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sttoru · 17 days

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𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 '𝐍 𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐒, CHAPTER II: you smuggle the wounded man into your dorm room and nurse him back to health in secret. a fragile bond forms between you and the stranger - whose name you learn is toji - as you spend your first night together.

word count. 6.6k-ish

tags. assassin!toji fushiguro x college student!female reader. sfw. bits of angst. mentions of blood, knives, murder. reader gets called 'woman'. general warnings: size difference. age gap (reader early 20's, toji early 30's). chapter one here

Three. Two. One.

You accept your miserable fate with a gulp. You prepare yourself for the unbearable pain that awaits your body until the last breath leaves your lungs. You hope the anguish lasts for a second or two before your vision turns pitch black. Before your soul meets its maker. Or before it gets lost somewhere more peaceful than this life you've led.

Closing your eyes, waiting for the impact, and uttering your final words in your head felt like eternity. Maybe the man is playing with your emotions before he decides to make an end to your life. Perhaps he is such a nasty psycho. And you can’t believe that out of all people who could’ve met him tonight on the street, you did.

You sniff. Life is unfair. Even at your final moments, you couldn’t help but feel you got the short end of the stick. You wait and wait, but your death doesn’t arrive. You sigh and ask whoever can hear your thoughts to make it quick.

“Shit,” Your ‘murderer’ coughs. It sounds like a painful cough, one that came out the back of his throat. You hear metal clattering on wet concrete not a second later. Your eyes shoot open at the sudden noise, your vision instantly filling with a frightening sight. You watch as the injured man starts to cough up blood. He’s unable to lift a finger in that state of his.

This is your chance to make a run for it. The voice in your head is screaming at you to move and get yourself to safety. It’s a perfect opportunity to get help. But something inside of you is urging you to stay.

Any normal person would have escaped by now.

‘I must be out of my mind,’ you silently think. You don’t loosen the grip you have on your scarf, the one pressed against the man’s open wound. Your body is yelling at you—begging you to move away—yet your heart is pleading to stay put. There is no way your body wins over the strong will of your heart. Your soul, that’s strangely connected to his, a man that threatened to kill you without hesitation.

You surely have lost your mind.

“Sir, oh my god,” you panic. You chose to stay, however have no clue what to do. You’re trying your best to think of a solution to all of this. Your eyes catch a glimpse of your now wet phone laying in a puddle of rain. You hope it still works. Well, even if it does, you surely can’t call an ambulance for the man. He had stated that he didn’t want any help.

If you consider the possibility of him being a murderer, you’d understand that he wouldn’t want an ambulance to be involved. You shake your head as your body desperately tries to continue fighting against your heart’s desires. ‘Sympathizing with a possible murderer. God I really must have gone insane,’ you curse yourself out in your head.

The sound of heavy breathing brings you back into the current moment. You catch the way the bloodied man is trying to regain his strength. You try to coax him into staying still, “sir, please don’t move. It could worsen your injury.”

You voicing your worries only causes the man to try and push you away. Despite his weakened state, the little push he gives you is enough to make you lose the grip on your crimson stained scarf. You watch in pure horror as more blood pours down his black shirt, onto his white pants.

“No, please. Please listen to me,” you don’t know why you’re begging a grown man, a killer, to listen to you for his own sake. You shouldn’t even be here. You should be back in your dorm room, in your cozy bed, watching a series while it pours outside. You shouldn’t be playing the hero to a stranger.

You think quickly. The only option you have aside from an ambulance, is to try and help him out to your best ability. You don’t have anything with you that could help, but you do have some rubbing alcohol in your dorm. That could work as a disinfectant. Stitching his wound up is the real challenge.

“Okay, uhm,” you try to think of a way to do this as smoothly as possible. You quickly grab the knife from the ground and shiver at the sight of the blood on the handle. Time is ticking and it won’t be long until the man in front of you loses his consciousness and possibly… dies.

You take off your coat, making haste to do so. Your hands are trembling, and your heart is stammering. You hiss as you tear apart the material of your coat using the sharp knife. The leather should help slow down the bleeding. Even if it’s only for a little bit. That’s all you really need.

“Here,” you quickly replace the scarf with the cut piece of your coat. You wrap it around his waist and fasten it, making sure it doesn’t slip off. The man does not say a word nor does he fight you off. All the resistance is gone from his weary body. That should tell you enough; he’s barely holding on. His heavy yet faint breathing is the only sign that reassures you that he’s not fallen unconscious.

You collect your bag and all the other things scattered on the dirty ground of the alleyway. You don’t want to leave any evidence of you being here, helping an alleged killer with getting away. Your heart tells you it’s fine, but your body is telling you that you’ll regret all of it. Time will tell which is the truth.

You stand up. Barely. Your knees are nearly giving out on you because of the stress and anxiety, though the adrenaline pumping through your blood is helping you stay composed. Your eyes follow the flow of the man’s blood as it mixes with the rainwater on the concrete. You can’t clean that up. The only thing you can do about it is pray—pray that the rain will wash all of it away. Down the drains.

“Are you okay?” You whisper, checking in on the stranger. He doesn’t answer. You crouch down in front of him, a worried expression on your face as you carefully move the hair from his eyes. They’re closed. You freak out and your initial reaction is to gently tap his cheek for any sign of life, “sir? Sir? Don’t tell me he’s—"

“Shut up,” his gruff voice echoes in your ears. It seems like he still wants you gone, though is not trying to actively shoo you away anymore. Not like he can in the awful state he is in.

The stranger coughs again, his eyelids opening just halfway before closing again. You sigh in relief and move next to him. You lift his arm so that it loosely sits on your shoulders. You grunt softly—the muscles in them makes it a tough job. You try asking him for his compliance, “I’ll help you stand up, okay?”

As expected, you’re met with silence. You take it as an agreement and use all the strength left in your limbs to get up on your feet. It’s a struggle, with you nearly toppling over thrice, but you eventually get the co-operation you’re looking for. The bloodied stranger slowly but surely manages to stand up straight with your aid.

You’re shocked by his large stature. He was intimidating enough when seated, but now that he’s towering over you, his aura is reaching high levels of unsettling. You hope he’s got enough drive left to move his feet. You can’t expect your frail arms to half carry a six-foot-something man.

“Hang in there,” you mutter, trying to cover the anxiety you’re internally facing. You look ahead and move forward in small strides, the steps you’re making are wobbly, as are his. You look up and try to gauge the man’s reactions, though his eyes are once again covered by his wet bangs. All you can make out is the slight twitch of his scarred lips. He’s in pain.

You manage to escape that damned back alley. Your bag is soaked, as are your clothes. You take one quick glance back before you turn the corner and once again pray that the rain washes the blood away. You take the quietest and fastest route back to your dorm.

A couple people pass you by. They don’t look at you funny nor do they bat an eye to the man you’re helping keep balance. They have their own lives that they need to take care of first. The pouring rain makes it harder for them to concentrate on anything else as well. Besides, the material of your coat wrapped around the man’s waist covers up most of the blood. It’s not visible to others.

If someone were to describe the image of the stranger and you from an outsider’s perspective, they’d think you’re just helping your drunk partner back home. It’s not an uncommon sight in the busy streets of Tokyo, especially in the evening.

“Where...” The stranger speaks up, his deep voice hoarser than before. He unexpectedly grips your shoulder. His meaty fingers digging into your flesh makes you wince. He’s only using a small bit of his actual strength and you’re already in pain. You push through and continue helping him forward. “Fuck,” He cusses. He’s starting to become deluded due to the blood loss and pain, “where ‘re—”

The tall man coughs, interrupting himself. You cringe at the sound of that excruciating sound. You could see the lights in the distance. The ones you’re used to seeing when coming back to campus after a night out with your friend. Now, you’re coming back with an unknown man. An alleged killer that you’re bringing into the building. You don’t even want to think about all the lives you could potentially put in danger.

You try to avert your attention. Now is not the time for that. Your gut feeling says so. You need to figure out a way to sneak this man inside your room without anyone finding out. Not the security guards, hall monitors or students: No one can know. You answer his question with clear doubt in your voice, not knowing if you’ll both even make it, “safety. To safety.”

All the thoughts about your poor life decisions get pushed to the side. You grunt and try to increase your speed, having difficulty dragging the man with you. You’re sweating. The amount of strength you need to put in to take only one step is severely draining. You remember that there is one path that doesn’t have much surveillance cameras hanging around. It’s the one you and a couple others use to sneak back into your dorms very late at night.

“Almost,” you try to encourage the stranger, who’s silent is quite eerie. You hope he’s holding on. The way he’s dragging his feet over the bricks tells you that he’s trying to keep conscious. You hurry up and get to the hidden exit at the back.

It’s locked on some days, so you let out a breath of relief when you manage to push it open. That spares you the trouble of having to go through the main entrance and risk getting caught. Plus, you don’t have to use and show your student card now that you’ve infiltrated the building. You hope that there aren’t many people around this side, praying that they’re all eating dinner somewhere.

The creaking of the door is ten times louder than it is usually. Or it could be the fear in your body restructuring your thoughts. Luckily, your dorm room is only one flight of stairs up. You can’t take the elevator because of the cameras in it. You look over at the man leaning against your shoulder, his head tilting to the side in exhaustion.

“Christ,” The stranger grunts. His head sways a little closer to yours unintentionally and your breath hitches. For a split second, he rests the side of his head against yours, too tired to move away. It makes your heart stammer for a moment. To have this coldhearted man lean on you, depend on you, and lay his life in your hands.

You’re filled with another rush of adrenaline. “Are you still holding up okay?” your quiet voice snaps the man out of his disoriented state. He only then realizes that he’s leaning his heavy weight on your small stature. He grumbles and tilts his head the other way again, away from yours. He clearly hates to be vulnerable. Especially around a random girl he does not have any business with.

Without getting an answer back, you carefully make haste to your dorm room. Your room is the first one in the entire row, located the surveillance camera's dead zone, which works out in your favor again.

You hold in your breath and try to fish the keys out of your pocket. Your fingers move the old and now wet receipts and garbage to the sides, pulling the desired object out from between them. You fumble with the keys, your fingers trembling as you try to grab the right one.

The intimidating stranger looks down at your hand through a blurry vision. You’re in a hurry to open the door and avoid being caught. Someone could turn the corner right now and you’d be busted. He huffs in annoyance, though voices no audible complaints. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he knows you’re helping him and that you have zero ill intent.

“Sorry,” you whimper before finally unlocking your door. You hurriedly get in an shut it behind you. It feels like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. Figuratively in this case, since you still have a whole man leaning on you. You help him over to your bed and carefully assist him down.

You’re ignoring your own boundaries for the nth time. The ones you are so adamant to follow in any other situation. You would never let someone sit on your bed with their outside clothes still on, especially not if they’re dirtied and wet. You’re tolerating it for now. All for this man that you have a sudden, unfathomable attraction to.

You don’t have time to think. You rush to your wardrobe and pull the drawer open. You search for a first aid kit. You had it laying somewhere—though never used. Your parents had given you it in case of an emergency. Which is right now.

You find a whole bunch of gauze rolls and a bottle of antiseptic liquid along with bandages, scissors, and pain killers. You have zero clue on how to treat a wound. You only saw such stuff in action movies and cartoons. You grab a needle and thread that you had laying around. A towel and a tissue box as well. Just anything that’s redeemed relevant for the situation.

You drop everything on your bed and fiddle around on what to use first. You’re tempted to grab your phone and look up some instructions on the internet, but you quickly get interrupted by a bloody hand reaching out for the disinfectant. You watch with worry as the man gets to work—not expecting any help from an oblivious girl like you. He’s gone through this before.

“Get some water.” The man huffs, undoing the coat around his waist slowly. You only have a few seconds to act. You look around frantically and find an old water bottle on your nightstand. You hand it to him, and he nearly yanks it from your hand, still showing that stubborn reluctance around you. There’s not a thank you in sight as he gets to work.

You can tell that the stranger has stitched up his own wounds many times before. It makes you think back to your initial thoughts. The thoughts about his occupation. His skills would be self-explanatory if he were to be an actual murderer. Having to deal with these types of wounds would be an everyday experience.

Yet, instead of being alarmed at the possibility, you manage to feel bad for his situation. You helplessly watch as he pours nearly the entire bottle on his wound, getting rid of any debris that’s got on it. He clearly does not care about the wet stains it’s created on your sheets. They’re messy anyway. “Give me that,” the injured man comments and nods at the needle and thread with his head.

You do as told, staying silent as you let the professional do what he knows is best. He cleans the needle with the antiseptic fluid and prepares the wound some more. You want to advise him to at least use some pain killers before he goes to work on it, however they’d take too long to take effect. There is no time to do all of that.

“Ah,” you hiss, like you’re the one experiencing the pain, as you notice how he’s starting the suture near the edge of his wound. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your head to the side, not wanting to witness the gruesome scene. A few occasional grunts and groans sounding from the man leave you nauseous. You can’t imagine what he’s going through at the moment, cleaning and stitching up his own injury. He seemed to know what he was doing, so you don’t comment on it any further.

After a couple seconds pass, you hear another pained hiss. You can’t stand it. You’re just sitting at the edge of your bed, hoping for the best. Hoping that he could make use of all that you provided him with. “Can I help somehow?” You breathlessly ask, your voice a quiet whisper.

“Yeah, by shutting up,” The older man answers bluntly. He’s fixated on healing his wound the best he could, and your voice is disrupting that focus. He’s made some progress with the suture. It isn’t done under perfect circumstances, but he’s used to it. His body has been through enough since childhood to have built up a resilience to most things. The pain and discomfort are nothing he isn’t familiar with.

You bite your lip and apologize for asking him something, “sorry.” His deep voice makes you shiver. It only reminds you of the fact that you have a grown man in your room. A possible killer on the loose. You don’t push your luck and just remain silent. You don’t want to end up as another victim.

Though you have a feeling that he wouldn’t hurt you. Where that feeling came from, you have no idea. It could be your delusions, however you’re sure he wouldn’t harm a hair on your head. Maybe it’s due to that little moment of vulnerability he showed in the halls moments ago. Your body warms up at the memory of how his head laid against yours for a split second.

The man finishes off the suture with a firm surgeon knot. He cleans the remaining blood with the tissues he’s drowned in disinfectant. You look his way again when you hear him shifting in his place. Your baffled as you notice how he’s trying to stand up. You don’t know much about wounds, but you know for certain that someone cannot stand up after getting an injury stitched. It could reopen the wound.

Your hand moves on its own. You firmly grab the man’s wrist and tug him back down on your bed. The stranger lets out a surprised grunt and instinctively slaps your hand away. He wants to leave.

To him, it’s nothing serious. This is just another day in his life. He’s used to ignoring his body’s pleas for rest. Vulnerability does not look good on him. He hates it.

The older man parts his lips to defend himself, yet quickly decides on the opposite. He shuts his mouth once his eyes met your pretty ones. They’re glimmering with tears. He does not realize why you’re suddenly so upset. Nor does he actually care... He thinks.

He just wants to leave before you ask too many questions. It’s best to act like you two have never met. For his sake and yours.

You stare at each other for a few seconds. The silence creates an undeniable tension between you both. You don’t exchange words, though you think he knows what you mean with that look you’re giving him. You’re indirectly begging him to stay still and rest. You know he needs it. He secretly knows he needs it as well, though does not want to acknowledge that weakness.

The stranger sighs in frustration. He looks down at the wound he’s worked hard to patch up. His head hurts. His eyelids are heavy. His limbs are unresponsive. He has no other choice but to lay back. He promises himself that he’d leave after an hour or two. He wants to have nothing to do with you.

A college girl helping him. Who would’ve thought that day would come. Did he become that weak? He has always refused the help of others, so what would make this any different? He can leave and deal with the consequences of that poor decision on his own. However, his body doesn’t move an inch.

The man frowns as he realizes that his cold and distant attitude would get him nowhere this time. His body is actively resisting the urges to leave.

You cautiously ascertain his reactions. You notice the way he slumps back against your pillows with a curse word leaving his lips. You can’t help but feel relieved. You don’t know why, but you’re happy that he’s staying with you. Even if it’s just for a little longer. You want to make sure he’s going to be fine.

You nod silently and don’t say a word for a good while. You don’t want to annoy the man more than you already have. You get up, knees buckling as the adrenaline wears you down. You’re glad you haven’t been caught and that the man you saved didn’t die. You’re tired from everything that went down in the last hour or so.

Though, you cannot rest.

You clean up the mess around your bed. The used, bloody tissues. The rain that’s dripped down your clothes and onto the floor, making small puddles on the surface. The piece of leather you had used as a temporary solution for the stranger’s bleeding. After you’ve gotten rid of all that, you finally take off your coat and shoes. You want to take a bath as soon as possible. And dry your hair.

You don’t take your eyes off the man on your bed. He’s starting to stir again, which could mean one of two things. He’s either trying to escape or trying to change his position. To your surprise, you catch him pull his shirt over his head. The older man’s ripped physique comes into view. Faint veins run down his beefy arms, his abs are perfectly defined, and his waist compliments his bulky stature.

You’re staring. You only realize it when your eyes catch the way he’s attempting to wrap some gauze around his lower abdomen. You can tell that he’s struggling, but he does not ask for help. Nor does he even look your way—acting like it’s just him in the room. It’s easy to conclude that he’s never depended on anyone in his life. It saddens you.

You walk over to your bed and sit down at the edge. You wordlessly reach out to grab the roll of gauze from his hand. Your fingers brush against his palm while you do so, and you can feel the rough calluses on his skin. You don’t comment on it but make a mental note of your discovery.

You carefully wrap the gauze around his waist once. You’re as cautious as you could be, not wanting to inflict any more discomfort on the stranger. He doesn’t resist. He’s too tired to do so. Alhough, that doesn’t stop him from showing his complaints about the situation through his distant body language. His eyes are staring at the nearby wall, his expression as stoic as ever.

You go around with the roll of gauze once more. You lean a bit closer to his torso to properly do your job. You can’t help but feel a tiny bit embarrassed by your proximity. Neither of you says anything about it. He doesn’t move away, and you take that as a sign to continue tending to him.

The older man can’t help but feel that urging desire to push you away and leave. He doesn’t want to be involved in any of this. You weren’t supposed to find him. You weren’t supposed to help him. You weren’t supposed to bring him back here. He hates the idea of letting someone – you - get close to him. He hates letting others in his personal space.

“What’s your name, sir?” Your soothing voice breaks the silence. You’re still visibly nervous, but also a lot less panicky. He finally looks down at you, seeing you put the gauze in place before grabbing a roll of bandages. He hates your touch.

The stranger clenches his jaw. He had to have scared you away in that back alley. He couldn’t and that’s what got him in such a predicament. One that triggers his many internal issues and struggles. He hates having to talk about himself to others. That’s how most bonds form.

“None of your damn business, girl,” The older man growls. His tone is harsh and cold, but you don’t back away nor even flinch. That only serves to irk him more. You’re meant to cower in fear, leave him alone and never turn back, but you do the complete opposite. You don’t know him and yet still choose to take care of him.

You nod, not pushing the matter any further. The injured stranger narrows his eyes for a second. Nothing seems to work on you. His intention is to scare you off, though the more he tries, the more you seem to get closer. It’s got the total opposite effect and he despises it.

He hates it all. Your closeness, your need to help him, your eyes that stare up at him with such worry, your hands bandaging him up. He promised himself, the day his wife died a couple years ago, that he’ll never involve himself with people if it isn’t for business related matters.

He’s managed to live all by himself for all those years and reached a level of independence that others could only dream of. Now it’s shattered. It feels like he’s back to square one because of your choice today. The choice to help a total random stranger.

The older man closes his eyes for a second and sighs deeply. It’s foolish of him to think of such unimportant matters. He’ll just use this to his advantage. He’ll use you, your kindness and everything you have to offer for his own sake. He’ll exploit you like he’s done to many other women before. That’s the way he’s used to treating others.

He’ll indulge your need to help him and try to act nice to satisfy those innocent wishes of yours. Just for his sake and his sake only, he promises himself.

The older man eventually speaks up again after you managed to bandage him up properly, “…Toji.”

You raise your eyebrows. You guess that that’s his name. Your lips curl up into a faint smile, feeling thankful that Toji decided to reveal that little detail about him. You grab his bloodied shirt and put it with the rest of your clothes that you need to wash. Your eyes wander over his exposed upper body for a split second, looking for any other possible injuries, only to find none. You nod in satisfaction as you grab a washcloth and wet it with some water, “that’s a nice name.”

That’s a first. Toji didn’t see the significance of complimenting someone’s name. Everyone has one, it’s not special, so why would you tell him it’s nice? Maybe he just doesn’t understand sentimental stuff like that. He’s not made out for such things. “Hm,” he lets out a small hum in acknowledgement and that’s all you get.

You walk towards him again and brush his bangs to the side. Toji holds himself back from moving away from your touch, but then remembers the decision he made mentally just moments ago. He’ll use that kindness of yours to his advantage until he’s all healed up. Then he’ll leave for good.

You place the cold cloth on his forehead. You know he’ll have a fever throughout the night because of the wound he’s suffered. You’re simply preparing him for that. You grab the painkillers that are scattered around the bed and place them on your nightstand, along with the water bottle. If he needs it, he’ll grab it, you think.

“Ah, sorry,” You snap out of it and realise that you haven’t introduced yourself properly. You might as well, considering you’ll be having Toji as your roommate for a couple days. Or at least you hope he stays that long until he’s all healed up. You continue, “my name is..”

“I already know.” Toji cuts you off before you’re able to reveal your name. You’re dumbfounded for a second. What does he mean by ‘he knows’? You tilt your head in confusion. You try to figure out how he could’ve possibly learnt your name but are unable to make any assumptions.

Toji easily notices your bewilderment. He admits that that could’ve come over as extremely creepy. He looks at the nearby wall and points at the decorations with his chin. You follow his gaze and instantly recognize what he’s staring at. It’s a picture with your friends that you have framed. They gifted it to you some time back and had engraved your name in the frame.

Toji must have cautiously examined his new surroundings whilst you were busy finalizing the treatment for his injury. You understand the need for that. Anyone would be wary in a new environment. “Hehe. Right,” he’s quite observant, you think to yourself.

You look outside of your window and close the tiny gap between your curtains. Even if you’re on the second floor, you don’t want to risk anyone finding out about what you did tonight. It still hasn’t properly processed in your brain; the fact that you have smuggled an alleged killer into your dorm. Maybe it will hit once you sleep and wake up tomorrow.

You look down at Toji with great concern. Even if the wound has been taken care of, you’re unsure if it’s even enough. A doctor would’ve been the safest option. But seeing how great Toji is handling the pain, you guess that it’ll be just fine. You glance at your hands. They have some dried blood on them. You also reek of the rain since you’re still uncomfortably soaked from before.

You decide to go take a shower. Before that, you make sure Toji has everything he needs. You give him a towel to dry himself off and make sure he can reach the first aid kit if needed. You stare at the pile of bloodied and wet clothes in the corner of your room. Both his and yours. You’ll take them to the laundry mat tomorrow.

You avert your attention back to Toji. He’s lying on his back, head turned away to the wall so he wouldn’t have to see you or look you in the eyes. It’s like he’s in his own world. You speak up again, this time a little louder, “are you gonna be alright now?”

Silence again. Toji doesn’t face you and keeps his eyes closed for some peace of mind. He sounds indifferent and distant as he answers you, “who knows.”

The ambiguous answer certainly doesn’t help ease your anxiety. You don’t want the older man to regress back to a state of near unconsciousness again. Despite your wishes, you can’t do much about it. Calling an ambulance or asking for help from others is a big no-no. For you as well, since you’ll be dragged into a big mess if anyone were to find out you gave shelter to a murderer.

“Uhm, all right. I’m gonna take a quick shower.” You announce quietly, not expecting a response. You would’ve preferred it if Toji did respond so you could leave your room for a couple minutes in peace. Without worrying about his condition. You know that you’re annoying him with the constant questions and comments, but you can’t help it. You’re worried. Even if he hates the attention and would love to have as less interaction with you as possible.

“D-Don’t move, ‘kay? I’ll be back.” You add quickly. You take a few steps towards the exit and place your hand on the door handle. Your limbs won’t take another step forward. You’re worried sick that Toji’s going to grab his chance and leave the moment you’re gone. You don’t want him to go. On one hand, it’s selfish of you, but on the other hand, it’s out of consideration for his situation.

You turn your head and glance at his still figure on your bed. His bulky stature nearly took up the entirety of it. You can’t help but ramble about your worries to him, hoping it’d convince him to stay, “If they find you, I’ll get in trouble and god knows what will happen to yo—”

“Just go, woman.” Toji’s deep voice rings through your ears. It’s the second time he’s cut you off. You’re pissing him off, clearly. You immediately zip it and do as told. You decide to put your trust in him and believe that he won’t take the opportunity to leave behind your back.

Without another word, you sneak out of your dorm room, making sure to close your door behind you. You act normal in case anyone walks by and finds your behaviour suspicious. You make a beeline towards the communal showers with your toiletry bag and pyjamas in hand.

Meanwhile, Toji is finally experiencing some real peace. He empties his mind, though cannot seem to get rid of your voice. He still can’t comprehend why somebody would be this worried for him. A college student who’d be at risk of being expelled if found out. You’re taking such great risks for a man like him? He doesn’t understand.

Toji rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands and groans in aggravation, “unbelievable.” Why he’s thinking it through is also something he cannot grasp. The man decides to enjoy the quiet atmosphere for now. He’s still somewhat disheveled from the entire ordeal and if he were to keep his brain running, he’d lose his mind completely. He drapes an arm over his eyes and lies there silently on the soft mattress.

A couple minutes pass. You feel like you’ve taken the quickest shower ever. You avoid as many students as possible while you make your way back to your dorm. You close your eyes and take a deep breath in. You open the door and peek through the crack. It’s pitch dark in the room. The sun had fully set a while back and your curtains cover any light from outside.

You lock your door and step forward carefully. You squint and wait for your vision to accommodate to the darkness. You approach your bed and finally let out that breath you’ve been holding in. He’s still there. Toji’s still where you left him. His chest is slowly moving up and down, his breathing steady as he rests.

You quietly turn on the nightlamp in your room. It casts a faint shadow over Toji’s face. He seems to be asleep. You can’t quite tell for sure since his bicep is nearly covering the entirety of his face, but you judge based on his breathing patterns. You sit on the edge of your bed and feel tired yourself after that eventful evening. You’re sleepy. The adrenaline has worn off and exhausted you to no end.

You glance down at the bandage around his torso. You’d have to change that for him tomorrow. For now, you’re content with the outcome of it all. You shift in your seat, which causes your hand to brush against Toji’s on the bed. You feel the warmth creep up to your head. His veiny hands still had stains of blood on the skin.

Now that Toji’s asleep, he won’t refuse your help. You grab a spare washcloth from your wardrobe and wet it with some water. You carefully lift Toji’s left hand. His palm touches yours and you find yourself enjoying the physical contact. His hand is heavy—bigger and rougher than yours. There are faint scars on his fingers which reminds you of his unknown identity.

All you’ve discovered until now is his name. His background is a mystery, and you have the feeling that it’s going to stay a mystery. You’ve realized by now that Toji does not open up to just anyone. You diligently clean the crimson stains from his left hand and move to do the same for the right one. You’re as careful as you can be, not wanting to wake the injured man from his well-deserved rest.

Once done, you put the washcloth away. You yawn and look at the clock. It’s nearly midnight already. You can’t sleep on your bed since it’s occupied, and it doesn’t fit two people. You look down at the soft carpet below your feet. That’ll have to do.

You grab an available pillow and a spare blanket, setting up your own little sleeping bag on the carpet right next to the bed. You lay down and stare at the ceiling. The ticking of your clock and the occasional sound of traffic outside of the building are the only loud sounds that distract your mind from any turbulent thoughts.

All you want is to sleep. What’ll happen tomorrow or the day after that is a problem for later. You’re safe for now. For today, you can relax. Your door is locked and the man you saved hadn’t left just yet. You feel a strange form of comfort having him with you. Even if he may be a bad person, his presence somehow soothes your tired body and mind. You feel like you’re safe with him. No harm shall come your way tonight.

And with that decisive thought, you close your eyes and give in to the slumber. You turn to lay on your side, facing the frame of your bed. Facing Toji.

You smile and utter your final words for the day, “good night, Toji. Sleep well.”

You drift into the land of dreams and discard your eventful reality. Little did you know that the man on your bed had been wide awake the entire time and is now left unable to sleep. . .

to be continued !

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #toji x you #toji x y/n #jjk angst #toji angst #please give it lots of love :)

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creamymilkk · 2 years

Note

Could you do a one where the reader and Vance we're together and the reader was killed by the grabber before Vance. And the reader trys to help Vance escape and stay safe from the grabber when he gets kidnapped (and Vance can communication with the reader through the phone like Finney did but he can also see them bc when he turned around while still on the phone bc he heard a voice which was the readers and he also finds out the reader was murdered by the grabber and gets pissed)but the reader ends up failing to protect him and Vance died too and they can finally be together again?

⋆·˚ ༘ * ♡. 📞 I promise. 📞 .♡

༉‧₊˚ #Vance Hopper x reader

. ˚₊ ꒱ Pairing/Pairings: Vance Hopper and GN! Reader.

༉‧₊˚ -Format: imagine.

× &﹕Summary: You try your hardest to get Vance out of here.

×﹕♺ AUTHOR’S NOTE(S): I loved this idea! Btw Im trying to catch up in requests so requests are going to be slow.

masterlist | Requests: OPEN

Vance's eyes slowly opened and his whole body felt like shit. His head hurt like crazy when his eyes fully opened. He was in an unknown place, he got up. Vance saw him.

“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?” He yelled out to the unknown man with a weird-looking devil mask. Until it hit him. It was the grabber. The person that took away his lover.

“It’s too late for yelling.” The grabber calmly stated. He was holding a plate, he put the plate on the floor. It was shitty-looking eggs and a soda bottle.

“Where the hell am I?” “In my basement.” He started looking at him.

“Just eat.” “I’m not fucking eating that,” Vance said to the grabber disgusted and mad.

“Oh, your problem. You are already down here. “ The grabber went to the basement door. Vance was in disbelief, how did he get kidnapped by him?

He was stronger than the grabber he knew that. He beaten up three kids in under 2 minutes. He was just mad and confused until he turned around. There was a black phone.

‘How dumb is he?’ Vance thought. The grabber already knew what he was doing and thinking about. “The phone doesn’t work. It hasn’t worked since I was a kid.”

With that being said, he closed the door. For the first time in his life, he truly felt hopeless. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to say. He looked at the food next to the bed.

He wasn’t going to eat the eggs or the soda. He didn’t care if he was going to starve to death.

Two days. For two days, his face was coated in dirt. His jacket was slowly losing its color, his once white shirt. Was covered with mud and blood. This was the third day, yesterday he tried punching the grabber but that ended horribly. He got beaten.

He would try and kill him. He wanted to snap his neck, he wanted to kill him. For them.

He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to fight but he couldn’t. Just not yet, he wanted to fight him when the time is just right. His thoughts were all over the place.

RING RING RING.

‘Was that? That couldn’t be..’ he quickly got off the bed and went to the phone. He was right, the phone was ringing. ‘What? How?’ He picked up the phone.

He put it next to his ear, it was just sadistic. Fucking. Sadetic. He thought he could have escaped. The grip of the phone tightened. He smashed the phone back into its place when he was about to turn around.

RING RING RING.

He turns around, ‘I swear to god.’ He picked up the phone. It was sadetic until he heard a faint “Hello?” “Hello?!?” He almost yelled into the phone. Maybe he could escape, his eyes almost lightened up.

“Hello.” The line was more clear and he couldn’t believe what he heard. It was y/n. The person he loves. “Y/n? Baby.” He said, his voice cracking. He couldn’t believe his ears. “Vance? It’s been forever..” you spoke in a sweet gentle voice.

“Y/n… I can’t believe it’s you..” he said, his voice breaking. “Y/n… I remember.” You said almost forgetting your name.

Before Vance could say anything, the phone disconnected. “Y/n!” He was about to cry. “You can’t talk to the dead.” That voice.

He turned around and it was him. “Stay the fuck away from me.” “Oh don’t worry. I just wanted to check up on you.” He stated.

“You’ve done your check-up! Go.” He said to the grabber in an angry tone.

“If I need to.” The grabber turn around and walked out of the basement.

Vance was about to cry until he noticed the door unlocked. ‘That fucking idiot.’ He thought. Quickly went to the door and when he was about to open it.

RING RING RING.

It was ringing. It’s y/n. He ran to the phone and picked it up, “hello?” “Don’t go upstairs. He’s waiting.” You spoke out.

“What?” “He didn’t say you could leave. If you do, he will punish you. With hitting you with that belt. It hurts like hell.” You said.

“Did he hit you..?” He said to you, Vance turned around and there was you. Standing in front of him.

Your hair was a mess, the outfit was covered in dirt and blood. A lot of blood and your eyes were gone. Blood dripped out of them. You were a mess.

“Y/n..?” He mumbled out.

“You could see me?” You said in the same soft voice. “Yeah… I can.” Vance answered, still holding the phone.

“Did he hit you.” He asked you again. “He did much more than that.” You walked close to him.

“He killed me. I tried to escape.. I really tried Vance.” You cupped his cheek with your hand.

Your once warm and gentle hand was now cold. Since soft and gentle, he wanted to kill that asshole.

“I'm going to kill him! I swear.” Vance said in an angry tone. He looked at you, almost crying out of anger.

“Don’t worry about me Vance… I promise I will help you escape.” You always cared about other people, when he found out you were gone. He was such a crying mess, he wished that he was there to help you. To protect you. To hug you. To tell you that everything will be okay.

“For right now, don’t go upstairs. He’s waiting, Vance. Eat. That food won’t hurt you.” With that. You were gone, he wished he could have talked to you more. But he will listen to you. He will kill that mother fucker. For you.

He quickly got the plate with eggs and soda. He ate the food fast, he almost forgot that he was straving. He drank the soda, even though the Grabber food tasted like shit. He was hungry.

Vance was just sitting down, thinking of what you said. ‘I promise I will help you escape.’ He couldn’t believe that you were protecting him. He wanted so badly to see you or even talk about what happened. He got up, and picked up the phone.

“Y/n.. please answer. I just wanna talk to you. Even just to hear your voice. Please.” He begged. He still heard nothing.

He let out a sigh, and was about to lay on the dirty so called ‘bed’ until..

RING RING RING.

he almost jumped to the phone, he picked up the phone. “Y/n?” “Hey Vance.” You spoke. He turned around and you were there.

“What happened? Do you remember anything?” He questioned you. “It’s all a blur. All I know is what happened here. I do remember you.” You said looking at him.

“I swear that this won’t happen to you.” you spoke to him.

“I love you, Vance.” “I love you too,” Vance said still crying and smiling.

2 weeks. He did everything you told him to, he just wanted to get out of this hell. Today was the day to kill that fucking jackass. The one that did this to you. The one that took your life. The grabber was taking his time.

He couldn’t wait to hear him scream and beg him for his life. Vance was waiting and hiding behind the walls. That’s when the grabber opened the door with the plate of eggs and soad like always done. Vance swears every time the eggs get grosser. “Breakfast Tim-“ he was cut off. “TODAY IS THE DAY MOTHERFUCKER.”

When Vance quickly punched him in the face, the plate of eggs dropped before they both knew it. They were fighting. Vance was fighting like he never had before. He really wanted to kill him. Until the grabber got some pole laying around and hit him right in the face. Vance quickly falled back.

His nose was broken and bleeding ALOT. Everything was getting blurry, “Naughty boy.” He chuckled. Vance turned his head and saw you. You were standing crying.

Then everything went black.

He worked up and was somewhere he didn’t remember being. ‘Where the hell is this?’ He thought to himself. “Vance..?” He turned around and saw you.

“Y/n..” You quickly ran into Vance’s arms, hugging him tight. You quickly started crying, “I’m s-sorry Vance’s. I broke my promise.” “It’s okay.” Vance said to you.

“It’s not. You should be outside and enjoying life.” You cried out. “Baby…y/n.” He said to you,

You look deeply into his baby ocean eyes. “I don’t care about that. I don’t care. All I want is to be with you for the rest of my life.” He spoke to you.

“I love you.” With that you two kissed.

#requests open #vance hopper #vance hopper x reader #inbox open #the black phone #the black phone fanfic #vance hopper the black phone #the black phone 2022 #the black phone fandom #angst??#gender neutral y/n #gender nuetral reader #fluff?#happy ending #i suck at this #idk what else to put in the tags #tags #imagine

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gingerbreadmonsters · 4 months

Text

peckish

or: darling, we've got company for dinner.

gn!reader, MASSIVE warnings for gore and cannibalism, ooey-gooey domestic bliss meets serial killer heaven. apologies to everyone who's new around here - i have to keep the property prices low somehow, you know? much love to the discord gang, the real heroes of the nightmare suburbia that is this fic. the spaghetti scene from lady and the tramp but make it monstrous. warden bobbing for adam's apples in just over 4400 words.

one more time so i know you heard me: warnings for cannibalism, heavy blood and gore, extended discussion of serial killing and murder, death and dead bodies, and emetophobia.

this fic contains graphic content that may not be suitable or appropriate for readers under the age of 18. reader discretion is heavily advised. dead dove: do not eat. as always, i encourage you to stop reading at any point if you feel as though you may become uncomfortable or upset. 18+ ONLY. MINORS DNI. thank you.

series masterlist

Say what you will about Vega, he’s never fancied himself the type to settle down.

Settling down sounds boring, don't you think? It sounds like something dull and mundane, the rhythmic repetition of ordinary life. Wearing away at the facets of the mind, a stone washed and tumbled in the river, worn smooth and utterly featureless. Wasteful.

It’s not really the sort of thing he'd ever thought he'd want for himself, and besides, it's not really something demons do. Especially not when they're as old as him, and with such grand ambitions. You don't fracture universes and topple gods from a three-bed two-bath in the middle of nowhere.

Aria has no real equivalent, and the thought of a demon chaining themselves to the monotony of indefinite life in Elegy… it’s so awful that it doesn’t even bear thinking about.

A garage and a garden and a pool, a barbecue and a picket fence and two and a half kids. All these useless things that humans seem to obsess over - filling their lives with the inane clutter of their shallow world, lulled into the background of their own existence by the weight of their own avarice. Self-soothing. The closest he’s ever got to a gated community is a maximum-security prison, and neither are places that he’s particularly enthusiastic about seeing the inside of ever again.

The concept of suburbia is very, very human. Vega is not.

Oh, my.

Ah, well. Best laid plans and all that.

Having fun there, darling?

He laughs at your enthusiastic thumbs up, gaze lingering on the thick smear of blood that trails across your jaw, dripping down the side of your throat, threatening to soak into the collar of your shirt. It looks like you’re nodding as well, but from this angle it’s hard to tell - sort-of crouched but almost lying flat, sprawled across the living room carpet in front of him as he sits back in the chair.

He’s strangely reminded of a pet - maybe one of those little puppy dogs he’s seen humans walking around with, shaking its toy from side to side in its mouth. Cute.

You sit up with a gasp, lips glossy with spit and blood, delicate tendons snapping across your fangs as you tear yourself away. Fuck, you look good, eyes black with pleasure as your fangs flash in the soft sunlight, biting, chewing, ripping…

Did y-

Ah, ah. The tip of his tail flicks forwards to point accusingly at you in mocking disapproval. What have we said about talking with your mouth full?

That I’ll choke, you grumble, clumsily wiping blood from your cheeks and greedily licking it into your already-full mouth. Like you’ve ever been sad when I do that.

He shrugs, smirk pulling at his lips as you glare up at him. What can I say? It’s less fun when I’m not involved.

Chastened, if far from chaste - you scowl, even as your tail betrays you, swishing back and forth across the carpet behind you in gluttonous delight. The sound of your chewing fills the room, loud and delightfully sticky, and he watches all the lovely muscles in your throat flex as you swallow, again and again.

Sighing quietly in pleasure at the taste, licking your messy fingers and letting them go with a pop, shiny and clean. His little hedonist.

Mind if I…? When you’ve finished your mouthful, you gesture down in front of you with your tail. It’s really nice.

Asking for another go, like you need his permission. You really are sweet, aren’t you? He leans forward to hold your chin in one hand, carefully picking a stray piece of flesh from between your front teeth with the tips of his claws, before settling back into his chair and popping it in his mouth.

Of course, he replies, smiling indulgently as you eagerly bury your face back into the corpse’s throat for seconds. Eat up, my love.

The bright sound of tearing flesh fills the room again, sloppy and wet as you hungrily slurp blood into your mouth like a baby vampire, puncture marks littering the skin where your claws have dug too deep in your excitement. You’re just so adorable, curled over the body in the living room, elbow deep in gore and occasionally lifting your head to spit out a particularly sharp chunk of bone.

Munching away at your prize, shredded skin caught in your teeth. At this rate, you’ll have stripped the flesh entirely by dinnertime.

Drink?

You glance up at him inquisitively, still up to your nose in the human’s throat, and he knows that look. This should be fun. And anyway, it would be rude to refuse his pretty darling anything, wouldn’t it?

Oh, if you insist.

Gracefully, he slides out of the armchair and kneels on the opposite side of the corpse, mouth already watering in anticipation. You don’t seem to care much for grace at all, though - happily, you twist your fingers into his hair and pull him into a kiss, sharing your blissful mouthful of blood with a delighted sigh.

It’s dark and rich on his tongue, mixing with the familiar flavour of your kisses, and he laughs quietly in your mind as he feels you smile, the satisfaction of your full stomach mixing with the electric spark of his fangs digging into your lip.

It’s something of a double-edged sword, if he’s honest. Blood pours from your mouth as you grin, and he’s smiling too hard to really stop it, splattering all over your front, his hands, and the body on the floor between you. Your kisses get shallower and shallower, but no less hungry, until you’re practically licking at his face like an animal, desperate for the taste of the blood that coats his lips and his chin.

Obviously, he lets you. You’re having fun, and it’s very cute.

Definitely a puppy, he thinks.

Hmm? You’ve turned your attention back to your meal, scooping blood into your mouth with one hand as the other prepares to crack open the chest cavity. He prefers the softness of the stomach, the richness of the guts and the kidneys, but you do so love the challenge of the ribcage - the sweet lungs and heart and liver, waiting to be devoured. What did you say?

Oh, nothing, darling, he replies. Bones crunching, skin splitting, and Vega watches proudly as you crawl on top of the corpse, greedily burying your face in the split ribs and groaning in delight. Nothing at all.

The bloodstain on the cream-coloured carpet grows slowly but steadily around you as you feast, while he sits back up in the armchair and picks up the television remote. There’s a documentary programme this afternoon about one of his past experiments, and he’s curious to see what they make of it.

Long fingers pressing the little buttons, careful to keep his claws out of the way so as not to accidentally tear the rubber. The channels flick past, brief glimpses of other shows flashing on the screen before being replaced by another.

Learning how to use this stupid little controller had been very bizarre for him and you - it runs on electricity, with no magic at all, and manipulating the television with magic is really very difficult without making it catch fire. It’s not built to accommodate magical energy inside it, so you’d both had to just deal with the learning curve and figure out how to make it give you the programme you want.

According to you, it had been exactly the same when you had to learn to use a computer and a walkie-talkie at DUMP, so it had taken you a frustratingly short amount of time to figure it out. He’d been forced to ask you for help more than once, which had admittedly grated on him a little, but it hadn’t been all that bad. You’d been far too distracted by your reward to gloat, in any case.

(Demons might not need to sleep, per se, but he’d certainly tired you out, poor thing. Soundproof wards are such a wonderful thing.)

Finally, he finds the right channel, garish adverts splashed across the screen before the programme starts. A disembodied human voice twitters blithely about some product or other it's trying to sell - some sort of little rectangular pills? - but he’s not really paying attention.

Neither are you, to be fair. Drenched in blood from horns to tail, you’ve moved on to the trachea, chewing away at the meat and sucking the cartilage clean before arranging it in a little pile next to you. There’s about seven or eight of the little C-shaped rings so far, and he smiles as you spit another one into your palm and add it to the collection.

Quietly, he makes one of those thin cardboard boxes out of magic, the red-and-white striped ones you insist on having when you watch films, and scoops the dripping stack of cartilage inside with a touch of psychokinesis. If you’re allowed to have a mid-afternoon snack, then so is he.

Music starts playing from the television, and he settles back into the armchair as the documentary finally begins. Shaky, poorly lit videos of gore-spattered - and clearly fake, just look at that awful artificial blood - crime scenes play under dramatic readings of newspaper headlines, and it's all very melodramatic.

To be perfectly honest, they're exaggerating a little. Or perhaps it’s more that whatever unempowered police force was wheeled out to investigate was absolutely terrible at their job. He’d been proud of this particular protégé, but he hadn't been that good. The kills were enthusiastic but rather sloppy, so although Vega had eaten well at every crime scene, the whole affair had been considerably more risky than it needed to be.

Humans simply suffer from a tremendous belief in their own immunity to wickedness - contrary to popular belief, it doesn’t take much to turn a human into a serial killer, especially not when you have as much practice as he does. To make a good serial killer is a little harder, but not impossible.

They need an affinity for death, obviously, and a fascination with their own mortality is always helpful. Manual dexterity is useful but can be cultivated, and depending on the method of killing, physical strength can be a bonus as well. Cleverness is appreciated, as is a propensity for lying.

But most of all, they need to love killing, the thrill of the hunt - their god must become murder, their worship becomes the unique pleasures of the kill. And make no mistake, pleasures is absolutely correct. You’d told him about some human saying or other - love your job, and you’ll never work a day in your life, and he really couldn’t agree more.

If you’re not having fun, you’re doing it wrong. The word spree sounds so joyful, don’t you think?

Now they’re playing a video of some armchair psychologist, ruminating about childhood factors and underlying conditions, and it’s almost ridiculous how wrong they are. Which, to be fair, is probably not their fault. If these unempowered humans had jumped to the conclusion that the man’s motivation for killing was an invisible demon secretly talking in his brain and persuading him to commit murders, in order to create the sadistic energy that the demon needed to eat to survive, it would probably speak more to their own conspiratorial leanings than his own breaking of covert.

Humans love to try and explain things they don’t understand. Trauma? Hardly. Neglect? Please. Illness? Well, now you’re just making him laugh. A child could figure out that there hadn’t been anything wrong with the man. He’d been perfectly sane before Vega got involved.

The screen shifts to a woman walking around in a street he vaguely recognises, talking about the life of the first victim - well, the one she thinks was the first, anyway - and he watches in amusement at the stilted story these ‘investigators’ have sewn together. Some things are right, but most things aren’t, and it’s admittedly quite funny to see how badly they’ve put everything together. Can’t anyone tell the difference between a carving knife and a chef’s knife anymore?

Idly, he curls the spade of his tail around into his snack box, picks up a loop of cartilage, and pops it into his mouth. Yum. Chewy.

After a little while, the programme cuts away to an advertisement break, and he sighs in disappointment as the narration about entry and exit wounds is interrupted by an advert for furniture sets. He takes a minute to sit up and stretch, noting the progress you’ve made on your little meal with pride.

The chest cavity is almost entirely empty of its organs, only the shredded remains of the diaphragm left in the space where the lungs used to sit, bitemarks in the muscle that’s been almost entirely torn away. Chunks of half-chewed fat have been spat out onto the carpet, but he’s pleased to see that you’ve eaten most of the alveoli - you can’t stand the taste of cigarettes, so he’d been careful to get you one that wasn’t a smoker.

Speaking of your eating habits, your initial frenzy seems to have worn off a little. The ends of most of the ribs have been shattered, clear dents in the bone where you’ve had to chew a little harder to get at the delicious marrow inside, others ripped out of the body entirely in your enthusiasm.

You must have got overexcited and tired yourself out, though - now you’re lying on the carpet next to the body, gnawing slowly at the wrist and slurping out the blood that’s still left in the muscle tissue. How unusual. Normally, you’d finish off a few more of the major organs before switching to one of the limbs.

Full up already, dear?

He’s expecting you to laugh, or at least bare your teeth at him, but instead you just groan weakly in response, squeezing your eyes shut. A painful stab of worry blooms in his aura, first like a needle, then like a knife - in a second, he’s leaning forward out of his chair, examining your body for injuries.

What’s wrong? What is it? You’ve been right here in front of him the whole time - fuck, what did he miss? The ward around the house pulses as he checks it, but it’s just as strong as ever. Magic builds in his core, power cracking and sparking beneath his simulated skin in an instant, needing to shield you, hold you, protect you-

Tummy ache. Hurts.

Belatedly, he notices your free hand rubbing little circles over your stomach, tail flicking in agitation as the balance of magic in the room tilts and sways around you. Oh.

Again? Relieved, he relaxes slightly, although it’s surprisingly difficult to let the magic go that easily. Darling, I told you last time, you ca-

I was hungry!

And you’ll be sick, if you’re not careful!

Will not, you huff, through a big gulp of blood. Got rid of it.

He has to fight not to smile at your adorable petulant expression, fangs buried in the forearm of a corpse. You’re so precious. Got rid of what, hm?

Gag reflex, you reply proudly. Finally found out what it was.

So that’s why… he muses, head tipping to the side as he looks down at you. I see.

Of course! That’s why you’d felt so awful last time he’d brought you a corpse. How could he have missed it?

You’d eaten so fast that you’d made yourself sick, looking up at him in alarm as your body revolted against you, before turning to the side and vomiting all over the kitchen floor. Neither of you had known what was going on - you’d both seen it happen to humans before, but never to demons.

Poor thing, you’d been petrified, sobbing and wailing in his arms as your body convulsed against your will. He’d been afraid as well - reflexively, he’d poured a panicked wave of magic into you, searching for the problem, but hadn’t found anything. If it wasn’t something magical, what could it have been - what could possibly have hurt you?

His body doesn’t have a gag reflex, but yours does - well, did. Most demons give themselves lungs and vocal cords, at the very least, when they come to Elegy. It makes it easier to fake breathing, and it’s more convenient than manually using magic every time if you need to speak aloud to humans - you’d got into the habit when you were at the Department, and you’d grown used to the weight of having organs inside you. Apparently, it’s comforting.

Vega?

He rarely bothers with having any physical internal systems, seeing as he only ever uses telepathy. If he ever needs to eat anything, he just lets it dissolve into magic inside him straight away - but you’ve told him that you like the feeling of having a pleasantly full stomach after a meal, so you wait until then to let it be broken down by the magic that fills your form. It hadn’t even occurred to him that you might have accidentally given yourself a gag reflex without realising.

Hold on. If you’ve had that sitting in the back of your throat the whole time, how come he’s never accidentally triggered it when y-

Vega!

Startled out of his thoughts, he looks down to see you pointing the tip of your tail towards the television. Your programme’s on again.

Oh - oh, yes. Thank you.

He sits back in the chair again, but his mind is elsewhere, one eye on the documentary and one eye on you. The amateur crime scene analysis doesn't interest him as much as you do, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and frowning when you realise that you’re only making it worse - your entire upper body is covered in blood and viscera, slightly tacky as it dries, and all you’re doing is rearranging it slightly.

Absentmindedly, he swallows. Oh, he’s going to enjoy cleaning you up.

It looks like you’re feeling a little more settled, or at least you’ve stopped caring if your stomach hurts. The voice on the television explains something about declassified documents as you grab the body by the shoulders and start shuffling backwards across the carpet, dragging it closer to the chair he’s sitting in.

Going somewhere?

You don’t reply, dumping your prize on the floor between his feet, before leaning your weight against his legs and flopping down across his lap. Luckily, long experience with your little habit kicks in - he leans back just in time to avoid your horns stabbing him in the stomach, lifting his hands out of his lap so they’re not in your way, replacing them lightly on top of your head.

Is this about the really old one, again?

He strokes one of your horns with one hand as you wriggle around on the floor, getting comfortable as you turn your face to the screen. There’s a quiet burst of magic as you think about reaching for the beanbag over by the coffee table, but at the last minute you go for the blanket lying over the back of the sofa instead, floating it over so you’ve got something a bit more comfortable to sit on.

No, that was last week’s programme, he replies. This one was only a few decades ago.

Your eyes narrow, gazing at the replica weapons onscreen. Really? That stuff looks pretty old.

No, no. It can’t have been more than fifty or sixty years…

Has it really been that long? It feels like only yesterday he’d been standing over the man as he stared down at his very first victim on the floor, shuddering with murderous ecstasy, laughing to himself as Vega drank in the delicious bitterness of his cruelty. How hungry they’d both been for him to draw blood - quite literally, in Vega’s case. How thrilling it had been when all that careful planning finally bore fruit, blossoming and blooming with each stroke of the knife, sweet and tart on his astral tongue.

Ah, time flies when you’re having fun. Upon reflection, maybe it’s been longer than he thought.

Hm. Perhaps you’re right. But only a century at most, I’m certain.

Apparently satisfied with that, you settle down against him to watch properly, draped against his legs all warm and happy. He relaxes too, absentmindedly stroking his claws over your shoulders and the back of your neck. It’s nice. Soothing, and he can feel that you like it too.

The documentary keeps going. After a few minutes, he hears something sticky from the floor next to you, like something soft and wet being pulled free. Then it happens again, and he feels your cheek start to move where it’s pressed against his leg.

Mm, thank you.

He takes the offered eyeball with a smile, plucking it out of your hand and putting it in his mouth. It bursts satisfyingly between his teeth, the sensation of it splitting making something thrum in pleasure deep in his mind as he savours the light flavour of the clear juice. Both of you like the eyes, refreshing and succulent, so you always make sure to share.

In return, he tips the box of cartilage towards you, but you turn your nose away with a huff. Not in the mood, it seems. Very well.

There’s about three-quarters of an hour left of the programme, and it passes in companionable silence, broken only by his quiet chewing and the slow swish of your tail over the bloodied carpet. Naturally, the humans who made this particular documentary don’t come to any new conclusions, but their outlandish theorising is amusing enough. If he’s honest, it’s starting to make him miss the whole routine - if there’s time over the next few months, he really ought to start getting back into serial killers. They’re the best kind of pet, once you’ve trained them well enough.

(Well, other than you, of course. But that’s a different matter entirely.)

It’s just getting to the end, credits music already beginning to play, when he feels it. Your claw digging into his side, the beginnings of a whine echoing faintly in his mind. He looks down to see you looking pitifully down at the body next to you, tail half-heartedly digging into one of the empty eye sockets. A pleading flash of an image rushes through his head - bone crunching and cracking, a spray of juice splattered across the carpet, the mouthwatering insides revealed.

Already? he laughs, even though he’s already moving to balance his foot on top of the corpse. Whatever happened to your tummy ache, darling?

You stick your tongue out lazily at him, delightfully long in comparison to your relatively human proportions. Hungry. Open it.

Oh, he really has to fight back the swell of affection that blooms in his aura - it’s so precious, when you try to boss him around. Like a little cat, climbing all over him like he’s a toy, sitting by your empty dish and yowling for your dinner like he’s not the one that fed you twenty minutes ago.

Alright, alright. Whatever you say, dear.

Well, it’s not exactly how he’d imagined spending his Saturday afternoons, all those years ago. If past-him could only see the blandly-decorated living room he’s settled in, the neatly-manicured garden outside the window, the mindless television filling the room with noise. Oh, he’d be furious - seething with rage at the adoring gaze future-him gives his demonic darling, form blurring with hatred at the sight of the ring sitting on his future finger. Everything he thought he’d hate forever, imprisoned in the trappings of this pseudo-human life.

He presses down a little bit harder, then harder still - until there’s a sharp crunch, and his foot meets the floor.

Ah, ah, he says as you lean eagerly forward, catching the collar of your shirt with one hand to pull you back, and then your horn with the other when you try to phase through the shirt. What do we say?

Huffily, you roll your eyes at him, but he can feel that you don’t really mean it. Hmph.

He pretends to look thoughtful, tapping his chin with the spade of his tail, and generously not mentioning that yes, he can see the gesture your hand is making at him from here. No, that wasn’t it…

Your bloodsoaked face, adorably grumpy as you try to squirm free of his grip. Magic fizzles between you, sparking off his skin, but he’s too strong - his hand keeps you upright even as you slump in defeat, baring your fangs up at him momentarily before thinking better of it.

Thanks, you mutter, like his demonic hearing won’t catch it. Sweet victory.

It’s tempting to feign deafness and make you say it again, but it’s fine. Truth be told, the sight on the floor by his feet is making his mouth water as well. And anyway, he’s more than happy to make you pay for your little bout of insolence later. He’ll get his revenge before long - you’re always more than glad to give it to him, again and again and again…

You’re very welcome, my love, he murmurs fondly, but doesn’t let go of your horn. Confused, you peer up at him as he tips your head back, his tail sneaking around your waist, his free hand reaching down to dig his claws into the mess between his feet.

An ordinary life is the bane of a demon’s existence. It’s the refusal of the call, trading the mythical powers and unlimited secrets of the universe for a playroom and a picket fence. There’s so much more to eternity than a 9 to 5 and two weeks’ holiday every year, and it doesn’t make sense. How could anyone willingly numb their mind like this, give up everything that makes existence worth having in exchange for something so - so boring?

Vega grins, lifting his hand to your lips, and your gaze fixes on the shiny, dripping mess of brains and blood that fills his palm. Gore trickles down his wrist, dripping onto what used to be a cream-coloured carpet, and he licks his fangs as he catches sight of the teardrop-shaped diamond on your finger, tacky with blood.

Nothing, nothing, a head full of dust. Human life is everything a demon should despise.

Oh, well.

Open wide, darling, he sings, and your black eyes sparkle with delight.

Maybe suburbia isn’t that bad, after all.

in the mood for more? here’s the series masterlist

main masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted vega #redacted warden #ginger writes #gingerbreadmonsters

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coffeeandbatboys · 1 year

Text

And It All Goes Downhill. (Matt Murdock x Reader)

This one is for @omega-ish hope you get some good Matt comfort out of this one :)

After learning Matt's secret, things go wrong very quickly.

Warnings: kidnapping, lots of injuries.

You stared him down, disbelief crossing your features.

"So you're telling me that you jump around on rooftops at night punching people to death?? You're. Blind. Matthew."

"Y/N please-"

"No. Either you've been lying to me this whole time about the bruises and scars, or you're just saying this to impress me. Even then you'd still be lying."

You were seething with anger now, at the fact he didn't trust you enough to tell you.

"I can't do this right now, Matt."

"I'm sorry. I'm so, incredibly sorry."

"And I," you grabbed your coat, opening the door. "Don't want to hear another word from you."

~~~

"Alright, easy buddy. Take my money." You held it out for the thug, who was jittery and almost frightened.

"Necklace."

The one that Matt had given you. Why should you care? You were mad at him right now. But you always fixed it somehow.

"No, you asked for the money, you got-"

A gunshot rang out, and the thug sprinted away in fear. You looked around, trying to determine the source. That's when you saw two men exit a warehouse building to your right. They caught sight of you and pursued you. No doubt they just killed someone. Before you could get away, though, they overtook you and the world went black.

~~~

When you awoke, you felt the bonds around your wrists. Around you seemed to be another warehouse of sorts. It seemed empty, cold and damp, leaving you shivering against the harsh conditions. Then you realized that you were on the second floor. An industrial bridge spanned underneath you, from one end of the room to the other. You tasted the dried blood from your lips, and the first thought in your mind was "Oh my God. I'm going to die."

Before you could shut it down, a large, broad-shouldered figure entered your line of vision. It was Wilson Fisk. Oh I'm definitely going to die.

"Miss Y/L/N. I suppose you know why you're here."

"I witnessed the getaway of a murder?"

"All the same, I can't have you traipsing around after that. However, you may still be of some use."

"Oh? And how's that?"

"Tell me everything you know about Daredevil."

The air felt impossibly colder and you suddenly felt sick. Matt wasn't lying.

You decided to tell white lies, in order to make it seem as if he wasn't your boyfriend. As if that worked, though.

"I see him in the newspaper. Quite a guy huh? Doin' parkour on rooftops?"

"Don't play games with me L/N."

"Look, I've never interacted with the devil of Hell's Kitchen. Only seen him from a distance." It wasn't a complete lie. You'd never actually seen Matt as the Devil. At least, not in action.

Just then, you heard a commotion outside, and your heart skipped a beat. Could it be him?

Sure enough, he burst into the second floor of the warehouse with Fisk's men hot on his tail.

Fisk made his own getaway and the Devil of Hell's Kitchen was left to fight his men. One by one they were struck down. He could hear your stifled cries to him, pleading for safety.

Then the last of the goons who was closest to you, fell off the bridge. His Neck twisted as he landed, making an awful cracking sound.

All of the sudden Matt stopped, horrified. You tried to call out for him, but he stood completely still in shock. It was like his senses were muddled, and he couldn't find you. Even this close he couldn't lock onto your heartbeat. He feared that the crack was of your neck, and not the goon's.

"Matt!!" You screamed. That brought him back to reality. Nearly breaking down, he rushed over to you, cradling your face in his hands.

"Oh my-I thought you died...are you hurt?" He asked as he undid the ropes on your wrists.

"Matt I'm fine. I just want to go home."

"Are you sure? Aren't you still mad at me?"

Your heart broke. "No, no, honey. You just saved me. And I believe you now."

"I'm sorry for not telling you..."

"Matt. Its OK. I just want to go home with you and clean up. I'm not angry with you anymore. I love you." Reaching up, you caressed his chin, before placing a soft kiss on his lips. He whispered a soft "I love you, I'm sorry" against them.

"Now let's go home."

#human disaster matt murdock #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock my beloved #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x reader #matthew michael murdock #matthew murdock #Matt #marvel #daredevil x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #angst #fluff #coffee speaks

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stardustbarbarians · 10 days

Text

To the Hunter From the Prey

A Samuel Kiszka / Daniel Wagner fic

Summary: Sam takes Danny under his wing.

Tags: serial killer au, addiction (but not to drugs), smut (MDNI 18+ ONLY), unprotected sex, degradation, oral, bondage

Trigger Warnings: blood, death, murder (graphically described), mentioned racism {if I miss any please tell me}

Words: 8.4 k

A/N: Yeah I just wanted them to fuck nasty. I'm not apologizing. Also, yes, I already published this, but idc I changed the ending. Part two to Everything Leaves You Hungry. Title taken from Call Me Little Sunshine by Ghost. Enjoy!! <3

+++

“Have Sam and Daniel gotten closer? Or is it just me?” Josh asked his twin while they sat alone in the living room. It seemed to have come out of nowhere, the question. The two of them were in their own worlds, the joint they were smoking aiding in that feeling.

It took a moment for Jake to understand what Josh had said to him, his brain moving sluggishly. “They’re usually always joined at the hip as is. I don’t know how you can get any closer than that. Having to kill someone in order to save your best friend will do that to people.”

Josh exhaled his hit, coughing as he passed it over to his brother. Jake took the blunt, unphased by his twin’s hacking. Cough to get off and all that. It was a few seconds later that Josh finally composed himself and spoke again.

“It just seems like they’ve got a secret that we don’t know about…” Josh continued, recalling all the whispered conversations they’ve shared over the past few months. While it was something they had done from time to time, it hadn’t happened this frequently before. There also seemed to be a shift in dynamic between them.

“My money’s on they’re fucking,” Jake answered in a very blasé way. He’d had his suspicions about how Sam looked at his best friend.

“Dude, ew! That’s our brothers you’re talking about!” Josh exclaimed in disgust. He did not need to think about Sam or Danny in that context under any circumstances.

“Oh, please. Like you wouldn’t climb Daniel like a fucking tree given the chance,” Jake argued, passing the blunt back over to his twin, “that man is a god if I’ve ever seen one.”

Josh silently took the rello from his brother, ruminating over what Jake had said to him. The more he thought about it, the more his cheeks flushed. “Ok, but that’s different,” he muttered under his breath.

Just after Josh finished speaking, a clamor of two different voices and giggles stumbled into the living room. The twins looked up from their spots on the floor to find Danny and Sam staring back at them. The smiles they wore quickly faded, surprise taking its place on the rhythm section’s faces. They clearly weren’t expecting anyone to be around.

“Hey guys,” Jake greeted after a particularly awkward pause.

“Hi,” Daniel responded, nervously tucking his hair behind his ear. Josh noted that it looked a lot more disheveled than usual. Actually, they both looked a lot more unkempt than they normally were.

“What were you two up to?” Josh questioned, ashing the blunt in his hand before passing it over to Jake. The tension in the air was so thick you could suffocate on it. The silence was so goddamn loud, it was like a fifth unwanted guest that refused to be ignored or to leave.

At the question, Daniel looked to Sam for an answer. If he didn’t know any better, Josh would say that Danny was nervous. But why? It was just a question.

“Daniel and I went for a walk,” Samuel simply answered. The twins recognized that subtle but razor sharp edge in their brother’s voice that meant they should drop the subject. It meant they would catch hell if they tried to press for more information.

Knowing when to back off, Jake just nodded. “Hope it was a good one.” He didn’t fail to notice the way Daniel grabbed onto Sam’s hand for support.

Not wasting the opportunity to slip away, Sam used the hold Danny had on his hand and escorted him up the stairs and away from the critical and watchful eyes of the twins. After they reached the top of the steps, the twins heard them burst into a bout of giggles that was only silenced by the slamming of a door.

Once that door closed, Jake and Josh shared a look. Jake’s eyebrows were raised as if he was waiting for Josh to speak, like he was urging him.

With a sigh, Josh relented. “Fine. You’re right. They’re probably sleeping together.”

While the twins analyzed rhythm section’s body language and interaction, there was a crucial detail they failed to notice in that dim room. The hand that Daniel had grabbed onto Sam with was coated in red, flaking, dried blood.

+++

Daniel was on victim number number two. Well, he was about to be, anyway. He was thankful that Sam was with him as this wasn’t something he was particularly ready to do by himself yet. He knew Sam was nearly perfect at murder (nine victims and only a slight brush with the law) so he knew it would be idiotic not to enlist his help. In fact, it was Samuel himself who urged Daniel to essentially shadow him.

“You will never walk alone in this if you don’t want to,” Sam offered to his best friend, a warm hand on his shoulder as he made sincere eye contact. Daniel put his hand on top of Sammy’s in a gesture of thanks.

Ever since that night in Ohio, it seemed that Sam was always at Daniel’s side. Everywhere he looked, Sam would be within an arm’s length away; even if he was out of sight, Sam would often tell Daniel to call him at any time. “You can always reach me,” he declared.

He was oddly defensive of him, too. Well, more than usual. Sam was always protective of those he loved, but it seemed like he had become somewhat of Danny’s personal protector. If he had his way, nothing bad would ever happen to Daniel ever again.

There was a point during the trial where it really looked like the two of them were going to be convicted for murder. Daniel, understandably, was freaking out over the possibility of being in jail for potentially the rest of his life. The two of them were in a room with their lawyers, Danny pacing back and forth as his mind ran itself in circles. Nothing their legal team was saying to him was helping; it was in through one ear and out the other.

Nothing was able to quell his anxiety, save for Sam.

“Daniel, you are not going to prison. I won’t let you,” he vowed, holding Danny’s face in his hands as he spoke to make sure he was paying attention. As the words his best friend spoke truly sank in, he was finally able to relax. For whatever reason, Danny knew that Sam was telling the truth. He would do everything in his power to make sure that Daniel would be safe and free. He let himself be pulled into Sammy’s embrace, basking in the safety that was his presence.

Sam would later reveal that his plan was to take the fall for the whole thing and confess to being the sole killer. Danny didn’t know how to handle that. Would he have let Sam do that? Could he have stopped him? Thank god he didn’t have to find out.

Even though he tried his best to not show it, that trial took its toll on Sam as well. He managed to stay composed most of the time, but Daniel knew Sam too well to be fooled. However, that cool, collected facade broke right before the end of the trial.

Unfortunately, it had garnered the attention of the world. Two rock musicians whose band’s entire message was to spread peace on trial for murder? It was every news outlet’s dream. They were used to attention like that, but not to the extent that they saw during the trial.

For the most part, they handled it well. They kept their heads down and ignored all the questions they were asked. That is, until one reporter cut deep under their skin with a particularly invasive one.

“Danny! Does this murder tie into your alleged racist past?” she asked, her voice managing to raise above all the other clamor of questions.

Danny hadn’t even heard her at first. It wasn’t until Sam froze dead in his tracks that her words fully sank in. The drummer watched as his best friend slowly turned to look at the reporter. There was a barely contained fiery rage burning unadulterated in his eyes, but somehow there was also something so frigid about his anger. Daniel knew that look. It was the gaze of a man who was capable of committing the worst atrocity known to humanity; murder.

As he locked his gaze onto the reporter, everyone seemed to stop. Everyone was watching with bated breath; they knew she had achieved her goal of garnering a response out of them.

But at what cost?

When Sam flashed a dazzling smile, that’s when everyone relaxed. Except Daniel. He became more on edge. Sammy was beyond furious and he knew that. He was trying to come up with plans on how to carry Sam out of there before things resorted to bloodshed when Sam spoke.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” he asked in a sweet tone, too sweet. At that point, every other journalist had parted in order to give Sam some face-to-face interaction with her.

“Sam-” Daniel had tried to intervene, stepping up to be between the two of them. Without even so much as taking his eyes off the reporter, Sam grabbed Daniel’s arm and gently guided him so that Danny was standing behind him; almost as if he was acting as a human shield for Danny.

“I asked if this murder has any correlation to Danny’s alleged racist past,” she repeated. She had no idea that she just sealed her fate.

“Ah. Well, you see - what is your name?”

“Jess Martin from the National Enquirer,” she informed, half paying attention as she tried to look over Sam’s shoulder to see Danny. “While we’re talking, there’s rumors that the two of you are perhaps more than just ‘friends’. Care to comment on that?”

She’s a tabloid reporter

Sam chuckled charmingly, flashing his dazzling white smile to win over the crowd. “One question at a time, Jess. You see, this trial has nothing to do with Daniel’s ‘past’. Anyone who does their research on us would know this. As such, this is a case of self-defense. Now, tell me, does saving your best friend from being threatened with a knife have anything to do with whether or not someone made a mistake as a young teenager?”

He looked out at the crowd for an answer to his question. There were murmurs of doubt that rippled through the air; they sided with Sam. When he figured that out, a satisfied smile crept its way onto his lips. Daniel watched on in wonderment as he was able to not only verbally decimate someone carefully as to make it seem as if he wasn’t, but also have an entire group of people that were previously against him take his side. Daniel had never been afraid of his best friend before. It seemed there was a first for everything.

“Exactly. Now, do you have any questions of actual substance? Or shall we find a better use of our time that doesn’t involve speaking to low-rate, bottom feed-”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Daniel quickly interrupted, placing his hands on Sam’s shoulders and turning him away from the reporter.

“What are you doing?” Sam hissed.

“Saving our public image.” And with that, Danny dragged the bassist away from the crowd and towards the car that was waiting for them in front of the courthouse.

As he was walking Sam towards that car, however, Daniel knew it wouldn’t be the last he’d see of Jess Martin.

And he was right.

Seven months after their verdict of not guilty, they had become old news. The only publications that were talking about Greta Van Fleet were music journals and the occasional tabloid that was still trying to cash in on their murder scandal. Because they were under the omnipresent and all-seeing eye of the media, they hadn’t been able to satiate their cravings. Normally, seven months was nothing for Samuel. But knowing that he just couldn’t made everything a thousand times worse. Daniel saw how that took its toll on Sam.

All that pent up frustration manifested itself in Sam constantly plotting the perfect murder. For months, the two of them discussed the details of their next kill behind closed doors and in the comfort of only their shared company. It was their way of unwinding with all the stress of potential jail time hanging over their heads like a hangman’s noose. It was in those darkened rooms that Sam had imparted all of his knowledge on the perfect kill unto Daniel.

However, it wasn’t until much later that Daniel was able to put that technique into practice. This murder was going to be much different from all the others Sam had committed. Not only because of the fact that Danny would be with him, but also due to them having a victim already picked out.

Jess Martin - conveniently - lived just a few hours outside of Nashville. There was nothing spectacular about her residence; a modest ranch style home of which she was the sole resident. Jess Martin was unmarried, the only companion she had being her horse that she kept on her five acres. She had no neighbors for miles. It was almost too perfect.

As per usual, the plan was to make it seem like a robbery gone wrong. Dressed head-to-toe in black, the two of them parked out of view of the house and crept up around the back. Luckily, it seemed Jess didn’t live in fear of robbers as the door was unlocked. Daniel followed Sam’s lead as he snuck into the house, his eyes scanning for security of any kind. Danny kept his eyes out for Jess, peering into room after room.

Finally, they found her asleep on her couch. There was an old western playing on the tv, a bag of doritos sitting in her lap. Rhythm Section looked at one another, silently communicating their next course of action. Doing as Sam commanded, Daniel covered her mouth with one hand and the other pressed a knife to her throat: one that he took from her kitchen.

At the sensation of cold metal and leather pressed against her skin, Jess startled awake. She attempted to either talk or scream, but her voice was muffled by Daniel’s hand. He could see the terror befall her face out of the corner of his eye as her sleep-muddled brain pieced together the situation she woke up in.

“Hello, Jess Martin. Remember us?” Sam questioned in a very supercilious tone. He towered above her, the backlighting from the tv casting all kinds of shadows over his face. He looked imposing, terrifying. But not to Daniel. To him, Sam looked stunning in that low light.

She didn’t respond at first. It seemed that she was desperately trying to recall anyone that would put her in that situation which, if his own personal experience with her was any indication, was probably more than a laundry list of souls. She struggled against Danny’s hold, trying to work away from the knife pressed to her throat. In reaction, he just held the blade a little closer to her throat; a warning.

When she didn’t piece it together, that’s when Danny leaned in close to her ear. “Maybe if you look deep into your past, you’ll find who you’re looking for.”

That seemed to strike a chord with her. Danny saw the recognition ignite within her eyes.

“Yeah, she’s got it now. Thought we’d forgotten about you, huh, doll?” Samuel asked, crouching down to get on her level. Daniel heard the condescension in his tone, it was hard to miss.

“How could we forget? She made herself so memorable,” Daniel added on, locking eyes with Sam and feeling a smile spread across his lips. Sam returned it, taking off a bit of the sharpness his features had taken on.

“In fact, we never forgot you. For seven months, you’ve been on our minds.” Sam had tilted his head to the side, his hair spilling off his shoulders.

At this point, he got up from the floor and clamped his hands down onto Jess’s wrists so that she was completely defenseless. Sam loomed over her, bent at the waist as to pin her hands onto the armrests of the chair she was in. He was close to her face, close to Daniel’s face. He could see all the emotions swimming inside Sam’s eyes, mesmerized by each little nuisance that separated each emotion from the last just by little changes in his facial expression.

“We did our research on you. Does the FBI know you were at the capitol on January 6th?” Daniel questioned, gently moving the knife back and forth along the length of her throat. He reveled in the way her eyes split wide open in terror.

In consequence of her reaction, Sam laughed, deep and twisted. “I’d venture to guess that they don’t.”

“And you thought I was the one with a shady past,” Danny added, unable to help himself, “My mistake was almost a decade ago, can you say that?”

“It doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s not like she’ll be able to fundamentally change her belief system in the fleeting seconds she has left in her life,” Sam reasoned in an exasperated tone, shaking his head in disapproval.

With that, Jess started to panic again, attempting to thrash out against her attackers. It was no use. Sam’s hold on her wrists was too strong and Daniel only pressed the knife harder into her throat. The pressure was enough to break skin, a small bead of bright red ichor sluggishly slipping down her neck. Daniel watched as Sam’s eyes lit up, transfixing on that single drop as if it were the most important and precious thing in the entire universe.

“What do you say, buddy? You up to committing an act of god?” Samuel asked Danny, his eyes refusing to break away from the blood already spilled.

Without another word, Daniel filled the role of a deity and slashed open Jess Martin’s throat. In one fluid motion, he managed to sever both her jugular veins and carotid arteries.

Blood.

It was flowing so freely from her neck, staining her clothes and skin. It managed to stream onto Daniel’s hand that was holding the knife, the warmth of it nothing but inviting and captivating. But nothing beat the purely blissed out look on Samuel’s face. Danny had never seen him so wholly satiated in his life.

+++

Behind that closed door away from the twins, the two were able to finally chat about what they had just done that night. They were giggly, like they were both on an amazing high; and in a way, they were. There just wouldn’t be anything in a toxicology report that would attribute to their behavior.

While Daniel was giddy about the whole experience, Sam was ecstatic and overly thrilled. Danny had seen Sam after his kills before and he was never this overjoyed.

“You seem very thrilled about all this,” Danny observed, tracing the lines of Sam’s face that were illuminated by the soft and sallow glow of the single lamp in the room. Sam was sitting on the floor while Daniel was perched on the bed.

Sam’s manic smile didn’t dim in the slightest, but he shook his head. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

It went silent after that, an unspoken something hanging in the air over both of them. Danny got the feeling that Sam knew exactly what it was that was looming over them. In fact, he was the cause of it and Danny knew it. But instead of trying to pry it out of his best friend, he just waited Sam out.

So there they sat in that silent room. Staring at one another. But it was staring with a purpose; observing. They both studied the fine details of the other, categorizing them within their minds and ranking each nuance.

It wasn’t until the air of the atmosphere took on a much softer edge that Sam broke that silence.

“You know…” he started, seeming incredibly hesitant to finish his sentence.

Again, Daniel just waited him out.

“...I had always planned on making you one of my victims.”

At first, Danny wasn’t sure he heard his best friend correctly. But then he turned it over in his mind again and again. He wasn’t mistaken. So many questions formulated in his mind and formed a confusing maelstrom of half baked sentences. To say it was overwhelming was an understatement.

Finally, one was able to form completely and take precedence over all the others.

“What stopped you?”

That seemed to both surprise and amuse Sam, a bewildered chuckle escaping his lips. Sam couldn’t look Daniel in the eye, his gaze focused on his twiddling fingers.

“I thought that seeing you covered in blood once would be enough…”

Sam finally looked Daniel in the eyes. Danny felt the intensity of his gaze, his heart beginning to speed up inside of his chest.

“I was wrong. Infinity will never be enough.”

The smile that spread across his face was completely involuntary. He knew it was twisted and fucked up, but he couldn’t help it. There was something so brilliant about that statement, something so devoted.

Daniel wasn’t aware of his actions. In fact, he wasn’t entirely certain he was fully in control of himself. There was just something so enticing and bewitching about Sam’s eyes… At least, that’s what he told himself as he lunged forward and smashed his lips into Samuel’s.

Danny wouldn’t notice it until later after he had gone back and analyzed the interaction, but Sam didn’t seem even the slightest bit surprised that Danny had kissed him. No, he seemed fully prepared and immediately began reciprocating. The kiss got heated fast, Sam pushing Daniel onto his back and deepening the kiss. Danny felt his head spin, caught up in the whirlwind of their lightning fast, ever-changing relationship; he had just learned to roll with the punches.

Hands roamed everywhere, Daniel’s managing to intertwine with the silk-like strands of Sam’s hair. One of them dislodged from Sammy’s locks and slid along the length of his back, sliding into the back pocket of Sam’s jeans, squeezing his ass. In retaliation to Danny’s act, Sam bit down onto the drummer’s bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

At the sweet metallic tang, the both of them moaned out. Sam began to suck on the split in Danny’s lip, needy whines slipping out at the increased taste of blood. Realizing what the effect his blood had on Sammy, Daniel detached from his lips and began using his bleeding wound to draw lines into Sam’s neck. He also employed his teeth to gouge marks into Sam’s beautiful throat, sucking and leaving marks that claimed Sam as Daniel’s.

“Fuck, Daniel,” Sammy whined as Daniel bit down particularly hard. It was music to the drummer’s ears. Running his tongue over the path that his teeth had taken, Danny could feel the overly warm raised lines on Sammy’s skin.

When Sam let out another moan at the sensation of Danny’s tongue, arousal shot right down his veins. And alongside this spike in lust came a swell of strength. Wrapping his arms around Sam’s torso, Daniel adjusted their angle before throwing the bassist off of him and into the pillows. There was no hiding the surprise in Sam’s wide eyes nor how turned on he was. It was evident in the flush of his face and the way his breathing became heavy; not unlike the face he made while on stage.

“Alright, way to show off, Hercules,” Sam snarked, his lips curled up in a venomous sneer that Danny had only exclusively seen aimed at those who annoyed Sam until this point. Yet no matter how hard he tried to mask it, Danny could hear how impressed he was at Danny’s strength in his tone.

At the snide comment, Daniel chuckled darkly. The way Sam’s expression fell only made the drummer’s smirk grow, satisfaction flooding his veins. He began prowling over to Sam, caging him in slowly with each movement. It wasn’t until Daniel was perfectly on top of Sam that he spoke again. “Shut up, princess. I know you loved it.”

Sam involuntarily shivered at the guttural tone Daniel employed. It was like a switch had flipped and all of the sudden his best friend was wafting off power and confidence. If Sam wasn’t turned on before, he certainly was now. It took everything he had in him not to just surrender to Danny and let him use Samuel however he damn well pleased; he wasn’t about to roll over and submit just yet - his pride wouldn’t let him.

“Oh, yeah, you wanna be all tough and in charge, huh?” Sam had snaked his hand up into Danny’s curls, wrapping his hand around the base of his skull.

Daniel was immediately suspicious. That question felt like a trap, like Sam was trying to play a specific angle.

When the drummer didn’t respond, Sam brought up his other hand to the back of Danny’s head and yanked him down to be a few inches away from each other’s lips. “Then earn it.”

Not needing to be told twice, Daniel slid his hands underneath his best friend’s thighs and hoisted him up. It was as if he blinked and then Sam had his back flush against the wall, his grip around Daniel tightening. He slammed Sam into that pale blue paint so hard that it caused the bassist to gasp from both surprise and the force shoving the air out of his lungs.

Once pinned to the wall, Daniel shoved his lips onto Sam’s. It was at that moment that Daniel understood why Eve ate the apple. The temptation of indulging in something forbidden, of violating warnings and breaking rules, was a thrill second to none. To be enthralled in the velvety lips of his best friend was treacherously coaxing; he was the original sin.

Granulating lunges of hips produced filthy lamentation on the part of the bassist, repressed by the disinclination to sever the contact at their mouths. Teeth and nails mercilessly punished the skin of both individuals, scratching red threads in their wake and ceding mulberry depressions on flush sinews.

The distinct piercing metallic pungency was once again gracing Daniel’s tongue, luring the perverted exaltation correlated to that taste out to the forefront. This newfound morbid gluttony for blood should’ve indicated the wicked nature of this encounter, but abiding to morality wasn’t even close to being as important as the aphrodisiac harmony experienced. And that scared him.

Sam cried out again at the crimson ichor flowing into his mouth from the reopening of Daniel’s wounded lip. While it wasn’t surprising that Samuel had a penchant for blood that extended into his sexual desires, it nevertheless surprised the drummer enough to make him forget about his anxieties regarding his moral compass.

Fed up with only minimal friction impeded by their clothing, Daniel unceremoniously dropped Sam onto his feet. As he went to petulantly protest, Danny silenced him by taking the collar of Sam’s shirt and tearing it apart. The noise the cotton made as it was shredded was loud, not allowing itself to go unnoticed. Underneath that tearing, Daniel could hear the pathetic whine of his best friend, his face screwed up in a mask of arousal.

“That the best you got, big boy? Ruining a perfectly good shirt just to be all alpha?” Sam taunted, his tone nothing but scathing.

Daniel knew Sam was just attempting to get under his skin. He knew that from the way his tone indicated a challenge and the glint in his amber eyes meant nothing but mischief. Sam was always one to push someone’s limits, to poke and prod them until they exploded; Danny was absolutely no exception. The only difference from all those other times Sam teased him was that he was going in for the kill. Sam knew all about what got Danny’s blood boiling and tonight, he was pulling out all the stops.

Daniel at this point had ripped his own shirt to pieces and tossed it aside. The growl that involuntarily slipped past Danny’s gritted teeth should’ve been warning enough. “You’re such a spoiled fucking brat.”

“Are you just gonna stand there and take my attitude, Danny boy? Guess that proves what kind of leader you are.” Sam’s grip on the drummer’s curls tightened. He wasn’t even trying to conceal that cocky look on his face and it was driving Daniel insane. This wasn’t just Icarus flying too close to the sun; this was Icarus turning ninety degrees towards the sun and playing chicken with it.

Either way, his wings were still made of wax.

No longer conscientious to his own actions, Daniel found himself pinning Samuel to the wall by his neck. It wasn’t a tight grip by any sense of the means. Truly, if Sam wanted to leave he would easily be able to slip out of his grasp. Regardless, the message was clear: Sam had pushed too far.

Danny placed his right forearm right next to the bassist’s head, effectively caging him in. Even though he was only mere inches taller than Sam, Daniel was looming over Sam in a way that made it seem like those extra inches were feet. His entire presence was imposing, even down to the way he breathed. Sam had never been more turned on in his entire life.

“Where did all that attitude go, pretty boy?” Daniel’s tone was purely condescending. Even the way he smirked down at Sam made him feel small and foolish.

Chuckling darkly at the way the bassist’s entire demeanor changed on a dime, he moved his hand from Sam’s blemished throat to holding his chin between his thumb and pointer finger. Those amber eyes were pleading, Sammy’s brow knit.

“You’re all bark and no bite, princess.”

Seeing that defiance spark back up in Samuel’s eye caused a dark satisfaction to swell deep in his chest, Daniel feeling a smirk grow on his lips and his cockiness spike. It was the only warning he got before Sam nipped at Danny’s thumb in an effort to display how he wasn’t so pleased with the drummer’s comment.

Ripping out his thumb with a growl, Daniel used that hand to grip the bassist’s hair in his hand.Taking advantage of the ability to manipulate his best friend’s head, he tugged on Sam’s hair and exposed his neck. Without hesitating, Daniel sunk his teeth into that irresistible flesh that beckoned his teeth indentations in order to mark Samuel as his property. At the feeling of the drummer’s teeth once again scoring his throat with his autograph, Sam let out a moan that seemed to originate from within the deep trenches of his consciousness.

As if on their own volition, Sam’s hips thrusted directly into Daniel. It was a vital mistake and they both knew it; Danny knew just how desperate Samuel now was. A low chuckle slithered past Danny’s lips as his eyes darkened, a shiver traveling along Sam’s vertebrae.

“Oh, a needy little thing, aren’t we, kitten?” Daniel purred into Sam’s ear. He couldn’t see it, but Daniel caused Sam’s eyes to roll back into his head. Once more, Sam’s hips lurched forward involuntarily. His hands balled into fists against Daniel’s torso, leaving red lines in the wake of his nails.

The moan Sam released was dirty, wrong, and downright pathetic; three of Daniel’s favorite things from Samuel. It seemed all that arrogance and pride ebbed from his bloodstream. He was willing to beg for anything from Danny, as desperate as a bitch in heat. He was right where Daniel wanted him.

Taking his best friend’s lamentation of lust as a yes, Daniel chuckled darkly once more. Daniel took his thumb and toyed with Sam’s plump lower lip, locking eyes with the bassist as he did so. There was a deep and strong flowing need roaring in the amber eyes of the younger man, Daniel drinking it up like he was a man dying of thirst.

Danny didn’t miss the fact that this power he possessed over Sam made him feel the same as when he slaughtered his victims. That feeling of knowing it’s wrong, that doing it would alter the course of his life, the risk of being caught, but knowing that the payoff would be nothing but pure and unadulterated bliss; he couldn’t tell the difference between Samuel and his vice of choice.

Perhaps he’s becoming my preferred sin

Filing away that thought for later, Danny decided that he was doing too much thinking.

“Princess, when I’m done with you, you’ll have a new god to worship.”

Without so much as any warning at all, Daniel was ripping Sam’s pants off of his legs. With a surprised yet petulant noise, Sammy got the hint and helped step out of his jeans. With them kicked out of the way, the only thing Sam was wearing was his necklace and a blush.

That blush of his deepened as he watched the drummer get down onto his knees, their eye contact never waning. Before Sam even had the slightest chance of processing anything that had just happened, Daniel once again clutched the back of Sammy’s thighs hard enough to bruise and hoisted the man onto his shoulders. With a gasp, the bassist’s hands flew to those raven coils for security, his back once again flush against the wall.

“Stay with me here, pretty boy,” Danny mused, a patronizing tone dripping from his words.

In this new position, Daniel’s lips were at the perfect level with Sam’s cock. With that revelation, it finally clicked for the bassist. Involuntarily, his dick twitched in anticipation. Danny, being inches away, noticed.

“Hang on tight, kitten,” was the only thing Daniel said before taking Sam’s tip into his mouth.

With a deep and sharp gasp, Sam’s grip in the older man’s hair tightened. He was so desperate for anything that the very sensation of touch was enough to nearly send him over. Thankfully, he was able to pull himself away from the edge and save himself a lot of embarrassment. However, what he wasn’t able to get a handle on were the hopeless groans being ripped out of his throat.

“There’s that vocal slut I know and love,” Danny said before diving right back in. It was driving Sam insane how Daniel would give him only enough to feel something but not enough for it to be euphoric. He kept at this for minutes, lapping lightly at Sam’s dick but never going all the way. From the look in his eye, the drummer knew exactly what he was doing as well.

“Sadistic bastard,” Samuel managed to rasp out, his chest heaving as he panted like an overworked dog. Sweat was gleaming off his chest, marred throat bared as he rested his head against the wall. His knuckles were drained of all their color as he gripped Daniel’s hair like a vice, his thighs clenching tightly against Danny’s shoulders.

Thrilled at what Sam had just called him, Daniel chuckled deeply with his lips still locked around his best friend’s tip. Pulling off with a pop, he smirked up at Sam as he admired the state he was able to reduce him to.

“You love it, doll,” the drummer claimed. With one final smirk up at Sam, Daniel finally plunged down all the way down and took all of Sam.

Sam didn’t make a noise. Instead, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his hips lurched forward on their own volition. His back arched as he began grabbing more of Daniel’s hair in his grip. Danny, to his credit, was able to take everything Sam threw at him with ease. In fact, he began working as if Sam wasn’t even there. A thought sprung up in the back of his mind that Daniel was treating Sam like his personal sex toy and it nearly sent him into a spiral.

To say Sam was unprepared for what Danny would do next was a complete understatement. In no way, shape, or form was Samuel expecting Daniel to begin prodding at his entrance with his finger. The shock was so much that he once again thrusted deep into Daniel’s throat and caused tears to form in his eyes and stream down his face. Never before had Sam thought tears were hot, but here he was toeing the edge of release from simply gazing at the wet streaks that stained Danny’s face.

“Danny, I-I think-”

“Don’t even think about it, kitten. You’re not allowed to cum until I say so,” he ordered with a growl. The way he gazed at Sam… There was nothing but authority in those dark eyes of his. So Sam had no other option but to close his eyes and focus all of his energy on simply holding back. Normally that wouldn’t be an issue - Sam liked to think that he had pretty good stamina - but considering Daniel was cockwarming Sam with his goddamn throat and massaging his prostate with his beautifully calloused fingers, it was a miracle he was coherent enough to understand English.

All of his senses were becoming overwhelmed by the sheer amount of pleasure overloading his nerves. He was writhing underneath Daniel’s hold on him like a mouse entrapped in the constriction of a Boa snake. Despite his eyes being closed, Samuel’s vision whited out. He wasn’t aware that he was shrieking out Daniel’s name like it was a prayer. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. Every inch of him felt like he was on fire from the sheer amount of ecstasy streaming through his system. At that point, Samuel decided that his relief was more important than obeying Daniel.

Looking him dead in the eyes, Sam came down Daniel’s throat. There was a fierce defiance burning in his eyes as his cum shot into Danny’s esophagus, challenging the drummer’s authority and pushing his limits even more. He knew from the second that Daniel groaned darkly that he had hell to pay for defying Danny, but deep down Sam knew that he wanted it that way.

Dutifully swallowing, Daniel slowly pulled off of Sam while maintaining eye contact. The look in his eye was a dangerous one, one that promised revenge and retaliation. A shiver went down the bassist’s spine as Daniel fully removed his mouth from Sam; his fingers slowly and agonizingly followed, Sam being overly sensitive after cumming and feeling every inch Danny’s fingers sliding out of him.

“You’re gonna regret that, sunshine.”

Within the blink of an eye, Sam was being hauled over to the bed under Danny’s arm. Before he knew it, Sam was being thrown down onto the mattress with the wind being knocked out of him. There was only a brief moment before Danny was pinning Samuel to the mattress. Sam’s head was spinning, working itself into a tizzy as it tried to comprehend the past few seconds.

As Sam was preoccupied with trying to get his bearings after Daniel treated him like a ragdoll, the drummer used his confusion to his advantage and yanked his belt out from his pant loops.

Manhandling the bassist, he used leather to bind Sam’s wrists hard enough to leave bruises and tied him to the bed frame.

“Comfortable?” Daniel smugly questioned as he watched the younger man tug against his restaurants in a futile effort.

With an angered look in his eyes, Sam huffed out in annoyance. “No!”

Chuckling, Danny unbuttoned his jeans and pulled down the zipper. The sly smirk spreading across his lips did much to get Sam’s dick back to half mast. He wasn’t aware his refractory period had that short of a window until now, but to be fair, he had never slept with Daniel before.

“Good,” he darkly rumbled before removing both his pants and boxers together. Sam swallowed thickly as he took in Daniel in all his glory. He was proportional to the rest of his body: large, thick, and all long lines. To put it simply, Daniel would have no trouble splitting Sam open. There was a small part of him that worried about how Danny would fully fit inside of him, but he also knew Danny would take care of him. As much as he was acting all large and in charge Big Daddy Dom, the two of them had a bond sealed in the blood they spilled from their victims.

Climbing up the bed, Daniel positioned his knees to be resting next to the bassist’s ribcage. Danny watched as Sam’s eyes nearly crossed as he gazed at his dick - eye level to one another. It was quite cute to see such an expression on his face. It gave the youngest Kiszka a sense of näivety Daniel had rarely seen from him in their decades of knowing one another.

“You want to cum that bad, baby boy? I’ll make sure you cum so hard that you forget everything except me,” the older man darkly promised. And Sam believed it.

Sammy’s breath hitched in his throat as Danny reached down with the hand that wasn’t propping him up against the wall behind his head and gripped his jaw. Using the fingers of his left hand, he was able to manipulate Sam’s mouth open. It was all he needed to shove himself between Sam’s plump lips.

Daniel let out a sigh at the feeling of finally getting some friction, his head throwing back and exposing his throat. His right hand was still pressed against the wall, the paint a cool sensation against his otherwise searing skin.

It was only a few seconds before Sam began using his tongue to lap at the tip of the drummer’s cock, his eyes big as they flicked up to look at Daniel. Danny couldn’t stop his hips from thrusting into Sammy’s throat. The sudden action made him gag, tears welling in his eyes. However, there was nothing in his face that suggested he wasn’t ok with what had happened. In fact, Daniel got the impression that if his mouth wasn’t full, Sam would be egging him on.

Proving his theory, Sam began bobbing up and down along the length of Danny’s cock.

Taking the hint, the drummer tangled his fist into those silky chestnut locks in order to keep Sam’s head in place. Then he began rocking his hips. Danny felt how Sam loosened his jaw to accommodate for the change of pace, those perfectly full and petal pink lips wrapped tightly around his shaft. Buckling under the pleasure, Daniel threw his head back once more as a growl left his throat. He was acutely aware that the bed was squeaking and groaning in warning of collapse, but he didn’t care. What he did care about was the tears streaming down those beautifully sculpted cheekbones and the thick saliva dripping down Sammy’s chin.

Knowing he had to stop then - or else he wouldn’t - Daniel ripped his dick from Sam’s velvety mouth with a string of saliva connecting the two as an act of rebellion against the severance. The bassist petulantly whined at the loss of contact, looking absolutely used and enjoying every second of it. Once again taking his left hand, Danny placed his index and middle finger on Samuel’s tongue, the bassist immediately and enthusiastically coating them in saliva.

Taking his fingers away, Daniel used Sam’s spit as makeshift lube as he lathered it onto the younger one’s entrance. It was only a moment before he slipped his fingers back in. Sam howled at the feeling, his back arching in a mirror image of Daniel’s fingers curling inside of him. He kept moaning out as Danny kept stretching him, Sam’s cock now fully hard.

Deeming him to be sufficiently stretched, Daniel removed his fingers once more before aligning himself with Sam’s hole. He quickly checked with Sam to make sure he was still on board; they both knew that there was no way Daniel was holding back. Sam gave him a small smile before nodding, reassuring his best friend that this was something he wanted. It was all he needed.

Daniel plunged himself as deep as he could go. Samuel - hands gripping the leather restraints, knuckles turning white, eyes rolling into the back of his head, jaw hanging slack - let out a soul deep cry of ecstasy that seemed to rattle the foundation. He was the perfect image of sin; the sweat on his skin caused loose strands of his hair to stick to his face, a dusting of pink resting high on Sam’s cheeks, bruises on his neck mixed with burning red teeth marks marring his neck.

The drummer set a bruising pace, removing all semblance of restraint from himself. The headboard thunderously collided into the wall, the sturdy wood leaving dents in the soft plaster. The mattress’s scream of distress seemed to harmonize with the bed frame’s cry for help, agonizingly straining against Daniel’s brutal thrusting. But it was all hardly heard under the screams of pleasure from Samuel. His best friend was abusing his prostate, each violent thrust sending blinding waves of unadulterated bliss through his body.

“That’s it, pretty boy. Sing for me,” Daniel growled as he lowered his mouth next to Samuel’s ear. There was sweat dripping down his back, his loose curls also taking residence on his face.

It got to a point where Sam was mumbling out an incoherent slur of words that could have maybe been Daniel’s name. It was a constant stream of a bastardization of the older man’s name; music to his ears. It meant he was getting close again.

“You look so pathetic, babbling my name like a fucking preverted prayer. You’re nothing but a slut.”

Daniel wasn’t far from the edge himself. He could feel the ever-tightening coil in his stomach indicating that he was close. Really, the endless chanting of his name along with the added visual of the embodiment of sin writhing underneath him was pushing him closer and closer. But, what finally did him in was the spontaneous burst of cum spurting vigorously from Samuel, the majority of it painting the drummer’s chest. It was a matter of seconds before Daniel himself was filling the bassist up with his cum.

Both of them spent, all the tension leaked out of their bodies as the exhaustion of that fierce fucking took its toll on them. The pair of them stayed in their places, using the reprieve to catch their breath. They gazed into one another’s eyes, the question of did we really just do that running through their heads.

Their silence only lasted momentarily before there was a pounding on the door. The murderers - now once again fully cognizant of their transgressions against the law - feared it was the authorities as they whipped their heads towards the door.

“What??” Sam shouted, his voice sounding nothing but used and abused. If Daniel hadn’t just finished, he knew that hearing his partner in such a state would’ve sent blood south.

“Get down here, there’s something you’ve gotta see on the tv,” Jake shouted through the door, unphased by the attitude his little brother gave him. With one last pound on the wood, the guitarist’s footsteps faded as he descended the stairs.

Huffing out, Sam threw his head into the pillows in a manner that reminded Daniel of a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Fucker has impeccable timing.”

“At least he had the sense to wait until we were done.” Daniel, always the voice of reason.

Sam, nothing but attitude, rolled his eyes. “Just untie me so we can deal with whatever the fuck they want.”

Danny did as he was told, marveling at the perfect indentations on Sammy’s wrists. He pulled out of Sam after that, the two of them wincing at the feeling.

They managed to make themselves look barely presentable before making the trip downstairs. That meant cleaning all the cum, saliva, and tears off of themselves before throwing on elements of the other’s wardrobe that had been tossed onto the floor while in the thralls of heat. The marks Daniel left on Samuel’s throat were perfectly visible as Daniel had torn both of their shirts to shreds and had to go without them. Sam even had the gall to put his hair up in a haphazard bun to showcase Danny’s handiwork. It's not like it really mattered, anyway. There was absolutely no fucking way the twins hadn’t heard them. Danny wouldn’t be surprised if the whole block had heard them.

“What the hell do you want,” Sam snapped at the twins in a venomous tone, his arms crossed as he leaned against the far wall of the living room. The older man shot him a look that told Sammy to chill out. Sam was known to be catty on occasion, but this was just an unprecedented level.

Josh, wisely, said nothing and instead used his head to motion their attention to the tv in front of him. It was turned to the local news station, a reporter standing on their block as blue and red sirens flashed harshly in the background with crime scene tape strung up behind her. The headline scrolling across the screen told of a murder that appeared to be a robbery gone wrong. The reporter rambled about the victim, how the body was reported, and other facts of the case before the shot cut to an officer. The officer stated how there - strangely - was a drumstick that was left at the scene.

Nervously - and frankly a little bitterly - Sam shot a look at Daniel. The drummer shook his head. But Sam didn’t believe him. That was their thing and now Danny was going to go off on his own?? What the fuck was he thinking?! Resentment was beginning to curl darkly inside the bassist. After all that, his little sunshine was nothing but a-

“There’s an ‘S’ carved into the wood of the drumstick,” the officer added, cutting into Sam’s venomous train of thought.

Once more, rhythm section shared a look. It only took a second for them to realize they came to the same conclusion.

“Isn’t that insane?? It happened a few houses down from us,” Jake commented, oblivious to what the younger two were silently discussing.

“To have a murderer that close to us…” Josh added, a shiver wracking his body at the mere thought. Under different circumstances, Sam might’ve laughed. If only Josh knew…

But they weren’t different. And this was no laughing matter.

Someone out there knew what they were doing. And they were copying them.

+++

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#greta van fleet #greta van fic #danny wagner #sam kiszka #daniel robert wagner #samuel francis kiszka #danny gvf #sammy gvf #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #josh gvf #jake gvf #sanny gvf #sam x daniel #smut smut smut

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bearhugsandshrugs · 4 months

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Hello im coming to hit you with some small tidbits and also my own little thoughts ive had with my own durge because of it :D (this got long because adhd go brr; tldr, you can totally play durge as a weapon without real autonomy due to Bhaal and his possessing of the Durge, and i went all in on that and also the Pining TM) One thing that Sceleritas will apparently tell you (and I believe I read this elsewhere on tumblr) was that the most awful thing he ever saw you do was (checks notes) give gold to a beggar. There's also times with the durge where, when dealing with like, sweet things, they feel physically sick at the sweetness of it/the person/their own actions? And its implied that that feeling comes from Bhaal, and it almost feels like Bhaal is essentially sneering at the act in your blood and its like an intrusive thought that the durge has to push away and push through if you lean less Murder Hobo with them. Theres an especially good example in the Grove with Arabela when you can potentially send the kid to her death or you can push through that thought and instead focus on saving her and the narrator describes it as you taking a breath and willing the thoughts away to retain some clarity. Combined with the fact that the durge often has like,,,, detox symptoms? And can outright state when talking to Sarevok if you become an Unholy Assassin and play their little game and be a good Bhaalspawn, that you wished Bhaal trusted you enough to not possess you and use you against your will, so the game even leaves room for a Durge to turn against Bhaal, not even out of morality or inherent goodness, which can also 100% be played up and played into, but rather out of an autonomy issue, that sure, maybe they are a murderer, but at least now itll be 100% their choice who and when and how, and not a thing that literally overtakes them and possesses them Exorcist style minus the pea soup! When I played my Durge who was made specifically with Gortash in mind, Miri, she was actively walking backward on her history- blending in with the cult in Moonrise, trying to find notes and letters and talking to anyone who might've known her before to see what was up. But i never actually leaned into being a Bhaalspawn, I actually played her pragmatically. She was a bit of an ice queen and could be cruel, cold, callous but she was ultimately a strategist. But its that call to her history - not Bhaal but just,,,, knowing who she was, finding her identity that was so cruelly stolen from her, however messy and horrific it, she, mightve been, and then with Gortash, that turns up to 11 because "holy shit theres been a little hole inside me until i finally made my way back here, back to you, and you knew me, holy shit i feel like i know you, i feel like i trust you and i feel like you're the first person i dont want to have to kill, oh no you were important somehow before but how?" which turns into "Am I too different now? Is too much of me gone for you to feel whatever you might've felt, the feeling that is tugging at me too?" and the answer is no, because its still her and it was never just about being a bhaalspawn; she admired and respected him and it was the same back; two abused, lost, cruel people, who found one person they didnt want to be like that with, didnt *need* to be like that with, because they accepted one another (and also also the way Gortash is like huh im surprised you turned on bhaal but now the power we obtain will be ours and you wont even have a god in the mix so that means all the more power to you and you alone <3) Anyways i think im actually in love with this stupid man and gortash with an OC, tav or durge, is my Roman Empire

aww thanks for sharing! I think my biggest “issue” with Durgetash is the whole reveling in being bad together, mostly brought on by Durge (?). Personally (like yay for anyone who finds that appealing) I find being a cruel, manipulative, murdering power couple to be boring. It’s always easier to be evil than good. The world isn’t inherently fair. it comes with the territory.

It’s why Gortash is the most interesting to me when he offers a Tav a coalition. He seems gray with his morals, pragmatic, not picky about what gives him the control he so desperately craves. Durge (in most portrayals, but I’m really thankful for your version, which I thinks is very interesting) is often portrayed as someone reveling in the murder and all the bad. This whole heehee-haha we’ll murder the world vibe for a pre-tadpole Durgetash is just… I don’t connect to a character who had no redeeming backstory other than a sudden bout of amnesia?

But it seems like the portrayals I’ve seen of Durge so far have been more caricatures, more exaggerated, and that’s okay (again not trying to judge, it’s just my personal preference). If there could be a version of Durge that always struggled with the murder? Who didn’t eat people because that’s their thing? Who didn’t fuck corpses because they were into it?

Yeah. I can work with that. That’s a story of breaking free, of redemption and reinvention. Yes, I like that.

#enver gortash #durge #durgetash #gortash asks #technically a durge ask but alas #silverhand-hoe asks

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horizon-verizon · 1 month

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While B&C is objectively horrifying, I’ve honestly never once felt any emotion when reading it… but Aerea’s death, oh my god, I was completely engrossed and taken back by the hideous, stomach-turning and repugnant description of her death.

👀

Aerea had to have had those fireworms crawl through her still-living body for days. Aerea's death was much more detailed, a lot more gory, and connects to one overarching and critical element, or "layer", of the ASoIaF series: the Targs' legacy with their dragons and the effect of the Valyrian's imperialism over Essos. Aerea's death brought a sense of doom because it alerted us and Jaehaerys of the Targs' vulnerability to forces that their own ancestors probably caused. And the account is very reliable, more so than most F&B accounts and certainly so for the Dance portion of the book. Its relater, Septon Barth, he's the one who tried to treat Aerea. And of all the "Faith-aligned professionals" we ever encountered in this world, he was the most dedicated to impartial study of the people and things around him. (Sincere about it, too, even though he does also factor in a few societal lens...because he still lives in Westeros and is still a septon.) So you know he was writing what he saw impartially.

Why do the Targs' relationship with their dragons & past AND their dragons' future matter? We (should) know and have read ASoIaF and read about Daenerys, how she becomes the Queen that she is meant to be to save the world. We have learned that something can hurt a dragon. We need dragons//fire for the Long Night & protect humanity. The Targs' assimilation into the Andal-FM pre-Conquest culture and subsequent refusal to better & truly incorporate their women into their politics--or just think outside of their own immediate needs for power, even with some being genuinely better people and leaders--have lead up to their own loss of said dragons, then their usurpation. It's a lead up to Daenerys in-world and re-contextualizes her role for the Long Night to come.

*However, reminder, yes the Targs' Conquest and reign still greatly reduced the thousands of years of constant warfare b/t the non Valyrian Westerosi former kingdoms. Two things, true at once.*

Whereas with Jaehaerys, the death served this one story to illustrate how far a specific group of people will go to destroy the other or get the other back for perceived/real wrongs done. Jaehaerys became a victim of a blood feud & another motive to keep that particular blood feud going. It's not even the first death, but a response to another's death done by the greens (Aemond), who decided to usurp the king-chosen heir, a woman, for their own ambitions. He is part of a succession of a drama. And while his 6 fingers generate some curiosity and inquiry as to what effects the magical connection to dragons have on disabilities/congenital conditions being more reduced--which Idk about, since the Westerosi have been marrying their cousins for centuries and most of the nobles we see aren't fugly nor have many congenital conditions to rival the Hapsburgs--this doesn't serve or inform us on the bigger story. Sad and tragic, but in terms of the scales of consequences, it had a simpler effect.

Ironically, he has less narrative importance than Nettles or Mysaria, whom some Rhaenyra & black stans try to argue was "just a plot device" 🙄 to use against Rhaenyra. Both within and out of Fire & Blood. Then there's the business of green stans being so overwrought & talkative over his death than the:

sack of Bitterbridge & rapes/murders (of refugees, of children, septas, old people, etc.)

sack of of Tumbleton & rapes/murders

Dalton Greyjoy's raping women and killing innocent peasants,

etc.

It is perhaps all of these that make Aerea's death seem both more harrowing and "important" than Jaehaerys'. Aerea's death is more shrouded in mystery, Jaehaerys' is not. Her death has a larger narrative purpose compared to his.

#asoiaf asks to me #blood and cheese #aerea's death #jaehaerys' death #character comparison #aerea targaryen #jaehaerys targaryen #prince jaehaerys #fire and blood characters #fire and blood #asoiaf dragons #the valyrians #the targaryens

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theman-and-themachine · 1 month

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how does remnant in ur AU work? (this is also purely bc I wonder if anyone’s is as intricate as mine 😭😭😭😭)

OUGH THIS IS A WONDERFUL QUESTION. And now i really want you to share your ideas too. If u want. Id love to hear them :3c

OKAY BUT ANYWAYS i cherrypick canon and then make up random bullshit.

So so so so so I think it depends a lot on How it's created (and maybe how its consumed.)

General death, Outside of the possessed-object. I think that ghosts will form or memories will linger, but don't nessecarily possess any sort of object. BUT. If they are stuffed into something or close in some sort of way, they possess that object and are "bonded" to it.

Uhhhh i do rlly like the idea of two spirits in Golden Freddy. I think even jusy Dying by something can cause you to possess it.

I think the more gruesome the death, the more fear, especially the more prolonged, the more remnant is made.

I think Cassidy was killed AFTER being stuffed into Fredbear/golden freddy, she was killed by (at least primarily) a springlock accident. I don't think she died fast at all. And also she was basically melded into her Possessed Object. (CC is...very different case to this. Died because of fredbear(maybe techincally inside him), prolonged death. But obiviously not as extreme. I think he'd be very whispy and weak compared to the rest of the ghosts)

Like springtrap. I think William has a lot of other shit going on tho. I think that guy was injecting and eating and smearing remnant on himself at all oppurtunity. And that's one reason why he's so... persistant.

BUT ALSO I THINK A LOT OF IT IS FUCKING. MENTAL..MINE OVER MATTER TAKEN TO THE EXTREME. I think Charlie is in this boat. She is like, directly a familial (sorta) murder. That is a man i knew. An adult i trusted. And now i'm dead. Hooray. I think all the emotion towards Charlie's death kept her around. I just think shes like the main characger amd i love her and im so glad for her story signifigance.

remnant added onto a living being in some way increases their lifespan. And the more you eat the more it Effects you, and especially you get more negative symptoms

Like henry FOR SURE has some remnant in him. It has done something to expand his lifespan. But also I think, even one or two "doses" definently fucked something up in him.

Like, you live longer, your Soul or whatever is using other souls like a fucking battery. But also I think general body functions are sloooowed and thats gonna have effects on people.

Michael is a corpse. Remnant doesn't stop the body from rotting. It slows it. The bodies in the suits still rotted, michael is still rotting. I think he's a very weird case. Like, the metal he techincally shouldve possessed has gone and left the building. He is possessing his body, which is well. A body. And not a piece of metal. I think he gets weird out-of-body experiences a lot. I believe he HAS to replace and repair himself, probably with metal and scrap parts (he certainly has some metal left over from ennard. At least as some structual supports. ("Whoops sorry buddy i broke your femur. Lemme just... replace that")

UHHH BUT ALSO BUT ALSO

I think it manifests as molten metal or oily grime coming from inside the animatronics. Like something fucking exploded in there and is constantly on the walls of the suits and metal endos . Even after they clean it and clean it.

(There's fun ways to read the puppets Tear Tracks with this. I think theyre there to ignore or hide said muck)

:3c i think it effects Bugs especially. I think flies and such love this blood-remnant muck and eat it and gonfucking insane for their litrle fly brains and have more flies and the maggots eat it and continues continues continues.

Fazbears smells SO BAD by fnaf 1.

OH MY GOD LZIZZIEE AI ACTUALLY i actually. Okay.

I think the sister location animatronics are Fundementally not optimal for getting remnant. Cassidy is at the top of our scale here, slow death within the Object of Possession.

Sister location guys just sort of snatch them up and i'm assuming that kills them pretry instantly. Instant death, within the object of possession

I thinkt his is a good reason why Baby seems to.... detached?? Different?? Than Lizzie. Also maybe some of that is AI stuff but i think a good part of it is the killing process.

OKAY OKAY SHARE UR IDEAS NOW ALSO, DUDE. IF U WANT.

and if u have any more questions for me, ask away :3c pls. I love questions and talking

#dottxt

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mirabai0821 · 3 months

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Blood and Honey WIP CH: ZX-75b

Pairings: Tav x Halsin x Astarion Warnings: N/A Words: 740 Summary: Halsin attempts to bury the hatched. Astarion, committed to being an ass, refuses to accept.

The druid continued deeper into the cursed lands and Astarion…continued to follow. Practically, it’d be far too dangerous to go back to Last Light through miles of Shadow Cursed Lands alone. Their journey so far left them unmolested, but Astarion knew that luck wouldn’t hold for a return trip.

“Why did you apologize?” He asked, churlishness radiating from him.

“I was cruel in my words with you,” Halsin said, stopping to look back. Such things could not be said with his back turned. “And unfairly ascribed malice to your motivations and actions.”

Astarion huffed. “And how exactly did you come to realize you were being unfair?” Halsin had resumed walking. Astarion hadn’t expected an apology and didn’t know what to do with it, so set on pouting. With an apology, he couldn’t remain aggrieved, his natural state. “Everything I do is with malice, don’t you know?”

The vampire heard a soft, gentle laugh. “In most things, I don’t doubt, but…”

“But what?”

Halsin paused, the crunch of dead leaves the only sound between them.

“I’m waiting.”

“Forgive me. I don’t know how to put this delicately so as not to embarass but…with her…There is no malice in you with her.”

Astarion sucked in a sharp breath. “Gods you are insufferable,” he said more to himself. “Anyway, I do not accept your apology.”

Halsin nodded. “I figured you wouldn’t.”

He shuffled closer to catch up to the druid, taking two strides to Halsin’s long-legged one. “And don’t think we’re even or anything. We’re not.”

“Perish the thought,” Halsin answered calmly.

Astarion groaned. His every attempt to goad had been met with a wall of muscle and serenity, aggravating him further. “In fact, I officially declare you my enemy!”

That made him pause. Halsin turned again, fixing Astarion with a puzzled stare. “Enemy?”

“Naturally.”

“Why? I understand that I have spoken to you harshly and that you are not amenable to forgiveness. But ‘enemy’ seems overly harsh doesn’t it?”

Astarion folded his arms. “Honestly, I think I’m being nice. After all, you’re the one who lured me out here alone, telling no one where we’ve gone. It’d be easy to just kill you and blame the shadow curse on your death.”

“Well that seems unfair.”

“All’s fair in love and war darling. Especially murder. In fact, I don’t think there’s anything more appropriate than murder when it comes to love or war.”

Halsin’s face slackened and his eyes widened, touched finally with understanding. “Oh, that’s what you meant.” Then he began to laugh. “Astarion, this isn’t a competition.”

Astarion fumed, thwarted again at getting a rise out of the bear. “Well, I at least appreciate that you’ve dropped the wholesome idiot act. Underneath all that bulk, you’re not as humble as you pretend.”

Halsin lifted his hands. “No…no you misunderstand. I never thought of us in competition like that. You did?”

“Of course I did! Do! Did! Whatever!”

“Then I must beg again your forgiveness. I was dedicated to my duties in the century I tended the Emerald Grove but was liberal in my affections in the centuries before that. I have forgotten that what comes naturally to me does not to others.”

It was Astarion’s turn with confusion. He fixed Halsin with a sidelong glare. “I don’t think I understand you.”

“I have never thought of us in competition Astarion. I never wished for Tav’s affection at the exclusion of yours. The only reason I held any animosity for you at all was because I mistakenly thought you were taking advantage of her. Absent of that…”

Halsin could see the younger elf was ill at ease discussing plainly things like “affection” and “Tav” in the same breath so he hesitated to state the situation plainly. He resumed walking, confident that Astarion was sharp to tease out his meaning.

Astarion followed, face blank, drained of its petulant pout as his mind teleported to the plane of existence where Halsin’s words made sense. He thought the idea would feel foreign, inspiring revulsion, but it felt…he didn’t know. Instead of frightening or disgusting him, the idea Halsin presented felt like a secret prize hidden behind a door. Astarion’s hand was on the knob, anticipation building in his heart for what lay beyond the door if he but had the courage to open it.

“Ahh, we’re here,” Halsin said.

He returned to reality but kept his hand on the door, wrist twisting…just a little bit.

END

Can't believe it's been 15 days since my last update? But when writing is your work, when you're drained, there isn't much left in the tank to write for yourself. Was getting concerned this would join the pile of abandoned fics but I find my zeal for it remains.

I am determined to rewrite the polyamory aspect of this relationship in a way that feels both close to the canon minimizing awkwardness and maximizing fun.

One day I'll collect these snippets into a master post..but it is not this day.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #halsin x tav x astarion #tavalstarion #hat if polyamoury got brought up before anybody had committed to anybody else?#And what if Halsin is the one introducing it not to Tav but to his potential metamour?

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phenomenalgirl9 · 5 months

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Kim Seokjin x Reader: A Good Doctor

Summary: Jin didn't know what he was signing up for when he left the ICU from a long shift that night when he heard a noise from the supply room.

W/c: 1.2k

A/n: Happy Birthday to our WWH!! This has been in my to write list for a long time happy that I finally managed to write it down

⚠️ Warning: Talk of death, murder and blood, bullets and stuff. Nothing Grotesque, just mentions.

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

Jin wasn't really the courageous type and hence he was never keen on the graveyard shifts, especially on the 6th floor. Don't get him wrong he loves his job even the graveyard shifts but there is something about the 6th floor where the ICU ward is that sets him off. That silence is so eerie (it's totally not because he heard two grandma's discussing that the 7th floor was haunted way back during his intern years). He stepped outside the room and sighed, it was finally over, the 36 hour shifts are just killers. All he was required was to walk across the whole corridor and reach the lift, wait for it and climb on it and take a shower in the locker room and rush back to his apartment, to his bed. He's halfway there when he heard a sound, in the supplies room, his eyes went wide, all the on-call nurses and interns were in the room when he left and the light was off. He shook his head to himself and started speed walking, “its nothing, its nothing” Jin chanted to himself. He reached the end of the corridor and pressed the button to call the lift, when he heard another sound and what sounded like a grunt. The lift arrived and Jin sighed. “uh!” He ruffled his own hair and walked back, towards the supplies room. He slowly opened the door and found the lamp for an aisle lit. “Oh god” he sighed as cold sweat formed on his forehead, is this how he'd die? Of a ghost in the supplies room? He thought as he stepped towards the aisle, grabbing the first thing he found on the table as he entered.

He saw a female silhouette, oh shit it was about to turn and Jin picked that thing up and used it.

“Hey, hey! HEY!” a voice yelled, a female voice, throwing the sanitizer bottle away from his hand. “Please don't kill me” he said, “why would I kill you?” The woman asked in awe. “You're… you're a ghost?” Jin said, unsure.

“Am I dead?!” The woman said, touching her face “but I don't feel death. What kinda doctor are you?!” She said and she flinched seemingly in pain. That was when Seokjin noticed her appearance. She wore a blue shirt with dark patches on it, that was open from the front revealing her shoulder that was shot, she also had several cut wounds on the exposed parts of her arm.

Jin felt like the air from his lungs, all his life he's always been into studies. In school, then prep for medicals, in med school, internship, he barely got enough time. But something about this woman intrigued him. He released the situation and came out of his thoughts.

“Who are you? Why are you here” Jin asked, finally realising. “I am nobody and if you wanna live to see tomorrow, you will walk out of here and act like you've never seen anyone” she said.

“Y/n” another man entered the room, he was tall but had a boyish face, he wore a leather jacket, jeans and combat boots. “Who are you?” He immediately questioned and pulled out his gun and pointed it towards Seokjin who immediately put his hands up.

“No don't” she said but immediately clutched her stomach, groaning.

“Ma'am are you hurt?” Seokjin asked and noticed another bandage hidden behind the shirt on her torso. “You're bleeding” Jin said and The other guy retorted “yeah no shit, that's what happens when you get stabbed” he said. And Jin’s eyes went wide. “Who are you?” Jin said, as he rushed to hold you when you were about to collapse. The other guy rushed to help him as they made her sit down on a chair.

“We need to take you to the emergency room, or this way you'll bleed out” Jin said.

“Help her, doctor” the guy said. “Tae, no. Its fine, I'll manage, just take me back” Y/n said.

“I can't leave you without treatment like this” Jin said. “Then help her” Tae said, again “please she can't die” he added. “You'll have to get admitted, lets-” Jin was interrupted by, Tae. “Didn't you take the hippocratic oath?! Does it say anything about admission? Or helping!” He pinched and Jin flinched, he noticed Y/n’s pale face and sighed. We need to get to a better and cleaner place but how do we leave? Without being spotted?” Jin wondered. “We've taken down the cameras” Y/n mumbled and Jin shook his head. The two picked her up.

“Why are we in a dentist’s room?” Y/n whisper yelled. And Jin stated “this is the only department that's closed at night”.

Tae, whom Jin got to know as Kim Taehyung, is Y/n’s cousin. Tae went out to do a parameter check.

“My arranged fiancé killed my father and then tried to kill me too. We had a fight until Tae came and helped me. The moment I get spotted he'll send people and get me killed” she said. “I'm so sorry” Jin uttered “you don't have to tell me.” Jin said.

“He was looking right into my eyes as he attacked me right after telling me what he did to my father” She continued, a stray tear sliding down, Jin hesitated but decided to do it. He rubbed away the tear from your cheek. “Did you like him?” Jin asked. She shook her head and said “my father did. I never wanted to continue all this, I always wanted to dismantle all this and start something peaceful and lasting. So my father arranged my marriage with his secretary. His father worked for my dad for a long time and after he passed away, the son started working. Dad thought he was capable of handling our company” a bittersweet smile played on her lips. “What are you gonna do now then?” Jin asked in curiosity. She shrugged “Taehyung says I should get back what's mine, but I don't know. Maybe I'll run away, I could simply tell him to keep all that, just give me my things, and to not come after me” she said, looking down. “Be sure to do what feels right to you” Dr Jin said and pulled out a visiting card and handed her “if- incase you need some patching up again, you know” he stuttered.

Y/n smiled and kept the card in her pocket, and took a deep breath, she felt tired, “sleep, Y/n ssi. You're safe” Jin uttered.

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

“Uh.. Tae?” You groaned, and immediately he rushed to your side. “Y/n! Y/n! Are you okay?” The poor boy asked. “Oh my god Taehyung, were you crying?” You asked as he wiped his tears. “I'm fine, it's not my first time being shot you know” you said. “So it's your first time being stabbed?” Another familiar voice asked and you looked at Jin and smiled. “I've been slashed by blades but yeah, it was my first stab” You nodded. “I hoped it's the last one, he barely missed the vital points,” Jin said.

“Y/n, the car is here” Taehyung said, and you looked at Jin who just smiled, not the happy kind though.

The two of them helped you get down and on a wheelchair. Jin guided you two out saving you from the eyes of many people.

“Hey Doctor” you called him as he was about to leave back inside. He came back, and you signaled him to come to your level. You slightly pulled him by his collar and pressed your lips to his cheeks. “Until next time, doctor” you said with a smirk, leaving a very red eared him.

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Other Works

Taglist: @bbl32 @back2bluesidex @cherryblossom-2004

#imagines #bts x reader #bts #bangtan fanfic #bangtan x reader #bangtan fluff #jin fic #bts seokjin #kim seokjin #kim seokjin x reader #jin x reader

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cdyssey · 1 year

Text

Yellowjackets 2.07 Reactions

CW: Baby Death Discussion/Grief; Suicide Mentions/Attempts; Cannibalism; Cancer

I couldn’t make it thirty effing seconds into this episode without tearing up at these girls staring awake into the darkness, all shattered with grief. Taissa’s right next to Shauna. Of course she is. And Lottie’s right there too.

Oh, my God. She’s still holding the baby.

Her absolute silence. The way she refuses water. Her shrugging off every attempt that Tai makes to comfort her. My heart fucking aches for her.

And she has to bury that wrenchingly small bundle under rocks because the ground isn’t thawed enough for a proper burial. I wanna note here that it was so respectful of the show not to show the baby’s body. We didn’t have to see it to know how tiny and tragic that it was.

“It’s you and me against the whole world.” Goddammit. Because she died with the baby. Literally.

Oh??? A very muted version of the title song?

“I’m sorry, have you two joined a cult since we last saw you, or… / “We are an intentional community. / “What is the intention exactly?” KQQMKQOQJEDIDJSJDJ.

The fucking euphoria I feel at seeing all six adults together.

Nat admitting to the suicide attempt. Shauna’s horrified, “Oh, my God.” Taissa’s broken expression. They love her.

Tai, crying: “I really thought he was going to make it.” I’m so fucked up about these girls.

“But even if the baby made it… for a while… it wouldn’t change the fact that his mother is starving. We all are. I just think it’s time we woke up.” Heartbreaking and so correct. Heartbreaking because its correct.

“That doesn’t sound like you.” And it doesn’t. Van has always been a believer between her and Tai, and even in the group as a whole, but now she’s lost that faith.

“You helped me hear… see… sleep… and I would be dead without you. I need you, Van.” I’m so fucked up. Like, not even five minutes into this episode, I have teared up multiple times.

Natalie being all in for her girlfriend’s wellness remedies AMDMFJSNSNSN.

“All my rational instincts are just kind of, uh, screaming.” SNDNWND. Babygirl chooses self-care. <3 She needs it. She’s been doing hard work this season threatening to skin people and covering up murders.

BABY GOAT!!!

SHAUNA JUST IMMEDIATELY CONVINCED SHE HAS TO SACRIFICE THE GOAT. HELP ME

Bruce, the goat, ily. And it has not escaped my notice that the goat is a boy, and he’s brown, the same color as that horribly small bundle.

Ben is goddamn losing it. The hallucination of Paul is voicing Ben’s greatest insecurity—that he no longer has a place in the cabin. “It’s just time. We all love you, Ben.”

“Um, I would hate for my bladder to guide me into peeing in that thing.” NADIFNSNDNS. Misty’s reluctance to engage with therapies is notable.

LMAO @ HER SNEAKING AWAY. She said, “Nope. Ur not making me confront my deepest traumas today, bestie.”

Misty overhears the girls praising her, and it’s an echo of that moment before she smashes the black box.

MARI ACCUSING HER OF KILLING CRYSTAL. GIRL, MISTY IS GONNA MAKE SURE YOU’RE PITTED.

Misty putting on a performance about looking for “Crystal,” and here’s another parallel—some of Kristen’s last words to Misty were denigrating her for being a bad actor.

“It gave us what we wanted. Shauna lived.” And Lottie’s right here. When Mari prayed to the wilderness last week, she prayed for Shauna alone.

The shot of the girls and Travis holding hands is reminiscent of a team huddle up. 😭

HELP ME WKDNDNDNSND. The girls are, like, well, if she is dead, that, uh, doesn’t entirely suck for us. <3 (I’m sorry. I don’t know which one is Gen and which one is Melissa yet.)

But on a more serious note, this is an interesting beat because it shows that cannibalism in the cabin is not just a “trance-like survival tactic” anymore. It’s something that can be indirectly alluded to when everyone is fully aware of themselves. (We got an inkling of this earlier when Misty and Kristen were discussing Jackie bone broth.)

All that fucking blood. Shauna’s blood.

This Lottie and Tai conversation is so fascinating to me. They’re the two individuals who have had the most interaction with the supernatural—which makes them peers—but the ways they approach their abilities are drastically different. Embrace versus repression. And it’s something we see in their adult selves too.

Adult Tai actually going to Lottie for help about her sleepwalking.

“I need help.” Taissa Turner admitting this is so huge.

“She just doesn’t want to be suppressed. She’s still a part of you, Tai. She will always be a part of you.” Hhhhhhhhhghhhhhhhhhh.

Shauna nearly on the verge of crying in the woods, disassociating and lost.

SHE LOST HER GOAT.

SHAUNAMISTY RISE!!!!

Misty hoarding food is such a good detail. It makes sense after the woods.

“Why did I give one single shit about this goat when Lottie’s goons are just gonna make me kill him?” 😭 MY POOR LITTLE MEOW MEOW IS SO CONVINCED THAT SHE HAS TO KILL THIS GOAT.

have you guys clocked that I’m insane about shauna yet

“Hey, newsflash. I am the only person who took your killing with the seriousness that it required.” YEAH, TELL HER, MISTY!! AND SHE DIDN’T EVEN LISTEN TO YOUR COOKIE ADVICE QOWKDJDNS

“Well, you’re not that innocent either.” / “I know that, Misty. Do you think I don’t know that?” Shauna utterly hates herself, but listen, yeah? They all fucking do. Each and every one of the Yellowjackets.

Shauna is mothering this goat.

“If you think I’m gonna carry you all day, you are delusional, as well as dumb.” ANWKQNDNESN, Melanie Lynskey, I fucking love you.

“I’m not gonna let them eat you, Kristen.” OH, I FUCKING LOVE THIS. YEAH. Sure, Misty may have 100% caused her death, lmao, but she’ll be damned if she lets Kristen be eaten. And I love that she calls Kristen by her real name too, keeping that knowledge alive, even within herself.

The contrast between Shauna/Jackie and Misty/Kristen is big here. Shauna desperately needing to consume Jackie and granting the others the permission to do so too vs. Misty actually kinda being normal for once about what is owed to a body.

Shauna is back in the Jackie shed, and she’s staring at the corner where her body used to be. OH, GOD. SHE’S CALLING OUT FOR JACKIE.

“Jackie, I really need you right now. Please?” SHE’S SO ALONE, AND LOSING THAT BABY IS TIED UP WITH LOSING JACKIE, AND I’M FUCKING UPSET. Those sobs are guttural.

And Jackie won’t come back and haunt her when Shauna calls. Goddamn.

“The kid’s care is entwined with your own.” That’s such a triggering phrase for Shauna and you can see it in her eyes.

“Because it is one thing if I stab this goat later, but there’s no fucking way that it’s dying while I’m supposed to be watching it. So someone is going to make sure this goat is okay. Right now.” She couldn’t save her baby in the woods, but goddamn, she can save this goat.

The tears in Shauna’s eyes as she talks to Lottie. This is all about motherhood to her. This entire season, from the past to the present, has been.

“I’m not gonna kill this fucking goat, okay? Fuck you!” EKWMDNEND

“Wait. Really? I really don’t?” The fucking break in her voice, all the spiraling cracks. Melanie Lynskey is making me cry over a GOAT.

“Oh, Bruce.” AND SHE SOBS.

“I find it gives a person clarity to have to care for something so innocent.” God, God, God, and Lottie knows the significance of that to Shauna specifically.

“I’m not crying about the goat. I don’t really know, um, what’s happening right now. Um, I think it’s just that I’ve always kept my daughter, you know, Callie, like, at arm’s length. I think just out of fear that she would… die, I guess. Or maybe that she was never even real to begin with. I don’t know. I try to tell myself it’s okay. That I’m safe to… to think of her as-as mine, you know, and to just be her mom. But I think something is broken, Lottie. I just can’t do it.”

I’m so fucking unwell about this. I think I’m gonna do a fuller write-up on this moment later, so for now, God, Melanie Fucking Lynskey. And also, that she has this breakdown to Lottie is powerful. In the past, she’s hated Lottie, hated her for trying to encroach on her baby, hated her for becoming their shaman, but here, she confides in her with this terrible pain about motherhood that she’s been keeping inside.

Ahhhh, just a little bit of self-promotion here, but in my Shauna + Callie fic, I was thinking a lot about Shauna’s relationship with motherhood: “But goodness has never come naturally to Shauna, and motherhood is a gaping wound that won’t ever stop bleeding. (A placenta on the dirty floor. So much red, streaming out of her, simply pouring. Don’t you hear him cry? Why can’t you hear him?)” And I think the crux of that, which holds true in this scene, is the fundamental idea that motherhood continually hurts Shauna, and it always goes back to those woods.

CALIGULA AWNIQOWJWKWKWIDJWJDJS.

“OF ANY MOTHERFUCKER WHO GETS IN YOUR WAY.”

THIS IS FUCKING SUBLIME.

GOD, THIS IS WKWKEJWNSJEJKEJD. HELP ME????

“Caligula, when people look at me, do they just see someone desperate for love? Just some murderer?” GOD, THESE TWO QUESTIONS PAIRED NEXT TO EACH OTHER. Desperate love and murder being synonymous with each other.

“How many times did you get the ball over the goal line? Take it from a bird named after a Roman emperor who was also unjustly accused of heinous acts.” SOBBING WKWKKSNWOQOWIEJD

“You are not a murderer, Misty!” HELP ME WOWKWKWKDJWIIEKDJSNSJDJDJD

MISTY’S SUBCONSCIOUS IS REALLY LIKE, “Haha, bestie. You’re soooooo well!! There’s nothing wrong with you at all!!”

Elijah Wood is having the time of his goddamn life aawkdjdjdnwj.

That was so fucking funny. I have no words.

MISTY, THIS VOICEMAIL DKWNDNEN. IT CAN BE TAKEN AS A MURDER CONFESSION.

The human manifestation of her bird named after a Roman emperor was so right. She. Is. Perfectly. Okay. <3

Misty can’t find Kristen’s fucking body. Hhhhh. It isn’t at the bottom of shit cliff anymore. 😭

God. Ben.

He’s been so isolated all season; he feels like that this is his way out.

“Could you just push me off?” So fucking fucked up, but it tracks with what has been going on in his psyche, as well as in the flashbacks with Paul. Ben’s defined by his emotional paralysis and fear. So he’s not acted and just accepted the consequences that come from that. And this is another way of doing that. If he jumps, that’s making an active decision, and that’s fundamentally not what this man does. But if Misty pushes him, it’s just another action that he’s the recipient of and not the doer.

“… if you kill yourself right now, we will eat you.” Jesus fucking Christ. She states it as a fact. It is a fact. The cabin has reached this point.

MISTY TRYING TO FUCKING BLACKMAIL HIM TO KEEP HIM ALIVE. GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD

“I tried so hard to keep the baby alive. I really did.” I’M SO FUCKING UPSET. THE SAME CLIFF WHERE KRISTEN DIED.

Oh, thank GOD, he stepped back. I could not handle losing Coach Ben today.

Tai taking off her wedding ring. Girl ANJQNDNQNWNDNWNSNWNW, you’re such a fail wife.

“I just can’t believe I’m back here again.” / “Making offerings to the dirt.” Man, the wedding ring as an offering.

TAIVAN KISS YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

But then they both pull back, Tai apologizing profusely.

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO.

FUCK OFF SHOW NO

NOT MY VAN

NOT MY FUCKING CONSUMMATE SURVIVOR, WHO LIVED THROUGH A PLANE BURNING AND A WOLF ATTACK AND THE WILDERNESS.

I have actual goddamn tears running down my face again. What the fuck is wrong with this show

“Van, what are you telling me?” Van has told her every which way but directly. Taissa can’t accept it unless she hears it.

“I have… months.” I’m sick actually. I’m so sick.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Van. You’re just deciding to tell me now?” Taissa’s first reaction is anger. She lashes out, so goddamn terrified.

And between this and her breaking down to Van a few episodes ago, this is the most emotionally invested we’ve seen Taissa. Her life with Simone and Sammy aren’t real to her—as she’d explained to Shauna last season.

But this is real to her.

Van is real to her.

“This is what it wants—us to be together.” Yeah, me too, Lottie.

“We hurt each other. People died.” God, God, God. They hurt each other. They loved each other. They ate each other. They loved each other.

THE FUCKING ANTLER QUEEN. THIS IS SO FREAKY.

“Does a hunt that has no violence feed anyone?” OH MY FUCKING GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD??????

OH THE THERAPIST ISN’T FUCKING REAL

OH MY GOD

DOES A HUNT THAT HAS NO VIOLENCE FEED ANYONE???????

Van tapping Misty with the bottle. Misty’s being included in the girl circle 😭

TNENFNEND, Shauna taking a huge, ‘ole swig and Taissa smirking at her.

“From Van.” / “Oh, you narc.” AKKQWKJERN

Oh, God. The women are being utterly careless with Nat. Shauna telling her that they should just hang out. Van offering the bottle.

“I lost my goat, but I found him again.” MAQMQKKWKQJEJRNRNEJEJFIEEFEIE

FLORENCE FLORENCE FLORENCW

“I think you should all go home.” Lottie has realized that it’s dangerous that they’re together again.

And the women are like FUCK YOU!! WE BELONG TOGETHER. I LOVE THESE WOMEN

Every time I look at Van now, I wanna cry.

“I think it might be time for you to stop resisting.” This line just made it into 20 new fanfics. <33

LOOK AT MY FAIL WOMEN BEING HAPPY. I KNOW IT’S NOT GONNA END WELL, BUT THEY ALL LOVE EACH OTHER SM. THEY’RE HOME.

THIS FLORENCE SONG.

THEY’RE FREE.

LOTTIENAT GODDAMN CHEEK KISS.

Now they’re having girl talk. 😭

“Does he know?” AAaWjejfuwjjwsj

“He doesn’t have a job, job. He’s dedicated to his passionate pursuit of knowledge.” / “Nice, so where does he go to prison?” ANqKQKWIWWOWJDJS. Van and Tai making little asshole asides is so good, lmao. They do that in the cabin too.

“Well, he wasn’t goth when we fucked.” HELP MEEEEEEEEE. HELP MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

“Was she watching some parts?” WKNWWNQKMWDNWJNEND

I could watch 60 minutes of these women talking like this, lovingly taking the piss out of each other and ignoring all their extensive trauma. <3

Most of the women don’t want to revisit the woods. It’s too hard of a wound for them.

… all of the girls having hazy memories. They know they’ve fucked up; it’s harrowing that they don’t remember the specifics of how.

“Well, if I’m, um repressing things I don’t know about, I am very okay with never figuring it out.” Jesus fucking Christ, that delivery was so sad.

“I mean, compulsive behavior, addiction, disease.” And Van stands up and walks away. She’s more than familiar with what Lottie is saying.

LOTTIE CALLING NAT MADAMMMMMM!!!!!

“Lightning crashes, a new mother cries…” GOD, WHAT A LINE.

VANSHAUNA DANCING!!!

SHAUNA IS FUCKING WEARING JACKIE’S BUTTERFLY SHIRT. I’M SICK. THAT IS SO SICK.

SHAUNA THROWING A PUNCH.

THE GIRLS EXCITED AT SNOW.

“YOU KILLED MY FUCKING BABY.” / GOD GOD GOD.

AND IT’S LIKE, YOU HAVE TO PAIR THAT WITH MISTY’S BREAKDOWN WITH BEN. SHE TRIED EVERYTHING TO SAVE THAT BABY.

“You all fucking ate my baby!” / Shauna can no longer discern reality from a dream. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.

LOTTIE STEPPING IN.

LETTING HERSELF BE THE MARTYR.

THE WOMEN HOWLING. THEY’RE PRIMAL. THEY’RE A PACK. THEY’RE WILD. THEY’RE TOGETHER.

“Travis, take Javi to the bedroom.” 😭😭😭😭😭

LETTING HERSELF BE THE WILLING MARTYR.

“Shauna, we need you. Let it out.” MY FUCKING GOD

IT GOES BACK TO THE STEEL MAGNOLIA MONOLOGUE. SHAUNA WANTS TO MAKE SOMEONE FEEL AS BAD AS SHE DOES.

ALL THE GIRLS JUST FUCKING STANDING THERE AND LETTING IT HAPPEN. THEY WON’T INTERFERE. THIS IS RITUAL VIOLENCE.

THE CUTS BETWEEN THE WOMEN BEING SO HAPPY AND THIS SCENE.

LOTTIENAT HOMOEROTIC DANCING.

LOTTIESHAUNA DANCING TOGETHER IN THE PRESENT, AND SHAUNA JUST FUCKING KILLING HER IN THE PAST!!!

LOTTIE IS BARELY RECOGNIZABLE

LOTTIE SHAUNA ADULT HUG. I CAN’T I CAN’T I CAN’T

“Is Callie okay?” Shauna’s immediate goddamn fear when she hears urgent is that her daughter is hurt.

THE FUCKING TORSO.

GODDAMN IT. YES THE TORSO WAS IMPORTANT

MORE FLORENCE YEAH!!

THAT PROMO. WHAT THE FUCK

MARI BACKING AWAY IN FEAR?????

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets spoilers #s: yellowjackets #it’s 5am whatever #I’M ALIVE and UNWELL #maggie blogs

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