#maybe there is still hope for him beating his hair gel addiction

[sinvulkt]

Pathetic by Udekai ( @udekai )

Serie with 15 works. Ongoing, 188k words.

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Part 1, chap 7:

Didn’t deserve it. Nobody does. Happens anyway. You deserve help. Temptation. Something he could not have- did not need to be reminded. Stop dangling it in front of him.   Love. Addiction. Keep it away. Couldn’t have that, either.   Comfort. Please. What? What comfort?   Something stopped him from abusing the voice in his head. Not compassion.   Fuck off.   A couple of beats of silence. He found himself regretting the thought, though it was the right thing to think. The right thing to do. Leave him alone.   Still here.   Matt swallowed thickly. His skin was clammy and cold, his hair plastered to his forehead from leftover sweat. It was turning into a gel. He was disgusting. Disgusting. Beautiful. Loved.   It wasn’t as easy to smile at this one; the last path he went down, the last train of thought- that one was a comedian. He didn’t know what this one was. He could only manage the vaguest smirk.   I’d like to be alone now, he thought, more gently than he'd like. More fragile, like he was pleading.   You are.   Matt won. He fucking won.

Part 1, chap 8:

Good job, dad! You did it.    A giggle bubbled up in him that turned into an earnest laugh. He threw his head back and chuckled until he had to wipe a tear from his eye. It took a moment to settle down, laughter still bouncing off of the distant hills.   What a fucking way to get something done. Absolutely insane.   Of course, that was somebody else that dear ol' dad died for. Some schmuck with big, hopeful dreams and a soul. Matt didn't have either of those things. Didn't need them. Anything he didn't already have, he had the tools to acquire, and in the absence of anything worthwhile, he planned to take whatever he wanted. The world that forgot him would know his name, but they wouldn't dare say it aloud.   He wasn't supposed to be like this, but they didn't call men "self-made" because they came out of factories. He would build himself out of blood and money, and carve what he was owed out of the same breed of people that put him here.   Prissy PR executives. Slimy, ineffective lawyers. Guns for hire. Desperate, stupid people. Any one of them could be snapped, just as he had. Even the Hand would bow.   A king, at last.

Because laughing in the face of despair... is the right way to go.

Part 10, chapter 25:

There was anger in him. Matt, at his core, was vengeful, but he had not known this kind of raw rage since he was a child. He felt unstable and volatile; running on natural gas that had yet to catch a spark.   He didn't know what he was so pissy about. Maybe he was angry that there were so many obstacles between him and being known, or that he wanted to be known in the first place, or that he couldn't allow himself to be known.   Maybe a mixture of all of them. He wanted, and he could not have, and maybe it was as simple as that. Maybe the familiarity of this bitter taste on the back of his tongue was what inspired it: because he did know this. He knew temptation like an old enemy: he wanted a father, he wanted a family, he wanted his mother when the blood dried between his fingers, he wanted to run away with someone who understood, he wanted vengeance without cost, he wanted the world to see what they had created and weep with apology.   He wanted to be mourned.   He wanted, and he could not have.

[graveltrip]

Fluffy Esteban in Alpine Insiders

[gorewhoreonthedancefloor]

Elizabeth is a Guro-Sue.

Summary: Elizabeth Alby has been working at a London strip club for several years, and she's always kept herself aloof. She has secrets, and fantasies, but she's in it for the long game. When the strip club is finally bought out and taken over by someone nice, a man she can befriend and manipulate in order to get what she wants, she's excited.

But her old boss just can't keep his sleazy self away.

She's not about to lose out on a chance to better the club for herself and all the dancers. Maybe it's time to finally give in to what she wants to do oh so badly. Again...

A/N: This is a piece detailing my OCs second ever murder - the one which pushes her into continuing her enjoyment of such. It's set in an original universe based around a strip club called The Deadly Sinners, which features several of my OCs as well as friends of mine! If you're interested in getting to know her more, feel free to ask anything you like! And consider following my new gore centric twitter as another way of talking! I'm very open to expanding the universe and talking about my characters and what makes them tick, etc. In present day, Elizabeth is 28, and has a kill count of maybe a dozen+ kills. This is just the beginning...

WARNING: Explicit detail of murder, violence, and death. Involves stabbing, head trauma, broken bones, and additionally sexism and sexual misconduct. Please do not read if such topics may trigger you!

~🔪 Enjoy 🥰🔪 ~

2015.

About an hour ago Elizabeth had been in the back office with Alix, the new owner and boss of the club. She'd met him almost a year ago when he walked into the club and draped himself over a bar stool. He didn’t square up to any of the girls, didn’t stare them down with carnivorous hunger - he just laughed with the bartender. Elizabeth walked up to him, ready to offer him a dance, but he beat her to introductions. 

"Oh Jesus, you’re a stunner! Sorry, sorry, where are my manners?! Forgive me, I get a little tongue tied around beautiful women, and if I can be so bold, you’re one of the most breathtaking women I’ve ever seen.”

Usually compliments don’t leave Elizabeth speechless. She’s used to them. They’re like white noise for the most part. Him though, Alix, he was different. He had wide eyes, and a smile to match, and he looked at her like she was a friend before he even knew her name. It was like the rushing wind that encapsulates a person when they’re falling from a 50 story building. She felt like she’d finally taken the cleanest, deepest breath in a long time. 

Now, Alix is the new owner of the strip club, and he has big plans to refurbish everything. He wants to tear down walls, redecorate the whole place, give dancers a better backstage area - for a man who’d made the decision to buy a business on a drunken impulse, he was surprisingly serious about making it something. 

The construction team will start working early afternoon tomorrow. An hour ago Alix had been telling Elizabeth his plans, what he wanted to do with the whole place, and that, to her surprise, he wanted her input. He really respects her, and all the dancers. Having a boss who treats her well, looks in her eyes and not over her scantily clad body, it was the kind of unbelievable luck Elizabeth didn’t believe in. 

The pair left each other in good spirits, excited for a new start, buzzing on a shared hopeful high. Alix offered to walk her home but she'd respectfully declined, wanting to enjoy some quiet before she was home. After a few blocks, she reached in her handbag and realised she forgot her keys in the office. She turned around and walked with an urgency to pick them up - ironically, she had the spare key to the club Alix gave her, but not the ones to her flat. Her dad and sister were out of town, so she had to go back…

That’s when she saw a shady looking figure at the club’s entrance. He couldn’t see her from the distance, and if he did, if he caught a glimpse of her when looking over his shoulders in a haste, she’d just look like any other blurry figure walking home. It wasn’t a break in, he had a key, and knowing that, Elizabeth realised who it was. So she waited, let him enter, and snuck in herself a few minutes afterwards.

Now, Elizabeth stands behind the bar, filling a shot glass with vodka, and throwing it down her throat swiftly. She makes it look easy, cracking her neck and muffling a cough in reaction to the burn. It's how she likes to start her shifts usually, with liquid courage. 

Now it’s 3AM on an ordinary Tuesday. The rain has suddenly begun to pound the pavement outside, loud enough to rattle the building - it punishes the world, cleansing the treacherous stains left by sinners.

Vodka splashes out of the glass and onto the bar. Elizabeth takes the nearby rag and wipes it up. She turns around and peers into the wall mirror behind the bar shelf, liquor lining the wood and obstructing a clear view. She pulls out the dark red lipstick from her bra. It's accustomed for her to look her best at every given opportunity, addicted to perfection. She runs it over her plump lips, pouting and popping them to rub in the smooth colour, then stares at her reflection for a minute. Honey brown eyes stare at her, understanding what is about to happen has to happen...  

Now is the time to kill someone again, and not just any random patron off the street. She gets to revel in the joy that her old boss, Stewart, will die by her hands.

She's been working at the club for around 5 years now. It wasn't what she had planned, but it kept her safe in a way she couldn’t explain. She only started working there as a side gig, to get some decent money while she studied. The plan was to be an electrician, get a secure job working on the railway lines. She enjoyed tinkering with electrics. She got her qualifications with ease, but nowhere would accept her at the time. Whether it was the lack of positions available, or the familiar judgement that a woman like her couldn’t possibly be competent, she will never know. Life got hectic, after her mother's death everything began falling like the devil's dominos. Stripping should have been a cash grab, but she adapted to fit the narrative that the dancers she worked alongside became like family.

She’s well liked, though mostly from a respectable distance, with only a few exceptions. Some people find it hard to know what to say around her - she’s usually so quiet, with a look like she’s always thinking. She's never been a shy character. The correct term is aloof, bordering impassible, and smart. She let her co-workers find comfort around her, and she gave patrons the illusion they were her saviours. Everything Elizabeth did was calculated to cater her neverending poker game, and now, still in to win at life, no one truly knows who she is. 

No one knew she thought about murder every day. No one knew she craved the crazed euphoria of killing someone, that which she felt when she’d blugend her mother to death. Every day for the past 4 years she’s been wondering if she’d get the chance to relive that high, planning over and over again in her head when she would do it, who would be her victim - she didn’t expect it to be on a whim like this.

It’s titillating just thinking about it. Damn near erotic. Since she started working at the club, she’s had to deal with the sleazy stare of her boss almost on the daily, knowing his eyes linger on her ass, while his hand cups his groin. He licks his lips staring at her tits, and when she meets his eyes with her evil glare, she can see the unsure arousal lingering in his pupils. He’s putried, truely, pleasuring himself in his office during work hours after watching a performance. Stewart is a predator. He preys on his vulnerable staff, and uses them to gratify his animalistic cravings.

"If you want to rake in the money, sweetcheeks, you’ve gotta smile more. Guys like tits, but they don’t like miserable bitches, kay?”

Elizabeth had imagined his death a thousand times over the second he said that. When he dared to raise his index finger under her chin, condescend her in such a way, she hoped there would come a day she’d get the courage to kill him.

After a few more minutes priming herself like a proud peacock, she reaches into her handbag and pulls out the hunting knife she keeps on her at all times. She used to just have a switchblade, until she passed an antiques store one day and saw the beautiful blood red hunting knife calling her name. She conceals the weapon in her thigh high boots, checking the handle is at a viable point she can grab it with ease. Wrapping her hand around the sturdy rubber, a rushing anticipation of her murderous excitement buzzes through her fingers and up her arm, just like electricity. Her heart is racing. 

She leaves her coat over the bar top, walking out from behind the bar on the first floor and heads downstairs. She can hear his grunting every so often, the slamming of desk drawers and flustered footsteps as he searches for something. Last time she saw Stewart, he'd been wishing Alix the best of luck. Now he's breaking in the day before renovation is scheduled. 

She stands outside the office door and knocks. Light, flirty knocks. A loud gasp followed by a rough, irritable command to enter. Elizabeth hides it well but she's beyond excited to gut Stewart like a fish. She wishes she'd been more prepared for the moment - wishes she made plans, figured out specifics and wasn't going off instinct. There were so many nights she thought about the how's, knowing if she had to feed that beast inside her, it had to be perfect. This isn't perfect like she wants, but it's perfectly good luck, she can't bear passing up the opportunity.

As she walks in, she sees Stewart sitting behind the desk, leaning back, cheeks furiously red and his forehead clammy from sweat. His thinning hair is swept back, more sweat than gel, and clearly only styled by his hand brushing it back. He looks like he always did, in a tight white shirt and scruffy tie, the years of loneliness aging him more than his crow's feet. His lips pull up into a shark like grin when he sees her, all teeth on show, and he chuckles, darkly, kind of like he's been expecting her. Out of all the girls, it's clear that Elizabeth was his favourite, and she plays into that favour by popping her hip to accentuate her curves. His eyes unashamedly fall down her body, taking in the sights, and though it repulses her to let him have the pleasure of just looking at her, she knows the payoff is worth it.

Maybe she can gouge his eyes out while he screams for mercy, deprive him of the tools he wastes on depraved thrills. She's had so many fantasies where she wriggles the tip of her knife's blade into someone's eye socket, and pops their eyeball out their skull.

"Lizzy, sweetheart...what're you still doing here?" He asks, almost timidly, like he's nervous, but still maintaining a confidence he can no longer afford. Elizabeth gently closes the door behind her and leans back on it, crossing her legs over one another. His line of sight hasn’t actually met her eyes yet.

"I left my keys," she nods toward the set on Alix's desk, and smiles when Stewart visibly gulps. "But then I thought I heard someone rustling around in here. Strange to see you here." She pushes herself off and struts seductively toward him. The space between them is only a few steps, but Elizabeth manages to walk it like it's a runway. She leans her head to the side, looking at the mess of paperwork on his desk. "You looking for something?" She asks, just barely above a whisper. Stewart's hot breath pours out on her arm, distracted, then jerks back to the subject matter.

"Oh, yes! Uh I left some paperwork, very important documents, uh confidential actually, so you should--"

"All of this is Alix's." She picks up one of the sheets and inspects it. It's a building permit. She looks over the other papers - a scattered mess of plans and expenses and permits but all distinctly Alix's. Elizabeth hums and sits against the edge of the desk, crossing one leg over the other. Her legs are long, gorgeous, and she knows he wants to touch them. He practically looks enslaved to her beauty, he's forgetting about being caught up to no good. "Nothing here is yours."

"Right. I'm still looking," he answers too easily, but the sweat on his brow is a give away. Elizabeth chuckles under her breath and places the paper back down. She shakes her head at him in disbelief.

"You should have gotten a business partner to help you run this place." Her tone is devilishly flirtatious, dripping in false promises. She looks around the cramp office and shrugs. "A second set of eyes to help you spruce the place up. Maybe then the club wouldn't have been failing and you wouldn't have had to sell it."

His mocking laughter hits her hard. Her gaze snaps back to him.

"You're so naive, Lizzy." Stewart muses, too cocky for Elizabeth's liking. He wiggles his finger in her direction and chuckles. "But naivety doesn't mean shit when you're a stripper, so who cares!" And with that he starts rummaging through the drawers again, unbothered by her presence.

Her blood boils with a heat as intense as a volcano. It takes every inch of her being to resist grabbing the bunch of pens in the coffee cup on his desk and ramming them down his throat. He's still chuckling, like he's the funniest man to walk planet earth. She hates him, truly, but she doesn't let that show on her face of course. All she can do is keep smiling. 

She crosses her legs over, exaggerating her leg outwards so he notices how long and slender she is. She tosses her hair over her shoulders and leans back accentuating her breasts. It doesn’t take a lot to distract Stewart. Her leather skirt and bralette reflect under the dim office light, clinging to her figure, squeezing her curves like a boa constrictor. Her mesh top sparkles like it's covered in every constellation, it’s a wonder she can breathe carrying such beauty. His fingers ache to feel her melt. She tips her head to the side and bites her lip, hypnotising him. 

"What did your girlfriend think of you working all those late hours surrounded by half naked women?” She smirks when he laughs.

"I don’t have a girlfriend.” He pushes himself out of his chair and rolls his shoulders. He’s nervous, hands shaking at his side and sweat dripping down his brow. God she wants to slice the skin off his face and make him screech in agonising pain. If he could read her mind, he might run for the hills. “What about you, Lizzy,” He places his hand beside her and leans in uncomfortably close. “What does your boyfriend think of you, dressed like this,” he motions his free hand around her breasts, “Alone in your bosses office?” 

Elizabeth is almost insulted that he thinks he even has a chance with a woman like her. Of course she represses the disgust in favour of chewing her bottom lip, reaching out to toy with the loose tie around his neck. "Ex boss," She corrects, smugly. His breathing gets heavier, halting only when she harshly tugs on the tie to bring his face mer centimeters to her own. He pathetically puckers her lips, and she snickers, looking at him darkly beneath her eyelashes. 

"Do you really think I’d care what a man thought of me?” Then she throws him back forcefully, standing up and dusting herself off as he stumbles to regain his footing. The force practically winds him. “Besides...I don't have a boyfriend. Boyfriends annoy me too much."

Stewart bumbles through an exasperated laugh, insulted by her statement as if it somehow could apply to himself. He straightens his tie and puffs out his chest theatrically. "You've obviously never been with a decent guy."

"A decent guy?" Elizabeth repeats. "Does such a thing exist?"

"Of course they do."

"Where?"

"Well me for starters!" Stewart blurts out, too wound up to consider the implications of what he's admitting. Before the words settle, she's already looking at him with disdain. A wicked smirk slithers across her face and she rolls her eyes, to his annoyance. "Hay, I'm a nice guy!"

"Nice guys don't break and enter places that don't belong to them," she sharply closes the space between them and backs him up against the back wall, her sweet devil's grin swapping for solid rage. "Nice guys don't make advances on their barely legal employees. Nice guys don't cut corners paying the people that keep their shitty business going."

"Woah, what are you--"

"Why don't you save the bullshit and just fess up to whatever the fuck you're actually doing here, hmm?" She puts her hands on her hips, staring him down. There's a tense silence, his eyes wide and frantic, thoughts visibly racing in the wind of his dilated pupils, and Elizabeth wonders if the pounding drumming of her heart is as ear shattering for him as it is for her. 

She could slit his throat so perfectly at this angle. One sharp sweep of her blade, watching the flimsy pale skin tight across his neck rip too easily, allowing blood to spill and move like a glacier. She could wedge her thumbs into the tight wound and bury them further into his flesh, feel the rigged bone surrounded by squishy meat and warm blood. He'd feel her inside of him, invasive, denying the boundaries no one should know, and she'd laugh as he slowly dies. She wants to rip him apart like a wild animal on a hunt. 

The cracking of bone. The squelch of flesh. The adrenaline rush. It's always just out of reach.

Stewart looks intimidated, but just as Elizabeth starts to enjoy the clouding of her twisted fantasies, he laughs boisterously and daringly places his hands on her hips to move her over. He picks out another folder from the drawers and opens it up, looking over his shoulder to laugh at her, looking at her like she’s some hysterical woman. All Elizabeth can do is stare back at him in disbelief, the clouds suddenly vanishing in favour of making him a clear cut target. Him with his sweaty upper lip, the uneven stubble shading his jaw, his figure a few weeks skipped from the gym - he who dares to break into what isn’t his and still look down on her. It’s a bloodthirsty rage, almost delusionally so, she wonders if it’s all a hallucination, but his laugh is sharp and loud, and she wants to rip his tongue clean out of his mouth.

"Look, babe, you should get out of here, alright? You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Elizabeth doesn’t move though, just stands her ground, secures her stance and practically growls at him. He rolls his eyes and drops the folder he’d been flicking through on the desk with a loud thud. 

“Fucking hell, what’s it gonna take to get you to fuck off, huh? What, money?” Stewart asks, ridicule thick on his lips as the corners of his mouth curl upward. He digs into the pocket of his trousers and fishes out a worn out wallet, waving it in her face aggressively. She doesn’t flinch, even when he throws it to her feet forcefully and glares at her. “There ain’t shit to even give you.”

Elizabeth softens her brows. She looks down at the wallet splayed out on the ground; bare of any family photo, like most the men who ask for a dance do have. “I don’t want your money.” She replies through her teeth, eyes looking up at him under her lashes. She clenches her fists and squeezes - tries to pop the tensions wrapping around her bones, making her fingers stiff, eager. Then she lifts her head. “I want you to get out.”

Stewart laughs again. This time as he looks up and down her body, it’s with disgust. “Or what?” He mocks, putting his hands in his pockets and rocking on the balls of his feet. He sticks his tongue in his cheek and scoffs when she doesn’t respond immediately. “This will always be my place, it don’t matter who’s name is on the deed--”

“That’s not how it works--”

“Shut the fuck up, okay?!” He bites back at her, specs of spit flying from his lips, his eyes filled with impatient irritation. Elizabeth’s shoulders drop, something snaps. Not like a flimsy stick, more like an aged, cracking tree finally giving in to the woodsman’s axe. The falling weight, the impending thump, it’s all so familiar and yet intimidatingly unrecognisable at the same time. Stewart closes the space between them. He’s only an inch or two taller, but the way he juts out his jaw and looks down at her even with his head held high, he must see her as an insignificant little mouse. “You’re nothing special, sweetheart. You’re just another pretty face in a town with dozens of ‘em!” 

The muscles in Elizabeth’s body burn almost uncontrollably. She’s minutes away from a forest fire, it festers uncomfortably in her fingers. She digs a pointed nail into his chest and pushes him back, seeing shock briefly flicker across his features. “You’re a disgusting waste of space.”

He lets out a mocking laugh, clearly becoming more frustrated at her stubborn disdain. There’s a brief pause, and before she has time to react, Stewart grabs her by her shoulders and shoves her forcefully against the back wall, unconcerned when she grunts from the pain. Her hands grip his wrists to move him off, but he manages to keep her there, trapped by his sweaty palms. He leans in close with his teeth gritted, a smug, infuriating grin lifting his features.

“You think I give a toss what some slag thinks about me?” He scoffs under his breath, shaking his head, clearly enjoying how she struggles to push him away. “I need money, darling. I know some nasty fuckers who’ll leave me in a body bag if I don’t pay ‘em back, so I’m not about to let some skank get in my way!” He takes a deep breath, and growls softly, looking down to admire the plush of her breasts against her see through top. His hands slide down to grip her hips, force her to stay in place, perfectly for his pleasure, setting in the uneasy claustrophobia. 

Elizabeth already hates affection, it sets off alarm bells in her head, the overwhelming disgust ricocheting through her nervous system. The weight of his hand bruises her bones, aches her something fierce, she wonders how long it will take before the ground beneath her feet caves in.

“The things they’d do to a girl like you. I’m not against telling them who you are, the slut that prevented their pay back--”

“I’m not afraid.” She says through her teeth, quietly, confidently. She can feel the boiling adrenaline coursing through her system with every rage inducing second ticks by. She takes his hands and moves them with an uneasy calmness, offering them back to him like he'd lost them.  She lets her hands return to her sides. She tickles the top of her thigh, inching close to the handle of her hunting knife. “You’re a sad wannabe gangster, and nothing more. If I gave even half a shit, I’d pity you.”

Stewart’s face tightens with a frown. He growls some generic sexist insult and attempts to grab her again, but Elizabeth is faster. She finally reaches into her boot and whips out the knife, plunging it deep into his stomach before he knows what's happening. The impact of the knife rips through cotton and flesh with laughable ease, the burst of skin ripping around the weapon's teeth practically ricocheting through Elizabeth. The anger he had is replaced with fear. She loves it.

She keeps him steady with her hand firmly against his collarbone, eventually turning them around so he lands against the wall she was pressed against seconds ago, with the knife still firmly in her grasp, in his abdomen. Taking a guess, she figures the blade is caught amidst the small intestine, probably snagged the bottom of a kidney, maybe even severed a ureter too. She looks up at his face and smiles wickedly. Blood begins to trickle from the wound and down the pooch of his belly. Watching his face slowly fade a ghostly complexion fills her with glee.

A pitiful plea fumbles past his lips, but she can’t hear it over the drumming.  Her heart thumps like it wants out of her chest, pounding so violently like it's going to crack a rib. Her senses have never been so sensitive, the adrenaline sending her on high alert. She’s always so composed, always trying to be perfect, and now…

She pulls the knife from his body swiftly, dragging his breath on the end of the blade, and watches blood come through the flimsy wound opening, staining his shirt a crimson red. She brings her bottom lip between her teeth and flares her nostrils, mesmerized by her work. Stewart tries to beg for help, taking back the cruelty of his ego, but it’s white noise, only encouraging her to make her own music with the tunes of his screams.

She takes his chin in her hand and grips him tight, nails digging into his cheeks harshly. She lines up the knife with where the tear in his shirt indicates the wound and pushes it back inside, catching his flesh and tearing his torso open more than it previously was. She pushes the knife in deeper this time, up to the bolster of the handle, and twists the blade to grotesquely shift Stewart’s organs. The slippery feel is obvious even without skin contact. More blood begins to pour from his wound urgently. Angling the blade upward, she catches something squishy and tender, and swiftly rips it in a flash as she recoils the knife back to her side. Stewart groans in agony, as he has been doing throughout; Elizabeth was just too excited to notice.   

Tears spill down his face, wetting her fingertips where she still has his face in her hold. She tuts and shakes her head. "Here, let me distract you from the pain," and without wasting a second, she grabs a fistful of his hair and swiftly slams his face down on the desk. A loud sick, wet crunch bounces off the walls, his nose certainly broken. Blood pours from his nostrils and he howls like a wounded animal, dropping to his knees, hands pressing against the agonising pain in his belly. 

Elizabeth moves around to be in front of him. She kneels to get eye level and waits until he finds the energy to look at her. He's fading, it's clear in the whitening of his skin. She enjoys how the look of death illuminates the little colour left in his eyes. An endearingly manic smile lifts her face. The memories of her mother etch their way across Stewart's busted, bloody face.

"Fuck you." She whispers, pronouncing every letter with finesse, punctuating the words with venomous hatred. Stewart's face is more blood than skin, but she can still make out the aching fear as he realises he's about to die. Elizabeth wants to drink it up, savour it in a bottle so she can enjoy it again and again and again. She's been waiting for this. She's needed this.

As he opens his mouth in an attempt to speak, she quickly strikes upward with the knife and forces the blade to puncture through the bottom of his jaw. The jagged teeth tear without strain, pushing through his skin and tongue and the roof of his mouth like they’re delicate pieces of tissue paper, but the blunt surface of his skull catches the blade and brings it to a halt. With his mouth open a crack, Elizabeth can admire the grotesque bursting of his flesh. It resembles the inside of a cherry cobbler.

Stewart tries to scream, but his voice drowns in his own blood. The sound is horrendous, just garbled nonsense as he convulses and regurgitates blood, everything finally shutting down. Specs of blood fly from his mouth, a river of red pours out the corners, and Elizabeth holds eye contact all the way through to the end. When his body finally sags, his eyes hollow of any remaining life, she keeps staring like they have the secrets to eternal happiness. Maybe they do. Maybe this is her happiness. In the ravenous, depraved violence of a murder so messy, she can finally feel something real, something that makes her think everything in her life wasn’t all in vein, but rather were the stepping stones that brought her to her wonderland.

After a few minutes enjoying the glamorous solace, she takes a deep, cleansing breath, closing her eyes. Her heart and mind are both racing like they’re trying to outrun one other, and her senses that were so frantic in murderous pursuit begin to steady. She feels hyper-focused. The million questions filling her mind slot into place perfectly one after another, filing away for later inspection. Who was after Stewart? Will they try to come looking for him? Did he tell anyone where he’d be tonight? Important, but they can wait. Now, the seconds she has in the quiet, looking at the blurred reflection in the framed picture on the wall ahead of her, she listens to the cruelty that’s been haunting her for so long.

“This world’s gonna eat you alive, Lizzie. I can see it in your eyes, you have no fight in ya. Why are you such a weak little bitch, huh? Ever since you were small, I knew you’d amount to nothing...just a pretty face, nothing more.”

Her mother’s voice has been taunting her for too long. She carries on living, thriving, trying to forget her wicked memory, and she continues to abuse her. Things get harder, the stress eats her alive. Merry men throw their wallets with no care, supporting coke stashes, and hiding their wedding rings like they were method acting their bachelor days. Lingering hands, security that didn’t care, and the eyes of a predator always lingering out of view, no matter where she went. Elizabeth was the prey, just like any of the girls, relying on the generosity of vultures. All these years, the repressed rage her mother fueled just getting worse in the lion’s den. Killing the first time was like taking a deep breath before drowning again. Now she can really breathe in the fresh air. She feels clarity better than she ever has.

Elizabeth cracks her neck and pulls the blade out on a deep exhale. She stands up as Stewart’s body collapses in a heap on the floor. Now she has to dispose of his body, clean the office, and act like nothing happened. Tomorrow a construction team comes by to knock everything down and rebuild. Death won’t matter as long as it’s hidden, and Elizabeth doesn’t feel a shred of worry over covering her crimes. She has a plan.

Now she knows what she wants. She wants to tear people apart, see what's on the inside. She wants to do this again, and again, and again...

[makaylajadewrites]

Girls’ Night

Summary: “Promise me you’ll at least talk to him,” she said softly, and Spencer sighed softly, his eyes opening again as a fresh sheen of wetness built up in his eyes, threatening to smear the white gel liner on his bottom lash line.

“I’ll think about it,” he whispered.

Potential tws: Slight Angst

--

Lo and behold, Spencer had agreed to show the girls his makeup techniques, so he was going to follow through with it. He was talented with it, and if his own tutorials didn’t prove that, then maybe doing it in person would. The girls were so excited to spend a night with him, and officially declared that upcoming Friday girl’s night. He was used to spending his weekends with his fellow queens, but maybe he could take a week off to spend some quality time with friends and colleagues. They respected him all the same, and instead, viewed him in a new light as far as hidden talents went. He had a gift and they were almost disappointed that he hadn’t shared it with them in the past.

Friday came and he was growing nervous. The girls clung to him whenever they could, and while Rossi and Hotch didn’t quite understand their newfound attachment for Reid, Morgan knew exactly what was going on. He began to feel a questionable attraction for his colleague, and he had never been so confused with his sexual orientation in all his life. Reid was a man, of course… But after seeing him dressed like that, looking as beautiful as any woman he had ever seen, he realized that Spencer had a beauty even in his traditional wardrobe and style. He wasn’t a different person in Derek’s eyes, but instead a person with a whole other side of him that he hadn’t known about until last night.

Spencer was a seductive, sexy woman by night but an awkward, socially inept doctor by day. The two pieces of him contrasted so greatly, and if Derek didn’t know the truth, he would burst into laughter if someone told him that Spencer was a well known, successful drag queen by night. Hell, he was practically famous on social media, with nearly a million followers on Instagram and tens of thousands of subscribers on YouTube. He was talented, and it was somewhat sad that he felt he had to keep it hidden from his daily life.

Derek just couldn’t get him off his mind. The events of last night were forever kept on the forefront of his brain, and the way Spencer had winked at him was so uncharacteristically hot. Spencer was an awkward man who could barely even catch on to flirting, and he was usually very uncomfortable with anything sexual, but on that stage was a person that Derek didn’t quite recognize as Spencer. No, that was Bria Monique, and she was radiated sexual energy beautifully. The way those long legs seemed to go on for miles before disappearing underneath of that tight, pink mini dress, his slim, surprisingly hourglass-physique, his pretty face where a dark wig, about the same color as his natural hair, fell in spiral ringlets. Absolutely stunning.

Spencer didn’t know that Derek was feeling this way about him, because again, he was somewhat oblivious to the romantics. But that night, he was in for it, even if he didn’t know it yet.

The work day came to an end without incident of a case, thankfully, and Spencer promised to meet the girls at Garcia’s apartment at seven. It was supposed to be a sleepover, and as unsure about that as he was, he finally agreed to it. Spencer decided to show them who the real Spencer was, as feminine and girly as he was. He dressed in a pair of black leggings, a loose grey tank top, and a hot pink cardigan overtop — his typical pajamas. It was not what they expected, most likely, but it was going to be fun to actually be himself for once around his friends.

He brought along some of his outfits just for fun and several wigs in case the girls wanted to try them on or wanted him to put them on, as well as his entire makeup collection, which wasn’t small by any means. So, with a duffle bag on one shoulder, he loaded it into his car and also brought along his portable, wheeled makeup case. This was his lifeline at the clubs, because he always brought everything into those little back dressing rooms to make sure he was pristine for his performances.

As soon as he parked in one of the guest spots in Garcia’s apartment parking lot, he began to have doubts. He didn’t want his friends to look down on him or think of him in a negative light, but when he looked up from his trembling hands on the steering wheel, he was instantly relieved. Garcia led the pack, with JJ and Emily following on either side, all dressed in comfy clothing — Garcia had bunny slippers on. But they were excited to see him and he was greeted with a chorus of gasps and excited exclamations upon seeing his chosen outfit.

“You look so cute, Spence!” JJ cooed sweetly, to which he simply blushed and mumbled a shy thank you. He was given a hug by all of them, and Garcia questioned where the makeup was, looking in his car skeptically but looking somewhat disappointed when all she saw was a duffle bag in the backseat, which she assumed was just a change of clothes. Spencer simply smirked at her, handing over the duffle bag to Emily who took it curiously before he rounded his car and popped open the trunk. He lifted the heavy makeup case and set it down on the concrete, smiling at their surprised but eager expressions. And from there, they went inside and settled in for a night of fun.

Believe it or not, Spencer knew how girls’ nights worked. Hell, he practically participated in one once or twice a week, with his fellow queens at the clubs they performed in. He was surrounded by positive energy when he was there, and he only hoped it would be the same with his female colleagues. He was nervous to be in this situation, because he had never told anyone about his hidden pastime, not even his own mother, who knew just about everything there was to know about him.

But the night progressed pretty smoothly, and Spencer was actually having fun. He wasn’t a big drinker, due to his issues with his previous addiction, and when he didn’t drink, he did so in moderation. So far two hours in, he was still working on his first drink, but it had been long forgotten when he started to do the girls’ makeup. JJ was first. Youthful, pretty JJ. Even without makeup, she was stunning, and he made sure to tell her so.

“How have you and Will been?” Emily asked JJ, who had her eyes closed while Spencer swiped the stick foundation over her skin, beginning to blend as soon as he had made sure to put enough. She didn’t need much though — she had such a nice complexion that he was almost jealous.

“We’ve been good! Will is a pro at changing diapers,” JJ joked, giggles following soon after.

“What about you, Em? Having any luck in the area of romance?” Garcia asked, curling her friends

“Oh please. The last guy I talked to moved back to his hometown in L.A.,” she said with a little shake of her head. Spencer actually chuckled at that comment, and it seemed like his presence was remembered, even if his hands were currently all over JJ’s face.

“What about you, queen?” Garcia cooed, his head shooting up a bit at the nickname since it was a pretty common nickname — when he was in drag. It brought a shy smile to his face though, and he quickly shook his head. Penelope thought it was was almost amazing to know that this awkward man was a drag queen. But she could remember him so well, walking in heels better than she could ever dream of. In her opinion, he was the personified version of the word fierce.

“Oh, please… Me?” He said with a slight roll of his eyes, only to be responded with a gaggle of shocked girls. He had to know how stunning he was… Did he really not?

“Spence…” JJ said, pushing him back so they could all regard him with somewhat surprising expressions, Garcia looking downright horrified as if he had just spoken blasphemy. Spencer had been told so many times how closely he resembled a real woman in drag, but that was from his fellow queens so it was often hard to really believe them since they always worked to encourage each other. Being a drag queen could be a dangerous job, One incident alone made Spencer uncomfortable leaving the club in his drag persona: he had been hit on by a group of guys, at first innocent enough, but when they discovered that he was actually a man, they nearly beat him for it. Luckily, the club security got involved just in time, but it definitely made him realize that going out in public as his persona was unsafe.

“Come on, Reid, you have to have someone. At least a secret admirer?” Prentiss chimed in, the other two girls looking at her knowingly since it was quite obvious who she was talking about. But still, Spencer looked both innocent and oblivious to her not-so-subtle allusion. When they realized that he wasn’t kidding, just looking back and forth between them all expectantly, Emily sighed and rested her head in her hand, Garcia stared at him, and JJ just giggled.

“You… really don’t know?” Penelope nearly whispered, and Emily lifted her head up finally, not wanting to watch Garcia suffer anymore.

“Morgan,” she said, Spencer looking confused again.

“As in…”

“Derek Morgan,” JJ filled in.

“You’re kidding,” Spencer said, smiling slightly only for it to slowly drop as the others looked at him with an expression of utmost seriousness. What…

“You’re not kidding…” he mumbled then, shaking his head and distracting himself by returning to JJ’s face. She looked at him with those pretty blues, but he avoided eye contact at all costs. Of course, he found Derek drop dead gorgeous. He had the physique of a god and his sex appeal would get Spencer hot and bothered if they weren’t colleagues. Or, most importantly, if Derek wasn’t as straight as a whistle. That was probably the most important part, actually, and Spencer wasn’t prone to falling for straight guys. It would only end up hurting him in the future.

“Did you see the way he looked at you?” Emily said, JJ nodding her head immediately.

“He’s got it bad, Spence.”

“He’s straight,” Spencer said dismissively, shaking his head quickly in response while looking through his makeup case for an eyebrow pomade that would match JJ’s brows. He did, fortunately, even though he didn’t usually go blonde. A queen always had be prepared. “He saw me in drag and just got confused, that’s all. Do you know how many men have been disappointed when they talk to me and realize I’m a man?”

“But he knows that already,” Penelope tried to assure him, “He knows you’re a man, but he still seems interested in you.”

“I’ve never seen him look at someone like he does you,” Emily said. Spencer pulled back and examined JJ’s brows, eyes flicking back and forth between them until he deemed them symmetrical. He put the pomade back in his case, fishing around for his rainbow colored eyeshadow palette.

“Is that the…” Penelope started, Reid smirking and nodding.

“James Charles palette? Yes, it is,” he said, opening it up. It was a well loved palette too, even the adventurous greens and blues showing signs of usage. He swabbed a brush in the warm orange color, getting to the nitty gritty.

“Hey, don’t try and distract us,” JJ said quickly, ignoring Spencer’s hushing and complaints that he needed her to stay still.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. He worked in silence for a few minutes, enough for him to finish JJ’s eyeshadow and soon her sleek cat eye too. He swiped a liquid gold glitter over her lids, looking back and nodding his head as a smile grew on his face. JJ was absolutely stunning, even without makeup, but to know that he could accentuate her magnificent features was something that made Reid proud. He finished up with a dusting of blush over her cheeks and a nude lipstick and gloss. When he deemed her finished and held her the mirror, she squealed and the other girls looked excited.

After a few more hours, the girls were all dolled up, and they asked if Spencer planned on doing his own makeup. He hadn’t planned on it… But they seemed eager to watch him, so he gave them what he wanted. He glued the ends of his brows down, the girls looking somewhat taken aback by the action. But he told them to wait and simply continued on. He sculpted his face into that of a goddess, and Penelope made sure to tell him just how pretty he was, even before he was actually finished. He kept it tame for their sake, going for a new eye look with a sharp wing, forming a pretty peach pout on his lips before glueing his favorite lashes on. He dusted a bit more highlighter over his cheekbones and the tip of his nose, looking himself in the mirror and telling them to turn around for the ultimate reveal. He slipped a wig cap on, not bothering with glueing the wig down since it would be coming off within the next hour or so — and he wasn’t going to be performing, so that was another reason.

He opened up his duffle bag, slipping out his favorite wig; it was the same one he wore for his most recent performance, the one they had seen him in already. He slipped it on, making sure it was even and tossing the curls around before letting them fall over his shoulders.

“You can look now,” he said, his meek voice not quite matching the image they were greeted with.

“Dr. Reid, you are hot,” Emily said in disbelief, the other girls agreeing immediately while Garcia reached forward to play with his dark hair.

“It’s Bria Monique, baby,” he said in a voice that spoke seduction, and he winked at her with no hesitation. Her jaw fell open, and they all erupted into a fit of laughter, Spencer included. Pretty soon, the girls were all laying down, heads pressed together as they spoke of their life aspirations, gazing up at the ceiling as if it held all of the answers. Once they reached a moment of silence though, Spencer realized that the others were probably all sleep, but he didn’t let Penelope’s sleepy request go unheard.

“Promise me you’ll at least talk to him,” she said softly, and Spencer sighed softly, his eyes opening again as a fresh sheen of wetness built up in his eyes, threatening to smear the white gel liner on his bottom lash line.

“I’ll think about it,” he whispered.

Within just a few minutes, he was carried away into the land of dreams, where he was able to rest without disturbances of reality.

<-Part 1: What it Means to be a Fish | Part 3: Irresistible->

[yespolkadotkitty]

Tinderbox, pt 6

Part V here

Fuck. He’d left his jumper behind.

“Sweater, Dad,” Faye would remind him. Thank Christ she wasn’t here to see him leaving a relative stranger’s apartment at seven-thirty a.m after some steaming hot sex. He hadn’t been inside Rosie and yet, last night and this morning had blown his mind.

One of the hardest things he’d ever done was leave her standing there, skin still half-damp and warm from their shower, hair waving around her face, looking infinitely kissable.

It was cold outside, Winter hanging onto New York by its teeth, not quite done eating. Marshall walked briskly to his precinct, ignoring the subway. He needed the exercise, needed to get the sexy brunette out of his system before the team update in an hour’s time.

He still couldn’t believe how well he’d slept beside her on that lumpy futon. At some point he’d woken in the wee hours to her curled up next to him, the curve of her ass snuggled into him, trustingly. He’d breathed in the scent of her hair and drifted back into sleep, content. That was mostly unknown to him - he rarely fell back asleep if he woke from a restless dream.

No dreams when he’d slept beside Rosie.

His chirping phone had been a message from the precinct. They had a sketch of the infamous “Whiskers” - so dubbed because he’d left a crayon drawing of a simplistic cat’s face with whiskers at each crime scene.

Marshall huffed angrily as he thought it over. The media could be his best tool and worst enemy - often multiple times in a single day. But when they got a hold of something, they gnawed it like a dog with a favourite bone, and Whiskers was the current media favourite.

For a change, he - or she - wasn’t the usual flavour of criminal the media favoured. Whiskers had only burgled houses and apartments so far. Not that burglary could be ignored, but Marshall far preferred it to having the evidence techs scrape the remains of someone off the cold, bloody pavement.

Apparently one of the beat officers had gotten lucky, meeting someone who claimed to have seen a white man, mid-thirties, leaving the building where later, missing items and a cat doodle had been reported.

Marshall quickened his pace, wanting to find out more, and feeling the cold due to having left his jumper behind.

He wished he’d swallowed his pride and asked Rosie for her number. Both to get the garment back and to see her again.

Unbidden, an image of her naked save for his jumper, which would swallow her, pushed itself to the front of his mind. It’d smell of her, bergamot and sugar; addictive and heady.

And deep down he’d been afraid that if he’d allowed himself one more taste, he might have tumbled back into bed with her and prayed never to surface.

He swung angrily into the precinct, hoping he didn’t look like hell or smell too much like women’s shower gel. His colleagues would have a field day.

****

Rosie left for work earlier than usual and stopped by Police Plaza, Marshall’s cosy, moss green sweater in a bag. Had she considered keeping it, sleeping in it, stuffing her pillow inside it and cuddling it all day so she smelled like him?

Yeah. Multiple times.

She’d dithered over what to do for a whole half hour, before getting sick of herself. Grow up, Rosie, she’d chastised herself. She’d scrabbled around in a draw, finally finding a napkin from her deli. She’d scribbled you forgot this, R x on the napkin and stuffed it inside the garment, refusing to think about it further.

She scooped her hair into a bun, fussed over Salami and fed him half a can of tuna, his favourite treat, then caught the subway. The air knived into her lungs, icy cold. The ride was crowded, people in suits jostling with the rhythm of the carriage. She was hot and bothered by the time the train stopped where she needed to go. Checking her watch, she climbed the steps and pushed through the doors.

The Plaza was the only place she could think of to return the sweater. She didn’t know which precinct Marshall worked at, and she didn’t know if asking for that information over the phone was allowed.

And she also didn’t want to turn up at his precinct like a stalker, or a weirdo who didn’t understand that him leaving without her number probably meant that he didn’t want to see her again. It splintered her heart, thinking that, but it was what it was. I am a big girl, she told herself. I’ve survived much worse than this.

The officer on duty at the reception desk smiled as Rosie approached with the bag.

“Morning ma’am, how can I help you?”

Rosie smiled back, trying to fight the instinct to hold on to a piece of the man who’d rocked her world last night, and again this morning.

“I, ah, have this sweater that belongs to Detective Walter Marshall. I’m… not sure which precinct he works out of, so I thought I’d, er, drop it here.”

The officer worked to keep her face bland, but Rosie caught the tamped down amusement in her voice when she replied, “Sure, ma’am, I’ll make sure he gets it.” She held her hands out for the bag.

Rosie hesitated for a split second. Should she take out the napkin? He’d know it was from her.

But she couldn’t bring herself to remove it. He’d see it and think of her, and after what they’d shared, was it wrong for her to want him to remember her, now and then, perhaps during a quiet moment at the end of a long day?

She let the bag go, thanked the officer, and walked out of Police Plaza and out of Detective Walter Marshall’s life.

*****

Work passed slowly. Had he collected the sweater? Would they even deliver it today?

Rosie blew out a breath as she delivered sandwiches to customers in the deli, half missing Marshall terribly, and half wishing she’d never invited him in.

It was a relief when Rachael walked in. An FBI profiler who often worked with the NYPD, Rachael had become a regular in the two months Rosie had worked at the deli. She always ordered two sandwiches; one chopped cheese and one roast beef on rye, extra tomatoes. Over the weeks, she’d stay, have a coffee while the sandwiches were made. If her visits coincided with Rosie’s break, they’d occasionally chat.

Having a female friend was nice. Rosie missed her sister, but Dahlia would never leave their small home town. She was a home bird through and through, but phone calls only did so much. She’d missed the company of her sister and Midwestern friends when she’d upped sticks and left Dylan.

Without knowing it, Rachael was one of the high points of her day, so she was glad of a little lull when the gorgeous brunette came in, wearing a sharp suit and smelling floral.

“Hey, Rosie.”

“Rachael!”

Rosie moved out from behind the counter to greet the other woman. Rachael always looked so put together, razor sharp in her well cut blazer and high ponytail. “How’re things?”

Rachael shrugged. “A million miles a minute, as usual. But, can’t complain. Profiling keeps things interesting, you know? Get to work different cases.”

“I bet it is interesting,” Rosie replied, genuinely wanting to know more.

Rachael tilted her head to one side. Rosie knew that look. Rachael had been an NYPD therapist in a past life and it showed. “Something’s different about you.”

Panic scrambled up Rosie’s spine. “Really?”

“For sure. You look sort of… glowy. You feeling all right?”

Rosie smoothed a hand down her apron. “Had an eventful evening,” she managed, hoping the vagueness wasn’t indicative of the fact she’d had the best orgasms of her life to date.

“Wanna talk about it?”

God, did she ever. “Um…. maybe later?”

“Sure.” Concern creased Rachael’s face. Fortunately, at that moment a few men pushed through the doors, and Rosie went back to business.

“Your usual?”

Rachael smiled, recognising that she wasn’t going to get anything out of Rosie right now. “Sure, thanks. And a coffee while you make it? No hurry.” She tugged a smooth, square-edge business card from her pocket and pressed it into Rosie’s hand. “If you want to talk. About anything.”

Thanks to my beta, lovely @ly–canthrope​ 

Tagging: @brokenthelovely​ @mary-ann84​ @pinkzsugar​ @boiled-onionrings​ @dr-kayleigh-dh​ @leapingoveroblivion​

[elizabeth-234]

Whumptober 2019

Previous Prompt Day Twenty-Five: Humiliation 

Hi Everyone! This was written months ago but got lost in my documents. I wasn't sure where to put it because I did write it for Whumptober so I decided to put it here!

Summary: Penny Parker is withdrawing away from everyone. No one knows what to do.

Alternative Day 14: Touch-starved 

She was infected.

That thing had attacked Penny. Penetrated its elongated pincers into her flesh, injecting it toxic virus into her veins, searing away everything she was. Months later Penny could still feel the creeping sludge beat through every cell, disturb every particle leaving nothing of the Penny Parker she once was remaining.

She could climb walls, hang upside-down like some creature of darkness. This was to say nothing of her strength. It was nothing she’d ever seen before. There were these rushes of power when she used her abilities, leaving her so ashamed that she’d succumbed to them again. But that twinge of exhilaration – of triumph - which left her stomach in knots was addicting.

It could all go so wrong. Someone she loved, May maybe, could be hurt… All because of her affliction.

Those thoughts left her bereft of sleep. She spent restless hours dedicated to finding out what exactly was inside her. What she was now.

Time and again she was left running to the tops of the city, needing a place to vent all her rage. Her screams wouldn’t bother anyone up there. Only the wind howled back, sometimes with her.

Penny could now tell anyone about the majority of known types of spiders and their venom if necessary. All other arachnid knowledge was on the table too but it would never help. It wasn’t like she could walk back into Oscorp and demand to see their notes on the experiment.

There was no Oscorp to walk into anymore.  

The problem wasn’t that simple. Nothing in her life was simple anymore.

She was changed, infected, and consumed with that thing. Would she become more dangerous? Worry gnawed at her every waking moment that she would hurt someone. Maybe it would happen through some newfound strength or maybe it would be through what flowed through his veins. There might be some accident and someone could be infected. What if they didn’t react the same and hurt them instead of making them stronger?

Like the venom her worries sunk into Penny, infecting her with another burden. She went from cringing back when someone brushed her shoulder and avoiding a handshake when Mr. Stark introduced her to someone to blatantly not allowing any touch. From anyone.

The worst day was when she rolled her eyes at May. Maintaining a cold tone in her voice she told her aunt she was too old for coddling and hugs. Her aunt’s expression haunted her while she cried in the shower after. Not even the scorching water was enough to burn away the memory. She even began sidestepping Ned when her friend begged to do their secret handshake.

Mr. Stark hadn’t noticed or if he had he hadn’t said anything. The man wasn’t the most touch driven person anyway. Pepper, though, would give her these lingering looks. At their weekly dinners her eyes followed Penny when she dished herself more or went to do the dishes. She was always careful to have someone set a dish on the table before she picked it up again.

Sometimes it was too much. The paranoia and all the disappointed looks haunted her, burning her no matter what she decided.

Patrols were the best way of controlling herself. It was all too easy to see herself truthfully when his blood painted his skin.  

She continued strong in her decision, squashing down the urges to tap someone’s shoulder or to hold someone, anyone’s hand.

It’s strange how you don’t miss something until it’s gone. Then when it disappears you are so grotesquely aware of its absence. Penny never realized how much touch was a part of her life before. Though on the more socially awkward side, which was normal May reassured her for her age, she was a hugger. And now she wasn’t. She couldn’t be.

Not even the criminals she fought against could touch her.

No one else deserved to be so alone.

-

“Are you alright, kid?”

Her pencil clattered onto the table as she was transported back to the lab. She was working on homework while Mr. Stark fiddled with some project of his.

“Yeah… Yeah, Mr. Stark. I’m fine.”

“You look like shit, kid.”

She ran a hand through her hair, hoping the blush she could feel creeping up her cheeks wasn’t so obvious to the other person in the room. If his smirk was anything to go by it was quite obvious. Mr. Stark took a step closer to her.

“I’m just tired today. No big deal.” She said flatly turning back to her work, holding her breath in anticipation. She winced at the steel tone of warning to crept into her voice.

Penny wasn’t sure what had gotten into Mr. Stark today. He was being especially obtuse or just didn’t see the annoyance in Penny’s eyes as he stepped closer again bringing his hand up.

The pen snapped in her hand, coating her fingers in gel. Penny dropped her head down to the table with a groan.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. Can we get back to work?”  

The week had been rough. She was going on extra patrols because she wasn’t sleeping well and she wasn’t sleeping well because she kept thinking about the extra patrols. Ned was mad at her because Penny bailed on one of their movie nights and even MJ was upset because she skipped a decathlon practice and might as well skipped the rest of them she was so distracted.

Now Mr. Stark was staring at her like he’d grown another head.

“Penny Parker giving out some sass? Now there is something I never would have guessed.”

Penny refused to look. She stared at the broken pen parts, willing them to go back to normal - to before.

Nothing happened.

“It’s okay, Penny. I’m just kidding.”

His hand landed on Penny’s shoulder and warmth ignited under it. Penny startled back, not realizing how close Mr. Stark had got, but the hand stayed firm.

She couldn’t remember the last time someone comforted her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d allowed it.

Penny sighed and her body betrayed her. Her shoulder relaxed under the touch, the warmth spreading like the venom had, although this time it didn’t burn. This foreign sensation was full of comfort and all Penny wanted to do was turn around and throw her arms around her mentor. For a moment she let herself bask in the comfort.

Then her eyes snapped open, unaware they had been closed.

Her spine straightened and Penny all but fell out of the seat. She scrambled back until she was safe. All the blood and venom pounded inside her blood looking for an escape.

The ground became infinitely more interesting as she felt Mr. Stark’s eyes on her. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there but her breath wouldn’t slow from short, staccato bursts.

“I’m... I’m sorry, Mr. Stark.” She finally spoke having to stop and gasp for breath. “I think I should go.”

“Kid… What’s the matter? You can tell me.”

Penny shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself trying to stop any of herself, her infection, from seeping out somehow.

“I, please, can I go home?”

She heard Mr. Stark sigh and self-hatred coated the back of her throat.  

“Sure, kid. Happy will take you home.”

Penny nodded releasing her breath and went to get her coat. She couldn’t look Mr. Stark in the eyes and was through the door when she was called back.  Penny stared at her hands not wanting to see whatever emotion was in the man’s eyes.

“Call me if you need anything at all. Will you promise me that? It could even be for chemistry homework. Not that you need help with that but you know what I mean. I’m here for you.”

“Sure, Mr. Stark. Thank you.”

She spun around and marched out the doors running to the nearest alley so she could get to the top of a building. Her throat was hoarse by the time she was done releasing everything. The dry tracks running down her face told of her despair but they were gone by the time anyone saw her.

That night Penny avoided May, eating nothing and locking herself in her room. After she heard May’s light snoring she snuck into the bathroom to take a shower. The water rushed over her body, working hard to warm her limbs into life. Penny found herself turning the handle until it wouldn’t move any farther. Steam rose inside the shower curtain. Penny stared at the white tiles, memorizing their pattern until the water ran cool again. She was still shivering.

-

Pepper looked at him with pursued lips.

“What was I supposed to do? Force her to stay and share our secrets with each other? She’s a teenager and I don’t think I ever was one.”

She wasn’t deterred. Her hand reached out to grasp his and he turned his hand to lace their fingers together.

“She’s hurting Tony. You’re like a father to her and you should find out what’s wrong even if it’s hard.”


He froze. Their eyes met and he knew she was thinking about his own father. How difficult that advice was for him to hear.

“Of course, I want to know what’s wrong, Pep. I just don’t want her to feel like she has to tell me. I would never want to force the kid into anything.”

Her eyes softened as she looked at him, taking in the dark circles and patches stubble on his neck.

Weeks had passed since Penny stormed out of their work room and Tony was at his wits’ end.

In all his years solving problems, nothing and nobody had taking so long to figure out. He called May, feeling like a snitch the whole time. She didn’t know what happened only saying Penny was in more of a mood than usual. Tony was surprised to find out this ‘mood’ began around the time Penny would have acquired her powers. Ned’s phone was easily hacked into and so far, their communication was entirely one sided.

It seemed no one knew what was wrong with Penny Parker.

The girl was getting worse. Tony had caught a glimpse of her on some kid named Flash’s snapchat the other day. There were bags under her eyes and her movements which always were so careful and confident, now jerked in what looked like spasms. Like she was battling something unseen.

Penny was skipping out on their afterschool workdays which meant she was avoiding Tony. But what really threw him into a mood is when he found out Penny wasn’t coming for help after she’d been hurt on one of her patrols. The only evidence was an absence from the school the next day. That was the only way Tony knew something had happened and it made him sick to his stomach.

His days were filled with worry, which turned into planning and then implementing. His calls were being ignored so he talked through May. They found a therapist for Penny, making sure she knew it was optional. Both of them felt a flicker of hope when she went to the first meeting, even stayed through the whole appointment, but she never went back. May said she wouldn’t talk to her for a week after that. The tickets to a spa day had resulted in silence for two weeks.

His girl was pulling away from everyone, from him, and he was helpless to stop it.

-

Her hand snapped up to cover her mouth as a cough wracked through her chest. The webbing shot out of her other hand, swinging her around the side of the building. The cough died down and she gripped the rope of web with both hands, noticing a tinge of maroon tainting the material where her gloved held on.

Penny had to get home to her room so she could assess the damage. She could feel a piercing sting in her side with every rush of the wind against her body. At least the pain was distracting her for what a total shit show patrol was.

Trickles of liquid seeped out of her side and soaked into her suit. She looked down to see how far the patch stained the material. It was larger and misshapen, with tendrils going down to her thigh. Every burst of air, every movement in the sky on her escape through the city had her suit stuck to patches of her skin, pulling off in an obscene squelch. Back and forth. Stuck to skin and torn off again.

Her head snapped up as the back of her neck tingled. Not soon enough. A building wall rose up before her. Her body spasmed in response, arms flaying in the air trying to take purchase of the brick but they missed their target. Her side was bathed in pain at the unexpected movement and down she was falling. The air whipped up around her trapping her screams inside her throat.

She fell onto something with a thud. Metal dug into her side and she rolled over to find she was on the edge of a fire escape. Using slow movement, she tried to roll back over to the middle of the platform. The metal dug into her side allowing more blood to run down the side of her body. She fell back with a cry and lost balanced. Her hand grabbed the edge and Penny dangled there.

The metal was slick under her fingers. If she was in normal condition she could hang there all day. If it was a regular day she would pull himself up and be on her way. Unfortunately for Penny, the sweat and grim covering her face, the stabbing pain in his side, and the weariness ingrained into her body all pointed to a resolutely abnormal day.

Her fingers curled tightly over the metal grate, unwound and she was falling again. This time she uttered nothing besides a grunt on impact. She didn’t even have the strength to brace her landing. Her arm landed painfully underneath the brunt of her chest, trapped between cement and flesh.

Another groan slipped into the night, echoing up the bricks in the alley. Tears filled the creases in the corner of her eyes and tracked down her cheeks, mixing with the dirt and sweat already there.

She didn’t bother to wipe them away, not even when they blurred her vision. No one could see them under the mask anyway. No one could ever see them.

Her hand gripped the wound in a last effort to stanch the bleeding. It was odd, she thought. She couldn’t feel the bullet lodged inside her body, but all the same knew it was there.

Her thoughts turned toward the infection as they often did of late. It was much the same thing. She couldn’t see the infection. She still looked like Penny, still talked like her but underneath it all was deep and gaping wound. A bullet in the form of the spider bite, slowly eating away at her like lead poisoning.

“I’ve called Mr. Stark. Your heart rate is too fast.”


“No! Karen. I thought we agreed you wouldn’t call Mr. Stark unless it was an emergency.”



“You have severe blood loss.” She said and added when she went to protest. “You just ran into a wall and fell down the side of a building.”


“It wasn’t a straight fall. Karen, he shouldn’t be here. I – I don’t want him here.”

Karen stayed silent and she knew she wouldn’t get any more help from her. She couldn’t stay there any longer. Gritting her teeth, she tried to sit up.

The bones in her arm and ankle ground together and she collapsed back down. Water sloshed around onto her clothes and the puddle settled to ripples around her limbs.

“He’s on his way.”

She bit back a scream of annoyance. She didn’t need help. She was fine. Everything was fine.

Penny sighed and closed her eyes, tired of watching the water turn murkier and red. Her head spun and she could feel her heartbeat thumping through her body.

All she wanted to do was lay there forever, but that wasn’t right, was it? She had to leave. She was supposed to be leaving, going somewhere, but where?

Lights flashed from above blinding her as they got closer. A humming sounded and she wasn’t sure if it was coming from inside of her head or out.

“Penny?” Mr. Stark rushed over to her side, his hands hovering over her body to assess the damage. There was metal in the air on her tongue. “Kid? Oh my god. What happened?”

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not.” Penny snorted, grimacing as it reverberated through her torso. She cracked her eye opened to see Mr. Stark reach out again.

She couldn’t think straight. Everything was slowing up and then speeding by too fast.  She saw Mr. Stark’s hand descending down to her side. Cold ran through her body. It didn’t matter she was in her suit or Mr. Stark was in his. All she could think about was the blood covering her. The infection that would taint Mr. Stark. Someone who was good to her. Who cared about her.

Mr. Stark was going to…. Penny moved. She found her back against the wall, fingers sticking up the wall so her head was higher than Mr. Stark’s.

“Don’t,” she said.

“Penny, get down from there. You’re hurt. Do you hear me?”


“Don’t touch me.”

Mr. Stark put his iron hands up.

“I would never do that without your permission, Penny, but I have to make sure you’re okay.”

Her stomach strained under her weight. Another drizzle of liquid ran down her side.

“Penny come down, your tearing the wound open more.”

“I can’t, I can’t”

“Yes, you can. Trust me.”

She stared down at the man with large eyes. It wasn’t a question really. She trusted Mr. Stark with everything. She trusted him with her life, but it was herself she didn’t trust. She couldn’t trust. How did she explain that?

Fortunately, or not as it was, Penny’s fingers slipped against the wall in her lack of concentration. She fell forward as her eyes rolled back, covering her world in darkness.

Mr. Stark rushed forward. Penny felt her heart lurch and she was lost to the darkness.

Thank you. Hope you all enjoyed.

Taglist: @verdonafrost @whatisthou

[lesbianlametron]

Bokuroo Week Day 5

((This would look like it’s actually on time, but no, I’m uploading yesterday’s prompt. I’m hoping to write today’s on the train home later and have it up by around midnight. I take night classes so that’s why my posts are always late. Y’know in case you were actually wondering.)

Prompt: Neon Lights

Title: Open 24 Hours

Rating: T

Summary: Bokuto has sleep problems because he just can’t shut his brain up sometimes. Fed up with being alone in his room, he goes for a drive when a neon sign reading “Open 24 Hours” catching his attention. He decides to go into the diner and meets fellow insomniac Kuroo Tetsurou.

             Bokuto stared up at the ceiling with racing thoughts that wouldn’t let him sleep. This wasn’t a new or unique problem; most nights were like this. It wasn’t that he was really worried about anything in particular, but he couldn’t calm down. When he still lived at home, his parents had taken him to the doctor who told them it was a form of insomnia and gave him sleeping pills. Bokuto hated those, they made him groggy in the morning and dragged his mood down. Now he either went on late night runs or late night drives. Tonight, he decided a drive was what he needed. He was sick of his one bedroom apartment. Sick of being lonely in a new town. He just needed to get out for a while, maybe then he’d be able to go to sleep.  Slowly and begrudgingly, he dragged himself out bed and threw on a hoodie and shoes. He got in his car and just drove. There was nowhere he was going in particular, he just picked a route and went.

             There was something he just liked about this time of night. Being awake past two-thirty in the morning had a certain thrill to it. Maybe it was because he ‘wasn’t supposed to’ be awake. He should be sleeping like the rest of the world, then again, he was always kind of different from the world. He was the oddball. Too much energy at night, too many thoughts always swirling in his mind. He sighed and watched the empty places pass him by until one caught his eye. “Open 24 hours” flashed at him in bright yellow neon lights. In a split-second decision, he decided to pull into the parking lot.

             There were only a few people in the diner this late at night, but one person caught his attention. The guy had a serious case of bedhead, but his face was pretty and his eyes looked kind. Bokuto wanted to sit down and join the guy but his nerves got the best of him, so he settled for sitting in a booth across from him. Here he could still look at him and hopefully not be noticed. He accepted the coffee the waiter poured for him with a smile. Unfortunately for Bokuto, subtly was not one of his strengths. He looked up to check the guy out and they immediately locked eyes. The stranger smiled and Bokuto hurriedly looked down with a blush.

             “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

             Bokuto looked up in surprise to see the stranger sliding into the seat across from. “Uh yeah, I just moved here recently.”

             The man smiled easily and Bokuto felt butterflies coming alive in his stomach. “Makes sense, I thought I knew most of the insomniacs in this town.” He gestured around to the others in the diner who consisted of a college student anxiously clicking her pens as she worked on mountains of homework and an old man in the corner booth.

             “Who says I’m an insomniac?”

             He chuckled, “Who else would be here drinking coffee at nearly three in the morning.” He waved the waiter over who seemed to know Bokuto’s companion well.

             “The usual, Kuro?” The waiter had dark hair that faded into blond and a low voice. Bokuto thought it made him sound like he was bored with everything, but then again, it could just be the time of night.  

             “Thanks, Kenma, and same for my friend here.”

             Bokuto waited for Kenma to walk away before speaking up. “Where do you get off ordering for me?” His tone wasn’t mean or put off and he smirked just to show his companion that he wasn’t angry.

             “Who doesn’t like waffles?”

             “Fair point.”

             “I’m Kuroo Tetsurou, by the way.”

             “Bokuto Koutarou.” He took a sip of coffee, knowing it was probably a bad idea, but right now none of that mattered. “You seem like you come here often since the staff even knows your name.”

             “Yeah. Kenma and I went to high school together. He’s working here as he finishes his last year of university. I graduated last year.”

             “Me too.”

             Kuroo smiled and seemed happy by that fact. Bokuto wondered if it was because he excited they were the same age. Maybe he was finally happy to have company close to his age at this time of night. “Yeah? What do you do now?” He smiled a thanks at Kenma when the boy delivered their food.

             “I just got hired at Lincoln Elementary as their new P.E. teacher.”

             “Oh yeah, the old bag they had there finally retired huh?”

             Bokuto chuckled, “You really thought fondly of her, huh?” and took a bite of his waffle. “Dude! These are great!”

             “I know, it’s the one gem of this town that’s open this late. And yeah, she was mean and was there when I was Kenma and I went there.” Kuroo took a bite as well and had the same joy over the pastry as he did.

             “So, what do you do?”

             “I’m still looking for a job, and still trying to figure out what I want to do. I work the exciting job of a barista!”

             Bokuto smiled. “So, we’ll both be broke, huh?”

             Kuroo returned the smile, “It seems that way.”

             “I was lucky to get a job, but I had to move away from my hometown. I applied everywhere. It’s rough out there.”

             “You’re telling me.” Kuroo shook his head and took a long drink of his coffee. “The stress of that is what’s keeping me up at night. That and I just like this time of night.”

             Bokuto’s eyes lit up and he barely forgot to swallow in his excitement. “Me too. It’s like we’re not supposed to be awake, but we are. I sometimes think it’s like night is my own because everyone else is asleep. I could go anywhere or do anything. I mean, I just can’t calm down or shut off my brain most nights.”

             Kuroo smiled fondly at him, “Yes! Exactly. Finally, someone gets that. For me, staying up late is an addiction of sorts. There’s always something more I could do. Kenma and I used to stay up on the phone in high school, but it mostly because he was a gamer and wouldn’t sleep until he beat that one level. I became a gamer because of him just so I’d have the company at night. Our moms used to yell at us for falling asleep in class the next day.”

             “I used to nap in study hall and my parents would yell at me for not taking my sleep aids. I hated them. They made me feel groggy and dragged me down, y’know?”

             “Ugh. I hate sleeping pills too. I’ve tried ‘em with no results.” Bokuto suddenly felt like a kinship was forming between them and hoped Kuroo felt the same. He was also super attracted to Kuroo, but that was a different story. “Y’know, if you ever can’t sleep and need the company, I’m here most nights.” Kuroo said, his tone was even and casual, but Bokuto had a feeling there was more meaning behind his words than he was letting on.

             “Well, I wouldn’t want to come and not find you here.”

             Kuroo chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Okay, hot shot.” He grabbed a napkin from the holder between them and pulled a pen out his pocket. Bokuto’s heart started pounding harder and faster with every number the was written until it resembled a full phone number. He had just come out to chase away the loneliness of insomnia and now he was walking out with a hot guy’s number. No matter how tired he was in the morning or how many cups of coffee it took to keep he awake tomorrow, he would never regret it. He could tell this was the start of something good in his life. “Call or text me next time then.”

             “You got it. Thanks for the waffle and the chat. I got try to at least get some sleep before work tomorrow. Maybe I’ll even come find you your coffeeshop after work.” Bokuto stood up and Kuroo playfully glared at him.

             “Hey! You’re leaving the poor barista with the check?”

             “You ordered it not me.”

             “You’re cheeky. I like that.” Kuroo pulled out his wallet and watched Bokuto walk away. “I do hope you call me next time.” Bokuto waved over his shoulder and smiled to himself as he pressed the napkin to his lips. Oh, that’s definitely going to happen. After that night, it became a tradition of theirs three nights a week at three am they met for waffles. It calmed both of them down and Bokuto slept better on those nights.

             Kuroo rolled over and awoke to an empty bed. He looked at the clock and barely registered the time. Three in the morning. Of course, Bokuto would be up thinking about things. It happened less often now, but Bokuto still struggled to shut off his racing thoughts. He stood up and walked out into the living room. Finding it empty, he padded over to the balcony and saw Bokuto’s familiar white and black hair. It had long since lost its gel and was blowing lightly in the wind. Kuroo stepped out, leaning against the door, and called out to his boyfriend. “Hey, Kou, come back to bed.”

             Bokuto looked up with a smile. “Did I wake you?”

             “No, but I want you to sleep. Come on.”

             “Okay.” He got up and followed Kuroo back into the bedroom. Bokuto laid down first on stomach, making himself comfortable.

             “I want to try something, okay?”

             “Mmhm. I trust you, Tetsu.” He closed his eyes and felt the weight of Kuroo’s body on his and surpisingly it actually felt soothing instead of suffocating, like he expected.

             “Am I hurting you?”

             “No.”

             “Good.” Kuroo slid his leg between Bokuto’s and ran his hands up and down Bokuto’s arms. “It’s all okay, baby, I got you. I love you.” He murmured and pressed kisses behind Bokuto’s ear and across the back of his neck. He felt Bokuto’s body relax under his own and smiled.

There was something about being totally surrounded by Kuroo that made him feel safe, comforted, and protected all that same time. He felt his heartrate slow down along with his breathing. Maybe this is what his brain and his heart had been searching for all this time. Someone to love him and accept him as he truly was. Kuroo had never tried to change him, he just loved him. A few tears slipped out from his eyes and he didn’t try to stop them. He wasn’t sad, he wasn’t really sure what he was feeling. If he really had to give it a name, he supposed it would be relief.

Kuroo noticed the tears and pressed his body closer, putting slightly more pressure on Bokuto, just trying to show he was there. “Kou? What’s wrong?”

“No, nothing, I swear. I’m just happy. I love you so damn much. You’re the best thing that’s happen to me since I moved to this town.”

“Oh. Well, I’m glad you came into the diner that night. These have been the best three years of my life.” Kuroo watched the smile that formed on Bokuto’s lips from his words. His heart skipped a beat just like the first time he laid eyes on Bokuto. After that, it only took Bokuto minutes to drift off to sleep. Kuroo rolled off of him and curled into boyfriend’s side. Although he loved their late-night trips to the diner, this might become his new favorite way of helping Bokuto sleep.