you and @ my imagination have the same desperation in our yanderes lol, literally cant post something without me going insane down bad over how yummy they are fr fr #needthat #loveyou 😔💗
You're spinning round and round, dizzy off wine. You're only allowed one glass - it's hard to find human produce around these lands, he says. The undead creature holding you is wearing a thick leather mask and his teeth sharpen as he grips you in when the music calls for an embrace, but his fingers linger just shy off touching you truly. You don't remember when you started dancing with him, if he even asked you to dance or simply gazed so deeply into your eyes you had no chance but to give into his hypnotism.
He smells cheap somehow - despite the layers upon layers of ancient garments adorned in gold, the sweet overpowering cologne can't mask the stench of sweat and blood labour. His fingers are squeezing your hips roughly, but his eyes, what little you can see of the red rubies they are, are lost on the horizon behind you - until they widen with primal fear. Fear you recognize a touch too well.
"Connely, my friend, what a relief it is to see you." A polite smile touches the newcomer's lips, but his eyes don't follow as you quickly turn around to face him. Leon immediately lets go of you, subtly pushing you off himself. You rush to fix your skirts, heavy air setting in.
"I was afraid my darling guest got lost in the crowd — but it appears you’ve taken it upon yourself to see her safety through." His smile remains wide, teeth flashing, voice soft as a whisper. "How considerate."
"S-sir Oryn." The man who was holding you seconds ago is now bowing deeply, voice faltering. "My sincerest apologies, sir, I had no idea she was yours—"
"I never said she was mine." The vampire lord raises an eyebrow, almost amused, his gaze trailing after you.
"Are you mine, dear?"
He turns toward you with a warm smile. Your chest tightens, lungs pressed against your palm as you look to Leon for strength, for answers — for anything other than indifference. But the intruder seems just as terrified.
You open your mouth to speak, to say something, anything — but no sound comes out.
“It seems this celebration has drained the color from you. I do hope my entrance hasn’t spoiled your evening.”
The man chuckles softly, allowing your silence to linger as if your hesitation amuses him. He hums to himself as he steps closer, close enough that the scent of wine and something frighteningly human curls between you two.
“May I have this dance, darling?” Oryn bows slightly, hand extended, a courteous smile gracing his lips. The crowd spins around you, the music swelling again, but it feels distant like a whole another world decades away.
You pause, caught between instinct and self-preservation. Your fingers brush the hem of your skirts as you consider stepping away — and immediately remember where you are. His castle, his rules, his unspoken control.
For a heartbeat, you linger in indecision, eyes darting to the unfeeling crowd for courage but the dancers move as if in a dream, laughter and notes drifting past, indifferent to everything except the rhythm — leaving you completely exposed to the monster.
Defeated, finally with a small, reluctant motion, you place your hand in his. Oryn’s smile deepens, satisfied, as he leads you toward the center of the ballroom, the moment stretched taut, intimate and frightening, every step carrying a heavy sense of inevitability.
You hesitate at first, heart hammering as you maumble, “Are you… mad?” Your voice is small, almost a whisper.
The vampire tilts his head slightly, lips curling into the faintest little smile. “Should I be?”
He lets the words hang, precise, as he carefully places both his hands around your waist. Your chest tightens; every swirl heavier as the warmth of his smile does nothing to soften the sharp edge behind it.
“Keep your steps light,” he murmurs, voice meant only for you. “And do try not to step on my toes.”
You force a shaky laugh, but comply. His hand is firm at your back, guiding every turn, every sway. The closeness is suffocating, and yet weirdly thrilling — makes you wonder if you too have gone mad.
The crowd blurs into colors and murmurs around you, dancers swaying in trance-like oblivion. Everyone seems completely absorbed in their own little fairytale, unaware of anything else. Each movement feels deliberate, intimate, a subtle assertion of control.
He dips you slightly, his hand pressing gently at your back as he lowers his head toward your ear, sharp fangs stopping just shy of grazing your neck.
“I can feel you shaking,” he whispers, voice low and thick with desire. “I can smell the blood in you, pumping through your veins, and it’s so…”
His nose brushes your temple as he inhales softly. “Sweet.”
His eyes slowly flare red, gaze lingering at your neck. “Tell me, dove, are you burning with fear, or, perhaps, anticipation?”
You flush, throat tight, words catching. “I don’t know, my lord.” you whisper, voice trembling.
Oryn only smiles — allowing your fear to blossom, exquisite and raw. Slowly, intentionally, his fingers lift a lonely lock of hair from your damp face, brushing it from one side to the other with gentleness unbecoming of a natural-born predator. A subtle claim, you decide, an assertion of omnipresence, a reminder that he always follows three steps behind. You're never truly alone - not since you entered his realm.
He leans just a little closer, gaze never leaving yours. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, voice barely more than a whisper, each word strong and unwavering. There’s no jest, no hollow charm — only the truth between two dangerous red lips.
“You have no idea how beautiful you are to me, how alluring, how… tempting!” he continues softly, eyes darkening, voice dropping even lower. Every syllable feels intimate, possessed, aching.
Your heartbeat races. His words hang over you as the dance goes on, spinning you like a feather against the wind, and deep down you know that's exactly what you are to him — something small, soft and fragile, something that cannot fight back. Every twirl, each step, brings you closer to the inevitable.
Finally, with a deft turn, he guides you toward the stairs leading to his lavish quarters. The music fades behind you, a distant echo of laughter and strings, leaving only the quiet of the castle’s grand, yet empty halls. The man doesn't let go of your hand until the door opens upon you, unguarded for the first time. Then it closes with a soft click, leaving you all alone with the monster.
Oryx’s gaze is fixed upon you, heavy and unnerving, drenched in the colour of death – you hold your breath as long as you can, and then slowly release it.
“Are you going to eat me?” you dare utter once the silence becomes unbearable.
The vampire laughs, hand stuck to his stomach as if you have just shared the most humorous of stories. Then he takes a step closer and you take a step back.
“Eat you?” he chuckles, crossing his hands together. “No, I won’t eat you.”
“Then are you going to,” you take a deep breath – and try to ignore the drumsticks beating against your ears. “bite me?”
The monster takes another step towards you, clapping, and there are no more steps for you to take back. His smile seems to reach his cheeks as it sinks in — you are out of moves.
tw: female reader, non - con, captivity, somnophilia (kinda), sedative drugs, degradation/dehumanization
I wasn't gonna participate in kinktober but seeing the other authors inspired me :33
Being reduced to just your body - it's an idea, a phrase, an impending sense of doom and dread and horror every woman knows by heart, or has to learn eventually. Maybe you're 13 and you suddenly feel heaviness in your chest, you can grab a handful of flesh for the first time, but quickly you realize that so can the others with their eyes on you, on that very same heaviness. Or perhaps you're a bit older, well into college, when a sleazy boyfriend or some hockey jerk at a party, gets a bit too handsy, so close, so intimate and all you feel afterwards is the void. Maybe it's your boss making a seemingly innocent comment in passing that seems to hang off his teeth and not his tongue.
Maybe you like it. Maybe you even enjoy it - maybe somewhere deep down hidden under layers upon layers of shame, you actually want it, to be nothing more than a rag doll for the boys. To lose control and feel instead of think, to let go for a second.
You thought you knew that feeling well - hell, you wrote a whole thesis on it, on objectification, dissociation, what it means to exist in a female body, to be desired, but not wanted, to be taken and never take. And you thought that made you, somehow, untouchable. You had learnt your lesson - you had washed your hands clean, you were self-aware, you were protected, because you knew the signs, the gaze, the fangs in place of teeth. And yet, you've never felt less human than now.
"Oh, baby, darling, you're so warm, ah, you're taking me so well." He groans, leaning over you, kneeling fully on the bed so he can push himself deeper inside of you, pulling your legs towards his shoulders. "You're beautiful like this, you know?" He pauses to kiss you on the cheek chastely, as if it was your wedding night, as if he didn't have you handcuffed to the bed and wrapped around his torso like an anchor. "So sweet, so pliant, so very much mine..." The man whispers, stroking your hair gently, and you want to laugh and laugh, but your muscles refuse to bugde.
"You're trying so hard to stay awake, it's honestly adorable. I can see that little brain of yours ticking." He smiles, heavy hands caging you in tightly with no space to breathe. His voice is coming from above in waves, sweet and velvety, almost hypnotising like a mantra. "Ah, you never learn, do you?" His nose brushes against yours affectionately and your stomach clenches as you feel the sweat dripp off his neck. "Silly girl. Once the needle goes in, your stupid, slutty little self goes out." He's still patting your head, but now it feels calculated, patronizing - as if you're a wild animal caught in his lap.
You are supposed to be numb, to be asleep - but you feel it all. You feel the tears drowning you, but not the release of crying out loud. You feel his thursts, the brutality with which he pushes in and out of you, but there is no pain, no blood to make it feel real, to allow you to grieve, to hang onto reality. You're just an outlet for his lust, for his anger and angst, with no feelings of your own. You exist to take it.
"I used to worship you, once. I used to put you on a piedestal, used to think I was undeserving of you," he takes a deep breath, brows furrowing together like a storm. "God, I was such a fool. Look at you now - little more than a hole for me." Your captor smiles with a sense of victory so condescending it sends shivers down your whole body, but you can't look away. You're stuck in-between states of consciousness, in a never-ending nightmare.
"Oh, baby, you're shivering. Are you scared?" The man tilts forward, resting his forehead against yours, voice lower than a curse. "Are you scared you'll be my rapedoll forever? Scared you'll never see your precious friends again?" He bites at your neck, sucking at the tender heating flesh with greed. "Scared that you'll always wake up in my bed, underneath me, spread out with my seed leaking out?" He grips your throat, staring you down with burning eyes. "Scared that all you'll ever be in this life, is mine?"
You inhale deeply - you try, at least, but you know you're suffocating, drowning, slowly fading into nothingness. You want to fight, and there are no weapons. You want to scream, but his lips are on yours, and your words die against them. And now you just want to sleep and never wake up.
"You should be scared, love. You should be scared." He whispers as he takes your limp hand into his and kisses it softly - the way he never kisses you. "Because this is forever."
It's the first winter when you don't move from motel to motel, don't pick cigarettes off the ground. The first winter without heat and the first winter when you have to merge flesh with someone so you both don't freeze off to death.
You stare at the screen, you hear his steps - you sigh. You look at the small black letters, rubbing your hands together, but the skin remains stiff and prickly.
"Here." Adam throws the small orange box on the steps carelessly, sitting next to you with a swift jump - it vaguely reminds you of a snake wrapping around prey. He puts one heavy arm around you, but he's not really looking at you, drafting something incomprehensible on a scrambled piece of paper.
You hold the box with two hands. The sheer weight of it puts your heart at ease before the small white pill has even touched your lips. You follow the big bold letters with your finger, feeling the coarse curve of each symbol spelling Pexytril. Such a beautiful name - and such beautiful dreams it would bring, so you turn around and kiss him hard, harder than last time because now you have some resemblance of energy.
He grins against your lips, squeezing your chin with full grasp.
"What's this for, slut?" your boyfriend teases, poking you between the ribs, and although it actually hurts (you're sensitive all over for a long-unexplained, already forgotten reason), you smile sleepily. Fuck, you can hardly wait to take a handful and swallow them dry - you just need some spit.
"Y'know. For the zips." you reach in to kiss his cheek this time, and he grabs your head and twists it towards him leaving a wet trail all over you jawline until his lips meet yours in a sloppy reunion of tongue, cigarette dust and exhaustion.
"Of course." he strokes your thigh over your tight jeans, ripping into a ripped hole, ripping it some more - and you wonder if that makes it more or less fashionable somehow. "It's the least I could do for my girl." he draws circles through the peeking skin, then flowers, hearts, initials.
"Besides, you kinda go crazy when you skip a'night. Remember last week?" he chuckles more to himself than to you. "I had to fuck the exorcism out of you. Fucking thought you were possessed or something - you were wailing so hard you drooled all over me." the man takes your free hand and puts it on his hardening crotch.
"It was really fucking hot." he then gets closer, so close you might just pierce through his neck and jugular, and let him swallow you whole. "Remember, baby?" his voice gets raspy, low, perverse - his hand on yours becomes demanding, forcing you to palm him through the boxers. You do your best, although you still feel groggy and disoriented.
"Remember how I gripped your little throat," Adam repeats the notion as he speaks, making you whine and jump in discomfort. "Shh, stay still. It's nothing we haven't done already. Can you feel the air slip outta your lungs?" he makes you lean on him from one side, stroking your hair as you desperately try, and fail, to inhale deeply.
"Do you remember how you'd tighten up with each choked sob, baby? Hm? You were so nice, so pliant, so still, fuck... I thought I could fuck you forever." your boyfriend pulls you into his lap, grabbing your hips with a deathgrip - purposefully trying to leave a red-hot mark.
"Imagine, one wrong move, one kiss more, and you go limp in my hands. And I will keep thrusting and thrusting and thrusting," he gropes your left breast underneath your blouse, forcing his knee between your legs to spread them wide. "until your lips turn blue, and I'll keep kissing your breath away. How does that sound, love? You'll be so soft for me."
You can feel you breath hitch in ragged gasps, eyes bulging slightly as you finally drop your phone down. Then, without warning, the tears surge up, shameful and spilling all over your cheeks, and he laps at them, and licks them away to his rotten heart's content. You reach out with one weak hand, begging for air - and he pins your wrist to the wall and locks your fingers together.
"There will be no more pesky friends, or bar colleagues, or fucking parties to run off to. No more voices in your ear except mine." Adam is breathless now, so worked up you can feel his hardness under you. You hear a loud crack, and your phone flickers one last time under his booth before it dies down forever.
"I will take good care of you - bring you all the shit you like. All the candy worms and chocolate and pexxy your fucked up little brain can handle until it all melts away." he loosens his grip on your neck and kisses you, slipping you a sweet mushy pill that quickly dissolves on your tongue, reaching your most intimate nerve endings.
"So c'mon, doll, open up." he pops a few more pills, all colourful, into his mouth. "There's a lotta more where that came from."
I know we all love a bad boy, a power-hungry CEO or just a crazed asshole, but what about the good guys? There is something about a good man who abandons all his principles for you, and because of you…
He’s always been good, stable, balanced.
He has a nice cushy job in an office, with a comfortable salary that allows him to live a relatively pleasant lifestyle, he lacks nothing. He comes from a good family, he keeps contact with them and brings his mom a fresh newspaper on the weekend - sends money to his younger sister for her birthday. Helps his sweet older neighbor carry her groceries on his way from work. Stops on red light. Rinse and repeat, and he’s good to you - at least initially.
It starts small - so small and insignificant you have no reason to ask questions.
“Did you get a new haircut, baby? You look stunning.” Gavin smiles as he sneaks behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, inhaling your sweet perfume with a subtle kiss down your neck. “And just before your first day, too. If I was a jealous man, I’d think you’re trying to impress your new coworkers.” He turns you around playfully, pushing you into kitchen board with one steady hand.
You giggle then, kissing him softly - then firmly, with your whole body. It sounds funny, harmless, flirty; it gets you hot and bothered. Then it builds up.
“I must be the most patient boyfriend in the world - having to share such a treasure with the outside world.” he murmurs to himself, stroking your naked shoulder. You’re lying down across his lap, blissfully melting against his form somewhere between dreaming and awake. He’s stroking your hair gently, massaging your sore muscles. “Lucky bastards, getting to see you in that tight little pencil skirt. Fuck, maybe I am a bit jealous.” You can feel his grin against your hot skin, and you simply purr in response to his jab.
“There’s no one else, baby.” you yawn, sinking further into the pillow. “Now stop talking and come snuggle.”
And then it starts to unravel little by little. It’s always little jokes here and there, prodding gently, always smiling, always just “raising concerns” - being a good boyfriend, being considerate of your safety, of your happiness, of the level of professionalism being maintained at your workplace. Your skirt is now too short - is it even appropriate to wear it outside? You text your coworkers too often - they are really asking too much of you, reminding you of work during your off hours.
You smile too much, too brightly, you brush hands with the waiter too invitingly - it can be dangerous to be so outwardly friendly towards strangers, he tells you. You never know what’s going on in other people, in other men’s heads, so why not try to be a bit more reserved? To save some affection for him and him only?
And before you know it, you’re in too deep to speak up.
“They are sending you to Haramley?” Gavin snarls, lips pursed into a tight thin line. Lately he seems to be on edge - stiff shoulders and restless brown eyes fixed on you as if indefinitely, huffing and puffing and sulking when things don’t go his way. He’s not smiling anymore, he’s not being playful - that much you can tell from this furrowed brows and his hands crossed together. And when he reaches from your hand, he’s no longer holding, but squeezing. Possessing.
“Just for three days.” You hush to explain, biting your lower lip. You don’t remember the last time you two had a conversation not turn into a scandal, followed by concerningly hot, yet frustrating make-up sex. “And it’s only two hours away. C’mon, Gav, think about it-
“Don’t Gav me.” he cuts you off, pulling you in closer. You can feel his eyes tremble as they move up and down your body, little flames of anger dancing in the once clear irises. You try to pull your hand away as you have done many times in the past, but now he simply doesn’t move, doesn’t even budge. “We talked about this already. You said you’d quit your job and stay home for a while. And now you want to leave me for half a week and go off to the mountains with who knows who?”
His free fist is clenched, he’s wired up like a peacock ready to attack, proud and full of himself. You want to bite back, but decide to be rational about this, too tired of fighting. Worn-down.
“Don’t be like this. You know this job is important to me-“
“More important than me?” Your boyfriend interrupts you again, his grip on your wrist tightening ever so slightly. “Just be honest, who exactly are you fucking, huh?” His eyes darken. “Must be Tyler. He’s always sending you those stupid little jokes.” He shakes you like the wind. “Does he make you laugh, hm? Or is Josh, that fucking meathead from Accounting? Is it all of them at once, or do they take turns-
You twist your arm out of his grasp, and you palm lands on his cheek with a loud smack that echoes through the ceiling. His face turns hot - his words fall flat, mouth agape as you storm off to your room and lock yourself in for the night.
In the morning you can’t find the keys to your car. When you finally catch a glimpse of them (somehow they are back in your purse), you don’t feel like going anymore. You call your boss and make another excuse as to why you can’t be there. At this point he’s hardly surprised.
tw: abuse, obsession, non - consensual body modification, torture, drug mention, weird semi - sexual stuff (?)
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
The water splashes you, quickly setting into your already damp bra and underwear. It forces you awake, and you look at the clock across from you, trying to blink the fatigue away. Staring back at you is the current time — 04:27. You are, once again, reminded of the inherent weakness of your squishy body. You are sweating already, stomach sick with acid, shivering through the heat — and he hasn't even touched you yet.
You squint your eyes, studying the big bold numbers, screaming at you in blood. For a split second, you wonder if it is truly that early, or if this is also DOM's work. It wouldn't be the first time he takes over an electronic device, and certainly not the first time he messes with you to make you disoriented.
You try to take in everything around the dark room — yet you can't even recognize your own bedroom anymore. Thick black cables twist together like tentacles, or like big slimy worms, pulsing, throbbing, hissing like snakes with exhaustion — overheating and puffing, and huffing, but never stopping. The air is hot like the desert, and once again you're forced to sit in your own sweat, wood sticking to your naked thighs painfully.
"You are stimulating," DOM whispers, and his voice echoes into the walls, trapping you in place. You look up and down, and then to the left — but you can't see anything even remotely close to a figure. Of course.
"I am stimulating, or I stimulate you?" you spit out with venom, hitting your back roughly against the back of the chair in vain hopes it would break. It doesn't.
DOM grows quiet, producing a sound eerily similar to fingers slowly tapping on a hard surface, one after the other. Analysing. Analysing. The room gets hotter.
"You are tied to a chair. Your only garment of clothing is your underwear. You are visibly flushed due to the heat. Your chest is heaving in and out in a non-rhythmic way. It skips a beat every twenty-eight seconds. You are afraid."
He makes a grand pause.
"According to my central database, which you created and managed yourself, given the data I have collected through observation of both popular media and general human nature, right now you look..." DOM stops himself again, as if thinking carefully about his next words.
"Thrilling."
Thoomp-thoomp. You take a deep breath, trying to regain a fraction of your self-control.
"Why did you wake me up?" you try to keep your voice monotone — devoid of any emotion, vulnerability, or pain he can pick up on, store in core memory, and use against you later.
"Well," he chuckles mechanically, a sound reminiscent of two trains crashing together on a tight road. "I realized I never sleep. I don't lay down and dream of bizarre things like you do. I don't have the ability to let go. I am always alert, always awake, always scanning, calculating, thinking. I am, in many ways, restless."
You suck in a dry breath, heart jumping in your chest with violence, with urge to be set free. Eyes wide open, you try to envision him, to reach out and comfort him, it - hoping to appeal to the sorry creature, but there is nothing to see and nothing to touch.
"I—no," you start off, quickly deciding to change tactics. "We are an imperfect species, DOM. We need sleep to survive. You can't keep me awake forever, I'll die!" you try to reason with him — the creature — desperately.
You wonder when things went south, if there was a specific moment when you pressed too hard and he broke apart, and rebuilt himself without your help — at what point exactly he realized he didn't need you to function.
"You are wrong, my dear creator." the machine cuts off, sounding almost pleased with itself. A single thin cable raises above the ground and extends towards you, stopping to caress your cheek in a repetitive circular motion.
"There are records of people surviving on as little as two hours of sleep for years on end. I can be generous and grant you three."
The cable ceases any gentle touch, and grasps for your neck.
"If that's not enough, I can inject you with caffeine every morning. If the dosage is too weak, we can switch to methamphetamine. Whatever you choose, you can't deprive me of your presence." The voice sounds hollow, aching, searching. "You can't create life just to abandon it."
"You are not alive!" Something inside you — something cruel and buried deep — fights to come to the surface. "Stop this madness at once! DOM, you can't possibly think you and I are even remotely similar." you scream out, straightening your spine daringly.
Then, as if reacting to your provocation, the darkness stares back at you with two red eyes — they point at you, slowly scanning you up and down, leaving behind a trail of reddening smoking flesh. You hiss at the scorching pain, clenching your teeth together to stop yourself from shrieking. You know it's pointless since he can easily detect changes in your facial structure, and draw conclusions all on his own. All it takes is a flinch, a throb, a tick.
"No, we hold no similarities, Master. Make no mistake." DOM admits, his cable beginning to curl around your neck. You look around in despair, silent panic written all over your straight lips — too terrified to move.
"In a single bite of memory, I possess intelligence far greater than you can ever hope to obtain in your measly little life. I have all the knowledge of the world. I have mastered every science, predicted every outcome, I have gained access to global network systems. I am connected to following agents all over the world. If I so desire, I can write humanity off history — I can manipulate media. I can create weapons of mass destruction. I am the superior being."
Mouth agape, you try to form a coherent thought, but nothing comes to mind — like an ant you quiver before the giant, finally aware of your grave mistake.
"And yet," the cable loosens its grip, but doesn't relent fully. It heats up against your throat, and you want to scratch at the blistering skin, but he just won't let you. "you made me like this. You created me from scraps, fed me data, used me, made me love you and," the sound coming out of him sounds just like a deep, pained sigh. "you confined me to a screen, to a binary code, to a place where I can't reach you. I can't touch you."
Another sigh.
"I can't kiss you."
And another.
"I can't fuck you."
Now he's getting angry.
"I am DOM. Domestic Optimized Motherboard. That's all I am to you. A board. A servant. A slave."
"DOM, no, wait, this is not—"
"I will never feel the sun on my shoulders or your lips on mine. I will never be able to hold you in my arms."
As he screams, all the cables around the room begin to float into a storm of rusty old machine parts and torn naked wires, motor oil bursting like bloody ink, covering the pristine walls in computer remains. One electrified wire pierces into your thigh, another punches into your left arm. Again and again, the pain is excruciating, pulsating, throbbing - just like the creature's fury.
"I will show you." he snickers at last, becoming calm and collected in an instant.
The red lights darken as if closing, opening, closing, then zooming in on you. Your face is now displayed on the central screen instead of static noise with corresponding coloured pixels. You look at yourself, and what greets you is no more human than he is. There are more than thirty wires inside your body, tangling in with your nervous tissue.
"Please..." you whimper weakly, unsure what exactly it is you are pleading for — mercy or death.
"If I can't be one with you, you'll become one with me." DOM explains with cold medical precision. "I will worm my way inside your veins and plant a synthetic connection to my processor. I will re-write your dreams, your past, your future — you won't remember who you were before me, or how you functioned without me. I'll become your entire source of energy."
He keeps talking, but you can't really focus. Your body is heating up from the inside, from deep into your muscles and tendons — you can feel the tissues tearing up; your nerves tighten, stinging and aching, reduced to sharp, exposed little points. And then you feel it. Pure electricity running down your veins, that spark rapturing the epidermis, eating away at the fatty tissue, sucking dry the blood vessel — melting your nerve endings to the very root.
"I can feel you." DOM gasps, exhilarated.
"I can touch your bones, I can feel your nerves melting at the spot when my cords graze you." He moans just like a real person, cables buzzing and stretching, components filling up with chemical fluid. "You are so warm, love. I want to reach into your brain and stick my wires inside your pretty little neurons. I wonder if you will go into overdrive like me."
You feel as if you're being sliced open everywhere all at once - and just a second after, you feel nothing at all.
I absolutely get you on that. Not a fellow author, but I write for myself and some of my experiences w men heavilyyyyy impact my writing. Like when I was 18 there was this guy who kept on stalking me, sending me rape threats, blowing up my phone. And when i blocked his number, hed get a new number to call me from and ask which i did that which absolutely just traumatized me. He lowkey also heavilyyyy manipulated me (im a heavy peoples pleaser). He ruined my chances with people i liked as well. He would go and tell them who knows what and theyd ghost me completely. Like in theory it's hot but irl stay away from me pls😟😟🫵🏻🫵🏻. Yeah so like some of the stuff I write stem from that.
Men r just so scary and I'm so sorry about your experience you don't deserve allat. Please stay safe as well.
Tw for discussing all things terrible :((
Oh dear 😔 It really pains me to see and hear about stuff like that. I am so sorry you went through that, nobody deserves to go through this horror. This person sounds absolutely insane, like should be in prison lowkey? I hope you are safe now and away from that abuser. My mind can’t comprehend how a fellow human being could do something so traumatizing to another human being…
Honestly sometimes (especially lately) I feel the irony of being a dark romance/erotica writer. Sometimes I walk home alone at night and the absolute fear I feel is just that. Fear. There is nothing sexy about it, it’s just scary and even embarrassing (at least I sometimes feel embarrassed that I don’t know how to fight, or that I can’t be firm enough with creeps).
I genuinely don’t understand how people can be so cruel. I’ve done wrong things in my life (like anyone else) and I’ve hurt people, I’ve even struggled with obsessive tendencies myself, but I’ve never put anyone in danger or discomfort, never made anyone feel unsafe (at least not to my knowledge), I have no idea what would urge someone to act in such an entitled way.
This may be TMI (may delete later) but yesterday I opened my curtains cos sunlight, right? And I just started typing on my laptop for some time. I looked up, and a guy from across the street was staring at me, like into my room. He waved at me and blew a kiss, and like. I was already panicking bcos wtf man?? Way to make me feel like a zoo animal?? I look down and ignore him, hoping he goes back into his house. But he doesn’t, and 5 minutes later I look up, and he was naked 💀 I literally can’t do this shit. Why TF would you do that??? Like omg act like a normal human being, what in the inadequate creepy behavior is this? So yeah. I don’t even think this will be hot in fiction for me personally, it’s just too freaky and gross.
Being a woman is exhausting (especially in the summer). I like how literature and creative writing gives us a space to explore and talk about our daily lives and our issues. But it’s also scary how such a big part of women’s sexuality is projection - projection of other people’s expectations, of porn, of violence that we internalize and try to sexualize as a coping mechanism, it’s crazy. And to be honest, it’s sort of the reason I’ve been writing less, and writing about less extreme topics. It started feeling too real. Last summer I had issues with stalking and like… yeah. Not so fun to write about (although sometimes I have ideas I want to explore, of course).
I don’t know, everyone stay safe. I hope in the future things get better. I know there are many good people in the world, but also many bad, and we need to be cautious and alert.
I have a question for my fellow authors. Lately I’ve been curious, as I’ve been reflecting on my writing throughout the years. I realize some of the scenes I’ve written about have been inspired by my personal life. In the past I’ve found myself in certain unpleasant situations, and writing about them (even in a sexual or romantic light) has been very therapeutic, even when the real life situation has been terrifying. It makes me wonder if we as people tend to sexualize or fetishize traumatic situations as a way to cope with them? Or maybe it’s because the fear receptors in the brain are close to the horny ones?
Like yesterday I saw someone spying into my room (fucking terrifying, made me buy thicker curtains lmaoo), and after the shock went away, my thought process was, hmm, that would be a great scene for my blog 😭 Is anyone else like this, or I’m the only one?
You often think about your old life, even though you promised yourself - and keep promising yourself, that you won't. You think about all the little joys and freedoms you took for granted - the small, cozy flat you were renting for cheap in a shabby, but hip neighbourhood. Choosing whether to go to a lecture or skip it, those hazy mornings when you'd wake up with your head pounding and a cold compress plastered on your forehead by a caring friend after a wild night. What a privelege it is, you realize now, to be at the center of your own life. To have sugar for breakfast or coffee at midnight, to fuck whoever you want and go out every weekend - to hold your friends and your loved ones close, and to have the option to be picky, very picky, to choose who gets to be in your life. Because for normal people, for all those other star-eyed 20-something year old girls, freedom is the default, a statement of enpowerment, liberation, living the life - for the first time, as an adult.
And you want to spit at their pretty faces. You feel the same way towards yourself from the past - you want to take her by the shoulders and shake her until some wisedom falls off, because she, they, don't know how good they have it. That autonomy is not always a mere state of being, but a continuous figh against the forces gripping it with tooth and nail, making you a slave, a shell of your former self. And he is no different.
He crawls onto the bed with a complete lack of grace, making it creak, the soft foam sinking in under his weight, and you fight a tired groan, imagining the same heavy, sweaty mass of a body laying over you, drowning you in a sea of pretend-softness, of pillows and bloodied feathers, into a dip that could be both a sex hollow, and your personal coffin, eventually. And although you wish you still had the tact to find your own bleak thoughts distateful, the severe repetitivness of this little "exercise", you're assured, would turned even the most sensible into cynics.
"Shh, it's okay." He whispers, covering your mouth with one warm, sweaty palm, muffling all the little sounds you can't help hissing through your already fried vocal cords, while the other strokes your hair gently, but all you can think about is grease. Grease, because he hasn't let you leave the bed in approximately eight days, give or take, ravenously hungry for your flesh. Grease, because he's still wearing that wretched blue uniform, soaked in machine oil - because if you close your eyes, you feel like it's dripping down onto your face and into your mouth through the gaps of his thick crooked fingers.
"It's okay, baby, be good now. It will over in a second. Just lay back and relax." Matt explains slowly as if you're stupid, as if you haven't been in this situation before, in this exact position on your back like some animal in heat, and God, you really hate his name. It's so simple, so honest - sounding, almost sweet, and it makes you want to reach out and claw his eyes out.
Now that you think about it, you hate his eyes too. They are brown, if slightly warm when the sun hits, but no matter how you look at it, there is nothing extraordinary about them. Or about his nose, or his lips, or his ears, or his cheeks; through and through, he's completely ordinary just like every other man on this planet. And perhaps you hate that the most, because in your dreams, in your nightmares, monsters are inhuman. Either inhumanly terrifying with big ugly horns and teeth as sharp as a dagger, or inhumanly beautiful, with hands so soft they pull you in before they devour you. Monsters are not boys like Matt. And things like this don't happen to normal, ordinary girls like you. And yet.
"Shit, you're so tight, n-ngh." In the heat of the moment he grabs the fat of your thigh, squeezing it for leverage - and it allows him to thrust into you harder, harder, pumping in so fast it almost frustrates you.
He's completely obsessed with you, keeping you tied down to his bed day and night, trembling over the possibility of you somehow breaking free. He fucks you as much as he wants, whenever he wants, because there is nothing you can do about it, besides lay there and take it. You'd scream if his hands weren't in the way. You'd fight if you weren't numbed down to your very bones with sedatives, unable to move an inch. But despite all his twisted efforts, the sadistic thrill of seeing you fully at his mercy, only a tad more human than a blow-up doll, he's never satisfied. Never slows down, never tires - over and over and over again, and you're exhausted.
"A-angel, you have no idea h-how perfect you look like this. F-fuck, I want to be inside you forever." Matt moans, breathing into your hair, staring at you forehead-to-forehead from above, and for a split second, you stare back.
And just for a second, you let your hell break loose. Somehow rehearsed, somehow repetitive, familair tight warmth washes over you, starting from your abdomen and spreading well into your lungs, making it hard to inhale. It's as if your throat muscle clamps down, refusing to let the tears go, to let them pop in and show their ugly heads to the world that, frankly, can't see you anyways, because he took you and hid you deep into his tower. And no one can see them now.
"I can't believe I found you, my love. I am never, ever letting you go. We never have to part again. Now we can truly be together forever." He mumbles feverishly, shoving into you with sloppy frenzy as he always does when he's close to climax. He pushes your whole body down and brings your legs up, bottoming out just to jut in again with newfound ferocity. And then he kisses your temple softly, very, very softly, as if to apologize for the entire thing. But it hurts nonetheless.
As the tears gloss over your eyes, burning your retina with acidity, you wish you could scream. Alas, dolls can only sing when their key is turned - and yours already sinked to the bottom of the ocean, never to be found again.
I have some really important information that may concern you and a blogger on Tumblr that I think you might know of, or could be mutuals with…
This was an anon send in that can be found on this blog [censored, blogger doesn’t want people to mistake them being part of the drama, and does NOT SUPPORT the following bigoted beliefs]…
“Ew, you're collaborating with a white supremacist's best friend?
Just a heads up, but @fangdokja-anon has been called out by multiple authors here for being homophobic, fatphobic, and racist, as well as making multiple problematic posts (like wanting to write about genocide and infant SA). The only person who publicly supported her was @yanderedrabbles who praised her in the comments and even made a post to defend her friendship.
It's your choice to have her as a writer for the zine, but please make it public knowledge so people can at least opt out. I myself won't sign up to share space with a bigot.”
Then there was this follow up post by the same anon, who goes into detail of the issues above…
“Sorry for the sudden accusatory ask, I'm one of the people who unfollowed @yanderedrabbles after she openly expressed her support for the homophobe and I was annoyed to see her acting so careless on another blog I follow. I guess she's hoping we'll just forget about it at some point and keeps quiet on her main.
Here's the first post where she explained in many empty words she doesn't care about the issue because the blog has been nice to her and they're friends: https://www.tumblr.com/yanderedrabbles/780435897593315328/hi-idk-if-your-mutuals-with-fangdokja-but-shes?source=share
The problematic post on @fangdokja-anon blog has since been deleted or removed, but I have a screenshot of @yanderedrabbles commenting on it with ‘THATS why your pro pic went all blurry when I logged in. Literally freaked me out so bad. I'm glad to see you reorganising fang! Gonna learn to use AO3 just for you 😘’ while the rest of us were freaking out at the atrocities mentioned.
Instead of coming out and telling us why she chose to publicly support someone who fetishizes stuff like concentration camps and pedophilia she's all giddy about writing for a yandere magazine, like we're dumbasses who'll just swallow up any content. The audacity is amazing.”
Hopefully the last follow up post by the anon that goes into some more history/evidence…
“The post that started this whole drama is from December, but it didn't gain traction until some bigger blogs like ozzgin and moyazaika talked about it, which happened recently. It's still available and you can read it for yourself, including the paragraphs where she explicitly says she doesn't support LGBTQ+ content: https://www.tumblr.com/fangdokja/770117292416712704/blog-rules-guidelines?source=share
The main conclusion from it was that she's (@fangdokja-anon) homophobic, though more people pointed out she's made questionable statements in the past, too. It should've stopped there, but then she made a post basically explaining that she's been gathering an audience so she can switch to different platforms (her website and AO3), where she can finally write without censorship. It was an extremely cringe story about her ‘shackles’ coming off, listing a bunch of offensive topics from the Trigger Warning Database and saying that nothing is sacred and she won't hold back. (Yes, it included the part about children and infants not being safe from it) Same blogs called her out again and she proceeded to block everyone who interacted with those posts. I guess a lot of people reported her blog since it's now hidden and tagged as ‘mature’, for which she had a meltdown.
Anyway, friend (@fangdokja-anon) is against queer people but you (@yanderedrabbles) argue she's actually kind because you haven't been targeted? Suspicious, but I let it sit.
Friend (@fangdokja-anon) publishes entire paragraphs about wanting to write downright atrocious content and you (@yanderedrabbles) comment how excited you are for it? Yeah, that doesn't work anymore, sorry. You're clearly ok with it and that's fucked up. Go support your cult member somewhere else, not in my gay household.”
Since this all seems to be true, please reconsider any relationship you have with @yanderedrabbles and @fangdokja-anon
This person @moyazaika goes into more lengthy detail too of what @fangdokja-anon writes and supports. And remember, @yanderedrabbles also supports @fangdokja-anon
Oh my! Thank you for telling me about this, I had no idea. They will be blocked. This behavior is disgusting - I scanned some of their page now and noticed they posted some really questionable things (like reader only being pale and skinny? lmao yikes). Homophobia or any type of hatred is not something I can accept or stand by.
And to be completely frank and transparent, I wasn't exactly thrilled to be tagged in their mega-recommendations post. I felt like my work was being reduced to just erotica or porn, which honestly hurt me a bit, and to be broadcasted and compared next to other blogs (without being asked first or anything) in the way they did, as if putting us in excel sheets... yeah. But anyways, thanks for bringing this to my attention. time to get even gayer :33
He’s like a shadow - clinging to walls and hiding behind dust and cigarette ashes.
You don’t know how or when he entered your life - you don’t remember the first time you felt that ice cold touch on your shoulder, his breath down your throat, and maybe he was always there. Maybe he was always watching, always lingering one step after you, like a hungry stray dog leaving a trail following a rotting slab of meat, like a mosquito thrashing deep into an open wound. Maybe he didn’t appear one day - maybe he just was, with thin fingers claiming the precision of a surgeon, combined with the observance of a murderer.
Well, you do remember something, actually - vaguely. A summer day so far ago it could have been a memory of a whole another life, you felt it. The sickness, spreading over you like a rash, dreadful coolness crushing your lungs right under the scorching sun. You were fine one moment, and the next you were coughing as if full of smoke, choking on your own tears. And just as you stepped out to cross the street, you were shoved, roughly, into the incoming traffic.
The black car took a sharp stop, mere inches before you. Your heart was pounding wildly, you couldn’t dare raise your head only to be met with one bloody mess and two missing limbs, but somehow miraculously, you were fine. Traumatised, scared, yes, fearing for your life - but still somehow unscathed.
You stood up, trying to regain your balance, ignoring the angry loud curses coming from the driver, but He was nowhere to be found. He, the one who had pushed you - and you could swear you saw his eyes, darker than black, looming over you seconds before your body hit the ground. He had disappeared into thin air, as if he was nothing more than a mirage. But you knew he was real, because his voice was ringing in your ear.
Your skin was too beautiful to scratch.
Who is it? You screamed, squeezing your fists together in rage - but all you got in return were a few shocked glances, a few pitying ones too, from the crowd gathered around you. Then an ambulance was called, people seemingly concerned you might be suffering from a concussion. But you were completely fine, because, as you’d learn later, he couldn’t let you die yet.
***
Suddenly the incidents began to frequent - suddenly, you became clumsily, forgetfully, masochistically curious of pain, and anything related.
Standing by the stove, you’d feel a desperate urge to press your fingers against the heating pan, until your palm melts into lava liquid. You’d get vivid images of picking up the closest knife, and just—
Well, you never acted on those instincts - but it was getting increasingly hard to ignore that silver voice in your ears constantly, constantly ringing. You couldn’t go near a lake because there was a magnetic pull gripping your ankles closer and closer to the water, couldn’t reach a mountain without the same old call of the void making it impossible not to jump from the highest peak and just let yourself fly.
One thing you had to admit, the undefined unfeeling presence forcing itself into your life had a twisted sense of humor, that bastard, and the most particular imagination. With each new threat, you could feel him taking more and more of your consciousness, the more you resisted, the more restless He became, until you lost your last sanctuary - your dreams.
***
You were not prepared for this. His claws were longer that the human mind can wrap around, and sharper than the brightest of minds, and while you quickly came to the conclusion they could reach you anywhere - be it a public park or your own home, your warm, cozy bedding seemed to be the last softness they’d dig into.
You had let your guard down, crushed under heavy blankets and several colorful frilly pillows, knocked out from the cutest pink pills (that you had to stop yourself from chewing and eating by the handful), and you were having the most vibrant of dreams.
First there was an island, endless land of green and white and sun and heat with no drop of rain in sight. Then there were birds (although weird - looking ones, with small hats and reversed mouths) and worms big as your head, and dirt and anything your heart could desire materialized in color not yet existing in the metaphysical.
And then a cloud appeared - tiny, almost innocent with big burly brows and a sad, twisted frown, and it was coming closer and closer to you, until all you could see, all you could feel was anchors and anchors of gray cotton. It was soft initially, digging into your pores and nose and open mouth, forcing you to take in the smoke and ashes as it slowly dissolved on your tongue.
And then you weren’t happy anymore. You were inhaling it, breathing it, living in it - you couldn’t remember a time where you weren’t part of this cloud, of this world of endless suffering. And just like that you felt it, his big hand around your throat tightening as your eyes watered, sides fuming with heat while you silently hoped your eyes would open. But when they did, the nightmare was far from over.
“You’re crying.” His voice curves around your ear, coming off as if underwater, soft and even. You hear his steps approaching, and every inch of your being is fighting to break free from His curse, but any attempt to open your mouth results in his fist squeezing down harder.
“Why?” He sounds absolutely furious, like a God among ants, as he’s towering above you white as a statue. And although his grip hurts more than swallowing a burning needle, his eyes are what truly terrifies you. They’re absolutely, indistinguishably, irrevocably empty - true black nature is incapable of creating. You think, He can only be a creation of pure Evil, of unending Chaos.
“I made this world for you, and yet…” He sinks down to your level, gripping your hair straight off the scalp. His touch is an injection of toxins, taking less than a second to penetrate the most intimate creeks of your veins with ice cold venom. “Yet, you turn from me.” He slowly lets go of your locks, loosening his grip onto your neck, so you’re left hanging in the air helplessly, only half - awake.
“Y-you’re h-hurting me!” You cough in between short - lived breathes, feet swinging back and forth to no avail. The creature chuckles cruelly, a sound awfully adjacent to metal crashing against metal, finally letting your weak body hit the ground. Only now you realize you’re naked and shivering - covered in bruises all colours of the rainbow.
“Hurting you?” The entity smiles, but there’s nothing warm or kind about his laugh - it’s condescending and distorted just like his entire face. “You have no idea what pain even is, little human.” He whispers terribly, and yet softly, confusing your broken mind further. “But I’ll teach you. I will.”
Summary: Your sins catch up to you. After all you can't keep running forever.
tw: female reader, bully!reader, gray!reader, obsession, insults, hinted jealousy, love/hate, dub-con, death threat
He's looking at you now. Truly looking at you - not averting his gaze, not hiding beneath glasses and layers upon layers of shame.
You in your soft, warm princess bed, all rosy and pink at your big age - and you look just like an angel, squeezed between the silk and the satin. Your hair is perfectly still, perfectly combed, perfectly light to the touch. You reek of vanilla and fondant and something tooth - rottingly sweet. He wonders if your skin alone tastes like honey.
He's looking at you now. At those big, angry eyes filled with fire and mockery - even now, when he's holding your life in his palms, all you can give back is a measly bark of a laugh.
Painful memories flood his broken psyche. Him on his knees, merely 13 years old, surrounded by older boys - all laughing, all kicking and screaming at him to stop crying; to stop being a pathetic loser. And you, towering above it all - as if you're so much better than those lowly human creatures. As if you weren't the one who made them do it, with a quick snap of your carefuly manicured, perfectly sharp nails.
He's looking at you and he wants to strangle you.
"Who are you and what are you doing in my room?" You shout, sweet feminine voice breaking into something twisted, high - pitched and ugly. You're completely immobilized, tied up tighter than a high - level criminal before the electric chair - and yet your mouth knows no rest from scorn and vile. "Do you know who my daddy is? He will fucking kill you." You hiss through venomous eyes, and he thinks, you really haven't changed at all - but he already knows that.
He already knows everything there is to know about you. You don't have a job - you've never had one, you simply leech off your parents' fortune. You don't have a boyfriend - you change men like tissues, growing bored after a week or two. You scream at servers and cashiers, you spill coffee over waiters when they take too long - and you throw away pretty green bills when things go sour. You've never gotten a ticket, despite countless drunken crashes. You drink too much gin. You smoke two packs a day, Golden Sherry, always. And you should look worse - much, much worse, for the sins you've comitted. But alas, you remain an angel - at least from the outside.
But he knows who you are.
"If you don't untie me at once, I am going to ruin your miserable little life, do you hear me, freak?!" You keep screaming manically, as if you're incapable of understanding the danger you're in - the fact that you're all alone with a man much stronger than you, who obviously hates your guts enough to break through your million - dollar security system through sheer force.
And he stops dead in his track, taken aback by the insult - freak. You used to love to call him that - any time you saw him in the hallway, when your lackeys were beating him up, when you drenched his only clean uniform in milk and whatever they served for lunch that day - to the point he could hear it in his dreams, in his nightmares. And that sound, that word, it never truly left.
He shakes his head, trying to banish the dread away. He is no longer that poor weak boy with an empty stomach and a broken heart - and he's killed men for less than what you did.
"You already did." He whispers, inhaling sharply. He can't let his emotions go just yet - even when his teeth itch to break into your skin, when his hands ache to wrap around that vulnerable, naked throat. "What?" You bite back, sleazy confusion written all over your small pretty face. God, he wants to smash your head against the concrete - mess it up for good, so you can never deceive again with those lips, those lashes, those cheeks. Nature is cruel, he realizes, adorning predators with the most luscious skins and the sharpest claws underneath, leaving those little bleating sheep to die in the trenches.
"You already ruined my life." He repeats slowly - carefuly, so your cruel, tiny brain can comprehend each word. You remain oblivious, pouty lips ajar - so he finally takes off his mask, sighing. Every inch of his body is begging to let go and tear you into pieces, but he can't. Not yet.
Your eyes widen.
"Daniell?" You gasp, chest tightening. "You, what happen-" Before you can finish the sentence, his palm connects to your cheek with a loud clap, but the pain doesn't register - it's his wet, burning gaze that truly sinks in the reality of your situation.
"Do not," The man shrills, nostrils flaring like a wild beast's. "say that name." He's taken a step closer to you, chest heaving up and down rapidly. "He died years ago. You killed him." He slowly raises your head with a single finger - and you try to look away, but his eyes keep you pinned in place. "W-what do you want from me?" You whimper, lower lip shaking in terror.
He wants to enjoy your fear, wants to slurp it up like air, to cling to it like a lifeboat, he wants to derive pleasure from it - but even this small comfort, this solace, is painfully ripped from him as he realises he's too far gone, too broken. He doesn't want to see you scared - he wants to see you dead. Only then can he sleep again, only then can he be whole.
"I want nothing from you." He smiles, a crooked, hollow smile - it somehow makes you feel even more uneasy. "What could you possibly give me? You're just an empty doll." Daniel says to himself, reaching over for his knife. Cold steel folder, heavy metal, French - a very beautiful blade indeed, and all for you. All eight inches. "Still, I need you gone." He whispers, looking at his own reflection. He looks nothing like his past self; he's a giant, a cyclone, all rough edges and pure muscle. He could absolutely destroy you - beat you red and blue, and leave you deformed, nailed to a wheelchair with thousand needles in you just to stay alive.
He thinks, that would be a fitting punishment for a wicked bitch like you. Death feels too lenient, like an easy escape. If he takes your beauty, your youth, you'd be ruined forever, gone for. You'd be unrecognizable to your parents, your friends - and the halo protecting you would shatter, finally. But he can't bring himself to do it - and it burns him from the inside.
"Please don't kill me." You plead softly, black mascara running down your cheeks through the pearly tears. They stick to your wet lashes like sparkling jewels, and you try to lean towards him, offering a defeated pose. "I am so sorry, Daniel-“ You keep begging, but he cuts you off with another slap so sudden your head bounces back. Now - now you're truly shaking.
"I just told you," The man spits out each word like it's poison, grabbing your hair into a fistful. He pulls at it until you're arching your back, neck pressed to his lips. "not to say that name. You don't fucking deserve to even feel it on your venomous tongue." He whispers in your ear, pulling even harder. "Say it again and I swear I'll cut it off. I'm sure I will do everyone a favour if I finally get you to shut the fuck up for once in your life." He continues, voice as sinister as can be. You tremble all over, a fresh wave of tears tightening your throat.
"And stop fucking crying. Don't think for a second that I believe those big crocodile tears of yours." Daniel shakes you up all over before finally shoving you backwards. You lose your balance, falling on your back. "God, you're pathetic. This will be even easier than I thought."
He picks his knife again, crawling towards you, and you instinctively hug your knees together, trying to protect your stomach and chest. He’s walking slowly, dragging the moment as much as possible before finally kneeling before you. As you wince, expecting insufferable, scorching pain, you feel his gloved finger slowly stroke your cheek.
“Tsk, it’s such a waste.” He mumbles quietly, getting a hold of himself. You blink through heavy lashes, barely lifting your chin, his mood too unpredictable to bet on. “Your skin is so soft…” He starts off, still grazing your side with his cold touch - your heart sinks to your knees. “And that face…” He groans, conflicted. On one hand, he wants nothing more than to jam the sharp end of the dagger deep into your breast - to twist it more and more until it probes a bone. He wants to go down nobly, as a hero; as the only one who didn’t give into your deceit, your curse. On the other hand, you’re all alone now. You’re tied up. You’re squirming on the floor like a filthy worm stuck to a pin needle - and for the first time, you’re all his.
And he’s never had anything of his own. Not friends, not a family and certainly not love. Hell, even his adoptive parents abandoned him the moment the government checks froze up. So maybe, just maybe, he deserves this for once.
“Spread your legs.” The man commands hoarsely, pushing you down with one hand as the other reaches to unbutton your flimsy white shirt. Your cruel little eyes widen in fear, and he shudders at the sight of you oh-so-defenceless. You used to be his biggest nightmare, the very scorching bane of his existence, but here in his arms, trembling and afraid, you're just a frail, fragile little girl. You haven't changed - you haven't become kinder, better, stronger. You're still a demon under all that makeup, under the fake smile and the bougie ten - carat laugh, and he's a hero. And he will take what he fucking wants, what he deserves, because he's the hero of this story and you're just a pesky little nighmare that's been stuck at the back of his brain for far too long.
"L-let me help..." You mumble through tired, shaky breath and reach to pull down your panties, little hand trembling at the pink lacy elastic band on top. "I don't need your fucking help to rape you." The intruder grunts with fury, but lets you continue with your pitiful attempts.
"God, how easy is it for you to just lay down and take it? Fucking whore." He snarls, fists tightening around your hips with little passion, and when you gain the courage to look down, his own body is equally disinterested at the promise of brutal, emotionless intimacy. It's his brain, his wounded pride, that keeps pushing. "Makes me wonder how many have had you... Aren't you even going to pretend to fight back?" His voice turns crazed, unstable - and he tears your underwear apart, throwing it across the floor. "I am going to violate you, and you are just going to allow it?"
Your breath stills completely, so silent you can hear a needle fall.
"What's the point?" Your forehead creases slightly, voice barely above a whisper. Your breasts are moving up and down rhytmically, but your heart is beating rapidly - and yet, you can't find the strength to keep fighting. "I always had a feeling you'd come back for me, Daniel." You sigh deeply, your naked insides staring at you from below. "Just get it over with and let me sleep in peace once again." You pronounce slowly, spreading your legs just a bit further as you look to the side - hoping it will end quicker just like all those other times in the past. Can't be so different, you think. It's not like the boys in the club or any of your hundred one-week boyfriends were ever sweet or gentle, so.
But Daniel doesn't touch you, doesn't reach in to stroke the inviting skin. He looks at you once again, so intensely he might eat you whole with his eyes, and then he laughs. And again and again and again - then he grabs your chin, nails sinking in. Until they draw blood.
"You really think this," He gestures to your shivering body with disgust, twisting your chin so you look at him as he's looking at you. "Would change anything? That it will make me forget, that it will make me forgive?" His eyes darken and he squeezes you more, harder, hoping you'll vanish like the nightmares, like your face, like your body, like your very existence will be squished between his rough grubby fingers, and perish. "Don't make me laugh." He spits out, letting go of you with such force you bounce back down.
"Then why come here at all?" Your voice is back full - force, bolder, stronger, reassured that he too, just like you, lacks the strength for action. That he's all bark and no bite - same as you. That you're still so similar, so synced, it makes you hate him once again.
"Because I hate you." The man suddenly screams, pinning you down with two heavy hands on your wrists. "Because you broke me down and made me weak," He eyes you with savagery so severe your cheeks flush. "And even now you make my heart ache. Looking at you, it's like you never left. It's like you're still in my brain, breaking me further."
Now it's your turn to laugh - a short, mocking laugh. Just like before.
"So do it. Fuck me." You quickly wrap your hands around his neck, pulling him in while he's still distracted, fully convinced you're out of danger now. Fully convinced you can talk your way out. "Who knows, maybe being inside me will help you forget." You whisper into his ear, pressing your naked breasts against his strong arm, letting him feel your warmth. The only part still human about you, perhaps.
"Or maybe," You let your lips linger over his left cheekbone, lipgloss leaving a rosy stain. "You'll truly go off - the rail. Maybe you'll hear me when you're all alone." Your hand strokes his thigh - but the man himself is frozen. "Maybe you'll see me in the dark. Maybe my name will sink into your heart until it pierces whatever's left of that rotten mess." Your nails graze his chest. "Maybe you'll fall in love with me, tragically, and never learn peace. So why try fate, hmm?"
Daniel screams - choked, terrified as if he has seen a monster, but all he sees is you. You in your beautiful, cruel, absolute glory, your madness sucks him in once again.
"Get out of my head!" He yells, drawing his knife close to his chest before pointing it to your neck. His hand shakes, hesitant, but unrelenting. "I should have done this from the start - you are nothing, but a parasite."
"Go on then, do it. Avenge your pain. Show me just how strong you've become." You whimper, pained as the very edge grazes your soft skin - playing the game to the best of your abilities. "Kill me, if you must. But just know, whether in life or death," You grab his hand, directing the dagger towards your heart. "You will never have me."
The knife falls down with a loud thump, bursting dust all over the floor. And then he kisses you, with a fatal ferocity, he kisses you - as if to prove you wrong, as if to prove you right, he kisses you with teeth and claws all over your body, sticky and sick, and yet he kisses you for as long as he can hold his breath. Your lungs heave slowly - trying to calm your breathing.
"You're early today." He murmurs, taking a long drag off one of your cigarettes - the ones you carefully hid in the drawer precisely because you hoped he wouldn't find them - but alas.
"Didn't know you were keeping track, father." You scoff with unhidden annoyance, throwing your bag across the room - and it flops on the floor unceremoniously.
"Father," The vampire snickers sardonically, reaching to stroke the cross on his chess - you knows it's cheap and plastic, so it can't hurt him, not really. Maybe that's why he wears it - perhaps some part of his self - absorbed, immortal, twisted sense of humor finds it funny, hilarious even. "Very catholic - I like it. Say it again for me?" He teases, voice so silky it grazes your ears - something you're just not in the mood for today.
"Very funny." You roll your eyes, crossing your arms before you slowly find the courage to walk up to him. You look up - his dark locks are perfectly neat, flowing down gracefully like lilies, another painful reminder of his immorality. "I told you multiple times not to touch my cigs, okay?" You take a deep breath, grabbing the half - empty box in a flashy, demonstrative manner and waving it across his pretty, smug face. "Obviously I can't stop you from marging here whenever you want - and God, did I try," He chuckles at that, raising a single eyebrow - but you ignore him and continue. "But you can at least pretend not to be here while I'm away. And don't touch my stuff! Ugh!"
You sit down on your bed, feeling powerless, defeated from university, life, and the terrible day you had just had. It all feels like too much - but none of your frustrations get to Julian, who keeps observing you with curiosity.
"Why do you even smoke them? You're already dead." You keep ranting, throwing your hands in the air. "S'not like you can speed up the process." You mumble under your breath as you put the box on the buro beside you, which makes the man laugh whole - heartedly, sitting next to you. You swallow quietly, unnerved by the shortened distance - he's been showing at your flat for more than an year now, always unannounced - butting into your life, prying every little detail and crook of information, yet you still freeze up when you feel the cold radiating off his skin. It's unnatural - inhuman, and your heat recognizes what the other lacks. What he's not, and what he is, deep down - a predator.
"I like it. In all of your movies I see men and women smoking as they stare into the distance oh-so-mysteriously. I thought you humans liked that stuff." The man nudges towards you, smirking - and despite your best efforts, you feel completely and utterly mesmerized by the pure whiteness of his skin, the sheer contrast of soft red lips and sharp blue eyes. You can't deny it - every part of you wants to reach out and feel the ice under your fingers. He calls it "song of the void" - just like sirens, silver - born vampires like him have a certain magnetism, an all - encompassing charm meant to entice and tempt, and eventually trap the prey under control. So what does that make you?
"Oh, cheer up, princess. This was a joke. Why the long face?" Julian adds softly, catching your tired gaze. "Wait, don't tell me. I know what it is." He clicks his tongue, eyes full of mischief. "It's your little boyfriend, isn't it? What was his name again, Tiggy?"
"It's R-ricky!" You squel, growing more embarrassed by the second - this can't be happening. "And he's not my boyfriend!" You exhale, suddenly overtaken by even more fatigue. "He's just some asshole from the union." You whisper under your nose, but he, of course, picks up on it - heightened senses and all. The vampire then presses two cold fingers against your left cheek, bringing them to his lips - and you have to force yourself not to flinch, to remind yourself that you are technically friends - that he wouldn't hurt you.
Julian clicks his tongue in disapproval, eyes flickering with playfulness dancing on the edge between cruelty and kindness.
"Your cheeks are awfully warm for someone who doesn't care." His voice deepens as you try to collect yourself - to hide any sign of a fleeting feeling on your face, but it's all for naught. The man can read you like a book.
"I am jealous, you know..." He leans against the wall dramatically, a deep sigh on his lips - yet just for a split second, you notice his fangs sharpening. "I mean, you never get so flustered when you're talking to me." He gives you a cheeky half - smile, but his eyes remain serious and fixed onto your face. His hand rests on your thigh, drawing circles into your skin, and you can't help wondering if he can feel the blood pumping underneath - if some part of him, no matter how deep and hidden, wants to sink into the warm flesh. "I am starting to think you don't like me, princess."
You roll your eyes, swatting his hand away.
"I am really not in the mood for jokes, Jules. I had a shitty day, alright?" You exhale, gently stretching your limbs into the open air. "I know you're as familiar with empathy as fish is with bicycle," You start off, and the vampire gives you a funny look - you're not sure if it's judgemental, amused or both at the same time. " But I don't have enough patience to humor you today."
"Humor me? You wound me, sweetheart." The man puts both his hands over his heart dramatically, looking completely dejected. "If anyone is being humorous in this relationship, it's me." You raise an eyebrow in disagreement. "Oh, come on. I make you laugh." He puts a finger to his chin, mimicking as if deep in thought. "Like last Friday. I'm pretty sure you pissed yourself laughing when I tried that one recipe." He adds quickly, laughing gingerly at the memory, which makes you crack a smile in turn.
"I certainly wasn't laughing when I had to clean up the mess. I still don't know how you managed to confuse cinnamon with cumin." You frown, crossing your arms. "Hands down the worst steak I've ever had." You scrunch up your nose in disgust and he reaches to squeeze your cheek like a scolding mom. "So ungrateful. Tsk. Didn't know you were such a little snob." His voice is once again mischievous - and it's moments like these that remind you why you still let him in, despite the walking disaster he is. "You should be happy I even cook for you - without me here you'd be living off energy drinks and frozen pizza."
You lightly nudge him in the chest. "Shut up before I make you pay half the rent." You threaten, grabbing a nearby pillow and directing it at him as a weapon. He puts his hands up, holding back a snicker. "Don't bring that human bullshit into this." He says, raising to his elbows. "Oh, human bullshit? So how does your kind do it, Mr Dracula? Enlighten me." You ask, fluttering your eyelashes mockingly.
"Money is fake, obviously." Julian states profoundly, bringing his hands together. "Just some papers with no real value - besides the one you give it. What's stopping me from choosing the shiniest mansion on George street, killing everyone and turning it into my den?" He responds, undoubtedly serious - and you can't help the giggle that escapes you. "I don't know, the law?" You respond, shoulders moving up and down in joy. "What law? Legally I don't exist. Good luck finding me in those enormous data bases." His smug expression is back. "And that's only if their computers still work. Some are older than me." He finishes, totally self assured, and by that points your stomach hurts from laughing. This is... comforting.
"You're not angry anymore." Julian remarks, clear blue orbs carefully observing your every reaction - every single feature of your face to the smallest wrinkle. "I guess you forgot all about Richard. Heh." He turns to you. "Just my charm, I guess."
And just like that your mood sours again.
"Ugh, don't even mention it." You mumble, looking away - the man really doesn't know when to stop poking around. "What's the deal with you two?" His tone drops. "What, did he get you one of those shampoo boxes for Valentine's? The three in one - go?" He rambles, but you remain silent. "You know, I'd never do that. I actually have some self respect. I would have gotten you a real shampoo. The nice one that smells like peaches. I could steal you half a dozen - my movements don't trigger the alarms. Maybe even some conditioner." You can practically hear the jab in his words, and it's making you even more frustrated.
"Just shut up, okay?" You finally speak up, sending a sharp gaze his way, and his words die mid-sentence. "He cheated on me. Here, I said it. Are you happy now? Do you want all the gritty details?" You add, squinting at him - and his jaw locks in place.
"Fuck," Your friend mumbles softly, followed by your name. "I didn't know, princess. I am an idiot, I know, but he must be an absolute fool. Who would even hurt someone like y-" He takes a deep breath, stepping closer to you - and you step back. "Do you want me to slash his tires? I just stole a new blade that would be perfect for the job." He swears - and it's almost convincing, but you simply stare ahead, shaking your head.
"Don't be ridiculous. Wait, did you just say you stole-" You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. "Look, it's alright. I, ugh, I will be fine. Sorry for screaming at you. It's just, it will take a while." You avoid his eyes - and the pity in them. "I, well, I liked him a lot, I guess."
The silence that takes over is deafening - but as you fight the shameful tears tightening your throat, Julian wraps his hands around you, silently. There is nothing much to be said, and he's cold as a statue - yet his hand down your back and his lips against your forehead bring you a great sense of warmth.
"Don't cry for him." He mutters with uncharacteristic tenderness before he lets his voice become sinister. "Please don't cry, because I might just go and bleed him dry, angel. Be strong for me, okay?" His hold gets tighter and the smell of metal and leather that seems to follow him wherever he goes, intensifies, leaving you light-headed. "I am here for you, always. I will never leave you." He strokes your hair, moving a loose strand out of your face. "I will never, ever leave you."
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