#DO YOU SED THE VISION

[averageclawcodeenjoyer]

Okay so hear me out on SIREN + SELKIE AU. THIS SAME DYNAMIC, BUT MILES G IS A SIREN (totally not based off a betta fish because I think that would be super pretty). HEAR ME OUT ON GANKE BEING A SILVER HARBOR/SPOTTED SEAL WHO WEARS HIS FUR COAT EVERYWHERE WITH HIM BECAUSE "ITS FASHIONABLE" OR "ITS A FAMILY HEIRLOOM/GIFT."

HEAR ME OUT ON MILES BEING "SCARED" OF WATER BECAUSE IT UNEVILS HIS GLAMOUR MAGIC (Luca reference) AND GANKE WANTING MAKING FUN OF HIM BEING "UNABLE TO SWIM" (LIES!!1!1!!!)

HEAR ME OUT ON MILES HAVING GLOWY SCALE ACCENTS (like his suit) AND PINK EYES AND PURPLE SCALES AND SHARP TEETH AND CLAWS AND GILLS ON HIS RIBS AND FINS THAT ARE SO LONG AND FLOWY AND ABSOLUTELY STUNNING, AND A MUSICAL COMPONENT TO HIS VOICE THATS HYPNOTIZING. HEAR ME OUT ON HIM HAVING SHARP VISION AND THE ABILITY TO SEE PRETTY WELL IN THE DARK, AND COARSE HAIR FROM THE SALTWATER, AND GIVES EVERYBODY THE UNCANNY VALLEY FEELUNG BECAUSE THEY KNOW HES NOT HUMAN INSTINCTUALLY BUT HAVE NO WAY TO PROVE HES NOT. He just sits there and people stare and get nervous and it's hard for him to make friends because of it :(

(And he gets predatory urges to lure and kill and eat and has to suppress them because.. obviously the library is not a good place to get hungry and murder someone.)

HEAR ME OUT ON GANKE BEING SOFT AND ROUND LIKE HE IS BECAUSE IT'S SEAL BLUBBER. HEAR ME OUT ON HIM BEING RESISTANT TO COLD AND ABKE TO WEAR A T-SHIRT AND PANTS IN NYC WINTER WHILE MILES IS BUNDLED UP LIKE AN ANTARTIC EXPLORER. HIS FRECKLES AND MOLES IN THE SAME LOCATIONS AS THEY WOULD BE AS A SEAL, HIS EYES SOFT AND BROWN AND HAVING PERFRCT VISION UNDERWATER BUT NEEDING HIS GLASSES ON LAND (Seals can't sea as well on land). NEVER BEING ABLE TO TAN AND GETTING HORRIBLY SUNBURNT EVERY TIME THEY HANG OUT OUTSIDE IN THE SUMMER. HEAR ME OUT ON GANKE GETTING SUUUUUUPER COMFY AND SLEEPY AND CHIRPING OR MAKING SMALL LITTLE SOUNDS WHEN HES HAPPY.

HEAR ME OUT ON MILES AND GANKE MEETING AND IMMEDIATELY HAVING A CONNECTION SINCE THEY BOTH HAVE LIVES REVOLVING AROUND THE SEA. BUT GANKE GETS A PREY-RESPONSE WHEN HES ALONE WITH MILES (At least for a while) BECAUSE MILES IS A PREDATOR HIGHER ON THE FOOD CHAIN THAN HE.

HEAR ME OUT ON MILES STAYING OVER AT GANKE'S PLACE AND FINDING GANKE'S COAT AND WEARING IT. ON GANKE TRYING TO CONCEAL A FREAK OUT ABOUT IT. ARE. ARE YOU LISTENING YET. AM I LOUD ENOUGH

Uhhhh minific anybody ( ・∀・)

"Damn man, no wonder you wear this all the time. Shit's nice." Miles said, coming down the stairs with Ganke's Selkie pelt wrapped around his body like a robe since it's so big on him, his hands running through the fur that is Ganke's.

Ganke paused, a piece of chocolate held halfway between the counter and his mouth. His eyes went wide as his entire world shifted sideways because holy shit, that's his coat, his only connection to the ocean, his lifeline. "Haha, yeaaahhhhh... it's, uh.. really expensive." He whispered, sounding breathless as he stared at Miles.

Miles looked up at him and smirked, looking at the way Ganke was staring at him with that funny bug-eyed expression he always got when someone asked about his coat. He always thought it was strange yet amusing how protective Ganke was over a scrap of fur. So he decided to tease him about it, stroking the fur and sauntering around to the counter where Ganke was standing.

"Is it? Well, I hope you have enough to buy a new one, because I'm keeping it." He joked, not serious at all as he looked up at the taller boy, noticing the way his face paled and he started to sweat.

Ganke felt his mouth get dry immediately, his heart starting to pound against his chest as he felt his blood pressure rise. He missed the fact that Miles was joking, partially because he was bad at social cues, and partially because if Miles wanted to keep it, he couldn't say no.

"I-- I- um, well-- it's like, a uh, important heirloom for my family, a-actually." Ganke stammered before his throat could close up and he was forced to say yes. He set the chocolate down, pressing his hot hands against the cold counter as a way to ground himself as his heart panicked. "I can get you a different coat to wear if you want." He offered, willing himself to reach out and snatch the coat back... but he couldn't. His body wouldn't move.

"Nahhh.. I like this one," Miles continued, grinning as he rolled his eyes and turned around, stepping over to the couch and sitting down, kicking his legs up. The coat was almost a blanket on him, and it smelled like Ganke, and it was so warm. "Sorry, man. You'll just have to tell your dead ancestors that you were ready to pass it on."

Ganke stood rooted in place, his terrified stare focused on the back of Miles's head. Inside. Ganke was screaming at himself to move, shout, say no, speak up. But he couldn't. That wasn't how this worked. His breath hitched quietly as he fought against the words building in the back of his throat. Words that weren't his. Words that could ruin his whole life. But he couldn't stop them. The longer he tried, the more nauseous and dizzy he was getting.

"Oh. Okay." He said quietly, his voice coming out as a choked squeak as his head reeled.

Being a Selkie was both a blessing and a curse. He could go where no one else could, free from the biological confines of the human body. He got to see the best of both worlds above and below sea. He wasn't confined to one existence or the other.

But his coat was his lifeline. It was what kept his heart beating, and what kept him connected to the sea and magic that allowed him to exist as he was. If he was separated from his coat for a long time, he started getting sick... like that one time his father had taken it away to get it professionally cleaned, not knowing it's importance to Ganke, and they couldn't get it back for three weeks. Any time somebody else had the coat in their possession, he felt like there were nails in his feet and spiders in his lungs. His entire body crawled with fear and discomfort.. but he could never ask for the coat back, nor take it by force.

There was some invisible puppeteer that lived inside him, seeing, breathing, and eating with him. Usually, it lay dormant and distant in the back of his consciousness, but in times like this, it outgrew his control over it and took over, possessing Ganke's body and keeping him from going rouge. It didn't seem to care that it would sever the only thing that kept its host alive. It would find another.

Ganke was just a body.

The beast was indifferent to him.

"Wait- really?" Miles asked, surprised as he looked over his shoulder, surprised by how much of a pushover Ganke was being. This.. wasn't like him. He narrowed his eyes slightly, confused by Ganke's response.

Ganke didn't reply for a moment, his entire body shaking as he tried to swallow back the curse that was bubbling inside him. Don't say yes, don't say yes, don't say yes--

"Y-eah." Ganke said, feeling as though each word was being drug out of his mouth like thorns, ripping and tearing at his soft body. Bile rose in his throat the longer he tried to repress it, causing him to lean forward on the counter with a grimace. "..If you want it.. you can have it. N.. n-no big deal."

Miles sat up in alarm as Ganke slowly sank down to the floor behind the counter, looking extremely green. Holy shit?

He got up and quickly hopped over to the kitchen, crouching down next to Ganke and taking the other boy's face gently into his hands. He was clammy and shaking, and he didn't look like he was doing too hot. "Uh, dude? Gee? What's going on?" He asked, noticing the wild look in Ganke's eyes.

Ganke shook his head, shuddering violently as Miles touched him. He reached out and set his hand on the fur, feeling an intense wave of nausea as his survival instincts went toe to toe with the beast. He dug the nails of his other hand into the floor, gritting his teeth as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hide the face that they were trimming with tears.

Miles’s heart lunched as he saw Ganke's reaction, his own panic spiking. Ganke looked like he wanted to vomit his soul up. "Oh, shit. Fuck, dude, uh-- Are you- having an allergic reaction to something? Did one of those chocolates have nuts in them??" Miles asked, gently setting Ganke down as he grabbed the box of chocolates, scanning over it. Nothing. What the hell? Was it something else?

Ganke couldn't respond, putting his hands over his mouth as he fought the urge to be violently ill, toeing the edge of his very existence. He looked like he was about to start frothing at the mouth.

Miles's eyes darted around, going from his friend, to the snacks, upstairs, and back. He swallowed harshly, trying to keep his composure while also hard-core freaking out. "Crap, uh, um, okay. I think I saw an Epi-Pen in your bedroom, I'm gonna go get that-- don't move." He instructed, hoping he looked like he had it together even though he very much did not. He dropped the coat onto the ground, leaping over the counter as he took off towards the stairs.

The second the pelt was off Miles, and he was moving, Ganke snatched it off the floor and wrapped it around himself, curling into a ball with it at his center. He inhaled sharply, burying his face back into his fur, shaking as he caught his breath again. He felt the magic in his blood start flowing again, soothing his clenched muscles and relaxing his lungs again. He opened his eyes dully as Miles came back, skidding around the corner and nearly eating shit as he did.

"Here- god- how the hell do I work this thing, u-uhm---" He stammered, his hands shaking slightly as he crouched down by Ganke again, trying to figure out how the Epi-Pen worked.

"Miles, wait--" Ganke said, his voice a little hoarse but definitely stronger. He slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, fully putting the coat on and leaning back against the cabinets. He put his hands up, still breathing heavily, but the color was coming back to his face and his eyes were normal. "I-I'm okay, Milo, it's over."

Miles paused, an unconvinced expression on his face as he looked his best friend up and down. There was no way Ganke was just okay after that. He looked like he'd been about to throw his organs up and has just been convulsing on the floor, for fucks sake!

"..Really."

"Yeah, really."

"....Really-really?"

"Miles-" Ganke sighed, pressing his hand to his head and wiping away the sweat that had gathered there during his little.. episode. "Yes, Miles, I promise. That was it. It's over. I'm okay." He insisted, glancing towards the sliding glass door at the empty night sky. Now that he had his connection to the sea back... his body was itching to go jump in the sea and feel okay.

Miles continued to stare at Ganke, not convinced that was how allergic reactions worked. He'd never seen one himself, so he didn't know, but from what he'd heard, the person didn't just get better like that. What was really going on? "But-"

"I said I'm fine!" Ganke snapped, his words coming out a little more angry than he'd meant them to. The primal need that coursed in his veins burning under his skin. He needed to go, and he needed to go now. "I just- I just need some air."

"Wh- Ganke? Wait!-" Miles protested, but Ganke had already gotten up and whisked himself off towards the sliding glass door with nothing but a curt "Give me a minute!"

What. The actual. Fuck.

Miles stared after Ganke, flinching as the door slammed and Ganke disappeared around the corner. He was left feeling so confused, and a little hurt by Ganke's reaction.

Ganke had never snapped at him like that, not even when Miles was bullying him and making fun of him for being a nerd.

None of this was adding up.

He looked down at the Epi-Pen that was still in his hands, blinking as his head reeled. He didn't understand any of this. He knew Ganke was weird about his coat, but... this was really weird.

After about ten minutes of absolute radio silence from his best friend, Miles started getting worried again. He set the Epi-Pen on the counter as he got up, grabbing his phone off the couch and pulling up his messages.

Bro are you okay? What the hell was that? He texted, staring at the message after it sent. He heard a ding and looked up, noticing Ganke's phone laying abandoned on the counter...

"..Crap."

Ganke's bare feet slammed into the earth as he raced down a trail he knew very well. A trail he traveled often. A trail that led straight down to the ocean and up the back of a big rock, where he would jump into the ocean and transform.

He didn't care about the rocks that poked into the pads of his feet, nor the blackberry vines that tangled around his ankles and ripped into his skin, causing scarlet blood to spring to the surface andrace down his legs.

He was driven by the incessant need to make sure that he was still connected to the ocean. That he hadn't given up his freedom. That he was still Ganke, not Ganke that belonged to Miles. It was wild, and terrifying, and it made him feral. He was running, ripping, clawing his way to the forest until his feet hit the sand.

"Ganke?" Miles called, pushing the door open and stepping out into the night. The late-winter air was bitter and cold on his face and he paused, momentarily rethinking his decision to go after Ganke. He didn't have a coat, and he was in a tank top and Hello-Kitty pajamas bottoms.

"Ganke..?" He asked again, raising his voice and closing the door behind him. Ganke was more important than freezing his ass off for a little bit. He shivered slightly and stepped into the grass, scanning the property for his friend.. that was nowhere to be found.

"Where the fuck did you go..?" He muttered to himself, looking around. The forest was dark, yeah, but he could still see just fine, thanks to his special eyes. He walked the length of the forest until he found a trail that looked pretty well-used. "..I guess that's a start."

Miles started off down the path, moving swiftly, but quietly, like a snake through tall grass... or, like a shark through a kelp forest. As he followed the path, his worry grew, especially upon seeing the little droplets of blood on the ground, and the broken, battered greenery that someone had tore through.

That someone being Ganke.

Miles sped up, listening to the sound of the waves getting closer. "Ganke!" He yelled again, nearly tripping and falling over a tree root that he hadn't seen poking out of the ground. God, where the hell is this kid?

Miles’s breath fogged in the air around him as he panted, no longer taking care to be quiet and stealthy. He finally broke through the brush, and his feet hit cold, grainy sand. He snapped his head up, scanning the horizon before his eyes caught something silvery shining in the moonlight. There.

Ganke.

Miles let out a relieved little chuckle, about to call out to Ganke when he realized... Ganke had made it to the top of this enormous rock.. and he wasn't stopping. Miles shot forward again just as Ganke jumped off the rock and dove into the water headfirst, a terrified scream ripping from his throat.

"GANKE!"

Miles wasn't going to lose someone else. Not again. Not him. Not like his dad.

He didn't care if it gave up his secret.

There was a bright light as Ganke hit the water, but Miles didn't notice it. He clawed his way up to the top of the stone, feeling fuzzy and slow. What the fuck was Ganke doing?! It was high tide, the middle of the night, and freezing! He was going to die for sure if Miles didn't get to him in time.

He felt sick.

Scrambling, Miles searched the waves desperately, but he didn't see Ganke anywhere. Oh god, please, not like this. He picked up a spot that didn't look like it had too many rocks and jumped as well, plunging into the icy water.

He's too important.

I need him.

Miles blinked as his eyes adjusted to the harsh pounding of the waved, grunting as he was slammed into the rock behind as he transformed. He felt his legs fuse together, his long, pink and yellow tail fanning out below him. Shimmery purple scales pricked up on his arms and torso, turning over and replacing the skin that was typically there. He blinked again as the bubbled assaulted his vision, causing him to panic even harder.

As the water pushed him back into the rock again, he dug his claws into it and dove under, diving as far under the waves as he could do he could have a moment to adjust and look around. He rubbed his eyes with the webbing between his fingers, blinking harshly as he shook himself off.

Under the water was just as unforgiving and empty as the surface was. There were sharp, jagged rocks that jutted out of the sea floor, black against the already dark water. Miles kicked his tail, propelling himself forward as he desperately searched for Ganke. But there was no sign of him, no traces, no body, no clothes.. nothing.

Miles shuddered in the cold, feeling it start to leak into his bones. He wasn't made for swimming in the winter, despite his thick scales and large fins. He lost heat quickly as he swam around, wearing in and out of boulders and seaweed. He had to keep searching, he wasn't going to lose Ganke like this. No, not like this. God.

Not again. He wasn't going to lose someone again. Ganke was too important.

But Miles's body had other plans. Long before his vision started getting hazy, and his fingers got numb, he could feel his body shutting down. His fins got heavy, his tail locking up, his scales glowing dimmer and dimmer. But he still pushed on, not going to let Ganke be the one that got away.

I need him.

Please..!

Miles wasn't sure when he had closed his eyes, but he knew he had when he woke up to the waves splashing him on the face. He leaned his head up, wincing as another bright light shone in his eyes, and there were big, warm hands wrapping around him and carrying him up the beach. He leaned his head tiredly against the soft embrace, feeling his body change again as the water dripped off his body.

"Miles! Miles!!" Ganke yelled as he laid Miles down on the dry sand and curled around him, sharing his body heat in an attempt to warm the other boy back up. "Hey! Don't you dare pass out on me right now!" He barked, his voice breaking as he gently grabbed Miles's face and patted it.

Miles opened his eyes again, his vision hazy and his brain foggy. For a moment, he thought he saw Ganke. But when he blinked again, the hazy edges of his vision cleared, and he realized it actually was Ganke.

"Wh- I-- where?-"

"You fucking idiot!" Ganke snapped, interrupting Miles, rubbing Miles's arms aggressively until he felt his body warming up. "I told you to stay in the house! What's wrong with you?!"

Miles blinked at him, his head lolling into the crook of Ganke's neck. He closed his eyes, clinging onto him as he listened to his heartbeat. He could tell just from the way Ganke was holding him that he wasn't really mad, just extremely worried.

That made two of them.

"I'm... I'm sorry." Miles mumbled, slinking his arms around Ganke's torso and squeezing him tightly, suddenly finding himself tearing up. "I just- I was so worried about you-- and then I couldn't find you, and then you were jumping and you didn't come back up and I-" He bit his tongue, sniffling softly as he hid his face in Ganke's body.

Ganke didn't stop rubbing Miles's back, but once he felt how tense he was, and the way he was shaking slightly, his touch got increasingly tender.

"Shhhh..." He whispered, pulling Miles's damp body up off the sand and into his lap, cradling the smaller boy and pressing his cheek to the top of Miles's head. "I know. I'm sorry too. I'm okay, Milo. I'm right here."

Ganke continued to gently rub Miles's back and shoulders, murmuring soothingly as the waves crashed in the background. As the silence lingered, so did the heavy feelings of guilt. Sure, it wasn't directly his fault, but he still habitually blamed himself. He felt like he had done something wrong and was the only one at fault for making Miles cry. It wasn't a good feeling.

He sat there, anxiety building in his chest as he waited for Miles to stop sniffling. He needed to fix this, he needed to make Miles smile and laugh again and forget about what he'd just done. It wasn't okay. He took a quiet deep breath, gnawing at his bottom lip as he rubbed the space in between Miles's shoulder blades. Fix this, damnit, Ganke.

"..So. You're all fangs and scales, huh? That's pretty hot." He said in a sly tone once Miles seemed to be okay again, prodding the other boy in the ribs. He didn't know what else to do or say, didn't know how to make it better. So he aimed towards distracting Miles from what happened.

Miles huffed, rolling his eyes as he sat up a little more, wiping the tears off his face. Embarrassing. "Shut the hell up." He said, nudging Ganke with his head affectionately. He was still incredibly upset after thinking he'd lost him, but the sound of Ganke's constant, strong heartbeat was reassuring enough.

"Nah, I'm serious though. Claws and shit? And you glow in the dark? Plus those fins? Dude, I knew you were pretty, but that takes it to a whole 'nother level--"

"Ganke." Miles groaned, interrupting as he buried his face into Ganke's neck, feeling his cheeks get warm. He was never very good with compliments, and Ganke loved to bombard him with them. It made Miles feel strangely fuzzy and nervous.

Ganke laughed, squeezing Miles gently and pressing his face to the top of Miles's head. It got quiet again, but this time it was much more comfortable and less charged. The unspoken bond between them was stronger, some silent, complicated familiarity that connected them together.

"You wanna head back and get warmed up? And.. talk? I think we have a lot to talk about." He suggested, looking up at the moon. He could feel Miles shivering against him still, trying to snuggle closer for warmth. Things had changed.. but not in a bad way.

No, this was good..

"Mh. Yeah." Miles agreed, nodding as he let out a breath. He shifted his weight as Ganke hooked his arm under his legs, standing up with him held bridal-style. "Just promise me something..?

"Of course."

"..Never do that again."

Ganke smiled, kissing the top of Miles's head gently as he started carrying him back up the beach, stepping carefully on his injured feet.

"..I promise."

Fin.

OKAY SO LIKE THAT TOOK SO FUXKING LONG AND THEN IT GLITCHED OUT ON ME AND I HAD TO RE WRITE LIKE 15 PARAGRAPHS BUT ITS DONE ITS FINISHED SO YOU SEE MY VISION.

HERE'S SOME ART TOO BECAUSE IM INSANE ACTUALLY.

Ganke if he was more mermaid-like than seal. Just for funsies.

The vision for Miles ^

ok so u know the wolf/bunny dynamic?? right so i came up with shark/seal… ITS LITERALLY CLAWCODE. ITS THEM. MILES SHARK GANKE SEAL. ready to get what they want, excellent hunters, lures prey, cunning and coy and violent x silly cute and lazy, just wants to chill and doesnt wanna be involved. PLEASE SEE MY VISION CLAWCODE NATIONNNNN

[wanders-in-wonderland]

The Popular Vote

The livestream always happens on midnight of Saturday. There’s a hefty buy-in to be able to tune in but that never stops the audience from growing in number every stream. Every viewer has one ballot per round, each round is different. Cast your ballot before the vote ends and the majority option gets played out in real-time.

This Saturday night, I made the mistake of staying overtime at work, and I missed the last train home. Which meant walking alone on a dark path that, in the daylight, would be a breezy twenty minute stroll. But at night, it’s a different story. And clearly, since that dark trek put me in the perfect position to be taken away in a van by men who were interested in seeing me crying and screaming in pain and pleasure, at the whim of a merciless audience.

When I wake up, I’m naked and tied up, arms and legs spread out, suspended from the ceiling, with each foot on a small platform that offered enough support to take the strain off my arms and shoulders but not enough to offer any true leverage.

It takes me a few minutes to shake off the grogginess of whatever sedative they’d drugged me with, but when I do, I feel my blood run cold.

I’m surrounded by massive screens, several of which show live footage of my predicament from different angles. The screen that scares me the most is the one showing a live chat feed, with a constant barrage of messages coming in from viewers. The set-up is terrifyingly sophisticated and fear curdles my stomach in a way that makes tears well up in my eyes.

“Please! Please let me go!” I cry into the cold, unfeeling room of machinery and screens. My body struggles against the bindings but there’s no give. There’s no audible reply but I watch the chat light up with comments that make me shudder.

“I fucking love when the whores beg before we’ve even started.”

“She’s hot when she’s squirming, can’t wait to see how much she struggles tonight.”

“I wanna see her beg for mercy. Not that there will be any.”

I sob harder, tears making the chat box blurry in my vision. It doesn’t take long for me to figure out that there’s no one and nothing saving me from whatever is going to happen here.

Suddenly, a robotic voice fills the room. “Welcome to The Popular Vote. For those of you who are new to the show, please remember that each of you have a single vote to cast during every round. Vote in the allotted time and our team will implement the majority vote’s decision. Please enjoy the show.”

I gasp when the door to the room opens and four men walk in, dressed in identical black uniforms with masks covering their faces.

“Please! Please, let me go, this is a mistake!” My desperate voice fills the room but has no impact on the men, they didn’t even look in my direction, instead walking past me towards a storage cabinet behind me.

I watch through the camera’s footage as they open the cabinets and start to pull out item after item. Each one makes me more and more scared as they pull out various toys, vibrators, and other devices and machines I don’t even recognize.

There’s an electronic ding that fills the room and the same robotic voice is back. “Our first poll is beginning. Please vote now. Option 1 is subjecting our victim to clitoral stimulation by vibrator. Option 2 is vaginal penetrative stimulation by fucking machine.”

I cry out, “Wait, no, please! I don’t want this, please stop!” I watch in vain as the votes start to roll in on the screen, a feeling of helplessness overwhelming me as I watch two competing bars increase in percentage on the screen as viewers place their ballots.

There’s a robotic series of dings that sound, signaling the final few seconds of voting and through my panic, I see that the second option has pulled ahead of the first.

I choke out another sob as I watch the four men in the room start moving towards me. Two of them are rolling a machine over, a motorized piston with a massive dildo attached to the end of it. Clearly it’s meant for me.

“Please, please, no, I don’t want this, please stop!” I know it’s useless to beg but I can’t help it. My voice is shaky and thin with apprehension and I can tell it has no effect on any of the men. I glance to the chat box and the messages there make me feel even more helpless.

“That whore is going to love that machine, these little sluts always do.”

“I hope she squirts and cries when she realizes she likes this, stupid whore is going to get fucking ruined.”

In the few moments I spent reading comments, the men have rolled the fucking machine right under me and started to raise it to reach my core.

With my legs tied down and spread, there is nothing protecting me from the toy and it’s violation of me. I feel the tip of the fake cock brush my core and I thrash pointlessly, barely able to move to make a difference.

As the machine continues to rise, I feel my stomach clench when I realize that my pussy is wet. I gasp when I feel the tip of the dildo breach my core, the thickness of the toy filling me so well that I can’t help but groan. The machine continues, pushing the toy slowly and steadily filling my cunt. My back arches as I feel it rub against every part of my now-dripping cunt and I whine when it finally comes to a stop, fully seated inside of me.

I’m panting, the massive dildo splitting me open in a way that feels so fucking good. I clench around it and whimper when pleasure shoots up my spine. I glance at the livestream and see my own image, my eyes wild and body heaving from the pleasure of just having the toy inside of me. The chat box is flooded with comments about me, the way I look, the sounds I make, and the anticipation of what is to come.

Suddenly, one of the men in the room toggles a switch on the machine, and it begins.

My scream is drawn-out and wanton in response to the indescribable pleasure that floods my every sense. The men set the machine at a relentless pace, the huge cock driving into my cunt ruthlessly at a pace that is virtually inhuman.

I’m lost in the sensation of every single thrust sliding against my g-spot and slamming into my cervix, the perfect blend of pain and pleasure. I can feel my body trembling at the onslaught of raw, unadulterated pleasure and the sounds that the machine is pulling from my lips could make a pornstar blush. I can feel the creeping warmth of an orgasm fast approaching as the machine fucks me into submission.

Suddenly, an electronic ding sounds. The robotic voice comes on again, with an announcement that barely registers in my pleasure-scrambled brain. “Please vote to determine the next step. Option 1 subjects our victim to forced orgasms, option 2 is edging and orgasm denial, and option 3 is ruined orgasms.”

I whine and plead but I don’t even know what I’m begging for. My eyes are too unfocused to see the progression of the vote, and of the options, I can’t even begin to fathom which would be the best. I hear the three dings that signal the vote has ended and I force my eyes to focus on the screen, my stomach clenching when I see the result: ruined orgasms.

The machine hasn’t relented on its motions, each thrust driving into my wet cunt in a way that is so perfectly and achingly torturous. My clit is throbbing and part of me wishes I could grind it against something, anything to give me a little more stimulation to push me over the edge. But there’s nothing beyond the machine forcing its cock deep inside of me, making me ride the wave of pleasure that pushes me towards to precipice of a massive orgasm. I feel my entire body tense in response to the impending onslaught of pleasure and my pussy clenches around the dildo splitting me open.

Two more hard thrusts pushes me over the edge and I let out a moaning scream as I feel the tension snap and my body clenches in burning pleasure. A seemingly endless wave of overwhelming and uncontrollable pleasure slams into me as my orgasm erupts. At that exact moment, the toy inside of me a delivers a horrible jolt of electricity, one that slams through my cunt and cruelly and abruptly yanks my body away from pleasure.

The pain takes my breath away but my body reacts more to my ruined orgasm than it does the shock. My moan turns into a wail as useless pleas pour out of my mouth, tears running down my cheeks as I feel the toy continue to fuck me through the disappointment of an orgasm it forced upon me. There’s a cruel emptiness inside of me despite the unrelenting fake cock that fills me with every thrust and a gut-wrenching, unfulfilling hunger that overtakes the pleasure that was horribly ripped away from me.

“Ah, fuck, please, please make it stop!” My voice is ragged and desperate as I plead for mercy from an uncaring audience. The men in the room are maintaining their cold indifference towards my suffering as the machine under their control continues to batter my body.

I feel my body shudder in overstimulation as the merciless machine pushes me closer to another orgasm. There’s no break or respite and my pleas fall onto deaf ears.

And as before, just as I feel my orgasm approaching, the feverish pleasure barely rises within me before it’s ripped away, ruined by the delivery of a shocking pain through my pussy that makes me scream in anguish.

The next time it happens, I hear myself wail out desperate cries and pleas that are met with silence. The time after that, my body jerks pitifully in the bindings as every muscle tenses in grief. The one following is the strongest one yet, the constant buildup and denial pushing my body to the brink of tortured pleasure. As the achingly sweet orgasm barrels through me, my pussy clenches down and gushes with my release. I can feel my own juices flowing down my legs, but my squirting orgasm isn’t any different than the previous cruelly ruined ones. The impeccably-timed electric shock yanks my body back from what would have been a mind-shattering, toe-curling sensation and leaves me feeling hollow and helpless.

After that, I stop keeping track of the ruined orgasms. My body should have been shuddering from the overstimulation of countless orgasms but instead, it aches with a voracious, unfulfillable ache that creates an unbearable cycle of horrible, desperate need barely satisfied with every orgasm until it’s torn away. The predictability of it does nothing to assuage the torment, it only makes it worse, to have every beautiful moment of pleasure marred by the inevitable loss that I can do nothing about.

An electronic ding breaks through the haze, another round. The machine beneath me pauses and I choke back a sob at the temporary relief, desperately try to focus on the words that are being announced.

“Our next round will be introducing pharmacological enhancements and orgasm denial. Please select to determine which of the following will be administered to our victim. Option 1 is administration of our proprietary aphrodisiac with no excess stimulation. Option 2 is administration of our proprietary numbing treatment with clitoral stimulation by vibrator.”

My mind wraps around the meaning behind the announcement and I feel myself tremble with desperation. I want nothing more than to cum, just to feel the full, body-shaking, mind-numbing torrent of pleasure that will flood me when a full, uninterrupted orgasm washes over me. But it’s clear that they have other plans.

I watch as the votes roll in, my heart pounding as the two options are very evenly matched in popularity. I brave a glance at the chat box and whimper when I see the comments.

“I fucking love driving a whore insane with denial. I wonder what kind of promises she’ll make to try and convince us to let her cum.”

“If she were mine, I’d never let her cum again. Sluts don’t deserve orgasms.”

Three dings break my concentration and I swing my gaze over to see the results. Option 2 has won out, but barely. I whimper softly as the four men immediately begin to set up. I watch as they wheel the fucking machine out from under me. A blush stains my cheeks when I see the dildo dripping in slick, evidence of my countless ruined orgasms.

I watch through heavy lidded eyes as one of the men reached for a small container. He deftly opens it and dips a gloved finger in, his finger coming out coated in a creamy ointment.

I watch as he comes towards me, his ointment-covered fingers coming to meet my clit in a soft motion that makes me cry out. He is thorough as he rubs the ointment onto my clit, his fingers gently moving against me, offering a delicious friction that pushes me closer towards another orgasm.

The curling warmth of an oncoming rush builds in my core but before I could fully embrace the pleasure, he pulls away and I choke out a whine. “No please, please I’m so close,” my voice is so broken to my own ears but not enough to sway the man.

They wheel out a different machine, this one shaped like a saddle, lined with ridges that line up perfectly to vibrate against and wreak havoc on my sensitive clit. It doesn’t take long for the men to position the machine underneath me. I feel the cold material of the machine against my burning hot pussy and without even thinking about it, I start to grind myself against it. A broken moan leaves my lips at the pleasure that fills me and I whine softly, trying harder to move myself to rub my throbbing clit against the machine that was very quickly starting to dampen from my dripping cunt.

I know without looking at my own image on the livestream that I made for a shameful display of wanton lust and desperation but I couldn’t bring myself to care. My hips move desperately, the bindings making it so that my movements were limited but not impossible. My eyes drift shut as I chase the pleasure, continuing to grind against the machine.

I can feel myself approaching my orgasm, a few more moments and I could almost taste the sweet pleasure. But something was wrong. Even as I rolled my hips against the machine, I could feel sensation fading in between my legs. My clit throbs and aches but the feeling of the ridges against me has become muted, and no matter how hard I grind myself against the machine, the result was the same and I’m faced with the reality that the orgasm I was chasing so closely is too far out of reach now.

I cry out, begging into the void, “Please, no, please! Make it come back, please! I need to cum, I need it!”

My begs are met with silence and I glance towards the chat box, hoping to see something, anything, that would bring me relief. But there’s nothing but cruel, taunting comments.

“Dumb fucking whore doesn’t even understand what’s happening to her stupid body.”

“They haven’t even turned on the machine yet and she’s crying. I love when sluts realize that there’s nothing they can do against the numbing cream.”

“Her clit is so fucking swollen, I hope she doesn’t get a good orgasm at all tonight.”

Suddenly, the machine beneath me roars to life. I gasp when I feel the vibrations course through my body, the harsh motion batters my clit, but instead of being overwhelmed with pleasure, all I can feel is a vague sensation. I sob when the real understanding of what is happening sinks in. The numbing cream they used on me has left me completely unable to feel the machine. I can feel my pussy clenching in need, dripping over the machine uselessly, unable to enjoy any of it. There are wordless whines and begs erupting from my lips as I chase an unreachable end. I beg because there’s nothing else I can do, and because I know that’s what the audience wants to see.

As my mind wraps around this knowledge, I feel broken. My pussy clenches at the understanding that I’m here purely for other people’s entertainment. My suffering is for their enjoyment, and every orgasm ruined, denied, or forced out of my helpless body is done so without any regard to me or my pleasure. I stare into the camera as the machine underneath me batters my clit in a way that should be making me scream. Despite that realization, or maybe because of that realization, my cunt is leaking and clenching and throbbing. My entire being has narrowed to my clit and my cunt, the ghost sensations of pleasure brushing against my psyche.

My mind is fracturing under the torment of nothing. It tries to rationalize, to make feeling where there is none, and if I really focus, I can fool myself into believing that my clit isn’t numb, isn’t blind to the torturous machine that should be pulling orgasm after orgasm out of me. I don’t know how long I’m suspended in nothingness, how long I’m held in this punishing situation of unreachable pleasure.

Three dings pull me out of my mindless misery. My eyes jump to the screen, seeing the chat light up with excited comments about what’s the come. The robotic voice fills the room.

“We reach the end of our night together and our final poll, please vote now. Option 1 allows our victim to be subjected to forced orgasms after we administer the antidote to the numbing cream in combination with targeted electrostimulation while option 2 involves continued denial with impact play and flogging.”

I can’t stop myself from screaming into the room. “Please! Please, fuck, please let me cum! Please!”

I writhe and renew my struggling, starting to futilely grind myself against the vibrator, hoping that the vote will go in my favor. My eyes glance towards to chat box, my heart pounding in anticipation as I read the flood of messages, hoping desperately for mercy.

“I don’t think this fucking whore deserves to cum tonight, I’d rather see her get her tits whipped.”

“I want to see her pass out from being forced to cum over and over again. Plus I wanna see her tight little body shake with electricity.”

My eyes flit to the results of the poll and my heart leaps when I realize option 1 is pulling ahead. Three dings confirm the results of the vote and immediately, I see one of the men approach me with the antidote.

I sob when his fingers brush this new ointment over my swollen clit and all I can do is babble out whines of gratitude. It doesn’t take long for the antidote to take effect as the vibration of the toy begins to wreck me.

There’s no slow, soft build of pleasure. There’s only pure, bone-shattering sensation that slams into me. It tears my breath away and my body erupts in orgasm. The countless denied and ruined orgasms from the beginning of the night seem to have compounded into one horrible explosion of pleasure that rips through me.

I have no sense of the world around me, my entire being has narrowed to the overwhelming wave of sensation. My cunt pulses, spraying my release over the machine that offers me no respite as it forces my body to unimaginable heights.

Suddenly, a sharp jolt of pain along my side breaks into my haze. My eyes dart over and I see the four men crowded around me, each holding an electric wand that pulses a harsh zap through me at every touch.

“No! Please! Stop!” I scream, my voice pitching higher as the men start their torment. Quick jabs around the soft skin of my stomach, hips, thighs, and arms make me scream and thrash but none of that dulls any of the feeling from the vibrator between my legs.

The pain and pleasure rocks through my body and mind, both blending together in a cruel medley that draws wordless screams from my throat. Another orgasm slams through me right as I feel a terrible zap on my nipple. The scream that bursts out of me makes my own ears ache. My psyche is cracking under the onslaught of torment and there’s not a single part of my body that isn’t screaming in overstimulation. I’m nothing more than a collection of raw nerves and throbbing muscles.

The next zap hits the exposed part of my clit and my ears ring as my vision fades to black. That’s the last thing I remember from that night.

When I wake up the next morning, I’m home, in my own bed, my body achingly sore and exhausted. I glance to my bedside table and I see an envelope. In it is a USB and a note with a phone number.

“Enjoy the footage, we certainly did. Call us if you want a repeat.”

I crawl out of bed to grab my laptop and phone, and I save the number to my contacts.

------

Author's Note: I think this is my longest story yet and hope y'all enjoy! Also, I like to imagine this happens in the same universe as Pay to Play, and I'm jealous because I want to live in that universe ;)

[webbluvrsugar]

okokok first up thinking about: ethan keeping you away from act 3 by less than morally sound means… drugging, kidnapping, convincing you to run away with him, (etc.) dealers choice!!!

*sorry if this is really broad, i wanted to leave room for creativity + i’m also on a bus home rn so i’m a little delirious lol but i’ll think of some more stuff to send your way when i’m home bc it’s time for ethan to come home for halloween the kids miss him😖*

a/n: faeeee you always be giving me the best requestsss, and also yes omggg Jack come home, there’s a kid waiting for you!!!

Ethan not-so-subtly “putting you to sleep” to protect you.

“I’ll take care of her, promise, just don’t touch her!” Was what he said to Quinn when they had a massive argument about you.

She called him soft, that he was falling for you.

Soft? Him? No, he was just fooling you, mocking you, you were the stupid one here, not him, you were the one who fell for him, he certainly doesn’t love you. He just… enjoys spending some time with you, enjoys kissing you maybe, sometimes he may even find pleasure in fucking you.

But he’s not growing soft and he is not falling in love… yet he finds it weird why he wants to protect you so much.

It’s getting even harder because you won’t fall for his bullshit excuses, you won’t fall for “Oh, they all cancelled, why don’t we stay in tonight?” or “I just wanna hang out with you instead.” so he has to get creative, lately he’s been putting sedatives in your drinks, that green smoothie of yours, — not morally correct, yeah, but so isn’t shoving a knife in your best friend’s guts, whoops, he’ll apologise later — the problem is that you’ve began to notice.

“Dunno, I just have been feeling a lot sleepier lately.” You mention, he sits beside you on the couch, watching you take clueless sips of your juice. “Do you think I’ve gotten the wrong powder? Maybe it has some random side-effects I don’t know about.”

His hand drives itself to your thigh, slightly flexes on top of your skin. “Have you read the full ingredients?”

“Top to bottom.” You huff, lean your shoulder into him.

“What about the side-effects? Does it mention anything about it?” He portrays himself as the perfect boyfriend, just trying to help you and your sudden tiredness, luckily, you fall for it.

“No, not really.” You sink even more into his shoulder, your vision already looking hazy.

“Huh… that’s weird…” he glances sideways at you, watching the way you make yourself comfortable, his arm leaves your thigh to wrap around you waist.

“Mhm..” you yawn, he bites down a smirk.

It’s like you don’t even notice, like you’re so clueless, but he likes you this way, maybe he’ll even succeed in his plan if he just keeps doing it.

He sees the how you allow your eyes to fall shut, how you trust him so much that you don’t mind getting this vulnerable next to him — it’s cute.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you wake up.” He mutters, his hand slightly caressed your exposed skin.

He will in fact be here when you wake up.

But before that, he’ll make sure you’re comfortable in bed and go out to try and shoot Tara’s brains out.

[hitomisuzuya]

Hellloooooooo😖

This is my first time sending a requestttttt-

Before I ask, I hope you're happy and doing greatttttt, I wish you have a great, wonderful, and lovely day tomorrow!! I wish you the best!! I love you and your workkkk, advanced happy birthday to my favorite writer🫶🫶🫶!!

I was wondering if you can do a Yandere Scaramouche with a fem reader where she got kidnapped by him, and when she woke up, he was about to tell her that struggling is useless because she's tied up- but was surprised that she didn't even struggle at all.

He thought that she's only trying to get his trust so that she can escape later on- but when he saw how she seems to reciprocate his actions, and even initiates them sometimes.. He eventually trusted her-

The rest is up to you-!!

(I hope I didn't yap too much😖😖😖

English isn't my first language, I'm sorry if my grammar is bad-.. T-T

And also, to be specific, please make it smut-

Feel free to ignore this if you don't feel like writing it<3!!

Again, I hope you're doing great, take care of yourself, love you, bye bye-!!🖤🖤🖤)

Yandere!Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut Kidnapping. Drugging. Bondage. Degradation. Praise. Creampie. Obsessive/possessive behavior.

Porn with plot this time. This might be a bit longer than I anticipated cause I wanna work on dialogue and detail. I enjoy writing Yanderes ❤️ Smut written while sick, so bear with me🥺

You are way too good for this world, and certainly way too good for the likes of Scaramouche. He knew this. However, this was for your own good. You are strong, but that's exactly why you needed him to protect you. He had to get to you before the unfortunate dregs of life broke you down. Sank it's claws into you, and broke you into a bunch of unfamiliar little pieces.

He more than had experience in the regard.

Scaramouche spent months preparing for this. What he didn't expect was what happened when you finally woke up. The confusion was evident in your eyes when they opened, blinking a few times to focus your vision.

"You are awake," His voice sounded like velvet in your ears, your gaze snapping to him, "Before you woke up, it was real treat for me, you know?" He walked over to the bed, "Getting to see what you look like all tied up for me," His fingers brushed one of your wrists, "Though I am starting to wonder if blue would look just as pretty on those delicate little wrists of yours."

It took a few moments for everything to catch up with you. Your breath hitched in your throat, a shy embarrassed blush that he often craved to see coated your cheeks, your eyes glancing up. Your wrists were tied together and to the headboard with purple ribbons of silk. "What's happening?" You asked a little weakly.

Scaramouche was surprised at the blush. He cleared his throat. "A valid question. I kidnapped you. You dropped like a brick after I drugged you. I may have used a bit more than I needed, but you haven't been sleeping well lately," He replied, matter of fact.

You sighed softly. "Okay," You nodded, adjusting yourself on the bed a little.

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow. What was with you? What was up with that blush on your cheeks? Why were you being so calm? Why didn't you flinch away from the touch of someone who'd just drugged and kidnapped you?

Did he dare think you'd thought about being tied up for him?

"There is no use in struggling," He added, to which you only looked calm. He put his hand on your cheek, waiting for you to shriek and shy away from him.

Looking into his electric eyes always made your heart shake. "But, I'm not," His breath hitched in his throat as you turned your cheek into his hand.

"Yeah, you aren't. Now," You were no doubt trying to lure him into a false sense of security. That was usually the go to strategy for anyone who got kidnapped.

Perhaps he would keep you quiet with the few extra doses of sedatives for the first few days.

"Fine, leave me tied up for awhile. When you feel comfortable, untie me. I'll prove I won't run away," You said, giving him a soft smile that made him grit his teeth, "I promise."

Scaramouche flinched hearing the words I promise. So, he tested you. Boy did he test you. He would leave little traps to see if you would leave. He left the door unlocked. The windows open. He even left the damn door wide open. And yet when he returned, there you were, waiting for him.

Was this what love and loyalty looked like in another person? Did he finally understand what those things met?

The more he pushed his boundaries to see if you would break, the more you seemed to accept him. He got handsy and grabby with you, holding you down while he pressed lustful, harsh kisses to your lips. His teeth biting at your lower lip, his fingers brushing over all the intimate places he wanted to sink his teeth into.

Scaramouche was drowning both you and him in the obsessive passion he felt for you. And you accepted every bit of it. Even felt comforted by it. And when you said, "I want you to touch me. I want you," crawling to straddle his lap and nuzzling your cheek into his neck, every last bit of control he had shattered like glass.

"Say it," He hissed, his hand gripping the headboard tighter as he drove his cock into your sweet spot, "Tell me you want me while I make you cum on my cock, slut," He groaned, trembling as he felt your gummy walls clench on his cock.

If you could touch him, you would've. Your hands were tied above your head to the headboard, one wrist wrapped in purple silk, the other wrapped in blue (he couldn't make up his mind). "I want you, Scaramouche," You moaned, rocking your hips up to help push his cock deeper inside of you, "I want you so badly. I always have."

Fuck, your moans sounded so fucking sweet. It sent him reeling that someone like him could make someone like you, the purest thing in this world to him, moan so lewdly. Your weeping, abused pussy sucking his cock in. It was all so fucking addicting.

He drank in the sight of you, twitching and writhing underneath him, ribbons rubbing against your wrists from the force of his thrusts. Your eyes half lidded, and drool pooling from the corner of your mouth. Would you touch yourself if he untied you right here and now from how good he was making you feel? Your fingers skating over your clit, making your walls tighter on his cock?

There wasn't one intimate part of your body that didn't have dark, blossoming bruises of passion bitten into it. He'd had his fingers inside of you while he marked you up, feeling you soak his hand as he sucked and bite your skin.

"I fucking hope you know I am cumming inside," He growled, hovering his other hand over your throat. He didn't wrap his hand around it and squeeze. He just left it there to exert his dominance over you. Cum nearly spilled inside of you seeing how much it aroused you.

Seeing your eyes light up hearing that he planned to cum inside. The intimacy made your orgasm curl tighter. "Y-You promise?" You managed, moving your head back, and exposing your throat submissively to him for him to squeeze if he wanted.

Scaramouche couldn't hold back his moans anymore, especially not after that and so sweetly said. "Fuck, I'll pump you so fucking full. What a whore," He groaned. He would pump you so full like he imagined all those nights he jacked himself off to thoughts of you.

He knew he would never get enough of the shy, adoring blush that coated your cheeks when he degraded you.

"You are mine. All mine," His hand gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him as his cock pulsed inside of you. "Do you underneath me, slut? Or are you too fucked dumb?"

"I'm all yours, Scara. I always was," Your words were said with such tender truth to them. He couldn't detect one single hint of deception in your voice, even as your words broke apart into moans and whimpers.

You couldn't help it. You are in so love with him that it hurt. You'd just been too scared to tell him. Afraid of rejection. He could see it in your eyes. But, he understood that completely. "Shh, it's okay now, kitten," He started to babble, shuddering in pleasure as he pushed one of your knees up towards your chest, "I have you now. Everything will be okay. This horrible world won't ever hurt you," His hips snapped into yours with twice the vigor, "I'll see to that."

Only he alone could taint and corrupt you. Only he could break you down and put you back together as he saw fit. It was all the better for him that you accepted it without hesitation.

"You are close, fuck I can feel it," Your walls were squeezing so deliciously tight on his cock. He placed a rough, passionate kiss on your lips, devouring your mouth for a few long minutes. "And you are crying to," He pulled away, brushing the tears of pleasure falling from your eyes away with his thumb, "Cum on my cock like a good girl. You want me to cum inside, don't you?" He cooed.

You could barely manage a nod, crying out for him as your orgasm hit you. Your cum flooded around his cock, the feeling of your walls craving to milk his cock made cum pulse inside of you.

His fingers relentlessly rubbed your clit, further making you twitch and mewl in bliss as he fucked you through your climax.

"Good fucking girl," Scaramouche said, panting as he pulled out of you. Cum dripped out of your weeping hole. He didn't give you time to catch your breath, however. He was already working his way down between your legs to lick and suck your pussy clean.

[seaslugfanclub]

Hi I'm a big fan of yours and I really enjoy the villains and y/n interactions. Btw I want to ask what made frollo develop feelings for y/n.

Do Judges dream of park attendants?

(Frollo x Reader)

TW: description of Panic attacks

————————————————————————

Out of all the Disney villains brought to life by Disney, Frollo is having the hardest time. All of his beliefs, everything he had sacrificed in his life have been destroyed in an instant the moment he opened his eyes in this Infernal theme park

Frollo doesn’t actually believe he’s alive anymore, that the Disney parks is his divine punishment

Though deserved, everywhere he goes he’s ostracized and humiliated. His fellow villains love to single him out to needle him, especially Hades.

He’s so tight that if you shoved a piece of coal up his ass, two weeks later you’d get a diamond

It’s obvious in the film that his mental psyche is as fragile as communion wafers, and this has been amplified to 100 now that he’s in a completely unrecognizable reality.

He hasn’t slept in months, barley eaten (he excuses this as religious fasting) and rarely talks to others

The only person who tried to regularly interact with Frollo is that scrappy park attendant, (Y/N)…

Usually it’s quick conversations, greetings and goodbyes, “how are ya?”s, and sometimes brief smiles. Something that both disgusts and confuses Frollo, a strange prickling feeling in his cheeks whenever he makes eye contact with (Y/N)

Panic attacks have become a regular occurrence for Frollo, usually when the sensory nightmare of Disney parks get to much for him, although he usually isolates himself to avoid being so vulnerable

Most of the time Frollo’s able to keep his emotions in check until he’s alone, so most of his panic attacks come out at night

One night his episodes were really, really bad, everything Frollo had tried to hold in finally boiled over, leaving the ex-judge crumbled to the ground, frozen in terror.

He didn’t need a fireplace to feel the licks of flames on his skin, and no matter how hard he clenched his hands over his ears, Frollo couldn’t stop the chanting echoing in his head.

It felt like a lead weight was on his chest, and dark spots were crawling into his vision, threatening to pass out

Frollo was too lost in his own head, mumbling prayers to himself as the crackling of fire and chanting drowned out all sounds, even the light creaking of his bedroom door opening…

“Pr- preces meæ non sunt.. dignæ Sed- sed tu bonus fac benigne, Ne perenni cremer igne…. Pie Iesu Domine,Dona ipse requiem…. Preces meæ non—”

“Frollo?”

The feeling of a hand resting on his head broke Frollo out of his mumbling. Through blurry vision the ex-judge made out a figure crouching above him, their hand slowly petting his hair. The sensation of soft fingers on his hair felt grounding, with each stroke the flames began to lull…. Has an angel finally come to end his misery?

“Frollo? Are you alright?

The black spots around his vision began to subside, as his teary eyes cleared enough to see the worried face of (Y/N), the young park attendant. At any other point in time, Frollo would’ve flinched away from their touch, cursing them out for having the gall to lay their filthy hands on a holy man, but all of his senses had failed him, and their touch had quelled the flames and disembodied chanting around him.

Starving for any source of familiarity, Frollos trembling hands reached to clutch onto (Y/N)’s pants,

“Je ne peux plus faire ça— Je—”

“Frollo, please- I can’t understand you…” (Y/N) pleaded, at a loss at what to do with the pathetic man before them.

(Y/N) was finishing their shift for the evening, their final task was to check on each villain to make sure they were set for night. They were walking down the hall to check on Sher Khan when they heard a thump behind Claude Frollos door, wall muffling the sound of weeping. Knocking on the door brought to response, and worried that the old man might’ve actually fallen and couldn’t get up, (Y/N) slowly cracked open the door.

Instead of being immediately kicked out by the ex-judge, French curses thrown at them— they found Frollo slumped against his bed, mumbling latin to himself, his eyes a thousand miles away.

(Y/N) was at a loss, they had never seen Frollo this desperate, this deep into despair. Even when they watched the “Hunchback of Notre Dame” and his song “Hellfire” was he this vunerable. This was unfamiliar territory.

But panic attacks were familiar, especially with how to deal with them.

“Frollo? You’re alright… Your minds just working against you right now.” (Y/N) hummed, continuing to pet Frollos silver hair,

“Here, I’ll be right back,” gently removing Frollos hands, (Y/N) grabbed a spare glass from his nightstand before rushing into the bathroom. Turning on the sink faucet, they filled the glass with cold water then crouched below the sink to open the drawers. They grabbed neatly folded a face towel, a Mickey Mouse insignia embroidered in the corner— (Y/N) wet the towel, making sure that it was thoroughly soaked then grabbed the glass, walking back into Frollos room, the man still on the floor, pale face just watching (Y/N).

“Try to drink something, I know you might feel nauseous, but I promise this helps,” They offered the glass to Frollo, who continued to just stare at (Y/N). After a few seconds between them, He hesitantly reached out and took the water with shaking hands.

As he began to take small sips, the cold water cooled his throat, and he could feel the water cool his insides as he swallowed. The flames were dowsed.

“It’s already 11, you must be exhausted… I think it’s best to try and sleep. Don’t even worry about changing, just get comfortable. I always feel better when I lie down.”

Helping him up, they watched patiently as Frollo collapsed into his bed, not even bothering to pull up the sheets. As he lay on his back, he finally closed his eyes, only for them to open again when (Y/N) lifted his bangs to place the cold wash-cloth on his forehead. His pale cheeks prickling again at the feather light touch of (Y/N) fingers and the cooling sensation of the cloth on his skin.

“Uh— whenever I get an attack, anything cold helps me bring myself back to reality.. and uh, and a wet washrag stays cool for a while, I like to wash my face with it to feel refreshed.” (Y/N) offered quietly, having a difficult time maintaining eye contact with Frollo.

Frollo was at a loss, never— never has he been the subject of such care from another human before, not as a boy, not from the church, not even from his lord. How could he even react to this? It was all to much.

He was tired, mentally and physically, darkness beginning to overtake his vision again, but this time from pure exhaustion.

Risking it a final time, (Y/N) gave Frollos hair one last pet, “I’ll find a way to take you off schedule for the rest of the week, I wish I could get you months off… I’m sorry. But for now, get some rest ok?”

With a final smile, they turned to resume their rounds, already late to check up on the others, but before they could step away from the bed, a hand grasped their arm, stopping them.

Turning back around, they looked down at Frollos pleading face, an almost manic look in his eyes.

“Stay… please… at least until I’ve fallen asleep..”

With wide eyes, (Y/N) looked down at him shocked, before sighing.

“Of course.. try to rest now.” They relented, taking a seat at the foot of Frollos bed. The others could wait.

Silence fell over the two, (Y/N) waiting patiently as a good 15 passed. Just when they thought he had fallen asleep a whisper escaped him,

“mon ange..”

And with that, sleep overtook Claude, no longer able to fight off his exhaustion. Warmth enveloping him as he dreamt of feather light touches and scrappy park attendants.

————————————————————————

Sorry if this feels forced or too OOC 😅, I just love Frollo so much, and taking care of others is my love language. When I tell you I need this man whimpering—

Translations:

“Pr- preces meæ non sunt.. dignæ Sed- sed tu bonus fac benigne, Ne perenni cremer igne…. Pie Iesu Domine,Dona ipse requiem…. Preces meæ non”:

My prayers are worthless, Yet, good Lord, graciously grant that I be not burned up by the everlasting fire. Lord, all-pitying, Jesus blest, Grant myself Thine eternal rest.

“Je ne peux plus faire ça— Je—“:

I can’t do this anymore—I can’t—

“mon ange..”:

My angel..

[juneofdoom]

June of Doom 2025 Text List

1. “Where am I?”                                  | Slurred Speech | Duct Tape | Darkness

2. “I’m worried about you.”                     | Infection | Protective | Confession

3. “No one will find you.”                       | Kidnapping | Murder | Prisoner

4. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”         | Crutches | Denial | Whimper

5. “You’re not looking so hot.”                 | Rash | Hypothermia | Bully

6. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”              | Hopelessness | Pliers | Bargaining

7. “Watch out!”                                     | Explosion | Crush Injury | Trap

8. “How many fingers am I holding up?”    | Concussion | Mugged | Drugged

9. “You’re not going to like this.”              | Injection | Hammer | Hunted

10. “Somebody had to do it.”                   | Buried Alive | CPR | Flashback

11. “What happens if I…?                         | Cold Sweat | Branding | Experiment

12. “It’s no use.”                                     | Locked Door | Carry | Lost

13. “On three.”                                       | Sprain | Amputation | Electrocution

14. “I’m trying!”                                      | Memory Loss | Adrenaline Crash | Knots

15. “Please.”                                          | Blindfold | Fall | Touch Starved

16. “Are you scared yet?”                         | Handcuffs | Humiliation | Interrogation

17. “Give me another chance.”                  | Bruises | Begging | Mercy

18. “How long have you been like this?”     | Stabilization | Left for Dead | Flare

19. “I’m not going anywhere.”                   | Natural Disaster | Illness | Brainwashed

20. “That’s going to be one hell of a scar.” | Wound Cleaning | Salve | Examination

21. “Anything but that!”                            | Knife | Nails | Breaking Point

22. “Stay with me.”                                  | Survivor’s Guilt | Succumb | Sedative

23. “Don’t move!”                                   | Firearm | Precipice | Internal Injury

24. “I don’t feel so good.”                        | Disoriented | Fainting | Blurred Vision

25. “Get in.”                                           | Cage | Ransom | Basement

26. “When will you learn?”                       | Sleep Deprivation | Shackle | Injury Reveal

27. “I’m so sorry.”                                   | Weak | Embrace | Miscalculation

28. “You’ll get used to it.”                         | Starvation | Hostage | Catatonic

29. “I’ll never stop.”                                 | Obsession | Fight | Revenge

30. “This is it, isn’t it?”                              | Doubt | Ambulance | Crying  

ALTERNATE PROMPTS

“You’re asking for it.”

“I tried.”

“Maybe it’s better this way.”

“Let me have a look.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Gamble

Noose

Bees

Immortal

Wire

[arcaneacolyte]

May I Present: The Ghouls as Quirks My or My Close friends' Animals Have Exhibited:

**Alpha**: Favorite game is "oh look how sneaky I am, stealing the thing you're doing/playing with so I can play with it" but gets SO mad when it's done to him.

**Omega**: Can't help but make the "stinky" big cat face when he smells something he doesn't like. He can't hide it if he tried.

**Mist**: If she touches a texture she wasn't expecting, she basically jumps out of her skin and onto the nearest elevated surface.

**Zephyr**: Despite having good night vision, has *terrible* lowlight vision, so if they see something at dusk that's unfamiliar? Instant hackles up and growling. Turns out it's just a garbage bag.

**Ifrit**: Upon first meeting someone, is all guard dog and grumpy and "Don't touch me", but once you scritch around his horns and ears, he loves you forever and will trail after you wanting more pets, tail wagging.

**Aether**: Very friendly, but if someone he knows puts on a hat or changes their silhouette in any way? Stranger Danger, who the fuck are you?!

**Dewdrop**: Must be in an hot bed, in an hot house, in an hot climate. Will steal any coals he finds to either eat or rub his face against.

**Mountain**: If he hasn't worn shoes in a while (which is usually any time outside of touring) and he has to put some on, he waggles and high steps weird for a while because he can't feel the ground.

**Rain**: Thunder and lightening or fireworks? No problem, unbothered and can sleep like the dead. Balloons in any form? Pure Evil and must be destroyed.

**Swiss**: Literally an escape artist, cannot be contained if you tried. They put a camera in a containment room to try to see how he escapes and they still can't even figure it out.

**Phantom/Aeon**: No eye self preservation. Doesn't close his eyes when water gets poured on him, will not shut them when you threaten to poke them. It's so bad that he's had multiple eye tests to see if he has poor vision, but his vision is perfect.

**Cirrus**: Got one of her nails cut down too close to the quick ONE time and now refuses to get her nails trimmed and will run or fuss if its determined she needs a trim. Has to be asleep or put under sedatives to get them done.

**Cumulus**: Is completely fine with getting a bath or shower, but hates going out in the rain. Also, to her, water is water no matter how gross it is and she WILL try to drink it if she's thirsty enough.

**Sunshine**: Will get excited and get all up in other peoples' faces, then suddenly panic and get upset that their face is too close to hers. She might snap at them because of it.

**Aurora**: Has very sensitive ears and gets very upset at loud noises, but has a hard time self regulating and the only thing that will help is the Ghoul version of a happy hoodie. Unfortunately she doesn't think she can move her neck while she's wearing it, so she turns her head like 1989 Batman.

[1-800-cr33py]

Sedatives CHPT.2

A/N: Here bc crossposting my beloved

Blaring alarm and sunlight slipping through your blinds awoke you from what you’d considered a good sleep. Friday, the day you’d longed for for months it seemed, not because there’d be shitty slashers on a seemingly endless marathon due to it being the month of October, though that was a plus; but no, it was finally your day off. A day all to yourself and a night to hand out candy to doe-eyed children in differing costumes. Groggily sliding out of bed was a task, though your feet planting themselves onto your cold floor was more than a wake-up call. Your quarters were homey, and cozy. More than enough space for you and your cat, Cilantro. Speaking of the greedy feline, who mewed her greetings as she weaved between your legs as you made your way to the bathroom.

“You can wait Lantro, not like you’re gonna starve any time soon. “You yawned, stretching your arms as your back cracked. The cat, however, didn’t seem to agree with your sentiments in the slightest as she mewed louder, seemingly in response to you. You closed the door in the thing’s face in return. Your morning was everything but eventful, though watching your neighbor’s children chase each other around their yard with dollar store skeletons and spiders, which left a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, sipping on your morning brew with a content glaze within your eyes. Though boredom was beginning to seep through that feeling. Your laundry had been put on, dishes had been washed and put away, and just overall tidying had all been done within the span of a few hours. What now? You hadn’t planned this far ahead, not like medical school and internships gave you time to establish any friendships, and a relationship was the last thing on your mind. Besides, the scum that you worked aside left such a stain on your mind when it came to potential partners. Nurses, smoking and degrading the patients within the yellowing walls gave you looks of contempt and the doctor’s hands planted themselves onto your skin for a good many moments too long. Yeah…so no relationship prospects in sight for you. Catnapping and folding laundry made up most of your day, finding the hours slip through your fingers like fine sand. The dulling sky held many stars, blinking into the blanket of dusty oranges and desaturated blues. You, still donning a simple jumper and pajama pants you're sure you’d stolen from some childhood friend you’d long forgotten in your adult life, pity. Trekking towards the door, donning a thick knitted blanket and Cilantro in tow, you made your way to your rocking chair, an antique thing that could use a paint job, but you didn’t mind. Propping yourself upon the old chair, the wood creaking beneath you, sighed, watching your breath cling to the air. Though despite your day of relaxation, you still carried a weight on your shoulders. “Fucking hell…” you groaned, head thrown back with a displeased expression.

Night lurked within your walls, a heavy silence bearing over your domain as you tossed and turned, comfort fleeting from you, and time ticked by one second at a time. Poor sight you were, desperate for sleep to claim you, for relief to wash over you in a cool wave. You, sweaty and annoyed, threw your comforter away, allowing the cool air of your tiny room to chill your skin, a shitty fan doing little to aid. Thoughts floating back to your job, the patients, the assholes who worked your nerves to no end…Michael. Your breath hitched as you began to think the patient over. How the veins in his hands flexed as he steadily layered paper and glued to form a face. How his eyes followed doctors and nurses, in a way you could only be akin to a predator stalking its prey. Intense. Calculating. Your fingers buried themselves in your soaked hole, your moans echoing off the walls as you brought yourself to the edge. Your back arched as your vision whitened, whimpers rolling out of your throat, riding out your height. It was easy to imagine it was Michael bringing you past this edge; how easy it was to imagine it was his rough fingers dragging down your body, toying with your clit. Attempting to steady your shaking breaths and legs was no easy feat. You stared at the ceiling, sweat clinging to your body as the thoughts of Michael dissipated, the reality of just how taboo this was finally setting in. He was your patient not your patient, but still! A sigh escaped your lips as you rolled onto your side with a wince, your muscles aching as you attempted to find some escape from your sleep.

October 29

Your uniform felt tight, almost suffocating as you placed the small plastic cups of pills in front of patients. You felt pity for them, abandoned and left to rot within the confines of the state, drugged up to a compliant lucid state. Their blank, watery eyes left you feeling hollow every time you turned your back on them after administrating their daily medication alongside the mush the penitentiary called food. It was fucking sick how they treated these mentally unwell people that needed help above all else.

But today, today was different.

Today you felt watched, more than usual. One could akin this to the feelings prey has before the predator strikes, but who was your predator? You shook your head, instinctively wiping your hands upon your dark scrubs, a nervous smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you approached the behemoth of a man that you’ve affectionately dubbed your ‘favorite patient’.

Michael Myers was quiet, always. His face was always covered with a mask, if not the mop of messy blondish hair. Despite his silence, you found it rather easy to read him, perhaps it was due to the fair amount of time you’d spent tailing after Dr. Loomis, half-heartedly acknowledging his rambles about Michael that you didn’t believe. It was odd, you, a mere 2 years younger than he was, and two completely different people. Sometimes, between shifts or hiding with the smokers out back, you’d think about what life for Michael would’ve been like if life had been kinder, softer. A childhood filled with joy, love, and comfort is what every child deserves in your mind. You don’t think Michael was born a monster, but one born of circumstance. Squeaky cartwheels echo throughout this part of the rec room. Patients and staff alike avoided the very space Michael inhabited, for fear of becoming victims of the Boogeyman of Haddonfield. You, however, were either stupid or brave, and right now you didn’t quite know which one was worse. Michael sat slump, his head hanging low, though you could see his neck jerk in your direction as you approached. “Morning, Michael! “You chirped, gently sliding the plastic cup of assorted medicine to the man. He was quiet, eyes flicking to you for just a moment before slowly reaching for his dailies. You faced the wall as he downed them. You began to wonder what his face looked like; you’d seen his face in files. When he was a boy, his cheeks were rosy, and round, and his eyes still clung to some semblance of childhood innocence. You tried to picture him grown. Perhaps his face was made of nothing of right angles, maybe he looked like his mother? Questions ran through your head as Michael placed the cup down. It made you want to gag knowing he always downed his dailies without water, and it wasn’t for a lack of trying. Water was readily available. Ever the gentle creature you were, Michael watched as you sat across from him, folding your hands in your lap. You tried not to stare, honestly you didn’t, but there was something about him that made you just want to...stare. His hands were large and calloused from the years of nimble working of paper machete masks that donned his cell walls. It was the same hands that killed his sister at the age of 10. The same hands you’d fantasied about the night before.

He remained stoic, eyes finally meeting your face. It felt as if he was searching for something, a hint of malice or pity. He’d find none within your feature, nothing more than a genuine want to know something about him. Michael found you pretty enough, kinder than the nurses and doctors and specialists that buzzed around him like an annoying fly, poking and prodding with annoying tests and needles and a constantly changing dose of medicine that left him feeling ill. You, however, never buzzed. You may have lingered a tad bit longer than was necessary, but it was never in a pestering way. He’d notice how your hands toyed with the hem of your scrubs. They were always dark in color, but never stark black. Muted maroons and soft navies were your usual attire, something Michael found himself fond of.

You were simple. Not easy but you stuck to a schedule.

Michael liked that about you. He almost found himself longing to touch you, to feel you as you rose and walked away. A heavy metal door slammed behind you. It was decided in his mind then and there that you were his. The Boogeyman of Haddonfield wanted you for himself.

October 30

Smith’s Grove had befallen silent for the night, strangely enough. Everyone seemed tense, on edge as every little creak and crack was greeted with a jump. How odd people acted, you thought, making mental notes on what you needed to do before clocking out. It was already a quarter till 4 PM, and the ending of your shift never made you as happy as it is now. You practically skipped through the halls, ready to finally leave Michael with his usual goodbye before your departure. His cell neared, and the heavy scent of wet paper and Elmer’s glue lingered the closer you got.

You knocked, knuckles brushing against the reinforced doors as you entered the cell. Masks hung from the walls like hunting trophies, and one could only wonder how Michael found the creativity to even create such pretty things within his conditions. You’d hum, continuing to eye the brightly colored masks with your arms folded across your chest. You knew not to touch them; it was basic respect after all. Your constant lingering seemed to pay off though, as you nearly squealed when Michael offered a quiet ‘mmh’ in greeting. Sure, it may not seem like something much, but anyone who worked with the behemoth of a man would tell you, that Michael Myers does NOT do anything except eat, sleep, and make those masks; but with you, it was like he was a different entity all together. He was calmer, in your easy. The weight that he clung to within his shoulders seemed to lessen. You both sat quietly, content in each other's company. It was when your watch chimed that Michael stiffened, breathing heavily through his nose whilst you rose, offering a weak smile as you trekked towards the door, promising you’d see him tomorrow, you promised!

[unboundprompts]

writing a fic where blorbo is poisoned and blorbo in love with her has to take care of her, ideas for how i could get this across?

I would recommend doing some research on the poison involved so that it's as realistic as possible. In a fantasy/sci-fi setting you can probably make up your own poison and choose the symptoms and treatment you deem the best for the situation. Here are some ideas to help you with that:

General Symptoms of Poison

-> from this source.

Stomach Pain

Feeling Nauseous/Being Sick

Drowsiness

Dizziness

Weakness

High Temperature

Chills (shivering)

Loss of Appetite

Headache

Irritability

Difficulty Swallowing

Breathing Difficulties

Skin Rash

Blue Lips and Skin

Double Vision/Blurred Vision

Sudden, Noticeable Heartbeats (Palpitations)

Mental Confusion

Seizures

Loss of Consciousness

Treatment

-> seeking medical help is also a good idea. The best idea probably.

-> from this source.

If they are poisoned by swallowing something, try to get them to spit out anything that is remaining in their mouth.

If they are unconscious and swallowed something, try to wake them to encourage them to spit out anything left in their mouth. Do not put your hand into their mouth and do not try to make them sick.

If the poison is on their skin or clothes, remove their clothes and wash the affected area with warm or cool water. Be careful not to contaminate yourself.

Lay the person on their side with a cushion behind their back and their upper leg pulled slightly forward so that they do not fall on their face or roll backwards. (Recovery Position)

If vomiting, keep their head pointed down to prevent them from breathing it in or swallowing it. Do not give them anything to eat or drink.

If they have stopped breathing or their heart has stopped, perform CPR.

It is important to know what substances you think the person may have swallowed, when it was taken, why it was taken, how it was taken, and how much was taken.

Any existing medical conditions prior to being poisoned are important to be aware of, as it may impact their recovery/ the poison may have effects on their condition.

Activated Charcoal - sometimes used to treat someone who's been poisoned. It binds to the poison and stops it being further absorbed into the blood.

Antidotes - these are substances that either prevent the poison from working or reverse its effects.

Sedatives - may be given if the person is agitated.

Ventilator (breathing machine) - may be used if the person stops breathing.

Anti-epileptic medicine - may be used if the person has seizures.

Writing Prompts For a Character Being Poisoned

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

"Hey, hey, hey," she was lightly tapping his face, his head lulled to the side. "Open your eyes," she said to him gently, her heart sinking with each passing second. "Wake up, I need you here with me."

She had trouble keeping her eyes open. The room was spinning. She felt so weak. All she could hear was their voice, as if they were far away, telling her not to fall asleep.

They had this awful marking on their skin. It crawled across their shoulders and peeked out from underneath their shirt at the sleeves and neck. She thought it looked like it was getting worse every day, slowly blossoming across their skin. "It's not as bad as it looks," they said, trying to make her feel better. The raspiness of their voice and pale complexion did not fill her with hope.

"Your heart is pounding," she said, pressing a hand to his chest. His skin was feverish, warmth radiating off of him. Yet, he shivered as if he were freezing. "Only because I get nervous around you," he responds, a flirty tilt to his voice. They both knew that wasn't the only reason, but she smiled anyway.

"Will you eat something? For me?" They shook their head miserably. "I can't."

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider donating! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi!

[bumblesimagines]

Imagine:

Escaping The Woods

Request: Yes or No

Finally giving my fem!readers some crumbs

~~~

"Sam, you need to go! Now!" She had no idea where this strength came from to shout at the boy. They constantly sedated her, keeping her numb and tranquil against her will, even when they claimed it was for her own safety. They feared her, just as they feared every other student trapped below the school. She knew well that her food had been tampered with, tainted with a sedative that would keep her from fighting when they did blood tests. The sedative would kick in soon and she'd be left to sleep for hours until she awoke with the hope that Sam finally escaped. 

"But- I can't leave you!" Blood dripped down his cheek, hands and clothes stained with the blood of the guards who had tried stopping him. He'd escaped his cell, just as he had done numerous times before, but he had a chance to finally leave and never return. Her eyes watered and he swallowed, punching in numbers into the pad on her door. It clicked and she gasped softly, wide eyes watching the door slide open. At her feet lied a puddle of blood and a guard with his jaw broken clean off. 

"Sam..."

"Come with us." He pleaded softly and she spotted what he held in his hand. A small supe. A girl. Drenched in blood and sound asleep in the palm of his hand. He held her carefully, as if afraid he'd hurt her with his superstrength. "Let's get out of here."

A chance at freedom. A chance to go home and far away from the corrupt humans keeping her trapped. She swallowed and took his free hand, a wide smile breaking out on his face. He led her down the bloody, corpse-ridden corridor and held the small supe close to his chest, his legs turning corners automatically and leading them to a dead end. Her brows furrowed but then Sam released her hand and braced himself, ramming his shoulder against the wall and making the hidden door burst open. He turned back to her, panting and smiling with his floppy brown curls falling over his forehead. 

"Almost there, (Y/N). Come on!" He took her hand again and they hurried up the stairs, leaving the building and stepping out into part of campus. The fresh air hit her like a truck and she inhaled deeply, the first breath of clean air she'd taken in years. Sam ran out into the field and toward a forested area, the grass beneath her worn sneaks crunching. Real, living trees. She was back in nature. But it wasn't enough. Her hand slipped from Sam's and she collapsed on her knees with a low groan. 

"Sam," She breathed out, feeling the grass against her palms. So soft, so comforting. The grass blades grew and wrapped around her fingers, the use of her powers only straining her more. Sam stepped toward her and offered his hand again.

"It- It's okay, (Y/N). I'll carry you-"

"No, you have to go." She pushed his hand away. "I'll only slow you down. If- If they catch you, who knows what they'll do to you. Save yourself and the girl. If they come, I'll hold them back for as long as I can." 

Sam hesitated, his lips beginning to tremble with anguish and eyes flooding with tears. He nodded and wiped his tears away with the bloodied sleeve of his sweater, turning his back to her and running forward before taking a leap into the air that left a small crater behind. She watched him disappear into the night and sighed, praying to whatever higher power above to let Sam go. To let him finally live a life outside four walls. To let him find Luke and run until nobody could find either of them. 

Headlights suddenly shone behind her and she swallowed thickly, staggering up onto her weak legs. The sedative. She could feel its effects beginning to set in. Her world began to turn and twist but she couldn't let it deter her. She had to protect Sam. She had to. (Y/N) took another deep breath and tried to focus, trying to summon the last of her strength. Nature was all around her. It was her strength, her power. But her vision became blurry and her movements became sluggish. 

"Hey, you okay?" A hand grabbed her elbow and she spun around, swinging as hard and fast as she could but even then, her wrist was easily caught. Her vision grew blurrier and she stumbled right into the chest of the stranger before her legs gave out and her vision went dark. 

Jordan stared at the girl passed out on their bed, teeth anxiously chewing on their bottom lip. They recognized her. She'd ranked 8th in the Top Ten before disappearing, or per Brink's words, 'dropped out due to pressure.' Yet there she was. Weak, delirious, and in the worst state they'd ever seen another person in. Famished, dehydrated, and likely tormented. "Fuck," They cursed softly and ran a hand over their face in frustration. Maybe if they hadn't been so meek back in freshmen year, maybe if they had gotten the courage to speak with her... maybe she wouldn't have been taken. 

She groaned and their heart nearly skipped a beat, shooting up from the couch and watching her closely for signs of consciousness. (Y/N)'s head lolled from side to side, slowly rolling onto her back and carefully sitting up with her eyes cracking open. Jordan slipped into their femme form, their smaller and softer form where they wouldn't be as intimidating. She'd almost cracked their cheek the previous night when they'd been in their masc form, and they'd rather not risk it again. (Y/N) slumped back against the wall with furrowed brows, her fingers curling around the sheets and comforter. 

"Where..." Her voice sounded hoarse. Jordan quickly moved around the bed and bopped open their mini fridge, snatching the first bottle of Vought Water they saw and opening it. They returned to the bedside and held the bottle up to her cracked lips, slowly tilting the bottle so she could drink and refresh her throat. She drank the water without protest before gently pushing their hand away, wiping her wet lips and chin with the tip of her fingers and finally getting a good look at her surroundings. "Where am I?"

"You're in my dorm. I-I'm Jordan Li." Jordan licked their lips and sat down on the edge of the bed. 

"Jordan? The... the freshmen that always tried sucking up to Brink?" Their skin flushed and they chuckled sheepishly, screwing the cap back on the bottle. She'd noticed them back then. Butterflies fluttered around furiously in their belly. Oh, how could she still affect them so much after three years? She tiredly rubbed her eyes and leaned forward a bit. "You look... different."

Right. She knew them before they came out and fully accepted their two forms. "Yeah, I..." They pressed their lips together and slipped into their masc form before going back to their femme form. Her brows raised and they braced themselves for a reaction that would shatter their heart. But instead, she nodded and leaned back, content with the wordless explanation. 

"Dorm.." She repeated quietly and her eyes widened, suddenly ripping the comforter off her legs and swinging them over the edge of the bed.

"Woah, woah, easy!" The bottle slipped from their hand and fell to the ground, arms shooting out to steady her before she could stumble and fall. She braced herself against the nightstand and took in short breaths, one hand gently pushing away their arm so she could stumble toward the broad window and peer out of it. She gasped sharply and jerked back. 

"I-I can't be here, Jordan." 

"I know, I know." Jordan's hands found her waist, digging their fingers into the fabric of the grey sweatpants to steady her. Her hands bunched up their jacket as she held onto them, the fear in her eyes making their heartache. 

"No, you don't know. If- If they find me, they'll take me back to The Woods and they'll wipe you so you forget about me. They hurt Sam but he's too valuable to them. I'm not. Jordan, they'll kill me." Her eyes flooded with tears and she shakily inhaled, voice trembling with each word she spoke. "They are going to kill me." 

"I won't let that happen," Jordan assured firmly. "I won't let them hurt you."

[moody-alcoholic]

These Violent Delights

Chapter 9 - Nothing Stays the Same

Summary: Poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o alternate universe 8.2k words. Why can things never stay the same, the omega just wants to be happy.

CW: a/b/o alternative universe, a/b/o dynamics, typical a/b/o universe tropes (scenting), use of weapons, Non-consensual drugging, blood, descriptions of wounds, horrible military inaccuracies, angst, nightmares, memory blackouts, gaslighting.

AN: This story arc is definitely one of the most fun I have ever written. Chapter's might come out a little quicker since I'm having so much fun writing. (No promises check HERE for updates)

Previous - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

You wake before the sun is up. You would have to get used to early mornings again after you spent the last week getting as much rest as possible. The sun is just peeking through the clouds as you finish dressing and tiptoe through the barracks. As soon as you make it outside you take in a deep breath of pine filled air as you cross the green over to the lab. As you expected, Dr. Miller is the only one here this early. His head pops up from the desk as soon as you walk in. 

“Good morning.” He smiles as you walk over to him. 

“Good morning.” You smile at him sitting down on a stool next to him as he types something on a laptop. 

“What are we doing today?” you ask, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. 

“Nothing too serious. Drink this,” he says, handing you a plastic cup filled with what looks like water. 

“What is it?” you ask. He looks up at you quickly, you can smell his alpha now. 

“If I tell you it could change the results. I’ll tell you after you’ve drunk it.” He smiles. You smile at him, swallowing your nerves. You bring it to your lips and drink it down as he watches you. It doesn’t taste of anything. Maybe it’s just water. You think you can taste salt but maybe that’s just your mind trying too hard. You put the empty cup down on the table. He smiles again, turning back to the laptop. 

“So John is your alpha now?” he asks. Your mouth suddenly goes dry. 

“Yeah,” you say, smacking your lips together. 

“What about Professor Hale?” 

You’re hit with a wave of dizziness. Your hand flies to the back of your neck. You cough, looking at Dr. Miller. He turns looking at you. Your body feels heavy. Adrenaline kicks in and you stand up off the stool. 

What’s happening? 

He gets up off his stool too as your vision goes blurry. Your body collapses to the ground. 

“It’s a mild sedative, you won’t remember any of this,” he says as he bends down in front of you, his words echoing in your ears. 

“It didn’t have to be like this,” he sighs. Then everything goes black. 

You jump awake. You’re laid in the bed in the exam room. Your head is spinning, and you don’t remember what happened. There’s a pain at the back of your neck. Your hand goes to feel the familiar indent of John’s mark. You’re alone, the pale yellow walls being lit up with shades of red. 

What happened? 

You came here to see Dr. Miller. 

What happened?

You get up making your way to the door. When it opens and you head to the stairs. You can only smell alpha in the air. It has to be Dr. Miller. You grip the banister as you walk down the steps. You can see the top of his head as you reach the bottom and he turns to look at you.

“Hey, you’re awake,” he calls, smiling at you. “I went to take some blood and you passed out.” 

You look at him, confused, as you make it to the bottom. 

“I’ve never seen you drop so fast. Have you been eating properly?” he asks as he comes over to you. You try to remember the last meal you had. 

“Pork something,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck. 

“The canteen hasn't had the nicest food lately,” he says smiling. You look up at him. He was taking your blood and you passed out. He's looking at you with a concerned look on his face. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You can lay down for a few more minutes if you want?” 

You shake your head. You need to get back to the barracks before anyone notices you’re gone. 

“Take it easy,” he calls after you as you leave the lab. Your hand drops from your neck as you see the sun rising over the top of the trees. You take in a deep breath, and the cool morning air fills your lungs. You can smell the pine, the wet ground. Your head feels fuzzy. 

What the hell happened?

Dr. Piper wakes you up by shaking your shoulder. She's smiling at you as you blink awake.

“It’s almost noon, thought you might want to eat.” 

You nod, swinging your legs out the bed. 

“What’s that?” you ask, looking at a pile of something on your desk. Dr. Piper looks around. 

“Simon got you some books. He and John managed to pull some strings so you would have something to do while they’re away.” 

“While they’re away?” you ask standing up. 

“Yes, I’ll let John explain,” she says, leading you out of the room. You make it into the common room. John is sitting at the table but you can’t see anyone else. 

“‘Afternoon,” he says, smiling as you sit next to him at the table. 

“Tea?” Dr. Piper asks. You shake your head, and John already has a mug in his hands. You both look up at her and she seems to take that as her cue to leave. John puts his hand on your thigh under the table as he waits until the door closes and he’s sure the doctor is gone before talking. 

“We have to go away. For a mission. It shouldn’t take us long, a few days at the most,” he says. You look up at him.  

“What are you doing?” you ask. 

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he says 

“You’re a soldier,” you say, swallowing away the lump in your throat.

“Yeah, but it’s better if you don’t know.” 

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” You feel sick again. The thought of John or anyone in your pack getting hurt makes a knot form in your stomach. You want John to say something. You want him to tell you it’s all going to be okay. He doesn’t say anything though, and it feels like the seconds are dragging on. 

“We may be soldiers but we’re special forces. Counter-terrorism. We stop the worst of the worst people,” he says. You look up at him waiting for him to continue. You remember what Dr. Miller said that one time: ‘They will kill for you, they have killed for you.’

“You kill the bad guys,” you say, forcing a smile. 

“Exactly, you don’t need to worry. We’re experts,” he says. 

“How long will you be gone for?” 

“A few days. 2 at the most.” 

“Let me guess, you can’t tell me where,” you say, smiling, trying to lighten the mood. You want him to know you’re okay with this. It’s just a part of their life you need to accept.

“California. That’s all I can tell you,” he says, and you smile. You get the feeling he wasn’t supposed to tell you even that. Who would you tell though, Dr. Piper? She probably already knows. Dr. Miller? What’s he going to do? 

“Bring me a souvenir?” You smile at him, trying to keep the mood light. He smiles. 

“Thank you for the books,” you say. He squeezes your thigh. 

“It was Simon who suggested it actually, made the boys take a trip to a charity shop. I’m sorry if you’ve read some of them already. 

“It’s fine honestly, thank you.” You’re grateful for something to do other than watching TV. 

“When we come back would you be interested in helping with some more training?” he asks. You nod. You like being helpful, especially if you can help them. His hand leaves your leg, and he gets up. 

“Lunch?” he asks. You nod, following him out.

Ghost walks towards the top of the hill backing up on the house they were due to raid. Soap was by his side. Price and Gaz were on the other side of the building with SWAT.

“Hill’s a pain in the ass,” Soap pants as they make it to the overview point. 

“You need to workout more,” Ghost sighs, getting into position laying down and setting up his sniper. Soap lays next to him pulling out some binoculars. 

“Nice house, could you imagine something like that LT?” 

Ghost sighs looking down at the massive house with the immaculately mowed garden. There’s a pool and gazebo. Why have a pool when you live less than a kilometer from the beach.

“Bravo-2 in position,” Ghost says over the radio, ignoring Soap’s comments. 

“A mansion with a pool, a nice big lawn, surrounded by greenery,” Soap says. The light is low in the sky. It’s still early morning. The best time to catch this guy. 

“Get in position, Soap,” he says without looking over at him. He hears Soap sigh shuffling down the hill to drop behind the wall surrounding the garden. Ghost’s watching the house for signs of life. His job is to watch their backs to make sure there are no surprises.

“Bravo-1 in position. Any movement?” Price’s voice comes in Ghost’s ear. He looks through his scope checking the windows again. 

“Negative,” he responds as he sees Soap jump the wall. 

“Remember boys, as soon as the place is clear we’ll send in the locals,” Laswell’s voice states over the comms. They didn’t need to be here for this. Ghost and Price knew that. This could have easily been done by the local constabulary. Or even Shadow Company. Shepherd is doing this on purpose to get them off the base.

It felt wrong leaving the omega alone with the threat of Professor Hale hanging over them. Price had spoken with Dr. Montgomery though. She wasn’t a soldier but she was willing to protect the omega with her life and that’s all they needed. The sound of dogs barking pulls Ghost’s attention to the backdoor. 

“Shite, no one said anything about a dog,” Soap says, moving away from the back door. There are lights coming on in the house now. 

“Got movement, upstairs,” Ghost relays. Shit, they’ve been caught. 

“Watcher, call in the troops we’re going in hot,” Price says as Ghost starts to put his rifle away. “Ghost, Soap, take the back door.” 

Ghost’s not even paying attention as he puts the rifle down, sliding down the hill and jumping the wall to meet with Soap. The dogs are barking again as downstairs lights are being turned on. 

“Bravo-2, we’ve got movement here.” 

“Remember, there are civilians inside with the mark,” Price says.

“The mark is a male, 40, is to be considered armed and dangerous,” Laswell says. 

“Copy,” Ghost replies as he stacks up on the door with Soap. Price starts a countdown as Ghost can hear the man inside trying to wrangle the dogs. The countdown stops and on zero Soap kicks the door in.

Everything happens fast: there’s shouting, banging, voices of people from different parts of the house. Soap has a man in the kitchen on his stomach, hands behind his back in zipties. As Ghost makes it through the massive kitchen and dining room to a door, he spies Price and the rest of the officers fanning out. Soap comes up beside him.

“Where do you reckon the dogs are?” he asks as Ghost scans the adjoining room. 

“Garage by the sound of it,” he replies. That's good that they’re out of the way for now.

“We’ve got one civilian in the kitchen,” Soap relays over the radio. There's a steady stream of information coming through the radio now. Price and Gaz finish securing the ground floor before meeting with Ghost and Soap in the living room. Police and SWAT were moving around the house securing the civilians. No sign of their main man though.   

“LT wanna clear the garage?” Soap shouts. Ghost turns to nod at him. He walks back through the kitchen and SWAT are talking to the man Soap tied up earlier. Ghost gets a good look at him as he passes, following Soap to a door. Definitely not the mark, too young, not tall enough.  

Soap stacks up on one side of the door while Ghost takes the other, moving his weapon to fit more comfortably in his hands. 

“I hate shooting dogs,” Soap says. 

“Don’t. I'll do it then,” Ghost says.

“You’re a cold bastard sometimes you know,” Soap says, tipping his head. Ghost rolls his eyes pressing down on the door handle as he pushes it open. He scans with his weapon and there are 2 cars in the massive garage. He walks in with Soap behind him, there very well could be someone in here.

They still haven't found the mark and there are no signs of the dogs. Ghost and Soap split, with Ghost walking behind the cars and Soap walking in front of them. They walk in sync, slow as they scan each corner. 

It’s when they’re standing between the cars that someone springs out. Ghost doesn’t have much time to determine if it’s a threat or not. He sees the weapon in his hands. Soap is shouting at him over the hood of the car. Shots ring out, and the man drops.

“Contact, garage,” Ghost shouts as he hears people rushing in. He looks over at Soap. He can smell the blood in the air, he can smell pain.

“Johnny!” Simon calls for his attention as they walk round to check the body. Ghost watches him looking for where Soap is injured. There’s the body of the man, blood pooling from his head. 

“Watcher, target eliminated,” Ghost says as he watches Soap lower his weapon, his hand pressing on his shoulder. Now he can see the blood.  

“Good job boys, sending exfil, we’ll leave the clean up to the locals,” Laswell says in his ear. 

“Ghost what’s the sitrep?” Price asks.

“Mark down, Soap’s hit,” Ghost says, letting his weapon swing down going over to him. 

“I’m good LT, it’s just a scratch.” 

“Yeah, I’ll be the judge of that,” Ghost says, half dragging him out of the garage and back into the building. He pushes him down on the first available seat. Soap is still protesting when Gaz comes round the corner.

“What’d ya do Soap?” he asks as Ghost pulls his sleeve up. He’s been shot through the shoulder. 

“How do you feel?” Ghost asks. 

“I’m fine LT, don’t need you fussing,” Soap says as he looks up at Ghost. A shoulder shot could take him out the field for weeks. Ghost starts pressing bandages into the wound as Soap winces.

“Holy shit,” Gaz says looking at the back of his shoulder where the exit wound should be. “It was through and through right?” Gaz looks up at Ghost who looks confused, he moves to see what Gaz is looking at. It’s definitely through and through but the bleeding has stopped. The exit wounds indicate the bullet shattered but the smaller wounds are healing up before their very eyes. Ghost takes the bandage off the entrance wound. It’s stopped bleeding already.

“What is it?” Soap asks, trying to look, but Ghost grabs his arms, keeping him in place. 

“It’s healing already,” Gaz says. 

“How do you feel?” Ghost asks him. Soap stands up moving his shoulder. 

“Fine, we’re super soldiers, remember,” Soap says playfully, nudging Ghost. Price walks round the corner taking the scene in for a second. 

“You solid?” he asks Soap who nods at him. “Gaz, Soap go help SWAT out front. Try not to piss them off before exfil gets here.” He sighs watching Soap pull the skin around his wound. 

“Don’t play with it, it’ll get infected,” Gaz says, swatting his hand away and placing a bandage over it.

“We’re fucking super soldiers mate, a little infection isn’t going to slow me,” Soap says. Ghost shakes his head. He must still have adrenaline running through his system. Price looks up at Ghost moving so Gaz and Soap can leave. Price nods him back to the garage which has been opened out to the garden now. He can see officers and SWAT doing their thing, a tent has been set up with a table and a laptop. Vans are being driven into the driveway.

Price walks down the steps to look over at the body while Ghost follows him, but something catches his eyes and before he reaches Price, he picks up a piece of paper. His stomach sinks. Now that Soap is not in the room, he can smell the familiar smell of blood and death. There’s something else there too. Beta. 

“Look at this,” Ghost says, taking a step and handing the paper to Price. He reads the same thing Ghost read a few seconds earlier.

“Omega initiative. Shit.” He looks back at the body, they both do. Ghost killed him. He had a weapon in his hand, and he shot Soap. 

“Whoever doesn’t go back to work for Hale has a death sentence,” Ghost says as a matter of fact putting the pieces together. 

“Not necessarily, our orders were to take him alive,” Price corrects him. “Back to Graves.” 

“Back to Hale,” Ghost says. Price sighs, turning to him he folds the paper up putting it in one of his vest pockets.

“Seems like Hale’s doing a bit of a recruitment drive.”  

“What are you reading?” Dr. Miller asks as you sit on the stool reading the last few pages of the chapter. 

“Moby-Dick.” You show him the cover, smiling.

“Here, smell this one,” he says, pressing a q-tip under your nose. You wince at the strong smell. 

“Smells like chemicals,” you say, turning the page. He sighs writing something down. 

“Try this one,” he says with a new q-tip and a new smell. You breathe it in. It’s not as strong. 

“Smells like beta,” you say. He sighs again and writes something else down. 

“Stronger or weaker than the last one?” 

“Weaker,” you say, unsure. 

“How’s it going?” you ask. He seems frustrated about something. 

“The scents are either too strong or not strong enough to mask anything.” You watch as he dips a clean q-tip in another clear liquid. He sniffs it then holds it under your nose. 

“Smells sweet, like apple pie,” you say. It’s the smell of your mother. Or at least the smell you used to think was what your mother smelt like. You put the book down, marking your page. It makes you sad. Your head is starting to spin after smelling so many different things.

“Smells like sadness.” You sigh. 

“I’m sure your pack will be back soon. It’s been 2 days,” he says. You nod, standing up. You don’t want to do this anymore. 

“One more, come on,” he says, reaching out and lightly pulling your arm. You sigh, turning back to him, letting him push the q-tip under your nose. You breathe it in. 

“Alpha,” you say. He nods, smiling. 

“You should get some rest. You did good today,” he says. You nod, gripping the book and heading back to the barracks. You hate being in the barracks when your pack’s not around. It just feels empty. You walk in to see Dr. Piper making coffee. Almost as soon as they had left, she had moved a coffee machine in. 

“Hey, where have you been so early?” she asks, stirring a cup of something. 

“Dr. Miller needed my help for the scent blocker.” She looks confused for a second as she sits at the table. 

“Do you help him a lot?” she asks. You shrug. You’re tired now. 

“Not really, I just wish it wasn’t so early,” you say, sitting down opposite her. 

“I’ll have a word with him. You should get a good night's rest,” she says, sipping on her coffee. “How have you been sleeping? Have the nightmares been getting better?” 

You nod. They haven’t been as bad. It feels like everything gets worse when your pack’s not around though. You miss them. 

“When do you think they’ll be back?” you ask. 

“Well, actually Kate told me they should be back tonight. I didn't want to tell you because they still might get held up,” she says. You look up at her smiling. It makes you feel warm thinking about the fact they could be back tonight.

You’re too excited to take a nap now. You smile at her, almost skipping down to your room. You look at the sun rising over the trees, the pile of books and the scent of nature in the air makes you happy. Happier than you’ve been in years. 

You curl up in your nest, feeling the warm bubble inside you get stronger. You end up in your nest with a stack of books. You manage to make it through Moby-Dick before you start feeling sleepy. Your mind wanders to your pack wondering what they’re doing as you find yourself dozing off a few pages into your next book.

You’re back in the lab. You’re laying in a bed. It’s a hospital bed. You can’t smell anything in the air, but you know where you are. You’re back in the bunker, the horrible dark place. The door opens and you expect the Professor to walk in. Instead it’s Dr. Miller. You don’t relax though. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask as you try to move but you can't. You're tied down. He doesn’t say anything, going over to a table and picking something up. You try to move and as you can’t, panic rises in you. You feel sick as you see him turn round. He’s holding a scalpel in his hand. The door opens again and it is Graves, the man who went into your personal space, who ordered your nest destroyed. You stare at him wide eyes, confused as you look back over at Dr. Miller. 

“What’s happening?” you ask, panic rising in your voice as you try to move but you can’t. You’re pinned down too tightly. 

“It didn't have to be like this,” Dr. Miller says, pulling a surgical mask over his face. 

“No, please,” you plead as he nods at Graves whose hands land on your face, pulling your head to the side uncomfortably. The back of your neck is exposed as you can feel Dr. Miller touch your mark. You plead for him to stop, but he doesn’t say anything. You scream as his scalpel makes contact with your skin. Everything goes blurry as tears stream down your face. You’re fighting with Graves’ grip as best as you can, trying to move your head. There’s more pain now, another cut and everything goes black.  

You wake screaming. Your hand flies to the back of your neck. You can feel your mark, the indents John’s teeth left. You’re shaking, panting, it feels like you can’t breathe, your nails digging into your hand. You hear commotion as your door is flung open. Dr. Piper is there. She rushes over, her cool hands finding your face forcing you to look at her as you rub the back of your neck. 

“You’re okay, it’s just a dream,” she says. You’re not listening to her. You smell alpha in the air, and looking behind her you can see Johnny in the doorway. They’re back. You look down at Dr. Piper, trying to take deep breaths but it just comes out as sobs.

She pulls you into her arms as you let your hand drop from the back of your neck. You close your eyes breathing in her calming scent. She’s shushing you, rubbing your back. You open your eyes, blinking the tears away looking over at the doorway. John is there now, standing in the doorway outside the threshold of your space. 

“John,” you breathe. Dr. Piper lets you go as John steps into the room. She turns to look and gets up. 

“Hey,” he says, kneeling down by you. Your nest is a mess. You must have been thrashing around in your sleep. You don’t wait, throwing yourself in his arms almost knocking him over. You see Dr. Piper leave, pulling the door closed and shooing the others away. You need this time now with your alpha. You close your eyes breathing in his scent, letting it fill your lungs. He’s back and he’s safe. 

“I’ve missed you,” you say, gripping him tighter like this is a dream too and he’s going to vanish at any second. 

“We’ve only been gone 2 days, not even 48 hours.” You can hear the smile in his voice as his hands run over you. You break away from the hug. 

“What was the dream about?” he asks. 

“The bunker, Graves was there,” the memory is fading. There was someone else too, but you can’t remember who. The Professor, probably. 

“You’re never going back there. We destroyed it, remember,” he says, smiling at you. You nod. You know the place is gone. It’s not gone in your mind though.

“Want to lie down in my bed?” he asks, and you nod. You do, you want to be near him. You support yourself on him as he helps you off the floor. He holds his hand out and you take it letting him wrap his arm around you. 

“You know Graves is never going to be coming in here again. You’re safe here,” he says. You can see in the common room.  Johnny and Kyle poke their heads round the corner and you smile at them. John presses you into his room, and the place is messier than you’ve ever seen it. A bag half unpacked is in the middle of the room, and there’s an open laptop and weapons on the desk. They make your breath catch in your throat. You walk over and sit on the bed. 

“Did you kill anyone?” you ask as he pulls your chin up to look at him. He shakes his head. You can smell the lie in the air. 

“You don’t have to lie,” you say, swallowing. He looks at you like he’s deciding what to do, letting out a sigh and coming to sit next to you on the bed. 

“You told me you wouldn’t worry,” he says.

“I didn’t worry. I just missed you,” you say as he strokes your thigh. 

“Lay down,” he instructs. You follow his instructions, laying on the side of the bed pressed up against the wall. He lays next to you and you turn your body to the side so you can look at him. 

“So, we have this mission. One guy, suspected to be smuggling and selling large quantities of pharmaceuticals to private buyers. We work with the local police and SWAT but Commander Graves wants him brought in alive. Unfortunately, he managed to get a weapon and took a shot at John-”

“Johnny got shot?” you gasp, propping yourself up in the bad. You feel a wave of nausea wash over you. Someone in your pack got hurt.

“He’s fine,” John says, his hand resting on your shoulder pushing you back down on the bed. Your eyes dart to the door. You saw him in your room, and he did look fine. Maybe he is fine. Your heart still aches for him though, the image of him being injured is swimming around in your head. 

“John’s fine but Simon shot the guy and unfortunately he died. The police secured the house and found the evidence they needed to arrest the other members of the family then we came back,” he finishes explaining. You swallow hard. You knew they were doing horrible things, they’re soldiers. 

“Does that happen a lot? Getting shot?” you ask scooting closer to him. 

“No, we don’t make a habit out of it.” He smiles, his fingers coming to brush hair out of your face. You close your eyes relaxing into the pillow. 

“Dr. Montgomery told me you’ve been helping Dr. Miller?” You nod. “You should get some rest. I’ll wake you up for dinner?” he asks, you nod again. You still feel tired, all the scenting this morning must have really taken it out of you. He leans over and kisses you on the forehead as you get under the covers. He gets up, takes his laptop and leaves the room. You smile rolling over to his side of the bed. His pillows have his scent. You relax, breathing it in, closing your eyes. They’re back and they’re safe. It’s not getting easier though, each time they go away. 

You wake to shouting. John isn’t in the bed, and something is going on in the common room. Your body feels stiff, and you can already tell you’ve been asleep for way more than a few hours.  

“Fuck off!” That’s Johnny, you can hear his accent cutting thick through the air. 

“Shepherd wanted me to deliver the message personally.” It’s Graves. You swallow, opening the door to the hall. You can see John and Simon standing there both with their arms crossed. Johnny is the one who looks back and sees you. He walks up stopping in front of you. You try to look around him, his hand lands on your shoulder. 

“What's going on?” you ask. 

“‘Hey sleepyhead, how ‘bout you go back to bed for a bit,” he says smiling at you. You can see it’s getting dark out. You must have slept for a good few hours.

“Is that her?” you hear Graves call. You freeze, reaching out and gripping Johnny’s arm. John said he would never be back. 

“Time to go Graves. Don’t you have a base to take care of?” John says. 

“You have until the morning,” he says. You swallow hard looking up at Johnny. You can smell him projecting a calming scent. You wonder if he and Kyle have had time to practice. Or maybe they are just naturals. You hear a door close and let go of Johnny’s arm. He smiles, putting his arm around your shoulders, and you stop, nudging it off.

“You were shot Johnny,” you say. He smiles, putting it back round you and continuing to walk you into the common room. 

“Super soldier remember, thanks to that drug of yours.” Simon is still standing with his arms crossed watching Graves walk across the green back towards the main building. John is sitting down at the table with Kyle sipping tea. 

“Sorry we woke you,” Kyle says looking at you sympathetically. You look at John. He looks tired. You feel sad all of a sudden, like you want to reach out and hug him. He looks up at you and meets your eye-line for a second. A shiver runs down your spine. 

“Did you get into trouble?” you ask

“No,” it’s Simon’s voice that speaks up. So harsh in the air you almost jump. John pushes his chair out getting up with his cup of tea. You feel bad, like you’ve done something wrong. You watch as he disappears into his office without saying a word. 

“Sit down, lass,” Johnny says, placing a cup of tea down in front of you. For someone who doesn't drink it, Johnny somehow manages to make the best tea. You nod, sitting down. Simon finally moves. He walks behind you knocking on John’s office. He doesn’t wait for a response though before going in. 

“What did Graves want?” you ask. Johnny and Kyle look at each other then back at you. 

“‘Nothing you need to worry about,” Johnny smiles. You try to ignore the yearning to know more. You wish they wouldn’t be so secretive. You wish they would tell you what they were doing. No, you don’t deserve that information , you remind yourself. You’re not a soldier, just an omega . It only feels like it’s been a few seconds of awkward silence before John and Simon walk back out into the common room. You sip your tea as John sits at the table opposite you. 

“Professor Hale has requested to have contact with you.” You freeze at his words. The tea suddenly tastes horrible in your mouth. You want to spit it out instead you swallow it down letting it burn your throat. 

“You can say no, but he wants you to know the option is there.” It feels like John is looking into your soul, his eyes harsh as he tries to read your reaction. The Professor has always been such a constant in your life. You think back to what Dr. Miller said. Maybe he did love you? Maybe this was his way of saying sorry? Or maybe he’ll let you stay with your pack, watch you from a distance, and then spring when you least expect it. It makes you feel sick. 

“I—” You start but the words catch in your throat. What if this was a test, some weird fucked up experiment. You look up at John. Simon is standing behind him with his arms crossed. You trust them, there’s no way this is a test. Does Dr. Piper know? What would she say? She worked with him for years. Maybe she would like to communicate with him again. You close your eyes, sighing.

“I don’t want to see him,” you say, looking down at your tea, gripping it harder like you’re about to be told you don’t have a choice. You feel guilty. It doesn’t feel real. It’s like it’s the end of a massive part of your life. If you never see him again, will you ever forgive yourself? A hand rests on the top of your back, and you look up seeing Kyle smile down at you. You look over at John. He’s watching you, and you can’t tell if he looks disappointed or not. Simon’s still standing behind him with his arms crossed. You can never tell what he’s thinking.  

“If you ever change your mind.” 

You shake your head. 

“He’s been the only other constant in my life. He did love me. I feel like I should give him the benefit of the doubt.” You look back down.

“You don’t owe him anything,” John says. You don’t know if you believe him or not. The last time you saw the Professor, he was breaking your ankle for trying to leave. Kyle's hand runs across your back. 

“He tortured you. You spent your whole life being hurt. He doesn’t deserve the right to even ask. You never have to see him again. You shouldn’t see him again,” Simon says, his voice is sharp in the air. You look up at him. You’ve come to learn that Simon’s not the most talkative person but he means everything he says.

“He’s right,” Kyle says. “You have no reason to talk to him.”

You look down at your mug. You feel the tears coming, your eyes welling up as you try to stop them, squeezing your eyes shut. You have to be strong, you don’t get to cry for him. Simon’s right and Kyle is right. You never have to see him again. When you open your eyes everything is blurry. You swallow the lump in your throat away. 

You don’t know what happens but the next thing you know Kyle’s hand has left your back and everyone is walking out of the building. John stays seated. You bring your sleeve up to wipe your eyes. You try to hide it but you’re not doing the best job. John waits until the building is empty before getting up and sitting in the seat next to you. He turns your chair to face him slightly. You let go of your cup, as you turn to look at him. His hand comes up to your chin pulling your face up to look at him. He leans down and kisses your forehead. 

“Simon’s right, Professor Hale doesn’t deserve the right to even ask you. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t even be asking,” he says, his thumb stroking your cheek. He brushes one of your tears away. 

“I feel guilty,” you admit. You want to look down but John’s hand on your face won’t let you. John nods.

“You don’t have anything to feel guilty about.” His thumb brushes your cheek. You nod. He stands up, offering you his hand. You take it and he leads you to the sofa. You sit down and you sit next to him. He spreads his arm over the back of the sofa and you smile at him as you lean up against him. He reaches over to pick up the remote. 

“More of the screaming women?” he asks, flicking through the channel as smile.

“You pick,” you say, snuggling up against him more. 

“John?” He hums rubbing your arm. “Are you going to kill the Professor?” There’s silence. You don’t know why you were expecting a quick answer. You don’t know if you’re going to like the answer. 

“I would kill him. If I had to.” You look up at him. He smiles at you. 

“Do you ever regret it? Killing anyone?” 

“From time to time, sometimes people get mixed up in all sorts of things.” 

“How do you do it?” 

“The good outweighs the bad.” He squeezes you tighter. “You don’t need to worry about that kind of stuff.” You sigh, stretching your arm across his stomach. You let yourself relax. You don’t know how you would feel if the Professor was to die. Maybe you would feel relief, or maybe you would feel even more guilty.

John starts talking about what’s happening on the TV but you’re only half paying attention, your mind preoccupied with the Professor. It doesn’t feel like you’ve been laid there for very long when the door to the building opens. John turns and you sit up to see who’s walked in.

“Johnny’s shoulder’s playing up. Si’s taken him to see the doc,” Kyle says as he sticks his head in the door. 

“Dr. Piper?” you ask as you sit up, a lump forming in your stomach. John said he was fine. Kyle nods and John gets up off the sofa. You follow him as he walks out of the building. All of you take a quick walk across the green to the lab. When you get in, a few scientists look over at you all. You see Dr. Miller who smiles at you. 

“She’s upstairs if you’re looking for her,” he says. John thanks him and you make your way up to the medical room. When you walk in, Simon is leaned up against the wall on the far side of the room, his arms crossed. Johnny is sat on the edge of the bed with his shirt off. Dr. Piper’s taking the bandage off his shoulder. You feel blood rush to your cheeks as you see him topless. He’s fitter than John is, and hairier too which you didn’t expect. He winks as you and you look away trying not to feel embarrassed. 

“It’s healed fine. You say it’s still painful?” she asks, pressing down on and around where the scar is. 

“It healed that quickly?” John asks, shocked crossing his arms as he leans in to look. 

“Yeah, one of the wonders of the drug,” she says, smiling. “If it still hurts tomorrow we’ll do an x-ray but it’s most likely your bones just taking a little longer to heal. I’ll get you a sling.” She heads through the door in the room. You peek your head in seeing a bed and some storage. 

“Physical wounds and broken bones will repair themselves relatively quickly, most of the time within 24-48 hours, as long as you’re in good health. Blood is a big factor too. Lose too much of it and you will not be able to repair yourself,” Dr. Piper says as she hands Johnny his shirt back. He pulls it on. 

“What about getting sick?” Kyle asks.

“You have a stronger immune system but you can still get sick, also of course the healthier you are the better it works,” Dr. Piper says. 

“Okay so we don’t have to worry about getting shot in the field,” Johnny chuckles.

“Well if you get shot in the head or the heart, you’ll still probably be dead. Trauma is still trauma,” Dr. Piper says, helping him secure the sling.

“I can show you,” you say looking round the room. They look at you confused for a few seconds. You walk over to a tray and pick up a scalpel.

“Woah, wait!” They all start to protest as you bring the blade to your lower arm.

“It’s okay, the Professor used to make me do it all the time,” you say, shrugging. 

“Stop!” John’s voice is harsh in the air as you look at him waiting for what he will say next. “You don’t have to hurt yourself to show us.” You look up at Dr. Piper who shrugs. You move putting the scalpel back down. You feel the collective sigh in the room as you look around them. 

“Okay, so we still need to continue to treat injuries seriously,” John says to everyone. Johnny jumps down off the bed.

“If you want I can look into maybe making something that can speed up the wound healing process? Professor Hale was pretty close to a breakthrough before you rescued the omega,” Dr. Piper says as she walks around everyone, opening the door to back out to the lab.

“Sure, if you think you can,” John says as everyone piles out. You smile at Dr. Piper as you pass her. 

“You should all get some food before the mess closes,” John says, stopping at the top of the steps. 

“What about you?” you ask him. Now that you think of it, when does he ever get time to eat? You’ve only seen him eat a few times. 

“I’ll catch up, just have to have a word with Dr. Montgomery first,” he says, placing his hand on the small of your back and gently pressing you to the steps. You sigh following Kyle down the steps. The lab is empty. Most of the scientists will have gone for breaks since it is almost midday. Kyle waits for you, holding the door open as you all exit. 

“So did Professor Hale make you hurt yourself a lot?” he asks as you walk next to Kyle across the grass.

“It’s the best way to prove to people it works. He would have people come and I got to show off for them.” 

“What do you mean?” he asks. 

“Well like, he would have these people called ‘investors’ I think, and I would get to dress nice and get out of my room for the day. He would show them around the lab and they would meet all the scientists, and then they would meet me. I would show them the ‘miracles’ of the formula,” you explain as you make it to the mess.  

“Do you remember any of them?” It’s Simon ahead of you who asks the question. You shake your head.

“They were always men, always in such nice clothes. I never knew their names. He would always just call them ‘investor,’” you say, picking up a tray. Simon hums and you follow him and Johnny piling your plate with food and two pudding cups.

“Dr. Piper might know,” you say. Simon nods. You want to be helpful, but a lot of the time when it comes to what happened in the bunker, it can get blurry. You’re never quite sure where the real memories start. Besides, thinking about them upsets you. It’s enough that you have nightmares, you don’t need to worry about it during the day too. You follow Kyle to a table sitting down in front of Simon. You’re so caught up in your thoughts you don’t even realise Simon has pulled the bottom of his mask up. 

You think back to a few days ago when you saw the top of his head and his blonde hair. You’re trying to piece the two together to imagine what his whole face might look like. You’re staring at him, gawking at him as he chews on his food. His head tips to the side as he looks at you, and you watch him swallow as his fork comes back up to his mouth.

“It’s rude to stare,” he says. You immediately feel heat come to your cheeks, looking back down at your tray. Your hands fiddle with the lid on your pudding cup as you let the wave of embarrassment wash over you.

“Be nice LT,” Johnny hisses under his breath, nudging him. You feel like you’ve invaded his privacy. Maybe you should apologize. You look back up at him as you pick up your spoon. You don’t know what to say, so you just spoon some pudding in your mouth. As soon as it hits your tongue it tastes bitter. You almost want to spit it out but you swallow it, frowning as you look at the cup. 

“Not good?” Johnny asks. You look at the flavor, butterscotch. You don’t think you’ve ever tried that one before. 

“I don’t think I like butterscotch,” you say, putting your spoon down. Johnny reaches over picking up the unopened one. 

“That’s not possible.” Johnny smiles at you. You smile back picking up your fork. Guess it serves you right for skipping straight to dessert. You eat your food listening to Johnny and Kyle talk, but you can’t help your eyes wondering to Simon every now and then. You really want to see him smile. You wish you could see him without the mask. Maybe you will, if he’s getting more comfortable around you. At one point he turns and your eyes meet his, you smile at him but instead he ignores you, turning back to listen into the conversation between Johnny and Kyle. 

You spend most of the meal just pushing food around the plate. You’re distracted by something you can’t quite put your finger on. You’re not hungry, just tired. You want to crawl into your nest with a book and sleep. You’ve been sleeping in there more than in your bed. It’s not comfortable sleeping on the floor but you feel like that you have less nightmares when you’re safe in your nest compared to in your bed. 

You excuse yourself from the table, ignoring Kyle’s comments that you’ve hardly eaten anything. When you make it outside, the dark clouds make the air feel electric. Maybe there’s a storm coming. You can hear the distant rumbles as you make your way across the green to the barracks. The lights are off. John must not be back yet. You turn the one in the common room on then walk to your room. 

Your nest is still a mess from earlier. You pull the duvet and pillows off your bed and bend down fixing it. You stack all the pillows back up, laying blankets over them as you arrange everything around. You keep going till it feels right again. You go over to the books on the table. You don’t know what you want to read. You pick up ‘ The Secret Garden’ if not just for the pretty cover. You take it over to your nest climbing in and leaning up against the wall. 

You hear Johnny, Kyle and Simon coming back from the mess a few pages into the book. You hear their voices in the common room, the sound of doors opening and closing. You smile, letting yourself relax, and you read until you fall asleep.

When John makes it back to the barracks Johnny and Kyle are laid out on the sofa. Simon is sat at the table with a mug in his hand. John stands in the doorway as everyone turns to look at him. Simon meets his eye line, John tips his head gesturing outside. 

‘Follow me.’

Simon gets up immediately leaving the table as John steps back outside. He walks away from the building to the wall round the edge of the base. He waits a few seconds before speaking. 

“The labs have been bugged,” John says. 

“Think it’s Graves?” Simon asks. John sighs.

“Don’t know, she only found it yesterday.” 

“Mic? Camera?” 

“Microphone,” he replies. 

“Think there's more?” Simon asks.

“Think so, why only plant one.” 

“What do you want to do?” 

“If it is Graves, I don’t want him to know we’re on to him. It could be something else though.” John sighs scratching his chin. 

“Who? Shepherd?” 

“I don’t know. If the lab is bugged though there’s a chance the barracks are too.”

“Want to search it?” 

“I want to do it without raising suspicion, from Graves, Shepherd, anyone.” 

“What about Soap and Gaz?” Simon asks as they make it back towards the barracks.

“No, let's keep it between us, until we have proof or know who’s doing it. Dr. Montgomery is going to keep an eye out. She’ll let me know if she finds anything,” John says, stopping at the door to the barracks. Kyle and Johnny are still sitting on the sofa as they both walk in. 

“Hey LT, Kyle found the football!” Johnny says enthusiastically. 

“Manchester United, that's the good one right?” Johnny smiles. Simon sighs going back over to the table to get his cup of tea.

“Just keep it down,” John says, going to his office.

“It’s the first match of the league Cap, wanna watch?” Kyle calls. He does but he shakes his head, he has work to do. He watches Simon take his tea over to the sofa chair. He looks down the hall seeing your bedroom door closed, and he takes in a long breath. He can smell you in the air, strawberries. He smiles and walks into his office.

next Dividers by Plum98 & gild-ui Beta reader and editor - rememberwren

[yandere-toons]

Yandere Klaus Hargreeves (Platonic & Romantic Headcanons)

Warnings: substance abuse, bloody violence, references to child abuse and neglect, self-harm and suicidal ideation, sexual references, mentions of religious concepts.

Platonic:

Hugs, where he snuggles up with his whole body, are his favourite way to greet the one he has so fondly dubbed his truest friend. Klaus shuts out all other communication and responsibility, preferring to laugh with them and grasp for any reason to keep the conversation going. He makes no apologies for his enthusiasm and, if only privately, ridicules those who frown on his behaviour.

A snack or nightcap that happened to be on hand serves as his excuse, but in reality, Klaus is looking for any opportunity to lean in and show how attentive he can be. Klaus will endure an inordinate amount of hostility before he recognises that it's more than a lapse of affection. Even so, he assumes the fault rests squarely on his shoulders and scrambles to be more forthright in his attempts to praise and help.

Sleep exhausts him more than life unless Klaus downs a shot of liquid courage and passes out on his friend, calling their heartbeat the best sedative. He finds comfort in entangling himself with them: then the slightest movement will alert him to a disturbance or an attempt to leave, and he won't have to wake up alone, wondering if he's hallucinated it all.

When his friend exits the room, Klaus jumps up from whatever compact position he's been sitting in and hurries after them. Even if his question about going out together fetches an unequivocal "no," Klaus reacts with joy, as if he's snagged a resounding "yes," and continues to follow at their heels until they reach their destination.

Whether it's throwing himself into the back seat of their car just before they drive off or physically clinging to them, Klaus insists on not being separated for even a minute. Anything longer than a few seconds of uninterrupted silence discomforts him, so he is eager to fill that time with stories of his bizarre visions.

If Klaus's friend lands in a scuffle, he enables them by shouting words of encouragement for them to hit the other. For Klaus to strike, the friend must either ask him to do so or catch him in a moment of extreme distress. Once the altercation is over and Klaus's friend emerges victorious, he approaches the opponent and taunts them quietly, if possible extinguishing his cigarette on their skin.

Suppose his friend loses or appears to be struggling. In that case, Klaus will call upon his brother Diego to intervene with deadly force. Klaus frames this as a personal favour between brothers, but Klaus has, at best, a tenuous intention of repaying Diego, unless what Diego asks for comes in the form of pills or powder. This becomes clear when Klaus decides not to stay for the end of the fight and leaves with his friend to pour a celebratory drink.

Being a bystander in the fight means staying behind Klaus while he holds out his arm like a seatbelt. Klaus believes he has failed to fulfil his sole purpose in life and is therefore unworthy to live, so at the first sign of danger, he will sacrifice himself for one of the few people who have not yet written him off.

Klaus enjoys swapping gossip and bad memories of questionable validity about how awful the person was. He even steals valuables from the person's house, small enough to fit in his coat pocket, and then splits the reward with his friend, distracting them with compliments and jokes in hopes that they won't confront him about the crime.

If the friend presses him hard, Klaus will hand over the stolen goods but will argue that he is thieving solely in their best interest. If you wait a day or more to ask him about it, Klaus will have the time he needs to pawn off all the stolen goods and double down on the lie that someone else is to blame.

Hearing a good song, Klaus will try to dance with his friend. Humour him or not, Klaus improvises a whole routine and "accidentally" plants his elbow in the ribs of everyone he suspects has the same dance partner in mind. He makes a point of swaying in his friend's line of sight and slides into the way each time they venture out.

Despite this, Klaus is the first to flee and invent insults against the others for smothering him. Should the people claim that Klaus is the real hanger-on, that his friend stays with him out of pity rather than necessity, he lashes out in a burst of verbal and physical rage at whoever said it last.

Acts of impulse serve as a cornerstone of his fragile attachment. In a more domestic setting, Klaus falls into their lap on the pretext that his family is hogging all the chairs. Kisses blown across the room, closer if his friend asks for such things, earn him much derision from his siblings.

No matter how much Ben gags in his ear, Klaus pays no mind to his antics and gradually isolates himself from those who challenge his view of the relationship. He has had enough of being expected to validate his every choice in his family's eyes and declares that he will never again bring his friend round the mansion. When questioned as to his motives, Klaus is unusually honest about his preference for them over his family.

Klaus jokes that, even in death, he will hold them to all the promises they made in life. He warns them not to bunk with other spirits, as he has dedicated a La-Z-Boy and a bottomless supply of pizza to them in his afterlife. One-on-one existence, where his dream could never again be taken from him, is his paradise, and the resurrection, the gasp of loneliness that comes with leaving such a world, takes more from his heart than any bullet.

As someone whom the dead haunt like a shadow, Klaus will continue to talk to his friend long after their death. Everyone else can only watch and guess at his condition as he chats with empty air about what to eat that day. Klaus is well aware that his friend is dead and that no one else can see them now, but it gives him more reason to include them in conversations with others.

This is how he soothes his grief and tells himself that despite the new barrier, he can still socialise with them and, at least for a few blissful minutes, pretend that everything is as it should be. If anyone is angry with him for this, Klaus teases them: in his eyes, they are shamelessly envious that he has such a loyal friend.

Romantic:

Playdates with his abrasive family are a necessary evil, but as soon as his partner leaves, Klaus waves goodbye to his siblings and follows. He packs his nonexistent bags and sets off, unable to trust that his partner won't realise he does more harm than good and abandon him while they're apart.

Klaus fears his attachment—he worries that by revealing its burning intensity and seeking appreciation, he is inviting future rejection. Every time Klaus takes such a risk, he anticipates problems in the relationship that will exceed his abilities and expose his incompetence. Consequently, he may attempt to sever the connection before it has the chance to evolve.

Throughout Klaus's existence, fortune has conspired against him, divine intervention has been a lie, and karma has overdosed him twentyfold before granting him another fleeting sense of hope. Any individual who treats Klaus as anything more than his father's failed experiment and values him for reasons beyond his powers which he so loathes must be clueless.

However, Klaus notes, they must also be a finer person than himself, one to whom he could never measure up, and for whose sake he would mutilate himself at a moment's notice. Anyone who hurts them is beneath contempt, a bastard whom he would gladly let burn in a fire of their own making.

Klaus dreams up an intricate history of conflict and pleasure in case he has to step into the role of a jilted ex and deliver a heart-wrenching story to win that coveted second chance. He dallies in places frequented by his partner to catch them alone, spilling his deepest affections, hoping that one day, even if a thousand lifetimes from this one, they will embrace him once more.

For Klaus, eye contact with his partner means that they find him the opposite of repulsive and are open to seeing more of him, a feat he cannot even allow himself. At the slightest hint of their presence, he casts a wistful stare that, when interrupted, turns listless and dejected. It is this ingrained hesitancy to trust his own judgement that causes him to doubt his right to exist until another sees him and proves that he deserves life.

Klaus chases this meaning as he often has the bottom of a bottle, languishing in every sense of the word until he may experience it again. Perhaps a glaring difference in interests leaves him at a loss as to how to bond, such as if his partner turns out to be a grease monkey. In this scenario, Klaus resorts to conning a mechanic's shop into giving them lessons.

He deliberately injures himself, making sure that some part of his body is streaming blood, and then claims that an employee assaulted him. The act is contrived to arouse sympathy for him and punishment for another, replete with tears, dramatised accounts of every blow dealt, and threats when no one else is listening.

Klaus pretends he is too disoriented from blood loss to walk on his own and insists he must hold on to his partner when he stands. He grossly exaggerates the time and energy needed to recover, suggesting they carry him in their arms and focus all their attention on him until he "feels better."

Claiming that insensitive siblings will only aggravate his fragile state, Klaus plays up the injury and groans his way into his partner's abode. There, in the bedroom or on the couch, he finds his strength, undresses with a quickness he previously thought lost, and makes every effort to seduce.

Each day reminds Klaus how readily most people dismiss him as a useless junkie, so much so that he struggles to see the point of recovery. He considers his perceived attractiveness to be his one redeeming quality or, at the very least, the only quality that elicits positive reinforcement from others. Thus, he often sees his body as all he can offer in terms of incentive to stay with him.

When an attempt fails or, worse, is so unsuccessful that the relationship is jeopardized, Klaus rushes to propose alternative forms of intimacy: sleeping in the same bed from now on or spooning for a couple of days. In the meantime, Klaus worries inwardly that he is no longer desirable and fears for his ability to maintain his partner's interest.

That afternoon, Klaus presents them with a cocktail he swiped from Reginald's stash or a local bar, dressed in clothes he snatched from their bedroom without asking. Klaus is down to share a bottle of hard liquor, but addiction is the price he alone must pay for all his mistakes.

When his partner has similar issues, he takes the bottle and pitches all the street drugs, forcing the substance into his own veins when he needs to remove it completely from their reach. Klaus would rather bear the pain of another overdose than risk that for his partner.

Suppose the two have five dollars between them; the partner wishes to use it for a packet of cigarettes, while Klaus wants to put it towards a rice cake to split. Given the risk of disappointing them or starving, Klaus will suffer an empty stomach until he keels over. Once they look pleased, he can always shoplift the odd armful of crisps from a convenience store.

As the days turn to weeks, Klaus finds that less and less of life brings him the high he feels when he is near his partner. Nothing inspires the same happiness, and everything that used to thrill him has dulled. For Klaus, the whole of his life's worth depends on whether his ardour is reciprocated. If not, if he has devoted so much only to humiliate himself again, then the world of the living is no place for him.

Seeing how his family treats him like a ghost, Klaus trusts no one would mourn him if he vanished and never found his way back. At least, in death, he could enjoy a moment's peace and await the day when the one in whose steady hand he put forth his heart, freshly torn from his chest, would visit him.

Gone is the will to eat save for a cold waffle here and there, drinking himself into a nonstop bender that aims to drive out his heartache but instead only deadens it. Wrapped in a memento he never takes off to keep up the semblance of closeness, Klaus lingers at their final resting place so as not to miss any effort at contact.

It is not at all uncommon to find Klaus hungover, musing that perhaps if he dies in the same place, he can follow them to the other side. The more breath leaves his body, the closer their touch, telling him if he falls a little deeper, he can be with them. Whether it's a pipe dream or a drug-induced flashback, which Klaus is no longer able to tell apart, he resists coming out of it until a defibrillator or stomach pump forces him back to reality.

Each time the Maker rides to him on Her dirt road, there comes the possibility of a reunion. At his lowest, Klaus stops his heart for this exact purpose, or rather, he welcomes a moment in the hereafter with one who eases his burden of life.

[blakeswritingimagines]

Superbad (Dark Smut)

Summary: You were Hanzo's even before you know but he takes it upon himself to prove it to you.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: Dark Yandere Hanzo, Lovestruck! Hanzo, Kidnapping, Talk of reader being property, Dark Smut, Rape, Reader saying no to sex and it still happening, Nipple Play, No protection, PWP, PnV, Crying, Lack of pulling out.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Mortal Kombat character/s nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Hanzo, a dark and intense yandere, had been quietly stalking you for months, his obsession growing with each passing day. He would watch you from the shadows, his eyes fixed on your every move. He would analyze your habits, her routine, and every little detail about your life. He would wait patiently for the perfect moment to make his move, to take you away from the world and make you all his. A person who was completely unaware of the sinister presence following you, went about your daily routine, blissfully ignorant to the fact that you were being closely watched. Hanzo, the dark and intense yandere, continued to observe you from the shadows, his obsession growing with every passing day. He would analyze your habits and routines, searching for the perfect moment to make his move.

Hanzo's patience finally paid off when he noticed an opportunity arise. It was late at night, and you were walking home alone after a long shift at work. The streets were empty, providing the perfect cover for Hanzo to strike. With a swift and silent movement, he emerged from the shadows behind you, a chloroform-soaked rag in hand. He wrapped his arm around your neck in one fluid motion, pulling you back against his chest while pressing the rag firmly over your mouth and nose. You struggled briefly but soon succumbed to the powerful sedative, your body going limp in Hanzo's grasp. A wicked smile spread across Hanzo's face as he scooped up your unconscious form, ready to carry out the plans he had so meticulously laid out. His heart raced with excitement knowing that you would soon be his forever, no matter what it took. Hanzo's body thrummed with anticipation as his plan came to fruition. With a firm grip on your unconscious form, he effortlessly carried you away from the empty streets and into the darkness. Within the shadows, he had meticulously prepared a hideout, a place where he could keep you all to himself. As he entered the hideout, he laid you down on a soft bed, gazing at your peaceful face. Hanzo's eyes drank in every inch of your face, memorizing the curves and contours, committing them to memory. He then carefully removed the chloroform-soaked rag from your mouth, ensuring you didn't wake up too early. He wanted this moment to last, wanted to savor the feeling of having you all to himself. His hands gently caressed your cheeks, tracing the outline of your lips before leaning down to press a tender kiss onto your forehead. "Mine," he whispered softly, his voice filled with possessive desire.

Hanzo's touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he continued to trace his fingers across your cheeks, his eyes never leaving your face. He leaned down once more, his breath warm against your skin, and whispered, "Mine. All mine." His voice was filled with a possessive desire that sent chills down your spine, even in your unconscious state. Hanzo stood back up, his gaze roaming over your motionless form. He couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction knowing that you were completely at his mercy. And as the days began to pass, your eyes slowly fluttered open, your vision blurry and disoriented. As your surroundings come into focus, you realize you're in an unfamiliar room, soft sheets caressing your body. Confusion and dread flood your senses as you try to remember the events that led you here. Suddenly, the door creaks open, and Hanzo walks into the room, a small smile on his face. "Ah, you're finally awake," he says, his voice dripping with a menacing sweetness. Hanzo approached the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. "Welcome back, my love," he purred, sitting down beside you. "I'm sure you must have many questions." He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "But don't worry, we have all the time in the world now." Hanzo's gaze intensified, his pupils dilating with a mix of affection and something far more dangerous. "I've been watching you for so long, waiting for the right moment to bring you here, to keep you safe with me." His fingers trailed along your jawline, sending shivers down your spine. "No one will ever separate us again. You're mine, and I'll do whatever it takes to protect you, even if it means keeping you locked away from the rest of the world."

The room felt suffocating as Hanzo spoke, his words laced with a dangerous possessiveness. You tried to sit up, but his firm yet gentle hand pushed you back down onto the bed. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. "You don't have to be afraid," he murmured. "I'm doing this all for your own good. To keep you safe, to keep you mine. No one will ever hurt you again." Hanzo's other hand found its way under your shirt, his palm pressing against your stomach. "Just relax, my sweet," he cooed, his fingers beginning to unbutton your clothes with practiced ease. "Let me take care of everything. I know exactly what you need." As he stripped away your layers, exposing your skin to the cool air, Hanzo's lips trailed down the side of your neck, leaving a trail of feather-light kisses. "You're so beautiful," he breathed against your skin, his hot breath sending tingles through you despite the fear coursing through your veins. "And soon, you'll be mine in every way possible." Hanzo slowly leaned closer to you, his hand delicately caressing your cheek. "I've waited so long for this moment," he murmured, his voice dripping with possessive undertones. He gently pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers linger on your skin for a few extra seconds. "You have no idea how hard it was to resist touching you all this time, to keep myself from devouring you completely." Hanzo's words sent chills down your spine, his intense gaze seemingly staring straight into your soul.

As Hanzo continued to strip away your clothes, his lips leaving a trail of hot kisses down your neck, your heart raced with fear. His words echoed in your head, his possessive undertones sending shivers down your spine. You tried to resist him, to push him away, but his strength was overpowering. "W-wait." Hanzo paused, his lips hovering just above your collarbone as he looked into your eyes. "What is it, my love?" he asked, his voice low and husky. "Don't tell me you still doubt our connection, still question why I did what I did to bring you here?" He pressed a lingering kiss to your skin before trailing his lips back up to your ear. "Because I needed you. I needed to feel your warmth, to taste your sweetness. And now that I have you, I won't let you go." Hanzo's hand slid lower, cupping your breast through the fabric of your bra. He squeezed gently, his thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardened beneath his touch. "You're so responsive, so perfect," he groaned, his breathing growing heavier. Hanzo's touch was both gentle and possessive, his words sending mixed signals through your mind. Your body reacted to his touch, betraying the fear that coursed through your veins. "Please… don't," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I don't want this. Let me go." Hanzo froze, his hand still resting on your breast as he stared intensely into your eyes. For a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossed his features before his expression hardened once again. "You don't mean that," he growled, his grip tightening on your sensitive mound. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind hasn't caught up yet." He captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue demanding entrance as he plundered your mouth. Hanzo rolled on top of you, pinning your wrists above your head as he deepened the kiss, drowning out your feeble protests. When he finally pulled back, his eyes gleamed with a fierce determination. "You belong to me. Whether you accept it or not, I will make you see the truth." Despite your protests, your body responded to his advances, heat pooling between your legs. Hanzo's hand moved from your breast, sliding down your stomach to the waistband of your pants. He began to unfasten them, his movements deliberate and unhurried.

You tried to struggle underneath him, but his grip on your wrists was unbreakable. His eyes locked onto yours, a mixture of intense devotion and possessiveness in his gaze. "You'll understand soon enough," he whispered, his voice strained. "Once you realize how much I desire you, you'll want this just as much as I do." The words sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and something else you couldn't quite place. Hanzo ignored your pleas, his fingers deftly removing your clothing until you were bared to him. His eyes devoured your exposed flesh, drinking in every curve and valley. "So perfect," he breathed out, his voice thick with lust. He released your wrists, only to slide his hands down your sides, gripping your hips firmly. He positioned himself between your thighs, his erection pressing insistently against your core. "Feel that? That's how much I want you," he growled, his voice rough with desire. He shifted, aligning himself with your entrance, teasing you with the promise of what was to come. "I can't wait any longer," he groaned, pushing inside you slowly, stretching you deliciously. The pain of being stretched combined with the pleasure of being filled made your head spin. You bit your lip to stifle a moan, your body betraying your fear and resistance. Hanzo's possession of you was undeniable, his presence overwhelming. "Stop…" you gasped, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Hanzo paused, his eyes narrowing at your plea. "Why?" he demanded, his voice rough with desire. "Is it because you want me to stop? Or is it because you're enjoying this too much?" He began to move, pulling back slowly before thrusting back inside you. His rhythm was slow and measured, each stroke filling you completely. "Tell me the truth," he growled, his pace increasing slightly. "Do you want me to stop, or do you want me to fuck you like you deserve?" His words struck a chord within you, making your resolve waver. But you knew you had to fight, to resist. "I want you to stop," you lied, biting your lip to hold back another moan. The combination of pleasure and pain was intoxicating, your body responding to his every movement. You could hardly form coherent thoughts, let alone words. "It doesn't matter what I want," you managed to whimper out. Hanzo snorted, his thrusts becoming more forceful. "Oh, but it does," he argued, his voice a low growl. "Everything about you matters to me. Every moan, every tremor, every quiver." He leaned down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss as he pounded into you relentlessly. "And right now, your body is screaming at you to surrender," he groaned against your mouth. His hand slipped between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing circles around it. The sensation sent sparks shooting through your nerves, making your legs tremble.

The combination of his relentless thrusts and skilled fingers was too much. Your walls clenched around him, your body betraying your mind once again. "Please…" you gasped, your voice breaking. "Please… I can't take it anymore." Hanzo's eyes flashed with triumph as he felt your climax approaching. "That's it, my love," he purred, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release. "Give in to me. Let go and feel every inch of me claiming you." With one final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he spilled his seed. "Mine," he roared, his voice echoing off the walls as he collapsed on top of you, still buried within your quivering depths. Panting heavily, you lay beneath him, your body twitching with aftershocks. Tears streamed down your face, a confusing mix of emotions swirling inside you. Fear, humiliation, but also an undeniable satisfaction. Hanzo's weight pressed you into the bed, his softening member still nestled inside you. You wanted to hate him for taking advantage of you, but your treacherous body craved his touch. Slowly, you turned your head away from him, unable to meet his gaze. "Get off me," you muttered weakly, your voice hoarse from crying. "Just get off me already." You closed your eyes tightly, praying for this nightmare to end. But deep down, you knew it was only the beginning. Hanzo would never let you go now that he'd had a taste of you.

Hanzo remained still for a long moment, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. Finally, he lifted himself off you, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on one elbow. He reached out, gently brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. "Shh, don't cry," he murmured softly. "I know it was intense, but that's only because the passion between us is so strong." He leaned in, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. "I meant what I said earlier. You're mine now, and I'll never let anyone hurt you again." He pulled you close, cradling you against his chest as he stroked your hair. "Rest now, my love. We have all the time in the world to explore this new bond we share." Despite yourself, you found comfort in his embrace. His warmth surrounded you, offering a sense of safety that was hard to resist. You forced yourself to be held, your body relaxing despite your mind's protests. "This isn't over, is it?" you whispered, your voice barely audible. Hanzo tightened his hold on you, a low chuckle vibrating through his chest. "Of course not," he replied, his voice rich with amusement. "We've only just begun." He planted another kiss on your temple, his fingers continuing their soothing strokes through your hair. "But for tonight, rest easy knowing that I'll protect you with my life. And tomorrow, when you wake up, I'll show you just how good things can be between us."

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Needlework.

A grab-bag commission for the very lovely @pale-horse-writing.

Pairing: Yandere!OC x Reader.

Summary: Your long-term captor takes one more step towards making you his perfect little doll.

Word Count: 1.2k.

TW: Injury To Reader, Infantilization, Dollification, Feminization (Reader Dressed Femininely and Specifically NOT Cool With It), Implied Kidnapping, Unhealthy Relationships, and Non-Consensual Drug Use.

Every stitch took exactly fifteen seconds.

Two for the tip of the needle to pierce your skin, three more to find its exit-point, and ten for Dottie to pull the long, braided string through your punctured flesh. The final result was two perfectly symmetrical rows of neat, pinkish white ‘x’-es leading from the curve of your foot to the bottom of your knee, binding vinyl to skin and ensuring you wouldn’t be able to remove it without a great deal of trouble, without ruining your perfect white gloves and perfect white dress. The shoes themselves – because that was the point of this, as difficult as it was to remember, to make sure you couldn’t misbehave and remove your real punishment – were silver and well-polished, a pair that he'd just brought home a few days ago. There had been crossed strips of ribbon down the front at one point, but they’d been removed in favor of leaving that much more of your skin exposed, and in place of the dainty, delicate heels he usually preferred were thick platforms; about six inches tall and specially weighted to limit mobility. You couldn’t imagine where he’d gotten them. You couldn’t imagine how he’d gotten it into his head to use them for something like this.

Dottie brought the needle to your skin for the final stitch, the point sinking into your numb calf for the thousandth time. Despite everything, he wasn’t a sadist – the mask fitted over the lower half of your face and the canister it was attached to made sure you stayed limp, complacent, too strung-out to move or run or think as he worked. A few months ago, you would’ve protested, kicked and screamed and threw the kind of tantrum he’d have to calm with a hushed tone and a handful of sedatives, but you’d learned better, since then. He was going to do whatever he wanted to you, no matter how you reacted to it. The only thing you got to decide was how much it was going to hurt.

There was an airy chuckle, the sound of a thread being cut, then a fleeting kiss to the inside of your knee. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, peeling off his latex gloves and discarding them along with his bloody needle before turning his attention back to you, to your prone state. Your mask was removed, but your vision remained unfocused, the fog laying over your thoughts still thick as Dottie ran his fingertips over your cheek, rubbing out the lingering indents. Out of reflex, you leaned into his touch, eager to savor his gentleness before the numbness wore off and the ache let in, and your desperation was rewarded with a light hum, another kiss – the one to the top of your head. “You did beautifully.” You felt his lips against the shell of your ear, then your cheek. “I couldn’t ask for a better model.”

You tried to speak, to respond with something halfway coherent, but your tongue was too heavy and your throat was filled with cotton and it was all you could do to open your mouth, to let out something you could only compare to a fractured whimper. There was a sympathetic coo, a new weight on the edge of the velvet-cushioned lounge-seat he used for your little ‘adjustments’. Carefully, with pains taken not to disturb the delicate bows tied into your hair, he draped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into his chest. “I know, I know,” he muttered, squeezing you against him before detangling himself from you completely. “But it’s for the best. I knew what had to be done the second I saw what you were getting up to while I was gone.”

What you were getting up to. He must’ve meant breaking his unspoken rules – cooking for yourself, changing out of his meticulously chosen outfits, loosening the strings of the lung-flattening corsets he took minutes out of his schedule to bind you into. You weren’t supposed to do anything, not while he was gone, not if there was a chance you’d bruise yourself or tear the hem of one of his handmade petticoats. He would never say it aloud, but he wasn’t subtle. He wanted you to be something pretty, something useless, something that was doted on and adorned with proof of his misplaced love. You’d heard him admit, once, while he thought you were asleep, that if he had his way, you wouldn’t have to do so much as think for yourself, but thankfully, he hadn’t found an article of clothing that can accomplish that. Not yet, at least.

“This’ll keep you out of trouble while I’m away.” He positioned himself at your side, clapping his hands the way you would if you were trying to get a child’s attention. An animal’s attention. “Why don’t you try taking a step for me, sweetheart?”

Dread, fear, and shame coiled in the pit of your stomach. With more than a little reluctance, you swung your feet over the side of the chair, tears immediately welling up and blurring your vision further as the platforms strained Dottie’s stitching and sent a thousand stabbing, agonizing jolts racing up your legs. Standing was no easier, but you managed to push yourself to your feet, to ignore the way your legs screamed in protest long enough to lift your right foot and took a single, unsteady st—

Your knees buckled, your strength faltering, and then you were on the ground, legs bent into a crumbled heap and dress fanning out around you. Dottie was by your side in a moment, pulling you into his arms as you heard yourself start to sniffle, as you felt warm tears start to drip down your cheeks. “Poor thing.” The sentiment was empathetic, but his cadence was overjoyed, brimming with excitement. It was the same tone he used when he sat you down in front of a vanity, made you watch as he fastened yet another lace collar around your neck. It was the same voice he used when he was on top of you, wiping away your tears as he pretended to care about whether or not you were happy. “Like a puppet without its strings. That’s alright, though. You know I’ll always be here to repair you.”

You rested your cheek against his chest, shutting your eyes. “People don’t need to be repaired.”

“But you do.” One last kiss, this one to the corner of your lips. This time, you couldn’t bring yourself to pretend the affection made you feel much of anything at all. “And that’s why I have to look after you.”

He was taking you back to your bedroom, to the pink-soaked space filled to the point of bursting with soft blankets and stuffed animals and all the things he wanted you to want. You’d be left there until the numbing agent wore off, until the pain was more than you could take, and when you cried out for him and his distorted comfort, he’d take joy in doting on you, in reassuring himself that you were too helpless to take so much as a step without his help.

You could only hope that, whenever he decided you’d learned your lesson, his stitches would come out faster than they’d gone in.

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Whumptober 2024 No. 9- Obsession

Hero stirred to the feeling of bumping and jostling while wrapped in something warm. They didn’t remember falling asleep. They went to open their eyes, and a blurry, dark world came into view. There… wasn't much to see.

“Op~, you're not meant to be awake just yet,” a voice cooed.

Something soft pressed up against their face, and Hero inhaled a sweet aroma. Their eyes fluttered shut, and they were asleep once more.

…

This time when Hero stirred, they were allowed to properly wake up. They opened their eyes and waited for their vision to clear. They squinted against warm lighting and gazed around a room that wasn't theirs. Pictures of themselves were plastered on every wall, some newspaper clippings, others amateur photographs. Some, if not many, of the photographs looked to be taken from very suspicious angles. Little hearts hung next to some of the pictures.

Hero was not used to the concept of having fans. Sure, they had them, but they had never gotten comfortable with the idea, preferring to leave an area before the crowd of reporters and excited civilians found them. Whoever had taken them seemed to be more than just a fan though. Hero went to sit up, but their body wouldn't cooperate. The warm bed they lay in suddenly became suffocating. The blankets felt like lead weights, and the heat was stifling. Hero tried pushing up with ice shards, but their power wouldn't come.

It was in the middle of this slight panic that the door opened. The figure in the doorway gasped with delight.

“You’re awake!”

The figure practically skipped over. They removed the blankets from Hero’s upper body. Hero expected the relief of cool air to wash over them, but the room was just as warm as the bed. Hero tried sitting up again, but to no avail.

“Aw, do you need some help?” the stranger cooed.

They sat Hero up against the pillows. Hero noticed an IV line in their arm. They followed the tubing with their eyes, seeing a pole with bags of strangely-colored fluid inside. Was this why they could barely move?

“Gotta say, I’ve been waiting for so long to meet you I thought this day would never come! Well, I mean, I knew it would come eventually, based on my plans, but I didn’t know when I’d get you alone. You are a slippery one, hahaha!”

“Who are you?” Hero asked quietly.

They could barely speak, let alone raise their voice.

“I’m Civilian!” the stranger answered, “and your new partner!”

“…What?”

“Hm… that sedative must be making you slow,” Civilian tutted sympathetically, “that’s okay, I’ll explain it as much as you need me to.”

Civilian ruffled Hero’s hair. Hero shuddered at the touch.

“I’ve planned it all out! Today, our first meeting. Next week, first date. A month from now? Who knows! Of course, we’ll go at your pace, I won’t rush your feelings. They’ll come in their own time.”

Hero glanced at the IV pole then back to Civilian. Civilian tilted their head, then giggled in realization.

“I made that solution just for you,” Civilian said, “I know waking up in a new life can be scary, and that you’d probably do something impulsive once you did, so I took your recklessness out of the equation completely!”

Civilian tapped the bag.

“Thermal serum to keep you from making any ice, and a mild sedative so you won’t freak out. See, I’ve thought of everything!”

Oh, but Hero was freaking out, quite a lot actually; their body just wouldn’t show it.

“Let…me…go…”

Civilian carded their hand through Hero’s hair.

“Haha, no, I won’t be doing that. Not now, not ever.”

“People will be looking for me,” Hero said, “you have to let me go.”

“Oh I’m sure they will,” Civilian said, a certain glee in their voice that frightened Hero.

Civilian showed Hero a newspaper.

Beloved Hero Missing.

Early this morning, an anonymous caller told police that they saw Hero being overpowered by notorious criminal, Villain. They claim to have followed Villain to the docks, where the criminal promptly climbed aboard a ship heading to Morocco, the unconscious Hero in their arms. More details to come as we learn them.

Civilian read the front page to Hero in a giddy voice.

“I made sure to put on a good performance for those cops,” they said, “and I used a pay phone, so they won’t be tracking that call.”

Hero stared up at Civilian with wide eyes.

“See, I’ve thought of everything! Now we can be together forever!”

Civilian hugged Hero’s near-limp form. Hero was too weak and in too much shock to protest. Villains kidnapping them? That they could deal with. This person had thought of everything though, they had even found a way to disable their powers. How were they ever going to get out of this?

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@electrons2006

[villain-enthusiast]

The hero knew they'd be found one day.

So they weren’t entirely surprised when they were ambushed in their house, drugged, and dragged off to the enormous castle that they used to call home. But their anticipation didn’t stop the dread from pooling in their gut as they were tossed, unceremoniously, onto the ground.

They stifled a groan, flexing their bound hands behind them as they tried to shake off the last of the sedative in their system. Someone grabbed the scruff of their collar and yanked them up to their knees before pulling down their blindfold.

They blinked several times at the ground, squinting through the sudden change in light. As their vision cleared, the marbled pattern of the throne room's floor came into view and they involuntarily stiffened.

"Dismissed."

Fuck. That voice. The cold, cutting power laced in every syllable, the venom in each word that had haunted the hero's dreams for years, even after they escaped. Or so they thought they did. The hero's mouth went dry.

They kept their gaze trained down, hearing the guards behind them leave and close the doors with a harsh, resolute click.

Silence stretched between the hero and the villain, who sat languidly on the throne in a grotesque show of vanity. Of pride.

After a moment, the villain sighed. "So you thought you could get away."

The hero swallowed, hard. "I guess I was just playing hard to get." They hated how unstable, how hoarse their voice was.

The villain chuckled dryly. "You, my prized possession, the greatest weapon I've ever had the pleasure of crafting, were just playing hard to get." The hero heard them shift in their seat. "I'm sure that's a fantasy you'd love to be true, but I knew you'd run. Did you really think I haven't dealt with this before?"

"Guess I thought I'd get lucky." The hero looked up then, to stare the villain straight into their eyes.

The villain held their gaze and smiled, flashing teeth. "Unfortunately, even the most precious treasures are always found at some point." They tilted their head, brow furrowing. "Come here."

The hero did not move.

The villain tapped a finger, and an invisible force pulled the hero taut, dragging them towards the foot of the throne. They grit their teeth, knowing better than to struggle, but hating the agonizing memories that flashed through their head of when they used to fight back, of what the villain was capable of beyond simple commands.

"I see you've grown into disobedience after so many years," the villain tutted. "That's certainly fixable, but what I want to know," they dragged a hand through the hero's disheveled hair, who shuddered at the familiar touch, "is if you still remember what I've taught you." Their touch suddenly turned sharp as they grabbed a fistful of—

The hero's body reacted to the pain before their mind did, and they kicked their leg around, slamming their foot into the villain's forearm. Apparently they still remembered a thing or two.

They landed on their stomach, panting as they faced the wide expanse of the gilded room before them. The villain crouched down beside them, placing a boot on their back and squeezing the air from their lungs.

"Look at you. You could've had all this," the villain hissed in their ear. They grabbed the hero's chin, forcing them to look up. "You could've been by my side, sitting with me on the throne. But you chose to run and try to become someone who could overthrow me, the very person who created you. You are nothing, nothing, without me."

For the first time since they've been back, fear struck the hero deep in their heart. "Please," they breathed, and immediately realized their mistake.

Begging was a weakness. A crack in the boulder. An infection in a festering wound. And the villain saw it all too well.

"Forgiveness," the villain murmured, honey-sweet, "is for the traitors. Punishment is for the cowards. Which one do you think you are?"

As the villain's hand tightened on their face, the hero closed their eyes, knowing the question had already been answered for them.