#dead leaf echo

[omegaremix]

April 3, 2022.

It takes a good two months before a year starts to pick up for me. The first big win was in the final frigid day of February when I decided to take the train to Greenpoint’s Academy Annex for some records; the first stop of what would be an amazing record-store victory tour. Then arrived March. I drove four miles to the shopping mall to look for leather jackets when I discovered a new retro- video arcade opened up. Within a few days I walk in and spent the entire day re-living my Atari / Nintendo / SNES youth. Those eight hours were a thoroughly exhaustive one. I saw games which I threw many rolls of quarters into, to others I only read about and fantasized even seeing up until then. The original Super Mario Bros. cabinet, The Neo Geo MVS, Outrun, R-Type, Taito’s Superman, Atari’s Star Wars. Most of every great moment of my youth spent in delis, card stores, ice cream parlors, long-gone restaurants, and amusement parks were now all in one room.

Good thing I went because my all-time favorite ginger April* made a rare appearance in my store and I had to tell her about it. She came in to buy some A/V components like she always does and we spent a good ten minutes catching up on everything. April was a fangirl and a hardcore gamer of all formats so I had to share the wealth of news with her. Too late. She already went. Still, every visit from her counted as she was the cutest thing of pale skin, glasses, and Irish ancestry I ever seen.

I had another holiday spent with my Coney Island family. My aunt invited me to her daughter’s house in East Meadow for Easter where they, her aggressive right-wing country-music loving Trump supporter sons, her sister, and all the offspring you could think of would be there. A great four hours were had coloring eggs, watching Disney’s Encanto on the big screen, and an endless feast of Italian food were laid out for all to gorge ourselves to death. Blessings were counted and they were enough to cash them in for a bright sunny Sunday. I also enjoyed the hour-long drive from East Meadow through Rt. 27 all the way home.

In between all this was a major event I was chasing for a while. It would be nice to attend a Boy Harsher show and they’ve been making the rounds in New York City quite often. I jumped at the opportunity to purchase tickets after their Halloween show and ultimately got them - only for January show to be postponed. Blame the COVID- omicron for it. But Jae & Augustus pushed it back to April and this time nothing was stopping them from performing nor anyone attending The Music Hall Of Williamsburg.

I learned that it was a two-hour ride each way from my line to Penn Station and back due to transfers at the Jamaica Station. Not good as I had to work a 10AM shift. This time, I opted to drive out to the Babylon stop for a direct line to Manhattan and back for fifty-five minutes each. I went up the stairs and waited only a few minutes before the train arrived on an elevated platform. Nothing special about the train ride on a cloudy mid-50* weather. The show, however, was a whole other story. Everyone enjoyed the opener Twin Tribes and the headlining Boy Harsher hands-down to great fanfare. I couldn’t have waited in line to get some merch- as, once again, someone had to ride home for tomorrow’s payday.

I reversed the path from The Music Hall- by taking the L and ½/3 line back to Penn Station. It just so happened that I missed my train home by three minutes and it cost me an hour more before the next one came in. As I mentioned before, no transfers. Just a direct line from Penn Station back to Babylon where the double-decker cars awaited us. A nice surprise for me sitting in the seats above to contemplate my next major win: Sacred Bones’ 15th anniversary show. It could only get better.

Fifteen years ago from this month, a new concept was born. I purchased a 30GB iPod Classic through a ‘friend’ of mine at WUSB. Since then, I loaded all of my music into it and took it through many train rides. The iPod Classic has retired in favor of my iPhone SE. What once became a distraction has now been an auditioning process for future Omega WUSB shows and seasonal personal playlists. Nothing is off limits. Noise, backpacker, jazz, fusion, shoegaze, noise rock, post-punk, electronics, hardcore - everything. Everything I discover gets played in hopes of either being featured or forever a part of me. With a near endless plethora of outlets, mutuals, and other ways of obtaining music, there’s almost never a moment of silence outside of work or sleep.

Congotronics International: “Where’s The One”

MoE: “Beautiful Stranger”

Silent Servant: “Slasher”

Doc Hammer: “Commanche Crew Cut”

Visit0r: “God Of All Flesh”

People’s Choice, The: “Here We Go Again”

Ride: “1,000 Miles”

Thurston Moore: “The Station”

Sunrot: 21%

Joucous: “Rivers Pt. 1”

Exek: “ID’ed”

Legss: “Hyde Park Coroner”

Alice Glass: “Suffer And Swallow”

Totally Unicorn: “Daddy’s Stabby Surprise”

Aeges: “Who Are You”

Benny The Butcher & J. Cole: “Johnny P.’s Caddy”

Maneskin: “Moriro Da Re” 

Broken Vow: “Expiation”

Exek: “(I’m After) Your Best Interest”

Smash Your Enemies: “Faithless”

Death Strider: “Cardinal Sin”

Letting Up Despite Great Faults: “Gemini”

Dead Leaf Echo: “Milk.Blue.Kisses (Foil In Motion)”

Offset: Spectacles, The: “Stomp”

Caparezza: “Eyes Wide Shut”

[oepionie]

— "HE'S THE OTHER MAN!" . the corpse groom

SYNOPSIS: A ghost groom has claimed MC as his unwilling bride. Unfortunately for him, she's already got a lover

⊹ [ c.w ] — violence, possessive behavior, malleus blows a fucking green laser down ramshackle, mentions of blood, yuu is poor but we alrdy knew that, papa crewel crumbs

⊹ [ w.c ] — 1.6k opening post with malleus! if this gets enough attention, I might do more :P

"You what?" Crewel seethed, eyes wide as an unsettling smile stretched across the red of his cheeks.

"Repeat that."

"I…I accidentally released that ghost from the spellbook," Grim sobbed, his glossy eyes reflecting both fear and guilt as he looked up at the imposing figure of the professor. "And he's taken my henchhuman as his bride!"

Oh, Great Sevens. Not again.

Crewel groaned, his hands reaching up to frantically rub at his burning eyes. The flickering candlelight cast erratic shadows across his face.

"Please, do tell. How in Wonderland did someone with your lackluster skills manage to—" The professor was abruptly cut off by a loud, almost obnoxious cry that echoed from the doorway. Turning sharply, Crewel saw Crowley hunched against the entrance frame, hysterically sobbing into his palms. Fat tears dripped beneath his ornate mask, glistening in the low light. "They grow up so fast! My dear child is already getting married!"

Crewel's eye twitched as he took in the scene: Grim shaking like a leaf, and Crowley, dramatically weeping, pathetically looking to him for a solution.

"Fools," Crewel snarled, striding out of the room as he fished his phone from his coat pocket. "If you two won't be of use, then I'll have to enlist the help of those mutts instead."

The day had started like any other in Ramshackle, but you certainly didn't expect it to end with a wedding. Surrounded by the ghostly residents of the dorm, you stood dressed in all white, a bouquet clutched in your hand. Curling in yourself, you sighed and rested your head in your hands, avoiding everyone's gazes which felt like icy needles on your skin.

Ramshackle's old lounge, with its worn-out floorboards and faded wallpaper, was the chosen venue for your ceremony. Whispers rustled through the gathering, carried on a faint breeze that stirred the dust motes in the dim light. Somewhere in the background, the somber notes of an organ piano echoed. You didn't even know you had a piano…

"Dear?"

Jumping with a shriek, you whipped your head around. A ghostly visage, bathed in a deathly pale blue glow, hovered inches from your face, an unnaturally wide grin stretched across their blue lips. Bony fingers gently traced up your cheeks, sending tingles down your spine.

With sunken eyes and high, sharp cheekbones, Elizan—a "visiting" friend of one of Ramshackle's ghosts—was truly a sight to behold. His complexion had a pallor that matched the moonlight filtering through the decrepit windows of the form. Wisps of long, flowing indigo hair framed his face, swept back as if caught in a breeze that only he could feel.

"You look wonderful," he cooed, pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead, leaving your cheeks burning.

"Ah. Thank you," you stammered, averting your gaze and gently pulling away. You could hardly focus on the words being spoken to you, your mind spinning with the surrealness of it all.

"You look... Good as well," you forced out with a cough, tugging at your hair nervously. "But... Listen... I—"

Before you could finish, the door to the entrance slammed open, nearly breaking off the hinges with a sound that could wake the dead, sending cracks spider-webbing through the already dilapidated walls.

On the inside, you screamed louder than the hinges.

You had painstakingly patched up the door after Grim's recent screw-up—a feat that had tested your patience and carpentry skills to their limit. Unless you wanted to survive on a diet of stale canned food and cafeteria leftovers for another year, you couldn't afford any more repairs.

While you were busy mourning the loss of having decent meals, heaving and leaning against the door for support, your friends called out your name in a panic, their bleary and furious gazes zeroing in on your figure. Clad in white, you stood there, the perfect picture of a pretty blushing bride.

The uninvited guests didn't go unnoticed by your "groom," and in seconds, you were pulled into a suffocating grip. Elizan's usually serene demeanor shattered like fragile glass. His deathly pale features contorted into a snarl, veins pulsing ominously beneath translucent skin. His typically gentle eyes blazed with an unsettling fire, icy whites now narrowed and piercing.

"Mutt!" Crewel seethed, his foot slamming into the floor and shattering the newly installed tiles. Your soul nearly left your body as you screamed inside again. There go a thousand thaumarks…

"What in the Sevens is this!?" Crewel shrieked, running a gloved hand through his tousled hair. With sharp movements, he pointed a finger at Elizan. "I'll have you know I can have you arrested for trespassing, unlawful detention, and violating the sanctity of this academy!"

"How... How dare you? Barging into this sacred ceremony—Who even are you?!" Elizan snapped back, his arms coiling tightly around your torso. The crowd erupted in a haze of shouts and muddled answers. Unable to understand anything, Elizan's intense gaze shifted and bore into yours, demanding answers. You gulped nervously, suddenly feeling small and vulnerable in his grasp.

"Who is he?! Who are they?!" he barked like a dog, flashing his sharp fangs at you.

"Uh… That's my professor—uh, Crewel," you stammered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "And those are… They're my… friends?" Your gaze flickered to the group of men who had entered, their expressions ranging from confusion to anger.

Elizan's wide eyes now filled with shock, white orbs glossed over with luminescent blue tears. He pushed you away as if you had burnt him, recoiling from your touch as though it pained him physically.

"You know other men?!" the ghost cried out, his hands clenching into fists, his midnight blue hair cascading wildly around his face like a tempestuous sea. The tortured cries of the groom echoed through the room, sending a shiver down your spine as you awkwardly shifted on your feet, feeling like a character caught in an soap drama.

"…Yes?" you replied, unsure.

"How could you do this to me?!" He sobbed, a dark shadow covering his face. "Running off on an affair the DAY of our marriage?!"

"Well, that's a rather dramatic accusation—" you started, but Elizan shook his head in anguish.

"Answer me! Do you have another man?!" His voice shook the room, and you took a few cautious steps back.

"Elizan, please," you uttered gently, your eyes darting nervously toward one of the men in the room.

Your lover didn't meet your gaze; instead, his eyes were locked onto the ghost, a storm of emotions brewing beneath his features. As you jumped down from the makeshift podium, you shot an apologetic frown at the ghost, hoping to diffuse the escalating situation. "Don't you understand? You're the other man."

"No! You're married to me!" Elizan shrieked, lunging forward in a frenzy, his nails clawing at the air as if trying to grasp something intangible. "Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

MALLEUS DRACONIA

"Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

Lilia raised an eyebrow with a chuckle, his form reclined against a fogged-up window of the room. The weather was gloomy and stormy, the skies tinted green outside, casting an eerie glow over the scene. The window pane, streaked with raindrops and mist, blurred the view of the turbulent skies beyond. Lilia hummed a tune under his breath, a calm figure amidst the brewing storm.

With a sidelong glance, his eyes locked onto Malleus, whose entire figure shook with a barely contained wrath that threatened to engulf the very air around him. The young prince's chest heaved in violent, choked breaths as smoke wisped from his mouth and nose—tendrils of flames flickering amidst the swirling dust and ash.

A deafening crack tore through the air as a vivid surge of green emerald lightning erupted from the heavens, descending upon the roof of the venue with explosive force. The blast of energy painted the sky with a blinding flash of green as it crashed into the building, sending broken glass and wood raining down upon the venue.

Cursing, Elizan moved you both aside, a large chunk of debris hurtling past, narrowly missing your startled form. As more debris crashed down, he shielded you with an outstretched arm, a shimmering barrier briefly forming to deflect a particularly large piece of wood.

"Spectral pest," Malleus seethed, his eyes aglow with an eerie green hue as his nails elongated into sharp claws. With a click of his tongue, he raised his hands, summoning thorns that spiraled towards Elizan, ensnaring the ghost in their sharp embrace. Simultaneously, from the floorboards below, vines emerged like serpents, their tendrils gently but firmly pulling you away from Elizan's protective embrace and guiding you into the safety of Malleus's arms.

"How—?! Ngh!" Elizan writhed against the thorny vines. The prickly tendrils twisted around him like serpents, their sharp points digging into his ghostly flesh.

Malleus paid no mind to the struggling spirit, keeping his gaze fixed on you as he checked for any signs of harm. His expression softened with relief upon finding you unscathed, albeit a bit dusty.

"Beloved," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm amidst the lingering chaos. His gloved hand moved delicately, sweeping away the clinging dust from your shoulders and arms. Pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingered there briefly, conveying a warmth that contrasted starkly with the raw power he had displayed moments ago.

"Are you alright?"

Blinking up at him with wide eyes and frazzled hair shooting up in every direction, you nodded dumbly. Turning away from him, you nearly gasped aloud to see the room in shambles, debris scattered everywhere, and the eerie green glow of energy still lingering in the air. The ghostly residents were in a state of panic, their translucent forms flickering as they moved frantically.

"My dorm," you whimpered, your mind racing as you calculated the cost of the damage.

With a chuckle, Malleus adjusted his grip on you, his muscles flexing as he gently set you down. Your legs felt shaky as you tried to steady yourself.

"I will handle the cost of repair, my dearest," Malleus assured you, bending down to your height, his voice dropping to a whisper. Green eyes bore into yours, strands of his midnight hair falling over his face. "You will not need to worry about such things once we are formally betrothed."

You froze, your face suddenly warming and burning.

"What?!"

Malleus reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek, claws dragging across your supple cheeks. "Yes, my dear," he murmured, chest rumbling as his lips curved into a sharp smile. "You heard me correctly."

"I… I don't know what to say," you whispered, feeling dizzy with emotion.

"Will you consider it?" he asked softly, a faint hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Please?"

Caught in the depth of his gaze, you felt your resolve melting away. "I-I guess?" you breathed, your voice trembling. "I'll… consider it."

A smug smile spread across his face, and he tenderly pressed his lips against yours. "That's all I ask, my dearest."

After ensuring you were alright one last time, Malleus redirected his focus to Elizan. With a flick of his wrist, the thorns under his control tightened around the ghost. Elizan shrieked and thrashed about, his translucent form writhing in pain as the thorns dug deeper.

"Do try to exercise some restraint, my boy," Lilia drawled, tapping his sharp fingers idly against his crossed arms. "We do not want Ramshackle to be bathed in blood. It would be very unsanitary."

not too sure if i am continuing but feel free to suggest some peepl bookies

[girlinterupptedsblog]

Can you do one where Rafe and y/n are secretly dating and she is jj’s sister. He is trying to comfort her when jj dies and the pogues are shocked to see him being so soft especially with her? I want some fluff about Rafe. It’s okay if you can’t do it.

Please and thank you

When the World Falls Apart

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x You (JJ’s Sister)

Warnings: Major character death, intense grief, emotional hurt/comfort, secret relationship, language, mentions of violence, soft!Rafe, protective!Rafe, Kook vs. Pogue tension, angst, eventual acceptance

The moment the phone call came through, you knew it wasn’t good. The static in your ear, the panic in your brother's voice—nothing was right.

You’d barely gotten out of the crowded street in Morocco before the words hit you like a bullet: “JJ’s gone. He’s gone.”

And the world around you shattered.

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Your brain couldn’t process it. Your fingers went numb, the phone slipping from your hand and landing with a soft thud on the ground, as if it too was trying to run from the nightmare unfolding.

The world was still spinning, but everything was out of focus. You didn’t even realize you were screaming until you heard it echoing off the walls of the narrow streets. Your knees buckled, and you collapsed on the hot, gritty sand beneath you, your entire body shaking like a leaf in the wind.

JJ was dead. Your brother, the one who had always kept you safe, was gone.

No.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Not him.

Tears streamed down your face uncontrollably, blurring your vision as the sounds of the city around you seemed to fade. Nothing mattered but the raw ache in your chest, the hollowness that spread like wildfire through your veins, making it hard to breathe.

You had to get to him. You had to see him. You needed to hold him.

But there was no way. He was already gone.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, the world moving around you but not through you. In a daze, your thoughts were tangled, a blur of grief and disbelief. Your body felt heavy as the cold sweat clung to your skin.

And then—

A shadow blocked out the sun.

Rafe.

He was there. He was standing in front of you.

Your eyes, swollen from crying, met his blue ones, and for the briefest moment, you saw something different there. His face—hard, unshakable, the face that everyone feared—was soft. He wasn’t looking at you with judgment or even the usual arrogance.

He was looking at you with pain.

With care.

Before you could process it, he was crouching in front of you, his large hands gently cupping your face, guiding your tear-streaked face up to meet his. His touch was delicate, as if you might break in his hands.

“Shh,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion, his forehead pressed against yours. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

You felt the heat of his body close to yours, grounding you, but it wasn’t enough.

“You—You don’t understand,” you choked out, your voice raw, barely audible over the sounds of your heart shattering. “JJ... he’s—he’s gone, Rafe. He’s gone. What the hell am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do now?”

Rafe’s hands tightened slightly, pulling you into him as he enveloped you in the warmth of his body. He didn’t try to fix you—didn’t tell you everything would magically be better or that you’d find a way to heal in time. No. He just held you.

His lips brushed your hair as his chest rose and fell with every deep breath. “You don’t have to do anything right now. Just breathe. I’m here. You don’t have to be alone.”

You could feel his heartbeat beneath your cheek, steady and strong, and in that moment, you let yourself fall apart in his arms. Everything—every shred of control you had left—melted away. You cried. You screamed. You did everything you needed to do, because Rafe didn’t stop you. He didn’t tell you to be strong. He just stayed with you, his arms firm and comforting, his presence the only thing that anchored you to anything that felt real.

The other Pogues were still standing there, eyes wide, not knowing what to do. You could feel their stares on the back of your neck, the awkward tension rising as they watched Rafe with you. They had seen him be brutal. They had seen him cruel and cold. But here, with you in his arms, they didn’t know how to reconcile the person they’d come to fear with the person who was now holding you together in your darkest moment.

“Rafe, I can’t... I can’t...” You sobbed, your voice cracking as the words left you.

“I know,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver through you. His hand moved to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair in slow, calming motions. “I know. Just let it out.”

And you did. You let it all out. You let the sorrow and pain take over your body, screaming until your throat was raw, shaking until you couldn’t move. And through it all, Rafe stayed with you. He didn’t let go. He didn’t run.

“Shh. You’re okay. I’m here. It’s gonna be okay,” Rafe repeated, each word softer than the last.

It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay. But somehow, his presence felt like a lifeline. Like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the world when everything else was crumbling around you.

The Pogues had no words. They just stood there, watching, completely still, until they realized Rafe wasn’t going to back down.

Finally, it was John B who broke the silence. His voice was shaky, but he spoke with an authority that only came with loss. “Rafe, what the hell are you doing?”

Rafe didn’t even look at him. He didn’t flinch, didn’t back away. His hands were still wrapped around you, holding you close. “I’m doing what none of you did,” Rafe said quietly, his voice low but resolute. “I’m here for her. I’m not leaving her.”

The shock was palpable, hanging in the air. Pope, Kiara, and John B exchanged glances, but Rafe didn’t give them the chance to question him further. He wasn’t asking for permission, and he certainly wasn’t looking for their approval.

You barely heard the words from your friends. The world had turned into a distant hum, the only thing that mattered being the comfort Rafe gave you in the midst of the chaos.

His thumb traced circles on your arm, the only soothing motion in the overwhelming silence. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” he whispered, his lips close to your ear again. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

You couldn’t process the enormity of it all. But the one thing you did know was that, in this moment, with Rafe holding you like you mattered—like you were everything—was the only comfort you could find.

Everything else—every other thought, every other worry—could wait. Because, right now, Rafe Cameron was the only one who understood the depth of your grief.

And, for the first time, he wasn’t hiding. He wasn’t pretending. He was just there for you.

And that was enough.

[starcharmed]

ꨄ︎ .ᐟ.ᐟ - when i'm with you

mourning someone whom is still alive ; 0.5k+

written pre-3.2, word rot, #ripfineshty

⟡ - thank you @rainswept for being as sane as me about anaxa & fueling this fic ily lots

You couldn’t rest next to him. Not as within the sense you didn’t want to, but because he didn’t breathe. For minutes — an hour or so if you somehow managed to get the man to relax his soul for that long — his chest wouldn’t move. His shoulders wouldn’t softly rise nor fall, his face nearly blank in that unchanging expression you’d grown to love.

He wasn’t dead anymore. The reminder jabbing at the back of your head, the needle-like pain keeping you awake from the dream state of an envisionment of his corpse instead of his person besides yourself. You wondered if he could sense the discomfort that ran within your veins, if he could take one glance at your person and read every little motion with extreme accuracy.

The evening drawn quiet as the leaves rained from the sky, falling from tree branches long dead; the support that held back the lincoln green leaves drifting down and down and down, making their own traces within the sky. If you were to follow one of them with your eyes at an angle, you could count how many stars the tip of the leaf touched on its way to rest on the ground. Tired from its smooth journey and waiting to be swept up by the wind, going to find a new place to stay idle for a while.

You could hear Anaxa’s footsteps approaching height in sound from your left, not bothering to turn around nor give him a glance. He didn’t seem to want one as he sat down wordlessly beside you, huffing out air that couldn’t deliver its proper function within his body. 

“If I’ve done some thing to displease you, it would be best to let me know.”

“I think you know.” The heel of your shoe bounced up and down, a crunch of a leaf splitting through the air as it echoed distantly, “What’s bothering me, that is.”

Another blow of air. “Are you not going to converse with me anymore?”

“I shouldn’t even be able to.” A response delivered quickly, as if in expectation of the question beforehand. 

Nature seemed to animatedly try and set the mood, the wind cutting through chillingly. Anaxa turned his head to you circumspectly, his lips sporting a rare frown. No comment escaped through his lips, no word pronounced with reliance towards the state of Anaxa’s body. His eye flickered away from you to a scene behind yourself, before he focused on you again.

“I was half expecting you to put flowers over my body when I was slumbering last night.” There it is.

The acknowledgment of his condition, the succinct stab at making you understand that he knew what happened to him mattered. That’s all you desired to hear from him, just one simple input regarding what had transpired less than a week ago. 

Don’t give me any ideas. The mental image of Anaxa’s body with flowers and their petals scattered about it would’ve made your heart warm, now it only made it sink lower into the never-ending pit of your stomach.

“I loved you.” Maybe you shouldn’t have changed the tense. Maybe you shouldn’t have used past as if he weren’t sitting beside you. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything, just let the night come in silence to fit its theme. 

“I love you.” And you swore a tear ran down your check. 

[tobesolnelyx]

hi!! im not sure if you’ve done this before but could you do ghostface!shauna x reader?? i feel like it would suit her so bad 😭

— miss possessive || ghostface!shauna shipman x reader 🔪

a/n: originally it was supposed to be shorter but i enjoyed way too much writing this 😭😭

summary: those bitches won’t touch what’s hers. toxic!shauna.

warnings: violence, gore. horror vibed kind of (??)

"Hello, darling," a voice said through the receiver, and you froze, gripping the phone tighter. Your fingers clenched around it so hard that, for a moment, it crossed your mind that it might just shatter in your hands. Your heart leapt to your throat, and your skin suddenly broke out in a cold, clammy sweat.

You’d heard those stories. About girls who received strange phone calls only to be found dead the next morning. With their throats slit, a rod driven through their eye and into their brain, guts spilled out for all to see. You’d heard them because you knew every single one of those girls. Each and every one.

And now, it was your turn.

You wanted to scream. To ask the killer what this was all about and why he was hunting down innocent girls. Why the hell hadn’t the police done anything about it? At the very least, they hadn’t tried hard enough—because maybe, in a better world, you wouldn’t be alone in your house right now.

For a month, you’d been walking around trembling like a leaf. Practically falling into paranoia, praying the police would catch that maniac, because something beneath your skin told you, that you were next. You shut yourself in your room, barely letting anyone near you, drowning in your own fear. You waited, as if for the final judgment. And it had just arrived.

You heard deep, heavy breathing on the other end. Your legs rooted to the floor, your voice stopped working. You were paralyzed, terrified that if you turned around, you’d see someone in the window, someone who shouldn't be there.

And, as luck would have it, your girlfriend wasn’t around. She was supposed to be. She promised she wouldn’t leave you, that she wouldn’t let you get hurt. And yet, the killer was breathing into the phone, and in your mind’s eye, you saw that twisted grin on his face.

Where was Shauna when you needed her the most?

"What do you want?" you finally dared to ask. Your voice cracked. You still didn’t dare look around, too gripped by fear of what you might see if you glanced over your shoulder. As if even a single movement might mean a blade sliding deep between your ribs, only to be pulled out with a sickening sound.

Laughter echoed through the receiver, and you felt like you were about to throw up. You knew you should do something. Block the doors and windows, hoping that this guy wasn’t already inside. Make a plan, call Shauna… do something. And yet, you stood frozen, listening to the warm, almost too familiar voice on the line. You frowned, focusing on it.

"What do you think i want?" The voice was soft, as if trying to calm you down rather than scare you. And maybe that was why your heart pounded even harder, slamming painfully against your ribs. "You know exactly what I want."

You swallowed so loudly you were sure the person on the other end could hear it. Your hands were shaking so much you could barely hold the phone.

"Why…?" you asked quietly. Why you? Why was he doing this? You had no idea what exactly you were asking. The only response was ragged breathing. For a moment, you were tempted to dial the police, but you thought it might just enrage the killer even more.

You could barely form a coherent thought at this point. Your body was sending you mixed signals: run, stay put, defend yourself, hide… but it was all useless because your legs felt glued to the floor in fear. And just when you thought your heart might burst out of your chest, the voice spoke again. Calm, gentle, maybe even slightly amused.

“Open the door like a good girl.”

The line went dead, leaving you with only the steady tone of the dial tone. For a moment, you just stood there, unsure of what to do. Should you let him in if he was already at the door? Maybe you should, maybe that’s what this was about. Obedience. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you knew that voice from somewhere. It crossed your mind that in your final moments, you might see a familiar face.

You didn’t know if that thought comforted you… or made you even more sick to your stomach.

Either way, you forced your feet to obey. They felt like they weighed a ton, like you were wading through tar. Every step grew heavier until, soaked in sweat and trembling, you stood in front of the front door. You pressed your ear against it but couldn’t hear a thing. No breathing, no footsteps. Nothing.

You reached for the handle - just as a knock echoed from the patio door. You froze, heart leaping to your throat. Slowly, you turned toward the sound and… nothing. Again, fucking nothing.

You began to wonder if the killer didn’t even want to get his hands dirty. Maybe he just wanted to scare you into a heart attack. The silence now was suffocating. You strained your ears for any sound, any trace of presence.

Silence answered you again.

Finally, you managed to gather yourself and walked over to the patio doors. You looked outside and again—nothing. No figure with a knife in hand. No mask. Nothing. You were starting to feel like an animal in a cage. Frightened. Left to fate.

The phone rang again, and you rushed to it, hoping, this time, it was Shauna. Your footsteps echoed off the walls. But when you picked up the receiver, the same voice spoke again. A voice you now heard more clearly. From both directions. That cold, metallic voice in the phone… and the warmer, more familiar one behind you.

“I told you to open the fucking door.”

You reacted on instinct the moment you registered movement behind you. You grabbed the nearest vase and, turning around, smashed it with full force into the intruder’s head. They clearly didn’t expect it. They screamed in pain, and the knife clattered to the floor. It took you a moment to realize you should be running.

A moment too long, because by the time you forced your legs to move, the killer was already recovering. He didn’t pick up the knife, but he lunged after you. You barely made it to the front door when he reached you. He slammed them shut, and in an instant, you were thrown against the wall. You groaned in pain, feeling a massive bruise bloom along your spine. A warm, large hand pinned you to the cold wall, cutting off any chance of escape. You tried to scream, hoping someone might hear you, but his other hand clamped tightly over your mouth.

“Shh, shh…” the voice murmured near your ear. You didn’t even notice when the tears started, but hot streams rolled down your cheeks, dripping to the floor.

A sigh came from behind the mask. You felt their hips press against yours and you screamed into the killer’s hand. The scent hit your nose, again, too familiar. Unsettlingly familiar.

“Did I overdo it?” the masked figure asked. Finally, the hand pulled the mask off and tossed it aside, and you saw warm brown eyes staring into yours. Your pupils widened in disbelief. You didn’t know whether the panic was intensifying or slipping away under the sick comfort of recognizing someone—someone you had loved.

Blood had dried on Shauna’s temple from where you’d hit her with the vase. There was a lot of it, but aside from the bruising and a torn brow, she didn’t seem seriously hurt.

“I know I might’ve been a bit... intense,” she murmured with a small, amused chuckle. “But you didn’t have to hit me with a vase, sweetheart. That was a bit too aggressive, don’t you think?”

You couldn’t answer, her hand was still firmly over your mouth. You whimpered in protest, struggling a little in her grip, but she pressed in closer. More tears spilled from your eyes.

“Baby,” Shauna sighed, as if you were the one being difficult here. “You have to promise me you won’t scream, okay?”

You stared at her, because what she just said was the dumbest thing you’d ever heard. How were you supposed to not scream when your girlfriend-turned-fucking-psycho had you pinned against a wall?

But you nodded, too scared to find out what Shauna might do if you disobeyed.

Her hand finally fell to your cheek, and with shocking gentleness, her thumb wiped away a tear. “You’re safe now. I promise, nothing will hurt you.”

With that, she leaned in and kissed the crook of your neck. You tried to speak, but your throat was tight. You were still trembling, unable to trust her for a second. And no one could blame you, your worst nightmare from the past few weeks had come true. And the person behind it… was your damn girlfriend.

“I did it for you,” she whispered into your ear, and you whimpered in fear. Her hands found your hips. “I got rid of them, of those...whores, for you. You’re mine now. Only mine.”

[horny-marbles]

Bite the Hand Part 2 (Brian Thomas/Hoodie x F!Reader)

PART 1

CW: toxic relationship, mentions of abuse, home invasion?, dubcon, degradation, oral (f receiving), creampie

word count 3.8k

You used to wait by the door.

Phone clutched in your hand, heart pounding with every tick of the clock past midnight. He’d come back eventually—blood-soaked, silent, maybe drunk on adrenaline, maybe just quiet. You never really knew which version of Brian you were getting anymore.

There had been warmth once. Jokes in the kitchen. His hand on your thigh while you watched movies, thumb absently stroking soft circles into your skin. But soon enough, that same hand only ever grabbed you when he wanted to fuck, or shove you out of the way on his way out again.

“Stay the fuck put. Stop fuckin' asking questions.”

It became a mantra. Orders barked more than spoken.

The ski mask might’ve stayed in the closet most days, but the man behind it was gone anyway. The glint in his eyes wasn’t the same. The charm he wielded like a sword had dulled, used only to keep you docile between missions, between arguments, between the cruel grip of his hands on your ass when he needed something to feel real.

So you fought.

You fought like hell.

Hands, mouths, nails. Screaming. Spitting. Biting words that bled out worse than any knife wound he’d ever stitched. It always ended the same: bruises in the shape of apologies, cum on your thighs, his hand around your throat like a leash he didn’t even bother hiding anymore.

That last night was a war.

Screaming. Shattered glass. His voice like fire, yours like broken glass.

“You’re a fucking psychopath!”

“And you’re a useless, whining fuckin' whore!”

It ended in sex, as always. Violent, degrading, nothing new. You cried after. He didn’t even glance at you.

You left in the morning. Packed your shit in the middle of the night, shaking like a leaf, and ran.

You got out. Somehow. Slipped under the radar, out of Slender’s reach, far from the forest, far from the last hideout you were forced to follow Brian into, far from him. You found a shitty little apartment with leaky pipes and windows that didn’t close all the way, and for the first time in too long, you breathed. Started piecing yourself back together with shaky fingers and cheap coffee.

But nights were the worst.

Some nights, you missed him so bad it felt like a wound that won’t clot. Not what he became—the cold, vicious thing with blood under his nails and emptiness in his eyes. No. You missed the man who used to rub circles into your back when you cried. The one who used to smile at you with a brightness in his eyes like he was looking at the sun. The one who used to say your name like it meant something. Even if he was dead and gone, buried under Hoodie’s boots.

Present day felt like trying.

Clocking in, clocking out. Laughing at coworkers’ jokes even when your chest felt hollow. You went out for drinks sometimes, flirted with people you didn’t care about just to feel seen. Most nights, though, it was you and the walls of your shitty apartment, the hum of the fridge, the muted buzz of some late-night TV show you weren’t really watching.

The bar reeked of spilled beer and half-assed regrets tonight. You were three drinks in and still hadn’t laughed at anything your coworker said. He wasn’t funny, not really. But he was nice. Nice in that bland, unassuming way. The kind of man who asked how your day was, who didn’t look at your mouth when you spoke.

You wondered, in a slow, grim sort of way, what Brian—or Hoodie—would’ve done if he saw you there. Probably would’ve broken the guy’s nose on the curb and made you clean the blood from his knuckles with your sleeve.

The thought made you sick.

By the time you stumbled home, sobering up with every step, the streets were mostly empty—just the wet hiss of cars passing on the avenue, neon signs flickering like dying stars. Your boots echoed up the stairwell to your floor. Fifth. No elevator. You were sweating by the time you reached the landing.

Then you saw it.

Your doorknob, on the floor. Jagged metal, splinters around the frame. Like it had been ripped off.

Your stomach plummeted, a hot wave of nausea curling at the base of your throat.

A crowbar. That’s all you could see in your mind. Black steel. Splattered red. The way Brian used to drop it in the doorway when he got back and the clatter would resonate like a bad omen.

You pulled your pocket knife from your bag with a shaky hand. It was laughable, really. As if a blade that size could stop him. But still—you held it close. White-knuckled.

The apartment was silent.

Too silent.

You stepped over the doorknob, cautious. Careful. Like maybe if you were quiet enough, time would rewind. Undo the lock. Send you back to that bar with that forgettable man and his easy smile.

Your kitchen was untouched. So was the living room. No drawers open, no mess. But the bedroom door—the light was on. A single band of gold stretched out beneath it. Still. Warm. Wrong.

You padded toward it slowly, breath caught between your teeth. Every step like walking deeper into a grave you’d dug yourself. “Who the fuck would break into this shitbox?” you thought, almost laughing to yourself. What was there to steal, the inflatable mattress you slept on? The secondhand TV with a line through the screen?

But the lie died in your throat.

You knew.

That smell hit you first. Cigarettes. Metal. The cold scent of rain on asphalt and that fucking cologne that was burnt into every synapse and olfactory nerve in your body.

You didn’t even get the chance to open the door.

An arm snapped around your neck from behind, tight like a vise, forearm digging into your windpipe before you could scream. Your knife hit the ground with a soft clatter. Another hand was on your wrist, twisting it back—pain bloomed hot, immediate. Your body jerked in his grip, but it was useless. He had you.

You gasped, legs kicking, vision tunneling. You knew that grip. Knew how he held you when he wanted to hurt you just enough to make a point.

Your back slammed into his chest. Solid. Broad. So familiar it made your ribs ache.

His breath was on your neck, slow and quiet. A whisper.

And this exact moment was the part where you remembered that missing him was a disease, and he was the plague.

“You think you can fucking leave me?”

His voice was a razor at your ear, dragging slow. Gritted, low. The kind of voice people hear in nightmares and still wake up wet.

“Leave me? ” His arm flexed, pulling your back flush to him, tighter, until you couldn’t breathe right—until your body remembered him without your permission.

The curve of your ass pressed against the shape of his cock, already hard, thick through his jeans, and your spine arched like it always had, like instinct. Like obedience.

You hated yourself for it.

“Still want me,” he muttered, voice frayed. “Say you fucking don’t, but look at you—fuck, look at you.”

You tried to wrench free, heart jackhammering, but his free hand slid down your front, fingers splaying over your stomach, holding you there. Trapping you in that tension, in the horrible, undeniable reality of your pulse pounding in your pussy.

“You thought I wouldn’t find you?” he spat, the words venomous, but shaking underneath. “That I’d just fuckin’ forget you?”

He ground his hips forward slow, deliberate, and you felt every inch of him—hot, insistent. Your breath hitched, traitorous, and the noise you made was somewhere between a whimper and a sob.

“Stupid fuckin' skank,” he snarled. “Ran away like a coward, just to come back to this. To me. Like you always do.”

“I hate you,” you choked out, voice raw, spit pooling on your tongue like blood. “I fucking hate you—”

“Yeah?” He laughed, bitter, sharp. His lips ghosted just behind your jaw, not a kiss, just breath, heat.

“Then why’s your pussy beggin’ for me right now?”

Your legs nearly gave out.

And still—still, he held you like something sacred. Something ruined, but his.

“I fuckin’ missed you,” he murmured like a sin, and something ugly shattered in your chest.

Because you’d wanted to hear that more than anything, once. Before the blood, before the bruises. Before he’d torn your love out by the roots and left you bleeding for it.

And still, your body leaned into him like it hadn’t gotten the message. Like it didn’t know better.

His hand slid down your front like it had every right. Like he owned the air in your lungs and the ache in your spine. You struggled, but it wasn’t real, not yet—not with the way your hips tilted back to meet his touch.

But the silence that followed was loaded, poisonous.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

The growl in his throat rattled through your back as his fingers hit bare skin under your skirt. He yanked the fabric up to your hips and let out a humorless laugh. Low and sharp. Almost like he was surprised. Almost like it hurt.

“No panties? What—were you planning to get fucked tonight?”

You choked on a curse, head lolling back against his shoulder, teeth bared.

“Fuck you.”

“Slut,” he said flatly, fingers dragging through your folds. Your thighs jumped.

He hissed. “Jesus Christ, you’re fuckin’ soaked.”

A wet, obscene sound filled the air as he spread your lips apart, rough fingers sliding through the sheer mess between them.

“What were you gonna do, huh?” he muttered, voice brittle with fury. “Let some loser from work take you home? Let him stick his tongue in my pussy?”

He pinched your clit between two fingers, hard, and you gasped so sharp it burned your lungs.

He shoved you forward, finally releasing your neck. You stumbled, dizzy, and landed on the big lumpy bean bag chair you bought on clearance months ago. It barely held your weight, but it was yours. It was supposed to make this place feel safe.

He made it feel like his.

Brian was already on his knees, hands dragging you toward the edge. You barely had time to brace your hands before two rough palms were spreading your thighs open in front of his face, legs tossed over his shoulders like luggage.

“You look so fuckin’ stupid in this place,” he sneered, jerking your skirt up further until the waistband was biting into your ribs. “Tryna play house without me. What, you think shitty furniture and cheap drinks could make you forget me?”

His mouth was on you before you had time to bite back. Slurping right off the bat like a man half-starved, like it had been years since he’d had a taste and he was desperate to memorize it again. His tongue was hot and thick and messy, slathering you in spit, curling and flicking against your clit with rhythmic cruelty.

You tried to stay still. You tried to stay angry. But your hips jerked up with every suck and swirl like you were being strung up by nerve endings alone.

He smacked the underside of your thigh, hard, loud, the sound cracking off the apartment walls. Then again. And again.

“Don’t fucking run from it,” he growled against your pussy, lips slick, stubble soaked. “You want this so bad you didn’t even bother to put panties on.”

“Fuck you,” you spat, but it cracked halfway through, pathetic.

He moaned—moaned, the sick bastard—and dragged your clit between his lips like a cigarette he couldn’t quit.

One hand gripped your thigh so tight it’d bruise. The other, shoved under your shirt, groped your tit like he owned it—like he missed it. Rough fingers tugged at your nipple, just shy of cruel.

“This pussy’s been lonely,” he muttered, licking up the mess he made, nosing deep like he wanted to smother himself in it. “But not as fuckin’ lonely as me.”

You hated the way that landed. Hated the ache between your ribs worse than the one between your legs.

You were barely breathing—panting, shaking, trying to keep some shred of dignity while he tongued you like salvation and slapped your ass and thighs like punishment. Your hands clawed at the bean bag, nails tearing into cheap fabric, and just when your hips started to tremble, he pulled back just enough to look down at you—at the trembling mess he’d made of you already, scoffing.

He spat, a thick, stringy glob right onto your cunt, the spit mixing with your slick in a hot, filthy sheen.

“Fuckin’ nerve,” he muttered, rubbing it in with the pads of two fingers, slow circles on your clit before dragging them lower. “Tryna give my pussy away like it’s up for grabs.”

He smacked it, just enough that you yelped, hips jolting. “Oh?” he said, voice all mock-innocent, cocking his head. “She got somethin’ to say?” Another slap, harder. Then those same fingers slipped inside, knuckle deep.

Your eyes flew open as your back arched against the bean bag. Brian just laughed, like the way you bit back a gasp, a reaction, was comedy to him. Stumbled forward a bit like he couldn’t help himself, crowding over you, chest to chest now, breath hot against your cheek.

“Tight as a fuckin’ fist,” he whispered, grinning. “Don’t tell me you’ve been sluttin’ it out for nothin’. You leave me, and then what—dry spell?”

His fingers piston into you hard enough to make the bean bag shift under your spine.

“No one want this pussy?”

He curled his fingers just right and your mouth fell open with a moan.

You finally got air in your lungs, finally started to say, “Go fuck yourse—”

But he kissed you.

Hot, messy, all tongue—he shoved it into your mouth like he wanted to fuck your throat with it, your own taste still thick on his lips. And as your hips twitched and writhed, his fingers just kept going, relentless, pounding into that spot that made your stomach seize and your eyes roll.

You whimpered against his mouth. Moaned into it. Tried to bite him, but it was weak, pathetic—and he felt the way your walls started throbbing and clenching around his fingers.

“Mhm,” he hummed into your mouth, a deep, low vibration that sent you spiraling. “There it is, baby. There she fuckin’ goes.”

He broke the kiss, pulled back just far enough to watch your face fall apart. “Let it fuckin’ happen,” he muttered, teeth grazing your lips, hand slapping your thigh. “Come on, baby—fuckin’ show me how well I know you."

And you did. Convulsing around his fingers, slick spitting out like a fountain, your body betraying you in the worst fucking way possible. Proving him right, as if you had to autonomy.

You felt him shifting, leaning back. A low grunt. The slick sound of skin meeting skin. You opened your eyes—squinted—and saw him on his knees, pants shoved down just enough, one hand working his cock in slow, filthy pulls while the other kept those two fingers inside you, curling again, fucking up into that oversensitive spot.

“Look at you,” he muttered, eyes lidded, teeth gritted like he was pissed. “Fuckin’ creamin’ on my fingers and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Your back arched. You gasped out, “B—Brian,” like it hurt, like you hated yourself for saying it.

His jaw flexed, forearm tensing under your nails. You didn’t even realize you were clinging to him that hard, nails digging in, trying to anchor yourself against the second wave tearing through your gut.

“Say that shit again,” he growled, voice all gravel and heat, hand speeding up on his cock. “Go on. Let me hear you.”

You bit your lip, tried to turn your head—but he caught your chin, thumb still wet with your slick, and forced you to look.

“Don't piss me off, sugar. Say it.”

You sobbed out a moan and broke right the fuck down.

“Brian,” you whispered again, breath catching, heat curling low in your belly. “Brian—I can’t—”

“Couldn’t even last two fingers,” he muttered, breathless, his voice dark with disbelief. “Fucked you dumb with my fuckin’ hand—and now you’re sayin’ my name like you never stopped wantin’ me.”

You tried to push him off, weakly, voice hoarse. “You’re such a fucking—"

“Shut up,” he hissed. “Shut the fuck up—look at yourself, whore.”

He pulled his fingers out with a cruel little twist, and before your brain could catch up, he grabbed you by the back of your neck, shoved your legs open wider with his knees, and sank into you in one deep, brutal thrust that split you open and knocked the breath from your lungs.

You cried out, hands scrabbling at the bean bag, thighs twitching as he bottomed out.

He fucked you like he was trying to kill you, like his dick could carve a place for himself in your guts where no one else could reach. Deep, hard strokes that punched the air out of your lungs, your legs cracked wide open over his hips. Skin slapping, obscene squelches from your soaked cunt, his low grunts in your ear twisting your stomach into knots.

“Shit,” he hissed, grinding his hips in a tight, mean little roll that hit something wicked inside. “God, I missed this sloppy fuckin' pussy."

Your hand fisted into his hoodie, teeth grit like you could fight off another orgasm. But then he leaned in. Pressed his chest to yours, nose to your cheek, and murmured, “Touch your clit.”

You froze, choking on half a moan. “What—?”

“Run that clit for me, baby,” he snarled, giving a particularly mean thrust that had your thighs twitching. “C'mon, show me how fuckin’ bad you missed this.”

You hesitated. He reached down and smacked your ass, lip curling.

“Do it.”

And you gave in, because how could you not? No matter how much you hated it and denied it, no matter how your chest stung every time you met his eyes, your body spoke for you.

Your fingers trembled as you found your clit, slick and swollen and sensitive. You rubbed it fast, desperate, on the verge of tears, your cunt pulsing around his cock with every thrust.

“Fuck, fuck, Brian—”

He moaned low, watching your face scrunch up, watching your eyes go glassy, lips twitching in a sharp smile. “Atta fuckin' girl. Too good? You gonna cry for me, sweetheart?”

You did. Tears welled up and spilled without permission. It was too much, the stretch, the heat, the shame, the fucking relief.

“You still mine?” he growled into your ear.

And your body gave him the answer.

You came with a broken gasp, cunt clamping so tight around him he groaned and bit your shoulder, still pounding into you, not letting up even as you trembled beneath him, twitching and overwhelmed.

The kind of rhythm that left you sobbing, drooling, grinding back because your body needed more even when you swore you were finished. Deep, dragging thrusts that filled you up and pushed the air from your lungs, again and again, his hips flush with yours, one hand tangled in the sweat damp hair at your nape while the other braced on your thigh, pushing it back to fold you open for him.

He buried his face in the curve of your leg, stubble scraping your skin, lips parted, panting. You felt the heat of him everywhere—his groans vibrating into your calf, his hand shaking as it held you still, his cock stretching you wide enough to split your soul.

You were babbling. Couldn’t form a single sentence. Just broken gasps, high-pitched moans, and his name, like it was the only thing you had ever known.

“F-fuck, please—Brian—please, I—”

“Please what?” His voice was strained, all grit and poison and possession. “You want my fuckin’ cum? Huh? Say it. Say you want me to fill this pussy like nobody ever did.”

You gasped like you’d been burned. “Yes—yes, please—fuck, I need it, I need it—”

He grunted, fucking into you harder, biting down on your calf deep enough to make you jerk, arm snaking around to press flat against your lower belly like he was feeling himself through you. His breath hitched, voice tightening.

“Tell me whose pussy this is.”

Your brain short-circuited. You tried to speak, choked on it.

“Say it, baby. Say it or I’ll pull out, leave you full’a nothin’.”

“No—please! It’s yours, yours, Brian—!”

He snarled, and buried himself all the way inside, hips flush to your ass, cock twitching. You felt the warmth of it, thick spurts of cum filling you, and he groaned into your leg like it physically hurt to let go. His whole body trembled, breath ragged and shaking as he held himself there, deep, biting into your calf to muffle it, to anchor himself while he came, grinding in with a low, broken, “Fffffuck…”

You collapsed. Just collapsed. Face pressed to the side, mouth open, tears in your lashes, body throbbing with every twitch of his cock inside you. Your thighs were soaked, cunt aching, spent—but he was still holding you down like he couldn’t let you go just yet.

And he didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t move. Just breathed, his body molded to yours, his cum leaking out around the base of his dick—warm, messy, filthy. His lips brushed the inside of your thigh, too soft for what he’d just done to you. Like he hated how much he meant it.

“…No one will fuck you like me,” he muttered finally, voice raw and thick with something that wasn’t quite smug. “Nobody knows you like this.”

[dilfstarr]

Toji x black fem reader

꒰𝜗𝜚꒱a/n: this is lowkey part two of onlyfans!toji/ sexworker!toji. we luv him

꒰𝜗𝜚꒱warning: filmed sex, the tojnato, squirting, soulsnatching!toji, toji kissing his clients smh

Ever since you stubbled across his page he has been the only thing to get you off. The way he would talk so filthy in their ears while pounding them brain dead had you craving something you never had.

Usually porn is heavily scripted— bright lights, super high definition graphics, and the over top fake moaning, but his was raw and uncut. It’s like he reached deep inside them and touched their soul.

The women cried tears of euphoria as their body shook against him. Tears streaming from her eyes glaring into his— looking as if she fell in love. Definitely can’t get that from Brazzers.

Your phone vibrated at the twitter notification.

‘Toji F. “Late night fun.”’

The way your rose teleport in your hand was diabolical. You got in formation as you clicked the video.

“You feel me baby?”

“I feeeel you daddy fuuu-cck!”

He had her in doggy, one hand gripping firmly on her fro as the other one corrected her arch making it deeper. You’re guessing she’s been running from the dick because she’s damn-near on top of the headboard.

Her eyes are the color of fresh snow because they were rolled in her skull. She gripped the pillows so tight feathers could shoot out any second. He was currently doing his signature move: The Tojnado. he named it himself, clearly. It’s where his hips moved in slow circles as he went soul searching.

“Your sho’ fuckin’ deeeep! Ohmygod!” 

Her moans turned into long desperate growls— it felt like he was touching her heart. Drool escaped her lips while her legs vibrated against him. His grin held pride as he continued his pleasures torture.

“I knooow baby, and you’re taking it so good, huh?” 

He began to pick up the momentum of his hips. The hand that was caught up in her hair snaked down to her swollen clit. His skilled fingers mirrored the motion of his hips to the stroke of her bundle of nerves.

“Oooo s-shittt! Don’t stopp please! M’ so fuckin close!”

Tears brimmed her eyes as turned over her shoulder, staring at his lust-filled gaze. Her face formed into a sad pout, body rocking against his trust. Her cream painted his dick white, coating his pubic stubble.

“Give me your soul baby, give it to daddy.”

As if she was hypnotized, her body forced out his dick as she started to squirt. The clear liquid splashed everywhere. The hand that housed her clit flicked viciously against her pearl. Mindless cursing and moaning left her lips. Her body trembling and shaking like a leaf in his grasp.

“Yesyesyesyesyes-”

The sound of her wetness echoed throughout the room. In a swift movement, he slid himself back into her. It was brief, but for a second his eyes rolled accompanied by a whispered ‘fuck’.

He wasn’t even five strokes in before her knees gave out causing them to be in prone bone. You thought this stopped him? This was one of his favorites. This is the position he gets them to taunt them —Fucking them so good that they would say anything he wanted like a parrot.

His body laid on top of hers, stroking her into oblivion. Toji’s hand was wrapped around the front of her neck, making her look into the camera.

“Look at you tryin’ to run from me. Say you’re sorry.” His command was met with a harsh slap on her ass causing her to whimper.

“M sorrry! So sorry Toji!”

“Tell the camera how much you love Toji’s dick.”

“I-i love ittttttt-”

He gave a throaty laugh as she stared at cum again. It didn’t fully push him out this time, but every stroke was met with droplets of clear liquid.

Her whining became louder resulting in Toji pulling her in for a sloppy kiss. Her pussy became unbearable after the second orgasm. The sound of her cunt was equivalent to the sound of oatmeal. It was so wet, so tight, so-

“Oooh f-fuuuck- m’cummin’” he growled against her lips as his release came.

He pulled out quickly as his wet dick bobbed freely. Ropes of warm cum shot between their body’s as he humped her ass. His groan was now much louder, overshadowing her moans. They laid there for a few seconds before the video automatically swipes up indicating that it had concluded.

Once again your found passed out sleeping with the rose buzzing against your thigh.

part one

ʚɞ

[thesandsofelsweyr]

Could you write fic based off of this img

《 ALSO ON AO3 》

Comments & kudos on ao3 are much appreciated, as are reblogs here on Tumblr! ❤️

The red hot branding iron was inches away from his other cheek when he woke with a choked gasp. His ragged breath was running away from him while his heart pounded like fists against his ribcage. His wide, pale blue eyes blinked frantically, adjusting to the darkness, trying desperately to latch onto something—anything—that didn’t belong in his dank, dark prison cell. A bed, he told himself. His chest rose and fell as if he was running a marathon. He swallowed hard. I’m in a bed. The only bed he’d known in Arkham was the cold, hard, filthy wood floor of his cage. But he could still feel the intense heat radiating off the cruel metal onto his tender, unbranded cheek; the Clown’s maniacal cackle still echoed in his ear. He clawed at his pillow, pulling it over his head as if he could hide from his master, as if he could drown out the grating laugh that would haunt him even after he was rotting away in his grave.

“He’s dead,” he panted as his body shook like a leaf in a hurricane, “he’s dead, he’s dead, I’m free,” he repeated, but icy terror still clutched at his throat as his mind refused to believe the words. The walls of the dark room seemed to close around him, swallowing him back down into the bowels of Arkham Asylum, where his master was waiting to punish him again. He choked back a scream. Tears burned at the corners of his eyes, which he screwed shut. “Not again,” he whimpered helplessly. “Please don’t do it again.”

His muscles were as taut as a grappling cable. Cold sweat drenched his entire body. He pulled shuddering knees to his chest, curling into the fetal position, as if he could protect himself from the crowbar in the Clown's lavender-gloved hands. 

A pair of ungloved hands slid beneath the crooks of his arms, and he squealed in terrifying despair.

“Shh,” a voice whispered, as soft as satin, as gentle as a breeze. Then the warmth of an embrace enveloped him, dragging him out of hell.

“I-I’m sorry…” he stammered, sniffling. Warm tears trickled down his cheeks, which flamed red with embarrassment. “I-I didn’t mean to wake you…”

She squeezed him even tighter, curling herself around him, wrapping him up in a cocoon of protection. Her heart beat steadily against his mutilated back, and he grounded himself with the comforting sensation; the reminder that he was needed, that he was loved. 

“It’s okay, baby,” she murmured sleepily. “You’re safe. I’m here…” She placed a tender kiss against his trembling shoulder, and his body relaxed in her arms. “I got you.”

[compact-turtle]

I'll listen to you next time. Okay? ~

Concept: Yandere Space Explorer x Gn Reader: Spicy Edition

Summary: Orion ignores your pleas to stay home and decides to follow you into the jungle.

TW: NS//FW, finger/ing, dub-con?, biting, general yandere stuff, riding, just being horny yk

Word count: 1.4k

Note: I'm like a thousand followers late but here's the first part of the thousand (now 2 thousand?!?!) follower celebration I promised!! I plan on breaking it up into 3 different posts for each character. First will be Orion, then Ivar and Atticus last!

Entry Date XX-XX-XXX Y/n has begun hoarding large amounts of food lately. No preference for food in the pile with the exception of Aishi flowers. Behavior lately has been erratic. Body language suggests uneasiness and anxiety. They’ve instructed me to stay in the hut for a few days while they leave on a journey. They brought all the Aishi flowers with them along with half the food pile. In order to understand their behavior, I am choosing to ignore their request and will follow them. I have- 

"Oh fuck” Orion whispered as he finally noticed how lifeless the jungle had suddenly become. 

He was utterly absorbed in finishing his journal entry, neglecting to watch his surroundings despite your repeated warnings. Orion couldn't determine how long the forest had been silent. 

He quietly packed up his items, his heart pounding and his breath quickening.

It's fine. You were pretty close. You were just a few hundred feet inside a nearby cave that he'd tracked you down to. 

 Keep calm. Orion reminded himself multiple times as his feet picked up the pace. His eyes caught a glimpse of something purple stalking him. 

No more calm. 

Orion booked it. He clutched his satchel tightly while weaving through the jungle. Roots nearly tripped him. The jungle began to blur into a confusing tapestry of blue, green, and every other color. 

Suddenly, he was pinned to the ground. Its sharp teeth flashed, and a disgusting smell wafted into his nose. 

"GET OFF ME" Orion yelled as he attempted to kick the beast off him. 

The kick did very little to harm it. At most, he probably annoyed the creature. The beast growled and opened its mouth wider. 

Something pushed the giant beast off him just as it was about to take a bite. The beast staggered back in shock. A large howl escaped the beast.

You jumped on top of it with a blade in your head. You quickly shoved your blade into the side of the beast. Cries of pain echoed from it as he watched you take the knife out of its neck. It shook you off its back, and you fell onto the ground. Quickly, it ran into the jungle. 

"WHY YOU HERE? SUPPOSED TO STAY HOME!" You screamed at him. Your body was sluggish as it dragged itself off the ground.

"I wanted to make sure you were doing okay! You've been acting so weird lately and-." 

"Go home. Now." 

Without looking back, you slowly walked into a nearby cave. Orion tip-toed behind you into the cave, trying not to upset you any further. A makeshift leaf curtain door covered the entrance. The cave was small and had a dead end. A pile of aishi flowers was littered around with a musk smell.

You immediately collapsed onto the flower when you walked in. Your body giving up as it pushed itself past the limit. Orion rushed over to you. At first, he assumed you were injured in the fight with the predator.

His eyes darted in surprise when he realized you were bare. He pulled you into his arms with your back facing him. Sweat dripped down your forehead as you buried yourself in his arms. It took Orion a few seconds to understand what was wrong with you. A small smile snaked itself way onto his lips. 

"I'm so sorry, Y/n. I didn't know it was your heat and mating season! You should've said something to me. I would've helped you. "Orion said sweetly as he traced his finger down your back. You gave a soft mew and shuddered underneath his touch. 

"Nooo. Give me flowers. I eat." You cried, trying to fight him. "I need it!"

Orion reached over and gently fed you a flower. Your body began to cool down, and your mews died down. The sensitivity is fading away. A look of soberness slowly leaked into your eyes. 

Hm. No wonder you were collecting these so much. They were meant to suppress your heat. Still, you didn't need the flowers now that he was here to assist you. He snatched the flower from your hand. You whined as he took it away. 

Orion resumed teasing your body. His finger stopped at the base of your tail. He wrapped his fingers around it, following its length until the tip. He marveled at the flexibility of your tail as it wrapped around his arm in pleasure. The fur underneath his skin was soft like the blankets in your room. 

 When his fingers reached the end, he circled them around it and toyed with it. Tiny trembles reverberated through your body. You began to pant more. Drool slipped over the side of your mouth, and a flushed color began to paint your skin.

"Does it feel good? Am I a good boy helping you?" 

"Nooooo. Stop. No touch," You babble incoherently. 

"Hm? It doesn't feel good here. I'm so sorry. Let me try somewhere else." Orion apologized teasingly while he nibbled on your ear.  

His finger began to trail down lower from your tail. Gently, he pried your legs apart. He slowly slipped his finger inside you. You writhed when Orion pushed it in. Your tail curled up, and your eyes glazed over in pleasure. 

Your hole was wet as it ached for him. It wrapped around his finger as he pushed in and out of it. Wet slick coating the entire finger. The sensation of your hole was exhilarating with the pressure around it as he added another finger. As his fingers curved inside you, the feeling intensified around him. He shivered in bliss as your back arched, trying to make the fingers go in deeper. 

Your voice echoed through the cave. He listened as you mewed out small chirps and cries. He adjusted your head and began to suck on your tongue. Greedily, he relished the taste of your mouth. The taste of your mouth was so sweet, like honey. It brought him pure bliss, and he was almost ready to explode. 

His cock ached and was sore inside his pants. He began to grind on your back, desperate for release. He lapped at your tounge and it felt like he'd drank ambrosia from the gods. Every drop dripped from his mouth straight into his very essence. He couldn't take it anymore as he rubbed himself into your back.

Suddenly, you ripped your lips off of him. A throbbed headache resounded as you pushed him on the floor. His fingers leave your tight hole. 

He watched you get on top of him. You sat on top of him, and your tail pinned his hands to the ground. You tore off his pants. His cock managed to spring free. He moaned as you tried to sit down on him. Your body desperately tries to take his entire length. You shifted and shuffled in various directions, trying to make it fit. 

Finally, your walls managed to take him in. You slicked up his dick with your nectar and pushed it inside yourself deeper. He groaned at how tight you were inside. It almost felt suffocating. Still, he adored the way you devoured him, and was still ravenous for more.

"Can I finish inside you? Please, please, please, let me," Orion begged as you moved your hips, "You feel too good. I'll do whatever you want. Just let me finish in you." 

"No. Ri, not listen to me. Bad boy today." You said through gasps.

You leaned down and bit his neck as punishment for even asking that. Something in him broke. He knew it was too soon. You just put it inside, and he wanted to fill you up. 

He tried to listen and hold back. However, the image of you full of him pushed him over the edge. Your belly filled with him to the brim. Your sweet slick mixed with his salty seed. Your delicate skin is stained with his dirty white liquid. Afterward, you'd lift yourself up and spill the extra fluid your hole couldn't contain. 

A slight whine escaped your lips as Orion made his fantasy a reality. He painted your walls white and moaned as you took it all in. He couldn't help it. Listening to you call him a bad boy while riding him was too much. 

"I'm sorry for not listening to you today. Let's do it again, and I'll listen to you this time. Okay?" 

[shellevisionfan]

Twisted Vee X Shelly fic.

[Ichor Stained Screens]

THIS IS THE TOXIC YURI I CRAVE

(however...this may be a bit more "mature" than my concept fic like...they make out...)

Beware if you dare...

...

So, what if...a Shelly keeps encountering a twisted Vee in early floors, but over time she notices it get less and less violent with her, almost like...she doesnt want to harm Shelly.

So maybe Shelly gets curious, and without telling anyone, including...the other mains...she goes on a solo run one night, and...when she gets on a lucky floor...with only a twisted rodger..and a twisted vee, she doesn't run from her.

Instead...

lets her get close...

...

"...h-hello?" Shelly uttered as she walked onto floor 5, her voice echoed through the semi-empty room, it was the theater....

As a somewhat silence went by along with the buzz of the almost dead lights...Shelly felt a breeze from the vents that put a chill up her tail and along her spine, clenching at her chest as her heart beat was beating like crazy.

"..awugh! c-come on..your not scared Shelly...your not scared!...You've encountered her plenty of times!..you..you can do this!..."

Shelly encouraged to herself, as she lightly slapped her cheeks to snap herself out.

"..I'm not scared!--"

Abruptly the elevator door shuts behind Shelly, the loud sound making her jump slightly and grab at her tail, she shook like a leaf but only for a second before she relaxed slightly letting go of her tail. She sighed in frustration with herself and put her goggles on to focus.

...

"...okay, now...where could a ten feet tall robot be in a place like this?"

Shelly asks herself as she began to walk around the theater floor, it was as big as she recalled it being...and it reminded her of more happier memories back when Garden View was still thriveing...what nice times honestly, a time when everyone was still so happy and full of hope! A time when..when everyone..wasn't...

...

No! She can't be thinking like that right now!...that life...that life was long gone now...lost to..this horrid place...like everyone else is...

Like...ZZRT! BUZZ!!...Her

Shelly stopped in her tracks as she heard the loud electric sounds of a TV...slowly turning her head to look behind her...she saw the green glow of a television in the shadows peaking around a corner with its antenna twitching slightly like a bug, as it glitched and flickered, and as the television slowly began to rise up higher, up to...ten feet in height, it neared out of the shadows...revealing itself...to of course to be twisted Vee...but scarely it looked like...she'd been stalking Shelly...since her arrivial on the floor....which made her wonder...why didn't she make a sound until now..?

...

Shelly was frozen, she really couldn't deny she was scared now, like fuck why wouldn't she??? Twisteds could be scary but twisted Vee was just some horrorifying reminder of HOW scary they could BE!...and god...she really did go on a SOLO run to go find her didn't she? Out of a curiousity that could absolutely get her KILLED too huh?...this was a mistake...all because she thought this twisted Vee was different...

She watched as twisted Vee inched toward her like a predator observing its prey, studying it...before it striked...Shelly slightly moved, trying to see if she could possibly get herself out of this horrible situation she was in, but quickly noticed that as a mistake.

As twisted Vee's eyes turned a violent red with a sudden loud inncorrect buzz...her eyes glowing brightly as a warning. Shelly scared for her life in response, slowly stepped back and watched as the twisted Vee proceeded toward her. She didn't want Shelly to move, only for her to stay still, oh how..marvelous.

Shelly was sweating bullets, she couldn't move, she couldn't run, she was completely within its twisted form of mercy...

She was absolutely going to die!

...

Twisted Vee took more confident strides as if she just couldn't wait any longer to get near her prey, slightly frightening Shelly as she backed up in response, making twisted Vee's eyes turn red again. She makes a glitchy, loud television sound, almost a kin to a growl, which failed to stop the fossil this time as it just made Shelly even more frightened, and not exactly wanting to play this sort of horrid game of cat and fossil anymore...

She books it! Sprinting to her right up the stairs to the projector, twisted Vee made a haunting form of a wailing sound as she swiftly chased after Shelly, the fossil slightly trips over herself as she goes up the few steps and tries to think fast but as she ran over to bean bags--

"NNGH!!" Shelly twists her ankle and trips, cartoonishly tumbling onto her side, rolling right between the bean bags and right into the wall, back facing it...and as Shelly lifted her head up and fixed her goggles, her vision was slightly blurry and kinda dizzly...

The twisted Vee stood across from her, but wasn't shy to break that distance as she quickly charged toward Shelly, slamming her big, sharp metal claws onto the wall as she towered over the fossil...heaving...electric hums crackled out too, her eyes stayed a piercing red.

"...STOP RUNNING FROM ME!!--"

"...mmghh..V-Vee..?" Shelly mumbled as she looked at twisted Vee, the twisted's eyes blinked and turned back to green, and softened a little.

"...h-huh..?"

Twisted Vee slightly inched her screen closer to Shelly, making a soft buzz of curiosity as she looked into the fossils gaze with a glint of red still within her eyes that flickered.

"...o-oh..oh it is you!.." Shelly muttered still clearly dazed, as she softly rose up her hand to touch twisted Vee's screen, gently caressing it as she smiled at her. "oh..oh...you haven't been this close to me in so long...I've missed you.."

Shelly than moved her hands to the sides of twisted Vee's face and petted her, which in return, made the twisteds soft buzz to grow slightly louder as she got closer, dragging her big hands down the wall to both sides of Shelly.

"...S-Shelly.."

"..hehe..your screen is buzzing...you missed me too..I'm glad..♡"

Shelly giggled as she smiled wider, slightly squinting her eyes as she tried to regain her vision a little, she moved her hands away to rub at her eyes but as she did so twisted Vee quickly grabbed her hands in a attempt to stop her, pressing her screen to Shellys forehead as she made an electric whine.

Shelly blushed more, her eyes widened, but than they slightly hooded from the warmth of twisted Vee's screen...and the hum along side it was very relaxing, she smiled more softly and nuzzled her face into twisted Vee's screen.

"...hey..I'm not going anywhere silly!..I won't leave..not again...I promise.."

Shelly reassured, as her eyes closed a little.

"...y-you..promise.."

"h-hey...you...you..don't mind if i...sleep a little..do you?--..." Shelly almost instantly falls asleep as her head injuries had caught up to her, being that she did slam into a wall after all.

Twisted Vee just stared at her longingly, her soft buzz only prolonging as she gently began to reposition Shelly in her arms and lifted her up.

She held her like a precious idol, like...her bride..

...

Twisted Vee's screen glitched as a toothy sharp smile grew on her lips, with her eyes softened as she held Shelly closer to her, the twisted than turned as she slowly walked around the corner, and toward a double door in a room near one of the broken elevators.

She than with her tail, as she wrapped it around the door handle, swung one of the doors clean off, tossing it out of the room as the metal sound of a clang echoed far away in the theater floor.

And as she glanced down at Shelly, twisted Vee ducked under the door way, slightly bumping her antenna anyway as she carried the fossil into a stairwell. It oozed with ichor and was pitch with darkness, but twisted Vee could see perfectly fine, and kept a watchful eye for any twisted that may pop out.

"..mmhh..hghh..." Shelly mumbled in her sleep as twisted Vee carried her deeper into the bellows of Garden View. She felt Shelly shiver a little from the cold of the stairwell, so she holds Shelly a lot closer...

She caressed Shelly's head, feeling the back of it especially to make sure she wasn't bleeding, revealed to notice she wasn't. She then pressed her screen against Shelly again, her big tail even wrapped around Shelly's as she walked down the stairwell.

"..."

"You'll stay with me forever...♡"

...

..."Tonight You Belong To Me" faintly plays from twisted Vee as she decends deeper with Shelly...it echoes through the stairwell as her green glow disappears...

...

...

...

Shelly's vision starts to clear up as she begins wakes up, her blinks slightly before her eyes widen and she shoots up right. "WHERE AM I?!?"

Shelly yelled as she looked at her surroundings, slowly noticing she was in..her exhibit floor?...

The fossil scratched at her head from confusion but as she did she was shocked to notice her goggles were gone--AND HER GLOVES??. She patted her head frantically and all around her soon noticing she was also wrapped in a sort of make shift blanket, most likely from a curtain.

What was going on??--BUZZRT?...

Shelly's heart sank as she felt a big metal hand touch hers, and as she turned, she was face to face with twisted Vee as she was curled up next to her, she watched as her screen began to turn on and the flicker of her screen glow, opening her eyes as she looked at Shelly.

Shelly instinctively backs away from twisted Vee but than feels her other metal hand wrap around her side, making her blush a little but before being able to do anything more twisted Vee pulls Shelly closer, pressing Shelly's shell against her chest as she rested her head on the top of Shelly's head, her screen softly buzzed...like she was purring...

"..."

"...u-umm..."

Shelly didn't know how to react, was this an actual twisted she was next to right now? Was it the SAME one she encountered before? Why--WHY WAS IT BEING SO CUDDLY AND NOT TRYING TO KILL HER????

Shelly was all flustered and confused, why wasnt she dead? was she dead and this was just a kinda nice--STRANGE..after life??? was this possibly a dream...? She slightly glanced to the twisted Vee, and lifted her hand up, and lightly caressed the side of twisted Vee's head, in return making the twisted Vee buzz louder and look down at Shelly. The fossils eyes widened in a panic as twisted Vee leaned in closer to Shelly suddenly.

NOT A DREAM! NOT A DREAM!--

Twisted Vee than nuzzled her screen against Shelly's forehead, softly buzzing again as she wrapped her big metal arms around the fossil so carefully...this just made Shelly even more flustered.

This was so..werid, and..strangely...nice???? This shouldn't be nice though?? But why was it??? Why..?--....

Shelly than got distracted as she found twisted Vee looking at her longingly...lovingly, her eyes still had a red glint in it but there was this softness to her gaze, this..spark.

Like...apart of her had this feeling that wasn't mindless or looking to cause harm, but..a feeling of..happiness...of love...

"..."

"...Vee..?" Shelly asks with a sparkle in her gaze as she began to realize...this twisted Vee hadn't attacked her because..her own system wouldn't even let her...because, she was still the Vee she knew and loved..even if it was deep down under all that ichor that had poisoned her and many others.

Shelly caressed twisted Vee's screen, as she got closer to the televisions face, in return twisted Vee got closer too, her soft buzz grew to be quieter as her eyes narrowed.

"...it's you..oh my goodness! it's really you!" Shelly confirmed to herself as she smiled brightly, and tears began to swell up in her eyes.

"...o-oh thank god! I-I knew you weren't gone!...I knew you'd be...be here!..." Shelly wraps her arms around twisted Vee's thick and crooked neck and presses her shell against her screen. "...It's..It's been..so lonely..without you!--...y'know?...the REAL..you..?" Shelly sniffled, her smile slightly crumbled as tears streamed down her cheeks as she clung to twisted Vee, in which twisted Vee looked shocked and she looked at Shelly with a more concerned gaze.

"You know--...no matter h-how..how many times they tried...bringing you back...y-you...you weren't the same..there wasn't...there wasn't that spark..in your eyes...b-but..they couldn't tell like I did...they didn't care....and if they were here--I bet they'd make me go back!..all because your...just another twisted to them...and your seen as dangerous too.."

Shelly rambled as she nuzzled into the crook of twisted Vee's neck, she slightly relaxed with a sigh at the familiar smell of Vee's suit jacket, even if it was tattered and worn. "..I suppose i just wish I could stay here with you though...get away from it all.." Shelly blushed a little.

...

Twisted Vee wrapped her tail around Shellys waist as she more tightly held Shelly to her. Her glint of red in eyes shined brighter, they tried to replace her? Like everyone else when they died? And..they tried to have Shelly..get over it and just..settle? Twisted Vee's sharp claws grip at Shellys clothes as she held Shelly even closer.

...

"...Vee?--"

"Could you..stay..?"

Shelly's eyes widened as she looked right at twisted Vee, as she surprised by her suggestion, also that she has working voice still, and..that it was sorta deeper now, she blushed brightly, but still had a some what cautious look in her eye.

"..w-what?"

Twisted Vee only leaned in closer to Shelly, softly grabbing hold of the fossils hands in her bigger ones as their face were inches away from one another, making the fossil blush even more.

"..Stay!..L-Live down here with me!..You belong here..with m-me..only with..Me"

Twisted Vee announced as she held the back of Shellys head with a...third hand? Shelly was bright red in her face, this felt more like a proposal, like if she'd agree she would be with twisted Vee forever. But..would she ever see her friends again? See..anyone again? That possiblity made her hesitate, made her worry.

Shelly's demeanor changes a little as she turned her head away from twisted Vee, covering her mouth with her hand as she pondered, making twisted Vee in return look saddened as her antenna drooped, and was..a little angry too.

The thought she'd have to think on it made no sense to twisted Vee, if Shelly so desperately missed her...wanted her...then why wouldn't she just stay?

She can't just go back to that horrid place above where she's...

Ignored...and Neglected, Unloved....Unsatisfied

"..."

Twisted Vee wasn't going to let that happen.

Shelly began to look back at twisted Vee, ready to give her a reply of what she's decided on, but before she could utter her answer, Shelly's hands were grabbed by twisted Vee and pinned above her head as the television had a hungry look in her eye Shelly wasn't familiar too.

"...Vee!?..what are you--"

"I've not waited..this long..all for you to go b-back up there, Shelly.."

And with using her third and sudden fourth hand, twisted Vee held Shelly's face, making the fossil stop talking and more flustered than shes ever been before, without any sort of warning twisted Vee pressed her lips against Shelly's, enveloping all of the fossils thoughts instantly as the warmth of twisted Vee's lips over took her.

"..m-mmgh!..mmm..V-Vee..♡..♡♡"

Her eyes rolled back as her hands clenched into fists, she even felt her own tail begin to wag from the enjoyment of it even if it was only for a few seconds...or has it been minutes now?...Honestly hours could pass by and Shelly wouldn't be able to tell--

Abruptly, twisted Vee broke the kiss, which made a whimper utter from Shelly, a sound she thought she'd never made, as she was displeased such a moment was over already. Twisted Vee than let go of Shelly's hands, as she looked into the fossils eyes, that hunger still there but now that hunger was within Shelly's gaze too.

"..."

"...Vee..why did..you sto--"

"..Open your mouth"

Twisted Vee demanded in a tone that made Shelly's heart pound and her tail wag like crazy, she had never done all this more..intimate things before with Vee, not even before she was a twisted but...she couldn't deny she really like this new side to Vee, so not wanting to hesitate any longer. Shelly slightly opened her mouth,

"...Tounge..Out...Now..."

Twisted Vee orders in a more stern tone, a she puts her thumb in Shellys mouth to open it even wider, which her tone makes Shelly flinch a little, she does get pretty flustered and shyly stuck out her tounge, making such a cute expression in the process, twisted Vee's antenna buzz as she feels Shellys tounge with her thumb.

"God..your so divine...mmhh--fuck..I-I can't hold back anymore..♡"

Twisted Vee proceeded to than instantly lean back in and kiss Shelly even deeper as she unleased her long, ichor soaked tounge tangles it around the fossils tounge, she caresses Shellys thighs as she does so, she lifts them up, setting her onto her lap, pulling her closer, she slightly presses herself against Shelly's crotch.

"..A-Aughh~♡!--Veeee..♡♡..♡!"

Making a sweet moan rupture from Shelly's lips. This only made twisted Vee pull Shelly even closer as she wrapped the fossils legs around her and pressed her back onto the ground.

"...this sweet mouth of yours is mine..you hear me?..its mine..no one elses.."

Shelly clung to twisted Vee's tattered suit jacket and felt her mouth be drenched in ichor as twisted Vee claims every inch of it she could, making the fossil's tail wag even more, this all felt so right, it felt..so good..so fucking good.

"..mmghh..♡..♡♡...p-please don't stop..♡--"

But then Shelly felt ichor slightly drip down her lip as twisted Vee broke the kiss a little, a needy whimper comes from Shelly as she was getting addicted to the taste of twisted Vee, her love, her touch, her everything...she needed more, she needed her. Twisted Vee's tounge slipped away back into her mouth and a glitchy looking smile grew on twisted Vee's screen again. The twisted television then softly held the fossil's bashful face as she towered over Shelly.

"..nnghh! Veeee..♡♡..♡"

Twisted Vee adored how Shelly laid on the ground, with her tail wagging, panting all cutelu as she tried to catch her breath, tounge covered in ichor...it was so..intoxicating...

"...hmmhmmm~.."

"..Shelly~..?"

Twisted Vee softly sang with the most loving look in her gaze as the red glint that shimmered in her eyes was even brighter, leaning back into Shellys face, the soft buzz of her screen grew louder again, the twisted televisions big metal hand softly caressed Shellys thigh, making her slightly tremble and squirm.

"..did that change your mind..?"

She asks with her sharp grin, as her other hand wipes some of the ichor from Shelly's lower lip, and sticks her long tongue out to lick it off her thumb. This fully grabbing Shelly's attention and very much pulling her further into this carnal need for twisted Vee, her eyes being wide open and her face extremely flustered.

"..."

"..I..I could stay..I-I suppose.." Shelly bashfully said as she looked away a bit shyly with a cute little smile, twisted Vee's antenna spring up and her tail buzzed from just how cute Shelly was and the glint in her eyes grew brighter.

"..."

"...forever..?"

Twisted Vee asked as she sat Shelly up on her lap and had their faces inches away from eachother, Shelly bit her lip as she just desperately wanted more of twisted Vee's love so she frantically nodded as she wrapped her arms around twisted Vee, making the twisted television's tail buzz in happiness and her gaze fill with love for the fossil.

"...Good choice..♡"

Twisted Vee than pets Shelly's cheek softly while keeping her other three hands rested on her hips or thigh, which made Shelly's tail wag even more.

"...s-so..uh"

"..Hm?...What is it darling~♡?"

Shelly got more flustered from the sudden petname, and she tightens her arms around twisted Vee's neck.

"uh!-huh!! d-darling!...um..can..can we make out now?.."

"..."

...

Suddenly, twisted Vee has Shelly pinned to a wall in her exhibit floor, Shellys legs were wrapped around twisted Vee's waist, as the twisted television was passionately kissing Shelly and claimed every part of her mouth with her long tounge, the fossil whimpered and squirmed, melting into twisted Vee's grasp.

"...m-mmggh..♡!...Veee..♡♡..♡"

"...I love yoouuu..♡..♡!"

"..Mmh..I love you more..."

...

...

Back in floor 0, in the main toon sleeping quarters, a cosmic signal Vee stood outside of a open bedroom without anyone in bed, it was...Shellys room, her eyes had a starry glimmer that shook with this sort of feeling she couldn't explain, she noticed that one of Shelly's goggle and glove sets were gone too, a part of her felt a sort of way that...made her..angry.

"...nghhh.."

Cosmic signal Vee punchs the door frame, snarling before yelling--

"WHERE THE HELL IS SHELLY?!!"

...

[headlinxr]

( 疼痛 ) CHXSE, N. NI-KI ، ꒱⸰ֺ ࣭•

𓏲 ┈─ ៵ i'll follow you every fucking day, just too see your face. ุ๋ ⸱ 𓄰

̼ ̼ ̼ ̼ ̼ 𓆸 TO THE OTHER SIDE ⸝⸝ Ni-Ki wants you to be his, but you already belong to someone else ˖ ៹

𓈒 𓄹 ⊹ , 夫妻 Ni-Ki x fem!reader × ִֶ

𓆤 ; 廣告 IN THE NIGHT, I SPILL THE LIGHT ຳ the reader is hee seung's partner, Ni-Ki can't stand seeing you with him, Ni-Ki deals with suicidal thoughts . 𓏲

٬ ៶ ૂ 通告 , This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. ༉‧₊˚

៹ 𓂃 HEADLINXR ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ 為了你，為了我 ؛ ៹

His room was dark, the light barely dared to enter. Ni-Ki felt trapped. The walls, like silent guardians, seemed to close in more and more, pressing on his chest with an unbearable weight. With each heartbeat, his heart resonated like a war drum, marking a battle rhythm that freed his inner self. He felt enveloped in a mantle of fresh mist, making each breath feel like a failed attempt to free himself from his invisible chains. In his mind, images of you danced like in a ballet, recalling everything about you, and the little he truly knew. With trembling hands, he searched for that object; a small leaf, cold and shiny, that promised him temporary relief. He stared at it, as if it were a mirror. When the steel touched his skin, it was as if the silence broke the mantle that covered him. The sensation was bittersweet, as if each cut were a grain of sand falling from an hourglass, marking the time slipping through his fingers.

Twilight finally seeped through the cracks in the room, tinting the atmosphere with a cold hue that accentuated the chill of the wooden wall against which he leaned. Without a shirt, his skin bristled at the touch of the rough surface, as if each splinter reminded him of the harshness of his life. With an impulsive gesture, he lifted his gaze, and what he found was a mosaic of memories clinging to the wood; thousands of photographs of you.

Each image was a glimpse of your essence: Captivating smiles, looks that bestowed joy, and moments frozen in time. But in each of those snapshots, there was an element that drove him crazy, a piercing reminder of his tireless devotion: Hee Seung. his heart contracted in an act of rebellion, as if a serpent coiled within him began to squeeze with ferocity. Rage erupted within him, igniting his mind with a torrent of distorted thoughts.

─Why... Him?─ He wondered, as his gaze lost itself in the abyss of jealousy that slowly devoured him. The obsession settled in his chest, a parasite that fed on his despair. Your image, an intruder in the world he imagined, became a ghost that haunted him, a constant echo reminding him of his own inability to be the center of his own universe.

The wall, now a canvas of his torments, seemed to mock him. Each photograph was a poisoned dart, a vivid representation of the happiness he longed for and yet slipped through his fingers like sand in an endless desert. The helplessness enveloped him like a dense fog, and his mind spun in circles, trapped in a labyrinth of dark thoughts.

With a deep sigh, a silent scream of frustration, he stepped away from the wall, leaving behind the gallery of broken dreams. He knew that his obsession was a mirage, a distorted reflection of a reality that refused to be his. However, the echo of his desire resonated within him, and although the coldness of the wood reminded him of his loneliness, the image of her continued to burn in his mind, inextinguishable and desperately beautiful. He set the blade aside, and with trembling but determined hands, he tore down one by one the photographs that adorned the walls, images that, at another time, evoked laughter and shared promises. Now, each portrait became a piercing reminder of what once was and what could never be. The fragments of paper fell to the ground like withered leaves, symbolizing the death of a love that had blossomed in the garden of his heart, only to wither before the cruel experience.

In his mind, a storm of emotions was unleashed, a whirlwind of anger and sadness that threatened to consume him completely. He wished, with an almost visceral intensity, to erase from the map of his existence those who had dared to stand between him and his deepest desire. Your life, a beacon that once illuminated his path, had now become a darkness that enveloped him, and in his mind, a revenge was brewing that seemed as seductive as it was lethal.

Remember that sunny day, and the air infused with the fresh scent of spring. Jake said you were his sister, an ethereal figure dancing between laughter and dreams, dazzling in your innocence. Your laughter was a melody that resonated in his chest, and every word you spoke became an enchanting whisper that hymned in his mind. So irrevocably patriotic that it would make the national anthem stutter.

He wanted to trust in the sudden emotion he felt every time he saw you, he would trust that you would place perfectly carved sea crusts in the palms of your hands after searching for them for hours. He felt like a child, his heart racing, but fate was capricious, and you chose the young and handsome boy, finding yourself trapped in those nets that had ensnared thousands of girls like you. That betrayal, subtle as poison, was the stigma that marked his soul.

As the photographs fell, the echo of your laughter transformed into a lament, a symphony of what could have been. The anger turned into a fire that consumed him, fueled by memories that could not be undone. You were more than just a simple girl; you were a symbol of everything he longed for and couldn't have. He longed to be the protagonist of a forbidden story with you, where he imagined touching your soft skin and feeling the heat of your body against his.

With each passing day, Ni-Ki wished to become bolder, trying to let desire guide him down paths he knew were dangerous. Each chance encounter turned into a game of tension-filled glances, where he allowed himself to dream of an accidental brush, a whisper in the ear that would never materialize. In his mind, the line between admiration and harassment blurred, and his obsession became a thousand-headed monster that devoured him from within. The routine had become a sacred ritual. With a fixed gaze, Ni-Ki ventured into the streets you usually roam. His heart beat at a frantic pace, pumping a cocktail of adrenaline and desire. The city transformed into a labyrinth of possibilities, a stage where destiny seemed to whisper his name in his ear.

Ni-Ki tried not to be discouraged; for him, the possession of your heart did not depend on reciprocity, but on the fervor of his devotion. In his mind, you were his, a star in his personal firmament, and even though there were others around you, your essence remained unchanging, destined to join his in some corner of the universe.

Each chance encounter, each smile he managed to catch, was a brick in the construction of his obsession. Ni-Ki became a master of the art of invisibility, a ghost slipping through the crowd, always at the right distance, always at the right moment. His life turned into a dance of shadows and lights, where his only purpose was to be a silent witness to the joy you radiate.

The chase, for him, was not a mere act of following; it was a form of veneration. The mere act of contemplating you, of absorbing your essence, filled him with an almost mystical ecstasy. In his mind, each day was a new chapter in an unfinished novel, a story where the protagonist pursues a love that, though distant, beats with intensity in his chest.

Who would you call if he took you? When your back is against the wall, who would you turn to? He wishes he were the first one you thought of. When you are running down the corridor, it will be him who cuts the path. You will hear the sirens, but they will never hear you.

You splash through the puddles on the road, he hates running in the rain. You turn around, and see that he's coming for you. There's no one there for you, so you mustn't fall. Because you are his to take. Only from him.

[sunsets-and-crows]

Let The Dead Watch Us Bloom

Chapter 1 - A Prayer and A Price

Words: 4K

- - -

The flowers are dying. The gods are listening. And the deal you made in the dark is already binding. The price is written in blood and bones. How will you survive in a world so unlike your own?

Thank you to my gem @diamondtiger for the cover photo!

Content warnings ⚠️

Hades/Sylus, Persephone/Reader, probably OOC for both, death, grief, eventual smut.

I'll add to this list as we progress through these chapters but let me know if theres something I missed please!

Rain stitched its way down the glass in slow, shimmering threads, carving rivulets through grime and memory. The streets outside were beaten by the heavy droplets that spilled from a sky seethed, vicious and angry. The world was angry. The weather was angry. You were angry.

Your little store sat in ruin. Plants from all around the world, ones you’d nurtured and cared for since childhood, now slumped in cracked pots of dried-up soil, leaves browned and curling where once they had bloomed with lushness and life. 

Thunder cracked, and a white flash lit up the shop from the inside out, revealing every dying leaf and frayed edge. The eye of the storm was approaching rapidly. 

The wind shrieked through the shutters, its rattle buzzing through your bones.

The sound scraped against your nerves. 

The thought of replacing them. 

Of the inevitable bill that they would leave you with. 

Another one to add to the pile. 

Another crack of thunder. 

The streets lit up with another rageful flash, quicker this time, illuminating desolate streets outside. Rivers of rain thrashed wildly in the gutters of your little plant shop, more percussion created by the storm that was intent on bringing what was left of your livelihood to its knees. 

Only the datura had survived the season. And even that sat alone by the window, in a clay pot spiderwebbed with old cracks. Once, it had been beautiful, ghostly white silky petals folded into horns, a strange, showy thing that bloomed only at night. Now, it was barely a shadow of itself. Green gone sickly. A lone flower still standing, still blooming, white and waxy and reeking of something sweet and dangerous. Of course, the only plant alive would be the one you couldn’t sell. Useless. Poisonous. 

One stubborn blossom curled in on itself, like it was waiting for something that would never come.

You pulled down the blinds inside the shop, shutting out the storm and the neon lights of the world outside. 

A sigh rushed past your lips as you walked through to the back office, past the decaying walls and vines and flowers. 

Everything was dying, or dead. 

You could feel it in your chest, a dull ache echoing the slow decay of every green thing around you. Even the ivy that grew across the facade had started to hang limp, leaves yellowing at the edges, its tendrils too tired to reach for anything. 

The shop smelled like damp earth and abandonment, the air thick with the sweetness of a flower’s last breath. Rot. 

A leak had sprung in the back room through one of the windows, one small rivulet of rain running down the wall and pooling at the tile underneath. 

There was no point in crying, no one was around to hear your cries anyway. 

No one cared. 

A deafening rumble cracked overhead, accompanied by a simultaneous flare of white light and then, you were plunged into darkness. 

The electricity had gone. 

“This cannot be happening,” you sighed, resigned to your fate. “This place is going to kill me!” 

Clambering over stacks of papers, final notices, a debt collector's receipt and plants in various stages of decay, you eventually found what you were looking for. 

A birthday candle. 

You lit it quickly, the yellow light flickering and throwing dancing shadows across the cramped room. Tall, reaching shadows that grasped and swayed, reaching for something beyond their range. 

The light caught on the edges of your grandmother’s old journal, left open on the counter like a relic from times past. The pages, worn from years of thumbing through the cracked and yellowing pages. 

The book had been handed down with the shop. The last piece you had of your grandmother in this world and they were both in tatters. 

It wasn’t entirely your fault.

You were the last. The final thread in the family’s weave. So it was your burden. Your duty, to sit beside your grandmother as the light left her eyes, to sponge her fevered skin, to remind her to breathe when her lungs kept forgetting. You hadn’t just loved her. You’d given your everything for her. You’d ensured that her every moment was joyous and celebrated. 

Flowers by her bedside until the last moment. Sunlight and fresh air to cleanse the stuffiness of the room. And pills. So many pills. Painkillers, muscle relaxers, antiemetics, antipsychotics and more besides. None of them were treatments. They were to keep her comfortable, to keep her out of it enough that she didn’t notice her death creeping up on her. 

But you did. 

And it carved out its name in your heart. Witnessing her final moments was tough, but knowing that her time was running out was worse. 

She seemed to get better, for a short time. You’d come back to the upstairs flat and she wasn’t in her bed, she was cooking. 

“Grandmother! What are you doing out of bed?” You couldn't help the way you’d reacted. She hadn’t been able to stand unassisted for months, and suddenly she was chopping vegetables in the kitchen. 

She smiled at you, eyes warm and full of love, and you were a child again. Small and fragile and reeking of dirt from the gardens, running inside to find this exact scene. 

Your heart broke. 

“Your grandfather will be along soon, dearie. He’s taking me on a trip,” she’d said, happy as anything. “Now, come along and help me with these carrots. I don’t want him to have to wait for his dinner.” 

You’d understood what was happening then. 

Had researched enough about the dying process to realise what would happen. As the exhaustion seeped into her muscles and you tucked her into bed, you knew it would be the last time. 

Your tears fell freely. 

You hugged her tighter than you ever had before, and held her hand as she slipped away from the world. 

After that, everything began to rot.

The shop.

Your spirit.

You couldn’t keep up with anything. The endless stack of bills grew higher and higher. Medical bills. Electical bills. Gas bills. Water bills. 

The Balifs had been once. They’d emptied out the pitiful amount of change from the register and taken a few things to cover what they could, but even they could tell it was useless. Their eyes, regarding you with a stare so pitying, you wanted to throw something at them. 

The debt, the neglect, all of it, it hadn’t been a choice. It was a necessity. A sacrifice that had to be made. Keeping your last family member comfortable as she passed had meant more to you than keeping everything else together. And now? Now the decay had set in too deep.��

You couldn’t fix it, try as you might. 

The building was already crumbling, and now it was a hazard. The customers were gone. The suppliers stopped calling. The debt was drowning you. Sometimes, a whisper in your skull said: sell it. Burn it. Walk away.

But you couldn’t. 

There was too much of your grandmother left in these walls. Of you. 

Every vine, brick, and patch of peeling wallpaper was heavy with memory, love, grief, and time.

How do you sell that?

So that’s why you went there. To the shop. You needed something, something to help you out to try and make ends meet, to breathe life back into the crumbling business around you. It was desperation that urged you to leave your shitty apartment, at well past midnight, and hightail it into the eye of the storm. 

Your grandmother was... magical. Not in the cute, fairy-dust way, in the old, terrifying, whisper-to-the-dead kind of way. It suited her too. She could revive almost any flower or plant, or person, with seemingly a mere look. You’d experienced it first-hand as a child. 

Her fingers leafing through the pages of the journal until she found whatever remedy she had needed, and using it to coax a flower into bloom in a matter of days. 

You hoped you would have the same luck with making the business bloom again. 

The pages were completely stocked full of information, scrawled in her signature handwriting. Loops and curves and joins, dancing across the pages and spilling forth generations worth of knowledge. 

Maybe you’d been looking at it for too long. 

Your eyes hurt from crying and squinting to read in the darkness of the shop, but the writing seemed to change and shift as you read through the journal. The flow of the writing changing, sloping and twisting with each word as you got closer and closer to the back pages and then…

Nothing? 

The last sentence trailed off, abandoned mid-thought, like something had interrupted her.

No. That can't be right. 

Your grandmother was particular about many things, and this journal was one of them. You weren’t even allowed to touch it until it was passed down to you, until she was so tired and sick that she couldn't manage the shop anymore. That’s when you were allowed to read it. Then, and only then. 

She would never leave a page unfinished.

You thumbed over the pages once more. Feeling the ridges and stitching of the leather, the textures of the pressed flowers adhered to each page. And then to that last sentence. Unfinished and unsatisfying. 

It wasn’t right. 

The birthday candle was nearly out.

You rummaged through a drawer and lit another one. The last one. 

The light danced across the pages as you set it onto a piece of Blu-Tack, a makeshift holder for your final piece of salvation. 

You looked at the journal closer, there was a…shadow? Something not quite a mark but not not a mark. 

There!

Underneath the back binding, the cover, was something. 

You pulled it closer, zeroing in on the corners with your fingernail. God, your grandmother would have your head if she knew what you were about to do. 

You slid your fingernail underneath the page, the glue giving way to the pressure in places and holding firmly in others. One of those unsatisfying rips that left tears and shreds of paper everywhere, but when you were finished, the sentence was complete. 

There, hidden underneath the binding, was something unfamiliar. There was writing. The loops were unfamiliar, the rhythm all wrong, but unmistakably hers. A poem.

If it blooms in darkness, it was meant to live there.Build an altar from the breath of dying things.Offer something rooted. Offer something broken.Speak to Her in the hour before the veil closes.

You read it aloud without thinking. A whisper, just to break the silence. 

She’d heard it before. Somewhere. A long time ago, maybe. 

When she was too young to retain anything other than the joy of her childhood. 

But there were instructions here and diagrams, and all of it made your mind whirr in an ancient and destabilising way. 

There was a faint hum in the air, a vibration that trickled through your veins in a way that drowned out the thunder and the rain that was slowly making its way under the front door.

That kind of static that your grandmother radiated when she’d talk to the plants and work her little magic on them to get them to behave. 

It was worth a shot. 

God, anything was worth a shot at this point. 

Even if you felt foolish as anything.

Your hands moved on their own. Old habits and grief coming together with your muscle memory to gether what you could. A broken pot that could still hold anything that wasn’t liquid. A sprig of dry lavender. A pothos that you’d put your all into as a teen, now just wisps and brown and dust. And finally, the datura. With softness and reverence, you pulled it from the soil. The last living thing in the building came away from the pot with ease, its roots barely enough to keep it anchored. You didn’t know how it had stayed alive this long. 

Maybe it was waiting for this moment. 

Maybe you were losing your mind? 

Still, you built the thing, the altar, just as the page had said. Stems arranged with care, and a birthday candle stood in a lump of Blu-Tack to complete the look. 

It was pitiful and desperate and mortifying. But you’d come this far, so why stop now? 

Your heart pounded as you spoke, to Her. 

“Ummmm… hello?” 

The flame jumped, and you did too along with it. 

“Fucking hell!” 

Not, perhaps, the most sacred invocation. You cleared your throat and started again. 

“Okay, I’m… I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do here, but I guess I need help?” You sat down crossed cross-legged on the floor, staring into the tiny, flickering flame. 

“I… I have nothing left to give. Nothing left to bloom, to grow, I’m just… lost. When my grandmother passed away, I didn’t know how much it would-” 

The bell above the shop chimed. Soft. Singular. A sound like a thread snapping in a dark room.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. 

You’d locked it. You had locked it. 

It was well past midnight. The roads were abandoned, impassable with the storm and debris. The rain and winds hadn’t let up in hours, and now there was lightning. No one should be here. 

No one could be here. 

No one with good intentions, anyway. 

You turned the corner and stepped back into the shop, voice shaking with nerves and fear. “Sorry, we’re-”

But the rest of your words never made it past your lips; they caught, strangled halfway up your throat.

Because someone was there.

Sanding barefoot on the cold terracotta tiles, between your failing monstera and the shelf of discounted succulents, was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. 

Beautiful seemed entirely the wrong word to describe her. No mortal language had one.

And suddenly, it was hard to breathe. 

She didn’t belong in your shop. She didn’t belong on this earth. 

She stood in a stillness that didn’t belong to the living. Moonlit marble pretending to breathe. Hair like oil-slicked obsidian spilling over her shoulders and down her back, impossibly, too fluid, too alive. Thin strands of silver threaded through it, shimmering like starlight, as if the sky itself had spilled into her veins.  Her skin gleamed, moonlight paling in comparison to the way her skin shone in the light of a singular birthday candle. Glowing, alive and perfect. A woman who could end wars and start religions. 

Her gown drifted around her, ancient and weightless. Layers of sheer fabric gathered like fog around her frame, so delicate that it seemed to defy physics. It shifted as she walked around the small space, catching the candlelight in ways it shouldn't, glimmering with something more radiant than diamonds. Silk and ash and spring sunlight. Smoke woven by hands that hadn’t touched mortal flesh in centuries. 

You didn't mean to stare, but your body forgot how to do anything else. Your knees felt weak. Your hands were shaking. Your brain had short-circuited somewhere around the sight of her feet not making a sound on the tile. 

She moved slowly. Deliberately. As if the world bent around her presence. 

She passed you, stepping and brushing her delicate fingers over a wilted rose plant on the countertop. 

A slight sigh escaped her lips, and then it bloomed. 

Violently. 

Stems unfurling in a sudden breath, thorns sharpening to fine red-tipped points, petals bursting open in a flushing cascade of life. The air suddenly alive with the scent of perfect rose blossoms. 

You blinked.

Rubbed your eyes. 

But nothing changed. 

You were wide awake. And whatever this was, it wasn't some hallucination brought on by grief and sleep deprivation. 

She looked at the rose plant for a long moment, fluffing the lush green leaves and arranging the flowers with careful attention, until finally, she turned to you.

“You called for me.” Her voice was soft, dangerous, echoing with something ancient and powerful. A voice with gravity. Something carved out of stone and thunder. It rippled through your bones. 

Your breath hitched in your throat.  “I-I didn’t mean-”

“You wanted life,” she said. “You asked for it,” her gaze flicked past you to the floor. The makeshift altar. “And I have your offering.”

She stepped forward just one step, and somehow the room shrank. 

“You gave something broken. You gave something beautiful. You gave something rooted.” 

Her eyes rose to meet yours, gaze sharp enough to cut with an unspoken verdict.

“I should be furious,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “But I’m not.”

Her eyes, God. You’d never seen green like that before. It wasn’t just the colour, it was the depth. Speckled with gold like sunlight filtered through moss. Endless and timeless. They held seasons in them. Decay and the miracle of things being reborn. 

She didn’t smile. Didn’t blink.

“Wait,” you breathed. “Who… are you?”

She tilted her head. A movement so quiet  it felt like the silence itself deepened. 

“I go by many names,” she said. “But for your sake… call me Persephone.”

And just hearing it stole the warmth from the room. 

You wanted to laugh but her eyes told you that this was real, there was no joke, no hidden camera. Nothing. 

Just you and a… Goddess? 

“…I don’t understand,” you whispered.

“You asked for help. Did you not?” 

The goddess’s voice turned colder. Almost amused. Mocking even. “You lit the candle. You made the offering, and now you flinch at being seen?”

She turned away from you, slowly, appraising the space with a faint grimace. As if the presence of so much wilt and mildew offended her on a personal level. 

“And gods, what have you done to this place?” 

Shame rose hot in your chest. You wanted to snap at her, but she was right and a goddess. The shame was a splinter that had been in you for months now, and her words just twisted it deeper. 

“I… I didn’t mean for it to get this bad,” you said, voice cracking. ”But we, I have nothing left.” 

You hated how your voice cracked. How small it sounded.

“Evidently,” she said with a sneer, kicking away a fallen leaf from under her feet. 

Persephone circled you slowly, the hem of her gown whispering across the floor like fog curling over graves. Every movement carrying a weight, a history; aeons of grace and fury, grief and rebirth. Her eyes never left yours. 

“You’re trembling,” she said, voice low, lilting, cruel in a way only someone ancient and exhausted could be. “Is it fear? Or awe?” 

You opened your mouth, then shut it again. You couldn’t tell. Both, maybe. Neither? 

The air around her crackled with a pressure you couldn’t explain. Something was about to break, and maybe it was you. 

“I don’t understand,” you whispered. The words came out raw, scraped from your throat like they’d been hiding under your ribs. “How are you real?”

Persephone stopped. Tilted her head, and for a breathless moment, all the air seemed to still around her.

“Real?” she echoed, with something like amusement curling in her throat. “Darling… I am the only alive thing that’s in this place and that includes you. Gods look at the state of you.”

The words hit like ice water, and yet, her expression flickered with something strangely triumphant. Cruel satisfaction curling at the corners of her lips, as though she’d been waiting to strike. Waiting for awe. Waiting to be recognised.

“And yet here I am,” she continued, “with you and your pitiful altar and your dead flowers, begging for something you don’t understand.��� 

You bristled. Were all goddesses this mean? 

“I wasn’t- I just-”

“You called,” she said, all softness gone from her tone. You were testing her patience, clearly. “You called, and I answered. Do you know how long it’s been since someone remembered to do that? Since I’ve been able to get ou-” 

She took a deep breath, calming herself and taking a step closer to you. 

“I’m offering you a miracle, little mortal. Help. Power. Life.”Her gaze darkened. “But that comes at a cost. Everything worth having does.”

Your heart thudded wildly. “What kind of cost?”

Persephone tilted her head in mock thought. “A fair one,” she drawled, and her smile made it a lie. “Think of it as a temporary exchange.”

“Exchange? What could I possibly give you in exchange for your help?” You asked.

“I need time,” Persephone said. “Time you clearly aren’t using.”

You frowned. “What?”

She sighed in frustration “I propose a trade. You will take my place for six months. In the Underworld. A season, really. That’s all.” She waved a hand as if it were nothing. “And I will walk in your world for the same.”

You stared at her. Surely she didn’t mean that literally. Six months in the Underworld? It had to be a metaphor. Some ceremonial goddess-ritual. A symbolic debt. Like fasting for Lent or taking part in some harvest festival, not-

“You’re serious,” you whispered.

“I am always serious,” she said. But her eyes glittered. Amused. Giddy, even. “Oh, the things I could do with six months among the living again. The food. The sky. The chaos. And of course, I would fix up this little…” She paused, swiping her finger through some dust on a shelf before flicking it off her fingers in disgust. “Little shop.” 

She was glowing with joy. You felt like prey.

And then, the grin vanished.

“Do we have a bargain?”

You hesitated. Every bone in your body said this was a bad idea. But the other voice, the quiet, desperate one, said: You asked for help. This is help. You can’t back out now.

“I-I don’t understand,” you said. “What does that mean? Take your place? How would that work?”

“We would switch,” she said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “I’d take over your body and you would take mine. No one will know that we’ve switched places.” 

“So, what? I’m meant to rule the underworld?” You asked, utterly gobsmacked. 

She sighed and examined her fingernails, the absolute picture of boredom. If you didn’t already know better, you could’ve easily mistaken her for one of the mean girls at your high school. But this wasn’t Amber and Kaitlin the cheerleaders, this was Persephone, Goddess of Spring. 

“Not alone. You'll have my dear husband assisting you, or rather, you’ll assist him. It’s a complicated situation, but during our switch, we’ll each catch glimpses of one another’s memories. So you will understand your role in the underworld, and I will be able to… help you here.” 

It sounded so simple. Like she’d thought of everything, like it would be easy.

“That all sounds far too simple,” you said, thinking out loud. 

Her eyes flashed with unspoken anger.

“You have no idea what it means to be me.”

Silence stretched between you. She stepped closer again, her gaze no longer cruel, but hungry. Aching.

“You think I chose this? To be married to him? To rot in a kingdom of ash and silence while the world blooms above my head?” Her voice cracked, not with weakness but with fury barely leashed. “I was meant to be more than a wife. More than a myth. I want life back.”

She reached out, and in her palm bloomed a glass, delicate as starlight and rimmed in gold. The liquid inside shimmered with colours that shouldn’t exist. It pulsed like something living.

You stared. The weight of it hit then, her pain, not softened by time, but calcified into something dangerous. She wasn’t just offering you a deal.

She was trying to claw her way out of her cage.

“If I agree…” You said slowly. “If I take your place…”

She nodded. “You’ll be under protection. They’ll think you’re me. You’ll be safe, as long as you play your part.”

You swallowed. “And if I don’t?”

The smile she gave you then was beautiful. Terrifying.

“Do you really want toknow what happens to mortals who fuck with gods? Are you truly so ignorant? The wheel is turning. You’ve already been seen by the fates, which means I will know if you put a single step out of line.”

Your mouth was dry. Your hands shook.

She raised the chalice again. “Drink the ambrosia. Or leave this place in rot and ruin.”

You stared at it. At her. Something in your chest twisted, the voice of reason clawing to be heard over the rising hum in your skull. And yet…

The liquid in the glass shimmered. And her eyes, hard and angry as they were, begged you to accept.

You took the glass and brought it to your lips. It tasted like honey and thunder, sunlight and dreams. The taste flooded your tongue, changing, twisting, morphing into every taste you longed for, smokey and sweet, whiskey and cream, yet still refreshing. 

You finished the glass. 

Your head was spinning from the taste. 

Wait. No. Not from the taste. 

You’d gone dizzy. Room fading as black spots filled your vision. 

You clutched at your chest, heart beating so rapidly it felt like it was trying to tear itself through your own chest. 

It hurt, God, it hurt. 

Your knees buckled before you felt them hit the floor. Your vision splintered. Somewhere, you heard Persephone's voice as you fell, light with laughter.

“Try not to ruin everything. Oh, and I probably should’ve mentioned that this might sting a little.”

The last thing you registered was your head clanging against the flooring and her peals of laughter ringing out like a bell. 

Then darkness took you, full and blinding.

This idea consumed me so much that I was compelled to write this. DISCLAIMER: This is heavily inspired by Goddess of Spring, one of the books in the Goddess Summoning series by P.C. Cast.

❥ Like, reblog, comment, message me, ask me something, literally anything - I live for your feedback lovelies  ❥

[poppitron360]

Okay so I might’ve mentioned that I’m writing a fic where the children of Percabeth, Solangelo, and Valgrace go on an epic quest to rescue their parents and the rest of the Seven from the clutches of evil and I’ve kinda been Hyperfixating on it for a while so here is the first character I would like to info-dump about.

Meet Finley Di Angelo-Solace!!!

He’s currently my favourite out of the Next-gen trio and definitely the one I have the most fun writing for. I genuinely love him sm.

Rant under the cut-

Fin is the son of Nico and Will, and was created using divine godly magic so is biologically both theirs (hey if Zeus can have a baby from his thigh this can happen)

His powers are a complex amalgamation of both of his parents: he can shadow-travel in sunlight, he can heal and talk to the dead and his main weapon is archery

He’s autistic

He has hypersensitive hearing (it could be an Apollo thing, it could be an Autism thing we don’t know. It’s probably both)

He prefers ranged combat partially because he is touch-averse and likes to keep his distance (also bc the other two characters both use melee weapons so I needed some variety)

I see your “Trans Will Solace” hc and I raise you- “Transmasc son of Solangelo who they love and support so so much”

He will INSIST on wearing a binder throughout the entire quest, rib cage be damned! (This will become a problem bc apparently you’re supposed to take breaks and you’re not supposed to do any physical exercise in them so running around chasing monsters is not gonna go well)

A big theme in the fic is gonna be “names have power- but the name you choose is so much more important than the name you were given”, a continuation of the theme from my Married Valgrace AU (which this is canon to) where Jason chooses to take Leo’s name instead of keeping the name of the mom that abandoned him. I feel like Finley would be a great character to symbolise this- someone who chose his own name.

His favourite colour is green/turquoise

Think of Nico’s scariest moment that you’ve read in canon or in a fic- where he is just a force of complete and utter darkness and death. Are you picturing it? Good. Now multiply that by ten. Now imagine someone tried to misgender his child.

The same can be applied to Will. No transphobe would dare mess with Solangelo’s boy.

He is childhood best friends with the two other main characters, Isabella and Olympia, and talks to them a lot but is kinda shy around everyone else.

He also has a major crush on Isabella- the daughter of Valgrace. I have so many cute hcs about those two y’all have no idea.

He is good with medicine and has a magic first-aid kit that acts a lot like Leo’s tool belt with replenishing supplies.

He loves Star Wars

While all the other characters’ POV chapters have regular PJO-style funny titles, all his chapter titles are TOA-esque haikus.

@demigod-shenanigans @twomanyfandomshelp @puzzled-pegasus @m-for-now @lavenderfairiez @ginnyluna @groverapologist @echo-stimmingrose @keefessketchbook @sleepyycapybara @123letsgobestie @fairytalesociology @four-leafed-queer-gal @child-of-helios @lokiwiiiiiii @yoshuko-ew @frayna-of-the-hollow @via-rant @hadeslegacyhephgirl @pjowasmy1stfandom @thetourturedwritersclub @inky-void @deciduowl @day-draws

[kaayyyys]

How the walking dead men react to you getting scared of a spider

(Negan smith, Rick Grimes, Daryl Dixon)

Negan Smith and the Eight-Legged Intruder

The Savior’s compound wasn't exactly known for its pristine cleanliness. It was functional, practical, and reeked of gasoline and desperation. But, you’d carved out a small corner of it that felt like home, mostly because Negan was there. And, as much as he blustered and swaggered about being in charge, you knew he was a big softie underneath that leather jacket.

Tonight, though, the rough edges of their world felt a little too close. It started with the spider.

You were curled up on the makeshift couch, lost in a dog-eared paperback you’d salvaged from a supply run. The setting sun cast long shadows across the room, and you were enjoying the rare moment of quiet.

Then, you saw it. Skittering across the ceiling, a hairy, leggy monstrosity that seemed twice its actual size in the dim light.

A high-pitched shriek escaped your lips before you could stop it. It wasn’t a scream of terror, but more of a startled yelp, the kind you made when Negan surprised you with a playful nip on the neck.

The book went flying, your feet scrambled to get you off the couch, and you ended up huddled against the wall, eyes wide and fixed on the offending arachnid.

Negan, who had been tinkering with Lucille in the next room, burst in, his brow furrowed with concern.

"What in the holy hell is going on here? Sounds like someone's getting murdered!" he boomed, his voice echoing in the small space.

His eyes scanned the room, searching for an attacker, a walker, anything that would warrant such a commotion.

Then, he saw you, plastered against the wall, pointing a trembling finger at the ceiling.

He followed your gaze and spotted the spider. A slow grin spread across his face.

"A spider? Seriously, (Y/N)? That's what got you all riled up?" He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. The sound wasn't mean-spirited, but definitely amused.

"It's... it's huge!" you stammered, your eyes never leaving the spider.

Negan’s amusement only grew “It looks like one of those tiny things to me” he chuckled lightly.

Despite the amusement, Negan saw the genuine fear in your eyes. The way your hands were shaking, the faint tremor in your voice.

The protective switch flipped. The amusement faded, replaced by a look of concern and a surprising tenderness.

He sauntered over to you, his movements deliberate and reassuring.

"Alright, sweetheart, easy now," he said softly, his voice a stark contrast to the booming one he usually used.

He gently took your hand in his, his calloused fingers warm and strong around yours.

"I got this. No need to get your panties in a twist over a little bug."

Negan surveyed the situation, a glint in his eye. Forget the gentle approach; this was Negan.

He grabbed a nearby broom, its bristles worn and frayed.

"Time to evict this little freeloader," he declared, brandishing the broom like a weapon.

He stalked towards the spider, his movements surprisingly agile for a man of his size.

With a swift, decisive whack, he dispatched the spider, sending it plummeting to the floor.

"Problem solved," he announced, a triumphant grin on his face.

You were still a little shaken, even though the spider was now just a lifeless lump on the floor.

Negan tossed the broom aside and turned his attention back to you.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest.

"You okay, baby? Still trembling like a leaf," he murmured, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded, burying your face in his leather jacket, inhaling his familiar scent of smoke and something uniquely Negan.

"Just... spiders creep me out," you admitted, feeling a little foolish.

He chuckled softly, running a hand through your hair. "I know, I know. Everyone's got something that scares 'em. Hell, I'm not too fond of walkers myself when they get too close for comfort."

He guided you back to the couch, pulling you down with him.

He didn't let go, keeping you nestled against his side, his arm wrapped securely around you.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Negan couldn't resist teasing you a little.

"So, what would you have done if I hadn't been here? Fought it off with your bare hands?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

You playfully shoved him. "Shut up. I would have hidden under the covers until it went away."

He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through your body.

"That's my girl. Always thinking strategically."

Then, his voice softened again, becoming serious. "But hey, you know I'll always be here to protect you, right? From spiders, walkers, crazy Saviors… whatever comes our way."

The fear had subsided completely, replaced by a warm, fuzzy feeling of love and security.

You leaned up and kissed him softly on the lips.

"Thank you, Negan," you whispered.

He deepened the kiss, his lips lingering on yours.

"Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours.

"You know," he said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, "I could probably find a few more spiders around here if you want me to be your hero again."

You rolled your eyes and playfully swatted his arm.

"Don't even think about it," you said, but your voice was light, and you were smiling.

He chuckled and pulled you closer, nuzzling his face in your hair.

"Just kidding, baby. Just kidding. But seriously, if you see another one, you just yell for me, okay? I'll be your personal exterminator."

As darkness fell, you stayed curled up on the couch with Negan, the earlier scare all but forgotten.

He turned on a battery-powered lamp, casting a warm glow over the room.

He picked up your discarded book and handed it back to you.

"Here," he said. "Let's get back to this. Maybe try to find a story without any creepy crawlies in it."

You smiled and snuggled closer, feeling safe and loved in his arms.

The world outside might be a dangerous and unpredictable place, but in that moment, in Negan's arms, you felt like everything was going to be okay.

He wrapped his arms around you tighter, places a kiss on your forhead and whispered “I love you, don’t you ever forget that.”

The spider incident, as insignificant as it seemed, had brought you even closer. It had revealed a softer, more tender side of Negan that you cherished, and it had reinforced the bond between you, a bond forged in the fires of a brutal world, but strengthened by love, laughter, and the occasional eight-legged intruder.

The sun rises gently over the peaceful community of Alexandria, casting a warm, golden light across the sleepy town.

You’re up early, savoring the rare calm of the morning, enjoying a steaming cup of coffee as you sit on the porch.

The sound of birds chirping and leaves rustling in the soft breeze brings a sense of tranquility.

As you enjoy the quiet moment, your eyes land on a tiny, yet menacing creature creeping silently across the wooden floor of the porch.

The sudden revelation—a spider—sends a wave of fear racing through you, your heart skipping a beat.

Your initial reaction is to freeze, watching its spindly legs navigate the crevices in the wood.

Inside, Rick Grimes, the ever-vigilant protector and leader, is brewing coffee for himself, completely unaware of the drama unfolding outside.

Hearing your sharp intake of breath, Rick's instincts kick in. He immediately senses something's wrong, his protective nature on high alert.

Within seconds, he's at your side, a reassuring presence amidst your escalating panic.

Rick crouches beside you, his deep concern evident in his eyes as he follows your gaze to the source of your distress—the spider.

In a gentle, soothing voice, he reassures you, "It's just a spider, darlin'. I've dealt with worse."

His calmness is infectious, and you find yourself slightly more at ease knowing Rick is there with you.

With the subtle strength and grace he's known for, Rick carefully approaches the tiny creature.

You watch in awe as he scoops up the spider with a makeshift tool—a piece of paper to guide it gently off the porch.

Rick, ever the gentle protector, makes sure the spider is safely away without causing it harm.

Once the spider is on its way, Rick turns to you with a playful smirk, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Didn't think a little spider could cause so much fuss," he teases lightly, laughter dancing in his voice.

Despite the initial fear, you can't help but join in his lighthearted banter, your anxiety evaporating under his warm gaze.

The two of you share a laugh, the ease and joy of the moment cementing a deeper bond.

You can't help but smile as you realize just how silly it was to be so afraid, especially with someone like Rick by your side.

His laughter is contagious, resonating with an authenticity that invites you to let go of your fear.

As the laughter fades, Rick reaches for your hand, enveloping it in his strong, reassuring grip.

His touch is gentle and loving, the simple gesture speaking volumes about his unwavering care and affection for you.

You bask in the closeness, the intimacy, and the silent promise of protection and companionship.

Nestled beside Rick, gratitude fills your heart—not just for the safety he provides, but for the love you share.

You find solace in the realization that life’s little fears can be effortlessly conquered together.

Rick’s presence is like an anchor, grounding you, and his unwavering strength a comforting shield against any fear.

With the spider incident behind you, the world settles back into its peaceful rhythm.

Rick wraps an arm around you, drawing you close, and you lean into his warmth, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment.

These small, ordinary moments with Rick remind you that love is found in the simplest interactions, where protection and laughter coexist.

Rick helps you see the humor in your earlier panic, turning the experience into a lighthearted memory to cherish.

The episode with the spider becomes part of your shared story—a testament to the trust and affection that flourishes between you.

As the sun continues its ascent, Rick kisses your forehead tenderly, a promise of endless tomorrows, filled with love and security.

You realize there's nothing to fear, not when you have a partner like Rick by your side, ready to face every challenge, big or small.

Love reveals itself in the quiet, unassuming moments where fear meets understanding, where laughter becomes a balm for the soul.

With Rick, even the smallest of fears can turn into opportunities for tenderness and growth, shared laughter, and stronger connections.

In a world where danger lurks around every corner, it's comforting to know that there are heroes in the ordinary—like Rick Grimes, your protector and confidant, always ready to turn fears into beautiful memories.

Imagine you and Daryl are nestled in your small, shared cabin at Alexandria. The day has been long, filled with the usual anxieties of survival – scavenging runs, walker patrols, and the constant background hum of worry. But now, evening has settled, casting long shadows and a sense of fragile peace.

You're both unwinding. Maybe you're curled up on the worn sofa, a tattered book in your hands, while Daryl's meticulously cleaning his crossbow at the small wooden table. The only light comes from a flickering oil lamp, painting the room in a warm, intimate glow.

The air is thick with unspoken affection. The comfortable silence, the shared space – it's a love built on trust, resilience, and the quiet understanding that comes from facing unimaginable horrors together. This is your sanctuary, your haven.

Suddenly, you spot it. A spider. Not some tiny, harmless thing, but a surprisingly large, hairy one, scuttling across the ceiling. A primal fear grips you. You've faced down walkers, battled ruthless enemies, but this…this is different.

It's irrational, you know. Silly, even. But your heart hammers in your chest. Your breath hitches. A small, involuntary gasp escapes your lips.

All your tough exterior crumbles in the face of this eight-legged invader. It's a vulnerability you rarely show, a chink in your armor that only someone you deeply trust would ever witness.

Daryl, ever vigilant, instantly picks up on the change in you. He's attuned to your every mood, your every subtle shift in body language. He glances up from his crossbow, his brow furrowing with concern.

His eyes, usually guarded and intense, soften with a protective tenderness. He sees the fear in your eyes, the way your hands clench the book, the slight tremor in your body.

He doesn't laugh, doesn't tease. He doesn't dismiss your fear as foolish. Instead, he immediately assesses the situation, his instincts honed by years of survival.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice low and steady, a calming presence in your rising panic. He sets his crossbow down carefully, his full attention now focused solely on you.

You point, your finger trembling slightly, towards the spider on the ceiling. You can barely get the words out. "Spider," you whisper, your voice tight with anxiety.

Daryl follows your gaze, his expression unreadable for a moment as he takes in the situation. Then, a flicker of understanding crosses his face. He gets it. He understands that even the strongest people have their fears, their vulnerabilities.

He doesn't say anything dismissive. He doesn't roll his eyes or tell you to calm down. Instead, he offers a quiet, reassuring nod.

"I see it," he says, his voice gentle. "I'll take care of it."

He stands up slowly, deliberately, his movements calm and controlled. He doesn't want to startle you further.

He grabs a broom from the corner of the room, his eyes never leaving the spider. He approaches it cautiously, his every move precise and efficient.

There's a quiet competence in his actions, a reassurance that he's got this under control. He's faced down hordes of walkers; a single spider is no match for him.

With a swift, decisive move, he dispatches the spider. He doesn't make a big deal out of it. It's just something that needed to be done, a threat neutralized.

He disposes of the spider without a word. he returns to you, his focus now entirely on your well-being. He kneels in front of you, his eyes searching your face for any lingering signs of distress.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice soft with concern. He reaches out and gently takes your hand, his calloused fingers warm and comforting against your skin.

You nod, still a little shaken, but immensely relieved. "Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks, Daryl."

He doesn't let go of your hand. Instead, he pulls you closer, until you're nestled against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, holding you tight, his presence a solid, reassuring anchor.

"Those things give you the creeps, huh?" he murmurs, his breath warm against your hair. There's a hint of amusement in his voice, but it's gentle, affectionate.

You bury your face in his shoulder, feeling the tension slowly drain away. "Yeah," you admit, "they do. I know it's stupid…"

He cuts you off with a soft squeeze. "Ain't stupid," he says, his voice firm. "Everyone's got something that scares 'em."

He holds you in silence for a few moments, letting you find your equilibrium. The feeling of his arms around you, the steady beat of his heart against your ear, is incredibly soothing.

He might even press a soft kiss to your forehead, a silent promise of protection and unwavering affection.

After a while, you pull back slightly, looking up at him. "Thank you," you say, your voice sincere. "I really appreciate it."

He simply nods, his eyes conveying more than words ever could. He doesn't need your gratitude. He did it because he cares about you, because your well-being is paramount to him.

He might even offer a small, rare smile, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes your heart skip a beat.

The moment is intimate, precious. It's a reminder of the deep bond you share, the unspoken understanding that has grown between you in the face of unimaginable adversity.

Eventually, you both settle back into your previous positions. You return to your book, and he goes back to cleaning his crossbow.

But something has shifted. The air is thicker with affection, the silence even more comfortable. The spider incident, as insignificant as it seems, has brought you even closer.

You know, without a doubt, that Daryl will always be there for you, to protect you, to comfort you, to face your fears alongside you – even if those fears are as simple as a spider on the ceiling.

And that, you realize, is the most romantic thing of all. It's not grand gestures or flowery words, but the quiet, unwavering presence of a man who loves you fiercely and unconditionally, spider and all.

As you read, you can feel his eyes on you every so often, making sure you're truly okay. You give him a small smile, a silent thank you. He nods, then returns to his task, content in the knowledge that you're safe, you're loved, and you're together. And in this world, that's all that truly matters.

The next day, he may have moved your bed so there are no corners with spiders allowed to reach you. He may have even gone out and killed every spider he could find, he would burn them if he could.

[opt1mistic]

post-apocalyptic au with childhood bsf rin. cw. sfw, slight angst, implied suicide, it’s all happy tho…

it’s cold. again.

you had forgotten how many nights you’ve spent curled up like this, with rins hoodie wrapped around you, backs turned to the cold world that is now, the fire down to its last flicker. the sky is gray; a dark cloud of fear that crawls up your spine like a long-legged spider. the trees are dead, stripped of leafs, not a sound from the outside. the strange smell of ash and rotten wood filling your nostrils.

and yet—he’s warm.

rins arms are wrapped around you keeping you as close to him as he could, he was afraid of what would happen if he didn’t. and yours embrace him and his heat.

you’ve learned his heartbeat by now, the exact rhythm of it when he’s falling asleep, or when he’s scared but pretends not to be.

you remember what it sounded like before the world ended. before it wasn’t just the two of you alone; a quiet song, like a bird chippering in the early mornings of dawn.

“you’re shivering.” he murmurs.

“i’m fine.”

he doesn’t answer, just shifts a little closer, pressing his forehead to yours. his breath ghosts over your cheek, and it smells like smoke and dried berries.

“you used to get cold like this at sleepovers,” he says, voice hoarse. “remember?”

you blink. “you remember that?”

“of course i do. you always pretended you weren’t freezing, just like now.”

you manage a tired smile. “you always gave me your hoodie.”

“still do.”

there’s silence again. not the hollow kind, not the kind that echoes. it’s the kind that hums quiet and steady, like a pulse. the kind that says you’re still here, he’s still here—wrapped around you, heart beating like it remembers what it’s for. and somehow, in the wreckage of everything, he’s still yours.

“I miss it.” you whisper.

“the world?”

“no… just the before.”

you feel him nod against your temple. “me too.”

and then, after a long pause, that felt like the world was holding its breath, he says it, like the words might shatter in his mouth:

“i think i’ve only kept going because of you.”

your breath catches.

you don’t say anything back, you just pressed your face into his neck and let yourself believe it’s okay to fall asleep like this—safe in rins arms, with nothing left but each other.

[juricel]

Wait ur SM x reader was so peak actually… how do u think it would work with Mystic Flour?

a/n: aaaa,,, thank you so much! I do hope my characterization is right, considering yandere mystic flour made me perplexed, nevertheless, please enjoy!!

— yandere! mystic flour cookie x yandere! reader

໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა ۪ ׂ CONTENT WARNING: manipulation, kidnapping, heavy obsessive and possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, indirect emotional abuse, potential ooc.

𖦁 in her world of white, you were a deep, vibrant shade; the one last color that protruded out from the seemingly endless vacantness. you were the one thing that mattered to her in a world which will destruct itself from its own sins, the sole inspiration for her to step back into the world whom she has turned her back to long ago.

𖦁 she was no longer the person you recognize, only the dead-leaf echo of the virtue of volition from long ago, she knows, but you'd accept her, she knew; she could fade and wither - you wouldn't care, you would still go mad with tenderness at the mere sight of her face, and that solely alone was enough for her.

𖦁 to her, the earthbread is none but a bagatelle, a preordained, temporary and ultimately meaningless world. no matter how much cookies thrive, how much cookies build, how deeply they love, it will all fade into dust like grains of flour in the wind. From this endless cycle, she wants to take you away from it—it cannot be erased from existence, no, but she'll make you eternal; to transcend from this world with her. In the cocoon, she forces you to stay with her, to watch the world come and fall, she'll make your love for her everlasting, you and her shall crumble one day and apathy will grant you peace, she'll promise.

𖦁 she'll isolate you from everyone else, and never let you out from your cage. there is no need to go out, the world is empty, it is a vast sea of void. stay with her only, you are the meaning left in her life and so she is to you, you are the missing puzzles to one another's life, why else would you need to go out? protect her, just like you desire to, just like you promised to: take her away from the cookies who took advantage of her, take her away from everything and everyone else, and you and her love will become eternal.

𖦁 with mystic flour cookie, there is no one to be jealous of, for she has abandoned the world long ago. you are the solely purpose in her life she indulges within, so stay with her forever, won't you?