smile through the pain but all she wanted was things to go better as soon as possible. 

She couldn’t bear to see her siblings in distress, as being the elderly sister, a lot of responsibilities fell on her shoulder ever since their mother’s death, which did make her sacrifice her happiness for the sake of the other two. Adler’s absence was only making it worse for her to keep living, but the best she could do was to stay strong.

Vincent was in the bathroom, washing his face with water as he rubbed his skin with his fingers, running them up his hair and stared at himself in the mirror too. The water droplets fall through his face, exhaling as the man closely observes his own self. It felt like this man was uncertain, yet helpless of what’s going to happen. It wasn’t just Jodie’s health that gnawed at him. It was everything. The house, the responsibilities, to get to his dream college, the unspoken fears that neither he nor Mila dared to voice. He had always tried to shake it off, to keep moving forward, but the stress always had a way of creeping back in.

He exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the sink. They were all barely holding on. And yet, none of them were willing to admit it. “It’ll be fine, Vincent. You can do this. This isn’t your worst yet. Or.. maybe it is, and I tend to brush it off because I don’t wish anything horrible to happen to our family.” Vincent pursed his lips, holding onto any remaining hope within his own self. 

But, Jodie was going through it as well. Staring at herself in the mirror, the veins and her slightly bloodshot eyes clearly visible on her face. She was confused, yet troubled by what was truly happening to her, yet she chose to believe these symptoms would go away and this sickness is limited to a few days. She’ll be fine, she knows it.

Jodie knew Mila and Vincent were already carrying too much. She didn’t want to add to the weight pressing down on the house. Watching Mila take care of everything, even when she was sick, pretending she was fine, made something shift inside her. Jodie wanted to be strong too. She wanted to share the burden, to be someone Mila could finally lean on, not someone she had to worry about.

She later saw Timmy entering her room, with the medicines that he grabbed with his mouth. Jodie smiles and grabs the tablets from him. “Thank you, hero.” She chuckles and Timmy sits down, looking at Jodie as he wags his tail, seeing her take the medicine tablets and gulping it all with water, sighing as she makes her way to her warm bed.

“Go downstairs, Timmy.. I’ll be back once I wake up.” Resting for the day and for the body, she laid herself on the mattress, sniffing as she closed her eyes, falling into a deep sleep instantly. Timmy stayed there for a few seconds, making sure everything was okay before he went downstairs to check on the others.

The scene had shifted to evening, and Mila had to get groceries because their supply was running low. The quiet of the house seemed heavier, the air thicker with unspoken worries. She glanced at the shelves, realizing just how much they'd been scraping by. They couldn’t afford to fall behind now.

“I’m going to get some items from the store.” Mila said, her voice firm, though it barely masked the tiredness in her eyes. “You stay here and keep an eye on Jodie. She needs more attention than anything.”

Vincent nodded as Mila stepped out, the door creaking slightly before clicking shut behind her. Left alone, he sighed, letting his feet wander aimlessly around the room. His thoughts drifted, his gaze skimming over every object in the house, lingering on old furniture with framed photographs, and slightly worn out paint from the walls. Just then, Timmy entered the room, wagging his tail happily as he saw Vincent. He lightly barked at him, rubbing his head on his leg, asking for attention. The man kneeled down and rubbed his back, as he softly whined.

Mila waited for a cab to come by the road, heading to town to get the groceries. One finally arrived and stepped in the vehicle, as it left for town. While travelling, the vehicle also passed by Aunt Park’s house. Seeing it for a few seconds before she could pass by it, it looked quite silent from the inside. With no lights, or activity. 

With Mila gone, Vincent quickly shut the door, and hurdled up to Adler’s room, opening the door and began to search for the basement keys. 

Through every drawer, cabinets, closet, the table and under the pillow, blanket or bed, his only goal was to find the keys. But then, his attention went towards the family photo that was placed onto the wall. He walks closer, carefully observes it. It had the image of Adler with Jodie, Mila and Vincent as small kids, smiling and hugging their father while they had their photo taken back there. After putting his utmost attention to the frame, he carefully grabs it, and takes it down, finally finding the set of keys that led to the basement.

Grabbing them and placing the frame back in its place, he stepped out of the room, only to find Timmy wagging his tail, patiently waiting for Vince to return.

He shut the door behind him and hurried downstairs, his footsteps light yet urgent. Glancing over his shoulder, he checked if anyone was watching before making his way to the basement. His hands trembled slightly as he unlocked the door, pushing it open with a creak that echoed through the empty house.

Darkness swallowed everything beyond the threshold. Vincent hesitated for a moment but quickly pulled out his flashlight, turning it on. A beam of light cut through the void.

“You stay here, okay?” he whispered, placing a firm hand on Timmy’s head before stepping inside alone.

The entrance led to a short staircase descending into the basement. He moved carefully, placing each foot down with caution, avoiding any creaks that might betray his presence.

Once below, he swept his flashlight across the space. Rows of storage boxes lined the shelves, old childhood toys, forgotten belongings, stacks of things that should’ve been mundane. But as his gaze lingered, unease settled in his gut.

If this was just a couple of storage, why did Russell spend so much time down here?

Unlike the rest, Vincent was the one to notice Russell often going down the basement for HOURS, giving excuses that he has to arrange the shelves, or figure out which items in there need to be thrown. No matter how many times they've asked him about it, Adler never revealed anything.

Now, that it's time, the man would do anything to know what's going on.

As Vincent was busy exploring the whole basement, delving deeper into the large, abandoned room which was never properly taken care of, covered in dust and cobwebs, could start to feel the uneasiness around his surroundings. His attention was mostly towards the walls of the basement, something which caught his immediate attention.

BURN IT ALL.

Growing closely to the source, he ran his flashlight towards the surface, reading something that was written and creased all over it in bold letters. “Burn it.. all?”

While studying what was over the wall, a sharp, metallic crash echoed through the basement, cutting through the silence like a knife. Vincent flinched, his whole body jolting in reaction as a shiver ran down his spine. The dull vibration still filled through the room, before everything fell still again. 

His breath hitched. His grip tightened around the flashlight. Something had fallen.

He slowly ran the light toward the source, spotting a round container tipped over, an unusual red substance spilling out. At first, it seemed like a can of paint fell over. But as he stepped closer..

"Gasp!" Vincent loudly gasped as he clenched his chest.

Organs. Guts spilled across the floor, glistening under the flashlight. The stench of blood and bile filled the air, making his stomach twist. No matter how hard he tried to forget, the sight before him was something he could never have imagined, something he could never erase from his mind.

“W-w-what the..” While he started to back off and make his way out of the basement, he suddenly tripped over something and when he looked at it, Vincent screamed and slapped his mouth, leaning onto one of the shelves of the basement in horror as he watched a dead, rotting body. 

The body was completely ripped off, with the flies wandering over it with the odor being extremely foul. Its ribcage was exposed but broken, its insides empty, leaving it hollow. Vincent covered his nose, trying to block out the overwhelming stench as he panted in fear, his eyes widened. He felt like retching, as he couldn’t believe what he just witnessed through his own eyes.

Vincent's hands trembled as his mind raced. His eyes locked onto the horrific imagery he has just witnessed. It raised a question in him, was Adler been hiding something this gruesome like this this whole time? So, was the ghost in the basement all a hoax to—

A thick liquid dripped onto Vincent’s shoulder. He hesitated before touching it, rubbing the dark, sticky substance between his fingers. The color was deep black, its texture unsettling. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, unsure of what it was, until the same liquid dripped onto his hair. At that moment, he heard a low, menacing snarl. His eyes widened as he scanned his surroundings, glancing left and right. Slowly, he lifted his head, pointing his flashlight upward to reveal the source above him, clinging to the ceiling.

It was a twisted, emaciated figure, its limbs unnaturally long and thin, stretched tight against its skeletal frame. Black, mottled skin clung to its body, and its face was hollow, with empty eyes with a dot-white pupil, and a jagged grin full of sharp, blood-tainted teeth. Its movements were jerky, as if its body wasn’t meant to bend that way. It screeched loudly at Vincent, as the light hit it, the creature recoiled, its body jerking violently.

Vincent stumbled back, falling to the floor in panic as he hyperventilated in shock. He scrambled to his feet, heart pounding, and bolted toward the exit, desperate to escape the nightmare lurking behind him.

Vincent ran through the path, passing through every single corner of the room while the beast followed him in a monstrous frenzy, snarling and screeching as it tried to catch onto the man. He ran as fast as he could, almost arriving at the exit but he accidentally tripped on an object which was lying on the floor, making him land on the hard, dusty surface on the ground. 

He struggled to get up, grunting and panting to move his legs but he felt the creature grab onto them as he loudly screamed. It started to pull his leg towards him, dragging him into the darkness that his pants started to rip off. His nails scraped against the floor, trying to make his escape.

But just as things turned dire, Timmy bolted into the basement, sinking his teeth into the creature’s arm. It let out a blood-curdling scream, jerking its limb away in pain. The brief struggle gave Vincent just enough time to escape.

With Timmy’s help, the creature was thrown off balance for a moment, giving Vincent the chance to sprint toward the exit. As he burst through the doorway, the monster lunged after him with a demonic scream, but he slammed the door shut just in time, trapping it inside.

Vincent struggled to catch his breath, his chest rising and falling fast with uneven gasps. The adrenaline still pulsed through his veins, his body trembling from the encounter. Slowly, he sank to the floor, his back pressing against the door as he tried to steady himself, his mind racing with what he had just seen.

Timmy sniffed at him, nudging his arm as if to check if he was okay. Vincent slowly opened his eyes, meeting the retriever’s concerned gaze, its tail wagged gently.

With a shaky breath, he reached into his pocket for the keys, only to find nothing. His stomach dropped. He patted his pocket again, digging deeper, but it was empty.

“W-what the hell? The.. the keys?” His voice wavered as panic settled in. He frantically checked his other pockets, his hands growing unsteady. But no matter how many times he searched, they were gone.

“S-shit! Where did they g—”

And then it hit him.

The memory flashed in his mind, the moment he had truly lost them.

It was replayed in his head. The creature lurking above, its twisted form clinging to the ceiling. The second he had stumbled back in terror, the keys had been slipped from his pocket. And he hadn’t even noticed because the fear clouded his eyes.

“.. n-no.. no no no no!” He clenched onto his head. “What have I done? What the hell have I done? Mila’s gonna be pissed.. but.. but not just her. Dad.. fuck, h-he’s gonna kill me.” His face expressed his distress and uncomfortability. “But whatever I saw.. it was.. no. This can’t be true. Hope this isn’t—”

RING RING!

The sharp chime of the telephone shattered the silence. Vincent flinched, his breath catching in his throat. His head snapped toward the sound, heart pounding. Timmy’s attention went towards the telephone, as he started to bark loudly again.

Feeling relieved it was just the telephone call, hoping the one contacting him must be their father. He knew the communication signals were a bit disturbed here in the location they lived in, reaching for the phone, and pulls the receiver back to his ear.

There was a low, eerie hum. It was as if someone, or something was listening in, but not on the other end of the line. It was just static, yet it felt alive. Vincent's voice came out faint, laced with hesitant curiosity.

“H-hello?”

“You shouldn't have done that.” A groggy, hazy and whispery voice was heard through the communication static of the phone.

“W-what?” He stuttered. “W-who are you?”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“D-done what? Is this.. is this some sick joke?” Vincent was driving himself angry so he could face the one on the telephone. “W-what do you want?”

“Death is your only answer.”

His hands started to tremble while holding the phone in his hands, as the voice filled through his ear, and then into his head. "S-stop.."

“Die.”

"Please stop.. I'm-I'm begging you." Vincent's breath became shaky.

The voice kept growing louder and louder from the speaker.

“Die.”

“Die.”

“Die.”

“DIE.”

“DIE!”

“DIE!”

Vincent quickly slammed the phone back, ridden with fear, dread filled through his body. Sweat trickled down his forehead, his gaze snapped toward the staircase leading to Jodie’s room. A suffocating wave of anxiety gripped him, dread twisting deep in his gut. Without hesitation, he rushed upstairs, his footsteps heavy against the wooden floor.

He pushed open the door forcefully, his breath ragged, seeing Jodie undisturbed, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Peaceful and safe. Recovering as she rests.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides. Maybe he was just imagining things. Maybe exhaustion was playing tricks on him. He tore his gaze away from Jodie’s sleeping form, running a hand down his face. “I hope Mila comes back quickly..”

Shutting the door, he sighs and walks away, going downstairs quickly to shut the basement door tightly, with anything to not make it look obvious, since Vincent had dropped the keys in there, by accident. After he was done, he turned around and pushed his back against the door, throwing his head back as he sighed, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

He couldn’t seem to flush that memory away from him. It had completely traumatized him, and likely.. put him in constant doubt about Russell’s reason for keeping that “thing” in the basement.

Couple of hours later, Mila returned home with the groceries, the sound of the door clicking shut as Vincent, who fell asleep with the television still on, woke up abruptly and turned sharply, seeing her sister coming back, relief washing over him. At least now they had enough supplies to last a couple of weeks, one less thing to worry about. Timmy came and licked Mila’s face, happy to see her again.

“How’s Jodie holding up?” Mila asked as Timmy continued to lick her face.

“She’s.. she’s fine. She’s just resting. She took her medicine before going to sleep.” Vincent replied, rubbing his hair nervously, looking upstairs again. Mila makes her way to the kitchen, sets the bags down on the kitchen counter as she observes Vincent’s face. 

“You okay? You look a bit pale.”

He hesitated, glancing back at the telephone, and the basement. The memory of the voice still clung to him like a shadow, but he forced a nod, not wanting to reveal about the lost keys, or the monster in there. “Nothing.. j-just tired. But I’m fine!”

“Wait, and what’s with your leg?” Mila pointed out at the ripped pants, much to Vincent’s horror.

“U-uh, it was Timmy! He played with me too rough, t-that.. that made him rip off my pants. He’s really a menace huh?” He chuckled nervously, hoping Mila would believe him but she just sighed and rolled his eyes, walking away.

“Let’s just get the dinner sorted. You call Jay downstairs.” Vincent watched Mila leave, as he sighed and looked at Timmy, who held a disappointed look at him.

“Don’t look at me. I did what was necessary. But hey.. thanks for saving my life.” Vincent smiles, but then was left in a wonder about that monstrous entity in the basement, as he still stared at that door, closely.

The dinner went on as usual, the clinking of utensils filling the quiet room. Jodie sat with them at the table, her presence almost ghostly. She ate, but her movements were mechanical and utterly detached. She barely looked up, her eyes fixed on her plate, chewing without really tasting the food. Timmy also silently ate the food, like the rest but not with that usual enthusiasm he used to have with him before.

Vincent stole a glance at her, a flicker of concern crossing his face. Something was off. It wasn’t just tonight, Jodie had been like this for a while now. Distant. Unreachable. Like she was slipping away into a place none of them could follow.

Mila, too, noticed. She opened her mouth as if to say something but hesitated, instead quietly pushing the bowl of vegetables toward Jodie. A small gesture.

Jodie noticed Mila pushing the bowl next to her, to which she knew she had no strength but gently smiled at her sister and took some of the salad on her plate, much to their relief. Even Timmy was glad that Jodie was finally having the courage to eat.

Jodie finishes her food, and makes her way upstairs, without saying anything. Mila and Vincent grab the plates and utensils, taking care of the rest before they go to sleep as well. As they two were finished, Mila placed a comforting hand on Vincent’s shoulder, telling him to be strong. Mila puts Jodie to bed, cuddling her warm after giving her her medicine, turning off the light and closing the door, seeing Vincent out waiting for her.

“Even if she’s recovering, I think we should take her to a doctor tomorrow.” Vincent shook her head, absolutely worried about Jodie. “I don’t even feel like talking about this to Dad.”

“Don’t worry. She’s doing well. If it gets worse, we will take her to a doctor tomorrow.”

“I don’t know.. I’m just too worried for her at this moment. What if Dad found out? That’ll devastate him.” Vincent replied.

Mila sighed, her hand lingering on Vincent’s shoulder. “I know you’re worried, but I am too, Vince.” she admitted softly. “We have to do something. We can’t just sit and wait for things to get worse.”

Vincent ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening. “It’s not just worry, Mila. It’s..” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s like she’s not even here anymore. Like she’s just.. existing.” His voice lowered.

Mila squeezed his shoulder, comforting him. “You’re exhausted. It’s been a long day. Get some sleep, okay?”

He wanted to argue, to tell her that something about all of this was deeply wrong, but instead, he just nodded. Mila offered a small, tired smile before heading toward her room.

Vincent stood there for a moment, staring at the darkened hallway leading to Jodie’s room. He could still hear that whisper echoing in his mind.

Something wasn’t right.

The night was still, save for the distant chirping of crickets outside the window. The moon cast a pale glow over the house, its light creeping through the curtains. Everyone was fast asleep, her breathing was slow and steady, already looking as if maybe Jodie was finally recovering. Everything seemed peaceful until now, but the worst was about to begin, as if something had finally awakened.

The doorknob of the basement started to rattle, with the door also shaking, as if it was trying to open itself. The pin Vincent used to lock the door in its place, started to tremble.

She started to feel a little uneasy while being laid on her bed, as if something was churning inside her stomach, slightly growling and gurgling. Timmy suddenly opened his eyes, slowly as something made him have the urge to bark, facing the entrance of the door but he was leashed which made him unable to move.

The pin fell on the ground, with a clink, rolling away from the door, as the entrance creaked open.

It was hard to tell who, or what had emerged from the deadly basement, that Vincent barely escaped from. The figure crawled silently, as it made its way up the stairs, each step echoing quietly in the stillness of the house. Mila and Vincent were fast asleep oblivious to all. Checking their rooms first in the hallway, it drew its way through one specific room; Jodie’s.

Reaching her door, it carefully unlocked it, creaking it open, and sliding inside without a sound. The room was dark, only having the moonlight as the light source.

Jodie lay asleep, still unaware of the presence which had just entered her room. The figure crawled onto the bed, almost blending with the shadows. It stopped just above her, watching her steady breathing, as still as death itself.

It waited. And waited. Till it disappeared.

Her body began to involuntarily tremble, which weren’t even natural shivers, but something abnormal and inhuman. Visions of the basement door, multiplying cells, a heart pumping blood rapidly, the teeth of a carnivore, and a wolf devouring a deer, blood on its mouth as it stared at her.

“LET ME IN.”

She wakes up in pure shock, loudly gasping as she breathes for air, sweat covering her face. Her vision started to go blurry, and her ears began to ring. Her heartbeat thumped loudly, growing panicked. 

“N-no.. this can’t be happening..” Feeling dizzy, she wanted to get off the bed quickly to check what was going on, but as she did, she fell on her feet, landing on the ground and groaning in pain. She coughed again, but this time, it didn't feel dry. She abnormally coughed again, her chest heaving up and down. 

She felt like retching, for which she immediately got up on her feet and ran to the bathroom to excrete the matter that was currently disturbing her insides. Her eyes clenched with tears as she struggled to vomit, finding out that the vomit didn’t even taste like acid.

Her chest hurt, and her lungs felt collapsed. She opened her eyes, staring down horrifyingly at the sink to see that her body didn’t only vomit the juices of her own stomach.

But black acid.

Jodie’s breath ragged, the black blood dripping down her lips as she looked at herself deteriorating, with the vision in her eyes slowly blurring. Despite seeing the terrifying conclusion to her sickness, her mind felt like collapsing, with very little sanity left in her breaking apart as she saw her condition. 

Jodie couldn’t help but unexpectedly grin at the mirror, her teeth covered with the blood, and laughed as it dripped down her mouth. She giggled hysterically, feeling as if her body had started to reject the life inside her, before letting out a guttural groan and retching out more blood from her insides, as the scene went all black, unknown to what was coming.

END OF PART TWO.

Taglist (opt in/opt out): @ctxinari @liamthemailman @islandtarochips @imjustsocute @ladysouthpaw1213 @mutant-okuri-inu @burnatnight @fitzycoffee @iamcautiouslyoptimistic @aroserinosman @kingofowlsandcards @writercloves @alexa-mwll

[vinyldreamsfuckup]

Heyyoo^^ I love the story you wrote about my last request and now I’m hooked^^ :) - if you can or have time - also this might be a bit weird but if you’re comfortable with it - I was thinking more of a smutty/fluff plot?

Slash and the reader are dating but haven’t really had sex yet nor talked about it - slash knew that the reader was shy about that stuff and didn’t push any further to make her comfortable. - it wasn’t until one day when slash walked through the door from rehearsals. He was putting his stuff away in their shared apartment when he heard something from their bedroom.

He walked down the hallway and saw that the reader was masturbating in their bedroom. He was surprised as she didn’t seem like the one to do such a thing. He was amused by the sight that he couldn’t help but watch.

He finally decided to walk in and surprise her as she sat there embarrassed and shy hiding away her body from him. He walked over to her and sat down beside her wondering what made her so horny? He finally asked and she admitted that when slash had walked out of the bathroom with a towel low on his waist she couldn’t help but stare at his happy trail and that she found it kinda hot.

The rest is up to you :) - thank you for writing my requests and of course for coming up with good stories :3

A: omg no I love this. Thank you for all the requests I really love doing them. I hope I did this okay! Send more if you want tbh 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Warnings: praise, cussing, fluff, masturbation, smut, unprotected p in v, choking

You and Slash had been dating for a few months now and sex had not really been a huge topic of conversation. Surprisingly. Slash was constantly horny and the band was quite…open about their sexual conquests. But when you and Slash were alone you never talked about sex, you never had sex, and that didn’t seem to bother either of you all that much. You enjoyed each others company and being able to cuddle, watch horror movies, and make out.

Slash would usually spend the night and you’d fall asleep to the sound of him playing guitar or cuddled up watching some movie he was really into. But up until this point you had never seen him naked. Besides when he’d go on stage shirtless or sleep in his boxers. Which you’d always go home and get off to on your own time. However, things were changing. Slash was moving in. You were excited to help him get all this guitars set up and help move all his stuff in.

After you got most of the boxes upstairs Slash decided to take a shower. You sat on the couch carefully fiddling with a string on the edge of your shirt imagining what it would be like to shower with him. What it would be like to kiss down his body. To wrap your hands around his-

“Oh god, what am I doing?” You shot up and walked into the kitchen trying to busy yourself with something useless. Washing dishes or something? Until Slash walked out of the bathroom. It pretty much took everything in you not to take him right there. Your gazed roamed down his chest which was still slightly glistening with water and down to his happy trail which made heat pool in your abdomen. And finally settled on his v-line, the towel very loosely hanging from his hips.

“I have band rehearsals tonight,” Slash said not even realizing you were staring. Your gaze shot back to his face.

“Okay,” You said breathlessly. You turned around and started putting dishes away.

“You okay?” Slash asked, worry slightly lacing his voice.

“Mhm…a lot of boxes,” you tried to cover. Slash hummed out in agreement.

“I know. I promise I’ll help you unpack when I get back from rehearsal okay?” Slash said with a small smiled. You could give a fuck about the boxes, but you just nodded in agreement.

Slash left and you tried to distract yourself with dinner and unpacking boxes but the image of him walking out of the bathroom kept replaying in your head. His happy trail, the v-line, and oh my god how the towel hung on his hips. The heat in your abdomen pooled more. He wouldn’t be home for hours right? You totally had time.

You walked into your bedroom and slowly stripped. Your mind was fixated on the image of Slash as you carefully laid down on the bed used your fingers to trace circles around your clit. You were already so wet. You kept thinking about what it would be like if the towel fell. What he would look like. Would you have fucked him right there? Would he have bent you over the kitchen counter. A moan fell from your lips and you started to finger yourself.

Slash came home sooner than he normally would. He finished up early so he could help you unpack. He walked in and set his keys down and looked around. He saw your food that you left on the coffee table and a few unpacked boxes. He walked into the living room and started to unpack his guitar when he heard something from the bedroom. It was unmistakable. A small smirk formed as he carefully walked toward the room. Your breaths fell and the unmistakable sound of skin slapping fell from the room.

He walked up to the door and looked through the crack watching you as you moaned and pleasured yourself. He carefully pushed the door open and your head snapped over to him. You quickly pulled your hand back and grabbed the blanket.

“Slash…I…Um-,” you started.

“Well don’t stop,” Slash said with a smirk, “it was just getting good.”

A deep blush ran across your face and you covered your body. Slash carefully walked over to you and sat on the bed next to you, “no.”

You looked at him confused as he said no.

“You’re way too beautiful to be hiding your body,” he whispered and grabbed the blanket and crate fully removed it from your body. He grabbed your hand and gently sucked the juices from your fingers. Well fuck. You were done for, “not that I’m complaining baby, but what made you do this?”

“Well…um…you know…” you tried to say. He smiled and leaned forward kissing you. You could taste yourself on his lips.

“Tell me,” he whispered as he pulled away.

“Seeing you in the towel earlier,” you whispered out, “and your hips and your-“

Slash pulled back and pulled his shirt off revealing his bare chest and the happy trail you couldn’t stop thinking about, “my what?”

You reached out hand out and ran your hand down his chest and gently down his happy trail. A groan left his lips, “you like that?”

You nodded and he quickly grabbed your hips pulling you closer, “I don’t know I can wait any longer.”

“I don’t want you to,” you responded breathlessly. He crashed your lips together in a feverish kiss. Your hands went to his belt and quickly undid it and pulled his pants down. He was already hard. What a day to love the fact that your boyfriend never wears underwear.

You grabbed him and started pumping. A long moan fell from his mouth. He pushed you down onto the bed and kissed your neck. A soft moan left your mouth and he groaned in response.

“God you sound beautiful. I need to hear more,” Slash mumbled against your collarbone. He grabbed your boob and gently massaged. You reached down and grabbed him, lining him up with your entrance. He pushed into you in one thrust. A gasp left your lips as you stretched.

“Oh fuck…” Slash breathed out, “you’re so wet.”

His hips started to move after a moment and loud moans left both of your mouths. You moaned out and grabbed his arm. He smiled and moved against you.

“That’s it baby. So beautiful. So wet. You’re perfect,” Slash breathed out as he moved harder and faster earning loud moans to escape your mouth. You grabbed his hand and brought it to your neck. He smirked and gently wrapped his hand around your neck. Not to restrict air just to lightly restrain you. His other hand tightly gripped your hip and moved you against him causing him to take you deeper. He hit every spot causing your back to arch.

“Slash….oh my god…” you moaned out. He smiled and kept this pace hitting your sensitive spot over and over. You felt that knot form in your abdomen. His grip on you tightened. He moved his hand from your neck between your legs and rubbed against your clit.

“Cum for me baby,” Slash whispered. It sent you straight over the edge. You clenched around him as you orgasmed. Your hands scrapped down his back. You could feel his twitch inside of you. Slash’s movements became urgent and sloppy as he pounded into you. A long groan left his mouth and he released into you, his cum coating your walls. You both laid there breathless. He pulled away from you and laid down next to you.

“Why did we wait to do that?” You breathed out. Slash chuckled breathlessly.

“I don’t know,” Slash responded. He turned onto his side and wrapped an arm around your waist.

“Let’s not make anymore dumb decisions like that,” you giggled and looked over at him.

“Agreed,” He chuckled and kissed your cheek.