#(( and hes still in that horrid basement rip ))

[quincysmansiondaily]

WE GONNA SAVE HIM, JUST GIVE US SOME TIME

Ollie: "Thank you.. I just hope we're not too Late.."

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Quincy: [**Groan..** ]

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{ Quincy has Been reopened for Asks! }

[cimmanonrowl]

Eat Your Young pt.1

Part Two | Masterlist

It was a blessing when you were offered a job to look after a kid named Jack. He is a good one– smart, funny, a little cheeky but obeys you nonetheless. His father was all the same— Mr. Hotchner. He pays really well and on time, and made sure that after his arrival from Pakistan, you finally learn to accept your hidden desires.

Pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

Theme: smut heaven

Contents: age gap, oral fixation, oral (f) receiving, cum play, overstimulation, squirting, creampie, unprotected, rough sex, dom!aaron, daddy kink, powerplay: boss/employee dynamic, pussy-eater bearded aaron.

You were supposed to find Jack in ten minutes. 

Ten minutes maximum, you told yourself. That is the only reason why you confidently agreed to play hide and seek with that hyperactive, sugar-high of a child. Just ten minutes.

Now you couldn’t breathe in panic.

“Jack!” your trembling voice echoed down the hallway as you peered through rooms you had ransacked just three minutes ago. “Jack, please. Where are you, honey?”

Nothing.

The heavy sound of your frantic steps pierced the silence as you bolted downstairs, feeling even more lightheaded as the gnawing anxiety grew harshly and clawed at your insides. The silence reverberating through every corner of the house felt extremely taunting. Yet, with the rush of worry you feel for the kid, you couldn’t bring yourself to think of anything else.

Your chest hurts, your mind racing with every horrid scenario, each thud echoing in your ears as you rush to the kitchen. Shortly after you were hired and joined their little family, Jessica told you everything she felt you needed to be aware of. And you knew what Jack had to go through as a kid. He and his father had gone through terrible things you weren’t even sure it was possible to handle.

Warm tears now flooded your eyes as you desperately scanned every nook and cranny— he was not under the table, not inside the empty kitchen cabinet, nor behind the dining room curtains.

“Jack Hotchner!” you tried keeping the tremor out of your voice, making yourself sound assertive and annoyed as an attempt to scare him, yet your panic still found a way to lace at each word. “This isn’t funny anymore, Jack! I’m telling your dad!” 

You darted to the living room, ripping aside the couch cushions and peeking behind and under every piece of furniture. Now your breath comes in shallow gasps. With each movement, the very memory of his mischievous giggle haunted you, ringing inside your brain.

When you realized the kid wasn’t there, you sprinted again upstairs, taking two steps at a time. Your mind continuously raced with possibilities. Did he sneak out? Is he hiding in the attic? The basement? Jesus Christ, did you even lock the front door?

You throw open the closet in the hallway, pushing aside winter coats and a pile of boxes. “Jack! I’m serious! Come out!” 

Desperation edged even closer.

The bathroom door swung open with a creak as you pushed through the room. But to your horror, it was all empty, too.

You staggered back to his bedroom with quick steps. Your very last hope. You flung open the toy chest, rummaging through the chaos of plastic dinosaurs, action figures, and Lego blocks. Still nothing. It didn’t even cross your mind that a kid as old as Jack wouldn’t fit in a small wooden toy box; your mind was too frantic to think logically.

“Jack! Where are you?” you dropped to your knees, peering under his bed, your vision blurring with unshed tears. “Please, Jack, come out!” 

You stood by the window and started biting on your nails— a habit you developed when you’re too anxious to function. You clutched your phone tightly as you hugged yourself, fingers trembling, contemplating to finally dial for help. From the window you observed that the garden looked empty as always, the back shed had always been locked, and you couldn’t see anyone behind the bushes— Jack was nowhere to be found. 

The dread is almost paralyzing, a heavy weight pressing firmly on your chest.

And just as you made up your mind to go outside and check properly, your phone vibrated on your hand. Blood drained on your face as you glanced at the screen and read the familiar name on the caller’s I.D.

Mr. Hotchner.

Jack’s father. Your employer— who also happens to be a big shot FBI agent. If he learned that you lost his son in a hide-and-seek game, no matter how warmhearted, accommodating, and considerate that man is of your needs and well-being, you get this nagging feeling that you might end up floating on a river somewhere with no leads of any kind or prime suspect to consider.

You rubbed your eyes as you accepted the call, your doom at the same time. “H-hello?”

“Hey,” Aaron’s voice crackles through the line, distant yet filled with warmth. “Just wanted to check in. How’s Jack doing?”

Your throat tightened as you listened. 

“Mr. Hotchner…”

“Yes?”

“Mr. Hotchner…” your fingers gripped the phone tightly as you let out a strangled sob. “I... I can’t find Jack. We– we were playing hide and seek, and now he’s gone. I’ve looked everywhere,” warm tears flowed down your cheeks as you continued, your voice trembling. “I’m sorry. I’ve been l-looking… I swear. I’m really sorry.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end, and you can almost hear Aaron’s heartbeat sync with your frantic pulse. You braced for the incoming screams, expecting him to ridicule your incompetence. After all, you’ve always thought of Mr. Hotchner as someone who never hesitates to pinpoint someone’s inefficiency. Maybe today you’ll have enough luck to prove your theory.

But in a calm voice, Aaron Hotchner said softly instead, “Alright, I need you to stay calm for me, sweetheart. Are you sure you checked everywhere?”

“Y-yes, sir,” you sniffed quietly in relief, rubbing your nose and the tears streaming down your face. “Everywhere. The cabinets, the cupboards, h-his toy box…”

A brief silence fell with that, and you bit your lip in embarrassment. “His toy box? You don’t suppose he’s gonna fit in there, do you?” Aaron sounded like he was trying not to laugh. What a silly, little girl.

“T-that’s not the point, sir!”

“Did you check the front door? Is the back door locked?”

“Yes. I always make sure to lock it.”

“Have you checked my office then?”

“N-no…” you drawled in confusion, frowning as you went back to biting the edge of your nail. “Should I?”

What kind of question is that? Why would you even go there? That’s the only room in his house that you don’t welcome yourself. Mr. Hotchner may have never told you so but you’re fully aware of all the confidential documents he’s storing inside. You can’t afford to be thrown in jail for obstructing a case because you have mistaken a case file as trash and thrown it out.

“It’s worth a look. Jack likes playing in there when I’m working,” Aaron’s tone suddenly shifted, his voice turning quiet as he started with his order. “There’s a wooden crate beside my desk, check that first.”

You hesitated. “But, I don—”

“Just check, sweetheart, please,” Aaron interrupted, gently but firmly as always. “I trust you.”

The sincerity in his words cut through your anxiety. Aaron trusts you. So you took a deep breath and nodded to yourself before stepping out of his son’s room.

“Jack, you really scared her. You know you’re supposed to come out when you’re called, right?” Aaron’s firm voice filled the kitchen moments later.

Jack glanced at you as if feigning confusion. As you know him well, he was obviously thrilled with the chaos he caused. You sat beside him at the kitchen table, eyeing the little devil while you prepare your own food, listening to his father’s reprimand. Jack’s legs swung back and forth under the table, excitedly munching on a sandwich wrap you made for his lunch.

“I was just hiding, Dad. It’s hide and seek, that’s what I’m supposed to do.” Jack’s small brows furrowed like his father’s as he looked down at his plate.

“Yes, I know, buddy,” A soft sigh rang audible through the line. “But it’s just a game, you can’t hide so well that no one can find you. It’s important to keep everyone safe, especially when I’m not there.”

Jack’s lower lip jutted out even further. “But that’s the point of the game, Dad. Players need to hide well.”

“Yes, buddy, but what I’m saying is…” Aaron sighed again, struggling to weave a perfect explanation for his son. “Everything fun should be done in moderation. You scared her, and me, because we thought something bad happened to you.”

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

“Thank you, buddy, but I don’t think I’m the one you should be apologizing to. You made her worry.”

“I...” Jack stopped chewing, looking at you with wide, innocent eyes. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to win.”

The scolding seemed to have hit its mark, and you reached over, ruffling the little guy’s hair. “It’s okay, honey. Just don’t hide so well next time, alright?”

Jack stared at you and nodded solemnly, but then his pout deepened. “Dad grew his beard. I don’t like it.”

You suppressed a smile, glancing at the phone where you could see Aaron’s face on the screen. Despite the grainy connection, you can see the dark shadow of a beard on his jawline. 

Aaron chuckled at what he heard, the sound of his deep voice humorous. “I had to, buddy. It’s hard to shave here every day.”

Jack shrugged as he took a big bite of his food. “You look like a bear.”

“What?!” Aaron said incredulously.

“You should shave, Dad. We’re gonna look like Masha and the Bear when you come home.”

You bit your lip to hold back a laugh, shaking your head.

Only if you were asked, you’d say how the full beard really absolutely suited Aaron. Now he looked rugged— a stark contrast to his usually neat and well-kept appearance. Regardless, he seemed to look even more handsome and manly. And God, he looks so fucking hot he should be put behind the bar.

But well, it’s a good thing no one bothered asking your opinion; how are you supposed to answer in front of a kid, anyway?  

You’ve always admired this man, that’s for sure. He and his neatly ironed suits, clean-cut hair, and authoritative nature had always been an incredible sight to look at— but this new look?

This.

This makes you think of lewd things in broad daylight.

“Well, buddy your best friend doesn’t seem to mind it,” Aaron caught your eye through the screen, a small smile playing on his lips. 

Crimson red dusted on your cheeks with the teasing, but you managed to smile back. “Uhuh, it’s not so bad, Jack. Maybe you’ll get used to it.”

Jack scrunched his nose but didn’t argue any further. Instead, he picked up his sandwich again and took a big bite. You shook your head in amusement, holding Aaron’s gaze on the screen briefly before you had to look away because...

That damn fucking beard.

“Alright, I also have to grab some dinner now,” Aaron said after a few beats of silence. “Jack, be good for her, okay? She might run away if you continue scaring her. We don’t want that, do we?”

Jack nodded, still chewing. “Okay, Dad. No more.”

“I love you, buddy.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

“And you,” Aaron’s voice softened even more as he addressed you, a soft crinkle present in his eyes. “Thank you. For everything.”

You could only nod, and smile, and look away as your heart pounded against your chest. “No worries. Keep safe, Mr. Hotchner.”

He gave you one last look, his eyes filled with warmth and something you couldn’t decipher, before the call disconnected. With a sigh, you looked back at Jack, who was already reaching for a second sandwich wrap, mumbling about how his father would soon end up like Hagrid.

The soft click echoed in the quiet house as you closed the door behind you. You slipped off your high heels, groaning and wincing in pain, before dropping your keys into the bowl on the console table. The house feels emptier than usual, with Jack spending the night at his Aunt Jessica’s. It was a setup that she and Aaron agreed on before; to let Jack stay overnight every Friday and go home by the afternoon the next day.

As you make your way down the hallway, it doesn’t escape your notice that the kitchen lights are open. You weren’t expecting anyone to be home, not at this late hour anyway, and the sight stopped you in your tracks. Burglar was your first thought.

So naturally, you took several tentative steps closer, peeking around the corner.

Surprise flickered across Aaron’s features as he noticed you, quickly masking it with a strained smile. He was standing by the kitchen island, a half-finished bottle of brandy open.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice rougher than how you remembered months ago, “I didn’t know you’d be back so soon.”

“I should say the same to you.”

You had no idea he’s coming home today. His travel-worn face was illuminated by the warm kitchen light; a glass of amber liquid swirls in the rock glass in his hand. While his eyes were shadowed with something unreadable, never leaving yours. 

You manage a small smile in return, though it feels heavy. “But yeah, the date ended earlier than expected.”

Not just the date but your entire evening hadn’t gone as planned, and you can still feel the weight of disappointment tugging at your shoulders.

Aaron nodded but didn’t say anything about it.

Silence settled between the two of you. His eyes flickered to the drink in his hand, while he took a slow sip, as if buying time. You didn’t dare glance away as you stepped further into the kitchen, leaning against the counter in front of him.

“I didn’t know you’d be home today. How was your trip?” you asked, genuinely curious but also eager to fill the void.

He shrugged, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “Busy. Tiring. The usual.” His gaze returned to you, lingering a moment too long. “You okay?”

The concern in his voice was unmistakable. You nodded, but the gesture also felt hollow. “Yeah, just... you know, one of those nights.”

Aaron’s jaw tightened slightly, and he looked away, staring into his glass. “Want to talk about it?”

You hesitated, not sure if you’re ready to unpack the disappointment just yet, and also considering the fact that he must be tired from his flight. But there’s something in Aaron’s presence that you always found comforting, you just had to go on.

“Maybe later,” you said softly, wandering your eyes around until it landed on the wine shelf. “Can I join you?”

He nodded without hesitation, watching you in silence as you grab a bottle of wine from the rack. Aaron’s eyes met yours again as you settled back, and for a moment, something flickered in their depths— something that makes your heart skip a beat.

Aaron’s eyes were focused on you as you set the bottle on the counter and reach for the corkscrew. The maroon silk of your dress catches the light; it was a simple one, nothing too flashy nor revealing. Just enough to accentuate your figure and compliment your skin well. You don’t understand why heat licked your neck as you became aware of Aaron’s eyes lingering on you.

With a soft pop, the cork comes free, and you pour yourself a generous amount. You took your own seat on the barstool. And with your slow movements, the maroon dress clings to your form, highlighting your curves in a way that makes Aaron’s breath catch.

He tried to look away, but his apprehensive eyes kept returning to you.

“There’s a practice game this Sunday. Jack will be happy to know you’ll be watching,” you cleared your throat, eyes focused on the alcohol swirling around the clear glass.

Aaron took a slow sip of his drink, trying to collect his thoughts, but his gaze kept drifting back to you. The dress, with its silky sheen and soft drape, made you look not just elegant but breathtakingly sexy- a fact that Aaron is finding increasingly hard to ignore.

“Yeah, I’m planning to surprise him tomorrow. Maybe we can pick him up early from Jess? Then we can grab a lunch outside.”

You gave him a smile. “Sure, sounds nice.”

As you settled deeper into the conversation, your attention narrowed down to Aaron. He’s leaning against the marble counter, the soft kitchen light casting a warm glow on him. His beard was slightly thicker than you remember, giving him an almost roguish look that you couldn’t help but find incredibly attractive. And hot.

He’s so hot.

He was clad in one of his work shirts, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms. The shirt fits him well, emphasizing his broad shoulders and the hint of muscle underneath. Even the veins running through the surface of his arm were visible. 

The sight makes your heart flutter, and you found yourself admiring the way he looked tonight, with a brandy glass cradled in his big, calloused hand. You wonder how it would feel to have those strong hands grip you tightly, his fingers playing with your pussy, his lips on your neck.

“So,” Aaron’s voice snapped you out of your reverie, “how was the date?”

You took a sip of your drink, the question making your chest tighten again, but you answered lightly. “It was... okay, I guess? Not what I anticipated, though.”

His eyes are on your face, but they keep flickering to your dress, tracing the line of your collarbone, the soft curve of your shoulder. “What happened?”

“He was nice and all… but I don’t know…” Aaron nodded as you struggled recalling the events of evening, and you can tell he wants more details. “It’s just awkward, as always.”

“Did you go anywhere special?”

“We went to that new Italian place downtown. Dave said the food was great so I wanted to try…” you swirl the wine in your glass, watching the dark liquid catch the light. The movement makes the dress shimmer, and Aaron’s gaze follows the motion, almost mesmerized. “I just thought it’d be better, you know? It’s our third date, anyway.”

Aaron’s gaze softened, and he took a sip of his drink. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks. Well, that’s what happens, I guess,” You smiled, feeling a bit more at ease.

“Yeah,” his eyes traveled from your eyes to your lips, then back to your eyes. “But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence, the tension from earlier slowly dissipating. Aaron’s eyes lingered on you before finally, he spoke again, his tone light but his curiosity evident. 

“Did he at least appreciate the dress? You look... incredible tonight.”

A blush warmed your cheeks, making you giggle to yourself. “He did compliment it, but I don’t think he noticed much beyond that.”

“He’s an idiot then,” Aaron said quickly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. Then he looked down, a hint of embarrassment coloring his features. “I mean, it’s a beautiful dress, and it suits you really well.”

The compliment made your smile grow wider.

“You’re looking pretty good yourself,” your cheeks heat up as quickly as you realize what you’ve just said, but you don’t think you have to take it back. “Pakistan’s that rough?”

“You could say that,” Aaron’s eyes flickered with surprise and a touch of pleasure. He straightened slightly, a small, almost bashful yet equally beautiful smile playing on his lips. “I’m pretty sure Jack will volunteer to shave this beard off.”

“But it suits you…” you murmured mostly to yourself, your eyes tracing the line of his jaw and the way the beard added a certain depth to his features. “He’s just teasing you.”

Aaron chuckled, running a hand through his hair, a gesture that draws your attention to the subtle flex of his muscle. “Yeah? I wasn’t sure if it was too much.”

“No, it’s perfect,” you replied, your voice softening. “Makes you look... distinguished.”

He took a slow sip of his brandy, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity of his gaze makes your pulse quicken, and you find yourself caught in the moment, drowning in his presence and the wetness slowly pooling in between your thighs.

“So you like it?”

Oh, you love it. “Yes.”

Aaron stepped a little closer, settling beside you as you glanced up at him from your seat. The scent of his perfume, mixed with the subtle hint of brandy, filled your senses. His eyes flickered down to your lips, then back up to your eyes.

“Tell me about your date,” he said, his tone teasing, but there was an edge of something more in his eyes.

“There’s not much to tell,” you said with a laugh, your voice catching slightly. “It was just... dull and boring.”

“Dull? How so?”

“Just…” you bit your lip lightly, shaking your head as you smiled up at him. “You know.”

“I can’t say I know, doll. Use your words.”

Your heart raced but you didn’t look away. Instead, you stared back at him with the same intensity, blinking through your eyelashes almost innocently. “He… he doesn’t make me feel like you do.”

A beat.

Your heart drummed wildly against your ears.

And Aaron’s eyes darkened with the invitation.

“And how do I make you feel, angel?” he whispered softly.

“Like you actually want me.”

“Which I fucking do,” he leaned in, his breath slowly mingling with yours. “More than you know.”

Aaron’s hand moved to your waist, his touch light but possessive. Your heart pounded wildly as you stared into his eyes.

“Show me then,” you whispered back, your voice trembling with anticipation.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” you breathed, your lips just a hair’s breadth away from his.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tantalizingly slow and deliberately teasing way.

“Aaron...” you whined, your voice heavy with need. “Please...”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t k-know…”

His grip tightened on your hips, his voice rough and demanding. “I think you’re lying, pretty girl.”

“Aaron...”

“I said,” he asked again, gruffly this time. “What do you want?”

“Want your m-mouth on me, Aaron, please...”

A quick swipe of his tongue wetted his lower lip, and a satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Good girl.”

His hand tightened on your waist, drawing you even closer. And all you knew from that second is the feeling of his hot breath against your skin.

“Aaron-” a low growl rumbled from his chest as your fingers tangled through his hair, pushing him even closer to your dripping cunt. “Tha- God, that feels good…”

Aaron hummed lightly, running the calloused pad of his palm on the soft surface of your thighs, feeling the bumps rising on your skin along with your pleasure. He darted his eyes to your face with his mouth still on your cunt, his lips nibbling your clit, watching you breathe heavily while containing the whine caught right in your throat.

When you propped onto your elbow and met his gaze, you could barely register the drunk look on his eyes.

“I’m c-close…” you whispered, pleadingly so. “Aaron… please…”

You didn’t have to say anything else. The contrast between the softness of his lips and the coarseness of his beard creates a heady, intoxicating burn. The rough graze of his beard against your inner thigh sent shivers down your spine, making you arch your back, forcing yourself closer to his mouth, to his touch; even closer to his heat.

You have never been treated this way– never had a partner who takes pleasure in pleasuring you. The warmth of Aaron’s breath fanned through your clit as he licked and prod his tongue on your entrance, feeling the burning scrape of his stubble with every movement. It’s both gentle and painful, enough to make your skin tingle and your heart race; chasing the heightening pleasure and your incoming orgasm.

“So good, doll…” he whispered roughly, encouragingly, his attention focused only at you. “Fuck, it’s so hot.”

He leaned away only for a moment, straightening his back as he quickly unbuttoned his shirt. In the blink of an eye, the sight of his muscular chest and soft stomach salivated you. You’ve known he’s hairy, but now that you saw the dark trail of hair on his abdomen down to his…

Aaron looked smug.

“Dirty girl, like what you’re seeing?”

You hummed hoarsely. “Want you, please. D-daddy?”

Aaron groaned at your words. And you noticed how his palm flew to the obvious bulge on his pants, squeezing his aching cock as if your words hurt him. Or pleased him, you don’t know. All you registered was the faint satisfaction in his smile and the glint of hunger in his piercing eyes.

He ran his palm on your thighs lovingly. “Cum on Daddy’s mouth first. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

Although he posed that as a question, you knew it was an order. And who are you to defy him when he generously licked through your folds and sucked on your clit like a starved man? He’s not devouring you like relinquishing his final meal; instead, like you are the very first meal he ever tasted and cannot get enough of. He eats you like someone will take you away from him. But even if they do, he wants to make sure it’s his mouth and big cock you’ll crawl back to.

The world seemed so far away as you let yourself drown in the pleasure, all while Aaron occasionally fucks his tongue in and out of your needy cunt.

“Close, angel?” he asked before spitting on your pussy and swirling his tongue on your clit. “You taste like heaven, baby.”

You nodded dumbly.

“You’ve no idea how many nights I fucked my fist to this thought.”

Your release inched closer, roused by his deep groans and heavy breathing. You were not even past the vulgar image of him spitting on your cunt when you felt one of his fingers gently swiping through your wetness, his touch light as a ghost, and you shuddered as you realized what will come next.

You gasped and moaned, and grabbed a fistful of his hair on both of your hands. “Need you n-now, please… enough…”

“Just one, angel. Just give me one on my tongue,” he demanded, his eyes dark with need. “You can do that for Daddy, right baby? I’ll fuck you good later, I promise.”

You clenched around his finger as he slowly slid into you, then out, slowly gaining rhythm and speed that reflected your racing heart. He thrust in and out, and in and out, until he decided you could take another finger, then another one. You’ve never felt so full, but good God if you say you didn’t fantasize about getting fingerfucked by your boss, you’d be sent to hell for lying.

He nibbled. He sucked. He licked. His fingers never once stopped assaulting your wet, squelching cunt. With every drag of his fingers and swipe of his tongue, you could hear a deep growl rumbling through his chest. And his eyes watched you, taking in the way you writhe in pleasure, the way your thighs tremble, and how your eyes welled in tears.

“Please… p-please…” you whimpered pathetically, your fingers tightening on his hair. “C-close, ‘m so close… daddy…”

“Cum for me, sweetheart. Come on, be a good girl.”

“D-daddy!” you screamed loudly when his teeth grazed your now sensitive clit.

“Fucking cum for me. Make me proud, angel.”

Your eyes rolled at the back of your head as your orgasm ripped through you. His words grew distant as it happened, showering you still with lewd praises: how good you taste, how warm and tight your cunt would be, and how he expects you to take his big cock.

“S-stop… A-” you trashed away from his grip. “Too m-much. D-daddy, no! Stop! S-stop! Too much!”

His fingers continued abusing the sensitive nerves deep inside you, groaning loudly as your walls tightened around him. “A little more, sweet girl. One more for Daddy…”

“N-no–” Tears slid down your cheeks in overstimulation, feeling the rough drag of his fingers inside your tight cunt and his lips on your clit. “Oh, g-god! I’m close again… D-daddy! Don’t s-stop, p-please!”

“Good girl, angel. Look at you... that’s it, baby.”

He trailed wet kisses along your skin as he moved upward, kneading your tits, lingering a bit longer on your hardened nipples. You haven’t gone down from your last orgasm when you already felt the tip of his cock prodding at your pulsating cunt.

You whimpered weakly, not fully aware of your surrounding anymore.

“Hey, hey…” you heard Aaron whisper, his voice soft and gentle, caressing your face lovingly as he observed your expression. “Good? Do you want to stop, sweetheart?”

You shook your head. “I will kill you if you stop.”

“Ah,” he let out a hoarse chuckle. “Yes, Ma’am.”

His pace was slow at first, achingly so and deliberate. But it didn’t last long. From laying on your back on the cold, marble kitchen counter, you found yourself bent over on the kitchen table, with Aaron’s girthy cock ramming in and out of your cunt. And all you could do was take it, moaning loudly to Aaron’s satisfaction.

“Fucking hell. Should’ve fucked this pussy long before–” he rambled deeply from behind, pistoling his hips at a brutal pace. “You like this, huh? You like Daddy fucking your tight pussy?”

You bit your thumb as your legs trembled, but you didn’t answer.

And that’s when you felt it.

A harsh slap on your ass.

“Answer me, you fucking slut,” he drawled in between heavy breaths. “Did I fuck you dumb, huh?”

“Y-yes–” you struggled to say, trying to keep your legs steady amidst the intense waves of pleasure. “G-good… so much…”

Aaron barked an amused laugh. “Fuck. You sound so cockdrunk.”

With each thrust, you felt the familiar coil tightening on your stomach. Your words were muffled as you tried to warn him, and all that came out of your lips was a high-pitched whimper. 

Aaron’s grip on your hips hardened. “I’m c-close. Where should I cum, angel? Inside? Should I cum inside?”

“C-close…” you echoed mindlessly, not understanding a word he said.

“Do you want me to fuck a baby inside you?”

“Yes… y-yes… inside, Daddy, please....”

Tears streamed down your cheeks when you felt Aaron’s hot cum spill inside you, his thick cock throbbing. You trembled against him as you reached your own climax, your lips drawn to a silent scream as he expertly rubbed your clit through your orgasm.

“One more. Can you give Daddy one more, sweet girl?” you heard him whisper encouragingly.

With a strained moan and eyes shut tight, you finally let out a gush of release. The force was so sudden Aaron had to pull out and watch his own cum drip down your thighs. His eyes widened a fraction as he stared at the pool of wetness glistening on his kitchen floor.

And fucking hell, that felt so good.

Aaron didn’t waste a second and quickly knelt behind you, separating your weak and trembling legs carefully before running his tongue on your spent and dripping cunt. You shivered at the feeling of his beard scratching the back of your thigh but you let him, enjoying the feeling of his tongue following the trail of his own release that drips down your legs.

“Too m-much, Aaron. Please…” you plead softly, sighing as you felt his fingers spread out your pussy.

“Just a taste, angel. Can you push out more of my cum?”

He keened and hummed as he gathered his own release on his tongue. And before you even know it, he was already kissing you, watching his own cum and spit reach your waiting tongue as you innocently glanced up at him, a far-gone look on your face.

“You’re such a sweet girl,” he whispered later on as he gently laid you down on his warm bed, now wrapped in his old, oversized t-shirt and newly bathed.

He placed a chaste kiss on your forehead, and cheeks, then nose, before kissing you lovingly on the lips. “Rest now, sweetheart. I’ll take you on a proper date tomorrow.”

For tag list request, here.

Your girl finally got her energy back after taking 4 pills of Vitamin B. LOL. Sorry for the long wait! Anyway, as always, likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated. Hope you're having an incredible day and drink your water! (PS. Do you guys know I just realized I can reblog your reblogs with comments? I'm so dumb.)

Tags: @kimstills @readergf @downbad4reid @gghostwriter @elhotchner @pastelpinkflowerlife @the1boss @roseydoesypoesy @khxna @hangmanscoming @apollolynx98 @its-just-me-chey

[hatkuu]

would rly rly appreciate some kylar/visibly disturbed!pc. maybe smth adjacent to the scene where a pc with high trauma can open up to eden and vent? :0

HEHEHEHEHEH YEEESSS AND JUST LIKE IT DOES WITH EDEN IT'LL RAISE KYLAR'S DOMINANCE!!!

HURT/COMFORT (?), ANGST, PREVIOUS S/A MENTIONS, GENERAL DOL TRAUMA STUFF, KIDNAPPING AFTERMATH, GEN! READER!, M! KYLAR.

-

Kylar can't rid the tight-lipped, firey-eyed expression off of his face. You aren't telling him something - his mind races with the worst possibilities - you could be cheating, maybe you don't want him anymore and you want nothing to do with him.

There's something wrong - and no matter how he indirectly hints that you can talk to him about anything - you don't tell him a lick of information. It's ripping his insides apart, tearing flesh and muscle and stabbing at his bleeding heart. Kylar chews on his lip as he gazes at you. The heavy, metallic flavour of iron spreads throughout his mouth. Kylar can't rip his eyes away from you; his one true love, his soulmate - the one person Kylar actually gives a shit about and yet you don't look at him like you used to - his stomach twists at the horrid intrusive thoughts blooming inside his head.

Your eyes are perpetually dull, a sad grey hue looming behind them and never fading - no matter how many times Kylar counts your blinks.

Rolling his chair away from his cluttered desk, Kylar moves to sit on the edge of his bed with you. His hand quivers as he places it on top of your own. You're so cold, so very, very cold and Kylar can't stand it. He misses the gentle thrum of life from underneath your skin. He misses the sweet, careless smiles that used to paint your face.

"(Name)," He whispers, more to himself than you, but you still turn your head to face him. He can't stop staring. The glazed hue coating your gaze still remains. He can't stay quiet anymore - you are his - his future spouse, someone that he can't stand to see so... empty. The sensation of his teeth grinding against one another aches his jaw - he does it until a throbbing sensation emerges from the very back of his throat. Kylar snaps, hands clashing against your shoulders, aching-- itching to get some semblance of human emotion from you. "(Name), P-Please! J-Just tell me what happened! I-If it's something I did or if someone e-else-"

"Kylar,"

Your hands reach upward, resting themselves on top of his own as your body shakes. For the first time, Kylar cannot read your face. Your brows are furrowed, fat, hot tears forming in your eyes, and your bottom lip quivers and twitches under his gaze.

Are you afraid?

...

Of him?

"Kylar - I didn't wa-want to tell you - I was worried you wouldn't see me the s-same!"

No, the expression on your face isn't fear.

"I-I'm just sick of being in t-this town - the shit I've had to endure! I just - I don't want to do it anymore." Your head falls forward against Kylar's chest. His hands instinctively cradle the back of your skull, holding you as a lover should. He listens intentively as you continue to weep into his chest.

"A-And the only time I ever f-felt safe in this town was when you kidnapped me!"

Kylar smiles against your hair. It's sick that he feels happy that you finally confided in him. That you miss being held captive by him. He should clear out the clutter in the basement, maybe clean up his room for you to move in. He coddles you, kissing at the crown of your head, coaxing you to let it all out. "I feel so-- so filthy when I look at myself- and I can't scrub the feeling of their hands away!"

"I don't think you're filthy,"

Kylar cups your face, pulling your face from his chest to rest his forehead against your own. Tears run tracks down your cheeks, your eyes are rimmed red and your face is creased with anguish.

Kylar loves you.

"-and if it'll make you happy, I'll steal you away again..."

Kylar's hands twitch as his smile grows even larger, exposing the pink of his gums. Your bottom lip quivers again, threatening to burst outward with another sob. Before you can, the gentle peck of Kylar's lips against your own stuns you. You blink at him. Your eyes sting from the salt tinged tears that coat your lids.

"I'll protect you,"

Kylar promises it to you, he swears it like an unbroken treaty between two neighbouring countries.

"I'll make sure you don't have to worry about anything ever again."

The shape of Kylar's knife rests heavy in his back pocket as your sobs fade into soft breathing and your head rests comfortably against his chest once more. Kylar would never break a promise to you.

[saigoat]

Going off the last anon, consider post- Reek Theon so disoriented by stockholm syndrome he finds himself jerking off to memories of Ramsay.

Happy Birthday <3

An accident. It was just an accident right? The blood painted his healing skin a dark crimson, catching on scars and dripping to the cold linoleum of Robb's bathroom floor. The pain burned in that old familiar way, the sting. As his pulse pushed more of the warm liquid out, his shaking palm weakly tried to keep the flow stifled.

The shame ate at him like a festering disease, he could feel the horrible scar at his groin throb with anticipation. Usually pleasure followed pain, well if you could call what Bolton did to him 'pleasurable'. Thrumming, his heart practically leapt around in his chest, stomach sinking and his mind foggy with old habits. He could feel the nagging voice return, blooming like a poisonous flower in the back of his mind. A broken longing for the prize he'd earned for enduring suffering.

Reek, rhymes with weak, bleak, tweek, sneak

Sneaky, he despised himself. Robb was on the other side of the door, knocking gently using that tender voice that made Theon feel small like some wounded animal in need of pity.

"Theon, are you alright in there?" He cooed "We could go to the clinic?"

"It-it's okay." He choked out, "I just need a minute it's no-not that bad."

The gash was still spewing blood but that wasn't the first thing on his mind, he needed relief. Theon waited for receding footsteps, once he was sure he was alone he dropped to the floor and shed his pants. Guilt, embarrassment, fear. Even without Ramsay here he had a tyrannical grip on Reeks mind and body.

Ramsay...

His thick fingers roaming his pet's body, tracing his scars and bruises like they were works of fine art. Digging nails into the healing ones to coax more cries from his captive. As his thoughts roamed to the mildewy basement, his remaining digits prodded at his healed entrance. The saltire, rotten with his bodily fluids, the shackles for when Master needed to leave for any extended period of time, his dirty little dog bed he earned after he swallowed his lords filthy cum without throwing up. Reek pushed the first finger inside hissing at the familiar feeling of being violated. Reek was a forgetful, dim little creature. But there's one thing he could never burn from his memory.

Ramsay's heavy body pinning him down, ripping open his nethers as his unkind hands rubbed at his scar mound like it was a cunt. Whispering horrid things in Reek's ear, vivid descriptions of what was to come. Theon added another finger, stretching and pushing into himself, he could have moaned unbidden if he wasn't worried about drawing attention to his ugly charade.

How bad would it be to return? He'd give anything to go back to his basement, beg for his Masters forgiveness... Try to explain his faithful dog would never leave his side of his own volition. Perhaps he'd just take another finger and then fuck him into the dirt until he couldn't breath. He fucked himself harder on the hard tile, heat pooling in his guts and his ruined cock throbbing in anticipation.

"Cum for me, Sweetling."

Reek spasmed, spilling his seed as tears streaked his face. The cut on his arm had stopped its bleeding, but there was worse pain to endure than physical damage. He cleaned himself up and tried to keep the shame from his face as he rejoined the Starks outside.

[merchantofwhispers]

Grieving (TW: Torture, murder, manipulation, depictions of suffocation and head trauma) [ Not proofread- as usual ]

"You've made a terrible mistake."

Her voice is just above a whisper, quiet purring curling around the words as though she was speaking with love and adoration. Even the look in her eye was gentle, her lips curling into a tender smile while she approached the chair the other was sat in. Blood dripped from his nose, but he was otherwise unharmed.

"You were stupid enough to believe it." John spat defiantly, trembling as he lifted his heavy head to look up at the outline of her. Even in the dark he could make out the near-white hair and the heavy fur shrug that sat upon her shoulders. Gemina was a woman of opulence, especially in moments where a statement had to be made.

"I was." She admitted with a curt nod. Suddenly she was holding his chin, sharp nails poking at the top of his throat, but otherwise showing no signs of aggression. John squirmed in the metal chair, but it -- nor the handcuffs that bound him to the support post behind him -- gave. "I believed every word you said. I let you hold me, I let you use me, I let you fool me. How sweet that was of you to let me believe I was loved."

His labored turned to panic gasping as her grip tightened, beautifully painted claws now digging into the underside of his jaw. The more John thrashed, the deeper the claws went, and so he tried -- fairly unsuccessfully -- to hold still. "Y-You fucking bitch!" He growled through grit teeth. "Everyone-.. Everyone knows--"

"What I am? Oh yes, I know." Gemina finally released her grip and pulled her hand back to examine it, admiring the way his blood had stained the underside of her nails. "You went about telling my secrets to everyone that would listen, didn't you?" John sat silent, shoulders trembling from the pain, but he kept his head up in defiance.

She allowed that silence to sit between them as she stared down at what he'd become; she'd once admired him for that strength, for his intelligence, for his drive to succeed. What a shame that she'd fallen for his charms and that those charms had caused him to fall.

"It doesn't matter. This isn't the first or last time someone like you has broken my heart. I only wanted to know why." She started to turn away, but paused as he started to choke on rugged laughter.

"Maybe if you weren't such a stupid whore it wouldn't keep happening." He said with raw defiance. "Imagine having it all and still giving away to the first moron that talks nice to you. All your wealth, your power, that pretty little body.." John squirmed in the chair, practically shouting at her as he continued. "You're fucking worthless! You're nothing! You're a lucky whore that the old men are too attached to fucking and that's all you'll ever be! Don't you fucking get it? You're a tool, a thing to be fucking used, and god--.. That's all you want, isn't it? Just someone to make you feel fucking useful, to tell you that you're pretty, and that you aren't a fucking waste of air."

She turned slightly, eyeing him from the edge of her vision as he continued. That smile, still soft, remained in place.

"You're fucking pathetic! An ugly fucking beast willing to play house with whatever disgusting pig that'll stick their dick in you and call you cute things." John suddenly spat at her, a thick glob of blood and mucus landing on her fur shrug. The room was quiet then, only the sound of his own labored breathing echoing off the basement walls. Gemina remained still -- still smiling as she watched his chest rise and fall.

And then she wasn't still.

A horrid screeching ripped from her throat as she lunged forward, one arm ripping the shrug off her shoulders as the other slammed his head into the metal beam behind him. Whatever noise of pain he made was muffled by the shrug being shoved into his face, suffocating every available airway while he tried to thrash to get her off him.

His attempts were unsuccessful as she pushed, one leg up and pushing into his bare abdomen as all her weight was focused on keeping the shrug in place over his face. A horrible red flared out from her pupils, like blood seeping across her iris.

"Shut up!" Gemina snarled, teeth bared and jaw clenched. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" She continued shoving, bouncing his head against the beam a few more times until his thrashing stopped. As he grew calm, as did she, leaving her back in a room filled with quiet-- only now it was her own labored breathing.

Gemina slowly pulled the shrug away, revealing how it had been stained by the blood from his mouth and nose -- damp with his tears -- and looked up to see his head rolled backwards at an unnatural angle. His mouth twitched, his chest moved shallowly, but there was no light left in what she could see of his half-lidded eyes.

Another scream echoed off the walls; anguished and horrible and deranged. Fury and mourning and agony mingled together in a poisonous concoction while her body trembled. Behind her she heard the door creak open and footsteps fall in.

The soft clicking that followed was Nikolai's; he walked nearer to her, as if he were approaching a wild animal, and grabbed either side of her shoulder to slowly draw her away from the gradually dying body of someone she'd said -- only an hour before -- not to kill.

That she intended on letting him go.

That she still cared, even if he had hurt her.

"Come on.." Nikolai muttered as he held her close and pet her hair. "Let's get you home."

[what-i-call-men]

Loyalty

James Patrick March x fem!reader

Warnings: a lot of murder, cheating on multiple occasions, some sex mentions, a proposal

Request: from me Fic thought of the night- you become James’ first prodigy because you were in the hotel with your husband and ended up pushing him out the window or something (where he wouldn’t end up in the hotel) and James wants you to carry on his work but you just fall in love with his passion. I’m thinking like housewife in the 60s poisoning her husband or something. Maybe she’s running from the crime scene and hiding in the hotel. Murder suicide and when she wakes up James is just clapping

Picture credit to @copy-of-a-cheeto​

That was it, you were over his stupid screaming and fighting with you and constant harassment over how bad you were at everything. You’d had it. You were on vacation with your husband and this was the last straw after nights of fighting instead of what should’ve been a romantic get away. He currently stood beside the window, looking out to the city, and muttering about how his assistant was so much better than you in bed. It wasn’t something you didn’t know about either but this was the last straw in your book.

With a rush of rage you walked behind him, grabbing an ice pick off the bar and ran it through his back. He gasped at the sudden pain, but before he could turn around to you you were removing the pick and picking him up with the strength of your adrenaline, pushing him head first out the window onto the street in front of the hotel. You leaned out after hearing the thud of his body from the 8-story drop. As you stared down at the body on the street you felt nothing other than rage, but as soon as you turned back to your room you realized that he’s dead and you just killed him. As soon as people figured out who he was you’d be suspect number one.

You hurried to his bag and grabbed the razor out of his toiletries. Killing yourself or your husband wasn’t even the strangest part of the whole affair. The strangest part was you waking up, staring down at your bloody body in the bath tub. At first you didn’t even realize what was happening until you heard slow clapping from behind you in your room. Turning around, you saw a man dressed in a suit with a cane and an ascot around his neck. “That was quite a show deary, I’ve never seen a woman with rage quite like yours.” He said and untucked the cane from his arm to lean against it again. “If you would’ve waited a few more seconds I would’ve offered you my own knife. Or I would’ve even done him in myself.”He gestures to his cane where it unlatched the head to reveal a small dagger.

You looked at him for a second, still at a loss for words until you finally murmured out a “who are you?”. James offered his hand to you to which you took as he introduced himself. “My name is James Patrick March. I built this hotel and I was walking past and heard the commotion. Serves him right for what he did to a beautiful woman like you. He got everything that was coming to him.” James muttered as he looked out towards the window where the body had fallen right off the property but behind the building where no one would see it.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long. He makes it so hard to even carve up a chicken for dinner without imagining it was it throat. He had been sleeping with his assistant for a year but I never went to college so I could never afford leave him.” You muttered as James walked towards the door, beckoning you to follow him. You followed and he nodded for you to continue talking. “He always wanted kids but I was never able to give that to him so he would seek her out in hopes she would provide that for him.” You felt like James was protecting you and made you feel better about what had happened. It was comforting until he placed his hand in yours to lead you down the halls and you felt a wedding ring adorned on his finger.

As the night went on James helped you, making a woman from the front desk carry in the body of your husband and throw him down a chute. He also had Ms. Evers dispose of your body and your husbands things. You soon sat in what you assumed was his room at a dinner table, eating along with him as he spoke about how artful your murder was. How a murder suicide was how he died as well with Ms. Evers and how that never stopped him from killing others. As James spoke, you quickly became enthralled with how passionate he was about death and killing. You didn’t have a weird or gross feeling when he talked about it, only a passionate love for the art of murder.

As days passed James had begun to taking a liking to your intrigue, in his murders. He began to show you the ropes of his preparation towards murder, the gory treasures he took from those he killed. On a trip you two took around the hotel on one of these days, he seemed particularly exited as you followed behind him past the bar and down a flight of stairs. “Mr. March I wanted to thank you for helping me out of my situation.” You spoke towards the man before you as he walked ahead of you.

“It was no problem dearest, I built this hotel as a safe haven for my hobby. A body is the least of its concerns.” He went on as you walked behind him. “May I ask where your wife is?” You asked and he faltered for a moment before stopping his walking and turning to you. “She’s none of your concern dearest.” He said and then continued walking, you falling a bit behind before he moved on to show you the torture chambers in the basement of the hotel. Surprisingly you weren’t weak stomached as he spoke eloquently about everything. Instead you held onto his elbow as he lead you around.

Something still felt wrong with him wearing a wedding ring and yet no talk of his wife or even a hint of her being around him. You’d been with him pretty much all of the last few days and he didn’t even have women’s things in his room to hint she lived there. “I have a surprise for you.” He said and you turned after hearing a door close behind you. Ms. Evers stood with a man and woman being hauled in behind her. “He’s just like your husband. He’s here today with his mistress because they chose to run away together. I thought this might excite you.” James said and the couple was thrown before you, gagged and tied.

You paused for a moment. You saw fear in both of their eyes. This woman was years younger than the man and he had grey littered through his hair. “Is she your assistant?” You spoke to him harshly, feeling the same anger towards your husband to this man now. He looked up at you and nodded. You felt your face grow hot as James slipped something into your hand. You glanced down to see a blade, the one from the top of his cane. Looking back to the man, you stared him down as you plunged the knife into the woman’s chest. His eyes widened and he screamed behind the gag.

Soon after stabbing the woman a few times you ripped the blade out and pointed it at the man. “You ungrateful traitorous bastard of a man deserve the worst and hottest place in hell for treating your poor hardworking wife as if she were nothing! She’s not nothing. I’m. Not. Nothing.” You yelled, punctuating your last words with a stab to his chest. You now straddling his body as blood coated your front. You felt no remorse. You in fact felt relief and you only felt better when James scooped you up and praised you. He ended his praise with a kiss to your lips. One that lasted a few moments as your heart dropped in your chest.

Nothing was really the same after that. James would ring your room every time a new man came in with a mistress and you would show up to their room usually with a knife behind your back. And every time you returned to James with blood splatter across your face and dress he would kiss you and help clean you off. You loved the praise he gave you but you knew you’d become his woman on the side. You’d never even slept with him but you still felt bad every time his wedding band touched your arm.

It wasn’t until he’d invited you to a dinner with him and his wife was there that you had truly met her. “Y/n, dearest, this is my wife Elizabeth.” He said as he gestured to the other woman at the table. She was a major juxtaposition in comparison to him. She was more into the times with her fashion, beautiful blonde hair swept across her face. “I’m so happy you could join us. I wanted to talk to you about your relationship with James here.” She patted a seat near her as James nudged you forwards. You sat nervously beside her, her aura oozing confidence and radiance.

“I want you to know I know everything you do for him and that him and I have an open arrangement for him and i to do as we please. Because I am the living owner of the hotel I keep the name and the legality of what we had, but none of the love he had for me.” She said and placed her hand on yours. “If you’d like to keep him company in the romantic sense I will be all the more supportive of your choice.” She added.

From that night on your relationship with James become more gory. Now instead of kisses and praise. You two would kill together in the hotel, then make love on the sheets stained with the blood of the adulterous couples. James was a rough man but you were just as commanding which he loved. He became so infatuated with killing with you, he invited you to a dinner he had which he coined “Devils Night”. It was his birthday dinner which initially was you and Him alone, but as the years went on he found others he deemed more impressive than you.

These others were alive and he coached them to kill for him in the outside world. It wasn’t until John that you had truly become fed up with these new guests, each one more horrid than the last. When John came around you wanted nothing more than to kill him along with Sally. He took up all of James’ time. You had turned to Elizabeth for comfort which she welcomed with open arms and bare chest. Sure it was taboo to sleep not only with her husband but also with her. It brought a new flame to your existence to find comfort in her arms at your shared loss in the murderous man. It wasn’t until she announced to you she planned to marry again that you grew excited again.

“James will not take it well. I’m telling you now so that you can swoop in to comfort him. I see how in love with him you are and how passionate he is about killing with you.” She said as she lit up her cigarette, the two of you clad in your silk robes as you laid in her bed. “James was never enough to make me happy but he truly will be for you for eternity.” She said and you grinned. That smile didn’t leave your face until James came you to hours after their monthly dinner, his hair a mess and his cheeks red with what was either anger or tears.

You welcomed him into your room with open arms, pressing his lips to yours as you closed the door behind him. He lifted you up and brought you to your bed, muttering quietly about how he didn’t see it coming and how stupid Elizabeth’s man was for choosing her. You shut him up with your lips as you undid his jacket, throwing it on the ground as you began on his button up. He kissed along the column of your throat as you felt the fire ignite in you again. A fire that hasn’t blazed since the 70s when James had found his second prodigy after you.

He set you down and you looked up to him as he paused in thought. “There’s a couple in room 36. Can we go back to how we were?” He asked gently and put his hands on your arms, his wedding ring now missing from his hand. “I’d love to James.” You muttered and leaned up to his lips once more. The couple was no trouble, to murder. You always loved to get the men while he had no problem taking care of the women.

Moments after you were both straddling the bodies, now soaked in their blood and enjoying the adrenaline rush at its peak. You heard James say something but you couldn’t hear him over the buzz in your ears. Looking to him, you egged him to repeat his words. “Marry me. You’re the only one who truly understands me. Better than Elizabeth ever was.” He said and turned to you fully from where he kneeled on the bed. “No one is as good to me as you, you are the best thing to happen to me in this eternal life. You bring light to this dreary eternity more than completing some stupid commandments killings from my lifetime.”

He said and moved over the bodies to you where you just smiled and nodded at him. He grabbed you by the waist, letting you fall back onto the bed into the pools of blood, kissing you fervently as you grinned against his lips. The kiss tasted like so many before, coated in an iron taste and the love of this man before you, but this was different because as he pulled away he smiled down at you. “Let me help you up, Mrs. March.” He offered and you took his hand, butterflies swarming in your chest as he helped you.

[jacksons-goddess-gaia]

Wolf Rider~ Got7 Werewolf x Reader Chapter 1

❖ GOT7, Jinyoung x reader

❖ Series, Angst, Fluff, Werewolf AU, Alternate Universe AU

❖ TW: Blood, Gore, abuse, knives, guns, alcohol, kidnapping, violence, non major character death, and torture

❖ wc: 3488

❖ Tag List: @atiny-piratequeen @atiny-dazzlinglight @queen-of-himbos @angel0taiyo @storytimedragon @gettin-a-lil-hanse @kimnamshiks @wonderland-obsession

❖ Masterlist ❖

. ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

I would love to hear what you guys think <3 

. ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

You huffed, gritting your teeth as you dragged yourself across the floor to the cage. The big black wolf growled low in its chest, though, it seemed less from warning you and more out of concern for your wellbeing. Nails tearing as they dug into the concrete floor, blood dripping down your leg as the movements caused your wounds to reopen. Your brow furrowed with pain, the tear-stained pathways cutting through the layer of dirt and grime that marred your beautiful face. 

But you ignored him, dragging yourself to the edge of the cage, finally reaching the wolf who had been your companion in this hell hole for the last few nights; though how many nights had come to pass you didn’t know. 

They had brought him in after you, jeering at him for falling into their hands so easily.  When his sight landed upon you slumped against the wall he had broken loose. You had been fading in and out of consciousness at that moment, so you had only vague memories of him tearing apart three of the men as he placed himself between you and them. You had blacked out not long after waking up to an injured wolf watching you with helpless whimpers. 

One of the men had dragged you to your feet, shaking you in his face, a knife pressed to your neck. The man's voice rose, yelling something about “her getting it” if he didn’t act like a good boy. You were too delirious, unable to understand how he expected the giant creature to understand him. As you opened your mouth to voice these doubts you could see the nearly human-like desperation and fear in the creature’s eyes as he whimpered, snarling as you were struck harshly in the stomach making you drop to the ground heaving and gasping for air. More words were exchanged as someone barked orders before you were dragged back to the other side of the basement they were keeping you in, throwing you into the wall to crumple down upon yourself in a heap upon the dirty floor.

Since then, you only saw them when they moved you. You would be forced upstairs and allowed to use the bathroom before they shoved you into a van riding to their next destination. Once there, they would throw you into the basement or shed with him, forcing him into his cage again with a simple threat towards you.

As if he understood, he never put up a fight ensuring your safety as he limped into the cage, injured, starved, and aching.

Many times you had protested this, protested the horrid chain they kept on the giant iron collar around his neck. The blows they delivered to him or the kicks and beer bottles they chucked at him and his cage. But he never reacted to them, not until they’d turn their torment upon you. It was one such game that had ended with your leg as it was now when you protested their taunting towards him with food. How you had become so brave in the face of your captors and imprisoners you knew not, but fury filled your veins with each word or action against the beautiful creature. 

You wanted to protect him, as he had tried you. Protect him and free him from this horrible place even if it costs you everything. Thus why you provoked the man to turn his attention from the wolf to you despite the fear pounding in your chest. 

His blows had nearly knocked you senseless, your lunch leaving your stomach and blood blossoming in your mouth as he split your lip and bruised your eye. Nothing compared, however the agony that seized you when he drove the knife deep into your thigh. This, at last, had drawn a scream from your lips as he had wanted, though it also drew a roar of rage from your friend and he threw himself against the bars of the cage.

This brought down the others to the room, they punished the wolf first, much to your cries to leave him alone. Watching you attempt to claw your way forward to them to stop them, the man laughed twisting his knife in your flesh before ripping it free. Your yells of agony whipped the wolf into a frenzy biting and throwing himself against the bars. Despite their attempts to keep him at bay with the electric probs and whips, it wasn’t until a man you didn’t recognize arrived that everything calmed down. Though beaten and injured the wolf never ceased his low growl at him, especially as he came near you; through your tear-filled and swelling eye, you couldn’t make out his face hidden by a mask and glasses. 

The next few minutes you were bandaged, the cage was left alone finally and the man who had damaged you so badly had been killed. Shot by their boss before your very eyes, yet you felt no better. It seemed touching the merchandise as he called you was off the table.  

You were once again left alone with a tray of food, saving your dinner you dragged yourself across the room.

“Here eat this.” You murmured to your protector offering him a kind smile as the horse-sized wolf just watched you in befuddlement. As your hand slipped through the bars you never wondered if he’d bite you. In fact, had he so chosen so, his giant jaws would have easily snapped your arm off in one bite.

The plate of cold sandwiches was barely a morsel for him and probably unappetizing, which seemed true as he tried to use his nose to nudge it back to you. But you shook your head.

“If we’re going to get you out of here you need your strength.” you urged him pushing it back closely. For some reason you didn’t feel the need to treat him like a normal animal, something inside you just believed he’d understand you. And as he rolled into a sitting position you knew he had. He snuffled you once through the cage and you smiled at the small whine of gratitude before he munched down on the sandwiches. Gosh, he looked so cute taking teeny tiny bites as though attempting to hold back in front of you. You giggled at the sight of a monstrous predator eating with manners. Grabbing the bars of the cage you hauled yourself up grimacing with pain as your leg seared with agony. 

His sharp eyes missed none of it, stopping to look up at you, a low rumble of what you took to be concern leaving his chest. Leaning against the steel bars of his cage you grinned at him offering your hand up for him. Deep intelligent brown eyes glittered as he leaned forward to sniff you again softly before butting his head beneath your hand, eyes closing in bliss.

Never before had you felt such warmth, such deep connection with any other being as he put his head against your hand, his broad head rubbing against you and the bars of the cage. 

Enveloping you in soft fur; the smell of pine trees, ocean, and mint hit you all at once. Your eyes fluttered shut as you found yourself leaning into him through the cage. Your arms were wrapped around his broad head and neck, face buried in his neck as you squeezed between the bars. From his earlier tantrum, they had bent, nearly enough for you to slip through completely if only you would turn your body slightly, not nearly enough for him though. However, that thought slipped your mind as a wonderous world of peace and happiness filled your mind and soul. 

So much so you never realized the wolf's neck had suddenly become much smaller until a pair of arms wrapped around you.

Jerking your head up you were shocked to come face to face with the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes upon.

“Hello, Kitten.” had it not been for that warm fuzzy feeling still permeating your every sense you might have screamed at the naked man before you, looking at you with the most tender gaze. As though he had found all the stars in the sky and each was more beautiful and delicate than any creature known to man.

“Wha-” his thumb brushing over your lips sent shivers of pleasure down your spine; a shuddery gasp leaving your throat, tingles racing across the skin from his touch. The feel of his warm hand against your cheek nearly lulling you into closing your eyes, a tiny smile twitched at his lips.

“I don’t have time to explain right now. But I will, first I need you to close your eyes and hold on until I tell you to open them ok?” he murmured his face so close to yours you could feel his body heat radiating off him. You nodded before realizing suddenly you were sitting inside the cage, the bars you had been leaning against bent apart and nearly torn from their spots. The man looked pleased with your compliance, giving you a real smile that took your breath away. He was more beautiful than the moon as he grinned. “Good girl kitten. Now, remember to close your eyes and don’t open them no matter what.”

At his urging you complied, a fluttering feeling bouncing around your chest at the nickname and praise. The more sensible part of you wondered where he’d come from, not to mention what had happened to the bars or how you had ended up inside. But the feeling of his muscled form in your arms quelled all thoughts; within a moment you found yourself lifted up into the air upon something large and fluffy before the wind whipped your face.

Splintering wood crashed in your ears, and bounced off your skin. Men’s yells and the sounds of furniture and bullets flying caught your attention, but you squeezed your eyes tight, burying them in the soft fur beneath you as you surged forward into an unknown world of conflict and noise.

Minutes later you were out in the rain for only rain could it be soaking you in an instant, yet you felt no cold. The being beneath you radiating enough heat that you merely felt a coolness in the wet of your jacket and hair, wind wiping your face. The sound and feel of feet pounding against earth and tree surrounded you. The smell of rain mixing with that piney, mint-scented ocean spray you had smelt earlier. Only one word coming to mind, as you held on tight bounding through the endless night and far away from your prison.

__________________________________

A hair-raising howl broke you from near sleep hours later. Still perched upon his back you had nearly passed out, however, the howl had you springing awake. And accidentally breaking his rule too. At the sight of three giant wolves running alongside you eyes focused upon your form, you couldn't resist it. A scream ripped itself from your throat as you toppled from his back. 

Hitting the ground at 40 miles an hour hurts. Hitting the ground in a forest doubly so, however hitting the ground from six feet up in the air, already severely injured was just pure agony. You toppled, rolled, and bounced before skidding to a stop covered in mud and nearly faint from pain. It felt like your leg had been ripped open all over again.That with the new cuts and bruises littering your body it was no wonder you laid dazed for a moment. Upon opening your eyes, the ringing dimmed in your ears and you wished you hadn’t opened them, to begin with. Three large wolves running straight at you. Lifting your arms over your face you screamed jumping with fright as soft wet black hair engulfed you. Pain richotted through your body as you were jostled, a horrible roaring snarl of a bark thundering above you. Seconds later all the sound ceased and you found warm strong hands lifting you up dragging you into a strong muscled chest.

“Kitten? HEy-HEY!” the hands trembled as that handsome face from before appeared above you, more afraid than before as he held you close. Long fingers pushing your wet and tangled hair from your face as you shivered from pain and cold.

“Kitten-”

For some reason the sight of his gorgeous brown eyes dark with worry and care, chiseled features dripping with rain, you broke down. Tears flooded your eyes as you tried and failed to speak. This combined with the chill quickly settling into your bones scared him more. He dragged you into him hiding your face in his shoulder.

“Shhh, it’s ok I’ve got you. Shhh.” he cooed in a pleading tone as the warmth of his bare skin seeped slowly through to you.

“Jiny-”

“You’re dead after this Yugyeom, dead.” The furious rumbling growl leaving this tender man surprised you as did the sound of three other apologetic voices. His tender voice returning, you could feel his lips move against your hair. “I’m going to carry you, it's just up here, just a few minutes I promise, hold on Kitten.”

Gritting your teeth you tried to suppress the scream of agony as he lifted you into his arms.

“I’ll carry her-” but the concerned voice merely received a snarl in return, his grip tightening around you. You were just conscious of a light ahead when you finally slipped into unconsciousness. 

___________________________________

Warmth, soft comfortable warmth was the first thing registering to your senses. Its soft pillowy texture brushing against your skin like a caress. A warm pine fresh smell mingling with ocean waves filling your senses with relaxation as your muscles tensed and stretched. Slowly you opened your eyes to a wonderful golden light streaming in through off white sheer curtains. You were snuggled down into a ball surrounded by fluffy pillows and a soft duvet comforter. The room was definitely masculine, dark blue linens and carpeting with modern minimalistic furnishings. The men's suit jacket draped over a chair nearby enough to confirm this was a man's room.

In your attempt to sit up to better address where you were, pain came crashing down upon your soft kingdom.

Everything hurt in some way and degree, though nothing more than your thigh. Gingerly as every move hurt you slowly pulled yourself up into a sitting position. A horrifying discovery awaited you, someone had bandaged your wounds but upon doing so changed your clothes.

Panic set in as you hurriedly checked beneath the man's shirt and to your horror realized the underclothes were also not your own. Before you could truly send yourself down the road of totally freaking out, you wracked your brain. Taking deep breaths you recalled all that you could of the escape. You could bring up everything of your escape up until losing consciousness with fierce clarity, afterward though was a muddle. 

Feint images as though through some thick haze came and went, chunks of time missing between the snippets of light. Blurred faces and a familiar voice fading in and out, pain, warmth, and a woman's scolding voice. Words of comfort and a hot bath then nothing.

The relief was foremost in your mind as you recalled the woman who had tended your injuries and bathed you. She must have been the one to have changed you, and while still embarrassing it was much better than the idea one of the blurry-faced men to have been the one. Your hair was dry plaited and smelled softly of lavender, a soothing and comforting smell. Taking in your surroundings more calmly now you could hear the low rumble of voices broken intermittently with laughter from somewhere outside the room's door.

Knowing there was no way your leg would support your weight to the doorway you gathered your courage together, checking to make sure the shirt was covering you, you swallowed before tentatively opening your lips.

“H-hey…” You wanted to shake your head at your weak cry barely loud enough to be considered talking let alone a call to reach whoever was out there. 

Thus all the more surprising as the door opened with a bang like a canon. 

“Kitten?!?” Before you knew what had happened the most handsome-faced man was before you eyes wide with concern, curved lips turned down in worry.

“Okay you’ve got to tell us is Kitten really your name?” At the cheerful, if dubious voice the man growled, turning his face away from you to glower at the smiling man.

“None of your business Jackson-”

“It’s Y/N. Y/n L/n.” His head spun back at your tentative voice expression softening.

“Y/n…” He marveled, and oh did the sound of your name on his tongue send burning heat to every part of your body, toes curling as a breathtaking smile crossed his lips. “Y/n l/n...it's beautiful it suits you.”

Color flushed to your cheeks causing you to wince breaking the spell his gaze had upon you as your eye throbbed.

“Knew her name wasn’t kitten. You owe me five bucks Bammie!” Cackled the boy by the door to another thinner young man staring at you curiously.

“Shut it.” Growled Jinyoung at them but his worried eyes never left you as your fingers felt at your swollen and tender eye.

“Don’t.” He murmured, long beautiful fingers reaching out and pulling your hands away from your face. His touch sent tingles of warmth through your skin banishing any residual pain as his warm fingers gently soothed the offending area. He was like a prince, so caring and perfect, every feature crafted by artists. A black shirt tucked into the front of his jeans hiding the muscled physique you had come only too close to and admired.

His well-put-together attire and beauty suddenly made you feel underdressed in the oversized long sleeve, and small PJ shorts hidden beneath the blankets.

“How bad is it?” You asked, for some reason suddenly even more embarrassed at your battered and bruised form in front of his princely self.

“Not bad-” but his beautiful voice was cut short by ‘Bammie’.

“It's like half a panda.” At his words, Jackson smacked him, while your jaw fell open in horror.

“See there's a mirror there!” Not seeming to learn his lesson pointed to the full-length mirror off to your left. Your Prince wasn’t fast enough to grab your face to stop you from looking at the open closet door. The sight was horrifying, your bottom lip was swollen and split, a shadow of a bruise and scrape over the one side of your jaw but your right eye and the area around it was deep purple and under your eye swollen. 

You couldn’t resist the gasp sweater paws flying up to feel over the injuries.

“OUT!” Jinyoung snarled, while he chased them in his fury slamming the door behind them, you threw off the covers. The shirt just barely reached past the microscopic shorts, revealing the massive and blood-stained bandages wrapped tight around your thigh as well as another wrapping around your opposing calf. Both tinged red with blood, the rest of your legs speckled and blotched with scrapes and bruises. You could feel your arms were not much different. 

“I’m so sorry.” Coming back to your side he looked down at your injuries with a face of guilt-filled agony. “I should have stopped sooner, warned you I just wanted to get you as far away-I’m so sorry.”

Looking over your injuries you shook your head.

“You told me to hold on and not to look, I messed up. This ugly-”

“You’re not ugly.” his voice was stern eyebrows instantly bunching together, he looked as though you had insulted him rather than yourself.

“I look-”

“Beautiful.” You would have laughed and told him not to try and make you feel better only the seriousness of his gaze as he looked down at your hands gently taking yours in his, had you at a loss for words. “A Princess.”

Then your heart exploded as he lifted your hands to his lips placing a soft kiss upon your knuckles.

“P-prin-” You couldn’t contain your spluttering as he turned that charming expression back on you. 

“Without these…” His fingers brushed over the bruise with the gentlest of touches. “You’d be brighter than the moon. A goddess.”

“I- '' unable to meet the flustering intensity of his gaze, or know what to do with the blissful sensation of his touch you backtracked. Inhaling slow and deep you braced yourself for your next question. “So you’re a werewolf, right? Because that's the only thing that my mind can come up with for everything that's happened. Outside of hallucinating or insanity. ”

Sobering up instantly at your words he nodded, eyes watching you warily the dark brown swirling in thought. 

“Are you scared?”

[heartxshaped-bruises]

------ THERE WAS A LOT to process here. Clearly, there was more than one horror scenario going through Whitney's head among other things. She wasn't alone with that. Rachel would have a fuck ton of thoughts to sort out tonight --he always thought she was the one who always got a plan while he was dithering though the days. Seeing Whitney without a clue how to handle this was like a low blow. Just like the marks on her skin. You need to be the calm one here, buddy.

       ❛❛O-Okay, I know it looks like... a lot, but we're gonna figure this out❜❜, he promised, swallowing down the looming anger that peeked around the corner again. He covered her other shoulder so he didn't have to look at the horrid reminder of his inability to prevent it. ❛❛I'm gonna call your folks and you put that on.❜❜ He got up and signed at his sweater. HIS GAZE LINGERED for a moment on her before he disappeared upstairs.

       There was another twinge of guilt as he talked to her parents, but he got done with it swift and painless, like ripping a bandaid. He promised to take her with him to school tomorrow and he thought to hear the genuine affection they developed over the past years; it made it only worse that he didn't tell them that their daughter got hurt. He felt like A BAD PERSON for it. This incident would only fester until they'd be unable to hide the wound, and everyone involved would get hurt in the worst case. What a shit show.

       When Rachel returned to the basement, his gaze immediatly found his friend again. He slowed down on the steps until he stopped, thinking. Then he sat down. Man, he had no idea how to handle this either. His emotions were all over the place. CONCERN, ANGER, SADNESS, HURT... everything from their previous fight was mixed up with this god-awful turn of events. It didn't feel right to be mad at Whitney now. But he couldn't help that he still did. What a mess. ❛❛Your parents said hi❜❜, he eventually uttered. ❛❛I told them you'll stay the night and we go to school together.❜❜ He paused, then added carefully: ❛❛Or I'll just take you home tomorrow.❜❜

Of course, Whitney knew that if Joshua had any splinter of intelligence, he wouldn’t mess with Rachel or his family— but that didn’t stop her from still having that anxiety, that piercing thought that she could cause her best friend to get hurt, more than she’s already done. It was all too much- her brain was at a constant battle for survival, logic, and pure emotion…. each tear that fell being a symbol of the turmoil on the inside. “I know, I know..” A hushed voice as small as her whole energy; she shrunk in the comforting presence of her dear friend, out of pure coping.

Even though her shoulder tensed up slightly, it almost made the girl cry more at the soft touch of Rachel’s hand— physical touch would become one of her recognized love languages, and she was aware that it was more her thing than his when it came to showing how he cared— so this was a moment where a spark of peace could be felt. Even for a moment. Her now tousled head of hair fell against his frame with labored breaths.. god, she was so tired. Tired of this whole mess- most of all, the girl just missed her friend.

With a swirling mind at his suggestions, Whitney nodded slowly, trying to piece together each thought that threatened to send a new signal of anxiety- in all reality, it was necessary to tell her parents. They would be horrified.. and ask so many questions that at the moment, really weren’t able to be answered. Shit… they should probably know where she was at, considering she was supposed to be home an hour ago.

Quickly those thoughts faded and Whitney’s watery eyes were met with Rachel’s of concern… they were twisted in concern, yes- but anger, as well. Whitney hadn’t ever felt so broken in front of him before, and she didn’t know if she had the energy to feel embarrassed quite yet, but it would be lurking as time goes on.

“What about at school?… I know he’s gonna… he’s gonna try to talk to me, he’s usually with his friends when I pass the junior hallway on my way to uh.. on my way to homeroom. fuck, when I see him Rachel I don’t know if I- I can’t let him see me cry-“

Another slight spiral as her mind came up with the worst case scenarios, whirling around taunting and prodding at any good trying to shine through. And then.. her heart sank to her stomach- of course Rachel didn’t know- how would he? She hadn’t seen him.. and now she had to show her opposite shoulder, where an obvious trace of fingernail scratches were swelling and stinging her olive skin. Whitney didn’t even want to look at him, or show him for that matter, but it was time he knew what had been going on. She was safe - she was with Rachel, and safe.

“This- this is from the other day. Tried to grab me when I told him I needed to leave.. I’m.. I’m so sorry- I never wanted you to know.. Rachel I didn’t think it would be like this..”

Honestly, she just wanted to put on his sweatshirt and forget about the nasty marks on her skin, to rest in the safe haven that was his home.. but the rolled up sleeve displayed more evidence of something truly awful- and Whitney couldn’t help but look at her friend with more tears before blurting out: “m-my parents.. they’re probably worried.. I was supposed to be home about - about an hour ago, before he kicked me out… I don’t want them to worry- could you.. I’m sorry, could you call them and let them know I’m with you..? Please?”

[ninesbey0nd]

By My Side | Lee Felix

Yandere! Lee Felix x Reader

Summary: The soft and kind-hearted Felix you thought you knew isn’t who you thought he was.

Warning(s): Obsessive Themes, Violence, Emotional Trauma

Word Count: 1k

You slapped a hand over your mouth to prevent the ragged breaths that threatened to escape. You could hear Felix’s footsteps growing louder and approaching your location. You hugged your legs closer to you, ever so slightly leaning farther backward into the shadowed crevasse you managed to escape to. A bead of sweat rolled down your face and you could feel your body beginning to tremble.

You began asking yourself, how long had it been since you had seen sunlight? When was the last time you took in a fresh gulp of air? Or felt rain against your skin? These thoughts alone were enough to keep you chasing after freedom. The footsteps subsided in the damp basement, but you knew better than to give yourself away yet. You slowly gathered what little courage you had left and began to crawl out of your hiding spot. You could practically feel terror ripping through your veins when you finally stood up.

A part of you knew he was still here, somewhere, but you had to keep going. You had barely managed to take a step or two out from your hiding place when you heard glass shattering a room over. Your head snaps around toward the noise, but stops when your eyes are greeted with the staircase.

With adrenaline now coarsing through your system and the exit in sight you bolt, making a beeline for the stairs. As you approach the top of the stairs your breath hitches when you look down. A slightly sweaty Felix skids into the stairwell, knocking his shoulder against the wall abruptly to stop his momentum. A look of frenzied horror is painted across his features.

“Please you can’t leave me alone—!”He begs, his legs already pounding up the stairs. You don’t think twice about escaping the stairwell and promptly slamming the door to the basement shut. Your hands are shaking as you twist the lock and scramble toward the front of the house. The halls are dark and narrow, leaving you nearly blindly running toward freedom. You let out a sharp gasp of pain when your hip collides with a small wooden table sitting against the wall. You wince, continuing to stumble toward the door in front of you.

As soon as your finger tips meet the cool metal handle your legs are kicked out from under you. A shriek erupts from your throat when you feel your back smack against the floor. You wince in pain, your eyes squinting open only to be met with the sight of your crazed ‘boyfriend’.

“___ you can’t leave me, I won’t let you!” His voice is quivering a few octaves above his normal tone.

You flail your legs in an attempt to distance yourself, landing a firm strike to his shoulder. He lets out a yelp, grabbing at your ankles until he succeeds and jerks you toward him.

Your upper body is yanked down into the floor, the back of your head smacking against the wood floor. Your vision blurs for a split second, and when you regain sight Felix is towering over your body. You waste no time beginning to launch punches up toward his face. Felix fights against your attacks before curling his fingers around your forearms. He forces your arms down beside your head, his weight too much to overcome.

“Why can’t you just stay by my side? Do you not love me anymore? Was I not enough?” His voice cracks with every question, his tears falling onto your cheeks. His nails dig into your arm, leaving crescent shapes indented into your skin.

You let out a cry, writhing underneath him.

“I don’t know what I did wrong— I did everything right so why would you try and leave me?” Felix sobs, his expression of despair quickly turning to rage.

“I can’t live my life like this!” You choke, tears falling from the corners of your eyes. “I want my own life away from you!” You hiss, hatred laced in your voice.

With what little strength you find left in your body, you buck your hips up, throwing Felix off of your abdomen.

When you clamber to your feet he’s already up from the ground. Wasting no time you yank the door handle toward you, squinting as the harsh sunlight floods your vision. You scream as you slam the door shut, your trembling legs lurching forward and carrying you away from the dreaded house and man that kept you hostage.

Felix throws the door open and staggers outside. It doesn’t take him long to nearly catch up with your pace. You don’t dare to look back, focusing only on the street that awaits you.

It seemed as if the universe was on your side when your eyes traveled to the lone police car that sat at the traffic intersection.

“Hel—!” You manage to speak before a pair of arms wraps around your waist and you’re dragged down onto the grass. You and Felix both scream in pain as your bodies fall into the unforgiving earth. You’re locked in another fist fight on the ground, struggling to escape the iron grip he has on you.

“Felix this is wrong!” You cry, attempting to pry his fingers off of your body.

“I won’t live without you— I won’t! I can’t,” Felix tightens his grip, pulling you closer into his embrace.

“We can go back inside the house and forget this ever happened, yeah? No more fighting?” His voice is pleading with you, he’s growing desperate.

“___ I can’t function without you— I’ll die without you,” He growls in a devestated tone.

“Without you there’s no reason for me to breathe.”

In a frantic attempt to free yourself, you roll on top of Felix, slamming your elbow into his rib cage.

He exhales sharply as the wind is knocked out of him. His arms loosen just enough for you to rip them off of you. You drag yourself away from him to widen the distance, gasping for air.

Before Felix has the chance to reach for you again, flashing red and blue lights partnered with an oddly comforting siren greet you.

I know my writing is rusty + and I quickly wrote this but heRE have content :,))

((pls dont clown me for my horrid writing))

Part 2 maybe??

[neverendingparable]

KuroŌji

This wouldn’t leave my mind until I wrote it. Inspired by the fact that no matter how cool a black butler AU would be, there’s no way Phobos would go around serving a human being (probably?). And so...

@sassycompanions

TW for mentions of torture through sleep deprivation, death, and demon shenanigans.

Sleep deprivation did all kinds of things to you.

He knew it well by now, the familiar agonizing ache of forced wakefulness, how it felt like to be so tired he wanted to sob or whimper or beg for mercy.

But the experiments kept on going, relying on his unwilling participation to find and remove whatever obnoxious part of the human mind robbed society those precious eight hours of their lives.

If they could cure sleep, they would change the world. And get very, very rich. And that sort of purpose is enough to dismiss a few human lives no one would truly mourn for.

Hallucinations were common. They twisted at the edges of his vision at first, then crept closer, getting bolder and more frequent. He'd hear breathing next to his ear and see no one there when he'd turn his head. Or the soft murmur of voices roused him from his miserable thoughts, lingering even when he'd focus.

Sometimes he'd like to imagine they were his shadowy friends, unable to help other than keeping him company for however long he had left. Or he'd imagine this was a horrid nightmare he could wake up from, that the cage and the needles and the never ending torture for the sake of science were nothing but a mean trick his mind was playing on him when in reality he was tucked away safely in some bed, safe and loved, the real world's whispers seeping into his dreams.

But as vivid as they were, they never interacted much with him, their shapes disappearing when he'd grasp at them.

So when one night, one of the shadows reached through the bars of his cage and gave him a curious prod, he knew something was off.

The sudden touch startled him so badly, he nearly leapt across the cramped space to get away from the shadowy hand whose owner, a dim face half visible in the darkness, was now watching him with amusement.

They stared at each other for a couple of moments.

This is a vivid dream, he thought finally.

Ah, not quite~ a voice responded in his head. It was melodic, with a hint of an accent he couldn't quite place. None of the previous voices were this coherent.

I've gone insane, haven’t I? Took long enough, I suppose.

Darling, you're not even halfway there yet.

The experiment closed his eyes and shook his head fiercely. When he opened it again, the shadow hadn't disappeared.

You're still here?

Did you think it would be that easy?

Who are you?

The shadow's smile stretched wider, inhumanely so and despite all the horrors he had gone through before, the sight struck him with dread.  Its voice scratched on the inside of his mind like fingernails on bone, making him shudder.

เ ค๓ ץ๏ยг ฬ๏гรt ภเɠђt๓คгє

He wanted to scoff, laugh and tell the shadow it was a little too late to the party. But then it twisted its form, for just a minute, and the face that leered out from behind the shadows made his heart stop in terror. A beat later it was back to being indistinct, floating between the cage bars, amused at his ever growing fear.

Have you come to kill me? He thought, unsure what answer he was hoping for.

No, it grinned back.

Then...

Don't you remember? You called me. You want to make a deal with the ๔єvเl, you foolish human.

But don’t you see that no matter they do to you, เ ςคภ ๒є ๓ยςђ ฬ๏гรє~?

It prodded his forehead with a shadowy finger and he believed it. The experiments here could break his body  before his spirit but this...demon, it could reach into his mind and cut the very cords that tethered him to sanity. It could probably rip his soul out if it wanted to.

But it was looking for something. It wouldn't have come just to kill an abomination that would be dead in less than a few weeks. He felt another thing right then, something more painful than the hellish torment his body had endured and with this tiny flame of hope burning inside of him, he reached out and asked to be saved.

Protect me, he begged. And I'll serve you however you want.

The being reached into the cage and he placed a hand in its cold palm. It seemed pleased.

We have a deal.

                                            ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

"Just kill me already, please." Mason moaned, staring at the list of tasks he had just been handed with a mix of despair and annoyance.

Rooms to clean.

Supplies to stock up on, which meant a trip into town.

Writing and sending off letters address to various partners of his Lord, shady or dangerous people who dropped off packages and signed contracts even he didn't get to look at.

Tending to rose bushes, watering the garden, just to name a few.

"Tsk, that would go against our contract." Came the reply, filled with feigned indignance.

Mason's head snapped up and glowered at the man lounging on the regal couch, watching him with obvious mirth.

A butler who complained about work was worthless in most households and would be replaced by yes men who followed every command with a docile bow. But that would be too boring, wouldn’t it?

His Lord allowed him the occasional grumble without any severe reprimanding because Phobos took great delight in his suffering and never missed an opportunity to point out how serving a high maintenance prince was a hell of a lot better than rotting away in some moldy cage.

He was right, of course.

"I restocked this yesterday!" Mason continued regardless. "And we don't have any guests over for at least another week, why do I need to clean the rooms out now?"

"You can't possibly know that," the prince replied, calmly picking up a porcelain tea cup with a graceful hand. "I may be expecting guests."

"Shouldn’t you tell me then? Seeing how I am your butler and need to know if we are expecting company?"

"Ah, do you?" Phobos' eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. "It seems like you spend more time arguing and whining than being useful."

Mason opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"Of course, my Lord." He sighed, giving him a disingenuous bow. "I apologize."

Phobos dismissed him with a wave that meant 'now don’t bother me again unless it has something to do with food, wine or actual entertainment' and Mason withdrew back into the kitchen to check with Charlotte if they have enough food for any surprise visits Phos the future threw at them.

(He was convinced that Phobos sometimes threw impromptu balls just to watch him scramble around desperately arranging catering and schedules at last second.)

When the shadowy figure had first pulled him out of that hell hole, Mason had expected a lot of things. A culling, perhaps. Hell. A place of punishment.

Instead, he got a butler costume, his name back and a grand, luxurious dark castle to look after, spoiled prince included.

Learning to serve was hard but Phobos refused to go easy on him, giving him elaborate instructions of how he wanted things and forcing him to spend hours perfecting the chores. When Charlotte eventually came into their midst, he was happy to hand over the cooking to someone else.

Mason never figured out why the prince kept them around - maybe out of loneliness or boredom or a hidden sinister plan yet to be discovered - but he kept up his end of the deal.

A few times, someone came for Mason. Their bodies never left the castle and he burned the remains in the basement's hearth.

Months after his rescue, a rich doctor stopped by for a visit. He had only one servant along, a sickly looking maid with hollow eyes. What had happened behind closed doors was unknown to them both, but when Mason came to serve tea, he found the doctor, lying in a pool of his own blood. He had sent the maid back into the kitchen before she could see the mess and wordlessly cleaned the blood off his Lord's hands.

Thus Charlotte joined their little party.

Mason learnt a few things about Phobos too, in the time they spent together. 

He had a different name, once upon a time and a past he spoke of occasionally with a hint of derision and disgust. He had been a powerful tyrant, reflected in the way his guests spoke in his presence. He had a curse that tore him apart and left him exhausted, his room always smelling faintly of blood afterwards. None of Mason's questions were ever answered directly, so he learned to keep spare bed sheets and healing flasks at hand, knew how to recognize the signs of pain when his Lord was too proud to ask for help and ended up on a first name basis with the witches in town in his search for a cure.

You can't cure a demon, Phobos mocked him constantly. 

Mason disagreed. 

If a soul could be redeemed by a deal with the devil, then he felt quite confident of attempting the impossible.

[darkmulti]

Jealous pt.2

professor!Wooyoung x stepdad!San x female reader

Ugh, I just read the first part of jealous and omg🤮 the writing and storyline is horrid. So I’m def not gonna write a part 3 and will write another woosan smut. Also I’m not gonna write incest anymore, unless someone request it.

⚠️Warnings: incest, threesome, overstimulation, spanking, daddy kink, dirty talking, cum play, oral (fem and male receiving. I went wild on this one), spitting, marking, anal, double penetration, degradation, squirting

Last part was non con, but this is not. But again, no matter what, please read warnings and

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

Also wash your hands and stay inside. We don’t want no corona here❣️🥺

——————————————————————————

“Thanks for driving me home Wooyoung. Are you sure you don’t want to come inside?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to my place?”

“Smooth, but I’m afraid San will-”

“San? What about San?”

“He lives here. My mom and him are married.”

“Wait, you both weren’t joking?”

Wooyoung's jaw dropped and he furrowed his eyebrows.

“San is actually your step dad?!”

Wooyoung freaks out and squirms around in his seat.

“Uh, yeah. Why do you think I didn’t want to have sex with him?”

“Y/N I’m so sorry, I honestly didn’t know that. I swear to god, I thought you both were joking. I’m- oh my god I’m so sorry.”

You giggle at Wooyoung's reaction. He was so shocked it was hilarious.

“It’s okay. I know exactly how you can make it up.”

————

“Y/N this is not what I imagined.”

You take Wooyoung's hand in yours and pull him to the basement. The basement was soundproof so you didn’t have to worry about alerting San.

“Then what were you imagining?”

“That kitty of yours is still needy? Huh, what a dirty little girl you are.”

“Just for you daddy. I’m craving your cock.”

You purr out, and look at Wooyoung seductively. You bite on your bottom lip and wrap your arms around his waist, then bring your face closer to his. Both of your breaths were hitting each other’s faces.

“Kiss me.”

You whisper out, looking into his dark, lustful eyes.

Wooyoung immediately attacks your lips with his own and pushes you against the door, slamming and locking it. His lips flatten yours and he pushes his tongue in your mouth to taste your last meal.

He starts to rip your clothes off, and touches your body everywhere.

“Mmh daddy.”

“Little Angel craving for my touch too?”

“Of course! I love it! Please keep touching me!”

You said desperately. You lean back on the door, panting as Wooyoung goes down placing hickeys all over your chest.

“Lingeries are so overrated. They can be sexy, but your nude body is sexier.”

“You're overrated.”

You said sarcastically, but Wooyoung didn’t take it like that. He stops touching you, and grabs the base of your jaw making you look at him.

“I’m sorry, but you're the one over here desperate for my cock and attention. Am I wrong? Apologize to me now!”

“I’m sorry.”

You said carelessly. Wooyoung then lays a hard slap on your face, leaving a handprint on your now red face.

“Say it like you mean it. When I ask you to do something you do it properly the first time. I don’t like to repeat myself. Do you understand?”

“Yes daddy I understand and I’m sorry.”

“Good girl. Now strip.”

You remove the remaining clothes on your body, while Wooyoung does the same to himself. He makes his way back over to you, until a knock on the basement door disrupts you.

“Y/N? Are you in there?”

It was San. The room falls quiet and you quickly respond.

“Uh yes. I’m in here.”

“Why is the door locked.”

You look at Wooyoung and give him a panicked face.

“I’m sleeping.”

“In the basement? What happened to your room?”

He questioned.

“It’s too hot upstairs so I thought I would sleep downstairs tonight.”

Lies after lies, you made up.

“That’s not necessary. Come upstairs, I’ll turn the ac on.”

“No I’m good here. But thanks for asking.”

“You sure?”

“Yes I’m sure.”

“Okay now why don’t you go ahead and unlock the door.”

“I can’t. I’m- I’m not wearing proper clothes.”

“Fine. I’m going to sleep then.”

“Okay goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You wipe the cold sweat away, and Wooyoung looks at you with a evil grin.

“Didn’t know angels could lie so well.”

“Well, now you do.”

Wooyoung grins and wraps his arms around your body, picking up where you left off. His hands knead your bare ass and give it a rough spank. You moan in the kiss, wanting more.

He then lifts you off your feet and throws you on the bed. His face goes in between your legs and he starts to tease you by licking your slit slowly and lightly.

“Daddy harder!”

Wooyoung moves and lays on the bed.

“Come sit on daddy’s face. You need a real man to eat you out.”

You throw one leg over and let Wooyoung's hands guide your hips in the right position.

“Right there. Stay there babygirl.”

Wooyoung starts to suck on your clit, then bites it lightly. You throw your head back and put your hands on his thighs, stretching your body.

“Ride my face baby girl.”

He growls and guides your pussy on his face and you start moving your hips back and forth. His tongue lays on his face while you ride him so he can taste you.

“Daddy I’m close.”

“Cum in my mouth baby girl.”

Wooyoung puts his fingers on your clit, rubbing it gently, throwing you off the edge. You squeal out, and cum in his mouth.

“Oh my god daddy. Mmh, ah fuck daddy!”

Your legs shake from the intense orgasm.

“Get on your knees, it’s my turn.”

Dropping down on your knees, you wait for Wooyoung to get up. He’s quick to do so and you don’t hesitate taking all of him in one try. Your hands massage his balls, where you felt a little piercing.

You take him out of your mouth and immediately suck on his balls, and twirl your tongue around the piercing.

“You like it? I got it recently.”

“Daddy that’s so fucking hot.”

He pets your head affectionately, and nudges you to take his dick again. Taking a deep breath, you take him in and suck harder. You force his dick down your throat and choke on it just for him.

You cough it up, bringing your mouth back to the tip, sucking it lightly.

“Fuck, do that again darling!”

He groans out, in pleasure and once again you deepthroat him, bring his tip up into your mouth and suck on it like a popsicle. Your hands massage his balls and finally Wooyoung strokes his dick and cums all over your face. His fingers spread his cum all over your face, making him feel so powerful.

“Fuck darling. You look so fucking beautiful with my cum all over your face.”

Wooyoung picks you up and places you on the bed, underneath him.

“This is what you’ve been waiting for.”

His dick slides into your wet and sensitive core and your mouth hangs open. This gave Wooyoung a wonderful opportunity to spit in your mouth, which he did and gives you another French kiss while his hips did the magic.

He licks some of his cum off of your face, and places a few hickeys on your neck and jaw.

You were both in the moment, but the basement door suddenly opens, startling the both of your and causing Wooyoung to stop the friction.

“I FUCKING KNEW IT. YOU LYING, DIRTY, WHORE! Wooyoung, get the FUCK out of my house.”

Standing in the doorway, there was a raging San. You held onto Wooyoung so he wouldn’t leave, or at least not without you. You sassily spoke back to San,

“It’s not your fucking house, dick head.”

“Oh yeah brat?”

San slams the door and pushes Wooyoung off of you. He takes himself out but before he can thrust into you, Wooyoung pulls him off and protects you with his body.

“You’re her step dad San. Fuck off! If you want us to leave, we will. We’ll leave in 10 minutes and let us clean up.”

“There is no ‘us’. You're not taking Y/N with you. She’s staying right here, and I’m telling your mother about this.”

“I’ll tell my mother that you took advantage of me.”

“She won’t believe you whore.”

“Well I don’t care. I don’t fucking like it here anyway!”

San ignores you and looks right at Wooyoung.

“Give her to me.”

“No! You’re gonna hurt her and I’m not allowing that.”

San sighs, knowing how stubborn Wooyoung is. The only way to get Wooyoung to play along was to tempt him.

“How about we take her like old times. Remember how we used to do it. Take a girl together at once.”

“No, not without her consent.”

They both looked over to you. You wanted to negotiate a deal with San. You do this one more time, and he leaves you both alone. But again, two dicks is better then one.

“I’ll do it one more time. But you have to leave us alone after.”

You said to San.

“Nope. How about I let you date him, but whenever I want to fuck you, it turns into a threesome?”

“I’d be down for that.”

Wooyoung says, turning to you.

You looked at San and he was eyeing your naked body. Once again, you found yourself in the same spot. He got you…….. again!

“Fine.”

San didn’t waste anymore time and pushed you onto the bed, thrusting into your needy core. He didn’t like that brat attitude and the first thing he needed to do was fuck it out of you.

Wooyoung takes some of his cum off your face and puts it in your mouth. You suck on his fingers while looking at him and play with his hands like a baby.

San didn’t like that you were giving all your attention to him, so he grabbed your hips and went faster into you, making your neck snap in his direction. Your face scrunches up into a pleasurable expression, and you hiss out feeling over the top.

“Okay San stop it’s my turn.”

San flipped you on your side, and lays behind you. Wooyoung lays in front of you and holds your fragile body. The two cocks push into your holes and you scratch Wooyoung’s soft back.

The man behind you takes his shirt off as well so you can feel him too. They let you adjust before the dick head behind you, holds you down and starts to aggressively thrust into you. Wooyoung starts moving as well, and gives you forehead kisses, trying to keep you calm.

With Wooyoung thrusting up and San slamming in from behind, one hand goes behind you, feeling San’s mullet and the other hand on Wooyoung cheek, rubbing it lovingly.

You tightly shut your eyes as the two men speeded up their pace, and the two dicks were now poking out in your stomach. San moves closer to you and his hand presses on your stomach so he can feel his dick.

You cry out, feeling overwhelmed. San licks your face from behind you and gently rubs his nose on your face, trying to soothe you.

Your legs intertwined with the two males, and you hold each of their hands.

“Ahh, daddy I’m gonna cum.”

Wooyoung pushes himself to your ear and his sweat rubs on your face and hair.

“No princess. You’re gonna squirt for us. Show your daddies how good you are.”

Wooyoung whispers this in your ear but San did hear. San brings his finger on your clit and rubs it as fast as he could, so that you could squirt. You let out a loud moan and your body starts to shake and you start breathing heavily.

“I’m gonna-”

“Go ahead princess, squirt on your daddies.”

San breathes out behind you.

You throw your head back and it lands on San’s shoulder. Your pussy twitches and you squirt all over the two horny men.

You hold in your breath, still releasing and finally panting out after it was done. Tears streamed down your face and your legs were shuddering.

Wooyoung takes your hand and places it on his cock so you can stroke it, and he can cum. You stroke his dick and play with his balls, then he releases in you.

San got a little jealous that you did that and pulled your hand behind and did the same thing. He pulled out and came in between your slit.

Your head collapses on the pillow and you sigh in relief. You finally catch your breath and relax your body. That was until two fingers slipped in you again. You whine and kick your legs, trying to get them to stop.

San laughs at you and brings his fingers up so you can taste the three mixes of cum. You lick and suck on his two fingers and he pushed it down your throat.

Not expecting it, you gag, making Wooyoung laughs. He then cuddles in closer to you while San lays kisses on your jawline. He then wraps his arms around your body and cuddles into your neck.

“Y/N, San? Where are you two?”

Oh shit! Mom’s home!

——————————————————————————

Omg I’m finally done❣️ last part to this smut thingy, but if you want to continue it go right ahead. Stay safe, stay at home, wash your hands, do your homework, and don’t procrastinate❣️

Xoxo n❣️

[myhusbandsasemni]

Burns and Rescue

The Adventurers

CW: Burns, mentions of torture and experimentation

WC: 2474

.............................

“I need your help, master,” Rin said. He stood in the dusty beams of light that filtered into Old Man Ralph’s house. The house always seemed to be bathed in a sunset glow, the light dancing across the piles of books and playing on the bottles in the cupboards and on the shelves. 

Ralph looked up and raised a bushy eyebrow. “What for? You Adventurers don’t need my help.”

“Well, I need your help this time,” Rin said desperately. “You have to understand, there’s a man I need to go rescue, but he’s severely burned. The shock of the rescue might kill him and I need another medic who can deal with deep tissue burns.”

Ralph froze and turned fully to Rin, his wolf ears tilted in high alert. “Rin,” the old man said, “I can just go dancing off into a fight. I’m old and frail and-”

“You’re not frail!” Rin protested seriously. “I’ve seen you work on a surgery for 9 hours straight. That is not a feat that a frail man could manage. Please. I know you hate adventures and motion and danger, but this is something we can’t do alone. He was sick and dying and I couldn’t do anything! I left him behind and I NEED to rescue him and I can’t do that without……. Oh. You’re coming?”

Ralph looked up from the bag he was packing and rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m coming, if only for the bragging rights. Stop your blathering and help me pack.”

Rin grinned and hurried to do as the old surgeon asked. 

…………………..

The dark building brought up unpleasant, half formed memories in Rin’s mind. It was a very unassuming block of concrete. There was no decoration to it at all. It really was just a hollowed out block of cement and metal. Rin grimaced, leaning into his best friend, Laurance, for a bit of comfort. He could almost hear Simon’s screams in his mind. 

He was back in the blank hallways, only decorated with his and Simon’s gasps of pain and fluids from their weeping wounds.

“We’re almost out,” Rin had gasped, holding his arm where a guard had dislocated his shoulder. “Come on, Simon. We’re almost out!”

Simon had panted behind him, his arms awkwardly out to his sides to avoid chafing the burns. “I’m coming,” he’d called, his voice pained. 

Rin barreled through a door, banging his shoulder on the way through. He screamed as his shoulder popped back into place, as intended. He shook stars out of his eyes as his healing processes bound his ligaments tightly back in place. 

He paused so he could run alongside Simon, one hand on his lower back to help him run. The sounds of the guards were coming up behind them. They didn’t have much time. Rin leapt up on a counter and smashed open a window. The first window he’d seen since he’d been brought here that led outside. The haze of light on the horizon where the sun would be rising gave Rin such a rush of relief and joy he nearly passed out. He climbed through, breaking the glass so Simon wouldn’t receive the cuts that were already healing across Rin’s own body. The adrenaline the werewolf felt was the only thing that was keeping him going. 

He turned to reach and help Simon, but the guards were already pouring into the room. Simon was backed up against the counter, shaking. He twisted his head, burned arms up in the air. “Rin!! GO!”

“Simon, I-”

“GET OUT OF HERE!”

Rin froze for only a moment. A guard shot a taser at him through the window while others took Simon roughly by the arms. Rin fell back, dodging the prongs and sickened by Simon’s screams of pain as his burned skin shed off underneath the rough treatment. 

Rin stood up and ran off through the trees, sticks stabbing at his bare feet, branches whipping across his hospital gown, and tears streaming down his face. 

He’d been found in a town about an hour away on foot, curled up in a ball outside of a vet clinic. He couldn’t remember much after his escape. His brain had shut down.

It was now two weeks later, and Rin had found his way back. Laurance glanced at his friend with a concerned look as Rin came back to the present. Rin shook his head, fingering the crossbow charm that hung around his neck. He could feel Kiera’s comforting hand on his lower back as she and Anisha discussed if they wanted to go in sneaky, or swords blazing. 

“Kay,” Laurance said when the discussion stopped. “Kiera and Souka will cause a distraction, Anisha will go and find the control center and solve what this place is exactly and if there are more of them, and Rin and I will go and find Simon. Is that what the plan is?”

“Sounds good to me,” Kiera said with a nod, icing her knuckles in preparation for the fight.

Rin nodded. 

“And what about me?” Ralph asked, sounding very miffed that they had forgotten him.

“You’ll be coming with Laurance and I to help Simon,” Rin said seriously, clicking back into his place on the team. “Who knows what they’ve done to him since I escaped.”

“Let’s go then,” Anisha said. She became invisible and was off like a shot.

Laurance and Rin waited until Kiera and Souka had entered before they snuck around with Ralph to where the window was that Rin had escaped through. Rin almost swore when he saw the opening had been filled with concrete.

“We’ll find another way in,” Laurance said reassuringly. “Maybe Anisha found a sneaky way and we can follow her.”

“Just hurry up,” Ralph said, med pack strapped to his back and cane in one hand ready for some butt kicking. “I’m ready to get my bragging rights with healing this Simon of yours.”

‘Nisha,’ Laurance said in the mind link. ‘How did you get through?’

‘Window on the second floor,’ came the cheerful reply from the Scaleon inside. 

Laurance located the window. Rin went first, scaling the wall. Laurance paused to let Ralph complain and get on his back before jumping up and getting through with Rin’s help. Once inside, they found themselves in a lab. The sounds of a fight had started up somewhere on the east side of the building that didn’t quite mask the sounds of a keyboard in the next room. Anisha was busy doing her job.

“This way,” Rin muttered, getting out into the halls. “We were kept in the basement.”

The other two followed, Laurance sticking close to Ralph as he was the assigned bodyguard at the moment. Ralph just seemed vaguely annoyed by the time it was taking to get down to the injured man.

Once on the first floor, Rin had no trouble remembering where the basement stairs were. He popped the locked door open after only a moment and descended into the horrid darkness. 

‘I’m sure there will be scientists we have to watch for down here,’ Rin mindspoke, eyes darting across the dark rooms.

Laurance sent an affirmation to Rin and drew his sword. With scientists, he doubted he’d have to use it, but it was a good threat display. 

Rin shuddered as he passed a room he remembered all too well as an experimentation room. He’d spent a good three days in that room being ripped apart and getting healed up again by his own magic.

They came to a room that was definitely full of people. Laurance pushed past the two to peer through. Scientists were conducting experiments with chemicals and whatever else. Laurance backed up. He had not seen Simon, or any other prisoners, in the room. Rin led the way past silently until they reached a corridor of cells. The doors were made of a see through material. Some had scratch marks in their surfaces, almost all were empty.

Rin only glanced at the cell where he was kept, recognizing the marks of each of the scotches he’d made on the walls. It was the only thing he had to entertain himself while he was trapped here. That and talking to-

“Simon,” Rin breathed when he saw the man laying in the corner of the cell. Rin quickly opened the pad, put in the numbers he’d seen the scientists put in hundred of times, numbers he’d memorized in case they’d need it during their escape. 

When the door slid open, Rin dropped to his knees by Simon’s side. The man had shifted upon hearing his name, but his eyes were dull with fever and he shuddered under Rin’s touch. He probably didn’t even recognize the werewolf. 

“Oh, no no no,” Rin crooned, pulling back the hospital robe Simon was wearing. The burns from whatever the scientists were giving him had spread. They coated his arms and hands, but were creeping out onto his torso and up his neck. It was a wonder the man was still alive.

Ralph was by his student in an instant, cutting open the sleeves and sneering at the poor attempt at bandages on the man’s arms. 

“I’ll give him something to bolster him. I can’t do anything else until we get back to the med bay,” Ralph said, pulling out a potion and taking some of it into a syringe. He quickly emptied it in the man’s chest where it would circulate quickly. 

Rin rolled out a shock blanket and they loaded Simon onto it gently. The man was so out of it that he could only twitch when pain lanced across his body. They wrapped the blanket around him and Rin lifted the man carefully. He was so skinny now. He’d been here longer than Rin had. Even before Rin had been brought here. Rin bit his lip, calculating everything. There was a very good chance that Simon would die, even before they made it back to the med bay. 

“It’s okay, my friend,” he murmured. “I’m sorry it took so long to come back. I’m getting you out.”

Laurance was out in the halls first. ‘Should I take care of the scientists?’ he mind asked.

‘I’m thinking we just lock them in their lab,’ Rin replied. ‘We can send people to deal with them later.’ Rin widened his call and mind asked Kiera, ‘Is it safe for us to leave through the front doors?’

‘Should be all good,’ Kiera sent, giving the impression of flicking her tails with a sense of satisfaction. 

Laurance went off to lock the scientist in the lab, which he succeeded in. He jammed the doors so they wouldn’t open, ignored the scientists pleas and caught up with Rin as they reached the front doors.

“Let’s get out of here,” Rin said to Anisha, who was waiting for them outside after finishing her job. Laurance opened a portal as Anisha finished. He put extra care into making the portal steady. A wobbly portal could cause injuries to become worse, and while he hadn’t made a wobbly portal in months, any detriment to Simon’s health could likely kill the man. They portaled into their medical room in the Hoard and Rin, Ralph, and Anisha set to work in healing the man. Laurance put a hand on Souka’s shoulder and smiled. From what he’d glimpsed through the mind link, his boy had done very well in the fight, even taking out a third of the force while Kiera dealt with the rest. All with minimal casualties. 

“Wanna go make some food?” Laurance asked Souka.

Souka nodded, knowing that making food was exactly what Laurance would need to distract himself while they waited for the medics to finish up with Simon. Kiera would have to help this time so she couldn't bug Laurance or play games with them until Simon was stable. Her cooling powers would be needed on his burns.

So, the boys left them to it and went upstairs to make food for the others when they emerged from the hours of healing that were ahead of them.  

……………………

The healing was exhausting. Thankfully, Rin had plenty of material to print new skin for Simon. He looked kind of patchwork when they finished, but he was breathing better and he didn’t look as sick. Rin had eaten afterwards and then gone to pass out while Laurance cleaned the med bay after the surgery and looked after Simon. It was nice to have a friend who only needed three hours of sleep, especially when there were things to be done and you needed sleep. 

Rin grabbed a cup of coffee when he woke and went down to sit by Simon’s bed. He was nervous, but hopeful. Simon had actually done very well during the surgery. Perhaps the scientists put something in him that made him more resilient. Rin mulled that over in his head, sipping at his coffee slowly. 

Simon woke up around the time Rin was thinking about getting a new cup of coffee. Rin leaned forward into Simon’s line of sight as the man took a deep breath. He whimpered a little and the werewolf quickly soothed him.

“Simon, I don’t know if you recognize me without those robes on,” Rin smiled a little to himself over the hours they’d spent complaining about the clothing. “But it’s me. Rin.”

Simon peered at him from one eye. “R...Rin? You…. no.'' Simon groaned. “They caught you again.”

“No, no, no, my friend,” Rin said, ears twitching as he put his hand on the man’s forehead. “Simon, I got away. And I came back. I’m just sorry that it took me so long to do so. But you’re safe. We’re at my house, now.”

Simon stared at Rin and a relieved smile grew on his face. He relaxed into the blankets with a happy chuckle. “I knew you’d come back,” he said warmly.

Rin smiled. “Of course. I promised I’d take you out to watch some movies. Not to mention have a drinking competition. Once you’re healed, of course.”

“Of course.” Simon was silent for a moment. “I imagined being free so many times while I was in there. I imagined how I would feel, what I would do……... Now that I’m out, I’m most excited to be able to sleep….. without having to worry about waking up to more experiments.”

“I can imagine,” Rin said, agreement in his tone. “Hey, are you in any pain at all?”

“No,” Simon said softly. “I just want sleep…. And Rin. Thank you.”

“No problem man.”

“When you rescued me, I thought you were a god coming to take me to the next life.”

Rin chuckled. “Not a god.”

“Not a god,” Simon agreed. “But….. unarguably a hero.”

Rin smiled as Simon drifted off to sleep. 

The Adventurers tag list: @dowings @writeblrfantasy @artrayasnow93 @doubi-ixi @extraisthmus @thethistlegirlwrites @thepotatowriter

[morgana-ren]

You never had a choice

You guys wanted my shitty Strade oneshots? Here’s one. Don’t you judge me. 

Strade/Reader

Boyfriend to Death (18+ ONLY)

Warnings: Extremely explicit, graphic depictions of sex, rape, torture, other terrible shit. Do not read if you are even remotely squeamish. I’m not kidding. Do not read if you’re under 18, do not read if you even have a second thought. 

This is a Work in Progress. Has not been uploaded yet. Please take my word for it and do not read any further if any of the game’s content upsets you. 

:)

The floor is cold and smells like bleach.

Is it bleach? What would one use to get blood and tissue out of porous concrete? Something sanitizing. Probably industrial strength.

Whatever it is, it’s burning your nostrils.

You don’t make a point to get so well acquainted with people’s floors very often, but Strade isn’t the type of guy who really cares about your floor greeting policies. In fact, he doesn’t seem to care much at all about you, your well-being included.

You’ve learned there’s only one thing going through his mind when he’s sweating over you with that flushed, excitable expression, pupils blown out and eyes half-mast. He’s straddling you, caging you to the floor beneath him like a fucking animal, making sure there’s nowhere to run even if you could. To make matters worse, he’s drooling and rutting against you, deliberately drawing this out because he knows you hate it hate it hate it when he’s touching you.

Normally he’d be halfway to home by now.

He’s looking down at you through greasy clumps of hair, exposing his canines and occasionally running his tongue over them. It would look like a sly, lustful gesture to anyone else, but Strade’s a predator. There’s nothing sly about him.

You know he’s taunting you. Taunting you like a wolf would a little rabbit that was naive enough to let him get too close. Foolish enough to not run the second the lurching feeling in their gut grew strong enough to make them sick, alarm bells screaming in their head.  Stupid enough to share a few drinks with it despite that, even.

No, the smile is that of a wolf right before he rips out a giant chuck of sinew from the rabbit’s furry flesh, leaving it twitching and bubbling blood as he chews it up before its convulsing body.

You’re the rabbit, by the way. That’s what he calls you when you please him, right? Hase? It’s been a while, but you think it means bunny or rabbit or some other small animal that he could sink his teeth into without breaking a sweat. A term of endearment that he’s perverted and twisted the meaning until the original was obscured behind his violent brand of love.

You don’t think wolves are supposed to mate with rabbits. You doubt he cares.

You wonder if he’ll let you use whatever he cleans this ugly cement floor with while you take a shower (if you ever even get to shower again, that is) because no amount of hot water and whatever cheap soap he apparently rarely uses is ever going to be enough to get his stench off you. Of everything you’re covered in, of all the dust, grime, blood and other fluids, it’s his smell that makes you want to retch. It lingers on you, making your skin itch and permeating your pores long after he’s left.  You swear you’re beginning to smell like him.

It’s too much, and no matter how shallowly you try to breathe, it’s always there. You can’t even breathe through fabric to try and mask it because Strade had made sure to be thorough in “removing” all your clothing a few days prior.

It’s bad enough when you’re alone. It’s even worse when he’s hovering over you, perspiring onto your exposed flesh and grinning like a hyena.

You know it will be even worse this time. He has practically drenched the front of that ugly shirt of his. You can feel his stomach rubbing against your bare navel and you just know he’s going to leave you sticky and disgusting on purpose. You knew he was going to really make this gross and unbearable because he knows you hate him, and he likes that.

He likes that you try to hold your breath around him. Gives him a real kick. You would too, if given the opportunity.

The only saving grace is that he hasn’t forced you to look at him yet, but you know he will. He’s leaning over you so damn closely that you can feel his stubble irritate your chin. His moist breath is collecting on your cheek as you crane your head so fucking far to the left that you begin to cramp. Your eyes are clenched shut because you just know the look he’s giving you right now and if you had to see those horrid amber eyes for one more second, you were going to scream.

However, no matter how tightly you clamped them, you couldn’t block out that fucking smell or the afterglow of his eyes on the back of your eyelids, like you’d stared into a lightbulb for too long. A shitty, horrible lightbulb.

To think you found them beautiful once.

He was groping your chest and breathing so heavily that you could practically taste his breath in your mouth. You resented the fact that he managed to assault all 5 of your senses without even trying. Although, to be frank, you knew it really said something about the state you were in when you could almost smell yourself over the dirty, greasy psychopath worrying your inner thigh with his khaki tented erection.

It had been days and you hadn’t been let up for to bathe yet, and you hadn’t exactly been the cleanest when you left for the bar that evening. You smelled like you had been held captive in a basement. It was a pungent, distinctive smell, like tangy copper and sweat (yours and his, naturally) and something that smelled like raw pancake batter that you really didn’t want to think about. There was something else, another smell that had developed over the last day or so.

You were almost certain now that it was decay.

You wondered if your body had accepted death and was prematurely rotting in acknowledgement of the situation. You saw something like that on a tv show once.

Maybe that’s why he was still so fucking turned on despite the fact you knew you didn’t exactly look like a movie star, and certainly didn’t smell like one. He was insatiable, like a German energizer bunny fueled by pure malice and sadistic urges. You had no idea what had encouraged him this time. Maybe it had been the fear in your eyes when he ran his hands along variously styled handsaws, asking you if you had an opinion on rotary versus hand.

Or maybe it was the fact that the still-weeping cut on your leg was close enough to your entrance for him to use the blood as lubricant as he assaulted you yet again. He seemed to like that sort of shit.

Who knows? It’s tough to say what really gets this guy off, especially considering the first time he used you, it was because you denied his stupid stitches, not wanting him to touch you anymore. He must’ve picked up on that bit, because he force-fucked your face and left a certain appendage in your throat so long that you passed out from lack of air.

He should have kept it there longer. Maybe then you would have died.

Either way, he abandoned whatever plans he originally had and now he’s breathing bastardized English into your ear, growling in German things you don’t understand and frankly you don’t want to. Even if you spoke German, you wouldn’t be able to translate because every fucking ounce of your brain power is dedicated to disassociating and separating yourself from this situation as much as you physically can. You pretend you’re home, asleep. You pretend none of this is real. You pretend that this is all a horrible nightmare because you fell asleep watching your scary que on Netflix.

And as he starts running his slimy tongue over your collarbones and up your neck, you pretend it’s anyone else in the world that is about to undo that belt buckle.

His hair is sticking to your neck and it makes you realize just how overheated he is. He’s an overbearing man at the best of times, but when he’s so worked up and covering you like a blanket, it’s absolutely stifling. Panic blooms and rises through your chest and for an instant, you’re certain you’re going to suffocate underneath him. It only takes you a few seconds to realize that’s not possible.

God isn’t that kind.

At least if you choked on the humid air he was so politely providing you, expedited by his tummy pressing into yours and blocking your breathing, your death would be relatively quick. But a God that allowed you to be taken, maimed, and violated by this son of a bitch certainly wasn’t a God that was going to grant you the mercy of a quick death. The devil was probably a fan.

People had died here, in this room. People had died horribly.

A stray tear falls down your cheek as you think on the fact that you’re likely going to be one of them.

Spurred on either by his gratuitously handsy harassment or perhaps your major fuck up of letting yourself cry, he pushes himself partially off you and back onto his knees. You hear the metal clinking of his belt buckle and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears which is funny considering it just dropped through your ass. You know what comes next.

If there’s any mercy, he’ll get it over with quickly.

You doubt it.

You learned that when Strade wanted things done quickly, he had certain ways of going about them, but he was not a man who liked to rush things. He did everything precisely, taking his time to deliberate just how to hurt you. Just where to cut, exactly where to place the drill, how to retie you just so that the new rope burn dug exactly into the pre-existing one.

Fucking you used to be one of those things he did quickly. He would get a little too excited, whip his cock out and go like a blood and khaki colored race car. The longest thing he did was debate exactly where the most degrading place to shoot his load was. You preferred it that way.

Unfortunately, Strade was a quick learner too. In fact, he very quickly learned that the thing you hated the most, one of your most viscerally charged reactions was when he took to touching you. No one likes torture, but the screaming and begging? It gets predictable.

When he took to forcing himself on you, there was no begging. There was only demands.

“Get off me!” “Get away from me!” “Don’t fucking touch me!”

There was no ‘please’ involved.

That was probably pretty typical for the first and maybe even the second day, but beyond that? It was strange when people kept their willpower. Most just became a blubbering, pleading mess.

He realized you must really hate it.

The moment it had clicked in his head, this sickly, nauseating smile crept across his face and you had to resist the urge to hurl.

“You must really have mixed feelings about this type of intimacy!” He’d grunted, slowing his thrusts to a crawl, which you could tell had taken some serious effort on his part. “You seem a little shy! There’s no need to be, not with me. After all, we’re sharing this experience together.”

You could feel every inch of him sliding in and he made a point to begin drawing the entire experience out, huffing and groaning in your ear and making you feel as disgusting and used as possible. You didn’t know it was possible to hate this much. You had reached up, gone from trying to push him off to actively trying to tear his eyes out. He had only laughed, slamming your wrists above your head as the other hand violated every ounce of bruised, swollen skin it could find.

You had thrown up after he left.

The next night, after he’d finished marring your skin, he’d forced you to do all the work. Made you ride him as he waved the knife lazily around your face repeating “You’ll have to do better than that, schön.” He’d even gone easy on you with the blood loss that night. Guess he was looking forward to seeing the anguish on your face as you had to actively work to finish him, or risk what he would do to you if you couldn’t. Worst of all was the fact that you had to expend a lot of energy that you didn’t have, or risk him drawing this out all night, and you truly weren’t sure if you could take that.

He’d held your hips down on him to prevent you from withdrawing as he came. He’d finished inside you. That night, you clawed at your arms, trying to push what was left of him out of you any way you could.

Tears of frustration and hate burn a hell of a lot more than ones from sadness, even more so because you knew it wouldn’t be long until it happened again. And here you were.

He moaned above you and you became acutely aware that his pants had been pulled down around his hips. He was palming himself with the hand that wasn’t stroking your cheek with dirty fingers. He was making a show of everything, and as much as you wished he’d stop, you knew that’s exactly why he was doing it. Trying to build up your dread as much as he possibly could before slamming you under. It was working.

The hand stroking your jaw squeezed and you cried out as he dug his fingers into the soft of your face. “Open your eyes, hase. We’re sharing something very personal and I want to know that you’re paying attention.”

There was no sense in fighting him. If you angered him, it would not only draw this out longer, but he’d probably just cut off your eyelids. He was temperamental like that.

Your forced yourself to turn your head after a moment of what you could call preparation. Your eyes fluttered open just in time to see a bead of sweat roll down off his neck and plop onto the floor right by your face. You swallowed back bile.

Eventually you found his face and he was looking a little too pleased, breathless and heaving even though he hadn’t even begun the main event yet. His face drifted closer to yours and you physically ground the back of your head into the cement below for any chance of inching away even slightly.

“Are you okay, liebling? You’re looking a little green.” He grinned, rubbing himself against you and getting dangerously close to the point of entry. You were still sore and sensitive from yesterday and the days before. Thinking of him entering you now made your stomach churn. “I know it can be a little overwhelming, this connection we have. Things are all happening so fast, and that can make you feel vulnerable.” His hand crept from your cheeks down to your throat, tightening a little as his meaty fingers found a comfortable spot on the rounds of your neck. 

Your hands, tied behind your back and trapped beneath your body, clenched an unclenched in an effort to fend off the impending tingling as your blood lost its circulation. You reminded yourself that it was the least of your worries as he rested his head in the crook of your neck, practically slobbering on your shoulder as he left small bites across the exposed expanse. “But you don’t have to worry, hase. What we’re sharing here, it’s bringing us so close.”

He used his knees to kick your legs apart, allowing himself better access as he lined himself up with your entrance. You tried to struggle, tried to buck him off, but he didn’t even so much as move. You hissed and spit, and he just laughed as if it was the most adorable thing in the world. He pressed himself nose to nose with you, eyes lingering on your snarling mouth for too long to set you at ease. You wanted to be invisible. You didn’t want him to be able to look at you anymore. More so, you didn’t want to look at him anymore.

You never thought these words would have any truth to them, but you missed when he used to take you from behind. At least then you could pretend it was someone, anyone else in the world you were with. Needless to say, he cut that shit out the second he realized he was giving you any inadvertent peace. Now whenever he fucked you, he made sure you had a clear, unobstructed view of his face. He made sure you kept your eyes open and on him, so you knew just whose cock was inside you, just whose hand was around your neck, just whose knife was pressed against a tender patch of flesh.

And in those times where your traitorous body tricked you into thinking it felt good, he wanted you to know just who was giving you that pleasure, and that he could take it away if he wanted to.

Not that he gave a fuck about your pleasure. You weren’t dumb enough to believe that. Not after everything you’ve seen. It was just another tool for him to use and wield against you.

You felt his hard member twitch at your opening as he pulled his hand away from situating it. You mentally prepared yourself for the pain. Strade was not a small man, in stature or ‘size’, and he never put any effort into making sure you were even remotely ready to accept him.

You bit your bottom lip, gritting your teeth as you waited for him to push inside. The first few minutes were the worst. If you could just get past those without doing something stupid, he’d eventually finish and tire himself out, leaving you with a few hours to try and recover. At least physically. Maybe tomorrow he’d get around to killing you.

“I feel like we’ve gotten to know each other so well over the last week. You’ve got more energy than most of my guests. Wouldn’t you agree?” He smiled lazily at you, and a mix of terror and fury brewed in your gut. You kept your mouth shut. You didn’t want to provoke him. Or encourage him.

“Oh, come on now, liebling. I thought we’d been getting on so well. Don’t go cold on me now.” You didn’t have to see him pull the knife from the holster to know that he did, and when you felt the sharp point push into your collar bone and little rivulets of blood begin to fall, you panicked.

You nodded at him, dragging your head up and down in faux enthusiasm, unable to keep your lips from pursing in disapproval. He didn’t really care what you thought, he just loved having that power and control over you.

“I’m glad you agree.” He pulled the knife away, but not before sharply tugging it across a bit of skin that wasn’t covered in cuts or hickeys already. Even knowing it was coming, you couldn’t help giving a sharp inhale at the prickling pain.

He brought his mouth down to the freshly made incision, sucking and tonguing at the cut enough to make your eyes water, lapping at any stray droplets of blood that fell. Your face scrunched, and you tried to jerk your head away again.

“Schau mich an!”

All pretense of friendliness was gone from his voice, and you didn’t have to speak German to know what he was saying. Reluctantly, you looked at him again, noticing his eyes were low, flashing dangerously in the light. You had agitated him. “This is something personal between us, and I want you present and in the moment.”

You nodded again, making sure to look at him directly, no matter how much it made you sick. As much as you hated to admit it, you’d much rather it be him inside you than that knife, and he could switch that strategy any moment.

He gave a smile of approval, danger fading from his face for the moment. “Good! I’m glad this is as important to you as it is to me.” He gave a hefty sigh, letting his sweaty forehead rest against yours. You resisted the urge to close your eyes again. “I wasn’t lying. There’s a connection between us, and I want to explore it. I want to push it as far-”

He thrust inside, moving too fast to allow you to adjust yet too slowly to bring you any semblance of comfort, just enough to drag out the agony and make you dig your nails into your palm. A stinging pain shot through your nether at invading force and you gave a wordless cry, mouth opened in distress.

Strade, on the other hand, gave a long, exaggerated gasp of pleasure, testing the waters and shoving himself further in until you felt he might tear you in half. His bulbous head twitched inside you, pushing against your cervix. He pushed in until you cried out, trying to keep the tears from falling.

“-as it will go!” He planted his face onto yours, shoving his tongue into your mouth. Whimpering, you felt another tear slide down your temple, and you were grateful that for a moment his attentions were occupied.

He bit down on your lower lip, tugging and biting as if to warn you that he expected participation. You let your tongue tangle with his, if only to placate him for the moment. Keep him busy, make this quick.

He jerked his hips around for a moment, settling himself inside you as you tried to cry as silently as you could. The tearing pressure between your hips was nearly overwhelming you. Your sore walls yielded to him against their will, clenching tightly around him as if trying to push him out.

“Fick...” He hissed under his breath, pulling his face from yours. Instead, his head dropped gracelessly to your injured shoulder, making you wince. The knife clattered to the floor beneath you as his hand found your waist instead, bruising grip holding you in place as he thrust once as a tester. You swallowed another cry, knowing it would only egg him on.

He didn’t need that knife to do damage. You knew that.

“Always so tight, schatzi.” He let out a ragged breath, keeping his hand firmly on your throat but allowing his thumb to travel upwards to your mouth, padding invasively at your lower lip. “It’s as if your body was made for me.” He sighed, chuckling darkly as he pushed his thumb into your mouth. “Almost like it doesn’t want to let go of me.

Frustration welled with the helplessness in your throat and it took every ounce of willpower in your being to keep from crying harder. You swallowed, blinking upward through your lashes to try and dissipate the tears that were forming beneath your lids. Trying, in a way, to give yourself over to the fact that there was nothing you could do against him, and any amount of struggling would only result in more pain for yourself. It was easier to just let him say, and take, what he wanted.

He knew what he was doing.

He exhaled heavily on your neck, dragging your pliable body down onto him with an iron grasp on your hip as he thrust into you again. He was starting slowly, and some part of you was grateful for that. As much as it was easier to get this over with quickly, when he took his time at first, you at least had a little leeway when it came to mentally preparing yourself for whatever sick shit this psychopath was about to do. He was talented at finding new and exciting ways to make this as unbearable as possible.

He rolled his hips against you experimentally, pulling out only slightly before sinking back in. He was uncharacteristically gentle, but you knew well that it was a farce. He liked to do that sometimes. He would make mock gestures, almost with the sole intention of perverting something that was supposed to be done from love and care. The way he would talk to you as a friend, even as he caused you persistent and overwhelming pain. The way he called you pet names that should stay between intimate friends or lovers as your flesh and bone broke beneath his fingers. How he would kiss you slowly, even as his body demanded access to yours against your will and tears would stream down your cheeks as you would beg him to stop.

He tortured you not only physically, but mentally. He wanted to break you entirely.

­A deep, debasing grunt left the base of his throat, exaggerated by his hand slipping from the curve of your hips down to the underside of your thigh, hiking your leg up around his waist to angle you just so that he could hit so deeply that it pushed on the limits of what your body could take. His face contorted in pleasure, hissing in incoherent sentences as he forced your leg up and around his burly body. It was a strain for him to slow his pace, but he did his best, focusing instead on the mixture of hatred and despair on your features to spur himself forward.

He pulled you closer, fingers digging into the plush meat of your thigh as he worked at you again and again. ­ “Mein maus.” Nuzzling his head into the crook of your shoulder, he pushed his thumb fully into your mouth. You knew better than to bite down. You had the fresh bruise of a hard slap across your cheek to attest to that. He had warned you not to try it a second time, or you would lose your teeth. You listened and adhered, even as the calloused and dirty skin of his digit pressed deep against your tongue and created a terribly uncomfortable sensation. You weren’t even entirely sure he enjoyed it, but he would damn sure do it.

He made sure your leg stayed wrapped around him, allowing him access to the deepest parts of you, oscillating his large thumb in and out of your mouth as he slowly and torturously maneuvered in and out of you, dragging it on so much so that you were almost certain neither one of you were receiving any real pleasure from it other than his sadistic need to see you broken. With his head cradled between your neck and shoulder, his lips kept busy either licking tenderly, or sometimes biting hard on a small patch of skin enough to make you yelp out against your will, often drawing a small chuckle from him. 

Strade was easily entertained. You knew he could make this last hours, if he so chose.

Gritting your teeth, you opted to think of other things. Anything else, really. Anything that could make you forget that a German serial killer was fucking you on his basement floor with his hands that had been Gods know where deep inside your mouth. Could anything really distract you from that? All you could do was pray that it would be over quickly, and that perhaps he’d get bored of you and your body eventually and end your suffering quickly.

How had this happened exactly? A few days ago, you’d just gone out looking for a drink and maybe some entertainment for the night. Perhaps meet a few new people and sort out your place in the universe. Instead, you’d ended up here.

That was the last time you took advice and tried to be social.

You felt him shudder on top of you, and you knew instinctively that he was beginning to lose control. It was only a matter of time now before he lost it and pounded you like an empty oil drill in the desert. If you could just hang on, just make it through this.

“You know liebling, I wait for our time together all day.” He drawled, eyes closed and mouth wandering down to the crux of your breasts. “You really give a me something to look forward to. I appreciate that.” His thick tongue licked a stripe up from the bottom of your chest up the fatty tissue, pausing on a nipple as he took it into his mouth. His sharp teeth dug a little too hard into the tender flesh and you winced, eyes twitching briefly. “This bond we share. It means a lot. You know what I mean?”

Every instinct in your entire body was screaming to tell him to go to hell, call him every name in the book and threaten his delicates if you ever got out of these bindings. But you’d been past this chapter already and knew exactly where it led. More of your blood, less of his patience, and even less of a recovery time before his mind came up with some new and exciting way to make you wish you were dead. The best answer was no answer at all, at least until you could get a read on what he wanted to hear.

Thankfully, he was more preoccupied than the last time you had opted to ignore him, and he either didn’t really notice or care that you had kept your mouth closed. “I’ve known a lot of interesting people in my time here, but you-“ He panted, huffing between words. “You’re special.”

“I bet you say that to everyone you kidnap.” You spat, unable to hold back the tide of resentment. He found it cute.

“Only the special ones.”

He began increasing his pace, but instead of just jackhammering into you as he normally did, he started rolling his hips, angling you further upward so that the fleshy skin of his pelvis was stimulating your most sensitive area. Caught completely off guard, you let out a gasp, taken by surprise at the sudden burst of pleasure as he spurred into you. He let out a heinous cackle, triumphant at the reluctant noise he had coaxed out of you. He pulled his thumb from your mouth, hovering it above your lips.

“Oh? That’s new!” He giggled, placing his face close to yours once more. “It seems like maybe you’re beginning to enjoy this!”

A renewed wave of anger washed over you, temporarily relieving you of your better senses. “Get fucked!” You hissed, gritting your teeth and doing your best to ignore the pleasurable sensation that was slowly building as he bucked into you, inadvertently rubbing against the tender bundle of nerves at your apex. He took it in stride, snickering again as he let his newly freed hand travel down your body, stopping momentarily on the low of your stomach.

“I am.”

He continued on for a moment, seemingly perusing his own end as you willed yourself to push down the tide of unwanted heat swirling around in your abdomen. It wasn’t until you felt his hand slowly creep further downward and his thick finger gently prodding at the tops of your folds that you started to panic. Strade didn’t do gentle, and anything he did, it was always with malicious intent.

That was why you nearly choked on your own spit when you felt his thumb pad at your clit, pushing down and swirling, using your own excess saliva for lubricant.  

You made a noise that was comprised of half shock, half moan, and a deep, animalistic growl rumbled from within Strade’s belly. Almost against your will, you clamped your eyes shut once more, utterly disgusted with yourself. How is there any way that you were enjoying this, even on a primal level? A few swift touches and your body turns full Benedict Arnold, almost playing directly into his hands? There had to be something wrong with you.

Strade, on the other hand, was absolutely delighted at the betrayal he elicited from you. A deep, horrible smile carved its way across his face, and his slimy tongue ran across his teeth, practically drooling as he continued to fuck you.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Liebchen.” Grunting, he nipped on your ear, sucking gently. His sweat and yours had begun to coat your body and the rhythmic slapping his nether region was making against yours was obscene. You tried to block it out, tried to will it all away, but his hands were too much against you, and it wasn’t long before both his precum and your wetness coated his navel and the inside of your thighs. White hot pleasure coiled inside of you, and soon even his brutal pistoning was contributing to the fire kindling between your legs.

You had always liked it a bit rough. Much like everything about you, he was using it against you now.

His harsh grip on your thigh relinquished and he brought him arm up, letting himself relax onto his elbow, fingers finding your throat again and clenching on either side. For once, he wasn’t cutting off your airway in cruelty, but asserting his dominance and delaying the blood flow to your brain. You felt your mind go light, lolling your head to the side as your eyes fluttered open again. Vision blurry and sanity slipping, your leg clenched around him of its own volition, and from your mouth escaped a breathy sigh, and your last effort was pretending you didn’t hear his name pass from your lips.

As if a switch in his brain flipped, his thrusts became punishing and cruel, slamming into you again and again until you knew there would be bruises. It would have hurt, been agonizing even, if you weren’t as needy as you were now. Instead, your body welcomed him, gripping him and allowing him to withdraw, albeit unwillingly. He never once ceased his ministrations on your swollen nub, maneuvering and manipulating your body better than even you could. His teeth found your lower lip, biting and tugging, and in your haze, you returned feverishly, allowing your tongues to tangle as your head was yanked violently back and forth by the force of his movements.

His face had turned a deep shade of crimson and he was staring at you with eyes that would have terrified you had you been in your right mind. Dilated and wild, with promises of pain to come, and yet you didn’t care. He chased his pleasure, and you kept pace with him, thrusting your own hips in time to meet his. Your heartbeat became a dull thud in your ears and the world around you became fuzzy, unable to separate what was happening from the overwhelming bliss spidering throughout your body and rendering you null and empty. Eventually what was left of your grip on reality left you, and you became incoherent. Begging, pleading, even demanding him. Pulling him with the limbs you had control of, clenching the extremities you didn’t. You needed more.

You continued this dance for a while, though no one in the room could tell you how long. You might have been deranged in that moment, but even then you noticed that after a bit, something in Strade had snapped as well. His movements were no longer calculated to hurt you, and while it wasn’t as smooth, his hand never stopped against your center. His head was dipped down and resting on your bouncing chest, hair wet and mangled by the sweat he was working up. He was cursing and muttering under his breath, fingers clenching on your throat but never strangling you. Occasionally when he did work up the strength to look up at you, his eyes were heavy lidded and greedy, but almost placated and content instead of malicious.

He almost looked human.

Eventually, it became too much, and your orgasm ushered him to his own. You gave up your hold on what little dignity and pride you had left, crying for him as your head threw itself back, legs spasming and thighs twitching. Your cunt clenched him, milking him through to his own end as he bit deep onto your shoulder and spilled inside of you, allowing the excess to spill out onto your thighs and into a small puddle beneath your heaving bodies. Your moans echoed off the walls and reverberated into your own ears but it sounded like someone, anyone but you. Even though somewhere deep inside you, you knew you should feel shame and hatred and utter self-loathing, you couldn’t muster the energy anymore. He had sucked it all out of you.

He didn’t pull immediately from you like he normally did. He instead allowed himself to collapse on top of you, gulping in air and softening inside you. Your mind was a haze, still comatose in your post-orgasmal bliss, and you didn’t fight him as he pressed his lips to yours again. Your innards ached, and your arms and fingers were on fire from the lack of circulation, but you kissed him back as if the circumstances weren’t so weighted against you. You felt his sweaty body chafe against your already raw torso and could smell your own blood and viscera on him but your body relaxed into him, allowing him to take what he wanted rather than fight him. In turn, he was gentle, almost kind as he whispered in your ear.

“Du gehörst mir.”

When he finished, he finally pulled from you, letting his hand fall from your neck and zipping his pants up, looking rather disheveled. He almost seemed confused for a moment, before his normal smile returned and you felt your sick returning with it.

What have you done?

Your world began to spin and you began to feel queasy. Your throat burned and nausea raged within you as if you were about to puke out every single organ one by one. Adrenaline pumped through your veins and returned some semblance of your sanity. At least what you could understand, with your stomach still in butterflies and his cum steadily dripping from you at your behest. Your eyes watered and in anger, you began to kick and snarl and you swore you would do anything if you could to keep this horrible, clawing feeling from ripping out your heart and mind. You had asked for this. You wanted this.

He ignored you, seeming positively giddy as he skipped from the room. You could hear his booming footsteps clomp up the wooden steps and the heavy door shut behind him. He left you alone, at least for a moment, and despite what you’ve been through, it’s the worst moment of your life.

You cry, because it’s the one thing you can do. Sobs heave their way out of your chest, and you cough and sputter onto the floor, acutely aware of the smell of bodily fluids and sweat that permanently stains your skin. You inhale and you can feel him again except this time it’s like you’ve placed a welcome mat. His fluids are seeping into your skin, enveloping in your body, and you struggle and tear at your bindings because you want to claw him out before he seeps too deeply inside of you and leaves no semblance of the original you behind.

You’ve accomplished nothing but ripping open old wrist wounds by the time you hear the heavy bootfall against the steps again. You don’t know if you can bring yourself to look at him right now.

He makes you.

Strade pulls you up by your hair to your knees as you hiss in pain as sets you upright, grabbing your chin and squeezing until you obey. Rightfully, you’re afraid. You should be, you remind yourself.

“I have a gift for you.”

He’s got something hidden behind his back, and you prepare yourself for the worst. A knife in your throat, a blade to your neck. You might die.

A nail to your temple, a bucket of water to breathe. You were going to die.

Gasoline and a match, a saw to your face. You were ready to die.

You were terrified, even as you prepared for almost anything, steeling yourself against the terror that was battering your resolution. This would never end unless he let it. He was giving you an out. Take it. Let it all end.

You closed your eyes as he reached toward you, clenching your teeth, saying your last laments and asking forgiveness from the universe. No more pain, you begged. You had been through enough. Seen enough. Seen enough of yourself. You were so tired. Let it end.

You felt the cold touch of steel kiss your neck as something was clamped around your neck, and for a second, you thought nothing of it. At least until you felt Strade’s warm hands adjusting it, maneuvering your face around and tightening it, adjusting and soothing it down almost lovingly. A pit of despair welled inside of you as you opened your eyes as you wiggled beneath the constraints, unsure of what was happening.

Strade had a knife in one hand and a small object you couldn’t quite make out in the other, and you flinched as he leaned in. You felt the press of a blade against your palm and only relaxed as he sawed your binds off, instinctively flexing your wrists as they fell free. The painful static of numbness raced through your arms even as you stared at him, cowering and awaiting whatever unpleasant fate he had planned. He only reached his hand out to you for you to grab, a gentle smile on his face even as he clutched the knife in his opposing hand.

Hesitantly, you reach to him, just as he knew you would.

As if you ever had a choice.

[littlest-dark-age]

I'm the pretty thing festering under the house part one

Mentions of rot, blood, animal on animal violence (used as a metaphor), a decapitated head, stalker like tendencies and necrophilia. Please do not read if these might upset you, thank you. Warning, subject to change in other chapters.

Taglist @plzineedhelp @randomoutsiders

"Even the prettiest things rot. And I'm rotting under his house, near that retched alter. On the bed he defiled my body on, time and time again already. I can't escape his stare even in death. I can't escape the way he wants to harvest my soul, his greed knowing no bounds. I can still feel the way his hands wrapped around my neck, the look in his eyes.....so inhuman. Like he finally caught the little white bunny that had been hopping circles around him for years, taunting him in his mind. When the bunny was merely trying to live her life with her father, trying to grow up happily despite the way his beady eyes stared at the way her tail twitched. His teeth and fur now stained with the bunny's blood after ripping it to shreds." Rory gulps, a slender hand coming up to feel her neck.

Even though now....now there was nothing she could do. All she could do is tell her father of the horrors happening to her.

"The things he's done.....and is going to do are horrid. He's like a beast, always looming over my life, my body, my mind, my entire being…" Her eyes drift to the picture on the shelf in front of her, a picture of aurora as a child being held in her father's arms.

Rory can't help but yearn for that feeling once more. The warmth in his hold and how safe she felt during his hugs. How immediately after she stepped out of his arms, her skin would begin to crawl once more. Hair on her arms raising, trying to keep an eye out for her safety.

Ultimately, that safety never came. She didn't get to live the life she wanted. Not truly getting to live a life at all. Trapped under adrian shawcross's thumb and not being able to utter it to any one. Fearing every day she had to greet him at his office in the sheriff's station when she went to see her father and occasionally bring him dinner due to the late hours he kept. Unable to shake the feeling of his eyes following her form, watching the way she moved and the way her clothes fit her body. Always saying how pretty her long black hair was and if he was bold enough that day, reaching out to stroke it. If not her hair, her eyes. Always saying how he felt he had boring blue eyes and her heterochromia made her so special. Rory began to hate her eyes after the first time he said that, many moons before she knew what kind of monster he is.

Bringing it up to her father, John, asking if she could get colored contacts to match the shade of brown and green they were. She remembers the sad look on his face when he asked why would she want to hide something that added to her beauty. Her own eyes matching neither shade of his icy blue, coming from her mother's side of the family. A side she never knew, her mother passing when she was too young and john moving them to the small rainy city he grew up in. A decision that led to the very child he vowed to protect feeling unsafe in her own home and room, and much more.

John had met adrian when they moved back, and as aurora grew he worked his way to becoming the sheriff of their little down. Helping john get a job as a detective when he was struggling to make ends meet, helping him get into the academy due to the fact that he already had a sociology degree from before rory had been born. John has always been so grateful for adrian, how he was able to take better care of his daughter now that he wasn't working any job he could get in the little town. Saving any penny he was able to and having to take aurora to work with him more then a few times….

But now...all she can feel towards the man is a rage unbridled. Wondering if her father will feel the same, what he plans on doing to the man who continues to claim her body as his. Although, she supposed, he always treated her as his. The way he'd hungrily lick his lips when he'd sit on the couch conversing with her father when she would come from her room to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. Drinking every inch of skin he could stare at, not bothering to hide it as he knew her father was too wrapped in the case file in his hands to catch him. Not caring about the way it might make the girl feel. In Adrian's mind, she knew these actions were all taunts. Shaking the bloody steak in front of the starved wolf, snatching it away the moment it opened its muzzle to bare its teeth and reach out to snap down on the thick meat.

Aurora could never imagine, in all of her years that this is how it would end. How her last moments would be spent. What she did with the last two months of her life, the actions she took during them.

She looks down at her sleeping father, tucked under one of her old blankets with tears streaked down his cheeks. She had watched him cry himself to sleep, a sight she never wanted to happen. Wondering if she hadn't did what she did…..would it have lead to a different outcome? Would her father have his daughter tucked into him as adrian shawcross would be hauled into the back of car he himself shoved criminals into? What would have happened if she simply told her father?

Rory licks her lips as she ponders these thoughts, only stopping them when she realizes that none of it matters now. If it ever truly mattered in the first place. She's dead due to Adrian's greed and arsenic filled heart. Not letting her rest even in death, keeping her on the cot in his basement's side room. Not even removing his twin brothers head from where she had placed it in the room. Making her his toy until she can leave his hold for good. Her flesh leaving her body, no longer offering him the comfort he sought. Rory waits patiently until that day, recalling how her life had been before her death. How she felt during it.

Let us recall those moments with her, shall we? See how she spent her last moments and how they caused a death so vile she wouldn't wish it upon anybody. I'll take you step by step, moment by moment.

[robbyrobinson]

I

I haven't the faintest idea how I ended up getting into this position, but I am forever grateful that I managed to escape it. Ever since I was a child, I was an avid reader. I read just about anything: newspapers; comic books; obituaries, you name it. I'm certain that you had the same feelings I had. Of reading whatever you could get your grubby hands-on, you find yourself in a bind. Craving more knowledge, I am assured that you would've done anything to satiate your hunger.

When I was allowing my mind to humor the imagined solutions to my plight, it happened. While I was browsing the town's bookstore, I bumped into a strange man. He was the spitting image of a walrus. He was a rotund man in the perfect shape of an egg. He had a double chin that was partially covered by the thick, wintry whiskers of his mustache. Whoever this man was, he clearly was of some form of nobility. He was dressed in the finest black tuxedo that money could buy...if not for the fact that his paunch peeked through the bottom of his shirt. His arms were of a gargantuan frame with rolls of fat jiggling from the slightest movement.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," I said. I had about four books in my hands at the time. I gazed down at them and collapsed on my knees to collect them without hesitation. The man tentatively wiped his shirt off with his pudgy fingers.

"It's quite all right, my good fellow," he said in an understanding tone of voice. While I should've been relieved that he wasn't going to take vengeance on me for my mistake, I felt the heat of his stare. He observed the books on the ground with a passing curiosity. "A fellow book connoisseur?"

"Well, yes," I answered while still being intimidated by the sudden interrogation.

"That is very good news," he replied. His smile shifted down into a frown. "But these books just won't do."

My interest peaked. "You know more appropriate literature for me to indulge myself in?"

"Yes. Just between you and me, let's just say that I have a collection of forbidden literature."

That proved to be the most intriguing part of the discussion. This man I had met on accident had access to literature that was assuredly banned by the government. I've heard stories of such books containing such unorthodox material, they were buried away, never to be seen by the light of day. The opportunities were limitless. I could barely conceal my excitement as I almost glossed over the gentleman providing me with his address. He became like a penguin and wobbled away, throwing his weight on his legs. Before I walked over to the counter, for a moment, I could've sworn that I saw a large, monstrous anomaly acting as the man's shadow.

II

Not too long after my realization that I neglected to ask the man of his name; a series of disappearances befell the city. Children between the ages of 10 and 16 were reported missing. They each disappeared not too long after the other. Approximately, there were six missing children. I thought back to the man I met at the bookstore and how eerily his shadow matched the news reports of the children complaining about being relentlessly pursued by a monster shrouded in darkness. It sent a chill up my spine whenever I weighed more on it.

The day of my little get-together with the man from the bookstore arrived. I fidgeted through my important papers until I fished out the note with his address on it. His home was a decent walking pace from mine. With my briefcase in hand, I traveled down the path. When I reached the house, it did not resemble anything I have imagined for a man of such a high status. The outer layers of the house contorted and shifted. The outer layer was transforming into indescribable shapes unknown to man. The trees around the settlement transformed into scaly talons. I turned to leave, but the voice of the fat man was calling out to me over the onslaught of chaos.

I walked through the shifting front door and trudged down the hallway. The walls were now a fleshy mass of red meat. They shook violently so much so; I was afraid they would leap at me. The other sights were…unappealing. In one room, what I could only describe as the most horrid of debaucheries was transpiring before my eyes. A wave of men and women bereft of clothing were committing the most audacious of sins. They danced around in a perverted succession and clawed onto each other in large orgies. Their incessant moaning disturbed me. “Lust,” I thought. It was undoubtedly a section dedicated entirely to the deadly sin of lust.

The next room was worse. Inside, chains of people were wrought with hunger. They tore into each other as wild dogs looking for scraps. Limbs were ripped off and fingers were plucked one by one like feathers. Not once did they grant me a passing glance. Instead, they continued to indulge in their cannibalistic rituals, never once feeling their hunger subsiding. What I have experienced was the sin of gluttony in its most perverted form.

Sloth was next. It was another guest room. It was relatively easier on the eyes, but that would be comparing a severed arm to a paper cut. Fat blobs sat on the bed and floor without rhyme or interest in anything currently happening. They were of people who were so corrupted by their slothfulness, they were reduced to creatures even below the worms.

The further I glanced into the rooms, the more I felt my mind crack from my incapability of understanding it. A hand reached out and touched my shoulder, sending me over the edge. “Glad you could make it; the festivities had just begun.”

It was the fat man again. But something was horribly wrong. He did not have any noticeable change in his demeanor. He still was just as jolly as he was when I first met him. In fact, he treated the unholy nightmares festering in his home with seeming indifference. That kind of indifference a man may feel when he views the same events daily. I now felt uncomfortable being in the same room as him.

Before I could respond, he whisked me away into the kitchen where he had a lavish array on the table. It looked normal at first glance, but after seeing all the bizarre, surreal nonsense in the respective rooms, I couldn’t help but be suspicious. The obese man sat at the head of the table and glutted himself on fattening foods from turkey legs and mashed potatoes. Thinking back, he looked even more massive than I gave him credit for. He looked up from his many plates and eyed me inquisitively.

III

“So, how are you enjoying your stay?”

I slammed my fists on the table in a dazed frenzy. “What in the name of all decency is going on here!?”

He frowned and sighed deeply. “I see you don’t understand. Such a shame.”

“Shame?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered, “I’m sure that you noticed by now that I am by no means an ordinary man.”

My mind became a blank. Not human? What is he suggesting? I knew he was insane, but what the hell did he mean by those cryptic words? I hushed my thoughts when he began to speak again.

“I am of a race of gods eldritch to your thought processes. Please, call me the Defiler.”

“Where are you going with this?” I asked now in irritation. Great; this man was insane, and he also believes that he was some powerful deity. I rubbed my throbbing temples in bewilderment. If this were a dream, I very much would’ve loved to wake up. I’d imagine waking up in my bed in the early morning going about my day and then indulging in my cherished hobbies. Instead, I was currently in a grotesque house filled with unspeakable perversions getting lectured to by a deranged man who may as well have escaped from a mental asylum not too far from here.

“I see that I am boring you, boy,” he said. His face was contorted into a vengeful scowl. “I am here speaking to you, but I am also far away.”

“How far, fat man?” I asked.

“My body is indescribable to you mortals, but I am confined behind a stone wall.”

I listened tentatively despite my disbelief. What he said next horrified me. If the idea that he was locked away behind a stonewall was already unbelievable, what he spoke of still to this day greatly disturbed me.

“Do you like my latest body?” he asked, “after all, this freak was just like you before I found you.” He told me that there was a man who was much like me who hungered for knowledge. After he grew bored with the typical literature he read, he sought more. In his endeavor, he met a member of an underground cult who told him that he could have access to the more problematic pieces. He was exposed to the depravities that the cult performed in dedication to some Great Old One or something of the sort. Despite it, he nevertheless allowed his cravings to overpower him, and he read a book that summoned that unearthly presence to him.

“It’s a pity that this body is going to waste,” the fat man bemoaned. “It’s about time I parted with him; we had so much fun together.” He feigned a single tear. “Those children were my favorite part.”

“Children?” I said.

He wordlessly took me forcefully out of my seat, and we both walked to the basement of the house. The remains of the missing children were spread astray. I choked back vomit as I took a closer look at them. Large chunks were noticeably taken from the corpses. I looked back at the fat man, his grin only growing larger with a more deranged glaze in his eyes. His smile circled around the tips of his mouth.

“What? What can I say; after I had my fun with them, I got hungry. Can’t blame a Great Old One becoming famished.”

My fists clenched. After everything, I was mentally preparing myself to punch this “god” back towards whatever plane of existence he originated from. “What else did you do to that man?”

He smirked. “When I possessed him, I cast his soul aside. He will forever be trekking that long path between life and death. I maneuvered him like a flesh puppet subservient to my rule. I do wonder though if he ever was made to watch his body cozy up with strangers?”

“What are you wanting from me now? And what is the reason behind any of this!?” I finally yelled.

He shrugged his shoulders. “After about three hours or so in my home and you still fail to understand?” He sighed. “I live for the carnality of you simple humans. I know all of man’s depravities and abominations, and I bask in it. That sense of pleasure mixed with pain is intoxicating. But what I desire the most is to be free from my prison and walk among you simple humans!”

The man’s disguise was wearing thin. His skin became papery with small cracks forming all over. Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, his disguise cracked open. Underneath was displeasing to man’s eyes. An abnormally fat, headless man burst through the skin and towered over me. His hands were large and enshrouded my head. What sent me the most alarm, however, were the two mouths within the palms of his hands. Hot drool dripped down from his serpentine tongues. The room transformed into a chasm of red meat with oozing slime. A book manifested before me. It opened to the section that mentioned the fat man, the Defiler’s, name.

“Say my name and free me!”

My eyes darted towards his name. I tried my darndest to fight, but once my mind was set on the name, my tongue began to betray me. “Y…Y…”

The Defiler stiffened up in anticipation. “Yes! Yes!”

I grasped my throat and grunted. My attempts at choking myself were also proving to be unfruitful. “Y’gol…”

I immediately stared down on the floor of the basement. Beside one of the bodies of the slain children, I saw a carving knife. With my little time, I made a grab for it. The Defiler was perplexed, though because of lacking eyes, he could only express it through his mouths. I grabbed the knife and held it in front of him. My tongue slid out unconsciously from my mouth, and I grabbed it with one hand.

“No, no!” he screamed.

It was painful, but I sliced my tongue off, allowing half to fall on the floor. The Defiler shook violently. I was running out of blood quickly, but I ran forward with the knife and tussled with the Great Old One. He pinned me tightly with one of his hands and he tried to shove me up his other mouth. I clenched my knife and I rammed it into his chest cavity. He loosened his hold on me and tumbled forward. Blood was leaking out onto the floor. Nevertheless, he laughed. Despite the pain and blatant loss of blood. He was still laughing as if he was having the best day of his life.

“Don’t think that this is over, fool,” he said, “I can never truly die. Shame we won’t be able to play some more, though. Oh well, I guess I’ll go defile some other poor sap.” He laughed through his hands and contorted into dust. Without its owner, the house began to collapse, and debris came raining down. From the sound of the bloody screaming, the Defiler’s followers were also being buried alive. I staggered my way through the horrific freak show and exited the house. The house imploded, burying itself deep into a crater in the ground.

IV

Even though it was a few months ago, I still find myself thinking back about how my lust for reading nearly cost me my life and the threats of that beast getting released. But he also said that he would try to corrupt some other hapless victim. I just wonder who will be the next to fall, victim?

[sweetlangdon]

When You Needed It Shouted: Part Two (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Notes: Here it is, part 2 of the angst fic! It’s the thrilling conclusion. (Of this fic, not the actual Roommates series.)

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Blood, violence. Nothing too graphic beyond anything you’d see on the show. Peril. Angst. 

Part One

You don’t know how long the darkness has stolen you away.

It could be minutes, hours, days—you don’t know what’s worse, that you’re not sure what day it is or that you barely remember what the hell happened last time you were conscious. There’s a steady drip, drip, drip somewhere, echoing, pounding into your skull with a force that shouldn’t be painful, but it is. You try to remember those last moments. They’re filled with anger and fear and the taste of salt on your lips, with words that sting like a raw, open wound.

The darkness still has you, your mind in a haze, blinded by a scrap of fabric hastily tied around your head. You think that even if you could see, the first statement would still be true. Whoever’s abducted you—it takes a few minutes to work through this and realize it’s actually a thing that’s happened—sure as fuck isn’t doing it for charitable purposes or the greater good. It takes a special kind of asshole to kidnap someone in the parking lot of their own apartment building.

At least you’re still breathing. And you’re sitting upright, you realize, as you begin to claw through the fog that’s engulfed your brain. You were fucking drugged. There’s something binding your wrists—not rope, but something that digs into your skin and makes your fingers slightly numb. Plastic, you think. Maybe zip ties?

Shit.

The floor is freezing under your bare toes, and suddenly you’re wondering why this person has taken your shoes. Or maybe you lost them in whatever scuffle happened in the parking lot? You don’t know. You don’t know anything except the rising panic in your chest and a musty, damp basement odor wafting into your senses. That does not bode well at all for you if you’re in some serial killer’s weird ass murder den. Not at all. You almost want to laugh and you’re not exactly sure why, maybe it’s all the uncomfortable fluttering in your ribcage and the fact that you can’t breathe deep.

“Good, you’re awake.”

It surprises you that the voice belongs to a woman. You watch those true crime documentaries when you’re bored, and you’ve always thought that if any of that horrid shit happened to you, the killer would be a man. So this is…it’s odd. Not that anything about this is normal, but you were expecting the aggression from someone else. The woman’s tone is impatient, grating, and loud. As if you’re the one in this situation who’s done something wrong.

She isn’t gentle when she rips the blindfold off your head. The room is blurry, spinning, until you blink a few times. There’s a weak florescent light overhead that struggles to keep itself on, a low whining hum that conspires with the dripping water to crack your skull in half. You are, in fact, in a basement, but like everything else so far, it’s not the basement you expect. More the commercial type—a community center? Peeling concrete walls and no windows and a claustrophobic ceiling. Boxes coated with dust and spider webs. Stacks of chairs. Folding tables made out of cheap plastic.

You squint against the sudden assault of overhead lights. As your eyes finally adjust, you see the semicircle of people who’ve cornered you. Who’ve fucking kidnapped you. And they’re dressed in black, draped in it, some of them with hoods casting shadows across their faces. Cloaks? Robes? You aren’t sure. But the woman standing in front of you with resting bitch face is wearing bright, bright red. A flash of silver catches your attention, and that’s when you notice the massive pentagram on her chest.

“Fuck,” you mutter aloud. Your voice is scratchy, your throat parched.

Somehow, this seems so much worse than anything you could’ve imagined. What is this cultist bullshit?

The woman lowers to a crouch in front of you, narrows her eyes and looks deep into yours. She pats your cheek like you’re a fucking child and you want to spit in her goddamn face but you can’t get your brain to follow commands fast enough. You push your wrists against the zip ties holding them behind your back.

“Time to wake up, princess,” she says in this condescending tone with a slow, smug grin. Goddamn, you really want to punch her. You want to bust her nose into pieces. It kills you inside that you can’t remember that fucking YouTube video about breaking free from zip ties. Damn it, damn it, damn it…

“You were out longer than we expected—got a little overenthusiastic with the chloroform,” she tells you. “We’ve already had to delay the Mass for an hour, so we’d like to get this show on the road. You’re our main event, after all. They’re getting restless upstairs with all the waiting.”

You glare at her. “Sorry to be a big fucking inconvenience,” you snap. And then you go for it.

Without a way to get your hands free, you throw your entire body weight forward, your shoulder colliding with her chest, your head knocking into her chin. It throws both of you off balance, and even though it works for a moment, there’s too many of them. You’re pulled off her, roughly, and wrestled to the ground as you’re attempting to get in a kick or two. You don’t know if they land, but you don’t stop thrashing, flailing with your bare feet. Unfortunately for you, they hit back. Those fuckers aim straight for your face; you feel knuckles connect with your cheek, pain lashing across your lower lip. Sparks fly across your vision when someone’s fist slams into your stomach and knocks the breath out of your lungs.

“All right, that’s enough,” the woman says, like she’s showing mercy.

The figures cloaked in black shove you back against the support beam. Pain ripples up your spine and you sputter, coughing. Blood trickles from your bottom lip. You can taste it on your tongue as it coats your teeth, and you spit it back onto the floor by the woman’s shoes. You’re only a little smug once she recoils.

“A little cooperation goes a long way.”

“Yeah?” you counter, breathless. Every time you inhale, there’s an uncomfortable flare of pain in your ribs. “Who the fuck are you? I don’t need to do shit.”

“More important than you’ll ever be,” she replies. You scoff. “You’re a nobody. A distraction. And it’s my job to make sure that before this night is over, you’re forgotten. Hate to break it to you, princess, but you’re not part of this story. We can’t have you getting in the way of prophecy.”

It takes a minute for your addled brain to understand that this is about Michael. And these people are actual fucking Satanists.

“You stay away from him.”

She laughs at you. “I don’t take orders from you, sweetheart.” You’re not normally a violent person, but you’re positive that in this particular situation, you’d be justified if things got ugly. If only your damned hands weren’t bound. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t know this was coming. Did you really think that little arrangement of yours was going to last? You saw the omens. You were warned. You could’ve saved yourself the trouble…” She sighs, a little dramatically. “But you gave us no other choice. We had to intervene on behalf of Satan himself.”

You spit more blood at her shoes. “Fuck off, lady,” you rasp. “He doesn’t need you messing up his life. He’s been through enough.”

She laughs, nearly doubled over, as if you’ve told some hilarious joke. “No, see…that’s where you’re wrong,” she answers. “You thought you could change him? You thought he’d chose you? He’s lost his way, but he’ll find it again. There’s no changing something that’s been predestined before you were ever a thought. He’s not yours.”

“You’re right, he’s not,” you say. “He doesn’t belong to anyone but himself.”

Her eyes narrow again. “I get it—oh, that’s cute.” She grins, and you want to kick her teeth in. “That’s adorable. You love him, don’t you?” Your hands curl into tight fists and push against the zip ties, push until your fingers are numb. “I almost feel sorry for you, princess.”

There’s a sharp sound, and you see one of her cloaked followers brandish a roll of duct tape.

“Want us to shut her up?” a gruff voice asks.

“No,” the woman in red says slowly. “I want him to hear her.”  

 ***

It doesn’t occur to you right away that these people are going to kill you. You think it should’ve been obvious, from everything you’ve heard about Satanists. From the way they’ve roughed you up, from the woman’s scathing words and indifference toward you. But you’re in denial as they lead you out of the damp basement and up a few flights of stairs, a grim, silent procession in black. You’re still trying to work your hands out of those zip ties, your thoughts running too fast to even consider the fact that you’re here to be fucking murdered. There’s hands on your shoulders, shoving your back as your knees wobble and you trip over your own feet. You’re sweating through your clothes and freezing at the same time, panic working your labored breath into shuddering gasps. Each inhale hurts more than the last.

The woman in red disappears through a doorway with a few of the figures in black. You still aren’t sure where you are—it looks a little like a church, from your few experiences with religious services. Not exactly the stained glass and Gothic architecture you were expecting, but rather a slightly rundown rec center posing as a house of worship for Satanists. Of all the places you thought you could get fucking murdered in this city, you never considered this. But…you suppose it makes sense. Your life has been that way for the past year or so, this wild, unbelievable ride that’s now biting you directly in the ass as it comes to a screeching halt.

You hate that woman for planting a seed of doubt in you. You hate that you think she could be right. Were you a dumbass, catching feelings for the goddamn Antichrist? Was it totally naïve of you to trust a perfect stranger?

You wonder what’s going to happen to Michael once they’ve sacrificed you. That thought comes first, before how your family and friends and coworkers will react, or if you’ll be a missing person’s case or an unsolved homicide. You think, what are these fuckers going to do him? And how will the world look, after?

The hands gripping your arms—they’re leaving bruises; you can feel it, but you know it won’t matter—tug at you, none of them gentle. It takes a moment for you to return to your body and realize they’re ripping your clothes off. They land in a shredded heap around you, no regard at all for your dignity. As if ritual sacrifice isn’t bad enough, you’re about to be paraded around in nothing but your bra and panties.

The tears start, a burning at the back of your throat, a tightness behind your eyes, the moment you’re pushed forward. You can’t stop them. At this point you don’t give a single fuck about how pathetic it makes you look. They shove you into a room that’s aggressively red, leading you on a death march. There’s pews crammed with people in black and red on either side of you, more faces masked by shadow. You can feel their eyes on you as they chant and sing, the room a dizzying spectacle of candles and pentagrams and idols to the Devil himself. You’ve never felt so small and confused and hated in your life.

You’re sobbing by the time you reach the altar. They throw you at the feet of the woman in red, who knots her fingers into your hair and forces you to stay on your knees. She doesn’t let go, and you cry out when pain prickles at your scalp. All of the eyes watching you hang onto her every word. She’s loud and abrasive and theatrical, and you don’t hear a damn thing she’s saying because you’re crying so hard your ribs might finally crack in half. At least the tears blurring your vision keep you from the congregation in the pews. You catch bits of her sermon, her vile tirade against you and whatever crimes you’ve committed in the eyes of Satan and his batshit followers. They hate you for taking Michael away, for leading him down a path he’s not meant to follow. Somehow, they think you’re a terrible person for giving shelter and food and comfort to a stranger. The opposite of what you’ve always been told.

Through the onslaught of tears, you catch the flash of cold steel in the light of the candles. One of the others, wearing a scarlet cloak, hands the woman in red a knife. You know you’re fucked. And you aren’t sure if it’s how unstable you are right now, but that knife looks bigger, angrier than any knife in your kitchen drawer.

“Please,” you beg, your voice shattering. “Please, don’t do this.”

They ignore you. All of your pathetic sniffling and groveling goes unanswered. They don’t give a shit about you, and you know it. The woman in red yanks on your hair again, wrenching your head back so your neck is exposed. Your breath catches. Your eyelids flutter closed and you keep them shut tightly as you feel the first bite of the knife’s edge resting on your throat.

A hush falls over the room. You don’t realize something’s happened until you crack one eye open and find most of the candles have sputtered out, the church left in semidarkness. The worshippers in the pews have all gone quiet, lowered onto their knees in reverence, their heads bowed. It’s then that you find him: Michael, his clothes and hair a little disheveled, standing in the middle of the center aisle.

The woman lifts the knife off your neck. “Michael Langdon,” she announces, her voice ricocheting off the blood red walls. “What an honor it is, a privilege to be in your presence. We’ve been expecting you.” You blink away the tears clinging to your eyelashes to watch Michael walk toward you. You can’t read his face, and that makes a knot twist your insides. “We’re here to serve you and the will of your father. This,” she tugs on your hair and you yelp, “is his order. By spilling her blood, we’ll set you on the right path again. But now that you’re here among us, I’ll give you the honor of pledging your loyalty, so that we all may bear witness.”

Michael joins you and the woman in red on the altar. You feel sick as his distant gaze travels from you to the crowd still on their knees, still silent. When he takes the knife from the woman holding you hostage, he doesn’t look at you. His cold, icy blue eyes are settled on her. You don’t know if that’s worse or better.

“Michael,” you sob, tears and snot dripping down your face. “Please…”

Damn your foolish, stubborn heart.

You hold your breath, waiting for the betrayal. Michael tightens his grip around the handle of the knife, his knuckles white. The woman in red drags your head back again, and the last thing you see is her smug ass grin looming over you.

And then the knife plunges straight into her throat.

The spray of crimson is warm when it hits you in the face and rains down on your hair. It splatters across Michael’s sharp cheekbones and disappears into the black of his clothes. The woman doesn’t make much of a sound, except for the wheezing and choking as she drowns in the blood spilling from her torn neck. You’ve never seen so much blood in your life. She lets go of you, finally, while she collapses onto the altar, and you fall forward onto your stomach gasping for air.

The room erupts into panic after that. The worshippers are screaming, clambering over each other for the exits, all traces of reverence gone in a spray of blood. Not the blood any of them had wanted. The cloaked figures on the altar don’t dare to come near you, but they don’t escape quickly enough. Michael reaches out a bloody hand toward them and the next thing you know, they’re shrieking, fire catching their robes and turning them into piles of ash. It’s chaos, the smell of blood and singed flesh roiling your stomach. Breathing heavily, Michael moves to the edge of the altar to watch the last of the worshippers—the ones who’ve narrowly avoided being incinerated—sprinting out the doors.

You close your eyes for a moment and breathe.

There’s a light tug on your wrists. You flinch because you can’t help it, but you hear the snap of plastic and immediately, it releases the pressure in your hands. You work the feeling back into your fingers as someone lifts you off the bloodstained floor of the altar and sit back on your knees. Michael’s kneeling in front of you. It’s like he can’t bring himself to look you in the eye, doesn’t want to touch you because maybe he felt you recoil. He’s quiet as he works the buttons loose on his shirt, drapes it over your shoulders, and gently guides your arms through. His lithe fingers shake when he buttons it again and once he’s done, his hands don’t leave you.

Michael rests his forehead against yours and you lean into him, close enough that you hear the hitch in his breath, close enough that you feel the worry in his pulse. He holds your face in one of his bloodied hands. You don’t mind, not at all. You should be afraid, but you’re not—you’re not because you know that if he’s willing to fucking kill to protect you, you’re safe with him. And yet you’re crying as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him even closer, clinging to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you together.

Despite the violence he’s wrought in the last five minutes, he’s nothing but gentle with you. Michael is careful as he picks you up off the altar into his arms. You’re still holding on for dear life, and this time when he presses a feather light kiss to the top of your head, you know it’s not just a thing you’re imagining. In the weak light of the remaining candles, you see the unshed tears in his eyes.

He kisses your forehead. “Let’s go home.”

***

The cat yells at you once you’re back in the apartment, winding around Michael’s legs, furious about the trouble the two of you have gotten into. Michael navigates around him with expert precision, down the hall the bathroom. You hear the pissed off meowing and the scratching of claws against the door even after it’s closed.

Michael flicks on the light with an elbow and you only partially let go of him when he settles you onto the bathroom counter. And then he’s gone, leaving a draft where the warmth of him had seeped into you. You watch him rifle through the drawers and cabinets with a restless energy until he stops, dragging a trembling hand through his tousled curls.

“I should—I should go.”

Your heart crashes against your ribs. “Where?” you ask. “Why? Michael…your home is here, with me and our weirdo cat. You don’t have to go anywhere.”

He shakes his head and a tear slides down his cheek. “You didn’t deserve this,” he says. “You deserve better than me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, though, isn’t it?” His voice is wavering. “They wanted to kill you…they almost did. None of that would’ve happened if I wasn’t here. And if I hadn’t found you,” he swipes a palm over his face to dispatch some of the tears, “if I’d been too late—I couldn’t…I don’t fucking know what I’d do. I don’t want to be responsible for getting you killed.”

“But I’m still here,” you remind him. “That’s because of you. We’re both here right now because of you. You made a choice.”

“You’ll be safer if I leave,” he insists.

“Maybe,” you say, your voice small and quiet. “But I don’t want you to go, Michael. Please don’t.”

His lower lip trembles. “I can’t stop him. I don’t know how—”

“You already did.”

“Every person I’ve ever loved has been taken away from me,” Michael tells you, and you believe him. You know the hurt in his voice is real. “I can’t risk that…I won’t let it happen again.”

It takes a moment for you to understand the weight of what he’s saying. Right here, in your tiny bathroom in your tiny apartment, the two of you covered in someone else’s blood, tears spilling down your faces. And yet, with the way your life has been since Michael walked into it, it makes complete sense for it to happen this way.

“You…love me.”

“You thought I didn’t?”

“No…no, it’s just nice to hear you say it. To hear it out loud and everything.” You hold out your hand, beckoning him closer to you, and hope that he takes it. You hope that you’re enough to make him stay. “Michael,” you whisper, a fresh wave of tears breaking over your words, “I don’t want you to leave. Stay here with me. You’re already home.”

Once he’s finally closed the distance between you, he takes the hand you’re offering, lacing his fingers between yours. “I love you too fucking much to let you go.” Your fingers squeeze his. “Please don’t—”

He interrupts your plea and steals it away with a kiss. It’s sudden, desperate, but surprisingly gentle. Your fingers relax, the tension easing from you. It’s all the answer you need. You return it, one hand tangled in Michael’s hair, the other still entwined with his. He’s extraordinarily careful with you, his hand a light touch against your cheek, mindful of the bruises. You’ve had a few brief flirtations, awkward attempts at romance in the past. But this feels different. This is different. A choice. A promise.

When you break the kiss to catch your breath, Michael is hesitant to let you go again. He presses closer, his head nudging yours, and you think that maybe you’re content to never leave this spot, if it wasn’t for all the blood. And when he looks at you, there’s still tears in his eyes, but they’re bright, clear blue. A faint grin curves the side of his mouth. That’s the Michael Langdon you recognize.

The one you fell in love with.

The one who loves you.

***

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