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ozzgin · 4 months

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Yandere!Monster x Reader [Asylum Spider]

A/N: This feels a little bit strange to post. It's an older OC (the drawing I used is like 3 years old) I had for a horror manga. I thought it would make a good yandere if you're into actual monsters. And the atmosphere is a lot like an indie horror rpg. :)

You wake up in a damp, dark room with no recollection of how you ended up here. Hovering above you is a repugnant beast whose appearance terrifies you into silence. Yet it doesn’t attack you. Quite the opposite, it seems to want to guide you outside. You must escape quickly, as whatever lurks above causes the creature to squirm in fear. Yet as departure approaches, a desire blooms within its ancient heart: must you really leave it behind?

TW: Monsters, horror, implied violence/abuse

Your vision is blurry and your head is throbbing with a harrowing, unbearable headache. You've been awakened from your unexplainable slumber by cold yet burning drops of liquid hitting your cheek at irregular intervals. You squint and try to focus on whatever lies before you. Slowly, the object becomes sharper and your eyes widen in terror. Drooling above you, a monstrosity. It looks almost human. Sharp, curved teeth are grotesquely gawking their way out. The skin is discolored, similar to the blueish tint of someone struck by hypothermia. The creature seems to be wearing a strange sort of straight jacket, tightly securing the arms and ending in a shredded rag, dangling between the skinny, crooked legs. Yet the most disturbing feature are the massive arthropod appendages that fan out from behind, suspending the abomination above ground.

The ridiculous, offensive sight drains the blood from your face and you hold your breath. You wait for the final blow that never arrives. It lowers its head and inhales deeply, trying to detect if you're still alive. Satisfied with the answer, it scurries aside and leaves you enough space to lift yourself up. The wide smile remains plastered on its face, making it look like a deformed mannequin. With nothing left to lose, you decide to risk it. "Can you talk?" you mumble, unsure about the potential response. It shakes its head in denial and you raise your eyebrows. So it can understand human speech.

You stand up and look around. There's a pungent smell irritating your nostrils, and large pipes slither their way over walls and ceilings in a maze of rusted metal. The floor is flooded and your ankles are sunken in murky water. Above the only door hangs an old plaque, eaten by mold and age. "W∎ter & Drain∎∎∎: Pro∎∎rty of ∎∎∎∎∎ Asylum". Ah. This must be the sewers, then. How did you even end up in the sewers of an asylum? Maybe someone upstairs can provide you with answers. You turn to the creature that has been obediently observing you.

"Can you take me to the main building?"

The humanoid spider screeches and trashes its appendages across the water. You jolt and step back instinctively. Is it mad? Have you upset it somehow? No, if anything, it looks afraid. You stare at its bizarre convulsions until it occurs to you the movements aren't quite as erratic as you assumed. It is drawing something using a swamped patch of ground.

Don't let find you Get out

You're choking with dread again. The ominous words send a cold chill down your spine and you shiver, helpless.

"How am I supposed to get out if I don't know where the exit is?" You demand with your last ounce of energy.

It wobbles its way towards the door, and stops to face you expectantly. Is it offering to guide you? You're not quite sure whether to trust the ghoulish creature, but the rotting room is filling you with panic.

Anything is better than being alone here.

What a suffocating atmosphere. The corridors are tall, narrow and black. You can barely discern anything around you and the only sounds are the ghastly echoes of the metal creaking and bending from the water pressure. That, and your uncertain steps across the muddy flow. You glance at the creature. Its eyes are covered by a leather blindfold, so the darkness mustn't be an impediment for it. Then again, how can it tell its way within this colossal labyrinth?

"Is this where you live?" you whisper, trying to make conversation. You need something to distract you from your pounding heart.

It nods hesitantly.

Your foot hits something and you instinctively attempt to kick it off. Perhaps some algae that begun developing in this forgotten grave. It seems to have wrapped around your ankle, so you bend down to remove it with your hands. It's a soaked sheet of paper. The ink has mostly diffused into the page, but you can still read some of the larger headlines. "Dozens have disappeared. The mystery of the abandoned Asylum, believed to be haunted by the countless victims of horrid experimentation". Next to the title is a photograph too smudged to make out.

You stop in your tracks, focused on the blurry letters. The monster patiently waits for you. Is it something to be asked? You gaze up at its features, trying to take in the details. You take a deep breath in and open your mouth.

"Did they...um...do this to you upstairs?"

It seems to ponder your question with the same unfaltering grin that now feels painfully forced. Finally, it nods.

What a strange little creature you are. He returns your curious stare. Now that he thinks about it, you must be the very first person to follow him. When was the last time he spoke to another living creature? He can't remember. The others would panic beyond control at the mere sight of him, blindly running away and getting lost in the sewers. Later he'd find their bodies quickly decomposing under the running water, and he'd dispose of them outside. No one deserves to die here. The really unfortunate ones made it upstairs, into the asylum. He'd rather not brood over it.

Yet here you are, asking questions and walking alongside him as if you were on a stroll. He doubts he's gotten less hideous over the years. Then again, he can't see to confirm. Just as he can't see you. Despite his lack of vision, he is overwhelmed by the feeling that you're a beautiful being. You must be. And thankfully, you won't have to worry yourself with any of the horrors lurking these cursed grounds for much longer. He'll help you escape.

Then he'll be alone once more. It shouldn't bother him this much, it's always been like this. But meeting you has reminded him just how much he missed the presence of another human, how dearly he longed for a kind voice. Is it selfish to fear isolation?

"Oh! You're right, I can see a gate from here." You exclaim in gratitude.

You sprint towards the rusty bars and feel a cool breeze against your skin. This must lead outside. The creature has kept its word. Soon enough all of this will be a nightmare of the past.

"I-"

The monster seems to be making an effort to speak, but all that comes out is a dissonant croak. You're confused and he can sense it.

Must you really leave him behind? He needs to let you know that he'd like to stay with you, but his throat is contracting pointlessly and there's nothing he can use as a writing surface. What is there to do? His chest is tightening with the frenzied desire to keep you with him forever.

Please don't leave him.

#gn reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere scenarios #yandere monster #male yandere x reader #monster x reader #yandere oc #original character #yandere imagines #monster oc #horror #yandere horror #terato

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btsugarush · 1 year

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GANGSTA | myg [teaser]

summary: rough sex, blood money, drugs, and gang related activity; four things you never predicted to experience in your simple life. not until you opened your mouth and caught his attention.

pairings: gang leader!yoongi x f!reader

warnings: smut, gunplay, drugs, drug addiction, dark!yoongi, drug lord!yoongi, strong language, gang violence, blood and gore, murder, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behavior, abuse, cheating, angst, fluff, dubcon, implied noncon (not from yoongi but within his gang with his knowledge), 18+, minors dni

word count: 931

Your heels clicked against the pavement as you walked the empty streets alone. You were glad to have picked a restaurant that wasn’t too far from your apartment because nothing was scarier than Daegu at night. It didn’t matter if you lived in the suburbs or not. The freaks tend to come out at night.

Bright headlights suddenly beam behind you, flashing on and off as though the driver was trying to catch your attention. “Hey, Y/N!” A familiar voice called out to you.

You stop walking, watching as a black SUV pulls up beside you. Nam-Joon sticks his head out the window, smirking down at you from the truck. You notice in the car with him are three other guys that you recognize from Yoongi’s gang. You suddenly got this uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“What a coincidence finding you out here, doll,” His eyes raked up and down your body. “You shouldn’t be walking alone at this time of night, especially dressed like that. A lot of suspicious characters roam around this time,”

‘Yeah, and you’re one of them.’ You thought.

“Hop in. We’ll take you home.” He offers, but for some reason it felt backhanded. “No thanks,” you decline. “I’m not far from home, I can handle walking.” You turn on your heels, carrying on with your walk. Nam-Joon slowly follows you in the SUV, not taking no for an answer. “Oh c’mon, I’m just tryna do something nice,” He remained persistent. “At least I’m not leaving you high and dry like your boy Jungkook.”

You come to a complete stop upon hearing Jungkook’s name. How did he know you were meeting Kookie tonight? Better yet– how did he know that Jungkook was a no show? You turn to him, your suspicions heightened. “How did you know I was supposed to be meeting Jungkook?” Joon shrugs his shoulders, a sly grin on his face. “Just an estimated guess. I mean, isn’t he the reason you broke it off with the boss?” The question comes off hostile, almost bitter-like.

You swallowed the lump that sat still in the back of your throat, the atmosphere becoming more ominous by the minute. “So, you gettin’ in?” You shook your head. “I-I’m good...” You move forward, picking up your speed away from the SUV. If he and those other men tried anything you were definitely outnumbered by a long shot. You could hear Joon casually whistling in the distance, and as you peer back at the car you see he’s still sitting where you left him.

Relief washes over you as you turn back to see your apartment come into view. You quickly enter the building, practically sprinting down the hall to your unit. You dig through your purse in search of your key, shifting the clutter of makeup around, but had no luck finding the tiny piece of metal.

The sound of whistling swiftly echoes through the hallway, and your heart begins to pound heavily against your chest in a panic. “Come on, come on, come on...” Your voice quivered in fear. “Where the fuck is it?”

Fed up, you flip your purse upside down and shake out all of its contents; a bunch of makeup, your wallet, and pepper spray all drop to the floor. You continue to shake the bag until finally your key falls out with a loud clunk. You snatch it from the floor, shoving it into the keyway so viciously that you thought the end might snap off. You hastily push open the door before slamming it shut, and locking it behind you.

Your head rests against the doorframe as you try to calm yourself down. You were trembling. Who knows what would have happened if Joon got ahold of you, or if you were moronic enough to get inside that car. You’ve seen firsthand what he’s capable of, and that whole encounter was very minacious. There’s a reason he’s Yoongi’s right hand man.

You check out your peephole, making sure he wasn’t standing outside of your unit. It would take nothing for him to simply kick down this door, but at least the ruckus would catch the neighbor's attention. They could possibly call the police, or at least identify him if they witnessed the ordeal.

It didn’t take a genius to know that Yoongi was behind this. He had to have set this whole thing up. You were stupid to believe he would so willingly let you just end your relationship with him, no matter how cool he played it off. You knew what kind of twisted man he was, you’ve seen him coldly take the lives of others without even a blink or afterthought.

You kicked your heels from your feet, before you shuffled to your bedroom. You debated on calling Kookie again to make sure he was okay. You were beginning to get a really bad feeling that something happened to him.

You pull open the sliding door, switching on your bedroom light as it was pitch black. When the room lights up, you freeze in place, as you’re met with a pair of sinister eyes glaring at you. “Did you enjoy your little date?”

“Y-Yoongi…” Your voice hitches in your throat. The raven haired man is sitting on the end of your mattress, his arms rested on his knees. His hair is hanging in his face, almost covering his eyes. The sight made him look even more feral. “H-how did you get into my apartment?” You questioned timidly.

“I’m a fucking criminal, Princess. Did you forget that?”

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frannyzooey · 2 months

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On The Green: 1

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: Mature (violence, slight gore, killing - typical Ezra 😌 — will be explicit in later chapters)

Summary: Two strangers meet.

a/n: New series alert! Man alive first chapters are hard, and so I am going to yeet this into the universe before looking at it anymore. I owe everything to @bageldaddy for educating me hardcore and for being so extremely kind and thorough, and to @the-ginger-hedge-witch for her Ezra eyes and inspiration and to @familyvideostevie for her support and enthusiasm and notes. It took a VILLAGE to get through this one. Enjoy meeting our stranger. :)

You come to surrounded by unnatural stillness.

An absence felt in the air surrounding you, there is something about it that tugs at the foggy corners of your brain, beckoning you closer to the surface. You try to listen for anything beyond the ringing in your ears, and there is…something.

A beeping sound emerging through the fog, its incessant chirping grows clearer. You blink slowly, your limbs made of lead when you try to turn your head. Instead of trying to investigate, you let yourself slip slowly back into the lush darkness, closing your eyes.

But the strangeness of the silence tugs at you, and the beeping gets louder.

Splices of memory come through in sharp flashes:

The deep, bone-shaking tremble of turbulence.

The grating sound of tearing metal.

Beeping - so much fucking beeping, every sensor in the transport pod going off - and the whole cabin jerking to the left, your body weight pushing against the fabric restraints, your dad’s voice raw with hoarseness as he screams orders at you and –

Oh shit. Your dad.

Your eyes pop open, and you sit up - or rather, you try to, but every muscle resists. Battered and bruised, you fumble at your harness with clumsy, shaking fingers. Looking up as it finally clicks open, you’re about to leap from the chair when you freeze.

He’s there next to you, unmoving.

Dead.

“Dad?” you whisper.

You can see without even checking for a pulse that he’s gone. That’s the feeling that pulled you awake, the vibration of life gone from the air. The stillness weighs heavy in the small space, and the beeping gets shriller somehow, more noticeable in the utter silence.

The pod shrinks to a claustrophobic dome, and your breathing starts to come fast. Harsh, rapid exhales out of your open mouth and then you’re vomiting, right onto the floor. A cold sweat breaks out under your thermals, and you swallow hard against more bile that threatens to come up.

There is blood splattered on the dash, pooled around the buttons. A deep gash gouged across his temple, his left eye already swollen beyond recognition. You stare at the dark, pulpy wound that runs with blood and with a heave, lose the remaining contents of your stomach.

To have hit his head like that, he must have unbuckled and tried to fix something mid-crash, but why? Why the fuck would he do that? He knew better than that. You try to think about the sequence of events, but there is only a blur. A foggy, black spot in your memory, hazy images obscured by panic.

You remember pieces: watching Puggart Bench grow smaller as you ascended through the atmosphere. The vague details of your father’s latest scheme, along with promises that this would be your last job. The frustration you felt at those words – ones you’ve heard a million times.

You remember rolling your eyes and slipping on your headphones, and then scolding you for not paying attention after he jabbed you in the shoulder to take them off, and then…this. Somehow this. Guilt settles deep in your gut.

Keeping your dazed eyes glued to the floor, you ignore the blood and beeping and the dead fucking body. You crouch low in the safety of your chair, winding your grip around the harness strap as an anchor and you sit for a moment, trying to steady your breathing.

You sit.

And sit.

–

“Think she’s got anything left?”

The words spread condensation across the lower half of his visor, and Ezra listens for an answer he already knows isn’t coming.

He always asks anyway: a constant dangling bait, in hopes his partner will bite.

He hasn’t yet.

Ezra bends back over the rough dug pit, his fingers splaying through the loose dirt. Anything worth digging for is sealed in his case already, but he stalls, thinking.

He had watched the pod streak across the sky; the sight not unusual on the Green. Mercs and prospectors landed here every day to try their luck on the uninhabitable planet, but the speed in which the pod broke through the sky was unusual. Ezra could tell it was going too fast, even from the ground. His dark eyes had tracked the potential opportunity’s descent from behind the shield of his visor, and when the ground shuddered with the impact, he felt it through his gloves.

If it had landed safety, protocol would be to keep his distance – no use needlessly engaging in a potential threat. However, he doubted that was the case after watching it fall to the earth like a stone. If he had to guess, the occupants were probably dead, and therefore, in his favor.

His old pod flashes through his mind; nonfunctional and by now, probably stripped bare. If he doesn’t get there quickly to stake his claim, this one could fall to the same fate. It didn’t look sizeable by any stretch of the imagination, but he doesn’t need big.

He just needs enough to fit one man, and his case.

Ezra keeps his voice light and conversational.

“Did you feel that?”

He looks up at his silent partner, and is met with a blank stare. Or at least Ezra assumes it’s a blank stare, with the man’s visor blackened. He can’t see his face, and has never been able to. He’s had many offers of partnership while on the Green - some out of desperation, some through coercion, some forced upon him – and though his current partner is one of the latter, he had been secretly pleased at the sheer size of him. Brute strength a valuable commodity; the hulking man is more of a utility than a partner.

“Think it’s worthy of our time to investigate, or do you suppose there won’t be much left after a landing like that? If you want, I can go it alone?”

Met with more silence, both from his partner and from the unforgiving atmosphere of the Green, Ezra grimaces with annoyance when his partner starts to walk in the direction of the site without him.

“Hang on now. We approach together.” Climbing out of the pit, the loose soil slips under his boots. He scrambles up as quickly as he can, unwilling to see his chance at the remains slip through his dirt-crusted fingers.

“Now then,” he breathes heavily. “I think it would be befitting of us to use caution in our approach. The passengers may still be alive, and feeling panicked enough to pose a risk. I think –”

The hulk appears to listen to half of what Ezra says, and then turns abruptly mid-sentence, walking away.

Snatching up his case, Ezra switches off the comm link in his helmet and his expression falls from tactful to annoyance. His eyes narrow on the man’s broad back, his fingers itching for his thrower.

Grumbling, he follows.

“Fucking idiot.”

–

You’re going to have to touch it.

You wonder what it will feel like – stiff with rigor? Still pliant with traces of warmth? Heavy and impossible to move?

In all the ways you imagined you’d probably find your father dead, you somehow hadn’t thought about the logistics of actually moving his body. You imagined someone else would be the one responsible for it. Medical staff, most likely, who were used to the clammy skin and the stiff weight of death.

Not you.

Yet another thing you’ll have to do unwillingly for him.

The reason you’re on this godforsaken planet in the first place, he’d forced you along to help him pay a debt owed for those fucking drops he relied on to get through his days. Days that bled into nights spent waiting for him, more his parent than his child. A freefall into the nomad life since your mother died, you’d been trailing behind him for years - an afterthought, only remembered when he needed something.

A reluctant digging partner when he forced you to be, but also a navigator, a cook, a laundress, a caretaker. You were a lot of things to him, but never the one you wanted to be the most.

Never a daughter.

Your eyes slowly scan the disarray of the cabin, taking in the damage. For all the things he asked you to do, he had kept you in the dark when it came to any actual useful skills that might help you in this situation. Prospecting, digging, self-defense – anything that would have afforded you a glimpse at the possibility of independence – all of those were kept from your reach.

Never a mechanic either, unfortunately for you. How the fuck you’re going to fix this thing, you have no idea. The manuals for it were tucked away somewhere, but they required at least a basic understanding, and you have barely that.

You could stick with the harvesting plan he had vaguely outlined to you on the way here (assuming you could even find the gems, let alone dig them up), try to come back and fix your pod during the evenings (assuming you could even figure it out) and then try to catch the next slingback home (assuming you could even get off this planet).

Your other option would be…none. There are no other options.

The entire situation expands into something overwhelming, each step far outside your base of knowledge and your breathing starts to come fast again. You scold yourself, willing it to slow.

Panicking again isn’t going to help shit.

Wrestling with your emotions, you take a deep inhale and close your eyes, focusing on the first step.

Before anything else, you have to move him.

–

Through the edges of lush greenery, a pod.

Ezra tries to tamp down his excitement, kicking his senses into high alert to scan for whomever it belongs to - but there is nothing.

Fucking silence, the bane of his existence.

Though in this case, a good sign.

His own pod taken from him months ago in a standoff between himself and his former crew, this off-white piece of rubbish appears as treasure to him. It’s banged up for sure: one of the engines loose from the frame and the metal surrounding the bottom crumpled from hard impact. Unlikely that anyone survived the crash, anticipation thrums through him at the harvest in front of him.

Keeping his expression measured, he beckons his partner to approach with him, silently advising caution.

The idiot doesn’t though. Instead, he stomps forward and punches at the hatch button with force.

Ezra frowns deeply, anger slipping into his tone. “Hey,” he reprimands sharply.

The man pays Ezra no mind as the ramp slowly opens.

–

One hand extended towards your dad’s shoulder, it hangs hesitantly in the air for a moment. Inching forward, you try to summon every ounce of bravery that you have and just when it’s about to touch—

A loud thump sounds outside the pod, and your hand jerks back. Crouching low along the side of the pod, you crawl through the ship's scattered contents all over the floor and grab the thrower, trying to desperately wind a sufficient charge for a shot or two. The rummaging outside grows louder, and you crouch behind your chair, gripping the weapon in your sweat slick hands. Panic floods through your veins, the sharp stink of fear oozing from your pores as your body shivers with adrenaline, and you flex your hold on your weapon.

The door to the pod opens with a hiss, and two men emerge.

One slighter than the other, which isn’t saying much—anyone would be slight compared to the size of the second man. You aren’t even sure how he managed to get into the pod, between the width of his body and his height.

Rising swiftly, you point the weapon at them.

“Stop,” you force out, trying to mask the tremble in your voice.

The lithe man freezes, surprise showing on his face for a split second before disappearing. Tilting his helmet in thought, he speaks.

“Now this is something I’ve never seen in all my time in the Green,” he muses with a drawl. “A little girl.”

A statement, not a question, and you bristle while he continues to study you curiously.

“Leave, or I’ll shoot.”

Your finger flexes on the trigger, and he raises his hands in front of him.

“Calm down, little bird. My partner and I merely ventured this way to see if all was okay after that crash we heard.” His eyes scan the cabin, a scattered mess. “Seems it was quite the landing.”

Shuffling your stance a fraction closer, you keep the thrower trained on them. “I’m fine. Now please. Go.”

“Doesn’t look like you’re fine.” He sounds completely unbothered, like you aren’t pointing a weapon directly at him. Taking a slow step forward, he peers around you. “Your partner sure doesn’t seem fine.”

“He’s not my partner. It’s my –” You freeze, scolding yourself for immediately volunteering information and his gaze drops down to your father’s lifeless form. The stranger's face sobers, and he looks back at you.

His jaw shifting in thought, his partner seems to grow bored of the conversation and takes a heavy step forward, advancing on you.

“Stop,” you try to order, panic creeping into the command, but he doesn’t. He keeps going, his large arm reaching towards your thrower. His massive grip choking the barrel, he rips it clean from your hands before you can even think about stopping him, and you crouch back behind your chair, trembling.

“My apologies for my partner, little one. He’s not keen on having weapons pointed at him. You can understand, I’m sure. Why don’t you come out from behind that chair and let’s talk. A deal, if you’re open to it.”

You don’t want to strike a deal with them. You know that any deal you attempt to broker on your behalf is going to be in their favor no matter what the conditions are. Your father never taught you the skills of negotiation – those were always done out of sight. Your mouth dries, sweat beading along your nape. What fucking deal could there even be to make that doesn’t end up with you dead? Or worse?

With so much happening in the last two hours, it’s hard to process anything, let alone a negotiation with deadly strangers on a hostile planet. How you handle this situation could be literally life or death for you, and you beg your brain to pick up pace.

Please. Please. Come on, think.

Your mind still struggling but knowing you’re running out of time, you force yourself back up.

“The deal was leave, and I won’t shoot.”

He only grins at that, and rage at the unfairness of it all flares bright through you.

“Besides, why should I believe anything you say? You’ll probably just kill me the first chance you get.”

“Why would you assume I intend harm?”

You don’t have anything to say to that, instead looking at his partner. Fear at his sheer size displays clearly on your face no matter how hard to try to mask it. “Why else would he steal my gun? Shoot me first before I can shoot, right?”

“If that was the case, he would have shot you already.” He lets a beat pass, his eyes narrowing in their focus on you. “Still could though, I guess.”

There is something behind the indifference in his voice, something in his eyes that begs you silently to listen to him — but then his partner raises his thrower, and several things happen at once.

You whimper, dunking behind the tattered chair.

The smaller man whips his railgun from his hip, pulling the trigger.

You scream, and the bullet hits his partner square in the chest.

The larger man stumbles forward as if to grab him but the smaller one shoots him again, the second shot landing in his gut. The force of the close shot pushes the larger man backwards, his heavy body slamming into the pod wall.

He slumps down, collapsing into a lifeless heap.

There is a beat of weighted silence; your form frozen.

The roguish man’s profile faces you: dark features partially obscured by the dome of his helmet, you can see closely shorn brown hair in matted disarray with a shock of white that smears just above his temple. Black eyes that glimmer in the fluorescent light, the edges lined with age. Tanned skin, a strong nose, plush lips under a mustache.

He stares at his dead partner with something akin to satisfaction, and it turns your stomach to think of not only how quickly he resorted to violence, but also how much he seems to enjoy it.

“Well would you look at that. Now we have two to move.”

Still in shock, the violent scene in front of you startles you just as much as his nonchalance does. You watch as he turns to face you; a hooked scar marring the skin under his eye.

“Now little one,” he says with seeming politeness. “You ready to hear that deal?”

#ezra prospect #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect/you #ezra prospect/reader #ezra x you #ezra x reader #ezra/you #ezra/reader #pedro pascal

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444rockstargf · 2 months

Note

so happy your requests are open tbfh, could you write something (for euro, he is so MEEEEOOWWW) about reader being a sibling of one of the other band members and they hate each other and then SEX!!

thats as specific as i can get i fear 😭 i love your work so much thanks for your time girl!!

thank you for the request babe! (this is absolutely scrumptious.)

"big, bad, naughty rock star." | euronymous

big bad wolf. - lana del rey

✮⋆˙ [tags] @faesucksass @lustkillers @mayathepsychic1999 @josibunn @si1nful-symph0ny @vanlisbon @livingdead-reilly @oliviah-25 @lankysimp@auggiethecreator @livingdead-materialgirl @monkeyfart @imoonkiss @nom-nommmm1 @xxbl00d-cl0txx @k1ll3rh0rr0r @wildathevrt

female!reader x r!euronymous

word count: 1.6k

contents: brother's best friend type relationship, tension, drinking, unprotected p in v, implications of masturbation, creampie, overstimulation, not proofread!!!

heavy metal music tore through the thin walls of your house, the noise from the basement sounding as deafening as ever from your bedroom. you were lying on your bed, eyes closed as vibrations filled your body.

you groaned, rolling off your bed as the pounding sensation in your head grew more intolerable by each passing second. truth be told, you had no problem with death metal. your brother was into it, so that automatically meant that it would rub off on you. but what you didn’t like was attention-hungry guitarists who didn’t know when to give the ear-piercing riffs a break.

you stormed down two flights of stairs, making your way to the source of the racket. you swung open the door, causing the music to come to an immiediate halt and all eyes to turn to you. euronymous’, or rather oystein’s gaze caught your eye first. it was icy and cold and bitter like the depths of the arctic.

you placed your hands on your hips, your friendly eyes turning to slits as you met his glare. “can you animals keep it down in here? i’d hate to fall asleep to your music and suddenly wake up in the pits of hell.” jan axel, your brother, smirked at your comment with a little chuckle. “no problem. we’d hate to interrupt your beauty sleep.” you swatted him off, turning and walking away from the atmosphere.

you felt a pair of predatory eyes on you the entire time, probably studying you. you had shown up in a lacy camisole top, tiny black shorts and white thigh-high socks with little pink bows on them, an outfit that would now be engraved in euronymous’ mind for the rest of time. he watched you walk up the stairs as his band continued playing, watching your ass jiggle with each step you took.

then he turned to your brother.

“why the fuck do you let her walk all over you like that? she bitches and whines like a goddamn 12 year old.” jan scoffs. “c’mon man, that’s my little sister. and you know she’s 18. you were even at that big birthday party of her’s, remember?”

oh yes, he remembered. the night you got blackout drunk and tried to lead him on, leading to a very sloppy hookup that also happened to be the night he lost his virginity, to you. but you didn’t remember any of this, and that was probably for the best. so all you viewed him as was that weird guy that hung out with your brother.

euronymous rubbed a hand over his face. “she’s a fuckin’ brat, dude. and she dresses like a damn hooker. you can’t just let her do whatever the hell she wants around here. one way or another, it’ll ruin our band.” jan brushed him off. “whatever, man. she’s her own person. she’s a woman, so it’d be pretty fucked up for me to be bossing her around.” he flipped over his sheet music. “from the top.”

euronymous placed his guitar on it’s stand. “i’m grabbing a beer.” he muttered, making his way to the stairs and bolting up them. that’s when he saw you in the kitchen, squirting whipped cream into your mouth from the can. he felt heat pooling in his core from the sight. “oh, fuck me��” he muttered under his breath, making you turn your head to him.

“the grumpy old troll crawled out of his cave, hm?” you taunted. he rolled his eyes, spitting back a snarky response. “why don’t you crawl back into whatever fairytale you lept out from.” you snarled, the expression on your face making euronymous’ knees weak. you opened the fridge, putting the whipped cream back and grabbing a bottle of beer. the last one.

you started heading back to your room until you felt a calloused hand grip your wrist, pulling you back. “i was gonna take that.” his eyes bored into your soul, but you put on a fake-pout. “well that’s too bad.” you licked around the tip of the bottle, claiming your territory in attempt to disgust him enough to leave you alone. but his pupils dilated when he saw your pink tongue smear saliva across the bottle, awakening something primal in him.

you hopped up the stairs, giving him a view of your legs in such innocent yet provocative clothing. without thining, he followed you up, walking into your room behind you and pinning you to the door by your chest. your eyes widened as the door shut behind you, your heart hammering inside of your chest.

“what the hell are you doing, oystein? jan would murder you if he saw you doing this.” euronymous didn’t have anything to say to that, so his mouth gaped open slightly as he studied your features. you looked like if your brother was crossed with a cute little child’s doll. your eyes shimmered with intense emotion, and he imagined what they’d look like as they rolled to the back of his head while he fucked you.

he watched the top of your breasts rise and fall with each heavy breath you took, feeling a very familiar sensation in his jeans. one that he always felt whenever he saw you. he shook himself back to reality, plucking the beer out of your hand. “a pretty girl like you shouldn’t be drinking this. besides, you’re a kid.” your cheeks puffed up with anger. “you’re like 6 months older than me, asshole.”

he shrugged, leaning against your wall and taking a large swig of beer, looking around your bedroom. as pink and girly as it was, it all became much more lewd the longer he looked. there were bras and panties slung across almost every surface, smutty books filling your bookshelves, and a pretty pink vibrator that failed to be hidden underneath your pillow.

euronymous smirked, walking toward your bed and picking it up, switching it on. “well what do we have here?” your breath left your lungs as he held it, quickly rushing up to him and snatching it. “dont touch that!” he laughed bitterly, looking you right in the eye. “so turns out princess bubblegum’s a fucking whore.” you felt your cheeks heating up as he continued to speak.

“did you get to cum, dolly? or was the sound of real music too much for your pretty little ears?” you opened your drawer, tossing the vibrator into it and slamming it shut. then you felt two strong arms wrap around your waist, picking you up and throwing you onto your bed.

everything was happening too fast for you, but the next thing you knew euronymous was on top of you, your faces less than an inch apart as his tone turned into one of lust and desire. “i asked you a question, angel. did that stupid toy make you cum?” you gulped, your core starting to drip from the words he spoke.

you shook your head, causing him to smile. he pushed your legs apart, letting himself in between them and pressing his burning erection onto your clothed pussy, making you gasp. he trailed his hand down your body, his fingers slithering under the waistband of your shorts and stopping at your panties, feeling the sopping wet mess underneath the thin, lacy fabric.

your limbs turned to jelly as a moan slipped from your lips. he began to rub slow circles onto your hard clit, feeling it’s throbbing response.he used his other hand to slip of your shorts, then your panties, taking off your clothes layer by layer until only your socks were left. but he left those on. he thought they were a nice touch.

one thing led to another, and he was pounding into you from behind, his fingers shoved down your throat as he stretched out your tiny little pussy with his monstrous cock.

your back arched as he pressed you into the mattress, feeding on your desperate moans and whimpers like a starved beast. “like that, doll? is that the spot?” he cooed, obviously mocking you. you were a sobbing mess, your mascara running down your face as you drooled around his large fingers.

he looked down at you from where he was, watching your ass bounce with each hard thrust. he watched the curve of your back as his dick made you lose all control of your senses. you would never admit it to him, but he made you feel much better than that stupid vibrator did.

“i-im cumming, oystein..!” you managed to cry out, his finger muffling your words. you had gushed and creamed and squirted around him so many times by now that you had lost count. but body was weak beyond its limits, but he refused to stop. he just kept on pushing, his deep, hoarse groans eoching through your bedroom walls.

he landed a harsh slap onto your bruised ass, making you yelp. his thrusts began to lose their composure as he spoke, his voice breaking. “c-can you cum f’me one more time, baby… can you do that for me..?” you nodded frantically, tears rolling down your face and staining your bedsheets.

his cock throbbed inside of your pulsating hole, creating a wet and sticky mess as cum poured down your thighs and stomach. and then he began to shout, his voice coming out as a booming roar. “goddamnit!” he forced himself all the way in, making your heart stop for a moment as he filled you up with his molten hot cum. he gave you a few more lazy thrusts, his groans turning into little whimpers before he pulled out, shooting a few last ropes onto your arched back.

you laid there, panting like a dog as the realization hit you. your brother’s best friend had just fucked you. the one that you had never gotten along with. the one who swore he’d kill himself if you ever got a man to touch you. the one who longed for the day that he’d finally get to claim a pure soul like yours as his own. and now, he’d finally done it. again.

author's note: i ran to write this as soon as I got the request. goodnight yall :))

#444rockstargf #rory culkin #rory culkin smut #lana del rey #euronymous #lords of chaos #smut #lana del rey unreleased #eurorory #euronymous rory culkin #euronymous smut

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thedarlingdearestdead · 7 months

Text

Piloting:

Summary: You are an innocent padawan just trying to get some flying experience. Anakin gets quite close and personal... P2 here!

Warnings: None, kissing.

Word count: 1,470

The control room was buzzing with energy, the action hadn’t begun yet, in fact you had barely entered deep space. That didn’t stop the round chamber being filled with voices, nervous and excited all at once. It was a diplomatic mission but with some high profile guests. And one very high profile, up and coming Jedi. Anakin Skywalker was in charge of escorting the ships path to Alderaan. It was a new starship, one of the first of its kind in the entire galaxy. It was kind of a big deal. You supposed that was why it got such an infamous man as its a protector.

Your own master had remained of Courasant, giving you this mission was a part of your pilots training. You were one of many people charged with flying the large ship, all sitting before a large globe-like window at the front of the vessel. It was beautiful.

Not that you were getting much of a look outside. Indeed, the information which was being processed on your holo in front of you was almost too much for you, flying down the page at a million miles per second, you could barely look up. Trying to type, do calculations and stay updated on the latest feed all at once, you barely recognised the change in atmosphere.

But then, a sudden silence fell over the room. You finally looked up from your holo to see what had caused it, and that's when you saw him. Just at your flank, an intimidating figure in black, messy curly hair, bright blue eyes. He had an eager grin on his face as he looked around the large cockpit.

Anakin walked down the stairs in the centre to talk to the captain, his voice was quiet but animated, though his posture was reserved- most likely aware that he was being watched by the rest of the room.

Your eyes flicker down to your work as he continues his conversation, trying not to get distracted from your task. It was already bad enough being on battlefields with him, surrounded by smoke and chaos. Here in a relatively quiet, well lit, stunning new room in the middle of outer space, you could feel his presence becoming an issue.

He claps the captain on the back congenially and walks back up the rows of seated crew, surveying various screen and rapturously taking in the information. Anakin loved flying, stories of his landings were popular gossip among the other cadets that you often trained with.

You were sucked back into your work, tapping almost habitually now on your keyboard and zoning out, focused completely on the numbers in front of you. That’s when you feel a shadow on your left. General Skywalker had made his way to your section of the long desk and was scanning your holo even as you worked. He leaned in closer. Then closer still. You jolted as one of his hands went to the back of your chair, the metal one, and the other lay on your desk. He was practically crouching over the surface, overcrowding your space entirely.

You couldn’t breathe. And you couldn't deny the thrill that ran down your spine at his proximity.

"Is everything running smoothly, L/N“ His voice was low, curious and amused, he could clearly sense the effect he was having on you.

You swallowed hard, trying desperately to focus on the task at hand. "Yes, sir," you managed to reply, hoping your voice didn't betray the flutter in your stomach.

Anakin chuckled, the sound deep and rich. "Relax, pilot. We're not in the middle of a battle. There's no need to be so tense."

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. But it was difficult with Anakin so close, his scent enveloping you - a mixture of metal and leather and something distinctly, dangerously, male.

You tried to ignore the proximity, but the warmth of his body radiating behind you was making it difficult to concentrate. Anakin's breath tickled the shell of your ear as he leaned even closer to look at your screen. His metal hand grazed your shoulder as he pointed at something on the display, sending shivers down your spine.

"Is that the trajectory for the hyperdrive jump?" he asked, his voice confident and clear in the echoing hangar.

You nodded, trying to keep your focus on the screen. It was hard to keep your composure with Anakin so close. You could smell the spicy cologne he wore, and it was intoxicating.

"Good work," Anakin praised, nodding at you and looking you in your stunned eyes.

But it passed so suddenly and he was looking out on the entire crew now, “Good work all of you. Looks like it’ll be smooth sailing from here.”

The tension in your body dissipated as Anakin walked away, but you couldn't shake the feeling of his warm breath on your neck. You tried to push the sensation out of your mind and focus on your work, but it was no use. The rest of the journey felt endless, your mind constantly wandering to the magnetic presence of Anakin Skywalker.

When the ship finally arrived at Alderaan, you couldn't help but feel relieved that the journey was over. You quickly gathered your things and made your way out of the cockpit, eager to finally get some fresh air, recuperate your composure and energy for the flight back in a couple of days. You were staying on planet for the weekend before being due back at the Temple. But as you stepped out of the ship, you were met with a surprising sight.

Anakin was waiting there, leaning against the side of the ship, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked up as you approached, his eyes immediately locking onto yours. You felt your cheeks flush as you tried to keep calm. Your grip tightened on your bag and you nodded at him in greeting, silently praying that he would let you leave.

But Anakin didn't falter, instead he pushed himself off the ship and walked towards you, his eyes never leaving yours. You couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by him as he approached, his imposing figure towering over you. He stopped just inches away from you, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for something.

"You did well on the flight," he said, his voice low and husky. "I was impressed. Your master speaks very highly of you"

Your heart skipped a beat at his compliment, but you tried to remain passive. "Thank you, sir," you replied, keeping your voice steady.

“It’s an amazing opportunity working on big ships like this one, and for her maiden voyage…” His voice is fond as he looks back at the ship behind you two. “Though I couldn’t help feel you were slightly distracted at one point.”

“Sir?”

He comes in closer to you, bending down, mouth right next to your ear. ”Did my presence make you nervous?"

You swallowed hard, feeling a blush creeping up your neck. “You have a way of... commanding attention.”

Anakin straightened up slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. "I can't help it," he admitted, a playful glint in his eyes.

“You didn’t have to get so close.”

“I really was checking the engine stats”

“And after?”

“Well… Then I suppose I was checking on you.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a rush of heat flood through your body.

Anakin's expression grew more serious as he leaned in once again, his warm breath ghosting over your cheek. "I can't deny that I'm drawn to you, L/N. There's something about you that I can't resist," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as a million thoughts raced through your mind. You couldn't believe that the legendary Anakin Skywalker was showing interest in you, a padawan.

Before you could even process what was happening, Anakin's lips were on yours, kissing you hard and possessively. You moaned into the kiss, your body responding instinctively to his touch. His metal hand slid down your back, pulling you closer to him as he continued to kiss you with a hunger that took your breath away.

For a moment, you forgot where you were, lost in the sensation of his lips on yours. But then you pulled back, gasping for air.

"I couldn't help myself," he whispered, his lips brushing against your earlobe.

You pulled back further, your hands still clutching your bag. "We can't, not here. Not now," you blurted.

”I know," he replied softly, taking a step back. “We have all weekend though.” He picks up your bag which you had dropped in the moment of passion and carries it towards the doors in an obvious sign for you to follow. Gobsmacked, you do.

#anakin x reader #clone wars #star wars prequels #star wars fandom #anakin skywalker x reader #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #star wars fanfiction #star wars #tcw #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker x you #darth vader #anakin x you #anakin x y/n #general skywalker

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carmillamycarmine · 3 months

Text

Carmilla Carmine x Fem Reader: Reader learning ballet from Carmilla. {1,976 words}

Request by: @coallise

Pas de Deux

Flames danced and twisted with fervor, echoing laughter resounded like a haunting melody, and the anguished cries of citizens pierced the air. It was almost theatrical. A daunting song.

Carmilla, with a solemn grace, closed her eyes and embraced the disheartening setting of her current existence. Once again. Carmilla turned from the window, her large hands folded behind her back. Within the esteemed estate, metallic thudding on hard stone could be heard throughout. The building was quiet, sheilding itself away from the torture outside.

The tall, elegant woman stepped through the dimly lit corridors, her laced feet taking her exactly where she wanted to go. The grand ballroom was cold, always surprisingly. Carmilla entered the room, watching the dark curtains rustle and do their flapper dance. Crimson hues of the moon's light filtered through intricate stained glass windows, casting prisms of light upon the meticulously polished marble floor. Within this splendid setting, an atmosphere of eagerness formed and the woman couldn't help but smile smally.

With a snap of her long fingers, musical notes floated through the air, filling it with new life. Carmilla inhaled deeply, feeling her cold heart thaw.

‘Pavane for a Dead Princess’ played out.

Long arms went into first position, and so did her feet, for once allowing herself to be off her toes, in more ways than one. And with that, Carmilla flowed effortlessly into choreography from her heart, letting the music control her. She was of a black swan gliding across a tranquil lake, her angelic ballet shoes and straps sparkling in the light like the shimmers of that swan lake.

Carmilla felt sane here. She felt closer to herself.

Without warning, a familiar scent of rose wafted into her nose, triggering an emotion within Carmilla's thawed state. The woman immediately paused her dance but did not stumble, never. White irises darted towards the entrance, landing on your beautiful figure before you quickly slipped away, hiding yourself away from Carmilla in the shadows.

“Corazón?”

The sound of the ballet woman's bubbling, velvet voice caused a wave of shivers to swim through your body, making you sigh.

“Ven acá.”

Obediently, you did go to her, revealing yourself truthfully.

“There's no need to hide. I won't bite.” Carmilla looked away from you, her eyebrows furrowing slightly with a thought.

You didn't respond.

“Were you needing me?” Her velvety voice asked.

“No, not really. I just…” You spoke as your footsteps got closer to her. “I heard music. Music plays through these halls only a few times… which, anyway, is usually when you're done with your work.”

You looked up into her white eyes, the red of Carmilla's scleras glowing and highlighting bits of her perfect face.

“I see,” the taller woman replied, her large hand going up to touch her chin in thought.

It was quiet for a moment between you two, though, the music of ballet still played on.

“Teach me.” You almost command it.

“What?”

“Teach me how to dance ballet,” you said more specifically. “Please,” you added quickly.

Carmilla observed you for a moment, considering your request. As you stood before her, you swore you could see something shift within her gaze.

“Why?”

I suppose you should've expected that response. Your eyes immediately shifted away from hers, internally forcing yourself to not fluster. You chuckled suddenly, almost embarrassed.

“W-Why would anyone want to learn?” You ask, fiddling your thumbs before making quick eye contact again. “It's just.. so beautiful. You look… so beautiful.”

Carmilla's stoic face changed into one of surprise.

“I want to feel that way.”

The ballet woman's features softened, her heart tugging from the mix of your words.

"Very well," she agreed, extending her big hand towards you. "Come, let us not waste our time.”

With graceful movements, she guided you to the center of the ballroom, positioning you carefully. Her touch was soft, gentle, contrasting with the image of her imposing presence.

“First, we must find your balance," Carmilla instructed, using her hands to help her communicate. "Feel the ground beneath you, feel your feet, your heels build into the ground like the roots of a sturdy tree.”

You followed her guidance, focusing on your stance as she adjusted your posture with a gentle touch.

“Now, let the music guide you," she continued, snapping her fingers to restart to music from the speakers. "Feel its rhythm coursing through your veins, connecting you to every note, every beat, as if it's the song of your own beating blood.”

As the bittersweet melody rewinds and envelopes the room once again, you tentatively begin to move, slightly mimicking Carmilla's steps you saw earlier to guide you. At first, it felt awkward and unfamiliar, but with each passing moment, you surrendered yourself to the music, allowing it to carry you, though, you still felt awkward all the same.

Feeling the music, you forget about your stiffness and focus on just allowing the music to take control, hoping it'll relax your body.

“The song of your own heart, corazón, not mine.”

You couldn't help but huff a bit, knowing Carmilla wanted you to produce your own dance, not blatantly copying. Following Carmilla's instructions, your movements felt uncertain. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't quite capture the fluid grace that seemed to come so naturally to her. And then, just as you feared, you slipped, your calves not used to holding up all your weight from your toes.

Before you knew it, a long, strong arm snaked around your waist as your hand was pulled by another, forcing your tumbling body into an upright position and being pulled into a firm, warm embrace. Carmilla held you steady, and without missing a beat, the woman smoothly transitioned into a pas de deux, pulling you close and along as if it were the most natural thing in the world. In her embrace, you felt a sense of security and belonging, almost a sense of awe, as if for this moment, the chaos of hell outside faded away, leaving only the two of you to burn like hot flames, dancing flames, swirling and flickering in untamed perfect harmony.

You stumbled at first, trying to keep up with Carmilla's practiced steps, but she guided you with patience and grace, leading you through the intricate movements with ease. As you danced together, you felt a connection deeping between you two, a silent understanding that transcended words; a passionate inferno.

Carmilla moved you through each step with a confidence that stirred the progressively boiling pot within you. As you looked up into her glowing eyes, you saw a flicker of emotion that mirrored your own desire, a silent longing that spoke volumes without even a single word being spoken aloud. Every brush of skin against skin sent a shiver down your spine, turning up the flames beneath your pot.

As the music swelled, Carmilla's arms lifted you easily into the air, your body weightless to her. You felt the rush of adrenaline mixed with the desire for Carmilla herself, sending a surge of electricity coursing through your veins. Seeing the woman beneath you, looking up at you, was a sight to behold, the romanticized music and red moonlight tinting the marble floor only adding to the fantastical scene. You did everything in your power to not reach out and caress the beautiful face before you.

When the music reached its end, Carmilla gently lowered you back down onto the floor, carefully allowing you to steady yourself before letting go of you. You already missed her touch, missed her too, though she was right there in front of you.

You stood breathless. Was it from the dancing, or was it from Carmilla? Unfortunately, you already knew the answer to that. With a slight part of her lips, as if she wanted to express something, Carmilla brushed a stray hair from your face, her touch causing your heart to skip and pulse with speed.

"You dance beautifully," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Gazing into each other's eyes, in that moment, you knew what you had to say. Summoning all your courage, you took a closer step forward, your heart pounding in your chest as you closed your eyes a moment to cope. "Carmilla," you began, your voice trembling with emotion. "There's something I need to… want to.. tell you.”

“Yes?” was all the taller woman spoke.

Taking a deep breath, you shook your head and held your hands together in comfort. You gathered your thoughts, your heart desperately wanting release. "I... I…” You chuckled nervously, laughing at your own nerves. “Carmilla… I love you," you confessed, your voice a faint murmur. "I've never... felt this way.. about anyone before… so passionately about someone before. You're... you're just so perfect. You're everything to me.”

For a moment, there was silence, complete silence as the music finally cuts off with its ending. The atmosphere with anticipation, you fear the worst and quickly open your mouth to take back the words you announced. And then, skipping your heart once more, Carmilla reached out and placed her sueded hand delicately on your cheek, so delicate, she might as well not be touching you at all.

“And I love you, mi amor, mi corazón," she whispered, her voice filled with warmth and affection. "I have for far longer than I care to admit.”

You were stunned, in awe. How could she say something so easily? You stood there, barely able to comprehend Carmilla's confession. A twitchy smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

"You... you love me?" you repeated, the words feeling foreign yet undeniably sweet on your tongue.

“With my whole soul," the ballet woman replied, her voice steady and unwavering.

A scoff fell from your lips before evolving into full chuckles, the sound filled with a mix of sheer disbelief and happiness. "I can't… I can't believe this," you murmured, shaking your head in amazement. "I never thought... I never dared to even hope…” But as you looked on into Carmilla's white eyes, you knew that her words were real, that the love you felt for each other was genuine and true. For some reason, the confession smothered you, and you could almost pass out.

“Hell… I really do love you, my Carmilla.” you said, your voice filled with conviction and need. "More than I ever thought possible.”

Carmilla hummed deeply in delight at that. A full smile dressed her black painted lips, a rare and truly radiant expression that lit up her entire face. Boldly, Carmilla allowed her thumb to gently graze over your bottom lip.

"May I kiss you?" she asked, her bubbly, velvety voice putting you in a daze.

You nodded eagerly, your heart getting ready to burst in your chest as Carmilla leans in closer and closer, her lips hovering just inches away from yours. With a gentle brush of her lips against yours, the world seemed to explode into fireworks. Passion and desire bursting within, each popped spark igniting a fervent longing that enveloped you both in a whirlwind of ecstasy and enchantment.

Maybe it was just Charlie's, the princess of hell’s firework spell that she does at work.

Reluctantly pulling apart from the kiss, you smile up at Carmilla, and she smiles down at you, admiring you. You held each other close, savoring the moment and the overwhelming rush of emotions. In the quiet of the ballroom, surrounded by the gentle flapping of the curtains, you found heaven in each other's arms. With a contented sigh, Carmilla rested her head against your shoulder, her arms completely wrapped around you in a comforting hug. And as you stood there, basking in the warmth of her touch, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, as long as you had each other, you could overcome anything… such as your insulting ballet skills.

#my writing #carmilla carmine #carmilla carmine x reader #carmilla x reader #hazbin carmilla #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel carmilla #writing

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vs-space-orcs · 2 years

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Imagine aliens who like to come to deathworlds to experience the local nightmare conditions, like those people that do extreme outdoorsy sports stuff (idk what that's called but those people are Insane. Anyway) or storm chasers.

Imagine the alien equivalent of a youtuber from a planet that had no concept of barometric pressure changes documenting their experience waiting for and through a thunderstorm. Would they naturally be able to feel changes in pressure in more detail than us since they aren't used to it?

"Hey everyone, logging in for the first time from Terra. We're two days ahead of a thunderstorm here in 'Ohklawhowma,' as the locals call it, and we can already feel the atmosphere changing around us. It's hard to describe. It's like your skin and bones feel... unsettled. Really fascinating."

"Hey everyone, logging back in one Sol day before the predicted storm, and we are really feeling the atmosphere changing as the day goes on. I'm doing alright but my partner Navideah is in bed, her bones and skin are hurting pretty bad. They say even among humans there are some people who are more susceptible to pain caused by these pressure changes. Absolutely insane to think a whole sentient species, an entire planet, just deals with this every day. I've been to a lot of deathworlds but Terra is something else."

"Hey everyone, it's the day of the storm and the storm is starting to 'roll in' as the humans say. *camera pans to show a large storm cloud approaching on the horizon*Look at these atmospheric water structures! This one is going to be pretty tame by Terra standards. No solid water chunks raining from the sky and definitely no 'tornado.' We respect humans who chase those storms but decided we're not that intense.

Anyway *bright flash of light* OH DAMN I think we just saw some lightning! *thunder clap* and there's the thunder. They say the shorter the time between the flash and the thunder, the closer it is to you. And look at this! The horizon is hazy because that water structure, 'clouds' the humans call them, is dumping absolutely massive amounts of water on the landscape. Really, really exciting stuff!"

*video taken from inside the ship, with the sound of water hitting metal echoing everywhere* "Hey everyone, my recording equipment is having some trouble hearing me over the noise of water hitting the ship. The humans like to say it's 'raining cats and dogs' which are two small Terran companion animals. Not sure what that means but it really is insane how much water is coming out of the sky! I have some more footage being captured on cameras outside the ship that I'll edit and post later.

These changes in the atmosphere are really brutal on the body. I'm feeling it pretty good. My head hurts like you wouldn't believe, and Navideah had a fluid leak from her scent organ earlier. Apparently this is completely normal for humans. Some of them don't even feel any different when these storms come, which is absolutely insane every part of my body including my skin hurts. I have never has more respect for the humans their world is absolutely one of the wildest we've been to. And this is just an every day thing for them! Absolutely wild." *loud thunderclap and screen goes black*

"Hey everyone, we made it through the storm! My recording equipment had some interference so I'll be sorting through footage but I just wanted to let everyone know we made it, and we are packing up to head home.

Pain aside, this has been an incredible experience. The awe you feel on this wide open plain as these massive super structures of water in the atmosphere approach is really something else. It'll set your antennas on end. It really will. The anticipation as the storm approaches and the pain increases is so intense. It's unsettling and uncanny, but you can't help but think how beautiful it all is.

Anyway, it's been a long few days, so we're signing out for a bit while we head back home and recover. Wave Navideah! This is us, signing out."

#alien storm chasers #earth is a deathworld #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities

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silent-stories · 1 year

Text

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘

Pairing: Eddie x F!Reader

Summary: One night you hear a noise and go to check, finding your neighbor talking to stray cats.

Warnings: a bit of fluff

It was late at night, but since you couldn't sleep, you were sitting on the picnic table in front of the trailer where you lived with your family.

Looking up to the sky you could see stars shining in the sky and some bats flying in circles.

You had always liked night and the calm atmosphere that created when everyone went to sleep and silence fell, you felt more at ease at night.

Just as you were about to go back inside, you heard a voice coming from behind one of the trailers. The Munson trailer, you recognized.

You and Eddie were in same math class but he'd only shown up twice since the beginning of the year, he'd taken a seat at the back of the class and you were pretty sure he'd spent the entire hour doing something else than paying attention.

Drawing, reading or preparing the next D&D campaign, maybe.

You'd never talked to Eddie, even though he was friends with Dustin and Mike,the kids you had babysat for years when they were younger, and even though he lived only a few feet away from you, but not for the same reason that most people at school didn't.

You knew what they said about him, that he was the leader of a satanic cult, that he made human sacrifices and that he was a "freak" but you never really believed it. Mostly because you were sure Dustin wasn't part of a cult but also because Eddie seemed like a good guy despite what everyone else at school (and in all Hawkings) thought.

Dustin once told you that Eddie was one of the only people who was nice to him at school, besides you.

You jumped off the table and headed for the source of the sound. You put a hand against the wall of the trailer and peered behind it to see what was going on.

The scene you faced was honestly some of the cutest shit I've seen in your entire life.

Eddie was sitting on the ground, lit by the dim light from a streetlight not far from him, a black and white cat was clambering onto his lap as Eddie ran his ringed fingers through its fur with a grin on his face.

He wore a red flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows showing the tattoos on his arms, and dark jeans.

His hair fell to the sides of his face as he leaned towards the cat, clearly he hadn't heard or seen you coming.

"Hey sweety" he said while the cat was purring "I'm sorry but today for you I only have some pizza crusts, tomorrow morning I'll bring you something else okay?"

You noticed the plastic plate containing the remains of what had probably been Eddie's dinner lying on the ground. In that moment another cat popped out from behind Eddie's back and rubbed against his arm emitting a soft "meow".

That one was much smaller than the other, he couldn't have been more than a few months old. The fur on its ears was so long for such a small cat that it looked like he had a pair of little horns.

“Hi to you too,” Eddie chuckled as his other hand stroked the space between its ears.

You didn't even realize you were standing there and watching the scene with a stupid smile on your lips.

The way a person treats animals says so much about them and at that moment Eddie was telling you that he were the least scary person on the face of the earth. And that he was sweet.

"That's cute." You said, finally getting his attention.

Eddie's head snapped in your direction and he suddenly leapt to his feet, nearly knocking the orange cat off his knees.

"Hey, uhm...I...." He stammered scratching the back of his head with one hand, almost as if he was embarrassed.

Oh. Was Eddie Munson embarrassed?

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"I heard a sound and came to see what was going on." You explained and he just nodded like a kid caught stealing candy.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone that the tough and metal Eddie Munson talks to cats." You added, and when he looked up and saw you laughing, he did the same.

The black and white cat walked towards you and rubbed against your leg. You crouched down to pet it.

"They don't have a house, or a family" Eddie explained. "And so they have no food. These two aren't the only ones, I know there are at least four others in this area. I try to leave as much food as possible back here but a lot of times I don't have enough for all of them."

They don't have a house, or a family, he tought. They were a bit like him, maybe that was why he cared so much for them.

When you took your hand away from the cat, he pushed his muzzle back against it. Eddie chuckled and you realized you liked the sound of his laugh.

"That's very nice of you. Do they have names?"

"I call her Ozzy." He said pointing to the cat next to you.

The black spots around the cat's eyes really looked like the dark glasses the Black Sabbath singer always wore, you realized.

Her name was spot on.

"And this is Angus" He nodded at the smaller cat who approached you and sniffed your hand reluctantly.

"Hi Angus." You said as he nibbled on your finger.

Eddie laughed as you tried to take your hand away from him.

"You have such cute little horns" you talked to the kitten, "And you're almost as small as the real Angus."

Eddie's face basically lit up. "There's no way you got the reference!"

"Ozzy Osbourne with his glasses and Angus Young with horns and his small stature? Try something harder."

If it was possible, Eddie smiled even more. "I didn't know you liked that kind of music."

"There are many things you don't know about me. We've never talked before." You said.

"Well, I'd like to do it more from now on. You're not what I thought." He confessed.

"And what did you think?" You asked.

"That you were like the others at school. But you're not." He said. Henderson wasn't wrong about you, after all.

"Did you think I was like the cheerledears? Should I be offended?" You asked, but your tone was playful. "Do you think they would dress like this?" You pointed to the ripped jeans that you had quickly put on before going out that night and the boots that you hadn't even zipped up.

He raised his hands in apology. "I humbly apologize, m'lady. Even the best make mistakes sometimes."

You laughed. "Well, you are as I thought." You said.

"Scary?" He asked, his voice changed slightly in tone. Most people think that of him at school. And not just at school. He knew how even in town people talked about him and sometimes he just pretended he didn't care about it.

You shook your head. "A good person."

The smile on his lips was back.

That's not metal. That's not metal at all, Eddie thought.

He'd been caught talking to cats, and now he was smiling like a stupid at a girl he barely knew.

No, definitely not metal. But that didn't stop him.

You stood up picking up Ozzy who was still on top of you and deposited her on the ground.

"I think we should go to sleep now. It must be almost 1 a.m." You announced as you watched the cats approach the plate of pizza crusts.

Eddie looked at the watch on his wrist. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"Well, then... see you in math class, if you'll ever decide to show up."

"Maybe, sooner or later." he shrugged. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Night, Eddie." You walked up to your trailer and Eddie followed you with his eyes, you gave him one last look to see he was still smiling slightly, before going back inside.

That night, in your bed, the last thing on your mind before falling asleep was: you heard Eddie Munson call a cat "sweety".

In his bed Eddie thought maybe now he had a good reason to show up for math class.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fanfiction

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mrtequilasunset · 10 months

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I've been thinking a lot about the idea of a PaleMetal subculture and what it would be like and one thing thats common in most metal (specifically black metal) circles I've experienced has been this idea of Edgy Pissing Contests. Like, everyone trying to be more hard-core than everyone else, so that makes me think maybe the way this manifests is these groups of people that hang out too close to porch collapses for the sake of being seen as cool, and it ends up just making them fucking weird. And there's whole like little clusters of them near the pale because they go to be edgy and then fall into shit like what we saw with Tiago where it just kinda rewires their brain and they dont leave.

The music itself probably sounds something between atmospheric black metal and sludge, like distorted vocals and droney sounds recorded on the worst mic available. And of course if you tell someone you listen to palemetal but you don't actually show signs of palesickness they'll call you a poser lol

#idk I'm still putting together thoughts but ughgh #autistic urge to connect both my stupid interests is so strong rn #i imagine when normal people find out it sorta becomes something similar to the satanic panic #theyll scare their kids telling them thyre gonna become pale zombies if they listen to one (1) metal song #disco elysium #the pale #more thoughts later but I'm at work rn #i am not confident in my knowledge abt the pale so please correct me if i say goofy shit #disco elysium palemetal #palemetal

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darkdemeter · 2 months

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WOLF AND CONSORT: THE WEIGHT OF BARGAINS UNPAID

The DARK DEMETER WRITING CATALOGUE, WANDA MAXIMOFF COLUMN #1 —

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

Wanda Maximoff x Mafia! Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader

A/N — Short, I know, but I did get a little carried away with the darker aspect...

WORD COUNT — 2.2k

READER DISCRETION — Overall 18+ content, minors DNI! — post-kidnapping — Threats of death, endangerment and some abusive violence towards a minor (teenager) — general depictions of mafia violence — dark! reader — adult language — use of pet/nicknames ("Sweets") — cough obsessive/yandere type reader — I think that's it?

— NEXT COLUMN

SUMMARY — This isn't your first rodeo handling a rat caught in the trap. On the outskirts of New York, away from prying eyes, you've set into motion a plan to show Tony Stark that you are not to be trifled with. However, like an angel, Wanda comes to the rescue of your little captive. As per your fashion, in exchange for his freedom, she is expected to repay the debt of your kind deed. After all, the weight of bargains unpaid can be very hefty the longer they take to pay up...

Thump. Thump. Thump.

There are layers to the darkness he finds himself trapped in. The first masks eyes laden with tears that streak the hollowed paths of his face. The second surrounds him at all sides, in all directions, its atmosphere impairs his capabilities to remain calm, bandana pulled tight between his teeth and his limbs bound by the restraint of squeezing threads of plastic.

For time unknown is spent in the two layers of darkness, nose running with no hope to see the light of day again, forever bound to live out the remainder of his existence in the void that thrums deep and low, occasionally swerving left or right and dragging his weight to crash against one of the four walls of his black box cell.

As for the third layer of darkness, he’d rather spend this era of purgatory in the trunk, if it meant he never had to encounter the third again.

Tires slow to roll over the crunching of gravel, each second reminding him of the sound of bones being snapped and dismantled. The car’s movement halts but the car’s engine continues to rumble deeply, oiled and purring like a cat, he hears the slamming of doors.

“Mmf?”

Feet paw the gravel in near tandem of each other, moving in pairs of five in total. Clatter of metal emits from the darkness in front of his face and with a croak of the lock mechanism, the mouth of the trunk lifts upwards.

His once vocal, muffled pleas fall dead and bandaged by the damp cloth between his teeth. Eyes flooding with tears that mark his vision in a blur, spots of clear force him to meet his captors. Their eyes bear down upon him a weight that leaves his lungs burning in desperate hunger for air.

But it's the shadowy contours concealing most of your visage, eyes aglow and gaze eerily heated like burning coals.

“Peter, was it?” you drawl in question behind a wall of teeth. The falsehood of your smile brings a wave of nausea to swell in the pit of his stomach, as bile churns the remnants of his last meal, and the ringing in his ears throbs louder.

One of the men raises his arm and the barrel of a handgun forcefully kisses the rubbery flesh of Peter’s cheek, tear, blood and sweat stained. His body follows the natural course of instinct in his given position, muscles flinching harshly.

“Should we do it right here, Boss?” The voice of the gunman is roughly chalky through the tunnel of his throat.

“Not in the fucking trunk,” you hiss sharply, hand shoving the gun away. Peter momentarily catches a glimpse of the curved points of your claws, unsheathed and ready to rip and render anything fragile. If there was one thing he remembers in these final moments, it’s the few lessons his mentor warned him of.

One of which is that with you: everything is fragile. And frankly, you couldn’t give a single shit about being gentle.

“No. I have something else planned.” Your hand grapples the fabric of his shirt, bundling it together tightly and you rip him from the trunk, his body floundering because of the zipties digging into his skin, burning him red with irritated marks.

His body is thrown to the ground, back colliding into the metal rigging of the bridge’s rail. He wheezes and coughs as the air is pressed viciously from his lungs, mouth covering hindering his progress to recover his lost breath.

His eyes squint under the buzzing light overhanging the bridge section, dodgy in the way it flickers momentarily, brown hair tousled messily from his rough treatment in the time spent in your custody.

“Put some weight on him,” you order as you procure a small case from the inside of your coat.

Two of your men retrieve something from the trunk, chuckling amongst themselves, Peter’s eyes fixate on the coarse threading of rope looped into a noose on both ends. The other heaves a grunt as he hoists a large mass of concrete into his arms. Peter’s heart pounds harder and faster until his rib cage is bruised on the inside, relentless in its state of panic, the two men fix his legs together with one knotted loop, the other then tied around the hulking brick.

“Plmmf! Dmmf dmm mmph!” Old teary rivers on the verge of drying are renewed, fresh and warm. “Plmmf– plmmf dmmph!”

The men back away from him as you move forward, steps slow with preciseness in mind, you stoop down to his level. His head falters until his chin meets his chest, shoulders bouncing with his pitiful sobs.

“Don’t waste your breath, kid,” you tsk with the butt of your cigarette pressed between your lips. You pause to bring your lighter up, flame dancing mere inches away from his face, a faint overlay painting the canvas of your face. Even with that blaring light above, your features remain ominously impenetrable from his point of view.

Perhaps it’s because that’s how he sees you. As pure darkness. Evil incarnate.

With the end of your cigarette lit, your chest expands widely, shoulders engulfing Peter in shadow that threatens to swallow him whole, his pupils shrunken beyond comprehension of their existence. The scent of his terror brings about an amusing invigoration to the wolf’s side, the selfish need to hunt all things prey. All things weak.

The smokeline traverses upwards in a spiral as you next exhale, each pattern of the wisps unique. You pull the butt from your lips in silence as you offer a puff to the young man before you, to which he equally answers in his own quivering quietness with a shake of his head. The action reminds you more of an animal twitching.

Your shoulders roll back and the ridge of your browline rises up with a roll of your eyes. Another cloud of smoke is absorbed into the chasm of your chest, and this time, you huff the smoke into his face, his nose wrinkles as he coughs at the rancid smell of ashy, burnt tobacco. To add atop of the passive attack, your thumb taps the stick and the specks of ash cascade over his lashes that bat away the searing sting from his already reddened eyes.

“Y’know, I don’t like it when I catch rats scuttling around where they don’t belong. It’s not nice to eavesdrop on conversations you have no part in. No less, record it.” Beneath the octave of your tone is a breeze of airiness, a facade of hurt and your brows pitch up. When Peter gives no response, the facade vanishes, lifted to reveal the cold malice of your very existence.

“Did Tony send you to find out what we’ve been up to since the treaty?” Your hand lashes out and Peter’s voice, straining against the cloth, reaches out into the hollow of night with a raw, throat shredding scream. Your clawed fingers pinch the thinly layered bubbles of his cheeks, grip armed with the ability to threaten him that his jaw is a moment away from being unhinged with a single snap.

“Do I look like someone you can fuck with?”

“M–mf…” The structure of his face shudders with a ‘no’ response. “Then why were you snooping around in that warehouse, kid?”

The crease of your nose twists into a sneer when Peter does little to entertain your question with any sort of answer, you sigh as you move to stand up again, grip still locked around his face, he squirms as he’s hoisted up by the extension of your strength.

His tearful eyes grow in size, the whites reflecting the blinking light above, he hollers out a string of smothered screams.

“You’ll serve as a warning to him. Let him know that Clan business isn’t to be toyed with by the likes of him.”

Peter begins to writhe around in his fight to break free to no avail, body floundering, his back presses over the railing. He trusts that the weight tied around his ankles won’t keep him grounded even if you let him go, the power to thrust him over the ledge as easy for you as taking a breath, he watches behind another blur of tears - perhaps the last before his vision is overwhelmed by water - you take in a long drag of your cigarette, eyes stern and callous within its shadowed veil.

He’s hanging on the verge of a slow and agonising demise, to be tortured as he must fight for air he will never have again, in a battle futile to win he tries to take solace that there may be a white light at the end of death’s tunnel. A fleeting hope of a promise that with his suffering, there will be peace.

Rolling over the gravel, a second car pulls off to the road’s side some distance away, beams of the saving light finally bathe over what Peter could not see before. Horrors of your visage, tales a many circulating its distinctively haunting mark on the soul, once concealed in the darkness forged into your very nature, now paints the deeply etched sculpt of your furrowed brows. Below are the thinned form of your eyes that holster within them intentions dangerously untamed, and the recoiled muscle of your lips bearing sharpened points, untainted by violence and bloodshed for now, jaw set hard.

Your head bends off towards the side with a raspy growl tumbling through your clenched teeth. There's movement in the dark, wandering about as blackened shadows as they come upfront to meet with you. Your men take to preparing themselves, hands idle over their guns, they each whine and growl in a rumbling chorus backdrop.

“Let him go, Y/N,” says the accented allure of her sokovian tongue.

“Ah, well if it isn’t the poster child herself.” Mouth turning into a grin with a husky chuckle bouncing in your throat, eyes roaming the scale of her body up and down, you play into the extra mile and feign loosening your grip on the boy for a split second. You take sickening delight in the display of her body flinching.

Interest peaked, you purr lowly, “Why should I?”

“He’s just a boy. Please, he’s harmless to you.”

Your tongue clicks against the roof of your mouth at this. How sweet she is, to come to the boy’s rescue, to save him from the clutches of a fate beneath the waters. Sweet and naive. You once again make your threat known, subtly pushing him that bit further over the edge. He makes to pull his body forward but you disable any attempt for him to secure even a shred of his safety. If those around you desire to push the bounds of your mercy, then you shall oblige in demonstrating the repercussions of such low thinking intelligence and blind haughtiness.

“Harmless,” you scoff, “A boy who knows too much about something he—”

“Please…,” she gasps. Oh, how that one word resounds in the night air clouded by rapids of fog. Muscle constricts around bone trembling in that same rushful, perverted delight. Never has such a sound - a singular word - been spoken so rawly and compassionately that it riled you deeply to the core, nor has any prior experience with company ever given you the dark stirring revelation you find before yourself.

Your eyes roll back to find hers, tongue tracing the sharp curves of your teeth.

Your men are silent, compliant to remain loyal and obedient despite the granted mercy you bestow upon the boy. Of course, they’d come to understand - or rather respect - your… fascination with the very woman who bargains nothing in exchange for the very clemency over Peter’s life. Your eyes pursue their focus on the darling woman whose green eyes bear to yours with such bewitching compassion. With claws hatching through rope and skin cutting plastic, Peter’s bruised features contort into a whirlwind mixture of relief and pain as he’s released from his bindings.

“Looks like you won’t be holding your breath, kid,” you huff. His knees wobble and his weight stumbles like a newborn pup, unsteady in his advance towards Wanda. She leans in close to his ear, plump lips moving before Peter continues on, moving towards the sanctuary of his saviour’s vehicle, another’s silhouette guides him safely into the back seat.

When she makes to swerve on her heel does she catch your fatal drawl with tongue beating the back of your teeth in a vocal, scolding fashion, finger wagging side to side.

“I’ve a reputation to protect, Sweets. I want compensation for your little stunt.”

For the second time, she gasps, “Excuse me?”

“I’m not a charity of mercy, Miss Maximoff.” Your head lays back slightly as you kink a finger at her in a gesture to bring to the table her payment. “So, what will you offer in return for the kid’s safety? Otherwise, with a snap of my fingers I’ll have my boys here drag him out… and I’ll hold the little fucker underwater until he drowns.”

“You… monster.” Her eyes break from yours, torn down is her resolve to stand before you and remain unshaken. Given this, the wolf’s nature takes hold and you stalk towards her, each step precise with predatory attentiveness. It’s not until you stand inches from her that she recognises that she’s let the wolf creep upon her. That she has succumbed to being your prey.

You continue, voice laced softly with a coo, “Then you know not to cross me, Sweets. So I ask again, what’s your offer?”

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST

@alexawynters @alyciaddict

#the dark demeter writing catalogue #treehouse taglist #werewolf reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda x werewolf! reader #male reader #gn reader #female reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #mafia wanda maximoff #mafia au #mafia #mob au #wanda maximoff x werewolf reader #angst

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rivenbellator · 7 months

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Do You Fight?

Jonggun Park

cw/tw: canon typical violence, probably ooc, x reader, no mention of y/n or other abbreviations, mild sex jokes, generally sfw, third person perspective

At the end of the corridor stood a looming figure, clad in a suit and demonic eyes that peered straight through your being. He stood there like a ghost, an dark entity haunting the edges of your vision. Each slow, agonising step he took echoed around the hall, slowly fading beyond the darkness of it.

At the other end stood a woman, dressed in black, her eyes a nonchalant stare. She walked the hall in full strides, her own steps landing but never echoing, a silenced gun in the midst of a desolate strip.

"Park Jonggun," her head tilted upwards as she peered at him through her lower lashes.

He didn't respond, remaining straight faced in the presence of the intruder, halting his steps. She continued her strides towards him, her boots leaving a soft thud with each footfall. "Choi sent me here," Gun loosened up at the name, "said he had a demon running around doing his bidding."

The gentle thuds finally stopped as she planted herself but a few metres from him.

"What does he want?" He inquired dully, pulling out a cigarette and lighter. A gentle click, a bright orange flame, and the cigarette was lit. He took a drag and blew the smoke at her purposefully.

She squinted at him disapprovingly, her face screwing up in disgust as she waved her hand at the white smog. "Not even asking for my identity?" she scoffed at him, "didn't expect Choi's men to be this sloppy."

Gun looked sorely unimpressed, "what does he want?" he reiterated.

"Something about the four crews- uh..." she muttered to herself for a moment before taking a notepad from the pocket of her pants and flipping to a page. Gun tapped his foot impatiently, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

"Choi wants you to get stricter with the four crews, and he wants you in for a meeting," she pocketed the notepad awaiting his response.

"So... is that a yes or no?"

"Aren't you the one that's sloppy?" He smirked condescendingly.

She turned on her heel, shaking her head, "I'll take that as a yes, you can ask Choi for the details of the meeting."

The air was silent for a moment, a tense atmosphere washing over the both of them.

"Do you fight?"

Desks strewn around a dimly illuminated room, shattered glass, and the sickly metallic scent of blood.

"So you do fight."

She grunted from her slumped position against the wall, blood dribbled down from her nose, a scowl forming on her face.

"Isn't there etiquette to this? You should let the lady have the first strike," she chuckled to herself, the sound reverberating through her chest.

"You blocked," Gun stated, as if it was unusual, abnormal.

"Yes, that's how this works," her forearms throbbed from the force of his punch, the red marks a tell-tale sign of his brutality.

She stood up, using her knees as leverage, and got into a defensive stance. Gun just stood there, squinting at her as if trying to decipher every single thing about her. She would give away nothing.

A kick was thrown, then a punch, multiple knees, and an elbow. Few of her hits landed, but when they did, Gun would wince. Each hit that did land created a sharp sound. The only sounds she made that would echo.

A head kick, and his shades crumbled, whether it was from the hand that blocked or the foot that kicked was unclear.

He looked angry.

Gun threw a right hook, and her body skidded into the chalkboard, white, dusty residue, creating a soft cloud around her.

Gun appeared out of nowhere, throwing a jab at her head, which she barely dodged, a dent left in the board where her head was.

Then, it ensued, a flurry of kicks, knees, elbows, hooks, and the like, each with the lethality to maim and kill one another.

"You think I can outrun you?" She asked, propping her arms up in front of her face again.

"No."

"Yeah, I thought so," Gun hurled another fist at her. She parried his scarred hand and aimed for a knee to his jaw.

It hit.

Gun was sent stumbling back, clutching his jaw and glaring up at the woman. "Fuck, that hurt."

"It wasn't supposed to," she muttered sarcastically, rolling her wrist. It was beginning to swell, injured somewhere in the storm of hits.

Gun stood up, shook himself out, and took a seat in one of the flimsy plastic chairs and sprawled his legs out. The woman remained standing in the corner of the classroom, nursing an injured wrist.

"Shit, think you fractured my wrist. Do you do this to all women your first night with them?" She laughed to herself, but obviously, the joke didn't hit.

Gun grumbled out a few curses to himself, a hand attached to his reddened jaw.

He looked at her pointedly. She didn't seem at all frightened by the voidness of his eyes or the scar that was set between them.

"You wanna know my name now? So you can sue me for assault?"

"Yeah, so tell me your name," he looked her in the eye, dead serious, and she couldn't help but burst into manical laughter, leaning against the wall for support.

"You're funny, you know?" She said, wiping blood and sweat from her face, simultaneously taking a business card from her breast pocket and flinging it at him.

"I doubt it," he caught the card, barely batting an eye. His gleaming, white pupils flicked over the words on the card locating a name, her name.

When he looked up she was barely a metre in front of him extending her good arm for a handshake, "nice to meet you, I'll be working with you and Kim Joongoo for the foreseeable future."

He never saw her coming.

#park jonggun #lookism webtoon #lookism #fanfic #lookism fic #lookism manhwa #gun park #goo kim #fem reader #technically oc but can be read as reader #oc x character #oc x canon #park jonggun x reader #jonggun x reader #jonggun park x reader #gun x reader #mentions of goo #kim joongoo

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autisticlancemcclain · 6 months

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“We have to go through…wait, Keith, is this right?” He flips the tablet over to Keith, zoomed in on a pair of coordinates. “This is, like, right next to a black hole. RIght right next to, worryingly next to. I don’t like how close this is. This pod is not really built for that, I don’t think.”

Keith doesn’t recognise the coordinates, so he can’t really say, but there’s a fair bit riding on this mission, so he doubts Kolivan has fucked this particular detail up.

“Well, it’s either safe or no longer our problem.”

“I suppose.”

A little disappointed that Keith’s attempt at a joke didn’t do much to lighten Lance’s expression, he lets them lapse into silence, tilting his head back onto the seat and closing his eyes as the pod zooms forwards.

They have a long journey ahead of them.

– – –

Keith jerks awake half-convinced he’s inside a rock tumbler. That’s how it sounds, anyway, with the ear-crushingly loud bangs and crashes coming from all around the pod, shaking the whole craft and sending Keith flying were it not for his tight grip on the ceiling handle.

Lance has just barely beaten him to the pilot’s chair, settling in quickly and white-knuckling the yoke.

“What’s going on?” Keith shouts over the noise.

“I woke up twelve seconds before you did,” Lance grits out, jerking the yoke to the side and sending them spinning out of the way of an asteroid the size of a small house.

“Fuck, it must be an asteroid storm, we’re gonna have to –”

“Keith, can it,” Lance barks. “Unless the next words out of your mouth are a magical solution, you need to keep them to yourself.”

Keith snaps his jaw shut. Even if he did have a magical solution, Lance can’t afford the distraction – not because he’s unskilled, but because the space in front of them is getting denser and denser, to the point where Keith can feel something wrong in the atmosphere, and asteroids are becoming unavoidable. Every second there’s a crash on the outside of the pod, shaking the whole thing and sending them careening into another atmosphere. Lance grits his teeth and tries to hold them steady, but after a point it’s impossible, and control is out of his hands.

“Strap into the crash zone!” Lance shouts. He unclips himself from the pilot’s chair, stumbling forward as an asteroid hits; Keith barely manages to dart out one arm not gripped onto the ceiling handle to catch him. “We’re not going to make it through this storm and it’s too late too –”

They’re both thrown to the side as a massive rock hurls into the pod, crushing the side concave sending the pod spinning like a top. Keith hits the ground hard, helmet bouncing off the floor so hard he sees stars, and he loses his grip on Lance as the paladin goes flying over him. The sound of crushing metal is deafening and painful, and it only compounds as more and more asteroids slam into the pod, throwing it back and forth like a rowboat in a hurricane. The pressure in the cab and all around them grows exponentially, until Keith feels like a compressed can; like his eyes are ready to pop out of his skull. He’s in so much pain he doesn’t even have the strength to be panicked.

Like a switch is turned the pressure suddenly lifts, and he’s weightless, slowly floating up in zero gravity; stomach swooping and limbs limp. The rapid change of atmosphere has him choking back vomit. Every couple of seconds the ruined pod shifts and shakes, from asteroids or gravitational forces Keith does not know, but in one particularly rough hit he’s slammed into the wall so hard his helmet cracks and for a moment everything goes dark. By the time he blinks himself awake, ears ringing and blinking slowly, sluggishly, the weightless, swoopy feeling in his stomach has returned, but not like when he’s in zero G – the same butterflies you get at the top of a rollercoaster, just as you begin to drop.

He registers the whistling sound of something falling at terminal velocity last.

The panic starts to set in, then. He scrambles to his feet, or tries to, but it’s hard; the pod is rattling every which way so there’s no solid ground to stand on, really, and he’s still dizzy and disoriented. He attempts a step forward and crashes to the ground, barely manages to catch himself. As he goes down he sees the rapidly approaching surface of something from the pod’s cracked windshield, and it’s green and grassy and flat and going to crush them to death.

“Lance?” Keith calls out, desperate and panicked. “Lance, where are you?”

He whips his head around to look for him and almost passes out again. Bile climbs up his throat and he very nearly lets it spew out, breathing sharply through his nose and clamping his teeth to keep it down. The pod is small, and crushed, and he can’t see well over the protrusion of the cratered wall, and he can’t see Lance.

“Lance! Answer me! Where are –”

The pod lurches sharply to the left without warning, throwing Keith to the ground again. This time he doesn’t bother getting back to his feet, instead grabbing one of the bent steel rods sticking out of the ruined pod wall to drag himself forward; tucked in close to the wall. FInally, to his great relief, as he crests the bend of the giant crater he sees a flash of blue armour; a cracked wrist guard shining with reflected light as Lance grips the steering yoke, back in the pilot’s seat, dragging it sharply upwards to try and lessen the impact of their crash. He’s struggling – Keith doesn’t know how far they’re falling from, or what level of gravitational force this random planet (if it even is a planet) has, but the speed they’re falling at is deadly. If they hit the ground the way they’re going, they’ll be crushed so fast they won’t even have time to realise they’re dying. At this point, Keith’s not even sure if anything can save them.

He sets his jaw. There’s no point in giving up.

As fast as he can go with the throbbing of his head, Keith half-crawls half-stumbles forward, using bent sections of wall and broken odds and ends to keep himself steady. He’s ready to throw up for the millionth time by the time he finally stands behind the pilot’s chair, hands gripping the arm rests, but he’s there and he’s conscious mostly and he’s capable enough.

“You good?” Lance grunts, barely audible over the sound of impending doom.

“Peachy,” Keith mutters back, planting his feet and leaning over to wrap both hands around Lance’s.

Without needing to say a word, they pull back at the same time, as hard as they can. The pod – or what’s left of it, Keith’s not sure they can accurately call this hunk of ruined metal a pod – creaks and groans with the effort, but with every second they hold their position with all the strength in their bodies, the nose of the craft inches up an up, getting closer and closer to parallel with the ground instead of perpendicular to it.

“Incoming,” Lance warns, as the ground gets closer. “Brace yourself.”

“Grab me in three?” Keith asks.

Lance nods. “One…”

“Two…” Keith continues.

“Three!”

Milliseconds before they collide, Keith throws himself on top of Lance, curling against him. Lance whips the seat one eighty degrees so it’s facing away from the windshield and crash site rather than towards it, wrapping his arms around Keith’s torso and gripping tightly in lieu of a seatbelt.

The crash makes Keith black out again.

When he blinks back awake his ears are ringing, and everything looks and sounds like he’s underwater. His limbs are heavy and he feels like he’s been shrunk. His body’s telling him he’s been out for hours, but he knows, vaguely, that he hasn’t, because he’s not nearly well-rested enough. He inhales deeply through his nose, eyes fluttering shut, and tells himself he has five seconds.

One.

His limbs are all still there. Arm, arm, leg, leg. All are working, at least mostly. Good.

Two.

His head throbs. Every pound of his heart amplifies in his head like a falling anvil in an ampitheatre. His body aches like it never has before.

Three.

The ringing in his ears hasn’t faded, but sound doesn’t sound so muted anymore. He thinks he can hear the groaning of buckling metal, and the roaring of engine flames.

Four.

There’s something sharp digging into his ankle. He can’t feel the pain of it yet, but he dreads the eventual fade of the adrenaline, the understanding that it is going to smart and it is going to smart badly.

One.

He exhales sharply and forces his eyes open, blinking rapidly to bring the blurry world into focus. He was right about the flames; he can see pieces of the engine strewn about the grass of the clearing, of some kind, that they’ve crashed in. The windshield is no longer a windshield so much as a gaping hole where the windshield once was. The nose of the craft is crushed into the strangely blue-ish dirt.

And Lance, under him, is unconscious.

“Lance,” Keith croaks, having intended his voice to be sharp and demanding but landing somewhere closer to weak and pleading. “Get up.”

He does not stir. Keith is comforted, somewhat, by the slight puffs of air fogging up his visor every few seconds, but Keith is pressed right against him and can’t really feel the movement of his chest. His head lolls back into the broken chair, hands resting limply on Keith’s back. There’s a trail of blood running down his temple.

With a heave of effort, Keith pushes himself upright, keeping his weight off Lance as best as he can. He presses the button on the side of his own helmet, relieved when his visor lights up with the info display. The second he gets the all-clear for breathable air, he places his hands on the base of Lance’s helmet, pulling it away from his head as gently as he can manage. It takes longer than he would like, but he’s terrified of pulling too hard and twisting Lance’s neck, especially if there’s a spinal injury. The second the helmet clears Lance’s hairline he tosses it to the side, letting it crack and clatter to the floor, and taps his cheeks rapidly.

“Lance? Lance, get up. Wake up. Get up now.” There’s not even so much as a twitch. Panic makes Keith’s breathing pick up. He’s blinking back flashes of Lance’s lax face, in the purple light of the castle, scratched to hell and neck bruised with fingerprints. He hopes to any god that is listening that it’s not that. He’s not sure the comms are working, and he sure as shit doesn’t have a pod. “Lance, it isn’t funny, get up!”

The urge to grab his shoulders and shake is overwhelming, He has to yank his hands away, forcing them under his thighs, leaning back and trying not to hyperventilate.

“Please,” he begs, voice cracking. “Please don’t leave me here by myself.”

He squeezes his eyes shut again. Okay. This is fine. Keith is going to count to five again, slower this time, and when he opens them again Lance will be awakeand smirking that fuckass smirk he does when he’s being a jackass and he knows it and is convinced he’s the funniest bitch around. He’s going to be fine. He’s breathing, anyways, so he’s alive, which means there’s nothing wrong, which means they will be fine and they’ll call the team somehow and –

“...K’th?”

Keith’s eyes fly open and he nearly cries with relief, throwing his arms around Lance’s shoulders and burying his head into his shoulder. “Oh, God, you’re alive!”

Lance goes stiff as a board. Keith stiffens, too, confused and alarmed at the strange reaction, suddenly hyperaware of his position; of the way he’s half sprawled in Lance’s lap, leaning bodily against him. He’s worried suddenly that his weight is hurting Lance and all but throws himself off in his haste put space between them. The abrupt weight on his ankle reminds rudely that hey, he just crashed into the actual ground from literal space, holy shit, and he nearly goes cross eyed with the pain.

A choked off grunt brings his attention back to Lance, who is in the process, for some dumbass reason, of standing up and crawling out of the broken window.

“Lance? What the fuck are you doing?”

Lance, of course, does not listen, because he is a mother fucker and Keith has the sudden and absurd urge to contact his brother by any means necessary to apologise. For, just. Everything.

Keith scrambles out after him, biting back a pained yell at the throbbing of his ankle. Lance is moving – fast, faster than Keith would expect, but there’s a clumsiness to the movements. Like he’s still half-out of it.

“Lance?”

Again, Lance doesn’t answer. He limps around to the side of the pod and Keith follows, at a loss.

“Lance, fucking – stop that. You’re –” Lance shakes off his hand and continues carefully pulling back the shredded inner lining of the pod, dropping pieces of cracked polymer on the ground until the hold is big enough to lean through. He comes back out with an armful of steel boxes, dented and battered, etched with Galran and Altean labels, stacking them on a section of clearing that isn’t on fire or covered in debris.

Keith makes a noise of frustration. He’s torn between dragging Lance somewhere to make sure he’s okay and screaming at him. The anger and fear swirl violently in his stomach, clawing their way up his throat, and it burns worse than the vomit.

“Fine. Fine! Ignore me. I’m calling the team. You just stack your fucking boxes, jackass.”

He stomps back into the pod, sweeping aside the broken glass and metal shards and ignoring the slight sting of his ripped gloves. He grabs his and Lance’s discarded helmets and stomps back out to the clearing, climbing a random rock and relishing in the twinge of his ankle because it feels like a fuck you, somehow, and a fuck you is what he needs right now. He mentally flings it in Lance’s direction with great relish. Lance, because he is currently a massive rat bastard, does not pick up on Keith’s rancid vibes. Keith glares at him as he mashes the buttons he has memorised on his helmet display, dialling the Voltron line.

It rings. And rings. And rings and rings and rings.

Keith frowns, some of the fury fading for confusion.

“Well, that’s not great.”

If the personal line is down, that means they’re either asleep or busy. He hopes asleep. He quickly dials up the business line, and when that doesn’t work, somewhat desperately, the distress line. It rings.

And rings.

And rings, and rings, and rings.

– – –

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eksvaized · 4 months

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Part THREE [ Previous 〡 Next ]

Simon returns only when the sun sets. The moon casts a soft grey hue over the space. The lack of lighting creates an uncanny atmosphere, leaving you feeling unsettled and on edge. By the time the door finally opens again, you find yourself on the brink of madness. The only thing keeping you from ripping out your hair or banging your head against the window until either the glass breaks or you pass out is the fact that you can't move. The frustration of attempting to move your body has overwhelmed you. No matter how determined you are, you are completely powerless against the unknown substance flowing through your veins.

A soft glow emanates from the hallway, and the light gradually floods into the room you are in. As your eyes adjust to the sudden change, you instinctively blink, momentarily shielding yourself from the brightness. You can't turn your head to look at the door, so your gaze remains fixed on the ceiling. Meanwhile, a dark figure approaches. Their footsteps make the ground shake. The sound echoes off the walls.

Black boots come to a sudden halt next to the side of your head, and for a while, Simon just looks at you as if trying to read your mind. You avert your gaze before closing your eyes. The heavy silence hangs in the air, creating a palpable tension between you and him.

"Your temporary room is ready." He scoops you up, effortlessly peeling you away from the ground. In his arms, your body is limp. He adjusts his grip and makes you lay your head on his shoulder. When you are carried into the hallway, your eyes flutter open. Your gaze scans the new surroundings, taking mental notes of every little detail.

The room you were in was dreadful — the wallpaper was peeling off the walls and the old wooden floors were sticky. There was not a single piece of furniture in sight, leaving the space feeling empty and cold. Also, the lingering metallic scent in the air made you want to vomit each time you took a deep breath. However, as you ventured further into the house, you were met by a completely different sight.

The walls in the hallways are painted in a crisp white colour. There are no paintings or pictures hung. A row of heavy grey curtains are drawn, covering every window, not allowing you to peek outside. You and Simon pass by numerous closed doors; you assume all of them are locked, too.

"Soon enough, you will start feeling like yourself again," he assures you and you assume he means that with a little more time, you will regain full control of your body.

You barely can feel Simon's arms wrapped around you, but you hate knowing that he is touching you. You wish you wouldn't be so helpless and completely at his mercy. Also, you desperately want him to stop pretending like he and you are having a conversation, when he is merely engaging in a monologue with himself, which you are forced to listen to.

"Are you hungry? Probably. Don't worry, I'll see what I can do about it."

Finally, he stops in front of another closed door. After walking through, he descends the stairs once more, and you suddenly realize that he is taking you into the dark, eerie basement. The thought of being trapped in a room with just a single window and a locked door was already terrifying, but at least then you still had a slim chance of escaping, if you could, by sheer luck, shatter the glass and then find enough bravery to jump out. However, now, you are about to be abandoned in a frigid, damp space, devoid of any windows, natural light, or fresh air.

You feel your pulse quicken. Your throat dries up as the familiar feeling of panic creeps into your mind, slowly but surely. Fear takes hold of you once again. Its grip tightening with every passing second, making you feel as if you are about to pass out. Simon, sensing your distress, lowers your body onto something soft. He looms over you and you can see concern in his eyes. After you avert your gaze, he tilts your head to the side and presses his fingers to the side of your neck. Silence settles in as he begins mumbling something to himself.

"Calm down." His fingers then curl around your chin, forcing you to look at him. When you close your eyes, his nails dig into your skin. "Don't do that."

You weigh the option of closing your eyes even tighter, but taking into account the potential consequences of disobeying his command, you decide it is in your best interest not to anger him. Provoking him would be foolish.

"Good girl." His lips curl into a smile and he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

Your gaze continues to follow him. He slips off your sneakers and tosses them on the ground next to the mattress where you are lying. After pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth, purposely avoiding looking at your face, he tears off your tights, causing your heart to sink. He then guides your body, pressing your back against the icy wall and making you sit. Your head drops to the side, and your cheek gets squished against your shoulder.

"We need to change you out of that dirty dress," Simon says as he unzips it.

You are left sitting in a matching pair of delicate lace lingerie consisting of a bra and panties. His eyes darken with lust. Slowly, he raises his hand and his fingertips glide along the curve of your neck, tracing your collarbone, cupping and squeezing your breasts through the soft fabric. The tension in the air is palpable as he bites the inside of his mouth. His touch grows hotter, burning your skin, and your body betrays you — you can feel the heat starting to pool between your thighs.

He treats you like his personal doll, acting like you belong to him and have no will of your own. You wish you could push him away and stand up for yourself, show him that his behaviour is making you sick. However, your body still refuses to listen to your commands. All you can do is close your eyes, imagine that you are someplace else and silently endure his oppressive presence.

When Simon finishes groping you and has his fill of feeling your velvety skin beneath his fingertips, he slowly rises to his feet. You don't dare to look at him again until you feel something warm press against your temple. He holds a small, soft towel, which he keeps dipping in the bowl with warm water. With one hand holding the side of your head, he cleans off the dried blood.

His eyes have a blank expression. His jaw is tight and his shoulders are stiff. You can sense that he is trying to rush through the task as if he hates doing it; it reminds him that you were hurt because of him.

"Looking much better already," he mutters and sits next to you on the mattress. With surprising ease, he gently pulls you into his lap, positioning you between his legs. Your body slumps against his chest and his arms wrap around your torso.

For what seems like an eternity, time stands still as he holds you tightly in his embrace. The feeling of his warm breath against your skin sends shivers down your spine, while his fingers trace along your hipbones, inching dangerously close to the hem of your panties. Each touch is tantalizingly close to removing the flimsy fabric, yet he never goes beyond that boundary, and his hand never ventures underneath it either.

"I didn't have time to shop," he says as he moves away from you. You see, he is holding a shirt in his hand. "You came here unexpectedly, and I had to clean up the mess left down here by my previous guest, so..." With an unexpected ease, he unclips your bra, letting the straps slide off your shoulders. "For the time being, my shirt will have to suffice."

You detest feeling so vulnerable, but there is not much you can do. Once Simon leaves, a river of tears starts streaming down your cheeks. All of this feels like slow torture. You want it to end. You wish he would do what he plans to and be done with you, instead of painfully dragging this out.

Your sobbing is abruptly interrupted, and you almost choke on your own tears when your body rolls onto the side and you bury your face in your hands. There is a long pause because you can't believe what has just happened. But when you try to wiggle your toes, move your fingers and then turn your head, it works. Despite the lingering sensation of tingling in your skin and the painful ache in your muscles, the fact that you are no longer a prisoner in your own body makes you breathe out a shaky sigh of relief.

As you sit up, cautiously surveying your surroundings, you can't help but notice the slightly worn but clean mattress you are sitting on. There is a blanket and a pillow, which, despite smelling like cheap laundry detergent, is soft and not itchy. Your gaze moves to the other side of the room, where a large table stands. On top of it are placed three heavy books.

You try to stand up, but when your knees buckle, you decide to crawl instead. The concrete floor feels hard and cold beneath you. The dimly lit basement casts long shadows, making you feel like a small insect scurrying across the floor, desperate to find an escape.

Your exploration trip is cut short when suddenly, the door swings open and Simon comes. When he sees what you are doing, he hastily descends the stairs and places the tray he had been holding onto the table. Not wasting a moment, he picks you up. As his arms curl around you, a high-pitched yelp slips past your lips. He carries you back to the mattress, but this time, instead of gently lowering you, he basically just throws you down.

"I know you want to, but you shouldn't move around so much yet. Take it easy."

He joins you on the mattress after getting the tray, and placing it on his lap. You look at it. There's a slice of bread topped with a generous spread of jam, a plastic cup filled to the brim with juice, and a bowl of soup. The assortment seems odd to you, but you refrain from making any comments. The sight of food causes your stomach to emit a loud growl. Simon lets out a low chuckle and smirks before grabbing a spoon.

You are hungry. Your mouth is watering, and by the look of it, it seems like he intends to feed you. If you were clever, you might entertain the idea of letting him do so. However, you are exhausted from being treated like a mere plaything by him. As the spoonful of soup is brought to your mouth, you part your lips. Instead of swallowing, you take a breath in and, with all the strength you have left in you, you spit it all on him.

He hisses and wipes his face with your dress, which so far has been lying on the floor next to your sneakers. The spoon drops on the tray with a loud clink. His teeth click together, creating a sharp sound that resonates in the air, and you can see the tension in his jaw as it clenches tightly. You feel a sense of satisfaction wash over you because you finally showed him you won't allow him to have his way with you. However, just as you begin to revel in this moment, your satisfaction is abruptly shattered. His palm collides with your cheek.

He forcefully slaps you across the face, the impact reverberating through every fibre of your being, causing you to wince in pain. You feel his intense gaze, but you are afraid to meet his eyes. The overwhelming annoyance oozing out of him is almost palpable. You turn away and press yourself against the wall. The coolness of it eases the pain in your cheek. A few tears roll down your face.

Simon makes you look back at him. You flinch when he raises his hand once more, afraid that he might hit you again. But he just slowly caresses your bright red cheek. His touch is soft and gentle as his thumb wipes away your tears. The contrast between his previous outburst and his current tenderness creates a conflicting mix of emotions within you.

When he tries to feed you again, you open your mouth, mimicking the behaviour of a well-trained dog. The soup is too salty for you, but it warms you up, so you don't complain. After he finishes feeding you, before leaving, he takes the cup and slice of bread off the tray and leaves it all on the table.

"In case you get hungry while I'm gone."

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #writing #simon ghost riley #call of duty #ghost x y/n #ghost x reader #cod #ghost x you #dead dove fic #malheur #ghost #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #cod ghost #cod x reader #cod fanfic #fem!reader

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ghstchan · 8 months

Text

— incantation ;

→ pairing : hyunjin x male reader

→ summary : hyunjin is no stranger when it comes to the world of witchcraft and magic. one night, he has a bad feeling about his home and he goes to investigate but it’s not what he thinks.

→ genre : angst

→ warnings : blood, murder, betrayal, some gory scenes, mentions of sharp objects.

→ word count : 2,652

→ author’s note: i was channeling gojo satoru, scarlet witch, seulgi 28 reasons era, vengeful witch while writing this.

→ songs currently stuck in my head :

cry for me by twice, crown by seulgi, red sun by dreamcatcher, venom by stray kids, this world by ateez.

hyunjin was known by those around him as something of a psychic, in the sense that whatever he dreamed of would eventually happen in real life. everything from great fortune and luck to his friends, premonitions of demonic entities terrorizing the living, and death to those who crossed him in the past.

one famous instance of death to someone who crossed him was 5 or so years ago, when a close friend at the time, whom hyunjin considered a sibling-level kind of friend, committed the ultimate act of betrayal towards him. hyunjin and his boyfriend, at the time, had broken up, and it was a very heavy breakup in emotional terms, especially towards hyunjin. word had spread that his best friend and his now ex-boyfriend at the time were at a party together; lots of heavy drinks were involved, and his friend brought the ex over to the apartment that he and hyunjin had shared. they had hooked up that same night on the living room couch. lucky for them, hyunjin was not home.

hyunjin has a psychic ability, similar to spidey sense, when something is wrong or something bad is about to happen. some people call it intuition, but he calls it a warning sign. the voice that warns him usually says the name of the person, a command, or something that’s coming.

he was at a friend’s house because he didn’t want to be alone during such an emotional time. they were watching a movie, and just as hyunjin was about to fall asleep, that’s when the "hyunjin-sense" began. it started as a sharp sting in his mind and trickled into goosebumps across his body, which is then followed by a voice in his mind. "check home." the voice says. "do you mind if you take me home? i have to check something." he says. "is it your senses going off again?" the friend asks.

hyunjin only gave him a look and that was all the friend needed. it didn’t take him long to find the keys to his car and for both of them to head over to hyunjin’s place within a matter of minutes. the friend parks his car right in front of the apartment building. "i won’t be long." hyunjin says as he unbuckles his seatbelt. he puts his hands together in a praying gesture, and a wave of absolute silence blankets the car’s atmosphere; hyunjin is deep in thought as he visualizes the interior of the apartment and which room he’s mentally standing in. simple incantation is mumbled under his breath, followed by a simple command. "teleport."

his friend closes his eyes and covers his ears and hyunjin disappears into a blue-to-white mist. "i should probably set a timer to see how long it takes him to get back." chris says before grabbing his phone and setting a stopwatch timer.

hyunjin is now inside the apartment, standing in the bedroom. his eyes fading into a white hue to help him see in the pitch black darkness of the apartment. his arms fall to either side of his body as fingers extend and he gently pushes his hands up and down in a slow, gentle motion. "levitate slightly." his body rises a few short centimeters off the floor, as he does not want to make a sound with his footsteps. smart move on his part.

his heart begins to race, almost like his heart is like a metal detector trying to find the source of what’s making the machine go off. he can hear the creaking of the couch’s wood against the walls, moaning but not agonizing moans of someone who is in excruciating pain; it’s moans of absolute pleasure. "be silent. be careful." the voice says.

he glides towards the bedroom door, placing his hand on the doorknob. "silent." he whispers as he twists the doorknob and slowly pulls the door open. not a single sound is emitted from him opening the door, almost as if he’s a ghost. his heart beats faster as his hand twists the doorknob, as if he’s next in line to get on a rollercoaster.

chris stares at the stopwatch, which is increasing in its time. "fourteen fifty-nine... fifteen minutes. i wonder what he’s doing." he says to himself. he opens youtube to distract himself in the meantime.

the dark brown pupils of hyunjin’s eyes begin to peek through in the midst of the white clouding his corneas as he sees what’s happening in front of him. tears quickly form and roll down his cheeks, and his heart continues beating fast like it’s trying to jump out of his chest. in the living room, with the lights completely off, his best friend in the whole wide world was making love with his ex on the velvet couch.

hyunjin re-enters the bedroom and closes the silent door. his breathing trembles as he inhales and exhales, his heart hitting the overexertion point like it's about to shatter in his body. although he’s floating, his legs feel numb, and he falls silently onto the floor. his eyes can’t stop generating and releasing tears streaming down his face. "be calm. stay in control." the voice says, and almost instantly, hyunjin’s heartbeats calm down, and he wipes the tears off his face.

he takes a few seconds to regain control over his breathing before facing what’s going on within the room just beyond the bedroom door. he sits down on the floor with his legs crossed. his hands lay on his thighs, with his thumb and middle fingertips touching, and his other fingers lay still on his pants fabric.

he mumbles words in pure latin, a language considered dead within modern-day dialects. his eyes continue to form tears that glide down his cheeks, but he feels no sadness anymore. all he feels is pure anger.

the lighting in the entire apartment begins to flicker intensely for a brief two seconds, which catches the attention of adrian, AKA the soon-to-be ex-best friend, who was on the couch. "did you see the lights?" he asks josh, hyunjin’s ex. "yeah but i’m not focused on that right now. i’m only focused on you." josh says. he leans in to kiss adrian.

"go now." the voice screams in hyunjin’s mind, like a war cry. hyunjin’s eyes burst open, glowing in a crimson red color. his body teleports into the living room, directly behind josh. adrian’s eyes widen as he sees hyunjin and he screams like he’s seen a ghost. "behind you!" adrian screams to josh, but josh pulls away and looks behind him only to see nothing behind him. "wh- what? there’s nothing behind me…" josh says. "i saw him. clear as day, hyunjin was right behind you." adrian says in a fearful tone.

"babe, no one’s behind me. if he was here, he’d come right through the front door." adrian says as he laughs. he looks back at josh, only to see hyunjin standing right in front of him. "now you see me." he says as adrian screams bloody murder and is flung towards the front door to the apartment. josh doesn’t see hyunjin but only sees adrian being thrown at the front door. "hyunjin, wherever you are… this isn’t what it means." josh says as his eyes dart around the room, looking for a sign of hyunjin within the room.

the lighting in the room flickers from bright white to a dark red which is followed by slow six knocks at the front door. "josh, are you there? it’s me." hyunjin says. "do not open the door." josh says to adrian. adrian gets up off the floor and dusts himself off, running to grabs his clothes and belongings in a hurried frenzy fueled by fear. "fuck this, i’m leaving." he says.

he runs towards the front door and his hand is now on the doorknob. "do not open that fucking door." adrian says as his voice begins to tremble. "please don’t. something bad is going to happen." he adds as he begins to cry. "i’m not going to be here when that happens." adrian says as his hand twists the doorknob, opening the door and just as he’s about to leave, he stands face to face with hyunjin.

"you’re right about that." hyunjin says as he grabs adrian by his neck, lifting him up off the floor, and throws him back into the apartment. he enters the room then closes the door and locks it with a flick of his finger. "you really think i wouldn’t find out? don’t you know who i am?!" hyunjin exclaims as the room trembles with each word that leaves his mouth.

josh falls back onto the couch and sits in a fetal position, his hands covering his face as he begins to cry into his palms. adrian is searching around for a knife or any blunt object nearby to use as a weapon. adrian finds a knife and places the blade on hyunjin’s throat. "you really think you can just come in here and-" adrian is cut off mid-sentence. josh hears the cutlery begin to shake, uncovering his face only for his eyes to widen.

knives floating all across the living room, the blades pointing directly at adrian at different angles. "you do not get to speak, your actions did all the talking." hyunjin says. "you broke my heart only for you to come into our apartment, actually into my apartment since i signed the lease, and fuck my best friend?" hyunjin asks as the grip of his hand on adrian’s throat begins to tighten and his nails dig into the skin, making droplets of blood trickle down adrian’s neck.

"you broke my heart, now i break you." hyunjin whispers to adrian as his nails slowly pierce into his neck, as he screams in agonizing pain. "feel the pain you gave me when you broke me." hyunjin continues, as josh’s cries form into sobs of fear. "what was it you said earlier?" he asks adrian as both their eyes widen; adrian’s in fear as he remembers what he said, trying to push hyunjin off, and hyunjin’s eyes widen in a rising vengeful anger. the light in the room begins to turn a dark red. "you won’t be here when that happens, was it?" hyunjin asks with a devious smile.

"for once, you’re right about something." hyunjin says as his nails and fingers fully pierce into adrian’s neck, grabbing a hold of his adam’s apple. a single tear rolls down adrian’s cheek as his screams begin to fade out, then hyunjin rips out his adam’s apple, and a squelching sound is emitted.

blood gushes out of adrian’s mouth and throat, onto hyunjin’s face and clothes as well as onto the floor. soon, a pool of blood surrounding their feet grows in width and adrian’s lifeless body falls onto the floor. hyunjin’s face is covered in the dark red liquid as he stands over his ex-boyfriend's body, shocked but soon bursting in laughter. "you two are so done." he says as he turns around to face josh.

the light continues to flicker and hyunjin uses the flickering to his advantage. each time the light goes from bright, he appears one step closer to josh. in the dark, he fades away. the only thing you hear are his heavy footsteps approaching him slowly.

"joshua, you have betrayed me. how could you do something so low and disgusting, especially to me?" he asks. hyunjin’s voice echoes around the room, as josh’s cries begin to return. "in this life and the next, wherever your soul and physical entity is, i will always be there waiting for you to kill you over and over again. you will remain living in fear, trying to hide from me, but i will always find you. i will never let you go." hyunjin says as he conjures a sharp katana glowing in a scarlet red hue.

hyunjin appears in front of josh, pointing the blade at his heart. "consider this a warning." hyunjin points his index finger up then josh’s body begins to levitate up off the couch by his neck. his legs squirm around as his arms try to reach hyunjin but nothing works. "never cross a witch." he says before impaling josh’s chest and digging it into his torso until it appears on the other side, leaving the katana in. "i want you to cry for me." he continues.

hyunjin places his hand on josh’s chest, glaring directly into his eyes. his other hand begins to generate a tiny ball of glowing red fire that grows into an orb to the size of a baseball. hyunjin’s hand pulls away from his chest, transferring the magic energy into both hands now. "my voice is a spell that haunts you. wherever you are, i’m with you." hyunjin says before he slams his hands onto the center of josh’s chest. gut wrenching screams spew out of josh’s mouth as the fiery orbs burn into his skin and hyunjin’s sharp nails dig into his chest to rip his heart out.

his hands grab a hold of josh’s heart, ripping it out in a swift motion. blood spills out from the exposed hole in his chest, quiet whimpers of pain leave his mouth as he stares at hyunjin who holds his beating organ. "die." he says as he rips his heart into two with his fingers. josh’s limbs start to fall and dangle at his side, his head falling and moving side to side as he exhales his final breath.

hyunjin releases the hold of josh’s deceased body and lets his body fall onto the floor. he looks around at the mess he’s made. "what a mess." he says to himself, then snaps his fingers on both hands, making the two bodies and bloody mess all over the apartment and on himself simply vanish into nothingness as if nothing happened. "all better." he says with a smile as he teleports back to chris’ car and into the passenger seat.

"hey! how long did i take?" he asks chris, who was asleep with his phone in his hand. the car turned off by himself, and he sees the stopwatch on chris’ phone screen. "an hour and six minutes.. geez." he whispers as he doesn’t want to wake chris. he puts his hands together in a praying gesture as the car begins to be enveloped in a blue mist, then teleports the car along with themselves back to chris’ house. his car now sat parked in the driveway.

hyunjin exits the car, levitating chris’ body carefully out of the car. he unlocks the front door with a flick of his finger and enters the home. he guides his friend into his bed, wrapping his body with the warm blanket and saying a spell to help him sleep fully until morning. hyunjin closes and locks the door with another flick of his fingers, then lays on the couch, exhaling a sigh of relief. he drifts off into a deep sleep.

hyunjin’s dream starts to reveal a time in history where people were hunting down witches and burning them in an attempt to "cleanse the world of wicked evil." hyunjin could feel himself immersing himself more into the dream, as if he were inside his own dream and exploring around. not before he heard his name being called by an unknown man in his dream, turning around to see someone holding a pitchfork to his neck. "are thou a witch?" the man asks. that’s when hyunjin knew that he wasn’t in a dream anymore... or is he?

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