#negative speed force

[the1entirecircus]

Flash Headcanons

These are headcanons I have about the Flash (comics, not tv show) and all of the lore and other characters.

Barry is on the autistic spectrum but never got an official diagnosis as a child due to Eobard's meddling. Iris is actively trying to help him get a diagnosis. Barry's special interests include comic books (specifically the Flash) and science.

The Wests have ADHD

Wally's ADHD influences certain aspects of his connection to the speed force.

Eobard has a secret base in the present that's a time vault full of flash memorabilia.

Eobard has been one of the many bullies Barry had during his childhood because of how Eobard can warp time around him.

The reason Black Flash doesn't go after Reverse Flash or any other Negative Speed Force conduit is because even thought the Negative Speed Force feeds off the regular Speed Force, the Speed Force pulls energy from the Negative Speed Force to recycle it.

Eobard will furiously correct anyone who gets anything about the Flash wrong.

Barry has read the Dune books. Wally couldn't get past the first chapter of Dune.

Internet forums speculate if Jay Garrick's Flash is the comic character brought to life (Because if you didn't know, his Flash existed as a comic book on Earth Prime if I remember correctly) or he is just an old cosplayer that is a speedster.

Barry has nightmares about Flashpoint.

Wally has nightmares about being stuck in the Speed Force and losing his family again.

The Rogues have a movie night sometimes if they can agree on which movie to watch (Fast & Furious is always brought up)

Barry often tests his capabilities as a speedster, writing his findings in a small journal detailing the different skills you can accomplish with the speed force. Eobard has a digital copy of this book after it was published.

Old Barry gets catcalled "dilf" by random people, he blushes every time he hears it.

Reverse Flash has considered resurrecting Daniel West just to kill him in front of Ace West all for taking Eobard's name.

Black Flash was created by Barry’s “death” in Crisis on Infinite Earths due to the cosmic events that occurred from it.

[vexic929]

I just really love the idea of both speed forces altering the speedster's appearances

like the negative speed force can make a person entirely monstrous, or just slightly alter appearance like Eobard with his red eyes and claws and white hair but I think the speed force should also physically show on a person

like Barry subtly going from blue eyes to green to hazel to maybe even all out gold in a few years, and maybe they glow slightly at night, or Barry going from brown hair to blond gradually - just like little things that make speedsters slightly more alien or cryptid-like

[kaliesuriens]

I remeber some where I read a question about Owen Mercer, something like "if his both parents have dark hair, were did he get the light ginger hair?"(me for example, my both parents have brown eyes, but i get blue eyes from my grandma). So i have "sources" to belive that Owen inherited many characteristics from his grandfather, and there are sometimes that he really remind me of Eobard.

(Sorry inglesh is not my first lenguage)❤

[can-of-pringles]

Assign songs from the Arcane soundtrack to your OCs?

Ooh this is a good one! Okay let me see...

Carina Shepherd:

Ryn Halvorsen:

Arith:

Iriel:

Marigold Rosales:

Allison Dahir:

Lee Quinn:

Jelaa Latka:

[i-love-yellow]

[anti-terf-posts]

Hippie bath day!

yay thank you !!

[mercymaker]

sometimes i read some takes on this website and just think 'it's not that deep'

like.. people are SO quick to jump to conclusions about other people, it's wild

[ftl-faster-than-life]

Something about how the Speed Force rebuilds you and is powered by love. Something about how the Negative Speed Force destroys you and is powered by hate and pain.

[thaddeusthawne]

Snowells Week 2023: Red + Year One (What If?):

He gestured across from himself. Strings of negative speed force whirled in a circle and in an instant a woman appeared facing away from them. She seemed bewildered for a moment, watching the red lightning dissipate before finally turning around. Her eyes immediately met his, stilling when she saw him, and as Eobard looked at her he realized that this was the presence he had been anticipating. Of all the people who could have been brought into the negative speed force, he never imagined that Caitlin Snow would ever be one of them.

After the death of Deathstorm, her sister, and her own sanity, Caitlin Snow turns to science to see if she can relieve her heartache. Unfortunately for her, her luck only gets worse when she fails in her final attempt to bring her sister back. Flung into the negative speed force by Eddie Thawne she is now faced with a choice between the speedsters he brought back. Despite her overall reluctance and anger over the situation she finds herself in, she agrees to at least attempt to decide between the four speedsters, finding comfort in the most unlikely candidate, Eobard Thawne.

[tacagen]

gotta say, the new dw intro really scratches my brain just the right way

[honey-tongued-devil]

↞[arcane preference] founding out you were injured in crossfire↠

Since I've created a Bluesky profile and wrote my thesis on Arcane, I'll be posting both old and new drawings there as soon as the time comes. I'm taking advantage of this little space to promote my other social account. honey-tongued.bsky.social Also, I've received both comments and requests, but Tumblr decided I couldn’t post for a week (my internet connection is terrible). I want to let you know that I appreciate them, and I'll get to everything as soon as I can. So, feel free to leave comments, feedback, or requests!

Jayce: 

- This is the worst news he could receive: he's a scholar, he has no idea how to handle these situations, and, most of all, he's forced to confront his pride.  

- Not only was he unable to protect you now, but what if it happens again? Even if he's there, he wouldn't know what to do.  

- What if there's a next time? What if it doesn't turn out as well next time?  

- His self-sabotage leads him to distance himself from you for a few days, not because he doesn't want to be near you while you're hurting, but because he's ashamed of not being able to protect the person he loves.  

- On the bright side, for even just a second, he remembers the original purpose of his research: making the city safe, helping people.  

- But on the negative side, with no one to blame, more than ever, the people of Zaun appear to him as beasts, second-class humans who can't be redeemed in any way.  

- When he finally gathers the courage to see you again, he tries to make amends for everything: for not protecting you, for not being able to, for allowing someone to hurt you, and for not being there during your recovery.  

- He'll literally do anything to be forgiven: every morning you'll find breakfast in bed, if it's cold at night he'll prepare a warmer for your feet, and despite his squeamishness, he'll personally tend to your wounds, even if it makes him feel queasy.

Viktor:

- He tries to help you in every way possible, even ignoring his own pain.  

- He feels sadness, regrets that you went out alone and ended up in such a situation. He can't help but imagine the fear you must have felt, the confusion, and the loneliness when the guards intervened, and you woke up alone in the hospital.  

- He may be a scholar, but first and foremost he's a man with a moral code, and secondly, he's from Zaun: if he has any work, appointments, or lectures, he'll skip them all, maybe muttering a few insults in his thick accent at the most insistent people, and make up for it at night.  

- Plans, ideas, codes, anything – but he won't leave you alone unless you ask him to.  

- He takes care of you meticulously, respecting schedules, bringing you meals in bed, changing your bandages until your skin heals, and you're able to stand on your own again.  

- He doesn't mind helping you – as a chronically ill person who refuses others' help, he's learned to do everything on his own, and he's almost happy that his skills can be useful to someone else.

Ekko:

- Is it something totally normal in the lanes? Yes.  

- Does this stop Ekko from panicking? No.  

- He's the one who finds you and brings you to the others, but he doesn't want, nor can he afford, to be seen panicking. So, he swallows his despair and tries to act as normal as possible while ten other people rush to help you.  

- His face remains expressionless as the most skilled remove debris, clean the wound, stitch your torn flesh, and bandage you, but his foot keeps tapping the floor with force and speed, revealing his anxiety.  

- When the others insist that it's best you stay in the makeshift infirmary, he tries not to protest, but suddenly every moment of the day becomes an excuse to pass by: to bring you stolen sweets from Piltover, to tell you about some expedition, maybe even steal a kiss or fall asleep leaning against your mattress.  

- It's an overwhelming fear, but the fear of losing you makes him unable to think rationally, and all he feels is how much he misses you, even while you're right there with him.

Vander:

- A crossfire from the other side of the river was already a big enough provocation to alert him and prepare to defend the city or, if absolutely necessary, to strike back.  

- But you, as an accidental victim, are a huge problem.  

- He doesn’t have the heart to pull away from you, and when he does, he can’t help but feel frustrated, angry at himself, knowing he hasn’t been able to keep his city under control like he promised—to you, to Piltover, to everyone.  

- He’ll ask for your forgiveness by kissing the scarred skin every day, even if you insist it’s not his fault, and if you remember even one of the faces, he’ll go and handle the problem.  

- Not with violence, unless necessary, but it’s not about personal justice; rather, it’s about protecting the other citizens of the alleys too.  

- Even after you’ve healed, he’ll insist it’s absolutely necessary to carry you everywhere you need to go, claiming a very good doctor told him so.  

- And the memory of the scar will be tiny compared to all the marks Vander has left on you.  

Silco:

- Private justice is absolutely the first option, even though you were an accidental victim.  

- He’ll call all his goons and associates for a meeting while you’re still bedridden, to see if they’ve heard, seen, or been involved in any armed conflict, and if he doesn’t get a face or a name from them, he’ll turn to the brothel, the house of all information,  

- Until he finds who hurt you and makes sure they can’t do it again.  

- Silco isn’t fazed by blood or open wounds, but despite having enough experience to handle it himself, at least on the first day, he’ll take you to Singed to make sure you’re in the best condition.  

- In the following days, he’ll take care of you himself, but he has pride, a façade, and little emotional communication skills, so he won’t openly show how worried he is, relying entirely on the fact that you don’t know about the murder of your assailant and remember nothing of the visit to Singed.  

- But the only reason you heal so well and so quickly is that, even if he doesn’t know how to express it, all the love he feels is poured into the care he gives you.  

Jinx:

- Flashbacks. So many. Too many.  

- At some point, she’ll even convince herself that she’s the one who shot you, leading to a complete breakdown.  

- She punches her head, scratches herself without realizing it, her nose bleeds, and her eyes are bloodshot.  

- It takes her a while to convince herself that she wasn’t the one who shot you, even though the hallucinations overlap images of you with memories of her armed, creating waking nightmares that feel increasingly real.  

- As much as she’d like to ask her father for help, even just to give you a cleaner room, she feels responsible and is too scared that if she stays away from you, you’ll forget her. That’s why she sets up a little space for you and takes care of you herself, though not always painlessly.  

- She’s pulled bullets out of her own body more times than not after missions; what might seem like dangerous, delicate work to someone else is almost routine for her by now.  

- Once she has a suspicion of who might have done it, she’ll make sure they learn their lesson. 

 

Vi:

- Anger.  

- Why were you out alone? Why didn’t you leave as soon as you saw the crowd getting too big? Why were you in that area?  

- But her anger is just panic pouring out like a flood, the fear of not being able to protect the one she loves twists her stomach, making her feel like she might throw up, like she’s dying inside.  

- None of those questions mean she blames you, but she doesn’t know how to feel, what to think, or even what to do.  

- She’ll do everything to help you—bandaging you, cleaning your wounds, staying silent and giving her full attention to make up for not being there when you needed her, even though that’s not true.  

- And when the scar forms, she’ll kiss it every single day, every single night, like a little ritual between the two of you.  

Caitlyn:

- Safety first.  

- She’ll be the one to assess how bad the injury is, and if there are any foreign objects in your body, there’s a good chance she’ll try to handle it herself, even though at first it might seem a bit barbaric.  

- She’ll give you the guest room and call the family doctor to make sure you’re okay, that you don’t need anything else, and she’ll take care of what’s necessary, even teasing you a bit to hide her worry.  

- "A bullet in the leg from being caught in crossfire? Very vintage, I must say."  

- What you won’t know is that she’ll quietly increase security, not in an oppressive way, but just enough to make both you and the other citizens feel safer.  

- Her family won’t get involved directly, but they won’t stop her either. Sometimes Cassandra herself will make sure her daughter finds the tray to bring up to you, though she’ll never be too open about it.  

- The perfect rehabilitation? Long walks in the villa’s garden, so you can stop for some cookies or tea when you get tired.  

Mel:

- Flashbacks, but less personal than Jinx’s.  

- Her mother would call her weak if she knew how it kills her to see someone barely scratched by crossfire, and that realization soon turns into frustration, which then becomes anger.  

- She tries to stay calm, but her voice sounds like she’s scolding you, and then like she’s scolding the servants, or anyone else who crosses her path.  

- Two hours of lecture if you’re lucky—why you shouldn’t go out without a guard, why you shouldn’t put yourself in dangerous situations, why the enforcers are utterly useless and can’t find anyone responsible, even though the fight was so intense.  

- She’ll focus entirely on the bureaucratic side because little Mel was never taught how to deal with strong emotions, and she’s definitely feeling them now but can’t afford that vulnerability, even though she knows you’re safe.  

- She won’t take care of you herself, but she’ll always stay in the room. Not because she doesn’t want to, to be clear, but because she wants you to have the best care possible and prefers to leave it to a top professional rather than her inexperienced hands.  

- In return, she’ll triple the amount of affection and caresses—more to calm herself than you, but you won’t be the one to complain.  

Sevika:

- She needs a moment.  

- She knows she has to report to Silco that there was a firefight, that someone is threatening the people, but part of her just wants to grab those responsible and crush their heads with her bare hands, doing both you and her boss a favor. Yet, another part of her doesn’t want to leave you alone or take you with her.  

- She knows how to handle these things; she’s lost an arm, and Silco’s goons often come back in worse shape, which is why she’ll take care of you herself, in complete silence.  

- She’ll wait until you’re asleep to place a water bottle, a glass, some painkillers, and some bread on the nightstand next to your bed. And when she’s sure you’re fully asleep, she’ll leave a soft kiss on your forehead before putting on her cloak and heading out to the Last Drop.  

- There, she’ll release her anger in a brawl or two, talk to her boss, and search for the reason why she feels so awful at the bottom of her third glass of whiskey.  

[the1entirecircus]

Sometimes I think it would be really terrifying if Reverse Flash ever got over his obsession with Barry and stayed evil. Tales from the dark multiverse only gave a glimpse of that reality and it is still terrifying to think of. He can reshape and rewrite every single event in DC universe on a whim. The New Gods would watch as the earth is constantly being subjected to radicle changes with awe and disbelief. The entire timeline would be Reverse Flash’s own little sandbox until someone like the Spectre intervenes. But who knows? Maybe Reverse Flash would be able to kill DC’s spirit of vengeance with the power of the negative speed force? Maybe he prevents the creation of the Spectre entirely? He could control anything and everything on a whim.

[vexic929]

maybe tonight is the night to act on the urge to write the horror au where eobard has to rip hearts out of peoples' chests in order to survive

[hencheri]

▸ 18+ mdni.

What happens when Jeno is secretly obsessed with you and has a roommate as equally sick as him?

| pairing. jeno x fem!reader x haechan

| warnings. noncon, kidnapping, implied stockholm syndrome, perv!jeno, mean!haechan, unprotected sex, overstimulation.

| wc. 8.6k

| a.n.: it's dirty dirty dirty i am ashamed of myself!! (i love this)

You hate the cold and you hate winter. Especially when the weather goes into a frenzy like that; violent winds that make it difficult to walk through and snow covering the sidewalk that turns into slush. 

You’re going back to your dorm after your last class of the day, now being 7 p.m.. You have to walk a couple of minutes to reach your dorm and you thank yourself for thinking to bring mittens because the tip of your fingers are already starting to get numb. 

Finally getting to the sidewalk, you notice a car parked near the curb. It’s on, the lights illuminating the street, the driver still inside the vehicle, possibly waiting for someone. You don’t pay too much mind to it, passing by the car to get to your dorm.

But the sound of the engine stopping alerts you, though you don’t halt your walk, your heart accelerates a little. 

When you hear the distant sound of footsteps hitting the sidewalk covered in thick sleet, you involuntarily speed up your steps, trying to remain somewhat calm. For some reason, you can’t help but get a slight negative feeling at the suspicious person behind you, thinking they might be following you towards the entrance of your dorm.

You’re soon reaching the stairs, but before you can even register what’s happening, you’re suddenly being pulled back by your bicep. You gasp out of surprise, your heart now beating fast in your chest, hearing it pounding painfully in your skull.

The person grunts when you try to escape from their bruising grip, but they’re too strong for you to do anything to defend yourself. You’re about to scream at the top of your lungs, hoping for someone in your building to hear you and maybe push your aggressor off of you, but as his face comes into view, you shut up immediately.

You don’t recognize him at all, but his features are distracting you from what is going on, giving him the advantage to cover your mouth with his palm. He turns you back around and slips his free arm over your waist, forcing you to walk to the same car you saw seconds prior.

You reach the vehicle in a few steps and tears run down your face as you feel totally helpless, the small translucent pearls piling at the base of his fingers. You squirm against his firm chest, attempting to hit him in the stomach with your elbows, but they’re too short to touch him. 

He groans out of frustration, opening the back door and gripping your hair with his fist. He lowers your head so he can push you in, your torso hitting the leather seats first. 

He immediately joins you in the backseat, crawling on top of you, his knees on each side of your body. He pulls something out of his pocket hurriedly as you kick your legs and scream for help when you notice him ripping a piece of the tape he just took out. He takes a hold of your hair once again, nails digging into your scalp, and muffles down your cries with the grey duct tape. 

After that, he brings both of your hands behind your back, taping them together with the same adhesive he used for your mouth. You can hear the thumping of your heart in your rib cage and the tired sobs you let out, sensing something hard poking against your ass, eyes widening as you can only imagine it being his bulge. 

He puts his two feet on the ground outside and you eagerly try to move your head so you can see what he’s doing. He’s wrapping the grey tape over your ankles covered by your black tights.

You can’t process what’s happening to you, not believing that this is reality, trying to convince yourself you’re just having an awful nightmare. The position he has you in is uncomfortable, throat hurting from all your screams and calls for help.

He gets back in, but this time he shuts the door behind him. He has you totally fragile and defenceless underneath him. You can’t do anything when a burning desire spurs him on to reach under your skirt and tug down on your tights and panties. It seems like he doesn’t want to waste any time, easily sliding your clothes down your legs, leaving them bare nude under his perverted gaze. 

You cry and squirm avidly, shaking your head from side to side when you hear the sound of his fly being dragged down, pertinently knowing what he’s about to do to you.

You feel the head of his cock pushing at your entrance not long after. You let out a muffled moan of pain, the burning sensation between your legs hurting a lot. He only grunts, sinking his member deeper into your pussy, dismissing your loud cries. 

He picks up your hips, bringing your ass flushed against his hairy pelvis. 

“I knew it’d be a tight fit, but fuck,” he groans out, your tightness refraining him from going feral on your poor body. “How tiny are you?”

He plants a foot on the ground of the car, his other leg bent at the knee beside you. 

You almost yell—if it wasn’t for the piece of duct tape on your mouth—when he first snaps his hips against your butt, reaching really deep inside of you. He can’t control himself as he drives his cock in you back and forth right away, his movements impatient and uncoordinated. 

You bawl your eyes out, tears rolling over your cheeks and down to the grey tape covering your lips, making it less sticky. The side of your face is pressed down on the car seat, having no use of your arms since they are tied up behind your back. 

He grabs your asscheeks from under your skirt, digging his short nails into your flesh, moaning out at the sight of your pussy swallowing his engorged cock, stretching your cunt impossibly wide. His erection is so big compared to you, it’s amazing how you manage to take him anyway, as if you were made for this, made to please him. 

The skin of his thighs slap against yours, the lewd and vulgar sounds of him taking advantage of you echoing in the car. He loves how your hole gets so wet for him, welcoming him in despite his large size. 

Your cries drive him insane, motivating him to go harder and harder, chasing his high like a mad man. The head of his cock keeps rubbing over your g-spot, almost impossible for him to not hit it. You shake under him and begin to cry louder, your walls clenching around him tightly. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he curses out under his breath, feeling his balls tightening. “Gonna make you cum and fill you full of me,” he promises and you know he’s going to stick to his words. 

You don’t want him to make you feel pleasure, and even though the stretch of your pussy is immensely painful—his cock the biggest you’ve ever taken—you feel your orgasm building up at the pit of your stomach. 

He drills his hard cock into you and it’s all it takes for your high to hit you, legs trembling.

He finally steadies his hips over your butt in a loud thud, his skin smacking your own. “Ah! Shit,” he grits his teeth, the spasms of your pussy around his girth sending him over the edge. 

He keeps an arm around your waist to hold you up against him while his other hand comes to lay just beside your head on the leather seat. His cock spurts out thick ropes of cum in you, thrusting two and three times to get everything out, and there’s so much that you feel your tummy blown out. 

You whimper under him, your hole still clenching around him avidly, recovering from your intense orgasm. He sighs above you, panting loudly as he stays inside of you, looking down at where your two bodies connect. 

He slips out just a little, just enough for him to see the white ring around the base of his shaft and his cum threatening to escape your warmth. 

“Mmh, fuck. So cute,” he says, his voice sounding almost desperate, so needy. 

The car smells so much like sex it makes your head spin, the energy slowly leaving your body. You’re tired from everything, from all the crying and the horrible position he has you in; panties and tights pooling at your ankles, back arched for your ass to meet his crotch. 

“You’re a little creamer, baby,” he coos, as if what he said is anything sweet. It seems like the messier it is, the more aroused he is. “Got my cock all slicked up in your cum.”

You moan out when he thrusts back in, and you restart to cry. He’s still fully hard and so he doesn’t want to waste any time, fucking his cock into your pussy again. He goes rough on you and you think he doesn’t really realize how his eagerness turns him almost violent. 

He leans his chest down over your back, pounding his cock into your poor, soppy pussy, loud squelching noises coming from it each time he slides in and out. 

“God, you’re so tight, I can't get enough…” He growls in your ear, his fleshy lips touching the shell of your ear. “Pussy’s too good.”

Your cunt is so sensitive, already swollen, and him sliding his dick into you is so painful, your glossy eyes making you look so pathetic and weak.

He overstimulates himself as well, being too deep into ecstasy to stop his hip thrusts. You can hear him hissing at the pain he inflicts on himself, forcing another orgasm from the both of you. 

He cums a second time, and you do too just seconds after, cunt repeatedly closing around him. This orgasm feels more intense than the precedent, and it feels good, too shamefully amazing. 

He releases himself in you and there is less cum than the first time, but still enough to dribble out of your pussy, running down your inner thighs and staining his leather seats underneath you.

His lips remain close to your face, murmuring vulgar things into your ear and mouthing on your jaw, descending to your neck, going back up to your damp cheeks. He even traces the shape of your lips above the shiny grey duct tape, kissing you everywhere he can, leaving wet trails behind. 

He makes you orgasm for a third time, stimulating your puffy and aching clit till your high shoots through you. He does too later on, filling your pussy up to the brim. When he slips out, he can see how messy you are now, how he totally ruined your adorable princess parts. 

He passes his middle finger through your dewy folds, loving the sight of you covered in his cum, acknowledging how his entire cock is smeared in your cream, too. 

You sniffle as you hear him stuffing himself back up in his pants, zipping his fly up. You lay there uselessly, too tired to think about anything specific or attempt to fight for your escape again. That’d be foolish. 

He pulls back up your black tights and panties, not caring that your underwear is going to be all soiled in both of your releases. “All better now,” he sings when your legs are hidden again. 

He then steps out of the car and you take the opportunity to turn on your back with a lot of effort. 

You perceive his silhouette getting around the vehicle through the window, getting in the driver seat. He starts the engine and you think only about the worse. You’re done for, this is your last few moments of life. This man is probably about to drive you to a deserted area and kill you. 

As he drives away from the dorm building, you make eye contact with him through the rear mirror and your heart skips a beat when you see his face again. 

His eyes are captivating, dark orbs looking at you like he knows this is just the beginning. 

You don’t know why he chose you, why it had to happen to you, and you feel like you’ll never know the reason why. 

He breaks eye contact and reports his attention to the road, driving you to an unknown location. 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

After a twenty minute car ride of pure silence, the vehicle abruptly stops. You watch as he turns off the car, taking the key from the ignition. 

He steps out of the car and you hear him pulling on the handle to open the door above your head. You feel the cold breeze hitting your skin, an uncomfortable shiver running up your spine. You don’t have time to see his face again nor the place where he parked the car before he covers your eyes with a piece of cloth, tying it behind your head. 

You try to speak when you feel him picking you up, but of course your words are inaudible because of the tape muffling your voice. 

The most you can do is thrash your tied legs around, which is completely useless at this point. However, you do earn a disapproving groan from him when you kick a little too hard into his abdomen.

“Stop it.”

You freeze at the sound of his voice, his husky tone making goosebumps appear on your skin. What freaks you out, though, is the mention of your name after his warning. 

He knows you. It could have never been somebody else, he picked you because he had the intention to do so. 

You imagine him carrying you in bridal style, feeling one arm under your knees and the other around your waist. It feels weird to be so close to him in a non-sexual way, sensing the warmth of his hands and the thickness of his winter coat against your side. You have no idea who he is, yet you can hear and feel the pace of his breath. 

You guess he’s walking up stairs, then the jingling of keys and a door opening is being heard, a front of warm air hitting your freezing body. You figure that you’re in some sort of house or apartment. Or whatever place he’s decided to take you to. 

You can clearly decipher the sound of his boots walking on a wooden floor, slightly creaking with each heavy step he takes, making the situation even more stressful than it is.

You’re tossed onto a mattress, your body bouncing as it hits the soft surface. The piece of cloth covering your eyes is being pulled off, your eyes attempting to adjust to your surroundings. 

“There you go,” he softly murmurs. 

A crease appears between your brows as you have a clear view of his face, as attractive as you remember him to be.

His jaw is perfectly sculpted, giving him a manly look with dark and straight eyebrows that sharpen his expression. His hair is a deep black colour, disheveled and messy, strands going in every direction.

He grins at the way you’re ogling at him, the corner of his lips lifting up, knowing you didn’t expect him to look like this. He’ll take that as a compliment.

You’re too entranced by his looks to notice him grabbing your ankles, slowly peeling the tape from your trapped legs. Your heart is beating faster, anticipating what he’s going to do. He’s freeing you, but you believe it’s only to do something else to you that you surely won’t enjoy. 

Oh, that’s such a lie, you tell yourself, remembering the three orgasms he got from you effortlessly. 

“We’re gonna get you rid of that, hm?” He proposes—talking about your two hands tied together—even though he’s still going to execute himself anyway. It’s not like you can give him consent, especially when your mouth is still taped. 

He unwraps it easily, helping you remove your boots and coat after once it’s gone. He sneaks his hands under your skirt and his fingers touching your hips makes you jump. You grab his wrists and he pauses for a moment, staring at your hands that are much smaller than his. It’s the first time you’ve deliberately touched him. 

But he rapidly recollects his thoughts, pulling your panties down your legs. He isn’t so careful while he undresses you, even more tears falling down from your reddened eyes. Your attempts to fight him are all useless, and you feel very defenceless against him, like you’re just wasting your breath. 

“I thought I told you to stop?” 

His voice reaches your ears, swallowing hard when he discards your black tights and your pair of underwear away on the floor. You form fists with your hands, closing your legs tightly so he can’t touch your private parts. 

He tries to pull your thighs apart, but you shake your head from side to side, desperately showing your disagreement. 

He catches onto it to your relief. “What’s wrong, pretty? Got something to tell me?” You then nod your head, glossy, red eyes looking at him through wet eyelashes. “Okay, okay…” 

You wince when he rips the thick duct tape from your mouth, your upper lip stinging from the fast removal.

“Sorry,” he apologizes kindly, extending his arm up toward your face to rub your numb lips gently. They’re slightly covered by your saliva, but he doesn’t seem to mind, passing his large digit over your flesh. “Better, now?”

You sniff and bounce your head as a yes. His change of behaviour surprises you, but somehow you believe he really does care about you. Not in a particularly normal way, though. 

You feel like you have to listen to him, be obedient because you don’t know what to expect of him and also because you clearly have no other choice. Your hopes of getting away are gone, and even if you do find the strength to fight again, you don’t know if it’s worth it. It’s like he already possesses a part of you that you’ll never get back. 

“Can you not… touch me there? I- I’m really hurting, and I…” You babble out shamefully, looking down at your feet to avoid his serious gaze fixated on you. 

“Are you really now? Poor girl,” he empathizes, faking a pout, or maybe he actually pities your condition. 

He reaches for your thigh and separates it from the other. You let him manhandle you, biting down on your lip to hold back your tears that are threatening to fall once again. 

He looks at your pussy and passes his thumb through your lips gently. He’s crouched down in front of you so he can see how your hole indeed is still stretched to the size of his cock.

“Shit, you really are swollen,” he says almost pitifully as if he isn’t the reason for your pain. You’re embarrassed at the fact that he’s openly inspecting your bruised pussy, his index finger running between your puffy lips. He occasionally rubs your gaping hole, your legs twitching from the sensitivity.

“Please,” you beg, having a little hope that he’ll spare you. 

He hums pensively, still having his eyes on your cunt, a sentiment of satisfaction passing through him when he sees some of his remains leaking from you. “I have an idea,” he states, standing up. 

Your eyes widen a bit at his words, not knowing if his idea will benefit your tired state or not. 

You then watch him undressing in front of you and you gulp, guessing what his idea might be. As he passes his t-shirt over his head, he looks at you, frowning his brows. “You need to take off your shirt, too. Plus, it’s all wrinkled.”

Not again, you think to yourself. The thought of enduring another sexual act with him makes you want to sob. You stop giving him the benefit of the doubt that he’d be somewhat normal with you.

“Why…?” You question, your voice shaky and on the verge of tears. 

He doesn’t seem to like that, but he keeps his composure nonetheless. “Why what? Come on, I'll help you, then.” He wastes no time in swatting your hands away to lift up your shirt at the hem, ultimately getting you naked for him. 

He steps out of his pants, shrugging them away on the floor, joining his winter coat and boots. Only in his boxers, his bulge looks huge, and you know pertinently that it is. How he can still be hard and horny, you don’t want to know. 

He slips out of his underwear pretty soon after and you feel anxious. Maybe it’s excitement, but you can’t really describe how you’re feeling with proper words. It’s so… abnormal. Nothing you’ve experienced before. 

He backs up a little, keeping eye contact with you while he strokes his cock to be fully hard. “Lay back down on the bed,” he orders and you do so, pushing yourself to the center of the mattress to lie on your back, totally naked, hair sprawled on his grey sheets.

He bites down on his lip as he watches you get in this new position. Under the dim light of the room, his skin looks flawless, collarbones really defined and hollowed. His biceps are big and you know it’s why it was so easy for him to carry you from the car to the interior of this place. 

Your stomach churns in a mix of anticipation and stress, wondering what he has in mind. 

When he joins you on the bed, his knees dipping into the soft mattress, your hands become sweaty and you gulp down, nervosity settling in your body. You could try to fight him, or at least escape his grip, but you don’t. 

He straddles your body, going up to your chest, his cock only centimetres away from your face. You then realize what he wants to do, and you doubt he’ll do it gently. He has no reason to be.

“I wonder what your mouth can do…” He says rather to himself than to you, his right hand holding his cock at the base and the left going to grip the back of your head. “If it’s as good as that tight cunt. Wanna let me find out, mh, baby?” 

He guides the tip of his erection to your mouth and you reluctantly part your swollen lips, opening your mouth just enough for him to fit his bulbous head inside. 

“Yeah… Just like that,” he approves, inserting more of himself in your warmth. 

He lifts your head up so he can slide inside of you entirely, your sore lips meeting his pubic bone, the sharp hair on his pelvis brushing up against your nose. You look up at him with glossy eyes when he groans out loud at the sensation of his cock nestled all the way in your throat, gritting his teeth and his dark eyebrows knitting together.

He keeps your head in place over his shaft, your throat contracting around him when you gag a little from the deep intrusion. 

You tap your hand repetitively against his naked thigh, signaling for him to let you breathe. He doesn’t look like he cares that much, growling at how warm your mouth is. You tap again, only for him to get your palm away with his that was previously holding the base of his cock. 

“Shh, I know you can take it, pretty.”

You loudly whine as a protest, hoping it will at least get him to pull out. The saliva drips out of your mouth, leaking down towards his balls and his upper thighs. You sense his cock twitching in your mouth, surely pleased to be weighing down on your wet and warm tongue. 

After a few more seconds of his cock lodged in your throat, he quickly pulls out when you gag and shake your head. 

You wheeze, coughing and inhaling heavily in an attempt to catch your breath. He smiles at this, finding your struggle to take him adorable. 

“See, wasn’t so bad, don’t you think?” 

You don’t dare to make eye contact with him, already feeling the cocky smirk on his lips.

He grabs your jaw, forcing you to turn face to his hard cock when he uses his other hand to guide it back into your mouth. You show some resistance, but it’s useless as he makes his way in, forcing your lips apart by squishing your face between his fingers. 

You feel your core heating up despite the situation, clenching your thighs to at least ease the ache between your legs. You take him all, not having any other choice anyway as he forces his length down your mouth, making your eyes sting and your throat burn. 

He starts thrusting in back and forth, letting out moans and grunts that show how pleasurable this feels for him. He won’t stop until he’s satisfied. 

As he literally fucks your mouth, he throws his head back, sucking air through his teeth, controlling himself to not cum in your mouth right away. His dark hair sticks to his forehead because of the sweat, some strands dangling in front of his piercing eyes, wet at the ends. 

He keeps his gaze on you, precisely the way his engorged cock enters your mouth, your lips wrapping around his shaft tightly, all coated in spit and, as unpleasant as it sounds, remains of your earlier intercourse. All you want to do right now is to take a hot shower and scrub the traces of him off of your skin. 

But you doubt you’d get everything off as he’ll forever be engraved in your mind. 

You place your hands on the top of his thighs, finding it difficult to follow the pace of his hip thrusts, your fingers clenching into fists. 

His hand that was holding your jaw is now on its previous spot on the back of your head, gripping your roots and keeping you still. Saliva accumulates at the corners of your mouth and you hate the damp feeling, hate how dirty and soiled you feel. Hate it even more when you know he loves it. 

“Ah, fuck,” he chokes out, his hips stuttering and his grip tightening around your hair. Your eyebrows knit together at the hold he has on your head, forcing you to keep his cock in your throat. You know it's going to hurt badly after. 

With a twitch of his cock, he releases himself down your throat, the salty taste of his cum hitting your tongue. He slips out of you and some of his cum drips down at the corners of your lips. 

“Swallow,” he instructs, wiping off the rest with his thumb, waiting for you to swallow before putting his digit in your mouth so you can lick everything off. 

You follow his order, sucking his thumb and swallowing again. 

“Good girl,” he praises and pats your cheek. 

You recall the eye contact you shared back in the car through the rear mirror, one that meant ‘it’s only the beginning’.  

You know now that tonight was just the start. Of what, you’re still wondering. 

You can’t escape as he has his arms wrapped around your naked body, his soft cock nudging your back, his chin resting on top of your head. You’re not sure if you found any sleep, but you haven’t dreamt. Or maybe you’re already in one, it’s just harder for you to wake up from it. 

You wait for the sun to arrive, or secretly wish it would never so you would slowly morph with the mattress and make one. 

The alarm setting off pulls him out of slumber and your heart palpitates at the thought of having him off of you, but this euphoric feeling doesn’t last long as he leaves you alone in the room to go somewhere. 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Sore. 

The only word you can use to describe how you feel right now. An intense feeling of grogginess takes over as you wake up, your head pounding heavily.

You wish you could say it was only a nightmare. A sick and twisted dream you’ve just endured. However, you physically and mentally can’t say that. Your swollen eyes start to well up with salty tears as you look around the unfamiliar dimly lit room and bed you lay in, remembering the sick events that took place almost a day prior. 

You’re cold. A thin grey sheet covering your trembling body, the feeling grosser than ever when you feel something damp in your underwear, threatening to seep down your thighs. 

You begin to sob when you realize what it is. You can’t forget the way he handled you like you were some type of object, just a toy for him to use. You hated that you also came multiple times,  you couldn’t help how your body was reacting to him.

The bed is empty, you’re left by yourself to be eaten alive by your thoughts. You fear for when he returns from wherever he currently is, scared he may try to do something to you again but even rougher than the first time.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the bedroom door creaking open. You immediately shut your eyes before you can see the figure standing in the doorway. Your face is tear stained, but you still attempt to make it seem like you are still asleep.

You hold your breath when the sound of footsteps get closer to the bed, even scarier when they stop. The next thing you know a hand is smoothing out your hair, their fingers running from your hairline down to your jaw. Their hand moves to wipe your visible tears and a wave of chills hits you at the feeling.

You slowly open your eyes, trying to register the face of the person in front of you.

It's not the same guy as before.

This one has brown wavy hair, delicate features and heart-shaped lips.

“Good, you’re awake.” The unfamiliar man speaks up after a minute of pure silence since he’s walked in. 

You are speechless, not wanting or knowing what to say. Does he already know what happened? Is he in on this too?

You remain silent, the most you can do is tear up once again as you’re scared of what is yet to come.

“Get up, you need a shower,” is all that leaves his mouth before he begins to pull the sheet from your frail body. His authoritative words make you flinch a bit, but you don’t have the energy to fight back.

He encourages you to get up with a sign of his hand and you execute yourself with difficulty, the bones in your body cracking, making you wince in pain. You can’t ignore the messy state that you are in, shivering as the temperature of the room feels very cold. This situation embarrasses you so much. 

He notices your struggle to lift yourself from the bed, leading him to take matters into his own hands and lift you from the mattress. You are surprised at how he isn’t dragging you around like a pet, but his grip on you is assertive. 

You feel your face heating up at the fact that your chest is pressed up against his firm one. You immediately pass your arms around his neck as one of his arms wraps around your back, the other one under your butt, your legs still dangling in the air.

He walks only a few steps out of the bedroom and down the hall before opening the new door with his hand that was previously over your back. You enter a rather small bathroom like he’s told you before in the bedroom. 

He puts you down and you manage to find your balance, even though you still struggle a bit. He makes his way to the shower and turns on the faucet. He comes back to you as the water heats up, yet he doesn’t leave. 

“W-what are you doing?” You stumble over your words when his hands find their way to the hem of your shirt, threatening to expose your naked body. He stops and stares at you blankly.

“You’re shaking like a leaf, you obviously can’t stand on your two feet let alone take care of yourself.” He states firmly. You’re not some little girl who can’t do anything on your own, you’re a grown woman.

“No, I got it.” You speak without a second thought. 

He arcs an eyebrow up, as if not believing you. “And what will happen if you trip over and knock your head into the counter? Have you seen yourself?” 

You swallow. You dare to look at yourself in the mirror above the sink, and you aren’t looking good at all. He has a point, but you still don’t want to undress yourself in front of a stranger.

“I’m just here to make sure you don’t hurt yourself. I won’t do anything.” 

You don’t answer for a few seconds, debating in your head. It wouldn’t be smart to trust him, but it’s not like you have a choice, and anyway, right now you prefer him over the other guy… 

You start to pull your shirt over your head with a burning face, avoiding his gaze at all cost. You feel extremely humiliated as you slip out of your panties.

He doesn’t show any signs of lust, actually having a calm and composed expression. You shouldn’t get fooled, though, because he could be good at hiding his true emotions. 

You cover your naked breasts with your arms, keeping your legs closed so he can’t get a good look at your private parts. “I can wash myself. Can you, please, leave?”

“Whatever. I’ll get you some clothes,” he replies, rolling his eyes. He looks at you one last time before saying, “My name’s Haechan, by the way.” 

And with that, he actually leaves. He closes the door behind him, which relieves you a little bit. He at least agreed to give you some privacy. It’s nice of him, you think, but you shouldn’t get high hopes. 

You step into the hot water, your cold limbs feeling more relieved as you stand directly under the shower head. You wet your entire body, about to reach for the body wash when the sound of the bathroom door opening catches your attention.

“I got you some clothes, this is all I have for you right now.” Haechan calls over the sound of the shower running while setting the folded clothes on the bathroom counter. Yet he isn’t showing any signs of leaving.

“Hm, okay, thanks… Can you let me finish first, please?” You plead while watching his form move behind the shower curtain. 

He’s not moving towards the door though, but closer to you. As you wait for him to leave, he unexpectedly pulls the curtains to the side and your eyes open wide in surprise when he joins you completely naked. 

That’s why he wasn’t leaving, he was stripping down from his clothes, having the intention to enter the shower with you. He absolutely ignored your words of leaving you alone. 

You move back instantly, your body hitting the cold tiles of the shower. You again cover yourself with your arms, keeping your mouth sealed shut, paralyzed.

He’s imposing, even more when naked. You can’t help but stare at him, unable to look at the bottom half of his body, too embarrassed and still shocked by his sudden inappropriate behaviour. 

However, he doesn’t seem to think there's a problem, instead reaches for the body wash just as you were about to do. 

“Just wanna help you,” he explains, big eyes looking back at you. He looks so serene, and you hate that nothing seems to destabilize him. “Turn around,” he instructs and when you don’t budge an inch, he grabs your arm and moves you himself. You gasp at his straightforwardness, your mind already telling you this won’t end well. He’s already lied to you once, so there's a high chance he’s done it again.

He squeezes the soap into a white loofah, moving your wet hair to scrub your backside, making sure to not miss any part. He moves down to your arms, working his way up to your tits. He slowly drags the loofah back and forth over your pebbled nipples, catching on the way your breath hitches when he does. 

After a minute of solely washing your breasts, he brings the loofah to your stomach, each scrub leading his hand lower on your hips.

Haechan suddenly discards the scrubber, his hands sinking down to your private parts. He places his head onto your shoulder, his wet hair tickling your neck. You try to shove him off of you, but his grip on you isn’t budging, his hand already cupping your pussy.

“You- you said you were just washing me,” you frantically spit out, grabbing at his arm that’s on your mound. Instead of answering you, he takes his free arm and crosses it over waist, trapping both of your arms under him.

He takes his pointer and middle finger to spread your swollen cunt open for him to observe. You feel so exposed, so played that he lied to you again after using the excuse of ‘just wanting to help you’ to get his way with you.

“Shit. Jeno didn’t go easy on you, huh?” 

Jeno. So that is the name of the one who got his hands first on you. 

You’re quickly snapped out of your thoughts when his index finger makes contact with your clit, pussy clenching involuntarily at the feeling.

“Please, just… stop,” you pathetically beg for him to move his hands. Yet all you get from him is his heavy breathing, and something poking your asscheek.

“You’re sensitive as fuck. Look at you,” he comments as he sees your legs twitching with every rub he gives your throbbing clit, hole slicking up at the stimulation.

Not being able to wait much longer, Haechan removes his fingers from your pussy, pushing the arch of your back lower, grabbing his now fully erect cock while opening your legs a bit wider than before with his leg.

“No, stop… Please, don’t,” your words are rushed when he forcefully pushes himself inside your swollen cunt. 

His thrusts are rough, almost knocking the air out of your lungs. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to his large size, which leads your hole to violently clench around him, making it harder for him to control himself.

“Jeno already dealt with you, how are you still so small?” he says through clenched teeth, his hand going to grab at your jaw, squishing your lips and cheeks. 

He forcefully lifts your head up to look at him, leaving you no other choice than to make eye contact. 

“N-no, stop, it hurts,” you try to speak when your mouth is being crushed in between his long fingers. He doesn’t listen to you though, repeatedly slamming his cock into you from behind, his pelvis hitting your ass with force within every thrust.

The water is still warm, running down both of your bodies, disregarding the fact that you need to clean yourself. You feel your orgasm building up in the pit of your stomach, his cock hitting the right places. You hate that it's starting to feel good, you’re not supposed to be turned on by this.

Before you can reach the edge, Haechan pulls his cock out of you, leaving your hole empty and gaping. Yet not being able to utter a single word, your body is turned around and he kneels in front of you, his face directly in front of your crotch.

He gives your clit some attention, throbbing when his tongue licks a full stride over it. 

You surprise yourself when your hand travels down to grip his wet wavy hair. He eats your cunt like a starved man, his nose replacing his tongue when he finds his way back to your hole.

“Tastes better than I imagined, baby, fuck,” he groans before shoving his face back into your sopping pussy. 

You slightly grind your hips on his face, feeling him smile against your pussy. You’re shocked at how quick you’re about to reach your orgasm, Haechan sliding his fingers inside of you to bring you to the edge even faster.

He speeds up the pace of his fingers that are hitting your sweet spot, his mouth sucking harshly on your clit, desperate for you to cum on his face. Your hole clenches repeatedly at the feeling, unable to hold it in anymore, you finally reach your high.

Haechan fucks his fingers into you through your orgasm, your legs tightening around his head. Your hand on his hair shakes weakly, moaning at the feeling of his lips being still on your cunt, tongue flicking your bud of nerves from side to side. 

He stands back up and passes your legs around his waist. You moan out at the stretch in this new position, your pussy taking every inch he gives you even though you are sensitive from your first orgasm. Both of your naked chests rub together when he pushes himself closer to maintain the same eye contact as before. His stomach clenches at the feeling, thrusts sloppier than they were previously. 

A small whimper escapes your lips that you tried so hard to keep from leaving your throat. Your walls tighten up around Haechan while he never slows down his thrusts, fucking you to reach his own orgasm.

“Yeah, baby. Gonna fucking make me cum too.” 

He fucks into your spent pussy sloppily which has you wincing in overstimulation. The pain doesn’t last much longer when you feel his thick ropes of cum filling your cunt.

“Shit, yeah. Like it when I fill you, huh?” He groans into your ear, his soaking wet hair brushing against your face.

His thrusts finally stop when he pulls out of you, cum quickly escaping your bruised pussy. He backs you up from the wall to set you down back onto your feet, legs shaking from how intense he fucked you.

Without a word, he brings your body forward to the shower head, rinsing your body. He rubs his hands over your body, slowly inching down to your swollen pussy as he cleans it of his cum gently. Your face can’t help but heat up at the action, you wouldn’t have expected him to give you aftercare. 

He leans over, turning the faucet off and steps out of the shower first. He grabs a towel from the cabinets to wrap around his waist, and another to wrap around your shivering body. 

You’re still shaking, barely being able to get out of the tub. He places his hands under your underarms, helping you out of the tub, your feet meeting the cold floor. He’s about to unwrap the towel from you when you tighten your grip around it. 

“I’ve got you, don’t worry,” he reassures you. You loosen your hand from the hem of the towel, letting him take care of it.

He undoes the towel from your body, beginning to dry you off. No one has done this for you ever, so you don’t know what to do with yourself. 

Once you’re dried off completely, he leans over to grab the t-shirt for you to wear. 

“Arms up,” he instructs when he pulls the shirt over your head, helping you to slip it on. He grabs a pair of black boxers you assume are his for you to wear. 

Once he slips the underwear onto you, he wraps his arms around your torso, kissing your jaw and down your neck. You’re flustered, but you don’t make an effort to lean into his touch. How can you react to that after what he’s done to you in the shower. 

The sound of the front door being unlocked interrupts the moment between the pair of you. Haechan removes his arms from around you and grabs a pair of sweatpants from the counter, slipping them on quickly.

“Jeno’s back,” he says nonchalantly. In all honesty, you are most afraid of Jeno out of the two men for obvious reasons.

That night, you slept between them— you really only closed your eyes. They didn’t give you a choice, nor a reason, but you think it’s in case you try anything. You could have a slight chance against one of them. The both of them, though, you have zero.

You’ve slept with them for a few weeks, then they’ve decided they wanted you alone. 

Jeno is very clingy and attached. You suppose it’s because he’s the one who knew you before. You don’t have much information about what happened before the first night. No matter how much you insist, they always refuse to tell you anything. 

Haechan is more authoritative than Jeno. Much less clingy, but still at an unhealthy level of obsession for you. 

You start to adjust to how things work between the two boys and their routines.

Haechan is with you the majority of the day since you’re asleep in the mornings he has class and awake when Jeno goes to his own. It's as if they have you in ‘shifts’, not ever letting you have alone time or any privacy. 

Haechan never lets you out of his sight, forcing you to be in the room with him at all times. His standards are very strict for you, like his ‘no TV or phone’ rule unless he’s there. 

No matter what you do, you are left with no way to reach the outside world. It drives you crazy having to live with constant unanswered questions since they refuse to give you any answers.

“I miss my family,” you mumble under your breath, playing with the food on your plate, which you know angers Haechan a lot. 

“Stop playing with your food and eat it before it gets cold.” Haechan responds, completely ignoring your comment. 

He side-eyes you and you keep looking at your plate, not acknowledging his command, getting him irritated. Jeno, on the other hand, gives you a sad look with pouty lips, having pity for you.

“Do they even know where I am, if I’m even alive?” You pick at the topic more, not daring to coward away from Haechan’s irritated look. 

“Baby, why are you thinking about that right now? Just eat.” Jeno coos, going to reach for your shoulder when you dodge his touch. 

You groan at him and he doesn’t like this at all, hating when you avoid his touch. You know you’re making both of them angry, but it isn’t any of your fault. They shouldn’t be the ones mad, it should be you. 

That's when you’ve had enough of their silence. Instead of constantly bombarding them with questions you know they’ll just brush off, you decide to ignore them entirely. Not making eye contact, constantly refusing their commands, and not eating. 

“Don’t give into her whims, Jeno. It's just gonna give her ideas.” Haechan speaks, making stern eye contact with Jeno. You can tell this is something that they’ve discussed before. It was inevitable you’d get curious and ask questions.

You get up to push out of your chair, leaving your untouched plate on the table. You know not finishing your food will strike a nerve.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Haechan raises his voice, causing you to flinch at his loud tone.

“Obviously nowhere. I can’t leave this stupid place!” You point out as if it isn’t clear enough for them to know.

Haechan matches your action and gets up too, disregarding your full plate.

“Watch your tone. You’re the one who’s asking pointless questions. Sit your ass back down and finish eating.” 

“No! I can’t, I don't want to!” You reply back right away, your eyes starting to water. “I want to know, that’s all I want,” you explain to them almost desperately, almost begging. 

Jeno tries to cool down the situation.

“Let’s all just calm down, okay? I’m sure you’re hungry, baby,” he speaks to you softly, even though you made him upset as well. 

“No, I won't calm down. It isn’t fair!” you heave, controlling your tears in an effort to not to seem weak.

“Yes, you will,” Haechan intervenes, “because if you don’t you’ll regret it. Don’t underestimate what I’ll do, understand?” 

“You both have done enough to me but you draw the line at me asking about my family? Just leave me alone.”

“Where is this even coming from? We give you everything, so stop being ungrateful.” Haechan argues back.

Deflecting from the subject, one of the things he’s best at. You hate when he does it, but you don’t want to fight with him. You physically and mentally can’t. 

“You don’t understand! You ripped me away from my family and school. You took everything away, and I’ll never get my life back! The worst thing about this is not knowing anything…”

You can’t hold it in when sobs escape your mouth. You aren’t able to stand up on your feet anymore and let yourself fall down on the floor, curling up on yourself. 

As if a switch flips in their minds, they both come rushing towards you. Jeno is the first to crunch down at your level, worry and pity plastered on his face. He comforts you with his embrace while Haechan looks guilty, nibbling down on his lip. 

After that day, you’ve learned to not question them about anything associated with your past life. All it did was lead to big arguments and lost trust from you. You’ve come to terms that this is your life from now on, whether you like it or not.

[m1dn1ght-r0t]

Eyes Wrapped in Wool

Yandere! (ex) husband x amnesiac! fem reader

TW: manipulation, toxic/abusive behavior, mentions of (potential) forced imprisonment, coercion A/N: pretty sure amnesia doesn't work this way (i'm no medical professional) but pls suspend disbelief for the sake of the plot ahahah

Your husband never expected things to turn out this way. But by some stroke of luck—or perhaps divine intervention—you ended up bed-ridden in the ICU, suffering from multiple bone fractures and a terrible, oh-so-terrible, traumatic brain injury. Just last week you were talking his ear off about how you've had enough. How you were done with him controlling what you could wear or who you could see, his suffocating clinginess that devolved into explosive rages when you spent time focusing on work or with friends instead of with him, the negging, the snooping, the smashed plates... Jesus Christ. You just never knew when to shut the fuck up, did you? At some point he had stopped listening. Chalked off your dramatic tirade as nothing more than you acting up because of your period—merely white noise. How many times have you guys had this same broken record conversation? Yeah, he knew this marriage wasn't smooth-sailing. If it were, you'd be less opinionated, less bitchy, more pliant, more dutiful. But what relationship was ever perfect? So, he waited for you to run out of steam, as you inevitably do, before adding salt to the wound:

“You know baby, if you weren’t parading around in those slutty clothes of yours and acted your grown age for once, I wouldn’t be behaving that way.”

The scrunch of disbelief mixed with disgust on your face only spurred him to double down. “And maybe if you actually committed to this marriage like a devoted wife would, rather than prioritize your career and practically everyone over me—your husband, need I remind you—then we wouldn’t be having these issues. Ever considered that, hm?” He purposely dragged out his words, a patronizing lilt to his tone, in hopes of reminding that thick, dumb skull of yours that he always knew best.

It wasn't until you had thrusted the divorce papers in his face that he grew silent, the severity of the situation beginning to creep in. ...What? You couldn't actually be serious... right? This was just some lover's spat. A temporary blip that'd be smoothed over with a few intentionally placed saccharine words and hot make-up sex. Like always. So why the fucking theatrics? Are you really gonna be a bitch about this and d— When you slammed the front door shut with your packed bags in tow, leaving him to stew in your parting words—that you deserved better, so much better than him, and that if he didn't sign the papers, he'd be hearing from your lawyer—did the gravity of it all finally sink in. By the end of the week, your voicemail was battered by his countless furious messages. Are you done being a flighty little piece of shit, huh? What the fuck do you think you're doing? I swear to god, baby, I'm gonna drag your ass back here. And if I have to lock you in some basement and chain your hands and legs so you'd never think to leave me again, then so fucking be it. Divorce? Yeah right. Over my dead fucking body. Then came an unknown call. It was like whiplash, really, to first hear that you had been involved in a major car crash, and then, upon rushing to the hospital at neck-breaking speed— "I'm afraid she has retrograde amnesia", the doctor solemnly informed him. He could cry. Oh, he could fucking cry.

On the outside, anyone could see how distraught he was, his hands trembling as he processed the diagnosis, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Poor husband that he was, having almost lost his beloved wife in a freak accident, he now had to deal with the news that she didn't remember who he was. Inside, however, raged a war he couldn't reconcile: what was harder? Holding back the tears, or pretending those very tears were out of sadness rather than pure, unbridled joy? Because what this neatly packaged situation had presented him with was a do-over, a chance to mend the broken marriage teetering on the cusp of divorce. And like hell he's about to let you throw away a three-year connection like some ungrateful cunt when he loves you so, very much.

~

"Hey sweetheart, how are you feeling?"

As he walks up beside your hospital bed, he can't help but revel at how vulnerable you look. The slight furrow in your brows hinting at your confusion, the way you curl in on yourself as if to protect yourself from who is no doubt a complete stranger in your eyes, and your meek "Who are you?"—a far cry from the usual feisty, snarky attitude you used to dish out.

But perhaps most rewarding of all is the tentative gaze you offer him, eyes filled with a sort of curious glimmer, free from the hostility, disappointment, and hurt you'd flashed his way. You didn't look at him with hate. You simply want to know who he is.

Oh, aren't you precious? He'll gladly feed you his carefully spun narrative until you're full of nothing but adoring love for him—the embers of your thoughts about divorce and leaving him snuffed out for good.

"I know how confusing all of this must be for you. Take all the time you need. I'll be right here with you, as your husband, helping you fill the gaps, okay baby?" He delivers this with as much patience as he can muster, softening the edges of his words to avoid spooking you. But you're not soothed. If anything, you're more overwhelmed than ever. "M-my husband?" You echo, tasting the foreign word, sticky like warm toffee on your tongue.

"And...and my family? Where are they?" Your disorientation is a sight for sore eyes; how badly he wants to devour you right now. “Dead,” he intones, a script he’d been desperate to act out ever since you said your vows. The jarring news pulls a barely audible whimper from you, your eyes widening a fraction.

Shit. Too cold. Too careless.

His expression softens, the corners of his mouth tugging downward in a facsimile of sorrow as he injects a note of pity into his voice. “They died when you were very young, you see. I’m sorry.” He’s really not.

"What…? How could that be? So my p-parents, they're both—" Your breath hitches, tears welling at the corner of your eyes.

At that, he gently grabs your bandaged arm, wanting to comfort you. But when you flinch slightly, he has to resist the urge to snap at you—Oh, cry me a river. Who the fuck cares?? I'm right here, aren't I? I'm right here, damnnit, so look at me!

Instead, he tempers the resentment that's still fresh in his heart after the divorce stunt you'd pulled by reminding himself that he's supposed to be your kind and gentle partner.

So he settles for cradling your hand in both of his like it's fine china, grazing his lips over your fingertips. "But you have me, sweetheart. And I'm not going anywhere."

He half expects you to question his story—it wasn’t very convincing, even to his own ears—prepared to be barraged by your endless streams of “No, you’re wrong!”, “I don’t believe you!” or some other similar outburst.

But when all you do is gaze up at him with cinched brows, seeking reassurance, blinking at him so sweetly with your hand still snugly warmed in his, he pauses. That’s it? No suspicion, no skepticism, no outburst? Hah! He has to physically restrain himself from snorting because how fucking easy can this get?

Maybe the collision had completely scrambled your brains, rewired you to be more stupid, a little slower—exactly how he likes you.

"You trust me, right?"

And when he feels that subtle twitch of your fingers—what he gathers is your attempt at squeezing his hand back for confirmation—accompanied by the sight of your small, almost shy nod, he breaks out into a giddy smile at how utterly adorable you’re being.

Fuck, it’s hard not to already feel high off these micro-doses of innocence and receptiveness from you. Emboldened by your intoxicatingly sweet naivety, he dares to be a little greedier, creeping to perch on the edge of your bed, his hand now moving to cup your cheek.

“You have no idea how worried sick I was when I got the call. I thought you had…” He trails off, his implication clear. His face is mere inches from yours now, breaths as featherlight as his fingertips mapping every divot on your face.

“I love you.” He drags his thumb across your bottom lip, the act agonizingly slow. “So, so, so much.” Each whisper spills out heavier than the last, mirroring the increasing pressure of his thumb—your lip almost bruising from how hard he’s pinching them.

How long has it been? He can’t remember the last time he felt the warmth of your touch, your skin… eons too long without your pillowy lips pressed against his has left him completely starved.

“You can’t leave me…” A murmur too quiet to pick up. His gaze, now half-lidded, drifts downward in a drunken daze. “My wife. My good little wife. You love me too, right?”

Without warning, he leans in to close the minuscule gap.

And it’s all too fast and soon because you can feel the suffocating heat of his proximity, the chilling shared breath floating between the tight space. It’s all too much. So, in the last second, you hesitate, pulled from your stupor as you turn your head away.

But he’s not having it. Not when you’re already in the palm of his hand and he’s so fucking close. When he can already taste the opportunity to finally take out the trash and parasites leeching off you, to call up that godforsaken shithole you call a stable, steady-paying job and quit on your behalf, to have you all to himself—a blank slate to knock up with several kids and mold into the perfect little housewife he's always wanted you to be. God, he's already hard at the thought.

Grabbing your jaw firmly, he jerks your face back towards him, thumb roughly wedging between your lips and prying your mouth open.

“Baby.” The endearment spills out, sharp and cold, stripped of any warmth it might've once held.

His gentle veneer cracks ever so slightly, and for the briefest moment, you see something else. A flicker beneath the mask—raw, ugly, messy. It gnaws at the edges of your mind, dredging up something you can’t quite grasp. A memory?

“Gimme a small kiss, hmm?” Despite the smile on his face, there is no kindness to it. Just a twisted caricature warning you that you shouldn’t push further.

All of a sudden you feel like you can’t breathe, weighed down by the unsettling intensity of his stare. The man in front of you—the one claiming he's your husband and calling you “baby,” the one touching you—feels wrong. He’s a stranger, you remind yourself. An almost involuntary shiver runs down your spine, like your body remembers something your mind refuses to.

At this point, your husband has caught on to your rather obvious spiralling. He’s not an idiot—he can see your doubt giving way to panic. He contemplates smoothing things over by playing nice, but the selfish part of him ultimately wins.

He squeezes your jaw, nails biting into your skin.

“Kiss me.”

It isn’t a request this time.

[m3iyugetmyhelp]

The best advice i have for manifestors is to chill.the.f~~ck.out.

Im saying this as someone who had such trouble with manifesting, start to trust ur spirit guides and the universe.

You may be thinking, „but meiyu, what do you mean chill out?”

When you are manifesting something, stop focusing on it 24/7 and thinking about it 24/7, because we all know you are tired asf of thinking about it all the time and doing visualisation techniques, searching on tiktok „how to speed up manifestation” (yeah i see you)

Start by telling your spirit guides what you want to manifest, this doesnt have to be some fancy pancy meditation connecting to ur intuition, just say in ur head or out loud, asking ur spirit guides to work on your manifestation, speak comfortably. Then put trust in them. Thats the hardish part. This is where you chill out, just live. You are now free to go about your life like you always do, and that manifestation could pop up when you least expect it. You can have intrusive thoughts or doubts it still works, your guides still know what it is you want. If the thought of it pops in your mind or if something negative happens in the 3d, dont stress it, reassure yourself „things have to go this way so that they can align my reality to my desire” dont force yourself to feel positive, because that force becomes negative, its all about being chilled out.

Im saying this from experience, ive not trusted my spirit guides out of fear and anxiety and i seen HEAPS of angel numbers confirming my manifestation is coming but as soon as i switched into the calm and „everything happening is to align me with my desire” mindset, everything i applied that mindset to came true. And no im not some positive special person, i had lots of doubts in the process but i just leaned into the trust that things always work out in the end thats all.