#I hope ever breath they take is met with a knife to the neck

[winniebell]

crying so hard that tears roll back into your ears and your face hurts from silently screaming

heart aching and hands straining to do something. anything. to fix an evil beyond speaking.

stomach goes in with each breath echoing the stomping on your soul.

[slut4hee]

Never Have I Ever, Fell In Love With A Psycho | S.JY Teaser

{Paring: Ghostface Jake x Blk Cheerleader Fem! Reader

Release date: Tba

{Synopsis: You are the Star Cheerleader of Woodsboro University, Highly favored by your professors and well loved by your peers. You’re known for being a kind hearted soul, who volunteers to help host the charity events at your school and playing your role as the notorious team captain of the cheer squad. So what could you have possibly done to become Ghostface’s target?

{Genre: smut, serial killer themes, angst, Jake is batshit crazy, college au, 18+ so (mdni).

{Warnings: explicit scenes, rough sex, oral (m&r receiving), unprotected sex, breeding kink, cum eating, knife play, dirty talk, fingering, pet names, mentions of murder, possessive behavior, obsession (Jake), stalking, character death (not reader or Jake), Jealousy, one sided love at first (Jake), profanities, kidnapping.

🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮

Your heart pounds out of your chest rapidly as tears and your now ruined eyeliner runs down your face. You sprint through the hallways of the school running for dear life, hoping and praying that whatever fucked up nightmare this was you will wake up from it soon. You can hear their eerie dark voice and evil menacing laugh behind you causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up.

Your vision is blurred from the tears that won’t stop falling from your eyelids, fear consumes you whole as you hear the footsteps getting closer and closer to you. Your breathing is ragged, your heart feels like it’s gonna explode any minute from the adrenaline that’s rushing through your veins.

They’re hot on your tail, you can hear them everywhere around you, from behind you, and in your head completely taking over your brain cells. Finally barging into a empty classroom you lock the door shut.

You spot a storage closet making your way into it, you place your hand over your mouth trying to ground yourself from making any noise while trying to control your breathing. You hear what sounds like the sound of metal dragging against the wall piercing through your eardrums.

The waterworks continues as you try to calm yourself down, fighting the urge to scream out loud because you’re so damn terrified. Your heart sinks to your stomach when you hear the door to the classroom slam open.

You hear footsteps walking slowly across the perfectly polished vinyl floors. A knife can be heard being slowly dragged against the desk causing a horrible sound to echo throughout the classroom causing your breath to hitch.

Your eyes go wide when you realize you given yourself away and you pray to god you wake up from this shitty nightmare as soon as possible. The footsteps grow closer to the storage closet as you peak out the little opening of the closet door.

A figure can be seen wearing a black hooded robe, a white skull like mask, and black gloves. You’re full on going into a state of panic when you recognize the masked person from the news and pictures and posters that’s been posted all around campus.

You heard the masked killer goes by Ghostface and he’s known for being a very heartless brutal serial killer. he’s killed 20 people so far and your heart sinks knowing you will mark the 21st person he murders if he was to kill you.

Just as you are processing the information in your head the door to the closet door swings open and you’re met with none other then Ghostface himself. Your heart feels like it’s not beating anymore as time seems to stop.

You don’t move a muscle, completely frozen and paralyzed from the fear and anxiety that’s coursing through your veins. The masked person slightly tilts their head to the side almost like they’re studying your every move.

Finally building up enough strength to speak you decide to do what anyone would do in this situation, beg for their life to spared.

“P-Please don’t kill me, I haven’t done anything wrong to you please I don’t want to die I’ll do anything you want just please don’t murder me” you plead from the bottom of your heart, hoping Ghostface will let you go. The masked figure doesn’t say a word but just stares at you. His breathing coming in steady and calm causing a gut wrenching chill to run down your spine.

suddenly the masked figure starts to chuckle lowly almost mockingly as they bring the cold metal knife to your chin gently lifting your face being careful to not cut through your pretty brown skin and finally they speak.

“Oh Y/n baby, how could you think so little of me? You think I would hurt the most precious thing I hold dearly to me? Do you think I would harm you my darling love, I’m so disappointed in you my love I thought you would’ve known better” the masked figure leans closer to your face, you can feel his hot breath on your neck as he whispers in your ear.

“You mean the world to me my sweet baby, I could never harm you I will kill myself before I lay a finger on you my dear” they hum reassuringly, tucking one of your braids behind your ear.

“W-Who are you! I-I don’t even know who you are how could you possibly be in love with me” you managed to blurt out despite of being scared for your life. Your eyes widened when the masked figure slowly removes their mask, revealing none other than Jake Sim, the top student in your physics class, the guy who never really speaks to anyone, the guy who sits in the back distant from everyone, the guy who nobody would have thought would be committing these horrible murders.

“What’s wrong baby girl? Surprised to see me” Jake smirks at you with an evil unhinged smile, the fear consumes you still, but the flutter in your stomach and the way your heart skips a beat has you questioning your sanity and now you find yourself asking yourself are you just as insane as him?

To be continued…

A/n: eeeee I’m so excited to write this story, I’m so down bad for Ghostface Jake so I know I’m gonna be creaming nonstop while writhing this 😭 but guys I hope you enjoy the teaser because i literally suck at writing them. Please feel free to reblog, share, comment, and like muah 💋.



[bloodiedrogue]

IN MY VEINS

SUMMARY: After disobeying Astarion's request, you find yourself in an interesting position.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,501

WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, dom/sub dynamics, shameless knife kink, blood drinking, finger sucking, fingering, orgasm denial, begging, basically just the most depraved thing my mind could think of apparently. Also big ascended Astarion vibes??? But not actually because I cannot ascend him, sorry.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, I guess I'll see y'all in hell for this one. Also in case you've missed it, this is definitely NOT apart of the Lover's Folly universe.

MASTERLIST

-

All at once you feel a cold blade and a hot hand, both of them targeting your throat with quickened calculation. Slightly lower than the blade, the hand shifts tightly against your skin, prompting a low groan of surprise to push through your lips, causing the voice behind you to speak.

“What do you think you're doing here?”

Lightly it flutters against your ear. Sounding like a mixture of whiskey and honey, it piques an interest within your mind that almost immediately forces you to do a double take, attempting to look at Astarion’s face, wondering if that usual scowl of his is on full display.

“Just came to say hi.”

He quietly snorts before moving his torso against your back, pulling you closer. “Hi.”

Swallowing hard, you force your teeth to hit your bottom lip, suppressing the urge to groan again when he pushes the blade closer. 

“What no hi back?” 

In response, you let out a plume of air and try to angle your neck away from the knife, only to be met with rough hands that pull you back in, pricking your skin ever so slightly. As it happens, you close your eyes, releasing your lips from your teeth to let out a soft hi Astarion. One that has him chuckling in your ear without warning. 

“Hello, darling.” Gently, he places a quick kiss to your temple then loosens his hold ever so slightly, allowing you to breathe and remember the small slice now present across your neck. 

“I’m sure the gang will love to see your handiwork in the morning,” you joke, but Astarion doesn’t laugh. Instead, he just continues to kiss your temple, gently dragging his teeth across your skin as he lowers his mouth, moving to the edge of your jaw. 

It leaves you breathless where you stand —frozen from the feeling of different temperatures exploring your outsides. On one end, his hands feel surprisingly warm; big and soft but rough in their ministrations as he clutches the front of your throat. However, on the other, there’s the threatening reminder of the knife. How one wrong move could result in the laceration of your poor esophagus. 

You have to force yourself not to protest at the position you find yourself in. Stuck beneath his hold; your back pressed firmly against his front with little room for movement, all you can do is stare forward and hope he’s quick. That his hunger for flesh can be sated before the lust kicks in. 

Having been on the road together for so long, you’ve experienced both sides of such a spectrum. Happily feeding his fill, you’ve offered over blood and sex in various ways and combinations. And if you’re honest you’re favourite is when he eats and then fucks you. 

“I thought I told you to stay put while I’m hunting.” 

His teeth move to nibble at your ear, an action that has you rearing slightly back, remembering his command. The way he cupped your chin as you sat inside his tent, frowning at the prospect of having to wait. Back then, you had every intention of listening. Of patiently waiting with bated breath as he hunted for dinner before returning to you to claim desert. But then you grew bored. Restless at the hands of time itself and decided quickly that defiance was the proper answer. 

“You were taking too long.”

It comes out like a whine, making you slightly cringe, hearing the desperation in your voice. Realizing just how sickly hopeless he makes you feel over the simplest things. 

“And now I’m going to take even longer, aren’t I?”

You can practically feel the grin that graces his lips. The way it pulls up on either end, revealing two pointed canines ready to strike. You can’t see them but you know they’re itching for flesh, his tongue moving along their points as he stares down at your pulsing neck, wondering if he should drink you now or later or perhaps at all.

Deep down, you know he doesn’t have much restraint for the latter. On more than one occasion he’s expressed that the taste of you is infectious. A delight so utterly consuming he often thinks about keeping you even after this is all over.

You’ve never admitted it but there’s a part of you that wants that too. To allow him the comfort of always feeling fed. As the days go on, you tend to dwell on the idea more often than not, imagining a life where you'd be bound by his hand, forever forced to serve his hunger and lust. 

It’s a tempting future. One that has you standing with anticipation, feeling Astarion lightly kick the base of your calves, motioning for you to move. 

Slowly, you step through the clearing, straining your eyes to look at the ground below for signs of obstruction. Considering one misstep could mean your end, you try your best not to move while simultaneously showing no signs of struggling —wanting to look brave. 

“You’re lucky I wasn’t in the middle of something.”

His voice is distracting. The way it hits your face in heavy, angered puffs makes you blink and step a little far, resulting in the buckling of your leg, prompting him to humorously hum and steady your frame. 

“Be careful, my dear. Wouldn’t want you slipping on my blade, now would we?” 

Immediately, you let out a nervous laugh and continue as if nothing happened, moving until you’re in the middle of a grouping of trees that seclude you from the rest of the world. 

Once there, Astarion’s grasp slips away, your throat feeling instantly soothed by the amount of air you’re suddenly able to pull in, even if with the knife still present. 

“Sorry for bothering you —just missed you is all,” you tell him, hearing him chuckle under his breath, telling you he knows. 

“You always miss me,” he teases then, circling around to finally face you at the same time his blade trails up your skin, nicking your chin with a quick flick of his wrist, resulting in the tiniest cut.

For a moment it stings but then it’s soothed by the pressing of his thumb, reaching forward to swipe away the bit of blood that collects before forcing it towards your closed mouth. “Open.”

Your stomach twists with reluctance but regardless you do as he says, feeling the pad move to the back of your throat and slowly slide down, pulling your bottom lip down in the process. 

“Ah, so you are still capable of obedience, my mistake.” Raising his brow, his thumb continues its descent, your lip bouncing back into place as his other fingers move to grip your chin, pulling you in —feeling his blade slip between your torsos without warning, the tip pressing against your ribcage. “Or perhaps your mistake?” 

A short gasp falls between you as you struggle not to move further. Against your skin, the blade sits snugly at your centre, threatening to sink if you so much as shiver. 

Across his face, Astarion adorns a wicked grin that has you secretly cursing his name for denying you his touch, especially when you know he wants it just as much. 

“Now, are you going to be good or are we going to continue to have this little—“ he stops to clench his jaw, poking through the leathers of your vest so that you can taste a bit of pain that may or may not come, “—problem.” 

Without hesitation you give him a nod, signalling your immediate obedience just as he pulls back the knife, and yanks you forward by your belt loops. 

“Good. Cause I rather like you, despite the attitude.” 

You’re tempted to laugh but refuse to so much as breathe as you move your hands cautiously to his chest, testing out the waters. 

Thankfully they’re not as choppy as before. Instead, they’re slow and steady, allowing you to grip the collar of his shirt and grin, carefully pulling him down to press your outstretched neck against his teeth.

“I’m sorry for leaving.” 

His tongue laps at your flesh almost instantly. Then, following behind, his lips suction themselves into the crook, making you inhale deeply, tightening the hold you have on his head. Feeling that bloom of contentment resurface once you hear the dropping of his knife and feel the softness of his touch start to roam. 

It lasts only for a couple of seconds before you’re led towards the ground, back shoved forcibly against the dirt. It knocks the wind right out of you, prompting a choked-out gasp to sound just before he drags his teeth along the outside of your artery, but you hardly care. Every sensation after that comes and goes in quick succession, sending you into that familiar space of servitude that has you clutching the roots of his hair, trying to coast. 

At first, the pain of his teeth descending into your veins takes over. Two pinpricks that remind you of the knives he often uses to keep you in line. Every inch of their movement makes you choke on your own spit, the sudden force of it pushing through each layer making you cry. Then you feel his tongue again. The way it ebbs and flows across the freshly made wound, sucking down every drop that’s presented. 

At that point, the pain begins to subside a little. Replacing it, a newfound euphoria floats around your head with an almost cold emptiness, resulting in a slackness that has you barely holding onto Astarion’s hair as you softly moan.

Which makes him laugh against your throat. The reverb of his verbal torment only making things worse when you feel that final lick, watching as he comes back up for air. Your eyes are barely open then as you sleepily reach up and brush away a bit of blood from his cheek, feeling it collect at the tips before he’s fully popping your finger into his mouth. Then all you can focus on is the movement of his tongue again, how it swirls along your skin, teasing your mind with thoughts of it moving elsewhere. 

After that, it’s all you can think about. Even after he’s relinquished your hand to rest against his cheek. Your thoughts fill with visions of him pressed between your thighs, sinking his tongue into your cunt. Drinking you up like the starving man you know him to be. Allowing his greed to take over in the form of a pleasure you know you don’t deserve. 

That doesn’t stop you from trying to earn it though.

“Astarion.” Your hand drags him gently down again, focusing on the blood that still coats his lips. Smelling the iron tang of your life’s liquid tainted across his skin. “Can you—“

He already knows what you’re asking before you can finish. In the time you’ve been together, he’s tended to your every need just as you’ve done to him, so he’s already well aware of your desires. Of the desperation that coats your features when he begins to slip down carefully, already making work of his hands.

Before you know it you’re naked from the hips down, the cool air wafting along your skin before he settles in, laying on the forest floor with your thighs atop his shoulders. Then the warmth of his breath coasts along your cunt, causing you to twitch.

“So pretty,” he coos, a small laugh following suit once he feels the tightness of your thighs, wrapping around the sides of his head. Gently, he then readjusts his hand to the press against your entrance, ever so gently swiping up and down with two of his fingers. “And wet.” 

You snort, quietly, feeling a bit embarrassed despite how many times you’ve done this. “Only for you, love.”

“Of course. No other man could render you so useless.” His fingers curl so that it’s his knuckles that are grazing you, pushing you slightly apart as he moves them up and down. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already—“

His fingers twist, his thumb pressing against your clit, sending your back upwards. 

Your reaction makes him chuckle and return to his previous ministrations, this time even slower than before, forcing you to groan, knowing it’s your own fault. If you had just listened you wouldn’t have to deal with the teasing. The endless game you know is just beginning, feeling the way he languidly moves, grinning all the while.

“Is something the matter, darling?”

His breath is ghosting the spot you want him to fuck. His fingers are moving but not at all at the pace you need them to be, and frankly, you’re desperate. A mess of regret and lust all mixed together, rising throughout your chest. 

“Astarion, please.” 

You’re not above begging. You’ve done it loads of times before but considering your current lack patience, it’s hard not to think about the barely there veil of composure he knows he’s able to exploit in the most delicious of ways.

“I’m sorry, I can’t quite hear you, love. It’s a bit noisy down here with all the… wetness.” 

You resist the urge to groan at his terrible joke, feeling a finger dip between your folds for just a moment before it’s gone again. “Please.”

“Please? Oh, my darling, whatever could you be pleasing me about?” He raises his head to grin, causing you to notice that your blood is still very much coated on his lips, drying as the seconds pass. 

“I swear to g—“

Before you can defy further, he tuts menacingly, staring you down, forcing your mouth to close. “Don’t make me grab the knife.” 

Immediately, you swallow your words and just nod your head, allowing yourself a moment to recuperate just as he chuckles and, without warning, presses his mouth to your clit, sending you closer to the edge.

It only lasts a second but it’s enough to have you fully committing, your voice loud and proud, verbally repeating your wants and needs without breath. Telling him how much you want him to touch you. To draw his tongue up and down your folds as he buries his face deep inside. 

By the end of your spiel, you’re almost breathless and staring, your chest heaving up and down at the prospect of him finally giving in. Quickly, your eyes wander, exploring his features as his tongue pokes out to lick his bottom lip, forcing you to bite your own, wondering if he’ll do it. If he’ll finally grant you the release you so desperately need.

Looking between you and the one place you want him to focus his attention on, you see him smirk and sink three fingers in, pushing with little regard for the force that works against him. 

“Do you truly think you’ve earned such a gift?” he asks, allowing his lips to split to reveal his bloodied teeth before they plunge themselves into the plush of your inner thigh, forcing you to cry as he denies you of your pleasure time and time again.

-

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[strnilolover]

Little blurb of Husband!Matt and Wife!Reader dancing to their wedding song when it comes on the radio!

You were stirring a pot of sauce on the stove, humming softly to yourself when the opening notes of your wedding song fill the kitchen. You freeze for a moment, recognition lighting up your eyes, before turning your head toward Matt with a wide smile.

He was busy chopping vegetables at the counter, but as soon as his own ears picked up the song, he looks up, his eyes locking with yours. A slow grin spreads across his face, the same one that made your knees weak the first time you met.

“Remember this?” you ask softly, the words feather light on your tongue. You didn’t need to say it — of course he remembers.

Matt sets down the knife and wipes his hands on a dish towel, his eyes never breaking contact with yours. “How could I forget?” he murmurs, his voice low and fond. He crosses the kitchen in a few strides, and without a word, he holds his hand out to you. It’s an unspoken invitation — one that you’ve accepted a hundred times before, and you’ll accept a hundred times more.

You take his hand, and he pulls you into him, one arm wrapping around your waist while the other holds your hand gently. The kitchen is warm, filled with the aroma of dinner cooking, but all you can focus on is Matt. He hums along softly, his voice rough but so sweet in your ear as he sways with you.

The two of you move in a slow circle, your bare feet brushing against the cool tiles of the kitchen. It was never a dull moment when your song came on, it always resulted in this and you couldn’t complain one bit.

Matt leans in, resting his forehead against yours. “Best dance partner I’ve ever had,” he whispers, and you can feel his breath against your lips. You let out a soft laugh, your chest feeling so full it’s almost overwhelming.

“I should hope so,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. You press a kiss to his jaw, feeling the faint stubble under your lips. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, and when he opens them again, they’re so full of emotion that it almost takes your breath away.

He twirls you gently, his hand steady on your waist, and you can’t help but giggle as you spin back into his arms. The song reaches its chorus, and suddenly, you’re back at your wedding, surrounded by friends and family, swaying under the fairy lights, laughing and dancing like no one was watching.

When you settle back against him, your hands resting around his neck as your face rests against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “I love you,” you murmur, and Matt’s eyes soften.

“I love you more,” he replies, his voice soft and sweet. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there as the song plays on.

The melody play’s softly in the background as you both continued to sway with one another. Matt pulls his lips away from your forehead, one hand hooking under your chin to tilt your head up.

You let his hand guide you — your eyes locking with his soft blue ones. You smiled once more, his face mimicking your own.

“I couldn’t have married a better person.” He whispered, head leaning down — his breath ghosting over your lips. Your hands gripped his shoulders, holding him closer to you as he spoke. You could feel your heart squeeze, your love growing for him all the more.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better person to call my husband.” You whispered back — leaning the rest of the way up to finally close the gap between you. Your lips pressed to his, melding together just like they did on your wedding day.

When you pulled away, Matt rested his forehead against yours again, a content sigh leaving him. “Forever?” You murmured.

He chuckled, “Forever.”

© strnilolover

a/n : dying of cuteness overload while I wrote this. I hope to experience something like this one day 😖 (i feel like i post too much…it might change since i just got a job which means not as much posting probably. so enjoy this while i try to think of something longer to work on!!)

[kisskiss-slashslash]

Can we have where the Slasher's S/O's friend was about to kill the slasher to save the S/O, but turns out that she didn't want him/her to kill him? When the friend asked "why the hell not" or "Why are you defending him" etc. She would say: "Because I love him!" Which was the first time the slashers ever heard her say something like that. (Not sure what would happen to the friend, so it doesn't matter what you decide)

Include: Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger, Bubba Sawyer, Thomas Hewitt, and if possible the Sinclairs; if that's too much, don't worry about the Sinclairs, the others are just fine.

Thank you

There you go! Hope you like it.

The reader stopping their friend from killing the slashers

Jason Voorhees

Normally, being caught alone by Jason would be a death sentence. But from the first moment you two had laid eyes on each other, there had been a spark. Perhaps it was the way you showed no fear to him, you didn't insult or belittle him, the way so many others did. You saw him, recognized him and showed… empathy. Something Jason hasn't experienced since the death of his mother. And you, seeing his hard gaze soften at being showed basic kindness, find yourself making excuses to be alone, just hoping that Jason would seek you out again. Your friend is already starting to get concerned about you isolating yourself, and worse, leaving them alone and vulnerable while the rest of the group is getting picked off one by one. Then there's only the two of you left, and your friend managed to corner Jason, ready to strike with an axe… "STOP!" You quickly maneuver yourself between them and Jason. "Please… stop. No more." "Get out of the way", your friend says, voice strained with rage. You shake your head, tears burning your eyes. "No. Don't hurt him. I-…" You look over your shoulder, meeting Jason's gaze. "I… love him." Jason's eyes widen in the shadows of his mask. "Don't be an idiot!", your friend shouts. "Do you think he will spare you just because you've got a stupid crush on him?!" Your heart is hammering in your chest as you slowly lift your hands in a pacifying gesture. "Please. We can end this here. Put down the axe." Let's out a furious snarl, but tosses the axe aside nonetheless and stomps off. You lower your hands again and take a deep breath to calm yourself, when a huge, rough hand curls itself around one of your hands. You manage a shakey smile, letting your fingers intertwine with his.

Freddy Krueger

If this is what Freddy is usually like, you don't feel like you need to be all that scared of him. In fact, the dreams he sends you into are fun more than anything; but maybe that is just the adrenaline junkie in you speaking. Though at first your lack of fear was met with exasperation by Freddy, now he seems to find it quite endearing, and enjoys coming up with new things to try and scare you. Of course, if you ever break and actually do get scared, things won't look too good for you. But for now, your dreams consist of macabre banter in spooky locations that are oh so fun to explore. You come up with a scoring system of how well Freddy's ideas would work on someone who was less fearless than you. Over the many nights, the banter goes from dark jokes to light flirting to downright dirty talk, and you are enjoying the hell out of it. But then he involves a friend of yours; someone who is much more easily frightened. Freddy is testing you, you know that. Forcing you to make a choice. But when your friend turns out way more resilient than either of you expected, and actually finds a way to harm him… for the first time since Freddy entered your dreams, you feel fear. You are absolutely terrified. They stand over Freddy, who is snarling at them like a trapped animal. You don't know where you got the knife. It just suddenly appeared in your hand. So you approach your friend and hold the blade against their neck. "Step away from my boyfriend", you say in a low, hoarse voice. "Or else." "Boyfriend?", echo both Freddy and your friend. Your gaze flits back and forth between them. No way you would backpedal now. "You heard me." They turn to you, horror mixed with anger warping their face into an almost mask-like grimace. And just as they want to go off on you.. their head pops like an overfilled balloon, covering you in blood, grey matter, bone shards and cerebrospinal fluid. You wipe the mess off your face, thoroughly grossed out. "Whelp. I guess I just blew their mind." Freddy and you look at each other and burst out laughing.

Bubba Sawyer

You have a good understanding of other people's emotions, so you also quickly understand the family dynamics of the Sawyer family; Bubba's position in the family most of all. The one who does most of the dirty work and gets the least amount of credit for it. The youngest brother, the bottom of the Sawyer hierarchy. You feel bad for him; there seems to be a genuinely sweet guy underneath all of the… the murder and cannibalism. And just a few hours ago, he seemed to be genuinely sorry to have to kill you. It reminds you so much of your own family dynamic. So when your friend actually managed to disarm him and turn his own chainsaw against him, you feel the need to step in. "Hold on." "What do you mean, 'hold on'? These guys wanted to eat us!" "And I think he doesn't like that any more than we do." Bubba nervously licks his lips, not sure what to make of your words. But when you reach out your hand, he takes it with only slight hesitation. "He's not a bad person", you say, not once letting your eyes stray from Bubba's. Your friend's hands tighten around the chainsaw. "You talk about this… thing like you have feelings for him." You consider it for a moment before answering:"Well… maybe I do." These four words hang heavily in the air for a moment. "You're crazy", your friend says breathlessly. "Maybe", you reply, and wrench the chainsaw out of their hands, handing it back to Bubba, who still hasn't fully processed your confession. "But who isn't these days."

Thomas Hewitt

You have known Thomas since childhood, though at some point, your family moved away, as so many people did. But even back when you were a child, you always had a crush on him. So after many many years, you decide to take a few friends on a trip to the place you called home during your youth. You get separated from your friends, and run into the Hewitts on your own. At first, they do not recognize you. But then you call every single one of them by name, and they remember that kid that used to hang around Thomas all the time. And Thomas himself? He is thrilled to see you again, beyond thrilled, even. His welcoming hug lingers just a little longer than it would be socially appropriate, and while you catch up with Luda Mae, you hear Hoyt and Monty tease him about you. And then everything goes downhill when your sole surviving friend shows up, armed to the teeth, to "rescue" you. Even though the Hewitts have crossed all lines of morality during your long absence, you feel a deep protective instinct flare up in you. And when you look at Thomas, it becomes so all-consuming that you know you would rather die than let him get hurt. So you confront your friend on your own, though you can feel Thomas' gaze linger on you. "They are my friends", you explain calmly. "Please don't hurt them." "Please don't hurt them", your friend imitates you mockingly. "Funny how you didn't seem to mind them hurting the others." "I'm not going to ask you again", you say, hoping to still resolve this whole matter peacefully. "Why? Why protect them? They are killing people! That freak with the mask-" You get goosebumps at having to say it out loud. "His name is Thomas, and I love him. I will not let you speak of him this way." A huge shadow falls over you, and you don't even have to turn around to know it's him. Then there's another set of footsteps, and the sound of a shotgun being cocked. "Get your little friend inside, Tommy. I'll handle this." There is a way too excited glint in Hoyt's eyes as he says this. Thomas places his hand at the small of your back and guides you towards the entrance door. You hear the shotgun go off, and despite the painful knot your stomach is in, you look at Thomas and find yourself smiling.

[xxspringmelodyxx]

Happy Anniversary~

Gojo Satoru x Reader (angst)

Currently sobbing, crying, and throwing up while writing this

“Toru, stop it!” I giggled, feeling his kisses cascade along my neck while his arms ensnared me, refusing to let me escape.

“But… I… love… you… so… much!” His words punctuated by the soft press of his lips, his embrace tightening around me.

“And I love you more, but we’re out in public. People are staring,” I chided, though the sensation of his cool, tender kisses was undeniably intoxicating.

“Who cares, let them see. Everyone will know that you’re mine~” His declaration sent a flutter through my heart, prompting me to pull back slightly, needing to gaze into his eyes. I gently cupped his face in my hand, tracing the lines of his features with reverence.

He smirked, a knowing glint in his eyes as he watched me with affection. “You know, if you like looking at me that much, I could take a picture for you and sign it even,” he teased, earning an eye roll from me.

“Oh, shut up, you. It’s not my fault you’re the epitome of gorgeousness,” I retorted, unable to hide the fondness in my voice.

“Look who’s talking~” His response was playful as he drew me closer, capturing my lips in a tender kiss.

I closed my eyes, letting him draw me into him. As our kiss deepened, warmth spread through my body, the world around us fading into insignificance. Eventually we needed to pull away to catch our breaths, but that was short lived as Toru pulled me back in for another, not wanting to waste anymore time.

I giggled into the kiss, trying to break away to tease him. I succeeded, but only for a split second. The instant I pulled away, he gently grabbed me by the neck and whispered, “Not yet. I’m not done~”, and pulled me back in.

With each kiss, our connection felt more profound, as if our souls were entwining in perfect harmony. It was a moment suspended in time, where nothing else mattered except the love we shared.

Lost in the bliss of our embrace, we seemed oblivious to the world around us. But reality intruded in the form of a gentle breeze, carrying with it the murmurs of passersby and the distant sounds of traffic.

Reluctantly, we pulled apart, our gazes lingering as if trying to prolong the fleeting moment. Toru’s hand found mine, his fingers intertwining with mine as we began to walk, the city bustling around us.

“So, where to next, my love?” he asked, his tone playful yet tender.

I smiled, the warmth of his affection enveloping me like a comforting embrace. “Anywhere, as long as I’m with you,” I replied, leaning into his side as we continued our journey together.

”Oh baby, there’s nothing that could ever tear me apart from you. I’m with you until the end of eternity,” he spoke, his voice filled with unwavering devotion, making my heart swell with love and hope.

With tears of joy brimming in my eyes, I smiled at him, feeling the warmth of his words wrapping around me like a comforting blanket.

”I love you, my ’Toru~” I whispered softly, the words a balm to my wounded soul.

“And I love you, my N/n~” His response was tender, filled with a depth of emotion that echoed in my heart.

But our moment of bliss was shattered by a sudden, loud noise that pierced through the tranquility like a knife.

“Ugh, what is that noise?” I groaned, instinctively turning to Toru for comfort. But instead of finding solace in his arms, I was met with a heartbreaking sight – his smile, tinged with sadness, tears glistening in his eyes.

“Toru? What’s wrong?” My voice trembled with fear, a cold knot of dread forming in the pit of my stomach.

“It’s time to wake up, my love~” His voice was gentle, but there was a finality to it that sent a chill down my spine.

“What… what are you talking-”

And then darkness consumed me, swallowing me whole as I plummeted into the abyss of consciousness.

———

“About,” I whispered, my eyes fluttering open to the harsh reality of the world around me. My smile that was previously plastered on my face quickly turned into a frown as realization washed over me, shattering my heart into a million irreparable pieces.

It was just a dream. A cruel illusion that teased me with a happiness I could never truly have. A sharp pang of sorrow struck me as I sat up, looking over to the side of the bed where he used to sleep. The place where he used to hold me close. The place where we would talk endlessly about any and everything just to delay going to sleep.

Toru was no longer here, his presence nothing more than a fading memory lingering on the edges of my mind.

I looked over to see my phone alarm going off. I quickly picked it up, turning the alarm off. Before I could put it back on the nightstand, I saw today's date and realized today was…our 5th year anniversary.

A wave of grief washed over me as I stared at the date, the weight of his absence pressing down on my chest like a leaden weight. The world around seemed to blur as memories of us together began to play in my head. The way he held me, the way he spoke to me, the way he looked at me, touched me, kissed me… everything. It all kept replaying in my head like a broken record. And each one… a painful reminder of what I had lost.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I clutched the phone to my chest, wishing that I could go back in time and stop him. If only I had held onto him tighter, told him how much he meant to me, begged him not to leave to go fight Sukuna. But time was cruel, unforgiving, and now he was gone, leaving behind nothing but memories and regrets.

I closed my eyes, willing the tears to stop, but they kept coming, a relentless torrent of sorrow that threatened to consume me whole. How could I go on without him? How could I face a world that no longer held his laughter, his warmth, his love?

I pulled the phone away from me, looking at my home screen, seeing the picture of us together. We looked so happy... he looked so happy.

A pang of longing shot through my chest as I stared at the frozen moment of happiness captured in the photo. How I wished I could turn back time, relive those precious moments with him once more.

But reality was unforgiving, and no amount of longing could bring him back. With a heavy heart, I set the phone aside and rose from the bed, a solemn determination settling over me.

I made my way to the door, slipping on a coat to ward off the chill of the morning air. The journey to the cemetery felt like an eternity, each step weighed down by the burden of grief.

———

Finally, I stood before his gravestone, the sight of his name etched in stone sending a shiver down my spine. The world seemed to fall away as I knelt beside his final resting place, the silence broken only by the sound of my ragged breaths.

"I'm here, Toru," I whispered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't forget. I could never forget."

Tears welled up in my eyes as I placed a bouquet of fresh flowers on the cold, hard ground, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the somber surroundings. I knelt down, the tears threatening to fall any second now.

"I miss you," I murmured, my voice choked with emotion. "Every day, every moment. I miss you."

I reached out, tracing the letters of his name with trembling fingers, as if trying to etch them into my memory forever. The pain of his absence threatened to overwhelm me, but I refused to let it consume me.

As I knelt there, the weight of his absence bearing down on me, a profound sadness washed over me. How could someone like him be subjected to such cruelty and pain? Even when he was first born…he was already a target.

“I’m sorry, Toru,” I whispered, the words catching in my throat. “I’m sorry for everything you had to endure, for the life you were forced to live.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I thought of all the moments he had missed, all the joys and sorrows he had been denied. He never got to experience the simple pleasures of life, the freedom to choose his own path, to love and be loved without fear or reservation. Simply just because of who he was and this cruel world we live in.

But despite it all, he had remained strong, his spirit unbroken even in the face of unimaginable hardship. And through it all, he had found solace in my love, in the simple act of being seen and cherished for who he truly was.

"I wish I could have given you more," I whispered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I wish I could have shielded you from the pain, shown you the beauty of the world beyond the darkness."

Tears continued to fall unabated as I spoke, each word heavy with the weight of my regret. How I longed to turn back time, to rewrite the script of his life, to spare him from the agony he had endured.

But even as I grappled with my own guilt and sorrow, I knew deep down that Toru had found a kind of peace in my love. In those fleeting moments we shared, he had known what it meant to be truly seen, truly loved, and for that, I would be eternally grateful.

And as I knelt there beside his grave, the quiet stillness of the cemetery enveloping me like a comforting embrace, I made a silent vow to honor his memory in the best way I could – by living my life with the same compassion and kindness that he had shown me.

"I will never forget you, Toru," I whispered into the silence, the words a solemn promise echoing in the air. "I will carry you with me always, in my heart and in my soul."

I leaned over and gave his gravestone a kiss, a powerful pang in my chest appearing.

With one last lingering glance at his gravestone, I rose to my feet, a sense of peace settling over me like a gentle breeze. And as I turned to leave, I knew that even in death, his love would be my guiding light, illuminating the path ahead as I walked forward into the unknown.

With a heavy heart, I whispered the words that had become my mantra, my lifeline in the darkness:

"I love you, Toru. And I always will. Happy Anniversary, my love"

______________

[corpsekiller]

𝐢 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢'𝐦 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬 (𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐠) — 𝐤.𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮

PAIRING. katsuki bakugou x genderneutral!reader

WARNINGS. hurt/comfort, overuse of quirk, mentions of burns

SYNOPSIS. after pushing himself beyond his limits during training, katsuki tries to deal with the consequences of his actions on his own.

AUTHOR'S NOTE. so, i'm finally back after taking a long break from writing! i honestly didn't plan to disappear without a word, but uni and work were keeping me really busy and i just didn't find the time to write. anyway, i hope you enjoy this little fic! <3

LENGTH. will be added later!

MASTERLIST

Everything fuckin' hurts.

His skin is reddened and the palms are blistered, aching and tender to the touch as he fumbles with the first-aid kit, rummaging through the small bag for some bandages to cover his open wounds. The cold water he ran over his sore fingers did little to soothe the pain and Bakugou swallows a broken sob when he finds nothing to stop the cuts from bleeding, tries to blink away the tears that begin to blur his vision as he tosses the first-aid kit across the room and slides down the wall to his knees.

"Katsu, are you in there?"

Your voice makes him flinch. It's muffled behind the closed door, barely audible, but he can still hear the honest concern laced in every word as you call out his name a second time. His heart stumbles in his chest, a treacherous rhythm behind his ribs that begs for help and yet, he can't bring himself to reply no matter how hard he tries — his lips part, but instead of words he finds stones in the hollow of his mouth.

No sound leaves his throat.

You're so pathetic, a voice whispers. It sounds strangely like his own.

For a second, Katsuki stares at the sickeningly white tiles beneath his feet, now stained with the remnants of his blood still oozing from his hand. Deep crimson glints tauntingly back at him, the bitter affirmation of his failure to control his explosive quirk reflecting in each little drop and fuck, he feels another sob shatter his body before he can clasp his bruised hands over his mouth — it makes him want to claw right through his chest, to grab his weakness right by the fuckin' throat and twist its brittle neck to silence it for the rest of his life.

He can't.

"Fuck off," he manages to bark around the stones and buries his face in the crook of his elbow, presses his nose into the sleeve of his of his shirt to suffocate this awful desperation that threatens to climb out his throat. "I'm fine, okay? I don't need your fuckin' help."

It's dreadfully quiet on the other side of the door.

Katsuki's breath hitches in his chest and he listens, counts the seconds — one, two, three, four — but besides the sound of his own thoughts roaring in his head, he can't hear anything else and the realization that tumbles down with this observation feels like a knife being pushed slowly into his flesh.

You left, he thinks bitterly, he finally pushed you away like everyone else. And look, he gets it — for the longest time, that's all he's ever done; shoving people away and hiding behind a carefully constructed facade of unbridled anger. He's only every held out his hands to destroy, to crush and win and maybe now, his actions finally return to haunt him in his weakest moment.

It doesn't matter that he caught a glimpse of hope when he first met you, that he thought he finally found someone who'd only laugh at his harsh comments and tell him to calm down, I know you don't mean it with an amused smile—

You left anyway, he reminds himself. It's probably for the best.

Then, a sigh.

"You're so stupid," you retort on the other side of the door, though there's no bite in your insult. "I know you can handle yourself, but I'm not leaving you in this state, even if I have to sit here all night."

Your voice cracks and his name lingers on the tip of your tongue, sweet and soft, never falling from your lips. "C'mon, let me in."

Instinctively, he gives in.

"Alright," Bakugou replies hesitantly. "Come in, but don't... Just don't fuckin' laugh at me, alright." It's a pathetic attempt to hide the pain behind a mask of unjustified anger, he knows, but he can't let you see him like this without putting up a miserable fight. It feels like he's been stripped of any dignity he's been feigning to hold on the span of his broad shoulders, like he's been reduced to nothing but an incurable ache that clings to his broad shoulders like a shadow under the scorching midday sun.

He's not even sure you heard him, words barely above a whisper, but then the door opens and you enter. With careful steps, you come closer and crouch down, your knees hitting the cold tiles with a soft thud. Immediately, Katsuki slumps against the wall, caving his shoulders into himself to escape your eyes studying his face, gaze wandering over his features as your brows crease in worry.

He hates it.

And yet, he doesn't move when you wordlessly wrap your hands around his wrists and gently turn them to observe the burns littering his bruised skin. There's a certain kind of caution in the way you touch him, something so utterly gentle, as if you're fuckin' scared of hurting him and Bakugou curses your stupid display of affection — no one ever handled him with such care before.

So, he grits his teeth and tears his gaze away from you. It's just too much, the way you look at him.

"Y'know, you shouldn't push yourself like that."

He almost barks out a laugh. The sharpness of a cynical retort burns on the tip of his tongue and he opens his mouth to spit it out, but you're quick to cut him off.

"Shut the fuck up for a second, 'kay?" It's almost as if you expected him to argue. "Listen, I get it. I really do. I know why you always push yourself in every training session until you're about to pass about, why you always strive for perfection and overexert your quirk, but this... on the long run, this will only lead you to your early grave."

"You don't know shit," he snarls. Like a wounded animal, he fears kindness, yet he craves it. Touching you makes him want to pull away and yet, he stays frozen, unable to move, because the moment you let go he's sure the pain of his burns will pull him back into the abyss he's been fighting his way out of for what feels like an eternity and he—

He can't give up now.

So instead, he just studies your expression — thoughtful, gentle, concerned. He feels his face heat up as his fingers tremble in your gentle grasp, itching with the urge to fumble with something, anything in means of distraction. He doesn't mind the lack of space — in fact, he finds it almost soothing to feel how close you are, but he's so vulnerable beneath your eyes that his mind screams at him to run if it means you won't look at him in this way again.

"I'm not judging you, Katsu," you mumble, sensing his unease. Your thumb draws small circles on the inside of his wrist, right where his pulse flutters beneath his skin. "But even the best of us need a break every once in a while. It's not a sign of weakness to ask for help, really."

Somehow, his shoulders relax.

"No one will judge you, I promise. So why don't we head to the nurse and let her take a look at your burns?"

It is almost instinctively that he desires to lean into your gentle touch, and remember this fragile feeling for the rest of his life — Katsuki finds a different kind of healing, now that he lets his walls crumble down in your embrace.

"Okay," he whispers and shakily pushes himself to his feet.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

If you’re still doing prompts, could I request 15? Thank you!

Heyo so sorry for the wait!!! Hope you like it!

Kill.

It's not a word he's unfamiliar with. He's condemned people to be killed before, he's killed people before, but it has always been for his benefit. It has always been to protect himself, to gain money, and not once had the thought of killing to protect someone else crossed his mind.

That is until he met you.

You were kind, your heart open to any who came across but you still hid your darkest secrets deep within, secrets only he was privy to. While others held him at bay with a stake, you had let him in, dancing along to his melody in those late nights, whispering words that were so unfamiliar yet familiar. Maybe it was the way you said them, with that earnest look in your eyes, stirring emotions he thought he had lost a long time ago.

His hands ghost over your skin, tracing pattern after pattern as he has done so many times before, but this time he means every stroke. He wants to feel you, to hear your breaths in his ears, your blood thrumming through your veins. All he can give you is himself, his body, his ability to kill, and none of it can even begin to compare to everything you've given him.

His daggers sink into flesh as lifeblood pours out onto the floor, staining it a deep crimson. He stands over the man who tried to kill you, chest heaving for breaths he doesn't need and dodges as a dagger flies in his direction. With a flash of steel, his daggers bury themselves in yet another threat and sweet crimson liquid floods his tongue. He turns to check on you but you get to him first, anxiously fretting over him.

Your fingers brush along his bloodied strands of hair, sending tingles up his spine whenever your warm skin makes contact with his cold undead skin. His own bloodstained hand reaches up, fingertips hovering over your hand as he watches you, lost and confused. You glance around, checking that no one else is watching before slipping your hand into his, giving his hand a squeeze. Your hand leaves, now stained with the blood that is on his hand but you're smiling softly, gazing at him with such fondness that a strange warmth blooms in his chest.

He's never felt this way before.

He slips out of camp that night, dagger in hand and sinks the blade into the shadowy figure leaning against the tree. The figure drops to the ground, knife clattering in the dirt which he picks up, stowing it away before disposing the body. He sneaks back into camp, silently ducking into his tent where you continue to lie fast asleep.

He gets rid of his bloody clothes, hiding them in a corner he knows you will never find and slips into the bedroll you share, watching as your chest gently rises and falls, your sleep undisturbed. You shift, burrowing closer to him and he wraps an arm around you, burying his face in your hair.

You mumble something incoherently, clutching at his shirt so that you can curl up against him, nestling in his embrace. He feels a tightness in his chest, a flickering warmth spreading through his body that causes tears to prick the corners of his eyes.

No matter how bloodstained his hands are, how dirty he is, you always hold him without any reservations. Your hands always cradle him, gently caressing his face, whispering words of reassurance, love, and care. Whenever you hold him, you look as if you're holding the whole world in your hands. Your devotion to him, the way you always make your neck available to his fangs, the way you speak up for him when he struggles to, nothing he does can ever come close to paying the debt he's racked up.

So he does the one thing you can never bring yourself to do — kill. He plunges his daggers into the hearts of his enemies, your enemies, he tears open the throats of any who dare to hurt you, and cuts down all who stand against you. He kills and kills and kills, hoping that with each life he takes he can get just that little bit closer to repaying you.

And then you whisper the words he needed to hear.

"Repay me? Hmm I suppose you could do that by spending more time with me." You flash him a wide grin, his favourite laugh slipping from your lips. "There's nothing to repay though, really."

When you say those words, a weight is lifted from his chest but doubt still lingers. His gaze searches you for lies but you really mean it, and he's at a loss. His fingers brush over the hilt of the dagger tucked into his belt, unsure of what to do now.

He watches as you leave to talk to the others, mind churning with questions. All you want is for him to spend more time with you, and he supposes he can do that, but is there really nothing more he can offer you? He turns the dagger in his hand, its steel catching the sunlight and feels its reassuring weight in his palm. No, he can still offer you his daggers, for there will always be those who try to take advantage of your kind nature, and he will make them regret it.

With a twirl of his dagger, he thrusts the blade into your would-be assailant, relishing in the assailant's shocked face as his body collapses to the floor, covered in blood. His gaze turns to your figure standing in front of a fruit store, oblivious to the danger you were in moments before, and lets out a small huff of annoyance, making his way over to you.

Even if he constantly watched your back, you could at least have some sense of self-preservation. Still, it gave him a purpose, it made him feel needed. His daggers were still useful, his ability to kill was still put to good use, and that made him feel less anxious.

Maybe one day he wouldn't feel the need to prove his worth by killing, just like you clearly hope he will, but for now he will pull back his urge and only eliminate those who pose a grave threat to you. Only to protect that smile of yours.

He feels you rest against his shoulder, hands automatically finding his and can't help but smile softly to himself. No matter who he has to kill, he will protect you, your smile, your laughter, and all that you stand for.

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

For All The Birthdays You Missed, Andrew

Happy birthday Andrew Kreiss I want cover you in kisses sobs

Rated Explicit | Warnings: Vampire AU

Birthdays are rare to be celebrated in the manor, if ever. Many have either forgotten when they were born or lost track long ago of how old they are, so no point in baking a cake. It is rather depressing, but you respect the boundary (Luca loves birthdays though he makes up numbers guessing his age each time).

“Andrew,” Then you learned one of them never had a proper birthday, and you felt the need to, at least, give him this. A happy memory in this new life, silly as it may seem to others, but you hope he likes it. “Happy birthday.”

The cake is a simple yellow cake with vanilla frosting and purple flower designs. A ‘Happy Birthday, Andrew’ written on with a single candle in the middle. A private celebration between you both in a hotel in the city away from the others. He has you all to him all day.

“Andrew?” 

Andrew is quiet as the candle burns, you notice the build-up of tears at the corner of his eyes as he watches the candle burn. You smile gently as you wrap your arms from behind around his neck, rubbing your cheek against his. The table is clear of everything outside of the small cake and two plates and a knife to cut the cake. The fancy hotel room is a bit much for him but he will see why you set this up later on.

“Make a wish, birthday boy.”

He takes a deep breath and then blows out the candle.

“Thank you.” He says finally, “You didn't have to.”

“I want to and we can have as many more birthdays after.” Kissing his cheek, “Next time though, Luca would like to join.”

“S-sure.” Andrew is not sure if he is ready for that level of energy that man can bring.

“We can work up to inviting him.” Moving away to cut the small cake, “First cake then your gift.” Winking at him.

“Gift?”

You nod as you give him a plate serving him the biggest piece with the flower on it.

The gift is him naked and covered in red lipstick marks, he is hands bound to the bedpost keeping there but he can tug hard enough to break out. “Andrew, you are so beautiful.” Riding him as he feels like enduring your praise tenfold. You have adored him before but this is worse as you used a camera, one that prints out the pictures instantly, to show him your favorite parts of him. Those pictures were scattered all over the bed.

His albino skin is a bright pink from how much he is blushing as you moan out his name.

“Enough already!”

You squeal loudly and rather embarrassingly as breaks out of the loose binds to pin you down on the bed, breathing hard and his face completely exposed as you brushed back his hair previously.

“(Name).”

“Andrew.” Your hands are free to touch his face as he leans down, “You can move. This is your gift.”

When he first met you, he had accidentally killed you… Gruesomely. He felt like a monster. Burying you in some unmarked grave only for you to return to him partially healed on a stormy night terrified him.

He swore you were God's divine punishment upon him, you were a test and he failed! You were going to kill him. It took him weeks to be able to look you in the eyes, much less be in the same room. He did not immediately go to the manor either fearing it was a trap but came when he became desperate for blood.

Now, you are the most important person in his life, and value him more than anyone ever has both before he was a human and after he became a vampire.

His mother… Sometimes he wonders if she would have liked you. Someone strong enough to shoulder the world with him.

“I love you.” He says without thinking that he pulls back in fear but you grab him before he can panic.

“I love you too, Andrew.” Sometimes when you are serious it scares him, Naib Subedar is like this when Norton has his episodes, you return those feelings to him. “I love you, Andrew Kreiss.” Staying still for a few heartbeats, “Now fuck me like you love me.” Ordering him.

And he does with all of his love and then some.

[0tivez]

If I may pick your beautiful mind for thots on frustrated salaryman Nanami 👉👈

note: oh to be used by nanami as his stress toy...

warnings: female reader, angry sex, degradation, mdni.

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⁜ nanami loves coming home to his beautiful girlfriend after a long, exhausting day of work

⁜ you can see his mood improve the moment he sees you inside the house. his face brightens as he calls out your name, followed by a gentle (and relieved) "i'm home"

⁜ and you love taking the stress out of him; whether it's by cooking, kissing, cuddling. for stressful weeks, you make sure to have a hot bath ready for him as you're finishing up your cooking

⁜ but this week has been different

⁜ as the end of the year is getting closer, nanami often finds himself buried between stacks of boring paperwork, his mind so full that he can't even escape to think about you to at least have something to look up for

⁜ that's why he's been more uptight, less energized, with horrible libido

⁜ and although you try to give him space, it's starting to become frustrating for you- and you know he's frustrated too

⁜ so, one evening, you gather all the ingredients to prepare his favorite food. and as soon as he textx you "i'm coming home" (which is eerily later than usual) you discard all your clothes and leave only your panties and apron on to surprise him

⁜ when nanami unlocks the door, you feel the adrenaline take over your body as your mind flashes images of him ripping your apron like a hungry animal the moment he sees you

⁜ "i'm home" he calls nonchalantly, as he throws away his bag and walks toward the bathroom while you stand next to him with a confused look

⁜ "is the bath ready?" he asks without looking at you

⁜ "n-no, i didn't prepare it today" your voice shakes

⁜ "it's alright, i'll prepare it"

⁜ you rush in front of him and gently push his chest to stop him

⁜ "don't you want to eat dinner first? i made you something special" you smile mischievously. you slowly turn your body to flash your bare back, hoping to get a reaction out of him, but you're met with empty eyes

⁜ "i'm not hungry now. i'm tired, i'll just go to bed. i need to wake up early"

⁜ you hold yourself back, but can't contain your anger anymore. nanami has never ignored your hard work and acts of service for him even if he was going through hell. what's up with him now?

⁜ "stop! what's happening with you, kento? can't you see how much i worked to make you happy?" you scream at him in a sudden burst of anger. "you don't even find me exciting anymore? what kind of a man just walks past his girlfriend like this? ungrateful!"

⁜ nanami stops mid walk and slowly turns to face you. his dark, empty gaze frightens you, it's a face you haven't been introduced to before

⁜ "what did you say? what did you call me?" nanami hisses, his raspy voice lower than ever, tone sharp as a knife

⁜ "i-i mean..." you stutter in shock. nanami walks toward you, his tall figure towering over you

⁜ "meal? my favorite meal? you're right, i'm fucking ungrateful. let's eat" nanami grabs your bare arm and pases to the kitchen where the neat table you prepared is waiting. the navy tablecloth hosts cold plates, with an unopened bottle of expensive red wine

⁜ "n-nanami, you're hurting me!" you wail, but it's no good. nanami drags you to the kitchen where he'll lightly throw you next to the table

⁜ "ungrateful. i am ungrateful! every day, i have to put up with people's shit for nothing! i have 50 people breathing down my neck, what do i have to be grateful for?"

⁜ he stops in front of you to grab your cheeks. "and what i come home to is you bitching. give me a fucking break" he spits his words out

⁜ "i can't even have time to fuck my girl properly" the atmosphere in the room suddenly changes with his annoyed scream. you grab the tablecloth and balance yourself. nanami is hectic, something he has never shown before, and his unpredictable movements scare you

⁜ nanami's gaze pierces through you. his face is dark, as the only lightning in the room is the few candles you lit

⁜ "always so good for me, hm?" nanami strokes your cheek. "always so caring, so loving, yet you can't always behave. you wanna help me?"

⁜ nanami grabs your hips with stern hands and turns you so that your face can be planted to the table

⁜ "n-nanami" you grunt

⁜ "be a good girl now" nanami pushes your back down as he takes off his belt with his free hand, and you obey. even the his touch on your bare back excites you after all those times without having felt his warmth

⁜ nanami pushes your pink, cotton panties aside before he enters you with one, swift motion before he lets out a deep growl. you squirm, letting his thick cock stretch your walls

⁜ nanami remembers how much he loved fucking you from behind, a fantasy that helped him get through boring weekdays that got lost in his sea of concerns these past few weeks; but here you are, prepped up for him, welcoming him inside you like you always have. but, to his surprise, it's not enough to destress him. his mind is still flashed with images of all the unfinished paperwork, all the times he got scolded for nothing

⁜ "fuck" nanami hisses under his breath

⁜ he pushes his hip forward, almost as if he wanted to hurt you. his mere strength is enough for tears to form in your eyes. your eyes roll back as your boyfriend's cock drills into you non-stop

⁜ "na-nanami!" you breath onto the tablecloth helplessly, but let yourself enjoy the dominance he holds over you. he has your chest pressed on the expensive wooden table, hands clasping the tablecloth, crystal wine glasses fallen down on the table, the dripping sounds of the wine drowned out with the slapping sounds...

⁜ nanami thightens his hands on your tighs before landing a slap on your ass which gets you by surprise

⁜ "you're gonna be a good girl from now on, right?" he asks with a low voice, one that sends shivers down your spine. to your demise, you're already too dumbfounded to answer your boyfriend properly. you mumble onto the table incoherently before nanami leans in closer to your ear

⁜ "you'll be a good girl for me, hm? like you always have been" nanami lowers his face down to your neck and buries his face in the crook of your neck. his hot breath tickles you, but you're too drunk on pleasure to shiver

⁜ "always so good for me" nanami continues moving his hips, this time fucking deep inside you as if he's trying to claim you all while drowning your neck and cheek in hot, wet kisses

⁜ "fuck, i love you so fucking much" he pants. he finds your hands and locks his fingers with yours over your hands that easily disappear under his. he has you locked under him, his weight pressed on you makes you feel safer than ever. his sudden gesture melts you inside, and you manage to make his name out as a thank you

⁜ nanami feels overwhelmed with love. the thought of you letting him use you to relieve his stress like that makes him filled with so much love and appreaciation, his mind fills with how much you put him first. nanami's sudden vulnerability reflects on his voice with his whimpering moans in your ear, and how his body presses on top of yours as if you two were the opposite ends of two magnets

⁜ your needy, high pitched moans harmonize with his deep yet whiny moans, and it sounds better than any kind of slow music you were planning on putting on tonight

⁜ you realize you're both close once nanami's thrusts become inconsistent and sloppy, and you feel your lower abdomen tighten as if knots were forming inside

⁜ "fuck" nanami hisses once more into your ear, calling out your name repeatedly before you feel him empty himself inside

⁜ you let loose with him. his body pressing on yours holds you in place, feet almost rising from the ground. nanami rides your high while keeping his head buried in your neck, letting in your shaky voice in

⁜ you two stay in position for a minute, feeling each others heart beat on top of each other. something in nanami shifts, it's like a switch was flicked, and suddenly he was your boyfriend again

⁜ nanami slips out and sits you on the chair gently, even fixing your messy hair before turning back to grap wet wipes off of the counter and kneeling in front of you to help you get yourself together

⁜ "delicious meal" nanami acclaims jokingly and you giggle. you watch his flushed cheeks rise with a loving grin, eyes shiny and perfect hair messy just like how you have always liked it

⁜ "such a shame the wine's gone though. it was pretty expensive, y'know? " you look over at the warzone that is the table you carefully designed. glasses scattered around, red wine staining the cloth and the floor, perfectly seared meat cold

⁜ nanami laughs. "that's alright. we won't have to worry about money for a long time"

⁜ "hmm, you don't say? can we get a maid to make up for the dinner tonight too?" you tease him the way he has always adored

⁜ "no need. i'll cook for you any time you want, you know that"

⁜ you run your fingers through his soft hair and grab his cheek

⁜ "i do"

i forget how i format my posts every time. i feel like i might have actually forgotten how to write smut ToT

anyways lol hope you enjoyed this :3

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

141 In Skyrim

Requested: No

Warnings: Mentions of an attack on Ghost’s part but nothing else I can think of

A/N: @arthurmorgansballsack you wanted to be tagged, so here is your tag!!!!

Price - Harbinger of Jorrvaskr

As a Harbinger, Price is often meeting new people. Young and Old alike, all who think they have a shot at being famous. At bringing glory to themselves. But time and time again he turns people away, their hunger for power outrivaling all of their good qualities. None of them ever understood what it meant, to be a companion. To be more than yourself, to dream for more than just yourself. To dream and hope, to live and die, for everyone in Jorrvaskr. None of them understood it, except for you. You who came in, heart and eyes blazing, looking for family over glory. And it turned out to be only you who he could confide in about being wary of the wolf’s blood that ran through his veins. How he grew tired of the hunt and longed for rest and companionship. And it was you who made his heart skip a beat when you placed your hand on his and told him that he could always feel free to seek out your company when he grew weary and lonely.

Gaz - Dragonborn

Gaz met you just outside of Whiterun. Out of breath and looking exhausted, holding a letter from some Jarl or other. He’d pushed away all the other couriers but…you were just so determined to get him his letter, refusing to leave him until he accepted it. It endeared him to you and he found himself telling you that he’d only take it if you’d have dinner with him at The Bannered Mare. You seemed surprised by the offer but tentatively agreed. Only to somehow end black out drunk and wake up passed out in his house in Riften. An Amulet of Mara laid between both of your naked bodies, a plain gold band on your finger and a matching silver one on his. And he didn’t want to let you go. You were the first person in forever who actually seemed to want to listen to him. Who tried to comfort him when he told you about the troubles of being Dragonborn. And beyond that, of how he didn’t remember anything before being Dragonborn. How he’d woken up in that cart, his mind empty of memories, and the trauma that came from that day in Helgen. With you, he wasn’t just the Dragonborn. He was human. He was….himself.

Ghost - Dark Brotherhood Assassin

Probably the only member of the Brotherhood who didn’t actually consider it a family, Ghost didn’t care to introduce himself to the fresh meat, you. He figured you’d be dead soon anyways. But something about you drew him in. He tried to make excuses for it, convincing himself he was only interested in the planes of your body that were highlighted by the uniform, that he was only lusting for you. But that didn’t explain why he hovered around you, sticking to your shadows and watching your back. Why he felt his heart skip a beat when a target fought against you, pinning you on your back with a knife to your throat. And it didn’t explain the wave of rage that turned his vision red, that drove him to lunge at your target and beat them into the ground. It wasn’t til he looked into your eyes, his fingers under your cowl checking to make sure you didn’t get cut, that he admitted it wasn’t just lust.

Soap - Thieves Guild Member

Soap had been a Thieves Guild Member for a long time. Starting as an orphan in Riften’s streets who got particularly good at pickpocketing. Or at least he thought he was, until he tried to pick your pockets in his late teens. You were older than him, an amulet of some kind around your neck. It looked expensive and he had wanted to take it but he knew it was too dangerous. So he’d settled for the coin sack hanging at your waist. Careful, so sneaky, his fingers ready to loosen the leather string holding up the bag when you spoke. “Not bad, but still sloppy.” You’d said, turning back to look at him. He’d wanted to run but found himself entranced by the mischievous look in your eyes. You offered him a place to stay, warm food in his starving belly, and jobs a plenty to get more gold then you’d ever be able to carry in a coin sack. And he’d accepted, gladly. And every job he did, every task he completed, it wasn’t for the gold but to please you. To see your smile when he showed up back home in the Ratway. Years and years he worked tirelessly, putting all his coins into a cozy house with nice furniture that he built all by himself, the leftover money spent spoiling you with gems and jewelry and nice clothes. His fingers caressing yours when he handed it over, melting under your warm stare. Until one day he handed you a necklace of Mara, and asked you to wear it when you came to visit him tonight.

[yellowbunnydreams]

The Blood Runs Thicker (part 17) ~vampire!William Afton x F! Reader~

~I have many plans for this series still! I wanted to thank everybody for their continued support.~

Tag-List; @ruh--roh-raggy @randymeeksisafinalgirl @sleepy---head @robin-the-enby @hungrhay @likoplays @slxsher-whxre @nicolezghostz @spiderlilytengu @yondus-girl @puppetstr1ings

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* Want more or something different? *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

CW:Minors DNI, (18+ ONLY), Female Reader, legal age gap (Reader- 20's, William - ??), graphic acts of violence, biting, knife-play, blood, blood-drinking/licking, mention of dead children, anaemia. Mentions of torture. Drama/Angst. Possessive behaviour. Descriptions of a medical nature and disability.

Charlie's words still rang softly in your ear by the time you crawled into bed.

You hadn't quite believed that you had heard them, you asked the half-ghost what she had meant, but had only been met with silence in return. You supposed she had made her request, and it was time for you to enact it before William decided you were leaving to where-ever the next stop on his little road-trip was.

The vampire hadn't crawled into the large bed with you, but rather, Henry had given you separate rooms. You supposed it made sense, since he was probably very unsure of who exactly you were and how you were acquainted with William Afton, but you felt a little hurt that you hadn't been stood up for by William, that he hadn't said 'we're together'. This was the first time you'd seen the vampire get emotional though, uncomfortable, you had seen him confused and afraid when Michael and Elizabeth arrived, but even then he came back out swinging.

This was the first time he had really been vulnerable.

Getting up, you sighed and ran your fingers through your hair, taking a deep breath before slowly standing up and stretching your back. Padding out into the dark hallway, only the soft beep and whine of Charlie's medical devices to accompany the low lighting as you made your way down the stairs and to the kitchen, hoping to grab a glass of water and take it back up with you.

Instead, you found Henry Emily in his kitchen, fridge door open as he poked around inside it. His face ghostly in the blue LED from inside as he glanced up, eyes unfocused for a moment before he seemed to gain some clarity and smile at you.

"You're up late, young miss." Chuckling as you rubbed the back of your neck and gestured somewhat loosely to himself.

"Same could be said for you, Mr. Emily."

"Please, call me Henry. I appologise for not telling you you could earlier. I just..." he seemed lost for words as you both looked at each other for a moment before you piped up.

"Had a lot on your mind?" The older man smiled and nodded his greying curled head.

"Yes. Probably the best way to put it. Please, take a seat, I'll make some proper tea." Your stomach turned at the thought of more incipid tea, and you shook your head lightly. Henry chuckling as he moved carefully to one wall and flicked on the light switch, taking your sight for a few blinks. "At least let me make you proper tea, I realised after you went up to see Charlie how bad it was. I'm surprised you drank it at all."

Your shoulders relaxed an unknown tension in them. Despite the fact that Henry had seemed so full of rage and sorrow before, he felt more like a dad now as he shuffled around the kitchen and boiled some water in a kettle on the stove. The warm light of the aged kitchen making you think to your grandparents house that you used to visit when you were small. Somebody was always in there, making something that smelt great, and the light was always some form of sickly yellow.

He placed a mug down after a few moments and he held ones in his frail hands too, the banding across his knuckles telling you that despite his age, he was once a strong man. Perhaps not as strong as William looked, but he seemed to have been healthy and fit, once upon a time. Sipping the new drink, you were pleasantly surprised that it had a spice to it, sipping it again and your brow furrowing as you realised that there was cinnamon in the tea.

"Oh, I must have used the cinnamon sugar! I'm so sorry, I can make it again, it's how Charlie likes....liked...it." his lips pursed as he trailed off, the years catching up with him once again as you reached your hand out and gently held onto one of his cooler ones.

"It's nice...It seems like Charlie has some good taste." Henry smiled and he chuckled softly, his thumb idly stroking over your knuckles and you weren't sure whether he was trying to soothe himself or you. But you were sure that in that moment, but you felt like you really were being soothed by a parent.

"Yes, I know I'm biased since she's my little girl, but she was always a special girl." Swallowing thickly, he glanced up at you and held onto your hands with both of his, giving you a warm smile. "I wish she could see William again one more time, she adored him growing up."

You weren't sure how to react. You knew that William had killed probably killed children before thanks to the ghosts of Freddy's that seemed to haunt the animatronics, but they had never mentioned knowing him. This felt different. You weren't sure that Afton was capable of leaving somebody alive unless they owed him something, but Charlie...He seemed almost surprised that she was alive, like he hadn't expected her to be.

And then there was her request.

"I'm sure they were close." A tactful response, rather than the thoughts that wanted to spill from your lips.

"They were...and I know William would want to kill the bastard that did this to her." There was something icy in his voice that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up and your heart begin to race in your chest. Despite his initial anger at William, the confusion, the hurt, he still sounded somewhat warm beneath it all.

"P-Pardon?"

"They said it was an animal attack, but Charlie had barely an defensive wounds. I love her, but she was a trusting child." The venom slowly creeped into his voice as his grip tightened on your hands, his knuckles turning white as you realised that despite looking older he had maintained quite a lot of his strength.

"Henry..." The older man's eyes began to well up with tears, loosening his grip on you as you stood and came around the kitchen table, gently hugging him to your side and soothing his curly hair as he began to cry silently.

"Will..He was my best friend..And he disappeared when I needed him, and then he turned up and I just..."

"I get it, it must be hard to see him after all this time." You didn't get it though, you had assumed initially that perhaps William had maintained contact with the man he had brought the both of you to. But all you were finding was that William Afton left people broken in his wake, even before he was a monster.

Henry clung to you like your life depended on it. Like he couldn't bear to lose another daughter. Your t-shirt that you had changed into for bed was stained with tears before he seemed to take a few shaking breaths and look up at you. Frowning as he seemed to notice something whilst looking into your face, flinching slightly when his hand reached up and brushed against your ear. You'd forgotten that Will had bitten your ear whilst at the mall on the way to visit Henry, and you could feel the small puncture in the skin and cartilage catching on his rough fingertips. Heart racing in your chest as he seemed to notice the faint scarring on the inside of your wrist, the four pointed bite mark on your neck from where Will had bitten you during your 'thanks' for saving him.

Suddenly, why Will had wanted you to wear a turtle-neck made sense.

"I'm very clumsy! Don't know how Will puts up with me." Chuckling nervously as you reached up to rub your shoulder, inadvertently touching where Michael had nearly drained you dry what felt like a lifetime ago, but really may have only been weeks. Swallowing down the nerves, you offered Henry a large smile, watching the old man blink in confusion before giving you a soft, concerned smile back.

"Will...Has always been unique." He said, making you furrow your brow in confusion, watching as Henry gently patted your arm and stroked it for a moment. "As long as you're being safe. Maybe eat some broccoli? You're looking a bit anaemic."

Henry stood slowly, holding onto you and the table for support before he grabbed his tea and made his way towards the stairs, slowly sipping at the warm drink and leaving you standing in his kitchen, the yellow light casting what felt like a sickly glow onto you as you picked up your own drink and took a few more sips before taking it up stairs with you.

His comment had shaken you slightly, and you couldn't help the sinking feeling that Henry Emily knew more than he was letting on.

In the morning, you could hear pottering about downstairs and so you headed down. Glancing into Charlie's room and noticing she had been moved out of bed and dressed, loose comfy clothes that wouldn't hinder her care as she stared wordlessly at the TV playing some kids programme. You could vaguely make out the ghost lingering nearby to her body, prompting you to go inside and change the channel over to something a little more her age before heading back to your room when you realised you should cover up again.

'Thank you.'

You got changed quickly, finding the pile of clothes you had left on the floor and giving them a quick sniff before pulling them back on. Padding back down the stairs, you noticed Henry pottering about once again. He seemed calmer this morning, unlike what was really a precious few hours ago, and that concerned you greatly. His curly head turned towards you and he had that same fatherly smile on his face as he lifted a pan filled with bacon, eggs and what smelt like fried bread.

"Morning sunshine! I've made breakfast for you." You were clearly over thinking, perhaps he was substituting you for Charlie in his mind, but you didn't blame him. You'd spotted photos of his family in the lounge before, a happy one, a wife with blonde hair and a bright smile. Charlie beaming at the camera. You'd also noted the obituary, paper yellowed with age and sun exposure, tucked behind a photo of his wife.

"Oh, thank you Henry, you didn't have to." Sitting down at the breakfast table, you went to sit with your back to the door, but Henry shook his head and gestured to the seat on the left. The one that looked the least worn down.

"I did! It's been a while since I've been able to cook for somebody and I have to get you to try this. Sorry about the chair, my mother always said bad things happened to people who sit in doorways." It seemed like a strange superstition, but you supposed that there were many cultures and personal experiences that shaped them.

You were just happy to oblige as Henry piled your plate up with fried goods that William would never let you eat in a million years, and poured you some apple juice.

The bacon and eggs were even arranged into a smiley face on your plate.

You heard footsteps coming through the house and turned your head to see William entering the kitchen, his hair perfectly slicked back and wearing his shirt that he'd had on the day before, minus the sweater. His golden aviators sat a little low on his nose as he pushed them up, Henry giving him the same warm smile. You noticed then that there were only two plates of food dished up, and you felt an intense guilt in your stomach that Henry could probably only afford to feed you and William since Charlie undoubtedly had expensive medical bills. His smile fading as he gestured to William's glasses with a frown.

"You've got something on them." Will frowned back and you saw his eyes moving about like he was looking for the dirt that Henry had pointed out.

"Where?"

"Right there, don't you see it?" Will shook his head and reached up to pick his glasses off of his face, squinting as he held them up to the light.

"Might as well clean them, but I can't see shit on them." Sighing as he moved his glasses to the bottom of his shirt, untucking one corner from his waistband and moving to clean them with the fabric. You couldn't help but smile, they were like an old married couple in their own way, and part of you wished that you had known them back in the days of Freddy's so you could see them working together.

That thought was broken when a pan went sailing at William's head.

You heard Afton swear as the heavy 'thunk' of the cast iron hitting him square in the face, blinking rapidly and stumbling back as with surprising grace and speed for an old man, Henry Emily vaulted part of the table and landed on top of his old business partner. Pounding into him with a flurry of fists and fury, you could hear the meaty 'thud' of flesh hitting flesh already.

It took you a few seconds to react to it all, brain short-circuiting as you tried to process what was happening. William's hands moved up and he was scrambling to push off Henry, but you could hear the sound getting wetter and noticed a bit of blood splattering across the tiled floor. A cold spot behind you told you that Charlie had decided to come and watch as you managed to peel yourself off of the chair and rush forwards.

"Henry!" Calling his name as you wrapped your arms around his torso and tried to pull him off, grunting at the unexpected work-out of trying to remove a very angry human man off of the vampire. You could hear William growling and his hands flailed, legs scrambling for purchase on the floor as Henry began to slow down, landing a few more blows before sitting back on his heels. Breathing laboured.

Will's face was swollen and you could see there was the start of two rapidly developing black eyes and a broken nose, skin mottled and bruised as you noticed the split lip and nose-bleed. Henry's knuckles were bleeding too as he stood up and headed over to the sink like nothing had just happened.

"William!" You called out, shaking his shoulders and hearing the vampire groan as one eye fluttered open. Unsteady and unfocused as he gripped onto your arm tightly enough you knew there would be more bruises later on. Shuffling so that his head rested on your lap, you looked up at Henry, eyes wide in shock and horror. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"He'll be fine." Was the calm reply, the man bringing a first aid kit down from a cabinet and opening it to retrieve some sterilised alcohol to clean his knuckles up with.

"You've beaten him, of course he's not going to be fine! Fuck I don't-"

"And yet, you're not worried enough about him to call an ambulance."

The silence that hung in the air for a beat was intensely uncomfortable, it felt almost like ozone settling around your skin. Henry was staring intently, hyper-focused on you as you realised he had caught you in a lie you didn't even know existed. You didn't know how William felt about hospitals, whether he would flag up as something not human when they performed tests, but he was still healing from the springlock failure and he was slow to heal from relatively minor wounds compared to what you'd seen from two vampires fighting.

William took a few shuddering breaths as he seemed to gain his bearings, slowly sitting up with your help and nose dripping blood as he reached for his glasses on the floor. Wiping them with a clean part of his shirt and putting them back on his nose, reaching it up and hooking two fingers into his nostrils before using the other hand to crunch it back into place. Sniffing deeply afterwards as his slowly swelling eye focused on Henry.

"Bastard, the fuck was that?" His own breathing laboured as he reeled from the ambush by his best friend.

"I've only seen those four points that your friend here has on her shoulder once before, do you know when that was?" Henry queried as he put down the alcohol and picked up some bandages, wrapping them slowly around his shaking hands to protect them.

"What marks, I don't know what you're-"

"Oh, but you do William. You know, I thought at first it might be co-incidence. Charlie gets hurt after you go missing for two days, you disappear again two weeks later after your youngest dies. Michael shortly after that along with Elizabeth. But then you come back twenty years later, and so do those marks."

It took your brain a moment to tick over, but it snapped into place all too quickly as you felt yourself blanching.

"Charlie. They were on Charlie." You whisper, watching as Henry shifted his attention from his hands to you as he nodded, with the same fatherly smile he had given you when he was serving eggs. William looked startled and you could see the gears turning in his own head as he looked at Henry. A million and one little expressions flickering across his features.

"Hers were much deeper, and a lot more jagged of course. Tore half the back of her neck out, crushed part of her spine, but the doctors said it all came down to six points of contact. Four on top, two on bottom." He picked up the plate that had been left on the table and brought it in front of him, looking at the selection of knocked over condiments and straightening them up after he had vaulted the table.

"I don't know what you're-" William began, but Henry sucked on his teeth and tutted, shaking his head at the man slowly trying to stand and supporting himself on the chair so that he could sit down.

"You do William Afton. I know what you are." The tone was so cold once again, but the cold air surrounding you didn't help either as you tried to control your shivering. William blinking slowly and unsurely up at his friend before he curled up his lip into a snarling growl. Bloody spittle coating his now very visible fangs, the double set you were more than acquainted with. Henry's expression softened a little as he watched his former business partner growling ferally. "There you are. I knew you would never tell me."

"Henry?" You asked, confused by the last bit of his statement before the older man got up and walked over to the fridge, rummaging around like he had been the night before and throwing something to William, who managed to catch it despite the fact his face was slowly reducing the swelling, leaving behind some bruised and blood-shot eyes staring angrily before his attention flickered to what was in his hand.

"I suspected something about him had changed back in eighty-seven, after Charlie was attacked, he was acting strange. Speed walking from the room if a kid so much as fell and scraped a knee, wearing sunglasses through the light-shows or if he was outside. Never taking his lunch, or if he did, I noticed there was half-chewed food in the trashcan nearby soon after." Henry explained, and you listened, realising that Henry had known something was wrong with William since the attack. He more than likely had his own suspicions about his involvement in Charlie's attack.

Hearing gulping next to you, your eyes widened as William slammed a glass bottle down onto the table, the thick claret inside clinging to the glass as you watched his face slowly returning to normal. Well, as slowly as William Afton could heal.

"So you decide to beat fuck out of me to test your stupid theory?" William growled, and Henry shrugged his shoulders, beginning to tuck into the breakfast before him.

"Oh? No, that was for Charlie, and it felt damn good." Nochelant as you stared incredulously between them, wondering why and where Henry got glass bottles of blood from, how long had he had them. "Figured it was better twenty years late than never."

"Well, at least I know you're keeping yourself in good health." Afton brought the bottle to his lips again and drank from it like it was a cold beer at a BBQ. You were still shaking and incredulous.

"Sorry, what? How would you...oh." The realisation set in as you looked at Henry, who did seem a little paler in the yellow kitchen light than you remembered being the night before. "Did you ...just so you could...?"

"Oh, yes. I know you would never have intentionally hurt Charlie, Wills, but you understand, I had to do something."

"How do you know it wasn't intentional?"

"Because of the times I caught you at the hospital despite the lights hurting your eyes, by her bedside and holding her hand. Telling her 'I will put you back together'." Henry said softly, and you watched as William stiffened before his expression softened too. The two men either side of that small kitchen table, Henry sat so he was blocking the daylight from the window behind him getting into William's bruised face. It almost looked like a halo from where you sat.

The clock in the lounge ticked by for a while as nobody said anything else. William occasionally drinking and Henry eating his breakfast, you picked at yours, heart racing as you wondered if another fight was going to break out between the two of them.

"I don't expect you to forgive me, Henry." William eventually spoke, making you jump slightly as Emily paused and looked up at him too. Raising an eyebrow as if to prompt him on, Afton sighed before continuing. "I...I didn't mean to hurt Charlie. And one day, when...when this is all done, I'll tell you my reasons. But I will hold myself to that promise."

The vampire slowly stood and began trudging back through the house, leaving you and Henry in the kitchen as you stared at his broad back. Wondering how he was going to fufil his promise, you wondered if he was going to end the fact she was trapped between life and death. Wondering how Henry would take having to bury his daughter.

"You're right. I don't forgive you. I just wish you had enough trust in me all those years ago to tell me."

William nodded his head and carried on, you stood up to go after him, but Henry gently pulled down your arm and forced you to sit.

"Leave the demon to his demons. Rest, find peace." He murmured, waiting for you to nod before he let go of your arm and you couldn't help but wonder how much of this mess was all your fault.

[ravenna-reid]

"I Mean No Harm" "I Know."

~ Part 2 ~

Ik I took so long for me to post it, but here is Part 2; a little backstory into the night RE2 Leon and Reader met in Raccoon City.

Hope you all enjoy it <3

Leon Kennedy x Ex-UmbrellaAgent!Reader

WARNINGS: a lil bit of violence, swearing, but mostly fluff again

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

Someone had managed to infiltrate the building. A young police officer you were told. And as you watched the live security footage, you couldn't believe how far he had actually gotten. Bloody bandage on his shoulder, dishevelled ashy blonde hair, and various weapons strapped to his body. As Leon crept towards one of the entrances to the NEST, he was relieved to see that there were no skinless creatures or zombie-like people coming out of the shadows and attacking him. And he was sure no one would be down here, given Raccoon City was in complete and utter chaos. Cautiously walking towards one of the doors, gun in hand, Leon was proven wrong when a sudden blunt force smacked the back of his head. An elbow maybe. Then something caught the back of his foot in the process, sending him crashing down to the floor. 

As you towered over him, you heard someone bark through your earpiece. “Someone head down to the West Entrance and assist y/n now. This kid is trained and we can't let him get the sample.”

Shit. You let the boy get to his feet and draw his eyes over to you. Leon took in the hardened expression on your face and your cold demeanour. The cut on your lower lip and slender lines that showed the muscles on your arms. Hair pulled back in a braid and sharp eyes eyeing him. The Umbrella logo on your bulletproof vest. 

Damn it, if only you weren't so beautiful.

He didn't get the chance to ask you questions, or even aim his gun at you. As you charged towards him, you playfully – given you weren’t willing to actually hurt him – disarmed Leon before he shoved you back and slipped a knife into his hand from his belt. But being much swifter and more skilled than what Leon was, you had him pinned to the ground in the blink of an eye. Your boot pushed down on the wrist that held the knife and your arm pressed against his neck. The boy strained, but he was unable to get out of your hold. There was nowhere for him to go. Taking your chance given you were out of view of the security camera, you slipped your pistol into your hand and blew the camera off of the wall. Soon enough his body stilled as he watched you. Such a soft face and fearful yet determined eyes. You almost wanted to ask if he was alright.

But you knew someone was coming to you. Another agent. And you had to make it look realistic. Because when would you ever get a chance like this again?

“Why did you do that?” The boy breathed. Looking down at him, it took you a second to realise he wasn’t talking about the random attack. Your eyes trailed up to the broken camera then back down to the boy, the words getting caught in your throat. It wasn’t hard to miss how torn you were. The conflict swirling in your eyes.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” Leon urged. Staring back at the boy, you almost felt embarrassed that you were on top of him, pinning him down to the floor. Faces so close it almost seemed unprofessional. His words played over and over in your head like a broken record.

'You don't have to do this you know.'

You knew what you were doing. You were getting out of this mess today. Once and for all. But you had to be smart about it.

You trained your gun onto him, the end of it resting just between his ocean blue eyes. Leon's breath hitched.

'You don't have to do this you know.'

“I know.” You responded finally, voice quiet and unsure, your limbs becoming numb. A glint of understanding passed through Leon’s eyes before the sound of sprinting footsteps were heard in the distance. With the expression on your face, Leon could tell you wanted him to stay silent and still.

The agent that had been sent down to help you slowed his pace once he saw you had it under control.

“He’s down.” You called out to assure him. You and Leon couldn't take your gazes off of each other, as though you were speaking to one another without words. The agent let out a huff, agitated he had to rush down to where you were for no reason.

“Well, I’m starting to see why Callahan favours you so much as an agent. I thought I was going to have to bludgeon the kid to death myself.” A silent confirmation passed through your eyes, and as you swiftly slipped to the side of Leon, he quickly sat up. Grabbing your pistol from your hand, he shot the agent in the lower abdomen. The agent dropped to his knees, a guttural cry leaving him and echoing throughout out the hallway. His hand went for the gun in his holster, but you quickly sprinted towards him and kicked the gun from his hand. Then, wrapping your legs around the agent's arms to restrict him and pull him back onto the floor, you placed him in a tight headlock. 

“Go!” You shouted as Leon watched the agent’s face begin to turn purple. Leon didn't move though. Couldn't move. Not after you had just helped him.

“Hurry up! Get the sample!” You shouted again.

Leon didn’t want to leave you, but he knew how important it was to dismantle Umbrella’s operation. Sympathy laced his voice as he promised you he’d come back for you. But he never saw you again after that. He went back to the hallway he'd left you in and called for you. But he never got a response, leaving him to assume the worst. 

But seeing you that first day when whispers were going around that you were a double agent, Leon couldn't have been happier.

Part 3 Coming Soon

[anystalker707]

From the heart to the blade

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Pairing: Jeff The Killer x [gender neutral] Reader

Special fic request by @eyed-knife [exception bc he is my brother that loser]

Word count: ~ 1 100 Summary: You're simply obsessed with Jeff, but maybe he doesn't share the same feelings. Kind of content: Explicit violence / Obsession / Gore A/N: Not proofread. (Art Credit)

MASTERLIST

          The image of him never left your mind, really. He wanted to kill you—that’s a clear fact—, but he didn’t count on the red and blue lights shining into the room through the gaps of the curtains seconds before he could sink his shiny knife into that perfect little neck of yours. As much as he wanted to kill you, it wasn’t like it would be worth anything if he were just to make a quick swing at your neck and not even spend any time observing the beautiful blood spill on the floor. After all, he wasn’t a cheap killer.

What he didn’t count on, however, was the way it would just fucking earn him such an inconvenience. You were everywhere. Weren’t you traumatized or something that he had just killed some people that you knew right in front of you? Spilled their intestines on the ground so carelessly? Hell, you weren’t normal from the very start.

Maybe a trap would work?

The night was illuminated by the full moon, casting light all over the place. Jeff knew you would be there just like every other single time because, now, he made sure to leave behind gentle little tips that he was looking forward to seeing you again.

A sigh escaped his lips, transforming into steam in the cold night air. Jeff tried to polish his knife at least a little bit with the sleeve of his hoodie as he sat on that cold stone bench, making sure it was shiny enough. It’d been sharpened just days before. Perfect for use.

Not a lot of people would show up in such a monotonous part of the city—a park over the desert, troublesome neighborhoods—, so Jeff was sure that the distant sounds he heard were of you approaching. There was no surprise when his doubts were confirmed. He could feel a warm breath fanning over the side of his neck, suddenly sensing that presence right next to him, gaze burning into the side of his head. It was repugnant, but he didn’t think he would have it any other way, with such a precious and careful fan just like you, following every step, admitting all you did for him. How perfect could it be? And also so damn gross.

The corner of Jeff’s lips twitched. Wouldn’t you ever move? Announce yourself? For fuck’s sake.

“So you came,” his raspy voice cut through the silence, hoping you would finally say something.

“Of course,” you scoffed, taking a seat right next to him, grinning wide. Your heart beat in anticipation, the thrill of being so close to him by now. “Who do you think I am? Do you have any victims for tonight? Or are you just finally accepting my invitations to go out with me?”

Jeff scoffed. “Um, a little bit of both, really.”

“And what do you—”

The words died on your tongue the moment that your back met the ground, making you hiss at the pain, your air knocked out of you with the impact. What the fuck was that? Trying to sit up, however, the sharp pain against your neck made you freeze, widening your eyes and finally processing Jeff right there, over you. There’s an arm across your chest along with a knee over your thigh to keep you down along with the knife pressed to your neck. He didn’t even need that, really. You’d just gladly be pinned down by him.

“Give a good reason not to kill you right now.” His voice was low, breath fanning over your face, but the sight of such sleepless eyes gazing at you from so close made your heart skip beats.

“I love you?” You offered your best grin.

Jeff’s face didn’t change, eyebrows furrowed and lips still pursed, even if they were a little off, tugging at some points according to the irregular scars. “A valid reason.”

“Come on!” You sighed, groaning as you rolled your eyes. “You can just— I don’t know, teach me your art of killing... I would do anything to be by your side.”

“Sounds more like a pain in the ass.” He rolled his eyes as well, but it was in a distressed manner. A sharp sigh escaped his nose before he looked again at you. He ran his tongue over the pretty scars gracing the corners of his lips, looking impossibly good the way he delved in thoughts. “I hate you.”

“You hate me?” You chuckled, heart fluttering. “Oh, Jeff, I—”

Jeff’s hand that rested over your chest took a hold of your face instead, digging into your cheeks and pressing them together so your mouth would be open when he kissed you. It was messy, as if to just fill some sort of purpose without caring about its means; he managed to snatch a sound from you when his tongue poked into your mouth, exploring it messily and leaving behind a metallic taste. He didn’t care about you kissing him back either. Not like he made it easy, in the first place, pressing your cheeks together like that. His grip practically hurt.

You gasped for air once Jeff pulled away, a little disoriented after all the kissing. It was way too fucking good, leaving your body all tingly. Before you know it, he is doing it again, nibbling on your lips maybe with a little more force than needed, sending the pain sparkling through your lips now and then, but it all didn’t do anything better than making this sensation stir in your lower stomach.

A shaky breath escaped your lips as Jeff was once more replaced by the cold night air, leaving you there breathlessly.

Jeff huffed, raising his eyebrows as he shook his head. “Sorry.”

“What?”

“You could be a good plaything,” he mumbled as he leant in close, his breath fanning over your face, “but you’re not even that kissable.”

Your eyes widened. “Jeff, I—”

Jeff didn’t care what you would say, but still, the first thing he aimed for was your shoulder, sinking the knife into the flesh with a pleasing sound. He knew that, for you, it would be nothing but an honor to have a slow death in his hands, so he let it happen, making sure he aimed for the less vital parts first in the right place and in the right control; after all, it would be no fun if you passed out in the middle of it, right?

He bit on his lip as his knife pierced through your clothes. Your screams and groans of pain turned weaker each time, but always with that whiny edge that he enjoyed so much and also tugged onto your words whenever you pleaded for him to spare mercy, making that nice adrenaline run through his veins while he positioned the knife right above your chest. The cut was deep enough so he could reach his hand into your torso, soaking his hand with your sticky, warm blood that wrapped itself around your heart just in time to catch it’s last beats.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

[hier--soir]

jessie my love, congratulations on your milestone! you are so deserving and i just feel so lucky to know you and to read your work :’)

i come to you with this🫀and the following prompt for one joel miller

“If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t even think about it.”

and please feel free to be as gross as you want!!!!

"If it were anyone else, I wouldn't even think about it."

warnings/tags: post-outbreak joel x f!reader, off camera murder and cannibalism, stalking, the end of the world turns us all into animals in one way or another, yearning [for touch, for death, for anything really], reader simply wants to be eaten.

word count: 765

The sky is clear, and it must be summer soon, and there are leaves in your hair and dirt laden beneath the crescent moons of your nails.

Pine needles weigh your pockets down; a burden, despite the comfort they bring when you snap them in half and let the earthy scent follow you through the trees.

And on the heels of that sweet smell, lies the bear. Yes, the bear follows too.

Since deep winter, with all of its short days and long nights, it’s bitter cold and startling freeze, he has been there. Tripping over scraggles of roots and traipsing through streams, lurking behind trees and following your pine needle breeze.

Through spring too, with all of its nose tickling blooms, he never lets you stray too far.  

The bear is tall and he stands proud on two legs and he wears denim like no animal you’ve ever seen before.

Little shards of metal dangle from his hip, like a lustrous warning for your eyes only, visible whenever you dare to peek over your shoulder. And if he ever let you fall behind him, you’re sure that a rust red trail would litter the spaces where his feet met the ground.

His brown hair hangs long, from his head and his face, and through cracks in the foliage you see how the sun taunts the grey in it. Watch it shimmer and spark around that heady gaze, around red lips that pucker around whistled tunes as he follows.

You like to think that his songs are for you. Ignore the way that you hear the same whistles returned to him, from all around you. Don’t ever fret that maybe your bear has friends that are hungry. For you wander and you lead him to food, and listen from ahead as he takes your offerings and never asks for more.

It becomes a habit soon enough. From man-made communes to little groups of travellers, you smile and you preen and you ask for directions with a hand on your knife.

And when you drift on, return to the trees, light footed and swift, you hear the way he meets them.

Roaring and red, the sounds of a bear being fed.

And with each passing feast, you wallow, smile waning, and wonder why he never choses you. Why he trusts you to feed him, to lead him to safety night after night, and never gives you what you long for.

But on this day, this day with clear skies and leaves in your hair, you sense him draw closer. Finally feel the warmth of his breath on the back of your neck, the scrape of his paws one step behind yours. And when he curls around your body and presses you to a tree, you move like water in his grasp. Let him push and prod until bark bites at your back and his breath is upon your face, at last.  

The bear is rougher up close. Dark eyes round and wild, all pupil as you drink each other in. Nostrils flared, you inhale the hot musk of his scent, the dirt on his paws where he holds you by the hem, and feel something hungry curl in your chest.

“Are you going to kill me?” you say, and your voice betrays a morbid sense of hope. A rasping, upward lilt to the question that cries, freedom at long last.

His paws tighten around the collar of your shirt, face unreadable. Dark eyes probing in their search across your face, he stares and stares, sharp tongue snaking out to soften chapped lips.

“If it were anyone else,” he speaks with the voice of a man. “I wouldn’t even think about it.” Past thick teeth you see how his mouth shines red. Almost as pretty as grey in the sunlight.

You tremble in his hold and a leaf tumbles from your hair. It meets the dewy ground in a soundless swoop before he presses a heavy foot overtop it. The crunch sends your heart tripping through your chest.

“I don’t understand.” You tremble in his hold. “I thought it was finally my turn.”  

He sees a glimpse of fear through all that sickly defeated hope, and smiles then, not unkindly, lips peeling back to reveal flushed flecks of flesh in the cracks of his canines.

“It was, baby, it was… but I think I’ll keep you.” The bear purrs and rubs his thick wet maw across your cheek, nuzzling ever closer with each hot breath. “Reckon you might be more fun to play with than to eat.”

[whump-tr0pes]

Breakfast, Part 2

Many thanks to @newbornwhumperfly for being so generous in letting me put their boy Morja in Situations, and many apologies to them as well for holding onto this story for so many months while waiting for me to finish it.

My masterlist

Morja is a diathésimos, one of a class of indentured servants owned by society’s elite - though some would call them slaves. He has been tasked with a mission of critical importance by his anóteros: to infiltrate a dangerous family that has taken refuge in the north, and kill the criminal that they are harboring: Gavin Stormbeck.

“It is your part to kill me, mine to die without flinching.”

— Epictetus, from Discourses (Translated by Robert Dobbin)

Your Part to Kill | My Part to Die | To Die Quietly | Despair | Dawn | Breakfast Part 1 | Breakfast Part 2

Contents: captivity, conditioned whumpee, Breakfast, past drugging, past offscreen deaths of children, fear of noncon

~

The dining room was so quiet, Morja could hear everyone breathing. His hands shook in fists in his lap, and he stared at his plate, heaped high with scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon. He had only taken a few scraps from the kitchen before Gray had gently removed the plate from his hands and piled more food on. His face burned with shame at the prospect of eating so much food, and while seated at the table, surrounded by the people he knew to be traitors to his anóteros. 

Gray sat at the head of the table, on one side of Morja. Vera sat on his other side. Isaac Moore and Gavin Stormbeck sat at the opposite end of the table, but Morja made no mistake; he knew that Vera Novak was as deadly a fighter as Isaac, and he also knew she was armed. Not with a gun, but with a knife, slipped into the sleeve of her shirt. He’d seen it while she took a scoop of eggs in the kitchen. He didn’t know the meaning of Gray letting him out of his room, but he understood the meaning of Vera sitting next to him: make one wrong move, step out of line, and his life would be forfeit. 

In some small, strange way, it was comforting. It was the life he knew. 

His muscles were so tightly wound that he flinched when Gray raised their hand. “Dig in, everyone, while it’s still hot,” they said brightly. Morja flushed with shame at the flinch and couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting to Gavin Stormbeck at the end of the table. The Stormbeck heir looked away from him with an unreadable expression. Morja swallowed hard and began to eat. 

The food couldn’t be drugged or poisoned this time. He had seen the family take from the same dishes he had. His hand trembled only minutely as he took up his fork and scooped up a small bite of eggs. It was just as delicious as every other morning. 

They’ve been preparing the same food for me as they’ve been eating. The same quality.

The thought made Morja dizzy. 

“Good?” came a soft voice Morja didn’t recognize. 

His head snapped up and he met the gaze of Sam Vasterling. They were seated across from him, curls wild about their head, eyes soft and dark with… something Morja didn’t recognize. It was something like worry, he thought. What struck him was how very young they looked. Younger than they looked in all the surveillance photos he had pored over in their dossier. 

A traitor, still, he thought, forced himself to think. They’ve committed crimes that make them as dangerous to the North as any of the others. And some day, they may pay the price. I may be the one to make them pay the price. 

I’ve been the one to put a child down before, and Sam Vasterling is no child.

His throat was so tight he could not even swallow. The food was trapped in his throat. He shivered, tried again, forced the eggs down. 

“Y-yes,” he croaked. “Thank you.” 

A thin smile passed over Sam’s face, and that smile was still warmer than any expression Morja had ever seen south of this house. “I did the eggs today,” Sam said. “So I was hoping you’d like them better. I add more cheese.”

A thin finger of fear traced the back of Morja’s neck. Was this just a game, too? A hint? Was the food drugged? He was exhausted, so, so tired of trying to think his way through these puzzles. He let his eyes fall shut as the bone-deep weariness rose up to crush him. He wished, in that moment, to be told of his infraction and what his punishment would be. Then, at least, he would know, and the punishment would have an end. 

He forced his eyes back open. He didn’t know what else to do but nod and bow his head. Obediently, he took another bite of food, bacon this time. 

As if they could read his mind, Gray cleared their throat and said, “None of us have any plans or intention to harm you, Morja.” 

This time, Morja swallowed carefully. A weight tugged at his lungs, crushing them, until his head was spinning. All he could do was nod again. 

“Thank you, Gray,” he whispered, through a throat far too tight to speak. At the end of the table, Gavin Stormbeck drew in a deep breath. Morja’s stomach turned, but he took another bite. 

“What I do have plans for today,” Gray said–

–Morja’s stomach heaved, and he nearly brought up the breakfast he had eaten so far–

–“is to finish repairs on that back corner of the barn.” 

Morja shivered, and his stomach unclenched. Sweat prickled under his shirt. 

Isaac nodded tightly. “I can help,” he said, his eyes on his plate. 

Vera huffed. “Guess that means I’m on Uriah duty.” She shrugged and arranged some slices of bacon atop a piece of toast. 

Morja’s brow furrowed as he looked from Vera to Gray. It made sense for this family’s anóteros to demand a constant guard… but Isaac Moore seemed to be the one fulfilling that task today, not Vera. 

Sam cleared their throat, and Morja was startled to discover that they were looking at him as they did. “Not… she means Gavin Uriah.” 

Morja blinked, not understanding. Does Gray have a son?

“Me,” Gavin Stormbeck said dully from the end of the table. “She means me.”

Morja’s eyes widened as he glanced at Gavin Stormbeck, then back at his plate. Isaac’s words and rage from the night Morja was captured clicked inside Morja.

“No, Gavin Stormbeck, pl–”

“Don’t call him that.”

Morja’s throat tightened, and he swallowed again. He didn’t have to understand it. He didn’t have to understand how these people thought. His anóteros had told him their way of thinking was sick, twisted, broken. 

And yet–

Gray cleared their throat, and Morja flinched. Blood rushed to his face at the shame of it, at the humiliation of such a sound causing such a movement in a body built to be a weapon. He held perfectly still and waited. Waited. 

“That sounds fine, Vera,” was all Gray Uriah said. 

For a long time, the table was silent, with the only sounds being the clinking of forks against plates. Morja took a bite of his breakfast - his hot and delicious breakfast - and another, and another, until his plate was empty. Slowly, the others at the table began to talk of things he didn’t understand, people he didn’t know, events he had never heard of. There was a lull in the conversation, and he opened his mouth.

“E-excuse me,” he croaked, and everyone fell silent. His hands shook, and he placed them flat on the table.

“Yes, Morja?” Gray said gently, and he could feel their soft gaze on his face. 

Morja’s throat worked even as terror shuddered through him. Still, he forced himself to speak. “What is it that… you might want as repayment? For the privilege? Of…” He bowed his head, wishing that he could drop to his knees beside Gray. But Gray had said they didn’t like it when he did that, and he was terrified if he moved, Vera would leap forward with her knife. “In what way can I… repay…?”

He had to be polite. Even in this den of vipers, he had to be polite. Even once they began to hurt him, he knew he had to be polite. He could not be ungrateful for what he had been given so far. 

Even if they wanted to repay him by bending him over this table and–

“Well, we usually share the task of doing dishes,” Gray said. Morja was startled to realize he had not breathed since he asked his question, and he slowly drew in a breath. “If you like, you can help us with the dishes.”

“Yes, please,” Morja said, bowing his head even deeper. “I would like to do that… please.” Especially if it spared him from paying them back in… other ways. 

He wanted to be useful.

“Well, then,” Gray said as they carefully got up. “Vera, you and Morja and I could go to the kitchen?”

“Sure thing,” Vera said, in a tone that sounded almost flippant. She grabbed her plate and sauntered into the kitchen. 

“Morja, if you’ll take your plate and come with me?” Gray said as they followed her in.

Morja obeyed, making his movements as slow and careful as possible without seeming like he was dawdling. He cut a wide berth around the table, keeping his gaze down and away from Isaac Moore. Still, he could feel the other diathésimos’s eyes burning into him, and he knew without having to look that Isaac Moore’s hand was on his weapon. 

Once in the kitchen, Gray smiled as they took Morja’s plate. A chill clutched Morja’s chest. 

“I’ll wash your plate,” Gray said. “And you can wash Vera’s. And Vera will wash mine.”

Morja nodded and did what he was told. Orders. Orders were good. He took the plate Vera handed him and turned to the sink to wash it. The water was warm, then hot - he wondered if he would ever be given a cold shower here, like with his anóteros. For now, he had just been bathing with the wet rag he had been given each day. 

When Vera’s plate was clean, Gray washed Morja’s plate. Morja’s stomach twisted with the wrongness, but… it had been an order. Then Vera washed Gray’s plate. The whole time, her body was turned towards Morja. He knew exactly why, and he understood. 

When those dishes were drying in the rack, Gray gave him a smile. “Back to your room, then?” they said. Morja swallowed hard and nodded.

Then he was led back to his room, and the door was locked again. His belly was full. His bruises were healing. 

Continued here

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