#i feel like so much of my writing here is just trying to . encapsulate a feeling ?

[dissociativewriter]

Unnatural Affinity- Part 1

Isekai!Reader x Love and Deepspace

wc: 2.3k

cw: ANGST, depressed reader, allusions to self harm, reader is not MC, reader has a defined personality, I fear you can tell she's a self-insert, eventual contact with all love interests, no guaranteed happy ending

Synopsis: You hadn't been okay mentally. When going to meet your friend for lunch, you suddenly find yourself plunged into the world of Love and Deepspace as a close friend to the main character. Would you be able to find your place in this world not made for you?

author's note: So this is technically based on @ixloom819 ‘s post on affinity levels with an Isekai!Reader, but I made it very angsty and didn’t actually address the affinity levels in this part (we’ll get to it eventually, I swear. Probably in the next part, actually.) Reader has a lot of oddly specific personality bits here and there that are very much just me so uhhh sorry <3 also the song that is consistently referenced is Vienna by Billy Joel (it’s my favorite <3) Also MC is named Em because I saw another creator call her Em Cee so I decided to use that to instead of searching for a new one to use!

Series Masterlist

You rose with a jolt.

You had plans today.

You rolled over, checking the time.

11:30.

Weren’t you supposed to meet at 12:00?

You jumped out of bed, running straight to the bathroom. You would have to forego much of your “get ready” routine if you wanted to be on time. Quickly brushing your teeth, arranging your hair in a way that didn’t look like you just rolled out of bed, throwing on some jeans and a cute top conveniently sitting at the top of your drawer, and you were pretty much ready to go.

You grabbed your tote bag, tossing in your laptop, a journal, your pencil case, an old, heavily annotated copy of Frankenstein you were currently rereading (and trying to ignore your past, somewhat cringy annotations), and a small bag of snacks.

You checked the time again.

11:48.

Not too shabby.

Although getting ready was an easy, albeit rushed task, getting to the cafe you were meeting at on time was an entirely different and much harder issue. Through some stroke of luck, you’d manage to get to the bus station just in time for it to leave. And you found a seat!

Maybe today was going to be a good day. You were certainly due for one, you thought.

You knew why your friend had asked you to meet up, of course. You put your earbuds in, cueing your favorite song.

Slow down, you crazy child. You’re so ambitious for a juvenile. But then, if you’re so smart, then tell me, why are you still so afraid? You let the music wash over you, the soft piano soothing your nerves as you relaxed your shoulders.

She was worried. You didn’t blame her. You hadn’t exactly been the pinnacle of happiness these past few months. Your recent self-imposed isolation probably hadn’t helped with that.

Your hands, resting on your thighs, flexed restlessly. You could almost feel the outline of every single cut you’d made.

No matter what you’d say, no matter how many I’m fine’s you’d muttered, you knew.

That was not what a healthy person did.

You thought of a journal entry you’d written, what seemed so long ago now.

‘I think it is the true human experience to want more than you have. But I don’t think this emptiness is innate in the human experience. The feeling never leaves me, it’s encapsulating. I feel absolutely nothing so completely. I cannot bring myself to care about my passions, my friends, my self.

I don’t think I can handle anything more than the burden that is my existence. My days are filled with distractions and entertainment, and my night are spent mourning lost time. I desperately want something worthwhile, something meaningful. I desperately want an adventure, with romance and risks. How am I supposed to find that in this world?’

It was an entry you’d thought about a lot. A bit melodramatic, sure. You’d probably been reading Sylvia Plath or something before writing it. But there was still truth to it. You told yourself you’d be fine, you’d get better. And the glimmer of hope at the very end of the entry served as a testament to you that it could get better:

‘But then, I guess those distractions were meaningful if they brought me happiness, however temporary. All emotions are temporary, so this should also be. This feeling will leave. And maybe I can have the adventure I dream of, maybe that is the dream of all creatives. Why else would these feelings and this imagination be given to humanity?’

You still didn’t know where these words had come from. It was a blur of existential crises and anxiety attacks and nights spent sobbing. You could understand the logic behind the words, and they’d helped you before. Briefly. But emotion does not bow to logic, and you soon found yourself drowning again.

Slow down, you’re doing fine. You can’t be everything you want to be before your time.

You really couldn’t blame your friend for worrying, you thought as you stepped off the bus. Even though there were glimmers of hope in your otherwise bleak mindset, you knew you needed help on some level. Maybe she could help, maybe she would realize what you were trying to say as the words died in your throat. Maybe she could recognize the storm brewing inside you.

Maybe, for one time in your life, you could feel truly seen.

Now, for the first time since you received that text inviting you out, you were actually looking forward to seeing your friend. What was once dread for an intervention where you’d be forced to dodge your feelings and hide them so as not to be a burden, became excitement as you realized how dearly you had missed your friend.

Isolation was nice for a time, yes. It allowed you to gather your thoughts. But then the thoughts came too fast and too much. Maybe a break from the overwhelming thinking would be nice. Maybe you’d laugh again.

You peeked through the windows of the cafe, and, not spotting your friend, decided to wait outside under the sign.

You sighed, a bit regretful that it’d taken you this long to feel not completely shattered again. You’d lost a lot of time mourning the future you couldn’t have and the past you couldn’t erase, neglecting the present all the while.

Well, it’s time to live in the present, you thought as you shut your eyes, enjoying the cool breeze on your face. It’s time to recognize the beauty of life for what it is.

Maybe happiness wouldn’t be that hard to achieve.

The breeze grew colder, and you let out an involuntary shudder. It was so warm today, you knew the weather was supposed to stay warm, so why was the temperature suddenly dropping?

Your headphones let out a harsh crackle before the sound fizzled out completely. You could still hear the ghost of the lyrics if you listened hard enough.

You’ve got your passion, you’ve got your pride. But don’t you know that only fools are satisfi—

“There you are!” You cracked an eye open. The voice wasn’t familiar, but not unknown either. The girl in front of you smiled bright. “I thought you’d be late. Again.” There was an obvious teasing each to her voice, as if you knew each other.

You didn’t, right?

You looked around at the street around you, startled to realize that it had completely changed. The bus station was gone, the sushi shop across the street replaced with an arcade. The city you were now in was nice. Sleek. The kind of stuff they show in Sci-Fi movies. Oddly familiar, too. You looked up above you, trying to catch a glimpse of the sign hanging above your head.

Destiny Cafe.

Wait.

Destiny Cafe?

You felt your throat tighten. You looked around, more attentive this time, searching for any sign that you were right and this wasn’t just a coincidence. When you caught sight of an Otto-Bot, you knew.

You were in that game. That stupid game you’d downloaded a few months ago out of curiosity. The game you’d spent too many hours in, finding comfort in the words of men who did not exist.

If you really were in Love and Deepspace, would that make you the main character? That’s usually what happens in those Isekai stories, right? Your thoughts whirled before you were brought back by the expectant stare of the girl in front of you. She doesn’t look like Tara or any of MC’s friends, you thought, so who could she be?

You examined her closely. She was almost like you. As if her appearance were a distant echo of your own. But upon closer inspection, you could see: where your eyes had many flecks of colors, hers had only the one. Where your skin had a blemish here and there, a slight change of hue, hers remained consistent. She was too clean, as if there were no substance at all. And that wasn’t even considering her perfect pale skin, or long, sleek black hair. That was when you realized, and a wave of disappointment flowed through you. This was her.

Everything about her seemed so two-dimensional, a constant reminder that this was not a version of you or even an independent person, but the Main Character of an otome game.

This was the figure in all the promotional art.

This was the main character of Love and Deepspace.

Not you.

Her.

After all, why would it be you, when she was standing right next to you?

“Hello? You’re staring off into space. Are you okay?” She waved her hand in front of your eyes. Your gaze snapped to hers. Though her brows were drawn in concern, you weren’t sure you could name a single emotion behind her eyes. “If you’re not feeling well, we can always go home… We don’t have to go out today if you don’t want to. Don’t feel bad for saying you don’t want to just because it’s my first day back here in a few weeks.”

You looked at her, your confusion only growing. How can you figure out what the hell is going on without seeming absolutely insane? “…Sorry, I hit my head really bad earlier this morning, and I’m having trouble remembering things. Could you just give me a quick sum-up of what’s been happening?” It wasn’t perfect, but maybe you could get some answers.

The furrow in her brow deepened. “You… don’t remember?” She suddenly grabbed your arm. “Do you remember my name is Em?!”

So that was her name. “Of course I do!” you chuckled. “Just give me a run-down of the past few months, maybe it will jog my memory.” You smiled, hopefully convincingly.

It seemed to do the trick, because she smiled back before diving into what seemed to be her life story with great enthusiasm. “Well a few months ago, I went to the N109 Zone for that one secret mission, do you remember that? Well anyway I was gone for a few weeks, I spent a lot of time with my friend Skye. I’m pretty sure you meant him, we saw him at that work karaoke party?”

Skye in the N109 Zone. You realized with a start: I’ve met Sylus! At a work party? Surely you’re not a hunter. You realized Em was waiting for your yes or no before continuing, so you gave her a slight nod to go on.

“Right, so, after that I took a few missions with Xavier, helped out Rafayel with bodyguard duties or whatever, and had to go see Zayne for a ton of things because apparently my heart was beating arrhythmically. Turns out I’m fine, just a lot of excitement happened, you know? Anyways, after that I took leave for a few weeks to go to Skyhaven. You remember that, right? I remember I told you a lot cause you were using your access for research to help me out.”

Access for research? What kind of purpose did you serve in this plot line?

“I got in a bit of trouble with the Farspace Fleet, but everything’s fine so don’t worry! And now I’m here to meet up with you ‘cause I missed my roomie!” She gave you a tight hug.

She certainly had a lot of energy, you noted.

So from what you gathered: You were roommates with Em and you both worked at the Hunter’s Association. It seems she’s pretty up-to-date as far as the main plot line goes. That, unfortunately, means you’ll be left in the dark for a lot of future events. You’ll have to go off of only the secrets you know from the game.

You mentally thanked yourself for not neglecting any of the Love Interests. You knew they were all extremely important in the world, and, despite having a favorite, you participated in events and games with all of them. All of their affinities were relatively high, meaning you knew a lot of lore.

That could come in handy.

You were still struggling to realize your importance in this world, though. Surely, if you were this close to the Main Character, you contributed something, right?

Would you be able to find a happy ending in this game?

Em continued jabbering on, mentioning little memories and conversations you two had shared.

You stared at her blankly, unsure of what she was talking about. It certainly sounded like something you would say, or something you would do, but you had no recollection of any of it.

Then, it came to you.

Fragments, at first. Memories of a life that wasn’t quite yours. One somewhat empty. One that seemed hastily added in at the last second. One that didn’t hold importance in a world as vast as this.

An afterthought.

You decided to eat lunch with Em. ‘You’ had apparently promised her a lunch date, after all. You didn’t go into Destiny Cafe, and you weren’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. It almost felt like breaking the fourth wall to go inside, and you were afraid of what you would find when you entered.

Would it feel as empty as Em’s eyes?

You ended up finding a quiet sandwich shop. It was cute, homey, and you could feel yourself settling into a rhythm with Em. While you ate and chatted, attempting to seem casual and familiar in this setting, you watched her closely.

She was almost like an extension of yourself. You could see your own influence, seeping in from your various choices in the game, no matter how small. But she was still her own person.

You would never be her, you realized with a pang in your chest.

Never carry that importance.

So what was left for you?

A secondary character meant to fade into the background.

What fate awaited you?

Had anyone even bothered to weave the strings in the fabric that is your destiny?

comments and reblogs appreciated! <3

masterlist

[heirofnight]

let's go

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 1.3k

summary: reader is arranged to be wed within the next 12 hours, and azriel is determined to not let that happen.

a/n: thank you so much for all of the love on the writing i've published so far. my heart could explode. i've never allowed anyone to read anything that i've written, and as nervous as i was, i'm so glad that i made this account. this little fic was inspired by GoT lmao. i hope you like it!

you took in your reflection in the floor length mirror that was propped against the side of the wall. your chambers were dimly lit, somber even - a perfect indication of your own feelings. you'd always loved candles, loved the romantic glow that they'd cast across the walls of your large bedroom. for that reason, you had many of them - big and small - spread across the surfaces of your space. all of them were lit now, and they, along with the moonlight that spilled through your open drapes, provided mood lighting that perfectly encapsulated your own brooding thoughts.

you were getting married tomorrow. but not in a way that was exciting or filled your heart to the brim with joy. no, this was absolutely dreadful - an arranged marriage that was put in to place solely to benefit your royal father. one that you did not want, and would have never agreed to. you didn't even know the male that you were set to wed - had never even seen him.

your father was thrilled. he would not stop boasting about how immensely important this union was (for him), how this event was going to solve so many political issues amongst the court (you didn't give a shit), how happy you'd eventually grow to be (impossible). you were furious, you felt used, and you were in love with another.

azriel.

your eyes fluttered as his name tore through every single chamber of your mind. it felt like you were physically being stabbed through the heart. at this point, you'd rather it. at least you'd die his lover.

your eyes found the floor in front of you, and you took in a sobering breath. you had one more thing that needed to be done before tomorrow's ceremony.

you crossed the wooden floor of your large bedroom, floorboards creaking beneath your bare feet. you sat before your mirrored vanity, pulling a stack of parchment from the small drawer in front of it. and, you began to write. one last letter to the male that you'd loved for close to five years now. the man that held your soul within his scarred hands - hands that had the potential to inflict such harrowing damage. but those same hands had held your beating heart with such care and unrelenting love, it made your chest physically want to split in half to think of it.

my sweet love,

as i sit here on the eve of my wedding day, a day that should be joyous, a celebration for the ages, i can't help but feel as though my heart is trying to leap from my chest. if it were able to do such a thing, i know that it would somehow journey these lands to find its way to you. it is already with you, anyhow, and it always will be. i am sick to think that my walk down the aisle will not end with me standing before you, azriel. such a handsome husband you'd be. please, if you ever wed another, -

you paused your writing as a chilled gust of air hit the back of your neck, your hair whipping about with the impact. you weren't scared, you didn't even flinch - you knew what, or who caused it.

you spun around in your chair, and were met the blanched face of the male you were just writing your farewell correspondence to.

"az," you breathed out, rushing to meet his stiff frame. he was clearly distressed. angry. his breath was heaving from his chest, and his fists were clenched at his sides - wings were flared in irritation.

his wild hazel eyes met your own, and he shook his head in disbelief, shoulders dropping in defeat.

"this can't happen, y/n," he whispered, jaw clenching. he was barely maintaining his composure. you knew he wanted to level this entire manor, storm through the halls and end the lives of every one of your father's men that he came across.

you let out a shaky breath, brows cinching. it would have almost been easier to not see him, especially not tonight. this was gut wrenching.

"az, i have no choice. i'm stuck, i've tried to think of every possible way-," you rambled in a hushed tone, hands gesturing in desperation.

"there is a way," he cut you off, his tone one that could summon death. he'd calmed himself, although just marginally. he'd become still, steady, and sure. his voice took on the same quality as it did when he was focused on a mission. it was cold, full of gravel.

you looked up at him, confused and trying not to get your hopes up. surely if there was an actual way to rid yourself of this nightmare, you'd have already thought of and executed it.

"you come with me. now.", he spoke once more, leaving no room for discussion. he wasn't kidding - even though he knew the consequences of such treason.

"az...", you winced, shaking your head as your gaze hit the floor. you couldn't bare to look at him, nor turn him down, but you had to.

"no, y/n. i don't care. i don't care what happens, i don't care about your father, or his army, or what this means for velaris. you're coming with me. i will not allow this to happen," he was breathing heavily again, hands coming to grasp at your slumped shoulders.

"he will start a war, azriel. he will know exactly where to find me, find us," you whispered, not daring to meet his desperate gaze.

"then we will go somewhere else, we'll go somewhere he won't find us. and we'll figure it out. you and i," he pleaded, voice faltering. the words came out strained, like he was trying not to scream, yell, implode.

you sighed, mulling it over momentarily.

"and rhys? my father will still go to velaris first. we can't unleash my father and his men onto rhys and his people just because of this", you rationalized. the thought of velaris facing another attack at your own expense was nauseating.

"i would level all of prythian with my bare hands because of this. for you," he gritted. he took your face between his hands gently, forcing you to meet his wide eyes. he needed to make you understand. he would not survive this.

you stared at him for a long moment, your expression one of absolute dejection. azriel's heart clenched, his head was pounding. please agree, please, please agree to this, come with me, he chanted in his mind, hoping somehow he'd will you into agreement.

"rhys knows where i am. he knows what i'm doing. and he knows the potential consequences. we've been working on solutions, on strategies. we can do this," he breathed out, his full lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

he was begging you, pleading. you knew he'd get on his knees if he had to. and gods, you wanted to go so badly. you'd never been able to choose anything for yourself - nothing. you'd had no say, no meaningful opinions, and no choice on any matter regarding your own life.

but you'd chosen azriel. he was the only choice you'd ever made, and would forever be the best one. you'd chosen him then, and you'd choose him now.

"i'll pack a bag," you spoke softly, nuzzling the tip of your nose against his. you couldn't help the smile that began to tug at your lips.

a pregnant pause lingered between the both of you as you determined whether or not this was a horrible idea. azriel was half-expecting you to change your mind. he held his breath for longer than was probably healthy, lungs beginning to burn. but then, finally:

"let's go," you stated firmly, true determination woven within your words.

azriel faltered for a moment, his eyes widening slightly as he processed your decision. he was frozen as you untangled yourself from his arms, darting about to quickly pack a bag of your belongings.

"let's go," he repeated, his voice barely a whisper.

a/n: my heart !!! this one came out of nowhere and i had to write it out. sorry if it's kinda dumb. let me know what you think!

[lynnimini]

₊⊹ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨’𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘦-𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭 ₊⊹

description : fluff, fluff, & fluff

in which riwoo & y/n find themselves communicating their feelings through little doodles

pairings: l.riwoo x f!reader

word count: 966

warnings: i fear you may pass out from how tooth rottingly fluffy this one is…

tags: @onedoornet @blossomnet @nineooooo @astrae4

───────────୨ৎ───────────

‘what’s riwoo drawing today?’

the question that ran through your head for two years once again came up as you watched your desk partner doodle away on some random piece of scratch paper.

sometimes it was a simple bird that was flying from outside the window. other times it was a silly drawing of a classmate who had managed to bother you guys that day.

whatever the drawing, you and riwoo always passed the paper back and forth, adding to it as you pleased and exchanging quiet laughter together in the back.

“i think sungho’s forehead veins should be wayyy bigger here. he was pretty pissed at leehan for stealing his food earlier”

riwoo joked as you laughed as quietly as possible to not alert the teacher.

eventually simple doodle exchanges upgraded into leaving small pictures for one another.

notes on your water bottle reading ‘it’s time to drink water!’ with a water bottle drawing often served as a small reminder throughout the day.

the most common note between you guys simply said ‘cat?’ with a drawing of an orange tabby, asking if you wanted to visit the school’s resident stray cat together that day.

the day never felt complete when one of you didn’t come to school. you both would start drawings, habitually sliding the paper to the side, but the drawing would remain incomplete without the other person.

“are all these supposed to be drawings of her?”

jaehyun cracked open riwoo’s notebook one summer day when you happened to be absent.

“yeah. it feels weird to finish the drawing if she’s not here to draw with me”

he shrugged as jaehyun flipped through pages of unfinished drawings, all drawings of you who never knew how much detail riwoo put into these mini portraits.

he captured almost everything about you perfectly — from the way your lips pouted when you focused on your work to the way your smile spread to your eyes after hearing one of riwoo’s jokes.

riwoo just couldn’t figure out how to make the pictures… well, you. physically, they encapsulated you as best he could. emotionally, however, was a different story.

without you there to co-illustrate drawings with him, the drawing just didn’t feel like you. your little details and doodles weren’t there. your personality was absent from your own portrait, and it felt off to riwoo.

“why don’t you just show these to her? she loves drawing with you”

jaehyun pointed out as riwoo buried his head in his arms, cheek pressed against his crossed arms on the desk.

“she’s gonna think i’m crazy. imagine i open up my notebook and be like ‘here y/n look! here’s all the pictures i’ve drawn of you over two years and never once showed you or even told you about!’”

riwoo groaned as jaehyun stifled a laugh, trying his best to be encouraging after watching riwoo tiptoe around telling you how he feels for years now.

“then draw a new picture of her. when she comes back i mean. i’m pretty sure she likes you too so just write a little note on the picture and bam! you two will officially be the cutest couple i’ve ever matched in my life”

jaehyun smacked the desk for extra effect, startling riwoo as he groaned and hid his face in his arms.

“fine, but if it doesn’t go well you’re buying me the entire donut shop”

riwoo muttered as jaehyun smiled widely and pranced back to his seat, halfway to success.

lo and behold, you were back in class the next day and riwoo was beyond nervous.

you didn’t really notice a significant shift in riwoo’s emotions, but you did notice how he was taking forever to pass the paper to you so you could draw with him.

“what’re you drawing? come onnn let me see!”

you whispered as you tried poking your head over riwoo’s arm shield, keeping his little drawing under strict guard.

“just let me finish this up first and i’ll pass it to you”

riwoo playfully whispered back as you rolled your eyes, smiling softly as you looked out the window at the trees swaying in the wind.

around 20 minutes later you felt riwoo poke your shoulder, sliding the paper towards you as he averted his gaze from you immediately.

you grabbed your pencil, expecting to add some weird features to whatever riwoo started drawing today when you paused to take in the entirety of today’s drawing.

it was a perfect picture of you from the beginning of class, smiling with your hair blowing softly from the wind coming through the window, a sakura petal stuck in your hair.

you noticed a little bubble with tiny words in it. a note for you.

‘you know how for the last 2 years we’ve been drawing anything and everything that we can think of? well i drew you because i can’t stop thinking about you, and i’ve never stopped. i like you’

you glanced at riwoo who was still looking at the ground, cheeks flushed from the moment he passed that note over.

with a wide smile that riwoo failed to notice, you did your usual, doodling little hearts and bubbles all over the drawing to give it a more charming appearance.

and at the very bottom of the picture after adding all your finishing touches, you wrote:

‘i like you too ☻ i have for 2 years too actually…’

you tapped riwoo on the shoulder, sliding the note back to him. he didn’t reply on paper, instead turning to you with the happiest smile you’ve ever seen and gently plucking the sakura petal out of your hair.

“do me the honor of being your boyfriend?”

“i’d love to!”

(all while jaehyun stared at you guys from behind like a proud dad)

[allthesmutl0vers]

I’ll hope on the train! Draco x Reader!

Yes!! I love some Draco smut. You didn't specifically request smut or any kind of situation, but I will do my best!🫡

A/N: PSA to everyone sending me requests, please tell me if you want Angst, Smut, or Fluff (Or a mix). Otherwise, I'm just going to assume Smut because it's like 98% of what I write. 🫠🫶

MDNI, NSFW, 18+.

Requests: OPEN

Masterlist

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x F!Reader

Summary: Draco has been your arch-enemy since the first year. He was always running his mouth, calling you 'mud blood' or calling your friends 'blood traitors.' But damn, if he didn't soak your fucking panties at the same time. It was your own personal Hell, and frankly, you were burning. How could he be anything besides cruel? How could you possibly want him and hate him at the same time? It should be a felony how much he can turn you on and piss you off in the same breath.

TW: Angst, Hate Sex, Taunting, Teasing, Smut (P! in V! -you're on birth control), Hair pulling, Choking, Name calling, Cursing, Ends with fluff.

Song Inspo: Click here. (Take me back To Eden: Sleep Token)

"Come on, just bloody admit it," Ginny groans across the train car. "You know he's into you, so what's the holdup?" She asks for the millionth time.

I roll my eyes, annoyed by her constant nagging of the subject, and sigh. "I told you, he's vile. I wouldn't touch him if he was one of the last men on the planet," I try not to snap back at her, but do anyway.

"But he's in our house, and he's hot. Who cares if he's a player?" She asks as she tosses more Bertie Bott's Beans into her mouth. I sigh and look out of the window. How can I possibly explain to her that I'm not interested in Cormac because all I can think of is one particularly vile Slytherin?

"I need some air," I brush off her question as I stand up from my seat. I exit the train car and head to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. The cool water does very little to douse the flames under my skin. "Get your shit together," I mutter to myself in the mirror, gripping the edge of the sink so hard my knuckles turn white.

I sigh and stand up to straighten my tie when the bathroom door opens. Bloody hell, Ginny. I turn to snap at her, but instead, I'm greeted by the one person I swore to myself to avoid at all possible costs. "Great," I huff and roll my eyes.

"Now, is that any way to greet your superior?" Draco quips as his eyes narrow down at me.

I can't help but laugh. "Superior? Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. Now, move," I tell him firmly, clenching my jaw so I don't clench my thighs. Honestly, how could someone this hot be so damn infuriating?

Instead of stepping back, he steps forward, coming into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. "No. Don't think I will," he seethes, looking down at me.

I reach for my wand, only to realize I left it in the cabin. Great. Draco tsks and shakes his head with a smirk. "Forget something?" He quips.

I straighten my back. "No. I don't need a wand to kick your ass. Slytherin trash," I spit back at him with venom lacing my voice.

"Mm," Draco hums in response, taking another step closer. "Give it your best shot, mud blood," he says with a brow raised in curiosity.

I clench my fists, bringing one up and back and throwing it right at his face. Draco catches my fist with no effort at all, enclosing it in his ringed hand. "Nasty are we?" He taunts. "Too bad I was feeling generous today," he quips with a smirk and closes the space between us, his chest flush with mine. My heart pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears, and I pray he can't feel it through our clothes.

"What's wrong, love? Dementor got your tongue?" He teases as my mouth hangs open mike a fish. I mentally kick myself in the ass for it.

"Piss off, Malfoy," I spit back at him. I look at my hand, still encapsulated in his, as he smirks. His tongue dips out to lick his bottom lip, and I hate my traitorous pussy for getting wet as he does it.

Draco chuckles and smiles for just a moment before he presses me against the wall of the bathroom, grabbing my other wrist and pinning both above my head. "I do hate it when we fight. Why don't we call a truce?" He says, looking down at me, his free hand trailing my jaw and gripping my chin, forcing me to look up at him. "Hmm?"

"Thought you didn't fuck mud bloods?" I taunt, instantly wanting to take it back, when I realize I didn't say no. Which doesn't go unnoticed.

Draco's grip on my wrists tightens. "I think I can make an exception just once. I didn't hear you say no," he teases. My thighs clench together, and I fight the whimper that wants to break free from my throat.

"And if I do say no?" I swallow hard.

Draco's jaw ticks, and his eyes narrow down at me. "Then I'd say you're lying," he says, leaning into my ear. "Not just to me, I don't care about that. But lying to yourself, and that's just pathetic," he whispers in my ear, his warm breath a stark contrast from the coolness of his fingertips as they glide down my body to the end of my skirt. "You're a lot of things, love. But I never pegged you as pathetic."

My breath hitches in my chest as his fingers dance around the hem of my skirt, only fueling the fire inside of me. "So. you have two choices," he says firmly as he looks into my eyes. "You can walk out that door," he leans closer, our noses brushing. "Or, you can let me give you the best fucking sex of your life. And maybe we stop hating each other so much."

He releases me, taking a step back as my hands fall to my sides. "You have to the count of three. Otherwise, you surrender the choice to me. One," he starts to count.

God, what am I doing?

"Two," he says in a slightly deeper voice. I should run, I should run, and never look back. I should leave him hanging just as he's left me before.

"Last chance, love," Draco says darkly, starting to undo his tie. It's now or never. I swallow hard, and in the last instant, I decide to let him keep me. For now.

"Three," Draco counts, placing his tie on the counter and pulling out his wand. He does a hurried enchantment, soundproofing the bathroom and locking the door magically before he sets his wand down, too. "You're all mine, now."

I open my mouth to speak but am quickly silenced by Draco's mouth, landing on mine in a fevered kiss. His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer, and I can't stop my hands from draping around his neck, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

Draco groans into my mouth as I part my lips, allowing his tongue to enter for the first time. Sparks erupt under my skin as he licks the roof of my mouth. My hands run through his hair, pulling the silky stands and breaking our kiss as we gasp. "Merlin, I need you," Draco groans as he grips my thighs, lifting me off of the floor and sitting me down on the bathroom counter.

"I need you too," I moan softly. "God, I hate you so much," I pant as his lips land on my neck, kissing and nipping the sensitive skin behind my ear.

"Hate, love, I really don't see the difference. Nor do I care," Draco pants as he pulls back and reaches under my skirt, pulling my panties down and off. "All I care about is fucking you so hard you can't say anything besides my name," he huffs as he undoes his pants, pulling them down and pumping his cock in his hand.

"Then fucking do it," I taunt him, my wetness practically dripping down my thighs.

A low growl escapes Draco's throat as he pulls me off of the counter and spins me, pushing me so I'm bent over the bathroom counter. "As you wish, love," he teases as he thrusts into me, giving me no time to adjust to his large size.

I gasp as he thrusts into me, white-knuckling the edge of the sink. "Fuck, give me some time to adjust; why don't you?" I spit over my shoulder.

Draco wraps my hair in his hand and yanks my head back to look at me in the mirror. "You fucking love it," he spits back. His free hand lands on my hip with a bruising grip. He pulls back and thrusts into me again with a moan. "Fucking tight. Guess you're not as much of a slut as I thought," he taunts.

Draco slams into me with a bruising force, making my eyes roll back as he pulls my hair tighter. "Draco," I moan, unable to stop myself.

"That's it, love. Scream my name," he moans as his thrusts quicken. "Let me hear how much you love it."

I thrust back onto him, forcing myself to take him deeper. Draco lifts one of my thighs, putting it on the edge of the counter and hitting that sweet, spongy part inside of me. "Fuck, yes!" I moan loudly. "God, Draco, yes!"

"Mm, never heard my name next to 'God,'" he chuckles darkly as his grip on my hip tightens.

I groan and moan at his audacity. "Shut up and fuck me, you fucking snake," I spew with venom.

Draco's hand leaves my hip, reaching around me, and his fingers start to circle my clit in fast circles. "Then cum for a fucking snake," he fires back.

I feel myself clench around him as my orgasm starts to crest. "Fuck, yes! Draco!" I cry out as my eyes close.

Draco's hand leaves my hair to grip my throat. "Open your fucking eyes," he demands. I obey and meet his eyes in the mirror, mascara falling down my cheeks. "Look at how pretty you look. Watch me fucking ruin you."

I keep my eyes locked with his as he repeatedly impales me with his stupid, delicious, devil fucking cock. And my God, is he right. I look beautiful, like an angel after they fell from grace. Draco leans forward, nipping my shoulder as he pulls down the collar of my shirt. He pulls me back by my throat, sucking a hickey onto my neck, right where it's the most visible. "Fucking mine," he growls. "Mine to fuck, mine to ruin, mine."

His words throw me off the edge. The possessiveness, the sucking, the stolen kisses, the brutal way he's fucking me all send me spiraling down to where? I have no idea. All I know is it isn't heaven. "Draco!" I cum with an Earth-shattering cry. Draco thrusts into me once, twice, three more times before he spills himself inside of me, filling me impossibly full as he cums with my name on his lips and his head tilted back.

After we both finally come down from our highs, we clean ourselves up and re-dress. "You're on birth control, right?" Draco asks me, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," I nod. "Don't worry, you won't have any mud-blood kids coming," I bite as I move toward the bathroom door.

Draco stops me, grabbing my arm and turning me to look up at him. "I'm tired of fighting," he admits, taking me aback with his sincerity. "I don't want to fight with you anymore. I just want..." his voice falters.

I bite my lower lip. "You really mean that?" I ask cautiously. Sure, he just plowed me, but how can I know it's not just afterglow?

Draco nods and pulls me closer. "My parents be damned," he sighs. "I just want you. It's always been you."

I nod looking down, unable to believe what I'm hearing from his mouth. Did Hell freeze over when I wasn't paying attention?

Draco tips my head back up to his face with a gentle finger under my chin. "I mean it. Whatever I need to do to prove it to you, I will."

"I suppose an apology to my friends would be a good first step."

Draco nods without hesitation. "Lead the way, love," he says, grabbing his wand and undoing the magic on the door. I exit first, and he actually follows me, taking my hand in his. When we get back to the car I share with Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron, he follows me inside. "Hey, guys," I say nervously as their eyes widen in shock. "Look who came to apologize," I say with a smile as Draco steps into the car with me.

"Bloody fucking hell," Ron grumbles.

"You owe me a galleon," Harry chuckles and nudges Ron.

[studioeisa]

i love your writing !! 🥹 for the jealousy prompts, han and “i don’t blame them of course, but you’re mine”?

★ jisung x makeup artist!reader ┆ word count: 1.1k ┆ part of my closed jealousy drabble game.

ⓘ established/secret relationship, fluff.

There's a certain level of tenacity needed to survive dating an idol.

You've known this since day one, since the unassuming Tuesday afternoon where Jisung had shyly asked you if you wanted to make it official. In the industry, 'official' and 'public' were two completely different promises.

You're not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, though. You love Jisung. He loves you. That should be enough, right?

At least that's what you try to remind yourself as you steel yourself for another award show. It's the Asia Artist Awards this time, one of the bigger ones that Jisung has always admitted to having mixed feelings about.

For a celebrity, your boyfriend sure did have an aversion to crowds.

He's gotten good at masking it, at least. You watch from the wings as he glides down the red carpet with the rest of the band. Not a thing is out of place. His hair is flawless; his suit is pressed. Most importantly, his makeup is immaculate, although that's to be expected when the one doing your makeup is someone who knows your features well.

Jisung does everything that he has to. He puts on a photo-ready smile. He waves to fans, makes hearts with his hands for the cameras. When the boys step aside for interviews, he does that, too— slides in a wisecrack, nods in all the right places.

It's mesmerizing, seeing him put on a show, and it's a show that everybody eats right up.

"He's popular today," one of your fellow makeup artists notes with amusement.

You follow her gaze. She's right. The screams for Jisung's name are a little louder. The cameras flash brighter when he moves. Even the interviewer seems particularly enamored, laughing loudly at Jisung's quips and resting a casual hand on his shoulder.

The flash of annoyance that you feel is assuaged when Jisung takes an infinitesimal step away, feigning like he's leaning into Minho instead.

"He is," you finally respond in an even tone, even though the word doesn't quite encapsulate it.

Your boyfriend is more than popular. He's a goddamn star. Everybody can see it, and so everyone wants a piece of him.

Once the boys' five minutes of fame are over, they slink off to a secluded area for retouches. The atmosphere and the lights always call for quick touch ups. A little bit of blush there. A brush of powder here.

Immediately, your team descends on them. Each boy has an assigned artist. When you make your way to Jisung, the shift is palpable.

Blink and you'll miss it. Jisung goes from his idol persona to somebody tired, somebody drained from all the interaction, to someone who is looking at the love of his life. His eyes light up. His shoulders ease. The corners of his lips tug upward in a fond, giddy grin, and you can't help the way you smile as well.

"Hey, you," he breathes, years worth of affection packed in a simple greeting.

"Hi," you say back. "Your lip gloss is smudged."

He chuckles, as though he's amused you're going straight to business. There's not much room for you to be the couple that you want to be. Not when you're in a public place, when he's still got an entire show to sit through and a stage to perform.

The two of you have managed to strike a balance, find your happy middle. Jisung toed the line more often than not, but he knew better than to push the envelope when it was your careers on the line.

He stays still as you go to fix his gloss. He physically can't help but tease, though, his mouth moving against the pads of your fingers.

"You would know a thing or two about smudging my gloss," he mumbles, his voice low enough for just the two of you to hear.

You shoot him a glare. He throws you an exaggerated wink.

This is the Jisung that you knew, the Jisung behind the scenes. Cheerful despite his exhaustion. Awkward in his flirtation but never any less sincere.

You rummage through your kit for concealer. It's not unusual for the artists to be well-acquainted with the boys, and so small talk was typically accepted. Your voice is perfectly casual and conversational as you comment, "You're getting good reception today."

He doesn't miss a beat. "Yeah, well, maybe it's 'cause I have a good makeup artist."

Your lips twitch like you're holding back a smile. Jisung looks like he already won an award for the night at the mere sight of it.

"Just 'good'?" you tease, working on reapplying concealer under his eyes.

"Mmm," he hums. "Meant to say 'the best'."

Even though you give him an eye roll in response, the two of you know that you revel in his affirmation. It's why he's so generous in doling it out.

Jisung sounds like he's treading gently as he question, "You okay, though?"

You return his question with a distracted one of your own. "Why wouldn't I be?" you ask, still focused on smoothing out some of the blemishes around his nose.

There's a moment where Jisung contemplates whether he should go on. You can tell by the way his teeth briefly sink into his lower lip, the way his eyebrows furrow for a moment. His next words are calculated, careful.

"The 'good reception' thing," he says slowly. "Is that about all the— uh, fans?"

The question is vague, but you've known Jisung for long enough to know what he's implying. A part of you melts at how ready your boyfriend is to give you assurance, even if both of you are on the clock.

"I don't blame them, of course." Your own words are matter-of-fact as you step back to survey your handiwork. Voice still pitched for just the two of you, you go on, "But you're mine."

Jisung looks like you've struck him between the eyes. It draws a laugh out of you. You're never outwardly possessive, not the type to kick up a fuss over his thousands of adoring fans or fellow idols, and so it's a bit of a rare treat.

"I'm—" he starts so sputter. "You're—"

"Jisung-ah!"

Chan's distant call barely snaps Jisung out of his flustered state. You have to give your boyfriend a light shove, just to encourage him to get moving.

"Later," you say. A promise.

He doesn't respond immediately. It seems like his brain has stopped working, and when it boots up, he manages a panicked squeak of, "Later!"

Jisung stumbles off, nearly tripping on his own laces. You put your hand to your mouth to hold back your giggles.

He will have to go face everyone else with his cool and collected persona. He will have to go be HAN of Stray Kids, will have to rap and joke and perform.

But there is also a Jisung that you love, a Jisung that's yours, and it's enough. It's more than enough.

[mattslilies]

Stripper!Reader x Stripper!Matt Headcanons

"you encapsulate the stage." or... the one where i didn't know what to write, so here are some headcanons and glimpses into the stripper!au :) warnings: its a strip club au guys you know the warnings i fear! mostly just suggestive stuff tbh. word count: 496 a/n: i hit a tree today with my car guys wtf is my life. also, i work over 9 hours tomorrow so the likelihood of a fic going up before like 10pm est is low, but i will try!

stripper!reader headcanons...

~ her desk is absolutely covered in makeup products, specifically glittery ones. shimmery highlighter, shining eyeshadow, mascara with some color in it. everything and anything bright you can imagine.

"how do you even have room for all of this?"

she laughs, grabbing another brush.

"you make room for things you love!"

~ walks in the tallest heels you've ever seen, and somehow never, ever, trips. however, is always complaining about ankle pain.

matt walked back into the room, two heating pads with velcro straps in his hands, helping her strap them around her ankles to soothe the ache.

"ugh, thank you. that feels so much better."

"you know, baby, you could always wear shorter heels."

"not a chance."

~ has the best getting ready playlist, and a beautiful singing voice to match. is always bouncing around in her dressing area, music up loud and taking double the time to get ready.

she wrapped up a song, pausing her dancing to put on her foundation, beginning her makeup process, when she heard a voice at the doorway.

"encore, encore!"

she shook her head at matt, who was grinning at her while leaning against the doorway.

"now that will cost you, and you know my rate."

........

stripper!matt headcanons...

~ is everybody's hype man. stands at the side of the stage every time someone is performing, is the loudest cheerer of them all. tips reader after every show.

matt slipped a $100 into your waistband, smiling at you before walking away. you gasped, following him and attempting to return it.

"don't pity tip me!"

he shook his head, smirking.

"oh, it's not a pity tip. consider it a down payment, for when we're home later."

~ may be quiet, but protects reader with his life. will double down against absolutely anyone, even someone a foot taller than him, if they even think about being disrespectful to her.

"matt, you can't fight all my battles for me, baby."

"but he can't just say that! i should've kicked his ass right there and then, and then had security throw him out permanently."

you giggled, the anger in his face almost amusing.

"you're like an attack dog. it's cute."

~ takes reader's pole dance classes sometimes. he claims it's for extra experience, btu secretly, he just admires her and her talent.

"if you take any more of these courses, you're going to be turning yourself into a pretzel on stage. you're already flexible enough!"

he grinned, spinning around on the pole as he listened to you, enjoying the empty room after your class had concluded.

"oh, i'm not here for flexbility. i'm learning your moves to beat you out for top money earner at the club."

you smirked back, shaking your head.

"as if i'd teach my best moves in class. you'll never beat me out. but maybe, if you tip me well enough, i'll demonstrate a few of them at home tonight."

matt has never hopped off a pole faster in his life.

taglist <3

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[justmeinadaze]

Louder Than Hell: Part 2 (First Date)( Eddie X Plus Size Y/N)

A/N: Completely self-indulgent fluff with a pinch of angst <3

Warnings: Eddie X Plus Size Fem Y/N on their first date after this . The people that read it wanted a first date for them and I did to. I needed some cute adorable fluff. May write some more firsts for them later on <3. Jason does cameo and makes a crack about the readers weight. Very brief and Eddie defends.

Word Count: 1003

Eddie Asks

You smiled as Eddie’s tongue stuck out towards the side of his mouth as he aimed the dart where he wanted it before tossing it towards the balloon and missing entirely. 

“Ah, fuck me.”, he scolds himself as his arms slap loudly to his sides. “Well, I wanted to get you a big bear but, alas, the carnival Gods don’t seem to be on my side tonight.”

“It’s ok.”, you murmur with a grin. 

When he said dinner, you anticipated him taking you to a restaurant but when his van skidded into the parking lot of the Hawkins Carnival, you were surprised; pleasantly so. The metalhead guided you to each ride and game, talking to you in-between each one and making you laugh constantly. 

“You don’t talk very much, do you?”

“I talk…I’m just…I’m a little nervous.”

“Of me? I swear I’m not as big of an asshole as these other people make me out to be.”

“Oh, no! I meant…I just don’t want to embarrass you or anything. I, um, I think you’re really cool.”

Eddie grins wide at your compliment and pauses at the Ski ball game near an area with other arcade games.

“Holy shit. Someone thinks I’m cool.” He pauses before throwing the ball up the ramp. “Wait, you’re not a crazy person, are you?”

His grin grows as you laugh and your energy comes to life; he could get used to this. 

“Here, freak, why don’t you give it a try?”

After taking the ball from him, you pull your arm back and roll it lightly up the ramp barely making any impact as it falls into the lower-level hole.

 “Wow, ok, um, not bad but…” Without hesitation, he places his chest to your back and encapsulates your hand with his. “You want to really put some energy behind it.”

You bite your bottom lip as he pushes your hand forward and you let the ball go watching as it rolls aggressively up the ramp before bouncing to the top slot.

“Atta girl! See? You’re cool.”

You crane your neck to meet his eyeline just as he does the same and those warm fuzzy feelings fill up your stomach while he prays this moment lasts so he doesn’t have to let you go. 

Your both abruptly pushed forward and you catch yourself on the ramp as Eddie’s hand shoots out to keep him from crushing you with his weight. 

“What’s going on here? Freaks date night?”, Jason sneered as his friend’s snickered behind him. The metalhead’s jaw clenched as he stood up and took your hand in his to help you to your feet, eyeing you up and down while you smooth out your outfit.

“Are you alright?”, he whispers, thankful when you nod. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s go check out the rides.”

“You’ll wanna be careful, Munson! The ride may break down as soon as she takes a seat!”

In one swift motion, Eddie spins around on his heels and grabs the jocks jacket collar, lifting him up onto his toes. 

“I’m real fucking tired of you picking on my girl, Carver. If you even so much as think about saying something involving her or her body again and I’ll show you how much of a freak I really am. Do I make myself clear?”

Jason tries desperately to wiggle out of the metalhead’s hold but fails.

“I SAID DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?!”, he shouts before the boy nods his head aggressively. 

Eddie tossed him to the side and his friends hastily scramble to collect him as he turns around to wrap his arm protectively around your waist to lead you towards the Ferris Wheel.

***

“I hope I didn’t scare you.”, he hurries out almost forcefully when you hadn’t said a word since his interaction. “Jason said what he said and I just couldn’t let him get away with it. I would never hurt you like that or—”

“You called me your girl.”

“Huh?”

“You said you were tired of him picking on ‘your girl’.” 

Eddie thinks for a moment until a small smile paints his lips. 

“Yeah, I guess I did. Did that…bother you?”

Your eyes shift down to your feet that were dangling over the carriage next his sneakers.   

“No…I, um, I kind of liked it.”

The metalhead beams widely, showing off all his teeth as he tries to hide the deep crimson that springs up on his cheeks. 

“Cool. Very cool.”

You bite your bottom lip to stifle your giggle as he closes his eyes and silently mouths the words “Really, Munson?”

A few seconds pass and the Ferris Wheel stops with your carriage nestled at the very top allowing you both to see all of Hawkins lit up across the town. Feeling slight movement, he glances your way to notice you were scooting closer to his side, your hips and thighs pressed ever so slightly against him. 

Shifting his irises into the void, Eddie slowly lifted his arms as if he was stretching adding a little extra groan of stress to sell the illusion before placing the limb closest to you around your shoulders with his hand on your bicep. 

On impulse, your head leaned against him and at the action, he exhaled making you laugh. 

“Your heart is beating really fast.”

“Yeah, that’s, um, that’s cause I’m a little nervous myself.”

“About what?”, you ask as you lift your head to see him smirk as his throat vibrates with the low rumble of a laugh.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do all night…”

“You should do it.”, you encourage. “Be louder than hell, right?”

His grin grows as he turns to face you before tilting down to place a soft kiss on your lips. Your palm cups his cheek as his own nestles on the back of your neck and you both relish in the taste of the other. 

When he pulls away, Eddie’s thumb comes around to caress your bottom lip. 

“That’s right, baby, louder than hell.”

#############

@spiderxbatty @soph342 @parodsal000 @mrsjellymunson @myherometalhead @guiltyasquinn

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi Miss Raven!! Idk if u have done this already but I've just seen the Masquerade event (I'm sorta a new player and it seemed interesting) and I would really like to hear ur opinion and analysis on Rollo!!

Welcome to the Twst rabbit hole, new player~!

asfkafdivfeetog8qetapafs YOU'VE AWOKEN THE BEAST NOW... I WILL NEVER SHUT UP aBoUT GLORIOSU MASQUERADE AND ROLLO mY BELOVED... 🤡

So first of all, I think it's important to bring up that when this event was first announced in JP, there was outcry from English speaking Twst fans. Numerous fans, primarily concentrated in the west, claimed it was problematic for Twst to "twinkify" Frollo, a villain that is not fantastical at all, but is sinisterly close to real life bigots that use religion to justify said bigotry. People fear mongered and made claims that Twst would try to sanitize Rollo or would present him in a way that was offensive to the crimes his Disney inspiration committed. And, might I add, all of this was before ANY of the event story was released--this was just upon the announcement. (If you want to read more about the controversy, I explained it in detail + shared my own thoughts about it in this post.) Today, you'll rarely find such claims floating around because the event story came out and spoke for itself. Glorious Masquerade is widely regarded as the BEST written event Twisted Wonderland has ever put out, even including 5 years' worth of content out on the JP server. No other event story has topped it in quality--and that's a sentiment that I personally agree with. I honestly don't know if Twst ever will top GloMasq. That's how strong the writing is.

As for my opinion on Rollo! I consider him one of my favorite characters due to his complex character writing and internal conflict (and honestly, I gotta appreciate his grind as a hater). To repeat what I've said in an older post: [I love how unpleasant and dedicated to his goals he is.] He stands out from the crowd thanks to his very blatant disdain for Malleus and acts in some of the most unhinged, overdramatic ways I can fathom (LIKE THAT STUPID TRAP DOOR PART… OR WHEN HE TRIED TO GO “SIKE” ON MALLEUS AND STRIKE HIM WHEN HIS GUARD IS DOWN). It’s the perfect balance of serious villain while also being so serious he almost comes off as desperate and pathetic. I also relate to his neurotic behavior. and conservative manner of dress. I talk more at length about my thoughts on Rollo here, though even that post doesn't fully encapsulate all I could discuss about him. I could go on and on about the dark implications of his unique magic, or how Rollo and Idia are mirrors of each other and sobering reminder of what can happen to someone that turns their grief into fuel to blame the world for his sorrow, or how the consequences Rollo faced at the end of the event were so fitting for his particular character, or the validation I feel that someone finally calls out Malleus for his potential to be a monster. IN FACT, I HAVE. And I have also gushed about his SSR here!! There's just so much interesting stuff to explore with him and his fucked up psyche.

[zeroeightzeroone]

lover of mine - bang chan

genre: angst, hurt/comfort

pairings: idol!bang chan x female reader

warnings: none

notes: if this looks familiar, it was originally posted to my secondary blog @zerothreetwentyfive so i'm republishing everything here on my main blog.

wc ~3k|moodboard

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:

"i'll never give you away, 'cause i've already made that mistake,

if my name never fell off your lips again, i know it'd be such a shame.

when i take a look at my life, and all of my crimes, you're the only thing that I think I got right."

lover of mine - 5 seconds of summer

you always thought that the next time chan would be making you cry would be at your wedding ceremony.

initially, you would try to hold in your tears, just enough so that you weren't full-on sobbing and ruining your makeup. eventually failing as the tears flow freely listening to the man tell you the moment he fell in love with you, the moment he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you and the promises he vows to keep forever. chan's eyes would never leave yours as you exchanged vows; in that moment, only you and chan existed, the proclamation and celebration of your love were the only things that mattered.

instead, here you are crying over chan. sitting in the driver's seat of your car, sobbing over the man who once said he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, now not wanting to fight for that future anymore.

…

"you're doing it again."

the sound of your best friend's voice snaps you out of your thoughts, attention now on the girl sitting across from you, "huh?"

she reaches over and places her hand on yours with a sympathetic smile on her face. no words are needed from her to make you realize what you were doing whilst zoning out; fiddling around with your ring finger. a habit you picked up after chan proposed, and a habit that hadn't changed even without the band on your finger; your fingers instinctively moving to spin and twist a non-existent ring.

"right," you clear your throat awkwardly.

your hands slipping out from under hers, sliding them under your thighs hoping that maybe sitting on your hands would work against the habit.

"how are you?"

the word 'lost' feels like an understatement. the word couldn't encapsulate even a quarter of your feelings.

you felt directionless, overwhelmed by the constant switch between emotions: anger, frustration, sadness, and denial, it left you exhausted. day by day, you only grew more emotionally drained, the desire to feel nothing only intensifying.

the mere thought of the dimpled man gave you whiplash, your heart and your head conflicting with each other and your feelings pulling you from one end to the other. you couldn't pinpoint exactly how you felt about him.

god, you wished that you didn't even think about him.

you wished that you weren't plagued by the thought of him at every waking moment. everything reminded you of him, everything brought you back to the memory of how easy it was for him to let you, the person he proclaimed to want to spend the rest of his life with, to watch them walk out the door, to just give up without a fight.

why couldn't it have been easy for you too? why couldn't you just let him go the way he did you? forget him like he meant absolutely nothing?

as much as you wished it was, you knew it wouldn't be easy to move on from chan.

your early adulthood started with chan, moving in with him almost a year and a half after you started dating. he became a part of your routine and you became part of his; there was a time when your day didn't feel complete without hearing a goodnight from him or getting that goodnight kiss. your lives were intertwined, and your future plans were intertwined.

you believed chan was your future. he made you believe that you would write the next chapters of your lives together, that you two would be side by side on the road to forever. you envisioned your future with chan, without him you've hit a crossroads, struggling to navigate where to go from here. you were scared.

scared to learn what the future holds for you, scared to take a step towards a future without him.

on top of all that came public attention.

the news about your breakup hadn't been confirmed by chan or jyp entertainment. regardless that didn't stop the speculations and rumours that came with the lack of seeing you and chan in public together, seeing you without your ring, and other proofs fans would dig up. the algorithm also working against you as whenever you refreshed social media, the first couple of posts would be news articles, headlines and what have you, discussing the speculations.

'did stray kids' bang chan and his long term girlfriend call it quits?'

'fans of stray kids speculate bang chan and his partner have called off the engagement'

'netizens react to alleged proofs that bang chan and long term girlfriend have split up'

'breaking: did stray kids' bang chan and girlfriend split up? here's why fans are wondering about the status of the long-term couple'

your comments were flooded with questions regarding the rumours, mourning fans hoping that they were baseless and haters congratulating you on setting the man free. you wondered why the news hadn't been spoken about by chan or any official representatives but the speculations drove you to log out of social media. the realization that one day the articles and headlines will change from 'speculations' to 'confirmations' the anticipation and anxiety driving you insane.

you look back up to your friend, your lips pursed together in a small smile as you reply:

"i'm fine."

…

"chan hyung!"

the boy pulls the pillow up and over his head, trying to block out the noises from outside the door. hoping that the longer he ignored, the realization that he wanted to be alone would sink in and everyone would leave him be. that hope was short-lived as the door swung open.

"chan hyung!" changbin calls from his spot at the door, "you need to eat something."

from where he's standing, changbin watches chan groan out a response from under the pillow, making no effort to get up and go eat something. changbin's eyes drift to the older boy's bedside table, a picture frame is lying face down (probably a photo of you), and sitting on top of the frame is a gold band with a large diamond: your engagement ring. the sight of the band sitting on chan's bedside table and not on your finger has a small frown adorning changbin's lips.

"hyung, i know it's hard but please. you need to take care of yourself too," the younger boy sighs, "locking yourself in your room won't do anyone good."

of course, it wasn't easy for them to see chan in such a state.

chan had always been the one putting up a strong front, walking around with his head up no matter the circumstances as the leader. but these past couple of weeks, whenever chan was out of the public eye he'd walk with his head down, dragging his feet, no words leaving him. almost like he's being forced to be anywhere outside of his bedroom.

the members in the other dorm were curious about their leader, wondering how he'd been holding up but chan stopped replying to the group chat. it got to the point where the members made a chat without chan, using that to ask jisung, changbin and hyunjin how the older one was doing.

for as long as you were in chan's life, you were also in the member's lives. the news of the breakup came as a shock to them as well. they were all curious as to how you were doing too, but were hesitant to ask you directly for fear of making things harder for you. you met all of them through chan, and seeing their names pop up on your phone may just be another reminder of your ex.

changbin's eyes are on chan as the older boy takes the pillow off his head, slowly sitting up on the bed, feet hitting the floor but making no move to stand up. instead he's slouched over, head in his hands and sighing.

"do you, uh…" chan's voice barely above a whisper, "do you think i made a mistake?"

changbin shuts the door behind him hearing chan's question, realizing right now his friend needed someone to talk to before, maybe, going to eat something.

leaning against the door, he replies, "what do you mean?"

"w– was proposing… a mistake?"

"do you feel like it was a mistake?"

chan shakes his head, "no."

"did you mean everything you said when you proposed?"

"yes."

"then it wasn't a mistake."

chan lifts his head out of his hands, head turning to the younger boy leaning at the door. even in the dim purple lighting of chan's room, changbin can see how glossy his eyes are, how the bags under his eyes have gotten more prominent since yesterday.

"was… was letting her go," chan's voice shaky, "a mistake?"

changbin pushes himself off the door, making his way to sit next to his hyung on the bed. a comforting hand moving to chan's back.

"that's a question only you can answer," changbin's lips are pursed to one side, a sympathetic look in his eyes as he continues, "did it feel like a mistake at the time?"

"i- i thought i was doing the right… thing," chan's voice pitches higher at the end, questioning his own answer, "when i came home, an–and saw the dinner table, full of food she made for us. when she told me everything she was feeling, the look i-in her eyes."

chan loves your eyes, it's by far his favourite thing about you.

looking into your eyes had him falling in love with you before he even knew it. looking into them made it feel as if he was looking into your soul, almost like your eyes could tell him what your words couldn't. chan's day would immediately be flipped upside down just at the sight of your eyes, a shitty day becoming the best day when he caught a glimpse of those radiant, warm pools of life, your eyes sparkling with a zest and excitement for life that sent a wave of comfort over him. whenever he looked at you, that glimmer of hope in your eyes made him feel like everything would be okay.

but that night, the look in your eyes that night is seared into chan's memory. haunting him whenever he closes his eyes, whenever his eyes fall on your ring sitting on his bedside table.

that night when you told him just how lonely you'd been feeling, how you felt like he was treating you like the help and not as his fiancé; those words knocked some sense into chan. the harsh reality glaring him down: he had been falling short in your relationship. he had been so blind to that fact for who knows how long, listening to you had chan wallowing in guilt.

at one point chan felt like he was a third person watching everything go down, but it felt like he was watching you and a whole different person. he wondered why he wasn't saying anything, why he couldn't move, why he couldn't feel anything other than guilt eating him alive.

when he looked into your eyes, that's when everything came crashing down.

the eyes that once gleamed up at him, washing a wave of comfort and reassurance through his body were boring into his own. the contrast had his blood running cold. the sight of your hollow and dull orbs gazing up at him, even the sources of light around you did nothing to bring back that sparkle. the way your eyes looked incredibly sunken in, tired, swimming with distress as they searched his. he wondered how he hadn't seen the change before.

a change that happened because of him. the light in your eyes is gone all thanks to him. he wanted to be the one to preserve and make sure your eyes light up for the rest of your life, but instead he's the reason you look defeated. he couldn't handle the guilt eating him up at the sight.

"i-i broke her," chan whispers, "you could see it in her eyes how my shortcomings, the ones i was too blind and stupid to notice… that broke her. i broke her."

changbin doesn't say anything.

"i thought it would be better for me to let her go… get her away from me who was sucking the life out of her," chan's hands run through his hair, "she deserves so much more than me."

the older boy cries. his thoughts, feelings, everything just clouded with you.

"hyung," changbin's tone is soft, feeling out the atmosphere, "don't you think that it's sucking the life out of her even more, to be away from you?"

this time chan is the one who doesn't say anything.

"she wanted you to stay, she wanted you to convince her to stay."

"convince me to stay… please."

"i'm sorry."

"yes. from what you told us the day after you broke up, she does deserve better."

changbin's words send a dagger to chan's heart.

"but don't you want to be the one she deserves?"

chan's head turns to look at changbin.

"you need to work to be better, to be the one y/n deserves. that's what she wants, she wants you hyung."

"… m-me?"

"she wouldn't have said yes to marrying you if she didn't want you for the rest of her life."

…

your plan for the day was to wake up around noon, order some takeout or ransack your best friend's freezer for some food (and ice cream), chill on the couch and watch some netflix. instead you're jolted awake, at ten in the morning, by pounding at the front door.

rolling your eyes in annoyance, stretching your arm out, feeling around before grasping a pillow and clutching it over your head, trying your hardest to block out the noises and fall asleep. hoping the longer you hold out, it will give off the illusion that no one's home and come back later. a couple moments pass, a sigh of relief falls from your lips when the knocking stops, allowing you to loosen your grip on the pillow around your head.

maybe the neighbours got annoyed and kicked whoever that was out.

at the silence, you roll onto your side and shift your body around to get comfortable in the mattress. another long breath leaving your lips once that optimal position to fall asleep in is found, closing your eyes and getting ready to be lulled back into dreamland.

now you think someone is fucking with you.

the knocking starts up again, for a second you thought you'd fallen asleep and the knocking was continuing in your dreams but no. sadly, you weren't lulled back into dreamland like you hoped, the pounding in your head making it apparent that this was indeed, reality.

on top of all the things happening in your life lately, being woken up by a stranger relentlessly hammering the life out of their fist on your– actually, your best friend's– door is the kicker to a great day. a whine leaving your lips as you roll out of bed, pouting as you trudge to the door of the guest bedroom and continue your trek down the hall, towards the front door.

sure, you wouldn't have minded if your best friend, the person who lives in this unit, was actually home to answer the door. alas, she's at work whilst you're here; straightening out your pyjamas and plastering the fakest smile on your lips whilst you undo the locks, twisting the doorknob and swinging the door open.

"hello, mis—"

your jaw drops. posture immediately straightening due to the wave of tension that rushes through your veins, your mind comes up with two options: hide behind the door or run. your heart begins to race in your chest, tears threatening to spill at any moment but your feet are cemented to the ground. any urge you had to run away and hide quickly depleting at the sight of the man in front of you, a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

"chan… wh-what are you doing here?"

there he is: the man of the hour.

in front of you, in the flesh. standing a couple inches away from you clad in his usual all-black attire. you're avoiding his gaze but can't seem to pry your eyes off the bouquet in the man's hold.

a medley of red and white roses, baby's breath peeking throughout the arrangement.

"i- i needed to see you," chan's voice comes out husky.

shifting awkwardly on your feet, you sigh, "how did you know i was here?"

"multiple calls to your best friend and a long speech," he uses his free hand to scratch at the back of his neck, a nervous smile on his lips.

'she's getting a long speech from me too.'

"okay, well…" you clear your throat, "you saw me so bye."

you go to shut the door but chan stumbles forward, holding it open as he stands in the doorframe. the gush of air from his sudden movements gives you a whiff of his cologne. that along with the closer proximity has a lump forming in your throat.

"w-wait, i wanted to talk too."

"y-you spoke and so did i so, bye," you choke out, trying to close the door again but to no avail as his body blocks your way, "please chan, what more do you want from me? don't make this harder for me."

chan reaches forward at the sight of a tear falling, wanting to wipe it away but you flinch away from his touch. your reaction has chan recoiling, he shifts awkwardly on his feet. you go to turn away from him.

"i made a mistake," he states, his words coming out rushed.

you gulp, angling your body towards the man again. this time your arms crossed over your chest, your gaze still falling away from his face. chan's throat clears when he realizes that you're not going to speak.

"that night, i shouldn't have let you go," he continues, "i should've told you, said something, said anything to convince you to stay… but… fuck. i- i was scared."

your eyes glance up at his face, only to look away just as quickly.

"you're probably thinking, of what?" chan runs a hand through his hair, "but listening to everything you said, everything that i was stupid, ignorant enough not to notice, all those things that i did– or, uh didn't do… that hurt you. it scared me to tell you i wanted you to stay."

your eyebrows furrow in frustration, this time your gaze stays on his face, making no move to wipe the tears running down your cheeks.

"listening to you, hearing how much i hurt you. i- i thought it would've been selfish of me to tell you to stay," chan's voice cracks, tears falling from his eyes as well, "i thought i would hurt you more if you stayed… that you didn't deserve that, y-you deserved so much more than me."

"god, chan.…" a bitter smile on your lips, "you saying nothing, letting me leave… a-and not fighting for me, for us! fuck… that hurt more than anything."

the memories of that night have your heart aching. whimpering as the tears continue to fall, the sight has chan's gradually getting heavier in his chest. he wants nothing but to pull you into his arms and to never let go.

"i know… i know. baby, i'm so sorry," chan's cheeks are soaked with tears but he makes no effort to wipe them away, "i'm so fucking sorry. i thought i was doing what was best for you, but i fucked up, i fucked up big time."

your eyes lock with chan's. glossy, tear-filled orbs gazing into each other, at that moment the tears only build until the both of you are crying a river in the hallway.

chan quite literally launches himself at you. throwing his arms around your body and pulling you into his chest. instinctively, your arms wrap around his torso, nuzzling your head into his shirt. bodies trembling and shaking as the both of you cry in each other's arms.

chan soaks up every single thing about this moment; the warmth of your body radiating onto him, your face nuzzled into his chest, the smell of your hair, the way your hands grip the back of his shirt, the feeling of your body pressed up against his. he isn't even sure that you'll take him back. regardless, he knows he wants to work his hardest to ensure he'll have you in his arms every day for the rest of his life.

in his arms, he holds the person who has been with him every step of the way and supported him day in and day out. the biggest mistakes chan ever made took place on that day: not convincing you to stay, not telling you how he loves you with his entire heart, and holding your engagement ring in his hand while he watched you walk out.

chan wants you to be so much more than just his past and present, he wants you to be his future, his forever. he's always wanted that but he failed at showing you, instead hurting you in ways he was completely ignorant of.

"i love you," chan cries, you can hear his heart racing in his chest, "i love you so much. if you let me, i'll work every single moment of every day to show you that. when i told you i wanted you for the rest of my life, i meant it. i mean it with my whole heart. i fucked up–majorly, but i swear to you! i swear i'll show you that i'm the one you deserve, that i can give you that life you deserve."

chan looks down at you, enveloped in his arms as your gaze naturally lifts to meet his eyes.

chan's heart skips a beat.

there it is.

that sparkle.

main masterlist

[chronically-ghosted]

to flame on, or just flame out

part ii of some days, you just can't get rid of a bomb

AO3 Link | series masterlist | main masterlist | marcus moreno masterlist

rating: explicit (18+)

pairing: marcus moreno x f!reader

word count: 7K

summary: can he fuck you without breaking every bone in your body? only time will tell - specifically the next five minutes because you need your hands on him. Now.

warnings: nearly 7k of just smut with just a twirling of plot because it's just more fun that way, icky gooey feelings like love (bleh!), marcus is a man who appreciates tits and i appreciate him for that, very very inappropriate use of electrical currents because behind those glasses lies a horny fucking freak, barry allen would be delighted by the use of the speedforce here, use of 'ma'am' because the voice of god told me so

a/n: all my time spent writing bad mcu fanfic has finally paid off. enjoy

"How do you want to start?"

Flummoxed. An unusual word, but categorically correct.

Marcus Moreno is flummoxed. He kneels between your thighs, his palms capping your knees. He can see how damp your thin shorts are at the cradle of your thighs and it makes his heart squeeze, hot desire dripping down his spine. What is he supposed to do with you?

Your toe against his elbow has him looking up. That smug grin makes him nervous and excited all at once.

"I think that's a question for you, big guy. You said you've thought about this. What do you do when you think about me?"

At that, Marcus chuckles. "Now I know we don't have time for all of that. At least," he runs his hands down your shins, "not tonight."

You know he's not trying to be distracting on purpose, but it stilts your breath all the same.

"We'll put in a pin in that for now," you huff as he rings your ankles with his fingers. "What do you want to do the most?"

But he's lost in thought again, the crest of anxiety breaking and spilling off his shoulders, as he examines the bones of your toes, the arch of your foot.

You know he needs this, so you wait.

"I'd like to touch you," he says slowly. "But you have to tell me when it's too much."

You nod, your heart thrumming in your throat.

From the flats of your feet, he pushes over your soft skin with flat of his palms. The knuckle of his thumb catching on your ankle bone. Then, the loose muscle of your calves, the planes of your shins. His hands grip underneath your knees and here he stops, incrementally increasing his pressure.

As always, that first flutter of pain translates to pleasure and you stifle a groan between your lips.

His gaze drifts to your face when the groan goes high into a whimper.

"Yeah, okay, there, Marcus, that's too much—,"

He releases you immediately. "Sorry." But you shake your head, reaching for him and grounding his hands onto your knees again.

"Don't—," you swallow against your dry throat, "don't stop. Keep going."

Marcus nods, that inquisitive gaze turning back to your thighs.

His fingers wander beneath the hem of your shorts, to the joint where your hips bend, dragging them inward until you feel the brush against your curly, coarse hair.

Your slow draw of breath notches up your spine. You're transfixed. His hands are so big, fingers so thick, able to span the complete breadth of your throat, you're sure of it. The sleeves of his sweater have ridden high to his elbows, exposing the flexing muscle of his forearms. They look solid, rigid in their restraint.

But his hands halt in their exploration down your body. Instead, they roam up, over your stomach, thumb briefly touching your belly button, the involuntary clench reaching all the way down between your legs.

"Not too hard?" he asks, voice low and distant, like he's asking because he is compelled, not because he's capable of listening to the answer.

You shake your head and his hands encapsulate your ribs, fingers sliding between your ribs. The hem of the sweatshirt obscures his movements from view, but not the heat of his hands.

The weight on your lungs makes it hard to breathe and you let out another soft moan. Your chest shudders and quicker than before, his hands cup the swells of your breast. He explored everything else, but knew exactly where to find what he was looking for. With a quiet gasp, you arch your spine into his hands, trying to meet his wild stare, but he won't look up. Won't look away.

"I dunno what I want," he mutters. "I've thought about fucking you while you wear my clothes and about fucking you when you are completely naked."

His thumb circles your nipple, meeting flesh with his nail on the second whirl, and you are so high, both in your head and out of it, your body throbbing for him, your gentle groan staggers into a chuckle.

"All the time in the world, remember, baby?" The spread of his hands over your chest is infinitely warmer than any heated blanket and you roll your cheek against the pillow beneath your head, drowsy with pleasure. Your arms are tucked under the pillow, stretching as open for him as you can go.

"Take this off."

You still haven't opened your eyes, but you grin anyway. "Made a decision, Sparky?"

"Yes." Heavy his voice sits in the bubbling pit of your stomach, the sound coarse, sand-speckled, thirsting for water, air — something. His voice is much closer that you remember it being, so you crack one eye open.

He hovers above you, his gaze nowhere else but you. All the breath leaves your lungs the moment you meet his eyes. Are other humans capable of this? This searing intensity that swallows up your ego and spits it out.

"Please take off your shirt," he repeats gently. "I want to fuck you naked."

You move and he's helping you pull it over your head, fumbling together. It flops to the floor and you move again, pleading silently that the press of your lips against his will settle the heat roaring in your chest —

But he sits back between your thighs and removes his glasses, neatly folding them onto your bedside table. He kneels again, in supplication.

"Show me." He says, just as softly, just as sweetly, but with all the vibrato of a rock slide. "Show me how you like to be touched."

There's a part of you that is wildly interested in voyeurism. Eyes on you at a distance, unable to feel your skin, as you take yourself apart.

But it's too much tonight. He's too much.

"Give me your hand."

"But I need —,"

"Give me your hand, Marcus. I trust you."

Without another word, he extends his hand towards you and you take it. His knuckles are dry, but his palm is warm. You drag your nails lightly over the thick vein on the back of his hand and static crackles. A light zap, but he's grinning.

"Tease." You mutter, a smile curling your lips up. You lean back fully against the pillows, your bottom inching closer to his knees. "Ready?"

He nods.

You thread mirror his right hand with your own as you both watch him cup your breast. Watch as the nipple tightens before you drag his thumb underneath it. With his nail, you catch the flint edge and nick the pink bumps.

"That —," you gasp. You're doing this to yourself, just using him, why is it driving you out of your mind? "I love that."

"You're sensitive there," he mutters to himself. "Gotta be careful."

"With your hands, Marcus, not your teeth."

His lips part, his gaze steady, direct. You wonder if he can see through your skin, your bones, your blood. The thought delights you.

"Okay."

You nod again, linking your fingers with his as you turn his hand down the slope of your body.

"I like it when you squeeze my hips. I like it when you hold my ribs. I like it when you make it difficult to breathe —,"

Your name out of his mouth is a stilted sigh, as if something sharp is jammed between his rips but he leans forward, ever vigilant, watching where and how you put his hand. You stop inches from the waistband of your shorts.

"Now, at this point, I want your shirt off too."

"Right now?" His gaze is a little unfocused, his cheeks pink. You think he doesn't even realize how hard he is breathing. You nod.

In a blink, his shirt is gone and his belt is unbuckled.

You frown. "That's cheating."

He seems impossibly wider without a shirt, his bare shoulders smattered with freckles. On anyone else, they'd probably be covered in scars. But he isn't anyone.

"I said I want to take my time with you. Nothing about me."

You can't reach high on his broad chest, so you lightly graze his tapered waist, the hint of abdominal muscles. When you reach the thatch of hair disappearing beyond the edge of his jeans, he groans.

"You're rusty, not a virgin," you giggle. "You shouldn't be this sensitive."

He huffs a laugh, his curls springing loose from behind his ears. "You have no idea."

"Then give me one."

Again, he looks at you like maybe he misheard. Or maybe you're not real. Or maybe you're going to disappear if he hold on too tight. You beckon him closer.

The bristles on his jaw tickle your hand when he bends to kiss you, your palm on his cheek. Slow, indulgent, rich kisses — against your mouth, just in front of your ear, your nose.

"How you feelin', Sparky?" Why is the sound of your voice so breathless still so surprising?

He nuzzles your cheek, tucking his nose beneath your jaw to turn your head and allow him full exposure to your throat.

"Good. Really good. I wanna keep going."

Oh, thank god.

"Do you still need to be shown?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Christ, Marcus —,"

Sometimes you wonder if this big-eyed, blinking innocence is just an act to get into girls' pants. Well, it's fucking flawless and fucking worked, to be entirely honest.

"C'mon, show me —,"

With a deep inhale that you know you will loose, you continue from where you left off; past the waistband of your shorts, the pads of his fingers ghosting over the coarse hair — a zip of static and you yelp — "I promise that wasn't me," he lies with a big giant grin on his stupidly gorgeous face — until he runs out of skin and you bend his fingers over your folds, into the wetness he made.

He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing, no longer needing your guidance to stroke up and down. You sigh with a roll of your hips.

"Are— are," he clears his throat. "Are you always this wet?"

"When you do it right, yes."

He groans, hanging his head. "I honestly don't know if I can go this slow every time."

"You don't have to be slow. You just have to be a-ah-attentive— Marcus!"

He's spread your folds apart with two fingers and is stroking the flat of his middle finger up, dipping into where you gently leak for him, through your wetness, and daringly close to your bundle of throbbing nerves.

Fuck, you almost forgot about that.

"Marcus, at the top, there's —,"

He hushes with a kiss, the barest hint of teeth. "I know what a clit is, baby. What do you like?"

Pleasure is bursting from where he touches, from between your legs, to where he holds your elbow to the mattress with his other hand.

Focused on every twitch in your face, every spasm of your throat, he watches and waits, cataloging you beneath him until he can recognize the signs with his eyes closed.

"Baby, tell me —,"

You tug his fingers from the plush of your cunt and press hard against your clit.

He doubts you mean for desperation to be so plain on your face. Lip trembling, sweat peaking across your forehead. Breath short, fast. He can hear your heart rumble with the force of a train.

"When I'm this close —,"

"You're close?"

"When I am close," you drop your eyes closed, steady his wrist, and grind against the pads of his fingers, "I just need —,"

He sees it and hoards it all away. The tremble of your thighs, the improbable bend of your spine. He thinks he sees your nostril twitch. You actually stop breathing —

It's either his name or a stunted scream that comes out of your mouth. He isn't sure which.

"Holy fuck, Marcus, that was . . ." You open your eyes to the closest thing to a smirk you've ever seen on his face.

"Good?"

"Excellent. And you didn't finger me into oblivion. I mean, you did, but no broken bones, or open wounds, so that's good — really, really, really good —,"

Pride blooms in his chest; he's usually the one babbling nonsense, and it's a sight to behold to watch you unable to shut your damn mouth because of him. Because of what he did to you.

He silences you with a kiss. Like you taught him.

That seems to ground you, settle you back into your body. When he opens his eyes, the expression on your face can only be described as gooey.

"Mhmm, hi there, Sparky."

"You okay?" He knows he's being smug but he just can't help it. This is going marvelously well.

"Very okay." You sigh, big, and he takes this moment to lick his fingers clean, watching you come back to yourself. Tangy, strong, he decides. He can't remember the last time he's tasted pussy.

"Can you take my shorts off?" You ask, watching him pluck his ring finger from his mouth. You lick your bottom lip. "They're . . . sticky."

He obliges and tosses the article of clothing away, but he remembers where they go. (In case, you fall asleep and he doesn't.)

Or at least, he tries to remember where your shorts fly. But you're naked, curls glossy, and that sight, those smells, that sound — it liqufies everything in his brain into a dribbling mess.

He is exceedingly gentle as he spreads your legs, mouth open, the tang of your release still wetting the corners of his lips.

And then your fingers smack his forehead.

"No."

"No?"

"Not tonight. If you'd just been honest with me after that night we went bowling and you'd already fucked my brains out, then who am I to stand in the way of a man and his meal?" He blinks slowly, gulping.

"Bowling? Wait — wait a second. Bowling, that was our first date."

"Exactly," you say smugly, "but you didn't, so I need those pants gone and you right up here."

You pat your low stomach, indicating exactly how deep you need him, and he goes a bit light-headed.

"Baby, I need more practice. I'm not sure I can completely control —,"

"But you did already."

"Yeah, once."

He hears your heartbeat pick up. "How many times can you come in one night, Marcus?"

"Um," he rubs the muscle at the back of his neck, "I don't know but I do know I lost count one time."

"Fuck," you sigh, sitting up, "you really are perfect."

He definitely can't control the rising heat in his cheeks. "I don't know about perfect—,"

You kiss him and he feels every fiber of his being strengthen. Beneath the smell of sex that he hopes has imprinted on his senses permanently, the rush of your perfume floods the air with every thrumb of blood in your neck.

You part from his lips, far too soon for his liking.

"Where's the easiest for you to control yourself?"

"Mhm, what?"

"Focus, Sparky." You tap his forehead again and he grins, distractedly. "In what position is it easiest for you to stop yourself from finishing?"

"Um," he tries to rattle the memories from his sex-sodden brain, but everything in there has turned to ooze. "Um, on my back?"

Your grin widens, your finger curling around a chunk of hair near his neck. He did good, whatever it was.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

"Why?"

"Because I want to feel as close to you as possible for this first time."

Oh.

Oh.

"That's dangerously close to sentimental, ma'am." You loop your arms around his neck and rock back into the pillows, tugging him down with you. He holds himself up just on his elbows, close as he can be and still see you straight. His face hurts from smiling. "Never would have expected that from an intrepid reporter like yourself."

"Don't tell anyone, I think I'm losing my edge." He ducks his head, dropping slow, marked kisses against your neck and shoulder. You smile into his hair, nails gently scratching the skin below his neck. "This guy's got me all hot and bothered and I can't think straight around him."

He pauses with his mouth over your collarbone, then bites down just enough to make you gasp. You can't help but wonder how much harder he would have to bite to break the skin, or the bone, and how easy it might be for him. Like you tearing into an apple, you assume.

"Killing is strictly against my moral code, ma'am," he says mockingly stern, noses around his bite, already purpling. His fingers circle your shoulder. "But I think I might make an exception for this guy, who's got you all hot and bothered."

"Now who's got a conflict of interest?" You tease and he laughs into the hollow of your throat. Adjusting over you, he straightens up, face serious. You're only slightly distracted by the divots his hands make in your mattress.

"Answer me honestly." You nod. He's so beautiful when he makes himself soft for you. "Do you really trust me to do this? To keep you safe, e-e-even if that means from myself?"

Your quip is ready on your tongue, the ghost of a smirk inhabiting your lips, but the gravity of his gaze plucks your flippancy straight out of your mouth.

Is it strange, then, to feel so protective of an invincible man? A man who is literally bulletproof?

Is it love that makes you worry this much?

"Yes." You comb his unruly curls back from his face, allowing the silence to let your truth sink into him. "Yes, Marcus Moreno, I trust you with my whole life."

Every part of me.

Every part you can touch and even the ones you can't.

You'd give him the organ of your heart if you could.

His head falls in the grasp of your hands, the fingers that held his cheeks now near his eyes. You feel dampness on the tips of your thumbs.

He nods.

He once told you that before Missy came along, he had been made into a weapon. Something cruel and sharp, with precision and vuglar fragility. No matter how many times his wife assured him that that life was long in his past, that as a father and a husband he had proven his immense capacity for love and kindess over and over and over again.

But that feeling, that he is only — inevitably — capable of destruction, never quite went away, he had said.

You wonder if that is on his mind now.

Marcus drags himself, kneeling again, but you take his cheek before he's out of reach.

"Hey, Marcus —," he won't really look at you, so you grip his chin and turn his entire head towards you. A frightened animal looks down into your eyes. "You deserve this, Marcus. You deserve good things. You deserve l—,"

Your voice catches.

His bottom lip trembles.

"Say it. Please. I need to hear you say it."

The knot in your throat stings. "You deserve love, Marcus. You always have."

His nostrils flare. His body lined with tension. Those words aren't enough.

And?

That bruise, the one you didn't know existed, aches because it was put there by people who you'd given your heart to and they didn't deserve it. It was put there by your father, your mother long dead, and on your own it was left to fester. Rot. It's been killing something beneath your skin for decades.

Something has been killing you, hurting you, and you didn't even know it.

But he did.

He saw it, stopped it, and in every way possible, saved you. Without powers, without his strength, without his invincibility, he saved you.

In every way that matters, he saved you.

"Marcus, you idiot, you know that I love you—,"

The words had barely left your lips before he's swallowing them down, making you taste the sweetness of your confession as he licks it against your tongue. He has your wrists pinned against the pillow as if all he wants to feel is your wet mouth on his.

You nip the swell of his bottom lip between your teeth and that grip around your wrists tightens immeasurably.

"Marcus, be gentle —,"

He plucks himself off you, horror in his eyes. "I'm sorry, shit, I'm sorry —,"

The sting in your wrists can wait. The depth of wanting in your cunt and in your heart cannot.

You continue what he started.

You yank down the zipper completely with one hand, the other ready to push both his pants and shorts down the instant they're loose.

But he has gone still above you. This means more begging, ("baby, slow down—") or he'll stop you entirely.

It's only when you see the coarse hair that you realize he hasn't done anything at all.

Glancing up at him, you worry you've pushed him too fast and he's uncomfortable or shy or — maybe he's not ready for any of this and you cruely made him do it anyway, or you — or —

"Don't stop."

It's a kind of begging, you think. Raw, unfiltered, wild — but begging all the same. His hands join yours as you shuffle his pants off together. He's breathing rapidly and you wonder, just for a second, what it would be like if he did lose control.

You lean back into the pillows, a delicious viewpoint, as his cock bobs up against his stomach. You think you may hear fabric tearing but that might just be your deranged imagination.

God, every inch of him is perfect.

He's not as long as his god-like physique might suggest, but wow, he is thick.

"When I said I'm up for any challenge, I think I underestimated you."

Marcus blushes all the way down to his navel.

His hand twitches at his side like he's thinking about covering himself, so once again, you take his hand and lead him where he's mean to go. Where you hope he'll stay for hours tonight: between your thighs.

"Oh, wait."

He takes the covers up to his shoulders before lowering himself down onto you. He seems very intent on a freckle on your neck.

"I heard it's hard for women to orgasm when their feet are cold, so I thought . . ."

You giggle like this is your first time. "You said 'orgasm'."

This time, he's the one rolling his eyes. "What are you, fourteen?"

"No, but you're trembling like you are."

"Oh. Shit, you're right. I don't mean to be."

You take his knuckles between your fingers and press light kisses in the valleys between his bones, being sure to watch him watch you the whole time. You can feel the quick pulse of his chest, his lungs snipping in air.

"Marcus." It really is warm and lovely with the comforter covering you both. The unspooling of your mind, your anxieties, your fears and anger, brought on from being touched like this — being loved like this — is already starting. Your hand on his face settles him, like you're the one who is an immovable object. Maybe you're his unstoppable force. "Marcus, the only way you could break me, or hurt me, is if you ever left me. You can't hurt me like this, okay?"

"O-okay."

"We can go as slow as you want like this. If you're close, tell me and we can switch. I'll go slow too, so you don't—,"

He chuckles, back arched, hand down between his legs. You pull your legs up and far apart, your own pulse quickening, and on the first try, he finds your hole.

Forgotten how to fuck — bullshit.

"I don't want to g-go slow just for my benefit," even with your release still coating your folds, slick as can be, he's still a lot to take. He grunts and drops his head against your temple. Another inch and you grab the curve of his broad shoulder. So full already, fuck, can you choke from being this full? "I want — relax a bit, baby, there you go — I want to fuck you slow so I can feel you. And I swear to Christ, I'll make it good for you."

There's no coherent words you can make, only gurgles and sighs. A laugh against the soft skin of your neck is strained, tightly wound.

"Baby, you can't squeeze me like that the whole time. I can't fucking move when you're doing that."

Speech somehow returns to you and you fling out your words in a gasp. "Fuck, Marcus, okay, I'm trying —,"

You've never been submerged like this. Stuffed full. His body, extended like a blanket over you, is nearly suffocating. And you like that, usually, but you know your body is panicking. Rammed this full of his cock and it thinks you're dying. And fuck, what a way to go . . .

Something in your lower body uncouples and your legs go loose. Miraculously, you can breathe again, despite feeling like his cock is somewhere around your guts.

"There you go," he murmurs. You can barely make it out he's so quiet.

You open your eyes and sensation nearly buckles you again. Marcus holds himself above you, gaze fixated on your face, and he's gently stroking your clit.

Oh. That's what that was.

You breathe out, slowly, deeply and he grins.

"Like a fuckin' bear trap down there . . ." He wets his lips, then sucks his teeth. Before you are even remotely aware of what he's doing, spit drops in a thick glob right above your pussy. He smears his own spit against your clit with his thumb and you shoot towards your peak.

"Saw that in a porno once," he mutters vaguely. "Wasn't sure if I'd like that but shit . . ."

"Please, please move, Marcus."

He blinks at you like he's surprised to see your face beneath him. "Yeah. Y-yeah. Okay. Tell me if you need me to stop."

He rocks into you and your sanity is tilted off its axis.

You can feel every inch, every slick push and pull, hear every slippery suck from between your legs. Just him being inside you has made you boneless — the best you can do is to hold on.

You chant his name, over and over and over again, his back muscles flexing beneath your flat palms, his shoulders solid beneath the roll of his hips. The bed rocks and you're pulled under.

"Open your eyes," he says. Groaning your eyes flutter open just as his thumb slides into your mouth, a reward. He compresses against your tongue and this time your eyes stay open.

Marcus is red-faced and grunting, but he stays true to his word; he goes slow. This helps, but only enough for you to find a grip around the hair near the nap of his neck and tug.

He shudders, burying his face into your throat. The next two thrusts are a beat faster and it's like you can prick your fingers on the edge of your bottomless finish. You hold him tighter to you, your legs curling up around his sides, knees pressing into his ribs. His ear is pink near your mouth.

"Faster, a little faster, please —,"

The bed officially starts to creak. His hand goes against the headboard, roughly pushing into it instead of your pussy or your throat. You claw at his forearm and he moans, long and loud.

Pleasure spins hot and fast from where his cock splits you apart, desire dancing like fireworks in your veins. Sweat drips from his throat onto your sternum and you wish he'd lick it up. The heat from the friction of your wet skin against his has reached a boiling point.

You release the grip on his bicep, register the thudding sound as the bed beating against the wall behind you, and slide your fingers under his open palm on the mattress. Half-aware you have basically put your hand in a disposal if anything goes wrong, you intertwine your fingers and squeeze as hard as you can.

Like you touched a sensitive area, Marcus groans and you feel teeth in the wet tendons of your neck.

Yes, yes, Marcus, bite me. Bruise me. Do it.

The pounding has dulled to crunching and you cannot fathom what that means for your headboard, but you nose his cheek — the bed is swaying now — and immediately he drops wet, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses onto whereever he can reach without faltering in his rthyme.

His hair smells divine, in spite of the dripping sweat and twisted grip you have on his curls.

You're set to burst.

"Marcus," you gasp, "please, I'm gonna come!"

"I know,"he whines, muffled against your throat. "I can feel it — don't hold back, baby, come for me—,"

One thrust, then another, a loud cracking sound above your head, and you gush — all over the insides of your thighs, up over your mound, against his stomach — screaming, rent apart, spilling, dripping, release like the salty breach of an ocean wave, and pleasure so infinite you can't find your body.

He makes a noise like he's been scalded, hips jerking back and out of you, cock already coated cream, and just as he escapes you, hot viscosity erupts against the curve of your ass, between the creases of your thighs, splashing and soaking your bedsheets, down to the mattress.

His subsequent whine is one of surprise and Marcus tries to lift himself up off you, but his entire arm shakes violently. He is also soft as a rabbit.

"S-sorry — I know I said — more than once — but I think —," he blinks rapidly, trying to clear the spinning, pinwheeling, neon shapes in front of his eyes, "I think I just blacked out for a second —,"

You shake your head, mouth dry, sweat and come and tears making your skin glisten.

"Don't— don't care —" you flap a loose hand at him, beckoning him back down. "Just — c'mere."

He tucks his head against your right cheek because he's pretty sure there's his come on the other.

"Just — for a second — we gotta —,"

His lungs are on fire. His head is swimming. His fucking fingers are tingling. You could have told him right now that the sky was green and he would have agreed.

"Yeah, just, just for a second, baby—,"

You're already asleep and never one to disagree with you, he follows you soon after.

You wake up to warm sunlight and a low rumbling.

Your dryer, thudding away in the minuscule laundry room off your kitchen. You, no, someone started a load of laundry.

The drowsy ache in your limbs suggests a night of cheap, box wine, but there's no headache. No puffy eyes. You don't remember drinking last night. In fact, you made it a point not to drink your break-up sorrows away because there hadn't been an actual break up —

You bolt upright. "Marcus!"

The sun in your eyes is from the open window in your living room. You are not wearing the sweatshirt or bottoms you were wearing last night, but where is he?

Everything is out of sync. Maybe you're still dreaming. What the fuck is happening and where is —

"MARCUS!"

"Sorry, yeah, I'm right here."

A large bundle of your bed sheets answers you from the hallway to your bedroom. Am I having a stroke?

He pats down the pillows and his sparkling brown eyes meet yours. He grins, waving with his fingers.

"Sorry, I wanted to be next to you when you woke up, but I couldn't in good conscious let your bedroom stay like that —,"

"What happened to my bedroom?"

The grin slides off his face. "You don't remember?"

Oh, you remember. You remember everything he said and did to you last night, and even if you didn't, that little monster between your legs definitely does. You spot a hickey on his neck and your pussy stirs. No, bad girl.

"Marcus, I know we slept together last night and it was by far the best sex I've ever had in my entire existence, but what the fuck happened to my bedroom?"

Taken entirely by surprise, he doesn't try to stop you as you wind your way towards your room.

"Best sex of your life — ever? Oh, wait, no, don't go in there. It's kinda —,"

It would have been cleaner if a bomb had gone off.

The plaster above the bed is cracked along the wall, indented and splitting where the headboard used to be. The headboard itself has been snapped in two, splinters poking out, and your entire bed caves inward, the mattress bare, as if the base had collapsed. Your metal alarm clock is stuck halfway in the wall across the room and the mirror over your dresser is shattered, its metal frame crunched and mangled. And perhaps, most surprising of it all, all of your jewelry floats against the ceiling, the metal slowly churning as if beneath an ocean current.

"— Messy."

"Yep. That just about covers it," you reply, still staring at your jewelry twirling feet above your head. He must see what you're looking at because they start to shimmer, then swirl as if sucked down a drain, where they all float neatly into your jewelry box that had been tipped on its side. Marcus closes the box with his hand and tries with some dignity to straighten it amongst the glass shards on your dresser.

"Sorry, I'm anxious and doing that helped me think all of this through."

The tone of his voice taps on the surface of your silent shock.

You don't like how he sounds at all, because it sounds like he's decided something. Something you're fairly certain you won't like.

He opens his mouth and you have your fingers pressed against lips before a single sound escapes.

"Before you fall gallantly on your sword, you need to know last night was the best night of my life." His mustache tickles your fingers, but you press on. "I love you, Marcus, so goddamn much, I hated waking up alone this morning." His eyes flash but you shake your head. "No, listen to me. I meant what I said, everything in this house is replaceable. I didn't think we'd put most of it to the test in one night but — buuut, listen, Marcus, you can't get rid of me. I'd buy a thousand more beds and dressers and mirrors before I might decide it's not worth being with you. But I won't. Ever. This is it for me, Sparky. All of my love, for you. If you want it."

He huffs against the pads of your fingers, a smile splitting across his face. He takes you by the wrist and raises his eyebrow.

May I?

You nod and he pulls his mouth free. Adoration, joy — you hope you don't need super strength to carry the weight of his gaze.

"Of course, I want it, baby." He hums. "I want all of you. Every part of you. But . . . this doesn't scare you?"

He glances helpless around the room and you take the chance to curl up to his chest. The sweet smell of his cologne is grounding, a tree taken root.

"Actually," you murmur into his throat, "I find it kinda hot."

He laughs in a way that means you know he's blushing, if you could see him. He presses gently to your lower back, his arm wrapping around you and tucking you in even tighter. He really meant it — he wants, and must have, all of you. You loop your middle finger around in a circle on his shirt.

"I'd find it even hotter if you went with me to find a replacement bed."

"You just want me there to carry it up the stairs for —," Marcus goes stiff. You pull out of his arms, frowning.

"What? What's wrong?"

Something passes over his eyes and he swallows, another decision made with finality.

"Don't buy another bed. I'll just break it again."

You roll your eyes. "Wow, what a super ego. Okay, then Sparky. What do you expect me to do? Sleep on my couch?"

"No." His gaze slips to yours as easily his hand slips between your fingers. "Move in with me."

No laugh. No punchline. But that was never Marcus's style. He never, ever did things without being intensely genuine.

"You're serious?"

"Of course, I am. I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't. Besides, this way, you won't ever wake up alone again."

As if he held a tuning fork to your skin, something inside of you ripples, expands, tries to stifle your breathing. But it only brings tears to your eyes.

"And Missy, your daughter," you sniff wetly, "she won't have a problem with it? With a complete stranger taking up room in her dad's bed?"

"One, I don't think an eleven year old actually understands what adults do in bed, much less share one." He spots something on the floor and picks it up. It's his glasses. The lenses are cracked, most of the glass missing entirely in one eye, and the frame is bent to hell. Marcus frowns. "And two, she was the one who suggested you live with us in the first place. Guess she was getting sick of all of our late nights."

With the flick of his finger against the frame, the rest of the glass shatters and spills out to the floor.

"And she knows . . ." you inhale, knowing he's inspecting his broken glasses so diligently for your benefit entirely. "And she knows I'm not trying to replace her mom. Right?"

That gets his attention. Clearly, that's not what he expected you to have reservations about. You let the silent tears roll down your cheeks as he holds you by the hands. You should get an award for this. Do they make Pulitzer's for not completely breaking down in front of your absolutely perfect boyfriend?

"What we had with Isabelle was a family." Fondly, he follows the line of your hair down your temple, twisting loose hair around his finger once before guiding it back behind your ear. To your immense surprise, he smiles. "What we could have together, with Missy, is just another family. That's all she wants and that's all I want. But what do you want, baby?"

"I want —,"

An all-too familiar siren. A faint spotlight fighting through the sun's rays. He holds you firm, frowning, a silent countdown going off in his head.

"Go, hero," you nod with your chin towards the window. But you're smiling. "Duty calls."

"But you matter more —,"

"No, I don't. And that's okay. That's probably better even. Gives me time to try to put this place back together. But honestly," your gaze flickers to the large cracked seam in the wall, "it seems unlikely I'll get my deposit back. Especially since I'm breaking my lease."

The hairs on your cheek and neck flutter, static humming in the air.

"Your deposit — you mean —?"

You laugh in his bewildered face, string him along by his sleeve and push him towards the door. "Go, get out of here. Someone needs you to save them."

And you already got me.

He touches your door frame and swings back around, as if you hadn't been shoving with all your might.

"So, when I come back home tonight — to my home, for clarification — you'll be —,"

"I'll be there, Sparky." Forget powers. His smile alone could outshine the sun. "Just come back to us, okay? All in once piece."

There's a bristle of electrical charge against your lips, a white noise buzzing in your ear, and he's gone.

Okay, now you're going to do the superhero girlfriend thing — you touch your lips and smile, glancing out into the sunlight.

It's not until you unload your first drawer — with only a little dusting of plaster crumbles in between your bra and your socks that you clear away with a rough shake — when that whisper of white noise stabilizes between the bones behind your ears.

I'll see you soon, my Chrysanthemum. I'm coming home to you.

series masterlist | part i | the end!

[eevees-hobbies]

Heloo I just read your post about the bold reader and I was like HSKFMMSDKDK

can I request hayato suo with the reader who can make him flustered and put on in his place?? Like she leads the relationship? Thank you!! Nsfw or sfw is fine:3

Authors Note: Hi, Anon! I wanted to take my time thinking about this specific scenario because while I don’t consider myself a Suo girlie, I love writing for him, and I’ve grown to love the version of him that I’ve crafted. I probably have him one degree away from being a Yandere, if we’re being honest. Anyway, I’m turning this into a thirst response for now. Still, I also might continue this at some point because it deserves the time and respect to dive deeper into the complex relationship that Reader has with Suo.

Also, my friend Evie did an excellent job encapsulating a similar ask using her style, and I can’t recommend that piece (and everything else she makes) enough. 

Let’s get into, babe 💕

Content Warning: Fem! Reader x Hayato Suo. Teasing, dirty talk, fem! receiving oral, obsession, overstimulation, hands-free orgasm. Minors Do Not Interact

Word Count: 1.1K

Control is paramount to Suo’s identity as he’s very well aware of what happens when he loses control: people can get seriously hurt or worse. So it’s essential for Suo to remove any variables that might compromise his cool—and sometimes detached—demeanor. He keeps people at arm's length with ever-changing stories and blatant lies, and it works because no one has come close to cracking the mystery that he is.

But the variable he couldn’t control for? You. 

At first, he found himself avoiding you. You brought out feelings within himself that he’d always try to swallow like bile threatening to come up. Vulnerability? Good for others but not for him. 

When he couldn’t avoid you because you were absolutely everywhere—you weren’t everywhere, you two just have a gravitational pull towards each other like a planet to its moon—he found himself increasing his meditation. 

He’d close his eyes, willing himself to breathe, clear his mind, and…there’d you be. As clear as day in his mind's eye with your sweet smile, the sound of your infectious laughter that makes his heart flutter, and your intoxicating smell. 

As soon as you started to permeate his thoughts, even during the sanctuary of his meditation sessions—something that had never happened before—he knew he was a goner.

And if someone affects you this badly, they have to be yours, right? It would be absurd to see you with any of the imbeciles that pine after you. He almost laughs himself silly at the thought of them thinking they have a chance with you: his love, his moon, his reason for breathing, his everything. 

If you’re familiar with my work, you’ll know how I describe your intimacy with Suo. He’s a pure pleasure dom; if you’re not coming undone on his tongue or fingers until you’re a sobbing and begging mess, well, he simply has to try harder, and Suo has the stamina to back that threat up. 

He considers himself an expert of you, your body, and what makes you cum so intensely that his well-equipped arsenal of depravity has you doing your damnest to crawl away from him and to safety.

“Where do you think you’re going? I’m not done with you, Dove. Now get back here and spread your legs like a good girl.”

And you’re into it because Suo is your type of crazy—what you two have simply wouldn’t work if that weren’t the case. If a man isn’t obscenely infatuated with you, is he really your man, am I right? 

But sometimes a girl likes to be in control, ya know? And outside the bedroom, you have Suo wrapped around your finger. You say jump, and he asks if you want him to do a backflip on his way down. You use that sweet little voice to ask him for a kiss? He’s on top of you in an instant—and even to Suo, an instant isn’t quick enough. So, while he may have control in every aspect of his life, you are a dangerous variable that supersedes his free will.

But inside the bedroom? He’s much less willing to let you take the reigns; in fact, it might even be a point of contention initially. As you reach for his waistband, you underneath him entirely naked, and he, fully clothed as he comes up from between your thighs, preparing to plant a kiss on your luscious lips; he stops you as your finger coils around the elastic, silk fabric of his pants.

“What are you doing? This is about you.”

So, in what scenario will he finally let you take over? If you ask nicely, bat your eyelashes and use your sweet, honey-coated voice, perhaps, but that’s not always guaranteed to work. 

The best chance of getting what you want? When Suo has been working at your pleasure for hours, so much so that his cock is twitching in his pants, eyes shrouded with dark, swirling shadows of desire, and he’s ready to ruin you by sinking into you—he’s uncharacteristically more easily influenced in this state. He’ll do anything you say because, god, he just wants to feel you in any way he can; lips wrapped around his cock? Yes, please. Deep in your silken, cum saturated guts? God, please don’t make him beg because he just might. 

So when you tell him to lay down for you, and he falls backward onto the bed without questioning your intentions, you can finally have your way with him. 

And as you hover over his face, flirting your swollen pussy lips over his hungry mouth, ruby-toned eyes staring—pleading—up at you between the warmth of your plushy thighs for a taste, you’ll know that you’ve got him right where you want him.

“Eat my pussy again like a good boy, Hayato, and maybe I’ll touch your cock.”

His breath will hitch because fuck he loves when his sweet girl talks filthy like that, and as his tongue once again dives into your folds—his licks desperate—he’ll buck his hips into the air imagining the feel of your pussy—his pussy—wrapped around his dick.

And if you continue to talk to him like he’s a plaything for you—like his pleasure is an optional afterthought at best and unnecessary at worst—until you get what you want in a tone that almost sounds like you’re above him? His eyes are rolling back, and his hands are clawing at the sheets under him.

“Suo, I just want to fuck your tongue with my pussy all night. Will you let me, baby? Let me use your tongue to cum?”

“Y-yes, baby, use me, please. I’m yours to have.”

And before you know it, at some point between the licks, the whimpers (from him), and his bucking into the air, he’ll groan into your cunt because that intense feeling that he was so desperately trying to stave off finally washed over him and he just couldn’t help himself. You’ll look behind you, eyes bright with amusement and something a bit more sinister, as you watch geyser upon geyser of cum shoot from his hiccuping, over-sensitive cock until his seed smothers his well-groomed pubic hair, abs, and puddles beneath him. 

You’ll be so proud of yourself for reducing the Hayato Suo into a hands-free orgasmic mess. 

But here’s a warning: Suo will only be more insatiable after that, flipping you over with ease, making you wonder how in control you truly were, and after a heated kiss to your lips and feeling his already hardening cock dragging against your folds, you’ll be right back to where you started: at the mercy of someone who thinks that pleasure is infinite.

[stsg420]

stsg420’s fanfic recs!!! (on-going)

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SMUTTY CONTENT WILL LOOK LIKE THIS

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STSG

Knife-Edged Butterfly -> I rated this: 20/10

• suguru is a sexy girl-dad stripper. satoru is a “retired” assassin/special agent who loves chicken wings & annoying nanami (crazy!!!!) mahito is a deranged bitch trying to kill everyone. but holy fucking shit???? this was so amazing and the fluff was probably the most well-written and comforting fluff I've ever encountered on the internet. I can’t even explain how articulate and amazing the writing and characterizations in this fic are. This is my #1.

Coanda Effect -> I rated this: 11/10

• formula one au. I’m sure y’all have seen it everywhere. there’s a reason for that. this fic right here has the potential to be my favorite stsg fic EVER written. the writing. the depth. the character progression. the intertwining plots. the relationships. the drama. oh my fucking god. I could go onnnnn and onnnn. there’s not too much smut but it’s perfect. absolutely perfect. go binge read RIGHT NOW ITS ALMOST FINISHED!!!!

There you are -> I rated this: 9.9/10

• set during the 10 years after geto defects. they meet up, because of course they do. they fuck each other and love each other and leave each other like always. it’s sad and hot and angry and bitter and so so so canon. the diction and writing style perfectly encapsulates their relationship. nurse!geto makes an appearance :)))))) do not read if you’re having a particularly sad stsg night (speaking from experience)

—————

GETO

Washing hair and the quiet acceptance of being loved -> I rated this: 10/10

• this fic right here. the ultimate comfort geto fic (until mine is released🫡). I’m telling you this makes everything feel better. just 1k+ words of the fmc taking care of geto. because he is a princess and the loml and deserves nothing but the best care and treatment.

Ausländer -> I rated this: 9.9/10

• outlaw!geto, officer!gojo, and a badass fmc. she literally builds/runs her own town. this is a geto/fmc fic but there is unresolved tension with stsg. let me tell you, this is a work of ART. a MASTERPIECE. I wish I could get this tattooed on my brain. the fmc is soooo well written and has amazing depth. this is some delicious wild wild west type shit. lots of guns and saloons and chases on horses!!!! fucking incredible. I strongly urge you to read this.

Spin the Bottle -> I rated this: 9.8/10

• y’all already know. college au where suguru is your best friend, has the fattest crush on you & needs just a litttttlee bit of liquid courage to cross the line. it’s fantastic. it’s scrumptious. it’s indulging. it’s cover girl. I reread this twice a month. not joking. this is college suguru to his core and you can’t change my mind.

[irishmammonagenda]

Hii!! 🧚‍♀️It's Wee Emo anon 🍾

Really liked your last work, so here i am again

Can i request brothers reaction on MC who cry over small things?

Like they see little kitten on the street and - WHOOP! - they're bubbling sobbing mess

I'm kinda can't cry (sounds dramatic lol) and wanna MC to feel it instead of me 😬

Love your works, keep going bestie💐🏃‍♂️

HI WEE EMO <3 please ignore the fact you sent me this on april 27th and its now june i had gcses to prepare for 😔✊

anyway, who let you into my house 😧🤨

no seriously i've cried at multiple south park episodes. south park. sometimes i wanna cry when i see my dog i cannot be trusted i tear up so easily especially when im writing🙁

for not being able to cry that is not very good for you fr:

i used to not be able to cry + still only really tear up, some tears drip down and let out like 2 sobbing sounds before im good again, i dont even have to try and stop crying, two sobs and im done, but my biggest tip is, get tired like really sleepy to the point where your eyes water bc of tiredness then watch something really sad.

i ha to literally train myself to be able to cry again bro dw, i wish i could have a big long cry but like 3 mins of crying is better than none, trust me wee emo you'll feel better

#dontbottleupyouremotions

ANYWAY:

this was very hard to imagine their reactions to idk why, but i tried so 😔✊

grma wee emo for requesting <3 and grma everyone else for reading <3

Obey Me Brothers With a Sensitive MC <3

It was safe to say you were sensitive, back when Melanie Martinez's music was a lot better, you really could say that the song 'Crybaby' pretty much encapsulated your entire being, it still did, but you liked to think you were more mature in your music taste now. (You weren't)

Being suddenly catapulted into the Devildom did a number on your emotions, and you found yourself quite numb. But as you adjusted, and bonded with the others, you found that you were back to your usual self, which was a crybaby.

So then how do the brothers react?

LUCIFER

Great. Two Mammons.

At least Mammon No.2 (you) isnt a tsundere about it.

Lucifer does not like seeing you cry. Even if its because something is cute, (although he does find it quite adorable, not that he'd admit it)

This demon is of the opinion that tears should never disgrace your beautiful eyes.

He will invite you to listen to his records with him and purposely put on sad ones or really sweet ones so you grip onto him while you tear up,

He is a demon, after all. ;)

MAMMON

Finally. Someone who cries more than him!

It actually makes him feel safer around you, like you wont bully him for being more sensitive than his brothers.

Actually ends up dropping a lot of his tsundere act around you.

You watch movies together, but always have to check the Devildom version of 'doesthedogdie.com'

Idk, I feel like Mammon would give you a bit of bother for it at first but then slowly start to like, open up more, because he really does see himself in you like that.

LEVIATHAN

He blanks.

One day you start crying because of how cute the anime you both were watching was, Levi thought you were geniunely upset, so he tried to cheer you up.

You end up thinking that its really sweet and start crying harder.

Leviathan PANICKS.

Even now, he still gets really nervous when you start crying, and has popped into his demon form more times than he can count when you grab onto him and sniffle.

Please he's already so awkward he can't handle how cute you are.

You might make him start crying as well :(

SATAN

Satan 100% gets so angry he starts crying so he can kind of understand it.

He's just glad you cry over positive things :)

His favourite moment was definetly when you teared up over a small kitten. (He took several photos and also took the kitten home)

Like Lucifer he 100% invites you to read with him and picks the fluffiest most adorable romance he can find, or the saddest most heartbreaking romance he can find.

He likes when you cling onto him and look up at him with those big teary eyes.

He's a demon. What did you expect, ;)

ASMODEUS

He thinks you're adorable.

Any emotion on your face is adorable to him actually. <3

If you wear makeup he makes sure to get you waterproof mascara and other eye makeup so your beautiful tears dont ruin your beautiful makeup <3

If any of you remember that crying girl makeup trend? Yeah he deffo starts that up in the Devildom (a) to make you feel less embarrassed about it and (b) because he thinks youre so beautiful when you express yourself.

BEELZEBUB

He doesn't cry a lot, it's not exactly something that comes naturally to him at all.

Its not that he CANT cry or that he holds his tears back, its just that he doesn't normally process or reaction to things with tears.

Only in serious serious situations will he cry.

So when he sees you crying over one of those little onigiri things that are literally adorable, he thinks that you've somehow hurt yourself. (i nabbed this off of pinterest)

Beel panics, and mentally goes over the ingredients in his head, did he order something with an ingredient that was dangerous to humans?

He calms down when he realises that you're crying because it looks cute.

He feels you with that.

Makes an effort to take you to more places with food items displayed in cute ways.

Though you do have to look away while Beel cuts them up for you, otherwise you wouldnt be able to eat it.

BELPHEGOR

He laughs at you.

Point blank.

Originally when he's in the attic he uses your sensitivity as a way to manipulate you.

But post lesson 16, he really starts to appreciate it more.

This bastard will use his powers as the youngest sibling against you, he'll dress up in cute onesies and give you puppy eyes, all to coax you into taking naps with him.

Which you do.

I have no idea how half of these fuckheads would react tbh

[mothwingwritings]

Frohe Weihnachten

Boyfriend To Death Strade X F! Reader X Ren

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!! By some miracle of the holiday season I have arrived and even wrote something, even if it is random and I struggled to get finished before Christmas. But I did it and now  I offer it to you humbly as a lil gift.

This month has unfortunately bad. All the bad had me looking for distractions to keep me from the gloom, and the search for distractions lead me to replaying Boyfriend To Death 1, and replaying BTD made me start Boyfriend to Death 2, and well… Here we are. It’s been one of the few things I could focus on that brought me joy this month (what that says about my mental health we will leave up to interpretation loooooool :)), so I decided to try my hand at writing something for it. It proved to be a fun challenge, and I am hoping to do some more BTD stuff in the future. :3

ANYWAY here is a Strade-centric fic (Ren is there too, though) I churned out amidst the December bs. He’s spoiling you in it which isn’t really a good thing for you. I hope I did him justice. He is a very nuanced guy and I had a lot of fun writing this. I can slowly feel god awful, horrible men  becoming my forte , and at this point I am just embracing it.

Please be mindful that BTD and BTD2 are adult games, so even though there is no explicit NSFW in this fic, it is for 18+ only just as its source material is. No one under the age of 18 should be reading this, thank you!

WARNINGS: Torture, stabbing, blood, degradation, forced stripping, pet play, mentions of rape/noncon, Strade is filming a snuff film and though you are a part of it, you are not the one being snuffed (congrats!), severing of body parts, nonconsensual filming and touching, kidnapping, imprisonment, butchered German (my highschool German teacher is crying somewhere) and probs some shoddy editing (sorry for the rush!).

Staring down at the gifts laid out before you, a thin layer of sweat began to coat your body.

It wasn’t so much that the boxes wrapped in vibrant, pretty, paper were that unnatural (it was Christmas day, after all) so much as it was shocking that you had received them at all, given the circumstances.

This was your first Christmas away from home, the first holiday season spent without the company of your friends and family, and their absence felt like a swift punch in the gut. None of the old traditions and celebrations you were accustomed to partaking in were around to bring you comfort this year, the laid back, pleasant atmosphere that typically encapsulated  Christmas was nowhere to be found. Any jolly vibe was replaced by discomfort, apprehension, and a festering disquiet that permeated the air, killing any and all fun normal for this day.

Across from the looming assortment of gifts, each wrapped in varying degrees of expertise, sat your captor Strade, and parked next to him was your fellow captive Ren. Both sets of eyes were drinking you in with great interest, the out-of-place youthful enthusiasm reflecting back at you doing little to quell your mounting anxiety. You shifted nervously in your seat, trying your best to remain calm. You had no idea what manner of sick surprise awaited you in those packages, all you knew was that you were dreading opening them, especially with these two watching. Thinking of what the wrong reaction to their presents may illicit was more stress inducing than the gifts themselves, which already made you feel like you were developing a hernia.

“Well, go ahead,” Strade was the first to speak, his lazy drawl and splayed out body contradicting heavily with the frenzied look in his eye, “What are you waiting for?”

Ren nodded beside him eagerly, “Go ahead, (name)! I opened mine earlier because I was too excited to wait,” he chuckled a little, a small, bashful blush illuminating his cheeks, “And um, there’s a few for you in there from me so… I hope you like them.”

Your eyes traveled from the men, down to the presents. You swallowed thickly, overwhelmed by their façade of innocence, violated by their unblinking stares.

“I-I’m sorry, I just um… Wasn’t really expecting… this…”

It wasn’t a lie, the last thing you could have predicted was a present, let alone multiple. You figured maybe Ren would get you something (he had the luxury of internet access, something you were yet to be trusted with), but it wasn’t even within the realm of fantasy that you may receive anything from Strade. The only thing you dared hope for was a small reprieve from the abuse he inflicted daily, but even that seemed too farfetched to hope for.

“Well, I say you deserve it,” Strade spoke, the calm cadence of his voice still clashing with the gleam in his eye, “what’s Christmas without presents, after all? So go ahead, open them.”

You hesitated for a moment before finally reaching a shaky hand towards the closet gift on the table. Your body was moving mechanically, and though your fear was palpable, you forced your demeanor to remain composed as you pulled the small box into your lap. Your fingers carefully tore through the thin paper, dreading revealing the mystery that shiny paper shielded you from.

And as the paper fell away piece by piece, you were shocked to find that the box contained… slippers.

You stared at them for a moment, dumbfounded. Of all the things in the world that could have been waiting inside that box, to receive something so innocuous and normal was beyond perplexing.

And the gifts continued this way. You unwrapped package after package of clothing, perfumes and toiletries, stuffed animals and snacks. Each new item bewildered you just as much as the last, leaving you feeling like all this was just the lead up of  a joke, one you felt like you were the punch line for.

 As if the gifts themselves weren’t mind boggling enough, the quantity and quality of them were just as shocking. Brand names and fancy, high end packaging stared back at you with nearly each ripped wrapping, a small slap in the face with each revelation.

It left a pit in your stomach. Not even your own parents would gift you some of these things, so why were you being treated this way by a homicidal maniac and his companion? To make matters even worse, most of the gift you actually liked. Definite thought was put into each present, unnerving you most of all. You didn’t want them to know your likes and dislikes, and you certainly didn’t want them to be so familiar with you that they could easily pick out things you may desire. It felt borderline offensive that they were able to peg you so well, like you had been wrenched open and all the hidden parts of yourself you had been hiding had been forced out in the open, secrets uncovered you wished to remain hidden.

Heebie jeebies aside, such normalcy left you scratching your head. You had an intense urge to inspect each and every item to make sure the clothes weren’t secretly lined with razors, or the stuffed animals weren’t just cute ways to conceal knives, but you contained yourself. No use in setting them off when things were going surprisingly well.

You kept yourself neutral as you thanked them, neither over eager or ungrateful as you graciously accepted the offerings. Ren beamed in recognition each time you mentioned him, delighted by the simplest praise. Strade remained nonchalant, leaning back as he leered at you with that unnerving smile he always so proudly donned on his face.

When the present pile had come to an end, an overwhelming sense of relief washed over you. You felt like you had made it out of a vary harrowing journey without so much as a scratch, and felt quite accomplished for doing so.

However, before you could feel the weight truly lifted from your shoulders, any sense of triumph quickly flew out the door as Strade slowly leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His beady eyes drilled holes through you, delighting in the apprehension his subtle shift caused you. Your blood turned to ice as he gave you a lopsided grin, his words coming out drawn out and slow, as if he were speaking to a child.

“Myyy look at that,” he sneered, “so many nice things for our (Name)! She must have some very generous admirers. It’s obvious she’s the favorite, not a single one of those boxes were for you or me, Ren!”

The weight of your situation suddenly crashed down around you. Of course these gifts wouldn’t come without some horrible caveat-you were an idiot for even thinking you would get away with this scot free.

You tried to calm yourself with the fact that Strade most likely wouldn’t go through all the hassle of spending all this money on someone he planned to kill shortly after. What would be the point? But that thought birthed an even worse fear, the expectation of getting something back in return. There wasn’t a chance in hell that you would be able to provide him a physical gift, a fact Strade was intimately aware of. That left you with one option- he was looking for reciprocation through different means.

You swallowed hard, your hands shaking as you clasped them in your lap, struggling with how to word the imminent question you had.

“Do you want… I mean, should I get you something in return?”

You hated how small your voice sounded, dreading the response your words may garner. A shiver rocked you as the smile on Strade’s face spread, his arms spreading out in a dramatic shrug as he shook his head with a laugh.

“No no, please! The only thing I want in return is for you to thoroughly enjoy your gifts, nothing else is needed. Your delight is a gift in and of itself.”

His words did little to help your dwindling nerves. A sudden harsh clap of his hands made your heart skip a beat, his body pivoting to face Ren with a sadistic smile.

“I almost forgot,” he exclaimed, his voice taking a dangerous edge, “we have one more very special surprise for our girl, don’t we?”

Your attention darted to Ren, hoping for a sign of assurance from him. The beatskin started to squirm a bit in his seat, pulling nervously at the hem of his oversized sweater. He looked over at you with lidded eyes, a dangerous gleam in them that you knew was a terrible precursor of the pain to come. 

Ren’s breathing had grown unsteady, the blush that had engulfed his face becoming so vibrant you could almost feel its heat from where you sat. While there was nervousness to his demeanor, he couldn’t quite mask the hints of his exhilaration from peeking through. The guileless enthusiasm was hard to face, causing you to avert your gaze, your heart sinking deeper. Ren was no saint himself, but he was all you had in this hell that masqueraded as a normal, middle class home. He was supposed to have your back (and often times did) in moments like these, but it appeared his demons won this round. The thrill radiating from him over your oncoming misery was perceptible. You were on your own with whatever lay ahead.

With a jerk of Strades head, Ren bounded off the couch to another room, the sound of subtle clanging reaching your ears as he dug around out of sight. You careened your body, hoping to maybe get a peek of whatever the hell Ren had ran so jubilantly to acquire, but you immediately stopped once you heard a chuckle rumble from Strade’s chest.

“My my~,” he purred, the sound causing an instinctive shiver, “so eager this morning (name)! I can only hope you keep that up once you see what the surprise actually is, hm?”

Before you had a chance to respond, Ren barreled back into the room, slightly out of breath and clutching some sort of metallic, chain linked contraption in is hand.

“Sorry,” he lightly huffed, handing the item in question to Strade, “I hid it really well so it took a moment to get.”

Once it was in his grasp, Strade turned to you, holding out the item so you could finally view it in all its glory.

It was a new collar-a dog training collar, to be precise. This one however had been modified, the spikes lining the interior of the collar, while typically coated with a thick, squishy plastic to as not to hurt the dog in their training stage, were missing their protection. The metal nubs that the plastic encased were also typically dull and rounded on most training collars, meant to poke and prod instead of maim and hurt. You would not be getting that manner of gentle encouragement it seemed, your body tensing as you stared at each harshly pointed spike. The needle like protrusions glistened so brilliantly in the overhead light it almost appeared as if the collar was made of diamonds.

You sat perfectly still, in a complete daze as Strade approached you and swiftly released the thick electric collar from around your neck. The cool air hit your sweat drenched flesh, giving you a chill. While it was nice to be without the weight of that vile contraption, the freedom was only momentary as he clasped your new chain links into place across your throat. Though it was much more delicate than your previous collar, for some reason it felt much heavier than its bulky electric counterpart.

You winced as he gave the leash a small pull, grinning when a sharp, shocked cry fell past your lips. The needles hadn’t broken the skin yet, but the action did make you become keenly aware of just much damage they could cause with very minimal effort. The delicate nature of your current standing was looking bleaker with each passing second, uncontrollable shivers wracking your body as you eyed Strade fiddling carelessly with your leash. He seemed pleased by the attention his minor ministrations were awarding him, humored by the pain he could bring you with a mere flick of his wrist.

“I-it looks pretty on you, (Name),” Ren stuttered, a nervous smile complimenting the red of his cheeks, “Kind of dainty, like a fancy necklace. It really suits you.”

“It is pretty, isn’t it?” Strade jeered, fingering the chains that hung heavy around your neck, “I considered one for you too Ren, I didn’t want to make you jealous, you know? But then I figured hell, if I get this for (Name) Ren’ll probably enjoy this just as much as I do, so it’s already a two for one deal.”

Giving your cheek a few mild slaps, Strade turned his gaze towards Ren, “I trust that you’ll take good care of (Name) if I’m ever out and about and you want to have some special fun with her. A little pet time for my pet would do him some good, I think.”

The flippant insinuation made bile rise in the back of your throat.

“Now,” Strade pulled tighter on the leash, prompting you to rise to your feet and stand before the men. He lifted the chain above his head, laughing as you rose to tiptoes to avoid gouging your neck, “What do we say after we receive such a nice present, hmmm~?”

“Thank you,” you choked the words through your indignation, the spikes scratching uncomfortably against your skin as you did so. After several seconds of your balancing act, Strade lowered his hand, granting you the ability to stand normally. You released the breath you were holding, thankful that for at least this moment, you escaped agony.

“So ein gutes Mädchen für mich,” he cooed condescendingly, patting your head as if you were an actual dog, “you are really making me proud! But the fun isn’t over yet, in fact, this is just the first part of your special surprise,” his eyes widened at your obvious despair, “Aren’t you lucky?”

Without further ado he stomped past you, leash gripped tightly in his hand as he led your further into the house. While there was more leeway to the leash than anticipated, you still hustled to follow after him, fearful of the barbs encircling your throat. His whistled as he walked, his demeanor so exuberant that for a moment you felt he might start skipping. Ren trailed behind you, following closely in your footsteps.

It didn’t take long for you to catch on to where you were headed. As you came to stop before the thick, iron door that separated the rest of the house from the hell-hole that was the basement, tidal wave of fear washed over you. Strade took a deep breath, relishing all that was too come, immersed in the anticipation he was undoubtedly feeling. He turned to you and smiled, and you fought to keep a grip on your sanity. Feeling feint, your eyes flicked from him, back to the imposing door. Your heart was banging so violently in your chest from the sheer amount of terror that was coursing through your veins that you worried you may pass out.

How many people had met cruel, agonizing fates down those stairs? How many gallons of blood had dripped down the walls, pooled on the floor, snaked through the drains? How many anguished screams had reverberated off those sound proof walls?

You began to panic as Strade opened the door with ease, wasting no time making his way down. You hadn’t been to the basement since Strade had kidnapped you many months ago and you had hoped it would be a place that you never found yourself in again. It relieved you when Strade had forbid you and Ren from stepping foot down there, one of the few orders he gave that you were actually happy to oblige. Strade only took people to the basement for one reason and one reason only, and the fact that he was so pleasantly dragging you down there right now did not bode well for you in the slightest.

“W-wait,” you called out nervously, grabbing at the chain leash in an attempt to stop his descent. “W-why are we going down here?”

“Because it’s where the rest of your present is,” he answered as if it were obvious, a tinge of annoyance in his voice as he shot you a pointed look, “Now come on.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but a gentle touch on your shoulder stopped you.

“It’s ok, (Name),” Ren’s voice sounded softly in your ear. You could tell he was doing his best to sound reassuring. “We are allowed down there today, Strade said we could as a special treat for Christmas. It’s OK, I promise,” he gave your shoulder a small squeeze, before planting a fleeting kiss to your cheek, “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

His words did little to assuage the overwhelming terror you were feeling, sinking its claws deep in your battered soul, holding you in a death grip. You were past the point of a panic attack, now fearing a heart attack may be what does you in. At this point you wondered if that would be a mercy over whatever awaited you down there.

Forced breathes rattled from your lungs, erratic and strained as you stared into Strade’s expectant eyes, knowing his patience was rapidly diminishing. As much as you wanted to get whatever was coming over with, your legs lost the ability to move, your body denying every command your brain was giving to take the first step.

Hesitating a moment too long elicited a brutal tug from Strade, effectively ending your indecision as you were sent tumbling down after him. You whimpered as you felt the barbs of the collar tear into your flesh. Small rivulets of blood snaked from each fresh wound, dripping down your shoulders, back, and chest to strain the collar of your shirt. As a rare act of mercy, Strade caught you, his thick arm acting as a barrier between you and the concrete you were plummeting head first towards.  For once you were thankful to be within the monster’s grasp, a sore chest and aching shoulder from where he grabbed you were far better than any injury you would have attained from the fall.

Consumed by a rush of adrenaline from the tumble, you neglected to realize your hands had latched to Strade’s arm like a lifeline. Embarrassment flooded you, quickly prompting you to release your hold on him. He laughed at the flush on your cheeks, your body jostling along with the rumble of his chest. His hand relinquished its grip on your shoulder, leaving behind angry red fingerprints, as if he had seared your flesh with a mere touch. His newly freed hand moved to tangle itself in your hair, eliciting a whimper as his nails dug into your scalp. Each place his body made contact with yours felt like it was burning.

Without warning, he roughly brought the side of your head to his lips, the stubble of his cheeks scratching your skin as he smashed his face against yours, taking in a deep breath. Excited puffs of breath tickled your ear as he spoke.

 “Hurry up now,” his voice was gruff, but the words came out in a sing-song manner, “Don’t start misbehaving now, it would be a total bummer if you had to miss out on this, (Name)~”

With a wistful sigh he released his hold, leaving your momentarily reeling as you stumbled back, trying to reclaim your baring’s. Strade didn’t give much of a chance to do so, continuing on his way with another yank of the leash, forcing you to scramble after him once more.

Your body gave an involuntary shiver as your feet touched the chilly concrete floor. Strade flipped the lights, causing you to recoil at the sudden brightness. Your eyes grew watery as they struggled to adjust, but when they finally did you wished more than ever you could have just remained in the dark.

Though you hadn’t been in the basement since the week of your capture, everything was just as you remembered it. Horrible memories flooded your mind as you took in your surroundings, your brain assaulted by flashbacks of months prior. All the same home appliances and tools still lined the back wall, typically innocent devices most people used for repair jobs and building projects that no one would take a second glance at were this a normal basement. In Strades hands however, they became tools of destruction and torment, capable of the vilest atrocities.

You heard the loud whirring of the freezer off to the side before you saw it, the outdated device still valiantly chugging away as it preserved god knows what on its rickety inner shelves. The noise it spewed was so grating you wondered why he didn’t just replace the damn thing, or at least try and fix it. Near it stood the work table that housed his buzzsaw, looming ominously as it waited patiently for its next use (whether that be for flesh or for wood, who was to say?).

Witnessing these normally mundane items again made your chest hurt, a deep, indescribable level of horror spreading through every inch of your body as you struggled to reacclimate yourself. You were sure this place would haunt you as long as you lived, whether you stood in it or not didn’t matter.

Your throat went dry as you stared at the dark stains that littered the floor, remnants of various human’s bodily fluids. Blood, vomit, piss, and everything else that may leak from a human corpse was so continuous and abundant that there was no hope of the marks ever diminishing. Something told you Strade didn’t seem to mind, however. If anything, seeing those stains probably brought him some level of happiness, acting as pleasant little reminders of all the slaughter he had committed, a trophy for the lives he had stolen.

And there, smack dab in the middle of the basement stood the support beam he had tied you to, effectively barring your escape from this place. Witnessing it again was bad enough, but as your eyes locked onto it your heart started racing once more, your terror hitting unprecedented levels at the realization that there was a body there, tied up and trapped just as you once were.

At first you thought maybe you were hallucinating, seeing some phantom version of yourself your mind had conjured under the extreme stress you were facing. But as you continued to stare, noticing the slight rise and fall of their chest, hearing the small wheezes coming from their direction with each motion, it became apparent they were no figment of your imagination. Long hair fell from their slumped head, obscuring your vision of their face, but judging by what you could see of their body they looked to be around your age, similar to your build. You couldn’t help but wonder if you shared other features, had the same eye color, or maybe a similar facial structure.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe Strade picked them because they reminded him of you.

Witnessing another human in this state made your stomach turn. It wasn’t so long ago that you were in that exact situation, and seeing them there helpless and oblivious to what lay before them filled you with the distressing urge to try and rescue them. If you could only run to them, untie their bindings and embrace them, let them know you were there for them and that they would be ok… Stupidly wisheful thinking, but maybe a miracle could still happen and that sweet lie would come true…

You shook your head slightly, dispelling the thought. No, it was all a tragic pipe dream, the fact they were here meant they were as good as dead and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do to stop that.

“Hey!”

Strade barked, breaking you from the spell you were under. You jumped to attention, your wide eyes turning to him to give him your full attention. His scowl lessened at your recognition, “I know it’s all very exciting (Name), but pay attention when I am talking to you, alright?”

“Sorry,” your mouth barely formed the word, spitting it out so fast you wondered if it was even understandable. You were still in shock from being in such a terrible place, your brain lost in a fog as it struggled to comprehend why you were here, what Strade wanted of you, who that person on the floor was, and if you would make it through the day.

He sighed before stepping closer to you, irritation still lingering in his features. You fought every urge telling you to bolt, your body jolting as he gently patted your cheeks. After a few soft pats to garner your attention his strong hands continued to cup your cheeks, cradling your face in his palms. His skin was warm, the sweat from his hand moistening your skin as his thumb traced absentminded circles across scars he had created.

“Strip.”

The command didn’t register at first, making him lose patience. As you stood stock still his brows began to knit, foot tapping a bit as he waited for you to comply. After several seconds of inactivity on your end, he snapped his fingers in realization, his expression relaxing as something donned on him.

“Oh wait, it’s probably hard with the collar, right? Don’t worry, I’ll help you out.”

From an unseen back holster, he brandished an imposing hunting knife, one that you would remember anywhere. It was the same one he tormented you the day he met you, the feel of it on your skin seared into your memory for all eternity. It had done a brilliant job keeping you at bay when he first imprisoned you, serving him well as the main tool that broke you.

Seeing it again was all too overwhelming, all too horribly familiar. Your body quaked, tears starting to flood your eyes, making your vision waver. Your lips moved, your throat struggling to speak, fighting to come up with something, anything that may stop him from using it on you. But ultimately there was nothing you could force out, so you just stood there blankly, flapping your lips in a failed attempt at self-preservation.

“What’s wrong?” Strade pouted, pulling at your collar, forcing you closer to him. You could barely feel the pain through your terror. “If you have something to say, you should say it. Or are you just so thrilled by all this that you can’t form a coherent thought,” he tutted, “Ah, I know the feeling well (Name), but don’t suddenly go mute on me! I want to fully enjoy all of your reactions, so don’t hold back. Think of it as your gift to me.” You shivered as he placed the knife under your shirt, cutting away haphazardly at the thin fabric, uncaring that he was nicking your flesh in the process.

With his body so near, the only sound you could focus on was Strade’s labored, rasping breathes as they rattled from his throat. He blithely ripped what was left of your clothing from your body, leaving it discarded in torn heaps on the ground. Thankfully he spared your underwear, but as his fingers languidly played with the strap of your bra, you wondered if he wouldn’t also reconsider letting you keep what remained of your decency.

“Tonight will be so good, meine Haustier,” his voice sounded hoarse, thick with anticipation as he hovered over you, nuzzling his face into your hair, “… This reminds me a lot of the night I brought you home. Maybe I am just feeling nostalgic, having you down here with me again, but it’s hard not to get wrapped up in such fond memories.”

He chuckled, “I’m thankful I was able to reel myself in back then and keep you, no matter how much I wanted to do otherwise.” He pointed his knife to the unconscious body on the floor, “This one I brought here today won’t be nearly as fun as you were, so I don’t want you to feel jealous, alright? You’re where you are for a reason, just as they are where they are for a reason. Mein Liebchen, I’m so glad I can share this moment with you...”

He pressed in closer to you, an unmistakable bulge in his pants grazing the exposed flesh of your leg as he did so. You both shuddered at the brief contact, though his reaction was for reasons far different than your own.

“This intimacy is nice, don’t you think? Sharing your passions with those close to you is what meaningful relationships are allllll about.”

He pulled away from you slightly, pressing the blade of his knife under your chin. Wincing at the briefest of contact with the blade, you raised your head to avoid slicing of your chin, stopping once you were eye to eye with Strade. Your noses nearly touched as he took in the features of your face, smiling at the sheer horror reflected in your eyes.

“And I want to remind you just how passionate I can be~”

He spun you around, giving you an abrupt shove. Unable to keep your balance you fell forward, your knees colliding with the stony floor. A hiss of pain slipped past your lips at the contact as Strade kneeled down next to you, tangling his fingers once more in your hair. With a sharp yank, he pulled your head up, directing your attention to the far corner of the room.

With his guidance, your gaze landed on something new.  A cage you couldn’t recall ever seeing filled your took up a sizable chunk of the side wall, making you wonder how you missed see it to begin with. How he got such an unwieldy contraption down the stairs previously without your notice was also lost on you. The thing looked far too heavy for one person to easily transport, even if it came in pieces.

It looked incredibly sturdy, each side comprised of thick, imposing iron bars. The cage was moderately sized- large enough for people to sit in, but not so large that it would be a comfortable arrangement. At a glance, it seemed to be made for a dog, but the girth of the bars and thick padlock on the door were completely unnecessary features for a canine, even the largest and most aggressive dog breeds wouldn’t need something so robust to keep them contained. Strade must have had it special made, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who it was made for. You clenched your fists, fighting the queasiness that this new facet of the day brought to the table. You knew the cage shouldn’t have surprised you as much as it did, but you couldn’t help but be a bit addled by it. You briefly wondered if there was a limit to how much he would spend to fuel his sick intentions.

The cage sat off to the side, out of the way of the main walkway and slightly hidden behind the stairs so that it wasn’t immediately noticeable, but it was still close enough to the rest of the rooms fixtures that anyone trapped inside would have a clear view or what was happening around them. Which you figured was the point. What better seat for an unwilling audience?

“I originally bought this for Ren, but he was much easier to house train then you were.” Strade laughed, removing his hand from your hair to clap you on the shoulder. He turned his gaze to Ren who stood by the cage expectantly, waiting to fulfill his role in the nights unfolding misery. “Why don’t you show her inside, Ren? Get yourselves all comfy for the show.”

With a quick nod, Ren scampered in before you, giving you just enough room to squeeze in beside him. Nestling in, he turned to you with a strange mix of fear and anticipation in his eyes, patting the area next to you with a small smile on his lips.

“Come in, (Name),” he looked up at you through his lashes, bashful despite the situation he willingly crawled into, “There’s plenty of room.”

Strade gave you no opportunity to refute his invitation, dragging you along the floor by the collar until you arrived at the cages entrance. You gagged as the spikes dug into your flesh, your fingers attempting to find purchase and pull them out. But your grip kept slipping, the blood that coated each metallic link making it impossible to pry away.

At the entrance, Strade quickly unlatched your adjoining leash, pushing the side of his foot against your ass to shove you into the cage, treating you much the same way you would a misbehaving dog. He slammed the door behind you the moment your limbs were barely through the door, preventing you from backtracking. He hastily secured the huge padlock after he did so, effectively trapping you and Ren inside.

“I know you’ll watch, but I can’t trust her,” Strade spoke to Ren, kneeling down so that he was eye level with the two of you, “Latch her collar to the top bar, I want her focused.”

Ren was quick to follow orders, contorting himself around you so he could bind you to the cage. Part of you hoped he would show mercy, sneakily attaching the collar to a lower bar on the cage to give you more breathing room. As you felt the spikes dig farther into your skin that dream dashed from your mind. You choked back a sob as you heard the clasp click into place behind you, Ren planting a fleeting kiss to the top of your head as he did so, his way of begging forgiveness for the pain he was helping inflict

Sitting with your back completely straight, you kept your legs tucked under you, the full weight of your body supported by your knees. The slightest bit of slouching, leaning, or turning your head would plunge the spikes into your already torn up neck, amplifying your suffering. Locked into place, you were left with no choice but to sit at attention.

Maybe you could have unclasped the collar yourself for a bit of reprieve, you were sure after some blind fumbling you could figure out how to free yourself. But stuck behind a formidable lock with Strade on the other side, what would be the point? There was no place for you to run to, and if you disobeyed Strade at this point you were a sitting duck. A heavy sense of resignation settled in your soul. You no longer fought the tears that came to your eyes, letting them freely dribble down your checks to land in soft drops on your lap.

With no hope of escape, that left you with one option to get through this-endure.

“Überraschung,” Strade exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air as he stared down at you with wild, manic eyes. “What a sight this is! I must say (Name), even though your overall your obedience has improved, you still have quite the rebellious streak, don’t you?” He leaned down to get a better view of you, breathing deeply as his face began turning red from excitement, “Not that I don’t like when you get feisty, training and domesticating wild animals is something I take great pleasure in after all. But I have to say, seeing you like this?” He released an elongated, low whistle. “Schön. Keeping you has been worth it for moments like this. You really are a treat, behavioral issues and all.”

He exhaled as he slowly rose to his feet, his eyes never once leaving yours. “This is good, natural even. You belong here, (Name). Chained up like that… You’re right where you are supposed to be.”

His words were shaky, his composure slipping as his tongue trailed his bottom lip. The flush of his cheeks was now also creeping down his neck, ardent lust seeping from his expression. You shivered. Were it not for these bars separating you, you loathed to think what atrocities he would commit against you in this amped up state.

You bit back the retort that threatened to spill from your quivering jaw, biting so hard on your bottom lip you tasted blood. You hated him, loathed him with your entirety, but you also understood that one misspoken word was all it would take for you to be swapped with whatever unfortunate soul was tied to that pole. Despite it all, you still wanted to live. Clinging to the hope that someday you would get the chance to leave this place behind and return to the life that was stolen from you.

Making your freedom a reality was your daily affirmation you repeated to yourself, the one thing that truly kept you going. You made a promise to yourself that Strade would someday turn into nothing more than a horrible nightmare, a dirty smear in your past, and you very much intended to keep that promise. You would someday live out the rest of your life happy and safe, surrounded by friends and family, people you loved and who would love you in turn. Maybe you would even get married, have a kid or two.

Part of you knew thinking that way was foolish, and it usually caused you more despair than bringing you any true peace. But even if it was a silly dream, it was all you had. Strade has already stolen everything else, so you clung to your dream as your only salvation, relying on it as a means of survival.  

You had to make it through this, you had to get away and rebuild yourself from the shattered pieces Strade had broken you into. Not just for yourself, but for everyone he had ever murdered and brutalized. It was the only way you could beat him. It was the only way you could win.

“Well, no point in making any of us wait any longer,” Strade announced as he turned on his heel, making his way over to the slumped form in the center of the room. Your heart went out to them as he directed his full attention their way, staring down at them with a crazed, bloodthirsty smile. “This is pretty new for me too, ya know? Usually this is ‘me’ time, moments I can work and enjoy myself with the new friends I bring in in peace. But having a live audience? That’s sure gonna add some thrill to this.”

He turned his attention back towards you and Ren, his face glowing in excitement. “And I figured what the hell! It’s Christmas, right? Why be greedy when I can share in the celebration!  Ren already loves watching my little home movies, so I thought, ‘why not do a special live performance for my two favorite individuals?’”

Your body lurched in horror as Strade abruptly kicked his hostage square in the stomach, the force of it waking them with an agonized groan. You gasped as they coughed in pain, spit and blood sputtering from their mouth as slowly they came to. You watched on in morbid silence, a frown spreading across your lips when as you noticed the dawning horror that came over them. They were no longer in an ignorant fog of sleep, fully aware now that something truly dreadful was about to happen to them. 

Terrified recognition filled their eyes when they landed on Strade. Instantly they started to cry, whimper and plead, leaving you to wonder just how badly things went down between the two of them before you all ended up down here.

Trembles wracked your body, each quiver faintly clanging the metal of your collar against the cage. How you yearned to deafen your ears, gouge out your eyes, or will yourself away from what was unfolding before you. The mere thought of witnessing the oncoming torture, reliving your own capture through this doomed sod…  it was all too much. If given the opportunity, you would have done anything to flee and hide.

But there was no running from this. You couldn’t turn away. You couldn’t do anything at all.

“Hey buddy, calm down!” Strade spoke in a light hearted manner, invading the captive’s personal space as he crouched down in front of them. “Don’t you know it’s Christmas? Since you were looking so sad all alone at that bar last night I decided to play the role of Santa and give you a little gift! I took you in out of the goodness of my heart, because no one deserves to be alone on the holiday, right? And look,” He roughly grabbed their chin, forcing their tear stained face towards your cage, “I even brought friends to assure you wouldn’t be lonely! Pretty thoughtful of me, huh?”

You averted your stare as soon as they made eye contact, unable to stand the sheer hopelessness reflected in their forlorn gaze. Their whimpering and pleading continued, unfettered by the dialogue Strade was droning on. The desperation in their voice as they tried to reason with the most unreasonable man on the planet was making your skin crawl, irritation setting your face into a scowl. Couldn’t they see how amped up Strade was? Were they really so deluded to think their incessant begging would do them any favors? Did they not realize their cries were just exciting him more?

Eventually, you squeezed your eyes closed, wanting a break from it all even for a few seconds. Their naivety was driving you insane- a cruel reminder of the person you once were.

Suddenly, an ear splitting scream pieced the air, causing your eyes to fly open. The blood in your veins turned to ice as you saw Strade’s signature knife protruding from the captive’s leg, his hand still wrapped firmly around the handle, wriggling it further into their meat. The blade was buried deep, deep enough to cause true damage, and the blood that gushed from the new wound quickly gathered in a morbid puddle beneath their legs. If left unattended, you were sure they may bleed out, dying in slow agony.

“Oops, maybe I went a bit too deep there,” Strade nonchalantly spoke, pulling the knife carelessly from their leg. They released another sharp cry at the blades exit, squirming in pain and misery as blood sputtered from the gash. Strade continued to speak, unfettered by the gore that splashed against his leg, “But you weren’t listening very well when I was trying to talk earlier, so hopefully that’ll help you focus. I’ll try and be more mindful though, don’t wanna do too much too soon. You’re the star of the show today buddy, can’t have you dipping out on us before we even get started.”

Strade cut a piece of fabric from their victim’s shirt, tying it sloppily around the gaping wound he inflicted. It wasn’t placed as a means to help them so much as a way to help staunch the bleeding to keep them lucid for as long as possible. If there was one thing Strade hated, it was his fun being prematurely cut short.

“Well,” Strade slapped his knees, lifting himself up to his full height, “Usually I like to get to know you a little better before we get to this point, but what with my special guests and all, we don’t have as much time as I would have liked to become acquainted.”

Your eyes trailed Strade as he walked over to a tripod sitting off to the side. Your eyes widened as he reached for it, setting it up with skilled expertise as he had done so many times before. His captive stared blankly at the camera, clearly confused as to what awaited them. You couldn’t decide if their ignorance was a tragedy or a godsend. If they knew this was their final moment of relative peace before their violent end… Would they try an appreciate it, or would that just bring them more dismay?

After the main camera was set up to his liking, he made his way towards you and Ren. You stiffened at he approached, a new spike of anxiety rising within you as he fiddled with something in his pocket. It was your turn for confusion now, staring in perplexion as he pulled out another small camera, setting it up so that it faced your cage. After some finagling to get it just right, the small red light on it turned green.

“There we go,” Strade smiled, tying his signature bandana around his mouth after he completed his setup, his wide eyes gleaming with cruel intent, “Figured the viewers at home deserved a little special something, too. Smile for the camera you two!”

Shame flushed your exposed body as you did all you could to avoid looking into the camera’s nebulous, black lens. You curled yourself up as much as physically possible, revolted by the realization that other sickos were tuning in, getting off to an impending murder and your humiliation. How many people were on the other side of that small orb, desperately waiting for Strade to begin so they could scratch their fucked up itch? How many pairs of eyes were roving over your barely clothed, bloody body right now, pleased for such an enticing appetizer before they dug into the main course? You didn’t know what disgusted you more, Strade himself or the fact that he had enough ‘fans’ out there that were of a similar mindset, who avidly watched and supported him enough that he could live comfortably off live-streaming his slaughters.

After some brief adjustments (apparently your camera wasn’t focused enough, the ‘fans’ were complaining about not having a clear shot of ‘the bitch’s stupid, sniveling face’), Strade eventually made his way back over to the main camera, flicking it on and checking the feed on a nearby laptop to make sure everything was looking as it should. Once he was satisfied, he hopped in front of the camera, the jovial smile on his face noticeable even behind his mask.

“Frohe Weihnachten an alle! Oh wait,” he fished around in a drawer beneath his laptop, eventually yielding a slightly wrinkled Santa’s hat that he plopped gleefully upon his head. “That’s better! How is everyone doing this fine, festive holiday?”

Strade’s eyes scanned over the chat, laughing here and there as he read peoples responses. “I see you all noticed the new edition to the party. Ren, (Name), why don’t you give the nice people watching at home a smile?”

Refusing to acknowledge his deluded request, you kept your eyes to the floor, focusing on anything else but the situation you were in. Your legs ached from your balancing act, the impression of the cold cage bars long since deeply engraved in your skin. You grimaced when you tried to reposition them, the bastard could have at least thrown a towel in here for you.

Strade responded to a few more ‘questions’ before releasing a low whistle. “Hey now,” he chided, his voice holding a warning edge to it “I’m happy to share my cute pets with you, but some things only I get to see, yeah? Get your minds out of the gutter, the requests for the day aren’t for them, they’re for our latest catch.”

Strade scratched the back of his head, looking towards you with an amused twinkle in his eye.  “I think you two may be a bigger hit then our new friend! A little rude to our guest, but I can’t say I blame the masses.” He gave an exaggerated shrug, laughing a bit as he shook his head. “But enough talk. Let’s get this party started, shall we?”

He made his way over to his tool wall, his finger trailing the varying allotment of devices he owned. He stopped briefly, looking back towards the camera with lidded eyes. “So what are you guys feeling? Should we bust out our old friend the drill, or maybe something a bit more colorful, like the new handsaw I purchased the other day?”

The captive began to struggle with renewed intensity against their binds, thrashing about in a final attempt of escape. Their cries for help turned into wailing screeches, screaming and cursing as loud as they could muster in the hope that someone would magically hear them and come to their rescue. You hissed under your breath angrily, wishing they had never been caught, wishing they could spend Christmas with their family, wishing they would just shut up, wishing this would all end.

“Ohhh, we got a lively one~” Strade purred, grabbing a tomahawk off a nearby hook as he eyed chat, “and I agree with the majority here, it’s best to start off slow. Let’s begin with some little stuff and work up to the main event, really taking our time to enjoy this wonderful moment together.” He eyed the tool in his hand, picking at a remainder of a price tag that stuck stubbornly to the handle. “You may not believe me, but I only purchased this little guy to help with some pesky overgrowth in my yard, not to use on my company. Guess it can’t hurt to test out its sharpness and strength beforehand though, can it?”

Your heart palpitated as Strade stalked his way over to his cornered victim, mutely praying that some act of god would occur that would keep them from being decimated. He towered over them, thoughtfully musing on where he wanted to begin, what part of their body he wanted to mutilate first. He absent mindedly tossed the tomahawk from one hand to the next as he considered his plan of attack, sizing up his prey as if they were nothing more than a slab of meat. You struggled briefly against your binding in last ditch effort to shield yourself you from the ‘show’. But like a cruel child jabbing their fingers into you when you weren’t paying them enough attention to them, the spikes gave you a torturous reminder of the position you had been assigned to play in this performance.

Oddly enough, the stab of the protrusions didn’t hurt nearly as much as they did before. Maybe your body was adapting to the cruelties Strade subjugated it to, or maybe you were finally becoming desensitized to everything you had been forced to experience.  Maybe someday it would get to the point where you could be completely unfeeling, like a robot just going through the motions as Strade lived out his wicked life, you forcefully in tow. It was almost a comforting thought, whatever adjustments your body and soul had to make to assure your continued survival, so be it.

However, if the pit forming in your stomach and sweat drenching your brow as you watched Strade inch closure and closure to his victim was any indicator, you were sure something inside of you would always hold on to amity, reminding you just how painfully human you were, heart-breaking empathy and all.

‘I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,’ you chanted in your head, fresh tears carving slick trails down your cheeks when Strade kick their leg, digging the heel of their boot harshly into their stab wound. Bright red bloomed around the fabric covering the wound, their screams growing gravelly the longer they strained their vocal cords. You did your best to hold back the worst of your sobs, rogue sniffles and hiccups escaping despite your best efforts. If there was an afterlife, you hoped that theirs was full of nothing but warmth, peace, and all the things they love. It was the least they deserved for this.

You were vaguely aware of Ren repositioning himself next to you, his head nestling against your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you, shielding you slightly in an almost protective manner. Pressed so close, you could feel that he was shivering, his heart beating a mile a minute as it thrummed against your skin. Whether it was from fear, excitement, or both, you were unable to say.

Strade turned around, giving you one last mirthful glance as he readied his tomahawk over the toes of his captive’s right foot.  Though they squirmed intensely, he held a death grip on the limb, keeping them from breaking free. “Make sure to pay close attention now,” desire radiated from his demeanor, voice husky as narrowed eyes briefly roved your restrained form “and don’t feel too neglected over there, I’ll make sure to save some of the fun juuust for you once I finish with our pal over here.”

His eyes darted to the camera, shooting it a look of mock sympathy “For my eyes only of course, you all understand right? Thank you for being here friends, and Frohe Weihnachten für mich!~”

He slammed the blade down. A blood curdling scream erupted from the center of the room as their toes disconnected from the rest of their foot, signaling the beginning of their end.

And you sat like a statue, cold and rigid as your unwilling eyes bore witness to each act of savagery.

[what-gs-watching]

"You can be beautiful or you can be ugly, but you can’t be plain."

Soooo I’m pretty sure I died over Christmas; my entire family got a stomach bug that was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced, and now I have a head cold and I’ve lost my voice and I’m convinced this is some weird limbo and I’ll never be healthy again.

BUT! Before all of that, my dad and I got to indulge in our favorite holiday tradition: going to the movies. He and I have been sneaking off in the afternoon once everyone falls into a Christmas coma to see something for like, fifteen years. That man hates holidays because my mom goes insane trying to make them perfect and he just wants to escape and I appreciate that he allows me to go with him. 

This year, I was especially excited - the first time I saw the trailer for A Complete Unknown in September, I called him immediately screaming about it. Bob Dylan’s music was a huge part of my childhood, another thing that my stoic father shared with me, and could not wait to see it with him. Honestly, I’d been vibrating out of my skin about it, shrieking at the tv every time the commercial would come on.

Gang. It was so worth it. What a beautiful fucking movie.

Wherein, 19 year old Bob Dylan (Timothee Chalamet) heads to New York City in 1961, befriends Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger (Ed Norton), breaks into the folk scene, falls in love, has insane on and off stage chemistry with Joan Baez, writes songs that define a generation, puts the Newport Folk Festival on the damn map, learns he doesn’t really love fame, and then eventually goes electric. 

I do realize this movie isn’t going to be for everyone - it’s specific. Like, were you alive then and you’re wanting to relive that time and the way Dylan’s music made you feel? Perfect, you’ll dig it. Or, are you a super weirdo like me that WISHES you were alive during that time and just deeply loves the 60’s aesthetic and longs for what you think was a simpler era but it really was not, and you just want to romanticize the whole thing and feel wistful about it? Amazing, get your ass to the theater. 

One thing I appreciated about this movie was that it wasn’t really shoving anything down your throat, what was happening wasn’t overly explained, there were no ridiculous voice-overs or forced understanding, and honestly, Dylan was fairly mysterious. It didn’t feel like it was from his point of view, you’re not going to come out of this feeling like you finally GET him. He’s still this weird mythical genius, just doing what he’s driven to do. He never explains himself and he never wants to. So is this really a biopic? Or are we just seeing a snapshot in time, take it or leave it? I don’t think it matters; it’s wonderful, either way.

Also, like, DAMN, Chalamet. He was fucking incredible. Dylan is a hard guy to portray, he’s always been kind of aloof, withdrawn, he’s never seemed like this larger than life personality and to pull off that demeanor in a way that’s still endearing to the audience is NOT easy. He really encapsulated Dylan’s confusing charm, it was pitch perfect. And I had to laugh to myself a bit - last year’s Christmas movie was Wonka, also starring Chalamet. What a hilarious dichotomy from one year to the next. 

I’m going to be watching all of the award shows just for this. Give this dude all the flowers. 

As much of a fan of his music as I am, I never did a deep google dive on him and so I really enjoyed seeing his relationship with Joan Baez unfold. The scenes of them performing together were honestly beautiful, their voices blending and complimenting each other. Her song “Diamonds and Rust” unsurprisingly was also a large part of my musical upbringing and to learn she’d written it about their relationship - fuck. I listened to it again after we left the theater and it was devastating in an entirely new way.

Here’s the thing. I absolutely cried big fat tears a few times sitting there. It’s not a sad movie in any way, shape or form. But when he performs “The Times They Are A-Changin’” at the festival, just him and his guitar and his harmonica, and the crowd starts singing along with him, having never heard it before, I sobbed, smiling. 

When I was a senior in high school, my dad - who notoriously never put effort into gifts for us kids, relying on my mom to know what to buy - sat down and  made me a bunch of mix CDs of the songs he’d always been sharing with me. One of them was his 12 essential Bob Dylan tracks. The rest of that year, I lived in those tracks. The agenda pad I used for that school year was littered with Dylan lyrics, it’s my basement even now, “don’t criticize what you can’t understand” scrawled all over it.

So I was 17 again, sitting there, or 8 or 21 or any of the ages I’ve been where Dylan has kept me company. “It Ain’t Me Babe” is deeply ingrained in my mind as part of the dumpster fire that was the relationship I had with the first boy I ever fell truly in love with, and watching his long-time girlfriend Sylvie (Elle Fanning) witness him singing that with Joan Baez was like a punch to the gut. 

I’m not 100% sure what I’m driving at with all of this, but what I can tell you is: A Complete Unknown is beautiful. If you have any connection to Dylan’s music, it’ll light your soul on fire. If you don’t, it’ll still immerse you in a time or place you really should visit. It’s fascinating and visceral and glimmering, and it just might change you, a little bit.

HOW does it FEEL?

[megumithegreat]

Lies of P, Frankenstein, and How Paradise Lost Ties into Them

I've just finished reading Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, and thanks to some realizations in-game, Frankenstein is the other major work that provides the foundation to Lies of P.

I'm exceptionally tired, so trying to do this while barely being conscious means I might not highlight all things. But I can always come back and add to it. As usual, I'm not really looking for discussion as much as just wanting to write this down.

In addition to Lies of P being a dark spin on The Adventures of Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi, elements from Frankenstein are as evident as the elements of Paradise Lost by John Milton. You can read that analysis here.

This time, in somewhat of a struggle to read after the monster that is Paradise Lost, I dove back into my pile of required reading for understanding and appreciating Lies of P to read Frankenstein. As it turns out, Mary Shelley's literary repertoire offered many insights into the story that she created in a friendly ghost story contest among her friends, including but not limited to Paradise Lost. Frankenstein thus was a macabre spin on the epic poem. In my previous post, I highlighted that the epic poem had some analogies and references in Lies of P, but little did I know that the "Frankenstein" side of Lies of P would be the bridge.

God and His Creation, Simon and His Father

There is a large focus in Lies of P on the relationship between a father and his son. I stated before this look at that relationship, coupled with various documents that pointed it out, underscores a religious aspect I'd attributed solely to the epic poem. I had not read all of Paradise Lost at the time, and I certainly hadn't read Frankenstein. After reading Frankenstein, Simon Manus's Confession seems like a direct reference to the feelings that the Creature feels upon his "birth" at Victor Frankenstein's hands.

Simon revered his father, who tortured him, as a god among men. Simon developed the ability to read minds, but he was deemed a failure by his father and cast aside. This abandonment crushed Simon, which sets in motion his desire to transcend God and create a world where there are no lies. While Simon's allusion to the Creature is not readily evident, the feelings in both figures are nearly identical. It is unclear if Simon sought to destroy his father like how the Creature (rightfully) pursued Victor. Furthermore, Simon seems to have been a creation, "born from clay", and not a son by blood.

When P finds Simon at the top of the Abbey, he no longer looks like a man but as a monster:

With extra limbs and a deformed body. Though, this form might be reference to yet another novel, The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo, but I have to wait to read that one, as there are a few allusions to that story.

After P defeats Simon Manus (in Phase 1), we see him transform into a recreation of The Creation of Adam by Michelangelo, tying Frankenstein to Paradise Lost as Mary Shelley did in her novel.

But Simon isn't the only character meant to encapsulate Frankenstein.

Victor Isn't Just a Champion, and the Carcasses Aren't Just Monsters

The most on-the-nose reference to Frankenstein is Champion Victor. The name "Victor" here has two meanings:

Victor, as in the triumphant one, one who takes victory

Victor Frankenstein

According to Resurrection! Champion Victor Has Returned!, Champion Victor was a great wrestler that died of a mysterious illness (likely of Petrification Disease). He was miraculously brought back to life and better than ever. Aside from his name being the nod to the story, Champion Victor is similar to the Creature both in part of his resurrection and in his design.

Victor may be "alive" but he still looks dead. His body is riddled with holes for different attachments, and he is sustained (in Phase 1) by the same nasal apparatus that Alchemists wear. He was a failure as well, though, and his successor is Laxasia, another human turned "creature".

But this also means that the Carcasses that hunt down P were all failures, in varying states of decay. En masse, the Alchemists created an army of Creatures that were tossed out and forced to fend for themselves (however delirious and animalistic they had become). Much like Creature, they subsist on what they can find, but only beings like Victor or Laxasia have the luxury of being almost human with an ego.

By creating the Carcasses, whom are all the results of failed experiments to force humans to evolve and ascend into immortality, the Alchemists fill the role of Victor Frankenstein.

Geppetto, God, and the Puppets

If Simon and the Alchemists are Victor Frankensteins, who also aimed to achieve a godlike feat in reanimating a corpse, then what of Geppetto?

As stated before, Geppetto saw himself as a god or a devil in his malicious compliance to grant Romeo's wish and turn him into a puppet. Victor Frankenstein had made the same allusion to himself, ultimately cursing himself when he created his Monster. This, however, is not the specific trait that tie the two together.

There are two camps of thought, here I refer to the Narcissism camp. Just as Victor never saw what he did as wrong and made the Creature out to be the one that must be killed, Geppetto never sees a problem in all that he does to get P to amass Ergo for the sole purpose of stealing his P-Organ to properly revive his son. He claims to do it out of love for Carlo (but if that were the case, he shouldn't have ever neglected him!) His confession that what he does to Romeo will either make him a god or devil underscores the grandeur in which he sees himself. He presumably knew from Camille (First Discovery, Camille) that Ergo was, in short, crystallized versions of people's souls and that, by placing Ergo in puppets, people that succumbed to Petrification Disease could come back to life. Romeo was a success in a way, but he is a puppet. Puppets had to be fitted with the Grand Covenant to keep them in check, and for the purposes of his plan, Romeo had to be shackled until the time was right. But Romeo isn't as much of Frankenstein's Monster as he is Satan (Paradise Lost), though in Frankenstein, the Creature does sympathize with Satan. Briefly, Romeo is characterized in the fire associated with him, the idea of sin (Divine Comedy) that Geppetto seems to look at Romeo with, Romeo's uprising against Geppetto and the Alchemists, and that Rosa Isabelle Street, or Paradise Island or Eden (imagery of roses) of The Adventures of Pinocchio and Paradise Lost, becomes Pandemonium in Paradise Lost.

Geppetto's first success to an extent was the Nameless Puppet, the puppet he created fitted with the first P-Organ, that which precedes the P-Organ in P, and the puppet he tried to make using Carlo's corpse. The Nameless Puppet, however, ended up a harrowing failure. Sure, it woke up, but the P-Organ was destructive and threatened to use up Carlo's Ergo and the puppet itself was fueled by insurmountable hatred. Geppetto ended up sealing away the Nameless Puppet and instead created P after perfecting his craft. P being the perfect vehicle until there was enough Ergo accumulated, Geppetto was essentially a god for creating the puppets ("[he's] their maker, practically their father!" -Mad Donkey) but a devil because there is no divinity and only narcissism (per the very specific placement of a daffodil and narcissus article placed on his desk), much like how Victor Frankenstein views himself and is a theme of Mary Shelley's novel.

For a tangent, I have tried to find the relation of P to Nameless Puppet in the context of Frankenstein, but my mind instead wanders to Penny Dreadful which uses Frankenstein for a subplot but adds in an extra detail: Proteus. I highly doubt the devs watched Penny Dreadful, but the second phase of the final battle feels very similar:

In Penny Dreadful, the Creature kills Proteus (Frankenstein's much more successful reanimated corpse and technically Creature's "younger brother") out of hatred for Proteus and despair that Frankenstein could just toss Creature out and replace him with a better version of himself. In Lies of P, Geppetto controls Nameless Puppet (Carlo's reanimated corpse) to at the very least beat P (Carlo's soul and memories) into submission to give up his heart.

Where Creature completely destroys Proteus, P is saved by Geppetto and tears out Nameless Puppet's P-Organ and crushes it. To look at it from Paradise Lost or rather what is supposed to come after when Adam and Eve are banished from Paradise, this can almost be thought of a spin on Cain and Abel.

Geppetto's Deaths and Victor's Death

In the Real Boy ending, Carlo's body and soul are reunited to create the perfect Frankenstein's Monster that is bound to his "God" father's paranoia. As Geppetto commands or convinces him, Carlo slaughters his friends so that Geppetto can replace them with puppets all bound to the Grand Covenant. Geppetto gets a new loyal son. He gets cake and eats it, too.

But in the Freed from the Puppet String ending and in the Rise of P ending, Geppetto is killed by the Nameless Puppet as he protects the P-Organ containing Carlo's heart (which also saves P). The sentiments that Geppetto's expresses are different.

In the Freed from the Puppet String ending, Geppetto is disappointed or otherwise shows contempt at P's failure to become a human.

In the Rise of P ending, where P sheds a single tear over the death of his Creator, Geppetto realizes (unlike Frankenstein) how he's caused Carlo so much unnecessary pain.

In Frankenstein, there are two sides to the story, but we are only presented Frankenstein's side because he is the unreliable narrator and Walton is our empathetic and bleeding heart passive listener. Through Walton's listening to the events, we are to believe that Frankenstein is a nobleman whose life was destroyed by a monstrosity that haunted him and killed everyone he loved. Frankenstein even specifically tells Walton that the Creature's eloquence and vocabulary is by all means a ruse to confuse him. The Creature, however, at Frankenstein's deathbed and before Walton exposes that his Creator lied and never once spoke of how much suffering he himself was forced to endure because of Victor's folly.

Geppetto's contempt in Freed from the Puppet String is analogous to the lies that Frankenstein tells. After all, it is obvious that Geppetto says things he knows P (Carlo's memory, soul, personality) wants to hear to turn him human. When the lie collapses and P fails to become human, there's no reason to continue pretending to care. But the Rise of P ending underscores perhaps what might have been a moment of reflection that Frankenstein never had. At the end of life, Geppetto shows a hint of remorse...but is it genuine? Who knows, people will say anything when they're about to die.

The final point to be made: Creature never got to kill Frankenstein, but Nameless Puppet accidentally kills Geppetto. This moment is a parallel, opposite of each other. Creature had gone his entire life menacing his Creator in hopes of making him bend for a single wish, to create for him a wife so that they could live in some sort of peace together. Frankenstein destroys the work on Creature's Bride then proceeds to ruin his own life because of his fear of the Creature. But Nameless Puppet was indiscriminate in his hatred. Geppetto had kept him under control until P cut off his cranium and severed some connection from Geppetto. As Creature kills Proteus in Penny Dreadful and Cain kills Abel in the Bible, Nameless Puppet set out to destroy P only for Geppetto to do what Frankenstein could not and attempt to stop Nameless Puppet from destroying the very last remnant of Carlo's memory.

There is a brief moment where the Nameless Puppet seems to be shocked that his Creator defended his successor, which seems somewhat reminiscent of the shock and regret that the Creature feels upon finding that Frankenstein succumbed to his illness in Walton's ice raft. With his Creator dead, Creature has little to no reason to continue, and he leaves after declaring he plans to burn himself to death.

I would be interested to see how Frankenstein, Paradise Lost/Divine Comedy, and more of The Adventures of Pinocchio fit into the DLC. I've purposely been avoiding seeing too much because I want that razzle-dazzle surprise. But I expect that the DLC may have some more juxtapositions as we learn more about the Alchemists and Valentinus.